Chapter 11: Insatiable, Pt. 2

11:45 a.m.

LaGuardia Airport, Hanger B, Queens

The rattle of the cabin as Flint eased the Tomahawk down on the tarmac brought Lady Jaye back to the here and now. Up until touchdown, she'd manage to zone out, collapsed on the floor with an arm draped across her eyes blocking out the painful barbs of light. Sure she wasn't exactly following safe air protocol by failing to strap in but if J.T. wasn't saying anything, she was perfectly happy to stay where she was. Now reality surrounded her and she expected she'd have to account for the past few hours.

Opening her eyes, she knew that time had begun. There was J.T. starring down at her, a curious expression of bewilderment, concern, and yes, on the edges, anger, crowding his features. He'd never make a great undercover agent with that poker face. She closed her eyes again, feeling guilty as charged. Damn, she liked J.T. She didn't mean to put him in a bad spot. She was just doing her job. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out Tomax's flash drive. "Get this to Mainframe STAT." She peered through her right eye almost daring J.T. to do otherwise.

J.T. pocketed the drive, pausing. His mouth opened and shut a few times, struggling between duty and his desire for an answer. When she cut off contact, it threw him for a loop. Patterson specifically tasked him with looking out for her welfare. While he imagined that Patterson's detailed instructions had something to do with the independent personality of the subject sprawled out on the floor, he also had his suspicions that it might involve some of the personality of the man piloting the bird. If something had happened and he was unable to stop it, he'd never forgive himself even if Lady Jaye had taken matters into her own hands. That was just the nature of the work. This whole deal was a good reminder why he was glad he wasn't field anymore. He preferred trying to prevent all of this in the first place through good training in the classroom. After this was over, he knew one Joe who would be first in line for his next class. Thinking of nothing to say, J.T. shook his head once and turned to exit. Still, his momma didn't raise him to leave a lady in distress. Glancing around, he grabbed the medic kit, tossing it at Jaye's feet.

Lady Jaye let out the breath she had been holding in case of confrontation. Thankfully J.T. didn't push it. With that episode over, she took the opportunity to run down the ever-growing list of her ailments. While she didn't want to die on the spot, that would be a bit too dramatic even for her, she thought a nice long nap with a solid dose of painkillers would do the trick. Recalling the worried face of J.T., she knew that wouldn't be an option until they sorted this mess out once and for all. No, it was onward and upward until they could save Ms. Parke. And she hoped that would give Tomax a little peace.

With a grunt, she asserted her authority over whimpering muscles and pushed up to a sitting position. The earth eventually settled down, time for business. Prodding a tender abdomen, she flinched at the feeling of sharp nails digging into her sides. No sign of cracked ribs though, just bruises; those, while annoying, wouldn't jeopardize her ability to complete the mission. Reaching into the kit, she cracked a few of the cold packs and secured them around her stomach with medical tape. As the chill seeped through her jumpsuit, she released a mental sigh. Next, the most immediate need was her eye. With another pop, she placed the medic kit's remaining cold pack against her face. The throbbing receded to a dull ache as the coldness numbed her skin. If only it could seep into her brain. Try as hard as she could, she couldn't get Tomax out of her head. If it was a con job, it was the best con job she'd ever seen. It had to be real. It was the most logical explanation. But if that was the case, how on earth could she to get the others to agree? Maybe the FBI, they'd never dealt with the twins before. The Joes? That was going to be a monumental task. The thinking was only making the pain worse. She rotated her head around trying to clear her thoughts.

It was no use; her mind was sprinting in all different directions, pulling and pushing. She needed to settle down and tried to remember the post-battle mediation Snake Eyes and Scarlett taught the new recruits. There was some vowel sound that was supposed to transport you out of the state of pain to a state of detached awareness. Racking her brain, she came up with a lot of nothing. The only vowel she could think of was the "O" from the Star Spangled Banner, and clearly that wasn't going to get her to experience nirvana. If anything, it only reminded her of the last Red Sox-Yankees series she attended. And if anyone knew the depths to which her fandom sank, a reminder of the Sox's dismal season wasn't one to transport her away to the land of Calgon. There was one thing. She cocked her head at an angle, taking in Flint's voice. Listening to Flint go through his post-flight check was kind of therapeutic in a way. He was methodical and his voice, verbally ticking off squares, relaxed her frayed nerves. He could do that. One time when they were hunkered down under a rock, waiting out a flash thunderstorm, she felt like she would crawl out of her skin. They had been trailing a lead for days, getting nowhere. She was tired and hungry. Maybe slightly grumpy, ok, make that pretty grumpy. Flint, sensing as much, began to recite some of his favorite poems. It wasn't the words as much as it was the way he said them. It calmed and centered her. Even now, listening to him recite fuel mixtures was calming.

She placed the cold pack on the ground, turning attention to her battered hand. Besides being in desperate need of a manicure, several glass shards were embedded in her palm. While it would be easier to have someone else pick them out, she still felt skittish. She hadn't the benefit of a mirror but she'd been through enough at this point to know how bad she looked to the outside world. It was more though. All things considered, the team had seen her in much worse condition. She still could manage to hold her head high. What really bothered her was the fact she had froze out there. She did the one thing Lucky drilled in her to never do and it almost cost her. Even taking herself out of the equation, she jeopardized the life of someone else. It didn't matter if he was the enemy. He wasn't then. She let her fear defeat her training. She couldn't hold her head up for that.

"AHHH!" A piece of jagged glass was lodged pretty deep and at an angle. It took an extra bit of muscle to dislodge. Blood immediately welled up out of the long gash just below her fingers. She grabbed a bandage to staunch the flow, holding her hand up above her head. The glass shard had pierced her lifeline, slicing about halfway through it. She wondered what that foretold for the rest of her life. Was she now on borrowed time? Maybe it was a sign; a sign that her life wasn't meant for this. Maybe Flint was right. Heck, maybe Tomax was right. She should be sitting in an office helping to run the family business, not running around playing cops and robbers. Well cops and robbers with better equipment.

"I asked you a question."

Flint's voice snapped her out of her trance, "What?" She tilted her head up toward his voice. Flint was standing with his hands balled into fists at his hip, legs apart, a scowl across his face. "What's up?"

"Are you going to answer me?"

"Answer what?" Now she was confused.

"My question. It's simple so I'll ask again, what happened out there?" She could tell he was doing his best to control his anger. His nostrils were flaring ever so slightly and his body remained ramrod straight.

Confuse gave way to clarity. She knew what he was really asking. He wasn't asking why she ended up hanging outside a window 58 stories up. Those kinds of things were a given. He was asking why she went rogue in the first place. "Because you know as well as I that Tomax wouldn't have talked to me. It was the only way to get his trust."

"Oh I'm sure you got his trust alright."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well if it was anything like Kansas City."

"What do you mean if . . ." Then it hit her, a sucker punch to the gut. She stumbled past her state of pain, through Snake Eye's state of mellow detachment, straight into a state of shock. If she ever wondered what was going on in Flint's head, here it was. He didn't think she went rogue to reassure Tomax. He thought she cut contact to really reassure Tomax. That bit hard. She was mad. She was furious. If that was how he was going to play it, fine, she could match it and then some. She let the fury rise. She would take him down.

But all she had was silence. The rage was only superficial, an emotion masking the pain below. Words that would otherwise flow so easily suddenly dried up. She could match wits with him any day. Not now. Whatever she wanted to say back, she couldn't. He found her weak spot and good. Part of her wanted to throw up. Part of her wanted to run. She'd give him the pleasure of neither. She cursed herself for the umpteenth time for allowing herself to get that vulnerable in front of him. Damn it. When she brought up the Russian it was only to confess that while she might have gotten cozy with him, she didn't do that; she would never do that. He of all people should know that, instinctively.

Turns out she was wrong. It wasn't as if she was naïve. She knew how the world worked. She merely chose to ignore the gossip around base about the nature of some of her assignments. When your standard operating gear included combat boots and stiletto heels, talk was bound to follow. She could shrug it off but there was always Flint. Correction, lately there was Flint. She didn't know what he heard and what he chose to ignore. It wasn't a topic either broached. She had the sense the rumors were beneath him, that it was just low frequency chatter that never reached his ears. And if the time came that it had to reach him, she wanted it to be from her. She would be adult and let him make up his own mind. Yet, she was only well aware that her time was running out. She had to tell him before things heated up. That was why it was so important to tell him in Kansas City. Yes, lying on a hotel bed, lips about to meet, was cutting it close. Still.

Now?

Apparently his decision was already made. She became self-conscious and realized that she was still holding her hand above her head. She dropped her arm down to her side, the bandage sliding off her hand, drifting to the floor. She ignored it. All she could do was stare ahead into space. She had to remind herself to breathe.

If she ever questioned the extent of her feelings for Flint, she was deluding herself. Just partners? No. She wasn't fooling anyone. He was more than a partner to her. She cared about him, deeply. Was it love? She kind of hoped so. Regardless, whatever it was, it was something. And now, it was in vain. How could there be anything between them when he would think that? After all they had been through; this was his impression of her. She longed for a great big hole to open up and swallow her up. Closing her eyes, she just wished he would leave her alone.

Flint's eyes focused on the bandage as it drifted away from her hand and settled to the floor. He was shocked at the bright red marring its surface. It didn't register at first that it was from her until blood began to drip down her hand and onto the cloth, the circles of red expanding and saturating the cloth like ripples breaking the surface of a pond. She was hurt. He never imagined her hurt before. In his mind's eye, she was practically invincible. Until that night. On that one night she let him in and he spent so much time since trying to get back. When he returned to base after visiting his family, he didn't even unpack before he rushed off to find her. She had been so cold. He thought his face was an open book. Yet Jaye closed herself off from him. No matter what he tried, she remained unreachable. He wanted her to know Kansas City was real. It happened. She mattered. It was frustrating.

When she pulled her little stunt at Extensive Enterprises, it infuriated him all the more because she was doing it again, cutting him out. He got mad. To use the vernacular, he was pissed. She was jeopardizing herself and the mission. Piloting a rather large military helicopter around the skyscrapers of New York is no easy feat. He wasn't even thinking about all the wrong turns he could have made. He was stewing in his anger. She could have been hurt, she could have been killed. He was mad, furious even.

But she was hurt. From the looks of it, bad. The blood dripping down her hand was becoming more of a steady trickle. Her usual pink glow was absent, in its place a grayish pallor. He spent all this time trying to get her to see him when he didn't take the time to see her, only allowing a static image in his head. He felt like a heel. A rightful eejit, as his old roommate would say. He let his own hurt get in the way. How could he explain to her that he knew she wasn't going to get down and dirty with Tomax? It's just that he could envision a million reasons why Tomax would want to get down with her. He couldn't blame the man. Many nights Flint woke up in a cold sweat, slightly embarrassed by the graphic nature of his nocturnal sojourns. She was walking sex in that outfit. Every FBI Geek needed a cup under his chin to catch the drool. But she didn't see it. She was always so maddening. Life was maddening ever since she entered his. The tug between duty and desire was exhausting. Still, it wasn't an excuse. He was an ass, plain and simple.

"Jaye, I'm sorry. I . . ." This was harder than he thought, admitting he was wrong. He needed to be useful, "Here, give me that." He kneeled down, grabbing her hand even as she tried to pull away, fumbling around in the kit for a clean bandage.

"Flint, just go."

"No."

She angled her head toward him, "I can't deal with this right now."

Flint gasped, "Your face? What happened?"

He reached out to her even as she shrunk away from his touch and cowered under his gaze. She felt exposed and this vulnerability was something she didn't like. She couldn't be vulnerable to him, especially not now. "Please." She bit at her bottom lip, fighting against the hand he had placed on her cheek.

"No, look at me." His words were forceful and she returned his stare. "God you're beautiful."

"Don't make fun. I can't handle it." The thin grasp she had on her self-control was slipping. At least she could blame her watery eye on the injury. That excuse would only hold for so long.

"Hon, I would never make fun of you. Not like that."

She snapped, pulling her face away from his outstretched hand, "No, you do not get to call me hon." She swatted his hand away, "No," she pointed a finger at him, "you lost that right. You," her mouth pursed as she fought against her emotions, her hand opening up to block him from coming any closer, "You lost that right." Her eyes blazed a hole through his soul.

He hesitated and that was his mistake for it gave her just enough time to regroup. Her mind and body were frazzled, pushed over the edge. She would be damned though if she'd give him the pleasure of seeing it. She took a sharp intake of air, "You need to leave now."

"Jaye . . . Alison, I'm a fool. I never wanted to hurt you. I trust you; it's all of them out there. I know what they would do." He reached out to her, to touch her face. She shrank back making him feel like a monster. "I tried to tell you in Kansas City. I didn't want to hear what you did because I'd want to kill Stratsky. It's never because of what you did. Never. Alison, hurting you is hurting myself. I don't know how it happened but you're a part of me now."

She shook her head, boxing him out. "Flint, you can't talk your way out of this. You need to go," she had her back to him, "now."

"Alison, I . . ."

A cough from behind Flint jarred him out of his groove. Turning around, there was Shipwreck, climbing aboard. "Well, sorry kids, didn't mean to interrupt anything."

With one well-placed fist, Flint figured he could easily take the sailor out and get back to the business at hand. His hand balled up tight.

Lady Jaye glanced up at Shipwreck, "Ship, you didn't interrupt anything. Flint was just helping me with my eye," she pointed at it, "It's a bit of a mess."

Shipwreck squinted, his eyes adjusting to the dim, "Man, slap me with a barnacle! You got knocked!"

Lady Jaye laughed, "You should see the other guy."

"Well, take care of that." While concerned with her appearance, Shipwreck shamefully admitted to himself that he was more concerned that there actually wasn't anything going on. The clock on his wager for the Jaye/Flint pool was ticking. He only had so much time with the two to influence their actions. If letting them spend some time alone in the helicopter away from prying eyes wasn't the trick, he didn't know what was. He'd have to step up his game. "Um, when you guys are finished up, we're meeting in conference room A. It's to the right when you enter the hanger. FBI has a sweet set-up. Mainframe and the geeks made some progress and want to brief us."

Flint scowled, "We'll be there as soon as we can."

Lady Jaye stepped in, "Thanks Ship. Flint will be right behind you."

"Roger that." Shipwreck hopped off the Tomahawk, whistling.

Flint looked at her, eyebrows raised. Did he dare hope?

Her back was to him again and she was busy bandaging up her hand. "You heard me."

Flint stood up, at war with himself. He'd seen her this way before, although never directed at him. Space, time and space were all he had on his side right now. He prayed it would be enough. "I stashed a duffel bag with some clothes in compartment B-6. I knew you'd want to change."

She waited until the echo of the thump of his boots on the asphalt died away before reaching over to open compartment B-6. Inside was his travel duffle. She unzipped the bag and started to cry. He had packed her deodorant and toiletries case. That wasn't the source of her tears. No, underneath the necessities were her favorite jeans, comfy sneakers, and the gray sweater.

12:30 p.m.

Extensive Enterprises, 200 Park Avenue, New York City

Tomax watched Xamot pace in a straight line up and down the center of his office. Xamot's face was serene as Tomax battled the demons inside. At least some order was returned to his surroundings. The maintenance crew had done an exemplary job installing new glass panes and the remains of the old window were carted away. His furniture was moved back into place, a new desk replacing the old. It was exactly the same, down to the subtle variations in the finish that had made the old desk so appealing to him. As swiftly as they had come, the maids and crew vanished, leaving only Tomax and Xamot to sort out their thoughts.

"My dear brother, this was quite an interesting morning." Xamot settled himself in the chair facing Tomax, holding an ice pack against his right shoulder. The fioricet Xamot took a half hour ago was finally kicking in. The general ache in his biceps was receding, replaced by a wonderful numbness.

Tomax groaned. He should be the one suffering, not Xamot. Still, he reclined on the couch, an ice pack across his forehead, for appearance sakes.

"What did you hope to gain with your little stunt?"

Tomax's radar went off, "Brother, whatever do you mean?"

Xamot laughed, "You mean to tell me that sexy little Joe waltzed in here under cover and took you unawares? Please, we've had our differences lately but even I can see through that. Your desire, while somewhat uncomfortable, was quite unexpected."

"Oh I assure you dear brother, it was a most enlivening meeting."

"I'm just glad I was alone."

Tomax removed the ice pack to look over at a contented Xamot, "Well next time brother, I'll try to make sure you have advance notice and time to reserve a private room."

Xamot laughed, "Ms. Pierson's office was adequate enough."

Tomax bowed once in his brother's direction, "And was Ms. Pierson enough?"

"Ms. Pierson . . ." Xamot began, "is always enough." The brothers finished the sentence in unison, giggling like junior high girls at the mall.

Xamot leaned back in the chair, Tomax, though it was a weak signal, could sense something was afoot. "But brother, I must ask, do you truly believe that Mindbender took me against my will?"

Tomax wasn't prepared for that; there was nothing in Xamot's head that he could feel. On the other hand, he knew all too well that Xamot could feel his own conflict. He struggled to respond.

Xamot continued, "Brother, you of all people should know that things do not happen to us; we make things happen."

"What did you make happen?" Tomax sat up. He did not like the turn the conversation had taken.

Xamot met his stare straight on. He didn't have to say a word, Tomax knew. Tomax knew exactly what Xamot did. "Oh brother!" He reached his hand out to Xamot, spanning more than just the physical distance that separated them.

Xamot reached over grabbing his hand in a fierce grip, "I couldn't survive any longer. I couldn't live with her ghost. Every dream, every nightmare, she haunts me. You live and I merely endure. All your regrets are foisted upon my head. For the first time, I'm free." Xamot tore his hand away, leaving Tomax's drifting alone in the air between them. Xamot pushed himself up from the couch, sore legs revolting against his actions. He teetered, holding out his arms to catch his balance. He straightened his suit, addressing Tomax again, "You can be free too. We can be as we were before, before any of it. Call him brother. End this war."

Xamot crossed over and stood before Tomax, longing evident on his features. He reached down, caressing Tomax's cheek with the tenderness of a mother before leaning down and grabbing Tomax's face between his hands. Xamot pulled it up to meet his, placing a kiss upon Tomax's lips. "Come to me brother." Xamot released his hold. "No matter what happens . . ."

Tomax completed his thought, "I love you. Always"

Xamot left Tomax alone, in agony with Xamot's thoughts. Tomax ran his hands up and down his face, fingers digging into his eye sockets, stifling Xamot's scream.