It Was Love
by
Diebin



ARCHIVE: The Usual Suspects
DISCLAIMER: Bah. Humbug.
DEDICATED TO: Molly, who said it was enough. And Donna, who knows lots of First Aid for the soul.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is very short. My disclaimers are probably longer than the story itself. If you blink, you'll miss it. *shrug* It's one of those things, y'know. I apologize if it makes no sense to anyone but me. *g*




His eyes said Mine.

It was the first thing she knew that she had to deny, the first thing that frightened her. They didn't say it at first, not when he saw her in the bar, not when he picked her up off the street. Not even when he stabbed her.

But when he bled for her, his eyes changed. My blood for your blood, they said. Mine.

She didn't agree.

His body said Mine.

It was the first thing she knew she had to fear, the second thing that frightened her. His body didn't say it at first, not when he came home and hugged her, not when he brushed rough hands over her hair when no one else wanted to. Not even when he crushed into her, pressing her into the wall with insistence that she couldn't quite deny.

But when she came for him, his body changed. My pleasure for your pleasure, it said. Mine.

She couldn't agree.

His hands said Mine.

It was the first thing she knew she had to fight, the third thing that frightened her. His hands didn't say it at first, not when he clutched at her hips, not when he touched her in ways she couldn't begin to imagine possible. Not even when he took of his gloves so that she could feel flesh through thin fabric.

But when he brushed bare fingers against her skin, his hands changed. My mind in your mind, they said. Mine.

She wouldn't agree.

His smile said Mine.

It was the first thing she knew she had to hide from, the fourth thing that frightened her. His smile didn't say it at first, not when he smiled at her in the hallway where no one else could see, not when he laughed softy at a wry joke she made in a soft voice. Not even when he smiled down at her after sex.

But when he smiled as she sucked his life into her, his smile changed. My happiness for your happiness, it said. Mine.

She shouldn't agree.

His voice said Mine.

It was the first thing she knew she had to run from, the last thing that frightened her. His voice didn't say it at first, not when he mentioned he was sticking around, not when he said he joining the team. Not even when he told her that he loved her in the darkest part of the night.

But when his lips brushed her ear as he thrust into her, his voice changed. "You're mine, Marie," it said. "Mine."

She had to agree.

She had to deny, had to fear, had to fight, had to hide, had to run--because she didn't couldn't wouldn't shouldn't--had to agree. She was his.

It was love.

And she hated it.



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