A/N: Friday! Well, actually it's after 12:00, so Saturday! By the way, I'd just like to send out a special message to the frat boy who sat behind me at the SDSU sneak preview of Into the Blue Thursday afternoon (just in case he's reading) - Those are private thoughts. Your rather enthusiastic and surprisingly verbal appreciation of Jessica Alba's ass is not something I want to hear, especially when I'm trying to watch a movie. Keep thoughts like that in your head. Thank you. Oh, and you're a jackass.

Now, on to the story before the author's note becomes my personal rant blog.

Chapter Nine: Conspiracy

Sketchy was running out of excuses. He'd given Normal every story he could think of to stay behind at Jam Pony after lunch. He couldn't go out on a run – he was waiting for a phone call/ he'd run over his hand on his last run / he'd locked his sector pass in his locker and forgot the lock combination/ his tongue had bright green spots on it, and he was convinced that he was contagious. Sadly, Normal reminded him that he wasn't allowed to receive personal phone calls at work/ it was impossible to run over one's own hand while riding / the lockers didn't even have locks. One quick look at Sketchy's tongue had also revealed that, unless Sketchy was high, which also wasn't allowed at work, there wasn't any way he could have possibly seen green spots on his tongue.

Finally, Sketchy agreed to go out on a run, but he informed his boss that he just had to return to his locker for a second to retrieve his sector pass. There, he dawdled for as long as possible. He had to wait for Max. She was late, as usual, and it wasn't helping his nerves. He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin if she didn't show up soon. He just really needed to talk to her.

When Max finally stomped back into Jam Pony, she looked dangerous. When he caught her eyes, the anger he saw there reminded him of what she was capable of. For the first time in a long time, Sketchy felt truly afraid of her. It only lasted a moment before he remembered all the times Max had helped him, and what a good friend she was, and everything Original Cindy had made sure he understood the day he found out about Max's... history. She kept eye contact with him for a moment that seemed a bit longer than necessary, and it suddenly occurred to him that, while she genuinely looked annoyed, the fierceness seemed almost calculated.

"It's raining again," she informed the room in her trademark bitchy tone. The remaining messengers all groaned as one. Though it seemed to rain almost constantly in Seattle, and each messenger had to learn how to deal with it in his or her own way, the last few weeks had been uncharacteristically dry. That meant that all the trash and other contaminants that were usually washed away quite regularly had been slowly building up. The streets would be coated with a disgusting sludge of mud, oil, garbage, trash juice, and other unidentifiable (but no less disgusting) elements by the end of the day. Every messenger would be coated with the foul mixture, and tips would be scarce since no one wants to tip the guy who smells like compost. Even Max, beautiful as she was, wouldn't be able to flirt some idiot into a huge tip when she smelled like a dead animal wrapped in rotting sewage.

"No way is Original Cindy riding through that nasty sludge!" The announcement came from the other side of the room, from which Original Cindy had emerged, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Well, then, Original Cindy doesn't have to get paid," Normal replied with a contemptuous snort.

"I think I'm going on strike," Original Cindy sniffed in response.

"You can't go on strike," Normal informed her as he went back to his work, "There's no such thing as a bike messenger's union." He threw a package at her, and they glared at each other for a full minute.

Sketchy took advantage of the verbal confrontation to carefully approach Max. She was watching the exchange with obvious interest. After all, if Original Cindy decided to go home, Max wouldn't have to be her bodyguard for the rest of the afternoon. Frankly, Sketchy couldn't care less. He had other, more serious matters weighing on his mind. Whether or not OC went home smelling like a daisy or dumpster ranked pretty low on his list of concerns.

In what was always a dangerous move, no matter what her mood, Sketchy gently pulled Max's arm. She turned with alarming speed, and Sketchy nearly peed his pants. Jesus, he was nervous. Max really knew how to scare the shit out of someone.

"What?" she asked, quietly annoyed.

"Uh… Max…" he stammered, "I… uh… did OC… I mean, did she talk to you? Because I was kind of hoping…"

"Can this wait?" Max asked sharply.

"No."

Max's face registered her surprise. Sketchy released a shaky breath. He had absolutely no idea where the sudden rush of courage had come from. He was on uncertain ground. He was incredibly confused, and he no longer understood what was up and what was down. He couldn't decide if Max was deliberately trying to intimidate him, or if she was just in a really pissy mood, but her almost amused look of surprise didn't help.

"Okay," she shrugged. They stepped away from the growing crowd of messengers who were gathering to hear Original Cindy's spontaneous speech on courier's rights, which, it was soon clear, was nothing more than an elaborate plot to stay inside the dry, relatively clean building.

Behind the lockers, it was quiet and private. Max seemed to have relaxed. She leaned up against the wall, and merely watched as he built up his courage again. Questions raced through his mind. How much had Original Cindy told her? If Max knew what he wanted to ask her, why didn't she just say so?

"Okay, Max," he said quietly, automatically lowering his voice so low that he could barely be heard, "I know, I know it sounds weird… or maybe it doesn't… but, okay, just… look at this." He pulled the folded up wanted poster out of his pocket and pushed it toward her. She accepted it with cool detachment, and inspected it silently. She hadn't said a word since they'd pulled away from the crowd, and it was somehow scary and reassuring at the same time.

She actually looked at Sketchy's artwork for longer than he'd expected her to. She seemed to actually search it, and it was obvious she knew what she was supposed to find. She knew what Sketchy wanted her to find. Original Cindy had told her. God, it was like some kind of conspiracy… He stared hard at his shoes. He needed a new pair, he knew, but he couldn't afford a new pair, especially a new new pair, so he would continue to ignore the problem for a few more weeks.

"Sketchy," Max said firmly, but without any discernible malice. He took a deep breath, and looked up. She looked him right in the eye, and he felt like a defendant hearing his sentence being handed down by a judge.

"You're an idiot."

As she swept past him, Sketchy felt his heart drop. This wasn't right. Max was his friend. Why… why would she…? Didn't she know? How could she not? It was obvious! Why was everyone refusing to acknowledge it? Did she think that he couldn't be trusted? After everything he'd done to help her and her people… He felt confused, and almost... empty somehow. He felt betrayed, though he couldn't identify the feeling as such. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with. He only knew that it hurt.

A few minutes later, he realized that she'd taken his poster with her.

A/N: Okay, I have a busy weekend ahead of me, but I'll try to post at least one more chapter. There aren't many more. It's not that complicated a story. TBC...

A/N2.0: Also, I'm thinking about continuing "The Sickroom." I have a few ideas, but so far nothing's taking hold. I am officially soliciting ideas. Please drop me a line (email or whatever) if you have any. I just... I don't know, I don't have any real ideas for anything after this story, and I like having something to write. It keeps my mind off of French class.