Part 18

Michael watched from his position as Mr. Covington conducted his business without the slightest trace of emotion; he was cold, calculating, and knew not only how to get to the top, but how to stay there as well.

He stepped aside and held the door open when the meeting ended, carefully watching the businessmen and their lawyers as they filed out of the suite. Once they were gone he closed and locked the door behind them before resuming his position once more.

His gaze tracked Mrs. Covington as she joined her husband, silently taking a seat and waiting as he wrapped up a conference call. As the call came to an end Mr. Covington loosened his tie and took a deep breath before turning to his wife and reaching for her hand. In those moments the businessman relaxed and an entire conversation passed between the couple without a single word ever passing their lips.

Over the past two days Michael had witnessed different variations of the same scene and he didn't understand it. He had studied them, observing their behavior, cataloging their reactions to each other as well as outsiders, and he couldn't make it make sense.

They had been married for twenty-five years, they had five children, and they acted like they actually wanted the other person close by. They were both closing in on 50, they were average-looking, and he couldn't imagine that their feelings were based on lust or sexual attraction. What could possibly make two people stay together for that long? His gaze traveled over them, taking in the physical changes that the passing years made to the human body; receding hairline, the wrinkles beginning to take up residence on features, the softening and expanding waistlines… yeah, physical attraction was definitely not an option, and if physical attraction was out then there was no way it was about sexual attraction.

He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thoughts before they could go any further. He did not need the traumatizing image of old people having sex stuck in his head. He quickly cast about for a different subject and his mind immediately settled on Maria.

He wondered what she was doing all by herself; there really wasn't that much to do other than watch television or go for long walks. He supposed he could've given her a temporary password for the computer so she could've done some research or something. He doubted she would've been interested in anything in the shop - except the furniture, he thought. He still couldn't believe she had demanded that she be given her own bedroom or that she had suggested moving his office into the living room.

His thoughts shifted to that moment in the garage when he had been so close to her that he had felt her heart pounding. He had been tempted to take the decision out of her hands, to kiss her so hard and deep that she would've had no choice but to kiss him back. He knew she would've fought it at first, clinging to the memory of her dead lover, but he was confident that she would've given in. The problem was that capitulation wasn't what he wanted from her. He had no idea why that was important to him; with any other woman he wouldn't care as long as he was getting laid. But, somehow, some way, for some reason he didn't understand, it had become essential that she make the first move.

He wasn't the slightest bit concerned that she wouldn't make that crucial first move, he thought with an internal smirk. His only concern was how long it was gonna take before she made that move. There wasn't a doubt in his arrogant mind that it was only a matter of time before she gave it up. Maybe after three days alone, with nothing to do but sit around with her thoughts she'd be ready to accept the inevitable. Hmm, three days to do nothing but sit around and think… three days to miss him being around… three days to think about him and work herself up into a major state of sexual frustration.

He had a feeling he was in for a surprise when he got home.

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Michael stared at the desk that was currently residing in one corner of the living room and he bit back the urge to start shouting. He was tired and suffering from jetlag so he wanted to make sure he wasn't seeing things that weren't there before he threw a fit. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath before looking to verify what he already knew.

This was not what he'd had in mind when he had imagined having a surprise waiting for him when he got home. He'd been envisioning something more along the lines of Maria, naked in his bed… or in the bathtub… or hell, even naked and stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace. Any of those possibilities worked for him and none of them would have made him feel like behaving in a violent manner.

He didn't know what she thought she was gonna accomplish with this little stunt but she would've had a better chance of accomplishing it with nudity. Yeah, he thought, nodding to himself, had she attempted to plead her case for putting the desk in the living room while lying on its polished surface completely naked he might have considered it. Okay, that was a lie – naked or not, she wasn't getting her way about this.

The desk was going back in the office first thing in the morning. If she thought moving it out into the living room was going to be the incentive he needed to convince him to haul the bedroom furniture inside she was sadly mistaken. If she wanted to sleep in an actual bed that badly she was just gonna have to get with the program and make that first move. He was willing to let her sleep in his bed with him, but only if she was willing to have sex with him. She would eventually get tired of sleeping on the couch and when that happened he would be ready to engage in negotiations. He had no intention of moving another bed into the house and losing that advantage.

He walked down the hall, too tired to worry about it until he'd had a decent nights' sleep. His attention was drawn to the room that had previously been his office when he noticed the light creeping out beneath the closed door. What, was she sleeping on the floor in the empty room? Somehow he had figured she would take advantage of his absence and spend the nights in his bed.

He reached out to open the door, intending to check on her and shut the light off, but he wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted him. His dark eyes traveled over the furniture that had been set up and he felt his temper shifting into the red zone; she had done exactly what he had said they were not going to do. She had obviously discovered the small room in the shop where he had stored all of the extra crap that the interior decorator had used to… what had she called it? Spruce the place up, that's what she had said about the pictures, colorful pillows, lamps, and the matching linens and curtains that she had stuck all over his house.

As soon as she had left he had packed all of the excess crap up and stored it in the shop, where he had intended to store it temporarily. The only reason he had even let her loose in his house in the first place was so he could get into her panties; it had definitely been worth it, but all of that stuff had to go just as soon as he had accomplished his goal.

He looked around the room; the bedside lamp was on, casting a soft yellow light over the bedspread. The furniture looked like it had been polished to a high shine, the solid oak gleaming under the light. He moved deeper into the room, wondering how she had managed to move the heavy furniture by herself. He opened the closet door, turning the interior light on and running his fingers over the hangers that held the clothes he had bought for her less than a week ago.

He stepped back and shut the door before crossing the room and picking up the photo that was propped up against the base of the lamp on the nightstand. His temper flared as his gaze moved over the picture of Maria with her friends, held securely in the arms of the man that she claimed was so much better than him.

"Michael?"

He dropped the photo back on the nightstand, not bothering to prop it up, and whirled to face Maria where she stood in the open doorway. "What the fuck is all this?" he snarled, angry for more reasons than just the office-to-bedroom transition that had occurred against his wishes.

Every ounce of relief that she felt at his presence, at seeing that he was safe and sound, dissipated at his furious tone. "First, just let me say that I'm glad that you made it back home alive. Second, this is exactly what it looks like. I couldn't just keep sleeping on the couch and living out of shopping bags."

He snapped, ready to explode. "There's a bed in my room - "

That she had no intention of sleeping in. "Uh-huh, which I am only welcome to use in exchange for having sex with you, and I hate to be the one to remind you, but that's not gonna happen. Now, maybe you thought that if I had to endure many more nights on the couch I'd eventually decide that having sex with you would be a fair exchange - "

"You act like fuckin' me would be a fate worse than death." Why was he hurt by his own words? He never mixed feelings where sex was concerned, but with this girl, he couldn't seem to help it.

Maria shook her head. The brief moment of happiness she had felt at seeing him back home and alive quickly vanished. "I'm not getting into this with you again, Michael. The only reason I'm here is to find a way to fix what happened so I can go home and - "

Fix the situation in her universe, fix him, and then dump his ass like a used tissue! A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was the same thing he had been doing to women for almost a decade, but he wasn't in any mood to hear it. "This shit's goin' back out to the shop in the mornin'; if I wasn't so fuckin' tired I'd haul it out there myself tonight. I don't know how the fuck you got it in here by yourself and I don't fuckin' care - it all goes back out tomorrow."

Fed up with his antics, Maria paused a moment to cover her eyes with her hands. "Why is it such a big deal for me to have this bedroom?"

"Because it's my fuckin' office!" he yelled. "It's my house, my office, and my life! I didn't ask for you to show up and turn my life upside down; before you showed up I was getting laid on a regular basis and enjoyin' my life! You come in and within minutes of meetin' you my entire life was thrown into chaos!"

"Your life?" she screamed. "You think your life was disrupted? You didn't lose anything by me being here." She held a hand up when he started to protest. "Fine, for whatever reason you've had a problem getting laid since I got here and you think that's my fault… fine! I don't care whether you're having sex on a regular basis or not; the only thing that matters to me is getting back home - "

"You've made it perfectly clear what your priority is!" Michael paced around the room, doing his best to control the urge to start throwing things. "And I do not have a problem getting laid; my problem is getting away because if I leave you alone in my house you rearrange the furniture and fuckin' move in like you think you belong here!"

"I have no illusions about belonging here," she snapped. "Why would I even want to belong here? With a man who treats women as sexual objects who have no reason for existing other than to please him… a man who is incapable of feeling anything for women beyond lust… a man who is disgustingly pleased that his longest relationship is with his right hand…" She shook her head, glaring at him. "I have somewhere that I belong and I have someone who I belong with… a man who knows how to treat a woman, a man who understands the meaning of the word relationship. Why would I ever be willing to lose what I have with him just to sleep with you?"

Michael's face turned red as he finally lost control of his temper and he could feel the blood pounding through his veins as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. His eyes were blazing as his right fist slammed into the door next to her head. He opened his mouth to yell but as he reached out to grab her, intending to shake her and then push her out of his way, he was hit by a wave of nausea.

He backed away from her and his left hand wrapped around the footboard, locking his knees and forcing his body to stay upright. The feeling of weakness assaulted his muscles and joints, threatening to make him lose control of his standing position.

Maria frowned when his hand shot out to clutch at the footboard, concerned when all of the color drained from his face. She took a couple of steps in his direction, reaching out to touch him and see if he was all right. "Michael - "

He jerked away from her before she could make contact, glaring at her as he took an experimental breath, gauging whether or not he was going to be able to move without passing out. "This all goes back to the shop in the mornin' and you go back to sleepin' on the fuckin' couch," he rasped, pissed off that whatever this problem was, it was rearing its ugly head once again.

Maria moved back to her original position and crossed her arms over her chest as they stared at each other. "Fine, but tonight I'm sleeping in this fucking bed, in this fucking room, and I want you to let me have one night of fucking peace!"

Michael took a step back, shocked at her use of the profanity as she screamed at the top of her lungs. He quickly recovered and stalked over to her, towering over her as he stared down into her fiery green eyes. "Go ahead," he snarled, "enjoy the next eight hours of fuckin' peace! We're movin' all this shit after breakfast, so don't get too comfortable." He brushed past her and slammed the door behind him, heading to his own room so he could shower and go to bed. He just hoped that his sleep wouldn't be disrupted by the illness that had suddenly made its presence known once more.

Maria took a deep breath and threw herself down on the bed, sighing tiredly. She had been so relieved to see him alive and in one piece, and he had gone and ruined the moment by opening his mouth and acting exactly like the jackass he was. She didn't know how she was going to manage it, but she was not giving up her bedroom now that she finally had it.

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Michael climbed into bed after his shower as exhaustion warred with anger over the situation with Maria. He stared at the ceiling in the darkness and before long the anger began to melt away as sleep started to pull him under.

The streets of Santa Fe were busy and panic was clawing at his chest as he moved through the crowd, looking for someplace private to deal with the episode that he could feel coming on. There were people everywhere though and he was losing the ability to focus on his surroundings.

The people around him began to appear as shapeless beings and their voices combined, merging together and becoming unbearably loud. A shock ran through his entire body as he stumbled and his knees struck the concrete. His mind barely registered the burning sensation as his hands shot out to stop his fall and he only succeeded in skinning his palms when they slid across the grainy surface of the sidewalk.

He heard someone shouting for help and he tried to tell them that it was unnecessary but he couldn't form the words that he needed. Medics suddenly appeared from nowhere and he was quickly strapped to a gurney and loaded into the back of an ambulance. He tried to tell them that it would pass, that their equipment and assessments weren't necessary, but one of them slipped an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, preventing him from speaking.

He tried to fight against the straps holding him down when the medics started to discuss taking blood. He jerked back as far as his bonds would allow when he felt the needle prick the flesh of his upper arm and his movements suddenly became sluggish.

"That'll calm you down, buddy," one of the medics said. "Don't worry, we're taking you to the best facility in the city; the doctors there'll figure out what's wrong with you."

Whatever they had injected him with worked fast and before he could form a coherent thought the darkness of unconsciousness claimed him. When he awoke he was disoriented and confused by his surroundings; he had been inside of hospital rooms before, visiting buddies who had been wounded in action, but he couldn't recall one that had looked like this. Hospital rooms were always sterile and cold, but this felt more like an interrogation room and as the drugs began to dissipate and his vision cleared he became aware of the mirrored walls that surrounded him on all sides.

He turned his attention to his restraints and he frowned when he saw the leather straps that effectively held him captive. He tugged against them experimentally, noting that there wasn't enough give in them to allow him to work his wrists free. His gaze shot across the room when a dark haired man entered; he wasn't dressed like a doctor and Michael relaxed fractionally. He had probably been captured by some agency hoping to extract information about one of his recent missions; it wasn't be the first time he had been taken and his captors always slipped up at some point, paving the way for his escape.

The man moved around the room silently, making it a point to continually put himself in a position that took him out of Michael's sight. It was a tactic meant to make him nervous, to induce fear in the captive, to put him on edge as he waited to see what his captor would do next. Michael wasn't new to this method of interrogation and the man in the dark suit wasn't intimidating as he skulked around the room.

"You think I'm from some rival agency," the man said finally, his voice condescending as he moved to stand at the foot of the gurney Michael was strapped to. He crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for a response.

Michael shrugged as much as he could in spite of his restraints. "Should we just go directly to the part where I list off my name, rank, and serial number? Because I'm not givin' you any information - "

"No?"

"Nope, not a fuckin' thing." The man smiled and the expression actually sent a chill down Michael's spine, making him question the man's motives for kidnapping him.

The man suddenly moved to stand next to Michael, leaning down so that he was only inches away from him, his cold eyes boring into him as he searched for some sign of weakness. "I'm not interested in any of your covert assignments for the Company, Mr. Guerin." He chuckled, the sound humorless. "I'm interested in what your mission is here - "

"In Santa Fe? My mission was to get laid."

"Your mission on Earth," the man snapped, irritated by his captive's flippancy. "I know you're not human, so let's just go around your usual bullshit and get directly to the point, shall we?"

"No clue what you're talkin' about," Michael stated, hoping the trembling he could feel inside wasn't visible as he stared the man down.

"Your blood was taken at the hospital after your collapse… did you think that no one would notice that it's not human?" He stepped back away from the gurney, stroking his chin as he observed his captive. "What is your purpose for being on Earth? Are you here to research us? To provide Intel to your own people for a future invasion?"

Michael had been trained to withstand torture at the hands of the enemy, but he had never come face-to-face with anyone who knew that he wasn't human. Despite his best intentions he could feel his heart racing, his palms sweating, and for the first time that he could ever remember, he knew what true fear was.

"We have ways of getting the truth, Mr. Guerin. We can make it as easy or as difficult as you want to make it." He snapped his fingers when silence answered him. "Obviously you prefer the hard way."

Michael turned his head to the side when the door opened and several people entered the room, dressed in white surgical clothing. One of them pushed a cart filled with sterile equipment and vials of colored liquids that sloshed gently with the movement of the cart.

"Are you aware that your threshold for pain isn't that much greater than that of the average human? The abrasions on your hands, for example, I'll bet that probably stung when you skinned them on the pavement. Or that bullet wound in your left shoulder - that probably hurt like hell when it happened."

Michael glanced at his left shoulder, frowning at what looked suspiciously like an old bullet wound. He had been shot before, but he didn't recall ever taking a bullet right there.

"So, while you might have a slightly higher threshold to pain than the average human, you're still susceptible to pain and suffering." His smile was positively malicious as he moved close once more, his right hand reaching out and closing around a scalpel. "I've been trained in many fields over the years, but you know, the medical field is one that simply fascinates me."

Michael's eyes followed the agent's hand as he placed the razor-sharp blade against his bare chest. He could feel the cold steel brushing his skin and he gasped in shock and pain when the agent moved suddenly, slicing into his flesh with ease. "What the fuck are you doin'?" he shouted as he tried without success to pull away from his tormentor.

"Do you know what concerns me most about your existence?" the agent asked as he paused in his task to look at his captive. "The fact that your alien blood is the only thing that sent up a red flag about what you are. You appear human; nothing about your internal or external makeup reveals your true identity. If it weren't for the fact that the blood that was drawn at the hospital showed extreme abnormalities you'd still be walking around free to do whatever you're here to do."

"I'm not here to do anything," Michael denied, doing his best to keep his gaze away from the blood that he could feel welling up from the incision and spilling over to trail down his sides.

"I could stand here and remove your internal organs one by one while you watch, but that's not gonna tell me why you're here. I could use leverage against you, but you have no one who even cares that you're nowhere to be found." He smiled coldly as he placed the blade less than an inch from the previous incision. "Do you know how long it takes to bleed to death from wounds like this?" he asked as he added another incision next to the first. "I can make this last so long that you'll beg me to let you die."

Michael awoke from the nightmare, his heart pounding, his breath coming in ragged pants, and his sheets soaked with sweat. His hand shot to his chest as he bolted from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom, turning the overhead light on and leaning in close to the mirror. His chest lacked any evidence of incisions and he gripped the edge of the sink in an effort to force the trembling in his limbs to stop.

He had thought that the nightmares that had been plaguing him recently were bad, but this was worse. Fear was still new to him, but this nightmare had taken that fear to a new level. After waking from the previous nightmares there had been no memory of what had occurred, only the feeling of fear that had accompanied the blurred images. This time he had complete recall of the events and the images were crystal clear; the feelings of fear were bad enough but they could be explained by the mental connection. He had no way of explaining how he had felt imaginary incisions being made, cutting into flesh and slicing through muscles and nerves.

When he could control his breathing and his heart rate began to smooth out into a normal rhythm he looked at his reflection in the mirror, searching his left shoulder for the scar he had seen in the nightmare. Why would his mind conjure up a gunshot wound that didn't exist? He had been shot several times in the line of duty, so why not use an existing scar?

Is that what would happen to him if anyone ever discovered the truth? he wondered as he leaned over to turn the faucets on in the shower. He had never really considered how he would be treated if the truth ever came out, he had just done his best to avoid it. Maria had mentioned that one of the aliens had been captured and tortured by some government group but she hadn't elaborated. He shook his head; he didn't want to think about it, he just wanted to clean up and go back to sleep.

After his shower though, he was wide awake and not that interested in going back to sleep. Once he'd had time to think about it he decided that more sleep wasn't what he wanted; there was a good chance that the nightmares might surface again and that was the last thing he wanted. He prowled around the house restlessly, needing peace and not knowing how to find it.

Against his will he was drawn to the bedroom where Maria had staked her claim and taken up residence. The door was open and he slipped inside quietly, moving to stand next to the bed so he could watch her. The moon was full and cast enough light into the room that he could see her clearly; she was distraught, her features pinched and filled with pain as she shifted around. Her left arm stretched out to the other side of the mattress, her hand clawing as she reached for something and her movements became agitated when she didn't find what she was searching for.

He didn't know what possessed him to retrieve the wooden rocking chair from the corner by the window and place it next to the bed, but he didn't question it. He let his instincts lead him as he sat down and let his gaze travel over the woman sleeping fitfully. His head tipped to one side when she whimpered, the sound filled with distress as her hand encountered more empty space and her fingers curled into the covers, clenching and unclenching before going back to her futile search.

Something that he didn't recognize or understand prompted him to extend his arm and rest his hand on the mattress. He watched in disbelief as her hand located his with unerring accuracy, curling around it as she relaxed and almost immediately fell into a peaceful sleep. His own nerves settled in response to her touch and he slouched down in the chair as he turned his gaze to the tree branch brushing against the window pane when the wind blew through the desert.

He didn't understand how someone who was so infuriating and had the ability to provoke him and make his blood boil in his veins could also provide such a calming influence to his rattled nerves. He didn't question it; he simply decided that the only reason he had even offered his hand in the first place was to keep her from waking up. He knew the minute she woke up she'd start talking and he wouldn't have a prayer of shutting her up. He needed peace and quiet after the terrifyingly real nightmare that he'd had so he settled for sitting in her room and holding her hand in an effort to prevent her from waking up and destroying what little peace he could find.