Chapter Two: Superstructure

Marta wasn't sure how much time had passed since Aaron left. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, but she could not bear the guilt a minute more. Her forehead lay hard on the table that she had been sharing with him. She opened her eyes, lifted her head, and saw the maps Aaron had weighed down with various nautical pieces. The last chart he rolled up had fallen off the table and was pinned against the inside hull of the ship by the ocean breeze, threatening to disappear over the edge of the railing. Marta's chest tightened as she thought of Aaron and recalled the new intimacy and affection they shared before it all went wrong. What happened? How did they get from there to where they stood now? She remembered everything said, but didn't want to think about any of it. Marta leaned back, pulled her hair from her face and rested her elbows on the table, cradling her head in her hands as she recovered. She wondered if all the terror and trauma of the last few days had contributed to her outburst. Either way, she admitted to herself, she deserved her wretchedness. She took a haggard breath, grimly preparing to face Aaron. Marta couldn't begin to imagine how to apologize. Making this worse, the most awful thing she said to him was true. She had been disturbed that Aaron killed the guard in the factory. But it was cruel to throw that fact in his face and call him a murderer. She said it to deflect his own denunciation of her, for her part in the program. The doctor couldn't deny her culpability for the means used to alter his mind and physiology. The whole point of the work was to ensure the subjects would follow hyped-up killer instincts with heightened abilities to succeed at all cost. Aaron's actions were a result of the medical engineering methods she had a large part in developing. Back in Manila, he saved both their lives by doing what he was programmed to do. Marta took another deep breath, pulled herself up, and turned in the direction of the superstructure. Hesitating, she retrieved the map from the deck and took it back to the table where she spread it out on top of the other charts, replacing the heavy objects to hold them down. Looking over it, Marta wondered if maybe Aaron could have found them a hideout somewhere on this map where they would have been lost to all but each other. Even if it had only been for a short while, she wished desperately they had. It wasn't likely to happen now. She felt the constriction in her chest again. Still having no idea what to say, Marta willed her feet forward to approach Aaron in the rusting gut of the vessel. He might never look at her again the way he did earlier, over the table, but she still owed him an apology. The heavy metal hatch to the fishing trawler's small superstructure was secured in an open position. A flimsy screen door was attached to the bulkhead. Marta pushed through it and resolutely stepped in, ducking her head for clearance. She could hear the captain and his small crew in the wheelhouse, chattering in Filipino. Aaron would understand what they were saying. She certainly didn't. Marta knew how much she needed him to manage even a most basic survival. In their circumstances, Aaron's set of skills were critical and she was not too proud to acknowledge how hopeless she would be without him. That wasn't her motive in seeking him out now, though. Her eyes adjusted to the lower light. Marta hoped he wasn't in the engine compartment; it would be too loud to beg his forgiveness properly. If he was there, all she could do was fling herself at his feet. That might actually be easier, she decided. The right words to fully convey her remorse were not forthcoming. She had no idea what to say to him. Using the ship's ladder, Marta climbed down into the dank substructure, for access to the engine room and cramped crew's quarters. There was no door to the bunk room. No one stayed there except when caught out at sea in bad weather. The owner rarely took the fishing trawler farther than the distance of a day's work, so the tiny beds were primarily used for storage. Aaron and Marta slept on deck under a tarpaulin cover, while the captain and his son stayed inside the bridge An air of tension mingled with the dense, oily heat of the boat's bowels. Marta felt Aaron's presence in the crew's quarters. She looked with foreboding to the opening at the end of the short passageway. Her heart pounding, Marta stepped forward and paused at the entrance of the room. Aaron stood a few steps away, his arms bracing himself against the ledge of an upper bunk. His head hung, eyes closed, the muscles of his bare back taut. He was clearly still upset. The bandage she wrapped around his arm earlier had come undone. Doctor's training impelled Marta to draw closer. As her nervous hands adjusted and tightened the cloth, she noted a new stain of fresh blood. With his incredible healing rate, it shouldn't have been there. He must have done something to cause the wound to reopen. She tended to him warily, like she would a wounded wild animal but Aaron remained unresponsive to her approach. Marta moved behind him, uttering a weak "Aaron..." that sounded awkward and small. Bowed forward, facing away from her, Aaron drew a long breath that expanded his rib cage. She stepped in behind him as he let it out, his lungs deflating. Marta placed a tentative hand on his back, dreading his recoil. Relieved when he did not, she rested her forehead on the arch of his spine. Marta filled her lungs with his scent, steadying herself against him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I never should have said...I didn't mean that…" Marta sighed in frustration at being unable to formulate an appropriate apology. She would never be able to take back what she said and neither could he. The outburst had exposed what they both knew to be true. They were both guilty for their own actions, whether well-intended or not. Marta gave up trying to find the right words and now wished only to console him. Her forehead still resting on his spine, she slid a shaky caress down his back. "I'm sorry." At feeling the tentative stroke down the bare flesh of his back, Aaron stilled. Under her touch, he involuntarily held his breath. Frankly, he wasn't ready to deal with her yet. But this was the first time her touch was anything close to intimate. Against his will, the angry tension straining his body lessened as Marta leaned against him from behind and slowly moved her hands over his skin. Grateful Aaron hadn't shoved her away, Marta lingered. She was acutely aware of his physical response. Encouraged, she lifted her head from against the curved line of his vertebrae and replaced it with brushing lips that lingered, unsure, before finally forming a hesitant kiss. Desperate to break the loud silence between them, Marta pleaded, "Please forgive me." Pressing her left temple between his shoulder blades, she continued, "You saved my life. I know we would not be alive without your actions. I have no right to condemn you for following protocol we built into you. If you killed, it was by training and design programmed into you. It was due to the accomplishments of the sick work I was part of." Her mouth dry, Marta's tongue swept over her lips to continue. They tasted of Aaron. "You're right about me. I was so proud, so arrogant. Driven. Making men machines and ignoring for what purpose. I didn't want to understand what I was doing." Aaron sighed deeply, sounding defeated. His head rose to stare straight ahead, listening. "I couldn't allow myself to see you," Marta admitted. "To know." She slid her arms around him, half expecting him to extricate himself from her embrace, yet unable to stop herself. If she had kept him at a safe distance then, she wanted him in dangerous proximity now. Aaron Cross was deadly, but she had been instrumental in making sure he was. It was her passion to perfect the process, even while he rebelled against it. With Aaron a witness against her, there was no denying it: "I am the monster here, not you." Accepting the blame, Marta felt peace in facing her past. Oh, she realized. Face the past and set it ablaze to move forward, just as Aaron said. Momentarily in the revelation, she didn't feel Aaron stand upright until he placed his hand over hers and entwined their fingers. They had been in a very similar position before, on the motorcycle. Somehow, they both knew each other was remembering that moment on the bike, when they first threaded a part of themselves together.

A silent, mutual recognition of the gesture was shared between them. They stood, neither willing to disengage from the other, any lingering resentment dissolved.