July 2013
Camilla sat across the desk from Martinet, but it might as well have been across the whole of Washington state. Their working relationship, never terribly cordial from the beginning, was positively frosty after almost five years. Neither had been able to make any headway towards having the other ousted: after a thirty year career, Martinet had favors to spare, and while his style would have normally ruffled feathers with the current administration, having a threat-benefit like Max to point to as a need for a more militarily aggressive DI bought him a lot of leeway.
As for herself, DHS considered her technical skills, enhanced cognition and expertise far too valuable to let go without extraordinary reasons. Especially if she might return to TFX in Britain or join Rising Sun in Japan. Worse yet - in their eyes - was the possibility of her entering private industry, where she could introduce any number of disruptive technologies to the market. They also knew she wasn't the sort of person who could be 'retired' quietly, or without tremendous damage being inflicted in the wake of her death or disappearance.
The peace, though tenuous, held for now; but like the symbol of their organization, the sword of upheaval hung above them both, barely contained by the merest thread.
"The Joint Chiefs are pleased with the initial success of Project Oracle." Martinet said. Camilla could immediately see the statement for what it was: part boast, part taunt.
Bastard...
"Yes, well," Camilla began. "It's easy to sit back and let others do the work while one collects the credit, isn't it?" It was a catty remark, dangerously close to the surface, but where Max was concerned, she'd become something of a...what was that term the Americans were fond of? Grizzy Momma?
She continued, "I'm sure to the untrained eye, it looked smooth and flawless, but last month's little test run put a tremendous strain on Max. She experience significant difficulty keeping track of the ebb and flow of changing variables from the continuously branching timelines in order to provide feedback to the strike teams in Yemen. To be frank, and I don't mean this disparagingly against her, but had I not been able to lend assistance, traveling with her on her rewinds, and keeping track of said variables, the entire operation would have collapsed. An operation, I might point out, is technically illegal for us to be conducting. The Shadow-Seven Accord specifically forbids the use of Specials for direct military purposes. Maybe the original intention was to keep them from being used as front line troops, but it's clear the spirit of the law extends to operations such as this, as well." She paused, struggling to keep her voice even for her next statement. "Not to mention the incredibly dubious morality of plying a legal minor with methamphetamines to keep her awake and functioning as her own objective period of wakefulness approached a full day. "
Martinet's voice rose, his body tensing. Blatantly ignoring the last accusation, he said,"Don't be so naive, Davies! Do you really believe that Russia or China are limiting themselves by honoring the pact?"
She paused for a second, tilted her head, and then answered, "Putting aside the fact the Chinese are still rebuilding their devastated Specials operation after the Jiangsu incident four years ago, and the Russians are effectively out of the game - again - after their private little war with the Prometheus Institute this past April, we've never found any evidence that they haven't been..."
Marinet interrupted with a derisive snort, "Then it's only because they don't have our resources! Believe me, if they did, the situation would be much different. Whatever your feelings regarding Oracle, it clearly demonstrated Caulfield's incredible potential. Granted, we'll need to work with her to be able to handle the number crunching on her own." He gave her a pointed look, then turned back to a tablet on his desk. "Now that Congress is taking note, they're already talking about significant budgetary increases." He straightened up in his chair, adjusted his glasses and declared, "Damocles is rising to a new level of prominence."
Camilla bit her tongue. All this time, and she still couldn't believe that this was Martinet's priority: petty glory-hounding, and turning Max into a weapon to ensure American supremacy and exceptional. She never thought there'd ever come a day when she'd wax nostalgic for Samuel Robertson's administration, but Martinet had proven himself many times worse.
"But we're not here to talk about Yemen" he continued. "Now that Max is demonstrating an ability to rewind a full twenty-four hours back, DHS is sitting up and taking notice; they're considering all the possibilities that an extra day's peek into the future would give them."
She remembered some of the high-level government functionaries who had toured the base, or observed the Oracle footage. She could see the same avarice in their eyes as she did in Martinet's."
"And I've already crafted a set of guidelines to manage expectations and appropriate use for when to send her back. Let's not forget that first, she barely managed to break through to a full day a month ago, and the effort is still exhausting for her. Second, every day she goes back is one less day for her to live her normal life. If we're going to utilize her abilities, it should be to prevent or minimize the effects of catastrophic events that cause massive casualties, or severely threaten global peace. We can't go sending her back every day that some terrorist group manages to car bomb a market in the Middle East, or when a group such as Anonymous is about to publically dump some dreadfully embarrassing information they've acquired about the latest batch of Constitutional violations the US Government has been caught committing."
Martinet leaned in, threateningly, "What is it you're trying to say, exactly?"
Angrily, she crossed her arms. "Don't kill the goose laying your golden eggs."
She immediately shifted tracks, cutting off any opportunity for him to retort, "Now, I've gone over the project specs that DHS laid out for the Storyteller Protocol, and frankly, I find them ridiculously over-engineered. If we're primarily interested in simply sending her back with useful information, she can carry a flash drive or a paper folder with her. It's a trick we've been playing with for years now, just taken to the next level."
"You disagree with the importance of the checks and balances, to verify her identity when she winds back? Not to mention the ruggedization of the data storage medium?"
She rolled her eyes with heavy exasperation, "You mean to check if she was authorized to go back in time, and that she isn't attempting to escape your clutches, with these...what are you calling them? Edit Orders? Because let's face it, all she can do is rewind back in the same place she started from, which will be this base." She then held up a tempering hand as he started to protest. "Don't worry, I've designed your system, I'm merely criticizing the need for it. Especially as it seems to somehow require the use of incredibly expensive, specialized single-use physical tokens for data storage, not to mention the shielded control computer. I'd love to know who's getting their beak wet from that hundred-and-fifty million dollar contract. Frankly, there's no evidence that we couldn't achieve the same bloody thing by building an encrypted flash storage drive into Max's lifeclock. I could do that for a tiny fraction of the cost."
Adjusting his glasses, Marinet asked, "I thought you tried that, Davies? Ran into problems with data corrupting?" There was a slight smirk in his lips when he asked.
She did her best to bite back a cutting remark, "That was for highly experiential research and development, in creating a storage medium that would be completely impervious to changing timelines. A sort of universal storage point, quantumly decoupled from direct causality in the same way Max appears to be. It would allow information to be preserved despite any number of changes to our timeline, and more importantly, if I can get it reliably working, it will completely remove the need for the Edit Order tokens altogether. I'm sure you can see how this sort of thing would be invaluable, in more ways than one."
He nodded, stroking his chin thoughtly. "Actually, I can. How close are you to perfecting it?"
Camilla paused, glancing cautiously at him.
"It functions now, believe it or not, so we're well past the initial proof of concept phase. I've left the test bed installed in Max's lifeclock while I continue to tinker with improvements and overcome hurdles. The biggest kink is preventing the information from becoming hopelessly corrupted after two or three days of storage. If I had to hazard a guess, I believe we're running into data collisions from parallel universes attempting to build the exact same device. So when all of us try to store our data in the same fixed point in the multiverse, sooner or later, it encounters catastrophic fragmentation. But I have a few simple ideas in mind for how to get around that."
She paused, then added as a casual afterthought, "It's probably best not to contemplate the fact that I may or may not have accidentally discovered a way to communicate with alternate dimensions, at least until we've had more time to study the phenomenon."
To his credit, Marinet seemed genuinely intrigued. "Let me know what resources you need to advance the project. And I'd appreciate it if you kept me personally apprised of your future results."
She blinked, "O-of course."
And this was the part that caused her heart to ache. The occasional glimmers of...she wasn't sure what to call it. Not decency, but there were times when she thought she could see Martinet's curiosity and interest in exploring the wonders that Specials and their study were revealing. Free of the calculating and scheming, bereft of attempts to advance some sort of jingoistic agenda.
Where you a halfway tolerable man once upon a time, Paul Martinet? Are those glimmers I see a part of you that you buried, or a side of you that you never fully let out for some reason? Or is this just a mask you put up? The same one that you used to initially bamboozle us into thinking you ever had a heart at all. A few years ago, I might have thought different, but all I can assume now is that you're looking for yet another way to turn my ideas into a weapon.
She cleared her throat, "Getting back on point: if these specifications meet your approval, once you sign off on them, I believe General Dynamics and L3 KEO can deliver the first batch of tokens to us by the end of September."
Martinet wore a disbelieving expression, "So quickly?"
Camilla twitched her lips. "Those new industrial three-dimensional printers work an absolute treat. Pity we aren't letting them out onto the civilian market yet. Anyhow, I'll cobble together a master system to interface with them until Lockheed-Martin delivers that portion." She handed over a paper printout on official stationary for his perusal and signature.
He picked the papers up, giving them a quick once over. "Fine, good. I'll get the ball rolling on this by the end of the day." He started to turn away, as if ending the conservation abruptly.
"One more thing before I go..." she started.
The chill settled back between them. Martinet said nothing, but he didn't dissuade her from continuing, either.
"As you're no doubt aware, Max is going to turn eighteen in a couple of months. That means we're now legally allowed to deploy her as a full agent out in the field, pending approval, which I'm sure you'll give a minute after midnight, September twenty-first. But I'm sure you're also aware that the Wayden Amendment failed to be reauthorized after the last PUSA sunset. When she's a legal adult, you'll no longer be able to compel or conscript her against her will and call it a matter of national security.
She took a long breath,composed her face into a mask of - she didn't want to call it pleading, but at least some sort of emotional appeal - and said, "You're going to need to think long and hard about letting Max have a life of her own. Frankly, we've put her through hell for the past five years, and we've gotten away with it because she was a minor, and because fear of the unknown carried the day. She's going to be a woman now, legally if nothing else, and we need to let her rebuild a life for herself, outside of the confines of the Damocles Initiative. If you continue with the status quo..."
Camilla paused to shake her head. "I'm going to be blunt, I'm not happy with some of what I'm seeing in her psyche profile. If you're going to send her out into the field, and put people's lives on the line, my people's lives on the line, and I do consider Max to be one of my people, then we need to begin ameliorating the worst of what's been done to her, as important, no doubt, as you felt it was. At the very least, she should be given time off before we start sending her out. The tighter you wrap the bars around her, the more she's going to want to slip free."
"I don't know..." Martinet mused. "Max seems to have reached a certain acceptance of her fate, over the past year. The course of her life from here on out..."
Camilla frowned. "If...if you think some sort of Stockholm Syndrome is going to carry the day for you, please allow me to disabuse you of that charmingly naive delusion, right here and now. We may have made her aimless, and then given her only one path. And you may think she'll follow it without significant resistance. But I will give her as many other options and possibilities as required, if need be."
Martinet was silent the entire time. He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
"I see..."
"This isn't something I'm going to leave be, Paul."
He frowned at the familiar tone she took with him. But he nodded once, and said, "I promise you. I'm aware of the problem, and I'm doing my best to address it appropriately."
Camilla felt herself relax. Just a touch.
My God, did I actually get through to him? Best not to get my hopes up. But that was a much better response than I was initially expecting.
She nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it." With that, she stood and started to leave, without waiting to be dismissed.
She closed the door behind her, her spirits cautiously optimistic. Maybe there was time. Maybe the mistakes of the past five years could, over time, be corrected, and Max would be allowed to live up to her potential, while still enjoying the same right to a normal life as everyone else.
It was just as well then, that she failed to see what happened five minutes later: Martinet picking up the phone, and placing a call.
"Hello. Senator McConnell? Yes, this is Paul Martinet calling, from the S.O.A.P. Yes, that's right, we met last year. I believe we gave you a tour of our main facility, the one that houses the Damocles Initiative." He paused, letting the other man on the other end speak for a few moments. "Ah! Yes, you just heard about that? Yes. Thank you, sir, we're very excited about what Project Oracle can continue to accomplish. That's actually the reason I'm calling you...to discuss the reauthorization of the Wayden Amendment..."
September 2013
Max and Rodriguez were huddled together in the corner of the common room, as they whispered in hushed, conspiratorial tones.
"What is this stuff? And why are you making me drink it?" Max asked, as she pinched a small clear shotglass between thumb and forefinger. From the smell alone, if it was anyone else but Alanna offering it to her, she'd swear they were playing yet another cruel prank on her.
"It's tequila!" the other woman replied brightly, in a tone of voice that suggested she'd already helped herself to a couple of shots. "But not just any tequilla; my papi brews this stuff special, goes out to Jalisco and harvests the agave himself every year. This bottle was from a strong batch, so drink up hermanita!"
Max's eyes widened as Rodriguez wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said, "Let's do this quick before they catch us, okay? One, two, three!"
Despite her better judgement, Max went along, slamming the shot back, immediately regretting it. It burned like finely honed obsidian flakes soaked in formic acid, and she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to salivate properly for the next few minutes. She coughed violently, but despite the pain, smiled lopsidedly. It felt good; not the actual act of drinking, that'd been awful, but the tiny rebellion she engaged in. She could see the appeal, especially after spending the past five years being relatively well-behaved by and large...not that those assholes in this fucking place deserved it.
But today, she was an adult. Legally.
Biologically, that was a different story, as the a quick glance down at her lifeclock was more than happy to remind her.
SUBJECTIVE LOCAL TIME: 18:35 (UTC-8) 09-21-2013
SUBJECTIVE AGE: 18 Y - 0 D - 2H - 05M - 8S
OBJECTIVE AGE: 18 Y - 340 D - 18H - 56M - 23S
"First one's always the hardest, chica! But after the party, we'll find a hidey-hole and finish the bottle?"
Max gripped at her protesting stomach, roiling with fury and cactus-based rotgut. She stammered, "Y-yeah. Maybe. If I manage to live through that last shot."
"Ha ha! Yeah, maybe we'll switch to something smoother, huh?" Alanna started to sniff at her empty glass, then experimentally stuck her tongue into it, lapping up the last few drops. "Oh shit! I think is a bottle from the batch Papi puts the rattlesnake into. Fuck, I thought there was more bite than usual!"
Max could feel herself turning green, her heart pounding. "Did-did you just fucking poison me?"
"Naaaaah Not fatally!" Rodriguez said with a wink, pounding her on the back.
She didn't throw up at least, but that was by dint of not having had anything to eat yet.
It was a small party, just a few streamers and balloons, along with a banner. Originally, Davies insisted on marking the occasion with a huge event, like one of those debutante coming-out balls, but Max put a stop to that. Eighteen was great, and she was thrilled to finally make it there, but a big bash wasn't really how she wanted to mark the day. She could literally count on one hand the number of people at Zion that she called 'friend', and was holding out hopes that soon, she'd be able to leave the facility, find an apartment to move into, and figure out this whole 'life' thing, just like Davies said she'd been pushing for.
DI had been her whole world for almost a third of her life. She didn't want that anymore. It was just a job now. One she was forced into, even one she was probably going to be fucking brilliant at. But only because she didn't know what else to do, frankly. But she sure as shit didn't want to share a milestone with a group composed primarily of people who didn't care about or were actively hostile towards her.
Maybe she could have a bigger party for number nineteen, with a lot more people whose company she actually enjoyed.
For now, this would do: Cammie, Alanna, Jason Chen, and Kimmy Villanova. The Swedish intern from R&D, she'd specifically invited too, because Alanna said he was cute, and maybe Max should make a pass at him...but he only popped in for a few minutes. Everyone else in the room just mingled amongst themselves, passing through for free food and the chance to take a break from the day.
A firm hand gripped Max and Rodriguez by the shoulders, prompting both of them to look up with simultaneous expressions of guilt and alarm.
Davies just shook her head, a maternal smile of disapproval on her lips. "Good Lord, Alanna, she's not old enough for liquor!"
"She's fully qualified to operate at least twelve different kinds of firearms, and can easily kill a man with her bare hands in under ten seconds. I think she's earned the right to a fucking drink, jefa. But just in case your chief complaint is not being included?" With that, Rodriguez produced a third shot she had somehow managed to keep completely concealed until this moment, offering it up to Davies.
Max's eyes bugged out as she watched her mentor grab the glass and tilt the contents gracefully back into her mouth, swishing it around for a few seconds, before swallowing smoothly. "Hmmm. Not bad. Fifty-three point eight six two nine four percent alcohol content I'd say, from a variety of agave that only grows in the southern edge of the Los Altos region of Jalisco. Unusually high limestone content in the bricks of the stove used to heat and crush the piña when it was prepped for brewing. The bottle this was stored in was used before, possibly for rum? And..." she smacked her lips. "Bloody hell, is that rattlesnake?"
Rodriguez laughed out loudly. "Ha ha ha-holy shit! I swear seeing you work never gets old!"
Davies smiled graciously. "Right, if you'll excuse me, Alanna, I need to take Max aside for a few minutes."
"Ohhhhh. Riiiight. Yeah, is it that time? Okay! See you soon!" Rodriguez tossed off a quick wink before zipping away.
Max smiled shyly up at Davies, as the other woman wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the center of the room. She groaned internally, because she knew what was coming. Part of her absolutely dreaded it, having the spotlight turned upon her, when all she wanted to do was be left alone. But another part was perversely looking forward to this day, ever since she was taken in by the Damocles Initiative almost five years earlier.
Davies cleared her throat, catching the attention of what few attendees were in the room. "If you'll all indulge me for just a minute, please. I want to thank you for joining us on Max's big day. As many of you no doubt are aware, not only is she turning eighteen, but it is my happy privilege to announce that she's been granted preliminary field agent status. There will of course be an official ceremony, what with its mandatory attendance and lack of comestibles, but I would like to continue on with an old SOAP tradition that dates back almost to the beginning."
Max covered her face with her palm. Still, she smiled nervously against the skin. As much as the last half decade had been an absolute hell, this felt like a turning point at last. A new start, like she might finally get out into the world once more, do some good, help real, actual people, and maybe build a life for herself from the abortive wreck of her teenage years.
Davies reached underneath her blouse, and pulled out the tags she was wearing around her neck. "As most of you know, in the olden days of the sixties and seventies, it was standard practice for SOAP Specials to be assigned some sort of codename for use out in the field. In fact, the adoption of 'handles' is an ancient tradition, with roots as far back as Ancient Japan and...well, anyhow." Davies made herself stop before she began t wax overlong.
She then continued. "As times grew more cynical and we lost that wide-eyed wonder, hope and optimism, the practice fell largely by the wayside. In memory of those golden years, and as a bit of a jape and a josh, whenever a fellow Special makes field agent status, the rest of us get together and present them with their custom dog tags, embossed whatever terribly embarrassing codename we think they would have been given, were these still those heady days of yore. It's a tradition I've been more than happy to keep alive, from the first day I took over as head of field operations."
Pausing to give her own tags a jingle, she continued, "And as part of that tradition, would every Special in the room please show us yours, and call out whatever codename you were given, however unfortunate? I'll start off: as everyone knows, I cut my teeth at Task Force Excalibur, but I barely made it a week here in the States before they started calling me Savant."
"Caliente!" Rodriguez called out, rattling her tags in return. "Because you're all a bunch of unimaginative, borderline racist fucks. Even if it does fit!" She laughed brightly at that, and clenched her hand, forming an oversized fiery fist above her head, with a middle finger proudly extended. It quickly vanished before it had a chance to set off the sprinkler system in the room.
"Atlas!" Timothy Snord bellowed out, before striking a bodybuilders pose. From his slight frame and thick glasses, one would never imagine he could comfortably lift an eighteen-wheel truck over his head.
"Snakeskin." Jack Albertson added, in an intentionally affected raspy voice. Max always found it weird, given that his powers, which granted him enhanced reflexes, endurance and being slightly bulletproof, seemed to have nothing to do with either snakes, or skin...
...oh, maybe the bulletproof part?
But that still didn't make any sense.
"Colorblind" was called out by Ralph Sweeney, in a quiet monotone. Clearly, he didn't care for this part. He kept mostly to himself, and in five years, Max didn't think she had exchanged more than eight words with him. His ability to form hard light constructs kept him in demand in the field.
Davies spoke again, "A few of us couldn't make it...Spoiler is pulling monitor duty."
At least, that was the excuse Wright had given. Max was grateful for the lack of her presence. They weren't friends, and they never would be, but Nicole actually apologized to her after the shit she pulled a few months ago.. Davies made her do it, that much was obvious. But after that whole shitstorm, Wright was really backing off and not trying to make her life hell, like before. Maybe there was a chance the air could be cleared.
Yeah. Maybe someday. Not today. Not tomorrow. Someday. We both know I'm not going to just get over all the shit that passed between us anytime soon.
"And Retcon, of course, sends his love from Japan, Max. He left you a little package in your room. Also, it was his suggestion that won the vote."
Reese? What could he have...oh no! Oh FUCK NO!
Oh yes. Max knew what was coming the moment she found out who picked the name.
Shit! This is going to be so embarrassing!
"So may I introduce our sister-in-arms: Max "Flashback" Caulfield!
Max let out the breath she'd been holding, then give a tiny smile.
Reese, you did remember! More importantly, you skipped the really embarrassing part. Aw damnit. I miss you!
She finally spoke. "I can't believe...can't believe he remembered that. I only said it to him once. And there was more..." she trailed off.
"Yes well...Princess Flashback seemed a bit too cruel, dear." Davies said. "You're not a little girl anymore." she added, in a much softer tone.
Max allowed Davies to drape the chain around her neck, grabbing the polished aluminum tags in her hands, and looking them over. They didn't appear much different from what the armed forces normally used, save for the DI logo on the back.
"FLASHBACK"
SN #00024601
She noted that there was a blank section where her name should have been. She'd have to ask Davies about that later.
There was a round of applause, mostly polite, but a good portion of it enthusiastic, especially from Rodriguez. Davies seemed particularly proud. Max couldn't remember the last time she saw her with such a wide smile.
A couple hours later, after the party had quickly disbursed, Max sat in her room, glancing through the care package that Reese sent her from Japan: snackfoods, DVDs, magazines. She smiled to herself, munching contentedly on something called 'Hello Panda', which she assumed - hoped - had no actual panda content.
A light rapping on the door prompted her to call out, "Who is it?"
"It's me, dear. Do you mind if I join you?" Davies asked.
"No! Come on in."
Davies shut the door behind her. "Well then, Max. Why don't I jump right to the point. I just thought maybe we could sit down and have a little chat, about where things go from here."
Max glanced up curiously, and held out the box. Davies delicately extracted a small handful, and studied one before popping it in her mouth. Crunching away, she said, "Oh! Yes. Shimiko adores these things."
"Shimiko?" she inquired.
"Yes. From Japan. My contemporary at Rising Sun, surely I must have mentioned her?"
"A few times." Max answered. "Although really, I hardly know anything about you."
"Oh, that's not true! Is it?" The older woman paused, then conceded, "Well. Perhaps I have cultivated a bit of mystery regarding my background. There was a certain amount of formality that the teacher-student relationship required. Of course, now that I'm no longer your teacher..." Davies smirked, then sat down on the side of the bed, next to her. "But back to you. I must admit, you took everything in good humor at the party. You seem to relish the prospect of actual field work."
Max tilted her head, and gave her a searching look. "You sound kinda surprised..."
"Welllll..." Davies crossed her legs in her trademark style. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, love. These haven't been easy years for you. In fact, I dare say we've been horrific and cruel, stripping you from your home, plotting out so much of your life, treating you little better than a prisoner. Not to mention the things that were done that I can't...bring myself to mention again." She bowed her head a touch, her voice, lowering. "Max...if I had honestly believed...if I knew then what I know now. I...would not have acted with such naivete."
Max turned her head, studied Davies searchingly for a few moments. There was such sadness in those eyes. The other woman was always emotionally reserved, a product of her enhanced intelligence, and Max assumed cultural upbringing as well. Maybe she'd never get on her knees and beg for forgiveness...but Max could see the shame lingering behind those eyes.
She reached out, to squeeze her hand, just for a moment. Just to indicate what she'd seen.
Davies swallowed, paused, and then switched tracks again, dispersing the catch in her voice as she spoke. "Frankly, I'd begun to suspect that you'd reject the notion of field work out of hand, now that you have some say about it."
"And do I really have some say?" Max asked.
"More than before, to be sure. I'm certainly not going to put you out in the field unless it's truly what you want. It's one of the few areas that I can actually override Martinet." Davies paused. "Well, mostly."
Max gripped the dogtags in her hand possessively. Glanced down at her tightened fist and began to explain, a faraway tone in her voice. "I should hate you all. You're right about that. And I suppose I do hate at least some of you. Others...I mean, you and Alanna, and even Meredith and Jason and Kimmy...you did all you could to make what as always going to be a shitty, fucked up hell of a time easier to endure. Maybe you couldn't save me, but you did the best you could to protect me."
She paused, just long enough to squeeze the tags, and continued, "But I worked hard for this, you know? Really hard. Bled and sweat and cried and all kinds of shit, for it. These tags here? Cost me my childhood, and my parent's memories of me. Maybe it's not what I wanted, but it's all I know how to do now. I wasn't given a choice, but I suffered and endured. And no one can say I didn't earn what I have now. No one."
Davies wrapped a tight, protective arm around her shoulders. "And I don't think anyone is saying that. Even Wright won't begrudge you your proper place now."
Max swallowed, gave a shy, lopsided smile, and craned her head, just enough to the side, to regard the other woman. "Look at everything I managed to do. Look at everything I learned, and did and can do, and will do. Well...you're proud of me then? R-right? "
The other woman appeared completely caught off guard. Then reached over, encircling Max with both her arms, hugging tightly.
With a trembling voice, Davies answered, "As if you were my own, poppet. As if you were my very own."
The rest of what Davies had to tell her waited until breakfast, the next day.
"So I've managed to work out the beginnings of your new life, outside of Zion Control. From a legal perspective, it's become exceedingly difficult to continue holding you here against your will should you choose to exercise your rights. Despite what the media will tell you, we can only play the 'state secrets' canard so many times in a situation like this. Especially as several key laws that were invoked to initially bring you here are now either off the books, or watered down. There are those, and I won't name names of course, who are, shall we say, displeased by the idea of you living off base, but bollocks to them, yes? Still...there are concessions that I'm afraid you're going to need to make."
Max eyed her warily as she quietly chewed through her waffle and eggs. "Because of course there are. Let me guess: I have to wear some kind of tracker beacon when I'm not here, right?"
Davies sighed. "On the nose, I'm afraid. Also...they'd feel much more comfortable if you assumed an entirely new identity. Let Max Caulfield die at last. Take on a new name, a new backstory. You and I can work together, craft something that works for everyone."
Huh. So that's why my name wasn't on the dogtags. Won't be mine much longer...
Max stabbed hard at her next mouthful and just shook her head, before giving an angry shrug, eyes narrowing. "Yeah. Sure. Why not. That's an easy one. I know damn well what my parents are like these days. Probably don't remember me at all. I'm like a dream or something to them. Now they have their own separate life, off on the other side of the state. Being close to me will just get them hurt all over again. Worse, now that Reese isn't at Martinet's beck and call to fuck with their brains."
She forced herself to calm down, proud that she was able to keep her voice relatively in check.
"Yeah...yeah. Other than that, what else do I really have worth hanging on to? Either in my life, or back in Arcadia...Bay?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, the realization smashed into her with the force of a steel gauntlet. The tears welled up in her eyes, and she bowed her head, sobbing with incredible swiftness.
Davies tentatively reached out, resting a hand on her elbow.
"Max? What is it?"
She called out, mouth full of half-chewed food, throat tight. "What do you think it is? Who do you think?"
The memories of the distant past rushed up to overwhelm her, from the dark recesses of her mind.
Maxine sobs, glancing down at her scraped knee. Then back up at the big mean kid who took her favorite doll.
"G-give it back!" she cries out, her voice faint, weak with indecision. The other kid is way older, like maybe six or even seven! He taunts her, making motions like he's going to tear the head of the toy clean off.
"Ha ha ha! Crybaby Caulfield. That's what you're name is. Crybaby! Crybaby!"
She doesn't even remember who it was, or what they looked like. In her mind's eye of this moment, they are simply The Villain.
"You heard her, you dick! Give her her doll back!"
There's another girl. A new girl, one Maxine has never seen before. Saying bad words too! Ooooh! But her blonde hair sparkles in the bright sunlight, and the look on her face is like...like she's Wonder Woman, or Black Canary. Someone who isn't afraid of anything!
"Make me!" the boy taunts.
"Yeah! Yeah I'll make you! You're gonna be sorry!". The supergirl, she moves so quick. Kicks out at his leg, makes him fall down onto his back. She hits him over and over, until he gives up.
"Okay! Okay! Take it, take it!" he tosses the doll in Maxine's direction, rises up, and then runs away, sniffling. "I...I'm gonna tell!"
The girl with the golden hair kneels down, and gives her the biggest smile.
"You okay?" she asks.
Maxine nods a few times, picks up her toy, gives it a hug.
"Hey! I like your doll! What's her name?"
She looks down, and shyly whispers. "J-Jem. She belonged to my Aunt, a long long long time ago."
"Neat! She's really pretty. Hey! So what's your name?"
Maxine starts to stammer out, "I-it's...M-m-max..."
"Max?" the other girl interrupts before she can finish. "Cool! That's like a boys name, but I like it a lot! I'm Chloe."
Maxine...no, it's Max now. That's it. Max is all smiles now, for the other girl.
"H-hi. You...you wanna be friends?"
"Yeah I wanna be friends! C'mon, let's be pirates!"
Chloe...her new friend Chloe, tears off towards the playground, laughing and smiling.
She's Max's hero that day. And every day afterwards.
Max sobbed quietly yet inconsolably, her head bowed, resting on her arms, just an inch away from her food.
She trembled, as she forced the words out. "I...I could go and visit her, you know?. Maybe once or twice? I would just wipe it out, afterwards. And each time I saw her, it would be great. Because it'd be like seeing her again for the first time. I mean, who would know? Who would know?"
"Max." Davies said, squeezing her shoulder. "You know...that's not a good ide..."
"I know! I know!" she mourned piteously. "Just...just let me hope for a moment, okay? Just-just let me have my dream for one last second..."
I'm so sorry, Chloe. You have no idea how badly I still want to see you. But Cammie is right. I'm a danger to you now. Damn her...damn all these assholes!
Finally she looked up, glaring at Davies with red, swollen eyes. "You win, okay? You fucking win..."
A/N: Hey there, Swanketteers! It's actually Black Swan Saturday again, yay! And I have to say, I do not think I have ever spent as much time editing and redoing a chapter in my entire life as I have with this one, which got broken up into two bits. I definitely think it came out a LOT better for the trouble, and it helped me become more confident in my editorial instinct, but geezus christ is it exhausting too. I probably spent less time actually writing the initial draft. Cory, I feel like I've been taking you for granted, just a bit! *laugh* Believe it or not, I originally intended/tried to write these past six chapter as only one or two. Wow, was that stupid or what?
Ahh...God...what a week, too. I'm not fishing for sympathy, but in some ways, it was one of the worst I've had in a decade or two. Thank God I have some buffer left, because I have not been able to write...but I gotta get off my butt soon and fix that *laugh*
Next week will bring this particular plot arc to its logical conclusion...which again, thank you all for indulging me; I really did not plan to take so much time before reuniting our precious gayngels. Afterwards, I'm afraid it's a good two or three week hiatus, but when we come back from it, it's totally all about bringing Max and Chloe together again! :-D
Finally, I want to thank all my readers and reviewers. September was my best month on record in terms of follows, faves and reads; thank you all for your kind support!
Have a good weekend!