I'd like to tell you the reason why I tossed and turned all night was because thoughts of the man returning and carting me off to be interrogated kept me awake, or that I now knew Admiral Marcus was the person John worked for and that led to more questions than answers. But in all honesty, my body had decided to grow accustomed to the feel of John's as I slept, and I was cold and alone and I couldn't sleep. It was pathetic, sad, it hurt my pride to realize I'd let myself get used to his presence, so much so that I needed him to fall asleep. For most of the night I laid running my thumb over the tracker, wondering why I was going to do what he asked. I didn't know anything about him, what he'd done to have the head of Starfleet after him, why he was using me. I knew at some point, when I was no longer useful, he'd get rid of me; and I knew very much that would mean my death. I don't want you to think I was completely stupid, I was very aware he would kill me at some point. But I don't know why that didn't make me afraid of him, it should have; I should have trembled with fear the moment he looked at me, I should be crying over the hopelessness of the entire situation. But I wasn't. Instead I was lying in a bed wishing against all common sense he was laying beside me so that I could sleep.

And so I groaned in relief when my watch beeped, pulling myself out of the bed and catching a quick shower before walking out the door. My hands were itching to cut someone, at least until I remembered I would be doing surgeries on children. I sighed heavily before making my way to the coffee shop at the end of the corner.

"Good morning Elenore."

I felt my heart palpitate at the sound of his voice, his name on my tongue as I turned to him. "John," I said simply, swallowing the relief at seeing him so he wouldn't see. And even then I'm sure he knew. I took the coffee and the bagged scone he handed me, looking at him with furrowed brows. "Thank you," I said quietly, seeing the brief flash of confusion in his eyes before he nodded and beckoned me to follow. Rolling my eyes I followed, it had been a kind gesture for him to get me coffee and something to eat; but of course it had been a passing thought to him, nothing more.

I followed him for several minutes, growing breathless at the pace I was forced in order not to lose him from how fast he walked. "This is where you will find me when I call you," he said holding the door open for me, closing it as he followed me inside. It was dark, barely light at all save a small table lamp. Old boxes lined the floor, the smell of dust and years heavy in the air, a table pushed against a wall littered with papers and old looking devices I didn't recognize and I knew John had been using it; I wondered how long he'd been coming here, if this is where he'd been hiding before he came across me.

"Is it safe to call me?" I asked knowing if I was being watched then my communicator was being monitored; though I wasn't receiving many calls, Jim still wasn't talking to me. If only he knew.

His mouth quirked when he turned to me. "You'll know when I want you," he assured, his eyes hot as he stared down at my face.

My breath caught in my chest when I met his stare. I felt my entire body ignite from the scorching heat of his eyes, which were staring hard at me as though he was trying to see beneath my skin. I had only felt this a few times before, this pull toward him that made it impossible to breathe, this need to be near him as though I would fall apart if I turned, the utter desire that washed over me to just stand there with him and simply be. I think this is every reason why I let myself love him, why I continued to love him despite his efforts to bend me to his will; I had done drugs when I was younger, few and minor as they were, but there was nothing half as addicting as this. Because even then, with a tracker on my arm capable of killing me and him with the control, in the face of such raw desire and need - I let him have me.

For several long seconds, possibly minutes, I stood staring up at him breathing deeply as my skin flushed beneath his heavy gaze. I don't know if I moved first, or he did. Maybe we moved together, but in a second his mouth pressed against my own in a fit of searing desire. His hands slamming me into the wall so hard my ears rung, my hands around his waist not missing a beat as I undid his belt. There was lust, and need, and pleasure, and pain, as he stood thrusting into me using the wall as leverage to slam his hips harder against mine. There was hate, coming from us both; it's what made it hurt. And I loved every second of it. I wouldn't say he loved it, but he sure as hell enjoyed the fuck out of fucking me. I could see it in his eyes after we'd finished, his forehead against mine, my chest heaving, our lips bruised red. It wasn't until he ran his thumb along my bottom lip that I realized he'd split it with his teeth, and even then it still didn't hurt. I wouldn't feel any sort of pain until after I'd left him.

"You should go," he said softly, pulling my pants up from around my thighs.

I nearly smiled, that was how comfortable I was with him; the man that held my life in his hand though I didn't realize just how much his hands could do then. "Wouldn't want you to make me late on my first day," I said walking around him to grab my coffee. "Thanks for breakfast," I called as I left, not needing to look back to know his lips were curled into a smile.

...

I went to my room later that night and did little more than lock the door and kick my pants off before I laid down utterly exhausted. Sleep came in minutes, blissful and much needed after a long day. I don't know how long I slept, deep enough I didn't hear the door open or close though I doubt any noise was made. I wasn't aware someone was in my room until they covered my mouth.

My eyes shot open, a scream in my throat as I grabbed the person's arm and tried to scratch his face. For the record, always go for the eyes; it's the most effective means to get someone to loosen their grip so that you have more leverage to fight back.

"Elenore."

I stilled at the sound of my name until I recognized the voice that said it. "What the hell, John," I all but yelled as I hit him hard in the chest. I thought he was a killer, that someone had broken into my room and planned to take advantage of me and then kill me - oh the bitter irony of how accurate that was.

"You didn't do as I asked," he said getting right to the point, not caring he'd scared the shit out of me or to even say hello.

I sighed tiredly as I laid back on the bed. "They gave me 3 back to back surgeries," I told him as I settled back under the warm covers, my body not missing that his was sitting next to mine. "I'll get access to her and her files tomorrow," I said yawning. I heard him sigh, knowing from the force of it he was very unhappy with me; what does it say that hearing that and knowing he'd killed me I still settled comfortably back to bed, not a fear in that moment he would hurt me. And it was a struggle for him not to, cause he very much wanted to hurt me then. I was taken from my drowsiness when he stood and made for the bathroom, hearing his fist against the wall and then silence. But I was already asleep when he left.

I wasn't scared the next night either. I wasn't feeling much of anything but sadness, and failure. He'd stormed through the door, a fire and a rage in his eye; but that all melted to startled confusion when he found me in the bed crying.

"What was it this time?" he asked, the impatience clear in his voice.

I sniffed, wiping the hot tears from my cheeks; hating crying, especially in front of him, but hating losing patients even more - and he was so young. "My kid died," was all I said. He was the cutest kid. Beautiful blue eyes, and blonde hair that fell in his eyes, and a smile that just radiated joy and happiness; all of that wrapped in a body that was dying. I hadn't even been able to the tell parents, and it does more harm than good when the doctor is telling you why your loved one died and they start crying. I hated when kids died. They hadn't lived yet, they hadn't done anything to deserve what happened to them. And he'd reminded me so much of Jim at that age.

I don't know how much will it had taken him to stay silent, to not yell or hit me for going yet another day without gaining access to her room. But he didn't, he sat quietly beside me as I sniffed away the last of my tears. "Goodnight Elenore," he said softly, touching my face briefly, before leaving. He left me to a dark and empty room, and I rolled over and wished he'd stayed.

...

I'd pushed the limits of his patience, finding myself busy with several patients not an excuse. At least not to him. And so when my shift ended on that third day and I still hadn't gotten into her room I knew I was in for trouble; just not what kind. I peeled off my scrubs and stepped into my pants before a searing pain erupted in my wrist. I gasped, a quiet choked cry tearing from my throat as my knees buckled. I looked down at the tracker shocked, and terrified. I waited, my heart pounding relentlessly and my breaths growing short, waiting for the poison to begin taking effect. Only it didn't come. Standing on shaky legs I pulled my shirt on, realizing this was what John had meant when I'd know when he wanted me, before making my way back to where John had showed me.

On any other day I might have been angry, might have opened the door and given him some snarky remark. I didn't. I opened the door and closed it, steeling myself for the rage that would be on his face.

Ice filled my blood and numbed me when I saw the young woman tied to the chair, her mouth taped shut and tears streaming down her face.