Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Transformers franchise
By: Santiva Potter
Summary: Joan always knew being Sam Witwicky's Personal Assistant would be a 24 hour job, but this was getting ridiculous….
Joan Davis was unbelievably comfortable.
She was wrapped around the sturdy arms of her boyfriend, Master Sergeant Robert Epps. Her relationship with him was a strange one. Anyone outside of their small group of friends would never understand why they worked. Epps wasn't always the nicest person. He was stubborn, boisterous, and highly opinionated. She had the capacity—and often had to use it—to be all of those things and above, but Joan tried to be a bit more gentle with her approach and demeanor.
But when it all came down to it, they were both two knuckleheads butting against each other. And after having him away on a 7 week deployment, Joan wouldn't have it any other way. She lay in his arms at peace and—
She groaned in slumber as she felt for the house phone in the darkness. The sheets over her and the arm wrapped around her shifted in agitation as Epps woke from the noise. Joan mouthed a "sorry" to Epps before answering the call.
"Good you're up," her boss greeted brightly.
Joan Davis understood that there were some people in this world that she was legally not allowed to kill. Unfortunately—well fortunately for Sam—her boss was one of them, but that didn't mean she couldn't give him a good piece of her mind.
"Samuel Archibald Witwicky, what the hell?" Joan snapped sitting up in the bed.
"Rise and shine sweetheart," Sam teased laughing.
"It's three o'clock in the morning!" Joan hissed. "What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be in Moscow with Mikaela on that conference?"
"I am," Sam replied. "The conference starts in about twenty minutes. Hey, have you checked your blackberry yet?"
"My blackberry?" Joan asked in a dangerous low voice. It was usually the pretext to a very long and very loud argument. Epps groaned in the background.
"You're asking me about my damn blackberry at three o'clock in the morning!" Joan yelled.
"Just check it," Sam sang. "It should be in your email."
"This better be worth it, Witwicky," Joan growled rising from the bed and grabbing her cell phone. She fumbled with it in the darkness to turn in on, and checked her messages. Sure enough, one new message from Sam.
At the sight of the message Joan groaned, slightly upset that she wouldn't be able to kill her boss. Upon opening it, things started to make sense.
"So Mikaela's not with you, I suppose," Joan said as she read over the email.
"Nope. She's out shopping at the moment. That's why I called now," Sam replied. "So what do you think? Worthy enough?"
"At three in the morning, hell yeah it's worthy," Joan replied. "Besides, this guy is a pretty good chef."
"Met him?" Sam asked.
"He did my dad's anniversary last year in Paris," Joan answered. "You want to clear this place out?"
"That's the plan. How much do you think it'll cost."
"I'm thinking in the area of money we don't have," Joan replied.
"What are you talking about," Sam teased. "We work for the government."
Joan snorted. "Good point. I'll see what I can do."
"What was that about?" Epps asked when she hung up the phone.
"Just something I have to do later today," Joan replied. "Go back to sleep."
When Joan arrived in work later that day, she was still a bit groggy, but the first thing she did was find Alexis Peterson, the lovely secretary who replaced Allison Bridge, and showed her the text message.
"I need you to book this," Joan explained.
"When do you need all of this?" Alexis asked.
"Today is Monday, so I need it all booked by Friday morning for a Saturday night dinner, in Moscow mind you," Joan answered.
"This restaurant is expensive. Sam is not cheap at all," Alexis smiled.
"No, he's not, but he's working my nerves," Joan mumbled.
"And how are we supposed to pay for all of this?"
"You can start with the military incentives," Joan answered.
"How much does he get paid from them?"
"Well he saves the world about once a week," Joan replied heading towards her office. "If there's not enough maybe we should complain to Secretary Keller about a raise. If you have any problems just ring me in my office. And if anyone asks, I'm not in yet. I barely got any sleep last night. I need a nap."
The rest of her day went by fairly smoothly. She was able to sleep until about noon. She then got up, took a lunch and had a meeting with Luther Hynes, who heads the designs for Hasbro's Transformer toys. Joan was able to leave work early that day, so she went out and made dinner, relaxed with her boyfriend over a movie before retiring to bed.
And at some ungodly hour, the phone rang—again.
Please don't let this be Sam, please don't let this be Sam, she thought, reaching for the phone.
"Joan I need you to get up, now," Sam begged. "I've done something incredibly stupid."
"Does this include calling me at 3:25 in the morning?" Joan snapped.
"Much, much worse. I forgot it!" Sam groaned.
"It! I forgot it!"
"Just check your phone." His voice was much softer, but rushed and Joan thought she heard Mikaela in the background. Frowning she reached to her phone and saw Sam's latest text message.
"Are you crazy?" Joan yelled, waking Epps. "How do you forget that?"
"I don't know, I thought I had it!"
"Sam, that's like forgetting your airplane tickets and your passport! No, it's worse than that! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I know, I mean, I don't know. Listen Joan, I really need you to get it. It's still in my office under—"
"Yeah, I know where it is," Joan snapped. "I'm getting up, I'm getting up."
"Where are you going?" Epps mumbled.
"I need to go save Sam's ass," Joan growled. "Stupid idiot."
The Hasbro building was barely alight, save the security booth, where she checked in with Rodgers and went through the metal detector, before getting into the building. Joan ran up to the top floor, quickly entered the passwords before letting herself into Sam's office. She came around to his desk, opened the second drawer, and pulled out the small velvet box under the Times Magazine cover that featured Hasbro. Joan sighed in relief and placed the box on the top of Sam's mahogany desk and reached for the phone.
"'Ello?" Jimmy Carlson, a friend of Joan's, who worked in the shipping industry, asked.
"Jimmy, this is Joan."
"'Course it's you," Jimmy replied groggily. "Who else is mad enough to call at such an hour?"
"You should meet my boss," Joan chuckled darkly. "Listen I need to know how fast you can ship something to Moscow. It's a pretty small object, but it's fragile and I need it there now."
"Are ya gonna make worth me while?"
"Don't I always make worth your while?"
After negotiating with Jimmy about the package, Joan leaned back in Sam's chair and checked the time. 4:25 am. It would not be worth the drive to go back home, sleep for an hour and come back again. After all, she had an extra suit in her office and there was a shower on the lower floors. She'd just curl up here in his desk and get some extra shut eye.
When she returned home after work that day, Joan was exhausted. Before leaving from his night shift, the security guard Roberts came up to wake her up, suggesting she get dressed before the others arrived. Taking up on his advice, Joan showered and got dressed and tackled three terribly long meetings, most of them military orientated, shipping issues with the new line of Transformer toys being released, had a business lunch with director/producer Steven Spielberg who begged again for the rights to take the Transformer toys and adapt them for a live-action film. At least he and DreamWorks had upped the stakes; Joan had never minded a Michael Bay film. When she finally got home, Joan found the nearest ice cream carton, kicked off her shoes and tuned into her favorite sitcoms until Epps returned home. And after he was done laughing at the situation, he picked her up and catered her to dinner in bed, before they retired to bed early.
In the long run, it meant more sleep for Joan; however it all went to waste when her house phone rang at three in the morning.
"Do not answer that phone," Epps growled.
Joan shook her head and picked up the house phone.
"What now Sam?" she snapped.
"Did you get it?" Sam asked.
"Yes, I did. Jimmy is going to ship it over. It should arrive at the hotel sometime tomorrow under Bee's name," Joan answered.
"Fantastic, thanks for that I really screwed up there."
"You're still screwing up. What is it?"
"Well I'm at the restaurant—which is perfect by the way—and I met the chef and I realized there's one thing we need."
"There are no flowers in Moscow, Russia? I refuse to believe that Sam," Joan snapped.
"There are flowers, just not the ones that I'm looking for," Sam replied.
"Let me guess, the birthday arrangement right? White orchid mixed with Calypso orchid?"
"That's the one," Sam mused.
"Y'know by the end of this I am going to kill you, right?" Joan said as she scribbled the order down.
"Joan, when is there a day that you're not ready to kill me?" Sam laughed.
Before noon of that day, Joan was able to find the arrangement of flowers that Sam was looking for and put in an order for them to arrive in Moscow on Saturday morning. The rest of Joan's day was thankfully uneventful. She was able to take the afternoon off, and spend some time by Sarah Lennox's house, who thought the ongoing situation was hilarious.
"Well, at least it's for a good cause," Sarah chuckled.
"That may be so," Joan replied, "but after this, I am demanding a pay raise."
That evening, she and Epps had dinner at the Lennox's, watched the local fireworks and laughed when Ironhide—much to Sarah's dismay—played piggyback with the Lennox's three small children. The weapon specialist had quite a soft spot for the little ones.
And after they arrived back home and went to bed, they did get a good few hours of sleep, until the phone rang—but this time it was her cell phone.
Joan frowned at the unrecognizable number before answering.
"Is this Mademoiselle Davis?" a woman asked with a thick French accent.
"Oui," Joan replied. "C'est Mademoiselle Davis. Qui est-ce?"
"Ah, this is Madame Yvonne's assistant Mademoiselle Joyner."
"Madame Yvonne?" Joan asked.
"Designer of Mode par Yvonne. Mr. Witwicky asked her to design a dress for a special occasion. It took much longer than expected so he said to bring the dress to you the exact minute we were finished. And we are."
"Now? You're done now? Why not finish at, I don't know, a reasonable hour?"
"Madame Yvonne was ashamed that we had not met schedule so we have worked day and night to finish dress," the assistant replied proudly.
"And now I have to come down there and get it," Joan finished.
"Oui, oui. And payment of course."
"Of course," Joan sighed. "Okay, where are you?"
"At the Madison, on 47th Avenue."
"Okay, I'll be there in fifteen," Joan replied getting up.
"D'accord, we shall wait."
"So is this all for what I think it's for?" Epps asked as he watched her get dressed.
"Depends on what you think it's for," Joan replied. She turned to see Epps giving her his I'm not that stupid look.
"Yeah, it is," Joan laughed.
"He's going on all out," Epps noted.
"Yeah, he is. You could learn a thing or two from him," she teased. "Although if you ever get a personal assistant, don't put her through this much pain."
Epps laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."
When she got in the car, Joan pulled out her blackberry and texted Sam: I guess you forgot to mention the dress.
A reply came back minutes later, filled with an apology: Oh shit! Jo, I'm so sorry, I thought I told them to ship it to Moscow not Arlington. I'll ship the money for the dress to the Hasbro account. I completely forgot.
Joan rolled her eyes and texted back: I figured Romeo. Sam what is the point of going all out, if you forget so many things? Is there anything else you need, while I'm still up? Did you remember your tux?
No that's all squared away, came the reply.
Joan laughed at the irony. Of all the things Sam remembered, it was his tux.
The dress itself was beautiful. It was a silky dark fuchsia dress with a low V-cute with a golden piece that met the dress's golden waist band.
"It's beautiful," Joan said softly. "Mikaela will love it. Here is the check for you Madame Yvonne. Now I have one question."
"What is it, my dear?" Madame Yvonne, a tall, skinny and frail woman asked.
"Do you all do your own shipping?" Joan asked.
The looks on their faces said it all.
"Hey Jimmy, it's Joan again," Joan greeted over her blackberry as she carried the dress to her car. "I need you to ship something again…"
On Friday, Sam gave her a break. She didn't get a single phone call. Not one. She was able to get Mikaela's dress to Moscow before the big dinner and she checked on everything else to make sure that Saturday would run smoothly with no interruptions or issues, and hopefully no phone calls.
She wasn't so lucky on the latter.
Saturday was her day of peace, her day of R&R and on this particular Saturday, Joan was certain that she was going to find some way to destroy her boss. There was at least one silver lining— instead of it being three in the morning, it was eleven.
Reaching for her blackberry, the source of the noise, Joan sat up ready to give Sam a good piece of her mind.
"Damnit Sam what now?"
When she didn't get an immediate response, Joan frowned and checked the phone again—it was a text message alert.
She opened the message and a beautiful picture greeted her. Joan laughed and sighed in relief.
"What?" Epps asked. Instead of answering, Joan showed passed him the phone. Epps sat up in the bed and took a closer look at the photo.
It was a picture of Sam and Mikaela. They were sitting in the restaurant that Joan had booked on Monday; Sam dressed in his tux and Mikaela in the dress that Joan had picked up on Thursday. Directly behind the pair was the exact assortment of flowers that Joan ordered on Wednesday and on Mikaela's left hand was the beautiful ring that Samuel Witwicky—that romantic idiot—had forgotten on Tuesday.
"At least she said yes," Epps laughed.
"Damn right she did," Joan replied texting Sam a reply.
In Moscow, Sam and Mikaela walked the streets carelessly, wrapped in each other's arms. It was nearing midnight, and the day had been perfect. Everything, largely thanks to his amazing assistant, had gone flawlessly. As it neared closer to midnight in Moscow, Sam's back pocket buzzed.
"What's that?" Mikaela asked.
"Cell phone," Sam replied pulling it out. "Ha! It's message from Joan. I've been putting her through hell all week."
"I'm sure," Mikaela said. "I knew you couldn't have pulled this off all by yourself. Let me see what she said."
Sam passed the phone to Mikaela, who laughed at the message:
I'm glad Mikaela said yes. But now, Sam, let me get some sleep!
"Poor girl," Mikaela chuckled as Sam texted back a reply.
Back in her home, Joan was about to try for some more shut eye when her phone went off again.
"That kid has got a death wish on him," Epps mumbled as he felt Joan reached for the phone. He was about to doze back off when Joan's loud laughter shook him awake.
"Jo?" He asked.
Joan sat the phone back down on the tabletop and slipped up the sheets again.
"Wedding gift, my ass," she mumbled before finally falling into some well deserved sleep.
Thank you so much for reading, and please don't forget to review! =)