Date: Tue, 23 Aug 1994 20:13:09 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "(Nancy Cleveland)" Subject: Aloha Chapter 2 (p 61-66) sorry for the delay folks, there's been a minor rewrite going on with this section...which contains a love scene...odd how graphic violence is usually less objectionable to people than graphic sex....I hope the following offends no one...just remember, no one is making you read it...an alternative (longer more detailed version) is also available if you want to see how it was originally envisioned...enjoy..... Aloha Chapter 2, p 61-66. Anger flushed her cheeks. "How dare you imply that I would break my wedding vows." "That's what it looks like to me." He turned away, clenching his fists, ordering his unruly body to relax, to ignore her presence, her tantilizing scent and touch. Ordering himself to forget her. Forget his arousal, his yearning. Burying it in anger, instead. "You don't understand. I *was* married. He's dead." Her voice was low, furious. Jonathan turned, faced her again, his eyes meeting hers, searching her face, looking for her intent, her purpose. He beat down the hope rising in his heart and listened, his face closed, suspicious, reserved. "You are so like him...your strength, your tenderness, so carefully blocked and guarded.... I look at you and it's as if I hear him, see him, feel him again." She smiled, a wry, self-mocking twist to her lips. "Funny, he didn't look a thing like you. But for a moment , with you, I felt like I had with him. Loved. Cherished. Protected." She laughed, a short sharp laugh, without humor. "Please excuse me. I guess I've been chasing a ghost." Abruptly, she turned away, moving to the far side of the small space and crossing her arms protectively over her chest, her face looking at the far wall, the messy golden cap of her hair all Jonathan could see. Her shoulders were shaking, like she was crying, but no sound emerged. Hope rekindled, possibiltily surged in his heart. Jonathan leaned towards her, softly, delicately touching her hair, smoothing the mussed strands, soothing her like he would a frightened child. "Andy, Andrea..." He murmured her name. His hand was unsteady, he noticed absently. Odd, usually he had better control than this. She turned, tears glistening on her cheeks, her arms still wrapped protectively around her chest, hugging herself, keeping the rest of the world at bay. "Why did you come here with me? Do you feel how I do? Am I just going crazy?" She looked at him, put one hand tentatively on his, touching skin to skin. His eyes noted the tell tale flush creeping up her face, staining her neck, her cheeks. He glanced over his shoulder at the floor indicator. It had crawled to the "2." The only way he knew the elevator was still even rising was the occasional groan or creak the machine made, its speed so slow the motion was almost imperceptible otherwise. Jonathan leaned closer to her, his eyes searching hers, looking for the invitation, the permission. She looked back at him, leaning towards him herself, coming to meet him as their lips touched for the first time. A butterfly kiss, hinting at the passion that would come. His lips tingled, as he pulled away, not wanting to press her beyond what she wanted, what she was ready for. She reached up, wrapping her arm around his back and pulled him closer, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, her touch loosening the tight band of muscle, of tension, that had built up over the past hours, day, months.... He leaned into her embrace, putting his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer as well, their lips touching again, firmly, their bodies melting into one another, the warmth and supple strength of her flesh pressing against his chest, his stomach, his pelvis, pushing his senses to a higher pitch. Every sound, every motion was magnified. He saw the tiny pores of her skin, smelled the sweet subtle vanilla scent of her perfume and the sharp scorched flavor of burnt ashes mixed in her hair, tasted her salty cheek and closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. She was there, for him. Or for the ghost of her husband. He pushed away the nagging thought, the prick of conscience. They stood, locked in one another's arms, their bodies straining to be closer, straining to press through the clothes, the petty barriers that separated them. Andy reached up and pulled a lever, sliding the old fashioned brass door gate open. The elevator lurched to a halt, stuck between floors, the solid outer doors closed. There was no sound in the small space but their breathing, and the rustling of their clothes, as Andy slid her left hand through the gap between snaps, under Jonathan's coveralls, sliding her fingers down his stomach, his pelvis, to his crotch, cradling his loins. He was dizzy with anticipation and tension, feeling her fingers trailing inch by inch across his bare skin, tenderness for this woman battling with his hot passion, his surging pulse. Her fingers pulled his coverall snaps apart, her other hand burrowing into his warm inner space, tantalizing him, aroused him even more. Her hand guided his to the snaps of her coveralls, and he separated them one by one. He felt her loosening the ties on his dark silk pants, felt them sliding loose and soft, over his thighs, then she molded her body to his, her fingers stroking, rubbing and guiding, teasing him, arousing him, tickling and cajoling, leading him on. He lost himself, disappearing into a world of pure sensation, as she held him. He floated outside of time, in a realm of feeling, emotion, love mixed with tenderness and passion, without thought. He opened his eyes. Came back to the world. They were still standing, still in the silent elevator. Andy had wrapped one leg around his back, holding him with her silky, firm thigh, holding him close. They were joined, one. He could feel her heart beating against his, feel every breath she drew in, and out, her ribs moving against his, her skin sliding soft on his own, caressing him. His arm was wrapped around her torso, supporting her, holding her back away from the cold metal walls. He could feel the chill eating into his skin, but ignored it. She smiled at him, lifting her hand from its tight grasp on his back, pushing back a curl of his dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. She smoothed it back, her knuckles running along his temple, like velvet on water, his skin slick with sweat. "Thank you." It was the best he could do. He felt a wave of tenderness, of deep, yearning love, for this woman. He wondered who she saw, when she looked at him now. He touched her face, outlining her cheeks, running his thumb along the cleft dimple in her chin, outlining her lips with his fingertips. She reached out with her tounge and licked delicately at his fingers, like a cat, then nibbled at them, soft bites that sent sensation shivering through Jonathan's sated nerves, sent him shuddering with the beginning of arousal, again. he felt himself throb with unspent passion, when he had thought he was all spent. He touched her face, her hair, pulled her to him and held her in his arms, rocking them both slowly as the heat built in them. "Hey, is anybody in there?" A voice broke into their private cocoon of space and time, shattering their illusion of solitude. Jonathan felt himself deflate, his passion cooling instantly. The voice, a man's, came from below, from the lobby, now four flights down, based on the arrow indicating floors. Jonathan tightened his arms around Andy, not wanting to let her go, not wanting to break this moment of intimacy, of warmth, of love, but feeling himself tense again, feeling her closeness slipping away. She hugged him back, then held a finger to her lips, indicating silence. "Hello? Should I call the repair man?" The voice was persistent. Andy rolled her eyes, exasperation clear on her face, in her expression. She winked at him, touched him gently with her arms, her lips, then moved away. Apart. He felt a moment's wrenching loneliness at the separation. She stared him in the face, watching him, making him a promise with her eyes that they would be together again, soon. She reached and pushed the lever back, and the inner grate doors slid closed, the elevator beginning is slow, laborious ascent once more. Silently, she bent and pulled up his silk trousers, fastening them at his waist, her fingers trailing across his skin, his breath quickening as she touched him, despite the distraction of the pest below, who was now pounding rhythmically on the lobby elevator door, punctuating the noise with occasional queries of "Anybody in there? Hello?" Jonathan knelt and gathered Andy's coveralls from the floor, pulling them gently up over her calves, her thighs, kissing her smooth skin as he raised the heavy cloth, snapping the snaps with careful deliberation. She looked down at him and winked. He grinned back, and went on with the coveralls, each snap covering her stomach, her chest, her shoulders. He rose, and kissed her neck, her face, then rested his cheek on the top of her head, breathing in her scent, his arms encircling her, hers intertwining with his. She sighed, with what he hoped was contentment, as they stood, silently, breathing in harmony, leaning against one another, sharing their warmth. Jonathan's thoughts flowed easily, idly, down new and familiar paths. The pounding had stopped, as the elevator moved slowly from "4" to "5" to "6", the nameless man below had left, or lost interest. Suddenly Andy giggled, the bubbling sound startling Jonathan out of the inner paths he followed, pulling him back to the here, the now. "What?" He breathed the word, a soft whisper, into her hair. She shivered, then stretched luxuriously, his body thrilling to every motion of hers against him. He felt the stirring begin, again, moving from his belly to his heart, stirring his passion, his love.... "I'm not sure I've ever...umm....you know....done it in a elevator before." She looked at him, biting the corners of her lips to keep from grinning. He voice was pitched low, but bubbled with merriment. "You must have inspired me to new...heights." "I've always had...elevated taste. " He grinned, and ducked, as she groaned and swung her arms at him in mock anger. He smiled back, savoring the newly remembered sensation. She glanced at the floor indicator. Jonathan followed her gaze. It was approaching seven, the top and final floor. "We're almost there." She smiled at him, her eyes renewing the promise she'd made earlier, the promise of of a future, together. "I have a feeling it would have been faster to walk." Jonathan stroked her hair, whispering the words into her ear. She leaned her head on his, cheek to cheek. He felt her nodding, agreeing. Then she poked him lightly, her fingers tickling his ribs, and looked him in the face, watching for his reaction, a grin breaking out across her lips as she tried to ask the question in a serious tone. "Your honor, the court asks the witness to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Jonathan... would it have been as much fun....to walk?" He grinned back, and reached to enfold her in his arms once more. She smiled, content. Point, game, set and match. Jonathan would concede them all, for her. To her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him once again, and shifted her weight onto him, fully. He tensed, and tightened his muscles, taking the burden easily. She was tall, but slender, and he felt another rush of tenderness for her as she filled his arms, a bundle of warmth, her trust in him melting and healing that dark frozen hole in his chest, healing and rebuilding the void that had been his heart. "You can carry me, if you'd like..." She grinned up at him, her lips inches from his, her breath soft and sweet on his face.. "Much more romantic than me hopping down the hall like Peter Rabbit, don't you think?" "Much more." He brushed his lips across hers, as he agreed. "Your husband...." His voice was tentative, hesitant. She looked at him, her eyes clouded, the merry humor stilled. "Yes? What about him?" She sounded tense. Her body had hunched in on itself, the warm ease and seductive languor were gone, he felt her stiffen in his arms as he held her, as he turned to face the elevator door. "Tell me, do you see him , or me....now. Can you tell me who you are inviting in to your life?" She bit her lip, a furrow emerging between her brows. He wanted to soothe her, to smooth the worry away. But he had to know. He waited, silent, as the elevator stopped, finally, on the top floor. "His name was Alexi. Alexi Andreyovitch." Jonathan stood still, his mind spinning in amazement, in shock, his body frozen. The name rang again and again in his ears. Alexi. Alexi Andreyovitch. Vulcan. That was his cover name, in D.C. Andy continued, Jonathan barely hearing her, yet listening to every word, struggling to make sense them, of what she was saying, to understand what could have happened. "He came to my flight safety class. He was a great student. We flew together. We talked. We fell in love. It was so simple." She paused, caught her breath, continued. "We had so little time together. Just a few months. Then he was gone. Just like that. As if he'd never even existed. Some men came, from the government. Showed me some papers, asked me to verify I was his wife. They seemed angry at me....they gave me money for a funeral. There was no body..." Her voice trailed off, as she stared into the past, reliving her frustration, her grief and anger, her loss. "I've never told anyone about the men, before. They said I should never talk about him, again. But somehow, I think you understand." He was starting to think, as the elevator door creaked slowly open. Adrenaline surged in his body, his senses screamed a warning. Everything was wrong. Impossible. Insane. A shadow moved, glimpsed from the corner of his eye, as he stepped out of the elevator... into a lethal trap. Two men, with guns, pointed at him. At Andy. Firing, silent pops, an incongruously tiny noise for the deadly effect. He felt the impact. In his body. His heart. In his soul. Two, maybe three bullets hit her. She tensed, her body jerked against his. She exhaled sharply, choked and was abruptly silent, limp, muscles flaccid as he dropped and turned and swung her behind him, attempted to shield her, too late. He let her down, softly, afraid to look too closely at her face, afraid to see the life gone from her still open eyes. He had no time to mourn, no time for emotion, only time to kill, or be killed. He shouted, incoherently, a wild animal cry of rage and pain, as he moved. He rose and spun in one motion, his leg lashing out, breaking the wrist of one shooter, knocking the gun out of his hand, his arm swinging in a stiff arc to connect with the face of the second, flattening his nose, blood gushing across the man's mouth, spurting down his chin. The man fired again, wildly. Two bullets plucked at him, one spinning him around with the searing impact on his side. He reached out through the pain and pulled the man with the gun close to him, pulled him into a final hug, reached and twisted the neck of the shooter, twisted it until it cracked and the man slid to the floor, dead, at his feet. He felt his face freeze into a snarl, felt the rage burning inside, the flame stoking higher and higher... Another bullet staggered him against the still open elevator door. A third man, down the hall. Out of reach. Jonathan dove to the floor, his hand groping for the gun the second man had dropped. His fingers found it, fitted it to his hand instinctively as he rolled and aimed and fired in a single fluid motion, emptying the automatic into the dancing body of the third man, who jerked back, step by step, as the shots drilled into his heart, his neck, his face, his brain. Jonathan lay on the floor, watching the faceless agent stagger back against the wall and lean there, his nerveless fingers dropping the gun as the man twitched and slid into a messy heap half in and half out of an open apartment door. =========================================================================