Part 16
Maria knew making the foods her Michael enjoyed was a risk; the Michael she was stuck with in this universe might not like the same things. He certainly didn't act the same or treat her the same way, but she knew from watching him that he liked to eat so it was one risk she was willing to take.
She slid the last batch of bacon onto a paper towel to drain the excess grease and washed the frying pan before setting it aside to finish chopping the fresh vegetables for the omelets. Red and green peppers, onions, tomatoes, and fresh jalapenos were sliced and diced, and then sautéed before being set aside while she cracked the eggs into two separate bowls. She reached for the bottle of tabasco sauce she had picked up the day before and she paused as she stared at it. How many variations had she tried before she had finally gotten the amount just right? she wondered. Michael had teased her through every single success and failure as she had learned how to cook foods to suit his hybrid preferences.
Her Michael had been a constant in her life; at work, at school, and everywhere in between. He had liked to cook for her on occasion, trying out new recipes and adding his own twist to them. Her mind drifted back to the last time he had cooked for her, making an attempt to recreate some exotic recipe he had discovered…
"C'mon, Michael, just let me see what you're making," she begged, trying to get around him when he shifted to block her view yet again.
"Stop bein' so nosy," he muttered, nudging her back away from the stove. His tone was teasing as he prevented her from seeing what he was doing and he knew that as much as she liked surprises she hated the suspenseful waiting game.
He was putting the finishing touches on the dish when her arms had slid around his waist, sliding under the open panels of his shirt. "Michael, let me see what you're making."
"Go any further with that hand and we're gonna be heatin' this up in the microwave and eatin' it later," he warned when her right thumb brushed over the snap on his jeans in an attempt to distract him. He smirked when he felt her breath gust warmly against his back as she conceded his point and her hands settled on his sides.
"You're being mean," she complained.
He reached for a fork and filled it with food from the pot before bumping her with his left hip and motioning for her to back up. "Here, taste."
Maria kept her eyes locked on his as she accepted the forkful of food he held out to her, chewing thoughtfully as she tried to identify it. It was good… hot and spicy, but the flavors underlying the spices burst to life on her tongue and her eyes widened in surprise. "That's really good, what is it?"
"Chicken and sausage jambalaya; it's one of those Cajun/Creole recipes. You really like it? It's not too spicy or hot?"
"Huh-uh, it's really good."
"You gonna stand there and stare at that all day or you gonna finish makin' breakfast?"
Maria was startled out of her thoughts when her obnoxious host spoke up, interrupting the pleasant memory and completely spoiling the moment for her. "Are you ready to eat?" she asked.
Michael frowned at her tone; there was no heat, no fire there, and that was unusual. As a rule everything she said was laced with passion in some form, but this was different. He pulled one of the stools out from under the far end of the island, sitting on it and hooking his bare feet on the bottom rung as he watched her. "What're you mixin' in the eggs?"
She looked at him when he spoke in a civil manner and held the bottle up so he could see it. "Tabasco sauce." She shrugged when he shook his head in confusion. "It's a hot sauce; you mix it in the eggs before putting them in the pan and it makes them hotter than they would be if you just sprinkled it on after they're cooked."
"Uh-huh, so why two bowls for eggs?"
"Because I've never acquired a taste for hot eggs; I enjoy hot and spicy with some foods, but not for breakfast."
Okay, this wasn't so bad, he thought. It had been at least two minutes and there hadn't been one derogatory remark about him or anything related to his sex life. He reached across the counter to snatch a piece of bacon off of the plate but quickly jerked his hand back when she popped his knuckles with the spatula in her hand. "Ow! What the fuck?"
Maria moved the plate to the counter beside the stove before pouring the seasoned egg mixture into the frying pan. She ignored him when he fell silent, sulking at the end of the island as he stared at his stinging knuckles. Ten minutes later she slid a plate in front of him piled high with the stuffed omelet, homemade fried potatoes, bacon, and toast.
Michael's mouth watered as the smell wafted up to tease his nose and he cut into the omelet, pulling it apart to examine the contents. Ham, bacon, red and green peppers, onions, tomatoes, fresh jalapenos, and two… maybe three different kinds of cheese. He took the first bite and groaned as the flavors blended together and exploded on his tongue. "That's fuckin' good," he mumbled around his second bite, forgetting that he didn't want to encourage her in any way. "Hot, too." His eyes were actually watering just a little from the mix of spices and vegetables she had used. "How'd you get it so hot?"
"The trick is to leave the seeds in the jalapenos; they lose their potency if you don't use the seeds. They'll still be hot, but they're nowhere near as hot without them." She turned back to the stove to finish making her own breakfast, sighing when he picked his plate up and walked out of the room.
Within seconds she heard the television in the living room come on and she moved to the doorway to watch him settle down on the floor in front of the couch, the plate on the coffee table within easy reach. Her gaze slid to the dinner table set up on the other side of the kitchen and it hit her just how much she missed sitting down with her Michael for meals or just to talk.
How many times had she and her Michael been in different rooms doing their own thing, but still being together? She could be in the same room with this man and unless she provoked him in some way, he was practically unaware of her existence. She moved back to the stove and filled her own plate before moving to sit at the table, staring at the empty chair across from her. The feeling of utter loneliness washed over her and she missed her Michael so much that it was a physical ache.
She forced the thoughts to the back of her mind when she felt the depression trying to claw its way out of the depths of her being. She didn't have the answers yet, she didn't know how to undo what had been done, and until she had those things within her grasp she didn't dare let those feelings gain control.
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"Somethin' I can do for you?" Michael asked when he felt her standing in the doorway, watching him. He had been out in the shop for hours, the radio propped up on one of the workbenches turned up loud while he worked on a couple of the motorcycles.
Maria crossed to the workbench where the radio sat and turned it down. "I want my own room," she stated, causing his hand to slip on the wrench he was turning.
"What?" He stared at her as if she had suddenly lost her mind. "This isn't a permanent living arrangement and I don't have a second bedroom."
Maria refused to back down. She needed her own bedroom for her sanity. "The office used to be a bedroom."
"No." Michael didn't even bother to develop on the subject. It was his house, HIS, and she wasn't gonna change the arrangement he had made ages ago.
"You don't even know what I was gonna suggest." She walked around looking at the various items he had stored in the shop. Her eyebrows lifted in interest when she spotted the furniture covered by several sheets of clear plastic.
"I'm not turnin' the office back into a bedroom." He shook his head. "You will not be stayin' that long."
"How am I supposed to figure out why the Granolith sent me here if you won't even sit down and talk to me?" she asked, turning away from the furniture to look at him.
"You said if you could do whatever it is you're here to do you can go back in time and prevent your version of me from jumpin' off a cliff."
"He did not jump off of a cliff," Maria said angrily. "You make it sound like he did it intentionally."
Good lord, the woman argued over every-damn-thing! "If it would make you shut up, I'd go jump off a fuckin' cliff. Maybe your little time travel device sent you here to prevent you from altering events. Maybe bein' dead was the only way the poor bastard could get any peace an' quiet!" he yelled.
"Michael enjoyed talking to me," she insisted stubbornly, ignoring his hurtful taunts.
"Whatever. The point is, if you can change events, time, or other stuff, you'll go back before it happens, right?" he asked.
Maria nodded. Yes, that was it exactly. Well, she was 99% sure that that was it. "Theoretically, yes."
"Then why does it fuckin' matter how long it takes?"
"Because I wanna go back home where I can be with the man I love… the man who loves me," Maria exploded. She was sick of being here, treated like his maid.
Michael threw the wrench in his hand down, starting to get just as angry as Maria. "I want you to go home too, because then I wouldn't have to listen to you bitch an' moan about every goddamned thing! This is my fuckin' house; it's the one place where I have peace an' quiet, where I don't have to worry about anyone botherin' me, where I don't have anyone makin' demands on me! I am not rearranging my house just so you have your own space - "
"You haven't even stepped foot in the office since we've been here! What difference does it make if the desk and computer are out in the living room?" She wasn't going to cry in front of him; she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
Michael brushed past her and motioned for her to follow him as he walked back towards the door. He shut everything down before stepping outside and pulling the sliding door shut before running the chain through the handgrips and locking the padlock. As soon as they walked inside the house he went into the kitchen and grabbed his wallet and keys.
"What're you doing?" Maria asked, confused.
"I'm goin' into town."
God, she was getting sick and tired of his stupid tantrums! Maria thought, listening to the garage door close after he pulled out and drove off. She wondered where he was going this time as she threw herself down on the couch and considered what her next move should be.
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Marcos Gutierrez looked up from the dossier he was reading through when his secretary knocked on his open door and announced his visitor. He motioned for her to show the man into the office and he leaned back in his chair when Michael Guerin stormed through the entrance and slammed the door behind him.
"I need a job, Marcos."
The man behind the desk remained silent, watching the ex-soldier prowl around the office like a caged animal. He hadn't expected to see Guerin for a couple more weeks at the very least, and he never would have expected to see the man so rattled. "You wanna tell me what's goin' on?"
"Last time I checked you weren't a fuckin' shrink, Marcos. You got a job, or not?"
"And the last time I checked, it was my name on the company letterhead and my reputation at risk if any of you guys fuck up a job." Marcos leaned forward in his chair, elbows braced on his desk as he considered the man's question. "What's got you so uptight?"
"You'd never believe me," he muttered. "Look, I just need somethin' that I can focus on for a few days."
Marcos regarded him thoughtfully as he leaned back in his chair once more. "You know what's at risk if you screw up, Guerin; I don't like havin' to clean up behind people."
Michael snorted. "I've never given less than a hundred percent to this job, Marcos, and you know that."
"Fair enough." He picked up the dossier he had been scanning and tossed it across the polished surface of the mahogany desk. "Alistair Covington owns a private company that contracts out to the Department of Defense; he has a three-day business trip scheduled to leave out tomorrow mornin'. He's on several hit lists and there was an attempted assassination on his life a month ago, so this needs to be handled with - "
"I'm not a rookie, Marcos; I know how to handle a security detail for a movin' target."
Marcos nodded. "Memorize everything in that dossier, gear up, and be at the address listed inside at oh-five-hundred; you'll be leavin' from a private airstrip an hour later."
"You won't regret it, Marcos."
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Michael entered the house and looked around when he realized that it was silent… too silent. He moved from room to room, confirming what he already knew - she wasn't in the house. He walked outside and looked around, trained eyes scanning the desert in all directions in an effort to locate her. He moved to the end of the deck and climbed up on the top rail to see if he could see anything further out.
"Where the fuck are you?" he muttered under his breath.
He was just getting ready to climb back down when he heard the sound of a light snoring coming from behind him. He turned around and his gaze followed the deck where it was built along the side of the house and he shook his head when he saw the woman curled up in one of the loungers, sound asleep.
He jumped down off of the railing and smirked in satisfaction when the sound of his boots thumping against the deck startled her out of her sleep. "You tryin' to get heatstroke?" he asked caustically.
Maria didn't bother to respond, not willing to give him the fight he was obviously looking for. She had made sure she was in the shade and she hadn't been out there long enough to worry about sunburn or heatstroke. She ignored him, knowing he would eventually tire of trying to bait her and he would go inside and leave her alone.
She waited until he had gone inside before she got up and followed him, closing and locking the sliding doors behind her. She went into the kitchen to get something to drink and as she set an empty glass on the counter she noticed the folder lying on the counter under his wallet and keys. She filled her glass with ice and then removed the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator, pouring it over the ice as she eased the folder out from under his things.
After returning the pitcher to the refrigerator she carried her glass and the folder over to the dinner table and sat down, careful to keep the liquid a safe distance from the folder. She flipped the cover open, looking at the 8x10 color photo of a middle-aged man attached to the left side before turning her attention to the request for protection on top of the paperwork threaded onto the brads on the right side. She looked up when Michael entered the kitchen and paused in the doorway to see what she was doing.
"What's this?"
"That's none of your business," he muttered on his way to the refrigerator. He joined her a minute later with a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. "You do realize that the big red CONFIDENTIAL stamp on the front of that folder means that you're not supposed to be lookin' at it, don't you?"
As if that would stop her, she thought. He sooo didn't know her! "Is this an assignment that you're doing?"
He dropped the chips on the table and slid the folder out from under her hands. "I'm gonna be gone for a few days."
No, no, no, no, no! Maria tried to contain her panic at the thought of Michael leaving for his job. The Granolith had sent her to this place on a crucial mission and the guy was throwing his life away for some stupid mission? "So, this is your assignment. Michael, this is too dangerous… this guy's been targeted for assassination and his last bodyguard was killed protecting him. Not to mention the location of his business meetings… Lebanon? You do realize how dangerous that is, don't you?"
He snorted. "Dangerous for anyone who tries to get to Covington," he said, unconcerned.
Maria watched him; he didn't sound very worried. Maybe it wasn't a very dangerous mission, but… Lebanon? "They were talking about Lebanon on the news last night; it's a warzone over there and it would be stupid to just waltz in there like it's not dangerous." She shook her head when he shrugged and turned to the next page in the dossier, reading through the requirements for Covington's security detail. "You're so sure of yourself," she muttered, annoyed at the risk he was willing to take.
"I have no reason to question my abilities or think that I can't protect this man from any potential assassins." Michael took a quick look inside the folder, scanning over the details that he would need over the next few days. Yeah, he was confident in his abilities, and even if there was a problem he could use his alien powers, just in case. He had an advantage that his adversaries didn't have.
Maria shook her head. Being overconfident could be lethal. "Why would you accept an assignment like this?"
Michael shoved a handful of chips in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before washing them down with a drink of beer. "Why not?"
"Because you could be killed protecting a man whose company builds weapons of mass destruction."
"I don't really give a fuck what he does. My job's to keep him alive, not question his ethics." He flipped to the next page, studying the last assassination attempt that had been made on the man's life. "What's for dinner?" He looked at her when she just stared at him. "What? You'd deny a man what could potentially be his last meal?
"That's not funny," Maria snapped, irritated by his morbid sense of humor.
Michael ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to calm down and then took a deep breath. "Look, you deal with stress your way and I'll deal with it mine." Discussion over.
Maria gaped at him. "This is how you deal with stress?"
"Well, it's a toss-up between shootin' somethin' or goin' out and getting laid." He closed the file and slouched down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her. "So, unless you're offerin' to get naked and help me work off some tension, I'm gonna go find somethin' to shoot."
"I'll go make dinner; I'd hate for your last meal to be less than memorable."
Michael chuckled and closed the dossier when she got up and started rummaging through the freezer, slamming things around to express the fury she was feeling. He went through the mental checklist of equipment that he needed to pack as he left the room to start getting his gear together.