A/N: this is Part II of the missing reel, featuring Stephen and Quebec, taking place between "Homeward Bound" and "Repaired" or Chapters 24 and 25.


"He has a promise to keep. The others are all otherwise occupied and cannot interrupt," she murmured against his lips when they pulled apart, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Stephen drew her in closer to him, lips seeking hers once more, and they staggered backwards towards the bed.

As they fell backwards, her landing on top of him, he ran his hands down her body for the first time, making sure to etch every curve and hollow into his memory. She didn't have the curvaceous build his past girlfriends had, but he didn't care. He liked her lean, supple strength, liked the way her body was subtle instead of obvious, and he liked the taut muscles beneath her skin like steel cord, rippling and flexing as she moved.

"I like yours, too," she whispered into his neck, her fingers digging into his biceps; he didn't even mind when she answered his thoughts.

Stephen rolled them over on the cot so now she lay beneath him, careful to hold his weight up enough that he didn't smother her. As his mouth tracked damp kisses down her shoulder, moving towards her chest, his hands pulled at her trousers, the fabric stiff with dried blood. Quebec pushed against his shoulders, and he instantly drew back, afraid he'd done something wrong. "Q?" he asked nervously.

"It is not something you did," she replied, trying to get her erratic breath back under control. "Stephen, I must warn you. I-I am unexperienced."

"Huh?"

Swallowing hard past the lump of chagrin that'd lodged in her throat, she explained, "I do not remember my life before. That means I do not remember anything, including any former sexual encounters. I don't know if I've had any at all, or if I am still an innocent. I do not know what I'm doing."

He drew back out of reflex, inhaling sharply in shock. "Oh," he said.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders. "You will not stop?" she asked anxiously.

"No, no, we won't stop, I just…I want to take this a little slower. I mean, if you are a…" He couldn't quite manage to say the word. "…inexperienced, then we ought to go slower. Take our time. Enjoy it," he murmured in a lower voice, pushing his hips against hers slightly, applying just enough pressure to make her melt against him, going all pliant and soft.

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to hers, though now he wasn't as hungry and demanding and more explorative. She wrapped both arms around his neck, fingers pushing into the back of his hair, twisting around the fine hairs at the nape of his neck; the roughness of her gloves was a lovely contrast to the softness of her skin. When they pulled apart, they backed up enough for their noses to brush, breath warm and shared between them. This close, he could see the tiny, mysterious flecks of gold in her eyes. Stephen kissed her again, gently coaxing her lips apart with his own, and her tongue slid against his, not at all tentatively, but slow and unhurried. "See?" he murmured as they pulled apart.

"Yes. Far more pleasurable to continue slowly," she replied quietly. "More, please."

Stephen smiled and lowered his head back down to her, mouth finding hers. She tasted so good, unlike anything else he'd experienced before. He pulled away from her lips to kiss her cheek, making a path down her jaw to her neck; Quebec tilted her head back, allowing him further access. He tasted her pulse point, lips trailing down the slender curve of her neck, pressing another kiss into the soft hollow of her throat. Any further access was hindered by her clothing, so he pushed open her shredded, ripped coat and pulled it off her, tossing it aside. His fingers played at the zip of her skintight top. "May I?" he whispered against her skin.

"Yes," she murmured back, lashes half-closed. Her eyes were bright and glassy, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it. "Please do, please."

He pulled the zipper down with a rasp of metal and opened top. Underneath, all she wore was a bra, also black, a stark contrast to her milky white skin, now mottled with bruises; he slid both hands under her back, lifted her up slightly, and buried his head against her chest, nuzzling between her breasts. She groaned again, hands gripping his hair tighter. Kissing the slope of her breasts, he reached up, unhooked the front clasp her bra, and slid that off her as well.

"My ears ring," she whispered.

"Think that's the mobile."

"What mobile?"

"You really care?" Stephen asked back.

His warm lips closed around one aching nipple, the tug of his suckling sending a jolt of heated pleasure down to her core, and she arched her back into him. "No-ooo, ohhh…" she gasped back. When he pulled back, she kissed him hungrily, wrapping her arms around him, and she grasped the back of his flannel shirt, tugging at it fervently. The fabric relented beneath her hands, ripping down the back, and he leant back slightly to pull off his t-shirt before she ripped that one too. Before he could reclaim her lips, though, she planted a hand on his chest, holding him back, and then she was unbuckling his belt, drawing it off. He looked down at her questioningly. "I am not patient," she said in answer to his silent question. She pulled at his jeans stubbornly. "Remove, and I will remove mine own."

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Quebec," he replied softly, shucking off his jeans and shorts, and obediently, she shimmied out of her own. His throat went dry at the sight of her lying beneath him exposed and open. And he had never seen a sight quite so beautiful in all his life. Everything about her made him feel like melting into his shoes, and he sank down to kiss her again, wrapping both arms around her, pressing his lips into her throat. "Ready for this, Q?" he asked, whispering against her neck.

"Yes, Stephen," she replied softly.

He felt more than a little lightheaded as he settled between her legs, her dark eyes staring up into his lovingly. He took a deep breath and eased into her until his hips met hers; for a moment, his vision went a tad peculiar and his heart stuttered out of rhythm, but then he sank down to rest his head in the crook of her neck, breathing hard. Quebec moaned, running her hands across his back, gripping his shoulders, head tilted back against the pillows, toes curled on the sheets. "Oh, God," he muttered.

"Stephen, move, move," she urged breathlessly, pushing her hips up against his own. He eased out of her and pushed back in, and she let out a breathy sigh of pleasure. Stephen did it again, sliding both hands beneath her back to lift her up to him, falling into steady rhythm with his movements, hearing her whimper and moan beneath him. The delightful little noises she made went straight to his groin, and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long like this. It'd been too long since he'd last been with a woman, and she felt so unbelievable, warm and soft cradled in his arms, her breath tickling his skin, hands clutching his back, legs clutched around his hips. Quebec trailed kisses across his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin, raking her teeth over his neck.

He groaned softly, feeling the familiar heat in his groin, a tingling sensation low in his stomach, heat slicking down his spine to the small of his back. His hands fisted on the sheets, and then it was all too much. He let out a deep-chested groan of pleasure as the wire-taut tension humming through him snapped. She arched her back and let out a hoarse cry with him as she reached it with him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shuddered and went heavy on her, all the strength rushing out of him. Stephen buried his head against her neck, breathing heavily, trembling against her. Quebec ran her hands across his shoulders and back, feeling the heated skin begin to cool. She turned her head and kissed the tender crook of his neck, tasting the salty tang of sweaty skin, and one hand gently stroked the back of his hair. "My sweet Stephen," she murmured into his ear, and he let out a heavy breath, tickling her neck. After a moment, he shifted so that his entire weight wasn't pressing down atop her, and she snuggled up into his side, lying her head on his chest and feeling the play of pectoral muscle under her cheek.

"Nobody's ever called me sweet before," he said in a low voice husky with emotion.

"That is because you are sweet only to me," she answered softly, kissing his chest. Stephen gave a tiny grin and rested a hand atop her head, gently stroking her dark hair out of her face; Quebec smiled, tilting her head into his hands. He was very protective of her head. He had only a vague idea of what had been done to her, mentally and physically, but he knew that much of her torment had taken place inside her mind. In his clear, linear thinking, that translated to a very deep and tender protectiveness of her head. She liked it. The spider of doors wished to control her head, the doctors wanted to examine it, but only he wanted to protect it. "My strong cherepakha," she murmured quietly.

"Cherepakha?" he echoed in confusion.

"It is Russian. Means tortoise."

"I'm not a damn tortoise," he sighed back, but she paid him no mind. She knew that he liked it, liked the image of himself being strong and armoured, sheltering a delicate little Quebec-girl beneath his hard stony shell and keeping her safe. He hugged her closer to him, kissing her gently, and she smiled at the lovely tones of viridian, auburn, violet, and pink that swirled around inside him, mingling with her own colours, turning to a warm, prismatic shimmer humming in their thread. After few moments of silence, he lifted his head to see if she had fallen asleep. She wasn't. Rather, she had a small smile on her lips and a look of distant thoughtfulness on her face. "Uhm...Q?"

She held up one finger for silence. "I am making sure that I remember…everything," Quebec replied in her soft little voice, eyes still closed.