Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't want to either. (Okay, so I lied.)
A/N: I know, another long sabbatical between chapters. But I just finished up Driver's Ed and marching band, which could do a number on anyone's sanity. Not that the excuses are acceptable, but I just like giving them anyway. :)
Like A Virgin
"Put it out," Max commanded in a fierce murmur. Mole growled in response, his usual glower deepening.
"Now."
Not to anyone's surprise, the lizard just kept sucking on his cigar. Dix, with his usual intuition, decided to intervene with a more "emotional appeal" before Max and Mole had an old fashion WWF brawl, complete with garbage cans and folding chairs, or so the legends went. "Listen, Mole," he interrupted, bodily separating the two transgens, each on the verge of starting WWIV judging by the defiant stares passing between the feuding countries. "Let's have a truce. If you're going to smoke, at least do it in the other room. The aroma can't be good for the guy and if you two start fighting he won't be able to get any sleep...which he needs."
"Fine," came the dry voice. In a slight huff, Mole doused the cigar, oddly resembling a grouchy three year-old.
"Breakfast is ready." Luke quietly dashed into the room, anxious about...well, he always seemed a bit anxious, but at least today he had a viable excuse. He needed to vacate the room of Mole and Max before their rumbling stomachs began another small spat, disturbing the finally peacefully sleeping Alec. On the other hand, he couldn't wake up the invalid in the process. Rounding up the three, he milked the aromas of a home-cooked meal of all their worth to make peace between the tribes. Max and Mole's small tiff about the cigar was quickly forgotten in distinct fragrance off eggs, hash browns, sausage, toast, and fresh-brewed coffee, so flawlessly prepared by Cindy and Luke. Blindly following their noses, the feuding tribes stole a small glance at each other, sharing a small smile.
Original Cindy was right. A thrift store, hot glue, chocolate, or a good meal could solve almost any dilemma.
*****
Using a crowbar, Alec managed to pry open his heavy eyelids. The first glimpse of light shot through his blood-shot pupils, ricocheting around in his vulnerable brain like a demon-possessed boomerang. The vault doors closed forcefully again. Better prepared the second time, Alec tried the whole nauseating concept of "sight" once again. Plan A, just opening his eyes seemed to fail miserably, so he shot for Plan B: blink rapidly. It took a good three minutes before he could blink twice in one second. Exhausted by the efforts, Alec let his mind blank out as his eyes unseeingly honed in on a crack in the ceiling. He concentrated his attention on each part of his body, in quick check to make sure all necessary parts were indeed intact, even if they did seem to be attached by duct tape, rubber cement, and tinsel from old-fashioned Christmas trees.
If it weren't for the awkward weight of Jupiter on his chest, a head full of liquid lead, and the undeniable muscle spasms that left his left arm flailing like a dying fish on the deck, Alec would have felt fine. Peachy, even. But alas, all the aforementioned symptoms had struck, plus a few others left unmentionable due to masculine pride. He didn't feel so hot. Rearrangement would be nice. Maybe some of the lead would flow from his head and weigh down his left arm, if Alec could just get his upper body propped up.
Out of the corner of a bleary eye, he noticed a sleeping form partially sprawled next to his stomach, the chin-length hair thrown in every direction. Max. There was a god. Now, all he had to do was get her attention, also known as waking her up. Simple enough in theory, but more complicated in real life. Yeah, that god that obviously existed seemed to have one warped sense of humor. She was less than a foot away yet it felt like an ocean lay between them. How in the name of Avogadro's Number was he supposed to get her attention? Speaking seemed to be completely out of the question and the only part of his body that seemed to be moving - albeit unwillingly - was his arm.
A light bulb went off in his head, a black light bulb.
With a devious mental smirk, Alec converged all the energy left in his drained body to slowly situate his floundering left arm. It bounced an inch from his body...an inch and a half...two...almost there...perfect. Now that it seemed position to satisfaction he began to rotate his arm until the angle was perfect and his mission was complete.
Thwack!
Alec's wrist bashed into Max's forehead. An annoyed moan seeped from the victim. Alec did manage a slight grin at the sound.
Mission status: Accomplished.
"What the...? Oh." Max was up like a rocket, painfully bouncing the bed in the process. Alec tried to sound out a manly moan, but all he gave was a whimper. Well, at least his vocal cords were starting to work again. "I'm sorry," Max mumbled pitifully. She searched his face vigorously, "Do you need anything? Water? Another blanket?"
'Do you need anything?' Alec thought incredulously. Now despite Alec's aggressive upbringing, he had never considered himself a "violent man". But at this moment he would have given anything to be able to sit up, grab Max by the shoulders and shake her, all the while yelling "Vicodin!" Instead, he settled for a low, rasping, "Up."
Max immediately and - thankfully - gently complied. She sat down lightly next to him, and softly curled one hand around his far shoulder as the other cupped the back of his head and neck. Alec quickly blamed the small shivers on yet another side effect of the gas, not because her pinky had brushed his barcode or anything. Even though Max had slowly, carefully bent his body towards her, it seemed like Alec had instantly found his forehead in the curve of her neck. The fingers on his neck moved to rearrange the pillows behind him. The hand on his shoulder had slowly drifted down and lined up with his suddenly liquid spine, her elbow reached toward the crevice in the small of his damp back while the fingers absentmindedly massaged the area where his back and neck met. Needless to say, coiled against his wife in such an intimate position was probably the most uncomfortable Alec had ever been in his life.
Sex was straight to the point, they even taught the "Art of Seduction" back at good ol' Manticore. One night stands he had no problem detaching his emotions from, grasping at mere physical pleasure and deadening his heart. He was in control then. Being strong and lusted after was empty but flawless. He didn't want to be filled. He didn't want anything. No attachments. No commitments. No nothing.
But this, this...whatever it was, was prickly. Troublesome. Upsetting. It wasn't like lightening had struck him in some deranged epiphany. No, this was worse. Desire, passion, "The Itch" were his friends, his means of survival. His lightening. They burned furious, bright, and fast, then died at the first signs of winter. This, on the other hand, was tender and unrushed. This was what he had been avoiding all of his life, even with Rachel. Like the peace - which he was beginning to question the existence of - this embrace made him want...it just made him want. It made him hungry, starving even. Alec wasn't used to hunger; his soldier facade from Manticore seemed to control his very heart. Ignorance was truly bliss. It was so much easier to cope with emptiness when you didn't realize it could even exist.
It didn't help matters that his still tremulous arm kept bouncing against her welcoming body.
How could he allow himself to be vulnerable in front of the person he needed to be strongest in front of? A few months of marriage to this hellcat were tearing down his strongholds. Absolutely pathetic. The soldier in him would never have allowed this helplessness to exist, much less be shown. How could this diminutive breeze of comfort and caring be more turbulent than moments of passionate tempests?
And most importantly, what was taking Max so long to rearrange three pillows?
Even as the question was forming in his mind, another one of those hands with their merciless chase to steal his better judgment came into contact with his shoulder. Alec's entire upper torso jerked at the contact, partially from being driven from his reverie and partially from fear. Of course, "jerking" was not what his body really wanted to do at the moment, and like the rest of his personality, it was never afraid to voice its complaints. A hiss escaped him. But it was a manly hiss, Alec thought to himself. At least it sounded like it came from a soldier instead of a mushy child. Max hissed with him and she pulled back, but still kept her firm hold on Alec.
"I'm sorry," Max whispered.
"'S okay," Alec managed. At least he was using his neck to support his head now, not hers. But even that seemed to be a bitter victory. And again, he instantly found himself resting against the pillow. This was perfect, at least Max wasn't cradling him anymore.
Or it would've been perfect.
If only Max wasn't laying on top of him, ever so lightly.
To be fair, Alec understood completely how this position had come to be. In her need to lay him down gently her body had overcompensated in a doubly exerted attempt to control his heavier body. It was simple mathematics. But still, her cheek rested against his. Max's hair had this maddening talent for tracing Alec's jaw back to his ear. And to top it all off, Max was breathing, so therefore Alec could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own.
Oh boy.
It was simple biology, which it seemed even a poisonous gas couldn't really impair. Certain parts of her female anatomy even lightly pressed up against his male anatomy seemed to cause reactions (i.e. heavy breathing, increased heart rate and blood pressure, etc.), especially in his already over-sensitized state of being. Plus the fact that he hadn't been laid in about 4 years.
Needless to say, Alec was once again feeling rather uncomfortable. Or a little too comfortable, however you would prefer to look at it. And the uncomfortable-comfortableness only intensified when Alec sensed Max's own reluctance to pull from the hold.
Oh boy.
After a few pleasurably excruciating minutes for both parties, Common Sense called Max's name.
This was Alec.
Oh.
A nice hefty reality slap ensued. Much to both of their amazements, Max managed to leap out the bed without disturbing the invalid. Even in these dire circumstances, Max managed to be amusing. Alec had to fight back the smirk at the gratifying sight of a flushed-faced, harsh-breathing, jittery, and - most importantly- speechless Max.
'A little too gratifying don't you think?' a tiny voice in the back of his mind sounded. The smirk fell.
"I'm just...gonna...get you some...yeah," Max stammered, flying out of the room.
With a dry chuckle, Alec tried to push the last several minutes' happenings out of his mind. Nevertheless, he drifted off to sleep with the feeling of a soft cheek resting against his, and an uncanny, solid grasp on his hand.
*****
"A toast," Sketchy drunkenly said, "to Alec and Max."
"Here, here," Original Cindy agreed, raising her mug in salute with Max.
"May it be my first and last one-year anniversary," Alec joked. Max, in an unusually bright mood, laughed.
The episode of the poisonous gas seemed long past. It was time to celebrate. And where else would true Jam Pony members celebrate than at Crash? Even the Four Musketeers had joined them on the occasion. Although the transhumans usually preferred the basement life, and Crash was normally shady towards Manticore alumni not of the X-series, it seemed both parties had put aside their differences out of a common love for Max and Alec. Not that the party didn't receive odd stares when Mole nearly tackled Luke, or when Dix tried to order a Black Russian in Russian. The transgenic sense of humor seemed lost on the ordinaries.
"God knows no one else could put up with you that long," Max chuckled.
Alec went into his Drama Queen Mode. "Max," he started, the epitome of sincerity, if it weren't for the dancing eyes. "You wound me, truly." He threw a hand over his heart and wiped away an imaginary tear for added effect. "We are talking an unusual loss of confidence here. I just might never be able to dredge up enough self-esteem to seriously date another woman again."
"Well that would be a critical loss for the female population," came the dry reply behind him. Both Max and Alec looked at each other, simultaneously mouthing the word "Minette", silently laughing at their shared thought. Original Cindy of course, merely rolled her eyes, while Sketchy made no attempt to mask his drunken ogling.
"May I sit here?" came the syrupy sweet question. Sketchy, with abnormal inebriated grace of motion, competently cleared his feet of the chair next to him and swiped an alcohol-sloshed napkin across the seat in a dismal attempt at clearing his foot soot.
"Thank you," she simpered, elegantly sitting down. Max made a silent thank you to God that she didn't have any feelings for Alec. Trying to stay nose and nose in a race against her would be impossible. Repulsive as Max found Minette, she would probably be just Alec's type. She just oozed sexuality, her every movement making promises nearly no man could refuse.
"Happy anniversary Alec," Minette beamed. Max and Original Cindy coughed at the same time, neither trying to hard to attempt hiding their true intentions. "You too Max," she said blandly. The two friends on the other side of the table shared a look and shook their heads with the air of two long-suffering. They both found it rather entertaining, to be honest, how Minette never hid her disdain for Max, trying to psych her out or something. Instead it had the opposite effect. As long as Max knew that Minette hated her, Max knew she was nothing like her. And that was good thing.
Max let Alec and Minette drift into yet another insipid conversation, no skin off of her transgenic nose. Too bad Max didn't realize that conversation was painfully one-sided. But Original Cindy did, as she always noticed things her best friend never picked up on, never began to comprehend. Alec didn't even pretend to take his attention off of his wife sometimes. Oh, sure, he still had the "Glance and Run" sessions, but they were increasingly less frequent. And increasingly more bold. He'd sit back and take some sort of contentment in simply watching his wife, whether she would be sparring with Normal, cooking with O.C., or just daydreaming. 'It's about time someone at least considers making a move,' O.C. thought. Glancing across the table, she came into to contact with another contemplative gaze: Joshua's. Conspiratorial smiles back in place, they both raised their beer mugs in another salute.
Unaware of her husband's adamant gaze or her friends' contemplations, Max challenged Luke to a game of foosball, which he readily complied to. Joshua had been teaching the younger man how to play. And as a quick learner, he was excited to test his skills on a new opponent. Practically arm in arm, the two made their way to the table.
They had been growing a lot closer lately. Since Max had declared Joshua's house as her second home, she had therefore adopted the tenants as her brothers. With Mole she shared a love-hate relationship, they loved to hate each other; Dix, a love for learning. But Luke was something special, Max felt an acute protectiveness over him. In some ways, he reminded her of Jack, the one who never made it out of Manticore. They were both sweet and about as imposing as a daisy.
The rounds themselves weren't too eventful though. Luke would win one, Max the next. Much more interesting was the conversation.
"So, Luke. How much money did you win?" Max asked, making a quick score.
Mole, Luke, and Dix had had a bet going. Mole thought Alec would kill Max before their one-year anniversary, while Dix thought it would be the other way around. Luke, the most daring gambler of the bunch, thought that they would actually make it through their first year of wedded "bliss" intact. Sometimes it seemed as if Mole would win, and then Dix's side came back with a roundhouse kick. But as Fate would have it, Luke actually won.
"A hundred bucks a piece," Luke responded readily, beaming with pride.
Max whistled in appreciation. "With that kind of money you won't be on the market that much longer, will ya?" she said, her smile only widening when she saw the telltale color cover both of her friend's pale cheeks. "How has the market been treating you lately?" she asked. Luke shrugged evasively, clearly hiding something.
"Who is she?" Max asked, unafraid to probe further. No amount of cajoling or even threats seemed to drag the name from his lips. With a theatrical sigh, Max rolled up her sleeves. "Luke," she began, her tone a congenial warning. "You know I hate to do this to you of all people but..." Trailing off and made one last check. Satisfied the patrons in the bar were few and to smashed to care, she launched her attack.
Luke squealed when she found the severely ticklish spots on both of his sides, which she had accidentally discovered the week before in a cooking lesson gone terribly wrong. Sure, Max had mastered the art of boiling water, but had yet to learn to cook pasta. At the moment she thought she would crack from aggravation, she felt something gooey splash on her neck. Egg yolk. Needless to say, the food fight of all food fights ensued. It wasn't even a fight, war had been officially declared. Covered in egg yolk and flour, Max had finally rolled him to the ground and resorted to the playful methods of torture, which actually worked.
And Max was not above resorting to them yet again, even if it was in the middle of a dirty - though nearly empty - bar.
After several moments of having the upper hand with Luke pinned against the table giggling helplessly, he deftly ducked around the prying fingers and wrestled Max to the ground. Amongst the ringing laughter he had managed to pin her. And when they glanced around the bar again they laughed even more heartily at their friends' obvious shock.
"Okay, so you win...this time," Max imparted impishly. Satisfied, Luke lifted himself off of her stomach, vainly trying to hide his pride.
"Oh, don't look so smug," the loser warned. "Next time, I show no mercy."
"Oh what are you going to do Max?" Luke countered heading back to the table. Although their friends had resumed their conversations, they had yet to take their eyes off of the pair. "Hmm...chocolate syrup me to death? Make me a dinner?" He said loudly, loudly enough for the entire table to hear.
"Why I oughta..." Max laughed, lunging for the offender. Thankfully for Luke, O.C. had come to his defense, grabbing the would-be murderer by the waist. "Now, now, ladies," the blockade warned. "Don't make me pull this car over."
"Yeah," Max agreed. She pointed one finger at her perp, pretending to struggle against Cindy's very lax grasp. "You consider your butt lucky she's holding me back."
"I always thought X5's were weak, but you Niner's must be something pathetic if an ordinary can hold you back," Luke retorted through a giggle. He squealed when Max jumped for him again. Slipping on one of Sketchy's many beer spills, Luke found himself in Alec's lap. Max stopped her endeavor, nearly doubled over with laughter at her boy's clumsiness. With a good-natured but slightly embarrassed laugh, the klutz pulled from his cushion. His apology died on his lips though, when he saw Alec's eyes. They were angry, but there was something more, obscure and feral. If Luke didn't know any better, it say it look a little bit...He shot out of his lap, more than a little afraid. Alec had never looked at him like that before. Logan, sure, but not him. He and Alec were buddies.
The - jealous? - eyes followed Luke's progress in straightening, catching sight of the still laughing Max behind the offender. His eyes flashed with something deeper than the green-eyed monster, then softened. The gaze flew back to Luke. "It's no problem, man," he said, with another smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. But it seemed to be enough. Whatever Luke had done to upset his long-time friend, seemed to have mystically cleared itself up.
The Four Musketeers cleared the place pretty quickly after the incident. Dix wanted to start his study on the life of Lavosier as soon as possible, there was a home-cooking show Luke simply could not miss, Josh was just dog-tired (pardon the pun), and Mole had a very expensive cigar shipment coming in, surprise surprise. With a quick round of thank you's for the three, plus a hug for Luke and Dix, and a quick punch Mole, Max sat back down. She let her head fall back against the chair, and let out a grateful sigh. The world wasn't perfect, but she had made some nice progress within the past few years. She opened her eyes lazily, afraid this moment of pure contentment would pass all too quickly.
The moment was gone, for when Max began to resume a more appropriate "drinking posture" - the one where the subject idly leans over his/her drink and his/her arms drape carelessly on the table, one hand playing with his/her beer - she came across the liquid fire gaze of Minette. Max, too happy to be brood over her overcast attitude, and always taking a rather perverse satisfaction in pissing her off, turned on her million-watt smile for the heifer. Minette's angry glower only deepened, if it was humanly - or superhumanly - possible, which only gave the generator another half a million watts to work with.
Unfortunately, pessimistic chumps like Minette always seemed to have a backup plan.
She turned her glare into a rather "sympathetic" study, almost bordering on "friendly" and "concerned". Uh oh, that couldn't be too good. "It's almost sad actually," she began conversationally, as if this was some sort of discussion that was being continued, which it absolutely wasn't.
Faintly wary, but not quite willing to fall to the bait, Max responded with a light, "Oh?"
"Yeah," the confrontational reply stretched across the table. What the heck, Max was game. "What's so 'sad'?" she asked.
Yes waiter, could I order a Big Mistake?
The spiteful gleam returned to the still "sympathetic" eye. "It's just that, you know, you seem kind of desperate for male attention."
Check please, table one?
Max knew she should do the mature thing. 'Just nod vaguely, grab your coat, smile, and leave,' her Good Side whispered to herself. The Bad Side didn't even bother to show up, she knew better. She knew her Side would pull through. Confrontation was Max's first nature and middle name...if she had one. Not only that, but this conversation had struck the attention of the entire table. Cindy had just about created Old Faithful in her demonstration of the perfect arc of Miller beer across the table. Alec had recovered from his unusual fascination with the drops of condensation on the outside of his own mug, obviously awaiting a reply. Even the drunk Sketchy had somehow singled out the few sober neurons in his brain to absorb this tête-à-tête. There was no graceful way to bow out, at least that is what Max told herself.
"Desperate for male attention?" Max repeated serenely. The Bad Side of Max calmly moved the beer out of her line of targeting and bashed her head against the table. Great comeback. She'll really back off now.
"Yeah, you know, Luke had his hands all over you."
Max would have guffawed, if only Alec hadn't completely focused his entire attention on her at that precise moment. His eyes seared hers, and Max could help but notice the twitching muscle in Alec's strong jaw. After a long silence, Max said, "We were just messing around." Bad Side used her forehead to make another dent in the beer-slick table.
A rather unsightly grin spread across Minette's pretty features. "Oh, sure. I know that. But it seems kind of sad that the only time it seems anyone sees a guy touching you is when your wrestling with Luke or somebody, or fighting with Alec."
Alec's jaw tensed to the point of splintering. He turned a dark glare on the voluptuous dark-haired beauty beside him, who seemed to miss the daggers. If only the decided gleam in Minette's eyes hadn't flamed brighter. She had gotten to both of them. Kill two birds with one stone. If Alec liked to fight with the girls he was attracted to, fine. She could piss him off just as well as Max.
Well, almost.
"What's your point?" Max replied through clenched teeth. Bad Side, returned to her masochistic banging, verging on the point of brain damage. 'Do something!' it screamed. 'Or we'll just have to take home this splintered table and duct tape it to the wall as a memento for this momentous occasion.' "I mean, just because I don't sleep around like a desperate whore, you know," repeating Minette's condescending tone with the words 'you know'. "Does that mean I automatically resort to flying fists for sexual gratification?" Max sounded off, pleased at Minette's sudden silence.
But, like Alec's silences, hers didn't last long, and tended to come back with a blunt response that could stop traffic.
"When was the last time you got laid, Max?" she shot. The bull crap was officially cleared, the girl had pulled out the big guns.
Amazingly enough, at this point in time, instead of worrying about a retort to shut the heifer up, she just stared at Alec. His eyes locked with hers, genuine interest, along with something else unnamed, tangoed dangerously in his orbs. Her senses heightened. Alec swallowed thickly, never glancing away, almost unblinking. She could hear Cindy's manicured nails scratch away the cheap waxy build up on the table, itching. Obviously they would be more comfortably placed around Minette's ivory throat. Sketchy gasped, or hiccupped; they kind of both sounded the same when he was drunk. Crickets chirped excitedly in the background. And Alec had yet to take his eyes off of hers. She couldn't take her own from his, locked in a whirlpool and confusion.
"Never," she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Beg pardon?"
Somehow, from the pit of her stomach, Max summoned the strength to pull herself out of the whirlpool, her eyes shifting towards the prosecutor. "Never," she repeated louder, with more force.
"You mean..."
"...you're a virgin?" Alec finished quietly, in complete disbelief. All the table's gazes veered quickly in Alec's direction, amazed he'd spoken up, he who'd been silent since the moment Minette had waltzed like a harem headmistress towards the table.
Okay, so Sketchy's gaze kind of "tripped" in Alec's general direction. Details, details.
Max mustered up her pride and nodded her head regally. Bad Side had packed her bags. 'After all these years of snappy comebacks and winning verbal wars, she snapped under the pressure of this whore' It muttered, along with several other words not acceptable in mixed company. It ran to the rainy curb calling, 'Taxi! Taxi!'
Minette predictably laughed. "How far you ever go with a guy?" she asked.
"You know, you ain't gotta answer that..." O.C. tried to intervene.
"I have yet to hit second base," Max stated, suddenly more proud of herself than before. At least she wasn't like Minette.
"You never let a guy feel you up?" Minette guffawed. Alec's gaze pierced his wife even more acutely, becoming stormy and yet, glazing over with a respect. Almost. Maybe?
Max used whatever it was Alec was shooting at her - it definitely wasn't condescending - to say something in her defense. "I don't know, I just, you know." Again, that drawled 'you know'. "I just happen to think that it would be better to be prude than to be some lowlife, off-the-street, greet-to-sheet...do you prefer morally challenged or flat out whore?" she snapped.
Cindy, admirably calm up to this point in time, slammed her hand down on the table, startling the occupants of the entire bar. "Can I get an 'Amen'?!?"
Tension broken, Minette slunk out of the bar with a foreboding glare towards Max, who shook it off with ease.
Alec took a last shot of brandy and grabbed his coat, ready to head home. "Amen," he murmured inaudibly. Not that it mattered whether Max could hear him, she was already too engrossed with a round of high-fives with Original Cindy.
Of course, the plastered Sketchmeister was the only one to catch it, but only because he'd been watching Alec's posture throughout most of the verbal brawl. Now, Sketchy had known Alec for over six years, and he'd never seen his mysterious friend in such caged intensity as he had been that night. He kept shooting hungry glances Max's way, like he wanted to swallow her whole, or something.
But forty-five minutes later, home safely and having spent the last 12 minutes paying his nightly respects to Mr. Toilet Bowl, Sketchy figured the alcohol poisoning had been playing with his vision.
A/N: I know, another long sabbatical between chapters. But I just finished up Driver's Ed and marching band, which could do a number on anyone's sanity. Not that the excuses are acceptable, but I just like giving them anyway. :)
Like A Virgin
"Put it out," Max commanded in a fierce murmur. Mole growled in response, his usual glower deepening.
"Now."
Not to anyone's surprise, the lizard just kept sucking on his cigar. Dix, with his usual intuition, decided to intervene with a more "emotional appeal" before Max and Mole had an old fashion WWF brawl, complete with garbage cans and folding chairs, or so the legends went. "Listen, Mole," he interrupted, bodily separating the two transgens, each on the verge of starting WWIV judging by the defiant stares passing between the feuding countries. "Let's have a truce. If you're going to smoke, at least do it in the other room. The aroma can't be good for the guy and if you two start fighting he won't be able to get any sleep...which he needs."
"Fine," came the dry voice. In a slight huff, Mole doused the cigar, oddly resembling a grouchy three year-old.
"Breakfast is ready." Luke quietly dashed into the room, anxious about...well, he always seemed a bit anxious, but at least today he had a viable excuse. He needed to vacate the room of Mole and Max before their rumbling stomachs began another small spat, disturbing the finally peacefully sleeping Alec. On the other hand, he couldn't wake up the invalid in the process. Rounding up the three, he milked the aromas of a home-cooked meal of all their worth to make peace between the tribes. Max and Mole's small tiff about the cigar was quickly forgotten in distinct fragrance off eggs, hash browns, sausage, toast, and fresh-brewed coffee, so flawlessly prepared by Cindy and Luke. Blindly following their noses, the feuding tribes stole a small glance at each other, sharing a small smile.
Original Cindy was right. A thrift store, hot glue, chocolate, or a good meal could solve almost any dilemma.
*****
Using a crowbar, Alec managed to pry open his heavy eyelids. The first glimpse of light shot through his blood-shot pupils, ricocheting around in his vulnerable brain like a demon-possessed boomerang. The vault doors closed forcefully again. Better prepared the second time, Alec tried the whole nauseating concept of "sight" once again. Plan A, just opening his eyes seemed to fail miserably, so he shot for Plan B: blink rapidly. It took a good three minutes before he could blink twice in one second. Exhausted by the efforts, Alec let his mind blank out as his eyes unseeingly honed in on a crack in the ceiling. He concentrated his attention on each part of his body, in quick check to make sure all necessary parts were indeed intact, even if they did seem to be attached by duct tape, rubber cement, and tinsel from old-fashioned Christmas trees.
If it weren't for the awkward weight of Jupiter on his chest, a head full of liquid lead, and the undeniable muscle spasms that left his left arm flailing like a dying fish on the deck, Alec would have felt fine. Peachy, even. But alas, all the aforementioned symptoms had struck, plus a few others left unmentionable due to masculine pride. He didn't feel so hot. Rearrangement would be nice. Maybe some of the lead would flow from his head and weigh down his left arm, if Alec could just get his upper body propped up.
Out of the corner of a bleary eye, he noticed a sleeping form partially sprawled next to his stomach, the chin-length hair thrown in every direction. Max. There was a god. Now, all he had to do was get her attention, also known as waking her up. Simple enough in theory, but more complicated in real life. Yeah, that god that obviously existed seemed to have one warped sense of humor. She was less than a foot away yet it felt like an ocean lay between them. How in the name of Avogadro's Number was he supposed to get her attention? Speaking seemed to be completely out of the question and the only part of his body that seemed to be moving - albeit unwillingly - was his arm.
A light bulb went off in his head, a black light bulb.
With a devious mental smirk, Alec converged all the energy left in his drained body to slowly situate his floundering left arm. It bounced an inch from his body...an inch and a half...two...almost there...perfect. Now that it seemed position to satisfaction he began to rotate his arm until the angle was perfect and his mission was complete.
Thwack!
Alec's wrist bashed into Max's forehead. An annoyed moan seeped from the victim. Alec did manage a slight grin at the sound.
Mission status: Accomplished.
"What the...? Oh." Max was up like a rocket, painfully bouncing the bed in the process. Alec tried to sound out a manly moan, but all he gave was a whimper. Well, at least his vocal cords were starting to work again. "I'm sorry," Max mumbled pitifully. She searched his face vigorously, "Do you need anything? Water? Another blanket?"
'Do you need anything?' Alec thought incredulously. Now despite Alec's aggressive upbringing, he had never considered himself a "violent man". But at this moment he would have given anything to be able to sit up, grab Max by the shoulders and shake her, all the while yelling "Vicodin!" Instead, he settled for a low, rasping, "Up."
Max immediately and - thankfully - gently complied. She sat down lightly next to him, and softly curled one hand around his far shoulder as the other cupped the back of his head and neck. Alec quickly blamed the small shivers on yet another side effect of the gas, not because her pinky had brushed his barcode or anything. Even though Max had slowly, carefully bent his body towards her, it seemed like Alec had instantly found his forehead in the curve of her neck. The fingers on his neck moved to rearrange the pillows behind him. The hand on his shoulder had slowly drifted down and lined up with his suddenly liquid spine, her elbow reached toward the crevice in the small of his damp back while the fingers absentmindedly massaged the area where his back and neck met. Needless to say, coiled against his wife in such an intimate position was probably the most uncomfortable Alec had ever been in his life.
Sex was straight to the point, they even taught the "Art of Seduction" back at good ol' Manticore. One night stands he had no problem detaching his emotions from, grasping at mere physical pleasure and deadening his heart. He was in control then. Being strong and lusted after was empty but flawless. He didn't want to be filled. He didn't want anything. No attachments. No commitments. No nothing.
But this, this...whatever it was, was prickly. Troublesome. Upsetting. It wasn't like lightening had struck him in some deranged epiphany. No, this was worse. Desire, passion, "The Itch" were his friends, his means of survival. His lightening. They burned furious, bright, and fast, then died at the first signs of winter. This, on the other hand, was tender and unrushed. This was what he had been avoiding all of his life, even with Rachel. Like the peace - which he was beginning to question the existence of - this embrace made him want...it just made him want. It made him hungry, starving even. Alec wasn't used to hunger; his soldier facade from Manticore seemed to control his very heart. Ignorance was truly bliss. It was so much easier to cope with emptiness when you didn't realize it could even exist.
It didn't help matters that his still tremulous arm kept bouncing against her welcoming body.
How could he allow himself to be vulnerable in front of the person he needed to be strongest in front of? A few months of marriage to this hellcat were tearing down his strongholds. Absolutely pathetic. The soldier in him would never have allowed this helplessness to exist, much less be shown. How could this diminutive breeze of comfort and caring be more turbulent than moments of passionate tempests?
And most importantly, what was taking Max so long to rearrange three pillows?
Even as the question was forming in his mind, another one of those hands with their merciless chase to steal his better judgment came into contact with his shoulder. Alec's entire upper torso jerked at the contact, partially from being driven from his reverie and partially from fear. Of course, "jerking" was not what his body really wanted to do at the moment, and like the rest of his personality, it was never afraid to voice its complaints. A hiss escaped him. But it was a manly hiss, Alec thought to himself. At least it sounded like it came from a soldier instead of a mushy child. Max hissed with him and she pulled back, but still kept her firm hold on Alec.
"I'm sorry," Max whispered.
"'S okay," Alec managed. At least he was using his neck to support his head now, not hers. But even that seemed to be a bitter victory. And again, he instantly found himself resting against the pillow. This was perfect, at least Max wasn't cradling him anymore.
Or it would've been perfect.
If only Max wasn't laying on top of him, ever so lightly.
To be fair, Alec understood completely how this position had come to be. In her need to lay him down gently her body had overcompensated in a doubly exerted attempt to control his heavier body. It was simple mathematics. But still, her cheek rested against his. Max's hair had this maddening talent for tracing Alec's jaw back to his ear. And to top it all off, Max was breathing, so therefore Alec could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his own.
Oh boy.
It was simple biology, which it seemed even a poisonous gas couldn't really impair. Certain parts of her female anatomy even lightly pressed up against his male anatomy seemed to cause reactions (i.e. heavy breathing, increased heart rate and blood pressure, etc.), especially in his already over-sensitized state of being. Plus the fact that he hadn't been laid in about 4 years.
Needless to say, Alec was once again feeling rather uncomfortable. Or a little too comfortable, however you would prefer to look at it. And the uncomfortable-comfortableness only intensified when Alec sensed Max's own reluctance to pull from the hold.
Oh boy.
After a few pleasurably excruciating minutes for both parties, Common Sense called Max's name.
This was Alec.
Oh.
A nice hefty reality slap ensued. Much to both of their amazements, Max managed to leap out the bed without disturbing the invalid. Even in these dire circumstances, Max managed to be amusing. Alec had to fight back the smirk at the gratifying sight of a flushed-faced, harsh-breathing, jittery, and - most importantly- speechless Max.
'A little too gratifying don't you think?' a tiny voice in the back of his mind sounded. The smirk fell.
"I'm just...gonna...get you some...yeah," Max stammered, flying out of the room.
With a dry chuckle, Alec tried to push the last several minutes' happenings out of his mind. Nevertheless, he drifted off to sleep with the feeling of a soft cheek resting against his, and an uncanny, solid grasp on his hand.
*****
"A toast," Sketchy drunkenly said, "to Alec and Max."
"Here, here," Original Cindy agreed, raising her mug in salute with Max.
"May it be my first and last one-year anniversary," Alec joked. Max, in an unusually bright mood, laughed.
The episode of the poisonous gas seemed long past. It was time to celebrate. And where else would true Jam Pony members celebrate than at Crash? Even the Four Musketeers had joined them on the occasion. Although the transhumans usually preferred the basement life, and Crash was normally shady towards Manticore alumni not of the X-series, it seemed both parties had put aside their differences out of a common love for Max and Alec. Not that the party didn't receive odd stares when Mole nearly tackled Luke, or when Dix tried to order a Black Russian in Russian. The transgenic sense of humor seemed lost on the ordinaries.
"God knows no one else could put up with you that long," Max chuckled.
Alec went into his Drama Queen Mode. "Max," he started, the epitome of sincerity, if it weren't for the dancing eyes. "You wound me, truly." He threw a hand over his heart and wiped away an imaginary tear for added effect. "We are talking an unusual loss of confidence here. I just might never be able to dredge up enough self-esteem to seriously date another woman again."
"Well that would be a critical loss for the female population," came the dry reply behind him. Both Max and Alec looked at each other, simultaneously mouthing the word "Minette", silently laughing at their shared thought. Original Cindy of course, merely rolled her eyes, while Sketchy made no attempt to mask his drunken ogling.
"May I sit here?" came the syrupy sweet question. Sketchy, with abnormal inebriated grace of motion, competently cleared his feet of the chair next to him and swiped an alcohol-sloshed napkin across the seat in a dismal attempt at clearing his foot soot.
"Thank you," she simpered, elegantly sitting down. Max made a silent thank you to God that she didn't have any feelings for Alec. Trying to stay nose and nose in a race against her would be impossible. Repulsive as Max found Minette, she would probably be just Alec's type. She just oozed sexuality, her every movement making promises nearly no man could refuse.
"Happy anniversary Alec," Minette beamed. Max and Original Cindy coughed at the same time, neither trying to hard to attempt hiding their true intentions. "You too Max," she said blandly. The two friends on the other side of the table shared a look and shook their heads with the air of two long-suffering. They both found it rather entertaining, to be honest, how Minette never hid her disdain for Max, trying to psych her out or something. Instead it had the opposite effect. As long as Max knew that Minette hated her, Max knew she was nothing like her. And that was good thing.
Max let Alec and Minette drift into yet another insipid conversation, no skin off of her transgenic nose. Too bad Max didn't realize that conversation was painfully one-sided. But Original Cindy did, as she always noticed things her best friend never picked up on, never began to comprehend. Alec didn't even pretend to take his attention off of his wife sometimes. Oh, sure, he still had the "Glance and Run" sessions, but they were increasingly less frequent. And increasingly more bold. He'd sit back and take some sort of contentment in simply watching his wife, whether she would be sparring with Normal, cooking with O.C., or just daydreaming. 'It's about time someone at least considers making a move,' O.C. thought. Glancing across the table, she came into to contact with another contemplative gaze: Joshua's. Conspiratorial smiles back in place, they both raised their beer mugs in another salute.
Unaware of her husband's adamant gaze or her friends' contemplations, Max challenged Luke to a game of foosball, which he readily complied to. Joshua had been teaching the younger man how to play. And as a quick learner, he was excited to test his skills on a new opponent. Practically arm in arm, the two made their way to the table.
They had been growing a lot closer lately. Since Max had declared Joshua's house as her second home, she had therefore adopted the tenants as her brothers. With Mole she shared a love-hate relationship, they loved to hate each other; Dix, a love for learning. But Luke was something special, Max felt an acute protectiveness over him. In some ways, he reminded her of Jack, the one who never made it out of Manticore. They were both sweet and about as imposing as a daisy.
The rounds themselves weren't too eventful though. Luke would win one, Max the next. Much more interesting was the conversation.
"So, Luke. How much money did you win?" Max asked, making a quick score.
Mole, Luke, and Dix had had a bet going. Mole thought Alec would kill Max before their one-year anniversary, while Dix thought it would be the other way around. Luke, the most daring gambler of the bunch, thought that they would actually make it through their first year of wedded "bliss" intact. Sometimes it seemed as if Mole would win, and then Dix's side came back with a roundhouse kick. But as Fate would have it, Luke actually won.
"A hundred bucks a piece," Luke responded readily, beaming with pride.
Max whistled in appreciation. "With that kind of money you won't be on the market that much longer, will ya?" she said, her smile only widening when she saw the telltale color cover both of her friend's pale cheeks. "How has the market been treating you lately?" she asked. Luke shrugged evasively, clearly hiding something.
"Who is she?" Max asked, unafraid to probe further. No amount of cajoling or even threats seemed to drag the name from his lips. With a theatrical sigh, Max rolled up her sleeves. "Luke," she began, her tone a congenial warning. "You know I hate to do this to you of all people but..." Trailing off and made one last check. Satisfied the patrons in the bar were few and to smashed to care, she launched her attack.
Luke squealed when she found the severely ticklish spots on both of his sides, which she had accidentally discovered the week before in a cooking lesson gone terribly wrong. Sure, Max had mastered the art of boiling water, but had yet to learn to cook pasta. At the moment she thought she would crack from aggravation, she felt something gooey splash on her neck. Egg yolk. Needless to say, the food fight of all food fights ensued. It wasn't even a fight, war had been officially declared. Covered in egg yolk and flour, Max had finally rolled him to the ground and resorted to the playful methods of torture, which actually worked.
And Max was not above resorting to them yet again, even if it was in the middle of a dirty - though nearly empty - bar.
After several moments of having the upper hand with Luke pinned against the table giggling helplessly, he deftly ducked around the prying fingers and wrestled Max to the ground. Amongst the ringing laughter he had managed to pin her. And when they glanced around the bar again they laughed even more heartily at their friends' obvious shock.
"Okay, so you win...this time," Max imparted impishly. Satisfied, Luke lifted himself off of her stomach, vainly trying to hide his pride.
"Oh, don't look so smug," the loser warned. "Next time, I show no mercy."
"Oh what are you going to do Max?" Luke countered heading back to the table. Although their friends had resumed their conversations, they had yet to take their eyes off of the pair. "Hmm...chocolate syrup me to death? Make me a dinner?" He said loudly, loudly enough for the entire table to hear.
"Why I oughta..." Max laughed, lunging for the offender. Thankfully for Luke, O.C. had come to his defense, grabbing the would-be murderer by the waist. "Now, now, ladies," the blockade warned. "Don't make me pull this car over."
"Yeah," Max agreed. She pointed one finger at her perp, pretending to struggle against Cindy's very lax grasp. "You consider your butt lucky she's holding me back."
"I always thought X5's were weak, but you Niner's must be something pathetic if an ordinary can hold you back," Luke retorted through a giggle. He squealed when Max jumped for him again. Slipping on one of Sketchy's many beer spills, Luke found himself in Alec's lap. Max stopped her endeavor, nearly doubled over with laughter at her boy's clumsiness. With a good-natured but slightly embarrassed laugh, the klutz pulled from his cushion. His apology died on his lips though, when he saw Alec's eyes. They were angry, but there was something more, obscure and feral. If Luke didn't know any better, it say it look a little bit...He shot out of his lap, more than a little afraid. Alec had never looked at him like that before. Logan, sure, but not him. He and Alec were buddies.
The - jealous? - eyes followed Luke's progress in straightening, catching sight of the still laughing Max behind the offender. His eyes flashed with something deeper than the green-eyed monster, then softened. The gaze flew back to Luke. "It's no problem, man," he said, with another smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. But it seemed to be enough. Whatever Luke had done to upset his long-time friend, seemed to have mystically cleared itself up.
The Four Musketeers cleared the place pretty quickly after the incident. Dix wanted to start his study on the life of Lavosier as soon as possible, there was a home-cooking show Luke simply could not miss, Josh was just dog-tired (pardon the pun), and Mole had a very expensive cigar shipment coming in, surprise surprise. With a quick round of thank you's for the three, plus a hug for Luke and Dix, and a quick punch Mole, Max sat back down. She let her head fall back against the chair, and let out a grateful sigh. The world wasn't perfect, but she had made some nice progress within the past few years. She opened her eyes lazily, afraid this moment of pure contentment would pass all too quickly.
The moment was gone, for when Max began to resume a more appropriate "drinking posture" - the one where the subject idly leans over his/her drink and his/her arms drape carelessly on the table, one hand playing with his/her beer - she came across the liquid fire gaze of Minette. Max, too happy to be brood over her overcast attitude, and always taking a rather perverse satisfaction in pissing her off, turned on her million-watt smile for the heifer. Minette's angry glower only deepened, if it was humanly - or superhumanly - possible, which only gave the generator another half a million watts to work with.
Unfortunately, pessimistic chumps like Minette always seemed to have a backup plan.
She turned her glare into a rather "sympathetic" study, almost bordering on "friendly" and "concerned". Uh oh, that couldn't be too good. "It's almost sad actually," she began conversationally, as if this was some sort of discussion that was being continued, which it absolutely wasn't.
Faintly wary, but not quite willing to fall to the bait, Max responded with a light, "Oh?"
"Yeah," the confrontational reply stretched across the table. What the heck, Max was game. "What's so 'sad'?" she asked.
Yes waiter, could I order a Big Mistake?
The spiteful gleam returned to the still "sympathetic" eye. "It's just that, you know, you seem kind of desperate for male attention."
Check please, table one?
Max knew she should do the mature thing. 'Just nod vaguely, grab your coat, smile, and leave,' her Good Side whispered to herself. The Bad Side didn't even bother to show up, she knew better. She knew her Side would pull through. Confrontation was Max's first nature and middle name...if she had one. Not only that, but this conversation had struck the attention of the entire table. Cindy had just about created Old Faithful in her demonstration of the perfect arc of Miller beer across the table. Alec had recovered from his unusual fascination with the drops of condensation on the outside of his own mug, obviously awaiting a reply. Even the drunk Sketchy had somehow singled out the few sober neurons in his brain to absorb this tête-à-tête. There was no graceful way to bow out, at least that is what Max told herself.
"Desperate for male attention?" Max repeated serenely. The Bad Side of Max calmly moved the beer out of her line of targeting and bashed her head against the table. Great comeback. She'll really back off now.
"Yeah, you know, Luke had his hands all over you."
Max would have guffawed, if only Alec hadn't completely focused his entire attention on her at that precise moment. His eyes seared hers, and Max could help but notice the twitching muscle in Alec's strong jaw. After a long silence, Max said, "We were just messing around." Bad Side used her forehead to make another dent in the beer-slick table.
A rather unsightly grin spread across Minette's pretty features. "Oh, sure. I know that. But it seems kind of sad that the only time it seems anyone sees a guy touching you is when your wrestling with Luke or somebody, or fighting with Alec."
Alec's jaw tensed to the point of splintering. He turned a dark glare on the voluptuous dark-haired beauty beside him, who seemed to miss the daggers. If only the decided gleam in Minette's eyes hadn't flamed brighter. She had gotten to both of them. Kill two birds with one stone. If Alec liked to fight with the girls he was attracted to, fine. She could piss him off just as well as Max.
Well, almost.
"What's your point?" Max replied through clenched teeth. Bad Side, returned to her masochistic banging, verging on the point of brain damage. 'Do something!' it screamed. 'Or we'll just have to take home this splintered table and duct tape it to the wall as a memento for this momentous occasion.' "I mean, just because I don't sleep around like a desperate whore, you know," repeating Minette's condescending tone with the words 'you know'. "Does that mean I automatically resort to flying fists for sexual gratification?" Max sounded off, pleased at Minette's sudden silence.
But, like Alec's silences, hers didn't last long, and tended to come back with a blunt response that could stop traffic.
"When was the last time you got laid, Max?" she shot. The bull crap was officially cleared, the girl had pulled out the big guns.
Amazingly enough, at this point in time, instead of worrying about a retort to shut the heifer up, she just stared at Alec. His eyes locked with hers, genuine interest, along with something else unnamed, tangoed dangerously in his orbs. Her senses heightened. Alec swallowed thickly, never glancing away, almost unblinking. She could hear Cindy's manicured nails scratch away the cheap waxy build up on the table, itching. Obviously they would be more comfortably placed around Minette's ivory throat. Sketchy gasped, or hiccupped; they kind of both sounded the same when he was drunk. Crickets chirped excitedly in the background. And Alec had yet to take his eyes off of hers. She couldn't take her own from his, locked in a whirlpool and confusion.
"Never," she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Beg pardon?"
Somehow, from the pit of her stomach, Max summoned the strength to pull herself out of the whirlpool, her eyes shifting towards the prosecutor. "Never," she repeated louder, with more force.
"You mean..."
"...you're a virgin?" Alec finished quietly, in complete disbelief. All the table's gazes veered quickly in Alec's direction, amazed he'd spoken up, he who'd been silent since the moment Minette had waltzed like a harem headmistress towards the table.
Okay, so Sketchy's gaze kind of "tripped" in Alec's general direction. Details, details.
Max mustered up her pride and nodded her head regally. Bad Side had packed her bags. 'After all these years of snappy comebacks and winning verbal wars, she snapped under the pressure of this whore' It muttered, along with several other words not acceptable in mixed company. It ran to the rainy curb calling, 'Taxi! Taxi!'
Minette predictably laughed. "How far you ever go with a guy?" she asked.
"You know, you ain't gotta answer that..." O.C. tried to intervene.
"I have yet to hit second base," Max stated, suddenly more proud of herself than before. At least she wasn't like Minette.
"You never let a guy feel you up?" Minette guffawed. Alec's gaze pierced his wife even more acutely, becoming stormy and yet, glazing over with a respect. Almost. Maybe?
Max used whatever it was Alec was shooting at her - it definitely wasn't condescending - to say something in her defense. "I don't know, I just, you know." Again, that drawled 'you know'. "I just happen to think that it would be better to be prude than to be some lowlife, off-the-street, greet-to-sheet...do you prefer morally challenged or flat out whore?" she snapped.
Cindy, admirably calm up to this point in time, slammed her hand down on the table, startling the occupants of the entire bar. "Can I get an 'Amen'?!?"
Tension broken, Minette slunk out of the bar with a foreboding glare towards Max, who shook it off with ease.
Alec took a last shot of brandy and grabbed his coat, ready to head home. "Amen," he murmured inaudibly. Not that it mattered whether Max could hear him, she was already too engrossed with a round of high-fives with Original Cindy.
Of course, the plastered Sketchmeister was the only one to catch it, but only because he'd been watching Alec's posture throughout most of the verbal brawl. Now, Sketchy had known Alec for over six years, and he'd never seen his mysterious friend in such caged intensity as he had been that night. He kept shooting hungry glances Max's way, like he wanted to swallow her whole, or something.
But forty-five minutes later, home safely and having spent the last 12 minutes paying his nightly respects to Mr. Toilet Bowl, Sketchy figured the alcohol poisoning had been playing with his vision.