Please see Ch 1 & 5 for disclaimers… lots and lots of disclaimers….

And today I'm adding more, specifically for this chapter. Remember how I rambled on before Ch 1 claiming at one point many of you would want to hit me on my head (and perhaps worse) during this story?

Yeah, we're at that point.

I promised in the first "disclaimer" section that we'd get to the Rizzles and we ABSOLUTELY will. It's just slow going kiddos. I think if you look hard enough the threads are already there.

But I'm a new author (term used loosely) around here and why would any of you trust me? So I wrote a one off titled "Marathon" that I'm posting right after this chapter. It is completely unrelated to Run. It is also a total bolus of Rizzles fluffy M stuff to rinse your eyeballs out with after sticking with me here.

In summary: This isn't a chapter for the kiddies dear readers. Let's call it M on a few levels. Please, please go read Marathon after this chapter if you want to hit me. It's my attempt to show that Run will get there.


Maura was positive she'd have a bruise from where her shin repeatedly hit a crate corner on the ride up from the main clinic. The two hour trip was exhausting and uncomfortable. Conversation seemed pointless and nobody bothered trying to engage her. The terrain was dotted with people moving towards the main Kaabong camp, swaths of brush and winding, spindly, trees.

After arriving late morning the entire team spent the day reviewing notes and seeing patient after patient presenting with the same overall weakness, difficulty breathing, headache, nausea and vomiting. Ian's notes showed cases where some people seemed to improve and survive while others dropped into convulsions, gasping for breath until they lost consciousness and eventually died. Everything was too vague to be definitive. So many diseases from malaria to malnutrition could lay claim to the same set of symptoms.

The heat meant bodies were quickly processed. Maura would have to wait before she could see if there was an internal indicator and she tried to repress her frustration. She could only imagine what people would think. Probably that she wanted someone to die. She snorted, hardly. It was just a given that somebody would, probably tonight, and until that event happened she felt superfluous. The anxiety that caused had her pacing in the bunk tent, alone for the moment.

She heard a guitar tuning up and thought briefly about joining but even the consideration made her tense. Ian was still in surgery and she just couldn't muster up the strength to cope with the nuances of interpreting a new group of people. The sun was lowering on the horizon but there was still enough light to see. Grabbing her journal she wandered off.

When Ian found her, Maura was perched on his boulder from the other night, studying the landscape in front of her. Her leg drawn up, journal balancing on a knee creating a makeshift table to rest her elbow on, thumb gently tracing the left side of her neck.

The sun was setting and the image made him smile. He'd been here many times before, scouting her out at the end of the day. He noted subtle changes; age had replaced the casual posture and soft curves of youth with an almost feline elegance. The wire rim glasses perched on her nose were new.

Time had only enhanced her beauty.

In the past they'd almost had a game. Ian would track her down and try to casually sneak up on her. It never worked, no matter how absorbed she was in her reading or writing some part of her always knew where he was. Side by side, it was in those moments where they'd had long conversations about any topic or dream that crossed their minds and with her he'd found peace.

He waited behind her, watching the sun slowly drop. He scuffed his boot on the loose dirt and pebbles trying to hint he was there. Maura shifted, her thumb stopped tracing her neck and her other leg came up as she rested her chin on both knees, arms grasping her calves, lost as she contemplated the horizon.

He waited another handful of minutes before he quietly left.

The bourgeoning colors in the low light of late day reminded her of her old place in Charlestown on the harbor. On a night like this she'd be up on the roof deck watching the night settle over the city, colors bleeding away to night. Jane had always loved that deck and she'd begged Maura not to sell it for the place on Beacon Hill.

Unbidden memories of times on the deck, bottle of burgundy open, mood and conversation dictated by the day. Shared laughter, tears and passionate debates peppered with times of quiet reflection. Both of them wrapped in the smell and sound of salt water jumbled with the low buzz of urban life.

Tears started to form when she realized she'd been tracing her scar. Anger came precariously close to the surface and she drew her knees closer, clasping her hands tight, arms around her calves, desperate to prevent the reflective habit. She had traveled thousands of miles to get away from Boston and the second she had a moment to relax it was the only thing on her mind.

Not Boston, Jane. Sitting there she buried her forehead on her knees as she tried to push it all away.

She'd spent hours sorting through the events, and every data point could be explained in a perfectly rational way. She'd read every report, sifted through every memory over and over.

The data was undeniable. It was a storm of avoidable and unavoidable decisions cumulating in a perfect cascade of dominos, defined and precise in hindsight.

Data did not conclude that years of friendship could be destroyed by a simple series of events. But the result was trending towards undeniable.

Once the chaos of the months following the shooting slowly cleared, Maura realized in herself imposed isolation she was left to cope on her own. She was so angry but there was no one to talk to and that hurt. And the more she hurt, the angrier she got at Jane and the angrier she got the more she needed her. It was perfectly illogical and for Maura, who enjoyed the precision that came from logic and order, it scared the hell out of her.

It was the fear one night that finally fueled her frenzy to save some semblance of herself from the emotional shambles of her own confusion. Several glasses of wine later she came to the only decision she felt she could. Maura needed to leave Boston.

Wine in hand she had stumbled exhausted and drunk towards her bedroom knocking one of her tribal masks off the hallway wall. Somehow that hollow eyed echo of her time in Africa brought a sense of stability and calm in the middle of her personal storm. Resolution made, she had finally slept well that night.

She just wished she could say the same for every evening since then.

Maura abruptly stood getting her bearings in the dark, lightly rubbing her forehead where her knees had pressed before heading back with determination. It was enough, enough thinking, enough tragedy and enough preoccupation with a past she could not change.

From the shadows painting a picture through the tent wall Maura knew she'd find Ian hunched over his card table using the solitude of the field lead's tent to review the day's notes and plan the staff workload for the next day.

Pulling down the zipper on the netting and slipping her way in she was met halfway. She placed her fingers against his mouth briefly as she slide her other hand slowly up his torso to the back of his neck and standing on tiptoes brought their lips crashing together.

Her name passed through his lips on a whisper and his arms came around her, gliding down, grasping her bottom, pulling her closer as he supported her weight, losing himself in the moment.

It occurred to Ian as she lay naked beneath him, spine arching forward encouraging him wordlessly to touch and take that other than a gentle whimper as he bathed her breast and drew her nipple between his teeth that Maura was silent, a change. He traced his way back up her body, lips ghosting along her neck and forehead as his hand smoothed down her stomach.

Maura could feel his knowing touch pressing lightly on her stomach before drawing through her wetness. She bit his lips lightly as he shifted his other leg to part her legs, his erection tracing along her inner thigh. She needed this, needed him in her, reaching inside and touching her deeply. Her hand moved between them, her grasp knowing, testing him and running her hand down his length before bringing him to her.

She sighed in relief, feeling him fill her and reached her hands around him to trace his back and around to grasp his rear, feeling the muscle flex as they began to move together.

He tangled his lips with hers as his breath became more labored, pulling away and noticing that her eyes remained closed, another change. He paused briefly while he still could and waited for her hazel orbs to flick open before the sensations forced his body to move and her eyes slid closed again.

Ian held out as long as he could before giving in and allowing his orgasm to rush through him. He shuddered surprised. With Maura he never came first. He kissed her deeply, hands that knew her body well traveling between them, touching stroking, teasing until his whispered "come then love" had her grabbing his back reflexively on a shocked grasp.

Maura felt the warmth of release lingering as she regained her breath. She had wanted to desperately to come with him, she had struggled on the edge, willing herself to just let go. She buried her head in his neck, grateful he was thoughtful as she rolled with him to her side and stayed there feigning sleep until he drifted off. Gently shifting herself free, she slid back into her clothes, disturbed by the hollow feeling that remained untouched.

She paused before leaving his tent, admiring his long, powerful grace, before she slipped out, more disorientated and conflicted than when she arrived.