Ch. 5
Hehe... don't know what it is with me, but lately I've kinda had a thing lately for sticking various characters with the color pink. (See my Batman Beyond fic for the other example.)
***Laura***
I don't like pink. Never have, and doubt I ever will.
"Don't you have this in another color?"
I don't have any pink pens. I don't drink pink lemonade.
"Any other color? It doesn't even have to match my helmet. I just need a _different_ color."
I don't wear pink.
The salesman still shook his head apologetically.
And I am certainly not about to parade around in a pink rain-jacket. No matter how hard it's raining outside.
I looked at the specimen distastefully before shaking my head. A few drops of rainwater splattered from the damp edges of my hair.
"No thank you," I told him sheepishly.
After I grabbed my motorcycle helmet from the counter where I had set it earlier, I headed out of the department store. I noticed the cushioning inside the helmet was still damp under my fingertips.
Great.
It was just my luck to get caught in the storm like that. One minute the sun is shining in my eyes as I jetted through the roads on my motorcycle. The next minute, storm clouds coalesced in the blink of an eye and poured down volleys of rain like they were pent-up, tearful laments of decades of suffering.
I still thought I could make it back to the University in the rain. I was wrong, so incredibly wrong. Within 2 minutes, the rain drenched me from head to toe, and I was forced to duck into the South Dale mall for refuge.
You know the funny thing about this? Not funny as in "haha," but funny as in "the universe is trying to screw with me." It happens that I was just going home after a visit to my mechanic at Young's auto-shop. So basically I just spent 3 hours of my time and $60 of my money on a bike tune-up, only to rediscover the disadvantage of owning a motorcycle. (I wouldn't be surprised if it was a corollary of Murphy's Law.)
Well, staying stranded at the mall was not an option. I needed to get home quickly. So, with just short of $20 cash in my pocket, I headed to a department store in search for some sort of a hooded, waterproof jacket that might get me through the rain. As it turned out, there was only one brand of jacket within my price limit. And of that style there was only the color pink.
I don't wear pink.
Now, I looked out the giant panel window as the torrential storm continued. I suddenly became irritably aware of my lack of comfort in the damp clothing. Wet hairs had also plastered themselves to the back of my neck in an almost parasitic manner. I should really just crop it off to the length I had before. Long hair is really getting irritating.
Just then, a click sounded from PA system overhead followed by a woman's voice that projected an announcement over the hubbub of the shoppers around me.
"Attention, will the owner of a blue Yamaha YZF-R1 motorcycle please report to the parking lot? I repeat: a blue Yamaha YZF-R1 with license plate TG7S7. You left your headlights on."
"Oh no..." I groaned and sank against the glass panel. With my luck, the battery will die out and it won't matter whether the rain lets out or not, because I won't get out of here either way.
I rushed out into the rain, flinching as the cold droplets pelted against my skin. During my mad dash toward the south end of the lot, I wondered about something. If I left my headlights on, how could anyone possibly have noticed? I know I snapped the canvas cover over the motorcycle after I parked it. It's something I never forget to do when it rains, because I take meticulous care of that bike.
And if someone did indeed know the headlights were on, they would have had to entirely unfasten the canvas cover to get the model number and the license plate number.
But suddenly it made sense...
I stopped cold.
I stopped because I saw him there, leaning nonchalantly against the side of my bike, one hand supporting an umbrella over his head, and the other resting on the black canvas material that hooded the vehicle beside him.
He offered me a smile, white teeth flashing, lips arching into a curve, and blue eyes squinting up at the corners. "Hey, Brown Eyes."
Somehow he didn't seem as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Acting as if he had already greeted me upon my arrival back at del Oro. In some strange way, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that it was not too far from the truth.
"You didn't really leave your headlight on," he patted the bike seat. "I just..." He trailed off. He knows that I know. He just need to lure me out of hiding from him.
"How are you, Josh?" I asked weakly, smiling the best I could. A shiver ran up my spine and I was reminded of the rain that had not ceased its perpetual bombardment against me.
He noticed and walked toward me with the umbrella. I compensated for it by taking a few steps back. He noticed that too, and the smile faded from his face as his steps also halted.
"It's good to see you again," I smiled. It was. It truly was. The feelings I thought I had gotten rid of for him were reemerging. I realized that I have missed him so very much, and it made me question why I have all these questions. Questions about him, about the truth, and about why he couldn't ever give me the truth. And it also made me wonder if it really mattered. There were moments when I found myself wishing I could stop looking for the true or the false in what he tells me, and simply allow myself to slip back to him. Those moments never last though.
I need the truth from him, and I need the concomitant respect. I refuse to be treated like a child that can be pacified by sweet illusions and mere comfort. Whatever the truth was, he never gave it to me. Whenever he dashed off at inopportune times, he just left me to sift through his deluge of excuses and lies. All the lies, and all the stories that he feed me over a period of a year merged together and became the cleaver that severed our ties.
Now there he was. Standing quite motionless, with the umbrella extended slightly forward, offering me a shelter from the rain.
I didn't go to him. I stayed shivering in the rain and in the cold.
What is he presenting me with? The spot by his side. What else? Respect and truth? Or just smiles and lies? What are you still hiding from me Josh McGrath?
***Josh***
I wanted to see her. It's as simple as that. Simple and yet so complicated.
After the thrill of a victorious mission wears off, after the adrenaline rush dwindles down, after the sky-high ecstasy ebbs to nothing, I am simply lonely. I am not Max anymore, I am Josh. And I need company.
First, I called Pete. He was out and I merely got his absurd reply on the machine.
"This is Pete.
I'm not here.
To repeat,
I'm out there.
"Leave your voice,
Talk and yak,
Then rejoice,
'Cause I'll be back!"
It was followed by a shrill electronic beep.
"Hey, Josh here. I've got nothing to do tonight. Wanna catch a movie or go clubbing with the guys? Just call me back."
Pause.
"For goodness sakes Pete, GET RID of that stupid message!"
I was still alone.
I still wanted to see her again. Not as Max Steel, but as Josh McGrath. The one who had grown up with her and been her first love and first heartbreak. But like I said, things are still complicated. I wasn't even supposed to know that she was home.
In the end I went out for a drive to clear my head. And what do you know? I saw her, across the street, hastily shoving past a set of the double glass doors and shouldering her way into the mall for shelter from the rain.
At that moment I realized that we were almost playing a hide and seek game. And now that Josh McGrath had officially spotted her, he can confront her.
I didn't follow to find her. Instead, I found where she parked her bike and after a cell phone call to the mall's announcement office, just waited for her to come to me.
Now there she was. Standing drenched in the rain downpour, with hair matted to her skin from the wetness. She looked more forlorn than any image could possibly hope to look.
And she wouldn't let me get close to her. Was it pride? Was it suspicion? Was it stubbornness? Or was she afraid to need me again? But would that be so bad? I could see it in her eyes. She missed what we had, probably as much as I missed it myself.
"It's good to see you again," she said.
Was it? Why, then, didn't she want to see me sooner?
She was right when she told Max that I would have questions for her. I did. Lots of them. But now was not the time, and she wasn't ready for them.
"You'll catch a cold," I gently chided her and gestured for her to step under my umbrella. I didn't try walking up to her again because she would probably just back away again.
"No, it's okay." She fumbled a little with the helmet in her hand before putting it on and fastening the clasp under her chin. "I was just about to leave anyway."
Sidestepping me to her bike, she unfastened the black tarpaulin cover, quickly shook off the water, then folded up the sheet of fabric and stuffed it into the storage compartment under the passenger seat.
"My car's parked over there," I nodded over my shoulder. "I can drive you home, Laura."
"I'll be fine," she smiled faintly as she swung a leg over the seat and straddled the bike. "Thanks for the offer though."
I was somewhat frustrated with her reactions. I can only reach my hand out so far for you, Laura. Can't you just accept something, anything, that I'm offering you?
Her right foot kicked out the leaning support, and she gripped the throttle. Just when it seemed like she was ready to leave, she paused and reached out a hand to me, touching her palm gently to my chest, right over my heart.
Her expression seemed faraway and poignant. "I miss you Josh."
It caught me off guard. "I missed you too Laura."
She turned and just shook her head with disappointment. "No. I _miss_ you, now."
"But Laura, I'm right here." But even I knew that wasn't entirely true. I understood what she meant. She thinks I'm hiding the truth, that I'm still hiding a part of myself. She's right. The Max Steel side of me is always concealed in the back of my mind when I'm around her and so Josh McGrath is never with her a hundred percent anymore.
The rain that hit her face, slid off in paths that traced over the contours of her face. She almost looked like she was crying. But Laura does not cry.
"I'll call you later?"
She nodded wordlessly.
And as she rode off, I was left with was the subsiding roar of the engine in my ears.
I miss myself too, Laura. Sometimes, I miss myself too.
***Rachel***
There are days when nothing is easy, and every minute is just one fight to get to the next fight.
The harsh wind tore at my short, blonde hair, and the whirred deafeningly in my ears as I attempted to steer the tiny motorboat still closer to the larger vessel without losing any speed.
"Spyeshka! Hurry Rachel." Then a string of rushed Russian syllables tumbled out of his mouth. "On udiraty."
"Ivan," I shot my partner a harsh look, "Tishina vniz, and restrain yourself." I do not always understand every word out of his mouth, but I caught the general gist of his panicked gibberish. In this situation his attitude was both irksome and unhelpful. "I'm going as fast as I can."
We had to get Vitriol. If we don't apprehend him here, he could very easily slip out of the country. Then it would be 2 more weeks of work just to pinpoint him again. He was clever enough to have doped nearly our entire team, misleading our backup officers to follow a false trail to Omsk airport while he made his getaway through the Irtysh River. Ivan and I were the only ones who uncovered his real plots.
After maneuvering the boat in the position I wanted, I gestured for Ivan to take the controls. "Hold her steady," I yelled over the screaming of the high velocity winds. "I'll try to board."
He grabbed the wheel and I moved over to the edge of the boat. I carefully stepped onto the side ledge. With my knees bent and ready, I gauged the distance between the two boats with my eyes, and calculated the force of jump needed with my mind.
Just when I was ready to take a leap, the body of the other craft swerved violent and swung its end to strike the side of our boat forcefully. I lost my balance when the boat lurched under my feet and I was flung off, first into the air then into the river.
The icy-cold water shocked me. For a moment, time stood still as I tried to find which way was up. Finally I swam up and broke through the surface, taking in big gulps of air while a halo of water droplets splashed up around me.
I blinked the water from my eyes in time to see the bigger craft roar off into the distance. Our own motorboat had been tipped over and toppled from the collision it received. Vitriol got his escape, and all we could do was watch.
I let myself bob up and down along with the river current for the moment and just stared. My sopping wet hair sagged wistfully into my eyes.
They'll make me follow him.
We know he's heading back to the U.S. In fact, from what we've seen of his plans we're quite certain he's heading back to Del Oro.
They'll make me follow him back to Del Oro and right back to everything I had just ran from. Yes, Vitriol got his escape. In doing so, he stole my own escape for himself.
They'll make me go back to Max.
I wanted to curse them, one and all. I wanted to dive back under the waters and not come up.
But like always, I suppressed these feelings. They are unprofessional and amateurish. Rachel Leeds can be none of those things. If there is something to be done, she will do it to the best of her abilities, even if it was at the expense of her own heart.
Sometimes I grow tired of being me, of being this Rachel Leeds. But my persona has become a shell that I can't break out of. My reputation is the perfectly, stoically, calm surface of a lake that I'm afraid to disturb. I am nothing else if not absolutely professional and trained. And if I were not professional, would that not mean that I was nothing?
I stifled a sigh. Rachel Leeds does not waste her energy on despair and dismay.
I began my swim over to the overturned motorboat. If the radio is still working, we may be able to call N-Tek headquarters for a lift. If not, I suppose Ivan and I will have to swim some 300 yards to reach the nearest river bank.
Why is nothing ever easy on days like these?
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Note: I'm pretty certain the Russian vocabulary is right, though I can't vouch for the grammar or the phonetic spelling that I had to translate it into.
tishina vniz - calm down
saditysya – sit down
udiraty – getting away