Margarete and Hans

Synopsis: Although forced into propinquity, they haven't been intimate

What happens, when two distinct people are forced to share an unusual amount of closeness, and the angst for one's survival becomes unbearable?

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Authors note: It takes time to build up, and gets smutty. Be warned.

If that kind of story is not your cup of tea, don't vent your frustration. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

As usual, the subsequent codes are only provided to hint generalities, so you know what to expect.

Codes: F/M, angst, inner conflicts, social barriers, life threatening events, hinted violence, loss of social status, hard sex, drama, seduction, teasing, repressed emotion

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"Hans?"

He didn't react, kept cleaning his firearm. She had watched him quietly for some time, while he had disassembled one weapon after the other. Whenever there was time, Hans methodically cleaned the individual parts, double-checked various functions, before he eventually reassembled his deadly equipment.

The unobtrusive man seemed always completely absorbed, when he was concentrating on his work. Even more so, when he was handling his tools, then he blocked out everything else. Yet, on too many occasions his apparent pedantry had been indispensable.

"Hans!"

This time, it made him stop. He looked up, absentminded.

"Yes?"

Still unsure, if she's gotten his full attention, Margarete hesitated. By now, she knew him well enough, to know, the introverted male could be on autopilot. A strange condition where he seemed to recuperate, somehow refuel his strength, and therefore wouldn't consciously pick up anything she gabbed, and she gabbed a lot lately, just nod infrequently to her monologues. Hence, even though their eyes met briefly, she still wasn't sure, and threw another question at him.

"Are you listening?"

When his dirty fingers stopped mending the magazine case, and dropped the greasy cloth, she knew he was paying attention.

"There is something you need to know, Hans."

He observed her quietly. Waiting.

Even though, for some time, Margarete had contemplated on the delicacy of her revelation, actually saying it, had her dither unexpectedly. But the subject had simply burdened her too long, and she therefore decided to put it out in the open.

Hans still waited. Out of the blue Margarete seemed to be all worked up. Something really bothered her. The sudden intensity in her face was plainly visible.

"I think, I've fallen for you," she finally whispered, still cautious about her admission. She paused to eye him once more.

Beyond a questioning glance he didn't show any reaction. Another moment of silence passed.

Finally, she seemed to have made up her mind, and blurted out.

"I know. It wasn't supposed to happen. Yet, I can't help it..., it is there. The feeling I mean, and it bothers me...," looking for clues in his still stoic face - there were none - then grinning a bit awkwardly, "... since you're such a monster."

Her grin widened into a smile, when she detected a hint of confusion, observable by a renewed focusing of his eyes, and the subsequent arrays of small wrinkles on his forehead. She had learned to read his subtleties, and enjoyed her little insight. Margarete had become really fond of the man's wooden mannerisms, an unexpected thing to happen, considering her eloquence. But happened it had, and many things more.

For instance, it continued to puzzle her why this monster of a man possessed such a thoughtful interior. Most certainly, nobody knew about the multilayered mindset of this perceived brute. Margarete had discovered his thoughtful interior only because of the lengthy necessity of their imposed collaboration. For a long time, the man had shrewdly managed to hide his complex emotions, as well as his many-sided thoughts, behind his outward stoic indifference.

However, lately, Hans didn't have many opportunities to show his peculiar charm. The current hideout was their first resting place, without danger of being exposed, after almost 30 grueling hours out in the open.

"No," she reflected bitterly, "in the past couple of days, there haven't been many calm moments."

Yet she was determined, to not let another peaceful opportunity pass without getting it off her chest. She sighted, somewhat still embarrassed. Hence, murmured more quietly than she had initially intended, "I'm hooked on you, Hans."

Again, Hans didn't respond. The man seemed to be frozen into place, waiting. One thing he was really good at. He could out-wait anybody. She had witnessed this virtue to devastating effect.

But this time, she hadn't planned to go into their usual routine, and talk around his reticence. She held his gaze for some time, and then playfully tilled her head sideways, inviting him to respond.

"I..., I don't know what to say, ... Margarete."

Hans still had difficulties not addressing her as Miss, or ma'am. Besides, he was not a man of words, never been. That was not his strength. Even they had considered his lack of social skills bothersome to be dealt with, and had only chosen him for the job, because there was no one as good as him in what he does. In the beginning his emotional ineptness had irritated Margarete too, but that was then, everything's different now.

In the time they had been together, her perception of him had gradually changed, and now his ability to listen, easily outweighed the lack of his talking finesse. Yet when he spoke, his low voice carried weight. Must be either his timbre, or the lack of haste when he uttered his thoughts, which got one's attention. He hardly used this ability. Hans just wasn't very talkative, but got the message through when needed.

She had witnessed it up close. On this rare occasion, when two assailants had survived their murderous intent, they had tried to stage - on her stubborn insistence - a good girl bad guy charade. Margarete had questioned the two men first. No weaklings. Hard-boiled characters like him. She was usually very good at reading people. That's why she thought she could contribute some of her savvy. But those hit men had seemed to originate from a different universe. Of course they had ridiculed her amateurish questioning.

When they had frustrated her enough, and Margarete hadn't been able to get any information he deemed important, Hans had entered the room. The brief but obvious unease in their facial expressions, when they had realized, too late of course, to tell her what she was asking for, still troubled her. Everyone has a snapping point, and so did those two killers. As expected, Hans knew how to get to them. He had quickly broken their resolve. An unpleasant affair Margarete hadn't been able to forget easily. But his shrewd questioning had been spot on, leaving not much room for evasiveness. That's why she knew, he could articulate, when necessary.

"What I mean Hans, I've developed feelings for you."

She observed him intently. His stoic face hadn't changed much, hardly showed any emotion. Yet she was sure her sudden revelation did affect him. She waited.

"That's...," scrambling for the right words, "...probably because of the severe stress, you've had to endure the last..."

Immediately irritated, Margaret interjected.

"Oh come on! Don't try to downplay my admission, Hans. For once, be honest with me. Tell me what you really think. Please, ... didn't you hear what I've just said?"

Aside from her increasingly mean attitude - her original aloofness a casualty of too many traumatic events -, she had to work on her emotional outbursts. They had become far too frequent. She knew it. That way, she would never be able to elevate their relationship. And Margarete really meant what she said. She felt strongly about the man. But her touchy attitude wouldn't get her anywhere. It would only encourage him to withdraw behind this lethargic façade, protecting his gooey interior, his sensitive core. Exactly the opposite of what she had in mind.

Of course he didn't reply, just nodded.

It still made her furious. In his absurd ways Hans was always polite, not once losing his temper on her. Sometimes she just hated his outward indifference. Why can't he show his emotions more often? Yet strangely, Margarete had sensed it the first moment they'd been introduced, that the man had bottled up an extraordinary amount of feelings under his calm exterior. And she had been trying to get under his skin ever since. It was in her nature.

"You still don't get it, do you? It means, I'm attracted to you."

"I don't understand. Why all of a sudden ...?"

"It's not that complicated Hans. I'm a woman. Right?"

Hans examined her from across the room. There was some slight bewilderment in his expression, but she could see that his brain was working on an answer. This was going to take some time. She had learned to be patient with him. The personal stuff always took time, and it simply wasn't his thing to talk about feelings, not hers, and most certainly not his. Since she had him working on an answer, Margarete sunk back into the pillow.

She was only wearing his t-shirt. Her clothes hung in the shower to dry. The huge garment covered her like an ill-fitting nightgown. She starred at the stained ceiling in the worn down motel room, and asked herself, if she'd ever get used to such filth. But the room was safe, for now. It had given them both a little breather.

Suddenly she was nervous about what he might answer. Hans was still frozen into place. She sat up abruptly. This made him utter a compliment.

"You're very smart Margarete ..."

She immediately sensed, her sudden revelation had made him more uncomfortable than she had anticipated.

Cautiously, he continued.

"... but I'm not sure, if you're, ... only in your current mood of course ...," clearly uncomfortable, "... what I'm trying to say," pausing," ... are able to pinpoint your emotions correctly. Currently you might be more like a frightened girl, than the confident woman you usually are."

She had anticipated that kind of evasive answer. But Margarete hated nothing more than beating around the bush. She had just revealed her inner most feelings, and even though she knew of his reluctance to discuss emotional matters, she had hoped for something else. She couldn't stand the bitter taste an outright rejection would mean for her. In a way Margarete felt her feelings had just been patronized. She stood up angrily, her eyes piercing. She was going to lose her temper again.

Hans had to suppress a smile. Lately, she was like a little volcano, always ready to erupt on any moment's notice.

"But I am a woman. Even though you're sometimes lacking the finesse to recognize the nuances in human interactions, you can't be serious about your answer."

"There is a reason for that," Hans thought pensively, "because of what you still represent. If I were to look at you otherwise, I'd be in trouble."

That's why he had decided to downplay her admission. He had always feared their forced relationship could transform into something he wouldn't be able to control. Hans knew only too well, how inept his interpersonal skills were. But with a woman of her stature, her background, it was even worse. It had been a feeble attempt to give him a little wiggle room against her eloquence. Hence, his evasive answer. Nonetheless, he knew her well enough to see his approach would only fuel her annoyance, and calmly awaited her verbal onslaught. Now she would go to work on him.

Even though her extremely privileged background had made her arrogant, and at times snooty, she was very smart, witty, of course tremendously articulate, and radiated a special kind of confidence he hadn't encountered on a female before. But what intimidated him most, was her naturalness. There was nothing insincere on her. She knew her strengths and weaknesses, and not once, had taken any measures to pretend to be someone she was not. He had never met such a woman before, ever. Completely out of his league. Not that he had much success with women in his life to begin with.

His instincts told him to finish cleaning. He had to be prepared for the worst, because once again, they have shown no mercy, and had become awfully efficient in their relentless pursuit. The next 48 hours were crucial. Anew he had to organize to go into hiding, and there weren't many safe places left. But that would be rude to her, considering how worked up she was in that moment. For that reason, he waited, and braced himself for another flare-up of her battered emotions.

Yet surprisingly, her face softened. She even smiled. Margarete had realized, Hans was already prepared for another melodramatic outburst. It was encouraging. It meant, at least some of her more talkative and engaging personality had rubbed off on him. The stoic male had come a long way since their first interactions. Months of countless hours spent in close proximity simply showed. He knew her well too.

After the last carnage it had helped her immensely to remember his humaneness, in order to deal with the unspeakable violence, he had unleashed to protect her. Only the recollection of that delightful evening had given her the strength, to once more endure their pursuers maddening persistence. Even though that evening had happened only two weeks ago, it felt like it had occurred in somebody else's life.

She had bugged him long enough, until he had finally given in, to dine with her in that restaurant overlooking the ocean. It hadn't been an easy task, since he had numerous security concerns. He had only relented to her tenacity, after she had agreed to disguise her appearance the way he felt most beneficial. Once she set her mind on something, most of the time, Margarete got what she wanted.

Initially, the upscale dining atmosphere had been rather uncomfortable for him, as well as his uneasiness with her outlandish masquerade. But then, because of her niceties, he had warmed up a little. Even a withdrawn male like him opened up, when she turned up her sweetness a couple of notches. They had to pretend to be newlyweds. She had enjoyed the show, they had put on, immensely. Eventually, Hans had left his shell for a moment or two, and had then surprised her, what an observant and thoughtful individual was buried deep beneath that feigned apathy. Not an easy thing to happen, since Margarete had a talent for reading people, sniffing out their weaknesses, with ease dissecting layers of mannerisms to get to one's core. One of the many reasons they wanted her out of the equation.

Sometime last month she had fallen for him. She couldn't remember when exactly. Suddenly the feeling was there, and it had never left since. Margarete had contemplated on her emotions for weeks. Was it some kind of perverted Stockholm syndrome? Did she feel drawn to him because he protected her? Yet at the end, the answer was always the same. It was more. It had to be. She wanted him, longed for his touch, had even fantasized how it might happen, even in those dire circumstances, and if it would happen, imagined him to be very gentle with her. And she would accept that, but when she had masturbated on their fictional encounter, she had longed him to be rough, to let go of his bottled up existence, and take her hard. Just as uncompromising when he did his job.

At first, the level of violence this man was capable to inflict had shocked her. But when she had grasped the calculated precision in his actions, she had understood them as a necessary means to keep her safe. His job. A frightfully dangerous job. They were completely on their own now. Her former life appeared to be only a dim glimmer in a tunnel of darkness. Yet oddly, because of the immense darkness surrounding her now, her perception of life had somewhat changed, and she had been able to appreciate a new light, a very soft light, that could only be seen in total darkness, his light.

When boastful Vincent had introduced him to her as her last line of defense, she hadn't been able to keep a straight face, because it had sounded so corny. And an addition to her already large entourage had simply felt tenuous. Why add another suit? He had been just a huge male. Yes, handsome, but in some degenerate way. How could a single person be a line of defense? Now she knew. The commander's description had been very accurate indeed, and in hindsight not boastful at all. Hans was the only thing she had preventing them from killing her on sight. He was a monster, but to her, what a kind monster.

Margarete walked slowly towards him, sensually moving her lavish curves, like always, when she was in a playful mood. And suddenly she was, despite the ugliness of their current hideout. Her sensuous movements made him lower his sight. She embarrassed him effortlessly. And she loved it. It gave her comfort to tease him. The man's abilities to protect her had been proven so vast, the extend to where he seemed willing to go, in order to get her out, so shocking, that her little emotional superiority in this regard, helped to counter the balance.

"Don't you find me attractive?"

He didn't look up, but to ease his discomfiture mechanically pushed clip after clip into the magazine, trying to ignore her alluring movement, her sudden closeness, and breach of his comfort zone.

She slowly continued to move towards him, until she was really close. He could smell her. She smelled nice. She was freshly showered. She was so beautiful, it even made the cheap soap she was forced to use smell nice on her. She had taken it with astonishing calm, that their last standoff had her covered in blood, and other human excrements.

Margarete softly grabbed his chin; its bristled stubbles tickled the side of her finger, and raised it until he faced her, yet kept his eyes lowered. Margarete smiled alluringly, while nonverbally insisting to meet her gaze. His eyes briefly focused on her breasts, her pointy nipples pocking through the soft fabric, before his brown eyes zoomed in on her face.

Margarete grinned. Men will always be men. It's in their nature to peek, when they have been given the opportunity, and she loved the rawness of such behavior. She inhaled his imminence too. His sweat. His masculine body odor, intermitted by a slight fragrance of metal, an unpleasant reminder of the direness of their recent disposition.

Hans hadn't showered yet. He always setup a protective perimeter first, and then took care of her needs. Despite the severity of their current situation, it had been hilarious to watch him clean her stuff. In his sincere attempt to get the bloodstains out, he had torn her blouse. In that moment, the dumb expression in his face had made her laugh so hard, she had almost chocked. Yet it had been so relieving, had gotten all the pent-up anxiety out of her system. And when he had slightly red faced uttered an apology for his clumsiness, she had literally peed herself laughing.

Later, she had realized, it had been his intention all along to ease her unbearable angst. That's why he played along so easily, making a fool of himself. Another one of those moments, why she felt so strongly about him, drawn to him.

"Margarete..."

"Shhh, don't say anything. Please, Hans. I want to tell you something."

Again he tried to interrupt. She had never touched him before. Not like that. That level of intimacy made him tense up even more.

"Shhh, don't talk now. Do what you do best. Listen. Ok? Don't worry. This time, there will not be an outburst. I'll restrain myself, for you Hans. Ok?"

He still wasn't content to give in, but then her charisma swayed him once more. He'll hear what she has to say. She let go of his chin, and he continued to assemble the weapon.

"I've been thinking about this for quite some time. You need a woman. You need someone, to take care of your emotional graveyard. You need someone, who appreciates what you really are. Otherwise you'll rot from within."