*****

It had been weeks, hell, maybe *months* since he had been allowed to shower. He didn't even want to think about the filth that was being rinsed from his body and washed through the narrow hole in the floor. The water was cold, there was no soap, but it felt good just to be cool, and wet with something other than sweat. After nearly five months buried alive in this writhing cesspit, it was almost surreal how good it felt.

But a slim figure in beige linen hovered in his peripheral vision and his lip curled in grim irony. Except for her. Only the presence of that *bitch* kept this from being a sublimely blissful experience.

"Who sent you?" he snarled at her, at the same time marveling at the sputter of the water against his lips. Christ, it felt good to be *clean*...

"The smoking man," she said without hesitation. He shot a look at her, blinking through the water running over his face. He wondered again who the hell she was working for. Was this another lie, like everything else that came out of her mouth? She met his gaze evenly. Oh, she was good. "He's dying," she told him.

He gave a short bark of laughter and closed his eyes, turning his face upward to savor the cool water rushing over him from the rusty spigot above. This was too good to be true. To have both of the fantasies that had sustained him through the last several weeks come true in one day...?

"So what is this?" he asked, sneering and letting the water splash off of his teeth. "A final 'act of contrition?'" After a moment's silence, he opened his eyes and shot her a baleful look. "What does he *want*, Marita?"

She continued to regard him with the same cool detachment she had shown since walking into the prison. She shrugged.

"I was sent to oversee your release from this place," she said simply, crossing her arms over her chest, "and to bring you back to the states. If he has plans for you beyond that, you'll have to ask him about them yourself."

Their eyes met across the space between them, the splashing of the shower making the only sound in the room. God, she was a cold bitch. Everything about her was calculated for the best effect, from her tight-jawed diction down to the light outfit she had worn in here, legs and hair dangerously revealed despite the rigid Muslim customs of the country. He didn't suppose for a minute that she didn't know *exactly* what she was doing. He chuckled from the back of his throat. He had to admire her audacity. The prisoners had called her 'whore' in about five different languages as she stalked defiantly through the prison. If only they knew. It didn't take much for him to remember what she looked like, moaning under him.

He had made her scream...

The shower stopped abruptly, and the sudden silence engulfed them, punctuated by random drips hitting the metal floor beneath him. Her eyes swept casually up and down his body as she stooped to pick something up from the bench against the wall. Cold fucking bitch. She tossed a bundle of clean clothes at his chest.

"Get dressed," she said. "It's a three hour drive to Tunis."

*****

The room was shabby and cramped, a veritable haven of spacious delight compared to a dank cell shared with half-a-dozen stinking, third world criminals. He dropped the bag he was carrying onto the narrow chair next to the door. She turned to look at him.

"Our flight leaves first thing in the morning," she told him, pulling damp tendrils of hair from her face. It was hot, stiflingly so, and the humidity glistened on her cheeks and chin and collarbones. He watched her, waiting.

"What is this about, Marita?" he asked when it seemed she was not going to say any more. Her mouth was drawn together in a thin line, and he could see her nose flare slightly in contempt. Her eyes sparked.

"I can't answer your questions, Alex," she said. "I was sent here only to secure --"

He captured her gaze with his own. "Why did he send you?" he asked. She sighed.

"I told you --"

"You told me what he wanted you to tell me," Krycek took a step closer to her. He could hear her breath as she drew it in deeply. "Why did he send *you*?" he asked.

"Because he knew I could do the job," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. He mimicked her expression of disgust until the beginnings of a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. And because that black-lunged bastard knew how it would *kill* you to have to release me from that place, he thought. He laughed, looking away with a shake of his head.

"Whatever," he muttered, taking a step back. He glanced around the room, not caring enough to register the details of its spare decor. "So," he said, glancing back at her with his hand to his forehead. "Am I *your* prisoner now? Is this some kind of transatlantic death march?" He wiped the sweat from his forehead, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to that one.

"I was told to make sure you got back to Washington...*safely*," she told him, maintaining their eye contact boldly, deliberately. A hot breeze blew through the pane-less window, moving her hair and shifting the fabric of her skirt slightly, and apparently disturbing her resolve to tell him nothing. She turned her head to look out the window at the sand-colored buildings beyond. "He has a job for you," she said, looking sidelong at him from the corners of her eyes. "He said it's something that only you can do."

"What is it?"

She picked her chin up. "I wasn't told," she said, watching him defiantly. But he knew that this was likely the truth -- or at least part of it. It didn't matter anyway, he told himself as he stepped close to her again. Another gust of hot air blew through the window. He was free from that stinking hellhole, and right now that was all he cared about. He took another step, bringing him right up to where she stood with her back against the far wall of the room. The heat in the room seemed to collect in the space between them. He looked down at her, feeling the pull in his groin as his eyes slid along the shape of her mouth. She dropped her eyes so that he could only see the sweep of her eyelashes against her sunburned cheeks.

"Forget it, Alex," she said lowly.

"What?" he whispered, only momentarily disturbed by her apparent ability to read his thoughts. She let out a small huff of derisive amusment.

"Whatever it is that's crossing your mind," she said, glancing between him and the narrow single-bed that was the room's only furnishing. "I told you. I'd just as soon let you rot."

He shifted toward her so that his thighs touched hers, the front of his pants brushing against her hip. He felt her sharp intake of breath. Her eyes flashed up at him.

"The feeling's mutual," he murmured, bending slightly to slide his hand behind her knee and along the back of her thigh. Christ, she felt soft. He caught the hem of her skirt over his thumb and continued upward. Their faces hovered close together, barely a film of perspiration separating their humid skin. Her breath was hot on his cheek as her hand came up to touch his shoulder where the joint ended abruptly. Her fingers brushed the sensitive scar tissue lightly through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"You left me for dead," she hissed against his neck. "Bastard..."

He groaned as she bit him, pushing her body against his. His hand was on her ass, his fingers slipping easily beneath her underwear and between her legs. He leaned his forehead against her shoulder as he dipped his fingers into her -- sweet Christ, she felt good, she was so wet -- and ground his erection into her hips. It had been so long --

She licked his ear. "Do you have any idea what they did to me?" she whispered, one hand reaching up into his shirt to rake her nails along his back. Her right hand continued to sweep gently across his empty shoulder. He leaned into her with a moan, opening his mouth on her neck.

"Yes," he murmured into her damp skin. "I do."

A shock of blue pain sent him backward, grabbing at the shoulder where she had just jabbed him with her nails. He let his breath out with a hiss, lifting his eyes to meet her brutal stare. She took a step away from the wall, shrugging out of her light jacket and walking slowly toward him. He backed away from her, still clutching at his shoulder with his right hand.

"Goddamn fucking *bitch* --" he spat, head still reeling with the pain. She sneered at him, tossing the jacket lightly on the bed. Reaching her hand out, she grabbed his face between her thumb and fingers

"Next time, if you're going to leave me..." she murmured, bringing their faces close together again, "you'd better make sure I'm dead."

Letting go of his shoulder, he knocked her hand from his face and reached around to grab the hair at the back of her neck. A small gasp escaped her lips as he pulled her against him, her head tilted backward by his hand. She narrowed her eyes, flashing a challenge at him. He bought his mouth down on hers, crushing her lips with his own. He flinched slightly as her hands moved under his shirt again, skimming roughly along the skin on his back, and felt her smile of cruelty against his mouth.

Pushing her thigh with his own, he turned them sideward, bringing the backs of her legs against the small bed. She sank down under him, still feeding hungrily at his mouth, as he hitched her skirt upward. Her hands moved to unfasten the front of his pants, her legs coming up to hook around his. A few quick movements, a tuck of the hips, and he was inside her --

He brought his head back, taking his mouth away from hers with a grunt. "Oh God --" It had been so long. She tightened her legs around his waist, arching her back against the mattress, and he pushed himself further in. Her hands moved over his ribs and dug into his chest. He moaned.

He began to move inside her, shoving his hips roughly against hers, and she matched his rhythm, lifting her pelvis to meet each thrust.

"You're so..." he muttered, unable to finish his thought. "Oh fuck --"

"Shut up and fuck me," she breathed. She reached around to grab his ass, pulling him into her harder. He buried himself with a deep groan, stopping for a moment to enjoy the slick heat of her cunt enveloping him.

"Fuck me," she growled at him, and he picked his rhythm up again, edging out and throwing himself back into her with jabs that grew increasingly quick and fierce. They moved hungrily, slamming into each other with a ferocity that left no room for thought, each of them shaking with the exertion, trembling closer to the edge of crisis with every movement, each frenzied touch. She clutched desperately at his back, digging her fingers into his sides as she moved beneath him. He could feel rivulets of sweat trickling along his ribs as he pounded into her, sensed the muscles in his arm giving out under the strain of his weight. The room grew unbearably hot as he quickened his pace to meet the end, and he came --

He bent his elbow, lowering himself stiffly onto her with his final thrust, his body shuddering over hers. Her body fluttered vaguely under him, shivering despite the heat. Breathing heavily, he pulled out, their sweat and cum-slicked thighs sliding across one another as he rolled off of her and onto the mattress.

She swung her legs back over the edge of the bed, and her hands came up to pull her skirt back down over her hips. Passing the back of her hand over her mouth, she pulled a strand of hair from her lips and glanced briefly over her shoulder at him. He caught a quick flash from her eyes. Unreadable. Cold.

He watched as she slid her jacket from under his legs and pulled it over her arms. Standing up, she pushed her feet back into her shoes and smoothed her hair back. She crossed to the door and picked up the bag he had dropped on the chair. Poised in the doorway, she turned back toward him.

"Our flight is at 6:30 am," she told him, her face composed for business again. "If you're not here when I come for you in the morning, I have orders to have you killed."

He shook his head and looked at the ceiling, mouth opening around a silent, incredulous laugh. She really was unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

"God, I hate you," he said, with a glance back at her.

She regarded him coolly from the doorway, and he thought he saw the hint of a smile on her swollen lips. She pushed another strand of hair from her face.

"The feeling's mutual," she murmured, and she left.
 

END
*****
Thanks to Shannon for beta reading this for me, and making me post it before I lost the nerve.