Training Day By IcemanGal Part I of the Helander Trilogy   Note: This story contains adult content and is explicit in nature. If this is not to your taste or you are under age, back out now! "What am I doing here?" Zander Smith muttered to himself. It was a truly rhetorical question because not only was he entirely alone on the balcony of the villa, he knew damn well what he was doing there and how he had gotten there. Little by little, step by step, he had closed every reasonable door that might have been open to him. He had given his loyalty to one disreputable employer after another, ignoring every warning, every danger sign. From Sorel, to Sonny, to Ned Ashton - who had been more legit than the others, but in the end no more reliable or safe, and then Skye, fearing Zander's former alignment with Alexis, had persuaded Ned to get rid of him. By then, for a number of reasons, it was actually a relief. No sense even thinking about his personal life. Loving Emily with all his heart had not, in the end, been nearly good enough. At first, his own stupidity and self-destructive impulses had been enough to drive her away. Then, when it looked as if they'd be together forever, and he felt as if he could turn his life around, accomplish pretty much anything… well, the long and the short of it was, how does a two bit punk with a stubborn streak compete with Prince Charming? He didn't even know if Emily and Nikolas were together now, if they'd been able to sort through his obligations to his family and that Lydia girl. All he knew was that Em deserved better than a guy she was with out of obligation or pity or… anything less than the love they'd had once. So he'd let her go. Let her go? As if he'd had real power over her. As if he'd ever had any. Anywhere. So Emily was with her Prince, most likely, and Carly, who he had started to love, was eternally with her Sonny, and Liz, with whom he'd so briefly connected, had bounced from Jason Morgan to Ric Lansing. And now Zander had done some bouncing of his own, all the way to this villa in the south of France, where he'd been offered the most improbable of jobs. He'd accepted, too, for the simple reason that he felt he had nothing to lose, and no lower to go, short of the jail everyone always predicted for him… Just then one of the other servants - because that's what he was now, that's for sure, maybe what he'd been all along - came out on the balcony and said, "She is ready to see you now." Zander nodded and took in his breath as he followed the man back inside. With mirrors everywhere he could hardly help catching a glimpse of himself. He hardly recognized his reflection. Soon after arriving in France he'd been taken to an exclusive men's clothing store, where he'd been fitted for a few new outfits, and then to a salon where he'd received a radically different haircut. Even Emily wouldn't have recognized him at first glance, though he doubted he could cast a shadow on Nikolas Cassadine. "You have been told what to expect?" the other man asked. Zander nodded slightly. "You will address her as Madame at all times. You will obey all instructions without question, even if they seem… contradictory. It is most important that you never argue with her or seem to correct her. If criticized, make no excuses. She despises excuses." Another short, slightly nervous nod. "You may go in, then." Zander hesitated next to the ornate wooden door with its intricate glass inlays. He knocked, at first softly, then more sharply, in case she didn't hear and thought he was late. "Come in." The voice behind the door was quiet, yet crystalline. He went in. She rose from the small mahogany writing desk, tall and impossibly elegant in blue linen slacks and a white silk blouse. Helena Cassadine. A woman who had cheated death, justice and everyone and everything else repeatedly. Who Elizabeth had called the Wicked Witch. Who Gia had called Psychogranny. Who Alexis had simply feared and hated. He didn't think Emily had known her or had an opinion, though now that she was with Nikolas, she must know of her… "Alexander," she said, smiling at him. The smile didn't quite reach her blue eyes. "It's usually Zander, ma'am… I mean, Madame." Wonderful, he thought. First rule. Call her Madame. Second rule. Don't contradict. Want to go for a hat trick? She didn't seem angry. "Your name is an ancient and noble one. Alexander the Great… we have a blood relationship there, on the Greek side of the family. Macedonia, to be more precise." She walked towards him, then around him, examining him. He wondered if this was how Gia had felt when she was modeling. "You may grow into your name," Helena said musingly, and then, "Have you eaten?" "Yes, ma - Madame." "Good. It is important to keep up your strength." She smiled again. "Was everything explained to you?" she asked, with a slight emphasis on the 'everything'. He nodded. "Good." She came even closer and he could smell a cool, powdery scent on her. It wasn't unpleasant, he decided. The touch of her hand as she reached out and brushed it against his cheek, moving down to his chin and grazing his mouth… that had a coolness to it, as well. Her mouth, however, when it pressed against his, was anything but cool. He couldn't taste or feel her lipstick, all there was, was a warm, firm pressure against his own mouth. As her tongue began to push through between his lips he pulled back. "Whoa!" She looked at him quizzically. "I thought you said everything was explained to you. That you understood what was required." "Yeah, but… like that?" She laughed, almost gently. "Did you expect a courtship? Gifts? Perhaps poetry… I could find some, I am certain…" "No, I mean… I don't know." He was going to die. He knew it. She was going to have him taken out and shot, and he would be buried in one of the gardens in the back. She stepped back slightly. "Contrary to what you may have heard, I do not devour my companions. At least… not literally." "Good to know," he said, trying not to sound quite so nervous. She went over to the Victorian sofa. It was upholstered in rich, wine-red velvet, but looked rather purgatorial to Zander, in terms of intent as well as comfort. "Come here, Alexander," she said quietly, but her tone made clear that she expected his obedience. He swallowed. "Should I lock the door?" Her laugh rang out, as clear as the tone of a perfect bell. "My dear boy, no one would dare interrupt." He nodded slightly as he approached her. She sat down on the sofa and made a little gesture with her hand, indicating that he should join her, which he did. She had been 'lifted' expertly. He didn't know much about that sort of thing, but no woman her age could look that good without it. Not that she was ever going to be his type. No way, not with all the plastic surgery and exercise, all the hairdressers and makeup artists in the world. It would be like getting a hard-on for your grandmother. Okay, he totally had to stop thinking like that. If he was going to get out of this alive, he had to get those thoughts out of his head but good. Stop thinking about Emily, stop thinking about how old Helena Cassadine was, how evil she was supposed to be… Stop thinking at all. Helena put her arms around him. "Relax," she said, her tone amused, her smile faintly mocking. "So, tell me… have you done this before?" "I, um… Yeah." "Good. While I am more than prepared to teach a young man what I require, and perhaps eliminate a few bad habits, I dislike dealing with virgins." Glad we got that settled, Zander thought, as Helena began to unbutton his shirt. As his clothes fell away he thought she seemed satisfied with the way he looked. She touched the scar from when he'd been shot. "Line of duty?" she asked in the same slightly mocking voice. "Not really," he answered. "Kind of." "You are either brave or unlucky. Possibly both." He didn't answer. Her own clothes fell away, revealing predictably expensive underwear. Her bra seemed to be a wisp of fawn-colored satin, trimmed in the finest lace, but as he moved forward to unhook it, he could see the sophisticated underwiring that kept everything in place. Before he could unclasp it, she placed her right hand over his and said, "Don't." "But I thought - " His hand froze, hovering over the simple clasp. "Don't," she repeated, more coldly. He wasn't entirely sure whether she was again telling him not to release the catch or simply not to think. "Okay," he said. She pressed against him, which pushed him back slightly, into the couch. Her mouth covered his again, and he found himself in a kind of awkward embrace, her arms around him and his almost forced around her neck. She sat up slightly, and he found that she was straddling his hips. "Just relax," she said, as she began to stroke him. "But not too much," she added, smiling. He nodded. Figuring that he should do something, be part of this in some way - and maybe that would speed things along - he reached up to stroke her hair, touch her cheek. She seemed to like it, so he allowed his hand to run down her throat and then, avoiding the satin that cupped and protected her bosom, he continued to caress his way gently down, touching lightly near her ribcage, which seemed to tickle her, as she let out a small, almost girlish sigh. He kept going, his fingers now playing along her leg. Her body was actually pretty amazing. Though missing the full softness - the youth - of the ones he had known - had loved - before, it was remarkable. There wasn't much sag, he didn't see veins or brown spots. Everything was shapely, everything held taut. He couldn't begin to imagine what she'd had done over the years to keep it that way. It wasn't that he wanted her, it was that someone should. Suddenly, it all seemed impossibly sad to him. Here she was, rich, powerful, elegant, classy and yeah, beautiful. And what did she get? A two bit punk on his last out, who wasn't going to love her or look after her or even give her any decent conversation after. He was a rented body, someone with no other options who would do what she said and say what she wanted to hear. And he was just one of many. He was part of the army she had around her, everyone bought and paid for. No one was there because they wanted to be with her, but because she paid top dollar, and once they were in, they were too afraid to leave. He knew some of what she'd done and knew that what he knew was only the tip of her iceberg. Helena Cassadine probably deserved jail. But what she didn't deserve was the deeper prison that surrounded her - the knowledge that no one loved her, no one cared, no one would be there without a fat paycheck. No one deserved that. His fingers brushed against the tender flesh of her inner thigh and she moaned slightly. But then their eyes caught and she saw something in his that made her own harden. They spoke to him. Wordlessly, she said, Don't you dare… don't you dare feel sorry for me… I don't, his own eyes answered. But I… understand. Her expression, angry yet holding something else - was she startled? Moved against her own nature? - seemed to challenge him. Okay, he thought. I'm probably dead anyway… He continued, with his right hand, his gentle exploration of the area between her thighs. As she became moist, he could hear her moan with pleasure. With his other hand, he drew her head down towards his and this time he initiated the kiss. There was no real pleasure in it for him, but a kind of satisfaction nonetheless… She pulled back from the kiss. Her hair was slightly mussed, and there was a flush to her cheeks. Using her arms as leverage, she adjusted herself and, after seeming to hover in the air for a few seconds, came down, almost impaling herself on Zander. She pulled him towards her and began a rocking motion. If someone had told him he would be this hard at this moment, with this woman, he would not have believed it, but here he was, and he felt as if he was an iron rod, pulsing against her. She was riding him, back arched, and just as he felt he could hold back no longer, she shouted, "No, not yet! Not yet!" and this time the commanding voice didn't make him nervous or angry and he tried to hold on just a little longer, listening to her moan and even whimper against him. Then he knew, instinctively, that it was time, that it was all right, and he poured out into her in a rush, and she pulled away, her breath jagged and a little throaty, as if she was nurturing a low, dirty laugh. He laid there, spent. When he moved slightly he brushed against the sticky wet spot. He knew there would be no cuddling, no whispered endearments and he didn't want them anyway. She would dismiss him to his 'regular' duties. It was almost as if it had happened in a weird dream. "Alexander," she said in the earlier, musing tone of voice. "Yes… you may yet grow into your name." She sat up. Motioning to the wet spot she said, "That… will not happen again. You should have a cloth at the ready." With an elegant, imperious motion, she indicated that he should get her clothes, which were strewn on the floor near the sofa. "Yes, Madame," he said quietly. He got the linen slacks, the silk blouse, but he also picked up his own clothes. He dressed himself first, ignoring the archly surprised look on her face. There was a handkerchief in his jacket pocket, and he took it out, leaning towards her and wiping the light coating of sweat from her face, and then the exposed portion of her chest; only then did he help her into her clothes. "You are insolent," she said, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. "No, Madame." Their eyes locked. He held her gaze steadily. It was not that he had nothing to lose, though that was certainly true. It was more that he no longer thought in terms of winning and losing. This was where he was. This was who he would have to be. Emily's Zander was gone. He would make the best of the decisions he had made, the path he had chosen. He stepped back. "Will that be all, Madame?" She studied him. "What are your… other duties here?" "I'm on security. I do the second shift patrol. They thought it suited my background." "I see. Your work for that mobster Corinthos and the drug dealer. Yes… but I think you might be capable of more." He nodded slightly, wondering if the 'more' she had in mind would involve more than servicing her sexually. She was still looking at him. "You came here because you thought you had nothing more to lose, didn't you?" He stared at her, almost afraid again. "What you didn't know is… that is when you have everything to gain." She laughed again, that clear, bell-like laugh. "Come see me tomorrow, before you begin your… shift. There is much I can teach you, Alexander. The first lesson will be… never give up on what you love most in the world…" He nodded again, more slowly and started for the door. As he opened it, her voice continued. "But first… you will need to know what it is." As he left, closing the door behind him, he thought he heard her say quietly, "I have so much to teach you… and it should be so much fun…" This is my path, he reminded himself. This is where I am now. Oh, Emily… He shook his head. Alexander… grow into your name…     Part II: Name