IN LOVE AND WAR

Hey and welcome to this part of me, where I express my writing amongst other things.

Below is my first attempt at fanfic! Yeah, I know :)

I am a devoted follower of the tvseries "Beauty and the Beast" on CW and this time I couldn´t resist taking part in the fanfic that is out there. This particaular piece stems form season 2 second episode. I wanted to expand on some of the things happening in the episode, go a bit deeper and this is my result. 

Enjoy.

IN LOVE AND WAR

by

Marie Clancy 

oct 2013

Vincent tried to shut her out. The sound of her heart beating, the sound of her body being uncomfortable with the the slow rolling movement of the boat; he could sense her discomfort, the agony in the small of her stomach, the slight contraction in her throat trying to swallow down on the seasickness. He willed himself to focus on the task at hand,his misson, the assignement for tonight that he had to plan to set in motion. Places to go, people to meet, maybe to kill,,,,
And all the time he was so conscious of her prescence, the smell of her hair, the nearness of her body even though she was several feet away, tied to the chair, and he didn´t like THAT at all. That he had to tie her up to be safe, to be sure that she didn´t do anything to make him alter his plans for the evening, for it was not his choice but his orders, and he had to follow them no matter what.
And still. There she was, this person who claimed she knew him better than anyone, who said she was his woman, his girlfriend, his lover and that they shared a past so "epic" that it almost made "his-not-being-able-to-remember-best-friend" JT swoon at the mere mention of it.
Catherine was so pretty. Normally he wouldn´t think twice about it, since he knew he was not a bad looker himself and had no problems whatsoever to get laid, to get girls, to get bedpartners for one night stands - which was all he could make time for at the moment.
But something about her was different, set her aside from the normal type that he usually was drawn to. He liked redheads, plain and simple, and as far as he could  "remember" that had always been the case. Redheads. With green eyes and pale freckled skin. And yet here she was, a dark brunette, tiny but somehow with an air of purpose and strenght about her. Dark dark eyes; even though they now were hidden behind the blindfold. He didn´t like THAT either, to keep her in the dark so she wouldn´t get an opportunity to gather information about him, about his boat, about what he aimed to do with this evening, with his life.
He tried to focus on the task at hand, at what he was contracted to do this evening and he worked on his laptop,fingers dancing over the keyes as he made arrangements and set up meetings. But there was no denying it; he WAS drawn to her, to this pretty petite - yet strong - brunette with the big dark eyes that sat there, some feet away.pleading with him to take the blindfold off. He had tried to shut her up, to threaten her if she continued to ask more questions, to make her afraid of him, scared enough so that she would shut up and - in the end - secure her own safety. Beacause there was nothing but severe trouble awating her if she came to learn the truth about him and what he was about to do tonight. And many more nights to come. There was absolutely no place for anyone else in his life right now,and that was for certain. He couldn´t let anyone in, not to mention open himself up to anybody. Not now. Maybe never. He wouldn´t know for sure, not for a long time.
And yet. There she was, and he was seriously struggling with the fact that he had to tie her  to that chair. Somehow he sensed it wasn´t like him to tie women to chairs with a blindfold on. Somehow he "knew" he wasn´t that kind of guy, and yet, here he was doing it anyway.
He could sense that even though she somehow wanted to be with him - although not in this way he was sure! - she was wary of him, on guard and mentally and physically prepared for anything. That was the cop in her, he supposed. The training to become a servant of the law; to be prepared and vigilant.
The smell of her skin got to him, and even though he deemed it against his better judgement he finally gave in and told her about "the pull" he felt in her presence, from her, from her beating heart. She once again pleaded with him to take the blindfold off, and assured him that he could trust her ,and the only way he would know he could was to look into her ( dark beautiful) eyes.
He gave up and rose from the chair he had been sitting on since he brought her onboard. He moved over to her chair and he could sense her body stiffening, just a tiny bit as if to brace herself, and he slowly leaned down over her and gently removed the blindfold. She looked at him in silence for a bit, while the seconds ticked by,and then she said a soft: "Thank you."
- I don´t have anything for motionsickness, he said with a slight hint of an apology, but I have water.
So he went to the sink and filled a glass for her and held it to her lips so she could drink. She told him that she didn´t feel well on boats but that acupressure would do the trick most of the time. He was on guard. He was always on guard, attentive and ready for action so he wouldn´t loosen up just yet. He let slip a slight smile, just the corner of his mouth, and teased her:
- Let me guess; your wrists?
She looked up at him, and he could barely read her; she was not afraid, somehow she liked being here with him, but something inside her was holding back, like she wanted to trust him beacause she once used to but now she wasn´t sure anymore, and he sat down beside her and put out his hand and grabbed hold of her chair. She looked - not scared, something else, he couldn´t quite figure out what - but a flash of uncertainty clouded her eyes briefly.
With his strong arm he had no difficulty pulling her, and the chair, closer to him so he could untie her and take her her hands in his, and slowly and with a tenderness he didn´t really recognize in himself, he started to gently put pressure on her wrists.
She began to relax; he could feel it. Her back went soft, her arms rested in his hands and she sighed slightly.
And they started to talk. About the rooftop-picnic that didn´t happen, and he asked her about his "favourite sandwich" , since she knew, and he didn´t, and she said turkey and avocado and he couldn´t stop himself from smiling:
-That is a great sandwich! he said, and the mood between them shifted, like sand in a glass that is suddenly tilted to one side.
And then she was next to him, with her face just a fraction away from his , and he had no strenght to fight this, to stop, to hesitate, to say no. He wanted to , but at the same time he wanted to surrender to the pull from her, the pull he felt from somewhere deep inside of himself; a place so buried under that he could just barely tell it was there at all. But it was, and he tried to look cool but when he leaned down his head to kiss her he felt as though he was fallling from a  great height, and it took all he had to remain calm and not let her get any clue as to what was going on with him. In an effort to seem aloof, as if they were both in on this, as if it was a small joke between them and they didn´t really take it seriously he answered: "No, nothing" when she asked if the kiss stirred any memories in him.
And then his stomach fell several stories when she softly said, her lips still brushing gently against his:
- You know, we did more than just kiss...

To say that he remembered anything was to exaggerate, but his body moved with a certainty and a confidence he hadn´t felt in a long while. It was as if his arms ,his hands ,his tounge and his lips knew exactly where to go to give her the utmost pleasure and he watched her swimming in a pool of sensual joy and it was all his doing; he was doing this to her, he was the one that made her move in a certain way, in a specific rythm that they both fell into, easy and without effort; it was as if they were geared to one another, a team of lovemaking, a vessel of the same mutual longing, a longing that had a name though it was now lost to him. And he would never let her know this, but he absolutely threw himself into this, into her arms, into her and he held nothing back. It was as if there was no middle ground; either he was there - with her - or he was out. But she, of course wouldn´t know this, beacause he was a master at keeping things hidden, to himself, and when he rested on his arm beside her, with his other hand lightly on her hip and almost flippantly said: "Maybe if we do it again" , when she asked if he remembered anything, it was to throw her off course, for she must never know how he felt. He was a danger to her, and he had no intention of keeping her in his life after this. She had to go, however much that made him wince inside, but there was no other way. He had let himself fall, for just a minute, for a short while and now it was time to get back to basics and she had no part in it.

He could guess what she saw as he turned away from her when his cellphone rang; a solid facade, a wall of determination and grimness, and he forced himself not to imagine what she was thinking about him now, with his change in appearance and mood. He wanted her gone, he wanted to be free of her and even though the past hour had been an hour filled with more bliss and satisfaction than he had experienced in  - like forever - it was now over. Done . Finito. Gone.
He started to get dressed and told her in a curt voice to do the same. He sensed, more than saw, her bewilderment, but she did as he said and followed him down to the galley. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she couldn´t BELIEVE that he was tying her up again, and now she was angry. She tried to reason with him but it was too late; he had switched into "soldier-mode" and his brain was no longer functioning as before. He gathered the necessary equipment for tonight´s mission and left her there, tied to a chair. As he headed out of the marina she was almost forgotten, just like so many other things in his life....

Vincent was conflicted.
He stood on her rooftop now, at the end of a long and unfortunate evening; almost everything had gone south, there at the club, and her interference had almost driven him mad with frustration and anger. Oh yes, he GOT that she thought she knew him, that she believed they shared a past, that they once had a life - however bleak, paltry and difficult beacause of the need for him stay hidden - and that it somehow made her feel entitled to barge into his life, messing things up and just generally standing in his way, but he couldn´t do it anymore. It had to stop. All this talk about her  protecting him seemed only to be a way to keep him hanging on, for her to have a hold on him. For all he knew she could be stringing him along so she could arrest him  when she´s gathered enough evidence; to keep him close and off guard so she could capture him all the more easily.
But something inside him disagreed with that line of thought. He knew, somehow, that she was right about them being together before, sharing a past and all that, and if he ever had any doubts about that prior to tonight, what occured between them in his bed earlier proved that something had happened to make them feel so compatible, so RIGHT for each other. But he didn´t want to think about that right now; her in his bed, her hair like a dark cloud brushing smoothly against his face, her lips moving over the skin of his body - longing, searching , warm and moist, revealing that she knew his secret "points", his very personal desires and preferences, and how she managed to get a glimpse of his soul by just using her body, her hands, and him almost losing his composure when surrounded by her fragrance like a fine mist in the air.
Her hands, that obviously knew his body as if it was an extension of her own, for how could she have done what she did to him, with him, for him , without knowing him?
He found himself breathing faster and forced himself to calm down. That, the bed and the two of them in it, would never happen again. He would make sure of that, tonight he would put an end to it all.He had come to give back her phone, the one he had taken from her and jammed with multiple frequencies so noone would know where she was, It had only partly worked out; her collegues from the precinct had been resourceful and managed to track her down anyway.
And he felt bad about tiyng her up. He wished it wouldn´t have been necessary but he had no other choice, and given how the rest of the evening had turned out and how she almost ruined his mission, it seemed to have been the right thing to do at the time. Nevertheless, he wanted to make amends; he was not really that guy and he wished for her to know that. He would apologize, return her phone an be gone, and that would be it. He would be out of her life. Forever. It was better that way.

Catherine came out onto the roof holding the yellow note he had stuck on her door earlier, the note with just one word; Roof. She smiled at him and wondered if he had any recollection of how he used to do just that; stick notes on her door with just the word "roof" on it. But he just threw her a blank stare; no, he didn´t remember. How many times did they have to go over this? It was pointless and led nowhere. He tried not to register how disappointed she looked and he noticed how she failed to cover it up, but she was hurt. And angry. He knew it probably was due to the fact that she couldn´t reach him, connect with him, with the Vincent he used to be but had no recollection of, and his decision to end this now seemed all the more sensible.
She seemed to shrink a little when he handed her her phone back, and her shoulders turned small when he apologized for tying her up earlier. He could see how she struggled to be calm, to figure out a way to change what was going on and keep him there and "cure" him.
He wished, oh he really did, that there somehow was a way, but this was going nowhere and he was tired of being prodded and torn by her,
And then she pushed the wrong buttons with him, buttons that had been fabricated and triggered by his employers, the ones he answered to, the ones he owed his services, his time and his skills. And she wouldn´t stop, she kept on and on about how he was not really who he was, how they had turned him into a "beast", a monster that killed on demand, a gun for hire, and how she could help him get out out all that.

The transition was so smooth that he hardly noticed it ; for him to change into "beast-mode" was an easy process, almost like gliding through water and he never even felt it coming any longer. It was only afterwards that he knew what had happened, but he didn´t mind. It was supposed to be that way, him "beasting" out, that´s what MADE him who and what he was nowadays and he could think of no other way to react to different kinds of threats and pressure.That was the only proper way and he had no problems with it. So when she reached for his arm in an attempt to connect with him and try to talk some sense into him, it was already too late. In an instant his goodlooking feaures turned into something much more gruesome and horrifying and he growled and threw her off, like a bull brushes a fly off its back with its tail. His senses were on high alert and he knew only that he had to defend himself at all costs, no matter what. That was his programming kicking in and he had no chance to either make it stop or slow down.

But then something happened. He felt his reactions fading into normal and he was slowly turning back into  "himself" and he knew exactly what stopped his "beast" from emerging: the look on her face as she laid sprawled on the floor, bruises on her hands where she tried to catch herself when she fell. After he had thrown her down, on her back. She looked so utterly disappointed and sad, that he almost had to press his hands to his chest beacause of the sudden hurt inside him. She did not even look afraid, even though she said in an incredulous voice: " I can´t remember you ever doing that!" and it nearly broke him, but he didn´t know why. Why did he care so much?
He had called her a "one night stand" to hurt her, to make her back off, but he knew he was wrong about that. He felt ashamed and stupid, and even if it had been only one night for him, somehow he knew that was not the whole truth and he wanted to kick himself för being such a bastard. He might not have any memories of her before, but she didn´t deserve that from him. Overwhelmed by disgust over his own actions he turned around with an: "I´m sorry" , and jumped off the roof. He felt as if he had lost something very valuable, something that couldn´t ever be replaced and he wanted to hurt something very badly, so that the inexplicable pain inside him could go away.

(So, there you have it, my first attempt att fanfic.
Remember,I don´t own Beauty and the Beast, CW does. However I own all my texts and all the rights to them.)