The room was empty except for the two double beds, one window, a tiny, attached bathroom, and a small desk with a single chair, and as Dean kicked his boots off and let his jacket and button-up shirt slide from his shoulders to the bedspread, he sat on the bed closest to the window and thought about Max. Again. Or maybe it was still. She's so goddamn stubborn…

Out the window, he could see the rain was nowhere near letting up, and comforted by the thought that the Croats seemed to dislike water, as well as the thought that the transgenics downstairs would take shifts on night watch, he felt he could probably get a good night's sleep. Or at least the best night's sleep he'd had in months. Too bad it'd be alone.

He laid on his back and felt the measly thin pillow offering little-to-no softness. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared toward the window and thought about how to tell Sam they'd be leaving. If Sam ever came back to the room. By the looks of it, Sam might be going to someone else's room tonight.

He smiled proudly to himself at the prospect of Sam and Gwen, then frowned that Sam would have to leave her behind. They really seemed to be hitting it off, which was nice to see, after Sam had been without someone else for so long. He had a true connection with Gwen. And the fact that she looked like Xena and could fight like the woman, too? Well, that was amazing, too. In retrospect, Sam had a type: a strong woman with the ability to nurture. But then, he had a similar type too, didn't he?

He turned onto his side and ached, remembering his passionate kisses with Max. Her plump lips picking at his, offering her softness, her sincerity. The sweet vacuum of their kiss begging him for more, begging to be consumed. There was an undeniable truth somewhere in her kiss, a matter-of-factness about absolute desire. No, stronger than desire. Lust.

Lust was dangerous, though, because it could short circuit logic. Should he and Sam be so vested in tagging along with these soldiers? What if things got hairy in battle? Would they be a distraction? Would he be able to protect Sam?

And then he heard her voice through the wall. She was speaking in semi-hushed tones to whosever room was next to his and Sam's.

"Look, I can't keep up with the transfusions, and now there's twice as many of us, and – I just –" she'd been cut off.

"Max, calm down," the other person said. Sounded like Zack. "We'll get to the capital. We're not too far, and once we get there, we can find Logan and use his connections to test your blood and maybe come up with a vaccination – maybe even a cure."

Well, Dean thought, isn't he just a ray of fuckin' sunshine with her? Seemed out of character – or at least what he knew of Zack's character so far – not to be surly and obstinate with anyone. Then again, maybe he was extra nice to Sister Max in hopes she'd drop the 'Brother' restriction she'd placed on Zack.

"I just, I've been talking with Dean, and – did you know we got attacked today at the hospital?"

There was a pause on Zack's part. Probably while he considered Dean's influence on the dark-haired X5. "He mentioned it. Stitches?"

"I needed it," she said. "Actually, Dean did it."

Again, another pause. "Not bad," Zack said.

From the other side of the wall, Dean imagined Zack was inspecting his work, not to determine its quality, but to get closer to Max. Touching her skin… Immediately, he chided himself for sounding like a jealous boyfriend.

"It was Ty and Vick and Angeli," Max said.

"What happened?"

"They got the drop on us somehow. Angeli bit me twice and stabbed me while Dean took on Vick and Ty. I took care of Angeli, and Dean cut off Vick's head."

"And Ty?"

"Ran away," Max supplied. "If you can believe it."

They were quiet a moment, but Dean realized he had actually scared the X5 Croat, and that this particular breed was capable of feeling fear – or at least the survival instinct was still intact in them.

"They're strategizing," Zack concluded.

"That's why we gotta tell the others."

"We need to figure out a plan," Zack countered. He hadn't said 'no' outright, but Dean could hear the implication.

"They have a right to know."

Using my words, Max?

"Can't we just inoculate them?"

"At this rate, it'd take me two years to produce enough blood for that."

Silence again. Dean was afraid Zack was going to suggest that it didn't matter. To go ahead and take more blood than was safe.

Finally, Zack broke. "Okay. We'll talk to everyone in the morning. I hope this doesn't backfire on us."

Dean grinded his teeth. No wonder Max took everything seriously – Zack put the weight of the world on her shoulders. And then went around telling people she'd been through a lot.

"Don't do that," Max said, her voice rising. "Sandeman made me this way. I didn't ask for it and I don't need your guilt trip attempt at parenting. It's the right thing to do."

Dean smiled and remained silent, impressed that she stood up to her brother. Who was Sandeman, though? Her creator? He made a mental note to ask her about him later.

He heard her light footsteps cross the hallway as she made her way presumably back to her room. So maybe we don't have to leave. He had to admit, the thought of hanging around for a little while longer pleased him. And, the way things were going with Sam and Gwen, he thought Sam might like the opportunity, too.

If Max just successfully talked Zack into telling everyone about the X5 Croats, then maybe they could all come up with a plan, collectively. Maybe this 'Logan' guy was some kind of scientist and could use Max's blood to make a vaccination, and then he and Sam would both get the shot. They were experienced in Croat-killing and would best be utilized fighting them and saving others. Or maybe, just maybe, if they went to the capital and were able to make a cure, they could inject the cure into the Croats and turn them back.

A tiny, barely audible knock came at his door, interrupting his thoughts. Hoisting himself off the bed, Dean made his way to the door, opened it, and quietly stepped into the hall. Max looked simultaneously triumphant and apologetic.

"Hi," she said, trying to judge his mood. She was wearing some kind of pajamas – a spaghetti strapped cami and little shorts.

It made him swallow hard to see how smooth her legs looked in the din of the hallway. Was this what she wore to bed on a normal day? Was this what she was wearing when she talked to Zack?

"Can we talk a minute?" she asked. She fixed her most beseeching stare on him and he knew his resolve would crumble, especially since he had heard her conversation with Zack and hoped she was there to tell him he was right.

He looked down to her wound. Jesus, are there no bounds to their healing abilities? He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a syllable, Gwen and Sam seemed to fall up the stairs, both in a fit of giggles, hand in hand.

Though they'd each seen Max and Dean standing right in front of them, Sam pulled Gwen by the hand toward him as he backed into the room. She shut the door behind her, and a moment later, Dean heard the squeal of the mattress springs.

Max blushed slightly, and a smile inched up onto Dean's lips. "I think I just got kicked out of my room."

"By your brother, and my roommate," Max added, smiling in return.

Dean looked down at his attire. Jeans, socks and an undershirt. He shrugged. He'd been kicked out wearing less, so this wasn't too bad. He thought about taking another room.

"They're full," Max said, again, as if reading his mind.

He glanced toward the stairs, unsure of whether to suggest they go to her room or talk downstairs.

"Come on – I got space, and we can talk." Max turned to head toward her room.

His attention was immediately drawn to her backside as she softly padded down the hall, and, maybe following the advice of the devil on his shoulder, found his own feet moving in compliance.

She let herself and Dean into the room she'd planned to share with Gwen. Like at the Surf Motel, she'd chosen the room at the end of the hall, closest to the exit – probably also closest to the danger if it were to surprise them in the night.

Once in, Dean looked around the room as Max closed the door. A couple of candles, misshapen from frequent use, sat on few surfaces. He could guess from the boots at the side of the bed which bed Max had selected: the one closest to the window, like he had. Hard to take the soldier out of the girl.

"Sucks to be Zack right now," she said, chuckling.

Her smile was infectious. "That guy needs to lighten up just a little," Dean said. "Is he always so… against fun?" His eyes roamed over her body again, clinging just as tight to her curves as her clothes had. In the candlelight, the shadows flicked around her, showing him delicious parts of her in silhouette.

Max chewed her lip under his scrutiny, and when his eyes returned to hers, she took a deep breath. "You're right, Dean," she said, echoing his sentiments from the patio. "And we're going to tell everyone about the X5 Croats tomorrow."

Dean nodded and licked his lips as if about to say something. He remained quiet, though.

Max folded her arms in front of her, unsure of what else to say, and as the candlelight flickered across his features, she felt the urge to cross her legs at the building anticipation. She let her arms fall and stepped closer to him, staring into his eyes and down to his lips.

"Are you asking me not to go?" he finally asked, the flames flickering with the desire in his eyes.

Max nodded gently, eyes glued to his. "Are we done fighting?"

Dean nodded.

"Good," she said, pushing him backward by the chest onto her bed and straddling him. Crawling up his body, she kissed him roughly, smashing her mouth against his. His hands slid up her thighs and pulled her up until she was pressing against his jeans, under which rapidly grew his erection.

She broke their kiss to sit up on his lap and grind her hips down. His hips bucked up to meet hers, her legs clamping at his sides in their fervency.

He sat up, hands moving to her shoulders, sweeping his calloused rough palms over her smooth skin, bringing the straps of her top partway down her arms. He pressed his open mouth to her neck, avoiding her wound, and sucked, tongued and kissed his way down.

Max pulled at the neck of his shirt until he got the message and removed it, throwing it somewhere – he wasn't sure where, nor did he care – and reposted his body back against hers, where, he absentmindedly managed to feel, it belonged.

Max's hands roamed all over him. She clutched his head to her chest, and let her fingers claw down his back, the muscles there bunching under her touch as his hands circled around to her back and pressed her to him. She had already felt her nipples tightening in anticipation, but when Dean closed his mouth around one still under the fabric of her shirt and roughly pressed his lips together, Max couldn't help but moan and hum from the pinching pleasure.

Grinding her teeth, she pushed him back, letting out an erotic cry as his lips tried to keep her nipple caught between his lips, and used her splayed hands against his chest to suggest he remain horizontal. She bent and sucked one of his nipples between her teeth. He hissed from the combined pleasure and pain, fisting his hand in her hair. She opened her mouth and sucked in some air, cooling the nipple she'd just warmed with her lips and tongue.

While her mouth was busy kissing his chest, Max's hands crept down to his jeans and in a frenzy, unbuttoned and unzipped them. She paused her mouth's sexy ministrations to roughly yank his jeans down. He lifted his hips as she hooked her fingers around his boxers and jeans and simultaneously pulled both off. His erection sprang free, aching for her attention. "In my pocket," he said, sitting up slightly.

But she had frozen for a moment, her mouth watering at the man before her. His shaft engorged, smooth and hard as hell, his abs a well-defined board, his hazel eyes staring into her, mouth agape – he looked entirely delicious. She barely had the presence of mind to stick her hand in the pocket of his jeans as he'd instructed, but her fingers grasped what she assumed was his wallet, and she fingered through it for the square wrapper of the condom. His jeans landed to the side of the bed. She backed up, pulling her tiny shorts off, stringing her white thong down, and stepping out of both as she opened the package.

Hurriedly, Dean pulled his socks off and pulled her back to him by her waist. He kissed her again, intensifying it. He was insatiable.

Straddling him again, the bare skin under her legs creating an urgency and necessity, Max groaned, feeling the soft skin at the top of his shaft. He grasped her thighs and his hands climbed up to her stomach, dipping under her shirt to help raise it off of her.

With her perky breasts free of the cami's restrictive shelf bra, Dean felt his mouth fill with saliva. He cupped and caressed her breasts as her head fell back in pleasure. Her nails scraped along his chest while she swayed her hips in his lap.

Finally, she couldn't take the torture any more. She pinched the condom out of its package and threw the foil aside. Lifting herself off his lap, she checked the roll direction, squeezed the tip of it, and grasped his shaft to start rolling it on him.

Dean grunted at the pressure of her fingertips and nearly gasped when she lowered herself onto him, her tight center rolling the condom the rest of the way down as she sunk into his lap. Oh, Christ. His eyes rolled back for a moment in pure ecstasy. She was so tight around him that he thought he could feel every nerve ending in his dick as it touched her inner walls.

She kissed him, her tongue massaging his as they remained still, adjusting to one another. She wiggled minutely, his tip inching further up into her, and when she felt he was at his deepest, she pushed her hips down, grinding against him. He used the motion to snap his hips up and go as deep as possible, grabbing her hips and pushing them down. She gasped sharply in surprise at the sensation he stirred within her – it was insanity to feel how deeply he filled her while also knowing she was not in control of this pleasure.

With her hands on his chest, partially holding herself in a seated position, Max began a slow rhythm, savoring every internal caress as Dean moved half in time with her and half against – all to their shared madness and pleasure.

It wasn't long before Max gradually increased their rhythm, and Dean struggled to keep his eyes open if for no other two reasons than to see the look of ecstasy on her face, and to watch the way her breasts bounced as she moved up and down on him, around him. He could feel the way she clutched at his chest, rubbing his pecs on the downstrokes. Even the pressing weight of her hands urged him on.

She leaned forward and Dean took advantage by sucking her nipple into his mouth and flicking his tongue across it until she moaned and gasped, her muscles tightening around him. He continued the action, reveling in how amazing she felt, tasted, letting her whines guide his movements, until she couldn't help the rushing tide of her orgasm. She held her breath while she rode it out, her face contorted, eyebrows drawn together, cheeks rosy, eyes shut tight against the punishing pleasure.

Dean let go of her nipple and fought to keep focus, keep the same depth, friction and rhythm, and dig deep into the depths of his stamina to elongate her orgasm.

She only slowed down as her climax subsided, grinding against and around him while leaning down to kiss him and swivel her hips in a clockwise, then counterclockwise motion. Humming in approval, she looked to his eyes in the candlelight of the room and smiled.

Dean swept one hand around her back, and the other around her neck to guide her to him. He pulled her down on him and raised his mouth to her neck, his stubble scratching lightly against the soft skin of her chest.

She groaned. The feeling of his stubble was so ruggedly masculine, and it'd been so long since she'd even thought about having sex with anyone, and she had the distinct feeling this whole thing with Dean was going to burn bright.

With one hand holding on to the back of his neck, Max leaned back, inadvertently offering up her breasts to him, and kept grinding against him. With Dean in the seated position, she found the perfect angle and continued moving her body in a roll until she orgasmed again, holding her breath so she didn't scream out and wake up every transgenic on the second floor.

As the pulsations dwindled, Dean pulled her toward them and twisted them both so he could lay her on the bed and position himself inside of her. Pushed in to the hilt, Dean watched Max's eyes as she appreciated his naked form, her eyes dancing down his body as if sculpting him into her memory. He thrusted into her depth, and saw the way her eyes rolled back slightly and her lips parted to take in a sharp breath. He moved his hips in a circular motion while completely buried, a move which made her mewl with need, and her whine, one that made him want to give her every inch of him.

Her eyes snapped open with hunger and she pulled him down to her neck. Her hands and nails pressed into his back and butt, raking over his skin and pulling him impossibly deeper.

Dean felt like his whole system was going haywire with desire. He sped up his thrusts until it matched the rhythm of their mutual heavy breathing, and he orgasmed, only noticing when she contracted around him uncontrollably that she was also climaxing – but again, holding her breath.

Hastily, he said, "In my mouth," and pressed his lips to hers. Max let out her screams into his mouth until her orgasm finally subsided.

Pulling out, Dean lay down next to Max, wondering what he'd done in a previous life to deserve this piece of heaven.

With bedhead and swollen lips and patches of reddened skin on her face, neck and chest, Max lay immobile, smiling, staring up at the ceiling. "Blue Lady help me," she remarked, glancing over at Dean.

He lay there, one arm behind his head, watching her chest rise and fall with her labored breathing. A small pinprick of redness caught his eye at the inner part of her elbow. "That from the transfusions?"

Max's brows furrowed as she figured out that he must have heard her and Zack's whole conversation. She nodded, deciding not to take her anger out on him for making her say the words he'd asked her to on the porch. He was right – it was the right thing to do, and she couldn't keep up with the transfusions they'd need to inoculate their whole group. "Get my blood drawn every couple of weeks," she said, lounging unabashedly naked.

"Is that healthy?" He wondered what the lower limit was for the amount of blood a genetically engineered super soldier needed.

"What else am I supposed to do? Until there's a vaccine or a cure, my blood is the only thing that works. Zack found out the hard way. After I was bit and didn't change, Zack volunteered to have a dose of my blood injected and then allow a Croat to bite him. He's doing fine."

"Does he donate, too?" He figured it made sense that once a person is vaccinated against the virus, their blood would also be a possible solution, at least for other transgenics.

"No, not yet. We didn't want to ask our friends to volunteer their lives; so far, we've been using my blood when anyone gets injured. It's inoculating them."

"Does it work on bites or just injuries?"

"We don't know yet. We've been lucky that their injuries haven't been bites."

Dean nodded, taking it in. "Does it work on regular dudes? You know, not 'enhanced'?"

Max sat up on one elbow, getting the feeling he was going somewhere with his line of questioning. "I don't know. Never had a regular dude before."

He pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling, deciding. He met her stare again. "You do now."

She eyed him warily. "Are you fucking nuts?"