Mapping The Veins

"I keep thinking," she murmured, "that at any moment, I'm going to fall out of this life and into the suburbs."

Alex turned away from the computer and looked at her. She was standing just inside the doorway, in a patch of light. He wondered how long she'd been there before she spoke. "Are you going to have a breakdown?" he asked, then tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. "I really don't think you have time for a breakdown, Marita."

He smiled when she glared at him, kept smiling as she turned away, noting how out of place she looked in the dusty study. In her dark linen suit, she seemed too thin. Light hair was drawn up into a tight, uncomfortable looking bun, and her heels were high but chunky. In pale light pouring through the windows, her long, slender legs should have gleamed healthily, but they didn't.

The effect was very businesslike, very professional on the surface--but it was like a thin disguise. A facade. She somehow still managed to seem ethereal. A woman who was drifting, from a distant dimension into life and back out again.

I suppose I ought to feel pity for her, he mused. And maybe a part of him did, because she wasn't the woman she had been. But most of him was just mildly annoyed, because he didn't believe in giving up.

Marita didn't seem to see things his way.

"We don't have a lot of time before the pieces of the Consortium consolidate, and we need to finish them off before they get that chance." He stretched and winced as his back cracked in a dozen places. He was good with computers, but that didn't mean he liked to sit down in front of one for more than an hour or two. It took too much effort to type with just one hand. And he much preferred being out on the streets, building things--or destroying things--by hand.

It was easier for him to manipulate people and their comfortable enviroments. Much easier than decoding the hidden financial records of groups that weren't even supposed to *exist*, much less receive government funding.

"Fall out of this life," he muttered, flexing his fingers. "Jesus, Marita. Are you that weak?"

Like a ghost in dark linen, she slipped out the door.

Alex groaned and swiveled back to his computer. A cursor blinked, then the screen flashed with numbers arranged in nearly incomprehensible sequences. He set his hand back on the keyboard and blinked a few times, shook his head before starting to type at a furious pace.

He added all of three sentences before he pushed away from the desk with a grunt and a muttered curse.

He stomped out the door that his unwilling partner had used, headed through the hall, down to the first floor of their temporary headquarters. The front door was open; Alex grabbed a key, turned the lock, and stepped out onto the porch. Then he turned and scanned the area.

The Gunmen had found this place for them. Small, old, in good shape. It was hidden in the middle of a huge, wooded plot on the shores of a man-made lake, accessible only by water or a long trek down the narrow, rutted drive. A perfect vacation cottage, now being used to aid in the destruction of an organization so vast and secretive that billions of people lived under its shadow without knowing.

Marita wants to go live in the suburbs, he thought with incredulity. After playing a part in the formation and the destruction of this organization, she yearned for the suburbs. He would never understand the desire to live a 'normal' life, with eyes closed against the truth. It was no better than desiring death, as far as he was concerned.

Of course, Marita's will to live wasn't proving to be too powerful anymore.

Sunlight filtered through the trees in golden patches, but there really wasn't enough of it for him to see far beyond the porch. Leaves and needles crunched underfoot as he stepped down; small, chattering creatures darted on the ground and in the branches above. Alex started cursing again as he headed down the path to the little dock. There were too many eyes in the forest, and even if most of them were no more aware of destiny than the average suburbanite, they still made the hair rise on the back of his neck.

His gun was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. One shot fired into the air and all the little things in the woods would take their beady eyes and bushy tails and run for safer ground. He seriously considered doing it for a moment as the pathway narrowed, the tree limbs arching over his head and nearly blocking the sunlight completely. But he didn't want to give Marita a reason to disappear, and didn't doubt that she would.

That's not allowed, he thought, striding down the path more quickly. She's not allowed to just *quit*. No one quits until we win, or until everyone is dead.

Those were two very different things, very separate outcomes. But he was getting the feeling that for Marita, their deaths were a given, and fighting was pointless.

The path widened and the trees finally parted. Golden sunshine poured down on his head, and he paused for a moment to look around. Despite the annoying animals in the trees, the woods were better than the sunny, open space--there was no cover. No good vantage points. There was just blue sky and sand, pebbles and larger rocks. There was just a creaking wooden dock being gently bumped by a small boat and lapped at by clear water, and a woman sitting on a bench that perched on the very edge.

Crossing to the dock, he vowed to himself that he'd carry her back to the house kicking and screaming--or unconscious. He'd chain her to the fucking computer until they'd gotten deeper into the records, if it was necessary.

The wood creaked beneath his feet as he stalked across, coming to a halt directly behind her. She didn't move or react to his presence. Her head was bent, her hands in her lap. Very demure, very ladylike, and the bright sunlight made the back of her neck look translucent and delicate. He could see the faint blue paths of her veins just beneath the surface and had to hold back from the temptation to trace them with his fingertips and then bite into her.

"You've been like this since that first night in Tunisia," he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. Dragging her back to the house seemed like less fun, now that he was looking at her and couldn't help seeing her fragility.

"No, I haven't. I helped you kill Spender, deal with the agents, and hack into the files. Now I just want to... take a moment to sit and think."

"You're always thinking, Marita. No way to turn your brain off, which is part of what makes you so effective. That's also what wakes you up at three in the morning and doesn't let you sleep again until exhaustion drags you under."

"And here I thought it was you that woke me up," she murmured, memories staining her voice with bitterness.

That too, he thought, shifting because his body was too eager to respond to his memories. Screw the fact that she was trying to make him feel guilty. "But I'm not what makes you feel helpless. I'm not what makes you weak."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm a handy excuse." Alex stepped a little closer to her, rested his hand on the back of the bench. His shadow slid across the back of her neck. "You're blaming me for something I can't control. That'd be fine if you were going to hate me and fight and show a little spirit. But you're just... sulking. It's fucking annoying, and pointless, and there's no *time* for it."

"You don't know anything," she said, and Alex laughed.

"Jesus, Marita, how old are you? Five? Seven? 'You don't know anything,' like I just yelled at you for taking the last cookie." He stroked the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in the thin blonde wisps that were beginning to fall out of the pins she'd used in her hair. "I might have played the eager assassin and errand-boy, but you know better than to think I'm stupid."

She turned her head, looking up at him over her shoulder, squinting against the glare of the sun. "Stupid, Alex? No, I don't think you're stupid. But you don't know all the details; not about what was done to me and what I did to survive, not about what I did to escape..."

She trailed off, and turned away.

Alex studied her reflection in the water. One of the Gunmen was due to come down in the next few days, and he still needed their trust to put his plans into motion. There were a thousand things he had to finish, and he needed her help for at least half of them. That meant coercing her to get a spine, or pissing her off enough to inspire a frenzy of activity.

It might have been fun to play with her mind and get what he wanted; he certainly was good at it. But it took a lot of time, and maybe just encouraging her to air out her memories would be faster--

I don't care, he told himself. But if it'll get her to stop fucking around, it'll be worth it.

"So, tell me," he said abruptly. "Pretend I'm a psychiatrist, one who won't commit you because the stories you tell are insane. Even better, one who's lived a lot of what you lived."

For a second, she was motionless, and then her shoulders shook. He thought she was crying, and was ready to stalk away and tell her to forget everything and just go. But then he realized she was laughing silently, and he gritted his teeth, fought the urge to wrap his hands around that delicate neck and squeeze.

She rose while he was still working on restraint, and came around the bench. "No," she said simply, and smiled. It was just a semi-cruel twist of her lips, bittersweet around the edges. For a moment, he wanted to taste it more than he wanted to kill her. "I don't need to tell you anything, Alex, except to go to hell."

He hadn't expected her to actually fight back in any way, was almost startled by her reaction. But he smiled to cover his surprise, then tilted his head, considering her. "I might just if you don't get your ass back up into the study and help me out with those codes," he said smoothly. "Of course, it wouldn't just be me--there'd be about six billion people all going to hell at once. But I'm sure I'd get to lead the pack."

"I don't believe your motives are altruistic. If I help you, I'll just be furthering your personal agenda, slipping handily into one of your half-assed schemes."

"I let you in on all my plans, Marita," Alex murmured, watching her eyes carefully because that was a blatant lie. He never let anyone in on his plans--sometimes he wasn't even sure what he was doing until it was done. But that method had kept him alive for a long time, and he'd refined it after losing his arm. It didn't need to be changed further.

The bittersweet smile came back. "You told me we'd work together, take the bastard down, and put ourselves in a position of power."

"And we're working on doing exactly that."

For a long moment, the only sounds were those of water lapping at the dock and birds calling. Then Marita laughed.

"You're working on something, that's for sure. And I don't want to be a part of it. I can't be a part of it."

"Growing a conscience, Marita?" Alex taunted. He doubted it, and even if she *was*... well, it wasn't like he was working for Them anymore. Maybe he wasn't going to be the prince on a white horse in this story, but he was no longer the evil henchman. He was his own man.

And he was going to make sure he stayed that way.

"Nothing so dramatic." Marita circled around him, putting herself between him and the shore. He allowed it because he was watching her so closely it was almost like being inside her. He'd know she was moving a heartbeat after she thought about it, and he'd take her down.

He was paying attention to the laters more, a vast improvement over only paying attention to the now. It felt good. It felt like a step in the right direction.

"This seems pretty dramatic to me," he said, and smiled. He remembered other occasions when Marita had been so... over the top. And he remembered the results. He might be looking at the big picture but that didn't mean he'd overlook the most interesting details.

"I just want to live. I want to forget that I helped create an organization that has done and will continue to do horrible things mainly because it can."

Alex grimaced, shook his head. The woman in front of him definitely wasn't the same woman he had admired for her deviousness. She was much closer to being the woman he'd seen in that facility, desperate for help, protection and escape.

He hadn't provided any of that then; he wouldn't do so now.

"That is *so* fucking stupid. 'I've done bad things, let me forget?' No. No, you dowrong by the world and you either carry through or you repair the damage." He shook his head, angled his body closer to hers because she'd stiffened. "Listen to me," he growled, curling his fingers around her chin. "You want to throw in the towel? You want to look at the world around you every day and pretend you're ignorant of the fact that an incredibly small army is working feverishly to save the world?"

She didn't respond, just stared up at him, expressionless. His grip on her chin tightened; he flexed his fingers and imagined her pale skin shadowed with a bruise, a reminder of this moment. But he dropped his hand. Bruises faded too quickly.

"I never expected you to be so weak," he said, tone deliberately dismissive and snide.

For a moment, he thought the barb wouldn't pierce through her defenses. It was like he hadn't said anything--the silence between them was so deep that it seemed to stifle the birdsong, slow the lap of waves on the shore.

He counted his heartbeats and waited.

Fifteen beats, then her eyes flashed with frustrated rage; a warning.

A second later she was moving, her hands shoving hard into his chest, but he'd used that split second of advance knowledge to brace himself, and her actions had little effect. Alex wrapped his hand around her wrist, gripping tight, but her other hand fisted, and she threw the punch before he could move to block her. He took the blow with a hissed curse before grappling to get her arms behind her back and both her wrists wrapped in his hand.

It was a fierce battle. Marita fought silently, using her teeth, trying to shove him off-balance and over the edge of the dock. He couldn't get a good grip on both her wrists, was starting to feel the sharp edges of her teeth, so he changed his strategy.

Stepping forward, he half-pushed, half-tripped her, and they both went down. She managed to keep her head from slamming into the silvered wood of the old dock, but he didn't give her enough time to gather herself for another serious offense.

He covered her body with his, quick and hard so that he knocked the breath out of her. It was easy to catch her wrists above her head then, while she was trying to hit him again and still fighting to suck in oxygen. She coughed a few times as he tightened his grip, pressed his hand down against the dock, and caught his breath quickly.

He could have cursed his lack of a second arm, the fact that he was surprisingly unwilling to really hurt her, but he was too busy cursing himself. He'd hardened during their brief struggle--his cock seemed to have a mind of its own.

And he was too pleased by her flash of spirit. This was what he wanted from her. This was what felt... right.

To find her a challenge, a strong adversary, very nearly his equal when it came to combat--it sent a powerful, delicious shock of adrenaline surging through his body. If she had been practicing and working out instead of sulking, he probably wouldn't have been able to get her on the ground without losing a little skin.

"Did that get your blood pumping, Marita?" he panted, shifting his body to rest more completely over hers, enjoying himself now. "Was that good for you?"

Beneath him, her body jerked sharply, and he met the movement with a thrust of his hips, pinning her back down. If he let her twist around like that, she'd end up with splinters in her thighs and ass. And with his luck, she'd end up piercing her skin on a nail and he'd have to find a way to get her a tetanus shot.

Besides, it felt good to press himself against her.

Maybe chasing her down here wasn't such a waste of time, he thought. He could feel the tightness left in his muscles after a morning spent at the computer desk gradually easing away, thanks to the warmth of the sun on his back and Marita's cool, slim body underneath his.

She cursed him as soon as she got her breath back and tried to twist her wrists free of his manacle-tight grip on them. "Nothing involving you is good for me, you bastard," she hissed when he responded to her efforts by stretching a little more, dragging her arms out perfectly straight and leaving her with no leverage.

"That's what you say now," he murmured, and grinned down at her. "But if you let me get you naked, that tune would change."

"Not likely. I'm so sick of your roughness." She gave up on her arms and shifted her attention to trying to free her legs. He had to move quickly to pin them closed, but since he was left with her nylon-clad thighs shifting between his, sliding silkily across the denim of his jeans, he just continued to smile down at her.

"I'd go easy if I didn't think you'd go right back to feeling sorry for yourself, Marita. I remember going slow with you a few times--before you betrayed me."

Colors deepened in her eyes, touched her pale cheeks, and he was certain that she was remembering too. Her body loosened beneath his, some of the tension bleeding out as sensations came back, dug free from under the layers of denial and repression where she'd buried them.

"I told you in Tunisia, Marita, that we worked well together once. And we got things accomplished when we came back, even though you were more interested in moaning about what had been taken from you than in figuring out what you could do to avenge yourself." Her body relaxed further, and Alex rewarded her by bringing her arms down a little, so that she wasn't stretched out so tightly.

But he wasn't about to loosen his grip on her hands--her eyes might have darkened and perhaps even warmed a little, but he wasn't stupid enough to forget that she *could* still be devious. Her mind was always, always going, and if she had decided to lull him into a careless state...

"I really think that if you just let go of the past for a little while and worked with me, you could eventually have Them helpless. Destroyed. Imagine it, Marita." His voice dropped to a persuasive whisper, and he watched her eyes carefully. "Imagine using your knowledge to get Them in a position where you could issue a direct challenge." She stared up into his eyes, and nodded. Apparently, the need for vengeance was still alive inside her.

"All those horrible tests that were run on you could be adapted to torture Them," he assured her smoothly, playing on that need. "They could be subject to your punishment. You could let your little inner sadist have free rein."

She closed her eyes, and he balanced more of his weight on his knees; a sigh shuddered through her as soon as she could breath deeply enough. "Alex..." she said slowly, dragging his name out to a million syllables despite its simplicity. "There is no inner sadist. There's just a woman who wants this to be over."

He studied her face. Her lashes were pale but cast deep shadows across her cheekbones, the slant of her eyes obvious and exotic. Her full lips were nearly colorless. "That woman will never get what she wants if she quits now," he told her quietly, simply, for once not coloring his voice with sarcasm or anger. "If you disappear, you won't forget. You'll try, and fail, and hate yourself more with every passing minute. And if you didn't know that somewhere inside yourself, you would have left already."

After a second, she went completely limp beneath him, and seemed to hold her breath. He could hear his heart thudding gently, could feel hers beating a little more frantically, could hear the water and the birds and a plane in the distance. He could hear her mind working.

Her lips twisted, and he knew it was over.

"I want revenge, Alex," she whispered, and sighed again when he covered her lips with his.

Because her body was nearly fluid beneath his, he went slowly. Or maybe it was just to prove a point; he couldn't be sure. But he spent a long time nibbling delicately on her lips, the tip of her chin, the soft skin behind her ear. She twisted her hands and he let them slip free of his grip, trusting her for the moment. And for the first time since they had been drawn back together, she held onto him, hands exploring the sharp planes of his back, the hollow of his spine.

Licking the curve of her neck, he smiled. He'd remembered her drama and the quick, dark passion that came with it, but had forgotten the deeper, molten pleasure she could induce when she forgot to hate him. Carefully, he nipped at the hollow of her shoulder, then pushed back.

Against the silver wood of the dock, her pale skin and light hair gleamed. The dark suit was out of place, the blouse beneath too confining. And the fact that the pins in her hair had held through their brief battle annoyed him. But he could feel the roughness of the wood even through the thick material of his jeans, and knew that stripping her to the skin right there on the dock was a bad idea.

Gracefully, he rose to his feet, and then held out his hand to her. "Let's take this somewhere else, Marita," he murmured. "Where we're less likely to get lockjaw."

She hesitated, sprawled out on the dock. Her gaze flickered from his face to his hand, to the straining zipper of his jeans and back again. Come on, he urged her in his mind. You don't have to trust me, not completely. All you have to do is take my hand and watch my back while we scatter the Consortium's remains...

Slowly, her hand rose, and he wrapped his fingers around it, aware that she was almost shaking, that her fingers felt delicate and strong, fragile and powerful all at once. Then she was standing in front of him again, and he nudged her backwards, kept her going, followed her off the dock.

Hunger gnawed in his stomach as he kept his gaze locked on hers, the same dark and greedy hunger that had followed him from that jail cell in Tunisia all the way to this cabin in the US, that had been born many years and many betrayals earlier.

The cabin is only a few hundred yards away, he thought, calculating that they could be there in only a few minutes. But the rough sand of the small beach gave way to soft grass only twenty feet or so past the end of the dock. And as uneasy as being in the open made him, walking a few hundred yards with his cock compressed by his jeans seemed even worse.

Plus, Marita had less time to change her mind if he took her down on the grass. He had a feeling that once he slipped inside her, her course would be set--but until then, there was a chance that she'd try slipping away again.

As soon as they reached the grass, he stopped her. Her gaze dropped to his fingers as he maneuvered the buttons in her blouse, and she shrugged out of her jacket while he reached for the zipper of her skirt. She stepped out of her heels, then out of the puddles of fabric her neat, professional suit had made on the ground.

Alex toyed with the elastic band of her stockings, considering the feel of the material against his bare skin, but decided he wanted her completely naked.

He wanted skin to skin.

When she was naked, he stepped back to admire the silky gleam of her skin in the sunlight. He was surprised by the fact that she hadn't tried to hide herself from his gaze or put up a fuss because they were outside, in a secluded but not entirely private area. But then she looked up and met his gaze, and he recognized the look in her eyes. Pure heat, a very physical and blunt kind of passion, the fire that he had seen in her years before. He had brought it forth in Tunisia, but almost not expected to see again.

He smiled at her, comfortable under that heated, sharply alert gaze, and began to strip. Boots, socks, jeans, his white shirt, all were discarded as quickly as he could get rid of them. His nondescript clothing mingled almost companionably with her expensive suit when he kicked the whole pile aside and stood before her.

Then he took a step towards her and touched her, the back of his hand sliding down her torso, from her neck to her stomach and up again. The darkness of his need rose again, and he tried to fight back the urge to dominate, to conquer.

But with his hand on her shoulder, he urged her down to her knees. It wasn't in his nature to battle back his urges for long, not when it came to sex and Marita, in any case.

She smiled knowingly and folded onto the grass, her hands sliding down his body, across his hips. Alex began to drag the pins out of her hair as she kissed her way down his stomach to his cock, and then wrapped the loosened strands around his fingers as she took him into her mouth.

The warm sunlight continued to beat down on his back and ass as he stood with his head tilted back, enjoying the incredible heat of her mouth and the skilled touch of her hands. The first time Marita had done this for him, he'd nearly lost his mind when he came and had hardened again in just a few short minutes, as if he had never come at all. He'd wondered if she could keep him going for days with just the pressure of her lips and tongue on his cock, and then decided that he could keep himself going just by remembering--

But still, in the years since, he had forgotten.

"If I had thought about this while I was in that jail cell," he said to her, "I wouldn't have minded being locked in with all those men so badly." He tilted his chin, looked down as she slipped her mouth free of his cock and looked up at him. Her lips were wet, and seductively reddened.

"I don't think I'm flattered," she murmured, and Alex smiled, then knelt down with her, putting his mouth over hers. He absorbed her taste, found it mixed with his.

"You *should* be flattered," he said against her mouth. "Or you could just... be fucked."

He pushed his hand between her spread thighs, testing her. She was wet but not quite wet enough. He slipped two fingers up inside her, curled them. Her head fell back, her skin flushed, and he set his teeth against the warm, pink curve of her neck, feeling her pulse pounding against his lips.

If I get any harder, he thought idly as he rotated his thumb against her clit, I'll probably never be able to get off. I'll be wearing loose pants and long shirts for the rest of my life.

He lost the thought, and his restraint, when Marita pressed her hips forward, driving his fingers in deeper, and moaned. Slow, he ordered himself, but it was impossible. In just under a second he had her on her back in the grass and was hooking one of her legs over his shoulder. The other he caught behind the knee and urged up, stretching her open. Her fingers wrapped around his cock and she guided it in, massaging as she slowly slipped inside her and then releasing when her hand prevented him from pressing all the way down.

When he was as deep as he could go without hurting her, Alex paused and held himself back waiting for Marita to move. When she'd adjusted, she pressed her hips up into his and he braced himself a little higher against her, getting a better angle. Her body closed around him and seemed to fight to draw him deeper. The friction of every movement sent sparks through his nerves, and left her gasping and clutching at the ground. Within three thrusts, she was convulsing, her head thrown back and her body stretched out taut.

He closed his eyes to absorb the sensation of her body rippling around him, molten and demanding. For a split second he considered not giving in, holding on to see if he could make her come again. But then he lost himself and thrust again, putting all his pent-up frustration and power into the movement.

Once, twice--then the heat inside him boiled over and he arched his back, ground his hips down, spilling inside her.

He dropped over her when his spine had finished melting out his cock, let her legs slide down. When she was flat beneath him, still gasping, he rolled onto his back and draped her over him.

"We should go back into the house," she said against his chest almost immediately, her breath puffing across his skin. His hands were exploring the soft skin and tight muscles of her back and ass, so he didn't answer.

So much more fun to touch her than to just manipulate with words, he thought, but cleared his mind and closed his eyes when he felt her push back.

"Alex." He half-opened his eyes when she said his name, pretending laziness, genuinely displeased because the sun was shining down over her and into his face. "Alex," she repeated, and pushed further back. She settled on her knees, straddling his hips. "We should go back. We need to crack some of those codes before the Gunmen come down."

Good girl, he thought, and sat up so that she had to tilt her head back and he could look down into her face. "You're ready to get to work?" he asked her, keeping his voice cool even though his body still felt the heat of hers. "No more stalling? No more sulking?"

Her eyes flashed. "Watch what you say," she murmured, voice already cool and controlled again. "I could sabotage your work with almost no effort, and disappear just as easily."

He cocked an eyebrow. "With billions of lives at risk, just because I insulted you by reminding you of your behavior. You think you could escape that, and me?"

No reply, but her expression was resolute.

"Good," he said, and smiled at her. "Nice to have you back, Marita."

She smiled back, that now-familiar bittersweet twist of her mouth. "Let's hope you can keep saying that until this is all over, Alex, and I'm off in my safe little dream world." Smooth and lithe, she rose and began to gather her clothes together.

And Alex was left trying to assure himself that he hadn't woken a monster, and the tingle at the base of his spine wasn't a warning.

I have to confess that while I'm writing, I don't read much. So I've heard there've been some really excellent fics posted of late, but haven't gotten around to many them. I've noticed that my characterization tends to differ from the normal perception... I can't change that without feeling like I'm doing myself a disservice. So I shall have to hope that you guys care enough to write and say, "Why, swh, you're not so far off that I can't go with you," or, "Why did you bother to rename BillyBob and Joe-Anne for XF characters?" Send a note to win my eternal gratitude! :)

Crawling back under her rock for now :)--
she who hides