So, since the only chapters I uploaded in English were the ones involving Vinnie and Charlene, I thought it would have been nice to have one for Throttle, Carbine and Modo. This one is the union of chapters 14 and 16 from the fanfic "Cartoline da Marte" and this is also the very last one I'll ever try to translate. I'm done!
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The following years (flashback for Throttle)

Throttle and Carbine met/clashed in occasion of a "lively discussion" between the army and the freedom-fighters, following an assault to the monastery by a solitary Plutarkian ship.
He was nineteen years old and had joined Stocker's group since just few months, but he was already its new rock star: he was brilliant, very self-confident and feigning a fair amount of bravado and brains.
She was twenty and the Army rising star: intelligent, verbally aggressive and, basically, able to wipe out any opponent without breaking the war rules or the military etiquette.

When the enemy ship was sighted, the alarm was immediately launched and both armed groups responded to the distress call: both sides wanted to crush the Plutarkians, to have the joy of thrashing the enemy invaders and both claimed for themselves the precedence and the territorial right of action.

Stoker's fighters had intervened swooping by surprise from behind and starting to shoot all their paraphernalia armaments against the Plutarkian vessel well before the soldiers managed to even start to act accordingly to their own battle plan. At that point, however, the militia added its own firepower without further hesitations and, firing contemporaneously from below and from the sides, the mice prevented both a possible counterattack and the retreat of the enemy.
The bulky vehicle had suffered heavy damage to the control system and attempted an emergency landing, but the impenetrable barrier of diamond-steel hull made that Martian victory virtually useless: yes, the Plutarkians couldn't go anywhere right now, but they were safe inside and ready to resist for as long as it was necessary.

Now, both the soldiers and the freedom fighters huddled, trying to find a breach in the hull, in order to get into the spacecraft, but at the same time also trying to chase away the others, heavily insulting and menacing each other. It was evident that soon, even among members of the same species, but belonging to opposing groups, fists would had flied and perhaps even something worse. The tension was rapidly growing.

In that chaotic riot, without a particular rush, Throttle positioned himself in the exact middle of the crowd with a loaded bazooka balanced against his right hip and, nonchalantly pointing it against them, he very politely suggested to the military soldiers to get lost and leave the Plutarkian problem to him: the soldiers weren't needed there, the freedom fighters would have taken care of it.
However, halfway of his little monologue, a little further away, a soldier suddenly dismounted her battle bike and took off her helmet in an angry movement. She threateningly and rapidly stepped forward, separating from the rest of her companions, not so gently planting elbows and kicks in the kidneys of whoever was on her rout to Throttle and was stymying her. She advanced in that fashion to be less than meter from the boy, that only in that moment really noticed the soldier. Automatically, the mouse turned to her, unintentionally aiming the mouth of the cannon directly at her face.
She didn't flinch.

"For me? I'm flattered. You need to compensate for something?"

"And you are... who?" Throttle asked, raising the gun on one shoulder and tilting his head slightly to one side, looking the soldier with mild curiosity.

"Lieutenant Carbine" she replied in an authoritative tone, the tone of someone accustomed to command and not be questioned "I'm the one calling the shots here" she announced coldly "You and your merry cronies should really disappear now, before things get ugly!"

Throttle laughed heartily at that "Babe, if it wasn't for yours truly, you and your tin soldiers would have been reduced to riddled rag dolls by now: that ship located you ten minutes ago!"

"Bullshit, babe, we had the mimesis system activated, their sensors could not register us! We had the stealth advantage here. If it wasn't for your stupid attack…"

"What stealth? Are you blind too? You had their guns aimed at you, 15 seconds longer and you'd been carnival shooting duck targets for them!"

"Ha! Yeah, right! Look, I have no time to waste with beginners. Why don't you go to smoke something, or to put flowers in your hair, or do whatever you people normally do and leave the job to the professionals, before to seriously hurt yourself?"

"You, the professionals? Okay, now I've heard everything…"

"You just come out from a paintball-game and you think you know how to handle these situations? Ridiculous! You are a bunch of kids playing war!"

"Girl, but do you listen yourself speaking? Army my ass: you are just puppets of the government, with the illusion of being an elite assault unit ... and you are so stupid that you don't even realize it!"

At that point Throttle and Carbine extracted their lasers from the respective holsters at such a speed that the others just saw a flash of metal. Those who were present at the scene stiffened, completely taken aback and now uncertain about what to do: the two mice had moved towards each other in unison, as if they had agreed about it, and their heads were now so close that it looked like the two were about to kiss, the only problem was that the expressions on their faces resembled more the ones of two angry Rottweilers, ready to rip off top of their opponent's face, and that Throttle's laser was pressing on the soldier's sternum, while Carbine's weapon was well planted against the rebel's groin.
The two remained motionless for a few long seconds, staring hard at each other, then, suddenly, a smile, wide and mocking, unexpectedly appeared on Throttle's muzzle. He briefly looked down, below his belt, where the her gun threatened to forever jeopardize his manhood.
"Not a very fair move, soldier!" he commented in amused and vibrant tone of voice, sardonically raising an eyebrow. Modo had to acknowledge it to him: the new guy had balls. Probably not for long still. Anatomically speaking, of course.

"Hey, you just accused us to be predictable! Moreover the academy taught me to always point to the brain. Yours is here, isn't it? " she asked him, unceremoniously pushing the weapon a bit more hardly against his genitals. Despite himself, Throttle inhaled sharply.

"You're funny too… I'm officially intrigued, but I'd also like to keep all my original parts, thank you very much. Do you mind to aim your laser elsewhere?" he asked her in a neutral tone of voice, removing first the weapon from the woman's body and placing it again in its holster.

Carbine sighed and pushed the safety catch, but she didn't sheathe the laser "Happy now?"

"Look, I'm having fun like everyone else here, but we are in an impasse, and I'm not referring this our little game..." Throttle reasoned aloud, keeping his eyes focused on hers.

"Do you really think I don't see it? More time we lose here to see who's got it bigger, more time the Plutarkians have to reorganize or ask for reinforcement!"

"Then let's work together!" he exclaimed "Look, I don't like the idea exactly as you don't, but together we have the number in our advantage. We can close it quickly"

Carbine studied him in silence for a few seconds more, as if she was trying to read in his head, then without warning she had put her gun away and gotten even closer to him. Throttle could almost feel the girl's warm breath on his own lips.
"Alright" she said through clenched teeth, at one millimeter from his mouth, close and distant, still staring intently with a look at the same time tough and ironic "but it'll be me to lead the dances!" Then she turned around and through a microphone of the radio, on her shoulder, she ordered the army to let go of the militants and to focus on the enemy ship. Explosive charges were already ready in the capable hands of her men and everyone of them was all more than eager to kick off.
Throttle stood watching her move among her soldiers, but then he quickly recovered, starting to give commands to his own group.

Acting more or less in agreement, it didn't take long for the rodents to open a gap in the shield, defeat the enemies and thus take possession of the ship and its armaments. During the fight inside the vessel, Throttle and Carbine found themselves side by side in at least three different moments and in all three cases they had discreetly appreciated their respective leadership skills and fighting ability.

In the end, when everything was over, the soldiers officially took command of the situation, but by then the rebels had little interest, they all had already got what they wanted: the Plutarkians were no longer a threat.

Shortly after, while she was still coordinating her platoon for their return to the base, Carbine was not particularly surprised when a black Harley Davidson joined her bike.
"So, now will you ride into the sunset with your army, toward a new adventure, lieutenant?" Throttle asked. At that she had turned and given him the first, sincere smile of the day.

"That is more your kind of thing, isn't it freedom fighters? ... Freedom fighters ... God, who gave you that silly name? A 14 year old girl in the mood for sappy romance?"

Throtte shrugged without commenting: to be honest he himself liked the term "Martian resistance" more, but at the end of the day, it was just a matter of syntax. And Stoker LOVED the name.

"Anyway no, some paperwork for my boss and a long shower are my immediate future" she replied him "So for today I'll hang sword and shield in the closet"

Throttle looked her in silence for a little a while and then he slowly leaned forward, towards her, whispering something in her ear. Carbine didn't blushed.

"Who knows?" she replied him spicily, while fluently reaching for her helmet and wearing it, lowering its visor "Do you want to find out?"

It had been love at first sight, or something like that... two alpha who find themselves in the battlefield or end killing each other or making sparks: Throttle and Carbine had simply opted for the second, more enjoyable, of the two possibilities.
Between their fellows, multiple betting rounds about how long that story would have lasted had been organized. There were those who predicted just few weeks on fire and who stated the impossibility for them to survive 48 hours together. Vinnie lost a lot of money when it became evident that Throttle and Carbine wanted to go steady and Modo had been more than happy to pocket his friend's small loot.

There were no promises, no oaths of eternal love, but they stayed together for the following years, through thick and thin. In honesty, it hadn't been exactly easy: they both had a stubborn character, strong and dominant, but neither of them ever thought to search for something else (well, someone else) "simpler" and of "easier management". Both wanted to have an equal at their side and the other was a stimulating companion. And then, if it wasn't already obvious, they were in love.
Later there was the little issue of the Plutarkian trap, the prison camp, their escape and then Earth, that unpleasant treason accuse and, finally, Limburger's defeat.
After returning to Mars, he and his friends were officially reassigned to the base, this time under the direct command of Carbine, who had made in the meantime a brilliant career in the new, reformed Martian army.
While it was difficult for Throttle getting used again to be a subordinate and not his own boss, on the other hand it had been a relief to finally be obligated to clarify once and for all were they really stand.
They care deeply for each other, this was never questioned and it definitely was not the problem. It never was the problem. The problem was that perhaps they never said it enough: if certain things are taken for granted for too long, you get to a point where you do not know anymore exactly what your partner thinks, needs or wants.
And, let's face it, they also beat around the bush for years. Both of them. They wanted to be together, of course, but in the past there had been too much at stake to seriously think about the future, all such good excuses to postpone that particular issue and, after that, they were separated for so long that they almost couldn't recognize themselves anymore.

In the months and then years that followed they had to start over from scratch, distanced from each other to clearly understand how they really felt and what they wanted, and they went from there. Setting aside disagreements and misunderstandings, they sought to discover again the people they had become in time they were separated. It went better than they initially expected: it was nice, although quite strange, to court again , to take the time to rediscover the other.

The new mission on Earth caught them slightly off guard , but the situation was very different now and when the trio of bikers and Charley returned to Mars , Throttle and Carbine happily found themselves at the same point where they had left a year and a half before. Little had changed, if you ignored the fact that the Catatonians were no longer a threat and that the Martian population wasn't anymore under siege, forced into a militarized life 7/24 ... in conclusion, minor details.

So, apart from some "traditional" quarrels with the sands raiders and having to deal with the Catatonians guerrillas, things had suddenly calmed down on Mars. Throttle had now more regular schedule (indeed, to be precise, for the first time in his life he had a schedule. Unbelievable!), a paid employment (the 'powers that be' had suddenly realized that in fact, yes, you had to get a pay for the work you were doing, especially if it implied risking your neck on a daily basis), lived in a real home and slept in a real bed, next to his mate, who wasn't looking him anymore from cold computer monitors, barely once at week, with that detached and professional look she assumed when there was a public present at their video conference meetings.

If Carbine had her future well planned and was working hard for it, Throttle didn't stand on the sidelines: he too decided to pursue a career in the Martian militia, especially in the light of the occurred merge between the authorized army and the freedom fighters and, following this event, the fact that now the military life was finally become something of more congenial to him: the soldiers weren't anymore just a bunch of bigots, lacking of initiative and with a manual stuck up their...
"...Aehmmm! Sorry Carb, obviously it wasn't referred at you! "
"Obviously. Anyway, gorgeous, tonight you are sleeping on the couch"
"Yes. Yes, it seems fair... "

To avoid problems and possible accusations of nepotism, Throttle applied for and obtained a reassignment to a different unit, no longer under his partner's command. In the new position he also worked alongside Mode at the military academy, as trainer and instructor of "Tactics and professional ethics, logic, legal and sociological argumentation" (translated to "punch him until he gives up and then punch him some more, just to be safe , Biker Mice Style").

They never married , but being Throttle the last one of its family branch and not having any close relative anymore, he was accepted in Carbine's clan, acquiring the name of her family group, in many ways an even deeper commitment for the Martian culture.
"Ohhhh, it's so damn sweet: you are Mr. Carbine now!" Modo and Vinnie teased him later, to play down just a bit the seriousness of that event, but Throttle didn't care at all: he was a macho, certainly not a chauvinist! And moreover he really liked the idea of belonging to a real clan again . Since his parents' death he didn't feel anymore that sense of belonging that the formal and psychic link created among members of the same clan, led. He missed it and when Carbine, a little shyly, made that proposal, he had agreed without hesitation.

They had not children, they didn't really want any at the moment, but if they would have ever changed their mind in the future, a bit unlikely actually, Martian biology anyhow gave them more time for that particular choice: the mice had a much longer fertility cycle than humans and they could conceive a child at any time. But for now they were okay with being just the two of them.

The following years (Fast forward for Modo)

Modo was the first leave the military world. He joined the rebels' ranks to defend his family and his planet, because it was undoubtedly "the only right thing to do", but, honestly, he never madly loved that reality. When it became evident that his contribution for the peace wasn't needed anymore and that everything would have gone all for the better even without him, Modo started to look elsewhere for his own realization.
Not that he wasn't happy with the choices he made in his past, if he could go back in time, he would have surely done exactly the same thing again, he really was genuinely satisfied with his life up to that moment: he had a purpose, he made the difference for himself and for the people he loved, but now he was ready for a change, to give a new direction to his life and do something new.

At the time, when his adventure began and he found himself fighting for the survival of his species, he was not much older than a kid and everything still seemed so very far away. Surely the least one of his thoughts was to find the answer the question "what should I be when I grow up?". The future was something he could barely conceive, let alone to stop and think about how the events and the choice that would be derived from them, could radically change his destiny.
Actually, if the situation had not been what it was, they surely would have never ever let him cross the door of the recruitment office (a corner in the freedom fighters' armory/warehouse, in which, if you looked intently, you could see a tattered sleeping bag that had seen better days and in which Stoker, when he could, collapsed for a short nap), but Modo was already a big boy, frighteningly muscled at just seventeen, when the vast majority of the kids his age still struggled with the total lack of harmony and grace that the Adolescence gives generously to all the growing males of any species. No one opposed at the idea of having Modo among the new recruits, especially when they saw the bike he had brought in "dowry" and the undeniable talent he immediately demonstrated as a fighter.

The problem now was that, for an individual who was barely able to finish his studies before the school, literally, exploded around him and he was forced by the events to run on the bike of his father to enlist, it was difficult to understand how to move: he was an adult who lived half his life as a soldier without really having the character for it and, above it all, without never really have the opportunity to develop other skills.

During the war it didn't seem important, there were far more pressing priorities to front: he still had his family to think about and now new friends among his fellow freedom fighters who became to him as close as real brothers. He married and then suddenly was a widower in the best and the most painful year of his life. It was incredibly difficult, but he was been able to go back on his feet and returned to the fight. He continued to contribute to a fight against a stronger enemy, they discovered that the Martian planet had been betrayed by its own government, he lost an arm in a bloody battle and had been imprisoned in an enemy camp. He fled with Throttle and Vinnie, the three of them always together now, to fall on Earth where they continued to fight the same enemy that made life a nightmare on his own planet.

No, definitely there had not been much time to send out resumes.

After the defeat of the Catatonian army, Modo initially remained in the ranks of the Martians fighters to help out: indeed he was now a hero and a veteran and there was literally rows of young soldiers looking at him with round eyes, hanging off his words and expressly requiring to be trained by him. There had been a lot of pressure from above *cough*Carbine*cough* for him to enlist as field trainer for the army.
They were fun years indeed. He participated to the education of five "litter" of new Martians soldiers, kids still wet behind the ears, but that had already experienced an alien invasion and war. They all were hotheads, as he himself had been at their age, and it was a pleasure to have a role in their formation, but over time, Modo convinced himself that others could easily take his place and do a job just as good as his, if not better. Amid his cadets' protests and tears, he resigned and embarked on a new road.

The big guy already had an approximate idea of what he wanted to do since that time he helped Charley during the renovation of the building she ended owning on Mars.
Well, to be perfectly honest to just say "help" was an understatement of how much he was involved into that project: Throttle had quickly (and conveniently) disappeared behind the new obligations his high-ranking grade and a certain lady-general required him. Vinnie tried his best, but it became clear that as long there were walls to disintegrate, the boy had some utility, but when he was request to handle trowels and concrete, the most likely outcome was a lopsided structure, not unlike the Pisa tower, and a mouse covered in cement from the tip of his toes up to inside his ears. Charley had done what she could, but she didn't have the experience nor the physical strength for that kind of work so, at the end of the fair, Modo had willingly handled most of the job by himself. And he enjoyed it.

When he was a kid, he often fantasized with her father about a future job related to architecture: he always liked the capital buildings, those towers of glass and red rock that were integrated so harmoniously in the Martian landscape (not that the time he expressed this appreciation for the architecture in such an articulated way: to his father, that led him on a trip in the city, he simply commented "How cool dad!". But the idea behind that comment was that one) .

When the war broke, most of the cities were destroyed, the main buildings razed to the ground and of all the architectural richness of Mars, little had survived.
But by then Modo felt too old to start pursuing that career and, let's face it, it wasn't like he really wanted to be too involved with books (if he ever really had it in him), but surely his strength and resourcefulness could still find application in the field of the constructions.

Then he made a work out of his hobby, initially participating as a volunteer in various construction sites, learning what he could from anyone who wanted and was able to teach him; in time he made a name in that field and it didn't take long for the manager of a small construction business to contact him for a contract and paid job. So he gladly accepted it.
At first it surely wasn't a work of fineness, for the most part it consisted in moving beams and girders, climbing on scaffolding and erect walls, but it was something. There was something incredible to build from nothing, with his own hands, a house. A home in which someone would have lived. A family. Yes, that work was alive and rewarding, but even more important, it was a job that made him infinitely happy.

She had a chocolate-brown colored fur, was a couple of years older than him and had two twins, still crawling, from her previous marriage. They met through work, when he was assigned as site manager to the construction of a new wing of the Senators' Chamber. She worked as junior in the magister's local section and, she being the youngest and the only female, got landed of the renewal work supervision. Later she admitted without embarrassment that that one was the only time she was grateful to have chauvinists for chiefs: it was thanks to those idiots she met Modo.

Courtship , if ever there was one, had been flash: one evening Modo introduced her to the gang as " a new friend " and, for what the others could remember, half a minute later they were already married.
The girl wasn't a stunning beauty (at least if you respected Vinnie's judgment, which nobody did actually), but she was very pretty and had a contagious smile. She sported with serenity soft and generous physique and was a lot shorter than Charlene, thus being amusingly tiny when she was alongside Modo, but she was sharp-tongued and knew how to always obtain respect. Who knew her professionally could hardly recognize the woman when he was with his mate: at work she was known to be awfully tough and uncompromising with those who stamped his feet, but when she was with Modo or her children she showed a sweetness out of the ordinary. It was the kind of person who had two separate personalities, for the work and for the affective universe and , in the latter, she gave all of herself.

Since she wanted focus on her career, the two had declared from the beginning they would wait a few years before trying to have a son, after all there were already the twins and those two little children plenty fulfilled any fatherly ambition of the gray giant. But accidents happen, and short after Modo rejoiced for the birth of a third child. The "incident" repeated two more times, few years later (another boy and then a girl), and, considering the rugby team the couple was creating, it had become clear that, no, accidents didn't happen. Never. They were clearly planned.
But no one ever hinted they had guessed the couple's little secret.