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Disclaimer: Though I'd love to proclaim them as mine, I can't. They'll never belong to me and this story is for fun only, no money making intended, so don't sue.
~~~~~~
Slumber My Darling
Do not fear the endless night
He gasps, a flash of pain surging through him, warmth spreading on his skin. He looks down on himself, finding the half-unbuttoned shirt stained with red, the spot growing quickly.
Lyle looks up at her in complete confusion. “But--?”
They say life flashes in front of your eyes when you’re dying. Well, they’re wrong in his case. He doesn’t think of things he did and mistakes he made; remember the best moments or a succession of pictures from various stages of age.
Trying to force the pain down, all he thinks about are all the ways it could have happened before.
~~~~~
One: it ends before it begins…
“I’m sorry Catherine, the baby’s stillborn.”
And if it had been… if he hadn’t filled his lungs with air, but instead remained silent and unmoving…
If he hadn’t been carried away into a life full of hatred and pain by the former ‘Dr.’ Raines but had not lived in the first place, buried within days after he should have opened his eyes and started a life.
In loving memory of our boy – taken before life began
There wouldn’t have been much to tell, but many lives would have gone differently; ended differently.
~~~~~
It could have happened like that.
It didn’t.
~~~~~
Two: Some things can only be seen in the shadows
He’d come home after classes, not bothering anyone, instead silently tiptoeing to his room to get his homework done, hoping that no one had noticed his coming. The music had been soft enough not to alert anyone.
He’d flinched when the door flew open. Bobby had turned to see the imposing silhouette of Mr. Bowman in the doorway.
“I told you earlier to have the fence painted, you good-for-nothing,” the man bellowed, his voice slightly slurred. “Come here,” Bowman barked.
Bobby hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the desk, frozen in place, fear rising in him.
“I said: come here!”
He’d looked up into the man’s face, seeing fury in his eyes, his face flushed in an angry red. Before he’d had time to move, the man had crossed the room with two big strides and roughly grabbed him by the upper arm.
A hiss of pain escaped, earning him a glare while the hand had closed even more firmly around his flesh, a bench vice with an iron grip, not to be shaken off.
The man forcefully dragged him out of the room and down the stairs, leaving him to keep up with him. Bobby stumbled forward next to him, not able to break free.
When the man dragged him to the direction of the backdoor, he’d known exactly where they were going and he’d ground his feet into the floor, searching for a hold and trying to avert what he’d known was coming. “No,” a strangled plea left his lips.
He hadn’t had a chance. The man just dragged him forward.
*
He didn’t mind the darkness – used to that by now – but it was cold.
He shivered, trying to roll himself into a tighter position in a useless effort to keep a bit of warmth. The cold was seeping through the chinks between the planks, wafting over the floor and enclosing him.
Clad in only a t-shirt and light pants, he had nothing to oppose the cold.
Bobby was lying on the ground, the soil cold against his skin. He’d long ago crossed his arms in front of his chest and thrust his hands into the pit of his arms, trying to keep them from going numb. He couldn’t feel his toes by now.
*
The hallucinations started later; long after his fingers had stopped tingling.
A woman – beautiful – with dark shoulder-long hair and blue eyes – kind eyes like he’d never seen before – looked at him sadly. She’d moved closer, kneeling in front of him and reaching out a hand.
He’d felt her touch against his cheek, a caress he’d never known before.
“Don’t give up, my darling,” she had whispered, her voice soft and gentle in his ear. “I’m here with you. It’s not time to give up.”
There hadn’t been enough strength left in him to answer her. He wanted to ask the questions flashing through his head, but even if he would have found the strength to do so, they were dancing just out of his reach.
He’d watched her instead, afraid that she would vanish in front of his eyes – afraid to be alone again, alone with nothing but the cold to surround him, draw energy out of him and ultimately lull him to an eternal sleep.
~~~~~
He didn’t die that night either.
~~~~~
Three: Your worst nightmare
It wasn't as if he hadn't expected it, or wasn't prepared for them. After all that had happened: the money vanishing out of the account and Jarod freeing that Barrette woman. Lyle had expected them to come, but he still hadn't the time to react.
They’d come out of nowhere, grabbing him and dragging him off. They’d been smaller than him but the two men had grabbed him by the upper arms with unexpected strength.
He hadn’t had the time to react before he’d been in the back of the black car, hands secured behind his back, one of the two men sitting directly next to him while the other drove to wherever it was they were bringing him.
He’d seen the one guy’s fingers – or more pointedly – the missing pinkie.
The conversation he had with Miss Parker a few days before had come back to him:
“What happened to his hand?”
“The Yakuza punish by taking the little finger of the ‘offending party’.”
“What’s a guy have to do to lose the thumb?”
“Good question.“
Lyle shuddered, wondering what fate they had in store for him. He unconsciously moved his fingers behind his back, feeling all ten digits obey his command.
*
He tried to fight against it, knowing it was useless but not willing to lose a digit without a fight. It annoyed them further, probably having to do with ‘pride’ and their concept of the word. In their world they’d stand still and let it happen, a matter of restoring your pride after a major fuck-up, or so he’d been told.
Well, for him it wasn’t about trying to restore his pride – that was the furthest from his mind – he was more occupied with trying to remain in one piece.
His struggling annoyed them and made their grip more determined until the inevitable happened.
*
Pain was all he knew over the next days, mutilated nerves communicating the wrongness of it all.
His eyes had refused to believe what his brain had tried to force him to admit. But in the end he’d had to see - and admit. A hand vandalized, sporting only four fingers instead of healthy five.
Still, he’d been lucky.
He’d lost a thumb but not his life, something the crazy Yakuza had obviously conferred about.
~~~~~
His life hadn’t been cut short by the Japanese mafia, and he was profoundly grateful for that.
~~~~~
Four: I'll watch you bleed pure revenge
He’d thought he’d considered everything.
It had been so easy: finding Hailey; moving in; getting the hostages out under the pretence of liberating them; killing Hailey’s men in front of him and making sure Hailey got a good view of him so he could get word to the pretender once he appeared. All he had to do then was bring the hostages to a ‘safe house’ in an area that provided the best possible place for a trap, and wait for the genius to walk right in.
It had been a good plan and it had been executed to the T, everything moving smoothly, until something had gone wrong.
He hadn’t been prepared for the old psychiatrist to step into the house; that definitely hadn’t been part of the plan. Still, he’d hoped to be able to go through with it with Sydney there.
And then Jarod had suddenly stood in the room, rifle levelled at him.
The plan had not been to let the pretender get even that far. The sweepers had been ordered to overpower him as soon as they got sight of him and only afterwards should he be dragged into the house.
Lyle would have loved to taunt the pretender then, made sure he knew who was in charge and superior.
But somehow, somewhere, things had gone wrong.
*
This was definitely not how he’d planned things: kneeling with his back to an armed pretender who was very angry and out to get revenge.
He still felt pretty confident though. Jarod was too weak to kill him; especially put a bullet into his back. He might pull the trigger if under stress and to save himself, but killing in cold blood just wasn’t in the lab rat… he’d never had the backbone or the degree of ruthlessness to kill like that.
But then again – things changed.
He felt the muzzle of the gun pressing into the back of his head and his confidence left him for a second. Then he heard the helicopter and new confidence flared through him - enough to mock the rat.
“A Centre chopper! How's that for karma?”
“Bad.”
His blood ran cold, panic surging him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of a trigger being pulled, the following sound of a bullet breaking through bone and the black silence afterwards.
~~~~~
His death had been postponed for another day then thanks to the blessed gods of timing that smiled down upon him. He didn’t die then – like that – either.
Because this – this is how it really happened.
~~~~~
Five: Know Thy Enemy
Only seeing her face from the file once had saved him losing his countenance when they’d come face-to-face. Still, he’d been stunned when he’d seen her that day – face, hair, even her voice so much like that of the woman he’d seen only once in his life, that night so long ago when he’d fought against freezing to death.
Ever since that night he compared all women to what he’d thought had been a hallucination. All the Asian girls - dark, smooth hair, porcelain skin – coming close to that picture… close but never close enough. They hadn’t been able to meet the standard so he had to let them go and search further for the one who would be able to live up to the perfect picture in his head.
Lyle had seen emotions flash through Parker’s eyes when they’d met; first a sense of shock and wonder about what he was doing in that office, then suspicion and a brief flicker of something that might have been appraisal.
He’d only later learned of their blood connection and there had been a brief flash of disappointment. He’d understood then that it hadn’t been Parker but their mother in his vision, and much later it had made sense when he’d learned about their ‘gift’.
Despite everything he’d still desired her and he’d gone out of his way to needle her and generally ensure he had her attention. Granted, it hadn’t really been positive attention, but he’d had her attention.
It had been the first step – but exactly that first step had nearly cost him any possibility to get to know her - before he’d realized that he wouldn’t get any closer to her with that approach.
So he’d changed tactics, tried to approach her over the topic of their mother and generally get closer to her.
It hadn’t worked out that well either, with circumstances getting in the way.
Despite everything, they’d come to a point where he’d been able to make his attraction known to her, even without threatening her or pushing too far.
He’d seen shock and revulsion in her eyes as she’d pushed him away.
*
Lyle hadn’t stopped pursuing her, hoping to wear down her defences - and she hadn’t stopped sidestepping him, though he had seen weariness and concession grow.
*
It had been planned as a family dinner - their ‘father’ having returned from the dead after his dive out of a plane, but Mr. Parker had ended up cancelling.
His twin had got up as soon as the call was finished, the intent of getting out of the restaurant obvious. He’d called her name once, making her turn back to him. Lyle had only said two words, no order but a gentle request: ‘stay please.’
Upon hesitation during which she’d watched him closely, she’d nodded once and sat back down.
They’d actually had a conversation over dinner, strained at first but easing into it the more time passed.
He hadn’t been sure about her, but he’d had a good time and he’d guessed she was enjoying herself as well. They’d left the restaurant together, talking amiably.
*
He’d never lowered his guard before - his instincts had saved him more than once because of that, but the one time he did lower his guard he got quittance in return.
Now, Lyle wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been suspicious when she’d willingly followed him into the dimly lit alley. Maybe because he had wanted this for too long to keep a clear head, having wanted her from the day he’d first laid eyes on her.
Whatever the reason it was to be a fatal mistake.
*
He touches her arm, his fingers gently closing around her wrist. There’s no resistance when he turns her so she faces him.
Her expression is unreadable, her head tilted to the side and she’s watching him.
He moves forward and waits, giving her enough space and time to draw back - she doesn’t and he moves forward the last bit, his lips meeting hers. She’s not kissing him back but she’s not pushing him away or tensing either, so he keeps the contact, one hand slowly rising to her face, cradling her cheek.
There’s that moment when he’s sure she leans into his hand but then he’s not too sure any longer. All he knows is he’s kissing her, reaching out to get what he desired for longer than he can remember.
He leans against the wall behind him, taking her with him.
Her hands are on his shirt, fingers toying with the buttons and he’s too elated to have her cooperating to worry any longer, survival instincts fleeing, leaving more basic urges in charge.
Sliding his arms around her, he draws her closer, bringing their lower bodies into contact. They both break away from the kiss with a groan and his head hits the wall with a dull thump.
There’s a dark glint in her eyes but it could be the diffuse light.
Her hands have found skin and he shudders when her fingers roam over his flesh. He runs his hands down her bare back, her dress open to mid-back. Only thin straps are holding it on her shoulders. He brushes a strap away and bends down, kissing her shoulder.
A shuddered breath hits his ear before her hand slides into his hair, yanking him up and engaging him in another kiss.
He complies willingly, deepening the kiss when she opens her lips under his questioning tongue. Busy with wrapping his mind around the fact that he’s kissing the woman he admired and wanted to have, he gasps in surprise as her hand slides inside his dress pants. He doesn’t remember her working them open in the first place; and that at least should worry him – it doesn’t though.
When her hand brushes against his erection he bucks into the sensation and his eyes fall shut. He’s forced to lean more heavily into the wall, his knees buckling.
His hands run down her sides, tracing the outline of her figure through the thin fabric of her dress; down over her sides, to her slim waist and her hips and further down still. Reaching for the hem of the dress, he slowly slides it up.
There’s a brief moment of hesitation – so short he nearly misses it – but then it’s gone and she frees him from his pants. A groan that could easily be a choked gasp is torn from him.
He reaches for the back of her leg, not able to contain himself any longer, not able not to have her.
She lets him direct her – something else that should raise suspicion in him; it doesn’t, his mind is too far gone. There is just her. Always her; only her.
He draws her closer, her leg on his hip as he enters her, making them both groan.
It’s rushed and frantic and yet just right.
And still his mind doesn’t rebel the fact that it’s too easy. It’ll never get the chance now.
As completion washes through him, there’s the sound of a gun being fired and then a hollow feeling follows the wave of bliss. Then-- He gasps, flash of pain surging through him, warmth spreading on his skin. He looks down on himself, finding the half-unbuttoned shirt stained with red, the spot growing quickly.
Lyle looks up at her in complete confusion. “But--?”
She withdraws, looking right back. “Following orders,” Parker says slowly. There are no tears in her eyes or any emotion that resembles sadness. “It’s the way things are in our world.”
And she’s right, of course she is. Lyle would have done the same thing in her place so he nods slowly. The gun in Parker’s hand looks familiar and suddenly his shoulder holster feels lighter than it should. She shot him with his own gun and he can’t decide whether to laugh or be embarrassed, especially as he didn’t even notice her removing it.
He’s cold; knows it’s from blood loss, knows it won’t take long.
He reaches out slowly, his hand closing once more around her wrist in much the same fashion as just before he’d kissed her. She doesn’t draw back and he’s grateful for that.
He has to sit down, strength flowing out of him, leaving him more tired than he can remember ever being.
She kneels next to his side, her wrist still in his hand.
Breathing becomes increasingly difficult but the pain is muted; everything muted.
Her figure blurs in front of his eyes and he squeezes them shut. When he opens them again her expression is different and she’s crying. Her hand reaches out and he feels her touch against his cheek.
He blinks again and suddenly the hand is gone and he’s looking into her eyes and there is no trace of tears. Parker is still watching him, emotionless; but she’s with him and he knows she’ll be staying until he draws his last breath – if only to make sure.
Lyle wants to believe she’s staying because she wants to, because she doesn’t want him to die alone but he can’t be sure.
Her figure blurs again, merges into the softer version and once more her fingers ghost over his skin, caressing him, soothing him. “It’s time to let go now, darling,” she whispers and it’s only then that his fuzzy mind realizes it’s not his twin speaking.
Lyle’s vision focuses one last time and he meets her eye again. He gasps, trying to fill his lungs with air, pain exploding for a second and then darkness is closing in on him.
The last thing he sees is her eyes filled with tears but he isn’t sure to whom they belong.
Ehm… Finish
~~~~~~
Do not fear the endless night
He gasps, a flash of pain surging through him, warmth spreading on his skin. He looks down on himself, finding the half-unbuttoned shirt stained with red, the spot growing quickly.
Lyle looks up at her in complete confusion. “But--?”
They say life flashes in front of your eyes when you’re dying. Well, they’re wrong in his case. He doesn’t think of things he did and mistakes he made; remember the best moments or a succession of pictures from various stages of age.
Trying to force the pain down, all he thinks about are all the ways it could have happened before.
~~~~~
One: it ends before it begins…
“I’m sorry Catherine, the baby’s stillborn.”
And if it had been… if he hadn’t filled his lungs with air, but instead remained silent and unmoving…
If he hadn’t been carried away into a life full of hatred and pain by the former ‘Dr.’ Raines but had not lived in the first place, buried within days after he should have opened his eyes and started a life.
In loving memory of our boy – taken before life began
There wouldn’t have been much to tell, but many lives would have gone differently; ended differently.
~~~~~
It could have happened like that.
It didn’t.
~~~~~
Two: Some things can only be seen in the shadows
He’d come home after classes, not bothering anyone, instead silently tiptoeing to his room to get his homework done, hoping that no one had noticed his coming. The music had been soft enough not to alert anyone.
He’d flinched when the door flew open. Bobby had turned to see the imposing silhouette of Mr. Bowman in the doorway.
“I told you earlier to have the fence painted, you good-for-nothing,” the man bellowed, his voice slightly slurred. “Come here,” Bowman barked.
Bobby hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the desk, frozen in place, fear rising in him.
“I said: come here!”
He’d looked up into the man’s face, seeing fury in his eyes, his face flushed in an angry red. Before he’d had time to move, the man had crossed the room with two big strides and roughly grabbed him by the upper arm.
A hiss of pain escaped, earning him a glare while the hand had closed even more firmly around his flesh, a bench vice with an iron grip, not to be shaken off.
The man forcefully dragged him out of the room and down the stairs, leaving him to keep up with him. Bobby stumbled forward next to him, not able to break free.
When the man dragged him to the direction of the backdoor, he’d known exactly where they were going and he’d ground his feet into the floor, searching for a hold and trying to avert what he’d known was coming. “No,” a strangled plea left his lips.
He hadn’t had a chance. The man just dragged him forward.
*
He didn’t mind the darkness – used to that by now – but it was cold.
He shivered, trying to roll himself into a tighter position in a useless effort to keep a bit of warmth. The cold was seeping through the chinks between the planks, wafting over the floor and enclosing him.
Clad in only a t-shirt and light pants, he had nothing to oppose the cold.
Bobby was lying on the ground, the soil cold against his skin. He’d long ago crossed his arms in front of his chest and thrust his hands into the pit of his arms, trying to keep them from going numb. He couldn’t feel his toes by now.
*
The hallucinations started later; long after his fingers had stopped tingling.
A woman – beautiful – with dark shoulder-long hair and blue eyes – kind eyes like he’d never seen before – looked at him sadly. She’d moved closer, kneeling in front of him and reaching out a hand.
He’d felt her touch against his cheek, a caress he’d never known before.
“Don’t give up, my darling,” she had whispered, her voice soft and gentle in his ear. “I’m here with you. It’s not time to give up.”
There hadn’t been enough strength left in him to answer her. He wanted to ask the questions flashing through his head, but even if he would have found the strength to do so, they were dancing just out of his reach.
He’d watched her instead, afraid that she would vanish in front of his eyes – afraid to be alone again, alone with nothing but the cold to surround him, draw energy out of him and ultimately lull him to an eternal sleep.
~~~~~
He didn’t die that night either.
~~~~~
Three: Your worst nightmare
It wasn't as if he hadn't expected it, or wasn't prepared for them. After all that had happened: the money vanishing out of the account and Jarod freeing that Barrette woman. Lyle had expected them to come, but he still hadn't the time to react.
They’d come out of nowhere, grabbing him and dragging him off. They’d been smaller than him but the two men had grabbed him by the upper arms with unexpected strength.
He hadn’t had the time to react before he’d been in the back of the black car, hands secured behind his back, one of the two men sitting directly next to him while the other drove to wherever it was they were bringing him.
He’d seen the one guy’s fingers – or more pointedly – the missing pinkie.
The conversation he had with Miss Parker a few days before had come back to him:
“What happened to his hand?”
“The Yakuza punish by taking the little finger of the ‘offending party’.”
“What’s a guy have to do to lose the thumb?”
“Good question.“
Lyle shuddered, wondering what fate they had in store for him. He unconsciously moved his fingers behind his back, feeling all ten digits obey his command.
*
He tried to fight against it, knowing it was useless but not willing to lose a digit without a fight. It annoyed them further, probably having to do with ‘pride’ and their concept of the word. In their world they’d stand still and let it happen, a matter of restoring your pride after a major fuck-up, or so he’d been told.
Well, for him it wasn’t about trying to restore his pride – that was the furthest from his mind – he was more occupied with trying to remain in one piece.
His struggling annoyed them and made their grip more determined until the inevitable happened.
*
Pain was all he knew over the next days, mutilated nerves communicating the wrongness of it all.
His eyes had refused to believe what his brain had tried to force him to admit. But in the end he’d had to see - and admit. A hand vandalized, sporting only four fingers instead of healthy five.
Still, he’d been lucky.
He’d lost a thumb but not his life, something the crazy Yakuza had obviously conferred about.
~~~~~
His life hadn’t been cut short by the Japanese mafia, and he was profoundly grateful for that.
~~~~~
Four: I'll watch you bleed pure revenge
He’d thought he’d considered everything.
It had been so easy: finding Hailey; moving in; getting the hostages out under the pretence of liberating them; killing Hailey’s men in front of him and making sure Hailey got a good view of him so he could get word to the pretender once he appeared. All he had to do then was bring the hostages to a ‘safe house’ in an area that provided the best possible place for a trap, and wait for the genius to walk right in.
It had been a good plan and it had been executed to the T, everything moving smoothly, until something had gone wrong.
He hadn’t been prepared for the old psychiatrist to step into the house; that definitely hadn’t been part of the plan. Still, he’d hoped to be able to go through with it with Sydney there.
And then Jarod had suddenly stood in the room, rifle levelled at him.
The plan had not been to let the pretender get even that far. The sweepers had been ordered to overpower him as soon as they got sight of him and only afterwards should he be dragged into the house.
Lyle would have loved to taunt the pretender then, made sure he knew who was in charge and superior.
But somehow, somewhere, things had gone wrong.
*
This was definitely not how he’d planned things: kneeling with his back to an armed pretender who was very angry and out to get revenge.
He still felt pretty confident though. Jarod was too weak to kill him; especially put a bullet into his back. He might pull the trigger if under stress and to save himself, but killing in cold blood just wasn’t in the lab rat… he’d never had the backbone or the degree of ruthlessness to kill like that.
But then again – things changed.
He felt the muzzle of the gun pressing into the back of his head and his confidence left him for a second. Then he heard the helicopter and new confidence flared through him - enough to mock the rat.
“A Centre chopper! How's that for karma?”
“Bad.”
His blood ran cold, panic surging him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of a trigger being pulled, the following sound of a bullet breaking through bone and the black silence afterwards.
~~~~~
His death had been postponed for another day then thanks to the blessed gods of timing that smiled down upon him. He didn’t die then – like that – either.
Because this – this is how it really happened.
~~~~~
Five: Know Thy Enemy
Only seeing her face from the file once had saved him losing his countenance when they’d come face-to-face. Still, he’d been stunned when he’d seen her that day – face, hair, even her voice so much like that of the woman he’d seen only once in his life, that night so long ago when he’d fought against freezing to death.
Ever since that night he compared all women to what he’d thought had been a hallucination. All the Asian girls - dark, smooth hair, porcelain skin – coming close to that picture… close but never close enough. They hadn’t been able to meet the standard so he had to let them go and search further for the one who would be able to live up to the perfect picture in his head.
Lyle had seen emotions flash through Parker’s eyes when they’d met; first a sense of shock and wonder about what he was doing in that office, then suspicion and a brief flicker of something that might have been appraisal.
He’d only later learned of their blood connection and there had been a brief flash of disappointment. He’d understood then that it hadn’t been Parker but their mother in his vision, and much later it had made sense when he’d learned about their ‘gift’.
Despite everything he’d still desired her and he’d gone out of his way to needle her and generally ensure he had her attention. Granted, it hadn’t really been positive attention, but he’d had her attention.
It had been the first step – but exactly that first step had nearly cost him any possibility to get to know her - before he’d realized that he wouldn’t get any closer to her with that approach.
So he’d changed tactics, tried to approach her over the topic of their mother and generally get closer to her.
It hadn’t worked out that well either, with circumstances getting in the way.
Despite everything, they’d come to a point where he’d been able to make his attraction known to her, even without threatening her or pushing too far.
He’d seen shock and revulsion in her eyes as she’d pushed him away.
*
Lyle hadn’t stopped pursuing her, hoping to wear down her defences - and she hadn’t stopped sidestepping him, though he had seen weariness and concession grow.
*
It had been planned as a family dinner - their ‘father’ having returned from the dead after his dive out of a plane, but Mr. Parker had ended up cancelling.
His twin had got up as soon as the call was finished, the intent of getting out of the restaurant obvious. He’d called her name once, making her turn back to him. Lyle had only said two words, no order but a gentle request: ‘stay please.’
Upon hesitation during which she’d watched him closely, she’d nodded once and sat back down.
They’d actually had a conversation over dinner, strained at first but easing into it the more time passed.
He hadn’t been sure about her, but he’d had a good time and he’d guessed she was enjoying herself as well. They’d left the restaurant together, talking amiably.
*
He’d never lowered his guard before - his instincts had saved him more than once because of that, but the one time he did lower his guard he got quittance in return.
Now, Lyle wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been suspicious when she’d willingly followed him into the dimly lit alley. Maybe because he had wanted this for too long to keep a clear head, having wanted her from the day he’d first laid eyes on her.
Whatever the reason it was to be a fatal mistake.
*
He touches her arm, his fingers gently closing around her wrist. There’s no resistance when he turns her so she faces him.
Her expression is unreadable, her head tilted to the side and she’s watching him.
He moves forward and waits, giving her enough space and time to draw back - she doesn’t and he moves forward the last bit, his lips meeting hers. She’s not kissing him back but she’s not pushing him away or tensing either, so he keeps the contact, one hand slowly rising to her face, cradling her cheek.
There’s that moment when he’s sure she leans into his hand but then he’s not too sure any longer. All he knows is he’s kissing her, reaching out to get what he desired for longer than he can remember.
He leans against the wall behind him, taking her with him.
Her hands are on his shirt, fingers toying with the buttons and he’s too elated to have her cooperating to worry any longer, survival instincts fleeing, leaving more basic urges in charge.
Sliding his arms around her, he draws her closer, bringing their lower bodies into contact. They both break away from the kiss with a groan and his head hits the wall with a dull thump.
There’s a dark glint in her eyes but it could be the diffuse light.
Her hands have found skin and he shudders when her fingers roam over his flesh. He runs his hands down her bare back, her dress open to mid-back. Only thin straps are holding it on her shoulders. He brushes a strap away and bends down, kissing her shoulder.
A shuddered breath hits his ear before her hand slides into his hair, yanking him up and engaging him in another kiss.
He complies willingly, deepening the kiss when she opens her lips under his questioning tongue. Busy with wrapping his mind around the fact that he’s kissing the woman he admired and wanted to have, he gasps in surprise as her hand slides inside his dress pants. He doesn’t remember her working them open in the first place; and that at least should worry him – it doesn’t though.
When her hand brushes against his erection he bucks into the sensation and his eyes fall shut. He’s forced to lean more heavily into the wall, his knees buckling.
His hands run down her sides, tracing the outline of her figure through the thin fabric of her dress; down over her sides, to her slim waist and her hips and further down still. Reaching for the hem of the dress, he slowly slides it up.
There’s a brief moment of hesitation – so short he nearly misses it – but then it’s gone and she frees him from his pants. A groan that could easily be a choked gasp is torn from him.
He reaches for the back of her leg, not able to contain himself any longer, not able not to have her.
She lets him direct her – something else that should raise suspicion in him; it doesn’t, his mind is too far gone. There is just her. Always her; only her.
He draws her closer, her leg on his hip as he enters her, making them both groan.
It’s rushed and frantic and yet just right.
And still his mind doesn’t rebel the fact that it’s too easy. It’ll never get the chance now.
As completion washes through him, there’s the sound of a gun being fired and then a hollow feeling follows the wave of bliss. Then-- He gasps, flash of pain surging through him, warmth spreading on his skin. He looks down on himself, finding the half-unbuttoned shirt stained with red, the spot growing quickly.
Lyle looks up at her in complete confusion. “But--?”
She withdraws, looking right back. “Following orders,” Parker says slowly. There are no tears in her eyes or any emotion that resembles sadness. “It’s the way things are in our world.”
And she’s right, of course she is. Lyle would have done the same thing in her place so he nods slowly. The gun in Parker’s hand looks familiar and suddenly his shoulder holster feels lighter than it should. She shot him with his own gun and he can’t decide whether to laugh or be embarrassed, especially as he didn’t even notice her removing it.
He’s cold; knows it’s from blood loss, knows it won’t take long.
He reaches out slowly, his hand closing once more around her wrist in much the same fashion as just before he’d kissed her. She doesn’t draw back and he’s grateful for that.
He has to sit down, strength flowing out of him, leaving him more tired than he can remember ever being.
She kneels next to his side, her wrist still in his hand.
Breathing becomes increasingly difficult but the pain is muted; everything muted.
Her figure blurs in front of his eyes and he squeezes them shut. When he opens them again her expression is different and she’s crying. Her hand reaches out and he feels her touch against his cheek.
He blinks again and suddenly the hand is gone and he’s looking into her eyes and there is no trace of tears. Parker is still watching him, emotionless; but she’s with him and he knows she’ll be staying until he draws his last breath – if only to make sure.
Lyle wants to believe she’s staying because she wants to, because she doesn’t want him to die alone but he can’t be sure.
Her figure blurs again, merges into the softer version and once more her fingers ghost over his skin, caressing him, soothing him. “It’s time to let go now, darling,” she whispers and it’s only then that his fuzzy mind realizes it’s not his twin speaking.
Lyle’s vision focuses one last time and he meets her eye again. He gasps, trying to fill his lungs with air, pain exploding for a second and then darkness is closing in on him.
The last thing he sees is her eyes filled with tears but he isn’t sure to whom they belong.
Ehm… Finish
