Chapter 16: Trembling Hands

11:15 p.m.

Forest Hills Bed and Breakfast, Carbondale, PA

Flint did not make his decision to allow Lady Jaye to march off in a huff lightly. Having bore witness to many incidents in which others did not grant her that necessary space, exhibit A being Beach Head, he made the smart decision to give her time to cool down and regroup. Besides, he needed a little time to plan his next move. The situation called for more than a standard mea culpa, I won't do it again. For one thing, he didn't think he made a mistake. To the contrary, he was confident he was doing everything right. And for the other, he wasn't going to promise not to do it again. In fact, he had grand designs to do the exact opposite. Kansas City was but a warm up to what he had going on in his head. To get there, it was going to take his "A" game. He was finding, however, that his "A" game was a little rusty. Scratching at that spot just below his beret, he was feeling the effects of too little sleep and too little romancing. It had been a while since he used his schooling to woo a girl. Still, this was the tongue of Chaucer, Dylan Thomas, Atticus Finch, and Eugene O'Neill. Could he really not think of anything?

After giving it some thought, the first thing to pop into his head was Marvell. His natural instinct was to fall back on Marvell. That man made life so easy. Pretty coeds, and a few generals' daughters, melted their inhibitions with a few well-chosen verses whispered in their ear. Had we but world enough, and time, was usually all it took to allow an introduction to their lips. An hundred years should go to praise thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze, would allow him the privilege to unbutton a blouse. Two hundred to adore each breast, usually would permit him the opportunity to do just that. But thirty thousand to the rest, and he was running the bases with ease. Tonight was different. Marvell wouldn't do for tonight. This wasn't going to be a drive-by romancing.

Flint entered the B&B, groping in the dark to find the master switch to turn off the outside lights. That deed done, he turned the deadbolt, sealing the B&B from the night. The darkened kitchen floated before him as he hovered on his own cloud of thought. With the glimpse of her mind, she had bewitched him all the more. Throughout life, he was the hunter stalking his prey. She had been that once upon a time. That time seemed so long ago. No, Marvell wouldn't do at all. Dickenson? Perhaps. Wild Nights—Wild Nights! Were I with thee, Wild Nights should be our luxury. That had always been good for extending certain liaisons out past their prime. The lines, when recited over the telephone during an unscheduled stop, had a better than 50/50 chance of saving him from some flea-infested motel. He wasn't looking to score room and board tonight. No, Dickenson wouldn't do. Shakespeare? The bard was generally reliable in all sorts of tricky situations. From drunken dorm room debates to late mother's day cards, a little Shakespeare thrown in put one in better standing. He couldn't see her swooning over that. She was too mad to fall for a comparison's to a summer's day. She was more lovely and more temperate, he laughed at that one. While she was many things, temperate was not on the list. Falling back on the bard was a little too sophomoric for his needs.

She deserved more. He longed to tell her more. To think, she honestly thought she threw herself at him, as if he didn't play a part. No one would ever know what happened that night in Kansas City. He only remembered it as the sound of her quickened breath, the feel of the air as her lips hovered before his, the instant skin touched skin and he knew his partner. Whatever the catalyst, it didn't matter. What mattered now was ending the doubt and the second-guessing. And for that he needed the right words.

Flint's stomach rumbled in response. He looked down, "You too?" A gurgle replied, reminding him that he really hadn't eaten enough when they stopped for a quick bite on the road. He was focused solely on mission planning and barely remembered the drive-through hamburger he inhaled. He weighed his options. Proceed to Jaye's room and scare her with the amount of noise coming from his gut, or appease his gut and then finish this thing. His murmuring stomach was the answer. A quick detour to the refrigerator was in order to square away that front. Right behind the morning pancake batter was half of a turkey sandwich. Before he went out after Jaye, Aunt Margie said she'd leave it for him. He had to hand it to Aunt Margie, the woman was prepared for anything. Gulping down the sandwich in two bites, Flint followed up with a glass of milk. He looked around before puffing a quick breath of air into his palm. He wrinkled up his nose—no doubt further stalling by his body's defenses.

It was hard to walk past her room when he desperately wanted to be inside. He knew she had retreated there. Light and shadow chased each other under the door, giving away her presence as she moved about the room. Knowing she was there, only separated from him by a slab of wood, pulled him like a magnet. He raised a fist to knock on her door. His hand hovered there, the past and present combined in the one action. He shook his head and kept moving. Sure there was a certain element of spontaneity lost by ducking into his room and taking a couple of swigs out of the mouthwash bottle. But romance, like a battle, needed a general plan of attack. Since his intention was to enter her camp and hold up the white flag of truce, he would leave nothing to chance. He glanced in the mirror. Beret on straight? Check. Milk mustache? Gone. Nothing stuck between the teeth? Clean. He was still left with the words that wouldn't come.

Words of love were easy to recite. Anyone with half a brain could walk into Hallmark on any given Sunday and find something pithy and moving to parrot. It was taking those words and making them mean something where the true skill lay. He had to admit, he was no slouch in this arena. He could fill her ears from now until they met their final rest. He didn't just want to fill her ears; he wanted to blow her mind. Words alone wouldn't do for him tonight. This was where he meant to make his final stand. If he lost tonight, there would be no more battles to fight. He would have lost the war. Dashiell Faireborn did not lose. Not like this. He would not lose her. And then he knew, Keats. A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. To battle he would go to fight for the very heart of his future.

Flint found himself back where he always seemed to end up, her door. How many times would he find himself here, groveling? The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war. He smiled, make no mistake, this was going to be drawn-out campaign. Tonight was but a battle, an important battle nonetheless. If he won, there would be further engagements. If he lost, well, like he said, Faireborn men didn't lose. It wasn't in them. His dad had defied the odds and gotten his city-bred mom to accept an appointment at Kansas and life on the farm. Butler made his own conquest, getting a California gal with a California-size clan to pack up and move to the Midwest, where they had started their own little brood, four and counting. Day was making his own name, picking up where his older brothers had left off on the single-front. Flint had no plans to be the first Faireborn to fail.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood. No response. He expected as much. Knowing her, she was still stewing. He rapped again. Pressing his ear to the door, he heard the faint shuffling of her inside, ignoring him. Looking around the hallway, Flint debated the merits of banging on the door and calling out her name until she appeared. If he had his druthers, that's exactly what he would do. When it came to the possibility of waking up the entire floor and Agent Miller up in the attic, his druthers took a back seat to the practicalities of life. On a whim, he turned the doorknob. It offered no resistance and he stepped inside.

Lady Jaye sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. Her feet dangled over the side, not quite touching the wool rug beneath. She looked up at him, surprised. She had taken the sunglasses off and left them on the nightstand. With the glasses gone, her eyes were liquid pools into which he wanted nothing more than to drown. There was a sadness there, a hurt he longed to comfort. There was also a vulnerability to her, he felt needed. All he wanted was to be needed, to be useful to her beyond an extra pair of hands and a gun. She had changed into that beat-up Army t-shirt, worn and threadbare so that the light glowing from the lamp behind her shone through the hazy material, the lines of her body illuminated. Flint's breath caught in his throat. He hated that t-shirt. It wasn't even respectful enough to be called a t-shirt. She always brought it along and its existence taunted him. It would be so pleasurable to cast it aside tonight. He glanced to his right and wondered how well it would act as kindling for the fireplace.

He took a step into the room, rehearsing his lines. She didn't welcome him though. There was a subtle shift in her body as she moved away from him. That wouldn't do. Not at all. Flint wanted her to rush over to him like she used to after he'd been away on a mission. Then, they would find each other, careful not to be too eager, but rushing to each other just the same. Her head would lean up toward him, taking in every word, their bodies drawn to each other, hungry for the other after too much time spent apart. It was then that he began his ruminations on life and love. He kept that in the back of his head as he watched her freeze up and wipe any trace of being a living, breathing person from her face. He'd seen her do it so many times—become the ice queen. He didn't like being on the receiving end, no matter how deserved.

She stood up from the bed, hairbrush still clutched in her hand. He had the feeling she wanted to smack him with it. He wasn't about to give her a chance. At that moment, there was only one way to make his intentions known. Enough with this beating around the bush, there would be time enough for words. If the pen was mightier than the sword, then there was something even mightier than that. In one swift motion he managed to close the door with his foot and stride across the carpet to where she stood. Grasping her face in his hands, he silenced her with a kiss. All the time he wasted worrying seemed silly and foolish. Words were wasted moments. This should have been his response to her all along.

Flint entering her room was surprising enough. Flint suddenly in front of her, hands cradling her face, lips pressed to hers, was downright shocking. Who on earth did he think he was? After everything that happened, he couldn't just waltz into her room and expect that all would be forgiven because he threw a little physical affection her way. That was her pride talking, her stubborn, obstinate, foolish pride. It was an internal battle of wills between the Lady Jaye she had constructed and the Alison she was underneath. They were all in her, making her whole. But for whom did he care? Surely it wasn't who she was deep down. Flint was what one would call a very confident man. Confidence beget confidence. Flint wouldn't have any use for an Alison. That being the case, she couldn't be used like this. She raised her hand to slap him and instead grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. She felt like water suddenly hit by the sun. The warmth started in the pit of her stomach, radiating outward until her body was ablaze. She lost her grip on the brush as she reached up with her other hand. Heaven help her. The brush hit the floor, bouncing up onto her foot, the bristles painful on her bare skin. She cried out, jumping back slightly, looking down at the offending instrument. Her disengagement caught Flint unawares who then tilted his head down to check out the action at the exact same time she lifted hers back up. Their skulls banged together and both experienced the pain of the cosmos raining down as they saw stars, millions and millions of stars. She lifted her hand to her forehead, rubbing the rapidly forming lump. Feeling dizzy, she stumbled back into the bed, losing her balance, falling backward. Flint followed, landing on top of her, knocking the breath out of her, his weight crushing against her bruised abdomen. Flint, content with the change of scenery, leaned back in to resume where he had left off.

"Flint . . . can't . . . breathe . . . owww" she grimaced, pushing against him.

"Hmmm?" He kissed the spot where their heads had met.

"Can't breathe." She tried to roll out from under him, "Off me. Heavy . . . hurts . . . "

"Oh! Sorry." Slightly disappointed, he rolled to his side, tracing the contours of her face. He winced, carefully navigating around her bruised eye. It wasn't as swollen as before. He still wanted to kill that damn twin for doing it in the first place. He didn't care what she said; there was more to it. He exhaled; he wasn't going down that road tonight. His hand worked its way down to her chest, lower still to her stomach. She flinched away from his touch.

"What's this?" He didn't wait for a response and pulled her shirt up, revealing the blue and purple welts and bruises circling her body. "Hon," he looked up at her, "why didn't you say something?"

Still feeling as if it would all dissolve in an impressionistic fog, Jaye could only shrug her shoulders, eyes glued to his, timid to make the next move.

He drew his fingers across her stomach, wishing he had the power to take it all away. She'd certainly been through the ringer this last mission. And now, he was about to throw her into the lion's den. Not before she knew how he felt. Not this time.

He caressed her skin and she closed her eyes in response, arching her back slightly, ignoring the throbs that action brought. Propped up on his elbow, he leaned in, his lips following the path his hand had made. Her skin was warm against his. He kissed her chin, pulling back, judging her response. There was no mistaking the quickening of her breath. He could see it in the way her chest rose up and down, trembling at his touch. He had to hand it to himself; he was good.

She stared back, her eyes widening, reserved yet alive with desire. "Dash, are you sure?"

He had to laugh, "Alison, say my name again."

"Dash?" An eyebrow shot up.

He reached down, kissing her lips. "To make a final conquest of all of me, love did compose so sweet an enemy, in whom both beauties to my death agree, joining themselves in fatal harmony." He planted a kiss on each eye, careful of her injury. "That while she with her eyes my heart does bind," he hovered above her mouth, teasing, "she with her voice might captivate my mind." Sometimes, in the end, Marvell was exactly the right choice.

As Flint kissed her, he couldn't shake the nagging suspicion she was holding back from him, that there was a hidden room where she had retreated to watch as her physical body responded to his advances. He wanted all of her, body and soul. If she wouldn't have him in that way, it wouldn't do. He had enough outlets for the physical. He needed it all and it had to be from her. She had made all other lives less interesting.

He stopped. "Ali, I'm in this for real. I want you to be too. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. I'm not about that."

She moved her head against his chest, "I want to Flint, I mean, Dash. I want to very much. It's just . . ."

"It's just what."

"It's just . . . it's just that I think you might be attracted to something I'm not, not entirely. If you knew me, the real me, you might not . . . care, not like that. I worry about our careers; that it's not worth what you may have to give up. The team, what would happen if it got out? What if you get bored, you'll get bored I'm sure. You've been such a great partner and friend, you've been my best friend. I wouldn't want to do this, not if I couldn't do it with you. I'm afraid of what I could lose, of what I will lose." She stopped, having presented her fears. It was out there now, her insecurities laid bare before him.

He cradled her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "You won't lose anything Ali, I promise you. I know you. You may not think it, but I do. You're Camilla and Belphoebe. You're Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. You're Alison and Jaye. You're you, everything that makes you. You're strong, but you can feel." He ran a hand down her arm, delighting in the bumps left behind in his wake. "Above all, I'll never be bored, not like that."

Flint grew more circumspect. "I've thought about our careers. I want to be with you and I don't want to ruin your life. I've thought about what I want to accomplish during mine. I know I can't be a Joe forever. This is a young's man game we play. I want to write. Some day, I think I might want to teach, like my mom. But it wouldn't be the same if I couldn't imagine you there. Whatever may be, whatever may be involved in our being together, the harm to me will be less than if we parted. I've thought so much about this. I thought I ought to keep it back from you. I don't want to interfere or influence the choices you'll have to make—but I can't. With you there is life and joy and all good things. Away from you, there is only what has always been." He took her face in his hands, "I know it's easy for me to say this. The danger to you is so much greater than the danger to me. I'll be discrete. I'll try. I swear to you though, if anything should happen. If anyone should ever threaten you, I'll leave. I don't wish to follow this path if I can't follow it with you."

Flint said all that needed to be said. There was no doubt now; there could be no doubt in her mind that he saw her for who she was, assertive and timid, resolved and unsure. And she knew him. For all his brawn and bluster, he needed her, too. Flint always projected an image of self-assurance. She had seen the other side of him. She wanted both parts. She broke out into a smile just as his lips found hers.

"Happy?" He began to kiss down her neck.

"Mmmm, very." She rolled up on top of him. She was met with a face full of felt. "This has to go." She tossed the beret off the bed, planting kisses along his hairline. Her body tingled as Flint worked down her neck to nuzzle against her collarbone.

"I know something else that needs to go." Flint tugged at her faithful grey Army t-shirt, running his hands down her back.

"Certainly." With a wink and a sly smile, she rose up, straddling his form. It took one fluid motion for the t-shirt to become airborne and float gracefully through the air before hovering for a moment, and then landing on top of his beret.

"And all my forces needs must be undone." He reached up, pulling her down.

Jaye was falling fast, the floors of the building next to her whizzed by yet the ground never appeared. Heart racing, she flailed her arms and legs, reaching out for anything that might stop her descent. She screamed, knowing that the impact would surely kill her. Suddenly she felt arms reach around her middle, jolting her out of the fall. Her ribs cracked from the pressure and jagged bone poked out of her skin. Limp as a rag doll, she watched in horror as another figure rushed past her, tumbling to his doom. It was Tomax. He ended up on his back, eyes locked with hers. Save her, he mouthed before closing his eyes, giving in. She shrieked as his body hit the pavement, shattering into a thousand pieces. "You're next," the arms holding her were connected to a head, Xamot. He kissed her hard and fast. He only sought to take from her, to taste the death from her lips. With a dismissive sigh, he let go. The ground raced toward her. She held out her hands, unable to make a sound.

"Ali, Ali, wake up." Flint shook her shoulders, gentle at first, but then with more urgency as her whimpers took on more force. She came to with a start, gasping as she sucked air into her chest, shaking from the force of the dream.

"Shh, shhh," he whispered into her ear, gathering her up into his arms, and rocking her body. "It was a dream, just a dream."

It took Jaye a moment to get her bearings. She glanced around the room. The electric glow from the clock radio read 3:30. It was 3:30 in the morning then. Still a few hours before dawn and responsibility would have their way. She settled back into Flint and felt the tendrils of the dream dissipate as she found solace in his strong arms. He was still there, with her.

"What happened?" He brushed away the few strands of her hair that had gotten in her eyes.

"I was falling and Xamot caught me. Only to watch Tomax die. Then he let me go." A shudder ran through her.

"I'll catch you, always." He kissed her swollen mouth.

The need rose up in her for more than that. She grabbed him, "Don't let me go."

He didn't.