“Ugh, it’s you,” is the first thing Rayna says when Susan gets her out of prison.
“Nice to see you too,” says Susan, who is none too happy about this new arrangement. She looks Rayna over. She’s even skinnier than she was when she went in, which, how is that even possible, and she looks kind of… straggly. Susan’s pretty sure Rayna notices her noticing, because she stiffens up so she looks even more like a stick in an orange bag.
“Is that what you wear for work every day? You look like you sell real estate to -” she breaks off with a yawn. “I can’t even be fucking bothered. Pull over here. I need a fucking coffee or I shall literally die.”
Susan is now feeling kind of bad for Rayna, dammit, so she pulls over without a word, which is probably her first strategic error.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” says Susan.
“I know what the fucking deal is, I signed a million fucking papers with my fucking lawyer in fucking prison,” says Rayna.
“Your ankle cuff is a tracker,” says Susan patiently. “It’ll alert the nearest field team if you go beyond a two mile radius of this place, unless you’re with me. Tomorrow I’ll brief you on the Petrov case and we’ll get to work, but I figured you might want the rest of today to clean up a little.”
“Ugh,” is all Rayna says. Susan is beginning to be seriously worried that prison’s crushed her spirit or something.
“Okay, Boyanov, rise and shine,” she says brightly. Rayna pulls her face out of her coffee and looks out of the car window at the CIA safehouse which, Susan has got to admit, is kind of dreary.
“Oh god, it’s a gulag. Why don’t you just put me back in fucking prison?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Susan says sweetly, and starts the engine again. Rayna tries to open the car door, but the safety lock is on.
“Christ,” she says loudly, over the noise of the engine. “Don’t be so fucking literal, Cooper.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” says Susan, and cuts the engine again.
Rayna only tries to escape once between the car and the apartment front door, but it’s pretty half-hearted. Grudgingly, Susan has to admit she’s a little worried about her now.
“I brought you some things,” says Susan, trying to look around Rayna’s tiny shoulders into the apartment. She’d checked it over first, of course. As safe houses went, it wasn’t terrible.
“No,” says Rayna flatly. She turns around and walks straight into Susan, bouncing off her when Susan doesn’t move. “Jesus, you’re like a bag of wet cement. Take me out of this shithole to a hotel. I’ll pay for it.”
“Okay, for one thing, your assets are still frozen,” says Susan. “For another thing, can you just give it a chance? It’s a little bland, but you can… add some homey touches?”
She trails off as they both watch a mouse run down the corridor and vanish under a door of one of the other apartments.
“Prison was disgusting, Cooper, but there weren’t any fucking rodents,” says Rayna. “If you’re going to leave me in this arsehole of a place you can at least give me a fucking gun to shoot myself with.”
“Yeah, not going to happen,” says Susan, and she starts firmly propelling Rayna into the apartment. “I made you some cookies.”
“This is literally the worst day of my life,” says Rayna. “At least when my father murdered my mother and dropped her body in a sewer I wasn’t wearing a fucking orange bag.”
“You know, forgive me if I think that’s some effed up prioritization on your part,” Susan says. She turns on the kitchen faucet; the water comes out a little brown at first but it smells okay. Mostly. “You’ll feel better after a shower and some food. There’s some fancy shower gel and hair stuff in the bag, and I got you some basic groceries.”
There’s the sound of rustling in the other room.
“Are you fucking joking,” says Rayna, “this is basically dishsoap. Are these carrots raw? What the fuck am I supposed to do with them, masturbate?”
“You know what, that is not a great idea, but if you’re that desperate, put a condom on them first because they are not organic and there are probably all kinds of pesticides on them,” Susan says. “Okay, if there’s nothing else you need -” She begins backing towards the door. The oppressive misery of the apartment is beginning to get her down and she’s having second thoughts about leaving Rayna here, which means it’s time to leave before she does something stupid like inviting her back to her place.
“There are no shitting condoms in here,” Rayna yells. “What the fuck, Cooper?”
“Oookay,” says Susan. “I’m just going to leave now, so -”
Something smashes in the next room.
“You break it, you replace it,” Susan yells. “Bye!”
She shuts the door with a sigh of relief. She hears something small and hard hit the door just at head level; she suspects it’s a carrot.
She’s cooked herself some pasta and is just settling down with a nice glass of red wine when the CIA mobile unit calls to tell her that Rayna’s left her radius. Susan sighs. She’d hoped for at least twelve hours.
“Okay, can you give me her location?” she says, and her doorbell rings. “Wait just a second - oh, for Pete’s sake. You know what, she’s with me. Yeah, don’t worry about it. Thanks, Steve, you have a great evening.”
Rayna barges past her and drops her bags in the hallway. She looks around. “Well, at least it’s clean,” she says. “When did you move in?”
“Uh, five years ago,” says Susan, “Stay by the door, don’t take off your - you are not staying here!”
“God, why didn’t you redecorate?” Rayna says, toeing off her shoes. She’s changed into high heels and some kind of little dress. Susan takes a moment to wonder where she found them at this time of night.
“Did you steal those? And how did you get my address?”
“Ford told me,” Rayna says, completely ignoring the first question, which leads Susan to suspect that she’s going to get a call in the morning about a boutique break-in by a suspect whose description matches that of a felon in her custody. Wonderful. “My god, that man’s a fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you sleep with him? He thinks he’s in love with you now or some shit like that.”
“How did you know I - that is none of your goddamn business,” Susan says, now beginning to lose her temper, although actually Ford is a total idiot and she doesn’t know why the fuck she slept with him, and the roses have begun to get annoying. The sex wasn’t even all that great. “Put those fucking stilts back on, and I am going to drive you back to the safehouse.”
“Oh thank God,” says Rayna. “I thought you’d gone undercover as a fucking school teacher or joined a cult of spineless housewives.”
“I actually was a high school teacher for ten years and let me tell you, it was tougher than the CIA,” says Susan. “So fuck you. Your bony ass wouldn’t last five seconds in a class full of sixteen-year-olds.”
“What a horrific idea,” Rayna says, shuddering dramatically. “So greasy.”
Susan’s got her blood pumping now, she’s fired up and mad. Fucking Ford, and fucking Rayna. She decides, all at once, that she isn’t going to waste her fucking time driving Rayna back to the shitty safehouse. It’s against regs and probably is a terrible idea, but Rayna can sleep on the couch. She wants to eat her fucking pasta.
“I’m starving,” says Rayna. “Do you have any real food in this place?”
“If you mean fucking dolphin caviar picked by gold-painted virgins, then no,” says Susan. “If you mean homemade bolognese sauce in the fridge and some spaghetti you can fucking cook yourself, then yes.”
“I don’t cook,” Rayna says, and flops down on the couch. “And you don’t pick caviar, you unbelievably uncultured moron.”
“Put some fucking water and some salt in a pan and turn on the burner,” says Susan. “When the water starts boiling - you’ll know because it’s bubbling and gets really fucking hot - put the spaghetti in it, and take it out when it’s cooked. Then you turn off the burner.”
Rayna sighs noisily and disappears into the kitchen.
“Ow!” she yells after about five minutes. Susan ignores her. She’s reading a regency romance on her Kindle that Nancy recommended. “I can’t find the salt!” she yells a minute later.
“I’m not coming into the kitchen, I don’t care if you burn the fucking place down, boil your own fucking pasta or you can suck on the noodles until they’re soft, I don’t care,” she yells. She can feel herself slipping back into Amber Valentine, bodyguard superspy. She’s kind of missed her. She skips forward in the romance to find the porn. Nancy only reads really dirty shit so there’s got to be - ah, there it is.
Rayna emerges fifteen minutes later with what looks like perfectly okay pasta and a stroppy look on her face.
“Hey, that’s great,” says Susan. “That is the first step on the way to rehabilitation.”
“Fuck you,” Rayna says. She pours herself a glass of wine, sits on the couch and eats her pasta noisily with her back to Susan. After she’s been quiet for a while, Susan goes over to check on her, and finds she’s fallen asleep sitting up. She pokes her in the shoulder, and Rayna topples sideways like a tree.
“Okay, wow,” says Susan. She looks at her for a while, and winds up putting a blanket over her.
“She’s staying with you?” hisses Nancy.
“I know, I know,” Susan whispers back, waving at her to keep her voice down. “It’s only temporary. She just got out of prison, you know? That safehouse was a real shithole.”
“What if you kill her, though?” Nancy says, her eyes huge. “Susan, I am legitimately concerned. What if she kills you? She’s an international criminal.”
“She’s a pain in the ass, but it’s not that bad,” Susan says. Actually Rayna woke up before Susan, burnt a non-stick pan and bought an espresso machine on her credit card, but Susan’s kind of been meaning to get one for a while and didn’t feel justified in spending the money when she gets free coffee at work. Even though she makes a good salary and has paid off her mortgage with her savings. Even though the coffee at work is shit and lately tastes kind of funny and Susan’s worried there might be rats getting into the office storage closet again. It’s just hard to shake off her mother, sometimes.
“This coffee tastes like rat piss,” Rayna announces loudly in the conference room, just before Susan can get there and shut her up. “I know, because I drank water that rats had pissed in when my father hid us in a Latvian basement sweat shop for six months hiding from the Russian mob, before he killed them all. Do you know, this place reminds me of that Latvian basement. There were twenty of us living in a room, just like your women downstairs. Cooper, did you really used to work down there? My god, do they make you sew shoes at the same time?”
Ford noisily spits his coffee back into his cup, and Cress, the closest to her, visibly edges backwards in his seat.
“Cooper,” Crocker says, her face doing something complicated. “Keep your CI under control.”
“Yes ma’am,” says Susan. “But ma’am, if I may, I’m pretty sure there are rats getting at the coffee.”
“I’ll look into it,” says Crocker, her voice like ice. “Now, if we could get down to business?”
Reviewing the security footage from before the shooting they’ve linked to Petrov is kind of a weird experience. Susan doesn’t even think Rayna is paying attention - she has to confiscate her nail polish when she starts painting her nails - but when a guy walks around the corner, they both sit up at the exact same time.
“That guy,” says Susan, as Rayna says, “Pause it, pause the fucking video.”
“What?” says Ford.
“He doesn’t have his hands in his pockets,” says Susan. “It was, what, minus twenty? He’s trying not to look suspicious.”
“Look at his shoes,” says Rayna. “Nobody wears a coat like that with those shoes. You -” she points at Nancy, who jumps. “Can you, you know,” she waves her hand, “turn it around to get a look at his face or whatever the fuck you do.”
“I can zoom and run a definition algorithm,” says Nancy, typing furiously. “There.”
“I’ve seen him before,” says Rayna. “His name’s Marco. Massive cock.”
Wright chokes on his water.
“I’m really curious, did your father have some kind of hiring criteria to recruit men with with giant knobs?” pipes up Nancy. “Because this guy Susan killed on her first assignment -”
“Oh, yes,” Rayna says, dry as dust. “My father only hired ex-military, Russian Orthodox assassins with enormous wangs.”
“Really?” says Nancy, looking fascinated.
“No, don’t be so fucking ridiculous.”
“Now look,” says Susan, trying to take control of the situation. Crocker’s got that look on her face again and Susan doesn’t know if she’s trying not to laugh or is having an aneurism or something.
“For fuck’s sake, she’s talking British, ain’t she, she meant he’s a twat,” says Ford. “Can we get on with the fucking meeting?”
“Okay, now I’m confused, I thought a twat was a vagina,” says Cress, with his shit-eating grin.
“No, I meant riding him was like sitting on the fucking Eiffel Tower,” snaps Rayna. “You, on the other hand, are an enormous dickhead.”
“For fuck’s sake,” says Crocker. “If I hear one more person mention anybody’s genitals I swear to God I will sign you all up for sensitivity seminars.”
“Does the CIA screen for big dicks?” says Ford, “Because that’s discrimination against people with average size or small dicks, or people with dicks what got shrunk by their year in the Arctic breaking an Inuit assassination ring.”
“God, you’re pathetic,” says Rayna.
It doesn’t really stop going downhill from there.
“Well, I thought that went well,” says Susan, after three rum and cokes. “We identified a lead. Go us.”
“We’re a really excellent team,” Nancy says sincerely, sliding down the side of the couch. She and Rayna have been playing Mario Kart on Nancy’s Wii, until things got really heated and Susan had to break up a slapfight, and now Rayna is muttering and poking at Nancy’s e-reader.
“Where’s the fucking sex?” she says. “You, whatever the fuck your name is, skip me forward to the sex.”
“Are you reading the medieval bondage, dominatrix duchess thingy one I had open? Because that’s basically all sex, so I don’t really see the issue.”
“It was fucking disgusting. They didn’t brush their teeth in the Middle Ages. I don’t know how you can read such unhygienic shit.”
Susan thinks Nancy and Rayna have hit it off way too well, and Nancy seems remarkably unfazed that Rayna can’t remember her name for more than thirty seconds. On the plus side, she isn’t sure if Rayna remembers her time under Nancy’s coat either. Rayna throws the e-reader to the ground in disgust.
“So, if that’s a sample of the CIA men, I suppose it isn’t worth trying to fuck any of them? No wonder you’re all so fucking repressed.”
“Oh, I know, it’s awful,” says Nancy dolefully. She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I heard that Wright has herpes. And you know about Ford, of course. Susan slept with him and it was terrible. Also of course you shouldn’t fraternize with any of them because it would be a violation of workplace ethics and Crocker might have to fire them.” She perks up. “Actually, this is a brilliant plan.”
“All right, we’re going to head home,” Susan says brightly. “I’ll order us a cab.”
She gets the cab to stop and picks up some steaks on the way home. She’s running out of frozen leftovers and she kind of wants to feed Rayna up a bit before she gets her assigned to a new safehouse. She forgot to put in the request for that today, she realizes. She shrugs it off in favour of the memory of Wright’s face when Rayna told him his tie made him look like a peanut seller.
Rayna orders about $2000 worth of skincare products with Susan’s credit card, but Susan insists that she’s going to share them if she’s paying for them, and they actually are pretty amazing and her hair looks incredible now. Rayna won’t let Susan touch the espresso machine that she paid for, but the upside of that is, Susan gets handed an espresso every morning that tastes like it was made in fucking Milan. Rayna throws all of Susan’s stuff out of the spare bedroom into the hallway, but she was kind of meaning to clean it out anyway, and after a few trips to the basement storage and Rayna sorting all that remained into “unbelievably ugly shit, I won’t be in the same house with it” and “so disgusting, probably worth money on ebay, what do you mean you don’t have an account, are you a fucking peasant,” she feels like she’s had a spiritual cleanse or something. Rayna says that Susan’s baking is a waste of fucking time and money and then eats five of her brownies when she thinks Susan isn’t looking. Susan just kind of keeps forgetting to file for a replacement safehouse.
She and Rayna break the Petrov case in under a week, and in the kitchenette at lunch Laura passes on a rumour that Crocker took a dead rat from behind the storage closet and threw it on the Director’s desk. “Sandy told me that Cherise told her that Crocker said she wouldn’t stand for patriots working for the security of our country in a basement like a Latvian sweatshop,” she whispers.
“She said that?” whispers Susan back, cutting an extra-big slice of cake for her, and then one for Rayna because she loves hazelnut ganache.
Obviously she and Rayna aren’t really friends, and technically Susan is Rayna’s boss and responsible for her every move, and Rayna takes every opportunity to complain about the ankle cuff and quite frankly Susan feels a little bad about it, especially after she has to buy antibiotic ointment for an infected cut Rayna gets from it chafing, but honestly, apart from being a criminal megalomaniac, hanging out with Rayna is… kind of fun. She certainly gets a lot less shit around the office.
“Okay, seriously,” says Rayna, after she’s been living wi - staying temporarily with Susan for two months. “I refuse to live like this. Find me someone to fuck.”
“Am I your pimp now?” says Susan. “No, I will not find you someone to have sex with. Jeez.”
“This is a god damned human rights violation,” Rayna says, stealing Susan’s glass of wine because she’s too fucking lazy to get her own glass. “I know you’re basically a nun but I have the needs of an adult human with a vagina.”
“You know what, if you call Amnesty International and tell them you’re a convicted felon with the sex drive of a rabid lemur and the CIA won’t help you get laid, forgive me if I don’t think they’re going to give a shit,” says Susan, grabbing back her wine. “Also, a) I date, b) I think you might actually be a sex addict. I can get you into a rehab program.”
“I’m seriously not picky,” says Rayna. “I’d fuck you, I’m so desperate.”
Susan chokes on her wine, which she’s pretty sure Rayna did on purpose. “Excuse me?”
“I experimented with lesbianism in prison,” Rayna says. “It wasn’t abhorrent.”
“Wow, that is definitely the least flattering offer I have ever had,” says Susan. She can feel a flush going up to her ears, probably from the choking and coughing. “And I can’t say my memory is 100% firm on this point but I’m pretty sure Ford’s line was, ‘you must be tired because you’ve been shagging me all night in my head. If I said you had a beautiful body, would you have sex with me?’”
“Oh my god, I did not ask for the history of your tragic sex life,” says Rayna. “If you’re going to be homophobic about it, then fine.”
“I’m not being - for the love of Pete, there are so many reasons why me sleeping with you is a bad idea,” says Susan, not really sure how her life took this turn. “I was bisexual in college but I didn’t feel comfortable with labels, you know, and then I met Ken and - you know what, never mind, I am not discussing this.”
“That is the saddest thing I have ever heard,” says Rayna. “I should fuck you as an act of fucking mercy.”
“Yeah, you’re Mother fucking Theresa,” says Susan, then sniggers. “Motherfucking Theresa.”
“Yes, I heard you,” says Rayna, then, “Oh god, you were making a joke, how embarrassing.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Susan mutters, and goes to get more wine.
Someone trying to get the old gang back together comes to try and kill Rayna to cement his leadership, about three months in. He trips Susan’s silent alarm in the middle of the night, she creeps out in the darkness, and finds a guy trying to cut a hole in her front window. She maybe injures him slightly more than she should, but it’s the middle of the night and he’s outside her fucking house. She cuffs him to a pipe, calls for backup, and takes him down to Langley for questioning, leaving two agents outside to watch Rayna. When she finally gets home at 7am, Rayna’s sitting at the kitchen table, rigid and tight-lipped. It suddenly makes Susan wonder how many nights she stayed up like this with her dad. Rayna pushes over a perfect espresso.
“I should probably put you in protective custody,” Susan says, after she’s taken a few blissful sips.
“With arse-monkeys like Ford and Wright?” Rayna spits. “Given that you’ve saved my life at least three times, I’ll take my chances with you.”
“I think we’ll keep Boyanov with you for the time being,” says Crocker the next day. “I know it’s a pain, Cooper, but budget cuts being what they are -”
“That is A-okay, ma’am,” says Susan. “This way I can keep a close eye on her.”
“How’s Boyanov holding up?”
“She’s fine,” says Susan. “She’s used to this whole, mob death assassination thing.”
That’s not entirely true. The first night after the assassination attempt, Rayna climbs into bed with her. Susan nearly jumps out of her skin.
“What the fuck?” she whispers. Then, “God, your feet are freezing.”
“I think I heard someone downstairs,” Rayna hisses. “Get me a fucking gun.”
“No, I will not get you a fucking gun,” Susan says. “Okay, stay here.”
She calls the agents watching the house, and they come and have a look around. There’s nobody there. When she goes back upstairs, Rayna is still huddled in her bed.
“All clear,” says Susan. “You can go back to your room.”
“No fucking chance,” says Rayna. Susan is too tired to argue, so she just gets into bed with her, and lets Rayna wrap her cold hands and feet around her.
“God, you’re like a space heater,” Rayna mumbles, and falls asleep against her shoulder. It’s actually really kind of sweet, and Rayna is extra horrible the next day to make up for it.
After a few weeks, she loses her wild-eyed, furious look - kind of like an angry owl, Susan thinks - but she does still stick a little closer to Susan when they’re in the field, which Susan can’t help but find flattering. Very occasionally she crawls into Susan’s bed in the middle of the night, whispering things like “If you tell anybody about this, I will literally rip your head off your neck,” and “Christ, you snore like the god of thunder is fucking you in the nostrils,” and then they don’t talk about it the next morning. Susan doesn’t mention it to Nancy, because she thinks it’s probably a little weird, but if you twisted her arm she’d have to admit she doesn’t really mind.
She thinks the matter’s closed, but it turns out that Rayna was just making a strategic retreat. They make a major break in an international drug ring funding terrorism after Susan goes undercover as a weights coach at the leader’s gym, and Rayna, after much argument, goes undercover as a drug-guzzling housewife. She’s meant to be taking Susan’s group fitness class, but she mostly seems to flop around at the back of a yoga class and slip vodka into smoothies in the ‘green bar’; luckily (although she claims it is completely intentional) it turns out that they’re making the exchanges for local distribution there, hidden in the tubs of wheatgrass. Then the other five fitness instructors turn out to be drug-runner muscle and Susan has to take them down, it’s not a huge deal, and afterwards Rayna crawls out from under the bar and says, “That was fucking magnificent. Oh god, now you’re all sweaty. I suppose some people are into that but I’d prefer you have a shower before we fuck to celebrate.”
Susan winces as she hears Nancy spit (probably) coffee on her keyboard, and then some pretty intense hacking coughs right in her earpiece.
“Oh my god, Susan, I didn’t know you slept with women!” she shrieks, probably loud enough for the whole office to hear. “I suddenly feel very conflicted. It’s probably wrong of me to resent that we’ve never had a torrid office romance, isn’t it?”
“Will you calm down?” Susan hisses, while stepping on a guard’s face. “We are not sleeping together. Rayna, shut up.”
“I can see what she means,” Nancy is continuing, “I’m reviewing the security camera footage of you wrapping that guy around that machine that you use to stretch your thigh muscles and it’s really incredible. I’m quite aroused. Oh, backup’s here; agents arriving on your six.”
Rayna’s kind of weird when they get back home, hovering in the living room, picking things up and putting them down again. Usually she disappears into her room and spends hours on the internet downloading sports anime, but she’s out in the common area when Susan goes into the shower, and is still there when she gets out again.
“Listen, this is really fucking embarrassing for me,” Rayna says abruptly. “I’ve been throwing myself at you for months, you could at least do me the courtesy of pretending to be fucking me in front of your co-workers.”
“Um,” says Susan, blinking. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Would it kill you to pretend we’re sleeping together in front of what’s-her-name and those arseholes you work with? If I’m not going to get laid I could at least get a little fucking respect.”
“No, I heard that, and I’m not going to get into how messed up it is,” Susan says, “say the part again where you’ve been throwing yourself at me for months?”
“You heard me,” Rayna says. She’s turning pink. God help her, Susan thinks it’s cute, even if she’s psychotic.
“I thought you were just being an asshole,” Susan says. “Were you serious? About, you know, wanting to have sex with me?”
“Oh, fuck off,” Rayna says, blushing fiercely and clearly furious about it.
“You could have said something,” Susan says. “I mean, it’s still a terrible idea, and, you probably shouldn’t live with me, and there’s all kinds of paperwork I’d have to fill in if we start dating, and probably you’d be assigned to someone else and I actually really like working with you, but I don’t feel comfortable having a relationship with someone who can’t go two miles out of my sight -”
“I don’t want to date you,” Rayna says, looking horrified.
“We’re already living together,” Susan points out, then, equally horrified, “Oh my god, we’re living together.”
“Oh no,” Rayna says, stepping back and tripping over her shoes that she’s left in the middle of the living room floor again. She sits down heavily on the floor. “No, no, no. This is a fucking disaster.”
“I’m pretty sure this is your fault,” Susan says. “You bought a fucking espresso machine. You moved into my house. Did you move into my house because you wanted to sleep with me?”
“No,” snaps Rayna, “Oh my god, don’t be so fucking self-centred, I moved into your house because it wasn’t a total shithole and you - aren’t the worst person in the world. And I’ve met most of the worst people in the world, so my bar is very low.”
“You are super fucking into me,” says Susan. “You totally want to date me.”
“Admit it, you want me,” snarls Rayna. “I’m the most exciting fucking thing that’s ever happened to you in your boring fucking life.”
“Well, that’s actually true,” Susan admits. They sit together on the floor for a while.
“Do you want to fuck or not?” Rayna says finally.
“Okay, sure, why not,” Susan says. “But don’t expect me to do all the work.”
“Why the shit not, everybody else does except Nancy,” Rayna says, but she’s already crawling on top of Susan and putting her face in her boobs, so Susan decides to set that conversation aside for another time.
Turns out, Rayna’s a screamer, and she says shit like, “cover me with chocolate and lick it off like I’m one of your fucking stupid cupcakes,” and “pull my hair, ow, no, not out, just pull it, Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you,” and she spends like $4000 on sex toys with Susan’s credit card and leaves hickeys on her that have the dudes at work giving her about ten miles of personal space and Nancy bursting into spontaneous applause. Susan’s dating an ex-international criminal and it is definitely the best relationship she’s ever had.