Disclaimer: This chapter almost killed me.

miceaholic: I'm glad that the last chapter answered your questions, and hopefully, this one will answer your next one. ;)

clary2008: That tail will get him into more trouble I'm sure! Thank you! :D

Chapter 3: "Intel" (Continuation of chapters 1-2)

"Two months?!" They said in unison.

All three of the Biker Mice were now gathered at the 'Last Chance Garage', hovering over the com-link Charlene had built them as a gift after their first year of living on Earth, talking to Stoker.

Throttle threw up his arms in exasperation at the General, turned away in a huff, paced back in forth for a short while, then turned back on a dime, putting his attention onto to Stoker again, and splaying his hands flat against the top of the desk; his nails biting into the stain of the wood.

"So, you've known he's been missin' for a while now." Throttle gritted his teeth while lowering his head, bringing his fingers up to his temple in agitation. "And you didn't even think to take one damn minute out of your busy schedule to tell any of us." He was doing his best to stay calm, cool, collected, but the twitching in his muzzle was showing that his efforts were completely failing.

"Two months." Stoker corrected, completely unfazed by his student's silent outrage. He knew Throttle was on the verge of losing his patience, but he found he really didn't care. "Look, I knew you three meat heads would figure it out eventually," he paused for a moment, shaking his head with a sigh when the leader's expression never wavered from being anything less than murderous, "Awe hell, son, what was I supposed to do? I'm swamped here trying to take over what Carbine left behind." He grabbed a few papers from the left side of the screen and concentrated hard at it. "We looked high and low for that fat bastard; turns out there was nothing to go on," he then pointed to the graph of Mars in his hands, "says here there was something over in the dunes a while back, but again, the search turned up nothing. Sad to say it fellas' but we don't know where he is." and he laid the sheet of paper back down, his expression solemn, grim.

Throttle huffed under his breath, looking back at Stoker. "Regardless, you should've said somethin'!" and he slammed his fist against Charley's desk, cracking the wood.

Stoker simply shrugged. "Couldn't. It was classified."

The golden mouse shifted his stance and stiffened, readying his posture to throw a fist into the monitor due to his frustrations with Stoker, but a larger, grey hand grabbed his own on the incline seconds before it crash landed into the glass. He tried to shake Modo off as they tussled and he made a move with his feet to knock his brother down, only to find that Modo was much quicker in his escape from being kicked to the floor.

"Cool it, bro." Modo breathed in heavily from their short scuffle with an icy glare, pushing Throttle against the garage wall, and holding him there. "We don't wanna upset Charley-M'am by breakin' her things… besides," he then glared over at the monitor in Stoker's direction, his mouth frowning into a scowl, "what good is a punch when the person you're givin' it to can't even feel it."

"And breaking it before we even know everything there is to know." Vincent spoke, untwining his legs from leaning against his bike, standing tall. Throttle took the distraction from the smaller mouse and shoved Modo's hand away from his chest, his emotions still reeling. Vinnie carried on and simply chuckled with a grin, smacking a fist into his open palm. "We have ways of makin' the guy talk."

"Can't hit what you can't touch, punk." Stoker chuckled, pointing a digit in Vincent's direction. "I thought we already established this?"

"True, but if you don't start talking, I'll make sure that your next visit isn't a pleasant one." Said a feminine voice that sounded a little too sweet for Stoker's liking and he cringed, knowing full well with what was coming next if he didn't behave himself and comply. Charlene had quite the mean streak when the right buttons were pushed and he didn't want to be anywhere near that explosion once it decided to go off.

"Charley-girl, babe, doll-face!" Vincent lit up like a kid at Christmas, rushing over to greet his friend with a dashing, winning smile, taking her petite hand into his when she took a few steps into the garage. "What took you so long, Sweetheart?" He said, giving the girl the most pitiful pouty lip he could possibly muster. "Things are getting too uptight in here and we need a pretty face to lighten the mood."

"Bathroom." She said in another bout of mock sweetness, pinching his nose between her fingers, and instantly dropping from Vincent's grasp before walking up to the monitor.

Vincent stuck out his tongue in disgust, looking at his hand once Charley let him it go, and he started shaking it vigorously from side to side as if he had something stuck to his finger. "Hope she remembered to wash her- ow!" he cried out, hunching his shoulders over his head from the smack he got to the back of his skull from Modo's 'slap happy' tail. "Okay, okay, enough." He finished with a wine, rubbing his ears as he earned himself a triumphant grin and a chuckle from the grey mouse standing behind him.

Across the way, Throttle was watching intently at Vincent and Charley's little exchange of affection and couldn't help the small twinge of jealously take hold. His brow furrowed when he felt the skin under his fur tinge into a heated scarlet and he immediately lowered his head in shame to hide it, wondering where that intense feeling had suddenly come from. It was strange, foreign, making his heart skip and flip-flop all over the place and he couldn't tell outright if he was just blushing from the sight of seeing the girl, or if it was actually anger rearing its ugly head from witnessing Vinnie touching her. He didn't really know. It was all too confusing to pinpoint. It's not like the guy hadn't been flirtatious with her before; that was nothing knew.

"You've gotta give us more than 'he just escaped', Stoker." Charlene raised her voice, bringing Throttle out of his deep brooding over her and Vincent. She noticed the crack along her desk though, and shot him a knowing, stern look of disappointment at him and he blushed at her even more by getting caught for destroying it.

"Charley, honey, what can I do? My hands are tied." The older mouse breathed in, rubbing his forehead and thinking that a good, solid nap sounded wonderful at the moment, maybe even some painkillers would help too. The kids weren't making his job any easier and under Martian law he couldn't say anything. He wanted to, but like he said, his hands were bound to the walls, chains and all.

The mechanic's eyes flared at this. "What I want, is for you to stop with the need-to–know-basis crap and do what's right!" she was seething, staring hard into the monitor, her face was laced with anger and irritation, and if looks could kill, Stoker would surely be nothing but ashes by now.

For a few minutes the two were in a heated dead lock, a stand still. Neither of them made a move to budge over the other until Stoker finally broke down and blinked, lifting a brow. "There's no arguing with you is there, Charley-girl?"

She smiled and giggled slightly under her breath. "Not when it comes to me and my boys'." She shrugged. "Sorry, Stoker, but no."

Stoker chuckled and grabbed a few more papers stationed underneath his desk, sifting through the large stack before peering back at the monitor. "Alright, here's what I know." And he looked up to the ceiling in a silent prayer as the three mice gathered closer around Charlene, waiting intently on what the old man was about to say. "Just remember, fellas', you didn't hear this from me, because Gods be damned if you did." And he flashed a broad smile before he continued. "Limburger escaped the compound two months ago, leaving Mars completely empty handed- that- we know for sure." He stressed as he thumbed through more paper work. "But that doesn't mean he didn't have a back-up chip with all the information he tried stealing over a year ago."

"You mean like a copy of a chip?" Vinnie cut in raising curious brow.

"Yup." Stoker nodded in confirmation. "That's what the word back-up means you knuckle head." Vinnie made a huff under his breath, rolling his eyes at the old soldier's insult.

Throttle gently pushed Charlene to the side, getting closer to the com-link. "What exactly are you sayin' here?"

"It means that he's somewhere out there trying to build his own regenerator, but you guys' already knew that." Stoker said, his expression hard and pressing. "And here's the kicker," he paused for a moment to fist through more of his information. "He didn't steal the power source needed to run it. See, we only have one and that's still here on Mars."

"So," Modo cut in, casting Charley even further to the side. "That's a good thing, right?"

"No." Stoker simply replied, shrugging absently.

"No?" They all said in surprised unison once more.

"Nope." The older mouse confirmed, leaning closer to the screen. "What he did steal was something far worse than what we have."

"Getting to the point, Stoker?" Throttle was beginning to lose his patience and he pinched the bridge of his muzzle with his forefinger and thumb, giving it a little squeeze, trying to get rid of a headache that seemed to be forming at the back of his skull.

"Keep your pants on, kid." Stoker jokingly said, still keeping his voice firm, and he pulled out another sheet of paper that appeared to have a chart with quadrant numbers and names of several planets typed out on it. "We aren't entirely sure if he's the one who did this", a short pause, "but this situation right here has his name written all over it." And he patted a small planet just to the right on the grid-sheet. "The place is pretty decollate, void of life, dangerous; quite the nasty little planet to want a vacation on."

Vincent arched another curious brow. "Meaning, what exactly?" he finished, scratching his head in confusion.

"It means that this planet right here," Stoker twisted his chart around so that it was facing the group, pointing to the small planet again, "carries all kinds of negative power sources for what ever ails ya and that means if Limburger got his slimy mitts on it- I guarantee you he'll use it for the Regenerator's power instead."

"And what do you call this negative power source?" Charley spoke from the background, busting her way through the mountain of biker mice with a cool glare in her eyes and mumbling obscenities under her breath that would make even grown sailors out to sea blush in embarrassment due to her blistering and blasphemous tongue.

Stoker chuckled at the girl's boldness, shaking his head in amusement. "In English terms, I guess you could call it 'Coal-Minors Stone'," he flitted a hand to his chin in thought, comfortably leaning back in his chair with a creak. "Looks like coal, feels like coal, but it isn't coal." He sighed, furrowing his brow. "It's black, dark, and evil. And when used in the way Limburger wants to-"

"He can use it to blast away anything he wants with just a touch of a button. Disintegrating everything in his path." Throttle cut in, gritting his teeth in a rage at what they had just learned, and he tightened the fists at his sides.

"Almost like a 'Degenerator'." Vincent said, snapping his fingers once the light bulb flickered over his head, leaning back against his bike.

"Bingo." Stoker replied with a tired smile gracing his lips as he placed the papers he had in his hands back under his desk, and taking a long well deserved drink from the bottle that sat just to his right, enjoying its cool lather as it slid down his throat.

"Guys, we gotta find 'em." Modo spoke sternly, punching his fist into his open palm, his good eye lighting up into a massive, bright red hue. "We can't let 'em destroy another planet, or hurt anymore innocent people."

"But how?" Charley asked, folding her arms over her chest, her pink lips frowning into a pout. "We don't even know where he is."

Throttle leaned over the desk at the com-link, saluting his superior officer with a small, but thankful smile, earning himself one back in return. "We'll be in touch," he nodded curtly, and with a quick flick of his wrist, Stoker was gone. Then he slowly turned around, leaning his back upon the desk with a dreary, tiring expression upon his face. "We get a good night sleep for starters." He instructed, still glaring intently at the floor. "Then we hit the town first thing in the mornin' and search for anything that has ol' Blubber-Butt's name on it," and he pushed his gaze back up at his team, seeing that they fully agreed.

Like he had any doubts that they wouldn't.

Somewhere underneath the City of Chicago:

It was dark, cold, and wet as droplets of water sang from the ceiling.

A large, white-gloved hand ceremoniously dipped into a ceramic bowl of night crawlers, meal-worms and grubs, the sound they made as they flourished inside of their resting place would make anyone's stomach churn uneasily with nausea, but that didn't stop him from grabbing a handful of the unorthodox meal and sliding a generous portion of it down his opened throat.

"Mm." Said a low, pleasing whimper as the worms squished between his teeth in delight. "Top notch I'd say. Very pleasant, with a slight and delicate crunch," and he reached in for more from the bowl. "Much better than the heinous slop they served me on Mars; loathsome creatures that they are." He finished, shivering from the thought.

Limburger slowly stood from the chair in his makeshift office after eating his snack, peering out of the window amongst the sewer lines that hovered over his view, straightening his jacket as he made it to his feet. He appeared to be quite pleased with his escape, the smug grin he displayed from the feeling of freedom, plastering over his latex cheeks.

"Soon those retched vermin will pay for what they did to me." Limburger's face fell into a scowl, the reflection in the window distorting his anger even more, and he smiled wickedly. "Just as soon as my plans are in full swing." He then turned on a heel back to his desk, pressing a single red button off to the side. "Karbunkle!" He yelled in an impatient rage into the inter-com.

The hum of the speakers ignited. "Yes, my Supreme-over-Ripped-Cheesiness?" Came a heavy wheeze and a cough.

"Is it ready?" The alien Fish cooed, trying to keep his patience up with the good Doctor, but it was running severely thin. He wanted to be topside now, not later, and waiting for as long as he had been, he was surprised he even had a shred of said patience left to begin with.

"A-almost, your Repetitive Repulsiveness." Karbunkle swallowed thickly with a stutter swinging from his lips, sounding afraid. "We- we ran into some rather heavy complications."

Limburger slammed his fist against the desk, knocking over the few things that sat upon it as the items crashed loudly to the floor, his eyes blazing and reeling with fire and unhinging anger, and he brushed a hard hand against his mask, trying to keep as calm as he possibly could. "And just what, my dear Doctor, is so complicated about it?!" his voice raised at the tail end of his chastising and he could hear Karbunkle fumble from within his lab, clearly shaken from being scolded to.

"N-nothing that can't be fixed promptly my-"

"See to it that you do not fail me again, ." The larger than life Fish breathed into the intercom interrupting the gangly Scientist. "Because if you do-" He grumbled with a snarl.

"It will be much better than you anticipated, your Royal Smelliness!" The Doctor corrected in a hiss, stirring his boss away from the unsettling, idle threat. "I promise, you won't be disappointed."

Limburger grinned devilishly; pressing the com-link button, ending his conversation abruptly with Dr. Karbunkle, and sliding easily back into his chair once again, utterly calm. His fingers fiddled in a dance with undeniable pleasure as they fought each digit delicately with the other, his teeth barred, white, hot, flashing and boasting with undignified glee due to his efforts of his unspoken promise to liquefy Earth and all its inhabitants that dwelled there. Finishing it all in one swelled promising swoop, starting with Chicago. He laughed darkly and full heartedly to himself, as the idea of destruction to this most hated planet of his flowed effortlessly in his mind. Pleasuring him in a sadistic and malice way.

The Big Boss swiveled in his office chair, gazing back out to his depressing surroundings and chuckled with a careless shrug. "Death is such a promising thing," he paused, taking a few more worms into his big mouth, chewing them as if he lacked manners. "Pity the Biker Mice and that despicable, vile woman friend of theirs' won't be around long enough to see my magnificent plans unfold at their highest peak," he let out a drastic and dramatic sigh, "What a shame." And he laughed hysterically, quite pleased with himself for a job well done.

Revenge, after all, was a dish best served cold, especially one that leaves his enemies even colder.

Charlene couldn't sleep, she had been tossing and turning relentlessly throughout the night for a few hours. Gazing up at the clock, it said that it was 4:40 in the morning, and she sighed in a bit of annoyance, sitting up in her bed as her hands slid into her lap with a huff. "Maybe a drink of warm milk will help," and she shoved the covers away from her waist, heading towards the second floor of her little bungalow.

As she made her way down the stairs, the loud snoring from her guests intensified as it filtered around her in a quake, reminding her that the boys' had stayed the night just in case things decided to shake up while they were at the Scoreboard. What Stoker had revealed earlier, had startled the guys' to the core, leaving them feeling a tad bit ruffled under their fur. Which meant Charley needed a babysitter. Not that she felt she needed one, naturally, but for argument's sake, she went along with the heroes idea anyways with a roll of her eyes despite their ridiculous worrying over her.

Before heading into the kitchen, Charlene decided to make a quick stop to check on her boys in the living room, and chuckled to herself darkly with what she was witnessing. There, laid Vincent, completely sprawled out on the floor with his leg propped up onto the couch and his big foot mere inches from Modo's poor face. If the grey Mouse's lips were any closer, he'd have one horrendous, muddy boot in his mouth.

"That would make for some interesting breath in the morning." Charley mused in a whisper, giggling under her breath, and with a quick shake of her head, she finally made her way into the kitchen, only to hault dead in her tracks once she realized that Throttle was sitting at the table with a bottle of beer nestled in the palm of his hand. She didn't even notice he was missing from the recliner.

They hadn't really conversed with each other since the incident in the bathroom and she was a little unsure of herself with how to act around him, and so, all she could do at that moment in time was stare at her feet, staying frozen in place in the door way with a gulp hanging unforgivingly in her windpipes.

Throttle was quietly admiring the bottle of alcohol in his hand, but hearing the pads of softer footsteps across from where he was sitting, caused him to look up in a rush from being startled, and he placed a small smile along his muzzle in kind once he figured out who was entering the room. "Hey." He said in short, clearing his throat before it could crack again, and he made the undeniable mistake by shifting his gaze downward, seeing that Charlene's over-nightshirt was hanging effortlessly off her shoulders, bearing her unusual soft skin. He blushed instantly, and took another long, inviting hard swig from his beer bottle, steering his focus away from her.

"Hey." She simply replied, dashing over to the fridge and immediately sticking her head inside, hiding her own shameful scarlet. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" and she clanked a few things around trying to find whatever it was she was looking for, waiting for the heat to subside from her glowing, red cheeks.

Throttle shrugged, "Too much on my mind, I guess," he mumbled, taking yet another swig from his beer and swallowing it down harder than he intended to. It burned all the way south to the lining of his gut and he tried holding back an uncomfortable, embarrassing burp. Gods, he was becoming a fumbling mess around the mechanic. He'd never been this much of a disaster around women before, so why was Charley-girl any different?

"Well, that makes two of us then." The lady sighed, closing the refrigerator door with a bottle of root beer in hand. Milk wasn't going to save her now. She needed carbonation to help settle the butterflies eating away at her stomach. "Oh," she paused looking back at the fridge. "I forgot to ask, did you want another one?" she finished, pointing to Throttle's almost empty drink.

Quickly shaking his head no, Charley shrugged her shoulders in response and padded her way over to the table, pulling out the chair as it scraped against the tile floor in a maddening shriek, and she cringed, fearful of waking the guys' up from their deep slumber. "Sorry." She mouthed with a curl of her lip, taking a seat and grabbing the newspaper next to her. Throttle chuckled at the mechanic's slight blush, but kept the awkward silence between them going strong.

Quiet ensued for what seemed like hours before Throttle took any advantage of Charlene's distraction with the newspaper. Allowing his eyes to fully wander without discretion, to finally give him a chance to really look at her, to study her without caution. There were your obvious differences, of course. For example, she wasn't a Martian Mouse. That was utterly clear. She lacked the vast amounts of body fur and the larger ears placed on both sides of her head, as well as the undeniable absence of a tail to her backside. But- as he continued to piece things together- there were also the more obvious differences that should set her far apart from the opposite sex all together. Charley-girl, he thought, was that of a special breed all on her own. She was majestically tall, slender, and toned, as she should be due to her profession at being a mechanic, and yet, she still managed to hold that perfect amount of curve to accentuate her hips in a lovely, feminine way; which he found out on a more personal level. The porcelain skin she displayed about her delicate features, he guessed, as he let his bionic eyes slowly roam even further, must have felt softer than their wired-like fur by a mile. Her delicate skin and mauve tinted lips appeared to be silky, tender, incredibly supple to the touch, and for a split second, he willingly imagined what it would feel like under the rough pads of his fingertips in a light caress; what it would feel like if he had the courage to actually kiss-

"Wait… what?" Throttle's whiskers suddenly arched and he froze.

That obscene thought, right there, caused an unbearable amount of air to hitch on the inside of his throat in shock, reality biting him relentlessly in the ass. His bionic-eyes sprung wide as he tried to swallow the thick, lactating saliva developing on the very back of his tongue, forcing him to sip the last entrails of his beer in a haste as if his mouth were on fire. No, he couldn't be, could he? Honestly, the tell tail signs were certainly there: the nervousness, the blushing, jealousy, and the endless smiles growing upon his face whenever she happened to enter a room-

"Not a chance," he fought inwardly furrowing a brow, swallowing hard once again, and he shook his head frantically to clear it. He must be out of his goddamn mousey mind to be developing anything like that with Charley. Here his head was, screaming at him, telling him that he was ready to move on, to move forward, but he wasn't so sure if his heart was ready to do the same. It had to be the tremendous amounts of stress he'd been under lately that was producing all of these problems with the way he was feeling and not-

"Oh my god." Charley breathed in exasperation, still reading the latest headline in the paper, and Throttle jumped in his seat from her voice tearing open the dense quiet.

Throttle coughed into a fist, "What is it, Charley-girl?" he said adjusting his shades, thankful for the latest distraction. He needed his thoughts to be elsewhere, but being in the same room with her at the moment, was making it rather difficult to keep his mind off of her and his fingers started thrumming the table in a nervous and anxious twitch.

"All these break-ins." Charlene began, pointing to the paper, completely ignoring Throttle's nail drumming. "The stealing of small supplies; things that really didn't seem so big," she sighed heavily with a shrug, "I mean, we just thought they were petty thefts, but-"

"But…?" Throttle drawled out slowly. He didn't fully understand what the mechanic was getting at, and he instantly leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. His curiosity growing stronger with every second she refused to talk. "Charley-girl?" he questioned again with a lift of his brow.

"What if they weren't?" She suddenly looked up at him, her green pools glazing over in fear. "What if they were things Limburger needed during hiding?" She frantically pointed to the article. "Or things he needed to build-"

"The Degenerator." Throttle interrupted, finishing the thinking for her, and he slumped back into his chair with a grim expression on his face while Charley nodded at him in agreement, her mouth turning into a frown. "If that's the case," he mumbled, "there's no sense in goin' after them now," he placed a heated digit onto the paper. "These break-ins have been happening for weeks already. He has what he needs, which means-"

"He's here, somewhere in Chicago." Charlene concluded, grabbing the mouse's hand in comfort and giving it a little squeeze.

"And most likely underground." Throttle added, gazing at their entwined fingers. He wanted to embrace her endearment, but he couldn't shake the anger that was fuming like a blaze of fire on the inside. They've been tracking thieves off and on since Limburger's arrest almost a year ago. That was one of the reasons why the three of them stayed behind on Earth. Not just because of the criminal activity, of course, but to help with the efforts of cleaning up Chicago after what Fish Face had done to it. Chi-Town was a literal mess, and being the heroes that they were, they volunteered their precious time to help out, to get the city back on its feet again, and that didn't exclude his intoxicated behavior during that time either, he had been a disastrous mess himself, and he was just as ashamed of his actions during that time as anyone else in his shoes would be. There were moments where he was practically useless to the group and it pained to him to think that he was more of a problem than a solution to the situation that splayed against their feet in a time of need.

"Throttle?" The Mechanic softly spoke, her eyes filling up with concern, almost pressing, and he shifted his gaze from their intertwined hands, seeing that she was smirking at him. "Want to know what I do when things get a little messy around the collar?" She chuckled, pinching his nose between the pads of her freed fingers, just like she'd done with Vincent in the past, and he shrugged his shoulders with a tight smile to his lips in uncertainty. Grinning even wider, she flirtatiously winked, "I take it out on a motor or two," and she lifted him easily from the table, leading him out to the garage.

"Hand me a wrench, will ya?" Charley's upper body was lodged into a motor, her feet almost dangling from the floor. Her mind was hell bent on figuring out the old Chevy Truck's transmission system. For the life of her, she couldn't understand why, after so many attempts of rebuilding it that it just wouldn't cooperate. She'd been so confident that it would run like a dream this time, finally getting the vehicle happily reunited with its owner. However, with the lack of sleep, Limburger escaping, and her last remaining nerve about to implode into oblivion upon itself was probably not helping the matter and she huffed under her breath in frustration because of it.

Throtte's ear twitched, watching the girl become enshrouded with anger before he twisted around to grab the tool from the toolbox. "Ya know, Charley," he said while metal contraptions clanked around his fingers as he lifted the wrench, clutching it into his hand, " I thought this was supposed to be relaxin', a chance to let all of those messy collars of yours to hang loose and dry out." He chuckled at her backside when she dove deeper into the motor case with another light growl escaping her lips, "But I just can't shake the feelin' that you're gonna leave the garage havin' more grease around your gills than what you started with."

Charlene huffed with a roll of her eyes, "Will you just give me the damn wrench already?" and she leaned up some, flitting her hand impatiently at her helper, her gaze still occupied with the Chevy Truck's transmission.

Throttle simply grinned and moved to comply, placing the tool into the girl's open palm, but when she attempted to enclose her fingers around it, he swiftly pulled it back, leaning it snuggly against his shoulder, and a quiet, playful chuckle escaped from his muzzle in a snort. He wasn't entirely sure where this unusual playful side of his was stemming from, but he found that at the moment, he didn't really care. Messing with the mechanic had always been a hard habit to break anyways.

Charley quickly looked up from her mechanical mayhem, realizing that her palm was empty and she sneered hard at Throttle. "Hand it over." She spat, waving her fingers in a 'give me' gesture, as the mouse's grin grew even wider at her. "Now." She finished flatly, with a curl to her lip and an arch to her brow; her patience with him was running thinner and thinner by the seconds and she was starting to question as to why she invited him out there to begin with.

The leader's brow furrowed over his specks in determination, and he flanked the wrench repeatedly into his open hand, "See, normally I wouldn't mind, Charley-girl," he sighed in mock disappointment, staring intently at the tool between his fingers, "But it's a real damn shame that I didn't even get one little 'please' out of the deal," and the devilish smirk he had covered his whole face in a leer when he looked back up at the girl leaning against the truck, her features burning into a scowl.

Charlene's green pools widened at that, and she lunged with a growl from the vehicle, aiming for the wrench in Throttle's grasp, but he was too fast on the rebound and he quickly took a step back, inches from her growing reach. "Gotta be quicker than that, hot stuff," and he purposely walked another few feet away from her for good measure, leaning casually against another vehicle stationed just on the other side of the garage, appearing quite smug with himself.

The mechanic huffed, thrusting her hands upon her curved hips; flicking her one foot off to the side, clearly annoyed. "Give it," she demanded, pausing for a moment or two before brushing a flock of hair away from her eyes, and adding a cold and gritted, "please," the cordial manner in which she spoke was laced with poison to her voice and she barred her teeth in a mocking grin to her lips, her flustered scowl fuming twice as hard from where it was earlier.

Throttle smiled broadly into the wrench, standing ever vigil right where he was, and he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, completely ignoring the girl's instructions, while the tool he had hung effortlessly from his left hand, teasing her, taunting her, begging her to cross him. Then, he spotted Charley move from the corner of his eye, and he shifted his gaze, investigating her with intrigue.

The mechanic kept her flaming eyes and cheshire grin heatedly upon the mouse, while her arm slowly moved behind her, and Throttle arched a brow in curiosity. He wasn't exactly sure what she was up to, but learning from past experiences with Vincent, things like this never really doted well on their behalf and he internally back peddled in regret. He half expected some form of a tool being belted toward his chest- or skull; whichever decided to make contact with him first.

Seeing a quick jolt coming from Charlene's arm, Throttle made a maddening duck towards the concrete and crouched to the floor, unsure of himself with what he was about to receive during the girl's retaliation, and his bionic orbs screwed shut, waiting for the impact of impending pain. What was once white, fluffy and bright came hurling at his direction at top speed, her weapon of choice moving fast, flowing, drifting and swaying tightly, slicing it's way effortlessly throughout the air, and he waited with his arms splayed protectively overhead until it finally ended its decent with a soft and gentle 'plop' onto the top of his ears.

Charlene giggled manically, and she rushed forward, kicking Throttle's legs out from underneath him in surprise, instantly knocking him to the garage floor with a low and sweltering 'oof'. The wrench came loose from his grasp during the fall, pivoting it upward into a spiral, and she instantly nabbed it, tucking it safely within her palms; achievement splicing her cheeks in a hearty laughter.

Suddenly, the mechanic's giggling feats of triumph abruptly stopped, and she peered down as a sneaky, furry tan appendage began to seep out coiling tightly around her ankles in a generous squeeze, pulling her down with a gasp, and she soon found herself colliding unceremoniously into a chest full of fur with chuckles erupting and vibrating her skin. The wrench went skidding across the concrete, pinging, and echoing along the way before it decided to lie dead in silence.

The tan mouse was thankful that his chest was muting Charlene's overzealous tongue, keeping him from hearing the colorful rainbow that spewed from her mouth, but he lightly chuckled in spite of it anyway. "You okay, Charley-girl?" he asked in a laughing huff again, lifting his chin slightly to see the lady's auburn locks crawling amuck over his fur and he ran the pads of his fingertips over the tendrils of her hair to gain her attention. "Charley?"

She mumbled something over again that he couldn't quite recognize and with a roll of his eyes, he flickered a digit under her jaw line, bringing her eyes to meet up to his own, and he immediately grinned at her pouty expression, "Sorry, babe, kinda missed watcha said," he teased and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear in kind while his other free hand unknowingly hugged at her waist.

The mechanic folded her arms over Throttle's chest and lifted her head, her green pools narrowing down at him, "Cheater," she groaned, swatting his shoulder in defeat.

"Don't think so," The mouse shook his head steadying his smirk. "I believe I won fair and square, babe. Hook, line, and sinker."

"Yeah, uh-huh." Charley sarcastically spout with a giggle, trying to remove herself from Throttle's chest. "And conveniently having a tail had nothing to do that, right?" The Leader simply chuckled, and with a shake of her head, she shifted her hand along his leather vest to push up onto her feet, but she didn't plan having his tight grip against her waist and instead of steadying herself to stand, she fumbled, falling back into him ungracefully hard with a loud thump. Their faces landing mere inches from each other; deepened red skin connecting to blood tingling fur, chest upon chest, the result smacking both of their smug expressions away from their face in a matter of seconds; rendering them serious.

"Sorry." Charlene breathlessly said, and all she could see was her reflection in his shades looking back at her. She watched as the blush along her cheeks quickly grew to the point where she felt like the heat was going to make her burst into flames at any given moment, and she shakily began to remove herself from the embarrassment, trying to slide off of the mouse below her once again.

"Don't do this." His mind scolded, but Throttle refused to listen, to ease his grip on her, and he continued to search into Charlene's green pools, lost in desperation. He was voluntarily squeezing his arm tighter around her, pulling her into his chest with a staggering jolt, and she gasped in response from the feeling of his sudden aggression. His chest was rising and falling heavily in rhythm with hers, and he shamelessly brought up a gloved hand against the side of her jaw once more, slowly caressing his thumb and forefinger down to hinge at the peak of her chin in a pinch; his full intentions to pull her into a gentle kiss.

"You have to stop this." His mind was reeling, still feeling slightly confused, but he soon realized that he couldn't, that he didn't really want to. "No." He shook his head. He wanted more, he needed more. Charlene felt too familiar, her skin felt delicately soft to his touch, something he had never experienced before, and he found that liked it- and by the Gods, he didn't want to let go, no- not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Charley?" His low, smoldering voice broke with his breath hitching passionately, asking for permission. For what, he wasn't certain. His words sounded thick, heavy, and wanting in Charley's ears and she completely lost the will to stay focused, centered- and with a quick, absent nod of her head to say 'yes', she allowed her emerald eyes to roll back under her lashes, fluttering them shut; wanting nothing more than to close the gap of their proximity. She could feel the warmth of his breath burning upon her lips, folds nearly touching folds, inching by painstaking inch; so undeniably close they could almost taste it, feel it-

"Ahem!"

The two startled, breaking apart, and Throttle immediately removed the mechanic from his upper half. Their faces deepened in scarlet as if they had gotten caught in a harsh winter's storm. Limbs caught up into limbs as they rushed around like mad-men to untangle and disengage from one another, trying to quickly maneuver themselves up from the concrete floor.

"Did I interrupt somethin?" Modo huffed, leaning up against the doorframe with his arms firmly across his chest plate. His mouth turned downward into a frown as his foot tapped in agitation upon the concrete step, appearing like a father figure who had just caught his children in the act of doing something dangerous.

"Oh- uh- hey they there, Big Fella." Throttle fidgeted shyly, clearing his throat and helping the girl at his side to her feet so she wouldn't fall; Charlene looked like she wanted to die. "Charley-girl and I were- well- we were just doin' a little maintenance on that hazardous little number over there," he finished with another blush, pointing to the old Chevrolet Truck over to his left.

"You don't say..." Modo brightened, chuckling darkly as he supplied the biggest, most dirtiest grin Throttle had ever seen displayed upon the mouse's face. "Is that what were callin' it on earth now- a little 'maintenance?'" he air quoted with another deep chuckle and wiggled his eyebrows up and down in a suggestive type manner.

"'Bout time we start scannin' the city don't you think?" Throttle said, adjusting his shades and avoiding Modo's ribbing about them all together by changing the subject entirely.

"Sure boss." Modo smirked broadly, heading back into Charley's comfortable home. "Whatever you say." and he heard a whispered "damn right." before he shut the door behind him.

Author's Note: Is Throttle and Charley's relationship moving too fast, too slow? No worries. Obstacles are still underway. So don't get too excited. ;) This was merely just a taste.

Also, thanks to all of my reviewers, watchers and story favorites so far! Please let me know if this story is catching your eye. I'd hate to waste your time on here with something that's not a decent read. Reviews are always welcomed and appreciated! :D

The next chapter will take some time for me to type up. It's completely all dialog, and I have to put in more detail. So, bare with me. ;)