Herro everybody! Oh my god, I feel like I've been writing this chapter FOREVER! Had a bit of writer's block for a moment, but I forced myself to finish this. The next chapter will be easier to complete as there's more going on. Anyway, here it is, a bit of fluff, bit a backstory, bit of development, yada yada yada. I hope you enjoy! -Lana

I met Max when I was eighteen, broke, and hitchhiking my way from Chicago to Florida. He was older than me, freshly graduated from college, and on his way to his Great Aunt Irma's funeral in Tallahassee. It was late fall; cold and rainy as I stood on the side of the interstate in Tennessee, thumb outstretched to every car that passed me. Maybe it was because I was young, or maybe it was because I looked like a drowned rat; I don't know why he stopped when no one else did. In all the time I knew him, he never actually told me.

He pulled up a few yards ahead of me in an old Ford that had seen better days. He could've been a serial killer for all I knew, but my power gave me the luxury of not being choosy. I could fend him off easily if he tried something and because of that, I didn't hesitate to jump in the passenger seat; soaking wet and shivering.

I remember sizing up the man who'd been nice enough to stop for me. Medium build, dark hair, dark eyes, crooked smile; he was cute in the obvious way, but that didn't seem to matter to him.

"Where you headed?" He'd asked in a voice that was filled with country charm.

"As far south as you're willing to take me."

"I gotta be in Tallahassee in two days, that good for you?"

"Perfect."

"Looks like we're driving buddies then" He grinned. "I'm Max."

"Mina."

OOOO

Digger stirs; quietly grumbling before tossing his arm over my hip. I've been awake for awhile now, just watching him sleep; listening to the rain. It's early, and we should probably be getting ready to leave, but I can't bring myself to wake him. If I do, we'll have to acknowledge what happened last night, and I don't know if I'm ready for that. I'd expected to feel guilty, but I don't, and that scares me because it means something. This wasn't just a fling. I have real feelings for him and it's fucking terrifying.

I quietly untangle myself and slide back to my side of the bed. He stirs again, his arm struggling to find me before settling for my pillow instead. I search for my clothes on the floor, thoughts of a long hot shower dancing in my head.

"Mornin." A voice comes from behind me.

"Hey." I turn slowly, trying in vain to hide my nakedness.

"Where ya goin?" He yawns, eyes squinting in the morning light.

"I, uh, shower." I awkwardly point to the bathroom.

"Can I join ya?"

I stop breathing for a moment, my stomach dropping at the prospect. Say no. Say no. Say no!

"If you want to."

He rolls from the bed, naked as the day he was born; stretching his arms wide and giving me a full on look at his bare body in all its glory. He catches me watching, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Like what ya see?" He flexes his arms in an Adonis like pose, and I almost smile.

"Impressive." I cross my arms as his gaze travels over me; a darkened look gleaming in his eyes.

"Nah, darl, ya what's impressive. Just lookin at ya's got me pullin a stiffy." I can't help but look, only to go red when I realize he isn't lying.

"Ya look like ya got somethin on yer mind." He quirks an eyebrow. "Care ta share?"

"No."

He trails me into the bathroom, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed as I turn the knobs on the shower. I can feel his eyes burning holes in my back, and surely elsewhere, as I adjust the water. His energy, tense and impatient, hangs in the air around us. I glance back to tell him it's ready, only to find he's closer than I'd expected. His hands find their way to my hips as he bends down to me, his chin resting in the crook of my neck. I immediately go rigid as I feel something hard press against my thigh. He notices and moves back without a word, seemingly confused.

He follows me as I step beneath the cascade of water, careful to keep a distance in the small space. It's nearly impossible though, as Digger's imposing size quickly fills the phone booth sized shower. I feel his hands move to just barely touch my shoulders, unsure of how I'll react. He hesitantly turns me around, and for the millionth time since I met him, I consider burning him. But, as always, I don't. Instead, I let him turn me around and I decide to stare anywhere but at him.

"Look at me." His voice is soft, as he lifts my chin. "What's a matta?"

I stare at him; brow creased, a mix of concern and suspicion twinkling in his eyes.

"I don't know." I confess. "I feel strange."

"Havin doubts?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"I'm just used to being alone. I'm not good with this stuff."

"There ain't no bein good er bad to it." He tells me. "It's all in what ya feel, love. If ya don't feel right, don't do it."

His words make sense in a way. My brain is screaming to leave, but my gut is determined to stay. Aside from the obvious worry of killing him, I can't think of a reason why this is wrong. Sure, Digger isn't the most pristine choice, but he's like an iceberg in the sense that there's more beneath the surface than what you initially see.

"And despite what ya prolly think, as much as I loved getting into ya, that ain't all I want ya fer. Ya special."

"You're just full of surprises, huh?" He's actually manages to make me feel a little less terrible.

Digger smiles at me as water pours over his scalp, his curled mohawk dripping as it hangs against his forehead. Without a word, he reaches over my shoulder to grab a bar of pre-packaged motel soap, tearing it open before rubbing it into a lather in his palms. He doesn't hesitate as he gently rubs his soapy hands over my body, starting at my shoulders, and ghosting over my back, ending as he crouches in front of me to wash the expanse of my legs. When he's finished, he stands, handing me the bar of soap as a silent instruction to do the same.

I comply, lathering the soap in my hands as I mimic his actions; starting at his shoulders, gliding over his biceps. I reach his chest, my fingers feeling the indents of old scars. A part of me wonders what kind of life he's had, but another tells me I probably don't want to know. He's a thief. He was in prison for a reason. There's no telling what the hands that hold me have done, who they've killed. He's a pit of darkness, but somewhere within, a flame flickers.

He washes my hair in a similar way. Turning me around, he starts at the top of my head, and works his way to the base of my neck, his fingers tangling amongst the suds. We awkwardly squeeze past each other as he guides me under the water, his hand hanging low on my back, as the other works the shampoo out of my hair. Like before, when he's finished, he hands the bottle to me, and I have to stand on my tip-toes to reach the top of his head. The depth of the moment isn't lost on me as I lather his hair. This isn't what I expected, and he knows it. He's caught me off guard with the gentleness of his actions. When we were fighting the witch, it seemed his main goal was to get me into bed; keeping me alive as long as it took to make that happen. But in the days that we've been alone, something's shifted. While his crudeness hasn't ceased, he's gone from trying to get me to fuck him, to trying to get me to like him.

My fingers work their way down his cheeks and into his mutton chops. He drops his chin toward me, groaning lightly as I maneuver my way through the untrimmed hair. I steal a look at his face to see his eyes closed, shoulders hung low as all the tension in his body seems to melt away. Most of the bruising, mainly around his eyes and jaw, has faded substantially, the scratches and cuts nearly gone as well. In my staring, I don't notice that my fingers have stopped moving, my palms instead cradling his face. His eyes flick open to meet mine, curious as to why I've stopped.

"Why ya lookin at me like that?"

"Your face is looking better." I mutter. "Bruises are almost gone."

"Ya don't have a mark on ya." He runs his thumb over my wrist. "Got there just in time."

"I'm still pissed about that." I frown, dropping my hands.

"Fer savin ya?" His voice rises.

"For pushing me out of the way." I snap. "For dying."

"God, are ya still bitchin about that?" And now we're fighting, naked, in the shower. "I'm fine now, aren't I?"

He grunts, quickly rinsing the suds from his hair. He turns the knobs before tossing open the curtain. I step out after he does, shivering as I'm hit by a rush of cold air.

"What if you weren't though?" I continue. "What if I couldn't save you? I have enough death on my hands. I didn't need yours added to it!"

"Listen, love." He growls. "I live me life unda a thick laya of filth. I steal, I lie, I cheat. I do what I fuckin want when I want. I'm livin on borrowed time, ya understand that? You on the otha hand, ya worth somethin. Ya ain't meant for this kinda life. Me, I ain't gonna add nothin ta this world, but ya might."

It takes me a moment to process his confession, and several more to form a reply. I don't like the pedestal he puts me on, like I'm something much greater than I am. Nothing about my power is a gift. It's brought me nothing but chaos and destruction. It's a curse that kills every chance it gets.

"I have lost everyone that I have ever loved because of this so-called gift. I've killed innocent people because of it. I'm not some pure little girl, Digger. I'm a fucking killer."

"I know whatcha done, and I know killas." He tosses me a towel, allowing me to wrap it around myself before he crushes me in a hug. "Trust me love, ya not a killa."

"What am I then?"

His arms tighten, forcing my forehead into his shoulder. His cheek rests against my head as he speaks, tickling my ear with his breath.

"I told ya." He plants a kiss on the top of my head. "Ya special."

OOOO

"Gotta make a pit stop." Digger informs me as he pulls off into a small shopping center parking lot. "Somethin I wanna get."

"Food?" My voice is hopeful.

We've been on the road for six and a half hours, weaving our way through the partially flooded country towns in rural Pennsylvania. The air between us has been weird, but I can feel it slowly returning to normal as the energy from the last two days begins to settle. Digger's been quiet until now, eyes focused on the road, only speaking after I've spoken to him first. He seems lost in his own head, and I internally cringe as I find myself wondering if he's thinking about me.

"Go get somethin fer us ta munch on. I'll meet ya back here in thirty."

"Where are you going?" I go to ask, but he's already slipped out, slamming the door behind him.

"Okay then." I watch him disappear among the rows of cars before I move.

The grocery store is a, small, mom n' pop owned place with no more than ten aisles and a small fruit and deli section. A middle-aged woman greets me absentmindedly from the only occupied checkout lane, casually flipping through the pages of a gossip mag with her long acrylic fingernails. I utter a quick hello, as the smell of fried chicken leads me toward the deli, glorious thoughts of a hot meal dancing in my head.

As I approach the case, I'm met by several other delicious looking options, each one better than the last. Fried chicken, fried fish, popcorn shrimp, potato wedges, potato salad, coleslaw; I'm starting to drool.

"What can I get you?" A perky voice chirps.

I look up to see an older woman around my mom's age, her long mousy hair pulled beneath a hair net. She startles me, and for a moment I forget how I'm supposed to talk to 'normal' people.

"I don't know yet." I smile politely. "Lot to choose from."

She nods, and suddenly her eyes light up.

"Hey, you look familiar." She jabs her finger at me. "Have you been in here before?"

"Uhm, no."

"What's your name?" She cocks her head.

Fuck, what am I supposed to say?

"Alice."

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, eyes studying me like a hawk on the hunt.

"Alice?" She hums. "Well honey, I can't put my finger on it, but I know I've seen ya somewhere. I never forget a face."

"I must have a lookalike somewhere." I quickly deflect. "I'm not from around here."

"Oh, well. Anyway, the chicken is a local favorite; owner's special recipe. You should try it."

"Sounds good." I'll say anything at this point to end the conversation. "I'll take a bucket, please."

I hightail it back to the register, where I'm annoyed to see a line has formed. I take my spot at the end, scanning the newest issues of People and Seventeen in an effort to calm myself. I can't get the deli woman's words out of my head. She seemed overly confident in having seen me, and a part of me wonders if maybe she has. Not in person, but maybe on the news? Midway city must've been a big deal, but would Waller allow the public to know that several of America's most wanted are roaming the streets again? I can't see Deadshot or KC having a problem keeping a low profile, but Harley? If she hasn't been recaptured, I'd imagine it's only a matter of time before she exposes herself in a public place. When that happens, the papers will run with it, dragging Amanda Waller's name behind them. No, she wouldn't allow anyone outside of her bubble to know we're gone. Maybe the deli woman was mistaken, but nonetheless it's got me on edge.

I pay in a hurry, telling the cashier to keep the change before I all but jog through the automatic doors. Digger still hasn't returned by the time I make it to the car and I'm getting antsy. Half an hour passes before he finally returns, an unreadable expression on his face. He silently slides into the driver's seat, not bothering to do more than glance at me.

"I got chicken." I say dumbly.

In an instant, his features relax, and he turns to me with a smile.

"Good thing darl, I'm starvin." He turns the key and the engine roars to life. "Gimmie a leg, will ya?"

OOOO

The sun's beginning to set on the horizon, the rain having disappeared as soon as we crossed the border into Ohio. The food is gone, and my eyelids have begun to droop. Those nights spent laying awake anxious have finally begun to catch up to me.

"Ya know if we go all night, we can be in Chicago by tomorrow morn?" Digger announces.

"Can you stay awake that long?"

"Course I can. I've slept betta in the last few days than I have in me whole life."

"That makes one of us." I yawn. "You snore."

"Do I, darl?" He grins.

"I'm surprised no one's ever told you."

"I'm not. I don't usually sleep next ta the girls I'm fuckin. Stay the night, yeah, but I don't let me guard down enough to sleep."

"I'm flattered." I roll my eyes.

"Ya should be. I don't trust no one."

"Then why do you trust me? There's a lifetime of things we don't know about each other." I point out. "I don't even know what your real name is."

"Cause if ya wanted me dead, sweetheart, ya woulda left me dead." He smiles. "And me name's George, if ya must know."

"Last name?"

"Hold ya horses, darl, it's my turn." He chuckles. "Ya grew up in Chicago?"

"Yes. Last name?"

"Harkness. That where they got ya?"

"No, Florida. Where are you from?"

"Leongatha, Australia. Got me in Central City."

"Thought you were playing Mahjong?"

"Happened afta." He snickers. "What were ya doin in Florida?"

"Running from my problems. Why'd you leave Australia?"

"Coppas were hot on me heels. Had ta stash me cash n jump on boat."

"A boat?"

"I'm an international criminal, sweetheart. They aren't gonna let me through customs."

"Point taken. You have family over there?"

"Not anymore. Ya just got ya mum?"

"I have a half sister somewhere out there. Never met her. Dad died before I was born. There's an Aunt on his side, but as far as I know, she's been in a state hospital most of her life."

"Neva met me da either." He tells me. "Got any nippers?"

"What?"

"Kids."

"No, you?"

"Not that I know of. Wouldn't mind havin a few ankle biters one day though."

"I can't imagine you as a dad." I laugh.

"I'd be a good daddy I'll have ya know. Teach em how ta throw boomerangs n pick locks. Take em campin in the outback. What about ya love, ya want any nippers?"

"Never really thought it was an option." I shrug. "I might, if things were different."

"I think ya'd be a good mum." He gives me a reassuring smile. "Ya bossy enough."

"You're hilarious. I have one, why me, why not Katana or Harley?"

He shoots me an 'are you serious' look before speaking.

"Why d'ya have such a hard time believin I like ya? Harley's crazier than a sack full a cats, n Katana ain't much of a talker. I wanted ya the first time I saw ya."

"I remember. Rub n tug or whatever."

"Not like that darl. Well, that too, but that ain't what I meant. I wanted ya attention, wanted ta talk ta ya. Like somethin was pullin me toward ya."

"You're full of crap." I laugh, wondering how I must've looked being drug from that box, starving and in desperate need of a shower.

"I'm serious, doll. Ya had me fiendin since I laid eyes on ya."

I'm about to reply with something snarky when my stomach drops. Behind us, a set of red and blue lights begin to flash as a siren chirps.

"Fuck." Digger growls, glancing in the rearview.

"What do we do?" I panic, expecting him to suggest we make a run for it.

"Nothin just yet." He slows, pulling off to the side. "Lemme do the talkin."

A moment later a burly man with a mustache appears, the grey in his hair suggesting he's somewhere on the far side of fifty, probably nearing retirement. Digger rolls the window down, offering a polite nod to the officer.

"How are you folks doing tonight?" The cop asks, hand resting on the holster of his gun.

"Can't complain." Digger replies in the most generic American accent possible. "What can I do for you, officer?"

"The road up ahead is closed, bad accident with a semi. You'll need to take another route."

Something about this doesn't feel right.

"If ya go back five or so miles you'll see a sign for Marietta. You'll have to take the long way through town to get around."

"Terrible." Digger says. "Thanks for the warning."

The officer nods, staring us both down before bidding us farewell. After he's gone, and Digger has rolled up the window, I let go of a breath I had no idea I was holding. My heart's still about to beat out of my chest as the car roars to life. We turn back the way we came, and it isn't until the cop car has long since faded from view that Digger speaks.

"Ya good?" His accent is back as he pats my thigh.

"Did that seem off to you?" I question.

"Ya got some good instincts, darl. Was wondering if ya'd notice that."

"What do you think is in Marietta?"

"Don't know, but he wasn't lyin about that bein the only way around. Map says so ta"

"We could turn back, find another route?"

"No can do." He frowns. "We're runnin low on fuel. The last town we passed with a station is thirty miles back. We won't make it that far."

"It's Waller." I say. "It has to be."

"Ya probably not wrong, but we don't have any otha options."

"Fuck." I snap. "I hate that woman!"

"Now don't go gettin ya knickers in a twist, sweetheart. Whateva that she-devil has waitin fer us is nothin we can't handle, ya got me?" He smiles, giving my thigh a quick squeeze. "I've got ya back."

Reviews are much appreciated!