DISCLAIMER: "Bionic Woman," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of NBC-Universal and Jerry Eick. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Bionic Woman," NBC, or any representatives of the actors.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This idea has been plaguing me for days. DAYS! So, I finally couldn't ignore the muses any longer and plunked my butt down to beat this out. In four and half hours, this was basically done. What can I say? With the right motivation and an idea tenacious as a hungry pit bull, I can be very prolific.
SPOILERS: Yes, there are spoilers from at least three episodes! In fact, if you don't watch the show, I'm going to lose you. However, the theme might be accessible enough that you'll like it anyway.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
It's stupid. It's unprofessional. It's madness.
Exhausted, I drag myself from bed, the dream images lingering like a fog that won't burn away. Lately, they feel more real than my 'real' life.
By rote, I bathe, brush my teeth, put on the trappings of my job but the images won't go away.
I know when it started. At first, this new girl was just another project, another mind to study and understand. Attractive, certainly, but that's not at all I saw. Then then she muscled in on my life. Jonas, damn him, allowed it. In that small town, every living thing dead, I saw something in her. There was no sleep, just the adrenaline of the mission for nearly two days. Keep the lone survivor a survivor, stop the bad guys, find the chemical, stop the plot, tear the pages out of their playbook. As per usual, when I crashed it was an ugly affair, hard on my body and mind.
That was when the dreams started.
Memories twist. She stood at the two-way mirror, eavesdropping on Jonas' office, pressuring to accompany me to Paradise to find out what left so many innocent bodies in its wake. There was something stark and almost hungry in her expression, the shocking blue eyes against her dark hair and clothes. During the trip, she respected my brittle silence for a long time, until the dull rural scenery drove her to small talk. I still resisted, even when she complimented my beloved old GTO, desperate to keep her at arm's length where everyone belongs.
When I flashed my 'badge' at the guard, a parody in his bio-suit, he accepted my explanation that the pretty young thing in the passenger seat was my muscle. I felt like some kind of bad 70's pimp even as I said it, even as I was certain that my expression never changed. The amused and oddly pleased smirk on her face was not lost on me and the memory of it haunts me.
But even then, I kept her on the other side of the mental armor. Sure, I realized that my defenses were under attack, but the castle walls held.
Until I followed her bionic hearing into that basement.
In full-tilt mission mode, I relied on body memory, adrenaline and the gun to keep me safe, the terrified teen with a mouthful of toothpaste suds just another object to be classified as hostile or harmless.
"Ruth, put the gun down, she's just a kid."
Was it hearing my name? Or the gentle touch of her hand pushing my arm down? It wasn't until much later that I even registered that it was the bionic hand, for it felt no different than anyone else's.
The rest of the mission is a blur, my body and brain on autopilot. Oh sure, several things stand out, like the grenade trap, black-garbed figures threatening us to the pavement, firing where our bodies had only just been, only to be revealed as my coworkers.
Dull pain flares out as I thump my head into the mirror at the entryway to my domicile.
"Physician, heal thyself," I mock my reflection.
Grabbing the gun and my hand both, she twists both effortlessly, pinning me to the wall, her gleaming, pale eyes as implacable as her grip. "Fast enough for you, Ruth?" she mocks softly, that slender, strong body pressed suffocating close, making me dizzy. I'm terrified and turned on, the thick castle walls of iron self-control crumbling. The unnatural strength of her bionic hand and the cold metal gun leaves my vulnerable hand trapped in the compressed space between, as surely as the wall and her immovable body.
It's not a gentle kiss, and it's me that makes the small, kittenish noise. Whether it's to encourage her or beg her not to hurt me, I'm not at all sure.
Jerking awake, I'm so disoriented, that the pulse of blood in my ears and the blur of my surroundings terrify me for an endless moment. It's it's my office dear god, I didn't. But my arms are dead numb where they've been cushioning my head on my desk, my back aches.
Reality settles a bit more as the intercom buzzes again. "Doctor Treadwell?" asks the voice of the temp secretary I've got for now. Barely able to move my arm, I clumsily slap at the damn phone.
"Yes, what is it?"
God, my voice sounds rough and husky even to my own ears!
"Your one o'clock is here."
Back to business
I'm not the only one intrigued by the new girl. Every member of the staff watches her furtively. After all, she's the tip of the spear, so to speak. Billions of dollars of research, technology, skills and surgery are walking around in that fine-looking package. Not to mention how many of us remember Sarah Corvus.
Those of us in the top tiers are still wondering at the connection between the two women and what exactly it means.
Voices distract me, Jamie's and another female I don't recognize. My alarm at the teenage, rich babysitting job coming around the corner is very real. "What is she doing here? This is a top secret facility." Both of us ignore the brat as she says something snotty.
"I'm going out for a few hours," Jamie explains before turning her attention back to the brat. "This is Ruth. She's going to run a few tests on you."
My smile is false and strained, but I'll play along because I'm fairly certain where Jamie is headed. Jonas might try to keep me out of the loop, but he rarely manages. I'll help our new girl out, even if it means taking over the handling of this self-centered punk kid. Who at the moment is looking at me like something she might scrape off her shoe.
"Is she a lesbian?"
Okay, screw the polite smile. Now it's personal.
Jamie makes a small sound that might be amusement, even as I start psychologically dissecting the brat, and walks off with a jolly, "have fun."
Let the games begin.
That had been great fun, nearly reducing the teenage wannabe badass to tears. Not to mention Jamie's obvious enjoyment of the way she crawled off like a whipped puppy, desperate to get the hell away from me. Honestly, some people just don't respond to good old-fashioned therapy well.
Sending away the brat, Jamie congratulates me in a very personal way, plopping her weight into my lap, that teasing smile still in place. "Let me thank you properly, Ruth," she purrs, all gentle and kittenish with me this time, nuzzling my ear, her breath hot and moist.
Deep in my subconscious, she feels so very warm and normal. Will and his madman of a father would be the types to think of that detail. No odd discrepancies in weight, skin resilient and soft, body temp nearly identical across the canvas of her skin. Whether or not I'm right or wrong has no effect on my lizard brain. This is the disadvantage of having to remain focused on someone so intriguing. I mean, this is my job, but I'm obviously in way too deep.
The false body memory of Jamie Sommers haunts me even when I blink awake to my darkened bedroom, the night quiet and peaceful around me. I used to be in control of my life, I used to be a professional in a position that many would kill for and yet I can't seem to stop acting like some idiot, hormonal teenager.
Groaning with frustration, I roll to my back, oddly soothed by the normalcy of the bedding bunched up uncomfortably around my body, and stare at the shadowed ceiling. Would I even take the chance? The train of thought is madness, but I can't stop the pressure of it behind my eyes. And what the hell makes her so different from all the other lives I've dissected?
Sitting up with a tortured groan, I scrub both hands harshly over my face and back through the disarray of my pale hair. Arms flung sloppily over my raised knees, I sag my head and once more try to calm my overactive imagination. Stopping this madness obviously isn't going to happen, but perhaps I might get some more sleep tonight.
Sheer, mind-freezing terror is not a foreign concept to me. After all, stay in the game long enough and you'll almost start getting used to it.
Someone steps from the shadows like they materialized there. In the split second of neurons and adrenaline processing all of this new stimulation, I realize who the hell it is.
"Jamie?" squeaks from my throat, barely audible over my thundering heart.
"Yeah," she murmurs, moving sinuously to step up onto the bed near my toes. "I've been watching you," her hand gestures to her sternum before pointing almost accusingly at me, "watching me." Despite myself, I cringe away guiltily. Effortlessly graceful, the high-heeled boots strut halfway across the mattress, straddling my prone body, and I stare wordlessly up the whole seductive length of her.
"You're curious," Jamie muses to herself, as though we're in polite conversation and she's not standing over my nearly-naked and entirely vulnerable body, still trapped in my bedding. The bed shakes as she gracefully sinks down, straddling my waist and lower ribs with those strong, slim thighs. "So was I, once I got over the shock of the changes."
I'm off the map, lost the scrip, utterly clueless to what the hell is going on. With nonchalant ease, Jamie shrugs off her jacket, tossing it aside and skins off her white t-shirt. This is no less than anyone in the facility has seen, the skin-tight sports bra holding those fine breasts hostage but the context has changed everything.
"Nothing really feels any different," Jamie is musing nonchalantly, holding her right hand out full extension, as though admiring a really fine manicure. A flash of a wicked smile does nothing to calm my heartrate. "At least not on the outside."
As shocking as the fear, is the slide of Jamie's hands over my upper chest, pushing away the flimsy fabric of the camisole I wore to bed. Both hands, warm palms and fingers, splay over my bones and beating heart. Wordless, expression inscrutable, the other woman is still, her weight heavy on my pelvis, light on my chest. Her fingertips curl loosely over my clavicles, touch the base of my throat. The temptation is too much, my hands moving with no control of my upper brain, only the pads of my fingertips skimming the smooth planes of her arms.
To my surprise, they don't feel different at all. Sure, I know that the right limb is a full replacement, powerful enough to throw a grown man for a touchdown, but gentle enough to calm my frantic pulse beneath the tips of her fingers. Pressed to my lower body, the bionic legs feel the same too, and my shock begins to melt away.
"C'mere," I whisper, wrapping my hands around her elbows and Jamie allows me to draw her down to my body, pushing away the blanket and sheet with her boots, snuggling the whole length of her into me. It's an entirely odd moment of peaceful intimacy, her hands still on my chest, her ear pressed to them, my hands stroking her head and back.
"No one's held me like this, since "
There's no need to finish the sentence and I feel my internal doctor/nurturer reawaken. This is territory I understand, even if the therapy is unorthodox. "You feel nice to me."
It's a lame line, but it earns a mutual snort of amusement and Jamie shifts her elbows out to lever herself up and look at me. "Your heartrate's finally calming," she notes idly and I think I might be blushing with embarrassment.
"You scared the hell out of me."
"That's not it." Damn. Caught by the young woman who really can track my pulse from across a room. "Can you see me in this light?"
Taken aback, I answer truthfully. "Only dimly. It's pretty dark." My breath strangles in my throat as the night-black eyes change. Well, the left one stays the same, but the right the right glows oh-so faintly in electronic lines of acid green. "Oh oh my," I breathe stupidly, "I didn't know it did that."
Now Jamie is curious, head cocked like an animal, and I reach up to stroke the side of her face, circle that faintly glowing eye with my thumb. "It really doesn't bother you," Jamie whispers and she sounds stunned.
"On some level, perhaps." Good, I'm starting to sound more like myself, despite the sheer strangeness of the situation. "But, no, I can see you past all of this stuff."
Something subtle shifts in Jamie's body. If we weren't pressed together as tight as lovers, I probably wouldn't have even noticed it. Closing her eyes, she drops her head with a quiet sound of relief that moves me. Her mouth rests at the corner of mine and I am blind in the waterfall of dark hair, her breath warm on my cheekbone. "Thank you," she whispers, feather-soft and the tickle of that fine mouth brings up a distressed animal sound from deep in my soul.
I can't forget how attractive I find her and start to panic.
"Don't," Jamie breathes, mouth to mouth with me now, the brush of her lips on mine shattering. "Don't panic, don't analyze, just feel."
And that's it.
Her mouth is supple, teasing, fitting closely to mine, kissing me deeply. There's no awkwardness, no hesitation, just this animal drive to be close. Her hands shift away to the bed, her thumbs stroking my carotid arteries in a way that makes fear turn to liquid heat from cerebellum to groin.
Growling urgently, she effortlessly locks me between those inhumanly strong thighs, drags me with her as she rolls to the side, ripping off my camisole hard enough to score my skin. "Animal," I can't help but giggle breathlessly, wondering at the touch of the artificial that feels so real, trailing down my spine. Jamie growls something incoherent, clinging to me like a leech, kissing me like the world is going to end or I'm her only ticket back to it.
"Dammit, Ruth," she whines, still wrapped around me. "Help me out here." Now I'm laughing for real, squirming away only far enough to help yank at her clothes. Why yanking down the zippers on her boots before freeing her feet gives me such a visceral thrill is something I'll have to analyze at a later date. The thin socks, then the tight jeans she's already got down to her knees, only a crimson red thong adorning her fine young body.
Yes, that was my voice, speaking in that quiet, implacable tone. Curious, maybe even a little intimidated, Jamie lies still, completely in my thrall for the very first time. Truthfully, there is a rush at having this power over this powerful creature. Silently, I place one hand on her thigh, caressing the flesh that is not flesh. Really, it's shocking how real she feels. Not that I'm completely familiar with the female body, but still
Curious and tender, I trace over the curve of her hip, yanking away the line of the skimpy underwear to study her. My hand travels further up all that naked flesh from hip, tracing every rib beneath the softness and up to her shoulder. I can sense the wide blue eyes more than see them.
The smile that curls up one corner of my mouth is very authentic. "You feel the same all over."
"Prove it," Jamie teases back, but her voice shakes with nerves and her hands are urgent.
Should I feel used? Maybe. But right now she needs me and I need her and I am simply too off balance to behave myself. But then, as I lean in close to kiss her again, the glow of that eye reminds me of something and it's like a bucket of icewater.
"The camera "
Laughter is not at all the reaction I expected in response to my abject horror. Not only does Jamie laugh, but curls up on her back and howls with it. Then she registers how disoriented and maybe even hurt I am, drawing me close again for kisses and caresses. "Sorry, Ruth. Sarah taught me how to turn the headware off. No more watching every move I make for the voyeurs."
Part of me notes that Jonas will be pissed as hell over that little trick. Part of me is telling that part of my mind to go to hell. Now is not the time for thinking. Raw and uninhibited, Jamie feeds at my vulnerable body like a starving animal. Terrified and blindingly horny, all I can do is go along for the ride. There's a frightening sound, my bedsprings twisting in protest to the grip of that right hand, so close to where she could hurt me so badly.
But she doesn't hurt me. At all. In fact she leaves me writhing and shouting with pleasure before rolling over, and with vulnerable and scared eyes, allows me free access to her permanently changed body. There's a wordless stream of sounds from deep within Jamie's chest as I worship her all over, scalp to toes, accepting her exactly as she is.
Have meetings ever been this stressful? Jonas is droning on and on about something and I can barely keep my eyes off of Jamie, sitting directly opposite me, lounging back in her chair indolently. The woman is really getting that predatory body language that must come with the bionics. We all certainly saw it enough in Sarah before she went off the deep end.
Thankfully, the meeting is wrapping up and everyone is starting to move around in preparation for leaving. Shaking off my distraction, I move to join in, startled when Jamie is suddenly at my elbow. "Why Ruth," she mocks with a wicked grin that alarms my sensibilities. "You seem awfully hot and bothered. Anything you'd like to share with the class?"
A furtive glance reveals that only Jae has witnessed the exchange and how I cower back from our new bionic woman. Oh great how will I live this one down?
"Yeah," my long time coworker chuckles. "Someone will have to break it gently to Jonas that you've been staring at him like some lovesick teenager."
Shocked awake, I'm halfway sitting up, stunned, alarmed and more than a little disturbed at the twisted bend that my subconscious has taken now. I admire Jonas greatly, but not like that! Tell that to the pair of sophomoric grins I'm facing down now
Except that I'm in my own bed sunlight streaming through the open curtains, chasing off the latest of the all-to-real dreams.
Sitting up with a tortured groan, I scrub both hands harshly over my face and back through the disarray of my pale hair. Arms flung sloppily over my raised knees, I sag my head and once more try to calm my overactive imagination.
Nearly leaping clean out of the bed in shock, I jump and twist around only to have my jaw sag open in shock. Sleepy-eyed and disheveled is Jamie Sommers, stark naked in my bed, rubbing her left eye. A sly, warm grin shines for a moment before she hooks that same hand around my neck and pulls me, unresisting, to her warm body.
"Have your dreams really been that weird?"
"Yes," I answer truthfully, clinging to her, utterly convinced that I'm still dreaming even now.
"Yeah, me too. Some good, some bad. I gotta tell you doc, I think I like this version of therapy better."
Okay that's not something that my brain would come up with. Jamie's voice goes from musing to distinctly amused, and her bionic hand combs through my hair tenderly. "Smartass."
There's a few peaceful minutes where I can take stock. I'm pleasantly sore, well-rested and nicely cuddled. Turning my head the other way, I trail a hand out over the mattress and get quite a startle at the feel of warped springs beneath the padding. This is a detail even my detail-oriented brain would be hard pressed to come up with.
"You owe me a new mattress, Sommers," I mutter and laughter boils up from the body beneath mine.
"So, we're okay?"
There's fear mixed with the humor and I take a moment to collect myself before propping my upper body on my elbows. It takes a real effort to ignore the way she feels against me. "Are we okay?" Her nose wrinkles up at that cliché psychologist's trick of answering a question with a question. "I'd like us to be okay," I gentle and she smiles a little shyly.
"I don't normally start friendships so weirdly. Sorry to take advantage of you, Ruth."
The laughter that bubbles up from a long-ignored place deep inside is not at all feigned. "I think I'm flattered, Jamie."
Neither of us wants, needs or could probably handle some kind of 'happily ever after'. But we could both use a friend that understands us in a way that this rambunctious night has bestowed instant intimacy.
"I'll tell you what," I tell her with a bit of seriousness. "We'll keep this between us. But it does seem to be good therapy for both of us."
Now she's got the direction I'm going and smiles coyly, making me hiss when she rakes gentle fingernails down my back. "It does. And, see, my shrink says I need to relax so that my training takes root faster, so maybe we can try out these new techniques on occasion? They're very relaxing."
Chuckling in real delight at this completely bizarre twist that my life has suddenly taken, I dip my head in to pick up where we left last night. "Yeah, I think that sounds good."
Return to Bionic Woman Fiction
Return to Main Page