Determinant: a gene or other factor that determines the character and development of a cell or group of cells in an organism.
Chapter 22: Sins of the Father - Absolution
An astounding revelation about the last skeleton leads the team to Helsinki, where Mitch comes face to face with a piece of his past he'd rather forget.
Mitch read the letter three times before he felt like he'd absorbed as much as he could. He'd made an educated guess on Jamie's mindset based on her behavior these last weeks, but after reading her unfiltered thoughts he knew he'd only seen glimpses of the breadth of her pain. His heart broke all over again as he read about her nightmares, about her feelings of hopelessness and despair and the loneliness she sometimes felt in a room surrounded by her friends.
But that wasn't all that was in the letter. The last few paragraphs spoke to her fears, the darkness in her dreams that she was afraid would consume her. One of her final lines stuck with him, and as his feet carried him back to her he mulled it over and over. It was odd in its incongruousness, talk of light and warmth surrounded by mentions of snarling beasts and an oppressive, consuming night. It was an enigma, and his mind wouldn't let it alone until he had answers.
She was right where he'd left her, perched at the bar and nursing the last of her drink. She was staring absently into space, the fingers of her free hand picking at an invisible speck. He took the rare moment of quiet to study her. The bruises from her ordeal had all but healed, leaving only slight discoloration on her neck and face. Her hair was longer, perhaps a bit more wild than when he'd first met her, and her clothes were less the form-fitting "junior reporter" attire and now more "whatever is in the closet, end of the world" casual. She was still the most striking woman he'd ever met, and he knew he was forever ruined by her.
He'd never been much of a forever kind of guy. Even his marriage to Audra had been more a knee-jerk reaction to her pregnancy than a deep, soul-joining love. But with Jamie, Mitch knew he'd happily spend the rest of his life waking up with her at his side if the universe would let him.
His thoughts had run away from him, and when he refocused them she was staring at him. He could see the worry in her eyes and he gave her his best reassuring smile as he closed the distance between them.
He stopped next to her wordlessly, slid the letter onto the bar and reached for her hands. She surrendered them willingly and he pulled her to her feet. Once she was standing, he moved his hands from hers to frame her face gently. Mitch watched her eyes fall closed, and he knew from her letter that she was soaking in the warmth and comfort his touch offered her. He'd made the resolution immediately upon reading her words to make more physical contact with her, to reassure her of his presence and his support at all times. They stayed like that for a few long moments, Jamie with her eyes closed and Mitch with his memorizing every micrometer of her face. Then he pulled her in and pressed his lips against her forehead as she relaxed into him, breathing in deeply as her body molded to his.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" she asked quietly, and his huff of laughter disturbed the strands of her that fell across her face.
"Yeah," he told her. "As long as you can forgive me, too."
"What for?" He felt the muscles of her brow bunch in confusion beneath his lips.
"For not really understanding," he told her. "I knew you were hurting, and you've done an amazing job in the past weeks keeping it together. But I haven't been as supportive as I could be." He knew from her own admission that there had been times in the last two weeks that she had wanted to talk to him, to share with him, but hadn't felt like she could. Most of that was bad timing, but some of it wasn't and it stung.
"Well," her tone was just this side of sarcastic, "it's not like you've been trying to save the world or anything."
He laughed with her and rubbed her shoulders gently. "As soon as this is all over, you and I are going to go somewhere far away from any animals and planes and people and spend an entire week in bed."
"A week?" She scoffed lightly. "A bit ambitious, aren't we?"
"Hey," he poked her side and held her as she squirmed. "Was than an old man crack?"
"Nope," she managed to wiggle out of his arms but didn't go far.
He watched her bite her bottom lip as her eyes cut to the letter sitting innocuously on the bar between them. He wanted to ask her about a few things, to get clarification or details regarding some of her points, but he knew now wasn't the time. She was likely going over it all in her head, wondering if she should have revealed so much of herself to him at once.
Before she could second guess or backpedal on anything she'd written, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. "We don't have to talk about it all right now, Jamie." He'd guessed her thoughts correctly, and the relief that tinged her surprise at his words was visible. "This is a good first step," he told her, "and you've already jumped the hardest hurdle. You and I, we don't do so well with the whole 'asking for help' thing, so I know how hard this is for you. But nothing you could ever write or say or yell…" he smiled at that last part to take the sting of out it, "could ever make me love you any less. And no matter how jumbled up your head gets, I'm gonna be right here to help you sort through it all."
She hugged him again, this time with far more intensity than their earlier embrace. His ribs twinged from the force of it but he ignored it - her well-being was more important than his own discomfort. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders tightly, letting her stay for as long as she needed to conquer that small sliver of worry he could still see in her eyes. He heard her mumble something against his chest, and though he hadn't heard the words he understood their meaning.
"I love you, too," he whispered.
After a few more minutes of silence, she pulled back and wiped her eyes. "We should probably get back to work, huh?"
"Probably," he shrugged. "I still need to piece together that last skeleton and figure out what we're going after next."
"Last piece to the puzzle?" she teased. "I thought you had to finish one before starting another?"
He laughed again, this time louder and fuller. "Yes, well," he slung an arm over her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the lab, "we've established pretty firmly you've always been an exception to just about every rule I have ever made."
Two hours later he was at the end of his rope. The last skeleton was a jumbled mess of bones, and though he could see where some of them articulated or joined together, he could not make out the overall species. It was full of contradictions and deviations, and no matter how he looked at it he couldn't figure it out.
"Jamie?"
She was upstairs perusing the various news sites, compiling a list of possible destinations for their next adventure and checking on the state of things. At his call, her head peeked over the railing. "Could you come down here?"
"Still working on Pierce's mystery bones?" she asked as she descended the staircase slowly.
"Yeah," he heaved a sigh and set what he thought might be an arm bone back on the table.
"Any progress?" He just shot her a look that told her exactly what he thought of her question. "Well, it's got four legs," she gestured broadly. "How many things can that be?"
"Uh, about three million," he answered flatly. "That's how many quadrupeds there are on this planet." She looked a bit disheartened so he kept talking, hoping that maybe laying it all out verbally might spark something. "You see, our mystery animal is about the size of a really big lion, but according to these bones in its feet it walked in a plantigrade fashion."
"Plantigrade, sure." She nodded in affirmation, then glanced up at him. "What's plantigrade?"
"Feet flat on the ground," he explained, demonstrating the position with his hand flat on the table. "As opposed to digitigrade," he lifted up to his fingers, "which is up on its toes, like lions do. This," he let his hand fall back to his side, "is more like a bear."
"Okay," she shrugged, "so we're looking for a bear?"
"Oh, wait, there's more." He pointed toward the skull, where the jaw bones lay skewed across each other. "Range of motion in the mandible is about a hundred and twenty degrees, so that makes it more like a snake." He moved rapidly to the hind legs as his tone grew more agitated. "Also, there's the length imbalance on the front and hind legs, which makes it more like a hyena. On top of that," he gestured almost wildly now, "I got a bunch of spare parts. I don't know what those are." Even summarizing it all out loud hadn't helped, and now he was just frustrated with the whole thing. "So if by 'am I making any progress' you're asking me if I have any idea what these bones are trying to tell me, the answer is a big, fat no. With a big snake-hyena-bear-lion on top."
She reached out to rub his arm comfortingly, and he forced himself to take a few calming breaths as she continued to work the puzzle. "Well, is it possible these bones don't even go together?"
Footsteps interrupted his answer, and since Abe and Jackson were out that left one person on board who would storm in unannounced. Both Mitch and Jamie looked up as Allison came to a stop on the other side of the bone table.
"We have a problem with Jackson's mother."
"What kind of problem?" Mitch didn't really have the brainpower to spare right now, but it was clear from the look on her face that Allison wasn't going away soon.
"She's missing," Allison explained. "And according to Abe's last check in, she's the one responsible for the deaths in the camp."
"What?" Jamie shook her head disbelievingly. "How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Allison maintained her cool, clinical tone as she spoke. At least she was smart enough to leave any personal feelings at the door so long as their mission was being threatened. "But it's not something we can affect right now. Once Jackson and Abe locate her, we'll figure out what to do next. How are things coming in here?"
"Great," Mitch deadpanned. "Except I'm trying to piece together an animal that doesn't exist."
Allison ignored his flippant attitude and turned to Jamie. "You mentioned something about the bones not going together?"
"No," Jamie corrected shortly, "I just asked a question."
Hoping to stop a fight before it started, Mitch quickly interjected. "Everything about these bones says they're from the same skeleton. Color, texture…"
"Well, if we can't identify them we're back to chasing storms," Jamie lamented.
The far door slammed back suddenly, and all three of them turned to see Jackson and Abe making their way hastily to the lab. Jackson was cradling a body in his arms, and Mitch knew from the way it was wrapped head to toe that whoever he was carrying wasn't alive.
"What happened?" He heard Jamie's exclamation, but Mitch was immediately in work mode.
"She was shot," Abe explained quickly. Mitch moved to grab the gurney off the wall as Jackson laid his mother down. "Sh-she mutated," he went on.
"My father must have given her the ghost gene like he did to me." Jackson unwrapped her slowly, like he was afraid of hurting her. But she wasn't hurting anymore. When he revealed her face Mitch stifled a gasp of surprise; she was well and truly gone. Her face, jaw and neck were covered in blood, and beneath it Mitch could make out dozens of tiny lacerations where the skin had stretched and torn. It was Kovacs all over again. "If he did," Jackson went on, "she'll have the same mark as me. A three pointed scar."
Mitch heard the undercurrent of rage he was hiding beneath his grief and realized they would need to do something before he lost it. Mitch moved quickly for his fluorescent light and dimmed the overheads.
"Okay," he switched it on as Jackson exposed his mother's body from waist to head. She was still wearing the clothes she'd died in, though they were torn and bloody. "This light will cause old scars and injuries to fluoresce. If the mark is deep enough." He moved the beam over her head, then down to her arms. A long eight inch scar glowed on the inside of her forearm.
"That's where she was bitten by a rhino calf," Abe explained quietly. Mitch moved on. Finally, upon reaching her left shoulder, he saw it. Three small dots in a triangle.
Jackson groaned in pain. "My father did this." He growled and pushed away from the table violently. "I swear if he wasn't dead, I'd kill him myself!" With a grunt of anger he lashed out, slamming his hands into the bone table and scattering the small pieces. Allison tried to reason with him, to calm him down, but he immediately turned his rage on her. "Maybe I don't care!" he roared. "About any of this! Do you understand?"
Mitch saw Jamie shrink away from the outburst, and he immediately moved to stand between her and the raving man. Jackson was losing control, and if he hulked out on them right now, in this small space, there was little any of them could do.
"Jackson," Abe stepped forward to try and calm his friend. "Maybe you should listen to Allison and try to hold on."
But Jackson just stumbled away, clutching his head like he was in pain. "I can't…" he mumbled as he staggered toward the lounge. Abe followed him worriedly, and once they were gone Allison turned to Mitch with a concerned stare.
"I don't know how much longer we're gonna be able to manage him."
Mitch had nothing to say to that, so instead he turned to make sure Jamie was alright. She gave him a small nod, so he refocused his attention on their mystery animal.
"He messed up my bones." Mitch rearranged a couple of pieces that had mixed together from the spare parts pile, and suddenly it hit him. "Wait a minute." His mind was already two steps ahead, and when he glanced at the pile he suddenly knew where they went. "Sometimes, out of chaos, comes clarity." The pieces began to fall into place in his head, but there was no way he was seeing what he thought was seeing. More bones came together, and he was dancing around the table in an elaborate waltz that he was sure made him look just a little crazy. "If I'm right about this, someone is going to owe me a very large, very cold double martini."
The last piece slotted in, a large tusk-like tooth that fit into a neat groove in the upper mandible. "Okay," Mitch stepped back with an incredulous expression, "I know what it is. But it's insane." He turned and grabbed the chair that Jackson had upended on his way out. Once upright, he sat down and tapped a few keys on his computer.
"Immortal jellyfish, ice lizard, earthquake sloth - it's all insane," Jamie pointed out as she made her way over.
"Yeah, well, none of those are extinct."
"What exactly are you talking about?" Allison demanded.
Mitch finished his search and hit the enter key triumphantly. "The one animal we need most," he sat back as the image filled the screen, "has been extinct for 14,000 years." When he turned around, they wore identical gobsmacked impressions. He stood and raised his arms in surrender before moving to sit on the stairs. He had no idea what to do now.
"How could Pierce have experimented on an extinct animal?" Allison asked.
"I don't know," Mitch shot back snidely, "'cause I can't read the mind of a guy who's been dead for a hundred years. Which," he added with more than just a little derision, "right about now sounds pretty recent, doesn't it?"
"Is there a chance that the saber-toothed tiger still exists."
"It's not a tiger," Mitch took perverse delight in the technicalities - particularly the way Allison fumed as he pointed out her misidentification. "It's a cat."
"Oh, for God's sake!"
"The saber-toothed cat went extinct during the Ice Age. That's the Pleistocene Era." He didn't know why he added that last part. Maybe because the steadfast reassurance of facts was all that was keeping him composed right now.
"What if you're wrong?" Allison continued. "If there is even a shadow of a doubt, we need to pursue it."
Jamie was still uncharacteristically silent. Mitch turned to get her thoughts, but he could already tell he wouldn't like them. She said nothing, but she didn't have to. She agreed with Allison.
But Allison wasn't finished. "If there's a chance - any chance at all - this animal's still alive then you and I both know that there's only one place to find that answer."
Oh God, no.
"No," Mitch refused. There was no chance in hell of ever getting him to voluntarily visit that man. "Allison, no."
"I am sorry," Allison shook her head even as Mitch refused again. "But this is our last shot and I am taking it." She walked over to the comm panel and pressed a key. "Trotter, this is Allison Shaw. We're wheels up for Helsinki."
Mitch winced and shut his eyes to keep a lid on the wave of anger that one word caused him. He could have gone the rest of his life - and a good portion of the next - without ever speaking to his father again. Fate, it seemed, had a different plan.
"Anyone wanna tell me why we're going to Helsinki?" Jamie asked.
Mitch knew he should make an effort to keep his answer civil, that any perceived agitation might be misconstrued as anger toward her. But he couldn't help it. "Because that's where one of the greatest cryptozoologists of our time has chosen to sit out the animal armageddon. And if you don't know what a cryptozoologist is, that's a 'scientist,'" he held up his fingers in air quotes, "who goes around in search of animals that may or may not exist."
"Like Bigfoot?" He was glad to hear the skepticism in her voice.
"Yeah, Bigfoot, the Lochness Monster, Easter Bunny...all that."
"Okay," Jamie sighed, "so we're going all the way to Helsinki to meet a quack?"
She didn't know it, but her rather obvious disdain for his father's work was doing wonders on improving his mood. Unfortunately it was immediately overshadowed as he thought about actually having to speak to the man who had devastated his mother and tore their family apart.
"Oh, not just any quack," he sniped. "This particular quack is a raging alcoholic, pathological hypocrite, a straight-up cradle robber...and he's also my dad."
Mitch hadn't talked about his dad much with Jamie. She knew he had cheated on his mother, and she knew he had stolen Allison and married her before Mitch could even process the announcement. But beyond that, Mitch had avoided talking about the man at all. He didn't even like thinking about him.
The plane rumbled as Trotter warmed up the engines, and soon enough they began taxiing down the runway. Mitch felt a surge of nausea hit him that he hadn't felt in a long time. He was up and off the stairs in a heartbeat, dashing for the nearest bathroom. He heard Allison call after him, but it was Jamie's soft footfalls that followed him and her cool hands that stroked his hair back as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bowl.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's gonna be alright."
He laughed humorlessly and stood, angling around her in the small space to rinse his mouth in the sink. "In no version of a just universe is me asking my father for help alright," he told her. "But thanks for trying." His stomach flipped as they lifted off from the runway, and he bit down on the urge to vomit again.
They were off to see the wizard.
Jamie offered to go with them when they landed, but Mitch steadfastly refused. She looked like she wanted to argue, but then their eyes met and an entire conversation passed between them in the span of a few heartbeats. She relented with a soft smile, promising to stay on board and monitor the news feeds for anything relevant or important. It was busy work and he hated forcing her to choose that instead of being at his side, but there was no way he wanted her anywhere near Max any sooner than she had to be.
It wasn't that he was actually afraid of history repeating itself. Even if Max tried to hit on Jamie, she wasn't Allison. She'd already proven that multiple times over, and he trusted her more than he'd ever trusted anyone in his life. But still the thought had taken hold and wouldn't let go, and he thanked her silently as Allison called for him.
"We'll be back soon," he told her. Remembering the resolution he'd made that morning, he stole a moment to kiss her softly and run his fingers down the length of her arm. She gripped his hand firmly and squeezed, a silent promise of support and love. He returned it with equal strength before leaving her alone in the lab.
It didn't surprise him that Allison knew where Max lived despite having never been here before. It was a beautiful estate, with large bay windows and a picturesque view of a body of water whose name he couldn't pronounce. It spoke of money, and as Allison rang the bell Mitch was suddenly reminded what Max had done with all of his fortune and fame.
"I might vomit," he mumbled to no one as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"Mitch, please," Allison hissed as the door opened and Mitch got a good look at a man he hadn't seen in almost twelve years. He was a bit more gray around the temples and about twenty pounds lighter, but he still looked the same.
"Well, well, well," Max Morgan greeted his unexpected guests with all the hospitality of a Southern matron. "Look who decided to swing by Helsinki. Prodigal son," he glanced from Mitch to Allison. "Favorite ex-wife. Come on in." He stepped back to allow them passage, and Allison smiled graciously.
"Thank you." She was exuding politeness and charm, though Mitch knew she held her own share of animosity toward their host. As the saying went, a tiger couldn't change his stripes, and Allison had learned firsthand why Max Morgan had never had a successful marriage.
"No party," Mitch glanced around curiously. "I mean, where are you hiding the barely-legals?" Mitch made no effort to disguise the revulsion in his tone, and Allison called him on it.
"Mitch."
Max just laughed. "It's okay," he told her. "He gets his grudge-holding from his mother."
The way he mentioned her, like she wasn't even important enough to name other than as the mother of his son, made Mitch's blood boil. He stamped down on the surge of anger as Max moved toward the bar at the rear of the house. "You remember her," Mitch tossed at Allison snidely. "Max used to refer to her as 'water under the bridge.'"
"Your mother left me," Max pointed out.
"Yeah, well, you were banging her best friend, so -" It was taking all of his willpower not to walk over and punch the smug grin off of Max's face. Mitch stuffed his hands a little further into his pockets just to be on the safe side.
"I was vigorous in those days," Max gloated.
"Let's not dignify your behavior, Max," Allison chided.
The older Morgan accepted the remark but made no indication it had stuck. "I've been following your exploits," he turned back to Mitch with a smile that could almost be called proud. "Damn shame that cure didn't work."
Allison was the one to pull them back on track. "Why are you in Europe anyway, Max?"
"Aside from hiding out in Helsinki with - let me guess - a fast boat and a clear shot to one of those islands for when the animals actually take over." Mitch no longer cared about hiding his disdain; Max knew he hated him.
But the man was as unperturbed as ever. "No, I just happened to have been in the neighborhood when everything went south."
"Looking for what?" Mitch jeered. "A cyclops?
"Don't be ridiculous," Max scoffed. "The Arre River monster, actually. It's a fascinating creature," he added with more enthusiasm. "It's like a giant moray eel."
Mitch laughed scornfully. "That actually makes sense. You in search of a mythical creature that resembles an enormous penis."
Allison cleared her throat in a warning that Mitch had no intention of heeding. He hadn't wanted to come in the first place; Allison had to have known there was no way he was playing nice.
"Ali?" Max coaxed sweetly. "You care for a drink? I have a beautiful bottle of Tignanello with your name on it." He was already moving toward the wine rack, as though he knew her answer would be yes.
"Actually, Max, this isn't a social call. The world is falling apart." Mitch almost smiled at the patronizingly soft tone she was using. "I need you to stop by the plane."
"Our plane?" Max asked, and suddenly Mitch wanted to burn the entire thing to the ground.
"My plane," Allison corrected gently. "Max, my plane."
"So let me see if I understand this correctly," Max glanced between the two of them with a self-satisfied grin. "The woman who left me and the son who hates me have somehow gotten themselves into such a pickle that they actually need me."
It was sickening to hear the smugness in his voice and Mitch wanted nothing more than to lash out and relieve some of the tension that was coiling in his belly. But they actually did need his input, and Max was proud enough to keep it from them if Mitch followed through with his impulses.
So he reined them in, shoving them down into a box and locking them away to be dealt with later. It took Max no time at all to gather his wallet and keys, and as they walked toward the SUV he was smiling widely. Mitch slipped into the backseat behind Allison, as far from Max as he could get. For the entire ride back to the plane, Mitch stared obstinately out the window and blocked out the conversation that was going on up front.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and at fished it out, eager for any excuse to keep on ignoring his father. It was Jamie.
How are you?
He smiled briefly as he typed out his reply.
Peachy. You?
Her text came just a few seconds later.
I've been watching news reports all morning about how the world is falling apart.
Mitch hated that it had become a habit for her, an obsession to compensate for the Reiden-centered one she no longer pursued doggedly. He often found her sifting through websites or watching a picture-in-picture of multiple news outlets as they calculated the death toll and regaled the public with tales of the latest horrors that had gripped the world.
His fingers moved quickly over the letters on his screen, typing out his reply.
We're on our way back.
See you soon. x
"What are you smiling about?"
Mitch looked up to see his father turned in his seat, his expression one of teasing delight. In the rearview mirror he saw Allison's scowl, but she made no comment. Mitch just tucked his phone back into his pocket and made a point not to answer, schooling his features back to something resembling detestation. Max shrugged and gave up after a few seconds of sullen silence.
Allison maneuvered them onto the runway where the plane still sat. She'd already called Trotter a few seconds prior, so the bay door was lowering as they approached. Max gave a low whistle as they rolled up into the aft of the plane.
Max strolled through the plane like he owned it. He requested they visit the bar first, and Mitch didn't resist the urge to roll his eyes at the obvious request. Still, Allison humored him and they made their way in one of the outer halls until they reached the bar.
"Are we redecorating or just embracing sloth?" Max asked of the mess still littering the floor. The lab had been priority during their clean up, followed shortly by the vehicle bay and the kitchen. The bar had been an afterthought, cleaned only just enough to give them access to the liquor. Max stopped at the cabinets and pressed down on a hidden hatch, lifting up a door with an exclaim of delight.
"You saved my stash in case I came back," he held up two bottles, one about a quarter full of scotch and the other filled almost to the brim with Swedish Fish. Mitch needed a drink.
"No, Max," Allison still had that false, sycophantic tone. "I saved your stash because I forgot it was there."
Mitch watched his father saunter over to him and hold out the scotch with a hopeful smile. "Peace offering? I get to keep the fish." Mitch just stared him down and poured his own drink from the stock under the bar. Allison cleared her throat, obviously done with the standoff. Max just shrugged and tucked the scotch back under his arm. "Suit yourself." He popped the top off of the candy and dug one out. "Oh! Still good. Helluva candy." He chewed on it for a moment wistfully, then closed the container. "So, where are these bones you want me to look at?"
Jamie chose that moment to come barging in, her steps fast and determined. Something had agitated her, and Mitch could take a guess at what had done it. Watching the chaos of the world devolving with each passing day wasn't exactly a relaxing activity. She brushed right past Max without even glancing at him as she reached for the television on the wall. "You guys need to see this." She switched it on and stepped back, finally seeing Mitch's father for the first time. "Oh, hello."
Mitch took a breath and made the introduction as quickly and painlessly as possible. "Jamie Campbell, Max Morgan." She stared at the older Morgan for a moment before her ingrained Southern manners kicked in and she held out her hand.
Max took it gently and smiled widely, his voice oozing with charm. "Pleasure to meet you, Jamie."
Mitch felt ill again. "Please don't kiss her hand."
Jamie pulled her hand back as politely as possible before moving to Mitch's side. "They made an announcement today," she gestured to the newscast now blaring behind them.
"Earlier today, a statement was made by General Andrew Davies of the IADG. Davies has confirmed that with the approval process all but complete, the Noah Objective will launch in what is now three days and twenty two hours."
Near the back of the room, Mitch heard Allison curse under her breath. Apparently Davies had recovered from his little adventure on their plane and had leveraged enough support to get an actual timetable approved. The time for dawdling was over.
"Well, we've got a world to save," he pointed toward the lab in an effort to get his father's attention off of the woman standing next to him. "And, in some great cosmic irony, I actually need your help. So let's get this over with."
"Can Jamie come, too?"
Max's innocent tone ignited every nerve ending in Mitch's body. He could only imagine what his father was thinking and his fists balled at his sides as he bit down on the response that jumped into his throat. Instead, he adopted the same light, breezy tone that Allison had been using to handle the infuriating man as the four of them made their way to the lab.
"Yes, Max. Jamie can come, too."
If he wasn't in such a sour mood, Mitch might have enjoyed the look of confusion on Max's face as he got his first look at the skeleton lying on the table. He made a circuit, walking slowly around the bones as his mind tried to process what his eyes were telling him. Finally he gave a whistle and looked up with a smile.
"This is a saber-toothed cat," he said.
"Yes, Max, I'd worked that much out for myself," Mitch sighed.
"So if you know what it is, why do you need me?"
"Good question," Mitch grumbled, earning him a sharp rebuke from Allison. He rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "So we've got less than four days to find an animal that we all know has been extinct for, oh, 14,000 years."
Max was still in awe of the specimen. Allison was growing impatient. "Our information suggests this animal may have been alive as recent as a hundred years ago. And if it was," she added, "maybe there's hope we can still find one."
Max looked up skeptically, which was something for the man who reportedly believed that Bigfoot roamed the Pacific Northwest. "A saber-toothed cat?" He asked.
"We need to find out how old these bones are," Mitch pushed the conversation forward. "But there's soil contamination, so carbon dating's not gonna get us close enough."
Max leaned down and peered at a femur, cracked and discolored from time. "Well there are ways," he said. "But they'll confirm exactly what I'm telling you. This cat's been dead for thousands of years."
"We need to know for sure." It was the first thing Jamie had said since they'd entered the lab. Mitch read her body language and tone, recognizing her in journalist mode immediately. She was working his father, using his interest in her and her natural charm to get him to cooperate.
Predictably, Max complied. "You know, a few years ago I came across what I thought were Loch Ness monster remains," he told her boastingly. "I dated the bones, measuring the aspartic acid."
It was such a simple solution, obvious really, and Mitch mentally slapped himself for not thinking of it. He almost wanted to scream at Max to get off the plane, but he couldn't get past his own shame at not having come up with an aspartic acid test.
"So can we do this?" Jamie prodded.
But Max had been given an audience. "Alas, once again it wasn't Nessy," he was still lamenting his previous adventures. "And I, uh, do believe it was my last shot at her. The pursuit of the unattainable can motivate a life." Jamie was smiling flatly, humoring him, and Mitch had had enough.
"Max," he interrupted before his father could go off on another tear. "Can you date these bones or not?"
"Yes and no," Max answered quickly. "Bones have to be completely clean. Otherwise the desiccated soft tissue will just throw off the results."
"Okay," Jamie shrugged, "so let's clean 'em. What's the problem?"
"Because in order for the bones to be completely cleaned, they need to be boiled for 72 hours, which is more time than it sounds like you have."
But Mitch had another plan. While his father was talking, he picked up a tibia and walked quickly over to Moe's tank. "Or we could just do this," Mitch dumped the bone in with the jellyfish, ignoring Allison's exclamation of surprise. "Jellyfish are carnivorous," he half-turned and tossed his explanation over his shoulder. "I'm sure Moe here would be delighted to chew off any dry tissue, seeing as he hasn't had lunch yet."
"That's my boy."
Never had a phrase elicited such a visceral reaction from him. Mitch gripped the corners of the table so hard his knuckles turned white. Soft fingers slid over his as Jamie appeared suddenly at his side. He'd been so focused on not blowing up at Max that he hadn't noticed her approach.
"Speaking of lunch," she said. "Anyone hungry? I can make sandwiches." Neither Max nor Allison could see their hands from this angle, and Jamie's touch was enough to get him to relax his grip.
"That would be wonderful, my dear," Max drawled. "Would you like some company?"
"No, thank you. I can manage. You should get Allison to take you on a tour; the plane's got some new tech features and animal attack countermeasures that are pretty fascinating."
The look Allison leveled at Jamie could have razed cities. Jamie just grinned disarmingly and dashed off toward the kitchen. If it was even possible, Mitch fell in love with her even more.
"Well," Max clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "What do you say, Ali?"
Allison shook her head and smiled politely. "I wish I could, Max, but I need to contact some people in Washington and get more information on the launch." She hurried from the room with as much dignity as she could muster, leaving Mitch alone with his estranged father.
Thankfully, Max seemed to sense his son's barely concealed dislike for the entire situation. "Well, I suppose I can make it a self-guided tour. How long will it take that little guy to finish his meal?"
"Uh," Mitch glanced down at Moe happily munching away on the bits of tissue left on the bone. "Twenty minutes, half an hour tops."
"Alright," Max began walking away, thankfully in the opposite direction of the kitchen. "Be back soon."
Mitch let out a sigh of relief as his father disappeared. The last two hours had been beyond stressful, and he felt the itch in his throat that drove him toward the bar instantly. That was where Jamie found him, sliding a plate of food toward him as she slid on her stool. Mitch was already halfway through his first glass of Jameson, grimacing as the amber liquid hit his tongue.
"Mitch," she reached out and plucked the empty glass from his hand before he could pour a second round. "Look at me." He did. Her blue eyes were bright and piercing, and he could tell she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how. He waited her out, and after a few moments his patience paid off. "Something you said earlier stuck with me, and I wanted to talk to you about it."
"Okay." He glanced at his glass in her hand and his fingers twitched, eager to grab it and numb the pain of his father's presence with more Jameson.
"Earlier, when you were talking about your father," she began slowly, "you mentioned that he was an alcoholic."
Mitch shrugged. "So?"
"So," she moved his empty glass further away and set it out of his reach, "I want to make sure you don't make the same mistakes."
"I'm not an alcoholic," Mitch protested.
"No, not yet," she agreed. "But the predilection is there. You probably know better than I do the odds; that having a parent who suffers from alcoholism makes it more likely for the children to as well."
"I am not my father," he hissed, angry more at the ring of truth in the words rather their speaker.
Jamie shook her head quickly. "Of course you aren't. And you aren't at a point yet where you need this," she indicated the bar around them. "But I'm worried that one day you will be."
She didn't know it, but he often had the same fears. So many times in the past year, especially those dark months when he'd thought her dead, he'd found it easier to dull his thoughts with alcohol rather than deal with the agony they brought him. At first, his conscience had reminded him constantly of Max and of how he'd treated those he'd claimed to love. But as the weeks wore on, that small voice grew fainter, then one day it didn't speak at all. The pain had been too great, drowning out all other thoughts and feelings to the point where Mitch found solace only in the dreamless black that Dalton's had brought him.
"I'm sorry," he murmured finally. "You're right, I just…"
"Aren't great at asking for help," she finished with a compassionate smile. "Well, guess what? This thing we have, it goes both ways. You can talk to me about anything, Mitch. I don't mind you having a drink when you want one, but whenever you feel like you need one, please come talk to me first?"
Mitch nodded mutely and accepted the grateful hug she gave him, his eyes closing as her fingers carded through his hair. Her lips pressed into the crown of his head, then just above his eyebrows. When she moved to his mouth he pulled her in tighter, happily drinking her in as a much more effective alternative to the whiskey he'd been so eager to reach for just minutes ago.
"Is Moe done yet?" She whispered once they broke for air.
"Probably," he said. "We should go check."
"We should." She kissed him again, lingering just a little longer. Finally she let out a small groan and stepped away, her sense of duty outweighing the flush of desire he could see in her eyes. "Come on, professor." She held out a hand and pulled him to his feet. "We have a world to save."
Mitch felt ten times better as they all gathered in the lab for the next step of the tests. He used a pair of tongs to retrieve the bone, now slick and clean from Moe's attention.
"Amazing thing about jellyfish," he said amicably as he pulled the tibia out of the tank, "is they eat, poop, and procreate all out of the same orifice." Then, with a snide smile at his father, he added, "Kind of like you, Max."
His father took it in stride. "If I could do that, I'd never leave the house," he laughed. He took the bone from Mitch and scraped some cells into a dish. Mitch followed the procedure with a watchful eye, ignoring the satisfied smile Max shot him. "This is nice, Mitchell, no?" his father asked quietly. "Us working side by side after all these years?"
"Not really, no," Mitch told him honestly.
"We could turn over a new leaf," Max kept trying, pushing and prodding, hoping to get a positive reaction. Max was an eternal optimist - he would have to be, to still be so hopeful and eager even after all these years of chasing phantom stories and coming up empty. If Mitch really wanted to delve into the psychology of the whole thing, he would grudgingly admit that Max and Jamie shared more than a few similarities. But since psychology was a "soft science" that had no place in his lab, Mitch often ignored its implications unless it directly correlated to his behavioral studies.
"Trust me," he glanced at his father for a moment before cutting his eyes away. "There will be no leaf turning."
Max just smiled and finished with his preparation. "Oh, yeah, lovely." He set the sample aside to continue its acid hydrolysis as Abe and Jackson came back in.
"Hey guys, we just spoke to Dariela," Abe announced.
That got Allison's attention. "Yes, and?"
Max barely looked up as he shut the cooler door. "Give that ten minutes," he said triumphantly, pulling off his gloves and tossing them aside. "We should get some answers. Meanwhile, I'm going to reacquaint myself with my Scotch." He disappeared, but Mitch didn't care. As long as Max was out of sight he could breathe a little easier.
Jackson came to rest by Abe, looking better and more rested than the last time Mitch had seen him. "You know how we thought the ghost gene affected 2.2 million people?" The others came over to hear their discovery, and out of the corner of his eye Mitch saw Jamie watching him.
"Yes," Allison nodded. "That was Davies' projection. They're all going to be collateral damage if - when the Noah Objective releases the gas."
Abe's frown deepened as he dropped the other shoe. "Judging by what she just went through, our numbers are wrong."
"How wrong?" Mitch asked.
"Based on what she saw, there may be billions of people with the ghost gene."
That couldn't possibly be right. Billions? Mitch scoffed and shook his head. "How could she know that?"
"Because when her convoy was attacked, the animals ignored a large portion of them."
"What do you mean ignored?" Jamie finally interjected, moving to stand next to Mitch as Abe explained.
"She said that there were horses, and that they bypassed dozens of people to come specifically for her."
"That doesn't mean they all have the gene," Mitch argued. "It could mean that she has something that the animals are keying into, honing in on."
"Like what?" Jackson asked.
"I haven't a clue," Mitch held out his arms helplessly. "But I do know that there can be more than one cause for an effect, and until we can rule out Dariela not suddenly becoming an animal magnet, then we cannot possibly make the claim that billions of people have the ghost gene. At least, not to any degree of certainty that would stop the Noah Objective at this point."
"He's right," Allison said. "We need to find out why those animals targeted her. Until then, it's just speculation."
"Okay," Jackson crossed his arms and glanced around. "So what do we do?"
"I don't know if you've noticed," Mitch pointed at the disarticulated skeleton behind him and the cooler where Max had put his prepared sample, "but we're sort of in the middle of something."
That answer didn't satisfy, and Jackson's tone shifted to indignation as he straightened and took a step forward. "So you don't think that the potential for billions of people dying the same way Chloe did is worth looking into?"
Mitch's irritation with their inane report ignited into a fury at Jackson's words. He was up off his stool before he could process what he was doing. Taking on a man who could spaz out and snap him in two was low on his to-do list, but Chloe had been his friend, too. Abe imposed himself between the two men before it could come to blows.
"I can call Dariela and see if she can meet us. A blood test will give us answers."
Mitch couldn't see Jackson's face, but his tone was contrite as he apologized. "I'm sorry, Mitch. That was...I don't know what came over me."
Mitch hadn't received a lot of apologies in his life, and so accepting them wasn't in his comfort zone. He nodded sharply and shuffled back to his seat, though he didn't take it. "Yeah," he muttered. "I can do the test here, see if she has some sort of anomaly that would make her more…appealing."
"And if she doesn't?" Abe asked.
"Then we have a bigger problem," Allison finished. "How long before Max's test is done."
"Should be now," the man in question appeared at the top of the stairs with a tumbler of scotch. He set it down on the bone table as he picked new gloves out of the box. "Mitch, can you give me a hand?"
Mitch knew very well he didn't need help; he was just trying to spend more time with his son. The attempt at father-son bonding grated on his nerves, but he couldn't refuse without looking petulant so he just grabbed some gloves and moved to stand behind Max as he pulled the samples out.
Once Max confirmed the viability of the prepared sample, Mitch grabbed the chiral specific fluorescent and measured out the correct amount to be combined with the aspartic acid sample from the bones. Once done, it was a simple matter of chromatography and they had the answer.
"Based on the aspartic acid levels, this saber-toothed cat was alive a hundred years ago," Max read the results with only a hint of disbelief.
"What is that?" Mitch tapped a spike on the chromatograph and tried to reconcile with any of the known elements he was used to seeing with this test.
Max peered at the data and sucked in a breath. "That means the bones showed traces of a synthetic bio-active compound."
Mitch reeled. "So we weren't just wrong about the extinction date. This animal…" he couldn't believe he was saying it, "somebody made him."
The others were understandably confused. How could someone possibly create an extinct animal with the technology from the previous turn of the century? Obviously Max knew more than he was saying, and Mitch was done playing nice.
"What aren't you telling us, Max?"
But he was already deep in thought. "You're sure these bones haven't been tampered with? Beyond a shadow sure?"
"Hundred percent," Mitch said.
"What does this mean?" Jackson asked.
Max chewed on his thumb nail for a moment in what Mitch recognized as his telltale anxious tic. With a surrendering sigh he turned to face the group and began to tell a story. "Three years ago I was in Chile, searching for what the locals called a sea monster. I figured what they'd seen was a giant squid, but their descriptions were oddly consistent with plesiosauria."
Jamie immediately turned around to face Mitch. "That's, uh, aquatic dinosaur," he explained.
When she turned back, Max nodded and continued. "Besides the fact that plesiosaurs have been extinct for sixty six million years, it seemed very unlikely that the Chilean locals would have ever heard of them - let alone be able to so accurately describe them."
Jackson finally asked what everyone was thinking. "What does this have to do with the saber-tooth?"
"They talked about a secret research facility," Max explained, "located off the coast of one of the Juan Fernandez islands."
Jamie just shook her head skeptically. "What kind of research facility?"
"They supposedly developed a synthetic bio-active compound that allowed them to recreate extinct animals." Max turned around to stare at the skeleton lying on the table behind him. "I didn't believe it until now."
"Max," Allison interrupted his lecture to refocus their attention on the mission. "We need a saber-toothed cat."
He twisted back with a conciliatory smile. "Well, sounds like there's only one place on Earth you can find it. They call it Pangaea."
Mitch groaned, unconvinced. "Oh come on, Max. It's a local urban legend. Pangaea? Seriously?"
"How else do you explain the presence of the compound?" Max pointed to the screen.
"So you - as a scientist," Mitch forced the word through his teeth, "- are actually positing that a secret island exists off the coast of Chile where some technologically advanced group - that has existed for over a century, by the way - have been bringing extinct animals to life? I'm pretty sure I've seen this movie."
"Scoff all you want, Mitchell. But it's there."
"There's a way to find out," Jamie broke in. "Something that scale? There have to be ripples."
"Ripples?" Allison questioned.
"Yeah," Jamie glanced at the other woman with a cool glance. "Ripples. Echoes. It's an investigative trick to find things that don't want to be found. They might be hidden, but they'll still need supplies. Supplies usually create a paper trail somewhere. We can also track if anything in that area is drawing more electricity than they should be."
"That could work." Allison dug her phone from her pocket and stepped away to make a phone call.
"I need my laptop," she said, starting up the stairs as she tossed instructions back to the others. "We'll need a map of that area, nautical maps and regular. We'll also need to pull satellite imagery of the area."
"I'll tell Allison," Abe said. "She can get us the satellite images."
"I'll find the maps," Jackson added, moving off toward the front of the plane. "Meet in the lounge; we can spread out there."
Once again Mitch was left alone with Max, and he did his best to ignore the smug smile his father was sporting.
"She's a smart woman, your Jamie."
"Yes, she is," Mitch answered curtly. He wasn't sure if he was agreeing with the first part or confirming the second. Both, he supposed.
"Can you imagine, though?" Max fixed his gaze on the remains of the saber-toothed cat. "An entire island where the creatures of the past roam free? Imagine what we can learn."
"Alright, easy Hammond. Let's not get carried away. First we have to prove this island even exists. Then we have to find it. Then we have to capture a saber-toothed cat alive, extract a DNA sample, and concoct the cure for the mutation. All in four days." Laying it all out like that, Mitch wasn't too thrilled with their chances. Still, he had to try.
"I'm proud of you," Max said suddenly.
"Max, don't -"
"No, I mean it," he pressed. "I wasn't joking when I said I'd been following you and your team. I knew if anyone could figure it out, it was you." Max's smile was wistful now, like he was recalling a fond memory. "You were always searching for answers, solving puzzles. You remember that Rubik's cube I got you for your seventh birthday? You had it solved in less than a day."
Mitch did remember it. He also remembered the way the pieces scattered across the pavement the day he slammed it into the sidewalk in a fit of teenage anger. It had been a few days after his father's affair had been discovered, after his mother had locked herself in her room for two days and cried until Mitch broke down the door just to get her to eat something. He'd learned that day that his father only cared about one thing, and it wasn't his family.
"Stop," Mitch breathed. "Just, stop." He turned around and waved vaguely at the rear door. "Go inspect the bar, or eat your fish, or find your river monster. Just stop trying to play happy little family."
"We're both different people now, Mitch. I think if you gave me a chance, you could -"
"Could what, Max?" Mitch pushed up from his seat thunderously. "Forgive you? Love you? Pretty sure both those ships have sailed and sunk."
Max looked like he'd been struck. "I see," he murmured. "Well, I had hoped…" He sighed wearily and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to hang around for a bit longer, see if this Pangaea thing pans out. After that, I'll go." He turned to leave, but stopped with one last parting shot. "One last thing? Jamie?" Mitch held his breath, his fists unconsciously clenching at his sides. "I think you've got something real special with her, Mitch. Don't screw it up like I did."
Whatever he'd been expecting, a heartfelt - if unconventional - paternal blessing wasn't it. The air in his lungs whooshed out in one breath as he watched his father disappear up the stairs. He stayed in the lab for a few more moments, collecting his thoughts and shoving his emotions down into that handy box he had, before standing to finish his hellish day.
Jamie's brilliance paid dividends. They found the evidence they needed, and even being proven wrong didn't dampen the well of hope that sprung up in Mitch's chest as they realized the end of their journey was so close.
"So I guess this is goodbye," Max stood and shouldered the bag he'd brought with him.
"Yes, Max," Allison steered him in the direction of the door. "This is goodbye. I'll call you a car."
"Or," he pulled her aside and plied her with the alluring charisma that had won her over the first time, "you could drive me back to my place."
"Really?"
"Really," he reached for her hands. "Let your team do the dragon chasing. Stay in Helsinki with me."
"Seriously, Max?" Mitch could feel a sort of dark madness tightening in his chest.
"What?" Max turned with an affable shrug. "You're obviously not interested in her."
"Not that it would have stopped you anyway. It didn't twelve years ago." Mitch rolled his eyes and began to stalk away, but Max wasn't done.
"You should have said something if it bothered you!"
"Like what?" Mitch rounded on him furiously. "'Hey Dad, really appreciate it if you didn't skeez her out from under me?'"
"Well, in hindsight it was rather poor form." Max rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Get the hell off our plane." Mitch couldn't stand to be in the same room a moment longer. He turned and stormed out, not bothering to give his father the satisfaction of seeing how upset he was. Any room would do, and he ended up in the kitchen before he felt like he was far enough away to catch his breath. He threw himself down into a chair and leaned his head in his hands.
"He's gone."
Mitch looked up at Allison with a barely contained sneer. "Leave me alone, Allison."
"I come in peace," she held her hands up, and when he didn't snap at her again she sat. "I'm sorry."
Mitch's frown deepened. "Don't apologize for him."
"I'm not," she shook her head softly. "I'm apologizing for me." He glanced up at her then, searching for a hint of sincerity in her eyes. "I was young, I didn't know what it meant."
He was unsure if she was telling the truth, but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Yeah, well it messed me up." That was putting it mildly, but he wasn't going to delve into the details with Allison.
She brushed a lock of hair away from her face and shuffled closer. "You didn't act like it."
"Well, that's what I do."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Still, here we are."
She had that look in her eye again, like he was a gourmet meal and she hadn't eaten in days. Mitch's head was spinning. Instinctively he glanced up, hoping Jamie would come through the door and rescue him.
Allison followed his eyes. "She's with your father."
"What?"
"After Max left, she jumped up and chased after him." Allison reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "Listen, I know today has been hard for you. Is there anything I can do?"
"No," Mitch pushed away from her and stood. "I'm gonna go lay down." Allison made to stand with him but stopped when he turned back. "Twelve years ago, you made a choice. You can claim you were young, or stupid, or hell, maybe just drunk. It doesn't matter. It was your choice. And it hurt," Mitch could feel the lump in his throat, but he forced it back down and finished his tirade. "But you know what? I'm glad things ended up the way they did. If they hadn't, I wouldn't have Clem. And I'd never have met Jamie."
Allison's mouth puckered as her plan fell apart before her eyes. "So what? You believe in fate now?"
"I don't know," Mitch backed away slowly, "but I do know that meeting Jamie is the very best thing that has ever happened to me. And there's no chance in hell I'd ever let you or anyone else jeopardize that. So whatever it is you've got in your head, forget about it. For good this time." He left her sitting alone and never looked back.
His room was a mess from yesterday's invasion. Books and papers were strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the drawers on his dresser were all open and askew. Miraculously, the only thing that hadn't been disturbed was the plastic bottle of Jack Daniels on his nightstand. It had somehow wedged between the lamp bolted to its surface and the wall and was waiting devotedly for him to return.
He wanted nothing more than to unscrew the cap and upend the contents down his throat. Maybe he could just forget this whole day ever happened. Then Jamie's face swam in his mind, his promise ringing in his ears, and he turned away to flop face up on his bed. He tossed his glasses on the nightstand and threw his arm over his eyes to shield them from the fluorescent light overhead - and to stave off the tears he could feel building.
His door whispered as it opened, but he didn't move to identify his guest. He was so in tune with her he could pick her footsteps out of thousands. She came to a stop next to him.
"What do you need?"
"I'm alright," he told her, though it was far from true. Jamie was dealing with so much already; he wouldn't add his significant baggage on her shoulders. But then she called his name - softly, like a prayer - and he peeled his arm away to look at her.
She looked like an angel haloed by the light, and he could barely make out her face in the shadows she cast. But he didn't need to see it; he knew every freckle, every worry and laugh line by heart.
"Both ways, remember?" Her voice was a soothing balm on his raw soul. "You can tell me anything. It won't make me love you any less." He smiled at the echo of his own words falling from her lips. "So what do you need?"
He knew the answer, as true and absolute as any scientific fact he'd ever learned. But words failed him, so he simply sat up and reached for her. She came easily, settling between his knees as he wrapped his arms around her and laid his head against her abdomen. Her hands fell to his shoulders, lifting now and then to comb through his hair slowly. There he stayed, breathing in the sharp smell of laundry detergent that lingered on her clothes and the subtle fragrance under it that was uniquely Jamie. Her shirt had rucked up enough to reveal a small sliver of pale skin just above the waistband of her jeans, and he let one of his hands drift around her midsection to caress the warm flesh. She shivered at his touch, and he finally found his voice.
"You," he whispered, leaning further to press a kiss to her shirt-covered stomach. At her questioning hum, he looked up urgently. "I need you."
They moved in sync, independent but complementary, as he laid back and she lifted one leg over him. Her body was warm and lithe as she came to rest on top, slotted perfectly into the space around him. Their mouths met and ignited an inferno, fueled by the madness of his inner turmoil and that perfect something that had always existed between them. He hadn't expected the surge of terrible longing that her presence had spurred in him, and several times he forced himself to loosen the grip he had on her hips or lighten the touch of his tongue against hers.
"Mitch," she was heaving above him, her eyes lidded with desire as his hands roamed over every inch of her he could reach. Mitch knew he was probably being too indelicate in his need. He opened his mouth to apologize but she silenced him with a kiss, this one slow and deep. He could feel her love pouring out and surrounding him, blocking out any negative thoughts. When she pulled back she was smiling, and her hand slid down his cheek in a feather-light stroke. "I'm right here, Mitch. I want to help you. Whatever you need."
He understood the meaning behind her words and the firm pressure of her fingers against his pulse point as she arched into his body. He bit back a groan at first, but the next time she did it he finally snapped. Mitch wrapped an arm around her middle and rose up, ignoring her squeak of surprise as he reversed their positions and pushed her down into the mattress. His knee pressed firmly between her open legs as he pinned her to the bed, plying her mouth, her face, her neck, with rough, open mouth kisses. She encouraged him, reassuring him with moans of pleasure and consoling caresses.
His movements became ragged as, bit by bit, he surrendered the tight control over his turbulent emotions. Jamie didn't seem to mind the rougher treatment; in fact, she seemed to enjoy this more primal dance he'd begun. He heard her gasp his name more than once, and she seemed content to let him have control this time. He undressed them both, discarding their clothes blindly in the urgency that overwhelmed. She was pliable beneath him, open and responsive as she encouraged him to take what he needed from her.
Time became meaningless as he gave in to the frenzy in his soul. Once, he stopped to ask if he was hurting her; her reply was a pleasurably painful rake of her nails on his back and a plea to keep going. He did. Jamie had always been able to silence the demons in him, to make him feel worthy of the beauty and wonder she brought into his bleak life. Somewhere between her first shudder and his own shout of rapture he heard something spill from his lips that sounded an awful lot like a proposal, hidden within words like forever and mine. Her own words of affirmation might have been an answer, though it was more likely she was responding to the feel of him in and around her, driving them both to where they needed to be. Still, he stole the words down deep in his heart, settling them there and holding them sacred. She was his, for as long as fate would allow, and he would spend the rest of his days striving to be deserving of the gift.