Drew stretched, trying to remember when she'd checked into the motel. More importantly, she tried to remember why, or more to the point who had slept in the other bed. Whoever, they'd left the sheets a mess. Her own smelled faintly of perfume and sweat, but both held the slightly acrid tinge of age. Her stretch finished, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling, trying to recall the events of the night before. She couldn't for the life of her remember how the sheets had gotten sweaty, or why she'd been wearing perfume.

Suspicion uncoiled from the back of her mind, stretching almost as languorously as she had. Naked. No memory of the night before. Sweaty sheets. Drew sucked at her teeth, frantically trying to remember what she'd been told roofies tasted like. Nothing but a faint hint of fiery cinnamon and icy peppermint. Schnapps might get her into a motel room, but they wouldn't blank her memory this badly.

She peered around the darkened room, trying in vain to bring up a face, a name, even the hint of a body. A faint feeling of soft, yielding breasts pressed against hers, hungry lips locked against her own, and the memory vanished.

"The hell? I've been really drunk, but I've never been so drunk I went to bat for the other team." Despite her conviction, she sniffed at the sheets, seeking the scent of cologne, aftershave, or even guy's deodorant. She even rolled out of the bed, careful to stay out of view of the window despite the curtain, and sniffed at the other bed. Perfume, different than the one in her bed. Citrus and pumpkin spices. "Did I?"

Someone knocked hesitantly on the motel room door. "Midnight?" A woman called; her voice pitched perfectly to be heard through the glass inset. "Are you dressed?"

"Sorry..." Desperately Drew scrambled to think of something coherent to say. "Forgot I was supposed to be dressed by midnight." She looked around; two corners of the room had wardrobes. Something didn't jive; hotels too cheap to have proper closets didn't have beds as nice as these. She tabled that for later and popped open the wardrobe. The woman called again while Drew read the note hanging from the thick biker leathers she'd found.

"Dressed as Midnight, don't you mean?"

Drew. These are reinforced. They should hold up better than the last set. Sorry if they chafe a little. Angela.

Something struck her as odd about the thick, smooth leather, but she couldn't bring herself to care a whole lot. Engulfed in the rich, spicy smell of never worn cowhide, she immersed herself in the feel of the coat. Beside that she found a set of pants; she'd never had the courage to try a pair before, but then she'd never had the ass she had now, either. Just beyond those...

"A leather shirt? Really, Angie? What am I, the Biker Dominatrix or something?"

"Pardon, but there is a phone call, and I believe you would be the better choice to take it."

Drew looked on the shelf above the clothes bar. Nothing. The floor held the nicest pair of badass leather shit kickers Drew had ever laid eyes on, but nothing else.

Why did Angela leave me a note in a motel room wardrobe? How the hell did she leave me a note in a motel room wardrobe?

"Midnight?"

"Yeah, um... do you have any idea what we did with my underwear?"

The woman outside snorted as if trying to hold in a laugh mixed with some other, unknown exclamation. "I'm sure I don't know. Shall I slide the phone in to you?"

Drew rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just bring it in?"

"Oh, no. I do not think that would be wise." The door slid open a few inches, letting light in from outside. Artificial light, which would make sense if, like the woman said, it was midnight.

Drew had never stopped running her fingers over the leather. She felt two patterns embossed on the front, one on each breast. On the left, the Blue Bloods logo. On the right, another stylized letter. It took a few moments for the implications of the 'M' to sink in. The chair sliding into the room with the same double 'B' logo on the backrest, a smart phone sitting on the seat, brought the truth slamming home.

"Oh, hell. I'm in Blue Bloods HQ, aren't I?"

"That is correct."

"Um... who are you?"

"My name is Grace Chung. I am... a new recruit, I suppose."

Drew looked at the smart phone, then back at the closet. "So... why aren't you coming in the room?" She reached for the pants; she could go without panties, but Angie wasn't kidding. This would chafe. They slipped on, the inside strangely stiff and smooth. When she pulled the zipper closed, the button snapped into place like some kind of magnet. The moment it did, the pants constricted until they fit like a buttery smooth second skin.

"With you asleep, I found my concentration slipping. With you awake? I might not be able to resist your power."

Drew stopped, taken aback by the frank declaration. "Um... you're gay? I mean, I don't care, one way or the other. Gay chicks are great. I mean, I'm not one. Really. I'm not in the closet, or in denial, or anything like that, either, but..."

"But you are babbling, because I implied I found you attractive."

"Yeah, talking to you without seeing you is really getting on my nerves. Why don't you come on in?" Drew searched once more for a bra, giving up after looking through all the pockets of the jacket. Rolling her eyes and hoping her new super-boobs didn't start super-sagging if she went without for one day, she pulled the leather shirt on. Again, the moment she pulled it closed, the buttons snapped together automatically, and the rest of the shirt snugged down until they looked painted on.

Stolen story; please report.

"Are you dressed?"

"Mostly. In her infinite sartorial wisdom Angie decided I'd go commando, but I've got pants and shirt on."

Grace slid the door open all the way. Light speared in, showing a tiny Asian woman with classically beautiful Chinese features and long black hair, wearing nothing but a thankfully closed dressing gown. The moment her eyes met Drew's her mouth dropped open. A second later, as she staggered to sit in the chair she'd pushed into the room, a wave of fog rolled away from her. A burst of flame shot out, the heat engulfing Drew momentarily, but it didn't last long enough to do any damage.

Someone hit the floor with a thump. Grace yelped. The fog parted, and Drew stared wide eyed at the icy mannequin sitting in the middle of the floor.

"Uh. Yeah. I can see why they recruited you. You said I had a call?"

Grace looked up from the floor, ran her fingers through a fine powder surrounding her. "I believe Captain Walker was disconnected."

***

Grace stared at Drew as she followed her through the Blue Bloods complex. The change in the policewoman fascinated her. Where the sleeping angel personified poise and seductive allure, Drew marched down the corridor, looking for trouble with every gesture. Grace found the dichotomy disturbing, but she couldn't even explain it to herself, so she stayed silent.

"What the hell do you mean, 'after the stunt I pulled'? I intervened in an attempt by some domestic terrorists to seize weapons. As far as I remember, I nearly got killed trying to stop them." The hand holding the phone to her ear clenched, the brushed stainless steel of its case groaning at the pressure.

"What I did after I stopped them? Hell, I don't remember stopping them. I vaguely remember grabbing something... a grenade maybe? and tossing it back at the terrorists. Next thing I know I wake up in Blue Bloods headquarters with someone saying there's a blue blood, lower case, being held prisoner by the military. I figured calling you would be a better bet than going all loose cannon."

Grace could make out the murmur of a deep bass through the tiny phone speaker, but she deliberately ignored the content of the man's words. She'd done that habitually ever since she made it to the States and realized how jealously people here guarded their privacy. More importantly, she hadn't wanted to annoy the nation which had rescued her from her gilded state slavery.

The gentleman stopped talking. "If there's some kind of porn video of me on the internet, I don't know about it. I sure as hell wouldn't have done some kind of freaky girl on girl thing, either. I don't swing that way."

Another brief murmur. "Charlie did what?"

A manic grin clawed its way across Drew's face. "Oh, no sir. No sir. You don't need to send a SWAT team, or the Marshalls. Keep them for looking into this Captain Walker. I don't know much about him, other than his name, his rank, and that he's been kept in solitary since he discovered his abilities. Makes me think he was doing something black, or we'd have read about someone using some abilities and disappearing."

This time the reply came too quickly and forcefully to ignore, "You're tracking new blue bloods?"

"Yeah, I told Charlie about the privacy issues. I think the basic problem is him not giving a flying fuck about privacy issues when maybe someone ten miles away is developing the ability to create nuclear explosions with her mind and isn't full of the best of intentions."

The bass voice dropped to a more conciliatory tone, far too low to hear. "Yeah, why don't you just do that little thing."

Drew flipped the phone closed, reaching to slip it into her jacket pocket without thinking. Halfway there, she stopped, deliberately slid the phone down the curve of her butt, then swore when the plastic rubbed across smooth leather with no pocket. "Paper pusher." She sighed, shaking her head ruefully. "Nah, he doesn't deserve that. I'm just pissed. Do you know anything about this damned video of Charlie's?"

Without thinking about why she did so, Grace pitched her voice to soothe. "No, Miss Williams. I'm afraid that I, much like yourself, awoke in a sickbed after a prolonged period of unconsciousness. In my case, however, my last memories were of a wave sinking my water taxi in the middle of Hong Kong harbor."

Drew smiled at her, the angel peeking out from beneath storm clouds. Grace's gut clenched and her head spun a little. She wondered briefly how much worse Drew affected men or lesbians. Then the frown returned, and Grace realized Drew had asked her a question. She replayed the last few seconds. Drew wanted to know if the taxi driver had survived.

"I don't know, actually. I lost consciousness shortly after the taxi capsized. I had no chance to do anything about my driver."

"Too bad. Guess you must have floated here or something." She frowned. "Timing's off though. Currents aren't right for it this time of year." Her eyes shot wide, and she muttered under her breath before Grace had a chance to think of something else, to ignore her. "How the hell do I know that?"

"Miss Williams..."

"Call me Drew. The only person who calls me 'Miss Williams' is my gynecologist, and I don't think either of us are really into you getting up all in my stuff." Grace nearly choked with the effort of holding back her near-instinctive denial. "Speaking of which, I have to figure out what the hell JJ was talking about. I've never done anything with a chick, and I've certainly never done anything on camera." She stopped, staring at the wall, lost in thought. "Well, there was that one party back in college. I still don't remember much more than blurs from that whole weekend. Shit. I guess I've got to go take a look at this damned video, see if it's really me."

"If you wish to do so, I believe I can show you where the computer terminals are."

Drew stopped in mid-stride. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not terribly long. It's hard to tell within the confines of this building. I believe I've been here a little over a day." She paused, surprised at herself. Since she'd gone looking for Mr. Morgan's truck, she hadn't even thought about leaving. "I'll show you the computers."

She led Drew to a hallway lined with offices. Each had a name displayed on the outside, most in a customized script. When she reached the door labeled 'Midnight' in a script suitable for a motorcycle gang tattoo, she stopped and gestured.

"Is that you? Midnight?"

"No, Miss Williams. It's you. I guess your teammates chose it while you lay unconscious."

Drew shook her head as she opened the door. "This better be good."

Inside, the dichotomy of the decor struck Grace as strongly as it had the first time she'd glanced in, looking for an unoccupied office to sit in for a while. Half the walls sported what Grace automatically labeled 'biker regalia'; embossed leather jackets interspersed with various weapons, both improvised and not. The rest of the decoration reminded her of a police detective's office. Photos of Drew's graduating class at the police academy, a face shot of her in her uniform, and a wall full of degrees made up most of it, but even the 'cop' portion of the room had a few weapons as part of the display.

Drew slipped into the office chair behind her desk, and a look of pure, surprised bliss washed over her face. The room spun, and Grace looked up from where her hands clutched at the edge of the desk.

"Oh, man, you okay, Miss Chung?"

"Please, call me Grace. I am fine. I see you discovered Widget's automatically adjusting chairs?"

"Yeah." She tapped the button on the computer, which sprang to life near instantly. "Huh. Message from Widget. Watch all three videos. Your keys are in the desk drawer. You know anything about this?"

Grace shook her head. "No, my task was to see you were not too disoriented to wake in a strange place. I should probably be going now."

"Nah. Stick around. If I've got keys, I might have a car. If I have a car, I might want a drink. If I want a drink, I'll want somebody to drink with. If I get somebody to drink with, I might get drunk, and if I get drunk, I'll need somebody to hold my keys."

Grace opened her mouth to object. Drew grinned conspiratorially at her own humor, and she gave up on the idea of escape. Drew clicked her mouse a few times and settled back into the preternaturally comfortable chair to watch what had happened in the world since the night she fell unconscious.