Common Ground

Chapter 2

By Caeria and debfan

Michael was furious, more irate than Caitlin had ever seen him. That almost palpable feeling of rage was all the more frightening because except for the white-knuckled grip he had on his cane, he was acting as cool and collected as usual, as if the hijacked cruise ship was of no consequence.

Hawke had made the mistake of thinking that at the beginning of the meeting – sharp, needling words about Michael having ice water in his veins, taunting Michael with potentially withholding Airwolf from the mission. It wasn't anything that Hawke hadn't done in the past. Nothing that was out of the ordinary, and yet, for one brief moment, she'd though that Michael was going to take a swing at Hawke. His one blue eye had blazed in unspoken fury hot enough that even Hawke, known for his pigheadedness, had finally backed down at Michael's low voiced answer.

"You will take this mission or so help me, bargain or not, I will have you arrested and I will be content to let Airwolf rot in whatever hole you've stuck her in."

The words has sent shivers down her spine and reminded her that Michael was also Archangel, the Deputy Director of a covert branch of the CIA who could, and did, command more than enough power to fulfill his threat.

The briefing had been quiet after that. Saying little, Michael had been on the move constantly, stalking the office like a prowling panther as Samantha went over the information they had. Modern day pirates had taken a page from the recent hijacking of the Achille Lauro. They had seized a smaller cruise ship. Ninety-two passengers and crew, twenty three of them children, were being held hostage in the Red Sea southeast of Cairo, their very position making it virtually impossible for anything but a submarine to sneak up on them. Or, more precisely, anything but a sub or a supersonic high-tech helicopter using stealth mode.

"So why the big push for the Lady?" Dom finally asked. "Why isn't this a Navy op?"

Caitlin watched as Sam's entire body stiffened. It was then that Cait realized that Michael wasn't the only one holding in a great deal of emotion.

"This is an Airwolf mission because we don't have the time for anything else. We are currently moving the submarine USS Sam Houston to the area but it won't arrive for another three days. This is a fairly new group with terrorists who have been operating out of Egypt. They are ruthless and they do not make ransom demands and then wait patiently for a response."

"What do you mean they don't wait for a response?" Hawke looked up from the charts and maps spread across the table in front of him. For the moment at least, he has lost the cocky attitude he usually maintained around Michael.

"Four months ago, members of the same group captured a British yacht. There were eight people on board, including two children under the age of twelve. The families of the hostages immediately agreed to pay the ransom." Sam pulled another set of glossy photos from a folder, the slick photograph paper shiny under the fluorescent lights of Michael's office. "It didn't matter." A quick flick of her wrist sent the photos skimming across the glass tabletop so that they came to rest arrayed in from of her, Dom and Hawke.

Caitlin felt her stomach heave and covered her mouth, biting down hard on her knuckle at the sight of the photos.

"It took time to arrange and deliver payment. By the time it was, all eight passengers had been repeatedly beaten and raped." Sam paused to let that sink in. "All of them, male and female, including the children. In addition, for every day that passed before the ransom was in their hands, the pirates cut off a finger in turn from one of the hostages. It took sixteen days to effect their release."

Caitlin couldn't help but do the math. Eight people and sixteen days. Each of them had lost two fingers. The pirates had already had the cruise ship for forty eight hours. How many people had already been hurt?

The silence in the room stretched. Caitlin found herself holding her breath until Hawke let out a low growl. "We'll take the Lady in. Caitlin can-"

Michael cut him off. "No. Caitlin won't be going."

"What?" she demanded. So now Michael was trying to protect her, too?

He held up a hand, signaling her to wait. "This is a hostage situation. From the intelligence we've gathered, we know there are at least eighteen pirates, probably more, all heavily armed. Hawke, I need you to be what you are, a military combat pilot."

Silence weighed heavy in the room. "So what's the plan?" Dom finally asked, his tone quieter than normal.

Michael pressed a button and the screen lit up with an aerial photo of the cruise ship. The resolution was sharp enough to see several armed men stationed along the upper deck of the ship.

"If Caitlin stays behind, you'll be able to fit a four-man SEAL team in Airwolf. It will be a tight fit and it won't be a comfortable ride, but it can be done. You'll go in silent, drop them off, then go high and wait. As soon as they assess the situation and get in position, they'll signal. You'll move in and take the gunmen on the upper deck while providing a suitable distraction."

"Weapons?" Hawke asked.

"Our intel says they have access to a broad variety of weapons, mostly Soviet. Everything from Makarov pistols to Degtyaryov machine guns. A least a handful of SAMS as well – Stingers and Soviet made Strelas."

Hawke nodded, filing the information away.

"What about you?"

Michael sighed. "I will be coordinating things from here. This is an op best left to the professionals and like it or not, a one-eyed ex-field agent will only get in the way. My skills will best be used for coordination and communication."

"Can we expect them to have re-enforcements?"

The slide show advanced forward, this time the aerial view showed what looked like a heavily fortified garrison built into the side wall of a cliff.

"It shouldn't take long to gain control of the ship. The pirates don't have the resources to get re-enforcements there in time. Not that far out at sea. What they do have though is a base of operations. Once the ship is secured, I want you to blow the hell out of their base."

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

Laura, another of Michael's white-clad agents, joined them soon after. She brought with her a stack of route charts and approach plates. The papers were soon spread across the table. The briefing continued with both Laura and Sam pointing out various locations and bits of information to String and Dom.

Normally, Caitlin would be paying close attention, but since she wasn't going on this trip, she instead turned her attention to Michael. For the most part, he wasn't actively participating in the briefing, instead letting his experts do their jobs, but that didn't mean that he had taken a seat, or even that he showed any sign of relaxing. Instead, he was stalking the room, tense as a coiled spring. If the heaviness with which he was leaning on his cane was any indication, the pacing wasn't doing his leg any good.

Cait well remembered being in such a state herself, and what Michael had done for her, bringing her emotions back to an even keel after Sawyer had nearly killed them both. Now, watching Michael, she wished that there was something she could do for him. More accurately, she wondered if she had the courage to do something. Seeing him momentarily grimace in pain as he turned at the far corner of the room, Caitlin made her decision.

Gathering up her purse, Caitlin excused herself, slipping from the room without the others really registering her absence. She approached the aide that was currently manning the desk in Michael's outer office. "Excuse me. Could you tell me if there's a ladies room I could use?" Caitlin asked.

"It's the second door down on the left," the agent replied, gesturing.

"Great, I'll be right back."

Caitlin made her way into the rest room, noting that it was unoccupied before locking herself into the end stall. She rummaged in her purse, tearing an unused page from the small notebook she always carried, and finding a pen. Before she could change her mind, she printed a quick note on the slip of paper, then folded it into a neat square and slipped it into her pocket.

Caitlin rejoined the others just as Laura was leaving, having finished the briefing. The other woman nodded to her as they passed.

"Ready to go, Cait?" Hawke asked, standing and collecting the pile of documents that still littered the table.

"I'm good." She willed herself not to look over towards the sofa where she'd been sitting earlier, and hoped no one else would, either. If they did, her plan wasn't going to work.

"Sam will contact you with precise refueling coordinates," Michael told the other two men, as they followed Sam toward the office doorway with Caitlin close behind. Michael hesitated. "Hawke, this is a mess that never should have happened. If we can avoid passenger casualties. . . ."

Despite a scowl that indicated his displeasure with the politics involved, String nodded his understanding. "We'll be in touch."

Leaving Sam in the outer office, Hawke started down the long hallway that led out of Firm headquarters with Dom and Cait flanking him on either side.

Halfway to the parking lot, Caitlin took a deep breath, steeling herself. She abruptly stopped. "Oh."

"Cait?" String paused.

"I left my jacket in Michael's office."

String turned, sighing. "All right. Let's go get your jacket."

"That's okay, I can get it," she offered quickly. "You two go on ahead and do your pre-flight. I'll catch up by the time you get the rotors turning."

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Caitlin stepped back into the office.

"Sam I don't-" Michael cut off as he realized it wasn't his aide. "Caitlin?"

She walked over to the table and picked up her jacket from the back of the chair she'd been using. "I forgot my jacket."

He nodded but was watching her, a slight frown narrowing his eyes. That coldly assessing stare made her second guess her decision. She really didn't expect him to take her up on the offer, but something about the tension that still radiated from him drove her forward. She took a few quick steps toward his desk and carefully put down the folded note she'd written out in the ladies lavatory. She'd decided on the note because she'd never been sure that Michael's office wasn't bugged or under some kind of video surveillance. Notes, easily read and just as easily destroyed, were preferable to anyone hearing the words and the offer she was about to make him.

Without waiting for him to open the folded square of paper, Caitlin nodded a farewell and headed out, quickening her step to catch up to Dom and Hawke whom she knew would be waiting impatiently for her.

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

Michael frowned at his doorway as Caitlin disappeared. Frown turning thoughtful, he contemplated the square of paper sitting in the middle of his desk. It was small, folded multiple times so that it created almost its own envelope, one corner tucking under to form a seal so that it wouldn't accidentally open and display whatever message was written within.

Why had she written a note rather than just tell him whatever she wanted to say? Why the ruse, because he knew that it had been a ruse, of leaving her jacket behind?

Picking up the paper, he turned it over. It wasn't addressed to him as either Michael or Archangel. He couldn't resist a small smile. Whatever she was doing, she was approaching the whole thing as an operative, leaving nothing to directly tie the note to him or back to her. More curious now, he opened it. The words were written in block letters, again making it harder to link to her usual neat script. The message was simple and hit him like a punch in the gut.

I AM YOURS TO DO WITH AS YOU PLEASE. ANYTHING YOU WANT.

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

It had been Caitlin's idea to go with Hawke and Dom when they'd been summoned to Knightsbridge, but now as they flew Dom's helicopter back to Santini Air, she wished she'd simply stayed at the hanger. She couldn't believe what she'd done. What on earth had possessed her to write that note? She'd propositioned Archangel. Worse, she'd propositioned Archangel in his own office. Not that he hadn't made the same offer to her weeks ago, but in the month and change since Sawyer had strapped that bomb to her, her interactions with Michael had gone back to simply being cordial.

There had been a handful of other Airwolf missions since that night, and several times the training that Michael had arranged had taken her to Firm headquarters. On the few occasions when she'd seen him, Michael had been polite, neither distancing himself nor being overly attentive. She'd known at the time it was just a one-time thing – a combination of the right place, time and circumstances. And yet, she found her gaze drawn to him. Something, she told herself firmly, that was because of the novelty of his all white attire, not because she knew firsthand what was under that expensively tailored suit. Only once had she wondered if he was thinking of her in something other than a professional manner. That had been when she, Dom, and the other families were taken by Tran. Michael had flown with String, rather than sending one of his people. But, then, that might have been merely because he was already familiar with Airwolf, and time was running out. Just a matter of convenience and speed, not out of any concern for her personally.

Putting Michael out of her mind, she glanced at String. As he flew, he was staring straight ahead with a scowl on his face. She knew he wasn't happy. Michael's threats had shaken the boundaries of their "I respect you, but I don't know if I like you" relationship. String didn't take well to change.

He sensed her watching him. "You okay with sitting this one out?"

"I'm fine. You'll need the extra space in The Lady." She pushed down something that felt remarkably like anticipation tinged with guilt. "I think I might call and ask Michael if he'll let me come into the office tomorrow so I can follow the progress of the attack. That way I'll know you guys are safe."

"Hey, that's a good idea." Sitting beside String, Dom brightened. "You can keep an eye on the Good Humor Man and make sure he's not up to anything shifty."

"Dom, you saw him. I don't think he'll do anything to jeopardize the mission."

"Jeopardize no. I don't think I've ever seen him so mad. But that right there tells you he's taking this personally for some reason, and Archangel always has his own agenda." Dom made a face. "Spies," he muttered, the word laced with disgust.

Cait shook her head. Dom didn't entirely trust Michael and she didn't think anything would ever change that. Not that today's threats against Hawke were going to endear him to either of the men.

Hawke glanced back towards her. "Cait, I'm going to drop you off at the hanger. Reschedule what you can for the next few days, and see if Everett can cover the rest. Dom and I will head out to the Lair and strip any extra weight off the Lady."

"Will do. I'll stop at the cabin afterwards and make sure Tet has plenty of food." Although Hawke insisted that the dog could find his own meals, Cait didn't like the idea of Tet terrorizing the wildlife when there was perfectly good kibble available. She noted that they had almost reached Santini Air. "Are you coming back here before you leave?"

"Doubt it. It's nearly noon already. By the time we're ready to fly, Samantha should have radioed us the flight plan."

Cait knew it would be a long flight with just the two men doing the piloting. As they'd left Firm airspace, Dom had brought her up to speed with the details she'd missed while she'd been in the bathroom composing her ill-advised note. Actual flying time to the hijacked ship was nearly twenty one hours. The most direct route to the Red Sea would take them over Greenland, where they would stop for refueling and a short rest. From there, they would head for Europe and pick up the Seal team at a base in Germany. The attack was slated for one o'clock in the morning, Cairo time.

The Santini Air helicopter slowly descended; Hawke's hands light on the controls. As the skids touched down, Cait popped the hatch. "Guys, you be careful, okay?"

"We always are. See you soon, kiddo," Dom answered, giving her a wave as she closed the door and ducked beneath the rotor blades, Hawke only nodded.

She turned to watch as they took off again, waiting until they were out of sight before heading into the hanger.

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

Anything you want.

As he contemplated the message, Michael carefully refolded the note before dropping it into a receptacle that was used to shred classified documents.

Caitlin had told him that he seemed to always be cool and collected. This current situation had left him neither. At the time of the taking of the British yacht, he had realized that it had been little more than a practice run. He had wanted to deal with the instigators then, before they struck again, but his reports had fallen on deaf ears. No matter how gruesome, a simple kidnapping didn't fall under the Firm's charter. The short-sightedness and lack of response by both the Firm's Committee and the Senate Intelligence Committee infuriated him. The Senate he put down to stupidity. The Committee, however, that smelled too much like Zeus and internal politics.

Michael knew he could play the game better than most men, but he'd never really defined himself by it. He'd been happy with his department and didn't care about building his own personal empire within the Firm or about being promoted. It had never interested him - too many meetings, too much ass-kissing and paperwork for his tastes.

But now, Zeus was playing politics with lives in a way Michael wouldn't tolerate. Something would have to be done there, and soon.

Between the hijacking and Zeus's political maneuvering, Michael's temper had been honed to a sharp edge for days as additional intelligence data had come pouring in. He knew that even his own people had been walking on eggshells around him, unsure of what to do to bring him back to an even keel.

All of which brought him full circle to Caitlin and her offer. He'd be lying if he claimed he hadn't thought about their previous encounter. Caitlin had been warm, generous, and responsive. And she'd been a one-time thing. What he was contemplating now was dangerous – for him and her. But the thought – the temptation – of burying himself in her willing body was hard to resist.

A*I*R*W*O*L*F

Caitlin sat on her couch, refusing to look at the clock again. If she did, she knew what she's find, that only fifteen minutes had passed since the last time she'd checked. He wasn't coming. She'd been stupid to make the offer to begin with. She'd known that. The first time had just been the unusual circumstances. This was different. He was Archangel. This had been a bad idea, reckless and impulsive.

Glancing down at herself, she felt rather silly. She'd taken care with her clothing and makeup. She let out a little self-depreciating laugh. She'd even put on her sexiest underwear – a pale rose-colored matching set that was more ribbon and lace than actual fabric. If he did show, he wasn't going to find her in a t-shirt and threadbare sweatpants again.

Unable to stop herself, she glanced up at the clock. It was past midnight. She sighed, not entirely certain whether she was disappointed or relieved that Michael hadn't contacted her. He's busy. She knew it was a possibility. Even if he wanted to take her up on her offer, he might not be in a position to do so. He was, after all, in the midst of dealing with an international hostage crisis.

Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes, then she'd change and go to bed. In the morning, she'd call Knightsbridge and ask about driving out there so she could follow the progress of Hawke's attack on the boat. When she saw Michael, she'd just pretend she'd never given him that damn note.

The chime of the doorbell actually made her jump, the sound unnaturally loud against the quiet of the night. Her heart was pounding as she got up, a curious mixture of excitement and dread. She opened the door to find Michael, his back to her, the receiver of his satellite phone pressed against his ear and the case cradled in one arm. He was listening intently to someone on the other end, his head nodding unconsciously with whatever they were saying.

His back to her, she took the opportunity to study him. He was still wearing the three-piece suit he'd been wearing at the office, so he'd not had an opportunity to change into anything more comfortable or casual. Deep wrinkles set into the fabric and a generally rumpled appearance made her wonder just how long he'd been at Knightsbridge. As the call continued, his shoulders were becoming more and more rigid beneath the fabric and she could almost feel the anger radiating off of him, like the electric buzz that permeates the air right before a storm.

"No," he snapped into the phone. "Not good enough. I want all of it. Everything you have and I want it on my desk tomorrow morning." Without a goodbye, he severed the connection, slammed the receiver down and snapped the lid shut.

He finally spun around to face her, his gaze meeting hers. "Sorry," he said, lifting the case slightly in apology for his rudeness. He paused a moment, conflicting expressions shifting across his face. "I know it's late. If you'd rather I-"

"No. Come on in." She stepped to the side to allow him to pass. As he did, she noticed that the limp was more pronounced than usual. That wasn't surprising, given that he'd hardly stopped pacing during their earlier briefing. Combined with what she suspected about how long he'd been at Knightsbridge, he'd undoubtedly been on his feet for hours, if not days. "Sit. Can I get you a beer? Something stronger?"

He set the briefcase and cane down beside the couch and then dropped onto it, sprawling almost bonelessly with the total abandon of someone both mentally and physically exhausted. He hesitated, before he shook his head. "I better not. I don't expect to hear anything more tonight, but technically I'm on call." He gestured toward the case. "Which is why I'm lugging that."

Caitlin watched as he heaved a deep sigh, forcing the air nosily out through parted lips as his eye slid closed. Leaning over the sofa she brushed a finger along his stubbled jaw, several hours past a five o-clock shadow. "This is an interesting look for you."

He tilted his head back into her touch. "I try to avoid the scruffy look. Combine it with the eye and I start looking like a pirate," he commented wryly.

Running her fingers along his jawline, she couldn't help but notice how tired he looked. He certainly hadn't slept. She wondered whether he'd eaten. "Can I get you something else, then? I could make you a sandwich."

He hummed, obviously still enjoying her touch. "My staff keeps me well fed, but I could use some coffee, if you've got it?"

"Do you mind instant?" She didn't bother to keep ground in the apartment, as she was seldom around long enough to drink an entire pot.

"That's fine."

"I'll be right back." Trailing her fingertips along his skin as she pulled back, she went into the kitchen and put water on to heat. She started to take the jar from the counter, then put it back, instead reaching into the cupboard to retrieve the decaf that she kept for when her elderly neighbor visited. The last thing Michael needed was caffeine.

As the water heated to a boil, she wandered back into the living room and took a seat beside him on the couch. He had turned on her television and muted the sound. She saw that he'd switched it to CNN.

He watched the headlines scroll past for a few minutes more before switching it off. "At least the media hasn't gotten wind of it yet."

Caitlin didn't have to ask what he meant. "Any word from String and Dom?"

"On the ground in Greenland. Thule Air Base. Complaining about the cold and hopefully catching a few hours of sleep."

"Which from the look of you is what you should be doing."

"Too wound up to sleep. Too tired to be of much use doing anything else." He gave her that smirk, the one she was starting to know all too well. "I think you know that feeling."

"Yeah. As a matter of fact, I do." The words came out a little breathy and she could feel her heart start to pound with anticipation. "I-" She startled as the kettle let out a shrill whistle and she gave a little laugh as she jumped up from the couch.

Idiot. No, that wasn't embarrassing at all.

Busying herself with getting down a coffee cup and measuring out the instant coffee, she called out, "How do you take it?"

"I think I've changed my mind."

She gasped and spun around to find Michael standing just behind her, close enough to be invading her space but not close enough to crowd her. A surge of disappointment went through her. He'd changed his mind. Her offer was ridiculous and he'd finally come to his senses. "Of course, I mean it's late and. . . ." she trailed off as he started to frown.

He dropped his head with a low chuckle. "Changed my mind about the coffee, Caitlin. Not about you, not about this."

"Sorry, I'm just a little-"

"Nervous?"

She gave him a wry grin. "Maybe a little."

His expression was warm and understanding. "This isn't tit for tat, Cait. We don't have to do this."

"Stop that. I wouldn't have given you that note if I didn't mean exactly what I said." She reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw again, her tone more serious this time. "You can relax here. You don't have to be Archangel for me. I don't want anything from you." Her lips turned up a smile. "In fact, I think the invitation was for anything you wanted."

He was watching her and she unconsciously wet her lips in anticipation, noticing how his gaze followed her movement.

"Anything?"

"Well, if you're going to pull out the whips and chains, we might have to talk."

That earned her a laugh. "No whips or chains, I promise," he said, before he pressed his lips to hers.

Cait sighed into the kiss. Letting him lead, she tilted her head back, opening her mouth to him. The kiss was slow and teasing, as he brought a hand up to cup her jaw and hold her steady. It wasn't aggressive or dominating but there was little doubt that Michael was in complete control.

A hand on her hip turned them, forcing her to take a step backwards. It wasn't until the back of her calves hit the sofa that she understood where he'd been maneuvering them.

She flashed back to their previous encounter when she'd admitted that she'd kept them on the couch to avoid too much intimacy. She'd chosen the safer option then. She felt a swell of warmth fill her. He was abiding by her wishes. She put a hand to his chest and pushed. The pressure was slight, but he stopped immediately.

"Cait?" His breathing shallow and rapid, his gaze roamed over her face in confusion.

She rose up slightly on her toes to kiss him. "My bed is more comfortable."

The one eye she could see grew darker as his pupil widened. "Are you sure? I don't mind-"

She cut him off with another kiss. "I'm sure." Entwining her fingers with his she gave a little tug. "Come. Bring your phone."

He snickered. "Still bossy, I see." Nevertheless, he let her pull him along until they stepped into the small room off of her bedroom. "The bathroom? Seems like a strange place for your bed," he teased as he looked around curiously.

"Oh hush, you." She took the case from him and set it down beside the door, close enough that they'd hear it if it rang. "I want you to take a shower."

His eyebrows rose quizzically and he wasn't able to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Do I smell that bad?"

She huffed out a breath. "No, but you're tense and tired and even I can tell you've been in those clothes a long time." She trailed a finger down the small buttons on his vest, circling each one before moving to the next. "You'll feel better after a hot shower."

His head tilted slightly to the side as he considered her suggestion. When he finally spoke his voice was softer and huskier than before, with an undercurrent of challenge. "Undress me?"

Goosebumps danced across her skin at the sound of his voice. She'd undressed for, and been undressed, by a half dozen assorted lovers over the years - she had, for all practical purposes, stripped Michael on her very own sofa only weeks earlier. This was different. That had been a means to an end, but this – this was a destination in and of itself. The idea of undressing Michael, of slowly baring him while she remained clothed, made her heart beat faster in her chest. She glanced back up at him and found he was still watching her, that challenge still there for her to see. She was reminded all over again that he was a dangerous man.

She could feel her pulse start to pound as she took a shaky breath before giving him a tiny nod. Challenge accepted. Stepping to the right she circled around him, her fingers moving across his body as she went. Once she was behind him, she smoothed her hands across the breadth of his shoulders, the fabric of the jacket cool and silky beneath the heat of her palms.

"You wear these suits like a kind of armor. They keep you remote. Untouchable." The shoulders beneath her palms flexed and settled. "I find that I rather enjoy touching you, though." Lightly gripping the back of the lapel, she lifted slightly and felt him shrug back his shoulders allowing her to slip the jacket down his arms. A few quick steps and the garment was hung on the peg on the back of the bathroom door.

When she turned back Michael hadn't moved, except to focus on his cuffs, undoing a pair of silver cufflinks she hadn't noticed he was wearing. She held out a cupped hand and he dropped the pair one by one into her hand. The metal was warm from being next to his skin and Caitlin fought the shiver that threatened to climb up her spine at that thought.

She carefully set them on the counter beside a pair of her own earrings and turned back to Michael. Tie or vest? Vest she decided. Trailing her finger back up the buttons, she popped the first one free of its buttonhole. "You're always so buttoned up. Controlled." The air was growing thick and heavy in the small room as in turn she slipped each of the tiny buttons free. Again she moved behind him to slide the vest down his arms. It joined the jacket.

As she hung up the vest, she detoured to the shower enclosure to start the water. Her apartment building was old and the hot water often took several long minutes to find its way to her tap. Once finished, she circled around to again stand before him. He was toeing off his shoes, kicking them off to the side near the door where neither of them would trip over them.

Separating the knot of his tie, she tugged on one end and listened to the slithering sound of silk pulling against the polished cotton of his shirt before she tossed it heedlessly in the direction of the counter. Her heart pounding now, she rose up on her toes and kissed him softly before pulling back to start on the buttons of his shirt. They opened easily but instead of removing the shirt she left it hanging open, the parted cloth revealing the tight white undershirt beneath.

"I loved the fact that you let go of some of that control with me. For me." Holding his gaze, she dropped down to her knees. "Do you know how liberating that was? The sense of power it gave me?" She watched in satisfaction as his pupil expanded at her words and actions, thrilling her to know that he was becoming just as aroused by this slow striptease as she as was.

Dropping her gaze, she tapped one ankle for him to raise his foot. She pulled off his sock before doing the same with the other foot and then sat back on her heels to get a good look at him. Good God, he was sexy. His shirt still hung open and she could watch the slow rise and fall of his chest every time he took a breath. Lower, his slacks were belted around trim hips and she could see that a partial erection was already tenting the front of his pants.

Fingertips tingling, she slipped the button on his pants free. "I want to give that back to you tonight. I want you to have everything you gave to me."

"Caitlin." Low and rough-edged she could hear the want and the impatience in his voice. But he wasn't moving. He wasn't hurrying her along and she knew he was enjoying this as much as she was.

He sucked in a breath as she deliberately brushed the back of her fingers against his lower stomach. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you wear too many clothes?" she asked.

That brought a chuckle. "Once or twice. Too many years as a field agent, I suppose. Layers are useful for hiding weapons."

Palms slipping around his hips she slid both his underwear and pants down his legs. She blew a breath against the erection just a few inches in front of her face. "You need to go back to spy school, Michael. You're doing a lousy job of hiding this particular weapon."

Chancing a look upward, she caught his smirk. "Come here."

Rising up, she let him pull her into a kiss. She could feel him moving, kicking off his pants even as her hands were moving across his shoulders pushing the fabric of his shirt down off his arms. Then her hand wound under the t-shirt to smooth up the broad plane of his back. She pulled back from the kiss only long enough to sweep it up and over his head before leaning back into him.

Strong hands grasped her hips pulling her against his naked body. His lips moved along her jaw, the soft scrape of teeth along her neck pulling a groan from her.

"Join me." The words were whispered again her ear, a hot tongue trailing along its edge making her gasp.

It took a few seconds for her brain to connect. When it did, she smiled. "I took a shower when I got home. I don't think I need another."

"I disagree." He leaned in to kiss her again, keeping it light and teasing as his hands ghosted down her arms, around her waist and back up before coming to rest on the top button of her blouse. "I think," he undid the first button before moving on to the next, slowly working one fastener at a time until the blouse fell open, "that you most definitely need to join me." His voice had dropped down into a lower register that did delicious things to her nerves.

He slipped the blouse from her shoulders and let it drop to pool around her feet. His hands continued down, tracing her ribs and the curve of her waist. Two fingers slipped beneath the band of her slacks, his thumb deftly slipping the button free before he slid the short zipper down. Her pants dropped to her ankles in a whisper of fabric that she kicked free.

"Hmm," he rumbled against her throat, amusement in his voice. "I'm beginning to see the appeal of less clothing."

She tilted her head back with a laugh as he continued to nuzzle her throat and collarbone. One of his fingers traced along the edge of her bra cup, his touch light and ticklish. Her nipples hardened and puckered beneath the lace, something she knew he could see. That maddening finger trailed down the plane of her stomach until he reached the band of the matching panties.

"Pretty. Is this for me?"

Heat flushed her face. "Last time I was wearing an oil-stained t-shirt and sweats." She shrugged a little self-consciously. "I thought maybe-"

He cut her off with a sharp kiss. "Cait, you were naked beneath the t-shirt and sweats. Absolutely, gloriously naked. That's all I need."

He kissed her again, raw heat building between them as skin slid against skin. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against hers as he breathed, pulling air deeply into his lungs. His hands moved along her back, tracing up her spine. One buried itself in her hair, holding her close. The other paused at the band across her back, fingers lightly trailing across the fabric. "In a perfect world, I'd lay you down across your bed wearing nothing but these bits of lace and I'd spend the entire night doing my damnedest to drive you out of your mind."

Caitlin shivered at the dark promise in his words.

"But not tonight, Caitlin. I'm too impatient and sadly this world is far from perfect. I want you naked. Now." The hand at her back twisted, and a moment later the catch on her bra released. Oh.

"Nice trick," she whispered against his shoulder.

"You're not the only one with hidden talents," he teased, as his hands skimmed up over her shoulders and down her arms, pulling the bra along. As it dropped to the floor, she gasped as the cooler air of the bathroom flowed over her nipples. Hot hands were on her hips sliding beneath the waistband of her panties, and then they too joined the bra on the floor.

It was with a bit of hesitancy that she reached toward his glasses, her fingers hovering a few inches from the frames. "Michael?"

"It's okay," he said softly, his eyes closing.

She pulled the glasses carefully off and then reached over to the counter to set them down, her gaze never leaving his face. With both his eyes closed, she reached up and ever so gently smoothed her thumbs across his eyelids, feeling the soft prickle of his lashes against her skin. His damaged eye had a scar that started just under his brow and sliced diagonally across the lid. It was thin and faint and would be practically invisible when he was wearing his glasses. As her fingers framed his face, he opened his eyes – one blue and one a dull white.

He was watching her again. "Does it bother you?"

She wasn't going to lie to him. "Yes. In the same way that these do." She ran her hand along the scar that crossed his collarbone, and then traced another down his stomach. "It's another reminder of how close you came to not being here." She kissed him once, her lips just grazing his. "But you are here, and it's all a part of you. The price of your survival. I can accept that."

Stepping out of the last of her clothing, she led him to the shower. As he turned his back to her, she suppressed a gasp. She'd got used to the web of marks that wound down the left side of his body, but the last time they'd both been naked, he'd been seated. She'd felt the rough and mismatched skin beneath her hands but this was the first time she'd actually seen his back. Forcing down the sense of hurt she felt on his behalf, she reached out her arms, circling his waist as she pressed her body against his. Then she followed him under the spray of warm water.

Once inside the enclosure, she positioned him under the shower head so that the force of the water beat down on the intersection of his neck and shoulders. She smiled at the sigh of pleasure he let out as his body relaxed.

Chuckling, Caitlin grabbed the soap from the dish. She didn't reach for a washcloth, preferring to feel his skin slick beneath her fingers. Using soapy hands, she kneaded the taunt muscles in his neck, watching in amusement as he shifted and leaned into her touch. "Looks like I was right about you needing a nice hot shower."

"Mmmmm. It's not about the water. You make me feel good."

His softly groaned answer pleased her and yet made her a little sad as she wondered just how often Michael put aside his own comfort to deal with the dark realities of the world Archangel lived in.

Feeling much of the tension leave him, she abandoned his shoulders to run soapy hands over the rest of his body, working her way downwards. She barely skimmed his growing erection, her immediate intent to relax, rather than arouse. Kneeling, she moved on, her hands sliding down his long legs.

"Cait."

She paused to glance up at him. He was watching her, the look on his face unreadable. "Michael?"

The look turned to one of vague amusement. "You're coddling."

"I'm not-" she began, intending to deny it, before realizing she was guilty as charged. She had unconsciously lightened her touch on his bad leg, fingers barely skimming the skin. "I guess I am. Sorry."

"It's okay." He reached down, his hands on her arms urging her to her feet. "Come here."

His hair had turned from blond to bronze with the water. Droplets wound their way down his chest and she couldn't help the urge to lick one off as she rose. His eyes were hot and hungry and somehow Caitlin found it odder to see both of them than the fact that one was clouded over and sightless.

Michael turned her, his body pushing her against the tiles as he stepped forward into her. She hissed at the contact, the tiles a cold contrast to the heat of the water falling around them and the even hotter feel of his body pressing against her. His hands were slick against her sides and when one moved up to cup her breast, thumb sliding across her nipple, she couldn't help the needy whine that sounded in the back of her throat.

His mouth moved across her skin, pleased hums and softly voiced compliments sounding when he found a particularly sensitive spot on his way down to her breasts.

The sound of his voice and words aroused her more than she thought they would. Michael was a far more vocal lover than any she'd ever had and she found that she liked it, liked the sound of his voice in her ears and the feel of his lips against her as he whispered deliciously naughty things against her skin.

It was good. So very, very good and Caitlin felt the ache starting low in her belly. It pushed her up on her toes, pushing her into him, her chest rubbing against his in a foggy blur that had more to do with him than the steam from the shower.

When his hand finally reached the junction of her thighs, she'd already spread her legs for him. Caitlin gasped in the humid air of the shower enclosure, her fingers tightly gripping his shoulders. She knew her nails were biting into his back but it didn't seem as if he even noticed.

She ground against his palm as his fingers stroked her, firm and insistent, almost demanding. While his voice might have teased, his touch did not and Caitlin rocked her hips shamelessly.

"That's it, Caitlin." The words were a hot whisper against her ear, his mustache just brushing against her skin. "You said anything I want." He paused, winding the tension in her body higher. "I want you to come for me."

She couldn't have stopped it if she tried as the tension within her broke at his words. She sobbed out breaths against his shoulder as she dragged moisture laded air into her lungs and she was fairly sure that he was the only thing keeping her upright. Aftershocks ran through her body and she wanted to say something but the words wouldn't come.

Only when he shifted against her, pushing his erection against the soft, slick skin of her belly did her mind start to clear.

"Oh God, Mi-"

She felt, as much as heard, his sharp intake of breath, followed by a low curse as he suddenly froze. He was leaning against her, his forehead pressed against the tile. Alarm burned away her pleasurable haze. "Michael?"

"Damn it." She could hear the tightness in his voice. "My damn leg. Whenever I let myself forget, it reminds me every time. I can't do this, Cait. On another day, maybe, but I've been on my feet too long. Right now my knee will barely support me, there's no way it's going to hold both of us."

He pulled back from her with a sigh, his expression one of mingled embarrassment and regret. "Three years ago you'd already be wrapped around my waist."

She swallowed hard at the image his words planted in her head before placing a soft kiss against his lips. "I don't know if I would have survived you three years ago."

Her comment pulled a small smile from him. Pushing away from the wall, she reached around him to turn off the water. "It's alright, Michael. Come on. Let's get out here."

She gave him two towels and sent him off into her bedroom to dry off while she took a few minutes to gather her wits. She also collected their fallen clothing. Hers she dumped into a hamper while she hung the rest of his on the hook behind the door.

Running a towel through her own hair, she damp dried it before pulling on a robe which she tied loosely around her waist. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down, she turned towards her bedroom. He sat on the edge of bed, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees and his head resting on his clasped hands. He radiated an almost palatable sense of nervous exhaustion mixed with defeat. The kind of exhaustion where you just want to sleep but your body is so wired you can't.

"Cait-" he began when she stepped back into the room.

She didn't know what he'd started to say, and suspected that he wasn't entirely sure either, but his expression gave him away. There was betrayal there, not directed at her but at the betrayal of his body. Even now, two and half years later, he was still coming to terms with his new limitations.

"I'm sorry, Cait," he finally said, his expression rueful. "That didn't exactly go as I had planned."

"Stop it," she said softly, stepping forward so she was standing between his knees.

"What?"

"Apologizing." She gave a tug on the tie holding her robe together and let the fabric fall open. "So shower sex is out. That's not the end of the world. I thought all you spy types—"

"Intelligence agents," he interrupted, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly.

She braced her hands on his shoulders as she felt his come up to frame her hips. "I thought all you intelligence agents always had a back up plan. This isn't about me. Tonight is about you. What do you want?"

He didn't answer for a long moment. "I want you," he finally replied. "On your back in the middle of the bed."

Slipping the robe from her shoulders, she let it slide to the floor at her feet. Pulling the blankets down, she crawled past him onto the bed and did as he'd asked.

"Damn it, Cait. This isn't what I intended, but I'm tired, my leg hurts, and I think I've used up about all my finesse," he said. The bed shifted beneath her as he moved backwards, angling his body towards hers. She sucked in a quick inhale as her body responded to the touch of his hand sliding up her leg from her ankle to her hip.

"What I want," he continued, leaning forward and scraping his teeth gently against the jut of her hip bone, "is to take you hard."

Caitlin let out a shaky breath, more moan than anything else as Michael crawled further up her body, lips and teeth marking his journey. "I want to pin you beneath me and hold you there."

He pressed his good knee into the bed beside her, one hand planted into mattress beside her head. He leaned down until his mouth just barely brushed against her own. "What I want is for you to be sweat soaked and trembling and so damn exhausted when I'm done with you than you barely know your own name."

The bed shifted again, his weight coming down partially onto her. His lips teased hers. As she opened to him, his kiss turned hard and carried the weight of everything he was feeling. Caitlin did nothing to resist, allowing him anything he wanted.

His free hand smoothed over her body, the touch firm and demanding, cupping her breast, toying with her nipples until they were hard and aching. Leaning in, he captured one in his mouth, his tongue flicking hotly against the tip.

Her body arched up into his, her fingers scrabbling desperately to find purchase on his skin. "Oh God, Michael."

"That's what I want." The words were whispered against the valley between her breasts, only slightly tinged with something like bitterness.

Before she could respond he was moving again, his pace fast and deliberate as he mapped her reactions to his every touch.

Her blood pounded in her veins and echoed in her ears. Her skin tingled everywhere he touched and ached where he didn't and Caitlin had no idea how he'd brought her to this point again so fast. He'd given her one orgasm already in the shower. She hadn't expected another, but recognized the oncoming signs within herself.

He nipped at the flesh around her belly button before soothing her skin with broad swipes of his tongue, her stomach contracting sharply at the sensation.

His voice had dropped, going huskier. "I don't get everything that I want tonight. My leg isn't going to allow for that level of . . . exertion."

Caitlin was trembling now with her own need, her hands twisting in the sheets beneath her now that he'd moved beyond her reach.

The hand not braced to hold him up slipped between her parted thighs, inched upward, spreading her apart to his hot gaze. "That doesn't mean though," he stopped to plant an open mouthed kiss mid-thigh, "that I still won't have you sweat soaked and trembling by the time I'm done with you."

He was breathing heavily, hot breath fanning against her body and sending goosebumps racing across her skin. His mouth moved higher, another kiss and lick followed. She was twisting now, unable to control her body's reactions. His hand jerked upward to clasp her thigh, pushing her knee up and away, effectively holding her body down while exposing more of her to him. She caught his wince of pain, could feel the strain in him as his position put more weight on his knee and leg. "The things I want to do to you," he growled against her, his head shaking in regret. "But first, I deserve a taste. Just one, don't you think?"

Pinned down, she felt the whimper rise in her throat. "Please."

The quick swipe of his tongue sent her bucking upward, straining against the hand holding her down. Her fingers unwound from the sheets, to brush against his still damp hair.

His next touch was slow, exploratory and testing as he learned what she liked. Her breath hitched around a sob as she fought for air and for purchase against him. She could see the corded muscle in his arm and knew that she'd have bruises on her thigh from his grip but didn't care. "Michael, please."

He lifted his head, eyes shadowed as he looked up her body. He nodded. "Only a taste then," he murmured as he rose to crawl up her body between her outstretched legs. He winced again as he moved, and she pretended not to notice.

She reached out with arms and legs to pull him down to her, skin against skin. His erection pressed against her, sliding against her sex in a way that had her tightening her arms around him.

He pushed himself up on one elbow, shifted against her. "Open your legs wider for me, Caitlin," he demanded, breath hot against her ear.

His weight was heavy against her and she reveled in the feel of him. Then he was there, pushing inside her in a hard, fast thrust that had her throwing her head back against the mattress.

Michael's body was half resting on hers as he kept most of his weight off his bad leg. The position left him angled to the side so that every push and pull forced him to rub against her – perfect sweet friction that had her panting his name even as her hips rolled upwards into his.

He was picking up momentum, each thrust a little harder and little faster than the next. Groaning now as the force of his body impacting with hers drove the air from him with each snap of his hips.

Caitlin's eyes shut. There. There. There. There. The words were chanted in her head and maybe out loud and she wasn't sure anymore as the twisting need within her snapped. Dimly she was aware of Michael, his head bowed against her shoulder as he grunted and panted through his own release.

He came down heavily on her, his arm no longer able to hold him up. She didn't care. They lay like that, him still buried within her, for long moments before he shifted off of her with a sigh. She missed his weight and warmth almost immediately.

She moved to get up. "Let me just get cleaned up. I'll be right back."

When she returned a moment later from the bathroom with a warm washrag in her hand, he was still sprawled in blissful abandon across her bed, once again looking like a debauched angel. He hummed in pleasure as she ran the cloth along his skin. "Better?"

He blinked up sleepily at her, that wayward smirk still making her stomach do loops. "You're spoiling me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." She couldn't help reaching forward and smoothing a hand through his hair. "Sleep for a few hours."

"I should-"

"You said yourself that you're too tired to be of use to anyone. The phone is here if anyone needs you and Airwolf is still a long way from the Red Sea. Sleep."

"I need to be at Knightsbridge by nine."

"You'll want time to go home and change?"

He shook his head slightly. "I keep a go-bag in my trunk."

She moved to get up again, planning to grab a blanket and sleep on the couch, but stopped when his hand caught her arm. "Stay."

"I won't disturb you? Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable alone?"

He sighed, as much asleep as awake. "Don't coddle. I want you here. Stay."

She shouldn't. They shouldn't. But she nodded, turning to the alarm at her bedside and setting it to go off at seven-thirty. What in the hell am I doing? She didn't have an answer and wasn't sure she wanted to examine the question too closely. But she didn't complain when he pulled her down and curled his body around hers, instead simply tugging the covers over them both.