Disclaimer - I don't own anything; yadda yadda, blah blah.
Summary – A bar, a beer, a dance. But who with…
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Dancing
It's just another after-work night, Max is sitting in Crash and nursing a beer.
"Will you dance with me?"
Max looks up, startled by the familiar voice in an unexpected place. He's not wearing the usual suit, and in jeans the Familiar seems more human, less Secret Government Agent. She doesn't trust him any more though.
"What's the catch?" Max asks, eyes darting around the bar in anticipation of an ambush.
"No catch. No motives. One dance."
She shrugs, standing and following him to the clear patch of floor where people are happily getting their groove on.
She flinches when his hand settles on her waist but not because she expects the violence of their usual meetings. His touch sends a hot spark through her veins – and she likes it. Likes the way it burns, makes her feel alive. It's been too long since anyone made casual contact with her – the virus keeps more than Logan away with the psychology of being a poison carrier. She likes the absurdity of two enemies sharing a dance that is growing steadily more intimate, as he unconsciously – at least she assumes so – pulls her closer. It's as though they are wearing a costume of civility over the customary hostility and she can feel the tension pulsing between them, as though the potential for a more traditional encounter is only just being kept at bay. It puts her on edge, makes the world a little brighter. Cat and mouse. Waiting. What is he waiting for?
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Entering Crash, Alec makes his way over to the table holding his friends. Dropping into an empty chair he spots her jacket and glances around, asking "Where's Max?".
Cindy points, silently across the bar.
"Is that…" Alec breaks off, confused.
"Tall dark and evil? Yeah…"
"What's he doing!" Alec's voice rises with concern.
"Umm… dancing?" Cindy thought the Transgenics were supposed to be genius-smart.
"With Max…!" he stresses.
"Ye-s…?" Cindy's not sure what Alec's problem is. If her home girl couldn't handle the guy, she wouldn't be out there.
"Let me get this straight," Alec's voice has the dangerous edge of patronisation. "Ames White is dancing with Max and no-one thinks this is weird."
Cindy laughs. "Oh it's weird Boo, but the guy seemed spun. Whatever's in that little head of his, Max isn't in any danger." She glances at the dancing couple. "Except from maybe getting something she wasn't expecting." She says, laughter clear in her voice.
"That's my point!" Alec explodes. "He's the kind of guy who sets you up and then takes you out."
"No Boo, take a look…"
Alec turns slowly, not certain he wants to see what is so amusing to Max's best friend. She has strange ideas of what is good for her home girl – something to do with seeing Max in all moods he supposes.
White's arms are tight around Max and she seems to be comfortable in them. Their heads are close. Alec blinks, desperately hoping he is imagining the unfolding scene before him. But it doesn't change.
White has leaned in and his lips are brushing against hers. Max isn't moving away - is not moving at all. Alec is shocked to see her eyes flutter closed, her body leaning so slightly into this most surprising development.
White pulls away suddenly, motion jerky as the reality sinks in.
Max blinks, finds her heart racing, needs a moment to forget the hunger in such a gentle kiss.
"No motives, huh…" she breathes, teasing.
His mouth works but forms no reply. Staring wide eyed at her, at what he's just done – and enjoyed – White twists away and disappears.
Max is left standing, an island of motionless as people continue to dance around her, while she tires to work out what happened – and if it might happen again.