The Hedgehog and the Fox - Careful You

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As time passes, Jennie and her student grow closer.



How did it start? When did she start to see him something more than her friend? Her student? Not before, when they celebrated catching the Croydon killer at the pub. Cheers-ing and laughing and feeling like they owned the world. It didn't matter that a man in a suit had menaced Jennie, and threatened her visa if they went any further. It didn't matter. They had caught the killer. The people of Croydon were safe.

Until they went back to Jennie's flat and found it full of people. Including the man in the suit.

His name was John Preston, and he was there to offer them a job.

It was called Clarent House. A branch of the British Secret Services that handled things that were of ...a stranger nature. Threats to crown and country that weren't human, or of this world. The Croydon killer had been a mundane threat, but the people chasing him were not, catching John Preston's attention.

And there they were, folded into Clarent House as neatly as possible. It meant more training of course, not just for Donal and Winston, but Jennie too. Espionage, the ability to move in society as will, to play many different parts. Jennie was coached until her new British accent was flawless, and she was enrolled in a police academy along with Donal. Their cover would be as actual police officers.

But there was call for other jobs, too. One day, Donal had to infiltrate a party of well-heeled members of society, and Jennie walked in on him being fitted for his suit. And his cover personality.

It was Donal and not Donal. His hair had been trimmed and washed and brushed neatly, his ever-present scruff shaved, and instead of greasy mechanic coveralls or dirty t-shirts and jeans he wore a nice, grey three-piece suit. Cut into the "English" style which Jennie always found much more attractive than an "American" style. He was practicing in front of the mirror, standing up straight and giving off different expressions of haughty disdain.

Huh, they even trimmed his eyebrows. Jennie couldn't stop staring. He looked completely different.

He looked cute.

"What are you staring at?" Donal said, snapping Jennie out of her trance.

"I just," Jennie gestured. "Look at you," she said appreciatively.

"I look ridiculous," he grumbled. "Like some fat poofter."

"Nah," Jennie said, shaking her head and circling him. "You look like you were born in that suit."

"No one is going to buy this," he said, looking at her seriously. There was naked panic in his eyes. He sighed and yanked at his tie. "I don't know why I thought I could do this."

Oh wow, he's really uncomfortable. Jennie thought.

But then again, how did she feel the first time she was stuffed into a pretty dress at Xavier's?

Like putting glitter on garbage.

"Can I tell you something?" Jennie said, tapping her finger on her chin.

"What?" he sighed.

"All it takes for people to buy you doing anything-- wearing a nice suit, or going to someplace you shouldn't be," she reached up and re-adjusted his tie. "Is to act like you belong there," she spun him towards the mirror. "I don't know how many places I crashed when I was a teenager, how many clubs I snuck into, or other places where I had to look pretty and pretend I was something that I wasn't, was just to act like I was supposed to be there, and God have mercy on the poor bastard that questioned it." She adjusted the suit in the mirror, and then pressed a hand into the small of his back, making him stand up straighter.

"And then when I had to go through the ballet, and go to places where I sure as hell felt like I didn't belong, I just pretended I did. And anyone who did question me looked like a total asshole for doing it. Of course you belong there, because you act like you do. How do you think people like this act?"

"Like they're better than everyone else," Donal said bitterly.

"Then look in that mirror and pretend."

"But I'm not--"

"It doesn't matter what's in here," Jennie pointed at her heart. "It matters what's in here," she tapped her forehead. "Most people are too polite to trust their guts. As long as you act like what they think you should act, they'll buy it."

Donal looked like he was about to protest, and then exhaled, shoulders slumping. Then he turned and looked himself in the mirror.

"Remember, you're better than everyone else. You have excellent breeding, a fuckton of money and a stripper pole in your bedroom," Jennie said, and he smiled at that. "I'm serious! You are a total douchebag, it just oozes out of your pores. You have never been hungry, or scared, or poor, you have had every privilege just handed to you. And you are so dead on the inside because of it."

As Jennie talked, Donal changed. He stood straighter and brushed the hair out of his eyes, adjusting it just so. Then he relaxed, settling into his suit, putting a hand in his pocket and raising an eyebrow. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then opened them. His expression completely changed. He screamed Eton schoolboy, a Lord's young son.

"Clfton," he said, his accent becoming crisp and posh, "Can you have them bring the ferrari around-- the white, not the red. We don't want to look too gauche this evening." Jennie grinned.

"You got it," she said brightly.

He turned to her and raised an eyebrow, slipping back into Donal. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," she bumped him with her shoulder. "Everything about you makes me want to smack you, it's perfect."

"Yeah," he said, turning back to the mirror and smiling.