A/N: Reviews make my world go round!
The weight in his arms somehow felt ten times heavier than it should be. The boy himself was skin and bones, barely weighing seventy pounds. But the responsibility? That weighed a ton.
He couldn't remember the last time someone—much less a kid—fell into his arms like that. Or at least, he tried his best to not remember.
Rachel.
There was nothing like it. The feeling of someone curling up against him, oblivious to the fact that all it would take is one hand wrapped around their fragile jawbone… it didn't even have to be a tight grip. Just one quick twist. The snapping of bone and cartilage. Hell, if he wanted he could rip their entire head off. Especially the head of an emaciated boy…
The little head lolled against his shoulder as he jogged after Max, tufts of filthy hair jutting in all directions around the bandage over his eyes. His small body was still trembling, limbs going spastic against his chest. But it was weak—far too weak. Like the kid was trying to fight him off with love taps.
But he wasn't trying to fight him off. He was tucked close. And every time Alec's focus drifted enough to jostle him, he buried his head further into the crook of Alec's neck. He could feel warm puffs of air against his skin, his sensitive hearing picking up the rattle in the little boy's chest. Hell, he was so close he could hear the irregularity in the boy's heartbeat. It was too fast. Like any second it would trip over itself and become buried in the stampede.
"Little bit longer kid," Alec murmured, remembering far too many times when he had said the same thing to unit members who didn't make it home. "Just a little bit longer. Hold on."
He didn't even know what the kid was fighting. They didn't have time to do a field triage. He didn't know if he was hurting the boy just by how he was holding him. And God knew, Alec could hurt him plenty.
Why couldn't the kid choose Max's arms to fall into? At least then he wouldn't have this overwhelming fear of fucking up.
Stay focused. One step at a time.
They made it outside. The rain had let up, the sky still looming low like it was ready to collapse any second. Thunder still rumbled, lighting flashing between roiling clouds. But the air felt still, muted. Like someone had pushed the pause button and forgot to include them in with the rest of existence.
Tucked in the shadows of the building, Max raised her torch and started flashing the symbol into the night. Hopefully Mole wasn't so twitchy that he had left his position when he heard the gunshots.
Alec glanced around, checking the clearing for any signs of the change of the guard. They had rushed into the job, hadn't scoped out the place for long enough. They knew the schedule of comings and goings were haphazard at best, the group more of a mob than a mafia. And now they were paying for it.
It felt too easy—something had to be off.
He found himself staring down at the bundle in his arms. The kid was still wrapped snugly in his jacket, and with how he was curled up, only his calves protruded from the protective covering. But even in the dim light, his sharp eyes could still pick up the raised welts that crisscrossed the fair skin. Now that he had more time to look, he tilted the boy's head away from his neck. The kid went willingly, leaning into the cup of his palm like he was dying of thirst. The boy's face below the bandage was bruised so badly it was indistinguishable, lips swollen and split. But more than that, the movement revealed the bruises and burns around his neck, as the kid barred his throat so sharply that it had to be intentional. An act of submission.
Keep the kid in the dark. Stuff his ears so he can barely hear. Throw him into a world of movement and pain. It's only so long before he latches on to any semblance of kindness he can find.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared down at the kid. He was all too familiar with the tactic. And its effectiveness. Hell, until Rachel, he worked his ass off in submission just to hear the words Very good, 494. And that was all he needed.
Or, at the very least, he thought it was all he could have.
He pressed his mouth together, folding the kid so his forehead was once more tucked up into the crook of Alec's neck.
"We're gonna get you out of here, kid," he whispered, so low that he knew Max couldn't hear. He doubted the kid heard either, but a small hand fisted, weak, in the folds of his shirt. It could be coincidence, but maybe the kid had sharper hearing than he thought.
He was even more surprised when the kid split his busted lips apart. Air was still coming to him in a rattle, like his lungs were filled with sand. But his tongue slid out, leaving a thin line of moisture on the chapped lips.
"F-ffamiliar," he whispered, so quiet that even with his sharp ears, Alec barely heard him. The word sent all kinds of alarm bells ringing in his head, as his mind flashed to White and miniature explosives. Did this kid see something?
Of course, all of his intelligence got lost in translation, so all he managed was, "What?"
The kid's mouth twitched, almost like he was trying to smile. The kid's face was so multicolored he doubted he would've made it even if the mood had been right. "You," he breathed, more air than articulation. He winced, his fist clenching harder in Alec's shirt as his entire body tensed, like he was riding off a wave of pain. "Smell," he gasped, his young face contorting in a rictus.
"Easy," Alec soothed, running his semi-free hand over the bandage and through the boy's gritty hair. "Don't talk."
The kid gave a breathy chuckle. He was determined, it seemed, because he gathered himself and moistened his lips again. His head lolled uselessly against Alec, like he gave up the fight to stay alert. But his words were still audible.
"You smell familiar," he breathed.
Alec blinked. That was the farthest thing from what he was expecting. Not least of all because it was a hell of a weird thing for an ordinary kid to say. He had checked the back of the kid's neck—no barcode. But getting past even that, how the hell would Alec smell familiar?
He shoved the thought aside, choosing instead to pat the side of the kid's head with his fingers made filthy by the job. His gloves had made their way into his pockets—being touched by gloved hands was far from reassuring. "Take it easy kid," he muttered, even though he knew he was already asleep. The breathing pattern changed, heart stuttering quick with every inhale and slowing again with every exhale.
At least it was still beating.
Alec stepped closer to the corner, closer to Max. A slit of moonlight made it through the overcast sky, shining a single plane of light across his face and making his eyes flash.
"Mole signal back?" he whispered, and felt Max tense as his breath ghosted the back of her neck. She must not have heard him approach.
"They're checking the perimeter," she whispered back, "Making sure extraction is safe."
She turned, her dark gaze shifting from him to the limp kid in his arms. "How's he doing?"
He would have shrugged, if he could. "Passed out. He was talking just a minute ago, even if he didn't make a damn bit of sense."
"What did he say?"
"Just that I 'smelled familiar.' Whatever that means. We need to get him to a doctor soon, Max. I don't think his head's too good."
In the split second it took from her eyes to switch from him to the kid, they softened. It almost hurt. Almost. It had been a damn long time since he had been in a unit, usually assigned to solo missions and after that, being a CO. Having to stay separate, above everybody.
He had Joshua, he knew—but he knew the old idiom. Dogs were so forgiving. And things with Max were… complicated. At best. But at least they had stopped ripping each other's throat out at the merest glance of each other.
He shook himself out of it, without moving a muscle. It wouldn't do anyone any good to get lost in ruminations on a job.
Max reached out a hand, hesitating for only a moment before she ran her thumb over the line between bandage and skin, across the boy's cheek. The small body let out a shudder, but stilled when Max cupped the side of his face. Even asleep, he seemed to crave the touch, turning into it even as he curled more securely into Alec's hold.
Max's gaze turned doe-eyed at the sight. "How could anybody hurt him?" she whispered, and Alec pretended not to notice the quiver in her voice. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. Something passed between them, a solid understanding.
Same way people could hurt us.
It was left unsaid.
Max cleared her throat, turning away from him and putting her back to the moment at the same time. Her eyes scanned the forest once more, and this time Alec's joined her.
"We gotta get him out of here," she muttered.
"Interesting insight."
She shot a glare over her shoulder. "Shut up."
"This is usually the point where I hold my hands up in self-defense, but for the sake of the kid I think I'll skip that part."
"You're all heart."
Alec smirked, letting the conversation die when he spotted the light flashing the all clear through the trees. He nudged Max with his shoulder.
"Let's go."
Neither of them noticed the low red light of a security camera, cloaked in shadow on the corner of the building.
—
They met Mole and the two other transgenics up by the road. He was driving the armored car they had snatched from the SWAT team after the hostage situation, while one of the X5's—Trint—had a beat-up van that was no doubt 'borrowed.'
They were both expecting more than just three people. Mole's eyes narrowed at them as they approached the vehicles, cigar hanging halfway out of his mouth. His eyes flitted to the kid and back to Max, who glared right back at him.
"Don't ask," she snapped. That was what the debriefing was for, and she had no wish to want to speak about what happened twice.
Twenty people. The missing person reports… would people keep looking for them? Would the group burn the bodies, cover their tracks? Would the families ever find out what happened to them?
They were all rabid—they had been there for a while, beyond recognition. Was it a good thing that they were dead? That their families didn't have to see or know what actually happened to them?
These thoughts plagued Max on the drive back to Seattle. The three of them rode in the beat-up van—much less conspicuous—while Mole would drive the armored car and stash it outside the city, come back through the sewers. Max sat in the passenger seat, but she couldn't help herself from looking back every few seconds. To Alec and the little form bundled in his arms.
She had tried to slip into the back and take the kid when they first got into the van. Alec wasn't exactly the type to be hanging around kids, after all, and she figured he'd be grateful.
She had seen the flash of something in Alec's eyes—some kind of hesitation. But he had shifted the kid, so he could hand him off to Max. But right as he was changing hands, the boy had stirred.
It had gone downhill from there, the X5 in the front seat not even pretending to ignore it. The kid reached out from under the jacket, latching a hand around Alec's shirt collar in a death grip. The jacket had fallen away in the movement, but the boy didn't seem to notice being exposed once more. At least not nearly as much as he noticed being pulled away from Alec.
She tried everything—a soothing voice, running her hand through the boy's hair. But he wouldn't relinquish his vice-like grip on Alec, muttering 'no' over and over.
It was when the bandages over his eyes started getting damp and his irregular breathing started skipping that Max had given up, and resigned herself to the front seat. In the silence of the car she easily picked up Alec's voice, muttering in a soft tone, poking fun at the kid for stripping in front of Max even as he bundled the kid back up in his jacket.
"I tried stripping in front of her the first time we met too. I got a kick in the sternum for the trouble. I think she likes you more than me."
She looked in the rearview mirror, and felt something soften in her chest. Alec was holding the boy close, his head limp on the transgenic's shoulders. Arms that she had seen choking powerful opponents in a headlock now encircled so gently around a child's broken body. Hands that she had seen break bones with no effort now cradling the boy's cheek.
"You gonna be a lady killer when you grow up, huh?" he whispered, and she could have sworn she saw those busted lips twitch upward in some semblance of a smile, even as air continued to rasp between them in a grotesque imitation of breathing. "Just keep breathing, kid."
"H-hurts."
"I know. I know."
It didn't make sense. Alec was… well, Alec. There wasn't really any adjective that encompassed the guy, other than his name. He didn't do kids, he didn't do comfort.
Well… that wasn't entirely true. She remembered him rubbing her arm, the solid weight of his lips nestled in her hair after she told him about Ben. Before, his tone of utter seriousness, asking if she would tell him about his brother. Then after, the soft murmur of an apology, telling her it wasn't her fault. That she did what she had to.
That was the first time she really felt closure. After Ben. After what she had to do to him. She knew it wasn't fair, but it was almost easy to imagine it was Ben holding her instead. Ben telling her that it was okay, that he understood, that he was sorry, that it wasn't her fault. Like some Spector inside of Alec, a ghost of her brother.
But that wasn't fair. Alec was Alec. If she had any doubt about that, all she had to do was remember the six months he had spent in Psy-Ops, for the exact purpose of seeing if there was even a speck of Ben to be found in him.
Then there was the six months he had spent in there when he was nine, after the escape. Then the three months after Rachel…
"I know, kid."
A soft, sad smile twisted her mouth. She noticed Alec's hand cradling the boy's body had a grip around his wrist, fingers laid over the pulse. A muscle jumped in the transgenic's jaw.
"Just keep breathing, okay?"
"How is he?"
He looked up, locking eyes with her in the mirror—his green orbs sharp, piercing. "Drive faster."
