Por fin! Sorry I'm two weeks late with this. My apologies. My lovely computer decided to trash every digital file I had to my name right before I posted. Hence, I had to rewrite the whole glorious thing. (Dare I say, I think it's much better.) And Jonathan's last name should be Nduta not Ndutu. Typo in the first chapter. My fault.
Also, I can't figure out the timeline for the show to save my life. All I know is that it definitely isn't in real time. That said, I think this story is about a month and a half ahead of cannon. I'll try and make cannon developments fit as best I can, but if there are any discrepancies, it's because I didn't have the information when I wrote it. Feedback/constructive criticism is much appreciated.
"Look. Dr. Caseras. I really appreciate this."
"No problem," Marisa smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad I could help."
"My wife lost her job a couple months back, and with it went the health insurance." Jakob grinned wryly. "Though we never really had any to begin with. Nothing useful anyway. And well… You know. It's not like this thing's going away any time soon. I don't want her to get worried. She has enough issues without adding this." Zipping her bag shut and slinging it over her shoulder, she smirked.
"I'll see you in three weeks. If you don't call me, I will come find you." He chuckled at that. She stopped at the door and turned, serious. "And your wife deserves to know what's going on. You need to tell her. Now." He only raised his eyebrows questioningly as the door clicked shut behind her.
Hypocrite, her conscience bit back in a heartbeat. Follow your own advice.
Sunlight flirtatiously brushed her skin as gravel crunched under her feet. Blessed silence resounded across the still, mid-morning air. For the moment, she could breathe. Tension that had wound itself like a spring inside her uncurled a little. Boris had been strangely calm, acted as if nothing between them had shifted. What he chose to keep silent about revealed far more than his words. Pinpricks scattered up her arms; something felt wrong. Rounding the corner, she caught sight of a Latino man in a suit leaning nonchalantly against her car. Every nerve in her body lit with a deep, near-paralyzing fear she'd thought she could banish from her memory. Suddenly, she was eighteen again.
The iron door slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate with it. Ominous, coal-black night reached out to swallow her, ushering her deep within itself. From the corner, a grim statue immediately came to life. Large, calloused hands searched her fatigues for any hint of treachery. Clicking the magazine back in place, he returned the gun that had become her lifeline in this world replete with demons shrieking of hell. Before her loomed one of them, broad shoulders and proud stance radiating authority.
"Caseras, we have been extremely impressed with your accomplishments. Physical and academic. You're an extremely intelligent young woman. You wish to become a doctor, correct?" She nodded curtly in conformation, unable to trust herself to speak. A malicious glint shown in his black irises that chilled her bones. "Good. You'll be transferred to the Guard division, effective immediately. We have an assignment for you."
Heart pounding in her chest, Marisa shot a final prayer to God as she came face to face with a history she never wished to claim.
"Why are you here?" she demanded, voice dangerously low. It frightened her how quickly and effortlessly she could slip back into a soldier, even after twenty years.
"Ah, Doctora Marisa Caseras. For someone with your reputation, you are an infuriatingly difficult woman to track down." A lethal smirk played at his mouth as his steely obsidian gaze cut into her. "A brilliant fantasma."
Instantly, her body hollowed out, ice crashing over her at the term. A name she had heard far too often in the army. A name soaked with blood and lethal guilt.
"What do you want from me, Soto?" Though she already knew, she needed to hear him say it.
"Me? I want nothing. Your government however..." he allowed the threat hang, knowing she could feel the noose slipping around her neck. The man chuckled darkly as he saw her eyes covertly train on the weapon holstered at his side. "It never leaves you, does it? No matter how hard you try. It will always be a part of you. As I am sure you are well aware of my reach." Straightening, he lightly kicked a tire and nodded in approval. Colonel Soto started in the opposite direction down the road. "You've done quite well for yourself, Caseras. German duke isn't he? You seem to truly love him. It would be a tragedy to see all that ripped away."
She leaned her shoulder against a door frame, eyes sweeping over the churning sea of party guests. It struck her as odd, though amusing, that a man that so valued privacy would throw some of the best parties the Hamptons had ever seen. He man in question stood next to her, stealing admiring glances as her when he thought she wasn't looking. Her exchange with Soto replayed in her mind on an endless loop. Frustrated, she shook her head, futilely attempting to dislodge the memories. This wasn't working; she needed distraction. It had been almost five minutes. Boris' eyes darted back to the polychromatic mass of humanity that had laid siege to his house as she smirked at him. Insistently, she lightly tugged his arm, refusing to surrender.
"Come on, Boris. You can't be MIA from your own party." He shot her an irked look, though he couldn't help smiling. "Dance with me. Please? Besides, you're the one that dragged me out here."
Tilting his head curiously to one side, he finally conceded with a sigh. Marisa took his hand, leading him into the throng. Gradually, he began to relax; she always seemed to have that effect on him. No pretenses, no bargaining, no deception: Marisa was the only person he could be himself around, who loved him for who he was instead of what he could give her. Subtlety sweet perfume teased him relentlessly.
"You need to unwind," Marisa declared next to his ear. In response, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her closer. Passionately, he took her mouth under his, tongue grazing her lower lip. He chucked lightly at the mischievous glint in her eyes mixed with unabashed surprise when he finally let her catch her breath.
Evan couldn't believe his eyes.
"Oh my gosh!" Furiously, he jabbed at his brother's shoulder next to him. 'Hank. Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank." Rolling his eyes, his older brother obliged and did a 180.
"What, Evan? I'm busy."
"I know, but dude." His eyebrows edged closer to his hairline and he nodded pointedly at their boss and Hank's friend/medical rival/co-worker/whatever the heck he'd come up with this week. "Boris and Marisa? I though he was one of those 'proper aristocrat' types, but I guess I was wrong." Hank signed heavily, though secretly he shared his sentiments. It wasn't exactly the novelty of the sight, especially in a room like this where a good number of people could make a stripper blush. They were tame in comparison. But he never would have thought either would be comfortable with that level of public display. Very interesting...
"Evan, it's called ballroom dancing. An extremely modified version at that."
"No, it's called sex on hardwood."
She loved the feeling of his body against hers. The effortless, fluid motion as they danced, as if they could read each other's thoughts. From the corner of his eye, Boris caught sight of Evan gawking at his lover, but shoved aside his jealousy. Marisa was a beautiful woman; he should be used to other men blatantly staring by now. But it didn't mean he had to like it. He swallowed hard as his hands slid back up to her shoulders. Instantly, anger melded with desire as his fingertips discovered her rough, raised scars, sketching pictures in the darkness of what had caused them. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he forced the enmity from his voice as he spoke next to her ear.
"You look beautiful tonight." Startled, she looked up to find him sending someone a death glare over her shoulder. She couldn't help but laugh at the seething glare in his eyes.
"You're getting territorial," she smirked. "Jealous?"
"Yes," he half growled in her ear. Something about that seemed unbelievably sexy... Marisa arched an eyebrow, urging him to explain. "The most amazing, beautiful, intelligent woman in the world is in love with me and we're going to have a family together. And you expect me not to be jealous? You're mine. Under no circumstances whatsoever am I sharing you." A hand drifted down to thoughtfully skim the gold band on his left middle finger.
"Why do you still have this?"
"I was never quite strong enough to walk away and pretend our relationship was only a dream," he admitted softly.
It had been years since she had seen that emotion in his eyes.
Taking his hand, Marisa lead him through the crush of hot bodies out the door. A cool midnight breeze caressed her skin, sending shivers up her spine. They wandered away from the hectic rush of the party, into blessed solitude and silence.
'You seem to truly love him. It would be a tragedy to see all that ripped away.'
Chilled air rushed into her lungs at the reminder of Soto's threat. Despite how much she loathed the bastard, she had to admit he was right. Startled, Boris' head whipped around towards her at the strangled sound. It was better for him to know the truth. Perhaps loosing her wouldn't hurt so much then. He thought something horridly close to grief stole into her bright eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. A single question refused dismissal; he had to know.
Come on, idiot. Five words. It's an innocent question.
"How long have you known? About the baby?"
"There's something else you need to know." The words seemed so despicably pedestrian for the ominous feeling stabbing at him.
"Just answer me first. Please."
"I'll be ten weeks tomorrow."
Ten weeks… Something about that number ate at him. Halting mid-step, Boris gently gripped her arm to coax her to face him. Bridled anger and hurt confusion stole into his voice.
"What in the world makes you think you can tell me you're with child and then simply walk away as if it's nothing?" Silence stretched between them like an archer's bow, ready to snap. Marisa's eyes hardened to harsh obsidian in the darkness, flashing with devastating anguish.
Understanding chilled his blood.
Everything she didn't say. Didn't need to.
"It's not yours," she managed to keep her voice from shaking.
The look that seized his eyes... Anger, agony, uncertainty, frustration, sorrow. And the fire blazing underneath and over everything. All born of pure, unadulterated wrath.
Shame thrust an icy blade through her chest, stealing her breath, threatening to kill her.
"Darling... Querida..." He can't even say my name.
"I'm sorry." Burning stray tears slid down her cheeks, burning her skin like acid. She pivoted sharply on her heel back towards the house, unable to bare what she saw etched into her lover's features. I'm so sorry."
Furious, he snapped his phone shut, his temper restrained by a thread. Could that man never follow directions? He knew his Korean wasn't that bad. Resisting the impulse to heave his cell out the window, he collapsed into his chair, head in his hands. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the image of the utter devastation and dear haunting her eyes. The past two days had blurred together in a dizzying swirl.
He could effortlessly handle board meetings and business negotiations with the most powerful people in the word. But the thought of Marisa pregnant unnerved him worse than anything he had ever faced. Of helplessly watching her suffer, knowing he could do nothing to ease her pain.
She hadn't even told him when her very life was in danger.
"Excuse me, sir?" Cotrell stood in the door, nervously wringing his hands before disappearing down the hall. Next to his retreating assistant stood a powerful brunette woman holding an FBI badge held aloft between her index and middle fingers.
"Special Agent Elizabeth Shields. I need to speak with you regarding your relationship to Marisa Caseras." Unabashedly, she strode into the room as if she owned the place. We have it on good authority that you have had a number of dealings with the Cuban government."
Rising to his feet, Boris silently thanked God that Eddie R. Lawson currently resided on another continent. Otherwise he might very well strangle him.
Jonathan Nduta's head snapped up at the sound of knuckles tapping on his door. "Marisa. Good to see you."
"Johnathan? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Of course." The man smiled warmly as he stood and motioned for her to follow him into the crisp night air.
"I'm sorry it's so late."
"No, it's perfectly all right. How are you feeling?"
"Physically, better. My injuries are healing. The morning sickness is still bad, but nothing nothing I didn't expect," she shrugged. Blessed silence intertwined with the hum of crickets floating through the background. Moonlight cascaded over the landscape in a sliver sea.
"And emotionally?" he prompted gently.
"Boris is as supportive as he possibly could be, given the circumstance." She drew a ragged breath. "I can't shake this overwhelming sense of guilt for everything. What I've done to him. Just the thought of what happened- I can't sleep. It's to hard to share a bed with him. Even a house. Anywhere seems too close. It's like there's this chasm between us. When we're together, all I can think about is that I'm pregnant with another man's child." Now she was restraining tears. "He finds any excuse to stay away. There's this impenetrable steel constantly in his gaze whenever he looks at me- I should have never told him." Johnathan placed a comforting arm around her shoulder like a brother. He jerked his head, beckoning for her to follow him to a bench.
"Marisa, meet my eyes. Boris could never ate you. I've seen the way he looks at you. The man is deeply in love."
"But he's also hurt."
"Yes." There way no way to deny that. "As if something within him died." He wants revenge. But I don't want to tell you that. You see it too well already.
"When your life was raped, did she ever tell you that it was her fault?"
Death seized his eyes. Memories from when they had fled the civil war and genocide in Burundi crashed over him again like the Atlantic in winter. In his mind's eye, the man who had seen too much of life nodded solemnly.
"Many, many times. I could never convince her she held no blame for what those bastards did to her." Fists clenched against the sensation of utter helplessness. Seeing Marisa endure this was like having to relive every atrocious detail over again. Taking a deep breath, he continued, voice shaking slightly. "When I close my eyes, I can still see her pleading my forgiveness, tears streaming down her cheeks in the darkness. Two days before she was murdered. She never believed me that there was nothing to forgive her for."
Marisa was so much like him. Looking at her was almost like seeing himself.
Jonathan placed a strong hand on her shoulder. The melodic lilt to his voice seemed to carry peace with it. "Patience. Healing will come. Slowly, sometimes painfully. But it will come. The Lord will never abandon you, Marisa. Even when it seems He has. That is the greatest thing I have ever learned."
Cool mettle of her watch slipped back and fourth through her fingers, cascading from one and to the other. His indecipherable expression and guarded glances twisted her stomach into knots. Sitting with legs crossed, hands in his lap, he hadn't so much as touched her all day.
"So that's good, yes?" Boris looked hopefully between Hank and Marisa. She nodded encouragingly to the other man for him to continue.
"Yeah. Um, everything looks good right now. We won't know for sure for a few more weeks if it's completely out of her system yet-." His phone buzzed obnoxiously and he snapped it open. "I'm sorry. It's Divya." He disappeared, mumbling something about Evan and idiots. As the door slammed shut, Boris turned to her.
"An agent from the FBI barged into my office today asking about you." Suddenly, her body stiffened. "She accused me of being involved with the Cuban government."
Soto has someone in the FBI.
"Do you remember anything I told you about my time in the army?"
"Yes," he nodded wearily. "Does that have something to do with why you were arrested?"
"A colonel I worked with, the one that renditioned me. He was waiting when I left Jakob Stryer's yesterday." Every muscle in his body went ridged at that. He remembered all too well. Irises turned to molten silver.
"He told me I was a brilliant fantasma."
"So he called you a phantom..." he echoed, confused.
"Boris, that is the name the Guard calls those they are sent to execute."
