[note: this was going to be a plot-what-plot? Story but the characters insisted. Hope you enjoy. Comments very much welcome.]

All In A Day's Work
By Arwen

 

 

Disclaimer:        Resident Evil and its characters belong to Sony, ScreenGems, Capcom, etc.  No infringements intended.  All original characters belong to the author and may not be used without written permission.

Rated:  F18

The building was about to blow up and he was still inside. Why was he still inside? Well, he explained to himself while kicking open another door, some stupid sound technician hadn't been alarmed and of course hadn't evacuated.

Since we was apparently quite close to the studio, of course it made perfect sense that he make a slight detour to get the tech, Alex, out.

Perfect sense.

His boots thudded along the tiled floors, rubber squeeking as he passed a corner. Ah yes, the soundproofed doors. It had to be one of these studios. Door number 1, 2 or 3? Annoying how these choices popped up when your life depended on it. Door number one hit the wall with a satisfying smash when he kicked it open. No one inside.

Next door. Again the smash. Nice hole in the wall from the doorhandle. Not that it mattered, the building was about to come down.

Yes, found the tech. He jumped - no, SHE jumped up from the mixing panel, overturning the chair. Big soundblocking headphones on her head - no wonder she hadn't been alarmed. She yanked them off and gave him a wild-eyed stare. Probably not every day an armed combat force guy kicked down the door of her studio.

"Out. Now."

Her reaction was surprisingly fast and without questions. She grabbed something from the mixing panel and followed him through the door.

His radio crackled to life.

"Olivera, it's gone critical. Get the hell out now. I repeat, get the hell out."

"Yeah, thanks for that," he answered absently to himself, looking around. Outside was too far away now, too many doors to make a run for it.

"You have a basement entrance here somewhere? Something below ground?"

For a moment she seemed as rooted to the spot, but she recovered quickly.

"The... the.. pantry. Here!" she led him along a corner and into a niche of the hallway. A tiny kitchenblock on one side, a floormat on the other. He stomped on it and heard the hollow sound. Ripping away the mat and the floorboard, he grabbed her arm and pushed her inside, hoping the floor itself was strong enough to shield them from what would come any moment now.

He followed her down and - more symbolic than anything - pulled the board back over the hole. Rolling himself away from the opening he heard the explosion start on the second floor, and for the next century or so the world consisted of deafening loud noise and scorching heat, punctuated by falling bits of rubble.

~*~

"Ow."

He felt her voice more than he heard it, and found that somewhere in the past minutes he had ended up with his chest against her back, an arm around her.

"What, stubbed your toe?" he replied, relief and amusement rising at the situation. He'd just narrowly saved them both from a fiery death and she sounded as if she'd broken a nail.

"My knee, actually," she replied, tone a bit distant.

Automatic sarcasm rose and he nearly answered that he was sorry for this appalling breach in service, but he held his tongue. She was shaking, and he thought the reality of what just narrowly didn't happen was starting to settle in.

The floorboard had caved in, the hole filled with rubble; they were in a closed off space perhaps 2 by 2 metres, not quite high enough to sit up. On one side the rubble formed a small slope, making the space yet smaller. Some light came from above, just enough to see by.

He listened to the sounds from above. The deep roar of fire worried him, but they were shielded from the heat – for now – and firetrucks had been standing by even before he had gone into the building. They had been alarmed while the bomb squad worked.

"That was… close," he concluded idly.

"Does it get any closer?"

Still that detached voice.

"Not really, no."

They were both silent for a time, listening to the roar of the fire above. After a while he could no longer feel his pulse pump through his whole body.

"Olivera?"

"Carlos."

"I'm Alex."

"Nice to meet you."

It sounded absurdly normal under the circumstances, and it made both of them chuckle. She took a deep breath.

"Carlos?"

"Yes?"

"I think your – your weapon is… well… poking me in the ribs."

He shifted the strap of his MP5 so that the weapon came to lie along his back. Lowering his arm again, he was suddenly acutely aware of the way he was holding her, close against his body long after there was a professional excuse for it.

Not that she seemed to mind. She chuckled under her breath, turning just slightly, her shoulder and hip pressing warm against his.

"I can't believe I just said that…"

He thought there was maybe a tinge of hysteria to her amusement, but that was okay - he could sympathise with the feeling.

"So many clichés, so little time."

He felt her shaking with silent laughter but then, gradually, it became more… he could feel her breath hitch a few times. He concentrated on calming his own breath until it was a steady rhythm, hoping that made it easier for her to calm down.

Crying women was not a matter he had experience dealing with. Zombies, yes. Loads and loads of guys with machineguns. Even freakishly altered people and megalomaniac corporations. But crying women? There was usually a trauma team to handle that sort of thing.

She pulled up her knees, curling up into a ball. Her arms came up before her body, and she tucked one hand into his gloved one. Her back was hard, muscles tensely coiled like a spring.

"Are you okay?"

Silly question, but he decided it was the thought that counted.

She didn't answer, but after a time her breathing eased. He found that his thumb was idly stroking the back of her hand.

Then suddenly he remembered his radio, hoping it would still work. If they wanted to be saved, best let his team know they were still alive. He let go of her hand to bring up his radio. She turned her head to find out what he was doing. A tear trailed a clear path along the dust on her cheek.

"This is Olivera, repeat, this is Olivera. Over."

It only took a moment before the relieved reply came.

"Carlos! Man, I don't know how you do it! Where are you?"

"I have the sound technician here with me and we're under the floor, in the…"

"—tech pantry," Alex supplied.

"Yeah, hear that? It's a little kitchen in a niche along the hallway that runs past the studios."

"Was, not is." Crackled the radio.

"Whatever. Can you get us out of here?"

It was silent for a short while, and they both held their breath, unsure what kind of news to expect.

"Carlos? It shouldn't be more than 2 hours to bulldoze our way in, but the firefighters say it could take them a while to get the fires out."

He looked at his watch. It was 4 in the afternoon, a Friday.

"Roger. I'll be in touch. Over and out."

He put the radio away and resettled his arm, cautiously, fully prepared to retreat if on reflection she found the position too intimate to be in with a total stranger. Not so.

"You do this for a living?"

"Which part, the running through exploding buildings or the hiding under a floor with someone I've just met?" he grinned into her hair.

"Either, both… you mean you do this more often?"

"Let's say I have done both before, yes. Was a guy though, not nearly as good company either."

He felt her chuckle, and remembered the gibbering little man who had repeated 'I'm going to die' for the entire five hours they had been closed in.

"And what is it you do in that studio?" he returned the question.

He was becoming more and more aware of the warmth of her body, the curve of her jeans-clad hips so close against him. He was starting to feel a bit warm, to put it mildly, and didn't think he could blame that on the fire that blazed above them.

She told him something about isolating frequencies from a recording, but he wasn't paying attention. His thoughts were drawn toward the idea of shifting his hand just a little, so that his thumb would brush along the swell of her breast.

Not that he would do it.

The chance that she thought their current position was intimate enough was very great, and after that kind of confrontation the hours spent waiting until they were pulled out from that basement would be the longest of his life.

No, better to resist the temptation and have a bearable afternoon with pleasant company.

He could always ask her number when they got out, though that would no doubt amuse his team to no end. Would he have noticed her in another situation?  Probably not. She didn't have the model-like looks that stood a woman out from a crowd. A little geekish almost, in jeans and a dark blue top. Her blonde spirally curls were held back by a broad hairband. They tickled at his throat.  No jewellery. That was fortunate; she could have hurt herself badly had she been wearing dangly earrings or necklaces. No rings either; he found that fortunate also, but for far more selfish reasons.

How cliché really. That made him grin, thinking of that cheesy movie Speed.

He tried to remember who the actor was called who played the second cop in Speed, more to keep his mind occupied than anything else. The fire sounded very close all of a sudden, the walls closing in. His heartbeat sped up again.

"Carlos? Are you all right?"

"Yes," he gritted out, trying to even out his breathing. He couldn't give in to the claustro, not now.

She ripped open the velcro strap around his wrist and took off his glove, absently stroking the red marks left by the seams.

"Don't lose that…" he joked, regaining control of his body.  "They make us pay for new gear."

She grabbed on to this topic, eager to be distracted.

"Lost them before?"

"Yeah, I take them off too much."

"I don't like wearing gloves. They make the world feel… I don't know, too distant or something." She chuckled. "Guess I'm just weird."

"No no, that's it… It just doesn't feel right. Have to wear them for missions though."

She nodded.  "But for now… we're just… lazing about until they can get us out." She reached up and took off his other glove as well.

"Now that’s—"

She was interrupted by deafening thunders from above ground, and the rough concrete they were lying on shook. She jolted in wordless panic, and somehow he instinctively pulled her hard against him, hand flat on her breastbone, the other covering her head. He pressed his face against her neck, wondering if they would feel the end or if it would just suddenly be over.

 The noise died away as suddenly as it had started, but neither of them moved. Carlos could feel her pulse racing under his hand. His own wasn't any calmer.

"I… I don't suppose… this is the moment to… tell you I'm claustrophobic?" she said after a long moment of anxious silence, breathing hard.

"I was hoping… you wouldn't say that," he answered, almost chuckling at the irony of two claustrophobics trapped underneath a burning building. "Best not to dwell on it."

She was very close, and all of a sudden his treacherous body reacted to the scent of her, the smooth skin against his cheek, the press of her hip. His combat trousers were now altogether too tight for comfort. He cursed himself silently and bit down on his breath, because she had to feel it, and she had to know he knew she could feel it, and…

She shifted a little. It was all he could do not to groan.

She said something – he could feel the vibration under his hand, but the sound of his own blood beating was so loud he couldn't tell the words.

Damn it, this was embarrassing. He felt like a teenager in the public pool all over again, with no control over his body whatsoever. Not exactly the impression he wanted to make on a woman – an attractive woman - he'd just met.

She turned onto her back and he was thankful that her hip no longer pressed against him. Her breath brushed his face as she turned toward him, her entire body seeming to tremble with tension.

Their eyes met, and he felt the mood shift, so powerful it was almost tangible in the air. Her lips met his, and she leant in, kissing him at her leisure. He was so stunned it took a moment to even react to the kiss.

She wanted this?

A gentle nip on his lower lip made that perfectly clear.

That was too much for his restraint. He pushed himself up on his arm, rolling her onto her back, and hijacked the kiss, crushing her lips with his own. He felt her arm come up around his back, pulling him closer, encouraging him. Her lips parted, and he plundered her mouth for what seemed like an eternity.

When he eventually broke the kiss her chest heaved and her eyes seemed a little dazed, as if she was overwhelmed by the intensity. He forced himself to slow down, though his body wanted nothing of the sort.

His fingers slid into her hair, hand cupping the side of her face. Good to have the gloves off; her skin was smooth and hot, her face flushed. He placed a kiss on her forehead and chuckled when she scrunched up her face at the touch of his stubble. Her hands had found their way under the back of his vest, trailing warmly along his spine.

Hot, breathy kisses down to the column of her throat, and her heartbeat trembled against his lips, no longer in fear but in excitement. She lifted her chin, and he hummed against the sensitive skin, which was rewarded with a shivering breath.

"Distracted yet?" he breathed over her ear. Her arm tightened onto his back, pulling him closer.

Carlos obliged, supporting himself on his lower arms, bringing them chest against chest. They were both breathing hard, the adrenaline of pure terror having shifted into thrill, pounding between them.

She smiled, a little deviously he thought, and he gasped as she rolled her hips, all thoughts washed away by the delicious friction she caused.

His lips found the sensitive spot where shoulder joined neck, and he lavished attention on the skin, nibbling and licking.

"No marks," she said softly, between low sounds of pleasure. One hand slid up over his back, under his shirt and vest. He let his mouth wander lower in answer, understanding that she didn't like the idea of their rescuers knowing what they had been up to. Though the idea of marking her, to nip at the skin and suck it until warm blood coloured it… made him breathe in sharply, he knew there would be enough suggestive comments from his team mates without clear evidence of how they'd spent the hours.

Pulled the neckline of her top wider, baring more skin to his access. Fingertips slipping beneath the black satin of her bra, drawing it back to reveal soft mounds.

"No marks…" he murmured against the swell of her breast, heard her breath catch as his stubble scratched the skin. A bit lower still, so he could flick the tightened nipple with the tip of his tongue. Little shocks travelled through her body, and he felt her nails trailing slowly down his spine, so lightly that it tickled. He involuntarily arched away from the sensation, grinding down against her, making them both moan.

The expression on her face was irresistible, and he claimed her mouth again, a low sound rumbling in his throat as her right hand trailed down, coming to rest just under the back of his waistband. Nails raked sensitive skin not quite firmly enough. He slid a hand underneath her shoulders, holding her in place for a hard kiss. Not that she seemed to be trying to escape it.

"Harder," he growled softly in her ear, and groaned as she obliged, pressing her nails down, making marks that he knew would glow red later.

Her hands slipped between them, working on the fastening of his combat trousers. His trail of thought suddenly came to a halt, inasmuch as he had been thinking at all. Knowing this was important, he made the greatest effort to lay still, and held her upper arms to stop her motions.

"You are sure of this."

It wasn't really a question and yet it was. His blood pounded too loud for him to form very much sensible thought, but he knew that this was the point to make very, very sure she wouldn't regret this later.

She looked up at him, breath heaving, grey eyes darkened. Seemed to seriously consider it, which would have been amusing if this hadn't been so important. They weren't just rushing into things, they were blundering into them blindfolded with all the brakes disabled. He hated the thought that she might think back on it later and feel he had hurried her into it.

Her lips were suddenly against his, gently, the tip of her tongue teasing open his lips. He felt her back strain as she leaned up, and moved his hands to support her shoulders. He let her lead the kiss, sensual and slow. When she finally broke it, her lips wandered to his ear.

"Yes."

Her voice was soft and the breath of it tickled his ear, made him inhale sharply. He hadn't really thought she would change her mind now, had simply wanted to give her the opportunity to back out. But to hear her assent so clearly voiced turned him on beyond what he'd previously imagined possible. He lowered her shoulders to the ground, followed her down with a kiss. Somehow the rush had left him, the mood shifted to something more sensual.

He lavished attention on her neck, the swell of her breasts. Lifted up the hem of her top, stroked the back of his nails along her sides. She writhed, body undulating under his attention, her hands stroking through his hair.

He trailed his hands down to undo the buttons of her jeans, placing kisses on her stomach while he worked. She sucked in her breath at the touch of his stubble, and he chuckled at that, stroking his cheek against the skin.

"Ssssss… oh… cruel man…" she whimpered, and he could hear the smile in her voice. He pulled her jeans down over her hips, and she kicked off her right shoe and pulled the leg out, so she could move. Her underwear was black, plain and practical. He slid a hand over it and inhaled sharply when he encountered heated dampness.

She reached out to the front of his trousers, and when she couldn't quite reach a leg hooked behind his lower back brought him close enough. He laughed, leaning forward, thrilled by the focussed look on her face. The zipper went down and he groaned as his erection was finally released. She stroked along its length, eyes upon his, a rather wicked look on her face.

"Keep doing that and this will be over very soon," he growled in her ear, leaning forward. She arched up against him, seeming to find that an appealing line of thought, but her hands strayed away over his stomach and sides.

Trying to slow himself down, he kissed her again, hands cupping her face. He needed to get a grip on his self control, or they wouldn't even get much further. When her nails raked his lower back, he pinned down her arms, grinning when her devious smile turned to surprised dismay. She struggled a bit.

"No, no, no. Slowly," he chided. She stilled, and he kissed her, taking his time, trying to think of unsexy things to cool down his libido. Not that that seemed to do much good while she had her leg hooked around him, pulling him in close.

He refused to let her rush the kiss, and her whimper of frustration brought its own wild thrill. When he thought he had himself sufficiently reined in, he released her arms, renewing his attention to her breasts.

Her hands slid between them, working on the layers that separated their bodies. He leant up and slipped her panties down over her hips. She kicked them off.

He trailed a hand back up her thigh, felt the powerful muscles in her leg contract. She wouldn't – or couldn't - lay still, hands roaming under his vest. His fingers found the slick folds and caressed for a few moments, causing her to groan with impatience. Grinning, he dipped two fingers into her, then slid them up to the sensitive nub. Little shocks travelled through her body as he lightly rubbed over it, from side to side. She tilted back her head, letting out a moan that turned his blood to liquid fire.

He leaned up over her and aligned himself, rubbing the head over the wet folds. She put a hand behind his back, solid between his shoulderblades, and pulled him down for a kiss. They both groaned as he flexed his hips and entered her.

"Mmmyeah…" she sighed, eyes a little dazed. He smiled, nibbling at her earlobe, concentrating on her to keep a hold on his self control. He started a slow, undulating rhythm, encouraged by her right leg around his hips.

She nuzzled along his neck, breath stirring his slightly damp skin. Shivering as air brushed past his ear, he turned his head to give better access and was rewarded with her ragged breath hotly in his ear, in time with his thrusts. He groaned, feeling heat coil in the base of his spine. She nipped at the join of his neck and shoulder, then soothed with an open-mouthed kiss. His breath escaped him in a sibilant hiss.

She smirked, and he decided that it was a challenge… trying to make the other lose control. If he was going to have to recite the periodic table until he was blue in the face he would do it, but he wouldn't allow himself to let go until he'd seen her climax.

He retaliated with a deep kiss, plundering her mouth. When he started thrusting harder, grinding his hips against her after every plunge, her hands stilled on his back as if she could no longer summon the motor control to use them.

Hydrogen

His lips trailed to her ear, breathing over it, pleased when she whimpered.

Helium

The earlobe deserved some more attention. He drew it between his lips, nibbling and licking. A nip just sharp enough to make her gasp, followed by a lingering caress with his tongue. Tension built in her body.

Lithium

Her neck now, a light sheen of sweat covering it – from the heat, or the activity, or both. He lapped at it, savouring the salty tang mixed with a flavour uniquely her own. Swirled his tongue over her pulse point, delighting in the way her heart beat as if she had just been for a run. She tilted back her head, giving him better access.

Beryllium

One of her arms came up over his back, from his side to the opposite shoulder. It pulled him close, locked him in place. There was a toughness to her body that he found intensely arousing.

"Don't want… me going anywhere?" he whispered against the sensitive skin just under her ear. With this new position, chest against chest, he plunged into her from a different angle. She let out a breathy moan that made his toes curl. God it was so…

He forced his mind back to the next element. B… ohgodwhatwasit… Bo… can't…let…go..yet—

Boron

Both her legs around his body now, urging him on. He forced out part of the endless routine with each thrust, trying to keep his mind on the dull teacher in tweed who had taught it to him.

Carbon – Nitrogen – Oxygen – Fluorine – Neon…

Her face contorted, and she looked like she was somewhere on an edge, almost there, teetering…

"Nnnyesssss!"

The hiss escaped her, and he slammed into her body, arms locked around her, a hand behind the back of her head, hanging on as her back arched. Her eyes opened wide and he felt her body shock as she fell over the edge, breath leaving her in a wail.

He let go, finally, and with a few hard thrusts – the clenching of her body around his shaft  – his blood pounding in his ears – a distant roar that could only be his own – the fire in the base of his spine exploded and gushed out of him.

"Your heart beats so loud…"

It was barely a murmur, but it brought him back to himself. He was as he had been – on top of her, inside her, face over her shoulder, his nose inches from the rough concrete. He felt unable to move, as if all the bones had been removed from his body somewhere in the recent past.

His hand was still under her head. The knuckles hurt.

They were both still catching their breath.

"Sorry," he managed after a moment. "Am I too heavy?"

"Mmmm…no… this is nice…"

One of her hands had wandered down to his lower back, where it could slide under his vest and shirt, idly stroking the damp skin. The other lay in his neck, her fingertips swirling lazy circles through his short, spiky hair.

They lay like that, spent and utterly at ease, for what seemed like a long time. Then Carlos heard a noise above ground, and listening attentively he decided it must be a bulldozer. Not very close yet, but still…

He placed a soft kiss on the shell of her ear and rolled off. She made a little sound of protest and he smiled, planted another kiss on the tip of her nose, making her smile also.

"I can hear the bulldozers, so we'd better get dressed," he said softly.

After a while his heart stopped pounding, and he welcomed her as she nestled against his side, fully dressed again. He put his arm so that she could use his shoulder for a pillow, resting the hand on her side. She tilted her face up, nestling the bridge of her nose against the base of his throat.

"Mmm…" he purred, lips against her forehead, feeling lazy and comfortable. She smiled. They lay in silence for a while, drifting, content.

Suddenly the radio crackled to life.

"Olivera this is Base, come in Olivera."

He reached over with his free hand, not wanting to move from the comfortable embrace.

"Base, this is Olivera, we hear you."

"The fire is under control and we have started moving the debris so we can get to you. Are you still all right down there?"

He fought to contain his grin, lest it sounded through in his voice. They had no idea of how all right they were, though some of his team mates would be sure to bring up the suggestion. In a gruff tone he just replied "No problems"

"Good. We are going to keep spraying to cool down the stone, so it might get a little wet where you are."

"Roger that. Over and out."

He put the radio aside and was silent, wondering if Alex had fallen asleep. But no, her fingertips were still idly tracing the line of his shoulder.

"Yeah, we're all right…" she said softly after a while. "No worries."

He chuckled at the lazy tone. Then he sobered. For him it was part of the job, but for her?

"Is there no one worrying about you, out there?"

"Hmm? That depends..." she yawned. "on what time it is."  

"Getting close to 7 pm," he supplied.

"Hmm… Well… Abby will wonder why I'm not home yet."

"Your dog?"

"My parrot. An African Grey."

"Aren’t they the ones that are sort of high-strung and talk a lot?"

She chuckled.

"Yes. I was lonely after I split up with my ex about five years ago, so I wanted a pet that would be good company. And she is, though she doesn't do a lot of talking…"

Silence again.

"Will no one wonder why you aren’t home yet?"

"Not for a while…" he answered, idly stroking her arm. "My brother Leo will probably call tonight, and when I don't answer he usually calls Headquarters to find out if anything is up… They'll tell him I'm stuck underground and then he'll wait until I turn up."

She chuckled.  "Like that?"

"Yeah. We usually go sailing on Saturdays, but he's used to work playing up on Fridays. Murphy's Law I guess. These kind of things never happen on Mondays …"

"You sail? Cool. What kind of boat?"

"Leo and I bought a Firebird last year. It's a 26-foot racing catamaran."

"Neat.. I've always wanted to learn to sail a cat, it looks like so much—"

She cut off abruptly, and he wondered if she worried that it sounded like she was fishing for an invitation.

"You sail yourself?"

"I used to… it kind of got annoying when everybody just wanted me to fix their engines."

"The fate of the tech?"

"Yeah!" she chuckled, but there was a sad note to it. "It got to the point where all I did was fix machines, so I stopped going to the yacht club."

Without thinking he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"We're never at the Yacht club… in the one here there are only elderly people dressed up to the nines, drinking expensive wine. None of them have sailed in 20 years, and even back then only on sunny days."

"How boring…"

"Yes, and I'd rather have coffee anyway," he grinned.

"Coffee!"

He laughed at the way she said it, as if she'd only now remembered the existence of the stuff and thought it was a damn good idea.

"I could sure do with a cup now…" he said.

"Oh yeah… at work they all get those dreadful concoctions of Starbucks. You know? Toffee-nut-latte-with-mint-chips-and-white-chocolate-and-strawberry-syrup. Or Frappuccino-something-or-another-with-mint-mocha-chips-and-pumpkin-spice. All I want to yell is… WHERE DID THE COFFEE GO?!"

Her voice mimicked hysterics, and he couldn't contain his burst of laughter. Carlos pulled her close, hiding his face in her hair.

"Yes, yes…" he chuckled finally. "I've stood inside one of those places thinking 'What happened to the coffee?' I had to tell the guy behind the counter that I wanted just coffee… no sugar, no milk, no favoured syrups, nothing!"

Her giggle strummed at something in his belly, but he could not identify it. Just then, water started entering their refuge; first in drips, but soon in gushes. It was hot, thankfully not scalding.

"Oh great," she said, and he could tell it made her a little nervous. "Well, at least it's not cold…"

"I think this means that they're getting close. It won't be long now."

She shifted a bit, pulling up a knee over his legs so that she could nestle closer. He stroked her bare arm, wondering if the scrape there had happened during their flight through the building or during what came later. She let out a long, content sigh, and how had that happened? How had they come to be so comfortable with each other? But truly it had been like that from the start, from the first moment he held her in his arms.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Now don't get sentimental about it. He knew how things like nearly dying could magnify emotions – it wouldn't be the first time that happened. He let the thoughts slip away and just let the moment be; Alex close, a lazy, heavy feeling in his limbs, the noises overhead and the hot water that was starting to soak the both of them.

She chuckled suddenly.

"Guess my horoscope was right then…"

"Why?"

"It said I would have an encounter I would not lightly forget."

They both grinned. That was certainly true. Probably not even if he tried.

"I'm just so glad I didn't bring Abby to work today…"

"You bring the parrot to work?"

"Some days, yes. When I don't have to be in the studio."

He had never done much office work, but the mental image of a parrot flying through an office-garden mimicking telephone sounds pressed itself into his brain.

"Doesn't that drive your colleagues up the wall? Does Abby speak?"

"Oh yeah, but I have my own office. She mostly sings. And imitates cellphones."

Carlos chuckled at the thought of an office full of people grabbing for their phones.

"And at one point I turned on the TV for her when I was out of the house, but she started saying things like "Oh Ridge, I'm pregnant" and I decided on a strict policy of no more daytime TV."

Her tone was so matter of fact that the absurdity of a parrot spouting soap-lines took a moment to tickle him.  

Then, chuckling: "Just be relieved it wasn't Jerry Springer…"

It was silent for a moment as they both contemplating the full horror of a parrot spouting choice phrases from the Springer Show.

"Oh Gods. Excuse me while I try to scrub that idea from my mind," she said quietly. Then a shock travelled through her body, and another, and she closed her eyes as she could hold back her laugh no longer.

More water gushed into their hiding hole, colder this time. That meant that the stone outside had cooled down far enough to touch. He grabbed for his radio, not wanting the water to grow any colder.

"Base, this is Olivera."

"This is Base, we hear you."

"We're getting soaked here, and the water is growing cool. Can you tell them to stop spraying here?"

"It's done. The bulldozer is coming in, so I think we'll see you soon."

"Thank you. Over and out."

In fact it took some minutes longer for the water to stop flowing, and now it was cold. Alex shivered and he was beginning to wish back to the heat of the fire they had cursed before. The noises of the shovel became more intense. He lightly chafed the cold skin on her bare arm, noticing that he'd stretched the neckline of her top a bit further than it was meant to be stretched. Ah well, if that was all the damage she'd sustained in this adventure…

"Ho! Olivera!"

They both startled when a voice called from above, quite close. Rubble shifted; the bulldozer went idle while someone listened.

"Yeah! Here!" he called back.

"Where? Trying to locate the entry!"

"Here!" he used the back of one of his knives to tap against a metal pipe. The voice outside could be heard shouting instructions to the bulldozer-driver. The entire space they were in shook, a deafening noise straight above them making small bits of concrete rain down on them. He wrapped his other arm around her, shielding her head, trying to keep his mind on the irony of being squashed by their rescuers.

"Think I've found them!" a voice yelled, suddenly quite close overhead. "turn that thing off!"

The roar of the bulldozer died away, and they heard scrabbling of a shovel. More debris rained down on them both as more people joined in with shovels. Then suddenly light streamed down into their refuge.

"Gotcha!"

They let go of each other almost abruptly, the atmosphere of intimacy and comfort shattered. Debris streamed down while the men above dug out the basement entrance. They waited in silence, close together but not really touching any more. Carlos took this to mean that what happened had been strictly circumstantial, and that he should not expect the connection to still be there once they were above the ground.

He wasn't quite sure if that disappointed him or not.

A torch shone down on them, and he shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness.

"You guys okay down there?" said a man in a high-vis coat. He turned away the torch.

"We're fine, just cold and wet!"

"And thirsty," Alex added under her breath.

Someone called for blankets while others widened the entrance hole. Carlos gathered his things – weapons he'd laid aside, the radio. Alex handed him his gloves with something of a shy grin. He smiled back, a little stunned by what had happened over the past few hours. He'd always been of the opinion that people only behaved like that in bad romantic books and cheesy movies.

"There we go!" the man above said. The hole was now wide enough to shuffle through, and a few moments later they stood amidst the ruins of the office, blinking against the light of evening. Someone put blankets around their shoulders and then they were both being lead out of the smoking remains of the building.

"If you'll come with me, sir," said a paramedic-type person, guiding Carlos to the open back of an ambulance and sitting him down. Another lead Alex to the other ambulance, out of his sight. He saw that her left knee had bled, the fabric of her jeans hard with dried blood. She hadn't been kidding when she'd said she had hurt her knee.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He swung his attention back to the man before him.

"Yeah. Building blew up and we were in it. Kind of memorable," he sniped. The paramedic just nodded. Probably used to difficult patients.

"Have you been unconscious at all? Any knocks to your head?"

"No."

"Okay, any trouble with breathing?"

"No."

"Good, good. I'll just take your pulse. Have you had any impact to the stomach or chest?"

He shook his head.

"Good… pulse is good too. You're a bit pale but that will be the cold. Apart from the scratch on your forehead, do you have pain anywhere?"

He showed his hand, only now getting a good look at it. The knuckles were bruised and bloody, small pieces of grit sticking in the wounds.

The paramedic opened his case, taking out tweezers, gauze and disinfectant.

"What happened there?"

"Something fell on it," he said, his voice neutral. It had been her head, in the throes of orgasm, but some things were best kept to himself.

"Move the fingers for me?"

He waggled his fingers, seeing the relief on the face of the medic.

"Excellent! I was a bit worried that you had a break there, and those can be really awkward. Let me clean this up now…"

He sat silently while the man cleaned the grit and blood from his hand. Besides the ruins of the building a small camp had been erected, with several vans and cars from his squad. The Jeep of his superior, Marc Alden, had a load of fastfood wrappers on the dashboard.

"Carlos! How many of those nine lives do you have left?" there was the man himself, grey-haired and with deep lines in his face, but in unquenchable good spirits. "Your brother called, I told him you'd call back when you got out."

"Thank you. How is the girl?"

She was in the back of the other ambulance, which had been parked out of his sight. Probably on purpose, so that patients could not disturb each other.

"Cold, but okay. Her car is broken…" he pointed at a beautiful vintage Volkswagen Bug, front window and part of the bonnet smashed in by a piece of debris as big as a melon. "So I'm going to her off at home now."

Carlos looked at the car and felt her pain. It looked as if years of loving work had gone into it, all ruined by a single inconsiderate rock.

He'd half thought he would be able to speak to her once they were out, though what he would have said… he didn't know. Some acknowledgement of the strange moment that had happened between them, perhaps.

He never got the chance. She got into Alden's car while the medic was stitching up his hand, and she never even looked around. He wondered idly if it was disinterest or some sort of delayed shock.

She looked small in the passenger seat, wrapped in two big blankets. Alden got into the driver's seat and said something to her, but she didn't answer, just stared into space, and then the Jeep drove away.

The medic tied off a neat stitch and snipped off the loose end.  "There, done. You should get out of those wet clothes and then I'll clean up your forehead."

Getting out of his clothes? He didn't plan to wander about half-naked. The man grinned.

"Your boss brought some sweats with him, they're on the stretcher."

By the time Carlos emerged from the ambulance in the plain grey institute sweat, half the cars were gone. Some of his team mates were still around, and while the medic cleaned up his various scrapes they stood around and commented on the experiences of the day. The opinions on Alex seemed to differ rather wildly; the guys expressed everything between sympathy and envy for his plight.

"Nah man, she was a tech…STBU!" declared Williams. "Now if you'd been stuck with a secretary, or a PR girl…"

"She was good company," was all he would comment, but they found plenty to be lewd about regardless.

Finally all was done, and it was going toward 10 PM. The ambulances packed up and left, as did the police. Geoff offered to drive him home, and why not? There was nothing in his bag at HQ that he'd need over the weekend. His weapons went into one of the vans that went back to HQ.

"Alden signed you off stand-by," the older man said as they got onto the car. "Said you were to have a good weekend."

"Good."

Carlos sat back in the passenger seat and found he was tired, more tired than hours waiting to be rescued warranted. He rang his brother on Geoff's cell phone.

"Carlos! They pulled you out then? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Leo… really tired though. Is it okay if we meet at the boat say… elevenish? I'll tell you what happened then."

"That's okay, see you then. Sleep well!"

Before he even really realised it they were at his apartment building. He stumbled out of the car, thanked Geoff, and managed to convince the porter that he needed to be let into his apartment because his keys were elsewhere. Thankfully the man knew what kind of job Carlos did and was happy to help.

And finally, his bed. He kicked off the combat boots – he hadn't bothered lacing them up after he'd changed – and let himself drop onto the mattress. He'd shower tomorrow…

…and change the sheets…

…eat, too…

…but all of that—

tomorrow.

…for now…

…sleep.

~*~

"…So did you get her number?"

"What?"

"Her number!"

He gave his brother a nonplussed look. Leo gave an exasperated sigh.

"You spent hours with that girl and you haven't told me anything about her. If she'd been horrible I'm sure you'd have told me. So you must have liked her. Did – you – get – her - number?"

Carlos snorted at that brotherly line of reasoning, not stopping his work at the winches.

"Look, Natalie keeps wanting me to set you up with one of her friends. And I'd do it, too, if they weren't such bores!"

Carlos turned his face to the wind as the small catamaran sped up, the display of the trailing log showing 10…12… 15 knots. It was an exhilarating speed so close to the water, narrow hulls cutting through the water smoothly, sails curved with the light wind. They passed numerous slow yachts as they sped out of the bay.  

Once out in the open they prepared for a tack, and Carlos clipped in his safety line and rolled himself across to the other glider. He looked back at Leo, gave a minute nod, and a few moments later the cat tacked smoothly. His brother joined him in the glider, adding his weight to stop the boat from heeling too far.  

"So what was she like?"

He kept his attention on the line he was fastening, cursing his brother for his persistence. He hadn't quite worked out how he felt about what had happened the day before; he didn't really feel ready to speak about it out loud. Not even to his brother.

"Nice."

"And what's her name?"

"Alex."

"What did she do at that company?"

"She's a tech. Something about isolating frequencies."

Suddenly realising his brother was fishing things out of him, he made an irritated motion.

"Go away, you pest."

"Hey! I happen to be your pest-brother. And I haven't seen you this affected by someone in years, is it any wonder that I'm curious?"

He didn't answer. It was true. Since the divorce four years ago he'd been with women a few times, but none that had him still interested by morning. She was…

He didn't know what she was. Pretty, yes – but not stunning. Feminine, but not the elegant creatures he was normally interested in. She kept her curls out of her face with a hairband and wore her nails short, without nailpolish. Meeting her on the street he might have thought she was plain.

Now all he could think of was her whispered voice in his ears.

She was interesting. Refreshingly direct. He was willing to believe that she wouldn't be one to play manipulative little games with a man's attention. She hadn't played games with him about wanting sex… He looked down on his hand, bandaged and covered by a waterproof glove.

She could take care of herself. He was attracted to that. She seemed like the kind of person who could handle her own computer and would never employ that manipulative little-girl-lost voice he'd come to detest so in his ex. She didn't seem the type to throw a crying, screaming fit if his work should take him away from home for a night.

Hell, she was a tech. Could probably fix her own car.

"So what does she look like?"

"Blonde, curls, grey eyes."

"Not your usual type, then."

No. He was beginning to think that his usual type consisted of gorgeous, sexy but above all needy women who were not shy of emotional blackmail, and with whom the words 'if you really loved me…' were a recurring theme.

With that asserted, Alex was most definitely wasn't his type. Though on reflection he couldn't deny her the words gorgeous and sexy… the other descriptions definitely didn't apply to her.

Maybe he'd finally grown some sense.

"And you spent more than four hours in a confined space with this woman."

"Yeah. She was good company."

Leo let a meaningful silence form.  

"…and… you didn't think to ask her number?"

"Look," he said, irritation growing. "As soon as we came out there were two ambulance crews to take us in. They were still stitching me up when she left. Now can we STOP going ON about this?"

His brother hid a grin, but obliged, and they spent the rest of the day sailing in amiable silence, enjoying the sun and the wind.

~*~

Monday. Meeting at HQ; Unless Something, the day to discuss trainings, tactics, that sort of thing.

The phrase Unless Something had become the unofficial motto of the team. They made plans for the next minute, hour, day, week… Unless Something Happened. At any moment the alarm could come on and require everybody to drop what they were doing and hurry into their gear and into the vans.

For now, all was quiet.

He'd spent the entire Sunday trying to think of a way to contact her. Her employer? Unlikely they would give out her contact details to a stranger. His employer? Now that would invite some questions he had no wish to answer, possibly involving his professional behaviour during the operation.

He wondered if she had spoken with Alden at all, and if so, what had been said.

It was three in the afternoon and he was no closer to a solution. The thought occurred that if she had wanted him to have her number, she would have given it to him. Did the fact that she hadn't… mean enough?

Then again no, he had seen the exhaustion in her face before she was brought home. He doubted she had been thinking about anything more than going home.

The problem with asking Alden if he knew how to contact her… well he felt it wasn't quite discrete to 'out' contact between them before he even knew if she wanted to see him again.

Carlos stepped onto the treadmill and switched it on. A good run might help clear his head. It was crazy – he'd been puzzling for days how to contact this woman, like a teenager unable to find the courage to ask out a girl.

The front of the treadmill rose, turning his run into an uphill one. The pounding rhythm of his feet and the slight ache in the back of his legs took his thoughts completely, everything forgotten for the all-absorbing rhythm of the run.

The treadmill suddenly slowed, and he blinked, looking at who stood next to the machine. Alden.

"Olivera! Man, do you have hearing problems?"

"Huh. Sorry, I didn't hear you there."

His boss grinned, and Carlos realised that what he'd just said sounded a little out of it.

"So, recovered from your adventure on Friday?"

"Yeah, yeah. Slept for half the weekend, guess I needed that. But I'm good."

"You're back on active duty then. I'm glad I signed you off for the weekend, there was a slight emergency Saturday night, but the guys handled it fine without you. In any case, could you see me in my office for a moment when you're done here?"

Alden slapped the 'resume' button on the treadmill and Carlos had no time to ask further questions.

~*~

He cut his workout short, not quite feeling sharp enough for the weights today. He'd do that tomorrow again, as a break between paperwork. Unless Something, of course. It was always like that; you were waiting, essentially, for the shit to hit the fan somewhere.

After a hot shower and a change back into BDUs and short-sleeved shirt he climbed the stairs to Alden's office. What was it that needed to be said in here rather than in the gym? Some complaint about his professionalism after all? No, Alden wouldn't have acted so pleasant then. If the man was one thing then he was unambiguous – if he was displeased with you, you'd know right away.

"Ah yes, Olivera…" he was greeted. "Sit down."

He sat, and watched as his boss rummaged in his briefcase.

"Now where was it… When I drove that girl…"

"Alex," Carlos supplied.

"Yes, that was her name… when I drove her home she suddenly decided she had to write you a note … I had it here somewhere. Ah, yes."

He produced a triple-folded scrap of paper and handed it to Carlos. He didn't open it.

"How was she? She looked a little out of it when you left."

"She was just really tired now it was all over. I thought she held up well, all things considered."

Carlos nodded. He'd thought so too.

"And she had no complaints about you! Your people skills must be improving." Alden said with a grin.

He was referring back to the previous time Carlos had been shut in with a civilian; the annoying little man that had drove him to an all-compassing rage with his gibbering. The man had filed a complaint afterward, because Olivera had been 'rude and uncompassionate'.

Alden had replied (though in much politer wording of course) that the operatives were trained to protect lives, not egos, and that was that.

Like Geoff's legendarily non-existent smile, Olivera's people skills had become a running joke.

They chatted some more on what had happened on Friday, and then Carlos took his leave to do some paperwork.

And to finally look at the little scrap of paper that had been burning his hand for the past 15 minutes.

Was it a thanks? He didn't expect those, it was his job after all. Though it was nice when someone acknowledged how much he and his team risked in the line of duty.

He finally unfolded the note; it was on a hastily torn off bit of paper. On the back of it was part of a shopping list. 'Willpower' it said in big bold letters at the top, like something a tempted shopper might look at while trying to resist the lure of chocolate. The other items were bread, fresh pasta, tomatoes, olive oil... He turned the note.

'Coffee sometime?' it said simply in a hasty scrawl, followed by a phone number.

Carlos Olivera felt his lips curve into a broad smile.

The end