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Fic: Advanced Practical Stealth Techniques (Princess Protection Program, Carter/Rosie)
Title: Advanced Practical Stealth Techniques (or, Things That Weren't In The Course Catalogue)
Fandom: Princess Protection Program
Pairing(s): Carter/Rosie
Word Count: 1351
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It isn't easy balancing being a college student and a princess-rescuing international super spy. At least she has a hot girlfriend?
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
harper_m for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandom_helps.
Carter's lying on her bed, half-chewed pen in one hand, paying very little attention to the macroeconomics textbooks strewn around her bed, when Rosie climbs through her window dressed all in black. Not all in black like 'suit up, there's a princess we have to go rescue,' though; more all in black like 'hi, I'm a princess with immaculate fashion sense and my own personal designer, don't I look effortlessly beautiful?' Which, yeah, she totally does, so Carter pretty much has to give her that one.
"Oof," she says, because for all her royally-bred grace and poise, Rosie chooses to sit right on top of her rather than on the admittedly limited space left on the rest of the bed. And then, rolling over as best as she can under Rosie's weight, "Nice to see you, too."
"I just got in tonight," Rosie says, moving over a little so she's still on top of Carter, but in a slightly more comfortable position. She grins, wide and genuine and gorgeous, and then her eyes flick over Carter's shoulder, and she raises an eyebrow. "Brief Principles of Macroeconomics?"
"Core course," Carter says. "Do you ever feel like you have no idea what you're doing?"
"Frequently," Rosie says, and Carter feels guilty for a moment; she's complaining about a little homework, while Rosie has a whole country to rule, not to mention their shared extracurriculars. "But do you know what I do?"
"What?" asks Carter.
"I think, 'What would Carter do?'"
For a minute, she looks so genuine it takes Carter's breath away, and then she laughs, the rest of the air knocked out of her lungs when Rosie elbows her. "You do not."
"Well, sometimes I think, 'What would Major Mason do?' But it's usually the same thing."
"Not always," Carter says, and leans forward to accentuate her point, kissing Rosie as firmly as she can manage from her current vantage point, which is not very. Luckily, Rosie kisses her back, and it's a while before Carter, now on top, pulls away again, looking down in dismay at the ruins of smudged, crumpled ex-homework littering her bed and (mostly) the floor.
"Oops," she says.
"Were those necessary?" Rosie asks, and Carter smiles down at her.
"Nope," she says. "Now, where were we?"
-
She's a lot less cavalier about the ruined homework the next morning, but only because her econ professor is a scary, scary woman. Carter's faced down all sorts, from spoiled royal brats to dictators hell-bent on world domination, but a tenured college professor is the first person she's found truly terrifying.
It doesn't get any better when she gets a text in the middle of class, and of course it's not just Rosie asking what she wants for lunch or saying she's had to fly back to Costa Luna, it's from the pink phone, which means she has to rush out of there in the middle of a lecture. Not smoothly, either, if you ask the three people whose legs she trips over on her way out, and she doesn't even want to think about the magnitude of the glare she'll be getting come Monday morning.
She doesn't bother to go back to her room to change, because most of her stuff's at headquarters (she kept some of her things in her room for about a week before she realised that people in college dorms will wander in anywhere without invitation, and she doesn't need the questions), and Rosie meets her halfway down the hall.
"Pickup in five," Rosie says, and she nods.
"East carpark. Come on, I know a shortcut."
-
It's not their hardest rescue ever, but it doesn't exactly go smoothly either, and it's Sunday night before Carter's back in her room, surveying the mess of books and papers that she hoped would have somehow organised themselves in her absence.
"I'm exhausted," Rosie says behind her. "And hungry. Late night hot dog run?"
Carter wants to ask her how she does it - how she manages to be queen of a whole country while she spends half her time with Carter in the field and the other half seemingly with her in bed, when Carter can't even deal with college assignments and class schedules. It'd be a useless question, though; she does it because she's Rosie, and Carter's Carter, which means she's pretty much screwed.
She spares another glance for her poor, neglected textbooks, and says, "I'm in."
-
Technically, they're not supposed to have overnight guests in the dorm, only Carter's never been pulled up on it, not even when Rosie shows up to breakfast in Carter's pyjamas or totally hogs the one one shower stall with decent water pressure in the morning. Carter's pretty sure she has Rosie to thank for that one, too; she's never really been able to say no to her, so how could her RAs?
Anyway, she's grateful for it when she sleeps late Monday morning, because it means Rosie's already gone down to the food hall to bring back eggs and half-cooked bacon, which is still way better than no bacon. It also means she's only five minutes late for class instead of fifteen, and she doesn't even think about her unfinished assignments until she's walking into class.
It's times like these she really, really wishes she had access to all the latest tech her dad sometimes lets slip about; while he's never actually mentioned anything that could make her invisible, or able to turn back time to anytime before right now, she's pretty sure if she can think of it, someone's working on it. Hell, even quieter shoes would help right now.
"Ms Mason." Even the professor's voice is terrifying. "Assignment?"
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap.
"I, uh." Forgot it. Stepped on it. Ignored it in favour of rescuing the princess of Gordovia from her gold-digging, wannabe-matchmaker, real-life evil stepmother. Somehow, none of the even remotely true options sound like anything she should really be saying. "I'll have it in tomorrow?"
"At a two point per day demerit."
And that's fine, that sounds entirely reasonable. Not exactly good news for her sadly mediocre grade point average, but better than the fire pits and raking over hot coals she's been - possibly unreasonably - expecting.
"Yep," she says. "Got it." and tries really, really hard to think about whatever fake economic crisis they're modelling this week instead of the very real upcoming crisis in South Bolovar she's expecting to have to intervene in any day now.
-
'Any day now' being, of course, later that afternoon.
She's not in class this time when the call comes - thank goodness - but she is very much busy, one of Rosie's hands tangled in her hair and the other in a very compromising position underneath the sheets. She considers ignoring it for a moment - okay, fine, for several moments - and then gives in, twisting away from Rosie with a groan and a string of entirely interior curses.
"It's time," she says. "They need us now."
"Now as in right now," Rosie asks, "or now as in -"
"Now as in we'll probably have my dad breaking down the door if we're not out of here in thirty seconds." Not exactly the relaxing evening with her girlfriend she had planned. Or the highly stressful evening of assignment-writing she should have been doing instead.
"So pretty much now," Rosie says, hopping up and pulling her hair back in one fluid motion. Carter must still be staring at the desk, though, because she says, "Are you sure? I can handle it without you, if you need to stay."
As much as that's probably true - Carter's pretty sure there's nothing Rosie couldn't handle, with backup or without - she shakes her head, searching for a jacket. Is it cold in South Bolovar this time of year? Right now, she can't even remember which side of the equator it's on, and it's not like she can pull out a map to check.
"Nope," she says. "I'm fine. Assignments will keep." At a two point per day penalty.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Carter says, and in the six seconds she has spare, leans over to kiss Rosie as quickly as she can manage while still trying to pull on her last boot. "Let's go rescue some princesses."
Fandom: Princess Protection Program
Pairing(s): Carter/Rosie
Word Count: 1351
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It isn't easy balancing being a college student and a princess-rescuing international super spy. At least she has a hot girlfriend?
Notes: Written for
harper_m for fandom_helps.Carter's lying on her bed, half-chewed pen in one hand, paying very little attention to the macroeconomics textbooks strewn around her bed, when Rosie climbs through her window dressed all in black. Not all in black like 'suit up, there's a princess we have to go rescue,' though; more all in black like 'hi, I'm a princess with immaculate fashion sense and my own personal designer, don't I look effortlessly beautiful?' Which, yeah, she totally does, so Carter pretty much has to give her that one.
"Oof," she says, because for all her royally-bred grace and poise, Rosie chooses to sit right on top of her rather than on the admittedly limited space left on the rest of the bed. And then, rolling over as best as she can under Rosie's weight, "Nice to see you, too."
"I just got in tonight," Rosie says, moving over a little so she's still on top of Carter, but in a slightly more comfortable position. She grins, wide and genuine and gorgeous, and then her eyes flick over Carter's shoulder, and she raises an eyebrow. "Brief Principles of Macroeconomics?"
"Core course," Carter says. "Do you ever feel like you have no idea what you're doing?"
"Frequently," Rosie says, and Carter feels guilty for a moment; she's complaining about a little homework, while Rosie has a whole country to rule, not to mention their shared extracurriculars. "But do you know what I do?"
"What?" asks Carter.
"I think, 'What would Carter do?'"
For a minute, she looks so genuine it takes Carter's breath away, and then she laughs, the rest of the air knocked out of her lungs when Rosie elbows her. "You do not."
"Well, sometimes I think, 'What would Major Mason do?' But it's usually the same thing."
"Not always," Carter says, and leans forward to accentuate her point, kissing Rosie as firmly as she can manage from her current vantage point, which is not very. Luckily, Rosie kisses her back, and it's a while before Carter, now on top, pulls away again, looking down in dismay at the ruins of smudged, crumpled ex-homework littering her bed and (mostly) the floor.
"Oops," she says.
"Were those necessary?" Rosie asks, and Carter smiles down at her.
"Nope," she says. "Now, where were we?"
-
She's a lot less cavalier about the ruined homework the next morning, but only because her econ professor is a scary, scary woman. Carter's faced down all sorts, from spoiled royal brats to dictators hell-bent on world domination, but a tenured college professor is the first person she's found truly terrifying.
It doesn't get any better when she gets a text in the middle of class, and of course it's not just Rosie asking what she wants for lunch or saying she's had to fly back to Costa Luna, it's from the pink phone, which means she has to rush out of there in the middle of a lecture. Not smoothly, either, if you ask the three people whose legs she trips over on her way out, and she doesn't even want to think about the magnitude of the glare she'll be getting come Monday morning.
She doesn't bother to go back to her room to change, because most of her stuff's at headquarters (she kept some of her things in her room for about a week before she realised that people in college dorms will wander in anywhere without invitation, and she doesn't need the questions), and Rosie meets her halfway down the hall.
"Pickup in five," Rosie says, and she nods.
"East carpark. Come on, I know a shortcut."
-
It's not their hardest rescue ever, but it doesn't exactly go smoothly either, and it's Sunday night before Carter's back in her room, surveying the mess of books and papers that she hoped would have somehow organised themselves in her absence.
"I'm exhausted," Rosie says behind her. "And hungry. Late night hot dog run?"
Carter wants to ask her how she does it - how she manages to be queen of a whole country while she spends half her time with Carter in the field and the other half seemingly with her in bed, when Carter can't even deal with college assignments and class schedules. It'd be a useless question, though; she does it because she's Rosie, and Carter's Carter, which means she's pretty much screwed.
She spares another glance for her poor, neglected textbooks, and says, "I'm in."
-
Technically, they're not supposed to have overnight guests in the dorm, only Carter's never been pulled up on it, not even when Rosie shows up to breakfast in Carter's pyjamas or totally hogs the one one shower stall with decent water pressure in the morning. Carter's pretty sure she has Rosie to thank for that one, too; she's never really been able to say no to her, so how could her RAs?
Anyway, she's grateful for it when she sleeps late Monday morning, because it means Rosie's already gone down to the food hall to bring back eggs and half-cooked bacon, which is still way better than no bacon. It also means she's only five minutes late for class instead of fifteen, and she doesn't even think about her unfinished assignments until she's walking into class.
It's times like these she really, really wishes she had access to all the latest tech her dad sometimes lets slip about; while he's never actually mentioned anything that could make her invisible, or able to turn back time to anytime before right now, she's pretty sure if she can think of it, someone's working on it. Hell, even quieter shoes would help right now.
"Ms Mason." Even the professor's voice is terrifying. "Assignment?"
Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap.
"I, uh." Forgot it. Stepped on it. Ignored it in favour of rescuing the princess of Gordovia from her gold-digging, wannabe-matchmaker, real-life evil stepmother. Somehow, none of the even remotely true options sound like anything she should really be saying. "I'll have it in tomorrow?"
"At a two point per day demerit."
And that's fine, that sounds entirely reasonable. Not exactly good news for her sadly mediocre grade point average, but better than the fire pits and raking over hot coals she's been - possibly unreasonably - expecting.
"Yep," she says. "Got it." and tries really, really hard to think about whatever fake economic crisis they're modelling this week instead of the very real upcoming crisis in South Bolovar she's expecting to have to intervene in any day now.
-
'Any day now' being, of course, later that afternoon.
She's not in class this time when the call comes - thank goodness - but she is very much busy, one of Rosie's hands tangled in her hair and the other in a very compromising position underneath the sheets. She considers ignoring it for a moment - okay, fine, for several moments - and then gives in, twisting away from Rosie with a groan and a string of entirely interior curses.
"It's time," she says. "They need us now."
"Now as in right now," Rosie asks, "or now as in -"
"Now as in we'll probably have my dad breaking down the door if we're not out of here in thirty seconds." Not exactly the relaxing evening with her girlfriend she had planned. Or the highly stressful evening of assignment-writing she should have been doing instead.
"So pretty much now," Rosie says, hopping up and pulling her hair back in one fluid motion. Carter must still be staring at the desk, though, because she says, "Are you sure? I can handle it without you, if you need to stay."
As much as that's probably true - Carter's pretty sure there's nothing Rosie couldn't handle, with backup or without - she shakes her head, searching for a jacket. Is it cold in South Bolovar this time of year? Right now, she can't even remember which side of the equator it's on, and it's not like she can pull out a map to check.
"Nope," she says. "I'm fine. Assignments will keep." At a two point per day penalty.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Carter says, and in the six seconds she has spare, leans over to kiss Rosie as quickly as she can manage while still trying to pull on her last boot. "Let's go rescue some princesses."