AND AWAY WE GO
Darkness had just fallen, and that was when she liked getting out the most. It was much too hard to blend into the scenery during the day, so she did most of her work at night when she was at her best. She had just started tracking her, but she was pretty sure her routine wouldn't be that difficult to learn. The woman didn't have much of a life, it seemed. She went out early, taking her kid to day care, and then catching a bus to work. She came home at dusk, her kid in tow, and then disappeared inside a mid-sized apartment building. This was Remy Ellis [formerly Remy Ellis-Donovan]. Of course, she would watch her at least for another day just to make sure she didn't vary. Pax didn't want to perpetrate the hit while the woman had the kid. She could take out anyone as long as he/she weren't a child. Her best chance would happen at home, in the apartment. If she could find a way to train a telescopic sight on her, the woman would be dead before anyone [including her kid] knew. Sighing heavily, she had to push herself to approach the apartment building. If she didn't find her apartment, she couldn't orchestrate her hit. Casually, she strolled into the lobby and was confronted with a long wall of mailboxes. It was just her rotten luck that the boxes weren't labeled with names [duh…that would have been too damn easy]. Her stalking job suddenly became harder. Pax moved along the hallway, intent on banging on every door until she found the right place, until something stopped her dead. Pax made herself scarce as Remy descended a flight of stairs and moved toward a mailbox. Quickly, Pax counted out the boxes so she could find the number. She watched Remy as she retrieved her mail before moving back toward the stairs. Quickly, Pax jumped out from her hiding place and strolled by the mailboxes. Goody. The apartment was lucky #7C.
* * *
Remy carried a stack of mail into the small apartment and threw it down on the kitchen table. She listened for Frankie, but suddenly remembered that Renata had taken her to the grocery store with her. She turned her attention back to the mail and began to thumb through it. Nothing interesting in here, she thought. Most of it was bills and junk mail. Without warning, she burst into tears. This had become something of a ritual for her, especially when Renata and Frankie weren't home. She tried not to get upset in front of her sister and daughter. Usually when she cried, the baby cried. If Renata saw her, she would demand that she confess. How could she explain to her sister that she divorced the man she loved without so much as giving them a chance to rebuild? Could she help it that his job terrified her? Could she help it that she was so afraid of losing him forever that her only chance of retaining her sanity was to leave? But then, his job was really just a tiny, tiny part of the problem. The bigger portion came in the form of several threatening phone calls.
Before she had left Donovan for the last time, the phone calls started. She never knew the caller's identity, and the calls couldn't be traced. The first came several days before she and the baby had returned to Donovan for that long, wonderful weekend. The caller didn't say much, just a few words, calling her a 'slut.' Of course, she hadn't blinked twice. Since the incident with the senator, crank calls became the thing of the day. However, it had stopped when she and Donovan were married. She shrugged it off, never bothering to mention it to her husband. That turned out to be quite a mistake. After the initial phone calls, they began to recur every other day. Again, nothing more than insults were hurled at her, and she had begun to wonder if the senator's wife had anything to do with it. Since Wengrod's death, she had gone on the decline, and had spent some time in a mental hospital. The calls grew longer and harsher in duration. Finally, a gruff voice told her that her 'fucking around' would eventually lead to 'career problems' for Donovan. At that point, she had gotten scared shitless. The caller often warned her to never tell her husband, because 'he would know.' At first, she had tried to play it down, but then the caller knew initimate details of her affair with Wengrod and hers with Donovan. The last call came on a Sunday; right after Donovan had left for an emergency. This time, the caller said that if she didn't leave her husband for good, he would die. She took this call very seriously. She couldn't allow anything to happen to her husband. She left right after that, but did not return. To her horror, the calls did not stop. They continued for a few weeks here and there, commending her for her 'good sense.'
Although it had killed her to do it, she filed for divorce and continued her façade of selfish childishness. What else could she do? Could she allow Donovan to pay for something she had done in her past? He had nothing to do with her affair, absolutely nothing. Of course, she had been accused [and not so nicely] of seducing Donovan for her own amusement, but that wasn't true. She had fallen in love with him, had never wanted anything or anyone that wasn't him. If being married to her meant he would die, she would leave. She would run and stay away forever. The sad thing was, she couldn't explain it to him, and he was so hurt and bitter. Who could blame him? If the situation were reversed, she would likely feel the same. It was the one thing she regretted the most. She had been warned to stay away from Donovan, but she couldn't, not totally. She couldn't keep him away from his daughter no matter what the threat. She knew she had taken a tremendous chance when she went to him. He had been right, she had gone to him because she needed to see him, wanted to see him above all else. When he kissed her, she had been tempted to let it go, to fall into his arms and tell him everything. Her fear wouldn't let her. As per her standards, she up and ran away.
A thousand times she had reached for the phone, only drawing away at the thought of that gruff voice. She didn't mind putting herself in danger, she didn't mind allowing the man with the harsh words to kill her. The caller could do what he wanted, but he had threatened her husband, and she wasn't willing to sacrifice him. She did sacrifice her marriage, and she thought that she could live without him divorced, but couldn't imagine living without him forever. Perhaps if the threat ever died down, they could be together again. Yet, she didn't see that happening, not ever. More than likely, she had alienated her husband [ex-husband], and he would never want her again. She buried her face into her arms, as her silent tears became harsh, braying sobs. She might as well let it all out while she had the chance. Once her sister and daughter returned, she would have to hide it, to bury it deeply. The squall settled after several minutes, and she lifted her head and swiped at her tears impatiently. She sat back and stared at the phone hanging on the wall. She was tempted to call again. She wanted to see him, wanted to explain. What if the phone was tapped? She hadn't received any calls in a long time. Perhaps it was over. She slid back from the table and slowly approached the phone, as if afraid it would reach out and smack her. She laid her hand on the receiver, but hesitated slightly. Pushing herself forward, she picked up the phone and dialed the number. After three rings, she immediately knew Donovan wasn't home. He usually answered promptly. Before the answering machine kicked on, she hung up. It was too late now, too late to go back.
* * *
Donovan had tried to sleep, but it was no use. When he arrived home, he had been totally and completely exhausted. His encounters with Pax were doing something to his mind and body. As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his eyes wandered to yet another photo of his wife [ex-wife] and daughter. It seemed that since she had left, there were five dozens photos scattered about, tormenting him. He rose up on one elbow, grabbed the photo, and turned it facedown. He couldn't look at it anymore, not right now. He was angry with himself and his betraying body. He still couldn't reconcile what had happened between him and Pax, not only here, but also at the nest as well. He had been tempted [more than tempted] to take her right there on his desk, knocking shit over as he did it. He had no idea what the motivation was. Again, he didn't want this woman, didn't have any feelings for her whatsoever. Plus, he had never been tempted before. Or had he? He thought of the times he had kissed her when they were working together. Couldn't those incidents have progressed if either one or the other of them had pressed forward? Of course it could have. Yet, they hadn't crossed that line due to the simple fact that they had to work together. Partners becoming lovers was a bad idea, no one had to tell him that. Perhaps that had been the motivation to keep away from each other so long ago. However, that motivator wasn't in place right now, was it? He didn't trust her, didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, but still, he'd attacked her twice, the second time stopping himself just in time. Shit. There was no way in hell he could sleep tonight. He slid out of bed and dressed down in jeans and a tee shirt. Grabbing a jacket and shrugging into it, he decided to take a long walk until he passed out from the sheer exhaustion.
Where was he going? What was he doing? It didn't matter, he didn't care. He simply needed to do something to shut down his mind. He was tempted to walk over to Renata's apartment and drop in on Remy and Stasia again. He shook his head at the thought. No. He wouldn't go to Remy without calling first as he had promised. Besides, she had finally convinced him that she didn't want him anymore. The divorce should have been his first clue, but no, he was stubborn. Divorces could be stopped easily. She had come to him, clearly wanting him, clearly wanting to see him, but then she turned and denied him. She had pushed him away, sent him off, and that move had hurt just as much as seeing the divorce decree. Goddamn it. Would he ever stop loving or thinking about her? Would he? She had taken the first step toward moving on, hadn't she? Nothing outside death seemed as final as divorce. It gave her a chance to meet someone else, fall in love, and marry again, shuttling his daughter to a 'step dad.' Although he was a raging hypocrite, the thought of his wife [ex-wife] with another man drove him insane with jealousy. Grumbling to himself, he realized that he had to go on, to put it behind him. She would not come back to him unless he gave up his job, and he couldn't do that. He didn't understand why she couldn't understand that. He had never asked her to give up anything other than her single status. The weekend they had together was amazing. They hadn't argued or hurt each other the entire time they were together. He simply couldn't understand what drove her away again.
Donovan stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk. Shit. It quickly brought him back to reality. It was then that he realized he had been walking subconsciously toward this particular destination [it wasn't Renata's apartment]. He stood in front of the swank hotel where Pax was staying. Why am I here? What the fuck am I doing? He had walked several blocks lamenting over how much he loved and missed Remy. Yet, here he was, standing in front of Pax's hotel, considering if he should stay or go. He didn't want anything from Pax other than that one thing, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. It was rotten, terrible, vicious, but he couldn't help it. When he was around this particular thorn in his side, he didn't have time to think about the other.
As Donovan stood debating with his inner demon, Pax came up from around the corner. She had just returned from her night moves. She saw Frankie standing before the hotel as if he were transfixed by it. What the fuck was he doing here? Well, dumb ass, you did tell him you would see him tonight, didn't you? Of course, she did, but she didn't expect him to fucking show up on her doorstep. Good God, what did he want now? For a moment, she was convinced he knew her secrets, convinced that he had uncovered the identity of her hit. He would surely kill her now. She took a deep breath to steel herself. Her neck already ached and he hadn't touched it yet. She wondered if there was another way around to get to her room. Of course there wasn't. Perhaps if she could slip by…shit. Frankie turned just as she started to flee in the opposite direction. He stood and stared at her. He knew she saw him. This is new. She's avoiding me now. Crazily enough, he turned and began to pursue her. Let her go, you stupid fuck. Let her go and end this game.
"Jonella," he called out. "I know you saw me. Please stop."
She did as he instructed and turned to face him. He noticed [with distaste] that she had donned her usual gear. "So, Spankie, I suppose you want briefed again? What the fuck are you doing here?"
He shrugged. "I don't have a clue."
Sighing impatiently, she moved past him and strode toward the hotel. "Since you're here, you witless fuck, you might as well come in and have a drink."
The hotel room was large and luxurious. He had never known the CIA to shell out such an expanse of money to obtain a room for one of its ops. He took off his jacket and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch. He wanted to be here under the guise of business, but he couldn't lie to himself. It was sick, but he actually wanted something to happen, wanted it very badly. He watched as Pax brought over his drink. He nearly balked when he saw the clear liquid. Vodka. She had given him fucking vodka. He was tempted to take the glass and toss the booze in her face. She had a lot of nerve giving him vodka; especially after what happened to him the first time he had drank it with her. Instead, he took the glass. He didn't have to drink it, did he? Nope. He watched as Pax went over to an overstuffed chair. She sat down in it, drawing her long legs beneath her. Keeping her eyes on him the entire time, she brought her glass up to her lips and killed her drink in one large gulp. She drank vodka as if it were water.
"I don't care what you do tonight, Frankie, but I ask that you don't apologize again. If you do, I'm going to kick your ass," she said. She was tempted to get more vodka, but she hesitated. She had drunk her first down quickly, and it wouldn't take long her to drink enough to pass out. "So, I ask again, what the fuck are you doing here? I can't imagine why you'd waste your time on little ol' me, especially since you find me so disgusting and shit."
He sighed and sipped at the vodka. It hit his throat harshly, nearly making him gag. "Jonella, face-to-face, without the eyes of my team, without anything, I want to know why you're here. I don't want some bullshit about helping you stop a group of rogues from wiping out a couple of politicians. I want the real story, the true one. I'll bend over backward to help you, but you have to tell me."
"Frankie, just because you fucked me doesn't mean you have to call me Jonella," she began. She watched as he rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration. "You know everything I know." Except for the fact that your little ex-wife is my target. "If there was anything else, I'd tell you. Don't you trust me?"
"Fuck no, I don't trust you," he spat. "Why would I? How long were we stuck in the jungle together? Weeks? Longer than that? I never knew about your other job until I began following you. Is that what it's going to take for me to get the truth out of you, Pax? Is it? I don't like what we've done; I can't stop that feeling, but it tears me up inside to think that you're fucking with my mind. Right now, that's exactly what it feels like. Suddenly, it seems as if you're focused on one thing, and that's getting into my pants. I don't get it. I can't find anything on you because you're hidden as well as I. For the last time, Pax, tell me the truth. Tell me the truth and I'll go away."
Fuck it. She got up and went for the vodka. Instead of filling her glass a quarter full, she filled it to the brim and carried it back to the chair. "Frankie, I've always fucked with your mind, but you just didn't know it. I'm the same person I was back then, just older and wiser. I didn't try to fuck you back then because of who we were to each other at the time." Her last statement was the only truth she told. She brought herself to her feet, downed half of her drink, and approached him where he sat. She stood over him in her damnable spiky boots, seemingly seven feet tall. "For the last time, you know every fucking thing I know. You issued an ultimatum earlier today, and I intend to have you out in the field with your little agents helping solve this fucking case, because I have to get away from you."
"I want you gone more than you could ever know," he spat. He stood right in her face. "You're lying to me, Pax, I can smell it. Don't think for one moment I won't have you tailed. From here on out, watch your back and watch it carefully. You will not fuck me over again."
She sighed. "Frank, I'm not trying to fuck you over."
"The hell you say, Pax. You've been doing it since day one and I don't buy it. I know you, I was you, and I know the mentality. I tried to help you back then, but you wouldn't let me. If you had, your life would have turned out much different. I'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Don't let me down again."
His dark brown eyes were boring into hers. Yes, he could see straight through her. She was as transparent as her vodka. She killed her drink in one large gulp. He would tail her. This was a new complication. She would have to move faster now. The target would have to die sooner than she thought.
"What do you know," she spat. "You know nothing about me, Frankie. You enjoyed the shit out of bossing me around, but that's it. I was never your responsibility, and I'm not now." She dug a sharp finger into his chest. "Fuck off, Frankie, fuck off and leave me alone. Once and for all, get off my fucking back."
He slapped her hand away and stalked toward the door. Right before he could touch the doorknob, he stopped abruptly as he heard a sudden crashing noise. He turned around to glare at her. The crazy ass bitch had thrown her empty glass at him, and if the booze hadn't addled her, the fucking thing would have connected easily with the back of his head. If he'd had his gun, he would have drawn down on her. He stalked toward her and took hold of her arm.
Shaking her lightly, he spat, "You've never let anyone care about you, have you? You've never had a friend, never had anyone with whom you could completely trust. I tried time and time again to be that person, but you fucked it up before I could blink twice."
"You don't want a friend, Frankie, you want a goddamn fuck buddy," she threw back at him while desperately trying to free her arm.
"Maybe I do," he whispered harshly, "but it's the same thing you want right now, isn't it? It was what you wanted back then, but the circumstances didn't allow it."
"Let me go, you scummy bastard," she cried.
She wanted to be free of him, to break away and do what she came to do. However, she wasn't so sure she could do it anymore, not after tonight. She didn't want him to fuck her again, because it was more than obvious he was still in love with his ex. She didn't want him to fuck her because his beloved ex was her hit. What would he do to her once he discovered that she killed the mother of his child? She knew. He would hunt her down and torture her, even if it took the rest of his life. Yet, she had the mission, she had a job to do. She was loyal to the agency; they would let her go after this one last hit. She owed them.
Pax grabbed a handful of his tee shirt, almost wishing he had hair on his chest to make it more painful. This time, she took the initiative to kiss him. At first, he tried to back away, but in relative short order, he gave in to his lust, loneliness, and anger, thinking fuck it.
"Fuck me, Frankie," she said against his lips. "Put your hands all over me and fuck me."