[Room 15, with Michael]

[notinthebook]

 She's got the brand-new bottle of Johnny Walker Blue in one hand when she knocks at the door of Room 15, feeling unaccountably nervous.  

It's not like this is weird, or anything.  It's not like she thinks he'll be unhappy to see her -- or the whiskey.  And she wants to know how the latest mission went, whether there were more crab-monsters involved, or...whatever might be out there.

(But they haven't talked, alone, since her stint as bartender and the fight they'd had, which, in retrospect...she doesn't even remember how it got started, or why.  That feeling of sinking unhappiness is pretty immediately recognizable, though.)

If asked, she might not even be able to say why she's here, aside from the simplest reason she can put in words: she wanted to see him.

I miss you, he'd written, once.

Well, the feeling's mutual.

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[notinthebook]

She plucks the keys from his hand with a delicate motion and leans in to kiss his cheek. "Promise not to leave you behind," she teases, all flirtation and silliness, but it clears right off her face as soon as she turns to head through the door, keys jangling where she holds them loosely by her hip.

The Eclipse is at the front of the lot, out of sight of the desk, so she takes her time, goes over the engine, the trunk, as much of the chassis as she can see, and the interior, feeling along the bottoms and cracks of the seats.

It seems clean, so she slides into the driver's seat and starts it, unfurls the convertible top as she reaches into her bag for the sunglasses bought from the bar. They're the kind of sunglasses she normally wouldn't bother with -- thick white plastic frames and shaded lenses, they're showy and trendy and they ought to fit in just right with the woman she'll be playing.

The car drives smoothly enough, and it's got plenty of kick to it, wind tugging at her hair as she drives up to the office and leans over, beeping the horn as she tips down the glasses to peer at the three men.

"Come on, baby. Let's get going."

[luvs_yogurt]

While she's gone, Michael takes the liberty of doing what he does best when playing a character that's not too bright - running his mouth. It's amazing what admitting to doing time for a couple felonies can open the doors for. By the time Emma rolls up in the car, he's already gotten a little information on the target out of them.

"All right, boys - guessin' she likes the ride." He claps his hands together and offers a wave before picking his bag back up and heading for the car.

"Not a bad choice," he grins, tucking into the passenger seat. "Turn west - we're heading back for the freeway. Next stop isn't until we get closer to Miami Beach."

[notinthebook]

The Eclipse lacks the sheer power of the Charger, but it's got plenty of speed and pickup, and she turns onto the road with a loud hum of the engine, wind tossing at her hair. "Your dressmaker?"

It's good to slip back out of character, to slouch back against the driver's seat and relax, but she has to admit that there was something appealing about playing the role, aside from how it felt to have his arm around her waist, which is...problematic, if she lets it be.

But is it really all that bad? If Graham's got somebody, and never made a move or showed any interest, and she doesn't even know what she feels about him anyway, is it so damn bad to feel so good with Michael?

[luvs_yogurt]

"My dressmaker!" He confirms with a smirk before leaning in and pressing another, purposeful kiss to her shoulder.

"You did amazing, when we stop I'll do a full sweep of the car just in case - but I think we've got a winner here."

He slides close to her and wiggles an arm under her back to give a quick squeeze before sliding back over to his side and slipping on his seatbealt; "I'll give directions when we get closer."

[notinthebook]

"Yeah, I think so, too."

It feels good, anyway, roaring down to the freeway, pickup eager and the car responsive. And it feels good when he presses another kiss to her shoulder, when his arm goes around her again, even though he's so damn distracting she should really make sure he stays as far away as possible when they're actually moving.

Hitting the radio, she grins over at him, letting her left arm hang over the door and feeling light-hearted and happy like she hasn't for a day and half, one eyebrow arching into a smirk.

"You keep that up and we're gonna have to make an earlier stop, first, though."

[luvs_yogurt]

His grin softens once more to that genuine, tender realness that he's so rarely given to anyone else.

"I wouldn't complain, but they do close in a couple hours..." He's only mostly teasing, honestly - he'd jump at the chance if she so much as gave the implication she wanted to.

He kicks back and pushes his shades up the bridge of his nose - watching her through the amber lenses.

[notinthebook]

This is confusing, if she thinks about it too hard. He'd said he wanted to be friends, but did that actually preclude the possibility of anything else happening between them again? This, all of this -- it doesn't feel like just friends. Friends don't sneak little kisses onto any available patch of bare skin, they don't take up teasing offers of pulling this damn car right over so she can...what?

She glances over, gets an electric little jolt at the way he's smiling at her.

"Better not, then," she says, and it's impossible to tell even to herself how much of the regret in her voice is real or teasing. "It's no good starting things off by being late. Besides..."

It's got to be hard to pinpoint her expression from behind this giant, smoked lenses, but her mouth keeps twitching into a smile.

"We've got the whole night to kill, right?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Oh, he knows that look. And he knows that he's not the only one in the delightful boat of confusion he keeps trying to feel out. It's kind of nice, really.

"In a really nice hotel room, no less."

Where he only plans to do a little surveillance. Just a little.

After a slight pause, he adds; "You know, if that's what you're in the mood for."

[notinthebook]

"Nice hotel room trumps car every time," she says, turning her attention back to the road. "I'm pretty much always in the mood for one of those."

She may be deliberately misunderstanding him, but they've both been kind of circling this whole thing since -- well, pretty much since it started, wary as if it's a land mine neither of them are sure is a dud or not.

They're heading onto the freeway, anyhow: she flicks on a blinker and merges into traffic, the radio playing some top forty song she knows, only because it was popular a few years ago in her world.

That's weird. She hadn't thought about the time slip that might happen. What year is this, anyhow?

They're cruising in the middle lane, traffic sliding by, inconsequential, and she gives him an odd little smile. "Keep it on the back burner for now. Where are we headed from here?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Ahh, good old 2007 - Plain White T's 'Hey There Delilah', Taylor Swift's Teardrops On My Guitar and John Mayer's Gravity in heavy rotation on almost every radio station in every state for months.

Back burner he can do, he's just happy to have it on the stove.

"Yes m'am," he smirks and pulls out the printed directions Barry had given him - giving her the next mark, still a little way out.

"Got some interesting information from the rental guys while you were snooping," he says casually, "Our guy calls himself Benny Bahamas - used to be a small town bookie but lately he's been working his way up the ranks loan sharking, which is how our client got involved with him. As it happens, he's invited a party about a half mile away from our hotel where he'll be making his first big coke deal... talk about trying to branch out."

[notinthebook]

Like she could shut it away now. Tension's been stringing itself between them since she went to his room to apologize, and she can feel it winding tighter and tighter, twanging with every little touch or smile.

Well, there goes that resolution, right out the window, but the last day's been so miserable, she can't bring herself to care.

From bookie to coke dealer: it's a hell of a graduation.

"Trying to move up in the world, huh?"

She hits the gas and the Eclipse speeds up, passing a clunker of a Mercury Marquis with zero effort -- not fast enough to get pulled over, of course, but the kind of just-over-the-limit speed any cop would expect from a blonde in a silver convertible.

"You'd think some of these guys would eventually go legit, but nope. I guess they just like the ease of crime."

Right up until they get caught. "So, let me guess. I also happen to have an invite to this party, am I right?"

[luvs_yogurt]

He takes the shift easily, looking back at her with a flash of pearly whites and sweet eyes behind his shades.

"It's Miami, pretty blondes always have an invitation to a party - especially when they look like they've got lots of money. I'll leave the character up to you, but one way or another, I need you to get close to him and get him to talk about as much as you can. I'm gonna have you recording every bit of it, so anything we can get him to comp to is good - especially the big charges. Get him to come out to the car with you - I don't care how - and then when goes to get in, you come around the back and duck down. That's when we'll make the switch. I've got to have a little chat with him in case he doesn't end up spending long enough in prison to set him straight while you call the cops."

[notinthebook]

You can what you want about Michael -- guy's got a killer smile, and she is not, contrary to popular belief, immune.

At this point, she's not even trying.

"Easy enough." She glances over, one eyebrow flicking upwards as she shrugs. "Guys like that like to run their mouths, especially if they're feeling confident. Especially if they think they're getting laid."

There was a reason the online dating profile was one of her go-to moves for the low-level scumbags like what's-his-face in Boston.

"I like it."

[luvs_yogurt]

She'll be fine, he's sure of it. As much as the thought of sending someone he cares about into the lion's den bothers him - he knows that if anyone can make it happen, it's her. She's smart and adaptable, and if all else fails he'll be listening to the whole thing and able to make emergency contact.

"Thought you might." He nods more to himself than anything; "Have you ever been bugged before?"

It's simple conversation for him, he already knows how he's going to set up her rig - she'll barely know it's there.

[notinthebook]

She shrugs again, shoulders round against the back of the seat. "I've used bugs before. They don't normally need to be on me, but I'm pretty familiar with the concept."

Not that she's ever really needed to make extensive use of them. She was a bounty hunter: she didn't do a lot of research ahead of time to snag her bailjumpers, because for the most part, it wasn't needed.

From time to time, though.

She glances at the rearviews, starts moving towards the right lane as their exit sign comes up.

"I figure you'll walk me through it."

[luvs_yogurt]

He nods easily enough, "I'll run you through it tomorrow well before you go in."

Giving directions two turns at a time, it's easy to guide Emma to the shop - she listens well and seems comfortable enough in the unfamiliar car on unfamiliar roads.

The shop itself is pretty basic from the outside, inside it looks like most any boutique you'd find from one end of the country to the other. Several off the rack pieces in a variety of 'average' sizes. At the back, a large woman of about fifty works at a sewing machine and doesn't even look up when they enter.

[notinthebook]

This is...maybe not what she was expecting, but, she realizes, that's mostly due to not really thinking about it that hard. She'd had a vague image in her head of the kind of designer boutiques where she'd up picked the few dresses she owns, but this makes more sense. It's quiet, it's out of the way, and it doesn't look like the kind of place that can knock out something amazing overnight.

But what does she know? She sucks at sewing.

One hand drops to her hip as she follows him in, the other tracing lightly along the clothing racks, making a few hangars rattle gently as the cloth beneath them sways.

Aside from that, she lets him take point: she's just here to get fitted.

[luvs_yogurt]

"Ms. Vee?" Michael asks with a soft smile as he approaches the woman, "A mutual friend said you could help us out with a couple of dresses overnight."

The woman stops her machine slowly, finishing the line of careful stitching before looking up at him with what could almost be described as a glare if not for a certain sense of playfulness behind it. "This friend..." she replies in a thick Czechoslovakian accent; "he tells you wrong, I don't do rush job."

"I understand, but this is very important, see - I need two versions of the same dress. One fitted to my very special lady friend here and another for me." He admits, somewhat sheepishly. "It's, uh... sort of our anniversary tomorrow and we're gonna try something a little... naughty."

When you want people to hurry, embarrass them. The more shocking you're willing to be without going over the top, the more they will do whatever it takes to get you out of there.

"I don't fit men."

"Please? Chuck Finley said that you are the best, and I need the best." He withdrew his wallet, pulling out the cash he'd earmarked for the dresses; "I'll pay cash."

At the name, her face seems to draw up even further only to relax with the easy flash of his money. After considering it a moment, she calls out toward the back in Czech; "We got a deviant here, two dresses overnight - says he's a friend of Mr. Finley."

Smiling as though he didn't understand what she was saying; Michael reiterated; "Lots of cash, up front if you fit us both now and then have the dresses ready by four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

A low male voice responds in Czech; "They know Mr. Finely? He got the police off me last month. No charge, no charge for friends of Mr. Finely. We have time."

The woman frowns deeply and looks to Michael; "My son thinks that you should pay extra for rush job. No guarantee, I never fit man."

"Mama!" An even larger man of about thirty steps through a curtain hanging over the door to what Michael assumes is their office. "You don't lie like that..."

Grinning even wider, Michael replies in their own language; "No problem. I can pay regular price, I just need this work done. Will you help me?"

The pair was silenced, hearing Czech out of his mouth. After a long moment, the man said; "No charge, I insist. I will fit him, Mama. You measure his wife."

[notinthebook]

She's got to hand it to him; the guy is a master of ridiculous stories. She's watching with a tiny sort of smile edging at her lips, hand cocked on her hip, eyes going back and forth between Michael and the stubborn old woman who doesn't -- unsurprisingly -- want to fit this admittedly masculine guy for a dress.

She's pretty sure she wouldn't want to, either.

It's not much of a surprise when the son gets dragged in, either, but Michael busting out a few choice sentences in Czech is, a little. Not that she'd forgotten he speaks other languages, but...it's different hearing them come out of his mouth.

Whatever he says shuts both bickering family members right up, though, and it seems to work, because the sullen old lady gets up, moving slowly, and crooks an annoyed finger at Emma. "You," she says, imperiously. "Come."

So she goes.

The woman produces a tape from some pocket or other, nods sharply at Emma, who lifts her arms obligingly. Bust, underbust, waist, hip; shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to waist, waist to hemline. She's efficient, muttering to herself as she works, marking down the measurements taken with a dull pencil.

"You know," she tells Michael when she's done, "I always feel kind of violated after getting measured for stuff."

It's too up close and personal, but this will be worth it.

[luvs_yogurt]

For her, it will be. If nothing, she'll get an amazing custom fit dress out of it. He's just got a little more personal humiliation to deal with. Not that it really bothers him much. After all, it sort of was his plan. But, he needs to catch the asshole off his guard and a guy in a dress and blonde wig that is probably not the blonde you came out with? That'll get your attention.

Measuring him takes a little more work, and he talks in Czech in hushed tones with the man as he works. Turns out he's a friend of Sam's (not shocking) and owed him a few favors. Hey - if it saves a couple grand and ensures the work gets done he's more than happy to call one in for him. With Mikal, the son, he goes over the pattern of the dress - a simple, longer cocktail dress in soft red.

When he finally slides back into the car - taking the wheel himself this time - he's decidedly worse off than she is.

"Yeah, try having those same measurements taken and then having to account for body parts that you don't have."

[notinthebook]

"Along with adding in a couple you're lacking?" She gives him a look that's part amused, part sympathetic. "Yeah. I feel for you."

Buckling up, she frowns at the radio, changes the station to something a little more classic, and leans back, head rolling against the headrest so she can look over at him while he drives, and wonder. Why her? He'd said from the second time they met that he trusted her, and she still doesn't know why. People don't trust her that easily, ever.

(Except...she can still hear the hesitation in Mary Margaret's voice. I, um, trust you.)

And Michael says the same thing.

Better than that, he wants her around, offered to be a friend and ally if nothing else, someone she can rely on.

And he's the one she wanted to see to make her crappy day better, so maybe she shouldn't be laying all these questions on him. "Any more errands for today?"

[luvs_yogurt]

Yeah, definitely a few he's lacking, and he really can't blame her amusement - if it were Sam instead of him he'd be laughing.

He watches the miles slide by just over the speed limit, and after a long pause he offers her a shrug. "Up to you. Barry took care of the hotel and it won't be time to find some dinner for at least an hour. So, if there's anywhere you'd like to be... or something you want to do..."

It's open ended on purpose, he's giving her room - letting her know this is her time as much as it's his. Comfortable, no pressure.

[notinthebook]

The sun takes a long time to set in Miami: up in Maine, it's starting to brush the tips of the trees even in the middle of the day, and she closes her eyes, basks in it, trying to make her muscles and joints relax while he takes so long to answer.

Like there's anything she knows to do or anyplace she wants to be in Miami. It's a cautious answer, one that makes her think he's got something else in mind, but that it's personal, not the business they've been doing so far.

"Well," she says, "let's at least go check in and drop our stuff off. Maybe by then inspiration will strike."

[luvs_yogurt]

Inspiration is one word for the low boil sexual tension - the obvious knot that says they both want the same things but neither wants to be the first to bend.

The closer they get to the hotel room, the more certain Michael is that he'll have to break the sheet of glass between them.

He checks in and before both bags have hit the floor, he turns to pin Emma between himself and the door - kissing her firmly as the lock clicks over.

It's something.

[notinthebook]

There isn't time to do anything but drop her bag and close her eyes, and then he's right there, solid and heavy and pushing her back against the door, making her lips part and a low, needy sound pull itself out of her throat. Her fingers knot in his shirt, run up his back, tug at his belt loops to bring him closer.

This -- this is what she wants, wants that spark to light and burn away the misery of the last day. She wants to take every last brick she's built up and rip them out.

He kisses her until she pants for breath, grinning against his mouth, and when she has to pause to take a breath, she reaches up to cradle his head with both hands and tug him back to meet her again. He tastes like salt and peppermint tea and it's so good she feels a little like a hydrogen balloon about to swallow itself up in flames.