otherways OOM - the third - Rome, Italy - August -1997 - October

[i_vanquish_evil]

1 week after the previous OOM

A knock at the door just as he's ready to leave and he manages to open it without snarling through to whomever is on the other side. He does not, however, hide the groan once he sees who is on the other side.

"So nice to see you too, honey. Got a job?" Angie asks as she slinks inside, pressing against him on her way to a chair.

He scowls. "Please, come on in. I'm not busy and ready to leave," he replies, leaning heavily on the sarcasm.

"Honey, you're not going anywhere. That thing you're getting ready to hunt down... already taken care of."

"How the fuck could you know that?" He slams the door shut.

"I'm just relaying what I've been told." She smiles at him, but it fades quickly under his scowl. "Look, I told you, they need you, but it's not like you can hang out a sign on a building - 'Professional Monster Hunter'. No one will take you seriously."

"Don't need a sign or a building. I'm doing just fine."

She looks around the place a bit. "So well, you live in the backroom of a boarding house."

He frowns. "I like it here. It's comfortable. I have what I need."

"Uh huh. And how are you paying for this, darlin'?" She waves a hand, indicating the sparse living space.

"That is none of your business. Now, get out!"

"Oh no, honey. See, I've been sent to drag you back to talk to the Cardinal..."

"Let me guess," he sniffs, "there's an easy way and a hard way?"

"Pretty much." She holds up a bottle of water. "Trust me, you won't like the hard way."

No way he would ever argue that. Past experience had shown him what Angie could come up with. The last one had give him a monster of a migraine, not to mention some of the worst nightmares of his life.

"Fine, I'll go talk to him."

*****

His talk with the Cardinal had gone, pretty much, as he expected - yelling, yelling, hell no, deal making, hell no, more deals, all right fine. He had been aware that he would be screwed going into this, but tried to pull as much leverage as he could out of the deal.

Back in his room, he drops the leather back to the floor and stops. "Angie!" he growls in the general direction of the door, waiting until she responds to speak again. "Where is my book?"

"What?"

"My book. The one I left on this table. Where. Is. It?"

"I don't know. Maybe they moved it to the library. I'll have someone find it for you. Okay?"

He's not stupid. He knows what's going on, knows the plan. He knows when he's being placated. He knew - knows - that all along, the Cardinal would pull him back. Though he's sure the Cardinal never expected him to actually quit. He never expected to come back in a week, but he hadn't been able to get back to Milliways to extend his vacation either. It hadn't been a problem before; he had always been able to get back - usually from home, sometimes on assignment - but he had always been able to get back.

Slowly he turns to Angie. "Nevermind. I'll get it."

He stomps past her, back to the Cardinal's chambers. "I want my book back."

"I'm sorry?" the Cardinal responds, seemingly confused.

Michael, two steps away from decking the prelate, snarls at him, "My book, de Clerque. The one that was in my room. I want it back." There was no question the Cardinal had it. He knows he does and he wants it back. Michael holds his hand out to the Cardinal in anticipation of the book.

"Of course." The Cardinal nods to a priest in the corner who retreats and returns with a book.

Michael snatches the book from the priest and looks it over, scents it and hold it out to the Cardinal, eyes wild and nostrils flared. "This is not my book."

"Of course it is."

Michael snarls again. "No. My book is 100 years old, the pages have yellowed. This book's pages are white." There are other ways he's quite sure this is not his book, but he doesn't have to tell the Cardinal that. He shakes the book at de Clerque, then throws it at him. "Give. Me. My. Book!"

The Cardinal nods to the priest again. "This book, means something to you?"

The snarl becomes a growl. "You know it does, otherwise you wouldn't be trying to keep it from me." He snatches the book from the priest - a nastier move than the previous one. Just holding the book in his hands, he can tell this is his book. "If you want me to continue to work here, you will give me what I want and respect my personal space."

"You are making demands?"

"Damn straight. And it would serve you well to keep me happy." He takes a breath. "I ask for little and it shouldn't pain you at all to grant my wishes."





Rome - 3 months later

Michael still isn't happy about working for the Order still, but at least he got a sweet pad out of the deal. He lives in Rome, as far from the Vatican as he can be without leaving the city, in a top-floor apartment with an open roof that has a little garden that a very nice lady comes over to tend for him every day - paid for by the Order - and a small table with a chair, perfect for having coffee or brandy or whatever he wants to have there. He would rather be in his room at Milliways, but he still hasn't found a way back, so, he takes pleasure in what few comforts he does have. Even if that does mean sharing his morning coffee hour with Angie.

"I'm jealous, really. You talked them into this place. This is amazing." Angie's looking around and drinking coffee and leaning over the edge of the rooftop wall that borders the entire structure.

Michael just raises an eyebrow and drinks his own coffee. He feels no need to return commentary.

"What's the deal with that book?" Angie asks after a prolonged silence.

"It was a gift." A pause. "And part of a promise."

"Carl, huh?" Angie guesses and doesn't even need a verbal response, she can tell by the body language. She finds herself smiling a little at that - that little piece of life that made him happy, even for just a moment. "You found him again, didn't you?"

Michael looks up sharply. "What?"

Her smile broadens. "That's what I thought. I knew there had to be something when you stopped letting me fuck you. Damn, honey, he's either just that good or you really love him."

He doesn't say anything; he doesn't even look at her. He misses Carl - Stephen; he misses all of them - David, Adam, Gwen, Isabel, even Sara and Nick... damn, Nick. He wants to go back there, if he could just find a way.

Angie's right in his ear when she speaks again. "Be careful, Michael, the Order knows. All of it. Especially about him. Believe me, they know more than you think." She licks his ear and scruffs her fingers in his hair as she stands up. "Got any more coffee?"

He glares and growls at her, but takes her words very seriously. Angie might be a bitch and a snitch for the Order, but her information was usually spot-on. He would keep it in the back of his mind for future contemplation. For now, he was going to finish his coffee, then go the hell to work.




*****




Rome - 1998 - 14 months since Michael left Milliways

Michael is laying, face-down, on the bed, still in his clothes - the ones he's been wearing for three days. Upon closer inspection, one will find that he's not doing as well as he claims he is. He's been crying lonely teardrops and, in his hand, is a scrap of fabric from one of Stephen's shirts - don't ask how he got it.

Angie, who usually stops by about this time if she's in town, stands in the doorway. "Honey, you look like shit. What's wrong?"

Michael doesn't move.

"Don't even try to pretend you're asleep. I know you're not."

He just groans.

Angie sits on the bed, next to him, rubbing his back, making soothing sounds. "Wanna talk about it?"

Michael sighs and pushes himself up enough to see her, leaning on an elbow. "You ever love someone so much that just the thought of having to be away from them broke your heart? So much, that just knowing they were in the room made your spirits lift?" He shakes his head. "I had that. And now I can't go back." Fresh tears start down his face.

"Oh, honey, I know." She slides down to lay beside him, put her arms around him. "Dont cry. You'll find a way."

He shakes his head again. "I've been trying. For over a year. Nothing. I can't get back there. And I can't go looking for him here... not if what you told me before is true. I can't risk it." More tears - he can't stop them. He loves Stephen... needs him. A shaking breath, then, "What's more, I didn't even get to tell him 'good-bye'. He wasn't there when I had to leave. If they were going to lock me out, they could've at least let me..." and sobs choke off the last of his words.

Angie tightens her arms around him, holding him close, brushing one hand over his hair. She hadn't realized the Order had done it that way. "They didn't tell you?" she asks and feels him shake his head. Now she's angry. "They promised me they would tell you first. Michael, I'm so sorry." She presses a soft kiss to the side of his face. Taking a deep breath to help hold back her own tears, she gets a strong scent of him in her nose and she just wants to comfort him. Hand brushing in his hair, lips sliding against his cheek to meet his, she kisses him.

Michael pulls away. "Angie, don't," he says, even as his hands clench in her hair.

"Shh. Comfort. Just let me help you," she whispers against his lips.

Trying to resist, he turns away from her, but she draws him in again and again, until he finally relents. Not only because she is persistant, but because he's hurting and in need of... something. It starts out slow, almost reserved, until his hormones kick in, remembering what it was like to have sex with Angie and he increases the pace, pushing up, into her, pulling her hips down to meet his - lustful, wanton fucking. And he's loving it - for as long as it lasts.

Panting as he comes down off his orgasm, he's breathing into her dissheveled hair. "God, I miss fucking you," he growls.

She smiles and nips his neck. "Thought you might, baby."

"Now get the fuck out." He pushes her off himself and rolls over, curling an arm under his head to try to sleep.



*****