Author's Note: So… probably getting to the out-of-character level, but you know…
Avoidance.
If she had to describe her life at the moment, with one word, it would be avoidance. Even if she were allowed a sentence, paragraph, book, or library for summarizing her life at the moment, Nadia would still consign herself to that one word.
Avoidance.
Avoid thinking about the potentially fatal consequences of decisions she was forced to make on practically a daily basis as head of CTU. People could be, were killed, because of the actions she and her people took. It wasn't pleasant. It would be debilitating, in fact, to dwell upon those consequences. And so she avoided them as best as she could, choosing to think about the positives instead.
All of her adult life, Nadia had avoided thinking about the affect her life choices had upon her family. She loved them dearly, but she knew her almost complete adoption of Western culture, and as such, seeming rejection for her heritage, hurt them.
And probably worst of all, the avoidance she had even avoided admitting to carrying out. She had been avoiding real consideration of her relationship with Milo, of her feelings for him. Why? The reason was obvious enough. She did not want to hurt him. And so she had given it time, thinking if only she allowed herself enough time, she would feel the same for him as he did for her. But how could she? They were barely more than coworkers (possibly almost friends, she supposed) when he kissed her, took a bullet for her, nearly died for her, and all (according to his brother) because he loved her. Love? He hadn't known her then! Did he even know her now?
Well, that wasn't entirely his fault. She had remained closed off to him over the months, the dates, the conversations, the ever-increasing intimacy. She had excused the distance she maintained to her prying girlfriends, even to herself, as an attempt at taking things slow. But the truth was, now that she had finally faced what she'd been avoiding, Nadia did not feel even an inkling of romantic love for Milo Pressman. She liked him well enough. He was a great friend, attentive, honest, gentle and compassionate. But...
She had kissed Mike Doyle. And she had liked it. A lot.
Technically, Milo was the better kisser. He kissed with finesse and studied technique. Mike had kissed her with, well, wild abandon. God help her, it sounded like something from a cheap romance novel. He had kissed her with such fervent need that the encounter had left her breathless with her head spinning. It had been sloppy, rough, intense. And the long-slumbering need had stirred deep in her belly, called forth by that overwhelming embrace. Milo's kisses made her feel faintly warm, her body responding, but never as wholly as it should were she truly interested. There was no spark.
Nadia had long avoided admitting the lack of chemistry between Milo and herself.
She could no longer ignore the dearth now that she'd been exposed to an abundant source of chemical reactions. A source of such heat, such devastating passion, she could not help but contemplate whether it was appropriate or not.
It was most definitely not.
And so she avoided Mike Doyle, thinking that without seeing him, she wouldn't feel the unwanted sudden flush of arousal as she recalled his touch. Unfortunately, she could do nothing to avoid the flood of recollection when her mind wandered aimlessly and lighted upon the memory, was pulled under and drowned by the deluge of feelings that accompanied it. That damned kiss.
That damned man.
Nadia was violently jarred from her brooding by a hand grabbing her arm. Another covered her mouth and stifled her outcry as she was pulled from the corridor through a door and into a dark room. A solid wall provided the end of her dizzying journey, but not painfully. In fact she found her back gently pushed against the unyielding surface, as if she were being set against it because she could not stand on her own. As the world stopped spinning and her eyes adjusted to the low lighting, Nadia recognized it as the observation room of Interrogation 3. And her accoster was Mike Doyle.
"What the hell, Mike?"
He did not respond right away, which was well enough considering she was having a difficult time getting her wits back together. When her heart resumed beating and she was no longer gasping for air, he pinned her with one of his most piercing gazes. Nadia's heart rate became agitated once more.
"What's going on?" he asked, making her feel like a terrorism suspect more than someone he thought of as a friend (or someone he would kiss in a way that made some sexual acts look prudish). It was unlike him to be so disrespectful, even when they disagreed professionally or personally. And especially while at work. When Mike disapproved of her actions, he tended to get very cold towards her, having figured out it was the most poignant reaction, the one that hurt her the most.
"I don't know wha-"
"Don't."
Nadia swallowed back her denial, her verbal avoidance. There was that intensity she often saw in him. Mike was not backing down. Rather, he was leaning in, the few inches of difference in their height a significant leverage against her. It was different than any of the intimidating stances she'd seen him take with suspects, more personal. One hand was placed on the wall above her head, the other held her arm firmly but not painfully tight. His face was mere inches from hers, and his eyes blazed.
"Tell me what's going on, Nadia."
She swallowed. Lying would be a very, very bad choice at the moment. But truthfully, she had no clue what was going on. The world was chaos and she was a complete emotional mess. She risked looking into the intensity of his eyes. They didn't hold anger, as she had initially feared, but definitely frustration. And primarily, they were... imploring. He was trying to search her soul for an answer.
But he already had it, didn't he? Because, deny and avoid as she might, Nadia already had the answer, too.
It terrified her, however, and all she could do was fight it. Desperately she clung to the precepts, the known quantities that had defined her life just a few days prior. Like they were a bit of wood keeping her afloat on a treacherous sea. Nadia Yassir was a level-headed, practical woman, director of the Counter Terrorist Unit in Los Angeles, dating a kind, generous man named Milo Pressman. She was not some sex-starved heroine of a trashy romance novel being torn apart by lust for a man whom had assaulted and terrified her on their initial meeting, whom since had earned her respect and had become her friend, but with whom she still had heated arguments that bordered on the physically violent.
"Did you have a fight with Milo?" Mike asked, snapping her back to reality... well, what was apparently reality despite her disbelief in the turn of events.
"Not that it's any of your business, but we're fine."
Mike's brow wrinkled with confusion. He sighed, the intensity ebbing out of him momentarily. When he spoke again, there was almost a desperate edge to his voice.
"Why did you kiss me?"
That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?
"Why did you kiss me back?"
They fell into silence, and then that damned severe gaze of his locked upon her once more. She held it, unwilling to concede, to run away and hide like she had been doing. Because, God help her, she once more felt the power of whatever it was between them. An attraction on a level she'd never even sort of felt before. Deep down, she had no doubts about it. But her stupid logical mind questioned every bit of her memory, of the sensations stirring deep inside of her.
"Kiss me again," she said. Mike's eyes widened slightly with surprise, and then they fell to her mouth. Her heart was racing, and she was suddenly extremely aware of his proximity, of his body trapping hers against the wall, of the heat of him. He seemed fixated by her mouth, struggling with himself before his eyes raised to meet hers once more.
"Why?" he asked.
"I need to know." She licked her lips in an attempt to bring moisture to her mouth that had gone so dry. His entire body tensed in response, as if he were barely restraining himself from doing precisely what she asked of him, and more, so much more. The thought of which excited and terrified her. Because if what had passed between them that night, in that kiss, was real, then the passion they could have was too powerful to contemplate. It would burn them up, from the inside.
"You felt..." It was as if he found the whole situation as ridiculous as she had. It couldn't be real. Lust was lust. Sex was sex. Affection and Love were something else. And epic passions were a thing of the imagination, of cheap romances and classic literature, of ballads and songs and movies. Not of real life.
"You felt it, too." It sounded like a whispered self-revelation. The power of it seemed to snap his restraint, and Nadia felt his body press uninhibitedly into hers. The solidity of him. The heat.
"Maybe it was just a fluke," she said. Her mind was desperately searching for solid ground, for an anchor against what her body, her soul, knew was imminent.
Oh, God. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breasts, the beating of his heart. And the inevitable pull of his flesh pressing against hers. His bulk was crushing her into the wall and yet her body begged to have him closer. She wanted him. Oh, God. She wanted him. She wanted the kiss they hadn't quite begun. She wanted his hands on her bare skin. She wanted his knee to part her legs, wanted him to push into her, to fill her till she thought she'd burst. To drive her relentlessly over the edge. And she knew that even then, it would not be enough to satisfy her. It would never be enough. Never. Not until they climaxed together. Over and over and over again. Not until her mind had been torn to chaotic shreds. Not until she was left as nothing more than tenderized flesh and raw nerves, writhing and shuddering beneath his touch. Not until her soul was stripped bare, naked and exposed to him. And not until he took it. Then, and only then would she be satisfied.
And the destruction of her only needed to be sealed with a kiss.
He tilted his head, his lips drawing so near to hers she could almost taste him. She whimpered pathetically in the long seconds that followed. But she would not kiss him first. Not this time. This time, she needed him to initiate it, to succumb to the passion she felt twisting inside of her, to know it was the same for him.
He straightened, stepped back from her. And the loss of his body heat was a chill so shocking she physically started.
She turned a confused, pleading gaze upon him. But she said nothing.
"I may be capable of doing some terrible things," he said. His tone was bitter and his eyes sad as he contemplated the truth of his words. He threw up his hands in sign of surrender. "But not this."
Nadia felt somewhat relieved even as she was saddened by the regret, the despair in his eyes.
"You're with Milo. And not only do I respect the man..." The corner of Mike's mouth turned up and his eyes took on a bit of their amused sparkle. "But somehow he's become a friend. And I won't betray him."
He pinned her with a captivating blue stare and his unspoken words were clear. Not even for you.
Nadia swallowed hard. Her body was still begging for what it almost had, what it had lost. But she appreciated the display of loyalty typical to the man. It was one of Mike Doyle's defining characteristics, one she admired a great deal. And its appearance was solid proof that this was indeed reality and not some bizarre dream.
She nodded in acquiescence.
Instead of directly leaving as she had expected him to do, Mike stopped and turned to look at her. That smirk appeared, the one that rarely made itself known and was the most profound expression of happiness Nadia attributed to the man.
"If you're ever really available..." he said. "I'd love to pick up where we left off."
And then Mike Doyle did the most unexpected thing.
He smiled at her.
Not the reserved, barely there curl at the corner of his lips, but a full-on smile. It was a lopsided grin that tugged at her heart. Nadia gasped in surprise, its presence as shocking as if a unicorn materialized out of the air. She was thankful her back was still to the wall as she clutched at it for support when her knees grew weak. Because that damned smile was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. It transformed Mike's countenance entirely. It softened the hard, stern lines of his face, making him look insanely boyish. And she wasn't quite sure if she wished to scold him like the mischievous youth he presently appeared to be, or to rip off all his clothes.
Before Nadia could decide, however, he was gone, leaving her alone in the quiet, dimly lit room. Alone with the most confusing set of thoughts and emotions raging through her. She gulped in air like a person who'd been drowning. Without realizing it, she must have been holding her breath. She concentrated on resuming normal breathing before she even dared consider what had just happened. But it was most definitely something she could not ignore.
Well, Avoidance had certainly failed her.
She had to face the music. It was cruel what she'd been doing to Milo, leading him on for so long. He could've probably moved on by now if she had just sucked it up and told him how she really felt when she realized that she didn't love him, never would love him. It was shameful that it took her lusting for another man to see how the denial was hurting more than just herself. Hell, she had still been resisting the truth, even after her subconscious had her sticking her tongue in Mike Doyle's mouth. Did it make her a horrible person that she could not return such a good man's love?
Probably.
Look at the kind of love she was drawn to... It burned her up and drove her mad. There was no way she could have anything resembling a normal relationship with Mike Doyle. After only a single kiss and a tense, unsatisfying moment, there was a terrible, consuming craving roiling deep inside of her. If she didn't give in, she'd go completely insane. And if she did give in, it'd likely destroy them both. They'd probably end up murdering each other, if only emotionally.
One thing was for certain, though. That damned smile of his had sealed it. Nadia did not just want Mike Doyle's flesh. Not just his heart and mind and body.
She wanted his soul.
A/N: Am I melodramatic, or what?