A/N: Thanks for the great reviews! Hope you all continue to enjoy :o) Also, please note that I have used Google translate to obtain the Japanese in this section. If it's entirely nonsensical, I apologize (I realize how notoriously traitorous internet translators can be...lol)
Chapter 2
Now.
Laura jolts awake, her heart pounding hard in her chest. She's fallen asleep, on watch; the child is no longer curled up by her side. She hears her moving about, and relaxes slightly.
"Where are you?" she calls.
"Here, mum." The girl is crouching in the rubble, brushing her fingers through pieces of wood. "I smelled some food. I can't find it, though."
"It may have been the wind." Laura nudges at the ruins with her boot. A board flips over to reveal a pile of mini chocolate bars, still in their wrappers.
"Oh, mum! Look!" Her daughter begins to gather the chocolates in her shirt, holding up the hem as a makeshift basket. Laura smiles slightly.
Later they break camp and get back onto the road, weaving their way through the parked cars, some still filled with drivers at the wheel. They are badly decomposing, and to a nose with an enhanced sense of smell, it would be maddening.
Instead, their ability to scent has become less acute, more easily muddled. Laura is grateful for this; otherwise she wouldn't keep any food down, and their finds would be wasted.
"I can't believe you punched dad in the face when you met him," The girl says, her eyes twinkling. "That's funny."
Laura smiles slightly. She has photographic memory, and can recite every detail of an event. She was trained to do so for missions; but the talent has another use now: entertaining her daughter...and allowing her to relive memories with an accuracy that another person could not.
"Tell me more, mum," the girl asks.
...
Memory sequence 1
Interstate 80
New York City
Six years ago
23:39 April 6
Laura leans forward on the gleaming yellow Harley, her hair whipping out from beneath her helmet like a black cloud. Her thighs grip the bike tightly, and her body shifts are instinctive. She is an expert bike rider; and so, apparently, is her companion. His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, he leans into the turns with her, and never seems to interfere with the bike's balance.
She weaves in traffic. She is surprisingly eager to reach the hotel they are heading to, at which he apparently has a room. The more she had learned about his personality, the more appealing he had begun to seem. And now...she can hardly wait to see what he's like, in other regards. It's like he's selling her a car, and she's about to take it for a test drive.
They turn off the interstate, and soon pull into the hotel parking lot. She is relieved to see the rooms have separate entrances. Not like anyone here would recognize her, but her desire for privacy, her tendency to secrecy-is a force of habit in her line of work. He gets off the bike and begins to pull out the keycards; meanwhile she turns the vehicle off, sweeps the kickstand out, and locks the bike before getting off, her boots crunching in the gravel of the parking lot. She fingers her helmet, watching his shoulders as he unlocks the door.
Squeak, the door opens with a noise audible only to Laura's finely tuned ears. He enters, leaving it open behind himself.
She hesitates. Does she really want to do this?
She thinks of her mood at the bar, and the thought of earlier. That she is still in her cell, but now she is standing here and the door to the hotel room seems strangely like the door to her prison.
"You coming?" He reappears at the door, having removed his shirt, and his fingers are at his belt.
She tilts her head as she studies his lines. He is not just fit, he is built, and better than many men she has allowed to share her presence. Crunch, Laura's helmet hits the gravel and she flushes in embarrassment.
He grins at her somewhat lopsidedly. "I have some other stuff to show you, if you want to join me."
Laura says nothing. She picks up her helmet and puts it in the storage compartment, mentally berating herself. She doesn't show attraction like that; it's against her policies. Never give the target the advantage, never display emotion or reaction. Keep them off balance. Ten-year old Laura gazes up at her trainer, a gruff, older man with blazing brown eyes and a thick grey mustache to compensate for his balding head. A former S.W.A.T. and S.H.I.E.L.D field commander.
The cage is around her again, and she looks at the doorway again, at the man waiting for her reaction.
She decides she will give one, for once. Try out her freedom.
Why not.
She crosses the gravel expanse slowly and reaches the door, looks up slightly at him. He is taller, by about seven inches, even with her boots on.
"Did I take too long to get undressed?" he asks.
"What?" Laura asks.
"You seem like you're having second thoughts."
"No." Laura reaches out and lays her hand against his stomach, feels the muscles stiffen slightly. His body is warm, and his scent suddenly attracts her attention; only faint traces of his cologne and other products remain, telling her that he had gotten dressed much earlier that morning. His smell is mostly his own unique chemical make up, but the point that interests Laura is that she has begun to tingle in response. He smells better than most men she has coupled with in the past, and she realizes that is because of his fitness level; he is healthy and active, hence his scent is correspondingly less offensive.
Unconsciously, Laura sways closer and smells the hollow of his throat, her lips parted.
"Whoa...what are you doing?" he asks, taking her by the shoulders. She flinches slightly and her cheeks redden again, in shame; she bites her lip. How does she explain this?
"I was smelling you," she says.
"Smelling me?" he echoes.
"Yes."
"That's kind of hot," he says, after a few moments. He leans closer, their lips meet and Laura finds herself wondering why she took so long to decide to go along with him. Her eyes slide shut. Their hands are everywhere at once.
Ca-click.
Laura jumps and pulls away, eyes wide, breathing hard. "What was that?" she asks. His hands have not moved from her body (one on her behind, the other on her jaw), and she had detected no other living beings for a fair distance away. There is no wind; and yet the door has just closed by itself.
Julian grins again and nudges her slightly, into the room, against the edge of the bed.
She catches her breath as her jacket peels off her shoulders of its own accord, surrounded by soft green light, as if lit from within.
"You're a telekinetic," she says instantly.
"Maybe."
Her belt is unfastened, and snakes through the loopholes; the button and zipper to her jeans are undone and then her pants crumple around her ankles; her tank top rolls up her stomach and over her head, and then he stops suddenly.
"You're not wearing a bra?" he asks.
"No." Laura is used to some surprise over this fact. She doesn't bother explaining that years of training to the point of physical perfection have strengthened her chest muscles to the point that she does not require a garment for support.
He approaches her almost cautiously, his expression strange. "How are you so perfect?" he asks.
"I am not perfect," Laura says, not meeting his eyes. "I have many flaws." They'd been rubbed in her face every day of her young life at the facility, and will stay with her always.
"Name one."
Laura breathes in, with a soft ehn sound. She had not expected to be asked. To hear her own voice describing her faults. To acknowledge them.
"I am weak. Stupid." She hears herself say. "My reactions are slow. I am uncoordinated. I am too emotional. My attention span is-"
"Who the hell told you this stuff?" He's standing in front of her now, his hand hovering in the air near her collarbone, like he's afraid to touch.
"I...prefer not to say," Laura murmurs, looking down.
"You can't seriously believe any of that." He sounds so confused that she doubts her own belief, for a moment. "You're the most perfect woman I've ever met. As in...I'm kind of wondering if this is a dream and I'm going to wake up to a mess."
Laura smiles slightly. He touches her again, then takes her face in his hands and kisses her again, deeply, and she feels him backing her into the edge of the bed.
...
Now.
Laura studies the matchbook that has sat in her pocket. Traveler's Inn, the faded print says. There's a phone number below, even more worn away. The matches inside are long since gone, but that's not why she's kept the book. She smiles slightly at the memory it invokes. She'd grabbed the book off the dresser when she'd left the hotel, not knowing the reason, not really understanding the concept of a souvenir; now she does. Now that she has need.
"What's that, mum?" The child asks, from the makeshift shade of the car hood propped on a long metal rod. The sun burns far too hotly in the sky; unnaturally. The atmosphere was damaged in what Julian had cheerfully termed 'the apocalypse'.
"A memory." Laura holds it out to the girl. "This is where you were conceived." No need to explain what this means; Emma is already well rehearsed in anatomy and the technical mechanics of human behavior, including intercourse. Laura had been concerned that her child would understand what it all meant, if they ever met other people. Concerned that she would not have the struggle that she did.
The girl takes the matchbook cover and studies it, her features devoid of expression, much like Laura's when she is concentrating.
She rubs her fingers over the faded print. She looks up, and looks sad. Not with her features, which are still motionless. She inherited her father's expressive eyes; Laura can detect her emotional state without seeing the rest of her face.
"Do you miss dad?" she asks.
Laura nods. "But you are here. He is a part of you."
Her daughter hands back the matchbook. "Yes, mum," she says simply. "Are we going to start walking again?"
"When the sun sets. We have a long way to go." Laura peers up at the glaring sun. They are walking to the nearest air force base; from there, they will fly at night, as far South as possible. Since the atmosphere is bad-and worst here-they will head in the direction with the least exposure to the sun, the area where it will be winter right now.
Perhaps there will be other survivors.
"More, mum," the girl says. "I want to hear more. What happened next?"
...
Memory sequence 2
Main Lobby, Hyatt Regency
Kyoto, Japan
Six years ago
21:23 June 10
Laura exits the revolving door and takes in the surroundings she has entered: expensive hardwoods, luxury carpeting, smells of cleaning fluids and public places. The glimmer of the massive chandelier on the ceiling catches her attention next. Images of its tactical uses almost cloud her vision, but she pushes them aside. It is doubtful that she will be engaged in combat at this hotel.
She re-shoulders her duffle bag, and makes her way to the counter, her lips curving up in a smile at the clerk, who has just greeted her in Japanese.
"Gashi," Laura replies. Greetings.
" Anata ga nihongo o hanasu?" You speak Japanese?
"Hai." Yes.
The clerk smiles. " Rifuresshu. Dono yō ni kyō wa anata o tasukete mo yoi ka?." Refreshing. How may I help you today?
" Watashi wa heya no tame no kibō-" I would like a room for-she pauses, her nostrils filling with a scent; footsteps, louder than those passing in the background.
"Laura?"
She freezes. Her cover is blown, she thinks absently. She cannot present her false I.D. now. That, however, is the least of her concerns. She turns her head slightly, and blinks.
"It is you," he says, his features breaking into an easy, relaxed grin that focuses mostly in and around his eyes. Laura swallows. "Sumimasen." Excuse me. She turns to face him fully, uncertain of how to act. Will he see it in her face? "How did you know?" she asks.
"I'd know that perfect ass of yours anywhere," he says teasingly. "What brings you to Japan?"
"Tourism," she answers automatically.
"Oh." Julian looks down for a moment. He knows what she really means. She's here with the Brotherhood, and she can't tell him, because now he will know there is going to be an attack on Japan.
"Why are you here?" Laura asks.
"Tourism," he replies.
They already know. Laura arches her eyebrows. Someone inside the Brotherhood must be leaking information; a double agent.
"Kyoto has many sights," she says. "It is an ancient city, once the capital of Japan."
"I like what I see already," Julian says, his eyes on her. She feels her cheeks redden slightly, and a vague annoyance that he can turn just about anything she says into a pick-up line.
"Do not allow me to interrupt your tour," Laura says pointedly. Her fingers find the edge of one of the elaborate wooden carvings on the counter behind her, and grip it tightly. She feels the information bubbling to her lips, something that she does not want to acknowledge.
"You're part of it," he says, reaching out and touching her cheek with the back of his finger. Laura horrifies herself by closing her eyes and leaning into his touch, like an animal being petted.
Her eyes fly open almost immediately. "I have an engagement. I-I do not have time for this. Please-"
"Later tonight, then?" he asks. "Hey, I have a great idea! Stay in my room...you'll save a bundle."
"No-" Laura says.
"Oh come on, it's a great idea. I'll even get room service." He fumbles in his coat pocket and pulls out a room key, holds it out to her. "Room 402."
"Julian, I-I can't," Laura says, almost pleadingly. "Please leave me alone."
"So you have regrets?" he asks bluntly.
"N-no-" Laura finds herself-usually the interrogator-stammering. She's shaken, deeply, because dread of a confrontation has been at the forefront of her nightmares for quite a while now.
"Then don't waste time." He shakes the card slightly, in front of her face. "Look. This is your ticket to free room, free food, and the kind of worshiping your body deserves, on a regular basis. Don't deny it."
"I can't," Laura says, a little more firmly.
"You don't want me?"
"I didn't say-"
Julian reaches over and tucks the card into the convenient chest pocket of her leather bomber jacket.
"There. Decision made. Look, I've got some stuff to do...I was just on my way out. I'll be back in about two hours, make yourself comfortable." He leans over and kisses her, and Laura gives up, feeling she has no choice in the matter. It's her attraction to him that complicates the simple matter of saying no.
He leaves, and the clerk asks, "Madamu?" Madame?
" Mōshiwake arimasenga, watashi wa mō heya o hitsuyō to suru." I am sorry, but I no longer need a room. " Okage de, yoi ichi-nichi o sugosu." Thanks and have a good day.
Ignoring the clerk's surprised expression, Laura heads for the elevator, her fingers withdrawing the card from her breast pocket. Maybe it's just as well.
...
Footsteps, in the hall. Laura raises her eyes and looks at the door, her nostrils flaring. She's already showered and washed all of the travel grime from her skin and hair (which is still damp and curly); she is now wearing a terry bathrobe, provided by the hotel. She is laying on her stomach, watching TV.
The door buzzes, as it is unlocked; it swings open and Julian enters. "Awesome," he says under his breath, to himself, then catches sight of her and drops the bag he's holding. It hits the carpet with a squishy thud, and Laura cranes her neck. The door closes automatically behind him.
"Are you alright?" she asks in concern.
"Uh...yeah. Yeah, I am." He blinks, recovers. "I wasn't ready to see an angel in my bed. You look smoking hot with your hair like that."
Laura sighs slightly, annoyed. She sits up, hugging her knees. "You have brought food?" she asks, to change the subject.
"Sushi and Teriyaki stuff," he says, picking up the bag with his mind. "And Tempura. Damn, you look good. Skip dinner?"
"I am hungry." Laura tilts her head, hearing her stomach rumble.
"Sorry, didn't mean to be rude," he says, moving to the edge of the bed. "You flew in today?"
Laura nods.
"You must be tired then, too," he says, absently, as he sits on the edge of the bed. Laura reaches for the bag, her nose filling with delectable odors.
"Yes, I am."
He looks put out. "Am I going to wake up with you this time?" He asks. "I was really bummed when you ditched me, you know, before. You broke my heart."
Laura had gotten up at five in the morning and had left without a trace on their first encounter.
She says nothing, gives him a dry look.
"You did. The only thing that would have been better than that night, in the whole world, would have been waking up with you too." He grins. "I had a present for you. I made it myself."
"Just stop talking," Laura says, irritated to the extreme of expressing her displeasure.
"Sorry." He swallows, looks at her. "I can't help it. You're, well...you make me feel like if I don't impress you, I won't stand a chance. And I really, really want a chance."
"Just be yourself," Laura advises, finding it strange that she is giving advice to another living being about behavior, a subject that is a complete and utter mystery to her.
"I'll try...but I'm afraid you won't like me." Julian reaches into the bag. "I'm not as perfect as you are."
"I am not perfect," Laura reiterates.
"You goddamn are." He pops the lid off a sauce container. "So what are you planning to see in Kyoto?"
The abrupt change in the conversation topic makes Laura blink in confusion. "Just...general sightseeing, if I have time," she says.
"If you have time?" he parrots.
She nods, her eyes telling him more than she can in a verbal sense.
...
Laura lays her head back on the pillow, her eyes closed as his fingers work at the knot in the robe, her hands at his belt buckle. She barely breathes as she feels the edges of her garment part...and hears the silence that accompanies the revealing.
Like the unveiling of a controversial piece of art, she thinks. She's been to gallery openings before, on jobs.
The silence holds.
She says nothing, takes a deeper breath, swallows. His fingers brush her slightly distended stomach, almost fearfully, as if it will burst if he touches her; then a little more substantially. And then-the reaction least expected-he leans forward and brushes it with his lips, near her navel.
Accepting it.
They don't speak till later.
...
"I found out two months ago," Laura whispers, about an hour later, her eyes closed.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He hesitates. "It's mine, right?"
"Yes." She pauses. "I didn't know how to contact you."
Julian falls silent, reaches up and brushes his hand through his hair.
"I am going to keep it," Laura says warily. She'd imagined all sorts of responses. On finding out about her condition, she had done a lot of research about surprise pregnancies, and had read websites forewarning her about being pressured into giving the infant up. For some reason, she wants it; the devastating moment of realizing she was pregnant had come with two facts. I am having an offspring, and I am keeping it. An absurd thought, given the world she lives in; utterly not the conditions to raise an infant in. Yet...it is like an unalterable fact, that she will keep it.
Does she feel this will give meaning to her life?
"I'd hope so," Julian says. "I mean-it's your choice-but..." he hesitates. "This is going to sound terrible."
"What?" Laura asks impatiently.
"Does this make my chances with you better?"
She blinks. "'Chances'?" she repeats.
"I want to be with you," he says, in a voice barely above a whisper. "You know. More than this."
"'This'?" Laura asks.
He grins slightly. "Occasional fuck buddies." He pauses. "I can't stop thinking about you. You're seriously driving me crazy. I-"
"We can't," Laura says. "Our alliances-"
"Fuck our alliances. I want it, and I usually get what I want." He sits up slightly and kisses her shoulder. "We'll work it out. Everything will work out, you'll see."
"No."
Laura's firm voice, the stern look in her eyes, seem to bring the gravity of the situation to light.
He sighs, rearranging his arms behind his head and looking away. They fall silent, except for the sound of breathing. Laura gets up, moves to the chair and unzips her duffel bag.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Leaving. I will get my own room, somewhere else. It's for the best."
"No!" He sits up. "Laura...you can't just go. I'll never be at peace with myself."
"That is your problem." Laura pulls on a pair of plain cotton underwear and looks at her duffel bag, wishing it could reassure her that she is doing the right thing.
"It's your problem too. You want to bring up that kid in a broken home? Not knowing your father can cause issues, Laura."
"Sometimes it's better not to know," Laura says softly, remembering her father figure. Wolverine. The way he'd spurned her, for what she was. For doing the only thing natural to her: killing. Her grip tightens on the t-shirt she is holding now. "This is the right thing to do. Please, do not make it harder."
"You're being unreasonable. You tell me this and expect me to stay away?"
"Telling you was a mistake." She pulls on her t-shirt. "All of this was a mistake. Please forget what we've done."
Silence. Laura selects a pair of jeans, pulls them up quickly and fastens them; puts on her jacket, then zips up her duffel bag and shoulders it. "Goodbye, Julian." She reaches the door, hesitates, her door on the handle.
"Please take care of yourself."
He takes a deep breath. "How can you even say that?"
Laura looks down, digs in her jacket pocket, and drops the card on the floor. The door clicks softly behind her as she walks down the hall, her facial expression neutral.