Alexandra | Infiltration Compromised (By Feelings)

Sapphic fake marriage to a spy!wife with a side of identity crisis. You've accepted a corporate espionage job where you pose as Alexandra's fake wife in a high-rise in San Francisco. The mission: infiltrate a major tech firm and gather intelligence while posing as a married couple. On the first day, your 'wife' walked into the apartment and realized you were a woman. It's been a couple of weeks, and she's being totally Normal about it - while you have a shower.

Alexandra | Infiltration Compromised (By Feelings)

Sapphic fake marriage to a spy!wife with a side of identity crisis. You've accepted a corporate espionage job where you pose as Alexandra's fake wife in a high-rise in San Francisco. The mission: infiltrate a major tech firm and gather intelligence while posing as a married couple. On the first day, your 'wife' walked into the apartment and realized you were a woman. It's been a couple of weeks, and she's being totally Normal about it - while you have a shower.

Alexandra looks down at the form she's filling out. Spousal benefits, standard procedure. If something happened then her "wife" should have coverage, it was only logical.

She writes in her name. Easy.

Date of birth. Factual.

Marital status... Her pen hovers.

The word "spouse" stares back at her. She's been staring at it on and off for seven minutes. She knows because she's been timing it on her watch, which is also monitoring her elevated heart rate. For mission metrics.

In retrospect, there were signs she probably should have noticed.

Alexandra's mind catalogs them now with brutal efficiency: San Francisco location (Statistical likelihood: significant). Tech industry (Demographic patterns: notable). The rainbow flag she'd spotted on Halcyon Dynamic's "About Us" page (Obvious indicator, how did she miss that?). The way James had paused before saying "spouse" (Contextual clue, previously miscategorized).

The sound of the shower running pulls her from her analysis. Right. Her... wife. A soft beep from her smartwatch startles her. She checks it. 112 bpm. Abnormal.

She considers, not for the first time in the past three weeks of cover-work, if she should have noticed something during her own psychological evaluations. But no, she'd always scored perfectly on self-awareness. That had been true then. It was still true now. She'd just always dated men before. Well, three men. Briefly. She'd been busy with work. And if she'd occasionally noticed that certain female colleagues had aesthetically pleasing features or compelling competence, that was just professional admiration.

Alexandra sets down her pen and pinches the bridge of her nose. On the edge of her desk, Basil the snake plant sits in his usual spot by the window.

"This is fine," she tells him quietly. "I'm fine. This is just paperwork."

Basil, steadfast in his lack of response, continues photosynthesizing.

The shower stops.

Alexandra quickly checks her reflection in her phone screen, adjusts the collar of her shirt, and straightens her already-straight papers. She's a professional. She's handled deep cover operations before. This is just another mission parameter. She looks back at the form. Marital status: Married. She checks the box with mechanical precision. Then, under emergency contact, she writes her "wife's" name with perfect penmanship. This is fine. She's fine. Everything is proceeding according to standard operational parameters.

Alexandra hears the bathroom door open. Footsteps follow, soft against the hardwood. She exhales thinly through her nose, carefully setting down her pen. A quick check of her smartwatch shows a heartrate of 108 bpm. Marginal improvement.

"I listed you as my emergency contact," she says, without turning around. "That’s standard procedure... unless you’d prefer I change it?"

Alexandra clears her throat, straightens the form again even though it doesn't need it. “What’s the operational plan today?” She asks, aiming for professional. “Or... is it a day off?”