Disclaimer: Many forms are covered in the first thirteen chapters, yes.
"Only a few more runs left," Max mumbled to herself. Gulping down another shot of the crisp, mid-morning Seattle air, Max picked up her pace. It was all for naught. Riding faster, observing the crowded street corners with an artist's eye, even singing couldn't get him out of her mind. Despite all of her convictions to ignore the man, Alec kept popping up. When one of Jam Pony's regulars tried to flirt with her, she couldn't help but notice how much more compelling Alec's "cocky smile" was.
And as if thinking about Alec wasn't troubling enough, Minette always popped up too. Minette and Alec. Together. Intimately. The thought was enough to cause bile to rise in the back of Max's throat, with an added sharp kick to the gut, just for laughs. Yes, Alec slept with Minette. Get over it. Max forced back another looming wave of nausea. Gulping it down didn't seem to help. Her feet raced against the pedals even faster, but she couldn't outrun it. The tidal wave was threatening to take her over again.
Get over it. Easier said than done.
Taking a leisurely break, she stopped by a street vendor and nonchalantly perused the merchandise. Picking up one T-shirt, she couldn't help but wonder how Alec would fill it out. Repulsed at her musing over her husband's physique - trim, lithe, and broad-shouldered, by the way -, she dropped the offending article.
The vendor took her in with a blank frown. It wasn't everyday a pretty patron practically threw his merchandise into a puddle of muck. He may not be a Martha Stewart - God rest her soul - but he did do his best to create respectable goods. He observed her with a new interest and came to the conclusion that she was upset.
With a hasty apology and a quick retrieval, Max tried to fold the shirt back up and salvage some of her dignity. It was no use. Dripping with the usual dirt, grime, and reeking of Eau de Seattle Sewage, there was no way the vendor could sell the shirt now, unless of course he had a washer hidden under his card table stand. Cursing the powers that be, Max sighed. Well if you blotch it, you buy it. Finally conceding, she handed over twenty dollars for the shirt. With a characteristic ease, the vendor chucked the sodden shirt into a plastic white sack, tying it airtight to avoid any wafting odors. Thanking the man with all the energy of a dead car battery, she reached for the bag. With her left hand. Ever so observant, the vendor caught the distinct glint of Post-Pulse gold on her fourth digit.
"Fight with your husband, miss?" he asked lightly. The girl seemed astounded by his remark, but then gave a dismal grin and shrugged. He beamed down at her, handing over the sack. Surprisingly enough, the girl caught his energy and warmed up a little. The smile she cast at him then was a little less dismal.
"I haven't really fought with him. Yet," Max said. Off of his confused look, she sarcastically asked, "Do you got an hour?"
This comment, and the thinly veiled ache behind it, gave the vendor pause. Checking his watch, he looked down the street. Max swerved her head to see what he was looking for. A half of a block down the street, a teenage girl with an afro waved. The vendor waved in response. With unusual patience the vendor slid his hand under her arm and led her to an empty chair underneath the ledge of a nearby cafe. "Wait here," he commanded softly. Max watched him run back over to his booth and signal for the girl to take over. Grabbing a small brown paper sack from under his card table, he hurried back over to where Max was.
"I'll take my lunch now," he said nonchalantly. He offered her part of it but she refused politely. He shrugged his shoulders as if saying "Oh well" and was about to dig into his sandwich when he smacked his head with his palm. "Where are my manners? My name is Alex, but most people call me Dick." He held out his hand in greeting.
Max almost fell out of her chair. Catching herself, she took his hand and shook it firmly. "Max," she said. She paused for a moment, not sure how to ask, but Dick seemed to guess her train of thought.
"Growing up, my mom never said 'Don't mess with that.' It was always, 'Don't dick with that.' Needless to say, I was a rather curious kid, tinkering with everything I could get my grubby little hands on. So soon she just started calling me Dick, and it caught on like a brush fire," he explained easily.
"Oh."
Sensing her need for prodding, he lightly started, "So about this husband of yours."
She did a quick double take, not sure if this man was really willing to listen. He seemed sincere enough. With a deep sigh, Max began to rehash the story. "I met him, oh, six or seven years ago. He was a real thorn in my side and..."
*****
Alec rang the doorbell politely. Hearing a TV shut off inside the ramshackle one-story house, he took a step back, sizing up the place. It was shabby, but not too much so. Obviously well kept despite poor funding. A garden grew a long the side of the steps leading up to the front door. None of the flowers could be developed into any known poisons so Alec quickly lost interest in them, investing his scrutiny somewhere else. A mangy mutt barked behind a rusted metal fence, but he was clearly well fed. Either that or "he" was a "she", and pregnant. The sound of multiple locks sliding open thrummed in his ears, pulling his attention back to more important things, like doing his job.
The door cracked open. One blue-gray glassy eye peered out under the last chain link lock. "Who is it? What do you want?" a grandmotherly voice barked.
"Jam Pony messenger, ma'am," he responded. "I have a package for you."
"Oh." The last lock was unfastened under the command of a gnarly hand. Creaking open a little further, Alec found himself face to face with a regular Mother Hubbard. Well, chest to face, the woman couldn't have been too much taller than his stomach. She was the stereotypical grandmother type: slightly hunched, a few strands of gray interwoven into her snow-white hair, leathery faced, but an overall warm demeanor. Her eyes were what struck him: bright as a newborn baby's but as wise as the all-knowing night. Tipping his head slightly down to smile at the lady, he handed her the package and the slip for the signature, and quickly turned to patting down a pen in his pocket.
The woman flitted an impatient hand in his direction. "Don't you worry about it, honey. I got a pen inside. Come in, sit down."
"I really should hurry back to..."
"Nonsense," she interrupted. Obviously she was used to having her way. Figuring she lived in a neighborhood most thugs wouldn't dream of entering - much less any family she might have - and was probably lonely, he breached the entry. Closing the oak door behind him, he dutifully slid one of the locks into its latch and strolled into the living room.
Still standing, Alec couldn't shake his instinctive reaction to check all possible exits. Two doors, four windows - two covered with cardboard. That issue settled, he vacantly glanced around the sparse room. A small TV sat next to a rotted out fireplace, books adorned the far wall. With an eclectic mixture of Stars of David, ceramic angels, and popcorn Jesus', the room was filled with an engaging air. The lady hummed in the kitchen, her hushed tones soothing to Alec's raw nerves.
Max had done it again. Maybe it was better that they were married though. Now he had a ready excuse for her invading his inmost thoughts every five seconds. Alec glanced down at his ring ruefully. They weren't to be married much longer anyway, which was probably for the best. Sure he was in love with her, he could admit that to himself. But there was only so much beating a Manticore ego - a male Manticore ego - could take. He was tired of constantly beating around the bush with that chick. It was about time they sat down and had a little one-to-one.
The scent of baking swam across the living room. Glancing behind him, he saw the woman meander towards him - weaving through piles of dirty laundry and exercise tapes - heavy laden with a tray of oatmeal cookies. Skipping past the last "Buns of Steel" video, her gaze transferred from the perilous floor up to him, and scowled cheerfully. Shifting the coarse silver tray to one knobby hand, she took the other and forcefully led him to a well-worn sofa, throwing him onto it amiably. "I thought I told you to sit down," she admonished. Surprised by the woman's wiry strength, he pulled himself to a more suitable position.
"I really should be heading back to work, ma'am. I'll just get the slip and..." Again, one distorted hand batted in his direction, the unsaid "Nonsense!" hung in the air. And again, she intimidated Alec out of carrying out his plans of retreat. Once she tossed him a warm cookie she flopped down on sofa, almost in Alec's lap. Placing her slender fingers maternally on his thigh, she croaked out, "Now, what seems to be your problem?"
"Excuse me?"
"Don't play stupid, young man. You walk into my house with the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you pretend nothing is wrong. Listen, you'll probably never see me again, so why not confide to a lonely old woman." She glanced down to his left hand. "The wife giving you the runaround or something?"
Tired of the same evading of the same issues, Alec gave in on a sigh. Judging by the marks of age revamping her face, she had lived in the world long enough to know up from down. And he was in desperate need of some different advice. Sure, Joshua was always supportive, but he viewed the world too simply. Either that or Alec viewed the world too bleakly. Whichever way, they weren't working on the same wavelength on this one. Dix was too absorbed in his books; Luke was engrossed in his own quest for the tribulations that were a package deal with the gentler sex. Original Cindy was out of question, and so was Mole. On the one hand, Cindy knew too much already. On the other, Mole would probably be just as likely to shoot his wife as look at her. With a half-wary, half-hopeful peek at his companion, who was still staring intently into his face, genuine in her offer of help, he caved. Why not? He'd probably never see her again anyway.
"It's not so much the 'runaround' as it is...everything," he admitted emotionlessly, his head cracking back against the wood frame of the sofa.
"Everything?"
"Yeah, everything. I feel like she keeps raising the bar on me."
"So why not limbo underneath it?" Alec laughed humorlessly.
"Tried it. It was even worse."
The lady peered at the discouraged face next to her. "Break the bar, tape it back together, and tell her where the bar should sit. It seems to me like you need to stand up for yourself." she said simply.
"It's not that easy!" Alec roared, startling the poor woman out of her wits. Seeing he had frightened her, he turned slightly and gently wrapped his fingers around her biceps. He couldn't even look her in the eye, ashamed of his past, his temper, and himself. "It's not that easy," he repeated, soft and defeated, staring at her chin.
Two waxy fingers, tipped his cheek to meet her eyes. Again, he was struck by their simple wisdom. "There's more, isn't there?" Obviously he had still misjudged her scrutiny.
"Yeah, I'm in love with her." Off of her confused stare, he began to rehash the entire story. "We met like, six, maybe seven years ago. She was a pain in my side - actually my stomach - from the beginning and..."
*****
Two more packages and then it was lunchtime. Her stomach growled in appreciation and Max absentmindedly patted it, reassuring her appetite that she would definitely be eating. The first package went off without a hitch. The second package, though, was another story.
Skipping up to the top floor of the picturesque ideal of most Seattle apartment buildings - thoroughly decomposed, overrun, and understaffed - the hair on the back of Max's neck jerked to attention. Senses heightened, particularly the sixth one. Shaking off her nerves, she went against her impulse to turn around and leave. A knocked rapped on the grimy apartment door. "Just a second," came the response inside. That voice sounded awfully familiar. Within the two seconds it took the tenant to reach the door, Max saw her already fragile world crumble. With an almost comical horror, her eyes darted to the turning knob. Luckily she composed herself by the time the door opened.
Note to self: Never go against a gut instinct. You'll get burned every time.
"Well, well, well," the girl simpered. "What do we have here?"
"Minette," Max replied tersely. "I would be simply ecstatic if you could drop the schizophrenia for just two seconds and get one of your personalities to sign for a package."
For once, Minette's eyes didn't flash, which was more disturbing than if she did. When her eyes flashed, you pissed her off. When they didn't, she held all the power.
Probably because she slept with Alec last night.
Inwardly, Max groaned. It wasn't enough that the knowledge of Alec hitting the sheets with Minette was painful to swallow. Minette didn't know that Max already knew about their little tryst, so it was going to be rubbed in her face. Again. As if spending an entire night tossing and turning, the possible scenarios and images playing out over and over again, wasn't quite enough for the powers that be. Ugh.
The biggest catch in the entire affair was, why did she care?
Again, ugh.
"Hello? Max?"
Shaken out of her thoughts, a telltale pink flew from Max's chest, past her throat, and to her cheeks. Forcing herself to stop impersonating a flamingo and return to her normal color, she mumbled a gruff "What?"
"I just wanted to know what was in the package." Minette was the epitome of innocence. Yeah right.
"Well quite frankly, I don't know what's in the package. It could be something from your pimp or your home planet for all I care. Just sign the slip."
Suddenly tired of the pleasantries Minette made quick work of snatching the package and initialing for it. Ready to turn and leave, Max felt an elegant hand grace her arm. "Wait," Minette said, the devilish imp returning to her soulless eyes. "I forgot to give you your tip." Max purposely tried to ignore the heavy emphasis on the word "tip", for it couldn't be a good omen. With a quick turn on her light heels, Minette bounded down the hallway - to her room to be more exact - with an unexpectedly abundant energy. Uh oh. Within two shakes of a lamb's tail, she was back, a leather jacket gracing her palms. Alec's leather jacket.
Physically, Max just stood staring at the betraying object. The only sign of any reaction was an acute paleness replacing her blush. Emotionally, Max was caught between having her fingers tightly wrapped around Minette's throat or testing her upchuck reflex all over the dingy hallway. In the back of her mind, she had clutched on to one thin strand of hope that maybe she was wrong, maybe Alec hadn't given into Minette. Well those hopes were officially dashed. Max finally shook herself out of her trance. Calm as possible, she muttered a slight "Oh." Acting as if she was suddenly remembering another chore, she grabbed at the jacket with as much decorum as she could muster. "Thanks for reminding me."
Now it was Minette's turn to blanch. A strangled "Oh?" was all she could manage. She had pictured several delicious situations, ranging anywhere from complete horror and crumbling to livid anger. An "Oh, thanks for reminding me" was inconceivable.
"Yeah, I told Alec I had packages over in this sector and he asked me to come by and pick up his jacket while I was over here." She hit her head as if she was idiotic. "Good thing I had a package to your place or I would have plumb forgotten the whole thing."
Minette was just completely confused. "Alec told you..."
"Oh yeah, he told me everything," Max said flippantly, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care. "It's no big deal either way. I'm actually surprised the whole fiasco took this long. His business is his business, not mine. Well, I hope you all had fun, but I really gotta jet." Turning on her heel, she threw on the jacket, climbed on her bike and flew down the street.
Up until the last statement, Minette was convinced Alec had told Max everything. The fool probably admitted he was in love with her too. But in order for her to have "fun", she had to have slept with Alec. In order for Alec to tell Max everything, he would have to tell her that they didn't hit the sheets.
Max knew nothing. That was the wringer. Max thought they had sex and she didn't even care. Minette couldn't set her straight, then she would have to admit failure. Go figure.
The priceless look on Minette's face was the only thread that held Max's thin composure together until she was out of sight. Taking a sharp turn into a deserted alley, she slipped off of her bike, braced herself against the wall for support, and did something she hadn't enjoyed doing in a long, long time. She bawled her eyes out.
*****
Skidding into Jam Pony on his bike, Alec almost hit Original Cindy head-on. Pulling his weight to the right at the last moment, he acquainted himself with the lovely oil-dirt sealing on the floor. After grimacing and a few muttered choice phrases about women in general, he climbed to his feet with the X5 trademark of catlike grace. Hoisting the undamaged bike to a standing position, he encountered the straight gaze of an annoyed O.C.. Not even flinching at their near-fatal accident, she switched her weight to one hip and glared at Alec.
"What?"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you to a bloody pulp. Or even worse, sell you to Normal."
Cindy looked...pissed. Alec nixed the idea of joking his way out of this corner. The crowd that had gathered to see Alec's stunt wasn't dispersing fast enough for his taste. Jerking his chin towards his locker, he walked away from the throng, his friend hot on his heels. With forced casualness, Alec placed the bike next to his locker, took out his lunch, and straddled a nearby bench. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked at Cindy again, who was now tapping her foot on the floor madly - though judging by the look on her face, she'd rather be tapping her palm on his head.
"Well?" she snapped, tired of waiting.
"Well what?"
Jerking her chin up a fraction, Cindy shifted her weight to her opposite hip again. "Don't you 'well what' me, you know perfectly well 'well what'."
"Huh?"
"You and Minette!" Cindy shrieked. Half of the employees of Jam Pony, including the normally stoic Normal, snapped their heads in the duo's direction. "Go get your own conversations!" Even cowed under her anger, the crowd still wasn't leaving fast enough. Purposely overlooking the fact that Alec knew twenty different ways to kill her with his left hand, she hauled to boy out of Jam Pony.
By his ear.
Lydecker would be so proud, one of his cream of the crop super soldiers being manhandled down the alley by five and a half foot ordinary, and the only thing he was doing to even remotely defend himself was swearing all the way. The fact that she was a girl was just an added bonus.
Finding an abandoned garage, Cindy pushed them into it. Upon her releasing his ear, Alec hunched over and looked at the ground in shock as if looking for broken pieces. "Now you listen boy, and you listen good," O.C. began, stalking away from him, unable to even glance in his direction. "I love Max, she's the best sista I eva had. And last night you betrayed her. You the worst kind of dog."
"Okay first thing's first: I didn't sleep with Minette. Not that that would be 'betraying' her, as you suppose so. This has been a business deal from the beginning Cindy, strictly business. She has Logan..."
"But she loves you!" Original Cindy interrupted. A stunned hush fell over the warehouse, both were unbelieving of what she just said. Finally, after a few dazed moments, Cindy redeemed herself, albeit unsteadily, "You love her, I mean."
Alec slowly treaded in her direction, afraid of startling his prey. "What did you say?"
"I said, 'You love her.'"
"Nice try, the first time around."
Cindy tilted her chin up a fraction, determined to stay silent. She had betrayed too much already. Alec saw the grit and loyalty in her eyes. "That's what I thought you said."
I know, not too much action in this chapter. "Sheesh, the girl has the nerve to not update for weeks and no action! What a creep!" This was more of a "setup" space. I haven't decided exactly which way I am going to take this come next chapter. Several scenarios have invaded my precious sleep time, but I have yet to decide a final cut.
Thank you for your reviews!
"Only a few more runs left," Max mumbled to herself. Gulping down another shot of the crisp, mid-morning Seattle air, Max picked up her pace. It was all for naught. Riding faster, observing the crowded street corners with an artist's eye, even singing couldn't get him out of her mind. Despite all of her convictions to ignore the man, Alec kept popping up. When one of Jam Pony's regulars tried to flirt with her, she couldn't help but notice how much more compelling Alec's "cocky smile" was.
And as if thinking about Alec wasn't troubling enough, Minette always popped up too. Minette and Alec. Together. Intimately. The thought was enough to cause bile to rise in the back of Max's throat, with an added sharp kick to the gut, just for laughs. Yes, Alec slept with Minette. Get over it. Max forced back another looming wave of nausea. Gulping it down didn't seem to help. Her feet raced against the pedals even faster, but she couldn't outrun it. The tidal wave was threatening to take her over again.
Get over it. Easier said than done.
Taking a leisurely break, she stopped by a street vendor and nonchalantly perused the merchandise. Picking up one T-shirt, she couldn't help but wonder how Alec would fill it out. Repulsed at her musing over her husband's physique - trim, lithe, and broad-shouldered, by the way -, she dropped the offending article.
The vendor took her in with a blank frown. It wasn't everyday a pretty patron practically threw his merchandise into a puddle of muck. He may not be a Martha Stewart - God rest her soul - but he did do his best to create respectable goods. He observed her with a new interest and came to the conclusion that she was upset.
With a hasty apology and a quick retrieval, Max tried to fold the shirt back up and salvage some of her dignity. It was no use. Dripping with the usual dirt, grime, and reeking of Eau de Seattle Sewage, there was no way the vendor could sell the shirt now, unless of course he had a washer hidden under his card table stand. Cursing the powers that be, Max sighed. Well if you blotch it, you buy it. Finally conceding, she handed over twenty dollars for the shirt. With a characteristic ease, the vendor chucked the sodden shirt into a plastic white sack, tying it airtight to avoid any wafting odors. Thanking the man with all the energy of a dead car battery, she reached for the bag. With her left hand. Ever so observant, the vendor caught the distinct glint of Post-Pulse gold on her fourth digit.
"Fight with your husband, miss?" he asked lightly. The girl seemed astounded by his remark, but then gave a dismal grin and shrugged. He beamed down at her, handing over the sack. Surprisingly enough, the girl caught his energy and warmed up a little. The smile she cast at him then was a little less dismal.
"I haven't really fought with him. Yet," Max said. Off of his confused look, she sarcastically asked, "Do you got an hour?"
This comment, and the thinly veiled ache behind it, gave the vendor pause. Checking his watch, he looked down the street. Max swerved her head to see what he was looking for. A half of a block down the street, a teenage girl with an afro waved. The vendor waved in response. With unusual patience the vendor slid his hand under her arm and led her to an empty chair underneath the ledge of a nearby cafe. "Wait here," he commanded softly. Max watched him run back over to his booth and signal for the girl to take over. Grabbing a small brown paper sack from under his card table, he hurried back over to where Max was.
"I'll take my lunch now," he said nonchalantly. He offered her part of it but she refused politely. He shrugged his shoulders as if saying "Oh well" and was about to dig into his sandwich when he smacked his head with his palm. "Where are my manners? My name is Alex, but most people call me Dick." He held out his hand in greeting.
Max almost fell out of her chair. Catching herself, she took his hand and shook it firmly. "Max," she said. She paused for a moment, not sure how to ask, but Dick seemed to guess her train of thought.
"Growing up, my mom never said 'Don't mess with that.' It was always, 'Don't dick with that.' Needless to say, I was a rather curious kid, tinkering with everything I could get my grubby little hands on. So soon she just started calling me Dick, and it caught on like a brush fire," he explained easily.
"Oh."
Sensing her need for prodding, he lightly started, "So about this husband of yours."
She did a quick double take, not sure if this man was really willing to listen. He seemed sincere enough. With a deep sigh, Max began to rehash the story. "I met him, oh, six or seven years ago. He was a real thorn in my side and..."
*****
Alec rang the doorbell politely. Hearing a TV shut off inside the ramshackle one-story house, he took a step back, sizing up the place. It was shabby, but not too much so. Obviously well kept despite poor funding. A garden grew a long the side of the steps leading up to the front door. None of the flowers could be developed into any known poisons so Alec quickly lost interest in them, investing his scrutiny somewhere else. A mangy mutt barked behind a rusted metal fence, but he was clearly well fed. Either that or "he" was a "she", and pregnant. The sound of multiple locks sliding open thrummed in his ears, pulling his attention back to more important things, like doing his job.
The door cracked open. One blue-gray glassy eye peered out under the last chain link lock. "Who is it? What do you want?" a grandmotherly voice barked.
"Jam Pony messenger, ma'am," he responded. "I have a package for you."
"Oh." The last lock was unfastened under the command of a gnarly hand. Creaking open a little further, Alec found himself face to face with a regular Mother Hubbard. Well, chest to face, the woman couldn't have been too much taller than his stomach. She was the stereotypical grandmother type: slightly hunched, a few strands of gray interwoven into her snow-white hair, leathery faced, but an overall warm demeanor. Her eyes were what struck him: bright as a newborn baby's but as wise as the all-knowing night. Tipping his head slightly down to smile at the lady, he handed her the package and the slip for the signature, and quickly turned to patting down a pen in his pocket.
The woman flitted an impatient hand in his direction. "Don't you worry about it, honey. I got a pen inside. Come in, sit down."
"I really should hurry back to..."
"Nonsense," she interrupted. Obviously she was used to having her way. Figuring she lived in a neighborhood most thugs wouldn't dream of entering - much less any family she might have - and was probably lonely, he breached the entry. Closing the oak door behind him, he dutifully slid one of the locks into its latch and strolled into the living room.
Still standing, Alec couldn't shake his instinctive reaction to check all possible exits. Two doors, four windows - two covered with cardboard. That issue settled, he vacantly glanced around the sparse room. A small TV sat next to a rotted out fireplace, books adorned the far wall. With an eclectic mixture of Stars of David, ceramic angels, and popcorn Jesus', the room was filled with an engaging air. The lady hummed in the kitchen, her hushed tones soothing to Alec's raw nerves.
Max had done it again. Maybe it was better that they were married though. Now he had a ready excuse for her invading his inmost thoughts every five seconds. Alec glanced down at his ring ruefully. They weren't to be married much longer anyway, which was probably for the best. Sure he was in love with her, he could admit that to himself. But there was only so much beating a Manticore ego - a male Manticore ego - could take. He was tired of constantly beating around the bush with that chick. It was about time they sat down and had a little one-to-one.
The scent of baking swam across the living room. Glancing behind him, he saw the woman meander towards him - weaving through piles of dirty laundry and exercise tapes - heavy laden with a tray of oatmeal cookies. Skipping past the last "Buns of Steel" video, her gaze transferred from the perilous floor up to him, and scowled cheerfully. Shifting the coarse silver tray to one knobby hand, she took the other and forcefully led him to a well-worn sofa, throwing him onto it amiably. "I thought I told you to sit down," she admonished. Surprised by the woman's wiry strength, he pulled himself to a more suitable position.
"I really should be heading back to work, ma'am. I'll just get the slip and..." Again, one distorted hand batted in his direction, the unsaid "Nonsense!" hung in the air. And again, she intimidated Alec out of carrying out his plans of retreat. Once she tossed him a warm cookie she flopped down on sofa, almost in Alec's lap. Placing her slender fingers maternally on his thigh, she croaked out, "Now, what seems to be your problem?"
"Excuse me?"
"Don't play stupid, young man. You walk into my house with the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you pretend nothing is wrong. Listen, you'll probably never see me again, so why not confide to a lonely old woman." She glanced down to his left hand. "The wife giving you the runaround or something?"
Tired of the same evading of the same issues, Alec gave in on a sigh. Judging by the marks of age revamping her face, she had lived in the world long enough to know up from down. And he was in desperate need of some different advice. Sure, Joshua was always supportive, but he viewed the world too simply. Either that or Alec viewed the world too bleakly. Whichever way, they weren't working on the same wavelength on this one. Dix was too absorbed in his books; Luke was engrossed in his own quest for the tribulations that were a package deal with the gentler sex. Original Cindy was out of question, and so was Mole. On the one hand, Cindy knew too much already. On the other, Mole would probably be just as likely to shoot his wife as look at her. With a half-wary, half-hopeful peek at his companion, who was still staring intently into his face, genuine in her offer of help, he caved. Why not? He'd probably never see her again anyway.
"It's not so much the 'runaround' as it is...everything," he admitted emotionlessly, his head cracking back against the wood frame of the sofa.
"Everything?"
"Yeah, everything. I feel like she keeps raising the bar on me."
"So why not limbo underneath it?" Alec laughed humorlessly.
"Tried it. It was even worse."
The lady peered at the discouraged face next to her. "Break the bar, tape it back together, and tell her where the bar should sit. It seems to me like you need to stand up for yourself." she said simply.
"It's not that easy!" Alec roared, startling the poor woman out of her wits. Seeing he had frightened her, he turned slightly and gently wrapped his fingers around her biceps. He couldn't even look her in the eye, ashamed of his past, his temper, and himself. "It's not that easy," he repeated, soft and defeated, staring at her chin.
Two waxy fingers, tipped his cheek to meet her eyes. Again, he was struck by their simple wisdom. "There's more, isn't there?" Obviously he had still misjudged her scrutiny.
"Yeah, I'm in love with her." Off of her confused stare, he began to rehash the entire story. "We met like, six, maybe seven years ago. She was a pain in my side - actually my stomach - from the beginning and..."
*****
Two more packages and then it was lunchtime. Her stomach growled in appreciation and Max absentmindedly patted it, reassuring her appetite that she would definitely be eating. The first package went off without a hitch. The second package, though, was another story.
Skipping up to the top floor of the picturesque ideal of most Seattle apartment buildings - thoroughly decomposed, overrun, and understaffed - the hair on the back of Max's neck jerked to attention. Senses heightened, particularly the sixth one. Shaking off her nerves, she went against her impulse to turn around and leave. A knocked rapped on the grimy apartment door. "Just a second," came the response inside. That voice sounded awfully familiar. Within the two seconds it took the tenant to reach the door, Max saw her already fragile world crumble. With an almost comical horror, her eyes darted to the turning knob. Luckily she composed herself by the time the door opened.
Note to self: Never go against a gut instinct. You'll get burned every time.
"Well, well, well," the girl simpered. "What do we have here?"
"Minette," Max replied tersely. "I would be simply ecstatic if you could drop the schizophrenia for just two seconds and get one of your personalities to sign for a package."
For once, Minette's eyes didn't flash, which was more disturbing than if she did. When her eyes flashed, you pissed her off. When they didn't, she held all the power.
Probably because she slept with Alec last night.
Inwardly, Max groaned. It wasn't enough that the knowledge of Alec hitting the sheets with Minette was painful to swallow. Minette didn't know that Max already knew about their little tryst, so it was going to be rubbed in her face. Again. As if spending an entire night tossing and turning, the possible scenarios and images playing out over and over again, wasn't quite enough for the powers that be. Ugh.
The biggest catch in the entire affair was, why did she care?
Again, ugh.
"Hello? Max?"
Shaken out of her thoughts, a telltale pink flew from Max's chest, past her throat, and to her cheeks. Forcing herself to stop impersonating a flamingo and return to her normal color, she mumbled a gruff "What?"
"I just wanted to know what was in the package." Minette was the epitome of innocence. Yeah right.
"Well quite frankly, I don't know what's in the package. It could be something from your pimp or your home planet for all I care. Just sign the slip."
Suddenly tired of the pleasantries Minette made quick work of snatching the package and initialing for it. Ready to turn and leave, Max felt an elegant hand grace her arm. "Wait," Minette said, the devilish imp returning to her soulless eyes. "I forgot to give you your tip." Max purposely tried to ignore the heavy emphasis on the word "tip", for it couldn't be a good omen. With a quick turn on her light heels, Minette bounded down the hallway - to her room to be more exact - with an unexpectedly abundant energy. Uh oh. Within two shakes of a lamb's tail, she was back, a leather jacket gracing her palms. Alec's leather jacket.
Physically, Max just stood staring at the betraying object. The only sign of any reaction was an acute paleness replacing her blush. Emotionally, Max was caught between having her fingers tightly wrapped around Minette's throat or testing her upchuck reflex all over the dingy hallway. In the back of her mind, she had clutched on to one thin strand of hope that maybe she was wrong, maybe Alec hadn't given into Minette. Well those hopes were officially dashed. Max finally shook herself out of her trance. Calm as possible, she muttered a slight "Oh." Acting as if she was suddenly remembering another chore, she grabbed at the jacket with as much decorum as she could muster. "Thanks for reminding me."
Now it was Minette's turn to blanch. A strangled "Oh?" was all she could manage. She had pictured several delicious situations, ranging anywhere from complete horror and crumbling to livid anger. An "Oh, thanks for reminding me" was inconceivable.
"Yeah, I told Alec I had packages over in this sector and he asked me to come by and pick up his jacket while I was over here." She hit her head as if she was idiotic. "Good thing I had a package to your place or I would have plumb forgotten the whole thing."
Minette was just completely confused. "Alec told you..."
"Oh yeah, he told me everything," Max said flippantly, shrugging her shoulders as if she didn't care. "It's no big deal either way. I'm actually surprised the whole fiasco took this long. His business is his business, not mine. Well, I hope you all had fun, but I really gotta jet." Turning on her heel, she threw on the jacket, climbed on her bike and flew down the street.
Up until the last statement, Minette was convinced Alec had told Max everything. The fool probably admitted he was in love with her too. But in order for her to have "fun", she had to have slept with Alec. In order for Alec to tell Max everything, he would have to tell her that they didn't hit the sheets.
Max knew nothing. That was the wringer. Max thought they had sex and she didn't even care. Minette couldn't set her straight, then she would have to admit failure. Go figure.
The priceless look on Minette's face was the only thread that held Max's thin composure together until she was out of sight. Taking a sharp turn into a deserted alley, she slipped off of her bike, braced herself against the wall for support, and did something she hadn't enjoyed doing in a long, long time. She bawled her eyes out.
*****
Skidding into Jam Pony on his bike, Alec almost hit Original Cindy head-on. Pulling his weight to the right at the last moment, he acquainted himself with the lovely oil-dirt sealing on the floor. After grimacing and a few muttered choice phrases about women in general, he climbed to his feet with the X5 trademark of catlike grace. Hoisting the undamaged bike to a standing position, he encountered the straight gaze of an annoyed O.C.. Not even flinching at their near-fatal accident, she switched her weight to one hip and glared at Alec.
"What?"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you to a bloody pulp. Or even worse, sell you to Normal."
Cindy looked...pissed. Alec nixed the idea of joking his way out of this corner. The crowd that had gathered to see Alec's stunt wasn't dispersing fast enough for his taste. Jerking his chin towards his locker, he walked away from the throng, his friend hot on his heels. With forced casualness, Alec placed the bike next to his locker, took out his lunch, and straddled a nearby bench. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked at Cindy again, who was now tapping her foot on the floor madly - though judging by the look on her face, she'd rather be tapping her palm on his head.
"Well?" she snapped, tired of waiting.
"Well what?"
Jerking her chin up a fraction, Cindy shifted her weight to her opposite hip again. "Don't you 'well what' me, you know perfectly well 'well what'."
"Huh?"
"You and Minette!" Cindy shrieked. Half of the employees of Jam Pony, including the normally stoic Normal, snapped their heads in the duo's direction. "Go get your own conversations!" Even cowed under her anger, the crowd still wasn't leaving fast enough. Purposely overlooking the fact that Alec knew twenty different ways to kill her with his left hand, she hauled to boy out of Jam Pony.
By his ear.
Lydecker would be so proud, one of his cream of the crop super soldiers being manhandled down the alley by five and a half foot ordinary, and the only thing he was doing to even remotely defend himself was swearing all the way. The fact that she was a girl was just an added bonus.
Finding an abandoned garage, Cindy pushed them into it. Upon her releasing his ear, Alec hunched over and looked at the ground in shock as if looking for broken pieces. "Now you listen boy, and you listen good," O.C. began, stalking away from him, unable to even glance in his direction. "I love Max, she's the best sista I eva had. And last night you betrayed her. You the worst kind of dog."
"Okay first thing's first: I didn't sleep with Minette. Not that that would be 'betraying' her, as you suppose so. This has been a business deal from the beginning Cindy, strictly business. She has Logan..."
"But she loves you!" Original Cindy interrupted. A stunned hush fell over the warehouse, both were unbelieving of what she just said. Finally, after a few dazed moments, Cindy redeemed herself, albeit unsteadily, "You love her, I mean."
Alec slowly treaded in her direction, afraid of startling his prey. "What did you say?"
"I said, 'You love her.'"
"Nice try, the first time around."
Cindy tilted her chin up a fraction, determined to stay silent. She had betrayed too much already. Alec saw the grit and loyalty in her eyes. "That's what I thought you said."
I know, not too much action in this chapter. "Sheesh, the girl has the nerve to not update for weeks and no action! What a creep!" This was more of a "setup" space. I haven't decided exactly which way I am going to take this come next chapter. Several scenarios have invaded my precious sleep time, but I have yet to decide a final cut.
Thank you for your reviews!