A few weeks went by, and Greene had settled into her new patrol. It was lonely sometimes by herself, but she and Jackson alternated patrolling the park, so she still got to see it a few times a week.
She hadn't spoken to Thompson since they'd been at the cabin. She knew he was visiting Etna and Smith for some reason, because she'd seen him entering and leaving the apartment building. She never looked right at him, but she could feel his eyes on her each time they met.
She went about her days in a routine, not bothering with the things she'd previously enjoyed. What was the point? She didn't need to eat, didn't need to sleep. Movies didn't distract her. She stuck with the agent uniform; it was easier that way. She stopped visiting Etna & Smith for fear of running into Thompson, and stopped going out except for the double shift of patrols she'd taken on. She really had no idea how much time had passed since the cabin. All the days seemed to flow into each other seamlessly.
It was a Friday, and she was sitting alone in her apartment, trying desperately not to think about Thompson, when there was a knock at her door. Startled and curious, she answered it and the crew of the Elbereth piled into her apartment.
"Get your butt together, Tirzah. You're coming with us," Gaia ordered, without even so much as a hello.
"Agent Greene to you," Greene scowled at her.
"The hell it is," Freja spat. "Black suit or not, you're still Tirzah and you are moping!" She emphasized the last three words as though they were vile curse words. This was particularly rich, coming from Freja. She had the foulest mouth of anyone Tirzah had ever met.
"Wait, are you all here because--"
"Because Binah has been watching, and she tells us you haven't been out of your apartment except to patrol in four and a half weeks," Rhiannon said. "You need some SUN, woman." She re-thought that statement. "Or at least a well-coded reasonable facsimile."
For the first time in four and a half weeks, Greene smiled in amusement. "THAT'S what I'm talking about!" Gaia cried, smacking her on the rear. She paused and pulled a face at the rest of the crew. "Great. First time I've ever groped an agent's butt, and it's Tirzah. Such a waste." She sighed melodramatically, and Greene actually laughed.
She thought this accomplishment deserved something. "Fine, fine," she conceeded. "I'll go with you."
"Not wearing THAT, you're not," Radha said, making a gagging noise and pointing Greene toward the bedroom. "Wear the denim skirt and do something cute and layered on top. And fix your hair!" she added as an afterthought.
By the time everyone approved of her outfit, Greene was wearing a knee-length denim skirt, a pair of wedge sandals, and a khaki jacket over a blue tank. Her hair was hanging behind her with the crown pulled into a brown leather barrette, in contrast to the bun she'd been wearing to patrol. They headed for a cafe Radha suggested, and sat out on the patio under the umbrellas, drinking brightly colored drinks and laughing. "So are you going to tell us what happened?" Gaia asked finally, leaning back as though preparing to hear Greene tell a story.
"What do you mean?" Greene asked warily.
"Tirzah, we saw what happened with you two."
Greene choked and stared at Gaia. "You...saw?" she asked, strangled.
Rhiannon spoke up quickly. "Not...all of it."
"Speak for yourself. I was riveted," Freja interjected.
Greene covered her face with her hands, elbows on the table. "I am going to kill all of you," she moaned, then took her hands off her face and glared hard. "And I'm completely capable of it, too."
Freja didn't look the least bit embarrassed. "But you won't because you love us. I'm still trying to figure out why you're being like this after a night like that," she said, and sighed the word "that" longingly.
"And that's exactly why I'm asking," Gaia said, and opened her hand at Greene as though giving her the floor. "Given what we saw, and what's going on now, I want to know what happened."
Greene sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time that afternoon. She drained her glass and motioned for the waitress to bring her another. "'What happened' is what you saw. I slept with someone who has no intention of--no, who hasn't any ability to care about me."
"So? I do that all the time," Freja pointed out.
"Yes, Tirzah," Gaia said as if she knew there was more to the story, and she wanted Greene to admit it. "Why does it bother you so much that Thompson can't care about you? He's ridiculously hot and obviously willing. What's the problem here?"
Greene looked skyward, trying to keep tears from welling up in her eyes. The underside of the umbrella glowed from the sun overhead; stripes of blue and yellow and orange and red tinting everything beneath. "Because--I want--," she began, but she choked and took a deep breath before looking back at the crew.
"You don't have to say it," Gaia said kindly. "We already know how you feel about him. We just wanted to make sure you did."
Green scowled through her brimming eyes. "Thanks ever so," she said sarcastically. "You're emotionally torturing me for my own good, somehow?"
"I have a confession," Gaia admitted. Greene tensed; Gaia's confessions were notorious for dropping bombs on unsuspecting friends.
"We had an ulterior motive," Radha said.
"What, you want me to get you a date with Jackson?"
"You could do that?" Freja perked up suddenly, train of thought completely derailed. "Ye gods, I'd like to see him in a pair of leath--"
"NO," Rhiannon said, elbowing Freja. "You're the one going on the date," she said to Greene, ignoring a very disappointed looking Freja.
"With Jackson." Greene's look was flat; they were obviously messing with her head.
"No, with him," Gaia announced, and lifted her drink toward someone behind Greene as though toasting them; Greene turned and her mouth went completely dry. Thompson was standing across the patio, looking as though she was the only person he could see. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue blazer over a white shirt, still wearing his sunglasses, and Greene thought the bottom might drop out of her stomach. He looked great in the uniform, but seeing him in street clothes took her breath every time. He had to be the most attractive man in the Matrix. He was holding a single red flower and had a basket hanging from his arm, and he looked so hopeful she could almost believe he really was hoping for something.
"What is this?" Greene said, much too calmly.
"We think you've gotten it wrong about him. We know what you think, and..." Radha said, and trailed off.
"Just give him the chance, Tirzah. Just go with him," Rhiannon urged.
"I cannot believe you ambushed me like this," Greene growled at all of them.
"What can it hurt?" Freja pointed out.
"It can hurt ME!" Greene whispered, feeling the lump in her throat again.
"But what if you're WRONG, Tirzah!" Gaia yelled in a whisper. "What if you're the one hurting you? What if you're hurting him?"
"It's not possible to hurt him, Gaia."
"I'm not sure how you came to that conclusion, but he looks--well, look at him!" Radha said, pointing.
Greene spluttered, then broke off and looked at Thompson. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? He looked more nervous than she'd ever seen anyone, and she sighed yet again. What if...? "Fine." The whole crew burst into smiles and giggles, and Thompson, though out of earshot, seemed heartened by their reaction. "But don't expect anything." She turned to walk toward Thompson, but stopped and turned around dramatically at the last second. "And no more code-watching! I am not your personal pornographic movie channel!" she hissed. Several of the restaurant patrons turned to stare open-mouthed at her. Freja feigned shocked innocence, but Gaia laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. Rhiannon & Radha just hid their faces in their drinks.
"No promises," she thought she heard Rhiannon say, but she was walking toward Thompson, who looked like he was desperately trying to contain his broad grin. He was failing, and he gave up entirely as she reached him. He was positively beaming at her now, but she found she couldn't look him in the eye no matter how hard she tried. She was casting about for something--anything--to say, but he spoke first. "I thought you might like to get out this afternoon."
"I...you did?" He held the flower out to her. It was a red daylily--her favorite. She wondered if he knew that. She thanked him, feeling her face blush, and nodded her acceptance of his invitation.
"Then it's the park, and then a concert," he said airily. "I have an agenda for this very spontaneous afternoon." He looked sideways at her with a sly smile.
She giggled halfheartedly at the thought; only an agent would have an agenda for a "spontaneous" afternoon. She started suddenly, realizing that had been--a joke? She nearly stumbled in surprise. He'd been trying to make her laugh! This was completely unfamiliar territory, she realized as they strolled down the street making small talk. He was the same Thompson, halting and a little awkward, but there was something new about him she couldn't put her finger on. She suddenly realized she wanted this to go well; but if she wanted to have a good time this afternoon, she was going to have to get something out of the way. She steeled herself.
"Thompson, the cabin...aren't you going to ask me about--?" she couldn't finish. His touch, his face, the way he'd moaned her name, the way he felt curled possessively around her--memories welled up into her throat and choked her.
He looked very serious. "No, I'm not. I do not want the car thrown at me today. I like this jacket." Serious face never faltering, he winked.
This time her giggle was heartfelt, even if her confusion was stronger. He had tried to make her laugh again, and this time he'd succeeded. Humor from the lips of an agent was almost unheard of. She shook her head and smiled at him, and was rewarded with another one of his dazzling grins. He was smiling. In public.
"You LIED, Agent Thompson," she told him playfully.
"What?" He looked genuinely startled.
"'Neither my height nor demeanor ever changes,' you told me. You're still tall, but if you keep smiling like that you'll never be intimidating again."
"I could be intimidating if I wanted," he said, sounding offended. He looked very sternly at a group of teenage girls walking in the other direction. They giggled and whispered as they passed, and he gaped, half-turning to watch them. "They giggled at me!"
Greene had come to a complete stop on the sidewalk and covered her face with her hands, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe properly. Thompson stood there, looking from the giggling girls back to Greene, the very image of righteous indignation. She composed herself enough to grab his hand and haul him toward the park. "Come on, Scary Agent Man."
He muttered under his breath, but he went. "Silly little...ought to code them all to wake up bald tomorrow..." She was still laughing and he was still muttering as they walked through the front gate.
"What's the basket for?" Greene asked, amusement finally winding down.
Thompson perked up slightly. "Part of our lunch," he replied.
"'Part' of it?"
Without Greene noticing, Thompson had steered them into the farmer's market that lined the western edge of the park. "I thought you might like to take advantage of this for the rest of it." Greene looked at him, mouth slightly open, in delighted surprise. He said nothing, but smiled back and turned his open palm toward the stands.
By the time they were through, she'd picked out half a dozen of her favorite things: 2 peaches, a pint of strawberries, 2 tomatoes and a loaf of bread from an artisan baker. He ensconced their little picnic on a little hill under a tree, with a view of the entire park spread out before them. The ampitheater wasn't far, and she could see people milling around, setting things up for the concert. Thompson was uncorking a bottle of wine. She wondered aloud whether he knew how to pick out a wine or not.
"I have no idea at all. Smith recommended this one." He handed her a glass, half-filled.
She laughed. "Hopefully you hold yours better than he does."
"Smith is not very good at it?" he took a sip of the pale, rose-colored liquid. It was sweet & slightly mild; Etna had told him that Greene favored lighter wines.
"Smith can't drink much at all," Greene informed him, taking a sip. "Etna can drink him right under the table. Though usually she drinks him right into the sack." She wished she'd had the words back the minute they came out of her mouth. The last thing either of them needed to be reminded of was sex. Everything came rushing back to her again; she could almost feel his hands on her skin and see the mesmerized look in his eyes as he touched her. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks and took another sip to cover it. Thompson's eyes widened and he looked almost terrified for a moment, and then he drained his entire glass in one drink. He poured another one, and offered to do so for her. She accepted.
The picnic was perfect, after that. She showed him how to slice tomatoes and snickered that his picnic basket had contained a rather large bottle of hot sauce among the other things. There were no more slips of the tongue, but the memory seemed to hang in the space between them. Watching him lick the juice from the side of a peach sent her scrambling to bury her face in her wine glass again. She'd seen his eyes widen at her a few times, too, though she hadn't the first idea what she did to deserve those looks. Between them they polished off the entire bottle of wine. He did better than Smith, but just barely. He smiled much easier and more frequently as they neared the end of the bottle. They ended up wading into the little creek that meandered through the park. She tried to explain the concept of ornamental fish to him as they fed them bread crumbs. He looked amused as the little koi swarmed him. That smile of his reminded her of a little boy, and she told him so.
"Is that good or bad?" He sprinkled out more crumbs for the koi. A little gold one flitted around Thompson's ankles, earning himself his very own bread crust.
She thought about this for a second. "It's good. You seem almost enthusiastic about life. You seem to like everything now, and you aren't afraid of anything."
She could've sworn she saw a flash of something in his eyes. Sadness? Hurt? It was gone too quickly to tell, and Greene convinced herself she had dreamed it. "Let's head to the ampitheater," he said, without replying to her comment. He waded out and got their shoes. The ampitheater was attached to the park, and the flowers were a riot of color. Greene thought this might be the most perfect date she could dream up; the thought hit her with a bittersweet pang, and she tried to shove it out of her mind. The most perfect date possible, with a man who was incapable of feeling the way she did. She ground her teeth and brutally smashed the thought again just in time to get a good spot.
The concert was one of Thompson's favorite bands, and Greene found herself enjoying the music for once. Upon further reflection, she realized that it reminded her of him--further evidence that she'd let herself fall hard for him. Again she shoved the thought away; she was just going to go with this and have a good time tonight. She'd think about consequences later. Thompson had lawn tickets, so there had been enough room to get up and dance, which Greene had done. Thompson wouldn't at first; he insisted he wasn't very good at it, but he finally let her talk him into it during his favorite song. "Only because you asked." To her surprise, he did know the swing. From that song on, he'd danced with her every time she'd asked. She enjoyed an excuse to touch him, as bad an idea as her brain insisted that was. He seemed to like the dancing once he'd gotten the hang of it. He'd been much better at it than she expected, given his protesting.
The sun had set by the end of the concert, and they walked slowly out through the park. Though she had convinced herself by now that he was usually feigning whatever emotional reaction he seemed to be having, Greene was beginning to rethink that. He seemed genuinely happy right now, walking beside her. Testing this theory, she reached over and, without looking at him, tangled her fingers in his as they walked. She felt him tense immediately, drawing a quick breath and glancing at her. When he realized she wasn't looking at him, he seemed to...blush? Surely that had to be a trick of the light. It was dark, after all. He took a breath as though working up the courage for something, stopped, and turned to her.
"Greene, would you like to--" but he stopped suddenly, looking at her face. She was stunned to see pure pain in his eyes. There was no trick of the light here, and there was no mistaking this for mimicking human responses. It took her breath to see any emotion so obvious, so raw, staring at her from Thompson's usually stoic face. She started to say his name, to ask what was wrong, but he made a little noise in the back of his throat and kissed her, hands on either side of her waist.
Before she had time to think about her reaction, she was kissing him back, right there on the sidewalk in front of the world. She raised both arms to put over his shoulders, fingers immediately running through his hair. He groaned into her mouth as she embraced him, wrapping his arms all the way around her and leaning down into the kiss. They fell into each other instantly; it felt familiar and warm and comfortable. Her lips slid softly over his, his tongue drifted lazily over hers, her hands found their favorite spot at the nape of his neck. He made soft noises at her every touch, and he seemed to be trying to take her all in at once. His hands ran through her hair, caressed her back, touched her face, and pulled her closer. He held her as if she were the most important thing in the universe, and his kiss had all the intensity of someone trying desperately to say something without words.
She had no idea how long it was before they broke apart. "Please," he said. "Please come home with me." He kissed her again, thumb stroking her cheek. "I don't think I'm supposed to ask you that. I think it might be rude, but I don't want to leave you yet. Please." He whispered the last word in a pleading tone, forehead pressed against hers. She nodded, and he sighed in relief.
She'd entwined her fingers in his again on their way to his apartment. He had smiled at her, such hope in his eyes. She kissed him tentatively in the elevator on the way upstairs, and he responded with overjoyed disbelief. She kissed downward along his jaw to his neck, using her tongue the same way she had last time, and he shook, eyes tightly shut and fingers clenching into fists. She'd been wrong about him. She had to be wrong; there was no way he could fake this.
They stumbled into his apartment, still kissing. His jacket hit the floor before they'd left the entryway. She tossed hers onto the back of his couch as they passed it. In the bedroom, he ran his hands up her arms from her wrists to her shoulders, and she shivered in pleasure, starting on the buttons of his shirt as he sat down on the edge of his bed. His hands wandered up her skirt as she worked, and it was as if he'd set her skin ablaze. She jerked, and the last two buttons popped off. She winced and started to apologize, but he pulled her down with him and cut her off with a kiss, smiling broadly. He broke it only to pull off his undershirt, and she took the same moment to kick her skirt off; he stroked her thigh from knee to hip in one sweeping movement, admiring her as though she were the most amazing thing he'd ever seen. The heat of his gaze made her shiver. "We're really going to do this again, aren't we?" she murmured, punctuating the question with kisses.
He stopped suddenly and looked at her very seriously. "Not if you tell me to stop, we aren't," he told her, and kissed her fingertips. His eyes were burning with a fanatical intensity; they seemed to drill through her. She was reminded of the look Etna used to pin her when she wanted an honest answer, or to make an important point.
"No. Please, don't stop," she whispered, and he cupped her face with one hand as he kissed her. She let him guide her down onto the bed, her legs hanging over the edge. He arched over her, kissing her long & deeply before he stopped with a little lick to her lips, then sat back to look at her. He was smiling again. He had such a gorgeous smile, and she told him so again.
"I only seem to do it around you," he told her seriously. "You make me want to." She gripped the back of his neck lightly and pulled him down for another long kiss. He broke it, sliding his hand into the waistband of her panties. She gasped.
"Just lie there for a minute," he told her, and slid downward off the edge of the bed, sliding her panties down her legs as he went. It was a rather impressive maneuver, and Greene found herself remembering conversations from the Elbereth. It seemed agents were particularly adept at this, once they'd acquired a taste for it. He seemed to know precisely how and where to touch her and he'd only done this once. She wondered if the crew was watching. That was as far as the thoughts got, though, because Thompson had nudged her thighs apart with his hands and was kissing his way up the inside of her left leg.
At the first touch of his breath on her inner thigh, she nearly flew off the bed. "No," he said as she tried to sit up. "Please, just lie still." She did. She saw him looking at her, spread before him, and he made that noise in his throat. Raw desire was written all over his face as he slid both hands up her thighs and bent to press his lips against her again. The air felt cold against her wetness, and somehow that aroused her more. She could hardly stand it; as his tongue traced the inside of her leg she began to gasp. She felt entirely exposed and it seemed to heighten all of her senses. She could feel his every movement: his hair brushing the inside of her other leg, his shallow, excited breathing, his slight tremble as he came closer and closer. She shook, too, with the enormous effort of remaining still, gripping the covers on his bed tightly in her fists. He reached her, and at the first feeling of his tongue slipping in to reach her pearl, everything but him dropped away. She called his name in a throaty voice.
He groaned in answer, and the vibration of it shot through her thighs and up her spine. She moaned and pressed her hips upward toward his beautiful mouth. It was as though he'd been longing for this; as if she was water and he was dying of thirst. The flat of his tongue was pressing against her, licking upward, teasing, stroking, caressing. His fingers had found their way to her, and he slid them into her, first one, then two, as his tongue continued gently lapping. She was panting and gasping as he began to suck gently at her, still sliding his fingers in and out. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying hard not to grip it in her fists the way she'd done the sheets. She was sobbing his name in a whisper, completely incapable of any other words. His other hand slid around her hip, caressing her backside. He used the leverage to press into her harder with his tongue, using the tip to stroke her higher and higher. Just as it felt as though she would explode into a thousand glittering motes of pure pleasure, she did. The orgasm hit her so hard that it took her breath. She shook wordlessly as she tightened around his fingers and waves of ecstasy washed over her, one on the heels of another. Her entire world had shrunk to just the feeling of Thompson licking her gently, his breath on her skin, the feel of his hair in her hands.
By the time she could think, he was back on the bed, kissing her mouth again, his fingers still lazily moving in her. His eyes had never looked this green before. He sighed as if he'd been the one who'd just been driven out of his mind with pleasure. That thought hit her with a feeling of urgent need, and she stripped off her tank and bra and was working at his belt buckle before he could react. She wanted to give him back what he'd just given her. She slid her hand to the front of his pants, which were doing nothing to hide his intense arousal. He gasped and tried to say something, but she smothered his words with another kiss.
"Please," she gasped, pulling at his pants and the indigo satin boxers underneath. "Please."
He obliged, tossing off both as she stroked him. It was his turn to pant and moan wordlessly; she was kissing her way down his chest. He murmured her name and incoherent exclamations of how good it felt until she reached his erection, which she quickly took into her mouth, letting her tongue drift across the tip. His reaction was precisely the same as hers had been; he nearly flew off the bed and was sitting halfway upright before she could stop him. "Lie still," she ordered him, with a devious grin, and gave him a small smack to the hip. He laughed weakly and lay back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. She began to use her tongue, tracing along his length, swirling around the tip, anything she could think of. He gasped; she could tell from the tension he was trying hard not to buck his hips. She traced lines between his legs with her fingernails and sucked gently. He whimpered her name and gripped the sheets hard in his fists.
He lifted a shaking hand to caress her shoulder. "Please, Greene." His eyes begged. She nodded, and he sat up as she lay back. She found herself admiring him again, thick muscle under fair skin; he moved quickly and efficiently, but everything he did was somehow graceful. He lay beside her, touching, stroking, rubbing--he seemed to want to do anything and everything that felt good for her. Her breath was coming in gasps and near-sobs as he kissed her breasts, sucking her nipples gently, tugging lightly with his teeth. His fingers were between her legs again, gently touching her where she'd shown him during their night at the cabin. She spread her thighs wide, giving him all the room he wanted to do whatever he wanted. His fingers were moving inside her again and she moved her hips in time with his rhythm. She looked at his face; his cheeks were flushed and there was pure, unadulterated need in his green eyes. She knew the feeling; she'd never wanted anything more than she wanted him right this moment. She kissed him, teasing his tongue with hers, then broke the kiss to nod as he repositioned himself to lie between her thighs. She nodded and guided him to her entrance. Their lips met as he sank into her.
They both sighed as though they'd been waiting for this for a thousand years. She lay her head back and closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of him between her thighs. Thompson was whispering again, saying into her ear how beautiful she was and how perfect and how he'd missed her and how much he needed her. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, kissing his neck and telling him how good he felt against her skin and moaning as he teased her nipples again, pinching lightly with his fingertips. She begged him never to stop; he promised he would do anything she asked. After a few moments neither could speak; they just moved in time, groaning and gasping as though they couldn't get close enough to each other. She opened her eyes to look at him, and he was smiling softly at her, his green eyes warm with something she couldn't name. She stroked his cheek with her fingertips and he closed his eyes, leaning his face into her touch. He moved inside her, filling her over and over; it felt as though he would keep his promise and go on forever. She wanted him to go on forever.
He was thrusting harder, now, and faster, his fists clenching in the sheets beneath her. She moved her hips to meet him and growled his name. He leaned down to kiss her hard; she gripped the back of his neck in her hands and crushed him to her, yanking his hair slightly. He called out in pleasure, breaking the kiss, but she took his mouth back instantly, one hand now on his rear, pressing him into her harder. He muttered "please" every time she met him with her hips, his eyes glittering fiercely at her. He said her name, and it seemed as though he wanted badly to tell her something, but he couldn't get the words out. It didn't matter; they came suddenly, nearly at the same time. She stiffened and called his name, her hands clenching on his back. He shook, whispering hers, as she pulled him over the edge with her, crushing her to his chest. The seconds seemed to stretch out forever as they clung together, pleasure wracking them.
When they'd finally finished, he slid to her side, careful not to crush her. He was smiling again, that familiar, elated smile he'd worn the last time. He touched her face and let his hands roam over her worshipfully, still looking as if he'd never seen anything so remarkable. She knew the feeling; if she'd thought he was gorgeous in street clothes, it was nothing compared to him lying beside her, gloriously naked and completely unashamed. She could've admired him for hours, but her doubts had found her again.
She echoed them aloud. "Oh, god, Thompson. What did we just do?" She put a hand over her eyes, trying desperately not to hear the voice of reason.
He was nuzzling her hair behind her ear. "We made love," he said, sounding as though those were the most delicious words to ever roll off his tongue. His voice was lower and softer than usual, and he settled her firmly into his embrace and tugged the silky soft sheets up around them. He was so warm.
His wording only added insult to the injury her doubts were causing. She laughed a little ruefully. "I didn't expect euphemisms from you." She was trying to blink back the sting in her eyes; she didn't think she could stand for him to see her cry.
He propped himself up, one hand on the side of his head and his elbow on the sheets. He used his other hand to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "That was not a euphemism. It's making love if I love you, isn't it?"
Greene's heart stopped. She could almost hear the silence in her chest. "Thompson, don't. Don't you say that to me-- if you can't--," she told him hollowly, her voice hoarse with the tears that were starting to spill over. She had to turn away; it hurt to look at him.
He interrupted her. "I am still trying to work out why you think I can't mean it..."
Her heart beat again, just once. She heard that one, fierce pound in the dead silence. Her eyes were clenched shut. The entire world was standing still. "Thompson..."
"...because I do. Everything is more interesting when you're there. You've taught me to feel a thousand different things, and somehow you think I can't feel them for you? Tonight when I said I needed you, I didn't mean for this." Her heart was beating again, but now it was racing faster than she'd thought possible. Tears had begun to slide down her cheeks, one at a time, but she was looking at him now. She couldn't look away. "I need you with me. You said I wasn't afraid of anything, but you were wrong. I am terrified of waking up here tomorrow morning and finding you gone. I don't know what I'd do. I've missed you so much." His emerald eyes shone brighter; could those be tears? He brought her fingertips to his lips. "I don't even know if I'm saying any of this right. I only know that I want to be with you, Tirzah. I know that I love you." He was whispering by the end of it all, sounding as though he was sure she'd laugh at him. She didn't. His use of her name--her real name--to tell her this, sent her over the edge. She burst into sobs, burying her face in his chest. Stunned, he put his arms around her. "Oh, no; what did I say wro--" he began.
"Say it again," she whispered, choking on tears and clutching him.
He paused in surprise. "I love you, Tirzah," he whispered into her ear, and she could hear the smile in his voice. She shook in his arms, then circled him with her own and pulled him as close as she could. She made him say it three more times before she looked up at him. Those were definitely tears. She hadn't known he could cry at all. "Please don't leave me. Say you'll stay with me tonight," he begged.
She shook her head hard, trying to protest that she wouldn't leave him, but she couldn't quite get her voice to work yet. Instead she pressed kisses across his jaw, her fingers tangling again in the hair at the nape of his neck. Finally she found her voice. "I love you, Thompson," she whispered into his cheek. He paused and made a soft noise, tensing slightly as he did when she touched him, then breathed a laugh and cuddled her closer. "I am staying right here," she said firmly, nuzzling his jaw. All of the tension seemed to go out of him, and he leaned into her, burying his face in her hair with a relieved sob. She could feel him gasping slightly, and held him tightly, stroking his neck soothingly with her fingertips, just the way he liked it. She whispered reassurances into his hair while he nodded and clung to her.
They lay there for a long time. She told him about Zion, about her crew members from the Elbereth, and about how she became a redpill in the first place. He told her about the Exiles he knew, about his life as an agent, and about the other agents. She'd had no idea they were all so different. It felt so comfortable, just lying there with him. She'd reach out and stroke his chest just because she could, and he'd sigh and kiss her hair and hold her closer.
He'd just told her about wanting to break Jackson's legs when she was reassigned the first time, and she was giggling. He was toying with one of her curls; he seemed enamored with them. "Even after Etna reassigned you, all I could do was think..." he trailed off.
"Think what?"
He took a deep breath, but the words still came out in a tiny voice. "What if you'd bought him a milkshake, too?" He looked like a little boy who'd lost his puppy.
The sound of his voice nearly choked her. "Never." She wasn't giggling anymore. Instead she hugged him rather violently. "Thompson," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I left you." Gaia had been right. How could she have been so stupid?
He sat up slightly to look at her. Her hair was spread across his pillow, catching the moonlight that was pouring into the window. "You don't have to say that."
"I know." She sat up, too. "I want to say it. I didn't know that I was hurting you when I left," she said, sliding her hand along his waist and behind him, bringing her lips close to his. "I'm sorry, and I wish I hadn't done it." She kissed him gently. "Forgive me?"
"You know I do," he said breathlessly. Her hand had slid downward along his thigh, ever so slowly. He knew where she was going.
"Let me make it up to you," she whispered against his lips. He shuddered, but he couldn't reply. She'd covered his mouth with hers and was kissing him, hard and urgently. Her hand was doing things between his legs that left him entirely unable to think. She broke the kiss long enough to lick his lips slowly and shove him so that he lay on his back where she'd been lying earlier. She slid a leg across to sit astride him, the same way she had during their first time together. She kissed his neck roughly, turning his head to the side. He whimpered in anticipation; he was already hard beneath her. She was arched over him, pinning his hands to the sheets above his head and grinding herself against his erection. "I'm going to make it up to you," she growled into his ear, then she bit his earlobe.
He moaned, closed his eyes, and let her.