Angels Fall

Part One

Krycek drags me across the room, his left arm wrapped tightly around my waist, his other hand clutching his gun. We get to the window, and he nudges the drab, dirty curtain aside with the barrel. I only know his name is Krycek because that was what I heard the man he was arguing with call him. He is breathing fast as he checks to see if we have been followed. This close I can see his face is flushed with excitement.

"That turned you on," I blurt out, amazed. "You're still excited."

Krycek stiffens and his muscles tense along my back, but I'm still lost in blinding realization. "If you want to fuck him, why don't you? Why toy with him?"

"I don't want to fuck him," he says in a silken voice against my ear. "I just want to fuck."

He releases me, whirling me around and pushing me up against the wall. I stare at him in surprise. I notice he is breathing faster as one hand grips my shoulder and the other holds the gun inches from my face. He looks at me like a starving man looks at a steak dinner.

"What are you doing?" I ask, incredulous. He has barely acknowledged my existence since he grabbed me to prevent the man he had been taunting from shooting him.

"What do you think?" he asks harshly.

I blink at him. "You said you'd let me go. You said you wouldn't hurt me." Not that I believe anything he promised that man, but I didn't expect this. He seemed so coldly controlled. The kind of man that could shoot you without blinking. Not the kind of man you would expect to contain such passion.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says in a low rough voice that makes me shiver. "And I will let you go."

I draw in a hard breath, my body tight with fear and something else harder to name.

"So let me go." So calm. That can't be my voice.

He draws nearer then nearer still until he is nuzzling the strands of hair over my ear that have escaped the tight French braid at the back of my head. I smell sweat and heat and male scent.

"After," he whispers from deep in his throat, breathing against my ear.

I shiver, but it's not all fear. It is fear, but fear mixed with a dangerous recklessness. I can feel it rising up through me, but at the same time the small part of me that is still sober is whispering a warning. Stop. Don't do this. But I haven't had enough to drink to be drunk and it isn't alcohol that's intoxicating me.

His face is still buried against my hair. His hand traces lightly across my collarbone then dips down to tease over my breasts. I gasp as with humiliating ease my nipples harden against his touch.

"Unbutton your blouse," he orders harshly against my ear. He pulls back to watch me through narrowed eyes and his hands move to hold my shoulders.

He's tall and lean, with a handsome angular face that's unexpected in a criminal. In the dimness, his eyes are black with shadows and hunger.

Jerkily, I bring my hands up to the pink material of my skimpy blouse. I touch the first button but hesitate.

He steps closer, the weight of the gun suddenly pressing down on my shoulder. The threat is plain but unspoken; not needed to be spoken.

Carefully, in a daze, I slide the first button free then move down to the next and on until my blouse is hanging open. I drop my hands back to my sides.

He slowly slides the cold barrel down and around my throat. I shiver as it dips down to follow the vee of my blouse, slowly shoving cloth aside. He traces the cold metal over my breast, stroking. My breast tightens impossibly harder and my back arches, my hands clenching at my sides, clutching at self-control as the cold metal leaves a trail of fire over my skin.

"Why... " I can't catch my breath. "Why are you doing this?" My breathless whisper carries in the stillness.

He ignores my question, his face blankly intent as he uses the gun to nudge my blouse off one shoulder. His head dips forward in a smooth graceful movement until his mouth hovers over my ear. I jump when he presses warm lips to the side of my throat then slides down, teeth lightly scraping, until he reaches the juncture of neck and shoulder.

He's not holding me tightly or even threatening me. If I twist away hard, I could escape. I don't really believe he would shot me. I don't move.

He bites lightly then harder until it's almost painful. I bring my hands up, wanting him to stop but not really, fingers sliding down to flex along his ribs.

He slips the blouse off my other shoulder. The silky material slides down my arms until it catches around my elbows.

He pulls back to stare at my flimsy pink bra, his face gleaming. In his turbulent eyes I see the first crack of his cold control. He breathes hoarsely, the only other evidence of the rising excitement in his eyes.

"Take it off."

I freeze as I stare into his wild eyes.

"No," I whisper. This is crazy.

That brings his dark stare to mine. I meet his gaze mutinously. Anger blooms in his eyes, and his grip tightens around my bare upper arms. I flinch as the gun presses painfully into flesh.

"Take it off," he demands harshly.

"No," I repeat, my chin jutting stubbornly.

He moves so quickly, I can't evade him. His mouth comes down on mine, hard, plundering. His tongue sweeps across my lips then pressesinside.

But his kiss changes, surprising me. I expect harsh and hurtful not gentle and teasing. My resistance starts to drain away as a fire starts deep inside. It's crazy, but he's tall and strong and sexy and his heat is finding cold, lonely places that have been cold and lonely too long. I moan a denial low in my throat, but at the same time my hands clutch at him, trying to draw the warmth of his body to mine. I've been so cold for so long.

But he resists my pull, only touching me with lips and hands, his body closer but still much too far away.

He breaks away from my lips. Distantly I hear the gun clatter to the floor as he grabs my hands away from him and anchors them against the wall on either side of my shoulders. His face inches from mine, I know he can see the smoky passion in my eyes just as I can see the samepassion seething in his.

I'm shamefully aware that I'm breathing as heavily as he is. I feel the flush over my face and body leaving a thin sheen of sweat. My pulse is pounding in my ears. His face is inches from mine, and I can't avoid seeing his calculating stare. Embarrassment creeps over me. This isn't me. I don't do this kind of thing.

I look away and my hands start to writhe against his grip. I flatten to the wall as far from him as I can as shame makes me squirm.

His hands hold mine easily as I try to pull free and also when, with rising desperation, I try to push him away. But my hands remain immovable, anchored against the cold cement blocks at my back. The gritty wall digs into the bare skin of my back as I desperately press away from him, trying to gain some distance.

I can't bring myself to meet his eyes, so I turn my face to stare blindly past him. He's only touching my hands but I can still feel the heat of him flushing my body and, to my humiliation, my nipples are tight and aching.

"Why are you... " I start hoarsely then try again. "Why are you doing this? You're a sexy man. This can't be the only way for you to get laid." The strain makes my voice a broken whisper.

I'm not watching him, so I don't see him move. I catch a suggestion of movement, a breath of displaced air then his lips are on my breast. I give a startled cry as his teeth closes over my nipple. He bites down sharply, the thin material of my bra affording no protection. I cry out as his tongue works over the wet lace, pressing over my sensitive nipple, working back and forth till I'm forced to choke back a scream of pleasure that leaks past my lips as a high-pitched moan. My back arches and then again, my head pressed back tightly against the wall, my eyes closed as my hands flex uselessly against his.

Suddenly, his hands and lips lift and are gone. Chill air spills over naked skin. I open dazed eyes to find him watching me coldly, his arms braced on either side of me but not touching me.

"Maybe it's been a while. Maybe I don't want to pass up an opportunity." He looks so calm, so cold.

At his words, the pleasurable haze starts to lift. Opportunity? He's just taking advantage of an opportunity?

Anger sparks through me. He leans in close again, his eyes narrow and determined. Soft breath brushes past my face. "Let go of the blouse."

Rebellion rises along with anger. He sees it glittering in my eyes and his voice turns dangerous, threatening. "I can hurt you if you want me to. Is that what you want? Do you want me to hurt you?"

I don't want him to, but my stubborn streak holds me immobile and silent for too long. Suddenly his hands are there, on my wrists, painfully twisting them up behind my back. He roughly yanks my blouse off then jerks my wrists together to hold in one hand, his other hand coming around to grip my chin painfully.

Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink desperately to hold them back, writhing against his hands even though I'm causing myself more pain. I stare into hot eyes inches from mine.

His hand leaves my chin to go to the flimsy fastening of the bra between my breasts. It's made of thin, light plastic, but it's a tricky catch and the secret eludes him for long moments. Finally in frustration, he yanks on it hard. A small piece of plastic goes flying as it separates. He yanks the bra down and off, releasing my hands as he skims it off.

He jerks my black skirt up around my waist then clutches my hips hard and lifts, pressing me into the wall as he moves between my legs, supporting my weight on his thighs.

His quick, harsh movements abruptly slow as he strokes a hand over the delicate material of my pink panties, his face absorbed in study. He traces light fingertips over silk and lace, lingering over the pink garter belt and garters that hold up my sheer black stockings, his nails scraping as soft fingertips slip over my skin.

I scramble at the wall with my hands, trying to find something to hold onto, but I find nothing, and finally my hands come to rest against his shoulders.

He's still absorbed in his study of my undergarments, obviously fascinated by the contrast between smooth skin, silky fabric and rough lace. His fingers trail over hips and waist and stomach until finally his finger dips between my legs to find me wet and swollen. I jerk with more than just embarrassment as heat flares out from his touch.

Suddenly the delicate garments are no longer a fascination to him but an annoying obstacle. He starts to pull and tug at them.

The flimsy garments shred under his hands. I gasp as he finds my center and a finger probes deep. I arch at the intimate invasion, my hands clenching on his shoulders, the soft leather of his jacket crumpling under my hands. One arm goes around my waist to hitch me up and back, holding me steady as his finger strokes deep again. I jerk wildly against his hold, his touch. Another finger slides into me, stretching, and I bite back a moan. My knees come up and clench at his hips as I jerk and squirm under his touch.

He stops moving to glare at me from passion-glazed eyes. "Unbuckle my belt," he orders.

I can only stare a moment, dazed, until he thrusts his finger against me again, pleasure spiraling out from his touch. "My belt," he demands, hoarsely, glaring at me.

I fumble my hands down his chest and stomach to his belt and clumsily open it. Dumbly, I stare at him. He hisses with impatient.

"My jeans," he says harshly. "Unbutton them." His hand strokes against me again. I give a broken moan as I shift against him to pull open his jeans.

He gives an impatient growl at my slow progress. The warmth of his hand leaves me. He pushes my hands away from their inept attempt to unbutton his jeans. His chest suddenly presses against me as he leans forward, bracing himself against me, pressing me into the cold wall as he yanks at his jeans.

I can't see what he's doing, but I can feel his suddenly naked legs pressed against my inner thighs. That sensation is quickly forgotten as he rears back and guides his cock against me. He nudges against me. I have a sense of massiveness and vaguely think no way will that fit then he roughly thrusts forward and in, and I'm taking all of him, and  he fills and stretches me. I claw at his jacket and arch and squirm, gasping. After one harsh grunt, he goes still. His arms come up around me, arching me to him, thrusting my breasts against his chest as his face drops to my shoulder.

He takes another deep heaving breath, turning his face into my throat. I don't understand. My hips hitch uneasily, shifting against him, my arms around him tightly clutching, and I don't even remember when that happened. But his lips begin a rough slide up my throat, devouring, and a low whimper is pulled from me as my head falls back against the wall. That feels so good. My hands start kneading his back through the jacket. He probably can't even feel it through the thick jacket, but the slide of soft leather under my hands sends more pleasure spiraling through me.

Finally his lips reach mine. He takes my mouth like it was always his, reclaiming his property.

After a long, dizzying kiss he pulls his mouth from mine with a low growl and his hands drop from my back to grip my hips. He pulls back and thrusts hard. I gasp for a breath he denies me as he begins deep driving strokes that seem to be stealing more than just my breath.

My eyes go wide as I take in the dark determination in his. I'm gasping for breath but still can't get enough air as he moves against me with a hard rhythm. I squeeze my eyes closed to block out the wild predatory look in his, afraid I'll lose myself in him, afraid it's already too late, that I'm lost, that I'm falling.

His harsh breathing is loud in my ear as I start to see sparkles of color on the inside of my eyelids. Sparkles that quickly expand to stars and then suns and then suns going nova as pleasure rolls over me and around me and consumes me. Shudders ripple over my skin, quickly escalating into violent shudders that rack my body and then all sensation halts.

Dimly, an eternity later, I become aware again. I feel the warmth of his body pressing along the length of mine, his face buried at my neck, his breathing harsh in my ear. The wall is cold on my bare back and my body starts to throb with pain, echoes of lost pleasure.

I only become aware that I'm still suspended above the floor when he abruptly pulls back and away. My legs unwrap from around him. I clutch at the wall as my feet hit the floor, but I've no strength and slowly crumple down the wall until my butt hits the floor. I'm suddenly very cold. I pull my knees back tight to my chest, shivering. My shoes were lost long ago. I'm only wearing my stockings and the skirt that's still bunched around my waist.

For no reason I can fathom, I feel like crying.

Numbly, I watch him fasten his pants and pick up his gun. Finally he turns to look at me as he holsters the gun and snugs it into place.

His face is blank, cold as he stares at me. I numbly stare back, suddenly certain he means to kill me but unable to dredge up any concern over the idea. I clutch my knees and shiver uncontrollably.

"You can go now." He abruptly turns and walks away. The sound of the door slamming behind him echoes in my head.

At first I can't believe he just walked away. I sit there shivering from cold and shock, waiting for him to come back. He can't leave me like this.

Long moments pass, and I realize he has. He has left me like this. Tears flood my eyes. I try to stifle them but everything comes crashing down on me all at once. Terror at being kidnapped, fear for my life, fear of being raped and then shame and humiliation as I realize I didn't even try to stop him, didn't want him to stop.

I slowly topple to the side until I'm pressed to the floor, sobbing hysterically. My tears fall faster and my body shakes with gut-wrenching sobs.

After a long time my crying slows, and I rub at my face, sniffling. This isn't very productive. I prop myself up on an elbow, scrubbing at my tears, staring at the filthy floor inches from my face, trying to decide what to do first.

Hands fasten around my waist, and I scream. I must not be as exhausted as I thought. I begin to struggle wildly.

"Stop it!" comes from above me. I freeze as I recognize that gruff voice.

Krycek is back. Confusion rolls over me. Why is he back? I thought he left. I twist my head around to stare at him through tangled strands of hair.

"What... what do you want?" I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying.

He ignores my question and lifts me until I'm sitting up. I sit and stare at him. He shifts his grip and lifts again till I'm standing propped against the wall. Dizzying deja vu comes over me as I lean against the wall and stare into his face, but I can't find the energy to do anything about it. I can only stare at him numbly.

His hands brush over my body, gently removing bits of dirt and debris. He tugs my skirt down, covering my hips and thighs.

My upper body is still bare and cold, however. I watch disbelieving as he picks up my blouse and threads it first on one of my arms and then the other. He pulls it up over my shoulders and tugs it closed, buttoning it up.

I stand frozen against the wall, staring at him as he dresses me.

"What do you want?" I ask again, my voice only a little stronger.

He steps back, staring at me with no expression on his face.

I'm shivering intermittently as I stare at him with no idea of what he'll do next or why he's here. He got what he wanted. Why is he back?

He ignores my question once again as he pulls off his jacket and tugs me forward to wrap it around me. I snuggle into it gratefully, appreciating the warmth still clinging to it from his body.

He zips it up, trapping my arms against my body, but before I can protest he pulls me forward and lifts me into his arms and turns for the door.

I want to protest. I shouldn't go anywhere with him, not without at least a token protest. But I'm warm, and I'm so tired and protesting won't do any good anyway. Unless he has suddenly decided to kill me for some reason, any place he takes me has got to be better than being stranded and alone and half-naked in *this* neighborhood.

Exhaustion rolls over me. His scent surrounding me, I gratefully fall into unconsciousness.

Part Two

Author's Note: This is written in first person-present POV. I didn't intend to post any more of this, but I've received some comments that lead me to believe I might have unintentionally left some people hanging. If you're curious as to what happened to Lisa after Krycek came back and got her, read on.

Light stabs at my closed eyelids. I murmur a low protest and squeeze my eyes tight, trying to shut out the glare, trying to turn away from that light. Then his hands are on me, tugging me upright.

"Come on, lazy. Time to get up," Krycek scolds me.

But that can't be him. His voice is never that gentle. I blink my eyes open, disoriented. I find myself in the backseat of a car and, when he pulls me up and out, I see we're parked inside a garage.

I stumble a little as he pulls me after him, my arms still trapped inside his jacket, and with an impatient sound he sweeps me up into his arms. He opens a connecting door and turns on a light to reveal a kitchen.

He carries me through the kitchen and down a short hall into a bedroom and on through and into a bathroom. He carefully lowers me to my feet, watching me as I stand unsteadily, his hands out ready to catch me.

He unzips the jacket and pulls it off me. I shiver and miss the warmth.

"Take a bath," he orders abruptly, his eyes weighing me. "Do you need help?" He reaches for me, but I step back, waving him off.

"I can do it," I say firmly, but my legs are wobbly and weak. I clutch at the sink. My chin comes up and I stare at him stubbornly, willing him to ignore my display of weakness.

He shrugs unconcern then turns to leave. He pauses before closing the door behind him. "I'll bring you some clean clothes." Then he's gone.

Slowly and with great effort, I start a bath running and strip off what's left of my clothes. I sink into the hot water with a sigh. Bliss.

For a long time I don't move, absorbing the heat into my bones, working hard not to think about anything. I absently move the bubbles back and forth, sometimes blowing little islands of bubbles across the top of the water.

I hear the doorknob turn, but I'm too relaxed to care. Krycek walks in carrying a bundle of clothes. He sets them down then stands and stares at me.

I ignore him, still idly pushing bubbles around. I've already asked him what he wants and he ignored me. At the moment I don't care what he wants.

Abruptly, he turns and leaves. I look after him curiously. I shrug. Time to wash up and get out. The water's getting cold.

Soon I'm dry and dressed in the dark blue sweatsuit and thick cotton socks he brought. I stare at my reflection. I look about twelve years old without make-up and with my curly black hair wildly framing my face and falling below my shoulders.

I shrug resignation. I can't tame my hair with anything less than a brush, a blow-dryer and a whole bottle of mousse. I push at the wild curls but give it up with another resigned shrug. Some things you just have to accept.

I crack the door open and peek out. Empty. I pull the door the rest of the way open and walk out into the bedroom. I eye the bed with longing. I really, really want to curl up and just go to sleep, but I need to find out what's going on first. I'd rather sleep in my own bed at home anyway.

I'm standing there debating my options when the bedroom door is thrown open and Krycek walks in. I jump, startled, then feel silly. Who did I think it would be?

He takes two strides into the room then stops cold and stares at me incredulously. I look at him in confusion. I glance down at my outfit then back up at him. Nothing to cause such amazement that I can see.

"How old are you?" he demands.

This is unexpected. I temporize. "What does it matter?"

"How old are you?" he insists.

I widen my eyes, which I know makes me look even younger, and tell him the truth. "I'm 26."

He snorts in outright disbelief. I feel like grinning. This could be fun. My purse and driver's license were lost in the alley. The only way he can find out my age is to ask me. And he doesn't believe me. After all these years, looking so much younger than my true age could finally be fun.

He walks up and looms over me, staring at me sternly. Too bad the effect is wasted. If he wants to intimidate me he needs to wait until I'm more awake and no longer in shock.

"You are *not* 26," he says decisively. "How old are you? Really?" He stares at me sternly, as if that will force the truth out of me.

Oh, my. Yes, indeed, this could be fun. I solemnly stare up at him. "Twenty-one?" I say uncertainly, as if I'm not sure he'll believe me.

He eyes me and shakes his head. "Try again."

"Eighteen?" A part of me is wondering just how young I must look to get away with claiming to be eighteen, but another part is convulsing with laughter. Eighteen? Me? Puh-lease!

Krycek touches my chin gently and tilts my head back and forth, appraising.

"Okay, eighteen," he agrees reluctantly. "But I'm betting younger than that. What were you doing in that alley at that time of night?"

His thumb strokes over my jaw. I pull away from his touch and his hand drops to his side. "I was going to meet some friends. I was taking a shortcut."

"Those kind of shortcuts can get you in trouble."

"Don't I know it," I agree softly, staring into his eyes. He's so close I can see his eyes dilate with memory. I look away. I know he's remembering just like I am what kind of trouble I got into. Vividly remembering exactly what kind of trouble I got into.

"What's your name?" he asks abruptly and steps back.

My eyes dart back to his face to find him cold and impersonal once again, but I can't stop a smile from creeping over my face as I realize we still don't know each other's full names. I heard the man call him 'Krycek' when he wasn't calling him other, more colorful names. But I don't think he wants me to call him 'you son-of-a-bitch'. My smile widens.

Krycek looks impatient. "What are you grinning about?"

I shrug helplessly. "I just think it's funny, that's all. After everything we've been through and we don't even know each other's names.

He only looks impatient. I lose my smile and turn away, rubbing my face.

"Sorry. When I'm exhausted, I find a lot of things funny that really aren't."

Caution finally creeps over me. He may never have heard of multi-million dollar heiress Elizabeth StJohn, but why push my luck? So far, luck hasn't been the most noteworthy aspect of my evening, even though I guess I should be glad he didn't kill me and leave my body for the scavengers. Grandmama and grandfather would have died of grief.

Regret that I had sneaked out of the house stabs at me but I push it away. I don't care if I *am* their long-lost granddaughter, newly found. It's been more than six months since I went out anywhere by myself and had fun. More than that since I've seen my old friends. I can't regret sneaking out. I can only regret the worry they'll go through when they discovered me gone.

Exhaustion is sending me off on a tangent. My name. He wants to know my name.

"Lisa. Lisa Sinjin," I mutter.

"Come on, Lisa." He takes my arm and leads me to the door. "I made sandwiches."

At the mention of food I realize I *am* hungry, but I pull him to a stop and stare at him with a challenge in my eyes. "What's your name?"

He pauses. "You can call me Alex."

I catch myself staring into his eyes, feeling myself slipping away, falling into the depths. I shake myself and look away. It's just the exhaustion making me fixate on anything. It's not the quality of humanity that I think I see in his eyes or the aloneness that seems to call to me. It's just that I'm so very tired.

I shake off his hand. Alex raises his hands defensively then mockingly gestures for me to lead the way.

In the kitchen I take a seat at the breakfast bar and watch as he lays down a plate of sandwiches for each of us. Alex sits down next to me and immediately starts eating. Hesitantly, I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. It's good and my stomach reminds me how hungry I am.

He finishes before I do, and I finish eating while he watches. I should probably feel self-conscious but the situation is so unreal to begin with that all I feel is a numb tiredness.

I sit and stare at my empty plate. I don't even have the energy to ask him what he's going to do now. Last time I asked him he just ignored me. He hasn't done anything to indicate that he would be any more forthcoming now.

Maybe I should try some small talk.

"So is this how you get all your dinner dates? Kidnap them at gunpoint?" I give him a pleasant smile.

Alex scowls at me and abruptly stands.

"Since you're in such a great mood, we can get going. Where do you want me to drop you?"

I stand up, too. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. At this point I can't drudge up the energy to care.

"Oh. Well," I say shortly. I lift my arm and pull up my sleeve, checking a nonexistent wristwatch. "What time is it?" I drop my arm and shrug my unconcern. "I don't care. You can drop me anyplace that's open and has a working phone. Denny's?" My smile is as artificial as plastic.

Alex grips my arm and tugs me after him as he heads for the door. "Denny's it is," he agrees.

He's looking a little grim which is okay with me. At this point I'm feeling a little grim, too. I'm tired and sore and just want to go home.

He opens the connecting door to the garage. At the same time we hear the front door of the house explode inward and men shouting. Alex grabs me around the waist, practically lifts me off my feet, and dives into the garage. He shoves the door shut, but I see movement in a dark corner of the garage and gasp. He spins, jerking me around, and his gun appears in his hand.

"Federal agent," the shadowy figure barks. "Drop the gun."

Alex lifts me higher, and now the gun is pointing at my head.

Right back where I started.

"No," Alex snarls. "*You* drop *your* gun or she's dead." We hear noises from the other side of the kitchen door. "Tell your friends to back off. Now!"

The man hesitates but is forced to give in. "Stay back!" he yells. "He has a hostage! Get back!"

Silence on the other side of the door then booted footsteps retreating.

Alex doesn't look appeased. "Drop your gun and back off!"

The short, stocky man hesitates again then slowly crouches and lowers his rifle to the floor.

"Back off!" Alex shoves the gun against my head for emphasis, and I stifle a cry of pain.

The man slowly stands and backs away. Alex heads for the driver's side car door.

"Look, friend, there's no way out," he coaxes. "Just lower your weapon and let Ms. StJohn go."

"Don't get in my way, and she'll get out of this alive," Alex growls as he jerks open the door and shoves me in and across to the passenger side and then immediately slides in next to me, the gun barely off me for an instant.

I thought I was going to get out of this alive but all of a sudden I'm not so sure. The adrenaline pumping through my veins suddenly makes it vitally important that I do get out of this alive. If their ill-conceived and poorly executed rescue attempt gets me killed, I'll never forgive them.

"Open the door," he orders the man, not taking the gun off me as he starts the car, revving it.

The Fed moves to the garage door and lifts it.

As soon as the door is high enough for the car to clear it, Alex guns it, and we take off. The Fed dives to the side to avoid getting run down. We take a screaming right turn. I glance back, clinging to the door. I see the Fed scrambling for his rifle as at the same time other armed men come pouring out of the kitchen and into the garage.

After a couple of blocks, a few cars give chase but we lose them within minutes as Alex executes some crazy driving stunts that are sure to give me at least three white hairs. Soon we're free and clear and driving along at a good clip.

The gun has been holstered because he needs both hands to drive. I cling to the door, debating whether or not I should bail out. I watch him numbly. At this speed I'd probably break my neck, but I'm still seriously considering it.

Fifteen to twenty minutes pass in grim silence as we head deeper and deeper into a less populated area. With a sudden movement that startles me, Alex twists the radio on and music floods the car. He jabs the scan button and the radio cycles through stations. He jabs it to a stop as a special news report comes on.

"... multi-million dollar heiress, Elizabeth StJohn has been kidnapped by person or persons unknown. A rescue attempt in a suburban area of Washington, DC. was a spectacular failure as the suspect succeeded in escaping, using Ms. StJohn as a hostage. That is all that is known at this time, but a massive manhunt is gearing up... "

Alex viciously twists the knob, silencing the radio. In the sudden silence, I wonder that he didn't break the knob off. I sneak a peek at his face. In the dimness I can hardly make out anything, but the cold hard mask I glimpse is not reassuring. I once again start to seriously consider jumping out but before I'm done calculating my chances, we take a hard left off the road and onto a bumpy, gravel road.

A nice-looking house appears on the right with no lights showing.

Alex cuts off the headlights and we slowly cruise around to the back of the garage. The house is isolated from its nearest neighbors by distance and trees. He parks the car and listens intently for a moment. I barely breathe as I try to pretend I'm not really watching his every move.

He jerks the door open and gets out, silently pushing the door closed until it just latches. He marches around to my door and yanks it open. Alex grips my arm hurtfully and pulls me out of the car, quietly closing the door.

"Not a sound," he hisses at me in warning.

Not even pausing to acknowledge my nod, he pulls me after him.

We carefully make our way around to the front of the garage to find a Jeep Grand Cherokee 4x4. The door is unlocked and he pushes me across the stick shift to the passenger side. Alex does something under the dash and the engine starts. He backs the jeep out of the driveway and slowly drives away.

Soon we're back on the main road.

After another half hour of grim silence, he turns off the main road and follows another bumpy, gravel road to a small clearing. He pulls to a stop, jerks at some wires under the dash and the engine dies.

Alex turns to look at me, his face a cold mask. I don't wait for whatever it is he's going to say. With a frantic shove, I open my door and lunge out. I scramble as I almost fall then I'm up and running for the trees. If I hide long enough maybe he'll give up on me and leave.

I'm still far from refuge when Alex tackles me to the ground. I try to twist free, ignoring the pain throbbing through my body, but he stands and pulls me up with him. He holds my struggling body easily as he starts back to the jeep. Halfway back he loses patience with my struggles and pulls me up and over his shoulder. His hand comes down hard on my butt, and I yelp with surprise.

"Be still," he orders harshly.

His arms wrap around my legs and hold me securely. His shoulder drives into my stomach with every step, making me gasp for air. The cotton sweatshirt slides down and the cold night air rushes over the bare skin of my back. Then the world spins as he sets me back on my feet, grimly clutching my arms and staring at me.

I duck my head and lunge at him. I succeed in ramming him in the chest, but I see stars instead of slipping away like I planned. I'm only vaguely aware of being lifted and backed. I kick out weakly as Alex presses me back against the jeep.

He lifts me again and my feet dangle off the ground as he presses me back, painfully arching my body against the jeep, his body crushing mine. His hands pin mine above me and his lower body immobilizes my legs.

I can't move but I try to jerk against the painful hold. I barely shift and only succeed in writhing against him. I go instantly still and find myself staring into furious eyes inches from mine. I take a deep, gasping breath.

"You lied to me," Alex snarls into my face.

I stare at him, gasping for breath and feeling extraordinarily vulnerable, stretched out like a trophy deer across the hood of the jeep.

"You lied to me!" he growls again. "*Li-sa*," he adds sarcastically.

I gasp for breath, conscious that most of the air I'm pulling in has already been warmed by his lungs. But I feel my own anger spark as I finally have had enough. He kidnaps me, scares me to death and then once again shoves a gun in my face. Now he's mad because I lied to him?

During our last run-in, I was more irritated than angry, but now I feel rage begin to roll up from the depths of my soul with terrifying power. Rage with weight and breadth and mass. I can actually see the whirling, boiling purple-black-red color of it on the insides of my eyelids. Very few times have I ever been this enraged.

"I lied to you?" I gasp out, barely pushing the incredulous words past the twisting knot of rage stuck in my throat.

"Yeah, *Li-sa*," he says in a low, sarcastic growl.

Alex holds me totally immobile. My only weapon is words. As I finally gasp in enough air, I gladly use it. "I lied to you?! You cowardly, murderous back-stabbing worm of a *rapist*!" My voice goes high on the last word as I practically spit into his face. "I thought that even you, with your limited mental abilities, could figure out why I would lie to a kidnapper that casually threatens my life then fucks me and dumps me in the worst neighborhood in DC only to come back and get me for no conceivable reason!"

I see his eyes flare hot with rage, but I disregard it as I continue. I've barely begun. I jerk once, convulsively, and he tightens his grip. Fresh pain fuels my rage to an even higher inferno.

"Shut up," he snarls.

"I won't shut up! You're a despicable low-life. You need to be skinned alive and thrown in a vat of salt-water. Maybe then you, too, could experience a fraction of the fun that I've had tonight. You moronic idiot. You low-down, despicable... "

Alex abruptly cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine hard. I wouldn't call it a kiss; more of an attack. His lips are cruel against mine. He doesn't succeed in shutting me up entirely, though, as I continue to rant, the words only a muffled mumble in the back of my throat.

Just about now I'm starting to get desperate for air and with a muffled shriek, I bite down hard. Alex jerks back with a low curse and spits blood.

I heave for breath and glare at him, preparing to launch my next volley. Should I describe his intelligence further or maybe his lineage going back six generations?

I'm leaning more towards elaborating further on his intelligence, when my considerations are interrupted by a low growl of rage. I bring my attention back to him. He gives another inarticulate sound of pure fury, but I only sneer at him.

"What are you trying to do - scare me?'" I say scornfully. "What are you going to do? Rape me? Kill me? That's just what I'd expect of a low-born criminal type with no brains and only the minimal amount of animal cunning that's allowed you to survive this long--"

Alex interrupts by jerking me upright. I only get to glare at him for an instant before he jerks me around to face the jeep. I try to twist away but he surges against me, pressing me to the jeep with his body. I jerk with surprise as his arousal presses into my butt.

"So it's to be rape," I say scornfully. "I should have expected as much."

"Shut up!" His hands leave me, but his lower body presses against me to hold me against the jeep.

I manage to get my hands in front of me and with a surge and twist I try to slide away. I almost slip free when he catches me around the waist and pulls me back up.

Alex hitches me up over the hood.

"I won't shut up," I pant angrily. "I want you to know what a pitiful excuse for a man you are!" I'm yelling now.

I see his hands come past my face and a flash of white. I blink as I don't recognize what the flash of white could be, then he slips a cloth into my mouth, and I realize he's trying to gag me. My hands come up to pull at it, but he yanks it tight and ties it.

My hands immediately go to the knot and begin tugging at it.

"I said," he grates in my ear, "Shut. Up."

He grabs my hands and jerks them painfully down and behind my back. His knee slides between my legs, lifting me up as at the same time he pushes me forward over the hood.

Furious, I writhe against his hold, but there's nowhere to go. I only rub against him intimately. I feel him shift against me and then warm breath against my ear. "If you keep rubbing against me like that," he purrs, "I'll just have to assume that you want me to fuck you."

I immediately go still, but I turn my head to glare at him. I try to growl past the gag.

"Finally," he says sarcastically, easily ignoring my glare. "Peace and quiet. Now maybe I can figure out what I'm going to do about the nationwide manhunt that's turning over every rock looking for me."

He falls silent, and I relax against the jeep. I'd rather have the jeep dig painfully into my stomach than rest against him anyway.

I'm still steaming mad with no outlet for my rage. I grind my teeth in frustration. I bite into the cloth and that gives me an idea. Ducking my head so my hair falls forward, I start grinding my teeth over the gag.

He sighs and releases his hard grip on my hands. I pull my hands away, pressing them against the hood. His arms go under my stomach and pulls me up and back against him. I jerk with surprise, but I can't help but notice how good his warmth feels against my back. I shove that traitorous thought away and lay stiffly against him.

"What is it about you," he says lowly against my ear, "that makes me lose control so quickly?"

After a soft, defeated sigh, he reaches up and tugs at the gag. The knot comes undone after some work. He pulls it away and drops it. I open and close my jaw a couple of times but remain silent. He sighs again, and he almost sounds regretful.

My anger is dissipating. I shiver as he wraps his arms around me and lets his chin drop onto my shoulder. My feet still dangle above the ground, and I shift uneasily against him. My hands flex against the jeep as I stiffly try to hold my body away from him and avoid his touch.

Now that my rage is gone, numb exhaustion sweeps over me and my head dips forward tiredly. I've been running on pure adrenaline and fear for too long, and now I'm crashing hard. My eyes close and I feel my upper body swaying as I try to stiffly lean away from him.

"You could just leave me here," I whisper, my eyes still closed.

He is silent a moment.

"No," he says quietly. "I can't do that."

I shudder hopelessly. This is never going to be over. I helplessly start to shake as exhaustion and despair roll over me. I'm never gonna see my grandparents again, and I only just found them. I shake with the knowledge of lost opportunities.

Alex's arms come up and gently wraps around my arms and pulls me back against him. He lifts and turns and then I'm cradled against him. He slides down until he's sitting with his back against the tire, his legs stretched out on the ground.

My hands come up to clutch at his jacket, but I can't relax enough to curl against him. I tremble with tiredness as I try to hold my head up and keep my body stiff.

Alex shifts me on his lap and gathers my resisting body in closer. My body is trembling with the effort to resist the pull of his arms. He could jerk me against him easily, but he only continues to gently coax me closer. He smells so good, and he's so warm. After a moment I weakly give in and relax against him. I don't want to fight anymore.

Alex presses my head to his chest and his hand lightly strokes over my hair.

I don't know how long we sit here, me leaning against him in numb exhaustion, him stroking a hand through my hair soothingly, but gradually his gentle touch slowly seeps into my heart and eases the pain. Maybe everything is going to be all right after all.

"I didn't... " I whisper haltingly. "This isn't my fault."

His hand stills a moment then continues to lightly caress me. He remains silent.

"I just want to go home." I weakly push back from his chest and tilt my head back to look up into his face. He meets my eyes soberly, his hand cupping my skull.

"I know," He says quietly. "I know you want to go home."

He looks at me with such tender concern, I feel tears prick behind my eyes. If he was cruel or truly evil then I could hate him and fight him, but his unexpected tenderness and concern is undermining my will to fight. Just when I've decided he's a self-serving bastard, he has to treat me so gently and my resolve crumbles away.

The tears well up in my eyes, but before they fall he leans forward and presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss.

My eyes slip closed and a tear escapes to slide down my cheek and then another. But I ignore the wet warmth on my face and start kissing him back, quietly intense. My arms go around him and I arch against him, trying to get closer to his warmth.

His arms go around me and pull me snugly against him. I'm lost in the warmth of his body against mine, but then he begins to push me away, his lips pulling back from mine. I mutter a low protest and open my eyes, trying to figure out what he's doing.

He smiles at me ruefully. "I'm not the most moral man you'll ever meet, and I can't do anything about what's already happened, but I can't do this to you again. I'm sorry."

I blink and then blink again as I try to mentally shift gears. But he doesn't give me a chance to muddle through what's going on. He shifts and lifts then heaves us up until we're both standing. I sway and his hands come to my shoulders to steady me. "We have to go. I'm meeting some people, and I can't be late."

I stare at him, tiredness weighing me down and making me lethargic. "What people?" I ask, then regret it. I should ask him what he intends to do with me, but I'm not thinking straight yet and my mouth is disconnected from my brain.

"People you don't usually associate with, I'm sure." His hands drop away from my shoulders. "It'll be a quick meeting then I'll try to figure out what to do about you." One of his hands goes to my upper arm and tugs me away from the jeep door. He opens the door and politely motions me inside.

I stare into his eyes a long moment, too tired to fight anymore and desperately wishing this night was over. My shoulders slump with tiredness and defeat. I climb into the jeep. He goes around to the driver's side, gets in, starts the jeep with a few twists on a couple of wires and off we go.

I sigh and relax into the seat, wondering what's in store for me during the rest of this crazy night. My fingers curl into the seat as with closed eyes I feel the distinct sensation of falling through the air, the wind whistling past my ears.

That's all, folks. It's an even worse case of leaving you hanging, ain't it? Unfortunately, that's all I have written for now. Although things should get a lot more exciting when Krycek goes to meet the militiamen. After all, if Krycek can't recognize a prime ransom situation, I'm sure scum-of-the- earth "revolutionaries" can.

You didn't think I had an ultimate goal in this PWP, did ya? That'll teach ya.