Part 8
June 2, 3, 2001.
It took her a moment to remember--who she was, what had happened, where she was. Panic flooded her system, had been laying in wait before the recognition of her circumstances had come clear to her once more. She jerked with the force of her desperation, lips parting to emit a startled cry of pain as her battered body protested the sudden motion. Max fell back onto the bed, dry lips open as she sucked in shallow breaths of air. Something had reached her through the haze of drugs she had been injected with, meant to soothe and ease her pain. Her system had fought the drugs, but Max still felt slow, her thoughts fuzzy.
There was a soft hiss of air at her side, above her--an unspoken admonition to remain silent. Fear spiked through Max. Alone, helpless, at the mercy of strangers. Her eyes were sticky where her eyelids met. She forced them open, tilting her head in the direction of the man at her beside. Somber suit, wire-rimed glasses, dark brown hair and Max bit back her cry of distress when her mind assimilated all the information before her. Not a stranger, she recognized. Zack.
"You son of a bitch," Max slurred past her split lip. The words blurred together, a meaningless groan. She would make sure he understood later. She would knock her anger out against his head, punch that familiar face, grind--
"Wait until we get out of here," Zack hissed, and maybe he had understood her anger from the start. His face was set in a carefully neutral expression that told Max she looked like hell. He bent over her, carefully disconnecting the various equipment which had been attached to Max. She had always despised hosptials and doctors and the feelings of helplessness that arose within her while under their command. Her past experiences with doctors was a brutal montage behind her closed eyelids. Max kept her eyes open--reduced to slits due to the swelling--staring at the top of Zack's head. Roots were beginning to show, and Max distantly wondered why Zack had dyed his hair.
Zack's hand hovered over Max's cheek, not touching her but close enough that she could feel its heat. It was a brief gesture, shocking for some reason that Max couldn't identify. "Let's get you out of here," Zack said softly, arms moving to support her. Max's eyes rolled and her lips tightened with the movement of her body. She clutched at Zack's arm with stiff fingers, burying her head in the curve of his neck to keep from crying out. She imagined that she looked small and weak in Zack's arms, but she didn't give a damn at the moment. She would have looked even more pitiful had she landed in an undignified heap at his feet.
No one attempted to stop them as they left the hospital. Max figured that Zack must have made arrangements before removing her from her room. Every step he took sent agony unfurling through Max. She bit down on Zack's neck, catching the material of his shirt and skin between her teeth. He grunted softly but made no move to dislodge Max from his neck. If he thought that this would keep him from a serious ass kicking once she was on her feet again, he was definitely mistaken, Max thought viciously.
"Let's go," Zack commanded. Max reluctantly released her hold on him. There was a car in the parking lot, close to the door they had exited from. Zack drew the rear door open, helping Max into the back seat as carefully as room would permit. He closed the door carefully, trying not to shake the car too much. He made his way to the driver's seat.
The ride felt like an eternity. Max slid in and out of consciousness, every bump escalating the aches in her body to renewed bursts of pain. She was out again when they arrived at their destination. Max woke in a room she didn't recognize and could not recall being brought into. The bedroom was neat and would have been bright and cheery had the shades not been drawn tightly over the windows across from the bed. The scent of flowers was overwhelming, bordering on nauseating. "Zack?" Max croaked.
"I'm here, Max," he answered from across the room. Max sought him out, finding Zack in an armchair tucked away in the corner furthest from the bed. He had discarded the glasses and had changed out of the suit he had been wearing in favour of his usual attire. Max was glad for that--they had been apart for long enough that she didn't want her first sight of Zack to be while he was playing at being something else. Zack yawned despite himself, and Max realized that he had been fighting off sleep while awaiting her. He moved towards the bed, carefully lowering himself to the edge beside Max. "How are you?"
"I've been better," Max said dryly. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere safe," Zack answered her unhelpfully.
"You have any idea how strange those words are coming from you?" Max snorted. Her words were still slightly slurred, although far from as bad as previously. "How long have I been out?" she demanded.
"A few days," Zack replied. "You suffered a lot of damage, Max."
"I noticed," Max said, closing her eyes against Zack. She counted each breath she took, calming herself. Zack was still there, still and silent as if he hadn't moved at all since Max had last looked at him. Worried, guilty, Max cataloged. "How did you find me?" she asked, a faint line of accusation in the question.
Zack didn't look away. "Ben called," he answered shortly.
"Oh?" Max asked. "How interesting, considering that you apparently didn't receive any of my calls for the past several _months_." She didn't want to talk about Ben--not now, not ever. "How could you, Zack?" Max demanded. "I didn't know what happened to you--whether Manticore caught up with you, whether you were still alive." Better anger at Zack than thoughts of Ben and what had occurred between them.
"I couldn't get in contact with you," Zack defended himself, without much heat. "A situation arose which required my attention." He reached out, smoothing a damp lock of hair away from Max's forehead. "I'm sorry, Maxie."
She flinched at the name. "I don't want to talk. Go away. Leave me the hell alone," Max growled. She struck out, batting Zack's hand away. "Get out. _Get out!_" She sounded desperate, nearly hysterical even to herself. Her soldier's voice, training and discipline and restraint chided her for her childish display of emotion. And they had never been simply training and discipline and restraint even when they had been soldiers, had they?
Zack had slipped away while her mind turned on itself. Max blinked at the spot Zack had occupied. He'd left. She had demanded that he do so. And he had left her. Max turned onto her side, curling around her pain. She pressed her face into the nearest pillow and cried.
...~*~...
The music was loud, painfully so to Max's enhanced hearing. It took a lot to give an X5 a headache, but Max was well on her way to one. She knew that she looked relaxed to her companions, sprawled out in her chair, top buttons of her blouse undone, a smile easily set upon her lips. Tension crept along her shoulders, hard knots building up towards her neck, pressure in her temples and behind her eyes. Laughter rippled around the table, and Max made sure to add her voice to theirs lest any unwanted attention be directed towards her--she was in no mood to soothe the concerns of her newest friends.
What should have been weeks of separation from Zack had grown into months. Max well knew how to remain on the move--when she had a goal in mind. Running without direction, without any reasoning save the avoidance of Manticore soon grew wearying. She had settled down once more after a month of careful adherence to Zack's favoured pattern of constant motion. Max had prepared herself for Zack's anger at her decision, had formulated her own angry counter-attacks, but there had as of yet been no opportunity to employ her arguments. She hadn't seen Zack since Jace's betrayal had sent them running. She hadn't even heard from Zack, even though the contact number was still operational. It was infuriating. It was worrying.
Opal and Robert sat at the end of the table across from Max. She had a clear view of the new couple as Opal moved closer to Robert to nibble at his lip. Max swallowed, closed her eyes, palms pressing over them. Winter sat beside her, careful not to brush against Max or any of their other friends. His narrow hand was wound about the neck of his beer bottle. He had been knocking them back since their group first arrived at the club, and the scent of alcohol was strong around him. He had managed to notice Max's reaction nonetheless. His pale eyebrows lifted in silent inquiry, worried lines forming across his high forehead.
Max smiled and shook her head--I'm good. She pushed back from the table, waving at her gathered friends before weaving her way through the crowded path towards the door. She paused outside the entrance to the building, raising her face towards the darkened sky. Max shut her eyes, and drew in a deep breath, chasing away the scent of cigarette smoke and beer that lingered around her.
"Layla!" Winter called out, voice and footsteps loud behind her. Max slowed down slightly, allowing him to catch up with her. She could feel him at her side but kept her eyes fixed forward. Winter was breathing heavily at her side, suffering from too much smoking and not enough exercise. There was a whisper of leather as Winter stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of his coat--Max knew without looking that it hung long and loose around her friend's body, dwarfing his body. He thought the coat made him look tough. No one had the heart to tell him that he looked like a child in a grown-up's clothing.
Max looked at Winter out of the corner of her eye. He was pale and stretched, as if despite his age he had not yet grown into his body. His narrow lips had nearly disappeared in the thin line into which they had been compressed. Winter had never truly interacted with Max on a personal level--he was polite and friendly, but she had the sense that he didn't feel comfortable with her. Curiosity broke through her dark mood, and Max's voice was gentler than would have been the case even minutes earlier. "What do you want?" Max asked.
Winter stopped, as if his words took such concentration that he couldn't spare any more on keeping his body in motion. "Do you believe that humans have abilities beyond which we are fully aware?" he began awkwardly.
"Sure," Max said guardedly, dipping her head slightly in agreement. She had taken several steps without him. Max had turned to fully face Winter when he had first spoken. A street-light flickered behind him, jumping light and shadow.
Winter drew a cigarette from his coat pockets. He didn't light it, simply rolled the cigarette between his narrow fingers. "I see things," Winter blurted out.
Max's eyebrows climbed in unison. "See things?" she echoed. "What kind of things?"
"Secret things," Winter said, low. "Awful things."
The tension which had slid away during their walk was reclaiming Max's body. "What are you trying to tell me, Winter?" Max asked as mildly as she could manage.
He swallowed, eyes sliding away from Max's face. "I see woods, a man, children." Light blue eyes sought out her face once more. "A woman dressed in blue, teeth, blood." Max had taken an unconscious step forward, Winter flinching at the movement. "I see you."
Max took a deep breath, released it slowly. Her hands had curled into fists. She forced them to straighten. "You're crazy," Max said flatly.
Winter smiled humourlessly. "Sometimes." He wiped damp palms against his jeans. "I feel things, Max. I think you're a good person. And I thought I should tell you to stay out of the woods. Bad things will happen if you follow the hunter into the woods."
"What hunter? I don't know what you're talking about, Winter!" Max exclaimed, voice rising with fear-tinged frustration. He shouldn't have known about that day, and that he spoke of it now only served to increase Max's previous tension.
"I don't know. He's your past, your future, not mine. Just stay away from him--you're better off letting him go." Winter sighed, long and wavering. "I just wanted you to know." He turned away from her. "I'm heading back--I need another drink."
Max ran a hand through her hair. Her breath hissed past her clenched teeth. She had change in her pockets, and there was a pay-phone nearby. It was about time that she made another call to Zack.
...~*~...
It was snowing beyond Max's closed window. She had risen that morning, suddenly infuriated by the closed window-shade. It had rattled upwards at her hard tug, slapping against the upper reaches of the window before the shade stilled. Snowflakes were being herded by the wind, a wild swirl that blurred the world beyond her room. Max rested her forehead against the cool glass, hair tumbling forward around her face so that her temporary room was blocked from view. Her breath fogged against the window.
Everything came back to Manticore in some way or another. Barely a sight, sound, smell or action went without the memory of Manticore and what had not been allowed and what had been demanded of them. The sight of rapidly falling snow twisting helplessly in the wind sent Max tumbling back into the outer reaches of the outdoors area in which they trained. The snow was soft beneath her, and it gave way easily beneath her every step. She sank down to her knees, trudging through the ever increasing amount of snow stretched out before her, leaving a painfully obvious trail in the wake. Snow stuck to her eyelashes, ran down her skull and neck to soak at the neck of her shirt. Snow turned everything foreign, and she could faintly remember Rae who had been lost to snow during a training session. She had continued walking though she no longer knew where she was going, because standing still was to admit defeat.
Max blinked and turned away from the window and her memories. She had found clothing in the dresser in her room--dressy blouses, t-shirts, skirts, pants, none of which fit her properly. The green t-shirt she wore was too tight across the front, the faded jeans small around the hips and too long. She had been given another woman's room, was hidden in another woman's home. Zack had called this place safe, and with a surge of emotion Max wondered whether the woman who had occupied this place had been involved in the situation which kept Zack from answering her calls. The thought upset her on more levels than Max wanted to address.
Zack was in the living-room, neatly folding the quilted comforter he had slept beneath. He looked towards Max, gauging her physical and mental state as well as he could without initiating a conversation. Max hadn't responded well to Zack's earlier attempts to discuss what had happed to her and what had kept him from getting in contact with her. She hadn't wanted to hear what he had to say, but she was unreasonably angry that he hadn't continued to try despite her protests.
He didn't move, didn't attempt to avoid the blow Max swung towards his face. Zack reeled, fell to the floor beneath the sudden weight of Max's body. There was blood at his lower lip. Surprise flared in his eyes as Max leaned forward, sucking his bloodied lip. She bit down, fresh blood welling up. Zack made a sound she had never heard from him before. Bite down hard and pull and she could tear at his lip, and he knew that, could feel anger and darkness pounding through Max's body. Zack jabbed Max in the stomach, pushing her off when she released him, her mouth parted in shock.
"What the hell are you doing?" Zack snarled. There was more blood at his lip, moving towards his chin. He didn't wipe it away, choosing to leave it as a visible reminder of Max's actions. She could recognize the look in his eyes, and knew that it was taking all the control Zack could muster not to attack her in kind.
His eyes darkened as Max's tongue ran across her lip. "Why did you stop me?" Max asked with a pointed glance in his direction.
"Why did I stop you?" Zack echoed incredulously. He stood, not offering his hand to her. "You aren't acting like yourself, Max," he said finally, anger and worry working together to make his voice rough.
"You liked it," Max said, "you like the blood, the pain."
"Christ," Zack hissed. He moved away from her, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "What the fuck did he say to you, Max?"
"I did. Part of me did."
Zack went still, tightly holding onto his urge to give into violence. He took a deep breath, and Max wondered how he could avoid gagging on the scent of flowers that filled the house. Zack had shut himself away, locked tight beneath his leader's mask when he spoke again. "I shouldn't have asked you to come with me," he stated. "You obviously can't deal with the stress."
Max didn't bother to rise. She drew her knees in towards her chest, glaring up at Zack. "I wasn't with you when I ran into Ben," she accused. "Predators. Killers. Soldiers," she echoed, lip curling. "He believed it, all of it. Couldn't forget what happened that day, wouldn't let go of it--that's what we are. You knew, you knew, you bastard!"
"Pull yourself together, Max."
"Tell me you didn't know what he was doing," Max insisted.
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters! He was killing people, Zack!" Max rose, advancing on Zack's position. "We're supposed to be more than that. We're supposed to be better than that."
Zack caught her fist before she could connect with his face again. His lips were tight, jaw tense. Wordless, Zack dragged Max towards the bathroom. He pushed her into the small room, his body blocking the doorway. "Clean up, Max," it was an order, distaste hinted at in his voice. "Get your act together or I'm leaving you here--I don't have to time to coddle you and whatever crisis you're going through. We aren't normal, Max, but we aren't monsters either. You aren't like Ben, and what happened then doesn't make you less of a good person now."
"You knew."
"I knew."
"Why?"
"Ben is family, Max. He needs my help."
Max hugged herself, looking at Zack from beneath lowered lashes. "It felt good," she said softly.
"I know," Zack said, and closed the door.