This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended.  Copyright Reagan Kavanagh 2005.

Reagan

It was Thursday evening, 1740 hours, and I had finally gotten my students settled down. They had begun writing their final exams, having bowed to the inevitable. I was tired; I had spent the better part of the day grading exams administered to another class the preceding day. I was also not in the best of moods – finals week always puts me off – and I was annoyed at myself for not having checked my academic calendar before saying “yes” when Terry Thorne asked if he could bunk at my house rather than one of the downtown hotels while he was in town on business this week. Of course I’d said yes …I was going to the first briefing with him. In truth, I was also just a tad irritated at Terry’s laissez faire “I’ll find you” attitude when I’d told him I’d be at the University administering an exam when his flight arrived tonight. I’m very fond of Terry, and we’ve been friends a long time, but just now the thought of his arrival was getting on my last nerve. Of course, I was Hell bent I’d never let him know it. Right.

It wouldn’t be that difficult for him to find me, and I knew it. I was the only blonde female teaching a class on Thursday evenings, and if he couldn’t find a security guard to ask which classroom I was in, all he’d need do was patrol the halls and look into the various rooms of the only building on campus that was open tonight until me saw me. Just to be perverse, I’d closed the door to the classroom and was sitting at a student desk against the wall, just inside the door and in an alcove. There were glass panels beside the door on the far side and certainly Terry could – and would – look through those, but unless he had eyeballs that were on stems and could see around corners, there was no way he’d be able to spot me as long as I remained in my seat. Or so I thought initially …I’d neglected to think about the fact that my reflection was clearly visible in the windows across the room from me. Okay, so I’ll never be a secret agent; it wasn’t on my list of things to do anyway, and that’s why I was the profiler rather than a field agent on the case he’d been on when we met.

I’d also not told Terry that if my students completed their exams early, I’d not be hanging around waiting for him. Besides, if he was as good at recon as he’d always assured me he was, he’d be able to find my home, now wouldn’t he? Yes, fine, I’ll admit it. I was in a very pissy mood, and while Terry was in no way responsible for my personal scheduling problems, if he did anything to exacerbate my already irritable mood, he’d most likely be on the receiving end of my temper. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened and likely wouldn’t be the last. He’d teased me over the years, saying that with my temper, I’d have more appropriately been born a redhead rather than a blonde.

The instructions for the final exam were on the white-erase board at the front of the classroom, and I had gone over them during the last class and again this evening. No questions? Good. Get to work, and make it legible. If I can’t read your handwriting, it’s ALL INCORRECT, and there’s no appeal. A couple of students had tried whining to my Dean last term, on the basis that I’d not tried hard enough to decipher their illegible scrawl. I was present in her office when she’d met with them and had suppressed my laughter when she’d tossed their exam papers back in their faces.

“I can’t frigging read them, and I don’t know how you’d ever expect your professor to do so. I’m surprised she cut you slack on your short-answer essays earlier in the term.” I didn’t bother telling her that I hadn’t …it was clear she was in my corner, and their grades stood as I’d assigned them. I had a staunch ally in her and wasn’t worried about having to placate lazy students who wouldn’t take the time to write clearly. I digress.

I sat at the student desk reading a book, looking up occasionally to see if any student had questions, motioning them over to me if they did. I was not getting up and giving Terry the opportunity to see me as I walked across the room to a student. I heard the door open quietly and glanced up …a late arrival. I gestured toward the board and he took his seat, pulled out his blue exam book and a pen and began writing as I went back to my book. I heard the door open again and gestured toward the board without looking up. It opened twice more, and that was that. I kept reading. The first student turned in her exam and left, followed shortly by a second and third. The pace continued until I had thirty-seven exam books in a stack beside me on the floor, and I gathered them up, standing and stretching as I did so, thinking smugly that Terry was just going to have to find his way to my house on his own. Did I neglect to mention that I’d moved since his last trip through Dallas? I walked to the front of the classroom, erased the board, and then sat at my desk for a moment before picking up my briefcase and stuffing the exams inside.

As I snapped my briefcase closed, another exam book plopped down in front of me. What the Hell? I already had all the exams and looked up, annoyance clear on my face I’m sure, and into the blue-green eyes of one Terrence Thorne, who was smiling down at me with a “Gotcha” look on his face. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is this your final exam, Mr. Thorne?” I got that slow, lazy smile from him as he looked down at me. He has to be the original cocky bastard, now doesn’t he?

“Not really …I just didn’t want to have to trip you on your way out the door in order to get your attention. Are you always so inattentive to what’s going on around you?” Touché! I suppose I had that coming …Ted Bundy could probably have walked in and sat beside me, and I’d not have noticed him that night.

“Not usually …but I was expecting you.” I stood, picking up my briefcase, which he promptly took out of my hand and, putting the other hand behind my back and snugly at my waist, propelled me toward the door.

“I can carry my own briefcase, Terry ...where is your luggage?” He looked down at me and smiled.

“Already in the boot of your car, Love.”

“You broke into my car to stow your luggage?” Now I was really pissed at the man. His eyebrow shot up, and he gave me that annoying and yes, somewhat patronizing, smile.

“Give me credit for a bit more finesse than that, Reagan. I picked the lock …that old Jeep of yours doesn’t present much of a challenge.” Okay, he had me there, but it was still irritating; why does everyone laugh at the fact that I happened to like my ten-year-old Jeep? I flipped off the room lights and closed the door as we walked down the corridor to the elevators, where I punched the “Down” button with a bit more effort than required and he gave me that look again.

“Who’s put a burr under your saddle, Love? Given your response when I called to ask if I could stay with you rather than at a hotel, I’d expected a bit warmer reception that this.” He had me again. I had no reason to be angry with him, other than the fact that at the end of term, I tend to be pissed at the world in general. I leaned against the wall of the elevator and looked at him before speaking.

“At the moment, the end-of-term has put that burr under my saddle …you just happen to be close enough for me to snap at.” The elevator coasted to a stop and the door opened. We stepped out in to the darkened lobby and headed for the door to the parking garage, neither of us saying a word until we’d reached my Jeep. Terry held out his hand for my keys, and I surrendered them. He unlocked the door and handed me in, tossing my briefcase over the seat and into the rear deck where his luggage sat, then walked to the driver’s side and got in, started the ignition and pulled out of the lot. I sat there, watching him as he drove …no need to offer directions, as he clearly knew where he was going. Obviously, he had my new address, and I felt sure he’d checked a map before his arrival in Dallas. His concentration on the late evening traffic gave me an opportunity to study him without having to meet the intensity of his gaze. He stopped at a light and looked over at me.

“Look, Reagan, if my staying with you is inconvenient, just say so. I can check into a hotel right now, and we can just see other for dinner a couple of times this week.” I took a deep breath, willing myself into a more amicable state of mind before I answered him.

“No, it’s not inconvenient, and I’m sorry. I’m mainly annoyed with myself …I didn’t look at the academic calendar before telling you that you could stay with me, and now I have final exams to score and term grades to assign before I can do anything else. The school has us on a very tight timeline when it comes to finishing up at the end of the term. I know you’d wanted me to sit in on the briefing tomorrow, which means I’ll spend half of tomorrow evening scoring the exams in my briefcase and figuring final grades. They have to be turned in by ten on Saturday morning to make the end-of-term computer run so they can be mailed to the students.” I stopped long enough to take a breath before continuing.

“So I’m just a bit crabby, and it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t take it out on you, and I am glad to see you. I just wasn’t thinking when you called …it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other that I didn’t think any further than how great it would be to have you visit.” He nodded and put the car in gear as the light changed.

“How about I help you with grading the finals? I took my fair share of psychology classes at Uni and when I was in the SAS. It’s part and parcel of the training.” Help me grade exams? Now that was a comical notion, and I said so. He stopped at the next light and looked over at me again.

“What’s so amusing about it? Bet if we worked together, we could knock them out tonight. I can help you figure the final averages, you mark the end of term grade sheets, and we stop by here for you to hand them in on our way to the briefing in the morning. Think about it.” He shifted gears again as the light changed and headed for the Interstate, and I did as I was told …I thought about it.

Well, there really wasn’t any reason that he couldn’t help me, now that I considered it. All I really had to do was give him the correct response to compare to my students’ ramblings. He was certainly intelligent enough to figure out whether they were correct or not, and the notion of watching him grade exams was making for a pretty amusing mental picture at that point. I turned in my seat so that I was facing his side as he drove.

“Okay, Thorne, you’re on,” hoping he hadn’t been pulling my leg because I would certainly welcome the help in getting those exams out of my way and the notion of turning in term grades tomorrow morning had no small amount of appeal. His eyes never left the road as he pulled onto the Interstate, but he nodded briskly.

“Okey dokey. We get to your place – you show me around the new house – we order take-out, grade your exams, figure term grades, and you turn them in tomorrow morning. After that, I get your undivided attention at tomorrow’s briefing, and we’ll let the rest of the week sort itself out. Fair enough?” Sounded good to me, and I nodded.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Terry …and thanks.” He turned briefly to smile at me and got the first full smile from me that he’d had thus far. He turned back to the road, speaking softly as he did.

“You should smile more often, Reagan. I’ve not seen that smile in yonks, and it’s a good look on you.” That was when I realized that I’d probably been frowning ever since he arrived and felt immediately guilty. I’d never make a good poker player; my every emotion shows on my face, at least that’s the case in my personal life. My professional life is a completely different issue, but this was personal, and I had amends to make. I reached across the console and touched his arm.

“Terry?”

“Um hmm?”

“I’m sorry …could we start over? I truly am happy to have you here.” He took one hand off the steering wheel and took mine in his, squeezing it and placing it on his thigh, his holding it there firmly.

“Yes, we can. And I’m sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“You haven’t really. I’m always out of sorts at the end of the term. I hate scoring final exams and figuring grades. I get so annoyed at those students who don’t do well, and who could have if they had just put in a bit of true effort.” I stopped for a moment, and realized that I hated poor grades because it was a reflection on my abilities as a professor. I knew that I was good at my job, and I took each low grade personally. I started again. “It’s just that when they don’t do well ….”

“It reflects on you, and that upsets you,” he said, and I nodded.

“Same here …when a job goes wrong, even if I’ve done my best, it’s still my responsibility, my call, and I take it very hard.” His thumb stroked over my hand softly. “Guess we’re pretty much alike in that regard.” I nodded again, thinking back on the time when I had been one of his “responsibilities,” and he picked up the pieces. He squared his shoulders suddenly, as if giving himself a mental shake before speaking again.

“So tell me, Love. How do you like life as an academic, rather than being in the trenches?” That was a loaded question if I’d ever heard one, but I wasn’t about to give him the immediate satisfaction of knowing that he’d hit a nerve.

“I’m enjoying it …it’s different, less stressful ….” My voice trailed off into silence and, of course, he wouldn’t let it go.

“Ever consider opening a private practice again?” Why did I know he was asking questions to which he already knew the answers? The man was there when my life went south, so why in Hell was he dragging it up now?

“No. And do not go there, Terry.” He nodded briefly before speaking again.

“What about a return to profiling?” A chill ran down my spine, remembering my days as a profiler, so sure that I could change the world, given the opportunity. I’d found out I couldn’t, and in the worst possible way, and Terry had been there when I learned that. I stuffed that memory back into its closet and slammed the door shut before it could worm its way out. He was watching me from the corner of his eyes, and I knew I had to answer him. Damn the man!

“Forget it, Terry, please.” Fat chance of that happening.

“You can’t hide from the past forever, Reagan.”

I took a deep breath, fighting down the nausea that was rising fast as my monster clawed his way out of that frigging closet and back into my consciousness. I was biting my lip in an effort to keep the tears from forming. Why did he have to bring that up again?

“I’m not hiding from it, Terry. I just don’t want to do it any longer.”

“And you don’t like talking about it.” Gee, you think? I wanted to slap him at that moment.

“I would think that’s rather obvious.” He nodded.

“Love, you couldn’t have changed what happened; none of us could.” The tears spilled over, and a sudden wave of nausea hit me full force; it was all I could do to get the words out before I threw up in the Jeep.

“Pull over, Terry, now!” Thank God he takes direction well and reacts immediately. He did as I asked, pulling onto the shoulder of the Interstate as I threw open the door and leaned out, loosing my lunch, breakfast, and any remains of anything that had been in my stomach for the last ten years or so. He put on the flashers and was out of the Jeep in a heartbeat and at my side, holding my head and reaching across to unlatch my seat harness then helping me out of the Jeep and onto the pavement where I collapsed on my knees, bracing on my hands as I dry-heaved by the side of the road. He was on his knees beside me, holding my hair away from my face and, once I’d stopped heaving, gave me his handkerchief to wipe my face before helping me back into the Jeep and standing there in the door, stroking my hair and talking softly.

“I’m sorry, Reagan. I didn’t think it would upset you this much now …it’s been what? Four years?” I nodded slowly and he leaned across me again, fastening the seat harness, then got in, putting the Jeep in gear and heading toward my home. He looked over at me as we sped through the night.

“She was seven, right?” Clearly, he wasn’t going to drop it, and as I’d never be ready to talk about it, I figured I might as well get it done now so that he would leave it alone.

“She would have been …in two more weeks.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Reagan. He would have killed her, regardless of what you could have done. We all knew that …you just didn’t want to think about it.” Perhaps he was right, but I’d never stopped beating myself up over her death; I probably never would.

“I was the profiler, Terry. Her life was in my hands. It was my job to know what was going on inside his head.” He shook his head.

“No, Love. Your job to give us the best possible reading on what he was likely to do under the circumstances, and you did that. I was there, remember?”

“I remember.”

“You had no way of knowing the SWAT Team would go in without talking to you before they made the decision to move. Reagan, I was the negotiator, and I had no idea they were planning to go in that night. If they had told you their plan and listened to your reasons for not moving when they did, she would probably be alive. You did the best you could under horrific circumstances. Sometimes people like you and I have to be content with that. Sometimes, it’s all people like you and I have.” I should have heard the pain in his voice, but didn’t.

I nodded wearily as he pulled into my driveway and ran up the garage door, pulling inside and closing it before he got out of the car. I sat there, staring into space, back four years, remembering her face, until he opened the door and took my hand in his. I unfastened my harness and got out of the car and leaned into his strength, my arms going around his waist and just lay my head on his shoulder. His arms pulled me in, holding me tightly for a moment, stroking my hair with one hand. Terry Thorne is an entity unto himself; he can be as tough as nails, and then so unbearably tender that he breaks your heart with it.

He still had my keys in his hand and unlocked the door. Of course, the dogs were all over him, and he laughed as they bounced around, and then followed him to the back door where he shooed them out before returning to the Jeep for his luggage and brought it in. Barrett had been a puppy the last time Terry visited, but remembered him as well as Sophie and Jack did. I was still standing in the kitchen when he returned and raised an eyebrow at me. I nodded and led him down the hall to the guest bedroom. He put his bags on the luggage stand and looked around, grinning as he did. Before I could say anything, he walked over to me and took me in his arms, looking at me.

“It’s been a while since I’ve slept in this antique bed of yours …wonder if I’ll fall out like I did last time?” I finally laughed. That had been worth the price of admission. That bed is a three-quarter bed, and he’d rolled over in his sleep and right off – and it’s a three-foot drop to the floor – landing with a solid “thump” that had wakened me from a dead sleep. I’d told him at the time that he was lucky he didn’t break his dick when he landed, and we laughed now at the memory. He looked at me for a moment before speaking again.

“Forget take-out. Why don’t I do us up a pair of omelets? I still know how to cook.” I wasn’t going to pass on that offer …just think about Terry in an apron and domestic mode. No woman could pass up that visual. Besides, he does make great omelets.

He tugged me back into the kitchen, sat me in one of the chairs at my kitchen table and took over. Jacket off and tossed on the sofa, opening the pantry and checking what was there, then the refrigerator, and removing bacon, bread, butter, fresh mushrooms, milk, cheese and putting them on the counter. He took eggs from the basket on the counter and an onion from the hanging basket beside the sink, then pulled a skillet from the cabinet beside the stove and turned back to me. Even though this was his first time in my new home, he knew me well enough to figure out where everything was, and what he didn’t know, I’d no doubt he would figure out in short order.

“Mushroom, onion, and cheese omelet do it for you?” I grinned as I looked at him.

“Sure, as long as you’re cooking,” and he laughed.

“Don’t get used to it …I only do this for damsels in distress. And tonight you qualify.” He took glasses out of the cabinet and got the scotch bottle from the bar, poured, and turned back to me. “I obviously hit a nerve back there.” Well, he had certainly managed that. I hadn’t even talked with my closest friend about my days as a profiler; it was one of those things that I’d left behind me and closed the door. Terry put bacon in the skillet and set it to the side before turning back to me.

“A couple more questions, then I’ll drop it, I promise.” Christ, he just wouldn’t let it go. I nodded wearily, knowing it would do no good to tell him to shut up at this point.

“Have you ever considered going back into profiling …say on a private consulting basis?” Was the man crazy? After what I’d been through and the results, what possible motivation could I have for wanting to put myself through that particular Hell again? I shook my head vehemently.

“No, I haven’t, and I’ve no desire to do it again, so get that notion out of your head, Thorne.” Too little and way too late; he was going to force the issue and didn’t even bother to play his trump gracefully.

“And if a child was involved …?” My head had been down, studying my nails, but now it snapped up so fast you could almost hear it, and I was on my feet in a heartbeat, in his face as he stood leaning casually against my kitchen counter. My hand came back without any conscious thought on my part and I slapped him, hard, across the face as the words tumbled from my lips.

“Damn you, Terry Thorne!” I would be there in an instant and he knew it, but right now I was as angry as I’d ever been in my life and as my right hand came back again, he caught it in his left, his right hand grabbing my left arm as it came up, fingers out and nails flashing like talons. Before I realized what was happening, my arms were behind my back and he was leaning over me, kissing me hard. I could feel his arousal through his jeans and my own. He was hard, demanding, totally male, and suddenly I was returning his kiss, full out, wanting nothing more than to feel him inside me, insistent and unrelenting, pounding, carrying both of us to fulfillment, helping me erase the memories of that child I’d let down.

He never stopped kissing me but his hands released my arms and went to the bottom of my shirt, pulling it roughly from my waistband, as my own struggled with his. Moving apart only long enough to rip off our shirts, and then his hands were at my belt and mine were tugging at his, wanting nothing more than joining, hard and furious, right then, right there, with none of the niceties we’d had on past occasions. His erection sprang into my hands as I ran down the zip on his jeans. Some things never change, and Terry being commando is probably one of them. I felt rather than saw his hands shove my jeans down, thumbs hooking into my knickers and taking them down with my jeans, as he shoved me against the pantry door, and raised one foot at a time to get me out of them as he kicked his own away.

His hands went under my buttocks raising me up to his height, as my legs came up and around his waist. His lips moved down my neck, leaving a hot, searing, wet trail of kisses. My hands were in his hair, and then his thrust upward, entering me roughly, as he plunged to my core. I think I screamed …partly from pain and partly from the sudden rush of satisfaction as his girth stretched me, filling me, and I held on for dear life as he thrust again, driving me back again and into the smooth wall of the pantry door.

Even though this was far from the first time we’d had sex, it was as if we’d both been waiting for this one moment since the day I looked up and saw him standing at my desk all those years ago at Quantico. It seemed we’d been waiting for this one joining, now, in this time, and it couldn’t happen quickly enough to satisfy either of us. I was groaning my pleasure and felt that sudden, almost electrical thrill radiating out from my core, spreading throughout my body just before I tripped over the edge, biting into Terry’s shoulder as I felt his breath hitch, and he exploded right behind me. Holding onto each other so tightly, shaking with the exertion, sweat-drenched, as he lowered me to my feet and held me tightly against his chest, feeling his heart pounding next to mine, his forehead resting on mine as we fought for air. Suddenly he was picking me up and carrying me down the hallway to my bedroom and placing me on the bed, lying beside me, his head on my shoulder as he cuddled into me like a lost child …and in many ways, he was just that. I held him close, stroking his back, his shoulders, and let him cry, just …loving him, as gently as I could. It was as if he had let go of something that he’d been holding in, much as I held in the memory of that child.

It all came out then. A recent trip to Thailand, the months of negotiation, communications breaking down, and Terry’s final reality that if he didn’t go in after the man, he would die. There had been six men on the team that went in; they got the hostage out, but three of Terry’s men died in the process. He’d never had a loss like that, not even in his SAS days. Everything that could possibly have gone wrong had done so. Two of the three who died were single; the third was married – less than a year - and hadn’t told Terry, else Terry would have replaced him. He’d written a letter to his wife and given it to one of his friends on the team; Terry found out when the man showed him the letter and the photo of the widow …she was six months pregnant.

Sex that night with Terry was the closest I’d ever come to having been raped but in reality, it would have been difficult to determine who was raping whom. We were two people in pain. Terry’s was his anguish over the loss of his team members and pain for the widow and her unborn child, a child who would never know her father. Mine was the ever present pain over that lost child, a child I felt I had sacrificed on the alter of my ambition …and we understood each other’s pain that night. How many people had both of us sacrificed along the road to our success? The only real difference between us was that I couldn’t live with it, couldn’t continue to put myself in that position on a daily basis, and had left profiling; he couldn’t live without being on the edge, and so he stayed in, living off the adrenalin, and now he was paying for it. I felt moisture on my shoulder where his head lay, and I pulled back to look at him, tears still slipping from beneath his closed eyelids. Now I have to tell you the truth here. I can be an incredible hard ass, but when a man cries, well …shit! It just totally fucking does me in. And here he was, crying into my shoulder, getting my pillow shams wet with his tears.

“Terry …talk to me. This needs to come out. You can’t keep it bottled inside.”

“You have …for four years. There’s no good talking about it; it won’t help.”

“Of course it will. It’s damming it up behind walls that won’t help.” I sat up cross-legged, Indian style and looked at him. His eyes opened and he looked at me warily.

“I said it won’t help.” He was brushing me off, and that was absolutely the wrong thing to do.

“It will, if you’re honest. Or are you too much of a coward to face your own demons, to admit that you’re not perfect, that you can’t foresee every possibility and forestall it? I’d thought better of you, Thorne,” and got off the bed, heading toward the kitchen to retrieve my clothes and dress. I got perhaps three steps down the hall before he caught up with me, grabbing me roughly by the arm, jerking me around to face him. His eyes were blazing as he looked at me.

“I’m not a coward, and you fucking well know it!”

“Anyone who can’t – or won’t – face their own demons is a coward in my book, Thorne, take it or leave it. There’s a good deal more to both bravery and cowardice than courage under fire, and we both know that.” I pulled away and made it to the kitchen where I started pulling on my clothes. Of course he followed me, almost literally breathing fire, grabbing my arm again and spinning me around while I had only one leg in my jeans, struggling to get them on as he wasn’t about to let me go this time.

“Fuck you, Thorne! Let me go long enough to get my jeans on!” He did let go, but not without a good shake first. And then I laughed …wrong thing to do, I know, but he really was such a sight. Standing there, breathing fire at me, and sporting an erection the size of Australia …funny what anger does to a man, isn’t it? I struggled into my jeans, glaring at him as he stood there, breathing as hard as if he’d been running for a mile.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about what really happened out there!”

“Like Hell I don’t, I know every fucking bit of it …every nuance, every emotion, all of it, because I’ve been there, too!” I shot the words back at him, furious now, and spitting fire.

“Do you think for one moment that just because I was in my safe little office at Quantico that I didn’t feel that child’s terror? Do you honestly believe that her mother and father’s anguish wasn’t mine, and still is? Do you think a day goes by that I don’t see her face and know that I was part and parcel of her destruction? God, what an egocentric, conceited ass you are!” At that moment I was ready to put him back on that bloody helicopter skid in Chechnya, dangling there with bullets and grenades exploding all around him. He dragged one hand through his hair as he spoke.

“I’ve spent weeks talking to a shrink about it, and it did no fucking good! My men are still dead, a wife is still a widow, and his daughter will never know her father. All she will ever know is that I got her father killed before she was even born!” Perhaps I should have let him off the hook with that, but I didn’t. Now I was Hell bent on getting through his self-imposed armor and making him confront his demons, with all their attendant ramifications.

“And did you shout at the shrink the way you’re shouting at me now? Christ, Terry, you likely shouted louder! And then rather than leaving everything alone for a while so that you could come to your senses and allow yourself time to sort through your grief and do the work to get past it, you’re here for a briefing tomorrow, getting ready to go right back out into the field. You’re damaged goods right now, Terry, and you’re no good to anyone – least of all yourself – in this condition!” Now I was shouting as loudly as he was, both of us standing there struggling with zips and buttons, and I was absolutely white with rage.

By the time I’d finished my rant, I was shaking all over and had tears streaming down my face. Yes, I love Terry Thorne, and he loves me. We both know that we couldn’t make a go of a long-term relationship with each other, but the depth of our friendship was infinite. Now I was afraid for him, desperately afraid of what would happen to this wretchedly unhappy and tormented man if he went back into the field with his burden of guilt.

I stood there, watching him as I saw his anger dissipate, saw his shoulders slump and watched that proud and sometimes arrogant man disintegrate in front of me. I saw the tears form in his eyes as he began to shake life a leaf in a hurricane as he reached for me, pulling me in so tightly to his body that I could hardly breathe, and I just held onto him. If I hadn’t, I think he’d have collapsed onto the floor. I could feel the gut-wrenching sob as it tore itself out of him, and he sobbed into my shoulder like a wounded child. And then the words began pouring out of him, like a child describing the monster under the bed to a concerned and loving parent …fractured, disjointed, so heartwrenchingly painful for me to hear, and even more so for him to say.

“I killed him, Reagan, as surely as if I’d put the gun to his head. I sensed something was different than when he’d worked with me last, but I didn’t take the time to find out what it was. Jesus …if I’d only asked him, he’d have told me. I’d have cut him from the team, and he’d be alive today.” I held him as he cried, swaying gently to and fro with him in my arms, trying to comfort him in the aftermath of my outburst, part of me wanting to take back the hurtful words, but the rest of me knowing that someone had to say them, and I’d elected myself. My own anger was now gone, and I knew that I could help him rebuild his life, if he would let me. I had to make an effort to get him to work with me, had to try and get him past the guilt of his own survival. It’s relatively easy to help someone you know only as a client and see no more than once or twice a week, someone with whom you have only a professional relationship. When it’s someone you care about, it’s agony because you’re terrified that what you say might be misinterpreted, misunderstood, and the ramifications would be devastating. Tomorrow perhaps I could get him to talk rationally to me …tonight, the wound was too raw, his hurt too deep.

Terry was exhausted, mentally and emotionally as well as physically, and tonight he needed to sleep. He would be here for a week unless the results of tomorrow’s briefing entered the pipeline sooner than he’d anticipated, and he had to leave early. As for tonight, none of it mattered. I dragged him back to bed and held him until he drifted off to sleep, then crept out of bed and back to the kitchen. I’d get dinner almost ready and wake him long enough to eat, then get him back in to bed for a long sleep. Everything looks better in the clear light of morning, now doesn’t it? Yeah …that’s what I’d always thought, too. And trust me to fuck up my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have Terry Thorne cook for me.

He wandered in a couple of hours later, blinking and yawning just as I was about to pour the eggs into the pan to scramble. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and came up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Reagan. I know that won’t make your hurt or anger at how I’ve treated you thus far go away, but I truly do apologize. The man who threw you up against the door and then had that Christ-awful fight with you really isn’t me. Think we might start again?”

He turned me around, took the dish of raw eggs from my hand, and put it on the counter as he looked deeply in my eyes. I leaned up and kissed him softly.

“It’s all right, Terry. I know where the anger and hurt that are driving you just now are coming from, and I don’t blame you for them, any more than you blame me for the same things. You’ll work it out in time …and I’ll try and help, if you’ll let me.”

He just stood there looking at me before he spoke.

“Maybe I need another shrink to help me sort this all out. Every time I think about it, I either get so fucking angry at myself that I’m useless, or I buy a bottle and get totally pissed. Not very productive coping mechanisms, those two, are they?”

“Not really, but sometimes it’s all we can manage. We all do the best we can with the equipment we have at any given point in time. But perhaps while you’re here, we can work on a few more adaptive coping skills and displace some of the more maladaptive ones?” I grinned up at him as he tugged at his lip.

“Yeah, we could maybe give it a go …but not tonight. I still owe you that omelet I promised you a couple of hours ago. And thanks for doing the grunt work,” he said, gesturing to the cutting board with its load of chopped onions and mushrooms, and grated cheese. He took the bowl of eggs from my hand and walked to the stove, turning back to me with that Terry Thorne smirk that I love so well.

“Watch and learn, Love. This is how a man does an omelet for his woman.” And watch I did. I have a confession to make here. As good a cook as I am, I’ve never been good at omelets …just don’t seem to have the correct wrist action – or whatever it requires - to flip them, and always end up with just interesting scrambled eggs.

Terry was a master. How many bachelors do you know who are fully functional in a kitchen? I’d never have remotely imagined that his level of expertise approached what it did, and I’ve known him for years …he’s just never offered to cook when we were together in the past. As I pulled the toast from the toaster and put it on the plates, he was dishing up two perfect omelets, added a dollop of sour cream, dusted paprika on their tops, and walked to the table with the plates. He balanced both plates in his left hand while pulling out my chair with his right, then sat my plate in front of me and sat down across the table from me, grinning like a little boy as he waited on my pronouncement.

“It looks wonderful, Terry …but there’s one thing missing.” Ohhhh …big frown at that.

“What?” The Master was clearly displeased with my comment.

I was already up and into the pantry, and back in my chair almost before he managed to get the word out completely, and I waved the bottle of Tabasco in front of him.

“Terry, you know real Texans can’t eat anything with an egg in it without drowning it in Tabasco or picante sauce …I think there’s a law about it somewhere,” and proceeded to sprinkle it liberally over my omelet. He almost winced as he watched, and then laughed.

“A work of art, and you drown it in Tabasco. I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended.” I chewed the first bite and rolled my eyes at him. It truly was wonderful.

“Laugh, Thorne. It’s easier, and besides, the Tabasco just enhances the flavor of the omelet. Here, try it and see.” I suspected that he had no objection to the heat of the Tabasco, but possibly that he’d just never tried it before. He took the bottle from me and dumped at least as much on his omelet, laughing as he did so, and then looked up at me, grinning.

“Gotcha!” And then we shared our second honest laugh since his arrival. Of course he liked Tabasco Sauce …as much time as he’s spent in South America and Asia, how could he not like pepper sauces? He reached across the table, taking my hand in his before he spoke.

“I was taking the piss, Reagan …you know that.” I smiled and nodded; I did know. The smile faded from his face before he spoke again.

“Reagan, …about earlier this evening ….”

“Terry, it took both of us; you certainly didn’t force me.”

“Sure seemed like it for a bit back there.” I looked at him for a moment before answering. I suppose it had never occurred to me that perhaps he didn’t actually know me as well as I thought he did.

“If I hadn’t wanted it as much as you did, nothing you could have done could have made me submit. You’d have had to kill me before I’d have let you rape me. There’s sex, there’s make-up sex, and then there’s angry sex …and that’s the life-affirming kind. I think tonight both of us needed that affirmation.” He looked at me long and hard then, as if thinking and measuring his words before speaking.

“I don’t recall ever having been that determined before. It was as if there was someone else inside me, and I couldn’t hold him back. I didn’t want to hold him in check.” Gosh, Thorne, tell me something I couldn’t figure out for myself!

“That was a two-way street, Terry. I didn’t want to hold back either.” The look I got in return would have melted a glacier. Do you know what it’s like to have a man as intense as Terry Thorne make that sort of admission to you? To have him look at you with those smoldering eyes, and that “come fuck me” look? It was all I could do not to crawl across the table, toss him onto the floor and fuck him to death at that moment. I settled for walking around the table and sat on his lap. His voice was low, almost ragged when he spoke.

“Reagan, for once in my life, I’ve no fucking clue as to what to do or say …so just let me hold you, okay?”

I nodded into his chest and just held onto him. I don’t know how long we sat there, clinging to each other, before he pulled back and with his hand in my hair tilted my face up to his. Eyes like rippling green fire as he looked at me, before his lips took mine. So softly, not teasing, but gently tugging, seeking entry, which I gave.

Lost in his kiss, feeling the fire start to move through me as I felt his response hard against my body, felt his hands move down my arms, then to my waist, coming to rest on my hips. He moved me off his lap and onto my feet, standing to meet me and looked deeply into my eyes when he spoke.

“I want you, Reagan …properly, in your bed. Let me make love to a woman I love and respect, like a man should, rather than throwing her against the door and fucking her senseless for his own gratification.” My kiss was my answer, and he knelt slightly, slipped one arm under my knees and picked me up, walking purposefully down the hall to my bedroom.

He lay me down on my bed as gently as if I were made of spun glass, then lay beside me, just watching. His hands were gentle as they unzipped my jeans and unbuttoned my blouse. Then raising my hips to get my jeans off, he tossed them aside before pulling me to a partial sitting position to remove my blouse. And that was all there was. I’d not bothered putting my underwear back on earlier, just struggled into blouse and jeans in an effort to regain some modicum of control over the situation at the moment. He leaned down and gently kissed my neck, trailing his fingers down my clavicle, to my breast, caressing softly before standing and removing his shorts, leaving them on the floor where he kicked out of them, and then lay beside me again.

Leaning over me, looking at me as intensely as I’d ever been looked at before he bent to kiss me, teasing with his tongue as I responded. One hand moving down my body again, followed by his lips, fingers of fire, stroking, lips blazing behind, so hot that I wondered before sanity and reason fled if I’d have burn marks tomorrow morning. I felt his hand at my juncture, gently pushing my legs apart and stroking me, opening me like a flower to the morning’s sun. I felt his chuckle as his fingers found me so ready for him as he moved down the bed, repositioning himself, then starting to kiss my leg, just behind my knee, bending my leg to facilitate his access.

“Your skin is so soft …like a child’s.” He moved up my leg, still kissing, and then moved to the other leg, repeating the process there, finally reaching my sex. He knelt between my legs as he moved my knees farther apart, spreading me with his hands and looking at me there, then back up to my eyes and finding his answer there. His head moving down, planting hot kisses just above my mons before moving downward, tongue reaching for me, and I gasped when he first made contact, arching uncontrollably up into his mouth. Licking softly at first, then sucking lightly before inserting one, then two fingers deep inside of me, stroking upward firmly, finding the spot; I felt him smile as I groaned. Sucking harder then, stroking faster, and suddenly I was there, spiraling out of control, coming on his fingers and his tongue, gasping my pleasure as he continued to carry me higher and higher into the spiral before my sensations spun out of control and I crashed back to Earth, panting out the end of my orgasm.

He moved slowly back up my body, his lips never leaving my skin and kissed me. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue, pulling him close and running my nails down his back as his rigid cock pressed into my belly.

“I need you, Reagan ….” I nodded weakly, as he leaned above me, stroking himself, then moving his shaft through my wetness before plunging deep inside of me, hilting himself fully. Resting there for a moment before he moved, and I moved to bring my legs up and around his waist, but his hands caught me, raising them higher, resting them on his shoulders, pulling almost completely out of me before plunging in again and starting to move. His voice so low, rough almost, as he braced above me.

“I want this to be good for you, Love, as good as I’m ever going to be able to make it for you.” How did he know that this position was absolutely the best one for me? How did he that position allowed him to hit my G-spot with every stroke he took, taking me higher and higher into the fire as he followed me there? My hands on his ass, fingers and nails digging in hard, pulling him closer, deeper, until we were there, calling his name as I spasmed around him, again and again. His voice hoarsely answering mine, feeling his thrusts shorten and quicken, felt the hitch in his breathing and his body, as his primal roar filled the room.

“Reagan, …oh God, have to come, …NOW!” Trying to brace himself above me, his arms shaking with the intensity of his coming, sweat pouring off him as he collapsed on top of me, moving my legs gently down and pulling me into his body as he rolled onto his back, holding me so close, so very close. I lay there, shaking with the intensity of what I’d just experienced. When I could breathe again, my hand moved slowly up his body to his face, tracing the line of his forehead, his brows, across his eyes, …and stopped. Tears. He took my hand and moved it to his mouth, softly kissing my palm, then moved it and lay it over his heart, covering it with his own. We took a simultaneous deep breath and then he spoke.

“I didn’t expect that,” speaking quietly, softly, as his hand stroked mine.

“What?” I whispered.

“To feel quite like that. Didn’t think I still could after …you know. I didn’t think I could ever feel again. Maybe there is still some feeling remaining in this battered heart of mine.” I raised up on my elbow so that I could see his face.

“I think there is more feeling in your heart, and your soul, than you give yourself credit for, Terry. You’re a man of passionate and deeply felt emotions. You just don’t often give yourself permission to truly feel them …and certainly not to express them verbally.” He nodded slowly.

“Maybe you’re right.” Silence. He seemed lost in thought and I was almost asleep before he spoke again.

“Reagan?”

“Um hmm?”

“Could I come back? From time to time when I need a place to hide and regroup. Spend a bit of time with you, sort of like a family? Get to really know you other than primarily on a professional basis? That’s something I’ve not had since before I left my parents’ home to go to University.” I was stunned at the depth of his emotion, not to mention his request. I rose back up on my elbow and pushed myself into a sitting position, again sitting cross-legged as I had earlier in the evening, and leaning over to flip on the light beside the bed. He was watching me like a tiger about to pounce, totally focused but wary, as if he feared my response.

“Of course you can, Terry. I’d like that …a lot.” That little boy grin was suddenly back on his face.

“Thank Christ …don’t know what I’d have done if you’d said no.” He reached over me and turned off the light, tugging me back down and into his arms again, holding me close. Just before I slept, I heard his soft whisper in my ear.

“Thanks, Reagan.” I slept through the night, waking up still in his arms and knowing this would be a new day for both of us.

Terry

I don’t know what it is about Reagan that made me actually open up to her. Well, yes, I do, at least I know intellectually; at the emotional, gut level, I’m still not completely sure. Perhaps I never will. That’s something I’ve never done in my entire adult life; just never trusted anyone, man or woman, enough until this time with her. Somehow, she manages to inspire your trust and your confidence like no one I’ve ever known.

After the initial explosion the night I got there, I found myself telling her things I don’t think I’ve ever told another living soul, not even Dino. I felt as if I’d received some sort of absolution, though she didn’t extract any penance, and that’s just as well. I may have been raised Catholic, but I’m a long way from the Confessional these days and don’t need a priest telling me I need to atone for my sins. I’m painfully aware of the sins I’ve committed in my life; I don’t need a priest to bludgeon me for them, and I know I can be a difficult bastard.

I’ve not brought it up to her yet, but I fully intend recruiting Reagan to work with Dino and me on a consulting basis. There have been times enough in the past that having a profiler on the case would have saved us enough time in negotiations that we might have brought home a few more people alive than we did. One reason for my trip to Dallas this time was to lay the groundwork for that. That briefing I asked her to attend with me wasn’t so much for my benefit – though I did want her read on a couple of the men there, and knew I’d get an honest one from her – as to get her back into the swim of it all. I know I have my work cut out for me and, yes, I’ll enlist Dino’s charms in recruiting her, and I make no apologies for that. I’ll do whatever it takes, within reason and the bounds of decency, to assemble the best team I can in order to bring home as many hostages as we can, safe and unharmed, to their families.

Hopefully, we won’t need her skills too often, but Dino and I would rest easier knowing that she was available if we needed her. While her initial response to my query about a return to profiling had been an outright “NO,” we’ve opened up a lot more to each other this last week than ever in the past. I won’t use my patter to get what I want from Reagan – which I often do with those who don’t know me as well as she does - because she’d see through that in a heartbeat and tell me to go fuck myself. I’ll use logic, as she did with me that week I spent at her home, until I get her to follow the matter through “to its logical conclusion” (as she’s so fond of saying). Once that’s done, I think she’ll agree.

We spent the rest of the week talking each other through our demons; I think we’re both better for the experience. We were at it almost continually. I don’t think I’ve ever talked as much in my life. About myself, what drives me, what scares the shit out of me, what tears me up inside, and how I feel about my work. I think I’ve come to peace with more of it than I’d ever have believed possible. Realistically, I suppose I spent a week in intense one-on-one therapy, and truly believe I’ve come out of it a better man.

In truth, that week with Reagan was one of the more painful and at the same time, more enriching experiences I’ve ever had. She’s a wonderful woman, with a heart that’s even bigger than the State she calls home. She’s apples in my book, and I’m a lucky bastard to have a mate like her; I don’t know what I’d have done at this point in my life if she weren’t the woman she is, if she hadn’t had the skill to get me to look inside myself. God, I’m listening to myself on the tape I’ve made of my musings, and I’m wallowing in it, aren’t I? Well, someone once said confession is good for the soul; seems they were right.

She walked me to the departure gate at the airport the day I left Dallas. I pulled her in close and just held her for a tic before I kissed her goodbye.

“Can I stay with you the next time I’m in Dallas?” She laughed.

“You just try booking into a hotel and see how long it takes me to abduct you!” I smiled.

“Promise?”

“Scouts’ honor …assuming they have any left.” I hadn’t heard that particular phrase since I was a kid in Oz and laughed as I leaned down to kiss her again. She watched me walk down the jet way, and I turned and waved at her before I stepped into the plane and she was lost from my sight.

Reagan

The day after Terry left, I went into my home office to clear out the remains of the semester just past, and found the bombshell waiting for me. Right in the middle of my keyboard was a blue exam book …just like the ones Terry had helped me score while he was here. I had a moment of panic, thinking I’d overlooked a student’s final exam before realizing that all of them were accounted for in good order. Picking it up, I looked at the student information on the cover.

Student Name: Terrence Thorne

Subject: Graduate Humanities 6303 – Final Exam

Date: 7^th May 2005 (the first day of the rest of my Life)

What in the world was the man up to? I sat down at my desk, opened the booklet, and began to read. As usual, Terry was brief, but totally focused and on point. Suffice it to say I wasn’t prepared for the eloquence that took my breath away, or for the depth of emotion in his words.

Reagan,

How do you thank someone for helping you turn your life around in one short week? It seems the only way I could truly thank you would be to hold you close to me and keep you safe for the rest of your life …a task I would embrace, but I know you wouldn’t allow any man to shelter you that much. Thanks for helping me see my reality and act on it.

I know there’s a man out there who can live up to the promise that you need from him. Unfortunately – for me – I’m not that man and never will be. When you find him, I want to meet him and tell him just how fucking fortunate he is.

I’ve never been as at peace with myself as I am now, after this time with you. You’ve taught me not only how to reach within myself for strengths I didn’t know I had, but also how to deal with my weaknesses and flaws without being afraid that they would consume me. Facing them straight on is the only way to get through them, and I know that now …probably always did, but I needed someone strong enough to hit me over the head with the reality before I’d act on it, and you were – are – more than equal to the task. No more running away from my demons, and that’s a promise I willingly give you. I don’t know how it will go the next time I’m in a situation like the one that nearly did me in, but I do know that when that day arrives, I’ll be better prepared to deal with it than I was this last time.

Take care of yourself, Love, and know that I will always carry you in my heart. Stay safe.

Terry

P. S. How am I doing, Professor? Did I pass the course?

I closed the book and smiled through my tears as I sat there for a moment. Reaching for the red marking pen in my pen stand, I placed a large “A” on the cover.