Disclaimer: Ain't mine. I don't own "Sleeping Beauty" either, although it was one of my favorite childhood movies. Go Disney!
A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews. I felt so much better once the chapter actually went up and then when all of you guys gave so many supportive reviews...whew, it made my vacation even more fun! Except now with some people saying they like where this story is going (when, quite frankly, I don't know where it's going) just piles on the pressure. I'm gonna crack!
A/N 2: I'm so sorry about the length in between chapters...writer's block. My muse went on strike.
Chapter Nine
A mob of police, media clowns, and disparaging vigilantes crowded the pearly steel boundary line of Terminal City, all salivating over the most recent reports of an X5 crossing the fence and assaulting a Sector cop in the process. All were looking for a piece of the action, whether they wanted to catch it on the end of a nightstick, camera, or a baseball bat. This was the first transgenic-on-human assault since the freak masses had shrunken inside the poisonous forces of Terminal City, and the mob - not to mention the politicians behind them - almost hoped for some sort of massive confrontation to use as leverage for a call to pull in the armed forces to eradicate Seattle - and the world - of the transgenic dilemma. The Sector police were posted to push back the crowds, but only put up a half-hearted attempt, and the mobs went for the most part unchecked. Thankfully, the transgenics on the other side of the fences had the common sense to ignore the uprising outside. They kept inside towards the heart of their realm, both training and instinct saying that eventually the crowd would grow restless and disperse from their one-sided skirmish.
Two pairs of transgenic eyes picked up the spectacle several blocks away and decided to park Logan's battered car in a place that would be both inconspicuous but easy for the owner to find later. Since it had been a chilly night, Alec had stuffed Max's arms through her only sweatshirt, a hoodie. Sensing the glance her companion now threw in her direction, Max hid her dark locks and exotic face - which, thanks to the Seattle media, were almost as recognizable as her barcode - inside the hood before stepping out of the car.
Cursing himself for being all kinds of a fool, Alec realized he'd left his own hooded sweatshirt inside the fence, rendering it useless at this point in time. He turned and spotted his saving grace in the backseat. "Logan a baseball fan?" he mused aloud, then shrugged. Whatever it took to save his butt. Throwing the Red Sox baseball cap on his head, he turned it backwards until the bill covered his barcode, in case the collar of his leather jacket should slip and reveal the top of it. Not being able to stop the hint of vanity, Alec gave himself a quick once over in the driver's side mirror, grimacing at how tastelessly far the hat went back on his forehead. "Incredibly dorky but otherwise low-key," he mumbled to himself before climbing out of the car.
After walking over to the driver's side, Max had slumped against the hood of the car nonchalantly, waiting for her escort to get ready. "Alec," she whispered again, her exceptionally warm breath making a small cloud in the night's chill. She shrugged, more at the person himself than the name. He was a handsome stranger, but still a stranger to her, seeing as her self-imposed amnesia left her with a complete blank when he came to mind. Then again, he could be lying about them knowing each other. But his own story - though she sensed 'Alec' had been hiding something - seemed to fill in several blanks, and what did he have to gain by lying to her? Why would he have been cradling her in such an intimate manner if they hadn't known each other? Max shrugged against her thoughts. Pushing them to the back of her jumbled mind, she swore to herself to figure this whole thing out after she got back inside Terminal City.
Turning her attention back to more immediate matters, she saw Alec rustling around in his seat and rolled her eyes at his antics, somehow familiar with the action. When he finally stepped out, Max greeted him with a sarcastic wolf-whistle, gauged low enough for only him to hear against the throng's stragglers, just now walking toward the fences, baseball bats and beer bottles brandished.
"Gee, I thought you'd discovered a pimple on that perfect chin of yours and we'd never make it to the prom," she cooed, oozing out the drama. Alec was not amused. "Shut up."
She went on nonetheless. Her first form of psychological defense was shrouding herself in a confident, bordering on cocky, attitude and sarcasm. Max had every intention of keeping that facade up, no matter how Alec disturbed her senses. "I think Manticore put a little too much estrogen in your system. I could have been ready to go to the moon in the time it took you to step out of the car." He stood in front of her now, one hand on either side of her body, braced against the hood, leaning toward her in what Max assumed to be a menacing fashion. It didn't work. The geeky, albeit boyish, tilt of his baseball cap was all too amusing and almost kind of cute. She leaned towards Alec slightly, a frank, informative expression on her face. "Did you ever see Woody Harrelson in 'White Men Can't Jump'? You guys look like you have the same clothing designer."
Alec could feel the frown on his mouth deepen, although he was all too aware of the smile sparkling in his eyes. He should be insulted, he should be trying to figure out away into Terminal City; he should be stepping away from Max, at the very least. Instead the X5 felt himself step out of time, happy to spend a few moments with this woman, still shocked and giddy at her sudden resurrection. His eyes washed slowly over her face, which looked haggard and older than it's years, given the fact that she had spent so long fighting to awake from a horrible nightmare, only to be plagued by the consequences of reality: the horrible nightmare hadn't been a dream. To some extent, it had only been the beginning.
And yet, there was that element she held that had grown since their first meeting - despite her eternally woeful outlook and the Fates' best attempts at destroying it - and the element had grown deeper and richer and truer in the fullness of time. And maybe since she'd been so inanimate before, it shone all the brighter now, nearly blinding those who could see it, making her haggard appearance verge on stunning.
She looked more beautiful, more tempting - on so many levels - than ever before, and the realization terrified him more than any trip to Psy. Obs. ever could.
Blissfully ignorant of the never-ending battle Alec so carefully hid behind his eyes, Max's own eyelids drooped slightly despite her best efforts to keep them at attention. The whole effort of waking up was much more exhausting than she thought it could possibly be, considering she'd spent two months resting up for it; not to mention the unusually long trek down the Space Needle, which left her dizzy and almost wondering if she should have taken Alec up on one of his many offers to help her down. But no, she just had to be stubborn and say she could handle it just fine on her own, despite her shaking knees.
And now she was paying for it. All she wanted was to be in her own bed but she didn't have the energy to make it across the fence, the adrenaline-like energy buzz of excitement giving way to exhaustion. Max stifled an uncharacteristic yawn, letting her eyes close.
"You could use some sleep," Alec observed when he saw the shuttering lids. Without warning, he pulled her off the hood of the car and swung her into his arms, pointedly turning away from the fence. He didn't get two steps before Max wormed her out of the unwanted embrace and landed on her feet, the feelings of confusion and anger rejuvenating her tired limbs. "Who do you think you are?" she asked, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You're not some twisted knight in shining armor. You don't just pluck a transgeni..."
Alec slapped a hand across her mouth none too gently, forcing her to swallow the words. Her nostrils flared in irritation; Max's tempers always did steal her common sense. Knowing her style of fighting, Alec pulled Max's body next to his, trapping her hands - her first line of defense - between their chests. Then, in the blink of an eye, he spun their bodies against the doorway of a nearby building. From the street, or even the sidewalk next to them, their shadowed figures would seem entwined in a sweet embrace.
Max struggled against his hands in vain, her mouth working ferociously against his palm. "Are you done yet?" Alec asked calmly, still not removing his hand despite the dire threats he knew she had to be making under there. "I have explained that I have at least another decade of training on you, right? That includes several holds and pins brought to you from around the world. Given half a second and a quick hand rotation that you are clearly incapable of blocking from your current position, I could make you a lot more uncomfortable," he continued matter-of-factly, volume pitched where only Max could hear. Her response was two simple, succinct words, muffled by the still unmoving palm. "Tsk, tsk. Such harsh language, Maxie." Alec grinned at her show of fire, which only riled her and struggle even more uselessly, which only made him smile all the wider. It was a vicious cycle.
Getting the occasional curious glance from passersby, he got serious. "We are less than two hundred feet from a lynch mob ready and willing to pounce if someone so much as cries 'Wolf.' What chance do you honestly think we have if they find not one, but two, freaks of science in their midst? Now is not the time to lecture me on transgenic etiquette." Max stilled, just now realizing the fatal faux pas she'd nearly committed. Alec continued in his same infuriatingly logical tone. "You've had a busy day. You're tired. About half a mile around the perimeter I can get us in. But quite frankly, I don't think you have enough strength left in you to weave through that crowd and make it home. I'm going to support you, whether you like it or not. If you want to walk, fine, but I will not be havin' you fall asleep on your feet, hittin' the asphalt, and showin' these lunatics your barcode."
He removed his hand from her mouth, and Max kept mercifully silent. "This is as close to a compromise as your getting, Max: you walk on your own two feet, I have a hold on you. We'll just look like another young couple in love that just happens to be meandering through a crowd of would-be vigilante killers. Do you understand?" She nodded.
"Say, 'I understand.'"
Max gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring yet again. "I understand," she ground out. Alec smiled, without a hint of victory or smugness. Even in her near irate state, Max couldn't help but notice what a nice smile he had, but she'd be damned before she told him that. She hated being commanded by anyone, especially this man who seemed to know so much more about her than she about him.
Hand in hand, the duo snuck through the crowd. When one particular large and boisterous man's dynamic mannerisms sent Max sailing into Alec's side, he accepted her without complaint. The hand he secured around her waist made it oddly worth the bruise he knew he'd have in a few hours.
*****
Max's mental homecoming was a lot warmer than she could have ever predicted. Her rough and ready family was a few balloons and a box of firecrackers away from throwing a parade in her honor, wrapping around her like a mismatched quilt the moment Alec pulled her out of the sewers. She was so shocked by the fuss and reaching arms that her fingers only tightened on her helping hand instead of gracefully releasing it. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion made her dizzy enough to accept Alec's help as he tucked her into his side and led her through the general hubbub.
The crowd seemed to take the hint and gave her some breathing room, which ended up being a mistake. Seeing an opening, a blond puff mowed down Aunt Max. After running around with his X6 and X7 friends for several months, he had picked up the tactics of combined speed and stealth. Max was flat on her back before she even knew what hit her and the crowd let out a near comical gasp.
Since Max's reflexes were running at a less than optimum rate, her head smacked painfully against the asphalt, stars twirling in front of her eyes. She recovered quickly though and managed to sit up despite the 90 pound growth adhered to her chest. The child - a boy it would seem - shuddered against her chest so violently that Max first feared that the poor kid was having a seizure, until the dampness of his tears seeped through her shirt. The near-dormant motherly instinct pulled him tight to her chest and wove her fingers through his hair while her eyes swung to Alec's, silently begging to know what she had done to hurt this second stranger.
Although keeping his face neutrally blank, Alec's stomach lurched painfully at the sight before him. Ray didn't realize he was giving his vulnerability over to a stranger; Max didn't realize she had nearly given her life for the love of this boy. Alec swore under his breath and shook his head sadly at Max. At this point in time, there was nothing she could do to comfort him. Kneeling softly beside the pair, he touched Ray's head gently, his fingers dangerously close to caressing Max's. "She's okay, but she doesn't remember us, Ray," he said softly.
Ray. She wracked her brain. Nothing.
Ray and Alec, what was so special about them that made them lost to her? But if she shared this level of intimacy with "Ray," open tears of relief in front of God and everyone, she obviously had loved him almost as much as he seemed to love her, and she desperately wanted to remember him, for his sake and her own.
Ray's head shot up, imprisoning her with his disbelieving stare. The blue eyes searched her brown desperately, and came up empty. The sparkle in her eye, the one she saved especially for him, was gone. The child didn't know whether to cry hysterically or go into his safe zone and shut himself down, but Alec had said that was dangerous. In the end, Ray did what any self-respecting White would do: chose the hardest, the rockiest, the most dangerous path. He hoped against hope.
Max watched the emotion-filled eyes of the boy shift drastically in several directions, but when the dust settled, the look he gave her was as tender as it was resolute. His hand cupped her cheek gently, as he often did when he had found his aunt crying for Original Cindy. A small sense of panic jolted inside of her, fear that she wouldn't be able recollect this "Ray" at all, which would only drive the knife all the deeper into his young heart.
But Max did not need to fear. For all his worldly wisdom and pain, his heart was still young, he could take it. As usual, Ray read her perfectly. "Don't worry, Aunt Max. You'll remember someday. I'll help you."
Thankfully the youngster inherited his father's tenacity, proving to be just as determined to recover her memory as Ames White had been to pry information from her. Morning, noon, night, and every breathing moment in between Ray spent as Max's personal mosquito. She would push him away out of fear at first, seeing as Manticore left a lot to be desired in its familial relations department, then she swatted at him out of frustration as she became more and more comfortable with him. But Ray was persistent in his pestering, only falling back for a moment or two before re-launching his attacks.
More often than not, Max would lay her head down at the end of the day with a heavy sigh of frustration, feeling like a defective grenade. During the day Ray had struck a particular pose, jutted out his lip a certain way, or said something that felt all too familiar to her. The pin was pulled. Seeing twinges of memory like a dim light bulb near the door of a dark wardrobe, she'd wrack her brain for the specifics, trying to crawl closer to that light and the beyond. But in the end, zilch. The light bulb switched off, the memory faded into blackness. Like shutting her eyes after staring into the sun, Max could see a dim outline of the memory before it died away completely. The pin could be pulled but the grenade never exploded.
On the other hand, whether or not Max loved him before - or even how much - was slowly becoming irrelevant. Day after day she felt herself being drawn in by the tyke and his lovable antics. The glint in his eye when a particularly mischievous notion wandered in between his ears Max was especially lured to, although it seemed somewhat misplaced. For some reason the sparkle seemed to be a bit more at home in eyes a bit more - green? stormy?
But out of all the uncertainties of her life Max knew one thing for sure: whether or not she could touch him, she still had Logan.
*****
Once Sleeping Beauty had awakened from her seemingly eternal sleep, she and Prince Charming were reunited. Their relationship was better than ever. For upon the fair maiden's awakening, the invisible, subtle barrier that had so long hung between them opened up like a curtain on a stage. With that barrier gone, and the castle scullion that had plagued her for so long now forgotten, it would seem that the star-crossed lovers' fate had changed. Cue the euphoric, triumphant music, for they were free to live happily ever after.
For a short while at least.
Then overtime things reverted back to normalcy and Sleeping Beauty returned to her standoffish state. Then she reunited with the same castle scullion who'd nearly driven her over the palace wall and into the moat not eight months before. Then suddenly not remembering the scullion was more a hindrance than a help, for she no longer knew why she had disliked him so passionately before, and something that could be misconstrued as a near friendship had formed between them. Then the barrier seemed to grow again; instead of a stage curtain of velvet, it had morphed into a drape of chain mail. Then the more time Sleeping Beauty and the scullion spent together the faster the drapes came together, the louder the chains scraped across the stage, threatening to shut out Prince Charming for good.
Then Prince Charming took matters into his own hands by forming a plan and throwing caution to the wind. And then, Prince Charming inadvertently flung treasure toward enemy hands.
*****
Slam-shifting into park, Logan Cale carefully removed the keys from the ignition. He stepped out of the car, his exoskeleton whirring loudly in the silence. The back alley chosen for the rendezvous was less than attractive, strewn with drunken bodies and other vermin. As per habit, he checked the surrounding area until he was convinced that each body around him was too intoxicated to be a threat. The fully loaded pistol in his pocket would have to wait for another day.
The sound of scuffling feet caused the cyber-journalist to whirl around so quickly his exoskeleton squeaked before returning to its usual drone. His contact stood several yards away, eyeing him openly. He appeared tall, lanky, and handsome despite the white puffs streaking his otherwise raven black hair. The man's look and bearing could pass for one of Ames White's cohorts, but the blond shook off the thought quickly.
"Did you bring the blood?" The man calmly asked when he was within speaking distance, stopping not two feet from Logan, voice pitched low lest his disturb the drunken stupors surrounding them. The words held an obscure, eastern European accent. His eyes were dark and unnerving, leaving the younger man a bit dubious. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he'd gotten this nameless contact through a very reliable source. From within his jacket pocket, Logan withdrew a small vial filled with the red liquid in question.
Doc had run some blood tests on Max when she first arrived at Terminal City that night, checking for psychoactives or other toxins that could prove detrimental to her recovery. Once the blood had been proven clean, Eyes Only had swiped it for a rainy day. And this was that rainy day.
"How long until you can have a cure?" Logan asked, placing the vial and his future delicately into the stranger's palm. He proved too hasty. The older man's fingers stiffened around the bottle, a hint of suspicion darkening his already black eyes. Logan tried to backtrack. "My client is willing to pay handsomely, and more money the sooner a cure is found. My boss..."
"Eyes Only." The stranger interrupted. The blond nodded before finishing. "My boss needs to pay the bills." The older man's knowing smile was handsome but strangely chilling, although Logan shook the reaction off as a longstanding need to have complete control over his destiny. Trusting the Pope with something this close to his heart would leave him doubting even his piety and reliability.
A small uncomfortable silence fell over the duo. Logan offered his hand before asking, "What exactly is your relationship with Manticore, Mr...?"
The stranger didn't see the hand at first, studying the vial of blood at eye level with open fascination; it was as if he intended to discern the secrets of the red fluid in front of their very eyes. The fascination only spurned Logan's sixth sense further but he ignored it again.
"I am a scientist myself, Mr.Cale. A late colleague - a mentor, you might say - held a very influential position in Project Manticore." Only when the vial was secured in his coat pocket did the dark-eyed stranger notice the outstretched hand. Taking it in his own, they shook firmly, the older man answering the second half of the question: "Fredrickson. Dr. Leonard Johannes Fredrickson."
*****
"Max, you really, really shouldn't be lifting that."
Grimacing silently and cursing her own stubborn nature, Max shifted her weight under the overflowing food crate slightly but didn't put it down, which was what you were supposed to do when someone told you that you were lifting an object you shouldn't. "Lift with the legs, not the back," she mumbled to herself. The muscles in her lower back sang in a happy chorus as they were relieved from their strain and the bulk of the weight settled on her much steadier legs.
Several of the Seattle markets had pooled their resources and unselfishly "donated" a good three month supply of daily necessities; longer if they were rationed properly, which they undoubtedly would be. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance and night jobs to acquire the massive load of food, toiletries, even the occasional keg of beer or bottle of vodka. Logan had located a unused warehouse in a low-profile neighborhood on the edge of the Seattle city limits, and after much debate it was decided that all loot be dropped off there for temporary safe-keeping. Max had been among the skeptics of the final plan, and unlike some of her fickle supporters, she hadn't been led to believe by Alec's calm hand gestures and confident smile that all would turn out for the best. He had convinced almost everyone that moving a big load at the right time would be less risky than moving small loads during the wrong one. Max had predictably scoffed. Such a considerable amount of goods - although stolen in small quantities from countless corporations - would catch somebody's eye before they got the loot home. But in the end came the opportunity Alec had been waiting for. A riot in the opposite corner of Seattle left the perfect cover to sneak their supply out. In semi-trucks, no less.
When the trucks had come in late last night Alec had hopped out of the driver's side of a semi proudly and managed to pluck Max out of the hungry masses and throw her a bold wink almost before his feet had softly clapped against the ground.
Now buried under a crate of canned fruits and vegetables, Max used the spurt of indignation she'd felt at his audacity to push her long, jean-covered legs forward. She ignored Dix's unfinished warning even though he repeated it several times to her waddling back. The first few steps toward the crate's drop off were balanced enough but her leg's self-confidence began to deteriorate after the first dozen steps, and they still had half a block to go. Within ten more steps her muscles were quivering and Max cursed her weakness, willfully forgetting that not three months ago she'd awoken from a coma and found her body only halfway up to speed. Although her recovery had been sufficient considering her superwoman physiology, it wasn't like Christ himself has just told her to pick up her mat and walk. She still had a way to go.
The inevitable moment came when Max felt the plastic edges of the crate slide under her fingers, slick with sweat of her exertion. She uttered a soft cry of alarm as her treasure chest tilted forward, several cans of green beans spilling across the front before dashing down the street. Thankfully she'd only dumped half the contents of her crate when a shadow fell across her strained face, proving solid when it grabbed the opposite side of the crate and steadied her loot, some stubborn cans bouncing against its chest as if they still had a chance to break free.
Max didn't really notice the sudden disarray of the cans Dix had so carefully packed - apparently along with his dashing good looks he'd been blessed with a splash of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - nor the grind of metal on concrete as the green beans rolled down the incline, sweet peas and baked beans hot on their tail. Vision, hearing, even taste - she'd just spent the last ten minutes unsuccessfully ignoring what she felt had to be her worst case of morning breath ever - were temporarily put on hold, for along with the tin cans her forehead had also made contact with the shadow's chest. Only her forehead wasn't quite so eager to bounce away.
At her unintentional headlong dive into its shoulder, her rescuer had let out a soft grunt, pushing breath - which smelled much better than hers at that particular moment - across her cheek. But even the feeling of the sweet tingle of gooseflesh on her neck paled in comparison to the hyperdrive her nose had flown into. Skin; slightly salty, probably from sweat. That was a definite aroma any self-respecting X5 could place blind-folded: skin. But every skin on every body smelled differently. Max normally wouldn't really care for this detail if this particular skin hadn't had such a strong effect.
She knew this scent, had inhaled it deeply once, though she couldn't possibly remember when. A sense of remembrance swept through Max; the ghost of an arm around her, lips lightly pressed to her hair. Where had she smelled this before? The only person that could remotely bear a resemblance to this aroma was...Ben. Only he'd been dead by then. Inhaling deeply through her sobs, the smell of him had permeated her nose, still sweet and life-like before rigor mortis had set in. But even in life, Max had a hard time believing Ben's personal perfume had been so strong. It enclosed around her like a dense fog and would have been nauseatingly suffocating if she weren't so oddly drunk with it. It sunk into her nose and lungs, drowning her, but she didn't want to kick toward the surface. Max didn't know what she was fighting more, the urge to pull back from a scent so strong she could feel it in her stomach, or the odd temptation to inhale deeper. She knew this smell - this feeling - the memory on the tip of her nose...
A voice broke her concentration. "So Doc finally agrees to let you help out with the unloading process under the strictest of instructions not to push yourself too hard and what do you do? You pass up the box of ramen noodles and spaghetti and go straight for the hard stuff."
The voice was a lot more familiar than the scent, which suddenly became a stench in her nose, tinged with fear that the odor might actually be attached to a potentially intimate memory. Max jumped back suddenly and kept her head low, praying the hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail made itself useful and covered her pink cheeks. "Well you know, those halved pears in the heavy syrup will get ya every time," she quipped, trying to ignore the strangled edge her voice had taken.
With her partner's help, she set the crate carefully on the ground before purposefully walking around the vicinity and collecting runaway tin cans. Only once the last dented can of sliced tomatoes was safely tucked away did Max muster the courage to look into her helper's hazel eyes, which were fixed on her with a mixture of curious concern and frustration.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Max?" he asked, straightening with the crate in his arms with an ease she envied. An ease she once had, would have had if it hadn't been for her present...condition. "You know you're not ready."
Alec's knowing, paternal tone set Max almost on edge as much as the walk-before-you-run spiel she was on the verge of receiving. "You know Alec, last I checked there was still a small chance that my birth mother was alive. And I really hate fire somebody I've never really met. The job's been filled, stop vying for it."
The angry retort Alec could've snapped off was doomed to be too late. Ray zoomed around from behind a shopping cart of egg noodles and aluminum foil. With a running leap he flew into Max's open arms and wrapped around her like a koala in his favorite tree. Logically speaking the healing X5 should have buckled under the weight, having dropped a crate of canned goods not two minutes ago. But motherly instinct defied all logic and she accepted her new weight gladly.
Ray had just tucked his head in the crook of Aunt Max's neck when he caught the glower he was receiving from Alec. "Get down now or receive the consequences," it clearly read. And in case Ray didn't get that picture he also tapped it out with his foot in Morse code. Max was too busy smelling Ray, one of her favorite pastimes, or so she claimed, to notice. Still unaware of her companions' silent battle, she echoed her favorite sentiment when engulfing Ray in any embrace: "You have the most delicious smell." Normally Ray liked the way she sniffed in his scent, making him feel like a cub with his momma, but today the it irritated as Aunt Max was chugging his scent down instead of her normal drinking him in.
Ray conceded under Alec's glare, unwound his hands from Aunt Max's neck, and obediently hopped down. "I'm really getting too big for you to carry anymore, Aunt Max," he mumbled, knowing Alec was only looking out for her well-being, just like he always did. Aunt Max, of course, always read it backwards, catching the opposite message. She glared at Alec, seeming more wounded than anything else.
"Here Ray," Alec said, placing the forgotten crate in the kid's shopping cart. "Do you think you could push the extra load down the block?" He pointed to the drop off point, where Mole was organizing the supplies, or more accurately, chewing out some poor X6 out on the proper military stocking of all tobacco products. "And ask Mole to calm down, will ya? He's gonna work himself into an early grave and leave me shorthanded."
Sensing he'd been forgiven and given a rather important mission, Ray stomped off cheerfully, whistling some Guns 'N Roses tune Luke had taught him. She made sure he was well out of earshot before wheeling on Alec. "Did you tell him big boys don't hug or some macho bull like that?" Max asked, trying to sound more angry than hurt. It was useless. Alec saw right through the facade, but didn't acknowledge it, afraid to rouse real anger.
"Give yourself sometime to recover, Max."
"I've had nearly three months, Alec. I'm sick of giving myself time. I need to move, I need to breathe."
That had been the birth of Alec's plan.
*****
Between trying to remember Ray and Alec and pushing to return to a satisfactory state of health, Max was completely, utterly bushed. So after more weeks of physical recovery and emotional beating, the first and last words she had planned/wanted to hear were, "I need you for a job."
Max, who at that time had been enjoying one of the better cups of coffee she'd had in a while, proceeded to spit the hot, brown liquid in a perfect arc that landed in the middle of Dix's texts, who proceeded to storm away with a mask of disgust and coerced amusement across his face. Murmuring an apology to the hunched back rushing away, Max wheeled around in her chair. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, surprise was evident in her wide brown eyes. "What?" she asked of the enigma Alec.
Over the past few weeks she'd gotten to know X5-494 better, but still wasn't sure whether she like him or not. So far it seemed to depend on the day, the mood Max was in. But while fighting a smile at a crude joke or fuming at several of his more "irresponsible" antics, she invariably felt herself drawn to him in a very unnerving fashion. Alec proved to be a complete puzzle, full of twists and turns like a riddle, and time didn't change that estimation of him. Instead of becoming another permanent attachment, practically begging and pleading for her to remember him, he faded into the background, though Max felt he was always watching her back.
The passion she'd seen in him that night on the Space Needle was carefully tucked away. But the unanswered questions kept her awake at night along with shark DNA. Why had it mattered so much to him that she came back?
Judging by what the other X5's who had known him before the fall of the Manticorian Reich said about him, Alec was a consummate liar, so sleek no machine could detect his fabrications, given to an unpredictable, stubborn nature Manticore had been unable to break, and a shameless flirt to boot. But all in all he was a pretty stand up guy by everyone's standards.
"I. Need. You. For. A. Job." He repeated the phrase as if she were a mentally challenged four year-old, made complete by utterly ridiculous hand signs. Max tactfully ignored them, still shocked by his suggestion. Alec continued easily, not noticing Max's sudden tension. "It's simple. Get into this fancy affair some mutli-gajillionaire is throwing, steal some precious artwork, bada bing, bada boom, possibly take out some rent-a-cops with spiked stiletto heels, and you're back here."
The general consensus said, all in all, the former scapegoat-turn-leader and the former leader-turned-scapegoat were getting along much better than ever before. But that didn't mean she was ready to do a job with him.
"No," she responded, surprising them both. The look of incredulity on Alec's face almost made it worth forgoing the chance to get out of Terminal City for a while. He seemed floored, and not without due cause: Alec personified the charisma and authority that made people respond to the snap of his fingers. He never needed to repeat an order twice. So when Alec said, "I need you for a job," the soldier - '09 escapee or not - would be wise to at least fully hear the other transgenic out before throwing the offer in his face. 'Maybe that's why I did it,' Max mused to herself. 'He has everyone else in Terminal City wrapped around his pinky. Well he can't have me.'
Alec's countenance slipped from bewilderment to annoyance. "Why not?" he asked, clenching his fists at his sides. "Do you have to wash your hair or something? What about that 'I need to move. I need to breathe' bull you were spouting a month ago." If it hadn't been for the male undertone, he would have had her voice mimicked almost perfectly, amusing several transgenics around the Command Center. Max fixed a glare on their smiling audience that they hadn't seen since the fall of Manticore. Eyes front, everyone returned to his/her/its duties.
"Can't you get someone else to do it? Someone more reliable?" she bounced back, fixing her eyes back on Alec. "From what I hear when I took a little trip you were the one who had to drag me back. Are you sure you're ready to do that again? God knows I could disappear into the night again on this little 'job.'" She made finger quotes in the air, which only razzed Alec's nerves more.
He scoffed without humor. "As if you'd leave your precious Ray behind."
"You said I needed to get my health back."
"You're not taking out the Syrian army, Max. You'll be fine. What's the real problem, Max?" He bit off, trying not to let her get under his skin. Again.
"I don't feel safe with you," she responded in a sarcastic tone, belying the truth of the words. The best place to hide would be in plain sight. She couldn't decide why she felt this way, she just did. Something about this scenario rubbed her the wrong way. Max figured the truth was about as stunning as anything else, if he dug under the sarcasm and saw the truth for what it was. It worked. For the second time in the last two minutes, she had managed to render Alec temporarily speechless. Before he could recover, she asked in a bored tone, "When is the affair anyway?"
Alec began to pull himself together. "Tomorrow night."
Max snapped her fingers with a false sigh of regret. "Gee, that's too bad. I don't have a dress, and there really is no way I could sneak out of Terminal City, scamper all the way across town to a snooty store, steal said dress, and make it back in time without risking major tactical exposure."
Under her mocking solemnity Max fervently prayed her last-ditch effort would work. Not that she wouldn't like to get out and stretch the proverbial legs with some much needed cat burglary, but the thought of playing Alec's make-believe date - an opportunity most X5 females would quite literally kill for - just made her hackles rise. 'Old intuition?' her mind mused, having heard several stories from reliable sources of her and Alec's loud, public misconducts. While Max could hardly imagine hating Alec that much - twinges of dislike, maybe; hatred, no - something still felt a little...off around him.
"Nice try," Alec drawled, interrupting her musings. From behind his leather-clad back he produced a box with all the grace and show of a magician slipping a rabbit out of a top hat.
Max palmed the box carefully, as if the crisp, expensive-looking package could contain a complicated trip bomb or some other lead to her ultimate demise instead of the much dreaded dress. Setting it down on a nearby table, she carefully removed the lid. Intermixed layers of white and pastel pink chiffon greeted her eyes, making her oil-tarnished inner hoyden shrink back in terror even as her softer, I-cry-at-the-occasional-wedding side appreciated the delicate beauty. Careful to keep her face neutral (leaning on repugnant), she lifted the straps of the dress and pulled the finery from the box, making sure she touched it as little as possible. Max glanced over the dress with short, precise strokes, her brown eyes holding all the passion of a vegetarian sizing up a prized ham for Christmas dinner. It was a little old-fashioned, to be sure, but had the general look that fashion critics described as a "timeless classic" on the red carpet of Pre-pulse award shows. Once she tried it on, Max had the distinct feeling she'd really like the dress.
The other transgenic watched her face carefully for any signs of sparkle. He received none, barely catching the soft, "How'd you know my size?"
Alec took a step closer. Now only the outstretched dress acted as a barrier between them. "I can dismantle a thermonuclear warhead in seven seconds flat with a pencil and a rubber band. This?" he said, fingering the neckline of the dress, his eyes smiling down at her. "This was cake."
Both his expression and smug response rubbed her wrong. Carefully he replacing the dress in the box, she daintily closed the lid. "Then maybe you could've managed to acquire a dress that was designed sometime after Jimi Hendrix drowned in his own vomit." Throwing the box square at his chest, Max turned on one heel and stalked off, acting much more confident and aggravated than she felt. Alec just smiled at her disappearing back. She was in.
She was so in.
*****
Thanks again for the reviews. So sorry about the delay...again. I considered trying to put the entire party fiasco in this chapter before I realized what a mistake that would be. Not only would it take longer, but I'd feel more rushed and I know I wouldn't have liked the final product one bit.
A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews. I felt so much better once the chapter actually went up and then when all of you guys gave so many supportive reviews...whew, it made my vacation even more fun! Except now with some people saying they like where this story is going (when, quite frankly, I don't know where it's going) just piles on the pressure. I'm gonna crack!
A/N 2: I'm so sorry about the length in between chapters...writer's block. My muse went on strike.
Chapter Nine
A mob of police, media clowns, and disparaging vigilantes crowded the pearly steel boundary line of Terminal City, all salivating over the most recent reports of an X5 crossing the fence and assaulting a Sector cop in the process. All were looking for a piece of the action, whether they wanted to catch it on the end of a nightstick, camera, or a baseball bat. This was the first transgenic-on-human assault since the freak masses had shrunken inside the poisonous forces of Terminal City, and the mob - not to mention the politicians behind them - almost hoped for some sort of massive confrontation to use as leverage for a call to pull in the armed forces to eradicate Seattle - and the world - of the transgenic dilemma. The Sector police were posted to push back the crowds, but only put up a half-hearted attempt, and the mobs went for the most part unchecked. Thankfully, the transgenics on the other side of the fences had the common sense to ignore the uprising outside. They kept inside towards the heart of their realm, both training and instinct saying that eventually the crowd would grow restless and disperse from their one-sided skirmish.
Two pairs of transgenic eyes picked up the spectacle several blocks away and decided to park Logan's battered car in a place that would be both inconspicuous but easy for the owner to find later. Since it had been a chilly night, Alec had stuffed Max's arms through her only sweatshirt, a hoodie. Sensing the glance her companion now threw in her direction, Max hid her dark locks and exotic face - which, thanks to the Seattle media, were almost as recognizable as her barcode - inside the hood before stepping out of the car.
Cursing himself for being all kinds of a fool, Alec realized he'd left his own hooded sweatshirt inside the fence, rendering it useless at this point in time. He turned and spotted his saving grace in the backseat. "Logan a baseball fan?" he mused aloud, then shrugged. Whatever it took to save his butt. Throwing the Red Sox baseball cap on his head, he turned it backwards until the bill covered his barcode, in case the collar of his leather jacket should slip and reveal the top of it. Not being able to stop the hint of vanity, Alec gave himself a quick once over in the driver's side mirror, grimacing at how tastelessly far the hat went back on his forehead. "Incredibly dorky but otherwise low-key," he mumbled to himself before climbing out of the car.
After walking over to the driver's side, Max had slumped against the hood of the car nonchalantly, waiting for her escort to get ready. "Alec," she whispered again, her exceptionally warm breath making a small cloud in the night's chill. She shrugged, more at the person himself than the name. He was a handsome stranger, but still a stranger to her, seeing as her self-imposed amnesia left her with a complete blank when he came to mind. Then again, he could be lying about them knowing each other. But his own story - though she sensed 'Alec' had been hiding something - seemed to fill in several blanks, and what did he have to gain by lying to her? Why would he have been cradling her in such an intimate manner if they hadn't known each other? Max shrugged against her thoughts. Pushing them to the back of her jumbled mind, she swore to herself to figure this whole thing out after she got back inside Terminal City.
Turning her attention back to more immediate matters, she saw Alec rustling around in his seat and rolled her eyes at his antics, somehow familiar with the action. When he finally stepped out, Max greeted him with a sarcastic wolf-whistle, gauged low enough for only him to hear against the throng's stragglers, just now walking toward the fences, baseball bats and beer bottles brandished.
"Gee, I thought you'd discovered a pimple on that perfect chin of yours and we'd never make it to the prom," she cooed, oozing out the drama. Alec was not amused. "Shut up."
She went on nonetheless. Her first form of psychological defense was shrouding herself in a confident, bordering on cocky, attitude and sarcasm. Max had every intention of keeping that facade up, no matter how Alec disturbed her senses. "I think Manticore put a little too much estrogen in your system. I could have been ready to go to the moon in the time it took you to step out of the car." He stood in front of her now, one hand on either side of her body, braced against the hood, leaning toward her in what Max assumed to be a menacing fashion. It didn't work. The geeky, albeit boyish, tilt of his baseball cap was all too amusing and almost kind of cute. She leaned towards Alec slightly, a frank, informative expression on her face. "Did you ever see Woody Harrelson in 'White Men Can't Jump'? You guys look like you have the same clothing designer."
Alec could feel the frown on his mouth deepen, although he was all too aware of the smile sparkling in his eyes. He should be insulted, he should be trying to figure out away into Terminal City; he should be stepping away from Max, at the very least. Instead the X5 felt himself step out of time, happy to spend a few moments with this woman, still shocked and giddy at her sudden resurrection. His eyes washed slowly over her face, which looked haggard and older than it's years, given the fact that she had spent so long fighting to awake from a horrible nightmare, only to be plagued by the consequences of reality: the horrible nightmare hadn't been a dream. To some extent, it had only been the beginning.
And yet, there was that element she held that had grown since their first meeting - despite her eternally woeful outlook and the Fates' best attempts at destroying it - and the element had grown deeper and richer and truer in the fullness of time. And maybe since she'd been so inanimate before, it shone all the brighter now, nearly blinding those who could see it, making her haggard appearance verge on stunning.
She looked more beautiful, more tempting - on so many levels - than ever before, and the realization terrified him more than any trip to Psy. Obs. ever could.
Blissfully ignorant of the never-ending battle Alec so carefully hid behind his eyes, Max's own eyelids drooped slightly despite her best efforts to keep them at attention. The whole effort of waking up was much more exhausting than she thought it could possibly be, considering she'd spent two months resting up for it; not to mention the unusually long trek down the Space Needle, which left her dizzy and almost wondering if she should have taken Alec up on one of his many offers to help her down. But no, she just had to be stubborn and say she could handle it just fine on her own, despite her shaking knees.
And now she was paying for it. All she wanted was to be in her own bed but she didn't have the energy to make it across the fence, the adrenaline-like energy buzz of excitement giving way to exhaustion. Max stifled an uncharacteristic yawn, letting her eyes close.
"You could use some sleep," Alec observed when he saw the shuttering lids. Without warning, he pulled her off the hood of the car and swung her into his arms, pointedly turning away from the fence. He didn't get two steps before Max wormed her out of the unwanted embrace and landed on her feet, the feelings of confusion and anger rejuvenating her tired limbs. "Who do you think you are?" she asked, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You're not some twisted knight in shining armor. You don't just pluck a transgeni..."
Alec slapped a hand across her mouth none too gently, forcing her to swallow the words. Her nostrils flared in irritation; Max's tempers always did steal her common sense. Knowing her style of fighting, Alec pulled Max's body next to his, trapping her hands - her first line of defense - between their chests. Then, in the blink of an eye, he spun their bodies against the doorway of a nearby building. From the street, or even the sidewalk next to them, their shadowed figures would seem entwined in a sweet embrace.
Max struggled against his hands in vain, her mouth working ferociously against his palm. "Are you done yet?" Alec asked calmly, still not removing his hand despite the dire threats he knew she had to be making under there. "I have explained that I have at least another decade of training on you, right? That includes several holds and pins brought to you from around the world. Given half a second and a quick hand rotation that you are clearly incapable of blocking from your current position, I could make you a lot more uncomfortable," he continued matter-of-factly, volume pitched where only Max could hear. Her response was two simple, succinct words, muffled by the still unmoving palm. "Tsk, tsk. Such harsh language, Maxie." Alec grinned at her show of fire, which only riled her and struggle even more uselessly, which only made him smile all the wider. It was a vicious cycle.
Getting the occasional curious glance from passersby, he got serious. "We are less than two hundred feet from a lynch mob ready and willing to pounce if someone so much as cries 'Wolf.' What chance do you honestly think we have if they find not one, but two, freaks of science in their midst? Now is not the time to lecture me on transgenic etiquette." Max stilled, just now realizing the fatal faux pas she'd nearly committed. Alec continued in his same infuriatingly logical tone. "You've had a busy day. You're tired. About half a mile around the perimeter I can get us in. But quite frankly, I don't think you have enough strength left in you to weave through that crowd and make it home. I'm going to support you, whether you like it or not. If you want to walk, fine, but I will not be havin' you fall asleep on your feet, hittin' the asphalt, and showin' these lunatics your barcode."
He removed his hand from her mouth, and Max kept mercifully silent. "This is as close to a compromise as your getting, Max: you walk on your own two feet, I have a hold on you. We'll just look like another young couple in love that just happens to be meandering through a crowd of would-be vigilante killers. Do you understand?" She nodded.
"Say, 'I understand.'"
Max gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring yet again. "I understand," she ground out. Alec smiled, without a hint of victory or smugness. Even in her near irate state, Max couldn't help but notice what a nice smile he had, but she'd be damned before she told him that. She hated being commanded by anyone, especially this man who seemed to know so much more about her than she about him.
Hand in hand, the duo snuck through the crowd. When one particular large and boisterous man's dynamic mannerisms sent Max sailing into Alec's side, he accepted her without complaint. The hand he secured around her waist made it oddly worth the bruise he knew he'd have in a few hours.
*****
Max's mental homecoming was a lot warmer than she could have ever predicted. Her rough and ready family was a few balloons and a box of firecrackers away from throwing a parade in her honor, wrapping around her like a mismatched quilt the moment Alec pulled her out of the sewers. She was so shocked by the fuss and reaching arms that her fingers only tightened on her helping hand instead of gracefully releasing it. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion made her dizzy enough to accept Alec's help as he tucked her into his side and led her through the general hubbub.
The crowd seemed to take the hint and gave her some breathing room, which ended up being a mistake. Seeing an opening, a blond puff mowed down Aunt Max. After running around with his X6 and X7 friends for several months, he had picked up the tactics of combined speed and stealth. Max was flat on her back before she even knew what hit her and the crowd let out a near comical gasp.
Since Max's reflexes were running at a less than optimum rate, her head smacked painfully against the asphalt, stars twirling in front of her eyes. She recovered quickly though and managed to sit up despite the 90 pound growth adhered to her chest. The child - a boy it would seem - shuddered against her chest so violently that Max first feared that the poor kid was having a seizure, until the dampness of his tears seeped through her shirt. The near-dormant motherly instinct pulled him tight to her chest and wove her fingers through his hair while her eyes swung to Alec's, silently begging to know what she had done to hurt this second stranger.
Although keeping his face neutrally blank, Alec's stomach lurched painfully at the sight before him. Ray didn't realize he was giving his vulnerability over to a stranger; Max didn't realize she had nearly given her life for the love of this boy. Alec swore under his breath and shook his head sadly at Max. At this point in time, there was nothing she could do to comfort him. Kneeling softly beside the pair, he touched Ray's head gently, his fingers dangerously close to caressing Max's. "She's okay, but she doesn't remember us, Ray," he said softly.
Ray. She wracked her brain. Nothing.
Ray and Alec, what was so special about them that made them lost to her? But if she shared this level of intimacy with "Ray," open tears of relief in front of God and everyone, she obviously had loved him almost as much as he seemed to love her, and she desperately wanted to remember him, for his sake and her own.
Ray's head shot up, imprisoning her with his disbelieving stare. The blue eyes searched her brown desperately, and came up empty. The sparkle in her eye, the one she saved especially for him, was gone. The child didn't know whether to cry hysterically or go into his safe zone and shut himself down, but Alec had said that was dangerous. In the end, Ray did what any self-respecting White would do: chose the hardest, the rockiest, the most dangerous path. He hoped against hope.
Max watched the emotion-filled eyes of the boy shift drastically in several directions, but when the dust settled, the look he gave her was as tender as it was resolute. His hand cupped her cheek gently, as he often did when he had found his aunt crying for Original Cindy. A small sense of panic jolted inside of her, fear that she wouldn't be able recollect this "Ray" at all, which would only drive the knife all the deeper into his young heart.
But Max did not need to fear. For all his worldly wisdom and pain, his heart was still young, he could take it. As usual, Ray read her perfectly. "Don't worry, Aunt Max. You'll remember someday. I'll help you."
Thankfully the youngster inherited his father's tenacity, proving to be just as determined to recover her memory as Ames White had been to pry information from her. Morning, noon, night, and every breathing moment in between Ray spent as Max's personal mosquito. She would push him away out of fear at first, seeing as Manticore left a lot to be desired in its familial relations department, then she swatted at him out of frustration as she became more and more comfortable with him. But Ray was persistent in his pestering, only falling back for a moment or two before re-launching his attacks.
More often than not, Max would lay her head down at the end of the day with a heavy sigh of frustration, feeling like a defective grenade. During the day Ray had struck a particular pose, jutted out his lip a certain way, or said something that felt all too familiar to her. The pin was pulled. Seeing twinges of memory like a dim light bulb near the door of a dark wardrobe, she'd wrack her brain for the specifics, trying to crawl closer to that light and the beyond. But in the end, zilch. The light bulb switched off, the memory faded into blackness. Like shutting her eyes after staring into the sun, Max could see a dim outline of the memory before it died away completely. The pin could be pulled but the grenade never exploded.
On the other hand, whether or not Max loved him before - or even how much - was slowly becoming irrelevant. Day after day she felt herself being drawn in by the tyke and his lovable antics. The glint in his eye when a particularly mischievous notion wandered in between his ears Max was especially lured to, although it seemed somewhat misplaced. For some reason the sparkle seemed to be a bit more at home in eyes a bit more - green? stormy?
But out of all the uncertainties of her life Max knew one thing for sure: whether or not she could touch him, she still had Logan.
*****
Once Sleeping Beauty had awakened from her seemingly eternal sleep, she and Prince Charming were reunited. Their relationship was better than ever. For upon the fair maiden's awakening, the invisible, subtle barrier that had so long hung between them opened up like a curtain on a stage. With that barrier gone, and the castle scullion that had plagued her for so long now forgotten, it would seem that the star-crossed lovers' fate had changed. Cue the euphoric, triumphant music, for they were free to live happily ever after.
For a short while at least.
Then overtime things reverted back to normalcy and Sleeping Beauty returned to her standoffish state. Then she reunited with the same castle scullion who'd nearly driven her over the palace wall and into the moat not eight months before. Then suddenly not remembering the scullion was more a hindrance than a help, for she no longer knew why she had disliked him so passionately before, and something that could be misconstrued as a near friendship had formed between them. Then the barrier seemed to grow again; instead of a stage curtain of velvet, it had morphed into a drape of chain mail. Then the more time Sleeping Beauty and the scullion spent together the faster the drapes came together, the louder the chains scraped across the stage, threatening to shut out Prince Charming for good.
Then Prince Charming took matters into his own hands by forming a plan and throwing caution to the wind. And then, Prince Charming inadvertently flung treasure toward enemy hands.
*****
Slam-shifting into park, Logan Cale carefully removed the keys from the ignition. He stepped out of the car, his exoskeleton whirring loudly in the silence. The back alley chosen for the rendezvous was less than attractive, strewn with drunken bodies and other vermin. As per habit, he checked the surrounding area until he was convinced that each body around him was too intoxicated to be a threat. The fully loaded pistol in his pocket would have to wait for another day.
The sound of scuffling feet caused the cyber-journalist to whirl around so quickly his exoskeleton squeaked before returning to its usual drone. His contact stood several yards away, eyeing him openly. He appeared tall, lanky, and handsome despite the white puffs streaking his otherwise raven black hair. The man's look and bearing could pass for one of Ames White's cohorts, but the blond shook off the thought quickly.
"Did you bring the blood?" The man calmly asked when he was within speaking distance, stopping not two feet from Logan, voice pitched low lest his disturb the drunken stupors surrounding them. The words held an obscure, eastern European accent. His eyes were dark and unnerving, leaving the younger man a bit dubious. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he'd gotten this nameless contact through a very reliable source. From within his jacket pocket, Logan withdrew a small vial filled with the red liquid in question.
Doc had run some blood tests on Max when she first arrived at Terminal City that night, checking for psychoactives or other toxins that could prove detrimental to her recovery. Once the blood had been proven clean, Eyes Only had swiped it for a rainy day. And this was that rainy day.
"How long until you can have a cure?" Logan asked, placing the vial and his future delicately into the stranger's palm. He proved too hasty. The older man's fingers stiffened around the bottle, a hint of suspicion darkening his already black eyes. Logan tried to backtrack. "My client is willing to pay handsomely, and more money the sooner a cure is found. My boss..."
"Eyes Only." The stranger interrupted. The blond nodded before finishing. "My boss needs to pay the bills." The older man's knowing smile was handsome but strangely chilling, although Logan shook the reaction off as a longstanding need to have complete control over his destiny. Trusting the Pope with something this close to his heart would leave him doubting even his piety and reliability.
A small uncomfortable silence fell over the duo. Logan offered his hand before asking, "What exactly is your relationship with Manticore, Mr...?"
The stranger didn't see the hand at first, studying the vial of blood at eye level with open fascination; it was as if he intended to discern the secrets of the red fluid in front of their very eyes. The fascination only spurned Logan's sixth sense further but he ignored it again.
"I am a scientist myself, Mr.Cale. A late colleague - a mentor, you might say - held a very influential position in Project Manticore." Only when the vial was secured in his coat pocket did the dark-eyed stranger notice the outstretched hand. Taking it in his own, they shook firmly, the older man answering the second half of the question: "Fredrickson. Dr. Leonard Johannes Fredrickson."
*****
"Max, you really, really shouldn't be lifting that."
Grimacing silently and cursing her own stubborn nature, Max shifted her weight under the overflowing food crate slightly but didn't put it down, which was what you were supposed to do when someone told you that you were lifting an object you shouldn't. "Lift with the legs, not the back," she mumbled to herself. The muscles in her lower back sang in a happy chorus as they were relieved from their strain and the bulk of the weight settled on her much steadier legs.
Several of the Seattle markets had pooled their resources and unselfishly "donated" a good three month supply of daily necessities; longer if they were rationed properly, which they undoubtedly would be. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance and night jobs to acquire the massive load of food, toiletries, even the occasional keg of beer or bottle of vodka. Logan had located a unused warehouse in a low-profile neighborhood on the edge of the Seattle city limits, and after much debate it was decided that all loot be dropped off there for temporary safe-keeping. Max had been among the skeptics of the final plan, and unlike some of her fickle supporters, she hadn't been led to believe by Alec's calm hand gestures and confident smile that all would turn out for the best. He had convinced almost everyone that moving a big load at the right time would be less risky than moving small loads during the wrong one. Max had predictably scoffed. Such a considerable amount of goods - although stolen in small quantities from countless corporations - would catch somebody's eye before they got the loot home. But in the end came the opportunity Alec had been waiting for. A riot in the opposite corner of Seattle left the perfect cover to sneak their supply out. In semi-trucks, no less.
When the trucks had come in late last night Alec had hopped out of the driver's side of a semi proudly and managed to pluck Max out of the hungry masses and throw her a bold wink almost before his feet had softly clapped against the ground.
Now buried under a crate of canned fruits and vegetables, Max used the spurt of indignation she'd felt at his audacity to push her long, jean-covered legs forward. She ignored Dix's unfinished warning even though he repeated it several times to her waddling back. The first few steps toward the crate's drop off were balanced enough but her leg's self-confidence began to deteriorate after the first dozen steps, and they still had half a block to go. Within ten more steps her muscles were quivering and Max cursed her weakness, willfully forgetting that not three months ago she'd awoken from a coma and found her body only halfway up to speed. Although her recovery had been sufficient considering her superwoman physiology, it wasn't like Christ himself has just told her to pick up her mat and walk. She still had a way to go.
The inevitable moment came when Max felt the plastic edges of the crate slide under her fingers, slick with sweat of her exertion. She uttered a soft cry of alarm as her treasure chest tilted forward, several cans of green beans spilling across the front before dashing down the street. Thankfully she'd only dumped half the contents of her crate when a shadow fell across her strained face, proving solid when it grabbed the opposite side of the crate and steadied her loot, some stubborn cans bouncing against its chest as if they still had a chance to break free.
Max didn't really notice the sudden disarray of the cans Dix had so carefully packed - apparently along with his dashing good looks he'd been blessed with a splash of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - nor the grind of metal on concrete as the green beans rolled down the incline, sweet peas and baked beans hot on their tail. Vision, hearing, even taste - she'd just spent the last ten minutes unsuccessfully ignoring what she felt had to be her worst case of morning breath ever - were temporarily put on hold, for along with the tin cans her forehead had also made contact with the shadow's chest. Only her forehead wasn't quite so eager to bounce away.
At her unintentional headlong dive into its shoulder, her rescuer had let out a soft grunt, pushing breath - which smelled much better than hers at that particular moment - across her cheek. But even the feeling of the sweet tingle of gooseflesh on her neck paled in comparison to the hyperdrive her nose had flown into. Skin; slightly salty, probably from sweat. That was a definite aroma any self-respecting X5 could place blind-folded: skin. But every skin on every body smelled differently. Max normally wouldn't really care for this detail if this particular skin hadn't had such a strong effect.
She knew this scent, had inhaled it deeply once, though she couldn't possibly remember when. A sense of remembrance swept through Max; the ghost of an arm around her, lips lightly pressed to her hair. Where had she smelled this before? The only person that could remotely bear a resemblance to this aroma was...Ben. Only he'd been dead by then. Inhaling deeply through her sobs, the smell of him had permeated her nose, still sweet and life-like before rigor mortis had set in. But even in life, Max had a hard time believing Ben's personal perfume had been so strong. It enclosed around her like a dense fog and would have been nauseatingly suffocating if she weren't so oddly drunk with it. It sunk into her nose and lungs, drowning her, but she didn't want to kick toward the surface. Max didn't know what she was fighting more, the urge to pull back from a scent so strong she could feel it in her stomach, or the odd temptation to inhale deeper. She knew this smell - this feeling - the memory on the tip of her nose...
A voice broke her concentration. "So Doc finally agrees to let you help out with the unloading process under the strictest of instructions not to push yourself too hard and what do you do? You pass up the box of ramen noodles and spaghetti and go straight for the hard stuff."
The voice was a lot more familiar than the scent, which suddenly became a stench in her nose, tinged with fear that the odor might actually be attached to a potentially intimate memory. Max jumped back suddenly and kept her head low, praying the hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail made itself useful and covered her pink cheeks. "Well you know, those halved pears in the heavy syrup will get ya every time," she quipped, trying to ignore the strangled edge her voice had taken.
With her partner's help, she set the crate carefully on the ground before purposefully walking around the vicinity and collecting runaway tin cans. Only once the last dented can of sliced tomatoes was safely tucked away did Max muster the courage to look into her helper's hazel eyes, which were fixed on her with a mixture of curious concern and frustration.
"Why do you do this to yourself, Max?" he asked, straightening with the crate in his arms with an ease she envied. An ease she once had, would have had if it hadn't been for her present...condition. "You know you're not ready."
Alec's knowing, paternal tone set Max almost on edge as much as the walk-before-you-run spiel she was on the verge of receiving. "You know Alec, last I checked there was still a small chance that my birth mother was alive. And I really hate fire somebody I've never really met. The job's been filled, stop vying for it."
The angry retort Alec could've snapped off was doomed to be too late. Ray zoomed around from behind a shopping cart of egg noodles and aluminum foil. With a running leap he flew into Max's open arms and wrapped around her like a koala in his favorite tree. Logically speaking the healing X5 should have buckled under the weight, having dropped a crate of canned goods not two minutes ago. But motherly instinct defied all logic and she accepted her new weight gladly.
Ray had just tucked his head in the crook of Aunt Max's neck when he caught the glower he was receiving from Alec. "Get down now or receive the consequences," it clearly read. And in case Ray didn't get that picture he also tapped it out with his foot in Morse code. Max was too busy smelling Ray, one of her favorite pastimes, or so she claimed, to notice. Still unaware of her companions' silent battle, she echoed her favorite sentiment when engulfing Ray in any embrace: "You have the most delicious smell." Normally Ray liked the way she sniffed in his scent, making him feel like a cub with his momma, but today the it irritated as Aunt Max was chugging his scent down instead of her normal drinking him in.
Ray conceded under Alec's glare, unwound his hands from Aunt Max's neck, and obediently hopped down. "I'm really getting too big for you to carry anymore, Aunt Max," he mumbled, knowing Alec was only looking out for her well-being, just like he always did. Aunt Max, of course, always read it backwards, catching the opposite message. She glared at Alec, seeming more wounded than anything else.
"Here Ray," Alec said, placing the forgotten crate in the kid's shopping cart. "Do you think you could push the extra load down the block?" He pointed to the drop off point, where Mole was organizing the supplies, or more accurately, chewing out some poor X6 out on the proper military stocking of all tobacco products. "And ask Mole to calm down, will ya? He's gonna work himself into an early grave and leave me shorthanded."
Sensing he'd been forgiven and given a rather important mission, Ray stomped off cheerfully, whistling some Guns 'N Roses tune Luke had taught him. She made sure he was well out of earshot before wheeling on Alec. "Did you tell him big boys don't hug or some macho bull like that?" Max asked, trying to sound more angry than hurt. It was useless. Alec saw right through the facade, but didn't acknowledge it, afraid to rouse real anger.
"Give yourself sometime to recover, Max."
"I've had nearly three months, Alec. I'm sick of giving myself time. I need to move, I need to breathe."
That had been the birth of Alec's plan.
*****
Between trying to remember Ray and Alec and pushing to return to a satisfactory state of health, Max was completely, utterly bushed. So after more weeks of physical recovery and emotional beating, the first and last words she had planned/wanted to hear were, "I need you for a job."
Max, who at that time had been enjoying one of the better cups of coffee she'd had in a while, proceeded to spit the hot, brown liquid in a perfect arc that landed in the middle of Dix's texts, who proceeded to storm away with a mask of disgust and coerced amusement across his face. Murmuring an apology to the hunched back rushing away, Max wheeled around in her chair. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, surprise was evident in her wide brown eyes. "What?" she asked of the enigma Alec.
Over the past few weeks she'd gotten to know X5-494 better, but still wasn't sure whether she like him or not. So far it seemed to depend on the day, the mood Max was in. But while fighting a smile at a crude joke or fuming at several of his more "irresponsible" antics, she invariably felt herself drawn to him in a very unnerving fashion. Alec proved to be a complete puzzle, full of twists and turns like a riddle, and time didn't change that estimation of him. Instead of becoming another permanent attachment, practically begging and pleading for her to remember him, he faded into the background, though Max felt he was always watching her back.
The passion she'd seen in him that night on the Space Needle was carefully tucked away. But the unanswered questions kept her awake at night along with shark DNA. Why had it mattered so much to him that she came back?
Judging by what the other X5's who had known him before the fall of the Manticorian Reich said about him, Alec was a consummate liar, so sleek no machine could detect his fabrications, given to an unpredictable, stubborn nature Manticore had been unable to break, and a shameless flirt to boot. But all in all he was a pretty stand up guy by everyone's standards.
"I. Need. You. For. A. Job." He repeated the phrase as if she were a mentally challenged four year-old, made complete by utterly ridiculous hand signs. Max tactfully ignored them, still shocked by his suggestion. Alec continued easily, not noticing Max's sudden tension. "It's simple. Get into this fancy affair some mutli-gajillionaire is throwing, steal some precious artwork, bada bing, bada boom, possibly take out some rent-a-cops with spiked stiletto heels, and you're back here."
The general consensus said, all in all, the former scapegoat-turn-leader and the former leader-turned-scapegoat were getting along much better than ever before. But that didn't mean she was ready to do a job with him.
"No," she responded, surprising them both. The look of incredulity on Alec's face almost made it worth forgoing the chance to get out of Terminal City for a while. He seemed floored, and not without due cause: Alec personified the charisma and authority that made people respond to the snap of his fingers. He never needed to repeat an order twice. So when Alec said, "I need you for a job," the soldier - '09 escapee or not - would be wise to at least fully hear the other transgenic out before throwing the offer in his face. 'Maybe that's why I did it,' Max mused to herself. 'He has everyone else in Terminal City wrapped around his pinky. Well he can't have me.'
Alec's countenance slipped from bewilderment to annoyance. "Why not?" he asked, clenching his fists at his sides. "Do you have to wash your hair or something? What about that 'I need to move. I need to breathe' bull you were spouting a month ago." If it hadn't been for the male undertone, he would have had her voice mimicked almost perfectly, amusing several transgenics around the Command Center. Max fixed a glare on their smiling audience that they hadn't seen since the fall of Manticore. Eyes front, everyone returned to his/her/its duties.
"Can't you get someone else to do it? Someone more reliable?" she bounced back, fixing her eyes back on Alec. "From what I hear when I took a little trip you were the one who had to drag me back. Are you sure you're ready to do that again? God knows I could disappear into the night again on this little 'job.'" She made finger quotes in the air, which only razzed Alec's nerves more.
He scoffed without humor. "As if you'd leave your precious Ray behind."
"You said I needed to get my health back."
"You're not taking out the Syrian army, Max. You'll be fine. What's the real problem, Max?" He bit off, trying not to let her get under his skin. Again.
"I don't feel safe with you," she responded in a sarcastic tone, belying the truth of the words. The best place to hide would be in plain sight. She couldn't decide why she felt this way, she just did. Something about this scenario rubbed her the wrong way. Max figured the truth was about as stunning as anything else, if he dug under the sarcasm and saw the truth for what it was. It worked. For the second time in the last two minutes, she had managed to render Alec temporarily speechless. Before he could recover, she asked in a bored tone, "When is the affair anyway?"
Alec began to pull himself together. "Tomorrow night."
Max snapped her fingers with a false sigh of regret. "Gee, that's too bad. I don't have a dress, and there really is no way I could sneak out of Terminal City, scamper all the way across town to a snooty store, steal said dress, and make it back in time without risking major tactical exposure."
Under her mocking solemnity Max fervently prayed her last-ditch effort would work. Not that she wouldn't like to get out and stretch the proverbial legs with some much needed cat burglary, but the thought of playing Alec's make-believe date - an opportunity most X5 females would quite literally kill for - just made her hackles rise. 'Old intuition?' her mind mused, having heard several stories from reliable sources of her and Alec's loud, public misconducts. While Max could hardly imagine hating Alec that much - twinges of dislike, maybe; hatred, no - something still felt a little...off around him.
"Nice try," Alec drawled, interrupting her musings. From behind his leather-clad back he produced a box with all the grace and show of a magician slipping a rabbit out of a top hat.
Max palmed the box carefully, as if the crisp, expensive-looking package could contain a complicated trip bomb or some other lead to her ultimate demise instead of the much dreaded dress. Setting it down on a nearby table, she carefully removed the lid. Intermixed layers of white and pastel pink chiffon greeted her eyes, making her oil-tarnished inner hoyden shrink back in terror even as her softer, I-cry-at-the-occasional-wedding side appreciated the delicate beauty. Careful to keep her face neutral (leaning on repugnant), she lifted the straps of the dress and pulled the finery from the box, making sure she touched it as little as possible. Max glanced over the dress with short, precise strokes, her brown eyes holding all the passion of a vegetarian sizing up a prized ham for Christmas dinner. It was a little old-fashioned, to be sure, but had the general look that fashion critics described as a "timeless classic" on the red carpet of Pre-pulse award shows. Once she tried it on, Max had the distinct feeling she'd really like the dress.
The other transgenic watched her face carefully for any signs of sparkle. He received none, barely catching the soft, "How'd you know my size?"
Alec took a step closer. Now only the outstretched dress acted as a barrier between them. "I can dismantle a thermonuclear warhead in seven seconds flat with a pencil and a rubber band. This?" he said, fingering the neckline of the dress, his eyes smiling down at her. "This was cake."
Both his expression and smug response rubbed her wrong. Carefully he replacing the dress in the box, she daintily closed the lid. "Then maybe you could've managed to acquire a dress that was designed sometime after Jimi Hendrix drowned in his own vomit." Throwing the box square at his chest, Max turned on one heel and stalked off, acting much more confident and aggravated than she felt. Alec just smiled at her disappearing back. She was in.
She was so in.
*****
Thanks again for the reviews. So sorry about the delay...again. I considered trying to put the entire party fiasco in this chapter before I realized what a mistake that would be. Not only would it take longer, but I'd feel more rushed and I know I wouldn't have liked the final product one bit.