The Program Ch. 03

"Why not now?"

She growled. "But things between us have been fine."

Wilson sat forward. "They have not been fine. Though, I suppose that would depend on how you define what's between us. Because at the moment, there's really nothing there."

"But," she flushed. She didn't want to define the sex they'd been having on and off for the past year and a half.

He saved her from that fate. "Oh, there's sex, but that's it. There's no emotion in it. Well, none beside this anger you seem to have."

"I'm not angry at you," she argued.

"I don't care what you're angry at." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But I can't believe you're not lonely."

She stared at him silently, internally debating what to say and how to say it. Nothing eloquent seemed to come to mind. "Did you know we were sleeping together?"

Wilson shrugged. "Yes and no. Mick never said, but I knew him well enough to know anyway."

Taylor resumed her pacing. "Did you... Did he ever explain how we knew each other?"

She was more hesitant now, and Wilson found himself more attentive to her body language. Her pacing wasn't angry, it was nervous. "Not fully. Just that he knew you before college. Mick had a lot of friends back home that I never met. When I first met you, you were still finishing up at MIT. It was one of my first recruiting runs."

"Mick paid for my college," she said bluntly.

Wilson raised a brow. Now he was intrigued. "He never told me that."

"No one was supposed to know." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "He was... I don't want to say like a brother, more like a saving grace. I didn't have much of a family to speak of."

"And Mick what? Found you on the streets, took you home, and decided to keep you like a stray?" Wilson shook his head. "Come on, Taylor."

"No! Fuck you," she said angrily. "God... No... My stepfather..." She stopped and turned away, wrapping her arms around herself. "He got me out of a bad situation, alright."

Wilson stared at the rigid line of her back. Damn, he was in over his head. He had no idea that things were running this deep with her. She seemed to calm herself down and started speaking again with a cold detachment that made him frown. "Mick and I hadn't seen each other for five years, but we had been in touch. Then he recruited me into the company. He told me that I was wasted on a desk job. He trained me. And then we just... It was a natural progression, I think. But then, Mick liked to take unnecessary risks in a lot of ways."

Wilson pushed himself up off the couch and moved to stand behind her. "It's part of what made him who he was, right?" He set his hands on her shoulders and felt the tremble that ran through her body.

"I didn't take it well. I know," she said softly. "I was horrible to you. I was awful to Patrick."

"Patrick deserved it. And that's why you were given the time off."

"No, I was ordered out. It was medical. The stress got to me..." She shuddered and a small sob escaped her lips.

Wilson wrapped his arms around and she practically slumped against him. "Hey, Taylor, it's ok. Everyone knew you and Mick were close. You needed time to heal." He guided her back to the couch. "No one blames you for that."

Taylor fleetingly met his gaze then studied the folds in her robe. She couldn't stop talking now. It was as if she had opened a floodgate. There was no turning back. "I lost the baby," she heard herself say, her voice barely a whisper.

"What?" Wilson stared. He didn't think he'd heard her right. Baby? Mick would have mentioned a baby. Hell, Mick would have been thrilled. So then, he musn't have known. "You never told him."

She shook her head miserably. "I had just found out. He wouldn't have let me in the field. Then with the hospital, and the GSW, and the funeral, and then..." she trailed off.

"Jesus, Taylor." Wilson shut his mouth quickly before he said something he'd regret. God, it all made sense. The way she disappeared for a few months, they way she had thrown herself into her work when she came back, the wall she built around herself, the fact that she never seemed to have any friends outside of the job. She must have been living in some kind of hell. And what did he do? He antagonised her every step of the way. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. She wasn't the job, the job was all she thought she had.

Taylor couldn't stand the silence. She had hoped Wilson would understand. But Mick had been his best friend. She'd hoped his outburst was just surprise, but with the ensuing silence, her hope for compassion faded fast. He'd made himself quite clear. He was angry with her. She knew she shouldn't have said anything. "Damnit," she muttered and stood, intent on resuming her pacing. "I shouldn't have told you."

Wilson reached out and snagged her arm, "What the hell are you talking about? Taylor, you need to tell me these things."

"Why?"

He felt himself colour under her scrutiny. The same old wall seemed to rise between them and he felt her pulling back. "Because. Damnit." Her eyes narrowed. That was smooth. He yanked her down into his lap.

There was a thudding noise that narrowly preceded the tinkle of broken glass. Taylor's head snapped around and she barely had time to recognise the small hole in her wall before she was on the floor, Wilson sprawling on top of her, and a shower of cotton and feathers filling the air as her couch and cushions exploded in the fusillade of bullets.