Author's Note: Thank you, everyone who has reviewed so far! It really does help keep me motivated, knowing that people are enjoying the story. I hope you all enjoy the latest chapter!
Jo quickened her pace as she approached the door to the Security office; the stark white-and-steel décor of the room wasn't what most people would consider warm or inviting, but it held a certain appeal to her, especially in her current frame of mind. It was a clear, tidy, orderly space, a room where work was done, a room where the world was simple. There, she divided the universe into Right and Wrong, Safety and Threat, and dealt with it accordingly. Discomfort and uncertainty didn't belong in her office – they just didn't fit, and it was as though the space itself chased them away and eased her in the correct frame of mind to do her job. She understood why her other self in this time-line had designed the office this way: it reflected a part of her psyche, the determined, dedicated, and decisive elements of her personality that drove her that extra mile to do the job and get the bad guy – the part of her that a certain someone had termed "the Enforcer." Having a space all her own that resonated with that part of herself helped to center her, to focus her on the tasks at hand. The one thing that had always bothered her when she was Carter's deputy was not having that private space of her own to focus her thoughts and steel herself for her work.
She touched the scanner to unlock her office door and stepped inside to find Zane waiting for her. He stood beside her desk, fiddling with a glass paperweight. The focus and calm that she'd planned to gather here fled the instant she met his eyes. It wasn't just the wrongness of his invading her private space when she was less than ready to deal with him; even the way he was going about it was wrong. In this time-line, Zane should've been sprawled in her chair, with his feet up on her desk. Except that wasn't fair, either. Maybe he would've done that when she'd first returned from 1947, but their relationship had changed since then. He had changed since then. If he were still the person he'd been when Jo was first thrown into this reality, he would never have had such an anxious expression on his face.
Zane seemed to take her startled silence as a good sign, and spoke before she could regain her senses and tell him to get out. He set the paperweight back on the desk and took a step toward her. "I'm sorry for letting myself in," he gestured at the door, "but I wasn't sure I'd be able to get you alone otherwise. There's something I need to talk to you about."
She shook her head, raising her hands to ward off his words. "I already told you: I dropped out of the Astraeus mission because it was right for me. I was doing it for the wrong reasons, and it wasn't something I felt right about–"
Zane closed the distance between them and captured one of her hands. "That's not what I'm here to talk about, Jo-Jo." He still wore the unusually solemn, intense expression that she remembered from their encounter earlier – an expression that held her much more firmly than his gentle grip on her hand. "I get that you're not coming to Titan. I don't like it, but it's your call to make. This is more important; there's something I need you to understand." He bent his head town toward hers, just brushing her lips with his.
In that moment, her body took over, the way it always did when they touched. Words, smiles, meaningful looks, were all the province of her mind, and her mind could build up defenses against them when she didn't want to let Zane in. But touch was the realm of the body, and her body had no defenses when it came to Zane, and wanted none. That was why she kept having "one last time" with him, over and over again, despite all her intentions. It was as though her body didn't realize that this wasn't the man who had proposed to her, who had fallen in love with her. Her lips parted, and she broke his grip on her hand and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him close against her. Her tongue met his, and she savored the taste of him, the familiarity, the rightness. She inhaled the subtle, masculine scent of him, and almost forgot all her resolutions about this man, and all the anguish she had endured over the past few months because of him. Almost.
She broke away from him, staggering backward a pace. "We can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this." She wiped her mouth, trying to compose herself.
"You're right. I shouldn't have broken into your office; I'm sorry. Why don't we go down to the cafeteria and get some lunch? We can talk there."
She turned away from him, walking around him to her desk. "No, Zane. I don't want any lunch. I have a report to finish, and then I have to supervise the transfer of a Section Four project in less than an hour." And if you don't leave me alone long enough for my stomach to get un-twisted, I may not eat anything for the rest of the day, she added silently.
When she raised her eyes to his stricken expression, her stomach gave another wrench. "Please, Jo, just give me two minutes. This is important."
Jo glanced pointedly at the door. "You've already admitted you shouldn't have come in here. Now I've got work to do."
The tension in his shoulders and arms stood at odds with the defeated look on his face, and made her own muscles ache in sympathy. "I'll talk to you later, then," he promised, and walked out of the office.
She watched the door close, and then turned her attention to her desktop monitor. As she brought up the form appropriate to this morning's incident, her left hand crept up to massage the back of her neck near the CHARMS interface, which felt uncomfortably warm. I'll have Larry take a look at it later this afternoon, once I deal with the Section Four transport, she decided. Just as she set her fingers to the keyboard to begin her report, her smartphone started beeping.
With a sigh, Jo pulled the tiny device from her pocket and answered it. "Lupo."
"Jo, it's Fargo. Can you come down to the cafeteria? I just came in for a cup of coffee, to see all of the automated food dispensers lock themselves down. The natives are starting to get restless."
"What do you need me down there for, Fargo? Can't you just call Maintenance?"
Fargo's voice pitched into a frantic whisper. "Jo, I've got thirty hungry, under-caffeinated geniuses down here wanting to know why they can't have the slice of Vincent's lemon chiffon pie that they've been looking forward to all morning, and the lunch rush is just starting. I need someone in here to keep order until Vincent can make it over here from Cafe Diem to look at his machines." He exhaled sharply in frustration. "He told me when he installed these dispensers that it would improve productivity, to have fresh gourmet food available by automated dispenser twenty-four hours a day. He didn't say anything about the armed insurrection they would cause when they stopped working!"
Jo was already on her feet. "Relax, Fargo. I'll be right there. Just – I don't know – pass out coffee creamer and ketchup packets until I get there."
"All that is automated too!" Fargo squeaked. "'A smart-seasoning system calibrated to the individual palate, for the perfect gastronomical experience.' Vincent's going to get me killed! Do you remember when these people went all Night of the Living Dead on me? Because I do!"
Jo suppressed an exasperated sigh. "They were under the influence of the RSS ray then. It's not going to happen again over a piece of pie." She could hear Fargo's anxious, quickened breathing over the phone as she headed for the door. "I'll be there in a minute." She ended the call and slid the phone back into her pocket. As she hurried down the corridor, her hand crept up to scratch absently at the back of her neck.