Disclaimer: I bought all the rights to DA this week. Yup, I have the tattered receipt in my back pocket even as we speak.
A/N: I'm late, I know. I hate it when writers think they can just blow off a story for weeks at a time. It's shorter than the last chapter also, lo siento. My apologies. Don't worry, I have already given myself 40 lashes...with a wet noodle. It broke on the third lash, but who's really counting anyway. Not you! Heck, I'd be surprised if your still reading this stupid A/N thingy...I wouldn't be. ; )
"Joshua!" Alec bellowed out, his voice ringing against the walls of the house. Joshua looked up from his edition of "The National Inquirer" at the call of his name.
Last night's party had been a hit. But after Alec and Max's graceful departure, everyone made excuses to leave. A few stayed behind, including Original Cindy, to help clean the place up. O.C. seemed to be caught most of the time. She just couldn't decide on whether to tell the Big Fella he could throw a party to make anyone proud, apologize for the abrupt ending of it, or a conspiring talk between the two of them. She had several scenarios about the goings on between the "lovers". So naturally she did all three. Some of the possibilities still bounced around in Joshua's head a couple of weeks later. So logically he was enthused to hear the truth from an eyewitness. The other Three Musketeers were gone for awhile on a gun/literature/girlfriend hunt, leaving the perfect time for a heart to heart.
Alec rushed into the living room, crashing on the couch with all the grace of a dying armadillo. "Serious problem, Josh," he began. Rolling into a ball and burrowing his face into a pillow, the victim moaned pathetically. A muffled explanation managed its way from the tiny space between his face and the pillow all the way over to Joshua's chair. The elder transgenic had to have heard wrong.
"I'm sorry, Alec," he began. "Did you just say Max...?"
Alec lifted his face from the pillow a couple of inches. "... kisses a lot better than she cooks," he finished, even more defeated the second time, if K9 DNA wasn't mistaken. "A LOT better," he said strongly.
Launching to his feet, Alec retold the whole story in zealous detail. His anger. Her fear. Her hands on his chest. The taste of her lips. Her whimpering for more. No point was left untouched. What had taken less than fifteen minutes to destroy ended up taking a good hour to recap.
Joshua watched him carefully, wanting to compare notes with O.C.'s version of the story later. Alec's face was flushed, his hands moved about in erratic motions. He was worked up, and it seemed only his therapist could understand his torment.
And understand Joshua did, more than Alec even.
"What are you going to do?" Joshua asked carefully. This comment cut his friend short; he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Oh yes, Joshua understood. He would feel the same way if he were in Alec's shoes. He wouldn't know what to do either after falling in love for the second time.
Especially if he didn't know about it yet.
*****
Watching the rain pellets splatter against the window, Logan let out a muffled sigh of discontentment. Max had stealthily avoided him for over two weeks. No stopping by to see how he was holding up during their strained lapse in a "nonexistent" relationship. No hanging out at Crash with her inner-sanctum of lowlife, minimum wage goofballs. No familiar ring of the telephone, when Logan could hear the swaggering "Hittin' ya back" drawled on the other end of the line. Not even a message to say, "Hey Logan, I dropped off the edge of the planet. Just checkin' to make sure you know the latest." Or the even less likely, "I decided that underneath Alec's petulant, reckless, and immature facade there lies a compassionate and sensitive soul of a tortured artist...and I'm pregnant. CLICK."
Nada. Zilch. Zero.
Even Original Cindy had been avoiding him lately. Now that was something. Max's personal guru was not a woman who would beat around the bush under any circumstances. Unless of course the earth had fallen off her axis. She was the type who took the utmost pride in her innate ability to tell the truth "straight up". And yet, she hadn't looked him straight in the eye for over 14 days. Hmm.
But the biggest thrill of the entire psychotic flock was the normally unflinching husband. Logan, in yet another vain attempt to locate the elusive Max, had stumbled across Alec at Crash. He was in his usual spot at the bar, drinking his usual scotch, attracting the usual flock of gorgeous girls. But he was unusually blank...or lost in his own fight to achieve the ever-dodging state of blankness. He didn't acknowledge anybody, even the occasional daring lass who had "crashed" into him.
Logan had covertly watched Alec for over an hour. The chicks came and went trying to leave some sort of mark on the mysterious recluse. Not a dent. He didn't look left or right, just stared straight ahead of him. Alec was completely lost in the nonexistent movie, playing itself out in front of his face. His face flashed between anger, wonder, and loss. The hand would go from being completely slack to clenching the glass to the fine point of shattering it and back to slack within the flash of an eye.
The soldier was engrossed in his mission, analyzing and interchanging scenarios. With the target obviously locked at a crossroads of sorts, it finally dawned on the mole. He was thinking about Max. Only one girl could confuse this rebel that much. Logan had almost laughed out loud at the realization. He played detective at Crash for over an hour, surrounded by beer breath and pulsating beats not even close to musical, all to understand that Alec was reflecting on Max. It would have been hilarious, the utter waste of precious time and energy, if it wasn't for the undeniable fact that throughout his invisible drama, Alec kept fiddling with the wedding band on his hand.
Which had led the older man to this point. Stooped shoulders, unseeing eyes, and cozily enveloped in a general air of discontentment. He sighed yet again. Then he heard it, or actually sensed it.
Someone was in his apartment.
After several years with Max's unannounced drop ins, Logan had learned a heightened sense of awareness. The air strummed, bouncing off the walls. Yup, someone was certainly in his apartment, and not trying too hard to conceal their visit. Naturally light footsteps danced across the kitchen floor. Logan didn't even bother to turn around, smiling when he felt a pair of vigilant eyes fall on his figure.
It was about time Max had come and visited him. He was ready to turn around, the epitome of pleased welcome when he heard a muffled voice ring out, "Top o' the mornin'." A male voice. A certain pain-in-the-butt, scheming...
"Not even a hello, Logan? Is it menopause again?" he heard from behind him. Tense, Logan turned to face the intruder.
Alec. Complete with the shrewd smile and always-relaxed stance leaning insolently against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" he asked brusquely. No bothering with pleasantries. Sitting down with a stifled huff in a slightly frayed chair, Logan sized up his competition. Maybe before it would have been merely an estranged friendship, a mutual respect. Matters had always been taut between the two. Slight animosities had always lit up between them, which could usually be traced back to the Jewel caught between the rivals. The "estranged friendship" was being pulled even more taut when Max entered into the equation.
Logan had never really considered the other man as competition. Zack had been competition with a passion, obviously captivated in the spell Max had unwittingly placed on him. Men had come and gone, none of them seriously catching the apple of her eye.
Then here waltzes in a rival for her affections. An irregular player he was indeed.
~*~
Alec was the worst kind of competition. He had the most potential, holding the most - and best - cards, but he says he doesn't want to play poker. He'd lost before, and it cost him his shirt and left him in the rain. He sits in the back of the saloon, watching all the pseudo-cowboys lose hand after hand. Contestants drop. Stakes rise higher and the smug Frontrunner shines through.
Alec sits at the bar, watching the game out of the corner of his eye. He genuinely doesn't want to play, shaking his head at the pathetic bunch. It wasn't worth their time or money. Nevertheless, he watches the Stakes grow, and her appeal shines through. Almost worth the risk. As Alec watches the game, the fever strikes him also. Hot and turbulent. The pressure, the need to play, fight for an opportunity, and the slim odds of actually winning makes him forget the draw towards keeping his hard-earned cash. Finally, Inhibitions drop at the foot of the bar. He modestly makes his way across the crowded room, eyes never leaving Stakes.
At the peak of the game, Alec humbly asks to join the game for a hand or two. The Frontrunner boastfully tells him to pull up a chair. Even now, in the midst of his own personal fervor, he bets modestly. It was smarter to test the water, decide it was too cold, and pull out than to dive off the cliff yet again and drown. But as he watches Stakes rise impossibly high, he loses the need to play safe. The risk was definitely worth the trouble.
Then, of course, the bastard cleans house. Riding off into the sunset with the Stakes' arms draped around his waist, the Frontrunner is left high and dry.
~*~
Logan shuddered at his too potent imagery. He had to lay off the cowboy movies. That and Shakespeare. He focused his attention back on the cowboy who, within the last ten seconds of Logan's traitorous notions, had made his way across the living room and sat on the couch. Finally arranged "comfortably", Alec decided he had to open up the conversation.
"Got your message."
Oh yes. "The message was meant for Max." That would explain the unwanted visit. But it didn't explain the stress belied by his cozy position, the constant movement of some limb. Something had definitely happened the night of Joshua's party.
"True, but you said it was a two-person job."
"So?"
"Who'd you think she'd take?" an incredulous Alec asked. "Cindy...no, no, no. Sketchy, right? I mean he's got extensive training in the armed forces, if you count the times he sold his body to military science."
"What I meant," a baited Logan began. "Was that she might want to take someone else. Mony, for example."
"Logan," Alec began testily, oddly tired of mind games. He stood up and crossed towards the computer room. "For the past five years, missions have gone the best when both Max and I do them together." Logan, always being the bigger man, overlooked the heavy emphasis on the word "together". Alec didn't mean it to sound the way it did, but the thought still grated on his nerves. "I just dropped by to pick up the information, OK?"
Not daring to ask why Max wasn't there also, Logan gave a frustrated Alec a quick rundown. Alec guffawed. "So, we go in, pick up the gas, get out. Uh huh, definitely a two-person job. I mean, it's not like the average Rent-A-Cop couldn't pull the job or anything."
Logan's temper flared at the insult, so much for being the bigger man. "Did I mention," he gritted. "That the gas is toxic?"
"So I'll hold it really close to me," Alec fired back. He comically mimicked the motion, dramatically cradling his arms to his chest.
"A leak could do some serious damage."
"Permanent or temporary?"
"Temporary," Logan quietly bit off.
"How bad?"
"Fever," Logan began. "Nausea, seizure, heavy vomiting, delusions, et cetera."
"Contagious?"
"No."
"Hospitalization?"
"Not necessarily."
"Oh," a rebellious Alec said. "The usual, huh?"
Logan seethed under the younger man's criticisms. Sensing he had crossed some forbidden line, Alec bid a quick goodbye and left as quietly as he had come, already formulating his plans.
Logan's scowl deepened. Okay, so the cowboy had decided to try his luck at the poker table. He was putting money down, but not betting as heavy as he could...yet. Logan prayed for a miracle. Nothing to demanding, just that the five "bad" cards Alec had would show up in his hand for seven or eight rounds. Back to back would be preferable. Even the transgenic's stamina would run out by then.
Logan needed a miracle; God knows his personal stash of options were depleted.
*****
"So, what do you think Doggy-Dog?" Cindy asked worriedly. "It took Max two weeks to tell Original Cindy this much, Max normally doesn't bottle like this. One kiss would be bad enough, but two?"
"Two?" The dog-human's ears perked at the new piece of information. "Alec only said..."
"He doesn't know about the other one," O.C. interrupted him fussily. Joshua tilted his head in a question posed at the other counselor, but she was already busily formulating her own questions and doing her best to answer them with the little information she had. Off of his blank stare, she cautiously divulged the other kiss. Josh merely shook his head.
Another guilty silence swamped the already turbulent pair. Meticulously destroying her new manicure while trying to digest her fingers, Cindy glanced around Joshua's house uncomfortably. She really shouldn't be here. She should be at work, making sure Sketchy didn't catch his hair on fire while demonstrating the power of a spark and a can of hairspray. But that wasn't what had her destroying her hard-earned and finely polished nails. Part of her felt like she was destroying the confidence of sisterhood. When a girl comes to you with her problems, you just do not go and discuss the situation with a male, even if he was part man's best friend. Which was probably part of the problem, he WAS "man's best friend". A particular male.
A sudden peek in Joshua's direction told her he seemed to be feeling the same prickly vibes. The two shared small smiles, no longer conspiratorial, but rather glum. Reality was steadily settling herself in. Their friends were just too tough and too stubborn to come to terms serenely. No, those two would fight Fate until the end.
A quick hug and shared good-byes ensued. Josh turned back towards the basement, ready to help Dix in more research on a potential tenth planet. Cindy headed en route to Jam Pony, prepared to pull Sketchy's head from a toilet. Throughout the rest of the day, in the midst of Mole's swearing and Normal's yelling, they both came to one solid and sobering conclusion.
If those two wouldn't find each other, they'd probably die looking for the answer right in front of their noses.
*****
Max was weary. Done in, worn out, dead on your feet tired. After finally exposing almost classified information of "Operation: Been Kissed" and being followed around the entire day by Sketchy's usual antics, Normal's melodious bellows, and O.C.'s ever probing eyes, Max was sick of everything.
Grabbing a much-cherished cup of coffee, Max curled her fingers around it, relishing its steady heat. At least some things, like the spiritual healing power of coffee, never changed. She made her way towards her sanctuary, her room, with a relieved sigh. Unmanageable thoughts had dominated her for too long. Settling into her bed, Max prepared herself for a night of complete relaxation and blankness.
Enter Fate, stage left.
Max snapped out of her reverie of rare calmness with a jolt. Another loud thud banged against the locked door, even more desperate the second time. Swearing under her breath, she made her way to the door, throwing it open with a muffled, exasperated shriek. Was it too much to ask for...?
Just when she was going to lay into her intruder, a body heavily slammed into hers, succeeding in both knocking the wind out of Max and flooring her in the process. Slightly wheezing and fully enraged, it took the greater part of ten seconds to realize the body on top of hers was none other than Alec's.
And convulsing rather painfully. What the...?
All the while mindful of his obvious pain, Max never the less moved with a delicate hustle. In half a flash, Max had managed to pick up Alec's body and lug him into the nearest bedroom: hers. She laid him down on the bed and proceeded a quick check-up. After several moments of intense observation and stammered half-explanations from the aching half-wit husband, she was somewhat pleased to realize he wasn't, in fact, dying.
But even as sheer relief fell across the curves of her face and down to the rest of her body, an angst-ridden rage seeped its way up her torso starting at her toes.
So Max unconsciously decided to do what she would have done in any other situation: hit Alec. Her palm was inches away from contact when she saw Alec's eyes: pleading, desperate, and already in pain. Shocked at her own unintentional reaction, she quickly followed his next shaky command and made her way across the apartment like a tight end holding the winning touchdown. Dodging tackle after tackle, formerly known as the TV and couch, Max raced into the end zone, hastily dialing the familiar phone number.
"Hello," a male voice said.
"Logan, what do I do with Alec?" Max asked.
We must forgive men of the fact that their brains are more dense. Had Max called Original Cindy, for example, she would have understood by the sheer tone of Max's voice that quite obviously Alec was lying in a shriveled and shuddering version of the fetal position. Plus the fact that she was a lesbian, which gave her further study into the female psyche, Cindy would have comprehended the entire dire situation before she even picked up the phone.
But alas, Logan was a male, and their species always thought on a more "rational" level. Things are more logical and less controlled by unpredictable mood swings. While one moment a woman is laughing, the next moment she is crying. While one moment a man is laughing, the next moment he is...still laughing over the same inane joke. This male psyche - unable to change as rapidly as the female psyche - multiplied by his brooding mood, left a very perplexed Logan. While Original Cindy would be half way to Max's house, Logan was going through numerous possible scenarios that could involve the infamous Alec.
Too make a long story short, Logan was confused. "What do you mean, 'What do I do with Alec?'"
Max, predictably, let out a yet another muffled shriek and did the childish action of stomping not only one, but both feet. She exasperatedly explained the situation, all the while cursing men and their lack of understanding of important subtleties.
"Nothing," Logan said at the end of her presentation.
"What do you mean NOTHING?!?!"
"Max calm down," Logan began, all the while making soothing gestures with his hands even though the enraged bull couldn't see them. "He'll be fine. It's only temporary. Just do the regular stuff. Give him juice, keep him warm...you know, the regular stuff. Alec WON'T die. He'll be back to his usual hot-tempered self within a couple days. Unless of course, you leave him to dehydrate or throw him in a freezer for a few hours."
The shrill drone of the dial tone voiced Max's obvious displeasure at the ill-time joke.
*****
Alec, on the other hand, believed he really was dying. He could taste the bile rising in his throat again. Hadn't he thrown up enough in the past three or four eternities? "Only temporary," Alec managed to mimic Logan in his throbbing head. Yeah right. All Alec did was take a couple deep breaths of a noxious, secret-government gas, and his body's usual strength had retreated him. All this pain was a little harsh of a punishment, wouldn't ya say?
Purgatory had better watch out, the latest convert was just stepping through the boundary between the worlds. Even a swiftly failing Alec had to smile at the jest, even if it held all the energy of a dead battery. Purgatory wasn't necessary, even this convict knew he was firmly bound by the chains of Hell. He could hear a demon doing the role call, as another wave of pangs and frailties crashed against his rapidly crumbling rock, his rapidly crumbling strength. The soft feathers of the pillow beneath his head were ebbing away, as the heat of Hell expanded and covered everywhere from the tip of his toes to his parched lips and beyond. He heard his name called again and again, until the tone resonated in his flittering heart.
"Alec...Alec...Alec..." That timbre sound familiar.
Go figure, even the pits of Hell couldn't be an ironical sanctuary from the relentless grasp of Max.
Suddenly, another blissful and unending abyss began to cloud his vision, starting at the bottom of his brain and sneaking its way through the neurons on the never ending secret highways in his mind. Like a secret drug cartel, the void made its way bit by bit across the border of consciousness and unconsciousness, temporarily obliterating pain and despair. Only this drug, though more addictive than cocaine or another common street-drug, gave a more supreme high than cheap narcotics for this troubled soul: Oblivion. He knew he should fight it, but his body craved it, until the "drugs" took over his frenzied brain and shut it down. Alec gratefully let go of the wheel. He'd need all the strength he could save.
The worst was yet to come. Fate had only begun to deal her hand.
*****
"Alec...Alec...Alec..." each calling became a little more desperate. Dying or not, his pain was piercing an unusually sympathetic soul.
"Alec..."
"Max." Two voices, one primitive and gruff, the other cultured and street-wise, intertwined to try and call back their friend from her own cosmos. The brunette head snapped up. Two eyes cleared. Her hand released Alec from her soft pressure on his forearm. A quick glance down and Max zipped back to her own world, if only for a few more moments. Her fingers found themselves roving in his hair, damp from sick sweat. Then the moist fingers traced a puckered brow, momentarily sweeping away its crevices. One pained sigh echoed from both the souls on the bed.
"He's gone again," Max said simply, bleak.
"He'll be fine," Original Cindy said.
"I know," Max moaned. "I just can't help but feel..."
"Lost," she finished.
Max managed a weak nod in agreement. By this point in time, Logan had waltzed into the glum bedroom, the essence of unruffled talent, studying his printouts on the gas. Watching the re-entrance, Max's shoulders wilted even further. She quickly cast her eyes back to the source of the problem. "Remind me why we can't take him to the hospital again?" she asked. Cindy crossed the threshold nimbly and laid a tender hand on her shoulder. "You said so yourself boo, it isn't that bad..."
"At least he was coming back to consciousness every few minutes. He's been out for what, an hour?" In the short pause that followed, Max came to a final decision. "I'm calling an ambulance."
This time it was Josh who voiced his opposition. "No, Little Fella," he said steadily. "No. What happens with ambulance? People, ordinaries, think Manticore starts trouble again. It's over Max, but it isn't over. People say they accept us and are still afraid of what is different. Do you think a hospital will treat Alec? No. Tranny deliveries, yes. Bullet wounds, maybe. An undercover gas they don't understand isn't contagious, never. They won't let him within twenty feet of an ambulance, much less the actual hospital. They'll quarantine your apartment and write it all off as 'Those trannies are at it again.' Do you think Alec would want that?"
"No," Max weakly replied.
Logan broke the silence. "Listen," he said. "Even if we could get him to a hospital and they did take him in, there is nothing they can do, especially with a transgenic nervous system. Painkillers wouldn't do any good; the side effects override them. All they could do is give him an I.V. to make sure he didn't dehydrate. His fever should break within the next few couple hours anyway, and it's all downhill from there."
"Alright," she agreed. "We leave him here."
So they did all that they could do for the next few hours: sit and wait. Wait for the fever to break. Wait for signs of consciousness. Wait for a release that never seemed to turn up.
Within the next two hours, Logan had gone home. Original Cindy practically had to push the boy out the door, but he did leave. She sent Joshua to grab some take out. Max hadn't eaten in over ten hours, which couldn't be good on a high-speed metabolism. Giving the older transhuman some money, she closed the door behind him, put her forehead against the door, and let out a gusty sigh. Turning all the ball of her heel, O.C. went back to face Max.
Leaning against the doorway, she assessed her comrade. The girl did not look good. Stressed muscles, a frayed heart, and hunger did not make for an alluring Max. Not in most people's opinion anyway. With lips pressed into a fine line with worry, hair dangling in tangles, and brimful eyes, she'd never looked better. And O.C. would make a fair wager that Alec would share the opinion, if he'd only wake up.
After Max had unsuccessfully tried to get Alec to swallow water for the umpteenth time, her nerves snapped. She shot to her feet, slammed the glass down on the table, grabbed the keys to her baby, and was out the door without even an "I'll be back." Cindy of course took the whole situation with intense calm. She dutifully sat on Max's bed, and picked up the offending glass. Placing it to Alec's thirsty lips, she was more than pleased when he took a few small swallows. Placing his head back on the pillow, Cindy seemed to think for a moment. Then, doing a quick double-check to gauge their complete solitude, she impulsively placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "They say there is a fine line between love and hate, boo," she said. And after taking a quick sip for herself, she finished demurely, "and Original Cindy thinks this marriage is pushing her across the border."
*****
Alright, you know that you're dead when your entire life flashes before your eyes. Only this time, Fate had hit the slow motion button and gave a preview of your life in third person.
Even though he was still unconscious, a bombardment of visions too lifelike to be fantasy began their steady attack on the fragile mind. Alec watched himself complete his first assassination, the flittering loss that flashed over his features before being blockaded by the accepted soldier expression. He watched himself regain a small part of his soul after his first kiss with Rachel, only to be stolen away again by reindoctrination. A car detonated. A gun misfired. A comrade died. Image after image, memory after memory, lapped against his memories like the waves across the shore. It was a torture in and of itself, just when he thought there was a lapse in his crimes and his dashed hopes, another bittersweet surge of recollections threw themselves against his shore. Pushing his past to his feet like unfortunate shells caught in the wrong current, they seemed to dare Alec to stop their chronic tide.
A stiff fell. One night stands tried to push the impression of a certain fiery brunette from his mind. Innocent children cried. Their mothers screamed, trying to cover their brood with their own bodies, quickly transformed into a corpse. How could all of this agony exist in the world? How could Earth not implode herself, do the lesser wrong, end it all now?
Rushes of memories not seized control of Alec's brain. A mother holds her dead son. A teenage girl mourns the loss of an aborted child. Rape victims, orphaned children, street whores. Victim after victim after victim presented their faces to the unwilling voyager, only to shy away, too ashamed by their naked anguish. Why was he privy to all of this? What was the point of him seeing this throbbing? What unearthly being was trying to prove something to him?
In what seemed like eternities, but in all actuality only took a couple of minutes, Alec felt he saw every pained face in the world. Not a splinter was hidden from his view. Every want and need settled themselves in the pit of his stomach churning and burning red hot. How could Earth turn everyday when this colossal weight pulled at her surface?
Then, when all sanity seemed lost, the trance of pain shattered. Alec was thrown back into blackness. The last image weighed on his mind. Just when he was drowning in the quicksand of human sorrow, a hand shot down to pull him out. He couldn't quite remember what it looked like, his vision had been swimming in countless others' tears. But he could remember the distinct feel of it. Even now, the fingers still gripped his palm, offering an otherworldly peace. It felt as if the door was still open, the peace could still be his. Alec shook of the sensation, anything would feel like it offered an "otherworldly peace" when you felt yourself slipping under the burden of human decay. The peace still plagued at him though.
Maybe he wasn't dead after all.
*****
Max had come back, of course. It wasn't as if she were the type to high tail it out of town just because things got a little tough to bear. Joshua had been walking out of "Zhang Ziyi's House of Rice" when he saw Max gunning her black Ninja down the worn street. He flagged her down and she pulled a quick U-turn. They talked for a few minutes, on that grim street-corner, each taking this opportunity to voice the fears that couldn't be cast within the apartment. Feeling lighter, they both hopped on the back of Max's bike and hastened back home.
*****
Original Cindy on the other hand, felt heavier.
Alec was dead.
She could have sworn Alec had known he was going to die. His face contorted and his breaths became shallow. The tension from his body flushed out, and her heart stopped. He was dying. He was dying. No matter what Logan had said, Alec was dying and Max wasn't here to bid him any sort of goodbye. He stopped breathing as if he'd been suffocated. O.C. choked on her own sobs. The bastard had the nerve to die, before Max could even say goodbye. O.C.'s own world crumbled. The man she had known would take care of her boo was dead.
Still unbelieving, she placed her fingers against his throat, desperate for a pulse. Her hand fell away dejectedly.
It was over.
Doubling over with moans of a lost loved one, she practically screamed when she felt a warm hand touch her chin. Her eyes fearfully opened afraid it was just an illusion. The genial hand touching her face wasn't male, wasn't Alec's. Then her eyes met his and both sets were open. His eyes were lucid and had some indiscriminant light shining from them; his face lit up like an angel's. But the most startling thing was the tender peace seeping from his fingertips through her chin and down her body, settling in her heart.
The door to the apartment flung open. Joshua and Max were home; she could hear their playful bickering with her suddenly heightened senses. O.C.'s eyes blinked shut. When, they reopened, Alec was out again. Or maybe he never woke up. O.C. laid a hasty hand against his forehead and nearly sobbed with sheer relief when she realized it was cooler. Much cooler.
"Hey," Max said behind her. "How's he doing?"
"His fever broke," came the weak reply.
"Good. There is food out there, cashew chicken. Feel free to go get some, I'll keep next watch."
"Okay."
Cindy didn't even bother with the kitchen. Going to the bathroom she locked herself in and spun around to sit on the toilet. Desperate for some logical answer and finding none, she finally gave up and convinced herself she had been hallucinating. The lack of food and sleep had gotten to her.
Then she touched her chin.
Alec's peace was still there.
Weird, maybe. Confusing, probably. Cheesy, definitely. Don't worry IF you stick this sucker out until the end, it MIGHT make a bit more sense. Thank you for waiting it out.
I know, I know, I didn't edit it again. I am sorry. I am pressed for time and I was too excited to put it up. I'll do my best to edit the next chapter.
:: TEARS UP:: I just love you guys!
A/N: I'm late, I know. I hate it when writers think they can just blow off a story for weeks at a time. It's shorter than the last chapter also, lo siento. My apologies. Don't worry, I have already given myself 40 lashes...with a wet noodle. It broke on the third lash, but who's really counting anyway. Not you! Heck, I'd be surprised if your still reading this stupid A/N thingy...I wouldn't be. ; )
"Joshua!" Alec bellowed out, his voice ringing against the walls of the house. Joshua looked up from his edition of "The National Inquirer" at the call of his name.
Last night's party had been a hit. But after Alec and Max's graceful departure, everyone made excuses to leave. A few stayed behind, including Original Cindy, to help clean the place up. O.C. seemed to be caught most of the time. She just couldn't decide on whether to tell the Big Fella he could throw a party to make anyone proud, apologize for the abrupt ending of it, or a conspiring talk between the two of them. She had several scenarios about the goings on between the "lovers". So naturally she did all three. Some of the possibilities still bounced around in Joshua's head a couple of weeks later. So logically he was enthused to hear the truth from an eyewitness. The other Three Musketeers were gone for awhile on a gun/literature/girlfriend hunt, leaving the perfect time for a heart to heart.
Alec rushed into the living room, crashing on the couch with all the grace of a dying armadillo. "Serious problem, Josh," he began. Rolling into a ball and burrowing his face into a pillow, the victim moaned pathetically. A muffled explanation managed its way from the tiny space between his face and the pillow all the way over to Joshua's chair. The elder transgenic had to have heard wrong.
"I'm sorry, Alec," he began. "Did you just say Max...?"
Alec lifted his face from the pillow a couple of inches. "... kisses a lot better than she cooks," he finished, even more defeated the second time, if K9 DNA wasn't mistaken. "A LOT better," he said strongly.
Launching to his feet, Alec retold the whole story in zealous detail. His anger. Her fear. Her hands on his chest. The taste of her lips. Her whimpering for more. No point was left untouched. What had taken less than fifteen minutes to destroy ended up taking a good hour to recap.
Joshua watched him carefully, wanting to compare notes with O.C.'s version of the story later. Alec's face was flushed, his hands moved about in erratic motions. He was worked up, and it seemed only his therapist could understand his torment.
And understand Joshua did, more than Alec even.
"What are you going to do?" Joshua asked carefully. This comment cut his friend short; he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
Oh yes, Joshua understood. He would feel the same way if he were in Alec's shoes. He wouldn't know what to do either after falling in love for the second time.
Especially if he didn't know about it yet.
*****
Watching the rain pellets splatter against the window, Logan let out a muffled sigh of discontentment. Max had stealthily avoided him for over two weeks. No stopping by to see how he was holding up during their strained lapse in a "nonexistent" relationship. No hanging out at Crash with her inner-sanctum of lowlife, minimum wage goofballs. No familiar ring of the telephone, when Logan could hear the swaggering "Hittin' ya back" drawled on the other end of the line. Not even a message to say, "Hey Logan, I dropped off the edge of the planet. Just checkin' to make sure you know the latest." Or the even less likely, "I decided that underneath Alec's petulant, reckless, and immature facade there lies a compassionate and sensitive soul of a tortured artist...and I'm pregnant. CLICK."
Nada. Zilch. Zero.
Even Original Cindy had been avoiding him lately. Now that was something. Max's personal guru was not a woman who would beat around the bush under any circumstances. Unless of course the earth had fallen off her axis. She was the type who took the utmost pride in her innate ability to tell the truth "straight up". And yet, she hadn't looked him straight in the eye for over 14 days. Hmm.
But the biggest thrill of the entire psychotic flock was the normally unflinching husband. Logan, in yet another vain attempt to locate the elusive Max, had stumbled across Alec at Crash. He was in his usual spot at the bar, drinking his usual scotch, attracting the usual flock of gorgeous girls. But he was unusually blank...or lost in his own fight to achieve the ever-dodging state of blankness. He didn't acknowledge anybody, even the occasional daring lass who had "crashed" into him.
Logan had covertly watched Alec for over an hour. The chicks came and went trying to leave some sort of mark on the mysterious recluse. Not a dent. He didn't look left or right, just stared straight ahead of him. Alec was completely lost in the nonexistent movie, playing itself out in front of his face. His face flashed between anger, wonder, and loss. The hand would go from being completely slack to clenching the glass to the fine point of shattering it and back to slack within the flash of an eye.
The soldier was engrossed in his mission, analyzing and interchanging scenarios. With the target obviously locked at a crossroads of sorts, it finally dawned on the mole. He was thinking about Max. Only one girl could confuse this rebel that much. Logan had almost laughed out loud at the realization. He played detective at Crash for over an hour, surrounded by beer breath and pulsating beats not even close to musical, all to understand that Alec was reflecting on Max. It would have been hilarious, the utter waste of precious time and energy, if it wasn't for the undeniable fact that throughout his invisible drama, Alec kept fiddling with the wedding band on his hand.
Which had led the older man to this point. Stooped shoulders, unseeing eyes, and cozily enveloped in a general air of discontentment. He sighed yet again. Then he heard it, or actually sensed it.
Someone was in his apartment.
After several years with Max's unannounced drop ins, Logan had learned a heightened sense of awareness. The air strummed, bouncing off the walls. Yup, someone was certainly in his apartment, and not trying too hard to conceal their visit. Naturally light footsteps danced across the kitchen floor. Logan didn't even bother to turn around, smiling when he felt a pair of vigilant eyes fall on his figure.
It was about time Max had come and visited him. He was ready to turn around, the epitome of pleased welcome when he heard a muffled voice ring out, "Top o' the mornin'." A male voice. A certain pain-in-the-butt, scheming...
"Not even a hello, Logan? Is it menopause again?" he heard from behind him. Tense, Logan turned to face the intruder.
Alec. Complete with the shrewd smile and always-relaxed stance leaning insolently against the wall.
"What are you doing here?" he asked brusquely. No bothering with pleasantries. Sitting down with a stifled huff in a slightly frayed chair, Logan sized up his competition. Maybe before it would have been merely an estranged friendship, a mutual respect. Matters had always been taut between the two. Slight animosities had always lit up between them, which could usually be traced back to the Jewel caught between the rivals. The "estranged friendship" was being pulled even more taut when Max entered into the equation.
Logan had never really considered the other man as competition. Zack had been competition with a passion, obviously captivated in the spell Max had unwittingly placed on him. Men had come and gone, none of them seriously catching the apple of her eye.
Then here waltzes in a rival for her affections. An irregular player he was indeed.
~*~
Alec was the worst kind of competition. He had the most potential, holding the most - and best - cards, but he says he doesn't want to play poker. He'd lost before, and it cost him his shirt and left him in the rain. He sits in the back of the saloon, watching all the pseudo-cowboys lose hand after hand. Contestants drop. Stakes rise higher and the smug Frontrunner shines through.
Alec sits at the bar, watching the game out of the corner of his eye. He genuinely doesn't want to play, shaking his head at the pathetic bunch. It wasn't worth their time or money. Nevertheless, he watches the Stakes grow, and her appeal shines through. Almost worth the risk. As Alec watches the game, the fever strikes him also. Hot and turbulent. The pressure, the need to play, fight for an opportunity, and the slim odds of actually winning makes him forget the draw towards keeping his hard-earned cash. Finally, Inhibitions drop at the foot of the bar. He modestly makes his way across the crowded room, eyes never leaving Stakes.
At the peak of the game, Alec humbly asks to join the game for a hand or two. The Frontrunner boastfully tells him to pull up a chair. Even now, in the midst of his own personal fervor, he bets modestly. It was smarter to test the water, decide it was too cold, and pull out than to dive off the cliff yet again and drown. But as he watches Stakes rise impossibly high, he loses the need to play safe. The risk was definitely worth the trouble.
Then, of course, the bastard cleans house. Riding off into the sunset with the Stakes' arms draped around his waist, the Frontrunner is left high and dry.
~*~
Logan shuddered at his too potent imagery. He had to lay off the cowboy movies. That and Shakespeare. He focused his attention back on the cowboy who, within the last ten seconds of Logan's traitorous notions, had made his way across the living room and sat on the couch. Finally arranged "comfortably", Alec decided he had to open up the conversation.
"Got your message."
Oh yes. "The message was meant for Max." That would explain the unwanted visit. But it didn't explain the stress belied by his cozy position, the constant movement of some limb. Something had definitely happened the night of Joshua's party.
"True, but you said it was a two-person job."
"So?"
"Who'd you think she'd take?" an incredulous Alec asked. "Cindy...no, no, no. Sketchy, right? I mean he's got extensive training in the armed forces, if you count the times he sold his body to military science."
"What I meant," a baited Logan began. "Was that she might want to take someone else. Mony, for example."
"Logan," Alec began testily, oddly tired of mind games. He stood up and crossed towards the computer room. "For the past five years, missions have gone the best when both Max and I do them together." Logan, always being the bigger man, overlooked the heavy emphasis on the word "together". Alec didn't mean it to sound the way it did, but the thought still grated on his nerves. "I just dropped by to pick up the information, OK?"
Not daring to ask why Max wasn't there also, Logan gave a frustrated Alec a quick rundown. Alec guffawed. "So, we go in, pick up the gas, get out. Uh huh, definitely a two-person job. I mean, it's not like the average Rent-A-Cop couldn't pull the job or anything."
Logan's temper flared at the insult, so much for being the bigger man. "Did I mention," he gritted. "That the gas is toxic?"
"So I'll hold it really close to me," Alec fired back. He comically mimicked the motion, dramatically cradling his arms to his chest.
"A leak could do some serious damage."
"Permanent or temporary?"
"Temporary," Logan quietly bit off.
"How bad?"
"Fever," Logan began. "Nausea, seizure, heavy vomiting, delusions, et cetera."
"Contagious?"
"No."
"Hospitalization?"
"Not necessarily."
"Oh," a rebellious Alec said. "The usual, huh?"
Logan seethed under the younger man's criticisms. Sensing he had crossed some forbidden line, Alec bid a quick goodbye and left as quietly as he had come, already formulating his plans.
Logan's scowl deepened. Okay, so the cowboy had decided to try his luck at the poker table. He was putting money down, but not betting as heavy as he could...yet. Logan prayed for a miracle. Nothing to demanding, just that the five "bad" cards Alec had would show up in his hand for seven or eight rounds. Back to back would be preferable. Even the transgenic's stamina would run out by then.
Logan needed a miracle; God knows his personal stash of options were depleted.
*****
"So, what do you think Doggy-Dog?" Cindy asked worriedly. "It took Max two weeks to tell Original Cindy this much, Max normally doesn't bottle like this. One kiss would be bad enough, but two?"
"Two?" The dog-human's ears perked at the new piece of information. "Alec only said..."
"He doesn't know about the other one," O.C. interrupted him fussily. Joshua tilted his head in a question posed at the other counselor, but she was already busily formulating her own questions and doing her best to answer them with the little information she had. Off of his blank stare, she cautiously divulged the other kiss. Josh merely shook his head.
Another guilty silence swamped the already turbulent pair. Meticulously destroying her new manicure while trying to digest her fingers, Cindy glanced around Joshua's house uncomfortably. She really shouldn't be here. She should be at work, making sure Sketchy didn't catch his hair on fire while demonstrating the power of a spark and a can of hairspray. But that wasn't what had her destroying her hard-earned and finely polished nails. Part of her felt like she was destroying the confidence of sisterhood. When a girl comes to you with her problems, you just do not go and discuss the situation with a male, even if he was part man's best friend. Which was probably part of the problem, he WAS "man's best friend". A particular male.
A sudden peek in Joshua's direction told her he seemed to be feeling the same prickly vibes. The two shared small smiles, no longer conspiratorial, but rather glum. Reality was steadily settling herself in. Their friends were just too tough and too stubborn to come to terms serenely. No, those two would fight Fate until the end.
A quick hug and shared good-byes ensued. Josh turned back towards the basement, ready to help Dix in more research on a potential tenth planet. Cindy headed en route to Jam Pony, prepared to pull Sketchy's head from a toilet. Throughout the rest of the day, in the midst of Mole's swearing and Normal's yelling, they both came to one solid and sobering conclusion.
If those two wouldn't find each other, they'd probably die looking for the answer right in front of their noses.
*****
Max was weary. Done in, worn out, dead on your feet tired. After finally exposing almost classified information of "Operation: Been Kissed" and being followed around the entire day by Sketchy's usual antics, Normal's melodious bellows, and O.C.'s ever probing eyes, Max was sick of everything.
Grabbing a much-cherished cup of coffee, Max curled her fingers around it, relishing its steady heat. At least some things, like the spiritual healing power of coffee, never changed. She made her way towards her sanctuary, her room, with a relieved sigh. Unmanageable thoughts had dominated her for too long. Settling into her bed, Max prepared herself for a night of complete relaxation and blankness.
Enter Fate, stage left.
Max snapped out of her reverie of rare calmness with a jolt. Another loud thud banged against the locked door, even more desperate the second time. Swearing under her breath, she made her way to the door, throwing it open with a muffled, exasperated shriek. Was it too much to ask for...?
Just when she was going to lay into her intruder, a body heavily slammed into hers, succeeding in both knocking the wind out of Max and flooring her in the process. Slightly wheezing and fully enraged, it took the greater part of ten seconds to realize the body on top of hers was none other than Alec's.
And convulsing rather painfully. What the...?
All the while mindful of his obvious pain, Max never the less moved with a delicate hustle. In half a flash, Max had managed to pick up Alec's body and lug him into the nearest bedroom: hers. She laid him down on the bed and proceeded a quick check-up. After several moments of intense observation and stammered half-explanations from the aching half-wit husband, she was somewhat pleased to realize he wasn't, in fact, dying.
But even as sheer relief fell across the curves of her face and down to the rest of her body, an angst-ridden rage seeped its way up her torso starting at her toes.
So Max unconsciously decided to do what she would have done in any other situation: hit Alec. Her palm was inches away from contact when she saw Alec's eyes: pleading, desperate, and already in pain. Shocked at her own unintentional reaction, she quickly followed his next shaky command and made her way across the apartment like a tight end holding the winning touchdown. Dodging tackle after tackle, formerly known as the TV and couch, Max raced into the end zone, hastily dialing the familiar phone number.
"Hello," a male voice said.
"Logan, what do I do with Alec?" Max asked.
We must forgive men of the fact that their brains are more dense. Had Max called Original Cindy, for example, she would have understood by the sheer tone of Max's voice that quite obviously Alec was lying in a shriveled and shuddering version of the fetal position. Plus the fact that she was a lesbian, which gave her further study into the female psyche, Cindy would have comprehended the entire dire situation before she even picked up the phone.
But alas, Logan was a male, and their species always thought on a more "rational" level. Things are more logical and less controlled by unpredictable mood swings. While one moment a woman is laughing, the next moment she is crying. While one moment a man is laughing, the next moment he is...still laughing over the same inane joke. This male psyche - unable to change as rapidly as the female psyche - multiplied by his brooding mood, left a very perplexed Logan. While Original Cindy would be half way to Max's house, Logan was going through numerous possible scenarios that could involve the infamous Alec.
Too make a long story short, Logan was confused. "What do you mean, 'What do I do with Alec?'"
Max, predictably, let out a yet another muffled shriek and did the childish action of stomping not only one, but both feet. She exasperatedly explained the situation, all the while cursing men and their lack of understanding of important subtleties.
"Nothing," Logan said at the end of her presentation.
"What do you mean NOTHING?!?!"
"Max calm down," Logan began, all the while making soothing gestures with his hands even though the enraged bull couldn't see them. "He'll be fine. It's only temporary. Just do the regular stuff. Give him juice, keep him warm...you know, the regular stuff. Alec WON'T die. He'll be back to his usual hot-tempered self within a couple days. Unless of course, you leave him to dehydrate or throw him in a freezer for a few hours."
The shrill drone of the dial tone voiced Max's obvious displeasure at the ill-time joke.
*****
Alec, on the other hand, believed he really was dying. He could taste the bile rising in his throat again. Hadn't he thrown up enough in the past three or four eternities? "Only temporary," Alec managed to mimic Logan in his throbbing head. Yeah right. All Alec did was take a couple deep breaths of a noxious, secret-government gas, and his body's usual strength had retreated him. All this pain was a little harsh of a punishment, wouldn't ya say?
Purgatory had better watch out, the latest convert was just stepping through the boundary between the worlds. Even a swiftly failing Alec had to smile at the jest, even if it held all the energy of a dead battery. Purgatory wasn't necessary, even this convict knew he was firmly bound by the chains of Hell. He could hear a demon doing the role call, as another wave of pangs and frailties crashed against his rapidly crumbling rock, his rapidly crumbling strength. The soft feathers of the pillow beneath his head were ebbing away, as the heat of Hell expanded and covered everywhere from the tip of his toes to his parched lips and beyond. He heard his name called again and again, until the tone resonated in his flittering heart.
"Alec...Alec...Alec..." That timbre sound familiar.
Go figure, even the pits of Hell couldn't be an ironical sanctuary from the relentless grasp of Max.
Suddenly, another blissful and unending abyss began to cloud his vision, starting at the bottom of his brain and sneaking its way through the neurons on the never ending secret highways in his mind. Like a secret drug cartel, the void made its way bit by bit across the border of consciousness and unconsciousness, temporarily obliterating pain and despair. Only this drug, though more addictive than cocaine or another common street-drug, gave a more supreme high than cheap narcotics for this troubled soul: Oblivion. He knew he should fight it, but his body craved it, until the "drugs" took over his frenzied brain and shut it down. Alec gratefully let go of the wheel. He'd need all the strength he could save.
The worst was yet to come. Fate had only begun to deal her hand.
*****
"Alec...Alec...Alec..." each calling became a little more desperate. Dying or not, his pain was piercing an unusually sympathetic soul.
"Alec..."
"Max." Two voices, one primitive and gruff, the other cultured and street-wise, intertwined to try and call back their friend from her own cosmos. The brunette head snapped up. Two eyes cleared. Her hand released Alec from her soft pressure on his forearm. A quick glance down and Max zipped back to her own world, if only for a few more moments. Her fingers found themselves roving in his hair, damp from sick sweat. Then the moist fingers traced a puckered brow, momentarily sweeping away its crevices. One pained sigh echoed from both the souls on the bed.
"He's gone again," Max said simply, bleak.
"He'll be fine," Original Cindy said.
"I know," Max moaned. "I just can't help but feel..."
"Lost," she finished.
Max managed a weak nod in agreement. By this point in time, Logan had waltzed into the glum bedroom, the essence of unruffled talent, studying his printouts on the gas. Watching the re-entrance, Max's shoulders wilted even further. She quickly cast her eyes back to the source of the problem. "Remind me why we can't take him to the hospital again?" she asked. Cindy crossed the threshold nimbly and laid a tender hand on her shoulder. "You said so yourself boo, it isn't that bad..."
"At least he was coming back to consciousness every few minutes. He's been out for what, an hour?" In the short pause that followed, Max came to a final decision. "I'm calling an ambulance."
This time it was Josh who voiced his opposition. "No, Little Fella," he said steadily. "No. What happens with ambulance? People, ordinaries, think Manticore starts trouble again. It's over Max, but it isn't over. People say they accept us and are still afraid of what is different. Do you think a hospital will treat Alec? No. Tranny deliveries, yes. Bullet wounds, maybe. An undercover gas they don't understand isn't contagious, never. They won't let him within twenty feet of an ambulance, much less the actual hospital. They'll quarantine your apartment and write it all off as 'Those trannies are at it again.' Do you think Alec would want that?"
"No," Max weakly replied.
Logan broke the silence. "Listen," he said. "Even if we could get him to a hospital and they did take him in, there is nothing they can do, especially with a transgenic nervous system. Painkillers wouldn't do any good; the side effects override them. All they could do is give him an I.V. to make sure he didn't dehydrate. His fever should break within the next few couple hours anyway, and it's all downhill from there."
"Alright," she agreed. "We leave him here."
So they did all that they could do for the next few hours: sit and wait. Wait for the fever to break. Wait for signs of consciousness. Wait for a release that never seemed to turn up.
Within the next two hours, Logan had gone home. Original Cindy practically had to push the boy out the door, but he did leave. She sent Joshua to grab some take out. Max hadn't eaten in over ten hours, which couldn't be good on a high-speed metabolism. Giving the older transhuman some money, she closed the door behind him, put her forehead against the door, and let out a gusty sigh. Turning all the ball of her heel, O.C. went back to face Max.
Leaning against the doorway, she assessed her comrade. The girl did not look good. Stressed muscles, a frayed heart, and hunger did not make for an alluring Max. Not in most people's opinion anyway. With lips pressed into a fine line with worry, hair dangling in tangles, and brimful eyes, she'd never looked better. And O.C. would make a fair wager that Alec would share the opinion, if he'd only wake up.
After Max had unsuccessfully tried to get Alec to swallow water for the umpteenth time, her nerves snapped. She shot to her feet, slammed the glass down on the table, grabbed the keys to her baby, and was out the door without even an "I'll be back." Cindy of course took the whole situation with intense calm. She dutifully sat on Max's bed, and picked up the offending glass. Placing it to Alec's thirsty lips, she was more than pleased when he took a few small swallows. Placing his head back on the pillow, Cindy seemed to think for a moment. Then, doing a quick double-check to gauge their complete solitude, she impulsively placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "They say there is a fine line between love and hate, boo," she said. And after taking a quick sip for herself, she finished demurely, "and Original Cindy thinks this marriage is pushing her across the border."
*****
Alright, you know that you're dead when your entire life flashes before your eyes. Only this time, Fate had hit the slow motion button and gave a preview of your life in third person.
Even though he was still unconscious, a bombardment of visions too lifelike to be fantasy began their steady attack on the fragile mind. Alec watched himself complete his first assassination, the flittering loss that flashed over his features before being blockaded by the accepted soldier expression. He watched himself regain a small part of his soul after his first kiss with Rachel, only to be stolen away again by reindoctrination. A car detonated. A gun misfired. A comrade died. Image after image, memory after memory, lapped against his memories like the waves across the shore. It was a torture in and of itself, just when he thought there was a lapse in his crimes and his dashed hopes, another bittersweet surge of recollections threw themselves against his shore. Pushing his past to his feet like unfortunate shells caught in the wrong current, they seemed to dare Alec to stop their chronic tide.
A stiff fell. One night stands tried to push the impression of a certain fiery brunette from his mind. Innocent children cried. Their mothers screamed, trying to cover their brood with their own bodies, quickly transformed into a corpse. How could all of this agony exist in the world? How could Earth not implode herself, do the lesser wrong, end it all now?
Rushes of memories not seized control of Alec's brain. A mother holds her dead son. A teenage girl mourns the loss of an aborted child. Rape victims, orphaned children, street whores. Victim after victim after victim presented their faces to the unwilling voyager, only to shy away, too ashamed by their naked anguish. Why was he privy to all of this? What was the point of him seeing this throbbing? What unearthly being was trying to prove something to him?
In what seemed like eternities, but in all actuality only took a couple of minutes, Alec felt he saw every pained face in the world. Not a splinter was hidden from his view. Every want and need settled themselves in the pit of his stomach churning and burning red hot. How could Earth turn everyday when this colossal weight pulled at her surface?
Then, when all sanity seemed lost, the trance of pain shattered. Alec was thrown back into blackness. The last image weighed on his mind. Just when he was drowning in the quicksand of human sorrow, a hand shot down to pull him out. He couldn't quite remember what it looked like, his vision had been swimming in countless others' tears. But he could remember the distinct feel of it. Even now, the fingers still gripped his palm, offering an otherworldly peace. It felt as if the door was still open, the peace could still be his. Alec shook of the sensation, anything would feel like it offered an "otherworldly peace" when you felt yourself slipping under the burden of human decay. The peace still plagued at him though.
Maybe he wasn't dead after all.
*****
Max had come back, of course. It wasn't as if she were the type to high tail it out of town just because things got a little tough to bear. Joshua had been walking out of "Zhang Ziyi's House of Rice" when he saw Max gunning her black Ninja down the worn street. He flagged her down and she pulled a quick U-turn. They talked for a few minutes, on that grim street-corner, each taking this opportunity to voice the fears that couldn't be cast within the apartment. Feeling lighter, they both hopped on the back of Max's bike and hastened back home.
*****
Original Cindy on the other hand, felt heavier.
Alec was dead.
She could have sworn Alec had known he was going to die. His face contorted and his breaths became shallow. The tension from his body flushed out, and her heart stopped. He was dying. He was dying. No matter what Logan had said, Alec was dying and Max wasn't here to bid him any sort of goodbye. He stopped breathing as if he'd been suffocated. O.C. choked on her own sobs. The bastard had the nerve to die, before Max could even say goodbye. O.C.'s own world crumbled. The man she had known would take care of her boo was dead.
Still unbelieving, she placed her fingers against his throat, desperate for a pulse. Her hand fell away dejectedly.
It was over.
Doubling over with moans of a lost loved one, she practically screamed when she felt a warm hand touch her chin. Her eyes fearfully opened afraid it was just an illusion. The genial hand touching her face wasn't male, wasn't Alec's. Then her eyes met his and both sets were open. His eyes were lucid and had some indiscriminant light shining from them; his face lit up like an angel's. But the most startling thing was the tender peace seeping from his fingertips through her chin and down her body, settling in her heart.
The door to the apartment flung open. Joshua and Max were home; she could hear their playful bickering with her suddenly heightened senses. O.C.'s eyes blinked shut. When, they reopened, Alec was out again. Or maybe he never woke up. O.C. laid a hasty hand against his forehead and nearly sobbed with sheer relief when she realized it was cooler. Much cooler.
"Hey," Max said behind her. "How's he doing?"
"His fever broke," came the weak reply.
"Good. There is food out there, cashew chicken. Feel free to go get some, I'll keep next watch."
"Okay."
Cindy didn't even bother with the kitchen. Going to the bathroom she locked herself in and spun around to sit on the toilet. Desperate for some logical answer and finding none, she finally gave up and convinced herself she had been hallucinating. The lack of food and sleep had gotten to her.
Then she touched her chin.
Alec's peace was still there.
Weird, maybe. Confusing, probably. Cheesy, definitely. Don't worry IF you stick this sucker out until the end, it MIGHT make a bit more sense. Thank you for waiting it out.
I know, I know, I didn't edit it again. I am sorry. I am pressed for time and I was too excited to put it up. I'll do my best to edit the next chapter.
:: TEARS UP:: I just love you guys!