Work Text:
WHEN YOU SAID
"Zayn Malik. Art Thief. Rumored to have been --,"
Perrie tries to hold back her laugh, but it bubbles over anyway. "An art thief? Is that really what we should be focused on right now?"
Jesy scowls, says, "It is when six people have been killed," which shuts up anymore laughing Perrie would have done.
"Okay. Continue."
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"This is Jade Thirlwall." Jesy says, motions to the small mouse-like girl beside her. "She'll be our techie."
"What will you be, then?"
Jesy scowls -- she always seems to be making that face whenever Perrie opens her mouth --, says, "I'll be the one trying to keep your ass alive."
"Right." Perrie says, nods. "Thank you."
Jesy rolls her eyes, and Jade smiles, something small that turns big when Perrie makes finger guns at Jesy’s back when she turns away.
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Her name is Maggie Smith ("Boring!" "Oh, shut up!"). She's an aspiring author, and she's traveling around looking for an authentic setting for her novel.
("What kind of novel am I writing?"
"You're writing a romance novel."
"Oh, what a pile of crap! I don't want to write a romance!"
"What do you want to writing about?" (This is Jade.)
"Dragons."
"What art thief wants to be with a woman who writes about dragons?" (Jesy.)
"Dragons are artsy.")
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Perrie isn't very good with rules. A week into Operation Catch! That! Thief! (unofficial, because the one Jesy uses sounds too serious ("It is serious! Now pay attention before you end up dead!" "Oh, I doubt I'll end up dead.")) she tells Leigh-Anne.
Leigh-Anne says, "Are you going to die?"
She laughs, because of course that's the first question. "No. I haven't yet, anyway."
"You've done this before." It's a statement, not a question, but Perrie answers anyway:
"Top Secret spy, you know."
"Can't you get fired for telling me this then?"
Perrie pauses a moment. Then, "Yes, possibly. Would be worth it, though."
Leigh-Anne grins, bumps their shoulders together. "Well, thanks. Stay safe, I suppose."
"Stay safe." Perrie mimics. Then, "Thanks. See you for dinner."
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She's sent to an art gala in Los Angeles -- some place that starts with David and ends in a last name she can't pronounce --, where it is rumored Malik is to happen by.
She's got Jesy in one ear, telling her don't go to him -- let him come to you, along with his location and his actions. Perrie is quick with the details, follows the path Jesy tells her to. She passes Malik five times, stands and gazes at a painting beside the one he's at multiple times, and yet he has not approached her.
It is not until she is looking at a particularly ugly piece of work -- something with lots of dull oranges and bright, neon greens -- that Jesy hisses in her ear, quick and sharp, wait for it! Don't look back!
And so she waits, and waits, stares at this ugly piece of work as she feels the stare in her own back, and then:
"You've been looking at this for quite some time."
She makes herself jump, raises a hand to her heart in fright before twisting to look at him. He is much more attractive up close. Dark skin and a cut in his eyebrow, a thick, well-trimmed beard.
"Sorry." He says, "Didn't mean to scare you." He doesn't look like he's sorry for doing it, though.
So she smirks, adapts a new personality, one of a girl who won't shy away from a man. "Oh? You seem like the sort who loves to frighten innocent girls like myself."
"Oh?" He repeats, lips quirked in a smile that makes him look years younger than his beard alludes to. "What else do I seem like?"
Perrie turns her body to face him, crossed her arms across her chest, uses the stance to push up her breasts. "Are you flirting with me?"
"Me?" He asks, eyes flicking from her breasts to her eyes. "Never." Then, "Want to come back to mine?"
"You waste no time at all, do you?"
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It is not until the fifth time she is in his hotel room that he almost catches her.
She's bugging the rooms -- two in his room, one in the kitchen, three in the living area. She's sliding one under the coffee table when he comes out.
He eyes the way she's knelt before the table, the way she's got two hands up beneath it.
"Lost an earing," She says, hopes it works, prays it works,
closes her eyes and thanks God when it does.
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"You aren't. Supposed. To tell. Anyone."
Perrie shrinks, because while she's been the aim of many of Jesy's looks, she's never heard her this angry. She goes to open her mouth, to explain that Leigh-Anne isn't just anyone but a different voice beats her to it.
"I can help." Leigh-Anne says, hard, determined. "I want to help."
"Oh?" Jesy mocks, raises an eyebrow. "And what do you think you'd be doing? Going undercover with Edwards? She's barely pulling it together as is, I don't think you'll be much help."
Perrie guffaws, makes to defend herself, to protest, but Leigh-Anne shushes her with a look.
"I can do tech stuff. I'm good with a computer."
"Right, well, we already have a tech person. Her name is Jade. She's sitting right there."
Jade looks up for the first time since Jesy's outburst. She eyes Leigh-Anne through her glasses, says, "We can work together, if you'd like."
Jesy whirls around, and Perrie is more than pleased to finally not be on the receiving end of that scowl. "You can't just say that! It's illegal!"
Jade sighs, rolls her eyes. "It's love."
Perrie gaps, Leigh-Anne squeaks, and Jesy rolls her eyes, says, "Love! What has that got to do with anything?"
Jade just gives her a look.
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"What are you doing?"
Perrie drops the book in her hands, lets it clatter to the desk before she whirls around. "Nothing," she says airily. "You have so many books, I was just looking."
Malik raises an eyebrow, saunters toward her, towel hanging low on his hips. He pauses an inch before her, so close Perrie feels she can feel the water droplets. She holds her breath as he leans forward, but he just snakes a hand behind her back and snatches up the book. "Well, don't."
"Touchy," she says, watches as he throws the book to the side.
He grins, twirls a piece of her hair around his finger. "You don't even know."
"Why don't you show me, then?"
"Well, why not?" He hooks a finger over the edge of her jeans and tugs her close.
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He sleeps like the dead after sex, but she doesn't trust it all that much. She waits five minutes before slipping out of the bed and pulling her underwear and shirt back on.
Snooping in the bedroom is too risky, so she goes for the living area. It's a mess of papers -- but it's still mostly nothing.
But then --
"Maggie?"
She lets out a string of curses, grabs the paper and crumples it up. She drops it into her shoe by the couch before slinking back into the bedroom.
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She sleeps with him four times, and it's not horrible, but she goes home and scrubs herself until her skin turns red each time after.
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When she wakes up, the paper is no longer there. Her heart races, sure she's been caught, but Malik just grins at her from behind the breakfast bar, cup of coffee in his hands.
Still, she doesn't feel entirely safe until she makes it down to her car.
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Leigh-Anne grabs Perrie's hands tight in hers, nails digging into the pale, freckled flesh. "Be careful," She says, eyes wild.
Perrie isn't about to admit that she's scared, too, that she knows it's now or never; there have been too many close calls, and if Malik gets suspicious again, she doesn't know if she'll be able to twist her way out of it. No, she's not about to admit that -- not to Leigh-Anne, not to herself. She laughs instead, this tinkling little thing, before, swift as a fox, she smacks her lips against Leigh-Anne's cheek, "Always am," she says, winks.
Leigh-Anne must see right through it, because her eyes narrow just the smallest bit. Still, she smiles back, releases her grip. Chucking her under the chin, she says, "Go get 'em, tiger."
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It's the last time they see each other.
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"Ms. Smith, what a delight."
Perrie smiles, something dark and devious; she's a trained actress. "Mr. Malik, I'm sure it is."
He grins right back at her, his knife smile, the one so sharp and wicked Perrie has wondered a million times where he's learned it from. "Modest, as always."
"Always am." She hopes Leigh-Anne's listening when she says it.
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It doesn't occur to her until it's too late that the man driving the limo is not the same man as usual. This man is much younger, with a shaved head and a crooked nose, a tattoo peeking out the back of his collar.
"Is something wrong, Ms. Smith?"
Perrie shakes her head, turns her attention back to Malik, back to his sharp face and sharp smile and sharp words. "No, nothing. Just very eager for the party."
Malik's lips quirk, and he's got a glint in his eye Perrie doesn't quite recognize; it's different from the one he gives her when she looks particularly good, and he feels particularly horny. It's a looks that sends a chill up her spine and sets a trail goosebumps along her legs and hard, makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
"As am I," he says, holds out a glass of champagne for her. "How about a little bit of pregame?"
She flicks an eyebrow up, takes the glass between her fingertips and leans forward, towards him, the way Leigh-Anne taught her -- just a little bit of cleavage, she'd said, leave them wanting more. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Malik?"
"Me?" He says, smirks, loops his arm through her like couples at weddings do. "Never."
She laughs, that tinkling laugh. "Bottoms up, then."
It takes her exactly five seconds to realize she shouldn't have done it.
She just hopes Jade is watching.
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She struggles in her seat, but her limbs are heavy, hard to move. Tied? Her hands must be. Her eyelids are heavy, too, like she fell asleep in her makeup and was restless, like they haven't been opened in years.
She goes back into unconsciousness before she can really try to open them.
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It's easier to open her eyes the next time, though they don't come open all the way. She sees very little -- the ground (cement, cracked, dirty), a door (closed, light peaking through the bottom of it), and a chair placed in front of her.
It's empty.
She thanks God and prays that someone is on their way.
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It's not, the next time she wakes up.
Malik is there, sitting Indian-style, elbows on his knees as he picks the dirt from under his fingernails out with a knife. A sharp knife, at that.
She tries not to make a noise, but whatever was in her drink must make her brain and vocal chords unwilling to work together, because Malik is looking up a moment later. He grins -- a slow, lazy grin -- when he sees her eyes open, uncrosses his legs and plants his feet on the ground.
"Ms. Smith," he says, smooth as silk. "I was sure you'd never wake up. It'd make this a lot less messy."
There goes the hope that this was some kind of kinky foreplay. Perrie is nothing if not hopeful.
She mumbles something, but her lips aren't in the mood for moving.
"What was that?" He asks, raises an eyebrows. "Can you say it a little clearer?"
She glares (or tries, anyway).
"Oh!" He claps, eyes lighting up as he shakes his head. "Right! You can't." He drops the act a second later, the grin back. "Sorry 'bout that. I wasn't sure how much would knock you out, so I just guessed a lot." A shrug. "Whoops. For that, I'll just make this whole situation real quick-like for ya."
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They don’t find her till she’s been cut open and barely alive; they don't find her till it's too late.
They get Malik, though.
So, there's that, at least.
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Leigh-Anne doesn't go the the funeral. She doesn't want to hear the lie -- suicide, they say, unsavable. She stays in bed and cries, and cries, and cries, and then once all her tears are gone, she lays in bed like a zombie. She gets up only to use the restroom, and she drinks only from the half-empty glasses and half-empty water bottles Perrie left on her nightstand.
She wonders if she'll ever feel alright again. She knows the answer is probably not.
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Jade shows up on week two. She finds the key under the matt outside Leigh-Anne's door and let's herself in. Leigh-Anne can hear her humming in the kitchen, can her cabinets being opened and plates being pulled out and the faucet being turned on her off.
She makes her way to Leigh-Anne's room a half hour after arriving. She doesn't look good -- her eyes are red and puffy, like she'd been crying as she cooked, and her hair is in a state of natural curls piled upon her hide in the messiest of buns. Still, she gives Leigh-Anne a tight-lipped smile.
"You should eat."
Leigh-Anne knows she's right, but she also knows that Perrie is dead, and she'll never eat another meal with her, and she'll never watch another movie with her, and she'll never see her smile again, and she'll never share another bed with her, and she'll never get to tell Perrie how much she really meant to her, so. Eating doesn't top the list of important things at the moment.
Jade sighs, though is doesn't sound defeated, just sounds tired. And sad. A lot like how Leigh-Anne feels. She kicks off her shoes, tightens her bun, and crawls onto the bed. She lays down beside Jesy, fingers linked across her stomach as she stares up at the ceiling.
She stays on top of the covers, and Leigh-Anne is thankful.
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On the third day, Leigh-Anne tries to kiss her.
Jade laughs, a breathy, broken little thing and jerks her face away. "I'm not Perrie." She says.
"I know." Leigh-Anne says it, after a moment, but she doesn't really mean it. She doesn't know anything anymore.
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On the fifth day, she makes it out of bed.
Jade watches her from the kitchen table as she makes her way down the hallway, forkful of egg in her mouth. When Leigh-Anne pulls the seat across from her out and sits, she swallows and says, "Good morning."
"Nothing good about it." She says, fills her plate with half the eggs left in the bowl. Then, quietly, embarrassed, "Sorry for trying to kiss you."
Jade laughs, forks another forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. "Yeah, no problem."
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She dreams of Perrie that night.
In her dream, Perrie is alive and well. She is holding her hand as they walk along the lake. She is humming an unknown tune and jumping back from insects. She is grinning at Leigh-Anne over a glass of red wine.
When she pulls the glass away, it isn't wine anymore.
Leigh-Anne wakes with a start.
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A week later, Jesy shows up, too. Her and Jade are drinking chocolate milk (something Jesy doesn't seem to be enjoying, if the way her lips are set is anything to go by) on the couch when Leigh-Anne wakes up and gets herself out there.
They stop talking the moment Leigh-Anne comes into view, and she scowls at them. "Go on, then. Keep talking about me. Not like it's my house or anything."
Jesy scowls right back, rolls her eyes and says, "Please. Not everything is about you, Pinnock. Now, come sit down and drink this chocolate milk."
Leigh-Anne sits, takes the mug Jade passes to her from Jesy but doesn't drink it. "Where have you been, then?"
Jesy laughs, but it's nothing like how she used to. "Me? Where have you been?"
Leigh-Anne shrugs, watches the milk in her cup move around. "Here."
Jesy doesn't sigh, but she might as well have. "Yeah, I know."
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"I miss her." Jesy says, from where she's lying beside Leigh-Anne on the bed, Jade on Leigh-Anne's other side; the best isn't made for three people, so it's all overlapping limbs. But it's the nicest Leigh-Anne has felt in a while, so she content to stay like this.
Jade makes a noise, something between a laugh and a snort. "Never thought I'd ever hear you say that."
Jesy sniffs, says, "I didn't hate her. She was funny. Smart, too. Maybe a little too talkative but, still, whatever. I miss her."
"Yeah," Jade says, rests her temple against Leigh-Anne's shoulder.
"I loved her." Leigh-Anne says, and it feels nice to say aloud. She never got the chance to, before.
The other two girls are quite a moment, and Leigh-Anne is thankful for it.
"Yeah," Jesy says finally, reaches over to tangle their fingers together. "She loved you, too."
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Jade manages to get her into the shower after three weeks, and Jesy makes her laugh after five. She makes (and burns) dinner after seven; Jesy and Jade eat it through not-so-well hidden grimaces.
"This is. . . something." Jesy says, picks at the fish-thing with her fork.
"Oh, yes, very unique." Jade is a much more believable actress, she at least tries to smile as she swallows it down.
Leigh-Anne frowns, pokes at her own fish-thing. "Perrie made it better. I don't know why mine turned out so . . ."
"Gross? Smelly? Rubbery?"
"Jesy!"
Jesy rolls her eyes, waves away Jade's hand. "Please, as if you weren't thinking the same thing."
Leigh-Anne thinks she'll be alright, as long as she has these two girls. Together, they'll keep Perrie alive.