I own nothing but Lyka. This was written while listening to "Bad Boy" by Cascada. So it's probably best if read while listening to said song.
She laughed; the darkness of the club provided just enough anominity. She felt freed, able to be herself without repercussions. The pulsating lights made her head pound and the smoke in the air made her lungs burn but she danced anyway.
She knew when he entered the club, she couldn't explain how, but she knew when he did. She smiled when he walked up behind her; when his hands skimmed her sides and his lips fell to her neck she felt herself shudder in desire.
They danced together for hours, shared drinks, flirted and played the game. Every moment was part of an intricate dance. He was dying to get her to give in, but she had no intention of letting him have what he wanted.
He called her Kat here, where the darkness, the strobing lights, and the smoke hid her face just enough to prevent him from realizing; from recognizing that if she pulled her hair in a bun and wore shapeless slacks and loose shirts she would look disturbingly like his partner. Here she could enjoy the sexual tension between them, enjoy the game.
She left him there at two in the morning, feigning total ignorance to the raging hard on that had been plaguing him since he'd arrived. She would let him come to her home, but he'd recognize it, and she didn't feel like sneaking out of his apartment a few hours later.
Eight thirty rolled around to find Lyka walking into the STN-J, her deep brown hair in a damn bun, her lush body hidden under shapeless slacks and shirt. She smiled with her full but pale lips and set a large Styrofoam cup down in front of Michael. "Morning," she murmured in her quiet, shy voice. His bright smile made her blush, she returned his smile shyly.
"Sit down," Amon snapped at her, glaring. She looked away from his eyes and slid into her seat.
Amon glared at his pathetic partner. Sure she was never late but she was quiet, weak and spineless. She was too mousey; even now she was fighting the tears that welled up in her big blue eyes. She was nothing like Kat, who he'd spend the last few months getting to know. She was vibrant, bold, and outgoing. She stood up to him, fought back, laughed, mocked him (not always a bad thing he had learned), and in general was a wild and sexy woman. Besides, Kat had an incredible body, a slim waist and lush curves, which stared in all of his fantasies. His partner, Lyka, was shapeless and plain; her hair without shine, her eyes dull, her form all but nonexistent.
When he came into the club that night Lyka was more than ready. She was angry with him and ready to let him have it. She did not expect him to walk up from behind her and hug her, just hug her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pressed his chest to her back and sighed in comfort. He lowered his head to her ear and whispered, "Please, let's not stay here." He took her hand and began to pull her gently, but firmly, through the crowd. She could not think how to deny him without giving it away.
'If I let him get me outside he might recognize me, but if I refuse he'll know something isn't right.' His voice startled her from her thoughts, "We never see each other anywhere else, why is that?"
She said the first thing that came to mind, "Because you're my 'Bad Boy'." She blushed but the night was dark enough that he did not see.
"What do you mean?" They were walking along the street now, hand in hand.
"Just like it sounds, you're my bad boy. Every girl loves the bad boy, he's fun and wild and dangerous. But…"
"But," he prompted when her silence grew too long.
"But you never really keep them. You don't let yourself fall in love, because he'll just break your heart. He's never a friend or a husband, just a fling you enjoy while you can when you can. Because he's not safe enough to trust with your heart."
He knew she could feel his anger rising because she started shivering thought the night was not cold. "So I'm a bad boy."
"Yes"
"And you can't trust me not to hurt you?"
"Nope."
"But you enjoy this." He motioned between them with his free hand.
"Very much."
He sighed, pain filling his heart. "Then I suppose it's enough for me." He wasn't really looking for a committed relationship, but he did not want to think of other men having her, touching her. And he could think of no other woman who would satisfy him, not anymore. He would have to earn her trust.
So Lyka's life continued in that pattern for three more months. She would be quiet, shy Lyka at work and vibrant, sexy Kat when out with Amon at night. They never went out during the day but they did not always stay in the club. He never pressured her into anything more than she was comfortable with, but she always knew they were balancing on a knife's edge.
It all fell to pieces one night.
She was in Amon's arms, enjoying a slow dance when the pager on his belt began to vibrate at the same instant her cell phone began to ring. They separated just long enough to look at their respective devices. "Look I've got to…" they began together, Amon's eyes clouded as he began to think.
"Why do you need to leave?" He queried.
"Work." She said simply, hoping to not need to lie.
"And what do you do, Kat?"
"I… I work in law enforcement, same as you. I got a call, my crew need my help." She saw the doubt in his eyes but he nodded his head and left. She ran to her motorbike and dialed Michael. "Hey Mike, when do you need me, can I be there in fifteen?"
Her heart dropped as his familiar voice said over the line, "Hell no, we need everyone, NOW."
She knew the game was up but she had to face the music. She pulled her helmet on and set off toward the STNJ with a roar.
Amon did not look up when Lyka walked in, she was late. He was about to tell her so when he heard a gasp and Domo saying, "Damn Lyka you sure do clean up well."
His head snapped up. His eyes met with the familiar blue orbs of his partner but they shone with a brightness he did not recognize, her hair fell into her face as she shook it out, her helmet on her hip. She was wearing… the exact outfit Kit had been wearing not ten minutes before; a tight pair of dark colored leather pants (they were a dark grey) and a silver corset. Her gun holster was on her hip.
He did not realize he stood until he was beside her, his hand on her cheek. "Kit?" he breathed, his eyes no doubt showing his hurt and anger.
She closed her eyes in shame. Before he could react the director burst in and the hunt began.
Four days later he hadn't spoken to her. He had not looked at her, had not acknowledged her existence. But every night she plagued him in his dreams. Finally, when he could bear no more, she spoke to the entire group one morning. "I'm going to transfer back to the UK, you don't need me anymore and I've had enough of this country." She hugged every one of her colleagues, excluding himself, and murmured her good byes. She walked out of the door, and their lives, forever.
That night he lay in his bed, and he thought of the night a few months before. "But you never really keep them. You don't let yourself fall in love, because he'll just break your heart." Had he done just that, by rejecting her when he finally found out who she was? Had he broken her heart? He'd known she was not really named Kat, he had known she was hiding something. Had he broken her heart just as she had broken his? Maybe he was just a bad boy.