DISCLAIMER: The Bionic Woman girls aren't mine (duh!) but Ruth seems unwilling to leave me in peace, so I remain her willing slave.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanks to ariestess and lextenou for their donation of the last four words. Thanks guys!
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
100 Snippets of Life
It started with her broken, bloody body fighting for life in the operating theater.
No, it started long before that. Back when Will had me look into her in my professional capacity, digging up the minutiae of her life. Every associate, accomplishment and major event reduced to pages and pages of information, catalogued like a rare zoo animal.
I still don't know how he knew that she was special.
No, it started the first time we met, her surly glower from across the table telling me of exactly what she had been through.
Her life, no longer her own, her unborn child dead, her body so utterly changed by a technology she could barely comprehend.
She has evolved so impossibly quickly. Recovering quickly from the shock of her rearranged life, she has forged ahead and the rest of us are playing catch up. Her only regret is her sister, still unaware of what is really going on. Even Will has been forgotten as she carves out a new life and new purpose.
Each challenge is met and grappled with the warrior spirit that I noted the first time I laid eyes on her.
How can I resist?
The innocent girl is gone, this rapidly hardening warrior in her place. Fascinated, I watch her constantly, unable to ignore her. Oh, my behavior on the outside is the same as always, or Jonas would have long since called me on it, but I know that dynamics have shifted. Hell, even our intrepid leader is likely to bend to her will, even if he complains and grumbles about it.
It's fascinating to look at the x-rays and scans and other medical mumbo-jumbo, the changes made to her in glossy prints in the labs and on computer screens. Simple and familiar flesh and bone changed and replaced by a technology that frightens us somehow, now that Will is dead and gone.
No one really understands it and we always fear what we don't understand.
We all shift and eddy around her, well, except Nathan, but he's only in this for the tech toys and is irrepressible anyway. She likes verbally sparring with him, obviously relishing the challenge of the man's weird sense of humor and sideshow patter. Even I get caught up in sometimes, pulled in by their puppyish charm.
But I still feel very much on the outside, the isolation made ever more sharp by the moments when I am pulled in by her charisma.
They worked on her dying body for hours, replacing the unfixable with the product of our meticulous research.
It will take days for her to recover and relearn how to do simple things with the bionic limbs and eye and ear.
There was never enough time to teach her properly, Jae working with speed and aplomb to do his best to prepare her for what was to come. We were all impressed at how successfully she rose to the occasion time after time, even as she couldn't quite get how to keep her heart out of it.
In the coming months, I'll watch her closely, do what I can to ease her way and kick her in the ass when I must. She bristles at me, but listens, knowing that she is more dangerous, but I am wiser. It's a potent combination and none of us are surprised that she is put in my care when Antonio gets himself killed.
It will take years to fully integrate the nuances of this technology that has replaced the meat and bones and nerves of her.
Will she have time?
I groan, holding both hands to the gash on my head, my own blood hot and red on my skin. Snarling defiantly at our predicament, she gives me a few moments to settle myself, unceremoniously yanking me over her shoulders like a firefighter and I fight nausea.
The construction equipment provides scant shelter, but to escape the jostling for even a few moments, I'll take it. "You okay, Ruth?" she asks me, urgent but still concerned for me.
The firelight is hot and yellow with the dry wood she managed to find and get burning. While I want to object to the beacon of the firelight, I am far to glad for its welcome heat, echoed in the press of her body at my back.
It's been a long night, as we're both exhausted with the effort of keeping me awake in fear of a concussion. Now, dawn reveals the dark green of the forest trees shielding us and soothes both of our fears about my injury
Hazily coming awake, I am aware of her body curled protectively around mine, the blue of the sky high above through the tree branches and marvel at this day.
"You have colored up the entire dark end of the color spectrum," she marvels, fingers surprisingly gentle as they prod at the ache above my eye. "You'll get a lovely scar out of this if we don't get back to civilization soon."
Caked in mud and impossibly weary, I keep one hand curled tight around the back of her belt and hang on for dear life.
Night creeps up on us once more and we must rest. While I am a tough woman, I'm sick with pain and fatigue and hunger, unable to keep up with her in the best of circumstances and this is anything but.
My hero protects me, cradled once more her body, my hands in her jacket to warm my hands, my nose at her throat.
In the early morning, the forest seems colorless to my aching eyes and I am never so glad to see a road or the car that stops to rescue us.
The dynamics have changed between us. There is a warmth now that is no longer just respect, but something deeper. I have trouble recognizing it, having spent my life trying to remain aloof from deep human contact.
She will have none of it.
Opposition seems easier to deal with somehow, now that we are a united front, my personality and skills counterbalance to hers.
It's a mistake, this lusty explosion of need and want.
But I can't seem to help myself.
Becca is completely taken aback by me, wondering what on earth my role is in her sister's life.
I know exactly how she feels
In so many ways we are still strangers. I'm completely startled that she goes to sleep to classical music, Mozart, Brahms and Bach. She can't believe that I prefer tea over coffee.
What on earth the rest of Burkut thinks is going on both terrifies and amuses me greatly. I have no illusions that the complicated nature of my relationship with her isn't nearly as secret as we'd like, but something this big and unusual is hardly over looked.
Nathan is the only one that comments, both envious and impressed with my audacity.
Reading about the people who produced the Sommers girls is a poor reflection of their life, but I don't dare ask either of their daughters. Perhaps someday I will earn their trust enough.
It's a strange sight one night as she stands before the mirror, stroking her hand over her flat belly. While her nakedness is enticing, this is not the time.
She doesn't need to explain the conflicted and sad expression on her face as she strokes her skin, remembering the child she lost.
The night of her mourning her lost child once more is brief, but intense. I can't sympathize, having never given into the urge to mother, but I stay with her, hold her as she grieves the birth that she will never experience.
In time, she once more accepts the loss and falls asleep in my arms.
In the growing light of the new day, her face is relaxed and peaceful, the dark lashes fragile against her skin. These moments are to be treasured.
And I do.
It's been a subdued day and we make our way from the underground complex into the gathering dusk. She surprises me with a guerilla kiss in the parking lot, her smile small but honest.
33: Too Much
Some days, I am overwhelmed by her, the wise and lusty eyes, the wounded soul beneath.
34: Not Enough
Some days, I can't get enough.
35: Sixth Sense
The dreams come some nights, turning me restless and whimpering in my bed. She knows somehow, stroking me quiescent with her skin and voice.
I wake with the scent of her powerful in my nostrils, the dark hair surrounding me in a cloud scent and softness
Guttural and wonton, she writhes and moans.
My fingers on her paleness.
The banquet of flavors inside and out
The blue eyes watch me so intently, barely flinching anymore as she consciously eliminates the ability of the others to watch her world through her eyes, leaving us in blissful privacy.
I enjoy rewarding her for the gift.
In the heat, common shapes dance and twist like a Salvador Dali painting. How the hell did we get lost in the desert? There's no point in asking the question, so I just sit with her and wait.
What a strange triangle we make. They are like dangerous, well-trained animals, tugging at the chains that bind their wills to mine. Sometimes, I worry that I will one day lack the strength to be the one that they rely on. What right do I have? They are so powerful, so smart, so deadly.
They humble me with their trust.
The pleasures she showers me with are intoxicating and overpowering; so strong, so gentle, so utterly ruthless in her shredding of my self-control. Rumbling a low, urgent note in her chest, she suckles at my skin, at my nipples puckered nearly square; they are so hard, so needy. "You ready to give in, Ruth?"
Turnabout is fair play, and still winded and a bit dizzy from her loving, I press her to the mattress, hold those startling blue eyes that are so compelling. Slowly, I press caresses to her beautiful face, lips and fingertips once more learning the terrain of her body, drinking in her taste and the cadence of her voice.
And with her taste thick in my mouth and her thighs tight to my ears, we come full circle.
Moonlight pours in the windows beside my bed, turning my lover to shades of grey. Her dark hair gone inky, her skin almost silvery.
I have left dusky bruises over the terrain of her silky flesh, like a negative of the stars.
She is so beautiful that my heart hurts with the impact she has over me.
Her eyes are like diamonds, contrast to her soft curves and firm muscles that belie her inhuman strength. They glitter blue and clear and crystal clear, her touch is tender, a peace in the midst of her power.
I don't know how I got here, probably the extensive buttering up I got from her. Pressing close, her hands wandering seductively, she'd flattered and cajoled and very nearly whined for my compliance in this venture.
So, here I am, in a crowd to young, in a place to loud, feeling my years and sense of isolation from the rest of humanity. But watching her dance is intoxicating, heating my blood, making my hormones boil until I set aside my fortifying drink and ignore the attention on my strangeness and go to her. Bodies close in the flickering club lights; I am once more slave to her heat, her eyes.
The dancing, neither of our hands behaving for being so public, is a fond memory now. The diner spotted by my lover's sharp eye is quiet, warm and makes an amazingly good patty melt that I shovel in with rare hunger. She watches my enthusiasm with hot, hooded eyes that promise a different hunger that will be sated so very soon.
We've been on the hunt for a long time, days spent on the trail of danger and potential disaster. We're tired, hungry, cold and now the rain pounds away at us, unmerciful.
"It took some doing," she murmurs softly against my ear, nuzzling aside the damp blonde strands, "But, look. Fire."
The flames are small, guttering weakly at the rain-damp wood, but even the meager heat is incredibly welcome to my chilled body. Days like this make me feel my age. Stretching cold hands towards the flames, I smile warmly in thanks for the heat.
"Thank you, you're a miracle worker."
She is pleased.
Beneath me, the earth is hard and uneven, pressing into my flesh and bones. The damp is chilling, the sky is barely lightening to dull lead and we are still in danger. Despite all of this, my lover's arms seem a safe haven that I relish.
Her scalp is warm when I push my fingers into her long, dark mane and she sighs softly against my nape. The hot air of her welcome breath makes me shiver pleasantly and caress the round bone beneath my hand. These bonding moments come less and less frequently as her skills grow and I take each of them as a gift.
"Miss you, Ruth," she murmurs sleepily, burrowing into my pale hair, curling her arms around me. "Never see you enough."
Exhausted, but renewed in spirit, we skulk from our target, information safely stored on my miniature hard drive, now shoved deep in my pocket for safety.
"We're getting a few days of vacation out of this," she grumbles, pissy and elated all at the same time. "Jonas can deal with it."
I can only chuckle and agree.
I'm not pleased about the snuffling cold that wracks my body with sickness, but I certainly can't complain about breakfast in bed.
Nor the loving company.
"You did want a vacation," she teases me cheekily and I can barely muster enough strength to scowl half-heartedly at her loving smile.
Eventually, I feel well enough to allow myself to be dragged off to lunch, her hand warm and steadying in mine. The very normalcy of the event soothes me more than my immune system winning its most recent battle with illness. I watch this lover and partner of mine as I pick at my food and indulge in surprisingly good coffee.
Maybe we'll exaggerate my sickness for a few more days to continue this time off together.
Tomorrow we return to our dangerous lives. My body has healed, even if I haven't completely shaken the persistent cough. Tonight, I've pulled elegant things from deep in my closet, dressed myself in their finery.
Tonight is for the two of us to be just a normal couple, however briefly.
"You look great, Ruth."
Once again startled at how quietly she can move, I jump and turn to be floored at her appearance. My lover is a beautiful woman, but that blue dress makes her eyes luminous, enhances the creaminess of her pale skin. Swallowing hard, I can only stare for a long moment and she smiles in feline pleasure at the effect.
I accept the fleeting kiss, surprised when the implacable bionic hand halts anything more.
"No mussing the goods," she sasses and strides away, leaving me to scramble to keep up. "We can continue that conversation later."
The meal was elegant, the food a spectrum of tastes and textures, the wine savory and heady.
None of it compares to dessert, indulged with carnal appreciation in my big bed nearly until dawn peeked rosy over the distant mountains.
Yawning until my eyes water, I slump into my office and start reorganizing my work life, gone to the wayside during my sickness. Jonas himself comes to see how I'm doing and I'm unutterably grateful for the mug of coffee he brings. As we talk and I drink, I have to wonder yet again
Does he know?
There are many layers to my lover.
Her wintery blue eyes, only their color as cool as winter.
Her boundless energy is like the power of spring bursting forth.
Her heat, blazing from the inside out from both her body and her powerful presence like hot summer sun.
Her warmth with me is as comforting as a warm fire warding off the autumn chill, making me a real part of her life.
I am past the point of no return.
Once again, rain has provided us with the cover to escape detection and once again, I am amazed at how well suited she is to the skills of this strange life. She leaves finesse work to me, but watches so that she too, can one day do more. Wiring the extensive explosives in the warehouse left me in a zen state of calm that only truly dangerous things seem capable of doing.
The explosion will snowball, destroying the terrorist organization that has been dogging our heels for years. There are some advantages of living somewhat outside of the law.
A lightning flash of sheer destructive power flashes in the bionic eye of my lover, the other shielded from the deadly glare by her hand while I cower beneath the window of our hideout.
The thunder of sound washes over us as she ducks down reflexively to drape her strong body over mine.
It takes long moments for the storm of sound and light and heat to pass by, leaving the building creaking for mercy and my ears ringing.
"Nice work, Ruth," she comments dryly, pulling me to my feet and we skulk away.
But something in her has changed this night.
Something has broken between us. Something changed in that explosion. It's as though she can't look me in the eye, like she doesn't trust me anymore.
Like she's almost afraid of me now.
Jonas tells me to get it fixed. I tell him to fuck off; this is his damn fault in the first place. Just because I'm capable of doing amoral things that border on sociopath, doesn't mean that I relish it. Learning to love that amazing girl has made me take a closer look at myself and things are changing and growing.
I cannot stay away from her, drawn like a plant is to light. There is indeed reluctance in her eyes, in the stiff lines of her body and my heart breaks.
It will be a life of darkness without her. Loneliness is more than an abstract now, more than something tolerated for the sake of the job. It takes everything in me to fight a lifetime of secrecy and isolation, force the words past my tight throat, past the tears in my eyes.
In the shades of grey, she allows me peace, forgiving my violence and danger, accepting me once again. In unloading my soul and secrets, I find haven in her and shed uncharacteristic tears, allowing her that intimacy at last.
I should be working on the mound of paperwork piled on the low table in my living room, but I can't seem to concentrate tonight. This is the kind of night where a person finds herself asking the big questions of the universe. It's silly and self-indulgent, but I find myself unable to fight the miasma of this feeling.
Who am I?
What have I accomplished?
Where do I go from here?
When will it be enough that I must make a change?
How have I come to this place?
If I can change the course of my life will I?
And the night goes on.
He sent me home early today, sensing the restless in my spirit and knowing that allowing the space for me to deal with it in my own way is more productive then keeping cooped up. There are days that the fact that Jonas knows me so well is a bit threatening.
Yet, strangely comforting as well.
She is my anchor now.
Despite the impossible price tag on the bionics she bears now, we have choices. Jonas hates giving us such a long leash, but understands that without some freedom, he will lose us completely. I have the skills to disappear forever and he knows it. Compromises will be made, lives rearranged and I will granted as much freedom as any in my profession.
This is not a business that one just quits. There is only one way out.
Having my life suddenly so very much my own in a singularly peculiar sensation. To go where I want to go, to do what I want to do. My young lover likes me like this, giddy with freedom.
There is talk, about what we will do now. There are endless possibilities mixed in with the dangers we will still have to face on occasion.
They won't like us vanishing off on a real vacation for several weeks, but work will track us down if it becomes an emergency.
As much fun as the trip is, coming home somehow feels better. This is a new life we face now, the togetherness a solid foundation for our lives.
Our lives, intertwined.
For her twenty-fourth birthday, I am dragged off to a day at an amusement park, of all the ridiculous things, where we find out that the bionic ear tweaks out after three roller coasters. It's been years since I've laughed so hard, doubled over and howling with it while she scowls and holds the side of her head until the dizziness and feedback fade. I kiss her sweetly in apology, still chuckling, and I am quickly forgiven.
Unnerved, I nonetheless agree to spend Christmas with not just my lover, but her mysterious younger sister. It's awkward, but the teen eventually relaxes and proves to be good company, bringing out facets of my lover that I've never experienced. We'll have to do this again.
Not much of a big eater, I am stuffed incoherent and immobile by the excess of food, making me sleepy and slow. She likes it, sprawled out on the couch, dark head pillowed on my thighs and her feet in Becca's lap.
94: Independence Day
Sunburned, I'm sleepy and somewhat sore and prickly feeling, sweating in the summer heat that hovers over the public park, packed solid with bodies. 'ooo'ing and 'aaah'ing with the crowd as the fireworks shatter the skies above our heads, every explosion sets my teeth on edge, making my sweat go hot and cold, but I tough it out. Neither of the girls seem to notice, leaning on one another and me, grinning faces flashing in the kaleidoscope of colors.
The things we do for love
95: New Year
This has always seemed a silly holiday to me; just more excuses for excess during the winter holiday season. But then, I have never had her, kissing me like the world will end any moment as the celebration goes on without us.
Incandescent, burning and pinned by lust, I cry out and beg for her mercy, but that implacable hold is unbreakable. Truly, in these moments when she lays me truly bare, I am helpless and she controls me utterly.
My ever changing opinion of her requires revision once again. She is deadly, she is funny, she is sweet and loving and childish and aggravating and irresistible.
She completes me.
Our collaboration has finally made waves at work. This is both amusing and cause for consternation. I think the facility is as much annoyed at their lack of notice as they are surprised and delighted. Since we make such a solid team, there are no obvious repercussions after the couple of weeks of heightened perusal. She finally shakes the rumor mill and stops the staring by grabbing me in front of as many witnesses as possible to kiss me silly and stride away arrogantly, smirking, "see you tonight honey."
I fail in my efforts to not smile, chuckling in delight and returning to my day as though nothing untoward happened.
The rumor mill begins to grind down after that.
"Ruth," she whines petulantly, straddling my hips and tugging at my book. "You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."
She's fishing for information, knowing perfectly well that I'm not going to tell her. Sometimes she really is a big kid. So I put on my best game face and eye her impassively. No matter that I'm more naked than dressed with little more than a sheet and a light blanket separating our two bodies.
Now it's a challenge, which brings out the eager glint in the crystal blue eyes. In a flash, my wrists are pinned to the bed and I swallow a smile. Let her seduce it out of me so that she has the egotistical pleasure of getting the information before tomorrow morning, when I'd have told her anyway.
The pleasure's all mine.
"Do you love me?"
The question shouldn't surprise me as much as it does and my hand stills where I've been distractedly stroking her hair. It takes real effort to bite back my first reply, which will sound cold and flat, or worse, laced with sarcasm.
Why on earth does the true answer to that question make me fear?
After a few long moments of internal debate, I acknowledge that the fear is unfounded. We only live once and my life is incomplete without her.
"Yes, Jamie, I do love you."
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