The next few days were blissful on many levels. Jenna indulged herself in him – and he in her – both of them realizing that they wouldn't be together for very much longer.

Jenna had to assume that he still felt much as he did when he was with Simone, and although she wasn't necessarily looking for marriage or babies, she rather got the vibe that he wasn't one to settle down; that he was married to his job.

So, in order to have as much as possible to look back on, she took to watching him when she thought he wouldn't notice. Even when she protested that he was exhausting himself and might be setting himself back rather that helping himself recover, he was using everything he could around the house to regain his strength as fast as he could. He was not really allowing himself time to recover as much as pushing himself to heal and get back to a hundred percent as soon as possible.

She didn't like to think about exactly why he was doing that. They never spoke about it, but it was the same reason he carried her phone with him at all times, checking it frequently for a dial tone, and why he had gone around shutting all her windows and checking and improving as best he could the security of all her doors.

It wasn't as if she had weight lifting equipment around – or any exercise equipment whatsoever, frankly – but still, it was strange to have a man in her living room, doing repeated sets of lifting jugs of emergency water she kept in the closet, wearing nothing but the sweats she had bought him, which he had promptly cut off into shorts.

She was in her favorite easy chair, watching him as surreptitiously as she could manage, trying to keep the drool off her laptop. Who needed Netflix or Hulu – which she couldn't get anyway, even when the phone lines were working – when she had this amazing gun show to watch? She could see the muscles rippling in his back, beneath his tanned skin, and could remember the feeling of them beneath her palms as he surged powerfully within her.

Damn, when did it get so hot in here?

He attempted sit ups and was only able to do a few at first – all while groaning in pain – and the same went for pushups, and she had whimpered quietly as he did so, hating to see him in pain – especially the self-inflicted kind. But she understood his purpose and did her best to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb him.

Jenna knew that her life, but more importantly to her, his, would largely depend on how fit he was able to get himself, in what she sensed was a very short time, before he disappeared from her life.

She swallowed hard, resolutely putting that thought out of her mind, which was easier to do since the choppers no longer flew above their heads day and night. The radio had said that several suspects had been captured, and that they had eased up on the manhunt but hadn't discontinued it completely. She'd gone into town yesterday for more supplies, and the place hadn't been crawling with them, but there were more cop cars than usual around, not to mention the plainclothes ones, who stuck out like sore thumbs, even in casual, business attire, when everyone else was in well worn jeans and shit kickers.

It wasn't as if she had any illusions about whatever it was this was between them, but she was determined not to let the facts of the situation interfere with her enjoyment of what she could have of it. Her head was firmly planted in the sand, and she had no intentions whatsoever of removing it until she absolutely had to.

He was remarkably fit, and even after just a day or so, she could see the improvement in him – and eventually there was much less whimpering on her part as he ruthlessly forced his body to conform to his standards, kind of the same way he coerced her into bed with him at every possible moment. She thought they had probably christened every room in the house by this point, not that she was complaining in the least.

He'd gone back to the weights, the sweat glistening on him, the look on his face so concentrated and determined, muscles bulging, breath puffing out of him...

Jenna was on her feet before she knew it, insinuating herself between the jugs he was curling to kiss him deeply, her fingers buried in the damp hair at the back of his neck, holding him into the kiss when he might have pulled away.

When she finally did, she was biting her lip and looking surprisingly tentative for her. Merck squatted down to put the makeshift weights on the floor, rising to pull her into his arms. "You still hungry, woman? I thought I'd sated you for a while this morning," he teased cheekily, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Sated? He'd damned near killed her – her lady bits were still throbbing in remembrance.

But then they always seemed to be that way around him, sensitive and tender as if he'd just attended to her as excruciatingly well as he had this morning.

This may have evolved into a bit of a dominant and submissive relationship – and she had no real personal experience of them – but she wondered if every Dom was as generous and downright worshipful of his sub? She'd never feel so cared for and looked after in her life – not even when she was a child in her parents' home! He noticed everything about her, and he used that knowledge to increase her pleasure, or worsen her punishment, but never to denigrate her in any way.

In fact, just the opposite.

Besides the exercises he was forcing himself to do, he proceeded to do all of the little things around the inside of the house that she had been putting off. The things that, if she'd had a man around on a regular basis, would have been on her 'honey do' list. He did them without her having to ask, as soon as he noticed something was amiss. He tinkered with the washing machine that was filling terribly slowly, tilting it forward with impressive – and disgusting – ease, to show her the little filter in the cold-water hose where it entered at the back of the machine was clogged and causing the problem.

"But you are not to do this yourself," he warned. "This is a heavy machine, and I don't want you getting trapped under it. Get whatever handyman is in the area to do this." As if he knew her already too well, knowing she was likely to disregard what he'd said and attempt it herself, he looked down at her sternly, tapping the tip of his index finger on the end of her nose. "Understand?"

She frowned up at him, giving him a reluctant, put upon, "Yes."

Merck didn't much care how she felt about what he'd ordered – nor did he think about the fact that he would never know whether she'd obeyed him – but then he put that thought firmly out of his mind.

He fixed the leaky faucet in the bathroom, the running toilet, and he even installed the filter for the icemaker on her fridge, which she'd bought more than a year ago and had just never gotten around to installing. He nailed down the track for the sliding closet doors, fixed the shelf in the pantry so that she could use it again and rehung the cupboard door that swung off its hinges every time she opened it.

What had gotten her into serious trouble was the fact that, when he'd gone down into her cellar to bring up a couple of heavy cases of emergency water for her to tuck into her pantry after having gone through her supply when the power was out this winter, he'd noticed that the smoke detector down there was non-functional. In fact, it was hanging open, sans batteries.

He disconnected the bottom of the unit and brought it upstairs with him, stalking angrily around the house to find her curled up on the wicker loveseat on her deck, almost asleep in the sun.

"Ahem."

Jenna looked up at him and then gulped hard at what he had in one of his big paws, knowing instantly that she was in trouble. He was bearing down on her like the wrath of God, his face set darkly, and damn, the man could be intimidating when he wanted to be!

"Why is this not working?"

Knowing she was going to regret it, but unable to stop herself, she said, "Uh...perhaps because there are no batteries in it?"

His eyebrows rose at her tone. "And why would there be no batteries in it, pray tell, when it could save your little ass from a fire or carbon monoxide poisoning caused by your ancient furnace, your propane space heaters, your gas stove or your gas washer and dryer?"

Although she was flattered that he thought her ass was small when it wasn't, she knew he was not going to be happy at her answer and that this was definitely not going to end well for her. She could already see the way his jaw was set. He was not happy.

"I – uh – well, it was harping at me that the batteries were low one day when I was down there, so I – uh – took them out and then promptly forgot to bring fresh ones down?" she answered with a small, nervous smile at the end.

"And how long has it been like this? And don't lie to me, Jenna."

Jenna had to look away from him – his eyes were about to bore holes in her. "Well, I meant to fix it, but –

She found herself hauled unceremoniously to her feet, before she could finish her sentence, and bent over the railing of the deck seconds later, her shorts and panties around her ankles almost before that.

One big hand on the middle of her back held her there for a long, vulnerable moment. "Don't you move a muscle, missy. I'll be right back."

Merck left her only long enough to find something suitable with which to punish her, and he knew just what would do the job right. He went into the kitchen, where she had a small, solid oak cutting board hanging on the wall that was only about eight inches long, but it had a good-sized handle that fit his hand well and a broad head with a considerable heft to it.

He'd threatened her with it last night, playfully, while he was helping her fix dinner, and now he was going to use it for what would be its more primary purpose. If he had been going to stick around longer than another day or so, it would definitely get more use his way than hers.

Jenna began squealing as soon as she saw what he had in his hand when he returned. "Merck, no! You can't use that thing on me!"

"I most certainly can and I will. I can't be around to watch over you all the time, but I can make sure that you'll think twice before you're so cavalier with your safety."

The first swat made her scream.

"Merck, no – you can't!"

"I think I can, Jenna," he responded firmly, but he paused, regardless, wondering if she'd changed her mind about letting him discipline her.

"No, not out here – my voice with the water – it'll carry."

Heaving an inward sigh of relief that her reason for delaying her punishment hadn't been what he'd suspected at first, Merck couldn't believe he'd been so incensed that she'd allowed herself – needlessly – to be in danger. He hadn't even considered the fact that he was leaving himself open to discovery just because he found the idea of spanking her this way – in this position, out in the open, to be infinitely titillating. What he wouldn't have given not to have the restraints under which he was currently functioning.

But he did, and she was right.

"Thank you for reminding me of that," he said through clenched teeth as he grabbed her wrist. "But it's not going to get you out of a good, hard paddling."

And it certainly hadn't.

He'd closed the sliders behind them, pulled the curtains closed and proceeded to make her scream again, from beginning to end, even over his lecture, during which he informed her that he'd hadn't always been undercover, and that he'd seen his share of burn victims when he'd worked in cooperation with the fire department.

Accenting each word with a sharp swat, he ground out, "And I cannot bear the idea that something like that might happen to you, just because you couldn't be bothered to change the batteries in your smoke detector."

And then he'd taken her, just like that, with her bent over the end of the bed, her carmine red bottom still sizzling as he pressed against it, bringing her to a hoarse climax she would have sworn moments before would have been a complete impossibility, considering the condition in which he'd left her bottom.

He'd made her scream just as hard as she came as she had while the paddle rained mercilessly down on her vulnerable backside.

But now, hours later, she was – sitting a bit gingerly – but thoroughly enjoying watching him work out and trying not to wonder just how much longer he was going to be with her.

The harsh sound of the phone jarred the both of them, since the house had been so silent. It was so surprising that the two of them just looked at it for a moment, and Merck even picked it up as if he was going to answer it before he remembered that this was not his phone to answer and handed it to her.

She picked it up, listened for about three seconds, saying nothing, and then hung up.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Wrong number?"

Jenna laughed. "No, just my pharmacy reminding me that I have prescriptions to pick up the next time I go into town. As soon as I hear the recording I know they're nagging me, so I hang up." She got up, handed him back the phone, carefully not looking at him as she did so, her voice quiet and strained, "Well, now we know we have phone service. Didn't you have someone you needed to call?"

He did, but he was loathe to do it, with her looking and sounding so down about it. There was nothing he could do about it, though. As much as he wanted to stay here with her – and he did – in other circumstances, he would have quit on the spot and never left her side. As it was, he'd already spent more time here than he should because of her. He needed help to get this situation resolved, before he could even consider returning to his job – if, indeed, he survived the attempt, which was not a given by any means... Things had gone down all wrong – what should have been a relatively easy bust had gone all to hell in a split second, which pointed to someone having ratted him out, and, although he hated to consider it, he thought he had a pretty good idea who that someone was.

But that meant that there was really no one on the force he felt safe revealing himself and his whereabouts to. He was so far undercover that very few people, even the higher ups, in the organization even knew he was out here, and – until he had more proof than just his hunch – regardless of how right he thought he was, he couldn't risk calling someone who might well betray him. Now, if it had just been him, he would probably have considered trying to draw the other guy out, to force a confrontation of some sort and get him to show his hand, but there was no longer just himself to consider, and he would never put Jenna in danger like that.

He owed her his life, but it was much more than that. More than he'd ever felt towards any other woman. Even what he'd had with Simone, which he would have said was as close to true love as he'd ever gotten in his life, paled in comparison to what he felt for his gutsy, plucky, beautiful-assed, stubborn, headstrong, loving, caring Jenna.

Well, not his, really, but he'd certainly taken to thinking of her as that in his mind.

Wishful thinking, he knew, but that didn't stop him from doing it.

He loved her, he admitted to himself baldy. He'd never thought to be struck by it within a matter of a few days, but there was no denying the power of it. It welled up within him every time he so much as heard her talking, or smelled the flowery scent of her shampoo, or felt her surrender her pleasure to him, often bringing his own in a sudden explosion caused directly by the power and sight of her caught in that whirlwind of bliss.

Still standing right where he'd been when she'd handed him the phone, Merck leaned around the open archway to see her working on supper, that too slim back stiff, sniffling occasionally, feeling his heart cramp painfully at the sight of her shoulders shaking. Jenna being in any kind of distress would have given him that feeling, but in particular, that which he caused and his presence in her life made it just that much worse.

Everything in him wanted to go to her and comfort her, to soothe her with his words and his tongue and his body. But she was right. He needed to make this call – really, he needed to have made it days ago.

All he could hope was that he had not compromised his last chance, somehow, too, knowing what that would mean, because he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this contact was completely incorruptible, and would choose death rather than compromising his security in the least.

His eyes remaining on Jenna as long as they could before he closed the office door, punching the numbers into the phone angrily, as if that was going to make it easier for him to leave her when it came time for him to go.

But he knew that nothing was going to achieve that.

When he was done, he put the phone back on its charging cradle in the living room. Dinner smelled wonderful as it simmered in a big pot on the back burner of the stove, but he couldn't find her anywhere.

Merck frowned deeply. He'd made it a rule that she was not to leave the house without telling him – for her own safety – and he didn't think she had since he'd awakened from his fever. He was instantly on alert, his gun appearing in his hand as if by the magic of long practice, every sense primed, pumped but not nervous. He'd always been unusually calm, even when things went south, but then he'd been a loner for a while – it had been quite some time since he'd had a partner, since he'd had anyone else to watch out for while on the job.

He skulked stealthily around the house, alert to any unexpected movement or sound, but there weren't any. Having made the circuit of the downstairs, he checked the bedrooms up, but she wasn't there, either.

So he headed resolutely for the door, stepping outside in the daylight, the sun feeling good on his face, scanning everywhere for her and keeping close to the house, constantly scanning around him for her, or anything unusual or out of place – for any sign of potential danger.

Still, no Jenna.

It wasn't until he'd gone all the way around its perimeter and was nearly back where he'd started, he saw her coming out of a path into the woods, her head down, and he knew she had been crying.

That she was still crying.

He slipped quietly towards the back door, his eyes never leaving her, his breathing constricted at the pain in his chest from the tears he knew were because of him and him alone.

Jenna looked up halfway across the yard and immediately began to jog towards him, whisper yelling urgently, "Get back in the house! What if someone sees you?" and crowding him forcibly – well, as forcibly as he let her – back into the den, her forearms on his chest, their legs entangled, pushing him backwards with all her might, closing and locking it behind her without really turning away from him.

The obvious concern for him that she didn't bother to conceal just made his heart hurt that much more, even though she wanted a spanking – her disobedience called for one. But he wasn't sure he could deliver it in the face of her upset.

Instead, he bent to kiss tenderly, leaning down to wrap his strong arms around her with great, conscious gentleness and straightening to lift her off her feet, carrying her with him to her bedroom.

He could taste the tears that she'd been unable to dash away as she'd run a hand over her cheeks while rushing towards him, more pouring down her face as she would have crumpled but for his arms around her, pressing her forehead into his neck and sobbing pitifully.

"Shh-shh-shh," he soothed, kissing her temple. "I'm so sorry, Jenna." The list of wrongs he'd done her was always on the tip of his tongue, foremost in his conscience, but he couldn't get it past the lump in his throat.

All he could do was love her, right there, right then, with everything in him.

And he did.