Gretchen had suspected it for some time now.
Lincoln Burrows would’ve had far more use for his body than for anything concerning his intellect.
They had already met a few times, and each one she had hoped to take home at least a consolation prize, something that would really reward her for the time spent with him.
Trying to reason with that man was completely impossible.
She asked to have a certain job done and all he could talk about were empty threats, questions about his son’s health and about his brother’s girl.
She was so tired of that puppet show, and she couldn’t wait for the games to be over, so that she could’ve had what she had asked for without being forced to use that guy whose intellectual level was somewhere between monkeys and homo habilis.
She looked at him with little interest while he explained about a flaw in Michael’s plan, as if it was any of her concern and not just their problem.
If she would’ve wanted to break James Whistler out of Sona herself, if she would’ve had all the solutions to all the problem they could encounter inside the prison, she wouldn’t have needed them, but the concept seemed a bit too high for Burrows to understand it.
“It’s none of my business, Lincoln, or am I wrong? I just have to keep you focused on the goal. I don’t care how Michael is going to break Whistles out of there, I don’t care what he needs. I’ve given you a deadline and I’ve given you a good reason to do as I ask. The rest is on you.” she answered, with those same words that by now had become routine between them.
She snorted, letting go on the seatback, whilst the man licked his lower lip, irritated.
“How’s LJ?” he asked after a few seconds of silence, his voice low, as if it pained him to say his son’s name.
If Gretchen didn’t have to maintain a certain amount of professionality, she would’ve laughed of him.
“Your son is great. And he’s going to be even better when his beloved uncle will have finished the job he’s been recruited for.” she told him, then sighed and shook her head. “Seriously, Lincoln, don’t you think you’re wasting your time making me always the same questions and bothering me with the same problems? Don’t we have a better way to spend these meetings?” she asked, just barely allusive.
“Always the same...” the man repeated, biting his lip to contain the anger. “I make you always the same questions because all I care about is my son and Sara, that’s all. I care for them to be okay and that you respect your side of the deal. Honestly, I couldn’t give a damn whether you’re bothered or not.” he hissed, and she conceded herself a smile.
“I’ve already told you that no one’s going to touch a hair on LJ’s or Snow White’s head, given that you do your part. And I don’t want to say that again, I’m tired of giving you always the same memorized speech.” she shook her head, irritated. “Damn, I had heard Michael was the smart one, but I hadn’t realized how thick you actually were.” she commented, raising an eyebrow. “And to think I believed that despite our initial disagreements we could’ve gotten along. You have to give up the thought that I’m the evil witch. You know, starting to see it as business.” she added, smiling, while she leant toward him and rested almost distractedly a hand on his knee, letting it go slowly up the leg.
Lincoln froze, looking around the room to evaluate how many eyes they had on them, deciding how harshly he could’ve reacted to that contact.
But Gretchen wasn’t a fool; she had always taken care that their meetings took place in crowded rooms, and so Lincoln could do nothing but stay still under her touch, glaring at her.
She was amused, very much so, from the despise on the man’s face.
“What game are you playing, Susan?” he hissed, trying to move his leg in the little space under the table.
Gretchen’s smile grew wider, and she shrugged.
“I’m not playing any game. Like I said, I just think that since we’re forced to meet, we can make it interesting. It’s not necessary to spend all our time with you threatening me and me telling you to stop because it’s useless.” she sighed again, letting her hand go higher. “We’re both forced to be here, Lincoln. So why don’t you try to cooperate and get something out of this? I don’t think we’ve got anything better to do while we wait for your brother to break Whistler out, do you?” she asked, trying to sound convincing.
She saw clear on Lincoln’s face what he was thinking about.
She saw him glimpsing at her, furtive, as if he didn’t want for her to notice.
She knew what he thought of her and how much nevertheless the man that had been for three years in Fox River couldn’t help but wanting it.
She saw the war consuming him inside, to decide if he should’ve done the wrong thing.
She kept smiling, confident, while her fingers reached his groin, and she pushed the chair closer, as to avoid indiscreet stares.
“So, Linc?” she whispered, malicious. “What do you say?”
The man fidgeted on his chair, trying to keep his breath steady.
He frowned, and mover away her hand, so that he could move.
“I say you’re a psychotic bitch, Susan B. Anthony.”
Gretchen didn’t stand men much.
She didn’t stand to work with them for the easiness with which they gave in, after having made so much effort trying to show a willpower that none of them owned.
When, anyway, she had to deal with someone she cared so little about, like for example Lincoln Burrows, this weakness of them gratified her.
He had tried, very hard too.
But he hadn’t realized that she had seen war for real, and that this useless retaliation of his wasn’t going to do him any good when the enemy was ready to crush him with a simple wave of their hand.
Lincoln had given in, and she was satisfied.
He wasn’t half bad, in the end.
She liked feeling him on her while he kept her pinned against the wall in her hotel room, she liked feeling him take her clothes off, like an animal, searching her skin with his mouth, trying to get a reaction out of her that she wasn’t willing to give.
She pushed, moving him away, then went to the bed, collapsing on the mattress and propping herself up on her elbows. She looked allusive at him, opening her legs slightly, an invitation that the man, lost any inhibition, couldn’t really ignore.
Burrows didn’t waste time in any kind of foreplay, and this pleased her too. She wasn’t in the mood for games, she wanted to get to it, to give herself a reason to undergo that torture that was sitting on a chair answering questions about the kid and the doctor.
She was getting her reward, and she was relieved.
When she felt him thrusting inside of her with a rough push, Lincoln finally got that reaction out of her that he had been looking for. She arched her back to meet him, letting go to a chocked moan, clawing the sheets beneath her, trying to keep her focus.
She had been right about him, after all.
Sex seemed to suit him better than any brain work, and she was happy to have found at least one useful thing about him.
She let go as much as she could, staying on the edge as her job had taught her, and she gripped the man’s shoulders, scratching him and going down his back with her nails, certain to leave a mark, leaving her eyes open and fixing them in his, while on his face she could read how, once it was done, he would’ve been disgusted in himself.
She smiled to him, then took hold of him and pushed him, so to invert the positions.
She climbed on top of him and dictated the rhythm, taking it slower, showing him that he wasn’t dealing with someone that gave up control so easily.
She felt his hands on her again, and then she closed her eyes, tilting her head back and leaning with her hands on his knees, letting him move inside of her.
When she reached her orgasm she collapsed on top him, annoyed during the few more seconds that Lincoln needed to come as well.
She didn’t linger, she stood up right away, hearing the man groan for the sudden lack of contact.
She pulled on the sheet and wrapped it around herself, looking amused at Burrows, who was still laying on the bed, without strength.
“What? You can’t keep up with me? Or perhaps you’ve forgotten how to do it while you were enjoying your forced chastity in Fox River?”
Lincoln grimaced and sat up, picking up his clothes from the floor and getting dressed.
“Don’t think so high of yourself. You’re nothing special, you know?”
Gretchen laughed, shaking her head and getting closer, resting a knee on the mattress.
“Don’t worry. There’s no need to belittle me just because you’ve given in without even so much as a protest. It’s going to be our little secret, nothing to be sorry for.”
Once he had gotten dressed, Lincoln stood up, gloomy.
“Don’t mind my worries, think about yours. And to keep your end of the deal.” he pointed out, while the woman closed her eyes briefly.
Better and better she thought, frustrated.
“Oh, come on. We’ve been so good together, why do you have to ruin it all and keep talking about deals and plan?” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s a war you can’t win, Lincoln, especially if you keep showing me how much you care. Take it as a free advice: you should act more professional.” she told him, smiling to him satisfied.
“More professional than this?” he asked, sarcastic, nodding at her.
“This is off the clock.” she commented, then was serious again. “Now back to your end on the deal, Lincoln. I think there’s no need to remind you, for yet another time, how necessary it is for it to be done properly.”
She stood back up, going to sit on a chair and looking at him while he left the room without another word.
She was pretty content with the last developments, she couldn’t deny it.
Not that she liked Lincoln, far from it.
She wasn’t used to like anyone anyway, but she found having slept with him a pleasant distraction from the boredom caused by having to deal with the brothers as if she was their nanny, and not someone who was supposed to do a job.
Burrows had done his part, and she was glad he had given in.
She wouldn’t have stood any longer having to deal with the man’s stubbornness, she was sure she had been about to burst.
She had won her battle, for now.
And she was going to win the war, because unlike Michael and Lincoln she had nothing personal in that mission.
It was work, nothing else.
If she would’ve had to kill LJ and Sara she would’ve done it, but what they didn’t understand was that it would’ve caused her no pleasure, because it would’ve meant that something had gone wrong, and Gretchen hated when things went wrong.
She sighed, looking for her clothes and putting them on, reluctantly.
The next day she was going to see Lincoln again, and leaving him so much time to think about what had went down couldn’t bring anything good.
But in the end, it didn’t matter.
For that day she had had her battle.
She could stand him a little longer, now.