Rescue Me: Chapter 1

So, this is taken from DaniZGE’s fic challenge. I’m shit at being concise, so this is in a few parts. Yes, I know, how can it be a one-shot if it’s in more than one part? Quit your whining and read!

Rating: A. Mild violence and swearing.

To remind you, these were Dani’s conditions:

  • Ashley is taken hostage by who ever you want. It could be Russians or hobos or extraterrestrials.
  • Food Fight.
  • Spencer is a Super Spy but her company won’t let her save Ashley Davis because, even though she is the best, she is reckless. So, she takes things into her own hands.
  • One of the characters swallows a hallucinogen on purpose or by accident.
  • A parrot tells a secret.

This one appealed to me because I genuinely did go to university with a boy whose entire family has been in US government service in South America for about as long as there has been a United States of America. Seriously, for well over 150 years. One of them was even consulted by the Warren Commission. And I know others, sons and daughters of people in the oil business, who spent their childhoods in maximum-security compounds, constantly watched over by heavily-armed security guards.

I should say that Costa Mesa is not a real place. It’s a mythical South American country which I have handily located on the Atlantic Coast between Brazil and French Guiana. It is not to be confused with the California city of Costa Mesa. They speak Brazilian Portuguese there for purely plot-related reasons (namely, my Portuguese is marginally better than my non-existent Spanish and it’s still not great, so apologies for mistakes).

* * * * *

Chapter One: Eu quis amar, mas tive medo

Ashley Davies spoke no Portuguese.

Under normal circumstances, this would hardly present a problem, but, as she was currently gagged and tied to a chair in some godforsaken Costa Mesan hellhole, even a smattering of Portuguese would have been a distinct advantage. Unfortunately, her mind could only conjure two points of reference: an episode of Mad About You (Unibal. One L. It’s Portuguese.) and one of America’s Next Top Model (It’s pronounced hay-spay-tu.). Other than that, she knew please (por favor), thank you (obrigado), blow job (bico) and beer (cerveja). Still, she’d never needed more than that in any of the countries they’d lived in.

As she looked around the small bare room that she was being held in, she wondered where in the hell she was. She suspected that she was no longer in the city, as she couldn’t hear any urban sounds: no cars, no gunfire, no people passing, nothing but jungle animal noises. The voice of her tenth grade geography teacher rang through her head (There is no such thing as the jungle, Miss Davies. The jungle exists only in Tarzan movies. It’s called the tropical rainforest.)

She sighed and tugged again at the ropes that held her wrists to the back of the hard wooden chair that was the only furniture in the room. This whole damn thing was so unfair and she had allocated her blame on three people.

First off, it was her father’s fault for insisting that his daughters should be in attendance for his first official function as the newly-installed US Vice Consul to Costa Mesa. He was also the one who had said that they should stay on for a couple of weeks’ vacation afterwards because they didn’t spend enough time together as a family since the girls had settled back in the US after he divorced their mother and remarried.

Second, she blamed her sister. If Kyla had agreed to stay on instead, then Ashley would have been able to head off back to New York city (where the grass is green and the girls are pretty, her mind added). But Ky had managed to actually land a part in some crappy daytime soap, leaving Ashley as the daughter who had to hang with Dad.

So, having been forced into staying for longer than her normal two-day family visit, her third target for blame was Spencer Carlin. If the blonde had just given it up – like they both knew that she wanted to – then Ash would have been gone by now. But, no, Little Miss Superspy had to play hard-to-get, virtually forcing Ashley to remain in the country until she had her wicked, wicked way with her.

She discounted totally the idea that she played any part in her own downfall by walking through the streets of the capital, Cidade de Mesa, alone at night and without her appointed bodyguard, Glen, to whom she had quite easily given the slip. She felt quite bad about that because she knew that Glen would get his ass handed to him for failing in his duties and she really did like him. Again, she blamed Spencer for that. If Spencer had been willing to accompany Ashley the previous night, then she wouldn’t have tried to ditch her. No, since she had met Spencer Carlin at the airport, she had been desperately trying to spend more time with her.

* * *

“Well now, you’re not what I expected at all,” Ashley commented flirtatiously, sliding her Diesel sunglasses to the end of her nose and letting her gaze travel the length of the woman standing in front of her by the kerbside.

She had been told by her father that she would be met by a member of the private security firm he had engaged to look after the guests for his party. Ashley had thought that whomever met her would have conformed to the standard State Department or CIA template of dark suit, cool professionalism and built like a brick shithouse. She had not, however, expected a hot blonde with a tight ass and great legs. Well, she was just surmising the great legs because the woman in front of her was wearing a fairly practical pair of brown cargo pants tucked into equally practical well-worn tan leather boots. She had little or no make-up on – not that she needed any – and her honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a sensible ponytail that allowed Ashley to see that she wasn’t wearing the regulation earpiece she might have expected of a security specialist. She was also wearing an unbuttoned white shirt over a wife beater. And, if Ashley was not mistaken, the blonde was also carrying a gun tucked into the waistband of her cargos.

Either that, or she’s exceptionally pleased to see me, Ashley thought to herself with a chuckle.

The blonde ignored her appraising look and leering tone, effortlessly picking up Ash’s suitcase and turning towards a waiting limo. Opening the back door and throwing the luggage into the large car, she indicated with her head.

“Miss Davies,” she ordered brusquely. Ashley was willing to bet that she had rolled her eyes to accompany this statement, but Spencer’s eyes were hidden behind jet-black aviator sunglasses. Her tone gave it away, though. Not that it bothered Ashley: she liked a challenge where women were concerned.

The drive back to the Ambassador’s Residence consisted of Ashley asking questions and Spencer pointedly ignoring her, staring resolutely out the window. In fact, the only time that the blonde spoke was to say, “We’re on our way,” into her cellphone. When they arrived at their destination, she spoke again. This time she said to Ashley, “Wait here.”

Ashley watched as Spencer crossed the courtyard towards a young blond man standing in the open doorway of the Residence. They talked for a few moments, both of them looking back towards the waiting car, before Spencer returned, opening the door and collecting Ashley’s suitcase.

“This way,” she ordered.

Ashley followed her into the house and up a flight of stairs, which gave her the opportunity to ogle the blonde’s ass again. It really was a nice ass. She was led to a large bedroom, where Spencer deposited her luggage on the floor.

“Your father’s not at home,” the blonde informed her. “There’s an intercom by the bed to contact the housekeeper. She’ll help you with anything you need. You’ll need to come downstairs later on for a security briefing and you’re not allowed to leave without someone from my firm accompanying you.”

With that, Spencer turned on her heel and started to leave the room. Ashley panicked and shot out her hand, grasping Spencer’s forearm. The blonde used her free hand to remove her sunglasses for the first time, giving Ashley first sight of the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. Spencer stared disdainfully at the hand on her arm and then looked up at Ashley, one eyebrow raised.

“I’d like to lick every inch of you,” Ashley purred in response to the unasked question. It was a line stolen from a movie, but it had always played well for her before. She grinned as she saw Spencer’s pupils widen for just a fraction of a second before the blonde slipped her sunglasses back on and peeled Ashley’s hand from her skin.

“Someone will come and get you for the security briefing,” she intoned evenly. “Good afternoon, Miss Davies.”

* * *

The boy that entered the room had a bandanna tied over the lower half of his face. Only his eyes and his short, dark hair was visible. Ashley took this as a good sign because she remembered hearing somewhere – Criminal Minds? CSI? Without A Trace? – that if kidnappers showed you their face then they expected to kill you.

He was carrying a newspaper and a cellphone. He placed both on the floor and called something through to the other side of the door. Immediately, a key turned, locking them both in the room. Judging by his voice and his general demeanour, Ashley figured that he was a little younger than her, in his early 20s, maybe. She wasn’t great at reading other people, but his eyes seemed kind, almost bashful. He was trying not to look at her too often.

“No run,” he muttered softly, as he untied her hands.

“Where the fuck am I going to run to?” she retorted bitterly. “I don’t know where the fuck I am!”

The boy looked at her blankly and picked up the newspaper, handing it to her. “Hold.”

“D’you speak English?” she asked the boy. He shook his head. “¿Hablas español?” Again, a shake of the head. “Parlez-vous Français?” She smiled. “Spreek je Nederlands?” It was a long-shot and a few months spent in Curaçao probably hadn’t given her enough Dutch to hold any reasonable conversation if he did.

The boy smiled back shyly and shook his head again. Clearly, he was not a great linguist. He motioned for her to hold the newspaper in front of her and he started fiddling with buttons on the cellphone, trying to take a photograph.

“What’s your name, kid?” Ashley asked. “If we’re gonna be living together for the forseeable future then I should get to know your name at least.” He shook his head and stared at her in confusion. Clearly, he wasn’t lying. He spoke no English. “Su nombre?” She figured that Spanish was probably the nearest language to Portuguese that she knew.

Seu nome,” he corrected her. He wasn’t quite whispering, but his voice was deliberately low.

She grinned in response. Clearly, they were getting somewhere. The boy finally managed to get the proof-of-life photographs taken to his liking and removed the newspaper from her hands, setting it back down on the floor. With his head, he indicated that she should sit back down in the chair.

Ignoring his instruction, she pressed on, “I’m Ashley.” She pointed to herself and then realised how foolish that was when he was the one who had kidnapped her, so obviously knew who she was. He just nodded towards the chair again.

“Fine. Excuse the fuck out of me for trying to make this a little more pleasant.” She sat back down and put her hands behind her back.

“Cãozinho,” he whispered to her as he retied her hands, more loosely than they had been before. He looked fearfully over his shoulder, as if his accomplice might be watching him.

Seu nome? Cãozinho?” she whispered back. He nodded and, despite his mouth being covered, Ashley could tell he was smiling. “Obrigado, Cãozinho.

He walked back to the door and knocked four times. “Estou pronto,” he called out. She heard the door being unlocked. Before he left, Cãozinho stuck his left hand behind his back and waggled his fingers in a little wave.

Bizarrely, Ashley felt strangely bereft after the boy left. It might only have been twelve or so hours since she’d been lifted from the city street and brought to wherever she was now, but she missed human company already.

When her parents had been married, they had always been stationed in Central or South America and Ashley couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been nannies and guards and housekeepers and gardeners and all sorts of random State Department-type people who talked to Kyla and her. Later, there was boarding school and sharing a room with five other girls. After school, she’d got her own apartment, a beautiful loft in the Meatpacking District. Kyla had followed her there and moved in without asking. At times it felt like half of New York had been through that apartment. Between Ashley’s frequent success with women and Kyla’s serial monogamy, there was always someone there. Ashley had not really been truly alone for this long for as long as she could remember.

Strangely, of all the people who had graced, filled or passed through her life, the only one she wanted to see at that moment was Spencer Carlin.

Weird.

* * *

“Your sister’s got a real stick up her ass,” Ashley commented to Glen as they sat at the large wooden table in the kitchen, waiting for Pilar, the housekeeper’s daughter and their stand-in cook, to make them a snack.

She’d met Glen at her security briefing on her first day at the Residence. He was a little intense at times, but funny in a goofy sort of way. He was also a human dustbin and, when not working, could always be found in the kitchen, pestering the staff for something to eat or drink. Ashley had bumped into him on her own late-night trips to the fridge. After a week, she considered him to be her cake buddy, kind of like Blanche and Dorothy from The Golden Girls. There was a Friend of Dorothy joke in there but, to make it, Ash would have to tell Glen the whole thing and he probably wouldn’t get it.

Glen shrugged at the brunette’s statement. He was used to Ashley complaining about his sister and vice versa. It was just unresolved sexual tension. It could hardly be more obvious. Hell, everyone in the Residence knew about it. Christiano the gardener had started a pool on when Spencer would finally give into Ashley’s relentless pursuit. Even Kyla had dropped five dollars in it before she headed back to New York. The only reason that Glen hadn’t personally participated was that he knew his sister well enough to know that she needed to be the one chasing and that she would never give in to someone else’s pursuit.

“Spence takes her job seriously,” he mumbled, watching the delectable Pilar chopping tomatoes. He hoped they’d keep this gig long enough for him to have a chance with her.

“I’ll say,” Ashley agreed obliviously. “She bodily lifted me out of a department store today.”

Ashley had actually very much enjoyed the encounter. Spencer was stronger than she looked and Ashley had relished the feel of the blonde’s body against hers as she wrapped her arms around her waist and hauled her out of the changing room. Ash hadn’t even noticed the fire alarm going off and the building being evacuated. Her entire attention had been on the sensations that the nearness of the blonde had caused.

Glen beamed at Pilar as she laid a plate of sandwiches on the table. “Obrigada, Pilar,” he muttered.

“You haven’t a chance with her,” Ashley commented as soon as the young woman was out of earshot. “She’s a nice Catholic girl with about eight brothers who’d murder you for laying a finger on her.”

“Hey! I’m a nice Catholic boy and my intentions are strictly semi-honourable. Besides, I have more chance with her than you do with that other nice Catholic girl, my sister.”

Ash slapped his forearm lightly. “Hey, take that back. I’m irresistible and your sister will eventually have to accept that fact. We both know it’s only a matter of time.”

Glen sighed. “Look, she might be a royal pain in the ass sometimes, but she’s my little sister and I love her. I’m her only family in, what, ten thousand miles, so, what’s your deal, Ash? You wanna sleep with her or you want something more?”

Ashley was surprised by the question. “Um… I, uh, I dunno.”

“Not good enough,” Glen replied around a mouthful of sandwich. “Damn that girl makes the best sandwiches in the world!” he muttered, staring over at the young cook.

Ashley was incredulous. “Are you seriously asking me what my intentions towards your sister are?”

He shrugged. “I guess so.”

“It’s, uh, hard to say. She doesn’t talk to me. She barely acknowledges that I’m there most of the time. I mean, she might as well be guarding a delivery consignment rather than a real person. But,” she paused and laid down her own sandwich as she smiled softly, “she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen and I really, really want to know her better.”

“I’ll bet!” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Ashley grinned back. “In the Biblical and non-Biblical sense, you dick.”

“Look, here’s the thing,” Glen started, as they were both surprised by Pilar returning to the table, this time with a home-baked pudim de leite. “Oh, Pilar, you’re breaking my heart here!” Glen exclaimed, as the younger girl blushed and turned away.

“Anyway, the thing,” Glen mumbled as he crammed more sandwich into his mouth, “is that you’re pushing too hard. Our Spencer is a complete control freak and she needs to be the one doing the chasing. So, the more you push her, the more she’ll pull away out of stubbornness, whether it’s what she wants or not. Try easing up. Play it cool. That’ll probably have more effect on her.”

“But she likes me, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Glen! Just tell me, you ass.”

He shook his head. “Not telling!”

“What are you? Five?”

Glen just shrugged and looked at the dessert on the table between them. “Wanna slice?” he asked Ash.

“Let me,” Ashley replied, taking the cake slice from him and cutting two generous pieces of gooey caramelised tart. She smiled sweetly at him as she passed him a plate. “Does. Your. Sister. Like. Me. That. Way?”

Glen grinned and forked a piece of tart into his mouth. “Not. Telling.”

“Glen, stop being a tool. Just tell me.” She idly tossed a cherry tomato from their sandwich plate in his direction.

The blond man easily caught the small projectile and shook his head. “Nope.” Frustrated, Ashley flipped him the finger. “Ooh, who’s being childish now?” he taunted.

“Fuck you.”

“Thought you’d rather fuck the other Carlin,” Glen retorted. In a low voice, he began singing, “Spence and Ashley, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Shut up, loser boy,” Ash warned.

“First comes love, then comes -” His singing was unceremeniously cut off by a forkful of tart flying across the table at him and landing on his black t-shirt. He looked down as caramelised condensed milk oozed from its pastry casing. “Oh, no, you didn’t,” he commented in a menacing tone.

And then Ashley was squealing and running towards the door as Glen picked up what was left of his pie and started to chase her. He was stronger and faster than her and Ash felt herself being pulled back by her tank top. She shrieked as Glen planted his dessert in her face, the gooey, sticky treat dripping off her chin.

“That’s an eighty buck tank, you ass!” she complained. They looked at each other for a moment, both grinning and breathing heavily, and then Ashley made a dash for the table, picking up a handful of what was left of the tart and throwing it at Glen. Her aim wasn’t great and he only had to tilt his head to one side for it to fly past him.

“What the fuck?”

Both of them looked in the direction of the doorway where Spencer was standing. She looked extremely unhappy. She also had a very sticky piece of tart sitting slap-bang in the middle of her cleavage.

“What the hell are you two playing at?” Spencer barked, scooping the dessert out from between her breasts with her fingers.

Ashley and Glen looked at each other and couldn’t stop themselves from laughing. It started as a giggle, then it grew into a belly laugh. As Spencer walked over to the sink, where Pilar was on hand with a washcloth and a towel, Glen tried to apologise through his sniggers.

“So sorry, Spence,” he managed before he clutched his waist and bent over, laughing hard.

“No, honest, Spence, we’re really sorry,” Ashley agreed. “It was… We were…” But then she, too, dissolved with laughter.

“Nothing but a couple of fucking children,” Spencer muttered.

Realising that she had really upset the blonde, Ashley composed herself and walked over towards the sink. She had her mouth open to begin a more earnest apology when she noticed that the front of Spencer’s shirt was soaked through and the cold water had made the blonde’s nipples harden. The sight caused an immediate response in her own body as she felt herself getting hot and wet. She had never felt such instantaneous and overpowering desire. If it weren’t a total cliché, she would have said that she felt weak at the knees.

“Need me to kiss it better?” The question was out of her mouth before her rational mind could prevent her hormones from doing the talking. For the truth was that she would give anything to be able to drop her head to Spencer’s cleavage and warm the skin with her mouth.

“Could you just, for once, not do this?” Unlike Spencer’s normal curt response, she sounded both tired and pleading. Ashley felt immediately chastened.

“I’m honestly sorry, Spence,” she murmured.

“Whatever. Just go.” Again, there was no anger in the words, only weariness.

Bowing her head, Ash quietly backed away and left the kitchen. As she sprinted up the stairs to the safety of her bedroom, she felt tears start to form at the corners of her eyes.

She had no idea why.

* * *

The door opened and the boy was back, this time dragging a cot bed with him. He placed it against one wall and gave Ashley a wink. He left, only to return a few moments later with clean bedding. She knew that it was clean because the room was suddenly filled with the almost unmistakeable smell of fresh laundry. She watched, stunned, as he made the cot up, even tucking the sheets in with hospital corners.

He moved towards her and bent down to untie her hands. This was even more surprising than seeing him make up the bed because he’d left the door to the room unlocked and open. She looked at him in confusion.

“Come,” he said.

Wordlessly, Ashley stood and followed him out of the room. The room they entered appeared to be the only other living space in the house. There was a small kitchen area, a table and some folding chairs and a battered old sofa. On top of an inverted packing case, a small television with an old-fashioned hoop aerial was showing a dubbed version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Harvey sounded much more manly in Portuguese than in American English, she noted absurdly.

Cãozinho led her over to another door, behind which was the bathroom. He mimed washing his face and hands and then gently pushed her into the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Like in what she now thought of as ‘her’ room, the window had been boarded up, but Ashley was too stunned to plan any bold escape anyway. Instead, she washed her hands and face before deciding to strip off her shirt and wash as much of herself as she could. The cold water and cheap industrial soap felt better than anything Bath and Body Works could ever come up with. Even the scratchy towel seemed like a luxury.

Having washed thoroughly and gone to the toilet, she emerged, feeling somewhat refreshed. She was further surprised to find that the boy was sitting at the table, tucking into a meal. A second plate was next to him and he pointed at Ashley then to the plate.

“For me?” she asked incredulously, pointing to herself for emphasis.

Cãozinho nodded and patted the seat next to himself. Cautiously walking over, Ashley saw that there was rice, chicken and several kinds of beans. On another plate, there was some kind of flatbread. Without further bidding, she sat down and picked up a spoon, shovelling the food into her mouth almost faster than she could chew. Her dinner companion tore some bread off for her and handed it over. It genuinely tasted as good as anything she could remember eating.

The boy was laughing along with the TV and it was then that Ashley’s heart almost stopped as she realised that his face was no longer covered. The bandanna which usually obscured his features was hanging around his neck. Her mind began racing. Did this mean that this was her last meal on earth? Suddenly, the magnitude of her situation pressed down heavily upon her and she felt fear rip through her. Dropping her plastic spoon, she burst into tears.

The boy next to her turned, aghast, and stared as huge, racking sobs took control of her, causing her body to shake. He quickly placed his arm on her forearm and started muttering. Ashley may not have understood the words, but she read the tone of comfort: this boy was not a threat to her. Well, he wasn’t an immediate threat. But, with her normal bravado stripped away, Ash could not keep her terror in check. She could actually die. This might well be her last meal. Just because Cãozinho seemed benign, that did not mean that he didn’t have any number of murderous partners. The other man she had only heard through the door so far certainly sounded as if he were cruel.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she turned to look at the boy. She had not read him wrong: there was nothing but concern on his face. Just because they didn’t speak a common language, didn’t mean that they couldn’t communicate. She could tell, for example, that he seemed as scared as she was. Patting the hand on her arm, she indicated with her head that he should get back to his meal. Wordlessly, he gave her a questioning look. She nodded and patted his hand again, before lifting it and placing it over his own discarded spoon. He lifted his spoon and resumed eating, but he kept glancing at her with concern. She gave him a weak smile and returned to her own meal.

* * *

At some point during the night, after she was tucked up in the surprisingly comfortable cot bed that Cãozinho had set up for her, Ashley was awoken by the sound of fighting coming from beyond the door. She could hear the young man and his accomplice shouting at each other. Although she couldn’t really make out very much of it, every so often, she caught some snatches of words and phrases that sounded vaguely similar to Spanish. She could tell that the older man was unhappy with Cãozinho; he was tearing a real strip off off him and she was pretty sure that some objects had been thrown across the room in anger. She suspected that it might have something to do with her meal and the fact that she was sleeping in a bed and not tied to the chair.

Soon, the shouting stopped and she heard an outer door being slammed. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself into a ball as the key was turned in the lock to her room. When she felt her shoulder being gently shaken, she knew that it was the younger man and opened her eyes. Even in the darkness, she could see the pain in his own brown eyes.

Lamento ele é meu irmão,” he murmured, holding a pair of handcuffs in his hand. Ashley shook her head. She didn’t understand. “Irmão,” Cãozinho repeated. “Hermanos?” he tried in Spanish.

“You’re brothers?” Ashley whispered, knowing that he had no idea what she was saying. She pointed at Cãozinho and then towards the other room. “Hermanos?” she asked, crossing her fingers to indicate a close relationship.

The boy nodded and murmured, “Me perdoe,” as he slipped the one of handcuffs onto her left wrist and then fastened the other to the bed frame. Shaking his head at his own actions, he quietly left the room again.

Ashley shook her head and slumped back down onto the bed.

Spencer Carlin, I need you now.

* * * * *

Next up: Chapter Two – E quis salvar meu coração [A]

14 Comments

  1. MissMaclay
    Posted 2 June 2009 at 7.58pm | Permalink

    Sexual tension, spies, Spanish/Portugese, Ashley/Glen friendship..

    All the things I love!

    Thanks for this, Dev, Part 2 will be up soon, yes? =). I’m wondering about Cãozinho.. just a puppet, or actually involved?

  2. tee452
    Posted 3 June 2009 at 12.18am | Permalink

    First, the title of this chapter suits me well right now.

    I’m shit at being concise, so this is in a few parts.
    Ha, somehow I doubt that brevity is ever in high demand when it comes to fic a la Dev.

    Oooh, security suits Spencer’s nature well, doesn’t it. I like the thought of her bursting into a department store dressing room and dragging Ashley out commando-style.

    I can’t wait for the parrot to tell a secret!

  3. peanut
    Posted 3 June 2009 at 6.51pm | Permalink

    commando-style
    The double meaning made me laugh … And I know that wasn’t your intention, Tee. You can blame LAJ.

    Somehow I’m picturing kind of a butch Spencer, which was weird at first, but made me curious. So I wanna know more about her.
    I’m pretty much intrigued and hope we’ll get the next chapter soon! :)

    Spencer Carlin, we need you now.

  4. sunarU .N enyaP
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 7.48am | Permalink

    Whoa, story story, me wanna read more! Yes! Fantastico! That’s a small snippet of my Spanish right there. =D

    Kay now. Bed time. But I love the detail, and I love how ridiculous Ashley’s come-ons are…pull the stick out, Spence!

  5. peanut
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 9.06am | Permalink

    I love how ridiculous Ashley’s come-ons are
    That’s just because they’re as lame as yours :P

  6. dev0347
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 2.16pm | Permalink

    I doubt that brevity is ever in high demand when it comes to fic à la Dev.
    If I had an ounce of modesty, I’d blush. But, I don’t, so instead I’ll just say thank you!

  7. tee452
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 2.22pm | Permalink

    Ashley going commando. *high 5’s Peanut*

  8. beautifulkvdisaster9
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 5.07pm | Permalink

    Ouuu, this is exciting. I love it already, Dev.

    *jumps up and down* more please?!?

    *grins*

  9. BG
    Posted 4 June 2009 at 5.33pm | Permalink

    This has me intrigued. The idea of Spencer kicking some ass while trying to get Ashley back has me eagerly waiting in anticipation.

    Spencer saying this, “Could you just, for once, not do this?” Unlike Spencer’s normal curt response, she sounded both tired and pleading. Ashley felt immediately chastened., has me wondering. Is Ashley breaking through Spencer’s armour?

    As usual, I am excited to see what else you have in store.

  10. Makiki
    Posted 5 June 2009 at 12.05pm | Permalink

    Yeah! Story! Good!

  11. sunarU .N enyaP
    Posted 7 June 2009 at 7.22am | Permalink

    Peanutty, the ones I used on you don’t count. =D

  12. Ringo
    Posted 7 June 2009 at 7.31pm | Permalink

    Whoa whoa whoa! I totally missed this! Not cool. Damn my hectic schedule right now!

    So, yeah, I was really hoping that this plotline would get picked, mostly because of the “parrot tells a secret” point. *shrugs* I can’t explain it.

    And who the hell will be complaining about a multi-parter when we have amazingness like THIS? Oh Spashley, how I’ve missed you. Definitely looking forward to reading the next part, which I’m going to do now.

  13. yeahbut...no
    Posted 9 June 2009 at 2.22pm | Permalink

    YAY!!!

    new fic

    I LOVE LOVE LOVE Ashley in this, her chat up lines are genius!

    Spence is all serious huh! we all know she wants Ash, she seems sane….of sorts,

    I liked the detail to fashion too Dev, I would have gone with the light brown aviators but they are less secret spy *wink*

    and damn it! I knew that about kidnappers too, Cao seems nice though.

    Please don’t kill Ash, she still has a lot of chat up lines to butcher! and many inches of skin to lick.

    As ever merci beacoup Devolicious.

  14. evilgiraffe
    Posted 18 June 2009 at 8.52pm | Permalink

    I agree with the above – who on earth would complain about getting extra chapters of a Dev fic.

    Question though, why did she need to know the word for blowjob??? Please, thank you, beer I have definitely tried to learn in any language of the place I am in, but blowjob….not so much. :)

    If the blonde had just given it up – like they both knew that she wanted to – then Ash would have been gone by now. But, no, Little Miss Superspy had to play hard-to-get, virtually forcing Ashley to remain in the country until she had her wicked, wicked way with her.

    I loved this little summary of the situation. And I am betting behind it there is actually far less bravado and far more affection. Yeh right she would have been gone if Spencer gave it up. And I bet it is not just Spencer playing hard-to-get that is “forcing” her to say, more simply just Spencer.

    Loving the sexual tension they’ve got going on!

    More, more, more!! Oh look, I’m late to the party, there is more. Yay! *runs off to read*

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