An emergency rescue mission in Paris for the Stark Initiative leads Jo and Jeff to a conversation full of surprising revelations and an unexpected conclusion ...

Stark: Hammer Into Anvil
Part 1: Dropping A Dime
by Randalynn

"A confession has to be part of your new life." -- Ludwig Wittgenstein

###

The beautiful young woman stormed into the house on her three-inch heels, breasts bouncing delightfully under her yellow sundress. As she threw the two bags of groceries she carried down on the table by the door, a casual observer could see the blush on her cheeks made insignificant by a flushed redness that had nothing to do with make-up. Her full red lips were compressed into a thin slit, and her furrowed forehead pushed her thin arched eyebrows down slightly over her pale blue eyes. The artfully curled blonde hair that framed her face was slightly out of place, but nothing a few seconds with a mirror and a brush couldn't fix.

"Aunt Carrie, this has gone far enough!" she yelled. Her voice was high-pitched and sweetly feminine, but her intonation way too masculine for the proper young lady she appeared to be.

From the sofa across the room, a low voice laughed. "I think that's my choice, Brenda." An older woman in a gray suit, Carrie crossed her legs and took a sip of cognac. "It's always been my choice."

"It's Brendan, and you know it." The younger woman put her fists on her hips, her legs spread wide. The tan bag hanging from her shoulder swung for a moment, then settled in the triangle between her elbow, the curve of her hip, and her right breast.

"It's Brenda until I say otherwise," Carrie replied evenly. "And whether I do say otherwise depends entirely on your cooperation. So, Brenda, you will adopt a more ladylike tone this instant. Or would you like me to send those pictures of you in my lingerie off to your teachers or the student newspaper at that ivy-league college you attend? Maybe to all of your friends? I think their e-mail addresses are in that laptop of yours I gave to my friend Madeline. She'll be happy to send them out for me."

"You dressed me in that stuff," he growled, even though it sounded like an angry kitten. "After drugging the wine we toasted with my first night here."

"Yes, well, you know that and I know that." She smiled. "But as far as everyone else will know, I caught you dressing in my things. And you confessed that you had always wanted to be a woman, and this was your first chance to dress in so long. Naturally, being my favorite nephew, I simply had to let you experience your feminine side fully while you were here."

"That's your story," Brendan said scornfully.

"Yes, it is," she replied with a grin. "And it's the only story anyone will believe -- especially after your friends see all of the pictures I took along the way. You prancing about the house in your baby doll nightie, getting your makeover at Mimi's salon, topless with that delightfully perfect faux bosom glued to your chest. Enchanting, dear! Oh, and you smiling in every picture, dear. Always smiling!"

"You set those all up. You made me smile." He looked down, biting his lip. A thin line of red appeared on his teeth, and Carrie tsked at him.

"Lipstick, darling," she said crossly. "Don't get it on your teeth. It makes you look cheap."

He looked up, eyes flashing. "I don't care about the damned lipstick. You threatened me with those lingerie pics! You set up all those pictures and made me smile for them. It was blackmail."

"I'm sure it's only blackmail if there's money or property involved, Brenda. I haven't asked for a cent of your inheritance, and I won't. That would be ... illegal. Threatening you with exposure to force you to dress as a woman has no criminal penalty that I'm aware of." Carrie smiled another lazy smile. "It’s just fun."

"And that date with George last weekend?" Brendan's voice dropped to a trembling whisper. "Was that fun for you, too?

Carrie laughed. "Oh, yes, Brenda darling. And fun for George, as well, according to this statement he wrote for me." She waved the paper at him. "He told me on the phone this morning how happy he was with your performance. He said, and I quote, 'she gives awesome head for a fake chick.' The whole story goes well with the photos and videos of the other night."

Brendan's eyes went wide, terrified. "WHAT?"

"Oh, you didn't think I'd set up a date for you with George and not watch, did you?" Carrie uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. "I have recordings of everything. Of course, I edited out the part where George threatened to expose you to those thugs in the park if you didn't comply. Wouldn't want the truth getting in the way of more grist for the mill. Wouldn't want you running after losing your ...virginity, so to speak." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "Of course, you haven't really, yet. That comes later."

"Later? What ...?"

She held up her hand. "Shhhhhhh. No need to get upset. It's already decided. There's really nothing you can do. After a few more dates with George and a few of his friends, I thought I'd help you find a place of your own. A single woman like yourself shouldn't be living with her aunt. You need to go out, meet people. Men, actually. There are brothels in this town where girls like you are sought after ... lusted for. I thought we'd give you some nice real breasts -- well, certainly better than what you have. Maybe even bigger." She smiled. "Buy you a nice slutty wardrobe to show them off, and get you a room of your own where you can ... entertain gentleman callers. Let some stranger ... what's the term you real men use? 'Pop your cherry?' For cold hard cash, of course -- a working girl shouldn't give it away. Not that you'll see a cent, darling. I'll make sure you're kept penniless and demoralized, like a good whore should be."

"I don't have to stay for any of this. I've got money," he said with a touch of desperation. "I'll run."

"You have no way to get your hands on any of it," she replied sweetly. "Not looking like that. No passport ... no real ID, actually. You can't even leave the country, let alone cash a check."

"I'll call my banker in Boston! He'll help!"

"Silly girl! Sounding like that?" She laughed out loud. "He'll most likely call the gendarmes on you for trying to perpetrate a fraud. No one has ever heard of that chemical cocktail I made you drink to tighten your vocal chords. I assure you it's quite permanent, without the counter-agent. And since I have the only sample of that, I guarantee you'll never be a tenor again."

"I'll go to the police! I'll tell them everything!"

"And I'll deny it, of course. 'My nephew? Oh, I don't think so. He was supposed to come visit me, but he hasn't arrived yet. And he certainly doesn't dress like this. It's absurd!' And if I am called down to the headquarters to answer these ridiculous charges, I'm sure Madeline can insert the appropriate criminal record for a she-male hooker and con artist named Brenda into the police files. With your pictures, and of course your fingerprints, darling. We took them that first night, while you slept."

She took another drag on her cigarette. "Besides, once they find the body of that drifter with your wallet and passport, everyone will know Brendan's dead. Poor thing ... burned beyond recognition over most of his body in that warehouse fire last night. Had a devil of a time figuring out the best way to burn him so the passport stayed mostly intact."

The young man dropped into an overstuffed chair across from his aunt and put his head in his hands. The long blonde hair fell forward, hiding his face.

"You murdered somebody? For THIS? This is crazy! I've never done ANYTHING to you. Before my parents died, they never even mentioned you to me. Then you call out of the blue, and I come to Paris for the summer thinking I have family again. You drug me, change my voice, steal my passport and money, dress me up like this ... You're going to turn me into a whore? For what? Why are you doing this to me? Why?"

"Because you're a man, and I hate men." Brendan raised his head and looked into Carrie's eyes from across the room. She smiled. "Because you trusted me and I betrayed you, as every man I've ever known has betrayed me, in his day. Because I've been powerless and I've had power, and believe me, power is better. Because making a man experience the indignity of being a woman, the sheer powerless of being someone else's toy because of an accident of birth, is something I've always wanted to do. When you fell into my lap, so to speak, I had to act." Her eyes glittered. "You're mine!"

From the hallway to the master bedroom, came the sound of a lone pair of hands, clapping. A stunningly beautiful woman walked into the room smiling, still applauding.

"And act you have, Carrie, dear," she said in a voice that could make any man melt. "An amazing performance, trying to frighten the poor boy with tales of his terrible future. Very scary."

"But it wasn't a performance at all, was it? You really are the twisted bitch you were portraying just now. And that's the most frightening part of the show." Her eyes narrowed, and the smile disappeared. “But it’s my show now, I think. And you’re not the star anymore. Just a bit player, after all.”

Suddenly, Carrie was angry. "Who ... who are you? What are you doing in my home?"

The woman turned to her, and Carrie's anger turned quickly to confusion when she saw the chill in those eyes. "My name is Stark. My friends call me Jo. But since I consider you one of the lowest forms of life on the planet, I'd prefer it if you didn't speak my name at all."

Carrie's mouth dropped open, and Stark grinned suddenly, as if she was having the best time ever. "Close your mouth, Carrie dear," she said sweetly as she stepped around Brendan’s aunt. "It's unbecoming."

"Hello, Jo!” The young man rose hopefully, his eyes on the newcomer. "Did we get enough?"

"Oh yes, Brendan," The woman nodded, and he smiled. "More than enough. I switched to the pre-recording we made of you crying. In fact, after all the crowing your aunt did just now, I'm not sure the police will believe she can stay quiet for very long, so we must be quick. I have a friend distracting them, even as we speak, but they could be here any minute."

Brendan smiled, and his aunt turned pale. "P...police?" she stuttered. "I've done nothing illegal!"

"Nothing illegal? Au contraire, mademoiselle," Stark replied, turning on Carrie and pinning her in place, her eyes full of anger. Carrie took a step back in spite of herself, and Jo grinned again. She moved towards the woman a step at a time, doing a dreadful impression of Peter Seller’s Inspector Clouseau, about to reveal the murderer.

"Before embarking on an enterprise such as this, one should really do a bit of research. You see, blackmail doesn't have to involve property or currency at all. In fact, the law in most Western countries generally defines it as 'a criminal act of extortion -- malicious threatening to do injury to another to compel him to do an act against his will. Usually involves the threat to release information about the person that will defame his reputation or bring criminal actions against him.'"

Jo laughed and spun around on one toe, letting her skirt flare out around her. When she stopped, she pointed a finger at Carrie. "You just confessed on tape to blackmailing this boy into dressing as a woman on threat of exposure, so you could eventually sell him into a life of prostitution -- and you laughed about it! On tape, dear, with four burly French detectives listening in. Poor things, huddled in that tiny gray van outside."

Suddenly the grin left her face, and her tone turned very dark again. "Of course, that was only the appetizer. Then you confessed to killing a homeless boy in cold blood and burning his corpse, just so you could make people think Brendan was dead."

She smiled then, and it wasn't anything pretty about it. "And of course, you must have set the warehouse on fire, which mean arson. Nothing illegal? Girl, if you give them any more evidence against you, they'll have to dig for a hundred years to make a hole deeper than the one you've managed to dig for yourself!"

Stark took the last few steps over to the speechless aunt and bent over to whisper in her ear.

"But just in case that wasn't enough for the local authorities,” she growled, “I went ahead and planted the American President's itinerary for the upcoming summit and some bomb-making materials in your closet. Oh, I also hid a fortune in pure uncut cocaine in your car's spare tire well. And just to be safe, I added the home phone number of a local crime boss to your phone bill. You must have called him a hundred times in the past three months alone. Is there love in the air?"

Carrie's face turned pale, and Jo patted her hand, her voice oozing mock sympathy. "Oh, I know, dear. It IS a bit much. But I do so like to be thorough. And with all that to charge you with, they might just downplay the blackmail angle completely, and let Brendan get on with his life without all the fuss and bother of a public trial."

"But Madeline will send e-mails if ..."

"Madeline will do absolutely nothing," Stark said, that smile playing about her lips again. "My people cut her Internet access the minute Brendan walked in here ... and your phones about the same time. The police will arrive at her door, arrest her, and find all of that blackmail material you mentioned sitting on her computer. Along with Brendan's stolen laptop."

Stark reached up to her ear and tilted her head, as if listening.

"It's time for the big performance, Brendan." She turned and pulled the remote from her bag. "The piá¨ce de résistance. Are you ready?"

Brendan smiled back. "Just say the word."

"Go!" She pressed the first button.

Brendan stood up. "I'm not going to stand for this any longer. This game is over. I'll take my chances with the police, and you can't stop me. " He counted to three silently, then gasped. "Oh my God, put down the gun!" He ran over to the far side of the room, behind his aunt. Carrie turned her head and watched, confused.

Quickly, Stark reached back into the purse and pulled out a revolver. Thrusting it into Carrie's hands, Jo stepped aside and pressed the second button.

Before Carrie could drop it, the gun went off with a loud BANG. The bullet buried itself in a pillow on the chair across the room, and Carrie dropped the gun as if she had been stung. Stark picked up the revolver and shot two more times into the far wall where Brendan had been standing. Then she pressed the third button, and dropped the gun on the floor in front of the woman.

"We're offline again," she said. "And you, auntie dearest, are now also on the fast track to an additional charge of attempted murder. Graphite all over your hands, and you didn't even have to pull the trigger." Stark pinned her in place with a glance. “Of course, it’s more overkill. I didn’t know you’d already killed someone before I set this up.”

"The gun ..." Carrie stuttered. "They'll see it was rigged."

Stark shook her head. "My people aligned the cylinder with the barrel and held it in place using a small plastic frame. A radio controlled igniter was inside the casing of the bullet under the hammer. Disposable, very short-range. When the gunpowder in the bullet exploded, it fried the igniter. When I pulled the trigger for the second two shots, I advanced the cylinder and broke the plastic frame into tiny fragments. No fuss, no bother." She smiled again. "Besides, even if they knew what to look for, they'd have to look really hard, and they won't. They want to put you away, dear."

She listened again to her unseen partners, then sighed.

"Brendan? I need to go now. Half the Paris police force is heading for the front door. But I'll be in touch after the dust settles. Whatever you need to get your head on straight and your life back to normal, we'll make it happen. I promise."

He stood there, no longer quite the picture of femininity he had been only minutes before. "Thank you, Jo," he said, smiling.

"Thank you," Stark replied, smiling back. "It was my pleasure." She walked over to the back door and opened it.

Carrie finally found her voice. "I'll tell them about you," she shouted, pointing at Stark. "I'll tell them everything you did!"

"Moi?" Stark raised her eyebrows and placed a well-manicured hand on her chest. "Darling, I don't know what you're talking about! I was never even here." She blew Carrie a kiss. "Au revoir!"

A half hour later, a young couple sat at a sidewalk café across the street, drinking coffee and watching Brendan's aunt struggling in handcuffs as they shoved her into a waiting car. The street was full of police vehicles of all kinds, and members of the terrorist task force stood arguing with detectives from the narcotics division about which group would get to file charges first.

"Not quite your usual style, is it, Jo?" The man said, giving her an inquisitive glance over the rim of his cup. "You've always preferred the 'hands on' approach, but this is the third time you've called in the authorities this month. And the fourth time ever."

"Well, a girl's got to try something new once in a while," Stark replied, "although the practice of 'dropping a dime' is almost as old as the telephone."

"Dropping a dime?"

"Antiquated slang, Jeff. It means calling the police to point them at someone you want arrested, back when a local phone call only cost ten cents. You're a former detective, you should know the lingo."

"Well, I didn't work homicide with Cagney and Bogart," Jeff said with a grin. "Anyway, you dropped a lot more than a dime on this one. The cocaine alone set us back almost fifty thousand dollars."

"And worth every penny, if only for the look on her face." Stark finished her cup and stood, placing her purse over her shoulder with practiced ease. "No one in the police department would ever think someone would spend that much money just to frame someone."

"Well, they say money can't buy happiness." Jeff stood up, reached into his pocket and threw a handful of the local currency on the table. "But I have to say I haven't seen you smile this much in a long time. It looks good on you."

"Thanks to the body those bitches cursed me with, everything looks good on me," Stark countered, still smiling. "But thank you for the compliment." She slipped her arm through his and laughed out loud at the shocked look on his face.

"Brendan's a good kid," she said as they started walking down the boulevard, arm in arm. "I noticed how troubled he was a few days ago in the grocery store, but when I asked if he was okay, he came forward and told me everything. It took a lot of courage for him to trust me. Chesser and the hacker boys took a quick but detailed virtual tour of Carrie’s twisted life, and the police were ever so helpful. We were able to pull of the entire sting pretty quickly." Jeff looked at her sideways.

"Can we help him?" He matched pace with Stark, still on his arm. "With getting his life back?"

"I think so. Carrie left the chemicals she used to change his voice on her dresser. After all, he certainly wasn't going to drink that stuff again. I slipped it in my bag when we were planting the explosives in her bedroom. Our people should be able to create the counteragent. The fact that she said there is one means it can be done. Of course, before we try, we'll search everywhere we can think of to find the sample she said she had. The rest of the changes are cosmetic. Latex and salon work, although getting his eyebrows right again is going to be a bit tricky."

"We can use his passport photo as a reference," Jeff said, still getting used to having Jo on his arm and the warm feeling it gave him all over. "Maybe remove the hair that's still there, then create a realistic short-term tattoo to fill in where the hair was removed until it all grows back again. Or maybe a realistic long-term prosthetic, although that might be harder for him to deal with than the tattoo. "

"You are so clever!" Stark smiled, and rested her head on his shoulder. He stopped short, jerked away and turned to face her.

"Jo, what's going on? You've been acting very strange today. In fact, you've been a little weird all month. It's starting to scare me."

She looked up at him, and he looked deep into her eyes. For the first time since her killing spree on the ballroom floor, Jeff thought he saw a bit of his old friend peeking back out at him. There was a touch of fear, but also warmth and affection — and even though Jeff had been the one person closest to her in this new life she had been dragged into, he had never seen this side of her so openly expressed in the months since he found her ... as what she had become.

They stood next to a bench facing a park. Stark chewed on her lower lip, then sat with a smooth grace and patted the bench next to her. Jeff lowered himself gingerly until he sat as well, half-turned towards her, She turned to face him.

"Jeff ... since I rescued Craig -- Chrissy -- a few months back, I've started thinking about my life, and what it's become." Craig, a twenty-something graphic artist, had been magically transformed into a little girl and kept that way by his ex-girlfriend.

‘Something to do with that Medallion,’ Jeff remembered. ‘Jo's had agents everywhere searching for it.’ He nodded, anxious for her to continue.

"And when I went to save Paula and her friends on Halloween, she said something to me that started me thinking about who I am ... and who I want to be. She said 'the best revenge is living well.' And I think she may have been right."

"After we reached an . . . understanding with Grace de Messembry, we were going to see about working out how to set me free," Stark continued. "But I haven't been able to go near the psych folks at the mansion. Every time I think about it, something in my brain pushes me to turn and walk away."

She took a deep breath. "So I've been working on a sort of experiment. It's a little dangerous, so I haven't told anyone. Not even Chrissy." She stopped, not quite sure how to continue. Jeff waited, a little anxious. Stark sighed and looked down at her hands.

"I've been ... working on coming to terms with my situation," she nearly whispered, "and letting the anger go. I'm relying on it less and less to keep the programming at bay."

For a few seconds, Jeff stared at her, too stunned to speak.

"For God's sake, why?" He stood up, looming over her with fists clenched. His voice was so loud, passersby stopped and stared. "I thought it was the only thing standing between you and what they wanted you to become!"

"I thought so, too," Jo replied. She looked up into his eyes. "But when I rescued Chrissy, I found ... other strong emotions seemed to work just as well. I felt so sorry for her, and sad, but also happy that I saved her, and happy for myself to have found ... a friend. The programming couldn't get past those feelings either. So I thought, why not try something different? Why not try and lose the anger, and take back my life?"

"Why not? Because I could lose you!" Jeff sank back onto the bench, his eyes never leaving hers. "We could lose you. It's like playing with a loaded gun, Jo. I never liked the side of you the anger set free, but at least it's still you in there."

She saw the fear on Jeff's face and took his hands in hers. His eyebrows shot up.

"I know I'm taking an awful chance," she said softly. "We both know what could happen. You've seen what I become if I don't raise the anger, even though I wish to God you hadn't. And the anger was what saved me in the first place. It’s what made me free to ... to do what I did that night. But I'm so tired of being enraged all the time. I have good reason to be angry, I know. Every time I find another 'Aunt Carrie,' I know I'll never be finished. My work will always be there, waiting for me."

Stark squeezed his hands. "But there has to be more to life than an endless loop of hatred and vengeance. Doesn't there? You say you don't like the side of me set free by the anger. How do you think it makes me feel to LIVE with it, deep inside me, all the time? My doctor back at the mansion told me that if I stay angry every minute of every day, the stress alone will kill me sooner rather than later, as sure as if I put a gun to my head. And if I let the anger rule me ... if I let it become all that I am, then I'll be just as much a puppet as I would have been if they won. I'll become a slave to my own hate, instead of a sex toy for some man."

Her friend looked away, confusion warring with worry in his eyes. She touched his arm. "Jeff? When the anger is in control, how much of me ... the me I used to be ... can you see?"

Jeff shook his head. "You were never the vindictive type before, Jo. You let most things slide off your back, never held a grudge. Hell, you wore a smile most of the time. I used to think life just amused the hell out of you."

She smiled. "It did. When you're a reporter, you see so much of what people can do to hurt each other, you have to find a way to deal with it. Me, I either had to laugh or go mad. It sounds cruel, but it kept me sane. It kept everyone's pain at bay for me, even my own." Stark turned away, letting go of Jeff's hands to hug herself. Her voice became remote. "But since the abduction, and my ... liberation, I've been way too afraid to let go of the hate long enough to laugh. Not that there's been much to laugh about, but until Chrissy, I ... I was afraid to even try."

There was a short, awkward silence, then Jeff sighed. "When the anger has you, you're like someone else," he admitted. "Some of the things you've done ... I know you had to do them, because of what you've been through, but the guy I used to know would have been horrified."

"He still is." Stark looked down. "The anger keeps him at bay, too. How can I even try to put my life back together when the man I was hides from what I've become? When even he can't get past my hate?"

"If this is about building a life," Jeff said softly, "how do you feel about living ... looking like that?"

"It's not something I want, or ever wanted," she replied. "But as a reporter, the one thing you learn is to face the truth when you bump into it every once in a while." Stark sighed. "The fact is, I don't have a choice. They did this to me. I'm stuck like this. But looking like this isn't awful. I'm healthy, and strong. And truthfully, if I have to be a woman, better to be nice-looking with a decent shape." Stark turned to find Jeff giving her a dubious look. She shook her head and grinned. "Okay, fine. It's better to be stone cold gorgeous with a body to die for, okay?"

"Where did this all come from?"

Stark looked up at Jeff, and her grin became a small smile. "Chrissy, actually. In a lot of ways, she has it so much worse than I do. But instead of curling up into a ball, she ... adapts. She accepts what she is now. She gets on with life. Works on her art, helps in the kitchen, plays games, watches baseball on satellite. She even still wears play dresses once in a while." She grinned. "Chrissy told me that, now that she actually has a choice, it's sometimes just more comfortable. I guess, for me, that's what always made me angry more than anything. Choice. Losing the right to choose."

Jo turned away, hugging herself under her breasts. "It's the programming, Jeff. That's what I hate the most. Turning me into a submissive slave for any man who wants me. Making me be a slut when all I want to do ... is be." She shivered. "Okay, I'm a woman. I get that. And it's okay, really. As hard as it might be to accept if it happened to you, it's not the end of the world. But if ... if I have to be a woman, I just want to be able to be ... ordinary sometimes, you know? To be a real woman, not some sexual fantasy made flesh."

She turned back and sat beside him, touching his shoulder. "I want to be able to dress down once in a while, wear sweats and a tee shirt instead of being forced to walk around looking like a wet dream or a fashion model all the time. I want to cook food and play with kids, have dinner with friends or meet somewhere for a cup of coffee. I'd like to go to a movie or a ballgame, or be able to hang with my best friend without wanting him to take me in his arms and ..."

Suddenly, everything became very quiet. Stark's last words just hung in the air, and Jeff realized that she had let them slip out without thinking. He became very conscious of her hand on his arm, and of how close she sat, and her natural scent mixing with her very expensive perfume. Part of him wanted to lean forward and touch his lips to hers, kiss her with every ounce of passion he possessed, feel her melt in his arms and press herself to him as her eyes closed and she moaned and --

Jeff jerked upright, and stood quickly, turning away from her to hide his desire.

‘My God,’ he thought, ‘this is crazy! She's my best friend, and I want her so badly I ache.’ He shook his head. ‘No, it's more than desire. I want to take care of her. I want to hold her, and make everything better. That's all I've wanted since I found her, naked and mad and covered in blood all those months ago. I left my job for her, my life ... I helped her do terrible things. If I had to, I would kill for her. Hell, I'd die for her.’

Stark raised a hand, reaching out to him. "Jeff?"

It hit him like a lightning strike, and his knees went weak.

‘Oh my God. I ... I think I'm in love with her.’

‘I think I love her.’

"Jeff? Are you okay?"

He shook himself like a wet dog, all over, and fell back onto the bench next to her. His head fell into his hands. Jeff felt her hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. But her touch was electric, even through his clothing, and he trembled under her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was full of concern.

‘I can't tell her,’ he realized quickly. ‘I'm her best, maybe her only, friend. If I tell her I love her and she doesn't love me back ... if things get awkward between us ... who will she have then? And if she finds the whole idea of being loved by someone who knew her when ... when she was a he ... if it scares her, or even disgusts her, I'll lose her completely.’ The thought make him shiver. ‘I can't ... won't ... lose her!’

Jeff scrambled for an answer.

"Just ... surprised, I guess," he said slowly. "It's a lot to take in all at once. You being in danger, letting go of the anger, your ... accepting the woman you've become." Jeff sighed and turned toward her. "I'm afraid for you, Jo. I don't ... don't want to lose you. I don't want to see you hurt."

"Jeff ..." Stark put her head on his shoulder and gave him a small hug. "You're my best friend. I don't want to hurt you, either. But I need to find another way to get free of this crap they stuck in my head, or the anger will kill me. And as weird as it sounds, I feel like I might want to live ... like this."

The hug made him feel warm and whole. ‘Yes,’ he thought, ‘definitely love. Damn it!’

Stark was confused. She had felt something, in that moment ... right after she let that stupid confession about wanting him slip out. For an instant, she felt happy it was finally out in the open. She had known she wanted him for months, but had always tried to keep a distance between them. When these feelings had first risen in her, she was fighting the woman she had become every minute of every day. In her mind she was still Joe, still a man, and wanting Jeff as her lover would have eroded what little of her manhood remained, buried somewhere in the back of her brain.

But now ... now Jo had begun to accept what she had become as an unavoidable fact of life. She'd started pushing away the anger that kept her former self both protected, and alone.

And she'd started to let down her guard.

There she was, with Jeff, baring her soul, finally connecting fully with the best friend she ever had for the first time since -- and suddenly she felt warm all over, and as she looked into his eyes, her mind became wholly focused on whether he would kiss her ... whether she wanted him to kiss her ... whether she should kiss him before the moment disappeared.

It scared the hell out of her. And then Jeff stood up and turned away, then nearly fainted?

‘It can't just be the surprise,’ she thought. ‘He is afraid, too. But more than afraid for me. What else is there? Is he afraid of what he feels? Or what he thinks I might feel?’

Jo hugged him harder, not wanting to let him go. Jeff's arms came up and he held her, his face buried in her hair, and he suddenly lost himself inside her. She wanted him, he knew she did, and in that instant, Jeff wanted her ten times more. He pulled her into him, felt the warmth of her body caressing all of him, and a low groan rose from deep inside him. Trembling, he kissed her forehead, gently, and the words came, unbidden, before he had the strength of will to stop them.

"Oh God, Jo, I ... love you."

In an instant, her whole body stiffened, and seconds later, she shoved Jeff away from her with all the force her arms could muster. Stunned and confused, Jeff looked into her eyes, searching for what he might have done to make her break away ...

... and instead saw an empty, distant look, as if she was listening to something very, very quiet, happening a long way away. It froze his blood. He'd only seen that look once before -- when he had walked in on her at the start of one of the submissive episodes her late unlamented tormentors had programmed into her.

Somehow, Jeff's confession had triggered ... something.

And the Jo he knew ... wasn't quite herself anymore.

Stark started breathing hard, her lips trembling as if she was trying to speak. Jeff raised a hand slowly.

"Jo?" His voice held confusion, and pain.

‘I caused this,’ his mind screamed. ‘Oh my God, what have I done?’

Tears began to fall from her eyes, slipping down her cheeks, and she gave a small whimper.

"I ... l ... l ... love," she stuttered, pushing the word out as best she could. "L ... l ... love ... YOU!"

The last word came out as a half-howl, half-scream. She stood for a moment, her eyes wide and her whole body trembling. Then, without warning, she leaped forward, pushed Jeff down to the pavement, and ran. Her long legs covered ground like an Olympic contender, in spite of the dress and heels. She moved away towards the heart of the city, and was quickly swallowed up by the crowds before Jeff could get to his feet.

He rose so fast the people around him on the sidewalk scattered in fear. Before he could even think, Jeff was running in the direction Stark had gone, ripping a satellite phone from his jacket pocket and shouting as he ran.

"Code red! Code red! Boss Lady is in puppet mode and off the grid, repeat, off the grid, somewhere in Paris. Get the action team to my location, stat! DAMN!" He stopped and bent over, breathing heavily. She was gone. He had lost her. "DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!"

Nobody noticed the tears as they fell from his eyes to the pavement below.

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© 2010. Posted by the author.