A/N: I'm so sorry to make you all wait. I didn't feel like I had a big following, which meant I needed to take a break and just improve my writing till I knew I could give this story what I owed it.
I have edited the previous chapters, so my bad grammar and whatever is pretty much gone. Some sentences and things may still be weird, but I didn't want to change anything if it didn't need it. So, if you want to read the fic over again, I recommend it, or you can just go off this summary.
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If you don't remember (wouldn't surprise me)…CHAPTER NINE.
"Ben. He's 19. Gorgeous short sandy-blonde hair. Perfect red lips. Cute freckles over his nose. Amazing body…" She paused to sigh wholeheartedly. "And the eyes. Bright pools of hazel green. Oh, Sam, he's perfect!"
Max had tuned out though. She wasn't jealous, no. Max could get any guy she wanted. She just gave off vibes that told them she was unavailable. Her lips pursed, brow puckered. Then she regained composure. "Lucky girl, hey?" came her voice, fighting to sound more than half-hearted.
…
"I was wondering if you'd have dinner with me next Friday," Logan offered, keeping his voice as collected as possible.
…
The memory was extremely vivid. Crisp quality, right in her head. She remembered how everything looked through her eyes and her somewhat naïve thoughts. It amazed Max now. What was most astonishing was 494, and the beautiful smile he wore, which complemented his dazzling pair of hazel eyes. Max then remembered her own grin. She hadn't smiled like that in a very long time. So genuinely, so full of hope and content in the person and place she was in right then.
…
"You coming back soon?" Rachel asked.
"'Course. Holidays are coming up, aren't they? Plus things are getting hectic here." It was true. She knew Manticore were now hot on her heels. Getting away would be good.
"Sweet. See you soon then?"
"Certainly," Max replied before they hung up.
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Apartment in Sector 9, Seattle, Washington, 2019.
Garments hooked on to clothes hangers were discarded carelessly onto the bed in the middle of her room, building a pile of dark-coloured material. She occasionally grunted as she threw each part of her wardrobe over her head.
"Boo, what are you doing?" Original Cindy questioned from the doorway, her eyebrows raised slightly as she looked on in amusement.
Max huffed and spun her head around. "Looking for a good pair of shoes," she answered, a frown puckering her brow, and her lips pursed in concentration.
"Sugar, take no offence, but why would you need a good pair of shoes?"
"Well I'm going back home for the holidays, and while I have some clothing remaining in my closet there, I have no shoes." She shrugged and turned back to her wardrobe.
Original Cindy's expression became quizzical, probably picturing her in an elegant frock accompanied with stilettos, Max figured. The frizzy-haired woman chortled and Max shook her head, knowing she'd been right.
"Wanna help?" Max cried, sounding like she did need an extra hand, but O.C. merely walked out and went back to her room. A disapproving noise escaped the transgenic.
She got down on her knees and began digging through the mess scattered in the bottom corners of the closet.
"This isn't mine…" She sent a lacy tank top flying backwards, closer to the door than her bed where all the other items had landed.
"Hey, that's Original Cindy's!" declared Max's roommate as she returned.
Max was still clawing her way through the never-ending pile, feeling too stressed to throw back a reply.
O.C. walked over and placed a rectangular box atop the large pile on Max's mattress. "Bring 'em back in good condition, boo," she warned before exiting again.
Max rose to her feet, almost tripping over her khaki pants spread lazily across her floor, and stalked over to the shoebox on her bed, giving it a challenging glare. Her hands reached out and made contact with the cardboard before bringing the box up to eye-level. How fortunate she was to share the same shoe size as her roommate.
She lifted off the lid, letting it cascade to the floor, and peeked inside. A gasp fell from her lips.
"Thanks O.C.!" she yelled, grinning widely.
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Berrisford Residence, Washington, 2019.
The door burst open, pushing her and her trailing aura of enthusiasm through the threshold hurriedly. One might think it was eagerness that shoved the door out of the way, unaware of her super strength.
"I'm h—oof! Rach?" Max peeked down at the mass of brown locks that topped the figure clinging to her body.
"Sam! Merry Christmas!" Rachel squealed, tearing herself away.
"We still have a week, sis," Max reminded her with a laugh.
They both giggled and hugged incessantly on the way up and down the stairs with Max's bags. The transgenic put on a show of struggle as she lugged her suitcases to her old room.
"How does it feel – being home?" asked Rachel, the obvious subtext leering in her words.
Max's head tilted up, taking her attention away from the bag she'd unzipped and was now unpacking. One eyebrow raised, eyes peering carefully, Max said, "I've been here for," – a check of the watch – "eleven minutes. Hardly beginning the process of settling in yet."
Rachel grinned, her face glowing more than usual. "I just miss you, Sam."
Max had turned back to the articles in her suitcase. "It feels good," she answered. "Good to be home."
When she'd completed the unpacking process, Max suggested some "Rach and Sam time," starting with a trip to the indoor pool.
The sisters splashed and flipped and held silly contests, such as holding their breath for as long as possible, like they used to when they were younger. The fun finished and Rachel and Max lazed on their towels alongside each other, chatting quietly.
"—And then he said, 'I've never felt this way before, Rachel. You're my everything,' and I melted into a thick, gooey puddle of goo."
Max frowned. "Gooey puddle of goo?" she repeated, but Rachel was too busy daydreaming to defend her words.
The transgenic wouldn't deny that she loathed listening to her sister gush over and over about this "perfect man". She was just slightly envious – but not jealous – and it wasn't just that.
Max was accustomed, and very content, to her role as a friend not involving listening to a friend repeatedly list everything she loved about her boyfriend, and all the sweet things he did for her, and how they met and the time th—No, and certainly not her own sister.
Of course anything remotely close to this kind of interaction with Max had come from Rachel. She was just like that – a little naïve, but desperate to cling on to something as mind-blowing as true love and the tales of the heart. Max was a sceptic when it came to something like love. She'd seen, felt, and heard enough to make her resent and want to ignore the concept.
"Hello? Are you even listening?" called Rachel to Max.
"Yes, dork."
"Then what did I just say?" Rachel questioned, gently narrowing her eyes. She couldn't pull off the evil look, no matter how much she tried.
The answer rolled off Max's tongue with ease. "'Then he asked me for a drink and I was blushing profusely as he asked my name.'"
"Damn you're good."
Max flashed her teeth. "You know it."
"And I can presume that you're still as single as ever…"
Max had to acknowledge Rachel's great ability to subtly change subjects here, there, everywhere, with no shame whatsoever. "Actually…"
The younger girl's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. "You have a boy?"
"I'm going steady with this one b—man," she reluctantly let out.
"Don't be a hypocrite, Sam. I won't question why you didn—"
"I don't want Dad to know," she admitted, "…yet."
Rachel knew not to push when her sister's strange inner motives shone through in odd behaviours. She sighed inwardly, then chirped, "Well come on, we ain't got all day. Dad'll be home soon. What's he like? What's his name? Saaaam."
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A harmony of musical sounds filled the Berrisford house as Max and Rachel synchronised their chimes of laughter and the sounds emanated as their fingers flew over piano keys. Max lifted her hands away from the keys for a short minute to expertly mock their old piano teacher, Mr. Grady, inciting a high-pitched belly laugh from her sister.
Robert poked his head into the doorway, before turning to lean his body against the wooden pane. He watched on, amusement lighting up his eyes and a frown wrinkling his brow, with an intent gaze fixed on his daughters.
"You're far too noisy," he commented, his soft voice battling with their racket.
Max, of course, heard every syllable, unlike her sister, who stared dumbfounded at Max after she stopped their fun. "Sorry, Dad," mumbled Max.
Rachel whipped her head around. "Oh! You were working! And we were making all that ruckus!"
His frown broke, letting a lively smile spread over his face and crinkle the corners of his eyes gently. "Never mind my work!" he assured. "Seeing you two together, happy, again is far more imperative. Though, I think Paula and Eliza could use your help with the decorations."
Rachel shot out of her seat in excitement, latching onto Max's wrist and heaving her out the door – just missing an amused Robert – and bouncing her way into the manor.
Eliza, a good friend of the late Mrs. Berrisford, who always encouraged and helped Robert keeping his social life abloom, merely rolled her eyes at their entrance and stopped her work on the alterations to Robert's suit. "I'll go get the boxes from my car."
While they waited, Rachel, bubbling vibrantly as her ideas burst out, chattered to Max. The latter wondered if the former had any control over her motor mouth.
"Ooh! And those will go perfectly with the ribbons, which will also drape across the staircase rail. Can't you see it?"
Max nodded.
Rachel looked around, and then turned back, allowing for Max to see the slight narrowing of her eyes.
"Something up?"
"I want mistletoe! Everywhere. But our ceiling is…high!" she marvelled.
Max raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"Under the staircase, maybe?" She gazed at Max expectantly.
"Um, considering the ratio of adults to teenagers, it may not seem befitting."
Rachel grinned cheekily. "Like some of those oldies won't go looking for a secret place to snag a Christmas smooch! Oh, can't you just imagine Mr. and Mrs. Harvey accidentally stumbling upon mistletoe?"
"EW!" Max cried. "You're sick."
"Don't you remember where his hand was at the Mercidyne Ball in 2016?" Rachel asked, feigning a serious expression of innocence and curiosity.
"No! No, n—" Max began before Eliza burst through the door, arms barely managing the weight of three tall boxes.
Max and Rachel hurried over to help, and within a minute, they were starting their interior design a la the usual Berrisford family shindigs.
"Found your mistletoe!" Max exclaimed.
Rachel sprinted over and seized a few before running out of the manor.
With a roll of her eyes, Max carried on with her wreath-hanging. As she went back to the table of boxes, one sprig of mistletoe caught her eye. It was wrapped delicately in a shimmering gold ribbon, opposing the deep scarlet the others had. She curled her fingers around it and lifted it up closer into her view.
Her thumb ran over a leaf and her thoughts flicked to Logan. She hadn't told him she was going back home for the holidays. Heck, she hadn't even told him about the Berrisfords.
It was a protection thing. She didn't tell anyone anything she didn't need to. With O.C. and Kendra, that piece of information was unavoidably necessary in sharing since she spent so much time with them and didn't want them to add "suspicious phone calls" to their ever-growing list of shady things Max did and had.
"Come and look at my sneaky hiding places, Sammy!" Rachel's cry broke in.
She dropped the sprig and trotted off to her sister.
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Max glared at the selection of dresses spread out on her bed. The light blue was out of the question. Black was overdone. Knee-length was too high. Her new navy gown was too hugging.
"I'm going to shower and get ready!" Rachel called from the bathroom.
"Yeah, yeah," Max mumbled in reply.
She had to look conservative, yet covertly sexy. And of course, doused in Christmas spirit.
Red?
She spun back to her wardrobe and fingered through the fabrics again.
"Nope. Nope. Noooope."
Her fingers stopped. Red. Long, but not too long. Cute straps. Not too tight.
"Bingo, Sammy," she murmured to herself.
Just as she was sliding the straps off the hanger, the doorbell rang.
She wormed her arms out of the sleeves of her jacket. The doorbell chorused again.
She rolled her eyes and tossed the garment onto her dresser. After a pause, she gave in. The doorbell didn't ring again as she made her way downstairs. Thankfully this person found patience, she thought to herself.
Max hid an evil glare at all the people setting up for the party, so many of them capable of answering the door themselves.
Annoyed, she pulled the handle and guided the large door open.
And brown met hazel.
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Yeah, I know it's short.