Refuge


An arm tightened around Gillian while she slept. She felt a hand twitch by her side. She opened her eyes slowly, and looked up from her tightly wound position.

The harsh light of the single light bulb in the room poured down on her. A shadow rested on the wall behind her; the tight knit shadow of her and Nik.

She could feel the heat rise from his body, to warm her under the thin blankets that draped around her. He snored peacefully above her, breathing heavily, and she closed her eyes as she pressed her ear flat against his chest, let the motion of his breathing calm her.

For a moment, it was peaceful.

But she wasn't sure how long it would last.

The house was quiet around her and she took the opportunity to relax for a moment, let her shoulders fall against Nik to meld her body against him. She placed her palm flat against his chest, and tucked her fingers under the thin jacket he wore to rest against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He did not move under her touch and she continued to trail his chest, working her way toward the thin rubber mask that hid his face.

With delicate fingers, she wound her way under the Kennedy mask, and reached his skin; felt the stubble on her fingertips. She smiled as recognition began to unfold for her; he hadn't shaved in days by the feel of it.

His hand wound quickly around her elbow and her back straightened at the suddenness in his movement. His breath returned to normal and he released her elbow gently, left her fingers on his skin.

She placed her palm flat against his cheek. "Let me see your face," she whispered and trailed his skin laced with a thin layer of sweat.

He rolled her on her back and lifted himself, placed his weight on his elbow. He was silent above her, said nothing but pushed his face against her hand and allowed her to draw the mask over his chin, his lips.

A square jaw protruded for her, young with slight stubble, and she inhaled slowly as she rolled the mask up over her nose. He caught her forearm quickly before she could go any further, and turned to place a kiss to her palm. They stared at one another as he leaned forward, pressed his body slightly against her side, and kissed her forehead. He released her hand and wrapped her arm around his chest. He brought his hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek.

"Do you know I'm nearly half your age," he asked, a slight smile spreading to his lips. He pulled his mask down over his face and lifted himself to look at her.

She narrowed her eyes on him; her nose wrinkled. "What are you implying exactly?" she asked, and pushed a gentle knuckle into his ribs.

They laughed together and the sensation warmed her, heat flushed through her cheeks.

"I'm not implying anything," he said, lowering his voice. "You're a thousand times amazing, Gillian, and if things were different..." He reached down to take her hand and leaned forward so she could see his eyes under his mask. "God," he whispered."It's got to be those eyes of yours."

She smiled, blushed again, and brought her hand to his chest. She felt his heart beat strong under her palm.

"Does your partner know how lucky he is?" he asked running his fingertips over her hairline.

"I hope so."


The fleet of black Suburbans roared down the Dwight D. Eisenhower Memorial Highway, speeding quickly toward their destination. They ate up the road in bounds, as cars veered to the sound of the roaring engines behind them. Red and blue lights lit up the sky.

The midday light was beginning to fade and the clouds had lifted from the city; had pushed themselves away now rid of their blessing, the white they had spread over the land.

Tree tops glittered with fresh snow reflected the sun's rays in tiny particles. Cal looked out the passenger side window at the trees roaring by and thought of Gillian.

The fleet turned from the highway and traveled at a quick pace down another road. They were tossed slightly with each bump, with each pothole, but the road was no match for the suspension and shocks of the heavily suited Suburbans.

They turned again, down another pothole infested road, bumped and roared on.

Gradually their speed slowed, gradually the suspension on the truck eased, and the fleet pulled onto a gravelled road. They crept forward, turned left and right, down one road and onto another.

The road began to turn to gravel and narrowed. The trees around them, uncut and unattended to, scraped across the roof of the truck, pushed them, funnelled the fleet into a tight line.

They slowed to a stop and instructions rang through the communication devices in the squad.

"We're going to have to travel the rest of the way on foot."

Cal Lightman jumped from the truck into the deep snow and tread forward to meet up with his team of agents.


Gillian closed her eyes to the sensation of Nik's fingers tracing her hairline. She sighed and smiled; surrendered to it so readily that she felt the tightness tugging at her middle.

"Are you cooing?" he asked, a slight chuckle rising through his smile.

She opened her eyes drunkenly, and squinted. "Maybe."

They heard the clicking of the lock in the door to the room and Nixon entered swiftly. He looked down at Nik, at Gillian, and shook his head.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," he gasped.

"The end of what?" Nik asked releasing his hands from Gillian's face.

Nixon came toward the cot and pulled Nik from Gillian, tugged him by the collar of his shirt. "Say goodbye to Gillian," he said gruffly and pushed Nik toward the door.

"What do you mean goodbye?" Nik asked, tension rising; fear spreading though this voice. Bush appeared quickly in the doorway and grabbed him by the arm. "What's going on?" he choked back.

"Help with the truck. Get packing," Nixon stepped toward them threateningly. "Go now!"

Bush tugged Nik by the arm. "Wait!" Nik called out. "What's going on?"

Nixon tugged Gillian by the arm and pushed her toward the door. She looked over her shoulder as he pushed her toward the opposing room at the end of the short hallway. She read the familiar panic in Nik's body as Bush forced him up hollow stairs.

"Ms. Foster and I are going to go have a little chat."


Cal inhaled deeply as they approached the small wood cabin set amidst a line of evergreens.

The team spread out before him in perfect tactical positioning, leaving Cal and Ben Reynolds behind. They dug themselves under brush, stood behind trees, and lined the cabin perfectly; tucking away, out of sight, dressed in their camouflage. They melted with the snow and waited. The air was still. Not a single sound was heard around them.

Safe, and out of sight, Cal exhaled loudly, and shook his hands anxiously.

Waiting.

He was never good at it.


Gillian was pushed forcefully into the room. Equipment cleared, she barely recognised it, searched high and low for familiarity.

The room now had a haunting to it and she wondered what it was, turned her head to the right and saw what was causing it.

A single chair.

A thick rope hung from the ceiling over it, turned on itself in an expert knot.

She gasped as dread spread through her quickly. "No!" she screamed and he pulled her arms behind her as she struggled, forced her chest forward. She felt a familiar feeling tighten around her wrists, heard the zipper sound as the tie wraps clicked into place.

"Oh yes, Gillian," he breathed into her ear. "You didn't think there was a place in all of this for you, did you?" He laughed shrilly and forced her forward.

The muscles in Cal's neck twitched as they waited, and waited, and as he took a step forward, he was pulled quickly back by Ben's tight grasp.

"Lightman," he whispered. "Wait."

There was suddenly movement in the house and the front door opened. Two masked men exited the cabin.

A tall, burly figure in a Barbara Bush mask pushed a smaller man in a John F. Kennedy Jr. mask aggressively down the cabin's wood stairs. The figure in the Kennedy mask shrieked toward the figure in the Bush mask, and was a perfect distraction for his burly counterpart, as the fleet swarmed and expertly took both patrons down in one expertly planned swoop.

The forest returned to silence again; eerily so.

Cal could not wait.

He pushed forward, met up with a team of agents as they swarmed into the cabin quickly.


Gillian saw the gun holstered at Nixon's side as she was forced to sit on the wood chair. She leaned to the side, shied away from the noose that hung over her head threateningly.

He turned to her quickly placed plastic ties around her feet before she had time to react. She spat at him, made contact with his mask, watched as it rolled down Nixon's cheek.

The hand met the side of her face swiftly and she exhaled, allowed herself a cruel chuckle as the blood pooled in her mouth. She turned again and spat again, hit him in the eyes through the mask's holes.

He hit her again and she fell from the chair to tumble painfully on her side.

"I'm tired of your bullshit, Gillian," he complained, picking her from the floor, throwing her, returning her to the chair.

"Fuck you," she oozed, letting the hatred tumble from her. She spat again.

He removed his mask quickly and threw it to the floor and she met his eyes freely for the first time. Long dark, greasy hair sprang in the air as he jumped toward her, grasped her jaw with one hand. Dark, fiery eyes met her, and he barred his teeth for her. They glistened in the light above them.

"No," he mused, lifting her head so her eyes could meet the thick rope above them. "It's you that's fucked Gillian. This is where it all comes to end."

He smacked her face lightly, playfully, in an attempt to toy with her. He drew himself away and pulled a video camera from the floor to his left. He presented it to her, waved his hand over it like it was a prize.

"I thought maybe you'd want to say something," he said turning on the camera's power, pointing the lens at her. "Maybe something for Cal?"

Gillian glared at the man holding the lens, searing his image into her memory. She sucked her cheeks in and spat toward him again. He jumped from her spray, shaking the camera in his grasp.

"Fuck... you..." she repeated breathing heavily.

The man shook his head and narrowed the lens toward her. "I don't think Cal would like that very much," he gasped. "Come on Gillian, play along."

She remained silent, glared back at her attacker, hatred swallowing her dark blues.

The man nodded slowly and placed the camera on the floor. "I know what's missing from this equation," he said and moved toward her swiftly.

He pulled the rope from the rafters and lowered it. He draped it over Gillian's head, tightened the noose while she squirmed. He lifted her promptly onto the chair, made her stand above him. He quickly tightened the rope against the wall where it was tied tightly.

He stood back, gaped at her and pulled the video camera from the floor again.

"Now that we're in a more compromising position, and you see I mean business," he smiled looking up at her, mocking her fear. "Now do you have something to say to Cal?"

Tears streamed her face and she gasped as the blood trailed her throat, as her lungs sucked for air.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, looking into the lens. The tightening in her chest was unbearable. "That's its come to this. That I never-" she gasped, choked back the fluid that formed in her. "Never had the guts to tell you what you mean to me. I love you, Cal and I don't think you ever really knew. All those times that I pushed you away, made you fear the line. If I had the chance, I'd take it all back."

The man lowered the camera from his shoulder and nodded in agreement. "Now that, that was touching, Gillian. Way to play along." He turned his back to her and lowered the camera to the floor.

She wept profusely and looked toward him, eyes pleading. "Please, I beg you," she gasped. "Leave me; just go! I won't tell anyone anything; you can run. I wouldn't say a thing. I never saw your face! I never knew anything!"

He approached her and placed a foot to the edge of the chair. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen."

They both turned their heads to the sound approaching the room; braced themselves as agents swarmed onto them.

He drew his gun and pointed it toward them. He gasped frantically and looked up to see Cal Lightman enter the room, arms flailing.


"WHOA! WHOA!" Cal screamed entering the room through the small sea of agents. He waved his hands to the side. "Let's just calm down."

He looked up to Gillian who stood, her eyes wide with fright, pleading. She mouthed something but he could not make out what she was saying. His sights quickly fell to the chair she stood on, to the foot that pressed firmly to its edge.

He looked up at Alexei Kovalenko, at the hurt and anger he shot back at Cal. His hand shook on the gun.

"I'd say you have me in a compromising position, Alexei," Cal said calmly, moved slightly from the group of armed agents. "You care to talk?"

Alexei smiled cruelly. "A lot good that will do," he said shaking his gun. "A lot of good it did for my father."

"Your father was a spy son."

"He was innocent."

"Far from it, I'm afraid." He held his hands to the side slowly.

"He was used," Alexei gasped. "A pawn in a game. He never wanted anything from the Soviets. He never wanted anything."

"He sold sensitive material back to his country, son." Cal sighed slightly. "Been doing it for almost as long as you've been breathing air."

Tears ran down Alexei's face, and the hatred shook him slightly. "He was used; was told to do that. Our family left Russia to start a new life here, and you turned on us. You terrorised us; terrorised my mother. Our friends, the people who we thought loved us, turned on us because you made us out to look like criminals!"

Cal was silent; let the emotion run within the young man in front of him.

"And then you left my mother alone, and I watched her fall apart. I watched her slowly fade away until she couldn't hack it anymore. And then she left me and Nik and again, the US government, land of the free and home of the brave, looked down on two little kids with so much spite; you left us with nothing."

Cal took a small step forward and pointed toward Gillian. "Look, mate, I'm sorry for what happened to you, but she's got nothing to do with this."

Alexei shook his head profusely. "No," he waved his gun toward Cal. "She has everything to do with this. She has everything to do with you." He looked around the room nervously. "I want to see you suffer, Lightman, I want you to know what it's like to lose everything. To suffer like my mom, like me and my brother did. I want you to wake up every day and know what real loss is."

"But that's not fair to her, son."

"Life's not fair."

His foot shook and the chair budged, tipped slightly, and Gillian clamoured.

A single bullet rang out through the air, echoed against the empty cement walls; hit Alexei square between the eyes.

The chair rocked slightly and balanced itself back on four legs.

Agents flew in all direction in the room.

Cal flew to Gillian's side and cut the ties at her ankles. His hands trailed her legs to support her weight at her knees. He looked up at her slowly, watched as the colour left her face as Ben cut the ties to her hands. Her hands shot to the rope at her neck and she fumbled with it; fought against her emotions to remove it from around her neck.

She fell limp into Cal's strong arms and she wrapped her legs around him as he brought her gently down with him, to rest on the floor.

She writhed on top of him, clung to him tightly and pulled at his hair. She gasped into his ear, and he relished at the sensation of her warm breath against his skin, at the strong heart beat that pushed against his chest.

"Oh, thank God," he exhaled as he wrapped his arms around her, as he let his hands trail over her, memorising every inch of her body. He soothed himself with the feeling of her weight pressed against him, at the smell of her hair as he buried his face into her neck.

He held her tightly; felt her body shake as the emotions coursed through her. Tears welled in his eyes as her pain tugged at his core.

"It's all right, love," he said, speaking against her neck. "I've got you."

She shook again, and refused to pull from him as her fingers pressed into him. She grazed her fingers over his back in fluid motions in an attempt to crawl further within him. "I want to go home," she choked. She forced the air into her lungs, forced the words to fall from her. "Take me home."

She continued to writhe against him, and he rocked them together slightly.

"Let's get you home."


A/N: Comfort... upcoming...