A/N: Thanks for your reviews and messages!

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The sight of the unyielding steel so close to her soft flesh made her naseous. It would be a simple thing for him to carve into her face, to turn her into a monster.

Maybe he's testing you. And stop looking at the damn thing before you panic and make an ass out of yourself.

Samantha tore her gaze away from the knife and focused on his face.

"Figures." she told him. "Man of your word my ass."

He laughed at the comment and loosened his grip on her head. Her scalp still stung and she was sure he'd torn a decent sized chunk of hair out.

"And I thought I had a death wish. Look at you, smarting off to the guy with a knife to your face. And anyway.....you don't know what I'm gonna do with this. Yet." He waved the switchblade at her, grinning slyly. His free hand grasped her chin firmly and the knife left her line of sight. That bothered her more than seeing it and her struggling began anew. She tried to ger her knee into position to nail him.

Only do it as a last resort. But if you hit him you better make it count. He can handle pain better than most people. Slam him in the balls, take him out of commission long enough to run to your bedroom and get your gun.

He shifted his weight onto the leg she was trying to move, knowing what she intended to do.

"Oh Sam, Sam, Sam. Sure-ly you're not planning on kneeing me in the ah, nuts are ya?" he taunted. "What happened to the love you supposedly had for me, hm?"

"It went out the window at around the same time you stuck a knife in my face." she responded. She quickly realized she'd made yet another mistake by saying that but it was too late.

You just came out and admitted you loved him dumbass. He'll never let you live that down. Matter of fact he'll probably use it against you.

It was absurd that she even cared about it at this moment. He had her pinned to the floor with a switchblade in his hand and she was worried about her pride.

His fingers tightened on her chin like a leather-clad vise. "This distrust you have for me.....is tiresome. What do I have to do to.....prove to you I don't want to hurt you? Yeah I kill people, the ones that need killing anyway. But I don't want to kill you. If I didn't know any better I'd think you want me to....just so you could be right. Hey....didya know Patterson had a wife and kids?"

"Yes." she answered quietly.

"Did you feel bad for them when you found out he was dead?"

"No." she replied honestly. "I never gave them a thought."

"Ex-actly. You think you're so different from me but you aren't, are you? You didn't have a problem with me doing away with people that hurt you. Ya know.....you'd think saving someone's fucking life would be enough to gain their trust. But no....not with you. Think about it Sam. I've killed two people for you. That cop and Patter-son. Well, I woulda killed him anyway but I had you in my mind when I set him on fire."

His face was so close that his mouth was right at hers. His eyes were full of sadness, anger and other things she couldn't place.

"You see, you made an impression on me right from the start. I watched you and watched you and watched you and hoped that one day I'd get tired of you and then I'd be able to go on. You're the only reminder I have of my past. Everything else I destroyed or left behind. Except for you. I never should have come back....I know that. I told myself for a long time that if I came back you'd be disgusted, that you'd run from me."

His eyes shut for a moment, as if he didn't want to look at her. Samantha could tell this bothered him, he was opening himself up to her in his own way and he hated it yet was still compelled to do it. All thoughts of escaping faded and she laid still underneath him, waiting on him to continue.

His tongue darted over his lips nervously and he went on. "And I knew that if you did those things I might have killed you for it. See I can handle that from other people but I didn't know if I could have handled it with you. So I stayed away."

"I wouldn't have. I told you......"

"You make me weak Sam." he interrupted in a voice so fierce she was sure he was about to stab her to death right then.

The shock of him saying those words hit her hard. He was saying the same things she'd thought to herself dozens of times in the past few weeks. How many more of his thoughts mirrored her own?

His eyes glazed over again, he was shutting down and she shook her head helplessly.

What can I do? What do I say? This thing between us....it can't work. Can it? No matter what he says I'll always wonder if one day he'll turn on me. And the things he does.....oh damn what do I do?

He gave a sudden movement, a swift upwards stroke with his knife hand, and she gasped in fear, thinking this was it. He'd made the decision to kill her. She felt cool air on her exposed skin and lowered her eyes in horror, half expecting to see herself gutted. Instead she observed that he'd cleanly sliced her shirt up the front. Another quick twist of his wrist and he cut the front of her bra open. His gaze slipped over her exposed chest and his lips crashed over hers, a low growl erupting from his throat as he forced his tongue into her mouth.

Arousal coursed through her like an electric current but she lay still, letting him have all the power. Through her haze she felt the hilt of the switchblade thrust into her hand and then his own hand forcing her fingers around it.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered when he finally pulled away. The handle was warm in her hand and she shuddered to think what he wanted her to do with it.

He didn't answer her. He moved down her body, stopping to lick and nip at her breasts. The interspersion of pleasure and pain left her breathless and she forgot about the knife, fixated on the feelings he gave her instead. The blood from the wound she'd reopened was still damp on his face and she ran her fingers over it regretfully.

At her touch he looked up. He saw the blood on her fingers and tilted his head curiously.

"Don't feel guilty....you've done exactly what I wanted you to. This...this is why I like you, why I can't stay away from you. You're just too damn fun to leave alone."

She gave a short laugh, unsure of how to respond. He didn't smile back at her, his expression was serious.

"Why did you give me the knife?" she asked quietly.

A wicked smile crept across his face. "Stop asking questions." His hand stroked her lazily, going lower and lower. He unfastened her jeans and trailed his tongue down her stomach, making her jump. She realized then that he could do damn near anything and she would end up forgiving him.

So this is what being dickmatized means. I used to laugh at women who were like this....and now here I am.

"Your pants. Off." he commanded, tugging at them impatiently.

"No. Not right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "Never thought I'd hear you say that. What's wrong, got a headache?"

Samantha raised up a little, still holding the knife. "I want you in my mouth." she said.

He sized her up, not moving. His gaze went to the switchblade and she knew what he was thinking. He wanted her to use it. Just like in the old days when he'd craved pain, had requested for her to hurt him. Evidently the hitting hadn't been enough.

"No." she said, letting the knife slip from her fingers onto the floor. "I won't do it."

"C'mon, just a little. Just a little cut." His hand crept up the inside of her thigh, stopping when it reached its destination and rubbing gently. "All the pain I've put myself through. The beatings from the Bat, the fights with mob guys...all of it and nothing compares to what you used to do to me."

His voice was a seductive growl and it was hard not to cave but she stood her ground. "I said no. Not right now anyway. Maybe...maybe if you do what I want I'll do what you want."

How easily we're slipping into our old games. Only now the power exchanges will have a whole new edge.

To her surprise she realized she was up to the challenge. As dangerous as the game might be she was willing to play it.

"What was it you said again? About wanting something in your mouth?"

Her face went hot. "You're really pushing me, aren't you? Want me to beg or do you want me to get rough?"

"Pick the knife up Sam."

"No."

"If you don't I will."

She shrugged nonchalantly but her heart beat faster and not entirely in fear. As risky as it was she wanted him to take control.

He snatched the knife up and was on his feet in an instant. "Oh...I see now." he smirked, looking down at her."I see how you want to play." Not waiting on her to respond he beckoned her to him. "Come here. Don't get up....do it on your knees."

She complied eagerly, stopping in front of him and waiting.

I really ought to feel ashamed but I don't. Fuck it, I want this so bad.

"Get to work." he snarled, twirling the knife in his hand. He looked menacing, as if he could kill her without a second thought. "Do it just like I tell ya to. Understand?"

"Yes." she nodded, staring up at him. This was a game they hadn't played often and the thought of it made her wet.

His hand stroked her hair gently. "Take it out. Now." The stroking turned into a vicious yank and she winced.

"Oh, does that hurt? That's nothing Sam." He laughed and she started to question the prudence of what she was doing. Nonetheless she unbuttoned his pants, pulled his zipper down. He was already hard and she bit her lip in anticipation. When she wrapped her hand around him he inhaled harshly and she smiled to herself. One of the best parts of this was having him in the palm of her hand. She controlled the pleasure she gave and she knew she could make him lose control easily.

"Doitdoitdoit." he moaned.

The doorbell rang, making both of them jump. They looked at each other in almost comical surprise.

"Hey Sam!" a voice yelled through the door. "I know you're home. Let me in!"

Brian.

"Your friend is really getting on my bad side." the Joker snarled in frustration.

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A/N: I was going to post this yesterday because of the anniversary of Heath's passing away and his Oscar nomination. However I was nowhere near finished with the chapter.

A year ago today I came home from work and heard the news. I remember saying "Oh my God no." out loud. Of all the famous people that could die at any time he would have been at the bottom of my list. Hell, not even ON the list. Eventually I cried. I've never cried over any famous person. I've always had a sort of disdain for most of them. But not Heath.

Heath was special. When I saw him in Monster's Ball I realized that. I knew that this kid was talented. Incredibly talented. Not only that he was achingly gorgeous yet accessible. In his acting he had no vanity and he was totally fearless. The beefcake pretty boy thing was not for him and he fought it tooth and nail. And the more I found out about him the more I liked him and almost felt like I knew him. He was one of the few actors that could make me feel something, who could convey a bittersweet longing without so much as a word. And he was an incredibly nice, compassionate, warm person. Heath elevated acting, turned it into an art form and thing of beauty. He was too good for the business he was in.

And so one year ago today I sat reading the details of his passing in disbelief. It's still hard to believe. I never knew him but I miss him terribly. It may sound odd that I feel so strongly for a stranger but to me he wasn't a stranger. I only wish someone had been there with him that day. The thought that a guy who was so well liked and famous died alone when he was obviously having a rough time hurts me. I'd like to think he's in a place where his pain is gone and that he's looking down at Matilda and rolling his eyes at his Academy Award nomination, just like Gary Oldman said he would.

Love you Heath.