TITLE: "Back For More"
AUTHOR: Ardeth Saunders [a.k.a., Cruecial or Cruecial411]
RATING: R [Language, violence, and adult content]
SUMMARY: Weizmulder, the leader of the CIA Death Angels, has orders to clean Frank Donovan. Jonella "Pax" Paxton hears of the hit, and she returns, back for more. [Sequel to "Mission: Aggravation" and "Thorn In His Side."]
GENRE: Drama, Suspense, and Action
DISCLAIMER: UC: Undercover and its cast of characters belong to the writers, creators, NBC, and a dozen others. NO infringement intended. All other original characters belong solely to the sick, twisted, and vivid imagination of the author.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: First and foremost, I know nothing about the CIA. I do not know if "Death Angels," "AOP," or "assassination" squads exist. The plot is complete fiction and conjecture. So big brother if you're watching, this is for entertainment purposes only!!!! HA!
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REHASHING PAX STYLEPax stood in the hotel room more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge. She didn't know how the fuck Weizmulder made his 'special' bullets, but when they penetrated the flesh, they penetrated it. She had never been in so much fucking pain in her entire, pathetic life. She had almost…just almost…died. She didn't remember much about that night, almost two months in the past. The last thing she remembered before seeing Spankie's face was focusing her eyes on Mrs. Spankie right before the bullets hit. She had recalled the shock and disbelief in the princess' eyes. Yeah, princess, I took a hit for you, you fucking dolt. Now go get your goddamn husband and leave me the fuck alone. But no, uh uh, no way, hell no. She didn't go after him [or did she]. She shook her head. Stupid bitch. Considering what happened later, of course, it was obvious that the princess didn't go back to him. Anyway…on to other thoughts. The next thing she knew, Spankie had taken a spot beside her bed, actually fucking touching her as if he cared what happened to her. Once a witless fuck, always a witless fuck. Goddamn it. She had wanted to retire down that eternal road. What was so bad about that? Frankie had been where she was; he should have understood her desire. Well, that wasn't exactly true, now was it? Frankie had never been an AOP. Or had he? The fuck's CIA records were hidden so well, that no one really knew what he had actually done in the agency. Goddamn, she'd like to dig in his records for just a few minutes, fiddle with the skeletons hanging in his perfect little stoic closet. Ol' Spankie wouldn't allow her to go down that aisle of slumber. Stupid fuck. He still thought he was some high and mighty K & R man, and he assumed he had to save some lives or some shit. Whatever. Let the dickless wonder [he ain't so dickless, now is he] play Superman if it made his heart beat peanut butter. What difference did it make to her? The one thing that made it worse [as if things could get worse] was that Spankie had brought in the higher ups who signed his paycheck. He brought all of them, every damn one. They knew what she had done for the princess, Spankie, and his merry band of undercover agents. It took a few moments for her to realize what the prick was actually doing. He was fucking trying to help her again. If the agency and the bureau had offered Spankie a way out, then they could offer the same to her. Well, fuck that. She didn't want it. She wanted to be totally out of the deal forever. For God's sake, Pax, let us help you, Spankie had implored after the upper brass left. What you did was stupid, yes, but it was also…fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this to you…heroic. Heroic? She had nearly died laughing. He was Dono-Man and she had become Pax-O-Woman. Crazy fucking shit. Oh yes indeedy. Goddamn you, Spankie. It wasn't heroic. I was fucking trying to protect your princess for your kid. Do you think I honestly give a fuck about her, she had snapped. No, he had said, you probably don't. But you care about me. If you didn't, you wouldn't have given a single thought to my daughter. You kept her interests in mind and I won't forget that. I brought these men to you and I want you to let us help. Grudgingly, very grudgingly, she accepted the 'help.' Of course, they wouldn't set her up with a cushy new life or job such as what Spankie had, but they would at least keep her safe from the cleaners. Despite her venom and vinegar, she didn't want to die. She wouldn't tell Spankie that, though. He might think she had turned human on him or something.
After her first night in the hospital, Frankie had begun to spend an enormous amount of time with her. She had even awakened one night to find his dumb ass sleeping in a visitor's chair. Irritated, she had picked up a plastic cup and threw it at him. Get your lanky ass home. I'm not going to fucking die. He had left then, but returned the next day, apparently back for more. It hit her then. He was guarding her, ensuring that she didn't just get up and run off. Fucking idiot. She was finished with the damn head games. What would it take for him to realize that? Oh well. He thought he had to control everything around him, including her. Witless fuck. However, the weirdest thing happened two or three days after the shooting. Spankie brought in the princess. She watched as the newly divorced couple strolled in her room, seemingly a bit more than ex-spouses. [Hmmm…was that jealousy biting at my ass? Fuck no. Ew. Ew. Ew.] They were quite comfortable with each other and she had felt like a third wheel. If she could have gotten out of bed, she would have let them have the room. She had hoped Spankie wouldn't leave the princess alone with her, but what do you know? The witless fuck did exactly what she didn't want him to do. Oh yeah. He was a man all right. It was one of the most awkward visits she had ever had in her life. I want to thank you for what you did, the princess had begun. You could have let it happen, but you didn't. Even if you didn't do it for me, I will be grateful to you for not forcing me to abandon my daughter. God. She hated moments like those. She never knew what the fuck to say. She was no damn angel [well, not in the conventional sense, anyway], no damn heroine, no damn nothing. Come on back, Spankie. Come get your princess, she had remembered thinking. She watched in horror as the princess seated herself in one of the chairs parked relatively close to her bed. With a pang, she realized it was the same chair that Frankie's ass had worn grooves in. Look, I feel pretty weird, she had told the princess. There's an odd connection between us all, and it's…sorry…fucked up. I wish you and Spa…Frank…the best. A little smile framed the princess' face. Frank and I are in limbo right now, but thanks for your sentiment. I think once you have gone about whatever life you're cooking up for yourself; we'll work it out. Now hold up just a fucking minute. Had she really said that? Had she fucking really? Oh hell yeah. Before she could rip a new one in the princess [bitch], she held up her hands. That didn't come out the way I wanted. What I mean is that you're a…distraction. I don't hold that against you. I hold nothing against you. What I did to Frank is on my shoulders. I've done some stupid shit during our relationship, and this is the stupidest. But I think he's holding onto you. Spankie? Holding onto Jonella fucking Paxton? Hell no. Not only was this bitch a dolt, but she was also pretty damn fucked in the head. Goddamn. You are living in a dream world, woman, she had spat at the bitch/princess. He is not fucking holding on to shit. I told you. We fucked twice. Fucked. Fucked. Fucked. When you fuck somebody, it doesn't mean fucking anything. Don't you get it? You're who he's holding onto, not me. Once again, the princess smiled at her, sympathetically almost. God. She had never wanted to smack a bitch more than Remy Ellis Donovan. Ms. Paxton, don't you see it? Don't you? You're a part of his old world, a part I've never known about, and one that Frank has never explored with me. There is a connection, whether you believe that or not. I think you love him and I think he probably loves you, too. You probably loved each other before, didn't you? I can't compete with you. Not while you're here. Crazy fucking bitch. It was the craziest shit she had ever heard in her life. Oh yeah. He fucking loved me so much that he fucking shot me in the legs. Woo boy! Talk about high romance. Not long after their bizarre conversation, Spankie returned and retrieved his ex. She could tell by looking at him that he knew something weird had taken place, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Hell no, you don't want to know, unless you want to wind up in the hospital with a hernia from laughing so hard.
Spankie returned an hour later, dying to know what happened between them, but he wouldn't press it. If he did, she would fucking tell him. He was one witless fuck who preferred to remain clueless. That was all right. She didn't want to go into it, either. It was weird; it had been weird since they'd seen each other totally naked. She was tired of the weirdness, tired of thinking about what happened between them. It was fucking hilarious. His ex thought they were in some stupid ass duel for Frankie's affection when she didn't give a ripe fuck whether she received it or not. What would she do with it once she had it? Women like her weren't meant to be in a permanent kind of relationship. She'd never had one, and wasn't in the mood to have it now. It was insane. She scoured the recesses of her mind, drawing back from experiences between the two back in the day. Spankie was more of a 'father' to her than anything. He was a fucking drill sergeant. There had been plenty of sticky situations in which they had found themselves, but despite the intensity of that, nothing really happened. There were a couple little kissies here and there, but nothing to fucking write home about. If she had been given the choice and/or opportunity back then, would she have considered fucking him? Would she? Oh, hell no. She was a casual type of gal and wouldn't have minded going a round or two with him, but she wouldn't have seriously considered it. After all, once partners became lovers, the job was never the same. There were too many emotions involved, too damn much at stake. Besides, it was strictly forbidden in their line of work. Shit. Shit. Shit. Spankie hadn't said much to her that entire day, and she was about five inches close to kicking his ass out of her room for good. Goddamn. She was no fucking home wrecker. Bless her goddamn heart; she had tried to throw them back together. Did they listen? Fuck no. Oh well, their fucking loss. She was out of it now. Don't you have a wife and a kid to go home to, she had asked. An ex-wife, Pax. I have an ex. I appreciate what you tried to do, but I ask that you keep out of it. La dee fucking dah. Whatever. You should really be fixing your marriage instead of sitting here, you know. Go home, Spankie. Go home and go to. I don't need you here. Had he listened? Fuck no. After all, he was a man.
After her release from the hospital, Spankie had become a little bit of a bodyguard again. He had pulled some strings and gotten her a new hotel room with a couple of FBI bulldogs stationed outside. Weiz was still skulking about and he didn't want the lead op to find her any time soon. She knew that if Weiz wanted her, he'd find her, even if he had to travel to the darkest reaches of Africa. Whatever. Spankie had tagged along with her to the hotel, showing her into her room and making sure the perimeter was secure. She nearly laughed. It was all so fucking strange. He was acting as if she were some delicate flower that needed looking after. The next thing that happened was really fucking weird. It was something that she hadn't expected to happen in a zillion or more years. Spankie got all mushy. You really scared me, he had said. I thought this time that you weren't going to come out unscathed. I've missed looking after you. What the fuck? Her eyes had grown large with shock. Uh God. Please, please, don't let him get all mushy on me. I just may have to say something cutting to fuck with him. I can't take this! She laughed off his comment, feeling more awkward by the second. She didn't like the mushy Spankie. It was too fucking strange. Like I need looking after, you prick? How many years have I lived without your fucking help? God. You think you're Jesus or something, don't you? He shook his head incredulously and laughed at her. It pissed her off, of course, but a laughing Spankie was much better than a mushy one. Ugh. She really hated the fucking bastard sometimes. Sighing, she had taken off to the door and threw it open, waiting for him to take the hint. He didn't. After all, he was a man. Jonella, I'm sorry. I know you don't like these types of scenes, but I meant what I said. She had waved her hand toward the door, giving him the 'get the fuck out' gesture. It was as universal as flipping the el birdo. He continued laughing and she continued giving him a murderous gaze. As he neared the door, she planted her hand squarely between his shoulders to help him along. I fucking hate you, Spankie, she had cried after him. He had stopped in the hallway and looked back at her. Grinning wickedly, he said, Me too, Pax. More than you know. Stupid fucker.
At about midnight the same night, Spankie made a return visit. How long did it take for them to get out of their fucking clothes? Two seconds? Poor ol' Spankie was so fucking afraid that he would rip her stitches or some shit, but she hadn't exactly been shot below the waist, now was she? It was good enough for him. They didn't get all smack up against the door, but didn't quite make it to the bedroom, either. Ah. The couch. Nice substitute in a pinch. Goddamn. What were they doing? What the fuck did they think they were doing? It sure as shit wasn't supposed to go this way, now was it? Spankie was supposed to have gone back to his princess, groveled a little, and then returned to her. But hell no. What do you know? He was back at her again, doing more damage than was already done. Was he trying to fuck up his marriage some more? Witless fuck. Stupid shit. Damn good lover. She sort of kind of knew what brought it on, or at least she thought she did. The last few weeks were very…intense. They had gone at it a couple times and Spankie likely felt he had owed her something. God. This was so damn fucked up. Fucked, fucked, and fucked some more. Too damn crazy. Near death experiences did fucked up things to people sometimes. After, they didn't exactly feel awkward. The last couple times he had bounced her around the room, he had basically refused to do anything more than fuck and run. Of course, it was what she expected. She hadn't wanted anything else. She didn't enjoy fucking another woman's man. It just wasn't something she did. But that night [goddamn, it was morning, not night], he lingered with her, fucking holding her connected to his body. God. It was the most fucking strange ass shit that had ever happened to her. Well, with Frankie, anyway. There was no guilt [in him, anyway], no stupid ass apologies, no nothing. He laid on top of her for a fucking long time, breathing heavily against her neck, and whispering something along the lines of 'oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.' It wasn't a guilty 'oh shit' kind of thing, but more along the lines of 'I can't believe I just did that.' And then he did the strangest thing [hadn't she thought that already]. He kissed her, and it wasn't one of those brutal 'shut the fuck up' kinds of kiss, it was soft and gentle. God fucking damn. She kissed back. Uh. Gross. Ew. God. What the fuck was I thinking?
After that night, morning, or what the fuck ever, she had hung around for as long as she dared. It wasn't that she had wanted to be close to Spankie [because she didn't…ew…gross], she had needed to hang around to continue establishing herself with the help of the non-rogue divisions of both the FBI and CIA. What kind of job would they give an ex-CIA assassin? Executioner? Fuck it. There had to be something for her somewhere else. She had to get the fuck out of Chicago. She hated this fucking dreary city. She wanted to go somewhere sunny and warm. Miami. Fuck yeah. Miami sounded fucking nice. The weird shit continued with Spankie. She had been lying in bed one night with Frankie laid out beside her. She had stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking. What the fuck was going on with them? The thought was utterly disgusting, but were they having a…thing? Oh. Goddamn. Gross. Uh uh. No way. She hated the fuck. Why would she have a thing with a witless fuck? Yet, he had come to her nightly, hadn't he? He had come to her and they had slept together every night [well, fucking ain't sleeping]. Goddamn. Too weird. Time to pack up the shit and take off, and that's where she was today.
She wasn't running off like she had done before. Spankie knew exactly where she was going this time. Of course, he had helped arrange it. She dragged a suitcase out and began throwing her shit into it. She couldn't believe all the shit that had piled up since she was at the hospital. Fucking nuts. She hated carrying all this shit. She preferred traveling light. She was a messy packer and didn't exactly fold anything. She picked it up and threw it inside without bothering to make sure it wasn't wrinkled or torn. She had to get the fuck out of Dodge [hadn't she thought that already…]. Shit around here was just too fucking strange these days. Ugh. Goddamn. She looked up when she heard a card key clicking into the door. She almost laughed. How cozy, he has his own fucking card key. She turned away from the door and resumed packing. As usual, she smelled the fucker's cologne an hour before he approached her. She ignored him for a minute and continued throwing stuff here and there into the suitcase. She could feel Spankie's eyes on her, studying her, waiting patiently for her to acknowledge his existence.
"Would you stop fucking staring at me," she spat as she threw a handful of underwear into the already overflowing suitcase. "You're giving me the fucking creeps."
He backed away and put his hands on his hips. "Excuse me, Pax. I didn't know you had such a problem with my presence."
She sighed. "Fuck off."
He shook his head incredulously and found his fingers going up to the bridge of his nose. "Jonella, would you please stop for a minute?"
"Nope. Can't. Sorry." She snapped the suitcase closed, leaning on the fucker for everything it was worth. Goddamn. She had overstuffed it. She might have to take out the half dozen hotel robes she had stolen. "Shit. I need another fucking suitcase."
Taking a chance, he approached her and took hold of her arm. He held his breath, waiting for her to smack him, but she didn't. What was this? A kinder, gentler Pax? "I'm trying to say goodbye. Your flight leaves in less than three hours."
She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Spankie, don't get all sentimental on me, okay? Just because you've been fucking me for the last few weeks doesn't mean you got to get all mushy and shit. It was weird, strange, and messed up, but I mean, what else?"
He sighed and shook his head. "You still know how to fucking push my buttons, don't you?"
She nodded and smiled. "Yup. I found a couple new ones, too, I think."
"Jonella, I-"
Stubbornly, she pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't fucking say it, Spankie. Don't you fucking dare. I'll kick your goddamn ass. Do you understand?"
He nodded. "Okay, I won't. Do you need a ride to the airport?"
"Nope. Got a cab coming in about twenty." She sighed. "Thank you," she said stubbornly, grudgingly. "I'd be in the ground right now if you hadn't…aw fuck it."
"Watch your ass out there," he said.
"Got it covered," she said as she smacked the right cheek of her buttocks. "You do the same." She began to walk toward the door leading out into the hallway. "You wanna go so I can get out of here?"
He moved toward her, as if he were going to leave. Instead, he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly against him. He kissed her hard and brutally, the Spankie she had come to know and loathe. After a long moment, he pulled away and gazed down at her for a moment before leaving the room.
She sighed. "That was one fucking hell of a send off."