fic: that bright, tight forever drum (Dark Angel; Max/Alec; pg)
that bright, tight forever drum
Dark Angel; Max/Alec; pg; 1,225 words
"Come on in, Max. The water's fine."
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over.
~*~
that bright, tight forever drum
The first few times Alec slips away at night, Max doesn't really pay attention, let alone follow. They've reached the point where he'll casually let her know he's planning a job and though he'll never ask outright, she knows that's her cue to back him up. She always does--keeps him out of trouble that way.
But this isn't that.
At first, she'd thought he was sneaking out to drink and get laid, but he never smells like sex or booze when he comes back to the small apartment they share in Terminal City. She doesn't examine what he does smell like too closely, doesn't want to deal with the rush of memories the scent of chlorine carries with it.
She figures he's found his own thinking place, and she doesn't want to intrude on that (though she eventually does follow him once, just to satisfy her stupid curiosity; she still can't believe they ended up at the Hotel Intercontinental, but it's so Alec that it makes her laugh), so she lets him go without question.
The next time things go sideways, and they lose three X-6s to White and his stupid cult, she goes to the Space Needle to clear her head and get hold of her emotions, but for once, Alec doesn't follow. She'd never admit it out loud, but she's gotten used to his presence, warm and solid at her back, invading her space even there, where she goes to be alone. She waits, wind whipping rain through her hair, but he doesn't come.
It's late when she heads back down to ground level. She tells herself she doesn't care that he's left her alone to deal with what happened, that she's always managed by herself and she doesn't need him around handle it.
Still, she finds herself heading for the hotel instead of home, stolen sector pass easing her way through the checkpoints on the way.
She looks like a drowned rat, as out of place as she's ever been in the lush lobby of the hotel, mirrors on the walls reflecting her bedraggled self back in multiples. She doesn't stop at the desk, stalks to the elevators and heads for the roof.
The air conditioning on her already chilled skin makes her shiver and she's glad to exit into the humid air of the atrium. The pool is a placid turquoise in the low light, the muted splash of Alec's strokes and the heavy drum of rain on the glass the only sound in the room. He glides easily to the edge of the pool, folds his arms on the concrete and rests his chin on his hands.
"Come on in, Max. The water's fine." His voice echoes oddly off the water and the glass. When she doesn't move, he says, "You're already soaked and at least the pool is heated."
Max forgets, sometimes, that he's as observant as she is. Mostly because he rarely looks like he's paying attention to anything but the next hot chick or big score, which she knows is unfair--he's pulled more than his weight since they set up shop in Terminal City, but she's still used to thinking of him as a perpetual screw-up. Makes it easier to ignore him when he says things she doesn't like.
She wrinkles her nose and then shrugs. "What the hell," she mutters, and he grins. "Turn around," she says, irritated at the slow warmth his grin sets blooming under her skin. She bends down to untie her boots, annoyed at the sodden mess the laces have become. She waits for the wisecrack, but when she looks through her hair, he's slipped back into the water.
She keeps her bra and panties on, not ready to be naked in a public place, even if they are alone (maybe especially if they're alone), not with him.
The water is warm, and she steps into it slowly, letting it lick up her legs before she plunges in and heads for the bottom, desperate to wash away the night's loss, the sharp sting of failure. The cement is rough and warm against the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet.
She can't stop the memories from flooding her, the time she spent in the tank, the burning ache in her lungs when the oxygen ran out, the desperate lunge for air. She remembers the cold shock of water and the ice trapping her beneath it, unable to fight her way free. She bolts to the surface, gasping, and Alec's there, his hands warm on her arms. She tries to shake him off, but it's half-hearted.
"Max," he says, voice breaking her out of her memories, gentle hands brushing her hair off her face. "It's all right."
"They were just kids, Alec."
"I know." He wraps his arms around her, pulls her close, and she lets him. She wraps her arms around his waist, tucks her head into his chest, and blinks back tears. "Hey," he says, putting a finger underneath her chin and raising her face to his. His eyes are dark and soft. "It's not your fault."
"If we had just--"
"It's not your fault," he repeats. He follows the trail of a drop of water--she's pretty sure it's not a tear--down her cheek, wipes it away with his thumb. "You can't drive yourself crazy, Max."
"But--"
"Too many other people need you," he says, knowing exactly which buttons to push.
"That's not fair."
He laughs. "What are you, new?"
She swats his shoulder gently; he gives her a squeeze, and she's reminded that they're both in their underwear. She can see the dusting of freckles on his shoulders and chest, the little pool of water collecting in the hollow of his throat. She swallows hard and tenses. He shivers in response, because of course, he can feel it--they're pressed too close for privacy--and before she can push him away, his mouth is on hers. It's gentle, tentative, at first, and she thinks she should tell him to stop, but when she opens her mouth, he slips his tongue inside, stealing away her words. The kiss is hot and wet and sweet, and it warms her on the inside, sets low heat rushing between her thighs.
"Alec?" Her voice is barely a whisper, and he gives her a wide, bright smile she's not sure she's ever seen on his face before.
"Yeah?"
She takes a deep breath and kisses him again. "Thank you."
The smile turns into a smug smirk. "Anytime."
"Jackass." She lets go and splashes him before swimming off. He catches her at the wall and they play fight, dunking and splashing each other, washing away the guilt and the pain for a little while.
They dry off with fluffy white hotel towels that Max is not above stealing. "Did you see the ugly carpeting in the lobby?" she says when Alec gives her a knowing look as she stuffs them into her messenger bag. "Totally a crime against anyone with eyes." She decides she likes making him laugh, putting that warm look in his eyes.
"The rain's stopped," he says, looking up.
She follows his gaze, sees the clouds breaking up and the faint glimmer of moonlight shining through.
"Let's go home," she says, and takes his hand.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Dark Angel; Max/Alec; pg; 1,225 words
"Come on in, Max. The water's fine."
Thanks to amberlynne for looking it over.
~*~
that bright, tight forever drum
The first few times Alec slips away at night, Max doesn't really pay attention, let alone follow. They've reached the point where he'll casually let her know he's planning a job and though he'll never ask outright, she knows that's her cue to back him up. She always does--keeps him out of trouble that way.
But this isn't that.
At first, she'd thought he was sneaking out to drink and get laid, but he never smells like sex or booze when he comes back to the small apartment they share in Terminal City. She doesn't examine what he does smell like too closely, doesn't want to deal with the rush of memories the scent of chlorine carries with it.
She figures he's found his own thinking place, and she doesn't want to intrude on that (though she eventually does follow him once, just to satisfy her stupid curiosity; she still can't believe they ended up at the Hotel Intercontinental, but it's so Alec that it makes her laugh), so she lets him go without question.
The next time things go sideways, and they lose three X-6s to White and his stupid cult, she goes to the Space Needle to clear her head and get hold of her emotions, but for once, Alec doesn't follow. She'd never admit it out loud, but she's gotten used to his presence, warm and solid at her back, invading her space even there, where she goes to be alone. She waits, wind whipping rain through her hair, but he doesn't come.
It's late when she heads back down to ground level. She tells herself she doesn't care that he's left her alone to deal with what happened, that she's always managed by herself and she doesn't need him around handle it.
Still, she finds herself heading for the hotel instead of home, stolen sector pass easing her way through the checkpoints on the way.
She looks like a drowned rat, as out of place as she's ever been in the lush lobby of the hotel, mirrors on the walls reflecting her bedraggled self back in multiples. She doesn't stop at the desk, stalks to the elevators and heads for the roof.
The air conditioning on her already chilled skin makes her shiver and she's glad to exit into the humid air of the atrium. The pool is a placid turquoise in the low light, the muted splash of Alec's strokes and the heavy drum of rain on the glass the only sound in the room. He glides easily to the edge of the pool, folds his arms on the concrete and rests his chin on his hands.
"Come on in, Max. The water's fine." His voice echoes oddly off the water and the glass. When she doesn't move, he says, "You're already soaked and at least the pool is heated."
Max forgets, sometimes, that he's as observant as she is. Mostly because he rarely looks like he's paying attention to anything but the next hot chick or big score, which she knows is unfair--he's pulled more than his weight since they set up shop in Terminal City, but she's still used to thinking of him as a perpetual screw-up. Makes it easier to ignore him when he says things she doesn't like.
She wrinkles her nose and then shrugs. "What the hell," she mutters, and he grins. "Turn around," she says, irritated at the slow warmth his grin sets blooming under her skin. She bends down to untie her boots, annoyed at the sodden mess the laces have become. She waits for the wisecrack, but when she looks through her hair, he's slipped back into the water.
She keeps her bra and panties on, not ready to be naked in a public place, even if they are alone (maybe especially if they're alone), not with him.
The water is warm, and she steps into it slowly, letting it lick up her legs before she plunges in and heads for the bottom, desperate to wash away the night's loss, the sharp sting of failure. The cement is rough and warm against the tips of her fingers and the soles of her feet.
She can't stop the memories from flooding her, the time she spent in the tank, the burning ache in her lungs when the oxygen ran out, the desperate lunge for air. She remembers the cold shock of water and the ice trapping her beneath it, unable to fight her way free. She bolts to the surface, gasping, and Alec's there, his hands warm on her arms. She tries to shake him off, but it's half-hearted.
"Max," he says, voice breaking her out of her memories, gentle hands brushing her hair off her face. "It's all right."
"They were just kids, Alec."
"I know." He wraps his arms around her, pulls her close, and she lets him. She wraps her arms around his waist, tucks her head into his chest, and blinks back tears. "Hey," he says, putting a finger underneath her chin and raising her face to his. His eyes are dark and soft. "It's not your fault."
"If we had just--"
"It's not your fault," he repeats. He follows the trail of a drop of water--she's pretty sure it's not a tear--down her cheek, wipes it away with his thumb. "You can't drive yourself crazy, Max."
"But--"
"Too many other people need you," he says, knowing exactly which buttons to push.
"That's not fair."
He laughs. "What are you, new?"
She swats his shoulder gently; he gives her a squeeze, and she's reminded that they're both in their underwear. She can see the dusting of freckles on his shoulders and chest, the little pool of water collecting in the hollow of his throat. She swallows hard and tenses. He shivers in response, because of course, he can feel it--they're pressed too close for privacy--and before she can push him away, his mouth is on hers. It's gentle, tentative, at first, and she thinks she should tell him to stop, but when she opens her mouth, he slips his tongue inside, stealing away her words. The kiss is hot and wet and sweet, and it warms her on the inside, sets low heat rushing between her thighs.
"Alec?" Her voice is barely a whisper, and he gives her a wide, bright smile she's not sure she's ever seen on his face before.
"Yeah?"
She takes a deep breath and kisses him again. "Thank you."
The smile turns into a smug smirk. "Anytime."
"Jackass." She lets go and splashes him before swimming off. He catches her at the wall and they play fight, dunking and splashing each other, washing away the guilt and the pain for a little while.
They dry off with fluffy white hotel towels that Max is not above stealing. "Did you see the ugly carpeting in the lobby?" she says when Alec gives her a knowing look as she stuffs them into her messenger bag. "Totally a crime against anyone with eyes." She decides she likes making him laugh, putting that warm look in his eyes.
"The rain's stopped," he says, looking up.
She follows his gaze, sees the clouds breaking up and the faint glimmer of moonlight shining through.
"Let's go home," she says, and takes his hand.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~