Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: Chapters 10 and 11 were written as one chapter but I decided for time's sake to split the two up, make it easier on those still reading this story. Thank you for waiting.
Chapter 11
The dinner had felt like a mission in and of itself, and proved to be such a long one that Alec's survival instincts would have been screaming at him to store up food and water for rationing if his plate and flute hadn't been so constantly attended to. Once that painful ordeal was over, he mingled among the natives for awhile, straying from his date when a female admirer--young or old--would ask for a waltz, or slipping off to check the latest updates in security patterns since Logan's specifics, while important, had left a few holes.
Within two hours he had the entire floor plan of the "art department" memorized, including the trimmings of all sorts of motions sensors despite being continually interrupted by the need to make another appearance in the crowd, or check in with Max--those earpieces kept fizzing out at all the wrong moments. Plus being gone too long would make the admirers he'd so unwisely collected suspicious. And any suspicion at this point in the game couldn't prove wise.
Under the alias Paul Altman, Alec whisked lady after lady across the dance floor with a combination of feline grace and sheer athleticism, making polite chitchat and playful innuendo on whichever forgotten wife or girlfriend subconsciously came to him in dire need of an ego boost. He saw the good in each and every female he danced with, and commented on it without sounding insincere or over-the-top. "Such a handsome young man. He must be of good stock with those cordial manners," the elder ladies commented to each other, having not come across such a friendliness since the fall of the American Empire, where now every good-looking young man was running a scam. The girls within his timeframe had less to say about his moral fiber than they did about his physical attributes, in choice phrases young ladies of substance really shouldn't use in polite public.
But one thought arose in the group of women and passed from circle to circle until the ballroom fairly rang with one sentiment: "Too bad about his date."
Miss Isadora Wall's contempt of all things rich and glamorous reflected on her pretty face, the cold laser beam of her eye searing all the superficial happiness of whatever unfortunate circle of girls she'd deemed her next injured party. Even in such a sour mood, Max realized the source of her anger wasn't really these political pigeons' faults. Her malice really focused on the two people in the room she flatly refused to look at: "Mr. Paul Altman" and Mr. Anthony Hawkins Jr.
Mr. Altman's display of wooing the gaggle of women at this event was downright stomach turning, though Max refused admit why. It was no matter how the temptation to be so nipped at her heels, following her across the dance floor every step, she refused to feel it or admit it. But jealousy, like so many emotions, was felt even when unwelcome and unnamed. It was no help to the situation that Alec perfectly balanced his time between casing the place, playing the charming date, and charming everybody else's date. If she could just yell at him for doing something wrong she could ease the tension between her shoulders, but he hadn't had slipped up yet. The tension kept mounting, only stretched more taut as he kept being so damned perfect for them, until she thought her shoulder blades would snap and burst from under the sinews of muscle and skin holding them in, flying across either side of the ballroom like buckshot frisbees.
Mr. Anthony "Tony" Hawkins, Jr. she found to be almost equally appealing...
*****
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was the typical rags-to-riches story with a slight twist. Born to a farmer and his wife somewhere in the Midwest, he showed a high aptitude from an early age for almost any subject he could get his hands on. An AP scholar, he graduated in the top 1% of his class and planning to major in science, he'd been offered a full ride to Iowa State University. Within another four years, he'd graduated with dual-majors in business and biochemistry plus a minor in Spanish. He'd moved out to Seattle within a few years with every intention of joining up with an entrepreneurship a cousin had started, but it filed for bankruptcy even before his feet touched Washington soil.
Hawkins' innovative ideas and strong background in science won him a desk job at an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company stationed in Seattle. His Spanish, strengthened by a two-year stint in Mexico with the Peace Corps, almost instantly had him changing from being someone's lackey to being the president and owner's personal translator, for the company dealt mostly with Spanish-speaking countries. He was eventually promoted to a vice-presidency and when the owner died at 77 from a stroke, he left the whole of his estate--including the company and a ten figure existence--to the son he'd never had.
Hawkins married his high school sweetheart at the age of twenty-two and within a year she gave him a son, who was determined to be the bane of Max's existence at tonight's event...
*****
It had started out innocently enough. Polite introductions, a knowing insinuation here or there that Max had been willing to overlook. Playing the ice queen from the get-go, instead of pushing everyone away, she'd been disappointed to find that her polite disinterest made the men flock to her even more. What was it men found so fascinating about a girl who had enough sense to know that hoards of money didn't make up for a lack of any personality?
Then she met Tony, a first-class debonair socialite with as many finer points of a personality as a dead moth. He was gorgeous, of course, with sun-kissed skin and sparkling brown eyes crowned by dark eyebrows matching his black hair. The strong physique wasn't as lithe as Alec's, more powerfully built in a Zack-like way, but it only heightened his natural poise instead of making him awkward as he fluttered from circle to circle of admiring female socialites. He was charismatic, and several poor singles had to decide from moment to moment who they like more: Tony or "Paul."
But growing up eating from a silver spoon had done as little for him as the boarding school he'd been shipped off to at the age of eight. He milked his natural good looks for all they were worth, when weighed against his personality, weren't worth that much. He strutted instead of walked, fully aware of the puddles of former females he left liquefying in his wake.
Tony had zeroed in on one Isadora Wall almost immediately, in for a rude awakening with her disfavor counterattacking his subtle advancements, "subtle" being a relative term. His baby-I'm-hot-let's-go-get-it-on bedroom eyes, belied any smooth overtures his mouth might make. At first Miss Wall found him rather entertaining, loving to whip his words back into his face with the same saccharine sweetness she'd bestowed on Mrs. Cole, but after showing diligent in his endeavors to "woo" her, he just flat out got on Max's nerves.
Discreetly she edged away from the dance floor, relieved to see Tony nowhere in sight. Alone in the safe enclosing shadow of a massive fern of some sort, Max tapped the side of her ear, hoping to receive better frequency. "Alec?"
"Yo!"
"What's your status?"
"Well, I was making it with Mrs. Menopause until I got this shrill ringing in my ears and my concentration was completely blown." A beat. "I'm sitting on my hands waiting for you to give me the all clear for curtain number three, why?"
"Get ready. A guard's coming your way." Max discreetly let him pass her and watched him work his way across the wall of the ballroom. "He'll type in the three 10 digit codes at the edge of the hall to shut down the alarms. Let him pass you before ducking into place. So far his average is one and a half minutes per check, you've got plenty of time. Are you clear on your end?"
"Yeah, yeah. Discreetly follow guard to end of hallway, duck into the second airshaft of the evening, crawl down it thirty meters until I reach the intersection, and take a left turn at Albuquerque. From there I follow the yellow brick road for another 34.5 meters until I reach the grating that consequently falls directly above the diamond, drop down, do my thing, get out, wait for the next guard check so's to slip down the hall, meet up with you, and head home for pizza and beer. Sound about right to you?"
"Just about." Her eyes zeroed in on her quarry, the portly man just finishing the last of the codes. Getting the green light, he crossed the velvet ropes with the sign "No Visitors Beyond This Point Please" dangling politely underneath it. "You're up slugger," she mumbled.
"One more thing, Max..."
"There you are Miss Wall!" A loud voice rang behind her. Cursing every deity known to man, Max wheeled around, hoping the smile plastered thinly across her face read surprise instead of the murderous malice she was feeling.
"Tony."
"What a surprise catching you back here all alone. Has that date of yours left you high and dry yet again? That's no way to treat such a exquisite a date such as yourself." Alec's side remained silent and Max shrugged inwardly, figuring the confounding earpieces had cut out yet again. She turned her full attention to Tony, or more precisely, how to be rid of him.
"Actually, he went off to find me some champagne, I'm quite parched."
"Oh, well that will not do." Without another word, he spun on one heel and hurried off to chase down the refreshment tray bobbing around like a small ship in the sea of partygoers.
'That was too easy,' Max thought. And she soon saw why, the Fates having yet another curveball up their sleeves. A head of massive blond curls circled in on her within moments of Tony's departure and began eagerly chatting at her about what a lovely gala it was. Max saw through the facade in a flash, labeling the girl as either a mole sent to weasel out information on Paul Altman or incredibly stupid to see Max's lack of interest in anything the upper crust had to offer. Probably a combination of both. "I see you've caught Anthony Hawkins' eye. He's a catch," she offered hopefully, very likely trying to find a way to permanently sever the ties between Isadora Wall and her absent date.
"Really?" Her tone no more interested in the intentions than she herself was, counting down the seconds Alec had before he would be locked within the art department prior to the guard's next check in another thirty minutes.
"Well what do you think of him?"
"I think I find myself resisting the temptation bash my head into one of these marble pillars whenever he's within thirty feet of me."
The blonde gasped with much drama before spitting out some lame excuse and turning to leave. Before Max could exult in the newfound privacy and try to call up Alec over the earpiece again, a husky chuckle rang out behind her. One that sounded identical to Tony's, cursing Fate's grudge against her, she turned slowly, expecting to find a pair brown eyes. She found ones blue-gray instead.
"Mr. Hawkins," Max said emotionlessly, unsure how to address a man after insulting his only child and namesake.
"Miss Wall." He nodded politely to her, containing his mirth. His angular face was handsome, to be sure, despite the wisps of gray pulling at 40+ year old hair and the tired lines around his beautiful blue-gray eyes. Although straightforward and generous by reputation, the vaguely untamed aura about him was where his magnetism was born, giving off the air of a rough-and-ready soldier out of place in a tuxedo. In short words, despite the age difference between the two, he embodied all the qualities Max liked in a man. A gentleman with the unseen heart of a warrior, he was a dream for every girl, though less often pursued.
"I..." she started, trying not to choke on an apology.
"...have no reason to apologize," he finished for her. "My son is a bit arrogant, to be sure. Most people find him charming, but there are those personalities who find him downright irritating."
"And which side of the fence do you stand on?" she asked impertinently.
"It depends on which day of the week."
At his dry response and otherwise not offended good mood, Max trilled out a laugh. As the slightly hysterical laughter died down--hysterical because offending the host would be bad enough, but pissing him off could prove downright damaging for their mission at this point--Max caught him watching her quite curiously.
"You remind me of her," he finally murmured, tilting his head so his blue-gray eyes could catch her at another angle.
"Who?"
"My wife."
*****
"Just what the world needs: another Logan," Alec cracked to himself so quietly his partner wouldn't catch the remark through her earpiece. Slipping through the air vent silently, he listened with entirely too much interest to the conversation on the other end of the line. He was still pretending the line had cut out after he suddenly stopped talking when the younger Anthony had nearly broken in on their heist earlier. He could have kept talking since Max had the innate ability to listen to five or six conversations at once and not miss a beat, but he had simply forgot what he was going to say.
Tony had been tailing Max all night, something Alec found himself less than happy about. Although he did find some twisted amusement at her constant rebuttal of his one-liners, some of which were pretty decent by Alec's standards. He'd listened in on bits of their conversations all night, the earpieces not breaking off nearly as often as he let Max think they did.
Turning down the last vent shaft, adrenaline quickened in his veins as he came nearer and nearer to his prize. But the joy of larceny had dimmed during his creeping down the shafts. It wasn't the grunt work before that bothered him as much as the longer he stayed silent in the shaft, the longer he listened in on what Max ignorantly assumed to be private conversations, the more he had to think about.
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was a widower and wise beyond his years. He was out of Max's age range but not by so much that their pairing off would cause more than tongue wagging. Soft-spoken and true to the beliefs Alec heard spouted off via earpiece, it only took some off-handed remark about him resembling another Logan to make the X5 see the truth of his statement.
So deep in his thoughts, he paused in the shaft, blind and deaf to the real world momentarily. The elder Mr. Hauwkins must have said something witty while Alec tuned them out, for Max's laugh pierced his ear with a sweet pain, making him jump and slam the back of his head against the top of the air vent. Mouthing enough colorful curses to make a sailor blush, Alec touched his ear to the metal now warmed by his hotter than normal body heat. Hearing the world outside his metal cage stay alarmingly silent after his blunder, he closed his eyes in deep concentration, straining to hear better. Neither footfall nor the super high-frequency drone of a silent alarm met his ears.
Judging all was safe, Alec returned to his crawl, mouthing curses all the way to ground zero. Cursing himself for letting something as simple--even though rare and precious--as Max's laughter breaking his concentration. Cursing himself for his concentration being so far from the task at hand. Cursing Max for making his concentration so far from the task at hand and then breaking it to boot. Cursing the lint and metallic stench of these stupid airshafts. Just cursing in general.
Max's voice slipped over the line. "Oh, Mr. Hawkins, you are just too much."
"Please, Isadora. How many times must I ask you to simply call me Anthony?" Mr. Hawkins admonished lightly in return.
The line cut out for real that time, much to Alec's relief. One more word and he was going to throw up all over his tuxedo, which would make it a real pain to return in the morning.
Alec was pissed, though he lied to himself saying he didn't know why.
Now that he thought about it, he saw so much of himself in the younger Hawkins. They were both slightly arrogant,--with due cause, mind you--flirty, and players. They played irresponsible immaturity to its fullest extent and gave off the impression that becoming a one-woman man was as foreign an idea to them as becoming a one-man woman. Logan was like Anthony, both looking, or at the very least interested, in the family way.
So hearing Max ooh and ahh over the elder Hawkins quickly wore on his nerves.
Alec slipped through grating of the air vent silently. Using a black rope like somebody out of a spy movie, he dropped down over his prey. With robotic motions, he grabbed the sizeable diamond dispassionately and tucked it safely away without taking his customary moment to admire a pilfered item's beauty, which always seemed to take on a seductive, dangerous edge when laying illegally in his palms. He was a starving lion taking no pleasure in the kill of fleshy prey. All his energies were focused on two things: shutting down the emotions carrying such unwanted thoughts and completing his mission and getting the heck out of there. Although he was sure Max's conversation with "Anthony" had crackled back and for a couple of times over the line, he refused to let himself hear it.
Safely tucked back into the air vent, Alec sprawled as much as he could in the cramped space, gasping for air like he'd just blurred back and forth across the locked down room below him a thousand times instead of just slipping down a few meters to retrieve some stinkin' diamond.
"Damn," he muttered to himself. Fate, being the conniving female she had to be, was just too unfair. "At least the core of the job went off without a hitch."
"Alec, are you okay?" Max's voice suddenly chirped in his ear. The words sounded terse, but worried. Even given the givens and Alec's tumbled emotions, he felt a small loopy smile fill his mouth at the though of Max giving even one iota about him.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You sound a bit..."
"I'm fine. Got the diamond secured. Once the guard makes his rounds again and I get out of this godforsaken rat trap we can head home. That is if you can tear yourself away from Mr. Wonderful," he couldn't help adding succinctly. Even as he said the words he tried to call them back. That could be read badly, which wouldn't be too grand for his ears on the way home. Or they words could be read correctly, which would be worse.
But Fate was kind...for the moment.
"Sorry Alec, the mic cut out on the last bit. What did you say?"
"Nothing." 'Thank you,' he mouthed upward, illogically wandering if omniscient beings could see through metal sheets.
"The guard should be back within another twenty-five minutes."
"There you are, Izzy," Anthony's husky voice rumbled over the earpieces.
The shocked expression on Alec's face was comical, had anyone been their to see it. 'Izzy?' he mouthed incredulously. "Izzy" and her temporary prince charming returned to their animated banter. Max was more lively than she'd been all night, even in days or weeks probably.
"Great," Alec said with more enthusiasm than he felt. Another twenty-five minutes of listening to Max chat it up with Anthony on and off. "Just great."
Ignoring the twosome on the other end of the line determined to destroy the remainder of his sanity, the transgenic crept back to his opening spot, a short drop from scooting down the hallway to freedom. The ignoring tactic didn't help. Every tinkling laugh made Alec's brow furrow deeper. He could just see the two of them shmoozing in his mind, and those visual images proved even more nauseating, though realistic, than just listening to the pair.
He was jealous. Damn.
As if that wasn't enough. He was in love with Max too.
Double damn.
*****
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."
"Pleased to meet you," Logan lied, doing his best to seem self-assured as he tried to keep the eye contact so hard to establish in the first place. He glanced at the ground again, something about this man intimidated him like never before. It was like trying to look an angel or a demon in the eye. Prophetic feeling, perhaps?
Logan's journalistic side gritted its teeth, the college professors long since forgotten nagging in his mind. Old words echoed back to him, "Look your story in the eyes, for that is where the story truly lies." His head snapped up then, newly summoned courage overriding his wariness. But if the story truly lay in the eyes, it was a narrative Logan should have better left unread.
Dr. Fredrickson's eyes widened in horror, looking far behind Logan. He raised his long arms before him as if doing so would halt the oncoming train of events. "No!" he cried, waving his palms cracked with age. "We'll need...!"
But Leonard was too late. The deadly "pfft" of air echoed ominously in the abandoned alley as a bullet slipped out the muzzle of a sniper rifle. Ducking out of the bullet's path way, Leonard cursed under his breath. That was most unfortunate. The cell phone in his trench coat pocket vibrated, deeply buried under layers of wrappers of former Wurther's Original butterscotch candies long-since dissolved in his stomach. Pushing the wrappers to the side, the good doctor whipped out the cell phone and slammed it against his ears.
Ignoring any pleasantries, he cut straight to the point, knowing instinctively who called. "That was unnecessary." The voice on the other end of the line was businesslike and not a shade remorseful. "That was not for you to decide. You and your package are needed back at headquarters ASAP." Before even getting in another word edgewise, the click on the other end of the line played the opening bar of the Dial Tone Sonata.
Good heavens but Leonard hated his job. "Fe nes' tol," he grumbled to nobody.
*****
The ride home was silent and more than a little tense. It was with extreme pleasure Alec sunk down onto the threadbare couch of his apartment, letting out a gusty sigh as his head fell back against its pillows. Almost out of habit, Alec blindly grabbed the remote and flicked his TV on, before loosening his bowtie. Sitting up straight he divested himself of the tuxedo's coat which soon joined bowtie in a heap at the feet of the couch, a tampon commercial playing background music to Alec's little striptease. Wild fingers raked through his hair as Alec broke free his hair of all the horrendous bonds gel had placed on it earlier. "That is the last time I let anything other than shampoo touch my hair," he muttered.
Max was probably having the same thoughts trying to get out of her dress and taking down her hair at the same moment, though the thought gave Alec little pleasure. Okay, it was a little pleasurable, Alec was a full-grown, red-blooded male after all, but it had nowhere near the effect it normally did, hardly bringing a smile to his face.
"I'm in love with her," Alec admitted angrily, the eccentric fingers began to dance against the buttons of his shirt. "Of all the stupid, crazy, idiotic..."
But his self-derisive rant died before even getting to full-speed. As the urgent tune of the nightly news beeped across the airwaves. "We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news on the scene of the murder in downtown Seattle today," the female newscaster began.
"But I was so enjoying the latest venture Always was trying to shove off to the unsuspecting public," Alec muttered under his breath, deciding to take his anger out on the newscaster since she was female and the party responsible for his latest condition he was currently doing his darndest not to think about.
"...the body has been identified as Logan Cale."
Alec's fingers froze and his eyes snapped up, not daring to move a muscle otherwise. The announcer, indifferent to the transgenic's turmoil, continued in an unemotional, professional manner. "A late relation to the founders and owners of the former Cale Industries, Mr. Cale's body was discovered late this afternoon by some school children. The striking absence of a wallet originally lead the authorities to suspect a drug deal or even a mugging gone murder. But the execution style bullet entry has pushed the murder into a higher, more political arena. No suspects or motives have been officially established as of yet, but some anonymous authorities suspect he might have been involved with the infamous cyber-hacker Eyes Only..."
On the dusty counter of Alec's "kitchen," his cell phone chirped loudly, self-confident even among the towers of dirty dishes and the occasional mold patch. Alec's head snapped over at the sound, but didn't move otherwise. Fingers still perched on the buttons of his shirt, his only movement was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest cavity.
The cell phone rang out again. It echoed across the empty apartment, bouncing amongst the dirty dishes before finding the far wall and ricocheting back again. The couch was empty, the door firmly closed. The only evidence of Alec's being there at all was the jacket and bowtie long forgotten on the floor.
All other articles of clothing remained firmly attached to Alec as he blurred across Terminal City compound towards Max.
A/N 2: If the editing is really shoddy on these last to chapters I'm really sorry.
A/N: Chapters 10 and 11 were written as one chapter but I decided for time's sake to split the two up, make it easier on those still reading this story. Thank you for waiting.
Chapter 11
The dinner had felt like a mission in and of itself, and proved to be such a long one that Alec's survival instincts would have been screaming at him to store up food and water for rationing if his plate and flute hadn't been so constantly attended to. Once that painful ordeal was over, he mingled among the natives for awhile, straying from his date when a female admirer--young or old--would ask for a waltz, or slipping off to check the latest updates in security patterns since Logan's specifics, while important, had left a few holes.
Within two hours he had the entire floor plan of the "art department" memorized, including the trimmings of all sorts of motions sensors despite being continually interrupted by the need to make another appearance in the crowd, or check in with Max--those earpieces kept fizzing out at all the wrong moments. Plus being gone too long would make the admirers he'd so unwisely collected suspicious. And any suspicion at this point in the game couldn't prove wise.
Under the alias Paul Altman, Alec whisked lady after lady across the dance floor with a combination of feline grace and sheer athleticism, making polite chitchat and playful innuendo on whichever forgotten wife or girlfriend subconsciously came to him in dire need of an ego boost. He saw the good in each and every female he danced with, and commented on it without sounding insincere or over-the-top. "Such a handsome young man. He must be of good stock with those cordial manners," the elder ladies commented to each other, having not come across such a friendliness since the fall of the American Empire, where now every good-looking young man was running a scam. The girls within his timeframe had less to say about his moral fiber than they did about his physical attributes, in choice phrases young ladies of substance really shouldn't use in polite public.
But one thought arose in the group of women and passed from circle to circle until the ballroom fairly rang with one sentiment: "Too bad about his date."
Miss Isadora Wall's contempt of all things rich and glamorous reflected on her pretty face, the cold laser beam of her eye searing all the superficial happiness of whatever unfortunate circle of girls she'd deemed her next injured party. Even in such a sour mood, Max realized the source of her anger wasn't really these political pigeons' faults. Her malice really focused on the two people in the room she flatly refused to look at: "Mr. Paul Altman" and Mr. Anthony Hawkins Jr.
Mr. Altman's display of wooing the gaggle of women at this event was downright stomach turning, though Max refused admit why. It was no matter how the temptation to be so nipped at her heels, following her across the dance floor every step, she refused to feel it or admit it. But jealousy, like so many emotions, was felt even when unwelcome and unnamed. It was no help to the situation that Alec perfectly balanced his time between casing the place, playing the charming date, and charming everybody else's date. If she could just yell at him for doing something wrong she could ease the tension between her shoulders, but he hadn't had slipped up yet. The tension kept mounting, only stretched more taut as he kept being so damned perfect for them, until she thought her shoulder blades would snap and burst from under the sinews of muscle and skin holding them in, flying across either side of the ballroom like buckshot frisbees.
Mr. Anthony "Tony" Hawkins, Jr. she found to be almost equally appealing...
*****
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was the typical rags-to-riches story with a slight twist. Born to a farmer and his wife somewhere in the Midwest, he showed a high aptitude from an early age for almost any subject he could get his hands on. An AP scholar, he graduated in the top 1% of his class and planning to major in science, he'd been offered a full ride to Iowa State University. Within another four years, he'd graduated with dual-majors in business and biochemistry plus a minor in Spanish. He'd moved out to Seattle within a few years with every intention of joining up with an entrepreneurship a cousin had started, but it filed for bankruptcy even before his feet touched Washington soil.
Hawkins' innovative ideas and strong background in science won him a desk job at an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company stationed in Seattle. His Spanish, strengthened by a two-year stint in Mexico with the Peace Corps, almost instantly had him changing from being someone's lackey to being the president and owner's personal translator, for the company dealt mostly with Spanish-speaking countries. He was eventually promoted to a vice-presidency and when the owner died at 77 from a stroke, he left the whole of his estate--including the company and a ten figure existence--to the son he'd never had.
Hawkins married his high school sweetheart at the age of twenty-two and within a year she gave him a son, who was determined to be the bane of Max's existence at tonight's event...
*****
It had started out innocently enough. Polite introductions, a knowing insinuation here or there that Max had been willing to overlook. Playing the ice queen from the get-go, instead of pushing everyone away, she'd been disappointed to find that her polite disinterest made the men flock to her even more. What was it men found so fascinating about a girl who had enough sense to know that hoards of money didn't make up for a lack of any personality?
Then she met Tony, a first-class debonair socialite with as many finer points of a personality as a dead moth. He was gorgeous, of course, with sun-kissed skin and sparkling brown eyes crowned by dark eyebrows matching his black hair. The strong physique wasn't as lithe as Alec's, more powerfully built in a Zack-like way, but it only heightened his natural poise instead of making him awkward as he fluttered from circle to circle of admiring female socialites. He was charismatic, and several poor singles had to decide from moment to moment who they like more: Tony or "Paul."
But growing up eating from a silver spoon had done as little for him as the boarding school he'd been shipped off to at the age of eight. He milked his natural good looks for all they were worth, when weighed against his personality, weren't worth that much. He strutted instead of walked, fully aware of the puddles of former females he left liquefying in his wake.
Tony had zeroed in on one Isadora Wall almost immediately, in for a rude awakening with her disfavor counterattacking his subtle advancements, "subtle" being a relative term. His baby-I'm-hot-let's-go-get-it-on bedroom eyes, belied any smooth overtures his mouth might make. At first Miss Wall found him rather entertaining, loving to whip his words back into his face with the same saccharine sweetness she'd bestowed on Mrs. Cole, but after showing diligent in his endeavors to "woo" her, he just flat out got on Max's nerves.
Discreetly she edged away from the dance floor, relieved to see Tony nowhere in sight. Alone in the safe enclosing shadow of a massive fern of some sort, Max tapped the side of her ear, hoping to receive better frequency. "Alec?"
"Yo!"
"What's your status?"
"Well, I was making it with Mrs. Menopause until I got this shrill ringing in my ears and my concentration was completely blown." A beat. "I'm sitting on my hands waiting for you to give me the all clear for curtain number three, why?"
"Get ready. A guard's coming your way." Max discreetly let him pass her and watched him work his way across the wall of the ballroom. "He'll type in the three 10 digit codes at the edge of the hall to shut down the alarms. Let him pass you before ducking into place. So far his average is one and a half minutes per check, you've got plenty of time. Are you clear on your end?"
"Yeah, yeah. Discreetly follow guard to end of hallway, duck into the second airshaft of the evening, crawl down it thirty meters until I reach the intersection, and take a left turn at Albuquerque. From there I follow the yellow brick road for another 34.5 meters until I reach the grating that consequently falls directly above the diamond, drop down, do my thing, get out, wait for the next guard check so's to slip down the hall, meet up with you, and head home for pizza and beer. Sound about right to you?"
"Just about." Her eyes zeroed in on her quarry, the portly man just finishing the last of the codes. Getting the green light, he crossed the velvet ropes with the sign "No Visitors Beyond This Point Please" dangling politely underneath it. "You're up slugger," she mumbled.
"One more thing, Max..."
"There you are Miss Wall!" A loud voice rang behind her. Cursing every deity known to man, Max wheeled around, hoping the smile plastered thinly across her face read surprise instead of the murderous malice she was feeling.
"Tony."
"What a surprise catching you back here all alone. Has that date of yours left you high and dry yet again? That's no way to treat such a exquisite a date such as yourself." Alec's side remained silent and Max shrugged inwardly, figuring the confounding earpieces had cut out yet again. She turned her full attention to Tony, or more precisely, how to be rid of him.
"Actually, he went off to find me some champagne, I'm quite parched."
"Oh, well that will not do." Without another word, he spun on one heel and hurried off to chase down the refreshment tray bobbing around like a small ship in the sea of partygoers.
'That was too easy,' Max thought. And she soon saw why, the Fates having yet another curveball up their sleeves. A head of massive blond curls circled in on her within moments of Tony's departure and began eagerly chatting at her about what a lovely gala it was. Max saw through the facade in a flash, labeling the girl as either a mole sent to weasel out information on Paul Altman or incredibly stupid to see Max's lack of interest in anything the upper crust had to offer. Probably a combination of both. "I see you've caught Anthony Hawkins' eye. He's a catch," she offered hopefully, very likely trying to find a way to permanently sever the ties between Isadora Wall and her absent date.
"Really?" Her tone no more interested in the intentions than she herself was, counting down the seconds Alec had before he would be locked within the art department prior to the guard's next check in another thirty minutes.
"Well what do you think of him?"
"I think I find myself resisting the temptation bash my head into one of these marble pillars whenever he's within thirty feet of me."
The blonde gasped with much drama before spitting out some lame excuse and turning to leave. Before Max could exult in the newfound privacy and try to call up Alec over the earpiece again, a husky chuckle rang out behind her. One that sounded identical to Tony's, cursing Fate's grudge against her, she turned slowly, expecting to find a pair brown eyes. She found ones blue-gray instead.
"Mr. Hawkins," Max said emotionlessly, unsure how to address a man after insulting his only child and namesake.
"Miss Wall." He nodded politely to her, containing his mirth. His angular face was handsome, to be sure, despite the wisps of gray pulling at 40+ year old hair and the tired lines around his beautiful blue-gray eyes. Although straightforward and generous by reputation, the vaguely untamed aura about him was where his magnetism was born, giving off the air of a rough-and-ready soldier out of place in a tuxedo. In short words, despite the age difference between the two, he embodied all the qualities Max liked in a man. A gentleman with the unseen heart of a warrior, he was a dream for every girl, though less often pursued.
"I..." she started, trying not to choke on an apology.
"...have no reason to apologize," he finished for her. "My son is a bit arrogant, to be sure. Most people find him charming, but there are those personalities who find him downright irritating."
"And which side of the fence do you stand on?" she asked impertinently.
"It depends on which day of the week."
At his dry response and otherwise not offended good mood, Max trilled out a laugh. As the slightly hysterical laughter died down--hysterical because offending the host would be bad enough, but pissing him off could prove downright damaging for their mission at this point--Max caught him watching her quite curiously.
"You remind me of her," he finally murmured, tilting his head so his blue-gray eyes could catch her at another angle.
"Who?"
"My wife."
*****
"Just what the world needs: another Logan," Alec cracked to himself so quietly his partner wouldn't catch the remark through her earpiece. Slipping through the air vent silently, he listened with entirely too much interest to the conversation on the other end of the line. He was still pretending the line had cut out after he suddenly stopped talking when the younger Anthony had nearly broken in on their heist earlier. He could have kept talking since Max had the innate ability to listen to five or six conversations at once and not miss a beat, but he had simply forgot what he was going to say.
Tony had been tailing Max all night, something Alec found himself less than happy about. Although he did find some twisted amusement at her constant rebuttal of his one-liners, some of which were pretty decent by Alec's standards. He'd listened in on bits of their conversations all night, the earpieces not breaking off nearly as often as he let Max think they did.
Turning down the last vent shaft, adrenaline quickened in his veins as he came nearer and nearer to his prize. But the joy of larceny had dimmed during his creeping down the shafts. It wasn't the grunt work before that bothered him as much as the longer he stayed silent in the shaft, the longer he listened in on what Max ignorantly assumed to be private conversations, the more he had to think about.
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was a widower and wise beyond his years. He was out of Max's age range but not by so much that their pairing off would cause more than tongue wagging. Soft-spoken and true to the beliefs Alec heard spouted off via earpiece, it only took some off-handed remark about him resembling another Logan to make the X5 see the truth of his statement.
So deep in his thoughts, he paused in the shaft, blind and deaf to the real world momentarily. The elder Mr. Hauwkins must have said something witty while Alec tuned them out, for Max's laugh pierced his ear with a sweet pain, making him jump and slam the back of his head against the top of the air vent. Mouthing enough colorful curses to make a sailor blush, Alec touched his ear to the metal now warmed by his hotter than normal body heat. Hearing the world outside his metal cage stay alarmingly silent after his blunder, he closed his eyes in deep concentration, straining to hear better. Neither footfall nor the super high-frequency drone of a silent alarm met his ears.
Judging all was safe, Alec returned to his crawl, mouthing curses all the way to ground zero. Cursing himself for letting something as simple--even though rare and precious--as Max's laughter breaking his concentration. Cursing himself for his concentration being so far from the task at hand. Cursing Max for making his concentration so far from the task at hand and then breaking it to boot. Cursing the lint and metallic stench of these stupid airshafts. Just cursing in general.
Max's voice slipped over the line. "Oh, Mr. Hawkins, you are just too much."
"Please, Isadora. How many times must I ask you to simply call me Anthony?" Mr. Hawkins admonished lightly in return.
The line cut out for real that time, much to Alec's relief. One more word and he was going to throw up all over his tuxedo, which would make it a real pain to return in the morning.
Alec was pissed, though he lied to himself saying he didn't know why.
Now that he thought about it, he saw so much of himself in the younger Hawkins. They were both slightly arrogant,--with due cause, mind you--flirty, and players. They played irresponsible immaturity to its fullest extent and gave off the impression that becoming a one-woman man was as foreign an idea to them as becoming a one-man woman. Logan was like Anthony, both looking, or at the very least interested, in the family way.
So hearing Max ooh and ahh over the elder Hawkins quickly wore on his nerves.
Alec slipped through grating of the air vent silently. Using a black rope like somebody out of a spy movie, he dropped down over his prey. With robotic motions, he grabbed the sizeable diamond dispassionately and tucked it safely away without taking his customary moment to admire a pilfered item's beauty, which always seemed to take on a seductive, dangerous edge when laying illegally in his palms. He was a starving lion taking no pleasure in the kill of fleshy prey. All his energies were focused on two things: shutting down the emotions carrying such unwanted thoughts and completing his mission and getting the heck out of there. Although he was sure Max's conversation with "Anthony" had crackled back and for a couple of times over the line, he refused to let himself hear it.
Safely tucked back into the air vent, Alec sprawled as much as he could in the cramped space, gasping for air like he'd just blurred back and forth across the locked down room below him a thousand times instead of just slipping down a few meters to retrieve some stinkin' diamond.
"Damn," he muttered to himself. Fate, being the conniving female she had to be, was just too unfair. "At least the core of the job went off without a hitch."
"Alec, are you okay?" Max's voice suddenly chirped in his ear. The words sounded terse, but worried. Even given the givens and Alec's tumbled emotions, he felt a small loopy smile fill his mouth at the though of Max giving even one iota about him.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You sound a bit..."
"I'm fine. Got the diamond secured. Once the guard makes his rounds again and I get out of this godforsaken rat trap we can head home. That is if you can tear yourself away from Mr. Wonderful," he couldn't help adding succinctly. Even as he said the words he tried to call them back. That could be read badly, which wouldn't be too grand for his ears on the way home. Or they words could be read correctly, which would be worse.
But Fate was kind...for the moment.
"Sorry Alec, the mic cut out on the last bit. What did you say?"
"Nothing." 'Thank you,' he mouthed upward, illogically wandering if omniscient beings could see through metal sheets.
"The guard should be back within another twenty-five minutes."
"There you are, Izzy," Anthony's husky voice rumbled over the earpieces.
The shocked expression on Alec's face was comical, had anyone been their to see it. 'Izzy?' he mouthed incredulously. "Izzy" and her temporary prince charming returned to their animated banter. Max was more lively than she'd been all night, even in days or weeks probably.
"Great," Alec said with more enthusiasm than he felt. Another twenty-five minutes of listening to Max chat it up with Anthony on and off. "Just great."
Ignoring the twosome on the other end of the line determined to destroy the remainder of his sanity, the transgenic crept back to his opening spot, a short drop from scooting down the hallway to freedom. The ignoring tactic didn't help. Every tinkling laugh made Alec's brow furrow deeper. He could just see the two of them shmoozing in his mind, and those visual images proved even more nauseating, though realistic, than just listening to the pair.
He was jealous. Damn.
As if that wasn't enough. He was in love with Max too.
Double damn.
*****
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."
"Pleased to meet you," Logan lied, doing his best to seem self-assured as he tried to keep the eye contact so hard to establish in the first place. He glanced at the ground again, something about this man intimidated him like never before. It was like trying to look an angel or a demon in the eye. Prophetic feeling, perhaps?
Logan's journalistic side gritted its teeth, the college professors long since forgotten nagging in his mind. Old words echoed back to him, "Look your story in the eyes, for that is where the story truly lies." His head snapped up then, newly summoned courage overriding his wariness. But if the story truly lay in the eyes, it was a narrative Logan should have better left unread.
Dr. Fredrickson's eyes widened in horror, looking far behind Logan. He raised his long arms before him as if doing so would halt the oncoming train of events. "No!" he cried, waving his palms cracked with age. "We'll need...!"
But Leonard was too late. The deadly "pfft" of air echoed ominously in the abandoned alley as a bullet slipped out the muzzle of a sniper rifle. Ducking out of the bullet's path way, Leonard cursed under his breath. That was most unfortunate. The cell phone in his trench coat pocket vibrated, deeply buried under layers of wrappers of former Wurther's Original butterscotch candies long-since dissolved in his stomach. Pushing the wrappers to the side, the good doctor whipped out the cell phone and slammed it against his ears.
Ignoring any pleasantries, he cut straight to the point, knowing instinctively who called. "That was unnecessary." The voice on the other end of the line was businesslike and not a shade remorseful. "That was not for you to decide. You and your package are needed back at headquarters ASAP." Before even getting in another word edgewise, the click on the other end of the line played the opening bar of the Dial Tone Sonata.
Good heavens but Leonard hated his job. "Fe nes' tol," he grumbled to nobody.
*****
The ride home was silent and more than a little tense. It was with extreme pleasure Alec sunk down onto the threadbare couch of his apartment, letting out a gusty sigh as his head fell back against its pillows. Almost out of habit, Alec blindly grabbed the remote and flicked his TV on, before loosening his bowtie. Sitting up straight he divested himself of the tuxedo's coat which soon joined bowtie in a heap at the feet of the couch, a tampon commercial playing background music to Alec's little striptease. Wild fingers raked through his hair as Alec broke free his hair of all the horrendous bonds gel had placed on it earlier. "That is the last time I let anything other than shampoo touch my hair," he muttered.
Max was probably having the same thoughts trying to get out of her dress and taking down her hair at the same moment, though the thought gave Alec little pleasure. Okay, it was a little pleasurable, Alec was a full-grown, red-blooded male after all, but it had nowhere near the effect it normally did, hardly bringing a smile to his face.
"I'm in love with her," Alec admitted angrily, the eccentric fingers began to dance against the buttons of his shirt. "Of all the stupid, crazy, idiotic..."
But his self-derisive rant died before even getting to full-speed. As the urgent tune of the nightly news beeped across the airwaves. "We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news on the scene of the murder in downtown Seattle today," the female newscaster began.
"But I was so enjoying the latest venture Always was trying to shove off to the unsuspecting public," Alec muttered under his breath, deciding to take his anger out on the newscaster since she was female and the party responsible for his latest condition he was currently doing his darndest not to think about.
"...the body has been identified as Logan Cale."
Alec's fingers froze and his eyes snapped up, not daring to move a muscle otherwise. The announcer, indifferent to the transgenic's turmoil, continued in an unemotional, professional manner. "A late relation to the founders and owners of the former Cale Industries, Mr. Cale's body was discovered late this afternoon by some school children. The striking absence of a wallet originally lead the authorities to suspect a drug deal or even a mugging gone murder. But the execution style bullet entry has pushed the murder into a higher, more political arena. No suspects or motives have been officially established as of yet, but some anonymous authorities suspect he might have been involved with the infamous cyber-hacker Eyes Only..."
On the dusty counter of Alec's "kitchen," his cell phone chirped loudly, self-confident even among the towers of dirty dishes and the occasional mold patch. Alec's head snapped over at the sound, but didn't move otherwise. Fingers still perched on the buttons of his shirt, his only movement was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest cavity.
The cell phone rang out again. It echoed across the empty apartment, bouncing amongst the dirty dishes before finding the far wall and ricocheting back again. The couch was empty, the door firmly closed. The only evidence of Alec's being there at all was the jacket and bowtie long forgotten on the floor.
All other articles of clothing remained firmly attached to Alec as he blurred across Terminal City compound towards Max.
A/N 2: If the editing is really shoddy on these last to chapters I'm really sorry.