Disclaimer: The usual. Angela still owns everything.
A/N: So... it's beginning to look a little desolate in here. Let's fix that, huh?
Chapter Two
Another mile of tunnel passed by at an increased speed as I pressed the pedal even further and gripped the steering wheel in both hands.
Jessica was beginning to heave deeper breaths as if they might be her last. I don't know why she was so terrified. Well, okay, maybe I did. One slight turn of the wheel could send us crashing into one of the wooden support beams leaving us trapped under a mountain of rubble, but come on… I'm a better driver than that. I've only ever gone through one wall down here. Speaking of said wall…
As if on cue, Janet – that's it! – shrieked as if hell itself had opened up in front of her. You'd think she'd never seen a holographic wall before. I let loose a private smirk and a low chuckle. Maybe their budget ran out at invisible plaid force field. (Just how much sense did an invisible plaid force field make anyway?)
Returning to the moment, I chanced a sidelong glance at Amy and found her completely braced for impact. Somehow this made me smirk all the more. The shriek still ringing in my ears, I encouraged the gas pedal to kiss the floor as the more-graffiti-than-brick wall rose to meet us.
A single moment before crashing through the wall, Amy's slim fingers anchored on the crook of my elbow and held on as if her life depended on it. Their warmth seeped into my skin and I knew then that it wasn't her life depending on this touch but mine.
The wall came and went.
After a few seconds, so did her touch.
Left with a mere ghost of a feeling, my mind and arm cried out for more of her attention, but slowly tapered off upon noticing her hand's new task of calming her visibly throbbing heart before it beat out of her oh-so-lovely chest…connected to that nearly undulating stomach…
Right. Avert eyes. Look at the road. Focus on driving instead, Diamond.
I pulled up to a dilapidated club few on the other side of the law knew about. I'll admit it, I missed The Junkpit. It was the very first place I bought out with money I had earned myself. Well, money I had procured, anyway.
The Sky Mobile barely squeezed in the sharp 180 I pulled for the park job before I cut the engine and looked over at Amy. "C'mon."
Her lips pursed and arms crossed causing my brow to furrow.
When she shifted so she didn't have the option of looking my way, I sighed, glanced in the backseat at a shrugging Scud and even less complacent Janet, and tried again. "Look, these tunnels go on for miles. You guys could be lost in there for days, even weeks."
She didn't answer.
A very small part of me hoped it was because she had felt the same thing in the touch we shared and didn't want to risk admitting anything.
Yeah, right.
Still, that small voice told me to go for it. She'll follow. Maybe.
"Okay. Suit yourself."
Resolve finally settled in all but making me leave the car when it's probably the last thing I wanted to do. At least Scud climbed out and gave me the courage to walk away towards the club.
We were assaulted by a wall of noise and even stronger wall of odor – bodily and else wise – when my senses finally pulled away from the car and the faint slam of its door.
Scud wheeled around in front of me and asked despite the loud music, "Think they're coming?"
"I guess we'll find out, now won't we?" I replied tersely.
He turned and resumed his pace at my side upon recognizing my mood. I sighed because even in his silence, he was right. This wasn't exactly the best clubbing attitude.
"Come on." I placed my hand at his elbow in a form of apology. "Let's go stake out the foosball competition."
His grin grew to epic proportions making me think that supporting his gaming addiction may not be the best idea. Still, we made our way over to the table.
A rowdy carload of guys with hair in all shapes and styles were dominating the table, jeering at those that just lost their night's pay on a game of foosball, yet my eyebrow wasn't even fully arched before they scattered to the four corners of the bar. One ducked out so fast he left his latest winnings on the table.
"Did you have to do that? Think of all the money I could have hustled from them."
I threw the wad of cash left on the table at him. "My method's much quicker, wouldn't you say?"
He acknowledged my point with a tilt of his head, and then exaggerated it a bit more until I realized he was indicating the bar's door. It seemed our guests decided to join us after all.
Scud watched with a blank expression as I visibly steeled myself. He probably wasn't too amused by the whole situation, or he was coming to terms that I was essentially handing him a rain check for foosball as I turned and found my eyes riveted to the blonde beauty slowly making her way into the room. Her arms were crossed, outlining everything her jacket covered in the cruelest of ways. Janet veered off to her right and I flicked my eyes back to Amy. I could see her trying to take everything in stride but still looking unbelievably incredulous that Janet would just leave her there. Not an entirely false fear here, I suppose.
Her eyes, more gray than blue at the moment, darted around as she reached up and adjusted her collar closer around her neck as if it would shield her from the world.
Well, wasn't that interesting? Not that I'm complaining, but why bother wearing a skimpy plaid school girl's uniform if coverage was comforting? Vulnerability, I realized with a quirk to my lips. The Perfect Score hid it perfectly; Amy radiated it.
I tucked away the smirk and narrowed in on the lone DEB from under my lashes.
Halfway across the floor, she caught sight of me, or my sauntering hips as it would seem. She quickly lifted her eyes back up to mine. Suddenly having eye contact with those stormy gray curtained windows, my confidence tempted to falter on me, but I grabbed it by the coattails. "Want a beer?"
"No," she replied curtly, disinterest all too evident.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed two from a passing tray anyway. "Come on." A tingle worked its way up my arm when I loosely held onto her wrist to lead her to my favorite booth. I let go when it began to hinder my ability to walk and breathe simultaneously.
We wound our way around a blue-haired girl dangerously bobbing her head to the beat and drumming the air when drums weren't even included in the techno song. The thought made me pause for a split second and watch. It seemed Amy noticed her as well as she was cringing away, trying not to get hit by one of the flying limbs. I grinned without restraint at the sight, but dutifully lead on into a less hazardous zone. I was tempted to reach for her wrist again, or even her hand this time, yet didn't because I knew she would follow and I didn't need the distraction, lovely as it would be.
Three people, only one a low-level criminal, were occupying my booth, but all three nearly jumped up to vacate the area as if they had been sitting on coals all along. But then again, sitting in my booth, they might as well have been.
"Thanks for keeping it warmed up." A sly grin ate away at my lips.
"You're welcome," the first to jump up practically threw over his shoulder, a salute more suited to hiding his face than showing respect plastered to his temple.
Too late for that, Johnny "Cash" Sullivan. I made a mental note to cross his name off of the "Tolerated" list kept at the front door.
"Sit down," I offered the obviously hesitant blonde, hoping my voice didn't sound as eager to her as it did to me.
The two beers thudded dully on the table as I set them down. Amy, seemingly having accepted the situation, slid into the rounded booth. My confidence soared once more when she chose to sit more towards the middle than the end. I sat on the other side and slowly scooted closer until I thought she might get uncomfortable if I got much closer. I was finally making some progress and scaring her away was not on the To-Do List.
Okay, one more little scoot closer.
It took a moment to resupply the normal amount of charisma in my attitude and in that moment, she seemed to steel herself for whatever method of communication I would end up choosing. Exhibit A? I looked over and she pursed her lips and glared. Ouch. Okay, so I was momentarily shot down – a smile showcased an inner laugh at the mere thought of anyone rejecting me – but another glance told me her closed-off persona had a different purpose. Or maybe I'm just being hopeful.
A third glance… Her lips were still pursed and she was distinctly looking at nothing in particular across the bar. Time for take two.
"So how long you been a Deb?"
If possible, her lips tightened even further and a flash of connected glances preceded an increased tilt of her head away from me.
Her refusal to even acknowledge a shared glance amused me to the point of almost letting an incredulous laugh slip. "Look, you're going to have to talk to me sooner or later." I artfully glided the bottle to my lips and took a flirty sip.
She thankfully chose sooner rather than later. "Look, I don't know what you expect to accomplish by bringing me all the way out here."
"Would you lighten up?" I poured my perfected tone on thick. "I know there are a shitload of questions you're just dying to ask me." Perhaps that was too thick as now she refused to even look my way. Time for a new tactic. "Come on, tell me about your thesis."
Bingo. Her eyes flashed to mine, almost questioning, but not quite. I prodded her on with rising eyebrows.
"It's stupid…" she finally muttered.
How would I know unless she told me? "Well, try me."
It took a moment, but then she gripped her bottle of Dos Equis with both hands, finally seeming to settle in. "Um…" A breathy exhale. "I guess my central hypothesis is that… as a woman, operating in a male-dominated field, you felt the need to overcompensate by being exponentially more ruthless and diabolical than your established male counterparts…"
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Ruthless? "I am not more ruthless."
"I think an argument could be made that you are… i.e. we're here…"
Hm. "That's interesting." She looked amazed that I accepted her logic so I prodded her again. "Continue."
Another exhale. And was that a hint of a smile? "…And I think that these psychological forces combine to create a kind of emotional void—"
Psychological forces? Emotional voids? Where is she going with this?
"—in which you're incapable of… loving or being loved."
Disbelief at her accusation sent a finger to jab the air before her pointedly. "See, that is so not true."
"What?"
"I'm open to love. I am!"
Jesus, I practically sounded like Scud, trying to convince myself rather than her.
"I'm sorry, it's…it-it's just a theory."
"Yeah, well…" my voice got dangerously low, "what the hell do you know about it anyway?"
"Nothing!"
Nothing's right. I didn't fail to notice our reversed roles as now I refused to look in her direction, instead opting to take another swig.
Seemingly defenseless even in my anger, her voice wriggled back into my head. "I just broke up with my boyfriend, like—" I chanced a sideways glance at her in time to see her briefly check her watch. "—five hours ago."
She met my gaze for a moment, but then her line of sight dropped to her relatively untouched beer. The pad of her thumb flicked at the label. When that didn't have much of an effect, a single fingernail began scratching at the edge.
Watching her unique form of self-distraction, the realization hit me that maybe she did know a thing or two about finding the wrong kind of love. Having lost any residual anger, I had the sudden urge to reach out and still her hand. Instead, "I'm sorry. That sucks."
Her eyes flicked from me to the bottle and back again for a longer look, the etchings of a smile sketched on her lips. "Thanks." Her sudden shy demeanor seemed doubled by the demure tone.
Even though I knew it was probably a bad subject to be bringing up, especially so soon after it happened, curiosity got the better of me. "Why did you break up with him?"
She settled in for the second time, no doubt winding up for an answer just as long and logical as the synopsis of her thesis. "I don't know, it just… it wasn't…"
I was caught between wanting to prod her on and telling her it was okay if she didn't want to share. As it was, I didn't have to choose either. She dropped her last train of thought with a sigh and held my gaze.
"I think love should be irresistible, like a drug." A true, mesmerized smile preceded the glazed over look her eyes adopted. "I think when it happens you should just not be able to help yourself. I just—" She paused, searching for the words, and looked delighted when they came to her. "I wanted… more."
I vaguely noticed that she had stopped talking and that was probably my cue to pick up the conversation, but for once, no words came to mind. What could I say when her words were so pure? Purer than anything I had ever been even remotely associated with?
"…Babbling." I felt like I missed something, but then noticed her hand come up to cover a bit of embarrassment creeping into her face. The urge to once again take her hand to stop the motion came over me, yet I still wasn't sure how she would react to that. And the honest-to-God last thing I wanted to do was give her a reason to go back to giving me the cold shoulder. So I fell back on simple words.
"No. You're not at all." They felt weak as they left my mouth, but there wasn't much I could do to take them back now.
Yet they seemed to work as she turned further toward me. "This is so weird. I… Why aren't you killing me?"
Thinking of how unladylike Scud would say it is, I bit back the desire to bark out a laugh at the idea of killing anyone. Instead, I happily accepted the lighter conversation, gripped my beer anew and answered with an amused lilt, "Not into that," before taking another swallow.
Her mouth all but dropped and she leaned in closer, conspiratorially, and boldly accused, "But you killed those agents in Antarctica."
I'd killed who now? Disbelief of my own flickered over my features. "They died of frostbite or something. I never even met them."
"And those ATF guys in Peru?" Her eyes were locked on mine, the keystone of her belief in my public reputation dangling in between.
Hoping for the effectiveness found in being straightforward, I deadpanned the truth for her. "Ebola." Another swig followed.
It took a second to sink in. A long second. Finally, she responded, "You're so not what I expected."
That made me want to smile. One kept tickling at the tips of my lips, but I managed to suppress most of it as I rested my elbow on the table and pressed the flat of my palm against my neck, a few fingers playing along my jawline. "Well, I think that's a good thing."
