Simone woke up at mid-day feeling hollow and raw. She lingered in bed looking at the mountains and wishing she were just like them: dead stone and eternal silence. She wished she didn't have to explain anything and they could just move on.

The smell of frying onions wafted through the crack under the door and Simone's stomach rumbled. She took her time in the shower washing the blood off her thighs and afraid to touch herself there as if suddenly it was a part of someone else's body and not hers. It had certainly had a will of its own last night: first surprising her with pleasure she didn't know was possible and then shutting down completely, reminding her of who she was and who she could never be. For a moment there she had almost believed that Michael's skill — and love — was enough, but the memories reared their ugly heads all the same.

Clad in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, Simone stepped out into the kitchen. Michael's eyes found her at once and looked over her worriedly. He had already set up two plates and heaped them with tofu scramble and stir-fried veggies. A pot of coffee was simmering on the stove. Her heart ached with gratitude and guilt as she sat on the bar stool and peered at the food. Michael was doing so much for her, he was trying so hard and all she could give him in return was a nervous breakdown. Even though the food seemed delicious, she doubted she could swallow one bite of it, her stomach was so full of knots.

'How are you?' he asked simply looking at her from across the counter.

She shrugged and swallowed a lump in her throat. A sudden cold gust of decisiveness filled her lungs.

'Listen,' she said. 'You can always go back on your word. I won't hold it against you. This marriage was always… a fiction, anyway.'

A cup fell out of Michael's fingers and shattered to pieces on the floor. He didn't seem to notice as he leaned over the counter and lifted Simone's face by the chin.

'You're my wife,' he said firmly. 'It's real to me. Unless… you don't want me.'

His breath was ragged and hard as he pierced her with a searching stare. Simone's lower lip trembled visibly.

'I can't give you what you need,' her voice cracked with pain.

'Do you think I need physical relief?' he kept burrowing her with his eyes.

Simone shrugged.

'What kind of marriage would be without it?'

Michael shook his head and breathed out loudly. He went around the counter, sat next to Simone and took her hand. His fingers trailed softly over her knuckles.

'You can feel it, don't you?' he whispered.

'Of course, I can'.

Simone tilted her head to the ceiling, her eyes overflowing with tears. She could feel it the first time they met when he behaved like a jerk and left her with a cracked rib. She could feel it in the dingy apartment in Brooklyn watching him moan with nightmares. She could feel it in Section as they discussed mission plans and acceptable collateral. She tried to hide it, of course, even from herself at first. But pretty soon she knew: Michael was the only man after her father that she could find no fault with.

'Tell me why it's so hard for you,' he pleaded covering her fingers with fluttering kisses.

Simone gave out a long sigh and looked out the window, as if her past was unfolding right there.

'Do you know how an abortion is done?' she asked.

'Not… in detail,' Michael froze with dread.

'I told you that abortions and gun wounds were my father's bread and butter,' she began. 'Gun wounds were fine, he could do them with his eyes closed. But abortions required precision… and a smaller hand.'

'Did he make you perform them?'

'He didn't exactly make me,' Simone shook her head. 'I offered my help when I saw he was having trouble. He instructed me step-by-step. After that, he said I did marvelously. I didn't even realize what I was doing. I was ten years old.'

Michael felt nauseated but he kept holding Simone's hand and waited for more.

'It's quite simple, really,' she continued, her voice heavy with tears. 'You take an instrument, sort of like a spoon with sharp edges, and you insert it inside the cervix very carefully. Then you make a scoop, just like ice-cream. That's what my father said, ice-cream.'

Cold sweat broke out on Michael's back.

'Then you put it in the trash and keep the woman on the table for fifteen minutes. Watch that she doesn't bleed too much. Talk to her if she feels like it. They rarely do. They just keep staring into space, totally frozen. Some of them cry. Even those who say they don't want the baby. My father explained that it was the hormones. The body keeps producing them and sending them to a place which is already hollow. The body is panicking even if the woman wants to believe otherwise.'

Michael tilted his head and had to wipe away at his own tears. He still did not understand how it was all connected.

'We can be very safe,' he whispered.

'It's not about that,' Simone shook her head. 'What I'm trying to tell you… Before I even knew what sex was, before I had the chance to feel affection for anyone, I was dealing with the gravest consequences of it. I was scooping life out of women and watching their agony. And I don't know how it can be any other way. It's not like we ever delivered babies.'

'I'm sorry…' Michael breathed out lost for words.

Simone finally looked at him and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

'I want to be with you, Michael,' she said. 'But my body doesn't know how. And I'm not sure it ever will.'

Michael put his arms around her and breathed in the smell of her hair.

'I'll be here when it does,' he whispered and kissed the top of her head.

They spent the next three days quietly navigating in each other's presence: sharing meals, taking long walks and telling stories about life before Section. Over such a short time Simone got used to Michael's tender touch and was even sad when he didn't attempt to hold her hand or breath down her neck while helping with a coat. She learned that he had the most musical laugh and was easily amused even though he had to hide it from Section. He missed his parents and the little sister, all of whom had died in a car crash a few years back. His physical appeal and numerous talents barely even registered in his head. Among the things he took for this trip was a book of French poetry and a very sharp chef's knife. His hair was often disheveled and unruly but soft as silk. He liked to walk barefoot on the cold tiles and didn't allow anyone in the kitchen when he cooked. He took his coffee black and had exactly one cup per day. Every evening he went out for a run, even now, during their improvised honeymoon, and when he returned, he smelled of cedar and salt.

Simone collected these little details in her head and could not believe that this extraordinary man was not just someone she watched from afar. He was 'her Michael'. Her lawfully wedded husband and her only friend. Her first spark of desire which burned brighter with every passing hour.

It was their last morning in the cabin. Simone lay on her side and looked at the sleeping form beside her. Michael's features were unusually relaxed, the skin smooth and gleaming in the soft light. A graze of stubble covered his cheeks and neck and Simone reached out to touch it. She trailed tenderly to his chest and bit her lip looking down where the thin sheets were unable to hide his ever-present readiness for her. Michael's eyelids fluttered as he woke up and smiled at his wife.

He was about to say something but Simone put a finger across his lips and whispered:

'Lie very still.'

He obeyed feeling her hand slip under the sheets. His breath snagged as her fingers closed around his hardness and started to move.

'I don't know what I'm doing…' she blushed.

'You're doing just fine,' he replied shakily and titled his head deep into the pillows.

He couldn't believe it was happening so soon. He had promised her to wait for as long as she needed, still these last few days had been a slow-burning torture. He had tried cold showers and exhausting runs up mountain trails but his body knew the only reaction to his wife's proximity.

'Yes…' he breathed out as she revealed him from under the sheets and her other hand cupped his sack.

Simone began to stroke him faster and his hips moved involuntarily to her touch. His heart was beating a frantic rhythm, his breath shallow and ragged. He didn't need long of this wonderful treatment, the first tremors of an upcoming bliss already flashing inside him like lightning. In a moment Simone surprised him even more as her mouth closed around his pulsing tip. He jerked violently and opened his eyes. It took all of his will power not to finish right there and then.

'You don't have to do it,' he pierced her with his gaze.

'You don't like it?' she teased and stroked him harder.

Michael breathed out a sound which was half laugh and half a torment. He put his head inside the pillows again and let himself feel. Simone took him in her mouth once more and began to suckle. Her tongue beat the sweetest rhythm to his tip as her fingers kept tightening at the base.

'I'm close,' Michael managed, his mouth dry and his thoughts in a whirlwind.

Simone repeated her ministrations with the doubled force. Michael cried out and jerked with his hips trying — and hating — to escape her mouth. She held him firmly and cajoled his release with the persistent flicker to the most tender part. He grabbed the sheets and arched into her deeply, his voice fevered and coarse, his heart bursting inside his chest. She drank his juices hungrily, savoring them on her tongue, feeling her nipples tightening and wetness pooling in her underwear.

As Michael was starting to come down, he pulled her to himself and gave her a deep long kiss which echoed with tremors at her core.

'Are you sure you've never done this before?' he breathed out huskily, a smile playing over his lips.

'I'm glad you liked it,' she murmured hiding her flushing face in his chest.

'That's an understatement,' he laughed softly still shaking with the last remnants of ecstasy.

His fingers trailed inside her panties and pressed precisely between the wet folds.

'We're gonna be late for our plane,' Simone tried to squirm out of it but Michael started a relentless rhythm along her clit.

'There are other planes,' he whispered and rolled her on the back.

An hour later, still shaky and glowing after two orgasms, Simone got out of bed and started to pack. Her body still burned with the memory of Michael's two fingers lodged deep inside of her and of their persistent demand of her highest pleasure.