Week Two:

The second week away from her (a fortnight into his supposed 'research sabbatical') he met a woman in Guadalajara that had distinctly reminded him of her. Right down the the way her eyes went slim and thin as she smiled in capricious humor and tipped the back of her hand to the small bar table, fingertips up-turned and half curled. The difference in skin tone, the darker color of her eyes - neither mattered. Not when he noted how similar the slim inside of her wrist was, how familiar the length of her fingers seemed as she stretched them out and let him finger-tip trace the lines on the inside of her palm.

She had the movements of the woman who could somehow cage him up with just a sharpened glance.

She was about Gill's height, smelled just close enough when he closed his eyes and growled his mouth up the side of her throat. Just close enough that he could squeeze his eyelids shut and shove her up against the wall, find a pair of curving hips that matched his hands in the way he'd imagined... Size and shape and smell had been a near match. So he averted the smarter of his senses, closed his eyes to reality and just leaned forward into how similar she was, even as a negative opposite. Dark where Gill was light, brown skinned but fair when he closed his eyes, fair and just and sweet and so fucking self righteous in her goddamn innocence, her faith and trust in him.

He blindly fucked her (both of them at once) up against the wall, hand clasped over her mouth to raggedly hush the whispered and panted Spanish. He knows he was rough, uncontained and angry and feeling bitterly exiled (even if it had been his own choice, his idea, to leave her). He fucked a woman in Guadalajara that had distinctly, just by one twitch in her eyes as she'd smiled, reminded him of her.

Just two weeks away from her and he was taking blazing torches to every bridge he could find in the Southern Hemisphere.

He damn well had to get out of Mexico.