Thank you guys for the nice reviews. On we go, then…
Right when he starts thinking he won't make it – too tired, his whole body too exhausted, his feet beyond sore – Terminal City emerges in front of him, a mythic island in the middle of a hazy fog.
He doesn't even remember how he got there, doesn't remember anything but Maxie's head pressed against his chest, the fleeting pulse in her temple, her blood sticky on his clammy skin, the light breaths escaping between her bloodless lips.
He clenches his teeth against the numbness, the pain, and once again forces himself to resume his slow and swayed walk.
He doesn't realize how dangerously close he is to losing consciousness, to drifting further off into the looming dark shadow that started enveloping him a while ago.
There's only Max in his arms, and the city in the distance, growing bigger and fuzzier with every step he takes.
Mole sees the lean figure enter Terminal City at a staggering run, the image on the screens in front of him gray and slightly grainy due to the poor quality of some of the cameras. But they are lucky to at least have those darn things. Mole curses nevertheless.
And why shouldn't he? This place is crap. Max's stupid plan of achieving integration simply by staying on? Bull. Even now he starts growling to himself, still not sure what has made him stay when he could be somewhere else, where it's warmer, and a little less exposed.
The transhuman rubs one heel of his hand across his forehead before staring at the multiplied image in front of him again. He squints his eyes when suddenly he realizes what exactly he is seeing here.
Who.
Not wasting precious time he instantly grabs the radio transceiver lying to his left and raises a prompt alarm.
The three ordinaries choose this moment to enter Command, chuckling to themselves, happily oblivious to all the things Mole never once forgets to weigh in his mind. Disgruntled he turns to them, snarling out a rather unfriendly welcome.
"Why are you here? This is no time…" he doesn't bother to finish his sentence.
Original Cindy raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Better not mess with Scaly Boy when he's like this. Instead she exchanges meaningful looks with the other two, Logan and Sketch.
Cale, of course. But Mole never manages to recall the other dude's name. Irksome kid.
Hell, they all are. Kids. They don't belong here. This is no place for untrained civilians.
When it comes down to it this is a war zone.
"What happened?" Logan dares ask, detaching himself from the little group. Mole is even grumpier than usual. It's not difficult for Logan to conclude that something has happened that poses some kind of problem, and if there's anything he can do, he'll gladly offer his help.
"Mole," Dix's disembodied voice suddenly fills the room, the radio set only a few inches away from Mole and the bunch of ordinaries, "I sent Med and her team out to meet the two. She'll report back to Command with info ASAP, over."
"Roger that. – Any indication of further attack? Do we need teams out there?" Mole sounds all business, making the three others cringe a little in their fearful ignorance.
"Doesn't look like it, but we don't know much so far. I'm coming in, though. I'll bring Luke. Over."
Mole hates those stupid transceivers. Back when he was still considered nothing but a tool for winning a war he had been given his orders and that had been that. Real responsibility is different, though, and those cell phones, radios, and whatnot unfortunately a necessary evil in these days.
It doesn't mean he has to attach stupid words to the beginning and end of every freakin' sentence he speaks.
"Stop this 'over' thing, Dix, and get your ass over here. I'll send word to teams I through V to go on stand-by until we know what this is all about. And I want word instantly as soon as Med can confirm their identities."
"Roger that. Over and ou-… oh, whatever." Dix's annoyed voice ebbs away, leaving the others in the relative silence of the nearly deserted Command room.
Logan is more than curious now. His grin vanished during hearing the short radio exchange and he froze. Med is that tall woman working in TC's infirmary. Someone is coming in wounded and he has the troubled feeling that it might be Max.
She has been gone for quite a while now, and although everyone else simply believes she and Alec have eventually given in to their need of some overdue downtime, Logan has always doubted that. Max doesn't do downtime; unless she is hurt… He bites his lip and flinches at the thought.
"Mole?" he rushes to break the silence, trying also to prevent himself from delving deeper into unbidden memories. "It's Max, isn't it? Tell me…"
Behind him, OC grabs Sketchy's arm, her fingernails clawing into his shirt in sudden fear. "Is my boo okay? What's goin' on here?" she asks, her words ringing with concern.
"Damn right. What's up here, dude?" Sketchy furrows his brow, suddenly as tense as the rest of them, and no longer looks as laid-back as he is probably still aiming for.
Logan stares at Mole, waiting for confirmation. He barely notices the reptilian man's slight nod, but when he does he returns the gesture in understanding. He wants to see Max, right now, needs to know that she's alright. But Mole's face says differently.
This is not good.
As if on cue, Cindy walks up to the two men, leaving Sketchy in her wake.
"So?" she queries, both hands placed on her hips as she straightens to her full height in front of Mole and Logan, staring from one to the other. "Any of you gonna tell a girl what's goin' on?"
"Um," Logan makes, lost for words. What is there to say? He doesn't know anything.
"Nothing confirmed, yet." Mole is surprised at himself for having answered her just like that, no stalling, no growling… He never knew ordinary females could be this… well…
With a loud noise the radio crackles to life again.
"Mole, this is Med. It's them! I repeat: it's Max and Alec!" the voice of a woman could be heard. Then, before the connection dies again, they all hear someone's loud cursing, and after that: "Ro, we need the fucking van here now. NOW! Shit, this is –"
Dead.
The four hold their breaths.
This is – what?
Just when his knees finally give way and the ground rises to meet him, he hears someone call out his name, and hers. But his mouth is so dry, there are no words. He can't even swallow. He might already be dead.
And maybe she is, too.
Still, in one last desperate effort he manages not to crush Max's tiny form with his falling weight, and coming to lie on his side, he is able to let his eyes wander over her pretty features for a last time before darkness envelops him, a heavy blanket drowning out all sound, all pain, cushioning his tired mind with grateful oblivion.
Alrighty. This is it for today. Paving the way for what is to come later…