A/n: Just watched American Assassin and I am here for this Dylan content. This was reallyyyyyyyy long so I made it into two parts :)

WARNINGS: SO. MUCH. ANGST.

All my friends tell me I should move on; I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song. Ah, that's how you sing it...

A hand wrapped around my arm, gentle. Just to get my attention, not to attack or be gruff. Not in anger or aggression. The contact still made me tense and turn around to face the person sharply. My eyes landed on Irene and my uneasiness increased but I forced a soft smile, hoping my body relaxed as I told it to.

She didn't look convinced. "You look like shit."

My face fell blank. "Thanks."

Irene shook her head. "I'm not saying it to be a bitch. I'm concerned about you. You're letting him get to you and it's trashing you."

The thin self control I'd been holding onto snapped and I ripped my hand out of her grasp. "You don't know anything, Irene. You just think you do. So no matter what you were trying to do or what your intentions were, you are being a bitch."

She bristled. "Don't talk to me like that I'm your superior." My eyes slit and she softened. "But I'm saying it as a friend."

Turning away from her, I continued on my way. "I don't have friends." I heard Irene sigh but I was too busy not caring to address it properly. Just as I was about to leave the room, Mitch caught my eye and my heart ripped open in my chest, burning and sizzling and screaming in agony. A pain ripped through me and my face crumbled a bit in agony, twisting in a minor way. Mitch's eyes landed on me, seeing my expression in our second long eye lock. His eyes widened with surprise and even... concern? I didn't have time to properly read him as I pushed out the door the next second and he was no longer in view.

Bee-lining it for the training room, I bit my lip until I drew blood. I would NOT cry. It would out of the question. Out. Of. The. Question. No. No!

And I didn't. But oh how I wanted to...

-

His lips pressed against my skin, his fingers digging into my waist. I gasped, my head falling back into the bed and his hips rocked, his hard on creating wonderful friction against my core. "Shit, Mitch," I gasped roughly.

He leaned back just a bit, admiring the scattered hickies he'd left as visual proof for the art he claimed I became when I unravel underneath him. His eyes followed every movement and I was stunned to think that maybe he really did think that. He looked at me like I was the only thing worth looking at. As if, in a room of women who were stunning and wanting him, he would only have eyes for me. It made my body burn even more.

Finally satisfied with his gazing, he leaned close. "Do you like that Princess?"

I smiled. "Yes, I do."

He bucked his hips again, his hands moving from pinning me down by the hips to under my shirt and up, pulling it up and off of me slowly as he used the opportunity to feel me up. "You're going to LOVE this then." And, of course, he was right.

My eyes opened to a dark room and I woke up sweaty and breathing hard. I sat up, running a hand through my sweat plastered hair. I blinked, trying to get the memory out of my head. I'd been having dreams about him again. The memories resurfaced in my weakest state, taunting me the only time I couldn't completely keep my guard up.

Sighing, I pushed out of bed. I grabbed a shirt and pulled it on, slipping my feet in shoes and heading outside of the little apartment, down the stairs, and along the block or so to the beach. I treaded through the sand as the sun barely whispered at the sky, only a thought in this early hour of the day.

Trying to keep myself composed, I paused to kick my shoes off before I stepped into the waves, the water lapping at my feet. My body relaxed as I tilted my face up towards the sky, my eyes closing and a heavy sigh landing loud as it passed my lips.

It was sunnier, warmer. His arms snaked around my waist, his lips on my neck. "Good morning," he greeted quietly. I smiled.

"Good morning," I said out loud, my hands moving to my waist as if to actually touch his arms. My eyes opened when I didn't feel them. The darkness and otherwise silence hit me. The cold. The emptiness. I frowned. "Good morning." This time the words broke and I closed my eyes again, tears slowly trailing down my cheeks as I stood in shame and tried not to shake as I cried.

"You need to get over him," Irene had said.

Thing was, she'd never said how to.

Loving you forever, can't be wrong. Even though you're not here, won't move on. Ah, that's how we play it...

Everything was going good until I'd ruined it all. Mitch and I were sleeping together in the very beginning, unable to resist each other. But then it turned into mornings where he'd stay and I'd make him breakfast. I started waking up in his arms, having someone to talk to during meals, and going on jogs in the mornings. Training together. Flirting. The romantics started. An old lady in my building commented to me one day that my husband was very handsome and she was warmed to see how happy he made me.

It was like a dream. We kept the relationship - whatever it was - at home and I did my job, watching Mitch and making sure he didn't get into too much trouble. At least, without me by his side. In the very least. It got the point where we had a drive to keep each other protected and to do the job better to not put the other in any danger. Sometimes he'd ditch me but it had gotten more rare the more we worked together. Instead, I... tamed him. Just a bit. Just enough. I had a partner at work and then a lover I could return home with. And he benefitted from it too. It was mutual.

And then... and then I'd gone and said it.

It had happened one morning as the sun filtered through the light curtains and reflected off of Mitch's gorgeous whisky colored eyes. His dark hair and exposed chest mixed with the memory of last night and I melted into him, smiling softly. "I love you, Mitch." I'd only whispered it. That's all my heart could manage. I knew it would be bad to say and so I was afraid of saying it. But I said it anyway.

Now, here we were.

He'd hardened and left without a word, getting dressed quickly and leaving me in bed to sort through my thoughts. He ignored me for two weeks after. He wouldn't even talk to me. Wouldn't even look at me. And then when he did it was all business. Short and sweet and to the point.

In my rush to have everything finally come together, I'd ruined everything that I had. Looking into the future, I'd ruined the present.

Of course he was still in love with her. With Katrina. He had her photo in his wallet. I'd seen him look at it once, a fond smile on his face. It had been right after our fall out. His pleasant expression slowly melted into one of guilt.

Guilt. He felt guilty for being with me. Guilty for forgetting her, even for a second. For not staying faithful to her until he got all of his revenge. He had sworn some oath of loyalty until death and I was getting into the way of that. He regretted it. He regretted us.

That's when the dreams started.

Even though I'd meant my words, I knew I could never say them ever again. At some point Irene and Stan found out about our minor affair. Stan made it clear that I kept the drama out of the job. I. Me. Because Mitch was obviously already over it, remembering her and forgetting me with ease. Because I was nothing to him. I'd promised that it wasn't any sort of an issue.

Really, it's funny. As I anguish over him not just getting over her and being with me, I sit and watch him as he doesn't care a second for me and agonize over him. As I beg him to forget her, I refuse to forget him. They were together longer. It was more serious between them. I was just a fling. He was a second in my life. She was years in his.

How could I expect him to move on after only a year and a half when I couldn't move on in the span of a few months? When, as I thought about it, I wondered if a part of me would always dwell on him and think of him and wonder about him. Even if he was no longer in my life even at work. A part of me knew that, really, I would always love and think about him. In some way. It was the happiest time of my life. He was the happiest time of my life.

Unfortunately I wasn't his. She was. That would never change. I just had to get used to that.

And there's no remedy for memory - your face is like a melody, it won't leave my head. Your soul is hunting me and telling me that everything is fine, but I wish I was dead.

The moans of agony tumbled past my lips and I rose my hand to cover my mouth and muffle the noise. My face was wet with tears as I looked at the clock. 4 o'clock in the fucking morning. Had I really been awake so long? Simply just... thinking about him?

Memories swirled through my head. His hands on me. His smile. His lips against mine. The way his hair felt as my fingers ran through it. His hand in mine. The way he said my name or greeted me in the morning or as we fell asleep. His face swirled before me, etched on my eye lids so that I saw him clearly as if he were right in front of me each time I blinked, echoing in my eyes once I opened my eyes again so that the darkness twirled together to create his face in front of me.

My body wracked with unheard sobs and screaming agony, trying to get rid of it. It was silly, really. But it hurt. It hurt to think the man I was honestly in love with didn't care a second for me. Never would. That he'd used me for a temporary physical relationship, getting into a rut of comfort simply because I would give myself to him. I wondered how many nights he'd pictured her instead of me and it hurt even more.

Eventually I shook my head, blinking, and looked at the clock again. An hour and a half had passed. I sat up, slipped out of bed, and moved to the bathroom. I turned on the sink as cold as it could go and waited for it to hit the right temperature before I splashed it on my face, the warmth in my body recoiling from the icy liquid. I rubbed my face, waking myself up and harshly knocking myself out of my thoughts.

No more. I wouldn't do this anymore.

Something n my hardened and became as cold as the water against my face. When I looked up, my eyes were lifeless and seemed out of place on my red, puffy face. I turned away from the mirror and moving back into my room, grabbing my bag off of the ground that was full of my training equipment and then left my apartment, settling with leaving for work without any sleep this early in the morning, wearing only my shorts and a tank top.

I arrived at the center still as hard and cold and numb as when I was in my room, parking and then grabbing my bag. Only when I was walking through the woods did I realize I hadn't put on shoes. The twigs and rocks dug into my feet painfully but I didn't care enough to even slow my stride, my feet continuing to roll across the ground as if the bottoms of them were covered from the harsh ground.

The room was empty as I went inside, not even bothering to grab my glove before I just dumped my bag and moved to the punching bag, my eyes seeing nothing else as I approached it.

Once silent, the room now filled with grunts and sounds of impact as I switch between punching as kicking the bag, just getting out all of my aggression. I went and went and went until the sun was high in the sky and my feet and hands were bleeding, my wrists and ankles burning and my legs and arms feeling as if they were made of lead. I was drenched in sweat and still full of anger and pain.

I had been used.

I meant nothing to these people - least of all Mitch Rapp.

Finally I understood why Mitch was how he was. I wanted nothing but to it someone and not stop until they were as bloody and weak and in pain on the outside as I was on the inside.

A hand caught my wrist as I went to punch the bag again and my angry gaze turned to find-

Mitch.

I ripped my arm away from him and turned away from his wide, concerned look. My body was buzzing and burning but it didn't effect my emotions like it usually did. I was shut off, emotionless, and too cold for him to warm me as he always had before. I breathed heavily, the pain not even registering yet. My eyes found Mitch again and he opened his mouth to say something.

Stan came into the room, the sound of he door opening cutting Mitch off. I turned my attention to Stan, body tense and poised with respect and attentiveness. Mitch kept looking at me. Stan approached us. "I have a mission for you." He told me this alone, butMitch looked over. "Not you," Stan added firmly, looking to Mitch this time. "Meet me in the-"

"I want to go with her," Mitch interrupted, his body stiff.

There was a second that Stan paused, glaring a second at the younger man. "I don't care. This is for her only. I don't need any distraction or drama. I need her on this mission and I need her focus and dedication."

After a second of power play between the two males, I cleared my throat. Mitch looked at me, far too sure of himself. The moron actually thought I was going to encourage him to come with me. Whatever. "I will be perfectly fine doing this assignment by myself, but I appreciate the offer Agent Rapp." Even Stan was shocked at the cold way I said those words. "I'm prepared to do whatever it takes."

Stan hesitated, but then nodded. "Okay. Let's go get you debriefed and changed and then you can head out."

"Yes sir."

I was only too prepared to go on a mission. Too prepared to fight and break bones. I would do whatever it took. Even if it killed me.

Hopefully it would kill me.

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise. No one compares to you, I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

I came back from the mission bloody and bruised and limping. I sat in the cabins and cleaned my wounds first. I had just started when Mitch sat in front of me, straddling a chair. He watched me for a second, eyes scanning all my injuries as I continued to ignore him and solidify against him.

He sighed and swatted my hand away from the bowl, grabbing the wet rag from my hands and pulling the little chair over I'd set the bowl of water on. He dipped the cloth again, wringing it and then moving it to my face. My jaw locked and I focused my eyes off to the side. I would not look at him.

To my surprise, his touch burned my skin and my made my heart skid against my ribs and it made everything harder. It tightened my chest and twisted my stomach and my face itched to soften or twist with pain, but I fought and kept it cold and stoic.

His fingers brushed against my chest, over where my heart was and I closed my eyes as a little breath left his lips. A relieved sound. He knew I was just as effected by him as always now. The second I closed my eyes, though, his face popped into my vision again, his lips a ghost feeling against mine and my body suddenly surging with him, meteorites of us together hitting me all at once.

I snapped, catching his wrist and shoving it away from me. I stood, wincing at the pain in my right ankle. He looked at me and my eyes met his evenly. I had myself under control now. "Stay away from me, Agent." I spat the word and then turned away, leaving.

No more.

I had to remember no more.

Every time I close my eyes it's like a dark paradise. No one compares to you; I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side.

Hands found my waist and I closed my eyes, my head pressing into the bed as pleasure filled my body. I gasped, back curving so that I pressed my chest to the bare man's above me. I opened my eyes and was surprised to see a shocking blue instead of a golden brown. Blonde hair found my fingers, unexpected when I'd wanted to see a rich,
almost black brown instead.

No.

No more.

My mind went blank and I took in the gorgeous man before me. I moaned his name and he leaned close, his breath falling against my neck as he chuckled thickly. "Do you like that Baby Girl?"

"Do you like that Princess?"

"Yes," I whispered, my body responding to the memory without my permission. "I do."

He chuckled again. "Let me show you just how much you can really enjoy it..."

But, this time, the man speaking to me was so very very wrong. It was good sex, I won't lie. But I left first thing in the morning feeling insanely unsatisfied.

He wasn't Mitch. Only Mitch could-

Sadness settled like a bit of boiling oil in the bottom of my stomach. Not too hot or insanely churning right now like the agonizing pain I was used to, but cool and bubbling deep beneath the surface, hard and heavy and black and endless.

No- No more.... no more... I promised no more!

And yet here was an infinite more to be had wasn't there?

All my friends ask me why I stay strong... Tell 'em when you find true love it lives on. Ah, that's why I stay here.

A fist missed my face by millimeters and I caught my breath, my face hardening as I retained my focus. Stan pulled his foot forward so he wouldn't be off balance when I came around, twisting my body to attack him back. He dodged my foot and we were face to face again, hands balled into fists in front of us.

I stepped up to attack again and he blocked. "So why are you still all over Rapp?"

My eyes widened and he swooped his leg, catching me off balance so that I ran, trying to keep my feet under myself. I prevented the fall just in time to dodge the second part of his combo attack, my heart roaring in my ears. "What do you mean?"

"Oh I think you know what I mean," Stan continued, his elbow coming up to knock me in the nose and missing me just barely again. When I shot him a look, he smiled. "Oh don't even pretend to be confused." Another missed attack, but closer. "They way you look at him. The way you react to him when he touches you or looks at you or even gets close to you. How you've gotten so cold and careless when it comes to your well being after you two... broke up, or whatever." He was dodging my attempts easily but having a hard time actually hitting me, his words mixing with grunts as he tried and failed again and again. Getting closer with each word he spoke and attempt he made. "Why... no. How have you stayed so loyal? So constant and faithful? I mean in the sense that you're still hung up on him, even when you're with other guys."

His elbow caught my chin and I stumbled. He smirked, brought his fist into my gut, and slammed his knees into the back of mine, watching calmly as he caught his breath and I crumbled. My eyes watered, the sound of my teeth clacking together echoing in my head. "Because I love him." Stan froze, not expecting me to answer to the banter he'd been using to catch me off guard. On my hands and knees, I looked up at my feather, my eyes full of tears and my voice hick with emotion. For the first time since Mitch and I had stopped being whatever we were, I was vulnerable and emotional and exposed in front of someone else. "I really, truly love him."

Leaving Stan completely shocked, I got to my feet and limped away from him, using one arm to wipe away the tears and the other to hold my stomach as I recovered from e pain of his hit.

Well. Now someone other than me knew. I knew Stan wouldn't tell anyone, but it was still weird to think someone else knew. Really, really weird.

And there's no remedy for memory your face like a melody, it won't leave my head. Your soul is hunting me and telling me that everything is fine, but I wish I was dead.

After so long carrying this burden, it had almost gotten easy. I was only too used to the way my skin burned in a way that mad my heart ached when Mitch made any contact with me. The way that my head spun and my eyes followed him and the way I tried to catch his scent when he was close.

Apparently Stan had told someone, also. Irene.

The both of hem kept an eye on me, getting more and more concerned as I got less and less concerned with my well being. When I got shot, I simply dig the bullet out, wrapped it up, and asked for a new mission. I broke my wrist and I wouldn't let anyone cast it. Just broke it back into place, wrapped it up, and asked for a new mission. I got a concussion and I blinked hard, spit out blood, and continued with the mission. I'd passed even Mitch's standard of reckless and I'd started getting less missions.

Which made me more frustrated than anything.

Mitch had been trying to talk to me, get to me, calm me down and knock me to my senses. But if he came even close, I would duck out and leave whatever I was doing. It had gotten bad that I'd almost straight out attack him. No one could make me see what I was doing was wrong because I was so stuck on it. Except Mitch. I knew that, so I avoided him.

At night I dreamed of him and yearned for him and in the day I used all that pain and frustration to kill and-

Be killed.

It got to a point where I really didn't care anymore.

Everyone was catching on, and getting increasingly more worried or wary.

Not like I cared.