Secure, Untraceable



Scene Title Secure, Untraceable
Synopsis Jet and Dema makes plans to seek out Dr. Sheridan.
Date April 19, 2010

Village Renaissance

Jet's apartment.

Months have passed since Dema and Jet were shown an unexpected mercy, and turned loose on the streets of New York by the hideously well armed men and women that put a final end to the Madame's project. Dema, a legally dead man and a truly dead man should he ever be identified by his old associates in the bratva, was surprised to find Jet well prepared - within the confines of the facility, there was little reason to invoke an outside world they neither of them were sure they've ever see again, so he did not know of Jet's resources and contingencies.

The apartment she led him to was spartan in the extreme and, though neither of them had delicate sensibilities to offend, the best they could do to make a home of the place was to furnish it. These decisions were left almost entirely up to Jet - questions of interior design not being Dema's strong suit - and the result is, if not much more decorated than before, certainly more comfortable. A couch, a television, cookware so that Dema could try and flex his underdeveloped culinary muscle. Despite his initial bashfulness, and mumbled alternatives, Dema, in the end, was thrilled at the purchase of a generously sized bed, large enough to accomodate both his considerable bulk and Jet's slim form very pleasantly. All in all, they've managed to make a nice little nest, and rightly so, since Dema is often hesitant to enter the outside world. Should either of his previous employers discover he is alive, he is certain that he will be killed or, worse yet, seperated from Jet.

It is in this nest that Dema now stands, in the kitchenette, intently concentrating on a potato he is peeling, his great hands handling the tuber with that same delicate, medic's touch that presents itself as so incongruous with his size and build.

And Jet is sitting at the table, watching Dema peel the potatoes with her hands clasped. She has yet to switch bodies, perhaps reluctant to part with this one as it is the one Dema knows. Sipping at a glass of wine, she watches him silently, letting the comfortable silence settle between the two. Another sip of wine, letting it sit in her mouth for a moment before swallowing it. "I think we should call the Madame, and go back to work for her." There, she said it, just straight out front as she watches Dema's back as he works. "Don't you miss it? Another purpose outside of our life together?"

Dema's hands halt in mid motion, a curl of potato skin hooking over a finger and remaining there as he quickly tries to figure out whether or not he's somehow just translated her English wrong… which isn't likely because he no longer has to translate from English. But still, there are lapses and maybe…

But no. Dema sets his work down on the cutting board and turns towards Jet, his brow furrowed in an ambiguous expression somewhere between deep thought and worry. "You are serious?" he's trying to adopt more colloquialisms and idioms - it's a work in progress, "This woman, she kidnaps you, performs her tests," he taps his chest, "I perform them for her. I…" he pauses, "I would wish to work, yes. Or to perhaps be a better cook for you, a better housekeeper," this meant to be funny, by the way, but true, as indicated by a subtle shift in tone that Jet has had enough time to pick up on, "But to work for the Madame? Why would you want this?"

Making sure to keep her eyes on him, she can't help but to smile at his replay of their lives there before she slides off of the stool and wanders over to him, slipping her smaller hands into his larger ones, regardless of the potato extract on them. "I get bored when I am not doing anything. At least in capture I got to be with you. And the tests weren't that bad, not really. And I met you." She lifts his hands to her mouth now, pressing her lips firmly to his knuckles as she gazes at him. "But I am not going to do this if you don't want to Dema. This is your life now, I want you to be happy. Content. If you were a prisoner as much as I, we'll find something else to do, together. But I do not hate her. She allowed us to be together, so she does have a heart, if just a small one."

Dema's brow clears noticably as she takes his hands, and but he's still not quite capable of a smile. He squeezes her fingers, very lightly, then withdraws to wash his own hands off; she may not mind the residue, but he is fastidious in a way only someone with medical training can be. He uses the time he takes soaping, rinsing and drying his hands to think over Jet's words… and to appreciate her generosity of spirit. Finally he turns back to her, moving up to her and taking her waist.

"Do you want this for me? I… see the reasoning. She, her employers, they could protect me. They did before. But… I worry that they will not. No, I worry that, in thinking they protect, they will part us. This I could not bear. You do not worry about this?"

Jet just wipes her hands off on the towel, done in time so that when he takes her waist she puts her arms around his neck and just leans against his large form. Up on her toes she moves before her lips press against his own in several small peckings before Jet just lets her chest rest against his chest. "Well. We can go work for Adam Monroe instead. Ha. I have not seen him since I was napped. It's up to you Dema. We take a risk, or we go on as we have been. I want us both happy. But you're my baby."

Dema catches Jet once more after her last kiss, and returns with his own, a hand touching the back of hear head, his own kiss a bit deeper and longer. When she speaks, though, he listens attentively enough. "Adam Monroe?" Dema intones. Without knowledge of the man, he fails to speak it with appropriate gravitas. Low ranking as he was, Dema was never privvy to Agent level intelligence. "Who is this?"

"Just a dude, but I would prefer to work for the Madame." Fingers press at the back of his neck as they work. "Think about it, seriously and deeply. Let me know. Nothing has to be decided right now." Another lingering peck to his lips then another peck before she pulls back as fingers run down the side of his neck. "What's for supper?"

Dema's eyes slide shut as her fingers brush his neck. He likes that touch. It never fails to give him serene pause. When his eyes open again, he looks a little more himself, a little less shook up. "Draniki," he answers, "Eh… potato…" he tries to think of the applicable word. He forms a circle with the index fingers and thumbs of both hands, "Cooked in oil. Eh… pancake?" he offers, tentatively, "Also kotleta po-kievsky. Chicken. And brocolli," no translation necessary there. He smiles, "Green, for us to keep our youth." A silly notion in Jet's case, of course.

A soft laugh from Jet at this to the youth comment, her hand lifting to rest on his cheek for a moment as her thumb brushes his skin there. "It sounds lovely. I have a chocolate cream pie in the fridge. I'll pull it out and let it defrost." Arms about his waist as she gives him a very firm hugging at him then another peck on his lips before stepping back from him. "I think we should make love tonight." Yes, she is verbally telling him, preparing him. "So you can you know. Be the man in the bed and initiate it later on." She does like to be playful with Dema.

This feels like another thing he must have, against all odds, mistranslated. There is yet another moment taken to full process what it is she's said… but this time the reaction is quite the opposite of last time. His eyes just light up, it's positively boyish. His heels pull together in an 'at attention' stance and he salutes Jet. "Yes, my love," he states, with military rigor. Then he beams. Well /that/ certainly puts a spring in his step.

Another laugh from Jet and she acutally blushes a bit, teeth biting at her lower lip before her throat gives a small clearing. "You're silly." Releasing her arms from around him the female moves to Dema's side now as she gazes at the potatoes. "My mother taught me how to cook a long time ago. Back then all women needed to know how to cook. I don't think my dad ever cooked unless it was barbecue." A grin to Dema at this then down to the potatoes. "This meal is going to be perfect."

Dema can't help but glance over Jet's form as she steps up beside him, already anticipating when they retire to bed. Gentle and genteel though he may be, months of kissing and groping with the gorgeous young woman has left him with a very simple animal urge. On impulse, he leans down to kiss Jet on the neck, a hand looping around to squeeze her hip. He retreats, lest his own eagerness get the better of him, and hums innocently as he sets about to skin the remaining potatos.

A soft content sound when he nips at her neck, a smile forming on her lips as she washes up in preperation to help him with dinner. Nothing like two people in hiding cooking with each other. "Would you like me to get enough money for you to get a face change?" A glance up at Dema then away as she begins to slice the potatoes gently, making sure her hip touches his own, almost teasing him with her physical presence.

Dema arches a brow as he glances at Jet. "This," he waves his hand before his face, indicating his features, "Is something you would like changed? What if I am made ugly to you, and you do not love me any more? Or you love me, but I must wear a bag over my head, with two holes so I can see?" He makes a comically grotesque face, points at himself, "What if this is what I become?" His face becomes sombre. "This is too great a risk. Better I should grow a beard, unless it will be like kissing a brush for you."

An eyeroll from her at this as she turns to face Dema, her hands moving to his face as she holds it firmly in her hands, starring at him. "You think I am with you because of your hot looks?" A softer voice from her at this, caring but serious. "I love you Dema. And one day I will ask you to marry me. I love you that much. I do not care if you were horribly scarred or missing an ear. I just want you safe. Grow a beard. I will adjust."

Dema's hijinks are met with sincerity and feeling, and if Jet were not so sweet he might feel ashamed. Instead, he draws Jet into single deep, deep kiss, his arms folding around her, drawing her close as close can be.

A soft sound from Jet when he just kisses her, a smile forming on her lips as her arms wrap around his neck once more. Up against him she presses before a soft giggle erupts from her then dies back down. "We will be fine." A conviction from herself as her lips just kiss all over his face in more of a tickling gesture than anything else. "Just fine."

Dema touches his nose to Jet's, and nods. "Yes. You are right." And he sounds like he means it. He holds her for a moment, just holds her, then he gently lets her go. "Though only if we do not starve while waiting for dinner!" he amends, smiling before turning back to the potatoes, starting to work on them in earnest.

"Yes, you better get cooking dinner, and then we'll have dessert… and then second dessert." A grin to her lips at this before she just swats Dema's rump lightly before prancing away so he can't return the favor right away. "Alright, but do you want me to call her? It's hard to kill me, I have a pre paid phone, I can ask the Madam what her terms would be for us to work for her again, while you cook. If we don't like it, we can just never speak of it again."

Dema would like to just look forward to what follows the chocolate pie, but Jet is a practical woman with a practical sensibility, and he knows that not settling the matter, one way or the other, he'll be doing her a disservice. She suggests this for his sake, after all. His eyes close. If he asks himself 'what harm could it do', he knows he will find too many answers. So he takes the leap. His assent comes in the form of a string of digits - the Madame's numbers.

She places a lingering kiss to Dema's back as one arm wraps around his middle as she hugs him to her form. "I love you Dema," she whispers out softly before breaking away from him. She takes her time, keeping the number in her head as she goes about brewing coffee for the later dessert as well as chilling wine for dinner. Once everything is set, she sits at the table and dials the number, punching in the digits as she awaits for it to ring.

Dema closes his mind to everything outside of the work in his hands. He allows only himself and the potatoes and the thought of Jet to exist in the moment he inhabits. He prepares each ingredient, heats the oil, dresses the chicken, takes each step as it comes. He does not let himself know when Jet makes the call, and it's only Jet that hears the ring. The first one. The second one. The third one. The… "Hello?" A woman's voice, pleasant, even sweet. Unfamiliar without the voice transformation software.

Jet watches Dema, for any sign that she needs to hang up and not make the call. But she's stubborn, and when she has a thought it needs to be done or it bugs her. And so she rubs a piece of paper between her fingers as she waits for the woman to answer on her pre-paid cell phone, and when the woman finally answers, Jet speaks. "Madame. It's Jet."

"Excuse me? I think you have-" the woman begins, the stops, mid-statement. After a pregnant pause, she speaks again, hesitantly, "Is there… some other name I might know you by?" There it is. A hint of recognition in a voice Jet cannot herself recognize.

A long pause from Jet as she stares at Dema's back, and to not give too much over the phone Jet goes, "Oh. Yeah, but I don't want to say too much if your line isn't secure…" A pause as she can't help but smile as she watches Dema, "It's your Russian's girlfriend. From the place. Are you free to talk on this phone?"

Another pause. Evidently the woman is thinking this over. "I'm not certain I know what you're talking about Ms. Jet," she says, her voice carefully measured, "But I have to admit that I'm curious. This line is secure on my end, but I'm not sure about yours, is the problem. Maybe if you suggested a place we could meet." The manner she employs is a sort of pointed innocuousness. It is simultaneously strange but all too plausible that this polite, carefully spoken woman is the black veiled Madame.

"My line is secure and untraceable. Just bought it today. Look, if you're not the one who experimented on me, or employed my Russian love, then we got nothing to talk about. I really don't want to hop into another body just to meet you and run the risk of this one evading me. I don't mince words, I don't waste time."

All business, hm? The Madame's reply is curt and to the point. "I said I'm curious, but I'm even more suspicious of your intentions. Tell me what you want, and we can discuss details."

"I am curious if you would like myself to work for you agian, this time my own free will. Perhaps Dema as well. However, we will not tolerate you playing us agianst each other. Our condition is that we are left alone, as a couple, to be together in our own free time as we see fit and all other nooks and crannies that I am not out right mentioning. I need something to do. A task. I grow bored. Think we could come to a deal?"

"It's possible," the Madame says, "Meet me at the edge of the Reclaimed Zone in Staten Island. Bring him with you. I will have friends of my own. We will work out the details there. On neutral ground. Name a date and a time, and I'll tell you exactly where to go."

Silence on the phone for a very long time, then "I will speak with Dema about meeting you. I do not like your words of it being possible. It should be yes. I know your number now, I'll give you a call soonish. Need anything more from me for the time being? Something to tell Dema? And might I add we were forced to leave, we never actually left you by our own free will." A laugh from her now, "Kidnapped from the kidnappers. Funny."

"It's not that I don't believe you, Jet," the Madame says, and there might just be a touch of earnestness in her voice, "It's that I can't afford to. Not yet. Speak with him. I will await your call." And the line goes dead.

Jet flips her cell phone closed, and reclines in her chair for a long time as she just sits there. Then she slips from her chair and moves over to Dema, gently putting her hands on his back first before wrapping her arms around his middle. A deep inhale of his bodily scent, holding it in her lungs and then an exhale out before she kisses at his back.

The last of the potato pancakes sit cooling on a paper towel, the towel's weave going translucent as the rich oils sink into it. The chicken is cooking in the oven, and the aroma of butter wafts tantalizingly up into the air. Dema turns around in Jet's arms, and strokes her head, brushing back her hair. He doesn't speak yet, leaving the report of the phone conversation that he willfully did not hear to her.

A closing of her eyes as she basks in him stroking through her hair, a soft inhale of breath then an exhale as she smiles up at him. "So. She wants to meet us, on neutral ground, with a few of her buddies. To work out the details there. She did tell me to bring you. What do you think. Is this a death trap? Or would she really just talk? Or will I get a neck full or tranquilizers like I did before?"

Dema gives the question thought, casting his mind back to the hours he spent in the Madame's company. "If she is not afraid of us, if she thinks she is in control… then I do not think she will hurt us. She prefers to talk, I think. Unless much has changed."

"Hrm. Well it's your call baby, but think on it good and tell me in the morning after a full… partial nights sleep." A chuckle from her at this as her hands slide up under his shirt just briefly, teasing him a touch before pulling them out and going to the wink to wash her hands once more, probably to appease Dema more than anything.

Dema reaches out as she goes for the sink, and pulls he back to him, one hand pressed just under her chest, the other just above her hips. He presses her and dips down to kiss right behind her ear. "Beautiful girl," he says, sounding breathless, "I love you wildly."

She smiles when Dema gives her affection, her arms lifting to wrap around his nack behind her as her fingers lace upon his skin there. "I will have to hop bodies if I do work for the Madame. Those people who rescued us know this face. I can't let it endanger us. Will you be alright with that Dema?" Soft words from her, damn near whispers as she looks up and over her shoulder to him, waiting.

A strange notion. This has been a day of difficult questions. Luckily there is something to look forward to at the end of it. He gazes down at her. "When I look into your eyes… I will know it is you?"

Another smile at Dema before she turns around and lifts her arms to wrap around his neck, holding him to her. "Yes. We will go to the hospital, take a woman who is in a coma. We won't hurt anyone. If I feel like she is waking up, I will release her. This woman was in a coma, we can put her back in the hospital. She'll be cared for, at least bodily." On her toes she moves to peck his lips, a lingering kiss before her cheek rubs at his jaw line.

Dema nods, a hand stroking up and down along Jet's back. This will be on the last times he will touch her in this body. The thought is strange, strange enough as to produce no clear feeling. He looks in her eyes, sees her there. "I love you," he murmurs.

"And I love you Dema." A kiss to his nose as she flexes her arms about his once more before releasing him. "It only took me thirty some years, death, and being captured and tortured with drugs to find my true love." A wink to Dema at this before she turns towards the supper that's cooking. "I'll set the table."

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