PARTIAL CONFESSION

Pax came out of the shower with a towel wrapped tightly around her.  Donovan had showered before her and he sat on the side of the bed watching her.  He had wanted to shower with her, but she refused.  Her statement had been harsh and swift:  You got what you wanted, now leave me alone.  God.  What would he have to do to convince her that he wanted more from her than kinky sex?  It just sort of ended up that way when they fought.  It was part of their relationship.  She didn't fail to notice he wasn't wearing anything.  She had ruined his shirt and they'd have to go out and buy him another.  She supposed the rage had left him as soon as his climax hit.  Rage and sex.  Sex and rage.  It was nuts.  She took her brush and stood before the mirror on the closet door.  He watched her solemnly, wondering if she thought she would escape without talking to him. 

"You do plan on talking to me, don't you," he asked suddenly, sick of the silence, sick of watching her detangling her hair. 

"You got what you wanted, you don't have to talk to me," she said.

He sighed and ran his hands over his face.  This irritating woman, this fucking irritating woman.  He stood and approached her from behind.  He laid his hands against her hips.  "Would you please stop saying that?  You're making it sound as if that's the only reason I'm around you.  It's not true.  I could have sex with anyone.  You do realize that, don't you?  If that's all I wanted, I sure as shit wouldn't have followed you all the way to Miami.  For God's sake, let me in.  If you'd just let me inside your heart, you would see it.  I don't know why you keep me locked out."

She closed her eyes.  He didn't understand.  He'd never fucking understand.  She cursed the day she came back into his life.  "That would be digging too deeply inside me, and I don't think you're ready to make that trip yet.  I love you, and I mean it, but the other thing, the letting you in thing, I don't know.  Go back home, Frank, please.  Your ex wants to take your kid away from you, and I don't want to see that happen, so I remove myself.  Your ex can come back and you won't lose your kid.  That's why I left, that's why I took off.  Just go, do it, Frank, please."

Her words confused him.  She hadn't actually left because of Keith Ahiga?  Did she know about him?  He would deal with Ahiga, he would have to tell her about it, but first, he had something else on his mind.  "I can't let her run my life, Jonella.  Some day, she'll realize that she has to deal with anything that happens in my life, just like I'll have to deal with it on her end.  When it comes to Stasia, we'll get it worked out some how, some way.  I won't leave you like this."  He turned her to face him.  "Do you understand?  I won't.  Why couldn't you tell me this earlier?"

"Because I know what you need, and it isn't me."

"You're wrong, Jonella.  You're very wrong."  He caressed her cheek, his thumb moving lightly over her lips.  "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm looking at what I need?"  He kissed her softly.  "Let me in," he said against her lips.

"I can't," she whispered.

"You can.  I won't leave you alone until you do."

*  *  *

Donovan went back to his parents' house to check in on Stasia.  He had been gone longer than he expected.  He had extracted a promise from Pax that she would stay put.  He had taken her plane ticket and credit cards as insurance.  She had cursed him, of course, but he didn't care.  She wasn't going anywhere until he found out what had happened between her and Keith Ahiga.  His mother and father noticed the shirt change, but they didn't say much about it.  He did, after all, mention a girlfriend.  Stasia was playing happily on the floor with some old paper dolls Anneliese had found for her.  She was tearing them up more than playing with them, but she was having fun.  While Stasia remained distracted with her grandparents, Donovan slipped into his bedroom and dug through his luggage.  He had brought along a file with the information that Cody had dug up.  He was waiting for the call to come, but he was certain that a case would fall in their laps.  Like Cody, Donovan was getting sick of politicians:  Wengrod, Thomas, and now Ahiga/Raynor. 

When he opened up the file and thumbed through the material, he found himself staring down at Jonella Paxton's name.  He wanted to know the connection without having to ask.  She wouldn't tell him and he couldn't extract the information out of her no matter how hard he tried.  There was nothing in the file that gave him any hints, so he sat there and thought about it.  He shook his head.  He wasn't altogether sure that Pax was telling him the truth about her ditching him to go to Miami, but goddamn, she seemed sincere.  She has been sincere like that before, now hasn't she?  Goddamn.  He stuffed the paper back into the file and set it aside.  He dug out his cell phone and checked in at the nest.  So far, no case had filtered in.  They couldn't pursue the man without a case.  He snapped the phone closed and stared off into space.  In a few hours, he'd return to Pax's and find out about Keith Ahiga. 

That evening, Donovan had dinner with his parents again, and his mother prodded him gently about where he had gone earlier that day, but he didn't elaborate.  She began talking about his 'involvement,' and he shut her voice out.  He was daydreaming just a bit, trying to comb his mind for any clues that existed when he and Pax first became partners.  Although always crass, rude, and crude, when she was out in the field, she was ruthless, and when she saw Ahiga, she was vicious.  She had actually demanded to be given the black-eyed man.  He pushed and prodded, but she wouldn't volunteer any information.  What was it?  What was the connection?  Damn it.  He recalled that she had asked about the Death Angels after a failed attempt at breaking up the Ahiga gang.  Whatever the connection was, it forced her to go to the assassin squad.  Pax was shut off, icy, and refused to give in to her feelings.  She didn't trust anyone.  She tried to push people away with words.  Shit.  Donovan didn't snap out of it until his mother touched him, asking if he wanted seconds on the grilled chicken.  He refused.  There was no way he could eat.  His stomach was tied in knots.  He excused himself, went to his room, changed clothes, and took off again.  It was confrontation time, and by God, she would talk to him.

*  *  *

Pax sighed in exasperation when Donovan entered the room.  She gave him a dirty look and nearly demanded her shit back, but she knew he wouldn't give over.  He noticed that she had had an all-liquid dinner.  She'd been drinking vodka, probably since he left earlier.  Her eyes were red and glassy.  She was drunk, but controlled.  After letting him inside, she went back over to the small couch and grabbed her vodka bottle.  He stood back for a moment and watched her.  He wondered what she'd do if he took her bottle away.  It was obvious she wasn't going to invite him to join her, so he took the initiative.  She grabbed her bottle and poured a little of the clear liquid into the glass.  She usually didn't drink unless she was bored or stressed.  He didn't think she was bored.  Something was going on.  When she killed the vodka in her glass, she reached for the bottle again.  This time, he grabbed out and snagged it away.  She gave him a loathsome look, but she didn't fight him.

"Do you remember when I accused you of working a personal CIA case?"  She said nothing, only nodded.  "A couple of days before I flew down, I saw a familiar face on Cody's computer screen.  It was the face of a man we both know.  It was Keith Ahiga."  She almost reacted, but took a deep breath to calm down.  She hadn't heard that name in years.  Hearing it leave Donovan's mouth bothered her more than anything.  "Jonella, I know that we had some run-ins with this man, but we found out that you were his partner back before we met.  What's the story behind that, Jonella?  I know there has to be something."

Did she ever fucking believe she'd have to relive her time with that sick fuck?  Goddamn him for bringing this back to her.  Goddamn him for following her.  She wanted her vodka bottle back, not to drink it, but to smack him with it.  Keith fucking Ahiga.  When would that particular ghost stop haunting her?  She would have to kill him first, and she was ready to do that.  "There's nothing, Frank.  He was just a fucking partner, just like you.  Nothing more, nothing less.  I would appreciate it if you'd never mention his fucking name again.  If you must, then get the fuck out right now."

"Not just yet.  I don't think you're being honest.  I know that this man was a double agent, and I know that you nearly took a fall because of him.  What was it?  What was this man to you?  I have to know."  He watched her carefully.  He had never seen her so close to breaking, to falling apart.  What the hell was going on?  "Jonella, please tell me.  I'll do what I can for you, but you must tell me."  He took hold of her arm, trying to turn her body toward his.  She was limp, catatonic almost.  He didn't like this, didn't like it at all.  "Jonella?  What is your connection with this man other than the obvious."

"You can beg all you want," she whispered.  "But I won't tell you.  It's not important.  He was a partner, that's fucking all.  Please leave me alone and don't talk about this fuck around me ever again.  Please, Frank?  I've never fucking begged you for anything, but I'm begging you now.  Please."  She tore her arm out of his hand and stood.  She was shaky on her feet, but she could walk.  She was going toward the door.  "Leave me.  I don't want you here.  I have to be alone for a while.  Get the fuck out, Frankie."  She opened the door and stood by it.  "Go."

He stood and approached her.  Sighing deeply, he took hold of her arm again and pulled her back from the door.  He closed it and turned toward her.  She was getting pissed.  He could see that clearly in her eyes.  Any second now, she would explode.  For three minutes or more, they stood facing each other without moving an inch.  She stared at him, throwing daggers with her eyes.  Without warning, she launched an attack on him, clawing, biting, slapping, and shoving.  He avoided serious injury only because of the vodka she had consumed.  She did manage to claw his cheek before he took hold of her wrists.  Even then, she was kicking at him.  Although she was beating the shit out of him, he knew she wasn't fighting him.  When she realized that he wasn't out to hurt her, she stopped and collapsed neatly at his feet.  Jesus.  He had never seen her like this before.  He helped her stand and he walked her into the bedroom.  In her drunken state, she was whispering a name over and over again:  Lee.  It was a name he had never heard her utter before.  She sat down heavily on the bed and buried her face into her hands.  How much of this shit would she remember in the morning?

When she looked up at him, she noticed the scratches on his face.  She had gotten him pretty good and was certain that it had hurt like fuck.  "God, Frank," she said, "I'm sorry.  I didn't…didn't…fuck it.  I don't know what the hell I'm saying."  She dragged her body onto the middle of the bed and buried her face into her pillow.  "Don't ask me," she whispered.  "Please don't ask.  I can't go through it again."  Who was she talking to?  Him?  Someone else?  "Frank?  If I'm too disgusting, you can leave.  I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Such pain, such horrendous pain.  He had never heard it leaving her.  He had brought this on, but he didn't understand.  If Ahiga were nothing more than a partner, why would it affect her like this?  He did the only thing he could.  He climbed onto the bed behind her, placing a comforting hand on her arm.  When she felt him gently caressing it, she turned to her side facing him, and did the unexpected.  She clung to him, wrapping her arms around him, and buried her face into his chest.  God if he had known his prodding would have done this to her, he never would have said a word.  She didn't cry, but drew in little hitching breaths as if she were fighting it away with everything she had in her, which at that point wasn't much.  Every now and then, she whispered 'Lee' under her breath before falling asleep against him.  Donovan didn't move or sleep, he held her, not believing the incredible torment rushing through her, not quite understanding it.  This was a side of Jonella Paxton he had never been exposed.  He thought he had seen it all when she showed him a tender side, making love to him instead of fucking him, but he hadn't.  Whatever was going on inside her was something old and festering, waiting to explode.  How long would she allow it to eat her alive before she told him [if she ever told him]? 

It was dawn before she moved a muscle, coming awake slowly, fighting the vodka hangover.  There was a body in bed with her, one who she held onto desperately.  She pulled back suddenly, as if embarrassed.  At that point, she noticed it was Frankie and he was gazing at her curiously, wondering why she decided to get away after his holding her all night.  She sat up too quickly and felt an incredible wave of vertigo attacking her.  Fucking shit.  She had overdone it with the vodka.  She had once thought that wasn't possible, but it was.  Oh yes it was.  Vaguely, she noticed the long scratches on the side of his face.  Had she done that?  Good fucking God.  She didn't remember anything from the last few hours.  How much had she confessed?  How much did he know?  Jumping Jesus on a fucking camel.  She had obviously gone psycho last night, attacking him, taking out all her anger on him as she usually did.  Frankie was her consummate target.  Sometimes she wondered if it was because he reminded her of the fucking bastard whose name she didn't speak.  She could feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the bathroom.  She stank like vodka, it was oozing out of her pores, and she had to get that stink off, had to wash it away.  Wash…it…all…away.

Of course, Frankie wouldn't leave it alone, wouldn't leave her alone.  She heard the curtain sliding back before she felt his body stepping in behind her.  The heat radiating it from it was mind numbing.  He wanted to hold, comfort, and love her.  She kept telling herself that she didn't need any of that shit.  She had dealt with everything alone and would continue to do so.  She didn't need Frank Donovan or any man.  She didn't need anybody.  She was a loner, had been all her life, and this was no exception.  Fuck everybody.  Fuck the world.  When his hands touched her, the harsh feelings left her little by little.  A part of her wanted to beat the living shit out of him.  Perhaps then, he'd leave.  However, she supposed she had beaten him up, but what do you know?  The fucker was still here.  She had never met a man more witless than Frank Donovan, had never known one so fucking steadfast and loyal, even when he fucking hated her guts.  How many times had she fucked with him?  How many times had she hurt him?  Did he ever go away?  Had he ever turned her away?  Even when he discovered she was out to kill his princess, he had remained by her side, giving her someone to trust, to lean on.  Goddamn it.  Goddamn it all.  She didn't want it because she didn't deserve it.

He turned her slightly unyielding body toward him.  "I think part of what happened earlier is my fault," he told her.  "I brought it in and I'm sorry, but I need to know.  I need to know so I can help you."

"I can't talk about it, not yet.  Stop fucking pushing me for once.  When I leave, you follow; when I hurt you, you come back for more.  I don't get it.  I don't understand."

"I won't push, but I want you to think about it.  I saw what this did to you and I know it's something big.  As far as my following you and coming back for more, it's what I do for people I love.  Whether you believe it or not, Jonella, I do love you."

She batted most of his declarations aside.  She was focusing on just a few of his words.  "Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?  Is this a new case?"

He shook his head.  She skirted right over the main part of what he said.  She surely knew how to avoid, didn't she?  "No.  He's here somewhere, and I thought you had found out and came to hunt him down."

Stunned, she turned and shut the shower off.  She climbed out and grabbed a towel.  For a moment, Donovan simply stayed put, perplexed.  "Jesus fucking Christ.  He's here?  In Miami?"

Shaking off the confusion, he stepped out of the shower and grabbed his own towel.  "Yes.  Cody mentioned that he lives here now.  That's why I was so angry, that's why I thought you had an ulterior motive, other than your fear of love."

She was in the middle of a nervous fucking breakdown, and he still wanted to fucking talk about love.  God, he could be biting sometimes.  "Do you know this for sure?"

He wrapped the towel around his waist, securing it.  "No, not for sure, but it was his last known location.  What kind of score do you have to settle with him?  Is it something that will get you killed?"

"Maybe," she said angrily.  "Stop trying to read my mind."  She planted her hands on her hips and watched Frankie.  He was staring at her viciously almost, his hand holding desperately onto the towel.  "I think you should leave.  There's some shit I need to work out."

"Don't even try to hunt this man down.  Remember the shit with the VP?  I can easily do that to you again.  Do you want me on your ass day and night?  I can make it a reality very easily.  If you would talk to me, I might be inclined to help you settle the score, only if it's something legitimate.  How personal is this, Jonella?  Tell me now."

Pax saw a flash of her little boy.  She saw the vehicle bearing down on him, heard his screams, and remembered finding his little shoe turned inside out.  "It's very fucking personal, Frankie, I suggest you fucking keep out of it."  She stomped back into the bedroom, found his clothing, and threw it at him.  "Get your ass dressed and get the fuck out."

Donovan tore the towel off his waist and threw it aside.  He picked up his underwear first and literally shoved his legs through the openings.  His slacks came next and he put them on with the same violent motions.  He stood still for a moment, gazing out the open bathroom door.  He saw her sitting on the side of the bed, scheming and plotting.  He growled under his breath [fuck it], grabbed his thin cotton shirt, jammed his arms through the sleeves, and buttoned it.  He didn't bother tucking it in and nearly forgot his shoes.  He kept grumbling incoherently as he put on his socks and shoes.  When he came out of the bathroom fully dressed, Pax was still on the side of bed, a thousand miles away.

"I won't come back," he growled her way.

"Hot damn," she said bitterly.  "It's about fucking time you listened to your goddamn instincts.  Go back to Chicago, go back where you belong.  I don't need you."

She did.  It was written all over her, but he was beyond caring at that moment.  Fuck her.  He'd had it.  "Very well.  Have a nice life with your avoidance, your hiding, and your lies."

"Same to you, you witless fuck.  Leave me alone.  Just get out and leave me alone."

With one final shake of his head, one final look, he turned away and gave her exactly what she wanted.