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Chapter 11

In the late afternoon, they find themselves quietly enjoying the sun from separate hammocks in a pavilion near the water. Marta swings gently, absently letting her toes rake the sand. "What was training like?" She asks out of the blue.

He eyes her for a moment, considering the amount of detail he should disclose, not because it's classified, but because it was a grueling time in his life, not a glamorous or James Bond-like experience. Eventually he'll tell her more about witnessing cognitive degrade first-hand, about learning how to switch his emotions on and off, and how to kill with his bare hands, among other weapons.

For now, he'll keep it light. "It was a double-edged sword. For the first time in my life, I could process information and see an end to a means. I was happy to become…who I am."

He pauses.

"I guess you could say that, in theory, my abilities went to good use for my country. But it just wasn't that simple. I had to do things that I'll always regret."

Another pause.

"I'm thankful for my second chance. I was meant to be like this." He points to his head. "Not like Kenneth. But sometimes I wonder if I'll always be part machine, even without the Program telling me what to do."

Marta nods and tilts her head as though she's waiting for him to continue. He decides to switch gears:

"I learned basically everything that SEALs do but with more specialized training in close quarters battle, weaponry, linguistics, survival in remote environments, aircraft training…and a lot of other stuff."

"So you can fly a plane?"

"Commercial airliner, single engine, drone, Black Hawk…you name it." He doesn't mind showing off a little.

Marta's eyes grow wide. Aaron considers telling her about how he trapped and wrestled a wolf once, but he decides to save that story for later. He doesn't want her to forget that he's human too.

"I always liked close quarters battle. It's an art: eye contact, agility…the human body. Man against man."

Eyes still wide, Marta's expression shifts a bit. Aaron can tell that she's intrigued by his last statement, turned-on even. "You're pretty good at it, from what I've seen." There's a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

That lopsided smile returns to his face. "I better be after all the beating I took in training."

"I always wanted to learn how to defend myself."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, for years."

He cuts her off by rising to his feet and offering his hand. "Come on."

She eyes him suspiciously.

"I'll teach you. Come on."

He pulls her into the sand then stops to face her.

"Fighting position. Chin down. Eyes up. Hands up." He demonstrates, and her eyes drift toward his flexed biceps. He takes her hands and gently lifts them, as if she's a life-size Barbie doll turned boxer. He folds her fingers into fists and steps back to mirror her. "Step back with your left foot. Good." He smiles at her, his student.

"You strike with your whole body, not just your fist. You're not going to fight like a girl." He shows her a jab and a cross making sure to emphasize the full-body motion. "Try it," he says.

Marta's eyes narrow as she takes her first practice swings. Aaron enjoys the flexion of her muscles under her milky skin.

"Good." He explains how anything is fair game in a confrontation. He shows her how to use her elbow to the body or to the head, her heel to the toes or shin of an attacker. In the direct sunlight, they begin to sweat. The lesson becomes more intense, and Aaron is impressed by her athleticism. I wouldn't have guessed that she could move like that. Damn.

"What do you do if someone attacks from behind?" He's given her some pointers, but he wants her to be able to react quickly. He steps behind her, placing his front foot between her feet and securing one arm over her shoulder and neck. "What do you do?" She hesitates, but not for long. He's gripping her firmly, but not in a threatening way. She raises her elbow to his temple and her heel to his shin. Of course, she does so gently not wanting to hurt her "attacker."

Freeing herself from him, she turns to face him and returns to her fighting position. "That's it," he says. She smiles through heavy breaths.

"Hit me," he instructs. "Come on."

"I don't want to hurt you," she argues.

"You won't. Come on."

They're both speaking through heavy breaths now.

"Are you saying I'm not capable of hurting you?" Marta has a competitive side.

Aaron uses her challenge to his advantage. "Yeah, that's right," he returns with a mock menacing smile.

"Oh, you're going to regret that," she replies ready to come at him.

"Come on," he taunts.

Marta lunges at him then, sending a right hook toward him with impressive force. Aaron ducks, catches her hand in his, and pulls her against him. In what seems like nanoseconds, they hit the sand in a fit of breaths. Aaron has her pinned beneath him. With her body still stiff against him, she resigns herself to defeat.

"That's not fair," she whines.

"You almost had me," he says. "You hit pretty hard for…"

"You better not say it," she warns in a husky whisper.

"…For a girl." Marta playfully swats his arm and goes limp with a dramatic defeated sigh. Aaron has never felt so alive. Without a thought, he leans down and nips at her ear. When he catches her eyes again, he notes that her breathing has slowed and her expression has changed. They've been here before: the same expression, the same position. That night on the fishing boat…

Marta initiates the kiss this time, tentatively raising her head to press her lips to his. He cradles her head and gently eases her back to the sand. This time, he is confident in deepening the kiss, and she engages willingly, desperately.

Marta's hands are in his hair, and she can't recall a time when she didn't want this; Aaron has been a constant in her life since she left Maryland, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since then, since Manila even. In this microcosm lifetime, he has become her everything.

The kiss continues until several local kids run past them toward the water, stirring up enough sand in their wake to break the contact. Their eyes follow the children until their feet hit wet sand. Then, their attention returns to one another. Aaron gives her a gentle smile and sits up, pulling her with him. They sit quietly for a while: her head on his shoulder, and his arm wrapped snuggly around her.

When dusk falls, they eat with Malaya's extended family. They are accompanied by the soft rhythm of waves and nighttime insect songs. Nature reminds them just how alive they are. It feels like another century comes and goes before they're back at the cottage.

Predictably, they reach for one another as soon as Aaron shuts the door. The kiss continues where it left off, and Marta's hands are back in his hair, as Aaron's explore the curve of her lower back. She shivers, and Aaron stores a memory of the sensation in the back of his mind. Marta's hands drift through his hair, to his neck, and slowly down his chest; it's his turn to shiver. They break the kiss only long enough to catch each other's eyes. Marta grips the hem of his t-shirt and begins dragging it upward slowly. Painfully slow.

He feels the need to say something, but his voice – or maybe it's his vocabulary – fails him.

"Marta, I…"

She shushes him gently. "Let go, Aaron," she whispers, cupping his cheek.

He swallows nervously and nods. "You're perfect," he breathes. It's the first thing that comes to mind.

"So are you." With that, she pulls her own shirt over her head granting him permission to explore. He needs no further invitation to lose himself in her perfection.

The rest of their clothes are eventually tossed aside as well, and for once, Aaron is pleased to be wearing flip-flops. At least they're easy to take off, he muses while recalling his initial hatred for such useless footwear. He's found ecstasy in the removal of all physical barriers that once separated him from Marta. Finally, it's skin against skin, man against woman, and he likens it to his description of close quarters battle: an art. Making love is an art.

At some point, they find the bed, as hands and mouths continue to explore. To Marta, it's as though they're moving fast and slow at the same time. Desperation keeps them constantly reaching new heights, and the desire to savor each instant keeps them holding back just enough to prolong the thrill.

She loves the way he touches her with such confidence, yet with a kind of innocence that is his own. There is an intensity in his touch that could never be matched by the lovers of her past. Not even close. She's dying for him to take her, and she's unabashed to beg.

"Please, Aaron…"

He knows what she needs, and he needs it too, but he has to hear it so that her need consumes all of his senses.

"I need you…"

He kisses her softly, his brow furrowed in a new kind of pleasure, as he acquiesces. His eyes are on hers unfailingly, making sure she feels no pain. Finally, they are one.

Aaron cradles Marta's head as he'd done that afternoon in the sand, and the mutual need for closeness presses them together. Aaron isn't afraid he will hurt her; she pulls him ever closer, deeper with each movement. They move slowly as they become accustomed to one another, reading each other's eyes between kisses.

Marta adores the way he trembles slightly against her. His vulnerability leads her to wrap herself around him, and for a moment he lets his head fall to her neck, so taken by pleasure that he's unable to support its weight. He shivers as her hands run through his hair and pull lightly.

"God, Marta…" His breath is hot on her neck before he devotes his mouth to that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder.

"So good, Aaron, so good…" Aaron reduces Marta's vocabulary to only adjectives and his name; this alone gets him so close to his height. If his enhanced ears could feel pleasure, he's sure they'd have reached nirvana by now.

Lost in new sensations, Aaron suddenly realizes why this has been forbidden: he's completely unaware of everything except Marta, and thus, they are dangerously vulnerable.

There's no turning back.

And yet, he realizes that he doesn't want to go back to a time before they shared this. All he wants – all he needs – is to be with her in every possible way…even if together, they are in danger.

Tentative fingertips brush his cheek. "Let go, Baby…" she soothes in a half-whisper, half-moan.

Sometimes I wonder if she can read my mind…

Taking in the image of her fluttering eyelids, flushed face, and sweet sheen of sweat, he can't help but give himself over completely. He kisses her fiercely, coaxes her leg tighter around his waist, and lets go of every fear that's ever plagued him.

Aaron can't fathom a word worthy of describing their peak. They already read each other so well that it's possible to attain their height together, and they ride it out to the chorus of each other's name and "God" cried aloud over and over…until all that's left to do is breathe.

Still one, they continue to kiss and shift slightly to relax. In her previous relationship, Marta had enjoyed the sex, but this – holding one another – had never been a priority. Tonight, though, she notes her intense desire for Aaron to remain in her arms and as close to her as physics will allow. She is relieved when he collapses against her with no intention of breaking their contact.

He lays his head on her chest, and she loves the way they fit together in this position. She holds him there, his head cradled under her chin, and he tightens his embrace when her fingertips drift over his cheek and into his sweaty hair. His eyelids are heavy with sated exhaustion. He brings his hand up to rest against her chest, and she strokes it adoringly.

The remainder of the evening is spent in subsequent passionate encounters interspersed with episodes of deep, satisfied sleep. Every time they wake to the changing tide, desire returns in full force.

Finally, perfectly entwined, they settle into the sheets to sleep covered in sweat and unable to lift a limb. As Aaron drifts into unconsciousness in the early morning hours, a fleeting thought passes through his mind:

So, this is what love feels like…

Indeed, the same thought crossed Marta's mind that night. Nevertheless, it was a thought that would remain chained to their minds for the time being.

Too soon to verbalize such a loaded sentiment, Aaron whispers the next best thing as Marta sleeps in his arms: "I'll keep you safe, Marta. I promise."