You Can't Always Get What You Want

The Second 'Free Form' which takes place after Everything is Wonderful Now and Whatever We Deny.

This is the layer which fits under The War At Home- I know these pieces are a little vague, I'm just toying around with a different style.

Disclaimer: The Characters from CI do not belong to me. I do not intend to make any money off of them. I just like to play around and see what happens.

"Back off."

Everyone hits their wall. I just hit mine by hitting my partner verbally in the face.

I can't even look at her as I step into the elevator. I hoped that she would run off crying. I should know better, that she would stand there and stare me down.

Back- back up from the crash site, back away from the incendiary device. Step back from the edge. I can't do any of these things.

I've got your back, back where I belong, come back as soon as you feel better. Welcome back.

And of course, I think of her back, of running my fingers down it, and my back, which may or may not have a few scratch marks on it.

I realize as the elevator doors open onto the lobby that of all the places I might spend the evening, in her arms will not be one of my options.

I am wrong. I've been wrong alot lately.

Off-

Off the wall. Off my rocker. Off the charts. Take off.

Get off of me.

Then why the hell did you come here tonight, I ask, still pinning her to the sofa.

She doesn't answer, and I continue my explorations, with one of my hands keeping her own trapped above her head. Her eyes are begging, her body moving to accomodate my ministrations, and when I finally get the combination right, I hear her say, Get me off. I don't need much else in the way of encouragement. I start to let go of her wrists, but she protests, and so I hold her there.

This is her way of beginning to restore her trust in me. I don't quite understand it, but I don't waste it, either.

And then, just before I am about to come, I look into her eyes, and realize I am wrong, or at least I am not completely right. She has given me control over some small part of my life.

When we are done, she does a very strange thing. She takes my face in her now free hands and kisses me, over and over again, moves her mouth across my cheeks, my chin, my lips, my forehead.

She wants me. She needs me. She has faith in me.

There is too much psychology in sex.

I put my head down on her shoulder, feel her arms wind their way around my shoulders.

Back off, Eames. Because I can't let you follow where I'm going. It's only going to get worse from here on out.