Summary: Anka isn't finished yet with Archer. Spoilers for episode 2x01.

Big Trouble in Little Gstaad

They were still stuck in Gstaad for the remainder of the weekend, or at least until stupid Anka's stupid birthday party was finished. Archer successfully managed to avoid the little tart after their ill-fated snowmobile ride for a good couple of hours, which he mostly spent spying on his mother and being made fun of by Lana. Gillette would also probably be making fun of him, but nobody had seen him for most of the afternoon.

"Man, do you see how flexible she is? She's gotta be part monkey or something. Gross." Archer took a sip of the cocoa that Lana had just made and spit it out in disgust. "There's like, zero booze in here."

Lana side-eyed him. "I don't know which is worse: That you're ogling your own mother via a hidden camera" - Archer started to protest, but she held up a beefy hand to silence him - "or that you can't imbibe anything without alcohol."

"My bloodstream has got to be at least fifty-fifty at this point," Archer said brightly. He turned back to one of the security room's many television screens and gagged anew. "Wow, how many rounds does Pam have in her?"

"Yeah, she's pretty feisty for being so hefty," Lana offered. She gestured at Archer's bandaged crotch and smirked. "Still hanging in there?"

"Phrasing," Archer said grumpily. He made a show of wincing. "I think this is the only time I've ever said this, but: I don't want to have sex."

"That IS a first."

"Yeah. Of course," he said, shifting with more effort than usual in his chair, "When my dick isn't all King Tut, I might be up for a few rounds."

Lana punched him in the shoulder, hard. "Don't push your luck."

"Okay, first, ow. Second, I thought you and Cyril were on a break. Like, a permanent one."

"Uh, wow. First," Lana mimicked, "It's none of your business. And second, it's none of your business."

"I'm just saying, you could do worse than show Cyril what he's given up than me. Maybe accompanied by a Swiss Miss or two -"

"You're a pig. I thought your dick was broken."

"It's out of commission for the rest of the day, at best."

"Well, maybe you can go a few rounds with your secret admirer." She punched him on the same shoulder a second time. "I'll leave you to your mother and Pam."

Archer watched her leave. "I really didn't touch her," he retorted, ignoring Lana's sarcastic "YUP" in favor of watching Pam chug another Green Russian. "God, at least suck it in. People are watching."

His room was dark when he finally returned. "Gillette must still be out giving himself a skiing lesson, or whatever it is gay guys do all day. 'Cause everyone knows what they do at night: Arthouse film by the fireplace. Gays."

"Do you always talk to yourself out loud?"

Archer jumped. "I'm pretty good at it," he remarked warily, recognizing the heavy, throaty accent of the underage sexpot he'd just spent an entire day trying not to be seduced by.

Anka giggled. "You are a funny man, Sterling Archer," she swooned, and then squinted as Archer found the lightswitch. She smirked at his still-bandaged genitals. "Does your Wilhelm feel any better?" she cooed. She had found a spare shirt, Archer noted grumpily, but it was still cut to an indecent length.

"It's fine." He made his way to the bed farthest away from where she stood (Gillette's), leering. "Don't you have anything better to do?" he sighed when she didn't take it as her cue to leave.

Anka winked at him and pushed out her already prominent chest. "I must confess, I am sad, Mr. Archer," she pouted.

Archer carefully maneuvered himself into a sitting position in front of the bed's prominent headboard. "About what?" he asked, confused and immediately suspicious of the sudden emotion.

Anka sniffed for good measure. "I am sad because you did not wish me a happy birthday." She blinked blue doe eyes at him, and he rolled his own eyes back at her.

"It's not your birthday until tomorrow."

"Actually, I turned 17 an hour ago," Anka corrected him.

"Oh." Archer yawned. "Well, happy birthday, then."

"Are you tired from our little excursion?" Anka purred, all smiles anew. She moved slightly closer to the bed, and snorted delicately when it made Archer tense up. "I could help you relax ..."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Hmmm." She seemed to mentally switch tactics. "I never thanked you for saving my life from those awful men."

"Don't mention it."

"Oh, but I must. It is not every day one is saved by the famous Sterling Archer of ISIS." Anka stepped closer yet to the bed. "I am a lucky girl, no?"

"Um, ask me that again in a year, minus an hour." Archer knew he wasn't up to a physical altercation, but he still had faith in his ability to make himself seem just unappealing enough so he wouldn't go to jail.

Anka giggled again. "My father said he would have your testicles removed if you put moves on me." Both sets of eyes dropped to Archer's swollen package. "But I say, where is the fun in life if you do not live dangerously?" She winked. "I am sure the world's greatest spy would agree."

Archer sighed exasperatedly. "Look, Anya. I appreciate underage tail as much as the next red-blooded American man, but I also appreciate my Wilhelm. A lot. Also, I'm pretty sure there's still a tenuous thread of respect for me at ISIS contingent on my not boning a 17-year-old."

Anka frowned. "I see." She slouched onto the end of Gillette's bed, but made no further attempt to molest the man tensed against the headboard. Archer relaxed a bit. "This sucks," she complained, still hot even in tantrum-mode. "I come all the way to Switzerland for excitement and nothing."

"Being chased shirtless on a snowmobile while being shot at wasn't exciting?"

"You know what I mean," Anka retorted petulantly. "I wanted to do something dangerous, but still fun."

The rakish grin pasted across Archer's face surprised her. "I think I've got an idea," he said.

When Gillette limped his way through the door of the hotel room, frostbitten and more than a little peeved, he half expected his roommate to be in mid-coitus with a receptionist or Cheryl or his mother. What he didn't expect to see was Archer and Anka, the little shit, sprawled across his bed, drinking Green Russians and playing poker.

"See, that's a seven-card stud right there," Archer was saying. He looked up. "Oh, hey Gillette. Uh, it's totally what it looks like." Beside him, Anka hiccupped.

"Ass," Gillette muttered, and winced his way towards the bathroom.