I wanted to point out that it doesn't seem OOC that Fang is Max's neighbor, and she sees his more as a neighbor than a witness. So, she's a lot nicer to him than she would normally be to the people she has to deal with on a regular basis.

Umm…this chapter is where the other one left off, so obviously it's on the same night.

ENJOY!

Thrill Ride

(MAX POV)

"Okay…Fang," I said hesitantly, not sure is he was kidding or not. "How old are you?"

He answered coolly. "I'll be 26 in a month."

Dylan walked over and handed me a notepad and pen, and I hurriedly jotted down his answers. Normally, we would write down whether he looked like he was lying or not, but it seemed pretty impossible with this guy.

I continued with the standard questions. "Do you know any felons?"

He stared at me, eyebrows raised. "Did you not notice the guy who almost killed me?"

I mentally slapped myself. "How did you know him?"

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Just an old guy from a couple years back. I stole his girlfriend."

I leaned forward, not believing him. "He tried to kill you over a girl that you went out with years ago?"

He nodded, not seeming to care. "The girl was a millionaire, about to inherit even more."

I blinked. "Oh. Well then, that could make someone pretty angry."

I continued. "Okay, other than the whackjob who tried to kill you, do you know any felons?"

He thought for a moment. "If you count a co-worker of mine, Iggy. He once vandalized some government property."

"I need a straight answer; yes or no?"

"Yes, Iggy."

"Where do you and…Iggy work?"

"At the boxing ring."

"Now you're going to have to tell me everything that happened tonight."

He sighed. It was obvious he was getting slightly annoyed with me. "I was watching TV when I heard a knock on the door. I turned it off and went to the door, only to have a knife against my neck and that idiot telling me I'm dead. Not exactly me idea of a night at home. Anyway, that last thing I wanted was to die so I tried to reason with him that I was done with miss Lissa Ghiragelli, and that he should just go find her and take her back. He only got pissier, and next thing I know, I was punching him. We fought and somehow got to my bedroom, and then you miraculously came to the rescue. Not that I needed rescuing anyway."

I rolled my eyes and wrote it all down. "Yeah, you definitely didn't need help. 'Cause he wasn't about to slit your throat when I walked in."

He began to protest, but I cut him off. "Never mind that. You're going to need to go into the FBI's witness unit tomorrow. The people there don't really trust my judgment, and if anything goes to court, it won't do you any good to have me sign off on your report. "

He stuttered. "Wha- wait, no. I can't do that."

My eyebrows furrowed, "Why not?"

He looked around the room for a moment before settling his eyes back on me. "I have a phobia of cops. They give me the creeps."

I sat up straighter and glare at him icily. "So, what? I'm a creeper to you?"

He ran his hand down his face. "Oh come on. Look Miss Max, I don't think you're a creeper. I think you're my neighbor who almost saved my life today."

I scoffed. "Almost? I almost saved your ass, Walker. You would have been dead without me."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Now, if you could write down the address to the FBI building, I'll be leaving now."

I looked around the messy counter and grabbed a random pizza box, and scribbled the address on the cover. "If you want, knock on my door at 9:30am tomorrow, and I'll give you a ride. That way you don't have to go through security, and they'll go easier on you."

He mumbled a quick 'sure' and stood, walking briskly to the door.

Some fear, huh?

Later at about one-am, Dylan and I finally finished the reports of neighbors who gathered in the hallway.

Just as I was about to walk out and make an attempt at sleep, Dylan rounded on me.

We were in the living room, and he swept between the door and me before I could make my escape. "Max, you're a hard worker and a damn good agent, but you have to cut the crap. The law is the law, and we're here to enforce it. It's not a free pass to break it. Just because you carry a weapon and you have a contract to kill doesn't mean I won't put you in jail. Do not press your luck like you did today. It was pretty obvious you almost killed that man, and I don't want it happening again. If it does, you'll be just another criminal."

I swallowed and nodded mutely, pushing past him and into the hallway.

I walked into my apartment and slammed the door behind me, letting out and annoyed shriek.

Why can't life ever be simple?

I stomped to my bed angrily and fell back onto it, letting the heaps of sheet and comforter engulf me in their warm embrace.

The next morning, I woke to a knock on the door.

My eyes snapped open and I groaned loudly in exasperation. I detangled myself from the bed and stumbled through the hallway and into the living room. I slammed the door open with the most deadly look on my face.

Standing there, leaning on the wall across the hallway was a dressed and awake Fang, looking calm and collected. At my look, he quickly explained. "I wasn't planning to wake you up and make you give me a ride, but my car broke down and you offered yesterday and…, "He paused, seeming unsure, "maybe I should go."

He turned to leave, but before he could I grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him inside. He gave a cry of surprise as I dragged him to the couch, throwing him down forcefully. I glared at and said a short. "Sit and do not do anything."

He gave a quick 'sure'.

I stomped to my room and abandoned my pajamas for a pair of loose trousers and white shirt. I threw on my FBI jacket and clipped my harness to my belt.

Across the room, I unlocked a drawer and pulled out one of the many boxes of 9 milometer bullets, took a few out and refilled the magazine in my gun.

I shoved it into the harness and hurriedly put on some comfortable shoes before walking back out to the living room. I shot Fang a glance. "Let's go."

He scrambled after me and we left the apartment, and I barely paused to lock the door behind me.

We trudged out of the apartment building and onto the empty street.

Here's the thing about California: Working adults either sleep in till eleven every morning or they wake up at three-am to go to work. There's no in between.

We walked to the parking lot and I climbed onto my red and black Yahama motorcycle, sliding the helmet over my head. I hurried to turned on the engine, and sighed as it revved to life.

Turning my head, I have a pointed look to Fang. "Come on! We don't have all day for you to stand there drooling over my bike. Get on!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Can I drive it?"

I scoffed, giving him a funny look. "Yeah right. I barely know you, there's no way I'm letting you drive my bike."

He shrugged and climbed onto the bike, and soon we were pulling out of the park.

While we stopped, Fang asked a question. "Are you even allowed to have this? While being in the FBI I mean?"

I turned to face him, our proximity less than comfortable. "Not exactly. I have a government issued car, but I leave it in the parking lot. I have no use for it. Except for when I'm on duty; then my boss makes me use it. Now, unless you want to all off and get us both killed, I suggest you hold on."

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around my waist, pressing his chest against my back.

I revved the engine and we shot forward, through the streets of Oakland, California.

We raced along at a speed that doesn't exactly abide by the law, and…well, I'm pretty sure Fang was having the time of his life.

Every time I glanced back, he would have the same impassive expression, but his eyes shone with a sparkling fire, seeming to light up his entire face.

I raced faster, picking up speed.

About five minutes later, I glanced back again, and there was this teensy little smile on his face.

See what the thrill of speed can do to you?

Sadly though, the FBI building soon came into sight, and I made a sharp turn to make the entrance. Fang made a cry of surprise, and I yelled back at him, "Lean with the bike.

We swerved through the parking lot and into a space near the front, in clear view of my office window.

Fang unwound his arms from my waist and climbed off. He stood there a second, admiring the bike, until I locked it.

I walked off, not even sparing a glance at him. My helmet bounced against my leg as we walked in, and I quickly flashed my ID to the guard.

He nodded in approval and gestured at Fang questioningly.

I looked at him over my shoulder and said to the guard. "He's with me. No need to do the regular stuff."

Fang and I walked through countless hallways and up a set of stairs until we reached a double glass door that said in big black letters "Witness Arrangement Unit"

Fang asked questioningly. "Arrangement?"

I responded. "Yeah. It used to say 'Witness Protection' but the people who deal with witnesses who don't go into Witness Protection got pissy and the people got all scares, so they had to change it."

We walked in and to one of the back offices. I opened it carelessly and saw a young, Mocha skinned girl with curly hair sitting at a desk, a series of wires wound around her. She was speaking to an older man across from her who was staring at a computer.

She spoke to the man. "Yes, my name is Monique Carter. I think I made that pretty obvious."

They both looked up at my entrance, and I smiled sheepishly. "Opps, my bad, "I pointed to the man, "You! I need to see you."

The man sighed and shut his computer. "I'm sorry Agent Carter, we'll have to do this later. Agent Ride here is quite persistent, and would be quite angry if I didn't give her my immediate attention. My greatest apologies."

Agent Carter did not look happy. "Oh great. Another trip to Polygraph. Why is it this office is in the Witness Arrangement Unit anyway? I'm not a witness!"

The man replied. "I'm sorry, I did not plan the way things go here. The receptionist can help you outside."

He gave me a pointed look.

I raised my eyebrows. "Receptionist? Oh, sorry, I missed that. Anyway, I need you to get a report from him. He was attacked last night."

He sighed again, and glared at me heavily, but agreed.

I knew it would take a while for them to finish, so I headed upstairs to my office.

It was located in a room of large cubicles, the ones that had actual doors and rooms for the team leaders lined up against the walls.

I was at the edge of it all and my seat backed up to the window, a perfect view of the most beautiful place in the entire world.

The parking lot.

Exciting, huh?

My solid black desk was really plain…and…well…really messy. Scattered around it were piles of files and things to sing off on, along with broken pencils and random piles of paperclips. The only thing that was in any way personal was a picture of a cat I had in my childhood, that I somehow got to name Whiskey.

I sat down and stared at the mess for a few minutes. Eventually, I took a pile and stacked it on my lap, picking up one of the only pencils that weren't snapped in half from my frustration.

Turning to face the window in my roll-y chair, I quickly glanced to make sure my bike was still there before opening the first one to see a stack of reports of random hate-attacks that occurred in the area. I quickly scanned through each one, and decided they seemed fine and good enough for court, so I signed off and stuck them on an empty space in the corner.

I had only gone through about four of these files when Dylan came out of his fancy office (one that had a view of a park and pretty pond) and wheeled a chair towards me.

He sat down and peered over my shoulder. "What are you doing?"

I glared at him. "Your paperwork."

He sat back and propped up his feet on my desk. "And I'm not complaining. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about Walker."

I threw the files back on top of a random file and turned to face him. "Shoot."

He started, a serious look on his face. "I want you to move. This kid just seems…iffy. I don't like it. And with you living right across from him, I don't think it will do you much good."

I shook my head. "I have a gun, remember? I'll be perfectly fine."

His voice was stern and demanding. "I'm serious, Max. I want you to move."

I shot back. "No. I like my apartment. It's cozy."

He practically yelled. "Max, this is nothing for your sarcasm! There's more to this guy than it seems. He's dangerous."

He's right you know. There is more to Fang than he lets on ;)

In this story I am introducing you to my crazy style of writing. I write weirdly because I never follow one tense like I'm supposed to. My English teacher yells at me constantly for this because in certain essays, you have to write in past tense or present tense, but I write in both.

At the same time.

It's strange, I know ;)