AN: Title comes from the Seether song. (Stands for 'fuck me like you hate me'. Guess they wouldn't allow that on the jewel case?) Thought it suited them, given their…habits. Hell, they'd probably be BFFs with Zsasz, but that body count would be awfully high, so let's not go there.
Jackie Rippner-Don't we all? I did not learn teamwork. I did, however, learn that laziness knows no bounds.
Guest-Thank you, and wish granted.
Guest-Same guest? Different guest? Matters not-here you go.
It's been a long job. Long hours spent in a car-then a delay, thanks to weather-before the old bastard finally did as he was told. He's been taken out-can't leave evidence, after all. As far as anyone who knows him is concerned, he had a heart attack on the train. Tragedy. (Modern medicine is amazing.)
It's over now, but they're both on edge. There's a reason they don't work together often-it's like putting a pair of jungle cats in a cage together. They'll tolerate each other, but sooner or later there's bound to be a quarrel.
They're not sure what started it. Maybe it was cleaning his knife for the thirtieth time. Or maybe it was redoing her ponytail for the fortieth. Either way, they're both now bruised and a little bit bloody-those sharp table edges, ouch-and he's got her pinned against the wall, fingers just a bit too tight around her throat, her knife pressed a bit too hard against his stomach. Both are breathing hard.
"You gonna kill me, Jack?" She doesn't even try to move his hand. There's no point. "Go ahead. I've got time to take you with me."
"Then do it." He could rip the knife from her hand, but it's not worth the slashes he'll get doing it. "Go ahead."
Neither moves for a long moment, then there's a flurry of 'remove clothes without giving up what leverage I have'. It's not particularly successful-shirts unbuttoned, zippers undone, and that's about it. But it's enough, as their bloody, gasping kisses will attest. More than enough.
When it's over, they're bleeding again, slick with sweat and out of breath. There's no winner here. But she withdraws her knife and he loosens his fingers and they step away from the wall.
No words are said. They share a shower, but it's more because they're both about to drop and sparring for first shower is not worth it right now. When the water goes cold, they get out and fall into bed. They're out for maybe two hours before a phone rings.
"Rippner." She rolls over. Her throat's swollen. He's got a beauty of a shiner, though-she'll consider them even. "No, sir. No, sir. First thing in the morning."
He hangs up and settles back under the sheets.
"What's goin' on?"
"I think he was checking to make sure we didn't kill each other." he says. "But we're wanted at work in the morning. Debriefing."
Fine. But she's sleeping now, and if that phone rings again, it's going over the balcony, and him after it.
"G'night, Jackson."
Cool fingers stroke the back of her neck before moving down to that spot between her shoulders.
"Good night, Jill."
THE END