Intimacy

"Damn!"

Neil Avedon fumbled in his pocket, hoping against hope that his car keys would magically appear. They did not, and he frowned at the stubbornly closed car door as though it, too, might magically yeild. It did not. Sighing, he looked back down the rows of parked cars towards the courthouse elevator and grimaced. Walking back into that courtroom right now did now appeal. But his mind was already proffering an image of the silver bundle of his keys abandoned on the defense table. He had been playing with them in his hands that afternoon, nervously tracing the sharp metallic edges. The attorneys had been arguing over some little point of the law regarding evidence the jury had requested during their deliberations; he hadn't been paying attention.

Tugging his tie loose, he gave up and wandered back towards the elevator, suitcoat slung over his arm. Regardless of his attorneys' constant reassurances, he knew how much trouble he was in. He knew that there was a very good likelihood he'd spend the rest of his life in a jail cell. And he knew full well the kind of treatment he'd receive. He was too pretty, accused of too sensitive a crime, and simply too vulnerable. His mind swam with painful images, made all the more powerful by the abuse he had already suffered throughout his life. Could he take any more of it and survive? He wasn't sure. Despite assuring Chris Docknovich that he wouldn't carry through on his threat to blow his brains out if convicted, a quiet part of his soul knew that he was much closer to that solution than Chris could ever have guessed.

The elevator didn't help his upset stomach, and neither did the looks he garnered from passersby in the still-busy courthouse hallways. His hands tightening into fists, he squared his shoulders and pushed his way towards the now familiar courtroom doors. When he entered, the large room was still and silent. A single, gray-uniformed bailiff was shuffling paperwork in the far right corner, and Neil avoided meeting the man's gaze. There was another man sitting as though asleep in the back row, and Neil barely even glanced at the innocuous, brown-haired figure.

His eyes focused on the glint of metal on the distant table, and he rushed for them, trying to ignore the unease that always slid down his spine when he entered this place. At last, his hand closed around the keys, and he turned to leave. The sound of a door opening behind him caught his attention, and he angled his head around in time to see Judge Beth Bornstein enter the room. This was the first time he'd seen her without her traditional robe, and she looked smaller, slimmer, somehow less powerful. But her eyes were as steely as ever when they noticed him, and they barely exchanged a glance of recognition before each returned to the task at hand. She hurried up the dias and reached for a pile of paper, shuffling through it briskly. He tucked his keys safely into his pants pocket and turned back towards the door.

Only this time, someone was blocking the aisle. Neil stared at the man standing in the middle of the courtoom with absent unconcern, waiting for him to move out of the way, when sudden movement and a flash of light on metal grabbed his attention. The man was holding a large, gray object, lifting it slowly, intently upwards. It took an instant for Neil to realize what it was, and another seemingly endless, slow moment for him to recognize the intent. His first thought was that it was being pointed at him, but the man's dull gaze was staring straight through him - towards the woman bent in concentration on the platform above.

There wasn't time to think clearly, and he moved before his conscious mind had a chance to reconsider.

"Watch out!"

He waved his hands into the air and leapt forward. He pinned his eyes to that big gray muzzle, and threw every bit of his strength into an attempt to grab onto it before the trigger could be pulled. His fingertips brushed the edge of the man's sleeve just as the weapon bucked and fired, the shot ringing out violently in the stillness of the empty room. A sharp pain struck Neil in his left shoulder, followed by a deep burning sensation, centered on his upper bicep, trailing fire down the length of his arm. He gasped and crumpled to his knees, tightening his other hand around the wounded area, unaware of the commotion around him.

A sudden scream disturbed Beth Bornstein's concentration, and she looked up from her files, her glasses slipping dangerously down her nose, only to see Neil Avedon launching himself at another man. She got to her feet, about to interfere, when she saw a shiny object being pointed in her direction. Time seemed to slow down, everything stretched into unreality, even as she instinctively dived to the side. She hit the floor at the same instant the gun fired, and the impact stole the breath from her lungs.

There was a soft cry and then a shout. More gunshots rang out, one, two, three - in rapid, stuccato succession, and then there was a sudden silence. Hands clutched over her head, she took a couple of deep breaths, waiting for some sign, some signal that it might be safe to look up. Just as her curiosity was about to get the better of her caution, the door opened and voices shouted.

"Hold it right there....Freeze...."

The response was cold and certain.

"No...You freeze, pigs!"

That icy voice struck at the chords of her memory, the faint chime sending chills down her spine. Whoever this was, she knew instantly that the recollection was not going to be pleasant when it came clear.

"I doubt pretty boy here will be quite so pretty with a bullet through his head," the voice continued.

"Take it easy..." another voice responded. "Just let him go and everything will be fine."

"Oh things will be fine," the manic voice responded, "just as soon as you get the hell out. Go on, back on out of here....slowly...."

There was another few moments worth of silence, then a strangled cry of agony. It pulled her up, forcing her to take a quick peek around the edge of the judicial bench. A nearly motionless tableau met her shocked eyes. The gunman had a stranglehold on a dark-haired man she belatedly recognized as Neil Avedon, the gun barrel pointed menacingly at the top of his head. She couldn't see Neil's face, but his body was bent at an uncomfortale angle and the sound had obviously come from him. Two cops were facing them, guns held out at arm's length, legs braced, attempting to stare down the assailant. It wasn't working, and when another pained cry came from the hostage, she could see their stance begin to relax.

"No..." The denial barely made it past her throat, and was lost in the moment. Slowly, the two cops lifted their weapons towards the ceiling and walked backwards out the door. When it shut behind them, she ducked back downwards, holding her breath, praying that somehow the man would forget she was still there.

But he hadn't.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..." The menacing voice chanted again and then again. She held on as long as she could, until a cry of agony split her senses. Some of the fear gave way to anger, and she jumped out from behind the bench.

"I'm here." She said the words defiantly, but they caught in her throat as she took in a wider view of the courtoom floor. The bailiff was laying splayed out on the floor, bright red stains blossoming across the torn front of his uniform. He stirred, groaned, and she realized he was still alive. Her eyes turned back to the now-smiling gunman, then down the man crouched at his feet. Neil was on his knees, head bent towards the floor, right hand clutched over the top of his left arm.

Eyes never wavering from hers, the gunman negligantly pulled his foot back, aimed, and kicked Neil right in that same spot. The actor groaned aloud, rocked to the side, but somehow managed not to fall over.

"What do you want?" She bit off the words harshly, but the gunman only smiled more broadly.

"Don't you remember me, Lady Prosecutor? Did you ever doubt my word?"

Her eyes narrowed, and memory swirled. She did know him, but it was still unclear. There had been so many cases, so many defendents, so many victims over the long years of her career. But refusing to admit her confusion, she shook her head grimly.

He laughed, leaned down with his free hand, and seized Neil's wounded arm. Tugging him roughly, he yanked the young man to his feet, then shoved him towards the dying bailiff. Then he waved the gun at her to follow. Keeping her pace slow and even, she walked over to join Neil beside the body. Neil had staggered to his feet, but didn't look over at her - his mahogony eyes were focused solely at the bloodstained body. She had to follow his gaze, and no sooner did she do so than the sharp, deafeaning retort of the gun split the silence. The body shook with the impact, convulsed once, then lay motionless at their feet. She felt the air rush from her lungs, her stomach cramp up, and her knees weaken beneath her weight. A sudden retching sound came from beside her, and she turned to find Neil bent over, heaving roughly.

The murderer kicked out in rough disgust at the shaking man, and Beth responded angrily.

"Leave him alone," she cried, bending down to put her hands on Neil's shoulders. Her fingers brushed his left arm, and he moaned. The recognition of moisture on her fingertips was followed by the sight of the gory open tear. The white sleeve was soaked in blood, and she realized belatedly he'd been shot.

"Easy," she whispered into his ear. She took careful hold on his shoulders, and moved him into a seated position. His head finally tilted in her direction, and when his eyes focused on hers, darkened with fear and pain, her stomach hit her throat.

Barely holding back the roiling nausea, Neil stifled a cry as Beth eased him into a sitting position. Desperately avoiding the sight of the dead body so close by, he turned his gaze up into her face. Her blue eyes, which had always seemed so stern and unemotive, were now dilated and open, filled a vivid echo of his own shock. Some hidden reservoir of strength fired within him in response, and he forced a smile at her, an expression that came out as tight grimace.

A large shadow loomed above them, and both twisted simultaneously to stare up at the man above them. He was not smiling, but his seemingly innocuous face held a look of satisfaction. With a booted toe, he nudged the bailiff's body. It shifted, but did not move, and the killer grunted. His empty brown eyes moved from the corpse to their upturned faces, and he smiled yet again. Stepping backwards, he gestured at the body.

"Get his handcuffs," he barked.

They stared silently at him, unmoving. "Get the damn handcuffs!" he yelled again, lifting the gun to point it directly at Neil's forehead. Neil froze, gazing straight up into the muzzle of the gun, his expression surprisingly at ease. "Go ahead," he whispered hoarsely. "Go ahead, finish it."

"No, don't. Please. I'll get the cuffs." Beth finally found her own voice. Rocking forward unto her knees, she reached across the body. Her hands hesitated in mid-air above the shiny metal cuffs, then awkwardly, she tried to free them from the belt clip while touching the corpse as little as possible. Her fingers trembled, and the cuffs clattered to the floor, forcing her to bend further over the dead man. Finally, she got a firm hold on the cuffs and was able to get back to her position kneeling on the floor beside Neil who had remained motionless, gazing peaceably at certain death.

When she was back in place, the gun wavered between them. "Put them on, one on him, one on you."

She hesitated.

"Do it." The gun came to rest pointed at the middle of her chest and she swallowed hard. When she turned to look at Neil, he gave her a quick nod. His right hand was still clutched over his bleeding left arm, the fingers stained red with his blood. He bent that wrist outward, and closed his eyes as he waited for the touch of cold metal and the soft click of the catch as it closed on him. Once she had fastened that side around his wrist, she stopped again, then bit on her lower lip and slowly closed the other metal circle around her own right wrist. It was only when she was done that she realized she had crossed their arms.

Lifting them up, she tried to indicate that she'd made a mistake, but the gunman ignored her.

"On your feet," he commanded.

"Wait," she responded. The gun moved closer, but she shook her head firmly. "He's losing blood too quickly. At least let me bind the wound."

The gunman stared from her face to the bright red stain now covering Neil's entire upper left arm, and seemed to waver.

"He's no use to you as a hostage if he's dead," she insisted.

"Maybe I don't want him as a hostage," he retorted with another peculiar grin, this time echoed with a glint in his eyes.

She simply waited, watching him. He grimaced, then roughly acceeded. "All right, make it fast."

Beth let out the air she had been holding in her lungs, exchanging a quick glance with Neil, who had been watching tensely. He relaxed enough to release his grip on his upper arm. His teeth gritted with a hard clack as she tried to peel the soaked fabric from the open wound. The bullet had obviously gone straight through, and an agonizing twist of his arm showed her the exit wound as well as the entry. Wishing she had some way to clean it, she cast around for something she could use to bind it.

"Here, use my tie," Neil's throaty voice caught her by surprise. His right hand tugged on hers, as he reached for the partially undone knot below his chin. Catching his intention quickly, she helped him, their movements hampered by the cuffs clamping their wrists together. At last they got the silken material free, and she reached to wrap it around his wounds. Her sudden action dragged his hand with hers, causing him to gasp. She stopped, and he rotated his wrist, trying to loosen the kink of the chain. Once it was hanging freely between them, he met her eyes, then cautiously closed his hand around the back of her wrist.

Realizing this was the best solution for the moment, she nodded a quick acknowledgement, then returned to the task of bandaging his arm. Pulling it as hard as she could, she tied it off. His hand tensed on her wrist, but when she glanced at his face, he nodded back at her. Taking that as acceptance, she gave one last hard yank, forcing him to bite down hard on his lower lip, strangling off a cry of pain.

She looked at him with concern, but before she could speak, a sharp blow to the top of her spine threw her off-balance, and she tumbled into Neil. He was unprepared for it, and went down beneath her. They ended up sprawled on the floor, her resting partially over him, their bound hands caught between their chests.

"Enough, get on your feet!" came the insistent command. Using her free hand as leverage, she managed to roll off to Neil's right side. He moved to sit up, accidentally pulling on her arm as he did so. She attempted to follow him, her motions automatically tugging on his arm. Finally, they were forced to use each other as ballast in order to gain a standing position.

"Now move..."

"Damn!" Detective Arthur Polson stared at the huddle of cops outside the courtroom door.

Too late.

If only he'd seen the connection sooner. Unfortunately, the cases had been separated by both distance and community. Each locale in the sprawling metropolis had its own police division, often more than one when you figured in the county sherriff's department and local security offices. Too many egos to allow proper communication. And this particular psycho had left his victims spread from one end of the valley to another. Only a random comment by the latest victim's terror-filled wife had made his mind start working, and even then it had taken hours to define which case had been the connection - which small piece of legal history combined the former justice of the peace with a sleazy defense attorney and twelve apparently innocent citizens. Judge, defense, and jury - the only missing element being the prosecutor.

But she was not missing now.

"What the hell's wrong with this thing. It worked fine for the goddammed press!" Polson was about to start knocking heads together. The information that Neil Avedon was being held hostage along with Judge Bornstein had NOT made his day. He knew it was only a matter of time before they place was crawling with rabid reporters. Not to mention the attorneys. It wasn't that he didn't respect either Grasso or Hoffman, but right now he had a job to do, and their interference, however well meant, would only be another distraction.

"Got it now!" the technician crowed.

"About time," the detective muttered, shoving his way towards the TV screen. Finally, he could see what was happening in the courtroom.

Having their right arms cuffed to each other hampered Beth and Neil's ability to maneuver. The gunman was shouting orders, 'Move this, move that, hurry up..." - each punctuated by a wave of the gun or a hard shove. They had ended up on the floor in a tangle more than once, each fall bruising Neil's arm worse, bleaching his skin pale beneath his surface tan. Fear and necessity forced them to quickly learn how to counter for the handicap, and they found the best answer was to leave her right hand closed on his wrist. That meant they had only three hands to work with, one of which was weakened by his wound, but it was better than continually knocking each other off balance.

Even so, moving chairs and various other objects into loose piles in front of each doorway was a long, tedious, and difficult process. Beth felt sweat begin to trickle down the back of her shirt, and she could hear Neil's breath harshen into tight gasps. Wiping at her eyes with her free hand, she then gave one last shove at the pile and slumped against the nearby bench. Neil turned to support her, and she found herself gratefully leaning against the hard strength of his body.

He tightened his grip around her, resting his chin on the top of her head, then abruptly withdrew. Startled, she looked up into his eyes. He was staring at her in total confusion. Exhaustion and pain had drawn deep lines across his brow, half-obscured by wavy tendrils of raven-black hair which framed deep dark amber eyes. He appeared so very young, so terribly vulnerable, and yet a sudden sharp recognition of who he was flooded over her.

Closing her free hand over the back of the wooden bench, she tried to straighten herself up, consciously increasing the space between them. He allowed her the spare inches of air, taking a couple steps backwards. But no sooner than they had paced themselves at something just short of arm's length, the other occupant of the room reminded them violently of his presence.

One moment she was standing braced against the side of the bench, the next she was reeling from a blow on the back side of her head. Light sparked against her eyes, then was lost in a flood of darkness as she crumbled to the floor, unheeding of the effect of her collapse on the man bound to her by metal chain. Pulled by the draw of her weight on his hand, he went down with her, falling across her senseless body with a heavy thud.

"Get up!" came the sharp command, followed by a hard fist closing on Neil's hair. His neck cracked loudly as his head was jerked backwards, and his eyes squeezed tight against the now familiar gray muzzle pressed closely against his face. He tried to nod agreement, and somehow the small attempt at motion communicated his aquiescence. The hand released the strands of his hair, and his head snapped forwards awkwardly. Gasping, he reached for the nearest bench to use as support, and he managed to pull up to his knees.

His next problem was the judge, who was moaning at his feet. Trying to maneuver their cuffed hands as best he could, he shifted her up against his knees. Her eyes focused blearily on his face, and her mouth opened as though to speak. He shook his head quickly at her, then winced at the lightening bolt of pain that lanced across his eyes at the sudden movement. But she had caught enough of his expression to respond to it, and she shut her mouth firmly, tightening the grip of her hands on his arms.

Slowly, they leveraged themselves to their feet, then stood facing each other, hands clasped over each other's wrists. The gunman was watching them with something akin to excitement, and his cold eyes glittered meanly as he moved aside and gestured for them to proceed him into the center area of the courtroom. They walked up the aisle, past the now chairless tables, and carefully sidestepped the bloodstained body laying on the carpet. No sooner than they had walked by it, than their captor delivered another hard shove into Neil's back.

Neil toppled over. Beth fell with him. Again, they sorted themselves out, finally coming up for air, resting side-by side, their joined wrists hanging in the air between their bodies.

"What the hell do you want?" Neil bit out the words, frustration, fear, and rage welling up inside him. It may have been foolish, but it was his only way to fight the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Why did he always seem to end up the victim? Why did he always seem to stagger from one abusive situation to another? He knew that he had been responsible for some of the messes he'd gotten into, but that didn't lesson the anguish he felt. Or assuage the horror of what his own parents had done to him. That memory didn't bear even thinking about, so he took refuge in the comforting anger, letting it blaze from his dark eyes.

Beside him, Beth tensed, although she too desperately wanted an answer to that question. So she didn't restrain him. Instead, she fixed their captor with her best judicial stare and waited for the response.

The man's mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. "Why don't you ask the Lady Prosecutor, pretty boy? Oh..." he added as an apparent afterthough, "I should say Lady Judge now, shouldn't I?"

Neil threw her a quick glance, and she met it openly, her eyes expressing her confusion.

"Come now, Lady Judge....don't tell me you don't remember me?"

"Okay, I won't," she challenged. That won a quick chuckle before their captor turned angry.

"Then let me remind you. Does the name Carlos Quinone help? You sure seemed to know me then - oh how persuasive you were. Full of grand ideas about how I had to suffer for executing those sluts! Those vermin who tried to tempt my daughter into sin." His frozen smile somehow managed to turn even more menacing. "What would you care how my family was shamed? How my wife finally fled the city with our child? That when they finally released me, I was forbidden to see my own little girl?" He was raging now, all control lost. The gun waved around in the air, pointing here and there, as his hands writhed. Spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth and ran unheeded down his chin.

"You're no better than those whores I sent to hell, Lady Judge! All of you women are the same, tainted by the sin of Eve and the touch of the serpent. All you care about is corrupting and destroying righteous men, while you rut with the depraved servants of Satan." He finally turned his wrath on Neil, who had listened to the tirade with utter astonishment. "Such a lovely face on this one, evil hidden beneath beauty. How much you must desire him." He spat at Neil then struck out again at Beth.

Gun held in a visibly shaking hand, Carlos kicked into her side with a pointed toe, the front edge of his boot lined with a metal tip. A cry escaped her lips, and she started to protest, "Please, you have to...."

He kicked her again, and again, and her words died off into a sob, as she struggled to get away from the increasing fury of his assault. That foot struck her abdomen, her chest, and then came hard at her face. In the very instant she saw it coming, she screamed and threw up her hands in defense, and something obscured her vision. The blow never came, instead a soft, heavy weight descended down across her body.

A small part of Neil's mind told him that this was a truly stupid thing to do, but he couldn't bear the sight of this proud woman being battered beside him without trying to do...something... So he pushed himself up and over, reaching out to grab for the foot aimed for her head. His left hand managed to close on the ankle, but the momentum carried it forward towards into his unprotected chest. The impact stole his breath, although he hung on tightly until something hard cracked down on the top of his head.

His hand released, the world shattered, and he collapsed downwards. There was darkness, and there was pain. Brutal, rhythmic, unrelenting agony, and all he could do was to close his body around the yielding flesh beneath in some vestigial protective instinct and hold on for their very lives.

Arnold Polson's fists clenched and released, his fingers leaving welts in his palms as he he stared, fixated at the small television screen. He watched, his entire body tensed with helpless fury, as Neil Avedon did the one thing Polson would not have expected from him, throwing himself up and over Judge Bornstein's body and shuddering under the impact of a blow meant for her. And then another and then another.

Avedon curled up around Bornstein, but he couldn't protect her completely from the vicious assault that rained down on their bodies, and a few of the kicks hit her head and legs. But Avedon took the worst of it, and Polson's stomach screwed up into a tight knot, then twisted even harder, as he watched. He had thought once that he'd enjoy seeing this arrogant young man given a good beating, but the actuality of it was horrifying and repulsive. Whatever Avedon might have done, surely no one deserved this. And the gesture he had made to give Beth Bornstein what little cover his flesh could provide - it didn't square with Polson's original view of the man.

Then again, desperate circumstances brought out unusual behavior from people, and this was desperate indeed. Polson's own rage curled within in his gut, and he found himself trembling with the force of the emotion. There had to be something he could do to stop this. He looked over at the dark-suited men huddled into an endless discussion of options and risks, and it made him even angrier if such was possible. Leave it up to those politicians, and nothing would ever get done.

One more agonized glance at the screen assured him that if something wasn't tried soon, it would be too late. There was no way his men could force the doors against the piles of junk piled in front of them in time to stop Quinone from shooting at least one of the hostages. Making a rapid decision, he grabbed for the phone.

"Put me through to courtroom B533," he demanded.

Eyes fixed on the screen, he waited for the sound of the ringing phone to echo from his ear to the audio speakers before him. It rang. And rang. And rang...

"Come on you bastard," he muttered under his breath. "Come on...."

Finally. Thank God. The assault slowed, stopped, and then the brown-garbed figure moved away from the pile of flesh at his feet. He moved towards the incessant chime of the phone.

"Yeah," came the rasp over the line, and Polson drew in deep breath before responding.

"This is Detective Arthur Polson of the Los Angeles Police Department..."

"Well, hey there, Artie..."

Polson grimaced. He hated the nicknames associated with his first name, and no one who knew him well ever called him anything but "Arthur." But this was not the time to argue that point.

"You are surrounded, and there is no way for you to escape," he began, and was again interrupted.

"Who says I want to escape? Nahh...I'm having too much fun!" Carlos turned and looked directly up at the camera. Polson's stomach heaved as he watched the man wave.

"What do you want?" The question came out more harshly than Polson had planned, but it still garnered a laugh in reply.

"I want the world to see the bitch Judge for the whoreslut she is. Just keep that camera rolling, Detective. We're going to have a good show tonight."

Click. The line went dead.

"Damn," Polson swore. "Damn, damn, damn.

It took a while for Neil to realize the assault had ended. Every inch of his body ached, and even the simple act of breathing hurt more than he had thought it could. But he'd been in similar positions before, and he knew the pain would fade in time. He lay still for a while, taking advantage of the surcease as best he could, until the body beneath him began to stir.

Remembering who the soft cushion between him and the floor was, he quickly lifted himself up, gritting his teeth in anticipation of the agony that shot through him in response to the motion. Bruises screamed from every muscle and bone in his body as he rolled to the side. He landed on his back, and wriggled slightly, seeking the least painful position. At least he didn't seem to have broken any ribs, he thought with faint relief, as the change in position actually made it easier to breath. Nonetheless, he hurt - and he lay his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to imagine himself somewhere, anywhere but where he was.

Beth felt the comforting weight lift up and off her, Neil's change in position pulling hard on her right wrist. The metal cuff bit into the sensitive skin of her arm, but she bit back the exclamation. She felt like she was floating, her awareness of the world around her wavering in and out. Yet, enough sense remained for her to be aware of what had just happened. The pain in the few areas of her body Neil had not been able to cover fully was a potent reminder.

Groaning as she lifted her head, her eyes watering as she blinked and attempted to focus. The first thing her eyes took in was the floor, the second, with a slight unpleasant twist of her head, was the side of Neil's head. Pushing downwards with her left hand, she propped herself up enough to look down at him. His eyes were closed, dark lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. His chest was heaving with the effort of taking in air, and his breath came out in a rough whisper between half-parted, swollen lips. A purple bruise darkened the line of his jaw, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

At least he was breathing, even if he did not appear to be conscious. Her right hand pulled his along with it, as she reached out to brush her fingers over his cheek. Then she gasped aloud as that hand closed down on hers, aggravating the soreness of her wrist with the motion of the cuffs. His eyes flew open and focused blearily on her shadowed face as it hovered a few inches above his.

"Are you all right?" She whispered as softly as she could, fearful of drawing their attacker's attention yet again. The words fell flat to her own ears, the sense of them ridiculous to her own mind. Of course, he wasn't all right. But somehow, he managed to form a smile, or at least, the faintest echo of one. And though his voice was a dry rasp, forced out from deep in his throat though a mouth that struggled to wet itself with quick darts of his tongue over white teeth and red lips, the tone was wry and free of bitterness.

"Yeah. I've been through worse."

His eyes squeezed shut once more, unwillingly allowing a tear to slide out of one corner, then opened again. He stared up into her warm face, framed by a disarrayed halo of golden hair, and tried again to speak. Before the words could formed, a shadow fell across his eyes, and he instantly tensed. She saw the reaction in his eyes, and felt every muscle in her body cramp with fear and anger. Staying curled up against Neil's side, she angled her head to look upwards.

Carlos was smiling again, the expression no less menacing. His eyes gleamed with a peculiar light, and something in his dead gaze struck a new lance of terror in her heart. He was interested in more than simply killing her, and she was beginning to wonder if death might not be preferable to whatever this monster had in mind.

Further thoughts were swept from her mind when his hand closed down on her hair. He yanked her head backwards and upwards, forcing another soft moan of hopeless protest from her lips. Light flashed on metal, and she shivered despite herself, for the object coming down towards her unprotected face was not the familiar gun, but rather a long, steel blade, the bottom edge encased in a black leather grip.

The knife hovered barely an inch from her skin, then flipped sideways so that he could run the flat of the blade across her cheek. The tip poked briefly against her chin, then as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. He released her hair abruptly, and she collapsed down beside Neil who released a loud sigh of relief.

There was movement behind their heads, and then the sound of fabric being ripped, but neither was quite willing to take a look. They both concentrated on the suddenly difficult task of breathing, eyes half-closed as though by refusing to look they could make it all disappear. Therefore, the first pull on her feet came as a shock, and Beth's eyes flew open just in time to see her flat-heeled pumps being tossed aside. Fingers dug violently into her ankles, and she tried to pull her legs away in a futile attempt to break free. His hands already had to firm a grasp on her ankles, and there was no place she could go. So instead, she tried to kick out at him, but that only won her a painful crack across the bottom of her foot. Tears welled up in her eyes, and before she could take another deep breath, he had yanked her ankles out and wrapped strands of cloth around them.

Lifting herself up on her right elbow, she again tried to pull herself free, Neil providing what leverage he could, but her legs were already entangled. Carlos knotted the torn strips of fabric brusquely, competently, around her ankles, leaving her fully hobbled. Then he turned his attention to Neil's legs, encountering fiercer resistance.

Neil had had time to prepare, and he kicked out vehemently - albeit to no avail. He was hampered by his own exhaustion and the previous beating, and he was still attached to Beth by the handcuffs. Carlos simply stood back, hefted a broken flag pole, and swung it like a baseball bat at Neil's shins and ankles. The pain was excrutiating and by the time Neil had recovered, his feet had been quickly and efficiently bound.

Carlos stepped back for a moment, studying his hostages intently. Beth was still curled onto her left side, her bound right wrist dangling in the small space between her and Neil, who was laying fully on his back. The tattered strips of the California flag made an odd sort of binding on their ankles, but it was effective enough. Satisfied, he left them where they were, humming to himself as he went back down the center aisle to retrieve the bag he had secreted beneath the bench in the back row.

Once he had the equipment he wanted, he set about his tasks with manic fervor. His hostages tried to follow him by sight as best they could, but their vantage point did not provide much information. However, when he was done, he returned to them, quite willing for them to know how well he had ensured that they would not be disturbed by outside agencies.

Beth cringed mentally as he described the simple, yet utterly effective way he had wired the doors. One wrong move on the part of the police, and 'BOOM'! Perhaps, it was a bluff, but something in his eyes told her that it wasn't. The reassurance that the police were watching through the camera set to record Neil's trial for the press did not make her feel any better. She glanced over at Neil to see his reaction, and despite his attempt to keep a calm expression on his face, she could see the sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. His eyes met hers, and the exchange did not need words. They were in serious trouble, the only question remaining was just exactly what did Carlos have in mind?

He didn't waste any time getting started. With one last mocking glance towards the camera, he stored away his bag under the defense table, then unsheathed his knife. Moving back towards his two hostages with slow and deliberate steps, he came to his knees beside Beth.

She refused to allow herself to cringe, but her bright blue eyes were wide with terror as he brought the knife down towards her. He touched the tip to her forehead, her nose, her lips, then traced her jawline down to the hollow of her throat. She nearly stopped breathing, holding every muscle as still as she could, certain that the slightest motion would bring that shiny blade down into her skin.

Instead, he lowered it, dipping it down along the edge of her blouse, then with a quick twist of his wrist, slicing through the space where the buttons held it together. The silky fabric tore easily, and he easily exposed her chest, her breasts cupped in a frothy white bra. She gasped, tilting her head to the side, in an instinctive gesture of embarrasment, as though by hiding her face, she could pretend this wasn't happening.

But he wasn't about to let her avoid anything. His hand cupped roughly under the back of her head, and forced her face forward. Light flashed on steel, and this time the honed knife-point slid sharply across her skin. A series of pinpricks lanced in a straight line from the hollow of her throat to the valley between her breasts, then pierced her cheek and jaw, all the way to her left ear. Blood welled in tiny droplets from more than twenty tiny cuts, and she bit hard at her lips to keep from crying out.

That only elicited a chuckle from her assailant, and the bitter touch of the knife edge on her lips. She tasted the salt of her own blood, her tongue darting up and then away, in fear of the blade. Carlos smiled harshly, then moved the knife to sit against the spot on her throat where her jugular vein pulsed just beneath her satiny skin. His cold eyes flickered over to Neil's watching face, the soulful brown eyes dilated with shock and fear.

Carlos' other hand tightened in Beth's hair, and tilted her head towards Neil. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Awful pretty, ain't he?"

She swallowed hard, staying silent. He squeezed his grip on her hair, pressing the knife against her neck harder, and repeated, "He's very pretty isn't he?"

Realizing he wanted some kind of reply, she croaked out a sybilant "Yeeessss," then gasped with relief when the grip relaxed slightly.

Then he started again. "You love looking at him, don't you?"

Not certain where he was going, but deciding that she had little choice but to play along, she answered, "yes," again. Neil's expressive eyes met hers again, this time with open, questioning confusion, and she could only stare helplessly at him in reponse.

Carlos pushed her closer to Neil, so that their faces were only inches apart, their eyes nearly even. Then he demanded roughly, "Tell him how much you've wanted him. How you've sat in this courtroom day after day, dreaming of his touching you, of having his hands on your body, his mouth on yours. Tell him."

"Whhhaaat?" she murmered, trying to shift her head away, but he pinned her in place between the knife and the hand mercilessly tangled in her blonde hair.

"Tell him!" Came the insistent command, again and then again. Fighting the rising panic, she tried to remember what it was she was supposed to say. "I....I...." she stuttered, but the words wouldn't come. Neil's eyes were fixated on hers, and she couldn't look away from the sympathy and pain that filled those rich depths. There was nothing there that reminded her of the killer he was supposed to be, instead, she saw nothing but vulnerability and helpless concern.

Carlos was shouting again in her ear, turning the phrases he wanted to hear from her into obscenities, and something broke inside her. As embarrassing as it would be to say such things to any man, and especially to this one, she somehow didn't feel shame. Neil's expression was too accepting, too pleading, his look saying without words that she should simply do what was needed to survive. Perhaps that was her own terror speaking, but suddenly the words came out in a rush.

"Yeeessss. I've dreamed of his touching me, fucking me, tasting me. Yes, yes, yes..." It didn't even matter what she said, they were only words, and she shouted them out with a peculiar kind of relief. The knife edge eased away from the pulsing vein in her neck, and her head was lowered to the floor.

Carlos' attention turned to Neil, who had stayed grimly silent throughout this part of the ordeal. He sucked on his lower lip as the knife blade flirted with his features, then pulled away.

"You'd like to taste her, wouldn't you, pretty boy? Oh, I know she's a bit old for you. You like them young, don't you, pretty boy? But she's a blonde. You do like blondes very much, don't you? Would you like to dig your hands into her sweet yellow hair, lick her skin, maybe put your hands around her neck? You would, wouldn't you, pretty boy?"

Neil swallowed hard, it had been a bit easier when Beth had been the one forced to say things he knew she didn't mean, could never mean. But as there had been no arguing for her against the steel threat, neither was there for him. He nodded quickly, then froze.

"Yeah." The single syllable came out hard and low.

"What did you say, pretty boy?" Carlos taunted.

"I....I said yes. I want to...." He didn't quite get out what he was supposed to want to do, but the attempt turned out to be enough. A rough hand took hold of his hair and yanked his head up and over towards Beth.

"Then go ahead. Taste her. Lick the sweet blood off of her skin."

"Nuuuhhh, No!" He cried out the denial fervently, and felt the cold pressure of the knife bite into his throat in response.

"You know you want it," the voice in his ear insisted, and Neil couldn't even shake his head in denial. This wasn't happening, he kept telling himself. This isn't real. You're going to wake up any moment. But then, he'd been telling himself that for months, and it hadn't done any good.

A sharp pain bit into the side of his jaw, and he couldn't hold back a gasp. Fingers tangled into his hair, forcing his head to turn. He was literally dragged up and over, caught between the knife at his throat and the pressure of the hand on his scalp. Up and over he went, then down on top of Beth. The knife withdrew from his throat, only to coldly caress the side his face as it was forced down against her exposed chest.

"How long," Polson demanded, his eyes never wavering from the TV screen.

"Maybe forty minutes, an hour..."

"Not good enough. They may not have that long."

"We're doing the best we can, sir," came the slightly exasperated answer. "If we force it too quickly, the sound might attract attention. This passageway hasn't been used in decades, and the barriers have rusted into place."

"Yeah, yeah....just try to speed things along if you can. And let me know the moment the bomb squad gets here."

"Yes sir," came the resigned reply. It wasn't as though this officer wouldn't have told him when the bomb specialists arrived, but Polson was suffering hard from his own inability to act. He waved dismissal at the young cop, running a distracted hand through his curly blond hair. Quinone was busy playing knife games with his hostages, and Polson winced as the knife sliced across Avedon's jaw. The image of the most recent victim, the retired trial Judge, flashed in front of his eyes, the body resembling nothing more than a slab of beef in a meat freezer. Completely skinned, the muscles and nerves stood out exposed, blood dripping in a slow trickle down from the feet, as it hung from bound hands.

God, he couldn't just stand here and watch it happen again in front of him without being able to do something to stop it... And then his eyes narrowed in surprise. Quinone pushed Avedon over onto Bornstein and Polson's mind clicked. Quinone had never kept another bystander alive in his previous assaults; the previous victims' companions had all been killed outright, quickly, like the bailiff who's body still lay a few feet from the living hostages. But he'd kept Neil Avedon alive - and finally, Polson understood why. Torture for Bornstein, but of a different kind. Quinone was playing to the camera, and Neil Avedon would be his unwilling instrument. Yet, something within him leaped with hope. This kind of play could take time....assuming his victims played along...

Beth could watch Neil being lowered against her, finding that it was her turn to watch, unable to interfere for fear of urging the knife-weilder into a deeper assault against the man she had begun to think of as her only possible ally. Her eyes focused on the silvery blade as it followed his jaw line, then dipped through black curls to trace the edges of Neil's ear. His breath was hot against her collarbone, the intense intimacy of his body against hers becoming shockingly familiar.

"Taste her," came the command again. "Lick the blood from her skin. Do it, or perhaps you'd rather forfeit some flesh of your own. An ear perhaps?" Beth watched in horror as the knife slid across Neil's earlobe, to settle behind the soft curve of flesh. The wrist holding the knife flexed, and a voice she hardly recognized as her own urged, "Do as he says!"

The body above hers shivered as the knife sliced deeply enough to spill blood. It welled out, forming tight droplets that dribbled across his neck, slicking down the few dark curls of his hair already sweat-plastered to the side of his neck. But it stopped there, and her eyes squeezed shut in relief. "Please..." she gasped out again, not sure who she was pleading too, but it didn't matter. Both responded as though it had been him to whom she had spoken.

The knife withdrew.

A quick wet flicker caught at the hollow of her throat, bathing the edge of her collarbones with heat. The brush of his lips and tongue was so gentle, so hesitant, she could barely tell it had been there, except for the cool sensation of saliva drying on her skin. And his breath was there, hot and humid, warming her with its presence. She could smell him, the mixture of sweat and soap, a faint touch of an antiseptic-like cologne, and something indefinably male.

She tilted her head back, allowing him access to the space below her jaw, and the burning pricks left by the knife were soothed by the the touch of his mouth. He worked up to the point of her chin, then back down, until he came to a halt a few inches below the juncture of her collarbones. A spare inch from the rounded swell of her breasts.

They stayed in that position, the ragged sounds of their breathing sounding in rapid counterpoint to the pulse racing in her throat. He didn't move, except for the quick rasp of his tongue over one small cut, the rough contact making the tiny wound sting. Then he stopped even that, and remained motionless, leaving her with no more than the moist heat of his breath against her chest.

Suddenly, not just his mouth, but his entire face was pressed down violently against her, and her eyes flickered open to see Carlos shoving down hard on the back of Neil's head. A groan was swallowed against her as Neil's face was dragged first side-to-side across her, then pushed down closer to her breasts. Carlos released him there, but the warning was seconded by the pressure of the knife against her throat, just above the crown of Neil's head.

"Please...." she murmured again, again sending up the plea in general, perhaps aiming it at whatever God might free her from this humiliation. But nothing intervened, and her eyes squeezed shut as a man she would never have even considered associating with began to lick at the hollow between her breasts, sweeping up droplets of her blood from her skin with his lip and tongue. Her body responded with a shiver, and she couldn't even tell herself if it was fear, or shock, or even some twisted stroke of pleasure that slid its way down her spine.

Her mind wanted to refuse the very possibility of this situation. Neil Avedon was a rape-murder defendent. She'd seen room for doubt in the presentation of the case, but also enough evidence to make a conviction from the jury a likely possibility. The photos of Jessica Costello's body flickered through her memory, and nausea welled up in her throat. But she could still feel the pressure of the knife, and another memory competed for her attention: the sight of this man throwing himself between her and a loaded gun.

His touch was as gentle on her now as it had always been from the start of this nightmare. Respectful, even tender. He'd never failed to shield her when he could, and she'd never forget the sensation of his body shuddering across hers with the impact of Carlos' blows. His right hand was pressed into the floor at her side, and his left was braced similarly on the other side of her body. He held as much of himself off her as he could, as though in some vain attempt to keep his violation of her space as limited as possible.

What was going through his mind now, she found herself wondering? He was dutifully nuzzling at the swell of her right breast, the wetness of his tongue dampening the lace of her bra. She shifted beneath him, uncertain how to react, what to do, but under Carlos' watchful eye, there was little she could do. So she lay as still as she could, her cheeks blushing hotly, trying to glean some understanding of who Neil Avedon truly was from the mass of contradictory evidence presented in this courtroom.

She didn't come to any easy conclusions, and in fact, she had little time to try. Carlos grew impatient quickly, and as satisfying as this had been to begin with, he soon wanted more. Grabbing Neil by the hair, he dragged his face up until it was square above Beth's.

"Kiss her." Their captor didn't bother couching his demands with any illusion of a disguise. This was a bald, unrelenting command, and was followed by another downwards shove. Their noses collided, then slid sideways, his mouth hitting the corner of hers. Neil stayed still in that position, hoping the closeness would provide enough cover to allow this partial contact to be acceptable.

Of course, it wasn't.

Another vehement demand, and Neil moved up just enough for his eyes to meet her, their gazes locked in the the space of barely an inch. She could see the swirl of color in his iris, the faint red lines marring the whites of his eyes, and the liquid pooling on the edges of his eyelashes. So close, and yet so distant. She could see him, feel him, touch him, taste him - but there was still a separation between their minds and souls. She wanted to break that barrier, to feel his very soul, to know what was really going on in the mind behind those tortured eyes. Who was he really - the violent drug-addicted murderer the DA asserted? Or the gentle, courageous man who had risked his life for hers?

Answers weren't forthcoming, and she could feel Carlos' impatience like a living thing, burning at the edge of her mind. Neil seemed to be waiting for some sign from her, so she gave it, closing her eyes off from the intensity of his gaze, and arcing her mouth up towards his.

The first touch of their lips was as hesitant as any first kiss could be. A fleeting contact of flesh against flesh, and the tantalizing taste of his breath on her tongue. She had made the decision, and he seemed to accept it, following her brush against his lips with the downward pressure of his. They molded together, then held. He lifted slightly, let her draw in a breath, then kissed her again.

She responded, pressing upward, sliding her mouth across the bow of his. His closeness didn't hurt, it felt oddly comforting. The terror of the situation had robbed her of her equanimity, stolen away her professional cool, now she was nothing more than a frightened woman, seeking desperately for something, someone to hold on to. To protect her. And this man, whose tender kisses did no more than bathe her lips and jaw with sweet warmth, had already suffered willingly for her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, dripped headlessly down her cheeks until they were absorbed against his cheeks; unnoticed, as they mixed with his own. Reaching up with her unbound hand, she threaded her fingers into the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer against her. Seeking what little comfort he could give.

The touch of her fingers against his scalp, tentative, inviting, sent a shudder through his body. His mouth covered hers again in stronger caress, and she met it willingly. Their lips clung, then hers parted in a silent groan, as her mind slid down into an easy darkness. Awareness of her surroundings faded, until she was sure of nothing but the man who was kissing her, deeply now, his mouth slanting across hers.

She stirred beneath him, clenched the hand tangled in his hair, and opened her mouth even wider. These feelings melded with the fear, were borne of the terror, but were welcome nonetheless. As long as she could feel the protective heat of his presence, the knife blade hovering above her barely open eyes could be forgotten, at least briefly. His left hand reached in to cup her cheek and she leaned into those powerful fingers with utter acceptance.

Her hand was an insistent pressure on the back of his head, her mouth an open invitation beneath his, and he found it hard to refuse. His emotions were in an uproar, all sense of reality skewed out of recognition. It wasn't the same haziness he knew well from coke and booze - this was sharper-edged. Instead of being dulled, his senses were strikingly acute. His sight seemed caught, fixated, by the golden gleam of her hair, bright against the pale rose of her forehead. He could smell the fragrance of her perfume, flowery and feminine, tainted by her sweat and fear.

The taste of her breath on his lips, the yielding sensation of her mouth below his were heady sensations. His body still ached, his ankles cramped by the knots binding them. And his arm was a consant burning presence, throbbing dully, never ceasing, screaming loudly at every move he made. He rested down against her, letting his weight spread out over hers as best he could, and moved his left hand up to softly cup her cheek. His wounded biceps protested, but he ignored the jolt of pain, concentrating desperately on the more pleasant feel of her body against him.

It wasn't so much desire as it was simple comfort. Simple sharing. Somewhere out there, perhaps, was a world that might yet rescue them from this nightmare, but Neil Avedon had spent most of life living in a nightmare, and he had long ago given up expecting any release. He'd fought his way free of drugs and alcohol, more out of sheer resignation than anything else. Or stubbornness perhaps. A final understanding that if he was to go down, it would, at least, not be at his own hands. But neither was he going to expect a sudden reprieve from whatever Gods there might be.

Which left him where? Curled up on a courtroom floor, ankles bound, right hand cuffed to this woman's wrist, his entire body shaken with repeated abuse. The woman pressed close to him was the only thing outside of his own pain he could recognize, so he clung to her, reaching out to bury himself in the physical contact. A shared pain seemed somehow lessened, and in the end, their only chance of surviving this lay with each other.

Groaning against her mouth, he cupped her cheek in his palm, pressed her open mouth closer to his, and claimed it with a drowned sigh.

They both relaxed into the kisses, her fingers weaving the dark locks of his hair in matching rhythm to the caress of his hand upon her cheek. They were content to remain in a dark envelope of sensation, her body cradling the taut, sinewy strength of his, pain dissolved into an hypnotic ease of lungs trading breath, lips caressing lips. She could, perhaps, have stayed thus for an eternity, but a sudden violent disruption fragmented the pretense into broken shards.

Neil was yanked up away from her and tossed roughly aside. Their cuffed hands trailed across her chest as he hit the floor beside her with a thud. Her eyes flew open, only to come face to face with the rage of a madman. A hard slap brought tears to her eyes, and her hands flew to protect her face, the chain on her wrist forcing Neil's arm to follow, his hand dangling limply in mid-air.

The next cry came from Neil, a whistling moan dragged helplessly from his throat, and she twisted over just in time to see another blow strike the side of his face.

"No!" she cried out, somehow finding the strength to push upwards and over him. Cradling his head protectively, she pleaded upwards at the monster whose whim now controlled her entire world.

"Please don't hurt him anymore. I beg you. I'll do anything you say, anything..." Her voice broke into a sob. "Please..."

Carlos smiled, that menacing grimace that never touched his dead eyes, though they gleamed with an unearthly glitter.

"What do you want from us?!" she screamed. "What?"

Finally the answer came. He leaned down so that she could smell the stench of his breath against her face. "I want pretty boy to fuck you hard. I want to hear you scream your pleasure so loudly it can be heard in Heaven itself. Can you scream that loudly Lady Judge? Show the world the truth behind your lies - the whore you really are. Take this demon with an angelic face into yourself, as you have always desired. As perhaps, you have already done. Let's see you dance for the camera." He laughed without joy, but with a bite of satisfaction.

She drew in a shuddering breath, mind in turmoil. And yet, she could almost have predicted the demands he was going to make. Beneath her, Neil was trembling, and she suddenly couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. She couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't react. She froze, staring blindly, blankly upwards.

"Do it, Bitch!" Carlos shouted. Swiftly, deliberately, abruptly, he kicked out, aiming straight for Neil's wounded left arm. The metal-tipped boot struck squarely on his gunshot wound. Neil didn't even scream, he simply moaned, a low, hoarse sound that barely reached Beth's ears. She felt the shock of impact reverberate through his body and her own, and then he lay still beneath her.

The last vestige of resistance shattered within her, and she didn't even bother to say a word. Lowering her face towards Neil, she quickly began to kiss him. She devoured his entire face, forehead, closed eyes, cheeks, mouth, chin, trailed open-mouthed caresses along the arch of his cheekbone and the hard slash of his jaw. Finally, she buried her lips along the hollow of his throat, cupping his face in her hand, much as he had earlier done for her.

The shock of the kick at Avedon's wounded arm shuddered through Polson, watching with growing tension from the nearby command center. "Dear God, do as he says," he found himself whispering in some desperate hope that Bornstein might possibly hear his request. But there was no satisfaction when she did as he had hoped, asaulting Avedon's face and neck with a rainstorm of kisses, holding his head in her hands as she licked and suckled at every inch of his skin she could reach.

Then she buried her mouth along his hairline, aiming for his ear, and Avedon's face rolled off the side, cradled in the palm of her hand. The eyes were closed, the mouth gaping, and a piercing stab of unease shook the observer. Avedon wasn't conscious, wasn't responding to Bornstein's frenzied love-making, seemed hardly to be breathing at all.

Polson felt his own knees grow faint as he considered what Quinone might do to Bornstein if he realized that his game with Avedon was over. The excavation of the heating vent had been slowed down by the necessity to keep the progress silent, and the bomb squad had confirmed the likely reality of the makeshift devices on the doors. Somehow, Avedon had to wake up, had to help Bornstein keep up at least the pretense of going along with these sick games.

Polson peered intently at the screen, willing with all of his might for those shuttered eyes to open. The eyelids flickered, then shut, then flickered again. Bornstein tilted his face back towards her, possessing that generous, full-lipped mouth passionately, going at him with apparent fervor.

"Respond to her, damn it!" Polson would never have known he spoke the words aloud, but an immense rush of relief washed over him when Avedon's body convulsed. His head tilted upwards, his hand reached up to touch her hair. His eyes fluttered open.

Beth had never felt so relieved in her life as when Neil's eyes finally opened and focused up on her face. She kissed him again, gratefully, then stared deeply into his eyes. He stared at her in lost confusion, his eyes dilated with shock. The irises had darkened to match the pupils, forming huge coal-black spheres. He opened his mouth against hers to speak, and she shushed him with another quick kiss. Trailing her mouth down to his ear, she whispered urgently to him.

"Please, play along. It's our only chance."

His voice came back, a raspy growl against her ear. "He's going to kill us."

"Yes," she had to agree. "But he wants us to have sex first."

"We can't. You're the Judge. I'm...."

"I know," she broke off the conversation long enough to take his mouth in another impassioned kiss. He didn't refuse, though he didn't respond much either. She tasted his uncertainty, then lowered her mouth back to his ear. "We don't have any choice. If we refuse, he'll kill us now."

"He'll do so anyway," he replied.

She knew he was right, that she was clutching at straws, but she wasn't quite ready to lay down and die. "At least this way we gain some time," she responded. "The longer we stall..."

"Do you really think anyone'll get us out of this?"

"I don't know. But I don't see another choice." The conversation was getting too long, and she knew it. Returning her mouth to his for another long kiss, she waited a few moments, before staring straight down into his eyes. "Got a better idea?" she whispered.

She hadn't thought those expressive black eyes could get darker, but they did. His entire face hardened, those beautifully-carved features turning resolute. His eyelashes only flickered, but in that instant of unspoken communication, she knew he was with her. Whatever it took to keep themselves alive until help came, they'd do it.

Together.

His hand swept upwards into the bright cascade of her hair, cradling the back of her head, and tenderly pressing her downward. This time when their mouths met, his was as apparently eager as hers. His lips fused with hers, then parted in open invitation. She dove downward with her tongue, sealing their silent pact with the slick thrust of her tongue across the rough surface of his teeth.

This bout of kisses was more intense, lacking the easy, dreamlike quality of the previous ones. His mouth felt like a furnace, and she returned the heat, drawing his tongue deep into her mouth, then sucking on it hard. He shifted beneath her, then abruptly relaxed, the rush of air from his lungs filling the back of her throat. Lifting her mouth from his to let him breath, she nuzzled her face into his throat. Running a thumb over his lips, she pressed her teeth against his ear. He tilted sideways, taking the chance to glance through half-closed eyelids at their captor. Noting the signs of restlessness, Neil pulled Beth's face back to his, trying to dig both hands into her hair as he claimed her mouth yet again.

"He's getting impatient," he whispered against her. She closed her eyes, blinking her understanding at him, then focused her troubled azure gaze onto him.

"I've got an idea," he told her. "Play along."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. He moved to try to circle her back with his right hand, but the movement was restrained by the handcuffs, forcing her to bite off a cry as her own wrist was twisted painfully in response.

"Sorry," he whispered in her ear. He let his hand fall back down to the floor, then ever so gently pushed her up and over.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him.

"Trust me," he muttered, before lifting his head to look straight at their glowering captor. Neil lifted his right hand in a protective gesture in front of his face, and again pulled hard on her arm.

"Look, this isn't gonna work," Neil insisted.

Carlos stopped moving towards them and stared at Neil in curious surprise. Neil pushed himself up into a seating position, then held out his cuffed wrist. "I can't do this tied up like this."

"You'll do as you're told," Carlos told him. Something akin to joy in that tone startled Beth, and she gathered herself up to a seated position, waiting for Neil's next move.

"You want me to fuck her properly or what?" Neil challenged, his tone casual.

Carlos grinned triumphantly. "Any problems with that pretty boy?"

Neil shook his head, then threw Carlos his best impish grin. "I can manage. But I need both hands free...if you know what I mean." He winked.

That made Carlos chuckle openly. Beth felt a mixture of shame and precious hope. She couldn't read Neil. Was this the act she thought it was? A way to give them one more little chance at fighting free? Or did he really get some kind of sick pleasure from being forced to have sex at the whim of a madman? Neil didn't turn to look at her, his eyes remained intent on the laughing psycho, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

Carlos studied them for a moment, then reached into his pocket and tossed a small metal object into Neil's face. "All right, pretty boy. But make it good."

"Sure thing." Neil replied with calm arrogance, though the fingers that reached for the key that had fallen to the carpet trembled. His first touch at the key sent it sliding, but he slapped his hand down hard over it, then scooped it up. Only when he had it clutched carefully in between thumb and forefinger did he turn to face Beth.

Her face was a study in panic, huge eyes staring at him beneath a wild tangle of golden hair. Her skin was bleached pale, her bottom lip was curled up under her front teeth. The expression was uncertain, fearful, hopeful, questioning, but he answered that unspoken query with a simple gesture. Lifting the key up between them, he took hold of her right hand with his, and threaded his fingers through hers.

She felt his hand close upon hers, and his eyes were steady as they focused on her face, then moved downward to stare intently at the cuff rubbing against the raw skin of her wrist. She bit harder on her lip as he fumbled with the key, finally inserting it into the lock, twisting, then releasing. It snapped open, and her breath released in a violent rush.

He let go of her hand, and worked quickly at the other cuff, freeing his own wrist, then tossing the cuffs and key aside. She rubbed at her scraped, reddened wrist, waiting for him to turn back to her. This time her eyes were accepting as they met his look, and she gave him a very slight nod. His own expression hardly flickered, but his eyes were understanding. He reached out and closed both of his hands over her right hand, squeezing carefully, then he drew it towards his mouth. Her breath caught in her throat as he began to kiss her sore wrist, the moist flicker of his tongue stroking along the stripe of raw flesh, soothing and tender.

She let him continue for a long moment, letting her face drop towards the top of his head. She kissed his hair, nuzzled into his temple, then pulled back. He looked up at her, and she found herself able to truly smile for the first time since this nightmare had begun. Placing her hand over his, she lifted his wrist to her mouth and returned his caresses, licking the salt of blood and sweat from the sensitive underside of his wrist.

He leaned his head in close to hers, kissing along her hairline towards her ear. "Slowly..." he whispered so that only she could hear.

"Very," she echoed back.

And then she found his mouth again with hers.

For the first time what seemed an eternity, Arthur Polson found himself smiling. In fact, he felt like clapping. A nice piece of maneuvering on Neil Avedon's part. The moment the SWAT team broke into the courtroom was going to be dicey, every advantage the two hostages had would be one greater chance they might get out alive. Free hands were a plus, the next problem was their feet.

And the damn wrought-iron plate blocking the vent.

He glanced at his watch, the second hand mercilessly ticking away. If they could only hold out a little while longer.

The muscles in his back rippled beneath her probing fingers. Amid a constant stream of kisses, she let her hands splay out across his shoulders, down his spine, over his buttocks. He was biting on the underside of her chin, and she tipped her head back to give him freer access. Doing so served a second purpose, allowing her to grab a quick glimpse of their captor's face. He was watching them intently, eyes focused on her, while he rubbed the cold steel of the gun up and down his thigh, absentmindedly.

Feeling some small sense of triumph, she buried her smile into Neil's hair. Taking a mouth-full of the dark strands, she tasted their flavour, like woven fabric, rough, yet silken-soft against her tongue. Moving downward, she brought her hands up to seize the bottom of his skull and pull him up towards her. He came willingly, his mouth hot and open, fervent as it closed down on hers. She closed her eyes, letting him swallow her breath, hovering on the edge of losing herself in the sensation. She wanted to forget so badly, to shut out the death threat hanging over her head.

But she was not the kind of woman who gave in so easily, even to her own terror. And she wasn't alone - that knowledge gave her an even greater strength. They were playing a dangerous game, but it was two against one. Whatever might have once been forbidden between her and Neil Avedon, the rules had shifted. The world that spawned those taboos seemed lightyears distant. Her very existence had narrowed down into the intensity of the moment, the fierce struggle for survival. Both of them had taken all the abuse they were willing to take - and if winning out the other end meant sacrificing personal dignity, then so be it. They might have walked into the room strangers, even adversaries, but now they were bound as desperate allies against a common foe.

Dragging Neil's head up off hers for the moment, she looked into his eyes, warning him she was turning up the heat. His mouth tightened, he blinked, then pressed back downward with another heated kiss. She dug her fingers through his hair, raking his scalp, then razed her nails down his spine. Clutching at the fabric of his shirt, she yanked it out of his pants, and pushed her hands up underneath. He muttered something she didn't hear, but he didn't protest as she began to explore his back and sides. Then bucking upwards, he placed both of his hands on the floor and slid himself downward until his face was level with her chest.

She closed her hands back into his hair and pressed him downward, arcing upwards in invitation. Then Neil's mouth came down on the tip of her right breast, hot and moist, dampening down the thin lace of her bra so that it stuck wetly to her flesh, and a groan escaped her mouth. A part of her mind shut down, denial chasing need chasing desperation. The line between pretense and reality thinned to a fine point, the balance between humiliation and survival teetoring on the edge of a cliff. She couldn't stop now, even if she had wanted to, for it would mean slow, but certain death.

He gave both mounds of yeilding flesh equal attention, and she lay open below him, teasing the dark strands of his hair, urging his movements along. Caressing the back of his neck and his shoulders. His hand moved up to hold her shoulder down as he bit at her nipple, and she gave a full response, bucking up against his touch, tossing her head to the side and crying out. His hand moved further upwards, probing at her mouth, and she covered it with her own.

Taking hold of his thumb, she thrust it into her mouth, closed her lips around the base, and sucked hard. Some primeval element deep within crowed triumphantly when she felt him shiver. It might have been an act - that didn't matter any more. One-by-one, she gave each finger the same treatment, rotating his hand to suckle on each digit in turn. She wrapped her tongue around each fingertip, then down to taste the space where they joined. Then she nibbled at his palm, scraping the soft skin with the edges of her teeth. Neil's breath came hard against her belly, and he met her bite for bite, searing the skin of her abdomen with heat.

Letting go of his hand at last, she reached down to pull him back up to her, but he had other plans. His hand came down as far as her neck, then rested there, thumb pressed gently against her pulse. It was a simple warning to stay still and let him take the lead, and she acquiesced to it unquestioningly, rubbing at the backside of his arm to indicate understanding.

There was a sudden sound of movement behind her, and her heartbeat raced with a new strike of fear. She immediately twisted her head towards her captor, only to find his empty eyes fixated on her neck. On Neil's hand against her neck.

Carlos shifted again, almost as though in pain, and then realization struck Beth, causing her to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The bastard was really getting off on this, she thought, her mind racing to find a way to use it to her advantage. But Neil hadn't noticed anything, still intent on his own agenda.

Hampered by his bound feet, he had to wriggle to move further down her body, but he managed to push himself to the point that he was sprawled just above her feet. Placing a few kisses along the expanse of her legs, he forced himself up into a kneeling position just to her left side. Then lifting up her feet so that they rested across his thighs, he began to untie the knots around her ankles.

Beth felt him working at the corded fabric, and she pushed herself up in surprise, just at the same moment Carlos exploded.

"What the hell you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Neil replied with apparent calm.

"Stop now!" Carlos raised the gun, pointing it unerringly at Neil's head.

Neil looked at him with apparent surprise. "I thought you wanted me to get between her legs."

Carlos blinked. Neil grinned with calm arrogance, pulling Beth closer, so that her knees now rested across his. Then he began to run his hand up and down the exposed part of her thighs. Her eyes pleaded for his attention, and he threw her a quick wink. She returned a barely perceptible nod. He let his smile widen, gazing up at Carlos with apparent confidence, enlarging the movements of his hand.

Carlos licked at his lips, the gun still focused on Neil, but those cold eyes were pinned to Neil's hand as it rubbed up and down the length of Beth's thigh. Slowly, Neil pressed his fingers higher beneath the edge of her skirt, even though his eyes never left Carlos' face. Beth relaxed in apparent surrender, her head falling back, delivering the best slow moan she could offer. Neil increased the pace of his caresses, his arm disappearing up her skirt to below the wrist, and she reached out to grasp hold of his forearm, restraining him from withdrawing. He leaned down and forward over her, his arm moving even further upwards, his tongue darting out to taste the top of her knees. He twisted his arm slightly, and she gave a convincing cry, tossing her head to the side, her entire body convulsing, her fingers clutching him, urging him onward.

Carlos watched the entire spectacle like a predator eyeing his prey. Spittle pooled in the corner of his mouth, his entire body tense as his eyes never left the steady in and out motion of Neil's arm beneath Beth's skirt. Neil in turn, kept a steady focus on Carlos' face, taking his time, rubbing his hands over the full length of her legs again and again. Down over the curve of her calves, then back up to disappear beneath the dark edge of her blue skirt, that edge sliding upwards with each motion of his hand. She pressed herself wantonly against those probing hands, her hips rotating in time with his thrusts, her chest heaving, giving every possible display of a woman lost to her own ecstasy.

When he was sure Carlos was hooked, Neil let his hands trace back down those soft muscles to again close upon the ties binding her ankles.

This time Carlos didn't protest.

Once he had freed her ankles, he moved up across her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. They kissed long and deep, then again sent their mouths seeking for the others' ears.

"Your feet?" she asked.

"Forget it," he said. "Just be ready to run if you get a chance."

"What about you..."

"Don't worry about me..." Neil's whisper fragmented into an agonized gasp. Carlos had lifted his head up by his hair.

"Forget the sweet-talk, pretty boy and finish what you started - now."

Neil could barely breath, he certainly couldn't nod. He groaned out a nonsense-syllable, but Carlos took it for agreement. He released Neil abruptly and the actor collapsed on top of Beth. She cradled his head against her chest, stroking at him tenderly while he caught his breath. A shadow loomed over her head, and she quickly pushed Neil over onto his back.

Laying his head down on the floor as softly as she could, she settled down beside him and reached up under her skirt to remove her panties and hose. The whole experience had faded together into a strange sense of unreality - she felt like she was sleepwalking. The only things that seemed real were her own fear, and Neil's presence at her side. His eyes focused, almost sleepily, on her as she discarded the bundled nylon, and when she turned back towards him, he had brought his head and chest upwards, leaning on his hands.

She swiveled, got to her knees, then lifted one leg up and over him. Straddling his groin, she took hold of his shoulders and pushed him back down flat on the carpet. Sliding down the length of him, she lowered her face to his.

Their mouths barely brushed. Her hands remained on the tops of his shoulders. His hands rested almost casually on her bare thighs. She let her hair frame their eyes like yellow rain, closing them off in a world of their own. And for a brief moment, each could pretend this was a chosen action, a gesture of love and sharing, and in a peculiar sense it was. Forged in terror, perhaps, but the bond they had formed was no less real.

A fleeting smile was carried from her lips to his, then she settled down into his embrace. The kisses were familiar by now, the touch of flesh against flesh came easy. His hands roamed over legs and back, hips and belly, breasts and buttocks. She returned each touch, finding and exploring the sinewy expanse of his muscles. Their hips rocked against each other, and it was not difficult to simulate the age-old rhythm for the observer's satisfaction.

They were running short on options, and the final commitment had to be made. How far would they go? She met his eyes, questioning, and received a frown in reply. She blinked at him, and he found her hand with his. Their fingers clasped, then he moved her hand between their bodies. She lifted her hips to accomodate him, but he had another destination in mind. He closed her hand against his groin, then lowered his lips to her ears.

"I can't do this," came a hoarse whisper in her ear.

"What...." Her hand found confirmation of what wasn't there and realization struck.

"He's not going to wait too much longer," she murmured, tracing the soft lump in his pants. His hips shifted, and he moaned, but the physical response was faint.

"I can't," he muttered, keeping his face buried against her neck. "Huuurrrttssss too much."

Understanding struck her hard. The gunshot wound, blood loss, the beating he'd taken for her - it was amazing he was even conscious. But they couldn't fake this either.

"I'll help," she whispered.

"Won't work," he returned helplessly. "Everything hurts." She cupped his face with her other hand, and forced him around to look at her. His eyes were dilated, open, his skin blushed. The situation was embarrassing enough for them both, this only made it worse. Male ego, she thought with feminine amusement - he was being forced to do this at threat of his life, but he was still humiliated by not being able to perform. Unfortunately, it was, indeed, a problem. Help did not appear forthcoming, and they were running out of alternatives. Unless....

She kissed him again, then rolled off the side, taking him by surprise. Grasping his forearms, she pulled him after her, drawing him over and onto her, spreading her legs wide to cradle him between. He settled down, kissing her again, the nuzzling across her cheeks and down into the hollow of her neck. She stroked his back, pressed her mouth into the top of his head, then angled her head so that she could lick at his ear. He moved to allow her access, and she took the opportunity to whisper her idea.

"Strangle me."

He choked, his body convulsed. She wrapped both her arms and legs around him and held on. After a few rough gasps for his breath, he turned his face back towards hers. They paused for a few hard kisses, and she let her right hand drift down to play suggestively with his belt.

When they drew back for air, his eyes were liquid pools of pain. "I can't....I won't..." Hushed as his voice was, it was resolute, harsh, colored with the first touch of anger she'd seen him turn on her.

Threading her left hand through his hair, she tried to draw him down to her again. He refused, his eyes turning black and cold. A shiver broke down her spine, washing the previous warmth of his touch before it like an icy wave.

"Please," she whispered urgently. "It's what he wants."

Uncertainty broke in Neil's eyes, and she clung to the chance to shatter the new barrier separating their wills. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd go to him. Pressing her face upward, she licked at his lips, nibbled at his chin, then bit at his ear. "Before, when you touched my neck, I saw him...react."

Neil softened against her. Pressing her back down to the carpet, he nuzzled the side of her face. "It's too dangerous," he muttered. "Could hurt you."

"Be careful," she responded. "Just pretend - I'll help."

"Nooo," he was wavering, and she pushed her point home by tugging at his belt.

He answered her with silence. He drew in a deep, ragged breath. Then ever so slowly, he brought his hands around to frame her face. She nodded intently at him, then closed her eyes, as she prepared herself. His thumbs traced her jaw, dipped into her mouth, then slid downward until they were resting, hovering, over the pulse in her neck.

"Do it," she commanded roughly, her determined blue eyes focusing on his. He responded by kissing her with more hunger than she'd ever felt from him - searing her soul. And then the pressure began.

Moaning, she tilted her head back, exposing her neck and the position of his hands. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, and cried out. He leaned his head to the side, offering Carlos an open view. She gasped again, and his hands released. Startled, she squeezed down on his wrists, giving the apparent impression she was fighting him, in actuality urging him onward.

"Judge..." he murmured. They'd never used each other's names, and she had to fight the sudden impulse to laugh aloud. But that would have destroyed the illusion they were trying to create, so she bit off a plaintive cry instead. Neil heard only that cry, and again his grip slackened. Twisting her head around towards him, she exclaimed, loudly, "No, no, no..." Simultaneously, it aided their pretense and urged Neil to keep going. He clenched his fingers infinitesimally tighter, and she responded eagerly.

Neil wanted to scream, but all he could do was attempt to balance the image he was trying to create against the reality of his fears. He was more terrified of accidentally applying too much pressure than he was of Carlos' knife. But Beth was adamant, clawing at his wrists every time his hands relaxed. She was wild, straining against him, tossing her head side-to-side, moaning. He held on to her as best he could, his palms pressed into the space just above her collarbone, his fingers widespread over her neck. His thumbs punched into the bottom of her chin, lifting her face upward towards his descending mouth. Her cries rose and fell, drifting off each time he kissed her, then rising upward when he came up for air.

They couldn't keep this up much longer, and suddenly - they didn't have to.

The world exploded.

Neil let go of Beth's neck and swept her up against him, again wrapping as much of his body over hers as he could, his ears ringing with the sounds of crashing objects, guns firing, voices shouting. Beth clung to him, arms and legs wrapped around him so tightly it squeezed the remnants of air from his lungs. It seemed to go on for an eternity, though later, they would realize it had been no longer than a single breath.

The gunshots finally stopped. Beth sobbed against Neil's shoulder, and his arms convulsed around her. There was an instant of silence, then the sounds of rapid movement, men's voices shouting instructions. A hand closed down on Neil's shoulder, and he flinched away from it, curling himself around Beth in an even tighter ball.

The touch stopped, then resumed, accompanied by a quiet, persuasive voice. "It's all right. You're safe now. It's all over. You're safe now."

It took a while to penetrate, and even when the sense finally reached through the terrorized haze of their minds, they were slow in responding. Neil opened his eyes, and angled his head just enough to steal a quick glimpse of the face hovering over him. He blinked, looked again, then drew out a long deep sigh. Letting his grip on Beth relax, he leaned his head back, gazed fiercely up at Arthur Polson, then closed his eyes and fainted.

They may have been brusque as they propelled her into the small opening to the heating vent, but Beth was not going to complain. She'd never been happier in her life to be leaving a courtroom, and nothing had ever looked more comforting than the small dark tunnel she was crawling through. Exhausted beyond reason, she focused on the feet of the officer in front of her, mimicking his motions, following blindly, until at long last, he brought her out into the light.

Hands took hold of her arms, lifting her up and out of the small crawlspace. Her legs were weak, and collapsed beneath her when she tried to stand. But support was there, and moments later, she found herself lowered to a thin mattress. Her head was eased down onto a pillow, a blanket tucked up to her chin, and she finally began to relax.

Until her eyes focused on the next form being dragged from the hole she had just exited. - - - - -

By the time Neil emerged from the tunnel, there couldn't have been a spare inch of his body that wasn't screaming in agony. His eyes couldn't focus, his limbs trembled, and they'd had to push and pull him the last few feet through the tunnel. His mind floated upwards while his body sunk down towards the earth. He seemed to be hovering above his own body, watching as it was carried over to a long white stretcher and lowered onto the mattress. The man who took hold of Neil's distant hand seemed somehow familiar, and Neil tried to speak. Nothing came out.

Then as abruptly as he had detached, he was drawn back downwards, sucked into that agonized shell, and his fingers convulsed on the hand holding them.

"Hang on, Neil. You're going to be all right." The voice was familiar, welcome, and his eyelids fluttered with the effort to see. Finally he was able to focus on that face, and the recognition eased his fear the way nothing else could ever have done.

"Teeeee," was all he was able to say, but it won him a tender caress across his temples.

"Don't speak," he was told, and something about those words made him want to laugh. The effort hurt too much, so he stopped. He refocused his eyes on that face, and tried again, licking at his parched lips with a swollen tongue.

"Haddddta....naaah choooos...DJuuuuuuggggg...Soooorrreeee"

"Shhh," came the soothing reply. "You did fine, Neil. You did just fine."

"Juuuuuggg," he insisted, "Juuudddggg."

"She's going to be all right," came the reply. "She's OK."

"I'm here, I'm fine." Beth's voice seemed to come out of the air itself, then suddenly, her face came clear over his. Her skin was bruised and swollen, patches burned purple and yellow, and her eyes were huge, shadowed only by the dusty, matted tangle of her hair. But she was smiling, warmly, down at him, as she spoke.

The words barely penetrated, but the warmth and comforting certainty in that sweet tone was clear - and was all that he could have desired.

This time, he'd won.

The End

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