They spend a week on the boat, sailing idly through the Philipines, before he gets anxious about staying too long.
He's left his message but like Bourne, he suspects they won't heed it.
They're dropped off in a remote fishing village, a place with lush greenery and streets suspended over the water. Aaron exchanges some of the money in his jacket for local currency and sends Marta off to buy new clothes and supplied while he finds them a ride.
Marta takes her time, sifting through local wares and enjoying the vibrancy of the culture. It's risky, to be so relaxed, but it's worth it. There isn't much in the way of practical clothing, but their objective is to blend so Marta picks out an airy black sarong and top combo for herself then a plain white t-shirt and khakis for Aaron. With a little luck, they'll be able to pass for visiting tourists.
She meets up with Aaron at the room they've managed to rent out for the night, a tiny 8 by 8 space with just enough room for a bed. Sleeping arrangements have yet to be made.
His back is turned when she enters and Marta sets the bags down gingerly. She's startled him once before, ended up with his forearm to her throat in a flurry of movement and does not wish to repeat the experience. The guilt in his eyes had hurt more than the blow to her adam's apple.
"Did you find everything?" Aaron asks, casts her a look over his shoulder. Marta smiles and tosses him the clothes out of the bag. He catches them without looking and when he does look, lets out a bark of laughter.
"Do I look like a Khaki sort of guy?" Aaron laughs, finally turns to face her with a grin.
"You said to blend in, this is you blending." Marta says, she presses her lips into a mock scowl but the edges of her mouth turn up.
Aaron chuckles again and brushes past her to rifle through a bag. He catches her hand briefly as he goes.
An easy affection has built between them since Aaron viraled off, since Marta spent twelve long hours clutching his hand as he sweated and twisted against the sheets. The week on the fishing vessel had been slow and sweet. The small space meant they spent most of the day together and Marta had begun to look forward to their conversations with the shy joy of a teenager, awkward, fumbling, and just a little earnest. She was eager to know him beyond the identity of a number.
There was also an underlying thrum of physical tension. Electricity hovered between them and when he caught her hand or she clutched at his shoulder, the touches lingered.
Marta shakes her head to clear it, pulls out the outfit she'd bought and lays it out on the bed.
"Hey, how do you feel about going out for dinner tonight?" Aaron asks. His back is facing her, voice conversational.
"What do you mean? Like, in the open?" Marta balks at the idea. All those people, surely they would be caught on some form of video. Shopping had been different, she was careful not to linger anywhere long but eating meant lingering and lingering meant being vulnerable.
"I mean like, in a restaurant." Aaron says. "I passed a place today, very secluded, we'll be fine there." He catches sight of the apprehension on her face and turns to put his hands on her shoulders, dips his head to look her in the eye. "They won't be looking for us for at least a week, they have that other dead project to clean up and I heard Bourne made an appearance yesterday so we're the least of their worries. It'll be fine."
Marta, who's mouth had been slightly open, closes it tightly. Up close, Aaron has startlingly grey eyes, beautiful with blue hovering around the iris. Those grey eyes study her, searching her own brown ones for some answer. He seems nervous, tentative in his request.
"We don't have to though," his hands slip from her shoulders, "it's up to you, really. I just thought-"
"No, I do." Marta says suddenly, "I mean, I do want to go."
"Alright," Aaron smiles, "then you better get out of here so I can change."
Marta nods mutely and hastily gathers up her clothes to go to the bathroom, shutting the door just as Aaron peels his shirt over his head.
Under the flickering yellow light of the bathroom, Marta examines herself in the mirror. The sarong fits nicely but the top is a bit tight and she tugs the hem down over her belly button only for it to spring back up again.
Marta leans in toward the mirror to poke at the bags under her eyes. She's not at her best but she's also looked worse. The time spent running has left her thinner than usual but the sun has managed to dust her skin with a healthy glow.
Deciding that without make up or a proper hairbrush that nothing else could be done for her appearance, Marta leaves the bathroom. Surprisingly, Aaron is leaning next to the frame with his eyes closed.
"I guess the stereotypes about women and bathrooms are true." He says, moves to stand and opens his eyes. "Even in a place with nothing in there, you-" Aaron trails off in stunned silence.
Marta blushes as his eyes trail up and down her body, linger at her hips and stomach.
"I had trouble with the tap." She supplies, feels stupid the moment the words leave her.
"Oh. Um, right." Aaron casts his eyes safely down at his own feet and clears his throat. "Anyway, restaurant. Us. Going."
As it turns out, the restaurant Aaron found was indeed private. A local establishment that featured shut off rooms for each party, lighted by paper lanterns, and furnished with pillows. The owner of the restaurant, it was too small for waitresses to be required, showed them to a booth and took their orders with barely contained enthusiasm.
Marta looked around, dazed. It was fantastically beautiful, like something out of an exotic dream.
"Wow," she breathed.
"Not too bad, huh?" Aaron smirked across from her.
"Not too bad at all." Marta smiled.
The rest of the dinner continues in much the same fashion as their meetings on the boat. The conversation is easy and engaging. Their topics range from Marta's remarkable ability to guess pant sizes to the experiences of their childhoods. Painful memories sometimes emerge, laid bare on the table between plates of exotic noodles and rice and Marta is sometimes startled by the honesty he displays and she feels compelled to return. The intimacy building between them hangs in the air like fog.
Aaron pays the owner with bills from his pocket and leaves a generous tip. Outside, lanterns hang on poles attached to the docks that form the village streets.
The lighting is dim and Marta stumbles on a crooked plank. Aaron catches her elbow and steadies her but his hand doesn't leave when they resume their journey back. Marta is listening to Aaron talk about his first tour in the army but her head feels like it's full of bees. Butterflies have taken up residence in her stomach, making it hard to breathe.
Without realizing they'd arrived, Marta comes to a stop outside the door to their shared room. Aaron stands next to her, waiting. Underneath his white shirt, his chest rises and falls with robotic regularity. Slate grey eyes linger on her mouth.
It hits Marta that this moment of intense importance. She is standing on the edge of a cliff with the option to back away or take the plunge.
Heart in her throat, Marta takes Aaron's hand and draws him inside.
She breaks contact for a moment to shut the door with a resounding click then slips her hands back into his. They stand, motionless, gazing at their entwined fingers.
Aaron's thumb comes up to stroke hers in slow circles. Marta finds she cannot look away.
Slowly, slowly, he brings their joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to each of her knuckles. Marta lifts her eyes from their hands to his face and finds him staring back at her. Still slowly, he draws her arms up until she's forced to step forward into his chest. They're so close now that if she were to tilt her head up just an inch, their lips would meet.
Aaron releases her hands to slide his down her arms, up her neck, and over her cheeks. His palms feel like their burning and Marta doesn't think she's breathing anymore.
Aaron leans in gently and their lips brush.
Like a cannon has been set off in her head, Marta lurches forward to clutch at his shoulders and plunder his mouth. She nips at the soft lower lip and chases the bite with her tongue as he groans, slants his mouth across hers. It's a hot, slippery battle of tongues and teeth and lips.
One of Aaron's hands leaves it's place on her cheek, wandering down to find purchase on her waist. The other follows and lands on her ass, squeezes hard.
Marta breaks the kiss with a wild gasp and Aaron attacks her neck. He sucks and bites ruthlessly, places open mouth kisses on the marks after. Marta rakes her hands over his hair then down his back. She rucks up the plain white shirt until it reaches his armpits.
Following her lead, Aaron, tugs the plain black top over her head, freeing her breasts. Her only clean bra had been destroyed weeks ago. The cold air puckers her nipples and with the bed at the backs of his knees, Aaron flops down on it and drags her forward to kiss them. Unsatisfied with the distance between them, his hands find the back of Marta's thighs and haul them up onto either side of his hips.
Effectively in his lap, Marta whimpers and clutches Aaron's shoulders while he sucks and bites her chest. She grinds her hips forward into his and Aaron looks up from her breasts with a hot stare. He detaches from Marta's nipple with a lewd, wet pop and captures her mouth again.
Marta smiles into the kiss, leans back to draw the t-shirt over his head and survey her work.
He's got a fantastic body, that's for sure. Hard muscle on a lean frame, but his skin is dotted with half faded scars. Guilt presses Marta's heart down in her chest as she traces a long silver line across his ribs and over his chest. With his increased healing capabilities, the wound must have been extensive to have left such a scar, not to mention painful.
"Hey," Aaron murmurs, gathers her hands in his and brings them up between them, away from the marks.
"I'm sorry." Marta says. For what exactly, she doesn't know. For treating him like a number? For pursuing her goal with no regard for the consequences suffered by others? For being so incredibly helpless in this mad dash for safety?
Aaron kisses the corners of her mouth, breath warm and sweet from wine. "You didn't pull a hunting knife on me." He jokes. Marta doesn't laugh and Aaron sighs gently, "It's alright Marta, really. I'm-I'm grateful, for this." Aaron gestures with a sweep from his head to feet. "The scars are worth it."
Marta pursues her lips and casts her eyes down, not completely convinced.
Aaron drops her hands and for one terrifying moment she thinks he's rejected her but Aaron grabs her hips and rolls them. He presses her down into the mattress and kisses her soundly.
The sarong is pushed up her thighs and Marta blindly hooks them around his hips. Aaron's teeth catch her bottom lip and he tugs, urgent and demanding. He kisses her like it will convince her that he doesn't blame her for the life he now leads.
Marta cradles his face and tries to convey her regret, to convey how glad she is that he's here. Aaron responds fiercely, his hands find the tie to her skirt and tug it away, leaving her in plain white briefs. He pulls back on tohis knees to look at her. Grey eyes wander up and down Marta's body, from her legs then crotch, to her breasts and face. Aaron is unshy and meticulous in his examination. He trails his fingertips up her body, finally finding her hands to clasp them over her head. Pitched forward, Aaron's face is inches away from Marta's and looking up at him, she smiles shyly.
Things will not be easy. There are still miles of untouched hurts between them and the threat of assassination lingers but in this moment, Aaron smiles back and kisses her.
His hips press between hers and she can feel the his erection through the fabric of her panties. Marta grins wildly into Aaron's mouth as she thanks whatever forces be that the physical enhancement hadn't had any negative reproductive side effects.
Struggling with his belt, Marta pushes at his khakis with her feet until Aaron shucks them efficiently, taking his boxers with them. He's beautiful, naked. A perfect example of the male body in peak condition. Something hard and warm pokes impatiently at the inside of her thigh and Marta catches a glimpse of his, rather impressive, erection.
Distracted, a hand cups her through her panties causes Marta gasps suddenly. Aaron kisses her neck and strokes with an index finger up and down her core. It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for her to start thrashing and quivering under him.
"Aaron," Marta pants, "Aaron."
Aaron grins and finally tugs her underwear down her legs. His hips slot between her legs, pushing forward and up. Marta's eyes flutter open as he slides home.
Their eyes stay locked for a second, breathing harsh and shaking lightly, then Aaron gives the first push. He pulls back, almost out and thrusts back in to the hilt. The impact forces a shout from Marta who braces her hands against the wall behind.
"Shh," Aaron says with a strained laugh, kisses her under the jaw. He rests his weight on his elbows with his hands in her hair. Marta bites her lip to stop from crying out when he thrusts again.
Aaron quickly builds a rhythm. He pushes and pulls inside of her with smooth, powerful movements. His head drops to her neck and Marta pries one of her hands off the wall to thread it through his soft, blonde hair. If she looks down, she can seen his back, shoulder blades shifting and turning under his skin, and the hypnotic movement of his hips. But Marta feels like her neck has turned boneless and she flops back, unable to do more than feel.
There is an incredible feeling of intimacy in this, of closeness. With Aaron pressed against her from head to foot, Marta shudders with something other than pleasure as the coiling in her belly reaches a breaking point. One of Aaron's hands leave her hair to skirt down to where they're joined, rubs furious circles on her clit. The tension in Marta's thighs snaps, and she feels herself clench fiercely around him. The pleasure borders on pain as she rides it out.
Aaron's thrusts stutter and he drives impossibly deep before going rigid. He gasps into her neck and turns limp, dropping boneless across Marta's body.
They stay entwined for a while, catching their breath and recovering from the intensity together before Marta shoves weakly at Aaron's chest. He rolls off and she sucks in air. They lie side to side in silence for a moment.
"You're heavy." Marta says dumbly.
"You're small." Aaron shoots back.
Marta turns her head to see him looking at her, small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. She returns it warmly and reaches for his limp hand. Their fingers curl in, his tanned skin next to her milky complexion.
Her smile widens and Marta closes her eyes in relief, the weight of Aaron's hand firm in her own.