Z is for Zoo 3B
She made dinner. She didn't eat it. She started to fill up the bathtub, but eventually just turned off the faucet and walked away while the tub was still half empty. She ended up just lowering herself to the couch to wait for him.
She woke up to find him staring down at her, the most neutral expression she'd ever seen on his face. She blinked at him once, twice, and then his mouth opened and his tone was almost conversational.
"I could fucking very well kill you."
What?
She scowled and struggled to sit up. Despite his palpable rage, he started to offer her help, she could see it in the twitch of his hand, but her face twisted into a scowl: she could get up on her own, thank you very much. His lips twitched, too, as he took in the stubborn set of her jaw, but his eyes fell upon the pregnant swell of her stomach, the source of her gravitational issues, and his eyes went narrow once more. He spun and walked away from her as she sat the rest of the way up. When he turned to glare at her once more, she was staring blandly at him, still sitting upon the couch, waiting.
But Alec was at a loss. He was choking on the rage, but unsure of how to release it, or even where to begin.
He was here.
She was here.
Now what?
It occurred to Alec he hadn't really thought this through when he'd been racing down the steps of that ratty old motel. The only things he felt like doing, being happy to see her, choking the life out of her, in that order, he couldn't very well do either of those things.
The silence stretched like an empty eternity between them. Max broke first, but her voice seemed strangely empty, as empty as the silence had been. It didn't crack through the room. It didn't have any of her fire.
"What do you want?"
It wasn't a question so much as it was a veiled 'get the hell out' but it made Alec pause anyway. What did he want? Once, he'd wanted her. Still did, if he was being honest, which he wasn't. Besides, why bother with honesty when she didn’t want him; had never really wanted him. He wanted answers. Answers to questions that his mind was too blank to ask. He wanted… He wanted… God, he wanted to be as angry at her as he had been thirty seconds ago.
Max must have gotten tired of him standing there in her living room, mulling over a question that she undoubtedly thought should be easy. She stood up, without any of the obvious effort that it felt like she was expending, and her voice was harder, angrier, and why hadn’t he been expecting the rage? She’d told him she’d never wanted to see him again, he should have been expecting… But behind all the rage, there was something small, lost, and hopeless. Her enraged voice cracked through the room, and the little lost soul hunkered within it. “What do you want, Alec?”
He drew into himself, defensive, and his face hardened. It was only with great effort that he kept his voice stony, when all he wanted to do was shout at her. If nothing else, at least she'd sounded like herself that time.
“You should have called me.”
The rage flared and faded and she was just tired once more. She turned her back on him, and walked to the window, to stare out into a night that suddenly seemed colder. “Sorry,” She didn’t sound sorry, she sounded bitter, and not nearly as apathetic as she thought she was. “I was busy." Busy dealing with all the work and exhaustion that having twins, on top of still trying to run T.C., meant.
He took a step towards her turned back, and the anger built once more, struggled to regain the headway it'd lost when he'd seen her face once more. The anger at being kept out of the loop, of being lied to, it came back easily enough. The anger at a woman that hadn’t cared enough to just pick up a goddamn phone wasn't that hard to find. “Well, you could have called anytime within the last three months. We both know you could have found my number if you'd wanted it."
It was the closest he would ever get to admitting that he had people in her command working for him. Or, well... he'd used to. They'd been strangely silent as of late.
If this had been a few months ago, his Max would have been enraged by even that slight admittance.
But this was not his Max. This was a Max that had transcended hatred, apparently. That apparently thought more of the grime caking the bottom of his boots than she did of the actual man within them. It scared him; it was everything he'd been frightened of when he'd been staring down at that dead Familiar in Oregon. Her eyes shut slowly, and her voice was a sigh. She'd known he'd had someone on the inside, just didn't know who, and she'd have been angry about it, but she was focusing on the other statement instead.
She could have called? How was any of this her fault?
“And you could have paged, so I guess we’re even.”
His laugh was short and disbelieving, and he was suddenly next to her, his eyes boring into the side of her face. “You’re blaming this on me?”
The corner of her mouth ticked up in something that was almost a smile, or it would have been if there’d been any humor in it. “No,” she wouldn’t open her eyes, and he vaguely wondered if she was tired, if she was empty, or if she was just pretending. “I’m blaming it on the other man that knocked me up.”
Everything within him froze. He was torn, didn’t know what to do; part of him wanted to shake her and tell her to snap out of it, the rest of him wanted to ask if… maybe he'd gotten it all wrong. Maybe she hadn’t told him because… He swallowed, and asked with that frozen face and a stiff voice, “Is it mine, Max?”
That was enough to get her attention. Her eyes popped open, her head swung to him, and for one moment, she cared enough to hate. The emotion flared within the room, brought it to life, and her beautiful face twisted and her harsh voice grated, “No, Alec, no they are not yours. They're mine.”
Despite the sharp crack of anger in her voice, it was answer enough and he relaxed, and then wondered why he relaxed. Would it have mattered if they hadn’t been his? If, over six months ago, he hadn’t been the only one that had warmed Max’s bed? That last idea, frankly, seemed so ludicrous it was almost laughable. Maybe he'd already known that and he was just relieved because that spark of rage was better than the emptiness. Proof that she wasn't as unaffected as she was trying to act. Proof, that at least right now, she was just pretending, that she was still the angry bitch he had always wanted. And then-
"They?" His eyes dipped down. She did seem pretty well developed to only be six months along. Twins? Something flared within him; something strange and protective and alive. Gillette, Wyoming and all those responsibilities waiting for him there, it all suddenly seemed like none of that was even real.
"Twins," She confirmed without thinking, and abruptly wished she hadn't. She turned away from him, from the wonder on his face that softened some traitorous part of her mind, and stalked to the kitchen to stare at food cold on the counter. He followed.
"When?"
"They don't know. Doctor Shankar says twins have a habit of coming early." The sight of the food made her stomach flip, she turned and walked past him, stopped in the bathroom doorway to stare at the cold water in the unappealing tub. He followed.
His voice was slightly more annoyed. "When, Max?"
"I told you, I don't know when they're coming." Her voice flared a bit. Even the thought of lowering herself into the bathtub was tiring. Maybe that was it. She was just tired, even if all the adrenaline in her body was telling her should be running laps, not taking naps. She turned again, and she was walking away again, and her quick trot at least got her into the bedroom before Alec's hand connected with her arms and he spun her to face him.
"Goddammit, Max, stop running away from me."
She wrenched away, anger rose. Maybe she had been trying subconsciously to escape, but a statement like that coming from him, the person that had led a revolution against her, that had avoided her for three months? Her face twisted. "Oh, that's rich."
He took a step back, his eyes went narrow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
She took a step in and glared at him, and didn't even stop to realize that for the first time in three months, it seemed like there was actually color in the world: the green in his eyes, shot through with gold, seemed so bright, the room almost didn't seem dark. "It means I find it pretty ironic that the asshole that knocked me up and then waited three months to show up is accusing me of running. The only one that's been running from anything is you."
God, she hadn't changed at all. He took a step forward. "You're trying to blame this on me? You're the one that was so desperate to get your goddamn happy ending." The ring was suddenly in front of her face, but only for a second, because it was thrown across the room before she could even grab for it.
"Hey!" Her eyes followed its violent arc through the air. It hit the wall, the diamond catching light from a streetlamp outside the window, just for a second.
"Is your fairytale really that important to you?" Alec was scowling at her. She turned back to face him and scowled right back because she had forgotten how close he was, how easily he towered over her. She lifted her chin in defiance anyway.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
He'd left her, again, and here he was, mad at her, again, and she wasn't even entirely sure why he was the one that was angry. Through it all, only one thing remained clear; God, he hadn't changed at all.
His next words came so far from left field, it just about blew her mind.
“You can't sweep me under the rug by marrying him, Max."
It was said so calmly, so directly, Max had to blink once just to be sure she'd heard him right. And then the deja vu hit. He was pulling this crap again? He couldn't possibly expect- Her face twisted in anger, but he almost liked it; it was better than the damn funk she'd been in when he'd first gotten here.
“This again? He’s the one that’s been here, Alec, not you!” She stepped in even closer, but only to shove him away, glaring. “So what if I do marry Logan? Where were you when I was puking my guts out? When I was too tired to get out of bed in the morning? Where were you the last three months when I was all alone?!”
“I would have been here if you would have told me!” He raged back. “All you told me was that you never wanted to see me again! I was trying to give you what you wanted!“
Told him what? She scowled, opening her mouth, but Alec beat her to it.
His face remained hard, he was looking at her like she was one of the most horrible people on earth. "When I asked 'when', I wasn't asking when the babies were due, Max. I was asking when you were planning on telling me they even existed."
Her face twisted, her confusion was plain, her voice almost soft. "What?"
"Was getting your fucking happy ending with Logan worth not telling me?" His impatience cracked through the air; he didn't want to hear her excuses. "Just tell me when, Max!"
“I already told you!" Max bit back harshly, suddenly defensive. “Three months ago!"
"No you didn't." Alec snapped back. "I'm pretty fucking sure that I would have remembered something like, 'oh, by the way, Alec, I'm friggin' pregnant.'"
She blinked in the darkness. Her obvious confusion confused him.
And then she scowled up at him and the whole world stopped.. "I didn't have to tell you. I told Casey. And seeing as how you two are such good friends, it should have gotten back to you!”
The anger froze. Alec froze. The whole world was frozen, and everything was quiet. Almost everything. Inside Alec’s head, he felt something ripping, heard something tearing.
He'd asked.
“…Did she tell you something to tell me?”
And Casey, a woman he'd known, protected, since childhood, the closest thing to a best friend he'd had, at least until he'd met Joshua, and maybe Max, she'd answered calmly.
“What’s there to say? You heard her same as me. She never wants to see you again.”
This whole scenario flipped in his head. He saw it from Max's eyes for just a second. She thought she'd gotten the message across. And instead of following her to Seattle, Alec had kept his distance in Wyoming, like he didn't want- like he actually believed that bullshit 'girlfriend' statement he'd shouted at her- God, she wasn't the asshole. He was. He almost staggered backwards; he calmed it to a step, instead, and tried not to show the shock and weakness racing through his limbs.
“You... told her?"
"Yes, I told her." Max raged. "I thought it would be fitting considering she'd just called me a whore."
The world wouldn't restart. It wasn't Max that had lied to him. It had been-
"God, Max, I swear,” He licked dry lips, blinked wide eyes. “I swear, she didn’t tell me. I thought-” He couldn't finish the thought. He'd thought she'd never wanted to see him again.
“You thought what?” Max scowled, turning her back on him. "Thought I traipsed across the fucking wilderness for a tea party?"
The anger was a cover, though. She felt weak, surprised, and she'd had to turn her back towards him to hide it. What did his expression mean? The answer seemed obvious. Casey hadn't told him... Her fingers curled, her eyes closed. The other woman's familiar golden eyes flashed through her mind, and her hands itched and all she wanted was to find that fucking woman and -
A flash of memory. His angry eyes. His voice so clear.“Don’t you ever call her that again. Casey and I go way back; much farther than you and I do.”
And then:
"He didn't choose you, Max. He chose me."
Her eyes popped open. So Casey hadn't told Alec. So what? The situation was still impossible. He was the same man that had led a revolt against her, that had recreated Manticore. Part of her mentioned that he was also the man that she had shared a bed with, that had worn down all her defenses. She quelled the thought with a clench of a fist that almost sent her nails through the skin of her palm.
Besides, she was marrying Logan, again, and from everything she could tell, Alec loved Casey.
That's what put her back on the right track. Alec loved Casey. And Casey had been right. Max wasn't the one Alec had chosen.
And like that, the violence in her clenched fists flared and was gone. He watched the fight drip out of her body. watched her slump like a broken marionette. His hand reached for her on its own accord and she must have sensed it despite her turned back because she flinched away. What did it matter, she asked herself. He'd made his choice. And she'd made his hers. “Was does it matter?" She repeated aloud. "I wasn’t even your girlfriend, remember? I’m just the girl you fucked.”
Alec's eyes hardened, his hand fell back to his side. The words, his words… “Max-“
“Go away, Alec.” She sounded exhausted again. She walked away from him. “Maybe it was three months ago, but I think I mean it more now than I did then. I never want to see you again.”
She wanted him to go, didn't want him to stay, didn't want him to break her down any farther.
Two steps forward and his hand connected with her shoulder to pull her around. Not as weary, or as broken, as she'd seemed, she spun and her fist cracked into his face. His jaw was red, his eyes angry when he turned his head back towards her to meet her defiant eyes.
"I mean it, Alec." She warned. "Go away."
His eyes dipped down to her much larger waistline, came back up and settled on her parted lips for just a moment, before boring into her own dark gaze.
"That's not going to happen, Max." Especially not now.
"What if I ask nicely?" Her head cocked to the side, her eyes hard. Her hard-ass stance, her familiar fire, it was like he was the moth and he couldn't draw away from her.
"Wouldn't help," He almost couldn't help that he leaned in. She couldn't help that her hard gaze turned uncertain, before her eyes started to fall shut entirely. But it's not as if their fighting hadn't had an effect on him. He hesitated just before his lips met hers.
She waited. And she hated. She hated him. She hated everything about him. And he still wasn't moving.
"Please," She whispered, sounding broken.
His gaze flicked upwards, away from her lips. Her hooded eyes, just barely open, were tight, tired, waiting, beginning to want. He could kiss her. They could fight and fuck and let the fire consume them. But they were both already so badly burned. And there was the twins between them. Literally. He glanced down at the swell that his hips were pressed against. He backed off, gave her the space she'd thought she'd wanted and couldn't stand now that he'd stepped away. He needed to think anyway. He spun and was gone, and Max, standing alone in her dark bedroom, was almost staggered by his sudden absence. She wasn't sure whether to be upset or relieved. She didn't feel either, because the light had left with him, and she'd been wrong. The world was still grey, she was still tired, and she wondered why, if she didn't feel anything, why her throat was closing like she needed to cry.
When had she turned into a weakling? Was it hormones? Or had she always been this weak when it came to lo- not love, but something that bore a strange, sick resemblence to it? She thought of Logan, of crying for Logan, and wondered why that loss and fear was dwarfed by this horrible, raging emptiness. The Max that had cried about a virus seemed so much more naive and immature than this Max that didn't know how to cry about a relationship that had never been a relationship and had always seemed more like hatred than anything else. If Logan was the fairytale, was pretty, dainty, single tracks of tears over a love not realized, and if Alec was the reality, was dark, nameless emotions that filled her, that kept building with no outlet, with no way to escape, except in sudden, angry bursts, she'd take the fairytale any damn day.
Being alive shouldn't hurt this much.
And she was afraid. Because even if Alec didn't know it, even if she didn't really want to admit it, when Alec had paused near her mouth, his face concerned, like he was trying to decide whether or not to close the distance... When she'd said 'please' she hadn't actually been asking him to leave. She'd been asking him to stay. She'd been asking for the amber burn like the strange, cold, colorless masochist she was. She staggered backwards, like he'd taken all her energy with her when he'd left, and all but collapsed to the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the doorway he'd disappeared through.