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Paula should never have agreed to this.
When she was waiting at the airport, it seemed like a good idea. Go to the States, see the sights, chase after her nemesis. But now, standing in the hot, dry California air, reality started to sink in. She was all alone, her only backup being Stefanos’ voice in her phone and, well, Stefanos was smart but not particularly communicative.
Still, she texted him that she had landed, and he replied fairly quickly, refreshing her on what her immediate plan should be. As if Paula had to be reminded. All she did on the flight was pore over her neatly written strategies and well-organized notes on anything and everything she knew about Aryna Sabalenka.
People at the Agency liked to call Aryna the bane of Paula's existence. In a way, Paula supposed, that was true, but she never thought of it like that. Aryna wasn't someone that hindered her - Aryna was her other half, her purpose. Ever since being assigned to her case, Paula's world revolved around her, and she was perfectly content with that.
However, said 'world' was usually never more than a train ride or maybe a short flight away. Now she allowed herself to be sent on a fifteen hour flight to fucking California. She never hated Aryna more. If it was anyone else, Paula would have seen sense and used the influence she had gathered over the years to turn down the mission. But how could she let anyone else handle this? Who was capable of keeping up with Aryna's dance besides her?
If Aryna was tired of being chased around Europe, fine. Paula would probably follow her to the end of the Earth.
The rental car she ended up with had an Arizona license plate, the simple desert scene interrupted by large, chunky letters and numbers. She was glad for that - all the California plates she passed seemed so boring, especially considering everything Paula knew about this place. Hollywood, beaches, superstars. Something more interesting than the blandness on every Californian car.
Stefanos' intelligence pointed her to Beverly Hills, land of luxury and excess. Every house she passed was even more grand than the last, gigantic and colorful, gates and ornate flowers and fountains galore. Palm trees sprang up from the ground everywhere she looked, swaying in the gentle, warm wind. It was cooler here than it had been at the airport, the staleness of the air dissipating into something more pleasant.
She arrived at a lavish hotel, the sort that actors and producers and other celebrities of all sorts stayed at. The colors of the hotel was a strange pastel green-and-pink combination that would look ridiculous anywhere else, but somehow looked very classy here, pulling Paula in and taking her back to the time of Old Hollywood, grainy films and glasses of wine and long cigarettes.
She was woefully underdressed, unfortunately, the tan suit she wore not nearly fancy enough. Still, the way Paula carried herself was all that mattered, walking through the hotel briskly, confidently, head held high. She made no eye contact with anyone around her as she blazed a path to the restaurant in the bowels of the lobby.
Aryna was sitting at a table near the window, the sun illuminating her golden features. She was all dressed up, wrapped in a pink dress that Paula immediately knew would only suit her, fitting like a perfectly tailored glove. It made her smile - so rarely did she see Aryna outside of tense meetups, dressed head-to-toe in gear she could move in to carry out her plans.
Here, she looked like a girl Paula would start flirting with at a bar.
And, well, that was exactly what she intended to do.
Paula, with a confidence she oftentimes felt was unique to herself, waltzed up to the table, and, pushing as much charm as possible into her voice, said: "Is this seat taken?"
It was such a cliché, she knew, a suave spy saying that to their simultaneous worst enemy and greatest obsession. She just couldn't resist.
She caught Aryna off-guard, which gave her a little satisfaction. The assassin's head snapped up, and she blinked twice rapidly before her features settled into something equally calm and equally flirtatious.
"There's always room for you, Paulita," she said sweetly, gesturing to the empty seat. Paula took it with no hesitation.
It was then that she noticed the two glasses of champagne on the table. One that Aryna was drinking out of, and another that was still full, looming at Paula's place setting.
"You knew I was coming." That wasn't a question.
"Of course," Aryna said with a wave of her hand, taking another sip. "I tracked your flight as it came in. Your friend Tsitsipas may be good at gathering intelligence, but he's shit at hiding it. And you're too late, by the way. I've already done my job here."
"If I was too late, you wouldn't still be in California," Paula retorted calmly. "You never waste time gloating this early, that’s for after I have the upper hand. Nice try."
Aryna shrugged, completely unbothered. "It was worth a shot. That trick works well on others, but... others aren't you."
"I'm already in contact with your target," Paula said. She picked up her glass of champagne and held it up to the light, studying it. "Poisoning my drink? Really?"
"Please, Paula, I know when you're trying to fish for information," Aryna scoffed. "You have no idea who my target is."
Paula smiled smugly. She loved those moments where she outsmarted Aryna - lived for them, actually. The look on her face when she realized Paula was one step ahead, the slight widening of her eyes or smallest of frowns, satisfied her in an almost indescribable way. Paula was nothing if not competitive, after all.
"Miss Rybakina is well aware that you are coming," she drawled.
And there it was: a quick, sharp intake of breath. A slight break in composure, quickly recovered but unable to be taken back.
That was how it always went with them: back and forth, trading the upper hand, until one got their foot in front.
"Good luck finding her," Paula said sweetly. "I doubt you will."
When she was in her relatively secure, albeit far less luxurious, hotel for the night, she called Stefanos.
"She didn't see it coming," Paula said immediately. "Rybakina is off the grid now."
"You didn't think the plan would work," Stefanos commented.
Paula rolled her eyes. Stefanos was always offended when someone questioned his plans. "I didn't say that. I said she might hear about it. And she knew about most of what I was doing. Now, where is she going next?"
There were a few moments of rapid typing, and Paula held the phone out away from her ear. She didn't understand the appeal of comm work, forever stuck behind a computer screen and in an earpiece. Field work was all about connection, relationships. What Paula felt towards her cases and targets - towards Aryna, really - was something that couldn't be replicated. She wondered if Stefanos, with his intel and headsets, would ever find something like that.
"She's on her way to Miami," Stefanos said. "Her target... hmm. She's being more careful this time."
"Fine," Paula replied. She wasn't surprised at Aryna's adaptability - however Stefanos found out about Rybakina, she was certain Aryna found a way to fix it. "I'll figure her out when I get there. Now, when can I get a flight there?"
"Paula, you should get some sleep."
How very Stefanos of him. Responsible, traditional, by-the-rules.
"I'll sleep on the flight."
Paula found Aryna tanning on a beach in Miami.
She knew she had been outplayed the moment she laid eyes on her. In a swimsuit, sunglasses, and flip flops she was perfectly calm, a wry smile on her face.
"Hello, Paula," she said without even looking up. "You impressed me in California. I didn't want to make the same mistake here."
"Congratulations," Paula sighed.
There wouldn't even be a witty exchange, a tense conversation bordering on flirtation. Aryna had won before the battle even started. That was what bothered Paula the most, really. She lost often, but never quite so crushingly.
Aryna took off her sunglasses and looked up at Paula. She expected to see pure smugness and satisfaction in her eyes, but there was instead a sort of... discontentedness that Paula never thought she would see from a victorious Aryna.
"I didn't enjoy it, you know," she said softly. "There was no thrill of the chase. I missed you."
Paula scoffed. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"I mean it," Aryna snapped. Her voice was serious, and she propped herself up on one elbow. "You're my competition. My obstacle. The one thing in my way. Without that, what purpose do I have?"
"Assassins don't want someone hindering them," Paula said, but inside of her something was growing warm. Her connection with Aryna wasn't one-sided, the assassin felt the same way. The only time they ever spent together was sabotaging each other's missions, and without that, they were apart. Alone.
"But it's more than that," Aryna continued. "It's... you, Paulita. I think about you more than I should. I... I want to see you, all the time. You know I almost didn't come here, to the States, because I thought you wouldn't follow me. But you did. So what if... what if you didn't have to follow me? What if we go around the world together?"
It would be so easy for Paula to accept. She wanted to, she really did, to sit next to Aryna on a plane, to let her head fall onto her shoulders as she slowly fell asleep, to watch movies and eat pretzels and do what normal, non-spies would do when the connection between them was so strong. But Paula had to stay professional, she had to stay on target. Aryna made promises, but she could betray Paula at any moment. She would be a fool to trust her.
And yet, there was nothing she wanted more than Aryna's smile. Her wit. Her touch. Did trust really matter?
She looked so beautiful, bathed in the warm Miami sun.
Beautiful, and deadly.
"You can try your tricks," Paula forced out. "I'll be at your next job before you even get there."
She turned and left before she could change her mind.
Paula was still shaken from her encounter when she contacted the Agency later.
She knew it would be good for her to talk to Stefanos. He represented everything she was trying to ignore: professionalism, doing things by the book, in accordance with the rules, not falling for women whose daily task was killing people from the shadows. Paula and Aryna had always been false flirtatious, a spy's relationship with her adversary. Nothing real.
But oh, a voice in her head teased, don't you want it to be real?
It didn't matter. Talking to Stefanos would set her straight.
Only... Stefanos didn't pick up.
She called him again, thinking maybe he just missed it bro something had been distracting him. But there was still nothing.
After a third failed attempt, Paula began to worry. Had something happened to him? Stefanos would never abandon his post, she knew that. There was absolutely nothing that could derail him from his job. She knew him well enough to know that for sure.
Unless...
What was Stefanos Tsitsipas hiding from her?
Before she could think on it anymore, the device in her hands sprang to life, an unfamiliar contact flashing on the screen. Both curiosity and concern overwhelmed any caution Paula may have had, and she picked up.
"Hello?" The voice was female, somewhat timid, definitely young. "Is this Paula Badosa?"
"Yes," Paula answered. "Who is this?"
"Um, Iga Świątek," the girl said. "I'm new at the Agency. We met a few weeks ago?"
Paula vaguely remembered meeting some of the new recruits, but none of them were distinct in her mind. Still, Iga appeared to be her lifeline right now - Paula had to put her faith in her.
"Iga, where is Stefanos?"
"Well... we don't really know," Iga admitted nervously. "But Roger heard from Grigor - who must have talked to Stefanos - that it has something to do with that independent agent Medvedev."
"Daniil Medvedev?" Paula echoed. She worked with him once, when the Agency hired him for assistance on a mission. Stefanos had been on comms...
Well. It seemed that even from his desk, Stefanos had found his very own spy rivalry connection.
Paula took a deep breath and steeled herself. All that mattered was stopping Aryna from completing her goals, stopping her from winning
"Alright, Iga," she said. "You're my eyes and ears now. I need you to tell me where Aryna Sabalenka is going and who her target is."
New York City was a spy's paradise.
Every bit of it was somewhere to blend in, somewhere to hide. Paula could disappear into these streets and never be seen again, just a footnote in the tremendous chapter the city was.
According to Iga, this was likely Aryna's last stop before returning to Europe. Part of Paula was relieved, of course, to go home, but part of her knew she would miss this stretch of her life. Back home, there was always someone else, one of Aryna's allies or an Agency member, complicating things. Here? It was just Paula and Aryna and their deadly dance.
Iga had explained that Aryna was looking to dismantle a group of American jewel thieves that took after one of Roger's old nemeses, Andy Roddick. Why Aryna would be focusing on something that had traditionally been an Agency issue, Paula wasn't sure, but she learned long ago not to question the nature of the targets, just to stop Aryna from getting to them.
"There's two heads: Pegula and Gauff," Iga had told her, having completed her research in what was probably a record time. "Pegula is in Montreal right now, so she must be targeting Gauff. The headquarters aren't public, obviously, but I tracked some of their shell companies..."
Iga, Paula was beginning to realize, was brilliant. She doubted that even Stefanos could have found the place she was looking for, certainly not as quickly as Iga did.
The place seemed like an ordinary dress shop, with racks of gowns and skirts and even suits lining the walls. Of course, Paula waited until night, when the shop was closed. It was relatively easy to break in, considering the simple lock. According to Roger, the Agency operated 'inside the law' but considering they were international and, well, spies, 'law' was a loose term.
Still, Paula's breaking-and-entering didn't exactly go unnoticed. Almost as soon as she was a few steps into the room, there was someone at her back and a knife at her throat.
"Don't move."
Paula stayed calm - it wasn't as if she hadn't faced something like this before.
"Coco Gauff, yes?" She began. "I'm from the Agency. I'm not here about your business - there's an assassin after you."
Gauff scoffed. "Sure. Right. I've heard enough about you guys, I know what you're up to."
"I really don't care what you think of me," Paula said. "I'm trying to save your life." The steel at her throat was cold, so very unlike the warmth Aryna always gave her.
"I'm not going to listen to you," Gauff replied.
"Actually," said a familiar voice. "I think you should."
Despite her better judgement, Paula twisted to the side to see Aryna emerging from the shadows, smirking. Gauff swore and drew back, shoving Paula towards Aryna and bolting out the door. Paula couldn't stop her momentum in time and crashed into the assassin, sending them both tumbling into a row of thick dresses. Fabric ripped as they hit the ground, tangled in both the gowns and each other.
"Thank you for the distraction," Aryna said, springing up and following in the direction Gauff had gone.
Paula used the clothing rack to pull herself up, cursing softly, and tore after Aryna.
Another thing about New York City: it was really, really hard to chase someone in a place where everyone was walking all the time.
She wove in between pedestrians, sprinting past unsuspecting people with a quick "sorry!" or "excuse me!" which was usually met with a glare. She could see Aryna in front of her, but not Gauff. Of course, Aryna was what she would be focusing on no matter what.
Suddenly, Aryna took a sharp turn down a dimly lit side street, and Paula dove after her, cutting off more than a few disgruntled pedestrians. She didn't even bother apologizing that time as she was finally able to close the distance between them, her hand reaching out and catching Aryna's wrist.
Aryna turned as soon as she felt Paula's touch, and they locked eyes for a moment, both of them breathing heavily. The thrill of the chase, was what Aryna had called it back in Miami. Paula felt it now, flowing through her veins, adrenaline fueling her. But Paula had chased many people in her time as a spy - none had ever been as exhilarating as Aryna. Her intense passion, her casual wit, her fierce beauty
"You know," Aryna said, panting. "Getting rid of Gauff's business helps the Agency too. We could work together."
"Maybe it does," Paula replied. "But I have my mission. You know that."
Aryna smiled. "I think you're a bit obsessed with me, my dear Paulita."
Paula could have done a number of things there. She could have come up with a witty retort. She could have let Aryna go, and denied it. Or she could have pulled her close, kissed her the way she always wanted to, never let her go.
But then a flash of silver caught her eye.
It all happened very fast, so much so that when Paula tried to recount it later, it all felt like a blur. What she did know was that she pushed Aryna out of the way, and then the cold of Gauff's knife was in her stomach, her body, her soul.
"Paula!" Aryna's voice was faint in Paula's head, as if her ears were under water. "Paula!"
The last thing her hazy vision captured before the darkness took over was the tiger inked on Aryna's arm, pulling her close.
"Aryna."
The world was still dark, but Paula was aware once more, however faint and distant everything felt to her. And there was only one thing on her mind.
"Aryna, Aryna, Aryna."
She heard the sound of quick shuffling, someone getting out of a seat and rushing over to her.
"Paula? Are you awake?"
It wasn't Aryna. It was Iga.
Slowly, Paula managed to open her eyes, desperately blinking away the sudden light. Iga - at least, who she assumed was Iga - stood over her, concern plain on her face despite the shadow caused by the cap on her head. She looked older than Paula would have assumed, and much more mature.
"Sabalenka contacted us," Iga explained slowly, not questioning Paula's frantic repetition of Aryna's name. She appreciated that. "She said you took a knife for her. She stayed with you until some agents got there. And... she probably saved your life."
"Where is she now?" Paula asked desperately. All she wanted to do was see her.
"I don't know," Iga said quietly. "I'm sorry."
And Paula drifted back under the waves, happy to sink into the darkness once more.
She was in and out like that for the next few days. There was always someone there when she was awake, whether it was Iga giving quiet updates, Stefanos frantically apologizing, or another agent who just happened to be dropping by. She never lasted long with any of them.
But one day, something changed. A new voice joined the mix. A familiar, comforting voice, the subject of Paula’s dreams.
"Hello, Paulita."
Paula's eyes snapped open, suddenly alert for the first time in what felt like forever. Was she dreaming?
No. It was real. Aryna was there, at her side, lovely and sharp as ever.
"I did say I'd always follow you," Paula whispered, her voice cracked and dry.
Aryna let out a sigh that could have been a sob, if one was listening closely. "Why did you do it?"
"Because it's you."