Everything was a blur and Deleana tightened her grip on Max's waist and buried her head into the younger girl's shoulder, feeling often as though she were going to fall off the bike and take up residence with the crushed squirrels and other such animals that appeared on the road every now and then. She would have much preferred to go in Logan's vehicle, or perhaps to forsake what belongings had been left behind at the safe house altogether. Anything would have been welcome to teetering on the edge of death, which she were certain one was doing when riding a motorcycle.

"I'll never get used to this," she muttered, shutting her eyes and pretending she were somewhere else.

Max's body shook slightly from the force of her giggles and she shook her head at the woman seated behind her. "Thought you were tough, Mom," she commented. Oh, that felt so good...being able to say the word "mom" with some actual meaning attached to it. Not in jest, to make fun of someone demanding that their friends act more reserved, but because it truly was her mother. Oh, the world may be broken but today it was beautiful.

"I'm tough because I kill when I have to," Deleana shouted back a few seconds later. "I'm tough because I don't take any nonsense and I know how to get my way. I'm tough because I don't run unless it's the only workable option available. But being tough doesn't mean you never get scared."

Flashes of the Red fiasco returned to Max; "you don't have to tell me to be afraid. I'm already there." Yes, such was true. Truthfully, she found herself scared all the time, in more ways than one. Maybe being tough truly meant that you did what you had to even when you were scared. In any case, she simply nodded after that and kept relatively silent the rest of the way there, a silent display of her agreement.

*******

They had come rather quickly the day before because they were afraid of getting there too late and not being able to intercept, and they had remained in wait because they feared that busting in prematurely would leave prominent physical warning on the outside. They could of course take their time breaking in, but if they had come too late than such would allow the target sufficient time to figure out what was going on and find a way to escape or prepare for defense. These chances could not be taken, and so they sat, watching, growing tired and skeptical.

Hollander continued to insist, though. He knew what he'd seen and he was certain that the end was near and that soon it would be over and they would be sent home with handsome rewards.

"I saw her leave," he stated for what seemed the hundredth time.

"Well, maybe she left for good. Did that possibility ever enter your mind?"

He sighed. "No...I guess it didn't. I just assumed she'd come back."

"Well, wonderful. Once again, thanks to paranoia and assumption, we've been deployed on yet another routinely pointless mission. My retirement pension could not come any sooner."

"I'm sorry. But whether or not I'm right, we've been ordered to not take any chances. There's a heightened risk of security leak in a situation like this, you know. If she raps up with..."

"Hey!" someone whispered forcefully. "Look!"

The group hunched together and peered over the log to the building, and a smug grin spread across Hollander's face.

"Still care to grace us with your cynicism, Sanderson?"

Sanderson rolled his eyes and swallowed his earlier frustrations. "Shut up and move out."

*******

They drove up, Max pulling in as close as possible to the safe house and forgoing her daredevil nature for a slow, secure stop that catered to her mother's nerves. Deleana stepped off shakily, grateful to be back on solid ground, and quickly stoned herself and got over it. No sense dwelling, especially since this respite from the vehicle would be brief.

Max rightly allowed the woman to move ahead of her and hung back momentarily when her senses suddenly magnified. Her eyes swept the surrounding forest and dilated here and there, ears straining to pick up anything, any slight hint of movement. But then whatever it was that she had thought she'd heard was gone, so she shrugged and dismissed it as being some animal and followed her mother into the building.

Deleana was already collecting her things and stuffing them into her solitary duffel bag when Max entered. The gun, items of clothing still strewn across the room, a couple magazines, a book or two...so few were her belongings that this excursion suddenly seemed pointless, but whatever. Max took her place by the door and felt so laughably as though she'd been reduced to a watchdog that she almost released a low chuckle.

And then there it was again, the same sound that had caught her attention before only closer and everything became surreal as she pressed against the door and strained to figure out what it was, everything narrowing and coming into focus and cautious fear causing her heart to pump in overtime. The sense that made her what she was, centralized and acute, revealed location seconds later and she exhaled slow and steady, aware of reality with a sinking heart and there was no time to move, only time to think.

Oh shit.

In an instant she was on the floor, the door on top of her, and she was crushed by the stampede of heavy boots that fell into the room. She called out, as both warning to Deleana and reaction to the pain, pressure on her spine and shoulder blades and once, briefly, on her head. Her vision was obstructed by the way in which her head was turned, half of her face pinned to the ground and her nose bent oddly and painfully to the side - oh please let it not be broken - and the bedside table was in her direct line of sight beyond the foot of one of the soldiers. Crazy intense selfless fear was rushing through her and she hated that she couldn't see, that when she tried to turn her head there was too much resistance and unbearable pain that shot acidly through her veins and forced shallow whimpers past her lips. Oh god mother, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I failed you, I'm sorry, please don't let them kill her, I'll do anything...

She squirmed and the soldiers, who had noticed her presence, sadistically held themselves on top of her and pointed their guns at Deleana, who remained on her knees by the bag and tried to think, tried to be the tough chick she was supposed to be, tried to ignore everything awful she was feeling at the moment. With granite resolve she looked up into their faces and pushed down the compulsion to vomit when the apparent leader smiled grimly down at her.

"Ah, Kristina Santos," he said. "Time to go home."
*******

Post.Script: Raaaaah another cliffhanger! Evil evil evil me. Yup. Anyway, I started 'The Road to Deleana' (prequel!)... 'tis angsty up the wazoo. And I got this really spiff idea for a ship-tastic semi-sequel tentatively called 'The Bet.' So, er...YAY (I hope)!