Thank you to Seamagik, iluvaqt, T, darkaznangel452, JoJo2753, purplebunnywabbit, Buffy492, PyroDeScorpio2, PurpleSpinx (yes, it will end up M/A), ACE, and the anonymous reader for reviewing! They make me so happy!

AN:The original part 2 is now part 4, so if, while reading part 3, you become confused, it might be because you missed the new part 2 which takes place months before what I had written as the original part 2 (which is now part 4 and will be posted again soon). Are you all thoroughly confuzzled? Good.

Dedication: To Seamagik, because she is made of awesome and her Q owns my soul

Part Three: Calm

She couldn't focus. The air felt heavy and hot, her head was whirling, and the tiny black letters on the invite from the Seattle City Council kept blurring together. She tensed whenever footsteps sounded outside her door and bolted upright, searching for a place to hide, whenever she heard his voice echo through Command. She was trying to brace herself for the inevitable. Trying to remain cool, calm, and collected.

Her steps were light, lighter than she expected from the weight of need she felt, and she found herself at the door too quickly. The wood was warped and scratched, the bronze numbers missing, but it could have been the sturdiest barricade ever made as she stood there. Just looking.

The office door finally opened, and she didn't look up from the papers she couldn't concentrate on. She already knew who it was. The way her attention focused on the near silence of his footfalls, the way she caught his scent in the air, and the way her muscles relaxed involuntarily, told her he'd finally come.

"Are we going to talk about this?"

The knob was cool beneath her palm and she twisted it, door swinging inward. Unlocked. Open. An invitation? But no, locks had no meaning here. Not in a city full of transgenics.

He wouldn't be expecting her. She thought of turning around, but she could hear his breathing, steady and sure, breaking the quiet of the stale air.

Cool, calm, collected. "The City Council is offering Terminal City a seat." She looked up at him.

"I'll take that as a no."

His voice was light, expression pleasant, and she wondered what that meant after the way he'd looked at her last night. She remembered the way his hands had shook and how his voice had broken over her name. A warm flush started low in her body and she looked down at the letter, trying to conceal the blush working its way over her cheeks.

He was deep asleep, face peaceful, moonlight shining on him from tears in the curtains. She felt her heart clench at the calmness of him, at the way his dark lashes brushed his cheeks, at the way his chest moved with each even breath.

She paused in the doorway to his bedroom and told herself this was a bad idea.

She told herself to leave.

The letter was plucked from her hands, and she looked up at him, surprised, but his attention was all for the words printed politely on the paper. "Who are you thinking about?"

"You." The word slipped out softly, barely a murmur, and she felt her face flame when he met her eyes with a smirk in his own.

"Me?" The word was a rumble, dark and growling, the way he sounded in the throes of heat. The way she told herself she didn't remember he sounded.

The fabric of her shirt caught on roughened skin as she fingered the hem, eyes flitting over his slumbering form. He hadn't indicated he was aware of her presence at all. And really, what kind of a super soldier was that? So she stripped quickly, easily, defiantly, and still he didn't stir.

She wrapped her arms around herself, self-conscious, even though he'd seen all of her already. Even though he'd touched and tasted and marked every inch of her. Even though he slept on as she crossed to the bed, bare feet whisper-light on the floor.

It wasn't the same. This was different. No hormones, no heat…no one and nothing to blame but herself.

And still she slipped beneath the cool sheets and reached out for him.

"You're charismatic," she said briskly, unwilling to acknowledge the implication in his voice, "People like you, you're okay-looking," his eyebrow rose at that, "and I trust you to represent TC's best interests."

He leaned against her desk, and she refused to look away. His eyes were guarded, dark green with just a hint of golden brown flecks. They'd been nearly black last night. "What does Logan have to say about this development?"

Her breath came in quickly, almost a gasp, at the sudden inclusion of her…whatever he was…into this. Stay cool, stay calm, stay collected. "Logan has no say in the way TC is run," she said, pleased that she had managed to keep her tone level, "That's my job."

"And you want me."

There was no mistaking the insinuation in that statement.

"Yes."

His skin was soft, pale, dotted with freckles, and she pressed a light kiss to the scar on his left shoulder. He tensed, and she waited, lips still moving lightly over his skin. She could hear the breath he took, quick and uneven. "What-" She cut him off when she moved above him, straddling his lower body, and leaning down to catch his lips with her own.

Her hair fell around them, brushing the tips of his shoulders, her hands splayed lightly on his chest as she explored his mouth without the rush of pheromones. He shivered beneath her, still taut, and she met his widened eyes and said his name once.

And then he touched her back.

A smile spread across his face and his eyes lightened in an instant. "I like your hair like that."

She felt her jaw drop at the sudden change in him. A shift in subject and mood as if the non-existent wind had just swept the intensity away. Her hand went to her hair, twirling the end of the ponytail as it swished around her neck. The pinky of that hand brushed against her barcode and she realized that anyone could see his mark imprinted around it.

Her eyes flew to his as she tugged the rubber band out, letting the dark tangle that was her hair hang heavy against her neck and shoulders. "The AC's still busted," she informed him, "I got a little hot."

His smile, she realized, was actually more of a smirk. "Right."

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was just supposed to fuck her, like he did when she was out of her mind with need for him.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Like the way he smoothed his hand down her side as he took his time kissing her until her lips were swollen and red. Like the way he touched his mouth to every inch of her skin as if he wanted to memorize her. Like the way he breathed her name, voice hitching, as he slid inside her soft and slow.

And she wasn't supposed to cry his name like a broken doll as he moved in and out, her hands clasped tightly around his neck, his buried in her hair. She could feel his eyes on her through her lids, knew he'd be watching every feeling that flickered across her face every time he touched her so deliberately.

She couldn't open her eyes. Couldn't see what was in his. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He was still watching her, smirk in place. "Heat wave is still going," he commented, "Why don't you put it back up?"

She glared and the smirk slid into a half-smile as he straightened, picking the hair tie up off the desk and stepping behind her. His hands stroked through the sweaty mess, pulling it up gently and she bit her lip to prevent a moan from escaping at the draft of cool air. He twisted the band easily and she should quip at him about that fact, she really should. Except…

Except he was touching her again, tenderly, his thumbs rubbing against that spot on her neck where the impression of his teeth remained stamped.

Last night he had touched her like that, like she might break. His hands had been light, so different than the times before. Before he had pressed and bruised and gripped until she ached. Until the evidence of their night was sure to stay visible for at least a week.

He hadn't left a mark on her body last night.

She'd looked herself over from head to toe this morning, and he hadn't left one single reminder of their time together except the memory of his hands on her skin and his mouth hot against hers and the want that seemed to fill her every time she thought of him. They weren't supposed to work this way.

"Say it."

"What?"

"Say it," he muttered, breath hot against her neck, thick within her, "Say you're mine."

She wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, arched upward, and gasped when he managed to thrust deeper. "Alec!"

She sat straighter, cool, her chair squeaking, and he moved away. Calm. "The City Council meets on the first of every month."

He nodded, "I'll be there."

"Thank you." Collected. His face had fallen into that blank pleasantness again, and she gave a little sigh. "Was there anything you wanted?" His eyes sharpened and she wanted to take the question back.

"No." He shoved his hands in his pockets and then frowned and drew them out again. She watched the mask disappear as his eyes flickered to hers and back down. Something glinted dully between his fingers. "I just…here."

She was at the bedroom door, risking a last glance, when he woke up again. She didn't notice until she turned away and he spoke. "Stay." She turned back, clothes held tight to her chest, and looked at him.

He hadn't moved from where she'd left him. "I found some oatmeal," she informed him, "Apples and cinnamon. I left the packet by the stove."

His eyes opened to slits and they glittered green-gold in the moonlight. His expression didn't change as he repeated his request, her name tacked on the end like a prayer. And she didn't want to think about that. Didn't think at all as she slid back into the bed beside him, let him drape an arm over her and tuck her against him.

She'd wait until he drifted off again before she left.

The key was made for an apartment. Obsolete in Terminal City. They didn't use locks, didn't need keys.

She looked up and he was watching her steadily. Waiting.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She closed her fingers around the cool metal.

"Stay with me, Maxie."