The security office at Briarcliff was a den of iniquity. Jude avoided visiting it at all costs. It reeked of multiple man sweat, cigarettes, numerous poorly crafted lunches and the farts those lunches created. Briarcliff had five security guards and about twenty orderlies and they all used the same office. Connected to it was their locker room, shower room, bathroom, break room and staff kitchen. So one never quite knew what to expect. Men being men: jostling, shouting, inappropriate conversation of the highest order and the profanity… This was the place to freshen up one's colorful euphemistic vernacular. She'd walked in on half naked staff eating directly from soup tins on more than one occasion. Completely unsettling.

So she entered cautiously - the missive in her hand working as a shield against possible impropriety. But today seemed surprisingly quiet.

"Frank?"

"Sistah Jude!" The head of security was at his desk, writing something when she entered. He stood and flustered a bit. His cap was off, jacket hanging back of chair, tie loose and shirt unbuttoned to reveal a white v-neck tee. "I'm uh…" He was buttoning and tucking with purpose.

"Yar fine, Frank." So why was she blushing? "I really just need ya ta take a look at this lettah and tell me what the hell it is." She offered the pages.

"Huh." Re-situated, Frank sat. Gestured for her to use the chair across from his industrial-style desk. "Let's see here." He read. Jude sat, watching him. It was warm in here. No wonder he was so casually attired. "Ah, what a pain in the ass."

"What?" She'd been afraid of that. It had seemed like a pain in the ass. "What is it?"

"Looks like the state of Massachusetts - in all its imminent genius - is passing some new law requiring safety training for all faculty and staff in committal institutions."

Jude rolled her eyes. "Because I don't have enough ta do, clearly." She rubbed her temples. "What does it mean, Frank?"

He was still reading. Flipped to page two. "Oh, it gets worse. 'All staff relative to security or patient handling are to receive specially designed defensive training in response to recent injuries or deaths to faculty in institutional settings.'"

"Defensive training?" Jude shook her head. "I mean, far you and orderlies and security that makes sense, but...far a bunch of nuns?"

Frank shrugged. "I dunno. Might be good fer the nuns even more than us. Might actually be a good idea, boss."

Jude smiled, reaching into her pocket. "I'm glad you feel that way, Frank. Because I've selected you to oversee the training." She handed him the little blue training manual.

"Me?!" He stood. "Why me?"

"Yar head of security!" Jude gestured to him. "And you have military combat experience. And the manual recommends that the facilitator have experience or previous training."

"But - but Carl has -"

"So you and Carl can split the responsibility." Jude shrugged.

"Sistah!" Frank rubbed his head. "I ain't no teacher."

"Frank. Look." Jude stood, too. Leaned toward him on his desk. "If you'll train us - the senior staff so ta speak, me and Eunice - we can share the training with the othah sistahs."

Frank sighed deeply. "Dammit...Alright, look. Here's what we'll do. Tuesday, Carl can take on orderlies and medical staff. In the common room after lights out. Wednesday, I'll take you and Eunice and the Monsignor."

"The Monsignor?" The nun was shocked. "Why? He's hardly here enough -"

"But he has contact with patients. And I'm not disregarding state mandated instructions. That's gettin' us in hot water, fer sure. I don't wanna be on the hook fer any misreporting."

Jude chewed her lip. "He's not gonna like this."

"I can't imagine." Honestly… "i could give two less shits than tha next shit-giver what the Monsignor likes. He's gotta do it. And so do I. And so do you."

"Frank!" She hissed. "Ya can't talk about a priest like that!"

"Yeah, I can! I'll show ya." He opened his mouth to say more, but she cut him off.

"I get the impression ya don't care for Fathah Howard."

"You got tha right impression, Sistah."

"Why?" She was genuinely curious. Frank was one of the kindest, most relaxed men she'd ever known. It surprised her that he would be so openly disliking.

He studied Jude for a moment, considering. "I don't trust him."

"Has he given ya some reason ta-"

"Nope. I just get a feelin'."

"Frank. He's my boss. I see him often and work with him often. And my own instincts are pretty sharp. I've nevah -"

"I don't like the way he looks at ya."

"He...he looks at me?" She blinked, flushed a little. And Frank didn't like that, either.

"Like yar somethin' he owns."

"Oh." She felt suddenly uncomfortable. And Frank had a look on his face that told her he regretted saying what he'd just said. "Well." She backed toward his door. "I should go. Just um - just let Carl know -"

"Sistah Jude."

"-about his part in the training and I'lll -"

"Sistah Jude!"

"-explain the situation to Eunice and...Fathah Howard."

"Sistah Jude." He spoke very firmly this time.

She paused in the door. "What, Frank?"

"I'm sorry."

She looked back at him. An unreadable expression on her face. "Don't evah apologize far bein' honest with me."

The Monsignor was indeed not pleased at the prospect of defensive training. "I'm afraid I don't understand." He shook his handsome head.

Jude smiled patiently. "The state wants any staff that has contact with patients to be trained on some basic defense maneuvers. Far our protection."

"They want us to hurt our patients?"

Briefly, the sister thought of all the patients she summarily thrashed, caned, or skelped on a regular basis. Cleared her throat. "Better them than us, is the mentality, I believe."

He paced before her desk. "It's absurd."

"Initially, I thought so, too. But I find that I agree with Frank, actually."

"Of course you do." He scoffed.

Well...that was odd. The comment - offhanded as it was - gave her pause. "What do you mean, Fathah?"

"Nothing." He was pink in the cheeks, avoiding. "I'm certain Mr. McCann's professional opinion is of the highest merit."

"I believe so." Jude spoke up for the guard, perturbed and thrown by the Monsignor's negatory attitude. "Um...that especially far the sistahs, this could be advantageous. A good way to protect themselves."

"God protects us all, Sister Jude."

"I know he does, Fathah. He must have been...momentarily distracted when those two sistahs at Myers Institute were raped and murdered last month."

"That lingers near blasphemy, Sister." Hie warned.

"The blasphemy lies in the situation, Fathah. Not my speaking it."

A resigned huff. He sat in the chair across from her. "When will this training take place?"

"Next Wednesday far us. In the common room after lights out."

"Us?"

"You, Mary Eunice, and myself."

"And are we to facilitate our own training?"

"No." She hesitated. "Frank will be -"

"Of course he will." Was that an eye roll?

"Fathah…" Jude struggled to understand. "I'm getting the impression ya don't care far our head of security."

"Your head of security." He pointed at her.

"You approved him!"

"I'll remind you, Sister." Timothy sat forward in his chair. "That I did not approve him. In fact, you made a secondary request for Mr. McCann - going over my head to both Mother Superior and the Archbishop."

"I didn't know that was you who had disapproved him." Her forehead creased. It made no sense really.

"You were obviously distracted."

"He was the most qualified. And his interview was excellent." She spread her hands, helpless to understand this animosity between the two men. "A former Boston beat cop. Excellent service record with the Marine Corps. Two tours of duty in two wars...and he can still maintain pleasant conversation."

"Yes, I'm certain he casts himself as a most perfect employee."

"I believe Frank is genuine, Fathah."

"Sister Jude." Timothy shook his head, grinning wryly. "I don't believe you need any defensive training."

"What do you -"

"You're quite defensive enough when it comes to Mr. McCann."

"I just want to understand what the disconnect is. Maybe I can -"

"I don't like the way he looks at you." He said it quickly, looking away from her.

She could have laughed at the irony. "Fathah. I assure you Frank has always been nothing but respectful ta me. Ta all the sistahs, as far as I know."

"I'm a man of the cloth, Sister Jude. But I'm still a man. And I know the look he gives you. Because I was schooled in sin, while he has lived within it." She swallowed nervously, the priest's intensity making her hyper-aware. "He covets you. It is inappropriate."

"I...I respectfully disagree, Fathah."

Timothy rose. Looked down on her with a gentle smile. "You are an incredibly intelligent woman, Jude." His fingertips barely brushed her jaw. "But don't let your belief in man's goodness blind you to his true nature."

"We're all sinnahs, Fathah," she whispered.

"Indeed." His eyes were warm and deep meeting hers. Something strangely sensual in his tone. "Would you let Frank McCann...lead you into sin, Sister?"

"Of course not." She was breathless.

"Excellent." He turned from her slowly, making for the door. "I will be at the training, Sister. Have no fear. Briarcliff shall be…" He thrust a victorious fist in the air. "Compliant."

When he left, Jude sat behind her desk for a long time, staring at the blotter there.

After checks that night, she spotted Frank on the first floor, headed to the main entrance. From the second floor landing, she called to him softly. "Leaving far the night?"

He turned, removing his cap. "I am, got Henry on for rest of the night." Didn't stop him from climbing the stairs anyway. "Unless ya need somethin'?"

"No, Frank." She shook her head. "It's...been a long day."

"Hell yeah, it has." He studied her a moment and she couldn't for the life of herself find anything covetous in the gaze. "You okay, Sistah?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You'd tell me if -"

"D'you think I'm attractive, Frank?" It was just the two of them. The rest of Briarcliff was quiet tonight, all screams and wailings contained for the moment. The silence and rich wood must have cosseted her to truthing.

"That's a - that's a hell of a question from a nun." He grinned, though, leaning against the railing. "S'pose I'm s'posed ta say 'No, Sistah Jude! Of course not!' Would that make ya feel right?"

"I want ya ta be honest with me, Frank. Like always. I want someone to be straightforward with me and just tell me -"

"I bet yar a goddamn knockout under that habit." He shrugged. "Ya got a pretty face. And I always was a sucker fer blondes. Bettah?" Her hand was at her chest. Perhaps she hadn't been prepared for that much straightforward. "Now. You're a damn smart woman, too. And I know somethin' about how yer mind works cuz mine's similar. So I know the Monsignor musta slung some kinda hot bullshit to ya today that got ya thinkin' ya needed ta ask me that. Huh?" She couldn't deny, and he read the response in her eyes. "Ya know me, Sistah. Don't evah let anybody make you question yer own confidence. Especially him. He may be man of the cloth - and I'm just a man - but his cloth might be a little dirty." He had to look away from her glassing eyes, grabbed hold of the railing and pushed against it. "Fuck. I say too much sometimes."

"Frank…" But she didn't really have any words, herself.

"I gotta go, Sistah." He turned from her, but not without a parting shot: "Don't let him fuck with yer head. Get me?"

She nodded, watching him leave. His keys rung in the locks. Her head hurt. After a too long bath, she stood naked in her bathroom. She no longer had a full length mirror - no nun had such vanity. But she could stand back far enough from the mirror on the medicine cabinet to get a decent look.

She'd lost more weight. She'd first lost weight joining the convent, watching her old curves slim away to a hint of what they once were. Then at Briarcliff - with the stress and the grueling schedule - she'd somehow dropped a few more pounds. She slipped her hands over her hips. "I look almost sickly…"

But it was still there. The Martin family women's blessing. Or curse. However you wanted to look at it. The body. The curves. Long, lean legs. An elegant neck. She tested her breasts. They were still nice and firm. Fluffed wet curls over her shoulders. So Frank wasn't entirely wrong. She knew she was good looking woman, even if it was hidden under a habit now.

And it had felt sinfully good to hear him say it. So was Timothy Howard right? Could Frank lead her to sin? Probably. Definitely. Wetly and with little cajoling.

But she couldn't help feeling - as long white cotton cloaked her curves again - that the Monsignor could lead her to even greater sins…

Eunice and Jude arrived promptly after lights out in the common room. Frank was already there, perched against a table and tapping the training manual against his palm. "Evenin', Sistahs." He tipped his cap.

"Hello, Mr. McCann!" Eunice chirped and Frank rolled his eyes. She would probably never call him by his given name.

Jude was less formal. "Frank." She looked around. "I see the Monsignor hasn't arrived yet."

"Unless he's in stealth mode." Jude shook her head and Eunice snickered. "You excited about yer trainin', little sistah?"

"I don't even know what we're training." She rocked on her heels.

"I'm gonna teach ya how ta kick some ass tanight." He tapped her arm with the manual. "It'll be fun."

"Oh!" Eunice blushed at the prospect. They all turned to the sound of the door closing.

Timothy Howard entered quickly. "I apologize for my tardiness." He came to stand between the nuns. "Mr. McCann. You look...well."

"You, too, Fathah." The forced pleasantries were painful even to Jude. "Shall we uh - get started?" At their nods, Frank gestured. "Little Sistah. Come here a second." She came to stand beside him. "First thing we're gonna talk about is extraction moves. Or - extracting yerself from a threatening situation. Kay?" More nods. "Now. Imagine yer walkin' down the hall, mindin' yer own business, maybe thinkin' bout what's fer dinner. And all of a sudden -" He grabbed Mary Eunice from behind, wrapped an arm around her throat. "Some nutcase grabs ya!"

Eunice screamed, hands immediately grabbing at the offending arm.

"Notice how Eunice's first instinct is ta grab my arm. Pretty typical response. Fathah?"

"Yes?" Timothy was wincing at Eunice's obvious discomfort.

"Get hold of Sistah Jude there. Just like this."

"Um…" He looked at Jude, who shrugged, turned her back. Timothy cleared his throat. "I apologize, Sister." Gently, he wrapped an arm around her neck, leaving a solid six inches between their bodies.

"What looney apologizes?" Frank asked. "They're gonna say some inflammatory and probly scary shit, right? Like 'You're mine, girly!'" He growled to Eunice, who whimpered. "Go on, Fathah. Let's hear yer inflammatory language."

"Er…" He struggled. Jude waited. "I'm very crazy! And evil! I'm going to...bite your eyeball."

Jude bit her lips but couldn't contain her laughter.

"Oh, Sister! Cover your eyeballs!" Eunice shouted.

Frank was trying hard to control his own laughter. "Look here. Eunice, you don't think it, but you actually got yerself a pretty good advantage in this position."

"Yeah." Jude offered. "He can't reach yar eyeball." More laughter. Even the priest joined in this time.

"Sistah Jude." Frank let go of Eunice for a moment, approaching the other pair. "You seem like a scrapper. How would you extract yerself from this situation?"

"I could...stomp his toe?"

Frank snapped his fingers. "That's thinkin'! Good job, Sistah."

"Then, when he lifts his leg," Jude lightly stomped Timothy's toe for example.

"Ow!" Indeed, his knee rose beside her hip. Jude curled an arm beneath it - and flipped the priest onto his back. He coughed, wind knocked from his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Jude!" Frank looked over her shoulder at the man on the floor.

"That was amazingly effective, Sister." Eunice breathed. Something lit in her gaze. Something feral...

"It worked." Jude reached for Timothy's hand, helping him to his feet. "But you can also bring yar heel up into his groin area. Wanna see?" She started to curl the priest's arm around her neck again.

"No!" Timothy shouted, snatching his arm back. "I believe we all have a fair idea of what that result might be, Sister."

They practiced the maneuvers a few more times, switching up partners until Jude ended up pressed to Frank's chest and Eunice held Father Howard. "Got some inflammatory language far me, Frank?" Jude asked, straining against his hold.

"How about...Yer about ta meet tha Devil, Sistah!"

Jude chuckled darkly. "I already know him." Her elbow connected sharply to Franks ribs. He yelped, pulling away in time to avoid being seriously injured.

"You might be enjoyin' this a little too much." Their eyes sparked at each other. "Little Sistah? How's it comin' ovah there?"

Timothy was sweating. Eunice may have been holding him a little too tightly. "Pray to your empty god!" She yelled, impassioned. Timothy struggled against her grip. He tried the stomping technique, but Eunice was wiry and quick, evading his feet. When he employed his elbows, she wrapped her free arm through them, successfully bringing him to his knees. "Say uncle, Father!"

"Sister!" He gasped.

"I said say uncle!"

"Mary Eunice." Jude stroked the girls back. "That's enough, now. Let him go."

Frank had to turn away to hide his laughter.

"Sorry, Father." Eunice let him go. Patted his head. "I got carried away."

"It's quite alright, Eunice." He dusted off his knees. Groaned at a pain in his lower back. "Must have been the inflammatory language."

"I'd say we have a pretty good grasp of the from behind extraction? Especially from Sister Jude here." Frank asked. Nods. "Let's talk about evasive moves. Say some crackpot swings at ya. Sistah?" He gestured to Jude. "You see a fist comin' at ya, or a hand, what's your first reaction?"

Eunice and Timothy both threw arms over their faces. "Yep. Exactly. What's the disadvantage there?"

"Ya can't see." Jude said matter of factly. "Next thing ya know, yar doubled over from a gut punch."

"Yer savage. You know that?" Frank turned her toward him. "Show 'em how ta duck." He drew back his fist. Jude expected the swing, and slid underneath it, barreling into Frank until he toppled onto his back. "Woah!" the nun straddled his chest, her own fist drawn.

"You gonna hit a woman?" She asked, smirking. The hand flat to his chest was surprised to find him...solid. Muscles rippled

"Not today." Frank wore a full smile. Jude's wimple was knocked off in her defense, and golden curls went completely awry. She blew bangs out of her face.

Eunice squealed, clapping. "Me next! Me next!"

Jude helped Frank back to his feet. "Alright, Little Sistah." He wrangled her. "Grab yer partner and do-si-do. Ready, Monsignor?"

"No," Timothy answered, taking in the look of bloodlust on Eunice's face. "But here goes." He drew his fist back, feeling completely foolish.

Eunice was already crouched, shivering with what was possibly sheer joy. "Ya feelin' lucky, Father?" She asked. He shook his head. An evil laugh bubbled from Eunice's lips and she battle cried: "Spin the wheel, holy man!" Before she charged him.

They knocked over a table and a chair, tumbling to a heaving rest. But Timothy had the advantage now, stretched haphazardly over Eunice. He found himself between her legs. "Forgive me, Sister. What is the extraction method for this, Mr. McCann?"

"Pssst!" Jude caught Eunice's eye, standing over the Monsignor's shoulder. "Lock yar legs around him and roll."

"Oh, let's not -" Timothy started. But he didn't finish. Strong young thighs gripped his waist suddenly and he found himself flipped once again.

"Whoooo!" Cowgirl style, she tore her own wimple off, waving it in a victory arc. "Who's my bitch?!"

Jude and Frank watched from a few steps away, hands over their mouths. "Ya know, Sistah?" Frank asked. "I think this training may have been completely unnecessary."

"Far Mary Eunice, at least."

"And far you." He was looking at her. Specifically, at her freed hair. And now she detected something a little covetous in the gaze. "Yar a spitfire."

"I saw some bar fights in my day."

"Saw some?"

She smiled. "Maybe started some."

"That's bettah." Finally, he pulled Eunice off the Monsignor. "All right there, Geronimo." The Monsignor stayed prone on the floor, a hand over his eyes. "Y'alright, Fathah?"

"I'm fine." Jude helped him up again.

"I think this is going really well," she announced.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." Eunice solemnly agreed.

"Let's even the playing field and have a spar." Frank directed the nuns. "Sister vs. sister and uh...you and me, Fathah. Mano a mano. I think ya might feel more comfortable hitting a man."

Jude saw this going poorly. She was considering methods of communicating her worry, when movement distracted her. Eunice squared up, both hands gesturing Jude toward her. "Come at me, Judy."

"Eunice." Jude held up a finger. "Yar gonna get hurt."

"Bring the pain!" She swung. Jude ducked, grabbing the offending arm and swinging the smaller woman into a choke hold. "Wrong move, mami." Eunice growled, curled. Jude's balance was completely thrown and she tumbled over Eunice's back, oophing to the floor.

"You little shit!" She gasped. A leg sweep and Eunice was on the floor, too. Jude scrambled atop her, legs on either side of the dangerous thighs. "I told ya you'd get hurt."

"I think the question we both need to ask ourselves right now, Sister, is who likes the hurt more?" Eunice snatched a handful of honey blonde hair and pulled - hard.

"Aaaargh!" Jude railed against the burn. Instinctively, her hand went to Eunice's neck. At the prospect of being choked, the young nun released her hair shank to pull at Jude's hand. Jude flipped the script, taking those hands and raising them above Eunice's head. "I'm gonna need ya to yield now, Mary Eunice. Like a good girl."

"Yield this!" Eunice's forehead connected soundly with Jude's nose.

"Jude!" Timothy shouted, lunging forward, but Frank stopped him.

"This is between them, Fathah. Let em' go."

"Fuck!" Jude grabbed her face, felt a little blood. "I'm gonna kill ya!" She drew back a fist. Eunice grabbed her by the habit, though, using all of her force to toss Jude aside. Buttons flew through the air. Jude rolled to her knees, rising, and Eunice met her.

They locked arms in a dirty duel. Jude's habit was open now, revealing a generous amount of skin, apricot camisole, and lacy bra. Which Eunice took full advantage of by twisting her older sister's nipple. Jude squealed, twisted Eunice beneath her arm only to feel three harsh, resounding slaps on her ass. "Who's getting the spanking today, Sister Jude?"

"Enough playin' around!" Swiftly, roughly, Jude lifted Mary Eunice over a shoulder, depositing her on her stomach on a nearby couch. She managed to wrestle both of the girl's arms into an iron grip. Eunice growled and sputtered into dirty cushion, bucking. But Jude rode her out rodeo style. "I still got a free arm here, Eunice," she muttered, catching her breath. "And I know how ticklish ya are."

"Nonono, Sister! Please!"

"Everybody else has pissed this couch. I reckon it's yar turn."

"No, Sister Jude! Please! Please don't!"

"Ya yield, then?"

"I yield!" Mary shouted. "I yield!"

Jude was off the girl immediately, hands up in victory. But still managed to deliver a sharp slap on Eunice's rear, making her yelp. "That's far spankin' me!"

Eunice moaned, getting up off the filthy couch. "A valiant warrior." She murmured reverently, extending a hand. Almost suspicious, Jude shook it. "Teach me your ways, proud barbarian queen."

"Ya got enough ways, Eunice." Jude flicked blood from her face onto the floor. "Dirty fighter."

"I'm genuinely worried for our patients," Timothy said. He and Frank stood wide-eyed on the side lines, stunned by the savagery and flesh they were privy to. "Sister." Timothy handed Jude a handkerchief. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fucking great, Fathah."

He ignored the profanity. He tried very hard to ignore the lingerie. But blood had dripped between creamy curves and he had to turn away. "Jude's a tough cookie," Frank announced, approaching the nun. "Here. Tilt yer head back." He stood close to her, cradling her cranium to study her face. "It ain't broken. But it's gonna hurt fer a few days."

Jude nodded. "Thanks, Frank."

Quietly, near her ear, he added: "Looks like I was right about what's under that habit." He turned to the Monsignor before she could react. "Ready, Fathah?"

Timothy's lip curled minutely. His nostrils flared. "Quite ready...Frank."

Jude placed a subtle hand on Frank's shoulder. "Go easy, Frank." She whispered. He may have ignored her. She folded her habit up, holding it closed.

"We'll keep it light. Unlike the sistahs over here." Frank gestured to the nuns. "Let's start with the duck, eh Fathah?"

"Fine."

Frank rounded on the priest. He raised his fist, but when Timothy ducked, it was Frank's other fist that made contact with Timothy's ribs. Jude shook her head, covered her eyes. Surprisingly the blow barely swayed the priest, who bent Frank with a knee to the groin. "Ah, somebody's been takin' lessons from Sistah Jude, I see." Frank growled. He easily lifted the priest into a spin, dropping him on a nearby table. "Let's see if you were really payin' attention to her."

Timothy rolled away from Franks next blow, off the table. He flipped the furniture instead, shoved it at the guard. "I assure you I always pay attention to Jude." They spoke lowly, voices barely hisses or grunts, aware the sisters were nearby.

"I bet ya do." The guard flipped the table back up, slid across it to deliver a sharp kick against Timothy's hip. The priest hissed. "Kinda like ya pay attention to yar favorite dog."

"How dare you." Timothy shoved Frank back to the table. "Sister Jude is my most trusted advisor." He landed the first real blow, too, even though his aim was off. Grazed Franks jaw but clipped his ear.

It was almost as if Frank had let him have the punch - just so he could grab the sinewy man's arm. He twisted it painfully, holding Timothy captive. "Then why do ya lie to her?" He whispered, standing them up.

Timothy groaned at the pulled muscle, but still managed a solid kick to Frank's shin, upsetting the hold. "I never lie, Mr. McCann. And Jude is happy to serve." He twisted free, cassock swinging elegantly. The foot in Frank's stomach was unexpected.

"She serves God." Frank may have been bent double, but he took Timothy down with a head butt. "Not you, asshole." The fight turned into a wrestling match. The men close quartered, biting hatred to each other's faces, each exhaustingly trying to gain advantage.

"Jude serves the church. I'm simply her supervisor." Nearly pinned, Timothy slammed a shoulder into Frank's chin. "As she is yours. Lest you forget that."

"She's her own damn woman." Frank grappled with Timothy's sleeker form. "And she's smart, Fathah. Lest you forget that."

"I assure you I put a great deal of my faith in Jude." Timothy managed to wriggle an arm loose and gain traction, flipping them.

Frank chuckled, mostly amused by his opponent's desperate tactics. "What else do ya wanna put in Jude, Fathah?"

"You son of a bitch." Timothy let his anger get the better of him and slammed a real punch into Frank's grin. Teeth cut his knuckle, and he drew back his hand wincing in as much pain as he'd delivered.

Jude couldn't hear what they were saying, but she could tell it wasn't good. And now Franks lip was split and Timothy's hand was bleeding. She was ready to seperate them. To end this affair before feelings were as damaged as bodies were. Eunice could sense her discomfort, and she put on a false facade to compensate. "It's alright, Mary Eunice." She shrugged. "Boys will be boys, I guess."

The boys were on their feet again. Frank had gotten in a real punch of his own, and now Timothy's right eye was red and squinting, making it difficult for him to see. "You are the one who befouls her with your thoughts, Mr. McCann. I see it in your eyes when you look at her."

"You see me carin' about her. Unlike you." He let the priest pull him by the collar. "What's more noble I wonder? Using a woman as a slave or using her like a lover?"

"She's not for you." Frank laughed through the next glancing blow and returned a far more targeted one to Timothy's gut.

"So you do think she's yours." He scoffed. "What a piece of shit."

"If she had the choice what would she choose, I wonder?" Timothy was gasping for breath now. But his second wind was approaching fast. He thrust an elbow blindly, connecting with Frank's face and knocking him sideways. He knelt over his opponent. "Rome? With me? Plush Vatican sheets on her lovely bare skin? Or rotting away here in this hell hole with you? A man with no prospects. No vision. Hm? Whom do you think she would serve more sweetly?"

Frank roared. Threw himself over the priest. Wrapped his thin throat in both hands. "I think it's time fer you ta serve, Fathah. To go meet yer master. In hell!"

"That's enough!" Jude pulled at Frank's shoulder. "Frank! Stop! Stop now!" She put her arms around him from behind, pulling. He was strong as an ox… "Please, Frank."

His fingers loosed immediately. He released Timothy. Let Jude pull him to his feet. Eunice helped Timothy up. A thick silence settled over the breathless group. "What the hell was that?" Jude asked.

She stood between them. The two mens' eyes locked over her head. "Nothing, Sistah." Frank huffed. Wiped his lip. "The Monsignor and I were just...agreeing to disagree on some things."

"It didn't look so amicable ta me." She focused on Frank's face. Timothy spoke behind her.

"I assure you, Sister Jude. Mr. McCann and I shall have a perfectly functional professional relationship."

"Just...not ever a friendship." Frank added.

"Agreeing to disagree." Timothy reiterated. "Does this...conclude our training session?"

"Yes." Jude snapped. "We're done here."

"Good." Timothy wiped his hands against his pants. "I'm going home. I feel...dirty."

"Ya should." Frank goaded. Jude shushed him sharply. They watched the Monsignor leave. Eunice looked at Jude.

"Sister…"

"Everything's alright, Eunice." Jude stroked her charge's cheek. "You were amazing. I'm proud of ya."

"A real scrapper." Frank smiled. "Like yar boss lady here."

"Yeah?" Eunice blushed shyly. "I mean...I always wanted to kick a little ass. Thank you for teaching us, Mr. McCann."

"Likewise, little sistah. I think I learned a couple things from you tanight."

"Goodnight." Eunice dipped her head to the elders. "I'm gonna have a nice long, hot soak." There was a definite pep in her step when she exited the common room.

"That girl's got promise." Frank said.

"What the fuck was that?" Jude asked, ire flashed in her eyes. "And don't ya dare bullshit me."

"I nevah bullshit you."

"What'd you say ta him? I've nevah seen him so -"

"Real?" Frank shook his head, turning away from the woman. He paced. "Cuz that was the real Timothy Howard you saw tanight."

"You pissed him off!" Jude pointed at him. "You said something and it pissed him off."

"You think he's so high and mighty?" Frank whirled on her, stepped into her personal space. "Why don't ya ask what he said ta me, Jude? Huh?"

"Well, what then?"

"I won't repeat it." He was leaving the common room, walking away briskly. Jude followed him, unwilling to let go of this particular confrontation.

"Why not?"

"It's insulting. To you." She was on his heels down the hall. At the door to the security office, he sighed. Turned to her. "And I won't see ya hurt."

"Ya talked about me?"

"Yep."

"That whole time?!"

"Yep."

"Oh my God." She ruffled her hair, frustrated.

Frank watched her process. Blood on her face and chest. Lingerie skewed. Hair a mess. She was gorgeous. "Trust me. It was the epitome of inflammatory language."

"He was just rilin' you up."

"Oh, he riled me up. Fer sure, Jude." He entered the office, threw his cap on his desk. Tore off his jacket. Winced. "It's not important, Sistah. Don't let it bother ya."

"Well, it does bother me, Frank." She held her habit closed in the hallway leading to the staff locker room. "I'm tryin' ta understand why I have ta worry about keepin' the two of ya separated from now on."

"I'm perfectly capable of bein' civil with the son of a bitch." He angrily tossed his oxford onto a nearby bench. She followed him again to the row of shower stalls.

"That's not exactly a promising response far the beginnings of civility. Jesus, Frank!" She approached him, took hold of his arm. "What the hell…" Their voices echoed off the powder blue tiles.

"It's a scrape, Sistah." He looked away from her. Hid his discomfort - both kinds. She was so close, and she'd let her habit loose to investigate his injured arm.

"Scrape, my ass!" She pushed up the sleeve of his tee. "Ya got some ice down here? Some alcohol?"

He smiled. "Jude?"

"What?"

"I'm gonna take a shower now."

"Oh." She was suddenly very pink. Stepped away from him as if she'd just realized their current situation. And her state of dress...or undress. "Um…"

"Wanna join me?" Her wide, scandalized eyes were precious, and he chuckled.

Jude's lips tightened. "That's not funny." She spun away, making for the door.

He grabbed her arm, some momentary insanity taking over. "I wasn't bein' funny." He could smell her sweat. The iron of blood dried on her. Her hair. She smelled like...heat. Like a fired rifle.

Her nostrils flared. Her pupils took over the deep brown irises of her eyes. "Frank…" She whispered.

He was weak for the woman. One step and she was pressed to the cool tile. She whimpered when he raised the arm he held above her head. She was perfectly capable of stopping this at any second. Had demonstrated quite clearly that she could put him dead on his ass. "Jude," he whispered back.

Little puffs of breath on his neck. On his face as he bent. On his lips as they neared hers. His body sung to hers. He wanted to taste the blood on her mouth and when her head tilted to allow the infarction and her fingers shakily scratched into his close cropped hair his belly clenched victory.

Voices and slamming lockers broke the spell. He stepped from her stiffly, like a mechanical man. She was frozen. He plucked her loose habit, folded it over her chest. She had the sense to grasp it in numb fingers.

"Woah!" Carl spun in the shower room entry, clenched a towel over his tighty whities. "Shit, Frank! Heads up, Steve! We gotta nun in here!"

Steve - a tall black orderly - peered over Carl's shoulder. "Goddamn!"

"Hey!" Frank reprimanded. "Watch the language!"

"No offense, Frank, but - what the hell?" Carl gestured to Jude. "And what the fuck happened to her?"

"Defensive training tanight." Frank shrugged. "Sistah Jude here just fixed up my arm fer me." He looked at her, eyes begging her for he knew not what. But she had no voice to argue any excuse. "Thank you, Sistah."

She nodded. Cleared her throat. "Not a problem, Frank." Gently, he led her from the showers, past Carl and Steve, who nodded respectfully despite their near nakedness. In the office, they heard the water valves squealing and the muffled voices of Carl and Steve. Jude made for the door, needing space and air and a freezing shower of her own - anything to ease the fire that had flared to life in her belly.

"Sistah."

"Don't, Frank." He pushed the door closed when she opened it. She put her head against it.

"I'm sorry." He was. Achingly sorry that they'd been interrupted.

"Oh, are ya?" She chuffed. "Well, it's nice ta meet yar regret." Bitterly, she tugged at the door.

"I mean I'm sorry they walked in." He held the door fast, spoke close to her ear.

His breath, his nearness wreaked havoc on her control. "Let me go."

"We need ta talk."

"You don't wanna talk."

"Neither do you."

Her eyes were hot with tears. It was true. "Damn you." She murmured, head to the door again.

"We're both damned, Jude."

"I can't do this." Her throat ached, clenched.

"I won't make ya." Suddenly, he slid his arm from the door. Stepped away from her. He rubbed at his head. "I was wrong ta do this. Ta make ya feel…" He'd never felt quite so complicated himself. So torn. "I won't lead ya into sin."

The tears came so fast. She tilted her head back against the door. "Frank?" The pipes shuddered, valves screaming as the water to the showers turned off. Voices again.

"What, Sistah?" He couldn't look at her. Leaned on his desk, breathing.

"Nobody leads me anywhere. Especially not into sin." She thumbed tears away. "I already been there." He gave no response. She watched his muscular back move with the motions of his breath. Carl and Steve were approaching - probably naked. "I gotta go." And she fled, closing the door softly behind her. In the dark hall, she pressed herself against a wall, regaining control with a hand tight over her mouth. She shook all over, clasped her habit closed again, and made for her rooms with as much dignity as possible.

She heard the door open and close behind her. Against her better judgment she turned to see Frank standing in the hallway, looking as hopeless as she felt. The tears came back. Her muscles ached as much as her heart did. His mouth opened, and she raised a hand to hush him. She couldn't take any more.

So clutching her habit harder, she walked away. No. Frank wouldn't lead her anywhere.

But she wished like hell that he'd followed her...