Max stared through the glass of milk in front of her, to all outward appearances lost in thought. Only a trained observer could have detected the latent energy coiled in her muscles, the way she never missed a customer who came in and yet never seemed to look at any of them. The vulnerability of the previous day had vanished with the night's sleep; she woke up with bruises well on their way to healing and armor fully intact. Time for action. So when Logan offered to drive her back to Seattle, she flatly refused and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. It probably wouldn't have been safe for her anyway, she reflected--Logan had looked completely exhausted, and she didn't want to disappoint her mysterious foe by getting killed on the way back because Logan fell asleep at the wheel. She had to admit, he'd impressed her. She'd half-expected him to nod off a couple of hours into his vigil, but she'd awakened twice during the night, unused to such long periods of sleep, and both times he'd been awake, gun near to hand, and had talked quietly with her until she fell asleep again. He'd offered support, and she'd been just emotionally and physically battered enough to accept, to lean just the tiniest amount.
The next morning, though, was a different matter. Everything seemed different in the daylight. Defenses repaired, she was done leaning and ready to rock. She ruthlessly ignored what felt suspiciously like morning-after syndrome--it wasn't like she'd slept with him or something--and insisted that Logan stay and get some rest. He'd protested, but he was too tired to put his heart into it; she'd barely managed a brusque "thank you" before he was stretched out and snoring. She'd resisted a ridiculous urge to watch him sleep and caught the next bus back to Seattle.
So now she was waiting. She'd made use of the bus ride to devise several plans of attack, but all of them hinged on direct confrontation with her opponent. Since she had no idea of who or where he was, that meant waiting for him to make contact. She called in sick to work--the best part of her day so far, involving a performance which would undoubtedly have earned her an Academy Award had there been such a thing anymore--and had been wandering the streets for the past few hours, in and out of coffee shops and restaurants, trying to stay visible. Now she was just hoping he'd show up before he cost her a week's grocery money in glasses of milk.
She wasn't disappointed. She hadn't been sitting in the coffee shop for more than half an hour when he strolled casually through the door and made his way to her table.
"This seat taken?" he asked, flashing a grin which she supposed might have been charming if she hadn't been so tempted to rip it off his face.
"I was saving it for the biggest scumbag who walked in here. So I guess it's all yours," she replied, batting long eyelashes.
He laughed and sat down across from her. "Come on, Max. You don't even know me."
"You're Manticore--I think I can pretty much fill in the blanks from there."
The waitress approached, petite and bored. "Get you something?" she asked him.
He turned his grin on her. "Coffee. Fresh ground."
Her eyes widened. "It's twenty dollars."
"Bigger tip for you, then, isn't it?" He pulled out a battered wallet and flashed a bill at her. "Come on, I'm good for it."
"Be a few minutes." Shaking her head, she moved away.
Watching Max's eyes flash, he couldn't help but admire her. She'd impressed him with her combat skills the day before--she was nearly as good as he was--and even more when she managed to give him the slip afterwards. Well, after she'd regained consciousness anyway. Not that he'd really tried to chase her; he'd been waiting for this confrontation a long time, and he had no reason to rush it. But still, he'd gotten bored during the night and done some checking around, and the trail got cold after a couple of bus depots--he wasn't sure he could have found her even if he'd wanted to. It was refreshing.
She was still glaring at him. "You've got it all wrong, Max," he told her. "I'm not Manticore. Well, not anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"I was. But then I quit."
She snorted. "When I was there, they weren't exactly offering retirement packages."
"Well, no. I stuck around till I felt like I'd learned all I was going to, and then, when they sent me out on a mission, I just didn't come back."
"And they just let you go?"
"No." Blue eyes lit gleefully. "They didn't have a choice. They couldn't catch me. See, that's where you X-5s screwed up. You ran out too soon. Manticore's got a lot to offer, if you don't get too caught up in the whole military thing."
"I've heard the recruitment speech, thanks. And the 'whole military thing' is pretty tough to ignore when you're having it shoved down your throat 24-7."
He leaned forward and met her eyes intently, suddenly serious. "It's just a matter of discipline. I took what I wanted, resisted what I didn't, and when I was done, I walked out and never looked back. They didn't use me--I used them."
Max was appalled to discover a tiny shred of admiration dangling on the edges of her anger. She took refuge in sarcasm, keeping her voice harsh. "How inspiring. So what did they call you? X-6? X-7? Or did you get a special letter?"
He relaxed again, intensity gone. "X-7. The X-6es didn't work out too well. Remember that explosion on the base back in '07?"
"That was them?"
"Yep. Tried to escape and torched themselves in the process. Deck's really not too good at keeping his little projects in line, have you noticed that?"
She smiled before she could stop herself. "Once or twice. Are there more in your class?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. I was trained to be a solo operative—one of the main differences between X-5s and X-7s. That and a few other things."
"Such as?"
"Panther DNA instead of cat. Stronger, lighter bone structure. Enhanced reflexes."
He was smiling that slow smile again, and Max knew that he meant to insult her by volunteering so much information. It was his way of telling her he didn't perceive her as much of a threat. Her temper started to kindle again, but she locked it away. Just as well if he underestimated her; she would use this to her advantage, gain what she could. "So what do you want with me?"
"Well, you know as well as I do that Lydecker gets worried when his kids aren't home by curfew. I volunteered to chaperone, make sure you got back all right. You're a few years late, but I'm sure he'll forgive you… eventually."
Max's stomach turned. He'd been there, and he'd gotten out—and he was still willing to drag another person back to that torture? How was that possible? She forced her expression to remain calm. "What's in it for you?"
"Money. Lots of it." He watched her, gauging her reaction, pleased when she didn't so much as twitch an eyelash. He knew she had to be furious, and his admiration kicked up another notch. Time for the next stage. "Of course, if you made it profitable enough, I might consider other options."
"OK, you stay here while I go search my couch cushions for loose change." Her voice oozed sarcasm.
"That's not what I mean. You ever wonder why Lydecker wants you so much? Why he risked letting Zack escape just to get a crack at you?"
Max blinked at the abrupt topic change. Her first thought was that she'd been right, and he knew about Zack, and probably the others too—the threat had to be neutralized immediately. But his question sent an imperceptible shiver through her. She'd suspected that Lydecker had his eye on her for some reason; to have it confirmed was more than a little unsettling. But she wasn't about to let him see that. "I always thought it was my stunning good looks and debonair charm," she responded coolly.
He laughed. "Nope. It's the same reason he wants me so badly."
"I'm an asshole?"
He reached under the table to where her forearm rested on her leg, squeezed hard enough to stop the blood flow. "I'm serious, Max. You and I have something in common. Think about it: Zack was the leader of your unit. You were just the XO. Why would you be more valuable to Lydecker than he is?"
"I couldn't tell you—I'm hardly the good little soldier Zack is."
He nodded once, slowly. "Exactly." When she refused to bite, he went on. "You and I, Max, we've stayed ahead of Lydecker this long because of one thing: unpredictability. You should have left Seattle a dozen times by now, but you stick around. And every time Lydecker gets close and you escape, he has to spend a couple of months looking for you in Canada and Mexico before he realizes that you never left. He can't control you, can't predict your movements by thinking of what he'd do in your place. And he can't assume that you'll do the opposite of what he'd do, because you follow your training just often enough to confuse him. It's the perfect defense, and it's why he'll never catch us."
"Us? Is this the part where you tell me you're my father and ask me to rule the universe with you?" She never knew when one of Sketchy's and Original Cindy's lectures in pre-Pulse pop culture was going to come in handy.
He'd watched enough TV in out-of-the-way motel rooms to catch the reference, and laughed. "Don't tell me you're really satisfied being a bike messenger. Come on, Max. I make a hell of a lot of money at this—you'd be surprised at just how high the highest bidders go. Don't you want a challenge sometimes?"
"I thought you were trained to be a solo operative."
He shrugged. "I could make an exception… for the right partner."
She looked him up and down, appraising, dark hair to dark boots. "What's your name?" she asked him.
He loosened his grip on her arm, lips curving slowly, eyes locked on hers. "Jasen."
She leaned forward, lowering her voice to a sultry whisper. "Well, Jasen, I'll tell you. I do like a good challenge now and then." Her hand shot under the table, gripping his where it still rested on her forearm and twisting. He gritted his teeth against the sudden pain in his wrist and elbow, still grinning as she continued. "But no challenge is worth being a whore for Manticore."
Just then, the waitress sauntered up with Jasen's coffee. The latent violence crackling around the table was strong enough to push at the edges of her indifference as she approached, making her nervous. She shifted her feet uncomfortably as she plunked the coffee down in front of Jasen, knowing something was going on even though she had no idea what it was. In her awkwardness, she accidentally offered a full sentence. "Can I get you anything else?" she asked, praying he'd say no.
"We're doing just fine here," he replied, his eyes never leaving Max's.
"Let me know when you're ready for your check," she managed, and backed away, relieved.
Max released his hand and sat back, satisfied with her momentary success in their little pissing match. The display was over; time to get down to business. "So I assume your plan B is to kick my ass and drag me back to Manticore."
He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of massaging his wrist, just as she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of inspecting her forearm for bruises. They were so much alike, he mused. What a shame she'd acquired a conscience somewhere. "Pretty much. But I figure I'll give you a fighting chance."
"Meaning what?"
"You know the warehouse down on Pier 64?"
She nodded. It had once been a staging ground for exporting computer components, deserted since the Pulse.
"Meet there tonight. Twenty-three hundred."
"A duel to the death? Mono e mono?" She was mocking him, but her adrenaline started to flow again, nervous excitement. A straight-up fight was probably as even as the odds were going to get. To seal the deal, she pushed a button deliberately. "Isn't that tactically unsound?"
"That's what's so great about it." His habitual grin reappeared. "I like a challenge, too."
Her answering smile was feral. "I'll be there."
He nodded, rose, tossed several bills on the table. "This ought to pay for the mug, too." He picked up his coffee, obviously intending to carry it out with him. No one challenged him. "The milk's on me—I want you rested up for tonight. And no weapons. Honor among thieves."
The idea of honor in someone who'd betray her to Manticore was laughable—but she'd play along. "I wasn't the one with the brass knuckles last time."
He laughed. "You can consider those a compliment. See you tonight, Max."
"Wouldn't miss it."
She kept staring out the window long after he'd disappeared down the street.
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I'm not overjoyed about this part—it doesn't seem to flow very well to me—but I'm not sure how to fix it, so any suggestions are welcome. Too dialogue-heavy? Too expository? Please keep the reviews coming, and thanks for all the ones so far!