The BLTS Archive - Azizam (Beloved) Fourth in the Blackbird series by Cavalaxis (cavalaxis@hotmail.com) --- (c) 10/26/99 Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek. All of it. I claim no profit. I do claim the story. Archive: BLTS, yes. All else, please ask. Sidebar: Ivre (Drunk) is part one, Deux et Deux (Two and Two) is part two, Ombre (Shade/Shadow) is part three, Azizam (Beloved) is part four. Advice: Soundtrack for Fifth Element or Loreena McKennitt Feedback:Please!!! -- Down through the layers of sleep, like water through linen... ...the sound of the comm link came, the resulting ripples destroying the reflections of my dreams. The reflection of his eyes. Awareness came slowly. I check the clock with one eye. The numbers glowered at me. Again the comm link... I strip back the covers with one hand, slowly rising, swinging my bare feet to the floor. "Computer, activate comm link." "Blackbird, this is 31. Come in Blackbird, over?" "31, this is Blackbird. Status?" "Target has returned to Earth. You owe us two hundred credits." "..." My mind gathered this information and processed it. "Status?" "Target transpored via private craft from point of origin to planetside destination in Europe, the region formerly called..." "...France. Normandy. La Barre. I read the file, Kix. Continue." "Yes, right. Target abandoned *sanctioned* communications at residence in La Barre. He purchased transported from Paris to New York under an assumed name and is due to transport in fifteen minutes." "So the implant *is* trackable." "...Yes." "Who owes who?" "::mmbrlbr::" "Uh-huh. Anything else?" "Negative." "Confirmed, closing comm link. Blackbird out." There in the darkness, I imagine him. He has returned, unescorted, across the sky, across the ocean. Motivations? A thousand guesses, no real answers. One that whispers seductively in my ear, but I coldly refuse to listen to that ghul. Like a cat, I am up and across the room, not even bothering to turn on the light. I splash water on my face, letting the light from the street lamp play across my reflection in the mirror. I run the brush through my hair, find my jeans, boots, a shirt, a jacket. A handful of clothes into a bag, the comm link and vagaries of technical nature into their cases. I grab my E&E and clip it inside my jacket while stuffing another one in my pocket. The bag and the cases go into the closet. I pause before going out the door, again catching my reflection. I sigh and smooth the sleep from underneath my eyes. Let him come. I am ready. Then I am out the door and down the steps, the broken pavement dancing away beneath my feet. Almost a run. I go over my knowledge of him... of the subject's file, I mentally correct herself. Facts and figures are blurred by the memory of his hands expertly guiding me over the dance floor. I clench my teeth as I calculate the exact amount of Borg nanotech it takes to assimilate an agent of my height and weight. The vid files of Locutus yield to the remembered scent of him. Not a cologne, but the musk of his person. The statistics of Wolf 359 scrolling past are countered by the infectious rumble of his laughter. The words of my mentor ring in my ears: "Once one has been assimilated, humanity is destroyed." I approach the club from the opposite block, emerging from the intersecting alley. I can view the crowd from the shadows here, decide whether or not he is unescorted. Gooseflesh crawls up my arms and down my back. What will I do? What will I say? Lamenting the decision to reveal myself last night has done no good. I still don't know why or how that happened. He is under my skin. No matter what the machines said, I know a human when I see one. And he *is* human. But the fact remains that I hadn't imparted the key fact that he knew to control. My mouth goes dry as I realize just how far out on a limb I am, as far as he is by even coming here. But I know the waters and the fish that swam in them. He is the only unknown. Something in me craves that unknown. A mindless hunger from deep within my soul. Suddenly I catch sight of him. My heart begins to pound all over again. I draw breath deep into my lungs as I survey the crowd. He makes eye contact with no one. A scantily-dressed woman approaches him and then changes her mind, apparently deciding she could find an easier mark. He watches her go and then discards her with his eyes. Sinking to his heels beside the club entrance, just outside the ring of light, his intense gaze scans the crowd. He is looking for me, that much is clear. Why other reason would he be here? His face plays through a range of emotions as he questions his own motivations. For a moment his face hardens against a sorrow buried deep within. But then his shoulders straighten, and I can see his resolve visibly return. The subject...No. No, this man would wait for hours for me, I am sure. But there is no reason for that. 'Leila,' a voice chides me, 'harden your heart. He has been assimilated. There is no humanity within him.' Why does that ghost haunt me tonight, when I *know* better? For years I've listened to them, learned from them, incorporated every piece of knowledge I've been given. For years I've nodded, dutifully. A skill my father taught me well. Ever since the War started in ernest, with the penetration of Federation HQ by the Dominion, each agenda of the individual factions had begun to make themselves clear. From the Diplomatic Core to Fleet Intelligence to Section 31 itself, I've seen the chess games within chess games being played. And I have been content to be a pawn. As I watch him across the square, taking in the lines of his face, the strength of his hands, I know in my heart, this is no game for a pawn. This is no game at all. But the idea of having to make any hard decisions is wrapped up tightly and forgotten, at least until I have more information. I slip out of the shadows and make my way through the crowds around behind him. When he looks up into my face, I feel the world telescope to just the two of us. The longing I suffer is echoed in his own eyes. The desire. I hold out my hand and speak to him, and I hear my accent slipping through. He answers and takes my hand. My heart is pounding again. Ten years of silent running and I feel as if this day -- I can see the surface. But the surface remains a mystery to me, running deep beneath it I have been for so many cycles. The scent of his masculinity overwhelms me and suddenly the street is too crowded. I want him to myself, for just a moment. I take the lead and he follows, as breathless as I am. The silence between us contains a thousand words. I apologize for making him wait. He assures me that he is alone. His voice alone caresses parts of me that no one has ever touched before. I glance behind to verify we are not being followed, and in the same moment see precisely the darkened doorway I hoped this avenue would provide. I pull him into it, and palm the E&E, hoping to mask the distinctive electronic signature of his heart implant. I pull him down under the pretext of a kiss to plant the device. He embraces me and our lips meet. I almost drop the tiny module as my body yields to his touch. Powerful arms surround me, and I find my hands slipping under his jacket, where I attach the E&E to his inner jacket pocket. I fight the rising tide within me and am overwhelmed at his touch, as his hand cups my breast and... I almost moan aloud as I am pinned to the wall. Momentarily, I surrender to the sensations, to being overpowered by his body. His mouth devours me and his thigh unerringly finds my center. Oh sweet surrender... My hands run over the taut muscles of his back and my nails leave trails through the thin fabric. But then, he - we regain control. He is withdrawing from our embrace. I press my hand to his heart, beating strong beneath my palm, unaffected by the subtle dampening field now surrounding him. I smile in relief, for that possibility had occurred to me. His hands cover mine as he puts a step between us. "We have to talk, you and I." The timbre of his voice caresses me, incites further longing. I agree. "Yes, there is much to be said." I can not resist touching his lips. He sucks my fingertip into his mouth and fondles it, his eyes expressing a darker intent. I am slipping further and further into bliss, but manage to catch myself. I emerge like a diver, gasping forth a question I was not prepared to ask. "Would you come with me, or would you prefer if I came with you?" Someplace where I can have you alone...please... So I can explain what is happening here. He considers the nature of my question. I need to tell you so much. Do I dare the risk. "I have a room near here, but it is small and not as secure as your chateau, or your craft." His dismay is obvious. "No," I counter the obvious, "I'm not a telepath. I've been observing your movements." This much is too much. His grasp upon me tightens and I fear that all has been lost. Oh, azizam, please let me explain, I will tell you everything. Give me your trust for a few more hours. Oh, Allah please... His eyes are locked with mine and the tension eases from his grasp. I sigh audibly. How much there is to lose here... "I will explain everything." He nods imperceptibly. Azizam... I caress his face. Trust in me. I lean up and press my mouth against his, and he responds, passionately. The metamorphosis overcomes me and I am kissing his lips, his cheek, the hollow of his throat. I knew in that moment that the future had changed. The threshold had been crossed. Boldly, I slip my hand down to his manhood, revelling in the cry of pleasure that escapes his throat. But he pushes me away again, and I agree. Not here, not now. Holding me at arms length, his eyes search my face, search my own, search my soul. "At least tell me your name." I smile and wipe the wetness of his mouth from my chin. ::Leila, born of night:: Someday you will know my true name, when you can say it and call me 'love'. But not tonight. "Khephera." Keeper of the sun. That which burns eternally. "Khephera..." Again his voice is like a caress. His eyes grow distant for a moment -- sorrowful -- and then he returns. The double-click in my jawbone rudely interrupts us. I press a finger into the hollow of my ear and activate the incoming transmission. Kix's voice informs me, not knowing I have left the hotel, that there are sweepers in the vicinity. I nod and de-activate the link. I inform him. "We must leave now. Sweepers." I don't think he knows what I mean, but he takes my hand as if he had done it a thousand times before. We stroll back towards the club, with me stealing a glance behind us. I see the two men instantly. They don't even notice us. They're not here for us. By the time our footsteps reach the transporter station square, his resolve has returned. He has made a decision, that much is obvious. A lone fire juggler entertains a small crowd and he pauses, drawing me into his embrace. Over my shoulder, he whispers, "You are the fire." I glance up at him, seeking clarification. His voice washes over me. "You are the flame." I continue. "And I am consumed." As am I, azizam. As am I. His hand grips mine tightly as we make our way to the transporter station. I briefly think on my equipment and my clothes in the hotel room. Kix will be incensed. Somewhere along the line I ceased to care. The mission objective has been altered drastically. I'm winging it from here... --- ~File Terminate~