He wants to be saved.

From himself.

From her.

From the existence he knows and has no power to change.

The only way he can salvage himself is to let her go. He thinks that's the answer and maybe he's right, but it doesn't take the sting out of the thought.

For his sanity, he has to let her go.

But letting her go would mean that he would have to stop thinking of her, stop fantasizing, and stop imagining all the different ways he could make her scream his name. And, on the surface, it's a simple solution All he has to do is stop torturing himself so he can move on. But there are things beyond his control.

One does not just move on from Max, the rogue X5.

She taunts him in his dreams with her ghostly presence and touches his skin with soft fingertips.

He can't walk away, even though she's stuck on the almighty Eyes Only. Logan Cale. And when he dreams of her, she's dreaming of some other man.

And that kills him.

It's her sense of pride and her hunt for greatness that intrigues him. It's his sense of pride and hunt for greatness that keeps them apart. He knows she is untamable and he doesn't want to tame her. He wants her to be wild and free and he wants her to realize that she can be. He wants to be inside her when she finds that beast; that delirious sensibility that flavours his tongue sweet. He wants her to score his back and arch into him. He wants her to moan and whimper when she finally breaks and falls into his arms, unequivocally his.

It isn't her bar-coded designation that makes him long for her. Nothing that simple could so easily explain his desire...his need to be with her. And even if he'd never felt the soft skin of her nape as his fingers travelled over it's velvety softness feeling the slight rise of the tattoo, he still would have desired her, needed her. But the touch, the act of feeling her identity on her skin where goose bumps rose, excited him. It was more intimate, more real, than anything his calloused, killing hands had ever felt. And now his skin was damned; branded with the feel of her. He couldn't scrub it off no matter how hard he tried.

She stained him.

She's tainted if he thinks about it hard enough. Loved by the great Logan Cale and so damn brain-washed she can't see past the metallic electroskeleton that keeps the man upright. But still he craves her, like his fingers crave to play the ivory keys hard and fast; free like an impromptu jazz session wrought with fast beats and pulsing rhythm. He wants to feel it down to his bones and wants her to whirl and dance like the Sax player as they hit the sweetest duet together. Then he wants to play long and slowly so he can savour each note and hold each sound captive; hold her so close his fingers tremble to find the right pitch.

He knows now it's her eyes that haunt him. Those damned almond shaped eyes haunt him like the blackened sky at night. Those wonderfully dark, mysterious eyes that Logan only wishes he knew the secret to.

He knows.

He's seen life through the same eyes. Eyes that have seen too much. Eyes that have bled and now cry too little. Eyes that have seen rejection and know terror when they see it. They had the same fear bestowed upon them from a God-forsaken hell that tried to reinvent the human race.

There is no sleep in his eyes as he rolls over yet again, tossing and turning with the thought of her. His chest glistens with salty sweat and his lungs burn from holding his breath.

He strains to hear.

Strains to hear her.

He thinks he hears her shouting his name; calling to him from her lonely bedroom where she's finally agreed to take a rest. He must be hallucinating because Max never calls to anyone; never asks for help or comfort. But he moves past the crowded halls and heads for her, down past the X5 quarters and past Mole and Joshua's rooms to a small cubical she calls home. It's remote, away from most of the other soldiers.

She likes to keep herself hidden when she doesn't have to be in the spotlight. She likes to stay alone and wallow in her own torments, be it nightmares or heartache over Logan. The thought makes him shudder. He can barely get the man's name past his tongue, it sickens and sours his mouth, and now he can barely even think the name. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to think of the man that holds Max's attention and makes him look like a fucking joke. Not that he hates Logan. No, he doesn't hate him. There is something admirable when it comes to the older man, but his skin still crawls when Max's saccharin voice purrs Logan.

He wishes it was his name that slipped past her tongue and fell from her full lips clouding in the air like a haze of seduction. He wishes it was his name she screamed as he pumped into her, letting her walls milk him as they shuddered violently with release.

At the threshold he can hear her quietly mewing in her sleep. The words are not yet realized to his supersensitive ears. He steps into her darkened room, finding her small body curled in warm blankets and a slight smile twisting her face.

"Alec," she whimpers still in that dream state, where colours and sounds are the images of perfection and fantasy is real.

His heart beats so fiercely, he swears it's coming out of his chest. The rush of blood that flows through his body speeds up, begins to center between his thighs.

He can't move.

He can't speak.

He can only stare.

His mind screams for him to do something, but he's rooted in the same spot.

"Alec," she purrs in that saccharin sweet voice of hers that he'd imagined calling to him so many times. She says his name like it's liquid sex rushing over her and filling up every pore.

All he can do is stare as his blood boils and his fists clench hard at his sides, digging his short nails into his palms.

Slowly she awakens and the satin sheet falls away from her olive skin, leaving her in a black tank.

There is tension in those chocolate brown eyes of hers when she looks back at him. She knows he's found her secret.

"Was I talking in my sleep?" She looks at him like she can read his thoughts. Like she's privy to information he thought only he knew.

She watches as the tone muscles of his stomach clench and he shifts his weight, stalking towards her like some sly cat. How could she have ever thought Logan was comparable to Alec? Alec, who is all hard planes and tan, delectable skin. It was never about Logan, she knows that now. She knows it was her sense of loyalty that kept her going back. There is no reason to feel loyal anymore. There is no reason to make herself miserable when the man she wants is standing right in front of her.

And she does want him. Wants him so bad she can already feel the heady mixture of their lust coating the air in a thick heavy shroud. She can taste him inside of herself, that spicy jumble of sweat and soap and need.

She holds her hand out to him, offering...pleading with him to take it. His eyes flicker with doubt, and she senses that he's going to turn her down, walk away and not look back. But she catches those too green eyes and holds his stare. Holds him captive so he feels like he can't move.

He switches his weight from foot to foot. The bead of sweat that collected on his brow rolls down the bridge of his nose and bounces on the cool ground. He doesn't know how to answer.

There is a glint of fire in her eyes as she continues to stare at him.

He knows there is no need for him to answer.

He smirks that wicked smile that only he can get away with and takes her reaching hand in his. The skin is soft and just as the connection is made a storm of heat rushes to her cheeks. He feels it too. That amazing rush of liquid gold flowing through his veins faster than any drug.

She cups his cheek and draws him closer and then he's kissing her. Kissing her so hard, it's bruising and she doesn't shy away. If anything, she pushes him harder, knowing he has more to give than the force of his lips. She wants his tongue and teeth and heart to twine with hers. She wants all of him, like she's imagined for so long.

He opens his mouth and lets her into his soul. Offers to her the very dark, very secret feelings he's always tried so damned hard to keep hidden.

She takes it.

She takes it all and will forever take the hurt away.

She knows he is her salvation.

Her warm, honeyed tongue is the sweetest contrast to his sour thoughts. Thoughts that assume she will pull away from him and that he will be left empty; a shell of himself. And even as he lets her take him in her arms and hold him so close he can feel the pound of her pulse, he knows this is for keeps. That she is his and he is hers and it will be that way from that moment on.

"Alec...Alec...," she purrs from her throat and it's as if he's never heard any other word but his name.

His name.

Never will he be 494 again.

He curses under his breath, whispering his frustration. His fingers dig into her skin, wildly seeking the contours and softness that he has only dreamt about. Inching under the cotton fabric, he feasts on the velvety feel of her and the lush, satiny skin of her back and shoulders

He feels it down to his bones as they whirl and duet together in the oldest rhythmic dance known. Still his fingers travel over her, trembling with the sweetest sounding notes never discovered.

He's as green about lovemaking as the colour of his eyes. He thinks he mimics a person in love. That his touch and the tenderness of it are from some movie he once saw and not his own.

He's wrong.

Because deep, deep down it's not an act. There are real emotions that he doesn't even know he can conjure up. And his heart burns bright blue flames for the siren before him. The willing, wicked woman who makes his chest tighten and the blood rush through him like an electrical current. The thumping, riot of words she whispers into his ears breaks violently through the wall he's built and he melts into her.

He lets her take him to that safe place where their bodies can duel and their hearts can open.

Suddenly he has no desire to be salvaged. He wants to rot in the soothing ache of her fingers over his hot skin. He wants to bask in the different textures of their skin as they glide and sweat and moan together.

She is, always was, his salvation.

He is saved.