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Lost Sheep - Ch. 17/?? - Rated R-NC17ish

Title: Lost Sheep
Characters: Beck, Heather and Others
Rating: R-NC17ish (depending on your level of tolerance)
Warnings:  Errrmmm...not romantic.  Not sweet, either. 
Chapters: 17/??
Disclaimer: No, still don't own Jericho. Just having a little fun - not profit. No characters were harmed in the creation of this fic, although their hearts may be breaking a little bit...  :(

Unbetaed. All mistakes are my own.

A/N:  I know, I know - two chapters in two days...but there will be a wee bit of a pause now while I get the next chapter ready.  And I thought, oh, why not!  :) 



It was dusk when Beck returned to the dwelling where they had set up camp. Heather anxiously watched him until he looked at her and gave her a small quirk of his lips. She relaxed slightly and returned his smile with a small one of her own.

Heather and Gregory watched him in silence as he ate. He paused, looked at them and said, "I'm fine."

Heather and Gregory exchanged rueful, embarrassed looks and laughed a little.

"Sorry," Heather said. "Even after everything that's happened after the Attacks, it's still hard to know how to react when somebody loses a loved one, what to say to help ease the pain."

Beck gazed at her steadily. "I hope that never changes," he said softly. "That we never lose that ability to feel another person's pain." He looked away quickly and transferred his attention to Gregory. "What do you think the chances are of finding anybody in the remaining canyons?"

"Remote. They'd have to spend all their time getting water."

"Any ideas at all about where they might have gone?" Heather asked, the frustration clear in her voice.

Gregory sighed. "James picked this place because it was remote and isolated from the rest of the world. He'd found it years ago, and fell in love with it. After the Attacks, it was the first place he thought of - once he could think again, and once he understood the extent of the damage done to the country. James knows this country as well as I do; which way he would have gone depends on how and why they left, and whether he was alive in order to guide them. All I can do, Heather, is to promise to look for them when I'm on my circuit." He turned to Beck. "And I can promise that I will get Maggie to you in Kansas if I find her."

Beck nodded curtly. "That's all I ask," he replied.

"What are you going to do now?" Gregory asked.

Beck glanced at Heather. "I think we'll search for one more day, and then leave. Without a solid lead, there's nothing else we can do."

"I'll stay - "

"No." Beck said, giving Gregory a small smile. "No, you've done enough. You've been gone from Antelope Wells longer than expected - and you'd just gotten back. People will be worried. Do you have any family there?"

Gregory shook his head. "No, although there's a girl..." He looked uncomfortable.

Heather bit her lip as she tried not to smile.

"Then you should head out tomorrow morning. Heather and I will spend one more day and then head out ourselves. But you don't need to hang around."

Gregory argued half-heartedly before giving in.

Very early the next morning, they walked with Gregory to where the trail started in the tree line. He left them the leather gloves he had given them when they first started searching area. "You'll need them today," he shrugged. "Plus I can make more."

Heather suddenly felt very lonely and isolated when they shook Gregory's hand and watched him walk away. He was quickly lost to sight in the trees. Heather glanced at Beck, and he sighed and shook his head.

"Come on," she said with a small smile, "let's get going."

In the early morning, the canyon was still with only the sound of the wind and birds to break the silence. It was a ruggedly beautiful place and under different circumstances, Heather would have stopped to admire it. As Beck glanced around, he caught something flutter out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head sharply, searching for what had caught his attention.

When he saw the movement again, he touched Heather's shoulder and led the way towards it.

Beck's stomach sank as they got closer. He paused, and stopped Heather, turning to both look at her and to block her view. "You shouldn't go any further," he told her, his voice grim. "You should go back to camp and wait for me."

Heather stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened, but determined. "I'm going with you," she said.

He gave her an indecipherable look. "You shouldn't," he warned again.

Heather's gaze never wavered. "I know," she said, "but I'm going to, anyway."

With increasing trepidation, they walked closer. In spite of her best intentions, Heather gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

Beck's eyes and face became even more grim and cold with rage.

They were looking at roughly a dozen bodies - maybe more, maybe less. It was difficult to tell how many or how long they had been there - animals had done their bit along with the elements. The bodies were in a crumpled heap, tangled together, obviously left where they had fallen.

And they were all children.

In a detached part of her mind, Heather was amazed that there was so much left for them to find. She gasped for breath, trying to keep herself from crying, or passing out or puking or just screaming out her horror.

"I...I don't understand," Heather choked out. "How - "

"Shot," Beck bit out. "The bodies have been jumbled because of animals, but - they were lined up and shot."

Heather stared at him, her eyes wide and horrified.

"Who - why - ?"

Beck shook his head. "We'll probably never know." He looked back at her. "You really should go back," he said, his voice surprisingly kind, given the expression in his eyes.

Heather slowly shook her head, her gaze never leaving his. "You don't need to do this alone," she replied softly.

Beck's eyes were solemn as he looked at her. Then he gave a single curt nod. "Let's go get the shovels."

As they stood with the shovels in hand, Beck shook with horror and rage, clenching his hands into tight fists, fighting to control himself. With an effort, he relaxed, and pulled on his gloves. He started Heather digging a grave a little distance away, then he braced himself and took a deep breath. He had to know if his daughter was among the heartbreakingly small and pathetic bodies before him. He would have given anything not to get closer, to turn and run, to deny the possibility that his daughter could have been left to the mercies of the animals and the elements. To turn and pretend there was no way Maggie - sweet, laughing, loving Maggie, Maggie of the treehouses and afternoon teas and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, his child, his baby, his heart - could have ended here.

But if she was here, then Beck needed to know. Either way, he also needed to show these poor children the respect they deserved.

Beck gently examined what was left of the bodies, carefully scrutinizing each one. Finally, he looked at Heather and shook his head. "I can't tell," he sighed wearily. "I don't think she's here, but..." he trailed off.

Heather nodded, biting her lip, both glad that he couldn't positively identify one of the children as Maggie, and also sad that he didn't have an answer one way or the other.

He moved to join her and help her dig.

It was late afternoon when they returned to their cave dwelling, without another word being spoken between them.

Heather could see the rage churning inside Beck, his fists clenching and unclenching, his eyes unseeing. She could tell that his control was tenuous at best over his emotions.

"Beck," Heather started, touching his arm.

"Don't," Beck grated, jerking away from her. "We buried children today, Heather. Children. We are a wounded nation, and they murdered CHILDREN!" With a guttural growl, he took the shovel he had used in the canyon and slammed it against the stone wall again and again until it shattered, the pieces flying in all directions, Heather ducking away from the debris. He spun around, searching for something else he could use to vent his rage, panting from his exertions.

Heather stood back and silently watched as he rampaged, throwing whatever he could lay his hands on, hammering away at the stone walls with whatever he could find. The shovels, the frying pans, the shoes. When he ran out of other things, he moved to punch the wall. Heather quickly jumped forward and grabbed his fist and arm.

Beck froze at the touch of her hand, jerking to stare at her, his breathing laboured and harsh in the silence of the dwelling. He was drowning in his rage and sorrow. He needed to get the emotions out - he wanted to rip everything he touched to pieces. He wanted to break something, destroy something, hurt something, while he screamed his rage and frustration and fear and pain at the heavens. But there was nothing he could destroy - nobody left to hurt.

Except Heather.

Beck spun away from her, from her touch, turning his back. His eyes darted furiously around the room, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled for control. She had to leave - she had to get away from him. He'd never been this out of control, and he didn't know what he would do, or how far he would go to get some relief from his own demons. He flinched away from her hand on his back, and turned to confront her.

"If you know what's good for you," he rasped, his eyes burning, telegraphing his rage and despair and uncertainty, "you'll get out now."

Heather stared at him wordlessly, her eyes showing her own pain, and empathy for him.

"I'm not afraid of you," Heather replied softly. "You won't hurt me."

"No?" Beck asked, his voice dangerously low. That voice, that tone, that look touched something deep inside her that started to thrum like a guitar string. She was shaking, as her body reacted to him, dampness growing between her legs, her breathing quickening, her breasts tightening. She stared at him and knew - knew with every feminine instinct she had - that if he touched her now, there would be no turning back. For either of them.

"No," she replied, her own voice husky, shaking her head slowly.

Beck didn't bother to answer her; he closed the distance between them and slammed his mouth down on hers.

His hands were bruising, the kiss brutal. She could taste the coppery hint of blood where her teeth ground against her lips. Even as he punished her mouth with his own and pushed her down on the stone ledge, heavily covering her with his body, she wasn't afraid.

Beck ripped his lips from hers and placed his mouth – hot and wet and punishing - on her neck, and she shivered as he suckled hard on her sensitive skin. Each tug of his mouth and each stroke of his tongue sent electric shocks through her, pooling hotly between her legs.

Beck was lost in a haze of rage and pain and sexual arousal, the scent of her filling his nostrils. He wanted her so badly - wanted what she unconsciously promised - he felt like he was almost insane with his need.

She moaned, and then, with an effort of will, she panted, "Stop."

He froze.

"Beck, you have to stop."

He raised his mouth from Heather's neck, released her hands and abruptly levered himself away and off her.

He stared at her, appalled. He had been - he had been -

"My God," he whispered, backing away a step.

Heather quickly moved to stand in front of him. She smiled tremulously at him. "I told you you wouldn't hurt me," she said softly.  She steadily held his gaze as she pulled her shirt over her head.

Beck felt off-balance, drowning in rage and grief and fear and shaking from the urge to push Heather back down on the ledge and taking what he wanted - what he needed - whether she liked it or not. The part of him that was still sane was horrified at the thought, and the sight of Heather in her bra and jeans was not making sense to him. She couldn't be...willing...could she? Not after he had kissed her like that, forced her down. If she hadn't stopped him, he would have taken her without thought to her consent.

He stared at her, his breathing rapid, his eyes wild, and burning and uncertain. Heather moved closer to him. "Do you think you're the only one who needs to forget?" she asked softly, then took his hand, and placed it on her breast.

The feel of the soft mound, encased in the soft cotton of her bra, broke the last vestige of control Beck still had over himself. With a groan, he cupped the back of Heather's head and pulled her to him, his mouth slamming down on hers again. This kiss wasn't as brutal as the first one, and Heather kissed him back as hard as he was kissing her. Their tongues duelled, and when Heather slid her hands beneath his shirt and dug her nails into his back, Beck gasped against her mouth and deepened the kiss even more - which was something he wouldn't have thought was possible.

He broke the kiss, and looked down to where his hands were caressing her breasts through her bra. He bent down and traced with his tongue the place where her flesh and the bra met, pausing to suckle hard and nip at the sensitive flesh. Heather gasped sharply at the nips, and moaned at the barrier between her flesh and his. She wanted - needed - to have his hands on her bare breasts, to have his mouth on her nipples.

But she knew that this first coupling wasn't going to last long, and there wasn't going to be a great deal of foreplay - nor did she need it. Their control was gone, and their need was too great. This wasn't about lust, or pleasure, or even about anger. It was about oblivion from the horrors of the day, and they each wanted to lose themselves in the other, if only for a few moments. There was no gentleness on either side as she scratched at his back and suckled and nipped at his flesh in her turn.

She couldn't remember them removing the rest of their clothes or getting down on the sleeping bag. But she would remember forever the moment Beck moved to enter her. She was wet and ready, but tight, and for the first time in this encounter, Beck moved gently, pushing into her slowly, giving her time to adjust to him, his eyes burning into hers as he thrust into her. Heather sighed when Beck was buried to the hilt, and for a suspended moment she just savoured the feeling of completion. The moment didn't last long, and she gasped with pleasure as he began to move. They quickly found a rhythm, and now the gentleness was gone again as he drove into her. She dug her nails in his back, his ass, his thighs as she met his thrusts with her own, as wild and demanding as he was, her own need as strong as his. She screamed when she came, pulsating around him, and he groaned out her name when he shuddered over her moments later.

Beck didn't know how long they lay tangled together like puppies or how long they slept, but the sun was low in the sky when he opened his eyes.

With a stifled groan, he stood, his legs shaking slightly as he grabbed Heather's sleeping bag from the corner and brought it over to where she lay. As he unzipped it, he took the opportunity to truly look at her. They had come together so quickly and in such a haze of rage and despair and dark lust which had spun completely out of control. He hadn't really looked at her.

Now he took the time. He didn't know if he would ever have another chance, once she awoke and she no longer had the desperate need for the oblivion using his body promised. Once she regained her sanity, he thought ruefully.

And so he looked at her, drinking her in, memorizing her. Her skin was paler than he expected, especially contrasted against her tanned arms, shoulders and legs. Her waist was tiny, her breasts, while not large, were beautifully shaped. He winced slightly at the marks he had left on her, on her arms and neck and on the tops of her breasts, where he had sucked the flesh above her bra-line. He wasn't sure he had ever lost control so completely before, and Heather's body bore the results.

Heather stirred, stretching slowly, and Beck's mouth went dry.

She opened and blinked sleepy blue eyes at him. "What?" she asked, her voice husky.

Beck shook his head. "Nothing," he said softly. "Go back to sleep." He gently laid the sleeping bag over her as she yawned, and he noted that her lips were swollen and red.

"Are you going to sleep again, too?" she asked.

Beck opened his mouth to say no. He needed to take some time away from her, to get his world facing the right way again, to regain control, to prepare himself for the moment she told him to never touch her again. But he couldn't refuse her. He couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her no. He also couldn't turn away from his own desire to hold her, to sleep with her close to his side, even if it was only until tomorrow. He quirked his lips in what passed for a smile.

"Yes," he said. "For a little while."

He slid under the sleeping bag and laid down beside her. With a sigh, Heather curled up against him, soft and warm and trusting, smelling like heat and sweat and sex, of her and of him, and he felt dizzy from the assault on his senses. He hadn't tasted her - it had been too intense, too fast, too...everything to take the time for the finer things - but as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, he could feel her nails in his back, see her arching against him, hear her panting and her scream.

"Go back to sleep, Beck," Heather murmured sleepily. She lifted her head and met his gaze. "It'll be okay," she said and, to his surprise, kissed him gently.

He cupped the back of her head as she kissed him. He stroked his tongue over that full bottom lip he'd been watching with such fascination since he met her. She moaned deep in her throat as he explored her mouth with his tongue, and to his surprise, he could feel himself getting hard again, and he only got harder as Heather swept her hand down his body to firmly clasp his length. She moaned again as she explored him, and as his hands explored her in turn.

With an effort, Beck broke the kiss, which was rapidly getting hungrier and more out of control.

Heather stared at him, surprised.

"I just - " Beck panted, "I want to take my time," he said.

Heather smiled at him, a teasing, wholly feminine smile. "Take all the time you need," she said huskily, "but if I can't wait - well..."

Beck stared at her. "Christ," he whispered, his tone both reverent and pleading.

Their mouths slammed together, and all thought of taking it slow disappeared. Instead, it was almost as frantic as the first time. When she mounted him, guiding him into her body and lowering herself onto him, he thought he would cry from the sheer pleasure of it and the sheer beauty of her as she rode him as hard as he had ridden her earlier. She held his hands above his head as they rocked against each other, kissing hungrily .

When she came, she came with her eyes open, her gaze holding his. She didn't scream, but the panting gasping of his name and the sight of her and feel of her made his world fly apart as well.

She collapsed on top of him, both of them panting heavily and slick with sweat. They were asleep in minutes.

When Heather awoke, she ached all over, while at the same time she felt completely relaxed and sated. It was dark, and she was alone on the sleeping bags. She slowly sat up, and saw Beck standing by the window, looking out into the darkness.

Heather stood, wincing as muscles she hadn't used in far too long protested any movement, and shivering slightly in the evening chill. She walked up to Beck and smoothed a hand up his back.

He turned his head slightly, but didn't turn, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Is there somebody out there?" Heather whispered.

Beck shook his head. "Just ghosts," he sighed, his voice quiet and sad.

Heather slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his back. "I don't believe she's dead, Beck. We'll find her yet," she whispered.

Beck rubbed Heather's arms without answering her. After a moment of silence, he turned to face her, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs rubbing lightly across her lips. She sighed at the sheer sensual pleasure of it.

"I'm glad you're here, Heather," he said softly.

She smiled a little. "Why would you tell me that?" she asked lightly.

"So you'd know that everything that's happened these last few hours was because it's you. My ghosts have nothing to do with this," he said, as he lowered his mouth to hers.

This kiss was different, gently questing and exploring, and left Heather trembling and clinging to him. When he lifted her into his arms, she squeaked in surprise. He carried her the short distance to the sleeping bags, and sank down onto them with her.

Afterwards, Heather swore he didn't miss a single inch of her. He stroked, or nibbled, kissed or licked her from her eyes to her toes, front and back. He brought her twice with his fingers and tongue before he finally entered her.

As he drove in and out of her, he spoke to her, whispering her name, telling her she was beautiful, telling her she was driving him crazy, telling her how she felt and how she made him feel. She came with a soft sigh, convulsing around him almost gently just before he came and collapsed on top of her.

After long moments trying to catch her breath, floating in a sensual sea of pleasure, she sighed with a small laugh, "This is insane."

He lifted his head and looked down at her in the darkness, frowning.

"I've never made love three times in one night before," she explained. "Are you always like this?"

"Well, don't get your hopes up," Beck said ruefully. "It's been awhile."

And he started to laugh. It was rusty, but it was a laugh, and Heather couldn't help laughing along with him once she got over her surprise.

In spite of the disappointments and the grief; in spite of the horror and the rage of the day, they held each other in the dark and laughed. They laughed until the laughter turned to tears, and neither of them could have said which one started crying first, only that they held each other even more tightly as they cried.



( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Apr. 26th, 2009 10:36 pm (UTC)
oh.. my... (fanning self)... i ...do believe... i'm having... my own personal summer!

what an emotional trip you took us on...

(fanning self)
Apr. 27th, 2009 02:50 am (UTC)

what an emotional trip you took us on...

It was a bit of a rollercoaster, wasn't it?? {evil grin}

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it. ;)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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