General disclaimer: Max Steel belongs to many companies, Kids' WB!, two different computer animation companies, and a whole mess-o corporate executives. This story is my personal work derived from my inner child getting hold of an uzi and obliterating my good side.
A.N.- Ladies and germs, I am BACK! Don't know for how long, depends on school, life in general, and the usual. *raises eyebrow at the cricket noises and blank stare she's getting from the reader* Ahem. Remember me? Maxy? That loveable little spunk-muffin that posted the first shounen-ai/slash/boy-love fic in this section of the site? Creator of Team Steel Maximum? Um, yeah. So anyway... I'm sure you'll remember me soon enough. My style hasn't changed all that much. After all, I'm only a year older! *does the I'm 16 dance* Anyway, here's the latest product from my warp-ped little mind, hope everyone enjoys it. Well, okay, I'll probably get at least one review from one of my buddies threatening death and other unpleasant things if this turns out to be a death fic. *smiles brightly at Aisy* Personally, I was tempted. But then, I figured that I've done enough of those, so I'd try something different. Well, well. Let's see this thing through, and all you angst-lovers will certainly get a kick outta this one. There WILL be some romance. Of the slash-ish/shounen-ai-ish sort, for those of you who love that kind of thing. Anywho, on with the show! *is dragged off-screen by a pair of flying cats*
A FADING MEMORY
BY:
Maxy Steel
After three years of being a secret agent, you'd think a person would have taken up the responsibility of fixing their own mode of aerial transportation. At least, that's what Berto thought, as he wandered the halls of the underground world of N-Tek, tool box in hand. After his mission last night, which had had the turbo agent coming in around three in the morning, Max had simply announced that Hawk wasn't flying quite right, then left. The Hispanic scientist groused to himself as he walked, planning what to say when he chewed Max out for not being present to help with repairs. On a level, he understood that his partner needed to be spending minimal time at N-Tek, since he had an entire other person's life, literally, that he had to live. But at the same time, it was frustrating that he had to fix up Max's transports, despite the fact that normally, after this much time, the average N-Tek agent could do their own repairs, unless the machine was totaled. The black-haired agent sighed, thinking of at least three different things he could be doing at this moment. Sleeping, for one. Or, working on ironing out the kinks in Fido, version 15.2. The scientist grinned. Stuffing his latest robo-pet under the passenger seat of Shadow would be a nice form of revenge. After three years, Max had still never gotten around to liking the series of little mechanical dogs that Berto was constantly producing. Perhaps it was because none of them lasted more than a few weeks. Not really enough time to bond with something like a miniature robo-Lassie. The mishaps the brunette agent had suffered through, thanks to several (dozen) of the pups, could be another reason. His mind made up on his plan of vengance, Berto rounded the last corner, and came to the main hangar. A quick pass code entry, and a fingerprint scan later, he was standing in the expansive area. About midway down the line closest to him, Berto spotted the troublemaker. Hawk, Berto mused, as he crossed the concrete expanse, didn't look like it was having any problems. As anyone knows, however, looks can be very deceiving. The Hispanic man came up to the small jet, placed his tool box on one of the wings, then approached the engine panel cautiously. Something smelled funny, now that he was close to the machine, and there was a bit of a dent in the plate over the engine. With all the finesse and delicacy of a master surgeon opening up a patient, the scientist carefully pulled open the engine cover. He was immediately hit in the face with a nasty, smoky smell that would have been worse if the machine hadn't had time to air out overnight. He coughed slightly and waved a hand to beat the bad air back long enough for him to draw a breath of good air and analyze the situation. His jaw dropped. No way was this gonna be a one-man operation. Good thing his partner had the day off today. Berto gently closed the panel, and, leaving his tool box on the wing, headed off to go let Max know that he'd better cancel all previous engagements for the next few hours. And, if need be, drive over to wherever his companion was, and drag the older man back to base by his ear.
After a round of grumpy complaining on Max's part-- he'd not only still been at home, but also still asleep-- the extreme athlete had been bullied into coming down and helping with repairs. After he'd showered, and woken up enough that he'd actually be useful for something besides changing the air pressure in the hangar with his yawning. That was done twenty minutes ago. At the moment, Berto was hanging out by the jet, far enough away that he'd have a good chance of dodging if the plane decided to spontaneously explode into a ball of fire. The toolbox still sat on the wing of the jet. The nasty, smoky smell was starting to drift towards him. Berto sighed impatiently, tapping a foot and grumbling under his breath. The hangar doors whooshed open, causing the black-haired man to jump slightly. He turned, expecting to see Max saunter through. Instead, a female agent with short red hair dashed through the opening, and headed for one of the jets. She waved cheerfully to the scientist as she blew by him. The Hispanic man raised a hand in response, before crossing his arms over his chest, and watching the agent's jet fire up and taxi across the hangar to the launching tube. Silently, the scientist uttered a quick prayer that his fellow agent's mission went well. Then coughed, as he inhaled through his nose and got a heavy whiff of batter-jet-engine smell, which had snuck over while he wasn't paying attention. He sneezed, dug into the toolbox for a small emergency supply of tissues, and blew his nose several times, trying to get rid of the clingy, oily smell wafting up into his nostrils. With his back turned away from the door, and his ears still trying to pop from him having blown a little too hard, Berto didn't hear the hangar door swish open, or the soft thunk of it closing. Neither did he catch the soft footfalls, though the arrival was doing a good job of stepping silently, so that could have accounted for it. He did, however, definitely catch on when around 200 pounds of muscular extreme athlete/ anti-terrorist collided with his back in the most childish pounce Max Steel had ever bestowed upon a person. The younger man stumbled, and was saved from hitting the concrete floor only by a lucky arm on Max's part, which shot out and looped around the scientist's torso, and pulled him back enough for him to get his bearings.
"Clumsy this morning, aren't we?" Max's voice questioned wryly, his grin a match for the tone, once he'd been assured that Berto wasn't going to fall, and had removed his arm.
"Only when I have extreme sports jocks hurling themselves at me," the younger of the two replied smartly, leading the way to the problem area of Hawk. Max ambled after him, discreetly yawning into his hand as he did. Berto flipped his tool box open and started rummaging through it, while his partner surveyed the damage done by his life-saving stunt just hours earlier.
"It doesn't look so bad. Why'd you have to call me out here? I was having a nice dream! It had all the essentials! Bath tub full of Jell-o, whipped cream, and--" he started to complain. Berto brandished a monkey wrench at him, cutting the older agent off in mid-sentence.
"Hermano, I don't need or want to know about those weird little fantasies your mind cooks up after you've inhaled too many jet fumes and ate pizza that's been sitting in your fridge for nearly a week," the scientist warned. Max raised his hands in surrender. "And the reason I called you out was for two reasons. One, because you need to learn how to fix Hawk on your own. And two, I need someone to hold these cable ends out of the way while I see what exactly needs to be fixed," he finished, gesturing to the open panel. The older of the two threw up his hands dramatically, then trotted past his tech-smart friend, and vaulted up onto the nose of his aerial mode of transportation, resting his chest against the side of the jet, legs hanging off either side of the tip of the plane. Berto came up next to him, and set his toolbox down, before tossing a pair of anti-shock gloves up at his companion. They landed on the athlete's right shoulder.
"I don't need those," the older agent scoffed confidently. His partner sighed and gave him a Look.
"You do if you don't want to run the risk of getting a nasty zap," he warned in reply. The brunette man shrugged, reaching up to pull the gloves off his shoulder.
"I get zapped almost everyday anyway," he reminded the younger agent, tossing the protective hand gear in the direction of the tool box. One landed perfectly on top of the wrenches. The other flopped over Berto's boot. Sighing and muttering something under his breath about overly cocky partners and death by electricity, the scientist kicked his foot a little, flipping the glove into the tool box next to it's companion, before slipping on his own pair of zap-resistant gloves, and picked up a small device, pulling a few extensions on it out, and fiddling with a few wires attached to it. Max eyed the bit of machinery with distaste.
"Don't tell me you turned Fido into a spider," he groaned. Berto looked up at him with a devious smirk.
"No, but that's a great idea. Thanks, hermano," he replied cheerfully, flicking a switch on the device. It hummed to itself, and several blinking lights came on. The older agent sighed heavily, letting his head drop with a thunk on the cool metal surface he was stretched out on. His tech-smart friend laughed at him.
"Ha-ha, you little sadist. Come on, let's get this thing done, so I can possibly cram a couple more hours of sleep in before I go watch Jo in her skateboarding competition," the blue-eyed , nano-probe enhanced agent grumbled. Berto smiled at him pleasantly.
"Sure thing. Here, hold these wires out of the way," he replied, slipping a hand around a small cluster of three wires and holding them up towards the older man. Max grabbed them, and tugged them lightly, keeping them securely out of the way, and halfway leaning over to watch his partner work.
An hour and a half later, Berto had finished maybe half the necessary repairs, several circuits had been badly damaged, and he had to painstakingly fix the mutilations bit by bit. Max had fallen asleep several times, only to be poked roughly awake by a rather irate Berto, who had, each time, been alerted to his companion's state of unconsciousness by a line of drool hitting a tool he was working with, or his gloved hand.
"Hermano, I'm going to sandbag your face if you do that again," the younger man threatened, cleaning the saudering iron with a look of distaste. With a sleepy mumble, the brown-haired man pushed himself up on his elbows, wiping at his mouth.
"Geez, bro. Not like I'm bleeding all over you or anything," he complained. The dark-eyed man sighed, and went back to his task. Max flopped back down, and immediately started to drift off again. His hand holding the wires loosened it's grip, and the loops of plastic-encased thin metal dropped, falling into Berto's line of sight, and startling him out of his concentration.
"Max!" the Hispanic scientist scolded, grabbing the wires and shoving them back into his partner's hand. The older of the two gasped in surprise at the move, halfway sitting up and looking around in confusion.
"What?" he finally grumbled. He received his partner's best "hands on hips glare, without the hands on hips," pulled up his best sheepish look. "Sorry," he offered, grinning boyishly. The younger man rolled his eyes, before sighing and going back to his task. The taller of the pair, now determined to stay up until the job was done, resolutely sat up, shifting his hips so he wouldn't rock forward, and braced his free hand on the body-warmed metal his chest had been resting against, while he observed the scientist's operation with quick blue eyes. Berto muttered to himself under his breath, quietly going over what he planned to do next. He pulled a small device out of his toolbox, and fastened it among the circuit boards and wires he'd been working on. Curious, Max leaned forward to inspect the bit of metal and circuit.
"Careful. That's to measure the systems on Hawk, see what else I have to do," the technically-inclined agent cautioned. His partner nodded in understanding, and the Hispanic man turned to fish something out of the tool box. Max moved to reclaim former posture atop his jet. The hand resting on the small plane's hull slipped. With a surprised grunt, the extreme athlete frantically moved his legs, trying to keep his balance. He started to slip off the side of the jet. His free hand scrabbled for purchase on the smooth metal surface. One leg left it's spot, and hooked inside Hawk's open cockpit, trying to stop the descent. The tip of one black booted foot punched a button on the control panel. Berto heard the startled yelp from his partner, as well as the sputter of the jet's engine, and whirled, in time to see a bright electric blue flash burst from the transport, and shoot up the wires Max held, and course into the older man's body. He wasn't in time to stop the event. He was in time to watch in surprised horror as his friend of three years was flung, struck by an invisible hand of immense power, from the side of the jet. Berto could only produce a sharp cry of panic, watching as his partner went flying a full twenty feet across the hangar. The Hispanic agent's limbs turned to stone, arresting any and all movement, as Max's form struck the unforgiving cement floor, bounced once, skidded several feet, and finally, came to a complete halt almost thirty feet away.
TO BE CONTINUED...
*grins merrily* And I have leapt back into the world of Max Steel fanfiction. *takes a bow, then dodges the rotten fruit thrown her way* I know, I know. I'm evil. Pure, untainted evil. Well, not really. I have enough compassion in me to make this a bit romancey, along with angsty and delicious. *waves cheerfully to all the ones to whom she had promised to have posted this uh.... two, three weeks ago?* Hey, later's better than never, ya know? I've been soooo busy. But, I have been writing. Like this thing! Along with other, possibly more angsty, definitely more cheerful works. But those are different fandoms, so we need not worry our pretty little heads over that. In any event, I'll get crackin' on the next part, and hopefully, y'all won't be left wondering what evil I'm concocting this time for too long. Until then, catch ya later! Luv ya all!
-Maxy Steel
A.N.- Ladies and germs, I am BACK! Don't know for how long, depends on school, life in general, and the usual. *raises eyebrow at the cricket noises and blank stare she's getting from the reader* Ahem. Remember me? Maxy? That loveable little spunk-muffin that posted the first shounen-ai/slash/boy-love fic in this section of the site? Creator of Team Steel Maximum? Um, yeah. So anyway... I'm sure you'll remember me soon enough. My style hasn't changed all that much. After all, I'm only a year older! *does the I'm 16 dance* Anyway, here's the latest product from my warp-ped little mind, hope everyone enjoys it. Well, okay, I'll probably get at least one review from one of my buddies threatening death and other unpleasant things if this turns out to be a death fic. *smiles brightly at Aisy* Personally, I was tempted. But then, I figured that I've done enough of those, so I'd try something different. Well, well. Let's see this thing through, and all you angst-lovers will certainly get a kick outta this one. There WILL be some romance. Of the slash-ish/shounen-ai-ish sort, for those of you who love that kind of thing. Anywho, on with the show! *is dragged off-screen by a pair of flying cats*
BY:
Maxy Steel
After three years of being a secret agent, you'd think a person would have taken up the responsibility of fixing their own mode of aerial transportation. At least, that's what Berto thought, as he wandered the halls of the underground world of N-Tek, tool box in hand. After his mission last night, which had had the turbo agent coming in around three in the morning, Max had simply announced that Hawk wasn't flying quite right, then left. The Hispanic scientist groused to himself as he walked, planning what to say when he chewed Max out for not being present to help with repairs. On a level, he understood that his partner needed to be spending minimal time at N-Tek, since he had an entire other person's life, literally, that he had to live. But at the same time, it was frustrating that he had to fix up Max's transports, despite the fact that normally, after this much time, the average N-Tek agent could do their own repairs, unless the machine was totaled. The black-haired agent sighed, thinking of at least three different things he could be doing at this moment. Sleeping, for one. Or, working on ironing out the kinks in Fido, version 15.2. The scientist grinned. Stuffing his latest robo-pet under the passenger seat of Shadow would be a nice form of revenge. After three years, Max had still never gotten around to liking the series of little mechanical dogs that Berto was constantly producing. Perhaps it was because none of them lasted more than a few weeks. Not really enough time to bond with something like a miniature robo-Lassie. The mishaps the brunette agent had suffered through, thanks to several (dozen) of the pups, could be another reason. His mind made up on his plan of vengance, Berto rounded the last corner, and came to the main hangar. A quick pass code entry, and a fingerprint scan later, he was standing in the expansive area. About midway down the line closest to him, Berto spotted the troublemaker. Hawk, Berto mused, as he crossed the concrete expanse, didn't look like it was having any problems. As anyone knows, however, looks can be very deceiving. The Hispanic man came up to the small jet, placed his tool box on one of the wings, then approached the engine panel cautiously. Something smelled funny, now that he was close to the machine, and there was a bit of a dent in the plate over the engine. With all the finesse and delicacy of a master surgeon opening up a patient, the scientist carefully pulled open the engine cover. He was immediately hit in the face with a nasty, smoky smell that would have been worse if the machine hadn't had time to air out overnight. He coughed slightly and waved a hand to beat the bad air back long enough for him to draw a breath of good air and analyze the situation. His jaw dropped. No way was this gonna be a one-man operation. Good thing his partner had the day off today. Berto gently closed the panel, and, leaving his tool box on the wing, headed off to go let Max know that he'd better cancel all previous engagements for the next few hours. And, if need be, drive over to wherever his companion was, and drag the older man back to base by his ear.
After a round of grumpy complaining on Max's part-- he'd not only still been at home, but also still asleep-- the extreme athlete had been bullied into coming down and helping with repairs. After he'd showered, and woken up enough that he'd actually be useful for something besides changing the air pressure in the hangar with his yawning. That was done twenty minutes ago. At the moment, Berto was hanging out by the jet, far enough away that he'd have a good chance of dodging if the plane decided to spontaneously explode into a ball of fire. The toolbox still sat on the wing of the jet. The nasty, smoky smell was starting to drift towards him. Berto sighed impatiently, tapping a foot and grumbling under his breath. The hangar doors whooshed open, causing the black-haired man to jump slightly. He turned, expecting to see Max saunter through. Instead, a female agent with short red hair dashed through the opening, and headed for one of the jets. She waved cheerfully to the scientist as she blew by him. The Hispanic man raised a hand in response, before crossing his arms over his chest, and watching the agent's jet fire up and taxi across the hangar to the launching tube. Silently, the scientist uttered a quick prayer that his fellow agent's mission went well. Then coughed, as he inhaled through his nose and got a heavy whiff of batter-jet-engine smell, which had snuck over while he wasn't paying attention. He sneezed, dug into the toolbox for a small emergency supply of tissues, and blew his nose several times, trying to get rid of the clingy, oily smell wafting up into his nostrils. With his back turned away from the door, and his ears still trying to pop from him having blown a little too hard, Berto didn't hear the hangar door swish open, or the soft thunk of it closing. Neither did he catch the soft footfalls, though the arrival was doing a good job of stepping silently, so that could have accounted for it. He did, however, definitely catch on when around 200 pounds of muscular extreme athlete/ anti-terrorist collided with his back in the most childish pounce Max Steel had ever bestowed upon a person. The younger man stumbled, and was saved from hitting the concrete floor only by a lucky arm on Max's part, which shot out and looped around the scientist's torso, and pulled him back enough for him to get his bearings.
"Clumsy this morning, aren't we?" Max's voice questioned wryly, his grin a match for the tone, once he'd been assured that Berto wasn't going to fall, and had removed his arm.
"Only when I have extreme sports jocks hurling themselves at me," the younger of the two replied smartly, leading the way to the problem area of Hawk. Max ambled after him, discreetly yawning into his hand as he did. Berto flipped his tool box open and started rummaging through it, while his partner surveyed the damage done by his life-saving stunt just hours earlier.
"It doesn't look so bad. Why'd you have to call me out here? I was having a nice dream! It had all the essentials! Bath tub full of Jell-o, whipped cream, and--" he started to complain. Berto brandished a monkey wrench at him, cutting the older agent off in mid-sentence.
"Hermano, I don't need or want to know about those weird little fantasies your mind cooks up after you've inhaled too many jet fumes and ate pizza that's been sitting in your fridge for nearly a week," the scientist warned. Max raised his hands in surrender. "And the reason I called you out was for two reasons. One, because you need to learn how to fix Hawk on your own. And two, I need someone to hold these cable ends out of the way while I see what exactly needs to be fixed," he finished, gesturing to the open panel. The older of the two threw up his hands dramatically, then trotted past his tech-smart friend, and vaulted up onto the nose of his aerial mode of transportation, resting his chest against the side of the jet, legs hanging off either side of the tip of the plane. Berto came up next to him, and set his toolbox down, before tossing a pair of anti-shock gloves up at his companion. They landed on the athlete's right shoulder.
"I don't need those," the older agent scoffed confidently. His partner sighed and gave him a Look.
"You do if you don't want to run the risk of getting a nasty zap," he warned in reply. The brunette man shrugged, reaching up to pull the gloves off his shoulder.
"I get zapped almost everyday anyway," he reminded the younger agent, tossing the protective hand gear in the direction of the tool box. One landed perfectly on top of the wrenches. The other flopped over Berto's boot. Sighing and muttering something under his breath about overly cocky partners and death by electricity, the scientist kicked his foot a little, flipping the glove into the tool box next to it's companion, before slipping on his own pair of zap-resistant gloves, and picked up a small device, pulling a few extensions on it out, and fiddling with a few wires attached to it. Max eyed the bit of machinery with distaste.
"Don't tell me you turned Fido into a spider," he groaned. Berto looked up at him with a devious smirk.
"No, but that's a great idea. Thanks, hermano," he replied cheerfully, flicking a switch on the device. It hummed to itself, and several blinking lights came on. The older agent sighed heavily, letting his head drop with a thunk on the cool metal surface he was stretched out on. His tech-smart friend laughed at him.
"Ha-ha, you little sadist. Come on, let's get this thing done, so I can possibly cram a couple more hours of sleep in before I go watch Jo in her skateboarding competition," the blue-eyed , nano-probe enhanced agent grumbled. Berto smiled at him pleasantly.
"Sure thing. Here, hold these wires out of the way," he replied, slipping a hand around a small cluster of three wires and holding them up towards the older man. Max grabbed them, and tugged them lightly, keeping them securely out of the way, and halfway leaning over to watch his partner work.
An hour and a half later, Berto had finished maybe half the necessary repairs, several circuits had been badly damaged, and he had to painstakingly fix the mutilations bit by bit. Max had fallen asleep several times, only to be poked roughly awake by a rather irate Berto, who had, each time, been alerted to his companion's state of unconsciousness by a line of drool hitting a tool he was working with, or his gloved hand.
"Hermano, I'm going to sandbag your face if you do that again," the younger man threatened, cleaning the saudering iron with a look of distaste. With a sleepy mumble, the brown-haired man pushed himself up on his elbows, wiping at his mouth.
"Geez, bro. Not like I'm bleeding all over you or anything," he complained. The dark-eyed man sighed, and went back to his task. Max flopped back down, and immediately started to drift off again. His hand holding the wires loosened it's grip, and the loops of plastic-encased thin metal dropped, falling into Berto's line of sight, and startling him out of his concentration.
"Max!" the Hispanic scientist scolded, grabbing the wires and shoving them back into his partner's hand. The older of the two gasped in surprise at the move, halfway sitting up and looking around in confusion.
"What?" he finally grumbled. He received his partner's best "hands on hips glare, without the hands on hips," pulled up his best sheepish look. "Sorry," he offered, grinning boyishly. The younger man rolled his eyes, before sighing and going back to his task. The taller of the pair, now determined to stay up until the job was done, resolutely sat up, shifting his hips so he wouldn't rock forward, and braced his free hand on the body-warmed metal his chest had been resting against, while he observed the scientist's operation with quick blue eyes. Berto muttered to himself under his breath, quietly going over what he planned to do next. He pulled a small device out of his toolbox, and fastened it among the circuit boards and wires he'd been working on. Curious, Max leaned forward to inspect the bit of metal and circuit.
"Careful. That's to measure the systems on Hawk, see what else I have to do," the technically-inclined agent cautioned. His partner nodded in understanding, and the Hispanic man turned to fish something out of the tool box. Max moved to reclaim former posture atop his jet. The hand resting on the small plane's hull slipped. With a surprised grunt, the extreme athlete frantically moved his legs, trying to keep his balance. He started to slip off the side of the jet. His free hand scrabbled for purchase on the smooth metal surface. One leg left it's spot, and hooked inside Hawk's open cockpit, trying to stop the descent. The tip of one black booted foot punched a button on the control panel. Berto heard the startled yelp from his partner, as well as the sputter of the jet's engine, and whirled, in time to see a bright electric blue flash burst from the transport, and shoot up the wires Max held, and course into the older man's body. He wasn't in time to stop the event. He was in time to watch in surprised horror as his friend of three years was flung, struck by an invisible hand of immense power, from the side of the jet. Berto could only produce a sharp cry of panic, watching as his partner went flying a full twenty feet across the hangar. The Hispanic agent's limbs turned to stone, arresting any and all movement, as Max's form struck the unforgiving cement floor, bounced once, skidded several feet, and finally, came to a complete halt almost thirty feet away.
*grins merrily* And I have leapt back into the world of Max Steel fanfiction. *takes a bow, then dodges the rotten fruit thrown her way* I know, I know. I'm evil. Pure, untainted evil. Well, not really. I have enough compassion in me to make this a bit romancey, along with angsty and delicious. *waves cheerfully to all the ones to whom she had promised to have posted this uh.... two, three weeks ago?* Hey, later's better than never, ya know? I've been soooo busy. But, I have been writing. Like this thing! Along with other, possibly more angsty, definitely more cheerful works. But those are different fandoms, so we need not worry our pretty little heads over that. In any event, I'll get crackin' on the next part, and hopefully, y'all won't be left wondering what evil I'm concocting this time for too long. Until then, catch ya later! Luv ya all!
-Maxy Steel