Chapter Text
Cruz used to believe she’d never leave the Marines; at times, it definitely felt like she wouldn’t make it out. It had been her life for almost a decade, had saved her when she needed it most.
And yet, here she is, walking into the polished lobby of a New York City skyscraper, resume and discharge papers in hand. The building is probably fancier than any place she’s been before - it’ll definitely be the nicest place she’s ever worked. The lobby is all polished marble and modern lines, the people walking around wear suits that probably cost as much as her rent. She adjusts the cuffs of her suit jacket, almost self-conscious about the thrifted clothing she wears.
The lapse in confidence fades quickly. She deserves to be here. Fought to be here. Cruz has poured blood, sweat, and tears into building herself into the person she is today. No fancy suit is going to make her doubt herself.
She’s a fucking Marine. She can handle this.
Cruz clears her throat and approaches the reception desk that sits near the back of the lobby.
“Uh, hi,” she says, giving a small smile to the receptionist, an older woman with a beehive hairstyle and ruby red cat eye glasses. “I’m here for an interview with Lioness Security. Could you tell me what floor they’re on?”
The receptionist looks her up and down, snapping her gum. “Yeah, you’ll do fine, hun. Don’t worry.” Cruz tries to smooth out her expression to hide whatever stress the woman picked up on. “Can I get your name?”
“Uh, Cruz Manuelos?”
The woman clicks on something on her computer. “Got your name here. Okay, hun, they’re on the eighth floor. Take this and swipe through the security gates to reach the elevators on the left. Please keep it visibly pinned to your jacket at all times. Bring it back to me when you are done.”
She slides a guest pass over the desk with a kind smile. Cruz thanks her, grabbing the badge and fighting the reflex to salute as she steps away from the counter. She follows the receptionist’s instructions, making it into the elevator.
As she slumps into the wall of the thankfully empty elevator, the anxiety she thought she banished returns. This is her first real interview, the two questions she was asked before her job at the diner definitely not counting. Even the process to become a Marine wasn’t like a traditional interview. She doesn’t know what the fuck to expect.
Whirling so she’s facing the back of the elevator, she white knuckles the railing. “Get it the fuck together, soldier. You’ve faced worse.”
She’s confident in her abilities. She is. It’s just hard sometimes, to banish the voice that echoes with her past. To ignore the spectre of what everyone thought she’d become. Sometimes she thinks she runs half on spite and half on pure determination. She makes herself turn around, puts steel into her spine and stands tall and proud.
The elevator doors slide open and Cruz finds herself in another small lobby, this one decorated in warm golds and reds, dark wood furniture spread around the space. She can’t see much of the actual office - there aren’t any cubicles or meeting rooms visible.
Her brief perusal ends on another reception desk, this one with a burly man sitting at it. He’s bearded and wearing fatigues. The sight of the familiar clothing (Army standard instead of her own Marine cammies) sets her partially at ease. She’s heard that this security firm hires mostly vets, but she’s been to plenty of companies in the course of her job search that claim to do the same while not following through.
“Hi, I’m Cruz Manuelos. I’m here for an interview with Joe.”
“Hey there. You’re early. Joe likes shit like that. I’ll ping her, let her know you’re here. Feel free to sit at one of the chairs over there. He leans across the desk, extending a hand. “Name’s Two Cups. I’m one of the security grunts here.”
Cruz shakes his hand, blurting “Two Cups?” before she can stop herself. She can feel heat licking at the back of her neck.
“Nickname, kid. You’ll get one, don’t worry,” he says, not sounding upset at Cruz’s potentially rude outburst.
Cruz nods and flashes a quick smile, not much more than the corners of her mouth lifting. She barely even bristles at being called kid, nerves and mortification wanting out of the interaction as soon as possible. She retreats to the chairs, trying not to look at Two Cups again.
It’s a few minutes before Joe walks in. She's small, but commands attention and respect, both Cruz and Two Cups straightening up even though neither vet had been slouching. Cruz stands from her chair as Joe draws closer.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Cruz Manuelos.” She sticks her hand out for Joe to shake.
Joes takes her hand, grip strong. “It’s nice to meet you, Cruz. Don’t call me ma’am.”
“Alright, uh, sir?”
Joe acts like she didn’t hear Cruz, spinning and walking back down the hall. Cruz, panicking that she somehow messed up before the interview even started, looks back at Two Cups. He smiles at her, motioning her on, and Cruz hurries after Joe.
If nothing else, at least the interview is shaping up to be interesting.
One Year Later
“Cruz, with me,” Joe calls through her office door, not even pausing to check if Cruz heard.
The behavior isn’t unexpected, Joe never being the type to coddle anyone (though Cruz still isn’t sure how saying hello counts as coddling). Cruz closes down the case notes she was working on, almost tripping as she tries to stand, push back her chair, and walk after Joe all at once. She half-jogs to catch up to Joe who is still striding through the office, unconcerned if Cruz is behind her or not.
“What’s up, boss?” Cruz asks as she slows to a walk just behind Joe’s left shoulder.
“Bodyguard gig for you and Bobby. Customer asked for covert services.”
Bobby is Cruz’s usual partner. The older woman had taken Cruz under her wing when she first started, showing Cruz the ropes. They ended up working well together, and Joe pairs them together for the majority of each of their assignments. They’re one of two female teams employed as bodyguards by Lioness Security, most customers wanting the imposing silhouettes of the men on the team. Bobby and Cruz, while no less capable, are usually hired when the client doesn’t want people to know that they have bodyguards.
As they enter a meeting room, Cruz asks, “Any other background you can give me?”
Joe starts to set up for the meeting, telling Cruz what basics she has. A rich businessman - some billionaire CEO from the Middle East - needs a protection detail for his daughter, as there have been threats made towards him and his family.
Cruz is pretty sure that she’s been a bodyguard for at least seven different heiresses in her time at Lioness. She doesn’t keep a tally like Bobby does - the woman has a running count of how many rich girls are entitled assholes and which aren’t. The asshole list (or as Bobby calls it, the AL) probably has a few hundred names on it at this point, as Bobby has been here almost as long as the company has existed. Unfortunately, the tally trends more towards asshole than not. Cruz is hoping that this girl is at least decent. She doesn’t even need her to be nice, just better than the last woman they guarded, who insisted on blaming them for every little thing that went wrong in her life (it was not Cruz’s fault that some influencer douche didn’t want to hang out with her, and it definitely wasn’t Cruz’s fault that the woman had spilled red wine all over her white dress).
Bobby walks into the room just as Joe’s spiel is winding down. Cruz catches her eye and Bobby grins, waving hello as to not interrupt Joe. Cruz rolls her eyes fondly and finishes setting down fancy glasses next to a pitcher of water on the table. Bobby always arrives at meetings as close to their start time as she can. Joe settles at the head of the table as she always does, and Cruz and Bobby sit on opposite sides of the table, leaving a few chairs between them and Joe so the client has somewhere to sit.
After a few minutes filled with light chatter and loose planning about the op, Tex shows their client into the room. Cruz notices two guards take up posts on either side of the door before Tex closes it behind him. Odd, usually if clients have their own security they don’t hire out to a different company.
Cruz and Bobby stand to shake his hand. Joe doesn’t move, letting the man come to her before she even thinks about extending a hand to shake.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Amrohi. My name is Joe, we spoke on the phone earlier this week. Please, have a seat wherever.”
“Ah, hello! So nice to put a face to the voice. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you.”
Mr. Amrohi settles into the seat directly to Joe’s left, deft hands unbuttoning his suit jacket before the fabric has time to even think about wrinkling. He’s pretty much exactly what Cruz imagined. Comfortable in his wealth, comfortable in this business setting. His presence fills the room a lot like Joe’s, but where she wears her power like she’s aware of everything she sacrificed to get it, he seems like he barely notices it.
“So, Mr. Amrohi,” Joe starts once everyone is situated. “You provided us with the completed intake form, but to get a full sense of what you need from Lioness Security, I’d appreciate it if you could give us a bit more detail. I find it is often helpful for customers to explain what they want in person, in case anything was missed or not mentioned.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “Happy to explain. As I said on the form, I need extra security for my daughter. I have made some,” he pauses for a moment, searching for the words. “Unpopular decisions at my company lately. The details are proprietary, but suffice to say my competitors aren’t happy with me. Some are even upset enough to threaten me and my family. They’re not obvious enough for me to be able to go to the police, but I know it is them.
“My daughter,” Mr. Amrohi says with a fond, exasperated smile. “She is stubborn. Independent. She needs protection. However, she refuses to take any of my men with her when she goes out. I would prefer not to be worried about her. Hiring people she wouldn’t expect to be bodyguards will hopefully let me protect her without her catching on.”
“We’re professionals, sir. Your daughter will be in the best hands possible,” Bobby assures.
Cruz doesn’t add anything, just tries to look tough and capable in case he looks at her. So far, it’s shaping up to be a standard assignment. Cruz can think of three other men who have come in here for their daughters in the past three months, and one memorable one who came in for his mistress, to protect her from his wife. The only difference is that this person doesn’t want to be guarded, which is annoying but not insurmountable. They’ll win her over, or at least convince her that they’re necessary, and everything will be fine.
Mr. Amrohi smiles at Bobby. “Thank you. Now, what other details do we need to cover?”
Joe picks up the conversation again. “You requested our covert services, which is why we chose Bobby and Cruz for this. They are able to easily blend in with most crowds, where some of our other bodyguards call attention to themselves even out of uniform.”
“Yes, I would prefer Aaliyah not even know you are there,” he says, nodding.
Cruz freezes. Now the op is weird. Usually, the person they’re protecting knows that they’re there. The ‘covert’ deal usually means they act as friends or civilians in the vicinity of their charge so no one else realizes what they really are.
Glancing at Bobby, Cruz raises a confused eyebrow. She doesn’t want Mr. Amrohi to notice her reaction, so she doesn’t mouth ‘what the fuck’ like she wants to. And she really wants to. Bobby returns her look with an eyeroll, which means this isn’t the first time a customer has requested something like this. Despite being here for a year, Cruz still has a lot to learn, and her lack of experience feels especially apparent here.
“We can accommodate that,” Joe says. “Would you like our people to follow your daughter at a distance, or try to stay close to her?”
“At a distance,” he says. “Aaliyah is perceptive when she wants to be. She will notice if she is being followed.”
Cruz has to stop herself from saying anything. At a distance? So she and Bobby are just going to have to sit in the fucking van all day following around some girl too self-involved to accept that she’s in danger. Fabulous.
Her mind starts racing with logistical issues. For one thing, they’ll have to find a good balance between keeping their distance and staying close enough that if anything happens, they get there in time to stop it. Bobby and Joe continue to look unphased, so Cruz will wait until they go over their plan after the meeting to see what’s in place for situations like this.
There’s one upside Cruz can see. She’s getting paid to hang out in a van with Bobby all day. With most other people, the thought of that would be unbearable. Bobby knows when to be quiet though, and they’ve developed a good system for when one of them goes stir crazy. Plus, it’ll be a chance for Cruz to win back her dignity if they play cards. Bobby had wiped the floor with her so handily on their last stakeout that Cruz’s nickname around the office had been, mockingly, Vegas for almost two months . Even Joe had joined in. (She had also lost $200. But she’s mostly concerned with her dignity.)
“Of course, sir. We have a variety of vehicles retrofitted for just this kind of situation. We’ll be able to follow her at a distance at all times.”
“Ah,” Mr. Amrohi interrupts. “I don’t require around the clock cover. Once she is home for the night, my men will be able to take care of it.”
“Understood. That will be fine. If in the future you want to change that, feel free to give me a call and we can adjust the schedule to better fit your needs.”
The meeting continues, veering into territory that Cruz doesn’t deal with. Finally, Joe starts to close out the meeting.
“One more thing,” she says. “Do you have any photos of your daughter? I’d like to give my operatives a chance to look at who they’ll be protecting, and I’d also ask that you send me a photo to add to our case file.”
Mr. Amrohi looks almost insulted. “Of course I have photos of her. What kind of father would I be if I did not?”
Cruz flinches, remembering the previous month when she had learned that Joe had two daughters, only to also learn that Joe keeps a single three year old photo of them on her phone. Joe doesn’t seem bothered by his comment, but Joe has always been the best at keeping her cards close to her chest. Cruz wonders if she misses her kids, if the implication of the comment hurt her at all.
Mr. Amrohi slides his phone across the table, a picture up on the screen. Bobby grabs it, studying the photo for a second before raising an eyebrow and sliding the phone over to Cruz.
Cruz just barely manages not to react, glad she caught herself because she’s sure she’d be slack-jawed otherwise. As it is, her eyes widen and one of her hands tighten around the armrest of her chair. Cruz had been expecting a teenager, some spoiled high schooler who’d be a hassle to watch. Instead, the image that greets her as she looks at the phone is of a woman a few years older than she is posing on a beach in a classy wrap dress. Aaliyah is gorgeous; piercing eyes, tan skin, and a beautiful smile that have Cruz almost swooning. She pushes down that initial reaction, though, determined to be professional. Giving Mr. Amrohi a tight smile, she slides the phone back to him. She can feel a blush blooming at the back of her neck and hopes no one notices.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple hours later, Bobby slinks into her office. Slouching into the spare chair, she rolls her toothpick from one side of her mouth to the other. “So,” she starts, unable to keep the teasing tone out of her voice. “This new assignment. Aaliyah looks interesting.”
Fuck. Cruz thought she did a good job at hiding her reaction to the picture, but fucking Bobby has always been too perceptive for Cruz’s good.
“Don’t start with me.”
Bobby raises her hands as if she’s innocent, but the grin on her face is anything but. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. I was just asking a question.”
Through gritted teeth, Cruz growls, “The new assignment seems interesting. Don’t know what to think about Aaliyah yet.”
“I think you do,” Bobby sings, starting to make kissy noises.
“Oh for fuck’s sake grow up,” Cruz says as she fights down a laugh.
She starts flicking paper clips at Bobby until she yields, stopping the noises and standing up. Laughing, she says, “Fine! Fine, I’ll stop. Quit chucking things at me.”
Just to be petty, Cruz flicks one final paperclip, hitting Bobby square in the forehead. Cruz cackles, pumping her fist in victory as Bobby rubs at the spot.
The teasing has Cruz’s chest filling up with light, with satisfaction and contentment. She likes it here, likes her team and how they all seemed to accept her so easily. Before this, before the Marines, Cruz didn’t think she’d ever get to have any sort of satisfaction in her life. Flipping burgers, sleeping on a dingy mattress on the floor - that was what Cruz thought she was meant for. It’s been refreshing, discovering who she could be.
“Ok, I gotta go do a few more things before I head out for the day. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”
“See you, Bobby,” Cruz answers, not even trying to stifle the wide smile on her face.
Bobby throws a quick two-finger salute before walking out. Just when Cruz thinks she’s alone, Bobby ducks back in the door to make a couple more kissing noises before disappearing down the hall, her laughter echoing behind her.
Cruz takes it back, she doesn’t like Bobby at all. (The smile still on her face says differently.)