"Tense" couldn't begin to describe the atmosphere of the room.

Max remained pinned under the door, struggling to lift the four men above her but having no such luck. Sure, their balance was upset somewhat, but they were able to recover rather quickly and it soon became evident that there was no use in trying. There were some weights that even an X-5 couldn't lift.

Deleana, meanwhile, was now slowly maneuvering herself in front of her bag as two of the soldiers approached, her hand slipping surreptitiously into it. Without thought, she knew that it was a dangerous move, and she was aware of the fact that though it would be beneficial to bring her in alive they had the authority to kill her and would do so if the need arose. It was, indeed, a great risk; but risks must be taken in cases such as this, when the woman to whom you gave birth is writhing helplessly on the floor, the red stain beneath her cheek glaring as physical evidence of the pain being endured. And if the secret was uncovered, which it undoubtedly would be, that woman would be subdued and dragged back to her own personal version of hell and forced into only a shell of who she was at present, the life that she had worked ten long years to build slipping quietly out the window without so much as a whispered "good-bye." No, it wasn't Deleana's own life that mattered at this point; if her life were to be taken, fine, it wouldn't be so bad. But Max's case was more literal, and though she'd probably live it would be a life of servitude and hardship and pain, and that couldn't be allowed to happen.

The soldiers bent down and roughly lifted Deleana to her feet, each holding a single elbow. She fell into a state of perceived submission for a moment, apprehension sparking hesitation. There was no such thing as fearlessness, she was sure of it now. Everyone, everywhere, no matter what, felt afraid before they had to do something so decisive, something that could completely change the outcome of the situation with which they were presented. They may not admit to it, but somewhere deep down it was felt, somewhere that they'd rather not have exist. The difference was that the brave, the tough, did it anyway. They swallowed their feelings and acted, because they knew that the implications of giving in were always worse than at least trying to make a difference. If you don't try you can't escape, and then you have no right to complain, because you went quietly and did nothing to stop it.

So then, just as she felt the eyes of the soldiers burning into her hand, heard their gasps and the beginnings of the word "drop it," she yanked her left arm free, cocked pack the pistol and opened fire, wild, only with care not to hit Max. The soldier who had been on her left fell dead and to her delight, right before the right-hand soldier's elbow made contact with her skull and a bullet punctured her hand and knocked her gun to the floor, those standing atop the door scattered and Max instinctually leapt to her feet.

The girl was impressed with her mother's display, but not entirely surprised. If you're not born with balls, a couple years on the run will give them to you, and Deleana had spent nearly two decades dodging proverbial bullets. In any case, Max was briefly happy but then rapidly switched gears into attack mode, focusing first on the disarmament of her foes. Norm soldiers had never really been that adept in hand-to-hand combat; what little skill they had was utilized in weaponry and simple primitive grappling techniques. The really cool stuff was left to the transgenics, who had been built for such purposes anyway and therefore could handle martial artistry and the like far better. Norms were the muscle, X-kids were the grace and the speed and the agility. Apparently Manticore had never actually considered the possibility that one day a norm might have to go up against an "insubordinate" X-5 and so had not prepared for such an event.

The guns of those who had so kindly aided in breaking her nose quickly fell to the floor and she made short work of tossing them out the door, smiling coyly and almost laughing at the frightened way they now looked at her. Yeah boys, that's right, I'm X-5 and now ya got no weapons. Sucks for you, don't it?

She planted her foot in the chest of the closest one, sending him flying into the bookcase. He stumbled but kept on his feet and for some reason he thought he still had a chance; he rushed toward her, in a manner that she deemed comical, and with a spin and a kick her ankle hooked around his neck and he dropped like the insect he was. She then took advantage of the wall and flipped behind two others, dropping to the ground and sweeping out their feet. Deciding to add insult to injury and get herself a healthy dose of payback in the process, she took a few seconds to grind her heel into each of their noses. They emitted muffled whimpers of pain and she shook her head at them, like a scolding mother; pathetic.

As this went on, a now unconscious Deleana was dragged behind the bed for safekeeping, her hand bleeding profusely and an ugly yellow bruise spreading over the temple on which she'd been hit. The soldier all but threw her to the ground, pissed and aggravated as he was, and then he stepped out and turned his attention toward the dangerous being wrecking havoc on his fellows. It was obvious what she was so he wasn't about to get too close but she had to be stopped somehow so he raised his gun and tried to aim; not so easy when one of his own was still standing, but necessary.

He opened fire just as Max caught sight of the weapon and inwardly berated herself for having been so stupid as to forget this particular soldier's existence. She reacted deftly, with the tact only known by people of her kind, and swept her arm around the neck of the fourth idiot responsible for nearly crushing her. She held him in front of her for a few seconds; long enough for his vest to fill with bullets before his companion realized what had happened. Then her knee was high up, placed between his shoulder blades, fully extended at an impossible speed to send him stumbling into the other soldier, and thereafter they both collapsed clumsily to the floor. Swiftly, Max was on them like a vulture, heavy arms and feet assuring that they wouldn't get back up again, at least not until they'd had some measure of respite.

Breathing heavily, she surveyed her damage, returning briefly to the soldiers with the broken noses when they began to pull themselves back up to their feet.

"Ugh, stay down!" she commanded, slamming the side of her palm hard into the neck of one of them, with dead-on accuracy in regards to the man's pressure point. He fell into unconsciousness and his body crumpled limply under itself, and then she jumped up to swing her foot hard into the head of the other, dooming him to a similar fate.

Satisfied, she smiled at the fruits of her labor and brushed her hands together before reaching up to snap her nose back into its proper position. She winced slightly but still felt pretty damn good about herself. Another importance soon washed away the thrill of victory, though; where was Deleana? Max's head whipped around, her soul awash with the fear and worry one only feels when they love someone, the bodies strewn around the room disappearing from her mind because they no longer held any weight. The pistol on the floor caught her eye, the same one with which she'd almost been shot the day before, and with X-5 haste she bounded across the bed and fell hard to the floor when her inertia kept her moving, her back slamming against the radiator. She shook her head to away with the shock and slowly pushed herself up on her palms. And then there was sight; her mother lay awkwardly against the hardwood, temple discolored and hand disfigured thanks to the ministrations of a bullet, shirt stained with the blood of that wound and eyes fluttering, trying to open.

She wanted to cry. She wanted so badly to cry that she couldn't understand. Deleana was breathing, she was alive, there's nothing to worry about...so why was Max so afraid? Why was a large, unbearable lump forming in her throat and pleading desperately for release? Why did it hurt so goddamn much?

Her heart raced as she bent over her mother and tenderly gathered the woman into her arms, lifting gently with care to support the head. There was no telling the extent of the injury that had been caused...maybe that's why she was shaking with such fear. No bother, don't think about it right now, only act. Deleana was deposited onto the bed and straightened and for long moments it was impossible to do anything constructive, hands clasping and unclasping, one foot forward and the other back over and over as Max tried to clear her head. There was no way that her mother could be transported back to Logan's place on the bike, not like this. Even if she awoke it was likely she'd be too out of it to...oh god, what if she had a concussion? Quickly, in the fashion almost of one in the throes of hyperventilation, Max began trying to wake Deleana, shaking her forcefully while trying to stay aware of the fact that this woman was only human and that too much force would only do her harm. That got lost somewhere when she wouldn't wake up, when her eyelids only jumped and sputtered without actually lifting, and the lump finally forced its way out and Max truly was hysterical, so scared and so frustrated that now through her tears she was screaming curses and oaths of damnation and periodically pounding the bed with her fists.

"Wake up you stupid bitch! Wake the fuck up! You can't leave me just after I found you. If you leave me I'll never forgive you. Do you hear me? I'll never fucking forgive you!"

She heard a spring pop and she didn't care; there were more important things to worry about.

"WAKE UP! Wake up, wake up, WAKE UP! Or are you just a selfish slut, huh? All that shit about loving me more than anything...you don't wake up, that means you didn't mean any of it. You didn't want me, and I don't want you. You're a worthless street whore, that's all you are, that's all you were, that's all you'll be if you don't...fucking...wake...up!" She collapsed in heart wrenching sobs and her actions lost their ferocity and their power, succumbing just as her eyes and her voice were to the waterfall that had erupted. "Please," she begged, weeping. "Please, mom. Don't leave me. Please."

She lost the will to move or to speak after that and curled into some manner of a ball, her head bowed and pressed into the mattress, knees curled under and digging into her chest, back arched with the outline of her spine poking slightly through her shirt and pointing proudly toward the ceiling. Her hands grasped the quilt beneath her so vehemently that her knuckles turned white; she was gone. Only yesterday Max had found her mother and now she was gone, slipping away into a concussion-induced coma that could only eventually lead to death. Oh, there was always the possibility of a miracle, but... "miracle" might as well be synonymous with "fairy tale," so she deluded herself into the mindset of the hopeless and wept until the bed sheets were soaked.

She wanted to hear the voice. She wanted to hear it so badly that her stomach ached, but sense told her that at this point it was next to impossible, so she didn't believe it when it actually crashed against the walls of her ears. But then there it was again, and the tears were shocked away.

She moved her head just enough to peer up, toward the sleeping woman beside her that might as well be pronounced dead, and unbelievable sensation rushed through her.

"Max?"

"M...mom?"

Deleana blinked her eyes and the blur melted into the white of a familiar ceiling. Pain shot through her when she tried to move her head so she kept it stationary and instead called out for her daughter and felt around with her hand, pleased to find that she seemed to be safe in bed, and then equally pleased when her hand brushed through the smooth curls that could only be identified as belonging to Max.

"Of course...Max..."

She was caught up in a powerful embrace in the next instant and on her neck she felt saline as along her length she felt the convulsions that accompany tears. Instinctively she reached up to smooth her child's hair and for the first time she truly felt like the mother she was supposed to be.

"Max? What's wrong?"

"I thought I'd lost you."

It was the only thing she could say. The only thing that needed to be said, and for long moments they simply lay there, Max letting herself experience emotions that until now she thought she only had for Original Cindy and Logan and Deleana taking pride in the knowledge that her daughter loved her so very deeply, and that all that had led to now hadn't been in vain.
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Post.Script: Yeah, Sibelius, you're right...it IS almost the end. In fact, the next chapter is the last, heh. I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. That's two, people! Two chapter stories I've completed. Fanfiction is seriously one of the best thing's that's ever happened to me in regards to writing...I could hardly finish a short story two years ago, let alone something like this. Wow. Anyway, thanks you guys. You give me the motivation to keep on writing and inspire like you wouldn't believe. :)