Yaay! Another chapter done! Took me forever to figure out where I was trying to go with it. I hope it isn't too boring, but I thought I ought to address some issues that nobody touches on in the actual series, 'cause it's too Realistic and Grown-up and kids don't care anyway. But hey, what else is fanfic for?

As always, I don't own Biker Mice from Mars, but I do own this story and my characters. And I'd totally love to own Stoker, but I guess I'd have to fight off all the other fangirls for him first, huh? He'd totally love that.

Chapter Eleven

Naturally, the mice did not take kindly to their Charley-girl's life being threatened, and they showed their displeasure by promptly storming Limburger's tower and blowing it up.

When the city shook from the impact of a hundred-thousand tons of steel and brick meeting the ground head-on, Alley shrieked and dove for cover under the desk. Charley, in the midst of replacing her damaged brake line, just rolled her eyes and kept right on working. "It's not an earthquake," she said blandly. "It's just the guys showing Limburger their appreciation."

"By taking out half the city?" Alley crawled out from under the desk, frowning at the smears of grease now staining her skirt.

"Don't worry. Over the years, they've turned toppling that tower into something of a fine art. The destructive radius barely passes a hundred feet in any direction anymore."

Alley blinked at her. "I don't know if that should impress me or make me run screaming for the hills."

Charley laughed. "Better go throw some dogs on the stove. And pull a few packs of root beer out of the fridge, will ya? They'll be completely hyped when they get back."

"And feeding them carbs and sugar is your solution to calming them down, huh?"

Charley just smirked and flipped a wrench in her hand, laying back on the platform dolly and scooting under the truck. Alley sighed and shook her head. "Call me a nut, but wouldn't destroying Limburger's property sort of … I dunno … royally piss him off?"

"Definitely," came the muffled reply. "But it'll also keep him busy and out of our hair for at least a week." She reappeared and sat up, holding the ruined brake line tubing. "It'll buy us some time to scout around and find out what he's up to."

"It only takes a week to rebuild an entire skyscraper?"

Charley pressed her palms flat against each other and bowed her head. "As blowing up the tower has become an art form, so has Limburger turned rebuilding it into one."

Alley tipped back her head. "It's the ciiiirrrcle of liiiiife!" she sang dramatically, throwing out her arm and gliding to the stairs, earning a bark of laughter from her cousin.

"Go boil some hotdogs, you nut!"

True to word, the boys were practically vibrating with adrenaline when they roared into the garage fifteen minutes later. Vinnie screeched to a stop with his signature howl of victory, hurling his helmet across the room. It sailed dangerously close to Charley's computer, slammed into a nearby stack of tire rims and sent them crashing to the floor in a cacophony of scattering steel.

"Vinnie! Dial it down a notch, you macho lunkhead!" Charley snapped, throwing the wrench she was holding at him. "You almost took out my computer! And pick those rims up!"

"Eh, sorry, Sweetheart. Got a little carried away." He offered a grin and a sheepish chuckle, hastily moving to clean up his mess.

A few seconds later, Alley skittered down the stairway, holding a pair of tongs and looking around with wide eyes. "What the hell is all the racket? Are we under attack?"

"The boys are home." If Charley's voice got any drier, she'd start spitting sand.

"I see that." A pause. "Was someone howling just now?"

Modo snickered. "Nah. That was just Vinnie."

"His way of showin' the world what a bad mammajamma he is," Stoker added with a wicked smirk.

"Oh." Alley pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Because, for a second there, I thought maybe the garage was being overrun by feral dogs or something."

Charley put a fist to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her amusement. The other three mice didn't even attempt to try, and Vinnie glared at them, readying himself for an old-fashioned throw-down.

"Don't you dare," Charley warned before the white mouse had a chance to pounce. "My garage is not a wrestling ring. Take it outside!"

"Ah, forget it." Vinnie deflated, pouting. "I'm starvin'! Where're the dogs 'n beer?"

"They're cooking upstairs." Alley turned, then hesitated, shooting him a questioning glance over her shoulder. "Do you really howl like that every time you take out Limburger's tower?"

"And for any other reason he can think up," Charley snorted.

"It's my battle cry!" Vinnie sniffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his arm. "Every superhero needs a battle cry."

"And 'cowabunga' was already taken," Throttle quipped.

Alley nodded, her expression serious. "It's just … you know … the guys who yelp the loudest, Vinster," she reminded him with a sigh, continuing on her way.

Vinnie's jaw dropped. He sputtered uselessly for a comeback, gaping at her retreating back. Modo and Stoker guffawed, Charley buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

And Throttle just stood there looking confused, wondering what the hell was suddenly so funny.

The rest of the week passed in relative peace.

Well, as peaceful as it ever got around the Last Chance, anyway. Alley soon learned that the mice never seemed to be happy unless they were making as much racket as possible. "Quiet as a mouse" did not apply to the Martian variety. While Charley seemed perfectly content to let them cohabit her garage, blaring the rock stations at levels that could only be described as "deafening", Alley took it upon herself to invest in a bottle of aspirin and some good ear plugs. She wondered at first how they didn't go deaf, what with ears as large and sensitive as theirs, before chalking it up to their overall weirdness.

Since the guys were always at the garage more than they weren't (well, the trio was; Stoker came and went as he pleased, and Charley didn't appear to give a hoot about that, either), it gave Alley a good chance to observe them. While Vinnie was always flapping his mouth and up to no good, the other two mice were far more reserved in their behavior. Especially Throttle. While they all joked around and roughhoused a lot, he tended to be a little more careful and reigned in the other two when they got too carried away. He must have been their leader of sorts, since they always deferred to him and fell in line when he told them to. Unless Stoker was around. All three of them deferred to Stoker, and it was clear the older mouse was well-respected as a mentor and a war hero.

One thing Alley could say about the guys; they all had a very well-developed sense of self-preservation. At least when it came to females, and Charley especially. They seemed able to tune in to the times when the mechanic was extra stressed trying to finish a particular job, and her patience was close to the snapping point. That was generally the time they herded each other out the door to "patrol the city" for awhile. Which Alley suspected was code for getting out of the way before her cousin could strangle them with their own tails. Either way, she certainly did appreciate the rare times of peace and quiet their absence bought.

Unfortunately, this particular Friday morning was not one of those times.

Almost an entire week, and she was still trying to get the mess of Charley's paperwork sorted out. A job she'd thought would only take a day or two was taking a heck of a lot longer than that. And the blaring hard rock that was slowly driving a small railroad spike through her skull certainly didn't make it easier to concentrate.

The cordless phone on the desk rang, and she answered it while making a beeline for the large boombox sitting on its makeshift shelf beside the garage door. Ignoring everyone's protests, she turned the volume down to a more reasonable level before returning to the desk to arrange customer's appointment. From the corner of her eye, she noted Throttle sneakily reaching for the volume control. "Excuse me for one moment, Sir," she said politely into the receiver. Covering the mouthpiece with her palm, she mustered her fiercest glare and snarled, "Throttle. If you touch that dial, so help me, I'll rip your fingers off one by one and stuff 'em up your ass."

The others chortled loudly as Throttle raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from the radio with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry, princess," he muttered, giving Vinnie a swat with his tail when the white mouse cheered, and staggered a little as Modo gave him a "friendly" clout across the back.

"Having some problems there, Alley Cat?" Charley teased, eyes sparkling with humor.

Alley took a deep breath and pasted a saccharine smile on her lips. "Thank you for holding, Mr. Anderson," she told the waiting customer sweetly. "To confirm, your car will be brought in for inspection at nine AM this coming Wednesday. Are you planning to drop it off, or do you wish to wait?" She paused. "No, sir, the Last Chance doesn't provide shuttling service, but a taxi can be called for you. There is also a bus route three blocks away. Yes. That will be fine. Thank you for choosing the Last Chance Garage. We'll see you on Wednesday." She hung up the phone and sighed, shooting her cousin an exasperated glance. "Did you get all that?"

"Yep. State inspection. Wednesday. Nine o'clock," Charley grunted, struggling to loosen a nut from part of an engine. "There're some Post-its in the drawer. Jot it down for me, will ya?"

"Oh, hell no." Alley glared at her. "The jotting of appointments on sticky notes stops now, you hear me? It's unprofessional and half the notes end up falling into the garbage anyway! You are, without a doubt, the most unorganized computer genius I've ever known. How have you managed to not tank your own business in all these years?"

"What can I say? It's a gift." Charley pulled a face at her.

"Well, here's a much better gift." Alley waved a brown leather book in the air. "See this? Say hello to your new best friend. All of your appointments are sorted and logged into this ledger. Your assignment is to actually use it."

Charley's brow furrowed. "I do have an appointment ledger, you know."

"If you're talking about that greasy, torn up notebook I found buried in the bottom of your desk drawer, I threw it out. You haven't written any actual appointments in it for the past six months, anyway."

Charley shot her a dry look. "I don't recall making you the supervisor. When did you get so bossy?"

"I'd say during the week I just spent attempting to salvage your pitiful excuse of a business practice," Alley deadpanned.

"Oooooh. Burned!" Vinnie sang softly under his breath.

Charley shot him an irritated glance. "Don't you have something to go blow up?" she grumbled.

"You shouldn't criticize her, anyway," Alley added. "You're all part of the problem." She raised a hand to halt the immediate protests. "Charley, when is the last time you tried to organize your finances? I mean, have you even looked at the balances in the past year? Hell, the past three years?"

"Of course I have! That's the one thing I did keep up with. I'm not a complete moron, you know."

Alley pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the desk. "Then you're fully aware that the Last Chance is just barely keeping afloat. You've managed to keep your finances in the green, but you hardly pull in enough extra for basic living expenses. The only thing saving you is that you own this building outright. But you still have property taxes, the highest electric bill I've ever seen, you're making payments on some of this equipment yet … and every month that line between success and bankruptcy is narrowing further and further. I see you've had to dip into your savings on several occasions just to make ends meet."

"Is this true, Charley-ma'am?" Modo wanted to know. All three mice were listening, concern etched on their faces. "You in trouble?"

"No!" Charley protested, while at the same time Alley stated, "Yes."

Charley rubbed her temple, looking irritated, and just a little defeated. "I guess … things are a little tight, financial-wise," she muttered through gritted teeth. "It doesn't really concern you, though, so don't worry about it, okay?"

"Except it does concern them."

"Alley!" Charley glared at her. "Stop it."

"No. Let her talk." Throttle's voice left no room for argument. "Are you sayin' it's our fault?"

"Partly." Alley shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. "And Limburger is at fault, too," she added. "He's the reason this part of the city is all but abandoned. I don't imagine that's helped business, any. But he's not responsible for a lot of the damage and repair that's been done on the garage in the past few years, is he?" She tapped the computer monitor. "The garage doors had to be replaced how many times? I mean, not just worn-out parts, the whole, entire doors. Who kept putting giant holes in them?"

"Um…" The trio glanced at each other, uneasy.

"That's why I had the automatic sensors installed," Charley cut in.

"And there's also the matter of all the … upgrades done to your bikes. Specialized parts to be ordered in and … I don't even know what else." Alley fixed the mice with a questioning glance. "Has it even once occurred to you to ask where those upgraded parts come from? Or did you just assume she farts 'em out her ass on command?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Alley!" Charley threw her hands in the air. Her face was suspiciously red. "It's not their problem, so don't involve them! I volunteered to take care of their bikes. It was entirely my decision."

"And it's costing your garage way more money than you can actually afford right now. Don't think I haven't noticed how often they just help themselves to stock off the shelves when they're maintaining those bikes, either. More money out of your very shallow pocket."

"Can I see the figures?" Throttle asked, stepping forward. Charley started to protest, but he ignored her as Alley scooted away from the desk to let him look at the spreadsheet. He studied it for a few minutes, face expressionless.

Charley glowered at her cousin. "You're fired," she muttered.

Alley waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. Fire me. But it would've caught up to you eventually. I don't get what you were trying to accomplish by keeping it from them, anyway. Why shouldn't they know?"

Charley sighed heavily, perching on the end of the desk. "Because … they've done so much for this city. And for me. I told you, without them, things would be going a lot worse with the Plutarkians. Chicago owes them a huge debt, and doesn't even know it. I'm just … doing what little I can to repay them for their efforts. There was no need to let them in on how much it was costing me."

"Did you think we'd be happy if we ended up tanking your business, or mad if ya told us we were eatin' yer profits?" Modo scolded. "You oughta know better 'n that."

"Yeah, Sweetheart, we woulda paid ya or somethin'," Vinnie put in, sounding hurt.

"And how would you manage that, huh? Go out and get yourselves a nine-to-five?" Charley snorted. "You guys ain't exactly rollin' in cash."

Nobody could argue with that. Alley shook her head. "You could pay her in physical labor, you know. Help her out with the garage, take some of the workload off. If she had more than just herself to finish jobs, she could take on more customers, and bring in more money."

"Yeah, but … we're no wrench jockeys," Vinnie grumbled. "An' Charley-girl won't let us near the equipment, anyway."

"That's because you always blow up anything you touch," Charley snapped.

"So, teach them," Alley said with exaggerated patience. "Start them off with simple stuff. Like motorcycles. They're always tinkering around with theirs. An Earth bike isn't that different, is it? Start with that and go from there."

Charley sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? But even if they did help, it's not gonna bring more customers or money in any faster, you know."

"That's because you don't advertise."

"Last I checked, advertising costs money, which we've already established I don't have."

"Well, how have you been getting business?" Alley asked.

"Mostly through word-of-mouth. And most of my customers have been with me since I opened the place. The ones Limburger hasn't managed to drive out of the neighborhood, anyway."

"Which is great, but new business would be even better. We'll have to think up some advertising schemes. Maybe print out some cheap fliers and post them around the city? Coffee shops, grocery stores; places like that usually have notice boards where you can tack stuff up, and it doesn't cost anything. Maybe a small ad in the Sunday paper, or, I dunno, those paper place-mats they use to advertise in diners and stuff. There are ways to get more business."

"Great," Charley sighed, defeated. "Just what I need. More work."

"You do need more work. And you need more help. And you've got three perfectly able-bodied me—um—mice who can give you some, if you're willing to let them." Alley considered. "Four, if you count Stoker. Where is that guy, anyway? I haven't seen him since Wednesday."

"Probably in one of his secret labs," Throttle replied, straightening up, finished with his perusal of Charley's files. "He prefers to work alone."

"He has secret labs? What is he, a mad scientist?"

He chuckled. "Something like that. Don't ask us what he's cookin' up, though. He's pretty hush-hush about the whole thing."

"Sounds like him, all right." Charley smiled fondly. "Always the lone wolf, that one."

Throttle fixed her with a look. "You sure aren't one to criticize, Miss My-garage-is-going-under-but-damned-if-I-ask-for-any-help."

"Okay, okay. No need to rub it in," Charley grumbled. "I just didn't want to make you guys worry about me, that's all. You tend to get all protective and you hover. It's annoying."

"Biker Mice do not 'hover'," Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

"Oh, you so hover. Like a little mother hen." Charley shot him a teasing glance.

Vinnie looked to Alley for help, but she just shrugged. "Hey, leave me out of it. She's right. Don't think we haven't noticed how one of you guys followed us every time we had to leave the garage this week. We even made fake trips just to see who'd be next in line to tail us. You were totally hovering."

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me. You owe me five bucks." Charley nudged her shoulder. "I said Throttle would be the one to follow you to the bank yesterday, and he did."

"Damn. Thanks a lot, Throttle." Alley pulled a wadded bill out of her wallet and tossed it to her grinning cousin while the mice gaped at them.

The bell went off just then, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt. The mice quickly scattered, heading back to their bikes to don protective helmets as the huge door slowly rolled up, revealing a very beat-up Chevy Caprice idling on the other side. The classic car was painted two-tone blue, at least where the large spots of rust didn't cover the body. After a moment, the engine turned off, the doors opened, and Christopher Archer unfolded himself from the driver's seat as his sister hopped out of the passenger's side. "Uh, is there an Alley Davidson around?" he asked uncertainly, looking highly doubtful.

"Guys!" Alley hopped up from the chair and trotted to them, grinning widely. "What're you doing here? Come for some service?"

Chris relaxed, tossing her a lopsided grin. "Actually, we came to kidnap you for the day. Got plans?"

"Uh…" Alley looked at her cousin, who smirked and shooed her off. "Guess not. Great! I need to go phone shopping, and I thought you guys can help me out, yeah?" She turned to Chex, who had spotted the trio of gleaming bikes a few feet away and had honed in on them and their furry owners with predatory interest. Alley watched her watching them. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Chex mumbled, taking a few steps closer. The mice looked at each other, fidgeting nervously under the unexpected scrutiny.

"Don't mind her. She's got a major thing for bikers," Chris snorted, rolling his eyes.

Chex ignored him, reaching out to trace a finger along the mouse-shaped headlamp gracing the front of Modo's bike. The big mouse drew himself up, prepared to defend his precious ride … but she didn't give him the chance.

"Holy shit!" she suddenly shouted, startling everyone into jumping and Vinnie into dropping the wrench he'd been holding. "Holy shit, holy shit!" She gave a few excited little hops, turned to slug her brother in the arm. "I told you!" she exclaimed over his pained yelp. "I told you they were real!"

"What's real? What the hell's wrong with you, you psycho?" Chris snapped, rubbing his abused bicep.

"It's them!" Chex gestured wildly. "You know, them! I told you! They're real! I didn't make it up, those alien mice dudes really exist and they're standing right over there!"

There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Vinnie, in two words, said exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

"Aww, cheese."