CHAPTER 9 – WALLS
Sierra touched the floor with her nose, then pushed her arms up, her body as straight as a board. She put one hand behind her head and did another twenty press ups one handed. She switched to her other hand, then to sit ups, then to stretching – yoga, almost. But... jokingly, during her training in London, Victor had called it killer yoga. She felt a pang of guilt and pain. Victor was dead. She had known him since she was nineteen – that had to mean something, right? But what really upset her was she hadn't known him – he had been her partner for eight years, but she didn't even know his real name – and he had never known hers. She hadn't known anything about him, his family, his history... He was older than her, he had been about twenty-three when they met. In killer yoga. Sierra laughed.
She stood in the corner of the gym. It was part of a huge underground army barracks just outside of London. She felt strange being so near such a famous city when she had never seen it – she had been flown straight to the base.
The black shorts and army green t-shirt she had been given felt strange – despite her well toned body, she was sure they looked odd. She surveyed the other recruits – she thought she was the youngest. Most of them seemed to be in their mid-twenties. Post college, probably. She felt uneducated and stupid. She was also late. They had started in October – she would be behind in everything.
And yoga? She had thought spies would learn martial arts, but instead they had been told they would be doing yoga...
"Hello. You new?"
"Hello," she said, mimicking his British accent.
"That's very good, but you don't fool me."
She sighed. "I'll get better," she said, hitting her t's harder in an attempt to recreate the crispness Brits seemed to have.
"What's your name?"
"I'm K- Sierra."
"Nice save, Sierra. Don't worry, it'll get easier. But they ask you all the time – and if you say your real name you get a rotten punishment like latrine duty for a week, or running round the room singing in your underwear."
Sierra laughed. "Singing in your underwear?"
"Don't believe me? Just you wait. He does it to everyone."
"Who does?"
"Gunner."
"That's a name?"
"He's one of our instructors. You really are new."
"What's your name?"
"K- Victor."
Sierra laughed and he winked at her.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a grin. She smiled back weakly.
"Fake it, Sierra."
"What?"
"Smile. You're going to have to do better than that, or you'll be singing in your underwear before lunchtime!"
Sierra grinned, pushing back all the pain into a place inside herself she hadn't even known existed. It hurt like hell, and it was hard. But Victor smiled too. She kept it up.
"Tell you what. I bet you a song in the canteen with no underwear at all, that I won't have to sing in my underwear this month."
"You don't believe he does it?"
"I believe it. I don't believe he'll do it to me."
"For an American newcomer you sure are confident."
Sierra must have been a better actress than she'd thought. She winked, ignoring the knife sliding into her heart.
"Will you take the bet?"
Victor held out his hand and she shook it firmly.
…
Victor stepped up onto the table, a blush already flowing onto his face. Sierra giggled. He began tapping his feet on the table. People turned to look, and began to clap along. Charlie sat down at the piano and played the familiar chords. Sierra laughed. It was a fantastic choice. Victor peeled off his shirt and threw it at her, then unzipped his trousers and pulled them down with his boxers, flinging them in her direction too. Sierra gasped. She hadn't been quite sure he would go through it.
He stared into her eyes, singing straight to her, ignoring the cheers of their classmates, dancing and clicking his fingers. He had a great American accent – the perfect Billy Joel.
About halfway through the song she realised he might be making a point. A point about them... And boy was he cute.
"Remember how I found you there, alone in your electric chair, I told you dirty jokes until you smiled..."
All the boys were singing along by this time, and Sierra was lost in a sea of cheering bodies. The song ended and Victor got down – he made a beeline for her still stark naked save his combat boots.
"What d'you think?" he asked.
She handed him his boxers.
"It's alright." Her English accent was perfect now, even Gunner couldn't find fault with it. Victor left his boxers off and looked down.
"Just alright?"
Sierra followed the direction of his eyes.
"It's lovely, Victor, now put your shorts on."
He grinned and put on his boxers.
"Want a drink?"
"We have yoga in the morning."
"Not yoga. Killer yoga. And being hungover makes killer yoga easier."
"I don't want a drink."
"Me neither, stupid idea. Want to go for a walk?"
"Where? Around the base? We'd get shot."
Victor laughed. "We could escape for an evening."
"How?"
"If you agree it's a date, I'll tell you."
Sierra thought about it. In a month she had become so used to pretending, forgetting the girl she used to be, growing into Sierra, that she almost felt ready. She knew what Victor wanted. She had known by the way he was looking at her. And she thought she might want it too. She was young, and she had a feeling Victor would be a lot better than the limited selection she'd been treated to in Senior year and her first semester at Stanford. Limited in both quantity, and the individual capacity of the parties involved.
She bit her lip, then nodded. "Okay. It's a date."
Sierra kicked her leg into the air again, finishing her killer yoga routine. She missed Victor. They hadn't been together for years – their brief 'relationship' had quickly dissolved into a sort of friends with benefits situation. It had been inevitable – if your job was to hide your emotions, it was impossible to be emotionally available. But he'd had her back, and she'd had his. And he was very, very much more than alright. She realised she had acted as though they knew each other, even though they didn't. She wished she had known him just a little more. Poor guy.
Rick was standing in the doorway. She didn't know how long he had been there, but her gut said no time at all – she would have felt it.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Sierra thought about Victor again, and went to put her hand on Rick's shoulder.
"No. I get it. I know why you want to know me. And I'm sorry that you can't."
He nodded, and instinctively pulled her into a hug. She tensed, but he held her tight and she found herself almost relaxing in his arms. He laughed into her hair.
"You need a massage. Or some good sex."
"What?"
"You need to relax. Really relax. I'm good at both..."
She laughed. "You can give me a massage if I get to pick our next activity."
"What'll you pick?"
"Depends on the massage."
"Can we go in the bedroom?"
Sierra thought about it.
"Leave the bedroom door open and keep an eye out."
"But you can't keep an eye out. You'll be relaxing."
Sierra laughed. "If you can really get me to relax, I'll tell you something else about myself."
"Promise?"
"Only on the level of purple."
"I don't mind. I like things on that level."
Sierra wondered what the hell she was doing. She was about to let Rick give her a massage. But... she was bored. And she'd never had a massage. She laughed at herself. Now she was a little nervous. Rick fetched a towel from the bathroom and handed it to her. She suddenly registered that she would have to take her clothes off.
"You can trust me," he said smiling.
"I'm keeping my gun with me."
"You can't shoot me – you're protecting me."
"Right. But I can knock you out with it."
"Mean."
"Hypothetical. I won't have to, will I?"
"'Course not. Shout when you're ready. I'll try to find candles and Enya."
"No Enya. Or candles, in fact."
"You're so boring. Incense?"
"We don't have incense. Go away," she said, shooing him out of the room. He closed the door, and she took off her shirt. She ran her fingers over the spider's web of scars on her torso and sighed. Again. Why did she need him to like her body? He knew what her job was, he would expect the scars. And if he preferred clear skin, that was his problem. It had all been his idea.
She undid her bra and touched the scar in the centre of her chest. That one had been a bitch. At least Rick would never see it. She slid off her leggings and after a deep breath, her underwear as well. She was plucky, it would be fun. Rick might even be surprised. She heaped the clothes into a pile then lay on her front on the bed and put the towel over herself. She wondered why people who weren't holed up in safe-houses with hot authors ever got massages. It was just so awkward.
"Come on writer boy," she called, and she heard him open the door.
"I couldn't find incense."
"Because we don't have any."
"It's like we're married. Shh. You're relaxing now."
Sierra shuddered at the thought. Marriage. Yuck. She heard Rick rub his hands together and blow on them – warming them up for her.
"Ready?"
"Blow my mind, writer boy," she mumbled.
Rick stared at her body. He had known she was beautiful – he had seen her in her underwear before. But he had never looked at her properly. The dim light of the bedroom gave her skin a golden glow; the shinier, scarred skin was noticeable, but not at all negative. Rick felt the urge to trace his finger along each jagged line; to embrace this part of her that he found so fascinating.
He shook himself. He was thinking as though she was... as though he... He bit down on the inside of his mouth, then pressed his fingers into her back. He was a good masseur, he had learned from a girlfriend in college. Sierra was very quiet – he wondered what she was thinking as he felt her muscles first tense at his touch, then slowly loosen.
Sierra felt herself drifting away into darkness; she put her head on one side and opened her eyes to make sure she was still awake. She saw Rick standing beside the bed – he didn't see her looking, and she quickly closed her eyes again so he wouldn't find out. She tried not to make a sound as his hands ran over her body. She had thought it would be difficult – but it wasn't really erotic. It was sensual, and tender, and even... no, she wouldn't think 'loving' – but it wasn't sexual; neither of them were thinking of it that way. He was bringing them closer on a different level, trying to soothe her into friendship.
Half an hour later she felt like a puddle on the bed. Rick was sitting on it beside her, combing his fingers through her hair. When he finally took his hands away she had to stop herself from begging him to put them back.
"So?"
She turned her head to face him. "That was the first massage I've ever had. I like strawberry milkshakes. And you're the only person not related to me who has ever played with my hair."
Rick grinned.
"Three things."
"I'm very relaxed."
"What do you want to do now?"
"Honestly? I want to sleep."
"Me too – just looking at you makes me drowsy."
Sierra laughed. "Then let's sleep."
"Excellent plan. Is it okay if we both do?"
"I'm so relaxed I don't care. It should be fine. If not... at least I'll die happy."
She realised too late that she'd implied she wanted to sleep in the same bed as him; that it would make her happy. He got up.
"I'll take the bathroom first – so you can get changed."
She laughed inside that he'd said changed rather than dressed. He really was sweet – nothing like the papers made him look. She pulled on a t-shirt and panties then tapped on the bathroom door. He opened it. He was brushing his teeth. She raised her eyebrows. He was brushing his teeth with her toothbrush.
"We bought you one of your own."
"I like yours better. It tastes like cherries."
"How can mint toothpaste taste like cherries?"
"I guess you must taste like cherries."
He handed her the brush without rinsing it. She popped it straight into her mouth – she was so used to being confident it came naturally to her when people were watching. Being with Rick was... odd. She could feel the sexual tension zinging between them all the time, especially when they were so close together – but she was so relaxed, and even the toothbrush thing felt more like a laugh than something more than that. She decided Rick must have been being very careful not to put pressure on her.
He left the room for her to finish up, and when she went through to the bedroom he had made up the bed, but wasn't in it.
"Pick a side," he said with a smile. "Or, if you want to do a starfish, I'm happy with the couch."
"Do a starfish?"
Rick winked, then threw himself onto the bed, stretching his arms and legs out in a star. Sierra grinned.
"I've never slept like that."
"You should try it. It's very liberating."
She laughed again as he rolled off the bed.
"Go on, just try it."
She flopped backwards in the same position he had just been in, and grinned up at him.
"It really is comfy. Don't know why I never thought of this..."
Rick winked, then shoved her gently to her side.
"I was lying about the couch."
She laughed and slid under the comforter, closing her eyes and letting the relaxation wash over her. She couldn't decide whether he'd broken down her walls or strengthened them. She came to the conclusion that it was a bit of both, and maybe walls were just too simple an explanation.
Rick listened to Sierra breathe and felt it soothe him just as his hands had soothed her. He told himself it was because he was afraid, because he was alone and away from home, and people were trying to kill him. He told himself he was just comforted by the company. He told himself the growing feelings he had for her were only in his imagination, and that he liked being in bed with her solely because he felt protected.
Sierra had a dream, in which she told herself over and over that it wasn't real.
Neither of them were convinced.
