A/N: "Los Motivos del Lobo" (The Wolf's Motives") is a poem by Ruben Darío, in which a Wolf tries to explain to St. Francis of Assisi why he is the way he is. It's also the title of a play by Sergio Magaña based on true events that took place in Mexico back in the 50's, when a man decided to lock up his family for 18 years in order to prevent them from getting tainted by modern day society. Hopefully, by the end of the ride you'll understand why I thought the title was so becoming…
A/N2: We love to hate Cam, but do we know just where she's coming from? And why? Warning: the muse is behaving in a rather sadistic fashion these days, so we won't be mincing words or imagery. This has an M rating for a reason, people.
Xxx XXX xxX
Dr. Camille Saroyan was growing impatient. He was never this late, dammit! She felt a bit of an idiot for sitting around waiting for him half naked. She was wearing his favourite barely-there attire in a blatant attempt to have this meeting go the way she wanted it to go. God knows she needed all the conniving possible when dealing with such a seasoned FBI agent.
And dealt she had for the past 10 years….
Fuck... was she really that old?
She had come to DC back in 93, fresh out of college. She had gotten herself a degree in forensics but after a round or two at some local coroner's offices she knew it wasn't enough to quench her hunger for power. Reverend Ezekiel Saroyan's daughter was used to having her way, and having her way right now, and the boring climb through normal channels in any county was simply taking too long for her fancies.
So she had gone where the movers and the shakers were. Where things happened at a pace she found more suitable. And she found out, like many other beautiful 20 something girls with an education that Washington was eager to hear them out as long as they were willing to pay a certain price. Camille figured she that sleeping her way up the politics ladder was a tad more distinguished than sleeping her way to Chief ME in Hicksville, Louisiana. At least the guys were better looking and richer and she was quickly obtaining enough leverage to get her where she really wanted to be.
And she would have probably gotten there sooner or later, had it not been for Senator Joel Franklin, who had the bad timing of dying on her, or rather, in her. Camille realized a tad too late what was going on, and by the time she began performing CPR on him, he was already the LATE Senator Joel Franklin, loving husband and father of 6, a conservative and devout church member who just happened to like spending his evenings with a certain doctor 23 years his junior in the most airtight of secrecies.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, such activities were not as secretive as either one of them had thought. And fortunately for Camille, the man who knew about them had decided to get more photographs that very same night. And it was fortunate that there were "more" photographs, as there was enough evidence in Franklin's cheque book to convict HIM of blackmail.
So there they were. She as the caught mistress, him as the caught blackmailer, both with everything to loose and both with enough leverage on the other to try and get some profit out of the situation.
Unfortunately for Camille, he could claim undercover work (a fact that he forgot until it was a tad too late to cancel their agreement). Even more unfortunate was the fact the just two months prior to Mr. Franklin's demise, "Lewinsky" had become a household name and everyone in DC was paying close attention to each and every blue dress that walked the halls of the Capitol.
And thus, their liaison began.
Camille had to admit that it had been a profitable relationship for both of them. He knew more stuff than she would ever get from mere mortals, regardless of how deep into the loop they were. He knew exactly whom to approach, what kind of leverage to obtain and he had the perfect cover for them both.
Indeed, having bumped into FBI Agent Michael Hastings had been, all in all, a stroke of good fortune for Camille Saroyan. He had certainly "raised" enough money to ensure a "comfortable " retirement and she had seen her professional career advance like she'd never imagined it would. She was already on a first-name basis with several members of the Cabinet and a good chunk of the Senate AND the Congress had her name on the "have to have over" party lists.
Life was good indeed. Michael was a good workmate and even a better bedmate, and soon they got into a comfortable routine that included exchanging information and planning the next hit whilst lying in bed before, during or after sex. Camille thought she had everything she could ever ask for: power, money and sex, and not always necessarily in that order.
But then Hastings had to scratch an itch that most men get when they reach the big 4-0. And he got himself a fancy sports car, way above his paycheck level. Whispers became rumors, rumors became talk, and talk soon enough became an IA investigation. And just in time to bring down the evil corrupted Agent came a hero fresh form the fight, all-around Boy Scout and Captain America wannabe, mister goody two shoes, Seeley Booth.
Camille virtually licked her lips in appreciation when she laid eyes on her latest "job". Now HIM… he's do him for free, just for the sheer pleasure of getting her hands on such boy toy. Looking back, she felt a bit ashamed of herself. But just a bit. She didn't lie to him… much. Her story was almost all true (after all, she was a victim of Michael's blackmailing, wasn't she?) and Booth fell for it completely.
She soon discovered two things. The first was the Seeley Booth was the best fuck of her life. Sex just didn't get better than that. The second was that sweet lover boy had a gambling problem and a pregnant girlfriend. She kept the former knowledge to herself and shared the latter with the "right" kind of people, and soon Booth was off Michael's back and checking himself into rehab and a desk job.
Neither Michael nor Camille got out of that one unscathed, however. A couple of anonymous tips had the authorities breathing hell down their necks and they had to sell some of their acquaintances in order to avoid jail and a permanent criminal record. Things got ugly with one gang in particular, and the government decided to "reward" their goodwill by relocating them. Hastings was moved to a pencil-pusher desk position in Forgotten Ville, Nebraska, and Dr. Camille Saroyan… well, she was "offered" a coroner's job in Nowhere, Alabama, where budget wizards firmly believed that the necessary equipment for a forensic unit could be bought at the Home Depot in Mobile.
Thus her years in purgatory slowly crawled by. But it was better than the alternative. Anything was better than death, she reasoned. And dead was precisely how their enemies wanted them to be.
Camille was surprised to receive an e-mail from Michael. She was even more surprised to learn that they were forgiven somehow, and her power-hungry alter ego soon raised its head. The Jeffersonian was "this" close.. so what if they had to do some fellows a couple of favours as payback for having thrown them to the dogs a few years earlier?
So what, indeed.
It had been great to see Michael again. The sex had been great, too. And the sudden cash flow was not something to turn away from, either. It was much later, when she had met with her new "boss" that she decided that maybe, just maybe, purgatory wasn't such a bad place to be in after all.
So they had sold a band of criminals. Murder, blackmail and robbery were just the icing on the cake for them, and contrary to what others might think, they weren't an unforgiving gang. Quite the opposite. She was given the Jeffersonian with a mark in mind, her orders clear and precise and so far, she had failed miserably. No matter how hard she tired, she simply couldn't carry out her orders.
And Camille began to fear for her life. Learning that Vince McVicar had died in prison didn't do much to alleviate her fears. Quite the contrary, actually. And Camille realized that, at least in her book, there's not fate worse than death.
So that's why she's here now, half naked and waiting in bed for Michael, in "their" apartment, trying to figure out a way out without much of a loss. And, preferably, alive.
She hears footsteps on the hall and lets out a breath she wasn't aware she was holding. "Took you long enough, didn't it?" she says, without turning towards the door. Leverage. She has to keep leverage at all costs.
But the chuckle is not Michael's and suddenly everything goes horribly wrong. She turns around and realizes she made a huge mistake leaving her gun in the bag by the sofa instead of next to the bed. Same goes for her clothes. And she forces herself to look up, defenseless and naked, and she stares into steel blue eyes, so similar to the ones she faces on a daily basis, yet so different at the same time.
Max Keenan smiles and Camille feels a chill run down her back.
"I can see why Mr. Hastings considered you such a valuable asset, Camille. However, I feel that I'm not getting back enough given my… investment"
Camille's eyes dart form one side to another, trying to find out a possible escape route. There is none. She'll have to rely on her mind and her tongue to get herself out of there with as minimum harm as possible.
"It's not exactly easy. You of all people should know. After all, Tem… JOY is your daughter, your flesh and… bone"
She regrets the choice of words almost as soon as they're out of her mouth and mentally braces herself for Keenan's reaction. Here was a man who had killed his own wife, he was surely not going to hesitate hurting her.
The hand slapping her face makes a hollow echo in the room. She doesn't get much chance of recovery, as she's shoved into bed with no gentleness at all.
"I know who she is. I didn't spend a good chunk of my savings greasing the hands of the foster system just so I could finish raising her the way I wanted it. She had just too much fucking Ruth in her for it to work out. Kyle was more like me, but he lacked spine"
"And that still doesn't explain why she's still looking for me."
Camille wants to say something, anything, to calm down the man menacing her, but before she gets a chance to speak, his hand flies to her throat and he starts choking her… not hard enough to kill her, but hard enough to make his point loud and clear.
"YOU said Dr. Goodman would rein her in, and he didn't. YOU recommended Seeley Booth as her partner.. said he'd probably be fucking her into oblivion before the year was over. YOU said it was a good idea to lend her out to investigate so she'll be busy and forget about us. And then YOU said YOU would keep a tight leash on her. Well, I got news for you, Saroyan. She found time to write a book and mentions me every two pages. Dr. Goodman's sabbatical was difficult to arrange and it's even more expensive to keep. You have done nothing but compromise the whole deal. And last time I checked, the only one in their partnership fucking is Booth. So give me just one good reason why I shouldn't tighten my grip on you right now and be done with it"
And with that, he shakes her a couple times more and drops her to the bed. She holds her throat and gulps in as much air as her damaged windpipe allows. She's starting to believe she won't be leaving that room alive, and wonders if there's a fate worse than death. He seems to sense her fear, and relishes it.
"Oh…don't worry doc. I'm not gonna kill you. Yet. I still need you on the inside to tell me how much she knows. Unlike your friend Hastings, you still hold some value to me."
He gives the information a few seconds to sink in. The way her eyes grow and then fill with tears tells him that she's understood his meaning. Then he sees her lips quiver and he knows he's caused a reaction.
"You fucking monster"
The words are spat with more less the same force as her saliva. She's visibly shaking now, a mix of fear and indignation, and Keenan feels almost giddy with excitement. He's gonna break her, all right. And he's gonna enjoy it. Such a pity, really, but it's necessary.
"My contacts tell me you're one hot lay. One of the best in town, actually"
"Are you out of your mind?"
"Oh. I see you don't fancy the idea. That's too bad. I had kinda… fantasized about it, if you may. I wonder if fucking her would give me the same pleasure"
And with that, he reaches into the briefcase he had been carrying and throws some photos at Camille. She stares in horror as the smiling face of 11-year-old Shelby Saroyan looks back at her
"How? But… how? Where…? "
"My dear, dear doctor. Leverage, remember? It's such a basic rule of survival for people like you and me. Tsk, tsk. Camille, darling, maybe you're getting too old to be playing this game. Or maybe being around Hastings for so long finally rubbed out on you… and now you're thinking with your cunt instead of your head"
More photos thrown on the bed. Seeley and her. Shots dating back five years. And five weeks. Tears start streaming down her face.
"All men have a breaking point. Maybe Agent Booth won't care much for his reputation or his job if these were to be made known. But I'm sure we'll be able to find something to break him with"
Camille stares in mute horror as a photo of Parker Booth makes its way to the other ones, mingling with theirs having sex, almost too obscene to watch.
And certainly too much to bear. She has reached her breaking point, and he had snapped her in two easily. This was not a battle for her to win, and she'll certainly won't see the end of this war alive.
She gathers the photos in her hands lovingly and puts them aside, face down, too ashamed to look at them. Then she positions herself in bed, offering herself to him, a silent sacrifice, acknowledging her defeat. At least, she thinks to herself, she won't give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
"My sources also tell me that you like it rough, my dear, so… I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of bringing some… toys… along…"
He reaches back into the briefcase and takes out an object. She sees it, her eyes widening in realization. And she screams. And screams. And screams.
And before the night is over, Camille Saroyan finally finds out that there are, indeed, fates worse than death. Much more worse.
And living to remember it is the worse one.
Xxx XXX xxX
A/N: I know. Dark. But my muse goes psycho every now and then. Maybe if you ask her nicely she won't do it again soon…