She swallowed, breathed, felt her knees shaking beneath the weight of her body. She felt so weak, yet somehow she felt as though she had never been stronger. A scar, she thought a scar to match his own. She was marked, branded as his property, and her heart soared at the thought of it.

She resolved then and there to keep the knowledge of it a secret.

Pamela would never understand. She would bristle at the very thought of being owned, but not Harley, no. Harley had never felt so happy, so loved, so blissful. He loves me, she thought, he does, he must, or he wouldn't have cared enough to show the world that I belong to him. The wound was pounding, pulsing with the beat of her heart, the blood flowing steadily, drying sticky and thick along the edges. She needed stitches, she thought, but could not convince her feet to move.

No, Pam would never understand the elation, the release, the ecstasy amidst the agony, to be content to give as much as he needed to take; the ultimate sacrifice for her God-upon-earth: her pain for his pleasure. Her eyelids fluttered, she felt faint and the world seemed misty and far away…

She awoke without realizing her eyes had closed at all.

There was something soft beneath her, warm hands gentle on her skin and a steady, stinging throb of pain. Her eyes opened slowly. The blinds had been shut, the desk lamp turned on; the walls seemed close, and her tiny office now seemed cozy. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized that she had been wrapped in the silver emergency blanket from her first aid kit, and there was a gentle weight upon her breast. She struggled to bring her eyes to focus and found a pair of hands upon her chest, a shining, curved needle and string of suture steady in his hands.

He smiled softly as his eyes met hers and she smiled weakly in return.

"You're awake. Perhaps I do like working with human skin," he said, voice barely more than a whisper, and she hissed softly as the needle dipped beneath her flesh once more.

"I love you," she blurted suddenly, and a smile tugged at his lips again.

"Of course you do," he answered smoothly, and she laughed softly, eyes closing. "Are you going to faint again? At least you're lying down this time. You know, if you had wanted to hurt yourself, you could have just asked me to do it."

"You'd have been glad to oblige me, Captain?"

"Oh yes," he breathed, and she chuckled again, fighting to relax beneath his ministrations.

"I found a pair of clothing in the closet."

"APFT is next week," she answered, eyes opening. "I've an appointment on Wednesday."

"Ah, well, you'll need another pair later, because you've had a silly little accident, and made a terrible mess of your lovely dress clothes. You've fainted, you see, and spilled coffee all down the front of yourself. You will tell that to anyone who questions your disregard of dress code. You're going to change, and then you are going to the cafeteria. You've lost a good deal of blood. You're going to buy a glass of orange juice, and a slice of cake from the line in the cafeteria. From there, you will visit the dispensary. The morning shift's nurse's name is Debra, and you will tell her that you are flowing very heavily, and require an iron injection lest you faint again. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she mumbled sleepily. "You think of everything, Mistah J."

He tied off the suture, clipped it neatly near the skin, tucked the shears back into their pack, and threw away the needle. He smiled again as he turned back to her, and she beamed as his thumb stroked along the crest of her cheekbone.

"Stick with me, Harley-girl," he whispered. "Daddy will take care of everything."

OOO

She visited the dispensary first. She felt guilty for not following his instructions more closely, but resolved that, as the dispensary was closer than the cafeteria and she still felt rather weak, that he would understand her reasoning. The nurse behind the counter (her name tag did in fact read Debra, she marveled) looked at her strangely as she stepped before her.

"It's been a terrible morning," Harley said, with great gravity. "I spilled coffee all over myself, my clothes are an utter mess, and I'm afraid I'm going to fall over again."

"What?" Debra asked, looking quite concerned. "Why? What happened?"

"I haven't been keeping a close watch on my blood work this week. I've a tendency to become anemic, and I got my little visitor this week, you know…"

"Ahh," the brunette said, nodding importantly. "I just got off mine. Come back here, and I'll fix you right up."

"Thank you," Harley said, honestly, and stepped behind the counter.

Fifteen minutes later, she padded comfortably down the hallway in her favorite pair of running shoes and sweats, a hand absently tracing the square of gauze that lay beneath the sweatshirt, covering the sutures that so elegantly curved through her skin. She covered it with her palm, felt the beat of her heart, pounding for him and him alone.

The cafeteria had emptied of the last of the breakfast stragglers, and was only just gearing for lunch. She grabbed a piece of fresh chocolate cake, and a plastic cup filled with orange juice, the bowl of ice it sat in now little more than cool water. At least the juice was still a little cold, she thought as she paid for her meager sustenance, and turned to find a seat.

"What happened to you?" a voice said from behind her shoulder, and she turned to face its owner. "You look like you've seen a ghost, kid."

She smiled softly as she realized who it was.

"Captain Knauer," she said warmly, and he smiled in return.

"Well, it's nice to see you, too… Doesn't answer my question though."

"Woman troubles," she said, raising a slender hand to her mouth conspiratorially. "I fainted this morning."

"That's no good," he frowned.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "But I don't suppose you have any idea how to get coffee out of white silk, do you?"

He shrugged absently, falling into step beside her as she made her way to a table.

"Club soda, best I can figure. Club soda'll take anything out."

She grinned a little. "Never would have figured you for Mr. Homemaker."

He laughed. "Hey, you spend enough years living alone, you learn how to take care of yourself. Besides… I got that little tidbit from a nurse. Said her stain brigade consisted of club soda and hydrogen peroxide. Never wondered how they get the blood out of those little white uniforms?"

"Oh, I've wondered," she laughed as she sat down. "I've just never taken the time to ask."

"Just gossip with them, huh?"

She grinned.

"Anyway," he said, as he rounded the table and sat down across from her. "I've got some news for you."

She raised her eyebrows, and he nodded.

"A new development. I've found… what I believe… to be the first formula."

"Formula?"

"Yeah… It's like… a mathematical problem with letters and numbers, an equation that you can put a phrase through, and it comes out in code… Works the same way in reverse. If you take the code, and put it through the formula, it comes out making sense."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Problem is… there's at least fifteen separate formulas that I've picked up on so far… Like I said, I think I've found the first one."

"A code within a code?" she said wonderingly.

"Within a code, within a code," he nodded, leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Whatever you've got there, it's high military… Wasn't an amateur that did this."

She licked her lips. "You can't tell anyone about this," she said quietly, glancing up from her plastic plate as she pulled back the shrink wrap.

"I haven't… Scout's honor," he grinned, and she relaxed a little. "It's a lot of work… it'd be easier if it wasn't just me doing it."

She arched an eyebrow, taking a bite of her cake. Mmm, delicious… It tasted twice as good with the knowledge of why she needed it… A reward, even, a reward for her sacrifice.

"What about three people doing it?"

"What?"

"Do you have a piece of paper, a pen perhaps?"

He did, in fact, a notepad and pen in his back pocket. She wrote upon it for a minute.

"Here, this is my number. I have a friend that I can trust… The three of us together, we might be able to make a significant dent in the translation."

"Alright," he said, and nodded. "Don't suppose you're ever going to tell me where you got this from?"

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," she said seriously, a small smile on her lips. His gaze remained focused on her eyes however, and his expression said he was not entirely sure that she was joking.

She wasn't.

"Fair enough… How are things going with you and the Pyscho?"

"He's not crazy," she snapped.

"Mentally ill," he said, "Excuse me if I'm a little less than sensitive regarding the man who tried to crack my skull open on a concrete wall."

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut for a long moment.

"I'm sorry," she said, after some time.

He shook his head when her eyes focused upon his again.

"No, I'm sorry… I understand. You're very dedicated to your work."

"We're making progress," she said quickly. "In his therapy," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"That's good," he nodded, after a pause of his own. "If anyone can fix him, kid, it's you. You're the only one who could care enough to do it."

OOO

His words echoed in her mind as she left the hospital that evening with her clothes in a plastic bag, and returned the truck to the Isley Nursery parking lot. Pam, luckily, had already left for the day. Harley was not looking forward to the tongue-lashing she was sure to receive for the stained clothing. The shirt was just fine, but there was blood in the fabric of the skirt, though perhaps the black did enough to hide that.

She spoke briefly with Anna, Pamela's front desk girl, returned the keys to her, and walked to the sidewalk and the bus stop there. Her fingers again found the square of gauze beneath her clothing as she waited.

She had hit the time just right, and she was not long in waiting for the bus. She found her seat, and dozed lightly for the twenty minutes it took to arrive to her destination. From there, it was a ten minute walk to MacArthur Place and her housing complex. She made it just in time, for the sky had taken on an ominous gray cast. A storm was coming.

There was another man behind the front desk, one she did not recognize, so she gave him a courteous nod, but did not speak. Her mail, two days worth, she pulled from her box, and entered the elevator. As nice as Pamela's house was the night had been far from relaxing, it would be nice to spend a night in her very own bed without having to sleep with one eye open.

She made short work of the hallway between the elevator and her apartment, and tucked her bag and briefcase under her arm as she unlocked the door.

"Home sweet home," she breathed as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her, dropping her burdens in the front hall. She headed for the living room and sank onto the couch, closing her eyes and sprawling across the cushions.

Her instinct registered the grate and click of a round being chambered before her mind fully understood what her ears had just heard. Her legs tensed to dart to safety, but the barrel had already made contact, pressed to the hollow of her skull, just above her spinal cord: a point blank shot that was meant to kill the instant she resisted.

"You put your hands in the air, Lieutenant. We have orders for your arrest."

OOO

Chapter End Notes:

APFT stands for Army Physical Fitness Test.