Secrett W i n d o w wrote: "And this last chapter had me laughing a few times. Sands is an amusing guy, especially when you write him. :D"
Thank you – and thank for the many kind words, I really appreciate it! Yeah, I just don't think that a guy like Sands could really take himself completely seriously all the time (at least when he's not working) – he's too intelligent not to realize he's a little 'messed up' and or that the way his brain works is really in line with the rest of the world. (And if that was your birthday that kept you busy – happy birthday! If it was someone else's, I hope it was happy one all the way around! I know Holiday stuff is going to have me driving me nuts the next couple of weeks – we haven't even gotten the tree up… but I've got a lot in my head to get down, so we'll see how it goes…)
Quick29: there are several more chapters (and thank you for wanting them!), but it is winding down… I've got the seed for a sequel planted in my head and starting to grow just a little, as well as a possible collection of short vignettes that I might string together into one "story" – just stuff that I really want to write for this but might not make it in
Sands-Agent – I figure it'll be a good long time before the night mares really subside – although he tends to sleep more peacefully when Beth is around ;) and yeah, Ryan really is taking a little bit of a beating around Sands… but there's more to his story line than meets the eye (although all things considered, I'm not sure that's the best phrase in the world…)
And on that note, in the role of Ryan's fiancé, Jeanie Baker, Amelia Warner (Aeon Flux – as Una Flux)
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Lastly, quick note: the online English to French Dictionary I use is working differently than before (giving me odd symbols instead accent marks) so some of the French may be off in the subsequent chapters until I find a new translator.
Chapter Thirty Nine:
No Rest for the Wicked
Tonto and I manage to get back to D.C. without incident. He's not particularly chatty the rest of the way and I'm not real surprised. Between my cheerful personality and scaring the shit right out of him that first night, he seems happy enough to just drive as directed, get us on a plane and then drive some more to get us into the office. (It's late afternoon, Friday, when we get into D.C. and all I really want is to go straight home – but duty first. Milo's been in touch with me daily – his inside guy tells him that Collins was notified this morning about that 'little incident' at a certain storage facility in Texas, but word hasn't gotten as far as Mexico that it was me. I'm pretty sure Collins has his suspicions, though. He might not be the brightest bulb, but he's not a complete moron, either. Of course, I'm entirely certain that Director Mitchel has heard I was out in Texas breaking and entering, although I'm not sure he knows exactly who's storage unit I was breaking and entering into… now if the right hand were to ever actually talk to the left hand… but this is the CIA we're talking about. Nobody talks to anybody.)
Eddas is in a meeting when we get in, so I have a little time to kill. I decide to use it to really get myself acquainted with my office. Tonto surprises my by not toddling off immediately to wherever it is he might want to toddle off to (because I just can't imagine him wanting to spend any more time with yours truly than he has already.)
"Jeff – do you have a minute?" He asks me, real hesitantly, after getting me safely to my office door.
"All the time in the world." Although a cigarette would be nice… so would a drink. I shrug out of my coat and find a place to drop it – feels like a chair.
"I just – I wanted to apologize for the other morning – night. Whatever. I know what you'd said before about your eyes – and – I mean it's not exactly a real secret or anything – "
Well isn't that just fucking fantastic to know… not real shocking, mind you, but still, you'd think a guy could keep a little think like having his eyeballs screwed out of his head a secret. "Exactly how common is that little scrap of information?"
I hear a bit of silence, then a very sheepish sounding Tonto speaks, "I guess it's probably more common that you'd like – ?"
Fucking duh. But I just shrug – not much to do now that horse is out of the barn, is there? "Whatever. You were saying?" Now I really need a cigarette.
"I guess – I'm just trying to say I'm sorry for the way I barged in like that – and the way I reacted. It was wholly inappropriate and I apologize. I really appreciate having had the opportunity to work with you over the last couple of days and I respect you a great deal – I just want you to know that."
He's kidding, right? "No hard feelings."
"Marlina could be tied up for a while – would you care to join me in the caff – for a cup of coffee or something? The food here really isn't half bad – "
Either this kid is the world's biggest brown noser or a total masochist, I swear… I, however, am neither. "You go on ahead – I'm gonna get to know the lay out of my new digs a little better. I'd rather do that all by myself, thank you," I add, before he can offer to help (because I'm sure he will, since I apparently haven't completely scared him off.)
"Well – I'm sticking around for a while anyway – you know – if you need anything, just call – my cell, I mean."
"I kinda figured that's what you meant, there Buckaroo." Christ on a crutch, this kid really did grow up in Mayberry, didn't he? I listen to his retreat and then shut the door and begin my exploration.
My office is the fourth door down, off the north bank of elevators, on the fifth floor – there's an outer office for an assistant (I really don't expect Tonto to be sticking around – although it's hard to tell if that was really a resignation speech or just him being the hay-seed I've come to know and love….) At any rate, I don't spend too much time exploring the outer office, just in case Tonto's made himself all to home here. I really don't want to go plowing through his personals (the thought of a twenty-six year old virgin honestly scares me...) There's a desk, a chair – a couple of chairs for waiting guests… like I'm ever going to have any of those. Coat rack – coffee maker. Spiffy. That'll come in handy.
Beyond the outer office is my pad (I run my fingers over the letters of my name… yesserie, I've got a name plaque and everything. Looks like someone erred on the side of caution, too. It reads simply S. J. Sands. Truth is that I like Sheldon just fine – it's just that 'Shelly' caused a little too much trouble in high school. Hell, it caused a little too much trouble in elementary school.) That's why I started going by Jeff when I got to college... at least until Holly came along. She was something of a sneak herself; she found out that my real name was Sheldon and started calling me Shelly… which I really I don't quite hate much as I like to say I do. When Em calls me that, it kinda reminds me of her mother – it's a good memory.
But anyway…
I've got a big desk and a comfy chair (I can't help but snicker to myself at that one – it's from a Monty Python skit… anyway… ) I open every drawer in the desk – they're all empty of course, but I've never had a real live office of my own before so this is kinda fun. I wonder I'll put in my drawers. Guns? Gin? Endless stacks of paperwork? Those are the sorts of things I've found while snooping around in other people's desks… (maybe I'll opt for tequila or rum instead of ginseeing as I'm not big on gin. I should probably find out what Eddas fancies, though – being in close proximity to me really is enough to drive a person to drink.)
Hmmm…. I wonder what I should put on my desk... photos of my little muffin? (Yeah, that could be fun…) I mean, I know I can't see, but other people can see, right? I've been in offices where the photos are facing out for visitors (if I could see, I think I'd rather have my photos facing in.)
Ok, let's see… or rather feel what we have here already… feels like a desk set (yeah, that's about as fucking useful as tits on a bull…) hmmm… that's got to be a computer – oooh ergonomic keyboard, neat-o. Track ball mouse – cool. Useless from where I'm sitting, but cool. Ok – monitor – kinda big, nice to see my tax dollars hard at work (I mean, really, like I need a monitor – hello, blind guy… fuck me, but sometimes I think the world is populated by morons.) (I really don't think the monitor was Eddas' doing – she probably just told whoever was in charge of these sorts of things to set up an office for the new guy on her team… me. On someone's 'team' – oh yeah, that's funny all right… but here I am.)
Over here we have – yes that's a phone. Christ – when was the last time I bothered with a land line?
Other than that it seems as if my desk is bare – maybe I'll just leave it that way…
In front of my desk, I have two big chairs – and a little couch on the far wall. These really are some pretty fine digs the Boss has set me up with; behind the desk I discover a big window… I wonder what the view is like…
"Sands?"
"Hey there, Boss Lady," I turn from the window and favour her with a grin. "How's the view from up here?"
"It's not the best view on the floor – but I wanted your office close to mine."
I just smirk. I'll bet she did – she wanted me right under her thumb… like I really blame her for that.
I listen to Eddas come into the room and sit down in one of those big comfy chairs in front of my desk. "How was your trip?"
"Productive."
"You know you could have gone home – "
I just shake my head at her, "I want you to know that I'm really on your side," I toss her words back at her. "Or at the very least that I'm capable of being a loyal little rat," I add with a smirk. (Emma mentioned art classes, maybe I can get her to do a drawing of me as a rat for my office wall…)
"I looked over that paperwork you left with me, and spoke to Mr. Hodges. You daughter's estate is in good shape – and her mother was very specific about who she intended to have custody of your daughter."
"So – what about the Dawsons?"
"They've tracked you down to D.C. and filed a petition for her custody in family court – they'd already filed in Virginia and in New York."
The old man is determined, I'll give him that – but I won't give him my kid. "So what do I do? You know – other than handling it my way, which might put a kink in the works if you want me to look all nice and shiny in front of a judge – not that I'd ever get caught."
She ignores my remarks (I kind figured she might), "I gave Bernie a call and got him on it – he's that family law attorney I spoke with you about before you left. He handles divorces, too, by the way – in case you ever happen to be in the market." (Uh-huh – why do I get the feeling she knows that Beth is going to need one of those…) "He can be a real bull dog when he needs to – at any rate, he'll be in to see you early in the week, probably Monday, possibly Tuesday. You can discuss whatever you need to with him. Sam Preston will be by, too – first thing Monday morning."
"That's the criminal lawyer you wanted me to talk to," it's not really a question. I have a good head for names.
"You're scheduled to go up before a federal judge Friday next, nine a.m. – and yes, I want you to look 'all nice and shiny', so a tie will be in order. Something conservative – worn with a dress shirt and a suit – dress shoes would be a nice touch, too."
I'm pretty sure she's smiling at me, teasing me about my wardrobe (I'm currently wearing a t-shirt – no idea which one – jeans and my favourite scuffed up once-white tennies – hey, I just back from a real long hot, dry, draining trip, and I haven't even been home yet, so give me a break. I was going to dress up for her on Monday… Really.) However, everything Lucy Lewin said about deals and not trusting the prosecution is running through my head, too… "You ah – you want to haul me in front of a judge next week?" (Panicky, me? What ever gave you that idea… oh right, that would be the panic in my voice just then giving me away… it just cannot bode well that she wants me in court so soon.) "Don't you want more evidence first?" You know, more evidence against other people… I need a cigarette. Or a drink. Better yet, how about both…
"You still don't trust me, do you?"
"Lady, I don't trust anybody," I tell her. But I can trust Milo, right? 'Old time's sake' doesn't count for shit – but me and him and six guys, right? That night doesn't mean anything to me, but he said it means something to him – that and me and him and some really bad karaoke – and I do mean really fucking bad karaoke. (It's almost funny in a way – I mean, it isn't those twenty six days spent in a dark little cell that really mean something to him, it's that I was willing – happy in fact – to go out drinking with him afterwards. For me, it's those twenty six days and some of the things I said – some of the things he said… and the fact that I really don't think anyone else could have coaxed me into not curling up and dying a couple of times back there. But for him it's all about what happened afterwards… )
So – I trust Milo. And he trusts Marlina Eddas. Fucking Marlina Eddas, the bane of the CIA. And here I am… fuck me but good, because everything inside is telling me I can trust her – but… but. There's no room for buts in this – I'm in. I'm here. If she's going to screw me, at this point there isn't much I can do but ditch town and run – and just how far would I really get with Beth, Cicily and Emma in tow? Eddas has me by the short and curlies and she has to know it. As much as she needs me – I think I need her more... I also realize that she's talking to me. Guess it would be a good idea to actually pay attention to what she has to say, huh? (And have I mentioned that a cigarette would be real nice about now?)
"You have entirely too much potential value for me to stick you behind bars, Sands. Besides – you have to have figured out that if I renege on our arrangement, I'll lose three years worth of work with Milo. He'd never speak to me again, let alone trust me – or work with me. And that would make my top investigator pretty unhappy with me, too."
Huh – this Patrick my Sugar Butt is so fond of? And here I thought Milo's beau was a lawyer… "Well, on that note," I manage an earnest smile in the Boss's direction, "My little panty raid seems to have been successful, but it'll take me at least couple of days to figure out just exactly what I came away with." Maybe by Monday I can have something for her – and maybe by Friday she'll really think I'm useful enough to keep around. Of course that means I'll need a pair of eyes over the weekend, and I'm not real sure Tonto's going to be available. Which means I'd better broach the subject now that I'm going to need a new assistant… "The kid just isn't cut out to deal with a guy like me – and if I know it, you've got to know it too," I conclude after a real brief explanation.
"I have to admit, I was a little surprised when Ryan asked to be assigned to you. He's not – the best match for your particular personality. I'd just hoped that it would last a little longer than a week."
"He's a swell kid, Boss. I just think we'll all be a lot better off if you take him off the babysitting detail." See, I can be reasonable. (It's just that most of the time I happen to not want to be…)
"All right. I'll see what I can come up with. If I can't line anyone else up up by tomorrow, I'll be around myself – if you think you're up to trusting me – ?"
"It's all stuff I'd be turning over to you anyway." And at least she doesn't tap dance on razor blades about the fact that I can't fucking see… in fact, I think Eddas is just as comfortable with it as Beth has always seemed to be.
"Anything I can do for you in the mean time?" the Boss lady inquires.
I feel through the duffle for the 'address book' I lifted from Collins' storage unit. "You can get somebody to record the entries in this onto tape for me."
"What is it?"
"I think it's a list of people Collins has dirt on – but I won't know for sure until I've really had a chance to study it. I figure if you can get someone to record stuff like this for me, without having to actually deal with my ass, it may cut down on the number of assistants I go through. But ah give it to somebody with at least a modicum of security clearance."
"That shouldn't be a problem – all my people have at least some clearance. Have you had a chance to play with your computer, yet?"
"No real point there, Boss," I tell her, a little perplexed by the question. "I kinda can't see, remember?"
"Mind if I hover over your shoulder?"
"Now Darlin', I thought we discussed that – you're my boss," I smirk up at her – I can hear her moving so that she's standing right next to my chair.
"Very funny – now turn the damned thing on."
Ok – sure – most computers are about the same…
"Up front," she tells me, as I reach around to the back of the hard drive. "Six o'clock – just an inch or so up from the bottom lip – that's it."
I depress the large round button, taking note of its location. "Ok – now what?"
"First, please tell me you're not one of those two finger typers."
"A-plus in high school typing – and I'm surprised you didn't know that." Honestly, I figured she would have crawled through my history backwards and forwards by now.
"I got your GPA – I didn't look at what classes you took."
"Maybe you should," I invite her. It could give her a whole new insight…
"Hands on keyboard – "
Um… ok…it takes a second, "There some point to this?" Because I still can't see for shit here, people.
"Feel the little nubs – that's F and J – didn't you ever notice that before?"
"Guess I never thought about it," I admit.
"Well now you have. Now – the rest of the package should impress even you…" and she walks me through the special software she's had installed on my computer. Not only does will it type as I talk (not something I really need, I type faster than I speak) but it'll read back to me what I've written and that could come in real fucking handy… it can read other things too, although I still think my favourite porn sites are something never to be enjoyed again… Men are visual creatures when it comes to stuff like that. I can listen to "Dirty Debby" moan all day long and it just isn't going to be half as gratifying as watching her with her ass in the air… ahh well…
"One last thing," Eddas says – by now she's perched on the edge of my desk, facing me, "You know I can't suborn perjury, but you should be aware that certain files in my office – things like how long Milo Givens has been involved with the DOJ, for instance – those are the kinds of things no judge will ever see."
Well isn't that interesting… "Have you ever hauled him in front of a judge?" I ask.
"A couple of times – usually within a week of my calling him in. Of course those hearings have all been all sealed up tight. Your hearing next week won't quite be a circus, but there's no way I can get it sealed. I know Douglas Mitchel will be there, probably trying to make you feel uncomfortable."
I wave that aside – even if I do end up sweating it because he's there, no one will ever know it. Besides, I'm pretty sure I know what she's really trying to tell me without telling me, and if I'm right… "How many people know about Milo's little moonlight gig here, anyway?"
"Me. Patrick. You. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you why I keep certain things under very tight wraps, Sands. Just like I kept bringing you home as quiet as I could, all things considered. You know better than I do what the CIA would do if they found out about Milo – or anyone else I might have in my office. But I do take care of my own. I know you've been with me long enough to know that." And I know she's placing a very careful (if subtle) emphasis on certain words, too…
So, just fuck me all over again and make it good, because I hear her loud and clear. The lady really wants me to carry this farce out in front of a judge… but that means she's going to carry it through on her end – it means I really have been with her office for a lot longer than the week, even if it isn't true in "real" reality, it's true in the reality she's setting up for me. It means she really has my keister covered…
"You know you're going to lose your job at the CIA – there's nothing I can do to prevent that."
"Even if – if I didn't have this cozy little office in your building, I was going to lose my job there anyway." Barillo made sure of that.
"Do you mind I ask you a couple of personal questions?"
"Mind if we do this somewhere where I can have a cigarette?"
"I'll get my coat – there's a spot on the roof I used to sneak off to."
"You smoke?"
"I quit a few years ago after my brother was diagnosed with lung cancer."
"Ah."
I know, I know, I'm headed that way too. Every time I get a physical, I expect something to turn up – but it never does. I always figure it's somebody's twisted idea of humour to keep me around as long as possible. I must be pretty amusing to watch from Up There...
…By the time Eddas gets back, Spencer and I are ready to go… it's a short trek up to the roof. It's cold out and the snow is really coming down hard, but I don't mind. I'd rather be here than Mexico. "How long ago?" I ask her, as I light up my smoke.
"Hmm? Oh – ten years now."
"And your brother – ?"
"Died. Heart attack – two years ago."
Now if that isn't fucking irony, all that time worrying about his lungs and his heart does him in…
"But I watched him go through it – it wasn't pretty. I've never been able to look at a cigarette the same way since."
I inhale deeply, but make a point to aim my exhale away from her – hey, this lady is saving my ass, I'm not stupid enough to antagonize her. And besides – I think I like her. "So – you wanted to ask me something there Big Boss Lady?"
"I've been going over your record – it looks like you were really headed somewhere once – what happened?"
"It might look good on paper – but I've always been like this."
"Arrogant, self destructive and psychotic?"
That makes me laugh. "Sociopathic, actually. And amoral while you're at it, thank you."
"As I understand it, those are the things that make a good operative."
"It helps not to have a conscience," I grin at her. But I know what she's asking – she's trying to figure out just how I got this way. I really think Al's right – I'm just wired up differently than the rest of the world. "I figured out a long time ago that unless you make the effort to actually enjoy yourself a little, life just really sucks." (I hear her laugh, just a little at that one.) "I won't bore you with the sob story of my 'tender years' – I'm sure you've seen it in black and white, anyway. It doesn't get any more interesting when I tell it – but hey, if you really want a lively re-telling of my childhood you can always go talk to my sister," I turn and lean against the ledge – the view from up here must really be grand. "She puts on a real good show, complete with tears and hysterical melodrama."
"I'm not sure anyone would look at your career as an effort to enjoy yourself, Sands."
"You would've had to've been there to really appreciate it, Doll Face."
"Eastern Europe?"
Fuck. "How much did Milo tell you?"
"Almost nothing."
"Than that's as much as you really want to know." I toss my spent cig to the roof. "But – take my word on it – I was a lost cause long before my little all expenses paid vacation in sunny Fucks-its-stan-okov."
"I'm not sure I believe that – "
"I didn't break under the pressure," I snap at her. "I didn't limp away from that and get all trigger happy all of a sudden – I was always this way." Just ask fucking Chet Wheaton… just ask my sister…
"That's not what I meant – I meant that I don't think you're a lost cause."
Oh. Oops. "Sorry," and I really do make the effort to sound sincere. "I guess I didn't sleep real well the last few days. I get a little edgy when I'm over tired."
"Why don't you go home and get some rest. I'll have that material recorded for you over night – it'll be on your desk when you get in tomorrow. And like I said, I'll be around all day tomorrow if you need anything else read to you."
I favour her with a bit of a smirk, "I really didn't think the boss did grunt work."
"She does when she wants to get the job done."
Yeah, that's kinda what I figured…
"Hey – " I call to the boss as we part company at the end of the stairwell, back inside – Eddas doesn't say anything, but I hear her turn towards me. "That's a real dandy office by the way. Thanks."
She just chuckles softly – yeah, she gets what I'm saying…
...Home. It's not a word that's really ever meant much – it was always just that place where I hung up my hat. An empty apartment, four walls and a roof with rented furniture – rented companionship when I was actually in the mood for human contact, or feeling a little horny. Milo's right – there's not much difference between buying a stranger in a bar few drinks and picking up a working girl (or in his case boy) on the street.
Even when I was growing up, 'home' was just that place I went to at the end of the day, just that place where I slept. It was never permanent – so there was no point in getting attached to anything. Or anyone… until now.
Beth.
Mon ange.
Cicliy.
Mon petit ange.
Emma.
Mon petite pain cheri…
(no, really pain is muffin in French… it's just a coincidence that the word happens to describe her in English as well… I think her mother might have called that serendipity…)
I slide out of the cab and all I want is to get inside – to be home. Even if the place itself isn't home, I have someone waiting for me – and that makes all the difference in the world –
"Jeff – "
Paula. I force a smile in her direction and fish out what's left of my pack of smokes…
"Have a nice trip?" Judging by the sound of her approach, she was camped out across the street laying in wait for her quarry. That of course would be lil' ol yours truly.
"It was just peachy-keen, thanks for asking," I get my cigarette lit and manage not to inhale as deeply as I really want to.
Paula slides her arm into mine, "Let's take a walk."
I fold up the cane so I've got her on one side and Spencer on the other. It does go through my mind that I could probably refuse to go – Spencer here is a fully trained guard dog, after all… but… there is something persuasive about Paula's tone... "Hope I didn't keep you waiting out here long Hot Lips – I'd hate to have that cute little tush of yours getting frost bite."
"I haven't been here that long – remember, I know you. When you're at your best you always head into 'the office' before calling it a night."
"And when I'm at my worse?"
"You check yourself into the nearest cantina. But I noticed that you had yourself a little housekeeper, so I figured you'd be home sooner rather than later."
I don't let her description of Beth – or at least I don't let it show. I just smile sweetly and ask Paula if she's really sure she wants to be seen in public with me.
"Your company's worth the risk. Besides, everyone back at Langley knows I'm investigating you – so I'm sure they'll just chalk it up to me using our history to my advantage. Everyone knows what a dog you are."
Yeah. That's me. Can't keep it in my pants – that's how I ended up losing my eyes, remember…?
…………………………………
"Tell me something honestly, Jeff – is your little housekeeper really the reason you didn't go home with me the other night?" Paula asks – we're sitting on a very familiar park bench. I can't quite make out that underlying something in her tone, though…
"Does it make a difference?" I inquire, lighting up another cigarette.
"Not really – just call it feminine curiosity."
"And if she is the reason –?" I wonder.
"I'm just surprised, that's all. She's not what I would have expected out of you – and not what I would have ever expected to be turned down for."
It's really all I can do to keep my tone neutral. "Life is just full of little surprises, I guess."
"You really like this woman, don't you?" (No, that's not malice or jealousy – it's – I don't know what it is… it's like the honest-to-fucking-God sincerity she had the other day back at CIA central, when she asked about my injuries, off the record. Like she really cares … ) "Jeff?"
Definitely time to change the subject. "So how goes the investigation, there, Hot Lips?"
Thankfully, Paula is either kind enough or just plain bright enough to catch the hint that I do not want to talk about Beth… "I'm still putting the pieces together – but I'm kind of surprised Dan Collins is still breathing."
I just smirk back at her.
"DOJ have you on that short of a leash?"
"I've got my own reasons for keeping Collins around." (Bullshit… I want him so far down the worms will have to go digging if they want to nibble on his festering carcass…)
"Like getting to Rebecca Suarez – I'm assuming I don't have to tell you about that?"
"Nope."
"I don't have to tell you that Suarez is working with a guy called Gomez De Jesus – or that Gomez De Jesus just happens to be the head of what was once the Barillo cartel – or that Corazon was about to turn Barillo over to the DEA, despite a few technicalities in the extradition treaty – do I?"
"Nope, nope and nope some more – sorry Sugar, beat you to all that."
Paula moves in close enough to make me just a wee bit uncomfortable… especially when I find her hand on my knee…
"How about this – I couldn't find even a ghost of a record that you talked to Collins after October thirteenth," she moves in closer still, "But I did get my hands on some information that makes a good case for the order to take out Barillo coming from the White House after all. Pitch that cigarette and I'll tell you all about it."
That just doesn't make sense… and that hand creeping up my thigh, making it real hard for me to keep cool over here… although I have the feeling she's not putting a move on me, she's playing to whatever audience she suspects we might have. I toss my smoke over my shoulder, "I'm all ears, Sugar."
"Kiss me – and reach into my coat. Inner pocket, left hand side."
"I never have been one to turn down the chance to kiss pretty lady," I smile and follow her instructions – it's a case of some sort, small, cylindrical, metallic... I slide it up into the sleeve of my coat… and yeah, it's a damn nice kiss, too… I really did call her Hot Lips for a reason…
"Micro chip inside," she tells me quietly a few moments later... Paula's face is pressed up against mine so close I can feel her lips moving against my cheek; she has her hand is on my other cheek, cradling my face up against hers – and – and it's just pretend – she's playing and I'm playing along – but it feels natural. Comfortable, warm – like putting on a favourite shirt, right from the dryer – it's like it's new, but everything is completely familiar... "Your boss at the DOJ should find the information useful. Just leave my name out of it." Paula slides her lips against mine a second time and our tongues dance some more…
"Tell me something," I ask in between kisses, "The other night –?"
"If you ever change your mind – or get tired of playing house – you know where to find me," she purrs softly, right into my ear. "This has nothing to do with that – I told you, I'm after the truth – and I know you're a lot of things, but a traitor just isn't one of them." She kisses my cheek one last time before pulling away. "I have to get back to work – and you'd better wipe my lipstick off your mouth before you get home to your little girlfriend."
Girlfriend. Not housekeeper. Yes, kemo sabes, there's a difference and she knows I get it… or at least she wants me to know she gets it. Beth is why I didn't go home with her. This little production here – this was just for the benefit of anyone who happened to be watching. (Oh of course the offer is still open, she wouldn't have said so if it weren't – I'm just pretty sure Paula isn't expecting to find me at her doorstep any time soon… even though it really was a damn nice kiss. Come on gang, give me a break, I'm only human here... if I really wanted her, I would have gone home with her the other night when I could have at least used the tequila as an excuse.)
I feel Paula standing to leave, "See you around, Jeff – maybe I'll come visit you in prison."
I just smirk at her, "We'll see."
"One of us will, anyway."
Ouch. Even if I know she didn't mean it, fucking ouch….
Now… home… and it's not the walk I dread, it's what I'm going to walk into when I get there that worries me, because deep down in my gut, I just know Beth saw me leave with Paula…
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