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Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 01

By: Tyler_H



Cuando el amor no es locura, no es amor

"When love is not madness, it is not love."

-Pedro Calderon de Barca

Author's Note: What follows is a love story, something that's been rattling around in my head for a while now. Hopefully I've managed to do it justice. If you're looking for a quick fix (and you don't scare easily) I refer you to my 'Jack' series or any other number of terrific stories.

This is a 'romance' insofar that it deals more with love and erotica, as opposed to just straight up 'sex'. The story supports the sex, not the other way around.

The story however deals with a few different romances: a relationship between a woman and another woman as well as a relationship between a man and a woman. If either of these aspects make you uncomfortable or just aren't your cup of tea, no worries.

This is a long story, there is sex, there is love, tragedy, betrayal, violence, and, ultimately, hope.

Unnecessary disclaimer: Everyone is over 18. Duh.

Dynamics of a Human Heart: How many ways can a soul be saved?

Miranda sighed and squinted at the sun, bright in a cloudless California sky, and attempted to calculate what time it was.

Of course, you could just look at your phone.

She sighed again at that thought and attempted to juggle her books, her laptop, and her phone, trying to see what time it was. Unfortunately, she was attempting to do all of this with only one working arm, her other sported a wrist brace after a particularly nasty sprain.

I have a PH. D. in theoretical physics, I have an I.Q. of a hundred-and-sixty-plus, she thought to herself, yet, somehow, the ability to balance a bunch of stuff eludes me.

Miranda Inoue was an unusual woman in many ways: having just turned twenty-two, she had already gotten her Ph. D. from Caltech in experimental physics and was now dealing mostly with astrophysics and advanced mathematics.

Miranda was as unique physically as she was mentally: she was willowy in appearance and graceful. Miranda's Asian heritage was living up to the stereotype. However, her father was from Johannesburg and had contributed some of his own genes to Miranda's look, giving her a curvier figure than most would associate with your typical Asian woman. Her shoulders were also a bit broader; her hair was fairer as well, approaching a warm chestnut brown, cut short, if for no other reason than to just to not fuss with it and she could lay claim to a respectable amount of leg.

Overall, she was...'exotic' as she liked to think, and her eyes made her exotic look utterly unique: her eyes were almond-shaped, a gift from her Japanese mother, and they were a vibrant shade of violet. Neither her mother, nor her father had a clue as to how that had happened, but eventually Miranda did some research and deduced that there was probably a case of albinism or similar gene mutation somewhere back in of parent's family history and that it may be recessive.

She was four years old when she deduced this. Even then, she was exceptional.

Unfortunately, all gifts come with a price and Miranda's were no exception: she was frail, if not downright sickly. She didn't actually get sick all that often, but she was constantly exhausted, needing to rest between classes and before any kind of social activity, no matter how calm or relaxed it would be. It was as if, to fuel her genius, her mind was consuming her body for fuel.

And this affected her in other, more, intimate ways.

Simply put, Miranda's sex life was a delicate affair: she couldn't exert herself too strongly or she'd likely get dizzy and pass out. It was not a popular quality in a lover and it made for a lonely existence, pretty or not.

Fortunately, her current lover was an understanding individual and together they had managed to maintain a loving, if not vigorously passionate, relationship, which she found very much to her liking.

She was thinking about Sam, and must have been distracted because she slammed headlong into something tall and pissed off.

"Bloody Hell!!" roared a stranger's voice.

Miranda cried out and fell to the ground, all of her possessions crashing next to her. She gasped in pain as jolts of agony shot through her arm, which had been the point of impact. Blinking back tears, she looked up at whom she had run into.

He was Caucasian, maybe early forties but ragged-looking. He was dressed in a shirt, tie and tan duster that all looked thoroughly disheveled to the point of messy. His hair was the color of dirty straw cut short and spiky, like a punk rocker who'd kept the haircut long past its time and he looked haggard, as if he hadn't slept in days. A pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses covered his eyes. Overall, Miranda though he looked like a cross between a used-car dealer and a heroin addict.

He was currently dusting himself off and reaching down to pick-up a matchbook and a now-crushed cigarette from off the ground, ignoring the prone girl completely.

"Damn it," he swore at his ruined cigarette, before turning his gaze on Miranda, "What, are you blind or just stupid?" he demanded in a heavily accented voice that sounded like it could have come from Liverpool or maybe London. Miranda had heard some guys (and a few girls) try to fake an English accent. This guy clearly wasn't though, the combination of Scouse and Cockney was too distinctive.

She glared up at him and painfully got to her feet. She noticed that his sunglasses were mirrored as two tiny portraits of herself stared back at her.

He was also a bit more attractive than she had first though: his skin, while pale, was also unblemished, save for what looked like a perpetual five o' clock shadow. He had murderously high cheekbones and a strong jaw, the kind that could be described as heroic if it weren't cloaked in stubble. She thought she saw a faint scar, raised with an unusual texture to it at the corner of his mouth, but the stubble obscured it.

"No, don't worry, I'm fine," she grumbled and started to bend over to grab her things. She jerked her head up, trying to see if maybe he was checking out her backside or breasts, it had happened before: the swell of her hips gave her what one, rather vulgar, friend had called a heart-shaped ass and her breasts, while not terribly large, were full and firm.

Instead, he appeared to be busy trying to light another cigarette, hand cupped to shield the match from the wind, tossing the matchstick away carelessly once done. He looked at her one more time and smirked, as if she was his own private joke, and began to walk away.

Miranda glared daggers into the Englishman's back as she attempted to put her phone in her pocket and grab her books and her computer, all the while praying that none of them had been damaged. Gravity was not cooperating with the handicapped young woman and she proceeded to drop her stuff again.

"Kuso!!" she swore, a curse that roughly translated to "Shit!" Miranda didn't swear very often and when she did, only in Japanese so no one else could understand it. She had been brought up to believe that the use of profane language, in any language, was hallmark of the uneducated and inferior.

The man stopped, only a few paces away from her and looked up at the sky, his shoulders going slack. He turned his head, just a little, to watch Miranda struggle again with her possessions, eyes still hidden by shades. He took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled hard through his nose, then turned and stalked towards her.

"For fuck's sake!" he snarled, "Up!" He took her uninjured arm and yanked the startled woman to her feet. Stooping down, he grabbed her things.

"You keep the sodding machine close to you, like this," he said, wedging her laptop in the crook of her arm, "you put your books on top to keep it from sliding out," he unceremoniously dumped her textbooks on her computer, Miranda exhaling hard at the sudden weight. "And you keep your mobile in your bloody pocket!" Moreover, he spun her around, yanked her forward and thrust her phone into her pants' back pocket.

Miranda squawked in indignation as she was manhandled. "Keep your hands to yourself!" she hissed.

The man was not impressed, he smirked again, like she was the funniest thing in the world, gave her a mocking, two-finger salute, and turned and walked away.

Miranda glared after him.

"Jerk" she muttered to herself. Still, she wasn't being entirely fair; if he really had wanted to grope her he had had amble opportunity. Instead, he had been all business. She was used to people being attracted to her, from time to time, but not someone quite so irritated with her, except her mother. She couldn't quite put her finger on it: he was savagely rude, foul-mouthed, arrogant, sarcastic, and overall entirely abrasive. Nevertheless, he had, something; a...rawness to him, as if he made no pretenses at all of being anything other than what he was. He was bold, fearless, and totally unapologetic. In other words, he was everything she wasn't and a part of her, a small part, found that very interesting.

Dismissing these thoughts as nonsense, she made her way towards her apartment. But she did notice that, for the remainder of her trip, she didn't drop a single thing.

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Miranda slammed the door to her apartment a little harder than necessary and her roommate, Samantha, rolled her eyes as she looked up from her computer.

"So, it was a fun day then, was it Miri?" she prodded in a voice heavily laden with sarcasm as Miranda dumped her books and computer on the table unceremoniously and stalked over to her.

Miranda's answer was the sound of tearing Velcro followed by a wrist brace being hurled across the room to smash into the wall with surprising force. "Shut up," she said without any rancor as she came to Sam's chair and bent over to kiss her lover once upon her lips, then again upon her brow, as was their custom.

Miranda and Sam had met as freshman and the attraction had been instantaneous: both girls were very bright, though Sam readily admitted that her lover was "definitely the brains in the relationship."

Miranda, having gotten her degree in theoretical physics, had now decided to pursue a second degree, this time in experimental physics. In her down time, she acted as a T.A. for the physics department. One of the 'perks' was being able to live on campus for very little money.

Sam was majoring in information science and technology while minoring in mathematics. While Sam and Miranda both enjoyed crunching numbers, Sam's interests began and ended with programming algorithms.

"So, what put you in such a good mood today, my sweet?" Sam asked wryly.

"Ugh, don't get me started-"Miranda began

"Too late."

Miranda glared at Sam as she sat down across from her.

"I was late for almost every class today, both teaching and attending, I'm suffering from major writer's block in regards to my final thesis," she sighed in frustration and gestured to her stuff on the table, "And some ass plowed into me and made me break my computer."

Sam pouted. "Aw, did baby have a bad day? Fall down, go boom?" She grinned as Miranda narrowed her eyes at her. Sam beckoned, "Bring it here," she said gesturing at the computer, "Let Sam take a look at it."

Miranda smiled as the tension drained from her, Sam had a gift for making her smile. It was one of the things she loved about her, and she kissed her lover's mouth again. She tasted like vanilla, one of her favorite scents and flavors and Sam knew it. Miranda enjoyed the way things smelled or tasted, for her it was much more immersive than looking at something or hearing it.

Sam smirked at her and set to work on the laptop. Physically, Sam was the polar opposite of Miranda: blond hair and blue eyes, she was a California native and had a deep, Pacific tan that was too beautiful to come from a bottle or a booth. When they made love, her own pale skin made for a stark contrast to Sam's sun-kissed body. She also had the most incredible, bee-stung lips that made her irresistible when she pouted. Miranda could quite contentedly kiss, nibble, and suck on them for hours. Sam looked like the kind of girl you'd see playing volleyball all day or maybe as a model.

Being confined to a wheelchair, however, dashed any hopes of that. Her legs had been crushed in an accident when she was a teenager and while she'd retained most of the feeling in them, she'd never be able to walk unassisted again.

"So," Sam began as she worked on the laptop, "Tell me about this jerk." She brought the machine up on its edge and rested it against her breasts as she fiddled with a USB port. Miranda couldn't help but stare, Sam possessed the most incredible set of "tits" as Sam liked to call them, she had ever seen: full enough to fill her hand, with large, pink nipples that Miranda had spent hours licking and nibbling at, at her lover's breathless and oft-repeated request. The thought of it sent vibrations through her slender body that resonated deep somewhere between her legs.

"You're staring," Sam said, without looking up from her work. Miranda blushed.

"Sorry."

"I didn't say you could stop," Sam looked up from her work with a lopsided smile, which Miranda had no choice but to return, "But you're also avoiding the subject: the jerk. Spill. It usually takes a lot to get you this irritated and I'm curious."

"He was just some guy," she said, "Had that awful South London, Cockney, accent."

"Ooo, I like those; sexy," Sam replied.

"Said the lifelong lesbian."

"Hey, I can appreciate," Sam leered at her, "Just because I don't need a nice, big cock to get me off doesn't mean I can't appreciate what it's attached to." She winked and Miranda cheeks colored; Sam was always the more adventurous of the two and had no problem expressing herself in as base a manner as she felt necessary.

"So, what did he look like?" Sam asked.

Miranda threw up her hands in exasperation, "Why are you so insistent about this?"

"Because I like to torment you."

"Fine, you want to know what he looked like? He looked like the lovechild of David Bowie and Benedict Cumberbatch, whom after being born, was pummeled and pickled in a mixture of arsenic and nicotine.

Sam blinked a few times, trying to wrap her head around that.

"Okay Bowie, I know; who's the other guy?"

"Google him."

She put down Miranda's computer and tapped a few keys on her own machine before giving a long, slow, whistle.

"Good lord, you could shave with those cheekbones," she looked back at Miranda, "Why didn't you just say he was really hot? You're bi; you're allowed to think so."

"He wasn't hot, he was skuzzy and he smelled bad and he called me stupid."

"So bathe him, shave him, and jump him already!"

"Ugh, no thank you and you're my girlfriend, aren't you supposed to be dissuade me from having sex with random strangers?"

Sam leaned over to place a hand on her lover's thigh, "Sweetie, I love you, you know that, but if there was anyone that needed to have sex with random strangers, it's you."

"Slut."

"Prude."

The girls had been trading insults since the day they first met and it seemed to be one of the most dynamic and stable elements in their relationship.

"Yes, well, this slut has repaired your computer," Sam declared as began to hand it over to the other girl. As Miranda was reaching for it, Sam jerked it away, "Make it worth my while."

Miranda rolled her eyes, "I love you," she said.

"My while is worth more than that. How are you going to repay me?"

Miranda sighed; she knew what Sam was getting at: the other girl loved to pick on her for being less sexually outgoing than she and nothing made her happier than to make the poor girl squirm.

"I'll...have lots of sex with you," Miranda said in a rush.

"Uh-huh, details please."

Miranda looked at her, agog, "You're indecent!"

"I am horny; and at the moment, I am holding all the cards," she waggled the computer at Miranda, "Details please, Miri."

"I'll kiss your neck and then I'll squeeze your...your breasts."

"My what?" Sam leered and Miranda felt her face grow even hotter.

"Your tits."

Sam had always enjoyed dirty talk almost as much as she enjoyed Miranda's awkwardness at it. She grinned and casually yanked her shirt up over her head and Miranda gasped: she hadn't been wearing a bra and her breasts jutted forward, bare for her to see. Tanned, toned, and perfect, Miranda could feel her mouth beginning to water and moistness began to seep in between her thighs.

Sam lifted her toned arms up above her head, causing her breasts to bounce slightly.

"Take me to bed or lose me forever, lover."

Miranda pushed Samantha over to the edge of the bed before bending over and carefully lifting her lover from her wheelchair.

"Oof, you're getting heavy," Miranda commented, as she cradled her lover in her arms, heading towards their bed trying to make sure that her injured wrist did not hamper things.

"Fuck you," Sam's grin got wider. Miranda pretended to look shocked,

"Guttersnipe!"

"Prig!"

"Trollop!"

"Frigid bitch!"

"I love you," Sam whispered in a softer voice, the time for sarcasm over.

"I love you too, Sammy," Miranda replied as she laid her out on their bed.

Samantha made a face, "I hate it when you call me that," she growled playfully.

Miranda sat near the head of the bed and began dotting her lover's face with kisses, slowly moving down to the curve of her neck, "I know," Miranda whispered into her lover's ear

Samantha shuddered. Her nipples had become two small, hard points of pink on her firm breasts.

Miranda finished her journey down Sam's throat and began to lip, nibble, and suck her way across her collarbone, luxuriating in the taste of her bronzed body.

"Miri!" Sam began to whine as she clenched her fists and thrashed about impatiently. Even her legs began to twitch and kick as much as they were able to. Miranda knew that was a good sign, it means her lover was primed.

Miranda gently took her lover's breast in her small hands: she loved the feel of them and how they filled her hands. She leaned over, placed her mouth over one tiny, perfect, nipple, and began to suck gently.

"Ohhhhh, fuck!" Sam cried out. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts upwards into Miranda's mouth. Sam began to tremble and shake so hard that her spine popped and cracked with the strain. "Don't you ever fucking stop," she said through gritted teeth.

Miranda just continued to work at her breasts, tracing the round areola with a velvety tongue, like she was lapping at ice cream; sweet and perfect, like sugar that melted in your mouth.

"Oh, I am going to break you, little girl," Sam groaned even as Miranda looked up from her work, looking very pleased with herself.

"Promises, promises."

"Hey, I didn't say stop!"

Miranda chuckled throatily as she massaged Sam's breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples, like rose-colored pebbles, swollen and hard as stone. She caught one between her front teeth and began to flick her tongue against it faster and faster. She picked up speed as her free hand roamed up Sam's chest, squeezing her other breast. She twisted her nipple hard, the way she knew Sam liked, before reaching up past her throat and putting her fingers in her lover's gasping mouth.

Samantha latched onto Miranda's fingers with hungrily and attempted to suck the skin off them, moaning in satisfaction as she enjoyed her new treat. She lifted her hips up as far as possible, trying to rub against her love wherever she could.

Unlike Miranda, Sam liked a little pain with her pleasure and knowing that, Miranda took her lover's nipple between her teeth and very gently nipped at its tip. That was all it took: Sam nearly bit off her fingers as her body went into ecstatic convulsions. Miranda yanked her fingers and inspected them for damage as Sam continued to writhe. Miranda pushed her down as she thrust her hand down her lover's pants, past her now-drenched panties to rest against her dripping sex and giving Sam something to grind against as she came over and over again in waves of pleasure.


Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 01



Finally, exhausted, her lover collapsed onto the bed.

"I'm. So. Very glad," Sam began breathlessly, "that your time in college has actually taught you something useful, with real-world application," Sam beamed shakily down at Miranda who simply rolled her eyes at the taunt.

"Keep talking like that and I'm not taking your pants off," she warned.

"Don't you threaten me, you little minx, I will harm you."

Miranda just laughed as she worked to undo Samantha's jeans, sliding them and her sodden panties off in a single bundle and tossing it in a corner against the wall. Samantha craned her head up to look at them.

"Huh, well, I guess 'clothing time' has ended here for the evening," she laughed and flopped back down, with an arm over her eyes. She shifted slightly and looked down at herself in a satisfied manner; sweat glistened off her toned body like the sun over water. Her mound was shaved clean; she and Miranda did that together every so often although she couldn't convince her to go bare as well, and her outer lips were engorged. Her sex glistened slick, hot, and hungry.

Sam caught Miranda staring, "You do realize it's not strictly ornamental, right?" she quipped. Miranda laughed and as she was reaching down to strip off her shirt, her cheeks began to flush crimson as she began to feel self-conscious

"Oh come on!" she laughed at Miranda's hesitation.

Almost bashfully, the dark haired girl pulled her shirt up over her head, taking care with her wrist as she removed the garment, exposing a simple powder-blue bra.

"What?" Miranda demanded as she reached back to unclasp herself. Her bra fell away and she massaged her breasts and rubbed them gently, squeezing and flexing them. Miranda's nipples had always been described as "puffy", something she had always been self-conscious about. She was therefore quite pleasantly surprised when Sam, upon seeing them had declared them to be "like marshmallows and sugar" and proceeded to ravage them thoroughly

Sam's eyes glazed over with hunger as she took in the sight, her expression fierce. Her white teeth and the very tip of her pink tongue protruded slightly from between her bee-stung lips, Miranda's breasts were pale and small and firm and just perfect. They would flush crimson at the slightest stimulation, becoming the same shade of pink as her tiny nipples.

"Just admiring my favorite pair of Chinese miniatures," Sam said with a smirk.

"Hey, that's Japanese miniatures, ignoramus," she shot back.

"Whatever, come over here and fuck me already!"

Miranda acquiesced with a crooked smile as she unbuckled her jeans and shimmied out of them and her panties, kicking them away with a dainty foot. Her form was pale and lithe, hairless except for a tuft of dark hair crowning her sex. Her violet eyes were radiant; they shone like stars in her porcelain face. Her slender form was almost luminous as moonlight through their bedroom window shone upon her.

"Getseui," Sam murmured as Miranda climbed into bed next to her. It was a pet name Sam had for her. It meant "moon". Miranda had earned it the first time they had made love at night and, like tonight, the moonlight outside had made her glow. In their post-coital bliss, Sam had confessed to her feelings and how Miranda looked to her eyes, Miranda had taught her the term and it had become one more secret thing between them

"Toraaneko" replied Miranda as she pulled Sam into her arms and wrapped her arms around her. That was Sam's pet name. It meant "Little Tiger." She also earned that name the first night they made love. She'd left claw marks down Miranda's back. Against such fair skin, the scratches shone bright red and took a very long time to fade. Miranda had, of course, insisted that Sam replace them with fresh marks at the earliest opportunity.

"Mmmmmmm" Samantha stretched and purred in contentment. That had been the other reason she was called "Little Tiger".

Miranda kissed her forehead, tucked a lock of blond hair behind Sam's ear, and brought her face right up against hers. They spent a few moments like that, their noses touching, Miranda's dark eyelashes tangling in Sam's fairer ones. They traded breaths as if taking in the very essence of the other deep into their lungs and into their very blood as they ceased to be two separate individuals and became something more: One breath. One heart. One love.

"I think now would be a fantastic time for you to chow down on me like a fat man at a barbeque," Samantha whispered.

"Sam!" Miranda rolled over onto her back, laughing hard, as Samantha slipped her arm out from under her and began to pull herself up into a sitting position, propped up against the wall.

"Sorry, it was getting just way too quiet in here," Sam confessed. Miranda raised her arm away from her face to regard her lover.

"You're certifiable."

Sam grinned, "Hey, everybody knows that crazy chicks are fucking beasts in the sack."

Miranda laughed again, too suffused with warmth, lust, love, and joy to offer up her usual objections at such language.

Samantha meanwhile had finished propping herself up against the wall. Gingerly she took her left leg in both her hands and slowly spread it.

For a moment, Miranda moved to help her, but Sam gave the girl her best, "I'm not a cripple, I don't need any help, back off," look and she took the hint.

Sam duplicated the act on the other leg, which left her splayed and exposed to her beloved. Her body shone in a very inviting fashion; at least it appeared so to Miranda. She licked her lips unconsciously as she drank in the sight of her lover as Sam extended a single finger and crooked it beckoningly.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," Sam growled quietly, a hungry sound of appetite and need as Miranda crawled over to her like a beast.

"Purr," she replied and then giggled demurely, placing a hand over her mouth in embarrassment, even as she drew up against her lover's form.

"Oh will you stop with that bashful 'China Girl' shit?" Sam grumbled.

"For the last time it's - ," Miranda began.

Samantha gripped her head and with strength Miranda couldn't hope to resist even if she had wanted to and drove her head between her thighs.

"- mapomese" she finished, muffled by the sticky sweetness.

"Less talking, more licking," Samantha demanded. She removed one hand from Miranda's head and rested the other upon the crown of her hair, threading her fingers through her dark hair.

"Mmmmmm....." moaned Miranda, "Isn't it technically your turn?" she asked lifting her head up from her work to look at her lover with suspicion.

"Shhh," Sam said looking like the cat that ate the canary as Miranda returned to her task, causing Sam to began to jump and twitch from Miranda's tongue, "Oooo, that's nice!"

Miranda, slowly, perfectly, traced up one side of Sam's outer folds with her silken tongue and down the other, refusing to move any deeper; she sucked and licked in long, languid strokes, like a painter at his canvas.

"For fuck's sake-!" Samantha began

And then Miranda stabbed her clit with her tongue and Sam went completely rigid. She managed a single squeak of pleasure before all the necessary muscles and nerves to make sound were disabled so that her body could focus on what Miranda was doing to her.

Miranda looked up from her work, catching Sam's baby blue eyes, "You were saying?" she gloated

Sam had to swallow a few times to get some moisture in her mouth to speak, "Miri, if you stop what you are doing, I swear, I will end you-"

The rest of the threat was lost in a very loud gasp as Miranda sucked her hard little bud into her mouth and began to give those slow, certain, strokes that characterized Miranda's preferred method of lovemaking: deliberate, patient, and mercilessly teasing.

"Yes, that's what I thought," Miranda said quietly as she blew a cool breath against Sam's clit, causing her to jump, "Now shut up already."

"Shutting. Up."

Sam had begun making a series of short, gasping, breaths: her chest heaved and she ran her hands down herself, gripping her breasts and pulling at her engorged nipples.

"Miri, Miri, Miri," she rasped over and over again.

Miranda decided it was time: with one free hand, she slid her hand down Sam's chest, down her taunt stomach to her shaved mound. Very gently, she began to slide a finger up into her body.

Sam stretched out, breathing deeply, "Ahhhh," she sighed in contentment as she felt her lover inside her."

Miranda took a deep steadying breath taking a moment to kiss her lover tenderly on her thigh, she didn't want to rush this and she didn't want to hurt her lover. Samantha had been her first and only female lover and had been her sole source of education regarding Sapphic love. Still, she sometimes let her enthusiasm get the better of her, which made things uncomfortable.

She very slowly continued to push: Sam was extraordinarily tight, far more so than herself, as Sam had only been with a man once in her life after which she had decided that she preferred the company of women.

Sam chimed in, "That's good Miri due diligence, I expect every square inch of me paid worship by that magnificent mouth of yours," she grinned and fluttered her eyelids in pleasure, "That means ALL of me: Don't forget I have other body parts besides boobs, snatch, and ass."

The other girl chuckled and took the time to move her free hand all over Sam's body; tracing her fingers along every bronzed curve. She pulled herself closer to her lover and rested her head against her sweat-kissed body, eyes closed. For a moment, the pair simply held each other, lost in the stillness. If Miranda closed her eyes, she could almost feel lover's heartbeat through her body.

Suddenly, Miranda removed her finger from within her lover. Sam frowned in confusion, but then she saw that the other girl was trembling and she understood. Sam cooed and gently reached down to pull her lover further up the bed to face her. They kissed and held each other close in the gloom of their bedroom, lit only by a shaft of pale silver that spilled through the window and cast itself upon their bodies, making their sweat shine like stars.

"You okay?" Sam whispered kissing Miranda's brow.

"Yes, I just need a minute. Feeling a little overwhelmed."

Sam curled her lips up in affection and amusement and gave the slender girl a squeeze: Miranda sometimes got a little overwhelmed by her emotions. Sam had learned to pace accordingly.

"Take all the time you need love."

"You're not mad that I stopped before you could have an orgasm?"

"Of course not sweetie," she held the frail girl to her and squeezed, "We're both still new at this."

"But you've been with a lot of girls."

"Thank you for making me sound like a tremendous slut."

"Well, if the stiletto fits..."

"What I mean," Sam continued giving the other girl a stern look, "Is that I've never been with a girl like you before. Loving women isn't like loving men; men are pretty simple: insert tab A into slot B, wash, and rinse, repeat."

Miranda barked out a short laugh as Sam continued, "But women are a bit more complicated, there are a lot more variables," she furrowed her brow in thought, trying to phrase it in a way Miri would respond to, "It's like, if men are high school algebra, then women are Quantum Computing."

"Great, I have a gorgeous, naked woman in bed with me and we're talking math," Miranda huffed, "For I am the queen geek, let all lesser geeks bow before me."

Sam glared, "My point is that this lesbian stuff is hard and very few people land it on their first try," she cupped the pale girl's chin in her hands and brought her face closer to hers,

"Miranda, how many men have you been with so far?

"One."

"And how many women?"

"Counting you?"

"Counting me."

"One."

"See my point?" Sam hugged her and kissed the top of her head, "We got all the time in the world, love, to figure all this out," she grinned, "And when we do, there will be orgasms a-plenty. So, try to cut yourself some slack, lover."

Miranda wiped away a few stray tears from her eyes, "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime. Every time."

They enjoyed each other in the spaces between words, luxuriating in the most comfortable silence either had ever known. As the night wore on, time became irrelevant. But, at some point, Miranda began to stir and started to kiss Sam's throat.

"Ahhh," Sam purred into wakefulness, "Welcome back."

"Good to be back," Miranda placed both hands on her lover's face and drew Sam's mouth to hers. Like the rest of Sam's body, her lips were firm but also warm and sweet.

Sam opened her mouth and slid her tongue between Miranda's lips, past her teeth and into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around her lover and pulled her tight against her body. Miranda moaned as she felt Sam squeeze her slender form making her feel protected and loved.

The broke the kiss only to come up for air, their hands moving across each other's body.

Sam giggled, "This is really, really, good."

"Did you just giggle?"

A pause.

"No, of course not. Don't be absurd."

"Not even when I do this?" Miranda asked and she began to tickle Sam's ribs mercilessly.

"You evil wench!!" Sam cried out as she fought back. Sam was stronger, Miranda was quicker and she used this to her advantage as she pounced upon the other girl, straddling her as she pinned her arms down.

"Say uncle!" Miranda yelled.

Samantha grunted in frustration; in a fair fight, she could outmuscle the other girl easily. This was not one of those times, however: Miri was bearing down all of her weight onto Sam's wrists and her legs weren't strong enough to dislodge her. She bucked and twisted, trying to get free.

"Never!" Sam cried out defiantly, "I will never submit!"

Making sure the other girl couldn't wriggle free, Miranda she bent over and kissed her deeply, their tongues entwined and both girls sighed in contentment.

Miranda pulled back from her lover with a cheeky expression plastered on her face.

Sam swallowed, "I will not submit."

Another long kiss, Miranda loved to run the tip of her tongue across Sam's teeth. Sam responded by nipping at her lover's mouth.

Miranda settled back upon her lover and continued to look very self-satisfied, "And now?"

"I will--- "

Leaning over, Miranda kissed her again, she kissed all over her face, the lids of her eyes her forehead, her blonde hair even the tip of her nose, which made Sam giggle again despite herself.

"And now?" Miranda asked.

Sam took a moment to take in her pinned wrists before looking back up at her lover.

"And now...I'm yours, Miri."

Miranda released her arms and Sam opened them wide to receive her. Miranda dove into Sam's embrace laughing as they kissed each other over and over again. They rolled around together on the bed, doing their best not to fall off.

Their hands roamed over each other's body: Miranda buried her hands in Sam's golden tresses and brought them to her lips, taking the scent of vanilla and sweat deep into her lungs. Sam took Miranda's face in her hands and brought her close for another kiss before running her hands down the sides of her face. She took a moment to stroke Miranda's cheek with the back of her hand. Miranda reached out and clasped it with hers. They didn't use words, they didn't need to. It was there in their eyes and in their touch.

Miranda began to slide her hands down the other girl's body and Sam's lips curled in pleasure. She cupped Sam's cheek in a pale hand and the other girl caught it between her cheek and shoulder, nuzzling and dotting it with small kisses.

"I'm keeping this hand," she informed Miranda, "Just so you know."

"But I had plans for it!" Miranda pouted prettily.

"Let's hear them."

"I want to touch you," she began, sliding her hand down past Sam's collarbone, "Down there."

"I think I can let that happen." Sam settled against the pillows and beckoned towards her neck, "Start here and work your way down, lover, like you were doing before"

The girls shared a smile as they drank in the sight and feel of each other. Miranda approached her lover with fire in her eyes as Sam tilted her head to the side so she could the other girl could resume feasting on her throat unimpeded.

Sam closed her eyes as she felt Miranda's mouth on her neck, "Oh, what a vampire you would make, sweetie."

"I vant to suck your blood." Miranda continued to kiss and nipple as Sam's skin.

"No, to the 'blood', but I could be persuaded to permit a substitute."

"I can work with that."

"Good, now, enough attention on my neck, it's been thoroughly tenderized. The tour is ready to continue."

Miranda licked her lips and began to eye Sam's breasts.

"No," Sam held up a warning finger and wagged it back and forth.

"But they're yummy!" Miranda pouted.

"True, but we still have some territory to cover, young one," she held her breasts up, "If I wanted someone that was all about the girls, I'd be dating guys."

"That was a very low blow."

"Again, Miri, if I wanted to talk about 'low blows'—"

"All right all right! I get it!" Miranda scowled, "Young lady; I am a horny Asian girl, toy with that at your peril"

"Sweetie, your dad is from Johannesburg."

"In matters of horniness, Asian trumps African." She waved, "Fine, educate me already."

"You're adorable when you're miserable; you know that right, Miri?"

"Shut up."

Samantha placed her fingertips next to her ears, "Now, some women enjoy having their ears nibbled."

"Ooooo...kinky," Miranda looked excited.

"I don't."

"Oh."

Sam traced her shoulders, "I'm a shoulders girl. Have no idea why, but for some reason my shoulders are pretty sensitive," she explained, "Which is why a lot of my outfits leave my shoulders bare, it just feels nice."

"Okay, I think I can work with that," Miranda licked her lips and began to kiss her way down Sam's neck until she reached her shoulder.

"Mmmmm...," Sam shivered with delight, "You learn quickly, grasshopper," she teased as she affected a terrible impression of David Carradine.

Miranda rolled her eyes, but continued to place warm kisses up and down Sam's shoulder blade, delicate as butterflies and warm as summer rain

"Good, good, now, how about some teeth?"

Miranda looked up from her treat with a broad smile; she was a biter, something that the two of them had had to address the first time she had gone down on Sam.

"Nom, nom, nom," Miranda began to gnaw on Sam's shoulder causing the other girl to squeal.

"I am not a Happy Meal, Miri," she admonished, "show some style."

"Sorry," Miranda kissed her gently, "You're just so yummy."

"I know, I know," Sam sighed, "It's my cross to bear. Now, I believe you were nibbling?"

"Good memory," Miranda slowed down and mixed a combination of lips, tongue, and teeth as she roamed over her lover's skin.

"You are gifted." Sam approved.

"Yes, I know. It's my cross to bear," Miranda replied.

Sam cackled and leaned over to kiss her lover's mouth, "Okay, now you can turn your attention to the girls."

"Finally."

"You're such a guy."

Miranda gave her a stern look, "I'm sorry, do you see a penis anywhere here?"

"Give it time."

Miranda just started kissing Sam's collarbone, taking her time as she'd been taught. She dotted her skin with small, warm, kisses before moving down to her chest.

Sam reached down to offer a full breast to her lover. The other girl took it in her hands and cupped it, enjoying the feel of it in her hands. It was firm, like the rest of her, but also strangely soft. Sam didn't have any tan lines, her entire body looked like a sunset dipped in gold and she could almost feel the heat radiating from her body. Miranda began to kiss first one, then the other breast, circling Sam's areolas in long strokes before gently sucking on first one then the other nipple, making them rock hard.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 01



"Oh-kay," Sam breathed, "That's nice, but we have more to see on this tour," she stroked her flat stomach, "My tummy demands your attention.

Miranda released the nipple she had been working on with an audible pop.

"Your 'tummy'? Because baby talk is all kinds of sexy," Miranda kissed her way down the other girl's chest and stroked her stomach: well defined without surrendering an iota of femininity, Miranda could feel the muscles ripple at her touch. She loved how strong Sam felt; it made her feel safe and it only heightened Miranda's hunger for the other girl. She placed both hands on the girl's waist and brought her abdomen to her lips kissing and caressing it.

Miranda kissed her navel causing Sam to squirm,

"That tickles!"

"Is it time to move on then?"

"I think so."

Sam took Miranda's hand in hers and brought it up to her lips. She selected a single finger and sucked it into her mouth, rolling it around with her tongue. By the time she was finished, Miranda was thoroughly moist.

She put Miranda's hand between her thighs, "One or two fingers to start," she instructed, "Start slow and just set a pace for yourself. Don't worry about hurting me, I'm already wet as all hell so don't hold back. Take your time and tongue is always appreciated."

Miranda nodded, "Fingers, steady pace, tongue optional, got it."

"Excuse me, but at what point did I say the word 'optional'"?

Miranda looked thoroughly amused at Sam's wit as she kissed down past her navel and down to her waist. She gently parted Sam's thighs to grant her access and kissed first down one side of her lover's sex and then up the other side, drawing her scent deep into her lungs.

Miranda could see that her lover was working hard not to squirm in impatience and for that, she was grateful: Sam was letting her take her time and build up her confidence. Just one more thing Miranda loved about her.

Finally, she rotated her hand until it was palm up and gently began to press a finger against Sam's opening, she was thoroughly wet, slick and inviting, but Miranda still took great care as she pushed her finger into her lover.

"That's good love, take your time," Sam nodded her approval. Miranda did just that, pressing until she felt resistance then pulling away and pushing in again, each time getting a little deeper into Sam's body.

"Very good, Miri," the other girl moaned as she began to shudder in delight. She reached down to touch herself, using her thumb to expose her clit. She took Miranda's thumb and placed it there.

"Rub here, Miri, gently. Try to match what you're doing with your finger, maintain a steady pace."

Miranda nodded and frowned in concentration, treating this like any other learning experience, which was something she was very good at.

"And try not to look so serious, sweetie."

Miranda looked up from her work to see Sam looking at her with affectionately.

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, just try to remember to have fun. You're making love, not computing Pi.

Miranda laughed and went back to her task as Samantha continued to run her fingers through her dark hair.

"That's good sweetie," she closed her eyes and licked her lips, "that's very good. Keep doing that."

Miranda continued to work at Sam's body; patiently, methodically, as if she were conducting an experiment that required the utmost precision. Still, despite such a clinical mindset, she could feel herself getting wet, turned on by her lover's excitement.

Sam winced as Miranda pushed just a little too hard, "Easy there lover."

"Sorry," she repeated.

"There's no rush, we have all night."

"I know, I'm just—"

"Horny as hell?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Sam smirked, "I can relate. You can go a little faster now, Miri. Not harder, just faster."

Miri began to pick up the pace. She made sure not to put too much pressure on her lover's tiny pink bud.

"Do you remember what I taught you the other night?" Sam asked sweetly

"Come hither?"

"Did you remember to trim those talons of yours?"

"Hey," the other huffed in indignation, "Between the two of us, which one has earned her nickname due to multiple claw wounds?"

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes, Toraaneko, I've kept them clipped. You can't tell?"

Sam shrugged, "So far, you've been really careful and you're not in a position to do a lot of damage. That's going to change really quickly," she took Miranda's free hand and placed along her inner thigh, "Here, if you feel the need to claw or manhandle something, do it here: a little rough stuff here is fine, its way less sensitive than my girly parts."

"Should I be taking notes?"

"Isn't there something more productive that you could be doing with that mouth of yours other than being a smart-ass, little Japanese girl?"

With great care, Miranda slowly rotated her hand until it was palm up. Samantha shuddered with delight as Miranda slowly pulled her finger out and curled it.

"Yes!" Sam gasped, "Yes, Miri, more, please!"

Miranda replaced her thumb with her mouth as she began to slide her finger in and out of Sam's pussy

"Okay, now, go faster sweetie!"

Miranda obeyed, picking up the pace, her other hand began to clench, scraping lightly down the soft skin of Sam's thigh causing the other girl to groan.

"Oh god, that's so good, Miri," she gasped, "That's perfect."

Miranda moved with faster and more deliberate strokes until finally, she clamped onto her lover's nub with her mouth, sucking for all she was worth, and buried her finger as deep into Sam as she could before curling it out.

That did it: Samantha lurched forward and began to shudder violently. Miranda braced herself against her lover to keep her from falling off the bed as shockwaves of rapture ripped their way through her body, rendering her speechless, breathless, and boneless. Meanwhile, Miranda stroked, licked, and massaged deep within the folds of Sam's sex, dragging out her orgasm moment by agonizing moment.

Finally, with a very unladylike grunt, Sam pushed Miranda away from her which caused Sam to nearly topple over that in turn caused her to grab at her lover again for support.

"Support. Head. Resty. No more fucky. Sleepy." Sam mumbled. Miranda arched an eyebrow,

"'Fucky'? Did you just say 'fucky' to your Asian girlfriend?" she demanded.

Sam glared at her through sweat-drenched golden locks, "Do I fucking look like I'm capable of making a racial slur right now?"

"Good point."

Gently, Miranda leaned Sam's trembling form back against the wall. She nearly jumped out of her skin,

"Ah! Cold wall!"

"Feels nice though doesn't it?"

"...okay, yes, shut up."

Miranda smiled, stretching out to kiss her lover upon her brow. Her sweat tasted salty and sweet and Miranda licked her lips in pleasure.

Sam exhaled hard and rested her head against the cool wall with a thunk.

"You did a very good job," Sam assured the other girl.

"I had a good teacher."

They leaned in for another kiss as they slowly laid themselves out on the bare mattress. Miranda snatched the sheet from the floor, draped it over the both of them, and sighed contentedly.

"So," Miranda began, "about my orgasm..."

"All the time in the world lover."

"Just saying, endorphins are nice."

"How would you know? You're oh-for-two as far as orgasms go," Sam smirked running a still somewhat shaky hand through her blond tresses.

"You going to do something about that?"

"Hell yes, come here."

Miranda couldn't suppress a smirk as she shuffled to her lover on her knees. The sheets upon the mattress, drenched in sex and sweat had bunched up and were proving to be annoying. With a snarl, Miranda grabbed them and yanked causing Sam to jump and yip in surprise as the sheets under her were jerked out from under her. Balling them up, Miranda hurled them at the wall with a strength that can only belong to a woman who was very sexually frustrated.

"Rowr, you are woman hear you roar," Sam observed. She twirled her fingers in an 'about face' motion, "You know the drill, babe, assume the position."

Miranda smirked but did so; she turned around and reclined back into Sam's arms, like they did when they bathed together. Miranda could feel Sam's breasts press against her back and feelings of contentment work its way up her spine.

"C'mere you," Sam breathed as she manhandled her lover: pulling her this way and that, lifting and dragging her into whatever position she desired. Miranda loved it; it made her feel cared about, protected, precious. Almost like she was one of the silk dolls she had grown up with in Kyoto. She remembered being a little girl and hugging her doll to her chest, squeezing it with all the might an adoring toddler could manage.

And now she got to feel that way except this time, she was the doll, she was precious, and she loved it.

Samantha folded her long arms around Miranda, as the other girl drew her legs up into her chest, Sam's arms crisscrossed across the other girl's legs and soon, Miranda found herself all folded up into her lover like an origami flower. Sam gave her body a long squeeze as Miranda reclined her head back to rest against her tanned body.

"Yours," Miranda whispered quietly. Sam squeezed her again and took up a lock of her dark hair between her fingers, kissing it before letting it slip like satin through her fingers.

"Mine."

"Forever?"

"Forever and ever."

Miranda closed her eyes and smiled, euphoric. It was another part of their relationship, a custom of their, just one of those treasures that lives within the confines of a shared heart, not meant to be viewed by the outside world.

Sam's fingers began to lightly dance down her shoulders towards her breasts. "What do you think you're doing?" Miri inquired

"Anything I want."

"Just making sure," Miranda replied blissfully as she leaned back into her lover's touch, submitting to her every hunger and desire.

Samantha arched her head and dragged her tongue up along the side of Miranda's ivory throat. Miranda shivered and her skin began to pebble with gooseflesh.

"Oh you are so very, very good at that," Miranda mewled, her head lolling backwards as Sam ran her fingers down her skin, lightly dancing her fingertips over the other girl's goose bumps. She would stop to place a kiss upon her skin or caress her body with a master's touch.

Miranda gasped and jumped a little as Sam nipped at her neck.

"Sweetie," Sam replied, "If you are still capable of speech at this point, then I'm not doing this right,"

"Then do better."

"I can do that."

Miranda's eyes slit with arousal as she felt Samantha's hands tracing lightly down her chest to cup her breasts. She moaned and arched her back, letting her legs slide down a little to grant her access. She gasped and whimpered as Sam scratched and pinched her flushed nipples,

"You're making me really, really, wet," she whispered as she craned her head towards her lover's mouth.

Samantha swooped in and captured her mouth in a fiery kiss, wet and hot as summer rain. Their tongues dueled, entwined and writhed together in a storm of passion. Moaning into her lover's mouth, Samantha reached down between their bodies and dipped her fingers into her own sex, making them slick and sticky. She brought them around Miranda's body and then dragged her fingers across her nipples.

The heat and wetness of it made Miranda gasp and she threw her head back and moaned long and hard.

"Sam!" she cried out as her lover's juices coated her swollen nipples.

Her lover smirked and leaned in to whisper, "Feeling brave tonight, lover?"

Miranda bit her lower lip; her expression a study of contrite sensuality.

"Mmm-hmmm."

Samantha mirrored her expression and held up her hand before the two of them.

"Prove it."

Miranda reached out with a trembling hand and took Sam's in hers. Slowly, she pried up one finger, then another. Sam began to pull her hand away; two had been their shared comfort zone, but Miranda held her had fast. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind, perhaps storing up her courage. With a look of determination, she pried up two more of Sam's fingers.

Sam looked her with surprise, "Four? Feeling frisky are we?"

"Just shut up and do me," she hissed back.

"Well now, something's got your blood pumping today," she grinned and kissed Miranda on the side of her head, "Okay then, four it is."

Miranda nodded fervently and moved herself to accommodate her lover. Turning around, she leaned back on her elbows, now facing Sam, her sex, presented to her.

"Now, please," she whimpered.

With an air of tremendous self-satisfaction, Samantha leaned forward to clasp Miranda's mound in her hand, weaving her fingers through her nest of curls beaded heavily with dew dripping from her sex.

Miranda was rapidly approaching the breaking point as she watched the vivid display with beseeching eyes, "Pl-e-ease...." She whimpered and jutted herself forward, presenting herself to her lover desperately, trembling with hunger, trembling with need.

Samantha reached forward and gently peeled back the layers of her hidden depths, exposing her tiny clit; already hard and demanding to be noticed. She leaned in and blew a breath of air across it and Miranda shivered.

"Closer, please."

Miranda almost collapsed as she hastened to obey; lunging into Sam's waiting arms. Samantha scooped her up like a rag doll, jerked her hips up to her towards her shoulders and dove into her lover's moistened center.

"God!" Miranda cried out as she folded her legs underneath her and braced to give Sam further access to herself.

Unlike her lover's slow, precise, style, Sam was a berserker: she licked, she gnawed and sucked and spat and thrust her tongue into her over and over again. Miranda liked to make love with her mouth, but Sam liked to fuck. So, she fucked her over and over again with her mouth, her tongue spearing her in and out of her sticky folds like a woman gone mad with lust. She possessed a ferocity only seen in the incredibly enraptured or the hopelessly deranged. Under her whirlwind mouth, Miranda's orgasm came on strong and sudden.

"S-a-a-a-a-a-a-a—am!!!" she cried out before her entire body began to shiver uncontrollably. Every part of her was on fire as she batted at Sam's head, trying to dissuade the girl from any further abuses upon her pleasure-wracked body.

Sam, however, was merciless; she renewed her assault upon her poor lover's body and indeed intensified it, lashing at her clit like a whip repeatedly without stop, without relief.

"Okay, stopstopstopstopstop," Miranda stuttered out trying, and failing, to escape her lover's strong arms.

Samantha instead drank her lover's juices, lapping happily with that brutal tongue; until she was satisfied and only then, did she let the smaller girl slump to the mattress, now little more than a quivering mass of pleasure and exhaustion, all held together by sweat and sticky sex.

"So, that was...four fingers, we said, right?"

Miranda somehow managed to raise her head to regard her with mute horror.

"You cannot be serious."

In response, Sam held up four fingers and began to wiggle them in a jaunty little wave.

"Oh....kuso."

Two hours and several orgasms later, Miranda languished in post-coital serenity. With Sam curled up next to her, one muscular leg thrown over her hips straddling her and snoring contentedly, Miranda was in a state of perfect bliss.

Almost.

Miranda frowned slightly, there was something off. She couldn't place it; it was like a pebble in her shoe except this was in her head. She concentrated, trying to make sense of it. She found that she was irritated. That couldn't be right, she was supposed to be completely satisfied and spent. But the irritated sensation continued and suddenly evolved into anger. She was angry about something, but what? She inhaled to try to clear her head: the room was filled with the scent of sex and the vanilla of Sam's scent. But there was something else, a phantom smell, more memory than anything else. She focused on it: it was smoky, like wood burning in a fireplace; and there were hints of old leather mixed with something else, something bitter.

Tobacco.

The jerk from this morning?!

Miranda's eyes widened; why on earth was she thinking about him? He'd been such a jerk. Granted, he did help her, but he'd been such a condescending ass about it and besides, it was his fault she'd dropped her stuff in the first place.

She scowled, she usually hated the smell of cigarettes, but this wasn't so bad. It reminded her of the smell of freshly cut wood on a bonfire, like the kind her and her family had built during the summers back home when they had all been able to get along. Or the smell of the first leather jacket she'd ever worn, draped around her thin shoulders years ago by her boyfriend at the time. Miranda smiled at the thought, he'd been a nice guy; and as her fingers began to unconsciously make their way down between her thighs, she tried to conjure up an image of their time together.

She was a good fifteen seconds into masturbating when she realized that the only face that sprang to mind was the old—well older—man with the high cheekbones and blond hair. His face snapped hard into focus, crystal clear behind her eyes and she began to come. Hard. She tried to stop, tried to fend off the inevitable but it was no use; her body, her mind had betrayed her and she lay helpless as pleasure wracked her slender form.

The movement caused Sam to stir and scrutinize her in drowsy curiosity.

"Everything okay, Miri?"

Miranda swallowed, her throat suddenly parched, "Uh huh, go back to sleep Sammy." Sam smiled and proceeded to let her head drop back onto Miranda's other arm.

Miranda brought up her free hand, now coated in her own juices (a lot of it) and regarded it the way many people regard a poisonous snake.

What the hell is wrong with me? Miranda shook it off, whatever, so he's attractive, he's still a jerk and I can't stand him.

Nevertheless, in the end, he was the last thing she thought about before sleep claimed her and she joined her sleeping lover in dreams.



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 02



We watched our friends grow up togetherAnd we watched them as they fell.Some of them fell into Heaven.Some of them fell into Hell.

-The Pogues "A Rainy Night in Soho"

"Let's go ouuuu-wwoooooooo—out tonight!!"

I'm dead.

"Oh, take me ouuuu-wwoooooooow—out tonight!!"

I am dead and I am in Hell and I'm being tortured for my "sinful" ways. I can hear mom saying, "I told you so" from here.

Miranda opened one, bleary, violet eye and scowled as she lay face down upon the mattress. Sam was busy spinning around in her wheelchair and blasting "Rent".

"I wanna go. Take me ouuuu-wwoooooooow—out tonight!!"

And singing. Badly.

"Why, why do you hate me, Sammy?" Miranda groaned

Sam turned with a Cheshire grin, "Ah the dead have risen!" she cried out.

"The dead would appreciate it if you would stop screeching so they may rest in peace." Miranda complained.

Sam folded her hands over heart and pouted, "Sweet sister, you wound me!"

"I'm about to! And do not call me 'sister'. Incest isn't quite the aphrodisiac you seem to think it is."

"Awww, you're no fun."

"I have a partially paralyzed mouth that says otherwise, Sammy."

Sam responded by, wheeling over to her, then spinning around and tilting her chair, toppling over backwards and depositing her form on top of her.

"Ooof!" she cried out as Sam's weight hit her.

"Don't call me 'Sammy'," she replied cheerfully. She then proceeded to kiss Miranda's dark hair before bringing a hand up and down, smacking her pale derriere with a deafening crack!!

"Oww! Motherfu-!!" Miranda began before catching Sam's eye and swallowing down her curse.

"Aww, c'mon, I almost had you there," Sam pouted with those perfect lips of hers.

"Dream on."

Sam shrugged, "Oh well, consolation prize:" she declared as she proceeded to grab Miranda's buttocks, squeezing the tight globes of alabaster skin possessively, "laying waste to this beautiful ass."

Miranda smiled and stretched out a little. This was actually one of her more favorite games. Gingerly, she rotated her hips to present her backside to her lover, one side of which was sporting an impressive crimson handprint and was quite flushed.

She drew Sam's eye to the other perfectly formed and wholly unmolested cheek "Lopsided," she whispered with a smile.

Crack!!

Miranda gasped and arched her back, raising her rear in a distinctly cat-like manner, demanding attention. Her eyes were wide in excitement and she was breathing quickly.

"Ahhhhh!" she sighed and turned around to look over her shoulder giving her best "come hither" look,

"That the best you got?"

Smack!!

Miranda sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and wriggled, just a little. She was getting very moist and they both knew it.

"One more?"

"'One more' what?"

Miranda grinned and wriggled again, "One more, please mistress?" Sam's kink streak extended to some very light BDSM every now and then, though nothing more elaborate than wordplay and the occasional silk scarf and spanking.

Ker-Smack!!

Both hands came down on each of Miranda's cheeks and she yelped and arched up onto the tips of her toes, pressing herself against Sam's hands.

Samantha took that opportunity to reach beneath the other girl, carefully inserted two fingers into her dripping sex and began to curl within her wet tightness.

"Eat me," Miranda pleaded, keeping her back arched, "Please?"

"Who am I to deny my beloved?" Sam replied. She scooched over closer to Miranda and, pushing herself up out of her chair, placed her face between her thighs, and slowly began to lap at her.

"Oh g-o-d-d-d-d-d," Miranda moaned as Samantha licked and sucked at her. From this angle, Sam had the perfect vantage point to assault her clit, which she did with gusto, curling her tongue around it, then flattening it out and lapping at it fiercely.

"I'm coming!" Miranda cried out and Sam removed her fingers from her cleft, replaced it with her mouth, and was rewarded with a torrent of nectar from her lover's body.

Miranda trembled and shook and shivered with delight as Sam held onto her with her strong arms, making sure she didn't fall over.

Finally, completely spent, the pale girl went limp and Sam gently cradled her down to the mattress, stroking her hair back from her face tenderly.

Miranda looked up at her lover with a fatigued joy,

"That was fun," she commented, "What are we going to do next?"

Sam smirked as she readjusted herself back into her chair, "We, my dear, are going to a party tonight."

Miranda frowned, "Tonight? But—" she looked around trying to find a clock.

"You, my frail beauty, have been asleep for almost eleven hours.

Miri's eyes widened, "Oops."

Sam laughed, "It's all right, you gave as good as you got and you gave good," she put a lot of emphasis on that last word, "You were entitled to your beauty coma."

The dark-haired girl sighed and slowly stood up, padding naked over to the bathroom and running the sink.

"I know, I just hate this, whatever the hell it is that's wrong with me," she began brushing her teeth, "I feel like I'm going to wind up sleeping half my life away."

Sam wheeled into the bathroom; she loved watching Miranda brush her teeth; it made some of her favorite parts jiggle in a particularly stimulating way. Miranda looked down at her.

"You're leering."

"Uh-huh," Sam grinned.

"Stop leering."

"You're not the boss of me."

Miranda bent over, took her delicate breasts in each hand, pushed them together and brought them within a millimeter of Sam's face.

Sam then realized two things: one; her throat was very dry as she licked her lips to moisten them and two: other parts of her were getting very wet...

"If you ever want to see these again, behave yourself."

Sam lunged forward, but Miranda was faster; she straightened her back, taking her delicious mounds of skin with her and out of the reach of Sam's hungry mouth.

"Don't you threaten me!" the fair-haired girl admonished.

"Out!"

Grumbling to herself, Sam rotated and wheeled herself over out of the bathroom. If Sam had looked back, she would have seen Miranda grinning impishly as she shook her head affectionately before returning to her teeth.

"Girl's going to be the death of me," she mumbled around her toothbrush before spitting out toothpaste, "So what kind of party is this?"

"What?"

Miranda stuck her head out the door to face Sam, "What kind of party is this?" she said slowly, enunciating every word as if she were addressing an idiot child.

Sam rolled her eyes and turned, heading to a closet.

"It's on campus. No commute, don't worry."

Miranda hated to drive, "Places too much faith in the competence in others," was her reasoning.

"It's not a frat house is it?" Miranda's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"Noooooo, not exactly."

"Sam—"

"It's a birthday party, okay? Big house and lots of guest," Sam began rummaging through her chest of drawers, pulling out dress after dress, each one more slinky and revealing than the last. "Boring, boring, boring, boring," she muttered as she did this.

"So who's on the guest list?" the other girl asked, still pretty apprehensive.

"As far as I know, there isn't one. Just show up and BYOB it."

"So, we don't actually have an invitation nor do we actually have any booze to bring."

"A-ha!" Sam cried out in triumph, removing a pale cream cocktail dress with flowing chiffon. It left the shoulders bare and had a sweetheart neckline to accentuate Sam's impressive cleavage. With a victorious look on her face, she turned to the naked girl.

"We don't need an invitation lover," she stated, jerking her shirt up and off to expose her tanned and perfect breasts, "The girls are going to get us in tonight."

Miranda opened her mouth to scold her when she realized that her mouth was salivating as opposed to speaking. She felt a stirring in her loins and she unconsciously began to slide a hand down her pale stomach. Already her skin was starting to flush crimson with excitement.

Sam never missed a thing, "Is someone thinking of a little pre-celebration celebration? She asked demurely.

"Somebody is," Miranda whispered as her hand began to slither its way through her nest of black curls. She leaned over, attempting to capture one of Sam's nipples in her mouth but the other girl turned away, scooping her breasts away from her hungry mouth.

"Nope, my boobies," she taunted, "None for you," turning away from Miranda.

"Sam...?" The other girl looked positively stricken and Sam couldn't keep it up for long. She laughed turned back to face her.

"Are you going to threaten to take away my favorite Japanese miniatures ever again?

"No."

"Never ever?"

"Never ever."

Sam grinned and allowed her breasts to descend back to where Miranda was waiting.

"Suck my tits- silly, little, lesbian."

Miranda considered correcting her, that the more accurate term would have been "silly little bisexual,' but the instant her lips wrapped around Sam's hard pink nub, all such thoughts fled her mind.

Sam groaned and buried her hands into the other girl's hair, "Yes, that's right sweetie," she cooed.

Miranda brought her hands up to caress the one breast she was suckling at, while the other groped Sam's other breast: pinching and pulling on the nipple, rolling it between her fingertips. Samantha inhaled through her teeth and moaned pulling Miranda's head flush against her breasts as she leaned back in her chair, arching her back, causing sun-kissed breasts to thrust out into Miranda's waiting mouth.

"Miri...." She mewled and took one of Miranda's free hands and put it between her thighs; already slick with her juices. Miranda wasted no time, inserting first one and then another finger into her lover, pumping in and out slowly, curling them to stroke every last tremulous part of her sex.

"Gonna....come," Sam gasped out as she rotated her hips against Miranda's hand and ground her public bone against her fingers, "Fuck me Miri."

Miranda's hand began to move, push harder; sliding her fingers in and out of Sam's body. Sam was wet and warm and she loved it. She took her thumb and rubbed at Sam's clit.

"Cooooommmmmmming!" Sam wailed and began to convulse in her chair, her body shuddering violently as a powerful orgasm ripped its way through her body. Miranda slid her fingers out of her and instead grabbed both of her large breasts and squeezed them, pinching her nipples. Sam continued to whimper and thrash as her orgasm was extended through Miranda's ministrations.

Finally, exhausted, she slumped forward in her chair and into Miranda's waiting arms. Miri gathered up the panting girl and kissed her blonde hair and golden skin as she gently petted the soft skin at the base of her bare back.

"I love you," Sam rasped hoarsely.

"I love you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Samantha held up her hand, slick with perspiration and extended a finger.

"Pinkie swear?"

Miranda laughed and curled her finger around the other girl's.

"Pinky swear," she replied wrapping her hand around Sam's and bringing it close to kiss it. Sam leaned forward with the motion and Miranda wrapped her free arm around her, their joined hands and fingers caught in the middle.

"Okay, good. Just checking."

Miranda agave her a loving look as Sam gently disentangled herself and reached up with free hand to tousle her lover's dark hair.

"Hey," Miranda cried out in mock outrage, "Cut it out."

Samantha smiled sweetly, "You know you love it."

"No, I love you, the rest is debatable."

Sam blew a raspberry at her, "Nope, nothing is up for debate, I am the total package," she started to wheel towards the bathroom then turned and leered,

"Wanna help me get those hard to reach places?"

Miranda groaned.

----------------------------------------------------------

"Lock up your sons and hide your daughter, the huntress is on the prowl!" Samantha cried out as she wheeled herself out of the bathroom; freshly scrubbed and in her new dress. It was slit up the side and showed off a good deal of firm, bronzed, thigh, which was the idea. Sam had always been proud of her legs and had made sure they stayed lean, firm, and as sexy (or more so) as the legs of any other smoking hot California blondes.

"Just because these boots ain't for walking anymore doesn't mean they're good for nothing," she was fond of saying.

Miranda was just pulling on her own outfit, a tastefully cut gray garment that was downright puritanical by comparison: a loose-fitting cotton dress that covered her shoulders, possessed no real neckline to speak of, and went down to her knees.

"Zip me," she asked of the other girl. Sam wheeled over to her and got the zipper up as far as she could reach. Miranda turned to face her and finished zipping herself up.

"How do I look?"

"Like you're about to help me open a checking account. Seriously, did that dress come with a free copy of 'The Watchtower'"?

"I hate you and everything you stand for."

"Real sensitive choice of words, numb nuts."

Miranda flushed red at her unintentional gaffe.

Sam laughed, "I'm kidding! Come on, it's fine, you look very...," she desperately for the right word, "...very......." Miranda began to scowl at her, "Dignified! You look very dignified!"

Miranda threw up her hands in exasperation, "Thank you, that's what every girl likes to hear."

"Well, look, it's so....and you're so.....damn it would it kill you to put on some jewelry? Maybe a little makeup? Sam held out a tube of lipstick, "Speak of, do me."

"Didn't I just do you?" Miranda replied with a little smile of her own.

"True, but in this case, clothes will remain on," Sam leaned forward in her chair so Miranda could apply lipstick.

"Always a catch," the dark haired girl replied before gesturing,

"Go like this," Miranda instructed puckering her lips. Sam mimicked the action and Miranda kissed her lightly. She felt Sam shift her weight and she grabbed the other girl's hand as it was on its way to get a hold of her and make the kiss a lot less practical and a lot more intense.

"Bad girl," Miranda said with a smile, "trying to get your lipstick all smudgy."

"Grrr, woof."

Miranda reached over to a vanity and picked up a wide leather belt adorned with turquoise and large silver disks, it had been a gift from Sam when they celebrated their anniversary in Florence. She lashed the belt into place over her waist, bisecting the dress and creating a slightly more stylish cut.

"Eh, it's a start," Sam noted encouragingly.

"Thank you sweetie, your praise has me totally underwhelmed," replied Miranda.

"Enough talk, come beloved woman," she cried out, "Somewhere out there is a bar to be pillaged and a young man and/or woman to be deflowered!"

"Honey, you're not actually a big drinker, you have no interest in men and you're already in a committed, monogamous, relationship with me."

"Details! Forward woman!"

Sam's audacity was equal parts inspiring and wildly amusing. Even if she was being absurd, she never let anything slow her down. Life hadn't been particularly fair to the girl; all that energy should be out leaping and dancing, not confined to a chair. But most days, Sam never let it get her down and tended to adopt bravado that had little truth in reality.

"Yes ma'am," Miranda replied in mock-meekness as she wheeled her little Valkyrie out the door.

It took a while to get to the house where the party was being held; they had to wait for a campus shuttle bus that could accommodate Sam's chair, but eventually one came around and the two girls were on their way.

Sam was well aware of the looks she was getting: half of them seemed to be full of mock pity for her "tragic condition" as one person had described, the others just wanted to fuck her senseless and were wondering what it'd be like with a "special" girl like her.

She couldn't decide which one she hated more, probably the former.

She then felt Miranda's slender hand on her bare shoulder and she placed her own over it as Miranda squeezed.

"They don't matter, baby," she whispered into her lover's ear, "none of them do. You are so beautiful to me."

Sam smiled and blinked back tears that began to creep up in her eyes, "Thanks, Miri." She always could cheer her up.

They stayed like that for the rest of the ride and when Sam got off the bus, she did so with her head held a little higher.

"You said no frats!" Miranda shouted, partly to be heard over the noise and partly because she was pissed.

"I said no frat houses; this is a private residence," Sam countered, "Now if it might be owned by a former fraternity alumnus..."

"You suck, Sammy."

"Only if you ask nicely and don't call me 'Sammy'."

The house was not hard to find; a two-story house that kind of looked like the one from 'The Addams Family,' Miranda thought. It stood in sharp contrast to the scene in the front lawn: a lot of people her age, give or take a few years in various stages of intoxication and, in some extreme cases, fornication. Music blasted through all the open doors and windows and the yard was absolutely littered with empty cans of beer and bottles of the hard stuff.

Miranda looked mortified. Samantha looked like a kid come Christmas morning,

"Oh I like this place," she said as she cast a very naughty grin back behind at her lover, "I am going to have fun with a capital 'F'."

"And the 'F' stands for?" Miranda asked. Samantha opened her mouth to answer but Miranda cut her off, "Never mind, don't need to know, shouldn't have asked, let's just get you in there so you can get on with spending the night scaring the normals."

"Oh, don't you think I won't!" Samantha squealed gleefully, "Come on! Before all the good drink is drunk and all the good sex is had!" With that, she wheeled herself ahead of Miranda and made a beeline for the front door.

Miranda bit at her lip; sometimes Sam could get a little crazy at get-togethers like this. It was her way of dealing with being in that chair; sometimes she overcompensated and attempted to be the "wildest girl to ever go wild." It had gotten her in trouble before and it was looking to Miranda like it might do so again.

With a sudden knot in her stomach, Miranda quietly followed Sam into the cacophonous house.

A few hours in and Miranda was thoroughly miserable: the music was wretched and being blasted at a decibel level usually reserved for air raid sirens. It was wildly overcrowded, the poor girl could barely breathe; let alone move about freely. She was constantly being propositioned by a steady stream of guys and girls who wanted to 'sneak upstairs for a little private time' and show off how impressive their respective genitalia were.

But the smell, the unending stink of cheap beer and booze mixed with choking cigarette smoke and what she supposed was stale bong water, was the worst: it stung her eyes and threatened to suffocate her. She felt like Dante wandering about the Inferno.

She noted that Samantha, on the other hand, appeared to be in her natural element.

"Whoooooooooooo!" she heard Sam cry out in a fashion that was widely acknowledged as the mating call of the drunken college girl. Several other, deeper, voices joined in her in chorus.

Sam had been pounding back Jell-O shots as soon as they had gotten across the threshold. Now she'd graduated to shots of Goldschlager, Aftershock, and anything else anyone put in front of her.

The situation was rapidly spinning out of control, Miranda stormed over to where Sam was sitting at the head of a table, a drink in each hand and surrounded by men who were equally loaded and had begun eyeing her up like a tasty morsel ready to be devoured completely.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 02



"Sam, we need to go, NOW!" Miranda hissed.

"Hey Misshhy," Sam slurred, slinging an arm around the other girl and exhaling fumes into her face that nearly had Miranda gagging "Look everyone," she turned to face the others, "It's Misshy," she belched and then put a hand over her mouth, "Oops, sorry."

Miranda was rapidly reaching the point of truly fed up, "Samantha, you and I are leaving now!"

"Oooh, look everyone, mommy's upset!" Sam attempted to focus on her lover, "Well, tell you what, Misshy, as long as I am stuck sitting in this chair, I get to drink as much as I want of whatever I want!" she said with a very stubborn set in her jaw that Miranda knew all too well.

Sam did a good job of keeping her spirits up about everything most of the time, until she drank. Then it seemed like a floodgate of repressed bitterness, anger, and depression came flooding forth and she quickly proceeded to spew venom on anyone and everyone within range.

"Yeah, Misshy," one of the guys said as he reached out, "Come have some fun with us."

Miranda backed away hurriedly, hands up in an awkward attempt to defend herself. The others just laughed. Sam lurched out of her chair trying to grab at her; one of the guys present stuck out an arm to keep her from falling over and in the process groped both of Samantha's breasts and took his time about it. Sam didn't seem to notice; she just kept laughing and trying to grab Miranda.

Miranda's head began to spin; she couldn't think straight or find her feet.

"You know what you need, Mishy?" Sam yelled out.

The other girl turned to face her, "What Sammy, what do I need?"

Sam giggled again in a way that Miranda didn't find funny or attractive at all.

"You need," she enunciated slowly, "A big....fat.....cock!"

The table roared in laughter, Sam included as Miranda felt her cheeks flush in humiliation and tears started to leak down her face as she pushed herself away and just ran, ran away from all the ugliness her lover was hurling at her.

"Oh come on, lover lighten up," she heard Sam call after her.

"Yeah, c'mon back China," one of the guys added, "C'mon over and 'me love you long time!'" he howled after her, grabbing his crotch.

Another roar of laughter, including Sams, was still echoing in Miranda's ears as she fled. She shoved her way through the crowd as best she could, her slim frame bouncing off people like a deranged pinball.

A big fat cock, Miri, you need a big, fat, cock.

Miranda started to cry as she ran, making it even more difficult to not fall over. Sam was the last person to say things like that; even if she weren't her lover. Sam's preference for women had always been rock steady. She only said it to because she was drunk and the only way to deal with the fact that she was hurting was to hurt Miri.

Moreover, she'd succeeded.

Finally, weaving and stumbling, Miranda put her back against a stairwell, slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands as hard, painful sobs wracked her frail body. Tears now flowed freely as she started digging her nails into her skin, so she could focus on external pain and ignore how she felt inside.

"Miiiri!!!"

Miranda jerked up and pushed herself to her feet unsteadily and she searched frantically for Sam.

It didn't take long and what she saw caused her blood to run cold.

Sam, not looking like she was having nearly as much fun, was being hoisted like a prize trophy by several men. Only men. And they were bringing her upstairs....for some private time. For one, very ugly moment, Miranda narrowed her eyes, rimmed red in anger and humiliation.

Having a tough time, Sammy?

She shook those thoughts. This is not who she was. More importantly, Sam wasn't that kind of girl. Not really. She wasn't perfect, but she was hers and she loved her.

Miranda made eye contact with the other girl; her blue eyes were wide and terrified. Miranda looked around frantically, what could she do? Call the police? Campus security? Go after them? There were five of them; they'd kill her or worse. She didn't know anyone here.

In times of panic, it's strange what the brain focuses on: even now, watching her lover being trotted away like a sacrificial lamb to be gang raped, and amongst all the noise and stink, she was still able to pick up on a single scent.

The scent of fresh cut wood, leather and something bitter.

It couldn't be...

"Aces over eights, lads. Please pass all your bread to the front so that I may collect it more easily."

You have got to be kidding.

Miranda looked around hurriedly and found a poker table, surrounded by four, very angry looking college kids with a dwindling pile of cash in front of them, a large pile in the center and a fifth man with his back to her. He was dressed in the same white shirt and black slacks she'd seen him in earlier, his tan coat was thrown over the back of the seat.

Does the man even own another pair of clothes?

She was still uncertain as she approached, she couldn't see his face. In one gloved hand, he was casually twirling a long, walking stick, painted purple, green, red, and every other garish color in the spectrum. However, it was in his right hand that convinced her it was the man from earlier: he crushed out a spent cigarette onto the table, alongside a very large pile of additional cigarette stubs and proceeded to light up another cigarette, all without breaking stride.

"I need your help!" she yelled at him as she came up on him from behind slapping a hand on his shoulder and starting to pull.

"OW!" Miranda cried out in pain, she jerked her hand back; he had burnt her with his cigarette! It was over before she even realized it had happened, quick as a bee sting.

"Hands off the merchandise there poppet," he said calmly as he began to deal cards in rapid fire to the other players.

Miranda sucked at her hand for a second, then gritting her teeth, she grabbed the man forcibly by his jacket and spun him around to face her.

"Now!"

The blonde man looked up at her casually, still shuffling his cards in his hands, cigarette dangling from the corner of his as he regarded her with those mirrored sunglasses.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" in a tone that oozed condescension.

"Hey, limey," one of the players snarled, "you gonna talk to your girlfriend or you gonna play cards?"

Without turning away from Miranda, he held up a stalling hand, "Cool it, yank; still plenty of time in the evening for me to take all your bees and honey," he said as he gestured at the other man's dwindling pile of money, "have no fear."

He turned back to the girl, cards and cigarette in one hand, twirling his gaudy colored stick in the other, "Now-"

"Hey you stupid son-of-a-bitch, I'm talking to you!"

But the man appeared to be ignoring him as continued on with Miranda, "So, what's your bloody problem?" he demanded.

"Samm-Samantha," she corrected, "Got really drunk and these guys are going to take her upstairs and try to have sex with her?"

"What, the blonde bird in the trolley?"

"Yes."

"Well, then those blokes probably aren't going to have to try very hard, will they? If you can't land a drunken gimp when you're five-on, then you'd best pack it in."

Miranda's mouth sagged open even as the man turned away to face the players, "New round, jacks or better to open," he eyed the other players smugly, "Now then, who's turn is it to raise?"

"PLEASE!!"

"I open with twenty dollars," the player on the left said.

"What, did your allowance get cut or something?"

"I need your help!" Miranda cried.

"See twenty and raise twenty," said another player. The older man just scoffed in derision and shook his head.

"I'll see your forty and raise same," the last player said.

"Well now, this is a cute little piece pot, isn't it? Right adorable" the costumed man sneered, "But I think it needs to grow a pair," he pushed a wad of cash into the center of the table, "A hundred dollars makes a man out of this tiddly pot," he gave a cruel grin to the other players still twirling that stick in his left hand,

"Now then, come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."

"I'll let you do things to me, if you go help her," Miranda said very, very quietly. All the other players, college guys, jerked their heads up at that and started becoming very interested in what was happening.

He shook his head, gesturing with his cigarette to the other players, "There you are, Binty," he said, coughing again and clearing his throat, "three strapping young men ready to ride to your rescue and liberate your fair maiden before she's violated in every one of her god-given orifices."

Miranda looked at their hunger and shivered,

"I have money!" Miranda yelled and she did, quite a lot actually from her research grants and publications.

He just gestured at the money in front of him, "Well, so do I buttercup, four hundred dollars and change."

Miranda's cheeks flushed red as she slowly hiked up her dress, both hands white knuckled until just the slightest hint of pale hip was showing.

The Englishman saw it, shook his head, and gestured to his cards, "Look poppet, unless you have the fourth Margaret to keep her three sisters here company...," he said while gesturing at his cards,

Two players groaned in dismay and folded.

"...you've got nothing in your knickers I want. Your boo brought this on herself. Never get into a situation you can't walk out of," he shrugged slightly, "so to speak."

Miranda cast about desperately, she didn't know what to do; she was so scared, for herself and Sam. He wouldn't take money or sex, what else could she do? She floundered within herself and found something; a small, irritating part of her mind. The part that had claimed her last masturbatory fantasy and that rattled around in her head like a pebble in her shoe and that made her stomach clench in anxiety.

"Do it because you're a decent man, the kind of man who won't stand by and let a girl get raped."

The man stopped twirling his stick.

Thank God! She thought to herself.

He turned his head slightly to regard her, "You willing to bet your life and hers on that, lass? Are you that sure of it?"

Miranda took a deep breath,

"Yes," she said with a hint of defiance and a lot of determination.

There was a pause. Then,

"Oh....fuck me!" he cursed.

"I did offer," Miranda replied quietly.

He whirled on her "Don't get cute!" he snarled and she nearly fell over as she jumped back in alarm. He sighed, pushed his sunglasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose and reached down to collect his winnings.

A meaty hand clamped down onto his,

"You're not walking out of here with our money," one of the players barked, "Not before we get a chance to win it back. You want to go play hero, your money stays here."

The other man responded by casually grinding out his cigarette into the man's hand.

"FUCKER!!" the other man yelled clutching at his hand. Unlike what had been done to Miranda, which had been a warning and not terribly painful after the initial shock, the Englishman had put muscle and prolonged, deliberate force into this and had burned the man rather badly.

"Now hear this, tossers!" he began as he gestured to his money with his stick, "that is a pretty pile of four hundred dollars U.S," he held up his stick, "If there is not four hundred dollars U.S. still in said pile when I return, I'm going to shove this bit of hickory so far up your collective arses that you'll be calling out its name later during your evening wank, are we clear?"

A circle of sullen glares was his only response.

"Good, glad to see that college education isn't going to waste," he said with a smirk. He began to turn away then stopped and turned back to them,

"By the way," he started, gesturing with his cigarette to the nearest player, "Archie here's wishing he'd gotten that third seven on the last go-round, but he didn't and he's not nearly a good enough liar to look otherwise,"

He continued to the next player, 'Jughead's got a "Princess's pair": hearts and diamonds, but since they're not a matched set, it's shite,"

He finished by pointing at the third man, the one he had burnt with his cigarette, "And Betty is just praying that I don't figure out that his attempted heart's flush is all cocked up," he leaned in to face the man, "News flash boyo, I have figured it out and so did the rest of the table about five fucking minutes ago."

The Englishman held up his own cards, "So, if any of you prickless wonders want to know whether or not you can trump what I'm holding here, then be my bloody guest," he waved his cards around like they were a weapon,

"It'll cost you this entire pot," he gestured to the money in the circle of the table, "to find out. Or, you can spare yourself the humiliation, give me your money now and make it home in time to beg your old lady for a quickie."

Without looking, threw his cards face down on the table. The men behind him looked ready to explode and Miranda looked stunned.

"What the hell-?"

"Not important," he turned on Miranda and grabbed his coat, and stick, "lead on Queenie; time to go find your bird. They're university boys so foreplay is out," he muttered, "but maybe if we're lucky, they plan on taking turns."

"Thank you," she replied quietly.

"Shut your gob before I come to my senses and leave you both to rot."

Miranda moved to grab his hand as they dove into the crowd, but remembering what happened last time, simply just hurried him along as best her could. She pushed and shoved as best she could through the crowd, but quickly grew winded; between the awful air quality and her own frailty, she just couldn't muscle her way through. She nearly wept in frustration, cursing her own weakness.

"You do realize that we'll never find her this way, right?" He said lighting up a fresh cigarette.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Miranda snapped.

"Funny you should mention."

He plowed his way through the crowd casually "Excuse me. Pardon me. Get the fuck out of my way!" he roared as he pushed and shoved making his way over to the stereo system. He grabbed up a bottle of what appeared to be whisky and took out a book of matches.

Miranda eyed him warily, "What are you doing?"

"Never yell 'fire' in a theater full of idiots, bint," he took a long pull from the bottle and coughed, "Not unless you've got the stones."

He lit the match and dumped it into the half-full whisky bottle, its contents ignited and, without any hesitation; he threw the whole concoction straight into the stereo.

They was a tremendous shriek of tortured electronics and shattering glass as the music died out instantly replaced only by the sound of melting plastic and people coughing or milling about in surprise and alarm.

Grey cupped his hands around his mouth, "Oi! So, who's off to rape the cripple?"

The dead silence got a little deader.

Miranda managed to pull herself together from all of this long enough to gesture at a stairway. There was Sam with the neckline of her dress torn apart and still being carted about like a trophy, surrounded by a small group of men. She was being passed around like a bottle of cheap booze from one man to the next. They took turns bouncing her on their knees or fondling her breasts. Tears of humiliation and shame cascaded down her face and she knew that the instant they got bored with this they would take her into one of the empty rooms upstairs and where they would begin to do far worse to her.

"That your old lady?" The Englishman asked as he gestured with his cigarette.

"Yeah," she replied, between the men surrounding Sam and this lunatic standing beside her, she was terrified as to what the next thirty seconds would bring.

"Okay, be ready to move." He smirked which drew Miranda's attention to his scar, long and puckered starting at the edge of his month and going nearly halfway up his cheek.

What the Hell did that? In spite of her fear, she was still...curious about the man.

Meanwhile, the man had stepped forward to address the room.

"Now, I am forced to applaud your ingenuity, lad," he called out as he began to clap in a slow, sarcastic fashion, "Bra-vo," he clapped out each syllable, "Bra-fucking-vo. I only wish it had occurred to me to start trolling the Special Olympics for easy snatch."

Miranda's hand flew to her mouth as Sam's eyes went even wider.

"Now, I'm being full-on honest here, mate; it's brilliant; when you can't get a real girl, there's no shame in pillaging the bargain bin for damaged goods."

The men sitting at the table were starting to look very uncomfortable, one in particular; the largest of them and also the one who had been groping Sam's chest, was starting to look angry.

"Granted, I prefer my toys without any assembly required, but that's just me," he continued to taunt, advancing on them, casually smoking his cigarette and spinning his walking stick over his knuckles, "Now my question is: are you going to be making it a habit, harvesting all your trim from the short coach or just on those nights when you can't handle a girl whose parts all work proper?"

The air in the room was becoming charged with hostility and the man was insisting on putting it out by pouring gasoline on it. Most of the men at the table had slunk away from the Englishman's scathing tongue and the looks they were getting from everyone that wasn't staring at the blond man. But the large, angry, one remained and looked even angrier even as Sam began to cry quietly, ashamed and humiliated.

"What are you doing?!" Miranda snarled at him but he waved her off and continued.

"Now, I appreciate a sure thing there, mate, and she's as close to a sure thing as anyone is liable to find but answer me this," his leer became something even more ugly, something hateful, "Will it still continue to bother you that no fully-functional woman will give your Yankee-doodle noodle a proper toss?"

Samantha was crying so hard she could barely breathe with Miranda not far behind her. The dark haired girl marched right up behind the blonde man.

"What the Hell-!" she began,

He silenced her with a finger.

"Wait for it."

And with the bellow of an enraged gorilla, the big man came charging at him.

"Hold this and get out of the bloody way," he said, thrusting his coat into Miranda's hands.

Miranda was in shock as she saw the other man charging at full speed: he was younger than his opponent, nearly twice as big, looked three times stronger and to top it off, he'd gone completely berserk.

Then the girl saw the Englishman grin and her blood ran cold: it was a smile that would frighten the blind.

"And here..." he said with a satisfaction that had the young girl doubting his sanity, "...we go," as he continued to twirl his stick playfully cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He appeared to be completely unconcerned about the behemoth rushing him; just as a fist, the size of a canned ham came swinging at his skull with bone-crushing force.

He ducked the blow and thrust up and out with the stick, jabbing the young man three times in rapid succession driving the hickory stick up into his solar plexus. The young man gasped loudly and began to choke, his mouth flopping open as he tried in vain to breathe.

"And now," the other man began taking the cigarette out of his mouth briefly, "An anatomy lesson." He struck the young man in the same spot again with the stick and he fell to his hands and knees, wheezing, his eyes bugging out in terror,

"This is the diaphragm," he continued, "It controls your ability to breathe. If you injure or paralyze the diaphragm, like say, with a sudden blow," he struck the boy again in the same spot who at this point had tears streaming down his face in equal parts terror and pain, "breathing becomes something of an issue."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 02



He continued to spin his walking stick like a baton twirler on parade, exhaling gouts of smoke from his scarred mouth as he studied the injured boy. On anyone else, it would have looked ludicrous.

On him, it looked terrifying.

"Stay down, nipper. It's not your night," he advised, placing his cigarette back in his mouth and took a deep drag contentedly.

The young man struggled to his feet and looked around, he could see people around him pointing at him, laughing at him.

That was all it took, he swung again at the older man.

The other man stepped out of the way and lashed out with his stick again, striking the boy's lower abdomen causing him to cry out and fall to his knees.

"Next: the liver," He began to lecture again with the practiced tone of experience, "Not just for filtering out alcohol," he began to circle the wounded boy like a shark, "it also connects to several major nerves in your body," the stick began to spin again, "your nervous system serves as your internal circuitry, just like a computer."

"And..." he added as he brought the stick down hard again in the same spot. The boy wailed in pain and rolled over onto his side curled up in the fetal position, "...just like a computer, if you damage the circuitry, you are well and truly..." he favored the wounded boy with a smile that bore no warmth, but only teeth and promised pain; his long strip of puckered scar tissue turning it into a horrific, lopsided, grin.

"...boned."

He struck out with his stick only to draw up short as Miranda dove in front of him.

"Enough!" she cried out, "He's had enough!"

He looked taken aback for a moment, then sneered at her, "Oh yes, and I'm sure he and his mates would have shown you and yo-yo knickers over there...," he gestured with his stick towards Sam, who had gone deathly pale, "...the same goddamn consideration!" he finished in a low snarl.

"I don't care, it's enough. He's had enough."

She felt a chill as he regarded her for a long moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of knocking her out of the way and finishing what he started; twin images of her terrified visage reflected back in her in his dark glasses. Everyone held their breath, except the boy on the floor, who was still trying to find his.

"Whatever, go collect your trim and let's go," he pointed to the bleeding young man on the floor, now crying openly and cradling his injuries, "And someone get him to a fucking hospital."

Miranda narrowed her eyes at his hateful tone, but he quickly made her way towards Sam. This time, people tripped over themselves in their hurry to get out of his way.

"Miri," Sam whispered, her face tear-stained, "I'm so sorry."

Miranda pushed aside her feelings of bitterness and resentment for the moment and helped Sam up bracing her against her body, "That's not important right now, Sam, where's your chair?"

"I.....I don't know, Miri, I can't remember," her expression was ravaged with shame, "Miranda, all that shit that man said, it was so awful."

Miranda cast a look back at the Englishman who clearly appeared to be getting impatient.

"I know love, I know, but we need to go," Miranda bent over and gently scooped her up into arms, carefully, sheer terror and adrenaline granting her strength previously unknown to her slim frame. She placed a kiss on her forehead and Sam wrapped her arms around her neck and squeezed it desperately.

The crowd parted for the lovers as they approached the blond man with a great deal of trepidation.

"About bloody time."

"Whatever," Miranda replied, she had had enough of everybody here, him most of all.

"Hang about," the man's stick shot up to bar Miranda and Samantha's way, bringing them to a jarring stop and causing Miranda to nearly drop the other girl.

"What?" she hissed.

"Some unfinished business there, Queenie."

He stalked over towards the injured young man who had just now been able to get to his feet. A single jab from the stick to his chest put him flat on his back. The blond man put on foot on top of the man's sternum, pressing the tip of his stick into his throat.

"This is your trachea," he hissed, "Do you know what happens if it stops working?"

The other man could only gurgle in terror.

"What are you-?" Miranda began.

"Girls, front and center," he called over his shoulder before returning to peer down at the man underneath his stick, as if he were some kind of interesting insect,

"This bloke has something he would like to say to you both," he brought his stick up and cracked him in the nose, "on your feet blighter."

The young boy crawled up to his feet, clutching his nose that was bleeding profusely.

The older man casually stepped behind him and brought his stick right up under his chin and flush against his throat. The young boy's eyes bulged and he began color at the sudden lack of oxygen.

"What are you doing?!" Miranda yelled at him.

"This boy has something to say to you both," he told her before turning back to regard the boy he held in a chokehold and was rapidly turning purple,

"Repeat after me Billy, do you mind if I call you Billy? Never mind, not important. Say 'I'm sorry'".

"guh thorry!" the boy choked out.

"Not good enough," he loosened the stick a little, "Again, and make me believe it."

"I'm sorry...." The boy said sullenly.

The Englishman sank his fist into the boy's kidneys pressing his knuckles tight into the soft tissue and grinding up and into it, like twisting a knife in a wound.

It caused 'Billy' to cry out in pain and nearly fall again except the stick across his throat that was choking him and keeping him upright.

"Not really feeling it Billy."

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

The other man kicked him in the back of the knee and dragged the boy down onto his knees, eye level with Sam.

"Her too."

"I'm so, so, sorry," he gurgled, "Please don't kill me."

The other man turned to the girls, still crouched behind the boy with his stick across his throat, like some kind of predator.

"What do you say, girls?" he turned to address the youth in his grasp, "just a couple of kilos of pressure and kccchh!! "He twisted the stick flush across Billy's throat, "Billy goes to that big do in the sky?"

Samantha and Miranda moistened very dry lips; tonight had gotten way out of control: the man in front of them would kill Billy if they gave the word without a moment's hesitation, they were certain of it.

"Don't do it!" Miranda cried out.

He shifted his glance to Sam, "And you luv, are you feeling particularly merciful?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Even though he and his friends were going to take out their pin-dicks and turn you into a goddamn voodoo doll?"

Sam nodded, fresh tears began to form in her eyes at the harshness of the words and the even harsher visions they conjured. She couldn't take much more; the horror of what had nearly happened to her and Miranda and what could happen right now in front of them was pushing her to her breaking point.

"Yes! Yes, just don't....don't kill him, please."

The man smirked, as if he knew that was exactly what she was going to say and he turned to regard Billy.

"Say 'thank you' to the nice, little, lesbians Billy," he grabbed Billy's head to force him to look at the two girls, "they just saved your life."

"Th-thank you," Billy gurgled out, he was crying too. Everyone else was just terrified.

Slowly, the he dragged Billy up by the stick under his chin until they were both standing with the older man still standing behind the younger, his stick still across this throat.

"If I see, hear, or even think about you near these girls or any other that isn't either a relation or being paid by the hour," the blonde man leaned into Billy's ear, "I'll hurt you in ways no man ever comes back from. Do you understand?"

Billy jerked his head up and down, openly blubbering at this point.

"Bright lad."

He released Billy in a sudden movement, causing the boy to fall to his knees. He then planted a foot at the small of his back and pushed him over.

"Class dismissed," he muttered, taking out a fresh cigarette as he tossed the burnt out stub onto Billy's head and turned to address the girls, "We're leaving."

Without even a backward glance, he made his way back to the poker table.

The girls followed, very cautiously.

"Is he going to kill us?" Sam asked from her place cradled within Miranda's arms.

"God, I hope not," was her only reply.

"Those whoresons!" yelled a Cockney accent.

"Oh god, we're gonna die," Sam squeaked.

"We're not going to die," Miranda assured her, doing her best to remember that between all the alcohol and stark terror, her lover was not in her right mind. Carefully, she crept up behind the blond man who was standing and looking very irate...

...at an empty poker table, bereft of winnings.

"Four hundred plus dollars," he growled spacing out each word like a slap to the face as he turned on Miranda and Sam, "It is official, you two bloody tarts are costing me both time and money, neither of which I feel particularly inclined to part with in the first place."

"I'm sorry," Miranda said quietly.

"No you're not, you got what you wanted," he gestured at Sam, "Your little chippy, safe as houses. And, because of you both, I'm short of booze and fag money for the week."

"Hey! Watch who you're calling a-" Sam began.

"It means 'cigarette'," Miranda quietly corrected her.

"...oh."

Meanwhile, the blonde man jerked on his jacket, took out a fresh cigarette and lit up as he looked at the two girls.

"Well, I'd say it was a lovely time, but none of us here are stupid enough to believe that shite. So—"he stopped and looked at Sam, "Well actually, maybe you are," he turned his gaze back to Miranda and made a 'shoo' gesture with his fingers, "why don't you two just sod off?"

"Hey!"

The man turned to look at Miranda, "You never even told us your name!."

"Figured that out all by yourself, did you there, Binty? "He took a drag from his cigarette and pointed, "What color is your dress there?"

Miranda frowned in confusion and looked down, "It's gray, but what-"

"Fantastic, you may call me 'Mr. Grey' then, with an 'e'," he told her deadpan, "my mates just call me 'Grey' but I don't know you that well so..."

Appearing to ignore the looks of indignation and outrage both girls were giving him, he brushed past them and headed out the door, puffing away vehemently as he stepped onto the street.

"Bloody university prats," he muttered. Especially those two girls, they'd really gotten under her skin. So had Billy, but then he'd had the opportunity to administer a savage beating to Billy, which brought him some comfort.

"Wait! Mister Grey!"

The blonde man looked up into the night sky with a "Why me, dear god?" expression before turning to see the two girls exiting; Miranda still cradling Sam in her arms.

"What in the name of Her Majesty's knickers could either of you possibly want more from me?" he demanded.

"We need a ride home." Sam informed him.



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03



Everybody's got a secret to hide Everyone is slipping backwards I can't remember if I like what I said I can't remember it went straight to my head I kept a bottle by the foot of the bed I put a pillow right on top of my head But I killed for love

-The Chromatics "Kill for love."

"You've got to be five-finger fucking me!" Grey ran his hand through his hair, clenching his fist before jerking it away as Miranda carried Sam towards him.

Sam's response was to produce an impressive amount of vomit all over Grey's shoes and Miranda's dress.

Grey took a moment to assess the situation; he looked at his shoes and then shifted his gaze to Sam.

"Oops!" Sam smiled before she passed out, causing Miranda to topple forward with the sudden dead weight. Grey blocked their descent with his stick and the pair sank into a heap on the ground instead.

"Seriously, what do you see in her?" Grey took a drag off his cigarette and coughed.

Miranda looked up at him, "She's beautiful, intelligent, kind and a better person than you are."

"Yeah, and which of those virtues was she espousing when she declared your need for fat cock: her beauty? Intelligence?"

Miranda had had enough.

"Listen you pompous, arrogant, sadistic—"

"Or, was that your bird's way of being 'kind'? That how she usually treats those she loves?"

Miranda's expression crumpled under Grey's words and she hung her head.

"And as for being a better person," he stared at her for a long time, "that's not really all that hard, poppet," he finished quietly.

Grey extended his staff towards Miranda, "On your feet then, pet."

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"Why? Why are you going to help us?"

"Because you're a moron, she's a drunk, and I'm an idiot, now grab the fucking stick."

She gripped the stick that was offered and began to haul herself to her feet; she reached out with her other hand, brushing against Grey's arm.

"Back off!"

Grey yanked the stick away from her and leapt backwards as if he had been scalded. She stumbled, nearly falling over, at the abruptness of Grey's reaction. When she found her feet, she jerked her head around to face the man.

"What the hell is your problem?"

Grey had his stick poised to strike, but Miranda would not back down. Not to him. Not anymore. The two of them just stared at each other. She was aware that they were both breathing hard as well. He clutched the stick in a white-knuckled grip and he was shivering violently. The fight hadn't bothered him at all, but this had him in a near panic.

"So, you can only touch people if you're hurting them, is that it? Are you truly that messed up?"

Slowly, Grey lowered his stick and exhaled a shuddering breath; he'd gone ghostly pale.

"None of your goddamn business."

Miranda blinked and then whatever it was over. Grey was himself again, calm and collected.

"Collect your bird and let's get across the street."

Miranda strained to pick up Sam, but without the other girl's help, she couldn't and she sank to the ground.

"I can't," she groaned.

"You can't? You seemed to be managing just fine earlier," Grey scowled at her.

"Sam carries most of the weight," she explained.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Grey exhaled a cloud of smoke as his face took on a pensive expression, "Stuck in that manual trolley means she's probably pretty Hench."

Miranda frowned at him in confusion.

"Muscles, dearie, she probably has big muscles."

"Oh, well yeah she does except—"

"Except her being passed out in her own vomit makes that a moot point," he tossed away a used cigarette and fished another one from his coat, "Okay, so she's a cripple, I get that. What's your damage?"

Miranda glared up at him, "I get tired."

"Then sleep more."

"I sleep over ten hours sometimes."

"Then fuck less."

Miranda wasn't even willing to dignify that with an answer but, for a moment, Grey's face lost its usual expression of disdain and anger into something resembling thoughtfulness.

"Chronic fatigue then, is it Binty? How long?"

"I don't know, since I was ten or so."

"Yeah? And what'd the family crow have to say?"

Another confused look from the girl.

"The soddin' doctor."

"They don't know what it is."

The look of disdain returned to his features along with anger, "Bloody useless people; couldn't diagnose a proper case of Chlamydia in the middle of a ten-penny knocking-house."

Miranda shot him a puzzled glance, "Speaking from experience?"

Grey snorted, "Trust me, Binty, my knocking-house days are behind me."

"What about your days as a diagnostician?"

Grey stopped in mid-motion as he was lighting his cigarette. Twin fires from the match reflected in his sunglasses.

"I've never been a diagnostician," he said finally, lighting his cigarette and putting out the match, tossing it aside as he took a long drag.

"Kind of weird though; that much scorn, that's professional, if not personal," she slowly got to her feet as Grey eyed her warily, "So, why would a chain-smoking alcoholic card shark with violent tendencies have any kind of feelings towards the subject at all: professional or personal?"

Slowly, Grey took another long pull for his cigarette, "Go play head-shrinker with someone else, Binty, unless you fancy carrying blonde, buxom, and bladdered all on your Jack."

"My what?"

"On. Your. Own, God take the time to learn the Queen's English would you?"

Miranda shook her head, trying to focus; it was hard to do so around him. Just one more reason she didn't like him.

"Will you help us?"

Grey coughed, "I think you mean 'will I help you more'?"

Miranda gave him a level gaze and he gave her a look of sheer exasperation.

"Where's your motor?"

"My—"

"Your car. Where is your car?"

"I don't have a car."

"You don't—why not?"

"I don't drive."

"Of course you don't," a puff of smoke, "Okay, what about coaches or hacks?"

Another blank look.

"Bus or Taxi?"

"The buses don't run this late and I don't have any money for a taxi."

"What, you left your coin purse at your flat?"

Miranda didn't answer; she just turned her head and indicated the house they had just left.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Grey scoffed, "God, I never thought I'd miss the Tube.

"I don't suppose you have any money to lend?" the girl asked, "I can pay you back."

"Two things wrong with that idea, Binty; one, your breadbasket appears to be bare, so getting a return on my investment is pretty bloody unlikely."

"And two?"

"I don't have any money. I had money," and it was Grey's turn to motion meaningfully at the house.

"Oh," Miranda had the good grace to look abashed.

"Yeah, 'oh'."

"Well, do you have a car?"

"I have...access to one, yeah."

"Well, will you give us a ride then?"

Grey gestured with his stick across the street, a street with a steady stream of traffic on it.

"And what, you're going to drag 'Our Lady of the Projectile Vomit and Loose Knickers' across a few lanes of traffic?"

"Her name is Sam!"

"Don't really care Binty."

"My name is Miranda!"

"Still with the not caring."

Miranda massaged her temples: the stress, the fear, all the smoke inhalation, and worst of all, him. It was like claws down a blackboard; she couldn't take it.

"Just shut up and let me think!" Miranda yelled at him.

"The time for thinking has passed, Binty," he exhaled a cloud of smoke and ground out his cigarette, "We need to act," he looked Sam over, still splattered with vomit and passed out, "We need to get you and your bird back to your flat."

Miranda swallowed her pain, her anger and her fear and was able to look Grey in the face.

"So, you'll help us more?"

"We'll see," he walked over to Sam, "first things first," he bent low to scoop up Sam.

"Be careful!" Miranda yelled. She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses but she was pretty sure he was glaring balefully at her.

Grey snorted and shook his head before rotating Sam onto his shoulders into a fireman's carry with practiced ease.

Miranda drew up short, "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Less talking, more walking," was Grey's only reply.

Moreover, with that he proceeded to stroll into oncoming traffic without missing a step.

"Grey!"

Cars slammed on their brakes, the air was filled with the sound of screeching tires and blaring horns. Grey continued his walk, unhurried, as people hurled out various curses and profanities. He slowed his pace only enough to take a drag from his cigarette before proceeding to raise his hand back over his shoulder towards the motorists and extending his middle finger behind him.

That did not seem to improve the mood of those present.

Miranda followed behind him at a slightly safer pace, catching up on the other side.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" she screamed at him. In her anger, she attempted to shove the man but he simply stepped backwards out of her reach and she wound up stumbling instead.

"Careful, Binty," he gestured towards the sleeping girl on his shoulders, "precious cargo and all."

Miranda narrowed her eyes in distaste, but she knew Grey had her and he knew it, too.

"All finished then with your righteous indignation?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Going to mind your manners, P's and Q's then?"

"Yes."

"Behave for the nice Englishman trying to save you ridiculous tarts?"

"I said 'yes'!"

"I know," he gestured at her with his cigarette, "But now you've said it three times. That makes it a promise and I am the last person on this bloody planet you want to break promise to, got it?"

"Got it," Miranda sighed.

"Then let's shift it, Binty."

"Don't call me—"

Grey stopped and looked at her.

"Never mind."

"Smart girl," and with that, the three of them of them headed down the street.

They had been walking a couple blocks when Grey spoke up.

"I'm not carrying your little chippy all the way there," he said as he looked around, "Besides carrying her like this is bone anyhow. It's asking for trouble."

Miranda looked around, her surroundings feeling less familiar than they had during the day.

"What kind of trouble?" she asked cautiously.

"The kind of trouble that makes her suitors back at the frat look like goddamn Battersea boys."

"Who?"

"It's what we call 'The Boy Scouts' back home: twice the wholesomeness half the homophobia."

"Are you serious?"

"What, about the Battersea Boys?"

"About worse people out here, than at the party!" she shrieked, rapidly coming undone.

"Do I look like I'm taking the piss?"

Miranda opened her mouth again, but Grey silenced her with an open hand.

"Don't ask, let's just move."

Miranda nodded, her chin set in stubborn defiance. She would get her lover safely home and then get as far away from this man as possible.

Grey focused on something further down the street, "Ah, and inspiration strikes."

There was a woman, a bag lady by the looks of her. She shuffled along slowly, as if each step were a tremendous effort.

Miranda stared as the man came up behind the old woman.

Oh dear god, what is he going to do now?

"Hello mum."

The other woman gasped, spinning around with a terrified expression on her face. Grey held up his hand.

"It's all right there, luv, not here to hurt you, promise."

The woman wasn't completely convinced but she looked a little less likely to stroke out at his feet.

"Ain't got nothin' for you, boy," she told him. "Nothing worth stealin' or takin'."

The way the woman placed special emphasis on the word 'taking' and her tone: a combination of shame, fear, and self-reproach, gave rise to a scenario in Miranda's mind that made her feel violently ill for a moment and even Grey's expression slipped a little, becoming a thing of disgust, anger, and something else.

Pity?

Miranda blinked and it was gone, Grey's features were once again calm, even friendly.

"Now, none of that, mum," he soothed, "No one will be taking your things or your ... dignity."

Miranda thought his voice sounded strained for the first time since she had met him as she approached the pair.

The other woman laughed bitterly and gave a toothless smile, "Boy, you're a fool: what dignity you think I have left?"

"Enough to matter!" he snarled suddenly.

Miranda jumped and the other woman almost fainted at Grey's tone.

"Is your boyfriend gonna kill me?" the woman asked Miranda.

Miranda tried to answer as assuring as possible, "Probably not, but if he shows his teeth, run and take me with you."

Grey composed himself, coughed and tossed his cigarette, lighting up one for himself, and then offering one to the bag lady.

"Fancy a fag, mum?"

She shook her head reprovingly, "Son, don't you know that those things will be the death of you?"

"Yeah, that's the scuttlebutt," he offered it to her again, "Take it anyways, you can trade it later for food or crash space."

Cautiously, the woman took the cigarette from him and put it in a pocket before staring at Sam.

"Why are you carrying that girl?"

"Oh, her?" he gestured with a thumb, "I'm afraid that in her case, 'one for the road' became 'one too many'."

The woman simply stared at him, puzzled.

"She's drunk, mum, very, very, drunk."

"Oh. So why then are you bothering me, boy?"

Grey shifted Sam's weight under him, dug into his pockets, and removed a pocket watch. It was tarnished but still held the lustrous gleam of gold,

"You've got nothing I want to steal," he handed over the watch, "but you do have something I want to buy."

"Buy?" she frowned, "what kind of foolishness is this?"

"I want to buy your trolley," he gestured to her cart.

"My cart, why?"

"Because she's getting heavy," he said as he handed over the watch, "and she can't seem to get her feet under her."

She peered at the watch, "What am I going to do with this?"

"You, madam, are going to take that to a pawnbroker named Max, he's on East Colorado Avenue, building number twenty-six, ninety-six. Tell him that you're 'calling in his marker from his busted full house the other night,' he'll know what you mean," he examined her critically, "Have you got all that?"

The woman's expression had slid from puzzlement into downright confusion but she nodded as she took the watch from him, "Yes, sir, I can do that," her tone taking a distinctly contrite tone over a sudden.

"That a girl," he nodded, "And if that if that morally bankrupt motherfucker attempts to pay you any less than five-hundred dollars for it, you tell him that I'm going to come by and harvest his guts for garters. You tell him that word for bloody word."

Both of the women looked stunned by the sudden turn of events: between the amount of money Grey was giving away and the brutality (and utter sincerity) of the death threat he had just issued, they were left in utter bewilderment.

"Yes sir," the old woman said, "I will."

"Repeat it back to me, verbatim."

"Umm...marker, busted full house, pawnbroker named Max."

"And the most important part?"

The woman swallowed once, "The man with the English accent will harvest your guts for garters if you give me less than five hundred."

"Close enough," he pointed at the cart, "So, we have a deal then? My watch for your cart? You can even keep all your aluminum and other knick-knacks if you wish."

She nodded, the hard right turns were coming too fast for the poor woman.

"Aces, could you help me please?" Grey asked.

"Yes sir."

Together, Grey and the old woman emptied out her cart.

"Do you remember the address?" Grey asked again.

"Yes sir, I do."

"Good, try to get indoors tonight, there's a shelter a few blocks from Max's, you know it?"

"Why are you doing this for me?" the woman asked him. He took a long contemplative drag from his cigarette.

"Because I've been in your shoes before, mum," he exhaled a cloud of smoke, "and no one did it for me. Fair enough?"

The woman nodded, "My name's Margaret."

"Cheers, Margaret," he replied, "My name's Mister Grey, my friends call me Grey."

"Hello, Mister Grey."

"To you, it's Grey."

"I'm very happy to meet you, sir."

"Likewise, mum. Best head off," he looked up at the sky, "Pasadena in September is nothing to write home about, but tonight's feeling a touch nippy.

She waved at him then looked past him at Miranda.

"You best hang on to this one, honey. They don't make them like him anymore."

"You're not wrong," she muttered under her breath

"God bless you, sir," the elderly woman called out as she left.

Grey coughed hard and nearly choked on his cigarette.

"Not bleedin' likely, mum. But thanks for the thought."

Miranda came up behind Grey, "So you can be a human being when you want to be."

"What can I say?" he casually tossed Sam into the shopping cart like a bag of dirty laundry, followed by his walking stick, "People who don't irritate the living fuck out of me tend to see my better side."

"Hey!" Miranda rushed over to the cart where Sam was; the unconscious girl was like a rag doll; bent over at the waist and half hanging out of the cart, looking ready to go completely over and crash onto the street. Miranda grabbed her and made sure that at least most of her was wedged in before turning an icy stare at Grey, who shrugged,

"What? She's full-on three sheets there, she's not going to feel a thing," he began pushing the shopping cart down the street, "and I guaran-goddamn-tee you that whatever aches and pains she gets from rough handling will be nothing compared to the hangover that's waiting for her."

"And now you're back to being a jerk," Miranda growled.

"And you're back to being irritating and thick headed, so happy to have this return to normalcy; now let's get it in gear already."

"She doesn't deserve this kind of treatment!"

"Neither did you, nor have you already forgiven your trim for using you as a study in public humiliation?"

That sent Miranda rocking back on her heels but before she could follow up, he had turned away from her and started striding up the street and she had to struggle to keep up.

"Besides," he added, "stupid should hurt."

Ten minutes of walking later and Miranda had had enough.

"Grey, where's the car? You said you had one."

"I said I had access to one, Binty," he took a drag off his cigarette and exhaled, "And I do." He gestured with the tip of his cigarette.

Miranda turned and frowned, "'Pasadena City College'?" she turned on Grey, "and I refuse to believe that you're a teacher. No administration would be that cruel."

"You'd be surprised, but no, definitely not a teacher," he took another drag as he began to push the cart into the parking lot.

"No way you're a student."

"Yeah, because what would a bottom-feeder like me want with an education?"

Miranda closed her mouth with an audible clack and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment and anger.

Even if it takes the rest of my life, she thought, I'm going to find a way to make him pay for this.

"What's wrong then, pussy got your tongue?" Grey gave the cart a rattle and Sam's head bounced up and down, "Whoops, guess that ship has sailed, eh?"

Miranda glared at him and kept silent: she was done having her words used against her.

Grey exhaled a cloud of smoke, "Yeah, didn't think so."

He pushed the cart into the parking lot. Miranda started to look about.

"All right, so which one's yours?"

"Just look for the most decrepit looking banger you can find, it'll be mine," he replied.

Miranda took a moment to translate the man's words before looking about. It took her only a few minutes.

"Is this it?" she asked.

"Describe it."

She frowned but complied, "Uh...Camry, two door, blue. Lots of mud and rust."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03



"We have a winner," Grey walked over to join her.

"This is your car?"

Instead of answering, Grey focused on a point behind Miranda's shoulder, "Who's that bloke over there?"

Miranda turned to look, "I don't see anyone."

Then the driver side window shattered. Miranda closed her eyes took a long, deep, breath before turning around.

"Good, thank you," Grey commented as he cleared away the broken glass with his walking stick.

"You're going to steal this car?" she asked incredulously.

"Your grasp on the obvious does you credit, poppet," he reached in and popped the lock, opening the door, "And you were a marvelous look out. First thing you've refrained from screwing up all night."

"You used me?"

"Try not to look so brassed off. You're a natural; is this your first felony offense?"

Miranda just ran out of words, staring uncomprehendingly at the older man as if he were some kind of particularly bizarre extra-terrestrial.

"Your grateful silence is reward enough for me." He wheeled Sam around to the back of the car. "What do you think, lodge her in the boot?"

"No!" Miranda cried out, having recently regained her ability to speak, "We're not putting Sam in the bloody trunk!"

She gasped as her hands flew to her mouth as if she could have kept the word from escaping retroactively. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

Grey smirked at her, "Like I said; a natural," he turned to Sam's unconscious form, "Okay then, back seat?"

"Fine," Miranda muttered, attempting to salvage some semblance of dignity.

Grey unlocked the passenger side door and manhandled Sam's limp form into the backseat.

"Watch your hands," Miranda growled keeping a protective eye over her lover.

Grey proceeded to blow a cloud of smoke into her face causing Miranda to cough and blink away tears, "Binty, the prospect of you touching me fills me with what could only be described as 'a perfect horror'. I don't think your chippy here has anything to be concerned about."

"I hate you."

"Do you want to drive?"

"..."

Grey gave her another infuriating half-smile seemingly unaware that every time he did, it filled Miranda with a very compelling desire to throttle the life from the man.

"Good, then that's all settled," he put the passenger seat back upright, "Get in the car and shut up."

Miranda obeyed simmering.

"You know, one day—"

"What part of 'shut up' was unclear?"

The girl gritted her teeth until they hurt as Grey settled into the driver's seat and began looking around.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am contemplating whether or not I could fashion a gag out of the chippy's dress and whether or not it would be enough to get you to shut your gob," he glared at Miranda, "I'm looking for the keys."

"You can't think anyone would be dumb enough—"

Grey reached up to the visor, pulled it down, and a set of keys fell into his waiting palm.

"Well, this bloke is certainly getting a great deal out of his education," he muttered before dangling the keys in front of Miranda who looked ready to explode, "Never underestimate the stupidity of others."

He cranked up the car; it coughed and sputtered in protest but ultimately obeyed as Grey began to back out of the parking lot.

"So then Binty, where to?"

If looks could kill, Grey would have been a pile of molten bone. As such, all Miranda could do is glare at two smaller reflections of herself in his sunglasses who looked equally upset at the entire situation.

20 minutes and several violent fantasies later, Miranda guided Grey up the driveway to the apartment.

"Home sweet home," Grey called out as he brought the car to a stop, "Okay, get out."

Miranda looked back at him and looked as if she wanted to say something, but she just didn't have the fight left in her to go another round with this...person.

"Whatever," Miranda opened the door and stepped out. Moving the seat out of the way, she attempted to drag Samantha out of the backseat.

"Sammy, you so owe me!" she muttered. She continued to struggle with Sam, but the larger girl was all dead weight and the angle was impossible.

"Oh for the love of...," Grey got out of the car and stalked over to the passenger side, "Move!"

Miranda tried to avoid being run over as Grey reached in and began to pull Sam out. As he lifted her out, the blonde girl's head collided with the car door with a loud thunk!

"Hey!"

Grey looked back at Miranda, "Oops."

She just threw up her hands and hoped the other girl's skull was as solid as it sounded.

They marched up together to the entrance.

"Hold this," Grey thrust Sam's limp form into Miranda's arms.

"What the Hell?"

"Keys," he replied simply, his hand held out.

Miranda wordlessly handed over her house keys.

"Thought you said you lived you two birds lived in a flat?" he asked as he looked at the house.

"It's a house, we rent, so I call it an apartment," Miranda explained. She was very, very, tired. In fact, she could not remember a time where she had ever been this stressed out and twisted up into knots.

"How quaint," Grey muttered as he got the door open, "Here," he handed her back her keys and then simply stood there.

Miranda frowned, opened the door, and did her best to drag Sam across the floor to the couch. She made it as far as the ottoman before her arms gave out; but the carpet was plush and would serve as a temporary resting place for the girls well enough.

She looked over towards the threshold of her home; Grey was tossing away a used cigarette and fishing around for a new one.

"Do you...," Miranda began, "do you want to come in?" trying to be polite.

Grey scoffed, "Not even a little, poppet."

Miranda intended to tell him buzz off.

"Will you anyways?" Miranda's eyes went wide, that was not what she had planned on saying, "I have coffee," she said in shock as her mouth was making words her brain railed long and hard against.

Grey stopped and considered, "Yeah, all right, I could do with a cuppa," he gestured about towards the room, "Are you going to invite me in?"

"What are you, a vampire?"

"No, just polite."

"Blood-sucking ambulatory corpse still sounds more likely."

"Very funny, but I believe there was mention of coffee?"

Miranda sighed and nodded, "Yeah, just...stay there and watch Sam."

"Watch her do what, exactly?"

Miranda left the room as Grey examined the dried vomit on his shoes,

"Bloody priceless."

Miranda was in the kitchen, slamming drawers, banging pots and basically taking out all her frustration and anger out on the defenseless kitchen.

"Is this your first felony?" she mimicked in her best Cockney accent, "What part of 'shut up', do you not understand, Binty?" she continued to open and close doors with a great deal of strength in her search for the sugar, "'let's go collect your trim now!" She snarled, "'You two bloody tarts are costing me both time and money'," she found the sugar, her fists squeezing it until her knuckles turned white.

Those weren't the words though; she knew the words, the ones that had actually hurt her.

A Big. Fat. Cock.

"Jigoku ni iku ni wa, meinu!" she screamed and hurled the bag of sugar across the kitchen where it exploded against the far wall.

Jigoku ni iku ni wa, meinu.

Go to Hell, you bitch!

Miranda took several, shaky breaths as the ruptured sugar bag spilled forth its remaining contents upon the floor.

She heard a matchstick light up and turned to face Grey who was nonchalantly lighting a cigarette whilst examining the wreckage. He blew out a cloud of smoke in consideration.

"Now, my Japanese is a bit rusty there, Poppet," he walked past her and peered at the pile of sugar and torn paper on the floor, "But I'm pretty sure that it didn't mean 'kettle's on.'"

"Get out." Her lips were pulled back in hateful rictus as she looked at him.

He pointed at her, "And there it is."

"There what is?"

"That. The beastie in your closet that you've been keeping wedged up inside you all soddin' evening," he took another thoughtful drag, "that's what's had you spitting nails all evening and that's why you were so easy to bait."

Miranda frowned, her anger dissipating into uncertainty, "What are you ranting about now?"

"Question: did you or did you not suffer a constant barrage of insults, putdowns, and a variety of very hurtful things."

"I did."

"And who is responsible for that?" he inhaled deeply.

"You."

"Ahhh, yes, me," he exhaled a cloud of smoke and he smiled humorlessly causing the scar to become more prominent, "Me, me, me."

"Let me ask you something, do you usually make it a habit of being humiliated and degraded by random men?" he shrugged and inhaled another puff of smoke, "You don't look the type, but it takes all kinds..."

"No!" Miranda yelled, "No, I'm not some stupid girl that enjoys pain."

"Well, you're half right," he coughed, "So why then did you let a complete stranger torture you for the better part of an evening?"

Miranda began to protest but pulled up short.

"Like you said, you're not some kind torture toddy, gets her knickers all damp at the first crack of the switch, so why?"

"I—"

"I'm glad you asked. You did it for the reason that I did it to you: you needed someone to be angry at that wasn't your girlfriend."

Miranda's pale face became deathly.

"Oh yes, your sweet beloved," he exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face, "who not only humiliated you, in public and in a very obscene fashion were you to ask me," he began to circle Miranda, "she was the reason you were there in the first place and she is the reason that you had to tote about her tanned arse all over town with a bloke you couldn't stand."

Miranda put her hands over her ears, "I'm not hearing this."

"You don't have to hear it, Pet, you already feel it," he pointed at her chest, "it's in there now, like a worm in an apple and it's just eating you up."

"Shut up!"

"Come on, Binty! You're so angry, so betrayed so hateful and hurt, do something! Tell her to go to hell, tell her to fuck off, tell her you never want to see her selfish, gimpy ass again!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I love her!"

"Then you got all this hate just churning inside your fucking guts," he sneered at her, "and you can't take it out on poor, crippled, Samantha—"

"Fuck you!"

"Un-bloody-likely, but since we're on the subject, what appalls you more there; the fact that she almost got used as a sperm dumpster...or the fact that she might have liked it? Maybe it would give her something you never could!"

Miranda screamed and slammed a fist in Grey's jaw, "Shut your fucking mouth!" tears of rage and anguish flowed freely down her face.

"Is that all you've got? Hey, you know her best, she seems a sturdy little tart; I bet she could take three at a time at least, what do you think?"

Miranda punched him again, her hand was starting to hurt, "Stop it!"

"Come on, Miranda, you want hit me? Hit me! You want to hurt someone? Give it your best fucking shot!"

She threw one more punch, but there was no weight behind it. She collapsed against him and hammered her small fists into his chest before she broke down into painful sobs.

"I hate you," she whimpered.

"I know poppet, I know," he formed a protective loop around her small frame with his arms, not quite touching, "that's the popular opinion. And more to the point, that was the purpose of tonight."

Miranda looked up at him, her eyes red but clear and large in comprehension, "This was your plan all along: you wanted me to get angry at you, to hate you, so I wouldn't take it out on Sam."

"And the blue ribbon goes to the girl in the front row."

"But...why?"

"Because, of all the broken things I've seen, broken hearts, have always been, in my eyes, the worst of the lot."

"You did it to keep us from breaking up?"

"I did it to keep two stupid girls from doing something stupid, like, say, bin their love for each other because one's a lush and the other's a tosser."

Miranda smiled a little, "You're still insulting me. You don't need to anymore."

"Who said anything about 'need', I find it to be right entertaining," he looked down at her, "got a taste for it, you know?"

Miranda laughed and wiped her eyes, her reflection in Grey's glasses revealed a pair of very tired young women.

"Thank you," she said very quietly.

"You want to thank me?" he gestured, "you can let go of my shirt, you're violating my bloody personal space."

"Deal, but first," she stretched to kiss him on the cheek.

"No!"

Miranda was nearly thrown across the room as Grey scrambled away from her his hands in front of him pressing out, as if to ward her away. He tripped and fell backwards, landing hard on his back.

"Grey, what's—"

He began to crab walk away from her as fast as he could.

"Don't touch me!" he rolled over onto his stomach and sprang to his feet, eyeing the small girl as if she were a pit viper.

"Just don't...don't touch me, all right?" He exhaled and Miranda saw him tremble, "Had enough touching tonight to last a lifetime."

"Okay," she said soothingly. She had begun to suspect through the night that, between the two of them, Grey's wounds were deeper than her own were. This had confirmed it. "Okay, I'm not going to touch you."

His expression was difficult to read behind his shades, but he looked to be calming slightly.

"All right," he sagged and almost collapsed onto the couch, "all right."

"You know, I was touching you earlier," she gestured behind her, "do you remember?"

"Yeah, that was mostly coat, shirt, and undershirt and I was braced for it. But the kiss?" he shook his head vehemently, "Off the table, out of the question. Fair?"

"Will you at least tell me why?"

"Because you've got nothing I need," he looked her slim frame up and down, "And I've got nothing you want."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"It wasn't meant to. So, fair?"

"Fine then, 'fair'."

"Thank you," he pointed at Sam, still on the floor, still unconscious, "Shall we give your beloved a proper 'rise and shine,' then?" He grinned impishly at Miranda.

Miranda nodded tentatively, "What are you going to do? You're not going to hurt her, are you?"

Grey gave her his best, "Are you really that stupid?" look and scooped Samantha up in his arms.

"Which way to the loo?"

Miranda gestured towards the hallway.

"Golden, thanks poppet," he made his way towards the bathroom, "put the kettle on if you haven't already; coffee is definitely going to be necessary."

"On it."

Miranda started to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

"How do you take it?" she asked.

"Anywhere I find it, really."

Miranda stuck her head out of the kitchen to scowl at the Englishman.

"Black and bitter is fine, girl."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" she murmured as she finished brewing the coffee and poured two cups.

"Going to need your help here now," she heard Grey call.

Miranda set the coffee down and headed into the bathroom.

"Now," he began as he set Samantha down gently, "What is the story behind this?"

He was gesturing to an enormous claw foot tub. It was placed in the center of the floor and completely dominated the entire room.

Grey quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Miranda, who looked a little sheepish.

"What? She replied, "Bath time is fun time around here."

"Clearly," he reached up to the detachable shower wand and examined it, "Ah, here we go: pulse massage with three settings: 'normal', 'intense', and 'ultra-knob' he looked up from his work and smirked, "and judging by the wear and tear, it looks like the third setting gets a lot of use."

"You've got a problem with masturbation?" Miranda asked, feeling bold.

"Not in the slightest, though it's not my personal cup of tea," he removed a cigarette from his jacket (which he hadn't bothered to take off) and stuck a match, lighting the tip, "Besides, I drink, smoke, get into fights, and gamble. That's much more my speed."

"Explains a lot," Miranda muttered.

"Yeah, yeah, help me get your bird starkers," began to pull her dress up.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Miranda went out to grab his hand and before his glare impaled her on the spot and stopped her dead, "What are you doing?"

Grey gave her that crooked smirk that made his scar bigger and seemed to ask 'Are you brain-dead?'

"Showering in a vomit coated dress seems a wee bit counterproductive, yeah?"

Miranda grimaced as she acknowledged the point, but still looked wary.

"Oh, for fuck's—" He took a long drag from his cigarette and placed his hand over his heart, "I swear by my blackened heart and tar-filled lungs that I intend no shenanigans towards yon drunken lesbian, happy?"

Slowly, Miranda backed off, "Yes, and yet also deeply troubled."

"Why?"

"Because no man has ever turned down a chance get his hands on Sammy, especially naked, lesbian or no."

"Huh, well, there are two kinds of tarts I never get mixed up with."

"And they are?"

"Girls green enough that I may have in fact been the one to squirt them into their mother's bellies during the seventies in London."

"And the other."

"Girls who are so bloody thickheaded it makes my eyeteeth hurt."

"Nice."

"Goes double for you."

"Uh-huh, yeah, great," still, Miranda helped Grey get Sam out of her dress.

"And besides," he added after Sam was nude, "You don't have anything to worry about."

Miranda frowned, "What do you mean?"

He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette, "Never went in for the whole 'I wish they all could be California girls' thing," he took a drag and exhaled in an air of nostalgia, "Bloody cliché it is, no, give me a woman pale as the moon in Winter with eyes you can drown in," he looked over at Miranda and shrugged, "What can I say, when you're as old and fucked up as I am, the norm just doesn't cut it anymore. Need to find something...unique, you know?"

"Exotic?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Yeah, that'll work. A one-of-a-kind, through and through; brains to boobs," he took another drag, "Speaking of," he gestured at Sam, "that is a fantastic set of Bristols your lover's got affixed to her torso," he leered at her, but it lacked the kind of lust behind it for it to be authentic, "Most impressive."

"I'm so happy you approve," she took the shower wand from Grey, "okay so what are we doing next?"

"You, birdie, are going to put that there," he handed her the shower wand," twixt yon dozing woman's thighs and aimed at her nethers."

"What you mean like...inside her?" Miranda asked aghast.

"No, was that I bloody said?" he shook his head in frustration, "Just do what I'm telling you to do, all right? I certainly can't do it."

"Why not?" she asked despite herself.

"You're not really grasping this whole 'personal bubble' idea, are you girlie?"

"Yeah, physical contact that doesn't involve violence, wouldn't want that." With a sigh, she did as she was told carefully.

"I'm sorry about this, Sammy," she whispered before taking a step back.

"Okay, now what?"

Grey took satisfied puff from his cigarette and examined the scene as if contemplating his next move. Then calmly reached over and cranked up the cold water,

There was a shriek that could have been heard from orbit as Sam's eyes nearly exploded out of her head.

"Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!"

Miranda started to move towards her, Grey held her back.

"Not just yet love."

Sam was frantically digging between her thighs, trying to find the monster that was spewing forth ice-cold water all over her sensitive parts.

"Miiiiriiiii!!" she wailed. The more she thrashed, the more tightly wedged the shower wand became.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03



Grey looked back, "You can go get the coffee now."

Miranda was taking in the entire scene in a state of shock, but proceeded to do so.

Grey calmly reached down and yanked the wand out by the cord, it shot out from between Samantha's thighs like a rocket and smacked firmly into his palm.

"What--?" she began to say, but as she was looking up at the Englishman, he began to spray her in the face.

"Ack! Quit it! Stop, you fucker!"

"Oh, good," he commented, cigarette dangling from his lip, "you're up."

"Miri, get this psycho off of me!"

Miranda hurried into the bathroom and just stared agog at the sight of Grey spraying freezing water in high-pressured pulses into her lover's face.

And she began to snicker.

Sam now had both hands out in front of her to deflect the torrent of water; she did her best to turn and face Miranda while simultaneously keeping the three jets of freezing water from her head and chest.

"Sweetie, do something!"

Miranda began to laugh.

"That's not what I meant!"

And Miranda fell flat on her ass and proceeded to laugh it off. All the stress, all the anger, and the emotional debris and damage of this minefield of a night just flooded out in paroxysm of hysterical laughter. She laughed until tears sprang to her eyes and her sides ached.

Grey took the opportunity to collect the coffee that Miri had managed to set down before collapsing and preceded to hand it to Sam, shutting off the water in the process.

"Drink," he instructed.

"What is it?" she growled

"Virginal goat blood, what the fuck do you think it is? It's coffee, now drink!"

She took the mug glaring daggers at the man and sipped carefully.

"What, you didn't roofie this or anything did you?" Samantha sneered.

Miranda was still attempting to regain control of herself; but she knew Sam's angry voice when she heard it.

"Come here, pet," Grey beckoned.

In addition, if Miranda had come to know anything about their new guest, it was that he could always be counted upon to make the situation...

Samantha leaned forward and Grey popped her upside the back of her head with a wet smack!

...worse.

"Aw, you fucker, you fucking motherfucking—"

"Stupid should hurt," he turned to address Miranda, "I can see why you like her birdie," Grey commented as he gestured towards the naked, half-frozen young woman in front of him. Sam was currently hurling forth every vile obscenity known to man, "She's a smooth-talker, she is."

Miranda smiled a little and did her best to ignore the glare she was getting from Sam for her part in all this, "She has her moments."

"Plural? Really?"

"Shut up."

Sam drained the cup; Grey took it from Sam and handed it back to Miranda.

"Another cup or two until she has herself a proper, lengthy, piss, then switch to water and see if you can get her to eat something, start small and work your way up until she's either full or heaves."

Miranda nodded, "Done this a lot?"

"Remind me to tell you about my sweet thirteen."

"Remind me to be somewhere else when he does," growled Sam.

"Down, angry little lesbian," Grey smirked.

She gave him the finger and he bowed sweepingly, every movement of his body a study in sarcasm before turning around and heading down the hall.

"I'll be in the parlor, let me know if you need any help with Bile-spewing Barbie."

"I swear to God," Sam began, "I'm going to climb out of this tub, crawl over to him and beat him to death, this is what I am going to do."

Miranda stroked Sam's arms; they were still ice-cold and riddled with goose bumps.

"I know love, I know, but before you do, there are a few things you should know."

Sam focused her eyes on her lover as dread began to push its way through the mounds of nausea in her stomach.

"Uh-oh."

After filling Samantha in all the events of the evening: from the party to the homeless woman to the theft of the car; there was a long, pregnant pause in the conversation.

"So, for those of you keeping score," Miranda began as she counted off fingers, "Assault, gambling, grand theft auto—"

"'Grand theft' my pale arse," Grey broke in as he ground out a cigarette, "If that bloody rust bucket out there is worth more than a hundred dollars, I'll eat this goddamn coffee mug."

"I'm sorry," Samantha broke in, now dressed in her absolute warmest pair of pajamas, "I'd like to just circle around to the point that you put me in a fucking shopping cart and peddled me up the avenue like groceries!"

"Groceries are quieter," Grey commented as he lit up a new cigarette, "And tastier."

"Objection," Miranda chimed in.

"Noted and ignored."

"And that bit with the stick," countered Samantha, "makes that whole thing 'aggravated assault' due to the high probability of multiple and long lasting injuries of a debilitating nature," Sam possessed a passing interest in the law and was considering studying it further.

"And in layman's terms?"

"You nearly beat him to death with a big stick," Miranda explained, "The police frown upon that, it makes them all flustered and stern."

"And what's their feeling towards rape?"

That ended the conversation with the finality of a guillotine.

"Yeah, thought so," he exhaled a cloud of smoke from between his teeth, "Well, this has been...time-consuming..."

Miranda frowned while Samantha just rolled her eyes.

"...but I think I'll be on my way,"

"Gee, what a shame," Sam muttered.

Grey just laughed, "Good girl. Don't be afraid to show your teeth."

The compliment took both girls by surprise and they looked at each other. Miranda frowned as she met Samantha's eye, there was something the other girl was thinking and seemed on the verge of saying.

"Anyhow, goodbye, farewell, amen," Grey opened the door.

"Wait!"

Grey looked outside into the night and then up at the sky.

"I was this close," he hissed holding up two fingers with a sliver of space between them.

"Can you stay over?" Sam asked.

Grey turned and gave Samantha the exact same look that Miranda was.

"Why, and I know I'm going to regret asking this, would I want to do that?" he asked.

"We can pay you!" Sam called out.

"Pass."

"I'll let you see me naked again," Sam said in her best attempt of sounding seductive, "Miri too."

"Hey!" Miranda cried out.

Grey yawned and stretched his arms out, "Beg pardon, what did you say?"

Sam turned on Miranda, "Okay seriously, what is this guy's deal?"

"I have no idea in regards to his 'deal'," Miranda replied, "But I'm having an idea."

"Is it a good one?"

"Let's find out," Miranda turned to Grey who was watching the whole thing with a detached amusement, "I can get you more cigarettes."

His expression shifted into one of interest, "Go on."

"The cigarettes you smoke, they're not local, right? They're not domestic?"

"And you know that how?"

"I had an uncle back in Kyoto who had smoked every kind of tobacco known to man," she pointed at the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket," My uncle went all over the world, used to send me cartons of cigarettes, one from every country he went to, as a joke because he knew I didn't smoke," Miranda leaned in for the kill.

"I have an entire carton, unopened, of that brand of cigarettes and they're yours, if you'll just stay till morning."

Grey sighed and tossed his cigarettes to Miranda. She caught it and examined it: the box was white and emblazoned with gold and purple markings.

"'Silk Cut'," she read aloud before turning back to address Grey, holding up a hand in a placating manner, "Okay, just stay...stay here."

"What am I, a soddin' hound?"

"Just sit. Stay. Good Englishman."

She dashed out of the living room as Grey turned to address Sam, "So, how long has your bird been at sixes and sevens?"

"Huh?"

"Out of her bloody gourd."

"Oh," Sam got a funny little smile as she turned to look down the hall where Miranda had fled. There was crashing sounds coming from a closet and several loud and angry exclamations in both English and Japanese.

"Since forever," her smile became nostalgic, "She's nuts, but I love her."

"Well, she'd have to be; she's involved with your demented arse."

"Fuck you," Sam said cheerily.

"Not bloody likely."

"So, how'd you get that scar?" Sam asked.

"Nicked myself shaving, how'd you wind up a cripple?"

"Car backed over me."

"Huh," he reached out and lightly struck her shin with his stick.

"Ow, what the fuck was that for?"

"Two reasons: one, in the brief time we've known each other, you've given me plenty of reasons to cane you to death so I require no further explanation or justification on the matter," he took a drag and exhaled smoke, "And two: I wanted to see what kind of injuries you had. Judging by the fact that that hurt, I assume it isn't nerve damage?"

"Pretty much," she leaned over to rub her shin, "Bones were crushed."

"And let me guess, it didn't heal proper?"

"No," she frowned. His tone was changing, becoming more authoritative, "I can still feel them and I can even move them a bit—"

"But if you attempt to stand it's 'snap, crackle, pop' time?"

"Basically."

"Huh," he beckoned, "come here a bit."

"Are you nuts? You hit me last time!"

"No hitting, promise."

Carefully, Samantha leaned closer as Miranda returned in triumph.

"A-ha," she called out, "Mission accomplished."

"Good job, pet," Grey replied, distracted, "Okay Sam, I want you to pull down the lower portion of your eye, like if you were putting a contact in."

Sam complied as Miranda watched in puzzlement.

"Good, now tilt your eyes up," a small smile, "As if you were rolling your eyes in exasperation."

"Not difficult," Sam chortled.

"What are you doing?" Miranda asked

"Your sclera is blue," Grey commented.

"Yeah, I always liked it," she shrugged, "Blue on blue eyes is sexy."

"Yeah, well, they're also indicative of a genetic mutation."

"Beg pardon?" the two girls looked appalled at the idea.

"Osteogenesis Imperfecta," he tossed away his cigarette and lit up a fresh one, "that's 'brittle bone disease' to the rest of us. It's caused by a genetic defect and it's almost always inherited," he took a long drag, "How old were you when you broke your first bone?"

"Six, I feel out of a tree," Sam replied.

"Break a lot of bones since then."

"Well, yeah."

"Well, the good news is: it's treatable, but you need to get it diagnosed first," he exhaled a cloud of smoke, "whoever was responsible for your X-rays needs to have his bloody medical license force-fed to him, BBD stands out like a blood stain on a proper scan; very small fractures all over the body. Anyone who doesn't have their head mounted firmly up their arse would spot it."

"But" Sam said as she felt her pulse begin to race, "It's treatable?"

"'Treatable', not 'curable', kiddo," he ran his hand through his blond hair in deep thought, "This charming little condition comes in four varieties ranging from 'my life sucks' to 'oh my God, somebody put me out of my misery."

"But Sam's family has no history of BBD," Miranda jumped in. When they'd first gotten together, she had applied her impressive intellect towards seeing if she could improve Sam's lot in life, six months later, several consults, and a great deal of money spent and she'd only heard off-hand comments regarding BBD, further research was hard to come by. "I've consulted with her family's physicians a great deal."

"These 'consultations', they wouldn't happen by any chance to be the same bunch of cut-rate crows that were responsible for that incompetent diagnosis in the first place, would they?"

Miranda felt her cheeks go red, when he put it that way, she felt like an idiot. Of course, most things he said made her feel like an idiot.

Grey continued, "Some more good news is that your case is exceptionally mild."

"This is mild?" Sam exclaimed, pointing at her legs.

"It is, in fact. I think the only way they're going to find the wretched little mutation will be with a biopsy and a DNA test," he exhaled another cloud of smoke, "Someone in your family had Type I. You inherited, say, Type 0.5, just enough to make you miserable but not so much that you can't live a semi-normal life."

"Great."

"If it's any consolation, anything you spawn will be free of it; I don't think it's got the genetic chops to make it through another generation: it ends with you," he smirked, "Your offspring shall walk tall."

"DNA testing? Biopsies?" Miranda had heard of the procedures being used to treat various genetic disorders, but it had taken her months of searching and carefully putting together the different clues she could find.

"Yeah, pretty much, poppet."

"But it's treatable?" Sam repeated her hands began to tremble with excitement.

Grey nodded as he finished his cigarette, "Yeah, prescription meds can sometimes work, but in your case, I'm thinking regular IV infusions of Parmidronate at a hospital, preferably one that has a radiology department that isn't full up on full-on fucking fuckwits," he thought for a bit, "Children's hospitals usually have a nice crop of bone doctors on hand to deal with Timmy falling down the well and all that. If you can't score a bed, they can at least point you in the right direction."

"But, I mean, I could get better?" Sam whispered; she had gone white as a sheet. Miranda hurried over to her and suddenly the pair felt like they were in the doctor's office, getting another consult about her condition.

Except this, one 'doctor' seemed to know what he was talking about. He was a chain-smoking, abusive, jackass who took every opportunity to insult them and seemed only semi-sane. However, he knew what he was talking about.

"Okay, seriously, are you 'House'?" Sam questioned.

"Am I a house?" he asked, slightly taken aback. He'd been called many things in his life, but that was a new one.

"'House', from the TV show? He has a limp and uses a walking stick and everyone hates him but he's a medical genius."

"He's cute too," Miranda commented quietly.

"Was this show on BBC, say ten, twelve, years ago?"

"No."

"Then I've never seen it," he counted off his fingers, "I don't have a limp, I carry this thing around because you never know when someone's going to need a savage beating. Not everyone hates me, just the people who get to know me," he sighed, "And I am not, nor have I been, a licensed medical practitioner," he shrugged, "I'm just...well-informed."

"Also," he added, as an afterthought, "I am not bloody 'cute'."

"So I could walk again?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"Well you won't be taking the annual Boston stroll and you can bet that a cane and probably leg braces are going to be involved," he continued on, "And it'll take at least a year of infusions and physical therapy to deal with this kind of damage, more so if the bones have healed poorly."

"But I'll walk?"

"Yes! Yes, you will bloody walk! If you can make it through all of that and have the money to pay for it all, yeah, you'll walk."

Sam brought her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes; tears had begun to trickle down her face like tiny streams.

Miranda was being more cautious, she didn't want Sam to get her hopes up, "But she's already done physical therapy."

"That was different," Grey replied, looking for another cigarette, "The purpose of that was, judging by those thighs," he gestured and Sam actually laughed a little, "protecting her muscles from atrophy, and her bones were written off." he exhaled a cloud of smoke like an angry dragon, "Bloody slip-shod medicine," he growled as an aside, "THIS time it's the going to be the Full fucking Monty," he gave Sam a level look, "including breaking and resetting the bones so that this time, they heal correctly. But if you're being treated for BBD at the time..."

"...then this time, her bones would be stronger once fully healed since the brittleness was being treated," Miranda finished, looking sandbagged.

"Give the girl a prize," Grey commented before he began to cough, a deep, painful cough.

"You okay?" Miranda asked with a concerned expression.

"Yeah, just not used to gabbing this much."

"Want some water?"

"Yeah, anything cold," he gestured at Sam, "She's going to need a few to run all this through her noggin for a while."

"Yeah, me too," Miranda said quietly.

Grey coughed more and rubbed his chest as Miranda came back with the water.

"Cheers, luv, thank you," he said as he proceeded to drain the cup.

"What," Sam began, "What happens now?"

"It is two-thirty in the goddamn morning," Grey growled, "Now you sleep."

"Sleep? You just sat there and told me that a year from now I could be able to walk again. If you think I'm going to sleep now, you're insane."

"Why does everyone call me that?" Grey mused.

"Stating the obvious?" Miranda chimed in.

"Silence, Binty."

Grey leaned closer to Samantha's face.

"Hope is a glorious thing; it's something I remember dimly." Miranda again caught a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion flicker across his face like a ripple across a still pond. "And it's good to have hope, just temper it with patience and rationality."

"Yeah, because THAT'S what I'm known for," Sam replied, "Patience and rationality."

"Be that as it may, there's another reason why you should go to bed."

"Why's that?"

Grey casually tossed a pillow at her, "Catch."

Samantha lurched forward to grab it, completely missing and pitching forward to tumble onto the carpet.

"You're still drunk, pet; you're just not feeling it as much. As soon as the caffeine and adrenaline wear off, it'll find you and bring its friend Mr. Hangover with it."

"Great," Sam mumbled, facedown and muffled by the carpet, "Miri?"

"Coming love," Miranda helped Sam back up, but as soon as she was able to, Sam leapt into her lover's arms and wrapped both arms tight around her.

"I'm going to walk again, Miri," she whispered.

"I hope so, sweetie," Miranda wrapped her arms around the girl and tried not to stagger, "I truly do."

Sam looked at her, "Take me to bed or lose me forever, lover."

"One second sweetie," she brought Sam into their room, laying her down upon the bed before returning to the living room. Grey had opened the carton of cigarettes and was tearing into a fresh pack.

"Who are you?" Miranda asked bluntly.

"I'm Mister Grey. Haven't you been paying attention?" "None of your bleedin' concern."

"It becomes a concern when you tell the girl I love, that she's going to walk again after years of being stuck in a chair; you don't just say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because what happens if it isn't true?"

"Would she be any worse off now if it weren't," he took a drag and exhaled, "besides, it's true."

"How do I know that?"

"Because I said it is."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"Then all you're doing is offering her false hope and that's just cruel."

Grey very slowly and deliberately got to his feet and Miranda had the distinct feeling he was about to kill her as the menace and anger surrounding the man became palpable.

"Don't you ever talk to me about cruelty, over intellectualized prat!" he exhaled a cloud of smoke at her and pointed a finger at her, "Stick with what you understand: letters, numbers, data, and other dead things. You know nothing of cruelty."

"And you do?"

"I'm its best fucking mate, yeah."

"Why?"

"None of your—"

"Yeah, yeah I know, 'none of my goddamned business'," she exhaled angrily; "Can't you just take off your coat, get rid of those shades, stop smoking for five minutes, and tell me your name? Just trust me that one little bit?"

"Why should I?"

"Come on Grey, some part of you must want to rejoin the human race."

"And what if humanity doesn't want me?"

Miranda was taken aback by that, but she was starting to learn his patterns and this conversation seemed to be getting him fairly worked up.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03



"Have you even tried?" she demanded.

"Have you ever tried to fly by jumping off the roof with a cape tied around you?"

"No, but that's because I know it'd kill me."

"Same principal."

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Miranda was practically yelling at his point, "How could I? I can't even get your real name or lay a finger on you without you freaking out."

"Well and good reasons for those, poppet."

"And stop calling me names! My name is Miranda!"

With a grunt of frustration, Grey dropped himself back into the chair.

"You asked me who I was."

"Yes, I did." Miranda confirmed.

"I'm a liar," he began, "and a crook. I'm a scoundrel and a cheat," he held up his cigarettes, "I'm an addict and a two-bit con artist," his voice started to rise in volume again, "I'm a burnout, a has-been, and a never-was," he exhaled hard, his voice dropping back to normal, "I'm a mistake, something that should have never been, and I'm a destroyer of lives," he looked up at the girl, "You and your bird keep tagging along, you'll find that out in short fucking order."

"That is who I am and that is who I will always be," he ground out his cigarette, "Ultimately, to the rest of the world, I don't matter. I'm going to die unloved, unwanted, and unmourned," he rubbed his head. "Go away; I'm tired of looking at you."

Miranda's lower lip had begun to tremble; the raw hatred and pain of his words had brought her almost to tears as her empathy got the better of her.

She reached out to touch him, comfort him, or do something for him.

"Get out!" he roared.

Miranda snatch her hand back and just looked at him for a long time.

Finally she spoke, in a voice that was barely a whisper,

"I'm sorry."

Before he could yell at her again, she fled the room.

Grey took off his shades and tossed them onto the table, rubbing his eyes.

"Aren't we all...," he whispered to the empty room.

"...Miranda."

There was none to hear him, save the smoke, the dust, and the shadows of memory.

Miranda stepped into the dark bedroom and quietly closed the door. She rested her forehead against it and sniffled quietly.

She found that small pebble in her mind, like a stone in her shoe whenever she thought of him. It had been there since the day they'd met and every day since.

"You matter," she whispered quietly into the closed door. Wordlessly, she turned from it and walked the length of the room to her bed, sitting upon the edge with her thin shoulders slumped.

She felt Sam's arms wrap around her from behind and squeeze her gently.

"You okay, love?"

Miranda sniffled and nodded, turning to face her.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay."

"You're a rotten liar, Miri," Sam teased.

Miranda barked a short laugh, "Yeah, yeah, I am."

"Come to me, sweetie."

Miranda fell into Sam's arms. Sam pulled her close and kissed her mouth.

"What are you getting yourself into, love?"

"I don't know," she shook her head, placing her hands over her eyes, "I don't like him, Sammy, and I don't trust him. I think this is all a big mistake."

"You're the one that invited him in," Sam pointed out.

"I know and I was stupid to do so: he's unbalanced."

"Yeah, figured that out already between the violence and the pathological hatred of any kind of non-violent physical contact," she put her fingers under Miranda's chin, tilting her face up to her. "But he also saved us when he could have walked away, beat up a guy who was going to...hurt me," Sam didn't want to say the words yet, "And then he gave a homeless woman five hundred dollars, just so you two could get me home safely and to top it off, he stole a car," she leaned over and kissed Miranda on the forehead, "what do you call all of that?"

"A very unbalanced person."

"Brat!" Sam reached her and smacked Miranda in the head with a stuffed animal.

Miranda laughed and shoved Sam away, "Tramp."

"There we go, that's what I needed to see."

"What?"

"You being happy."

Miranda felt warmth spread within her as she regarded her lover, "Being with you makes me happy."

"Wow, and you're calling Grey unbalanced?"

There was more laughter as the two girls worked to shed the trials of the evening.

"So, sex or talking?" Sam asked.

"Sex," Miranda replied, "then talking, then probably more sex."

"Wow, did we discover a new coping mechanism?"

"I just need..." the dark-haired girl struggled for the words before giving up, "...you."

"I need you too, Miri."

All their words were spent as they brought their mouths together. Miranda felt like she could taste the evening's events: the lingering taste of alcohol, the scent of smoke, the taste of salt from both sweat and tears, and Sam's lingering fragrance of vanilla. Sam's lips were warm; they felt like the warmest thing she had ever known.

Sam opened her mouth, allowing Miranda to press her tongue into hers. The heat intensified, the taste of Sam's tongue sent her swooning. She held the other girl's face in both of her hands and kissed her over and over again taking only enough time to breathe.

Finally, they parted and Sam exhaled hard, "Whoo! That's was...intense."

Miranda gave her a long, affectionate, look as she stood and began to disrobe.

"Now we're talking," Sam leered, "Rowr!"

Miranda unzipped her dress and let it fall to her feet in a pool of gray; standing now in only her bra and panties. A few moments later and they joined the dress upon the floor; leaving her sky-clad in all her glory.

As she was stepping towards the bed, light from the window struck her body and Sam gasped, a swift pain in her heart:

Miranda was perfect: so pale she almost glowed with her face framed by her ebony locks and her eyes were pools of liquid violet as if there were tears still within them that needed to be shed.

"God," Sam whispered, "Miri..."

The goddess gave her a loving glance and she climbed into bed with her. Miranda slid down lower and curled herself into a ball; resting against Sam's breasts.

"My Miri," Sam whispered, kissing her head repeatedly.

"Yours, Sam," Miranda replied, "Nobody else, not now, not ever."

Samantha looked a little amused at her vehemence, "I know sweetie, it's okay."

"Just so we're clear."

"It was never in doubt."

Miranda then stretched out and reached up under Sam's shirt to touch her breasts.

"Let me just help you with that," the other girl said breathlessly, the sight of Miranda in the light like that had put her libido into overdrive. She needed this woman right now, more than oxygen. She nearly tore her pajamas apart as she yanked the top piece up, over, and off her head, tossing it away leaving her breasts bare. She reached down to grip Miranda's hand and placed it upon her chest.

"Touch me," Sam whispered.

Miranda cradled her breasts in her hands, cupping them gently. She brought her face against them, nuzzling and luxuriating in the softness of them.

Sam ran her fingers through Miranda's hair as her head fell back and she exhaled in pleasure.

"That feels nice," Sam whispered.

Taking a breast in both her hands, Miranda began to place small, warm, kisses. She would alternate between lips and tongue as she caressed every inch with her mouth.

"God, Miri," Sam moaned, pulling her closer to her breast, "More."

Miranda's mouth began to circle the pebbled skin of Sam's areola deftly avoiding her pink nipple.

"Please Miri," the blonde girl hissed, "don't tease me."

Gently, Miranda took Sam's nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

Sam's body shuddered in pleasure and she squeezed Miranda tighter against her breast.

"So good, Miri," she exhaled, "don't stop, please don't stop."

The other girl obliged, making love to Sam's breast with her mouth. She caught the pink bud between her teeth gently and flicked her tongue across it until it was rock hard. Her free hand roamed across her body, exploring her. Her fingers glided over the length of the other girl's collarbone. She gripped the girl's shoulder and pulled her closer to her as her mouth continued to work on her skin.

"PJ bottoms off!" Sam instructed breathlessly.

Miranda crawled her way down Sam's body. No inch of skin was left unkissed or untouched.

She reached her navel and traced a small circle around it with her tongue before peppering it with warm kisses that left a moistened heat upon her skin.

"That tickles!" Sam cried out.

Miranda slid her hands down the front of Sam's pants and cupped her bare mons.

"That does not," she exclaimed with a gasp.

The other girl took the waistband of Sam's pants and began to slowly roll them down, uncovering her body inch by inch.

"You're killing me here," Sam whined.

Miranda began to pet her lover's sex: it was wet and getting more so by the moment. She rubbed a finger up its divide, lightly pressing against the hard bud at the top.

Samantha gasped aloud, "God, Miri, fuck me already!"

Miranda slid the girl's pants down and off her body leaving her at eye level with Sam's opening; the folds were swollen with need. She took a moment to just look at it, marveling at it as if it were a precious jewel. She began to stroke it, running her fingers up and down the slit until they were glistening and slick.

Sam began to rotate her hips towards her, "Please Miri? Fuck me?" she begged using her most submissive tone, baiting the other girl as she thrust herself desperately towards her lover.

Miranda began to press a single finger into Sam and the other girl just thrust herself towards Miranda's hand. Obeying her lover's plea, she began to slide a second finger into her. Sam was extremely tight and even as soaked by her arousal as she was, Miranda had to work at it. She began to slide them in and out of her, curling her fingers as she did. Sam squeezed around her fingers and ground her hips against them gaining more momentum as she did. Her body seemed to suck at the girl's digits hungrily and only reluctantly released them as Miranda pulled out.

"Faster," Sam mewled.

Miranda's fingers thrust in and out of her lover's body, building up tempo as they did so; her other hand found the girl's clit and began to rub it with her thumb.

"Ahhh!" Sam groaned as she rolled her hips. She cupped her tanned breasts in her hands, pinching and rolling her nipples between her fingers.

She removed her fingers from within Sam, drawing a whimper of protest, then reached behind her, gripping her ass firmly, she thrust her face between the other girl's thighs. "I love the way your body tastes," Miranda whispered.

"Oh, God!" Sam screamed as Miranda split her soaked pussy with her tongue and began fucking it with her mouth. Sam buried her hands in her lover's hair as she was devoured.

Miranda drew her tongue up and down Sam's dripping entrance, feasting at her taste. She fastened her mouth on the girl's clit and sucked.

"Miiirrii!" Sam wailed as an orgasm tore through her body like a high-voltage tidal wave. She thrust and bucked her hips, humping her lover's face madly.

Miranda squeezed the tanned twin globes of Sam's ass and used it as leverage to drag her closer, burying her face as deep as possible into her wet crevasse, licking and sucking every last drop of pleasure from the girl.

"Fuck!" Sam almost snarled through clenched teeth as a second orgasm began rampaging through her blood. Her entire body convulsed so violently it almost hurt as Miranda continued her unrelenting assault on her poor body.

"Enough!" Samantha gasped out and weakly pushed Miranda away. The other girl looked up at her with a hungry expression.

"Not done yet."

"Well, fuck, I am," Sam exhaled hard, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Just feeling aggressive tonight, I guess," Miranda slowly kissed her way up her body, taking the time to find and lick every drop of salty sweat she could find glistening on her skin.

"That's the friggin' understatement of the year," Sam reached down and pulled Miranda up to her, wrapping her arms around her, "Jesus," she breathed, "fuck me."

"Jesus won't, but I will," Miranda grinned at her. Sam thought that her grin was a little scary; it showed no remorse or hesitation, just lust and hunger and the girl felt like she was being eyed up as the main course.

"You just leave my girly parts alone for now."

Miranda sulked, "Tease," She straddled one of Sam's legs, pressing her slick cleft against her thigh; enjoying the heat radiating from Sam, in post-orgasmic bliss against the sensitive skin of her sex.

Sam blew out a long breath as her heart rate dropped back down to a safer range.

"Is it because of our favorite chain-smoking Englishman?" Sam teased.

Miranda glared at her, "Of course not! I'm with you!"

Sam laughed, "Like I said; not in doubt," she kissed her head, "but it's okay to be attracted to someone."

"I loathe him!" Miranda cried out.

Sam looked at the other girl, her eyebrow quirked inquisitively.

"He's a foul-mouthed, hateful bitter old man—"

"He's not that old, sweetie," Sam interjected.

"I just can't imagine the kind of person that would want to spend five minutes with him, let alone a lifetime," Miranda replied.

"Well, that little band of pale skin on the third finger of his left hand says someone decided to try it."

Miranda frowned, "He doesn't have a pale band of skin on his finger," she said puzzled.

"Oh, really?" Sam moved in for the kill, "Do you always pay that close attention to people you claim to hate?"

"Starting to hate you now, too," Miranda sulked as Sam laughed.

"There, there."

"He reeks of cheap booze and cigarettes, too."

Sam scoffed, "Lover, I don't care if he's slathered head-to-toe in elephant semen, if he can somehow get me out of the chair, I will crawl out there right now and fellate him until his eyes popped out."

Miranda retched, "Gross on so many levels."

"At least we'd finally get to see his eyes."

"And that's another thing. Why the sunglasses? Does pretending he's 'Shaft' make him think he's cool?" the other girl demanded.

"Truth? I don't think he gives a pound of fuck whether or not people think he is cool," Sam shrugged, "Or what people think period."

"Or care about people at all."

"He cares. If he didn't, things would have gotten really ugly back at that party."

Miranda sighed and turned her head away, "Don't remind me. She then turned back to face her paramour, "Which reminds me, your plan? With the whole...." She couldn't finish the sentence, "it wouldn't work. He said you're not his type."

"Big tits, blue eyes, and blond hair? I'm everyone's type."

"Yeah, well, apparently not his."

"Is it because of my legs?"

Miranda shook her head, "No, he did say you had nice breasts, but it was more of a casual observation than a compliment," she shrugged, "He said he doesn't go in for the 'California Girl' look."

"Wow, first time I've heard that," Sam smirked, "Is your gaydar picking up anything?"

"If he's gay, he hides it well. I think he's straight. I also think though, that he's really, really, messed up."

"Well, we both knew that."

"No, I mean seriously messed up, as in 'Vietnam war vet turned heroin addict' kind of messed up.

"Yikes, thank you for that imagery."

"Well, I owed you for earlier with what you said you were going to do to him."

"I was kidding," Sam assured her, "Kinda."

"Sam!"

"Hey, if it means I get to walk again, I'll cheerfully go bat for the other team for a few hours."

"Your fellow lesbians would be so proud of you."

"Wouldn't they though?"

"He's just so....ugh!" Miranda spat, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! With his arrogance and name calling and manipulations and condescending attitude," her face was flush with anger, "I just want to take a stick and hit him until candy comes out!"

Sam did her best to not laughed and instead pointed downwards.

"What?" Miranda roared.

"You're getting wet."

Miranda frowned and looked down: Sam's thigh was now covered in her lover's juices where Miranda was straddling her.

"That could just be sweat," the dark-haired girl said defensively.

Sam reached down and touched the wetness on her thigh, coating her fingers to in it.

"Open," Sam instructed, holding her fingers in front of the other girl's face.

Carefully, Miranda opened her mouth and Sam slid them into her mouth.

Miranda closed her eyes; she loved the taste of a woman's arousal, even if it was just her own, and for a moment, a shudder of pleasure wracked her body.

Sam removed her fingers, "And the verdict is?"

"The verdict is that I hold a searing hatred for the man that I can feel in the very pit of my soul," Miranda huffed, "But, he's not...totally unattractive, if you like that kind of thing, which I don't!"

"Your rock hard nipples and flushed body say otherwise, sweetie."

With a look of mortification, Miranda brought her fingers up to her nipples and very gently touched them. They were firm and hypersensitive and she couldn't suppress a moan as she moved her fingertips over them.

"Your defense is crumbling," Sam commented, taking in the scene and alternating between amused and aroused.

"That...doesn't mean anything," Miranda whispered as she continued to play with her nipples, pulling and twisting them, "I'm just still turned on from making love with you."

"Miri, your entire body is blushing, my thigh is in danger of drowning and if I so much as touched one of your nipples," Sam gestured as Miranda continued to play with herself, "provided I could get to them, I could have you coming in five minutes."

"That's not true," Miranda choked out; she was starting to pant.

"Uh-huh," Samantha leaned in close to whisper in the other girl's, "Just close your eyes and think of England."

"Oh God," Miranda whimpered as Sam's hands pushed her hands away and replaced them with her own as she began to squeeze and massage her lover's pale, gemlike, breasts.

"That's my girl," Sam replied and she lowered her mouth down to suckle at Miranda's breasts. She alternated between sucking and nibbling, biting and licking until each rose colored nipple was as hard as stone. She never bit hard, Miranda didn't enjoy the rough stuff as much as she did, but she knew that the recipe for her lover's orgasm was a pound of pleasure and just a sliver of pain.

By the time Sam had begun to work her way down to Miranda's stomach, the other girl was a quivering mass. Samantha took a moment to rest her cheek against her lover's body. Miranda always said Sam's body felt like sunshine; By contrast, Sam felt Miranda's body felt soft and chilled, like snow or porcelain.

Sam could feel that hangover Grey had warned her about coming on like a wave. Her temples began to throb and ache and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

Miranda looked down and knew instantly what she needed. She reached down and took Sam's face in her hands. Sam looked up at her, her heart in her eyes, as Miranda gently turned her face and rest Sam's cheek against her stomach. Miranda stroked the other girl's head soothingly as Sam wrapped her arms around her and pressed her head against her cool skin.

"Oh God Miri, that feels fantastic." Sam purred.

"Best cure for a headache," Miranda replied. Sam was prone to them, usually when she was either working too hard or, as in this case, partying too hard. There was something about Miranda that just helped Sam slow down and unclench.

"How do you manage to feel so cool and nice all the time?"

"I like to sleep naked in the refrigerator," Miranda whispered.

"I would pay to see that!" Sam laughed. She looked up at Miranda with a wicked smile, "If we had snow, would you sleep naked in the snow?"

"Find me some snow and let's find out."

"I'm booking the flight to Aspen as soon as we're done here."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 03



"Except, we're not done yet," Miranda admonished as she reached down, attempting to push her lover's head past her stomach and down between her pale thighs. Instead, Sam smacked her hands.

"None of that, I'll get to it when I'm damn well and ready," Sam admonished.

"Be ready now!" Miranda pleaded. She looked down at Sam, a frantic light in her eyes.

Sam looked back up at her with hooded eyes, shining with desire, and without breaking eye contact, leaned in and begin to lick at the very tip of Miranda's cleft of Venus.

"Ohhhhhhhh," Miranda moaned. She buried her hands in Sam's hair and clenched her fists tightly, doing her best to not rip out clumps of blonde hair.

Sam pushed at her pale thighs to get more access to her lover's nether regions, which Miranda was all too happy to grant, and gently slid a finger up into her body, curling it and rubbing back and forth inside her lover's body, taking time to slide back her womanhood and expose her tiny bud.

"Sam!" Miranda gasped as Sam sucked gently on it occasionally pressing her tongue, flat and warm, against it and stroking in long, languid sweeps, before sucking it back into her mouth.

"Cumming!" Miranda cried out and she forced herself to release her lover's hair so she could dig her nails into the pillows next to her as intense pleasure caused her to convulse in ecstasy.

Sam was rewarded with a torrent of Miri's juices; she relished in her lover's taste: licking and swallowing as much as she could and letting the rest dribble down her lips, past her chin and upon her throat.

"We have a winner!" Sam called out triumphantly, and then winced, "Okay, yeah, loud noise is bad."

Miranda finished shuddering and took a long, deep breath as Sam crawled up towards her and kissed her mouth gently.

"I think my skin is all hot now, going to have to fix that if you want me to help with your headache."

Sam smiled and stroked Miranda's dark hair, "I think I'm feeling better. It's nothing a sex coma followed by more sex and maybe some ice cream can't fix."

"It's a date." Miranda beamed and kissed Sam's face from cheek to cheek, ending at the tip of her nose.

"Ack!" Sam cried out in dismay and swatted Miranda away, "leave my nose alone!"

"But it's so cute!"

"Uh-huh," Sam wrapped arms around her lover, "So, how are you feeling?"

Miranda shrugged, "A little better, worn the hell out."

"I'll bet."

"And how are you feeling about our houseguest?"

Miranda pursed her lips in thought.

"The day that man gets hit by a bus, I believe in God again."

"Ouch!" Sam gave her a sideways look, "catty bitch much?"

"He deserves it."

"Why? Because you're attracted to him?"

"For the last time--!"

"I know, I know, 'you're not attracted to him'," Sam blew a raspberry at the other girl, "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

The room was quiet for a moment as the two girls collected their thoughts.

"I offered to have sex with him if he would help me rescue you," Miranda confessed quietly.

Samantha spun her head hard enough to give her whiplash as she gawked at the girl.

"I'm sorry, what now?"

"At the party, he was playing cards and it was all I could think of."

Sam got very quiet for a long time. Then, "What did he say?" she asked softly.

Miranda exhaled, "He turned me down flat, even when I...," she began to blush, "...showed a little skin."

"Oh Miri!" Sam's heart went out to the normally painfully shy girl, "This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"It was a nightmare, the whole evening, pure Hell," Miranda glared at the door, "And he was the worst of it."

"I think you mean the bit where you were humiliated and betrayed by your lover, who then promptly managed to almost get herself raped to death, was in fact, the worst part."

"Point taken," Miranda admitted reluctantly. She then adopted a very familiar stubborn set to her jaw.

"I know you think he can help you Sam," she continued quietly, "And if he can, then I'll do everything to make that happen," Miranda looked intently into her lover's eyes, "You know that."

"But?"

"But if he can't," Miranda took Sam's hand and squeezed it, "I want him gone, Sam. I want him out of our house and out of our lives."

"And what happens if he can deliver? And I get better?"

"Then when we're done with whatever treatment needs to happen, we're done with him. Out. Gone. Over. For good.

Samantha exhaled hard, "I just want to make sure I have this perfectly clear: he keeps me from getting raped, gets both of us home, carrying me for some of it, before sitting us down in the living room and telling us I could be walking a year from now," she scrutinized Miranda's visage in the dark, "and you want to pay him back by telling him to get the fuck out of our lives? What the fuck is your problem?"

"He's manipulative!" Miranda exploded, "And he's a liar, and he said terrible things."

"He played you!!" Sam crowed, "What did he do?"

"He...," Miranda was trying to breathe and yell at the same time and succeeding at neither, "...he deliberately provoked me the entire time we were together I even punched him."

"You punched him? Since when do you punch people?"

"He did it deliberately! He intentionally made himself the bad guy."

"For God's sake, why?"

"So I'd hurt him instead of you!"

Sam's eyes bugged out of her head, "Wait, what?"

"I was pissed off and hurting," Miranda sighed, "And I was just ready to say 'screw it', and do something really bad."

"Like what?"

Miranda looked at Sam right in the eye, "You don't want to know."

"Got it," Samantha paled a little as the full impact of her actions and what the repercussions could have been crashed into her like a freight train, "Continue, please," she whispered quietly.

"And he instead provoked me all night, insulted me, called both of us names and essentially did everything he could to upset me."

"And you never tweaked to the fact that he was conning you?"

"Not once," Miranda entwined her fingers around Sam's, "By the time we got here I was ready to explode."

"And then he made you explode?"

"Yes. Hence the punching."

Sam brought Miranda's hand to her mouth, kissing it gently, "Well, two things spring to mind."

"And they are?" Miranda asked sullenly.

"One, I am officially off the party girl tour," Sam's lower lip began to tremble, "Jesus, I could have lost you."

"You were nearly sexually assaulted, Sam. I think that takes priority."

"You think wrong, Miri," Sam cupped the girl's cheek, "Women get raped. Most survive it. I would have survived it," tears had started to seep from blue eyes, "but I would not have been able to survive losing you. You're my everything, Miri."

Miranda felt a sharp pain in her heart at Sam's words and she held her tightly, feeling the last of her anger and resentment towards her being cleansed and forgiven.

"I love you Sammy."

"I love you too, Miri."

Miranda wiped at her eyes and laughed a little to break the tension, Sam did the same and soon the girls were feeling a bit more secure with things.

"Okay," Miranda began, "Okay, you said that there were two things that sprang to mind. One was the fact that you're done drinking."

"No, I said I was done with the party girl thing," Sam corrected, "I fully reserve the right to get boldly trashed in the privacy of my own home and/or surrounded by friends and loved ones."

"Your terms are acceptable," Miranda conceded, "Now, what was the other thing?"

"I've finally met someone smarter than Miranda Inoue."

"What?!"

"Oh, come on!" Sam teased, "All your life, you've been the smartest person in the room. Hell, I know you're smarter than I am. But," she admonished, "there's 'book smart', and there's 'smart smart', and I think he's got you dead to rights."

"He is not smarter than me," the Asian girl growled.

"He had you wrapped around his finger the moment you asked for his help," Sam replied giddily, "The great Doctor Miranda Inoue, outsmarted for the first time."

"You are enjoying this way too much."

"I think what bugs you more is that he was the one that tricked you."

"Well, of course I'm bugged he tricked me!"

"Oh good, so you're willing to admit now that he tricked you?"

"Get. To. The. Point."

"See, I'm willing to bet that ultimately you'd meet your intellectual match. What were you picturing? Another doctor? A scholar? Some wunderkind prodigy from a foreign land with dusky good looks and an accent that makes you just want to pin him to the wall and nibble your way down his back?"

Miranda looked ready to have an apoplexy.

"But no, you got outwitted by an alcoholic Englishman who probably doesn't even have a high school diploma and measures life as the downtime between cigarettes," Samantha looked positively radiant, "You got beat by someone who you think is beneath you."

"He's an idiot," the other girl grumbled.

"The fact that you are currently stewing in the bubbling remains of your ego says otherwise."

"You're really loving this, aren't you?"

"Are you kidding? If this moment had genitalia, I'd fuck it forty ways from Sunday!"

"Your point?"

"Do you remember what high school was like for you?"

"Sure, I worked really, really, hard, graduated top of my class."

"And then college."

"Same thing; hard work and a lot of it."

"And graduate school?"

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Miri you hadn't even ever had a beer before you met me," Sam curled a strand of dark hair around her finger; "You have devoted your entire life to academic success and sacrificed everything else in the process. Do you remember what I had to go through to get you to go out with me?"

"I remember you stalked me for the better part of the year," Miranda smiled a little despite herself, "No one would believe me that the girl in the wheelchair was stalking me."

"They never suspect us 'handi-capable' people," Sam's face twisted into a look of disgust, she hated that term, but it served to illustrate her point.

"So what are you saying?"

Sam threw up her arms in exasperation, "Do you think Grey ever passed up a chance to get laid when he was our age, or have a drink, or smoke a joint, or go outside and hang out?"

Miranda frowned, "Probably not."

"So, not only is he at least as clever than you if not more so, he managed to get that way without sacrificing his freedom to go out and have a good time."

"Wait a second," Miranda interjected, "You're saying I'm pissed at him because he's smart and he got to party and I didn't?"

"At last, she has seen the light," Sam quipped, "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying; everything that came to you through years and years of hard work and discipline seems to have come to him with ease."

"At no point has he demonstrated that he understands physics better than I do," Miranda countered.

"That's true," the other girl conceded, "and if this were a Jeopardy tournament, you'd probably wipe the floor with him."

"There's a satisfying thought."

"My point, however, is that this life, academia, has been your entire world," Sam gestured out towards the bedroom door, "But sooner or later, you'll leave and you'll have to survive in his, where not everything can be solved with a computer and a tidy equation."

Miranda looked troubled, but allowed herself to be spooned by the other girl.

Sam wrapped her arms around her and squeezed her body, taking one of the other girl's pale hands in hers and kissing it.

"That's an awful lot of conjecture," Miranda grumbled.

"Maybe, but we'll see how it plays out."

"Why did you ask him to stay?"

A pause.

"I feel safer with him around," Sam replied.

Miranda's eyes widened at that comment,

Safer?!

"The guy's an A-1 nut job!"

"True," Samantha agreed, "But for now, he's an A-1 nut job that's on our side and after what happened tonight I feel better knowing that he's around."

"Weirdo."

Sam smiled and squeezed Miranda's slender frame tightly.

"Go to sleep, Getseui," she said, "Everything will make more sense tomorrow."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

Miranda fell silent and she soon felt the steady, deep, rhythm of Sam's breathing, indicating that she was asleep. Meanwhile, she continued to glare daggers at the bedroom door and at what lay beyond it.

I wish I had never met him, she thought to herself, and then I wouldn't have to feel like this.

In addition, as Miranda's thoughts transformed to dreams, she found no restful peace.



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 04



This will never end 'Cause I want more More, give me more Give me more  If I had a heart I could love you If I had a voice I would sing After the night when I wake up I'll see what tomorrow brings

-Fever Ray "If I had a heart."

Bint: n woman, in the loosest sense of the word. One step short of a prostitute, a bint is a bird with less class, less selectivity, more makeup and even more skin. Blokes don't talk to bints unless they've had at least eight pints of beer, which is why bints turn up in free-for-students nightclubs at 2:45 a.m. with their faked student ID and dance around their Moschino rucksacks. The word derives from the Arabic for "woman." Well, I say "derives from" -- it is the Arabic for "woman."

"Ketsunoana," Miranda cursed under her breath as she continued to read her cell phone. The term translated into "asshole" and was one she felt was completely warranted at this moment.

Poppet: n A small child, a doll, a puppet. "She's such a darling, little poppet."

"I'll show him who's a 'small child' and 'a doll," she muttered. She was still in bed with Sam, flat on her back and fixated on her phone's glowing screen in the otherwise dark room. She'd manage to get a couple of hours of sleep, but was still feeling too tense for anything more ambitious. So she started surfing the net, but was doing her best not to disturb her lover.

Yo-yo Knickers n A promiscuous woman, a sexually loose woman from the frequency of her underwear going up and down. Considered derogatory.

"Why that vile, loathsome, little son-of-a-abazure—"

"Ahem!"

Miranda yelped and dropped the phone as Sam pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking none the worse for wear for someone dealing with a hangover.

"Now," Sam began, "exactly who are we calling a 'son of a whore"?" Sam had insisted that Miranda teach her some good Japanese curses for those times that she was too drunk to use English.

"Take one guess," Miranda muttered.

"I don't think I need to guess, sweetie," Sam gestured to the open phone, its monitor shining brightly in the dark room, "What'cha looking at?"

"Pornography?" Miranda put forth.

"Nice try."

"Lolcatz?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Pornography and Lolcatz?"

"Ugh, thanks for that imagery, Miri," Sam held out her hand expectantly, "Strike three, you're out. Gimme."

"Don't wanna," Miranda sulked.

"Tough, fork it over."

Miranda gritted her teeth and handed the phone over to the other girl.

"'Cockney Rhyming Slang,' Sam read aloud, "'learn it, speak it, share it'," she gave Miranda a sideways look.

"It's not what it looks like," the dark-haired girl stated, "I just hate not knowing what he's talking about half the time and looking like an idiot because of it."

"Since when do you care whether or not he thinks you're an idiot?"

Miranda opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened it again.

"I don't, but I still want to know when I'm being insulted," she retorted.

"Sweetie, I think every time his mouth is open and pointed in your general direction, chances are you're being insulted."

"You don't really want to walk that badly, do you Sam?" Miranda asked in a plaintive tone, "We really don't need to keep him around, right?"

Samantha took the other girl's hands in her own and gazed deeply into her violet eyes, "Honey, I have two words for you."

"Okay."

"Elephant. Semen."

Miranda retched and pulled the blankets off her, "Oh God, I need to go puke now," she jerked the door open and stumbled down the hallway, Samantha's cackling trailing her all the way there.

Upon exiting, she heard an odd noise coming from further down the hall: it was a thumping noise: one-two, and then a muffled whump. Curious she headed into the living room.

Grey was there. He was sitting braced up against the door frame. In his left hand, he was reading a book and holding his cigarette. In the right, he was bouncing a baseball. The ball struck the floor, ricocheted and struck the wall, bounced again and Grey caught it, his eyes never leaving the book.

Miranda would have thought it looked pretty cool, if she didn't hate his guts.

"What are you doing?" Miranda asked testily.

"Watching footy," he replied without missing a beat, Man U is beating Chelsea 3-0. What does it sodding look like I'm doing?"

Miranda felt her cheeks burn: less than five seconds in his presence and she was ready to kill him.

"Yeah, well, cut it out, it's irritating."

"Okay."

Grey caught the ball and casually threw it in Miranda's general direction, not bothering to look. Miranda yelped and ducked as it whizzed over her head and crashed into a bookcase.

"Hey!"

"Whoops."

"What the hell is your...," Miranda struggled to keep some semblance of composure around the man, "...problem?"

"Stupid questions bring out the worst in me," he explained as he finally looked up at her, "Stupid people more so."

Miranda opened her mouth to retort when she heard Sam rolling down the hallway.

"Morning cripple," Grey called out.

"Morning prick," Sam replied cheerfully. She was dressed in boxer shorts and a white tank-top and gave the pair a jaunty wave before entering the bathroom.

Miranda scowled at Grey, "What the hell was that about?"

Grey took a long drag off his cigarette and removed a pen from behind his ear, making a notation in the book, before setting the book down (face down, cracking the spine, Miranda noted testily.)

"We bonded last night; it was right sentimental it was, made me want to blub," he replied holding up his index finger and thumb a millimeter apart to illustrate his point. "Honestly, we were this close to tears and becoming 'bestest' mates."

"For God's sake," Miranda yelled at him, "Why are you like this? What gives you the right to treat people like this?"

"None of your goddamned business."

Miranda was close to tears or violence, "Do you hate us?"

Grey scoffed, "Poppet, you'll never have what it takes for me to hate you," he picked up his book and resumed reading.

"Then what is it? Is it because I'm Bi and she's gay?"

Grey snorted, "Kid, I was in London during the seventies, we practically invented gay over on our side of the pond, so don't think that you and your bird doing a bit of chat logging is going to ruffle my feathers," he continued to flip through the book, making notations.

Miranda vowed to file that little term of endearment under 'things to research later', and continued her assault."

"Is it because we're young? Are you that old and bitter that you hate us because we're young?"

Grey nearly swallowed his cigarette as he barked out a joyless laugh, "Such a cliché, and no: I don't hate you because you're young," he turned from his book to look up at her, "Youth is overrated," he finished another page and turned to the next one.

Miranda was ready to have a meltdown; this man was the most infuriating form of life she'd ever been subjected to. Even her mother couldn't get her this worked up and that was saying something. The girl furrowed her brow in thought, trying to find some clue, some hint as to what would give her the upper hand.

As Grey returned to his book, Miranda revisited that spot within herself where Grey resided like a stone in her shoe, that same spot that she'd gone to when she'd had to sway him to help her and Sam back at the party.

Grey licked a fingertip and moved to turn to the next page as Miranda opened her mouth,

"Is it because we're in love?"

The finger hesitated for just a moment. But it was enough.

More than enough.

"You hate us because we're in love?" she asked in shock, "Why?"

With a sigh, Grey closed his book and tossed it and the pen at Miranda's feet.

"I don't hate you two," he answered after a long beat, "I hate what you remind me of."

"And what's that?"

"That's my business."

Miranda sighed; it was like pulling teeth with this guy: Three steps forward, two steps back. She reached down and picked up the hardcover book Grey had been annotating as Grey lit up a new cigarette.

"'Multivariable Calculus and Non-Linear Equations," she read, "By Edward Wolf." She brandished the book in his face, "This was a gift to Sam from me for our anniversary."

"Get your bread back, bird, it's utter rubbish," he pointed at the book with his cigarette for emphasis. "Those fields of study got no business being together. This isn't a 'you got your chocolate in my peanut butter' scenario," he took a drag from his cigarette. "One does not go about just mixing your Bray and your Stewart with some Ortega and Rheinboldt and expect a slice of fried gold," he took another long drag. "Stewart agreed with me during a symposium up the street a few years back," he looked at the book again and shook his head. "Bloody brute force mathematics, sloppy."

Miranda could not bite back a bark of laughter of her own, "You know James Stewart? The mathematician?" she scoffed, "Get real."

And she knew right then, she'd fucked up.

Miranda felt the air in the room become heavy and dreadful. She looked at Grey's face as her laughter died: she had just crossed a line.

"I did not say I knew him," Grey whispered, "I said he agreed with me on something."

"You're serious."

Grey clamored to his feet, "I have to go," looking like she'd just set him on fire.

Miranda was nearly bowled over as Grey pushed past her and out the door.

"No, wait, it's—"but he stormed out into the predawn gloom and the door crashed close behind him.

"—okay," she finished dejectedly

She exhaled hard in frustration, whatever she'd said or done, it'd spooked him enough to flee from the house. Even her touching him hadn't been enough to cause him to actually flee her presence.

The bathroom door slammed open then and Samantha hurriedly wheeled in, her toothbrush in her mouth; she was dribbling foam all over her shorts.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded somewhat unintelligibly.

"He's gone," Miranda sighed throwing her hands up in the air, "He just took off."

Samantha grabbed an empty glass that was within easy reach and spat in it.

"Bullshit!" she replied, "What the fuck did you do?"

"Nothing!" Miranda cried, "We were just talking."

"About?"

"You'll think I'm insane."

"Try me."

Miranda took a deep breath, "We were discussing the validity of publishing a document that contained both theories in Multivariable Calculus as well as Non-Linear equations."

Sam blinked, "Huh. Dense shit. I imagine the conversation was pretty one sided?"

"Yeah it was, except he did all the talking. When he wasn't busy making doodles in your books"

"What the fuck?" Sam wheeled over to Miranda and the pile of books on the floor where Grey had been sitting. "My first editions!" she cried out as she picked one up, "Oh he's dead meat!"

Miranda picked up another book and started flipping through it, "Uh...Sammy?"

"Don't call me 'Sammy' and what?"

Miranda showed her the book along with Grey's annotations.

"What the hell does this say? It's a little too math-y for me."

Sam took the book from her and peered at the pages, "Motherfucking fuck!" she whispered.

"Translation, please."

Samantha held up the book, "They're corrections."

"They're what?!"

"Well, not corrections, not literally, but more like, improvements: Different ways of proving a given theory or solving an equation; more efficient ways."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Okay, you know how, when you're a kid and you've got a grid or a row or whatever of sixty-four, how do you usually count it?"

"When I didn't know any better? One at a time."

"And when you did know better?"

"Multiply x by y: eight by eight becomes sixty-four, so?"

"Right," Sam pointed at Grey's notes, "Same fucking principal: ways of solving some seriously hairy equations and skipping a lot of steps in the process."

"What?" Miranda exclaimed, taking the book back from Sam and frowning at it, flipping through the pages.

"And it looks like he didn't just stop at the math stuff either," Sam continued, "He got into your physics library."

Miranda was rendered mute in sudden panic and instead grabbed a book and began frantically going through it.

Sam tilted her head to read the title, "'String Theory' by Witten."

"This can't be right," Miranda whispered as she clawed at the book with such fervor that the pages were beginning to tear.

"Slow down Miri, you're going to stroke ou—"

"Give me that one there!" Miranda demanded, pointing at another book.

Sam sighed and reached down, checking out the title "'Loop Quantum Gravity' by Lorentz?"

"Yes, give it to me please."

Sam handed it over and Miranda tore through it with a vengeance.

"This," she hissed as she went through the book, "Isn't. Possible."

"You all right there lover? You're starting to sound a little tense."

Miranda dropped the book and gestured, "Those two, give them to me."

"Beg your pardon?"

Miranda gritted her teeth, "Give them to me, please."

Sam cautiously handed them over, "Miri, you're going to give yourself apoplexy."

Miranda ignored her and began tearing through both books. She went pale after a few minutes.

"No, no, no, no, this can't be right," she bemoaned, "There's got to be some flaw in his equations, an error in his formulas, something!"

Miranda shoved the two books away from her; Sam caught them and checked the titles,

"'Causal Dynamical Triangulation,' by Loll," she checked the other title, "and 'Canonical Quantum Gravity,' by Dirac."

"This can't be happening," Miranda nearly yelled. "No one could do this," she gestured to another book, "Let me see that one please, Sam."

"Last one," Sam replied sternly, "Your head's going to burst if you do this much longer."

Miranda nodded and Sam checked the title of the book, "'Superfluid Vacuum Theory' by Sudarshan."

Miranda took the book from her and began to go through it. Sam was shocked to see tears starting to form in her eyes.

"So, what's the big deal--?"

Miranda then screamed at the top of her lungs and threw the book against the wall with all her might.

Sam nearly jumped out of her chair, "Holy shit!"

"It isn't fair!," she howled, "Why, why give such a gifted mind to a worthless drunken asshole!?"

"Easy there Salieri," Samantha attempted to soothe her lover; she'd never seen Miri lose it like this.

"No! This isn't right! It isn't fair!" Miranda continued to yell, "Do you know how hard I worked? How many tests I took to prove that I was a child prodigy? How many grades I skipped or awards I've won?" She then gestured at the door, "And then to be one-upped by that....that...burnt-out loser!"

"Okay, let's put aside right now the fact that you are, indeed, being a complete bitch," Sam began, "And get to the 'how did he one-up you?' portion of the quiz."

"Look!" the other girl hissed, picking up one of the books and gestured at Grey's notes, "This formula illustrates the ways in which elementary particles arise from different quantum states. It's one of the first steps towards replacing particle physics with String, and it serves as one of the core tenants of the String Theory as a whole."

Sam shrugged, "So?"

"So?!" Miranda sputtered, "So, this took decades to create and unravel. Minds like Polchinski and Zwiebach poured over a tremendous amount of data and in doing so created Bosonic String Theory which ultimately became String Theory.

"Again, so?"

"It took geniuses over four decades to break it down into something that could be easily adapted to real-world data applications," she held up the book, "With Grey's modifications, I could teach it to a monkey who could, in turn, be teaching advanced physics to freshmen by the end of the week."

Sam whistled low, "That's intense," Sam leaned in to peer at it, "So, what, he improved their work or did he come up with something entirely new?"

Miranda took another look at the book, "More like he deconstructed it; he found a way to integrate several different variables while at the same time keeping the overall formulae intact."

"In dummy-girlfriend talk please?"

"His equations show that some of the most complex systems in all of physics could be broken down into key core components and then used as building blocks to create new theories or to serve as a teaching aid."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah," Miranda growled, "asshole."

"Why are you so upset about this? So he had a few good ideas."

"This isn't 'a few good ideas', Sammy!" she cried, "This is genius, pure genius it was given to someone like him—"

"—instead of someone like you?" Samantha interjected smoothly.

The other girl opened her mouth to deny it, and then closed it.

"I have an IQ of over a hundred and sixty, I've been called 'gifted' since before I could talk," she threw the book to the floor, "And now I've just been made to look like an idiot child."

"Wha...?"

"I don't create things, Sammy! I just study the things other people created! That's all I do!"

"Well yes, but he didn't create any new formulas or theories himself."

"No, but he did create brand new and more efficient ways of computing and comprehending some of the most complex ideas in all of physics, which is almost as good."

"Oh."

Miranda slumped in her chair in defeat, "Yeah, 'Oh'," she glared at the other girl, "How are you, not pissed?"

Sam shrugged, "Why should I be pissed?"

"Because he took it upon himself, to lend his 'expertise' to your field of study as well."

Sam picked one up and flipped through it, "Oh yeah, cool."

"Cool?!"

Sam shrugged, "Yeah, it's pretty solid work, some good ideas here, though I'd have to actually crunch the data to see if they held water," she took another look at Grey's flowing copperplate script, "But yeah, it's cool."

"But," the other girl sputtered, "You worked so hard! You're so smart! You were a contender for the Field's metal."

"And none of that has changed, sweetie."

"But he's better at math than you! Doesn't that make you angry? That's he's smarter than you?"

"Okay, time to explain a few things," Sam leaned forward to take her lover's hands in her own, "One, these little formulas and equations he's got here? Yeah, they hint at some savagely fierce intellect, but that doesn't make him smarter than me or you. It just makes him able to see things differently, uniquely."

"But—"

"Not finished, lover," Sam gave the girl's hands a squeeze, "Two, so what? If he manages to somehow come up with some new data, that is, for whatever reason, considered 'better' than mine, so what?" She reached out to caress the other girl's face, "I love what I do, Miri, and I love you. And no one, not even some kind of chain-smoking, freaky-geeky Cockney savant is going to change that, okay?"

Miranda blew out a long breath and nodded, "Okay."

"We can take all this stuff to our favorite geek couple."

Miranda frowned, "Aren't Luke and Isabel teaching today?"

"Nope, they're on a semi-sabbatical ever since they got back from Switzerland," Sam gestured at the books, "If the heads of the physics and mathematics department can't makes sense of this, nobody can."

Miranda nodded, she liked Luke and Isabel, not only were they inspiring and engaging teachers, but they managed to remain very down to earth despite their great intelligence. It was Isabel who had introduced Samantha to Miranda during a banquet: Sam had been Isabel's protégé in all things mathematical whilst Miranda was the latest prodigy in the physics department, headed by Luke.

"Okay, sounds like a plan, we bring these to them tonight and they can tell us if this is the real deal or not."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 04



"Deal, now will you please stop obsessing?"

"I'll try."

"Here, let me help, Miri," Samantha leaned in, took her lover's face in her hands and kissed her mouth; parting her lips and sliding her tongue past the other girl's teeth. Miranda moaned at the sweet taste of Sam's tongue as the fair-haired girl wrapped her arms around her slender frame.

As they savored one another, Samantha's hand reached up to caress Miranda's breast. Miranda sighed with pleasure placed her hand over Sam's and squeezed. Sam began to rub her thumb against her nipple, teasing it through Miranda's shirt until it became rock hard.

Sam pulled away suddenly, causing Miranda to whimper in protest, and rested her forehead against her lover's brow, reaching up with her free hand to stroke the other girl's short, dark, hair.

"So, are you going to get all worked up about Grey or are you going to take me back to bed?" Sam asked innocently.

"Bed, definitely bed," Miranda replied.

"First intelligent thing you've said all morning." Sam laughed as Miranda stood up, scooped up the other girl in her arms and dashed into the bedroom, her lover's arms wrapped firmly around her neck.

The girls spent the rest of the day having, what Sam called, "Quality naked time." They made love, cooked, and generally lounged about without a single stitch on. It was, at times, intensely erotic: to have an exposed breast to caress or a creamy thigh to kiss all within easy reach. Other times, it was simply cozy; being able to be naked and exposed and still completely comfortable.

Finally, it was time to head out to see Luke and Isabel. The sun was going down and the weather had been oddly cool for California, but Samantha persevered and wore a pair of jeans cut up to the thigh and tight enough to accentuate every last curve of everything from the waist down. Miranda wore a pair of considerably looser jeans and a man's work shirt. They grabbed their cell phones and headed out the door.

As they walked down the street, Miranda took in a deep breath and closed her eyes: Pasadena wasn't exactly close to the sea, but tonight she could taste saltwater on the tip of her tongue and she loved it.

"Just digging this night air, huh Miri?" Sam asked looking up at her from her chair.

"Feels like forever since we just...relaxed. Taken a break from the crazy."

"I know," Samantha grinned, "boring as fuck, isn't it?"

"Sometimes boring can be nice," Miranda countered.

"Oh...pbbbbt," Sam stuck out her tongue, "Forward palanquin slave! Bear me hence to my destination with all haste."

"Yes, milady."

"Just enjoy it while you can, Miri," Sam warned, "Because you never know when things are about to go to Hell."



Grey was a man on a mission as he strode down the street, cupping his hand around cigarette as he lit it and tossed the match. He was heading back to the house from last night and was not leaving until he had either gotten his money or he had inflicted a comparable amount of pain and suffering on those responsible for the theft.

He never saw it coming; one moment he was walking, the next he was on his hands and knees, his shades on the ground, his stick out of reach and a torrent of blood and glass pouring out of his head. He gasped at the pain as he felt sharp glass slide into his palms.

A steel-toed boot came down hard on the glasses, shattering them as a familiar voice called out, "It's my favorite fucking cocksucker."

Grey smirked and looked up.

"Hello Billy, now, how did you know I was thinking about your mum?"

The kick to the face sent Grey reeling backwards as Billy and five other youths advanced on the prone man, picking him up and dragging him into a nearby alley.

Grey recognized most of them from the poker game, "You lot own me four hundred even," he accused, "hand it over, give me a very sincerely apology, and I'll consider not kicking your arses."

One of the youths kicked Grey hard in the ribs causing him to cough.

"Thank you for bringing all your sorority sisters, Billy," Grey jeered, "I'm trying to figure out which one's the prettiest. And by 'prettiest', I mean whichever one is stuck polishing your sorry-ass knob night after night."

Billy held up Grey's stick, "Lose something, asshole?"

"Nope, know right where that is," Grey gestured, "Some filthy ponce has it...for the moment."

Billy brought the stick down hard across Grey's chest, causing him to lurch and cough harder.

"That the best you got?" I've seen little girls hit pinata's harder."

Another blow, once to his stomach, the next to his head.

"No no no, Billy," Grey admonished, "Haven't you ever tortured someone before? Save the head for last or else the bloke you're knocking about may wind up just clocking out."

"Get him on his feet and hold him!"

Two of the youths grabbed Grey up from under his armpits and hoisted him up roughly.

"Stretch him!"

Each man took one of Grey's arms and stretched it out taunt, leaving him completely exposed.

"What next then, Billy? Time for the nails and the hammer?"

Billy struck him over and over across his stomach, chest, and abdomen, occasionally lashing out to his head or between his legs.

"That's right Billy, get it out!" Grey was unable to flinch, curl up, or protect himself in any way and so he simply took it as the young man beat him again....

...and again...

...and again.

Finally Billy dropped the stick, Grey's face was a mass of blood and swollen tissue, tears in his clothing from where the stick had gotten stuck on a button or a stitch and been torn free.

"Oh, look at you go, Billy," Grey rasped wetly, his mouth drooling a river of blood, "All done then?"

Billy gestured and the two guys holding Grey up threw him to the ground. Grey repressed a moan of agony, instead taking a moment to look up at Billy.

"I'm just getting started," Billy retorted, "And when I'm done with you, I'm going to go find that crippled little bitch and gook friend and fuck them so hard they bleed!"

Muscles in Grey's back tightened imperceptibly as he began to crawl on hands and knees towards Billy; fortune favored Grey then; the tissue around his eyes were so swollen, it kept the lethal gleam in his eye from showing and concealing any hint in regards to the kind of hell he was about to unleash.

Grey brought his hand up and discretely slid a sliver of glass out of his palm, his other hand covering his mouth during a coughing fit and covering the movement as he crawled, doing his best to look pitiful.

"Billy, I'm sorry lad, but you're going to have to speak up," Grey wiped a bloody hand across his head, "I'm afraid you've rung my bell right proper."

Billy bent over and got eye-to-eye with the wounded man,

"I said I'm going to fuck your little friends to death. We'll see how many cocks they can take at one time before they start begging for mercy," Billy accentuated this point by hawking a glob of phlegm into Grey's face.

Grey didn't bother wiping it away, but he nodded, "Oh, okay, I heard you," he coughed hard, he felt things inside him breaking loose but he kept coughing as hard as he could, the convulsions concealing the glass shard, now firmly between two fingers, "But I don't think it's going to work out."

"Why the fuck would that be?"

"Because..."Grey's hand shot out, quicker than a snake, and grabbed a hold of the other man's testicles in a death grip, "...you're going to be too busy getting your bollocks unscrambled you fucking wimp!"

He twisted and yanked Billy's crotch towards him, throwing the other man off balance and giving Grey the perfect angle to ram the glass shard up deep into Billy's scrotum. He twisted the shard, causing the makeshift shiv to snap off inside Billy's genitalia. Billy began to scream, clutching at the shredded ruins of his genitals. His jeans were rapidly flooding red and he couldn't form words. Instead he just pointed at Grey, who was now flat on his back and giving him the two-finger salute.

"Who's bleeding now you mewling quim?!"

Billy's friends came at him then and Grey welcomed their abuse them with a gleeful smile caked in blood.

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke," he coughed, "Come and have a go then, if you think you're hard enough!"

And on they came. And all become blood and darkness.



"What level of Dante's concentric Inferno did you find these things?" Luke asked as he scrutinized the books the girls had brought them and the equations contained within.

"Would you believe a crazy, homeless, guy?" Miranda chimed in.

"Hey be fair," Samantha chimed in, "We don't actually know that he's homeless."

Luke looked up, "I sense a story."

"Mind your own business, sweetie," Isabel admonished gently as she bent over to place a kiss on her lover's cheek.

Luke and Isabel couldn't appear more different on the outside: Luke was on the shorter side, just shy of five-ten, but solidly built. Red hair and blue eyes rounded a very unique appearance that lay to waste the stereotypical tweed-clad physics geek.

Isabel, on the other hand, was tall, easily over six feet tall and statuesque with a dusky complexion and eyes "that one could drown in", according to Samantha. One of the most difficult vows Sam had made was the promise that, if Isabel would serve as her advisor and tutor she would not do everything in her power to get her in bed. It was a pledge she regretted daily.

Isabel had one other thing going for her; an injury to her leg had left her with a slight limp. She was very self-conscious of it. Everyone else in the room thought it gave her a tremendously sexy swagger that made her already gorgeous ass look positively delectable.

She was as smart and perceptive as she was sexy, which is how she caught everyone else in the room checking her out.

"Can I help you three?" she asked coyly.

"Yeah," Sam replied, "Get naked."

"Uh-uh," Luke chimed in. "Age before beauty."

"Yeah? Which are you?"

"I'm the one that gets to see her naked."

Isabel and Miranda cackled as Sam fumed.

"I loathe you," the blonde girl growled.

"Jealousy is an ugly thing," Luke observed.

"Speaking of jealousy," Sam adjusted her verbal crosshairs from Luke to Miranda, "You should hear the words coming out of your little protégé's mouth when she saw these."

"Years of research and study..." Miranda began to mutter.

Luke sighed and exchanged a look with his wife. It was one of "those" looks, the kind happily-married people commonly share that tends to exist somewhere between "Aren't they cute?" and "God, were we ever this young and dumb?"

"Ms. Inoue," Luke began. Miranda groaned, she knew she was in trouble when her mentor got formal. Sam and Isabel knew it too, and they watched the unfolding drama with great amusement, "What have we said about your gifted mind and intellect?"

"That my sense of self-worth, should not be tied to my scholastic achievements."

"And?"

Another sigh, "And, there is more to life than equations and formulas and to respect and appreciate other people's contributions as well as my own."

"In other words?"

Miranda gritted her teeth, "Someone else's gain is not necessarily my loss."

"Very good, grasshopper," Lucas put the books down, "Go out, you know? Go to a party. Get laid."

"Ha!" both girls echoed.

"What?"

"The last time we went to a party, there was almost a fatality," Sam informed Luke.

Luke turned to his wife, "Honey, how come I don't get invited to the cool parties?"

"Because you're a tremendous geek," Isabel replied sweetly.

"Hey!"

Isabel kissed the top of her husband's head and wrapped her arms around him.

"But you're my tremendous geek."

"Okay, I can live with that."

"Good," she kissed him again before picking up one of the books and frowning at it, "Got to tell you girls, whoever came up with these had to be either a certified genius or a full-out wacko."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

Isabel favored her with a condescending smile, "My dear Sammy, have I taught you nothing? Or are you just too busy staring at my butt?"

"Not true!" Sam replied, "Sometimes, I'm staring at your tits."

Isabel giggled as Miranda turned an angry look at Sam, "So how come she gets to call you 'Sammy'?"

"Sweetie, with a package like that she can call me whatever the hell she wants."

"You know," Luke chimed in, "I'm sitting right here as you drool over my wife."

"Thought you'd be used to that by now," Sam replied.

"Back to the matter at hand," Miranda interjected.

"You'll have to forgive Miri," Sam explained, "She's allergic to fun."

"This stuff," Isabel elaborated, "It's brilliant, but it's all over the place. It's like a crack addicted hamster that's also a member of Mensa," she beckoned at Luke, "You see what I'm talking about, right hon?"

"Yeah, absolutely," he replied. Then he took another look and frowned, "Not, not at all, no."

"Men."

"Hey, if you're considering batting for the other team," Samantha patted her lap, "You can just sit yourself down over here and I'll show you all the ropes."

Miranda frowned at Sam, "Since when are you into ropes?"

Isabel just laughed at the blonde girl's remarks, "And so the student would become the master? Thank you, but no Sam, I'm quite happy with my 'team.'"

"Seconded," Luke chimed in.

"Grumble, grumble, discontent, grumble," Sam frowned.

Miranda took the opportunity to pick up one of the books, "You were saying, Isabella?"

"Here, take a look at his," the mathematician began drawing on a clear board, "In the books that dealt with mathematics, rather than expressing the equation through math as everyone else does, he turned it into a physics formula.

Luke frowned at the board, "He's using Euler's equation," he began to thumb through the book, "Why the hell would he do that?"

"I've no idea. It's like the entire thing is backwards."

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked.

Isabel began drawing on the board again, "Mathematics is considered a vital tool in the expression and understanding of physics."

"It's sort of our thing," Luke added, "They make for a very good pair," he sent his wife an adoring look, "much like a poor, geeky, physicist and an ebony-skinned Amazonian math goddess."

"That should be on a t-shirt," Sam interjected.

Isabel chuckled and blew him a kiss before continuing.

"Okay, so, like I said, mathematics; calculus, trig., etc..., are used to simplify any given equation," she gestured at the board, "whoever did this didn't bother with any of that, they took the equation as is and solved it without bothering to use any math, of any kind."

Luke's brow furrowed in concentration, "Solving stuff like this without using math is a lot like pushing your car to work rather than driving it," he turned his attention to the books, "why the hell would he do that?"

"Because he could."

Three pairs of eyes lifted to regard Miranda.

"For all of us, we've used hard work, years of study, discipline, to achieve what it takes to do stuff like that," she gestured at the board, "For us, it's a science. For him, it's an art. He can just do it, no effort or discipline required," Miranda suddenly looked very tired, "He wanted us to know that."

"Know that he can do it?" Samantha asked.

"Know that you can do everything by the book, obey the rules, study hard, go to bed early, sacrifice your social life," she glared at the board, "And still wind up coming up short in the end."

Sam took another look at the board, "Yeah, that sounds about right: Ha-ha, you made yourself miserable for nothing."

"It might just be a little less cynical than that," Luke commented as Isabel came to stand next him.

"Do tell," Miranda muttered.

Luke gathered up his wife in his arms and gave her a long hug before turning his attention to the board.

"You don't need to sacrifice joy in order to be successful in life."

Sam let out a short laugh, "Well, if you met Grey, you'd be dead certain that the man did not practice what he preached."

Luke and Isabel exchanged a quick look.

"What?"

Luke shook his head, "It's nothing, just something from way back when."

"What do you mean?" Miranda asked.

"There was a guy a while back, real knack for this stuff; pretty much the Hunter Thompson of physicists; real gonzo science. He had a lot of wild theories and ideas. A lot of them turned out to be true."

"So, what happened to him?"

"He died a while back, fifteen years ago or so, no one really knows the details."

"I remember reading about that," Isabella added, "I was considering using him as my thesis subject."

"And the guy died?" Miranda pressed.

"Think so. All through the eighties and nineties the guy could do no wrong. Although if I remember correctly, a lot of his stuff pissed off a great deal of more, conservative minds," Isabella smirked, "Which is why he was never actually recognized or awarded for any of his work: wasn't willing to play by the big-boy rules."

"I like him already," Samantha spoke up.

Miranda sent her lover an affectionate smile before turning her attention back to the older woman, "So what happened then?"

Isabella shrugged, "And then, nothing. After 1998, no papers, no lectures, no books or coursework, he simply vanished. And then the rumor mill said he had died suddenly and that his work was lost for good."

"Damn shame," Luke frowned.

"Agreed, but anyhow," Isabella gestured to the board, "do we want to tackle the rest of this?"

Miranda shrugged, "Might as well, I certainly have nothing better to do."

"Hey!" Sam exclaimed.

"Besides you, of course."

"That's more like it."

Several hours later, Luke closed the book in front of him and tossed it onto the desk.

"Okay, I am done," he announced as he rubbed his eyes, "This stuff is impossible."

"It's not impossible," Isabella corrected him, "It's just wildly inconsistent: I can see half a dozen different formulas and schools of thought in both physics and math: Parseval, Friedmann, and a whole lot of Boltzman's Entropy Theory."

"It's like trying to do equations via stream of thought," Sam added as she gestured to the now-cluttered clearboard, "There's no rhyme or reason to it: problems are presented, solved, and then discarded only to show up later in a completely different set of algorithms. "

"Well, however it is done, it's scrawl, but its brilliant scrawl."

"So now what?" Miranda asked.

Her mentor shrugged, "I don't know, find him, bring him in to explain all this and I'll see to it personally that you'll get whatever academic or science post you're looking for out in the world."

"Count me in, as well," Isabella said.

Miranda smiled broadly, a chance at academic advancement was too good to pass up.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Wait a second," Sam glowered, "When we were talking about me being able to walk again, you were all 'we don't really need him'," she jabbed a finger into the other girl's ribs, "But suddenly this can help your career and now you're all about him? You're being kinda shallow there sweetie."

Miranda looked up guiltily as all the eyes in the room regarded her in the same fashion.

"Sorry," she apologized, "I just...really don't like the guy," she pointed at the board, "but if he, for some bizarre reason, can contribute to our field of study, it's worth pursuing," she focused on Sam, "And that there will be no more comments about getting rid of him until after he's helped you. Deal, lover?"

"It's a start," Sam replied as she grabbed Miranda by the shirt and caught her mouth in a long kiss.

Moments stretched on until someone cleared their throat, causing the girls to part.

"Sorry," Sam and Miranda both mumbled. Luke and Isabella just smirked.

"Too cute," the mathematician stated, "So, do you know where to find this guy?"




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 04



"I have an idea," Miranda replied.

They spent what felt like hours beating on Grey. They used their hands and feet until those got too sore, then they used the stick, a trash can, anything.

And all Grey could do was laugh at them when he wasn't vomiting up blood or choking to death.

"Come on there lads," he gurgled around a mouthful of loose teeth, "Step on up."

"Fucking psycho," one of them muttered.

"You have no idea," Grey replied and winked as best he could with two swollen eyes.

"Fuck this!" Billy had managed to staunch most of the bleeding in his groin, though the pain was excruciating. He vented his pain through rage, grabbed the stick again and started hitting Grey over and over again.

Grey cackled in between blows, "Better be careful, lad. That's a nasty cut you got there on your John Thomas. Looks like it's liable to infect," Grey gasped as Billy brought the stick down across his shoulder, he felt the joint go and gritted his teeth. "An infected wanker means no more little Billy's to squirt into some unlucky cunt's belly."

"Fuck you!" he screamed and cracked the staff across Grey's face. His nose cracked audibly and Grey could no longer breathe through it.

One of the guys grabbed Billy's arm, "That's enough man; you're going to fucking kill him."

"This gobshite?" Grey gestured at Billy with his functional arm, "Not bloody likely, but I appreciate the thought, your concern warms the cockles of my heart."

Billy brought his boot down hard onto Grey's chest. Blood spurted out from between split lips.

Grey couldn't draw enough breath to talk any longer so he just did his best to grin in the general direction where he thought they were.

"Fine," Billy snarled, taking the stick in both his hands, "Something to remember me by."

Billy brought the stick up and raised his knee. Grey smiled to himself.

The young man brought the stick down hard across his knee and promptly screamed in agony, falling over, causing his wound to reopen.

"Hickory..." Grey rasped out.

Billy just moaned, clutching his knee and his crotch at the same time as one of his friends confronted Grey. A big guy, like Billy.

"What, you think that's funny, tough guy?" he demanded in a low tone.

"Yeah...," Grey exhaled.

He kicked him in the head, causing Grey's vision to explode into stars.

"How you feeling now, tough guy?"

"Good....enough....to fuck your mother," Grey brought his hand up and gave him the finger.

The youth knelt down and punched Grey in the face, driving bone fragments deeper into his wounds. As he drew back, he saw something shiny: a locket. He grabbed it in a meaty hand and tore it from Grey's neck.

Grey slapped a bloody hand over his arm,

"That's....mine...arseface."

The other man head-butted him between the eyes and Grey went limp.

"Figures," Miranda muttered, "The one time I want him around and he's nowhere to be found."

Miranda and Samantha had left the school and gone hunting for Grey. Miranda had suggested that Sam head towards home and see if he would turn up there while she would look around the area where the party had been.

Fortunately, she was able to narrow down the search from all bars to those that had an "understanding" with their patrons regarding smoking. It was these latter establishments that she was focused on. She had been to six different bars and while each and every last bartender questioned was able to identify Grey by her description instantly, none of them knew where he was right now.

She was headed towards bar number seven when something glittering on the sidewalk caught her eye. She knelt down and examined it: broken glass smeared in something dark. The sodium streetlights distorted color and provided very poor illumination.

One piece of glass wasn't like the others: it was concave in shape, dark, and mirrored and riddled with cracks and scratches.

Her eyes widened in comprehension as she examined a small pile of twisted metal and shattered glass.

Grey's sunglasses.

She felt something in her tighten up in dread. No way would he just leave these behind willingly, let alone smashed into bits.

Squinting, she followed a trail of uneven, black splotches from the sidewalk to the mouth of a nearby alley.

There were more dark stains here, on the wall and ground. The yellow light shining above her made it look black as pitch as she gathered some in her palm and scrutinized it, rubbing some of it between her fingers.

Carefully, she stepped into the alleyway, "Hello?"

She saw something towards the back shift slightly. The air left a metallic taste in her mouth, like sucking on a penny as she pressed deeper into the gloom.

There was a wet, coughing sound followed by the sound of someone vomiting. Miranda wrinkled her nose in distaste: just some drunk that had had one too many and came here to throw up and pass out. Miranda opened her phone to check the time, it was quarter past eight.

And she had blood all over her hands.

She gasped as the led light showed that the blotches she'd been following were not black, but a deep red, the crimson color no longer distorted by the orange lights that had been above her.

She looked up at the wall in front of her; handprints of blood peppered the stone like a child's finger-painting. The handprints became a steady smear that slowly descended into the end of the alley.

To a huddled shape in a tan overcoat, now stained red.

Miranda's heart started to pound, "Grey?"

The shape moved again and an arm limply fell into view, hand clutching an unlit cigarette.

"Got a light?"

Miranda brought her hand to her mouth in horror: every inch of what she could see of the man was caked in blood or filth.

"What happened?" She still couldn't see most of him.

"Go away," Grey's voice gurgled. It sounded wrong, strained and wet, like he was talking underwater. He began to cough and Miranda could see a small splash of fresh blood splatter against the wall.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"Leave, Miranda," he wheezed as he shifted his weight, "This isn't your problem. Go back to your books and your school. Go back to your lover and your life. Nothing here for you."

Miranda was rendered speechless.

"You don't need me around," he continued, taking a moment in between breaths to cough up more blood, "And I know you don't want me around either. But you and Sam know what you need to, she'll be up and walking again in a year's time," the hand that she could see flopped about slightly, "And I'm willing to bet that those equations I left for you, has generated enough interest in the right circles that you could do quite well from a career point of view."

"But what about you?" she whispered.

"What about me?" he replied, "You just happened to wander by. Nothing says you can't keep walking."

"That's murder!"

"Only if you get nicked," another cough, "And I'm sure as hell not going to tell anyone," he shifted again, Miranda wished she could see more of him, "You can have everything you want, Miranda: your lover walks, you advance beyond your station and you rid yourself of someone that is making your life more complicated than you want."

Grey took in another ragged breath and moved in for the kill.

"And there's one more way this works out for you?"

"How?"

"With me gone, you can go back to being the smartest person you know."

The hand that she could see tightened into a fist.

"And that's what you want, right? To go back to how it was before all this? All you need to do is turn around and walk away."

Miranda felt like she had been struck in the face: Grey's words tore into her heart, found her deepest shames, and proceeded to stab her with them. It was at that moment that Doctor Miranda Inoue experienced a moment of vertigo: she felt as if she was at the precipice of a vast abyss. She could almost feel that which she was familiar and comfortable with begin to crumble under her feet. The future loomed before her like a great beast and it began here and now.

And in that first moment, she almost succumbed to temptation: the temptation to return to the familiar, to the safe.

All she had to do is walk away.

"No!"

She advanced on Grey, "I am not leaving you're here to bleed out!"

"Why not?"

"Because I have a soul, God damn you!"

And then Grey turned his head about and allowed his face to come into view.

"So did the people who did this."

Miranda had both hands over her mouth and nose, trying to avoid screaming. She doubled over; one hand on the wall bracing herself, the other across her stomach to keep from throwing up as she began to tremble violently.

From his hair down to his chin, Grey was completely caked in dried blood and filth. Both of his eyes were so swollen she could barely see them. His nose was a smashed in-ruin with blood pouring out of it and his lips were split and ragged. His shirt had been torn open and it was stained almost completely red. His pants were in the same condition, he even had blood on his socks.

Grey saw the expression on her face and his lips pulled back into a rictus.

"Hello Sunshine," he choked out, "Give us a kiss." Blood began to leak from his mouth and from between his teeth in streams. He began to cough, great globs of crimson spurted from his mouth and he sagged against the wall, spent.

Miranda didn't remember taking that first step towards him, but before she knew it; she found herself kneeling before the man.

"Who did this?" she asked quietly.

"What do you care?" he replied.

Miranda gripped his head in her hands and forced him to look at her. He tried feebly to avoid her hands, but it was no use. Her fingers, pale and cool danced over his cheekbones, across his brow into his matted hair where she began to stroke gently.

"Who?"

Grey began to cough and Miranda did her best to help him sit up. No matter where she touched him it was wet and it was red.

"Billy and the rest of his sorority took exception to my interfering with their reindeer games the other night."

Miranda felt something deep inside her hurt: he had received this as revenge for saving her and Sam. She began to experience another foreign feeling: it was like a loud roaring sound in her ears coupled with the feeling of an intense pressure inside her chest.

For the first time in her life, Miranda wanted very much to take a human life. As much as Grey had aggravated her, it had been, ultimately, innocent. What she felt now hammered in her head like nothing else she'd experienced.

So this is what 'hate' feels like.

She shook her head violently back and forth to clear it as Grey pulled away from her grip.

"I've got to get you out of here," she insisted.

"Why?"

"Because you'll die."

"So?"

Miranda forced Grey to look at her again,

"I don't know what kind of hell turned you into this, but I will not let you die like an animal in some alley!"

"Perhaps I've earned it." He rasped and tried to pull away, Miranda wasn't hearing any of it.

"Bullshit, I don't care what you've done or to who, I can't leave you like this."

"Why not?"

"Because I care about you," she whispered, touching his face tenderly, gently dabbing away at the odd speck of blood or dirt.

"Why?"

"God help me, I don't know."

Miranda tilted his head back and brought her phone up,

"What are you do-?" he couldn't finish speaking as he began to cough up blood in thick, dark, strands.

The young woman cradled his head and wiped the blood from his mouth before she shined the light in his eyes and peered intently. What she saw astounded her.

His right eye was green. She'd heard of a "soft green", this was the opposite: a hard green. Like someone had captured rage in an emerald. The blood vessels in the eye had been damaged, causing the sclera to turn red, but the green was unmistakable.

His left eye, however, was even stranger: the iris was a pale green, like jade, and the pupil was fixed and fully dilated; giving it a surreal appearance.

"Beautiful..." Miranda whispered, touching his brow and peering deep into them. She noticed that the flesh around his left eye seemed to be some kind of raised scar tissue.

"I'm getting you out of here," Miranda proclaimed. She wrapped Grey's arm around her neck and shoulder and began to lift upwards. Grey groaned in pain and Miranda could feel blood, warm and sticky, begin to seep into her shirt where she was pressed against him.

"I've gone and ruined your shirt," Grey rasped.

"I have others," Miranda replied. She ran her hand across his chest and ribs to support him, it felt like holding a wet bag of broken glass.

"You shouldn't be getting involved,"

Miranda looked him over for a moment and then punched him in the ass.

"Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Stupid should hurt."

A pause, "Okay, fair enough, but what did you punch me in the arse?"

"It was the only part of you that I could see that wasn't injured," She explained as she touched the back of his head. It was matted and bloody as well.

"Did they hit you in head?"

"Yeah."

"How often?"

"I lost count after four."

"Kuso," she muttered, "You could have a concussion; we need to get you to a hospital.

"No."

Miranda looked at him askance, "What do you mean 'no'?"

"No doctors, no hospitals."

"That's crazy, you feel like you have a half a dozen broken ribs along with a concussion and God knows what else."

"God has no say in the matter: no hospitals, take me home."

"But why?" she demanded.

"Because I bloody well said so."

"You're not serious."

"Do I look like I'm taking the piss?" he asked gesturing to his face.

"Okay, you're clearly suffering from brain damage. Let me get a cab and we'll get you to a hospital and they'll keep you from dying—"

"Miranda...please. Take me home."

The girl nearly dropped him in shock not pet-names and a 'please' to boot.

"Okay, now I know you have brain damage, you only get civil when you're upset."

"All my snark has already leaked out," he explained.

Miranda just held him tighter as she carried him out of the alley.

"Get a lot of practice doing this?" Grey asked wryly.

"Yes, although Sam isn't usually soaked in gore."

"Lucky girl," he rasped before going into a coughing fit. Miranda pressed her hand against his chest gently, keeping him upright.

"Bugger me."

"You're going to be okay, Grey." The girl insisted. She propped him up against a storefront and moved a few paces into the street, waving her arms.

It didn't take long for a cab to stop. Miranda opened the back door and returned to gingerly lift Grey's battered form and easing him into the backseat.

"Where are you headed?" the driver asked before getting a good look at Grey through the Plexiglas divider between the front and back seat. "Shit..."

"North," was Grey's only reply. "Drive."

Miranda wrapped one arm around Grey's shoulders, letting him use her arm as a headrest. Her other hand touched his face, tracing out the contours of his cheekbones with her fingertips. She moved down further and lightly stroked his lips, dabbing away as much blood as she could.

"Look," the cabbie spoke up, "I don't want no trouble, why don't I take you to the hospital?"

"Head north of the 210," Grey gasped out trying to catch his breath, "Between Lake and Lincoln."

Miranda's eyes widened, "That part of town is a war zone, well, for Pasadena anyhow."

"Yeah, but the view's nice," was the man's only response.

"No deal," the cabbie persisted, "I'm just going to drop you two off right here and you can find someone else."

"But--!" Miranda began.

"Poppet, please hand me my wallet, it's in my coat," Grey interrupted.

Miranda complied, her confusion apparent. Grey reached into his wallet; he had thought ahead this time and brought cash with him before leaving his flat.

He took out a crisp hundred dollar bill as another coughing fit seized him and he brought both hands up to cover his mouth.

When it was over, the hundred dollar bill was soaked in blood. Grey slapped the gory bill against the plastic divider where it stuck.

"Now drive the fucking hack!"

The cabbie shuddered but complied.

The screech of the taxi cab's tires filled Miranda's ears as the glow from its taillights rapidly disappeared into the gloom.

"I don't know what made him more nervous," she mused, "You or your neighborhood?"

"Nesh wanker," Grey muttered.

Miranda hefted him up, bracing him against her shoulders, "Wait! I know this one: 'Nesh' means 'coward' and 'wanker' literally means 'one who masturbates constantly' but in this context means 'jerk' or 'loser'."

Grey favored her with a smile, "That's a-girl," and then he collapsed.

"Grey!" Miranda did her best to keep his head from hitting the pavement as he knees buckled, "No-no-no-no-no."

The back of his skull was still bloody and his eyelids were fluttering rapidly. She pushed up his eyelids to check his eyes: they were rolling backwards into his head.

"Don't you do this to me!" she cried. She was cradling his head in her lap, looking around frantically. The situation was rapidly devolving and she had no idea how to deal with it.

"Excuse me," a voice called out. Miranda jerked her head up, "What's going on? Are you all right?" He was big, black, in his mid-forties, with a thin mustache and wearing a ball cap. His eyes widened when he saw Grey, "Mary, mother of God!"

"Hello Moran," Grey rasped.

Miranda looked back and forth between them, "You guys know each other?"

The man called Moran nodded as Miranda struggled to get Grey to his feet, "Yeah, we talk sometimes," he gestured at her and Grey, "Let me help."

"Thanks," Miranda exhaled in relief, but as Moran drew close, Grey tightened his grip on Miranda and drew away from him, his swollen eyes now wide in alarm.

For a moment, a tremendous warmth filled Miranda as she felt him seek safety, seek sanctuary in her, "Grey," she whispered, rubbing his chest gently, "It's okay," she could still feel the muscles in his body tense so she reached down inside her heart to that now-familiar place where Grey dwelt,

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

Grey seemed to consider that for a moment, and then relented, nodding as he sagged against her and the tension drained out of his body.

"Whoa!" Miranda yelped.

"Here," Moran spoke up bending low and picking Grey up in a fireman's carry,

"Wow."

"What?" Moran asked.

"He knows how to do that too," she explained as they headed towards a dark apartment building, "Weird, did you guys hang out a lot?"

Moran laughed, "Wouldn't say that, but we've got a few things in common, yeah," he gave her a sideways look, "although not as well as you do apparently."

"What do you mean?"

"He told you his name, lets you get within spitting distance, and does what you tell him? I thought you might either be a great friend or a small God."

Miranda cracked a smile, "So, his real name is Grey?"

"How should I know; he's never told me his name."

"Well, then when you talk, what do you call each other?"

"He calls me 'Moran'."

"And you?"

"I tend to call him 'Sir'," he replied, "It seems to suit him."

"You're not wrong."

They reached the building and Moran pulled the door open to get in.

"Stop."

Moran and Miranda came to an abrupt halt.

"Put me down," Grey instructed quietly.

"Sir--?"

"Now, Moran."

Miranda and Moran looked at each other and then gently set him down against the wall of the building.

"And I thought I was the only one who spoke to like that," Miranda grumbled.

"No, as far as I know, he's like this with everyone," Moran replied.

"How reassuring."

"Sebastian Moran," Grey gestured, "Meet Doctor Miranda Inoue. Miranda, Sebastian Moran."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 04



Moran offered out a hand letting Miranda take it of her own volition and they shook.

"Pleasure, ma'am," he gestured at Grey, "Hey, if you're a doctor—"

"Not that kind of doctor, Moran," Grey whispered, "She's a physicist; brilliant but not in the way we need right now.

Miranda blushed and Moran gave her an amazed look.

"Listens to you and respects you? You sure you're not a God?"

Miranda laughed, "Pretty sure." Grey began to cough then, blood dribbling out of his mouth and Miranda turned a worried look to him, gently touching his face.

"What happened here?" Moran asked, "Car accident?"

"He got jumped."

"By what? A hand grenade?"

"It's a long story," she answered.

"Guys wanted to rape her and her friend at a party. I stopped them. They dragged me into an alley and beat me seven shades of shit," Grey said simply.

"Okay, maybe not that long a story," Miranda corrected.

"Yeah, that sounds like him," Moran replied, "Hospital?"

Miranda shook her head, "Won't go."

"Yeah, that sounds like him too."

"If I'm dying tonight, I don't want it to be in the care of some lack-wit sawbones," Grey growled.

"Stubborn," Miranda muttered.

"Amen, sister," Moran added.

"Moran," Grey interjected and the other man turned his attention to him, "Miranda is going to need medical supplies. Take her to the pharmacy down the street. Assist her in whatever way she requires."

"No," Miranda retorted, "I'm not leaving you here."

Grey gave her a look between affection and exasperation, "There's nothing you can do right now, Poppet, not without a proper kit. Don't worry," he smirked and gestured to his tattered, gore-soaked clothes, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, I could go by myself."

"Out of the question!" Grey replied, "Go with Moran, he's a competent man and a moral one."

"Might be the nicest thing he's ever said to me," Moran commented.

"It's the truth and we both know it."

Moran nodded, "Okay Grey, if you're sure," the big man got to his feet and helped Miranda to hers, "We might want to get you some laundry soap or something, you're a mess."

Miranda looked down at her clothing, now stained with grime and Grey's blood, "Yeah, I see what you're talking about," she cast another anxious look at Grey, "Are you sure?"

"I am. Go."

Miranda nodded. Moran was turning to go when Grey's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, pinning him to the spot.

"Wha--?" Both Moran and Miranda turned look back at Grey

"She comes back safe and sound."

Miranda had thought to someone who was badly wounded and being towered over by the larger brother of Michael Clarke Duncan, would somehow appear less intimidating.

She was wrong and she shivered, either fearful of the foreboding gleam in Grey's green eyes or excited because she knew it was in regards to her.

Moran nodded, "Yes sir."

Grey held his gaze a moment longer then nodded and released him, slumping against the wall.

Moran exhaled, "God damn," he muttered. He turned to Miranda, "I wouldn't worry about him, Miss, I think the first person that thinks he's easy prey is going to be real unhappy."

"Briefly, yeah," Miranda added, casting a worried look back at Grey as they walked away.

"Try not to worry, doc," Moran assured her, "he can take care of himself."

"Even if he's hurt?"

"Ma'am, I wouldn't fuck with that man if he was dead and in the ground," he chortled to himself and removed a cigar, stopping to look at her, "Any objections?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure," Miranda waved it away, "After Grey's chain-smoking, I think one cigar might actually be a nice respite."

Moran laughed as he tore the tip off with a yellow fingernail and produced a Zippo, "Yeah, he likes quantity," he lit up the cigar and took a long, satisfying pull, "Me? I like quality."

Miranda found herself warming to the man: she'd forgotten that there were people who were forthright and open, "Still not sure how you two fell in together."

"I help run the V.A. down the street," he answered.

Miranda stopped, "You're in the army?"

"Hell no," Moran replied, taking the cigar out of his mouth and snapping out a crisp salute, "Sergeant Sebastian Moran of the 2nd platoon and proud member of the 212th , United States Marine Corp, retired."

"Oh, well, hello sir," she returned the salute awkwardly, "nice to meet you."

Moran dismissed it, "You don't salute me ma'am, I'm an enlisted man, I worked for a living," he grinned, his white teeth contrasting sharply against his dark skin, "So, eighty-six that 'sir' crap."

"I'll make you a deal then, Moran, you agree to call me 'Miranda' and I won't call you 'sir', deal?"

Moran laughed, "Yeah okay, deal," he took a contented puff from his cigar, "Willing to bet though that Grey already told you all of that."

Miranda frowned at him, "All of what?"

"Well, his time in the service and all."

Miranda's eyes nearly bugged out of her head, "He was a solider? Are we talking about the same man here?"

"Yeah, well, I'm assuming," Moran's face took on a thoughtful expression, "He walks and talks like someone who's been under fire before and he's got the thousand-yard stare."

"The what?"

"Happens to a lot of guys who've spent a great deal of time under fire. The brain just sort of goes away for moments at a time; you can look at somebody's eyes and tell that they've checked out."

"It's tough to tell when he's wearing those shades all the time."

Moran nodded, "Yeah I asked him about that once. He said the reason why he wore them was because he believed that the 'eyes are the windows to the soul' and that he kept his soul firmly under lock and key."

Miranda blinked in surprise, "I wouldn't have imagined him a poet."

"Guy's full of surprises."

"Tell me about it," she growled in remembered frustration. They had reached the pharmacy and Moran held the door open for her, "Thank you. So did you two serve together then?"

Moran shook his head, "Nope, I'm a jarhead," he tossed his cigar into the parking lot before following her into the store; "Chances are he's Royal army," Miranda sent him a confused look, "British army essentially."

"So, not like you then."

"Different country, different branch and by default, different culture," Moran cracked a grin, "we used to drink, smoke, and insult one another's respective military heritage. He'd call me 'idiot splib and 'seagoing bellhop' and I'd come back with 'limey puke' and 'tea-swilling grunt'. Then, very drunk, we'd proceed to beat the living hell out of each other," Moran's grin widened, "Good times."

Miranda gave Moran an appraising look, "You're a lot bigger than he is."

"Yeah, but he fights dirty, so we're even."

Miranda made a sympathetic noise in her throat, "Yeah, I've seen him with that stick. Pretty gruesome."

"Sounds about right," he agreed, "Okay, let's get what we need and get back," Moran commented. They quickly filled a small plastic basket with antiseptic, bandages, painkillers, hot and cold packs, and two of the largest first aid kits they could find.

They were in the checkout line when Miranda's phone went off. She knew who it was before she answered.

"Where the hell are you?!"

Miranda jerked her head away from the earpiece as Moran whipped his head around to face her.

"What the hell was that?"

"Not a 'what'," Miranda explained, "A 'who'. My girlfriend, Sam," she started to raise the microphone to her lips before stopping and giving Moran a measuring look, "Any objections?"

The man pursed his lips for a moment then shrugged, "It takes all kinds."

Satisfied, Miranda turned her attention back to the phone, "Hi Sweetie, no everything's fine, I'm near Grey's place, I found him, but things have gotten kind of complicated," there was a long moment as Miranda waited for Sam to finish her interrogation, "Look, here's what I need you to do: pack us an overnight bag; clothes, shampoo and soap, the whole nine yards. Then get over here, try the courtesy shuttle. I'll text you the address."

"I could go pick her up," Moran chimed in as he reached for his wallet to pay. Miranda intercepted him and, with a dirty look, gave her card to the cashier instead.

"Sam's not big on strangers, nothing personal," she told him before turning her attention back to the phone, "Who is that? That's Moran; he's a friend of Grey's. Yes I was shocked to find out Grey had friends too, tonight's been full of surprises."

Moran laughed as he took the bags from the cashier and opened the door for Miranda to exit.

"Listen, it's not too far away, grab the stuff, get a ride and I'll meet you out front of the building. It's kind of a sketchy part of town so make sure you do not get out of the car until I am standing in front of you opening the door to let you out, got it? Okay. Love you too sweetie."

Miranda hung up the phone as Moran cleared his throat, "Not sure 'friend' is the right word," he mused.

"Closest equivalent we have right now," Miranda replied, "Come on, let's go."

They walked quickly back to the apartment building, Miranda's anxiety growing as they did; she shouldn't have left him alone like that.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the building came into view, she could see Grey resting against the wall.

The sigh became a gasp as she saw him slump over onto his side and lay still.

"Grey!" she yelled, closing the last few yards in a blind dash. She dropped to her knees and took Grey's head in her hands looking intently into his face.

"Grey! Come on, wake up!"

"Why on earth...," Grey began as he slowly opened his eyes, "...are you yelling?"

Miranda exhaled hard as the tension drained from her body, "You scared me."

"Evidently," he cracked a thin smile. Miranda slugged him in the shoulder and Grey's body went tense and his eyes widened.

"Shit, sorry!" Miranda apologized, "Is your shoulder hurt badly?"

"Dislocated," he replied and she winced, she'd once dislocated her finger and it had hurt like hell. This was probably worse.

"Everything all right?" Moran asked approaching the pair as Miranda helped Grey up into a sitting position.

"Fine," Grey replied before spitting out a mouthful of blood. It splashed darkly against the wall, "Why?"

The others simply shook their heads in disbelief before Moran handed over the bags to Grey.

"Here, these should help."

Grey was struggling with his hands; they were swollen and throbbed in intense pain. Miranda saw this and took the bags from him quietly. There was a moment where he resisted until she looked him in the eye, her violet to his green, and whatever he saw in there convinced him to relinquish the supplies.

"Who paid?" Grey coughed out.

Moran gestured to Miranda, Grey turned to her as he reached into his back pocket.

"What do I owe you there, flower?"

"An apology, if you so much as touch that billfold from your pants," she glared at him.

Grey nodded, wearily, the fight rapidly draining out of him. He began to stand, bracing himself against the wall, but his legs would not support him and he slide painfully downwards, scrapping up his already tortured back.

Moran stepped in and caught him before he hit the ground and hoisted him up.

"There you go."

"Thank you," Grey whispered.

Moran was pleasantly surprised, "That's almost civil of you Grey."

"Not for that."

Moran frowned and then looked up at Miranda; she looked back at him perplexed.

"What?" she frowned in confusion. Instead, Moran turned his attention back to Grey as the injured man was working to steady himself against the building wall again.

"Really?" the other man asked.

The injured man nodded, "Aye, really."

Moran grinned broadly, "Well, it's about fucking time."

Grey laughed briefly, then began to cough.

"You want me to stick around?" Moran offered.

Grey shook his head, "The clinic doesn't run itself, mate, you have responsibilities," he coughed again and spat out more blood, "I'll be by in a few to check on things and help."

"Not with those wounds you won't: I'm not a medic but even I can tell that you have some serious ribcage issues in addition to your smashed up face," Moran told him firmly.

"I've had worse."

The dark-skinned man didn't bother arguing, instead turning his look to Miranda.

"Take care of him for me, would you, even if it involves beating his masochistic ass into submission?"

Miranda nodded solemnly, "Done and done."

"Bloody leatherneck," Grey muttered just loud enough to be heard.

"Worthless grabastic piece of ground-pounding shit," Moran replied without missing a beat. Then, both men started to laugh; a quiet laugh, but rich and full of amusement. When they were done, Grey did his best to stand up straight. Miranda touched his uninjured arm gently and helped stabilize him.

The Englishman then extended his hand out towards Moran. The other man looked at it for a bit; then slowly took the man's hand in a firm grip. Then men nodded to each other, words were not necessary at this point, and without any further preamble, Moran turned and walked away into the night, digging around in his pocket for another cigar.

"What was all that about?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Ask me again later in life," Grey replied, "provided I make it through the night alive."

"You're not dying on me Grey," Miranda said firmly, "Count on it."

"Got it," Grey attempted a few steps unassisted but a sudden bout of vertigo made his legs go limp. Miranda reached out to catch him and in the process Grey's hand got caught in her shirt collar, pulling it down. Before Miranda could react she felt an electrical charge race through her as Grey's fingers gently touched her collarbone.

"Sorry," Grey mumbled. He'd have yanked his hand away instantly, but fast, precise, movements were beyond him at this point and he clumsily untangled his hand from Miranda's shirt.

"It's okay," Miranda murmured, her hand absently touching the spot on her chest where his fingers had been: it felt warm to the touch and caused another tremor to course through her.

Miranda shook her head to clear it and helped Grey to his feet, "We should get you inside," she insisted.

Grey nodded and began to chuckle, Miranda sent him a perplexed look.

"What is it now?" she demanded.

Grey cracked a weak smile; the bruises on his face and his split lips making it look more like a grimace, "It's seems to be your lot in life to carry around idiots."

For the first time, Miranda answered his sardonic smile with one of her own, "Yeah, well, just people I care about," she assured him

"You know what's funny?" Grey asked.

"What?"

"I'd have never pegged you as the type that would go home with a strange man so quickly."

"Shut up, Grey."

"Yes ma'am."

Miranda pulled open the door for the apartment building and helped Grey cross the threshold.

"Welcome to my flat, poppet," he rasped, coughing hard, "Let me give you the grand tour."



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05



I'm not a stranger No I am yours With crippled anger And tears that still drip sore  A fragile frame aged With misery And when our eyes meet I know you see  I do not want to be afraid I do not want to die inside just to breathe in I'm tired of feeling so numb Relief exists I find it when I am cut

-Plumb "Cut"

"Which door is yours?" Miranda asked.

Grey pointed down the hallway, "Last on the left."

Miranda peered down the corridor; it was made up of blue and white speckled tile; clean but clearly damaged. Above, a florescent light flickered and buzzed like a hornet's nest; causing shadows to leap and cavort along the walls and ceiling.

Miranda shuddered, "I don't like your building; creepy," she gestured at the light, "If a dead, little, Japanese girl appears at any point; you're on your own."

"Noted," Grey replied, coughing wetly, spitting out another mouthful of blood.

Miranda frowned in concern and touched his chest gently, "Almost there."

Grey just nodded, exhausted. As they were leaving, Miranda gestured backwards.

"Are you going to get into trouble with the super?" gesturing at the blood on the floor.

"He and I have a working arrangement."

"Okay, that tells me nothing, but I'll assume that means 'no'."

They reached the end of the hall, Miranda sighed in relief; Grey was starting to get heavy.

"Just consider it payback for me having to cart your bird all up and down Pasadena," he chimed in quietly, as if reading her thoughts.

"Will you stop doing that?" Miranda huffed.

"Well, be less predictable."

Miranda stuck her hand out, "Keys?"

"It's open."

She frowned, "You leave your door unlocked?"

"I have good neighbors."

"Huh," she shrugged, "okay." She gripped the doorknob, turned it and opened the door.

Chilled air enveloped her.

"What the--?" she peered into the apartment; the interior was pitch black; dead and cavernous.

"Home sweet home," Grey muttered, "Enter freely and leave some of the happiness you bring with you."

Tentatively, Miranda stepped into the door room, Grey trailing behind.

"Um...," she fumbled around the wall, "Light switch?"

"There's a torch on the wall," Grey gestured.

"A 'torch'?" Miranda muttered, "God I hope that's more charming Cockney vernacular." Her hands closed upon a cold metal cylinder. Everything in this apartment was cold.

She heard the door close and she was suddenly plunged into total darkness.

"Umm...Grey?" she called out, a lot meeker than she would have liked. The thought of being completely alone in this dark, cold, place frightened her.

"Turn on the torch, girl."

She fumbled for a moment before finding the switch, the button clicked and an explosion of florescent light blinded her.

"Ow!" Miranda rubbed at her eyes.

"Right, sorry, forgot to warn you: it's a mite bright."

"Great," Miranda replied. Blinking back tears, she cast the beam of light about and frowned at what she saw.

They were in a concrete hallway. No carpet on the floor, no pictures on the wall: just cold stone.

"What is this place?" Miranda asked.

"Home," Grey replied as he began making his way down the corridor, bracing his hand against the wall, "or what passes for it for the last few years."

Miranda looked aghast, "Years? You've spent years here?"

"Many." The corridor opened up into a large, square shaped room, four walls, cookie-cutter perfect and cast in cement.

"Huh," Miranda commented, refused to be surprised any longer, "Okay, where's the bedroom?"

"You're standing in it."

"This?!" Miranda cast a light around, no carpet, no adornments and no furniture, "Where's the bed?"

Grey gestured and Miranda pointed the light: a cot; made of stainless steel and green material was pushed up into the far corner of the room. There was a green blanket folded neatly upon it. In front of the bed was a single, green-and-black footlocker.

"That?"

Grey sagged onto the cot, leaning his back against the cold wall.

"Aye love, this," he gestured towards the floor, "There's a lantern there."

Numbly, Miranda reached down and flipped a switch; the room was bathed in ghostly white light. Miranda examined her surroundings: they were appalling; completely devoid of warmth or humanity.

"What in God's name?" she whispered.

Grey began to laugh; a bitter, coughing laugh; full of blood and spite.

"God? God doesn't visit this little corner of the world," Grey leaned forward and whispered, as if telling a great secret, "too many of his failures and fuck-ups than he can stand to see all at once."

Miranda suppressed a shudder, whether it was because of the cold of the room or the chill in Grey's voice, she couldn't be sure.

"What can I do to help you?" she whispered.

"I'm beyond help," Grey replied, "But you can help me get my arm back into socket."

Miranda swallowed and nodded, gently taking his left arm, "Like this?" she asked.

"Yes, but first," Grey began to reach for his belt clasp.

Miranda frowned at him, a thousand different feelings racing through her body and taking the chill from her blood, "What are you doing?"

"This is going to hurt and I prefer not to shatter any more of my teeth," he struggled.

"Here, let me—"

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist tightly, she gasped in pain and he lessened the pressure immediately, but still held her fast.

"No. That's just...no."

Miranda nodded, "Okay Grey, I get it," she let her arm go limp and Grey released her.

"Thank you," he said quietly. A few more minutes of effort and Grey pulled the belt free: it was in pretty bad shape; caked in grime and blood.

"This will be fun," he muttered as he tried to scrape some off, "You ever do this before?"

"I'm a physicist," she replied, "Do you really think I have done this before?"

"Well, first time for everything," Grey finished with the belt, "Okay, what I need you to do is to lift the arm ninety degrees up and out in front of me.

"Okay," Miranda said quietly. As if she were handling a baby bird, Miranda lifted Grey's arm. She saw him wince.

"Sorry!" she hissed in concern, "Does it hurt?"

"Not as much as what happens next."

Miranda finished getting Grey's arm into position, "Okay, now what?"

Grey exhaled hard, "Okay, I need you to grip the arm with both hands: one above the elbow, one below."

"Okay..." Miranda did so, looking dubious.

"Now, pull, not tug, pull on the arm, straight out in front, you'll feel it when it's back in place."

"Okay," she said, looking sympathetic as Grey put the belt in his mouth, "Sorry about this."

For a moment, she thought she saw him smile. Then he nodded. Miranda began to pull gently, trying not to make it too painful. Grey made a forceful gesture, indicating that she was to pull harder. Gritting her teeth, Miranda pulled with all her might. She could feel things shifting under his skin and Grey began to groan around the belt. The expression on his face was torturous; both in and of itself and for Miranda to witness.

Then there was a semi-audible pop, more felt than heard. Miranda let go and nearly fell over as Grey lurched forward gasping, spitting the belt out with tears in his eyes,

"Bloody fucking hell!!" He coughed again and exhaled, "Shite, but that'll wake you up on the morn."

"I think I'll stick to coffee for my morning 'pick me up'," muttered Miranda as she regained her balance, "How does that feel?"

Grey rubbed at his shoulder as he worked the kinks out of his arm, "Sore as hell, but at least the sodding thing works again," he looked at her for a moment and then added quietly, "thank you, girl."

Miranda blushed and coughed self-consciously, "No problem. So what now?"

"Now," Grey began as he opened the footlocker and began rooting around, "I take care of something I've needed—a-ha!" he said triumphantly, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and matches.

"You cannot be serious," Miranda gaped.

"Damn straight I am, I haven't had a fag since those bastards worked me over," he lit up and took a long drag.

"But you could--," Miranda began, then stopped and glared at him, "I really wish you wouldn't call them that."

Grey smiled around his cigarette and coughed.

"There!" Miranda pointed out, "you're coughing up blood; you should not be smoking."

"Tell you what then, dear, I'll make a deal with you: I'll smoke, and if my lungs collapse and I die, I'll admit that you were right."

Miranda opened her mouth to speak then her phone chimed.

"Sam's here," Miranda told him, "Don't go anywhere."

Grey smirked and took a long drag off his cigarette, blowing smoke rings into the air contentedly.

"No worries."

"Nice neighborhood," Sam commented dryly, as Miranda helped her out of the car, "I had to pay the guy an extra fifty to come down here." Sam took in Miranda's disheveled state, "You look like hell, Miri."

Miranda bent over her lover and gathered her up in her arms, squeezing her tightly. Sam was taken back momentarily by the desperate intensity of the act.

"That bad?" Sam whispered.

"Worse," Miranda replied.

Sam took Miranda's face in her hands and kissed her mouth gently, willing her love to banish away whatever sorrow had taken root in the other girl's heart. After a few moments, she felt Miranda relax; her muscles unclenched and she sagged against Sam.

"I hurt," Miranda said simply. No longer running on anger, adrenaline, and fear, the intensity of the evening's events had taken their toll, leaving the poor girl exhausted.

Sam pulled the girl up into her lap; Miranda curled into a ball as Sam held her tightly and rocked her back and forth.

"It'll be all right, baby," the fair-haired girl reassured her, "You'll see."

"You didn't see what they did to him," she whispered.

"On a scale of one to ten, one being a bitch slap fest and ten being 'The Killing Type', how serious are we talking here?

"'Eight."

Sam's mouth sagged open, "Fuck me."

"Yeah," Reluctantly Miranda slid off Sam's lap and got to her feet.

Sam began to wheel towards the front door of the building, "All right, well, let's see what we can do."

Miranda nodded, taking her lover's hand in hers and kissing it. Sam cupped her cheek and caressed her with her thumb.

"It'll be okay, Miri"

Miranda nodded and walked in step with Sam,

"By the way, I should warn you; the place is a little sparse."

"Tell me he doesn't have severed heads in the fridge or curtains made up of used razor blades."

"You'll have to see for yourself."

"This is 'a little sparse'?" Sam asked incredulously, "I've seen Tibetan monasteries that had more luxuries going on than this place," she finished as Miranda wheeled her into the bedroom.

Grey was lying on the cot, curled into the fetal position with his face to the wall.

"You're going to want to brace yourself, lover," Miranda told her as she walked towards Grey's form, "it's pretty terrible."

Samantha waved it away, "I've seen worse."

Miranda leaned over Grey's form, "Hey," she whispered to him, "You need to wake up now."

Grey made a grunting sound that rang of pain and fatigue. Miranda seemed to have no trouble understanding him, "I know, but please, Sam is here and we need to get you patched up."

Tentatively, she put her hand on Grey's shoulder.

"Wow," Sam commented, "Physical contact, he must be hurting," she began to rummage through a small satchel she had brought with her.

Miranda looked back at her, "He is. A lot."

Sam swallowed, at the intensity of Miranda's words, this was serious.

Miranda felt Grey's muscles tense at her touch before going slack. Gently, she turned him over onto his back.

Sam dropped the satchel on the floor and gaped at him: the bruising on his face, his swollen eyes and split lips and his pulverized nose. Blood seemed to be leaking steadily from his nose and mouth and leaving a dark stain on his clothes.

"Okay, I was wrong," Sam amended numbly, "I've never seen anything like this shit," she wheeled herself towards the man on the cot.

"Hey douche," she whispered.

"Hey cripple," he rasped, coughing up blood.

"Miri, get him sitting up, I don't want him choking on this shit."

Miranda nodded and gently touched Grey, helping brace his back against the cement wall.

"Those motherfuckers," Sam whispered, "Miri? Can you give me one of the first aid kits?"

Miranda nodded and did so, Sam took out some disinfectant wipes and began to gently dab at Grey's face.

"Fuck, what a mess," Sam commented after a few minutes as she finished cleaning his face. It had taken all of the wipes from both of the kits, but it was done.

Miranda had thought that with his face cleaned of blood and grime Grey would look better; instead, he looked ghostly pale, even taking into account the florescent light. Sheen of sweat covered his face, his lips were trembling slightly and his eyelids fluttered as if he was having trouble keeping them open.

"Shit," Sam muttered, pulling back his eyes and shining a light into them.

"What?"

"You notice how it's really cold in here?" Sam asked.

"Sure. No carpeting to insulate, no windows to let in warm air."

"Right, now do you see how he's sweating profusely?"

"Uh-oh," Miranda understood.

"Bingo, he's burning up," Sam put her hands on Grey's brow and cheek. Grey weakly tried to bat her hand away, but Sam casually knocked it away.

"Cut it out," she muttered to him, "Christ, you could fry an egg on his head."

"I'll have some bacon and black pudding with my eggs please," Grey mumbled nonsensically.

"Is it from an infection?" Miranda asked.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, I'd be willing to bet those shitheads left him with a few open wounds. You say you found him in an alley?"

"Yeah."

Sam sighed, "No telling how long he'd been there, but a dirty alley and exposed injuries makes for a bad combination."

"But it's too soon for an infection to have set in already."

Sam turned to scowl at her, "Well then, why don't you come over here and yell in his ear real loud so that whatever is slowly killing him understands it's just one big misunderstanding?

Strong hands gripped Sam's face, wrenched it around to see Grey's emerald glare.

"Play...nice," he whispered before slumping forward. Sam caught him,

"Shit," Sam muttered as she pushed him back into a sitting position, "Sorry Miri."

Miranda nodded, "It's okay, I'm just scared

Sam gave a bitter laugh, "Yeah, me too sweetie," she turned to face Grey, "Who'd have thought?"

She took a deep breath, "Normally, infection sets in within a 48 hour period, usually after a day or so. That's for a healthy person in their prime," she gestured at the prone man, "This guy has got to be pushing fifty, looks like he hasn't eaten in a year or slept in a week. That'll compromise your immune system in short order. So I'd say a combination of that and just rotten luck is why he looks like he's caught a slight case of death."

"Is he going to be okay?" Miranda asked again, wringing her hands.

Sam shook her head, "No idea, those sons-of-bitches did a lot of damage," she felt around to the back of Grey's head and grimaced, "Shit, his scalp's been split and he's leaking like a sieve," she sighed, "Well, that's some good news at least."

"How is that good news?" Miranda asked unbelievingly.

"Because this much blood would be really bad from any other part of the body, but for a scalp wound, its par for the course; the face and head bleeds like a motherfucker, so the surface wounds are probably not that bad."

"What about wounds that aren't on the surface?"

"That brings us to the bad news" Sam sighed, "If he doesn't have a concussion, I'll eat that fucking footlocker, I found a whole mess of marks that could have only been made from people in boots kicking him in the head. A lot."

"Which means?"

Sam sighed and gently ran her hands down Grey's sides. Almost instantly, he began to groan in pain and tried to pull away.

"Yeah, thought so," Sam said grimly, "I swear to god, I'm going to find those cocksuckers, cut of their dicks and feed them to their fucking mothers while they watch."

"Nice touch," Grey coughed, splattering more blood on himself.

Sam smiled encouragingly, "Yeah, I thought you'd like that," she dabbed at his mouth, cleaning the blood from his lips.

"Jesus Sammy," Miranda whispered, "That's pretty graphic."

Sam turned to face her, "Miri, take a few steps back and look at him; just look at him for a few moments."

Miranda frowned but did so: Grey looked like he was in agony, his skin was fish-belly white and those cheekbones she'd found so attractive were almost completely covered by bruises. His hair was matted to his head, his nose was badly misshapen.

Nevertheless, it was his eyes that pierced Miranda's body; they were filled with a combination of great strength and terrible injury, it made her think of an old lion that had sensed its end was arriving.

Miranda wanted to touch his face, his chest, to gather him up in her arms and tell him that it wasn't so, that everything would be okay and that she would do everything in her power to make this right.

"Right," Sam cut in on her reverie, "the fact that you're making googly eyes tells me you've taken it all in."

Miranda nodded, self-consciously, where was Sam going with this? "Yes."

"Good, now consider this," Sam gestured at Grey, "This was DONE to him by people. He was tortured, deliberately and methodically tortured for what had to be at least hours."

Miranda began to feel something in her rise up within her gorge, bitter and painful.

"Okay," she whispered.

"And it's our fault," Sam finished, "This was done to him, deliberately, because he stepped in and saved us, a pair of complete strangers," she brushed a lock of hair from Grey's face, "and because of that, there is a very real possibility that he's going to die tonight."

Miranda's hands tightened into fists, her skin went red and her knuckles turned white as she positively shook with rage and fear.

"When it comes time to start cutting off cocks and cooking them," Miranda said quietly,

"Yeah?"

"Fillet or sashimi style?"

Sam smiled grimly, "That's my girl," she turned her attention back to Grey, "how did we wind up caring about this asshole?"

"Karma?" Miranda put forth.

"Good or bad?"

"I think, both?"

"You're wrong you know," Grey whispered.

The girls turned to face him, he barely looked conscious, let alone coherent, but he was speaking, if somewhat slurred.

"This is not your fault." he explained, "You made a choice, and it turned completely bone on you. That's your fault," he coughed, "Your choice, your responsibility. But me? No one forced me to get involved, but I did. That's on me. My choices, my responsibility," a sudden coughing fit interrupted him and Sam leaned in to dab away at the blood, he didn't even appear to notice, "So, if I snuff it tonight, you two are absolved," he weakly made a gesture of blessing towards the girls before his hand and head fell backwards against the wall as he passed out.

Sam reached out with a hand and pulled him forward enough that she was able to slip the green blanket from the cot behind his head to serve as a pillow.

"You're not dying on my watch, you crazy fucker."

For a second, she thought she saw him smile, just a tiny smirk; as if everything in the world was a private joke for his amusement. The smile faded and his body went limp.

Sam sighed and wheeled towards Miranda.

"Okay, one of two things are going to happen tonight: Best case scenario: his ribs are all where they need to be, the fever will break, the swelling in his head from the concussion will go down, and all that shit he's been coughing up is blood from his nose that's dripping down his throat and into his stomach causing him to be sick."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05



"And worse case?" Miranda whispered, she really did not want to hear this.

"The concussion and swelling will cause cranial pressure which in turn will cause a cerebral hemorrhage or put him in a coma, that's only if the high fever he's running doesn't cause total organ failure," Sam ran a shaking hand through her hair before swallowing past a dry throat to continue,

"And if his ribs are truly fractured and not just cracked, he could have a collapsed lung or early onset of pneumonia and that's not considering the possibility that the bone may have punctured something else like his aorta or his spleen."

She turned to look at Grey's unconscious form. She could see fresh blood on his lips.

"And if that shit isn't coming from his nose or sinuses, then he's suffering from internal hemorrhaging then he'll either bleed out or all that blood will build up in system and, once again, you're looking at multiple organ failure."

Miranda tried to wrap her head around all this, she felt her mouth open and make sounds, but she had a hard time telling what the words were.

"What are you saying, Sam?"

Sam sighed again, looked at Grey then turned to face Miranda with a sad expression,

"I'm saying if you have anything important to tell him, you might want to get on that sooner rather than later."

Miranda took a few steps backwards until she felt her back hit the wall and she slid down into a sitting position.

"How did all this happen, Sam?" she whispered, "How did it come to this?"

Sam wheeled over to her and took Miranda's slender hands in her own.

"I don't know, baby," she whispered, "but you have to believe that it's going to work out."

"How?"

Sam exhaled hard, "I don't know, you just do your best to ignore the overwhelming amount of evidence that says otherwise and push forward."

Miranda smiled a little, "Said the mathematician to the physicist."

Sam smiled a little, "Not all of life can be boiled down to the certainty of equation. The human heart is simply too dynamic for that kind of thing," she held her hand out towards Miranda, "Come on lover, on your feet."

Miranda took her hand and pulled herself up, "Okay, so what do we do next?"

Sam looked about, "See if you can find a bathroom somewhere in this dungeon," Sam bent over and lifted the lantern, shining the light around the room, "There we go," Sam pointed towards a recessed doorway on the far wall, "See if you can find anything that will help. Be sure to bring the flashlight."

Miranda nodded, "What are you going to do?"

Sam glanced back at Grey with a wary expression, "I'm going to strip him down and get all that shit off him. Need to get him cleaned up if we want a decent shot of taking out that infection."

The other girl cleared her throat, "I could, um...I could do that, if you'd rather check out the bathroom," she couldn't decide is she was terrified or wildly excited at the prospect, but she was certainly something.

Sam smiled crookedly at her, "Down girl, I promise you'll get to see him naked at some point. But for right now, I think he'd be less self-conscious, if I was the one who did the deed."

Miranda tried not to look disappointed, even though she was very confused as to why she was, in the first place, "Okay, you're right, let me go check the bathroom," she started to leave, then turned at faced her lover with a sheepish expression, "Sorry."

Sam waved it away, "Not a problem, now get going."

Miranda smiled a little, she really was so lucky to have someone like Sam, "Okay, I'll take care of it."

"That's my girl. Now shoo!"

Miranda moved to Sam's side, kissed her once, twice, a third time upon her lips and once upon her head before leaving.

Sam lightly smacked her on the butt as she was leaving before turning her attention back to Grey.

"You better be worth all this, you lunatic," she whispered, leaning forward to push a lock of blonde hair from his eyes. She felt him move slightly under her touch and groan quietly, his eyes were darting back and forth under his eyelids.

"What kind of nightmares do you have rampaging around in that head of yours, Grey?" Sam asked him as she stroked his hair. Soon the man settled and lay still and silent.

Looking behind her to see if Miranda was around, she turned back and removed a small, golden cross from her neck, folding her hands over it.

"'Our father who art in heaven...'" she whispered, then frowned, "And fuck it, I'm not in the mood to be formal," she looked up at the ceiling.

"I know it's been a while since we've talked between the whole 'gay' thing and..." she looked down at her legs, "...anyhow. I want it known for the record that I still don't believe that homophobic bullshit a lot of your devotees are vomiting forth on a regular basis," she looked back up at the ceiling, "No God worth my time is going to punish me for who I choose to fuck. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone else but me tell me who I can and can't love," she squeezed the necklace hard, felting the soft metal bend slightly, "And if you've got a problem with that, then you can go to hell."

Sam released the necklace, her pulse roaring in her ears and she coughed, slightly embarrassed.

"Okay, so yeah not the best way to start off a request for help, I don't do this very often," she looked over and gestured at Grey, "You probably know this guy pretty well, he strikes me as the kind of person that is only alive because of direct divine intervention," she smiled a bit, "twice-bright candle and all that," she reached out and took Grey's hand before looking up at the sky.

"I know that everyone has an expiration date, but please...please don't take him yet," Sam worked to put her thoughts into some kind of order. "He's a good man, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He's a good man and that's...hell that has to count for something." She cleared her throat, "Fuck, I suck at this," she cleared her throat once again, "There's something between him and Miri, a connection, an attraction," she held her hands up in supplication, "And I don't know how to feel about it or what to do about it or even if I should do anything," she ran her fingers through her hair, "I'm just scared, no, wait, let me be honest, I'm fucking terrified: I can't lose Miri, but I don't want to lose Grey either, as weird as that sounds." She favored the sleeping man with a smile, "I care about him, as insane as that sounds. He's—"she drew up short and then laughed, covering her mouth with her hands, "Oh my god, he's my friend," she giggled, "Holy shit! I haven't had a guy friend in, like, forever!" she grinned like a child with the perfect Christmas present.

Then a thought occurred to her that drained all the joy from her like a burst balloon.

"Oh God," she whispered and looked back up at the ceiling, "Is that how this is going to go down? I'm going to have to choose between my lover and my friend? " She looked at Grey, "I mean, what's the deal; he dies and I don't have to worry about him and Miri anymore." She looked like she was going to be sick, "God, that's fucked up," she shook her head trying to clear it, "No, no fuck that, I'm not going to be that bitch," she glared up at the sky with red-rimmed eyes, "I am not going to be someone that lets 'what could happen' ruin my life. It's not an either\or, I have Miri, I have Grey, and I'm keeping both of them!"

She sniffled and wiped her eyes before laughing bitterly staring at her feet, "You know tonight's the first time I've ever seen Miranda just completely lose her shit? Even at the party, she was still somewhat together, but now, with Grey hurt? It's the first time I've ever seen her experience horror, you know, it was all over her face," she looked up, "but she's afraid, she's afraid and so am I," her hands tightened on the cross, "If Grey dies, Miri..., I don't know what she'll do," she swallowed around a dry throat, "I don't know what any of us are going to do."

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and gently placed her hand over Grey's.

"Please don't take my friend away."

What happened next, Sam would never be able to explain in the years to come: was it coincidence or something more? She felt Grey return her touch, gripping her hand and squeezing. She heard him take a deep, full, breath and cough lightly, with no blood coming from his lips and when he slipped back into unconsciousness; his breathing sounded just the slightest bit easier.

Sam didn't have any words at that moment; words were insufficient and so she coughed and wiped at her eyes again; dropping the cross under her shirt again.

As she settled back into her chair, her eyes were drawn to the footlocker: it was made of sturdy metal and was adorned by various numbers and letters, all coated in flecks of some kind of black substance, like dried paint. Frowning, Sam reached out and rubbed her fingers against it and it came off onto her fingers.

Not paint, soot.

"What the hell?" she muttered as she rubbed the ashen substance between her thumb and forefinger.

She gave herself a mental shake, the mystery of the footlocker had to wait. With practiced ease, she began to manipulate Grey's unconscious form.

"Bet you never thought the drunken lesbian would be the one getting you out of your clothes," she commented dryly, as she pulled the wreckage of his soiled tan overcoat free from his body. "Ugh" she made a face at the state of it and tossed it aside.

She took a moment to examine his torso: his white button up shirt was now nothing more than shreds and tatters, streaked with mud, blood, and God knew what else. Long rents through the material indicated where the shirt and the flesh behind it had been torn; dried blood outlined them like markers.

"Bastards," she muttered, as she began to unbutton his shirt. She heard him moan and he tried to push her hand away. She intercepted it with her free hand and laid it back down on the cot.

"Don't worry, I know: dinner and a movie first," she commented dryly as she finished with the shirt and peeled it off.

It was when she had put her hands back on his chest that she first noticed something was wrong. She frowned and brought the lantern up to him.

"Motherfucking fuck!" she hissed in shock, her face as white as a sheet.

Miranda made her way to the bathroom. There was no light-switch to be found here either.

"What is it about this guy and light?" she mused before shining the flashlight around: there was a recessed section made of blue tile with a drain in the center; it obviously passed as the shower. Hanging from a nail was a single, white, towel; generic in the extreme.

As Miranda continued to scan the room, she found the sink: a study in minimalism like everything else in Grey's home: there was a washcloth, a toothbrush, some toothpaste and a few other basic necessities.

As she swept the light up, a bright flash momentarily blinded her.

"Kuso!" she cursed, rubbing at her eyes. Blinking back floating stars from her vision; she approached the mirror above the bathroom sink: it had been partially shattered by a single, vicious, blow dead center. The cracks ran through the entire mirror and bits of glass still hung from it.

"Oh, that's a good sign," she muttered. When she moved in further to investigate, her foot kicked something hard.

"Ow!" she grunted as she crouched down to peer under the sink: there was a small, green, bag. It looked a great deal like a first aid kit. She pulled it out and examined it: it was the same olive green as the cot and the blanket and it had a faded red cross on the outside flap.

As she went to open the kit, she noted that it had an odd texture to it. She peered at the bag itself; a great deal of the material was jagged and brittle as if it had been set on fire at some point. She finished opening the bag. The first thing she saw was a faded photograph. It wasn't an antique, but it had definitely been taken before the age of digital cameras. The ends were curled and scorched black, much like the bag, and there were streaks of color running through it, but Miranda could make out what appeared to be a group of men in olive green combat fatigues. They appeared to be mugging for the camera and Miranda found herself smiling a little: there was something about the careless humor of the soldiers that served as a stark contrast against the automatic rifles they were carrying.

The picture abruptly ended at the top and Miranda could see that at least one soldier in the picture had been decapitated as a result. She ran her finger along the top. It was unburned and the cut was clean and deliberate. There was no mistaking the intent behind the deed: someone in that picture had been deliberately cut out.

And then, she saw the gun.

She had looked up long enough to adjust her light and had seen it taped to the underside of the sink: it was in a brown, leather holster, which was also cracked and seared black.

Carefully, she edged closer and removed the gun, examining it. Her father had served in the military and she knew a little bit about firearms under his tutelage. The gun was heavy and jet-black. It was called a "Sig" if she remembered correctly. The sequence "P226" was stamped on the side. As she was scrutinizing it, she noticed something odd.

The safety had been removed.

Now it occurred to Miranda that she was handling an unfamiliar firearm, probably loaded, with no safeties in place. With a great deal of care, she placed the gun on her lap, aimed away from her, and using both hands, gingerly depressed the latch that released the cartridge.

The chamber was empty as near as she could tell and there only a single bullet in the clip. There was something about that that frightened her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Miri!" Sam called out, "Get out here!"

"In a second Sammy," she replied, distracted, "Found something weird."

"Pretty sure I've got you beat, Miri, get out here!"

"Okay, I'll be right out," Miranda went about inserting the cartridge back into the gun and replacing it back in the holster.

"Miranda Inoue, get your fucking ass out here now!"

"Ugh, fine Sammy," she growled as she snatched up the kit and brought it out with her, "What's the—?"

She dropped the kit with a thud and sank to her knees in shock.

Grey's entire chest was a tortured ruin of burnt scar tissue.

"What in God's name...?" Miranda whispered.

Portions of his flesh was flushed an angry crimson; swollen and with a waxy appearance. Streaks of yellow, white, and pink ran deep through his body like fault lines. Wrinkles crept like spiders all over his skin like his veins had cooked in his body and become additional scar tissue.

But the worst, was the mangled lengths of charred skin: huge, pitted disfigurements; as if the living skin had been cooked and stripped away from his body like meat off the bone. The wounds seemed to gouge their way across his body, starting at his right shoulder; then slashing across and down his chest, continuing to blossom further and further like a grotesque flower before vanishing past his waistline.

His left nipple was gone; just a small, waxy, lump of skin and he was for the most part hairless, save for a few strands emerging from small patches of undamaged skin and Miranda could see firm muscle faintly defined underneath the wounds. She couldn't tell where the scars ended and the bruises and lacerations from the beating began.

"Well," Sam swallowed and licked her lips, "that's just the most horrible thing I've ever seen," she turned to Miranda, "I guess we know why he doesn't like being touched."

Miranda opened and closed her mouth several times, "What...what...?"

Sam shook her head, "He was burned, sweetie," she gestured, "That is at least a third degree burn and from what I can tell, some of it was probably even fourth."

"I thought there was only three degrees of burn," Miranda said numbly still trying to process it, "I've never heard of a fourth degree burn."

"That's because nobody SURVIVES a fourth degree burn at least far as I've heard. It would be like swimming naked in napalm; you've burnt through all the skin and have moved on to muscle, fat, and tendon."

Slowly, Miranda got back to her feet, peering at Grey's unconscious form, "How could it have happened?" she asked as her intellectual curiosity began to overcome her horror.

"Fire," Sam repeated, "A prolonged exposure to a very intense fire," she looked back sadly at him, "full thickness contact burn."

"Do you think it still hurts?" Miranda whispered.

Sam shrugged, "No idea, with that much damage, it's anyone's guess," she reached out and touched her lover's hand, "For what it's worth; he wasn't in a lot of pain when it happened. The nerves are the first thing to go."

"And now?"

"I don't know sweetie, it could be he feels very little or nothing at all," she rubbed her eyes, suddenly very tired, "Or it could be that he spends his every waking moment in hellish agony. It would certainly explain why he doesn't shy away from brutality: pain is less scary with deadened nerves. Not to mention his 'oh so refined' people skills."

"Let's..." Miranda gestured at the remains of Grey's shirt, still hanging in tatters on his body, "Let's get that off him."

Sam nodded and slipped her hands under Grey's shirt at the shoulders and grimaced: "Scars here too. Makes Freddy Krueger look like Freddie Prinze Jr.," she finished stripping him and cast a look down his back, running her hands over the mutilated flesh, "Christ."

"How does it look?" Miranda asked.

"Like a landscape of Hell," Sam replied as she ran her fingers across his body. The scars were deeply embedded in the tissue almost as if the fire had eaten away at his body, like acid, "Oh hey, he has tattoos!"

"Get your bloody hands off me."

Sam froze as if she had just heard a rattlesnake shake its tail. She cast a look backwards at Miri, who had the same expression on her face.

"Now."

Sam leapt away from the man and scrambled to get into her wheelchair as Grey raised his head. His face was covered in sweat, and his mismatched green eyes shone with equal parts fever and fury.

"You have no right," he said quietly.

"We were only trying--."

"YOU HAD NO GODDAMN RIGHT!"

Both the girls jumped as if stung. He took the opportunity to gather up his blanket and cover himself with it.

Sam found her voice first, "Grey, you have an infection and open wounds. Those clothes were filthy, they had to come off," she stressed, "Otherwise you could have died."

"And?"

Sam's mouth sagged open, her words tumbling from her mind as she cast a look at Miranda.

"I've already had this argument with him; your turn," was all she said. Grey seemed to ignore them both as he lit up a fresh cigarette.

"So this is why you live in this pit?" Sam stated; it wasn't a question.

"Isn't this where all the monsters go? All wretched and ugly things not meant for the light of day?" he spat acidly, "Far from the beautiful world," he gestured at the girls, "And the beautiful people that inhabit it?"

"Wow, bitter much!?" Sam growled as Grey continued to smoke his cigarette.

"You haven't the faintest idea, child."

"You want to bet, asshole?" she gestured at her legs.

Grey looked at her for a moment, and then proceeded to extinguish his cigarette by grinding it into his chest.

"Shit!" Sam cried out and Miranda rushed towards the man only to be stopped by Grey's upraised hand.

"I'll take that wager," he said as he continued to push the burning piece of paper and tobacco into his scars. The hiss and scent of burning skin seeped into the air, "And I'll even make the wages fair, pet. How about this?" he removed the cigarette from his chest which had left an angry scarlet mark, "




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05



You can have my sodding legs," he squeezed what was left of the cigarette into pulp within a clenched fist, "And in return, you give me your beating, bloody heart and I get to feel again," he tossed away the remains of the cigarette, "You up for it?"

"Fuck. Me. Running," was all Sam said, as she wheeled away.

Grey gave the girl a scarred smirk, devoid of any humor before turning his glance to Miranda and striking a dramatic pose.

"Tra le sue braccia, la mia signora dorme, avvolto in un velo. Si svegliò il suo allora e tremante e obbediente che ha mangiato che brucia il cuore dalla sua mano. Piangendo lo vidi poi allontanati da me."

Miranda scoffed once and shook her head as Sam looked up at her.

"What, what'd he say?"

"It's Dante," she explained; classical literature had never particularly interested Samantha, "It's from La Vita Nuova, first sonnet."

"C'mon Miri, spare me the history lesson, what'd he say?"

Miranda looked up at the ceiling for a moment trying to think back to her days reading 'The Inferno'.

"'In his arms, my lady sleeping, wrapped in a veil. He woke her then and trembling and obedient she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping I saw him then depart from me."

Miranda assessed Grey coolly, "A 'burning heart' huh?"

Grey returned her look, a study of frozen jade, "It seemed right proper," he replied as he gestured at the cigarette burn upon his breast. The scar tissue already present made it very difficult to tell exactly where one wound began and the other ended.

Grey began to struggle and try to get out of bed, he opened his mouth to yell, but his rage had cost him; he began to cough intensely and soon fresh blood was spewing forth in choking gasps as he thrashed about.

"Jesus! For fuck's sake, calm down!" Sam yelled.

"Get...out!" he managed to gurgle even as his whole body began to tremble and shudder. His head was shaking and his eyes were bright with fever as his eyelids continued to flutter as he swung violently between delirium and anger.

"Out...."

"No Grey, fuck, shit!" Sam cursed, trying to hold the raving man down.

Miranda crouched next to her lover and hurriedly whispered something in her ear.

Sam sent her a shocked look, even as she attempted to grapple with the frenzied man on the bed.

"And that'll actually work?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Miranda said sadly.

"Fucked up," Sam muttered before turning to Grey, clearing her throat and speaking loudly,

"You saved Miranda and me from harm, so we owe you and until we pay you back, you'll have leverage over us...," Sam sent a tortured look to Miranda who returned it, no one should have to be reasoned with in such a fashion "...and so we're going to take care of you to clear any debts and make sure you don't have anything on us anymore."

The difference was like night and day. Grey slumped boneless onto the mattress; still and quiet.

"That's...." Sam struggled with the words, "I can't wrap my head around that kind of thinking. It's so--."

"Cold? Selfish? Dehumanizing?" Miranda chimed in.

"All of the above." Sam reached over and gently dabbed the blood from his mouth and wiped the sweat from his face, "What in God's name has your life done to you, my friend?" she whispered.

Miranda gave a short little laugh and Sam turned, "What?"

Miranda gestured, the blanket had slid from Grey's body, exposing his scars, "After what just happened, I think the really bad scars are internal."

Sam sighed and nodded, "I know self-pity when I see it," she began, "dated plenty of Goth girls who had the 'poor me, poor me, my life is meaningless' schtick down to an art," she gestured at Grey, "This, is a whole new variety of fucked up and evil. I've met plenty of people who hated their life; I've never met anyone who is just so...indifferent about it, so apathetic."

"He feels very empty," Miranda said quietly.

"Part of me wants to look down his throat, see if he has a soul somewhere down there, you know? Some iota of hope or humanity," Sam confessed.

Miranda smiled a little, "What's stopping you?"

"The possibility that he doesn't."

Miranda stopped smiling.

"Your soul is like your appendix," Grey whispered, slowly opening his eyes to look at the girls, "You hardly use it and chances are you'd never notice it if it went missing."

"So what, did you sell yours or something?" Samantha asked sounding offended.

Grey snorted, "Couldn't find any takers. Apparently it's a buyer's market and mine didn't pass quality control."

"And we've managed to find a darker place, thank you Grey."

The Englishman ignored her, instead he gestured for Miranda.

"Hand over my kit."

Miranda gave him the small green bag, "Would a 'please' kill you?"

"In my current state? Entirely possible," Grey scoffed as Miranda just rolled her eyes.

He rummaged through the olive-green kit, removed a sliver flask, and unscrewed it, taking a long pull from it.

Miranda scoffed, "Booze in a first aid kit, yeah, why doesn't that surprise me?"

Grey lowered the flask, coughed once and handed it over to Sam.

"Here you go, blondie," he said, "Only those of us who can actually appreciate a good bit of spirits are worthy."

Sam took the flask and shrugged, "Why not?" She proceeded to take as large a drink from it as Grey had.

"Sammy," Miranda began, "I think that could be a really bad—"

"Fuck me!" Sam spewed the alcohol from her mouth like a geyser.

"—idea," Miranda finished tamely.

Sam coughed hard and began to choke. Miranda was at her side pounding her on the back, as Grey made sure to rescue the flask before the blonde girl dropped it.

"What the hell is that?" Sam demanded wiping tears from her eyes.

"Mother's milk," Grey responded, "Or as you lot know it 'bathtub gin', sans the actual bathtub" he took another pull from the flask.

"Construct one still; jeep parts, surgical equipment, test tubes, spent ammunition clips usually make for serviceable parts. Add whatever you can find to serve as mash; juniper berries, ginger root, orange peels, every now and then a bit of anti-freeze, then cook until it is prepared to dispense happiness and pure love in liquid form."

"Pure love' my shapely ass; It's pure poison!"

"It's an acquired taste."

"So is battery acid!"

"Well this is the more subtle recipe for those with a refined palate; the stuff we drank back in the day was made of half-rotten produce, soaked in rubbing alcohol and aged a few days."

"You're fucking kidding me?"

"Would I lie?"

"In a heartbeat, you treacherous fuck!" Sam yelled.

Grey laughed and the mood in the room lightened a bit.

"I want to try some."

Miranda took the flask from Grey as the other two eyed her warily.

"Uh, you might want to be careful, Miri."

Miranda simply nodded and took a slow, measured, pull from the flash. She swallowed and lowered the flask, a study in serenity.

The other two were watching anxiously, with bated breath.

"She's turning green!" Sam crowed and Miranda began to cough.

"Kuso! That's foul," she ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, "Ugh!"

The others laughed as they passed the flask around. Slowly, but surely, the girls managed to at least give the appearance of keeping time with Grey's intake and becoming wildly drunk in the process.

"So," Miranda hiccupped, "Where'd you learn how to make this poison?"

Sam's ears perked up and her jaw nearly fell open at her lover's tone: Miranda wasn't nearly as drunk as she was pretending to be; she was pumping him for information!

"Oh, around," Grey said dismissively, waving his arm about in the air.

"Come on Grey, some specifics please."

"Europe."

A pause.

"Do you want to narrow that down a little?"

"Eastern Europe."

"It's like trying to find Carmen Sandiego," Sam muttered as she took a pull from the flask and began to shake it, "We're running low here!"

"Okay, okay, okay," Miranda smiled, pouring on the charm, "How about you tell us a story about the recipe and how it came about?"

Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing Miri. Sam thought to herself.

Grey scratched at the scar at the edge of his mouth, tracing his finger up its length to his cheek as he pondered.

"Well, it's made of juniper berries—"

"We KNOW that already," Miranda slurred, "Get to the good part."

"What makes you think this story has a 'good part'?"

Miranda leaned in very close to him and hiccupped, "Grey, if I had you tied down and naked, the first thing I would make you do," she hiccupped again, "is dig out each and every one of those stories you have locked away in the that grizzled skull of yours."

"That's....an interesting visual." Grey admitted.

"No shit," Sam added. Maybe Miri really WAS drunk.

"All right, all right, keep your knickers on," Grey muttered.

"Why?" both girls asked simultaneously then looking at each other in shock before dissolving into a fit of high-pitched giggles exchanging kisses whenever their faces were close enough.

Grey took in the sight of them and cleared his throat,

"If you birds would rather snog than hear the rest of this story..."

"Silence!" Miranda cried out, struggling to get into a sitting position, "You won't get off that easy," she thought about what she just said and then began to giggle again. Sam, who had been making steady progress in her efforts to sit up straight, collapsed cackling at Miri's choice of the words.

"Anyway!" Grey resumed, "The locals had this drink, Smreka, made of fermented juniper berries. We matched it against that fine elixir you are currently consuming. Everyone had a skin full or so and we waited to see how long it took to get good and truly pissed."

"And who won?" Sam asked.

"Haven't the foggiest, no one remembers what happened after the fifth round or so."

Both the girls laughed again and collapsed upon one another, giggling as Grey shook his head.

"And on that note, I find myself in desperate need of a good and lengthy piss," he announced.

"Alert the media!" Miranda cried out and proceeded to swoon upon her lover's lap.

"Yeah, yeah," Grey muttered as he wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders and back and padded over to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

Miranda opened one violet eye, "Is he gone?"

"Yeah, Miri," Sam sighed, dreading whatever her lover had in mind, "he's gone."

Miranda fairly leapt to her feet, all traces of inebriation dispelled within an instant as she grabbed her phone.

"That was pretty convincing, with you being hammered and all," Samantha commented, "You don't fake things in bed do you?"

Miranda grinned as she stuck the very tip of her pink tongue between her front teeth, biting down lightly in thought.

"Why no, dearest, how could you ever think such a thing of your loving, innocent, Miranda?"

"That was not convincing in the slightest," Samantha sulked.

"A-ha!" Miranda came rushing back to Samantha, phone gripped in triumph like a game hunter with trophy in hand.

"'A-ha' what?" Sam asked.

Miranda gestured, "The drink known as 'Smreka' is made of juniper berries, which can be found on all continents save Antarctica..."

"But we knew all that," Sam interjected.

"...However" Miranda continued as if she had not been interrupted, "The drink Smreka itself has its origins in Eastern Europe, specifically; one country."

"Where?" Sam asked, her curiosity piqued.

Miranda simply handed the phone over to her lover who frowned at it, attempting to dredge up as much sobriety as she could on such short notice.

"Bosnia?"

"Bosnia."

"Why the fuck would Grey be in Bosnia?"

Miranda smiled like the cat that had devoured the canary and all its friends, "Consider the facts: Grey speaks several languages, fights like someone who's had training, and seems to have a working knowledge of human anatomy: at least enough to patch someone up or beat the living hell out of them with minimal effort and without kind of hesitation that most people would have."

"Okay...." Sam offered cautiously, not entirely convinced.

"Some additional information: when you were down and out, he hoisted you up into fireman's carry like he'd been doing it for years," Miranda tapped her lip, "There's only two professions that lend themselves to that technique: Firemen or soldiers."

"Okay, then how does his 'geek cred' fit into all this? Advanced physics and mathematics are usually not job requirements for guys in the Army, even amongst the English."

Miranda pursed her lips, "That I haven't figured out yet," she admitted, "But I'm getting closer."

"Miri," Sam whispered, "You're playing with fire," she cocked her head towards the closed bathroom door, "Literally."

"Why?" Miranda shrugged, "I just want to know more about him."

"No, you want to have something on him," Samantha countered, "The more you know about him, the less power he has on you, I know you Miri, you can't abide the idea of anyone in your life that you haven't decoded, deciphered and figured out completely."

"I have you, don't I?"

Sam snorted, "Sweetie, you had me figured out in inside of six weeks, I'm not complicated," she jerked a thumb towards the door, "That's complicated, it's unknown and I know that that's the kind of thing that will draw you in. Do the terms "moth" or "flame" mean anything to you?"

"I can handle myself," Miranda growled, "I don't need my mommy to check up on me."

Sam gritted her teeth, "Given what you've told me about your mother, I'm inclined to believe you," she sighed, "If you're going to insist on doing this, then do it right."

"What do you mean?"

"If he was or is in the British army, find out when the last time they were in Bosnia and what events surrounded their time there."

Miranda shrugged, "Sounds easy enough."

"Miri," Sam said taking her hands, "That country has a really, really, ugly history, at least in recent years. And if he was there during some of that...." Samantha shook her head, "Then maybe being burned alive was the least of his problems."

"You don't understand!" Miranda cried out, "I have to see! I have to know, to understand!"

"For God's sake, why?"

"Because her intellectual vanity insists upon it."

Both girls whirled to face the bathroom. Grey was standing there in the doorway, simply looking at them. There was a stillness about him, he didn't appear to breathe, blink, or shift his weight, he just impaled the lovers with his steady gaze.

"How long have you been there?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Long enough," he lit up a cigarette and took a long pull before gesturing at Miranda with it, "Your ability to pretend you're lagered is complete shite, by the way."

"How did you know?" she asked quietly.

Grey counted off on his fingers, "One: you giggle too much. I'm pretty good at sussing out what someone is like when they're good and sloshed," he took another pull from the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke, "You are not a 'happy drunk'. At best, you'd be a 'wordy drunk'; one of those types that uses a lot of big words and carefully enunciates every syllable so that they don't appear to be completely pissed.

"I can see that," Sam commented, "What else?"

"Two: you attempting to give the appearance of matching each of us drink for drink. You're, what, fifty-three kilos soaking wet?"

Sam immediately fell into another fit of hysterical laughter as her mind further dug itself into the gutter. Miranda turned beet red and Grey continued.

"Miranda, if you had actually tried to match everyone else drink for drink, we'd be taking you to the clinic for acute alcohol poisoning."

"Three: the flask, it's rubbish; doesn't smell right," he shook the flash for emphasis.

"What does it smell like?"

"It's what it doesn't smell like: I can smell only three things. Gin, tobacco, and vanilla," he pointed at Sam, "She's the vanilla, I'm the tobacco, which just leaves you."

"Just a second," Sam sat up frowning, "Exactly how do you know what I smell like?"

"Lugging someone up and down the boulevard for a good, long, time helps one get acquainted to their person in a hurry."

"Point taken. Continue."

"So what do I smell like?" Miranda asked.

"When you're not wallowing in self-delusion? Strawberries amongst other things, well, your lip gloss anyhow."

"How--?"

"Earlier. When you tried to kiss me in the kitchen the other night, I could smell it."

Sam leveled her lover with a steady gaze, "You tried to kiss him?"

"On the cheek," Miranda replied defensively, "And it didn't actually happen; he ran screaming before I could actually touch him."

"Well, see, now him freaking out like that makes sense," Sam commented, "It's twisted, perverted, fucked-up and insanely tragic, but it makes sense."

"Well, like I said, your lip gloss smells like strawberries, the rest of you, is another story," Grey tossed away his cigarette and lit up a fresh one.

"Oh yeah, what else do I smell like?"

"Love," Grey replied simply.

Sam's eyes went wide, "Okay, NOW I require an explanation, just how much did you enjoy this not-quite-kiss?"

Miranda flushed crimson and opened her mouth to speak, but Grey cut her off with an upraised hand.

"I did not say 'arousal', I said 'love'."

"Okay," Sam turned her blue eyes to scrutinize the Englishman, "And what does 'love' smell like?"

"Custom-made body crème."

"You still have that stuff?" Sam laughed.

"It smells nice," Miranda countered before addressing Grey, "For Valentine's day a few months back, Sam gave me some body cream."

"More special than you know, poppet," he took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke before turning to address Sam, "Cost you a pretty penny, didn't it?" Grey asked.

Sam nodded, frowning, "yeah, how did you...?"

"She said 'a few years 'back. There're traces of Tennessee lavender," he gestured at Sam, "I'm guessing that's where you're from originally?"

"I'm getting tired of asking this," Sam sighed, "But again, how did you know?"

"You can still hear a bit of the Tennessee twang in your voice when you speak," Grey took a contemplative pull from his cigarette, "It's subtle, well, as subtle as a Tennessee accent can be, so not Nashville or Knoxville. Taking into account the fact that you've probably lived in California, what, fourteen years or so?"

"Sixteen."

"Okay, sixteen years in California to get rid of an accent that probably wasn't terribly strong to begin with," he appeared to be doing the 'math' in his head, "Chattanooga or, less likely, Charleston or Cleveland, but definitely somewhere relatively southwards and close to the Georgia border."

"You were right the first time," Miranda answered on Sam's behalf, no longer surprised that Grey was apparently able to pull facts from thin air, "Chattanooga."

"Antiques dealer I knew lived down in Savannah, I sometimes pass through that region of Tennessee on my way there."

"I'm trying to imagine you in Tennessee," Sam said aloud, "It's just not coming to me."

Grey smiled slightly, "Remind me to tell you what a 'knees up' at Mercer House was like."

"Okay, tell us what a 'knees up' at Mercer House was like." Sam immediately put in.

"Some other time," he took another puff from his cigarette, "Do I pester you with endless questions?"

"Grey, you're some kind of super genius sporting a gruesome amount of scar tissue and a supernaturally large amount of emotional and mental trauma. Couple that with serving in Bosnia and do you really think we have any stories that can compete?" Sam asked.

"It's always possible," he retorted, "And from my end, the stories I have aren't that interesting to begin with."

"That's because to you, they're memories, not stories," Miranda said quietly.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05



Grey was quiet for a while after that before nodding, "Yeah, I can see that," he admitted as he took another drag off his cigarette, "Anyhow, we're getting off track, we were discussing how I knew poppet here was taking the piss.

"Actually, we were discussing Miranda's taste in cosmetics and how you knew it would be expensive," Sam replied.

Grey blew out a cloud of smoke and counted on his fingers, "Tennessee lavender to remind her of you, something from her home; and since she doesn't have a lot of warm fuzzy feelings towards her mum, I get the feeling that her da is closer to her heart. So, it would be something from where he's from; South Africa, as I understand it." Before Miranda could even open her mouth, Grey addressed her,

"Accent, dearie: you can drown it in as much Kyoto as you like, but Joburg trumps it any day of the week and twice on Sunday." He paused before adding; "Now if you'd been raised back east from start to finish, you'd sound more like people probably expect you to sound."

"Like bad 'Engrish'?" Sam interjected.

"Essentially," Grey replied, "Personally, I like the way you sound when you speak; it's unique."

Miranda's eyes lit up like a star before she quickly turned to look at Samantha.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Yes, he's talking about YOU, my adorable idiot, so feel free to swoon."

"I'm not swooning," Miranda replied defensively.

"Uh-huh." Sam just shook her head in amusement; Grey didn't seem to be paying attention.

"How did you know that I take after my dad?" Miranda asked, "That I don't get along with my mother."

Grey snorted, "You mean aside from the fact that you just referred to them as "my dad" versus 'mother'? Helpful hint: happy children have 'moms' and 'dads', unhappy children usually are the ones with 'mothers' and 'fathers'."

"Grim, but not entirely wrong," Sam added but Miranda gestured at her to be silent.

"Yes, besides that and assuming you didn't hear me say it at some point, how did you know?"

Grey exhaled a slow breath of smoke, "You sure you want to hear this, poppet? It is quite the minger."

"Tell me."

"Because strong Asian women, don't tend to get along with their mothers."

Sam's mouth fell open, "Wow that was just savagely racist."

"You asked," Grey finished his cigarette and coughed, "It's a dying mentality; too many young Asian women have decided they don't want to be pregnant and barefoot in the pagoda, but 'dying' does not mean 'dead'. It's still a reality for a lot of girls as I understand it and it's not pretty."

"No," Miranda said quietly, "It isn't," she looked up at him and the others were surprised to see tears forming in her eyes, "Is that all I am to you Grey? Just a puzzle to be solved? You take one look at me and think you know what it feels like to be me, just because you can pick apart every single detail of my life without trying?"

"Again, you asked," Grey reiterated.

"Enough, Grey," Sam said quietly, "We get it. You told us so."

"Maybe next time, you'll listen," he coughed again, "Now, I need your help with something."

"Yeah, what's that?" Sam asked bitterly, she was looking anywhere but at him.

"Well, see, the fact of it is: I'm about to pass out."

Both girls wrenched their heads around just in time to see Grey collapse onto the floor like a rag doll; his blanket falling free from his scarred body.

"Shit!" Sam cried out, wheeling over to him as Miranda raced to his side and helped the unconscious man to his feet.

"I really wish he'd stop doing this," Sam muttered as she and Miranda manhandled Grey back into his cot, "It's a tad on the nerve-wracking side."

Miranda touched his face and brow gently, "He's still got a fever," she said aloud, "But I think it's gone down a little."

Sam took over; cupping the man's face in her hands and placing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheeks.

"Yeah, it's down," she confirmed as she reached over and gently peeled one of his eyelids up, "but not out. Good news is that his eyes haven't rolled into the back of his head, so that's good," she touched the scar near the discolored eye, almost completely swallowed up by the swollen tissue surrounding it as a result of the beating he had received "I wonder how he got this," she murmured.

She turned to face her lover,

"None of your goddamned business," they both said aloud, and laughed a little.

"Or, it's 'a long story'," Samantha added.

"Can't a man," Grey whispered, "just have a few private matters?"

"Maybe," Sam replied as Grey opened his eyes, "But you're abusing the privilege, big time."

"Uh huh," Grey struggled to sit up and Miranda placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Stop that," she said softly as he flinched from her touch. Reluctantly, he let her help him into a sitting position. A coughing fit overcame him; hoarse and deep, as if it resonated from deep within his ribcage somewhere, where only the worst of pains reside.

Sam brought him some water, which he took gratefully and gulped down in a single breath. He coughed again and handed the glass back to her.

"Thanks, gimp," he said, favoring her with his scarred smile.

"Anytime, prick."

He gestured, "My kit and blanket."

Miranda scoffed and dumped the green bag and blanket into his lap, "Are you seriously just allergic to basic civility?"

"Only when it comes to whiny, self-important, birds," he replied without missing a beat as he covered himself in the blanket once more.

"For fuck's sake," Sam threw up her hands. "You're not even dating and you're already in the most dysfunctional relationship I've ever seen."

For a moment, both Grey and Miranda regarded her with a kind of mute horror at the mention of "relationship."

"What?" Sam asked innocently.

Grey turned his attention back to the kit and removed from it a small box made of cherry wood.

"What's that?" Sam asked.

"An old friend," Grey replied. He opened the box to reveal a silver handle roughly seven inches in length, cradled snugly in velvet the color of blood.

"What is it?" Miranda frowned at it as Grey gently pried it free from the contours of its case.

"A family heirloom of sorts," he replied, running his fingers down one side of it, then the other. It was made of chased silver and was heavily engraved with designs thorns and roses.

He brought his thumb up to a small lever near the top of the object and gently pushed and a single-edged blade, polished to mirror brightness smoothly slid out and into place.

"What. The. Fuck?" Sam asked as she stared at it.

Grey smirked, "Fancy a shave?"

Sam gulped audibly; the instrument was now over ten-inches long and the blade looked sharp enough to cut through bone.

"Buddy, if you think I'm letting that machete near me or any of my girly parts, you are sadly fucking mistaken."

Miranda was busy admiring the quality craftsmanship of the straight razor: there was no discoloration of the silver, no scuff or smear on the blade itself. It was flawless and a work of art to her eyes, "I like it," she said.

"You would," Sam commented before addressing Grey, "She has a fondness for sharp objects. Must be the samurai in her."

Miranda scoffed but didn't reply, instead reaching into the case and removing a small card: it was thicker than a business card; with deep blue colorations and gold script.

"'George Attenborough and Son, Silversmiths of Fleet Street," she read aloud, "Established 1843. 193 Fleet Street. London, England," she looked up in surprise, "This is over two-hundred years old?"

"Closer to one-seventy, but essentially, yeah," he took a moment to remove a small cloth from the case and carefully move it up and down the length of the razor; first the handle, then (gingerly) the blade, "Got a nice, long, history that goes along with it."

"Would you be willing to share said nice, long, history?" Sam inquired testily.

"Don't be snarky," Grey put the blade down long enough to fish out another cigarette and light up, "Yeah, sure, all right," he took a long puff and went back to polishing the razor.

"Way back in the 'Please sir, May I have another,' days, there was some judge or some such high and mighty type, had an eye for the ladies," he took another drag before continuing, "Anywho, this bird's bloke was not, if we are being kind, the stable sort."

"And if we're not being kind?" Miranda asked.

"Mad as a goddamn hatter but he was the quiet kind."

"Don't follow."

"Well, in his nine-to-five life he was a right proper gentleman from sole to crown," he took in a deep breath of smoke and exhaled thoughtfully, "But we've all got our breaking points. His was having his better half kidnapped to serve as that twisted bloke's gimp whilst he rotted in the clink."

"Sounds horrible," Miranda commented.

"A fine grasp on the obvious you have there, poppet," Grey smirked. Miranda didn't rise to the bait and simply eyed him coolly until he had taken another puff from his cigarette and resumed speaking, "Somewhere in that damned pit, our nice young man lost it. I'm quoting here but, 'Madness is like gravity, all you need is a little...push," Grey pushed forward with his hands to accentuate the point.

"Well, this guy wasn't 'pushed', he was beaten seven shades of shit and then thrown over the edge into the land of giggles and sharp objects."

"What happened next?" Sam asked breathlessly. Sure, she was hammered, but it was story time and getting Grey to talk about anything was a victory.

Grey smirked at her, "Settle down there, hot wheels; remember this is all myth, conjecture, and probably a double helping of proper British bullshit."

"Don't care, still cool, keep talking."

"He went on a murderous rampage; killed, fucked, or ate everyone involved; though nobody knows in what order, before carving a permanent smile on his collar."

"You mean--?" Sam looked pale, Miranda looked wildly skeptical as she sat on the floor opposite the cot.

"Indeed," Grey wriggled the straight razor for emphasis, "With this very tool."

"But if everyone died," Miranda observed, "How did it become a family heirloom?"

"Good eye, poppet," he grinned at her despite himself, trying to focus on her through his badly swollen eyes.

"Don't dodge the question."

"Right then. Well," Grey began, "rumor has it, my great, great, great-gran: Joanne I think her name was; pretty little thing. She was this bloke's housekeeper. Nearly got her throat cut for her trouble," he took a long pull off his cigarette, blowing out an acrid plume of smoke, "Instead she nicked this razor from off his body, pawned it, and her and a sailor she'd taken a shine to transport themselves to America."

"And the razor?"

"Bounced from pawnbroker to broker with occasional stint in a museum or a private collection, before it wound up in the care of my granddad during the war."

"War?" Which war?"

"The one what was supposed to be 'the war to end all wars'."

"Huh?"

"World War One, sweetie," Miranda answered helpfully. Sam was not a great fan of history. Drunk Sam even less so.

"Spot on," Grey confirmed, "At any rate, he passed it on to his brood, one of which being my father," Miranda winced slightly at his tone: there was an undercurrent of hostility when he spoke of his father that set her teeth on edge,

"And eventually I got my hands on it," Royce finished.

"I'm surprised you didn't hock it," Sam commented.

"Sentimental value."

"My ass," Sam belched semi-delicately then waved her hand frantically back and forth in front of her nose and mouth, "Oh, that does not smell good at all," Sam took a moment to refocus on Grey, "So, great story and all, but what made you think of it."

Grey was scrutinizing the edge of the blade carefully, appearing to be deep in thought, "Well, my dear, let me ask you this: have you ever seen the film 'Rocky'?"

Had Sam been sober, she would have instantly caught the red flag.

"Huh?"

Miranda, on the other hand, nearly leapt at the man.

"Don't--!"

Without hesitation, Grey drew the blade across the swollen flesh above his eyes; the skin split and burst causing fresh blood to flood from the thin cut. A second cut, this time at the tissue underneath his eyes and as he wiped the blood from his face, he was at last able to open his eyes fully and peer about.

"Fuck!" Grey commented, "Forgot what a mess this makes," blood was almost pouring from the two cuts.

"What the shit?!?!" Sam screamed backing away in a hurry even as Miranda reached out and took the, now-bloody blade from Grey, who offered no resistance.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Miranda screamed at him, getting right into his face. With blood pooling under his eyes, it gave the bizarre impression of that he was actually weeping blood.

"Couldn't see proper," was the only explanation he gave as he continued to wipe blood out of his eyes.

"I hear 'ice' works pretty well to bring down the swelling!"

"This is faster," he grimaced, "Although messier than I remember."

"Of course it's a mess, you psychopath; those wounds were practically purple, they were so swollen."

"I think...," Grey began as he got unsteadily to his feet. Blood continued to pour from his eyes and he was moving clumsily, "I think..." he began again, sounding confused.

A coughing fit seized him then and it drove him to his hands and knees. Miranda and Sam were at a loss what to do.

"I can't....I can't," he coughed and choked, "fuck! I can't..." blood obscured his vision and had pooled around his face. He could taste it in the back of his throat, smell it in his nose; it was suffocating him; the pain was nearly incapacitating

Miranda cautiously approached him and was shocked to see that he was now crawling on the floor towards the door to the bathroom. He used a single hand to drag himself forward, the other was desperately trying to clean his face, as he moved inch by hellish inch. With no more strength to support himself, he collapsed onto his stomach.

He doesn't look broken Miranda thought to herself, or beaten. He looks....spent. Exhausted.

"Fuck," he hissed as he continued to crawl, but it was of no use. Soon the man was curled in the fetal position, coughing so hard it sounded as if his ribcage would splinter.

Then, he could move no further, only roll over onto his back.

"Help..."

"Of course," he heard someone whisper into his ear. He felt strong, cool, arms gently lift him up under his arms and pull him into the bathroom. He leaned his head against her arms; welcome for the comfort.

Miranda propped Grey up against the bathroom wall and took the blanket from off his body; he offered no resistance. She handed it off to Sam who had come wheeling in behind them.

"Is he still alive?" she asked.

Miranda turned to face her and nodded, "Yes," she turned back to Grey and touched his face, "or as close as he manages to be, at any rate."

Grey began to moan slightly, trying to push her away but Miranda was implacable.

"Enough Grey," she said, once again consulting her feelings for him, "You've been brave enough for one night. Rest."

Grey exhaled quietly and no longer struggled. Miranda unfastened his pants.

"Hey now," Sam commented.

"He needs to get cleaned up and you and I are going to make certain that happens," Miranda stated.

"Okay then," Sam nodded, only a little reluctant, "What do you need me to do?"

"Help me get his pants off."

"First time for everything, I guess," Sam quipped but did as she was bidden. It took some doing, but ultimately they were able to peel the stained and blood-soaked garment from Grey's body.

The burns, the girls noticed, did not extend much further past his waist; there was some damage to the tops of his legs; but it was minor compared to the rest of the damage.

He was now only clad in a pair of black boxer-briefs.

"Black undies," Sam commented with smirk, "Shocker." She gave Miranda an acquiring look, "Are we...?"

Miranda pursed her lips: logic and care raged against each other as that felt a great deal, like intense desire seemed to permeate her entire thought process, making it difficult to think clearly.

She shook her head, "No, leave them on. It shouldn't be necessary to tend to....that particular region," Miranda answered; doing her best to keep her voice steady, "I don't think he's ready for something like that."

"I don't think any of us are ready for that."

The girls gently maneuvered the semi-conscious man into the shower stall, propping him up against the tile wall.

"Are we thinking cold shower?" Sam asked.

"That would be the opposite of soothing," Miranda replied, "Warm water, please."

"You're the boss," Sam twisted the dial mounted underneath the showerhead and fiddled with it until it produced a steady stream of warm water.

"You are so lucky Miri won't let me indulge in a little payback," Sam growled at Grey, remembering when their positions had been reversed the other night.

Heedless of the water, Miranda took off her shoes and socks, entered the shower fully clothed, and began to wipe away the remaining grime and gore from his body. She had no washcloth, so instead she used her bare hands to lightly rub or scrape away each bit of muck from his scarred body. Soon her clothes were completely soaked through; her shirt became translucent and stuck tightly to her frame.

"Wet t-shirt contest," Sam commented dryly, "Nice."

Miranda sent her a wry frown before smoothing back Grey's hair from his face, trying to get the blood out of it. The young girl's hair was soaked and plastered to her head and she would push her hair out of her eyes to see more clearly. Her fingers left smudges of dirt and blood on her skin.

He began to twitch then, whispering quietly. Miranda leaned in closely to hear him,

"I'm tired."

Miranda touched him on the shoulder gently, "Then rest."

"I...I can't," he sighed, "Can't rest. Can't...stop."

"Stop what?" Sam asked as she maneuvered herself into the bathroom behind Miranda.

"You don't...understand," he coughed, trying to catch his breath. Miranda titled his head back gently to aid his breathing. "Eyes open two-four-seven, have to stay sharp, stay hard. Ready. Or else I'll lose."

"Lose what?" Miranda asked, peering deeply into his mismatched green eyes. For a second, they seemed to come into focus as they bore into her eyes with an intensity bordering on madness.

"Everything," he began to cough and shiver, despite the warm water, "Must be ready."

"Ready?" Miranda sent a confused look at Sam over her shoulder.

"The girls. Got to. Have to keep the girls safe."

"Is he talking about us?" Sam asked, looking perplexed and a little disturbed.

"I'm not sure," Miranda admitted.

"He's delirious."

Miranda's violet eyes opened wide, "No, no he's not, Sammy he's projecting," she touched Grey's grizzled face, wiping the water from his scarred eye, "He's remembering."

Grey began to move then, attempting to get away from Miranda's touch, to pull away into a far corner or get past her. In his weakened state though, Miranda wasn't having any of it.

"When was the last time you slept, Grey? Real sleep, not 'got drunk and passed out?"

"Can't sleep, leaves you helpless; makes you a target."

"Great, throw in chronic sleep deprivation to our diagnosis."

"It's the final problem."

"What's that?" Sam asked.

Grey tried to push his way past Miranda again; he made it up to his knees and shoved. Miranda did the only thing she could

She got her knees and reached out to pull the man down to her breast, wrapping her slender arms around, holding him tightly.

Everyone held their breath for a moment. Then slow, almost imperceptibly, Grey wrapped his arms around her and returned her embrace resting his head against her small breast.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05



Miranda gasped in surprise and delight and looked back at Sam.

"It's a start," the blonde girl replied. She reached out and placed her hand on her lover's shoulder. Miranda freed one arm so her hand could cover Sam's as she squeezed Grey tightly with her other arm.

Then Grey pulled one arm loose, reached out, and placed his hand over Miranda's and Sam's.

"Holy fuck!" Sam whispered. Grey responded by taking both girls small hands in his own and squeezing gently.

Miranda just smiled and held the people who mattered most to her. She felt something, something new: Accomplishment? Satisfaction?

Hope?

That is where the new day's dawning found them: cleansed of the nights horrors as the blood washed away like tears in rain.



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06



When your dreams all failAnd the ones we hailAre the worst of allAnd the blood's run stale

I wanna hide the truthI wanna to shelter youBut with the beast insideThere's nowhere we can hide

No matter what we breedWe still are made of greedThis is my kingdom comeThis is my kingdom come"-- Imagine Dragons "Demons".

Sam greeted the California dawn with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her sun-kissed face. The moon belonged to Miranda, but she would always be a child of the Daystar.

The morning, she noted, had a chill to it; unusual in Pasadena, so Sam had taken the liberty of wrapping some of the blankets she had brought from home around her. She felt cozy, warm, and safe.

When the door opened behind her, she didn't bother looking: neither the sound of coughing or a match being struck nor the scent of tobacco announced their arrival. So, that only left...

"Hey Miri," Sam called out softly.

"Wasn't sure you'd be up," Miranda replied, stepping out in jeans and a glittery pink t-shirt depicting a Maneki Neko waving. She had gotten it for Miranda as a gag gift; the other girl couldn't stand most Japanese pop culture, so Sam would pick things up like this, to occasionally torment her.

"You remembered!" Sam squealed in joy as the other girl handed her a cup of steaming hot chocolate. Sam was addicted to the stuff. She had packed it with plans on making it herself. It's always nice, however, when your sweetheart takes the initiative.

"Always," Miranda nuzzled Sam's ear before placing a kiss upon the other girl's temple.

"Hell of a night," Sam commented.

"According to Dante, there are levels of Hell that are actually less intense than last night."

"I've got to get around to reading this book," Sam commented, "Everyone keeps referring to it."

"Can you read Italian?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're a smoking hot blonde with gorgeous legs."

Sam's smile grew; compliments about her legs, especially from Miri always cheered her, "And how is that relevant to my ability or lack thereof to speak or read Italian?"

Miranda smiled, "I'll teach it to you, it's a snap. Besides, Dante loses something in translation."

"Is there a 'Cliff notes' version?"

Miranda stuck out her tongue, "Don't be a brat."

"But I'm so good at it."

"You know what else you're good at?" Miranda whispered into Sam's ear.

"Do tell."

"Making me feel better than anyone else in the whole world, although, I'm afraid; not in recent memory."

"And may I gather from all this-" Samantha started to shiver as Miranda trailed kisses down the curve of her throat, "—that you would like to have this remedied?"

"Immediately."

Miranda grinned widely and gripped the handles to Sam's chair.

"Well then, let's—"

Samantha shed the blankets from her shoulders onto the ground.

She was completely naked.

Miranda gasped at the way the sunlight shined against her lover's breasts. Samantha took the opportunity to lift the blanket from her lap; revealing nothing more than her bare thighs and her exposed cleft.

"I have no words," Miranda managed to stammer out.

"Then come sit on my lap," Samantha smiled, casually running a finger down her neck, across her collarbone to cup her breast. She pinched her nipple causing her to gasp slightly as she pulled gently on the pebbled skin. Miranda's mouth watered and she could feel her sex almost flooding with need.

"What if somebody sees us?" Miranda whispered.

Samantha just stretched her arms up high into the sky, causing her breasts to press forward as she luxuriated in the light upon her bare body.

"Sweetie, we are alone a half a mile in every direction. The nearest habitable structure is that pharmacy you told me about and I doubt they can see us from here," she said continuing to stretch and twist causing her to gasp in pleasure at muscles loosened and joints popped just as it caused Miranda to groan audibly to see her twist and writhe moaning.

"Someone from the apartment building?" Miranda put forth meekly, but both of them knew she was losing this fight as her hands went to the clasp on her jeans.

"Let. Them. Watch," Sam annunciated each word precisely, "Now drop 'em."

Miranda had to laugh at her lover's usual tact in all matters intimate as she undid her jeans and slid them down her slender legs. She had on a pair of white panties, plain, save for a small pink bow along the center.

"I didn't say stop," Sam stated.

"Uso, this is insane!" Miranda cried out.

"No, I'm not kidding and after last night, are you sure you want to label this moment as 'insane'?"

Miranda thought about it and then slid her panties off her body: exposing her small tuft of black curls and beyond that the outer folds of her sex, pulsing with need.

Sam swallowed hard, she was starting to squirm too, "An-and your shirt too," she said, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth.

Miranda grabbed the collar of her pink t-shirt and pulled it up off over her head, turning it inside out in the process as she dropped it and ran her fingers through her short hair, ruffling it.

"My God but you're beautiful," Sam whispered in awe.

"I'm freezing!" Miranda countered rubbing her arms as gooseflesh pebbled every inch of her ivory skin.

"Wait, wait," Sam replied, shushing her, "Just...just don't move for a moment. Please."

Miranda stood there alternating between looking uncomfortable and thoroughly irritated. She had her back to the sun at the perfect angle so it didn't blind Sam to look at her. All it did was place a halo of golden light upon her lithe body.

She was radiant.

"I wish you could see you the way I do," Sam said as she wiped at her eyes, "You're so...perfect."

Miranda gave her a smile and it was pure: innocence and love, and it made Sam's heart ache to look upon it.

"Does that mean I can come under the blankets now?" Miranda asked, breaking the other girl out of her reverie.

"What? Shit, sorry, yes, yes," she beckoned the shivering girl onto her lap and promptly wrapped the blankets around them both.

"Is this exhibitionist streak of yours going to be an ongoing thing?" Miranda asked wryly.

Sam just smiled and smoothed the girl's dark hair before nuzzling close in; resting her chin on the other girl's shoulder.

Miranda leaned back into Sam's embrace. She could feel the other girl's full breasts and stiffened nipples like two points of searing heat entering her body and despite the warmth, she shivered.

"I just needed to be...out. Just...out of that place for a little while," Sam trailed kisses up along one curve of her throat and down the other; taking moments to suck at a particularly tantalizing bit or to press her warm tongue against a goose bump.

"Ohhhh."

Sam cupped both of the other girl's breasts and began to massage them, running her fingers along every inch of her; tracing the textured skin of her aureole in languid, circular movements before flicking a fingertip across Miranda's nipples.

Miranda gasped as she felt the other girl ply her skills upon her stiffened buds. She would pet, gently, before taking and pulling gently or twisting. She would palm the girl's petite breasts in her hands, squeezing and rubbing her thumb against the hardened pink tips.

"I love your tits," Sam hissed into Miranda's ear. She gripped both in her hands, squeezed and pulled them up flush against the girl's chest, possessively, "I really, really do."

Miranda just moaned in pleasure. She folded one arm over Sam's in her own gesture of possession while her other hand tried to reach behind her to gain access to the girl's thighs.

"I can't...reach you," Miranda groaned in frustration.

"You're not supposed to."

And with that, Sam released one of Miranda's breasts, slid her hand down her stomach and delved her fingers deep into her pulsing core.

Miranda's eyes shot open wide, she lurched forward and would have fallen over had Samantha not had a very firm grasp upon the girl.

"What do I--?"

"Wriggle," was Sam's only instruction.

Miranda began to rock back and forth against her lover's fingers. Confusion soon melted into pleasure and her eyes became slits of delight. She brought one hand up to clasp her own breast, squeezing it tightly and flicking her nipple, causing a cascade of ecstasy to coast through her body.

"Is this...," Miranda asked breathlessly, "...doing anything for you, Sam?"

Miranda's answer was Samantha's mons grinding up into her derriere. It left behind the sensation of sticky warmth.

"It does when you're not busy deconstructing the moment!"

"But how— " the rest of the Asian girl's words were cut off as Sam slid a third finger up inside her, curling her fingers as her thumb began to tease her clit out of hiding.

"Think of it as a collaborative lap dance: grind and be ground."

Miranda established a rhythm: she thrust forward into Sam's nimble fingers as they worked their way in and out of her body; she felt her clit swell under Sam's thumb and the things her lover was doing made her whole body tremble.

She then ground back into Sam, pressing her ass against the other girl; writhing and rotating until she found the place and pace that made her lover cry out again and again, like waves crashing upon the shore.

"Oh God, Sammy, Sam, I can't—!" Miranda gasped as she began to convulse; her cleft squeezing Sam's fingers tightly as she continued her ministrations. The scent of her filled the air; they could almost taste it as she spasmed and shivered in the throes of orgasm.

Sam gently extracted her fingers from her lover's body, kissing her bare back, "Love you, Miri."

As Miranda finished panting, she realized something:

Sam hadn't cum.

"Chigau!" Miranda growled.

Sam looked over at her, "I don't think I know—"

Then Miranda leapt from the girl's lap, spun, dropped to her knees, parted Sam's thighs and drove her tongue deep into the woman's body.

"FUCK!" Sam practically yelled; she didn't bother covering herself; the blankets had been a casualty of Miranda's sudden sexual frenzy. Instead, she gripped the arms of her wheelchair, white-knuckled, as she hung on for dear life and prayed to God that her lover wasn't about to finish the job the car had started and completely paralyze her.

Miranda's fingernails dug into Sam's thighs almost to the point of pain as the girl pressed her mouth against the girl's wet folds; bringing her tongue first up one side and then down the other in languid strokes.

"Miri...," Sam cooed as her head lolled back in the California sun, one hand running through her lover's dark locks, her other hand alternating between her breasts, squeezing and caressing them sending bolts of pleasure through her.

Miranda, however, was incomparable; she licked and sucked, drinking in the taste of her lover's nectar. Sam's clit was swollen and Miranda wasted no time in making that her entire world.

"Oh my God!" Sam shrieked, she almost jumped out of her chair, as if she'd sat on a tack and the hand atop Miranda's head resisted the urge to ram the girl's face forwards. She was nearly delirious with rapture; every touch of Miranda's tongue was a study in euphoria; every strand of Miri's hair ran through Sam's fingers was like the finest silk. Everything was heightened; she felt her awareness, her experience of this instant crest.

Miranda plunged her tongue deep into Sam and it was all over.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" she cried out as an orgasm avalanched its way through her body: her nerves felt kissed by lightning as her brain tried and failed to process this feeling. It was something far more primal than any kind of higher thinking could comprehend and they defied scrutiny or comparison.

Sam continued to shake for several minutes; Miranda would contribute the occasional caress with her tongue, to prolong things; but finally the blonde-haired girl was forced to push the other girl away from the object of her fixation.

"Oh fuck," Sam panted, "Oh God, fuck."

Miranda simply kneeled by her lover's legs, the pale curve of her derriere not quite touching the ground as she perched on the balls of her feet like some sort of magnificent beast. Neither girl attempted to cover themselves as both attempted to catch their breath.

"You know," Sam panted, "we should get dressed. The morning commute is going to be starting soon. I'd hate for the girls here," she lifted her breasts for emphasis, "to cause a major pile up and ruin everyone's commute."

Miranda smirked at that and rose to face her lover. By now, the sun had risen to the point that she was strongly backlit, causing Sam to squint and shield her eyes when addressing her.

"You sure you want to go back there?" Miranda asked.

"No," Sam replied, "not really."

"We could just...go, you know?" the dark-haired girl hazarded.

"With me naked?"

"We have blankets"

"A poor substitute," Sam sighed and looked her lover square in the eye, "Could you leave now?"

A beat.

"Could you?"

"No and neither could you Miri; so sack up."

Miranda made a face as she crouched to grab the blankets off the ground. Shaking the dirt from them, she granted Sam as much modesty as possible while doing the same for herself with the other.

"And somewhere, a dead person with a basic understanding of anatomy and the human language is rotating in their grave."

Sam laughed as she tucked the blanket around her, "By the way, Miri, I meant to ask; what does 'Chigau' mean?"

"It means 'no way'," a Cockney voice informed her.

"Shit!" Sam nearly capsized trying to spin around as Miranda dropped low to the ground, keeping Sam's wheelchair between her and Grey as she made certain the blanket was covering was much as possible.

"Grey! Hi! Ummm." Sam's brain went into lock, "How long have you been there?"

"Somewhere between the appetizer and the main course," he replied evenly. A new pair of mirrored Ray-Bans covered his eyes and he was dressed in a white t-shirt, tan overcoat, and black pants. He was not, however, wearing shoes, Miranda noticed. She flushed scarlet and she called out,

"How did you--?"

"After last night, what the hell else would you be doing?"

Sam turned to address her beau, "He's got us there."

Miranda rolled her eyes as Grey tossed away a burned down cigarette and lit up a new one.

"I didn't hear you come out."

"Might have something to do with your ears being clogged with extract of snatch?"

"'Extract of...I like that," Sam commented, "Thinking I'll have that embroidered on a pillow."

Grey just took a long pull off his cigarette and turned away from them.

"If you've finished playing 'The Game of Flats' and have moved on to deciding whether or not you are, in fact, hanging about; the door's unlocked, the kettle's on and your breakfast is getting cold."

"Breakfast?!" Sam blurted out; jerking her head around to give Miranda a shocked look as Grey wordlessly reentered the building. "When...how?" she took a moment to find her voice.

"You do know that booze and cigarettes don't actually qualify as 'food' right?"

She gave Miri a quizzical look, "And how did he know about--?"

"He assumes the worst when it comes to human behavior," Miranda sighed and rubbed her forehead, she could already feel what she was coming to term as "A Grey-ache" setting in, "And he's not usually wrong."

"Charming."

"Yeah, tell me about," Miranda looked furtively past Sam, "Are we sure he's gone?"

"Yeah, why?" Sam frowned.

"I'm clinging to a few shreds of modesty here."

Sam guffawed, "Hell Miri, he's already seen me naked."

"Well he hasn't seen me naked and I intend to keep it that way."

"Naked or not, I've just got to see what this guy considers breakfast material."

*********

They defied the darkness of the apartment with their laughter as they made their way across the threshold. They were simultaneously trying to keep their blankets in place, maneuver their way down the almost pitch-black hallway and not die from hysterical fits of laughter. They had just done something crazy, reckless, and positively indecent.

They had loved every second of it.

However, when Miranda saw Grey, regarding them coolly, her laughter became a cough as every nerve in her body lit up.

He was on the far side of the room, facing the door seated on his cot; his back resting against the stone wall and his legs drawn up around him smoking a fresh cigarette with one hand and drinking something clear, from a glass held in the other.

She was surprised to see that he was not wearing his sunglasses and a sudden image gripped her imagination as she took in the sight of him. He was crouched like a predator, his jacket flared around him like wings with smoke curling around his nostrils with his mismatched green eyes shining emerald and jade in the burning white light of the lantern.

A dragon.

Miranda gulped; an attempt to swallow past a dry throat: it would help if she could decide whether she was intensely afraid or incredibly aroused. It would have helped if she didn't enjoy feeling them both.

"Have you said your goodbyes to the light?" his tone bounced between bemusement and sarcasm.

"You promised food?" Sam demanded, breaking Miranda's reverie.

Grey gestured towards the far end of the room: there were two paper plates and cups to go with it sitting on the floor.

"Wow, a regular Zagat candidate," grumbled Sam as she wheeled over and peered at the food, "What is it?"

"Bangers and mash," the man replied.

"Translation?"

"Sausage and mashed potatoes," Miranda answered, "Standard English breakfast."

"Have the English never heard of strawberry waffles?"

"That would be Holland, my dear, not England," she replied as she bent down (carefully) to gather the plates from the floor.

"Terrific," Sam sighed, but took the plate Miranda offered and took up a plastic spoon to dig into the mashed potatoes with gusto.

"Hey!" she cried out, "These don't suck!"

A sudden whump right next to her caused her to nearly drop her plate.

"Get dressed," Grey demanded, gesturing at their overnight bag, "Both of you."

"Can we finish--?"

Grey had already turned away from them and left, resuming his place in the far corner of the room, upon his cot.

"Ugh!" Sam growled.

"Apparently, when he finished with cooking school, he decided not to bother with finishing school," Miranda commented around a mouthful of sausage. It really was good. "At least the man seems to know his way around a spice rack."

"That appears to be the only 'rack' that catches his interest. He's got two hot, naked, chicks and all he can do is get pissy and demand they get dressed. Fucking weird," she took a few swallows of tea from her cup: black tea, cut with milk and sugar.

Miranda had just finished the last of her tea and was apparently taking a moment, "Not so weird..." Miranda commented, her violet eyes taking a faraway look.

"Oh no," Sam pushed aside her plate and gripping the other girl's hand in hers, frowning in consternation; had the oddest sensation of a cold draft across her back, which in a room of solid concrete with no windows, would be impossible.

"What?" Miranda asked.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't. Whatever you're planning, don't and for God's sake whatever you plan on doing, in the name of all that is good and sane, don't!"

Miranda said nothing further except to peer past Sam at Grey,

"I wish he'd give us some privacy," she grumbled.

"Sweetie that man couldn't care less. Helen of Troy couldn't get peak that man's interest. I assure you, he's got no interest on peeping on you," she shivered and looked about, "Hey, do you feel a draft?"




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06



"'Helen of Troy', huh? This is the extent of your knowledge of classical literature?"

"Tell you what: If they put Brad Pitt, and Orlando Bloom all sweaty and violent together in a movie version of..."

"The Divine Comedy."

"Which is Dante, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, get those two and throw in Olivia Wilde for good measure and I promise you, I will know Dante all to hell."

"Interesting choice of words, but not wrong," Miranda, finished with her food and tea, stood up and began pushing Sam towards the other end of the room, "But I have to ask, why does 'Sammy the Lesbian' care about Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom?"

"One, don't call me Sammy," Sam punched Miranda in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Two," Sam continued uninterrupted, "Any woman that would say no to Brad Pitt has something terribly, terribly wrong with her."

"Okay, I get that and three?"

"Orlando Bloom seems so girly anyway; it really doesn't feel like that much of a switch."

"Ouch."

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em."

"Look, if you're going to put him in the same scene as Johnny Depp or Geoffrey Rush then of course—"

"You two hens just about done prattling on?"

Grey's tone was as razor sharp as the straight edge that he had used on himself last night. The girl's dialogue fell to shreds at his words.

"Wow," Sam commented, recovering first, "Fuck you very much too."

Grey smirked at that and continued to sip from his glass as Sam began to examine his wounds.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic, next bloody, stupid question."

Sam just shot him a dirty look while trying (and failing) to keep her blanket in place.

"Well, I hate to admit it, but the insanity with the razor blade actually did bring the swelling down a good bit."

"Your firm grasp on the obvious does you credit," he held up his drink, "Shall we have a libation and toast to my good health?"

"Okay, listen you--!"

"Sam..." Miranda spoke up.

The blonde girl spun around dropping the blanket into her lap, "What?!"

"You're being baited."

"I'm being—", then it clicked, and Sam turned to face Grey with an expression that was equal parts awe and dread.

"If I don't let you get under my skin, you don't get to rampage around inside my head and fuck with me."

Grey sneered and held up the glass, "Top of the class, you are. Happy fucking Christmas, now put your tits away and get out."

"My...," she looked down and indeed, her breasts were completely exposed and even though they had just made love, the sight of them made Miranda's muscles begin to tighten in anticipation.

"...oh," Sam wrapped the blanket back around her bust, tucking it tightly to keep it in place, "Better?"

"No, now get out."

"When I'm damn well good and ready, now shut up," she reached forward to touch his ribs.

"That is about e-Goddamned-nough!" Grey lurched away from her, spilling some of his drink.

"For fuck's sake!" Sam cried out as her temper frayed.

"Enough!" Miranda demanded, "Both of you!"

And miraculously, they both fell silent. Sam began to sulk while Grey...

Something had changed in Grey, in that moment, it was if his usual display of sarcasm and casual cruelty had collapsed, exposing truth: a man, weary and badly wounded, held together by nothing more than scar tissue and sheer willpower. That he was completely alone, in a cold, dark place.

Gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. Miranda had never truly understood the point that Nietzsche was making until just now. She saw that vast abyss within her; stretched out in front of her, as she had in the alleyway last night. Once again, it beckoned to her, offering a way out. Just take Sam and let the darkness take Grey.

Her violet eyes shimmered in the light as a wave of understanding so profound and complete it brought her to tears, engulfed her.

Grey had been made to stare into the abyss, had been forced to and it had stared back at him for so long that it must have come for him; ravenous, merciless and the only way he could survive was to make it a part of himself. A terrible void at the very center of his being; a wound far worse than the burns or the scars or the beating.

In order to save his soul, Grey had been forced to surrender a portion of it to the dark, to the emptiness between the stars.

And it was killing him.

"No."

Two sets of eyes came to rest on her: one a study of confusion in azure; the other: a pair of smoldering embers in emerald and jade.

"No?" Sam repeated.

"No," Miranda confirmed, "We're not leaving."

"What are you on about?" Grey narrowed his eyes in reptilian suspicion.

"We're not leaving you here. Not like this, not in this place."

"You'll bloody well do as I say; get your knickers about you and piss off! Leave me the hell alone!"

Miranda was relentless, however, "No. No, we won't leave you alone."

"We won't?" Sam asked, trying to get a handle on the situation.

"No, Sam," she said, not 'Sammy', which meant she was serious, "We won't." She turned to address Grey.

"You've been alone too long, Grey. Those wounds you carry inside you have poisoned your soul and left you here with nothing but the dark and the cold."

As she advanced on him, he found himself suddenly on the defensive; trying to scramble away from her and forgetting that he had placed his cot flush up against the walls. It had been so he could be as far away from them as possible. Now, it served only to prevent any kind of retreat or escape from the young girl.

"You just...keep your bloody distance," he rasped.

"Miri..." Sam warned, "We talked about this: what the fuck are you doing?" She noticed that Grey was so freaked out his hands were shaking and he nearly dropped his glass.

"Testing a theory," she replied.

"What? That we can provoke someone with cracked ribs to pull his shit together, enough to beat us to death?"

"Please, leave me be, poppet," Grey whispered, and while Miranda's heart ached for the man, battered and pained as he was, she would not relent.

"No, no I won't 'leave you be'."

Grey dropped his cigarette his hands shook so badly and Sam swallowed hard.

"Sweetie, crazy violent guy backed into a literal corner, he's going to mangle us."

Miranda looked back and forth between Grey and Sam. Her inner self was on the edge of the precipice. She took a deep breath...

...and leapt.

"No Sam..."

Miranda dropped the blanket that had been covering her leaving her bare, for the first time before Grey's eyes.

"...he won't."

Grey's eyes widened at the sight of the girl and he could not repress a small gasp as he felt a swift pain bolt through his heart, the first in a very long time, at her beauty.

"Holy shit," Sam whispered.

"How long, Grey?" Miranda asked as she confronted him, "How long has it been for you? A kiss? A touch? One warm word or a woman's body against your own."

In her nakedness, Miranda found tremendous strength and Grey; in all his darkness and misery, could not stand against it and it almost seemed that the fluorescent light reflecting from her pale skin caused her to glow and she drove back the oppressive blackness of the room with her radiance.

This was Miranda Inoue in all her glory: for the first time unabashed, unashamed, and completely in control of the moment.

"Look at me, Grey."

Grey was doing anything but; blinded by the vision before him.

"Grey, it's okay," Miranda assured him, "Just, look at me, please."

Sam wheeled over to Miranda, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking to see if he has a soul," Miranda replied, "without looking down his throat."

Sam opened her mouth to say more, but two things caught her attention suddenly as Grey began to look up.

His hands hadn't been shaking, they had been trembling.

Moreover, when she saw the look in the man's green eyes, she knew why. For the first time since she had met him, there was something new there.

Longing.

In that moment, Grey became a human being, in Sam's eyes, as he looked upon the nude form of her lover and some small part of him, ancient and long in disuse, reached out to attempt to form an emotional connection with another human being.

Miranda smiled at him, it was like a stone angel.

"It's okay, Grey. I understand how you must feel, the pain---"

Grey's face went from wanting to apocalyptic as he shot up to his feet and threw his glass on the floor between himself and the naked girl. It exploded scattering crystal shrapnel all over the room.

"Pain?!" he screamed, "You think you understand pain?!"

Sam grabbed Miranda around the waist and half dragged her away from the raving man.

"You ridiculous, bint! You stupid, worthless, little idiot! You understand pain? I am pain!"

Grey began to advance on the girls, completely unaware or indifferent about the broken glass being crushed beneath his bare feet.

"I am torment and I am agony," he continued stalking towards the girls, "I am hateful despair and lies!"

"I am all the raging fires of Hell!"

He was inches from Miranda's face now.

"And you, poppet, what are you? What are you to that? To me?"

Sam looked at both of them worriedly and quietly prayed.

Miranda placed one hand flat on Grey's chest.

"I am hope, Grey."

Slowly, she began to push Grey backwards the field of broken glass.

"What are you--?"

Miranda stepped onto the broken glass without hesitation.

"Miri!" Sam cried out.

"I'm hope Grey, your hope that your life doesn't have to be a living hell," she continued to push the older man steadily backwards, "The hope that peace, is possible for you."

The pair of them left bloody footprints on the ground, causing the broken glass to glitter like rubies. Their blood mixed and swirled together upon the concrete.

"I'm the hope that the past can be laid to rest, that demons can be banished and that whatever mistakes you've made, can be forgiven. That you can be forgiven for whatever it is you've done."

Grey backed up against a wall as Miranda continued her advance.

"I've done terrible things. Things God couldn't forgive me for."

Miranda leaned into him pressing her hand hard against his shirt, she could feel the contours of the scar tissue beneath her palm, "Then I'll be the hope that, one day, someday, God will forgive you."

"And if he won't?"

"Then I will."

"Why?" Grey asked, his face crumbling.

"Because forgiveness is granted because it is needed, not because it is deserved. And you need to be forgiven."

"To what end?"

"So that you can remember things like hope, compassion, mercy. To help you become who you were meant to be."

"And who, exactly, would that be Miranda?" Grey's entire body was shaking and his voice had taken a quaver.

Miranda reached out and touched one unshaven cheek gently with two of her fingertips.

"Human."

"Game. Set. Match," Sam commented, licking one finger and making an invisible tally mark in the air.

Grey cried out spinning around and slamming his fists into the wall with a loud crunch as he stood there, trembling, his back to Miranda, shunning her as he attempted to deny her words, her wisdom, and her presence.

"God, every cell in my being wants to see you eradicated," Grey whispered.

Miranda placed a pale hand on his shoulder, "And what's stopping you from doing so?"

Grey spun around to confront her.

"You! Your beauty, your compassion, it makes me weak."

"It makes me strong."

Grey barked out a bitter laugh, "Of course it does!" He turned and began slamming his fists into the wall; causing a shower of wood and plaster to rain down. Each blow was a denial, a denial of Miranda and everything she represented, everything she was offering: Compassion, mercy, salvation.

Hope.

He drew back his fist for another blow and a slender hand grabbed his wrist and held it fast.

"Enough Grey!"

Grey was astounded: he could not break the girl's grip and when he turned to regard her in shock, he saw something that nearly brought him to his knees.

A woman: beautiful and strong with violet eyes like burning amethyst. A hard violet.

"How did you become so strong?" he whispered, stunned.

"It's the only choice you've left me, Grey."

A bitter smirk twisted his scarred face,

"The little girl's become strong and going to save the world then?"

"Not the world; just you, and I--," she jerked him forward until their noses were nearly touching, "—am not a little girl!"

They were locked together like that; it could have been mistaken for an embrace, a gesture of affection.

Those who believed it to be would be very mistaken indeed. They were neither friends nor lovers; they were opponents, duelists, their respective willpower serving as their weapon as each tried to gain the upper hand against the other.

She was strong; her virtue fueled her. He was devious and had years of experience in this arena. She was the gifted amateur; potent, though untested. He was the savant; cunning, quick, and a seasoned veteran in the war of wills. And in the end, virtue untested is innocence..., which could not stand.

Sam sniffled and Miranda's attention shifted just for a heartbeat.

And it was over. Grey's expression slid into a more familiar demeanor, one the girls had seen before:

He was showing his teeth and leered at her like a crocodile.

"Tell me..." he began in a tone that the girls had only heard once before.

The party.

"Tell me, Sam; how does it feel to see your bird here completely starkers in of a stranger; and a bloke no less, has to sting a little."

"Don't you dare..." Miranda hissed, her own expression crumbling into a look of horror and rage.

"I mean, I've heard of 'friends with benefits' and all that," the non-smile got bigger, "But I'm not even that and I've got her in all her pale glory," he continued applying venom to his tone as an assassin might to a knife, "I can see what all the fuss is about. She is rather..." he seemed to reach for the right word, "...yummy, isn't she?"

"Sam, don't let him do this," Miranda pleaded; her grip on Grey's arm white-knuckled as she desperately attempted to think of the right way, the right words, to keep what has happening from happening.

"Now, and I need you to be honest here...Sammy," the girls both flinched as he turned their title of love for each other and corrupted it into something hateful and ugly.

"I've never seen two girls; a pair of toss-pots no less, try oh, so hard to bring a man into their, what is supposedly, exclusive relationship."

"Stop it!" Miranda screamed in that hideous, scarred face with those white, hateful teeth.

"So tell me, honestly," he looked between the two girls, "Is someone just not...measuring up?"

Sam began to cry and Grey took the opportunity to rip his hand from Miranda's grip. He placed both hands on the girl's shoulders and shoved. She slammed against the wall with a grunt and sank to the ground, her hands folded over her face in misery.

Grey hid his teeth back behind his lips and looked down, expressionless, at the fallen girl.

"You lose...bint. Now sort your kit and get the fuck out of my flat."

Miranda hiccupped and crawled; weeping, across the floor to Sam, gathering up her discarded clothes and blanket as she did. She covered herself; her cheeks flushed now, flushed with the shame that had been absent mere moments before.

"She saved your life!" Sam snarled at him.

"And I told her that was a mistake."

Miranda pulled on her clothes; her eyes fogged with tears and her whole body shaking.

"Why?" Miranda asked; pouring her heart, her hurt into her expression, leaving herself vulnerable just one moment for; a chance that maybe, there could be some, that this could all be made right.

"Because you crossed a boundary; you pushed and you got you and your tart burnt in the process. Try to remember this the next time you attempt to do whatever the bloody hell it was you were trying to do," he gestured at the cold, dark confines of his chambers, "This? This is...eternal. It cannot be denied. And you've lost; you've taken the person that matters most to you in the world down with you."

"I hate you," Miranda growled.

"Good. Then you've come one step closer to having something in common with me," he gestured at Sam, "Bet she has some hard feelings toward you about all of this."

"Not half as hard as I do against you!" Sam yelled.

"True. But then I don't claim to love you," he gestured to Miranda who was slowly getting to her feet, clad only in jeans and shirt, "She does. And doesn't that just make all the difference?"

Sam hung her head, unable to deny his words.

"You should have never attempted to become a part of a world that you had no hope of comprehending," Grey said to Miranda.

The young girl screamed and bull-rushed him; she grabbed him by his lapels and slammed him against the wall hard enough for bits of it to coming showering down.

"Damn you!" she raged.

Grey just began to laugh; a choking, raspy sound.

"Omissa spe, qui in vobis est!"

She slammed him against the wall again before dropping him and yanking the door open.

"One day, you're going to choke to death on all that hatred and arrogance and I just hope I'm there to see it." She grabbed Sam's wheelchair and almost ran Grey down as she took her out.

"Oh, don't worry, you will be. You won't miss a thing, Miranda."

Miranda flinched as her name rattled off his tongue like teeth down her spine. Any rebuttal on her part was answered by a slammed door in her face.

"What did he say?" Sam whispered, "At the end, the Latin."

Miranda gritted her teeth; she knew what was awaiting them both, when they got home but she wanted to have a final moment of commiseration with Sam before the fight.

"'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.'"

*********

The girls returned home in poisonous silence. Sam had refused to let Miranda push her chair for her and they shared neither a word nor a look. When Miranda tentatively put her hand Sam's shoulder, the other girl angrily shrugged it off her while still patently ignoring her.

An hour later, they sat on opposite ends of their couch: Miranda pretending to read a book while Sam pretended to watch TV. Usually they bonded over this show; an anime called 'Death Note'. Anime was one of the few exceptions in regards to Miranda's disdain for all things related to Japanese pop culture and the girls had bonded over it, this particular series being a favorite.

But not tonight, the silence in the room thickened to the point that it felt as if it would choke the life from them both.

Samantha grabbed Miranda's book from her hand and threw it at the television knocking it over and sending it crashing to the ground.

"Did Light, do something to upset you, Sam?" Miranda asked quietly.

Samantha grabbed a pillow from the couch,

"You stupid, selfish, bitch!" She hammered Miranda with the pillow to enunciate each word before she threw it against the wall.

"I'm sorry," Miranda said quietly, still not looking at her.

"You're sorry? You're—" Sam looked like she was trying very hard to control herself; her entire body shook with rage, "What were my words to you huh? What were they?!"

"'Miri, you're playing with fire."'

Sam held up her hand counting off the words, "'Miri, you're playing with fire.' And what else, Miranda, what else did I say to you?!"

"'If you're going to do this, do it right,'" Miranda whispered.

"So what do you do? You decide to walk on glass, drop trou and start peeling away at him except, whoops; he flew into a psychotic rage instead and proceeded to put us through Hell."

"You didn't see the look in his eyes when he saw me like that."

"Oh, it's the same look any man would have; he wanted to fuck you, pure and simple."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06



Miranda shot Sam a hooded glare, "There was nothing 'pure' or 'simple' about it. It was something...else."

Sam threw up her hands, "You know what, I don't even want to hear it; you, him, your little obsession, I'm sick of it all!"

"I said I was sorry."

"I don't want your sorry! I want you to know when to stop! To accept that there are some things beyond the grasp of the great Doctor Miranda Inoue," Sam grabbed the thin girl in her arms and shook her, "Life is not a problem for you to solve. It's not an equation, there's no formula for it. You might understand that if you took steps to actually leave academia."

"Why, so I can turn out as insecure and miserable as you?" Miranda snarled back.

Sam went white under her tan and her mouth fell open.

"Don't bother denying it; Grey knew exactly what he was saying about 'measuring up' and you just snatched up the bait and let him get under your skin, like I told you, begged you not to! But no, because deep down; you think I'm not going to be with you because you're in a wheelchair. Instead of dealing with that, Grey turned it around and tortured us with it. So why don't you just admit it, Sam, admit that you don't think you're good enough to be with me because you're a cripple! Grey understood and I came that close to understanding hi-!"

Sam's hand flew out and caught Miranda across the cheek hard enough to send the other girl's head rocking.

"You understand nothing," Sam hissed. She began to make her way to her chair. Miranda moved to help her out of habit; the left side of her face burned.

"Don't!" Sam snarled, shoving Miranda away bodily. Miranda fell back into a tangled heap on the couch as Sam muscled her way into her chair.

"You know, between the two of you, I think I like Grey more. He knows he's a son-of-a-bitch, he makes no pretenses about who or what he is," she wheeled herself away from the couch, across the room to the threshold of their bedroom.

"You? You let him dissect us like a fucking science experiment and even when he laid us both open and pissed all over what we considered the most important things in our lives, you still don't have the guts to take some goddamned responsibility..."

She spun around in her chair to face the other girl, who was slowly making her way off the couch,

"...you stupid, fucking kawado!"

The door slammed hard enough to make the windows shake. If Miranda tried, she could almost pretend that she couldn't hear Sam crying on the other side of the door.

Instead, she wiped some blood away from her lip and looked at it: it'd been the first time she'd suffered an injury that drew blood in some time and the sight was sobering. It looked like rose petal on snow.

She stared ahead at the closed door that could not block out the sound of Samantha's sobbing.

Kawado, she thought to herself as she began to make up the couch.

Coward.

It was 2 AM, October 1st. The rain outside was a steady patter and Miranda lay in the dark awake as she attempted to 'figure out her mistake' as she thought of it. She was coming up empty. Logic and reason, the tools she had depended on all her life, crumbled like wet sand between her fingers as she tried to discern at what point had she made a mistake? It had to be a mistake; there could be no other explanation she thought to herself.

Was it a mistake to ask him to help rescue Sam at the party? No, that was a matter of life and death; that decision had been necessary. Had it been a mistake to let him bring them home? Maybe. At the time, she didn't believe she'd had the resources to get them home herself, but perhaps if she'd found a way to get the money for a taxi somehow. Was it a mistake to rescue him from the alley, as he claimed it was? She mentally shook her head, no, no one with a soul could have abandoned him, it may have been a mistake, but there'd been no choice. Maybe she and Sam should have just patched him up and left. They had lingered at his home so that she could satisfy her "intellectual vanity" as Grey had put it. Instead, she had exposed herself and Sam to his toxic presence far longer than necessary and they had paid dearly for it.

The more she attempted to analyze what she perceived to be her mistake, her failure; the more it made her head hurt. However, when she actually recalled the event, the words that were said, the needful look in Grey's eyes when she'd lay herself bare before him and the hateful look that had replaced it, made her chest hurt. The only comparison she had was when she had been learning Aikido from her father: she had missteped and took a kick dead center in the chest. The impact of the blow, coupled with the force with which she landed on her back had her seeing stars and gasping for air. The pain faded within a day, but for weeks there was a deep...ache inside her; it radiated from within her ribcage and had scraped up her spine, across her neck and shoulders and finally into the back of her head. Even her back teeth had throbbed and stung.

For Miranda, the pain of the event itself was fading, but as she wrapped her arms around herself, she felt that same, penetrating and pervasive ache filling her veins with agony. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped at the intensity, tears of pain leaking from the corners of her eyes. She took the blanket she was under and gripped it tightly, trying to wrap itself around her so tightly as if the blanket itself could serve as armor to protect her from the hurt.

Then the doorknob rattled.

Miranda's eyes shot open and she rolled over to face the door: something was being inserted into the deadbolt. She opened her mouth to scream, to warn Sam, but pain had slithered its way around her lungs and heart and had constricted, crushing those parts of her within its coils, she could only whisper,

"...help."

The deadbolt went and the doorknob followed. Miranda took a moment and then simply rolled over to face the couch again, resigned to her fate as long as it brought an end to this torture.

The door was left open, as the intruder entered. She could hear the rainfall outside and she heard water dripping onto the carpet as the figure approached her.

Sam, I'm so sorry.

The figure was standing over her now; she could feel eyes upon her as water dripped down onto her.

Miranda closed her eyes and waited.

The figure was moving again; soft, practiced steps, but too heavy to belong to a woman. He moved like someone who knew the layout of the living room and could navigate it in the dark. She felt something placed upon her: a second blanket. It was draped over her with the greatest of care. Miranda wove her fingers through its threads as she began to tremble.

She heard several items placed on the coffee table: something light, something heavy, and then finally something small and metallic. Miranda opened her mouth, but could not force air out of it; this moment only fueled the serpent within as it continued to squeeze her tighter and tighter inside.

A breath of hot air on her ear; the scent of tobacco, pine, and old leather.

"February fourteenth, nineteen ninety eight."

She had a moment to consider the meaning of the statement when she felt him put his hand on the top of her head and everything inside her shut down: the pain, the regret, the will to live: everything was just laid to waste at this one instant of contact.

From the crown of her head, he ran his fingers down the back of her head. The locks of her hair were caressed, with an emotional intensity that bordered on reverence. She felt his fingertips on her scalp; every point of contact felt as if served to draw the air out of her oxygen-starved body. His thumb lightly touched the back of her ear and she could not repress a shudder. As he approached the nape of her neck, she could feel his fingernails; they were sharp and felt as if they left the faintest lines of white against her flesh. Finally, he reached the back of her neck. She felt his fingers: cold and damp from the rain upon her skin and it caused gooseflesh to rise. For a moment, his touch lingered, he rubbed a thumb gently against skin and Miranda made a very soft sound in her throat, an expression of something, some feeling that could not even be defined, let alone denied but had come to dominate every last bit of her being.

He removed his hand then, hastily; as if he had been stung. It had seemed that, for a split second, he had perhaps lost himself. Whatever limits he had placed, had fallen in the time it took for that single caress.

He took a few steps back.

"Grey?"

There was a pause. Miranda swallowed.

"Get the fuck out of my flat."

She heard a slight exhalation that could only have been an expression of something spiteful. She heard one, last object placed on the table. Then Grey retreated the way he came and softly closed the door behind him.

Miranda began to shake, violently, and she rushed to the bathroom and stripped out of as much of her clothes as she could manage as she threw herself into a scalding hot shower and began to scrub at herself as if she had the plague. She hadn't bothered with the wraparound shower curtain and soon water began to splatter all over the floor. It took a solid ten minutes for the goose bumps to fade and she clawed at her head and neck as if she could scrape herself clean from his touch. She stopped when she noticed that she'd begun to bleed and just collapsed into the tub and cried.

Sam found her there a few hours later, the water still running and long since run cold. The bathroom was a swimming pool as Sam managed to coax the half-dressed girl out of the tub.

Miranda's eyes shot open and Sam recoiled at the look they held: torment. She knew the look because she'd had it when her doctor had told her she would never walk again.

"Jesus Miri," Sam whispered stroking back her wet hair from her pale face, "I didn't mean—"

"I'm sorry Sammy," she choked out, "I'm so, so sorry. I swear, I swear I'll never let anything like that happen to you again, I swear."

Sam pulled the girl into her arms and held her tight as the other girl sobbed in hard, painful sobs that caused them both the rattle with the force of it.

"It's okay," Sam whispered, trying to get a handle on the situation; they'd had the occasional fight and yes, this one had been a bad one, but Miranda seemed just completely...

...broken.

When Miranda cried herself into exhaustion, they made the trip to their bedroom together. Miranda curled into a ball tight against her lover and Sam wrapped both arms around her and rocked her gently.

"Shhh, it's going to be okay Miri."

Miranda was unconscious in under a minute and Sam spent the next several hours watching over her to ensure that, whatever had happened to her in this waking life did not haunt her in her dreams.

And in time, they both found peace.

*********

"What the fuck?!"

Miranda jerked her head up and tried to get her bearings. That had definitely been Sammy and she was definitely pissed off.

"Miranda, get your skinny ass in here, now!"

Then, the other girl's sleep-fogged mind recalled the events of earlier this morning.

"Che," Miranda muttered, damn, as pulled on an oversized t-shirt that doubled as a nightie and staggered out into the living room to confront her enraged lover.

"In the house?!" Sam shrieked, "You let him into the house?!"

"I didn't Sammy, I swear," Miranda said in her best 'please don't kill me' tone, "He picked the lock I think."

"He didn't need to!" Sam held up something small and metallic, "He cut himself a spare!"

A key.

Miranda sighed and rubbed her head, "Sam, did you give him our spare?"

"Not in this fucking lifetime, I thought you did."

"I didn't Sam, I promise you."

Sam scoffed, "Yeah, okay 'you promise'."

Miranda took a deep breath to avoid saying something that would result in today being just like yesterday, "Sam, I know I've been an idiot—"

"Understatement."

"But when have you known me to be a liar?"

The moment dragged on and then Sam exhaled hard and slouched back against her chair, "Never. You can be a fool but you're an honest fool."

"Thank you, Gandalf."

Sam sighed and looked at the key, "You know, most cut keys carry with them some kind of manufacturers mark or logo, but not this one," she handed it to Miranda.

"So where the hell did it come from?"

"I have no idea, but so long as he doesn't have it any longer, I could give a shit," she gestured at the coffee table, "Satan Claus left us a few more presents."

Miranda's lips curved upwards at that, the visual and pun were too good not to appreciate, and she examined the table: the carton of cigarettes they had given him; open, but only missing one or two packs.

"Wow, he returned our gift of gratitude," Miranda scoffed, "Huh, well isn't that a perfectly proper, English way of saying 'screw you'?"

"You caught that too? Good, I was worried it would be lost in translation," despite the joke, Sam did not look amused at Grey's latest gesture.

Miranda gestured at a large, sealed envelope on the table, "What's that?"

Sam shrugged, "No idea, I didn't make it past the cigarettes before a deep and abiding need to chew your ass out took hold."

"Fair enough," Miranda opened and pulled out a folder.

"What is it?" Sam asked as Miranda was flipping through the papers the folder contained.

"His way of being 'a man of his word', I suppose," she laid out the documents.

"What do you mean?" Sam spoke in a vexed tone.

"'Patient is one Samantha Adler—"

"What the fuck!?" Sam sputtered, "How the fuck does he know my last name?"

"Oh, it gets better," Miranda resumed reading, "Patient is approximately five feet, eleven inches; (one point eight meters) and weighs between one hundred and sixty and one hundred and seventy one pounds (seventy to seventy two kilograms)'."

"Okay, seriously, how does he know that?"

Without looking up, "Because he spent a night carrying you all over town."

Sam flushed crimson, "Well, when you put it that way, okay, but how does he know how tall I am, he hasn't seen me, you know, standing."

"Either he deduced him from your weight and general build or he has a keen eye for spatial relations, either way..."

"Yeah, yeah, either way, it means he's not as stupid as he acts," Samantha folded her arms under her breasts, "Showing off by getting all 'metric system' on us."

Miranda smiled slightly as she continued to read, "'Subject is in good health and maintains an active lifestyle as defined by her age and interests within the confines of her physical limitations'. Subject is at this time unable to walk or support her own weight due to extensive damage to her legs from an auto accident: her tibia, femur, and fibula exhibit signs of extensive, crushing damage, rendering them inoperable. (See appendix A, for additional findings) Further complications due to failure on attending physician's part to perform a differential diagnosis which in turn failed to identify pre-existing condition as well. Limited to no post-operation support given (please see attached report for said physician's place of work, and contact information and other personal information. Recommend inquiry by state medical board and subsequent revocation of license).

"Couldn't say 'crippled' or 'handicapped', huh?"

"Sounds like Grey is seriously gunning for this doctor of yours. Wouldn't want to be him right now," Miranda continued reading, "Initial findings after preliminary physical examination suggests—"

"Whoa, whoa, when the hell did I get a 'preliminary physical examination?'"

"When he hit you with the stick."

"Oh."

Miranda began to read again.

"'Upon further examination, patient exhibited several symptoms of Osteogenesis Imperfecta, also known as 'Brittle-Bone Disease'. Further diagnosis needed to confirm. (Recommend biopsy and DNA testing, cross-check with parents DNA to identify original defective gene [See Appendix A, section 2})'".

"How did he--?"

"Sweetie, if you keep asking how he knows something, this is going to take forever," Miranda studied the remaining papers, her expression sliding between shock, frustration, and even a little respect.

"Well?" Sam demanded.

Miranda put the folder down.

"The rest of the report is just basically what you told him about breaking bones when you were kid. Plus an in-depth tutorial on how to identify, treat, and follow up with a Brittle-Bones patient," she said as placed her fingers upon the cover of the folder thoughtfully, "Apparently, he wanted to leave nothing to chance: any doctor in the world could make it work using Grey's instructions here."

"We already knew he had a knack for tearing apart information and turning it into easily digested bits," Sam ran a hand through her blonde hair, "Looks like that applies to medicine as well as physics and math."

"Technically, this is more anatomy and a smattering of genetics than a true understanding of medicine. He's not a miracle worker; someone would need the necessary, and I imagine extensive, training and experience to make this work."

"But...?"

"But yeah, with the proper equipment and support staff, anyone that had an MD could do this."

"Wow."

"Seriously," Miranda handed over some papers, "He uh, included pictures."

"Pictures?" Sam was too puzzled to be outraged, "I don't remember seeing him with a cell phone let alone a camera."

"They're not photographs."

Sam took the pictures and could not repress a gasp: they were pictures of her, hand drawn with what appeared to be a fine-tipped pen in a style that reminded her of Da Vinci."

"Holy shit..." she whispered as she went through them. There were pictures of her standing with measurements, much in the style of 'Vitruvian Man'. Like that drawing, she was nude, but in a gesture of modesty, Grey had apparently refrained from making the more intimate portions of her anatomy well defined.

Slowly, Sam went through the sketches: there were frontal views, views from each side, from the back. A particular sketch caught her eye; an extensive diagram of her spinal cord with various points indicated. Lines radiated outwards from the indicated sections towards either side of the paper and connected to smaller, more detailed portraits of a particular portion of bone or nerves.

"This is weird; I thought he said this wasn't a spinal injury."

Miranda took the picture from her and smiled ruefully, shaking her head.

"What?"

"It's his idea of humility."

"Beg pardon?"

Miranda handed it back, "By including this, he's admitting that he could be wrong."

"Wow!" Sam whistled low as she looked at the drawing in its new light, "Grey admitting he might be wrong. I might just have this one framed."

Miranda laughed a little as Sam went back to the sketches. When she got to the last few sketches, Sam paused and stared at them vacantly for a moment.

"Love?" Miranda reached out to touch Sam's hand. The touch seemed to jump start Sam and the look that had been upon her face: distant and despairing slowly evaporated.

"Legs."

Miranda got up and came around to Sam, wrapping her arms around her lover's shoulders and holding her tightly.

"It's okay."

Sam nodded and began to go through the pictures: the first set was of both her legs, together and apart, from all sides. The second set was the same, except that the legs were now clearly in a sitting position. The blonde girl swallowed a lump in her throat as the progression to healthy and athletic to crippled was depicted in Grey's work.

Miranda just squeezed her tighter, "It's okay, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy," the other girl choked out, wiping at her eyes a little. They were both relieved when the drawings became of bone and muscle.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06



One of the last sketches caught Sam's eye: a detailed depiction of the bones in her leg depicting the different fractures.

"When did he get X-ray vision?"

"Your scars, sweetie," Miranda explained, "From your surgery. I imagine that that served as a pretty good indication where the damage was located."

Sam swallowed once and nodded as she reflexively covered the scars that marred the otherwise perfect form of her bronzed legs, "And all this from memory," Sam huffed, "If only he used his powers for good and wasn't such a sadistic fuck."

"I think this might be his attempt at that. The 'using powers for good', not the other thing."

"Gotcha. What's the rest?"

Putting aside the sketches, Miranda picked up another series of papers, bound together with a thin silk ribbon, violet that matched her eyes.

"Cute," Sam snorted, "Even now, after everything, you're still the only thing he thinks about."

"He's thinking about you too, Sam," Miranda whispered as she inverted the ribbon.

Baby blue.

"Asshole," Sam muttered.

"Handmade?"

"Probably, knowing him, you know just to brag, 'look I can work with silk too!'"

Miranda shook her head in semi-amusement and began to go through the documents.

"Not more drawings?"

"No, it's a list."

"Of?"

"Clinics and hospitals known for having top-notch genetics and orthopedic departments."

"The genetics to identify the disease and the orthopedics to treat?"

"Essentially," Miranda scanned the list, "A couple of old favorites here: Johns Hopkins, UC San Diego," she looked up with a smirk, "He included that one on top, I guess he figured we might not want a long commute."

"Fuck, if it gets me walking again, I'll go to Mars."

"Whoa!"

"What?"

"Well, not Mars lover, but how about Prague or Madrid?" she went through the rest of the list, "A lot of these are passport only."

Sam snorted, "Right, okay, I'll just go fuel up the private jet and we can go to the Czech Republic or Spain—"

"Or France, or the Netherlands, or Finland or Russia..." Miranda rattled off as she read the list.

"My point," Sam emphasized, "Is that we have no idea how to get there or who to talk to so that I can get admitted."

"Yes, we do," Miranda said quietly and held up a second sheet of paper.

"You gotta be fucking kidding..."

"Corresponding geneticists, including clinical geneticists, the whole nine yards, two or three different choices for each institution."

"And let me guess, they just all happen to be taking patients?"

"Actually no," Miranda indicated a portion of the information, "But these are their home addresses and numbers."

"Their what?!" Sam took a moment, "You're telling me he has the home address of some of the most renowned geneticists in Europe? How the hell did that happen, it can't be common knowledge."

"Apparently it's the opposite of common knowledge," Miranda chewed on her thumbnail contemplatively as she scrutinized the information before her, "But, for whatever reason, all we need to do is show up or call, give them this packet, and we are officially on their patient roster."

"And how did he manage that?"

"Knowing him? I'd say either they owe him or he has something on them."

"Wow, coerce and blackmail your way to a healthier you," Sam rolled her eyes, "That should be a book title."

Miranda held up more paper, "Ditto for the orthopedic departments, some domestic: New York Hospital for Special Surgery, the Cleveland Clinic, and The Mayo—"

"Oh, of course," Sam huffed, "We'll just walk into the Mayo clinic and get an appointment, after all, the waiting list can't be much longer than, twenty, thirty years?"

"Not if his notes are anything to go by."

"You cannot—"

"Names, dates, and private contact info."

"Ugh! This man is irritatingly thorough."

And I'm never going to see him again. Miranda felt the ache begin to tighten again inside her.

"Hey, you okay Miri?"

Miranda cleared her throat, "Yeah fine," she continued down the list, "Well, if we're in Europe anyways we have the—" Miranda squinted and sounded the name out slowly, "Rudolfinerhaus Hospital in Vienna, a private hospital no less."

"Here, give me that you linguistic oaf," Sam reached over and took the papers from her.

"And what exactly qualifies you as a master of the Teutonic languages?"

Sam gestured to her long, blonde hair.

"Fine, throw your shameful Aryan heritage in my face, that's fine."

Sam grinned and read off the list, "'Mediterranean Health Care', "The Corposalud Clinic' and the 'Xanit Hospital Internacional' all of them in Spain, the last of two are, naturally, private clinics."

"Of course, not that it matters to us, of course."

"Of course not. Not with Mr. 'I'm secretive and infuriatingly well-informed' and his handy-dandy contact list,"

Miranda consented the point, as Sam continued.

"Well, if you're in the mood for gyros, we've got the 'Hygeia hospital', in Greece."

"Okay, okay, we get it!"

"Oh, just one more!"

"Why are you enjoying this so much?"

Sam shrugged, "I guess it's nice to be able to pretend that I could afford to jet to all these exotic places and get better," her face took on a look of grudging respect, "Besides, he vetted the hell out of these places, might as well take the time to read it at least."

Miranda sighed, "Okay Sammy, one more."

Sam scanned the list and began to snicker.

"What?"

The snicker became barely suppressed laughter.

"What?!"

And Sam nearly fell off her chair howling with laughter. Miranda reached over and took the paper scanning it until she found...

'University of Kyoto. Kyoto, Japan'

"That...that--" Miranda sputtered attempting to find the correct word in English

"--Kuso kurae no shin!!" she screamed. Eat shit and die.

"Oh come on sweetie," Sam gasped, "Maybe he figured, after hearing how much you enjoyed being around your ultra-conservative and tradition-bound mother than you'd appreciate a trip back to your childhood home for the chance to relive it all over again in the 'land of the rising sun'!" she finished in an awful mock Japanese accent.

Miranda glared plum-colored daggers at her lover.

"I'm not certain which one of you I hate more right now."

Still laughing, Sam reached over and took her lover's hand, kissing it gently, "Come on, Miri, it was a jab, that's all, a last gasp of being a prick. We won't have to deal with him or his shit ever again, I promise."

Miranda's hands tightened on the list and the paper began to crumple.

"Whoa, look sweetie," Sam consoled, "It was just a petty insult from a petty man, nothing to get worked up about."

It took every ounce of self-control that Miranda possessed to conform to the mistaken impression Sam had and she nodded.

"Right, not worth it."

"Good girl," Sam gave her hand a squeeze and started to roll away, "Besides, it's all wish fulfillment, it's not like we can afford any of this."

"Why not? We make decent money," Miranda countered.

"Sweetie, the air fare alone would be financially problematic," Sam explained. Sam had a head for money and finances, which she attributed to having been raised without any, in contrast to Miranda's more troubled, but prosperous, upbringing.

"I can deal with 'problematic'; I've got some cash stashed for a rainy day."

Sam smiled at her lover's determination not to give up, "This is not a "rainy day' situation; this is more a 'torrential downpour of sulfur day."

"Gripping visual."

"Then there's the hospital fees," Sam continued.

"But Grey's list--?"

"Suggests we could get me admitted, not, that it would be a free ride. The cost of the biopsy and genetics testing, orthopedic surgery, all the post-op treatment, half a dozen different medications I'd probably be on, physical therapy, and, no one said that the doctor's listed would even give us a consultation for free," she wheeled away towards the kitchen. "All in all, the whole package would probably run us thousands and thousands of dollars, we could never afford it," Sam began to go through the fridge, "Hey, are you in the mood for omelets?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah Miri, hey, I'm thinking bacon or ham...or maybe both."

"You said 'thousands and thousands', right? It would take thousands and thousands of dollars to make this work?"

Sam frowned, Miranda's voice sounded strained, "Afraid so," she replied as she began to pull out eggs, bacon, and ham.

"How much would you say?"

Sam put down the eggs and bacon and wheeled back towards her.

"Okay Miri, the term 'dead horse' is beginning to apply here—"

"Would thirty-five thousand dollars do it?"

"Well, that's a random number, what made you..." Sam wheeled to a stop: Miranda was standing unnaturally stiff; both of her hands were shaking as they gripped a small piece of paper.

"What the..?"

Wordlessly, Miranda handed Samantha a check made out to them for thirty-five thousand dollars.

"But..?" was all Sam managed.

"Look at the memo line," Miranda said quietly. Sam did so.

All debts paid.

"I...," Sam opened and closed her mouth several times.

"He kept his word, Sam. Despite all the shit and craziness, he kept his word that you would walk again," she looked back at the documents, "Even if he forced his way out of our lives," she barked out a bitter laugh, "We hate his guts and he probably hates ours, but he did...this."

"I'm having a tough time hating him right now," Sam whispered as she wiped away tears, "I mean, I thought after the other night, I was fucked, you know?"

"I thought so too."

"Don't get me wrong, if it's a toss-up between walking or keeping my woman safe from a very toxic individual, then, you know, so be it, but this..."

"Was that part of the reason you were angry?" Miranda asked, "Because you felt that it'd cost you your chance at walking again? And that a lot of that was my fault?"

Sam opened her mouth to deny it then closed it.

"Yes. If you had left well enough alone, then we wouldn't have had that huge blow-up and I would have remained on the path towards someday being vertical," she looked up at her lover, "I'm sorry, Miri."

Miri smiled and leaned over to kiss her golden hair.

"Me too, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy."

The girls both laughed and then looked at the table of papers.

"So," Sam began, "I mean, are we actually going to do this? Deposit that check and start calling these people?"

"Not right away, we need to lay down some ground work," Miranda began to count off her fingers, "We need to schedule some away time from the university so Luke and Isabel don't have a stroke when their treasured T.A.'s take off with the first round of exams looming ominously..."

"Have you ever known something to 'loom benignly'?"

"I'm going to ignore that comment and thus preserve my respect for you," Miranda said stiffly as Sam chortled.

"Okay, okay, what else?"

"We'll need to arrange for transportation, lodging, and we need to do a ton of research before we go jetting off anywhere. This is a lot of money, but not so much that we're going to 'window shop' until we find the right one," she frowned at the list. "We can stay in the states if you like, that'll seriously cut expenses and getting into Hopkins or the Mayo clinic would be outstanding."

"But I wanna go see Europe!" Sam whined.

Miranda couldn't repress a grin, "Okay, okay, why don't we see where the research takes us," she gestured at the paperwork, "He's done the bulk of the heavy lifting."

"Yeah, no shit," Sam replied gesturing at the check.

"Well, yes, that too, but I meant the data. He's managed to narrow down out of thousands of schools, hospitals, clinics, and research centers into a list of roughly ten for each, genetics and orthopedic surgery respectively. Considering it looks like he combed the U.S. and a pretty good chunk of Euro--" her voice trailed off.

"What's wrong?"

"There are...gaps."

"Beg pardon?"

"Look here," Miranda grabbed a map and folded it until Europe and the U.S. was displayed. "Okay, now he's pretty free with his recommendations for anything within the States," she took a moment to recall some of his notes, "although it's clear he doesn't have a tremendous respect for the majority of American medicine: Hopkins and Mayo are the only that he actually recommended, the rest are kind of 'eh' in his estimation."

"Snob."

"And then some, but look," she pointed to the other end of the map, "He lists nothing in the United Kingdom," she traced her finger towards the center of the map, "Or Germany," her finger traveled southwards, "Or Italy."

"So?"

"So I know for a fact that there at least two very qualified hospitals in London and Cardiff alone for this kind of procedure. The same in Germany, there's a hospital in Heidelberg that has a genetics team that possesses a reputation for focus and efficiency that's downright--."

"Prussian?"

"That works," Miranda frowned, "But what about Italy?"

Sam was beginning to get uncomfortable; Miranda's voice had taken a very familiar and entirely unwelcome tone.

"Okay...." Sam drawled, "...what about Italy?"

"So the Universities of Verona and Siena both have published volumes on their work in the fields of genetics. For crying out loud, the University of Siena even has a "Medicinal Genetics" department."

Miranda began to consult her notes as Sam witnessed her going into 'turbo-research mode'.

"Okay, so, you're NOT going to feed your intellectual vanity by trying to figure out whatever this is," Sam jerked her thumb towards the kitchen, "And meanwhile, those of us in "Sanityland" are going to go make breakfast."

Miranda looked up and smiled a little, "Yeah, you're right, sorry Sam," she looked at the papers, "It's just a puzzle."

"Yeah, yeah, and I know you and puzzles. Now get your ass in the kitchen woman and make me some eggs!"

Miranda laughed, "Oh, yes ma'am, I shall do so!"

The girls prepared breakfast amidst laughter and the occasional verbal jab in their traditional fashion. Omelets filled with bacon and ham, smothered in Munster cheese and topped with tomatoes, red peppers and onions. Grilled English muffins (in tribute to Grey, Sam declared) with marmalade. Fresh pomegranates and black tea rounded out the meal.

"What? No mimosas?" Sam demanded.

"Not on a school day," Miranda countered.

"But alcohol is a magical thing! It keeps one from, you know, becoming a howling neurotic!"

"Uh-huh, finish your tea and then we need to head to class."

"Kill joy."

Miranda shook her head in amusement and headed back out into the living room where she stood over the papers.

"What's your game, Grey?" she whispered to herself, "Why do this? Is it just you keeping your word?" she wanted—a great deal more than she was comfortable with—to believe that that was the case, that, at his core, he was a decent man, as she had believed him to be the night of the party.

But what about the U.K., Germany, Italy? Why omit institutions from those countries.

"What are you hiding? Why Greece, but not Italy? Why Austria and the Czech Republic, but not Germany?"

"Whatever it is," Sam interrupted Miranda's reverie causing the other girl to jump, "It's going to STAY hidden, right, Miri?"

Miranda took a deep breath and then...let it go.

"Yes."

"Good girl."

They gathered up the papers and tucked them back into the folder. Sam affixed the check beneath a refrigerator magnet and they got ready to go when Miranda caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was a small, velvet bag, the same color as the table, which might have accounted as to why, it had been overlooked until now.

"Sam?" Miranda called out.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come out here please?"

"Oh God, did he send another, larger check? 'Cause I'm okay with that."

"Not...precisely."

Sam wheeled in and both the girls scrutinized the bag: it bore no logo or any kind of describable markings or design.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

Miranda licked her lips, "When he was here, last night, he told me something."

Sam frowned in consternation, "You failed to mention that you two had a little chat?"

"It was hardly a 'chat' Sam," Miranda assured her, "He just told me something and left."

"Okay, don't keep me in suspense."

Miranda took a deep breath, for some reason speaking Grey's words was causing her throat to constrict.

Because they'll be the last words of his I'll ever hear again.

"'February fourteenth, nineteen ninety eight'," she answered with a slight catch in her voice.

Sam frowned, "What the hell does that mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, what did you say back?"

"I told him...," she swallowed around a dry throat, "I told him to get the fuck out of our flat."

"Oh, he must have loved that," Sam cackled.

"Maybe, I don't know. However, after I said that, I heard him put something down on the table, and this was after he'd already put the smokes and the packet on the table.

"Wait a second, you heard him? Was it too dark to see?"

Miranda exhaled slowly, "I never actually saw him. I spent the entire night curled into a ball on the couch facing away from the door."

"So instead, you've got your back to him the entire time he breaks into our house in the dead of night? You're more trusting than I would be."

"I don't think..." but Miranda's resolve crumbled, there were a lot of things she didn't think Grey was capable of. Recent events, however, had forced her to reassess.

"I don't think he wanted to come here to hurt us or cause problems," Miranda explained, "My back to him meant nothing; all he wanted was to 'pay off his debt to us', as he no doubt saw it."

"Psycho, good riddance," Sam muttered.

"Still planning on depositing that check?" The words were out of Miranda's mouth before she could stop them and her eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

"Wow, okay then," Sam did her best to hide a hurt expression and failed.

"I'm sorry," Miranda knelt down by Sam's side, "This whole thing; him showing up last night, the doctors, the money, all of it; it's just a lot to take in all at once."

Sam smiled and relaxed a little, "Okay, Miri, no problem," she gestured at the bag, "So you told him to get the fuck out and he responded by leaving you a little gag gift?"

"It would seem," Miranda reached over and gingerly picked up the bag. Whatever it was, it was small, but with a heft that defied its size, and possessing an entirely irregular shape and form.

"Well?" Sam insisted.

Carefully, and with a level of caution usually reserved for handling plutonium sans safety equipment, she placed the object on the table and removed the bag.

Revealing a small orange statue made of amber.

"What the hell?" Sam scrutinized it: it was roughly as large as her thumb and exquisitely worked in what was indeed Baltic amber. It was translucent and it shone dully under the house lights.

"Here, hang on," Miranda took the figurine over to her desk and quickly swept it clear of clutter. Reaching up she activated a light attached to a large magnifying lens mounted on a swivel arm. Under the light and lens, the figurine's appearance burst into clarity and Miranda couldn't restrain a gasp of awe.

"What?" Sam demanded as she wheeled over to the desk. Numbly, Miranda simply moved over and let Sam examine the piece herself:

Another Miranda in a miniature study of orange.

"Holy fuck," Sam whispered. The detailing was unbelievable, it WAS Miranda: her head was tilted down and away. Her hair was done up in an elaborate coif that formed a golden crown upon her head that should have been impossible with such short hair. Her arms were crossed; one covered her breasts whilst the other clutched some sort of cloth that draped over her like a gown. In the crook of one arm, there was a small book. Her feet were bare with one slightly higher than the other, as if she perched upon something and she was clearly leaning backwards, resting against the remaining portion of amber. The overall impression was a study in demureness, grace, and quiet dignity.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 06



"This...," Sam sputtered.

"Yeah," Miranda replied numbly; never in her life had she ever received such an object that could have only been a combination of tremendous time and effort coupled with peerless skill. It was a work of art and, more importantly, it was hers. It could not be mistaken for anyone else; this thing, this gift belonged to her alone.

The ache inside became a dull roar and Miranda unconsciously rubbed at her chest.

"Uh, Miri?" Sam called out.

"Yes?" the other girl replied between numb lips.

"Your birthstone is sapphire, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Could you come here please?"

Miranda staggered towards the table, her senses still reeling as she processed that someone had done this, worked this hard and this well for her.

Grey...

She sniffled a little as she peered down at her orange-yellow duplicate through the lens.

"Look at the hair," was all Sam said.

There was a small blue point of light within her hair, like a jewel in a crown. Exactly like a jewel, in fact.

"Sam, please get me whatever books you can find on mineralogy and gemology."

"Yeah, good call."

Gently, Miranda rubbed her finger against the cheek of the statuette. The material seemed to possess a warmth to it, as if it were a living thing.

Is this how beautiful I am to you, Grey?

Blinking back tears, she coughed once and turned to face Sam as the other girl wheeled in and handed her a book.

"Here, I've already marked the entry for sapphires."

"Thanks, sweetie," Miranda took the girls hand and kissed it, squeezing affectionately which brought a cheery smile to her lover's face.

"Yeah, well, you can show your appreciation later tonight, preferably naked."

Miranda smiled wryly, "One-track mind."

"Says the girl with the puzzle fetish and monomaniacal tendencies."

"Such big words."

"Shut up and figure this out, would you please?"

Miranda chuckled and began examining the stone and checking it against the book. It didn't remain a puzzle very long.

"This isn't a sapphire," Miranda said quietly.

"Then what is it?"

"A blue diamond, probably from South Africa."

"A diamond?! He put a freakin' diamond in that?"

"He did."

"But why, I mean obviously the guy is loaded, but a diamond?!"

"He probably thought sapphires were too common," Miranda touched the small gem gently; "It's the snob in him, like you said earlier."

"Oh yeah, no, I totally understand," Sam waved her hand in mock dismissal, "Sapphires are like pennies, I just chuck 'em whenever I find them, are you fucking kidding me?"

"Evidently not."

"How much does one of those go for anyhow? And how do you know it's from South Africa?"

"The internet can answer the first question, as to the second," Miranda couldn't refrain from grinning slightly, "It wouldn't be funny otherwise."

"'Funny'?" Sam wheeled over to her laptop and returned, "This is his idea of a joke?"

"More like wit," she shot the girl a sideways glance, "He listened. He remembered and apparently cared. How many people have you dated that weren't capable of any of that?"

"Way too many," Sam muttered as she fired up her computer and typed furiously.

"Value is determined by carat; how much it weighs," Miranda explained, "Color; the colored diamonds are almost always more expensive, clarity; that one's self explanatory and cut; how well the diamond is crafted, usually determined by the number of facets a gem possess; a better cut equals better facets which translates to a higher price tag."

Miranda scrutinized the gem carefully, "It's small, obviously, but the color is lovely and it's clear as could be," she frowned, "the cut is strange though; I count twenty-four facets, triangular shape but with a circular outline, flat base, pointed tips, and all of it symmetrical."

"Yeah, you think he made it himself? Flew to South Africa, found a piece of coal and turned it into a diamond just so he could brag about it?

"No," the other girl laughed, "He's good, but he's not that good: the level of skill to work a diamond in this fashion can only be done by someone who has spent a lifetime doing it, it's not something that one can just 'pick up' as a hobby. He probably outsourced it to someone—"

"Fifteen thousand dollars?!"

Miranda spun to face Sam; who looked like she was about to have a seizure.

"Fifteen-thousand dollars, Miri," she gestured at the figure on the desk, "For that."

"Well, let's keep it in perspective; he did just leave us a check for twice that."

"That's for things like airfare and surgery and admittance into some of the most prestigious hospitals in the world," she waved her hand at the desk, "That is a rock the size of a Skittle."

"I doubt he paid that much. One: like you said, it's small and two; do you really see him paying full price for anything?"

Sam considered that, "Given his methods, no, probably not, I'll give you that one."

Miranda sighed, "It's impressive—"

"Miri, don't be an idiot, it's awesome bordering on insane and you and I both know it, so don't feel that you need to coddle me regarding it."

Miranda nodded, "Okay, yes, it is a marvelous work of art," she picked up the figurine and held it up to the light, "I just don't understand the significance: I mean yes, it demonstrates an incredible sense of aesthetics and skill to create, but for what? In the end, what is he trying to say?"

"'Look at me! Look at me! I'm entirely too fucking talented for my own good which is why everyone hates me!'?"

Miranda snickered, "Possibly, but unlikely. Everything he's done has been for someone else, not for his own self-gratification," she peered at the tiny copy of herself in her hand, "I think."

"Uh, hey Miri?"

"Hmmm?" Miranda said, deep in thought.

"Are diamonds supposed to change color?"

The dark-haired girl frowned, "No, why?"

"Because it's red now."

"It's what?" Miranda turned the figurine over in her hand and examined it from every angle.

"Sammy, the diamond's blue."

"It's red I tell you and don't call me Sammy. Here," Sam wheeled over to her side of the desk, "Give it here," she took the figurine and held it up to the light as Miranda had, "Okay, now go to the other side of the table and look up at it from where I was."

Miranda obliged and moved around to kneel opposite Sam; she craned her neck up to look at the figurine. At this angle, the light shown through the figurine.

Moreover, the diamond was red.

"How?" Miranda asked quietly.

"I've got this one short-stack," Sam cleared her throat, "It's not a blue diamond, it's clear. The way that it's cut with all those strangely shaped facets you were talking about, combined with the angle in which it was mounted into the statue and the light-altering qualities amber can possess means that someone looking one way at it, say where the amber is thinnest would see blue, based on their viewpoint. Whereas from a different angle, through the thicker parts of the amber the clear diamond becomes a red one."

"The level of precision required for that: the cut of the diamond, the mounting, gauging the density of the material..."

"Yeah, enormous," Sam regarded the figurine, "Starting to believe that his grasp on physics might not be utter bullshit after all."

Miranda's brow furrowed as she studied the figurine in this new light. The angle with which it caused the diamond to shine red, made the remaining, unfinished portion of the figurine to glow. Lines and details that couldn't be seen before now shone forth in stark contrast to the rest of the material.

"I don't believe it."

Sam frowned, "What now, is there an emerald in there or something?"

"Just, come over here and don't block the light."

Sam wheeled over to her lover and focused on the figurine, "What?"

"Just, focus on the diamond for a bit and relax your eyes, then look at the statue from the top down."

Sam grumbled but did so, squinting at the glowing scarlet gem and the amber crown within it, she relaxed her eyes and saw that the crown was, in fact, long strands of hair that were woven together before cascading down...

"Fuck me running! That's me!"

An image of Samantha stared back at the pair, her chin jutted out defiantly and her eyes held an imperious look to them, as if she were prepared to come to life at any moment and take them both on.

She was nude from the waist up and this time Grey had spared no effort on capturing Sam's anatomy accurately.

Sam blushed, "Guy sees me naked once and proceeds to give me tits like that. Figures."

"You don't approve?" Miranda asked still in awe of what she was saying.

"Well no, they're just kinda..." she examined herself, her breasts sat high upon her chest and were indeed proportionately large, each tipped with a golden nipple, "...epic? Like something out of a Vallejo painting."

Sam continued to examine her diminutive clone; she was clad only in a pair of ragged pants that stopped short of the knee. Her legs, she noticed, were long and muscular, perfectly depicted right down to tiny marks to indicate the scar and her feet were bare.

But the stance, the way she was standing she was "aggressively female" was the only term she could think of.

Meanwhile, Miranda examined the statue in a new light and saw what had been done: the back of the Miranda figurine flowed easily into Sam's: hair was woven together, elbows and knees were conjoined, it was difficult to spot exactly where one ended and the other began. She realized that her copy wasn't just leaning against random bits of amber; she was leaning against Sam in a gesture of affection and a desire of safety whilst on the other side, Sam stood like a wall, protecting the girl at her back with nothing more than a domineering gaze and a small pair of amber fists.

Sam found herself getting choked up as the other Sam looked back at her: proud and fierce; a Sam that had never heard the words 'brittle bone disease' or 'handicapped.'"

A Sam that she would never know.

"What--," Sam said hoarsely and attempted to swallow back what she was feeling, "What does this mean? I mean, is he making fun of us or complimenting us? I mean what's his angle?"

"Probably a little of both, love," Miranda gently ran a finger across the golden copy of Sam in her hand, "He's got a good eye."

"Then why do I want to punch him in it? Repeatedly."

Miranda exhaled, "The same reason I do: he has a way of deducing whatever is most intimate or most personal about you; wherever you happen to be vulnerable, and just dragging it up and staking it out in front of you for you to see with your naked eye. There is no inner coddling or justification, no filters of any kind. Just the most raw and brutal truths about you; presented in a manner that is neither judgmental nor remorseful. It simply is.

Sam thought about that for a moment.

"But it's okay to still want to beat the shit out of him, right?"

"Completely."

"Good, thought so," Sam gestured at the figurine in her lover's hand, "So, what are we supposed to DO with it? Just sit back and marvel at Grey's talent?"

Miranda shook her head, her black hair swishing back and forth slightly with the movement, "I don't think so. That's too easy," she sent Sam a sideways look, "Also for that kind of ego gratification, you need to first put value in the opinion of others."

Sam snorted, "Yeah, okay good point, clearly not the case here."

"Clearly," Miranda frowned as she touched the bottom of the figurine; the legs of both women tapered down into a base that was completely circular and polished until it gleamed and was as smooth as silk or—

Miranda's head jerked up in realization and she nearly dropped the figurine, "Shit!"

"Miri! You swore! And in English no less!" Sam looked positively scandalized.

"Sam, get the checkerboard," Miranda said in a quiet voice that contained a shocking amount of intensity, "I know exactly what this is and why he did it."

"Oh this should be good," Sam hurried off and returned a few moments with the board: it was a simple thing made of cardboard that folded up.

Miranda placed the statuette in the center of the board.

"It's a chess piece."

Sam stared at it in shock, "Holy hell!" But it was, indeed, a chess piece: the dimensions of its base conformed perfectly within the borders of the square, "How did you know?"

Miranda picked up the piece and flipped it over, exposing the bottom for scrutiny, "The bottom is polished completely smooth, way beyond what would be necessary for simply providing a stable base for the rest of the work. I thought to myself that it felt as smooth as silk..." she looked over at the chessboard, "...or felt."

"A tiny statue with a felt bottom, yeah, that's a chess piece," Sam gave another low whistle of appreciation; both at Grey's handiwork and her lover's skill in deciphering it, "I wonder if he's got a whole chess set that look like you and I. That would be impressive...and a little creepy," she took the piece from Miranda and examined it, "So what is he saying, that you're—"

"Not 'me' Sammy, 'us'. Your body is in that sculpture as well."

"Flattering, my point is: is this his way of saying we are his, what, his queen?"

Miranda frowned and shook her head again, "No, no the queen serves to control the board and protect the king and I don't think he sees as like that."

"Then what?"

Miranda examined the piece again under the magnifying glass, "Sweetie?"

"Yeah babe?"

"What's the symbol in chess for the queen?"

"A crown, why."

"How many points on the crown?"

Sam mentally counted, "Five."

Miranda beckoned and picked up a small laser pointer as Sam rolled up next to her. The other girl activated the laser and placed a red dot at the very top of the statues head.

"The hair is woven to look like a crown, see? Here and here. Same on the other side."

"With you so far, though I'd like to know how he managed to make a crown out of hair as short as yours."

"A great deal of artistic license springs to mind, but my point is; look at the diamond setting, a single bit of material at the very top of the crown. In fact, even though the sculptures have different, stylized crowns, they share that one point at the very top." Miranda leaned against the table, "A crown with a single point isn't the queen," she gestured at the piece,

"We're the king, Sam."

"We're what now?"

"The king, the most valuable piece on the board. We're not the protector, we're meant to be the protected."

"Okay, you're getting all that from a chess piece?" Sam asked incredulously, "Are we certain we are not projecting, just a little?"

Miranda sighed, she suddenly felt exhausted; unraveling Grey's handiwork was almost as draining as being around the man himself, "Certain, not really, but it fits and it, well it feels right, for lack of a better term."

"Instinct? Okay, I can get behind that."

Miranda then closed her eyes and her expression started to crumble.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the fuck?" Sam gripped her lover's hands tightly, "What's going on?"

"I get the message," she whispered very quietly and it hurt Sam to hear her sound like this.

"What message?"

"Have you ever read any Dumas? Count of Monte Cristo?"

"Yeah, saw the movie too, so?"

"So, 'King's to you'."

Sam inhaled through clenched teeth: "Oh, that can't be good."

Miranda gestured at the board, "It was after I cursed at him and threw him out that he put this on the table," Miranda shook her head sadly, "'King's to me,' right."

"Still not following."

"'King's to you,' has a double meaning: in the Count of Monte Cristo, the main characters say it back and forth to each other, it essentially means 'point for you' or 'score one for you', follow?"

"So far."

"In chess, it is said when one opponent has surrendered the game and demonstrated so by physically handing their piece to the other player," Miranda made a sweeping gesture towards the piece on the board, "'King's to you' or simply 'I forfeit'."

"So, what's he's saying..."

"The fact that I spoke to him the way he had spoken to us, that I had sunken down to his level, he was saying 'King's to you'," Miranda glared at the amber statue, "Or to put it a different way, 'A point for you for being goaded into sinking down to my level.'"

"Prick."

"And the fact that he left it there means...he gives up," saying the words aloud did something to Miranda. It made her hurt, in a manner she was not prepared for, "He quits, he forfeits, and he's gone!"

"Sweetie," Sam looked up into her lover's violet eyes and was troubled to see that unshed tears shimmered just on the surface, "We agreed, it's better this way. Whatever his deal is, it's just not something we can be a part of."

Miranda sniffled and nodded, "I know, Sammy, I know, it's just hard."

"Me too, Miri, I cared about him for a little while back there too."

Miranda looked stunned, "You what?"

"Don't look so shocked, I said more than one prayer that he would live through the night," she sighed, "Maybe that was a mistake."

"I don't know."

"Look Miri, you're not going to get over this if you're constantly worried about pissing me off," she gestured at the board, "So just do what you need to do to get it out of your system, okay?"

Miranda smiled and wiped her tears away before hugging Sam fiercely.

"I love you so much, baby."

"I know," Sam wrapped her strong arms around the other girl and squeezed, "I'm going to step out, you do whatever you need to, then come join me and we can go to school, okay?"

"Okay. And Sam? Thank you."

"Like I said, I'll be extracting a great deal of satisfaction from that luscious body of yours in due time as compensation."

Miranda laughed again and was still laughing when Sam wheeled herself out of the apartment and closed the door behind her.

Then there was only her, the light, and the tiny statue on the board.

Miranda spent a long time watching how it glowed in the light; how beautiful it was.

Her hands began to shake as she placed her hand over the top of the figurine.

"Please," she whispered, "Please don't...don't do this, please. Please don't be gone. For me. Please."

The silence was her only answer, but it was the only answer she needed. There was one sob, just a single spasm of grief and hopelessness and then it was gone, leaving only saltwater upon cheeks.

"I can't do this," she said with a slight whimper, "Please..."

Nothing.

"Goo-," she swallowed and tried, "Goodb-".

She nearly choked then and a lance of pain shot through her; just like that kick to the chest. She wiped her eyes and placed a single fingertip on the chess piece.

It's better this way.

"King's to you, Grey."

She very gently tipped the piece onto its side, walked out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07



"So I'll find what lies beneath Your sick twisted smile As I lie underneath Your cold jaded eyes Now you turn the tide on me 'Cause you're so unkind I will always be here For the rest of my life"  -Breaking Benjamin "What Lies Beneath"

She lasted two and a half hours before things started falling apart.

Her walk with Sam had been a welcome diversion; the sun was shining and though there was a cool crispness to the air that was very much unlike Pasadena, it was still a beautiful day.

They cut through a path flanked by trees that served as something of a campus park. It had always been a favorite place for them both: 'A place to appreciate beauty that doesn't come with numbers attached,' Sam had once called it. The leaves now however, had begun to turn; many clung to their branches with the desperation that can only be found by one facing the inevitable.

On cue, one leaf proudly clad in scarlet and gold succumbed to gravity and flitted down to join his fallen brothers upon the ground.

Miranda watched it fall and began to feel something in her chest tighten. She swallowed and went back to pretending to listen to what Sam was talking about.

"So, are you done pretending to listen to what I'm talking about?"

Miranda jerked to a stop, causing Sam to do likewise as she flashed the other girl a grin,

"Busted."

Miranda ran her fingers through her dark hair, "I'm sorry, Sammy, I was distracted," she gestured, "I never realized how pretty the trees are here in the fall."

"Uh-huh, and does the sight of trees usually have you on the verge of tears?"

"I'm not—"

"You are, so don't try denying it, you're a rotten liar, sweetie," Sam reached over and took her hand, placing a kiss on it, "And I love you."

Miranda's expression softened as her lover helped ease the pain in her chest, "I love you too."

At which point Sam lashed out with her hand and slapped Miranda's ass so hard it echoed like a gunshot across the quad.

"Kono ama!" she shrieked. You bitch.

"Don't call me a 'bitch' and don't call me 'Sammy'."

"Sorry," Miranda muttered, rubbing her backside.

"Uh huh," Sam smirked and they continued their walk.

They reached a point where their paths diverged: Miranda to the physics lecture hall, Sam to the mathematics department. They cooed and kissed; there had been a time that Miranda was mortified to show affection publically, not because she was ashamed of her sexuality or of Sam, but because it just "wasn't done in polite society" as her mother had taught her. Sam managed to break her of that particular hang-up in less than a month.

"Take care of yourself, Miri," Sam whispered into her ear as the other girl bent over and hugged her tightly, "Pull your twisted self together and go be brilliant."

"You first," a final kiss on the cheek and both girls headed in opposite directions.

It was strange, Miranda mused, they'd been together for years, yet for some reason, there were times—such as now—that the simple act of the two of them parting to go to work was hard on her, sometimes hard on them both.

All this time together, she thought, and saying 'goodbye' is still hard, she shook her head ruefully; I must be losing my mind.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her hands up and down to generate some measure of warmth as she dashed to her class.

The classroom where she and Luke taught was big for its title; closer to a lecture hall as far as capacity went. The pitched floor went up quite a ways and was usually packed to the rafters, even if Luke was letting Miranda do most of the teaching.

Especially if it was just Miranda.

Miranda made it a habit to be clueless on how attractive she was and frequently clad herself in outfits that could be 'conservative' by the gracious and down-right 'frumpy' by the bold. It was no use; any member of the class that craved female attention hungered for her. In this particular instance, that was all the men and at least half of the women in attendance.

Miranda cleared her throat and cycled through the four clear boards mounted upon the front wall. They were a pain to set up; which is why they hadn't bothered with it when she and Sam had visited Luke earlier; but for the daily curriculum; one required a great deal more working space.

Miranda cleared her throat again and coughed once, absently rubbing at her chest as it began to ache suddenly.

"So, according to Meitner, and when we are working with subatomic particles; it is understood that they can be sub-divided into distinct groups: Quarks, Leptons, Gauge bosons, and...?"

She turned to face the crowd, "Come on, this is an easy one."

A young man named Brian raised his hand tentatively,

"Yes?"

"Um, Higgs-Boson, Doctor Inoue?"

Miranda smiled slightly; she never quite understood why she made her students nervous, it was probably due to her youth and accomplishments.

"Are you asking me if that is the answer or are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you?"

There was a slight ripple of laughter from the assembled students and Brian turned beet red.

"Settle down you intellectual pygmies," Luke roared good-naturedly, "Before I call up everybody's parents and tell them how you're wasting their hard-earned money."

The class laughed out loud at that: everyone in this class was either on a scholarship, grants or had some other means of paying tuition that did not involves their parents.

The interruption had the desired effect though; Brian composed himself and answered more firmly.

"It's the Higgs Boson, Doctor."

Miranda nodded her approval, "Well done, Brian."

"Does that mean the teacher's pet gets himself a bone?" a girl in the back called out.

There was a collective "ooooooh," from the audience.

Luke just shook his head; his classes were always studies in barely contained anarchy, but when you were dealing with minds like this, the standard forms of teaching just didn't apply. That's not to say he didn't know how to keep his students in line; it just meant he knew when to spare the rod and when to crack the whip. In his class, you were going to learn physics whether you liked it or not.

Luke decided this moment was of the later, "The next one of you harpies that talks out of turn is being marched right over to the labs and having their DNA re-sequenced into some form of life that is worthy of wasting our time. They can also count on a great deal of additional coursework that will last them until Christmas!"

There was another laugh; subdued though and quickly ended, the point had been made.

"Good," Luke turned his attention to Miranda, "Please continue."

Miranda sighed quietly, slid a new board into place and began to draw out an equation.

"Okay then, back to basics," she began, "Who can tell me what this is?"

Every hand in the classroom went up as Miranda nodded her approval, "Good. Brian?"

Brian swallowed audibly; he looked like he felt the gaze of every set of eyes in the room on his back and it was making him miserable.

"That's Schrodinger's Equation," he said, looking somewhat confused, "But...?"

"But why are we talking about quantum mechanics when we were just discussing particle physics?" Miranda began to lecture, "Good question. Essentially, physics is like a tree; several branches sharing one base--," she drew an illustration with the marker, "--like this," she turned back to address the class, "Any questions?"

"Ummm...," Brian cleared his throat and Miranda winced inwardly at the man's awkwardness, "Actually, there's something wrong."

"What?"

"The equation, doctor, it's wrong," Brian nearly choked at the amount of tension he was experiencing; a tension that was spreading to the other students who were beginning to edge closer to the unfolding drama with frowns and looks of disbelief.

"Where 'I' is the imaginary unit and 'h' is a representative of Planck's constant is supposed to go, you—you have 'a', whi--which usually is a partial derivative which is supposed to go at, you know, at the end of the equation, Doctor...professor...ma'am."

The room was as still as a crypt: Doctor Miranda Inoue did not make mistakes of this nature. Ever.

She closed her eyes and turned around to see it for herself and there it was; an equation whose commonality was only surpassed by its ease of interpretation and use, and she had gotten it wrong.

Sound faded out and every sense felt deadened; she dropped the marker where it landed with a dull thud and looked down at her hands; they seemed so small and frail and they were trembling. She closed them into fists; nearly crying aloud as arthritic pain shot through her nerves and she closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool plastic of the board.

"Miranda," Luke asked gently, coming to her side, "Are you all right? Do you need to rest?"

At his words, a total wave of fatigue and weakness crashed into her and she nearly collapsed; steadying herself on the board with Luke and half of the class practically dashing to come to her rescue.

The last time she had felt like this was the day before she met Grey and every day prior. It suddenly seemed to her that the Miranda over the last few days; the woman that had saved a man's life and then stood up to him time and time again, had been replaced. The woman that walked on broken glass to prove a point and had physically attacked the man when he'd crossed the line, was no longer her. The woman who had had the strength to tell him to leave because it would be the only way her and Sam would ever be free or happy, had died - or no longer existed. That woman was gone; like an aborted dream and she was back in the 'real world' where she was fragile and pathetic

She felt her thin shoulders slump as the fog of exhaustion and the sensation of being utterly spent, filled her veins like poison and settled upon her body like shackles.

"I think I'd like to sit down please," Miranda whispered.

"Of course," Luke replied, as he pulled out a chair upon which Miranda collapsed into. He took a quick assessment of the class.

"Well, there you go; proof that even the mightiest of intellects is still susceptible to being poisoned by the swill they serve down at the kitchen like the rest of us mere mortals."

Light laughter dispelled the tension: food poisoning and nothing more; their idol hadn't fallen after all. Brian especially looked relieved.

Miranda caught Luke's eye and mouthed, "thank you."

He nodded, "All right then you apes; let's get back on track and we can discuss later why our favorite Asian genius felt the need to consume day-old sushi."

The girl closed her eyes and felt something bitter rise in her gut: there was a time being teased, in front of her students and colleagues would have been a disaster.

Now, it barely registered.

Lunchtime arrived and found Miranda sitting by herself, absently poking at a plate of food with a fork. With her free hand, she lightly fingered the cuff of the white, oversized hoodie Sam had gotten her for her birthday. It practically swallowed up the young girl in its folds, but it was comforting in those painful moments when she was in despair.

Like now.

She swallowed and gently touched her chest; her expression twisting into a grimace of pain.

Why can't I stop feeling like this?

"'The drink would not satisfy, food turned to ash in our mouths, nor all the company in the world would harm or slake our lust. We are cursed men, Miss Turner. Compelled by greed, we were. But now, we are consumed by it!'"

A ghostly smile flickered across Miranda's face as Sam came wheeling up from behind.

"Do I truly look that miserable?"

"And a half," the blonde girl replied, "I heard you crashed and burned in class, with Schrödinger of all things."

"Word travels fast," the other girl muttered, humiliated.

"Facebook, even more so."

Miranda groaned in dismay and sunk her head into her hands as Sam took the girl's hood in her hand.

"Whenever the hood is up on this thing and it's indoors, I know that all is not well in 'Miri-land'."

"It's really not," the other girl replied as she pushed back her hood.

Sam managed to suppress a gasp of dismay and only squeezed the armrests of her wheelchair at the sight of Miranda:

The color was gone from her face; her lips, cheeks, even her beautiful violet eyes seemed dulled and unfocused.

"I'm tired, Sammy. I think I want to go home and just go to bed."

Sam's sapphire eyes went wide, "Baby, the last few days are the healthiest I've ever seen you, I thought maybe you were, you know, over it?"

A slight curl of the lip, "No more so than you're able to 'get over' being stuck in that chair," she replied affectionately.

Wordlessly, Sam wheeled up next to her, lifting the rail on her chair, she wrapped an arm around her lover and pulled her to herself; resting her Miranda's head against her shoulder; her blonde hair entwining with the other girl's dark locks.

"It's going to be okay, Miri."

"I hurt, Sammy," she sniffled.

"I know baby," she placed a kiss on her brow, "Me too."

"Do you hate me?"

"I could never hate you," Sam smiled, "Who else am I going to find to perform cunnilingus at dawn regularly?"

Miranda laughed then, a short burst of humor and love, "That's going to become a daily tradition, is it?"

"After the other day? Hell yes! My favorite memory from this week so far."

"That's not difficult, given the kind of week we've had."

"Touché," Sam disentangled herself from her lover and gave Miranda one last peck on the cheek before settling back into her chair, "Come on, we'll go home, watch some bad anime, drink wine and pass out. It'll be fun!"

Miranda's expression turned wry at that.

"I'm sure you thin--."

"So then, the limey tells Marcus here that he feels 'Good enough to fuck your mother!' and then Marcus just starts stomping his ass."

Billy!

The girl's looked at each other with an identical looks horror.

"Ohshitohshitohshit," Sam was beginning hyperventilate.

"Quick, hide!"

"I'm in a wheelchair, where am I going to hide?"

"Try to look inconspicuous then!"

"Still in a wheelchair here!"

The girls settled for backing as far away from the group as possible. There were six of them; as thickly built and full of hateful glee as they were at the party.

"I just liked it when Jeff over here tried to snap the fucker's stick and cracked his kneecap."

There was laughter except for one particularly loud voice,

"Fuck you!"

Jeff or 'Billy' as the girls had come to known him came stomping into clearer view, there was a brace on one of his knees and he has pants were ludicrously baggy to conceal an abnormally large bulge.

"Yeah, how's that diaper treating you, man? They manage to save both your balls?"

The group cackled as Miranda and Sam exchanged glances.

'Grey,' she mouthed silently.

'No shit,' the other girl replied.

"Yeah well, at least I got myself a trophy," Jeff replied as he slammed down Grey's walking stick onto the table, "Still bits of blood and I think I got a tooth as well."

A vicious chorus, from the men assembled at the table, rose at that comment.

Miranda focused on the stick: it was, indeed, his stick. His stick. The stick he used to protect her and Sam from their own foolishness. Now the stick that had been turned against him at the hands of jackals to exact their hollow revenge and assuage their wounded pride; they had no right to it, they had no right to anything from him!

"Fuck me," Samantha whispered echoing the other girl's thoughts, "they took the hickory stick to him. No wonder his rib cage was felt like broken glass."

Miranda shook her head trying to clear it; a tremendous roaring sound was in her ears and she felt like her chest was going to explode as a sensation of tremendous pressure inside her threatening to detonate her heart and blast it from her body.

So this is what 'hate' feels like.

When Sam got a look at her lover's face she nearly had a heart attack: Never in her life had she seen Miri ever like this: her face was twisted horrifically into a visage of pure, murderous rage.

"So, I'm going to find him; bust a cap in his ass," Jeff continued, miming a gun with his thumb and forefinger, "Then find me that tasty gook pussy and her cripple fuck toy, bang them both to death in the handicapped parking lot and then dump them off into a river or something."

Sam heard Miranda make a...sound; something that she had never heard from a human being; it was primal, but between it and the look in Miranda's eyes; violet and enraged, it all pointed to trouble.

The blonde girl opened her mouth to say 'Miri, don't do anything stupid, please.'

She made as far as, "M—".

With a shriek like a banshee freshly ripped from the pits of Hell, Miranda snatched up her tray and proceeded to swing for the fences upside the back of Jeff's head. The plastic tray broke with a cracking sound that tore through the air as loud as a gunshot. Jeff's head slammed into the table with such force that it recoiled and he nearly tumbled backwards out of his chair.

"Holy shit!" Sam cried out as she wheeled as fast as she could towards the ensuing carnage.

Dazed, Jeff swung a fist reflexively aiming somewhere behind himself to keep his attacker at bay.

Aikido training in full effect and Miranda gripped his wrist in her slender hand and applied as much torque as she could as she yanked the limb causing it to hyperextend and lock into place.

The young man cried out in pain as she continued to pull and twist his arm, her other hand grabbed the back of his head.

"That's for Grey!" she screamed as she levered his head into the table.

"That's for Sam!" a second blow and Miranda heard his nose break.

She released the hold she had on his hair and looked at him for a moment, considering.

Screw it!

Applying every ounce of her strength and weight, she twisted the arm almost completely around, jerked the arm up and backwards for leverage and slammed her elbow into his shoulder with all of her hatred. Jeff screamed as Miranda felt the joint dislocate.

"And that's for me, you son-of-a-bitch!"

The other people sitting at the table were taken completely by surprise, but one of them; the one called 'Marcus' stormed over to Miranda.

Sam intercepted him as Miranda finished with Jeff.

"Get your crippled ass out of my way, bitch," he growled.

Sam looked up at the sky, as if contemplating.

"Let me think," She brought her eyes back down to meet his, "No." Then she frowned; there was a very familiar looking locket dangling from his neck.

"Nice locket," she hissed, "Friend of mine used to have one just like it."

Marcus's attention wavered for a moment as he looked down.

Sam lifted herself up off her wheel chair and slammed her foot into his throat with all the power that rage and rigorous physical therapy could muster.

Marcus reeled backwards even as Sam gritted her teeth in pain. Not willing to let him recover, she dropped herself back into her chair and slammed her fist hard into his guts. Marcus folded over until he was roughly eyelevel with Sam.

"This doesn't belong to you...," she snarled and tearing the necklace from his neck. She grabbed his head in her hands, "...'bitch'!"

Sam smashed her skull into Marcus's face.

The other man clutched the ruin of his broken face and collapsed.

"Fear me and my Krogan head-butt of death!" she cast a look back at Miranda, "I'm starting to see what Grey sees in this; it's kind of festive," she then winced, rubbing her brow, "Ow, and painful."

Miranda wasn't paying attention; instead, she had her eyes fixated on the other people sitting at the table before them.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07



"If you or any of you kuso-eating cocksuckers ever comes near the people I care about again I will end you!"

The remaining men at the table assessed the situation: they had the strength of numbers, were clearly stronger than either girl, and were in peek physical condition.

Their opposition: a pair of science geeks; one, a small Asian girl and the other was in a wheelchair.

Having assessed the situation, the remaining men took that opportunity to run for their lives.

Jeff was trying to get to his feet; Miranda was having none of it as she snatched up the stick and brought high over her head.

"Miranda!"

Miranda whirled around to face her lover, "What?"

Sam gestured to the people surrounding them and slowly Miranda became aware of them. They looked horrified by what had happened. She realized that she was panting; that there were flecks of blood on her hoodie, her arms hurt and her hands were shaking.

"I don't...," she frowned in confusion. The reality of the situation was crashing in on her, reflected in the looks of confusion and condemnation, "Sam, what have I done?"

"Miri," she gestured to a pair of men in uniforms, campus security, "These two men need us to go with them, okay?"

A long moment before Miranda nodded, "Yes, of course," she handed the stick to Sam, "I think it would be better if you were to hold onto this for me."

Sam managed a brave smile as she took the stick, "I think you're right," she caught Miranda's slender hand in hers and kissed it, "Everything is going to be okay, Miri, don't be afraid."

Miranda just nodded again and, scraped up as much dignity as she could manage and began to follow the others out of the dining hall.

She stopped suddenly and turned to address the crowd,

"I'm sorry, I've--" she cleared her throat, trying to make the words that could somehow make this right, "There's no excuse. I'm just so sorry...about everything." She looked around and saw hope as the faces of a few people as severity was replaced with sympathy on a few of them.

"Come on, Miri. Time to go."

---------------------------------------------------

"If someone had told me this morning," President Ceran Vega began, "that two of my most brilliant colleagues; specifically these two colleagues," he gestured at the girls, "would find themselves on disciplinary charges for getting into a fist-fight in the dining room, I'd have called them insane."

"Ditto," Sam commented.

"Yes, sir," Miranda chimed in.

The older man exhaled and sat down in his chair: in his fifties and President of Cal-tech, Doctor Ceran Vega had been the head of the physics department before Luke. In his day, he had been the protégé wunderkind and was, had been (and still was) considered a genius in physics and mathematics, as well as being an accomplished painter. Now he busied himself with the running of one of the most prestigious institutions of learning in the world, oftentimes fulfilling both the academic responsibilities of a dean with the logistical and financial duties of a school president. It was however, widely rumored that he could still hold in his own on any matter whether it is the sciences or the arts.

His hair and neatly trimmed beard were white with deeply tanned skin and an accent he had brought from his homeland of Catalonia, Sam enjoyed calling him 'The Most Interesting President of Cal-Tech in the World.'" Unfortunately, humor was not the tone of today's meeting.

He was flanked by Luke and Isabel, who had been contacted immediately after the girls had been taken into custody by campus security. They were the closest either girl had as far as an advocate.

And right now, nobody in the room looked happy.

"I just received a phone call from UCLA," Vega began as everyone else in the room inwardly groaned in dismay, "They take exception to the fact that you two felt the need to cripple their two wingers, right as the season is getting started."

"Tell them we take exception to having their 'two wingers' trying to rape us to death and murder our friends!"

Every set of eyes in the room widened at Sam's comment: taking this tone with anyone, let alone the President of the school, was the equivalent of throwing down the gauntlet and giving the opponent the finger.

"Sam..." Miranda whispered, suddenly very afraid as she saw Isabel and Luke exchange horrified looks as Sam glared defiantly at the older man behind the desk.

The President, however, was a man of letters and a classical gentleman; he closed his eyes and exhaled before opening them again.

"Doctor Adler, that's a very damning accusation, would you be willing to recount the story?" he asked.

"And, in a civil tone, would be a good idea, doctor," Isabel added, her tone more than a little frosty.

Sam swallowed and sighed, "Right, sorry sir."

Vega simply nodded and gestured for her to continue.

"We went to a frat party—" Luke and Isabel both scoffed in disbelief, rolling their eyes.

"Was it on campus?" Doctor Vega asked quietly.

Sam nodded, "Yes, it might have once been a frat house, but I think it's a private residence now."

Luke snorted loudly, "That has to be the old Alpha Chi Ro house, real class act," he saw the questioning looks from the two girls at the opposite end of the table, "Trust me, it's still a frat but they're just squatters now instead of any kind of recognized chapter. Even when they were official though; they were scum: A real 'father to son' tradition of sick shit; they had names like 'roofie-roof house' and 'rape-o-rama'."

Almost everyone shuddered in disgust at that and even the President looked suddenly a bit more unsettled.

"So what happened to them?" Sam asked quietly.

Luke nodded in Isabel's direction, who just shook her head.

"No," a single syllable that spoke volumes, but with an undeniable finality.

"Right now, that's not the focus of this conversation," Vega dragged the talk back on track, "They were finally stripped of their charter and dissolved, it was one of my first acts as President."

"And one of your best," Isabel added very quietly. Sam gave her a long look: Isabel had always spoken well of Doctor Vega and she'd always assumed it was because they shared a similar background and heritage. Now, however, she was beginning to suspect, there might be more to it.

The President pinched the bridge of his nose in tension, "I still remember the number of former members who threatened to sue because their sons had not been able to partake in the same...activities as they had."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Sam commented.

"Get in line," Miranda countered.

"All right then, if these students are associated in any way with former members of A.C.R., that's very damning information," he steepled his fingers, thinking, "Of course, they're not technically students here, so that complicates things."

"Someone invited them there," Luke spoke up.

"True and I'd be very interested in knowing exactly who that 'someone' is and what their relationship is to A.C.R.

"Does UCLA have a chapter?"

The older man shook his head, "No, no after the debacle here, all official affiliates dissolved."

"I noticed you said, 'official'," Miranda commented quietly.

A humorless smile crossed Vega's lips, "Very good, Doctor Inoue," he cleared his throat, "The fact of the matter is that the spirit of the A.C.R. is alive and well in this country, in a dozen different states: all under different names and funded through 'private investors'."

"Meaning, 'former members'?"

"Yes."

Sam groaned and rested her head back against the armrest, "Ten million frats in the world and I have to pick the one that even Caligula wouldn't have anything to do with."

Everyone smirked at that and Isabel moved closer to Luke; who quickly wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her a comforting squeeze.

"They're monsters," the dusky skinned woman said.

Sam favored her with a savage grin, "Yeah, well, they met something way more monster than anything they or their rich daddies could handle."

"Grey?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Grey."

"Yes, the witnesses to the...," he gave Sam a measuring look; "...incident said that you were attacking them for 'Sam and Grey'. Who is this person exactly, a friend?"

Both girls nearly choked as they attempted to hold back and instead settled for a prolonged coughing fit.

"Did I say something funny, Doctors?" asked Vega, politely.

"No sir," Miranda calmed herself with more ease than her lover, "It's just a bizarre notion to call Grey 'a friend', and he doesn't do the whole 'friend' thing at least not with nice, sane, people like us.

"I see," Vega replied with a quirked eyebrow.

"That man," Sam began, "is a deranged, chain-smoking, booze-swilling megalomaniac. He's got no conscience, probably no heart, he lies with every breath that he takes and when he isn't busy lying he's using us as target practices for his insults."

"Sounds like a good person to stay away from," the other man commented.

"Yeah," Sam sighed before her expression turned forlorn, "He's also brave to a fault, asks for nothing no matter what he does, honors his word always, and saved our lives at that stupid party and nearly was beaten to death by those sons of—!"

"Sam!" Miranda hissed.

"—people afterwards!"

"I see. This sounds very complicated," Doctor Vega replied.

"That's a good word for it."

Isabel gave them both a humoring smile, which made the girls, in turn, very happy. The sight of her unhappy was upsetting them both.

President Vega spoke up, "So, you met this 'Grey' at the party?"

Miranda nodded, "Yes, Sam and I arrived and one thing led to another and—"

"Miri," Sam interrupted placing a hand on the other girl's thigh, "don't sugar coat it, I'm a big girl," she turned to face Vega, "I got drunk and wound up surrounded by a group of guys."

"The men in the dining hall this afternoon, I take it?"

"Yes sir," Sam cleared her throat, this was still not easy to talk about, "They were bragging about how they were going to...share me," Miranda felt Sam's fingernails dig into her leg, but she only placed her hand over the other girl's and squeezed.

"I see," and there was no missing the loathing Doctor Vega felt for these men, in his tone,

"And then?"

"And then Grey...called them out."

"He did what?"

"He called them out," Sam repeated and a smile started to creep across her face, replacing the pain, "He spewed the most vile insults I have ever heard," she gestured to Isabel, "and I've seen you wasted on tequila shots."

Everyone's eyes calmly shifted to Isabel who shrugged, "Hey you celebrate Christmas your way, I do it mine."

"Feliz Navidad," Luke commented.

"You were saying?" Doctor Vega interjected.

"Right," Sam regained her train of thought, "anyhow, I guess they weren't in the 'raping' mood then, given all the attention that Grey was directing at them."

"Clever," Vega mused quietly, "I assume that the other point of this was to provoke a physical confrontation?"

"Boy howdy! The big one, Jeff, he was the worst of them and he just charged Grey full on."

"I take it from that ludicrously gleeful expression on your face, Doctor Adler, that that was a mistake?"

Sam blushed and suddenly became aware to the fact that she was grinning somewhat maniacally.

"Sorry, it was just..." she searched for the right word, "...flawless."

"'Flawless, Doctor Adler? What do you mean?

"I mean that Grey just disassembled that sorry son-of-a--," Miranda sent her a warning look, "—person. He made a big show of it too; he didn't just beat the guy up, he humiliated him in front of everyone, it was incredible!"

"He's had training," Miranda added, in a more reserved tone, "And a working knowledge of human anatomy," she cleared her throat, "He would call out the different parts of the body he was attacking. He would call out 'Liver!' and then lecture on what the purpose of the liver was and what happened if it were injured before proceeding to injure it.

Liver, solar plexus, diaphragm, he turned it into some kind of...game, like he was showing off that he knew exactly how to hurt him, not just being able to beat him. It was...," Miranda licked her lips; Sam would not appreciate this next bit.

"Was?" Doctor Vega prompted.

"Torture, doctor, he tortured the boy...and he liked it."

"What the fuck?!" Sam cried, "Are you out of your fucking mind?! He saved both our lives!"

"He's a sadistic monster, Sam, and you need to get your head around that, instead of treating him like some kind of a hero!"

"Look, just because he's got your panties and brain matter in a bind--!"

"Ahem," Doctor Vega interrupted quietly and both girls turned red.

"Sorry," they both muttered.

"I have one question," Isabel spoke up, "Why?"

Sam frowned, "Why what?"

"Why did he help you? He doesn't sound like the 'saving' type."

Sam gestured at her lover, "Ask 'Binty' over here, she's the one that made the pitch."

Miranda seethed as she glared at her girlfriend, "You are going to pay for that later."

"Bite me."

"Ladies!" Isabel shouted and both of them began paying attention.

"Because I begged him to."

Doctor Vega's eyebrows rose sharply, "Doctor Inoue, I've known you now for over six years; you are a brilliant individual with the pride to match. You have never shown me or anyone else for that matter, an iota of deference," Miranda opened her mouth to object, "Respect, yes, you are respectful; but with every person that I have seen you interact with, they rank no higher than 'equal' with you. So how, exactly did this individual have you groveling?"

"I didn't grovel!" Miranda spat, then caught herself, "Sorry, sir. I didn't grovel," she sighed quietly, "First I tried to bribe him but he wasn't interested. Next, I offered," she ivory skin turned red.

"You didn't!" Isabel exclaimed, as Luke's mouth sagged open and even President Vega seemed taken aback.

"I did," she exhaled hard, "but again, he wasn't interested."

"No money? No sex?" Luke sent his wife a wry look, "There goes my playbook."

"And yet," she replied affectionately before turning back to face Miranda, "What did ultimately sway him?"

"Yeah," Sam interjected, "I've always wondered that too."

Miranda looked thoroughly miserable, "I said...'Do it because you're a decent man, the kind of man who won't stand by and let a girl get raped'." The pain in her chest magnified tenfold as she struggled not to break down into tears right there. Instead, she said, "Of course, I know better now, he is no kind of man 'decent' or otherwise."

"Jesus Miri," Sam exclaimed, "Who pissed in your corn flakes?"

"But he did...help, in the end?" Luke asked.

Miranda looked bone weary, but she managed to nod, "Yes, yes he did."

"That's remarkable," Isabel said; her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"See? Big damn hero moment," Sam replied.

"Whatever," Mirada said miserably; she hoped everyone thought it was because she disagreed with her lover when the truth was even more terrible; she agreed with Sam with all her heart.

And it made her want to die.

"All right, let me make certain I have the facts," Doctor Vega coughed once and began to recite, "The two of you went to the former A.C.R. house at a party where you proceed to get drunk—"

"I did," Sam interrupted, "sir, Miri was stone sober."

"Thank God," Luke commented.

"Noted, now," The President consulted his notes, "It was at this point that several members of the aggrieved party—"

"The what?" Sam asked querulously.

"The guy your girlfriend went all 'Al Capone' on with the plastic tray," Luke replied, miming a swinging motion.

"Oh, you mean the attempted rapists-slash-murderers?"

"Doctor Adler," Vega spoke up in a voice that brooked no insolence, "did they actually, and in front of witnesses make public their intent to murder one or both of you?"

Sam sighed, "At the party, they were going to stop at gang rape, by their talk."

"They never stop at anything, period," Isabel commented quietly, "They would have killed you Sam...or make you wish that they had."

Sam went deathly pale even as Luke took his wife's hand in his own and squeezed hard, "Izzy...?"

Doctor Vega remained silent for a moment, letting the tension drain out of the room before continuing, "After Grey had subdued Jeff, I assume the three of you left?"

Miranda nodded, "Yes sir."

"And that was the end of it?"

"Not exactly."

"The bastards jumped him," Sam growled.

"Yes, that matches the additional information I've received," he checked his notes, "Apparently, at some point after the original incident," Sam opened her mouth and Miranda slapped her hand over it while shushing her with the other hand, "That Mr. Hillsgrove got into another physical altercation with a as-yet unknown assailant during which...," his voice trailed off as he scrutinized the text in disbelief.

"...during which the assailant castrated him."

"He castrated him?!" Miranda gaped.

"No fucking way," Sam crowed her eyes wide as everyone shared looks of shock and disbelief.

"He was stabbed in the scrotum with a shard of glass. Then the assailant broke it off inside the wound. Infection set in and Mr. Hillsgrove's testicles had to be removed."

"Oh, that's just too cool for words," Sam cackled.

"You are enjoying this way too much, love," Miranda admonished.

"He mutilates the man who tried to rape you with a piece of dirty glass to facilitate infection which leads ultimately to castration," Isabel commented quietly, "I like him."

"You would," Luke replied with a smirk.

"Count me in too, I think that's awesome," Sam laughed.

"It was an act of cruelty and sadism," Miranda snapped, "There was nothing 'cool' or 'awesome' about it."

"Also it was very illegal," Doctor Vega added, "the authorities should be notified."

"Do you want his home address, Doctor?"

"Miranda Inoue, so help me, if you rat out this man after everything that's happened, I will kick your skinny ass so hard, your nose will bleed!" Sam snarled.

Subdued for the moment, Miranda settled back into a resentful silence; her eyes full of poison.

President Vega took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, "All right, here is the situation: I have a tough time believing that anyone at the party will be willing to corroborate your story, girls. If the host was, in fact, a member of the A.C.R. then it'll be your word against theirs."

"And those bastards close ranks instantly," Isabel spat out.

"Agreed," Vega cleared his throat, "So all we really have is several eyewitnesses that saw you launch what appeared to be an unprovoked attack against a star athlete from a rival university."

"You cannot be fucking serious," Sam said in shock.

"I'm not finished," he held a hand up to silence her, "However, I am fairly confident that all those involved would prefer not to be under any kind of official scrutiny aside. Mister Hillsgrove and his associates aside; if it was discovered that a chapter of the A.C.R. or any kind of variation of it was operating under the noses of the officials at U.C.L.A. the fall out would be considerable."

"How 'considerable'?" Sam asked, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"Considerable that it would cost some people their jobs, open many people to litigation, and make everyone look incompetent at best, apathetic or even complacent at worse," the President consulted his notes, "They don't want that."

Sam sighed in relief, "So, we're good?"

"I'm afraid not, Doctor Adler. Whatever Doctor Inoue reasons were, she still committed assault on a visiting student who has yet to be conclusively linked to any wrong doing," he gestured at Sam, "Your name has yet to come up because frankly, no one is willing to acknowledge the fact that a young lady in a wheelchair laid out one of U.C.L.A.'s best hockey players."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07



"We beat up hockey players?" the blonde girl laughed, "Cool!" Then she noticed the looks she was getting from everyone else and promptly settled down.

"What do they want?" Miranda asked quietly, not daring to look Doctor Vega in the eye.

"They require a scapegoat, Doctor Inoue, so that they can at least appear to be able to enforce their policies to those who are invested in the school's future."

"Meaning the money people," Sam spat, "What's their policy regarding rape and murder?"

"I am told by the head of their athletics department that 'an internal investigation' is pending."

"Meaning 'nothing'."

"Meaning 'nothing'."

"Fuck that!"

"Why?!" Isabel asked in an anguished voice.

"Do you want the truth, Isabel?"

"Jesus, Ceran, yes, of course."

"Because Mr. Hillgrove's father is one of the largest donors UCLA has. And because the men responsible for these crimes have won four state championships and at least one division championship," he sent a sideways look at Sam, "This has brought the school a tremendous amount of money and support."

"These fuckers get to buy their way out of this?!" Sam yelled.

Doctor Vega fixed her with a calm look until she settled down, "Without proof, the school is unwilling to launch any kind of public inquiry; they're worried that it would tarnish the reputation of the school and their athletics department, which is one of their prime sources of income and a fair amount of donations."

"There has to be someone over there willing to help," Luke broke in, "Ceran, I've been to UCLA. There are good people there, some of the best years of my career were there, and they're decent people."

Isabel nodded, "They have some of the most socially progressive programs anywhere. For God's sake, they've got a relationship with The Center for Men and Women that goes back years; they offer training, seminars, grants, counseling, even security when needed."

"I know, I've adapted several of their ideas for use here," Vega replied.

"Then why the hell are they doing this?"

"'They' aren't, Professor Amarel, you must understand, this is not official. This is not the work of UCLA as an institution. This is a private matter involving a very, very, small faction within the school that in no way represents neither it, nor those who associate themselves with it. It is a faction that has influence in many departments, not just athletics," he scratched his beard, "This is not a case of 'dumb jocks', this is a matter of privilege and--."

"Politics," Luke added quietly.

"Correct, Professor," Vega replied.

Miranda hung her head and began to cry quietly; everything was falling apart and it was all because of him.

Sam was too wound up to notice, "Okay, hold the Goddamn phone here, what exactly do they want? Jail?"

"No, for incarceration, a very thorough and thus, very unwanted, investigation would be necessary. Those involved prefer that this be settled quietly."

"Meaning they don't get their hands dirty."

"Yes."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"What are these people asking for?" Miranda said quietly.

"Your dismissal from Cal-Tech as well as denial of tenure now or in the future. You would essentially be black-listed with this school and any school affiliated with us."

"Fuck you!" Sam burst out and Professor Vega slammed his fist onto the table.

"Enough!" he roared, causing everyone to jump. His face had taken a flushed color under his beard as he ran a shaking hand through his hair, "Do any one of you truly believe that I'm happy about this? That I'm being forced to strip one of our best and brightest of her rightful accolades to appease a band of thugs with deep pockets?"

"If it bothers you so much," Sam seethed, "Then don't do it."

"Is that an option?" Luke spoke up as Isabel was trying to catch her breath, "What happens if we don't do what they want? You just said they don't have official sanction."

"They don't now," Doctor Vega explained, "but they can rent some, if you take my meaning."

"Oh, fuck me," Sam groaned.

"She goes, I go," Isabel said quietly.

"As Isabel goes, so goes my nation," Luke added.

Sam fixed the President with a level look, "What do you think?"

"I think that Doctor Inoue is very lucky to have people like you in her life," he replied, "And I would join you, were I in a position to do so."

Miranda sniffled and wiped at her eyes, sniffling.

"Thank you, all of you."

"There is," President Vega began haltingly, "an alternative."

Everyone's eyes suddenly lit up.

"What? What is it?" Sam demanded.

Vega folded his hands on his desk, "The man leading this...I suppose 'witch hunt' wouldn't be totally inaccurate, is Jeff Hillsgrove's father, Edward Hillsgrove.

"Wait a second," Isabel cut in, "Wasn't he one of those assholes who threatened to sue after you dissolved the A.C.R.?"

"He was certainly the loudest and most fervent," Vega shook his head, "A bully and a liar in private life as well."

"Like father, like son," Sam growled.

"You mentioned an alternative?" Miranda interrupted.

"I did. Out of all the events that have transpired, the one that is causing the most antagonism was Jeffery's mutilation at the hands of your friend," he paused for a moment and plowed on, "in addition to being a particularly gruesome act, it was seen as a direct insult and a point of humiliation. This is not something the Hillsgrove family will let pass."

Sam felt a growing dread in her stomach, "What are you suggesting?"

"If you cooperate with the authorities and assist in the apprehension and incarceration of your friend Grey, that should be enough to appease them and you can keep your positions."

"No!" Sam yelled.

"Fine," Miranda said quietly.

Sam snapped her head around, "What the fuck?!?"

"I said 'fine', we'll cooperate."

"Like hell!" Sam whirled to face the President, "What'll they do to him?"

"I won't lie to you; it'll be bad."

"How bad?"

"The Hillsgrove's are wealthy, Doctor Adler, and their associates even more so. They'll all fall in line behind them to 'make an example' out of Mr. Grey.

Sam was beginning to have trouble breathing, "How?"

"It's an election year, Sam, and prosecuting the man who castrated the son of one of the upper one percent would result in a great deal of votes and campaign contributions. Convicting Mr. Grey would earn him the gratitude of the people that your associate has made an enemy of. That gratitude can practically guarantee reelection for as long as they wish."

"So, what, they send him to prison for the rest of his life?" Sam sputtered, "That's....that's..."

"The best case scenario," Luke spoke up, suddenly sounding very tired.

Sam jerked her eyes up to him, "What do you mean?!" she demanded.

"You are aware that California still practices the death penalty, right?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat, "No, nononononn, fuck that, that's murder in the first, that little shit is still alive, they don't gas you for that."

"Given the nature of the injury, it could be argued that it was 'attempted murder'," Luke replied, "You said it yourself; he knows anatomy, he could have been aiming for the femoral artery and just missed and got his balls instead."

"Technically, I didn't say that," Sam hissed, turning a baleful look on her lover. The other girl just sat there, "but still, 'attempted' murder isn't shit."

Isabel sighed and spoke up, "Sam, who passes sentences?"

"Judges, why?"

"And after a judge is appointed, how do they maintain their title after their original term is up?"

"Through elect...," Sam squeezed her eyes shut as a pain lanced through her, "Oh fuck me running."

"As I said," President Vega said quietly, "A man with no money, no ties, probably a transient, were he to be 'made an example of', few people would care and it would earn a lot of support by those who consider themselves the wronged party.

"I would care," Sam whispered before shaking head, "No, fuck that, they can have my resignation, I could give a damn. Where do I sign?"

"No."

Everyone looked at Miranda.

"Miri?" Sam whimpered.

"I said 'no'," she cleared her throat, "If they want him, they can have him," her eyes were rimmed in red and tears stained her face, but her voice was steady.

"Miri, are you crazy? They just got done saying they'll try to execute him!"

"He has it coming."

The shock in the room was palpable as Miranda tear-stained violet eyes with President Vega with a hollow stare.

"What do I need to do?"

"You bitch!!!!!"

Sam launched herself at the other girl and they both crashed to the ground.

"Why?! Why?! Why?! You hateful, ungrateful spoiled bitch!!" Sam pummeled the other girl who just simply lay there, unmoving with an empty gaze.

"Sam, that's enough!" Isabel yelled as she nearly vaulted over the table to pull her off.

Sam dug into her pockets and threw a fistful of spare change in Miranda's face, "Here's your thirty fucking pieces of silver, fucking Judas."

"Doctor Adler!" President Vega shouted as Luke and Isabel pried the girl off Miranda.

"Let me go, I'm going to kill her!" Sam roared, struggling mightily against the other adults.

"Sam, stop, you'll break something!"

"Fucking 'A' I will, I'm hoping for this bitch's jaw!"

"Enough!" President Vega physically separated the two, shielding Miranda from Samantha's rage whilst Luke and Isabel secured her back into her chair.

"God damn, for a girl that's supposedly 'handicapped', she puts up a hell of a fight," Luke commented, breathing hard from the effort of grappling with the girl, "She should try out for varsity wrestling, she'd make a killing."

"Bitch...," Sam hissed.

"Enough," Doctor Vega repeated as he helped Miranda up: she was bleeding from her nose, but otherwise looked unharmed.

"He saved our fucking lives, Miri! He nearly got himself killed because of it. He gave us the means and resources to help me walk again!"

"So?"

Sam broke down then and began crying; hard painful sobs.

"Miranda...," Luke said. She fixed him with a dead stare that chilled his blood.

"Why are you doing this, Miri?" Sam sobbed.

"It's complicated."

"'It's compli--?!'," Sam couldn't finish and continued to weep.

"I believe," President Vega said quietly, "that this conversation should be held in private. He moved across the room and opened an adjoining door to reveal a conference room. "Here, this should suffice," he turned to face the others, "I believe you'll have the privacy you need to resolve this matter here."

"Provided they don't kill each other," Luke added grimly as the girls moved into the empty room and closed the door behind them.

Then it was just Sam, Miranda, and the atrocity that had become their lives.

"Why, Miri? For God's sake, why?!"

"It's compli—"

"Don't you fucking dare say 'it's complicated'!"

Miranda just looked down at her hands.

"Help me understand, one moment you beat the hell out of the guy responsible for hurting him, your exact words "This is for Grey!"."

"Yes."

"And now, you're going to throw him under the bus."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want him dead."

Miranda's mouth sagged open; this was not her Miranda.

"'Dead', are you fucking serious? So he yelled at you and shoved you around a bit, yeah it was a dick move, but you did a pretty good job of provoking the hell out of him, and even if you hadn't, this is still not worth killing over."

"It is to me."

"Why the fu--?"

"Because I hate him!!"

Sam jumped back in her chair. Miranda's face was twisted by anger, grief, and pain and transforming her into a person that Sam did not know, and was not entirely certain she wanted to know.

"I hate him Sammy; I hate him because he makes me weak."

Sam felt a maelstrom of feelings flooding her; smashing her heart against her ribs, like a ship thrashed against the ocean in the heart of a tempest. She felt the rage pounding in her veins, her head hurt, her heart hurt, and all she wanted to do was to hurt the person responsible.

All of these things and more passed through her consciousness in the heartbeat following Miranda's words.

Miri...

"'Life is a storm, my young friend!'" Sam cried out.

Miranda stopped dead as the other girl licked her bee-stung lips and shouted at the top of her lungs.

"'Life is a storm, my young friend! You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes'."

The dark haired girl looked thoroughly confused as Sam plowed on,

"'You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you: as Albert Mondego, the man!'"

Sam grabbed Miranda's hands and pulled the girl to her, placing her pale hands on her chest before folding her own hands over them.

"I am yours, Miranda Inoue. I am yours completely: in body, in heart, in mind, and in soul. I shall always love you and I shall never abandon you," Sam felt tears pushing their way past her eyes and could say Miranda was enduring the same.

"So, I say unto you, Miranda; my life, my love, my joy; no rocks shall shatter my love for you, no storm shall drown my love for you," her voice caught, "S---So, do your worst, for I shall do mine!"

She released her grip on Miranda's hands and cupped her porcelain cheek.

"And the fates shall know you as Miranda Inoue, the keeper of my heart and soul, now and forevermore."

A pained wail served as the only herald as Miranda's last font of strength was spent and she collapsed into Sam's arms.

"Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry!" she cried.

"Shhh, none of that, Getseui," The other girl replied.

A short half-laugh, "Does that mean you're still my Toraaneko?"

"Then, now," Sam kissed her head, "...and always."

Miranda ran her hands up the blonde girl's back and clutched at her fiercely.

"Thank God," then she wept again bitterly, "How can I even begin to ask you to forgive me?"

"The bravest, kindest, and most amazing person I've ever met, once said something I'll never forget,

'Forgiveness is granted because it is needed, not because it is deserved,'" Sam pulled away gently, placing a finger under her lover's chin; bringing her shimmering eyes to meet her own,

"And you need to be forgiven."

The Asian girl's lower lip began to tremble as Sam ran her fingers through her hair and caressed her moon-kissed face.

"'You can remember things like hope, compassion, and mercy. To help you become who you were meant to be'."

"And who am I meant to be, Sammy?" Miranda asked as her eyes took a distant stare that spoke of a terrible loneliness.

"Oh sweetie," Sam cooed as she cupped her lover's face in her hands and once again looked deep into her eyes, "don't you know?"

Miranda just stared; her eyes raw and aching.

Sam leaned over and captured Miranda's mouth in a kiss; slow and sweet, a thing of astonishing purity that cleansed the spirit and healed the heart.

They parted and Sam leaned towards the girl's ear to answer,

"You were meant to be mine."

The dark-haired girl slumped against her lover as Sam's words absolved her and freed her of a terrible burden that felt like it had been there for a lifetime.

"'Dark have my dreams been of late...'" Miranda whispered, "I know your face."

Sam grinned lopsidedly as Miranda gently touched her cheek and kissed her palm. She pressed, nuzzled against her hand, "'Breathe the free air again' my love."

Miranda giggled, "Pretty sure that's not how it's supposed to go."

The girls were both fanatics for all things Tolkien; it had been something they bonded over when they were first getting to know each other. It always reminded them of happy (though simpler) times and both were perfectly aware of this.

"Did it make you happy?" Sam asked quietly.

"It really did."

"Then that's how it's supposed to go."

Miranda exhaled and then took a deep breath letting the free air fill her veins and calm her mind.

Exhaling again, she said, "I think I need to get some things off my chest."

"Is it going to be that shirt?"

Miranda laughed then and smiled; really smiled after what seemed like ages, her teeth were bright as stars and her eyes danced with the violet sparks of genius and love that Samantha adored so.

"I need to get this out. I shouldn't have been holding it inside," she sighed, "I tried to hide it Sammy, I thought it would be the end of us."

"It nearly was," Sam said gravely before giving herself a mental shake, "But things are back on track now. I'm not sure what happens next."

"Now," Miranda began, "Now, there are some things you need to know."

"About damn time."

"I think I might be fixated on Grey."

"What do you mean 'might'?"

Miranda shot the girl a dirty look, but she remained unfazed and finally Miranda hung her head.

"Yeah, okay, I guess I've earned that."

"You guess?"

"Shut up sweetie and let me do this."

Samantha snickered but complied.

"I can't get him out of my head; he's like a cancer--."

"Stop," Sam interrupted, "Give me facts, not opinions. The less you either demonize or glorify the man, the easier this is going to be deal with."

Miranda considered that and nodded, "Okay, I can work with that," and Sam gestured for her to continue.

"It started the first day I met him," Miranda sighed in exasperation at the memory even as a smile seemed to creep unbidden to her face, "God, he was such an arrogant ass: in our first meeting, he knocked me over, made me drop all my stuff, and then proceeded to shout insults at me."

"But?"

The Asian girl's smile began to widen, "But he was so...intense. He seemed larger than life, just raw and unapologetic," she sent a sideways look to Sam; "I've never known a man like that."

"Yeah, I hear your mother keeps your fathers spine, balls, and brains in jars atop the mantel."

"Crude, but not incorrect," Miranda laughed humorlessly, "It's ironic: she comes down on me for not 'honoring my heritage' by refusing to conform to whatever stereotype she thinks Asian women should emulate, but in the kind of 'traditional marriage' she idolizes, she'd be beaten into paste."

"Hey, if anyone is going to beat your mother into goo, it's going to be me," Sam replied, "But we can suss out your mommy issues later. Continue with Grey."

Miranda inhaled deeply and exhaled, "He was the first example of masculine strength I've ever seen: confident, aggressive," she colored slightly, "and attractive."

"And it put the hook in you?"

"Like a sword fish."

"Nice analogy," Sam frowned, "Wait a second, you've had a boyfriend before."

"Yes...," Miranda drawled, "And he was very...nice."

"Wow, okay it sounds like Grey has this guy beat on the 'manly man' scale."

"Actually, you have him beat as well."

"Ouch!" Sam winced, "What did you see in him, the ex I mean?"

"He was nice-looking and he treated me well," Miranda shrugged unhappily, "And he said he loved me."

"Meanwhile the guy you're actually attracted to made his first impression by body checking you and yelling at you while you were lying wounded on the ground."

"Uh-huh, do I sound pathetic?"

"Worse; you sound lonely."

"That sounds accurate."

"Did you love him, the other guy?"

"I don't know," the other girl sighed.

"Okay, that means 'no'," Sam fixed a level look at her,

"Do you love Grey?"

Miranda opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again before slumping.

"No," she replied, "Love is a two way matter, like a Mobius strip; it feeds into itself and is infinite," she cleared her throat, "Love is an open heart, and his isn't. I do not love him. I am obsessed with him."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07



Sam exhaled in relief, "Well thank fucking God for that."

Miranda looked aghast, "Make that sound sane to me."

The blonde girl reached over and squeezed her knee, "Because, honey, obsession is a hell of a lot easier to cure than love."

"I dare you to make less sense."

"The rule of attraction: you're not in love with him, you've just got the hots for him, a crush if you will," Samantha gave her lover a wry look, "Are you attracted to him...?"

"You mean physically?"

Sam rolled her eyes, "No, I meant on an atomic level, I'm going to stick you two into the Hadron Supercollider—Yes, I mean physically!"

"Well, he's older."

"He's not THAT old, he's like Luke's age, tops."

"He's older than that; it's all over his face."

"No, sweetie, that would be the scar tissue."

"Good point."

Sam eyed her critically, "Are his scars a problem for you? For you being attracted to him?"

Miranda tried to come up with something else to say before sighing and shrugging, "No, not really."

"Good for you, very enlightened attitude," Sam squeezed Miri's hand, "So, you haven't said—"

"Yes!" Miranda cried out, "Yes, I'm attracted to him: the voice, the swagger, those eyes, the cheekbones! He's like this incredible combination of Sherlock Holmes and David Bowie if he were turned into a dragon! I want to grab him by the shoulders, straddle him, and fly him to distant lands where I would ravage the landscape and rule as its' queen!"

Miranda stopped to take a deep breath and then regarded her lover in wide-eyed horror, slapping a hand over her mouth.

Sam looked at her for a long while as the tension in the room thickened.

"Wow. That. Was. Hot!"

She threw her head back and cackled amongst a crown of golden hair, "Holy shit, Miri, where have you been hiding that?" Sam banged her armrests in a flurry of giddiness.

Miranda was breathing, her chest heaved and every inch of her ivory skin that could be seen was flushed scarlet.

"Huh?" Miranda squeaked.

"That is what is supposed to be: madness, sheer insanity!"

"You're not upset?"

"Do we really need to have this conversation again? No, not upset," Sam smirked, "All thought he's not Sherlock Holmes: you're Sherlock Holmes. He's Moriarty.

The dark-haired girl offered a small smile: "So we're destined to plunge to our deaths over Reichenbach Falls?"

"You are both banned from Switzerland," was Sam's only reply, "So, are you a virgin?"

Miranda proceeded to go into a violent coughing fit; her eyes wide.

"Awkward question, lover?" Sam asked innocently.

"I think I just inhaled a teaspoon of saliva into my lungs," Miranda gasped out.

"Charming," Sam pounded on Miranda's back attempting to help her regain control of her respiratory system.

"What do you mean, 'Am I a virgin'?"

"What part of the question was unclear?"

Miranda proceeded to sputter for a few moments and gurgle out a few aborted attempts at words.

"Oh dear, did Mommy and Daddy not have this talk with you?"

"I'm sorry, have you met my parents?"

"Only by reputation, which was more than enough," Sam cleared her throat as she took Miri's hands in hers and looked her straight in the eye, "I understand that, as far as our relationship goes, you are not a virgin. I am asking, have you ever had sexual intercourse with a guy?"

Miranda bit her lip and slowly shook her head, "No."

"Didn't think so," Sam laughed quietly, "So, since I know you've not had your cherry popped in the traditional manner..."

The lack of a hymen tip you off?" Miri replied, making a face at Sam's trademark bluntness in all manners sexual.

Sam stuck out her tongue, "This is a finely honed instrument; no virgin can pass beneath her touch unnoticed."

"You are now referring to your tongue in the third person."

"We're getting off track. What about your 'Samurai lover boy-toy'?"

Miranda made a face at Sam's choice of words, "Ugh, tacky."

"Quit dodging the question."

"No, we never had sex. We never even, I mean, I've never...," she was beginning to blush.

Sam began to grin a Cheshire grin, "You've never actually seen the great trouser beast?"

"Not as such," Miranda replied meekly.

Sam barked out a laugh and thumped her head back against her headrest, "Wow! That's just...wow!"

"And just how many 'trouser beasts' has the lifelong lesbian seen?"

"Just enough to know that they're not for me."

"Smart ass."

"Agreed."

The girls shared a laugh as they felt what felt like weeks of stress drain from them.

"Can't believe this has all been over just a few days," Sam murmured, echoing Miranda's thoughts.

"Feels more like a tour of duty."

"Amen," Sam replied, "I feel like I should be having a cigarette right now."

"Don't you dare," Miranda growled.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam reassured her, "I would never stain these beauties," as she leered toothily.

"Smart girl," Miranda brought the other girls hands up to her lips, kissing them, "I do have one question though."

"Shoot."

"Why on earth, in the middle of an argument, did you decide to start quoting 'The Count of Monte Cristo'?"

"Because anger is like perpetual motion," Sam replied, "Or like metal between magnets: it fuels itself in a fucked up loop of hostility; going back and forth, each impact rebounding with the force of the previous cruelty, until...," Sam brought her hands together and then apart, "...'ka-boom, you're single'."

"So the only way to stop the chain reaction is to break the cycle by introducing a variant to interrupt?" Miranda replied regarding her lover in amazement.

Sam caught the look and snorted, "Try not to look so surprised, sweetie, you're not the only one with a string of letters after her name," she leaned forward and pinched the other girl's cheek, "And even if I didn't: Newton's Third isn't exactly a secret."

"'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction'," Miranda answered automatically.

"That's my girl," Sam patted her cheek and settled back against her chair.

"I think we may be amongst the first to combine physics, behavioral psychology, and interpersonal relationships into a singular concept."

"I smell book deal."

Miranda squeezed the girl's hand again and kissed it, "So, what happens now?"

"Now...," Sam drawled with a grin before yanking her shirt up over her head exposing her large breasts clad in flimsy blue silk, "...comes the makeup sex."

Miranda's jaw dropped even as her mouth began to water, "You're not serious!"

Her response was a groan of relief as Sam undid the clasp of her bra, allowing her tanned breasts to spill free. She gently massaged the soft skin, lighting tracing her fingernails over her pink nipples instantly causing them to harden.

"The president of the school is right outside!" Miranda hissed.

Sam's response was to slowly lift one, heavy breast to her lips and casually swirl her pink tongue around her nipple.

Miranda groaned at the sight; she could feel heat flooding her loins and seep upon her thighs.

Sam began to moan in contentment as she suckled at her own soft skin; lapping at her breast and tracing circles around her hardened buds.

"Are you insane?!" Miranda nearly shrieked.

"Shhh," Sam said, bringing a finger to her lips, "Someone might hear." Her voice mocked and her tone was infused the kind of gravity that can only be present by someone who is not taking the situation seriously in the slightest.

"Are you insane?" the other girl hissed quietly.

Sam thought about it, placing a slender finger against her chin.

"Yes. Yes I am," With that Sam pushed herself up from out her seat and began to unbuckle her pants and try to shimmy herself out of them.

With a cry of need, Miranda surrendered herself to her need for this woman, her deepest love and her most sublime addiction.

She covered the distance between them in an instant, gathered the girl's face in both her hands and kissed her deep, hungrily and hard. Miranda's tongue battered its way past Sam's lips to entwine around hers. The girls tasted each other as the kiss continued, drinking in the way their love felt, dancing across their tongues like warm sugar.

Sam began to pull frantically at Miranda's shirt. She slid a hand under and cupped a small, firm breast; kneading it and working her way to the nipple where she began to rub and pull at it.

Miranda moaned at the feeling of Sam's fingers across her breast, her fingernails against her nipple; the girl could feel them getting hard as Sam continued to lavish attention upon her pale form.

"Get off," Sam growled as she continued to pull at Miranda's bra.

Miranda closed her eyes blissfully, a smile dominating her face, "Oh I am."

Sam grabbed her chin and jerked her forward to lock eyes with her.

"Get. This. Off."

"Oh," Miranda began to work at the clasp of her bra furiously. Finally, the garment came undone; she gripped Sam's head, jerked it forward, and thrust out her chest. Sam wasted no time as she latched onto one of her pale, puffy nipples and began to suck hungrily.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh....." Miranda hissed through clenched teeth. She pulled Sam from her chest, pulling her face up to her and kissed her; plunging her tongue into the other girl's mouth; they met and writhed in a wet inferno; burning away all the stress and madness, they had endured.

Sam spun her chair around and lifted Miranda up bodily, sitting her down upon the edge of the large conference table. Miranda collapsed backwards upon the table, and for a moment, she was blinded by the lights in the room, shining down on her like a spotlight. She felt Sam's hands rake down her chest, past her waist and opening the clasp to her jeans.

Miranda put up no resistance, lifting herself up as her pants and panties slithered free of her body. Sam took a moment to tear the girl's shoes off and yanked the bundle of clothes free from the pale girl's body with a quiet, primal sound of need. Miranda was completely naked save for her socks; her skin glowed under the bright lights of the meeting room.

Sam lifted herself free from her chair, gripped the edge of the table and hoisted herself to lie beside Miranda. Miranda's hands dove for the blonde girl's pants.

"Hurry Miri!" Sam whimpered, a needful, wanting sound.

Miranda lifted Sam's pelvis up and both girls worked to remove her pants. Soon they were a heap at the edge of the table, which Miranda kicked free of the world that she and Sam had suddenly created; a world where the only thing that mattered was each other.

Their arms wrapped around each other and they kissed; again and again, their mouths met, frenzied, inflamed. Miranda jumped slightly when Sam bit into her lip lightly; then moaned in ecstasy as the pain washed away in a new flood of pleasure.

Sam's full, bronzed breasts pinned Miranda's soft, white spheres; their nipples rubbed against each other with each pass, sending jolts through every nerve that ran through both of their bodies.

"I need to be in you," Sam hissed. Miranda only moaned and nodded hurriedly, taking the girl's hand and quickly placing it between her glistening thighs; coated in the juices of her need.

Sam's movements were quick, almost brutal with desire as she parted the girl's folds and slipped a finger inside her. Miranda gasped and threw her head back crying out as Sam added a second finger.

"Oh....God!" Miranda wrapped her legs and arms around Sam's muscular body and held on for dear life as Sam continued to dance her fingers around and inside her Cleft of Venus, as skilled as a virtuoso with a prized instrument.

The blonde girl's free hand reached out and gripped her lover's, entwining their fingers together; she stretched the smaller girl out, rendering her taunt and quivering in her vulnerability.

"I love you," Miranda whispered in a trembling voice.

"I love you," Sam replied; aggressively and with the tone that combined an element of possession and domination that made Miranda feel, at that moment, completely and perfectly hers.

"Cumming!" The words ripped their way free from Miranda's mouth as her back arched so hard she heard it crack and pop. Sam had to let go of her hand and instead grabbed her head and kissed her with all the fire she possessed as her other hand was flooded with Miranda's juices.

Finally, Miranda stopped shuddering and Sam rolled off her, withdrawing her fingers from inside her and instead snaking an arm around the other girl's waist and pulling her close and snuggled up against her side. Miranda straddled the girl and Sam smiled as she felt the sticky moistness, a testament to the bone-shaking orgasm she had just provided her.

"That is," Miranda panted, "A really good table."

"Very sturdy," Sam agreed, "Good craftsmanship."

Both girls looked at each other then and burst into laughter.

"Did we just do that?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"And how," Sam placed her fingers upon Miranda's mouth. The dark-haired girl opened her mouth and sucked the girl's fingers clean of her own juices.

Miranda covered her face with her hands and just laughed, her entire body flushed red.

"Are you all red because you're flush with post-orgasmic bliss or because you are thoroughly mortified at the fact that you just had sex in your Dean's meeting room?"

"I think...both?" Miranda groaned and tried to sit up, a wasted effort as she flopped back down next to Sam, "Wau, okay, yeah I'm all done here."

"Wuss."

"Brat."

Sam stuck out her tongue at her lover and both girls fell into giggles again. Miranda hugged her lover's body tightly and Sam reciprocated with a powerful squeeze in return.

"Ow, careful there Xena," Miranda pouted.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," was Sam's only response.

A moment of stillness descended. This moment now and those that had led to this one was a good thing...

...and like all good things.

"Sammy?"

"Don't call me Sammy."

"Were we really about to hurt each other? Literally? With violence?

Sam sighed and gently pressed her lips to the other girl's forehead.

"Yes."

Miranda's ears closed and suddenly she was crying.

"Sammy, I—"

"Me too, Getseui."

Miranda smiled and wiped at her tears; the hurt had passed.

"I still say we should get that as a tattoo," Sam added.

Miranda rolled her eyes as she got up from the table and began looking for her clothes, "A thousand different versions of 'no'."

"Come on, we could do it as a wedding present!"

"Oh yes, because nothing says 'lifelong commitment' like Hepatitis. I—"

Then Sam's words and Miranda's train of thought collided with enough force to split an atom.

She looked back at her lover, "We—wedding? You want...? I mean, you and me?"

Sam swallowed, she'd gone pale underneath her sun-kissed visage but she nodded.

"Yeah, I mean...yeah, I think so."

Both girls looked at each other with some trepidation.

Sam nearly got a concussion when Miranda plowed into her arms with more strength than either had ever known.

"Yes! Oh my God, yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" Both girls were crying now, though these tears were not bitter.

Sam squeezed Miranda tightly, "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, "I love you so much." She closed her eyes tightly.

Thank you, God. Thank you. Please don't let me fuck this up.

Miranda let her fiancée go and wiped her eyes; brimming in joyful, shimmering violet.

"I mean, wow, I never," Miranda's mind went into overdrive, "Do we tell your parents? Do we tell mine? Where should we have it? When should we have it?"

Sam placed a hand over her mouth gently, "Shhh, psychobabble later, we need to deal with the present."

"The present? What—" and then reality descended upon her like an ocean: cold, deep and dark.

"—oh. The Hillsgroves."

"Yeah, the Hillsgroves," Sam confirmed as she cast about for her clothes, sitting on the edge of the table, pulling on her pants.

"Here, I got it," Miranda murmured, reaching out to aid her lover.

"I've got it, love. We're going to be married soon and I don't need my wife to be all fussy and mother hen-like."

"I'm the wife? When was that decided?"

"Who wears the pants in this relationship...honey?" she gestured at Miranda's nude form.

"Great, my husband-to be-is a comedian."

Sam laughed and pulled her pants on. Together, the two girls quickly dressed.

"So, what are we going to do, Miri?" Sam's expression shifted from contentment to anxiety, "Are we really--?"

"No," Miranda replied as her own strength waxed to compliment her lover, "No, we're going to figure this out. We may need his help, but we are not staking out Grey as a sacrificial lamb."

"Goat," Sam corrected, "He'd be a sacrificial goat."

"The more Satanic of the quadruped woodland creatures, okay, I can see that."

Sam snorted in amusement as she was pulling on her shirt, "Thought you might agree." She arranged the rest of her clothing and turned to inspect Miranda, who was just finishing getting dressed, "How do I look?"

"Freshly laid and you smell it too," Miranda wrinkled her nose in mock distaste before helping Sam into her chair.

"Shit," Sam muttered as she began digging into one of the chair's many compartments," "Where the fu—ah ha!" she triumphantly held up an aerosol can.

"Febreeze?" was Miranda's only response.

Sam began to spray the room vigorously, "Think about it Miri, if we reek of the newly and happily fucked, the room probably does too."

Miranda grimaced but nodded in agreement, "Fair enough, but what do we do about us?"

"Never fear," Sam put the air freshener away and began to rummage through her back anew.

"I never do."

Sam smiled to herself at that before removing a pair of smaller bottles, tossing one to Miranda. Miranda caught it and scrutinized the label intently.

"Cute," she said with a rueful grin, "Body spray."

"Yup. Made especially for us girly-girls and our girly parts."

"There's an advertising slogan," Miranda laughed and began spraying herself front and back, "You are prepared, I'll give you that."

"If I had been prepared, I'd have brought a ring," Sam grumbled.

Miranda turned around to face her lover, "Were you planning on proposing tonight?"

Sam opened her mouth...and then closed it again, "Ask me again later, sweetie."

"Fair enough. How does my hair look?"

Sam rolled her eyes, "The same it always does like Quorra minus the glowing."

"A simple 'fine' would have sufficed you know, no need to flaunt your superior knowledge of all things trivial."

"I think you mean 'trivia'."

"I know what I said," exclaimed Miranda, with a tiny, but very smug, smile creasing her face.

"You will be made to suffer for that later."

"I've no doubt," she gestured at Sam's blonde mane, "You, on the other hand, are a mess."

"You say the sweetest things," Sam reached down and grabbed her makeup bag, removing a mirror and taking a look, "Ye gods! Okay, yeah you're right," tossing the compact into the bag she removed a simple hair twist, "Going to have to sacrifice form for function until I can make myself pretty again."

"I think you're always pretty," Miranda said sweetly.

Sam stuck a finger in her mouth and mock gagged, "That was revolting."

"I love you too."

"Uh-huh," Sam finished with the ponytail, "Well?"

"Presentable."

"It'll do," Sam exhaled hard, "Okay, let's do this."

Miranda pushed Sam out of the meeting room and back into the President's office only to find it curiously empty.

"Hello?" Miranda called out sticking her head out of the office to peer up and down the hallway.

"Over here!"

Miranda turned to see Luke waving at them from the far end of the hallway. Miranda waved back and arranged herself and Sam as President Vega, Isabel, and Luke reentered the room. Everyone appeared composed but Miranda thought she saw Isabel and Luke exchanging quick looks of intense amusement.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 07



They didn't...

"Your decision, doctors?"

Miranda reached out and took Sam's hand. Sam squeezed it back and nodded reassuringly. Miranda took a deep breath.

"We're not handing Grey over to them. It's not right and I won't be bullied into compromising my morals."

"Ain't she grand?" Sam added with a grin.

"You owe me twenty dollars and a full-body massage," Isabel whispered audibly to her husband, who just rolled his eyes.

"Work, work, work."

Vega cleared his throat, looked at the two girls for a moment and then nodded approvingly, "Good. I was hoping you would say that: these people are thugs in suits, I believe a humility lesson is in order."

Sam grinned fiercely, "We know someone who is VERY good at those."

"Then summon him."

"Summon him?!" Both the girls looked flabbergasted at the concept.

"Not without a copy of the Necronomicon and a human sacrifice!" Sam scoffed in disbelief.

"He's really not the...summon-able type," Miranda added less dramatically.

"Very well, invite him," Dr. Vega amended, "Do whatever you must, but get him here tomorrow morning and we will see if we can put an end to this."

Sam snapped a fairly accurate impression of a salute, "Aye, aye, mon capitan!"

"Sweetie, why are you hurling French at the nice Spaniard?"

"I beg your pardon!" The President's eyes flew open in rage and both girls made a tiny squeak of dismay at the sudden intensity of his anger.

Then he grinned beneath his beard, "I'm a Catalonian," he gestured to Isabel, "She's the Spaniard."

Isabel replied by giving a jaunty little wave and the room dissolved into laughter as the Doctor's joke helped dissolve the tension that had been accumulating all night.

"Fine, fine, bakas (jerks), Miranda muttered, "You got me."

"Well, I didn't become Dean of one of the most prestigious schools in the world solely on my good looks," Ceran assured them.

"Says you," Sam replied, flashing the older man her signature Cheshire grin.

Luke and Isabel promptly flew into fits of hysterical laughter as Miranda covered her face with her hand and hung her head, shaking it in dismay.

"We're doomed."

Everyone in the room laughed as President Vega simply shook his head good-naturedly, "We should retire for the evening; we have a lot of work ahead of us for tomorrow. We'll need as much strength as we can manage."

"Amen," Sam muttered quietly as the reality of the situation once again began to weigh on her: tomorrow morning, she would have to defend everything she held dear and her best hope, their best hope was a man that was dangerous to know and impossible to trust.

Miranda took that moment to kiss her lover's sun-kissed face, banishing the other girl's grim thoughts, "We'll be okay, sweetie."

Sam responded with a slight smile as she squeezed Miranda's hand gently and laid her cheek against it.

Isabel approached them then and abruptly scooped the dark-haired girl up in a surprisingly intense embrace.

"Thank you!" she whispered with an intensity that surprised the other girl. Miranda smelled salt and could feel moisture against her face.

Tears?

As abruptly as it had begun, Isabel released her and nearly dashed from the room, wiping her eyes as she did.

Miranda and Sam looked at each other with identical expressions of 'What the hell was that all about?'

"Guess we should go find him," Sam sighed heavily, bringing a hand to her head in anticipation of the oncoming headache this was guaranteed to be.

"Guess so," Miranda confirmed in a similar tone.

"I'll be waiting for you tomorrow morning," President Vega informed them as he reached into his desk to remove a bottle of Moscatell from his desk along with a small, crystal tumbler.

"Yes sir," Sam replied in a much more polite tone than she had started the evening with, "We'll be here with bells on."

"Interesting visual," Miranda chimed in.

"Indeed," Vega replied as his lips quirked into a smile, "Oh, and before I forget...," he poured some of the sweet-smelling liquor into the glass and raised it in salutation.

"Les fruites i els amors, els primers són els millors," A toast in Catalonian that rolled off his tongue like silk and reminded both girls why he was considered 'The most Interesting College President in the World.'

Miranda blushed and smiled broadly, "Thank you very much!"

Sam looked up at her frowning, "What?"

"Well, I don't speak very much Catalonian, but it has a great deal in common with Latin, French, and Spanish; which I do speak," she pondered for a minute, "Unless I'm mistaken: 'Les fruites i els amors, els primers són els millors' translates into 'True love never grows old.'"

"Awww," Sam beamed as she turned her attention to the president, "Thank you sir!"

The president merely smirked behind his beard and sipped his drink.

"Come on, we should get going," Miranda said and she turned to address Dr. Vega, "Good night, sir. Thank you for everything."

"Consider it an early wedding present," he replied wryly with that same smirk as if he was in on a joke that the other two were not. It was beginning to tug at Miranda's mind uncomfortably.

Sam wheeled herself out of the President's office and back out into the hallway, Miranda following quickly.

"Well that was nice of him," Sam commented.

"Yeah...," Miranda murmured in response.

The tone in her voice caused Sam to eye her critically, "Miri, what's up?"

"There's something...oh kuso!" The girls exchanged looks of mutual horror.

"Miri," Sam croaked, having found her voice first, "exactly how did the president know we were engaged?"

Vega sipped his drink and went over to his desk phone, punching in an extension and removing the handset.

"Security? This is President Vega, to whom am I speaking to? Mr. Murphy? Yes, I'd like today's footage from the Newton conference room erased. Yes, all of it, please.

Oh, and Mr. Murphy? If I learn that anything contained within those recordings has found its way to the public in any fashion, such as the Internet; it's your ass. Are we perfectly clear? Good, I'm glad to hear it, Mr. Murphy, thank you very much. Good evening."

President Vega set the handset down and turned to face the closed door as he raised his glass in another toast, his blue eyes glittering with amusement.

"Young love. May it never be hampered by such trivial things as sanity." and with a rueful shake of his head, he finished his drink.

**********

"Who do I have to kill to get a cripple-friendly bus around here?" Sam roared to be heard over the nighttime traffic...and to drown out Miranda's ranting.

"Do you think he saw us? How could he have seen us? He couldn't have seen us. Sammy, what are we going to do if he saw us?"

"It's proven that men like seeing hot naked girls have sex, so it can only work in our favor, now shut up already! Hey!" Another bus roared past them without even slowing. "Fuck me running!" the blonde girl spat. She turned to glare at Miranda, "This is all your fault!"

"How the hell is it my fault?"

"I have no idea, but I'll think of something."

Both girls glared at each, and then promptly burst into a fit of giggles.

"That was pretty good, 'I'll think of something'," Miranda told her.

"I thought so, going to have to use it again." A bus finally slowed and stopped next to them. "Finally!" Sam grumbled as she wheeled herself to the hydraulic lift.

Miranda frowned; the interior of the bus was unusually bereft of light and appeared to be completely empty of passengers as she entered the dim confines.

"Hey Sammy? Since when do city buses drive around with their lights off?" she asked as the bus pulled away from the curb.

"Or allow smoking," Sam replied coughing, "And don't call me Sammy."

Miranda's comprehension of exactly what was happening around them was a fraction of a second too late.

"Curiouser and Curiouser."

Both girls started at the Cockney voice, even as Miranda's nose finished telling her that there was the scent of tobacco, old leather, and alcohol in the air.

Grey was sprawled at the back of the bus. He was reclining and had his arms slung over the seats on either side of him. He was dressed in his trademark tan duster, white shirt, black pants, tie and a pair of sunglasses. On one side of him was a small bowl and he held a glass filled with some beverage and a cigarette in his left hand.

Taking a long drag off his cigarette, he tossed it to the ground and began fishing around for a fresh one, "My, my, it's my least favorite pair of squirrel munchers: S&M."

"Degrading, but witty," Sam was forced to admit, "I may use it that someday."

"Consider it my wedding present to you two tits," he removed a empty pack from his coat and sighed in frustration, crumpling the purple and white carton in his hand and tossing it to the floor and instead reaching for the bowl.

Both girls began to panic just a little more.

Miranda found her voice first, swallowing her anxiety, "You're very well informed."

"Spot on," Grey replied, removing a cigarette and striking a match without breaking eye contact, "One of my little birds told me." He lit the cigarette and tossed the match away, taking a long, satisfying pull from it before exhaling a very happy-sounding cloud of smoke, "Come, come," he grinned, taking another pull from his cigarette, "Don't be afraid," he flashed his teeth in hungry amusement as smoke seeped out through them and over his lips.

"Bullshit, be afraid, be very afraid," Sam muttered.

Grey snorted in derision, "You're crippled and condemned to spend the rest of your life in that chair, you ridiculous tart. What else could I possibly do to you?"

"What do you mean 'condemned spending the rest of my life', you gave me all that information about doctors!"

"And you have yet to act on it, my prediction stands."

"Oh, what, you think I don't have the guts to make it happen?"

"Well, color me right and properly gobsmacked, I guess you really aren't as daft as you look," he raised a glass and toasted, "Cheers."

Sam opened her mouth in outrage and attempted to hurl a half-dozen insults at the man simultaneously, but could only manage an infuriated sputter.

"Wow," she exclaimed, attempting to regain her self-control, as she saw the man remove a pair of chopsticks from the bowl and begin to eat.

"What?" he demanded.

"I've just never seen you eat before," Sam smiled cautiously; "I figured you lived on cigarettes and booze."

"Stick around, you can watch me drink water and breathe air.

Sam threw her arms up in the air, "And there we have it, you managed 37 seconds before turning into a complete ass-hat."

"Best hurry and get the Guinness people on your mobile then."

"And the ass-hatery continues."

"What are you eating?" Miranda interjected, attempting to head off the impending argument.

"Rice."

"Oh," she began to flounder already and she cast about her environment for another topic, "You're using chopsticks."

Grey looked at her then as if she were slightly mad. Both girls noticed then that the sunglasses he was currently wearing were not mirrored. They could see his eyes underneath. They did not look amused.

"Keen eyes there, Doctor."

Miranda swallowed her indignity; being talked down to for the first time in her life (by someone that wasn't her mother) was still very hard for to deal with.

"Well," she added, "You're good at it. I've seen a lot of people make a real mess of it."

"Yes, I appear to possess the same rudimentary motor skills as your average chimpanzee."

"I'm sorry, but did you just compare Miri to a fucking chimp?!" Sam spat.

"'Chimp', 'chump' either or, take your pick. Either way, I'm sure the two of you will make an absolutely darling couple," he smirked around his cigarette, took another breath, exhaled more smoke, "Now that that's settled...," he gave Miranda a level look, "...rumor has it, you're in a bit of a bind."

"The next words out of your mouth will be civil ones or so help me God; I will choke you with them."

For a long moment, the only sound to be heard was the roar of the bus's engine and the traffic outside as Samantha and Grey both regarded Miranda in shock.

"Miri?" Sam squeaked out.

Miranda smiled and gazed deeply into Sam's blue eyes: the amount of love they held was incalculable.

She turned to face Grey and her expression became hard, "No one talks to my fiancée like that," she reached down and took Sam's hand in her own, "Are we clear?"

There was another long, pregnant pause, filled with the possibility of disaster. The girls could see the grin he'd been giving them turning into a grimace. Then he lifted his glass,

"Wicked," he proclaimed, with only a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

The girls exhaled as the situation slowly calmed.

"Come, sit at my table..." he looked at the rows of empty bus seats, "...so to speak. Share in my bounty and partake of my libations," he gestured to the empty seats across from him, "and we can proceed to have ourselves that 'civil' conversation you made mention of."

"No thank you, I'm not thir--,"

"Sit down and have a drink."

With a quiet sigh, Miranda took a seat across from the other man, just out of his reach. Sam flanked the girl.

"What are we having?" Sam asked.

"Spiced rice," he answered, "whipped it all up a few weeks back. It manages to keep its flavor pretty well."

"Give it here," Sam demanded. Wordlessly, Grey passed the bowl to her along with the chopsticks. She didn't bother attempting to use them properly; Miranda had tried to teach her how to use them for months to no avail, instead she simply shoveled it into her mouth.

"Holy Hell!" she turned to look up at the other girl, "This is really fucking good!"

An expression of 'not quite amusement' twisted Grey's scarred mouth, "So pleased you approve."

"No, I'm not kidding," she handed the bowl to Miranda, "Here, you need to try this."

Miranda peered at it; it was short-grained rice, prepared as 'sticky rice' and she could smell the familiar scents of rice vinegar, salt, and sugar. She looked up the pair and shrugged, "It's uruchi mai, 'sushi rice', so what?"

"Just try it."

The other girl rolled her violet eyes, but complied, deftly picking up the chopsticks and manipulating a generous portion into her mouth. Her eyes widened.

"Kuso!" she murmured, "that is good. It's actually a little sweeter than I'm used to."

"Wait for it," Grey said in a bemused tone that helped warm the conversation.

"Wait for—" and then Miranda's tongue split at the seam, spewing molten lava into her undefended mouth.

"Oh dear God!" The girl felt like she had just gargled acid as she began to pant, fanning her open mouth frantically with her hands, "What the hell did you put in this?"

"Some of this, some of that."

"Some of what?!"

"A base of Sriracha sauce, blended with Shichimi, Thai Chilies, and Red Chili Paste mixed with extract of Jalapeño and a handful of Red Chinese Chili seeds, finely ground."

"Are you completely deranged?! That's...that's..."

"Actually kinda tasty," Sam put in as she took the bowl from the quivering girl who was only upright on account of being braced against the seat in front of her, "It has a good flavor," she cheerfully shoveled another mouthful into her mouth.

"How can you stand that?" Miranda asked, aghast.

"Oh sweetie, I'm from Tennessee," she explained as she helped herself to a third mouthful, "Between barbeque and Cajun food I—"she stopped then and looked very confused, "Uh-oh."

"What's wrong?"

Sam looked up at Miranda with tears in her eyes for the third time tonight.

"I was wrong!" she managed to croak out, her face went bright red under her tan and she began to pant, "Holy fuck on a pogo stick!"

"It can sneak up on you, if you're not careful," Grey informed them, looking more than a little amused. Both girls were in quite a state at this point.

"Oh God, I can't feel my legs," Sam whined.

"An unusual complaint from a bird in a bath chair,"

"Fu---fu—fuc," And that was as far as Sam got before she had to put her head down and quietly beg for death.

He smiled thinly, "It's an old recipe I learned a ways back. Always like to keep some on hand for special occasions."

"Like what? Trying to kill us, you sadist?" Miranda gurgled.

"Well said," Transferring his drink from one had to another, Grey removed a flask from his jacket and toasted the pair, "Wet your whistle?"

"Give me that!" Sam shrieked and dove for the flask, almost falling out of her wheelchair.

"No don't!" Miranda cried out to warn her friend of further treachery.

Sam took it and went to take a long pull when Grey's hand clamped down on her wrist like an iron vice.

"Sam? Small sips. Understood?" Sam looked him in the eye over the rim of his sunglasses and could see that the joke was over and he was not kidding one bit.

"Understood."

Slowly, Grey released her wrist and fighting mightily against the need to quell the hellish conflagration in her mouth, took a small sip.

"One more and that's all."

Sam nodded and took one more sip before handing it to Miranda.

"What is it?" she gasped.

"It's sweet and it makes the pain stop, that's all you need to know."

"Small sips Miranda, are we clear?" Grey repeated.

The other girl just nodded and took a pair of carefully measured sips before handing the flask back to Grey. The girls looked at each other in wonder as the horror that had filled their mouths not five seconds ago was replaced by a soothing sweet coolness that was sheer bliss.

"It's gone!" Miranda exclaimed.

"Remind me of that, when that damn rice makes its' way through my digestive system," Sam lamented. She faced Grey, "What is it?"

"It's a recipe that was passed along to me in India, based on a local delicacy of theirs: kulfi, it's their take on frozen custard. A crème base of Advocaat: a custard flavored liquor from the Netherlands which is then mixed with Galliano Vanilla, an herbal liquor also Dutch," he shrugged, "Garnish with a conservative helping of apple brandy and serve."

"Bullshit," Sam replied, "Even if there wasn't any citric acid to be found in that herbal concoction, the brandy would curdle the crème in record time."

"You know your drinks, Doctor Adler."

"I take my drinking very seriously," she was eager to finally catch Grey in a lie or a mistake.

Instead, Grey sighed and turned his gaze to Miranda, "Doctor Inoue, would you please see to Doctor Adler, she seems to be falling behind in the class."

Miranda shook her head disapprovingly but began to explain, "Well, apple brandy doesn't have any citric acid in it."

"Being made of apples and not citrus, yes Doctor, we've got that."

The other girl gritted her teeth but soldiered on as she turned to face Grey.

"Did you brew the components as well as the cocktail?"

Grey's lips turned up in a small expression of approval, "Very good. The answer to your question is 'partially', whilst I did not actually distill any of it myself, I may have made some modifications."

"Did you use heavy cream or light?"

"Which would you use?"

"Heavy cream," she replied unhesitatingly.

"And why would you do that?"

"Because a high concentration of fat globules will protect proteins, in this case, casein which is found in milk from things like heat and acid and prevent the formation of casein curds," she looked at Sam with a self-satisfied smile, "Chemistry 101: fats serve as a barrier between the catalyst and the proteins that would curdle otherwise."

"I'll take your word on it," Sam grumbled, seeing her attack on Grey's credibility begin to fall apart at the hands of her lover of all people.

"Is that all, Doctor?" Grey asked politely.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 08



MotherTell your children not to hold my handTell your children not to understandOh mother

FatherDo you wanna bang heads with meDo you wanna feel everythingOh father

Not about to see your lightAnd if you wanna find hell with meI can show you what it's likeTill your bleeding  -Danzig "Mother"

Everyone believes that fear comes in the night. That midnight is the time to be afraid.

It isn't; fear comes in the dark hours of the morning. The day begins as inevitable as the progression of a disease.

This is the time to be afraid.

Miranda was afraid. For the first time she could remember; mortal fear and dread settled into her body like cancer.

What are we going to do? What happens tomorrow?

She looked over at the clock; it read 2:15 in the morning.

Today. She mentally corrected. A spasm of anguish wracked her body causing her to shudder.

Oh Grey, what have you done?  She heard Sam whispering quietly in the dark and she strained to hear. 

Her movement caught the other girl's attention and she felt Sam's hand grip her own; it was slick with cold sweat but still firm. "Miri..." It was a sound between a whisper and a sigh.

"Sam," Miranda breathed, "What are we going to do?"

The other girl gave a sharp exhalation of breath, "I was just thinking that," she said without any humor. "Do you want to know what I was doing just now?"

"What?"

"Praying," she looked over at her lover; her profile painted in the digital crimson light of the clock, "do you think that's weird? That a math nerd is praying?"

Miranda gave her hand a squeeze, "No baby, of course not," she smiled a little despite herself, "Your faith is actually one of the things about you I've always envied."

"Really? Why?"

Miranda sighed, trying to put it into words, "Because faith isn't like science; it doesn't require proof or computations, it simply is," she sighed, "I wish I could do that. Be that brave, to believe in something greater than myself."

"You believe in science, in the mechanics of the universe," Sam gave Miri's smaller hand a squeeze, "You believe in the Big Bang, the birth of the cosmos and how it might all play out."

"I don't believe, I know."

Sam frowned, "What's the difference?"

"Faith."

Sam thought upon that and then, astonishingly, began to chuckle quietly.

"What?" Miri asked

"Leave it to us, in our deepest, most despairing moment, to somehow go from supportive pillow talk to ridiculously over-intellectualized debate in less than a minute."

The other girl smiled a little at that. "There is one thing," she murmured, "One thing that I can claim both knowledge and belief."

"What's that, sweetie?"

"You. Us," Miranda turned her head to face her lover, "Whatever happens today, I want you to know how proud I am of you. And no matter what they try to take from us, they cannot take away the fact that I am insanely in love with you and I am going to be marrying you as soon as I can make it happen." Miranda moved to her lover's side, and propping herself up on her elbow, she bent low and kissed her softly on the mouth.

"They will never take that away from me."

Sam's eyes were shimmering as she took Miranda's head in both her hands and kissed her fiercely.

"I love you so much!" the blonde girl hissed fervently.

"I know."

Miranda settled back down, resting her head on the other girl's shoulder.

A beat, and then,

"There is still one, other factor," Sam said sounding dreadful.

"Don't say it," Miranda begged, squeezing her hand tightly.

"Grey. What are we going to do about Grey?"

Miranda barked a humorless laugh, "The last time he felt provoked, he castrated someone with a piece of glass," Miranda covered her eyes with her free hand, "And from what I hear of it, he was in perfect control the whole time."

"I'd say he's not in control anymore," Sam repressed a shudder of revulsion at the memory of Grey's face, rugged and cold one moment, exploding into a convulsing mass of violence and madness.

Sam turned her head to look down at Miranda; the other girl lifted her head to meet her gaze,

"When we told him what...what those people are going to do to us," the girl shook her head, "I've never seen anything like it and I sure as shit hope to never see it again. Screw the Hillsgroves, I'm worried about what he's going to do," she exhaled hard, "That family, the worse they can do to us is fire us, cost us tenure, make sure we never work in our fields ever again. But if they provoke Grey," she exhaled hard, "Oh, man. It's possible that not everyone is going to be leaving that room upright."

"Do you really think he'd go that far?" Miranda whispered, stunned at the idea.

"For us, yeah I do. Especially you, Miri," she kissed the top of her head, "He's as fascinated with you, as you are with him."

"What do you mean? He seems to like you more than me; me he just laces into whenever the mood strikes him."

"He likes me," Sam admitted. "I think. At least as much as he can 'like' anyone, especially a woman, or had you not noticed that all his so-called 'friends' are of the male persuasion?

"It had not escaped my notice."

"But you, wow, I've seen the way he looks at you;" Sam struggled for the words, "He...longs for you, burns for you, no pun intended."

"What are you talking about?" Miranda demanded.

"I can't describe it, he looks at you—" suddenly, Sam closed her eyes and sighed as understanding came to her.

"Looks at me...like you do," Miranda finished.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, "Miranda, I think he loves you. Or what passes for 'love' in whatever wreckage of a heart and mind he still possesses."

"Love me?" Miranda whispered in shock; reality quickly slipping away from her grasp, "Grey...loves me?"

"I think so, yeah," Sam said quietly, kissing the top of the other girl's head, "Are you okay with that?"

"I don't know," Miri swallowed, "It's...impossible."

"Why?"

"Because love requires trust, commitment..."

"Sometimes lunatic passion and animal attraction can blow all of that to Hell," Sam took a deep breath, "Do you love him?"

"No."

"Do you want to?"

Miranda took a moment, "No. No, I don't think so. He's not well," Miranda tried to explain, "And he tends to cause a great deal of collateral damage and I don't want you or me getting caught in that."

Sam exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, "Good, okay. I know you're attracted to him."

"Unfortunately," Miranda muttered.

"But you see him for what he is and you're smart enough to keep your distance," Sam reached out and tucked a lock of the other girl's hair behind her ear, "Do you think we'll ever be free of him?"

"I really hope so. I want my old life back."

A beat.

"That's not going to happen, Miri. His involvement has been like a catalyst. I don't know what the future is going to be, sweetie," she squeezed the girl's hand, "But whatever it is, we'll face it together."

Miranda smiled and kissed her lover, "I can deal with that."

Sam smiled back at her before looking over at the clock, "Get some rest, lover, I think we're going to need it to be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"The worst."

There was little sleep to be had as the dawn soon arrived.

The girls got up and went about their daily routine.

"What does one wear when one is facing 'the Inquisition'?" Miranda asked.

"Something that nobody would expect," Sam replied instantly and Miranda laughed.

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" both girls called out.

"Maybe when all this insanity is over, we can watch some of that? I think we'll need some laughs," Sam put forth.

"Safe bet."

Then the doorbell rang. Both girls frowned. It was barely six in the morning.

"Who on earth...?" Miranda asked confused as she went to the door.

"I can think of someone," Sam replied, suddenly looking anxious.

"He wouldn't!"

Miranda opened the door.

"Good morning ladies."

"He didn't," Sam breathed with relief. Then Miranda stared past the man to the waiting town car behind him.

"No, he did," Miranda sighed, Damn you Grey, she thought to herself, "Hello Virgil, how are you?"

The Cajun smiled and nodded formally; he was impeccably dressed, a far cry from the bus driver he'd been just last night.

"Well, thank you cher, how are you and Ms. Adler?" he gave her an impish smile, "Though as I understand it, it may be 'Mrs. Inoue' in the near future. Congratulations."

Sam threw her hands up in the air, "We might as well have taken out an engagement announcement in the Star given how many people already know."

"Forgive me, it was not my intent to overstep," the man put forth contritely.

"It's not you, Virgil," Miranda explained with some trepidation, "It's your...friend. He's entirely too well-informed."

"He's a nosy know-it-all, pain-in-the-ass!" Sam roared.

"That too."

Virgil smiled broadly, "I do concur," then his expression changed, "I understand that you girls will be going through something very difficult today."

"Certainly one way to put it, yeah," Sam commented.

"Grey asked me to look in on you and see that you get to wherever it is you're headed safely and as comfortably as possible," he gestured behind himself, "that's what the car is for."

"Certainly homier than the bus," Miranda said as an aside to herself. She took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back, lifting her head high. She turned and gave Sam an expression full of love.

Screw the Hillsgroves', screw Grey, I am winning this fight.

Sam smiled at the sight of her lover transforming into the mighty woman with the burning eyes of amethyst that had almost brought the most frightening and intense man she'd ever seen, to his knees.

"Let's go get them, Getseui," she raised her fist into the air, "Banzai!"

Miranda laughed aloud, "Banzai!" she reiterated.

"Vive La Revolution!" Virgil joined the laughter as he thrust his fist aloft and it was in that moment of shared laughter and defiance in the face of fear that the three of them became friends.

"Come on," Virgil beckoned, "Time to go."

"Bring it, bitches!" Sam growled.

"Amen, mon cher."

He escorted the girls to the car and opened the back doors for them, ushering them inside. Awaiting them inside was what appeared to be a small table and two covered platters.

"What in the fuck?" Sam asked bewildered. The platters were large, but not overly so and appeared to be made of brushed copper. The dome covering was made of carnival glass; it glittered like gems. Helpfully taped to each lid, were pieces of high-quality paper with their names written in a flowing copperplate style.

"Whoa," Miranda mumbled to herself, "What is all this?"

"Breakfast," Virgil answered helpfully as he got into the driver's seat. "Bon appetite."

The girls looked at each other and shrugged, refusing to let the weirdness that was Grey faze them.

Sam reached over and removed the lid from one of them.

"Grits!" she cackled, "Holy shit, he made grits!" she quickly took tally of what was presented before her, "And pumpkin cornbread!" she tore a hunk of cornbread free, ladled a large helping of grits onto it with the provided silverware and consumed it whole.

"And he used Pimento cheese, God help me if he had a vagina and could breathe through his ears he'd be perfect!" Miranda grinned and Virgil laughed at the other girl's enjoyment. 

Sam was still discovering her breakfast, even as she began to ravage it. "And Hush-puppies! How the fuck does a fucking Englishman even know how to make good hush puppies?"

"I taught him, Ms. Adler," Virgil called back.

"'Sam' please, Virgil, call me 'Sam'," she instructed around a mouthful of grits, "And for the entrée, Country ham."

"Not just any kind, Sam: A homemade Jack Daniels glaze with of bit of Carolina dry rub," the Cajun informed her.

Sam almost squealed in delight as she tore into the meat. "Thirsty!" she called out with a very full mouth.

"Your manners are atrocious," Miranda observed.

"Fuck you; do you know how long it's been since I had a proper Tennessee breakfast?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gestured at her lover with her fork emphatically, "The only thing that's missing—"

"There should be a sealed container near the tray," Virgil replied to her earlier inquiry. Sam furtively searched and found it along with a small glass.

"Oh please, oh please, oh please," Carefully Sam removed the lid from the spill-proof container and inhaled deeply,

"Sweet tea. I take it all back, the man is an angel."

"So was Lucifer," Miranda retorted.

"Miri?"

"Yes, Sammy?"

"Lighten the hell up. If this is to be my last meal, I mean to enjoy it," she poured the tea into the glass, "'and don't call me 'Sammy," she took a long pull, "Oh yeah, that's the stuff. Merry fucking Christmas," she gestured at Miranda's own covered dish, "You're not eating?"

"I'm not hungry."

Sam scowled at her, "Come on, please? I want to know what he made."

Miranda rolled her eyes but obliged the girl and removed the lid:

"A traditional Japanese breakfast: Broiled fish, steamed rice, miso soup—"

"What's that?" Sam interrupted pointing.

"That's tamagoyaki. It's kind of like an omelet."

"Oh," she gestured, "What's that, it smells weird," she wrinkled her nose.

"Kuso, I don't believe it," Miranda took hold of a pair of jade chopsticks she found resting alongside the disk and brought a helping up to her nose, inhaling deeply, "This is called 'natto' it's a soybean dish, pretty popular as a breakfast food."

"Smells like another 'acquired taste'."

"Can't argue," Miranda said with a chuckle as she put the food into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing, "Damn it, that's good. He could put my mother to shame."

"That I would love to see," Sam grinned impishly.

"So would I," she reached over to a sealed container, identical to the one that had held Sam's precious sweet tea.

"No, wait, don't tell me," Sam brought her fingers to her head as if in deep concentration, "It's...tea, right?"

Miranda gingerly removed the lid and inhaled, "What the--?" She poured the liquid out into the provided cup.

"It's...milk?" Sam asked puzzled as Miranda took an experimental sip.

"It's mageu."

"Okay, and what is it?"

"It's not Japanese by a long shot," Miranda took another sip and couldn't help but smile around the rim of the glass, "But it's a staple of a proper breakfast back in Johannesburg."

"Ah, so he did remember that you're a mutt," Sam had gobbled up all of the ham and the grits did not appear to be long for this world, "Clever little shit."

"Yeah," Miranda drank and was reminded of simpler, if not better, times. She was unsurprised when her thoughts turned to Grey.

Show off.

"Sorry to interrupt," Virgil called out, "But there's a package under the seat that he asked you examine when you had finished eating."

"Dibs!" Sam called out as she dove for the package. It was a long box, surprising light, "What do we have here?" She removed the lid slowly.

Blue flowered plants resting upon a bed of white flowers with long green stems and flanked by what appeared to be thyme. Resting upon it was a small folded up piece of paper. Sam frowned, "What the hell?"

"The blue flowers are called 'borage', the white ones are called 'edelweiss' I think, and the rest is thyme," Virgil informed her helpfully.

"But what does it all mean?" Sam scrutinized the flowers as Miranda removed the card, "I mean, it's Grey, it has to have a hidden message."

"All I know," Virgil replied, "is that flowers stand for certain things, like how roses mean 'love' and all that."

"So what do these flowers symbolize?" Sam asked.

Miranda read the card:

Don't be afraid.

She closed her eyes, bringing the note to her lips and smiling.

Thank you, Grey.

Virgil brought the car around to the faculty parking lot.

"Courage." 

The girls braced for the worst.

It wasn't enough.

"I don't care who they are or whatever ridiculous politically correct bullshit policies you choose to run this piss-pot of a school with, I want their heads!"

Miranda and Sam exchanged a grimace; the voices were audible from down the hall.

"Whatever your feelings are regarding my policies and their political correctness," Vega replied with the calm of age and iron, "You are in my school and you will keep a civil tone. I do not brook bullying or intimidation amongst the student body, I certainly do not tolerate it against my person or those, to whom I represent, are we entirely clear?"

A beat as Sam and Miranda approached the threshold.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here, Miranda reflected forlornly.

"Have it your way," the other voice growled, "When do the little dykes get here?"

"The 'dykes' can speak for themselves."

Several pairs of eyes turned to regard the pair as they entered the office.

"My name is Doctor Miranda Inoue," she gestured, "And this is Doctor Samantha Adler. You will address us in that manner."

The man opposite them was tall and whip-thin, with angular features that reminded her uncomfortably of Grey for a moment. He was dressed in a three-piece suit the color of ash and was accompanied by a thin, nervous looking woman that could only be described as 'plain'.

Then the man's features twisted in disdain, giving his eyes a distinctly "piggy" appearance that reminded Miranda of the first time someone had called her a "gook" when she was eleven.

"Don't you dar—"

"You will address them with respect, Edward, or we can discuss this manner in a formal and very public trial, understood?"

Edward seethed; his face flushed and hateful.

"Whatever," he reached into his suit pocket, jerked out a cigar and lit it with a chrome lighter, taking a long pull and blowing a cloud of noxious smoke towards the two girls.

Miranda chose to ignore it and instead focused on Dean Vega and Isabel standing behind him. Both of them dressed as formally and somberly as she had ever seen them. Under other circumstances, they would have looked elegant. Here, the president's black suit and Isabel's dark brown blouse and slacks simply looked grim. Their expressions matched and Isabel sent Sam a long, suffering, look that tried to convey all the sympathy she could whilst remaining silent in the presence of these monsters.

Edward wasted no time, "Where is the man who tried to kill my son?"

"If he had been trying to kill your son," Miranda replied evenly, "he would be dead."

"Watch your mouth, missy, I can grind you and your little girlfriends careers into mush like that!" he snapped his fingers, "Now, where is he?"

"He isn't here," Sam replied simply.

Edward stepped towards her and Miranda slid easily between them.

"Step back, Mister Hillsgrove. Now."

The man looked like he was ready to take a swing at the woman. Miranda held him in a look for burning violent.

"I said, Step! Back!"

"Or what?"

"Or Grey will mutilate you," Sam wheeled herself around Miranda to face the enraged man.

"Am I supposed to be afraid?"

"You should be, we are," Sam replied simply, "What, you thought we were his friends? The man's psychotic, he doesn't have friends. He doesn't care about us, we amuse him. He considers us entertainment, a trained pet to dance to his tune," Sam dropped her voice to growl, "But if you fuck with that, he'll make you his newest source of fun and believe me, he plays rough with his toys. Just ask Jeffrey," Sam swallowed past a lump in her throat, she'd be damned if she was going to show a shred of fear in front of this bastard, "Your son intended to pass me around his friends like a joint."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 08



"I'm sure you were just begging for it," the older man sneered.

"The only begging to be done was by Jeff when Grey caned him in front of God and the world. He's mad as a hatter: he doesn't feel things like fear or pity or regret. You think prison is going to scare him, I've seen the man's lair, San Quentin would be an upgrade." She moved in for the kill, "Nothing in your experience has every prepared you for facing him and if you come after us, he will come after you and if that happens, all the money in the world won't keep his hands from you."

"Edward," the plain woman opened her mouth, speaking for the first time, "Please—"

"No one was talking to you, shut up!"

The woman simply hung her head and said nothing further.

"Mister Hillsgrove," Miranda began quietly, interposing herself between he and Sam, "What Grey did to your son was unlawful as was my attacking him in the cafeteria. I am prepared to pay whatever price the law dictates," Her voice was calm and conciliatory, "But I implore you, let this be settled in a court of law. Things have spun completely out of control and the only person who has the power to restore sanity to this matter is you. The power is yours, Mister Hillsgrove; use it and let us all find some measure of peace regarding all this madness."

There was a pregnant pause.

Edward leered at them, "Oh, don't worry, I fully intend to use each and every resource the American justice system has available to deep fuck you and your gimp girlfriend—"

"Edward!" Vega barked to no avail.

"—into career oblivion," the other man continued seamlessly. "By the time I'm through with you two, you won't be able to afford a pair of chopsticks." He moved in for the kill, "But before I do that, I'm going to do each of you, nice and slow. I'm going to destroy everything and everyone you care about and by the time I'm finished, you'll beg to settle. You think people like me worry about taking on a court of law? I have a stable of lawyers and jury consultants that say I am the law. So you have two choices, hand over your little friend and I'll just ruin your lives. Hold out, and I'll destroy them."

The girls looked at each other and conveyed a single shared thought.

"Edward...?" Sam started calmly.

"What?"

"Go fuck yourself," Miranda finished.

"Well said," Isabel said quietly from the back, smiling wolfishly.

"You just made the worst mistake of your miserable life!" Edward roared, "I'm going to—!"

That's when an explosion of rasping laughter erupted from somewhere outside the room; a high-pitched wheezing shriek that sounded like the death rattle of a hysterical lunatic.

Both girls whirled in shock as the sound of slow, methodical footsteps approached them.

"Oh crap, that's terrifying," Sam hissed.

"Deus ex machine," Miranda said quietly.

Edward suddenly looked very unsettled, "What does that mean?"

"It means," Sam stated," run for your life before he tears your legs out from under you."

Then the laughter became a shrill whistle, which became a jaunty tune that was wildly off-key.

Sam frowned in thought, and then her blue eyes went wide.

"'Singing in the rain'?" she looked up at Miranda in alarm, "Fuck me running, he's channeling Alex Delarge," she shuddered as she recalled the brutality in the film, "Oh this is going to suck."

The double doors exploded open, a lone figure rushed into the room like a dust devil, spinning about and slamming the doors shut with his back to the small crowd of disquieted individuals.

Miranda found her voice first, "Grey?" she whispered, seeking some reassurance about what was to come.. (

Slowly, his head rotated around cockeyed and twisted, only fully turning when his neck forced his torso to shift with the movement. It gave Miranda the impression of a broken puppet.

"Hiiiiii," (sounds better with Helloooo) he rasped. He was dressed all in black, in ragged clothing that may have once been elegant but were now shredded and torn. His eyes were sunken, surrounded by darkness so pronounced it looked like eye shadow. His normally pale skin was flushed, he looked feverish and his mismatched green eyes gleamed with madness from the recesses of his skull.

"Greetings and salutations ladies and gentlemen. Such a commotion for one teeny, tiny, act of emasculation," he grinned at them, baring his teeth, the scar at his mouth emphasized by the act, "Such a commotion."

Edward found his voice first as Grey approached him, "I will not be intimidated by a cheap thug!"

Edward's wife approached from the side as Grey closed the distance, her mouth open in warning, "Edw--!"

And then, Grey put a knife in her mouth.

"urk!"

Everyone gasped and back peddled away; one minute, the man's arm had been at his side, the next, his arm was extended, a shank having slid out, from up his sleeve.

"You were saying?" Grey asked in that same voice that sounded like it dwelt somewhere between the back of his throat and a complete psychotic break.

"Grey, please, whatever you're going to do, don't," Miranda pleaded.

Grey looked at her for a second and then calmly began to rotate the blade in the woman's mouth, causing it to scrape along her teeth and making her whimper.

"Daddy's very angry right now," he informed them, the knife was now straight up and down in the woman's face, the edges scratching against her soft palate and gums, "And if everyone doesn't play by Daddy's rules, I'm going to give Missus Doormat here a nice, pretty smile," he gestured to the scar at his mouth with his free hand,

"Just like mine!" he finished jovially and then he flew into another hysterical fit of wheezing laughter causing the blade to bounce up and down.

Miranda and Sam made eye contact with twin expressions of revelation and revulsion. Grey's scar, someone had...carved into him, just as he was threatening to do now. The idea of it made both women sick to their stomachs, envisioning the act of a knife slicing into his face and causing that horrible wound. Deliberately done to him by another human being.

Edward rediscovered his courage, "I will not tolerate this abuse!"

Grey leered at him with his crocodile grin, "What a truly excellent turn of phrase," turning his attention back to Edward's wife, he tapped her upper teeth.

"Open, please," he asked simply. The woman hesitated, "Open your mouth," he repeated, "or I will make you swallow this blade."

"For fuck's sake, do what he says!" Sam yelled at her, her eyes wide.

The woman nearly jumped out of her skin but she complied. Grey removed the knife from her mouth and peered inside.

"You've had four teeth replaced," he observed. He then brought the knife back up and tapped one, hard. The woman groaned in pain, "And one of them is still fresh," he removed the knife from her mouth again and tapped her chin with it "Button up there, princess, you'll swallow a fly." The woman obeyed.

"Now then," Grey refocused his attention, "We were on the subject of abuse, no?"

He turned around so abruptly it made everyone jump as he locked eyes with the trembling woman before him.

"Don't flinch," and then he lashed out with his knife: across her collar, down her side, up her sleeve in a single fluid motion, fast as a snake and as precise as a surgeon.

"Grey!" Miranda yelled.

"Be quiet and be still, Dr. Inoue," Grey instructed.

"You have no right—"

"I don't require the right, you stupid little girl!" he exploded forth, "I simply require the means, and make no mistake; I am a man of means!"

Miranda's heart stopped at his words and his tone. She fell silent and numb.

"You bastard," Sam snarled at him, "After all we were going to sacrifice to save your ass."

"Everyone makes mistakes."

Those words silenced Sam as surely as a slap to the face and she fell in with her lover in stunned silence.

"I...," Edward stammered, vainly attempting to regain control of the situation.

"You're frightened, Edward," Grey smirked, "Don't be, now is not the time to be afraid. Do not worry though, when it is time for you to beg, I will make certain you know."

"I'll have you arrested!" he yelled, "You'll go to jail for the rest of your life!"

"Really? That's so frightening," he shrugged casually, "Right now, my crimes are assault and...," he peered at the shredded clothes upon Edward's wife, "...butchery of knock-off Prada," he snorted in derision, "Now then, let's talk about your crimes."

"My crime—?"

Gently, Grey pushed aside the sliced fabric at the woman's throat: lining her skin where long, angry red welts and streaks combined with black, splotchy bruises.

"Such clumsy brutality," Grey admonished, gesturing, "Ligature marks, Mister Hillsgrove, likely done by a scarf or rope," his eyes flickered to Edward's shoes, "Your shoelaces do not match, Mr. Hillsgrove."

Edward blanched as Grey heedlessly continued, tracing his blade down the woman's neck lightly before parting the clothing at her breastbone.

There were several poorly healed wounds long and jagged, some fresh, others crusted with scabs.

"Lacerations," Grey stated simply. He peered at the wounds with a clinical detachment, "Done by something thin and blunt-tipped. A wire clothes-hanger, perhaps?"

Edward sputtered in indignation as Grey met his eyes, unfazed by the man's outrage, "Right in one, I see. Let's find out what else the story of her tortured flesh has to tell," he slowly traced the blade down to the woman side and parted the cloth there.

Deep bruises ranging in color from pale yellow to black and indigo.

"Sub dermal bruising," he gestured, "and," he lightly rapped his knuckles against the bruises causing the woman to cry out in pain and collapse, "cracked ribs," he gestured at the marks, "Doctor Adler, notice anything familiar about these wounds?"

Sam swallowed once and nodded, "They're consistent with the wounds you have, that Jeff and his friends gave you when they jumped you."

"What a happy coincidence," Grey crouched down next to the woman, "What was done to you by your man was done to me by your son. You are a terrible mother."

She began to cry then, but the Englishman was relentless.

"There's something wrong," Miranda spoke up.

"We're watching someone get tortured to death," Isabel spoke up for the first time, "Grey, stop this madness."

"Her bruises aren't just consistent with yours, they're identical," Miranda screwed up her courage and unleashed her intellectual arsenal, "Edward's feet are too small to have made those marks."

"True, but her son's about the right size, no?"

"My God," President Vega whispered.

"God? God isn't in California this time of year, didn't you know?" Grey reached down and grabbed the woman's wrist, yanking her hard to her feet. The woman cried out, even as Grey tore the clothing away at her wrists:

Large scars slashed across her skin.

"And now the ultimate punch line," Grey proclaimed. He placed the tip of the blade at her wrist and lightly scrapped down her skin, "It's 'down the street', not 'across the block'," he released her and the woman covered her face and wept. "You failed as a mother, you've failed as a wife, and you've failed as a human being, you might as well get something right before you check out."

Grey shifted his attention from the wife to the husband, "Now then, are you ready to confess your crimes?"

Edward's had gone a very unhealthy shade of gray as he continued to stare uncomprehendingly at the scene unfolding before him.

"I didn't think so."

Something caught Grey's eye suddenly, he reached over and yanked a cross from off Edward's wife's neck.

"Is this yours?" Grey demanded.

"Please..." the woman whimpered.

"Spare me," he spat as he studied the cross.



"Are you a 'God-fearing' man, Mr. Hillsgrove?" Grey addressed Edward while keeping his attention fixated on the trembling woman before him.

"You should be. Between the Jews and the Christians, God is not painted in a sympathetic light. It butchers entire generations and cities full of men, women, and children whose only crime was being born under the wrong king. Compare God's behavior to that of every demon or fallen angel, the Morningstar included, and you will find that the forces of Hell, for all their evil, cannot begin to compete when it comes to genocide." Grey closed his fist over the cross and began to squeeze, "No, God does not want faith, it wants what all merciless beings of power want: Fear." His knuckles went white and blood began to trickle from between his fingers, "So, are you a God-fearing man? Because that is the only prayer any of you have right now of leaving this room whole."

"Please...stop hurting me," the woman begged.

"And how many times did you ask your son or your husband to do so? They were supposed to be your doting husband and your loving son and you couldn't stop them, what hope do you think you have in swaying me?"

He finally turned to face Edward, "You may begin to beg now, if you'd like. To your God, or to me, it does not matter. The end result will be the same." Blood had begun to spatter upon the floor as Grey continued heedlessly, "Am I my brother's keeper? He left his only son nailed to writhe upon a thing of wood and iron, what chance do you believe you have with God's mercy?"

Grey opened his hand. His fingers were sticky with blood: the cross was now a crushed mass of gold and crimson. He dropped it at Mrs. Hillsgroves' feet.

"Here endeth the lesson."

The woman broke. She gave forth a tremendous sob and fell to her knees moaning incoherently.

"You sick bastard," Miranda choked out.

"I'm in good company," Grey replied gesturing at Edward and his wife. He peered down at his handiwork, "She has been broken." He stated simply, "One down," he turned to focus on Edward, "One to go."

He began to walk towards the man. To those assembled he looked lean, predatory. Edward back-pedaled away from him, eyes wide, "Stay—stay away from me!" His voice going high and hysterical. He nearly collided into Isabel who simply stepped past him on an intercept course with the crazed Englishman, only to have him walk past her to the window facing east.

Grey stood there for a span of several heartbeats, his back to all assembled, silhouetted in the morning light.

Then, he shrugged off his coat and let it fall to a ruined heap at his feet. Underneath, he was dressed in a well-cut suit.

"Grey...?" Sam whispered. He did not reply, instead he brought his trembling hands to his chin and slowly slide his palms over his mouth and up his face and as he reached the top of his head, his hands stilled and he smoothed back his hair. He looked sleek now; composed and calm.

Finally, he turned to face those assembled, taking in the weeping form of the woman on the floor, the looks of horror on the faces of those before him before focusing on Edward.

"Good morning, Mister Hillsgrove," he smiled, "How's the family?"

It was in that one moment of terrible revelation, that all came to believe what Miranda so desperately dreaded.

Grey was completely insane.

"Oh, I'm not referring to your neutered son, or your..." he gestured to the woman on the floor, "...abused bride. No, I'm talking about your other children. Rebecca age 8 and Jenny—"

Miranda saw something then that filled her with hope.

Pain.

Like a crack running through a mirror, Grey's expression flinched and in that one, involuntary movement that she saw the man she'd grown to feel for. It was in his scarred eye that she saw pain and longing, like that last moment between them when she stood bare before him, shine in his eye like a broken jewel.

Help.

He blinked and it was gone.

"And Jennifer, age 6," he said more carefully.

"You twisted fuck," Edward hissed.

"I am, at that," Grey conceded. He reached within his jacket and produced a small cell phone, handing it over to the trembling man, "It's remarkable how much faith we put in strangers to care for those we value most."

Edward's entire body began to shake as he thumbed through the pictures: his daughters getting on the bus, playing outside, eating lunch, and walking home.

"The bus driver with the gambling problem, the alcoholic school nurse, the vice principal fucking one of the student body," Grey fixed him with a level look.

"Now is the time to be afraid, Mister Hillsgrove. Now is the time to beg."

"Who...who are you?" Edward choked out.

"Who I am is irrelevant, Mister Hillsgrove," he casually took the phone away from the quaking man, "I am what people like you think people like me are; I am a nobody, an anonymous drone, featureless and inconsequential. It is the design, my design, which matters."

In this moment in the design, Edward Hillsgrove came to know a fear more profound than any sensation that he had ever experienced.

"What are you?" he whispered.

"I am the bane of your existence, your very way of life and the enemy of all those who share in that lifestyle. I am a long-delayed reckoning; its simplicity is only matched by its brutality, without fear of consequence. I am the purifying fire. I am Hell, Edward Hillsgrove. And I have come for you."

"You're some kind of devil worshipping psycho?"

Grey laughed then, it sounded as hateful and bitter as the winter cold, "I count the master amongst my enemies; what makes you believe I would be capable of bending knee to the slave?

"You're...evil!"

"A necessary evil," Sam's voice called out. The others turned to look at her as she wheeled right up to Edward, "People like you created the system this world suffers under. People like you created ways to exploit it, because people like you believe this world and everyone in it is theirs to exploit and abuse. You and yours wrote the rules we're all supposed to live by. Therefore, you know how to twist them, pervert them and break them to suit your needs. Moreover, since good people go by the rules, your rules can't stop you. And since it's clear that good people can't do anything to stop you..." she looked Grey square in the eye, "...then consider me a villain from this fucking point forward."

"Well said," Isabel added quietly.

"You, you're all insane!" Edward yelled, "I'll sue all of you; I'm a very powerful man and I—"

And then, Grey took the other man's hand in his and began to squeeze.

"Educate me then, for I do not understand; exactly what manner of power do you command when I can do this to you?"

"Take your hands off me."

Grey sighed, "What we have here is failure to communicate. Permit me then to explain in a language that you will perhaps have a finer comprehension of."

He took Edward's thumb in his hand, "You believe that, because of your resources, I can be bribed," he took the man's finger, pulled and twisted.

Snap!

"I cannot."

Edward screamed like an animal, "You broke my finger!"

"No, I dislocated it. I can break it though. I can cripple you, if I like. I will cripple you unless you keep your mouth shut."

Edward abruptly stopped screaming and began instead to emit a low whining sound.

"You believe that, because of your social status, you can bully me, you cannot," Grey calmly informed the whimpering man as he gripped his index finger.

Snap! Another finger was twisted from its' socket.

Edward screamed again as Grey finished dislocating the joint.

"Grey, stop this!" Miranda cried out.

"The lesson has not yet been learned," he replied simply.

"No, no, I...get it!" the man's eyes bulged.

Snap! His middle finger now bent at an unnatural angle.

Edward shrieked in pain and began to look like he would be ill.

"No, no you don't get it, but you will," he gripped the man's ring finger, "You believe that because you possess wealth it can purchase my mercy, it cannot."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 08



"Please!" he begged, "Please I'll do anything---!"

Snap!

"I know," Grey confirmed softly, "But that is not a part of my design," he gripped the man's last, undamaged finger, "You believe that those who, like you, believe themselves to be in power can negotiate with me, they cannot."

Snap!

The man screamed and Grey dropped him on the floor. "When you encounter a man who does not abide your rules, all you can hope to do is watch all you know, all you hold dear, collapse into ash."

"Good God!" President Vega croaked.

Grey turned to look at him, "Wrong on both counts."

He reached down and hoisted the blubbering man to his feet by his neck, "Now, you are going to listen to me very carefully because the life of every single person you share blood with depends on it. This is my design. Nod if you comprehend."

Edward's face had flushed purple from pain and fear, he resembled a tortured bullfrog but he managed to nod.

"You and yours have trespassed in my garden for the last time. This is mine," he gestured to the girls, "they are mine, if there is judgment or punishment to be meted out, it is mine to do so. This is my design, do you comprehend?"

The man managed a second nod, though he did not appear to have a third in him.

"I am not bound by the authority of your laws, your lying, timid morality or your delusions of conscience, remorse, and morality. I answer to nothing: I am bound by neither creed nor cause and the laws of man, nature, science of even your pale God, do not command my obedience. I answer to a higher law."

A beat.

"Mine."

Edward emitted a last, piteous, moan of horror and pain as Grey dropped him to the floor in a heap.

"This is my design and there is no place in it for you or your kin."

"Please."

Grey raised his poisonous eyes to meet Miranda's.

"Please don't kill him," she implored.

"He'd kill you."

"To protect his family."

"To protect his legacy," Grey corrected, he looked down at the man. "He wouldn't really care all that much if I carved up his little blonde cunts and left them as Jack-o'-lanterns on his front porch." He sneered at the man on the floor, "But since Junior went and had his genitals mutilated, they are his last chance of the family name living on." He crouched down low to face the man, "The question is, are your little girls going to live long enough to fulfill your aspirations?"

"No Please! Please don't hurt my babies!" Edward's wife cried out.

Grey smiled to himself, "Back in the game then, Mrs. Hillsgrove?"

The woman looked like hell itself and could barely stand, but she spoke with the conviction a terrified mother can manage, "Just tell me what you want from us, we'll do anything—"

"I believe your mangled husband here made the same offer," Grey interrupted.

"—but please, please don't hurt my little girls," the woman began to cry anew as everyone felt their bowels churn in fear and revulsion.

"Fair enough," Grey considered, "You and your family have lost their California privileges. Run, Mrs. Hillsgrove, run far and run fast and above all, be afraid," Grey moved towards the woman, who backed away, "Because if you forget your fear and cross my path again, we will play a rousing game of 'Which child does mommy love the least,' do you understand?"

The woman just nodded; terrified, but slowly regaining her composure as Edward was clamoring to his feet, clutching his damaged hand and glaring balefully at Grey.

Grey caught the look and smiled slightly, "Ah, and there it is; hatred. Finally, something genuine from you, Edward," Grey approached the man and Edward began to retreat, "You are beaten, broken, humiliated. How you must hate me for exposing your weakness."

"Yes," the other man snarled.

"I'll wager you'd like to get even very much, take revenge on the man who neutered your son and tormented you and your wife."

"Yes," the man hissed again in a bestial tone.

Grey fished into his pockets and removed a small vial filled with a milky-white substance.

"Allow me to present you your retribution."

Everyone looked thoroughly confused,

"What is it?" Edward asked suspiciously.

"Merely a few specific atoms in a certain configuration: some hydrogen, a little carbon, a bit of nitrogen."

Miranda's eyes went wide, "Hydrogen cyanide, are you out of your mind?"

"Poison?" Edward rasped, "You expect me to drink poison?"

Grey's smile broadened, "Of course I do, witness," and he removed a second small vial filled with milky liquid, "Miranda," he called out, "Inform Mister Hillsgrove of the rather impressive qualities of the elixir before him."

"Hydrogen cyanide is one of the most dangerous toxins in the world, there's enough in that one vial to kill everyone in this room."

"Grey, come on, you're not actually intending on killing this guy," Sam asked, "Are you?"

"Not exactly," he presented both vials to Edward, "Choose."

"You really think I'll just drink that shit?" the older man insisted, "Why?"

"For your revenge, Mister Hillsgrove," he shook the small vial, causing the contents to swirl about, "You drink one, and I'll drink the other. And you'll either have your revenge or you'll be dead."

"No!"

Miranda stormed over to them, "No, this is insane, Grey, don't do this!"

"This is my design, Miranda," Grey replied unfazed, "It must be obeyed."

"I'm not going to stand here and watch you either kill yourself or someone else.

"Then look away," Grey deliberately turned his attention back to Edward, "What do you say, Edward, double or nothing?"

"Edward, don't," President Vega implored, "Let this whole matter be over with and just walk away."

"Fuck you," Edward hissed as he grabbed a vial from Grey's hand, peering at it, "I assume you know which one is the poison?"

Grey's smile became an expression of teeth and aggression, masked by a kind of sadistic amusement, "Of course I do."

"And you'll still drink?"

"Of course, that's the deal. The question now is, do you hate me enough to risk your life?"

"What's to keep you from spitting yours out?"

"Miranda? Would you care to answer?" Grey asked politely.

"No."

"Because," Isabel interjected quietly, "Even a few residual drops coating the inside of your mouth will be enough to kill."

"Thank you, doctor," Grey held up his vial, "Ready?"

"Please, Grey, don't do this!" Miranda implored.

Grey's grin faded and was replaced by a forlorn smile, "I have to, poppet," he gestured at Edward, "It's the only thing people like him will understand," he shifted his attention back to the wounded man and raised his vial, "Here's to your son; may he enjoy a long and frustrating life...as a eunuch."

"Bastard!" Edward hissed and he downed the vial in a single gulp, Grey did the same. Both men swallowed and locked gazes as the entire room held its breath.

"You chose poorly, Edward," Grey said quietly.

"What—GOD!"

Edward fell to his hands and knees clutching his stomach, "Fuck!" and he vomited violently before collapsing into the fetal position, thrashing, "Fuck!" he vomited again as he tried to get to his feet.

"Jesus Grey, do something!" Sam demanded.

Grey swallowed and simply shrugged as Edward vomited for the third time, clutching his stomach and throat, "It burns!" he rasped out.

"And it will continue to burn for a good long time," Grey swallowed again and, reaching into his pocket, removed a small bottle and handed it to Edward's wife.

"What is this?" she asked, staring at her husband thrash and writhe in his own vomit with an expression of equal parts horror and fascination.

"Antidote," Grey replied and swallowed nosily, "for him," he then handed her a small business card, "And for you, Carol."

She took it and frowned, examining, "'Caitlin Blake, Family Law'?"

A ghostly, but gentle smile creased Grey's expression as he swallowed and leaned close to her, whispering in her ear. She looked thoroughly confused as he pulled away taking one last look at Edward.

"Goodbye Mister Hillsgrove, we will not meet again. I leave your fate in the hands of those you have abused. If you are lucky, they will show you more mercy than you or your son have shown others," Swallowing again, Grey bowed formally to the others in the room, "Ladies," he turned, "President Vega, good day," and with that he strode from the room.

The room was quiet except for Edward clutching his stomach and moaning piteously.

"What did he say to you?" Sam asked.

Carol shook her head, looking confused, but in a better state than she had since the entire debacle had begun, "I don't know, it was in a different language: 'Tempus mollis nisi merito valeat.'"

"It's Latin," President Vega spoke up.

"What does it mean?" Sam asked.

"'The weak deserve nothing, except the opportunity to become strong," he gestured at Carol holding the business card in her hand, "I believe it's meant as encouragement."

"What about him?" Isabel asked, gesturing at Edward who appeared to delirious with pain.

Carol looked down at the man and then, very deliberately, placed the bottle containing the antidote near his head, "If he wants to live so badly, he can drink it himself." She then closed her jacket to hide the shredded remains of her shirt and looked at everyone in the room, "Goodbye," and she left the room.

"Is anybody going to help him?" Sam asked quietly.

"No," Isabel said, "Besides, he's not dying."

"He sure looks like he's dying."

"If he'd ingested cyanide, he'd already be dead."

"Oh, then what the hell is wrong with him?"

"You'll have to ask Grey."

Miranda suddenly stormed out of the room, catching everyone by surprise.

"I've seen that look before," Sam gestured at the departing Miranda, "And I wouldn't trade places with Grey for all the Sandman comics in the world right now."

------------------------------

Doctor Miranda Inoue had had enough. She was tired: tired of being manipulated, tired of being intimidated, and most of all, tired of having any measurement of calm in her life completely upended by Grey. She was a woman on a mission and she was going to deal with this once and for—

She heard the sound of someone vomiting profusely.

--all.

She turned a corner to find Grey propping himself up along the side of a building.

"God damn it," he hissed and proceeded to throw up again.

In a heartbeat, condemnation became grave concern.

"What have you done to yourself, Grey? What was in those vials?"

He looked up at her then, he had become deathly pale and his lips had a faint, blue-ish, tint to them.

"Oh, God," Miranda moved towards him only to have him flinch away.

"Get away!" he hissed before throwing up again.

"Grey, whatever you just drank, we need an antidote."

"Ipecac."

Miranda nodded, "Good idea, we need to induce vomiting—oh," her brain caught up with her then.

Grey shuddered violently and he clutched at the wall for support, "I drank...Ipecac as did Hillsgrove, mixed with spoiled almond milk."

"For the bitter almonds smell associated with cyanide," Miranda reasoned, her eyes wide, "That's..."

"Inspired? Ingenious? Insidious?" his tone shifted from amused to acerbic.

"Insanity."

"Ah well, six of one...," he waved weakly, dismissively and vomited again.

There was a short silence between them, interrupted only by Grey's occasional wince of pain.

"Thank you for what you did for us," Miranda said quietly.

Grey gave her a look, "Oh, that must be difficult for you."

"It's true."

"I know, that's what makes difficult, I imagine," he threw up again and sank to a sitting position on the floor, braced against the wall, "Bloody hell, that's rank."

"Why did you do this?" the girl asked.

"What do you mean? Why did I poison myself?"

"For starters."

"Bullies only understand a few, select dialects: pain, fear, and death. They view the world and the people in it as things to be tormented or possessed."

"Is that why you called Sam and myself 'yours to judge and punish' that we were part of 'your design'?"

"I had to make him understand, so I spoke words that he would comprehend."

"Destroying his wife and shattering his hand wasn't going to cut it?"

"No."

Another pause.

"So, you aren't going to hurt his daughters--?"

"Of course I'm not going to hurt those little girls, do you think I'm a demon?" he snarled at her then and she backed away hurriedly as his veneer of humanity slipped, exposing the wounded, raging dragon underneath.

"I don't know anymore, Grey. I don't know anything when it comes to you anymore."

"Maybe you never really knew anything about me at all."

"Maybe not," she shrugged, too drained for anything more. "Why did you help his wife, in the end?"

His weary human face resurfaced, succeeding in dragging the dragon back down in the dark depths of his being.

"Because she needed it. I have shown her a way, should she choose to follow it, she will find herself stronger for it."

"Assuming she survives this path you've forced upon her."

"If she were as she could have been, the path would have not required force."

"So, what, 'tough love'?"

"That would require some form of love. This is more," he searched for the word, "Evolutionary imperative: either she will evolve or she will die. Either way, she will be free."

"Is that how you get your thrills then, Grey? Wind up people and watch them dance?"

A ghostly smile flickered across his bile-coated lips, "Oh, I like dancing," he closed his eyes, kneading them with his fists, "But this isn't a dance."

"What is it Grey?"

"Puppetry, Miranda. Marionette work."

"Are Sam and I your puppets? Was that why you were so angry, because someone tried to take away your toys?"

She was startled to see him flinch at her words, "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No, you're not my puppets."

"What are we, Grey?"

"Something...more."

"Miri!"

Miranda turned to see Sam wheeling towards her for all she was worth with Isabel right behind her.

"What. The. Fuck?!" Sam demanded as she wheeled up next to them.

"He's poisoned himself," Miranda told her.

"Madre de Dìos!" Isabel shoved Miranda out of the way, causing the thin girl to stumble backwards in Sam, who caught her before she fell.

The girls exchanged looks of confusion as Isabel began to touch Grey's face.

"Uh....Izzy?" Sam said cautiously.

Grey's complexion was pale, his hands trembled and his Isabel ran her fingers across his mouth, cleaning it of bile, they saw that his lips were blue.

"He's going into shock," Isabel stripped her jacket off and wrapped it around him.

Grey's green eyes flickered open and met Isabel's, "Good morning, mi pajarito."

Samantha Adler had often compared herself as the lesser genius in her relationship with Miranda. But, what she believes she may have lacked in intelligence, she more than made for with intuition.

In addition, she spoke Spanish.

"'Little bird'. You?!" Sam cried out, "You're his 'little bird'? You're the one that's been telling him about us?" The girls felt like they'd been sucker punched, all this time they had placed their trust in this woman. Now they felt as if they didn't know the real her at all.

Grey smiled thinly, his teeth were beginning to chatter, "Uh-oh, looks like the cat's out of the bag."

"Isabel how could you--?" Sam began.

"Not now!" Isabel yelled before taking Grey's hand in her eyes, "Stay with me!" she shouted into his face.

"What's wrong with him?" Miranda demanded.

"He's going into shock," she repeated testily.

"Why?"

Isabel whirled on her, "I don't know! If I can keep him from dying in the next ten minutes, we can ask him!" She refocused on Grey, using her thumbs to pry open his eyes, staring deeply into them, "Jorge, listen to me!"

"Why all this shouting?" he mumbled, his speech slurred.

"Jorge, what is the square root of 906.01?" the Spaniard demanded.

There was a long beat and everyone held their breath, waiting to see if Grey still possessed any.

Then...

"30.1" he rasped.

Sam's eyes bugged out, "'Jorge'? His name is 'Jorge'?"

Isabel ignored her, "Jorge, what are the carnal sins?"

"Lust. Gluttony. Sins of the flesh."

"'Jorge' isn't his name any more than 'Grey' is, Sammy," Miranda said quietly.

"Then why...?"

"The patron saint of Aragon," she gestured at Isabel, "is Saint George."

"Jorge, what are the four major Jungian archetypes?"

"The Self, the Shadow, the Animus/Anima, the Persona."

Isabel nodded, "Good, what are the others...in Italian?"

Grey's voice had grown stronger as he recited a flow of Italian.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"What he did in there," Isabel gestured to the room they'd just left, "Did something to him. Combined with being in poor health and drinking...?" she looked to Miranda.

"Ipecac and sour almond milk," the other woman replied quietly.

Sam made a face, "Oh, that just sucks."

"Whatever the reason, he appears to have been going into shock," Isabel stood and faced Miranda, "You saved his life, by being here."

Miranda felt a swirl of emotions: relief, fear, happiness.

But mostly, she was pissed and she crouched down to face Grey.

"Was that your plan, Grey? Give your little performance and then come down here to quietly die?"

He looked at her; his gaze was so raw and wounded that it hurt her, "It was....possible."

Sam wheeled herself in front of Isabel, "Is he going to die?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't think so. He seems to be getting his strength back."

Sam exhaled, "Okay, good."

Isabel nodded once, helping Grey get to his feet...

...and then slamming a right hook across his jaw.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" and she exploded into a torrent of enraged Spanish that left both girls stunned.

"Isabel!" Miranda yelled, shocked. She attempted to drag the other woman off the man, but the other woman would not be deterred. She abandoned her attempts, "Sammy?"

Sam shrugged," I got 'something, something, how could you do this to me, something, you monster, something, something'," she looked overwhelmed, "I'm sorry Miri, my grasp on the Spanish language can't keep up here."

"I watched you die!" Isabel screamed at him, switching back to English. The other girls' eyes went wide at that.

"He did what now?" Sam blurted out.

Isabel ran a shaking hand through her hair, "The last time I saw him was in a cathedral in Barcelona performing Houdini's Chinese Water Torture act to a crowd of over a thousand people," she pointed a trembling finger. "And everyone, including me, watched him drown on stage."

Grey just smiled slightly brought his hands up, "Abracadabra."

"I watched them try to resuscitate you. We all did. I touched you, you didn't have a pulse."

"You saw what you were meant to see."

Isabel sniffled, wiped her arm across her eyes, and stared down at the ground for a long time.

"How?" she asked quietly.

"The water was kept at just above freezing, it helped to lower my heart rate to barely noticeable levels," he shrugged, "and then it was just a matter of hustling me away from the audience. A shot of adrenaline and a pair of defibrillator paddles later, here I am."

"My heart died that day!"

"Of course it did, that was the point."

"Why?!" Isabel screamed at him, her dark eyes tearful.

"You gave me your heart. Breaking it was the only way I could think of giving it back, so that you could, in time, give it to someone more deserving."

Isabel's dusky complexion went stark white and Grey reached out and gently touched her hand, "I knew you would never stop feeling for me the way you did. Just as I knew that I could never give you what you needed, what you deserved. Not while I lived."

"So you died," Isabel whispered hoarsely.




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 08



"It seemed the most logical course of action."

Isabel looked at him a long time. And then she punched him in the face again.

Grey winced but didn't try to avoid the blow, "You're going to want to switch hands if you intend to keep doing that so as to avoid hurting yourself."

"I hate you!"

"Good. It is my gift to you: a broken heart mends and can be well enough to be given to the right person, as you did with your husband."

He reached into his jacket and removed a cigarette, lighting up he took a long drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke away from the woman.

"I'm confused," Sam addressed Isabel, "If you knew him from before, why are you so surprised to see him now?"

"Because back when I knew him, he wasn't called "Grey", he called himself "Jorge" and he never let on that he was anything more than what he seemed to be." She gave a small shrug, "I had no reason to believe that he was concealing his identity, or that he was lying about who he was." The Spaniard regarded him sadly, "He never once gave me any reason to believe that he would ever lie to me."

"Everyone lies," Grey said quietly.

"I didn't."

"You seem to have learned, given how upset your friends here are about your snooping."

"You're not even sorry?" Miranda asked, finding her voice.

"Not even a little," Grey confirmed, "She has a husband who loves and treasures her, and I think it was worth the price."

"The ends justify the means, huh Grey?"

"You said it, not I," he coughed and rubbed his chest, "Fuck that hurts."

Miranda reached out to touch his face and he jerked away from her, "What are you on about?" he demanded.

"You're bleeding," she said quietly, touching the side of his mouth with the scar, it came back dark red.

"Well, I have just been repeatedly struck in the face," he coughed and rubbed at his chest.

"Blood's too dark, it's internal."

"That's a pretty far-fetched assumption..." his words trailed off as he dropped his cigarette and clutched at his chest, "Goddamn it!"

"What is it Grey, what's wrong?"

"An--," he hissed and then groaned in agony.

"What?"

"An-gina."

"Angina," Miranda's mouth dropped open, "You're smoking thirty cigarettes a day, binge-drinking and getting into fights and you're telling me you have a heart condition?!"

Grey grinned, his teeth were bloody and he spat a glob of dark crimson from his mouth, "Pretty much."

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Sam demanded.

"No, but I'm not opposed to the idea either."

Sam and Miranda were left speechless as Isabel got to her feet, "I can't do this," she addressed the girls, gesturing at Grey's pained form, "Get him to a hospital, or don't, I don't care. I'm done caring about this one." She turned to go.

"Isabel!"

Isabel stopped and turned slowly to face Grey, "What?"

"Are you happy? Your life, your love. Are you happy?"

She was quiet for a moment, "More than you can possibly imagine."

"You're welcome. Goodbye, little bird."

"Goodbye, viejo mentiroso condenado."

She left then and never looked back.

"What did she say?" Miranda asked quietly.

"She called him an 'old, doomed liar'," Sam replied quietly.

"Fitting."

Grey took out another cigarette, lit up, and began to walk away.

"Are you going to a hospital?" Sam asked him.

"I'm going home. If I'm going to die, I'd rather it be there."

"Is there anything we can do to change your mind?"

"The only thing you can do for me is to stay away," he turned and faced the girls, "You beauties and I, we're done. All debts paid. Let me live out the remainder of my time in peace and do not trespass in my life again," he spun around and began to stride away purposefully.

"Grey?" Miranda called out.

"What?" he said, stopping, but not turning to face the girls.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me; I didn't do it for you."

"Then why did you do it?"

A beat.

"Because it needed to be done."

"Is this...truly what you want, Grey?"

He turned to face them, an air of finality in the gesture,

"With all the pieces of my blackened heart: you have caused me to risk my safety, my sanity," he looked back towards the room they had all been in, "and now, the tattered remains of my very soul," he met her violet gaze with emerald eyes, "The high cost of being part of your life is too high. Goodbye Miranda Inoue and Samantha Adler. Go now and suffer in whatever fashion seems best to you."

He nodded curtly, turned, and left the girls in ashen silence.

---------------------------

"Hey!"

Isabel turned with a sigh to face down Sam and Miranda approaching at full speed.

"Why?" Sam asked simply.

"Because I owed him a great deal," was all she said.

"Your integrity!" Miranda yelled at her, "Your decency, we trusted you, how could you spy on us? God, I feel like I don't even know you anymore!"

Isabel hesitated for only a moment; then she unbuttoned the top button of her shirt collar, exposing her neck. She rubbed against her neck with her thumb and soon, smudges of brown concealer stained her skin.

There, upon her dark throat, were thin, white lines of scar tissue: ligature marks. Just like the ones they had seen upon the neck of Mrs. Hillsgrove.

"No..." Sam whispered, going white as a sheet.

"I'm you, Sam," Isabel confessed sadly, "Only my rescue was twenty minutes and eighteen seconds too late."

"Izzy, what did they do--?"

Isabel held up a hand, "Please, I can't deal with this right now. If you want to talk later, we can, but right now I need to get out of here," she buttoned her collar closed and hurried away.

The remained still, for a while, in stunned silence

"Miri?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Can we go home now?"

"God, yes."

Miranda gripped the handlebars of Sam's chair so tightly, her knuckles went white.

Why? Was all she could think of.

"Why did all this happen?" Sam asked quietly, echoing the other girl's thoughts.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it's over."

Sam shook her head and stared a thousand yard stare at where Isabel had just been.

"No, Miri," she replied quietly, "It's only just beginning."



Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 09



Nothing goes as planned Everything will break People say goodbye In their own special way All that you rely on And all that you can fake Will leave you in the morning But find you in the day  Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out Oh, you're all I taste At night inside of my mouth Oh, you run away 'Cause I am not what you found Oh, you're in my veins And I cannot get you out  -Andrew Belle "In My Veins"

Normalcy crept back into their lives as gradual as the turning of October leaves.

Miranda felt Grey's absence keenly, at first. She would wake up having dreamt of him or catch the scent of tobacco, which would propel her into memories of him. It made her ache in a place beyond bones and blood.

But through it all, Sam was there: she comforted her and consoled her and never once judged or was insulted or insecure about how Miranda felt about the man. And slowly, the days became weeks and she thought about him less and less.

And then, one day, she didn't think about him at all, and she cried as she knew that their bond, whatever it had been, was gone. When it was over, Sam held her and told her she loved her.

And that was enough for Miranda.

One of the girl's favorite holidays, Halloween was fast approaching and the girls began to assemble the components for their respective costumes: Sam would dress up as Death while Miranda would dress as her sibling, Dream, both characters from Sam's favorite comic, "The Sandman". As the characters were siblings and the girl's lovers, the incest jokes from their friends were always readily at hand.

There was one other noteworthy event.

"'Sweet home Chattanooga! Where the skies are blue!'" Sam was currently belting out a modified version of Lynyrd Skynyrd's classic tune with a slight modification to reflect hometown pride. Dressed in boxer shorts and a tank top, Sam spun like a dervish, occasionally bouncing off a wall and knocking things from tabletops and shelves.

Miranda was curled up on the couch with a book, doing her best to ignore Sam's best efforts to make it very difficult to read. She might have been annoyed at her lover's impression of the Tasmanian Devil if she hadn't, in fact, found it adorable.

The doorbell rang out then, only somewhat audible over the blasting music.

"Dibs!" Sam cried out. She wheeled full speed toward the door and proceeded to hit it with enough force to send her ricocheting backwards and nearly out of her chair, "Ow!"

"Exactly how much caffeine have you had today?" Miranda called out without looking back from her book.

"Just. Enough," Sam replied, enunciating each word with exacting care. She grabbed the doorknob, twisted and jerked it open.

"Oh," she said, her expression falling, "It's you."

For a moment, emotion managed to outrun reason and Miranda felt a surge of something unidentifiable, but wholly undeniable.

Sam moved out of the way to reveal Isabel and Luke.

"Hi," Isabel said softly.

Sam snorted, "Look, Miri, its Judy Iscariot plus one."

Isabel flinched and sighed, "Yeah, I guess I've earned that."

"And then some."

She presented a bottle of wine, "Moristel. It goes well with stuffed peppers, braised lamb, and begging for forgiveness from friends and loved ones."

Sam laughed a little, "They really do make a vintage for everything. Get your ass in here."

Isabel smiled brightly, "Thanks Sam," Isabel reached back to take her husband's hand, "Come on, sweetie, let me show you how a Spaniard eats crow."

"Does the wine go well with that too?" He asked wryly.

"Shut up."

Sam led Isabel and Luke into the living room. Miranda already had glasses in hand.

"Hello Isabela," Miranda said, her manner cool.

"Hey Miranda, feel like giving me a few minutes to pour my guts out?"

"Not on this carpet, I just had it steamed."

Everyone laughed at the stupid joke and the tension drained from the room. Miranda shut off the classic rock and put on one of the quieter Joy Division albums.

Isabel removed a corkscrew from her pocket and popped the cork, "Custom dictates that the wine breathes for the better part of an hour."

"Fuck that," Sam snorted, "Booze me."

Isabel shook her head with a smile, but proceeded to pour the wine. She held up her glass, "It's considered poor form to not have at least one toast when one is sampling such a fine drink."

Sam and Miranda looked at each other for a moment. The Asian girl nodded and Sam sighed, shaking her head, causing her blond tresses to shake as she hoisted her glass, "Here's to friends and loved ones, may we forgive all the stupid shit they do."

"I will drink to that," Luke said.

"Absolutely," Isabel added.

"Cheers," Miranda said quietly and they clinked their glasses together and sipped the wine.

"Oh, that's like liquid sex," Sam commented.

"That is smooth," Miranda replied taking another sip from her glass.

"It's from Aragon, where I was born," Isabel informed them.

"Is all the alcohol there this good?" Sam asked.

"Better."

"Good God, woman, why on earth did you leave?"

"Because I watched someone I loved die."

Silence descended upon the table like a shroud. Sam and Miranda sent an uncomfortable look towards Luke.

"He's already heard the story," Isabel assured them, "Now it's time for the other people in my life that I love to hear it."

"There was a time," Sam mused, "that being called your loved one would have made my millennium."

"That's because you always assume that your loved ones will have sex with you," Miranda replied.

"Oh yeah," Sam grinned around her wineglass.

Miranda smirked, shaking her head before turning to face Isabel.

"This was, God, five, six years ago or so," Isabel began, "Back when I went by 'Alana'."

"What, Isabel isn't your real name?" Sam blurted out.

"It is, now. But my name was, originally Alana," as she unbuttoned her collar and exposed the white scar on her neck, "That was before...everything."

Luke reached over and took his wife's hand, "It's okay, babe, take your time."

Isabel nodded and took a steadying sip of wine, "I was doing my post grad at MIT, mathematics naturally, and I got invited to a fraternity party held by Alpha Chi Ro."

"Those motherfuckers?!" Sam cried out, "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"That's the connection," Miranda said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Miranda has the right of it," Isabel sighed, "I went to the party and I met someone, a guy. He was a member of the fraternity. We talked, God," Isabel looked up at the ceiling for a second, "it felt so long since I'd just talked to someone: no classes, no thesis or research or anything, just a connection with someone else for a few hours. He suggested we go out for a drive, I agreed."

"Oh, I so don't like where this is going," Sam said quietly as she looked over to Luke. His face was locked in an expression that she hoped she never saw again on someone she cared about.

"Good instincts," Isabel said quietly. She rubbed her scar absently. "We went out for a drive. Wound up in this parking lot of some bar," Isabel exhaled hard and wiped at her eyes, pinching the skin at the bridge of her nose, taking several deep breaths.

"And then, he raped me."

Miranda's eyes closed as she winced in sympathetic pain. Sam's eyes were pools of azure misery as tears streamed from her eyes. Wordlessly, she wheeled over to Isabel and threw her arms around the other woman.

"I'm so sorry, Izzy!" She held the other woman tightly. Isabel folded her hands over Sam's arms and sniffled.

"Yeah," she whispered, "Me too."

"What's the scar from, Isabela?" Miranda asked quietly.

"A shoelace. He tied it around my neck while he was—"

"I got it, thanks," Miranda drained her glass and refilled it as Sam pulled away from Isabela, running the back of her hand across her nose, sniffling. "Mrs. Hillsgrove, she had the same scar."

"Yeah, it's like a signature of that fraternity, rape and ligature marks," Isabel sniffled and wiped her eyes, "Assholes. I put up a fight and the bastard started punching me, he broke my arm, broke my nose, knocked out two of my teeth."

"What happened afterwards?"

"When he finished, he said we weren't done. He started to choke me, I couldn't see or breathe, and I knew I was going to die," she looked up to face the others, "But then his windshield just...exploded and I heard this...this scream, like an enraged animal. Isabel scoffed a little, "Scared the hell out of me," she sipped her wine; "Anyhow, he was just torn away from me and out of the car. I was too busy trying to see and breathe, but I heard him, Mike, I think his name was, he was screaming and I heard that other sound, I thought he was being mauled by a bear. I must have blacked out," she drained her glass and Miranda refilled it wordlessly.

"When I came to, I was outside of the car. My clothes were back on and I wasn't bleeding anymore. Mike had been beaten to a pulp, there was so much blood I wasn't sure he was alive. He had this thick chain wrapped around his neck, it was covered in gore. And standing there was this odd-looking man in a tan coat, smoking a cigarette. '"Fancy a fag?' he asked me," her voice dropped into a cockney accent.

"Our hero," Sam commented dryly, releasing Isabel and wheeling back to sit by Miranda's side.

"I told him I didn't smoke," Isabel gave a little laugh, "He said 'Well, now's as good a time as any to start there, luv'."

"Grey," Miranda said softly, "Deus Ex Machina."

"Pretty much," Isabel confirmed. "He took off his sunglasses, he had these amazing green eyes and he said '"You have two choices now poppet; you can try to play by the rules, take him to court and sit and watch him get off on a technicality or have his buddies vouch that he was somewhere else because the rich don't go to jail over something as innocuous as rape and attempted murder. Or, you can follow me and I promise you, if you can give it some time, you'll have your revenge, free of corrupt courts and liars'," Isabel gave a small shrug, "It sounded like a good offer, I agreed."

"How Faustian," Sam commented dryly, "What happened to Mike?"

"We left him there and we went to this motel."

"You just got into Grey's car?" Miranda asked incredulously, "After seeing what he did?"

"There was something about him, even standing there with blood all over his shirt, I felt safer with him than I'd felt with anyone. I just felt like I knew that he wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"Yeah, he has that effect."

"We made it back to his room and he cleaned me up. I remember, he was so gentle and patient with me. He wouldn't make a move until I made it clear to him I was okay with being touched. He spent the whole night cleaning my skin, bit by bit until I felt clean and safe, at least as clean and safe as I was going to," she gave a small laugh, "I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up, he'd stitched up the worst of the injuries. Set my arm and nose, I never felt a thing. He'd brewed some tea and it helped with the pain."

"Then what happened?" Sam asked.

"Then, we talked. We talked about everything, except...what had just happened. I told him about Aragon, everything in me just wanted to go home and try to forget."

"What did he say?"

"He said 'right then', and we wound up on a private plane headed for Spain."

"He has his own plane?!" Sam asked agog.

"No, he said it belonged to someone who—"

"Owed him," Sam and Miranda exclaimed at the same time.

"Apparently, the person in question wasn't able to make an inside straight, whatever that means."

"It means the owner of that plane shouldn't play cards with conniving Englishmen," Luke informed her.

Isabel cleared her throat, "We went to my parents' farm, just outside Osca. They were so surprised when we just showed up on their doorstep," she smiled faintly at the memory. "Jorge—"

"Okay, need to interrupt here," Sam piped in, "How did the whole 'Jorge' thing start?"

"We were in a taxi, on our way to the airfield and I asked him what his name was. 'Names are such transitory things' was all he said. I pushed and he asked our cab driver what his name was."

"Jorge," Miranda concluded.

"Exactly, so after speaking with the driver, he turns to me and says 'One name is as good as another, you may call me 'Jorge' as well." She laughed a little, "I found his cryptic attitude very frustrating."

"Join the fucking club," Sam commented dourly.

"What happened when you got to your parents place?" Miranda asked.

"Jorge didn't offer them any information, he allowed me to tell them as much or as little as I wished. 'It's your story to tell,' was all he said." She coughed once and took a sip of wine, "So, I just talked with my family and, eventually, I told them what happened. My family was very grateful to Jorge. My parents were about ready to hug him when I swear; he sent them a look that would have frightened a shark."

"Yeah, he's not big on being touched," Sam informed her, "Jury's still out if it's due to the burns or just generally being fucked in the head."

Isabel frowned, "What burns?"

Miranda and Sam exchanged a look, "Never mind, we'll fill you in later," Sam assured her, "Carry on."

The only time Jorge spoke was when my parents asked what he did for a living. '"Freeloading Englishman' was all he'd said."

Miranda snorted lightly, "That sounds true to form."

"He left the room after that, citing that it was now 'a time for family' and as soon he was gone, I just fell apart. I cried until I couldn't breathe, it was the first time I had since...," she closed her eyes for a long time before opening them again.

"The next three months were... almost idyllic, given the circumstances. During the day, Jorge and I would walk outside and talk about everything: philosophy, history, theology. I had never seen such a hungry mind before. I taught him everything I knew about non-linear equations, heuristics, chaos and singularities and he just soaked it in like a sponge. Soon he was coming up with ideas and formulas I'd never dreamed of," she gave a little laugh, "I had created better than I had known and it was a little off-putting."

"Gods and monsters, Doctor Frankenstein," Luke commented dryly.

Isabel's expression turned wistful, "It was one of the most intellectually exciting periods of my life. At night, we would all get together, my parents, Jorge, me and we'd cook. My father studied under Jose Andres, a very well-respected chef and very talented at molecular gastronomy."

"I've heard of him," Miranda commented, "He taught a course in culinary physics at Harvard."

'"Culinary physics'," Sam mused, "I like it."

"My father is an amazing chef, Jorge learned everything he could about cooking from my parents and even tried his hand at a few new dishes," she smirked slightly, "My father said his meals were 'aesthetically pleasing but lacking in passion'."

"Oh, that had to sting," Sam laughed.

"The only passion he's shown us is anger, which doesn't tend to translate well in a culinary sense," Miranda put in.

"Although his grits are fantastic," Samantha reminded the other woman.

"I'll take your word on that."

"It only made him try harder," Isabel sighed, "but no matter what he did, he just couldn't capture whatever elusive quality my mother and father were able to imbue their food with. My father said Jorge's cooking was good for the eye and good for the stomach, but that truly fine cuisine was good for the soul."

"Poetic," Miranda mused.

"Well, to make up for it, he performed magic tricks after dinner for our entertainment."

"What, like sawing a woman in half?" Sam said with a grin, "Cause it's not actually a trick if he gets some poor woman and cuts her in half just to make a spectacle of it and don't glare at me like that, Miri, you can see him doing it as easily as I can," Sam finished, sticking her tongue out at her lover who had been indeed glaring at her.

"You're entitled to your delusions," was all Miranda said.

Isabel smiled slightly, she always did enjoy their banter, "No sawing in half, instead he did coin tricks and sleight-of-hand, anything that involved misdirection and physical manipulation."

"Grey is skilled in all forms of manipulation, it's one of his defining characteristics," Miranda informed her grimly.

"He was pretty good, almost a natural showman in a strangely grim and reserved sort of way, but what he really excelled at was bondage."

"I beg your pardon?" Sam demanded.

"Not what you're thinking," Isabel amended, "He was a very talented escape artist. My grandfather was a sailor and he taught my mother everything there was to know about knot-work. She was very, very good at it," she took a sip of wine, "But, no matter what we did, he'd be loose in under sixty seconds," she sighed, "Which is what made his apparent death so bizarre in retrospect, but I'm skipping ahead."

She took another sip of wine and exhaled.

"And then," she continued, "About three months later, we were in Barcelona, there was a parade that Jorge said he wanted to see. And we were sitting at an outdoor café, talking about dinner when we got home," she frowned, "But then he...changed."

"Changed?" Sam said with a frown.

"One minute he was fine, the next," Isabel gave a short little laugh, "the next, he had the posture of a coiled asp."

"What did he do?"

"He was so still, only his eyes moved; they narrowed and I turned to look at what he was looking at...and there he was, just sitting there, talking to this girl."

"'He' who?"

"The man who raped me."

Sam nearly choked and went into a coughing fit as Miranda eyed Isabel warily.

"How?" she asked calmly.

"I don't know, I don't think I could have comprehended any kind of explanation, I was trying too hard not to have a nervous breakdown."

"What did Grey do?"

Isabel gave a slight snort, "'Grey'. Well, it's more fitting than "'Jorge' I suppose. To answer, all he did was reach into his pocket, calmly, and then folded his newspaper and slid it across the table to me. Inside was a knife."

Sam wiped away the tears from her coughing fit, looking shocked.

"A knife? What kind of knife?" Sam asked.

Isabel reached into her pocket and placed an object on the table before them.

"This kind of knife."

Sam, tentatively, reached out and took it. It was a folding knife, a thing of metal and plastic. Examining it, she unfolded the blade. It was just under three inches long and curved, like a talon, with a serrated edge.

"Wicked," she breathed. She offered to show it to Miranda, the other girl waved it away.

"Did you kill him?" Miranda asked quietly.

A long pause and then, slowly, like gears grinding against themselves, Isabel nodded her head.

"Yes."

"How?"

Isabel closed her eyes and winced slightly at the effort of remembrance.

"He—Jorge—, he got up from our table, God he was so...relaxed about it all, almost casual. He walked into a small alley near the café and all he told me was 'Let him see you and then follow', I was so scared, so angry, so—I don't know, I don't have the words for it."

"But you did it?"

"What else was I going to do? I got up from the table and I just stood there, waiting for him to see me. And after a while, he did," she gave a short laugh, "He looked like he'd seen a ghost. He gets up from the table, doesn't say anything to the girl he's with and he just comes towards me."

She shuddered and Luke reached out to take her hand. Isabel closed her eyes, sniffled and covered his hand with hers.

"I'm okay," she whispered. She coughed and cleared her throat, "I went down the alley with him right behind me and I passed Jorge at the mouth of the alley. He looked me in the eye as I went past him and all he did was tap his inner thigh with two fingers."




Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 09



"And then what?" Sam asked breathlessly.

"And then Mike was there, right in front of me. He was screaming at me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. And then, he lifted his hand, like he was going to hit me."

"What did you do?"

"I stabbed him. Right in the stomach," she gave another short, semi-hysterical laugh, "He looked so surprised and then he started to scream."

"Didn't anyone come to check it out?"

Miranda gave a laugh of her own. "The parade: lots of noise and distractions. What perfect timing."

"Large crowd, big festival, no one noticed one missing American tourist. It was just serendipitous it was—"

"The perfect murder," Miranda said, a hint of either admiration or revulsion crept into her voice.

"Yes. Perfect," Isabel said dully.

"What happened next?"

"Next, he died. I don't even remember stabbing him after the first time. When it was over, I remember feeling sticky, of all things, from all the blood. Jorge, he steps behind me and he says "'You were supposed to stab him in the thigh, not the gut.'"

"Sever the femoral artery," Miranda said without missing a beat, "He'd bleed to death in less than a minute."

"I suppose," Isabel gave a miserable shrug, "Jorge looked irritated with me, like I'd knocked over some milk instead of having just stabbed a man to death."

"Yeah, irritation appears to be his default setting." Sam commented dryly.

"Then what happened?" Miranda asked.

"Then, it got strange," Isabel replied, choosing her words with care.

"Now it's strange?!" Samantha choked out.

"These men showed up. I don't know, maybe they were there all the time."

"Who were they?"

"I don't know, they were big, they had strange accents."

"Did they smell of sausage and manure?" Miranda asked, without missing a beat.

Isabel's mouth dropped open, "How did you know?"

"It's the only logical course of action."

"Uh, please repeat that in average person dummy talk?" Sam requested.

"They were criador de cerdos," Isabel replied.

"They were what now?"

"Pig farmers," Miranda explained, "Probably not locals if they had strange accents. My guess is they came from the east; Sardinia or mainland Italy."

"These men, they picked up...the body," Isabel coughed, "They put him in a truck and drove away, and that's it."

"Okay, so what are they going to do with the body?" the blonde girl asked.

"Feed it to their pigs," Miranda informed her.

"Oh, gross!" Sam exclaimed, and then she gave a little laugh, "But cool. I didn't know pigs eat people."

"Pigs are opportunistic omnivores, much like people."

"Oh, there's a flattering comparison."

Miranda took her lover's hand in hers and kissed it before turning her attention back to Isabel.

"Where was the girl Mike was with during all of this?"

"After Mike was taken away, I sort of, snapped out of it and I noticed that Jorge was gone. I leave the alley, the parade is still going on and Jorge is handing the girl an envelope this thick," she held her fingers apart.

"What the fuck?" Sam exclaimed.

"Yes," Isabel refilled her glass and the girl's, "When she left, I asked him who she was."

"Prostitute?" Miranda hazarded a guess.

'"A talented whore, but a gifted grafter,' was what he told me later."

"She was a hooker?" Sam asked.

"Apparently, Jorge had hired her to hook up with Mike and...convince him to come visit Barcelona on that day."

"She was working for him? For how long?" Miranda cried.

"He hired her one week after I was raped. 'A long-term con', he called it."

"He paid this girl to seduce this guy, bring him to Spain so he could murder him on that day at that time?"

"Yes."

"Damn," Sam exhaled, "That's hardcore."

"Yes," Isabel took a long sip from her glass.

"What happened afterwards?" Sam asked, a little breathless.

"Afterwards? We sat down, finished our coffee, then got up and left."

The room was silent.

"One question," Miranda asked.

Sam looked at her agog, "Just the one?"

"You were soaked in blood."

Isabel smiled slightly, "He insisted, before we left, that I pack a coat. I thought he was worried about the weather. It wasn't until he gave it to me inside the alley that I realized it may have been something more."

"Naturally," Miranda gave a semi-amused snort and took a sip from her glass.

"Hey, hold on; how the fuck did Grey, just "happen" to know a bunch of Italian pig farmers?"

"He didn't," Isabel replied.

"Your father?" Miranda asked.

"Yes, I think so."

"How fortuitous. If Grey wasn't orchestrating the deaths of other people, I'd consider it elegant."

"What would you do if it were your daughter?" Sam retorted.

Miranda winced, but nodded, "I'd have fed him to the pigs while he was still alive."

"That's my girl."

Isabel exhaled hard, "So that's it, that's my secret, my sin, and my shame."

"Being raped is nothing to be ashamed of," Sam admonished.

Isabel stared at her, "I just confessed to killing a man and that's all you have to say?"

"That wasn't a man," Sam interjected, "The guy was two-legged vermin, and you shouldn't feel guilty about a fucking thing."

"I took a human life, Sam, doing that...it changes you."

"Yeah, well, I like who you are, so it must have been a change for the better."

Those assembled laughed, Sam's joke having the intended effect of draining the tension from the room.

Miranda came around the table to stand by Isabel; she smiled softly, "Perhaps what you did was wrong, I don't know, I'm not in a position to judge. If you want someone to punish you or forgive you, that's not me. All I can do—"

"All we can do," Sam interrupted.

"—is to promise you that we are your friends and we will stick by you, no matter what," Miranda leaned over and hugged the other woman tightly.

"Thank you," Isabel whispered hoarsely as she wrapped an arm around her, her dark eyes glistening with emotion.

"Amen, sister!" Sam cheered, holding up her wine glass in toast before downing her drink with gusto.

"Hear, hear," Luke added quietly, reaching over to take his wife's free hand in his.

The women parted and Isabel sniffled, wiping at her eyes, "I've never been able to tell that story to anyone except for Luke. To be able to share it with you, I can't thank you enough."

"Then knock it off and help us kill the rest of this bottle!" Sam insisted, holding up the mostly-empty bottle.

"I can drink to that," Isabel said with a smile.

"Come again soon!" Sam cried out the front door at the retreating couple a few hours (and an empty bottle of Vino) later, "Bring more wine, leave the angst at home!"

Isabel's throaty laughter was still echoing in her ears as she closed the door behind them, leaving her in the comfortable stillness of Miranda's presence.

"That was a very good thing you did," she said, leveling a finger at her lover.

Miranda shrugged, "It was the truth, and besides, she needed a little generosity of spirit. You taught me the importance of that back in that boardroom."

"Yeah?" Sam grinned saucily, wheeling towards her, "Is that all you took away from our time together?"

Miranda knew that smile; it led to only one thing.

"Bedroom?"

Sam shook her head, "Nope," she shed her shirt and unclasped her bra, her sun-kissed breasts nearly bursting forth from their silken confines. Her nipples were two, tiny points of firm, pink skin. The sight of them, and the prospect of their taste on her tongue, made Miranda's mouth water as she squeezed her thighs unconsciously, dampness creeping from between.

"Bath?" Miranda hazarded a second guess.

"Nope," Sam unbuttoned her pants and shimmed out of them, her panties following. Soon, was clad only in her socks. Miranda began to approach her, running her tongue across her lips at the sight of her lover's firm thighs and tanned legs leading up to the bare skin of her moisten cleft.

"Right here on the living room floor?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

"I got it right?"

"Very much so."

"What's my prize?"

"One bone-crushing orgasm."

"Is that all?"

Sam pouted prettily, "Oh, you're tough."

Miranda nearly dashed to Sam and, wrapping her arms around her, captured her mouth in a fierce kiss, plumbing her soft mouth with her tongue. She felt Sam's wrap around her own and the two moaned into each other as Miranda reached up to cup Sam's breast in her hand.

Sam broke the kiss, "Get out of those clothes and fuck me already," she hissed urgently.

Miranda pulled off her shirt and bra, exposing her pale breasts like two pale gems tipped with pink. The sight of them made Sam ache with desire and she reached forth to capture one of her nipples between lips. She moaned as Sam suckled at her breast, running her fingers through the girl's blonde hair. Sam licked and nibbled at the firm skin, catching her nipple between her teeth and rolling it back and forth.

Sam tore at Miranda's pants, and finally managed to unclasp Miranda's pants. She shoved them and her panties down past her knees. Sam gripped her hips and buried her face in her soft nest of curls, now damp with arousal. Inhaling her scent deeply, she began to lick at Miranda's wet skin.

Miranda gasped at the sensation and, balancing precariously, stripped her clothes from her legs with her foot before grabbing Sam's head with her hands and holding her flush against her body. She had to brace herself on Sam's chair as her lover continued to lap and suckle at her sex. Soon, she felt all her muscles begin to tighten as she felt Sam's tongue make love to her body, pushing in and out of her over and over again.

"I'm cumming!" Miranda cried out before her ability to speak was denied her, as her entire body trembled and shook, her nether lips clamping down on Sam's tongue like a vise. Sam reached up and cupped her buttocks, pulling her shuddering form flush against her as her tongue lashed against her tiny nub like a fiery whip.

Finally, Miranda pushed herself away from her lover and promptly sank to her knees, spent. Sweat made her short hair a wet tangle and her pale body glistened. "That...was...good," Miranda finally wheezed out and she face-planted into Sam's lap.

Sam chuckled throatily, running her fingers through her lover's damp hair, "So I see, nice to know I haven't lost my touch."

Miranda looked up at her, giving her the look that only the freshly and thoroughly fucked can manage, "You can't fucking be serious," she replied incredulously.

"Language!" Sam admonished her in mock horror.

"Oh, watashi wo yurushite," she commented dryly 'Please forgive me'.

"Forgiven on the grounds that you are not completely in control of your cognitive processes due to endorphins," Sam grinned down at her lover and bent over to kiss her on the head. She tasted like sweetness and salty sweat.

"And on that note," Miranda lunged forth with a speed that Sam was unprepared for. Before she knew it, Miranda had parted her thighs and was proceeding to bury her mouth and tongue into her sex.

"Oh...fuck!" Sam hissed, "Oh, that's so good, baby."

Miranda momentarily looked up from her work to give her a wry look that stated simply 'No shit'.

Sam scowled at her, "At no point did I say you could stop."

Miranda rolled her violet eyes at her, but resumed licking at Sam's flesh, drinking her in, thoroughly intoxicated by her scent and taste.

"Miri...," Sam moaned, running her fingers through Miranda's dark locks, her head lolling back in pleasure. Miranda traced up one side of her cleft with her tongue, before moving down the other, slowly, catching every drop of arousal she could manage and rolling it around on her tongue like a fine wine.

Soon, Sam began to grind herself against Miranda's mouth as the girl lapped and sucked at her skin, teasing out her small bud from her sticky folds and fastening her mouth upon it, licking harder and harder.

Sam's mouth formed a perfect "O" and she pushed Miranda's head deeper between her thighs. She raked her free hand across her breasts, leaving tiny trails of white across her tanned skin. She found her nipple and pulled at it, twisting and turning the small bit of rose-colored skin between her fingers and Miranda continued to suck and lick at her body.

"Miri!" Sam cried out, throwing her head back as ecstasy roared its way through her muscular frame; she shook and quivered as wave after orgasmic wave tore through her blood like a storm. She pulled Miranda's face from her lap and devoured her mouth in a crushing kiss, tasting herself on her lips.

"So fucking good," Sam sighed as her orgasm subsided.

"Is it just me, or do you become a regular chatterbox when we're making love?" Miranda asked wryly.

"It's just you, now get up here," Sam pulled Miranda's thin form up into her lap and kissed her repeatedly, wrapping her strong arms around the other girl and squeezing her tightly.

"I love you," Miranda said quietly, resting her head against Sam's.

"I love you, too,"

"I love you more, and I said it first," Miranda grinned at Sam.

"Brat!" Sam laughed and proceeded to tickle the other girl mercilessly.

"Ack! Quit it!" She squealed in glee and made half-heartedly attempted to get away.

"Take it back!" Sam demanded with a laugh, dancing her fingers all over the other girl's skin, finding just the right places to drive her nuts.

"Fine! Fine! You love me as much as I love you!" Miranda conceded.

Sam abruptly stopped and kissed her lover upon the top of her head.

"If not more," she whispered softly.

Miranda entwined her fingers with Sam's.

"I can live with that."

"Good, because you're stuck with me?"

"Forever?"

"Forever and ever," Sam kissed the other girl softly and rested against her body.

"Thank you," Miranda whispered softly.

"Anytime," Sam replied softly, "Every time."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Good," Sam kissed her hair again, "Now, we need to bathe."

"Will you help me get those hard to reach places?" Miranda asked coyly.

Sam laughed, "Try to stop me."

"Race you!" Miranda dashed off Sam's lap on wobbly legs.

"No fair!" Sam decried, racing after her, "The cripple should get the head start."

"If I ever meet a cripple, I'll be sure to let them know," Miranda shot back.

"And that, is why I love you," Sam beamed.

"What about the orgasms?"

"Well, there is that, as well."

"I thought so," Miranda smiled, "It's fun to be right."

"Oh, absolutely," Sam grinned as she wheeled up beside the other girl, "Given how rarely it happens for you, I'd suggest making the most of it."

"Brat!" Miranda laughed.

"Sneaky brat!" Sam crowed and, having discreetly closed the distance between her and the other girl, now raced past her.

"Hey!" Miranda cried out as Sam reached the bathroom before her.

"Yes! She shoots, she scores, and the crowd goes wild!" Sam cupped her hands around her mouth and imitated the roar of the crowd.

"You little...!"

Sam casually cupped her large breasts and held them up,

"Little?" she leaned over and licked her nipple, pinching it.

Miranda's mouth ran dry, "Okay, now you're fighting dirty."

"And you love it."

"You have no idea," Miranda charged the other girl, who squealed in delight, and the pair of them tumbled to the tile floor amidst kisses and laughter.

The next day was gray and raining. That morning, the girls were curled up together on their bed, a blanket wrapped around them, watching the rain. They sipped hot chocolate from mugs and would occasionally share a kiss whenever the impulse hit them. Mostly, they watched the rain and luxuriated that they were together and that everything would be okay.

"We should get going, you know," Miranda whispered, kissing Sam's ear.

"Shh, don't wanna," Sam admonished, tilting her head to give the other girl easier access to her face.

"Come on, Sammy, Luke and Isabel are waiting for us."

"They drank as much wine as we did, they're probably somewhere cozy too. Besides," Sam gestured out the window, "Cold plus rain equals yucky," she then bopped Miranda lightly on the shoulder, "And don't call me 'Sammy'."

With a heave, Miranda straightened and removed the blanket from the pair, "Duty calls," she said firmly, "Up and at 'em."

"Aw, man," Sammy sighed and rolled over, pulling herself up to the edge of the mattress and depositing herself in her chair.

"You know, I'm glad I didn't take my nice chair to that party, I'd be bummed if I'd left that one there."

"You think we'll ever get the other one back?"

"Yes, Miri, I'm sure Jeff and his friends will be more than happy to just send it on over," she made a face at Miranda, "You know, for a genius—"

"Shut up," Miranda retorted as she got dressed.

"Just sayin'."

"Well, you can stop sayin' and get dressed."

"I still hate this plan."

"Ditto."

"Then why are we doing it?"

Miranda couldn't help herself, "Because it needs to be done."

A beat.

"You still think about him," Sam said quietly, it wasn't a question.

"Sometimes, I'm not hung up on him like I was before, I think, but I notice he's not around. It's like an empty seat at a crowded dinner table; his absence is accentuated."

"I can live with that," Sam replied as she finished pulling on pants and a shirt.

The pair ate a quick breakfast consisting of bagels and some fruit and hurried out into the rain. When it came time to part, the girls lowered their umbrellas and kissed deeply, letting the rain pour down upon them, the coolness of the water contrasting with the heat of their bodies.

"I love you," Miranda said simply as they pulled away.

"I love you too," Sam replied.

"I love you more, I said it first."

Sam laughed and shoved the other girl playfully, "Away with you, ye celestial harlot!"

"Yes ma'am," they exchanged another kiss and dashed off to their respective destinations.

Miranda entered the crowded classroom, looking more than a little bedraggled. Luke covered a smile with his hand, and cleared his throat,

"Good morning Doctor Inoue," he said politely, "I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it. Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea? A towel?"

Miranda gave him a sardonic smile, "Thank you, no, professor, I can manage."

"If you say so," Luke replied with a grin before clearing his throat to address the class, "All right you academic miscreants, listen up!"

The chatter in the room dissolved into an amused silence at Luke's words, "We have something special today." Luke held up a book, "'A Treatise on the Binomial Theorem'." The class groaned at the title. "Silence, you mental pygmies, yes, I know it's filled with scary mathematics, but a physicist needs to be able to be on good terms with numbers if they want to produce anything even remotely competent."

"And it has nothing to do with your wife being a mathematician?" a voice called out from the audience.

"I will see you after class, young man. You shall spend the afternoon copying 'I will not talk back to my academic superiors'."

More laughs as Luke handed the book to Miranda, "Here, take a look."

Miranda looked it over, reading the inside flap: the material was intriguing; it presented information in a way she'd never seen before, and yet, felt familiar. She turned the book over—

Miranda Inoue's heart stopped.

She dropped the book from fingers gone numb.

"Shinseina tawagoto!" she swore savagely.

Luke frowned as he picked up the book, "All right, and for those of us without subtitles available?"

"Rough translation; 'Holy shit!'," a classmate informed him.

"Ah," Luke nodded and peered at the book, then regarded his protégé. She had gone bone white and her violet eyes were wide in what could only be called dawning realization of some terrible truth, "Miranda? You look like you've seen a ghost."





Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 09



"I have to go," Miranda whispered through numb lips. She took the book from Luke.

"Miranda is everything--?"

She looked at him then; her expression could only be described as 'shell-shocked'."

"Okay, you have to go," Luke conceded. Whatever was going on, it was urgent.

Miranda fled from the classroom out into the rain. She slipped twice on the wet cement, scraping her knee. She didn't care, she ran and stumbled and almost crawled to get to her destination.

The doors to the mathematics classroom banged open with the force of a shotgun blast, everyone jumped in their seats.

Miranda stood there, drenched to the bone and panting, her hair a wild and matted mess and her expression wild and fearful.

"Miri?" Sam wheeled away from the board she'd be working on and approached her, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

Miranda opened her mouth and tried to speak, several aborted attempts at words until she finally just handed the book over to Sam. The blonde girl turned the book over frowning, and then her eyes went wide.

"Motherfucking fuck!" she hissed, "It can't be!" She looked up at Miri, stunned, "Can it?"

"Library," was all Miranda said.

"Library," Sam confirmed before turning to address Isabel, "Um, I need to go. Like, now."

Isabel simply nodded; she wasn't going to argue with anyone who looked as badly shaken as the girls did, "Okay, we'll talk later."

With that, the girls bolted out the door and made it to the library in record time.

It took seven pots of coffee, 3 separate librarian shifts, and almost 15 hours, but in the end, they found what they needed.

Miranda nearly tore the door off its hinges, entering Grey's apartment building. She strode with a purpose that spoke of righteous fury and vindication. Sam was right there beside her as they made it to the end of the hall. This time, they had the advantage. There would be no evasions or lies; at last, they would have the truth.

They reached his door and Miranda briefly considered knocking.

Fuck it. She brought her foot up and kicked the door with all her strength.

The door swung open without any resistance and, propelled out of control by her forward momentum, she fell flat on her face.

"It's open," Grey said quietly, not looking up from his book. He was sitting on his cot, his back braced against the wall. One hand held a paperback book; the other clutched a cigarette between his fingers.

Miranda attempted to salvage as much of her dignity as she could and got to her feet.

"We need to talk," she stated.

"Do we?" Grey responded, licking his finger to turn a page, "I thought I may myself clear before."

"Things have changed."

"Evidently."

Sam wheeled into the room behind Miranda, cautiously, "What are you reading?" she asked.

Grey held up the book for viewing, "'Flickan som lekte med elden'," Sam sounded out, "What is that, Swedish?"

"Yes, it's 'The Girl Who Played with Fire'."

"Oh yeah, that's the sequel to 'Dragon Tattoo', I've read it."

"I know, babes, I read it at your place that night at your flat."

"You can't have read it overnight," Miranda blurted out, "It's over six hundred pages long!"

"Six hundred and seventy-two. It weighed just over thirteen ounces and was published in 2011. Are we done regurgitating the obvious now?"

"Ouch, burn," Sam muttered. Miranda shot her an admonishing look, the other girl just shrugged.

"Did you like it?" Miranda soldiered on.

"First book was bloody weak, predictable. I'm hoping something got lost in translation, hence," he gestured to at the book, "Hence the original Swedish for the sequel."

"And?"

"So far, it's bloody daft."

Sam frowned then, the scent of something burning was filling the air. She looked at Grey,

"Um, Grey? You're on fire."

He looked at his hand; the cigarette had burned down to the filter and was slowly scorching the skin between his fingers. "Oh," he shifted slightly, took the still-burning cigarette into the palm of his hand and crushed it with his fist. The scent of burning flesh intensified.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Sam asked agog at the display of masochism.

"You say that as if it should matter," was Grey's response. Sam couldn't repress a shiver.

Miranda cleared her throat, "We know the truth, Grey."

"How sodding enlightened of you."

"I'm serious."

"When, pray tell, are you not, poppet?"

"You were so careful."

Grey sighed and closed his book, folding his hands before his mouth.

"What do you want?" Grey asked accentuating each word.

A beat and Miranda crossed the distance from the threshold of the room to his bunk. In a single movement, she threw down the gauntlet, in her case, the book that had not left her side during the long hours of research and investigation: 'A Treatise on the Binomial Theorem'.

Looking up from the back of the book was Grey's face.

"Doctor Royce Greyson, I presume?" Miranda said softly.

The visage was younger, almost twenty years or so. The expression was less severe, his face rounder, softer. The scar at his eye was covered by a pair of wired spectacles and his lips, unmarred by scar tissue, was curved in a small, thoroughly self-satisfied, smile.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Doctor Greyson. You're a hard man to find. Sam and I spent hours working the microfiche and making phone calls from the UK to Germany to Florence. All those places you neglected to list in your briefing regarding the best hospitals around the world to treat Sam. I was wondering why you'd omitted those countries, now I know: you were worried about us getting too close to the truth, even if it meant omitting an entire country." Miranda leaned in closer, "It would appear you have failed to keep your lies intact." Miranda's lips upturned in a smile that spoke of endless satisfaction, victory after a long and bloody conflict.

She turned to face Sam, "Sam?"

Sam cleared her throat and began to recite from memory, "Doctor Royce Greyson: Born in Liverpool, 1964. No record available regarding parentage. Enlisted in British Army 1979," Sam smirked, "Fifteen, huh? Lied about your age I take it?"

Grey's seething demeanor revealed nothing.

Sam continued, "Saw action during the Falkland wars where you served as a field medic." Sam stopped, "Which is weird because I thought you served in Bosnia. Care to elaborate?"

Grey's green eyes remained staring straight ahead, blank and hateful.

"Right then," Sam continued, "Commendations for valor before an honorable discharge in 1986."

"Seven years, Royce," Miranda commented, "Must have almost been like a home to you. I wonder what convinced you to leave it."

Grey said nothing.

"Continue, Sam," Miranda instructed.

Sam swallowed, she was starting to get a very bad feeling creeping up the base of her spine, "Or we could take five and give everyone some time to digest?"

"He's had all the time in the world," Miranda's smile became a sneer; "The truth will be heard."

A beat, "Oh-kay, moving right along," Sam cleared her throat. "Attended Oxford on the GI bill and a boxing scholarship," Sam gave a little laugh, "So that's how you became such an accomplished ass-kicker."

"Sam? Don't get distracted," Miranda directed, "Continue, please."

The bad feeling was starting to make its way slowly up the blonde girl's spine, but she persevered.

"You received two doctorates: Theoretical Physics and Theology, of all things," Sam cleared her throat, "After graduating in the top of your class, you turned right around and started teaching there. You wrote the book 'Dealing with the Devil: A Study of the Faustian Concept in the 10th Century'. It received rave reviews, won the Goethe medal, and is now pre-curriculum reading for entry to the Goethe Institute of German Culture," Sam brought her attention back to the present, "Interesting side note: You were a guest lecturer at the institute on 18th Century German literature and it's connection to the Protestant Reformation."

"My, but you get around, Herr Greyson," Miranda commented, "Continue please, Sam, it only gets better from here."

"Miri, I really think we should ease off," Sam warned.

"Not interested, continue."

Grey's eyes flickered to meet Sam's and she saw something in them that made the dread feeling in her body bloom. She licked dry lips before continuing.

"You travelled to Italy and during your time there wrote a second book: 'Sojourn: From Alighieri to Milton: 300 Years Navigating the Labyrinth of Human Mortality'."

"And surprise, it was a runaway literary success," Miranda concluded.

Sam nodded, "It was the winner of the Prince of Asturias award and The Istituto Italiano di Cultura called it 'a definitive masterpiece. Anyone who loves the work of Dante Alighieri, or Classical Italian literature must read this book'."

"I had to wade through a great many scholastic newsletters before I came across that bit of information," Miranda informed Grey, "But some patience, and extensive use of an Italian-to-English dictionary made all the difference, although we couldn't actually get a copy of the book, apparently, it's hard to come by nowadays," Miranda's triumphant tone increased in fervor, "But that's okay. Sam, tell us what he did next.

Sam cleared her throat; she was sweating in the normally, oppressively cold room. Watching Miranda and Grey was like watching two raging storms colliding into each other and she felt like she was caught in the middle.

"You served as a substitute curator for the Capponi library for six months and received a letter of commendation from Count Nicollo Capponi before co-writing a book on the history of the Medici family."

"A third book, and with a member of Italian aristocracy, no less," Miranda mocked, "How very special you must have felt. Tell me, did you promote your own genius or let others do it for you?"

"Miri!" Sam exclaimed, shocked at her taunting tone, "Ease up, huh?"

"Finish it, Sam," Miranda stated.

Sam sighed; she knew what was coming and did her best to brace for the inevitable.

"You left Italy for Austria and studied Physiopathology and Investigative medicine in Austria, minoring in Psychology. You proceeded to write a fourth book 'The Tie That Blinds: A Study of Fear and the Human Condition', it was considered one of the definitive works on the subject of fear and phobias."

"And then, Sam?"

"And then, you returned to your home in Dartmoor, England," Sam sighed, "And you died, in a house fire on February 14th, 1998. You and your wife."

"Left to burn alive in your own home," Miranda's tone softened, "I can't even imagine—"

And Grey went berserk.

He screamed a horrific shriek of rage and betrayal that seemed to scorch the air. The girls jerked away as if bitten. Nothing they had ever experienced, not the bus, nor the meeting with Edward, was like this. The utter, bestial ferocity—the total annihilation of every last shred of self-control—the hurt and hate tore its way through them, body and soul.

He was on his feet before the girls registered the movement. He exploded forth and sent Samantha tumbling backwards onto the floor, she cried out as her back collided with the floor. Miranda leapt out and grabbed the crazed man by the arm in a desperate attempt to protect her lover. She was batted away like an insect as Grey advanced on Sam.

Sam was hurriedly trying to crabwalk backwards to get away from him. He lashed out and sent her wheelchair flying across the room.

"No, Grey don--!" Sam's voice was choked out of her as Grey snatched her from the floor by her throat and held her aloft with a single, vice-like hand around her throat. She began to cough and sputter as she batted at his arm. She could feel the life being crushed out of her by his rage and her vision began to dim.

Click.

"Get your hands off her."

Grey's grip slackened as he turned to face Miranda. The woman held his pistol aimed right at his head.

"Miri, don't you do it," Sam gasped out.

Grey tightened his grip, cutting off the rest of Sam's words. He turned back to face the wall, as if considering.

Suddenly, Sam felt his grip slacken, just a little. Then he turned his head, and placed a kiss on her cheek that felt like searing iron.

"Goodbye, Doctor Adler. Do good things."

"Grey, please..." she whispered.

Slowly, Grey turned to face Miranda, his hand still on Sam's throat, holding her up like a broken doll, her legs dangling useless underneath her.

"You know what will happen if I drop her?" Grey said quietly.

"Her legs will break."

"Technically, gravity will take care of that. But if you shoot me, she may simply slip from my grasp to safety."

Miranda didn't say anything; she just licked her lips and squeezed the grip of the gun tighter.

"Miranda, listen to me," Sam rasped, "Don't you dare do it."

Grey gave Sam's throat another squeeze that sent her into a coughing fit.

"Your bird doesn't know what she's saying," Grey replied, "Now is the time to choose, Miranda, what do you choose to believe in: One who loves you," she gestured to Sam, "Or one you could have come to love?" He shifted Sam over to his side, giving Miranda a clear shot to his chest.

Miranda lowered the gun and hung her head, her eyes closed. She could see the great abyss before her, the time to decide and, how there could be no going back. She felt tears leak from her eyes.

Goodbye.

She raised her head and opened her eyes. They shimmered and burned violet.

"I believe in Samantha Adler."

She raised the gun and fired.

The wall behind Grey and Samantha exploded into shards of black glass. Sunlight poured into the room. Sam cried out as she was flung from Grey, landing heavily on her side.

Then, there was stillness, smoke from the gun barrel glowed iridescently in the sunlight, the scent of gunpowder and flowers from outside filled the room.

Grey reached and tentatively examined himself, his fingers coming back wet and red. He gave a small laugh, he looked so...surprised.

"We've all become God's madmen," he whispered, "All of us."

And then, he fell to his knees, toppled over and lay still.

"Grey!"

To Be Continued

*

And so ends "The Inferno Theorem" Book one in the Dynamics of a Human Heart series. A big thank you to my editors, Julia and Linda and thanks to the fans for reading and commenting.

It's been a wild year, going on this journey with these characters. I think we've earned a break from each other.

If there is an audience for it, expect a sequel.

Thank you all again.

Tyler