Apocalypse
Title: Apocalypse
Character/Pairing: Taylor/Wash, Jim
Word Count: 9655
Rating: MATURE
Warnings: violence, language, sex
Spoiler alert: None
Summary: Jim asks a simple question, and gets THIS in response.
Author's Note: Happy birthday, makesometime. Hope you find it of some interest, or at least a decent distraction.
apocalypse: an event of great importance, violence, etc, like the events described in the Apocalypse
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"You were a cop. You ever use a real gun, Shannon? Not these sonic deals; real ammunition."
"Handgun, a shotgun a couple times."
"Well have a seat. I'm in the sharing mood, and you're the only one that'll understand."
"Wash--"
"Was there."
And all because Jim had asked if Taylor had a little... extra going with his lieutenant. A simple, and as far as he was concerned innocent, question. "You don't have to say anything. I don't care one way or the other. It's just my cop curiosity that makes me ask questions."
"Sit down, Shannon."
Without room for argument or refusal, Jim sat across from Taylor at the long table in the command center. The sun was going down, casting long shadows through the windows, and making him very aware that Elisabeth would be wondering about him if this went on for too long. Or if he ended up dead and never made it back at all. Damn his curiosity.
"I know you didn't get all the details, but I'm sure you figured out Somalia was a bad time, for both me and Wash."
"I did pick up on that."
Taylor gave him a firm nod as if to say that was all he was ever going to hear about it so don't ask. "After that, as much as I think we both just wanted to pack our gear up and be done, we didn't. We're both soldiers; we've been doing it for so long, we'll never be able to just quit."
Jim nodded. "I know it's not the same thing, but a lot of cops are like that. They retire because they don't want to ride a desk, but just can't stop."
"You spend years waiting for death to come at you from every corner, you can't just turn it off."
Taylor had been friendly enough, but this conversation was something of a connection, a point of commonality between them. It allowed Jim to relax a little, fairly certain he wouldn't be killed for questioning Taylor's relationship with Wash. "Yeah, you've seen how much it's helped me."
They exchanged an easy smile from him, and a smirk from Taylor.
"You ever make it down to the caribbean?"
"Hell no. Valued my bank account and health too much for that."
"Smart man. So Wash and I, we fell off the horse, more like got shot off the horse, and then we got right back on it. First mission back, it's a beautiful caribbean vacation..."
---------- > 2139 < ----------
The storms were unrelenting for roughly nine months of the year, pounding rain transitioning to tropical storms to hurricanes until the ocean currents left the islands in the grip of sweltering heat and air so humid it was nearly a solid presence.
It was smack in the middle of this three month window they landed on the swampy shores of the once-beautiful St. Martinique.
"I really thing marines should be handling this, sir."
Already his feet were soaked, and Taylor felt very much the way Wash did. But this was their assignment, something to ease them back into things, he was assured, which he didn't believe at all. Just some trumped-up Costa Rican with connections and a couple years of university under his belt pretending he's going to rule some backwater jungle hill one day.
Under normal circumstances, that really was a job for the marines. These were not normal circumstances, unfortunately. The man had holed up in one of the old, crumbling resort facilities. Long abandoned, it was currently sinking, however slowly, into the island itself, used by the locals as makeshift housing during the worst of the storms. But their target was not using it as housing.
No, he was using it as a small chemical lab, a base of operations for his grander plans, no matter how doomed for failure they might be. Yes, no chance of success, but a man with an idea and the will to carry it out was dangerous in these troubled times, and so close to home soil, there was no choice but to eliminate him.
That was the reason Taylor, his right-hand-man Wash, and a small unit that had been cobbled together from his old one were slogging through three inches of smelly water, in air so humid it had physical weight, toward a wild and unforgiving tangle of overgrown tropical jungle.
"Wash, you bring that bug spray like I asked?"
"Used it all, sir. Sorry."
Every one of them was stripped down to their duck hunting suits and tank tops, arms exposed to the disease-carrying mosquitoes that thrived in such conditions. "Everyone had their boosters then?" Taylor's broad attempt at lightening the mood hardly penetrated the uncharitable atmosphere hanging over the group. He couldn't blame them a single bit.
"Sir?"
With a glance and raised eyebrow, he slowed for Wash to reach his side.
"What are we going to do about shelter? This entire island is under water; we can't set up camp."
"Then we better do this quick so we spend the night at the resort."
"Not encouraged, sir." She didn't wait for a response, just faded back to her place in their marching procession.
It ended up being a good two mile slog through constant water, getting in spots up to their knees, foliage, rotting vines hooking around ankles, hidden logs and rocks making footing treacherous, and the odd snake waiting in trees above them. Out of all the places he'd ever been in the world, all the various wars, peacekeeping actions, practice maneuvers, and special operations, this was the most inhospitable environment Taylor had ever experienced.
Other than wildlife and the sounds of their boots sloshing through water, the place was utterly still. People still lived on St. Martinique, somehow, but there was zero sign of civilization.
"If I didn't know better, sir, I'd say this place is dead."
"But we do know better, so keep sharp." It was easy to get fatigued, sloppy in this heat, exhaustion, mental and physical, setting in after they'd covered less than half the distance they needed to travel. "Pack getting heavy yet, Wash?"
"Light as a feather, sir."
"You must have put all your gear in mine then. It feels like I'm hauling bricks."
"Old age, sir."
"Always the diplomatic one."
Even talking took a toll on their energy reserves; breathing in the thick, moist air was a real effort all while trying not to inhale the vaguely sulphuric stench of decaying vegetation and stagnant water. No, this would not be looked back upon with any sort of fondness.
They maintained vocal silence until the crumbling ruin of the once-elaborate rose above the line of trees. A rusted fence once separated the the carefully manicured grounds of the expensive vacation resort and the wild jungle; it was now a tiger trap, pointed metal spears sunk into the mud and water. To step on one would be crippling. Trip and fall, most likely death.
And still, the silence around them, becoming more prominent as they got closer to the building. The stench was building as well, something beyond natural decay. The sharp sting of chemicals pierced their senses, causing eyes and noses to run.
"Sir, we need to get out of this water. It looks like he's just dumping his waste into the environment." Davis, spread more out to the left, was gesturing at the water near his feet.
The rest gathered to see what he was talking about, and saw a small pool gathering, the surface coated with an iridescent orange and purple skin. Something akin to oil was flowing through the water from a pipe that was jutting from the ground near a pile of gray rubble that had been a tiny maintenance shed in the far past.
Normally Taylor loathed the rebreathers; they were bulky and clumsy, hurt his visual range, limited the range of motion of his neck. But here, they suddenly seemed very attractive while whatever this toxic sludge was swirling around his feet, through his boots. The sharp stinging in his mucus membranes made sense, and hopefully their short exposure wasn't already too much.
"Get your masks on. No telling what we're walking through." Or into.
Actually, he had a pretty good idea what they were walking into. They'd brought the rebreathers with filters and tiny four hour oxygen tanks for a reason.
The building, as they grew closer, was no longer level. The east end they were approaching was definitely higher than the west, and all visible surfaces had stress fractures running through them as the ground became unstable beneath. It was looking like they might not find the dry ground they were anticipating inside after all.
The closest doorway was double-wide, no doors in sight, leading down a black hallway where the sun couldn't penetrate. If the air outside stunk, the breeze blowing out of the black tunnel was worse: rotting meat, the stench of corpses, but stronger than any of the soldiers had ever encountered. So strong, the smell was punching right through the filters of their masks.
There were no smart comments though; the indication of fresh dead meant imminent trouble, and this was an unfamiliar and dangerous environment. They had no time for jokes.
"West, take point with Wash with the IR."
"Sir."
Taylor fell back, giving up his place to West. As much confidence as he had in all these soldiers, he didn't like sitting in the middle, his men acting as a shield for him. That is a position he would never take; they might put themselves in front of him, but Taylor would never stand behind them for his own safety. "You know the layout, Wash?" From her position, she was leading them now.
"I do, sir."
Of course she did. "You know where to take us then." To say anything else would be insulting; each member of the unit was a seasoned soldier, experienced in stressful situations, specops, and hostile environments. Just because this place had a hundred times the number of rooms as an average hovel in a Burmese fishing village didn't mean they did things any differently.
This area was dry at least, though they could feel the sloping of the floor. This was dry, further ahead, they wouldn't be so fortunate, and there was very little that was worse than doing anything, even the smallest mundane camp things let alone a serious operation, when feet were soaked to the bone. All the more reason to get through this quickly.
Silent as a tomb other than their quiet footsteps, and just as dark as they moved further from the doorway. Wash was the first one to turn on her taclight, and the rest soon followed. It was enough to light their way, but did nothing to banish the odd sensation of being slowly buried alive in this place.
The silence and stillness, not only of the building, but the entire island since they'd landed, was starting to get to them. Several of the unit were obviously jumpy as evidenced by their lights swinging wildly from time to time. A scrape of a boot instead of a footstep had weapons up, fingers twitching, ready to begin firing.
Realistically, the hall was too narrow for the group, but they'd discussed splitting up during the planning stages, and Wash had been uncomfortable with that idea. The maze-like layout and sheer square footage they'd be required to cover made her dissatisfied with that as a solution. So they were all funneled down this hall together, paranoia ramping up by the second, every one of them feeling they were in a bad situation.
Faint light ahead filtered in from a side entry, giving them a little ambient light, though not enough to illuminate the area.
"Pool area," Wash offered. She'd studied the plans well.
When they got to the pool area, a vast open area with skylights mostly obscured by debris and leaf cover, they discovered what the intense smell was. And so intense, it was difficult to stand there for even a moment.
The crumbling pool, once pristine white and decorated with pale blue tile, was heaped with corpses in various states of decay, creating a black soup of rot. The buzz of insects was as loud as a car engine, the air thick with them in a cloud over the mound of decay.
Someone behind Taylor turned away, ripping off his mask, and vomited.
This explained the smell, but how they got there was a bigger mystery, and one more dangerous. "Wash? Can you get close enough to see what killed those people?"
She took two steps forward before hunching in on herself and shuddering. When she spoke, it was with effort as she held back bile. "Not chemical. No gunshots I can see. Looks like primitive weapons."
"Good enough." This was a spot not good to hang around in. For whatever reason, these people were put here by someone, and it didn't look like their target was the one that had done it. "Let's keep moving." To tell them to keep their eyes open, stay sharp, was unnecessary, not after seeing that mess.
It was starting to creep up the back of Taylor's neck, worm its way into his head that they knew where all the island inhabitants were. Not why there was this massacre yet, but why they'd not seen a living soul yet. There was no shame in admitting to himself that he was something bordering on terrified of finding all those people in whatever state they'd been reduced to to commit such acts of violence and depravity.
At point, Wash was moving with renewed speed, probably faster than was safe given the unfamiliar environment, but the place was getting to all of them. None of them wanted to be down there in the dark when whatever it was that had struck this island reared its head again.
He could see her light swinging back and forth at every dark doorway, West right there with the IR as an extra pair of high tech eyes, and still nothing. They had to be getting close to conference and dining halls, where they suspected the lab had been set up; much longer and someone was going to lose their shit.
Apparently, Wash missed a turn someplace, a pass-through of some service corridor, and instead of cutting across the resort, they were at the ass-end of the guest suites, and their once-dry hall had them back in ankle-deep water. There were endless doors, some intact, some hanging off their hinges, on either side of them now, far too many rooms to clear in a reasonable amount of time.
"Wash." Taylor kept his voice even, but there was no mistaking the underlying tension in it.
Wash swore quietly under her breath, turned to her left then right at the junction they were at. Instead of picking a direction, she stepped forward and kicked in the door directly in front of them. Her light swept across the room, revealing briefly rotting furniture that had been expensive at some point in time, but nothing else. they had a moment to breathe, if not entirely easily.
Entrusting their safety to everyone else, Wash put her rifle down, and was consulting a tiny hardshell plex, looking at the plans of the building once more. A door that was designed to be overlooked by guests was what they had missed. It bypassed the maze of guest hallways and went straight through the maintenance access to the pool, housekeeping, and even the security and POS network hub. She took an extra moment looking everything over once more, making sure she had it down this time, before she stowed the plex and retrieved her weapon.
A nod to Taylor, and he gave the order to head back the way they'd come with Wash at the point again. She made it two steps out the door when she froze.
Everyone read the body language and held still as well.
"West," she whispered.
The young man stood at her side and swept his IR scope down the hallway to his right, and then the left. That was where he stopped. "Shit. Movement. A lot of it, coming this way."
That was when they heard the same noise that had initially gotten Wash's attention. It started out as just a low groan, like someone in pain, that grew slowly in volume. It was joined by a high-pitched titter, an unhinged giggle. And then the sloshing of feet through water. Many feet.
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"You couldn't pay me all the money in the world to ever go back to that island, Shannon. Or swim in a pool. Got over the claustrophobia luckily."
"What did you do? I have a feeling the way we were trained to deal with an aggressive suspect is slightly different than how you were."
"Only one thing to do."
---------- > 2139 < ----------
Wash was kneeling and taking careful aim, firing conservatively. West was next to her doing the same.
As many of the unit that would fit were arranged in the hallway junction firing into the seemingly unending mass of crazed and bloodthirsty humanity shambling at them.
"How many are there?" West asked, notes of desperation in the sudden break of his voice, reduced to a kid frightened of the dark, but with good reason.
"What was the population of the island?" A glib answer, but Taylor was concerned. He wasn't entirely joking about the prospect of the entire population attacking them, and they weren't prepared for that kind of extended assault. Ammunition was a limited resource here, even if they only used one bullet per man. But even as he indulged in these concerns, both Wash's and West's weapons fell silent.
And it was truly silent and still. Nothing more moved.
They retreated back to the room they'd emerged from to regroup. They'd only engaged their attackers for a few minutes, but it had felt much longer facing the unknown.
"Sir? What the hell?"
He could only shake his head. Probably only a full autopsy on one of those people would give them any sort of answers, and he wasn't about to deal with that. "They die, just like anything else. That's all you need to concern yourself with."
"Yes, sir."
But Taylor saw shaking hands among the group , and found he couldn't blame them one bit.
"It's my fault, sir. When I kicked the door in. They must have heard it and came straight for us. I've ruined the entire mission." Wash's hands were steady, her face calm, expression blank, but there was crushing doubt in her statement. She might not look it, but to someone familiar with her, they could see how badly she'd been affected.
"Doesn't matter, Wash. We carry this out to whatever end it has. We still have a lab to find here."
Faces were grim as they started back to the hidden door, more alert now than before, not fooled by the silence. West was up with the IR again, but this time, Bouchard was at the rear also with IR, watching their backs.
They found the door, but were dismayed to see how narrow the corridor was behind it, really only allowing room for them to proceed down it single file. West looked to Wash.
"Straight down there until we reach the conference rooms."
A nod, and he took point.
The lights behind him were partially obscured by his body as they moved forward, unable to reveal the details of the room opening up before them. It was an unavoidable situation, and unavoidable outcome.
"Movement!" West's weapon lit up the space in front of him, revealing a sudden surge of dark, disease-ravaged faces lunging for him. The sounds all blend together, the gunfire, the screaming, the screeching, groaning, and laughing, and it's only when a warm splash of blood hits Wash in the face that things got serious.
She backpedaled, slamming into whoever was behind her, and fell on her ass. There was shouting behind her, but she didn't let that distract her, keeping her rifle up. If it had been at all quiet, the sound of her switching from triple shot burst to full automatic would have been clear as day. Here it was lost in the chaos until she pulled the trigger and lit the hall with a thirty second volley of incendiary fire from the barrel of her AK-450.
It couldn't have been thirty seconds, Taylor thought numbly. The box magazine only held a hundred rounds... Twelve seconds? Hell, the older he got the faster combat moved. Twelve seconds of turning that rush of people to paste, and there were more pushing through to get at them, crowding each other in the tight space.
Someone yelled right in his ear, "What the fuck are they?"
What difference did it make? "Fall back!" A very fine order in the grand scheme of things, but he couldn't leave Wash sitting in water, covering their retreat. He would not.
She'd already put a fresh magazine in her assault rifle and had it braced to repeat her previous course of action, still sitting and making no effort to change that position.
"Let's go, Wash! This is not the time for you to be a hero." With a frown, knowing talking wouldn't convince her, Taylor grabbed her by the shoulders and started dragging her back even as she started firing again. "I'm not leaving you behind so you might as well stand your ass up and walk!"
Eventually she did, but it was as they went, only when she had the opportunity to, never taking her eyes off the hallway in front of her. "West is gone, sir," she said at one point, when they were almost clear.
"I saw, now let's not end up like him."
Only when they were clear of the tiny corridor did she fully stand, and Taylor released her shoulders. The rest of the unit looked scared, a very rare thing. It was something he wouldn't normally admit to, and would never admit he'd given the order for except under official inquiry: "We're getting the hell out of here. Intel was incomplete; we'll call in a strike once we're on some kind of dry land." It wasn't even an order; it was an excuse, a justification, but none of them were going to call him on it.
They all just nodded, and resumed a shaky formation to head back the way they'd come in. This time with Wash at the point, there was no hesitation to her stride. Her weapon was up, but she was moving as if she didn't still have the blood of her fellow soldier on her face, as if there were no monsters waiting in the darkness.
They approached the pool area, no longer certain it was deserted but very sure it was something out of their deepest nightmares.
Wash was emotionless, even as she ripped the blood-smeared re-breather from her face and tossed it aside, displaying only grim determination. Right behind her, taking West's place, Taylor could hear her muttering something under her breath.
There was only one word he could make out: Somalia. He had known her at the peak of her skills, and while this mission had started out poorly, Taylor knew he was seeing her go a step beyond that, to a place very few soldiers could go. It was a little terrifying to see the way it transformed the face of a person he knew so well, those cold, dead eyes...
Not even bloodlust, which he'd seen plenty of over the years. No, she'd abandoned her humanity here in this hole of death and decay, a sacrifice to the unit's safety.
Without pause or hesitation, she turned at the pool entrance, unsurprised by the figures looming out of the gloom, unaffected by the still overwhelming stench. Precision was out the window as she began firing indiscriminately with the underslung shotgun. Half a dozen shots, spraying the room with 12 gauge steel shot, cutting the enemies in half, further added to the gore of the room.
Not seeing anything else moving, Wash turned and moved on, undaunted, toward the light of the outdoors, the others close at her back.
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"The place was a toxic sewer, poisoned in every way possible. All those people had been living, eating and drinking in that runoff."
"So they were what? Mutants?"
"Sick. They'd been doing everything to survive, and I've seen people do things that would make your stomach turn just to keep on living. You ever heard of kuru?"
Jim shook his head.
"Laughing sickness. They got it from eating infected tissue. Brain tissue. Of people. Can pass through a bite as well. Nasty business."
"Oh. Oh, I didn't need to know that."
Taylor managed a laugh as Jim turned green-gray. "Probably nothing you'll ever see, I hope. On top of that, they'd been poisoned. I couldn't tell you with what. Use your imagination, but that island was a dumping ground. Cooking it to glass was a mercy."
"The entire thing? Everyone? That's a little... cruel."
"Normally I would agree, but..." A pained expression and shake of the head. "They were walking dead, Shannon. Sick and diseased, not in their right minds. It's not something I look back on with any kind of pride."
Jim had only known one man in the military, one of the guys in his precinct had done his two years and not been able to deal with it, switched to police work. Tenacious and grouchy on the best of days, he'd hated failure of any kind. "So the guy you were looking for...?"
"He had already cleared out. Heard the commotion and hightailed it out in some jetboat he'd been stowing. We knew he'd find a new spot to set up shop, and be better hidden this time."
Jim still wasn't entirely sure how this was leading up to the answer of whether or not Taylor was sleeping with Wash, but wasn't going to interrupt..
Taylor seemed to have a definite purpose in this telling, no matter how meandering it might have been. "Ended up connecting with his backers in Cuba, and you know you can't just land on Cuban shores with a group of heavily armed Americans and not stir up a shitstorm big enough to block out the sun."
---------- > 2140 < ----------
The unit arrived a few at a time, posing as wealthy Americans traveling to Cuba to enjoy everything the island had to offer: mostly drugs and a lively sex trade tucked away in clubs in the biggest ports (Havana and Trinidad the most popular by far). If one had the money, Cuba was the place to sow some wild oats.
Taylor and Wash arrived as a couple, dressed casually, with their luggage packed to the brim with gear. Security was non-existent outside easily-bribed police on the dock, and that was only when they felt like questioning a foreign traveler. The pair passed them by without a second glance.
They knew their information to be good; their contact was reliable, but they wouldn't be able to reach him (or her). They had only the three pieces of info they'd been given to go on: their target would be in Havana. He would be there for two weeks. He was a frequent visitor to Club de Vicio.
They already knew his face, while he did not know theirs. This was to be quiet, carried out in private, with as few casualties as possible. If things got out of control, they'd be left high and dry in the hands of the Cuban authorities. And that was it; the rest of it was up to them.
Taylor and Wash checked in at the tiny hotel, barely more than a large adobe house, and immediately began to unpack, starting with their micro comms. They were the last to arrive over the span of three days, and first check of their communications got ten affirmative responses. This would be their only way to communicate; they could not meet outside of social situations, and they could never be seen as a group meeting in private.
"You don't expect me to actually do anything in this outfit, do you, sir?"
Taylor glanced from his own bag to see Wash holding up a slightly rumpled dress and spectacular pair of heels (in his opinion, though to tell Wash that would not help at all), and she did not appear pleased in the least. "Gotta look the part, Wash."
"The part being a very annoyed and pissed off soldier in a ridiculous outfit?"
"Tonight, yes. You know none of us want to be here any longer than we have to. I don't want to play this game, chicken in the middle of a crowd, with a man that doesn't give a damn about any of these people."
"You don't have to convince me. I'll wear the stupid dress."
Several hours later, after they'd gone over every piece of gear they'd brought, gone over as much of their plan as they could while looking over the layout of the club, it was finally time to get ready for a special night out. It was a relief to finally do this instead of simply talking and planning.
Taylor was first in the shower, giving up the small bathroom when he was done for Wash. He could dress easily in front of the cracked mirror over the dresser; it took no special effort to put on an ankle holster or tuck a five inch switchblade up his sleeve.
It took almost 45 minutes for Wash to emerge from the bathroom looking very little like the woman he was used to seeing.With her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, stray tendrils framing her subtly made-up face, and the dress that revealed nothing and everything at the same time, this was not Wash at all.
"Where'd you fit your sidearm?" is the only thing Taylor can say that will make any sense at the moment.
"Let's just say you're not the only one with a weapon between your legs."
With a sharp bark of laughter, he holds his arm out to her. "Now, Miss Washington, I believe we have a man to kill if you'd allow me to escort you."
Wash slipped her arm arm through his, and leaned on him heavily. "The honor would be mine, Mr. Taylor." They took one step to the door, and she almost fell over in the heels. "Fuck these shoes."
"Make it happen, Wash. We've got a job to do."
She did, just barely, getting her stride on their walk to the club so that by the time they arrived, she looked comfortable and natural in the high heels. As long as she wasn't expected to run, or act too quickly, she'd be fine. And from the looks she was getting from the men as they approached the doors, Wash was making quite an impact. Enough of one that when they got to the door, the bouncer allowed them straight in while eyeing her lasciviously.
"Remember," he whispered as they walked across the polished floors to a dark booth against the far wall, "drink, but slow. Don't look bored."
"I've been to a bar before."
"To kill a man?"
"Not specifically, but I've had trips end that way."
Taylor grinned, his hand on her lower back as he guided her into the booth. To any observer, they looked like an affluent, happy American couple by their clothes and body language. Nobody could see the tension in his arm as he helped Wash take her seat. He couldn't show it in his face, but every fiber of his being was on high alert, ready to act on a moment's notice.
It was still a little early; the crowd hadn't picked up just yet, and there was no music playing. People were slowly coming in, men and women, single and alone, but all dressed to show wealth and status. Three of the unit made it inside, taking up places around the club for the best view of the patrons, while the others waited hidden outside, monitoring all the entrances and exits.
If they had to sit there all night, waiting for the man to show, they would. But fortunately, it was less than thirty minutes before the target walked through the door and made his way directly to another booth, looking supremely confident amongst the crowd of foreigners.
The booth was the same as their own, in direct line of sight. Taylor turned to Wash, to give the appearance of speaking to her. "I have visual confirmation." It was imagination, but with those words spoken, the tension in the air seemed to ratchet up. They were all ready for the worst now.
Wash smiled at him as if he'd just said something flattering, and nodded. To keep up their ruse, her hand covered his on the tabletop, curling around his fingers.
"Someone get some music going here so we can end this right now." Without any distractions, too many eyes were landing on them, no matter how briefly, and Taylor could not match Wash's act, unable to muster a smile. When he looked back to the target, their eyes met for a moment, a single moment, but immediately there was suspicion on the target's face.
A man with a pretty woman in this club, and he wasn't smiling?
"Sorry about this, Wash," Taylor said quietly, breaking eye contact with the man.
"For wha--"
His mouth covered hers, and he pulled his hand free of her light grasp to cover her breast. There was only thing he was thinking of, and that was not to feel her reacting. Don't feel her returning the kiss, and don't take it any further, any deeper. But he has to put on a show, can't end it too soon, not while they're being watched.
But even with these thoughts running through his head, with the mission itself clear in the front of his mind, Taylor leaned into Wash, opening his mouth and seeking entrance to her own with his tongue. A shared groan when she allowed it, his hand still massaging her breast as she arched subtly into the contact.
A show, it was just a show.
Her hand slid up his arm, over his shoulder, and up his neck to scratch her nails lightly through his hair at the base of his skull. It raised goosebumps up his spine even as he repeatedly told himself it was an act. A damned convincing one, but still just an act.
Taylor ended the kiss and looked into Wash's eyes. They were somehow both cold and distant and ablaze with passion. Her thoughts must have been running along the same as his own, and he smiled. Smiled at her, for her, with her; they'd developed their own unspoken language, the way he had with Ayani. Here she was telling him to do what was necessary as she licked her lips.
A quick check out of the corner of his eye, and Taylor could see their target no longer watching. The man was now settled in with a topless woman to his left, and a bottle of champagne on the table in front of him. The lights changed, from a soft white glow to a multi-colored kaleidoscope that began to pulse with the music that was just kicking in.
This was the opportunity they'd been waiting for.
His mouth found her neck and the junction of her shoulder, the position allowing him to keep his eye on the target. The hand on her breast dropped to her thigh and slid along her leg until it found the hem of her dress. The music masked Wash's throaty groan as his fingers caressed her skin, tickled her inner thigh as they traveled under her dress toward the junction of her thighs. They spread slightly to accommodate his hand as it moved further in.
"Hold steady for me, Wash," he whispered, feeling her body shudder.
It was her hand on his thigh now, climbing until it found the solid bulge at his crotch, and stroked it firmly.
They were shuddering together, and Taylor's fingers were clumsy as they tried to release the small silenced pistol from its secure holster. "Keep your hand still," he warned, the pistol now free and pointed at the target from under the table.
It did, covering his erection, the heel of her hand pressed against the underside of his head through his clothing. It was only slightly less distracting than when her hand was moving.
Still kissing her neck, feeling her steady pulse under his tongue, the movement of her throat on his cheek as she swallowed thickly, Taylor lined up his shot. Tricky, but not impossible.
He moved back up to her mouth, and just before re-capturing it, looking into her eyes, whispered, "Keep steady." She met his mouth, tongues sliding against each other as the rest of her body remained still with his arm across her leg, keeping his aim true.
The suppressed pistol jumped in his hand once. Twice. Then twice more quickly.
Wash's hand began rubbing him once more.
Their kiss continued for a good minute, the lights and the music temporarily drowning out the thoughts of what they'd just done, forgetting that he was still holding the gun in his hand. The idea that this was a show, an act had been completely forgotten. The end of the kiss left them both breathless, staring intently at one another until Taylor finally looked over at the target.
The man was leaning heavily against the woman at his side. On the floor, hard to tell in the shifting light, was a rapidly growing pool of blood. Luck or talent, the femoral artery had been hit by one of Taylor's four shots. The target had bled out just that quickly.
"Nice shooting," Wash whispered, and pressed another kiss to his lips.
"Not too hot, is it?"
Her hand squeezed him. "Just hot enough, I'd say."
With his eyelids fluttering under the attention from her hand, he managed to get the pistol back in the holster under her dress. Brave and bold, encouraged by the success of the mission, for a moment he let his fingers find her covered heat, and briefly dance across it.
This small contact made her whole body jerk, and her hand tighten on him for a single moment of intense pleasure. He moaned through her gasp, and it took all his self-control to not delve his fingers beneath the material blocking his way.
It was only when they heard the woman at the target's table scream and start calling for help that they ended their "show", and pulled apart from one another, her flushed, him heaving. There were no thoughts of anything else for the moment, including the fact that they'd been observed by several others of the unit.
There was only this.
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"I don't expect you to understand. I know it sounds heartless, so soon after my wife, but it felt... good. Not exactly right, but a relief. A release." Taylor chuckled and looked down at his folded hands. "I don't think I have ever wanted a woman as badly as I did Wash when I killed that man."
Jim gave him a good-natured smirk, and shrugged. "Can't say I ever felt that way about my partner. He wasn't my type. But... it's complicated. I get that."
"That shit will sneak up on you, Shannon. I had no idea Wash was my type until I had to feel her up during an assassination attempt. Ayani forgive me."
"I'm sure she'd understand, sir."
---------- > 2140 < ----------
They returned to their room, unseen and silent, and waited in the darkness with their weapons at the ready. There was commotion outside, but it looked to be frightened tourists and curious locals in the street. Not a soul approached their hotel.
It was only when the foot traffic died down to the occasional drunken straggler did they relax. Taylor slid to the floor and leaned his head back against the wall, releasing the breath it felt like he had been holding the entire time.
"Hell of a thing, Wash."
"Yes, sir." She lifted the hem of the dress shamelessly, revealing a small but practical pair of underwear, and began to unstrap the holster. Her concentration was all on this simple task, acting as if she were alone in the room, even while his eyes were on her the entire time. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when the holster was finally off. Wash stood up straight and allowed the helm of the dress to fall back into place.
It was Taylor's turn to sigh, though not in relief.
"Something wrong, sir?"
He pushed himself up from his spot on the floor. "Absolutely, Wash." They regarded each other evenly, testing their attitudes and demeanors, analyzing the invisible boundaries that had been in place since they'd met. Taylor was seeing those boundaries crumble, found he didn't care much about them any longer. If he was interpreting what he saw in Wash's eyes correctly, she was waiting to follow his lead. "There is something very wrong."
"And what's that?"
A step forward to put himself in her personal space, and reached down to take hold of them hem of her dress. "This dress. It's not you." He lifted, waiting for her indication that this was unwanted, but it never came. Thighs revealed, underwear, midriff bared, bra exposed, and Wash lifted her arms to allow him to pull the dress over her head. "And we were interrupted by a screaming woman in the club."
That drew Wash's hand immediately to his fly. "Need to finish what we started... I'm in full agreement." Button undone, zipper down, his mouth crashed down on hers as her hand reached into his boxers to find him hard once again.
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"Told myself about a million times Ayani'd want me to be happy. The guilt never goes away, no matter how true I know it is. She'd kick my ass if she found out I never managed to shake it." Taylor leaned forward suddenly, elbows on the table. "Be thankful, Shannon, you'll never have to make that kind of decision and live with the consequences." He leaned back once more. "But that is a different story, and I don't know if I'll ever be ready to tell it."
---------- > 2140 < ----------
Wash's hands are cool in contrast to his flesh that feels absolutely blazing. In an effort to keep himself under a small thread of control, he murmured against her lips, "This is a good look for you."
"Undressed and ready to fuck?"
"I was just going with undressed, but yes."
She smiled and teased him with soft kisses as her fingers swiftly unbuttoned his shirt. When it was finally open, her index finger slid down the carved valley between his pectorals, gathering sweat as it went, down his stomach, and finally joined her other hand to push his pants and boxers to the floor.
Unashamed, unabashed, he was too old for nonsense; he knew how short life could be.
Unintimidated, unsubtle, she didn't play games; she knew to take advantage of the opportunities presented to her.
They had opened these gates slowly, slid inside together while nobody was watching, and here they were shutting and locking them behind. It could be easy, they could make it hard, but it was theirs to deal with.
"Enough with the banter and the teasing," Taylor said with a growl as he stripped his shirt off and dropped it to the floor. "Up here, Wash. You've got no business on the floor." With a firm hold on her elbow, he hauled her to her feet. "You don't get in that position for any man."
With her hand tracing the muscles of his arm while she looked confidently into his fierce blue gaze, Wash grinned. "Except for you?" A thoughtful hum before she nodded. "Except for you." Without waiting for a response, she turned her back to him. "Undo me."
The bra, of course, but it was a stream of images that surged forth in his head of just how he'd like to see her undone, with his mouth, his fingers, his cock, to leave her smiling and satiated. Much practice allowed him to unhook her bra while keeping his concentration firmly on the fantasy images seducing his consciousness.
With the unhooking duties seen to, he swept aside her hair to kiss down her neck, ran his hands down her sides, over her ribs, to settle on her hips. "Why didn't we do this sooner?"
Wash dropped the bra to the floor, and turned in his arms. "You know why."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You waited for the right time. She'd understand."
Taylor's fingers clutched at her hips briefly, pulling her flush against him. "I know she would, but..."
Fingers trailing down his cheek, lips almost touching, Wash said, "Stop blaming yourself. I bet her ghost is standing right in that corner wondering why we're not in bed together yet." Wash leaned in to give him a soft kiss, teasing with her tongue across his lips. "We shouldn't disappoint her."
When she leaned in for another kiss, he pulled back. "What do we do when we get back? Wash, this will never fly with the brass."
"We keep it quiet, and if someone finds out... I'll take the blame. I'll give up my commission."
---------- > 2136 < ----------
"I don't make soldiers make promises. Just tell me you'll do your best."
"Of course I will."
"Take care of him, Alicia."
"I always do, ma'am."
Ayani Taylor was a woman that didn't mince words, she didn't stall, she didn't beat around the bush. "That's not what I mean. Though I do thank you for that."
Wash waited. Prodding the woman would accomplish nothing; when Ayani was ready to say what she meant, she would.
With a heavy sigh, Ayani shook her head. "If something should happen to me, you need to take care of him."
"Ma'am, why would anything happen to you? And... I don't know if I could do what you're suggesting."
"Alicia, I see the way you look at him. Do you not see how he looks at you?"
---------- > 2140 < ----------
"I told her I would do my best, and my best is doing what it takes, whatever it takes. If that's becoming a civilian again, it's what I'll do. Because I told her I would."
One of his hands abandoned her hip to thread his fingers through her hair. "I'd never make you do that."
She smirked. "I know you wouldn't. You couldn't. I'd do it because I wanted to."
"Woman, you are impossible." The words matched neither his tone, nor the look in his eyes of unleashed adoration. Without warning, his hand delved into her underwear to take a handful of her ass and squeezed. "Fine, but only because I'm too tired to resist."
"Too tired? Not going to last long?"
"Too tired of life. You're the only thing stopping me from sleeping for two days until we evac."
With her arms looped around his neck, Wash stepped back, pulling him with her. "Much better idea with what to do for two days, starting right now. Or do I need to put that holster back on?"
It was his turn to grin. "It'll just be in the way."
With their desire at a low simmer, it made the next kiss they shared more meaningful, both very aware of what was at stake now. What was at stake, but also what was ahead, how deep these exposed veins of attraction ran.
The base of each of these was respect, as a soldier, as a human being. Then the gratitude, and the loyalty, the physical attraction, and finally the sad desperation for human contact brought about by a shared tragedy. After so many years, there was no separating any of these, not from them, not from each other.
Taylor switched his hand from her hair, from cradling her head to the back of her thigh, and lifted her in the middle of the kiss. An uncivilized squeal of surprise escaped Wash's mouth as he dropped her to the bed, making the rickety headboard slam against the wall.
That squeal transformed to laughter at the noise. "You'll bother the neighbors."
"They should stuff some cotton in their ears now then. It's going to get a lot noisier."
"Lots more banging?"
"For a few minutes."
The back and forth was a long practiced thing between them, and only in the most dire of situations did they not verbally rib each other, a practiced game of wits with the bonus effect of making the other smile.
It made it strangely easy to to forget this woman was one he'd never touched in any way other than a professional fashion before this night too. Never seen her less dressed than a tank top and her BDUs before this moment, never wanted her in quite this way before, and certainly never felt like it was allowed even after Ayani's death.
For just a moment he looked down at her, and her up at him. "You sure about this, Wash?"
"Never more sure in my life. You?"
Ayani's ghost in the corner... "I'm good. For the first time since."
Wash held out her arms, inviting him in, and embraced him when he settled between her legs. Soft kisses heated up quickly, with open, questing mouths and probing tongues., as Wash unsubtly thrust her hips up at him.
"I'm tired of waiting. It's been an hour since I wanted to get you off in the club."
The back of his hand stroked her cheek until she turned to kiss his knuckles. "Alicia, I've been waiting a year."
There was a long pause as they looked at one another. "Why are you waiting now then?" she said finally, and covered his hand with her own.
"Because I love you, and I needed you to know that. This is more than just sex to me." He kissed her slack-with-surprise lips, then smiled. "One day I'm gonna marry you."
Another long pause, the surprise on her face fading, then Wash smiled. "OK."
---------- > 2142 < ----------
They exchanged a brief kiss in front of the army chaplain and two trusted witnesses. The paperwork wouldn't be filed for another day, giving them plenty of time to disappear before the situation became an issue.
"For the honeymoon," Taylor said as he smiled at Wash, "I was thinking 85 million years in the past. How's that sound? Got a little blue portal ready to take us there and everything."
"Sounds like an adventure."
---------- > 2140 < ----------
Taylor dragged her underwear down her legs, and tossed it aside. Now holding Wash's ankle up, he started planting kisses there, moving down her calf slowly.
She wiggled, trying to free herself of his hold, and snorted with laughter. "That tickles, god damn it." Managing to jerk her leg free, Wash took hold of his wrist and tugged. "Get down here."
A controlled fall, stopping himself with his forearms before he crushed her, their mouths came together almost immediately. Not that there was much doubt before, but when she thrust her hips up at him, there was no mistaking the cue, no way to misinterpret this signal.
Taylor laughed a little into this kiss that neither of them wanted to end. Signal? She'd just agreed to marry him. Why the hell did he need a signal now? "This will take a little getting used to," he said, voice gruff with both desire and embarrassment, though Wash would never understand why. "Been too used to wanting you and never having you to just..."
Oh how her voice could undo him with just two words.
"Fuck me." Both an end to his sentence and a command.
There was no way to refuse. Propping himself up on one hand, he guided himself with the other into her. He took the briefest moment revel in the feeling, enjoy the way her head tipped back slightly as she hooked her legs around him, before he started a slow and gentle rhythm. It wouldn't last long, not with so much build-up between them, but it was enough to start.
Wash met and matched his every move, with her hands drifting down his chest, clutching his arms, or threading through his short hair to pull his head down for a heated kiss that was all sloppy lips and tongue because the feeling of the moment was too overwhelming for finesse.
Suddenly he pulled back and groaned, an almost pained look on his face. "Wash?"
"Yes." It wasn't a question; it was the answer.
Taylor pulled her hips tight against him, with his eyebrows knitting together, and started to thrust in earnest. Hard, unrelenting jerkings of his hips as he got a handhold on her ass cheek, driving her backwards into the headboard.
Undaunted by his change in demeanor, Wash stretched her arms out behind her, to brace herself and thrust back at him. The effect was almost immediate for her, as tiny moans escaped her with every collision of their bodies.
His rhythm faltered as he let her back down, his hands releasing her so he could lean down over her in the much more ordinary missionary position. Except he didn't stay that way for long, hands on either side of her head. Taylor sat back up, lifted one of Wash's legs straight up to rest on his shoulder, then squeezed her breast nearly to the point of pain as his pace doubled.
There was little she could do in this position other than ride it out, until he lifted her other leg to his shoulder, raising her body just enough to the proper angle to drive relentlessly into her, striking that spot to bring sparks to life within her belly over and over again.
He leaned forward, the intensity between them rising as he changed her positioning slightly. One hand next to her head, all of his weight on it, the other back on her breast and squeezing as he increased the pace, breaking any rhythm they'd established.
Starting to suck in air with the exertion, Taylor leaned in further, harder, as Wash let loose with a loud, quavering moan. Every muscle grew taut, from her hands gripping the rickety headboard to her calves, making her arch against him and return his movement as best she could in her unstable position.
With her breaking under and around him, Taylor didn't last another fifteen seconds, huffing and grunting until he was overtaken as well. Removing himself artlessly, he flopped to the bed, diagonal to Wash's position, her legs falling over his, as they both lay there motionless, gathering their breath.
Even when Wash's breathing settled and slowed, she didn't move except for her hand searching out his own and taking hold.
After a few minutes in these positions together, he moved, laying out next to her, and pulling the sheet up and over them.
Wash rolled over to her side, toward him. His arm wrapped around her waist as she rest her head on his shoulder and settled her hand on his chest. The nighttime sounds of the city outside drifted in the open window with the breeze as the two fell asleep.
---------- > 2149 < ----------
"I'm not asking your permission, Shannon. I'm telling you this as a courtesy, and a warning. Now you can keep your nose out of our business, and it'll stay nice and pretty just the way it is."
"Of course." Jim just touched the end of his nose, as if testing that it was still in place. "I'd never..."
Taylor smiled. "Oh, not by me. Compared to Wash when she's angry, I'm a god damned cupcake. Just keep that in mind."
"Will do, sir." He stood, unsure if he was eager to hurry home and tell Liz, or keep it to himself and be assured his nose would stay straight and unbroken. He'd seen Taylor angry, and he'd seen Wash annoyed...
Jim decided to keep it to himself.
END