He finally reached the destination listed on his transfer papers. Stalking into his quad barracks for the first time, Jor glanced around, surprised to find the room empty. His quadmates must be at practice; after all, his shuttle had arrived late. Finding the empty room with his name listed on the door, along with three others, he tentatively stepped inside, relishing the solitude. Nothing like the crowded barracks before... but still, it seemed to be missing something. Wick. He missed Wick. They'd been together almost two years now, two turbulent years. And the past few weeks without her had been torture as he'd found himself separated from her for the first time in all those months.

Jor was asleep, one arm on the pillow above his head, the other across his stomach. He looked older than she remembered him, his jawline stronger. Muscles stood out on his arms. She felt as if she hadn't seen him in years.

The room was otherwise empty, she finally managed to note, and pulled her feet from where they rooted in the floor and slipped over to his bunk, kneeling beside him. His dark lashes lay on his cheeks, and his skin was darker. He must have had sun. That much sunlight on her would have burned her fair skin unmercifully, but he just soaked it up, made it part of himself.

She crept back to the cell door and locked it. The other three Quad members could wait. She had business to attend to. Returning to his bedside, she silently unlaced her boots and slipped in next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. His shirt sleeves were short, and she ran a light fingertip over his arm scar before resting her hand low on his stomach and closing her eyes.

He smiled then, exhaling softly as he rolled over in bed, until he faced her. Her eyes were closed, face still milky white, but her cheeks had the pale flush he knew meant she must still be awake. Running a hand along her jawline, Jor lifted her chin and kissed her on the lips, a gentle kiss that quickly roughened as he felt his lonely longing for her return. Oh, how he'd missed her...

She forced her fire down, took a deep silent breath or two and unfastened the tissue paper from the little parcel. A little silver box was nestled inside, and when she opened it she nearly quit breathing.

A ring, fashioned of some sort of seashell or coral, was nestled in the box. The red and offwhite jagged striations that composed the shell material looked like swirls of pale flame, and all she could do was look at it for a moment before she finally reached in and lifted it out. She started to slip it onto her right ring finger and hesitated. Was there use in pretending? No one could ever own her, could ever belong to her like her match. With a slow deliberate motion, she slipped the little ring onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly.

Her eyes widened, and his pupils dilated unevenly at his own nerve, but Jor's want for Wick only flamed brighter in his gaze as she lay in front of him, her pale skin almost translucent. Even after two years together, he'd never pushed her so far, holding himself back in the fear that her anger would ignite and he'd lose her. And despite their mutual enjoyment of fighting, stretching one another's limits to the breaking point, he'd known their relationship was one thing he shouldn't force.

Lowering his head, he kissed her gently on the chin, voice a growl of restrained longing. He wanted her... but he couldn't force her. "Spark... I won't hurt you... I just..." he faltered, kissing the bruises he'd given her with a tenderness he needed her to know. He wasn't going to push her, unless she gave herself willingly. So with a final brush of his lips against her throat, Jor let her go, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head with a swift grace that belied his internal struggle.

She looked at his profile, deep jade eyes avoiding her gaze, and then down at the hands in her lap. The ring he'd given her was still where she'd left it. She'd acknowledged that she held no illusions between her and her match; they were made for each other. What she kept fighting had to happen, she knew. What if he got tired of waiting? Wick knew a moment of unique uncertainty.

"Jor..." she began, and stopped. His eyes were arresting, the desire and frustration in them almost more than she could bear. She remembered the feel of his hands and lips on her skin and blushed. He seemed to know so much more than she, and that made her angry...but she couldn't seem to strike out at him, not when he was looking at her like that.

Then he noticed the ring he'd given her, it's pale flaming shell band twisted around her finger... her ring finger, on her left hand. His intake of breath was almost undetectable as his green eyes widened, softening to a muted forest as he pulled away. Taking her hands in his, he kissed her fingertips before dropping them into her lap again.

He found someone inside.

She was facing away from him, two long blond braids pinned at the nape of her neck. A little uncertain, Jor coughed, and she turned slowly to face him. Amber eyes met his forest green ones, and the smile faded from his face as she looked him up and down appraisingly. His own gaze turned serpentine as he stared right back, jaw clenched tightly as his eyes narrowed in silent calculation. Who was this?

This was supposed to be a new graduate from battleschool, but he looked at least her own age, seventeen. His file said he was just barely sixteen. Thick black curls covered his head, one sliding into his eyes as he stood there. He was muscular, even for a battleschool student, and there was grace there, none of the normal gawkishness that most of the younger boys displayed. When she finally dragged her eyes from his body to his face, she half-melted. Dark green eyes with long dark lashes looked at her half-defiantly. Was it her imagination, or did his jaw tense.

She smiled playfully at him, but he only stared back, locking his gaze on the far wall, avoiding her. "Yes sir, Jordan Windhaven. Nice to meet you, Commander Bianca." Smartest thing to do was to play the perfect soldier. Maybe, just maybe, she'd leave him alone.

Bianca was the last person he wanted to see right now.

The volatile, frustrated look in his eyes was exactly what she wanted to see.

She hadn't been expecting him back anytime soon after he'd left so quickly. Her last replacement hadn't yet shown up, and she wanted to be there to meet that one at least...but here was Jor, looking like he could use some of her attention. It wouldn't hurt until the new -

The knock at the door cooled her thoughts and she looked him over in a cursory manner. "You represent Wolf now, soldier," she said evenly. "You will present a neat and tidy appearance when you leave this barracks. Is that understood?"

She gave him a calculated frown, and then stepped past him, her hair brushing against his arm as she moved to the door and waved it open.

And so Jor straightened, his shoulders falling back into precise military stance as he murmured a quiet "Yessir," watching Bianca saunter from the room with guilty interest in his eyes. Bianca. Wick. Damnit, he was bewildered.

With a curt nod at the newcomer, Jor pulled his rumpled shirt over his head, muscles flexing across his back as he ran a hand through his tousled curls, pushing them away from his face. Wick's possessive brands were starkly evident, even against the dark tan of his throat, but he ignored the curious glance of his quadmate and stalked into his room. A few deft movements and his boots were relaced, a fresh shirt fastened securely around him, uniform straight. One less thing for Bianca to harangue him about now.

Jor stretched, sliding gracefully into his bunk. Laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his eyes slowly closed, his breathing slowing until he finally relaxed enough to think coherently. He was beyond confused... after two years together, he'd figured Wick would be ready to at least admit she loved him. Albeit, they had been two rather turbulent years, full of arguing and fighting, and more than once he'd lost his control and hurt her. But they could never stay away from one another for long, and bitter enraged words were quickly forgotten the moment they saw eachother again. Was this time any different.

Jor closed his eyes, just briefly, at Bianca's words. He'd grown, he knew for certain. After their entire scheme had gone to plan, Dante and Swede beaten, his revenge against Nathan complete as the boy was iced, Jor had changed. More cautious, not to hot-headed and impatient as before... more wary, more analytical and calculating. Oh, he'd certainly changed.

The only question was: Had Wick? Was she that much different from before? She still had the same fire, the same flame which had drawn him to her in the first place, the angry spirit he knew he could never control, never wanted to completely control. But maybe that same spirit kept her from changing... and he loved her. He didn't know anymore if she could ever love him.

Jor was asleep in his bunk. She relaxed a little. She'd probably just scared him off. He'd come around in due course. For now she was focused on his cellmate.

He wanted to see Wick. He missed her terribly, was absolutely terrified that she might not want to see him too. Unwilling to seek her out himself and discover whether or not she still wanted to be with him, Jor turned and set his steps toward the library. It was quiet there, peaceful, and at least he could think without worrying if Bianca was about to bounce in.

"Wick, we... should get going, soon. Mmmm, spark?" he said, his fingertips running over her back and making her tingle. She brought her head up then, to look at his face. He was slightly flushed...but nothing like he had been the last time, from what she could remember. She felt a little irritated. How had he learned to cope so quickly?