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Its not like her to wake up so simply. No panic or adrenaline fueled sweats or yelps of protest or protection. Just a nagging feeling aching between her thighs. Even if she's by herself, she flushes red and tacitly snuck her hand under her waistband to meld her fantasy into her dream.
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Stalemate. Two game players staring at each other or at nothing. She won't talk, not when her first question lingers unanswered. He won't answer what she has no right to ask. But she holds the sheet of paper that becomes his progress report, its the only card and its in her hand. He knows its stupid to be this stubborn, but it doesn't mean he'll budge.
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The path to the overstuffed, uncomfortable couch in the center of Candor could be simplified into three words: anger management issues. This time, Johanna says the last time, he put a hole in a wall. Now a smiling woman in white was reviewing his form and giving pointed glances at his hard façade.