AN:/ Yeah...I'm back under protest by the way. I wanted this fic to be a one-shot; but noooooo. Antonia do the disclaimer
Antonia: "Writingtitan does not own Con Air. I do however. And John Malkovich is my personal property. So back off or, and I never thought I'd say this again, Ill get the pig!"
No. No. I am not getting sued just to go along with your fantasies! I, nor does Antonia, own Con Air.
Antonia: Except that I do.
Ill make you kill Cyrus and marry Poe.
Antonia: FINE! I don't own...yet
Chapter one: Infected
She never wanted to be a prison guard. Though she enjoyed jeering and amusing herself with the bland corrupt innocence of these men's minds, she preferred profiling them. It was inevitable, really. His mind intrigued her to no end. It was like an itch she couldn't scratch; deep, persistent, profound. She often found herself going through his file, pouring over the case notes, often listening in to shrinks' discussions with him. She felt as though she understood him; though the supposed 'experts' said he was 'an immoral, selfish, unfeeling monster', she knew she was right...there was more to him than what text books could define. So what at first seemed a daunting task, accompanying C-123 "Jailbird" (only so Malloy could save a few bucks on flight fare) to Alabama, so she could assist on a mass murder case, became the opportunity of a life time.
After walking down the concrete carpet towards the plane and being checked ( a little too thoroughly by the guard staff), she was stopped by Malloy.
"Wait wait wait. You numbnuts idiots or something?"
He took off her glasses, handing them to a guard before handing her her contacts case.
"Quick, put em' in."
She sighed, unclasping the plastic to take out her contacts, and slid them into her dark eyes just as Malloy put his hands to her waist, his hands lingering on her lower back. Bishop frowned in suspicion.
"Oh you romantic fool; couldn't wait to get your hands on me could ya?" She winked mockingly at him as he pulled off her belt.
"Another dangerous item," he spoke, handing it to a female guard. "Bishop, you're out."
She dropped Antonia's expensive glasses and belt, stepping closer to him in shock.
"What? Why? If this is a sexist pull-"
"You missed glasses and a belt, endangering the entire..."
Their voices drowned out as Antonia boarded the plane. Her composure laxed as her insides raged as she walked down the isles; quickly approaching the criminals in cages. Her seat was in front of a prisoner's cage. His cage. He was a virus; injected in her veins the moment she first read his case. She was like a tween obsessed with Twilight meeting her "Edward". Only difference being Cyrus had more kills under his belt.
Now Antonia van Koeverden was not a psychopath, (depending on the way you looked at it) she was more of a free spirit, an imaginative girl...like a small child with an entire universe created from a simple thought...only a bit more morbid. She made the move to push back her glasses out of habit before realizing she was wearing contacts ("because a prisoner could break the glass and use it as a weapon!") and quickly made the adjustment to scratching her nose, as to not lose face.
Her heart thudded as she approached his cage. Taking her seat, she looked down; pulling out papers from under her arm, she began her work, tuning out the Virus. She heard a small chuckle.
"I'm a jailbird...you're jail bait."
She looked up from her papers resting in her lap to the caged man in front of her. She shifted uncomfortably as the concealed gun in the back of her skirt dug into her. Though weaponry didn't make her uneasy, the metal was prodding her back. (Stupid Malloy insisting I arm myself. ME. I guess he doesn't know how much fun I'd have against a prisoner.)
Snorting delicately she thought how idiotic and paranoid Malloy was. She profiled half these men, none of them had the cunning or strength to take a whole plane hostage, with guards and police all over, waiting and watching. All except him. Cyrus. He was a virus. On paper and seen through thick one-way glass he was an interesting case...but that's all he was, a case, an interesting side note to discuss and write about. But the minute she was assigned to the plane and realized who was aboard, a feeling arose within her. She couldn't understand it. Perhaps she wasn't meant to.
"I've seen you...through the glass." He smirked in her direction and she bit her tongue for a moment.
"Oh?" Speculation was clear in her tone. Her voice did not quaver nor break; she was a woman of class and dignity and no matter how intriguing a prisoner was, she would not be intimidated. At least, not by just his presence alone. "Do you have x-ray vision?"
He shook his head, his gaze lingering on her chest before meeting her eyes, challenging, baiting her to respond aggressively. "Sometimes I wish I did."
She ignored the pass, despite the fluttering of her stomach. "Then how, pray tell, did you see though one-way glass?"
He chuckled lightly, relaxing back into his seat, as though he was about to arrive at a holiday destination, rather than a Supermax prison.
"I didn't. I hear whispers between guards and such... how odd you were... always wanting to sit in on my sessions, though you never had anything to do with my case."
She bit the inside of her cheek again, clearing her throat. "You are an interesting case." She quickly dismissed him, turning back to her papers. She sighed after a minute discarding them to the empty seat next to her.
"How do you know it's me that's so interested?"
"The guards were passing along stories to try and show each other up and they spoke of the criminal profiler and her obsession... then you boarded the plane and they shut up pronto."
His smirk was arrogant. He seemed jittery almost, as if he wanted to rip out his chains and break through the wired entrapment, only to be seated closer to her. "I was looking forward to meeting my biggest fan."
She raised a speculative eyebrow. "And how do you know that I'm not just another passenger making her way to Alabama on a cheap flight?" Her tone held mockery and sarcasm, as she batted her eyelashes delicately. He grinned.
"You are an interesting case," she internally winced as he mimicked her. "You confirmed it." He smirked. "So...I've heard whispers through prison walls about you... what have you heard of me?"
Antonia looked up meeting his gaze. "Cyrus is a poster child for the criminally insane. He's a true product of the system." Her tone was open mockery of her superiors.
He laughed, boisterously, startling her slightly. (But only on the inside...she must keep her composure.) "Don't you just love the system? Always finding someone else to blame, some reason for this mass criminal." He spoke mockingly, stretching out in his restraints. "Can't be that I did it just for fun... Maybe I justwanted to kill more men than cancer." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. He gazed at her, trying to meet her eyes. She pointedly looked away.
"You'd think in a tight airlocked space, thousands of feet above ground, surrounded by murderers, rapists, and all kinds of convicts, you'd be the least bit nervous. Being the only woman on-board and all."
She finally met his gaze. "The day I'm intimidated by the likes of you is the day I go insane." (Or sane...depending on the way you look at it…) "I wrote a novel once," she continued in an unruffled tone. "About a murderer -"
"The serial arsonist. I know. I've read it. Guess I'm your biggest fan too… because Debbie's my kind of woman."
Antonia looked quizzically at Cyrus, but now he was the one to avoid the contact. "You're attracted to fellow criminals? Well, I guess you'd have your pick, being locked away with hundreds of them."
He snorted, throwing his head back in silent laughter, he shook his head looking at her.
"Oh no, she's not my cup of tea at all...more like the long lost sister I never had but always wanted. You, on the other hand..."
She nearly choked on her spit and she could see the satisfaction and amusement in his eyes that he finally got a reaction out of her.
"Finally baited a reaction out of you... Perhaps I'm the bait after all."
The guards start making their rounds as they secure the plane for lift off. "Well, welcome aboard," a voice rings out behind them and Antonia and Cyrus both shift back into their seats. She hadn't realized that they'd both been unconsciously leaning towards one another. She quickly began picking up her forgotten papers.
"My, my. As I look around I see a lot of celebrities among us. I see 11 Current Affairs, two Hard Copies, and a genuine Geraldo interviewee. But I got to tell you, gentlemen, none of this impresses me. Because we have rules on this aircraft, and they're gonna be enforced. It's a lot like kindergarten. You'll keep your hands to yourself. You keep the decibel level down. And if any of you should feel the need to scream, spit or bite, you get the treatment."
Somebody had to. "Fuck you, pig." Cyrus smirked in her direction. One point to the captives.
"Gag and bag this Nazi muffin." She smirked back at him and he enjoyed the challenge in her eyes. "See," Falzon's voice continued behind them, "this kind of thing puts me in a foul mood. These rules will be enforced. If there's a hint of trouble - if any of you so much as passes gas in my direction and it offends my delicate nasal passages, your testicles will become my personal property. That's pretty clear. Good."
Her eyes had stayed focused on her paper work throughout Falzon's speech but immediately flew up as she heard Cyrus speak to the brown-haired man rows in front of them. "Sí," the convict replied in the same language he had been addressed in, "mi nombre es Juanio veinte y tres."
"Oh, eres Juanio veinte y tres. Claro, yo te conozco. Veinte y tres cargos de violación."
"Mira, un solo corazón para cada uno de mis veinte y tres perras." The brown haired man turned, giving her an ugly smile, though she could on see half his profile. "They'd call me Johnny 600 if they knew the truth." The sudden break from Spanish to a language she fully understood caught her off guard, but she got the gist of their conversation, and didn't like his insinuations. She glared through Cyrus's cage to Johnny. Cyrus shifted forward slightly, interrupting her view.
"Ah, doesn't have quite the same ring to it." Cyrus winked at her, a mischievous smile on his face; one of a child getting caught doing something wrong, by a person they know won't punish them for it.
"Anyway, I despise rapists. For me, you're somewhere between a cockroach and that white stuff that accumulates at the corner of your mouth when you're really thirsty." Antonia raised a speculative eyebrow at him, a rather awed, shocked, yet impressed expression hidden in her eyes (as she must not let them see what she felt). "But in your case, I'll make an exception." His tone was sweet; yet the words in context were ugly. Intriguing. A walking contradiction. She made a side note on a scrap piece of paper.
One of the male guards approached them and leant against Cyrus's temporary home. Looking at her, he tried flirting. His breath was repugnant and his smile coffee-stained.
"Sorry you have to sit near this trash, pretty darlin'. Word on the street is, this crack head lost his mind." The guard shook his head, looking at Cyrus with such disgust that Antonia wanted to throttle him for the indignity of it all. Crack-head… he had no idea who he was dealing with.
"According to my last psych evaluation, you are correct," Cyrus sneered back and Antonia tried to muffle her laughter. The guard gave her a look of contempt (and slight embarrassment, moving on).
"Guard Falzon?" Cyrus called, as he gazed at her in amusement. Honestly! She felt like a school girl, misbehaving and giggling to mock a teacher.
"What?" Falzon stomped the few feet towards them.
Cyrus spoke in a squeaky voice. "Oh, stewardess, stewardess… What's the in-flight movie today?"
Guard Falzon smirked in that cocky way guards have when they're looking through bars. "Well, I think you'll like it, Cyrus. It's called I'll Never Make Love to a Woman on the Beach Again, and it's preceded by the award-winning short, No More Steak for Me, Ever."
Guard Falzon walked away, chuckling, and Antonia smirked. Two points for system, however cheap the humor had been. No comeback is a victory, no matter how bad the battle was. She faintly heard Cyrus mumble "Funny fucker, aren't ya?"
She must have drifted asleep, for when she awoke there was a commotion on the plane. A man was on fire, prisoners were out of their seats... and Cyrus - Cyrus! - was nowhere to be seen. She glanced down at the top of her papers; it'd been written on in thick black Sharpie. 20 points for captives xoxox. She shivered as his voice rang out in the deathly silence after the gun was fired; no one was paying attention to her, she could let it show now.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I have the only gun on board. Welcome to Con Air."
He had infected her, with no cure, and for the rest of her life Cyrus would have his effect on her... (she felt the cool metal pressing into her back...perhaps Malloy wasn't so stupid after all)
Her hand reached behind her back, gripping the handle of the gun for cold comfort.
….Maybe she could infect him too.
I hear lead infection is deadly...
...if shot through the head.
A/N: After a lot of people adding "Infected" to their alerts (even though it was clearly marked "ONESHOT" and "Complete" and also because my friend is (death) threatening me to continue this, it has been continued. It is different to "Infected" in a lot of ways, but more of that will be revealed. Updates will be pretty regular. I don't think any of you comprehend how dangerous Antonia is. If my updates take longer than a month she'll kill me. "Credit where credits due" Thisisforyou added one or two lines here and there when she was beta-ing the original. So mad "props" to her!