Disclaimer: They ain't mine.
A/N: Thank you so much for your supportive reviews. They really have worked wonders!...at least for my outlook on life. ; )
A/N: This chapter - for the most part - is not my own. It completely wrote itself, and I hereby wash my hands of any damage it may do to your psyches and/or your I.Q.'s.
Chapter Six
The alleyway leading up to the grand entryway of Crash's beaten-in door seemed to age a hundred years since he'd last stepped inside several months ago - he'd made it a point to avoid the place after Original Cindy's death, but tonight was an exception. New bullet holes blended so well with the older ones against the surface, as if even the newer bullets had always belonged imbedded in the metal. The only betrayal was that the newer bullet holes had a slightly sharper edge that glinted something fierce in the scattered rays of light trying to pierce the enveloping darkness from the streetlights on either edge of the alley.
Thinking of bullets only made the naturally nervous man gulp down air thickly. Strange things had been crawling around Seattle since the coming out of the secret project Manticore, almost all dealing with bullets and their counterpart named blood. But even stranger than the identified freaks - the mermaids and mermen, half-dog half-man anomalies, X-series, etc. - were the unnamed shadows that stole their way across the city in broad daylight as well as in the dark of night. Call him paranoid and the victim of too many disaster movies, but like the rest of Seattle, he couldn't shake the feeling that apocalyptic events were building.
Nor the one that he was being followed.
Swallowing the feeling, the young man glanced across the alley nervously. He didn't see anything but didn't particularly expect to either. The many broken boxes and rusted over trashcans were optimum places for any amateur hoodlum to hide but also supplied Crash with that trashy, homey feel - a silent snub to the more sophisticated bars across town, where Merlot tabs ran like Crash's Budweiser. He smiled slightly and opened the door, working his way through the crowd.
Crash was in full swing tonight. The music blared from waning speakers, combating for dominance with the big-screen T.V. loudly announcing the results from a skateboarding competition. Cigarette smoke clouds that could put L.A. smog to shame hung over the entire establishment, as if waiting to rain down nicotine and formaldehyde. The young man pushed towards the bar through the mob, taking his time when barely brushing past some particularly fine - and full - feminine figures, although most were overly clothed and less than drunk enough for his tastes. Okay, so they were just plain out of his league. He'd come to grips with the limited selection of possible women long ago.
A few feet in front of him a pixie-like blonde with orange streaks - he guessed they were originally intended to be red, but had mixed with the peroxide blonde - vacated her seat for a lean, mean latino who stood from the stool next to her. He slid into the now empty seat like an impatient stay at home mom would steal a last parking lot. The stool next to him was also filled almost instantly. The young man signaled for the bartender's attention. "Scotch!" he called over the crowd's chatter.
"And I'll have the same thing as the little lady," a voice chimed in beside him. He swerved his stool to face his abuser, but only met with a familiar smile. "Max," he breathed. "Long time no see."
"I could say the same for you, Sketch."
"What are you doing here?" he asked. Max shrugged. Sketchy couldn't tell if it was more that she didn't know or that she didn't really want to explain. Judging by the skittish eyes constantly glancing guiltily over both of their shoulders, he'd guess it was the latter. After a long and meaningful pause, he decided to change tactics slightly. "How'd you get out from behind the fence? Last I heard the 'authorities are keeping the transgenic crisis on a short leash.' I hear now that they're really starting to crack down on the perimeters of good ol' Terminal City."
Max shrugged again, scanning the crowd for the third time in as many minutes. "Snuck out. I figured if I could escape from a top-secret government facility twice I could probably also dodge the beer bellied Sector police."
"Alec's not going to be too happy with you."
"Screw Alec, he's not the boss of me. He can charm the entire of population of Terminal City to be at his beck and friggin' call, but I am my own person. If losing multiple friends and family members - not to mention Manticore's re-programming - hasn't broken me yet, I flatly refuse to let Alec have the honor." Finishing her small rant, she glanced at Sketchy's amused face. "What are you smiling about?" she asked darkly. He tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but it was no use. This whole situation was too ironic, and he told her so.
"Ironic how?"
"I had this exact conversation with Alec a couple hundred times before the whole showdown at Jam Pony - except without admitting that there was a project Manticore. He just mentioned that if his 'former life' didn't break him, you wouldn't 'get the pleasure either.' And charming - according to him - wasn't your problem. I think it was the 'manhandling.' Yet he was always glancing over his shoulder to make sure you weren't there to hear him." Max slipped into a pensive silence before checking over her shoulder to make sure his ears were dropping in.
They both received their drinks at that moment and Sketchy, being the diamond-in-the-rough-gentleman type, opted to also cover Max's drink as well as his own. "So," she began after another uncomfortable and untimely pause. "How are you holding up? I mean with, uh, O.C. gone and all."
Sketchy didn't hesitate to reply. "It's been hell. Despite our differences in taste - or perhaps our similarities - I really loved her. Even Normal seemed to slide into a mourning period, well, as much as his could anyway." He smiled at Max rather sadly, a wistful look swirling in his eyes. "It's been a rough year or so, I mean, I lose Herbal, then you and Alec, and then O.C."
"You haven't lost me and Alec," Max protested, an oddly sympathetic feeling causing her to cover Sketchy's hand with her own, letting their fingers entwine loosely.
"Well, obviously I've got you back. And Alec," he glanced up quickly before letting his gaze fall back to Max, both pitying and slightly petrified. "Is here."
Before Max had even been given decent time to arm herself mentally, she felt Alec slide with a deadly silence into the now empty stool behind her. "Sweet Blue Lady, be with us in the hour of our deaths." She mumbled so softly even the X5 behind her wouldn't be able to decipher her prayer, her suddenly dry lips barely moving around the words. She turned her creaking stool from Sketchy to face front of the bar, masking any nervousness with her usual "piss off" glower. Her languid posture veiling the tension that pulled every fiber of her being, Max looked for the world like a completely relaxed woman sitting at the bar with two friends. No one passing by the bar, or Sketchy for that matter, could see how trapped she felt. Only Alec, looking for a kink in her seemingly shatterproof armor, saw the tell-tale tiny bounces of her leg. And his eyes just couldn't skip over the fact that Max and Sketchy were - holding hands?
"Sketchy."
"Alec."
"What are you two having?" he asked. Max watched his fingers point out her scotch, over the bottom of her eyelids. Long and deft and entirely too masculine and lethal, they slowly caressed the side of her short glass, at once almost possessive and detached. His fingers engulfed the glass and tipped it towards himself, peering inside; but all Max could see were those same fingers wrapped around her throat.
"Scotch," she heard Sketchy's voice echo from the distance, like she was drugged by her own fear. He kept prattling on stupidly, but Max didn't want to stop him. She wanted him to keep talking forever, or at least until she could find a way to get gone. Alec's voice rang in, only it was infinitely more clear, "I'll have the same."
Max still kept her eyes front, not willing to look at either of her companions. Alec sucked down his drink and still she was silent. He wasn't looking at her, Max could feel it. Somehow that was considerably more frightening than having his glowers weighing down on her. He was toying with her, and damn her fragile nerves, it was working. She was cornered, so she did what she would do in any other similar situation. Slowly, discreetly, she unwound her hand from Sketchy's.
Then she bolted.
After leapfrogging over the beer-slick bar, she raced to the back door. Out into the empty alleyway, she ceased to hide her transgenic abilities and blurred through the darkness, her skilled silence only broken by the whisper of winds racing through her hair and the occasional splash of scattered water drops falling back into their puddles. Adrenaline coated her veins, seemingly replacing her blood and pushing her faster. The sound of a gunning engine echoed against the buildings lining the alley, growing louder. And closer.
A sheer terror fell across Max. She'd created the monster, she'd already admitted to that. But Alec had found some force - compassion? humanity? - that masked him. Now Max was afraid she'd pushed his buttons one too many times, and like Christine ripping the mask off of the Phantom, she'd fully unleashed a few demons. A Pandora's box that had been cracked ajar flew open under the boiling pressure. Alec would find her, that was for certain. And at the same time it was terrifying, an inborn sense of release flooded her, making her giddy and almost exultant in her sprint.
Maybe she'd gone crazy like Ben.
Lost in her own fears and thoughts, a motorcyclist whipped her off the street and into his lap without a struggle. Slipping a needle from his pocket, he injected her forearm. Her head fell limply across his chest, exposing her barcode. Max was unconscious before she could even identify her assailant.
*****
The gunning motorcycle engine purred to a stop outside the No Tell Motel. Alec slid his sunglasses - although not needed for UV protection at 11:00 at night, it did obscure his eyes from a witness' view - down the bridge of his nose, taking in the sight of the dinky - and kinky for that matter - hovel. It was every pimps' own slice of paradise. "More like No Tell Hoe-Tell," he whispered sarcastically. It was two strong winds from collapsing, clinging its pale pink walls together out of stubbornness, but it would have to do.
The forewarning squeal of sirens gathered in the usual sounds of the night. It was a usual sound in and of itself, only it was drawing closer. Probably looking for a couple of wayward transgenics trying to have a night out on the town: them.
He scoffed in self-derision, glaring down at his unconscious companion in his arms who he felt - and in all fairness, probably was - responsible for this entire mess. "Never mind, we'll try somewhere else." The engine roared back to life, and the night rider ducked his bike behind a corner right when the police pulled into the motel's parking lot. Seeing he was not to be followed, Alec pasted a cocky smile across his face, slowing down to a less suspicious speed.
"Rent-a-cops, gotta love 'em."
Several miles and a few checkpoints later - "drunk girlfriend" seemed to be the password of the night, and Alec threw the excuse at any curious Sector cop that would glance their way - he pulled up in front of another building. The warehouse seemed like every other stereotypical warehouse in Post-Pulse America: way beyond its prime, thoroughly ransacked, and above all, empty.
He shifted Max to a better position in his lap. Glancing down at her drugged form, he asked, "Have you noticed that everyone one of our dates have either taken place in a sewer or a warehouse? The powers that be need to be just a bit more creative when throwing our rendezvous points together. I'll have to speak to them about that at the next soiree. I hear Elvis will be there." He stared down at the still unconscious Max thoughtfully. He continued on in a soft voice, almost tauntingly. "You know, I honestly think you have a better sense of humor when you're sound asleep." She wriggled slightly in response, reminding Alec that the drugs - although nearly lethal for most ordinaries - were not going to keep her quiet forever. "Unfortunately."
He stepped off of the bike, hauling Max with him none to gently into the warehouse. Letting his irritation get the better of him, he dropped her with a heavy thud onto a nearby stack of crates, which loudly protested the addition of even her light weight. "Stop whining, I'll be back to pick her up eventually."
Circling the perimeter to make sure all was secure - both the building's structure and number of inhabitants, or lack thereof - he came across a generator. He flicked it on, just to see how much juice was left. It was pleasant surprise that it lit only one room in the middle of the warehouse, too far away from any window eager to leak light into the street and lead the police back to them. He stalked to where Max's unconscious body still lay. Throwing her over one shoulder and the miscellaneous supplies he'd managed to recover on his little stroll over the other, he crossed to the lighted room, using her butt to smack the door open, she seemed to groan softly in response. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling anything but. "A guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. And you are in sore need of some discipline that I doubt Log-boy would ever give you."
This time, a bit more gently, he laid Max down on cement floor. Her hair spread across the ground, circling lightly down her back in the shape of an angel's wing. He turned his head slightly, to see the array from a different angle. "Or a dragon's wing," he said, trying to shake himself out of wherever his mind had slipped off to.
He strolled around the room, doing his best to slowly draw his attention away from the sleeping beauty and/or beast and more to the task at hand.
Major Problem No. 1: That little stunt Max pulled drew the attention of the police, alerting everyone and their grandmother to another transgenic sighting. Both transgenics were too recognizable, thanks to the nightly news which made them household...barcodes. They had to stay low.
Major Problem No. 2: Their "spotting" would lead to cracking down on the perimeters of Terminal City which would make it incredibly difficult to break back in. Plus the factor that he and Max would inevitably be arguing when they tried to break back into T.C., which added a whole new degree of difficulty.
The more Alec thought, the more problems and possible harms came to mind which led him to Major Problem No. 3 - although now that he thought of it, was probably more in the "No. 1" category : Max, pretty self-explanatory.
Last, but certainly not least. Major Problem No. 4: Him. Her. Alone in a warehouse for up to several days while waiting out the sector police and possibly even White.
He scoffed at the ceiling, "You have some major explaining to do." The only bright side was that there seemed to be plenty of non-perishable food and water.
And he had an advantage over Max: handcuffs. He pulled out a moth-eaten but still operative cot he'd found wedged behind a door, slapped it down against cement floor, and with a slightly sadistic grin, he gently laid Max down on the cot before promptly handcuffing her to the drain of a nearby rusting sink. The winds whistled through the warehouse, bringing a cool chill that caused Alec's instinctive shiver. Cursing his own tender weakness, he rifled through the room to find any decent covering to shield Max's body from the cold. Once content - as much as he could be in his irate state, with Max and himself - that she wouldn't feel any discomfort from the sudden chill, he found a more unseemly covering for himself.
The lights fizzled as the generator went out.
Alec's patience was really starting to wear thin. "Great," he murmured edgily in the dark, slumping against the wall. "Just great." The small drips falling from the sink were more hypnotic and peaceful than irritating, lulling him toward the land of dreams, where the Familiar threat didn't exist and certain brunette hard knocks were a bit more tender. As the night wore on and Max showed no signs of opening those resolve-melting eyes of hers, Alec shrugged himself into a corner of the room between a couple boxes, engulfed himself in his starchy blanket, and surrendered himself promptly to a deep sleep.
*****
Max's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the looming dark and trying to work past the powerful drugs that had rendered her unconscious. Seeing her captor was Alec, who stood out even against the shadows of the room, flung her into a state of both fear and hope. Maybe she could somehow talk some sense into him.
A small flash of light threw Max's night vision into a tizzy, taking her a second to readjust her eyesight. Alec whisked the match that had disrupted her perception gently over to a nearby candle, which resisted taking the flame at first, but then surrendered to his charm. In a few moments, the twenty or so candles he'd stumbled upon were lit; the wicks sported their bouncing little flames proudly, as if only too happy to please him, like everything and everyone else in this godforsaken city. Well, not her. She flatly refused to let her pigheadedness dwindle under his charm or his ire; but Max couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her stubbornness would make it just a tad more difficult to talk sense into him.
Nor could she shake the almost romantic mood wafting through the atmosphere, watching the small dots of light emphasize the strong cheeks and chin - not to mention the effortlessly striking eyes - of his profile under her lowered lids. He'd always been a looker, but flooded in candlelight, it seemed to accent all his qualities, physically and in other...ways. Max shook her head lightly side to side to clear her drugged mind of any romantic notions. Candles always did that to her, softened her rough edges in the radiance of outdated romance. The small flicker of the flames seemed to be her emotional Achilles' heel, making her see things not as they were, but as they could have been - if fate had given her a more normal, emotionally open life with a man, instead of leaving her caged in fears of intimacy and commitment phobias.
Max convinced herself that any sappiness and syrupy ideas in the air were purely a result of the candles, not because of Alec himself. Her uptight, droning former boss Normal could seem amorous given the right amount of candlelight - and mass quantities of alcohol.
Snapshot memories of Logan and late night dinners and chess games flew unbidden to her mind, making her feel inexplicably depressed.
Alec began to turn around, bringing her attention from the way the lighting slipped over his strong shoulders back to the heart of the matter. Max's eyes slammed shut, her face the perfect mask of one in the midst of pleasant dreams, hoping to stall Alec's unavoidable antagonism until she recovered more fully from the drugs and...other things. Her mask cracked slightly under a scowl, now that she realized she was handcuffed to a bar of some sort. She recovered quickly though, the frown only a small, split-second change in her otherwise picture perfect "slumber." Maybe he hadn't noticed.
But he had, although that wasn't what gave her away. "I know you're awake Max," he calmly said, like chastising a four year old trying to stash the evidence of eating the last cookie when she had the chocolate chips smeared across her face. His voice managed to sound both lifeless yet inflexible. The man was a constant contradiction. "Your breathing became shallower as you regained consciousness. Not to mention that tiny frown that crossed your too serene face when you probably realized you were handcuffed to the sink."
Max sat up in a flash, her mind swirling from the tranquilizer's hangover as the metal of the handcuff bit into her thin wrist, the other end clanking against the corroded pipe, still firmly attached.
"What do you want from me?" she asked breathlessly, cursing her choice of words even as they fell from her mouth. They sounded too much like she was dealing with a complete enemy, a stranger, only reminding her of how little she knew about the man in front of her. He had been an unwelcome friend to her, yes, but she hadn't really known all that much about him. And like he had said, things weren't the same anymore. What little she had gathered under his cocky, devil-may-care cover may have been rendered obsolete in the months past. He'd grown so much, filling out his position of leadership so well, growing past her in so many ways.
His eyes stared into hers, smooth as glass like a pond on an early spring morning, when the rising mists were a cloak over any activity. They read nothing besides a complete and utter void, purely Manticorian. This wasn't Alec handcuffing Max to a sink in the middle of God knows where. This was X5-494 securing a target: her. Before her mind could do away with the irrational thought, her ears pricked up, listening for the lonely sound of helicopter blades slicing the night air, greedy to take her back to the hellhole she'd known as home for almost a decade. She instinctively dipped her head slightly in proper reprimand position, awaiting her rebuke from a superior officer. Catching her reactions made her jaw clench in mortification and annoyance, her hackles rose at giving Alec the power in such a spineless way. She refused to surrender so easily.
Her head snapped up, the twin fires in her brown eyes locked with the burnt ashes in his hazel, freezing him to the spot. The longer the moment held the more charged it became, the inferno of her rekindling some of the flames in himself. The charred remains blew away from his eyes, a fire relit within his irises as life seemed to seep back into him. Max watched with no little relief as X5-494 rediscovered a more Alec-like state, someone she was much better at coping with.
"So, what do you want?" Max asked again, but slipped in a less wary, more friendly tone.
Alec shifted his weight that had been leaning against a metal cabinet, slowly crossing the floor toward her bearing two candles, growing more immense with every step as his presence filled her air space. He was successfully stealing all of her precious oxygen, each breath becoming more ragged as she painfully gulped down the remaining air into her starving lungs. The reaction astounded her. Well-trained to hold her breath for four-plus minutes, laid to waste by a wisecrack in a leather jacket.
Very slowly, his arms reached for the sink behind her head, each candle-laden hand almost brushing her face. Max shivered.
After arranging the candles where he wanted them on the basin - mostly where the mildew and other build-up wouldn't cause them to tip over - he stepped back, sliding onto a crate with all the grace of a king taking his throne. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, fingers making a steeple under his bristly chin. He seemed to consider her question, bouncing ideas around in his head, his forehead wrinkling in "deep thought."
The emotional roller coaster she was riding on was exhausting. One minute she felt calm, the next ashamed, and then angered. 'Alec's personality always brought out the best in me,' she thought sarcastically. 'The bastard's always pushing my buttons.' Yet for once her emotions seemed to be on their usual track: impatient with the silence. "What's with the handcuffs?" she demanded, clanking the chain imprisoning her hand awkwardly behind her back for good measure.
"You were in enough trouble when I found you the first time. Do you honestly think you're in less trouble now that I had to chase you across town? Or the fact that you're little high-jump over the bar and blurring that has brought down yet another media circus, making it damn near impossible to get back into Terminal City. Did that make all of your twisted little problems disappear?" His tone, although far from flat and uncaring, remained dangerously soft. Like a jungle cat's foot steps circling his prey before he pounced. "So the way I figured it, if having me around made you bolt in the first place, then having me pissed would make you run all the harder."
Call it stubbornness. Call it staying power. Call it flat out stupidity, but Max refused to be moved. His complete relaxed control fueled her anger, making her want to break him of that calm exterior that she could tell he was far from feeling.
"Now, what is it I want?" Alec asked conversationally. "How about an apology?" Hazel eyes swerved accusingly at her, making her feel anything but apologetic. Putting his hands on his knees, he stood and began to pace back and forth across the room, his tightly leashed fury causing the candles to flicker in alarm. "How about an apology for treating me like I don't deserve your high and oh-so-mighty presence for a year and then the minute I am ready to take a stand for my kind, you ride off on your high horse, hidden behind that red, white, and blue flag Logan carries like his own personal Holy Grail. How about an apology for being a manipulative, whiny..."
Alec ranted on and on, losing more and more of his control with every remark he directed towards her. His pacing picked up, both his feet on the floor and his insults. Max had braced herself for such an attack for the past months.
Or at least she thought she had.
Now facing the reality of his tirade, instead of playing the apologetic mildness she'd so painstakingly practiced, she began feeling more like unremorseful violence. Surprisingly enough the insults didn't take too well to her transgenic pride. Dressing down was one thing, verbal abuse - although she could give it, she didn't take to kindly to receiving it - was quite another.
Her pride erupted. "Screw you, Alec!" The shrill cry rang across the building, echoing over fractured windows and unsettled dust mites. The three words were simple but yelled with such hate and rage it made her throat go hoarse.
Alec stopped mid-word, mid-stride, turning to face her. His face a mask of passion, angry and impatient to be let loose. Grabbing her by the shoulders, her body wobbled back and forth as he knelt in front of her. His knees crashed violently against the cement floor as her jerked her body forward, his nose scant inches from hers.
"No Max," the words came out softly, a bare whisper. "Screw." His lips inched towards hers, like two magnets entering the force field when torn between clinging as one and bursting apart. "You."
In the distance the force field snapped, magnets locking with an audible clang.
Alec kissed her.
His lips attacked hers, daring her to break away. Max's eyes widened to the size of flying saucers at the forced-entrance, her one free hand pushing against his chest since her legs were uselessly trapped between the cot and his body. Alec remained undeterred, one hand brushing her face selfishly as if soaking into her skin, the other pulling her body towards him via the small of her back. Max squealed in protest, but as she felt his lips nibbling on hers, the brown eyes slowly closed and her lips reciprocated his kisses. The frightened claws digging into his shirt in hopes of escaping transformed into fingers wrapping against the warmth of his neck. Her thumb tipped his jaw toward a better angle, her fingers playing along his pounding pulse until her pinkie slipped next his barcode. Alec's nostrils flared in response as his body shivered very slightly, the primitive part of Max pleased at eliciting such a vulnerable response from the self-contained X5.
When Alec's lips moved across her jawbone, she tipped her head back to give him better access. Max bit her lip roughly to stifle a moan as he inched closer to her ear. "Alec," she sighed softly as he kissed her lower earlobe.
A cold smirk spread against her skin. "Not quite," the suddenly dry lips whispered conspiratorially in her ear, the voice taking a sardonic, unfeeling pitch.
Max recognized that voice...
Her eyes snapped open, for real this time. She took in her surroundings instantly, knowing without a doubt who her real captor was. Max allowed herself a sardonic smile. She thought the dream was bad.
The reality was much, much worse.
Sensing his presence in the room, her eyes ran along the sterile tile floor, drifting from his dress shoe clad feet up his smoky gray two-piece suit to his cold, pale eyes.
"Have a nice nap?"
*****
A pang of fear sunk its sharp teeth into his barcode.
Alec awoke with a start as if sensing something had gone terribly wrong. For starters the blanket that he had wrapped himself with had also worked its way around his head. Swathed like a mummy, the wooden crates on either side formed his own personal sarcophagus. He tore at the blanket angrily, not realizing his sudden nemesis had been the one thing that had saved his life. Alec emerged from the binding like a baby escaping his mother's womb - albeit more violently: head first, then shoulders, the rest slipping out easily from the widened hole.
"Rebirth is always a pain," he spat, kicking the offending cloth away from him, knocking down several crates noisily in the process. He turned towards the cot, smart remark in hand...
...but the wind got knocked out of him at the sight of the empty cot and the empty handcuffs that dangled mockingly from the pipe. Only the faintest scent of the cherries and motorcycle oil that had ingrained itself into her natural perfume remained in the air. She'd left at least two hours ago, although he'd only been out - judging by his crusty watch - three hours. The sedative should have lasted at least another three and a half from when he settled her in the cot. Judging by Alec's mathematical skills, that gave him at least another thirty minutes of a perfectly unconscious Max, chained to that cot where she belonged.
He ran a hand through his hair in irritation at his own incompetence, fingers tightening around the short locks and pulling at them relentlessly. This was the kind of screw up that got good soldiers put to sleep back at Manticore. He looked at the rain-rotted ceiling and chuckled hysterically, mixed with despair and ultimate frustration. How could one measly under qualified X5...? He glanced down at the cot again - still scoffing at his own defeat - when an unfamiliar object muddled up in the dirty blanket he'd found for her caught his eye.
A necklace of some sort.
Max didn't do jewelry.
He lifted it between his fingers, marveling at its simplicity and weightlessness when the full weight of its implication crashed down on him, his knees weakening to the point where he leaned against the wall for support.
He recovered in a flash - and not a moment to soon - and tore across the warehouse, sliding onto the stolen bike with speed that would do any commanding officer at Manticore proud. The engine roared to life, its panic howling ironically against the dead calm of the night. Alec whipped down the street, straight as Cupid's own arrow towards Terminal City.
Swerving around a particularly severe corner at a fanatical speed, the leather band of the necklace slipped from his palm, dropping into a nearby puddle. Bouncing off the bottom of its polluted swimming pool, the focal point of the necklace rose ominously to the surface. A ghost's menacing hand arising from the grave.
It bore a caduceus: the mark of Familiars.
White had Max.
*****
A/N: Again, I honestly didn't write this. My muse just took me for a joyride and I'm still working out the details of where it's going to land. Feel free to review and tell me what think. (Yes the writing was incredibly melodramatic, but I was in a melodramatic mood. All I need now is the "Days of Our Lives" theme.) ; )
A/N: Thank you so much for your supportive reviews. They really have worked wonders!...at least for my outlook on life. ; )
A/N: This chapter - for the most part - is not my own. It completely wrote itself, and I hereby wash my hands of any damage it may do to your psyches and/or your I.Q.'s.
Chapter Six
The alleyway leading up to the grand entryway of Crash's beaten-in door seemed to age a hundred years since he'd last stepped inside several months ago - he'd made it a point to avoid the place after Original Cindy's death, but tonight was an exception. New bullet holes blended so well with the older ones against the surface, as if even the newer bullets had always belonged imbedded in the metal. The only betrayal was that the newer bullet holes had a slightly sharper edge that glinted something fierce in the scattered rays of light trying to pierce the enveloping darkness from the streetlights on either edge of the alley.
Thinking of bullets only made the naturally nervous man gulp down air thickly. Strange things had been crawling around Seattle since the coming out of the secret project Manticore, almost all dealing with bullets and their counterpart named blood. But even stranger than the identified freaks - the mermaids and mermen, half-dog half-man anomalies, X-series, etc. - were the unnamed shadows that stole their way across the city in broad daylight as well as in the dark of night. Call him paranoid and the victim of too many disaster movies, but like the rest of Seattle, he couldn't shake the feeling that apocalyptic events were building.
Nor the one that he was being followed.
Swallowing the feeling, the young man glanced across the alley nervously. He didn't see anything but didn't particularly expect to either. The many broken boxes and rusted over trashcans were optimum places for any amateur hoodlum to hide but also supplied Crash with that trashy, homey feel - a silent snub to the more sophisticated bars across town, where Merlot tabs ran like Crash's Budweiser. He smiled slightly and opened the door, working his way through the crowd.
Crash was in full swing tonight. The music blared from waning speakers, combating for dominance with the big-screen T.V. loudly announcing the results from a skateboarding competition. Cigarette smoke clouds that could put L.A. smog to shame hung over the entire establishment, as if waiting to rain down nicotine and formaldehyde. The young man pushed towards the bar through the mob, taking his time when barely brushing past some particularly fine - and full - feminine figures, although most were overly clothed and less than drunk enough for his tastes. Okay, so they were just plain out of his league. He'd come to grips with the limited selection of possible women long ago.
A few feet in front of him a pixie-like blonde with orange streaks - he guessed they were originally intended to be red, but had mixed with the peroxide blonde - vacated her seat for a lean, mean latino who stood from the stool next to her. He slid into the now empty seat like an impatient stay at home mom would steal a last parking lot. The stool next to him was also filled almost instantly. The young man signaled for the bartender's attention. "Scotch!" he called over the crowd's chatter.
"And I'll have the same thing as the little lady," a voice chimed in beside him. He swerved his stool to face his abuser, but only met with a familiar smile. "Max," he breathed. "Long time no see."
"I could say the same for you, Sketch."
"What are you doing here?" he asked. Max shrugged. Sketchy couldn't tell if it was more that she didn't know or that she didn't really want to explain. Judging by the skittish eyes constantly glancing guiltily over both of their shoulders, he'd guess it was the latter. After a long and meaningful pause, he decided to change tactics slightly. "How'd you get out from behind the fence? Last I heard the 'authorities are keeping the transgenic crisis on a short leash.' I hear now that they're really starting to crack down on the perimeters of good ol' Terminal City."
Max shrugged again, scanning the crowd for the third time in as many minutes. "Snuck out. I figured if I could escape from a top-secret government facility twice I could probably also dodge the beer bellied Sector police."
"Alec's not going to be too happy with you."
"Screw Alec, he's not the boss of me. He can charm the entire of population of Terminal City to be at his beck and friggin' call, but I am my own person. If losing multiple friends and family members - not to mention Manticore's re-programming - hasn't broken me yet, I flatly refuse to let Alec have the honor." Finishing her small rant, she glanced at Sketchy's amused face. "What are you smiling about?" she asked darkly. He tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but it was no use. This whole situation was too ironic, and he told her so.
"Ironic how?"
"I had this exact conversation with Alec a couple hundred times before the whole showdown at Jam Pony - except without admitting that there was a project Manticore. He just mentioned that if his 'former life' didn't break him, you wouldn't 'get the pleasure either.' And charming - according to him - wasn't your problem. I think it was the 'manhandling.' Yet he was always glancing over his shoulder to make sure you weren't there to hear him." Max slipped into a pensive silence before checking over her shoulder to make sure his ears were dropping in.
They both received their drinks at that moment and Sketchy, being the diamond-in-the-rough-gentleman type, opted to also cover Max's drink as well as his own. "So," she began after another uncomfortable and untimely pause. "How are you holding up? I mean with, uh, O.C. gone and all."
Sketchy didn't hesitate to reply. "It's been hell. Despite our differences in taste - or perhaps our similarities - I really loved her. Even Normal seemed to slide into a mourning period, well, as much as his could anyway." He smiled at Max rather sadly, a wistful look swirling in his eyes. "It's been a rough year or so, I mean, I lose Herbal, then you and Alec, and then O.C."
"You haven't lost me and Alec," Max protested, an oddly sympathetic feeling causing her to cover Sketchy's hand with her own, letting their fingers entwine loosely.
"Well, obviously I've got you back. And Alec," he glanced up quickly before letting his gaze fall back to Max, both pitying and slightly petrified. "Is here."
Before Max had even been given decent time to arm herself mentally, she felt Alec slide with a deadly silence into the now empty stool behind her. "Sweet Blue Lady, be with us in the hour of our deaths." She mumbled so softly even the X5 behind her wouldn't be able to decipher her prayer, her suddenly dry lips barely moving around the words. She turned her creaking stool from Sketchy to face front of the bar, masking any nervousness with her usual "piss off" glower. Her languid posture veiling the tension that pulled every fiber of her being, Max looked for the world like a completely relaxed woman sitting at the bar with two friends. No one passing by the bar, or Sketchy for that matter, could see how trapped she felt. Only Alec, looking for a kink in her seemingly shatterproof armor, saw the tell-tale tiny bounces of her leg. And his eyes just couldn't skip over the fact that Max and Sketchy were - holding hands?
"Sketchy."
"Alec."
"What are you two having?" he asked. Max watched his fingers point out her scotch, over the bottom of her eyelids. Long and deft and entirely too masculine and lethal, they slowly caressed the side of her short glass, at once almost possessive and detached. His fingers engulfed the glass and tipped it towards himself, peering inside; but all Max could see were those same fingers wrapped around her throat.
"Scotch," she heard Sketchy's voice echo from the distance, like she was drugged by her own fear. He kept prattling on stupidly, but Max didn't want to stop him. She wanted him to keep talking forever, or at least until she could find a way to get gone. Alec's voice rang in, only it was infinitely more clear, "I'll have the same."
Max still kept her eyes front, not willing to look at either of her companions. Alec sucked down his drink and still she was silent. He wasn't looking at her, Max could feel it. Somehow that was considerably more frightening than having his glowers weighing down on her. He was toying with her, and damn her fragile nerves, it was working. She was cornered, so she did what she would do in any other similar situation. Slowly, discreetly, she unwound her hand from Sketchy's.
Then she bolted.
After leapfrogging over the beer-slick bar, she raced to the back door. Out into the empty alleyway, she ceased to hide her transgenic abilities and blurred through the darkness, her skilled silence only broken by the whisper of winds racing through her hair and the occasional splash of scattered water drops falling back into their puddles. Adrenaline coated her veins, seemingly replacing her blood and pushing her faster. The sound of a gunning engine echoed against the buildings lining the alley, growing louder. And closer.
A sheer terror fell across Max. She'd created the monster, she'd already admitted to that. But Alec had found some force - compassion? humanity? - that masked him. Now Max was afraid she'd pushed his buttons one too many times, and like Christine ripping the mask off of the Phantom, she'd fully unleashed a few demons. A Pandora's box that had been cracked ajar flew open under the boiling pressure. Alec would find her, that was for certain. And at the same time it was terrifying, an inborn sense of release flooded her, making her giddy and almost exultant in her sprint.
Maybe she'd gone crazy like Ben.
Lost in her own fears and thoughts, a motorcyclist whipped her off the street and into his lap without a struggle. Slipping a needle from his pocket, he injected her forearm. Her head fell limply across his chest, exposing her barcode. Max was unconscious before she could even identify her assailant.
*****
The gunning motorcycle engine purred to a stop outside the No Tell Motel. Alec slid his sunglasses - although not needed for UV protection at 11:00 at night, it did obscure his eyes from a witness' view - down the bridge of his nose, taking in the sight of the dinky - and kinky for that matter - hovel. It was every pimps' own slice of paradise. "More like No Tell Hoe-Tell," he whispered sarcastically. It was two strong winds from collapsing, clinging its pale pink walls together out of stubbornness, but it would have to do.
The forewarning squeal of sirens gathered in the usual sounds of the night. It was a usual sound in and of itself, only it was drawing closer. Probably looking for a couple of wayward transgenics trying to have a night out on the town: them.
He scoffed in self-derision, glaring down at his unconscious companion in his arms who he felt - and in all fairness, probably was - responsible for this entire mess. "Never mind, we'll try somewhere else." The engine roared back to life, and the night rider ducked his bike behind a corner right when the police pulled into the motel's parking lot. Seeing he was not to be followed, Alec pasted a cocky smile across his face, slowing down to a less suspicious speed.
"Rent-a-cops, gotta love 'em."
Several miles and a few checkpoints later - "drunk girlfriend" seemed to be the password of the night, and Alec threw the excuse at any curious Sector cop that would glance their way - he pulled up in front of another building. The warehouse seemed like every other stereotypical warehouse in Post-Pulse America: way beyond its prime, thoroughly ransacked, and above all, empty.
He shifted Max to a better position in his lap. Glancing down at her drugged form, he asked, "Have you noticed that everyone one of our dates have either taken place in a sewer or a warehouse? The powers that be need to be just a bit more creative when throwing our rendezvous points together. I'll have to speak to them about that at the next soiree. I hear Elvis will be there." He stared down at the still unconscious Max thoughtfully. He continued on in a soft voice, almost tauntingly. "You know, I honestly think you have a better sense of humor when you're sound asleep." She wriggled slightly in response, reminding Alec that the drugs - although nearly lethal for most ordinaries - were not going to keep her quiet forever. "Unfortunately."
He stepped off of the bike, hauling Max with him none to gently into the warehouse. Letting his irritation get the better of him, he dropped her with a heavy thud onto a nearby stack of crates, which loudly protested the addition of even her light weight. "Stop whining, I'll be back to pick her up eventually."
Circling the perimeter to make sure all was secure - both the building's structure and number of inhabitants, or lack thereof - he came across a generator. He flicked it on, just to see how much juice was left. It was pleasant surprise that it lit only one room in the middle of the warehouse, too far away from any window eager to leak light into the street and lead the police back to them. He stalked to where Max's unconscious body still lay. Throwing her over one shoulder and the miscellaneous supplies he'd managed to recover on his little stroll over the other, he crossed to the lighted room, using her butt to smack the door open, she seemed to groan softly in response. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling anything but. "A guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. And you are in sore need of some discipline that I doubt Log-boy would ever give you."
This time, a bit more gently, he laid Max down on cement floor. Her hair spread across the ground, circling lightly down her back in the shape of an angel's wing. He turned his head slightly, to see the array from a different angle. "Or a dragon's wing," he said, trying to shake himself out of wherever his mind had slipped off to.
He strolled around the room, doing his best to slowly draw his attention away from the sleeping beauty and/or beast and more to the task at hand.
Major Problem No. 1: That little stunt Max pulled drew the attention of the police, alerting everyone and their grandmother to another transgenic sighting. Both transgenics were too recognizable, thanks to the nightly news which made them household...barcodes. They had to stay low.
Major Problem No. 2: Their "spotting" would lead to cracking down on the perimeters of Terminal City which would make it incredibly difficult to break back in. Plus the factor that he and Max would inevitably be arguing when they tried to break back into T.C., which added a whole new degree of difficulty.
The more Alec thought, the more problems and possible harms came to mind which led him to Major Problem No. 3 - although now that he thought of it, was probably more in the "No. 1" category : Max, pretty self-explanatory.
Last, but certainly not least. Major Problem No. 4: Him. Her. Alone in a warehouse for up to several days while waiting out the sector police and possibly even White.
He scoffed at the ceiling, "You have some major explaining to do." The only bright side was that there seemed to be plenty of non-perishable food and water.
And he had an advantage over Max: handcuffs. He pulled out a moth-eaten but still operative cot he'd found wedged behind a door, slapped it down against cement floor, and with a slightly sadistic grin, he gently laid Max down on the cot before promptly handcuffing her to the drain of a nearby rusting sink. The winds whistled through the warehouse, bringing a cool chill that caused Alec's instinctive shiver. Cursing his own tender weakness, he rifled through the room to find any decent covering to shield Max's body from the cold. Once content - as much as he could be in his irate state, with Max and himself - that she wouldn't feel any discomfort from the sudden chill, he found a more unseemly covering for himself.
The lights fizzled as the generator went out.
Alec's patience was really starting to wear thin. "Great," he murmured edgily in the dark, slumping against the wall. "Just great." The small drips falling from the sink were more hypnotic and peaceful than irritating, lulling him toward the land of dreams, where the Familiar threat didn't exist and certain brunette hard knocks were a bit more tender. As the night wore on and Max showed no signs of opening those resolve-melting eyes of hers, Alec shrugged himself into a corner of the room between a couple boxes, engulfed himself in his starchy blanket, and surrendered himself promptly to a deep sleep.
*****
Max's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the looming dark and trying to work past the powerful drugs that had rendered her unconscious. Seeing her captor was Alec, who stood out even against the shadows of the room, flung her into a state of both fear and hope. Maybe she could somehow talk some sense into him.
A small flash of light threw Max's night vision into a tizzy, taking her a second to readjust her eyesight. Alec whisked the match that had disrupted her perception gently over to a nearby candle, which resisted taking the flame at first, but then surrendered to his charm. In a few moments, the twenty or so candles he'd stumbled upon were lit; the wicks sported their bouncing little flames proudly, as if only too happy to please him, like everything and everyone else in this godforsaken city. Well, not her. She flatly refused to let her pigheadedness dwindle under his charm or his ire; but Max couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her stubbornness would make it just a tad more difficult to talk sense into him.
Nor could she shake the almost romantic mood wafting through the atmosphere, watching the small dots of light emphasize the strong cheeks and chin - not to mention the effortlessly striking eyes - of his profile under her lowered lids. He'd always been a looker, but flooded in candlelight, it seemed to accent all his qualities, physically and in other...ways. Max shook her head lightly side to side to clear her drugged mind of any romantic notions. Candles always did that to her, softened her rough edges in the radiance of outdated romance. The small flicker of the flames seemed to be her emotional Achilles' heel, making her see things not as they were, but as they could have been - if fate had given her a more normal, emotionally open life with a man, instead of leaving her caged in fears of intimacy and commitment phobias.
Max convinced herself that any sappiness and syrupy ideas in the air were purely a result of the candles, not because of Alec himself. Her uptight, droning former boss Normal could seem amorous given the right amount of candlelight - and mass quantities of alcohol.
Snapshot memories of Logan and late night dinners and chess games flew unbidden to her mind, making her feel inexplicably depressed.
Alec began to turn around, bringing her attention from the way the lighting slipped over his strong shoulders back to the heart of the matter. Max's eyes slammed shut, her face the perfect mask of one in the midst of pleasant dreams, hoping to stall Alec's unavoidable antagonism until she recovered more fully from the drugs and...other things. Her mask cracked slightly under a scowl, now that she realized she was handcuffed to a bar of some sort. She recovered quickly though, the frown only a small, split-second change in her otherwise picture perfect "slumber." Maybe he hadn't noticed.
But he had, although that wasn't what gave her away. "I know you're awake Max," he calmly said, like chastising a four year old trying to stash the evidence of eating the last cookie when she had the chocolate chips smeared across her face. His voice managed to sound both lifeless yet inflexible. The man was a constant contradiction. "Your breathing became shallower as you regained consciousness. Not to mention that tiny frown that crossed your too serene face when you probably realized you were handcuffed to the sink."
Max sat up in a flash, her mind swirling from the tranquilizer's hangover as the metal of the handcuff bit into her thin wrist, the other end clanking against the corroded pipe, still firmly attached.
"What do you want from me?" she asked breathlessly, cursing her choice of words even as they fell from her mouth. They sounded too much like she was dealing with a complete enemy, a stranger, only reminding her of how little she knew about the man in front of her. He had been an unwelcome friend to her, yes, but she hadn't really known all that much about him. And like he had said, things weren't the same anymore. What little she had gathered under his cocky, devil-may-care cover may have been rendered obsolete in the months past. He'd grown so much, filling out his position of leadership so well, growing past her in so many ways.
His eyes stared into hers, smooth as glass like a pond on an early spring morning, when the rising mists were a cloak over any activity. They read nothing besides a complete and utter void, purely Manticorian. This wasn't Alec handcuffing Max to a sink in the middle of God knows where. This was X5-494 securing a target: her. Before her mind could do away with the irrational thought, her ears pricked up, listening for the lonely sound of helicopter blades slicing the night air, greedy to take her back to the hellhole she'd known as home for almost a decade. She instinctively dipped her head slightly in proper reprimand position, awaiting her rebuke from a superior officer. Catching her reactions made her jaw clench in mortification and annoyance, her hackles rose at giving Alec the power in such a spineless way. She refused to surrender so easily.
Her head snapped up, the twin fires in her brown eyes locked with the burnt ashes in his hazel, freezing him to the spot. The longer the moment held the more charged it became, the inferno of her rekindling some of the flames in himself. The charred remains blew away from his eyes, a fire relit within his irises as life seemed to seep back into him. Max watched with no little relief as X5-494 rediscovered a more Alec-like state, someone she was much better at coping with.
"So, what do you want?" Max asked again, but slipped in a less wary, more friendly tone.
Alec shifted his weight that had been leaning against a metal cabinet, slowly crossing the floor toward her bearing two candles, growing more immense with every step as his presence filled her air space. He was successfully stealing all of her precious oxygen, each breath becoming more ragged as she painfully gulped down the remaining air into her starving lungs. The reaction astounded her. Well-trained to hold her breath for four-plus minutes, laid to waste by a wisecrack in a leather jacket.
Very slowly, his arms reached for the sink behind her head, each candle-laden hand almost brushing her face. Max shivered.
After arranging the candles where he wanted them on the basin - mostly where the mildew and other build-up wouldn't cause them to tip over - he stepped back, sliding onto a crate with all the grace of a king taking his throne. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, fingers making a steeple under his bristly chin. He seemed to consider her question, bouncing ideas around in his head, his forehead wrinkling in "deep thought."
The emotional roller coaster she was riding on was exhausting. One minute she felt calm, the next ashamed, and then angered. 'Alec's personality always brought out the best in me,' she thought sarcastically. 'The bastard's always pushing my buttons.' Yet for once her emotions seemed to be on their usual track: impatient with the silence. "What's with the handcuffs?" she demanded, clanking the chain imprisoning her hand awkwardly behind her back for good measure.
"You were in enough trouble when I found you the first time. Do you honestly think you're in less trouble now that I had to chase you across town? Or the fact that you're little high-jump over the bar and blurring that has brought down yet another media circus, making it damn near impossible to get back into Terminal City. Did that make all of your twisted little problems disappear?" His tone, although far from flat and uncaring, remained dangerously soft. Like a jungle cat's foot steps circling his prey before he pounced. "So the way I figured it, if having me around made you bolt in the first place, then having me pissed would make you run all the harder."
Call it stubbornness. Call it staying power. Call it flat out stupidity, but Max refused to be moved. His complete relaxed control fueled her anger, making her want to break him of that calm exterior that she could tell he was far from feeling.
"Now, what is it I want?" Alec asked conversationally. "How about an apology?" Hazel eyes swerved accusingly at her, making her feel anything but apologetic. Putting his hands on his knees, he stood and began to pace back and forth across the room, his tightly leashed fury causing the candles to flicker in alarm. "How about an apology for treating me like I don't deserve your high and oh-so-mighty presence for a year and then the minute I am ready to take a stand for my kind, you ride off on your high horse, hidden behind that red, white, and blue flag Logan carries like his own personal Holy Grail. How about an apology for being a manipulative, whiny..."
Alec ranted on and on, losing more and more of his control with every remark he directed towards her. His pacing picked up, both his feet on the floor and his insults. Max had braced herself for such an attack for the past months.
Or at least she thought she had.
Now facing the reality of his tirade, instead of playing the apologetic mildness she'd so painstakingly practiced, she began feeling more like unremorseful violence. Surprisingly enough the insults didn't take too well to her transgenic pride. Dressing down was one thing, verbal abuse - although she could give it, she didn't take to kindly to receiving it - was quite another.
Her pride erupted. "Screw you, Alec!" The shrill cry rang across the building, echoing over fractured windows and unsettled dust mites. The three words were simple but yelled with such hate and rage it made her throat go hoarse.
Alec stopped mid-word, mid-stride, turning to face her. His face a mask of passion, angry and impatient to be let loose. Grabbing her by the shoulders, her body wobbled back and forth as he knelt in front of her. His knees crashed violently against the cement floor as her jerked her body forward, his nose scant inches from hers.
"No Max," the words came out softly, a bare whisper. "Screw." His lips inched towards hers, like two magnets entering the force field when torn between clinging as one and bursting apart. "You."
In the distance the force field snapped, magnets locking with an audible clang.
Alec kissed her.
His lips attacked hers, daring her to break away. Max's eyes widened to the size of flying saucers at the forced-entrance, her one free hand pushing against his chest since her legs were uselessly trapped between the cot and his body. Alec remained undeterred, one hand brushing her face selfishly as if soaking into her skin, the other pulling her body towards him via the small of her back. Max squealed in protest, but as she felt his lips nibbling on hers, the brown eyes slowly closed and her lips reciprocated his kisses. The frightened claws digging into his shirt in hopes of escaping transformed into fingers wrapping against the warmth of his neck. Her thumb tipped his jaw toward a better angle, her fingers playing along his pounding pulse until her pinkie slipped next his barcode. Alec's nostrils flared in response as his body shivered very slightly, the primitive part of Max pleased at eliciting such a vulnerable response from the self-contained X5.
When Alec's lips moved across her jawbone, she tipped her head back to give him better access. Max bit her lip roughly to stifle a moan as he inched closer to her ear. "Alec," she sighed softly as he kissed her lower earlobe.
A cold smirk spread against her skin. "Not quite," the suddenly dry lips whispered conspiratorially in her ear, the voice taking a sardonic, unfeeling pitch.
Max recognized that voice...
Her eyes snapped open, for real this time. She took in her surroundings instantly, knowing without a doubt who her real captor was. Max allowed herself a sardonic smile. She thought the dream was bad.
The reality was much, much worse.
Sensing his presence in the room, her eyes ran along the sterile tile floor, drifting from his dress shoe clad feet up his smoky gray two-piece suit to his cold, pale eyes.
"Have a nice nap?"
*****
A pang of fear sunk its sharp teeth into his barcode.
Alec awoke with a start as if sensing something had gone terribly wrong. For starters the blanket that he had wrapped himself with had also worked its way around his head. Swathed like a mummy, the wooden crates on either side formed his own personal sarcophagus. He tore at the blanket angrily, not realizing his sudden nemesis had been the one thing that had saved his life. Alec emerged from the binding like a baby escaping his mother's womb - albeit more violently: head first, then shoulders, the rest slipping out easily from the widened hole.
"Rebirth is always a pain," he spat, kicking the offending cloth away from him, knocking down several crates noisily in the process. He turned towards the cot, smart remark in hand...
...but the wind got knocked out of him at the sight of the empty cot and the empty handcuffs that dangled mockingly from the pipe. Only the faintest scent of the cherries and motorcycle oil that had ingrained itself into her natural perfume remained in the air. She'd left at least two hours ago, although he'd only been out - judging by his crusty watch - three hours. The sedative should have lasted at least another three and a half from when he settled her in the cot. Judging by Alec's mathematical skills, that gave him at least another thirty minutes of a perfectly unconscious Max, chained to that cot where she belonged.
He ran a hand through his hair in irritation at his own incompetence, fingers tightening around the short locks and pulling at them relentlessly. This was the kind of screw up that got good soldiers put to sleep back at Manticore. He looked at the rain-rotted ceiling and chuckled hysterically, mixed with despair and ultimate frustration. How could one measly under qualified X5...? He glanced down at the cot again - still scoffing at his own defeat - when an unfamiliar object muddled up in the dirty blanket he'd found for her caught his eye.
A necklace of some sort.
Max didn't do jewelry.
He lifted it between his fingers, marveling at its simplicity and weightlessness when the full weight of its implication crashed down on him, his knees weakening to the point where he leaned against the wall for support.
He recovered in a flash - and not a moment to soon - and tore across the warehouse, sliding onto the stolen bike with speed that would do any commanding officer at Manticore proud. The engine roared to life, its panic howling ironically against the dead calm of the night. Alec whipped down the street, straight as Cupid's own arrow towards Terminal City.
Swerving around a particularly severe corner at a fanatical speed, the leather band of the necklace slipped from his palm, dropping into a nearby puddle. Bouncing off the bottom of its polluted swimming pool, the focal point of the necklace rose ominously to the surface. A ghost's menacing hand arising from the grave.
It bore a caduceus: the mark of Familiars.
White had Max.
*****
A/N: Again, I honestly didn't write this. My muse just took me for a joyride and I'm still working out the details of where it's going to land. Feel free to review and tell me what think. (Yes the writing was incredibly melodramatic, but I was in a melodramatic mood. All I need now is the "Days of Our Lives" theme.) ; )