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Disclaimer: Character contained within do not belong to me.
Author’s Notes: It’s been a very long time since I updated this, I know. It’s been a crazy, hot summer. However if you’re here, thank you for coming back, even though this story isn’t exactly normal fare;)
I also want to thank Cincoflex for the nomination, and all her help.
by Kristen Elizabeth
Her fingers were still entwined with Gideon’s.
The desert had given way to the suburbs of the city. What had once been neat rows of model homes were now little more than flattened piles of wood and concrete, interspersed with the occasional structure that had somehow survived the Cleansing. But even those buildings looked ready to collapse at any moment.
At the exact time Sirah decided to stop running, she felt Gideon slowing down. His hand released hers, and she felt the loss more than she cared to acknowledge. “We’re…safe,” he panted. “We can…stop.”
They were in the middle of a large intersection, now deserted. A lone traffic light swung above their heads. The dark horizon was framed by even darker mountains on one side, and the remains of the Strip on the other. She could almost make out the twisted metal spire of the Stratosphere in the light of the moon.
Bending over at the waist, she put her hands on her knees and fought to regain control over her breathing. Sweat snaked down her neck and tickled the space between her breasts. She glanced over at Gideon. His dark blue shirt was soaked and his face was red. But he seemed less affected by their marathon sprint; his breathing was deep, but steadier than hers.
“How are you?” he asked her a minute later. He was watching her carefully, studying her like she was under his microscope. There was something akin to puzzled wonder in his expression. It made the back of her neck even hotter than it already was.
Sirah stood up straight, ignoring a sudden, sharp pain in her thigh. “I’m irrelevant.” She paused. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, suddenly frowning. Their eyes met for a moment before she abruptly looked away.
“So…this was Las Vegas.” She was getting used to the pain, but her leg still felt like it was on fire.
When he said nothing back, Sirah glanced at him. He had turned his attention to their surroundings. His frown grew deeper as he stared down a nearby side street. He took a few hesitant steps towards it.
“Or as the Connies…liked to call it…Sodom and Gomorrah,” she added. Her heart was still racing and her leg was only feeling worse. And he was still ignoring her. “Whatever,” she sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ve…got a…a mini-comp on you?”
“No.” She might as well not have even been there. He was concentrating so hard on whatever he saw down the street. “I think we should go this way,” he said a moment later.
“Deeper into the city?” Sirah shook her head, biting her lip against the pain. “No, we need to stay in somewhat…in somewhat plain…sight. The others…need to find them.” Her stomach rolled and churned; sweat gathered along her brow. She shook her head as if she could shake herself into focus. “We need to find water.”
“I have some.” It was only then that she noticed the strap that ran across his chest, and canteen that was attached to it at his waist. He pulled it over his head and unscrewed the cap. “Small sips only,” he warned. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”
Sirah took it, and tried not to think about how his lips had once been where she was about to put hers. She’d barely taken enough to wet her mouth before the pain in her leg tripled. Her knees gave out from underneath her.
She hit the cracked pavement hard. Darkness closed in, and in the split second before it completely claimed her, she heard him call out her name. Only it sounded wrong somehow...
“Sara!”
“I just…I don’t know.”
“You’re going to have to do better than that. You haven’t been to work in two days. And now I find you here...like this. What’s going on?”
He ran his hand down his beard. His eyes were bloodshot. “He could have killed you. It could have been your neck he…” Stopping short, he closed his eyes against the possibility that haunted him. “Just like that…a few seconds, some blood….and I would have lost you.”
“Well, I’m fine.” She folded her arms and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “The case is over. So why are you…”
He cut her off by leaping to his feet. Grabbing her arms, he hauled her against his chest. His lips were hot and demanding; they pillaged hers without finesse, without permission. She wasn’t complaining. It felt as good as she’d always imagined it would.
Breaking the kiss, he buried his face in her hair. “I can’t fool myself anymore,” he said desperately. “I’m making myself sick…trying not to want you.”
She’d recovered just enough to make her muscles work; her arms circled his shoulders, her fingers dug into his curls. She let him sag against her body, knowing that his heart and his head were at war with each other.
“Shh,” she soothed. “It’s okay.” She guided him down to the couch again, surprised when he held onto her. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.
But he refused to let go, and the only thing she could do was lie down alongside him.
It was still raining outside, and she might have been cold if not for the heat of his body that seeped into hers. They lay together in front of the wide, cold fireplace for a long time before she turned her head to kiss him again. It was slower, sweeter, but still lined with urgent need.
“Don’t ever leave me” he murmured. “I wouldn’t survive it, honey.”
“Stop thinking about the end before we’ve even had the beginning.”
“I’m sorry. I…”
She brushed her lips across his, quieting him. “Tell me to go and I will. But after tonight, we either have it all…or we have nothing.” He frowned; she smoothed his brow out with the touch of her fingers. “Let your heart win this one. Okay?”
He nodded, a smile bringing color back to his cheeks.
She woke up to the merry crackle of a fire in the same fireplace.
The couch was gone, but the room was the room from her dream. She was lying on the worn floor, her head pillowed by something soft that smelled decidedly masculine. Turning her face towards the warmth from the hearth, she saw him washing his hands in a pot of steaming water.
She had no idea where she was or how long she’d been there. She was out of control, something she feared even more than she loathed.
“Whoah!” He went to her when she tried to sit up. Pain in her leg kept her down more than his gentle urging for her to lie back. “You need to stay calm. You’ve lost too much blood as it is.”
“Blood?” Sirah’s head spun. “I don’t…understand.”
“You were shot back in the desert. Your pants are black or else we would have noticed you were bleeding earlier.” Gideon’s jaw was tight, like the idea of that hurt him. “At least, I think you were shot. I haven’t really been able to examine you yet.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to wait. To get your permission.”
Her hands felt cold and clammy, and her right thigh was on fire. “What? Just…do it.”
Gideon hesitated a moment before nodding. “All right.” After another second, he reached for her belt. She closed her eyes as he unzipped her black pants and tugged them down her legs.
She tried to be grateful that she was wearing underwear at all.
He gingerly lifted her right leg into his lap. Gently, like his fingers were butterfly wings, he probed her wound. Her breath caught when his knuckles accidentally brushed the soft skin along the edge of her white cotton briefs.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. She opened her eyes and was almost amused to see sweat dotting his forehead. “I’m almost done, I promise.”
“I thought I…pulled something running,” Sirah said to the ceiling.
“I can’t believe you ran at all. Most people would have collapsed instantly,” he murmured. “No wonder Carrine sent you.” Gideon laid her leg back down onto the floor. “Okay, the good news is that the bullet just grazed you. I found an old pot in the kitchen and I boiled water. I’m going to use this for bandages, okay?” he said, indicating the flannel top he wore over a cotton T-shirt
She sighed. “I’m supposed to be getting you back to San Francisco.”
“We’ll get there. Right now just try to relax.” His hands were now stained with her blood, so he stopped himself before he could touch her cheek. Shaking his head, Gideon stood up and walked back to the fireplace, squatting down in front of the flames.
Sirah took several deep breaths. She was half naked and exposed, bleeding from a bullet wound, and the person she was supposed to protect was acting as her nurse. But above all of that, there was a strange sense of déjà vu. She felt as though there was another reality superimposed on the world. Everything was warped. Unknown and yet familiar.
Especially him.
“Before I…passed out…you called me something.” Sirah pushed herself up onto her elbows. “It wasn’t my name.”
Gideon took his time answering. With his back still to her, she barely heard his soft reply. “You called me something else, too. Earlier in the desert.”
“I don’t…remember.” But it was a lie. Even now, the name from her dreams was on the tip of her tongue.
“Really?” He twisted around to see her. “I think you do.”
She hated the fact that her eyes suddenly felt moist. “They’re just dreams,” she whispered.
“I’ve been telling myself that for years.” He frowned. “Lie back. Please.”
Ignoring him, she sat up even further. “It doesn’t make…any sense.” Sirah blinked back tears. “I’ve never met you! I’ve never been here…”
“Are you sure?” Gideon let the question hang in the air for a long time before he went on. “I lied. I didn’t just pick this house because it was sturdy. Something…brought me here. It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s certainly not scientific...” He stopped suddenly.
“Explain that.” She scowled, frustrated at her own weakness. “What you just said.”
Gideon scratched his fingers through his graying curls. “I wish I could. I just…” He shook his head. “I know you.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she retorted. The quiet, sure way he’d said that got under her skin.
He didn’t say anything back, and when he started ripping up his shirt, she thought he’d decided to let it drop. The muscles in his arms rippled as he tore the fabric into long strips. Her frustration tripled when she found she couldn’t look away. He had delicious arms. She tried to remember, but couldn’t recall what kind of science he specialized in that kept him outdoors enough to be so tanned.
“You don’t eat meat,” Gideon suddenly said.
Caught off guard, Sirah blinked. “No one eats meat anymore. Unless you’re the fucking president.” She paused. “Or fucking the president.”
“True,” he agreed. “But even when it was available, you didn’t eat it.”
Her leg throbbed with each thump of her heart. “Carrine could have told you…”
“She could have.” He tossed the makeshift bandages into the hot water. “But she didn’t.” Their eyes met, brown and blue locked together. “I know you,” he repeated, even more certain this time. “And I bet…you know me, too.”
Sirah’s head jerked back and forth. “I don’t.”
“You’re lying.” He smiled. “You’re a horrible liar. Always have been. Right?”
“Oh, go play with your bugs,” she snapped. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a chill ran down her entire body.
To his credit, he said nothing more. He just wrapped her wound with the sterilized fabric strips. When he was done, Gideon cleared his throat and stood. “Get some rest. I’ll be here if you need anything.”
“Wait.” When he looked back at her, Sirah glanced away, not wanting to meet that blue stare full on again. Her face felt hot all of a sudden. Maybe she was getting a fever. Or the fire in the hearth was too much.
She refused to believe that his presence was affecting her this much.
“Never mind,” she said a second later. “It’s nothing.”
Gideon knelt down next to her. “We can call this a lot of things. But it’s not ‘nothing’.”
It took her a long time to fall asleep, and when she did, her dreams were laced with butterflies and Shakespeare.