9

Late that night, Blanc was awoken by a crashing outside.  His eyes popped open, and he quickly pulled himself up and climbed over a half-asleep Sheila.  She sat up behind him, blearily mumbling, “What happened?”

Without replying, he crossed quickly to the door and opened it a couple of inches.  He pressed his emotionless face against the wood and looked out, seeing a pair of guards making their way down the hallway, bursting into each room.  Very sloppy.  As always before in similar situations, his mind moved fast.  He had a habit of being reckless and going into situations without a plan, and then thinking of a brilliant one within seconds of its use.  

     This plan came to him quickly as he crossed the room.  He put himself in the shoes of his enemy, and knew what they were looking for.  He paused next to the bed and asked a concerned Sheila, “Do you still want that kiss?”

     “What?” she sounded shocked and puzzled.  

     He laughed and threw back the covers as he said, “Guards are coming, looking for a prisoner and captor.  Not a couple.”

     Her eyes widened as he straddled her and tugged the covers over them.  Still in shock but afraid to protest, she put her arms around his neck, avoiding his tortured back as he began to kiss her throat, his chain resting cold and heavy on her chest and his lips warm and moist on her skin.  This was almost awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice, so Sheila pushed it out of her mind.  He had one hand gently massaging her hip, and the other cradling the side of her face that was on the side of the door.  The pile of clothes next to the bed, actually their old clothes, would lead intruders to believe that there was much more going on under the covers than the reality, which was practically nothing.  

      The door smashed open, and the two guards looked in, focusing on the couple.  Blanc, really getting into it, had his rough face buried against her throat and didn’t seem to notice the men, but only grunted softly, his breath hot and fast on her neck.  Sheila looked over at them through Blanc’s calloused fingers, and shouted in mock surprise, “Hey!”

     Blanc turned and looked at them, his face still partially hidden behind Sheila’s arm around his neck.  “Hey, man, get outta here!” he said, sounding highly offended.  The guards blinked stupidly, then backed out and shut the door, chuckling.  The whole thing had been completely natural.

     Blanc sat up, looking at the door.  He grinned and nodded self-indulgently.  “Oh yeah.  Real smooth,” he said, proud of his quick thinking and good acting (it had been very good acting).

     Sheila jabbed him in the chest, saying, “Would you get offa me?” for he was still straddling her stomach.  He crawled quickly to his side of the bed, still happy for himself.

     After a moment, Blanc said enthusiastically, “Okay, let’s make this look real.”  He motioned for her to roll over, and she obliged, but warily.  He lay down half on top of her, and placed a hand on the far side of her back, resting against the length of her body and relaxing instantly with a content sigh in her ear.

     Sheila lay there, half under him and half spooning with him.  He seemed to be asleep now, breathing softly against her ear, but she highly doubted it.  This situation seemed like it should be awkward, but no, not really.  It was all business, and it seemed to her that neither of them enjoyed this act or didn’t enjoy it.  But perhaps that was not entirely true.  Sheila rather did enjoy being here close to him, just feeling his warmth and security.  Then she remembered that he had kidnapped her and hurt her family.  

     She hadn’t thought about them in a long time.  She had been in a state of terror and had accepted Blanc’s claim that they were fine, but she recalled the dead silence of the house that night before she was caught between his arms and shipped away.  A big part of her knew that Blanc had shot the woman she thought of as her mother, and probably her brother Kyle, too, but it was covered by a bigger part of her mind that was in denial, and she much preferred to just not think about it.

     Several minutes later, the door opened again, but softer.  A guard said, “Oh, it’s this one,” and chuckled.

     The other joked, “I guess he doesn’t run that long,” and they both left, laughing.

When the door had clicked shut, Blanc lifted his head and murmured defensively, “I could run longer than those two put together!”

     Sheila consoled, “I bet you could,” and Blanc relaxed again, nuzzling his warm nose against the back of her ear.  The guards didn’t return but it was a while before Sheila could sleep.