Thank you to Nancy, for my lyrics and her patience with my computer stupidity. Thanks to Amand-r for helping me with my computer problems preventing me from getting those lyrics and for getting me involved in the challenge in the first place. And, this may be gratuitous, but thanks to Jam for moral support :).

Grammar notes: italics denotes thoughts, * *denotes emphasis on a word

I don't own the k'immie...

WARNING!!!!! EXTREME VIOLENCE if this is not your thing, I respect you all the more, but please leave now. Implied m/f sex.

A Dish Best Served

Kristen hit the floor with a dull thud and listened to the mismatched breathing of her and her husband in the seconds of silence that followed. It was only when he began to speak that she allowed her hand to float up to her already-swelling jaw.

"Explain to me, my love," Kristen practically spat at the words coming calmly from his mouth, "how it is that we have been married for almost two years now and you have yet to produce a single child." He kicked her, violently and suddenly in the exact spot where a womb would have formed had she conceived. She focused on breathing, determinedly pushing back at the black spots overtaking her vision. "Don't tell me it is for lack of effort. I have hardly neglected my duties in that particular area, and *duties* are precisely what they have been, m'dear." He let the casualness of his tone slip with the final word and betrayed some of the bitter loathing he usually only displayed with his fists.

"Perhaps," the figure on the floor gasped, not having completely regained control of her lungs, "your seed is as weak as every other part of your physique." She watched his face turn the shade of purple that she had only seen in him, his own unique color. He was so very vain and watching it, she smiled. She so rarely fought back. It was nice to get a physical response for her efforts.

"Weak, hm?" Slowly, he put one foot in front of another, coming towards her. She thought about attempting to move backwards, but the effort seemed somewhat wasted, he would reach her anyway. His hands curled around the ends of several locks of her long, uncoiffed hair in a parody of affection. With one brutal tug, Kristen came up, almost to her feet. Not far enough, though, and he used the grip to drag her down the hall. "Are you paying attention now? Have I cured you of your somewhat faulty line of reason."

"Am I paying attention?" She gave a small, contempt filled laugh. "If I seem to stray when you talk this way it's because I'm wondering what I otta say." She said the word talk as if it were some sick joke that only the two of them would understand.

"Ah, so I will need to try just a little bit harder." He punctuated the last word by throwing her into the dresser at the other end of the room they had reached. A small moan leaked from her lips as she slid from the dresser to the floor, new bruises forming on her back. She bit the inside of her lip and scolded herself for giving him the satisfaction of any reaction whatsoever.

"It sounds as if you are starting to catch on m'darling." She smiled inwardly at the slight exertion in his breathing. At least he wasn't having an easy time of it. "If you don't mind, I think I'll do the rest of the talking this evening...."

Kristen was hardly surprised to find his definition of talking somewhat different than that of most people's.

***

The man looked down at the woman at his feet. Well, perhaps woman was a strong word. He extended his right leg to give her abdominal area another sharp kick in order to vent some of the frustration that followed that thought. No, a woman bore children. She continued her husband's line.

He wanted heirs. He'd be twice dammed before he died without a strong son to whom he could pass his lands and title.

Kneeling down, he took hold of Kristen's shoulders and gently rolled her over. Her eyelids fluttered open, surprised at the softness of the touch. He smiled and, with equal gentleness, placed his fingers firmly around her neck. Her eyes were fully open now, quickly filling with liquid panic. In the moment before she started to struggle, he lost his gentleness and tightened the grip. The throat beneath his fingers began to swallow and convulse in the hopes of getting some small bit of air through. Tiny, porcelain hued fingers clawed at his arms, slowly losing strength and conviction as her lips turned a muddy blue, even through the paint.

He held her by the throat long after she had stopped moving. When he felt the compulsion to stir, he regained his gentleness, returning her upper half delicately to the floor and barely touching the eyelids in order to shut them. Having done that, he strode to the other end of the room to pour himself a brandy. He supposed he would have to come up with some way of explaining all this.....

***

At first, all she could concentrate on was the pain involved in drawing a singular breath. It was only when that passed that she realized everything was rather dark. Where am I? She was wet and freezing. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and she recognized the eddy that lay about a half a mile away from the manor. What am I doing here? She pushed herself into a sitting position and tried to think clearly. The last thing she remembered was being beaten. He had tried to strangle her....She lifted her hands to her throat and it was then that she noticed the lack of any new bruises or deep red marks. Searching the rest of herself she found it to be the same. The rib she could have sworn was broken seemed to be in perfect working order. The realization was eerie but she was more concerned with figuring out her present situation than exploring her body's quirks. Looking back into the cold water, the truth creeped into her exhausted mind. So he thought me dead and brought me out here to make it look like a nighttime accident? Suicide...perhaps? Kristen attempted to shake off the disturbing feeling that she *had* died. The thought was ludicrous. If she had, she would not be here.

He tried to kill me. The thought ran through her head, not so much in shock, more like a person looking at a puzzle piece that doesn't seem to fit; as if, stared at long enough, the piece will meld into the larger work and start to make sense.

Kristen worked her way up to a standing position and looked around somewhat desperately to find some sort of directional indicator. It came in the form of a low fence that ran all the way from the manor to the body of water. Slowly, Kristen walked alongside the fence, shivering and still disoriented.

He tried to kill me. When the thought went through her mind for the umpteenth hundredth time she grew exasperated by herself. Yes, Kris, yes he did. Now, the question is, do you plan on walking around saying that to yourself for the rest of your life, or would you prefer to do something about it? On second thought, there wasn't really much of a question in that query.

***

Kristen found herself insanely grateful that the door to the servant's entrance wasn't locked. Slipping in, she made her way to the kitchen and found what she needed. She picked the knife with the longest and ugliest blade. She hadn't any idea as to whether it was actually better than any of the other knifes when doing this sort of thing, it just looked like it would do the job. Throwing off her wet shoes and any other extraneous clothings, she silently worked her way to the master bedroom. There was laughter coming from inside. She could hear it as she approached. Classy. Beat your wife, attempt to strangle her to death, throw her in the river, and call your mistress for an alibi. Slender fingers tightened around the knife to the point where knuckles popped. The noise sounded explosive in Kristen's ears. She ducked into her room and headed towards the sitting room, where the joint entrance to his bedroom stood.

The door might have creaked, she couldn't be sure. She was too engrossed by the sight of her husband, moving in motions no less clumsy than those he had had towards her on top of another woman. Briefly, Kristen wondered if this woman could give him children. Not that either of them would be partaking of anything that far into the future.

The woman caught sight of her first. The shriek that resulted was enough to warn the man still lost in a feverish climax that something was very wrong. It took less than a minute after that for him to identify the problem. Kristen hadn't needed a whole minute. In seconds she had crossed the space from the door to the bed. Before he could even raise his hands, she plunged the knife deep in between his shoulder blades. Pleased at the auditory response he gave to the pain, she slowly twisted the instrument, enjoying the rush of still warm blood over her fingers and the desperate moan he gave, attempting to form a plea. His moan was not the only sound though. Kristen was suddenly grateful that the servants where housed elsewhere. The woman, still pinned beneath the now unbreathing body, was giving off exceedingly loud and high pitched wails. Satisfied that the body she held in her hands was sufficiently still, Kristen rapidly withdrew the knife. The woman's eyes rolled in her head, but Kristen gripped the short black hair, so different from her own, and forced eye contact. Slowly, she ran the bloodied knife down the cheek of the other woman. Then, with a quickness neither of them had truly been prepared for, she plunged the weapon through the voluptuous left breast and deep into the heart. Letting go of the hair, she watched the woman's head droop back until finally, her entire body slid off the knife and back onto the bed.

Kristen placed the handle of the knife in the woman's palm. She didn't know or care if anyone would take that at face value or bother to look further. Returning to her quarters the way she had come she disrobed and put on dry, more practical clothing. Tracking back through the kitchen, she picked up the other discarded wet items and bundled them all up together. Placing them in the fireplace, she started a fire. When she was sure the entire outfit was cinders, she doused the flames and headed back out the service entry.

She stepped into the night and stood to give her eyes time to become friendly with the dark. Where to now? She looked down the road both ways. Anywhere that nobody will find me. Nodding her head, she picked a direction and forced her right foot into action.

Lyrics:

"You Do Something To Me"
Writer: Cole Porter

Verse 1
I was mighty blue
Thought my life was through
'Til the heavens opened,
And I gazed at you.
Won;t you tell me, dear,
Why, when you appear,
Something happens to me
And the strangest feeling goes through me?

Chorus:
You do something to me,
Something that simply mystifies me.
Tell me, why should it be,
You have the power to hypnotize me?
let me live 'neath your spell,
Do do that woodoo that you do so well,
For you do something to me
That nobody else could do

Verse 2
If I seem to stray
whne you talk this way
It's because I'm wondering
What I otta say.
I could cry, please don't
But I believe I won't.
For when you talk to me,
Such a soothing feeling goes through me.