She turned to smile at Jor, and he smirked back at her, but there was an underlying tension that detracted from his teasing expression. In a little less than six hours, she would be standing in the living room of his parents' house in Maui to meet them for the first time. She wasn't looking forward to that with any great joy; from what Jor had told her, they were hardly the type of people she would go out of her way to spend time with, but his apprehension was much heavier than hers.

Replacing the ring on the index finger of her right hand, she idly ran a fingertip over the palefire ring on her left. The little shell ring was exactly as it had been when he'd first given it to her, and she rarely removed it. She flexed her fingers and burrowed her left hand back under Jor's right, and the rest of the short hop to the shuttle terminal was spent in silence. It wasn't until they'd left the shuttle at the terminal and she was weaving her way through the masses of people that thronged the landing area that it really began to sink in.

Finished. Command School was complete, and they'd made it through Graduation with flying colors, and the weight of the IF ring on her right hand was still unfamiliar after two months on the Transport. If they had been closely monitored during the course of their education, the trip home was anything but. No one seemed to care where they spent their days...or nights. Wick had the wonderful sensation of waking up with Jor grinning down at her, emerald eyes dancing, or Jor still sleeping, black lashes resting on his tanned cheeks, nearly every morning during that journey, and it was enough to banish any lingering thoughts of possible separation from her match.

No one but you for me, matchman...

She followed him through the airport and right up to the flight attendant seating the plane to Maui. Jor just gave his name, and the girl smiled and let him pass. Wick raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She knew from what he'd told her that the Windhavens were well off. Perhaps one of his parents had called ahead and informed the staff...but no boarding pass, nothing, and with her as well?

The attendants inside were equally accommodating, and before long they were seated comfortably in first class in huge leather chairs that Wick could tuck her feet into. Wick had only been on a few plane rides before, not counting the shuttles to and from Battle School, but even on her Earthside leave after Battle School, her father hadn't bothered to send her first class. The attendants were all smiling at Jor as they passed. Wick had learned to control her immediate impulse to narrow her eyes, but the constant attention was beginning to test her nerves.

It was a foreign concept after virtually an entire lifetime of training in the art of war. From Battle School to Command School, it had been more than thirteen years of constant military studies, of nullo flight, of battles and conflicts, revenge and... love. Six years together with Wick, now, and as they finally stepped from the shuttle onto Earth for the first time in what seemed like ages, Jor finally began to realize just what was happening.

Graduated.

The two months on the transport from Command School back to Earth had been peaceful and free; both entirely too short and entirely too long at the same time. Too short, he would think, every morning he woke with Wick nestled beside him in his bunk. Too long, he would sigh, when all he wanted was to get this leave over with and return to the world of the International Fleet, the only world they knew with any certainty anymore. His last two weeks at home in Maui had been pure torture, and with the added tension of meeting Wick's family for the first time, Jor was more than a little anxious to be shot back into space once more.

Graduated.

Together they traveled from the shuttle to the adjacent airport, moving with the practiced ease and calm demeanor of officer of the International Fleet. Eyes followed as they strode past; bearings straight, that recognizable military-trained precision and poise evident even as Jor strode with his same lazy grace through the crowds, Wick's hand still in his. He knew their departing gate, and gave his name to the flight attendant, not at all surprised to see her smile and motion for them to enter the plane.

It was luxurious compared to the rather spartan, government constructed transport vessel, and Jor lounged in the leather seat beside Wick. He was still lost in his disbelief and buried excitement at seeing the beaches of his home once more that he hardly noticed what Wick soon pointed out quietly. "You certainly are popular, eh, matchman?" He glanced at her for a moment, confused, until another flight attendant appeared at his side to offer them refreshments with a brilliant smile.

Jor only waved his hand to dismiss her with familiarity. If she was talking about the obvious deference given him, then... well, he certainly would have expected her to be comfortable with the same. Her family was far wealthier than his, although compared to the public recognition throughout the islands, perhaps not as well known. But his parents were attorneys, politicians, and seemed to know virtually everyone. This was merely a courtesy he had grown used to, and it all came back, even after those years of having to fight for respect while at school. Here... it was a given.

The flight was long, and she woke near the end when the plane banked a little too sharply. Jor had also been sleeping, and woke just as she did, and she took a moment to appreciate him as he came awake. He seemed so comfortable, so at home in the leather chairs of first class...but then, he would. His family was obviously well-known here, and that gave her a sort of comfort.

He was taller now, so much taller than when she'd met him in BattleSchool. He was 6'1, tall and broad-shouldered and muscular, exquisitely defined and graceful, black curls falling over his forehead, tanned skin and green eyes making a startling contrast on his handsome face. Whatever his last name, her match would have drawn attention. She had steeled herself to it in Command School, but that was familiar ground, and this was not.

Four long years had passed since he'd last been home, and he'd relished that time away, reluctant to return despite his almost overwhelming desire for the beaches and the sun. That was the only part he'd missed; never his parents, only the warmth and light that was all too noticeably artificial to him at Command School. There was a short moment of uncomfortable gravity readjustment as the plane hit a spot of turbulence, but they soon touched down onto the airport runway, and that unease was heightened.

Until they taxied to their gate, and a flight attendant appeared at his side to tap his arm and hand him an envelope. "For you, Master Windhaven, from your father." He gave her a curt nod, Wick moving to settle against him as he opened the packet and emptied its contents into his lap. A little note that he quickly read, announcing that they'd best be home for dinner at 1900hrs. He slid that into his pocket as the other item came into view.

Keys.

His eyes widened and a grin slowly spread across his face as he tilted his head to smile broadly at Wick. Just like his father to send the one thing he knew his mother despised, and even after years in space, he knew he'd feel home once more. Jor picked them up carefully and tucked them into his front uniform pocket with a content pat. Keys. Keys... to his bike.

The delay was only increasing his eagerness to be free from the plane, and Jor finally became so impatient that he stood, grabbing Wick's hand in his and tugging her to her feet. "C'mon spark. We're going now." She gave him a frown, which he ignored as they strode through the first class cabin, approaching the woman who stood at the doorway exit of the plane.

"Excuse me, miss, but we're in a bit of a hurry. Could we leave now?" The flight attendant managed a flustered smile and nodded, glancing at Wick before meeting his steady gaze once more. "Yes, Mister Windhaven, certainly."

Jor gave his thanks and strode from the plane, Wick in tow. His steps were brisk, and it wasn't until Wick pulled back on his hand and signaled for him to slow down that he realized he'd been walking faster as the main terminal exit came closer. He only gave her another smile, and slowed his steps to match her pace as they strolled through the airport and out toward the valet overhang.

The moment he opened the door and stepped outside, he squeezed her fingers tightly and grinned. His superbike, just as he remembered it. Still completely matte black, dark leather seats and the two racers helmets hung from the handlebars. He dropped her hand and practically skipped over with excitement, climbing into the front seat, and patting the one behind him as he slid the helmet over his head and extended the other toward her.

Her eyes were just beginning to adjust when he was tugging her again, and she followed, the spots clearing from her eyes as she looked up at his face. His gaze was fastened elsewhere, and she turned to look at what had captivated him. People cleared out of her way, and she got her first look. Her eyes widened as the last of the glare's after-effects cleared. Black, solid matte black, smooth and streamlined...and powerful. Jor was already pulling on his helmet, and she took the second as he climbed onto it, holding it with her fingers through the visorspace as she admired Jor on the beautiful machine. How like Jordan to pick something so like himself. He must have gotten it on his shore leave before Command School.

"Want a ride, spark?" he asked playfully, his eyes sparkling a happy brilliant green as he flipped the visor down. The rest of the guests at the valet station were staring at them, and her own eyes lit as she smiled widely in approval, tossed her hair back and pulled the second helmet on, fastening it as she slipped onto the bike behind him and slid the visor into place. She tightened her arms around his waist and giggled in delight as he started the bike, the motor's voice a deep rumbling purr that blotted out the surrounding conversation and made talking almost impossible. "I hope you drive this better than you pilot, match," she said teasingly above the engine.

In answer, he revved and accelerated away from the curb much too fast, clearing cars and pedestrians and buildings with dizzying precision until they broke away from the last of the airport traffic and gained the open highway. His balance was perfect, and it was pure joy to move with him as they dodged and passed the other vehicles. Brilliant blue sky and bright sunlight reflected off the shimmering blue expanse she could see in a distant line to her right, and she pressed tighter against him.

It was a long ride to his town, but he could have driven forever and been perfectly content. Still, he was beginning to overheat in his dark green IF uniform, and even with the wind it was too warm. As they approached a tiny province, slowing their speed to accomodate the sudden traffic and pedestrians everywhere, he pulled to the side and stopped the bike before a strip of stores. Eyes were upon them as they both slid to the ground, pulling the helmets off and shaking their damp hair off their faces. Wick smiled at him wickedly, and Jor leaned to give her a kiss before taking her hand and walking them down the sidewalk toward a small shop nearby.

Their shopping trip went quickly. The owner recognized him immediately, and they were seated as a few attendants brought an array of items for them to choose from. Accustomed to the humid heat of the islands, he was pleased to lose the stiff uniform of the International Fleet in favor of loose clothing; shorts and t-shirts and all the beach gear he was used to wearing. Wick was more tentative, and he let her wander around and choose her own clothing before she appeared beside him again, arms full and a grin on her face.

Everything was wrapped and boxed, and the clerk promised to have it delivered by closing time to his home. Jor merely nodded and walked out with Wick in tow, back to the bike, and back on the road. She laughed as he weaved the bike through the sparsely housed upscale section of his hometown, once jumping over a curb and landing in someone's front lawn, and he sped off in a whirl of leaves and grass and roaring engines. Finally the large estate on the top of the hill came into view, the stately brick mansion looming large as they came up the stone-paved drive and stopped before the main house.

Someone stepped out to take the helmets and bike from him, and Jor gave Wick an encouraging smile as he squared his shoulders and began to walk up the long expanse of stairs that led into the foyer of his home.

The house was very well kept. A little servant-heavy, perhaps, but new money liked to stretch its wings, and judging by the recent decor, the Windhavens were still enjoying their maiden flight. So many synthetics...the house was as Jor had depicted his parents; expensive, greedy and cold, full of the gaudier appointments of wealth without the feel of home. His parents were still far too enamored of their money and what it could buy them to take it comfortably for granted as one born to it would. As Jor did.

Jor...

The motorcycle ride and the hot sun had made her sweat under her uniform, and she was eager to get out of it. Jor looked equally uncomfortable. Their new clothing would be delivered well before the set date with his parents. For now she wanted three things: to be clean, to be comfortable, and to wipe the resigned unease off Jordan's face.

A few servants moved out of their way, and he could sense their curiosity as they passed. Preparing to gossip, he was sure, but cared less what either they or his parents thought. He hadn't lived here long enough to really know anyone, and if his parents were so concerned with whatever societal standings they had, he'd be more than happy to take Wick and his bike and never come back. Finally they reached the doorway he still knew to be his, and Jor opened the door for her, shoving her inside as he locked the door behind them and smiled.

Once again, just the same as he remembered it. The huge waterbed-- he liked to feel as if he were floating on the ocean in his sleep-- the double french doors leading to his balcony, the plaques and medals from military academy still on his walls, besides the pictures of him in uniform, standing stiffly and only five years old. Jor tugged the sweaty shirt from over his head, tossing it to the floor as he left Wick and stalked into the bathroom, fiddling around with the massive jacuzzi bath, filling it with lukewarm water as he grabbed some towels and then poked his head out of the doorway to grin at Wick.

She reached out a hand to touch it hesitantly. It moved again, like...water.

Jor's choice, of course. What an interesting combination they made. He loved the water, swimming in it, sleeping on it, looking at it. She preferred a harsher element. She remembered Jor's face when he'd beaten her so badly in Fox. She brought the fire out in him to play with because she loved it, the way it lit his eyes and made them dance...but she had learned a measure of gentleness as well. She imagined Jor as a young boy, closing his eyes to pretend he was still in the ocean, and smiled softly. Tenderness did not come often to Wick, and when he peeked out as his trousers hit the floor at her feet, that smile was instantly a wickedly anticipating grin.

Jor could have died happy at that moment, but Wick's teeth grazing the skin of his throat was a perfectly wonderful reason to stay alive. He tugged her into his lap as he reclined in the tub, kissing her neck and torso as her fingers tightened in his hair. It was if he couldn't get enough of her, running his hands down her back, lips against hers as he practically fought to kiss her more roughly, steam from the water causing his hair to curl more, and her silky strands to stick to her cheeks. He laughed as he pushed them away, cupping her face delicately in his hands as he ran his eyes over her and smiled to himself.

So beautiful, and he had only a single thought. Just a little longer until you can ask...

The water was barely warm, but Jor's heat and her own made the steam thicker as she brought her hands to his shoulders to pull herself closer, and she felt rather than saw his eyes widen and then fall shut as she slid tightly against him. Too impatient to wait, she savored him only a moment before she moved against, pressing her wet cheek to his before pulling her upper body away, the movement teasing a small gasp from him as she flipped her hair out of her eyes and watched him try to catch his breath, fingers tight on his shoulders.

Ask her now...

He was still panting as his eyes opened to meet hers, faces flushed as he smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close. His heart was pounding in his chest, and her little whispered sighs against his wet skin were cool and soothing. Jor grinned and kissed her cheek, before sliding his lips to hers and speaking quietly. "Breathe with me..."

Then he took a deep breath and pressed his mouth over hers, his body above hers as he dunked them both underwater. She struggled briefly before he tightened his arms around her and exhaled into her mouth, eyes closed as they shared life together as they'd never done before. Together they floated beneath the bubbling surface, his hands on her back and hers around his neck as they lay suspended, before he brought them into the air again and pulled away, eyes still closed as he held her close.

...breathe?

He pressed his mouth against hers then, sealing his lips against hers. Her eyes flew open as she felt their orientation altering, but she had no time to react before the water covered them. Confusion and rising fear made her struggle, and she wrenched ineffectively against his iron grip as the roar of the jets underwater eclipsed her hearing, the ceiling above her blurred and indistinct around Jor's face above her. His eyes were closed, and unreasoning panic was just beginning to overwhelm her when his breath flowed into her.

The sudden oxygen rush made her dizzy, and her eyes fell shut. Jordan...

She lay there in his arms under the water, entirely at his command, and when he brought them up she remained curled against him, unmoving, her eyes still shut, her hands flat on his broad chest. If Wick had not belonged to him before, she was now completely his creature, and content to be nothing more for the moment. Jor had threatened her with death and given her life and shared himself to an unbearable degree, and all within the past few minutes, and she had no defense, no artifice to help her regain her individuality.

And she wanted nothing more than to remain that way. It was so simple, no thoughts but those of Jor, the ones he wished her to have, no emotion but her love, to be his, an extension of his will and nothing more...

It faded, and Wick slowly woke again. The fire raged within her, but she made no sound, no movement. She was too shaken to be properly furious with herself. She felt disarmed and helpless, and that enraged her...but it was Jor. Anyone else who'd affected her a fraction of this amount she would have attacked immediately for stripping her of shielding so easily...but it wasn't anyone else. It was Jor, and the fury died away and left her with only a frightened, desperate devotion as she clung to him. Without him...

She was silent, but he could feel her heart beating rapidly, and smiled as he hugged her tightly. At that moment, he could have forgotten the world and been entirely content. There was no one but himself and Wick, just then, and he was blissfully happy until a knock sounded on his bedroom door.

Jor checked his watch; it couldn't be his parents, so their packages must have arrived. With obvious reluctance he disentangled himself from her embrace, giving her a tender kiss that she finally broke with breathless sighs. Climbing from the bath, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stalked to the door, a maid on the other side with wide eyes and the wrapped parcels they'd bought. Jor fought the urge to roll his eyes and took the clothing before locking the door behind himself again, and moving toward his bed to lay the boxes down.

A quiet sound made him turn his head in the direction of the bathroom again, and he smiled softly as Wick appeared, silky hair dripping water onto her bare shoulders. He waited until she reached his side before wrapping his arms around her once more, kissing her lips and her throat with gentle abandon. Soon...

"Better get dressed, love, before dinner. And I suppose we ought to dress nicely..." he wrinkled his nose and gave her a mock frown, leaning in to whisper. "Although I'd rather not get dressed at all..." She grinned, and he kissed her again before returning to the assembled boxes. "Let's see here..."

Dress shirt. He found one in a package, crisp and white and pressed. Toweling off, Jor slipped into the shirt, rolling the sleeves up to just above his elbows before buttoning the front and searching for more. Khaki trousers, so much more comfortable than the stiff uniforms of the IF, completed his attire, and he slipped his boots back on before turning to smile at Wick.

She'd dressed herself in long light-blue sundress that nearly matched the ice of her eyes, pale skin shining milky in the sunlight that streamed through his windows. Jor smiled brightly at her, emerald eyes sparkling with pride as he took in her slender figure, her delicate features, and he imagined her in another sort of dress, someday...

But even dreams must end... or be postponed, and he took her hand before leading her toward the doorway. "Just stay by me, and we'll get through this, okay? You alright?" Wick nodded tentative assent, and he kissed her again just as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Down the stairs again they walked, until a familiar bass voice called his name from behind, and they turned together to see his father in the entranceway to the dining hall. The similarities between them were unmistakeable; same black curly hair; albeit, his father's had greyed, but not much; same emerald eyes, same tall broad figures and resolute features. His mother appeared then from behind, both dressed in austere suits that only accentuated the expensive coldness of their souls and their lifestyles. Her long, black-curled hair was wrapped in a twist, and her sharp smile as she surveyed them both made his own eyes narrow slightly.

"Well, Jordan, welcome home. We knew you were bringing a... friend... but please introduce us to this young lady." Chantel Windhaven glanced to her husband with an unreadable expression, and Jor's fingers tightened around Wick's before he finally spoke in a polite, dismissive tone. "This is Moira Callenstrom. Wick, my parents; Robert and Chantel."

Or not, judging from the expression on his mother's face.

"I already told you that, Mother. Wick and I will be leaving to spend our last week of leave with her family, before we return to the command post." Jor didn't miss the glance that passed between his parents, nor had the greedy sparkle in their eyes at the mention of the Callenstrom family gone unnoticed. They certainly hadn't changed, not at all, and he wondered if they ever would. Not likely.

Robert eyed Wick slowly before giving Jor a veiled, approving smirk, but Jor only narrowed his eyes dangerously at his father, speaking curtly just as his mother did. She gave him an irritated frown but he ignored them both and smiled quietly at Wick. "Shouldn't we be eating soon? We have some business to attend to after dinner, if that doesn't disrupt any of your plans."

"Oh, business? Isn't this your vacation though, Jordan?" His mother raised an eyebrow and gave Wick a raking glance before Jor restrained a scowl and continued. "Yes, mother. It's our vacation, and we're going to go enjoy it. So you'll have to excuse us then. I hope you don't mind." His tone was cold as he tightened his fingers around Wick's before leading the way toward the dining hall, leaving his parents behind in the foyer.

Chantel and Robert waited until the pair were out of eyesight and earshot before smiling in approval at one another and speaking quietly, neither trying to hide nor trying to broadcast what they were saying. "Not much. At least she's rich." Robert nodded. "Yes. Smart boy. He can always find a girlfriend." They shared a smirk before striding into the room after them, and seated themselves around the massive mahogany table.

That irritated him, just slightly, but his fire was subdued at the thought of what he was going to do next. With mock anger he scowled, rolling from the bed and tugging roughly on her wrist as she stumbled to the floor. Picking her up, Jor carried her over to the bathroom and dropped her inside, shutting and lock the door between them with a very audible click.

He could practically feel her disbelief and anger radiating from behind that closed door, but he had other things on his mind as he made his way over toward his closet. Deep inside, hidden in a large box behind a curtain of his old military uniforms, he pulled out his surprise. A grin lit his face as he imagined what Wick would think, and Jor set about preparing the room with an excited smile and a little twinkle in his eyes. She would love it.

Four matches later, he tugged the curtains closed and turned off the overhead lamp, the room bathed in darkness and dancing with flickering light. Shadows flitted around and over his features as he closed his eyes briefly, before striding back over to the bathroom door and knocking on it to catch Wick's attention.

Then there was true silence, and a teasing scent of candlewax that made her mouth water...and a loud knock on the door that made her jump back. Her breath was coming faster now, and as he slipped inside and grabbed her she struggled to keep her calm. His hand covered her eyes and he pulled her out into the room, and the scent grew incredibly strong. The room was warmer than it had been, and her skin soaked in that warmth like a sponge. She could feel it all around her, could hear the whispering of hundreds of tongues of flame all breathing and dancing together, and she already knew what she would see when he dropped his hand, but it didn't hit her any less for that.

Her soul soared to the kindred spirit her lover had surrounded her with, and she felt faint, but her eyes were wide as she took in the rows and layers of candles he'd filled the room with, every viable surface crowded with them, stands of them, racks of them, an ocean of flickering candle fire that shimmered and swayed with the slightest breath of air but gave no sign of dying. The tortured shadow in the room writhed and gave ground before the living light and retreated to the corners for sanctuary.

"Oh..." she said, the sound a simple expression of desire as she stepped forward. The candles danced in accordance with her movement as she stirred the air currents, but none came close to blowing out, and she approached the small stand at the foot of the bed and stared down into the bowl of water atop it.

Two candles floated within it, their fire reflecting off the interior of the bowl and the surface of the water, and she nudged one gently with a fingertip to watch it float lazily across the tiny lake and bump into the other side with a nearly inaudible thump. Jordan was so clever...

Ask her now...

She was trembling and watching him with wide, reverent eyes, and he took a tentative step forward just a she whispered. "Match... it's..." Her voice might have trailed away, but the love in her gaze began to burn away the last remnants of his fear and doubt, and he too tried to speak. "Spark, will..."

He couldn't do it. His throat choked, and he found himself unable to even make a sound as they stood within the warm embrace of the fiery guardians that surrounded them, staring at one another with all the silent words they'd ever need. Jor stepped closer and reached behind her back to slowly unzip her dress, letting it fall to the floor in a liquid cascade of pale-ice silk. She continued to watch the room intently as he removed his own clothing before lifting her gently in his arms and laying her on the bed, crawling in beside her.

White skin flushed pale pink, and she opened her eyes and looked over the man before her hungrily, the slight surprise and confusion on his face making her smirk as she took in the room, the mass of tiny cousins that were whispering and dancing and watching with her. This was his gift, the homage he paid to her spirit, and she cast her eyes back to him and over him, admiring the firelight on his skin, the shadows it chased to the hollow of his throat and the edges of his body.

She curled into a crouch, crawling over him to sit on his muscled abdomen and leaning over to kiss him roughly as she tangled her hands in his pretty black curls. She broke it and pressed his face to her throat, eyes narrowing as he bit her, focusing on one of the candles above the head of the bed. She freed a hand from his hair as he set another mark on her and reached out to it, smothered the flame with her bare fingers, and pulled away from him to sit up. Her ice eyes were on his as she slipped her burned fingertip between his lips, and her own parted as his tongue grazed the little wound. The candle she'd killed was in her other hand, and he hissed and bit down involuntarily, his muscles tightening under her as she let the white wax drip onto the dark skin of his chest as she slid tightly against his hips.

Mine...

His hand came up to flick the candle from Wick's hand carelessly, predatorial smirk on his features as her own glacier eyes danced. It was with lazy grace that he grabbed her upper arm in tight fingers and tugged her down for a rough kiss, arm encircling her waist as he rolled them over in bed and paused, kneeling above her. He took a long moment to stare down at her flushed face, her fire lending ferocity to her smile, and Jor's eyes narrowed as he lowered his head to her torso, kissing and licking at her skin with slow, deliberate motions. She hissed with pleasure as he bit her throat, leaving another brand of possession, and he growled as he held her wrists tightly at her sides and took her.

Mine...

That sensation tore a growl from his throat, and Jor relinquished his grip on her hands only to wrap his arms around her slender body, her legs folding around his waist, fingers digging into her skin as they moved together. He was blind to the fire flickering around them, oblivious to the current their movements made, unaware of anything and everything except for the sight of her beneath him, eyes locked on one another. There was no world.

There was only Wick.

Sated, the fire was easy to subdue, and it coiled in on itself as Wick opened her eyes to breathe unevenly against Jor's cheek. There was pain, even after he moved away and let her coil next to him, reminiscent of the first time, but she treasured it, a constant reminder of their union and the intensity of his devotion.

The flickering light seemed mellow now instead of demanding, and she slid fingertips across his chest to pry the wax away from his skin, still soft from the heat of his body. There wasn't even a mark. Wick was oddly disappointed, though she hadn't intended to hurt him. Pushing herself up on a shaky arm, she kissed him, his throat, but she was reluctant to bruise the smooth skin of his neck. She had no idea why. It had never given her pause before.

Her arm gave, and she fell back to coil next to him, dragging light fingernails in tiny circles on the inside of his thigh, her ankle hooked over his. They were damp with sweat, but the fire kept them warm, and Wick closed her eyes and tried to pretend this wouldn't end, that Jorry's parents weren't going to be there in the morning, that this horrible synthetic house was theirs, and theirs alone...but it wasn't. And their journey wasn't yet half done.

There was still her family to deal with. Or, more specifically, her father.

But not right now.

Jor wished. He wished with all his heart, swore to give everything he had, if that dream could come true. Their own home. Their own life, together. Just he and Wick, forever. That thought had carried him all through Command School, had given him strength those times when they fought, when danger threatened her, whenever life seemed too difficult. Giving her that ring so long ago had been a promise to himself that someday, he would trade it in for a ring of another sort, and she could truly become his and no one elses.

His eyes were closed as they lay together in his bed, hot damp skin touching as his arms cradled her gently. Her fingertips on his thigh made him smile and shift as his muscles there tensed, tickled by her light caresses, and he broke his own happily brooding silence to laugh softly and smile tenderly at her as he rolled onto his side and faced her. "I know. Someday, my spark..."

Someday all the world will be ours, his eyes seemed to say, seemed to promise. Someday we'll be united forever, and nothing will ever take you from me again. Just you, and me, and the universe, my love. Only us, and no one else will matter...

Jor jumped as well, but then frowned and looked at the door in irritation. She started to ask him who it was and then changed her mind. Who else could it be? One of his parents, one of the servants...either way, she wasn't moving, and she let Jor go only reluctantly.

Many of the candles were spent, and the room was growing cooler. The night might be warm, but the window was closed, and the house was almost icy after the soothing caress of the candles, and Wick slipped under the blanket, the surface of the bed moving with her, and curled into the warm spot Jor left. The bed itself seemed chill, and she remembered ruefully that it was probably filled with water. How did one make it warmer? Surely Jor wouldn't want it like this...

He was drawing on his trousers, and she snuggled into the pillow and watched him, even the mundane activity of dressing a pleasure to watch as he moved with practiced, graceful motion and approached the door. Half-dressed as he was, he still opened the door very little, and Wick tilted her head to listen to the conversation.

"What is it, mother?" he asked in a low, irritated voice. His mother's imitation friendly voice filtered in, intentionally pitched loud enough for her to hear clearly. "We had the guest bedroom prepared for your friend, since it's getting late and..." "Thank you, Mother, but we've bunked together for years." interrupted Jor, his voice moving to the dangerous calm she knew by heart, and she smiled. She knew that tone. He wasn't going to let her go anywhere. "I'm sure we'll be just fine."

His mother wasn't giving up that easily, and she tried to peek around him as he spoke. "Jordan, you know that-" "Goodnight, Mother," he said with angry finality, blocking her view with his own body and closing the door practically in his mother's face, the lock clicking firmly into place before he came back to join her, pausing to strip off the trousers once again while she admired him openly before slipping to bed beside her.

He was angry, she could tell. Having him angry when she wanted him that way suited her perfectly, but having him angry over something stupid his mother said was not at all to her liking, so she busied herself with searching for the heating controls for the bed for a moment. She finally located the dial on the side and moved it, and the bed began to warm immediately.

Her eyes were closed, and his fell shut too as the slight chill of the room, and the warmth of his bed combined with the exhausting events of the day to put them both into a deep sleep, entangled and content...

...and Jor woke the next morning after that deep, dreamless sleep that only those at peace sleep, with Wick cradled against him. Sun was streaming through the panes of his windows, blocks of light interposed on his floor, the shadows from the racks of candles stretching long and slim, and Jor smiled to himself as Wick stirred in the bed.

What he wouldn't give to wake this way for the rest of his life.

That delicate face was flushed with warmth, and her glacier eyes flickered open as he leaned to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Morning, love..." he smiled sleepily as she yawned and grinned at him, running a hand along his long arm scar before rolling him toward her for a kiss. Jor tickled her sides gently and admired her unabashedly, nipping at her throat as he threw the blankets off of them and pounced, wrestling in the bed as she giggled.

He wasn't expecting her smirk and a pillow launched straight into his face, and Jor fell back, laughing as she pummeled him mercilessly and bounced on his stomach as he tried to fight back. For a few minutes nothing could be heard but the muted thwacks of their pillows, and their giggling as they tumbled off the bed and fought on the floor, Jor chasing Wick around the room, until a knock came on the door and they paused, breathing hard and flushed.

"Who is it?" Jor eyed Wick with a wicked grin, prepared to run after her again. "Jordan, your father and I are expecting you downstairs for breakfast, before we take you for the day." He didn't like the sound of that you, which seemed to exclude any mention of Wick. And as if he would go anywhere without her by his side. She raised an eyebrow at him as he rolled his eyes in only half-feigned irritation before speaking again. "We are going to the beach today, Mother, and we don't want breakfast right now. Thank you, though, and you and father have a good time. See you tonight, Mother."

"Jordan! What have I..." Jor strode over to the door and hit his closed fist against it, hearing his mother's annoyed hiss from the other side. He leaned close and spoke quietly, again that low tone that brooked no argument. "I said, we're not going to go with you, and we're not hungry. It's our shore leave, not yours, and we'll spend it however we want to. Goodbye."

God. Did they always have to interrupt their fun? Jor was decidedly angry at he turned from the door to face Wick again, and she was watching him intently as he sighed and rubbed his face with tired irritation. "Sorry, spark, I wish they'd..." She didn't give him a chance to answer as she hit him again, and it wasn't until an hour later that they had crawled from his bed once more and gotten dressed, still giggling as he opened his bedroom door and led her into the corridor.

Her mother had never let her venture out into the sun for very long. She'd done it once, after, before she'd been shipped to BattleSchool. A little over an hour in the sun had left her burnt and itching. She did not relish repeating the experience. She was here to be with Jordan, and because she knew it would make him happy, but she was unable to hide her reluctance to leave the shade of the little shelter where he'd parked his bike.

He dismounted easily, and she followed, but when he took her hand she let him drag her a few steps and then came to a halt. He turned to look at her quizzically, and she met his eyes with irritated frustration in her own. She could go anyway. She might be miserable for a few days, but she could go anyway. She took another hesitant step, and then stopped again. He looked like he was about to frown, and she looked away, up into the blue, blue sky with no clouds at all and then out at the expanse of white sand, the sea visible as a blue line in the distance, and then back to him, a somewhat uncertain look on her features.

My delicate little...

"I thought ahead." Jor dropped her hand and retreated back toward his bike. Seeing the ocean again after so long had put aside most of his rational thought, and he'd forgotten the bundle he'd packed in his haste to get to water. Unstrapping the bag from the bike's seat, he looped the strap over one of his shoulders and took hold of her hand again, twining his fingers in hers and tugging her gently toward the sand. "Let's go."

Their walk was silent, but comfortable. The cove was deserted, and beautiful, the weather simply perfect on this day. Cliffs rose on one side of the hollow, trees on the other, and there was nothing and no one in sight save an expanse of empty sand and empty sea, and themselves.

A light breeze teased him with the scent of salt, and as they got nearer to the ocean, he couldn't help but walk faster. Soon his pace outmatched Wick's, and only when she tugged on him did he realize he was close to running. The smile still plastered on his face grew into a broad grin, and with a playfullness he hadn't felt in too long, Jor swept Wick into his arms and ran down the beach, his feet pounding in the sand and his captive giggling.

They finally reached the water's edge, and he sank to his knees, letting Wick slide to the ground beside him. Shrugging the bag from his back, he opened it, and began to rummage inside. A pair of sunglasses came out first, and he handed them to Wick before continuing his exploration. A blanket was next, and he let her spread it out on the sand as he retrieved a bottle and glanced up at her with an appraising gleam in his happy emerald eyes. Already she was pink, that delicate porcelain skin flushed with the heat and the sun, and he drew her into his lap and began to rub lotion over her arms, her back, her face, sneaking his hands along her body as much as she would let him before she slapped at his hands and gave him a mock-reproving stare. Jor just bit at her neck and stood up suddenly, Wick landing with a little thump onto the blanket, and he stripped the shirt and shorts from himself, standing clad in his swimming trunks and stretching lazily in the sunshine.

His touch grew bolder, and she was immediately in control again, smirking up at him and slapping his hands away when he got too enthusiastic. He bit her neck and then dumped her on the towel as he got up, and she squeaked involuntarily as she landed. She shaded her eyes and looked up in time to see him strip off most of his clothing and admired his form as he grinned down at her. "Mmmm, spark, isn't this nice? Was getting tired of bein' cooped up in that metal box up there." A slightly meaner look came into his grin, and her own faded a bit in response. She knew that look, and when he picked her up she immediately began struggling. "I think we need to swim!"

She froze for a second, and then struggled harder, but giggling was bubbling to the surface, making it hard for her to sound as authoritative as she wanted to. "Jor...Jordan...don't you dare, matchman, don't you dare or I'll -"

She was cut off when he dumped her into the warm surf, and she gasped and flailed and coughed up water and when he plucked her out again (after making sure she was thoroughly soaked) she screeched and overbalanced them. The splash when they came down wetted them both pretty effectively, but she sat on his muscled stomach and washed water over his face with one arm just to see him sputter.

I'm going to ask you soon, spark, and you're going to say you will, and then you'll always be mine.

Jor tilted his chin down to hers and kissed her.

She tasted sweet and salty, and he couldn't get enough, using his weight to keep her immobile as he tried to reign himself in and found he couldn't. His fingers touched her hungrily, and the higher functions of his brain were just shutting down when she made a sound in the back of her throat, and jolted him back to awareness. Not here. Later. They still had four days left here in Maui; four days that he was determined to make absolutely perfect. He wanted her to know as much peace as she could, before they were submitted to a week with her father. Not that he would let such a visit last that long if it made Wick unhappy. If things grew out of hand, Jor was more than willing to spirit her away to some place where neither of their families could find them before they moved to Fleetcom.

It was with this thought in mind that he pulled away and grinned, slightly out of breath, and tickled her sides lightly. It took her a moment of staring at him sharply before she began to giggle, and he swept her up and carried her out into the water again. It was easy to hold her, for she weighed little, and he floated on his back with her wrapped in his arms. The current lapped over them, and he closed his eyes and let her go, relaxed enough to hover there in weightless contentment.

And then Wick dunked him.

He spluttered and coughed and spit water everywhere, erupting in a tangle of flailing arms and legs as he tried to stay above the surface and failed. His eyes snapped open, and he twisted underwater, grabbing Wick's ankle and tugging her down with him. She made a gurgling sound of anger, and when he hauled her back into the air, they were both gasping and glaring, laugher behind their furious scowls as he slid his hands to familiar places and kissed her again.

Sunset found them curled together on the blanket, and it was beautiful, but for the first time in her life, Wick was sorry to see the sun go. She was a little burned in the places where the chemical had worn thin, but it had been worth it, to spend a day in the sun with Jordan by her side. He, by contrast, was darker, his eyes glittering as she met them with her own, and she placed her own white hand over his large dark one as it curved over her pale stomach.

No one but you for me, matchman...

Her contentment was marred only by the knowledge that this would end, and they would go to Jordan's house and deal with his parents again, and that before they could escape and return to space duty they would have to see her family as well.

When they finally rose to leave, she slipped an arm around Jor's waist, and he one around her shoulders, and she grinned up at him in the dusky light as he smirked down at her. They would survive it all; his parents, her father. And then there would be only them and her work. Wick loved them both.

She didn't become aware of the sand until a few minutes into their ride home.

By the time they arrived at the house, she was thoroughly uncomfortable, and Jordan smirked at her knowingly with enough amusement to make her punch him in the arm. In retaliation, he dragged her up to his room and threw her into the huge bathtub and proceeded to remove the sand, despite her indignant struggles. That led to more conflict, and by the time they heard his parents return home, they were coiled against each other in Jor's bed, half-asleep and entirely unsuitable for company. Chantel's icepick voice drilled into her head as she called a loud greeting to Jordan from the bottom story, and Wick sighed and buried her face against his muscular shoulder.

Life was too sweet right now to be interrupted by petty concerns such as parents and committment and responsibility and duty. Nothing would have pleased him more than to simply stay; on the beach, in the surf, in his bed, it did not matter. Anywhere would have suited him, as long as Wick was there, curled against him and letting him hold her with the tired gentleness he was rarely allowed to display. Her presence made his anger softer, and he made a muffled growl of agreement as he rolled to kneel above her, tugging the blanket with him to shield them from the world.

In their little tent it was dark, but he could feel her breath on his skin, and it tickled, enough that he laughed quietly and snuck his fingers across her stomach. Her sleepy yawn turned to a giggle, and he'd long forgotten about anything else and was concentrating instead on kissing her when his mother's voice sounded once more. It was closer this time, right outside his door, and he could hear the rattling of his doorknob as she made an attempt to enter their sanctuary.

Now Jor wanted nothing more than to sneak out the window and leave with Wick to spend their shoreleave alone.

"Jordan!" Christ, that tone. He knew it too well, and despite an advantage of nearly two feet and more than a hundred pounds, he was not in the mood to face the repercussions if he didn't answer. It wasn't that Jor was afraid of his mother. It was only that he knew better.

He kissed Wick again, nipped her gently, and then crawled clumsily from the bed, taking the blanket with him. She was curled in the sheets as he glanced back with an irritated frown, and with as much regal composure as he could muster, Jor wrapped himself in his makeshift gown and crossed the room. The door opened, he slipped into the hallway, and thus the argument began.

Ten long, godforsaken minutes later, he reentered his bedroom, locking the door again before he even turned around. Wick was watching him when he finally managed to meet her gaze, and he sighed and growled and would have stamped his feet like a frustrated child if he hadn't already thrown himself back onto the bed. His arm snaked out to curl around Wick's waist, and he tugged her to him, tangling them in the coverings as he pressed his lips to her throat and enjoyed the luxury of kissing her before he spoke.

She woke to an exquistely unpleasant noise.

"Jordan?" There was a firm, steady knocking on the bedroom door that was just irregular enough to be incredibly annoying, and Wick hissed her frustration at being forced into consciousness by Chantel's voice. It wasn't a scratchy voice, but it had a piercing quality to it that set her teeth on edge. She lay as still as she could and tried to ignore it.

"Jordan, this is your mother. Your father and I have been waiting for two hours, and it's time for you to get up. Jordan? Jordan, we're going to be late for our appointment with the dressmaker if you don't get up now. Jordan!" The irregular knocking continued throughout the little speech, and at the final Jordan, Wick kicked back the covers and launched herself to a sitting position to glare openly at the door.

I really hate that woman.

A glance at Jor's face told her he was awake, his features drawn in frustrated discomfort as his mother continued her assault on their peace. Damn them, this was their leave. Her temper snapped, and she reached over to the side of the bed and grabbed one of Jor's boots and hurled it at the door with all the force she could.

It hit the wood with a very loud, very satisfying thunk, and the knocking and the voice stopped for almost a full four blissful seconds before Chantel began again, even more insistently. Wick took one more look at Jor and bounced out of the bed, not bothering to dress as she strode to the door.

"Chantel," she said evenly, examining the mark the boot had made on the expensive wood closely, "we are awake, and we will join you shortly. Thank you for waking us." She smiled sweetly at the door, and she heard Chantel exhale in a huff and then turn away and march down the hall, heels clicking angrily all the way to the stairs.

Wick waited until the woman's footsteps went out of earshot and then hit the door as hard as she could with the side of her fist, right on the spot the boot had marked, and then turned and stalked back to the bed. Jor was still curled up, as if he could make his mother disappear by sheer force of will, and coiled against his back, her body tense with unreleased fury.

Then a familiar body was against his, and a voice spoke shortly. "Match. I do not like your mother."
He smiled despite himself and rolled over to tug her to him, scratching his fingers gently down her back and kissing insistently at her throat as he made an annoyed laugh of agreement and growled. "Me either. Maybe we should just stay..."

Ten minutes peace was all they were granted before his mother returned and the tirade began again, and he huffed and kicked the blankets from off of them and briefly buried his face under his pillow. Wick poked him as the voice rose in a demanding pitch from outside his door, and he had no choice but to tumble out of bed. They were both doing their best to ignore her as they dressed, but at last his decidedly small stock of patience ran dry, and he flung open the door and crossed his arms and glared. "Fine. We are ready. Now will you stop?"

Chantel raised an eyebrow at Jor in irritation, flicked her gaze over Wick briefly, and narrowed her eyes. "It is about time. Honestly, I don't know why we even sent you to the military if you weren't even taught punctuality. We could have had you polished up and set in a favorable match with some sort of political family here, but no, you wanted to g--" Jor tuned out the rest of her speech; he'd heard it a million times before, and the incredulous anger behind Wick's studiously placid mask was beginning to anger him. Damn his mother. Damn his family, and hers, and everyone who was getting in their way. He slowed his pace, and they followed behind his mother as she flicked her hands and nagged incessantly, and he even managed to sneak a kiss before they reached the lower chambers and his father stepped out to greet them.

Gods. Jor did not want to leave Wick.

"Moira and I will be going to the dressmakers, Robert, and then to see if Javier can do anything decent with her appearance before the ball tomorrow night. Please find Jordan some appropriate uniform; I swear, they do absolutely nothing for them in the millitary, I'd expect something better for all the money we paid to get him into that academy. And all so he could slouch around the entire morning and make me late! You, Moira, hurry up now, we're going to miss our appointment. Don't look at me like that, Jordan. You just go with your father and he'll get you dressed as a proper Windhaven should appear at a function such as this." All this was said in a single breath, and before Jor had the opportunity to say a word, his mother had latched onto Wick and was almost propelling her out the door. She glanced back, and his gaze was just as pitiful and pleading. They were thinking the exact same thing.

Save me.

The next moment, his father elbowed him and nodded in Wick's direction, giving him a wink and another nudge. Jor just restrained a glare and shrugged his father away, following with uncharacteristic docility as he was led outside to where his father's car waited. He watched as his mother's chaffeur escorted Wick away, and he couldn't help but sigh before resigning himself to a day of absolute torture.

The dressmaker's studio was sandwiched between an art gallery and an expensive private condominium, and had no dresses or other adornment in the lobby. It was merely an empty room, with a vase balanced precariously on a single slender black marble leg in the center of the room and several large mirrors, underscored by floral arrangements on shelves beneath them. All the decorating was done in varying pastel shades of yellow and white, with a few black accents, and Wick hated it immediately.

The effeminate man that came out immediately to meet them when Chantel entered gave an impossibly wide smile and took Chantel's hand practically reverently, which Chantel tolerated like a cardinal.

"Chantel, my dear, it's been too long!" He kissed her hand, and she gave a nearly half-repressed grimace of distaste and withdrew it from his grasp. "And who is this you've brought with you?" he continued, his manner not at all dampened as he turned a critical gaze on Wick, making careful note of the expression on Chantel's face before fixing his own with a similar, though more subdued, look of disdain.

"One of my son's... friends," Chantel replied, and Wick's chin came up as she watched them watch her, disinterest the only discernible emotion on her face. Oh, she hated this woman, with her haughty manner far too heavily employed to ever be considered noble. She wondered if the chemicals in her hair would make it burn green.

"Apparently, she'll be accompanying us to the embassy ball. We have to dress her." They both ran their eyes over her, and Wick denied them the satisfaction of seeing her cross her arms. The dressmaker's eyebrow went up just a tad. "My, my. Not from these parts, I note. So pale." He reached out to touch her then, and she moved away from him without thinking. He let out a brief, shocked chuckle and rolled his eyes. Chantel just looked disgusted. "I trust you'll be able to remedy such a problem?" The man sighed, as if a great burden had just been laid on him. "Well, she's not really suitable for the classic garments I dress you in, Chantel...but I daresay I could manage."

"So get to work. I don't have all day."

The next few hours were some of the most trying in her life.

They relocated to the fitting room in the back, and Wick had to remove her outer clothing and stand on a very small and uncomfortable platform while she was measured and gauged. For all his ridiculous sashaying, the dressmaker was competent, but Chantel insisted on secondguessing every decision he made concerning her outfit. Eventually, when the dressmaker had had quite enough of her meddling, he told her Javi was simply dying to ask her about how the luncheon went last week, and she left almost gracefully to chat with the hairdresser next door.

As soon as she was gone, the dressmaker's demeanor altered considerably. "Stand up and take that awful blue thing off this instant," he demanded. "Blue is not your color. You're far too pale. What causes that, anyway? Are you always that pale?" Wick glared, but it was wasted. He was too intent on digging through the closet for a different dress shell. "Yes," she responded finally. "I am." He didn't nod, just kept digging, and she sighed and shifted impatiently. "Where is that thing? I know I put it in here, unless that idiot Franz moved it. I told him to stay away from the dresses...ah!" He pulled something out and turned to her, and Wick blinked.

Instead of the different blues Chantel had been insisting on, this was a deep, vivid red, and Wick was quite abruptly in love.

There wasn't anything really special about the dress. It was only a shell, really; any frills or lace or tiers would have to be added on, and it would have to be fitted to her. A sweetheart neckline, a non-descript skirt...no, it wasn't the design of the dress that caught her eye. It was the color. After looking at nothing but dull blue for nearly three hours, it was vibrant and alive and seemed to add light to the horrible little room she'd been trapped in for several eternities. She pulled her eyes away from it to the dressmaker, who was already holding the dress up and slipping it over her head.

"You see, my dear," he said conversationally, and she would have stared in shock, had the material of the dress not been in her way. Dear? "Ms. Windhaven has excellent taste when it comes to herself. She has such lovely coloring - she can wear almost anything and get away with it." Wick thought she detected a slight hint of sarcasm, but she couldn't be sure. "But when someone is as pale as you are, honey, there's just no way you could look decent in a quiet color like blue. You'd just look faded out. Black would be even worse. You'd look like a black and white picture. You're going to stand out no matter what we put you in, and since my name goes on it, baby, we might as well make it look good."

Wick reluctantly amended her opinion of the dressmaker to allow for slightly less hatred.

By the time he was done pinning and hemming, he seemed well pleased with his progress, though she couldn't see much difference in the simple shell. "It'll be ready tomorrow," he said, gathering up his measuring tapes and pins to put them away. "Just you go next door and tell Chantel we're all done in here. I've already got all her measurements. She'll want something gold. She just loves metallics." He rolled his eyes, and Wick managed a half-smile and got dressed.

"Javi" turned out to be entirely under Chantel's thumb, and together they spent nearly an hour criticizing her hair. "So lifeless, oh, Chantel, you do like to challenge me." It went on, and by the time she was allowed away from his cynosure it was time for Chantel's daily hair appointment. Wick watched them pamper the woman for an hour and a half and locked her features into something like bland goodwill. At least, she hoped it looked like bland goodwill.

It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the house, and Chantel dismissed her like a servant as soon as they walked in the door. "Well, you've certainly tired me out. I'm going to take a bath. Why don't you make yourself comfortable in one of the guest rooms? I had the servants move your things for you while we were out." Chantel gave her a cold smile and spun on her heel, heading for the master suite, and Wick was alone.

She ascended the stairs slowly, mechanically, and found the guest room that had "her things" in it. My things. My uniform and the clothes Jordan bought me. I hope they didn't strain themselves. Everything had been dumped in a pile on the bed, and she pushed it over enough to curl on the mattress - a normal one, not a water-filled bed like Jor's - and close her eyes.

He had to grit his teeth to speak. "What did you say?"

Robert Windhaven only nudged him lightly with a fist in a gesture supposed to convey teasing, and then waved a hand. "I daresay you managed to snag yourself a rich little bitch, m'boy. Congrats. Your mother hates her immensely, but I might venture to say it's because she's jealous of the pale filly." He gave a grin meant to be man-to-man, and ignored Jor's furious glare. "But 'fess up now, Jorry. You've got the heir for show... where are you keeping the real goods?"

Jor didn't answer. He was too busy fighting the urge to slam his father straight in that smirking face. Thankfully for the both of them-- for Robert's wellbeing, and Jor's temper-- the topic was dropped with a lofty shrug and grin, and the rest of the drive was spent in strained quiet. Jor never knew how much stoic silence hurt until he finally stepped from the car and realized his hands ached from clenching them into fists during the entire ride.

"Come on, Jorry, m'boy, let's get this blasted fitting over with so that your bitch of a mother will leave us alone, eh?" Robert sauntered into the small shop, and after a moment of struggling against a vision of stealing the sedan and finding Wick, Jor reluctantly let his wishful thinking dissipate and resigned himself to the next few hours.

He didn't know how absolutely excrutiating his father could make their time together, but he learned.
Quickly.

"Look what I've brought back, boys!" Robert's voice boomed through the room, and when he walked, it could only be called strutting. There was no other word for it, and Jor watched his father strut around like a peacock as the tailor and his assistants came out to greet him, exchanging a series of nudges and winks and smirks that made him wary as he stood in the doorway feeling decidedly uncomfortable. One of the men caught the expression and waved a hand, calling out loudly. "Don't just stand there, Jorry, we've waited four years to see you again! Let's see what Rob here has been bragging about so much."

God, how he hated being called Jorry by anyone other than Wick.

"Isn't he my spitting image?" Jor was circled and trapped, and one of the men actually ruffled his moptop of curls before he could back away and escape. His scowl only got him a round of chuckles and a few pats on the back, and he was looking longingly toward the door when the group of men shoved him toward a fitting room and then disappeared in a blink, leaving him alone with his father. Robert frowned at him and shook his head disapprovingly. "Antisocial, Jorry. I shouldn't have to tell you to act politely."
"You don't. You can just leave me alone." Jor straightened his shoulders and glared more sharply, and the anger in his gaze was not lost on his father, who laughed harshly and winked. "Truce, boy. Tell you what. I'll tell your mother to lay off, if you tell me about your bitch."

His barely contained snarl didn't even faze his father. "Don't fucking call her that. Her name is Wick."

"Oh ho ho, looks as if the cub is angry. We could have set you into a match with anyone on this island, Jorry. Do you realize that would have improved our position? But you had to be selfish and join the military and find yourself some pallid twat, or says your mother. I know she's rich. That is the only reason we're allowing you to keep her."

The only thing that kept Jor from launching himself at Robert was the sudden entrance of the tailors. They were laughing and joking, and he watched as the smirk on Robert's face instantly turned to a smile as he resumed his friendliness with the other men. "He's gotten so big and strong, boys, you're going to have your work cut out for you." There was more laughter. "Nonsense, Rob! He looks about your size... get up on that step there, Jorry, and let us see just what we can do."

He submitted docilely to the treatment. They measured and moved him all over, but his father ignored him, and Jor wished they'd never finish. He was given almost an hour of precious peace; he just stood there, and listened to their idle joking, and consoled himself with daydreams of returning to Wick and their bed. It was almost tolerable.

"We'll have it finished by tomorrow, and I can send it up to the house if you'd like." Jor was distracted from his dreaming by the dismissal, and found himself unwilling to move. He didn't want to be in close quarters and alone with his father again. He was sure only one of them would emerge alive if that happened.

Robert knocked him roughly on the knee and then turned his back, shaking hands with the assembly of tailors. "Works fine w'me. Go ahead and put it on my account. Let's go, Jorry. Have another stop to make before we can return home."

It can't possibly get any worse. And then I can lock myself in my room with Wick. Yes. That's just what I'll do.

"I said, let's go." Jor blinked, and stepped down, and managed a small smile at the entourage of grinning men as he followed his father from the shop. He was so engrossed in steeling himself for another conversation that he didn't notice his father wasn't going to the car, and he was tugging absentmindedly at the door when Robert's voice broke through his spell. "We're not driving yet. There is a store down this way. We'll walk. Now stop stalling and follow me."

They entered a tiny store, and it took Jor a moment to realize where they were. Glass shelves ran along the walls, and his eyes widened as he left his father and began to wander around, entranced. Jewels sparkled and vied for his attention, and he was bent over one of the cases, imagining the thin gold strand of diamond and ruby around Wick's throat when his father leaned over his back and chuckled. "Want that for your girl?" At least he hadn't called her a bitch again. Jor nodded.

"Nice piece, that. Should get you some good thanks tonight, eh?" Jor stood abruptly and was about to spit an acid retort when his father flicked a finger at him and turned away. "Don't be so homicidal, boy. She doesn't look like good tail anyway. I've got no interest. It's your taste, not mine." He nodded to the shopclerk and ignored Jor's hiss. "He'll show you which one he wants. Wrap it for him, and add it to the account I have for Mrs. Windhaven's jewels."

He left Jor to his rage as he stalked from the shop. Jor was busy wishing for his fletchette when the clerk tapped his shoulder, and as he whirled around to glare, the man dangled the necklace in front of his face. "This one, Master Windhaven?"

His hate disappeared immediately as he stared at the jewels, and he managed to swallow and nod again. "Yeah."

"Here, I'll wrap it for you. Such a beautiful piece of jewelry. Very delicate. Will take someone slender to match. Not for your mother, I dare to guess." The edge to the man's voice made Jor look up and grin tentatively, and the clerk returned the smile. "Is it for your fiancee? I've heard you brought a girl with you." The surprise on Jor's face got him a laugh, but it was friendly, not snide. "News travels fast here, Master Windhaven. Am I being presumptuous?"

Jor looked nervously toward the door, but he was unable to hide the pride in his voice. "No. She's almost my fiancee. Just have to work up the nerve to ask." The clerk smiled triumphantly. "Then she'll love it! But your father must be waiting." He dropped his tone and winked. "And I won't tell."

His mood was considerably improved as he left the shop with his gift, and something in his face must warned his father not to bait him again, because their long ride home was undisturbed by taunts. Jor was eager to find Wick, and bounded through the house and up the stairs to his room, throwing open the door and skidding inside as he called out. "Spark!"

There was no one inside.

He bounced into the bathroom, but it was empty, and it took Jor a few moments of confused contemplation before he realized her clothes were not on his floor, her uniform not folded in his chair, and he cursed under his breath. She was back; he'd seen his mother's car in the drive. But... why wasn't she in here, and where had her things gone?

Irrational fear that she might have left surged through him and he kicked the door open again and almost tumbled into the hallway in his haste. Down the hallway he ran, and he'd opened and searched three of the guest bedrooms before he came to the one furthest from his own. The door was unlocked, and he burst inside without knocking, his nervousness evident until the slender figure asleep on the bed made his breath leave him in a sigh. She was right here. He was just being foolish.

Jor locked the door behind him quietly and slipped from his boots, tugging his shirt over his head as he approached the bed. Amidst the tangle of clothing, Wick was fast asleep, her little body curled and her hair falling down around her face. He swept her things from off the bed and crawled in beside her, nestling himself against her back, and with a tiny smile to himself he set the silver box containing his gift to her right within her reach. When she awoke, she'd find it, and then he could go about making himself feel better for the torture he'd endured.

They had slept above the covers, and she was chilled, but his warmth had kept the worst of it away. She opened her eyes into the dark, turned and pushed him gently over to his back, pale hands on the warm skin of his bare chest, and buried her face against his throat, not biting, not even kissing, just inhaling his scent.

She kicked her shoes off impatiently, pulled her shirt over her head without bothering to unbutton it, stripping off the slacks as she began to kiss along his neck. By the time she reached his lips he was awake enough to kiss her back, and his hands were warm and strong on her back. They rolled, and she unbuttoned, unzipped and pushed his trousers away. He grinned at her in the dark, put his chin over her shoulder to growl softly in her ear as he yanked at her own remaining clothing, and her responding giggle was interrupted halfway through, becoming half a sigh instead.

He chuckled, and she struggled automatically as her half-playful irritation ignited, but he was having none of it. It seemed he was not in the mood to give her a mock chance at escape. Could his day have been anything like mine? She kissed him then, dug her fingers into his shoulderblades and gave up their usual pretense, welcoming him. Once in a while, comfort was worth the sacrifice.

Black curls brushed her cheek as he dropped his head to bite her, and she gasped and wrenched uselessly against his iron grip despite herself, her back arching as he grew more fierce. He won, driving her to tremors before his own overtook him, and his breath fell uneven on her neck as she slowly caught her own.

Once in a long while.

He let her go, and she pushed him over, flung an arm over his chest. Her fingertips brushed something hard, and she stretched and grasped the object, set it on his chest and looked at him curiously.

Her eyes had adjusted nicely, and his face was shadowed but easily visible in the dim light of the room, his hair tousled from sleep and her fingers, his mouth curved into a smile, his green eyes dancing as he watched her watching him. She raised an eyebrow, but he remained silent, and she sighed in mock annoyance and turned her attention back to the small box, rolling to her stomach and putting her chin on his midsection so she could use both hands to open it.

He laughed at her naughty little joke and lifted her easily with strong hands to sit her squarely on his stomach. In the darkness of the room, her pale skin was luminous, her glacier eyes a blue as faint as the light, and she looked like a shard of the moonlight that filtered in through the window. The comparison made him smile, and he lay there and was completely and utterly entranced, content to watch her for endless hours.

And then he got an idea.

"Let's go, spark." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, still holding her in his lap, before dropping her onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and covers. She made a hiss of annoyance, and his only response was an infuriatingly mocking smile as he made a face at her and laughed at her furious scowl. When she tried to chuck his trousers at him, he ducked and made a face, and then pounced, covering her mouth to drown out her screeches and tickling her until she kicked him to the floor and bit him in retaliation.

It was a rough and pleasant ten minutes later that they lay on his floor and curled around one another again, but he was insistent. "Mmm, spark? Come on..." his voice was a sleepy murmur, and she responded with a muffled sigh against his skin. "What?"

"Wanna show you something. Up." He lifted her with surprising gentleness to sit her on the edge of the bed, retrieving the necklace from his bedside table as she watched him in silence. In the dark he fumbled a little, but eventually succeeded, the delicate gold and fiery ruby bright against her translucent skin. It was easy then to swing her up into his arms again, and with a few steps and a kick, he brought them out onto the balcony of his room.

It overlooked the scruffy ravines and half-heartedly forested hills that passed for woodlands on this side of the island, but there was no one to see them as he curled in one of the deck chairs with her coiled in his lap.

It was silent, and warm, in that balmy, humid way Hawaii is known for, and as they sat there together, the moon they had once watched from the observatory at Command School shone down on their heads.

He wasn't going to spoil the moment with words. Not even those words.

Thoughts of the torture promised for tomorrow flickered briefly through his mind, but her bare skin against his was enough to dispel them, and Jor closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep with only one last thought.

Shadowy pink and grey lit the clouds from the east, but the distant line of ocean beyond the trees and scrub still looked black. A salty breeze from that direction drifted across her, and she shifted a little as it chilled her and became aware of Jordan's warmth against her back.

She relaxed and lay her head back on his chest once more, the quiet steady thump of his heartbeat soothing against her neck. One hand moved up to lazily trace the necklace that lay against her throat. Her head tilted slightly, and she looked up at his face, moonlight highlighting his profile and casting shadows at the hollow of his throat. His eyes were closed, long black lashes curving slightly upward, and she sighed silently as she contemplated his sleeping features.

Jordan Windhaven. I never intended this to go so far, to get so...out of hand.

She grinned to herself the sarcastic thought, but that grin faded as the implications of that thought sank in. Her expression became more serious, almost fiercely thoughtful.

Have I really given in? Is this to be my life now? I have known for years that losing him would be like losing me...but this loses me too, just in a different way. At least I would have him in return. Wouldn't I?

He shifted a little in his sleep, his arm tensing a little around her.

I would. He fights for me. He would die for me. He wants me like I want him, now and forever. To have me protected, close, and unquestionably his.

That thought pleased her and made her angry at once; pleased, because she could exert that kind of control over another, especially someone with a will like Jordan's, and angry, because she wasn't as furious over that ownership as she wanted to be. There was anger, but it felt...perfunctory. Practiced. It felt like a habit, and one she was falling out of, at that.

Pleasure and anger departed to make way for fear.

She trusted Jordan. That frightened her, because she did not trust. Jor had been as close to absolute trust as she had ever come, and there were still things she kept from him, things she would always keep to herself. What is trust? Trust is weakness. Trust is closing your eyes to possibility for the sake of comfort. I do trust him. He trusts me. Is that love? Mutual blindness?

A frown touched his brow, was gone.

I'll never know what he's thinking, not for certain. I will always guess. Trust is depending on his actions to reflect his thoughts. I have known him for years, and he has known me, but what does that mean? He has risked his life for mine, and I have done the same for him. That should mean something. I don't like it, but I trust him. If love is wanting him badly enough to be willing to trust to have him, then I love him.

But I want him, then. Now.

The sun was just edging over the horizon when she pressed her lips to his throat to wake him.

His arm tightened around her waist, and she smiled secretly against his skin and shifted in his lap as his green eyes opened to look at her in sleepy satisfaction. She wrapped her arms around him and he returned her kiss as he lifted her to carry her back inside, away from the sun and back to his bed.

It was so sweet, to have his strength above her, touching and taking as she twisted beneath him. What was it about their little game of resistance and defeat that made her weak with desire? He wanted, and he would take, and that meant she was free to struggle and free to surrender at last, knowing he wanted her enough to fight to have her, even if she was the one he was fighting.

He won, as always, and she shivered, pressed her hips to his and bit his shoulder, was answered with a growl against her throat as he took his reward.

Her eyes remained closed, even after he shifted to lie beside her and cradle her against him. She felt...light, as if a burden had been lifted from her. The decision had been made, and what of it? She'd take the payment she deserved for that sacrifice for the rest of his life, and it would be worth it. She turned her face into his chest and smiled again.

They finally drifted asleep, tangled together, and the sun had fully risen and was shining bright and warm through his windows when it was his turn to open sleepy eyes and watch her lay beside him. He was too full, too content, to even think of moving. Instead he amused himself by sliding fingers through her hair, braiding the strands and grinning at his clumsy efforts as hair stuck everywhere and still she slept unaware. He admired his necklace around her pale throat, hovered his hands above her skin to feel her warmth, and managed to abstain from kissing her for all of thirty seconds before giving in and biting gently at her stomach.

She squirmed and blinked up at him, and he smiled. Then he laughed, because she looked ridiculous after his attentions, and he had to hide his face in his pillow to keep his mirth from betraying him. It took her a few minutes to realize what he had done, but it wasn't until she jumped on him that he peeked out and pulled her hands away, to keep her from smoothing her hair.

"I like it that way. You should wear it like that tonight."

When she tried to tug out of his grip he rolled over, taking her with him, and was up and walking toward the bathroom with her in his arms before she could do more than squeak in protest. Instead of throwing her into the bath like he had done the day before, Jor sat her on the sink and moved away to rustle around in one of the cabinets. She watched him curiously until he turned to wave a bottle at her threateningly, and she struggled until he stopped tickling her and concentrated instead on rubbing aloe onto the sunburn that made her arms a pale pink.

"Stop squirming." He bit her neck and kissed her chin, blowing hot air into her ear and grinning as she giggled. "You're all burnt." He gave her a teasing smirk and snuck his hands down her legs. "Like a lobster. Matches your necklace." His sentences became more and more disjointed as he alternated between kissing her and continuing to smooth lotion over her skin. "Sun doesn't like you." She was slippery when he wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, turning them to look in the mirror together. His curls were tousled and he looked almost as bedraggled as she when he smiled at their reflection. "Lucky I do."

They showered together, taking turns fighting for the water and hitting eachother with the washclothes until finally they were clean. They dressed, managed to sneak into the kitchens to eat without being bothered by his parents, and had been lounging lazily in his room for a few pleasant hours when the unavoidable eventually came.

His mother tugged Wick away to go to the hairdresser-- although, admittedly, he'd have rather seen her in all his crooked braids than any stylish manner-- and left him alone to look forlornly at the tuxedo hanging in his closet.

An hour later, and he was still struggling to figure out the blasted thing.

The pants were easy. So was the white dress shirt, although the collar was tight enough that he had to leave the top button undone just so he could breathe. There was some sort of vest, in a vivid silky crimson that reminded him of something Wick would like, and little ruby cufflinks that he dropped to the floor a few times and had to crawl around to find before he succeeded in slipping them into place. The dress shoes he vetoed in favor of his boots-- at least they were shined, so his mother couldn't complain too much-- and the tiny pin of the Windhaven crest was quickly stuck into the lapel of his jacket.

It was that goddamn bowtie that evaded his understanding.

He just couldn't figure it out. God forbid they give him a tacky clip-on tie; instead he squinted at the piece of material meant to be a bow and blew the curls from his eyes, completely confused. He didn't want to have to ask his father how to tie the damn thing, and for lack of anything better to do, Jor just left it hanging crooked around his neck and looked about for something more entertaining.

Ancient half-buried boxes in his closet provided just that entertainment, and he lost track of time, absorbed in looking at old pictures from his military academy and sorting through medals and papers he'd tucked away. He was dusty and unpresentable and utterly happy until he heard the door to his room open, and he peered out from his seat on the floor to look guiltily at whoever had entered.

Wick was there, and she was gorgeous.

A long crimson dress floated around her, the necklace delicate around her throat, her hair shining and tucked behind her ears as she glanced around the room for him. Jor just sat and stared at her for a moment, not saying a word, but dust tickled his nose and he sneezed with enough force that he dropped the pictures in his hands as she started and looked to him.

He managed a guilty little grin, but couldn't take his eyes from her.

He sat sprawled on the floor, looking up at her with glowing eyes, and it gave her a chance to look him over in return. In that position, tousled black curls falling over his forehead, his sheepish grin white against his dark skin, he looked all of eight years old, and she grinned at his obvious pleasure and looked down almost self-consciously as he rose to his feet.

Long crimson gloves covered the fingers she used to brush her skirt absently, and she was feeling a little shy when she lifted her eyes from her own attire to look at him. His boots were familiar, at least, and she started with those, black leather under black tuxedo slacks that made him look more solid. The red vest matched her dress exactly, and she reached out to touch it, slid her hand between his vest and the tuxedo jacket to the small of his back and drew herself as close as she dared without risking her makeup.

The jacket made him look broader, and she put her head next to his, looking sideways into his eyes for a moment as she inspected him more closely. Her free hand traced a line along his jaw to his unfastened tie, and she gave him another, smaller smile as she withdrew her arm from his waist and backed up just enough to work with it.

His arms remained around her waist as she finished it, and she smiled in satisfaction. It would hide the unfastened button perfectly. She ran a single crimson clad fingertip along the edge of his collar and smiled up at him wickedly, kept him at bay when he tried to pull her in for a kiss. She even managed to brush dust from his curls and his tux before his powerful arms trapped her and he had almost succeeded in ruining her makeup when she slid gloved fingers under his chin and brought him to a halt.

Now.

She'd made the mistake of putting both her hands where he could capture them, and he did just that, using strong fingers to hold her wrists together. His other arm coiled around her waist so that she was trapped, and he grinned, enough wicked intent in his eyes that she tried to pull away. He didn't let her. He just kept her trapped and tilted his chin down to surprise her, and himself, with a kiss so chaste it was all that more hungry.

It was just a touch, before he licked his lips and fixed admiring emerald eyes to hers. "Tasty lipstick, spark. Later."

Then he let her go, offered his arm, and with a little smile led her from the room.

He was having difficulties watching her and walking at the same time, and by the time they reached the long staircase that trailed down to the foyer, he was past coherent thought. Wick managed to traipse down the stairs without any trouble, but he had no such luck; he stumbled and cursed and he felt completely inept until she smiled at him again.

When he looked up his father had his eyes on Wick, and all of his jealousy and protective anger reasserted itself without a hitch.

If everyone at the ball tried to oggle his precious spark like that, it was going to be a very, very long night.

His mother appeared in a fashionable-- and in Jor's opinion, absolutely hideous-- gown of gold, and Robert transferred his attentions just in time, as Jor was rapidly growing irritated. Thankfully, it was the end of that, and before he knew it they were in the limousine and on their way to what he had been convinced was going to be torture, until he saw Wick. Now he just knew it'd be torture until he got her home.

Chantel was already informing them in a lofty, bored tone just who would be there and wearing what and who they were currently engaged to. Robert alternated between eyeing Wick and eyeing Jor, and smirking at the infuriated glare that Jor was having trouble hiding. He consoled himself with sneaking his fingers along her back, out of sight, but it was almost not enough.

At last they arrived at the embassy.

His parents were the first to slide through the doors, and with a last anxious frown in Wick's direction, Jor straightened his shoulders and escorted her inside. It was overwhelming. Too many lights, too many voices, too many people. Fingers dug into his arm and he glanced over to see Wick looking to him with the same expression. Alright. They could do this. Only a few hours, and then they could run home, to float on his bed and be rid of these uncomfortable proper dress clothes, and then maybe, just maybe, he could take her to the beach.

Wick had the impression that most of the first group were Chantel's friends. They focused mostly on her, asking her questions, complimenting her dress, asking her if she felt well " - really, dear, you look a little pale!". As each of them plied her with a thousand meaningless questions and pleasantries, someone - a husband or a brother of her attacker, she was certain - would try to pry Jordan away from her similarly, but her hand was firmly locked around his arm, and when one of them stopped moving, both did.

After the fifth person had bowed out to a sixth, she was beginning to think they weren't going to be allowed any peace at all, and her small reservoir of good nature was quickly being exhausted. Too much talking, too little substance, and she was beginning to grit her teeth. Her feet were beginning to ache from the ridiculous high heels Chantel had insisted on, and though she'd never allow her discomfort to show by shifting or slouching, it did nothing to keep her temper from growing steadily thinner.

"Excuse me, Druscilla. We've been here quite some time, and I promised Chantel we'd join her as soon as we'd gotten settled. It was very nice meeting you. Excuse us," she said as graciously as she could manage to the balding man currently accosting Jor, and tugged him slowly but firmly away, leaving Jor just enough time for a quickest of farewells before he had to fall into step.

They made it to one of the refreshment tables, and she stopped and scanned the room for Chantel or her useless husband. They were unpleasant, but it would be a small price to pay to escape the masses for a few minutes. Fortunately, neither were in evidence, and Wick took the opportunity to lean on Jordan's arm and take a little pressure off her horrible shoes. "They're worse than marines," she said tersely as she did her best to look as if she were still cheerfully searching the room. "And they have more to say. How much longer do you..." her voice trailed off as a tingling sensation brushed the back of her neck.

Someone was watching them.

She panned back a few feet and saw him. His age was indeterminate - older than thirty-five, but any odds on how much. He was tall, almost as tall as Jordan, but he was slender with muscle rather than broad. Thick, straight black hair with no hint of grey, and his face was angular. His eyes were a richer blue than her own, electric, and she curled her fingers more tightly against Jor's sleeve. He looked familiar, but she was certain she'd not seen him before, not here, not anywhere she could remember.

She wasn't looking at him, though, and he followed her gaze to where it lay on a tall, older man slowly approaching them. Jealousy lit and flared, and his muscles tensed beneath her hold on his arm, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the other man and set aside his plate in favor of pressing closer to Wick. He was about to question her when the last voice he wanted to hear interrupted him.

"Jordan!"

Not now. Wick's here and I am not going to leave.

"Jorry, m'boy, your mother wants to talk to you. You just leave your girl here for a moment and go on over. Come on now, boy, hurry up." Jor tore his eyes from the man and turned to redirect the glare at his father, but there was no escape, and all he got was a severe frown. Damnit. He leaned against Wick and kissed her ear before being dragged away, and was silently seething as she disappeared from his view and entirely too many females replaced her.

His mother didn't want to talk to him. She wanted him to meet every other single girl on the island of Maui.

"Jordan, this is Meredith, don't you remember her? You two used to see one another at ground school, before you left. Hasn't she grown up pretty?" A face he didn't remember nor cared to examine smiled at him, curtsied, and tried for flirtatious. "Jorry Windhaven, it's so good to see you back..."

Another one. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, Jordan. Your mother says you're an officer in the International Fleet. Will you be stationed here?" Hopeful titters of laughter and he winced. Everywhere he turned there was another one. Trapped. His mother kept pushing more toward him, names and more names of girls who patted his arms and fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in voices that lilted and grated on his ears. He managed little more than flustered, dismissive greetings, and if they were surprised at his impoliteness, they didn't show it.

He tried to peer over the throngs to see where Wick was, but he caught nothing more than a flash of brilliant crimson before she disappeared from sight and he was surrounded again.

Lilliana...

He stared openly across the room for a few moments as his mind tried to reconcile with his sense of sight. She turned to look directly at him, and he relaxed a little; this apparition in the crimson dress was not his younger sister. The small scar on her neck was missing, and her features were subtly altered...but the resemblance was still more than striking. He began to breathe again, the only audible sign of his momentary shock a slight sigh.

Welch was looking at him expectantly, and he looked back a little too late; the man had followed his gaze and spotted the girl. "I see you've got more important things on your mind than the latest unexciting political assassinations, Adrian," the senator said cheerfully. "You'd better not look too closely, though; I think that's the girl who came in with the Windhavens. Their son's fiancee, I should think. He doesn't look generous." He grinned and nodded towards a brawny young man who hovered near her, half occupied with the refreshment tables behind them.

Adrian didn't spare more than a glance in the boy's direction. "Perhaps not. Excuse me, gentlemen." He separated himself from small circle of politicians and moved into the throng. The vacuum he left was soon filled by another guest, and he waited until the group's attention was elsewhere before he started towards the tables.

He was prepared to put the boy off, if necessary, but as he approached the older Windhaven came and brought the younger away, and the girl was left quite alone. Her eyes were intent on him until she broke contact to look back over her shoulder in the direction her companion had gone, and he was only a few feet away when she turned back and saw him. Her chin came up immediately, an instinctive reaction to surprise, and he stopped where he was, watching her curiously. The similarity to his sister did not decrease with proximity, and he found himself remarkably close to speechless.
"What is your name?" he asked softly.

At the sound of his voice, the mesmerized look on her face faded somewhat, and she answered in an equally subdued tone, her voice flat and American and devoid of the accent the rest of the Ravenshire family carried. "Wick."

And then he knew.

"Callenstrom, isn't it?"

She stiffened a little, and he gave her a very small quirk of his mouth that seemed to irritate her. "Yes," she said shortly. "You are?" Her irritation banished her uncertainty completely, and she met his eyes defiantly instead. "My name is Adrian," he replied, amused by this little fit of temper. The quirk became a half smile.

He hadn't thought it possible, but she became more pale at the mention of his name, and in the moment it took her to recover herself he took a single step closer, close enough to touch her, if he wished, and held his hand out in invitation. "I would like to speak with you...Wick,"he said decisively. She looked at his hand blankly, and he waited until she realized what he wanted.

"No." Her confusion made her fearful, and she nearly drew back.

All trace of hilarity vanished from his features, and her eyes widened as he narrowed his own. "Don't be rude, child," he said icily, and caught her hand gently but firmly in his own. He thought she'd look away then, perhaps even try to pull free, but steel came into her spine and chilled her features to match her eyes, and she allowed herself to be led to the dance floor without a single backward glance.

The first minute or two he spent waiting for her to acquire some rudimentary skill at dancing. To her credit, she learned quickly from her mistakes, and after a short while he decided it was safe to distract her with speech. He drew her in close enough to speak comfortably, and she immediately tensed and almost missed a step. He made a single exasperated sigh and she reluctantly slackened enough to resume the pattern.

She was practically glaring at him, and another cold smile tugged at his mouth. "You should look down, Wick. Your fiancee might get jealous." She gritted her teeth but shifted her head down and to the left, appropriately demure. "What do you want?" she asked tightly.

"You are unappreciative and ill-mannered."

"And you're arrogant and beginning to lose my interest. What do you want?" Her bravado was a little overplayed, but her voice did not flinch. His features became less severe as his amusement tried to break free, and his voice grew soft once again.

"How long have you for leave?"

She tensed again, but did not falter. "Ten more days. You knew where I was?"

"Yes. Does your father know?"

"I would assume. Why the interest now? Making up for lost time?"

A strange, bitter expression crossed her uncle's face. "Don't say such things to me. Callenstrom wouldn't let us near you before you left, and we found out about your previous leave after the fact. There were battles over you, Wick, but your father stalled us until you were gone and it was too late. Your ingratitude does not become you."

She was silent, and he could not see her expression.

Over the general din of the ball, some unexpectedly piercing girlish titter caught his attention, and he glimpsed young Windhaven pushing his way free of a large bevy of debutantes, muted anger evident in his body language. His eyes snagged on Wick, and then snapped to Adrian himself, and Adrian chose this moment to raise his hand from her waist to her chin and tilt her face up to his own.

And he'd thought having Bianca as his commander had been excrutiating. This was like having fifty Bianca's surrounding him, all giggling the same, all smiling the same, and all intent on one thing: him.
Damnit, but Jorry was angry and uncomfortable.

He was managing, though, and even with some semblance of polite deference as he endured the chattering, empty conversation around him. Meredith this, Alexandria that; there was only one girl he remembered from his days before Battle School, and even for her he had little more than a perfunctory nod and quick smile. Physically Jor was present, but mentally he was elsewhere, quietly envisioning beaches and ocean and sunsets... all until a scrap of question caught his notice.
"... and it's not really true, is it, Jordan?"

"What's that?" He looked for the source of the inquiry and met blue eyes too garishly bright for his liking, accustomed as he was to the pale, pale azure of Wick's.

"That girl, the pale one, who is visiting. She isn't really your fiancee, is she?"

He'd had about enough.

"I don't see how that is your business, miss." Polite, but the anger was there, the distemper simmering below the surface. "You'll have to excuse me now." How he kept his calm was a mystery to him, but he had a vague notion that it had something to do with not being able to beat a female irritant to a bloody pulp. It just wasn't acceptable... excepting scuffles with Wick, of course. She could and did beat him back just as badly.

Wick. I want to leave now, spark...

He caught sight of her rather quickly, but it was the man dancing with her, with his arm about her waist, that really hooked his attention. That man from earlier, the one who had been staring at her before he'd been dragged away by his father. Jor's eyes narrowed and were a color very close to emerald-tinted rage when the thief actually had the audacity to lift Wick's chin with his fingers and--
He moved automatically, to intercept, stalking in a fuming thunderstorm of anger and jealousy and possessive desire until he was close enough to lay a hand very decisively on the man's wrist and pulled him away from Wick's face. It was easy then to wrap an arm around her waist, tug and hold her snugly against his side, and stare daggers at whoever this presumptuous prick might be.

He surprised himself by being entirely polite, but the threat was there in his voice, as a quiet growl. "Excuse me, sir, but that was not appropriate."

In other words, this is mine. Hands off, back away, now or else.

The sudden invasion of her mother's past stacked with the unfamiliar environment and the assertion that the Ravenshires had not abandoned her 15 years ago had put her off-balance, and staring into Adrian's electric blue eyes did nothing to ease her nerves. She'd spent her entire childhood believing that they'd wanted nothing to do with her, and she hadn't minded that. It meant that she would be left alone. It meant she had no ties that she cared to acknowledge but Jordan, and that was freedom.

Until Adrian had appeared, she hadn't realized that freedom had eclipsed loneliness.

Bullshit. I spent years with nothing but Jordan, and before that years with no one but myself. I don't need them. To hell with them. I don't need anyone but Jor now. I don't need them.

It was no use. The root of her easy dismissal of her mother's half of the family had been cut out with the knowledge that they'd looked for her, that they'd tried to find her, and not just for her mother's sake. They wanted her, and that made her wonder what it would be like, to be part of a family that valued her.

You mean like they valued your mother.

The resemblance was muted, but there. Same raven hair, same sharp eyes, but his were brighter than Wick's, a darker blue. Not as tall as he himself was, and nowhere near as broad. Jor traced his fingers along her waist to reassure himself as he met those blue eyes, and managed a nod. Enough respect to be polite, but little more.

Adrian had attended a military academy until the age of 22, and had found it altogether a more relaxed environment than home. He'd been surprised to find that many of his fellow classmates were shocked or dismayed at the rigorous duties and sometimes heartless actions required of them. What, he had wondered at the time, had they expected? One did not join the military to learn to sew.

Jordan Windhaven appeared to have acquired the veneer of dangerous readiness. It would be interesting to see how long he kept it.

"The pleasure is mine," he said agreeably enough, shifting his eyes from Windhaven back to his niece. "You must excuse me; I was on my way out when I saw you. I look forward to meeting you again, Ms. Callenstrom - before your leave elapses, perhaps. Good evening." He nodded slightly to Jordan and moved past them, out of the ballroom and down to the limousine that was waiting for him. He waited until he was comfortably seated before he lifted the cellular phone from its cradle in the arm.

He waited until Ravenshire disappeared from view before relaxing with a visible slump, the anger slowly beginning to bleed from his eyes. Gods. As if his parents hadn't been enough, as if this entire leave hadn't been bad enough already. Was it too much to ask for freedom? Too much to ask just to be left alone, just himself, just Wick, nothing but themselves and their work... too much to ask?

We should have stayed home. We could have been safe, without all these strangers. Strangers like my family and her family. I want to go home.

"Wi... spark?" He glanced down at her, worry clearly written on his face, and it took her a moment to tear her gaze away from the exit and look up to him. Jor frowned. She was just as unnerved as he was; her fingers tight on his arm, that cold uncomfortableness in her eyes. She didn't answer. He nodded. "I want to go too."

And so they left.

His parents didn't notice their departure, and if they did, he couldn't care less. They took their limousine home and then sent it back to the embassy, standing on the steps of his house and watching the lights fade into the darkness. It was breezy, cold, and when Wick shivered, Jor quietly took her hand and led her inside.