Thunderstruck by what he had revealed, Jenna had to say it aloud, "You – you're a cop?"

He met her eyes, neither confirming nor denying what she'd said and what he'd implied. "When this is over, if I'm still alive, I'll give you my badge number and the name of my superior, as well as his phone number so that you can lodge as many complaints against me as you'd like. I would do it right now, but the situation is too delicate, and I can't risk it imploding any further. Innocent civilians – people you know around here – might well get hurt."

Her eyebrow went up in turn. "People I know have gotten hurt already."

Merck had the grace to look ashamed, knowing she was referring to herself. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but I am sorry to have hurt and frightened you."

She gave him a disbelieving look, for which he could hardly blame her, after which she returned to her preparations for dinner, and he grabbed the phone, checking it again, and headed back to bed.

He slept most of the afternoon, his body still recovering from the major insult it had received. The combination of the meds she had given him and the rest he was able to get seemed to be helping, although every time he moved, she could see that he was suppressing a groan that very nearly came out of her own mouth several times.

The oven timer went off, and she headed to the kitchen to serve up dinner, surprised that he had followed her.

"I was going to bring it to you," she said, her tone carefully neutral.

He was already reaching for a bowl – slowly, laboriously. "You've waited on me enough already, don't you think?"

"Well, you're still recovering – this is your first day conscious in a while. You shouldn't push your luck. You seem to spike high fevers very easily. Perhaps you should allow yourself another day to rest and recuperate before you decide to leap tall buildings in a single bound?"

Jenna thought she saw him slump just a bit at her words and continued, a bit more softly, "Go on, and get back into bed. I'll bring this in to you."

He gave her a ridiculously grateful look, obeying her without a word.

If that wasn't a testament to how badly he must have felt, then nothing was. She didn't know him very well, but he didn't strike her as the kind of guy who let much of anyone take care of him or who reveled in being sick.

Just the opposite. He was exactly the type she'd described to him – one that was more likely to push himself too hard and have a relapse.

She brought him a tray with a big bowl of something that looked cheesy and chickeny.

"What is that, it looks great?" he asked, sitting up eagerly as she put the bed tray over him. "Thank you very much for cooking, and for taking care of me when you must've felt like leaving me outside for the vultures or turning me in to...someone or other."

Jenna didn't know what to say, so she gave him a cooking lesson, which was neutral territory. "I don't remember what its formal name is. It's kind of a Mexicany dish, with chicken, onions, garlic, peppers, and salsa, along with some other spices, baked together. Then I spoon it over some rice, swirl in some sour cream and add the fixins I like, which are cheese and black olives. I brought you other possibilities so you could have it the way you might like it."

She had gathered things her ex liked to eat on this meal – jalapenos and hot sauce amongst them – and added them to her own so he could choose.

When she would have moved away from him, to eat in the chair across the room, he touched her leg lightly, saying, "Please stay and have dinner with me? I'll understand, of course, if you don't want to."

Why did he have to be so charming when he wasn't acting psychotic and threatening her life?

Although she knew she should have sauntered her ass over to her chair, well away from him, she didn't, although she wasn't sure exactly what that meant, really, if anything.

They ate in a surprisingly companionable silence for long moments while he moaned and groaned over dinner.

"This is amazing. You should open a restaurant," he enthused.

Jenna had to laugh at that. "I don't think so. Too many people."

"Is that why you live out here by yourself? You prefer not to deal with jackasses like me?"

"Well," she said, tucking her leg beneath her and chewing thoughtfully. "I didn't start out alone."

"No?" he asked, around a mouthful of his own food.

"I bought this place with my ex. We were both kind of antisocial, and we were going to be antisocial together."

His smile – combined with the intensity of those damned blue eyes – was mesmerizing, and she worried she'd get lost in it every time he turned it on her. The man was a natural charmer.

"Didn't quite work out that way, though, huh?" he asked softly, leaning back a bit against the pillows that were propping him up.

"No, it didn't." Jenna stared at her dinner for a moment, awash in bad memories, eyes filled with unwanted tears.

She felt him pat her leg again. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you remember things you'd rather forget."

Clearing her throat, she took another small bite of her portion. "It's okay. He's out of my life now."

He'd never felt his heart squeeze quite so painfully before in his life, and over a woman he barely knew, except to terrorize the bejesus out of her as he fought for his own life. A thought struck him and he frowned. "Did he hurt you? Your ex?"

She didn't answer him, but he saw her ghost of a smile as she got up, saying, "I don't really want to talk about him. Can I get you some more?"

As much as he wanted – for no real reason that he could come up with, except a sudden surge of unwarranted protectiveness he felt towards her – to delve further into her life with her ex, he let her divert him. "Yes, please, I'd love however much more you'd be inclined to give me."

She served him another healthy portion – easily twice what she hadn't finished for herself – but then the man hadn't had anything solid to eat in who knew how long. Although she wasn't sure whether she really believed his story, she desperately wanted to ask him about why he was here – he was so painfully obviously not a native, and she figured he must have come up from New York or Boston to help, all hush hush.

Undercover. He must've been undercover.

When he'd finished and thanked her profusely, she brought the dishes into the kitchen where she'd deal with them in the morning, coming back into the bedroom to stand there for a moment, having lost her train of thought and forgotten entirely what she was going to do.

"You're exhausted. You should come and sit down with me." He patted the bed next to him. "Do you have any DVDs or anything we could watch?"

She did, but she didn't deign to sit where he wanted her to, although, he did convince her to move her chair closer, especially when she appeared with dessert, and she had to wonder if he was that enthusiastic while making love – which she wished she hadn't thought about.

Her chair ended up perpendicular to the bed, with her feet up near his legs, a relatively safe distance away, she thought.

When they'd finished the first couple of episodes of Alphas, and he indicated that he didn't care whether they saw any more of it, she began to rifle through her extensive collection of DVDs.

And he began to talk.

"I can't believe I've lost three days. I don't remember much about it – except feeling incredibly hot, as if I wanted to climb out of my own skin, then feeling wonderfully cool for a while, until the heat came back again. Was that you?" he asked quietly.

Jenna didn't look up. "You were burning up with fever, and I didn't know if or when the antibiotics were going to work, so I gave you a bed bath with rubbing alcohol. I remembered my gramma saying that my Dad used to get high fevers any time he got sick when he was a kid, and that's what she did for him to bring it down."

"Thank you. I really mean it. You treated me much better than I deserved, based on my treatment of you. I wouldn't have blamed you in the least if you'd just let me die." Then he patted the bed beside him again. "Won't you join me on the – on your bed? I feel terrible – I'm the only one in it, and it's not even mine!"

"I'm not sick."

"No," he countered patiently, just the slightest touch of chiding entering his tone that had her wanting to shift in her seat. She remembered all too well some of the things she'd heard him say when he thought she was Simone. "But you're exhausted from caring for me twenty-four-seven. You should stretch out and relax in your own bed. I promise you that I'm as helpless as a baby, and you have absolutely nothing to fear from me."

Her out and out guffaw had him laughing. "Why do I severely doubt that you could ever be helpless as a baby? Why do I have the feeling, instead, that you probably know about a hundred and forty-seven ways to kill me without ever even touching me?"

"Ahem. I'll have you know that's a hundred and forty-eight," he teased. Then his smile disappeared. "I'm serious. You look like you're about to drop, and since you're taking care of the both of us at the moment, that's probably not a good thing. You have my word – although I doubt you put much stock in it – that I will behave."

Jenna wasn't just off the turnip truck and gave him an assessing glance, surprised that she was even considering doing what he was suggesting, but her body was only too happy to do exactly as he asked. "Behave for you, or behave for normal people?"

He actually threw back his head and laughed. "Smart girl. Behave for me and in general. Behave like someone who is not trying to kill you and who won't try to in the future."

She stood, straightening her baggy t-shirt nervously down over her equally baggy jeans. "Is there anything I can get you while I'm up?" she asked.

"Quit stalling, young lady, and come sit down before you fall down. I promised I wouldn't try to kill you; I very carefully did not promise that I wouldn't pick you up and put you where I think you need to be."

He tucked his chin down, close to his chest, and he was looking at her from beneath drawn brows that were a threat unto themselves.

She deliberately didn't just crawl over him – for fear of hurting him, yes, but more because she didn't want to have that close, physical contact with him.

Okay, she didn't want to want it, and she didn't want to put herself at that kind of disadvantage with him, cop or not.

The jury was definitely still out on that one.

Every step of the way to the other side of the bed, she wondered what the fuck she was letting her lady bits talk her into, knowing it couldn't be good.

"Wait a minute. Get off," he ordered.

"What? I just got here!"

"I know, but do as I say. Come around to where I am right now. You're on my injured side."

"What difference does that make?" she grumbled, but did as he asked anyway, assuming the same position she'd been in before, as far away from him as she could get, clinging to the side of the bed like a rock climber clings to the side of a mountain. "And why are we doing this, if it hurts you to do it?"

"Because of this, smarty pants," he scolded lightly, reaching out to corral her against him, not taking no for an answer.

"This is behaving?"

He just grinned. "It is for me, believe me," Merck said with a shit eating grin as he settled her even more closely to him, unpausing the second season DVD of The Wire as he did so.

After a few short minutes of her lying stiffly next to him, he stage whispered, his eyes still on the screen, "You could put your head on my shoulder if you'll still respect me in the morning."

Jenna huffed at him but didn't do as he had suggested, and he didn't insist.

It felt too wonderful in his arms, and she didn't want him to push her away. But, long minutes in, she did finally relax against him, if in slow increments.

Eventually, he paused the disc.

"I really meant it when I said thank you for taking care of me."

She was back to stiff again, but he couldn't regret what he was saying.

"It was a very brave thing you did and very intuitive not to have turned me in to one side or the other. You'd make a good cop. You read people well, and that's one of the major skills you need."

Her thank you was subdued at best.

"I have no doubt that you saved my life, Jenna, and no amount of thank-yous is going to cover it. But I have to say this, because the danger is far from over: if the shit hits the fan and either side ends up here, and it doesn't look good, which is a distinct possibility, then I need you to follow my orders to the t – no questions, no looks, no nothing. Just do it. You can yell at me later. It could well be the difference between one or the other of us or both living or dying, and I am serious as fuck."

"All right, all right," Jenna agreed ungraciously.

He tilted her chin up so that their eyes met. "And if we should live through said shit storm, and you disobeyed me in any way, you can expect that what you got before I passed out is going to look like a warm, inviting hug in comparison."

As he spoke, he began to lean towards her, until their lips met in a kiss that started out sweet as hell but ended with him pulling her, one-armed, up onto his big body as he tried to sit up and kiss her at the same time, but his injuries wouldn't let him.

"Damn, these wounds are cramping my style," he panted, and she tried to shift off him at the pained look on his face.

But he merely contracted that arm, saying, "Whoa there. You're not going anywhere. I haven't had nearly my fill of you yet."

Something about the man made everything inside her melt – including her brain. She knew she shouldn't have been kissing him, pressing her body against his, feeling the dew gathering between her legs as she did so.

But she couldn't stop herself any more than she could stop him.

Those big hands – his left one a bit less enthusiastically – roamed over her at will, touching eagerly but gently, as if he worried about hurting her now in a way he hadn't before, fingers caught in her hair, others skimming over her back and down to rub over her bottom.

"You've recovered from your spanking?" he asked against her mouth.

"Yes," she answered, a bit shyly, charming him with her hesitancy.

"Did you like it?"

She rose up on his chest. "Hell no, I didn't!" she practically yelled indignantly.

But he just lay there beneath her, giving her a doubtful look, one expressive eyebrow up.

"I did not!" she repeated, a little less vehemently.

The other eyebrow joined its partner. "Don't lie to me, Jenna, or you'll get the same thing again, only worse."

"I –"

She didn't think she'd blushed that hard since she was a virgin. Damn her telltale fair skin!

"That's what I thought." He bent his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Even half dead, I loved spanking you. I love your spunk, but I'll love taming it to my hand even more."

"Do you love spanking Simone, too?" she asked pointedly.

Merck moved a little away to get a better look at her. "What?"

"I asked if you enjoy spanking Simone, too, although I think I already know the answer."

His eyes narrowed, and she felt a chill run up her spine at that look. "And what exactly do you mean by that, Jenna?"

Jenna wasn't going to back down. She didn't want to encroach on someone else's territory. "It means that, in your delirium, you talked about – talked to – Simone a lot. You spoke to me as if you thought I was she. At one point, you were up and about, and you treated me a bit like her, too."

That shiver-inspiring look melted into decidedly bedroom eyes. "And what did I say – and do – to the two of you?"

Jenna hadn't expected him to ask that. "Uh...you told her that you only spanked her because you loved her."

He nodded his head slowly. "And?"

Swallowing hard, she tried to look away from him, but he brought her head right back so that she had to look at him. "Y-you…"

"Go on, little miss. What else did I say?"

"You reached down and cupped my cheek, asking if she was still sore from that morning and telling her that she should have known not to have done something she knew she oughtn't. You told her to assume the position and not to move or she'd regret it. You told her..." Jenna didn't think she could blush any harder without passing out. "That you loved..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "How she tasted when she came on your mouth."

Merck didn't respond immediately. He wasn't necessarily sure what he should do. Oh, he knew what he wanted to do, but he was trying his best to put her first. He could hardly do something to her that he didn't think would be good for her, considering he owed her his life.

Yet, here she was, having done so rather than kicking his burdensome ass to the curb, or turning him over to the authorities...or others that she certainly could have. Then there was that revealing blush...

He wished he remembered more about the spanking he'd given her before he collapsed, but he was too sick to remember much beyond the fact that he had done it to her. And spankings were normally something he always remembered – or did his damndest to, anyway – every single second he could, down to the most minute detail – how hard did she cry, what was the temperature of the room – was the sheet below her head stained with tears – did she beg for him to stop or was she stoic?

He was heartily sorry that he didn't have those memories about the first spanking he'd given her.

But that was far from the only thing he could do for her, if she'd let him.

She hadn't mentioned how long it had been since her ex had left, but he had a good idea that it was a reasonable length of time. He didn't get the sense that she felt anything for him – beyond loathing – or that there was anyone else in her life.

There certainly wasn't anyone in his.

Merck did remember, though, that when he'd asked her whether her former husband had hurt her, she hadn't answered him. That was something he tucked away in his mind for future examination.

Right now, he just wanted to make her feel good, if she would let him. He was certainly going to try his damndest to get her to. He owed her at least that. Hell, he owed her a shit-ton more than that, but his bag of tricks was rather small now, and this was something he knew he could do for her, and that, for his own selfish reasons, he desperately wanted to do.