Leather And Lace Part 1

* Leather and Lace *

by Greek Warrior.

Disclaimer #1: This is an Uber story and the characters that appear in this story may seem familiar but aren't the same as the ones we all know and love. All the characters that appear here are made up from my deranged little mind. They're fict.i.tious and aren't meant to resemble anyone. This is all done in fun and yes I know I need to get a life.

Disclaimer #2: Taz belongs to the folks at Warner Brothers Studios. s...o...b.. Doo belongs to Hanna-Barberra. The X-Files belongs to somebody other than me, anything you recognize isn't mine folks, I got tired of looking this stuff up.

Warning: This story contains explicit consensual s.e.x between adult women. If you're under legal age in your neck of the woods, go away. If you live in a place that frowns upon that sort of behavior, tell'em to kiss your derrire then talk to your Congressman, or move, or both.

Warning: This story contains violence. We are talking about a certain warrior's descendant, you know.

Note: The quote at the end of chapter one is from Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'.

Feedback is most welcome as long as it's constructive. Remember, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, although I've always wondered why anyone would want a bunch of flies! I can be contacted at Thanks for reading.

Part 1.

Chapter One:.

The woman turned the corner and continued down the long, conspicuously empty, hallway towards the briefing room, the drab grey walls and slate colored floor the same as she remembered them. Even though she walked in silence down the corridor, people peeked out of doorways, just after she pa.s.sed them. 'Well not completely empty.' She noticed. 'Just avoiding me.' She ignored the eyes watching her and let the whispered comments, barely heard as she walked by, go in one ear and out the other. It was to be expected since this was her first time back after the disastrous mission three months before.

"Captain Chandler." The voice called to her from behind.

She stopped and turned around. "Yes?" She prompted, when a man that she didn't recognize, caught up to her but could only stare at the almost legend standing before him.

Captain Raven Frances Chandler, six feet tall, piercing blue eyes, just past the shoulder black-as-night hair and at the age of 26, already in charge of one of The Divisions elite squads.

A raised eyebrow from the Captain broke the man's enamored trance. He cleared his throat nervously. "I...um...just wanted to say, welcome back and that I'd be honored to work on your team."

"Thank you, Sergeant...Hardly." She glanced at his nametag. The man was a few inches shorter than her and a little on the skinny side. He had mousy brown colored, straight hair that just brushed the top of his collar and large brown eyes that stared at her in wonderment like a puppy dog waiting for some kind of praise from it's owner. He stepped back and snapped a crisp salute, which she returned with slightly less enthusiasm. She smiled and shook her head as she watched the Sergeant practically march back down the hall. 'Definitely new and eager to please.' She thought as she continued to the briefing room.

Officially, the Division is a government anti-terrorist agency that tracks terrorist groups and their activities and is a.s.sociated with the CIA. Unofficially, it is a private organization constructed to combat terrorism with any means possible. The Division has quietly a.s.sa.s.sinated terrorist leaders, bombed their bases of operations, rescued hostages, a.s.sisted small counties when their governments were in danger of military take over attempts and generally been a thorn in the side of anything that resembled terrorist activity.

While being financially backed by many democratic governments and by large corporations, most of which have interests in the Middle East, Central and South America, they are acknowledged by none. Their actions and their people don't exist. It is a very dangerous occupation, but on the up side, it did pay extremely well.

Raven sat on the far side of the oval conference table, the only position in the small room that placed her back against a solid wall. The other three 'walls', were windows that looked out over the communications center to her right, the hallway to her left and facing her, the computer center. She leaned back, crossed her ankles under the table and closed her eyes. She concentrated on quelling her nerves that had started this morning when she left her apartment. She was anxious to prove to herself and her colleagues that she had recovered completely from her ordeal and was fully capable of leading her team again. Physically she was almost one hundred percent and the doctor had cleared her for active duty. The psychiatrist, on-the-other-hand, was more reluctant. She had to convince him that if her mind were occupied with work, it wouldn't have time to dwell in the past. 'And if the nightmares would stop, I might even convince myself.' She mused. Raven pushed back the dark thoughts and smiled as she recognized the familiar tread of her friend's walk as he made his way down the hall and into the room.

"You're here early." John took a seat to her right. He knew better than to ask how she was feeling. He had asked that question last night even though he knew she was sick of it and she had threatened to throw him out of her apartment, by way of the window, which happened to be five floors up. He knew she was joking, but still vowed not to tempt fate. There were times when he thought even he had pushed her legendary temper to the breaking point.

"Traffic was light." She answered without opening her eyes.

John Logan was her Lieutenant and her best friend. A light-skinned African-American with a neatly trimmed mustache and full beard but a clean-shaven head. He was a couple of inches taller than his Captain and had a slender, but muscular build. Even though he was six years Raven's senior, they had signed on with The Division and finished their training at the same time.

John had met Raven twelve years ago when he was a rookie cop a.s.signed to the White Center area of Seattle. He and his partner had brought a feisty juvenile girl in on a drunk and disorderly charge that had quickly turned into an additional charge of resisting arrest when the hotheaded youth had bitten John's arm. He still had the scar to prove it. It was the first of several meetings for Raven and John over the next couple of years.

Colonel Albright and Major Otis entered the room and handed the other two occupants their a.s.signment dossier. No pleasantries pa.s.sed between them, no h.e.l.lo how are you or glad you're back. There was no love lost between the Captain and the Major and the Colonel had been in contact with her during her absence.

Colonel Samuel Albright is six and a half feet tall, sporting collar length salt and pepper hair, a bushy mustache that was just starting to show a few white hairs, but still didn't look anywhere near his fifty plus years. The only things that did show his age were his 'John Lennon gla.s.ses' and the Colonel's insistence on still using '60's' expressions, some of which were beginning to make a comeback. He had a medium build that was just starting to show the signs of a lack of effort in the exercise department and a little overindulgence in the jar of M & M's that he kept on his desk supposedly to offer visitors to his office.

Major Bernard Otis is a short man at five seven. He tried to compensate by building muscle, but took it to the extreme. The end result was a body that looked as thick and wide as it was tall. Light red hair in a military crew cut and a square jaw didn't help his appearance either. Raven always said that if you put him in clothes with different colored checks, that he would look like the Rubik's Cube puzzle thing, which Albright also kept on his desk.

"This mission is a little out of the norm for us." Albright stated as he took his seat at the opposite end of the table from his Captain. He laced his fingers together and placed his hands, palms down, on top of the folder in front of him. "It's more of a preventive a.s.signment than a quick strike or clean-up." He explained.

Which meant it wasn't an a.s.sa.s.sination or bombing or rooting out gorilla resistance groups. Raven, still leaning back with her long legs stretched out under the table, was the picture of calm. She had worn black jeans, hiking boots and a black and red checked flannel s.h.i.+rt instead of the fatigues that usually made up The Division's preferred dress. Whereas, John was leaning forward, arms resting on the table, feet flat on the floor with one leg bouncing up and down with nervous energy. He was dressed in olive drab fatigues like the Colonel and the Major. Raven had never been one for bright, cheery colors, but between the paint scheme and the clothing of choice, she thought it depressing enough to drive 'Mary Suns.h.i.+ne' to commit hara-kiri.

The Colonel cleared his throat to continue, which brought Raven out of her contemplation. "This is Amba.s.sador Andrew Whitfield," Albright flipped open his folder and was referring to the first photo in the dossier, "the instigator of the latest round of peace talks in the Middle East and he is also the chief negotiator for the talks. Right now he's the US Amba.s.sador a.s.signed to the consulate in Istanbul."

Otis picked up the briefing. "Our sources have heard rumblings from several known terrorist groups that would rather these talks not take place. Everyone from the almost non-existent 'PLO' to the new and very active 'Mohammed's Quest' and every group in-between, may try to stop the negotiations by trying to take or kill the Amba.s.sador or use his family to gain his cooperation."

Raven knew where this was heading, they would be providing security for this guy and his family, which basically put, meant babysitting. She also knew she would get an ear full from John after the meeting, he hated these kinds of missions. She wasn't going to complain though; at least she'd be doing something other than sitting around her apartment, thinking.

Raven tried to tune out the Major's voice as she read though the file. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the importance of the briefing, she did. It was just the person doing it that she couldn't stand to listen to. His voice made her think of the old cartoon cat sitting on a fence outside a bedroom window, yowling. Needless to say, it rubbed her the wrong way.

Albright continued when Otis stopped. "As the Major explained, the team will be going in as a military security force, a.s.signed to the emba.s.sy as an extra precaution because of the up-coming talks. The Amba.s.sador and his family know nothing of the possible threats, nor does the emba.s.sy staff. The Lieutenant in charge of the normal emba.s.sy security has been informed of the situation and that additional security is in route. Lieutenant Logan will be in command of all the security personnel." The Colonel paused to allow the question he knew was coming.

"And the reason for this is?" Asked without a threatening tone but one that none-the-less stated that she demanded an answer.

The Colonel stopped the reprimand from Otis. The Major always a.s.sumed the Captain showed a lack of regard for a senior officer, but Albright knew she meant no disrespect, she was just being her usual blunt self. "Not what you're thinking, Captain." He leaned back and sighed. "Our friend the Amba.s.sador is, shall we say, an old fas.h.i.+oned kind of guy. Not so much as to say he doesn't think women shouldn't work, but if they do, it should definitely be for a man." Albright knew this wasn't going over well when he saw the tensed jaw muscles, the grinding teeth and the steely gaze of those blue eyes. He sighed and continued. "Whitfield was also one of the biggest and loudest protesters against women in the military. And since we're going in as military, you'll be running the operation from under the table, so-to-speak. You'll go in separate from the rest of the team." The Colonel was wondering what really, really bad thing he had done in a previous life to be the one having to answer her next question.

"So I'll be undercover." Raven expected the worst. "As what?" She was still leaning back in her chair trying to maintain a casual att.i.tude.

"As a companion slash counselor for the eldest daughter." Albright answered with as much authority as he could muster and waited for the explosion. When it didn't come, he braved a glance at his Captain.

"What kind of counselor?" She asked as she now sat up in her chair. 'Come on, Chandler, you can do this. Stay calm. It's not the people here that are doubting your abilities, it's one pig-headed, asinine, political dignitary that probably has to have an aid wipe his a.s.s for him because he can't manage it himself.' Her teeth were grinding together harder with each thought. Her dentist had warned her about this particular habit and she knew next time she saw her, she would be yelled at.

"Well, it seems the daughter..." The Colonel paused, flipping through his folder.

"Kristen." Raven supplied from memory while she was trying to get her mind off an irate dentist, which had all kinds of implements of torture at her disposal. 'Please don't tell me that I've got to deal with a teenager.'

"Yes, that's the one." The Colonel again laced his fingers together on top of his file and continued. "Seems she has been her father's speech writer for a few years now and the Amba.s.sador wishes her to have some instruction in the backroom goings-on of Capitol Hill. So we've set you up as an aid to a recently retired congressman. From reading the file, I think he wants to discourage her from wanting to do any form of political writing for a living. It seems he wants to discourage her, I believe the quote was, 'It's too cut-throat for my daughter.'"

"Problem, I know absolutely nothing about Capitol Hill or politics or congress." Raven informed them.

Major Otis' expression was one of superiority. "We took that into consideration and put together a list of people the Amba.s.sador knows that are currently on the hill, along with enough background information on them to keep him from suspecting that you're not who you say you are." He pa.s.sed down a separate folder. "Also, there is a kind of 'typical day in the life of an aid' narrative in the file that should be enough to answer any questions the girl might have. You just have to memorize it." His tone meant that his research department had to do all the work for her.

Raven ignored the Major's att.i.tude as she always did and looked at Albright with a lost and forlorn expression. "You're sure there's not someone who needs to be a.s.sa.s.sinated?" The Colonel just shook his head. "Nothing to blow-up either I suppose?"

"Sorry, Captain, this is it." He cleared his throat to hide the chuckle that wanted to escape. "I'll need your team members names by tomorrow morning. That's all."

Later that night, after they had gone over the mission twice, decided on their team and each members a.s.signment, finished off two medium mushroom, beef with extra cheese pizzas and a bottle of wine from one of the local vineyards, John decided it was time for some major teasing.

"You want me to go shopping with you tomorrow?" He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face.

Raven raised her eyebrow. "Why would I want to go shopping, you know I hate it." She paused to glare at the man sitting across from her. "What are you up to?"

"I don't think your usual, 'hiking boots, bluejeans, flannel s.h.i.+rt if it's cold, t-s.h.i.+rt if it's hot' wardrobe is going to pa.s.s muster in an emba.s.sy." He finally let the smile that he had been holding back, spread across his face. The panicked expression his statement caused was priceless. "You know, I hear formal dinners are quite popular with the political crowd. I a.s.sume you don't already have evening wear." He laughed and batted away the couch pillow that sailed his way. "Should I take that as a no?"

"John, I think the terrorist might be the least of your worries." Raven announced menacingly when he finally stopped laughing.

"What makes you say that?" He asked, wondering if she was serious.

"Because I just might kill that son of a b.i.t.c.h myself." She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it back and away from her face. "By the G.o.ds, John, I wasn't going to complain, but just how am I supposed to pull this off and what do I know about being a 'companion' to a sn.o.bbish politician's teenage daughter?" 'Or anyone else for that matter?' She commented to herself.

"Actually these photos are, where did I read that? Here it is, six years old. So, that would make her twenty-one." He explained.

"Mmmph!" Was the only response.

They were sitting in the Captain's office. The room was about two-dozen square feet. It contained a small brown leather couch, an oak coffee table and two brown leather chairs in front of her oak desk. The desk only contained a computer, a phone and a coffee cup with a Seattle Thunderbirds logo on it, the local minor league hockey team.

Logan leaned back in his chair that was facing the couch and steepled his fingers together under his chin. "Can I ask you something?" He was fully aware of her extreme private nature. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

She sat up from her relaxed position on the couch and gave him her full attention. "Go ahead, ask."

John had never considered himself an overly religious person, but he had never deliberately tried to p.i.s.s the big guy off either. He had always thought of Raven's references to mythological beings as strange. And after her capture during their last mission, which would have been enough to turn even the staunchest atheist into a believer, he wondered if she really believed in 'the G.o.ds'. "I was just curious, do you actually think that there's more than one G.o.d?"

'Do I?' Raven considered. She hadn't thought about any religion since she quit going to confirmation cla.s.ses after her younger brother had been killed. Her mother had raised all her children to be what Raven used to call, 'good little Catholics'. "Honestly, John, I don't know if I believe in much of anything, anymore. Mythology has always been something that I was interested in. But the expressions I use are more of a habit now than anything else. I started using them a long time ago basically just to p.i.s.s my mother off. It was around the same time we met and you know what a b.i.t.c.h I was then." Her expression turned distant.

"What do you mean 'was'?" He asked with his brow furrowed. The faraway look disappeared from Raven's face and he knew he had broken through the tension his question had caused.

Both eyebrows shot up, and then she started chuckling. "There's one thing you need to remember, my friend." Raven started to explain but was interrupted.

"I know, I know. You can beat my b.u.t.t anytime you want to." He threw his hands up in mock surrender.

"Yes I can, but that's not what I was going to say." She rested her forearms on her thighs and leaned over the coffee table between them. "I know where all your ticklish spots are." She kept the devilish look on her face for a long minute before she erupted into a full-throated laugh at the bug-eyed expression on his face.

It took another minute before John realized she wasn't going to carry out her threat, then he joined in the merriment. "You know." He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes. "That is something I'll never tire of hearing."

"What? That I can beat you up or that I can tickle you senseless?" She asked.

"Neither, smart a.s.s. I'm talking about the sound of your laughter." He winked at her when she didn't readily have a comeback and stood up. "It's not often I can catch you totally unaware. And on that note I think I'll take my leave and head home. What about you?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'll just clean off my desk and drop this off for the Colonel." She stood and stretched.

He stopped at the door and bowed deeply, sweeping his arm out to the side with a flourish. "Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow."

Raven rolled her eyes. "Don't give up your day job." She yelled after he had shut the door to her office. She smiled and thanked whoever was listening, that she had a friend like John.

Chapter Two:.

Kris took the stairs two at a time and made it halfway to the top before she stopped and sighed at the voice that called out from the open doorway she tried to sneak past.

"Kristen? Is that you, dear?"

"Yes mother." She reversed her direction and headed towards her mother's study.

Kristen Mich.e.l.le Whitfield had short, wavy blonde hair; emerald green eyes and stood at an average five-five height. Her frame held muscle tone but was a little softer than she would like since she had to hide the fact that she worked out from her parents, who didn't believe that women should be physically strong.

"Don't forget that Miss Chandler will be arriving today." Regina Whitfield stated when her daughter entered the room. She was an inch or two shorter that her eldest offspring. Her eyes were green and her hair blonde with a slight reddish tint; she was very slim and pale, almost to the point of looking anemic. She took in her daughter's appearance with a critical eye. "I want you to go change into something appropriate. That navy blue skirt and blazer would do nicely and put your hair up, young lady. I don't want the woman to think I'm raising an uncivilized vagabond."

Kris looked at her khaki shorts, forest green b.u.t.ton-up cotton s.h.i.+rt and Reeboks, and rolled her eyes. 'I can't believe I've got to dress to greet this 'companion'. She's probably a middle aged frumpy spinster that wears gla.s.ses as thick as c.o.ke bottle bottoms and has a whiny voice and disposition. It's just my luck that they actually found someone dumb enough to take this job.'

"Oh and don't forget that we're having a small celebration for Parker tonight." Her mother continued, never realizing her daughter's irritation. "Just family and emba.s.sy staff and we must remember to tell Miss Chandler, it would be a good way to introduce her to everyone."

A buzz from the intercom interrupted. "Yes?" Kris sat on the arm of the couch, waiting for her mother to finish. "Thank you, Stephanie, we'll be right down." She stood and moved in front of her daughter. "She's here, her flight was early. Oh dear, well this will have to do." She sighed as she b.u.t.toned her daughter's collar closed and straightened her s.h.i.+rt.

The emba.s.sy building consisted of three floors. The bottom one was used for official business and the top two for private use for the emba.s.sy staff and their families. Regina Whitfield's study was on the middle floor, just off the balcony that led to the main staircase and overlooked the reception area of the main lobby.

The balcony on the second floor drew Raven's attention. Her eyes settled on a woman with blonde hair that she recognized as an older and much improved version of the seemingly sly, freckled faced teenager that had stared back at her from the photo in her mission folder. 'Sweet Aphrodite, she's beautiful.'

Kris took in the sight of her 'companion' and she almost stumbled. Her eyes flowed over black hair that looked as much like silk as the red blazer and pants the woman wore. A black silk blouse open at the neck displayed a thin braided leather cord that held an oval bone pendant that had the cartoon character Taz painted on it. Kris wasn't sure how she made it down the staircase without falling flat on her face, but she obviously had, because now she was standing in front of this tall magnificent creature. Her eyes tracked upwards from the pendant to take in slightly moist lips, high cheekbones and came to rest on the bluest eyes that Kris had ever gazed into. 'She is the most stunning woman I have ever seen.'

"Miss Chandler? I'm Regina Whitfield and this is my daughter Kristen."

Raven blinked to break away from the green eyes holding her captive. "I'm sorry, I must be a little worn out from my flight." She said to cover-up the fact that she was entranced by the lovely vision in front of her. "What were you saying, Mrs. Whitfield?"

"That's all right dear, not all of us travel well." She stated in a condescending manner as she patted Raven's arm.

Her mothers gibe brought Kris out of her trance. "Ms. Chandler, why don't I show you to your room so you can rest? Or if you're hungry, lunch will be ready in about an hour." Kris' feet had started to move towards the stairs without conscious thought. "Or if you can't wait, I know how bad airline food is, I'm sure I could find something to hold you over until then." Kris knew she was rambling but she couldn't help it. 'What's wrong with me? The only time I chatter away like this is when I'm nervous or embarra.s.sed.' She had guided the tall woman to the third floor and pushed open a door. "This is it. You can let me know if you ever need anything, I'm next door." She pointed to the next door down the hall.

"Thanks, Kristen." Raven noticed her luggage had already been brought up. She let her gaze travel around the room. A double bed with the headboard against the wall that she shared with Kris. Double French doors directly opposite the room door, led out to a small balcony that overlooked the inside courtyard and the pool. A chest of drawers sat opposite the end of the bed and shared a wall with a dresser and mirror. The color scheme was pale rose and ivory.

"Actually, I prefer Kris, if you don't mind." She could feel herself blus.h.i.+ng and lowered her gaze to the floor. 'This is ridiculous. Why do I feel like an inadequate, b.u.mbling nitwit in front of her?'

Raven smiled. 'G.o.ds, she seems really shy.' "Okay, Kris. Let me unpack and then why don't you show me around before lunch?" 'Might as well get this farce started and see if I pa.s.s the test. Otherwise Mister 'women should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen' will just have to get his knickers in a knot.'

Raven threw herself down on her bed and rubbed her eyes. Lunch had been...different. She had been introduced to everyone. She had, of course, already known them. The Division's research department had supplied the team with names, photos and backgrounds. Meeting her 'a.s.signments' face to face was something Raven hadn't had to do in a very long time. And she vowed that it would be even longer before she would do it again.

She had entered the informal dinning room, an elongated room that held a table large enough to seat probably twenty people. 'And this is just for the family. It's nice to know all that tax money isn't wasted.' She thought sarcastically. She had put a non-threatening expression on her face and waited to be introduced to the other occupants.