Disclaimer: I do not own Totally Spies

Here it is, new chapter, finally. Sorry for the long wait, I've been working on things.

" " - speech

' ' - thought

( ) - author's notes

The Assassin: WOOHP Files

Chapter 8

By Nate and Felicia

Nate sighed as Sam threw some more clothes at him, and pushed him into the dressing room. He ran the events of the day over in his head, from his return to WOOHP this morning, to his merging at Sam's house, to he and Alex discussing where to go tonight, and it brought him here, clothes shopping. For the umpteenth time that afternoon he pulled the gaudy clothing on, looking himself over in the mirror.

'Way to Christmassy,' he thought as he turned and stepped out, ready for inspection.

Sam placed a hand on her chin, eyes cocked in seriousness as she looked him over. She stepped round and round him, pulling this and tweaking that, and, after about five minutes, pulled the red turtleneck off him, throwing it on the "NO" pile. After telling him to sit and wait, she left him there to find a different outfit. Sighing, again, he sat down on the bench, shirtless, and in just his baggy pants.

"Here, I found something that might be just what we're looking for," she returned with a gray/brown blazer, with a tan polo shirt, and slate gray slacks.

He took the clothing without a word and stepped back in the dressing room. The usual second thoughts were beginning to drift into his head, there were better things he could be doing. But, as always, the main thought of seeing Alex sad pushed those thoughts down. There was something about seeing a girl sad that just made him want to make things right for them. It must have been some sort of a flaw in his neural net, or the positron relays that connected one part of his brain to another. Whatever it was, there was no time to rectify it now.

'Maybe it's just your conscience catching up to you,' there was her voice again.

'Monica, just go back to sleep,' he took a deep breath and looked in the mirror, it didn't look too bad, better than the first five hundred outfits. "Maybe if I..."

He pulled the ring from the end of his hair and let it fall loose, a green cascade of follicles flowing down his back. After fussing with it a little, adjusting his bangs and the position of it, he stepped out to face the music. The inquisitive look on Sam's face to his new hairstyle was a little unexpected, but she still seemed pleased with her handiwork.

"You know, it doesn't look too bad," she reached up and gently pulled a few hairs over his shoulder. "Perhaps if we just cut it a little bit..."

"No way, you are not messing with my hair," he stepped away, placing his hands over the luxurious, emerald locks. "I asked you for advice on what to wear, not what to do with my hair."

"Alright, alright, just change back into your normal clothes while I go pay for these," she gestured to the clothes with a small tug at the collar of the blazer.

Nothing else needed to be said as he stripped the clothes from his body right there in the open, handing them to the redhead in front of him. For the third time in almost five minutes he stepped back into the dressing room, this time clad in only boxers. He pulled his pants on first, then stepped back out while still pulled on the tank. While lacing up his boots, a young blonde walked up to him, poking at the top of his head.

"Was that your girlfriend?" she asked in a very, very annoying voice, the kind that just grates on your nerves. "You could do better."

"She's not my girlfriend, just my personal fashion critic," he said in a tired voice, the day was beginning to catch up with him now. "And I don't really think I could find anyone better than her."

His head tilted up, taking in the almost obscene amount of cleavage displayed before him, and continued up towards the doe brown eyes that seemed to be flickering with some sort of rage. It was a stupid, and immature, idea to think that a person could be so jealous over something as inane as the person helping him dress. This was absurd, he did not have time for this. So, standing somewhat abruptly, he nearly knocked the young woman on her ass, had she not lifted herself up from her bent over position as soon as he had done so.

"That outfit she picked out, it is sooooooo last season, you should go with something more upbeat, more modern."

"To be honest, missy, I could care less," he turned from her to grab the ring left in the dressing room, before leaving the area to find Sam at the registers.

A smirk came to his lips when he heard the girl yell some sort of obscenity involving his jewels and a butcher knife. He'd honestly like to see her try what she'd just described in horrid detail. But, for the moment, a light chuckle escaped his lips as he stepped up next to his fellow spy. She seemed startled that he had appeared there so suddenly, but didn't let him see it.

"So, are we ready here?" he asked.

"Just about, it should just a take a second with the credit card," she replied as she whipped out the little piece of plastic.

"Good, 'cause I wanna get the hell out of here," he said with a curious bit of aloofness in his voice. "It's too stuffy, and crowded."

"Crowded places have never seemed to bother you before."

"That's because in those places people tend to move a little faster."

"Yeah, this place is slow, but not as slow as it is around the holidays," she smiled as she handed the credit card to the woman over the counter.

He thought it over a second, having never been outside of WOOHP during the holidays. Except for that one time, when he had assassinated a foreign diplomat at a Christmas party. A bit of poison in the man's drink was all that was needed; they all thought he had died from alcohol poisoning. It was technically true, but he had only had two glasses of wine, and, supposedly, had a stronger constitution than that.

'Idiot never saw it coming,' he smirked inwardly, but allowed a smile to show on the outside.

Later that night, a green motorcycle pulled into the parking lot of a very high-class restaurant. He went right by the valets, finding himself a nice parking spot, and stepped off. Once he had placed his helmet into the storage bin, and had his coat under one arm, he proceeded to the entrance. One of the valets stopped him, pointing towards the bike.

"Sweet ride, man," he said with an ignorant smile on his face.

"Thanks, built 'er myself," Nate quipped back, pushing the boy aside and entering.

He stepped into the large entry hall, where people were sitting quietly on benches and chairs, waiting for an open table. The receptionist, a tall, shapely woman, waved him over, while looking down the list.

"Sindel, right?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"She's expecting you, window table in the corner," she pointed in the general direction.

"Thank you," he nodded and started towards the table.

'God, look at that hair,' the receptionist sighed briefly before getting back to work.

Nate found the table easily, sitting across from Alex, who appeared to be wearing a pink, strapless dress. He couldn't see the rest of it, but knew he would; all he had to do was wait. She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, neither really knowing how to start the conversation.

"You're late," she said in mock arrogance.

"Felicia never seemed to mind that I was late," he grumbled a little, no really picking up on her tease.

"Who is Felicia, you've mentioned her a few times before," Alex asked as she placed her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands.

"That's not important."

"But she was important, to you at least, please tell me about her," her pleading eyes were too much.

"She was...that is to say..." he couldn't figure how to word just what Felicia had been; he loved her, how could he put it into words. "Should I just start at the beginning?"

"Go ahead."

"I met her at a carnival when I was fifteen. She had been very much like you back then; happy, carefree, never letting the hardships of her life get her down; she was everything I wanted to be, and it wasn't long before I was spending more time with her, and less time at WOOHP. That was when Jerry had enacted the chaperone program. Now I wasn't allowed anywhere outside of WOOHP without an escort. She started asking questions about the people following me, and I told her they were just bodyguards; she said that was cool, and left it at that," he looked out the window, at the cars going by, and the people on the sidewalk.

"She was so beautiful, so free, so wonderful in the way she could just brighten everyone's day. I loved her with all my being, Alex; I loved her more than life itself, and was gladly going to leave WOOHP for her. But, as things go, Jerry found out about my little scheme, and arranged for her little accident. Three years ago, exactly three years after we had met, he sent her a note saying that I wanted to meet her at the pier. Like the sweet, trusting girl she was, she had gone, only to be gunned down by one of WOOHP's assassins."

Looking down, he allowed a small, red tear to escape his left eye. He wasn't going to tell her the whole truth, the truth that he had been the one to pull the trigger, to kill the one thing in his life that made him happy. It was that which had been tearing a hole in him for the past three years, leaving him empty and heartless to his enemies. He had been faking all the kindness over the years, until he met those three spies.

"What happened after that?"

"After that I devoted myself fully to being the best assassin in the world, but I always wonder what would have happened had she not been killed. I would have gladly stopped seeing her, if only to save her life. I would have told her it was all over, that we could never see each other again, just to keep her from harm," he looked at the glass of water in front of him, at the ice within it, and pushed it away from him. "Where the hell is the waiter?"

A few seconds later the waiter appeared, handing them both a menu, and, after checking both their ages, quickly snatched the wine list from the table. Nate groaned when that was gone, wishing he'd left it, some wine would have gone quite nicely with the steak he was planning on ordering. No matter, he would just have to do with soda for now, wine later.

They ordered when the waiter came back, then really set down in their chairs and started talking. Alex did most of it, telling him about all the different missions the three had been on, her home life, her mother and father, who had passed away the previous year. He just sat and listened, nodding his head when needed, and adding a comment if he felt it was necessary. There was no doubt that she wanted to hear about his life before meeting her, but it was all too simple to explain. His home life and history could never compare to hers, and the way she spoke of her mother, words could not describe how much he could tell she loved her. This feeling caused him to look away when the subject was brought up.

"She's dead, that's all there is to it, a failed experiment," he wiped a red tear from his eyes, "just another statistic."

"No, she had to have been more than that, no one is just another number," she moved over one seat to the right at the small, round table, taking his hands in hers. "Please, tell me what you believe she was."

"She was my mother, the most influential person in my entire life, what else is there to tell. She was WOOHP's best assassin before she died, and I could only dream to match her record of kills," he sighed and halfheartedly tried to pull his hands away, but lacked the actual want to do so. "Jerry had always told me that I was just like her, my hair, my eyes, the way I thought, but I never really cared much about what the old man said. After what he did, I vowed to never forgive him."

"What do you mean, are you talking about Felicia?" she asked, her hands holding tighter to his.

"Yes, but there are other reasons, but I doubt you want to hear about them," he laughed a tired laugh, trying to find the energy to at least finish the date.

"No please, tell me," she held his hands tighter, the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

This action took Nate by complete surprise, why would she want to know, why would anyone care to know? His muscles tensed and relaxed, fingers curled into fists, and eyes closed slowly. He released the breath held in his chest, eyes opened, and hands were pulled from hers. It was her eyes that were bothering him, the tears threatening to fall, the concern held within them, concern for him.

"Alex," he said quietly, turning away from her, "he killed my mother."

"What?" her chair moved back as she recoiled. "But, why would Jerry do that?"

"I don't know, all I know is what's on the disc the clone gave me," he thought of the disc, that small zipdisc which contained the vid-file and Natalie's log entries. "He killed her, and that only gives me another reason to hate him."

Now it was Alex's turn to be taken aback, she'd never heard anyone speak like that about their parent. Sure, she had heard Clover and Sam rant about their mothers, but knew, deep down, that they didn't mean it. He was different, he had much better reasons that just being grounded. His life had been so full of death, and not just those he had killed, but those who had been close to him that lost their lives.

"I understand," she dropped her head and concentrated on her shuffling feet. "I can't hate Jerry, not like you, and I can't say I ever will, but I can promise that I will be more cautious."

"That's all I can ask," he smiled a little. "You don't even know what to be cautious of, do you?"

"Well, not really, it just seemed like the right thing to say," she smiled wide and placed her hand on the back of her head.

"It's getting cold," he said.

"What?"

"Your chicken, it's getting cold," he looked across the table at her forgotten plate, seeing as how his was already empty. "Better just get it wrapped and bring it home."

She turned to him, having looked at her plate, and blushed, to which his smile widened a little. Shifting her seat felt like the right thing to do, but she didn't do it, deciding to stay where she was. As they sat there, his hands having been taken back into hers, the waiter came back and took their plates, leaving the dessert menu behind. Nate picked it up and handed to Alex, forcing her to remove her hands.

"You've eaten here before, what's good?"

"Oh, the tiramisu, you've got to try it," she almost squealed.

"Alright," he turned and snapped his fingers for the waiter.

He arrived, looking somewhat annoyed at being called with such a gesture, but kept quiet about it. Nate, reading the man's body language, could only smile as he told him their order. The snooty (did I mention he was snooty, oh well) waiter could only snatch the menu away and leave. Alex giggled a little at the way the waiter was acting, the noise only causing him to turn up his nose as he walked.

"So, what is tiramisu?"

"I'm not sure, exactly, but I know you're gonna love it."

"Okay, I trust you."

The dessert arrived a few minutes later, being placed between them, by a waitress. It took Nate a few seconds to realize it was the receptionist, and he began wondering why. A quick look around after she left led him to find the waiter working at the entrance. He cocked an eyebrow at that, but was brought back as he saw, in his peripheral vision, Alex holding up a fork with some of the tiramisu on it.

"Try it," she insisted, and placed the cake (I'm guessing it's cake) in his open mouth. "Good?"

"Very," he said after swallowing. "I don't think I've ever had anything this good."

"Told you."

"Yeah, you did," he smiled as he allowed her to serve him another piece.

They took turns, him feeding her, her feeding him, they went back and forth until it was gone. Nate sat back in his chair, not really noticing that one of his hands was, once again, being held by Alex. Slowly his other hand slid through his hair, trying to think of what to say; he knew he was supposed to say something, but what was it?

"Do you have a ride?" he finally fully noticed his hand in hers.

"No, Sam dropped me off," she shook her head, and blushed again as she let go of his hand.

"Well, then I guess I'll take you home."

The motorcycle pulled up in front of Alex's house, and Nate put down the kickstand. Stepping off, he took the helmet that Alex handed him, as well as the leather jacket, he then stuffed them into the cargo hold. He then helped her off the bike and was about to get back on when she grabbed his arm.

"Aren't you going to walk me to the front door?" she asked, giving him an innocent pout.

"I..." he started but made the fatal mistake of looking at her eyes, and he was dumbstruck, "...I guess it would be the proper thing to do."

She smiled and they started up the walk to the door, beyond which he knew Sam and Clover were watching. He couldn't fully comprehend how it happened, but that look on her face, he didn't know why it affected him like that. This didn't make sense, he wasn't supposed to feel like this anymore, he was only keeping a promise to make her happy, wasn't he? He hated to see any girl cry, but Alex was different, he felt, at that moment, he would have given just about anything to make her feel the best she'd ever felt. But, still, the question haunted him: why?

'You know, it could be love,' Monica whispered in his mind's ear.

'Can't be, I'm just getting soft.'

'Just keeping that option open,' she giggled.

"Well?" Alex piped up next to him.

He whipped his head around, looking down at her, not even realizing that they were at the door. His sister was making this harder than it had to be, having never had a voice inside his head before. Besides that, there were the resurfacing memories of Felicia, of the first time he had done this with her. It was too hard to do this again, but why wasn't he leaving.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to kiss me good night?"

"I wasn't planning on it," he said, then leaned in close, whispering, "but, luckily for you, I'm feeling generous."

With that said, he lightly kissed her on the cheek, and stood up straight again, leaving her standing there with a slight blush. From behind the door there came an audible sigh, and an 'awwwww' which sounded both disappointed and dreamy at the same time. He smiled a little and started back towards his bike, waiting for the door to open and close, which it did. Getting back on, he revved the engine a few times and took off.

Inside the house, Clover and Sam were there to grab her and pull her to the couch.

"How was it?" she asked.

"Yeah, come on Alex, dish dish," Clover chimed from next to the redhead.

After a few days of freely walking around LA, Nate was content in letting Monica take over for a little while, let her stretch her legs. She wore exactly what he wore, except that the shifter clothing had tailored itself to her body. Being slimmer, and somewhat more buxom than her brother, the suit and coat fit snuggly, accentuating her generous curves. At the moment, though, those curves were obscured by a bag of groceries.

"I still don't see why I had to do the shopping," she said as she fished in the bag for an apple.

'I would tell you, but you already know,' Nate chuckled back.

"Yeah, yeah, I look cute," she sighed quietly as she found the object of her search.

She looked around, noticing some of the looks she was getting from people. It wasn't just the clothes she was wearing, but the fact that she was just shy of six feet tall. Practically an Amazon compared the girls she passed on the street, hardly any of them topping 5'6", and that was with the heels. A smile tugged at her lips when one girl slapped her boyfriend for staring.

'Really, how can she blame him?' Nate asked.

"Can't argue with that," she laughed a little.

'Just don't start striking poses, okay?'

"Fine, ruin all my fun."

Her brother sighed inside her mind, and settled back to rest, the change in bodies had taken a bit more energy out of him than it had her. Leaving him be, she entered the building to her left, in which was the apartment that WOOHP had set up for them. She waved to the doorman and entered the elevator, rising to the almost top floor.

The apartment wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. There were four rooms, the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. In the living room was a fairly decent-sized TV, with entertainment center, and against the wall across from it was a couch. There was a balcony outside the sliding door, which looked out over the ocean. She entered the kitchen, which had a small window into the living room and put the groceries in the fridge.

"Well, that's done, what to do now?" she asked herself, knowing that Nate was asleep. "Hm, I guess I could go for a walk, maybe I'll see Sam at the library."

She started for the door, but, before heading out, she had the shifter clothing create a holster, and grabbed the revolver off the table. With that done, she holstered the weapon and stepped out the door, locking it behind her. It was strange to her that she took it, without really thinking, but she felt she needed to have it at all times.

'What do you want me to do with this?' she asked herself, though the question was directed more towards her sleeping brother.

Monica spent the rest of the day window-shopping; looking at all the women's clothing that she knew wouldn't fit. Didn't stop her from going into one store and asking the saleswoman how much it would cost to get a certain outfit in her size. After giving the girl her measurements, she watched as she bit her lower lip with a slight hiss sound. It was certainly much more than either of them would have thought. But Monica simply shrugged and left, knowing all along that the clothing she wore now would easily be able to shift into that pantsuit.

There wasn't much else to do as she strolled along, constantly having to wince at the eyebrows being waggled in her general direction. One of those idiots actually stepped up to her, and said he "liked 'em tall." She shoved her hand in his face, and gently moved him aside, so she could continue forward. He yelled something about her regretting turning him down, and she just shrugged it off. There were so many annoyances in this city, and once or twice she could feel her hand moving towards her sidearm.

But, through all the hustle and bustle, her senses were not impaired in the least, as her ears picked up a muffled voice from an alley. Turning down said alley, she found that it doglegged to the left, behind the building. The muffled voice was female, and definitely sounded familiar, she knew that either herself or Nate had heard it before. And there was another voice with it, rougher, most definitely male. Rounding the corner, she saw the man standing over a girl, who was sitting on some garbage and looked thoroughly beaten. In one hand was a purse, in the other was a butterfly knife, which he had most-likely just used to cut her shirt open.

Almost broiling with rage, she took one heavy step forward, alerting him to her presence. He turned and scoffed at the tall woman behind him, a smirk coming to his lips.

"Hey, babe, don't worry, there's enough to go..."

He never got to finish as Monica had wrapped her hand around his throat, and unholstered the revolver, favoring to aim it at the side of his head. The force of her rush forward had lifted the mugger from the ground, and slammed him against the wall behind the girl, causing him to drop the purse, but not the knife. He lashed out at her with it, cutting her arm several times, and just managing to graze her face. The sleeve for the coat slit up the middle as a long blade sliced through her skin, taking his hand off.

"Now, you have two choices," she growled, tightening her grip on his throat, "you can either die here like the slime you are, or you can go and turn yourself in to the police. What's it gonna be?"

To emphasize her point, she cocked the hammer on the gun. His eyes were open WIDE now, looking from his severed hand, to her face, then to the side, where the gun was pressed to his head. While he was taking his sweet time, Monica decided to check up on the girl's condition.

"You okay, kid?" she asked sweetly.

The girl, who had black hair, with an almost purple sheen to it, was too shocked to speak, opting to only nod. Her rescuer then turned her attention back to the mugger, who had apparently pissed himself when the gun was cocked. His eyes were open even wider now as the blade that had cut his hand off, was sliding back into position, in her arm. Loosening her grip on his throat, she allowed him to speak.

"Please, don't do this, I beg you," he sobbed, the tears only making him look more pathetic.

"No," was her simple answer as she twisted her hand to the side, the speed of it snapping his neck at the top and bottom, making it look as if his head and body never moved.

She dropped him to the ground and turned her gaze to the girl, who was shivering at the vision of the dead body before her. Then the girl did something that caught Monica completely by surprise; she literally threw herself at the older woman, arms wrapping around her knees, and tear-streaked face buried into the trench coat. The assassin looked down at her, holstering her revolver and blending the sleeve back together.

"Uh, there, there, it's okay," she said a bit hesitantly, patting the girl's head.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she girl cried over and over.

"Um, so, what's your name?"

"Mandy Delaroyale," she sniffed, looking up at the woman in front of her, eyes lingering a bit too long (I hope you don't mind Devin, I was at a loss for a last name). "What's yours?"

"Monica," the green-haired amazon said, helping her to her feet. "Monica Sindel."

"What can I do to repay you, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"A drink would be fine," she replied, feeling thirsty all of a sudden.

"Unacceptable, I insist that we find you something new to wear, those clothes are..." she looked up at the confused face of the woman before her. "A drink it is, then maybe we can get to talk?"

"Great, I know a little coffee shop not far from here," Monica grabbed Mandy's hand, and was about to lead her out of the alley, when she noticed something. "You should probably button up that jacket."

"Or, better yet, we can head to my house, I need to wash up," she ran her fingers through her dingy hair, and brushed off her ripped, garbage-splattered clothing, "and change, you can grab a drink there."

"Okay, I guess that would be okay."

About an hour later, Monica sat in a large kitchen, the gleaming white surfaces all around her almost blinding her. In front of her, on the oak table, was a half-drunk Diet Coke, it was the only thing in the fridge, and she adamantly compared it to brown, crap-water. But she was thirsty, and that overrode just about all other thoughts in her head. Her head swiveled around, from staring at the can, to the hallway, following the sound of footsteps. Mandy entered, wearing a fluffy white robe, with a towel wrapped around her head, and slippers on her feet. She took the seat across from the green-haired beauty.

"So, tell me, why do you disguise your voice?" Monica asked as she ran her finger around the rim of the can.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Mandy looked around, trying to figure out how a complete stranger knew.

"Well, it is obvious, your voice just sounds so strained," she lifted the can to her lips, and shuddered slightly when she swallowed. "Why do you fake it?"

"I don't know, I guess its somewhat to keep people from getting too close," the raven-haired girl cast her eyes down, voice changing, becoming more mature. "To keep...her...from getting too close."

"Tell me about 'her,'" Monica leaned forward, trying to catch Mandy's eye. "You just blushed when you thought of her, so who is she?"

"Well, we were friends, up until high school, when we found that the simplicity of junior high was gone, and the popularity system was completely different," she looked up at the woman across from her. "We started drifting apart, until, one day, we both went for the same guy, and we started screaming at each other. But that's not how it was supposed to happen."

"Why, how was it supposed to happen?"

"I was going to tell her how I felt, I mean how I really felt, but...he got in the way," she sighed, thinking of the boy that had recently disappeared. "David, he was the love of both our lives, but I never really cared for him, only for her."

"Does she have a name?"

"Clover," Mandy seemed to absolutely melt when she said that name; that one single word carrying so much emotion, so much meaning, it was now easy to see that Mandy was truly tortured inside over that girl.

TBC

There we go, sorry for taking so long, it would have been up two weeks ago, but the disc I was using deleted all the files that were on it, including the original version of this. So Felicia and I reconstructed this one from bits and pieces of what we remember, hope you liked it, don't forget to review. I told you Devin, I told you that I would get to the Clover/Mandy part, given that it's just starting now. Our deal is now complete, sorry for taking so long to keep up my end of the bargain. There will be more of it next chapter, and some violence, maybe some sex, Felicia and I are debating that now.