Upon waking the next morning, I saw CJ had had just as uneasy a sleep. She had turned in the night, and the sheet covering her chest had slid down, revealing her once again. I walking silently to her, telling myself I would simply pull the sheet back into position. However, as I reached her, it occurred to me this was the closest I had ever been to touching a woman. Men my age had usually been with many women, but I had never had the pleasure.

It occurred to me I could very easily over power her, if I wanted her, but that was a sick idea; I knew I never would, she was my partner; she had saved my life; it was my fault she was in this situation, I could not hurt her further. I pulled the sheet back into position.

My movement must have been less stealthy than I had intended, for CJ's eye's snapped open and she started. I pulled away quickly; she looked at me and then around the rest of the room, and she relaxed; re closing her eyes she spoke,

"It is only you," she said, and I was surprised to hear relief in her voice; not many people were relived to find that they were in a room alone with me.

"I did not mean to wake you…" I said, returning to my bed now that my job was finished. CJ shook her head in response, indicating perhaps that she was not bothered by my actions. I thought this would be all she would say, but there was more,

"I want to thank you for what you did last night, about that man, and for the bullet; I mean usually," her voice grew stronger, "usually I am used to the way men treat me, as something they have the right to take when they want, but last night…I could not even move, I guess I just expected a little more show of decency, just a little," she shook her head slightly, "Funny how the assassin is the one with the sense of decency,"

I stayed silent, she was right. It was acceptable to most men to treat women as simply a means for pleasure, however last night CJ had been an assassin. She had been working to free hostages and cover Dumas' mistake, she had deserved more respect than what she had been given.

"How does your shoulder feel?" I asked, needing to talk about something else.

"Stiff," CJ responded, rolling her shoulder slightly. I suddenly had a thought and strode back over to her, undoing the bandage and checking the wound,

"This will need proper cleaning at some point," I said in a mater of fact tone,

"Any ideas about where I am supposed to get clean water?" CJ asked in a bitter voice; but she did not seem angry with me, rather angry with the situation.

"Perhaps Tom would bring you something," I suggested sarcastically, though I did believe that he might actually have brought her something if she had asked; I believed he was quite fascinated by the woman who had knocked him to the ground.

CJ stared at me, "Is this you being humorous?" She asked me coldly; I supposed by her tone she would not be asking Tom for anything,

"I am trying," I offered lightly, re wrapping her shoulder,

"Stop trying," She responded quickly, though I knew she did not really mean it. True enough, my sense of humor was grossly underdeveloped and therefore not terribly amusing; however that was not the point.

It seemed that where the relationship between CJ and I was concerned, we could send any insult or sarcastic remark flying at the other if we wished, and the receiving party would understand; we never really meant it. Underneath I believed we both shared affection for the other; though I would have never admitted it.

"Would you mind," CJ said, though her voice was not irritated, "turning around while I put this shirt back on?"

I turned around and walked back to my bed. I still faced the wall and waited for CJ to speak.

"You can look now," I heard her say a moment later, and I turned and sat down on the bed. Looking over at CJ, I saw she had managed to sit up; her back against the wall. I could not help but feel a sense of relief, she would be alright.

Indeed, she was looking much better in the blurry morning light; the color had returned to her face, and her eyes were no longer clouded over; they shone green and bright. I realized I was staring and I looked away.

CJ was not watching me; she was gazing at the small patch of light on the grimy floor.

"We really are getting a raw deal, aren't we?" CJ said suddenly shifting her gaze to me. "We are coerced into this little experiment, then made to do all the dastardly and dangerous tasks the police don't want to do, and for what? I think the two men last night had the right idea,"

I could tell she was bitter, and I did not blame her, but still, if she decided to run, my job would become much harder,

"You think the right idea is to get killed?" I asked lightly, hoping she was not seriously considering making a bid for freedom. After the threat Dumas had made to Christine's life, I had to stay. He would have her killed, then have me blamed for the murder. I could not let that happen. However, if CJ ran, there was a good chance I would be sent to find and kill her, and I could not imagine doing that either.

"No, of course not, I just wish we did not have to do this," She shook her head.

It occurred to me then that CJ was a clever girl, and if she had wanted to devise an escape she could have; but she had not. CJ most likely had a 'Christine' as well.

"What is he holding over your head?" I asked her curiously, and I admit I was surprised by my own interest; usually the affairs of others meant nothing to me, but I had never been around someone as much as CJ, and I found her life was more like mine than I had thought possible.

CJ looked at me and offered a half smile, "Death, just as with you,"

"Death and something else," I said, I knew there was something else, I could see it in her eyes.

"Yes, I guess there is no reason not to tell you," She brushed a piece of blond hair which had fallen into her eyes out of her face, "After I first came to Paris, I spent most of my time picking pockets and committing other devious acts of theft; but when I was thirteen I was caught, and at first I thought I would be alright. The man who caught me was a nobleman named Richard Cromwell. I had been stealing his pocket watch when he grabbed my hand. Instead of telling the police about what I had done he brought me to his home. I thought he and his wife wanted to adopt me, but they did not want a child. He wanted…a slave of sorts."

I watched her spellbound. Her gaze was toward the floor, and she had brought her knees to her chest.

"He locked me in a small bedroom when he did not…want me," her voice was bitter and I watched her eyes narrow, but despite an outward show of strength, I sensed it was a hard story for her to tell.

"He beat me, many times, and then he would…well…"

"I understand," I interjected quickly; I did not need her to say he had raped her.

"I thought I could stand it, until he started to let his friends use me…and then his brother…it was too much. One night, after his brother was finished with me, he threw me so hard into a mirror it broke. I used one of the shards and slit his throat; first time I ever killed a man," Her face made an expression of sadness beyond tears, "I ran away that night; of course Cromwell wanted to find me; sent men looking everywhere for me, but I had never told him my real name. That made it harder for him to find me. Somehow Dumas realized who I was and he threatened to tell Cromwell my name and where he had last seen me, if I ever tried to escape,"

She shuttered involuntarily at the thought of being found by this Richard Cromwell man, and I understood her terror. Even though CJ was no longer thirteen, and most likely able to defend herself against her former enemy, the memory of her captivity was too terrifying to imagine enduring again.

I understood. My mother had locked me in the cellar from my infancy right through until the day I finally left. When I look back on the time I spent with her; I believe she had been so shocked at my appearance after my birth it made her go a bit mad.

She had never given me a name; she had never really acknowledged she was my mother. I had been put into the cellar; out of sight where she could pretend I did not exist. However she knew I did exist; and when she could no longer perpetuate her delusions about me, she would throw open the cellar door and grab me; turning me around so my back was to her, so she could not ever see my face. She would yell that I was evil, wicked, a menace, a monster, and a bad little creature that she needed to punish.

I was punished. I never saw exactly what it was that she beat me with; I was always turned in the opposite direction, but it hurt as blow after blow fell. I would stand there; just hoping I would lose consciousness soon so I would no longer have to hear her voice screaming at me or feel the pain of her chastisement.

As an adult, I still feared meeting this woman again; even though she was most likely dead and if I ever did see her I certainly had the strength to defend myself; something I had lacked as a child.

However, I knew that if I ever came face to face with my mother, I would not shoot her, strangle her, hit her, or even yell at her. I would cower away; I would because I still remembered every dark hour spent in the cellar, every crack of the cement walls which acted as homes to pairs of glowing eyes which were my only friends in the dark. I remembered each rise and fall of her hand, and I remembered every word she yelled. I could still hear her voice.

"I know it sounds foolish," I snapped out of my reverie when I realized CJ was talking again. "I should not be afraid of him; he is one old, rich, vile man, I should kill him myself, but I can't help it,"

I paused for a moment, then,

"I understand, I do not think you are being foolish," I said, and CJ mistook something in my voice for insincerity,

"No you don't, you can't! But believe me, I would get rid of this fear if I could, I just don't want you to…to think any less of me because I am afraid of a man I knew years ago…"

"I do understand," I said firmly and a bit crossly; I could not help but be irritated when things where assumed about me which were not true, "I was locked in a cellar once,"

"For how long?" CJ asked, and it was clear by the tone of her voice she expected be to say one hour or some other insignificant amount of time,

"Twelve years," I said, and I watched as her skeptical expression changed to one of shock,

"Why on earth where you locked in a cellar for twelve years?"

"Nobody wanted to look at me," I said uncertainly, I was not sure if I wanted to tell her my whole story,

"Did they feed you?" She asked, and her voice was concerned,

"Well of course I was fed! I could not live for twelve years on nothing! And clearly I am alive so I must have been fed! Don't be daft!" For some reason the concern in her voice had angered me; I never liked the idea of people caring about me; it brought the world to close and the risk of getting hurt by it increased.

"I was only…" CJ began but I interrupted her,

"There is no need to apologize,"

"I was not going to," She smiled for the first time in quite awhile; it was another example of the beauty of our relationship that she was smiling; she knew I had not meant to snap.

"Fair enough," I raised the edges of my mouth ever so slightly; it was not really a smile, but it was the closest I had ever come to one.

"So the marks on your back, are they from…the time you spent in the cellar?" I stared at her a moment and then I realized; she had seen my scared back when she had washed the blood off of it after it had been cut by glass, "I did not want to say anything about it," CJ said, "I thought you might be angry if I mentioned them,"

I nodded; it was true, had CJ said anything about the marks on my back at the time she had seen them, I would have flown into a rage, not wanting to remember or talk about that part of life.

Now however; I found I trusted her with my story,

"Yes, mostly the scars on my back are from the cellar,"

"How old were you?"

"I went in right after I was born and left when I was twelve,"

CJ looked shocked, "What kind of wretched worm would lock up a baby in a cellar?"

I looked down at the floor and snorted, "My mother," I said listlessly.

CJ said nothing and I did not look at her. By the gasp at my last comment I knew she was amazed. I was amazed as well; I could not believe I had just shared a memory such as that. I did not realize CJ had left her bed until she was standing in front of me.

She sat down next to me on my bed. I immediately felt awkward; her arm was touching mine.

I realized she was staring at me and I looked into her vivid green eyes. I did not see pity, or fear, it was hard to say really what I saw. However I dared to think, for the first time, I saw understanding.