Jonathan's Invitation

"Where in hell do you think you're going?" an irritated, squeaking tone demanded. A hand hooked Gretchen's elbow fearcely, jerking her off-balance and into the angry line of Beni's vision. She reached a few fingers to rub her head slowly, meeting his eyes with clipped patience.

"The hell, you moron," she corrected sharply. " 'Where in the hell do you think you're going'--"

He gave her a hard shake. Her feet wobbled beneath her, tripping over each other so that they might toss her ungracefully to the ground, but Beni was gripping her arm too tightly to allow her to fall. Her stomach tightened, and she curled a fist in rage. What a bastard. She'd show him--

"I want my powder!" he demanded tersely. Gretchen blinked a few times. Is that what this was all about?

"How about your cigarettes?" she growled, jamming a hand in her pocket. Beni released her arm to grip her shoulders in both hands, glaring pointedly into her vague eyes. He pressed his forehead against hers, a steady, threatening stare jabbing into her like an alleyway switchblade.

"Fuck the cigarettes," he muttered in a low, hissing whisper. "Do you know how much that powder was worth? Do you have any idea--"

She shrugged, attempting to pull away from him. His breath stank and he seemed entirely too upset over the whole ordeal. Suddenly, her cheek was stinging painfully. Gretchen took in a furious little gasp, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms.

"Look at me!" he yelled. "It is for German Rockeweigh--do you know who that is?! I am as good as dead without it! Where did you leave it?"

Beni slapped her again, an urgent ferocity trembling from his thin, rough digits. Gretchen tried to free herself from his grasp, thrashing and struggling in what she thought was an enthusiastic attempt. Her heart beat with elevating intrepidation; her mind spinning in a scarlet haze of anger and irritation and Hungarian curses she didn't understand. Beni was shouting and hitting her and she was trying to fight him back, to get out of his hands and away to...to where? Something about a drink and...

"Stop! That's quite enough!"

She froze, and her thieving companion dropped his aggressive hands to his sides sheepishly. She met the annoyed, dark eyes of her present employer with abbreviated gratitude. Jonathan! She was supposed to go have a drink with Jonathan--

"What is the meaning of all this?" Dr. Chamberlain demanded, adjusting his monocle with an aristocratic snort. A company of chuckles snickered behind them, and Gretchen suddenly became aware of Daniels and a few diggers standing audience to their ordeal. The professor turned a keen, sharp eye on the American. "You saw what was happening here?"

The opposite man shrugged. Gretchen's brow furrowed at the odd position of his arm, realizing then that a sling cradled one of his limbs. She wondered when that had happened.

"Buddy, it's your problem now."

Chamberlain sighed, turning his attention back to the pair of theives. He eyed Beni darkly. "Haven't you sense enough not to lay a hand on a lady?"

The Hungarian pinned down a sneer. "That isn't a lady, barat'm."

Gretchen glared at him, jerking her chin in his direction. "Well that is."

Beni's tongue darted out of his mouth in a juvenile retort. The English professor closed his eyes in exasperation. "Enough. You, go...do whatever it is that you do," he sighed, dismissing their desert guide with a wave of his wrist. "You come with me."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Chamberlain only shook his head, beckoning her to follow him to his tent. He glared down his long, hooked nose at her, murmuring tersely, "The drug's wearing off. Thank God."

Gretchen's brow furrowed curiously as he held open the flap of the tent for her, allowing her in first. She crawled into the cramped, beige space, her head suddenly feeling very light and detatched. She rubbed her temple thoughtfully as the professor managed his way into the shelter as well. He glanced into her eyes briefly, reaching for a cantene set meticulously amidst his other belongings. He held out the metallic container to her at an arm's length, and she took it gratefully.

"You know...hm, what was your name, again?"

They both knew he hadn't cared to ask a first time. "Gretchen."

He snorted, reaching over to snap the tent's opening shut. He refused even to face her as he spoke. "Gretchen...you have not been very attentive to me since I hired you."

She gulped nervously, something like embarrassment sobering her thoughts. "Oh. I thought--I mean, it seemed like you didn't really want--"

His shoulders jerked stiffly as he turned about to look at her again. His previous, snootish superiority seemed worn to awkward ineptitude in the flickering light of his lamp. Gretchen glanced away from him, gazing about the tent with feigned interest. Everything was so very...perfect. Books were stacked neatly against a locked chest. A lamp was set precisely in the center of the chest, lending its saturated light to the small, tight space. A mattress was laid in a clean parallel to the chest, made up with thin sheets tucked severely into its angles. Even the pillows seemed strained and stiff. Gretchen took in a little breath, meeting his eyes again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the phrase catching strangely in her throat. Forcing a quiet smile, she reached a hand up to touch the side of his face, her fingers brushing carefully over his well-shaved cheek. He was so wooden, so tight, that he was making her nervous. She swallowed, trying to coax him out of his statuesque shell with whatever ability she had learned thusfar. He was so very odd. Most men were ready to go the moment they had her alone. Chamberlain seemed embarrassed by his own request. Gretchen's stomach twisted in temporary sympathy, pulling closer to him and pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Why didn't O'Connell want to go with me? I was trying to save his life, after all--

Gretchen forced her wandering mind to return to the situation at hand, focusing her attention on the buttons of the professor's collar. What had made her think of O'Connell, anyway? She glanced up again, meeting his eyes and embracing him again. When she had kissed the American Legionnaire, he had felt as stiff as Chamberlain. Unsure--perhaps even undesiring. But then he had given in, overtaken by his lust or the threat of death or--

Or by her?

She took a breath, slipping her blouse from her body and tugging at the skirt to figure the simplest way to remove it while sitting down. She could feel Chamberlain's eyes scanning her skin thoughtfully, and she felt, moreso than she saw, his body relax a little. Gretchen smiled, jerking her head in the direction of his virgin bed.

O'Connell had talked about Evelyn like--like--well, it did make sense. He wasn't the sort of man Beni was. He didn't want to leave behind someone who had rescued him, and Gretchen didn't exactly blame him. It was just that...Everything seemed so very complex, and something like regret flooded her senses every time she recalled their kiss. She was beginning to feel as if, maybe, she should not have done that. As if it was something she had stolen, but not deserved. He had held her in his arms and deepened the kiss, and yet...perhaps it wasn't her, really her, he was kissing.

They were laying down, and she should be asking him what he wanted. Damnit, but his eyes were so very pathetic when she happened to glance at him. The whole ordeal was reminiscent of the time when she'd lost her virginity, and she could feel her cheeks flushing red every time they happened to chance eye contact. Licking her lips, she reached an awkward hand down to his belt.

"Look, I've never--"

His words startled her, and Gretchen's gaze jerked up to meet his in shock. Surely he wasn't about to tell her that he'd never--

"I've been married now, some fifteen years, and I have never been unfaithful to that woman to date."

She breathed a sigh. Well, if that was all. "It's alright," she purred smoothly, unfastening the restrictions of his pants. "This is nothing. You still love your wife. This is just...just fun, you know?"

Gretchen smiled for good measure, sealing her argument with a deeply meaningless kiss. His arms wrapped about her with sudden ease; he was free of the tense binds of fidelity for the time being. Unhappy men were so pathetically easy to convince. It was obvious from the looks of his tent that Chamberlain's wife probably hadn't put out in years' time. She had used the simplest, most believable argument she had on hand for such men as him--who had never so much as considered any woman but their wives until the moment when, for whatever reason, they found themselves entangled in her company. Gretchen could sweet-talk the guilt and remind them of the worthlessness of their encounters. She was hardly naive enough to believe that making love actually meant something.

Her stomach twisted again as she let out a dramatized moan. If sex meant nothing, then surely a kiss meant even less...But she'd kissed O'Connell because she had felt something; weren't people supposed to feel something? Weren't these senseless motions with Chamberlain supposed to be the abnormal and kisses like that one with O'Connell supposed to be the usual? Gretchen was living in a tilted reality, and everything that had come to be normal to her was so very wrong. Here she was, moaning and screaming titilating words, and meaning none of it. She didn't want to be with Chamberlain--and she had not wanted to be with Daniels, or Beni, or Warden Hassan, or even Jonathan. There, she was supposed to meet up with that strapping Englishman to tip back a couple drinks -- and why? Certainly not for the pleasure of her conversation. She had cheapened the entire act of love-making for herself, and now she was an empty, hollow void. She was a hole for rent; no small wonder that O'Connell had pulled out of her embrace and ignored her warning.

Gretchen took a deep breath, digging her nails into Chamberlain's back mechanically. She felt sick and strangely cold in the heat of passion. Trying to swallow her frustrations, she sought the solid truths of her previous belief system -- the one that told her anything was worth the money it took to leave this wretched life. Her legs tightened around the older man's torso, remembering an old dream. She recalled a dream of diamonds and silk and gold, in which she lived alone and satisfied with millions. But presently she wasn't so sure what she would do on her own.