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Leave it to me to fuck up a random act of kindness.
(“Alex,” 2.09 - A New Lease on Death)
***
Charlie winds up working in a bridal shop in Bumfuck, Small Town USA. Don’t ask. She’s still not a hundred percent sure how she got here herself. At least it’s dusty and sleepy enough that it doesn’t seem to be on the FBI’s radar. She’s not sure it’s even on maps.
But there is the bridal shop, a pink, frilly situation that feels like stepping into the 1950s. She bumps into one of the gals who works there on her first day in town, and said gal is nice and friendly and just the right amount of curious, and Charlie thinks, International assassin. Out for my blood. Maybe she’s got some stuff to work through.
She fights past the mortal terror, figuring she survived the one and could probably take another if need be, and graciously accepts when Nice, Almost Definitely Not An Assassin gal offers her a job.
Floofy dresses have never really been her thing, but the gig’s more fun than she’d expected. The smiles on girls’ faces when they find the just-right look, or even the giggles they get goofing around, trying on the wrong ones. Sipping champagne, tearing up at reflections, listening to a lot of pop divas on the sound system, talking about love. It’s nice. It’s human. No one’s dropped dead in her general proximity yet. Her hair clashes with every outfit that Lilly Pulitzer chick has ever designed, and that’s the required uniform for this place, but hey. It’s a small sacrifice.
Then one day, Charlie comes back from her lunch break, half-drunk Big Gulp in one hand and her vape in the other, and there’s their most expensive, opulent gown, in all its resplendent snow-white glory, being worn by a girl with dark, shiny hair. There are a lot of girls with dark, shiny hair in the world, but somehow, Charlie knows in an instant who this one is.
It’s not Alex, because there never was an Alex. But Charlie’s brain still goes, Hey! It’s Alex!
“Hello, lover,” says – Iggy? Jeez. It would be a pretty neat name, under other circumstances. Her face is covered by an intricate lace veil. “Nice dress.”
Charlie grimaces down at her own garden party-appropriate monstrosity. “Right back atcha.” Looking up again, she feels dizzy. The three panel mirror is serving her an abundance of beautiful assassins. “Gee. I was expecting you to be a lot more burnt to a crisp.”
“Please. Getting out of there was a cinch.”
Bullshit, pings Charlie’s brain. Huh.
Charlie crosses her arms. Hard to do while holding a giant beverage and a vape, but she likes to think she makes it work. “Sorry our big Thelma and Louise number came to such an unsatisfying conclusion.”
“It’s not like I was invested.”
Bullshit.
“Say.” Charlie cranes her neck to look around the shop. Her stomach churns. “You didn’t brutally murder my coworkers, didja?”
Iggy scoffs, like it’s an insult for Charlie to suggest it. “I sent them out to lunch. I told them we were old friends and I was going to surprise you.” Not bullshit. “You don’t like dead people.”
“Not true, necessarily. I just prefer ‘em alive whenever possible.”
“I got you something.”
Charlie glances at the little table Iggy is gesturing to. It’s usually for holding glasses of champagne and cute cookies. Instead, there’s a to-go coffee cup sitting there.
“Go on,” Iggy urges.
“What is it, a strychnine spice latte?”
“Look at the label.” This is probably the tone Iggy uses to tell her marks to beg pointlessly for mercy.
Charlie reads it aloud. “Butterscotch pumpkin macchiato. Wowee.”
“It’s a sentimental gesture. People like those.”
“Sure. A+ for sentiment.”
“Aren’t you going to drink it?”
“Oh, uh. One’s enough for my lifetime, actually.”
“Drink it.”
“It’s ninety degrees out.”
“Fine. Insult me. That’s smart.”
Charlie puts down her vape and her nice, palatable Big Gulp on the table. She considers the coffee cup. It stares innocuously back at her. It doesn’t shout I’m poisoned!, which technically makes no sense, but Charlie trusts her gut enough to roll with it. She picks it up and takes a miserable, scented-candle-flavored sip. It’s as awful as before. Worse, maybe, now that it’s not all a-glow with the connotation of human kindness.
Underneath the veil, Charlie can just catch the smug look on Iggy’s face. Almost a smile. She’d probably watch Charlie down the whole thing. Sick bastard.
That makes this a great time for a distraction.
“So, what’s this?” Charlie asks, casually setting the coffee cup aside. “You come in here with your defenses down this time to lull me into a false sense of security? Because I gotta tell you, sister, you’re pinging my bullshit meter all over the place.”
Iggy doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, I see,” says Charlie. “You don’t talk, you can’t lie, and you can’t tell the truth, either. I gotta admit, this silent treatment thing’s a little childish.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Don’t take that as an insult. I’ve met some twisted children. Not so long ago, I came across one who orchestrated the cold-blooded murder of the classroom gerbil.”
“Who hasn’t?”
“Come to think of it,” Charlie quips, “you in the mood for an apprentice? Because I know just where to send you. Ha ha. Just kidding.” She probably shouldn’t be introducing sociopaths to each other, creating some sort of Sociopath Super Villain Alliance. Golly, this broad puts her off her game.
“You’re nervous,” Iggy observes.
“Well, yeah.”
“You haven’t even come close enough to pull up my veil yet.”
Charlie frowns. “Was that supposed to be on my to-do list?”
Iggy lets out an impatient sigh. She lifts the veil herself. The sight of her dark eyes clobbers Charlie right in the sternum. It aches. “The FBI is after you,” she says.
“Oh, you heard? Neat, huh? Thanks for that.”
“I can keep you safe from them.”
“You sure about that? Because the last time, they got pretty up in your grill.”
“And yet here I am. Free as a bird. Or whatever.” Iggy makes a face. “I hate metaphors.”
“Yeah, well, here I am, too. So maybe I’m doing just fine.”
“You would be under my protection. That’s something no one else on Earth has. They’d never touch you. You could have a life.”
“I’ve got a life.”
“You could have a life with me.” She raises the pitch of her voice, Alex style. “Your old friend.”
Charlie’s heart squeezes painfully. “Pass. Would you take that dress off already? It’s – and I don’t know if you somehow missed this – for brides.”
“No, I’ll take it.”
“Getting hitched?”
Iggy tilts her head. “Maybe.”
“Suit yourself. So, uh, I’m on the clock, actually, so I’m just gonna go hang at reception. Let me know if you need anything.” Charlie points her thumb in the direction of the reception desk, very casual, and starts to mosey on over.
She makes it about four steps before Iggy’s arm grabs hers, stopping her in her tracks. Damn. This girl’s grip is like steel.
“I think I’m going to cut my hand off,” Iggy says into Charlie’s hair.
“Not my problem. Although.” Charlie can’t help wincing. “Seriously?”
“I need a change. I need a challenge. It would be harder, trying to do my job one-handed.”
“Have you thought about tying an arm behind your back? Might be a better place to start.”
Iggy’s dark eyes are blazing. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t just go back to the way it was before.”
“You haven’t had me,” Charlie reminds her. “Except maybe in the very loosest, least sexual sense.”
“I could give you money.”
“Kid, if I was into money, my life would look a whole lot different.”
“I could give you friendship.”
“I really think ya can’t.”
“I could do a convincing imitation. You wouldn’t know the difference.”
“You sure about that?”
“You didn’t last time.”
Charlie feels the blow of that one. She must not cover it up too well, because Iggy looks pleased.
“How do I know you wouldn’t kill me, huh?” Charlie demands, for the sake of argument. She wonders exactly when their faces got this close.
Iggy seems to really consider it. “Maybe I would. But I don’t think so.”
“Oh, you don’t think so? That’s great. Really inspires confidence.”
“I liked our time together.”
“What, nearly stroking out with the constant effort to not have a bodily tell while you spun your web of lies?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have to do that anymore. The thrill is gone. Too bad, so sad.”
“You don’t know that.” What’s that? A quaver in that cold voice?
It’s heartening. Charlie stands taller. “I do. I think all you had was your secret identity, and now that’s gone. I can read you like a very tall, very creepy book, lover.” She wrinkles her nose. “Ugh. I didn’t like that. Did you? We can’t be those sorts of nemeses who call each other ‘lover.’ That can’t be our thing.”
“Fine,” Iggy says flatly, “bro.”
Charlie can’t help it: a squawk of laughter bursts out of her.
Iggy’s lips twitch, barely.
“Give me a chance, at least,” she says after a moment. “You’re still unique. There’s no one else in the world like you. You’re like … fighting a polar bear in slow motion.”
“I thought you hated metaphors,” Charlie reminds her.
“I do. But sometimes, they’re all we’ve got.”
“You know, technically that’s a simile, by the way.”
“God, I wish I wanted to kill you.”
“But you don’t,” Charlie tests.
“But I don’t.”
She looks so damn sincere. Charlie checks in with her bullshit meter. Results inconclusive. Everything is a weird, heady swirl. Maybe Iggy doesn’t know if she’s telling the truth either.
Overwhelmed, Charlie goes to the cute little pink sofa in the corner and sinks down into it. Jesus, she’s tired all of a sudden. Iggy is still watching her, like a dog with its heart set on a treat.
“Listen. You probably don’t want to be around me anyway. The people I hang out with, they, uh, they tend to die.” Charlie bites her lip. “Or sometimes, never even exist in the first place.”
Iggy sits down next to her, bringing the endless yards of poofy white dress with her. She slumps down awkwardly, at odds with her usual death panther grace, and rests her head on Charlie’s shoulder. “That sounds perfect.”
“Have you considered therapy?”
“Have you?”
“Hey. I got a guy.”
“The one you talk to on the car radio?”
“Damn it. I keep forgetting, I told you so much shit.”
“You did.” Iggy sighs in a pretty good impression of contentment.
Charlie nudges her. “Will you get off of me already?”
“In a minute,” says Iggy.
A minute. That’s not so long.
Charlie finds herself talking. Gotta fill that minute somehow. “I don’t know if you can understand this in that cold, dark, empty chest cavity of yours. But I really liked my friend. I really needed her. So, uh, thanks for breaking my heart. And it was already in pretty rough shape even before you and her came along. So, yeah, uh, thanks for that final crushing blow.”
Iggy takes Charlie’s chin in her hands, steering her gaze. Her touch is bossy, but not lethal. Charlie can tell she’s going gentle on her.
Then the world’s most fearsome assassin kisses Charlie primly on the lips.
“You’re welcome,” she says.
Charlie stares at her, dazed.
“That was symbolic, by the way,” Iggy adds. “I really didn’t get anything out of it.”
“Uh,” Charlie says, scratching her neck, “sure. Me neither.”
Iggy gathers her neverending skirts in her hands and stands up. “You need some time to think about my offer. I’ll ask again soon.”
“Well, I’ll have to think up some creative new ways to shoot ya down. Not literally. Unless …”
Iggy stares at her. Regards her, even. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Not bullshit,” Charlie observes.
Iggy shrugs. The look on her face, a sort of ‘Well, you got me there’ chagrined purse of her lips, is exactly Alex. For a wonderful, disturbing second, Charlie’s body forgets she doesn’t have a new best friend anymore.
“Until next time, Charlie Cale.”
Then Iggy - who isn't Alex, and who is - turns and disappears in a cloud of white, like an avalanche. It should be impossible to vanish in the middle of a small town street in midday in a wedding dress, but when Charlie’s knees stop shaking enough for her to walk to the front door, there’s not a trace of Murder Bride to be seen. None of the normal people out there strolling around seem to have seen anything out of the ordinary, either.
Crazy.
After a minute of staring in bafflement, Charlie turns to her next problem: getting fired for letting their most expensive dress get shoplifted on her watch.
But inside on the reception desk, there’s a stack of crisp hundred dollar bills. A decent move, when really, there had been no reason for Iggy to be decent.
In spite of herself, Charlie feels an inconvenient pang of something stupid. Probably exactly what Iggy was counting on.
“Clever girl,” she mutters.