Author's Notes: I am utterly positive some people think I've ditched the DA scene. Never the case. I just keep getting bogged down with school work, and my fics tend to be the thing that takes a back seat. I've been working on this story since the end of December and I've finally finished it. You don't know how good this feels.

Just to reassure everyone, I have two more standalones slated - "Games People Play" in a dark Jondy fic and "The Beach" is for Jondy/Zack fans. And if there's any X5 ship you'd like to see more fic on, I'll certainly give almost anyone a try.

So, I hope you like this one, because I enjoyed writing it. Please read and review, I like to know people still read my writing :)


He was bending over the engine of an old Mercedes. One of the guys at the garage had found the burnt shell parked in some alley way a few blocks away. It had been Tony. There were five guys working at Hal's Garage – Tony, Mickey, Liam and Zane, plus Hal. Hal was a sixty year old guy who had started the garage 'back in the day'.

Now he had the four younger guys working for him, while he sat on a stool outside, and alternately drank beer and ate hamburgers from the take away shop on the corner, and read car magazines featuring women sprawled across Ferrari hoods in bikinis.

Zane genuinely liked working on the garage. The other guys were his best friends in L.A. Tony was second generation Italian, and was married to a volatile woman named Josie and had a three year old son named Antonio whom Tony often brought into work during the mornings, so Josie could sleep late or do 'girly' things.

Antonio – Ant, as Tony called his son – would toddle around the garage and babble unstoppably at all the guys. Then Josie would come down to the garage, lecture Tony in Italian and grab Ant. Tony would laugh, a cold beer in one hand and Ant's backpack in the other hand.

Then there was Mickey; a burly thirty year old who said little but chain smoked cigarettes and specialised in motorcycles. Mickey was the man who hired the strippers and bought the first round of beer after work.

Liam was the youngest – Zane was twenty two and Liam was nineteen, but Liam behaved like a little kid and looked like one, all awkward and lanky and eager to please. He dribbled over their girlfriends and was caught reading Mickey's dirty magazines during his lunch break and actually looked guilty.

Zane wiped his hands on his jeans, leaning back. He'd spent a whole month rebuilding the engine and now it wasn't working. Liam was meant to be started on the body in a few days; they already had a buyer and a strict time frame to prepare the Mercedes in.

"Take a break," Hal called out from his stool, his dog Miffy sitting beside him. "Get some lunch."

Zane nodded, tossing his tools to the pavement and slipped into the cooler garage. Once, it had been two shop fronts. Now, it was a garage that could fit three cars, a tiny office and a tiny kitchenette that held a fridge, stove, a black and white television and a radio.

Zane grabbed a soda from the fridge, tugging off the top part of his orange coveralls. And then he walked up the street to the dimly lit take away shop. Liam, Mickey and Tony were sitting at a plastic table, wolfing down their unidentifiable lunches. It was the same choices every day – a burger, pizza, curry or kebabs. The burger, curry and kebabs were all made of the same meat. Zane ate most of his meals with these three men, and at this shop.

A Styrofoam cup of coffee and a few slices of pizza that tasted like wet cardboard. Then back to work until five, grab dinner – usually a kebab and hopefully some salad – and back to his apartment with his dog, Millie. Millie lived in the yard below his apartment building. She was still a puppy and preferred playing with her toys in the leafy yard than rolling around the garage.

This was Zane's life. Fifteen bucks an hour, which was pretty good for Post-Pulse. Zane earned his monthly rent in one and a half weeks. His girlfriends were usually blonde types who hadn't made it through high school and towered over him in cheap stilettos.

There wasn't one at the moment, and Zane went home to his apartment every night and he was lonely. Millie was the best company a guy could have sans… well, a human girl would have been the best company a guy could have, because there are just some things you don't do with a puppy.

Don't go there.

Zane feeds most of his dinner to Millie and gazes dumbly at the television for hours until he realises it's no longer night but obscenely early morning. And he tugs off his jeans and t shirt, collapsing on top of the covers of his bed, sleeping like the dead. In theory, Millie is meant to sleep on a pile of blankets next to the television, but in practice, she sleeps at Zane's feet on the bed.

He's second at the garage that morning, gazing up at the sun beating down. Hal lives in some seedy apartments across the street and is always the one to open the place up. It's only a few minutes past eight and already there is a beer in Hal's hand, beads of condensation making their bid for freedom.

Zane downed a bowl of non-descript cereal before he left, with milk. The milk keeps the seizures away and is probably the healthiest meal of his day; the cereal is brown and grain like and declares that it is sugar free and all natural. Hal cooks bacon, eggs and hash browns in the small kitchenette, the frying pan full of oil. Zane's enhanced sense of smell revolts against Hal's 'cooking'. Liam and Mickey will eat the breakfast Hal cooks. Zane wouldn't even feed Miffy a bite of the sloppy oil-filled hash browns.

He's already working on the Mercedes when Liam, Tony and Mickey arrive. They tease him because he's always the first one there in the morning and the last one to leave at night. For Tony, work is a place he has to be – he likes his job but it's something that has to be done. He has a loving wife and a son he worships; a place he'd rather be. Mickey had a girlfriend waiting at home; Debbie, Donna, Dana… Zane's met her once. She wasn't the sort of woman Zane would pair Mickey with. She had short dark hair and wore glasses and was studying gender relations at UCLA.

So, Mickey had a life, too.

Liam lived with two other guys and their grandmother. He spent his time in clubs, trying to pick up girls, or at the parks, racing his BMX bike. He had friends and a life. And even parents and a sister who wanted him to move back home.

Zane never bothered to forge close enough friendships with these guys to warrant spending much time outside of hours with them. He liked them, and got a long with them, and Josie might invite him to dinner because she worried he had no girlfriend to look after him, but he was ultimately alone. Friends had never been an important part of the equation for him, simply because Zack moved him around so much.

Liam and Mickey dug into paper plates of food that Hal brought that out, and they sit in deckchairs outside the garage, wolfing down the food and washing the taste of oil and grease away with cold beer. Josie is hurrying down the street, Ant on her hip, calling out to Tony in Italian.

Zane always smiles when he sees Josie; her long black curly hair pinned away from her face, her bright green eyes almost swallowing her face and her gauzy skirts tangling around her legs. She always wore big hoop earrings, and a selection of necklaces and rings. Her nails are short and painted with deep purple lacquer and she wears a spicy perfume that Zane doesn't really care for when he considers it, but its Josie signature.

"Tony! Lei va e parte per il lavoro senza me partendo anche del denaro di drogheria? Non niente e per me pagare la lavoratore di cura dell'infanzia di bambino con? Che ho fatto per meritare tale trascuratezza?"

"Tony! You go and leave for work without even leaving me some grocery money? And nothing for me to pay the baby sitter with? What did I do to deserve such carelessness?"

Zane doesn't know Italian. Italy wasn't exactly on Manticore's list of Evil Countries to Infiltrate. Zane wasn't all that great in Intelligence. Much better at Telecommunications and Information Technology. He vaguely recollects long lessons in German, but doesn't recall enough to say he speaks German. It wouldn't really be speaking German anyway, just parroting a bunch of military phrases.

He knows a little Italian now. Tony taught him a few phrases when he met Josie. And both Tony and Josie decided Ant would be raised speaking Italian as a first language, and all the guys at the garage make an effort to parrot Tony's phrases to the kid. They like hearing a three year old babbling in Italian; Hal says it gives them culture. Zane likes it because he can almost pretend Ant is Krit – all dark hair and dark eyes – rambling away to Syl. Syl was hopeless at languages; Krit spoke Spanish at age three.

Today, Ant runs up to Zane and points to the Mercedes. "L'automobile è morta - perché?" Why is that car dead?

Zane looks at the kid, and realises Italian sounds nothing like Spanish. More like French. Jondy spoke French. So did Eva. Syl was meant to, but was utterly hopeless at it. Krit used to talk to Syl in Spanish and Jondy used to whisper the replies to Syl in French. And Syl would repeat them, accent perfect, to Krit.

"Era vecchio," Zane replies with a terrible Italian accent. "It was old." Tony smothers a laugh at Zane's 'murder of the most beautiful language'. Josie hits Tony upside the head and tells Zane that she didn't know he spoke any Italian.

"I don't," Zane says, shrugging, switching back to English.

Josie shakes her head. And before she replies, Miffy starts to back. And a red Ducatti motorcycle pulls up.

In this part of the city, the cars and motorcycles are second, third or even forth-hand. Zane's fixed up cars that would be better served as scrap metal. Motorcycles are a rare commodity because they are stolen right off the street. His own blue Honda is locked up in the garden shed, because he couldn't bear to lose it.

Liam is practically dribbling as the undeniably female figure climbs off the bike. She's wearing pink tinted glasses rather than a helmet. Straight dark hair frames her face and she's wearing low slung jeans and a red t shirt that clings, with a V neck. The t shirt says something in clear black letters but Zane's not looking at her chest. It's her face he's focusing on.

Bright blue eyes, her lips smeared in scented pink lip gloss that Zane can smell from where he stands. Dark eyeliner makes her eyes seems brighter. Three silver earrings line both her ears. He looks her up and down, trying to confirm his suspicions; his hopes. One wrist bares a worn man's watch; it's too big for her. The other, at least two dozen fine silver bracelets, and her nails are painted red. On her feet are black combat boots, dotted with White-Out daisies.

He knows he's got a stupid expression on his face, but Zane can only hope it's not as stupid as the look on Liam's face. They're both hopeless. Zane can hear his heart pounding. He hopes he is wrong, that this is just another ditz he can drag home for a night or three. That the elegance she somehow emulates is a false air.

Zane's seen Tinga and Brin. He recalls their confidence easily, the grace with which they walked. This girl before him radiates that same confidence - the same grace and perfect balance. His hope is fading fast. This isn't some girl off the street. Why do the ones who are always so utterly perfect for him end up being the ones who couldn't be more wrong?

She's looking at him and so are his workmates – and Josie. Ant's little hand grips Zane's orange coveralls as she approaches.

"Zane?"

She looks unsure of herself and she stops in front of him, looking uncertain.

Jondy didn't know why she came. After leaving San Francisco in light of Eyes Only's message, L.A. seemed like a practical place to be. She'd caught wind of a guy selling tryptophan, and he'd mentioned he also supplied another guy, a little older than she was. The dude selling her the pills had mentioned his other customer worked in a garage and had a German Shepard puppy.

"Zane went out and bought himself a god-damned dog. A German Shepard, for Christ's sake…"

She could still remember Zack's angry words when she asked about the others. And she could still recall ten year old Zane hunched over some mechanical device a few benches away. He'd always be the first one to solve any mechanical problem.

A few fifty dollar bills and the pill guy even gave her a street address for his apartment. Some lady had gotten tired of Jondy sitting on the front stoop of the building and sent her to "an old garage opposite an apartment building. Just a block or so away."

And when she pulled up, she didn't know what to expect. Maybe she was chasing ghosts? Her mind told her to get the hell out of L.A. and head to Miami for the summer. She wouldn't let herself consider what would happen if this guy was actually her big brother Zane.

As she got off her motorcycle, she felt eyes on her. Five men in varying age groups, a little boy not more than four who was clinging to one of the guy's pants and a wary looking woman standing close enough to the boy that he was protected. The woman had amazing hair and wore a long skirt with an infinite number of colours – pink, purple, orange, jade, black… for a second, Jondy wished she wore skirts just so she could have one like that.

She scanned the five men in an instant. Two of them are way too old to be Zane. One is too skinny and just not 'Manticore'. He's gazing at her like she's some sort of gift.

The last two men take her a little time to consider. One wears a wife beater and grimy jeans, his skin is olive coloured – the colour you are born with rather than achieve in the sun. He has curly black hair and he might just be a little old, a little worn, not quite as perfect as an X5 would be.

The final one was the one standing in front of a shell of a car, with the child clinging to his pants. He had dark – almost black – hair falling into his green eyes. He's got a honey coloured glow from working in the sun, and wears a worn steel watch and a string around one wrist. He's staring at her hard. An orange coverall suit stoped her from looking any further downward.

It has to be him. Maybe it's the way he's standing; no one else would know he has utterly perfect balance. The way he's watching her. The way his cover alls fit his body.

"Zane?"

His face splits into a grin and his arms are around her, hugging her tight to him. Her thin, soft yet firm body pressing against his much harder, toned one against hers. She clung to him desperately for a few moments before pulling away.

"Jondy?" Max's name rested on the tip of his tongue. But no matter how much Max grew up, Zane could never picture her like this. Max was Max, and for the first nine years of her life, Jondy had been in Max's shadow, the gratuitous best friend and girl next door in the sitcom that was their life.

Situation comedy; that's exactly what his life felt like some days.

A beautiful smile broke out on Jondy's face. "I missed you," she said softly, very aware of the people watching them.

"I missed you too," He matched her smile easily. Her eyes were guarded but there was something there. Something other than the shadows they all had in their eyes. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and Zane resisted the urge to smooth it out.

Excuse me, where exactly did that come from?

"Are you going to introduce me?" Jondy teased likely. And it was like she'd never left.

The other guys liked her okay. Hal was standoffish; worried such a girl would mean no work would get done. But, to everyone's shock, Jondy took the offered shirt to cover her own clothes and helped Zane. He remembered her clearly back at Manticore, a screwdriver in one hand and some electronic device in the other and that thoughtful expression on her face. He saw the nine year old girl in her now, as she bent over the ignition, her delicate gloved hands following the wires carefully.

"You've done a good job," Jondy turned to smile at him. "Too good; it's so neat."

He remembered First Aid 101; the scientists would take half the group and cut them, collecting blood, and then the other half of the group would stitch them up. Zane remembered tears on Jace's face as Jondy efficiently stitched her arm up with stitches so neat they looked drawn on.

He remembered Jondy the nine year old stitching up his own forearm with a smile for him.

"I'm sure yours would be just as neat," Zane managed, bending over next to her.

"You better not look at my ride, then," she joked. "Just spit and luck that got me here."

"Luck does not exist. Success depends on a well thought out plan executed with precision."

They both heard it, but neither had said anything. Sometimes their ghosts were louder than normal. They both pretend the moment isn't awkward and continue messing with the car. Zane can see Liam gazing at Jondy from a few metres away; and Liam isn't looking at her face.

The day is long and hot, and Zane had never felt more relieved when they all make a move to the take away shop for lunch. It's not much cooler in the take away shop, sitting at a plastic table, but a noticeable difference. Today, as Zane shares pizza off a paper plate with Jondy, the food is fresh and hot and delicious. Well, let's not go that far. But it's the best meal of his life. Jondy laughing with the closest people to friends he has, the silver bracelets around her wrists making a sound like little bells every time she moves her arms.

The second half of the day was punctuated by Liam's horrible pick up lines directed at Jondy. Tony has hinted at Liam that he's making himself look like an idiot, and even Zane's tried to gently break it to him that Jondy's not his type. But Liam's star struck. The bad pick up lines tumble out of his mouth every time he claps eyes on Jondy.

Zane caught her laughing behind her hand at Liam's awkward attempts and Jondy eventually drags him away from the others. And they all cat call at Liam, as Jondy murmurs something in his ear. Zane can only pray that Jondy's telling Liam she's a lesbian, so he'll leave her the hell alone.

Where is this coming from, you freak?

"Are you and your friend coming to the bar with us?" Mickey asked, as they began to lock up the garage. "I'll buy the first round."

"I guess," Zane shrugged. Twenty seconds later, and Zane's wondering if it's such a great plan, taking Jondy to the bar they frequent. The beer is the cheapest in the area – ten a pitcher. But then, it's only cheap American beer. Zane would give ten years of his life for an ice cold Canadian beer. He just doesn't have thirty dollars to spend on one.

And the girls that frequent those bars. They aren't exactly the sort of crowd Zane would expect Jondy to mix with. Strippers, hookers, dancers… those are the sort of cliental the bar encourages. But he still took her along. They locked her bike up at the garage, so it won't be stolen.

The bar was in the basement, with a series of broken televisions playing constantly, whether it's some sort of sports, or an Eyes Only broadcast. A few people dance to the music playing from the stereo behind the bar. It's mainly dance music, even though no one goes to this bar to dance.

They sit around their usual table, Mickey ordering the first pitcher. Tony sloshes the beer into tall red paper cups and spills it. Jondy jokes and laughs along with them as they drink their second, third, fifth pitcher. She's the one helping Mickey bring plates of nachos over to the table, bowls of peanuts and even orders pink lemonade so she can have a bright red cherry.

He doesn't recognise the closeness he feels with Jondy, and she's shown no signs of feeling it. Her mouth is stained pink from the cherry as she drags Liam onto the dance floor. Zane's not game enough to dance in front of his work mates, and both Mickey and Tony are too drunk to dance with her. At least, that's what Zane thought Jondy thought.

But her hips are against Liam's, his arms looped tightly around her waist and Zane's betting Liam will keel over with a heart attack at any moment. Zane's always liked Liam; funny kid who generally had his heart in the right place. But watching his hand slide down Jondy's thigh, and Liam's flushed face; Zane just wants to break his legs. And his spine.

Zane's gulping down beer as he watches them dance, trying to dull the feelings with alcohol. Damn his genes for not letting him drink himself into a stupor. He looks up in time to see Jondy's lips against Liam's, begins to choke and its Mickey's hand against Zane's shoulder as Zane continues to cough and splutter.

Liam! No girl in the history of their 'friendship' has ever picked Liam over Zane. Liam's not ugly, but Zane is an X5. It just doesn't fit. Zane had never resented gawky Liam before now. But he's seriously considering disembowelling him

They leave the bar at two in the morning. Liam's detached himself from Jondy, and accepts a ride home from Tony cheerfully. Zane wordlessly gets on his motorcycle and isn't expecting Jondy to get on behind him; she probably wants to go home with Liam. But he feels her hands on his shoulders, her thighs pressing against his gently as she climbs on the back of the bike.

The apartment is full of stale air when they get back there. Millie wants her dinner and Zane's tense from seeing his little sister pressed up against his friend. Jondy tosses her bag on the couch and prowls around, examining his home before sidling into the bathroom with a towel and a change of clothes.

Give it up, man, you don't think of her as a little sister. You just want to throw her down and …

Jondy showers quickly, changing into a pair of old boxers and a t shirt as Zane bangs around the kitchen, feeding his dog. She watched him carefully, perched on the couch, platting her hair. Zane's still sulking, even if he won't admit it, but he does notice her face scrubbed clean and her hair brushed shiny around her face. Silence reigns as Zane studies her face carefully, the night shadows playing over her features.

"Your friend Liam is cute," Jondy begins, with a playful smile on her face. Zane's glares and silence haven't been missed by her. Liam is the sort of boy she's never had a chance to like. Maybe in a different lifetime, he'd be the sort of boy who lived in the house next door and would take her to the prom. But she can't risk getting involved with a person as… soft as Liam. If Lydecker catches up with her, Liam wouldn't be able to lie for her. He'd cheerfully spill his guts – both literally and figuratively.

Zane's dark good looks are the sort of thing high school girls dream about; Jondy's dreamt about. Maybe she's more screwed up than she realised, eyeing her so-called brother up like this. But she's still looking for a place and a person to be with. Not settle, she can't ever settle. Happily ever now, that's what she's looking for. And if she can find it in a childhood companion who turned into tall, dark and handsome, well, she'll take it, thanks.

Doesn't mean she still doesn't want to torture him. Just a little. She's still his kid sister at heart. Sort of.

Zane looks at her sulkily, before muttering about a shower and going to bed. Jondy rolls her eyes and pats Millie's head as she hears the shower turn on. She pads around the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water before slipping into the bedroom.

She's tired. She's run from New York City to back ass Los Angeles. She's running from their dear brother Ben who clutched Jondy to him, blood running down her face, and begged her to stay with him. He pleaded with her to travel with him, killing the unworthy and trailing after Lydecker.

She had a blade tucked down the waistband of her jeans. A silver blade, about as big as her thumb, and an inch wide, she jabbed him in the stomach hard. She got him good too; he cried out and threw her against a wall. She lost the blade; it was still jammed in Ben's abdomen. Blood covered her hands as she ran. She'd never run so fast in her life, and it wasn't until two days later she stopped at some back ass diner to wash the blood off her hands and throw away her stained t shirt before running some more.

And now she's in Zane's soft bed, letting sleep take her. It's very soft and it smells just like him. Musty and safe. She hears him come in; sigh at the sight of her, curled up on one side, almost completely asleep. He climbs in next to her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and sleeps himself. Millie curls up at their feet.


Please read and review! As of March 16 I divided this story into three chapters rather than one long story.