A/N: What to say about this week's episodes? We learned that Guerrero has tattoos, a little boy, and negative game with chicks. Although I was pretty proud of myself for creating Zahra, a character who looks (in my head) a hell of a lot like Ilsa's sister-in-law that Guerrero thought was so hot.
Anyone catch the tattoo on his shoulder blade during the (grin) prison pull-ups scene? Butterfly?
This chap rated M for language and sexuality.
oooOOOooo
Winston glanced at Chance and Guerrero over his glasses as they stepped out of the elevator, then returned to his typing. Ames was slouched at the conference table, her knees draped over the arms of the chair so that her feet rested on the seat of the next chair over. She tore the earbuds out of her head when she saw the newcomers and eyed Guerrero eagerly.
"Ilsa asked for your report by tomorrow," the big man informed them as he hunted and pecked on the keyboard of his laptop. "She's got a call scheduled with her N.S.A. contact at 11 a.m., and she wants to fill him in on what you two found in those files."
Chance glanced at his watch. "It's after midnight now," he complained, rubbing his eyes. "I'll give her a verbal report in the morning before her call."
Winston raised his eyebrows doubtfully as if to say, Suit yourself...
Guerrero walked over to Ames and pulled out the chair on which her feet were resting. Her high-heeled boots fell to the floor with an ungainly clump. "What are you still doing here?" he asked, resting one hip on the table. He had a distinct idea what her response would be.
"Waiting for you," she replied archly, smacking her gum. "I wanted to see what Zahra had to tell you."
Grimacing unconsciously, he looked around for the doctor. His stomach contracted with unwonted anxiety.
"She's not here," Ames clarified pertly.
"But she left that for you." Over his reading glasses, Winston indicated with his eyes a white mailing envelope with a cursive letter 'G' penned on the front.
Guerrero sauntered over and snagged the envelope as casually as he could. He flipped it over to examine its exterior. It did not appear to have been tampered with in any way. When he looked up, Ames was staring at him expectantly.
"Aren't ya gonna read it?" she demanded.
"Yeah," he answered as he left the conference room. He could hear Ames spluttering behind him. Just before he stepped into the elevator, she called, "I told her about Bing Bing, jackass!"
Guerrero held the elevator door, scowling. "What's Bing Bing? A fucking panda?" Realization dawned, and to his surprise, his heart sank a little. "You mean 'Bi Ming', you mental giant!" he hollered. He let the doors shut and backed up to lean against the rear wall of the elevator. He took a deep breath, then tore open the envelope and devoured its contents with his eyes. It was a brief note written in Zahra's looping, neat script:
Yr presence cordially requested tom. eve. at Davies Symphony Hall. Concert starts 7:30. Wear a goddamn tie. -ZB
He stared at his wavy reflection in the metal doors. "Any particular color?" he asked the empty elevator.
oooOOOooo
He took the time to watch and study her before he approached the padded bench on which she was seated, reading and sipping occasionally from the stirrer of a mixed drink in a clear plastic cup. Her black-stockinged legs were crossed at the knee, and one strappy high heel was just about to slip from her dangling foot. A forest-green brocade dress clung tightly to her figure. It had a high mandarin collar that seemed very modest, but it was sleeveless; her arms seemed almost shockingly bare. Her hair was pinned up in some kind of bun that allowed a dark horse's tail to spill down toward her back. He could not make out what book she was reading.
She must have felt herself being observed, because she looked up suddenly and scanned the crowd milling in the lobby of the concert hall. Guerrero stepped forward, pointedly adjusting the knot of his tie. Her lips twitched slightly. Her brown eyes traveled up and down his body slowly. He got the distinct impression that she liked what she was seeing: black suit, black shirt, and a blue tie that echoed the color of his eyes. He flashed the lapels of his jacket open as he got close to her. "Do I pass muster?"
"Perfectly acceptable," Zahra decreed, although she was still running her gaze over him in what he hoped was an ogling.
He took a seat on the bench near her, not too close, and waited for her to start. She took a calm sip of her drink, then marked her place in the novel and tucked it into her evening bag. He noted the title just before it disappeared into her clutch: Shame. He snorted. "That directed at me?"
Frowning, Zahra followed his gaze. The corners of her lips curved up, and she chuckled. "No. I just like Rushdie."
"You look amazing," he said softly.
She tilted her head at the non sequitur and leaned one elbow on the railing behind her. "I guess police custody agrees with me." Her tone held a slight challenge. Her eyes were cool and unreadable.
Guerrero stared back at her, accepting the challenge. Christ, at least she was talking to him. "You pick this place so you wouldn't make a scene?" he asked, gesturing at the genteel concert-goers milling about.
"Oh, I'd be quite content to make a scene," she answered. "I'm not above throwing this drink in your face."
He settled himself more comfortably on the bench, put at ease by the repartee. "There's a likely-looking alley out back, if you want to step outside." He cocked a thumb, eyebrows raised.
"Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I should warn you that I am not a slapper. I do not slap," she clarified precisely. Guerrero fought back a grin of amusement. "So don't think you'd get off easy."
"Self defense classes at the Y?" he taunted.
"Three years of krav maga," she said around the stirrer of her drink.
The grin erupted, and in spades. "Dude, I didn't think you could get any sexier. I am totally about to get down on one knee, right here. Seriously." He flashed his eyes enthusiastically.
"You just want to be able to assert spousal privilege," she retorted, looking down and tugging on the hem of her dress in a gesture that was almost shy.
He lowered his eyebrows, impressed. "You have a beautiful criminal mind, doc." He thought he saw a flush creeping up her face. It was a very satisfying feeling to have made her blush.
This chick is gonna get me killed, he thought. For real.
The lights in the lobby flashed. He rose and offered her his elbow. "Better go in." Zahra rose, grabbing her purse, and leaned to throw her cup into a trashcan near the end of the bench. She hesitated for a moment, then took his elbow, clinging to his side. She stared into his eyes, but he was unsure what she was trying to express. She blinked suddenly and looked down, a little disoriented, as if she had just woken from a dream. Her fingers slipped into her handbag and emerged with two tickets. They moved toward the dwindling crowd pressing into the concert hall.
"I don't even know what's on for tonight," he admitted as they took their seats. He looked from the orchestra members filing into their rows to the program in his hand.
"It's a collection of some of the more popular favorites," Zahra answered, a little ruefully. "Beethoven's Seventh, some Mahler, Mussorgsky, I think some Dvorak...but they're doing the Elgar cello concerto, which I adore."
Guerrero pursed his lips. "His meditation on mortality, huh? Right on. Appropriate, I guess."
Zahra was staring at him.
"What? I'm not a complete philistine."
oooOOOooo
They played the Elgar concerto just before the intermission. Zahra caught her breath as the cello swung down into the throbbing low notes of the first movement's recitative and grabbed for his hand. She closed her eyes, pulsing almost imperceptibly with the rhythm. He leaned his head over to kiss her bare shoulder and saw that her eyes were shining with unshed tears. The woodwinds entered, lending their own reedy strength to the ostinato. He sat back and released himself into the passionate ebb and flow of the melody. When the cello swirled up into full crescendo to be joined by the entire crashing orchestra, her fingers tensed, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, trying to tell her a thousand things with that one physical expression of understanding. Her tears began to flow freely.
Zahra tilted her head back when the house lights finally came up, batting her eyelashes and wiping the moisture carefully from her cheeks so as not to smudge her make-up. He waited, sensing that she had something to say. After she had composed herself, she leaned over and spoke very quietly into his ear. "There's only one thing I want to know.
Guerrero held his breath.
"Why was simple intimidation not an option?"
He knew she was talking about Millner. He put his arm around her shoulders, and his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "Intimidation requires the target to be able to reason logically. This guy was a fanatic. He couldn't be trusted to think or act rationally. I couldn't take the chance that he would ignore a warning and come after you a second time. Maybe successfully."
Zahra stared down at her hands folded in her lap. "I should hate you."
Guerrero brushed his lips against her temple, pulling her tighter. Idly, he stroked the bare skin of her upper arm.
"But there must be something wrong with me," she murmured miserably, "because I don't."
He wanted to tell her that this was all on him, that she bore none of the guilt for Millner's death. But he knew that she would never accept that, so he just held her in silence, breathing in her scent.
oooOOOooo
She let him snake his arm around her slim waist as he walked her to the parking garage. A light mist of rain was falling. He held her tightly to prevent her slipping on the damp sidewalk in her high heels. She snuggled against him and shivered. "Want my jacket?" Guerrero offered.
Zahra pursed her lips. "Not packing tonight?" she asked, eyes flicking toward his lower back.
"Ankle holster," he assured her.
"A true gentleman. But, no, thank you." Her heels clicked on the cement and echoed around the parking garage. He kept an eye on their perimeter. "Something wrong?" she asked, noticing his alertness.
He shook his head. "Just ordinary precautions. I'm not letting anything happen to you."
"Nothing's going to happen to me," she retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Exactly," he agreed.
She smiled, detaching herself from his grip, only to grab his hand and pull him down the aisle after her in the direction of her Jeep. "My hero."
"You bet your sweet ass," he drawled, gazing at the body part in question as he trailed after her. Her backside twitched particularly pleasingly in the tight, dark green dress.
Zahra let go of his hand to fish around in her clutch-purse. "So where's the El Dorado?" she asked, pulling out her keys. She looked around expectantly.
Guerrero made a face, as if she had said something ridiculous. "I don't pay to park," he scoffed.
She laughed, unlocking her driver's side door. "Does that mean you're, like, eight miles down Van Ness?" Without waiting for a response, she popped the release to unlock the passenger side, then gave him a gentle shove. "Get in. I'll give you a lift."
Zahra found an open space behind the designated permit-only zone in which he had parked the Cadillac. She squinted at his windshield through the rain-splashed, tinted glass of her Jeep. "Do you have a ticket?" she teased. She looked at his face to see how her joke had gone over, but he was staring at her in the dim light from the streetlight on the corner.
"Anti jamilah," he murmured after a moment.
She smiled, almost sadly. "No, I am not beautiful," she insisted. He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off. "But...wa anta ajmal."
He pursed his lips and winced in embarrassment.
"Have we plumbed the depths of your Arabic repertoire?" Zahra guessed, smirking.
"Chance may have taught me that one line on a flight to Khartoum," he admitted. "He used to know this Sudanese girl, who...well, it was a long time ago. So what does wa..." He paused in confusion.
"Wa anta ajmal," she prompted.
Guerrero repeated it carefully. Languages were not his strong suit. "So what does it mean?"
She lowered her eyes shyly. He reached up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "It's the traditional lover's response," she said quietly, flushing, "for when a man tells a woman that she is beautiful. It means 'and you are even more beautiful'." Still avoiding his eyes, she bit her lip, then leaned toward him, reaching for his chest. "Speaking of which, let me see how we're doing here." He knew she was only trying to distract him, but his nipples still tightened expectantly around the steel rings. He watched with amused interest as she flicked his tie over his shoulder and began to unbutton his shirt. She tugged his undershirt out of his waistband and slipped her hands underneath, lifting the white cotton carefully. Her hands were cool against his flesh. "You've been soaking them, right?" He leaned back slightly from the hips to allow her a view of his nipples. She fingered the rings ever so gently. Electricity shot immediately down to his groin. "I'm a little surprised you didn't take them out, to be honest."
He shook his head, not trusting his voice. Her fingers fell still, growing warm from his skin.
"They seem to be healing well," she commented. "She didn't suck on them, did she?"
"Who?" Guerrero asked in sudden confusion. He saw the look on Zahra's face. "Christ, Ames really did tell you. I figured she was just sweating me."
"Oh, yes. She was quite outraged on my behalf."
He wrinkled his nose and turned his head to regard her out of the corner of his eye. "Are you? Outraged?"
She was still staring at his chest, her eyes in shadow. "It's none of my business who you fuck." Her lips put a peculiar lilt on the final verb. "But sucking on the piercings would interrupt the healing process."
He leaned forward and, cupping the back of her neck with his hand, spoke distinctly into her ear: "They weren't hers to touch."
Zahra closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. When her lids fluttered open, she met his eyes and licked her lips. Then her fingers set to work again, stroking his nipples more firmly now, in a far less clinical manner. Liquid waves of desire rolled down his torso and pooled in a growing erection. He could not restrain a quiet "fuck!" of amazement. She watched his face intently, her breath slightly labored. "Is this what it feels like to you? To chicks?" She produced a tiny smile that only swelled his hard-on. He bit his lower lip, stifling a moan of pleasure as she continued to rub him. The stimulation almost overwhelmed his nerve endings. "Now you're going to say, 'I told you so'," he guessed in a trembling voice.
In answer she leaned forward and set her tongue flicking against his right nipple. He groaned shamelessly. Gathering all his strength, he wrapped his hand in her ponytail and tugged her mouth away from his chest. She stared up at him, unafraid. "You are bad news for me, darlin'. You know, Chance almost got into some major trouble yesterday because I was thinking about you instead of paying attention to what I was doing."
Her brown eyes glowed mischievously, and she dug her nails slightly into the flesh of his chest. "So I probably shouldn't tell you what I was thinking about to entertain myself while the cops were interrogating me?"
Guerrero jerked hard on her hair, dragging her head back toward the nape of her neck. Her lips parted, and her pupils dilated even as he watched. It was like a drug to her, this thing. "You told me a secret once. That you don't like to kiss."
Zahra nodded, eyes fixed on him like a snake's on a mongoose. He clenched his fist a little tighter to pull her hair some more. Her breath caught, and her eyelids fluttered. It was starting to feel like a drug to him, making her react this way.
"I'm going to kiss you. And you're going to kiss me back. Got it?"
She nodded dreamily.
Guerrero brushed his lips against hers experimentally. She neither pushed him away nor jerked back. Heartened, he took her full lower lip between his teeth and mouthed it gently. She let her eyes fall closed. He kissed her then more firmly, but chastely, close-mouthed. She leaned more of her weight against him. Daring to go further, he parted her lips with his tongue. To his surprise, Zahra sighed and twined her arms around his neck. She let her jaw fall open, accepting him willingly. She definitely was not acting like a woman who hated this. After a moment she even pushed her tongue into his mouth, controlling the kiss. He moaned deep in his throat with happy encouragement. She pushed her fingers into his hair.
He broke off and looked at her. Her eyes were wide, her lips already swollen. She was breathing heavily. He dragged her across the center console and pulled her into his lap. She came willingly, balancing herself in the passenger seat with one knee on either side of his hips. Grinning, he pulled the release to allow his seat back to recline. Then his hands slid up the back of her thighs to hike her dress up and allow her legs to part more easily. Settling her weight on him, she pushed her tongue between his parted lips and licked the ridge of his top teeth. He found the act oddly intimate and endearing. At last she claimed his mouth with her own, but he thrust his tongue into her, demanding total surrender, and her gasp sent a thrill coursing along his spine. Her fingers tangled themselves languorously into his hair. Her body was warm and soft and curvy against his angles. The kiss seemed to last for hours, and he buzzed with sensual pleasure. But soon he became all too aware of the way in which her hips were rolling against him, thighs tensing. His erection pressed demandingly against the zipper of his dress pants. Her little noises of pleasure sent his imagination spiraling.
Guerrero broke from the kiss and rested his face in the crook of her shoulder, fighting to get his breath under control. She was panting in his ear. He fumbled for the zipper at the back of her neck and tugged it down. She shimmied to help him drag the dress all the way down to her waist. He kissed her throat, then walked his lips down her throat and toward her shoulder, shoving the strap of her bra out of the way with his nose. Zahra arched her back to thrust her breasts toward him. Obediently, he tugged one bra cup down to expose her soft mound and closed his mouth around the taut brown nipple. She shuddered with pleasure as his tongue laved the sensitive pebble. Soft cries escaped her throat. Her pelvis rocked against him.
"Sean," she sighed happily.
He hummed encouragement and began to tug her dress up. She moved her hips eagerly to help him.
Sean.
He froze. In a second he had her arms pinned behind her back, and she gave a sob of pain as he cranked threateningly on one wrist. His eyes were blue flames. "What did you call me?" he barked.