Malcolm cleared the chamber and recalibrated the injectors while she loaded the vials. This would be the seventh variation from the original conclusion her theoretical formula work had given her, and she was beginning to get discouraged. They could perform up to eight variations in the testing chamber before it had to be refueled, and each refueling took twelve hours. If one of the last two tests didn't work they would be out of commission for the evening, and she'd have to spend another sleepless night going over her calculations to find out where she'd made a mistake. Wick was tired of being tired, and she was tired of failing. It should have worked the last time - it should have worked the first time - and she was running out of time.

She changed each chemical level the minute amount required to bring it into line with the next variation and then placed the vials into the chamber. Malcolm nodded to her when he'd finished with the hardware, and she closed the access panel and stepped back so he could engage the pressure field. The chamber could contain any explosive force - within reason - but it consumed a tremendous amount of energy, and even a few feet away the power surge was uncomfortable to experience.

"Do it."

The interior of the chamber fogged as the vials exploded and then lit up, but instead of the bright blue flame they were looking for there was a wash of sullen green as the catalyst consumed itself instead of performing its function. The pressure sensors barely flickered. There was more energy output in a nine-volt battery.

Malcolm took in her expression and went to set the up the hardware for the final trial without a word.

She channeled her anger into precision, measuring and installing the vials with the new chemical levels as if the universe depended upon it, and loaded them into the slots. When his preparations were complete, she walked around to stand beside him at the control panel and activated the sequence herself.

The chamber went opaque, and then colored over dull green before it went dark.

"FUCK!" she said vehemently. "We've been on this for three fucking weeks. I've been over these calculations hundreds of times. Why doesn't it work?"

Malcolm took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and when he spoke he sounded as frustrated as she was. "It doesn't make any sense. If what you determined about the AmaBet is accurate, then we should have had the right reaction on day one."

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

He shook his head tiredly. "No. But are you positive your original analysis was correct? We've been through this experiment over fifty times, and I haven't seen it work once. If you think it's your calculations, fine. But you might save yourself a headache and our employers a lot of money if you went back over your original conclusions. I'm not saying you're not right. If we can get it to work for real the way you say it does on paper, it's going to make us a lot of money. I'm just saying that it wouldn't hurt to go back and look at the results you got when you first put it together." His tone got less frustrated and more reasonable as he spoke, and she gave up being angry at him and targeted the rest of the world instead.

"In any case," he continued, turning away to shut down the monitoring systems, "we're done for today. I'm going home to see if I can think about something else for a few hours." She nodded reluctantly and watched him clear the system and put it to sleep so the refueling sequence could begin.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Think about it."

He left, and she was packaging a sample of AmaBet to take home with her when the terminal chimed an incoming call. There weren't many people who had the code for the lab. It's probably Kiersted telling me the contract's been cancelled. Why doesn't it work?

She set down her sample and stepped back behind the control panel to activate the terminal, and was unsurprised to see Caspar Kiersted's image snap into view. Kiersted was the project manager, a man with hair and eyes the color of sand that reminded her of an action figure. He wasn't much of a scientist, but he excelled at politics, and that left Wick free as the project lead to focus on more important things. At the inception, he'd been willing to let her work in peace, but after her recent alarming lack of progress, she didn't blame him for checking up on her.

"Ah, so glad I caught you," he said with a brief smile. "How did it go today?"

"We're close."

"How close?"

"Very."

"I'm a little hazy on very, Dr. Windhaven. Is that the sort of very that means a week? Or a month?"

"It means we're still perfecting the formula, Dr. Kiersted, but I assure you -"

"You've been perfecting the formula for almost three weeks now. How perfect does it need to be?"

"I'm not going to submit it for approval until it's done."

Kiersted grew more serious. "And when will that be? You promised results, and until now you've done pretty well for yourself. That's why you were given this project. Do you know how much of the IF's money you've spent on this little disaster? Let me give you a hint: you couldn't cut a check for it." He frowned, more concern than irritation. "Our backing is starting to waver. I take it you don't have anything to add to your report yet?"

She would have killed to be able to say yes, but there was nothing in the data they'd gathered to indicate what was wrong; they'd only learned what wasn't correct, and clarifying that wasn't going to help her situation.

"No. I don't."

He nodded grimly. "Then I've got some bad news. I talked to Channing. Richmond and Henley will do whatever he does, and what he's planning to do right now is shut us down." She started to interrupt him in protest, but he held up his hand. "Don't scream just yet. He doesn't turn in his decision until Tuesday. Today's Thursday. We've got some time to change his mind."

Wick immediately began to conceive an idea. "I could write a summary of the project to date. I could have it ready by tomorrow morning if you can present it to him." Kiersted shook his head. "Won't work. That's the bad part. He's in meetings all day tomorrow, and I don't think interrupting his weekend is going to improve his estimation of our competence. On the other hand, leaving this until Monday is a very bad idea. Also, I think he's had enough of reading scientific documents. He needs to be convinced, and I think it would be best to do it in person."

She nodded. Kiersted was a professional. He could pitch anything in five minutes - all he'd have to do would be to catch Channing walking between conferences. "Alright. What technical information do you need me to give you?"

"You can give it to him yourself. You're coming with me."

"You just said he couldn't see us."

"I said he couldn't see us tomorrow."

"But you said Monday was too late."

"I did. But he's going to be in New Orleans for an officer's ball on Saturday. We can catch him there."

Wick blinked.

"You want me to go to a dance to talk business?"

"There's a difference?" He folded his hands in front of him and looked at her earnestly. "Look, if you want to keep your job - and, just for the record, I'd like to keep mine - he has to be back on our side before Sunday morning. We get five minutes of his time at the ball, get him to understand what's going on and that you're almost done, and then we split. Piece of cake."

It was a good idea, and Wick desperately wanted to find something wrong with it. The whole concept felt wrong, but she couldn't find anything specific to complain about, and Kiersted was looking at her expectantly.

"When is it?"

Kiersted beamed. He knew when he'd made a sale. "It begins Saturday at 19:30, but we need to get there a little early. We want to be there before he is. I can get passes." He paused, and then continued delicately. "As to the matter of attire..."

Wick narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll manage," she said sarcastically. "Send me the location data and a contact number where I can reach you and I'll meet you there at 19:00."

"Right-o. Don't stress. We'll nab him." The screen went dark, and she finished packing her sample and left for home.

~~~

When she'd first returned to her father's home near Baton Rouge, she hadn't intended to stay, but Adrian had informed her that her father had undertaken an extensive tour of the world with his newest wife and decided to remain abroad for a few years. Working with the Ravenshires, he had arranged for his daughter to take possession of the house; a portion of money was set aside each month from the forestry profits to make utility payments; the rest went to her father's accounts where he could access them from any location he chose.

Despite the occupation of glorified house sitter, her house was reasonably close to her place of work, and she decided to remain - at least until her father returned. She had her mother's suite made over to her liking and spent a good amount of her father's money creating a proper laboratory for herself in the basement. She spent her days at work, and her evenings at home in the lab or in her room. She worked, occasionally ate, slept in little snatches of three and four hours, and tried to remember why life was worth it.

Her uncle visited twice a month. After their conversation back at the Command Post, he had not mentioned Jor again, but for a while he'd had a habit of reciting a great deal of information about random men in casual conversation. At first she'd tried to ignore it, but after two months of polite, non-incriminating pestering she agreed to meet one of them. The meeting couldn't have gone worse; the man was foppish and ridiculously arrogant and weak, and after she was rid of his presence she told Adrian she wouldn't do it again. She'd expected him to argue, but he was unaccountably accepting, and since then not a word had been spoken on the subject.

She wished she could have silenced herself as easily.

Wick didn't mind not sleeping. When she slept, she often dreamed, and her dreams were never peaceful. Sometimes they were of Jor the way she'd seen him last, with fury in his eyes and her blood on his hands. Sometimes they were of more pleasant times, and those were much worse. Wick had never learned to cry, and denied that cleansing act, her broken heart was beginning to fester. There was no sudden mark of decline, but she could feel it. During the day, she was fiercely dedicated to her work, but she had no such anchor at night, and under the weight of her memory, Wick was burning down.

Then the IF finally approved the AmaBet project. AmaBet, a new type of synthetic amatol she had designed as part of her dissertation, had a theoretical blast power ten times that of normal amatol. After six months of review and the successful completion of the two contracts they'd given her, the demolitions R&D approved her request to assemble a sample of AmaBet and test its capability. The construction of the molecule and its catalyst was simple, and she'd been extremely confident that her theoretical calculations would hold up under laboratory testing. That had begun three weeks ago, and since then there had been no progress forward whatsoever. Despite her frustration with herself and the project, Wick was obscurely grateful. She could stay up at night going over her calculations instead of reflecting. Instead of Jor, she began to dream of the blue fire she had yet to see in the reaction chamber. It expanded to fill her entire world, and she felt alive again.

Now her project was being threatened, and she welcomed in the flood of angry, possessive emotion. She felt real. This was something worthy of her, something she had to succeed at, and she refused to admit defeat.

She went over her calculations again, starting at the beginning and working them out one step at a time. When that yielded no new information she did it again. Each attempt took more than an hour, and when she was finished with the third repetition it was just after midnight and she was ready to do something drastic. She looked over at the detailed report that described the basic molecular configuration of AmaBet, mastered her pride, and opened her dissertation report.

Every calculation she'd used to draw her conclusions about the construction of AmaBet was in the report, but she went back and reworked them. At one point she thought she'd found a mistake, and then discovered that the mistake was in her new calculation and not the old one.

Why doesn't it work? It's all here. Why doesn't it work?

~~~

It was two minutes shy of 04:00 when Malcolm's telephone rang. After a few seconds of fumbling in the dark, he managed to lift the receiver and put it to his ear. Another few seconds and he had it the right way round.

"Malcolm?"

"Mmph. It's..." he glanced at his clock, "5:59 in the morning, Windhaven. Don't you sleep?"

"3:59. Get new glasses. What are the vials made out of?"

"What vials?"

"The chemical vials in the testing chamber."

"It's...it's just plastic. Um. Treated thermoplastic, monomer base, you know...plastic."

"I think I fixed the problem."

Malcolm woke up.

"...yeah?"

"I'll be at the office in an hour."

The line went dead, and Malcolm got up and tried to put everything on at once. Five minutes later he was out the door, still wearing his slippers.

~~~

Wick had been waiting for an unbearable ten minutes when Malcolm finally arrived, looking slightly sheepish and very excited. "Sorry. Forgot my badge. What did you find out?"

She handed him a glass test tube of the same dimensions as the plastic ones. "Can we use that in the chamber?"

Malcolm frowned at it. "It might not clean properly. It might even damage it. It would work once, though." He looked at her. "That thing costs four thousand dollars just to refuel, you know."

"I know."

He looked at her expression and a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "You're really sure, aren't you?"

She grinned. It was the first time he'd ever seen her grin, and it was answer enough.

"Well, hell, all they can do is fire me. And from what Kiersted said they're going to do that anyway. Load it up."

She added the AmaBet and the catalyst in the amounts she'd originally used and loaded the machine. The glass vials made a clinking sound as she put them in, and she shivered. If she was wrong, this would be bad. Very bad. It could negate the possibility of future research on AmaBet, future research using this piece of equipment, and any future research conducted by her.

But I'm not wrong.

Malcolm nodded to her, and she closed the access panel and went to stand next to him. He glanced at her to see if she wanted to do it, but her eyes were locked onto the chamber, and he took a deep breath and punched the activation code.

There was an unhappy tinkling sound from the chamber as the glass fractured. It clouded as the chemicals released, and then a beautiful blue flower blossomed, filling the chamber for a full four seconds before it faded.

There was a loud pop as the color vanished, and Malcolm's board began blinking insistently. His hands flew over the controls, shutting things down, and when he'd calmed the machines down he walked out from behind the panel to look at the chamber. Wick followed, and together they discovered what the popping sound had been. The innermost layer of polycarbon casing that surrounded the chamber had spiderwebbed. They regarded it for several seconds in silence.

"Wow," noted Malcolm.

"Yeah." Wick went up and tapped on it experimentally, but nothing moved. "Did you get a pressure reading on that?"

Malcolm went back over to the board and called it up.

"Wow," he commented.

She walked back over to where he was and read his gauge.

"Wow," she agreed. And laughed.

~~~

Caspar rolled over out of a dead sleep and answered his phone in his best professional tone.

"This is Kiersted."

"It's Windhaven. I've got some good news and some bad news. The bad news is, we broke the testing chamber."

"You...broke it?"

"The good news is, it was the AmaBet that broke it."

There was a pause as these two news items warred for priority.

"As long as you can explain how it happened to Channing and make him like it, I'll handle the spin," he said finally. "Try not to break anything else. And congratulations. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Right-o."

"That's not funny."

I can't do this.

For the third time in a row, he keyed in a number on the speaker pad and waited nervously as it rang, biting his lip.

For the third time in a row, Lei answered.

She didn't even bother to say hello. "Goddamnit all to hell, Jor, if this is you again and you're not at her house, I am going to kick your sorry excuse for an ass."

"...It was an accident this time. I'm turning around now, I swear."

"Oh, don't you even dare lie to me, Jordan Windhaven, you know right where her house is and you're just being a goddamn cowardly pu--"

Jor punched the hangup button before she could continue her tirade, and sighed as silence filled the air once again.

She's right. I can't keep doing this. I either go up and see her or leave forever, once and for all. I have to do something. There. An ultimatum was good, because it forced him to action. Given the choice between finding some bravery and seeing her, or never seeing her again, even Jor in his fear couldn't give up the chance. I'll see her. I have to see her. Just this once, if not after that. Just once.

Even Jor in his resolve knew that once he saw her, he'd never be able to leave again.

This time as he approached the exit he actually slowed his car and turned. It took a tremendous effort, exertion not made evident in the slight turn of the wheel, and he let out a deep breath as he pulled up to the guard booth and rolled down his window.

"May I help you, sir?" The guard was polite, and Jor remembered another guard, the one he and Wick had fought past to run away from her father. The thought made him smile, ever so briefly, before he tamped it down and nodded seriously. "Yes. I'm Jordan Windhaven, and I'm here to see Wick."

The man's eyes widened a little, and Jor's narrowed when he noticed, but there was nothing in the guard's voice when he spoke again. "Just a moment, sir."

Jor sat and did his best not to hyperventilate as the man retreated to the guard booth and got on the phone.

He's calling Wick. He's going to call her and tell her that I'm here, and she's going to tell him to make me leave, and then... and then I won't even be able to see her. I just want to see her. He'd all but convinced himself of this when the gate started to open and the man waved him through. "Go on to the main house, Mr. Windhaven."

Surprised to have gained entrance, Jor stuttered. "Th-thank you."

He remembered the long drive through the tunnel of trees. It was as beautiful now as it had been beautiful then, and he thought of the forest, of the thunderstorm and lightning and kisses in the rain, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

I can do this. I will see her.

A butler answered the door when he knocked, and Jor entered the house hesitantly. The servant took his coat, asked if he needed anything, offered him refreshment, and Jor could only stand and shake his head as he waited for any word of Wick.

"Miss is in her laboratory and will not be available for at least an hour, Mr. Windhaven. Would you like to wait in the library?"

Jor nodded, and the man led him to the room where Richard Callenstrom had agreed to let him marry Wick. He wondered where her father was now, and found that it made him angry, but that was good. Anger was welcome, because it gave him strength, and Jor sat in the giant leather chair and regained a little confidence.

"Yes?"

"Sir, there's a gentleman here requesting access. Says he's Jordan Windhaven."

There was a pause. The small camera that monitored the entrance shifted slightly.

"So he is. Let him in."

~~~

Wick was not available because she'd come straight home last night, gone down into her lab and had not yet come back out. The phone remained on Do Not Disturb, and none of the servants were willing to broach her lair without being summoned.

The AmaBet had been dispatched as soon as the courier was available. If she'd been able to get into the work lab, she would have gone there, fractured testing chamber or not, but Kiersted had dubbed this a "day off", and so she confined herself to her private workshop and got to work.

She loaded a double-headed glass vial with her chemical at one end and the catalyst at the other, sealing the ends as she went. She set it into a metal frame with brackets to hold it in place and placed the firing pin into delicate balance above it while she installed the electronic trigger. When all was attached, she welded the assembly into place and set about making it interesting.

Her storeroom yielded everything she needed. A high-quality remote timer with a coding feature that could start or stop the countdown for careful plans and last minute decisions. A neatly wrapped coil of C4 nestled comfortably around the trigger mechanism to magnify the blast radius. A metal casing with some invitingly cushioned padding to surround it and a hole near the top for the last piece of equipment she planned to add. She had to search to find it - generally speaking, she didn't see much use for them - but her supplies were quite respectable, and she found one near the back of her smallest storage closet.

The spine of her demolitions encyclopedia crackled comfortably when she opened it. It had been a long time since Wick had had to follow instructions from the manual, but she'd never installed a manual detonator before.

She worked slowly but steadily, paring the extra wire she'd always added and never used away from the remote trigger mechanism and attaching it to the secondary activation. It required a code, just as the remote timer did, but it was a different one, only four digits long for easy access.

When she was finished, she put her tools away, cleaned her workspace and then sat on her bench with her arms crossed and studied the small metal cylinder for a very long time. With distance, time and a very powerful explosive device between herself and her brush with Jordan, Wick thought much more clearly.

He's in Louisiana. Why? It isn't random. Perhaps he's come here to show me the woman. An image of the blonde girl with her hand splayed casually on Jor's chest drifted through her mind, but she refused to allow her emotion to take over. Maybe that's it, then. He wants to prove I don't own him. I could have told you that, Jor. But that doesn't explain why you didn't divorce me. I wouldn't have refused you.

She reached out and ran her fingertips along the smooth metallic side of the cylinder and thought a long, long time.

~~~

When she emerged from her lab it was almost dark again, and her servants were wise enough to stay out of the way. She drew herself a bath and floated in the sunken marble tub for over an hour and regained her equilibrium before she dressed and went down to dinner. Whatever his purpose, whatever his motive, she would not concern herself with it. If he wanted to talk to her, he'd bloody well have to do it himself.

She reached the dining room and paused. There were two places set instead of one, and Wick frowned slightly and walked through the room to the kitchen. The cook was just putting the finishing touches on some sort of dessert, and Wick's frown deepened. Adrian didn't normally ask for sweets, and she wasn't in the mood. "Lucy?" The woman looked up. "Is my uncle dining with us tonight?"

"I don't know, miss. But Frederick said there would be a guest."

The girl was a poor liar, and Wick started to get nervous. She re-entered the dining room and stopped when Frederik showed her guest in.

Jordan.

You're exactly how I remember you, Wick. Beautiful.

And she was, and it was true. His world closed in upon itself as he met her gaze, those glacier eyes, that cold expression. Unconsciously he straightened, doing his best not to weaken, because his hands wanted the touch her the same way his eyes did, but Jor didn't dare.

The last time I touched you, you bled. Are you afraid of me, Wick?

Her hands gripped the chair back in front of her, and he let his gaze trail to her slender fingers, examined each in turn, and he suffered an acute stab of pain when he noticed there was no ring. His own hands he folded behind his back, because he was wearing his ring, and his eyes darkened until he finally managed to glance up again.

You were never afraid. I should have known better.

Mrs. Windhaven. He used to enjoy calling me that. Now he uses it like a weapon, and he has the arrogance to walk into my house and sit down at my table without an invitation. She remained standing and regarded him with detachment. It felt better to look down at him.

Jor settled himself more comfortably into his seat and let her stand there, instead turning his head to survey the room slowly before he finally looked up and acknowledged her presence.

All I want is to touch you. I wonder if you still taste the way I remember... and I remember so much. I want you, spark. I want to make love on the beach. I want to take you out on my bike. I want to sleep beside you again.

...I want you to love me like I love you. I want to beg for your forgiveness, and I want you to hate me, so that I can stop wanting.

"To see my wife. Sit and eat dinner with me."

She wanted to tell him to leave. He had no right to be here; they should never have let him in. This was her house, this was her sanctuary, and he had stormed it without even a simple request. She wanted to know how he'd gotten past the guard at the gate and why the servants had let him through. The entire staff had been replaced since her new tenure here; there wasn't anyone to remember him from their brief visit a year and a half ago, and she doubted anyone she'd hired had been planted as a mole.

That meant that someone else had authorized his entry, and the only someone else that came to mind was Adrian.

Her uncle made it a point not to try to run her life for her, but his opinion represented the opinion of the family, and she didn't like to disregard that lightly. Still, this was her house, and no one else's; if she wanted to send him away, it was her business. But if she sent him away, she would have no excuse left for not filing divorce, and she wasn't ready to be bound to someone else. It was for these reasons, she informed herself in clear, cold, logical tones, that she sat down instead of throwing him out immediately. She could withstand him for a meal, and once it was complete, he could get out.

As if on cue, Lucy and Frederick entered and brought the dinner dishes, and Wick favored her butler with a furious glare before he managed to escape. Lucy served them and then left just as quickly, and the doors to the kitchen shut, leaving them quite alone.

I sound so cold. I wonder if she's hurting too, just like I am. Why can't I just tell her that I'm sorry?

As a true measure of his tangled emotions, Jor was not hungry. Still, he set into his meal, just to prove that he could eat, even while he sat close enough for him to reach out and touch her. Instead of her, he filled his fingers with a knife and fork, and ate calmly, as if nothing were the matter.

But it was tearing him up inside.

Just shout at me, Wick. Scream. Hate. Hit me, even, just show me something. Show me anger.

"Not at all. It was a very pleasant drive from New Orleans." He started into his food calmly, and she tightened her fingers around the stem of her glass. How could he be so calm about this? He'd never been able to hide his real feelings from her. She'd always been able to draw them out with a minimum of effort; he'd always been predictably easy to anger, if that anger had not always been predictable.

"I've heard you've been doing well. I saw you at the ball."

I saw you too, Jordan. What did you tell her you were doing this evening? Working late?

"Congratulations on your project."

"That would have been inconvenient, seeing as how I altered my plans because I knew you would be there."

There. He'd said it.

I came to see you, Wick. Not for any other reason.

They ate in silence, and it was the iciest silence he'd ever endured, with her or with anyone else. He hooked his feet into the rungs of his chair to keep from brushing against hers, he held his knife and fork and glass tightly, to keep from reaching out to her, and he bit his tongue, to keep the words from spilling out.

Still, as he ate, he watched her. He could no less stop his gaze from traveling over her than he could abstain from breathing. It was difficult, though, to look but not touch, and finally he had to speak again to distract himself from staring at her lips.

So he's intending to stay. And he's brought the girl with him. Perhaps he's arranged for an apartment for her in town. Convenience at its best.

She put her silverware down, laid her napkin across her plate and met his emerald eyes squarely.

It's not a lie. Lei loves trees. But I just want to see if she still cares. I just want to see if she is jealous like I am jealous.

That final blatant confirmation of his adultery took her breath away, and she cast her blank expression in steel to keep it from crumbling. Her imagination assaulted her with images of Jor and his companion locked in passionate embraces, and she beat it senseless and locked it into the cellar to be dealt with at a later time. She rose slowly from her seat and pushed it in with grim finality, her hands gripping the sides like death.

"There is nothing between us that hasn't been finished, Jordan," she said with flat hatred. "Frederick will see you out."

Hate.

He instantly regretted his attempts to provoke her, and immediately began to think of ways to take it back, to apologize, to explain and beg and ask her forgiveness. He was just ready to speak, to do anything but remain motionless in the face of her hatred, when she turned and left, and Jor was alone.

His shoulders sagged, and he propped an elbow on the table, rested his forehead in his hand and closed his eyes.

And you know makes this so hard, Wick? It's that I agree with you. I hate me too.

Frederick cleared the table, gave him back his coat, and escorted him to the front door. Jor looked one last time around the room, and let himself be locked out.

Near midnight, Jor pulled his car to stop alongside the road and looked again at his watch before hitting the dialpad on his phone.

A sleepy voice answered. "Hrrrrm? Jorjor... is that... you?"

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back with a thump against the seat. "Yeah, it's me, Leilei."

"Weren't you... at Wick's? Are you coming home?"

Now he pressed his hands against his face and sighed. "I don't know."

He told her what happened.

By the end of his story Lei was wide awake, and she talked him through it again, asking questions and doing her best to bolster his spirits. They both knew it had been a disaster, though neither said so, and Jor was just getting ready to give up once and for all when Lei whispered into the phone.

"Go see her now, Jor. Go see your spark."

He stared blindly into the dark and started the car.

"Yes."

The gatesman allowed him again, and Jor reached the front doors without resistance. Frederick seemed less inclined to allow him in, but after Jor pointed out that he was still Wick's husband, the man reluctantly opened the door. Jor immediately asked for directions and set off through the house. He knew what he was looking for.

Once there, however, his nerve began to fail him. It was all too easy to imagine her inside, curled in her bed, alone. He would have given anything to be there, to be beside her, and he laid a hand lightly on the surface of her door before steeling himself and knocking.

Now I know why he's come back here. He's come back to punish me.

She didn't understand why she hadn't realized it sooner. It was like something she might have come up with when she was young and ruthless, and it frightened her that she hadn't seen it from farther away; she'd gotten used to Jor's absence, and she'd done nothing to find out where he'd gone. Before her uncle's visit at the post, she'd left Jor alone out of respect for his wishes. After that, it had been to protect herself from the details of Jor's love life. She should have been much more careful. Now it was too late, and he'd caught her unprepared.

But I know now, Jordan. And I'm not going to let you destroy me.

The night dragged on. Wick had been unable to manage more than a light doze. She was exhausted from the day's activities, but she was afraid of what she might dream because of them, and it kept her in a lethargic, uncomfortable state, aware that she was awake and unable to fall asleep. She had just turned over for the hundredth time when a knock at her suite door made her jump to a sitting position.

"Wick?" The voice was muffled through two doors, but she still recognized it, and her insides felt cold. She'd told Frederick, under no circumstances, to allow him into the house again without notifying her, which meant he'd either broken in or Frederick's orders had been altered.

I'm going to injure you, Adrian.

She slipped out of bed and walked barefoot to the door, laying her hand against the wood. The doors to her mother's suite were made of heavy oak, with bolts at the top and bottom; Wick wasn't afraid of him breaking in, but she saw no point in encouraging him.

"We need to talk."

The surface of the wood was silky smooth, and she slid silently to sit on the floor with her back to it, drawing her feet up and resting her elbows on her knees.

"Wick?"

"Wick?" He tried again, but there was still silence, and he let his hand drop. He turned to go, paused, fought with himself viciously and then sat down outside her door, his back against the wood, his gaze staring into the darkness of the hallway. Try as he might, he couldn't leave, and he had the absurd idea of sleeping here, like a soldier at its post, before he sighed and spoke again.

"I know you're there." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "You don't have to say anything. I know you can hear me."

I'm sorry, spark. I can't tell you how much. I never should have left, but I did, and if you won't forgive me then at least punish me. Hurt me until I've paid my debt, and then... and then please, let me stay. I'll do anything if you let me stay.

His words came out much different.

"You're still my wife, Wick. I won't divorce you, and I won't leave. I've transferred her, and I am staying here. I'm not leaving again."

She said nothing, staring at the curtains that covered the entrance to her mother's balcony and clenching her hands into fists. Oh yes. I hear you, Jordan. But you must not have heard me. I said it was finished. Go back to Heather.

"You're still my wife, Wick."

It's just a case of regret, Jordan. It will pass.

"I won't divorce you."

You didn't have to.

"And I won't leave."

That sounds familiar.

" I've transferred here, and I am staying here. I'm not leaving again."

It got quiet, then, and Wick trembled behind her wooden shield. So he transferred here. So did she. What does he expect me to do? He brought her with him. Does he expect me to accept? To forgive? Either he's gone mad or I have.

There was an exasperated noise and then an unexpected loud thump as he hit the door that made her wince. "What, Mrs. Windhaven, not even a word? Aren't you going to tell me to get out?"

Get out.

She couldn't find her voice to scream it at him the way she wanted to, and she hated him for mocking her. She hated him for calling her by his name, for daring to pretend he could own her when his lover was only a few miles away. And she hated herself for wanting to open her door to him, even if it was only to hurt him. But she didn't want to see him, not even if it meant she could injure him.

She crawled away from the door, rose unsteadily to her feet and walked slowly back into her bedroom. She pushed the open door mostly to and then went to her bedside phone.

"Frederick."

Her butler was nervous. "Yes, miss." "Why did you let him in?" The man paused, and his nervousness magnified. "Miss, I couldn't reach you, and...and Master Ravenshire said we were to let him in and make him comfortable." There was a period of silence, and when she spoke again her voice was much subdued.

"Then make him comfortable. And get him away from my door."

Sleep didn't come. He lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning and hugging pillows to himself, desperate to fill his arms with anything. Several times he got up to pace the perimeter of his room and try to concentrate, but his mind was concerned with thinking only of Wick, and he ran over the same memories time and time again until he thought he couldn't stand it any longer. He drew a bath, lay submerged under the water and considered death by drowning preferable to Wick's cold hate, and then finally retreated again to his bed to do nothing but daydream of her eyes until the sun began to rise and his room filled with light.

He was just beginning to drift asleep from exhaustion when his phone rang, and he cursed, fumbled clumsily in the pockets of his discarded pants and almost fell out of bed trying to retrieve the cell before he eventually managed to lift it to his ear.

"Jorjor? You didn't come home last night. Are you okay? What's going on? Are you at Wick's? What happened?"

Jor rolled onto his back and checked his watch, which informed him that it was already ten in the morning and he hadn't slept for nearly thirty-six hours. Rubbing his eyes, he flopped back into his pillows and sighed. "Yeah, I'm here, but she won't see me. Staying in a guest room. And I dunno what's going on."

They talked. They planned; or rather, they tried to plan, but Jor was despondent and Lei, in a rare turn of events, didn't have an answer. She was unable to come up with even a reassuring lie, and Jor was just launching into a long, bitter, self-abusive tirade about his mistakes when she got fed up again with his bitching and moaning and decided that even if she didn't know what to do, she still was going to do something about it.

"Get out of bed, Jor, and put some clothes on. We're going to Baton Rouge. I'll meet you at the field office there in half an hour. Chop chop."

"You look good in green. Buy that shirt. Get these ones, too. And that. Hurry up, and we'll go get some lunch."

Lei and Jor were shopping.

She'd taken one look at his disheveled appearance, thrown her hands up in the air, and promptly informed him that if he had any hope of getting Wick back then he'd better shape up fast. Not five minutes later he found himself with an armful of trousers and shirts, and Lei was busy stomping around the store and picking out things for him.

He tolerated her nagging because he was really too worn to do anything about it, and he even fell asleep once, leaning against the wall in a half-hidden corner of the shop. When she found him she pushed him to the cash register, retrieved his wallet, and slapped down his card on the table. "We want all this."

Their next destination was much better; Lei poked him in the side and pinched his cheeks before loudly declaring that he'd lost weight and she'd better get food in him right away. He liked the sound of that, and two baskets of chips, five burritos, one enchilada, and four tamales later, he felt much better.

"Better? You look almost normal again. Now we just need to get a few hours sleep in you, and you'll be all ready to try again tonight."

She kept watch over him while he passed out in the backseat of her car, his face pressed into the upholstery and his body contorted to fit into the small space. It was some of the greatest sleep he'd ever gotten, and when Lei woke him four hours later Jor felt like a new man. He was wide awake and beginning to feel some semblance of restored confidence when Lei shoved him into a restroom at a gas station, handed him a stack of clothes, and told him to that he'd better be dressed in five minutes or she was coming in to dress him herself.

He emerged exactly five minutes later, tall and handsome in tailored khaki trousers and a short-sleeved knit shirt that exactly matched the green of his eyes. Lei affected adoration and fawned over him until he batted her away and smiled for the first time in three days, and she kissed his cheek and pointed imperiously to his car.

"Second round, Jorjor. Do me proud."

Wick was still nowhere to be seen when Jor returned to her house, but he hefted all his bags up to his room and managed to arrange things rather neatly. It took up his attention, making the room clean, and he was just starting to look for something else to take his mind off Wick when Frederick appeared and announced dinner.

Jor nodded, steeled himself, and followed the man down to the dining hall.

She was there again, and just as cold. Jor studiously ignored her glares as a means to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to his room, and between the two of them ice hung in the air. When the silence got to be too much, he leaned back in his chair and looked her over, and waited until she glared daggers at him before speaking.

"And what did you do today?"

~~~

There was a message from Frederick on the floor just inside her suite door when she finally abandoned the idea of sleeping and got up. It held two items of information. The first was that Jordan had been settled into a guest room a good distance away, and the second was that there were messages in her private voicemail box that awaited her attention. She crushed the slip of paper in her hand and left the room, creeping through her own house like a thief to avoid the servants and her unwelcome guest and sequestered herself in her workshop.

The terminal gave her access to the security cameras set up at the gate and the front door, and she saw Jordan leave. It was too much to hope that he wouldn't come back.

She checked her voicemail. It was from Malcolm at the office, asking where she was. She returned the call and explained to Malcolm that she wouldn't be in, and no, she was fine, but with the testing chamber non-functional there was nothing more to be done until Kiersted called them back to let them know the outcome of his formal conversation with Channing. She promised to contact him at home as soon as she heard something and hung up.

She paused for a moment and then called her uncle, but she got his personal assistant, who apologized for his absence and said he would deliver the message to him as soon as he returned.

Right.

The rest of the day was remarkably easy to waste. She worked on her designs and re-catalogued her equipment and waited for her uncle to call her back. Sometime around lunch Lucy rang through and offered her food, and she allowed it in and picked at it and tried not to watch the security feed to see if her visitor had returned, but she never doubted that he would.

"I'm not leaving again." Maybe not. But I'll make you wish you had, Jordan. Why tell me that? You could have just brought her with you and saved a great deal of trouble. Why the pretense? Wick didn't understand the method behind the madness, and Wick hated being unable to predict the actions of others. Jor had changed, learned to shut her out, and she at last admitted that in addition to her humiliation and anger, she was afraid.

"I love you so much, Spark..."

It had taken more than a month to recover from the physical injuries he'd given her the last time they'd had a serious private conversation. Jor had now proved he could get into her house if he wished, could get all the way to her bedroom door with frightening ease, and nothing but the architecture and her own precautions would stop him. She had taken for granted that during her stay here she was the ruler in her house. She had felt safe. Now she knew she wasn't, and when Jor's car appeared at the outer gate she shut down her system and left for her room.

Her mother's room still felt secure. She bolted both sets of doors and took a bath, dressed, and walked out onto her mother's balcony. It was on a different wall than her father's. Instead of facing towards the drive it overlooked the orchard, and a faint smell of citrus drifted up to her.

Is this how you felt, mother? A prisoner in your own house? Wick remembered many things about her mother, but she never remembered seeing her afraid.

~~~

Wick was in no mood for small talk, and her glacial tone reflected it.

"Her name is Lorelei." He took another bite of his meal and chewed thoughtfully, as if his plate were more interesting than she. "Or, rather, Lieutenant Commander Lorelei Bentham. The blonde woman I was with at the officer's ball? Is that whom you are making these snide references to?"

The hate in her gaze was answer enough, and Jor laid down his fork and raised an eyebrow. "She's my partner. They transferred us together. And before you continue to waste your breath by asking again why I'm here, I thought I made myself clear before. I am here to see you."

In a small way, Wick was relieved. He hadn't been able to stay with the lover he'd taken after he left her. It wasn't that the idea of multiple lovers was any more comforting than a single one would have been; it was the information that he hadn't attached. That he wasn't happy. It relieved her to know he'd suffered a small measure of what she had from their separation, and tiny sliver of her smiled in satisfaction.

"...and before you continue to waste your breath by asking again why I'm here, I thought I made myself clear before. I am here to see you."

"And before you continue to waste your time, I don't want to see you," she said coldly. "You can stay here as long as you want to. I can't legally throw you out. But we have nothing to talk about, Jordan. I don't know what you're trying to accomplish." Her face and voice became a little more vicious. She couldn't help it.

She just wasn't you. No one is. That's why I would have come back.

"Oh, but Mrs. Windhaven, if I had stayed away then I would never have gotten this opportunity to sit here and watch you hate me." Jor smiled. He tried to give her the cruel, sharp smile he'd learned in his time away from her, but it wasn't as cold as he wished it to be, and behind the smile he began to break. It showed in his gaze, if not in his face, and he finally stood up from the table and looked down at her to speak. She shrank away from him, and he had to close his eyes briefly to calm himself, his voice tight when he spoke. "And you can hate me all you want, Wick, but I'll still be here."

He towered over her even when she was standing, and seated she felt like a recalcitrant child. He looked down at her with that smile on his lips and she instinctively shrank back, her body too afraid of being wounded to obey orders. For a moment, some of his cruelty softened, but it immediately hardened into bitter resolve, his voice tight and angry. "And you can hate me all you want, Wick, but I'll still be here."

There was a silent moment where he stood there, looking down at her, and she looked up at him with barely concealed fear.

Don't touch me, Jordan, please, don't touch me.

Another heartbeat passed, and then he turned and walked away. "Goodnight, Mrs. Windhaven," he called over his shoulder, and she watched him disappear into the corridor.

~~~

She engaged the bolts on her mother's doors and crawled into her bed. Her body was tired, but her mind wouldn't shut off.

He almost touched me. So? Why does that matter? But it did matter. She didn't want to think about his touch. She'd spent more than a month healing from it, and a year forgetting it. It had been the last thing he'd given her before he left, a million small evidences of his love, and she didn't trust that love any longer. He'd been betrayed. He'd left her. He'd taken another lover. He was here to hurt her. She had to remain on guard.

"Third time's the charm, Jorjor."

"Not this time, Lei," he finally managed, disengaging his feet from where they were rooted in the ground and continuing onward. After another sleepless night, Jor couldn't stand to be in the house any longer, and he set out to walk in the woods. He remembered these trees from before, and it was soothing, to be alone and outdoors. There was nothing but sun and fresh air, nothing like the hate that lingered wherever Wick walked, and it helped him think.

His ever-present emotional cheerleader, Lei had been giving him a pep talk for the past three hours, trying to bolster his spirits. It was not doing much good. Jor hated himself even more after last night's encounter with Wick, and despite Lei's assurances he was beginning to break under the pressure. There was only so much hate he could take from her, only so many cold glances when he remembered the love she used to have for him, and his voice was tired as he answered again.

"No, no. But Leilei... yeah. Yeah, she did. No, I didn't say anything. You should have seen-- oh God, Leilei. It wa--" He stopped suddenly as a figure on horseback came into sight, and for a moment he suffered a flash of hope as his eyes deceived him and Wick approached. The hallucination faded, however, replaced by blue eyes too bright to be hers and a face he remembered, and Jor stood and stared as Adrian Ravenshire emerged from the trees.

"Jor? Are you still there?"

"Hello...Jor, isn't it?" He stroked the horse's neck absently with his knuckles.

Jor nodded assent, and Adrian looked him over. The boy looked much different than he had a year and a half ago. Then he'd been resolute and confident, with an arrogant attitude and a possessive attachment to his new wife. Now he looked uncertain and weary, but the arrogance was still there, and a new bitterness that narrowed his eyes and thinned his lips. He looked older. A few years more and Adrian might have called him a man.

Very well. I can say no as easily to him as I can to her. I will not leave, not without taking her with me.

"Certainly, sir."

How alike these two are, proud to a fault, and stubborn beyond reason. Adrian began walking slowly back along the trail he'd come, leading the horse, and Jor paced him.

"I've just been talking with your wife." He paused, but whatever expression he'd elicited from Jor had fled too quickly to be identified. "I understand there was a disagreement between you. You left. Have you now seen the error of your ways and decided to come back, Jor?"

"People make mistakes, sir. I'd like to atone for mine."

Because I am a coward.

There was no trace of arrogance left in his voice when he finally managed to speak, and he concentrated on looking everywhere but at Adrian as he answered. "I knew her for more than six years before I could ask her to marry me, did you know that? It seems much longer now, like I can't remember Battle School anymore."

Adrian made no comment, and Jor continued slowly. "I refused to leave her all that time. Six years. Then we were married, and moved to the Post... and then one day she came into our room and told me she'd slept with another soldier, back at Command School."

"He forced you. He forced you. I'm going to kill him."

"Not the first time."

"I couldn't understand it." He looked down at the ground then, ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "I couldn't stand it. I'm sure you know what I did. And then... then I left, because I couldn't face her after what I'd done. Why the fuck did I deserve to stay?" Now he was angry. "It shouldn't have mattered. It doesn't anymore. I don't care what she did! It must have been my fault, and it's still my fault."

It'll always be my fault.

"And Wick knows it, too." His voice was dull before it gained a bitter edge. "Heh, I should have known she'd find out. And you're right. I ran off and straight to someone else."

And what did it get me? Comfort, and... and it helped heal me. If someone like Heather could care for me, then I wasn't worthless. If I wasn't worthless, then maybe Wick could still love me.

"I tried to forget her. I did everything I could. It was better for Wick, if I was gone; I just hurt her, and she deserves someone better than me. I wasn't strong enough." Jor's eyes grew dark. "But here I am, right? Back to beg for her forgiveness. She deserves better but I can't stay away."

"I know what you're going to say. Probably the same thing I'm thinking, that it all sounds so convenient."

"There is nothing convenient about your sudden change of heart," he said in a chill tone. "You're several months too late. If you'd reached her before I did while she was still at the Command Post, there might have been something to salvage. As it is, I hardly think she should waste any more time dealing with you. And if what you've said is true, and you will be unable to stay away for her benefit, then I see only one solution."

He removed the pistol from the holster hidden under his coat at the small of his back and levelled it at his young companion.

His survival instinct, however, was not for life, but for love.

You should scare me, Adrian Ravenshire, but you don't. I've been threatened by people far more intimidating than you. If I didn't love Wick, then I would have surrendered when vonStarnburg held that gun to my head... but I didn't, and I won't surrender to you, either.

The same light filled his eyes as it had then, and they were emerald, hot and furious and full of determined love.

Shoot me. If I have to bleed to prove myself, then it's a small price to pay.

Then Jor did an astonishing thing; he smiled.

Unfazed, he returned the gun to the holster and untethered his horse. "Jordan."

The retreating footsteps paused.

"She hates you," he said simply. "If that doesn't deter you, nothing should." He mounted the horse, settled back into the saddle and walked the horse to stand next to him. "But if you encounter something else you 'can't understand', boy, walk away." His eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked down at the boy with real menace for the first time, the look he'd learned from his father that calmly promised a long period of suffering before the merciful escape of death. "You wouldn't get away with it twice."

I don't want to get away with it twice. The undeniable menace he'd seen in Adrian's eyes continued to linger, and Jor remembered that look. It had been a long time, but he remembered it. And any pain you offer will be nothing compared to what I'll feel if I really have lost her.

He sat there in the sun for another hour before he felt strong enough to stand. It was a long walk back to Wick's house.

That night he dined alone. Wick neither made an appearance nor left any word of where she was, and Jor found that her hateful absence was even worse than her hateful presence. He finally left his barely touched meal on the table and retreated to the guest bedroom. He lay in the bath again, underwater, remembering his home and the candles and times on the beach, and when he went to bed he fell asleep to dream of sunsets.

The next day he ignored Lei, turned off his phone and bunkered himself in his room. Sometimes he slept. Sometimes he stared out the window. More often, though, he tortured himself with thoughts of her, and when evening came it took all his effort not to run down to the dining hall.

For the second night, she was not there.

On the third day he left the house again, although he told himself that it was of his own free will, not because he was being driven away by her indifference. Lei met him in town, and they lunched together, and then he curled again in the backseat of her car while she petted his curls and let him shed tears into her lap.

Lei knew better than to say anything, because she knew he needed to cry. Jor didn't say anything, either. His was the heart that was breaking.

That third night he walked heavily into the dining hall, and it was empty. He'd known she wouldn't be there, but suddenly the disappointment was too much, and he closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He couldn't stand it. He would have preferred curses and accusations and hate than this cold silence, and all the reserve that Jor had been holding onto, all of the determination and the resolve that he'd clung to, it all broke, and his eyes filled with something very familiar.

Anger.

You will see me, Wick. You will tell me that you hate me. You will tell me that you don't love me, that you'll never love me again. You will curse me and then... then I will believe.

The doors in the dining hall slammed open as Jor stormed from the room, and the impact echoed as he moved purposely up the stairs and toward Wick's room.

"His car is still here."

"I believe he was on foot, miss. Would you like to leave him a message?"

She hung up and went to sit on her balcony. The stone wall was cold and solid against her back, and the tiles were cold and hard under her feet. The unyielding surfaces felt real to her, and she took draughts of the open air.

"Why did he leave you, Moira?"

Adrian never called her Moira unless he was asking something painful, something he knew he couldn't get the answer to by being comradely. She shouldn't have said anything, or she should have told him something else, but lying to Adrian never seemed to work, and he hadn't look like he would suffer silence for an answer.

"Because I slept with someone else."

"At the Command Post?"

"..."

"Would you prefer I ask your husband?"

"Maybe you should."

"Answer the question, Moira."

"No."

"If you refu-"

"No. Not at the Command Post."

The trees whispered to one another, and the leaves on the ground swirled and caught against their trunks.

"And he's not dead?"

"The bay doors jammed."

"So you said. And you told Jor this?"

"I told him of it."

"That's it? Of it?"

"I didn't get another chance to speak."

"Why not?"

A brief, strong breeze rolled across the lawn and ruffled her hair, and the branches nearest her perch made a sound like rain.

"Why did you tell him at all?"

"I loved him."

"That's not much of an excuse."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Just so. Do you still love him?"

"I hate him."

The day faded away, and night crept in and turned the trees into shadows.

~~~

When Malcolm arrived at the office the next morning, he found her supervising the installation of a new testing chamber. Together they got a proper output reading on the AmaBet using the special polycarbon vials the engineers had determined wouldn't damage the machine and a much smaller amount of chemical. Once she had the results, she sent them to Kiersted and requested permission to start construction of the prototype missile immediately.

The approval came through in less than an hour, and she turned her back on the rest of existence and lost herself in her job.

Two days of scant sleep and many hours of labor later, her portion of the missile was complete. Malcolm was the hardware specialist; now that she was done with the chemical juggling, he had to install the guidance system. She stayed until he began to look at her questioningly and then reluctantly left and returned to her house and locked herself in her room. She sent another request to Kiersted, asking to be placed on another project as quickly as possible, and sent a message to Lucy requesting dinner be sent to her room and not the dining table. Then she flipped to the security view of the outside of the house and stared at Jor's car without emotion.

I hate you, Jordan. Leave me my hatred and go back to Elisabeta. Go back to Heather, and let me be alone.

"I know you're in there, Wick. Open the door. Open the door."

There was no answer.

This time Jor kicked the door with a vicious swing of a steel-toed boot, and his temper, already frayed to the point of breaking, finally snapped. The same rage that had driven him countless times to violence-- with Nathan, with Daniels, with Wick-- turned his eyes a glorious shade of emerald, and he hit the wood again.

"You know why I left you, Wick?" He bowed his head against the door and hissed his words. "Because how the fuck could I face you after what I did? I almost killed you, you, my wife, I wanted to kill you because I couldn't stand thinking about you with that Creche. He hurt you, and I should have killed him and then... and then I fucking left you!"

When there wasn't a reply, Jor all but howled. "Goddamnit, Wick, what the fuck do you want me to say?! I can't fucking ask for your forgiveness because I won't ever forgive myself! But I came back because I was wrong, I was fucking wrong and I'll say it however many times you want me to if you'll just let me see you. You hate me, Wick, and I hate me too, but I fucking need you, Wick, I need you, and you are going to fucking tell me to my face that you don't love me or I'm never leaving. Did you hear me, Wick? Did you hear me?! Open the goddamn door!"

The wood made a splintering sound this time, as he threw himself at the door, and Jor took a step back and then launched himself at the barrier again.

"I know you're in there, Wick. Open the door. Open the door."

His voice moved past angry and into furious at the last three words, and it made her wince despite herself. Her mind, normally so apt at providing her answers when she was in a dangerous situation, eliminated her higher brain functions and locked her muscles and flooded her body with fear. There was another bang, reverberating like a gunshot through her suite, and she yanked her robe to her and put it on, each slam against the door making her flinch.

The sitting room door visibly quivered under another blow as she stepped into the sitting room, and then he began to talk, and what he said rooted her in place.

"You know why I left you, Wick? Because how the fuck could I face you after what I did? I almost killed you, you, my wife! I wanted to kill you because I couldn't stand thinking about you with that Creche." There was more, but the words drifted past her as his admission brought out what they'd both been avoiding since he'd shown up at her dinner table.

You wanted to kill me. You tried to kill me. What do you want now? Her heart hammered beneath her ribcage and she watched the door vibrate again.

"You hate me, Wick, and I hate me too, but I fucking need you, Wick, I need you, and you are going to fucking tell me to my face that you don't love me or I'm never leaving. Did you hear me, Wick? Did you hear me?! Open the goddamn door!" The fury in his voice made her knees feel weak, and she reached out a hand to an armchair to steady herself, a tiny noise escaping her. Her mind was telling her to run, but there was nowhere to go, and he couldn't get through the door, surely not.

There was another assault, and when the wood began to crinkle she took a step back. The next moment the door exploded inward, sending shards from the wood into her room, and Jordan stumbled forward a few steps and then stood.

Don't look at me like that. Don't you dare. You're not supposed to be afraid. You're not supposed to fear anything.

Then she ran.

He was after her in an instant, his fingers tightening around her arm the moment her hand hit the bedroom door. He grabbed her, yanked her back, and when she whimpered the fury fled from his expression, replaced by something darker, something bitter, something sacred.

I haven't touched you in months, spark, a year. Now I don't think I can ever let you go.

He brought her in close, and she wrenched her arm free her as he lifted her and struck him, the heel of her palm landing on his cheek and her nails leaving red marks down the side of his face. He grunted and tried to catch her hands, but he wasn't willing to let her go and she took advantage of that for all that it was worth. She balled her fist and swung it, and it contacted on his mouth and cut his lip. His hold loosened and she tried unsuccessfully to twist away before he got another grip. She hissed her frustration and tried to punch him in the throat, but she didn't have the proper leverage, and at the last moment she uncurled her fingers and pressed them as hard as she could into Jordan's throat.

Wick had never used her pain lock in real combat before. She bore down as hard as she could and was rewarded with a tortured gasp of pain. He wavered and fell to his knees, but he still didn't relax enough for her to escape, and she clung to him like a wolverine and tried to press harder.

"You won't let me run away?" she growled as he struggled to remove her hand without losing his hold on her. "All...I have to do...is stand still long enough." He finally succeeded in securing her with one arm and she let his head drop before he could pull her hand away. He gasped and choked, but he pinned her arms behind her securely, and she glared up at him with all the hate she'd accumulated during his absence.

Hurt me, Wick. Punish me. Bleed me. Kill me, as long as it's you and no one else. Show me you love me, and I'll die if it'll make you happy.

Jor struggled to breathe, struggled to think, and blood dripped from his chin as he held Wick beneath him and tried not to break. "That's too bad," he whispered. "Because I want you."

And I'll show you how much.

He held her down, but he refused to hit her back. His hands gripped her wrists, his fingers dug into her arms, but he'd only bruise her, not bleed her. He tore at her clothes and was driven mad by the touch of her bare skin against his, but he still didn't hurt her, not like she was hurting him.

He only wanted to love her.

"Tell me you hate me," he hissed as he stared down into her eyes, met that furious cold gaze with his own. "Tell me you hate me."

"I hate you!"

He shook his head angrily, fury illuminating his eyes and changing the lines of his face. It was an old expression, a worn expression, and his voice changed to something deep, something tired. "Tell me that you don't love me, and that you never will. Tell me."

She didn't answer.

"You can't, can you?" The anger faded suddenly and he kissed her, released her hands and let her scratch and bite him as he crushed her to him. ...do you still love me? I still love you.

She screamed when he reclaimed her, and Jor buried his face into her throat, wound his fingers in her silky hair and breathed her in, tasted her, and closed his eyes against her hatred. He didn't know if she didn't love him anymore, but he knew that he wanted only to touch her one last time before she drove him away. He knew it would make no difference, that Wick's mind could never be changed, and if she hated him so much to kill him or push him away forever then he'd go, but not until after. Not until he loved her.

I meant it when I said I'd always love you, spark. I may be a fool to keep trying, I may be weak to beg at your feet, but even if you hate me I can never stop loving you.

He kissed her one last time and whispered to her, and said her name, her real name.

"That's too bad," he whispered. "Because I want you."

No. No, Jordan. You took my love. Don't take my hatred too.

One great hand secured her wrists behind her effortlessly. The cloth of her robe ripped at the seams, and she closed her eyes while he did the same to his own. The heat of his body increased exponentially when there was nothing to separate them; she wanted to keep her eyes shut, but the shock of his skin on hers was too much and they flew open to glare at him.

"Tell me you hate me," he hissed at her, and she looked up at him in silent defiance. "Tell me you hate me." She locked her eyes with his and leaned forward as much as his hold permitted, baring her teeth. "I hate you." He shook his head, and for a few seconds she thought he was going to hit her, but something stole away the blow at the last moment and he pulled her closer to him instead.

"Tell me that you don't love me, and that you never will," he whispered, and she stared at him, transfixed. "Tell me."

Jordan, don't you understand? I hate you. It doesn't go back. I hate you, I hate you, can't you leave me that? I don't want this. Let me hate. It's clean.

"You can't, can you?"

He let her hands go then, and she attacked, scratching his back, the outsides of his arms, anything she could reach, but he was lost in some private world of his own and nothing seemed to matter. She sank her teeth into his shoulder when his body told her what he was going to do, and his blood was in her mouth when he forced her hatred to the surface with his unwelcome love.

She screamed her fury and vainly tried to injure him in return, and his back and arms grew bloody and slippery under her fingernails. His face was pressed to her throat and she couldn't get to his eyes. She clawed at his neck, but he didn't even pause. There was an infuriating tenderness to his movements, as if by doing it gently he could make it better; it was like being suffocated, and she raked at his skin more and more desperately, but when he stilled and kissed her, she knew she had lost. Defeat stole her strength, and her bloody hands went lax and fell to the floor, until he kissed her again and whispered the last thing in the world she wanted to hear.

"Still yours, spark..."

The words tore into her like shrapnel, and she wrenched against him with insane fury. Whether she broke free or he let her go she didn't know, but she shoved him away violently enough for him to hit the floor, and then she was on her feet and away, running as fast as she could from her suite and its broken door.

I'm sorry, spark. I'm sorry I came back.

He keeled over on the floor, curled around himself like he was being torn apart from inside. And he was. It hurt, like nothing had ever hurt before, not even her hatred, and it was loss that made him bury his face in bloody hands, because he knew she was gone.

Now I've lost you forever.

Eventually he couldn't bear to be there any longer, in her bedroom, in her suite, and he gathered his clothes and retreated to the guest quarters on the far side of the house, as far away as he could get from her broken door. Blood dried on his skin in sticky lines, and Jor stared at his broken reflection in the bathroom mirror and watched the life drain from his eyes.

And now the only thing I have left is this. Your scars.

He ran the bath and filled the room with steam, until he couldn't himself anymore and the world disappeared. The pain in his arms and back was distant, and it was as if the ragged scratches and lines drawn everywhere into his skin were not part of him but of something else. He touched the brand on his back that was now divided by a jagged cut, and cried, because even that old promise was broken.

I love you, Moira Callenstrom.

When morning came Jor was dead to the world, still sprawled in a tub filled with water pinked by his blood. His face was pressed to the tile, an arm draped over the side, his fingers brushing the floor, and while the sun rose higher in the sky, he dreamt of fire.

I'm hiding from you, Jordan, but it does no good. I don't understand you any longer. I can't keep you out anymore. I can't think about you as I did when I was younger; I can't live on how any longer. Now I must have why as well.

Why, Jordan? I would have let you go. If you'd left me alone for another week I might have done it on my own. But you came here and flaunted your lover and then demanded my attention in the same sentence. I don't understand. If you ever knew me at all, you'd know that I could never agree to that. That's why you did it, to make me an offer you knew I'd refuse so you could do this. Is that what you need from me, Jordan? Someone who will fight you?

Before, it was different. It was devotional, a promise, an oath that you
knew me and loved me enough to demand an opportunity to prove it. You were different. So was I. I always knew that I was dangerous for you,Jordan. You should have had someone more stable, someone more calm. I think you knew that, too - but you insisted, and I let you, because I loved you and I was too selfish to know better. Maybe I broke you first, making you need someone like that.

What will you do when you find that I've changed? I'm breakable now, Jordan, and whatever your motives now, I think my death would disappoint you.

I could have freed you. If you'd let me alone, I could have let you go.

How did you know?

"Why did you tell him at all?"

"I loved him."

"That's not much of an excuse."

"I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Just so. Do you still love him?"

"I hate him."

"I insist."

The butler grimaced, but he stepped aside, and Adrian entered his niece's suite and shut the door quietly behind him.

The room itself was not in disarray, precisely, but there was an aura of disorder about it that made him uncomfortable. The furniture was slightly askew, but nothing was overturned. The door to the suite had been repaired and the fragments of the previous frame cleared away, but the rest of the wooden floor had not been swept recently, and dust was beginning to accumulate. A candlestick lay on its side on the small table, and he set it upright absently, his eyes falling at last on the white linen curtains that concealed the balcony.

A cold draft touched him, and the light material shifted. A strange unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, and he approached the curtains and lifted them aside. The door to the balcony was wide open, and he stepped out to look down to the ground below, but the orchard floor was littered only with dead leaves and twigs. Much of his apprehension lifted, and he retreated into the room and latched the floor-length shutters before pulling the curtains closed over them.

The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open enough to allow him to pass. There were more small evidences of neglect; the blankets and sheets were quite rumpled and completely unmade, and two pillows had fallen to the floor. The blinds were drawn up unevenly at the open window to admit the cold night air, and after he stepped inside he realized why. The fireplace was in use. Lousiana winters were not often bitter enough to require the full blaze that was now in force, and the heat of the room was high enough to make him perspire despite the chill breeze from outside.

His niece was seated in the armchair facing the inferno, wrapped in a blanket and insensible to his presence, and he cleared his throat softly. She looked away from the fire reluctantly, and he could see no hint of discomfort or awareness of the overwhelming heat on her face, not even perspiration. There were dark circles under her eyes, and the points of her cheeks were sharp enough to cast weak shadows. The rest of her was concealed within the coverlet she had around her, but he didn't need to see any more. The boy had to be put out of the way. This could not continue. All he lacked was her approval; he could send Windhaven away for her, if necessary. Anything could be arranged, if necessary, and her appearance assured him that necessity was close at hand.

He said nothing, and eventually she spoke.

"Yes?" Her voice was flat and tired.

"You didn't come to dinner."

"I'm not hungry." There was no malice in her tone, no rebellion for him to challenge.

"That's the third time in as many days. Are you ill?" he inquired sharply.

"You might say that," she agreed in a slow, deliberate manner, as if the idea were just occurring to her.

He walked to the other armchair, and when she made no objection he settled into it. They sat that way for some time, but Adrian knew how to wait, and his persistence was rewarded when she began to speak. Her voice was soft and unhurried.

"Jordan and I were transferred into the same unit when I was twelve. We disliked some of the same people. He was crueler then. So was I. We got into some trouble together, and by the time we found our way out of it neither of us walked away. It was simpler then. He liked being in control, and I liked taking it away from him. And he liked taking it back. We played that game for years. I don't remember falling in love. I just remember..." she paused, and blinked her eyes almost sleepily, "I remember realizing how uncomfortable it would be to lose him. That made me angry. I didn't want dependence. Maybe I punished him for that every now and then. I don't remember anymore. I remember everything I did, but I don't always remember why."

She closed her eyes, and Adrian was beginning to worry that she'd fallen asleep when she opened them again.

"When we got to Command School, things changed. We had two weeks of home leave between schools. Maybe it was the separation, but he came back with far less patience. We fought about it, but he wanted it and I wasn't willing to take unnecessary risks. After that...I told you what happened with Terrence. And with the Creche boy. I never intended for that to happen. Maybe I should have told Jordan then - but even if he'd given me a chance to explain, he might have tried to do something to Dominic and gotten injured in the process. And...and I wasn't willing to risk losing him over a mistake I'd made. If the Creche boy had been kinder, I might have felt guiltier."

Her voice grew fainter as she talked, and she paused as if to gather strength. When she spoke again it was firmer, but the sadness that had been lacking before began to creep in. "When I did tell him, it was because I realized that the reason I hated loving Jordan was because I didn't trust him not to hurt me - not because he'd given me reason to doubt him, but because I kept expecting him to do what I'd done. Maybe he did. I never asked. There was a girl named Bianca - " She stopped and shook her head to clear it. "It doesn't matter. I told him because I wanted him to trust me like I wanted to trust him. And he tried to kill me. It was so strange, but when I woke up in the infirmary, I wasn't relieved to be alive or angry at him for doing it. I was disappointed. Not in myself. In him. I was disappointed that he would start something like that without having the decency to finish it. At that moment, I would have accepted it. But now...now it's different.

"When he left, I accepted that. I went a little crazy for a whlie, but I accepted that. I had my work. I don't know if I could have been happy like that, but I tried. I finished the AmaBet project and I was just beginning to feel alive again when he came back. It's like he was waiting for me to stand up so he could knock me down again." She sounded bemused, but not at all angry, her words still coming slow and steady. "But that's against the rules. He could have killed me. He forfeited. He could have left me forever. He forfeited that too. He wasn't supposed to come back here. He wasn't supposed to want me anymore." Confusion replaced bemusement, and her brow furrowed slightly. "I don't understand, Adrian, but I suppose I don't have to."

She looked away from the fire and into his eyes. "He came back, and I did what I was supposed to. I tried to make him leave, but I wasn't strong enough to order him until it was too late. I know what my mother would do. She would endure him, and she would hate him. I'm...not like my mother." This last came painfully, and her soft, dreamy tone became more desperate, and the words came progressively faster. "I'm not strong like her. But he tried to kill me. I should hate him. He was supposed to kill me. He wasn't supposed to come back. Now...now everything is out of place. I'm scared of him, Adrian. I'm scared of myself. Because if I can't hate someone who tried to kill me, doesn't that mean some of me wants to die? If I can't hate him....what do I do now?"

The simple query coupled with the incredibly uncharacteristic childlike pleading on her face made Adrian hurt in a fashion he hadn't experienced in decades, and it drew him out of his chair to approach hers. She was distressingly easy to lift, and it proved the extent of her weakness and disorientation when she offered no complaint. Once she was settled in her bed, he brought the fire down to a bearable level and closed the window. She said nothing else. He had soup brought from the kitchen and watched her eat it mechanically at his request, and when she'd finished it and her meager store of energy had been exhausted he let her fall to sleep and retreated to her sitting room to think.

Adrian was closer to upset than he'd been in many years, and Adrian did not like being upset. In such a state, he was first greatly inclined to have Jor removed immediately and stay himself to assist his niece through the fallout. He was greatly inclined, in fact, to remove Jor himself. He knew enough about what had happened after Jordan had broken down his niece's door. Since then, she'd been more and more withdrawn, and tonight's culmination brought him very close to wanting Jor to suffer greatly. But reason was too harsh a master to permit him to base such an act on emotion, and after a good deal of thinking he was forced to admit that Jor gave every indication of suffering greatly all on his own, and that any harm that came to the boy now would undoubtedly cause problems later on.

He was faced with a hard decision. Wick's malleable state would not last; if he had Jor sent away he had no guarantee that she would respond favorably. On the other hand, if he allowed Jor to stay, there were no guarantees that he wouldn't injure her again. In any other circumstance, it wouldn't have been a choice; emotions could be dealt with. Physical injury was not to be tolerated. But if he disliked the idea of trusting her to Jordan, the idea of trusting her alone in his absence was even less appealing.

When she woke up she bathed, had breakfast, checked her messages and requested more information on the upcoming project from her new superior before finding out from Frederick that Adrian was gone. That left her thoughtful, but she had no doubt he would come back if she asked him to, and it felt unusually good to be assured of that.

She passed two days in a similar fashion, recuperating in her suite and performing the small tasks her job required of her. There were no knocks at the door, no requests for her company, and as she grew stronger she began to draw a clearer picture of her husband's current state of mind.

It's been three weeks, and you haven't even asked to see me. Are you frightened of me now, Jordan?

The idea of facing him alone still scared her, but the clean, calm feeling she'd enjoyed since her talk with Adrian gave her courage. The third afternoon following her revelation, she verified with Frederick that Jor was gone to work and then let herself into his suite. Clothes were scattered around a little haphazardly, but she left them where they were and made enough space on a chair for her to perch on the arm. She wanted him a little off balance. She wanted to know how things stood.

"You think they don't already have data on that? I think Reed was right at the briefing. Yeah. Yeah." He fumbled as he sorted through his keys for the one to his suite, trying to juggle the keyring, the cell pressed to his ear, and an overstuffed briefcase all at once. After some awkward maneuvering he managed to get inside, kicking the heavy door closed behind him and stumbling over to the desk in his study.

The briefcase he set down in his chair, the keys he dropped into a drawer, and he resumed his discussion as he perched on the edge of the desk and kicked off his boots. "No, Lei, I don't agree with you at all. I thought we discussed this already. What?" Jor switched the cell to his other ear and loosened the collar of his uniform jacket. "Yeah. No, you're right about that, but... neh. Okay, fine. Leilei, you-- well, I doubt that."

He headed toward the open door to his bedroom, head bent down to stare thoughtfully at the floor as he walked and talked, his fingers working at the holster on his belt. He was so preoccupied that he actually looked up straight at Wick perched on a chair in his room and went back to talking for a few seconds, before it belatedly occurred to him that Wick was in his room. "If you thi--" Jor stopped abruptly, both in mid-sentence and in movement, and his conversation was forgotten as he stared at her.

...spark? What are you doing here?

He blinked at her, blinked at the phone in his hand, blinked at her again, and then shook himself as if to gather his thoughts. "We'll talk later," he muttered into the mic before snapping the cell shut, slipping it into his pocket and straightening up as he did his best to act collected as he nodded in greeting to Wick.

Jor was dressed in his uniform and loaded down with a briefcase and a few smaller objects that made it difficult for him to close the door behind him. He kicked it shut and she jumped involuntarily, but he was absorbed in his phone conversation and completely unaware of her presence.

"No, Lei, I don't agree with you at all."

She stiffened involuntarily. Her. I'd almost forgotten about...her. The old anger stirred, and she wrapped her heart in it and kept herself still, unwilling to give herself away and listening to him talk. Hearing him argue with his Lei made her more jealous than listening to them trade endearments would have, and she watched him wordlessly as he sat down on his desk and took off his boots.

"I thought we discussed this already. What?" He loosened his collar, and she caught a glimpse of his throat. She remembered opening his collar for him, long ago. She remembered giving him reason to close it - something Lei didn't seem to do.

And you're still here, Jor. Is that what you need? I can teach her to hurt you, if that's all you want.

"Yeah. No, you're right about that, but... neh. Okay, fine. Leilei, you-- well, I doubt that." His hands went absently to his belt, working at the holster, and for a single heart-stopping moment he looked right at her and away, and she blinked and swallowed. He knew I was here the whole time! Where...where did you learn to be so cold, Jordan? She wished fervently that she hadn't come and tried to think of something to say to effect a quick escape when he was finished talking to the girl.

The holster came free in his hand, and he was just turning when he froze. His voice cut off and he stared at her in shock, and she realized that he hadn't seen her at all, before. He recovered quickly, but the knowledge that she'd startled him so completely put her back in control, and she returned his gaze silently.

"We'll talk later," he said quickly into the phone and then closed it and put it away.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you."

His hand looked huge around the little communication device, and she glanced at the other one, still wrapped around the service weapon he'd unfastened but not yet set down. She looked back to his face immediately, trying to guess his intent without showing too much fear, and he turned away and set it down. The muscles in his back moved under his uniform, but he gave no other sign of emotion.

"Do you need something?"

"Yeah," he managed, turning around to face her again with an effort that he hoped wouldn't show. Her close proximity affected him as it always has, but she was being impersonal, and he wouldn't be the one to bridge the distance. "It was. Why?"

An expression he couldn't read crossed her face like a shadow, and it seemed as if she were about to speak again when the cell began to ring. He ignored it as long as he could, still meeting those glacier eyes with considerable strain, but eventually he gave in and broke contact, clicking open the mic sharply.

His voice was harsh when he spoke. "What."

Lei started in on him, and for a moment Jor lost his composure, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand over his face. "Yes, I hung up on you for a reason. No. No. So ask someone else." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed impatiently. "No, Lei. I'm not going to look. I don't have the stats on that. Fuckin' A." The curse sounded out of place, forced. He looked at his watch. "It's 1800. You can wait more than twelve fucking hours for me to come to work. Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow. Don't call. Bye."

He sighed again and closed the cell with an angry snap, tightening his fingers around the little device and making a visible effort to settle down before he looked to Wick again. The silence was even more strained than before, and he tried to smile wanly, feeling as if he owed her an answer. "They've got us on a new project," he explained awkwardly. "It's... complicated. Not the kind I'm used to, at any rate."

Wick didn't respond, and he hesitated, continued. "Some of the reports are years old. We have to sort through everything. We're having problems with it... well, not just us, but our department, and Lei thinks it's one thing and I disagree, because our data just doesn't support it, and it's a mess, an--"

She watched him discard his jacket and take an unnecessarily long path back to her general area. He was uncomfortable with her there, either because he'd been interrupted in a private conversation or because her presence itself was disruptive, and it didn't take him long to come to the point.

"But you didn't come here to listen to me talk about work." He opened his briefcase and began unloading files. "What is it?"

Yes. What is it? Are you here to tell him to leave? Or to confess your love? How about to beg his forgiveness for forcing him to smash through your bedroom door? Did you forget? You suddenly remember he's got a lover and now you want him back because someone else has him? Ask him how many of her bones he's broken. Ask him how he explains you to her. Ask him if he bothers. What the fuck were you thinking, Wick? Why are you here?

She stared at him staring at his papers until she was reasonably assured of a calm demeanor and asked the only question she could think of.