Disclaimer: You know the drill.

Chapter 10: Play Fighting

Anastasia

oOo

Location: Four Horsemen's Mansion, Crows Landing, Florida, USA
City Population: 248
Current time: 11:09 pm, Eastern
Current date: July 11, 2013
Current alias: None

"Black, fight me."

"What?"

"I said 'Black, fight me.'"

"I heard what you said."

"OK, then what's the problem?"

"I don't understand why you'd want me to fight you."

The Horsemen were in the living room with us, although they were watching TV. From where they were and what I was seeing, I was guessing they were absorbed in The Phantom of the Opera. Why I wasn't watching it, I have no idea, because I worship Andrew Lloyd Webber. But I was behind the couch, insisting that Black fight me.

"Why?"

"Because..." I smirked at him when he couldn't find a reason, knowing exactly how to get under his skin, just he knew how to push my buttons.

Payback.

"Oh-ho! Gone soft?" I taunted. "Years of freedom gone directly to your head, have they?"

"Oh, shut your face." He said it teasingly, though.

My smile widened—I win. I always win. The Horsemen by now had paused the movie right in the middle of the scene where Erik lays Christine down on his little gondola beneath the opera house. I've always wondered why he has a bunch of pillows of on it—it's not like he was sleeping in it, was he?

Jack lounged across the back of the couch, facing us, Henley on an arm while Daniel and Merritt were keeping their distances from one another and sitting on opposite ends (Daniel, of course, closer to Henley).

I unclasped the thin, black bands from around my wrists decorated with various pendants. A skull, a heart, the letter A, and a strip of metal tied into a bow. I threw them at Jack and watching him catch and examine them from the corner of my eye. Black was taking off his black jacket and threw it towards a window.

"Your gonna fight with that on?" he teased. Ah, there we are. Taste of my own medicine. I huffed and slid mine off. The staring I received only made me the slightest bit uncomfortable (I was used to being invisible).

The ink sleeves that ran down my arms, across my back and my shoulders, a few reaching my hands. They I continued down under my tank and my cotton leggings. A crow on my upper left arm, fierce and magnificent, wings flipped up towards a moon on my shoulder blades. A bare tree with the exception of a few crimson roses stretched down my arm to the beginning of my elbow, scrunching at the bottom when I kept my arm straight.

There was the beginnings of a lemon tree on my back that just peaked out over the back of my tank, the yellows darkened until they almost looked like a dull orange.

My right arm, though, was the most magnificent. Of course, there were the black lines of the blueprints, only as thick as a small novel's spine, wrapped around my arm right up under my pit. Below them, birds swirled around in a mass of colour, none of my tanned skin daring to peek from beneath the elegant ink. Dark clouds filled with purples, blues, indigoes and turquoises made circuits around my arm, smooth on the skin and darker than the rest-I tended to make this Illustrations more often than others.

"Lot 'a ink, Anastasia," Black said.

"Oh, please, like you didn't know about them before." He only smirked in reply. Signature Black style.

"You did all that in five years?" Jack asked. I knew he'd have questions.

"No." I paused. "I did them all in six." Merritt and Henley were the ones to laugh. "Demonstration later. Try to focus on the fighting, though." Turning back to Black, who stood looking mighty gay with a hips popped and a hand on his waist. I shook my head and pointed at his shoes.

"Kick 'em." Took me five seconds, him six. "Ready?" I didn't give him time to answer, but it's not like I needed to.

We were trained for no expectation.

Taking a step forward, I tried to nail him in the head with a sweeping kick of my bare foot, but he blocked it with equally expert ease. He still held my leg in a calloused hand as I made a jab at his nose, missing my target when he ducked. He consequently had to release my foot, which came down and landed square in his stomach instead. I delivered several more blows, both hands and feet, each of which he dodged in easy succession though drove him farther back across our fighting plain. The last punch I sent he blocked with his arm, and his other fist came up to hit me square in the jaw. The pain spurred and die down in no more than a few seconds, but I am ever the conman. Or woman, I suppose.

Turning away and holding my jaw as if it were agonizing, seeing Black immediately come to my aid by my side in an instant. "Anastasia, you alright? I didn't mean that..."

A little cat grin crept its way up onto my face. To anyone who knew me, that meant trouble. I lifted my head slightly to peer at Jack, who was ready to come and help me/beat up Black as well. I sent him a sly wink, a confused expression following on his part.

I arced my leg high once more, catching my worried opponent on his shoulder. He grunted in pain as I stood up straight, regaining a good posture. He tried to compose himself at the same rate that I had, but he was out of practice, and this made him slow.

"'Your enemy is never your friend.' Sound familiar, Black?"

One more swift blow to the shoulder and I dropped, balancing my weight on my hands and swinging around my leg to swipe his feet out from under him. He landed on the carpet with a loud THUD and a grunt. He put a hand out before him to protect himself while he sucked air back into his lungs. I heard several "oohs" and sympathetic hisses from our four-person audience.

I stood up slowly and sauntered over to him, grazing my fingertips over his outstretched hand. His head snapped up to meet my gaze, his eyes begging me not to hurt him.

"No, no, no, Staci..."

"You have gone soft, haven't you?"

I gripped his arm, just below his wrist, in my own smaller hands and trailed my lips over his palm slowly, nuzzling my tiny nose behind gently as I went. He smiled up at me in surprise. But when I bent his wrist backwards, hearing it crack in discomfort, his faded and he yelped in pain and disbelief. My grin, on the other hand, widened and I yelled out in triumph, laughter bubbling in there, too.

I kept pulling his wrist back and his arm up as I half smiled-half frowned, his body raising off the floor and his legs only barely struggling to balance his weight as he tried to stand and take off some of the pressure. He pulled free and made a grab from my shoulder, pulling me towards him, but I spun away from him across the floor with practiced ease.

We were reduced to a short staring contest from seven feet away from each other, each breathing hard and Black rubbing his wrist. Thanks, Daniel, for the idea, I thought.

I knew damn well that he was holding back, though, (even if he was still a little slow on the draw) because never in his right mind would he allow me to win a fight with an audience around to watch us. I knew he was, but I didn't know why.

"You're going to get yourself hurt, Anastasia," he said to me.

I responded in an Australian accent; "Not if you can help it. Worry for yourself, mate." He shook his head, but I only squared my shoulders in acceptance of his challenge, bolting forwards as he tried to reason with me.

"Anastasia—" I sprung one kick on his after another-first to shoulder, then to his stomach. He staggered backwards, and it was in that instant that I saw his eyes, his demeanor, everything about him change, seeming to say: 'Okay, no more Mr. Nice Guy.'

I went back to hit him again, but he was faster. He grabbed both my wrists, wrestling them behind my back and pulling me flush up against his heaving chest. I smirked, but it faltered, sputtered and died as his head was inching down to meet my own. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu, those same million little red flags popping behind my eyes.

"No," I stated simply, firmly. Digging my heel into his left foot and kicking the opposite ankle with the other caused him to release my wrists. I was attempting to make my getaway when his arm met my side, just below my ribs, and I was making hard contact with the floor in milliseconds. He looked as though he meant to walk away, leave the fight unfinished. But that's not how I do it. That's not normally how he does it.

Why quit old habits while I've still got the rest of my life lying ahead of me?

He was still leaning over me slightly, hesitantly, and I rocked back on my tensed spine, bringing my legs up and crossing my ankles behind his neck. I pulled him down sideways and onto his back and flipped over to assure that with the limited time he would stay down, my weight and position might slightly increase that. I scrambled to pull my legs back, away from his neck, and straddle his stomach. It took less effort than it should have to pin his arms above his head.

My hair had come out of it's ponytail and cascaded down over my shoulders, the tips brushing his face and hands. He tried to move, but I pushed him down harder onto the floor. He could easily have reversed the situation, but he had gone back to his original state of reluctance to let himself win and give me the victory.

He sighed in defeat and I stood triumphantly, running fingers from my forehead back though my hair to sweep it behind my head and out of my face once more. I held out a hand to help him up, which he pushed away calmly.

"That, good people, is how a real fight looks," he said, addressing the Horsemen.

I made my way over to the kitchen, breathing hard and not really caring about our audience. Cold water sounds wonderful.

"Almost a real fight, Black. Don't you ever, ever let me win again. Now, me beating you for real is an entirely different story."

An array of chuckles erupted, followed by a voices calling out behind me.

"Well, as exciting as that was," Merritt said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "I think I'll be the first to take leave."

"Yeah, I'm heading up, too. It's 11:30, and I have shopping to do in the morning before rush hour." Oh, good God, Henley went shopping every single Saturday, exact same time, exact same route. It never ceased to amaze me how many bags and baskets and boxes she could manage to bring back from the same stores. She must have bought them all out by now. I didn't even want to imagine her closet.

"I've got to be getting home. Long drive, you know?" Black coughed. "Goodnight, Anastasia! Tell you what, I won't hold back on you next time, deal?"

"Deal!" I called back.

"Well, I'm off to bed, too. See you all in the morning!" Daniel exclaimed a bit too loudly, as always. "You coming, Jack?"

"Yeah, I'll be right behind you. Just gonna grab a midnight snack."

I heard sounds of approval from the other three, the front door slam and the various new locks click shut, then three pairs of feet tromping off up the stairs to their respective rooms.

I leaned against the counter as I filled a tall glass from the tap. I was never one to use the little refrigerator thing, for ice or water. It's harder to poison the whole watering system or just the sink without the risk of killing everybody who touches it… Old traditions never die.

The first to break the silence, I turned to see Jack sloped against the fridge door, much in the same way I had done when peeling the egg that one morning.

"So... you and Black, huh?" I noted the hurt in his quiet voice.

I nearly did a spit take. "Why does everybody think that? First Dylan, now you, too?"

"The way you two dance around each other, it's an obvious conclusion to draw."

"No, it's not. He's had this cute little kindergarten crush on me, but I never, ever even thought to like him back." I shrugged, laughter lacing my words. "I only use it against him; blackmailing, teasing, whatever. Great weakness when we're fighting, too." I paused, only slightly. He's just some kid I have to protect on a mission, and that's all he'll ever be. "Besides, why would you care?"

His silence was enough for me to raise my eyebrows and nod in that not-quite-understanding way. I looked down at my glass and swirled it around, watching the water twist and turn around the edges.

I only noticed he was in front of me when his hands went to grip the counter on either side of me, his knuckles turning white. I looked up, startled, looking up into his chocolate eyes, and him simply standing there pressing me back farther into the marble behind me. My awareness levels had dropped increasingly in the last forty-eight hours, apparently.

Look into my eyes and tell me you don't feel something. Tell me, right now.

How could Dylan be so old and unobservant and just all around not people smart one minute, then become an ear-worm with a voice of reason the next?

Yeah, I felt something. I would be lying if I said I didn't, even if I tried to convince myself that it was all just in my head, stupid mind games my brain decided to play and what-not. But every time I saw Jack, my stomach became a gymnastic stadium; my head felt ten times lighter when he spoke to me; my skin burned for minutes after he'd touch me and my pale cheeks took on a mildly rosy hue? But I'm strong. stronger than this... this... feeling. I didn't know what to call it.

'Stirrings. No, no, not quite all the way to feelings...' Damn, I didn't need Pirates of the Caribbean quotes floating around in my head right now.

"Jack..." I whispered.

Was I only strong in the sense that I could fight and throw a grown man to the ground, or was I strong in the sense of keeping my feelings in check? Did I even know anymore? Was this just the trauma of everything that had happened to me and I needed somebody to turn to, or something to distract me? Or was this… something?

If it was, in fact, something, that idea scared the hell out of me.

Nothing, not even a bomb going off, could have pulled my mind out of this hazy fog that had overtaken it. The water glass was set beside me on the counter (difficult to do in the rapidly decreasing amount of space between Jack and myself) and Jack was drawing me closer to him with hands flat against the small of my back, right up against his chest.

I was trying to take in details, trying to read him, if this was all a joke or a dream or a weird, twisted fantasy, but the fog my brain had developed was struggling to take over that level of my concentration.

He brought a hand to my cheek. All my training, all my years of restlessness and instability would have me smack that hand away, grab his wrist, turn him around and shatter his arm behind his back in less than two seconds. But I couldn't think anymore, and I all I could do was grip his arms in a last ditch attempt to stay standing.

He kept getting closer and closer, inching down towards me, and we both took in shallow breaths before his lips touched mine.

Details! Get the details!

(The skin rippled at a point at his side when I touched it… old or new wound… Right handed… no… wait…) They were floating away from me, and I couldn't find the strength or the energy or anything to snatch them back and stuff them into my mind.

He was gentle at first, but as though he found something he liked and wanted more, he had my back against the smooth marble counter and he was just attacking my mouth, the longer uncombed chestnut hair still mussed from pillows and night's sleep tickling my face, right beside my eye.

How long had it taken me to realize I was kissing him back, just as eager?

It took all my willpower (what was left of it, anyways) to pull away, to say that it was wrong. He tried to come back for more, but I turned my face away and let my hair tumble down the side of my face. Neither of us let go of the other, however, when I spoke softly.

"I can't, Jack."

"Why not?" The hurt was more profound than it should have been, and it scared me more than thinking that this might be-could have been-something.

"Because after this is all over, I have to leave. I'll go West maybe, but regardless, this is your life, and I can't be in it."

"Nonono." In that accent, those words, that amount of longing and just the begging might have been enough to convince me that I was making a wrong decision. But it wasn't. "You can't leave! What about all of us? Don't do that to Dylan, or to Black, or to any of us. We need you."

What was I supposed to say to that? "You won't need me after the mission, Jack." One of us might not be alive after this mission. If anybody, it'll be me. "We'll get rid of The Caste," (Maybe) "and that will be that. I'll leave, you'll never have to deal with me again."

He was shaking his head, running a hand up and down my arm (my skin burned where his hand touched, even through the ink he had apparently forgotten about) furiously, as though trying to melt a layer of ice. "What was that, then?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch, and he sounded twelve. "You were just as trigger-happy as I was."

"I don't think that's the term you're looking for."

He ignored me. "Tell me that was fake. Wouldn't that just make it so much easier for both of us, then?"

I sighed and squared my shoulders, lifting my chin defiantly and shaking hair from my face as I did so. "I don't know if I could tell you what you want to hear."

"You might like me?" It was a statement rather than a question.

"My job is to protect you and your friends, get the mission over with," ...even if it means risking my life… "and go. Those are the facts, that's how it's got to be. But I made a mistake and I didn't follow orders, because now I can't tell you what you need to hear." I need to hear it, too. "But I've got a rock and a hard place, because I also don't want to hurt you."

"If you leave, you're going to hurt me more than think you are."

I couldn't remember the last time I was speechless, the last time I couldn't think of and didn't have anything to say that could possibly make this any better. I stepped back from him and he reluctantly let me go. I shook my head.

"No, it won't," I laughed a little and it literally pained me to do so. Wrapping an arm around my stomach, I continued; "Forget anything ever happened, forget I said anything. I can't stay here with y'all. We'll finish this mission, and then I will leave." The finality in my tone was like a slap, and he took a small step back. "It'll be like I was never here. You'll all forget about me, and that's the way it should be. Okay." This, too, was a statement and not a question.

He didn't say anything, and I stepped around him. Walking away felt like going up on a downwards escalator. When I reached the doorway, I heard him whisper; "How could I ever forget you?"

But I don't think I was meant to hear it.

Jack

oOo

A fight like that I would never be able to pull off, however much my pride and time and the streets would have me believe. I had fought lots of people in my time on the streets and when we were evading the FBI on numerous occasions, but I had never even thought a fight could get so intense, especially between friends. Anastasia and Black? They had been training like this for years; of course they were going to be good at it. I just didn't expect what I saw.

On the subject of Anastasia and Black, I wasn't even sure if 'friends' was the right term to use for them. They certainly seemed like more than that, but who was I to judge? Though it made sense that they would like each other—they had been around each other for a long time, a time in which none of knew exactly what had happened to either of them, and then he had gone and found her again. I hadn't known her for any of that time and I barley know her now, so what chances did I have? None. None at all.

Has that ever stopped you from trying before?

"You coming, Jack?"

Daniel's voice snapped me out of a battle with my subconscious. "Yeah, I'll be right behind you." Think of an excuse, idiot! "Just gonna grab a midnight snack."

The other three grunted and the door creaked shut as Black walked out. I only got up when I heard them start to tromp up the stairs like a heard of freakin' elephants.

I leaned against the door frame of the kitchen and watched as Anastasia pulled a glass from the cupboard and filled it, noting the slight limp in her left leg I'd never seen before. Recent or old injury? Impossible to tell from here. I studied the tattoos, all dark colors but elaborate and beautiful nonetheless, that spread up and down her arms, across her chest and around on her shoulders, creeping down behind her tank top. I wondered what else she had, how man, how far down…

Mind out of the gutter, perv! I could practically hear Henley saying.

Anastasia only saw me once she was seated on the kitchen's marble island counter-top. I glanced at her lips as she sipped from her glass, navy eyes staring back at me the whole time.

I felt my throat go dry and I coughed to clear it. "So... you and Black, huh?"

She looked like she was about to choke. "Why does everybody think that?" She choked out. "First Dylan, now you, too?"

"Well, it's an obvious conclusion to draw from the way you two dance around each other." I shot back.

"No, it's not," she said, taking in some more water. "No, it's not. He's had this cute little kindergarten crush on me, but I never, ever even thought to like him back." I shrugged, laughter lacing my words. "I only use it against him; blackmailing, teasing, whatever. Great weakness when we're fighting, too." Ah, that sounded just like something Maggie would do. I wasn't sure whether I was convinced or not yet. "Besides, why would you care?"

I didn't reply, so she nodded as if she'd known what I was thinking and looked down at the glass spinning in her hands. How could she possibly understand? I had only been around her for a month, and everything she did intrigued me, kept me guessing and waiting eagerly for more. I wanted to know her, know what to expect her to say, be able to judge her reactions, know what she was thinking just by looking her int he eye. One minute she'd be snarky and childish, then the next she's dead serious. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and anything she did to put us before herself had me thinking that maybe she wasn't not as cold-hearted as she pretended to be.

Maybe it was a rash decision, maybe it wasn't: but whatever it was, I did it anyway. I rested my hands on either side of the counter behind her and touched my bare feet to her own uncovered toes as I leaned against her body, still leaving a fair amount of air between us. She looked up, startled, into my eyes, and I suddenly realized just how much shorter she was than I.

"Jack..." she whispered in a voice as smooth as silk, not rough around the edges like she normally was. I would have given anything to hear it again.

I lifted one had to gently pry her water glass from her warm fingers and placed it on the counter beside her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her way from the island, hoping she maybe couldn't hear my heartbeat as loud as I could.

I leaned my head down towards her, noticed her eyes closing just as mine were doing. Then lips touched and I was suddenly lighter than air, floating up into the clouds with a stupid grin on my face and just her, just Anastasia, this one right here, right now, by my side. She started to kiss me back, and everything felt perfect, like everything was exactly how it was meant to be. She was perfect-everything about her was beautiful and complicated and just so her that I couldn't keep myself from wanting more.

She was the one to pull away. I didn't open my eyes just yet, not until I leaned in to come back to her and my nose brushed shiny black hair (citrus-orange and ginger, I think). I stared at her a bit, pulling my head away to give her a bit of space. I knew it was rash. I knew it was stupid. I knew these things, and I still couldn't bring myself to let go of her. It's not exactly like she's jumping to let you walk away, either. I must have been losing circulation to my arms by now with the tight hold she had on them.

"I can't, Jack."

"Why not?" I was aware of how hurt I sounded only when the words slipped out of my mouth, and I silently cursed myself for sounding so... soft.

"Because after this is all over, I have to leave. I'll go West maybe, but regardless, this is your life, and I can't be in it."

I hadn't thought that far ahead. It had honestly never crossed my mind about what would happen after this. But obviously it hadn't crossed hers either that leaving was not going to be okay with any of us.

"Nonono." I had to convince her to stay here, with us. With me. She though we didn't care, and she'd leave before we could ever show her otherwise. "You can't leave! What about all of us? Don't do that to Dylan, or to Black," I stumbled over his name a little, in spite of her assurance that there was nothing between them, "or to any of us. We need you."

"You won't need me after the mission, Jack," she laughed. I didn't know why she thought it was something to laugh about."We'll get rid of The Caste and that will be that." If we didn't, would you stay longer? It was a terrible thought, completely selfish, but I had it in any case. "I'll leave, you'll never have to deal with me again."

I shook my head vigorously once or twice. How could she think that we have to deal with her? Does she think that's all she is-a burden to us? I wasn't aware I was rubbing her arm until it twitched when I hit a sore spot. I moved away from there but kept moving my hand over her skin, up and down, the ink beneath my rough hands warm to the touch. "What was that, then?" I asked, referring to that, the kiss, that wonderful, blissful kiss. "You were just as trigger-happy as I was."

Wrong term, Jack. She informed me of such, just as my brain had, but I forced myself not to comment and not let her distract me.

"Tell me that was fake," I urge her. "Wouldn't that just make it so much easier for both of us, then?" No, of course not, but I need to hear it if I ever have a chance at letting her go.

She raised chin and squared her shoulders, moving the hair that had fallen into her face with a jerk of her head. He expression set and jaw tense, she said slowly; "I don't know if I could tell you what you want to hear."

I couldn't even begin to believe it, nearly having to ask her to repeat it. "You might like me?" It came out more of a not-to-be-messed-with statement as opposed to the question I had meant for it to be.

She looked uncertain and her eyes flickered, blinking a few times before she seemed to piece together what she meant to say in her head and said to her mouth. "My job is to protect you and your friends, get the mission over with, and go." But that's not part of her job. That's just her. It has to be. "Those are the facts, that's how it's got to be. But I made a mistake and I didn't follow orders, because now I can't tell you what you need to hear. But I've got a rock and a hard place, because I also don't want to hurt you."

"If you leave, you're going to hurt me more than think you are."

Shit, did I really just say that out loud?

She seemed lost for a minute, like she didn't know what to say. But that was ridiculous, thinking that Anastasia Rhodes was at a loss for words. Wasn't it? She stepped back, pushing me slightly and I had no choice but to follow her instructions and step away from her. I didn't go far. If I did, I felt as though I might have broken some string that was attaching us at the moment, allowing em to understand her and talk with her and love her. Love her? No, not that. Impossible.

"No, it won't." She laughed again, but flinched as though it hurt her. I wanted to go to her, comfort her and make sure she was okay. But that, too, would break off the connection if it hadn't already been cut. "Forget anything ever happened, forget I said anything. I can't stay here with y'all. We'll finish this mission, and then I will leave." I might as well have been slapped in the face or shoved at the shoulders. I could almost feel it. For in an instant, just one mere second, I thought I saw something resembling guilt flash across her face at my reaction. But it was gone before I could think to act on it, use it to my advantage. "It'll be like I was never here. You'll all forget about me, and that's the way it should be. Okay."

I opened my mouth to say something, but it wouldn't leave my throat fast enough. What was there to say? What could I possibly do or think or utter that could make this situation turn around in my favor?

By the time she'd gotten to the doorway, I was left with only the memory of her there in my arms, me holding her close. And she expected me to forget all that? Forget her?

The words came tumbling out of my mouth that had been stuck there for quite some time now, and I vaguely wondered how Anastasia Rhodes could walk so slow: "How could I ever forget you?" I don't know if I wanted her to hear it or if she did, but they were out there now. I couldn't get them back.