BDP59
Moira left the lab without a backward glance. She had stopped watching for Ian, both here and at her apartment. Those few nights this last week that they had been together had been filled with disappointment and frustration. The nights that he hadn't, Burke had stressed over what he was doing instead. She couldn't help wondering if he had written them off. The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
Tonight the black-haired scientist was too tired, from the combination of a heavy workload and the emotional roller coaster ride that her life had become, to care if he showed or not. Pym wanted to get as much done as they all possibly could before Casca was released from the hospital. This had meant late nights and early mornings since the second day of Casca's forced medical leave.
The only thing Moira was interested in right now was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order, but hopefully not all at once. Sleeping in the tub would give her such a crick in the neck, not to mention turning her into a prune. It was a chance she was willing to take. There was no way Burke was crawling into bed without doing her best to relax first. Her muscles were so knotted with tension that she'd never get any real rest if she didn't.
Burke practically dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, but she wasn't too tired to watch for the black hair to fall when she opened the door. It dropped exactly as it should, and Moira felt a little tension leave her shoulders. No one had been in her apartment today.
She had not been surprised when there had been no hair on the day after Casca's little accident, that had to have raised alarm bells with Vorshlag, but Moira would never be foolish enough to leave anything incriminating in her apartment. The search had been in vain, and Ian had somehow gotten to the tapes at the lab, so they were in the clear. They had to be; someone would have come to her by now with an ultimatum or a hand out for a bribe.
The only thing out of the ordinary they could have found would have been the chemicals scattered around the dwelling, but none of them were on the proscribed list. It would have taken someone trained in chemical weapons to understand what they were looking at. Just in case they had, Burke had moved everything to new locations afterward. If anyone came for her thinking they knew where her weapons were, they would be in for a nasty surprise.
The thought made her smile all the way to the kitchen, where she opened a bottle of Silver Oaks. Burke left the heavy red wine to breathe while she ran her bath. She was generous with the bath oil, pouring in enough to create great frothing mounds of white. Moira hated to run out of bubbles on those rare occasions that she indulged in a long soak.
Humming under her breath, Moira stripped, throwing all her clothes in the wicker hamper. She shrugged into her favorite old burgundy robe and pinned the stray hairs back into her bun. The bath oil was bad for her hair, and she preferred to keep it out of the bubbles, instead of having to shower it out afterwards.
The terrycloth was soft and comforting against her skin, even if it was a little shabby these days. It wasn't something she'd ever worn around Ian, feminine vanity kept it safely in the back of her closet. This was the sort of thing you wore during a sleepover with your best girlfriends, the kind where everyone put on green mud masks and giggled while painting their toenails.
It had been years since Moira had enjoyed a night of simple feminine bonding. There were no women in her workplace to form friendships with. The small percentage of the base population that was female, besides the wives, were working hard not to be. The married women did not bear mentioning, so many of them were sleeping around when their husbands were gone that it was a bloody soap opera.
Surrounded by all the memories buried in the fabric, she realized how much she missed those uncomplicated little get-togethers. On her next leave, Burke resolved to rectify that condition. She'd go back to New York, look up her old girlfriends, and spend a night just being a girl.
Moira padded on bare feet back into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She scooped it up, lost in thought, and headed back to the tub. The water was blissfully hot as she sank past the bubbles, letting her head rest on the cool porcelain edge. She took a sip of the wine, rolling it around in her mouth. The wine was full-bodied, the flavor taking away the lingering remnants of a truly lousy day. The dark haired woman closed her eyes and purred with pleasure. All she needed now was chocolate.
Or a man whose eyes were the same shade as really good chocolate when he was talking about something that made him sad. Eyes that reminded her of brown velvet when they lay in the aftermath of passion. Moira shot up, sloshing water and sending a wave of bubbles over the edge of the tub. She was annoyed with herself for the thought.
There was no way she was going to dwell on Ian 'look but don't touch' Nottingham tonight. He was slowly driving her crazy with his behavior. They would talk, but no matter what she said, Ian would never give in, never let go. She appreciated that he didn't want to hurt her, but damn. Moira couldn't be close to him without wanting to touch him, and didn't understand why he didn't feel the same. His repeated refusals and now avoidance was making her short tempered and irritable.
Somehow, Doctor Burke had fallen in love. Worse, she'd fallen in love with a test subject. That little fact made her explosive. Her temper, never great to begin with, was becoming legendary around the lab. It was a good thing Casca wasn't around; she'd have managed that fistfight she owed him by now.
She'd already punched Ellis for telling Moira that she should just stay at home during her period. When he'd gotten up off the floor, he'd threatened to have her arrested for assault. She'd smiled unpleasantly and informed him that she had kept a record of all his sexual innuendos, which she would happily hand over to the M.P.s and claim self defense.
Ellis had slunk away like a whipped dog. Too bad she couldn't handle her other problem as easily as that. This went waaay beyond 'petting the mice'. It was so cliché, so stupid, as to be laughable. Too bad she wasn't laughing. If she were found out, Moira would lose her position and her career. It might have even been worth it if Ian had loved her back.
Miserable again, Moira huddled under the bubbles. She took a long swallow of wine, now more interested in its high alcohol content than it's flavor. Maybe if she got just a little drunk, the pain would go away for a while so she could sleep without dreaming. The wine disappeared faster than she could have believed possible.
With a sigh of frustration she set the empty glass on the edge of the tub and stood. Mounds of fragrant white bubbles clung in patches to her skin. Moira reached for the dark blue towel that hung on the brass rod and froze.
Someone had opened the front door. They were trying to be quiet about it, but for once the substandard construction of the building worked in her favor. The door didn't hang that well on it's hinges, and it always scraped the floor when it was about a third of the way open.
There was no way it was Ian, not the way he'd been behaving lately. Just this afternoon he'd left the common area as soon as she entered it. No, this was probably one of Casca's flunkies, if not Casca himself. Moira knew he was capable of getting out if he wanted. She'd heard how the staff avoided his room like the plague.
Forgoing the minimal protection of the towel in favor of her robe, which would survive being wet well enough, she stepped out of the tub. Moira pulled the burgundy terrycloth around her and belted it, leaving her hands free.
Sitting by the toilet, looking for all the world like innocent cleaning supplies, were two bottles. The first one was bleach and the other was ammonia. Put them together and you got chlorine gas, put them together with water, and you had hydrochloric acid. Moira had already used some of the contents to create several vials of the acid, which she kept around the house.
In the bathroom there was one in the medicine cabinet and one behind the soap dish she never used. Moira grabbed them both and moved on silent feet to the side of the half-open bathroom door. She peered out cautiously, trying to see without being seen.
Moira left the lab without a backward glance. She had stopped watching for Ian, both here and at her apartment. Those few nights this last week that they had been together had been filled with disappointment and frustration. The nights that he hadn't, Burke had stressed over what he was doing instead. She couldn't help wondering if he had written them off. The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
Tonight the black-haired scientist was too tired, from the combination of a heavy workload and the emotional roller coaster ride that her life had become, to care if he showed or not. Pym wanted to get as much done as they all possibly could before Casca was released from the hospital. This had meant late nights and early mornings since the second day of Casca's forced medical leave.
The only thing Moira was interested in right now was a hot bath, a glass of wine, and sleep. Not necessarily in that order, but hopefully not all at once. Sleeping in the tub would give her such a crick in the neck, not to mention turning her into a prune. It was a chance she was willing to take. There was no way Burke was crawling into bed without doing her best to relax first. Her muscles were so knotted with tension that she'd never get any real rest if she didn't.
Burke practically dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment, but she wasn't too tired to watch for the black hair to fall when she opened the door. It dropped exactly as it should, and Moira felt a little tension leave her shoulders. No one had been in her apartment today.
She had not been surprised when there had been no hair on the day after Casca's little accident, that had to have raised alarm bells with Vorshlag, but Moira would never be foolish enough to leave anything incriminating in her apartment. The search had been in vain, and Ian had somehow gotten to the tapes at the lab, so they were in the clear. They had to be; someone would have come to her by now with an ultimatum or a hand out for a bribe.
The only thing out of the ordinary they could have found would have been the chemicals scattered around the dwelling, but none of them were on the proscribed list. It would have taken someone trained in chemical weapons to understand what they were looking at. Just in case they had, Burke had moved everything to new locations afterward. If anyone came for her thinking they knew where her weapons were, they would be in for a nasty surprise.
The thought made her smile all the way to the kitchen, where she opened a bottle of Silver Oaks. Burke left the heavy red wine to breathe while she ran her bath. She was generous with the bath oil, pouring in enough to create great frothing mounds of white. Moira hated to run out of bubbles on those rare occasions that she indulged in a long soak.
Humming under her breath, Moira stripped, throwing all her clothes in the wicker hamper. She shrugged into her favorite old burgundy robe and pinned the stray hairs back into her bun. The bath oil was bad for her hair, and she preferred to keep it out of the bubbles, instead of having to shower it out afterwards.
The terrycloth was soft and comforting against her skin, even if it was a little shabby these days. It wasn't something she'd ever worn around Ian, feminine vanity kept it safely in the back of her closet. This was the sort of thing you wore during a sleepover with your best girlfriends, the kind where everyone put on green mud masks and giggled while painting their toenails.
It had been years since Moira had enjoyed a night of simple feminine bonding. There were no women in her workplace to form friendships with. The small percentage of the base population that was female, besides the wives, were working hard not to be. The married women did not bear mentioning, so many of them were sleeping around when their husbands were gone that it was a bloody soap opera.
Surrounded by all the memories buried in the fabric, she realized how much she missed those uncomplicated little get-togethers. On her next leave, Burke resolved to rectify that condition. She'd go back to New York, look up her old girlfriends, and spend a night just being a girl.
Moira padded on bare feet back into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. She scooped it up, lost in thought, and headed back to the tub. The water was blissfully hot as she sank past the bubbles, letting her head rest on the cool porcelain edge. She took a sip of the wine, rolling it around in her mouth. The wine was full-bodied, the flavor taking away the lingering remnants of a truly lousy day. The dark haired woman closed her eyes and purred with pleasure. All she needed now was chocolate.
Or a man whose eyes were the same shade as really good chocolate when he was talking about something that made him sad. Eyes that reminded her of brown velvet when they lay in the aftermath of passion. Moira shot up, sloshing water and sending a wave of bubbles over the edge of the tub. She was annoyed with herself for the thought.
There was no way she was going to dwell on Ian 'look but don't touch' Nottingham tonight. He was slowly driving her crazy with his behavior. They would talk, but no matter what she said, Ian would never give in, never let go. She appreciated that he didn't want to hurt her, but damn. Moira couldn't be close to him without wanting to touch him, and didn't understand why he didn't feel the same. His repeated refusals and now avoidance was making her short tempered and irritable.
Somehow, Doctor Burke had fallen in love. Worse, she'd fallen in love with a test subject. That little fact made her explosive. Her temper, never great to begin with, was becoming legendary around the lab. It was a good thing Casca wasn't around; she'd have managed that fistfight she owed him by now.
She'd already punched Ellis for telling Moira that she should just stay at home during her period. When he'd gotten up off the floor, he'd threatened to have her arrested for assault. She'd smiled unpleasantly and informed him that she had kept a record of all his sexual innuendos, which she would happily hand over to the M.P.s and claim self defense.
Ellis had slunk away like a whipped dog. Too bad she couldn't handle her other problem as easily as that. This went waaay beyond 'petting the mice'. It was so cliché, so stupid, as to be laughable. Too bad she wasn't laughing. If she were found out, Moira would lose her position and her career. It might have even been worth it if Ian had loved her back.
Miserable again, Moira huddled under the bubbles. She took a long swallow of wine, now more interested in its high alcohol content than it's flavor. Maybe if she got just a little drunk, the pain would go away for a while so she could sleep without dreaming. The wine disappeared faster than she could have believed possible.
With a sigh of frustration she set the empty glass on the edge of the tub and stood. Mounds of fragrant white bubbles clung in patches to her skin. Moira reached for the dark blue towel that hung on the brass rod and froze.
Someone had opened the front door. They were trying to be quiet about it, but for once the substandard construction of the building worked in her favor. The door didn't hang that well on it's hinges, and it always scraped the floor when it was about a third of the way open.
There was no way it was Ian, not the way he'd been behaving lately. Just this afternoon he'd left the common area as soon as she entered it. No, this was probably one of Casca's flunkies, if not Casca himself. Moira knew he was capable of getting out if he wanted. She'd heard how the staff avoided his room like the plague.
Forgoing the minimal protection of the towel in favor of her robe, which would survive being wet well enough, she stepped out of the tub. Moira pulled the burgundy terrycloth around her and belted it, leaving her hands free.
Sitting by the toilet, looking for all the world like innocent cleaning supplies, were two bottles. The first one was bleach and the other was ammonia. Put them together and you got chlorine gas, put them together with water, and you had hydrochloric acid. Moira had already used some of the contents to create several vials of the acid, which she kept around the house.
In the bathroom there was one in the medicine cabinet and one behind the soap dish she never used. Moira grabbed them both and moved on silent feet to the side of the half-open bathroom door. She peered out cautiously, trying to see without being seen.