Title: They Change the Sky, Not Their Soul
Fandom: 24
Characters: Michelle Dessler/Tony Almeida
Rating: Adult
Summary: "Let's get out of here, Tony," she requested, her voice soft. She searched his eyes, pleading with him silently to just make it right.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for seasons 3 -5, and you guessed it, wishful thinking for season 7. For a somewhat racier version of this story, go to my profile and make your way to my livejournal.
The sharp crack followed by a stinging sensation was enough to bring him out of his stupor. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in his employer's makeshift cell, he did his best to locate the source of his awakening. If he was lucky, they'd only be checking on him. They'd found out he'd been screwing them, sabotaging the mission bit by bit, and he'd been locked up here, handcuffed to a table, to be dealt with later. At least they'd only taken their anger out on him once, though despite his host's restraint, his mouth and ribs weren't feeling too appreciative. The real interrogation would come soon.
"Good, you're awake. I didn't want to have to slap you again."
He knew that voice, but the pounding in his head was preventing him from adequately placing it.
"You're bleeding a little bit, too. They really did a number on you."
"Just the preview," he wheezed. "They'll be back."
"You won't be here."
Whoever it was dropped to their knees behind him, and cold, nimble fingers released his hands from their bonds.
"I should kill you myself for this, Tony."
Suddenly it clicked, and he jerked in his chair, trying to see her face. One particular bend left his injured ribs screaming. His no longer mysterious rescuer slid around him on the ground, touching his shoulders gently to get him to sit back.
"Easy, Tony. I can't carry you out of here."
"Mi-Michelle? How?"
She smiled, but he could tell she wasn't happy. Wasn't happy he'd sold out, even though in the end he'd double-crossed them to bring the information back to the CIA. Neither of them had entertained the possibility that the first time they'd meet in over two years would be here. He'd known for a year, maybe longer, that reports of her death had been false, that he'd been misled in order to garner his cooperation and his loyalties. But he'd gone along with them anyway, even though he knew she was alive, and she probably knew the same about him. At first, all he'd wanted to do was contact her, to beg her to understand, but, even now, the proverbial gun was still to both of their heads. There would be no stealing away in the middle of the night, no finding Michelle and begging her to run away with him; it was months before he finally realized, his hands were tied. Eventually, he learned to hold onto her in other ways.
"I'll tell you once we're out of here."
"You're sure I can be trusted?"
She cocked her head, studying him. "No."
Abruptly, she grabbed his face, yanking him toward her roughly – so much for TLC for his injured ribs – and seizing his lips without a trace of her usual gentleness.
Her kiss was harsh; bruising his already aching mouth, but all he was able to do was twist his fingers in her hair and hold on as her tongue darted between his lips and pushed against his own.
When she pulled away, hands still clenched against his scalp – the buzz was necessary for his cover; it was something he hadn't had since basic training, and vaguely hoped never to have again - she licked her lips, most likely tasting the blood that had escaped his cuts due to the intensity of her kiss.
"I'm supposed to take great caution in apprehending you." She spoke again, as if she'd never even touched him. Then he saw her eyes crinkle and knew she'd found vast amusement in the idea that he was so far gone he might hurt her - the one reason he still drew breath.
"Where'll you take me?"
"My orders are to bring you straight to the CIA, Tony."
She bent and unchained his feet, sliding her palms up his shins and across his thighs. He gasped, jerking his hips reflexively at her nearness.
"Sorry," he puffed, embarrassed by his body's reaction, even though it was her – no, especially because it was her. "Been a while."
Silently, she scooted closer, reaching for the hem on his shirt and lifting, surveying the damage done to his ribs. At the gentle contact of her fingers, his eyes slid closed and he had to bite his already throbbing lip to conceal the groan. It had been so long since anyone but himself had touched him. Let alone her. Michelle had never had a problem turning him on; even now when every pore in her body radiated anger and hurt at his betrayal and abandonment, the tender slide of her palm against his belly, and the quick dip underneath his pant's waistband was enough to leave him hard and borderline trembling in his efforts not to grab her.
Michelle's hand stilled and her big brown eyes rose to meet his own. Her mouth opened and she started to speak, but instead she stopped, kissing him again. This time, though, he felt nothing but tenderness from her lips.
"Let's get out of here, Tony," she requested, her voice soft. She searched his eyes, pleading with him silently to just make it right.
"Not if you're going to turn me in," he argued, finding it in him to push her away. Ignoring her stunned glare, he stood up. After testing his stability quickly, he was able to make it to the door before she caught up.
The handcuff was cold on his wrist and he stopped when he realized that the resistance was due to its mate being attached to her own hand.
"Damn it, Michelle –"
"Tony-"
"You don't have any idea what you're doing here, Michelle!" he roared, turning away from her to search for something to bust the cuffs with. "You think bringing me in is going to make all the bad things go away?"
"Shut up."
"No, listen to me. At least with me out there I can take out these people from within. I've already incapacitated two others since they hurt you," he stopped, watching as her eyes closed quickly before springing back open and pinning him down. "Not even Jack fucking Bauer has been accomplishing what I have. You're all alike, you know. It's either Tony's a good guy or a bad one. Hate to tell you, sweetheart, world doesn't work like that-" Sometime during his tirade, he'd stepped into her personal space.
"No!" Michelle argued, pushing him back, both to shut him up and to get him out of her face. "I'm not your enemy, Tony. I'm not, and don't you dare make me out to be. Look, Chloe and Bill are trying to convince the president that you've only done what any other undercover agent would. I'm not taking you in until I know that you'll be getting a pardon or a medal, or simply a pat on the back and sent on your way to do more of your charity work," she spat facetiously. "Till then, you're stuck with me. Alright?"
"Why?"
Michelle's eyes flashed and she attempted to cross her arms, only to remember that his hand ended up dangerously close to caressing her breasts with the action.
"Because I woke up this morning and decided to get my husband back, even if he is a stupid, stubborn asshole. Because I know why he's been aiding international terrorists, and it's not because he's a traitor. Because I've woken up calling his name at least twice a night every night that we've been apart. Because I had nothing else to do tonight and decided to risk my life trying to save yours, you selfish prick," she shouted, striding forward to beat on his chest. "Take your pick, Tony. One of those answers has to satisfy you."
She was pretty much beating the shit out of him, and doing it one-handed, but he let her keep on. He let her anger give him strength. And when her anger couldn't sustain her anymore, he felt her shudder and pull away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, or of comforting her when she was weak.
As Michelle swiped at her face with her free hand, he watched her composure fall into place, and the stony mask she'd worn all through their divorce was back. She reached behind her back, producing her weapon.
"You have two options, Tony. Come with me willingly, or make me take you out of here half-conscious. Either way, you're not staying. They'll kill you and I can't," she stopped, biting her lip to remain in control. "I can't let them do that."
After thinking for a moment he nodded.
"Give me a weapon and let's go."
She hesitated and he used that opportunity to yank her closer, tugging her against him and pinning her against the wall. She made only a halfhearted attempt to struggle before grinding against him just as hungrily as he was pushing against her.
"Tony-"
"Shh," he ordered roughly, lowering his mouth to hers as his free hand dipped toward her belt.
She slapped him.
"Michelle, I know you're mad. I need you."
She slapped him again. "You don't know a damn thing. Three years, Tony! That's how long it's been. I won't just fuck you and go about my merry way. You can't just put your hand between my legs and pretend that everything's okay. That's not how this works."
"How does it work then?" he growled, shifting against her. Michelle moaned and her head fell against the wall. Her hand slid up his neck pulling his mouth to hers. She hadn't kissed him like this since that day in the hall at CTU and he felt his chest throb from lack of oxygen long before it was over. This time when his fingers dipped to unbuckle her pants, she lowered her own hand to do the same to him.
"Hurry," she panted, suckling on his neck. "I was supposed to have gotten you out by now. Hakim could be back any time."
"I know, I know," he muttered, groping to get her slacks and her panties off her hips and down to her feet with one hand. His failure was also due to the fact that she'd already succeeded in pushing the sides of his pants aside and her talented, agile fingers had wrapped around him as she did her best to drive him to distraction.
Finally, she pushed his fumbling hand aside, divesting herself of her pants and underwear, leaving them in a heap around one ankle. His fingers immediately slid between her legs, feeling her slickness and her heat, eager to make sure she was really ready.
"Tony," she urged him, flinging her leg over his jean-clad hip and drawing him closer. "I'm ready, I'm ready."
Their handcuffed palms met and clasped.
She clenched around his fingers and he reluctantly withdrew, wrapping his hand around himself in a familiar embrace before sliding into her smoothly. Even after all the time that had passed, he'd know this hold anywhere. She felt so good, so welcoming, so much like a time and place he yearned for every night.
Michelle whimpered, pressing her face into his neck. He did the same, and his moan turned into grunts as he began to move. He wasted no time going slow, even if he'd been capable of it, they didn't have the time for that.
Michelle's nails dug into his shoulder and the flash of pain made him pound into her even harder.
"Can't last," he gasped, nibbling at the soft skin under her jaw and muttering, "much longer."
"It's okay, it's okay. Let go, baby. Let go."
He was close, but she was too; she always repeated herself when she was nearing that point. He'd never left her hanging before, and he didn't intend on doing it now, especially since she was armed. That was one part of himself he didn't have it in mind to lose.
Michelle's grip on his shoulders changed, and he reached down, tugging her hips closer.
She gasped. "Tony!"
"It's okay, it's okay." He repeated, thrusting his hips even faster. "I love you, Michelle. Come for me."
Pressing his lips to her face, he repeated his entreaty until she exploded, crying his name into his mouth. Her climax was enough to draw his, and he came, losing his balance and crushing her against the wall.
When he came to, she was above him, breathing heavily and checking him over for greater injury. She'd already, somehow, put herself back together and managed to get him clothed as well.
And she was crying.
Struggling with his aching torso, he sat up, already reaching for her. "Michelle."
"Don't, Tony," she slapped his hand away. "Don't say anything else you don't mean." She wiped her face and picked up both her weapon and the one that she'd taken off the guard outside before she'd ever come in, but set aside to untie him. Silently, she helped him stand, and then handed over one of the guns.
Acknowledging the limb she was going out on, he took the gun and nodded.
"Let's go."
They'd made it down three corridors before shots rang out without warning. Michelle yelped and he had to refrain from pushing her against the wall and using his body for cover. His first instinct always was to protect her. Instead, he looked past her, his mouth settling into a hard line as he took aim and fired. Michelle did the same, spinning as much as their connected wrists would allow to fire at the hostiles coming up behind them.
"You had to cuff my right hand, didn't you?" he muttered, cursing at how much less accurate his aim was with his non-dominant hand.
"Sorry! It was closest. Here," she twisted, giving his right hand her weapon. Her back bumped his, and he felt her hand slide along his left arm, waiting for him to pass his gun over to her.
More shots whizzed past them and silently they squatted, dodging as best they could. When they stood again, they'd turned ninety degrees, so that she could fully cover their backs and he their fronts.
"Better?" she called over her shoulder, feeling his answering nod.
"I'm almost out; do you have an extra clip?"
"Under my arm."
He motioned for her to grip the gun with her left hand, and muttered an order to cover him as he twisted around and reached under her shirt. As quickly as he could, he returned to their former position, back to back, firing in opposite directions down the corridor.
When the shots stopped, he felt her sag against his back as she lowered herself to the floor, apparently forgetting that she'd be taking him with her. He turned his head, reaching behind him with his free hand, eager just to touch her.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, Tony, I'm okay." She was out of breath, but otherwise she sounded fine. He felt the cool metal of the gun she held as she touched his hand reassuringly.
"You know, sweetheart, all the times I thought about us and handcuffs, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."
To his relief, she laughed, shifting up onto her knees and wrapping her free arm around his neck. Gently, he did the same, and they staggered back to their feet together.
She brandished the key to the handcuffs as soon as they made it to the car.
"I can't drive like this," she explained in response to his quizzical look. Silently, she released them both from their bonds, but the look on her face dared him to run. She still didn't trust him.
Silently he climbed into the car, waiting for her to join him. She wasn't his enemy, and she'd given him her word. She was his wife, and he loved her. And that was where his problem was.
"You okay?" she asked quietly, reaching across the car to stroke his brow.
"I got my ass kicked today, Michelle. And someone in particular did it one-handed."
She nodded, and her smile was small, but there. "I'm sorry about hitting you."
He shook his head. "I, uhh, I didn't want it this way, you know that…"
"I know."
"Did I hurt you back there? Against the wall?"
"No, Tony." He watched her bite her lip and three years of ache suddenly returned. He had to move on before he got her killed. "Just, let's find a bed next time. Or somewhere where we can take off all our clothes."
"Sure, baby."
Her head jerked sharply. "Don't lie to me, Tony. And don't make me cuff you again. We had a deal."
"And what happens when the president tells Bill and Chloe to shove it? What then, Michelle? I've been convicted of treason once already; they won't even bother putting me away this time."
Michelle looked pensive for a moment before pulling the car over and turning to meet his eyes.
"Then you disappear," she stated simply. "And I do, too. That's your deal. Take it or leave it."
He wanted to say yes, he did. He knew the chances of the president letting him go were slim, and he wasn't going to go back to jail. He wasn't going to be tortured again, especially not by his own country. But leaving with Michelle, what happened when they were found out? When they – whoever they were this time – came after him, after her again?
"They'll be after us. Everyone will."
Her hand reached for his, palm up, fingers outstretched.
"We'll be ready."
He glanced at her hand and then out at the landscape.
And then his fingers connected with hers.
END.
More notes: This started out as a request from featherjean and spacefiend. They mostly wanted to see Tony and Michelle standing back to back shooting bad guys. Then my brain cooked up handcuffs, which led to angry/angsty!wallsex. Hope it was enjoyed.
As mentioned before this fic in it's unedited entirety as well as other fic that I have yet to post here (and some I can't) are at my livejournal.