quickeningheart

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Four

   "You guys got back awfully late last night," came Charley's idle comment at breakfast the next morning. "Where'd you go?"

   Alley paused, fork in mouth, as three pairs of curious eyes turned her way. Behind her, she could almost feel Stoker's smirk. She affected her best casual air. "No place special," she mumbled around her fried eggs. "Just took a drive around the city and then walked a bit."

   "Crashed a wedding," Stoker added, making her choke on the eggs.

   "We did not!" She glared over her shoulder. "They didn't know we were there, remember?"

   His eyes crinkled as he grinned. "You're a pretty good dancer. You only stepped on my toes twice," he teased.

   Cheeks growing hot, she turned her back on him. "'Cause your big feet kept getting in the way," she grumbled, shoveling more eggs into her mouth.

   "Hmmm…" Charley waggled her eyebrows. "You do know what they say about men and big feet, right?"

   The mice exchanged confused glances. "Nope," Stoker admitted. "What do they say?"

   Alley slapped down her fork. "For heaven's sake, Charley, don't encourage him!"

   Her cousin laughed, and Alley decided she'd had enough breakfast. "I'm done," she muttered, getting up to take her plate to the sink. She turned to leave the room, only to be brought up short by a tug on her ankle. She glanced down to find the tip of a metal tail had snaked around it, holding her in place. Her glare snapped up to clash with Stoker's impish gaze and she pursed her lips with displeasure, raising an eyebrow.

   "Sorry, honey. It's got a mind of its own sometimes," he said, the very picture of innocence.

   "Yeah. And I'll bet it's attached to your dick," she snapped, yanking her leg free.

   Vinnie guffawed and Charley nearly spit out her coffee. Modo raised his single eye heavenward with a sigh, shaking his head. Throttle raised an eyebrow and peered at her over his specs, amused.

   Stoker just grinned and gave her a wink. "Cheeky brat."

   "Horny goat," she shot back, turning to stomp off to her room, their laughter following her.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Alley tried to tell herself that Throttle wasn't really avoiding her; it was just coincidence that every time she tried to get him alone, he was nowhere to be found. She'd been trying for most of the week to corner him and talk, to no avail. As determined as she was to hash things out and get it all sorted, he seemed equally determined to ignore her altogether.

   Her frustration was reaching its boiling point, and on Friday morning, after spending nearly an hour searching for him—Really, how does a six-and-a-half-foot mouse just up and disappear?—she decided that enough was enough.

   She stomped down to the garage, where Modo and Vinnie were tinkering around in the engine of a beat-up minivan. Charley had decided to take Alley up on her suggestion of having the boys help out more around the garage, and had dragged in an old clunker of a van for them to work on. "If you fellas can get this thing up and running and not manage to blow up my garage in the process," she'd challenged, "then I'll know you're ready and able to take on the real work."

   Throttle was, of course, nowhere to be found. But his bike was parked right next to the other two in its usual spot, so he had to be around there somewhere. Right? Her eyes narrowed. "Anyone seen Throttle lately?" she asked with as much sweetness as she could muster.

   The two mice exchanged glances. "He was around a little while ago," Modo said.

   "Yeah, 'til Charley came in, sayin' you were lookin' for 'im. He muttered somethin' about somethin' an' took off like his tail was on fire," Vinnie added with a shrug. "Ain't seen 'im since."

   "I knew it!" Alley stamped her foot and muttered a string of words that made both of them raise their eyebrows in astonishment. "He's been treating me like a walking disease all week! I wanna know what bug crawled up his ass, and I wanna know now." She pinned them with a glare. "I don't suppose either of you could shed a light on the subject?"

   The bros exchanged uneasy glances. "You should be askin' Throttle," Vinnie mumbled, focusing his attention back on the engine. "I dunno nothin'."

   "Gladly! Any ideas on how to glue his feet to the floor? Seems like the only way I can get him to stand still long enough to talk! Is he pissed off at me about something?"

   "Nah, he ain't pissed," Modo denied. "I think he's feelin' guilty."

   "Because of … what happened the other night? Because of Carbine?" Her cheeks turned pink. "We didn't get that carried away," she complained. "It's not like we slept together or anything."

   "I ain't hearin' this!" Vinnie screwed up his face and stuck his fingers in his ears.

   Modo huffed. "It ain't 'cause of Carbine why he's feelin' guilty." He paused to consider. "Well, okay, maybe it is. A bit. But I think it's more 'cause of … well, that." He gestured vaguely at her, and she glanced down at herself, confused.

   "Sorry, I'm not following."

   "Those, ya know … the bruises all over ya," he mumbled.

   Alley couldn't be sure, but she suspected he was blushing. Vinnie definitely was; his ears had turned dull pink through the fur to prove it. Unfortunately, so was she, if the heat in her face was any indication. She sputtered, "What, haven't you guys ever seen hickeys before? The way he was—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "It's normal! And most of 'em are faded already! 'Sides, I'm sure he's left plenty of 'em all over Carbine in the past!"

   "I ain't hearin' this!" Vinnie scowled at her.

   She scowled back. "Then little boys ought to leave the room until the grownups finish talking," she snapped, earning a laugh from Modo.

   "Look, I dunno what Throttle an' Carbine get up to when they're together, but considerin' she's covered in fur, whatever it is ain't so … so…"

   "So glaringly obvious," Vinnie finished with a snort.

   Alley felt like she'd been punched. "So, you're saying he's … what? Disgusted every time he looks at me now? Guess he should've thought of that when he was practically ravishing me by the lake!"

   Vinnie abruptly threw down the wrench he was holding and muttered something about root beer before stomping out of the garage. They watched him go for a second, before Alley shook her head. "He's gonna have to get used to it if he's gonna insist on dating my cousin," she said dryly. "I'm sure he'll be leaving his fair share of bruises on her in the future." She grimaced. "Actually, I kind've agree with him. Stuff I don't wanna know."

   Modo chuckled. "Those two'll be fine. As for you an' Throttle, it ain't that he's disgusted. Like I said, he's feelin' guilty. He ain't got experience with humans, ya know. Ya'll are so delicate compared to us. He probably thinks he hurt you. An' where we come from, any male hurts a female is the lowest sorta scum."

   Alley sighed and shook her head. "That dumbass," she muttered. "Why do I always manage to fall for the boneheads? My taste in men sucks."

   He raised an eyebrow at that, a corner of his mouth pulling up. "Guess you two really do gotta have a chat," he commented idly. "Ya look up on the roof yet? We don't go up there much in summer. Too hot. But with the weather coolin' down an' all, makes for a pretty good thinkin' spot."

   In point of fact, the roof was the one place Alley hadn't even considered checking, given it was flat, dirty, and held nothing of interest. And yes, much too hot during the day, especially for those rare folk who happened to wear fur coats all year round.

   "Thanks. I'll take a look," she mumbled distractedly as she turned on her heel to head up to the apartment, hardly hearing the amused "Good luck!" that followed her.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Throttle was indeed on the roof. He sat cross-legged on top of the small metal utility shed that housed the building's breaker switches and several maintenance supplies. His back was toward her and, given that he hadn't even turned his head when hers appeared over the top of the fire escape, he must have been deep in thought.

   Or maybe he'd just fallen asleep; she couldn't really tell from that angle.

   Alley sucked on her teeth, pondering the best way to get his attention as she crept quietly over the ledge onto the roof. Shoving him off the shed felt like a good idea, but after a moment's thought, she settled for a more subtle approach.

   She shuffled at the gravel with one foot, searching until she found a suitable stone, slightly rounded from wear and not too large. Would have made an excellent skipping stone at the lake, she mused as she hefted it in her hand a few times, testing its weight. Ah, well. It was adequate for her purpose now. She drew back her arm, took careful aim, and lobbed it across empty space toward her target. She had just enough time to think she'd have gotten at least five skips out of that one, before the pebble inevitably reached its goal and bounced smartly off the back of Throttle's head.

   He yelped in shock and, to her delight, she had the added bonus of watching him fall off the utility shed anyway, landing on the opposite side. Score!

   He popped up in an instant, glaring around the rooftop, shades knocked askew. Surprise flickered when his eyes landed on her before the glower returned full-force. "What did ya do that for?" he snapped, rubbing his abused skull.

   "There," she sniffed, crossing her arms. "I just put a bruise on your thick head. We're even. Now will you kindly stop acting like such a jackass?"

   He gaped at her for a second. "H-huh?"

   She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "We need to talk."

   His expression shuttered and he turned his back to her again. "Ain't got nothin' to say," he mumbled. Then he yelped when a second pebble bounced off his skull. "Ow!" He glared over his shoulder. "Stop that!"

   "It's funny. All these weeks I thought you were a giant talking mouse, not a giant talking chicken dressed like one," she taunted.

   He glowered. "You lookin' for a fight?"

   "Sure!" She held up both fists. "If that's what it takes to get you to open your big mouth and talk to me, bring it! I can take ya!"

   He gaped at her … and then promptly dissolved into laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach in his mirth.

   She pouted. "Now who's lookin' for a fight?" she grumbled, dropping her hands to her sides. When he continued to chortle, she huffed. "Fine. Keep laughing. When I break your arm you won't think it's so funny." Of course that threat only served to make him laugh harder, leaning against the shed for support. Despite herself, her own lips started twitching in response. He looked so cute when he was caught in the throes of uncontrollable hilarity.

   His chortles finally died, and he leaned back to catch his breath, wiping his eyes under his specs.

   "Better?" she asked with saccharine sarcasm.

   He glanced at her, a snort escaping as his mouth started twitching all over again. At her glare, he managed to pull himself together, jerking his chin at the shed before hopping up to its roof again.

   Taking it as an invitation, Alley climbed the rusty ladder screwed into the wall, seating herself beside him on the roof with her legs dangling over the edge. "So," she began amicably, "why are you avoiding me? Is it because of the other night? I'm sorry. Maybe I should've stopped it sooner, but I was kinda … caught up in the moment." She blushed and glanced away. "I'd go back in time and fix it, but that's not really an option. So can't you just forgive me and move on?"

   "Th-that ain't why—I'm not mad at you," he sputtered, gaping at her.

   "Then why have you been skulking around acting like I've got some contagious plague all week? The only time I ever see you is when everyone is together. It's like you're afraid to be alone with me."

   He pushed up his specs to rub at his eyes in a tired gesture. "I already said I don't blame you for any of this. I'm the one who lost my cool," he muttered. "I got too carried away. I … hurt you." He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, shamefaced. "All those marks … I didn't know I'd been so rough with you."

   Alley sighed deeply, reached up … and calmly brought her fist to the back of his head.

   "Ow!" he yelped in shock. "Why do you keep hitting me?"

   "Because you seem to be permanently stuck in stupid mode," she said dryly. "I figured whacking the reset button a few times might knock you out of it, but it doesn't seem to be working."

   His jaw dropped, eyes wide behind his specs as he sputtered for a comeback.

   "Throttle, if you'd been hurting me, do you honestly believe I'd have let it continue?" she snapped. "Sure, you're bigger and heavier than me, but one well-placed knee to the groin would've put an end to it real fast. I doubt even big, tough Martian mice are immune to that sort of pain."

   He flinched, shifting away ever-so-slightly, and she chuckled. "But … I bit you," he reminded her, embarrassed.

   She considered. "Yeah. You did. That kinda stung. Don't do it again," she told him sternly. When he proceeded to look even more miserable, she rolled her eyes and gave him a playful shove. "I'm teasing, you idiot. Stop looking like I just kicked your puppy."

   He frowned and turned to stare out across the city. She gave his arm a shake to draw his attention back to her. "Look, the important thing here is that when I told you to, you stopped. There aren't a whole lotta guys I can say that about," she continued. "Most of the dates I've had, those guys wouldn't back off so easily. They could have definitely used a lesson or two from you on how to respect a girl's wishes."

   He shrugged, looking away again. "Their mamas didn't raise 'em right, that's all," he mumbled.

   "Their mamas didn't raise 'em at all. I suspect most of 'em probably crawled out of a sewer, given their manners," she joked, trying to get him to smile. It didn't work. She sighed and idly kicked her feet against the metal wall.

   "Why date 'em then?" he asked after a moment.

   She blushed faintly, shrugging one shoulder and looking away. "They asked. And they were all cute, so why not? I've always liked a pretty face. I'm kinda shallow that way," she mumbled, embarrassed to admit it to him.

   He considered for a moment before sliding her a sidelong glance. "This mean you think I'm cute?" he teased.

   She blinked at him, surprised, before a smirk touched her lips. "First off, what we had wasn't a date," she sniffed. "But … sure. You're not hard on the eyes." She gave an offhand shrug. "Once you get past all the fur."

   "Gee, thanks," he deadpanned.

   She smiled. "I wouldn't have made out with you if I didn't like you, Throttle."

   He glanced away, shifting uneasily. "What about Stoker?"

   Her smile disappeared. "What about Stoker?"

   "You two've been awful chummy lately, takin' all those late-night rides and all," he mumbled.

   Her frown deepened. "Well, yeah. It's part of the plan. Remember? That plan where I go into Limburger's tower, risking life and limb to hand over a set of papers that'll hopefully bring the next big bang to his planet?"

   "That ain't what I meant."

   She shook her head, confused. "This setup depends on Limburger believing that I weaseled the info away from Stoker, and to do that, he needs to see us together. As often as possible. So us going into the city and acting all … lovey and stuff is kinda necessary. But it's just a ruse. It doesn't mean jack. Besides, we haven't done more than hold hands. Well, he's walked with an arm around my shoulders once or twice. And there was the dancing that first night. But that's it! He knows not to push the boundaries."

   "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his sights on you."

   Alley cocked her head. "Are you jealous?" she asked, a slow grin spreading across her lips.

   "What? No!" he yelped, eyes wide. "I just don't wanna go steppin' on anyone's toes, is all! Bros before babes. It's the Freedom Fighters' Code!"

   "How unbelievably sexist of you," she sniffed. "I suppose the 'babes' don't get any say in the matter?"

   "No, that ain't—"

   "What are you so worked up about, anyway? You have a girlfriend." Alley turned in her seat, crossing her legs under her to face him fully, expression serious. "Let me make it clear. In case you didn't already figure it out, I really like you, Throttle. Like, way more than any of those other guys I dated. There's this saying, you gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. Well…" She blushed and glanced away, shifting. "You're my prince," she mumbled shyly. Upon seeing his astonished expression, she hastened to add, "But I don't have any intention of getting between you and Carbine! And I don't have any desire to be some stand-in for her until you can see her again. You are unavailable and I respect that."

   He tried to talk, but she held up a hand.

   "As for Stoker, he flirts a lot but … flirting is just flirting. And I can't really take him seriously when he acts that way. I don't dislike him, though. I respect him, and I certainly don't intend to play on his supposed feelings just because the guy I want doesn't want me back. That's a shitty thing to do to anyone."

   Throttle looked like he wanted to protest, but the rumble of an approaching truck caught her attention, drawing her eyes to the road. A large, bulky van was lumbering down the street, bouncing over the pitted ruts, swerving to avoid the worst of them. It started to slow as it reached the garage. "Oh. Charley's supplies delivery must be in. Guess I'd better go help her check them in," she said, getting to her feet. She suddenly wanted this conversation to be over, embarrassed that she had said so much. Had she really just told Throttle he was her prince? Like some sappy little teenage fangirl? She supposed she could be grateful that he hadn't laughed her clean off the roof. Ugh.

   She stretched the kinks out of her back, dusting stray rust flakes off her jean shorts. "Anyway," she said, turning to face him and forcing a smile to her face, "how about we both do ourselves a favor and just pretend this entire thing never happened, okay? Just put it out of our heads. We're friends, that's it. I don't make any weird advances, and you don't tiptoe around acting like I'm gonna jump your bones next time I see you. Deal?" She held out her hand.

   He gazed at it as he got slowly to his feet, his own hand extending. His fingers slid and meshed with hers, palms pressed together. Her heart skipped a few beats at the contact. "Maybe that ain't why I was avoidin' you," he murmured, his serious gaze meeting hers over the top of his specs. "Maybe I was just tryin' to avoid temptation." He stepped closer, eyes lidding. "Knowin' how you feel … it's makin' things mighty difficult," he added, his husky voice deepening to a low, sensual purr. "Maybe it's your bones you should be worryin' about."

   She sucked in a breath as his free hand slid into her hair. His thumb stroked lightly along her jaw and she unconsciously leaned into his touch. "Th-that's not fair," she protested around a shaky sigh. "H-how are we supposed to stay friends when you keep saying such unfriendly things?"

   She felt his heat as he stepped even closer, breath stirring her hair. "Maybe we ain't," he replied, before his mouth came to rest against her parted lips.

   He kissed softly, slow and gentle, and although she wanted to protest, she was helpless to act as he draped her arms around his shoulders, then slid his about her waist, pulling her close. His tongue dipped in, tasting carefully, and she was lost in his scent and taste and touch, just as incredible as she remembered. His tail snaked around her leg, and she decided that she was perfectly content to stand there and let him thoroughly seduce her on the hot, dirty tin roof.

   Unfortunately, the loud, highly-obnoxious clearing of a throat quickly put an end to that idea.

   They broke apart with startled gasps, panting for breath, staring at each other with wide eyes before turning reluctant gazes toward the fire escape.

   Alley was both gratified and annoyed to find Charley standing on the ladder, chin propped on the crossed arms resting on the ledge as she watched the show with raised eyebrows. "Sorry to disrupt, kids, but Stoker just brought home a very nice surprise. Thought you'd both like to know." Without another word, she clambered down the ladder.

   They glanced at each other, before Throttle hopped off the shed, reached up to lift her down, letting her slide along his body until her feet touched ground. She forced her shaky legs to move as she followed him along the rooftop to the fire escape, clambering down to her bedroom window and climbing in. He was already at the apartment stairs, and she hastened to keep up as he took them easily.

   There were people in the garage, she realized. Several of them. And she didn't know them. And every single one of them had fur and tails. She stopped dead in her tracks, nearly running into Throttle's back; he had also stopped to gape, looking as flabbergasted as she felt. "Who are they?" she whispered.

   One mouse in particular seemed to have caught his attention, his eyes locked on a small female with pale gray fur and long black hair. She turned to him, a smile brightening her scarred face at the sight of him. "Hey there, stranger," she called softly, and Alley felt an immediate sinking in the pit of her stomach. She knew who this was.

   "C-Carbine." The name slipped from Throttle's mouth on an astonished breath, and all the strength seemed to flood from his legs as he abruptly dropped to the floor.

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Biker Mice from Mars #make up your mind Throttle! #unexpected company #whoo boy now what?

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Three

   “So … lemme get this straight.” Alley sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, lips pursed, arms crossed, one foot tapping against the cabinet door below her as she stared Stoker down. “You want me to march into that snake pit completely unarmed, all by my lonesome, and hand him a bunch of fake plans. And then expect me to waltz on out again with all of my body parts still intact?”

    “You don't have to waltz. Walking's just fine,” Stoker teased, chuckling at her dirty look. “You won’t be by yourself,” he added patiently. “Charley’ll bug you. I’ll be listenin’ in, and if anything goes wrong, I’ll go straight in and bust you out of there.”

    “How come we don’t get to go in and bust her out?” Vinnie whined.

    “Because I’d like to get her out with all her body parts still intact,” he deadpanned. “I doubt that’ll happen if I let you three anywhere near the tower.”

    Alley huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t see what could possibly go wrong with this idea,” she exclaimed sarcastically. “Except for … well, everything.”

    Stoker chuckled. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

    “How do you know he’ll even do what he says and sort my records out?” she complained. “What if I give him these plans and he just turns around and shoots me on the spot?”

    “Ain’t his style. He’ll do what he says, ‘cause I’m guessin’ he might be keepin’ you in his sights. If he thinks you pulled this off, he might consider makin’ you a permanent mole an’ have you do other jobs for him in the future.”

    Her jaw dropped. “Oh, swell. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life being blackmailed by this jackass?”

    “Nah.” Stoker waved off her concern. “He might proposition a legitimate job. I’m sure he’ll make offers you can’t refuse.”

    Modo released a derisive snort. “Ol’ Lard Butt does have a pretty way with words when he wants somethin’,” the big mouse grumbled, fingering his bionic arm and earning a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Charley.

    Alley pursed her lips, recalling the conversation in the limo. “He did try pretty hard to convince me how rich and influential he is,” she muttered.

    “There. You see?”

    “But I am not going to be his mole.”

    “Aw, why not?” Charley teased. “Sounds like a fun time. Hey, you could act as a double agent!”

    “Yeah, our own, personal James Bomb,” Throttle put in, grinning.

    Alley clapped her hands, face brightening. “Hey! You know what would also be fun? Dunking me in a bucket of chum and tossing me into a tank of hungry sharks!”

    “Awwoooo! Now you’re speakin’ my language!” Vinnie exclaimed, giving her a hearty clap on the back that sent her straight off the counter and onto the floor with a startled yelp. “Eh … whoops.” He offered a sheepish grin, using his tail to pick her up. “Dunno my own strength.”

    Alley just glared, limping to a safer corner of the kitchen.

    “So? Will you do it?” Stoker asked, catching her hand as she passed and smiling up at her. “Think of it this way. Not only will you help save your own planet, you’ll also help finally put an end to the decades-long war on Mars. You’ll be a hero.”

    “I don’t want to be a hero,” she grumbled, fidgeting. “Besides, even if this does work, as soon as Limburger figures out the plans aren’t real, what’s to stop him from trying to pull the same crap all over again? Or come up with some new way to ruin my life?”

    “Because he’d know then that even blackmail won’t make you turn against your friends and family,” Charley replied firmly. “He’s not one to waste time and money on a scheme that he doesn’t believe is a hundred percent foolproof.” She stopped to consider, smirking. “Even if he does turn out to be wrong a hundred percent of the time, thanks to my boys here.”

    There were cheers and the clinking of root beer bottles all around. Alley proceeded to look unimpressed.

    “And if it makes you feel better, the plans you’ll be handing over won’t be fake anyway,” Stoker said, grinning slyly.

    She blinked at him. “What, I’m gonna give him the real thing?”

    “Well … sort of.” He tapped the pages on the table. “I’ll be making a few … tweaks to these, and handing over the new set. All it takes is a minor change here and there, and my Regenerator can be turned into something else entirely. If the Plutarkians succeed in building it, it won’t create. It will destroy.” His smile was grim and hard. “It’ll have the power to set off a chain reaction that could cripple their entire planet, and hopefully turn the tide of this war, possibly end it for good.”

    “You’ll do to them what they did to Mars,” Throttle guessed.

    He nodded. “That’s the idea. If it works. There’s a chance they’ll actually study the plans closely enough to figure out the discrepancies and realize they’ve been altered, but my hopes are the Plutarkians are desperate enough for resources that they’ll cobble something together in haste and test it without double-checking.”

    “What if they cobble and test without double-checking here?” Alley asked.

    Stoker hesitated, frowning. “Hmmm. Suppose that’s always a possibility,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “His pet mad scientist probably wouldn’t be able to resist tinkering around with the plans…” He leaned back with a shrug, linking his hands behind his head. “Guess you’ll just have to convince Limburger that it’d be more beneficial for him to take it straight to Plutark.”

    “Oh, sure! Piece of cake!” Alley threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t know anything about anything about these guys!”

    “From what I know of them, getting promoted is a definite life goal,” Charley said thoughtfully. “The higher up the ladder, the better, and they’ll step all over each other to get there.” She nodded at the plans. “A tinker toy like this would probably earn Limburger a boot straight up to the top rung and all the benefits that come with it. All you gotta do is drop a hint here and there… He’ll be all over that bait like stink on a dung heap.”

    Alley slumped. “What happened to just handing him the plans and walking out?”

    “So, there’ll be a little negotiating in between,” Stoker teased, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture.

    She huffed a sigh, raising her hands in defeat. “Well, seems like it’s all been decided,” she grumbled. “Just point me in the direction of the firing squad, and we’re good to go.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Three hours later, Alley couldn’t help thinking she’d have been better off facing a firing squad. “I still fail to see,” she called over the roar of Stoker’s motorcycle, “how you talked me into getting onto this thing. It did try to kill me, you know!”

    He turned to her with a grin, plopping a spare helmet over her head. She recognized it as the one she’d worn when Throttle had taken her out, and a twinge of guilt shot through her. She shoved it aside, annoyed with herself. After all, it wasn’t like she and Throttle were dating or anything. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her for most of the day. She felt just a little peeved about that. What happened between them had been just as much his fault as hers, she thought grouchily. Why was he even mad about it, anyway?

    A husky chuckle piped into her ear, distracting her. “My girl here didn’t try to kill you.” Stoker sounded far too innocent. “She was just playin’, that's all.”

    Alley rapped on the back of his helmet with her knuckles. “Do I look that gullible to you?”

    Another laugh answered her. “She’ll behave herself, I promise. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.” His bionic tail coiled around her waist. It was surprisingly warm, but a lot harder than Throttle’s tail had been, the metal links pressing uncomfortably into her sides.

    She shifted. “Don’t hold on so tight. You’re gonna suffocate me,” she complained.

    “Sorry, honey. Hard to tell sometimes.” The links loosened a bit. “Better?”

    “Yeah.” She moved closer, slipping her arms around his chest as he roared out of the garage. “So, explain again exactly how taking a ride with you fits in with the plan?”

    “Your original job was to weasel information outta me without my knowledge, right?” he reminded her. “Turn my head with your ‘feminine wiles’?”

    “I guess…” she muttered, wishing she’d kept that part of Limburger’s harebrained scheme a secret. It had been embarrassing enough to admit it, especially with all the guys sitting right there, looking way too amused by the idea. And of course Stoker wasn’t about to let it go.

    “Well, it’d look pretty suspicious if you showed up at the tower with all the info he’s lookin’ for just like that,” he continued. “We need to take our time. I figure if we want to pull this off, we’d better give Limburger a show. He’s probably keepin’ tabs on us both. He sees you ridin’ around with me, he’ll be more likely to take you at your word when you finally show up and hand over the plans.”

    She harrumphed. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to get me alone with you?” she accused.

    He chortled, clearly amused. “Well … there is that,” came the sly response, and she retaliated with a hard pinch to his ribcage and a yank on his fur that made him yelp and jump in surprise. His torso shook as he laughed. “Best we save that kind of play for later,” he teased, far too amused for her liking. “This is only the first date.”

    Alley groaned and thumped her head against his back.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   They rode around the city for two hours, indulging in the age-old tradition of sightseeing, and Alley had to admit it was kind of enjoyable. She hadn’t really had a chance to explore downtown Chicago, and at night the view was exceptional, with everything lit up and glowing like a fairyland. Stoker seemed to know exactly where he was going, and she wondered how often he had been through the city to be able to navigate so easily. He drove slowly, giving her ample time to look, and eventually parked the bike, where they continued on foot.

    He led her on a walk through the streets, along the waterfront, and through a number of parks, waiting patiently whenever she paused at points of interest to snap pictures with her phone. They eventually reached a large lake with a well-lit, cobblestone path. Ordering her to take a rest, he headed for a nearby street vendor to order her a soft pretzel. The vendor did a triple-take at first sight of the large, talking mouse, but otherwise didn’t react as he intoned the amount owed and handed over the food.

    Alley mumbled a thank you when Stoker sat on the wooden bench beside her and handed over the pretzel. She watched the vendor watch them, casting furtive glances in their direction as he turned hotdogs on a spit. “I can’t believe he's not reacting,” she whispered. “Did he not notice the mousy features and antenna?”

    Stoker chuffed a short laugh. “Humans are funny that way. When confronted with the strange and unexpected, they tend to concoct rationalizations to explain it away. Maybe I’m from a late-night party or one of those costume conventions or somethin’.” He leaned in to snag a bite of her pretzel at the same moment she was about to take one, making her blink, her cheeks warming at his proximity. He winked as he sat back, chewing thoughtfully. "Of course," he continued after he'd swallowed, "pretty sure that guy’s one of Limbuger's spies."

    Alley started. "How do you reckon that?"

    He hummed. "Made brief contact when I paid him. Got a sense of unease but not a whole lotta shock. Also.” He tapped his nose. "Got a real faint whiff of Plutarkian, which means he’s been in touch recently.”

    Alley shifted uneasily. “How recently?” she muttered, glancing around.

    Stoker reached down to squeeze her hand resting on the bench between them, offering a reassuring smile. “Don't worry. It ain't that surprisin', really. Limbuger's probably got stool pigeons all over this city, keepin' an eye on things for 'im."

    Alley's appetite was suddenly gone. She sighed, handing him the rest of the pretzel. "He’s that influential? How can people work for a guy like that? Don't they realize what he's trying to do?”

    Stoker shrugged. “Money and blackmail will buy almost anyone. He's got a lot of influence in the upper-class.”

    “And by upper-class, you mean the cops and stuff, right?”

    “Sure. But not just them. Take a look. Downtown Chi Town. Gorgeous, right? But the further out you get, the worse it is. Goin' from glitz to condemned in just a few miles of pavement.”

    “Yeah. And?”

    He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Well, if you think about it, the whole setup's a lot like one of those medieval kingdoms,” he explained. “All the wealth and power presides in the center of the kingdom, within the highest walls. The royalty, the aristocrats and lords … all of the ones who hold the power over everyone else all live there. Outside those walls is everyone else. The commoners who depend on the overlords for their livelihoods, who don't get much of a say in what goes on, or much knowledge that anything does go on. Even if their king is a black-hearted bastard that would sell out the entire kingdom to an enemy for a quick buck, they might not realize that until it's too late.”

    Alley thought it over, nodding slowly. “That … makes a lot of sense,” she murmured. “And lemme guess. Limburger is the king of Chi Town?” She gazed at the towering skyscraper in the distance, with two large Ls emblazoned on the side. “And that's his castle.”

    “Yep.” Stoker nodded, looking disgusted. “That ain't far off. To most of the city, he's a friggin' saint. Take a look at some o' those charity lists sometime. His name appears on almost all of 'em. But don't be fooled; they ain't donations, they're bribes, and they're what goes a long way to keepin' everyone with any influence under his thumb, and all his secrets safe.”

    Alley eyeballed the vendor again, who continued to watch them discreetly even as he served up food to two more pedestrians. The more she found out about her foe, the more uneasy she became. “So, if he really has eyes and ears all over the place, how do we know he hasn’t already figured out this is just a setup?"

    "We don't. But I figure since nobody's come roarin' up and opened fire on us yet, it’s safe to believe he still thinks you’re on his side. As long as we keep up the charade, of course."

    She glanced at him, eyebrow raised. “And just how long are we supposed to keep up the charade? I mean, we drag this out too much and he's eventually gonna realize something’s up.”

    “What, you’re not havin' fun? Guess I need to step up my game a bit. Gotta impress the lady,” he teased.

    “…I kinda think you're missing my point.”

    He chuckled, getting to his feet and offering a hand. She reached to take it, allowing him to pull her up and lead her further along the cobbled path surrounding the lake.

    They approached a large gazebo that was strung with twinkling fairy lights. A number well-dressed couples were dancing inside, with more mingling on the lawn, talking and laughing with food and wine in hand. Most likely a late wedding reception, Alley mused, watching them. Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when the crowd parted in the gazebo, and she caught a glimpse of white satin and lace. Strains of music reached her ears from the small orchestra playing on a makeshift bandstand, as a dark-haired man in a sleek black tuxedo crooned into a microphone.

    “Care for a dance?” Stoker asked, nudging her.

    She shot him a droll look and crossed her arms. “I dunno, Stoke. I don't usually make a habit of crashing other people's parties. It's generally considered impolite.”

    “Aw, they won't even know we're here,” he scoffed, moving closer to the gazebo. She huffed and followed him off the lit path, into deeper shadows cast by the trees. His eyes gleamed as he smiled down at her. “Don't worry, honey. I promise not to complain when you step on my feet.”

     “Uh, excuse me, sir, but I think it's your big clodhoppers we gotta be worryin' about,” she sniffed with a haughty toss of her hair.

    He laughed. “Well, seems like there's only one way to solve this disagreement, eh?” He held out his hand in invitation, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

    She hesitated, then rolled her eyes and accepted it. “Oh, why not? Lead the way, Astaire.”

    “Who?”

    An unexpected laugh bubbled out of her as he spun her into an easy dance, just as the band kicked into an upbeat version of Van Morrison's Moondance. “Fred Astaire is an old time actor. One of the greats. Not surprised you never heard of him, though. He never starred in a James Bomb movie,” she teased.

    Stoker laughed and spun her out, then in again, catching her effortlessly. Alley had to admit that she was impressed. His dancing was definitely better than she'd expected, and so far her feet remained untrampled. She couldn't say that about the last guy she'd danced with. Chaz might've been handsome, but he'd been born with two left feet, which she'd discovered the hard way at her senior prom. “I’m amazed,” she commented as the song wound down and the next began. “Looks like you’re not just talk, after all.”

     “Hush,” he scolded lightly, slowing their pace. “I’m tryin’ t’ listen.”

    She tilted her head, realizing that the new song was a cover of Bon Jovi’s You Had Me from Hello. She closed her eyes and Stoker pulled her closer, and the dark-haired singer crooned into his microphone:

    When we walk into a crowded room it's like we're all alone     Everybody tries to kidnap your attention     You just smile and steal the show

    You come to me and take my hand     We start dancin' slow     You put your lips up to my ear and whisper way down low

    From the first time I saw you it felt like coming home     If I never told you I just want you to know     You had me from hello

    Alley had heard this song dozens of times, but had never paid such close attention to the lyrics before. The melody was lovely, the words soft, romantic, sensual… It was the perfect song for a pair of newlyweds. Or two would-be lovers dancing in the shadows.

    Her heart kicked in her chest, and she was suddenly aware. Of his breath soft on her neck. Of his hands firm at her waist. Of her arms looped loosely around his shoulders, fingers buried in his soft mane, and bodies pressed so closely together that she could feel him breathing.

    H-he isn't the one I should be doing this with, she realized, uneasy. She removed her arms and slowly stepped away, gaze lowered.

    Stoker let her go, but she could feel his eyes on her; she knew that he'd sensed something, but to his credit, he didn't push the issue. “Um, w-we should probably get back to the garage soon,” she mumbled, unable to meet his knowing gaze. “I'm sure we gave Limburger enough eye candy for one night.”

    “Sure, honey. Let's go home,” he replied easily.

    When she chanced a peek at him, his expression was carefully neutral, but he reached out to snag her hand, threading their fingers together as they walked. His palm flush to hers was warm, a bit calloused, his grip firm and comforting. And she couldn't seem to make herself shake it off the entire walk back to the bike. She told herself it was strictly for appearance's sake, desperately ignoring the warm, fluttery butterflies swarming her belly.

    She was afraid to admit that she knew better.

Next

*You Had Me from Hello (c) Bon Jovi. 

#Biker Mice from Mars #bikermice #bmfm fanfiction #date night! Sort've...

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-Two

  Stoker was seriously contemplating building himself a new hideout. While the laboratory he kept well-hidden in the wilderness was large and well-stocked with equipment and supplies, it was becoming more and more difficult to come and go as he pleased without detection. He'd done his best to keep his whereabouts a secret, but Limburger was definitely onto him, if the amount of hired thugs constantly sent out to tail him was any indication. The goons might not have been particularly intelligent, but they were annoyingly persistent; Stoker knew that one of these days he was gonna slip up and lead someone right to his lab, and then everything he'd spent the last ten earth years trying to achieve would be sent straight down the proverbial crapper.

   Even the thought of all the work it would require to set up a new workshop was exhausting, but he couldn't risk his project by staying where he was, and he didn't want to move house to one of his other, smaller hideaways scattered across the country. Moving farther from Chicago—and therefore from his comrades—just didn't sit well with him.

   Which was why he found himself cruising down the ruined streets of the large warehouse district not far from Charley's garage. What had once been thriving industrial businesses were now nothing but empty husks of their former glory, ranging from mildly dilapidated to completely demolished. Not even the street gangs and city lowlifes bothered much with the abandoned neighborhood anymore; there wasn't any point as there was no longer anyone left to terrorize. Now they tended to hang out in other areas, living it up in the massive chasms edging the outskirts of Chicago.

   The result of Limburger's past handiwork, the Pits had become home to every sort of human criminal in Illinois over the past few years. Everyone knew it, including the police. Yet, for some reason, they never seemed to have enough of a reason to go in and raid the place. Stoker was certain that was the result of Limburger's handiwork, as well. He'd bribed the law enforcement and government officials to leave the Pits alone; in exchange, the Pit Boss left Limburger's extensive enterprise alone, and provided all the hired muscle needed to do his dirty work. It was a very beneficial business arrangement all around.

   While that knowledge really ground Stoker's gears, right now it worked well to his benefit. Nobody bothered with this district—including Limburger—which meant he had free access to the empty warehouses. And on the off-chance that anyone should get a little too nosy, they could easily be taken care of; after facing down squadrons of Plutarkian soldiers, a few stray punks were hardly any threat. He'd become an expert at setting alarms and traps. If Limburger sent more goons to trail him, they'd be in for some nasty shocks. He couldn't do much in the way of self-defense in the middle of the wilderness, but abandoned factories full of potentially hazardous junk was a different matter altogether.

   With a little planning and a lot of fortification, Stoker was sure he could rig up a decent laboratory to continue his work while he was on earth. A little careful rerouting would give him ample power needed to run his diagnostics, and he'd be right on the home turf, ready to lend a hand should the rookies need it. As much as it aggravated him to admit it, those hours-long rides between the city and his lab were really starting to wear on his body. It would be a nice change to not have his muscles and bones constantly aching from the strain.

   A sharp beep snapped him out of his inner musings, and he nearly lost control of his bike when it made a sudden veer to the left, narrowly missing the lone figure trudging down the middle of the street, who yelped with fright and scrambled out of the way. "Watch where you're going!" she screeched, and Stoker's eyes widened when he immediately recognized Alley's voice. He slammed on the brakes and made a sharp turn, coasting back her way. What was she doing, wandering these streets all by herself? True, he hadn't seen so much as a stray cat in the general vicinity, but still. She had to know that walking alone wasn't safe! Had something happened to her? Again? He chuckled and shook his head. That woman was a walking trouble magnet, and if he had any sense, he'd keep his distance.

   Too bad his sense always seemed to shrivel up and die whenever those gorgeous blue eyes turned his way.

   He pulled to a stop beside her, opening his visor to turn on the charm … and it was then that the distinct odor of Plutarkian hit him full in the face.

   He reared back with surprise and mild alarm; a soft whufff escaped before he could catch himself, and Alley scowled at him, not missing the flash of disgust that wrinkled his sensitive nose. She started to walk on, but he didn't give her a chance. He was off his bike in a second and blocking her path, frowning down at her. "What happened?" he asked, concern sharpening his tone.

   "Nothing," she snapped, her scowl deepening. He felt her defenses go up, preparing for a fight, and bit back a sigh. As much as their bantering amused him, she could be downright exasperating when she set her mind to it. And while he knew she had every right to be a little peeved at him for his behavior the night before, right now it was time to let bygones be bygones. He wasn't about to let her clam up on this subject. Not when her safety was at risk.

   "Nothing?" he repeated, one eyebrow raising. "I can smell Plutarkian all over you."

   "Then feel free to take yourself upwind." She attempted to step around him. Again, he blocked her path, and she glowered. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Get out of the way!"

   Stoker exhaled a deep sigh and tried for patience, resting his hands on her slim shoulders. "Alley," he began gently, and a startled expression crossed her face at the rare use of her name. "If Limburger did anything to you, hurt you in any way, you need to tell me. Please."

   Her brow furrowed and she glanced around nervously; it occurred to him that she never seemed to know how to respond when he was being serious with her, filing that information away for later consideration. "Did Limburger lay hands on you?" he pressed, and she winced when his fingers inadvertently tightened at the thought. He immediately gentled his grip, rubbing her shoulders briefly in apology.

   "He didn't touch me," she finally mumbled. "He just … caught me by surprise, and one of his guys came up behind me and forced me into his car."

   "Why didn't you fight back?" he asked, offering a wry grin. "You've got a hell of a right hook."

   "Yeah, well, wouldn't do much good against the gun in my back."

   A low growl erupted deep in his throat, making her eyes widen. He forced himself to calm down. "What happened next?"

   "That's nobody's business but mine." She tried to ease away, but he maintained a steady grip on her shoulders and gazed patiently down at her. When she stubbornly refused to talk, he sighed deeply and nodded toward his bike. "Hop on. I'll give you a lift back."

   "There's nothing wrong with my legs."

   "Just do an old soldier a favor and get on. Your cousin would skin me alive and use my pelt as a coat if she found out I'd let you walk through this neighborhood by yourself."

   "Fine." She huffed a sigh and stomped to the bike, started to swing a leg over the seat, only to stumble when the machine rolled smoothly forward. She eyeballed it cautiously and tried again … with the exact same result. She nearly fell that time, Stoker's quick reflexes the only thing keeping her from a pair of scraped knees.

   "Stop that," he scolded, scowling and giving the rear wheel a light kick. "What's got into you?" He was answered with a series of sharp beeps.

   "Your pet doesn't seem to like me," Alley muttered, backing away.

   "Hmm. Maybe 'cause you clocked me?" He winked. "She's kind've protective of me."

   "You deserved that and you know it!" she snapped.

   He sighed and scratched his head. "Yeah, I sorta did," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "Stuck my foot where it didn't belong, I guess."

   "Yeah. Straight up your—" Alley broke off with a yelp when the bike suddenly rolled backward, the rear tire missing her foot by mere inches. "Okay, that's it." She turned to stomp away. "No way in hell are you gettin' me onto that homicidal machine! I've seen too many movies with these scenarios and they never end well."

   "Now look what you did," Stoker scolded the bike. "Way to make an impression."

   It gave a sulky grumble in reply.

   "I don't wanna hear it." He waved it away. "Take yourself back to the garage and think about your actions. I'll walk." He strode after Alley, leaving the still-grumbling bike to roll off like a dejected puppy.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   They'd only been walking a few minutes more before they caught sight of Charley racing full-tilt up the street toward them, a panicked expression on her face. He easily deduced the cause of her fright, holding out his hands in a reassuring gesture as she approached. "Relax, we're both fine," he said.

   She came to a stumbling halt, bent double with hands resting on her knees for support as she gasped for breath. "You scared the crap outta me, Stoke," she scolded. "Your bike came roaring into the garage all by itself… I thought something had happened to you!"

   "Nah, just keeping a pretty lady company." He jerked a thumb in Alley's direction.

   Charley shot her an exasperated glance. "And do I even wanna know why you're here? I thought you were at the school."

   "Long story," Alley muttered.

   "She had a run-in with Limburger," Stoker supplied bluntly.

   Alley pursed her lips. "Okay, not that long."

   "What happened? Are you okay?" Charley started to look panicked again.

   "I'm fine." Alley's shoulders slumped. "We just talked, that's all."

   "After forcing her into his car at gunpoint," Stoker put in.

   Alley glared. "Feel free to take yourself back to the garage," she snapped, pointing in its general direction.

   "Alley Cat, come on. You know we're just trying to help," Charley coaxed, slinging an arm around her cousin's shoulder. "Just tell us about it, and maybe we can come up with a game plan."

   "I wasn't supposed to let anybody know anything," Alley sighed, head drooping. "If Limburger finds out I told…"

   "He'll have to go through us to get to you," Stoker growled, expression darkening. "And we won't make that easy for 'im. Trust me on that."

   "It's not him getting to me that's the problem," she complained. "It's what he won't do that has me worried."

   "Which is…?" Charley prompted.

   Alley sighed again. "Just lemme get back and take a shower to wash this stink outta my hair. I'll fill you in on all the gory details later." At their dubious expressions, she cracked a small smile and held up four fingers. "Scout's honor."

   "Alley Cat, that's still the—"

   "Oh, shut up."

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Feeling much more humane now that she could freely breathe without the lingering odor of Eu de Dead Fish in her nostrils, Alley sat down in the kitchen with the entire gang and related the story over plates of hot dogs.

   When she finished talking, there was immediate uproar, with all of the mice in favor of storming the tower and blowing it up again. Alley panicked at that. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything! You macho lunkheads are gonna ruin the whole thing and then I'll never get back into college!" she wailed.

   Stoker ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "So, seems like this is my fault," he muttered, scowling. "Limburger got suspicious of my actions, now Alley's the one sufferin' for it."

   "It ain't like you knew he was gonna target her," Throttle pointed out.

   "Yeah. If we're gonna play the blame game, you might as well point fingers my way. He targeted her 'cause she's related to me," Charley added.

   "Oh yeah! That's another thing." Alley glanced at her cousin, frowning. "He called me Parker. He knows my history. He deliberately dug it up for some reason."

   Charley tsked. "Now, what was that supposed to accomplish?"

   "Beats me. He seemed to think us not being blood related would—" Alley cut herself off, suddenly aware of four pairs of eyes fixed on her with varying levels of surprise. She raised an eyebrow at the gawping mice. "What?"

   "You … ain't related?" Modo ventured, frowning.

   Alley blinked at him, then glanced at Charley. "Didn't you tell them?"

   "Oh. I guess it never came up. Honestly, never even occurred to me to mention it." The mechanic shrugged with a grin.

   "What it?" Vinnie asked.

   Alley shrugged. "I'm adopted," she replied simply, and smirked when four furry jaws dropped. "Look, it's easy. My birth dad died when I was really little, like barely two. My mom met the Davidsons when her car broke down, and she and Charley's uncle hit it off and eventually got married. That happened when I was five. Dad officially adopted me just after that and I became a Davidson, too. I mean, it's all there in public records and all, but it ain't like it's right up there for anyone to just stumble over—"

   "—which means Limburger deliberately went digging around fishing for info about you," Charley finished with a frown.

   "Yeah. He seemed to think I'd be willing to help him because we're not 'really cousins'." Alley quoted the air with her fingers.

   "Heh. Typical Plutarkian family values," Stoker snorted. "They ain't exactly known for their loyalty to kin. Theirs is a fish-eat-fish world. Literally. Plutarkian clans are spawned in the thousands, and, well … you ever watch those nature shows? About the fish and insects that hatch and it's basically survival of the fittest from the get go?"

   The women gaped at him. "You mean they actually try to eat each other?" Charley looked disgusted at the idea.

   "Yep." Vinnie wrinkled his snout. "The ones who survive to adulthood are the lucky ones."

   "Yeah," Modo put in. "An' it ain't no wonder they're all the baddest, meanest species in the known universe."

   "They'd be somebody's lunch if they weren't," Throttle finished with a shake of his head.

   "Wow. That's enough to almost make me feel sorry for them," Alley said. She was met with blank stares all around. "I said almost," she huffed, then sniggered. "Given the size of him, Limburger's probably an only child by this point."

   "Ugh. And here I didn't think I could loathe the Plutarkians any more." Charley wrinkled her nose. "So, anyway, now that we know what Limburger is up to, what're we gonna do about it? He's gonna expect an answer soon. And he'll get suspicious if he doesn't get one."

   "I ain't just handin' over my plans," Stoker said firmly.

   "Well, nobody expects that. But I do want to know what these plans of yours are." Charley fixed him with a stern look. "They dragged my family into this mess, so fair's fair. If he's desperate enough to find out what you're up to, who's to say he'll stop with Alley? What if he decides to expand out and go after our parents as well? They have no idea what's going on over here. They'll never stand a chance!"

   "He's never gone after them before," Throttle said doubtfully.

   "He's never gone after my cousin before, either. Now that the idea's in his brain…"

   Vinnie placed a comforting arm around Charley's shoulders. "Time to fess up, Stoke. What've you been up to down here that has you wanderin' off all the time?"

   The old general sighed and sat back in his chair, considering. "No harm in telling you now, I guess," he grunted, before getting to his feet and stomping down to the garage. He returned moments later carrying a long cylinder tube, from which he pulled several rolled blueprints. He spread them over the table, using cups and plates to hold down the curling edges. The mice and Charley gathered around to examine the plans. Alley took a quick glance but quickly gave up; they were a bunch of layouts for what looked like a weapon of some sort, but the writing was all in an alien language. Judging from the growing astonishment and beginnings of delight spreading on the boys' faces, though, it seemed to be something amazing.

   "Stoke! This is—" Modo couldn't finish the thought, swallowing several times. His single eye was suspiciously glassy.

   "Does this mean…?" Vinnie breathed, looking awed.

   "We-we're saved," Throttle murmured, shaking his head. His eyes were wide behind his specs. "Mars will be whole again." He seemed dazed.

   Alley leaned in to whisper to Charley, "Is it a super laser or something?"

   "No," she whispered back. "It's no weapon. I can't make sense of all of it, but it seems to be some kind of a … a conductor."

   "I call it the Regenerator." Stoker glanced around the table, smiling. "It's a matter-conversion device that will hopefully restore Mars to its former glory. It can create water, food, plant life … the possibilities are endless, really. Right now, it's nothin' more than an idea and a bunch've parts and supplies I've been gathering. It requires very specific ingredients that are difficult to come by. Ironically, the most important ingredient—its power source—are tetra-hydrocarbons, found only on earth."

   "So you've been out searching for them?" Charley asked.

   "Yep. In the wilds. Deep in the mountains. They're rare, though. And hard to get to."

   "Why all the secrecy, Coach?" Throttle asked. "We could've helped you search—"

   "Negative, soldier." Stoker shook his head. "Tetra-hydrocarbons are dangerous to work with. Too much exposure can lead to nasty results. Mutation of cells and other such pleasant experiences. Not only that, I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up too high, in case it's a failure." He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "I can't make promises that it'll even work. But I had to try."

   Charley placed her hands on Stoker's shoulder and squeezed. "Stoker, in all this time I've known you, you've never let us down. When you say you'll do something, you always do it and succeed. Mars has faith in you. You will definitely be able to build your Regenerator and it will work."

   "No pressure!" Alley chirped, smiling innocently at her cousin's exasperated glance.

   "We definitely can't let the stinkfish get their greasy hands on those plans," Modo rumbled, frowning. "It'd be disastrous."

   "Well, couldn't it be a good thing?"

   All eyes turned to Alley, who squirmed under the sudden scrutiny. "Look, hear me out. I mean, this Regenerator is supposed to build stuff, right? Like natural resources?" She waved a hand. "Say it does work. So, the Plutarkians attack other planets 'cause they're on the endless quest for stuff for their planet. But if they had a machine that made endless resources, they wouldn't have to go out hunting down and stealing everyone else's! They could all go home and waste resources to their hearts' content and leave the rest of the universe alone. Happy endings all around! Yay!"

   Vinnie's jaw dropped. "Say, that ain't a bad idea!"

   "It does seem pretty logical," Modo agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

   "Nope, wouldn't work," Throttle grunted, earning a frown from Alley. "The stinkfish are fighters by nature. They're born straight into it and it's all they know. If Stoke's right and you can build anything with this machine, what's to stop 'em from makin' bigger, better weapons and ships and findin' some other reason to attack planets?"

   "Have to agree," Stoker added. "Aside from that, tetra-hydrocarbons aren't limitless. Their power would eventually run down, and as it's something the Regenerator can't recreate, earth would always be a prime target for Plutarkians. They'd tear this planet apart looking for new replenishment."

   Alley sighed and Charley patted her shoulder. "It was a good idea, though. Smart thinking," she encouraged.

   "It was, actually." Stoker rubbed his chin, eyes narrowed in thought as he stared down at the blueprints. "It might actually hold a bit of merit."

   "Uh-oh." Charley raised an eyebrow. "I recognize that look. What are you thinkin' now?"

   "I'm thinkin' I can recognize a good opportunity when I see one." Stoker glanced up, a sly grin curling his mouth. "Ladies and gents, I think it's time we set up a little trap of our own."

Next

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #biker mice from mars #ocs #Charley #Stoker #the trio #what has Stoker been up to?

[quickeningheart]

Twenty-One

   Alley could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning in her bed, trying to get comfortable. Her dreams were disjointed and strange. Not outright nightmares, but disturbing nonetheless. It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, she found herself back at the lake, wrapped in Throttle’s arms.

   When the clock read four-thirty, she finally gave up and struggled out of bed, yawning widely and raking her fingers through the tangles in her hair. By habit, she reached for the bag of pellets to feed Mercedes, only to remember that she was no longer there. Grumbling, she gathered the supplies, tossed them into the cage, and carried the entire contraption to her closet and shoved it inside. There, she decided. Out of sight, out of mind.

   Still half-asleep, she threw on her robe and stumbled out to the kitchen to fix herself some coffee. She considered making eggs, decided she wasn’t awake enough to risk fiddling with Charley’s ancient, temperamental stove, and settled for cold cereal instead. That early in the morning, there wasn’t much of anything on. She stared listlessly at reruns of the Twilight Zone, ate her Cheerios, and tried to decide what to do next about her college situation.

   Next thing she knew, she found herself jerking awake as the floor shook and rumbled; someone was opening the garage door. Realizing she’d dozed off, she glanced at the wall clock to see that it read quarter to seven. “Morning, sunshine,” Charley called from the kitchen as heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs.

   “And a good morning to you, too, Beautiful,” Vinnie announced cheerfully as he wrapped his tail around Charley's waist to pull her in for a hug.

   She rolled her eyes and gave his chest a light swat. “I wasn’t talking to you,” she teased, untangling herself and striding toward Alley, offering the sleepy blonde a fresh cup of coffee.

   Vinnie crossed his arms with a petulant pout, ears drooping. “I tell ya, I get no love,” he complained to his snickering bros.

   Charley paused on her way back to the kitchen just long enough to reach up and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Morning, handsome,” she murmured into his ear, causing his entire face to flush pink as the snickers turned into outright laughter.

   Alley ignored their antics and sipped her coffee, wondering if she should go back to bed. She didn’t think she could deal with the obnoxious flirting today. She risked a quick peek over the back of the couch. Throttle leaned against the wall, arms crossed and one leg propped, the very picture of casual aloofness. He was very carefully not looking at her. She sighed and turned around again.

   “Oh, yeah. I found this in the mail slot this morning.” Charley waved a white cardboard envelope with the Fed Ex logo stamped on it, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of her cousin.

   “Mom overnighted them? That had to be expensive.” Frowning, Alley slit open the envelope and pulled out a thin stack of papers, looking them over. “I dunno, Charley. You think old report cards and homework papers will really be enough to convince them I was set up?” she asked doubtfully.

   “All you can do is try,” her cousin replied. “Ask your friends to get you in to see the dean. He’s their father, right? If you explain to him, I’m sure he’ll be willing to help.”

   “Yeah, okay. I’ll stop by the college today and see if Chex can help me out. Or maybe Chris. He seems to have more influence with his parents.” Alley could only hope he’d be willing to help her. Given his reaction last night, she wasn’t too sure he’d be willing to even talk to her. The thought left a sour feeling in her stomach. “I’m gonna go change,” she mumbled, standing. As she passed Throttle, she gave him a hopeful glance and a small smile. His gaze slid her way, and she saw his eyes widen behind his field specs as he gave her a long once-over.

   "What?" She glanced down at herself, wondering what was wrong. Did she spill coffee on her pajamas or something?

   “Nothin’,” he muttered, pushing off the wall and wandering into the kitchen. Stung, she looked at Modo and Vinnie, who merely shrugged, looking as confused as she felt. She shook her head, turned and stomped to her room. Whatever. Her situation with Throttle would have to wait for a bit. She had more important things to deal with at the moment.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Three hours later, Alley plopped down on a bench under an oak tree on the East Campus and tried not to give in to frustrated tears. She had taken a cab to the campus hoping to see Mr. Archer, but had been firmly rebuffed by the ever-vigilant Mary. Meetings all day, she’d said. Not to be disturbed.

   Alley had next tried texting Chex, only to discover that her class schedule was booked full until well into the afternoon. Finally, she’d tried texting Chris. As she’d feared, he refused to respond. Nor did he answer when she tried to call. She told herself it was probably because he was in class and had the phone turned off, but part of her knew it was more than that.

   “Wow. You look like the whole world just imploded.”

   Startled, Alley glanced up to find Chex bouncing toward her, dressed in skin-hugging black jeans and an electric blue, medieval-looking corset blouse with long bell sleeves. The outfit was finished off with a pair of studded biker boots and a lace choker studded with blue metallic roses.

   “You goin’ on a date?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

   The redhead plopped down beside her. “The step-monster insisted I dress ‘classy’ for school.” She grinned, holding out her arms. “This is me bein’ classy.” She riffled around her leather bag and pulled out a canned coffee. “Want one? I’ve got like six of ‘em in here.”

   “Isn’t that heavy?”

   “Sure. But it works great as a weapon to beat off my countless admirers.” She grinned and popped the tab, taking a long swig. “Ahhh, caffeine. The ambrosia of life for college students everywhere,” she sighed.

   Alley laughed, accepting a can of mocha espresso and taking a sip.

   “So, you get anywhere with Pops?”

   She sighed. “No. Mary refused to let me in. I tried calling Chris but … he won’t answer. I think he’s kinda disgusted with me.”

   “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s a spaz but he’s cool. He’ll come around. Eventually.” Chex took another swig out of her can. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll just beat some sense into him, is all.” She finished off the coffee and tossed the can into a nearby garbage bin. “This whole thing is just weird. I mean, I don’t ever remember a student getting kicked out and being accused of cheating after the term already started. They usually catch it way ahead of time. Someone really dropped the ball on that one. Their ass better get fired.”

   “Except I didn’t cheat,” Alley grumbled. “I was totally set up. Charley thinks my files were hacked through the school system. And the guys think Limburger has something to do with it. I think I was just the victim of a prank or something.”

   “Hmmm…” Chex tipped her head back. “Speaking of the Purple People Eater, I haven’t seen him around campus lately. Not for a week or two, at least. Even his smelly goons stopped showing up. Little weird under the circumstances, dontcha think?”

   “That could just be coincidence.”

   “Or maybe the guys are on to something. Like, what if it was a setup? An inside job! What if Limburger promised to leave the school alone if someone, like, changed all your records or something?”

   “But why?” Alley huffed a frustrated sigh. “What purpose would doing that serve? The school sits on valuable property, and Limburger’s entire purpose for being here is to strip-mine choice property for his own planet’s needs. He’d stand to lose a lot more than he’d gain by promising to leave it alone, just to ruin the reputation of one student.”

   “It is a conundrum. Lucky for you, I love a good mystery. So I’ll help you solve this one! I can go undercover, snoop around in the office files and stuff for clues. There’re advantages to being the dean’s kid, you know.” Chex slung a conspiratorial arm around Alley’s shoulders. “And in exchange,” she added with a smirk, “you can tell me all about your hot date with Throttle.” She batted her heavily-lined eyes and affected a Valley Girl accent. “So, like, are you two, like, going steady?"

   “Not hardly. He has a girlfriend.”

   She winced, removing her arm. “Ooh. Ouch.”

   Alley snorted. “You can say that again.” She fiddled with the can in her hands. “It’s all awkward between us now. I don’t think he knows what to say to me.”

   “Well, no wonder. I mean, he cheated on his girl.”

   “He didn’t cheat!” Alley blushed when Chex raised an eyebrow at her outburst. “I mean … not really. I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I guess what we did do was bad enough.”

   “Too bad.” Chex smirked. “Goin’ by what I saw last night, I bet it would’ve been hot.” She tugged at the collar of the dark purple lace blouse Alley had thrown on over a black camisole, to hide the majority of the bruises.

   Alley stared at her. “You don’t think it’s … weird? Me making out with a giant mouse?”

   “Please.” Chex laughed. “You’ve never met my friends. You ain’t seen weird until you meet a guy with metal spikes drilled into his skull. He can switch 'em out and everything! Last I saw him, he had a rainbow on his head. It was awesome.”

   Alley giggled, finishing off her coffee and tossing the can. “That definitely sounds … colorful. By the way, aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

   “Yeah, I’ve got one starting any second now. I was on my way when I saw you sitting here being all mopey.”

   “Won’t you get in trouble for being late?”

   “Pfft. What’re they gonna do, kick the dean’s kid outta the classroom?”

   Alley’s lips twitched. “Noooo … but the professor might complain to your dad about it. Or worse. Your step-mom.”

   “Oh. That’s a good point.” Chex picked up her bag and hopped to her feet. “Sorry, girl. Love to stay and keep prying info outta you, but I’ve got creative writing to attend."

   “Have fun! Guess I’ll call a cab back to the garage in the meantime. Nothing else I can do here, for now.”

   “You’re not getting a pickup?”

   “Charley needs her truck, and frankly, the thought of getting on the back of one of those motorcycles again freaks me the hell out. Those guys are scary when they ride!”

   “Damn. I’m jealous.” Chex sniggered at Alley's expression. “Look, there’s a shuttle that transports students between the campuses. It shows up in front of the Atrium like every two hours. Just ride that to the city campus and catch a bus line from there to the garage. Way cheaper than a cab.”

   “Isn’t that for the students, though?”

   “Uh, hello. You are a student. At least you will be when this crap gets sorted out. You still have your ID, right? Just flash it at the driver and hop on. Not like he’d know the difference.”

   “Sure. I’ll do that. Thanks.”

   “Right. Well, gotta book. Later!” Chex turned and made a mad dash for the nearest building, leaving Alley alone on the bench.

   She sighed and got up, trudging toward the Atrium and trying her best to look like an aloof, bored student just waiting for a ride as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She jumped a bit when her phone suddenly buzzed, pulled it from her pocket to find a message from Chex.

           Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. I told the step-monster about your jewel stuff. Here’s her business email address. Mail her a pic of the necklace and any other pieces you have  and tell her you’re looking for appraisal with interest in selling. Trust me, she’ll be ALL over it. Later!

   Alley smiled and put the phone away. Well, one thing seemed to be going right, at least. Charley would be glad to hear the news.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   Chex was right about the shuttle. When the short white bus finally pulled up, Alley took a fortifying breath, flashed her most innocent smile and her student ID, and made beeline to the very back of the vehicle when the driver hardly gave her a glance. Three other students boarded with her; none of them paid her any attention, and she relaxed.

   She found herself dozing on the ride back into the city, jerked awake when the bus pulled to a stop and the other passengers noisily got up and filed off. She grabbed her bag and hastily followed, finding herself in front of a tall, gleaming skyscraper of a school. She released a breath and pulled her phone, using its GPS to locate the nearest bus route. There was one only two blocks over. Hiking her bag over her shoulder, she started to walk. She’d barely taken ten steps, however, before a horribly familiar voice brought her up short.

   “Well, well, young lady. We meet yet again.”

   Alley froze, a shiver trembling up her spine as a gaudy Rolls Royce pulled up to the curb beside her. The faint whiff of rotten fish drifted through the open window, making her nose itch and a hard sneeze threaten to erupt; she forced it back by sheer willpower, stepping further away from the curb as the limo’s suicide door swung open and Limburger’s gleaming eyes peered out at her from the shadowed exterior of the car. Those eyes reminded her of a shark, cold and lifeless. So did his wide smile, all teeth and false charm.

   “Lawrence Limburger. What an … unexpected surprise,” she said, relieved when her voice sounded steady and calm.

   “Yes. Quite,” he responded. “If you would be so kind, I do wonder if you might spare a few moments of your time?”

   The chills grew stronger and Alley swallowed, hard. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid. Got a bus to catch—”

   “Oh, this won’t take long. I merely wish to discuss some business with you. A few minutes, that is all I require. If you would kindly take a seat?” He gestured to the cushy bench seat across from him.

   “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that getting into cars with complete strangers is a terribly bad idea? I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. Send me a letter. I’m sure you know where to address it.” She started to back away, only to be brought up short as something hard poked firmly into her back. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder … and nearly had a heart attack as a huge, smelly goon dripping grease and dressed in filthy overalls leered down at her.

   “Da boss asked yas nicely ta gets in da car, girly,” he growled, prodding harder with the gun. “So gets in.”

   “My associate, Greasepit.” Limburger gave a dismissive wave. “Best do as he says. He’s not a particularly good shot, but at this range I doubt even he can miss.”

   Heart sinking, Alley reluctantly climbed into the limo and curled up on the seat across from the Plutarkian, calling herself all sorts of stupid. She should’ve bolted the moment she’d heard his voice, but how was she supposed to know he’d be ballsy enough to grab her in broad daylight, in the middle of downtown Chicago?

   The door slammed shut, and the car pulled from the curb, merging into traffic as horns blared and tires screeched to avoid collision. The interior of the limo was frigid, the air conditioning turned up full-blast. And even that couldn’t quash the thick, maelstrom stench of too many air fresheners, old cigars, and the rancid, toe-curling odor of rotting seafood. Alley breathed shallowly and tried her best not to be sick all over Limburger’s nice, purple-upholstered seat. “So, you wanted to talk. So talk,” she snapped, affecting a bravado she was far from feeling at the moment.

   "Oh, don’t be tiresome,” Limburger sniffed. “No need to look at me like that. After all, we’re not, in fact, complete strangers. You know me, I’m sure. And I do know all about you, Miss Allyson Kelly Davidson.” His smile reappeared. “Or, should I say … Parker?”

   Alley blinked in surprise.

   “I hear you’ve been having some … difficulty in regards to your educational endeavors these days,” he continued, his voice practically dripping well-feigned sympathy.

   Her eyes narrowed. “You heard that, huh? Boy, bad news sure travels fast.”

   “Indeed. And I believe I may be of some assistance in regards to this particular issue. I am, after all, quite influential in this city. A well-respected citizen. An entrepreneur. An—"

    “—illegal alien?” Alley cut in sweetly. At his raised eyebrow, she pasted on her most innocent expression. “I’ve heard rumors.”

   His thick lips curled. “In point of fact, a few phone calls and some words from me will go quite a long way to restoring your academic reputation to its former glory. I daresay your scholarship funding will be reinstated, your classes rescheduled, and it will be as if this little … mishap never occurred in the first place.”

   Alley pursed her lips. “Uh-huh. And you’re going to do this for me from the overwhelming generosity of your heart, I suppose?”

   He snorted. “Don’t be absurd, Miss Parker—”

   “It’s Miss Davidson to you.”

   “Now, now. Let us keep our tempers, shall we?” His smile was cold. “As I was saying, I am a businessman, and this is a business proposition. I can give you what you want. And if my many sources are to be believed, you can give me something I want, in exchange.”

   “And that would be…?”

   “Information.”

   She waited for the addendum. When none was forthcoming, she frowned. “Information,” she repeated. “That’s it?”

   “Quite.” Limburger removed a small tin from his pocket, selected a sample of its contents, and slurped down what looked like a limp noodle. Then, noting his guest’s stare, he offered the tin to her. “Would you care for a taste? They are the very finest quality.”

   Alley leaned in for a closer look, curious despite herself … and instantly recoiled when the contents squirmed.

   Limburger chuckled, clearly pleased by her reaction. “They are called Plutarkian Slug Worms,” he explained. “Although the name is a bit misleading as they're completely earthen in origin. My own creation, actually. Genetically spliced from your common earthworms and garden-variety slugs, with just a pinch of snail thrown in. The taste is exquisite.” He sighed blissfully, and Alley shuddered. “They are considered quite the rare delicacy on Plutark, which means, of course, that I can charge a large fortune for a small sample, and Plutarkians will pay through the gills to obtain it.” He slurped down another worm with relish. “Are you certain you would not care for a taste?”

   “No thanks. I just ate,” Alley muttered, shrinking back into her seat, not even trying to hide her disgust.

   “Your loss.” He snapped the tin closed. "As I was saying," he continued, "my sources have informed me that you and I share a common acquaintance with a certain trio of, shall we say ... individuals."

   Alley decided there was no point in pretending; he’d obviously done his homework and knew exactly who she was. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the Biker Mice,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands primly atop her knee.

   “Indeed. Those destructive, flea-ridden miscreants and their overbearing machismo! Pestilent parasites, the lot of them!” he snarled, slamming his fist against the seat, before remembering himself and clearing his throat. “But, ironically enough, it is not them I have vested interest in.” He straightened his tie. “There has been a fourth mouse seen coming and going these past few weeks. A rather infamous leader of their little rebel band. He’s been on earth before, but never for such prolonged periods. So, I must say I am quite curious to know what he’s been about these days. Perhaps you can satisfy my curiosity?”

   Alley pursed her lips, considered … then shrugged. “If you’re talking about Stoker, he isn’t their general anymore. He retired. His niece has taken over. Or so I’ve been told.”

   “Yes, yes, I know all that already,” he snapped, waving her off irritably. “What I want to know is why he came to earth and what he’s been up to down here!”

   She shrugged again. “I can’t tell you that. I have no idea what he gets up to. Nobody does. He’s very hush hush about the whole thing.”

   “Ah, but he is up to something, isn’t he?” Limburger smiled evilly. “Slippery as an eel, that one. Coming and going at all hours. Oh, I’ve had him followed but he’s too wily and too cautious for that. Gives me the slip every time. Infuriating, really. But! I know he is working on something big, which might possibly tip the balance of power out of Plutark’s favor and turn the war around, and that simply will not do.”

   Alley shifted uncomfortably. “Well, like I said, I don’t know anything, so I’m afraid I can’t help you. Can I get out now?”

   “But we are not finished conversing yet,” Limburger purred. “You may not know anything now, but my sources inform me that Stoker seems to have taken quite a … fancy to you.” His lips pulled into a sneer. “Use your feminine wiles! Charm the information out of him. If he’s anything like those other rodents, he’ll be putty in your pretty little hands.”

   “You want me to seduce him?” Alley felt her face slowly turning red.

   “Oh, nothing so tawdry as that,” he sniffed. “Simply cozy up to him, simper and flatter and pull the information from his besotted brain before he even realizes he’s let it slip. Then, pass it on to me.” He reached into his jacket, withdrew a foil-embossed business card and offered it to her. “When you find the answers I seek, come see me here. You give me whatever information you’ve obtained, I make those phone calls, and voila, your credibility and your scholarship is fully restored.”

   Alley accepted the card, frowning. “And what do you plan to do with the information?” she asked.

   “That, my dear girl, is hardly your concern. Your job shall be quite finished by then.”

   She pursed her lips. “I still don’t see why I should help you. You’ve made my cousin’s life a living hell, trying to take her garage. Helping you would be the same as betraying her.”

   “And why should that matter?” he sniffed. “After all, it isn’t as though you’re really cousins, now is it, Miss Parker?”

   Alley flushed, opening her mouth to retort, but a command from Limburger had the car lurching toward the curb, throwing her off-balance as the brakes slammed on and brought it to a screeching halt. The driver door banged, and a few moments later, the passenger door swung open. She cringed away at the sight of the three-eyed … thing in a driver’s cap grinning up at her. It held the door open with one arm and gestured at her to exit with the tentacle that made up its other. “Watch your step,” the creature intoned cheerfully as she hastily scrambled from the limo.

   “Do consider my proposition carefully,” Limburger called after her. “You have much to gain by your cooperation, you know. The restoration of your scholarly endeavors could be only the beginning! Why, a man of my wealth and influence could—”

   “Okay, I get the point!” she snapped, stuffing the card into her pocket. “Just … gimme a bit. I’ve gotta think it over. Stoker’s not an idiot, you know.”

   “Of course,” he purred, lips curling into a triumphant smirk. “And I need not tell you to keep our little rendezvous between just the two of us. After all, as they say, discretion is the better part of valor.”

   “Great. An alien fish who quotes Shakespeare,” she muttered as the car moved on with a screech of rubber. She glanced around, realizing with uneasy shock that she'd been dropped off in a rather unsavory section of town. The buildings were far more rundown, the roads pitted and cracked, and the population seemed to be nonexistent. Cursing under her breath, she pulled up her GPS again to locate Charley’s garage, finding with surprise that she stood only six blocks away from it.

   Unfortunately, those six blocks happened to be in the wrong direction from the nearest bus station; she’d have to walk past her destination in order to catch a bus. Looked like she was gonna have to hoof it. At least, she thought dryly, the hike would give her time to air out the stench she was sure had seeped into her clothes and hair by then. As it was, she probably wouldn't be smelling anything but dead fish for the next few days. Ugh. Talk about an appetite killer.

   Sighing heavily, she began trudging toward the Last Chance Garage, wondering just how much weirder her life could possibly get.

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #bikermice #limburger #ocs

[quickeningheart]

Twenty

    The garage doors were shut, which meant either the gang was still out investigating, or it was later than Alley had thought and the Last Chance was closed for the night. She hoped for the former as she typed the security code into the panel on the wall, allowing the door to raise halfway before slipping under it.

    No such luck. They were all back. She wasn’t particularly shocked to find people still inside the garage; she was surprised to find that Chris and Chex were among them. She hadn’t noticed either of their cars parked on the street.

    “So, you totally blew off lunch,” Chex scolded as she bounced forward. “I was mad until I got your text. Man, that blows. I can’t believe—Holy hell what happened to you? You get into a fight or somethin’?” She stopped talking long enough to give the frazzled blonde a lengthy once-over.

    Embarrassed, Alley glanced down at herself, noting the state of her clothes, wrinkled and liberally stained with grass and dirt. She was sure her hair was a tangled mess, their braids long undone. She couldn't even guess where the elastic bands had gotten to; she strongly suspected they were still back at the lake. “Oh. Uh…” She felt herself blushing under the scrutiny. “M-My pet rat just died.” She held up the empty box. “Throttle took me out to bury her.”

    “What, did he try ‘n bury you along with her?” Chex jumped when Chris elbowed her sharply in the side.

    “Ignore the birth defect. She suffers from chronic Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome. I’m sorry about your pet, Alley.”

    “Uh, yeah. Me too. That bites.” Chex offered a sheepish grin. “Rats are cool.”

    “It’s okay. I feel a little better now. I was afraid I'd just have to dump her body, but Throttle helped me bury her under a tree. It was kind've therapeutic. He carved her name into the trunk. Even said a little blessing over her grave and everything. It was really sweet.”

    Charley and the mice exchanged glances, eyebrows raised all around. “Yeah,” Vinnie sniggered. “Real sweet of ‘im.”

    Now it was Charley’s turn to make use of her elbow. “You gonna be okay?” she asked her cousin, concerned. “That’s a lot of bad news for one—”

    “Holy shit, girl, is that a hickey?” Ignoring her brother’s exasperated sigh, Chex grabbed Alley’s sweater and peeled it back. “It is! There’s like a whole flock of ‘em!” She looked inexplicably delighted by the discovery, eyes sparkling with devilish humor. “Sooo … after burying your pet, I guess he decided to help distract you from your grief with a little wrestling and—”

    She was once again cut off by a swat from her brother. “Don’t be disgusting, Chex,” he snapped. “She’s a human! He’s a giant rodent! There’s no way they could—”

    “Says you,” Vinnie cut in with a derisive snort, stepping forward to sling a possessive arm around Charley’s shoulders. “From where I’m standin’, we can just fine, thanks.” Two jaws dropped, and Charley looked like she wanted to crawl into the floor.

    “You mean … the two of you are—” Chris choked out.

    “She’s my girl,” Vinnie confirmed proudly. “An’ I’m her mouse!”

    Charley just sighed and shrugged in a what-can-ya-do gesture.

    Chex’s shock slowly faded as a delighted grin reappeared. “Gettin’ frisky with the furries!” She nodded approvingly. “Dude, that’s hot.”

    Charley and Chris both choked. Vinnie preened. Modo looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Alley kind've understood how he felt. She groaned and wiped a hand over her face. “Chex, really?”

    “What?” Her expression was all innocence.

    “I’m goin’ to bed.” Alley stalked to the garbage bin to dump the empty box into it.

    “Aw, come on, it was just gettin’ good!” Laughing, Chex moved to keep her from leaving. “What happened between you two while you were out burying things? And how come he’s not here?”

    Alley was wondering that, herself. Damned mouse, throwing her to the wolves like this… “Nothing happened,” she growled.

    “Your appearance would suggest otherwise,” Chex teased. “Come on, tell!”

    Alley shot a pleading glance at her cousin, who merely raised an eyebrow in return as a small grin twitched around her mouth. Clearly, she would be getting no help from that quarter. Huffing, she turned to stomp up the stairs, only to run headlong into a furry body directly in her path. Startled, she looked up to find Stoker standing over her, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck. His fur was damp, clearly just from a shower. “Yes,” he deadpanned, expression droll. “Do tell us what happened while you were out tonight.” He stepped back to look her over, face darkening as he took in the smattering of love bites visible under the open sweater. He reached out to yank its hood until it slipped down around her elbows, revealing the bruises peppering her throat and collarbone and even further, vanishing under her clothes. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he took in the suspicious hole in her shirt, dotted with traces of blood. She could feel the hot flush spreading over her skin, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a crack and hide.

    “Did he attack you?” Stoker finally asked, voice deceptively soft.

    She gaped at him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

    “Yeah! She was obviously a willing participant,” Chex put in with a snicker. Stoker shot her an annoyed glance; she held up her hands in surrender and backed off, still smirking.

    “Nothing happened,” Alley growled, stamping her foot.

    “I can smell him all over you. Those bruises don’t look like ‘nothing’.”

    Blush darkening, she yanked her sweater closed and glared. “It’s none of your business, either way!”

    Chris shifted uncomfortably. “It’s getting late,” he muttered. “We gotta get back to the dorms or we’ll miss curfew.”

    “But we just got here! You were soooo insistent on coming out and making sure Alley was okay. What happened to helping her in her time of need?” Chex asked, pouting.

    He sneered. “Looks like someone already beat me to it."

    Alley straightened, shooting him a wounded look. “That’s not fair!”

    “Oh, don’t mind him.” Chex smirked. “He’s just pissy ‘cause his crush totally got laid.”

    Chris’s face slowly turned a deep shade of crimson. “Blow it out your ass, Connie,” he snarled over Alley’s denials. “I’m going back to the dorm. You comin’ or you gonna walk?” He turned to stomp off.

    “Wait! Chris…” Alley called after him. He ignored her.

    “Ooooo, touchy. No worries, I can catch a ride!” Chex shot Modo a hopeful glance, who in turn frowned at her, the very picture of fatherly disapproval. She heaved a sigh, rolling her eyes. “Okay, fine. Should’ve drove myself. Hold up, Spaz, I’m comin’!” Mouthing a quick “call me” to Alley, she turned to trot after her twin.

    Leaving Alley to face the wolves by herself. She gulped.

    There was a long, awkward silence, during which Alley fidgeted nervously and considered making a mad dash for her bedroom. Of course, Stoker effectively blocked her route up the stairs, but there was always the fire escape...

    "So," Charley began, effectively breaking the silence. "Can I take this to mean that you've become more open to inter-species relationships?"

    Alley pursed her lips, nonchalantly picking caked dirt from under her fingernails. “I’m no longer … completely opposed to the idea,” she mumbled.

    "How generous of Throttle, steppin’ up to help you overcome your aversion to our species," Stoker snorted, looking anything but happy. "Way to take one for the team."

    Jaws dropped all around. Modo and Vinnie exchanged alarmed glances as Charley sighed heavily and wiped a hand over her face, shaking her head.

    Alley calmly stepped up, hauled back, and delivered a clean uppercut directly to Stoker’s jaw.

    His head snapped back as a startled grunt escaped. The force of the hit caused him to stagger back a step or two, where he promptly tripped over the bottom step and stumbled backwards, landing right on his tail, sprawled over the stairs. He gaped up at the blonde, who stood over him with an evil glare, shaking the pain out of her hand. “You’re an ass,” she hissed, stepping over him and marching up the stairs. A few moments later a door slammed.

    He gingerly worked his jaw, rubbing the abused skin; he could feel the welt already swelling under his fur. Charley knelt beside him, her expression a mix of sympathy and amusement. “You okay?” she asked, shooting a scolding glance at Vinnie and Modo, who were trying (and failing miserably) to hide their snickers.

    He let his head rest against the step. "Been better," he sighed

    She grinned. “She clocked you a good one, huh? Need some ice?”

    He huffed, insulted. “What do you take me for?”

    She patted his shoulder. “I hate to say I told you so—"

    "No, you don't," he snorted. "An' I know. I had it comin'."

    She hummed in agreement. “I think you’ve probably got a bit groveling to do.”

    He chuckled. “Stuck my foot in it, huh?”

    “Sure,” she teased. “Your foot, your knee, your upper thigh…”

    “Okay, okay. Smartass.” A grin twitched his mouth and he tossed his damp towel over her head. "Think she'll forgive me if I buy her another rat?"

    "I dunno, Coach. Rate you're goin', you better make it a pony," Modo quipped, earning more snickers from Vinnie.

    "I think she'll forgive you if you offer a heartfelt apology." Charley tugged on a lock of his hair.

    "I was afraid you'd say that."

    "You do know what one of those is, right?"

    "Sure! It’s that thing where you tell your lady that you were wrong about everything in your entire life, an’ pray she won’t make you sleep on the couch for the rest of it.”

    “Oh, stop it.” Charley laughed and delivered a playful smack to his shoulder.

    He smirked and hauled himself to his feet, wincing when his back popped with the effort. He was gettin’ too damned old. His sleek black racer rolled over to him, and he hopped on with a grateful pat to the crankshaft.

    “Where ya goin’?” Vinnie asked. “Ya ain’t runnin’ away, are ya?”

    “Better let her calm down a bit. Word of advice, punk. It’s a lot easier to apologize when yer not too busy dodgin’ the blunt objects bein’ hurled at your head.” Stoker pulled on his wing-eared helmet. “‘Sides, I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

    “You realize there’s a perfectly good phone right over there,” Charley offered, bemused.

    “Ain’t the right kinda phone, honey.” He gave her a wink before revving his engine and shooting out of the garage, barely missing the half-open door on the way.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    After convincing the guys to go to the scoreboard for the night, Charley found herself standing outside of Alley’s bedroom. She took a fortifying breath, knocked lightly, opened the door a crack to peer into the room.

    Alley looked up from her spot on the floor, where she was busily cleaning out the empty cage. “I’m not gonna apologize for hitting him,” she warned.

    “I don’t expect you to.” Charley wandered into the room and made herself comfortable on the bed. “He deserved a punch.” She smiled at Alley's surprise; clearly, she’d been expecting a scolding. “Don’t hold it against him, though, huh?” she added. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on anybody.”

    The blonde snorted and turned back to the cage. “Where is everyone?” she asked after a moment.

    “Dunno where Stoker got off to, but I sent the other two home. I suspect they might’ve gone looking for Throttle.”

    “They’re not gonna yell at him, are they?”

    “Of course not.” Charley shrugged. “Not like he did anything wrong. Right?” She watched her cousin for a few moments, before nudging her leg with a booted foot. “So. You and Throttle, huh? How long has this been going on?”

    “It hasn’t,” Alley muttered, dumping a tray of used wood shavings into a garbage bag.

    “He’s been spending an awful lot of time with you, hasn’t he? Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m glad to see you’re both getting on so well, actually. But…”

    Alley sat back with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not like I went out there planning to seduce him or anything,” she mumbled. “We were just talking and then … and then he was kissing me and…” She flushed, glancing away. “I didn’t … hate it.”

    “So, he’s a good kisser, huh?” Charley’s eyes sparkled.

    The blonde shifted, blushing. “Well, honestly, it was kind’ve awkward,” she confessed. “I mean, he doesn’t even have lips! We didn’t quite … mesh.”

    “Soooo … he’s a bad kisser?” The mechanic’s lips twitched.

    “I didn’t say that.” Alley rolled her eyes, smirking. “Once we figured out what went where, it was actually quite—” She stopped, clearing her throat as her cousin laughed. “But then I had to go and bring up Carbine.” She sighed heavily, dropping the litter scoop and sitting back against the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest. “After that he got real quiet. Then we came back here. He dropped me off, and took off on his own. Said he had to clear his head.”

    “Hmmm. Probably feels guilty. At least you stopped when you did. It’d be worse if you’d kept going.”

    “I know.” She leaned against Charley’s leg. “But part of me wishes I’d never mentioned her name. Now things are gonna be all awkward between us and I don’t want that. I really like him, you know? I want to get to know him better.”

    “Well, the fact that he made a move suggests definite interest. What kind and how much is another issue.” Charley sighed. “Carbine is the problem. Those two have been together for a long time, but I know their relationship has been pretty rocky at times. They hardly see each other as it is, and now that she's been made general, I don't imagine it will get any easier. What with her being on an entirely different planet and all…” She shifted. “Fact is, he might just be lonely, you know? And if you've developed any feelings for him, he might be picking up on that.”

    “Oh, that makes me feel much better,” Alley grumbled.

    Charley grimaced. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm just trying—” She huffed and ran a hand through her hair. “I'm not very good at this love advice thing, am I?”

    Her cousin offered a faint smile. “No, I understand. What you said makes sense, I guess. But what am I supposed to do now? Pretend like it never happened? I don't want to be just a convenient placeholder until he can go back to his real girlfriend."

    Charley tipped her head back. "Well, I imagine you and Throttle will have to figure that out for yourselves,” she replied. “Either way, I suggest having a conversation. Soon."

    “Yeah.”

    The two women sat for a few moments, lost in their own musings. Alley finally shifted, breaking the silence. “So, Throttle said you’d gone to the college to try and break into the computers.” She raised an eyebrow. “How’d that work for ya? Did you have to flee a zillion security guards?”

    Charley wrinkled her nose. “Please. Do I look like an idiot? I sent in backup.” She reached into her shirt pocket, withdrew an object and held it out.

    “What is that?”

    On closer inspection, “that” turned out to be a small mess of metal components, smashed microchips and hair-thin copper wires.

    "It used to be an electronic beetle," Charley explained. "But it sort've met with a little ... accident." She sounded perturbed.

    “You mean it’s like a robot or something?”

    “Mmmm. Something like that. It’s essentially a spy cam. It’s purpose is to plug into a computer and wirelessly download information to another hard drive. In this case, my laptop. That’s what I was trying to do last night. As you can see, it didn’t work out so well.”

    “What happened?”

    “The secretary spotted it. Thought it was an actual insect. She brought a book right down on it. Feedback damn near blew out my eardrum, lemme tell you.” Charley huffed a laugh. “And that was the end of that. It was a good test run, at any rate.”

    “Where did you even pick up something like this? Spies R Us?”

    “Oh, it’s just something I cobbled together in my spare time.” She gave a casual shrug as her cousin gaped at her.

“Cobbled toge—Charley.” Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. “You cobble together a backyard tree fort, or a quick fix for a broken table leg. You do not ‘cobble’ a technologically advanced … robotic … spy beetle!”

    “Sure I do!” The redhead grinned. “It’s just a prototype, like I said. I built it using spare parts. I needed to test it, and this was a good chance. Now I know its limitations. I’ll take them into account when I build an upgraded version.”

    “What sort of limitations?” Alley asked, curious.

    “For one thing, its signal range is too small. It only extends about twenty meters or so. I had to sit in a tree last night to get close enough to the third floor to maneuver the bug through my laptop. The commands weren’t getting through very well, though. It couldn’t read the order to disappear when the secretary showed up, which is how it got smashed. Good thing she didn’t look too closely and realize she’d just killed a robot. Adding working wings next time might be useful. It does climb walls pretty well, though.”

    Alley shook her head, impressed. “I dunno, Cuz. I think you totally missed your calling. Why are you fixing cars for a living, barely scraping by? You’re like a real-life James Bomb with all this spy crap! You should be making billions selling it to the government!”

    Charley hummed. “You know, I used to design bikes and stuff for small companies and private investors. Even had Washington sniffing around, expressing interest in my engines and a few of my weaponry designs.”

    Alley stared. “And?”

    “Martians crash-landed my hometown.” Charley grinned wryly at the blonde's expression. “I tried for a few months to keep working on my prototypes, but…” She sighed and shrugged. “The problem with private investors and the government is they’re all incredibly nosy. And they tend to be super paranoid about their investments. They wanna know exactly what they’re getting, how it’s all put together, what sort of equipment I use, where I get my parts… I couldn’t have the CIA poking around the garage with the guys constantly in and out. Three giant, talking alien mice would be just a little hard to explain. Not to mention where I acquired some of the more advanced components in my gadgets.”

    “Yikes. I see your point.”

   “Yeah. So, I just content myself with using my creativity to help out my best friends against the Plutarkian invasion. Little things like my spy bug will be a great help in the future. Once I perfect it, if we need info on Limburger's schemes, rather than putting ourselves in the direct line of fire, I can just send in a few of these little beauties to gather all the intel we need, safe and sound.”

   Alley scoffed. “I dunno, Charley. That's all well and good, but isn’t putting themselves in direct line of fire sort of what they do? Being the psycho adrenaline junkies that they are and all…”

   Charley snorted. “They might be. As for me, I have no such issues about giving my heart a few less attacks per month, thanks very much. Constant kidnapping never did sit well with me.”

Next

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Main Cast #OCs #Humor #Stoker's definitely got groveling to do #and Charley's a friggin' genius

[quickeningheart]

Nineteen

     Charley was waist-deep in the posterior of Alley's bus when the sound of an approaching car caught her attention. Pulling out and wiping her filthy hands on a well-used towel, she watched as a taxi pulled up to the garage. And both eyebrows shot into her hairline when, after a moment, the door opened and Alley struggled out into the street, dragging her pack after her. She looked as if the entire world had just collapsed around her ears.

    “Jiminy Christmas, Alley Cat! Who died?” Alarmed, Charley hurried forward to usher her drooping cousin out of the heat. The guys also stopped what they were doing, watching the exchange with concern etched on their fuzzy faces.

    “My entire academic career, apparently,” Alley mumbled with a tired sigh.

    Charley paused mid-step, exchanging confused glances with the mice. “…Huh?”

    The blonde dropped into the desk chair and ran her hands through her hair; taking a deep breath, she began to explain the situation, and by the time she’d finished, Charley was livid.

    “They can’t—This isn’t—You didn’t—We can’t just let this go!” she sputtered, pacing angrily around the garage, shrugging off Vinnie’s comforting hand. “You never would have cheated! Never! And it’s just too suspicious that this all came up now.”

    “Yeah,” Modo agreed, tail twitching with agitation. “Somebody’s definitely settin’ you up, and it’s got ol’ Lard Butt's stench all over it.”

    “But why? What would Limburger possibly gain from ruining my chances at a scholarship and my academic reputation?”

    Throttle huffed. “She’s got a point. The stinkfish’s pulled some pretty crazy stunts, but it’s always been for some sorta profitable gain. This just ain’t his style.”

    They fell silent, considering. Alley finally sighed and forced herself to her feet. “My best guess is, it’s just a prank some bored jerk played, and I got unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it. I’ve gotta go do some damage control. This has gotta get sorted out as soon as possible or I can kiss that scholarship goodbye for real.” She groaned and hid her face in her hands. “And I’ve gotta call my mother.”

    “Ouch.” Charley offered a sympathetic smile. “Want some moral support?”

    She huffed a short laugh. “Give me a few hours. If I’m not down by sunset, better come search for my body. She probably managed to find a way to strangle me through the phone.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Throttle knocked at Alley’s door, his concern growing at her continuing silence from the other side. He increased the pressure of his fist against the wood until he finally heard her stirring, then a mumbled “Come in”. He poked his head through the doorway, watching as she sat up and scrubbed at her eyes, which looked red and blotchy even in the dim light. He gulped, the urge to turn tail and bolt settling over him, but he ignored the desire to flee and instead stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood there, shifting uncomfortably as he struggled to find the right thing to say. He really hated dealing with crying women.

    Alley noticed his fidgeting and gave him a weak smile. She’d changed into a tank top and a pair of lounge pants. Her hair hung in two long braids over her shoulders, and she’d washed the makeup off her face, leaving it strangely pale and bare, the dark circles under her eyes standing in stark contrast. Throttle thought she looked young and very vulnerable without her usual armor to fortify her. His protective finally instincts rose. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

    She offered a one-shouldered shrug. “Been better,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair, dislodging part of a braid. “I’ve been on the phone for hours, making calls. Never talked so much in my life. I’m tired.”

    He hummed, stepping further into the room. “You talk to your folks?”

    “I called my dad first and explained. He told my mom for me. Who then proceeded to call me back and rip me a new one.”

    Throttle straightened, frowning. “Why? This isn’t your fault.”

    She sighed heavily. “I dunno. Maybe it is. When I was younger, I really slacked off in school. Hardly studied, barely passed my tests, handed in homework when I felt like it. I didn’t put in any real effort and my grades suffered as a result. I just … didn’t care.” She smiled faintly. “I guess I was more interested in fitting in with my friends, who all would've rather been sneaking out to late-night movies or parties down on the beach. Drove my parents nuts.” At his dubious expression, she hastened to add, “I was never into anything illegal! Well … okay, I did drink a bit, and I snuck into R-rated movies without paying a few times. But I didn’t shoplift or use drugs or sleep around with guys or stuff like that. My girlfriends, though. Most of them were pretty hardcore.”

    He tsked. “Sounds like you needed to get some new friends.”

    She huffed. “You sound like my parents,” she shot back, wrinkling her nose. She sat back with a sigh. “Thing is, in Montana, all that never really interested me. I might not look it now, but I used to be a lot like Charley. I rode horses and climbed trees and went camping in the woods. I tinkered around in the garage on bicycles for my friends and helped my dad and uncle fix engines. I did my homework and studied for my tests and got good grades.” She smiled faintly at the memories.

    “When Dad packed up and moved us to Florida, it was like … like moving to an alien planet.” She smirked when he snorted. “Everything was so different. The first few years weren’t so bad, but then I hit puberty and started … growing parts, and the only things my friends ever talked about were boyfriends and fashion and celebrities… I didn't really care about that stuff, but I felt like I either had to make myself fit in, or lose the friends I had. And after awhile, it all sorta became second nature.”

    Throttle moved to sit on the edge of the bed, curious despite himself. At last, he was discovering the mystery of why Alley was so different from her cousin, despite being raised in the same sort of household. He tried to picture her as a younger version of Charley, scrappy and tomboyish. He gave it up after a few moments. It was just impossible; she’d adapted herself too well. “So, something changed along the way,” he hinted, wanting to know more.

    “I flunked out of tenth grade,” she admitted with a huff. “Well, almost. I had to take summer classes to make up all the work I missed. A lot of them. And my dad finally sat me down and gave me a long lecture.” She shook her head with a whimsical smile. “Let me tell you, I thought my mother could guilt trip, but she’s got nothin’ on Daddy. He’s pretty laid back and easygoing, but when he decides to lay into you, look out.”

    Throttle grinned, earning another small smile in response. “After that,” she continued, “I realized I didn’t want to disappoint him anymore. I don’t want to be a daughter who embarrasses him, makes him ashamed to talk about me. So, for those summer classes, I managed to pull my grades up enough to pass tenth grade, and when my junior year started, I made myself work. Skipped all those parties and stayed home to study and do all my homework, and my grades shot up. It wasn’t easy. I had to break a lot of bad habits. But I did it.”

    “I can see why this whole situation is so upsetting for you,” Throttle said thoughtfully, “but I still don’t see how it makes it your fault.”

    “My parents always told me my behavior would come back someday and bite me in the ass. Karmic justice and all that. Mom spent most of our conversation saying ‘I told you so’.” Alley rolled her eyes. “I kinda feel like she’s right.”

    “She's too hard on you,” Throttle protested, tail twitching against the floor. “We all do stupid shit as kids, right?”

    “Sure, but she’s always been hard on me. She's very overprotective. She’s not a bad mother, don’t get me wrong. It’s just that her life, growing up … it wasn’t easy. She went through a lot, had a lot of struggles before meeting Dad. She doesn’t want me to end up like she nearly did.” Alley smiled faintly. “To be fair, after she got through yelling at me, she started threatening to march straight to the heads of the school board and rip them a new one, too. And she says she’ll FedEx some of my old reports and any other paperwork she can dig up to prove my grades had been changed. Hell, knowing her, she’ll have half of Florida rallying in my defense by the end of the week. Nobody messes with her baby.”

    “So your parents will help you get all this sorted.”

    “Yeah.” She sighed heavily, her good humor vanishing. “Dad told me to accept that I might not be getting back to school this year, though. He also suggested I retake the SATs. Said it might help to prove I didn’t cheat the first time.” Her shoulders slumped. “I guess he’s probably right, but the thought of going through all that again is just exhausting.”

    “Well, it’s something, at least. It ain’t the end of the world, Alley-girl,” Throttle tried to encourage. “How come you look like your best friend just died?”

    She flinched, looking startled. Then she dropped her face into her hands as a low, derisive laugh slipped free. He frowned, wondering what he’d said to incite such a reaction.

    “D’you ever get the feeling,” she mumbled into her hands, “that the entire universe is out to turn your life into one great, big cosmic joke?”

    He hesitated, confused … until she gestured vaguely at Mercedes’s cage. He glanced down, noted the door was half-open. His eyes widened as his gaze darted around the room, noting any place that a little rat could squeeze into and escape. Until he realized she was still in the cage, half-curled in her pile of shredded paper, still and unmoving.

    Far too still.

    His heart gave a sick sort of lurch as he knelt on the floor for a better look. “Aw, Cheese,” he breathed. “Alley-girl, I’m—I didn’t mean—”

    She waved off his fumbled attempts to apologize. “Mercy was almost four years old. That’s like … ancient in rat years,” she explained, her voice small and tight. “I probably shouldn’t have brought her with me, but my mom didn’t really like her and my dad is too busy with his business, you know? My friends, well, I wouldn’t trust most of them to care for a houseplant, much less a living creature.” Her face crumpled a bit. “I went to feed her and … she just wouldn’t wake up. I wonder how long she’s been like this. This morning I—” She choked slightly. “If she was dead then, I didn’t even notice. I feel awful. I don’t even remember if she ate when I gave her pellets this morning.”

    “It ain’t your fault,” he told her, feeling lame for even saying something so trite.

    “I knew she was going to die eventually. She was really starting to show her age. She even hissed at me a few times, like she didn't know me.” She offered a weak smile. “Just … she had to go today of all days? Cosmic joke, see?” She heaved a long sigh, tucking her knees under her chin as she perched on the edge of the bed. “I guess now I have to find a place to bury her, too. I don’t even know where to look. I can’t just … toss her into the garbage.”

    Throttle considered. “You got a box for her or something?”

    She slid off the bed and knelt beside him on the floor, sliding a shoebox filled with folded paper towels forward. She reached into the cage, hesitated. Throttle noted a fine tremor in her hand as it hovered over Mercedes’s body. “I … I can’t make myself touch her again,” she finally admitted, blinking rapidly. “She’s so … cold. It gives me the creeps. I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

    Throttle patiently pulled her hand away, reached in to ever-so-gently scoop the stiff little body into his palm, depositing it and a handful of shavings into the box. He didn’t much like rats, but for the first time he was sorry to see one die. Alley covered her pet with clean wood shavings before closing the box and taping the lid shut.

    “Come on.” He stood, tucking the makeshift coffin under his arm, offered a hand to pull her to her feet. “Put on your shoes and a jacket. Might get cold,” he instructed.

    Mystified, she nevertheless obeyed, slipping on a pair of Vans and a long blue hoodie sweater as she followed him down to the garage. “Where is everyone?” she asked, noting the complete absence of people. The clock on the wall read six-thirty, well before closing time.

    “Out doin’ a little recon,” he replied with a chuckle. “Charley-girl decided to take it on herself to get a look at that computer an’ see what’s up.”

    Alley gaped. “They’re breaking into the school files?”

    “Not all of ‘em. Just yours. If it’s been hacked, it can probably be traced. Charley'll figure it out.”

    “Unless she gets caught and arrested, first. It isn’t exactly legal, you know.”

    “Neither is goin’ into a student’s files an’ changin’ all their grades, right? Don’t worry, she does this sorta stuff all the time.”

    “Oh, that makes me feel better.” She pursed her lips and eyeballed him. “And poor you got stuck babysitting me. Again.”

    “I was actually plannin’ to invite you along. But this is a bit more important right now. They can do without us.” He carefully stashed the box in a compartment on the bike and held out a second helmet. “Hop on.”

    She hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, why not,” she sighed. “The day I’ve been having, what else could possibly go wrong?” She seated herself gingerly behind him and jammed the helmet over her head, jumped a little when his long tail coiled tightly around her waist.

    “Better hang on,” he warned, and she caught his devilish grin right before the engine roared to life. The heavy door rattled open, and they shot out of the garage with a screech of rubber, Alley’s squeal of fright lingering in the air behind them.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Throttle navigated Chicago’s busy streets with practiced ease as Alley clung to him for dear life, afraid she'd be thrown from the cycle despite the firm grip he maintained around her waist, and her even firmer grip around his chest. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be glad they were racing at such a breakneck speed. On one hand, riding with one of the biker mice was pretty much as terrifying as she’d imagined. On the other, at this speed, it was a lot harder for people to notice that she was out gallivanting around the city in nothing but her pajamas. She hadn’t even bothered to put her bra back on, a mistake she was kicking herself over. She really hoped her chauffeur wouldn’t notice, as tightly as she was clinging to him.

    It wasn’t long before they passed the city limits, and soon after that they reached open highway and the heavy traffic began to lighten. That’s when he really let loose; the bike shot forward in the same manner as a racing horse being given its head. Alley squeaked and tightened her hold, and Throttle’s husky chuckle piped through the intercom in her helmet.

    Despite the increased speed, the ride was a lot smoother without the constant sharp dodging and weaving he’d been doing inside the city. She found herself slowly relaxing, arms loosening. The wind cut around them, tearing at her hair and clothes, but being pressed so close to his large, furry body provided more than adequate heat. She rested her head against his back and breathed deeply, closing her eyes and starting to enjoy the ride.

    Eventually, she noticed a change in speed; he slowed, took a seemingly random exit off the highway. He drove a little further before turning off the main road onto what seemed to be an unpaved back road. The ride was rougher here as the bike kicked up dust and loose stones, bouncing over uneven ruts. She tucked her legs further up to protect them from flying debris. “Where are we going?” she asked.

    “You’ll see in a second.”

    True to word, he shortly turned off the road and coasted to a stop. She slid off the bike, trying to stomp some feeling back into her shaky legs as she steadied herself against the seat. She gave the crankshaft a little pat. “Thanks for the ride,” she said awkwardly. “You're, um, a good driver. Hope that road wasn't too hard on your suspension.”  

    The bike gave a short, sharp beep in reply, making her jump, then laugh. “I'm never gonna get used to that,” she said, mirroring Throttle's grin. Her smile faded when she got her first view of their destination, eyes widening as she took in a large, sparkling lake surrounded by trees. “Wow, where are we?”

    “Me ‘n the bros found this place a few years back. Well, Limburger found it, actually. We had to save it from bein’ ripped up and shipped off to Plutark. We come out here from time t’ time when we need to relax and unwind. There’s usually nobody else here.”

    “Kinda like a secret hideout?” she teased.

    “Heh. Something like that.” He removed the box from its compartment. “Figured it’d be a good place to bury your friend, here. Nobody’ll disturb her this way.”

    “Unless Limburger tries to tear it up again,” she pointed out.

    He scratched his head. “Funny thing about the stinkfish. When his plans get ruined once, he usually doesn’t go back an’ try again. Just moves on to the next scheme.”

    Alley considered. “Plutarkians aren’t a very intelligent race, are they?”

    Throttle chuckled. “Well, there’s plenty of space. Anywhere particular you’d like to bury her?”

    She wandered toward the lakeshore, stopping in front of a towering willow. After a moment’s thought, she ducked under its drooping boughs. The light was dimmer here, the air cooler and a bit damp. The earth around the trunk was loose. “This’ll be a good place. It’ll be easy to dig up,” she decided. “How about here, between the roots?”

    He dropped to his knees beside her, pulled a utility knife from his belt and dug it into the loose soil. Alley helped, using her hands to pull dirt from the growing hole.

    Throttle paused, reached in and pulled out a six-inch worm, dangling it in front of Alley’s face with a smirk. She just rolled her eyes and kept digging. “Not afraid of bugs?” he asked, surprised.

    “Why? They’re just bugs.” She glanced up, a smile curling her lips. “Although, that huge spider crawling over your shoulder is sorta—” She broke off with a snicker when he immediately started to beat at himself, trying to knock it away. Until he realized there was nothing there to begin with. He shot her a dirty look as she openly laughed. “I don’t like spiders,” he grumbled.

    “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she promised with a sly grin.

    When the hole was about a foot deep, Throttle stopped digging and picked up the box. “Wait.” Alley stopped him with her hand on his. “Let’s … leave the box,” she said. “This way, Mercy can feed the tree. Circle of life, you know?”

    Unquestioning, he slit the tape on the lid. When he would have picked up the rat, Alley stopped him again. “Let me.” Eyebrows raising, he offered the box. She took a deep breath, reached in to scoop up the body, unable to hide her shudder as she quickly deposited it into the hole and pushed the dirt back in. She paused to wipe straggling hair out of her face, leaving a muddy streak behind. Throttle patted the soil back down until it was firm. Then, to her surprise, he used the knife to carve Mercedes’s name into the base of the tree, followed with “beloved pet”. Finally, he held his hand over the grave, murmuring words in a strange language.

    She stared at him, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

    He looked a little sheepish as he pulled off his specs and tucked them into his belt; the light had dimmed even further by then and he was finding it harder to see with them on. “It was a Martian blessing, to wish safe passage into the other world,” he explained. “A bit corny, I guess.”

    “No! That was incredibly thoughtful of you. Thank you, Throttle.” She took his hand into both of hers, giving it a grateful squeeze. Then, on impulse, pulled him down a bit and reached to press a soft kiss to his fuzzy cheek. He blinked and reared back, caught by surprise.

    Alley ducked her head, face flaming as she immediately released his hand and stepped away with an embarrassed laugh. “Ah. S-sorry. I just … um…” She glanced at her muddy palms. “Oh. I should wash my hands.”

    Grateful for the distraction, she hurried from the cover of the tree, kneeling by the lake to swirl her hands through the water. What had possessed her to do that? Sure, she was grateful for everything he’d done, but to kiss him? She could still feel the warm fur against her lips, and it didn’t disgust her nearly as much as she thought it ought to. After all, she reasoned, she’d kissed Mercedes on the head plenty of times, hadn’t she? Was it really so different?

    She glanced over her shoulder, finding that Throttle had made himself comfortable on the grass behind her, gazing at the sky, where the first stars were just making themselves known. His legs were crossed as he leaned on his hands. A gentle breeze ruffled the fur on his arms and chest, played through his golden mane. His expression was peaceful, eyes lidded sleepily. Her heart skipped strangely at the picture as she hastily turned away again. Yes, she decided. It was different. It was a lot different.

    Her hands were more than clean by then. She rose from her place and shyly sat beside him, not quite able to meet his eyes when he glanced down at her. “Feel better?” he asked after a moment.

    “Yeah.” She managed a small smile. “Thanks.” They sat in silence for a moment, before she squirmed. “Soooo … shouldn’t we head back to the city now?” she hinted.

    “Nah. We came all the way out here. Might as well stay a bit. You said you wanted to stargaze awhile back, remember?” He glanced down at her with a small grin as she blinked, then flushed.

    “I’d rather you didn’t remember,” she groaned, hiding her face in her arms. “That was not my finest moment.” She heard him chuckle, jumped a bit when his hand came to rest on her head, ruffling her hair with a playful gesture. Apparently, he wasn’t gonna hold that kiss against her. She relaxed a bit, looking up at the sky where more stars had made their appearance. So had the moon, slowly coming into view over the line of trees. “Wow,” she sighed. “They really are clearer without all the lights in the way.”

    “You stargaze a lot at home?”

    “From the beach, mostly. But even then, there are always too many lights to really see them. The best stargazing I ever did was when me and Charley took our vacations on Pop-pop’s ranch. We’d take his big telescope and go into the middle of a field and watch meteor showers. We always made a zillion wishes on them. Most of which never did come true, come to think of it.” She huffed a laugh. “Did you stargaze a lot back home? I mean, before you joined the Freedom Fighters and all?”

    “Not really. Never really took the time to appreciate ‘em. Least not until I was up there traveling through ‘em,” he replied.

    “Have you been on a lot of deep space missions?” Alley turned to face him, face lighting up. “That must be amazing, getting to visit other planets and other galaxies and stuff. I mean, that sort of thing is nothing but science fiction here. We’ve never been past the moon.”

    “I have seen some pretty incredible places,” he admitted, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “Haven’t taken a lot of the deep space missions—Those’re usually reserved for Army, which we ain’t—but there were a few where they enlisted the Fighters’ help. Needed our … special touch to get the job done right.” His smile was feral, making her shiver.

    “What was your favorite trip?” she asked.

    He thought for a moment. “They weren't exactly pleasure cruises, ya know. But there was one planet with a suspected Plutarkian outpost they needed us to infiltrate. It was an ice planet, completely frozen. Planet itself was boring as hell, and the outpost turned out to be a false lead so it was a wasted trip. But that sky…” He whistled softly. “The atmosphere was poisonous, but the entire sky was a display of crystallized gas and reflected light. It looked a lot like Earth’s Northern Lights. Only even more incredible.” He shook his head, shrugging. “I can’t even put it into words what it was like. But that's one place I'll never forget visiting.”

    She sat back, gazing at the rising moon thoughtfully. After a moment, she suggested, “You could … just show me, couldn’t you?”

    “Huh?” His head snapped around, eyes widening.

    She blushed. “Well, I mean, like you did when we met and you were explaining everything. All your memories in my head, like pictures.”

    He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Ah, that was—I mean, the situation was bit—”

    Her courage fled and she glanced away as she belatedly recalled what the guys had said about their ability’s other use. “No, you’re right. Sorry. It’s not exactly need-to-know information. I’ll just take your word for it.” She huffed a bemused laugh, scratching her head. “Boy, I seem to be stepping all over the boundaries today. Way to stick my foot in it.”

    There was a moment of silence. Then, “I guess … a look wouldn’t hurt.” He offered a lopsided grin when she blinked up at him. “Nothin’ wrong with a quick peek. It really was an amazing sight. I think you’d appreciate it more’n the guys did.”

    “You mean you’ll let me see?”

    He shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Just don’t tell the fellas, huh? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

    “My lips are sealed!” She shifted around to face him, sitting cross-legged in the grass as he mimicked the move. She closed her eyes as he leaned in, mentally bracing herself for the intrusion of a foreign mind into hers. His fingers touched her face, tracing softly down her cheek, making her twitch at the ticklish sensation. His thumb nudged her chin, tilting it up.

    A moment passed. And another. And just when she was starting to believe he’d changed his mind, she startled as an unexpected warmth ghosted across her lips.

    A breath of air. Velvety fur. A soft, warm pressure nuzzling carefully at her mouth; it took her a stunned moment to realize that he was kissing her. His touch was light, questioning … just a bit uncertain. He withdrew, returned a heartbeat later to settle more firmly, and she couldn’t stop a different kind of shiver from trembling over her body.

    It was … different. The shape was all wrong, and the pronounced incisors pressing against her upper lip was a bit distracting. But he kissed her as though she was something fragile, and precious, and she found herself kissing back, learning the shape of his mouth, of how it fit to hers. It felt good, kissing Throttle, and when they parted, she forced her heavy lids open to gaze into his face with breathless wonder.

    His eyes were wide. He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she felt herself blushing all over again. She licked her lips; his eyes immediately snapped to them, focused and intense. Her breath stuttered in her throat as she swallowed. “Th-that’s not quite how I remember it happening, last time around,” she joked weakly, trying to break the odd, building tension between them.

    Her voice seemed to snap him back to reality. He blinked; the hands gripping her shoulders almost painfully were suddenly gone as he snatched them away, holding them up. “S-sorry! I wasn’t—I shouldn’t ‘ve—”

    He made a move as if to rise, but her hand shot out to snag his vest, holding him there. He blinked down at it, looking as startled as she felt by her bold move. She ducked her head to hide her burning face. “D-do you hear me complaining?” she mumbled, releasing his clothes to pull her hand back … only to find it trapped under his, pressed to his chest. His skin through the fur was hot against her fingers; his heart thrummed hard and fast against her palm.

    She slowly raised her eyes again, her own heart kicking into a hard gallop when their gazes clashed. He was giving her that look again. As if he was seeing her for the first time, and didn’t know quite what to make of her. His free hand slid into her tangled hair, cupping her head. He was so close that she could feel his breath stirring the wispy tendrils at her temple. And when he lowered his head, her breath hitched with anticipation as his mouth settled softly against hers.

    He was bolder this time, more confident. He tilted her chin, adjusted the angle just so, traced the seam of her lips until they parted. His long tongue dipped in, tasted her deeply; she pulled back after a few moments, panting for air. Undeterred, he nuzzled under her chin, suckling at her throat as her fingers curled into the soft fur of his chest. He pushed forward, and she suddenly found herself on her back, head cradled in his hand. He settled between her legs, a delicious weight against her body; his fur was warm and silky against the bared skin of her stomach where her thin shirt had ridden up, sending an unexpected flush of arousal straight through her thighs. He kissed her again, and she slipped her arms around him, under his vest. Her fingers buried into his thick fur, nails dragging lightly along his hot skin as she stroked the long length of his back.

    His reaction was a massive shudder, bucking his hips against her, and a different sort of heat thrust between her thighs, an exciting hardness prodding insistently at her core. She gasped, instinctively pushing back. He finally broke the kiss to nip at her ear, murmuring, his voice husky and deep. Foreign words that she couldn’t understand, but were no less compelling for that.

    It was all happening so fast. She thought she ought to be protesting mightily by this point, but as he nuzzled down her throat and peppered soft kisses across her skin, she couldn’t seem to find her voice around the shaking breaths see-sawing between her lips. She trembled as his hand slipped gently up her stomach, under her shirt, over bare flesh. He’d definitely noticed her missing bra and made no secret that he appreciated the fact as he caressed gently, the worn leather of his glove causing delicious friction against her skin.

    Unfortunately, the ensuing pleasure was offset by the not-so-pleasant experience of something hard and sharp digging insistently into her lower back. She squirmed, trying to avoid the aggravating little rock poking holes into her spine. He took it the wrong way, mistaking her arching back as silent pleas for more. He moved down her chest, pressing soft kisses and playful lovebites along the way, slipping the strap of her shirt over her shoulder to expose her further to his seeking mouth, nuzzling at the swell of her breast. “W-wait a moment,” she panted, trying to push him back.

    He responded with a nip to her breast, through her shirt. She yipped in shock; he’d bitten just a little too hard, tearing cloth and sharply catching skin. The resulting pain was enough to snap her out of her lust-filled stupor. “Stop,” she hissed, and he immediately froze. She softened at his expression, a mixture of worry and guilt. “I-I’ve got … something—There’s a rock or something,” she mumbled, trying to explain as she reached under herself and patted around. She yanked out the offending stone, and he leaned back as she sat up to hurl it away in a flash of irritation. A soft plop sounded from the lake.

    They sat in awkward silence for a moment, before he reached out to trace a gentle hand down her face, studying her carefully. She offered a hesitant smile. He started to lean in again, but her question stopped him. “Sh-should we be doing this?”

    His soft expression shuttered. “You don’t like it?”

    “It’s not that.” She flushed, glancing away. She’d been liking it quite a lot, actually, and wanted nothing more than to let him continue, but…

    “It’s just—I thought you—Don’t you have—?” She broke off, flustered. “What about your Carbine?” she finally blurted, and was rewarded with a slow widening of his eyes, realization dawning in his expression.

    He hissed softly, turning away. She thought she caught a muttered “What am I doing?” before he presented his back to her, fisting his hands into his mane. She regretted even bringing it up. She shifted beside him, not knowing what to say. She felt unaccountably ashamed of herself, making out like that with a taken guy. A very taken guy, if what his friends had told her was true. She wasn’t the type to go around stealing other girls’ boyfriends right out from under their noses. Especially when they weren’t even there to fight for him!

    Still, taken or not, she couldn’t deny the definite attraction she’d developed toward the golden mouse. How strange, for her feelings on the matter to have changed so quickly. Now she just felt embarrassed for criticizing Charley’s choice so harshly. She was definitely starting to see the appeal of Martian mice. It no longer mattered that Throttle was of an alien race. It didn’t matter that he was covered in fur and looked like a rodent. Somewhere in the last few weeks, she’d come to think of all of the mice as being kind of beautiful. Tails, fuzzy ears, bionic parts and all.

    To her, though, Throttle was the most beautiful. She’d been taken completely by his personality. He was like a prince; charming, charismatic, protective. He had the most compassionate heart she’d ever seen. She’d never known a human man who would go so far as to take her to a special place just to bury a dead rat. She thought she might love that about him.

    She glanced at his still profile, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to reconcile with her strange attraction and the fact that, like it or not, he was just not available to pursue it.

    But maybe they broke up, she thought, a small, niggling hope growing. He’d gotten a letter the other week, and hadn’t said a word about it since. Maybe it had been a Dear John note. Or maybe he was having relationship issues and was considering breaking it off. Or maybe—

    Or maybe he’d gotten caught up in the moment, just like you, and had lost his head, she scolded herself, trying to squash down the hateful thoughts. The way she’d been throwing herself at him, it was no wonder he’d made a move! He’d only been responding to her advances, unintentional or not. Looking at it that way, the entire situation was her fault, and now she felt horrible about that, too. She’d never meant to take advantage of his kindness in such a way.

    He finally shifted, catching her attention as he glanced over his shoulder. “Gettin’ kinda late,” he said quietly. “Probably better get back to the garage, before they go out looking.”

    “Oh.” She dropped her gaze, disappointed. “Yeah. You’re right. We should get back.”

    He stood and strode to the bike, leaving her to blink for a moment before she scrambled up to follow him, tightening her sweater around her. She silently put on the helmet, noting that his tail did not hold her as tightly as before when it coiled around her waist. She leaned in to slip her arms around him, thought the better of it. He was so tense now. She leaned back again, settling for resting her hands on his shoulders.

    It was a long, silent ride back to the city. Night had fallen, and the temperature had dropped. Alley was shivering with cold by the time they pulled up to the garage. She got off the bike, handed him the helmet, but held on when he tried to take it. “Throttle?” Her voice was very small. “Thank you for what you did today. With Mercy and everything…” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry about—I didn’t mean to let—”

    He looked startled. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m the one who—” He shook his head. “I let it go too far. I should’ve kept my hands off. I just—You were sittin’ there, all soft and tempting. I couldn’t—” He chuffed a sharp breath, a husky laugh. “Really sad thing is, I wish we were still back there,” he muttered under his breath. Her eyes widened, and he pulled the helmet from her lifeless fingers. “Go on in. You’re shivering.”

    She was. But not just from the cold anymore. “You’re not coming?”

    “Nah. Gotta go clear my head. I’ve got some serious thinkin’ to do. Tell the guys I’ll see ‘em later, yeah?”

    “Okay. Sure. I’ll tell them.”

    He offered a small smile before handing her the empty shoebox. He revved the engine and shot off, tail lights leaving a bright streak behind him.

    She sighed heavily, clutching the box to her chest before turning to trudge into the garage.

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Throttle #OC #Wow! Some actual romance!

[quickeningheart]

Eighteen

   Charley draped her arms over the back of the sofa, sipping her coffee as she watched her cousin race back and forth, preparing for her first day of school. Vinnie sat beside her on the couch, and Modo and Throttle were in the kitchen, taking surreptitious glances around the doorway as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes. All three mice seemed completely mystified by Alley’s behavior.

    When she headed down the hall, abruptly stopped halfway, and turned around to make a beeline back to her bedroom, Charley couldn’t take it anymore.

    “Alley. Alley!”

    The frazzled blonde screeched to a halt, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. “What?”

    “Will you please relax?” Charley held up her mug with a grin. “You’re makin’ my coffee very nervous.”

    Alley blinked, then broke into a sheepish grin of her own. “Sorry. It’s just … I’m nervous. And excited. And nervous.”

    “What’s the big deal?” Vinnie scoffed. “It’s just school. Ain’t that a normal thing around here?”

    “It’s not just school. It’s college. It’s like … like jumping from the little leagues straight into the big ones!” Alley protested.

    “That’s right, boys. Our little Alley has to put on her big girl panties now. She’s playin’ with the grownups,” Charley teased.

    “You, shush!”

    A pair of balled-up socks was launched her way, almost landing in the mug. Charley managed to catch them without spilling too much coffee, and tossed them back. “And why are you taking an extra pair of socks?” she asked curiously.

    Alley blinked down at them, then threw her arms into the air. “I don’t know!” she wailed as she stomped back to her room.

    Charley leaned her forehead against the couch and laughed.

    “Is she gonna be okay?” Modo asked with amused concern.

    “Don’t worry, big guy. First day jitters.” She offered a reassuring grin. “We all got ‘em. College is kind of a big deal, and I think her parents are expecting a lot from her, especially her mom.”

    “Did you attend college?” Throttle wanted to know.

    “Hmmm.” She finished off her coffee; Vinnie instantly got to his feet to fetch her a refill, and she offered a grateful smile along with the mug. “Sort of,” she replied to Throttle’s question. “I graduated high school a few years ahead of everyone else my age, and I took some courses at a local technical school, just to supplement my knowledge and get an official business degree. I’ve always known what I wanted to do, though, and I already had the work experience, thanks to my dad and uncle. So I never felt the need for the whole college thing like Alley’s doing. Still, I do know how it feels, moving out on your own for the first time and all. It is exciting, and kinda scary. Nobody’s there to hold your hand anymore, ya know?”

    “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll always hold your hand when ya need it.” Vinnie plopped down beside her, handing her the mug and taking her free hand to press a soft kiss into her palm. His red eyes glowed with impish humor as she blushed at his charming actions. Throttle and Modo looked at each other knowingly and grinned.

    Alley made a reappearance, dragging a large, rolling backpack behind her that looked a bit like a miniature, bag-shaped version of her van. She set the gaudy pack by the stairway.

    “Are you bringing your entire library?” Charley asked, amused.

    “They’re my textbooks. And my computer.”

    “Do you need all the books? That’s a lot of extra weight to drag around. What classes do you have today?”

    “Lessee … Schedule…” Alley frowned. “Schedule…?” She patted herself down, eyes widening. “Schedule!” She turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her room, much to the amusement of her audience.

    “Girl’s gonna give herself a stroke before she makes it out the door,” Throttle observed with a chuckle, shaking his head.

    She reappeared with a thick yellow envelope and her phone. “I need a favor. Can someone take my picture? Mom demands pictures of my first day. I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t get any.” She offered the phone with a pleading expression.

    Laughing, Charley held out her hand, but Throttle intercepted. “Stand with her. I’ll take one of you together,” he said.

    “Great idea!” Alley grabbed her cousin by the arm and hauled her to the bare wall. “Say cheese!” she teased, giggling at Vinnie’s snort.

    Charley stood stiffly and managed an awkward smile, clearly not used to being in front of a camera. Alley, on the other hand, snapped off a playful pose, flashing a double thumbs-up with a brilliant grin, hamming it up with practiced ease. The flash went off, and she relaxed, accepting the phone from Throttle. “Thanks!” She studied at the picture. “Hey, this thing has a great camera. Charley, why do you look constipated?”

    “Oh, shut up.” The mechanic laughed as she delivered a playful shove.

    “Is someone honking outside?” Modo rumbled, head cocking to the side as he listened. They fell silent, and in another moment, the faint sound of a car horn drifted in through the open window.

    “Oh! That must be Chex.” Alley slipped the phone into her pocket. “She’s giving me a ride to the campus today since we have some of the same classes.”

    “Not Chris?” Charley slid her a coy glance.

    “I think he would’ve, except Chex beat him to it,” Alley replied with a laugh, hoisting the heavy bag onto her shoulder.

    “That was nice of her.”

    “Nah. She only offered ‘cause she’s hoping I’ll convince one of you guys to give her a ride on your bikes.”

    They all stared at her. She flashed a hopeful grin. “Just one? Doesn’t have to be far. Around the block, even. Oh, and when I say ‘one of you’, I’m pretty sure she means you, specifically.” She turned her smile on Modo, who straightened at the sudden attention.

    “Why me?” he asked, confused.

    “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause you saved her life? And she’s got a serious case of hero-worship as a result?”

    He looked flustered as Throttle and Vinnie snickered behind his back. “I’ll, uh, think about it.”

    The horn sounded again, sounding even more impatient. “Alright, I’m comin’!” Alley huffed to no one in particular as she bounded down the stairs.

    The four of them stared after her for a moment, before Charley sniggered. “So,” she began amicably, “bets on how long it takes her to figure out she’s not wearing shoes?

     ~*~*~*~*~

    “You’re such a blonde,” Chex snorted as Alley slid into the passenger seat of the little, silver-blue Accent (after scrambling back up the stairs to retrieve her shoes amid hoots of laughter from the peanut gallery).

    “Yeah, yeah. Just drive,” she grumbled, hauling her heavy pack into the car with her. “Sweet little ride, by the way. I sorta figured you'd drive up in a hearse or something.”

    “Don't I wish.” Chex pulled a face. “The step monster gave it to me. Said I needed a reliable car that’s good on gas mileage.”

    “She gave you a car?”

    “Yeah, she’s the type who likes to buy her way into the hearts of children.” Chex sniggered. “Hey, a free car is a free car. I just make sure I park it way back so people don’t see me in it. It totally does not fit my image.” She was silent a few minutes, before sliding Alley a sideways glance. “Sooooo … did you ask ‘im?”

    Alley laughed. “He said he’d think about it. Keep badgering him; I think you’re wearing him down. He's not the type to turn down a lady's request.”

    “Sweet.”

    “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Since we were speaking of step monsters, Chris said yours works a lot with jewelry appraising and stuff. Do you think she could help me and Charley out? We got some antique jewelry and loose gems and wanted to try and sell ‘em, but we need to know the value and find buyers and stuff.”

    “Yeah? What do you got?”

    Alley opened the front pocket of her bag, withdrawing the sapphire and diamond necklace Stoker had left behind. “Here’s an example.”

    Chex’s eyes widened as she took a good look; quickly turned her attention back to the road when someone honked loudly. “Holy shit, is that thing real?”

    “As far as I know.”

    “Where’d you get it?”

    “It was a gift from Stoker.”

    “Some gift! And you say there's more?”

    “Yeah. I guess precious gems and stuff aren't worth much to the mice. Stoker got what he needed from 'em—like the gold and most of the diamonds—and handed the rest over. Good thing, too, 'cause Charley could really use the money they'd bring in.”

    “She in trouble or something?”

    “Or something. Can't really talk about it. But do you think your step-mom could help out?”

    “Yeah, sure.” Chex shrugged. “I guess you can try and arrange a meeting with Victoria. I’ll give you the number to her office and tell Chris to let her know you’ll be calling. She'd probably be more open to helping if the request comes from him. She doesn't like most of my friends.”

    Alley didn't quite know what to say to that. “Well, thanks, that’ll be really helpful. I'm sure Charley and the guys'll be grateful, too.”

    “Cool. Think it’ll earn me some points toward scoring a ride?”

    Alley laughed and rolled her eyes.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Chex showed Alley the most direct way to get to the main campus through Chicago, warning her to leave at least two hours ahead of time to avoid any potential delays such as mid-town traffic jams. Most of the professors did not take kindly to tardy students, and wouldn't let her into the class if she arrived late, no matter what sort of excuse she had. Luckily, they had no such issues and made it to the campus with plenty of time to spare. They parted ways in the parking lot with promises to meet for lunch, as their first classes were in different buildings. Alley used the opportunity to give herself another lightning tour of the campus; now that the maps had all been switched back to their proper places, it was much easier to figure out where she was. She also made a mental note to check out the secondary campus in the middle of the city, where her first business classes would be held the following day.

    However, it shortly became apparent that she wouldn't be taking those business courses any time soon. Or any of her other courses, for that matter. No sooner had she signed in on the roster and chosen a seat, the young student assistant taking attendance called her back to the desk.

    "Sorry, Miss Davidson, but your name isn't on my list," he began, his bored tone suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd had to make this announcement to a new pupil. "This is Music Composition 101. Check your schedule."

    Alley clenched her teeth, annoyed by the insinuation that she'd gone to the wrong class. "No need. I know my schedule," she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. No need to take it out on him; he was just doing his job, after all, and she didn't doubt he'd already had to send other students on their way to the correct classrooms. But she wasn't one of them, darn it!

    At his obvious skepticism, she pulled the thick envelope from her bag and riffled until she found her schedule, handing it over with pursed lips. "Right there.” She tapped the page. “Music Composition at ten o'clock. Room 317."

    He glanced over it, handed it back with a shrug. "Must be a scheduling error. You'll have to take it up with the office." He went back to his roster, a clear dismissal.

    She stared at him. "What, you mean … now? But class is about to start!"

    He shrugged again. "Sorry, but the rules are if you're not on the roster, you can't attend the class. Better get it figured out and make sure there aren't any other conflicts." Seeing her expression, he softened. "Look, Professor MacDougall is running late today. Her kid has an ear infection or something and her nanny just quit on her. I'm taking over for her until she can get here. The class lasts two hours. You can probably get it sorted in more than enough time. Come back with a note from the office, and I'll let you sit in the remaining time. If Professor MacD shows up, I'll explain the situation."

    "Yeah, okay. I'll do that." Alley wasn't very happy with the solution, but at least he was trying to help. She hoisted her heavy bag and started for the office, grumbling to herself. What a way to start off her college career!

     ~*~*~*~*~

    "What do you mean my scholarship's been revoked?"

    Alley gaped at the secretary, wondering if she'd started hallucinating for some reason. Delayed effects of Stoker's miracle cure, by chance? She would skin that mouse alive when she saw him again!

    The secretary—Her name was Mary, Alley recalled—was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, tapping away at the computer and nervously adjusting her wire-framed glasses. "Um, you see, there has been some discrepancy with your SAT scores—"

    "What kind of discrepancy?" Alley growled. "I passed those tests with more than enough points to earn my scholarship! I studied my ass off to get those scores!"

    "Please lower your voice, Miss Davidson." Looking distressed, Mary adjusted her glasses again. "You see, I am very sorry, but there appears to be some … concern over how you … acquired your high scores."

    Alley's eyes narrowed. "I. Studied."

    "Are you certain that is the only way you passed?"

    She felt like she'd just been kicked in the gut. "Are you actually accusing me of cheating?"

    Mary cleared her throat. "Please, lower your voice," she repeated, more firmly. "The fact is, through most of your academic history, your scores have always been … less than spectacular." She adjusted her glasses yet again; Alley was sorely tempted to rip them off her face and stomp on them. "Yet you managed to pass your SATs with scores that put you within the top fifteen percent of the entire country. That is no simple feat. You must realize how … suspicious it all looks."

    "Slacking off does not make me a cheater," Alley hissed. "I was just lazy. I never cheated on anything in my life! And I'll have you know that in my last two years, I completely turned it around, got As and Bs in all of my classes. Or does that not count for anything?"

    Mary pursed her lips, then calmly swiveled her computer monitor until it faced Alley. Puzzled, she gave it a cursory glance. And then her jaw dropped as what she was seeing registered.

    It was her permanent school record. Only it wasn't. All four of her high school years were displayed clearly on the screen, except that for two of them, the high scores that should have been there seemed to have been replaced with grades that could only be described as abysmal. Even her art and writing classes—her favorite subjects in school—barely covered passing ground.

    "Are you kidding me?" she screeched, ignoring the secretary's glare. "With scores like that I wouldn't have even passed high school, much less made it into college!"

    "Yes, that is exactly my point," Mary replied primly.

    Alley massaged her temple, where a headache was steadily forming. "And you seem to be completely missing mine," she growled. "Those are not my grades. I've been … set up or something!"

    "Why would anyone set you up?" The secretary looked more than a little skeptical.

    "I don't know!" Alley threw her hands into the air. "Maybe some bored student decided to play a mean prank and picked me at random. It happens, right? That thing with the maps? And it's not like computers can't be hacked or anything!"

    "Our system security is top-notch. Not just anyone can break into it." Mary looked offended at the very suggestion; Alley decided that mentioning how easily her cousin could probably break in wouldn't really help her case at the moment.

    "Then it's some bizarre glitch in the system," she muttered, struggling to think of any answer. "I took those tests a year ago. If I'd really cheated, wouldn't someone have figured it out way before now? I mean, I was in here with the dean's kids last week filling out forms! Remember? Why didn't you bring up this situation then? It sure would've saved me a lot of hassle now."

    Finally, a hint of doubt in the secretary's eyes, before her expression firmed. "I am very sorry for all of this trouble, Miss Davidson. I promise I will look into the matter and see if it can be resolved in a satisfactory manner."

    "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I go back to class?"

    "I'm sorry, but that just isn't possible at this time. As I said, your funding has been revoked. All of your classes have been canceled. Until this situation is resolved, policy states that you cannot attend this school."

    Alley started to panic. "But keeping my scholarship depends on me maintaining my grade point average! If I can't attend those classes, I'll flunk out by default, and I'll lose it all anyway, even if I manage to get it back! It could take weeks to get it all sorted. It'll all be for nothing!"

    Mary was sympathetic but unwavering. Alley realized she would be getting no more help out of her, turned and trudged from the office as the churning mass of dread, confusion, and defeat sat like a sick lump in her gut.

    All she could think of was how in the world she was ever going to explain this to her parents.

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #BMFM #bmfm fanfiction #main cast #OCs #There's a plot! #And it thickens!

[quickeningheart]

Seventeen

   When Charley entered the apartment at the end of the day, she was greeted with the rich scent of chocolate. Her mouth watered as she inhaled deeply, and her stomach growled; she hadn't gotten around to lunch, after all. Or much of a breakfast, for that matter. "Is that chocolate cake I smell?" she called.

   The bathroom door opened and Alley's head popped out. "Better," she replied.

   "Better than chocolate cake?" Charley lifted one of the towels spread over a baking sheet, eyes widening at the sight of round, red cakes cooling on them. "Are those…?"

   "Red velvet whoopie pies. They were your favorite, right?" Alley approached with a grin, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves. The heavy scent of cleaning chemicals and air-freshener followed in her wake. "I still have to add the filling, yet."

   "Who needs filling?" Charley picked up a still-hot cake, juggling it between her hands, and took a large bite. She sighed blissfully. "Still as good as I remember!" She finished it off in two more bites, sucking the sticky crumbs from her fingers.

   "That's great, Charley, but now there's a pie without a top."

   "Oh, well, we can take care of that." She picked up another pastry and wolfed it down.

   Alley laughed. "I think those boys have been a bad influence on you," she teased.

   Her cousin just smirked. "So what brought on this rabid bout of baking?" She glanced at the four trays of cakes sitting on the table, waiting for their filling.

   Alley fidgeted. "I made them for you. As an apology," she admitted. "I'm sorry I said all those things in front of your friends. I wasn't trying to embarrass you or make you look bad or anything. I was just worried."

   Charley grinned and shrugged. "Well, no big surprise. The filter between your brain and your mouth never did work right."

   Alley stuck her tongue out, slapping Charley's hand away when she reached for another pie. "I'm being serious! I feel really bad about it."

   "Look, I'm honestly not that upset. Just my pride got a little bruised, is all. But you know I'm not the type to hold grudges. Besides, something good came from it."

   Alley raised an eyebrow when her cousin blushed faintly, a goofy smile spreading over her face. "You look like a teenager crushing on the hot guy in class," she teased.

   "He is pretty hot," Charley agreed, laughing when Alley pulled a face. "Or maybe older men are more your type," she added slyly, "given that little scene I walked in on this morning and all…"

   "That was—!" Alley blushed to the roots of her hair. "That was…"

   "Kinda hot, is what is was," Charley snickered. "Another second and the kitchen might've erupted in flames."

   "Another second and I'd have punched that letch through the wall!"

   "Hmmm." Charley eyed her cousin thoughtfully. "If you really wanted to punch him, seems to me you'd 've done it."

   "What are you implying?" Alley huffed. "That I'm giving in to his charms? No way! I'm not into furries. Especially old furries."

   Charley laughed. "So you admit he has charms, eh?"

   "What? That isn't—!" Alley pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, if you want to date Vinnie, that's all fine and dandy. Knock yourself out, I'm honestly happy that you're happy. But please just … don't…" She faltered, not wanting to upset her cousin all over again. "I'm not—"

   "Okay, okay. Relax," the mechanic soothed. "I was only teasing. I understand. I really do, and I promise not to say anything else about it, all right?" She drew a line across her lips, turning an imaginary key.

   "Thank you," Alley replied with a sigh, opening the fridge to grab a bowl full of whipped filling. She offered it with a sheepish smile. "Want to help me frost?"

   "Only if I get to lick the spatula."

   She snickered. "You're such a kid."

   "Damn straight. Keeps me young." Charley grinned and riffled around in the bottom cabinets until she unearthed an ancient Tupperware container. She pursed her lips, eyeballing the container, then the cakes. "Ummm … pretty sure all these ain't gonna fit in here."

   "Is that the only container you have?" Alley looked horrified.

   Charley chuckled. "I'm no master chef. Never needed more than one before."

   "I'm just gonna have to buy you the whole damn kitchen and be done with it," the blonde grumbled.

   "Like you can afford that."

   "I can with the jewels Stoker left behind."

   There was a marked silence; Alley reached up to pull down several dinner plates from the cabinet, deliberately ignoring the irritation on her cousin's face.

   "I told him I didn't want his charity!" Charley burst out.

   Alley pursed her lips, setting the plates down with a thunk and fixing her cousin with a hard stare. "That's your ego talking. Can't you tell the difference between charity and a heartfelt gift? But, whatever. Since you didn't want it, he gave it to me, instead."

   "And you have no problems accepting handouts."

   "I fail to see how this is a handout," Alley replied, pulling a roll of wax paper from a drawer and tearing several sheets from it to line the plates. "He found the jewelry, didn't he? And he already took what he needed from it. The rest of the jewels are just junk to him. But they're worth a pretty penny to most humans. So, rather than tossing out some incredibly valuable rocks, he deemed it more economical to give the rest to you, so you can take what you need from them. I don't think that's charity so much as some pretty damned useful recycling."

   Charley opened and closed her mouth several times, trying for a retort, but finding none forthcoming. She huffed and picked up a well-worn spatula, using it to slap a large dollop of filling onto half of a pie. She used a little too much force, however; the pastry crumbled easily, leaving a red and white gooey mess sitting in her palm. She scowled down at it for a second, until a choked giggle had her switching her glare to Alley, instead, who was doing a poor job of hiding her amusement. "Shut up," she grumbled, flinging the mess at her. It landed smack-dab in the center of Alley's chest, earning an outraged squeak.

   The tension broke as Charley broke into giggles of her own, her irritation melting away. "Okay," she admitted grudgingly. "I suppose I might have possibly let my ego overrule my common sense on this subject, but it doesn't sit right with me to just be handed a huge amount of money like that." She sighed, turning on the sink to wash her hand off. "I busted my ass to get this garage up and running, and to keep it going despite everything conspiring to shut me down. To accept help, no matter how well-intended, just feels too much like … giving up. Like admitting I can't do it."

   "Nobody would believe that," Alley scolded, dabbing at the frosting on her shirt. "Those guys wouldn't think less of you. You mean the world to them. They just want to help, the same way you've been helping them all this time. You consider each other family, right? Isn't family supposed to support each other when it's needed?"

   "You make a good point," Charley conceded.

   "I've made a lot of good points. You just didn't want to listen to them. And I guess that was my fault, too."

   "Well." Charley leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. "I'm listening now. Do you have anything else to say about my business practices that you think I should know?"

   "Actually…" she hedged, "I think I've got an idea that might solve some of your problems. At least on a temporary basis."

   "Oh? Do tell."

   "Well, in regards to those gems, if you're that determined to keep your garage running by yourself, why not just sell them and open a separate bank account with the money? It could be like a … a disaster relief fund or something."

   "A what?"

   "Give the guys the money. They don't have any of their own, right? In that sense, they're way worse off than you," Alley pointed out. "You can set up an account for them, under your name."

   "Okay…" Charley nodded. "And doing that would accomplish … what, exactly?"

   Alley rolled her eyes. "Well, for one thing, if they put any more holes through your doors, or manage to blow up some of the much-needed equipment to do your work, they can actually pay for it, for a change. Rather than you dipping into your own savings to cover replacement parts or whatever, dip into theirs, instead." She held up a finger. "And also! Those fancy, highly-expensive upgrades you're always giving those bikes of theirs? You'll no longer have to pay for them yourself."

   "That doesn't seem right, making them pay for stuff I always offered for free," Charley protested.

   "What's the big deal? Not like they actually earned any of that hypothetical money," Alley pointed out dryly.

   Well, Charley could hardly argue with that logic. She huffed a laugh and shrugged. "I guess it's not bad, as far as ideas go," she grudgingly admitted. "It doesn't really work as a long-term solution, though."

   "Well, no, I did say it was temporary. Whatever money the gems bring in would run out eventually, but at least it'd give you a chance to catch up and rebuild your finances. Take some of the pressure off, for a while at least."

   Charley tapped her chin, staring into space as she thought. "I'll talk it over with the guys," she decided. "See what they think."

   "That mean you'll do it?"

   "I guess it wouldn't hurt to give it a try." She shrugged. "It'll get those furballs to stop nagging at me, if nothing else." She grinned and shook her head, shooting Alley an impressed glance. "Really, I dunno how you do it. First, getting them to eat something other than junk food, and now this. All these years with them constantly putting holes through my walls and now they suddenly grow a conscience about it. Did you take a class or something? Guilt Trip 101?"

   Alley scoffed. "Please. Have you met my mother? That woman's got guilt-tripping down to a science, and she's practiced on me my entire life. Those guys never stood a chance!"

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #BMFM #bmfm fanfiction #Charley #OC #The Talk

[quickeningheart]

Sixteen

   Alley almost felt back to normal when she finally entered the small kitchen, where Stoker was in the midst of preparing a meal. He glanced at her and smiled. "Good timing. Food's ready. How ya feelin', kid?"

   "Human," she replied.

   He grinned and nodded at the table. "Have a seat."

   "You know, I really wasn't kidding when I said I wasn't hungry." And she wasn't about to tempt fate and risk a repeat of the past two hours.

   He wordlessly picked up two plates piled with scrambled eggs, toast, sliced oranges, and set them on the table before seating himself. She squeaked in shock when she felt his cold tail against her back, propelling her to a second chair and forcing her into it. He pointed his fork at her plate. "Eat," he commanded sternly, the clear order of a high-ranking official used to being obeyed. She hesitated, wondering what he'd do if she just walked out. Decided he'd probably have no qualms about strapping her to the chair and force-feeding her. She huffed, picked up her fork, and he smiled. "Good girl."

   The food was surprisingly good. A little bland—he didn't bother much with spices or seasoning—but at least it wasn't burnt. Unlike the trio, he seemed to know his way around a kitchen well enough to whip up something edible. Alley managed to finish half the plate before setting down her fork. When he would have protested, she held up a hand. "I can't eat any more. I'm half the size of you. How much food do you expect me to fit in here?"

   He laughed. "No wonder you're so skinny. A little more meat on your bones would do you good. Keep you warm for winter," he teased, taking her plate to finish the remains for her.

   "What am I, a chipmunk?" She stood and moved to the sink, piling dishes and cookware into it and turning on the hot water. "Thanks for breakfast," she added, pouring soap into the water.

   "Anytime, honey." She jumped, looking over her shoulder to find him right behind her, picking up a dish towel. "You wash, I'll dry?" he offered.

   "You cooked. I can clean up. Besides, the whole place needs cleaned today, anyhow."

   "You sure you shouldn't take it easy for a while?"

   She smiled wryly. "Amazingly, your quack remedy seemed to do the trick. Now that all the ickiness and mind-numbing terror is over, I feel a lot better. I suppose I should thank you for coming all the way back here to drop it off. Not that it means I'll be trusting any 'medicine' you try to give me in the future, of course."

   "Of course." He grinned. "I thought you looked unusually frumpy today. Figured you just weren't up for dollin' yourself up like usual."

   She self-consciously glanced down at her ratty overalls with the legs cut off at the knee, worn over an equally ratty T-shirt. She'd pulled her hair back and covered it with a tie-dyed bandana. She hadn't even bothered with makeup. "No sense dressing up if I'm gonna be on my hands and knees scrubbing floors," she mumbled, focusing on scrubbing dried eggs off the skillet.

   "Don't worry, honey. You're a beauty no matter what you're wearin'. Or aren't wearin'."

   She could almost feel his smirk, and her face flamed. She sighed, shaking her head. "And it was going so well, too," she lamented to the brillo pad.

   Stoker blinked down at her. "What was?"

   "You. Me. Talking like … semi-normal people do. A whole ten minutes without a single innuendo. That's some kind of a record."

   "I've been remiss. I'll have to work on that." He winked, and she huffed.

   "It's all jokes with you," she complained. "How am I supposed to take anything you say seriously? Are you physically incapable of speaking to a woman without making some chauvinistic remark? It's not your most endearing quality, you know."

   "Hmmm." He slanted her a sideways glance, one corner of his mouth twitching up. "So, if I started gettin' serious, you wouldn't have a problem?" His tone was all innocence; the look in his eyes was anything but.

   She sputtered for a reply, found that—as usual—he'd managed to knock the wind clean out of her sails. She instead focused on scrubbing the skillet with renewed vigor.

   Stoker wisely backed off, plucking the squeaky-clean pan from her hands. He set it in the dish drainer, before pouring himself a cup of coffee from the new pot sitting on the brewer. He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy clink.

   "What's that?" Alley eyeballed it suspiciously. "Not more of your remedy, I hope."

   "Nope." He chuckled. "It's a gift. Throttle filled me in on what's goin' on around here."

   Alley's brow furrowed. "About … Charley and Vinnie?"

   His grin was slow and he chuckled softly. "Hmmm. Yeah, that, too. 'Bout damned time that punk made a move." He took another sip of coffee, considering. His grin widened. "Although, knowin' our Charley, she's probably the one who got fed up waitin' and made the first move on him."

   Alley shifted uncomfortably, making a show of folding the damp dish towel and draping it over the dish drainer in the sink. She really didn't want to bring up that particular subject again. It was pretty clear that she was the only one who seemed to have any problem with it, and the unease set her stomach to roiling, especially at the thought of Charley being the one to instigate … whatever it was between her and Vinnie. She could feel Stoker's shrewd gaze on her back, patiently waiting for her to speak, and pressed her lips together.

   Not that it'll fool him, she thought. Isn't that how the song goes? Silence speaks a thousand words? She turned slowly, leaning against the counter as she forced herself to meet his eyes. "I'm not … comfortable with the idea. Of them being … together," she hedged, voice laced with unease.

   He nodded at her to continue, expression blank.

   "It's not just because she's interested in a giant talking mouse. It's also because she's interested in a giant talking mouse who possesses the attention span of a doorknob."

   Stoker, in the midst of another swallow of coffee, choked as an unexpected laugh caught him by surprise. He coughed for a few moments to clear his throat, thumping his chest with a fist as he continued to chortle. "'S a good way to put it," he wheezed around his chuckles. "I outta at least try 'n defend the rookie, but I'd be lyin' if I said it wasn't true."

   His amusement was contagious and she found herself trying to suppress a grin. "See? Even you admit it," she huffed. "I don't think a guy as self-obsessed as him is good for anyone. If she had to fall for one of you, why couldn't it have been Throttle, or Modo? At the very least, they're a lot more dependable."

   "Hey, now. I notice you left my name outta there. You sayin' I'm not dependable?" he teased.

   "You yourself admitted you taught Vinnie 'everything he knows'. What do you think?" she deadpanned, earning another laugh. She sighed, amusement fading, and looked down at her hands, idly picking at the chipping polish on her thumb. "I just … don't want it to be like it was before, with Jack," she confessed. "I don't want Charley to end up hurt if something goes wrong. And there is so much that could go horribly wrong if she pursues this."

   She jumped when two big hands came to rest on her shoulders, cupping her neck. Startled, she looked up to meet Stoker's serious gaze, shivering as his thumbs lightly caressed her jawline. "I told you already, it's sweet of you to worry about your cousin, but ultimately useless," he said gently. "She's a grown woman with a good head on her shoulders, and what you need to do is start trustin' that she knows what she's doin'. It ain't like she's goin' into this whole thing blind and deaf. She's as aware of the risks as you are, an' the fact she's choosin' to get involved anyway says a whole lot about how serious she is."

   "Yeah, Throttle already gave me this lecture," she muttered, annoyed. "But that's the whole problem. Charley might be plenty serious, but what about him? He doesn't strike me as the commitment type. He seems a lot more like the love 'em and leave 'em type to me."

   "And maybe at some point he was. But if it makes you feel better, I'm thinkin' he's plenty serious about Charley-girl. She ain't the kind of gal a mouse just tosses aside when he's tired of her." His mouth twitched into a smile. "She can handle a bazooka with the best of 'em, for one thing. Vinnie'd be a fool to piss her off that badly."

   She huffed a short laugh, lips curling, and his expression softened. "There now. That's more like it." One hand slid up to cup her cheek, which warmed noticeably beneath his palm as she flushed, embarrassed by his entirely-too-close proximity. "Don't worry your pretty head about those two," he murmured. "They'll work out their own issues just fine."

   She shifted uncomfortably as he seemed to draw even closer, his head lowering slightly. She found herself caught in his deep gaze; dark, enigmatic eyes the color of cherry wood held hers as warm, coffee-scented breath ghosted across her lips. Her heart thudded loudly as the rich scent of hay and sunshine tickled her senses.

   And her hand curled into a tight fist as the faintest touch of soft fur brushed her mouth…

   Until the moment was shattered as effectively as a brick thrown through a window by the loud, obnoxious clearing of a throat behind them.

   Alley squealed in shock, instinctively shoving an equally-startled Stoker away from her as she tried to bolt in the other direction. Unfortunately, his tail—which had at some point wound itself tightly about her ankle—kept her from getting very far. She found herself sprawling on the hard floor with a pained oomph as what little air remained in her lungs left them in a rush. She lay there for a second, stunned, gasping, wondering what the hell had almost just happened. Then she flipped over to find Charley standing over her, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a grin twitching at her lips as her sharp gaze bounced back and forth between them. "Did I disrupt something?" she asked, all innocence.

   "Yep," Stoker snorted, while at the same time Alley yelped, "No!"

   The grin widened. "Well? Which is it?"

   Alley, still flushed, glanced at Stoker and quickly away again, staring instead at her knee, which had started to bleed from a thin slice across the skin. "Band-aid," she muttered, climbing to her feet and bolting for the safety of the bathroom.

   Charley watched her go, then turned back to Stoker and shook her head. "What are you doing to that poor girl?" she sighed, sounding more amused than exasperated.

   He shrugged. "Just tryin' to help out in my own way." He winked. "Showin' her the charms of bein' with a Martian mouse."

   "That's sweet, Stoke, but I don't think she's ready to accept your 'charms' just yet," she replied dryly.

   He shrugged, looking smug. "Seemed pretty receptive to me."

   "Uh-huh." She shot him a droll glance. "From my point of view, it looked more like she was receptively gearin' up to deliver a hard punch to your soft little nose. Good thing I was there to step in and save your ego for you."

   He snorted, clearly disbelieving. She laughed. "I'm tellin' you, don't underestimate her. She dislocated a guy's shoulder once, for gettin' too fresh when she wasn't interested. That takes a certain amount of strength, ya know." She picked up the half-empty mug, took a sip and grimaced, before dumping the cooled contents and pouring fresh coffee into it. "Come to think of it, that's why she got kicked out of the self-defense class she was takin'. Little perv was the star pupil and the teacher's son." She chuckled. "Her mom was horrified. Her dad couldn't have been prouder."

   Stoker raised both eyebrows, grinning. "Well, that just makes it all the more fun."

   "What? Gettin' your clock cleaned by a little girl?" she teased, nudging him in the side as she handed him the cup. She held onto it when he tried to take it, though, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were serious. "Honestly, Stoke. Don't play with her," she warned. "She isn't some bimbo off the streets, she's my cousin. And I don't wanna see her get hurt any more than she wants to see me get hurt. Got it?"

   He smiled, gently ruffling her hair. "Understood, Chief," he replied. "I promise not to go overboard."

   She waited for more, and when nothing else was forthcoming, huffed an exasperated sigh. "And that's all the promise I'm gettin' outta you, isn't it?"

   He chuckled. "What can I say? A mouse knows what he wants when he sees it, an' goes after it with everything he's got. Life's too short to waste holdin' back."

   She studied him. "You really serious about her?"

   He shrugged. "Who knows? But she's certainly got my attention."

   She smirked. "I gotta admit, in the years I've known you, I've never seen you go after a female with this much … enthusiasm before. I was startin' to think your womanizing reputation was a bit undeserved." She winked at him.

   "Oh, I've had my share of flings back in the day," he sniffed, crossing his arms. "One or two of 'em were even gettin' serious, b'fore I pulled the plug. My reputation is rightly earned, thanks very much."

   She rolled her eyes. "That ain't something to be proud of, you know. And it sure won't impress Alley."

   He sighed heavily, offering a helpless shrug. "What can ya do? A planetary war zone's hardly the right place t' settle down and raise a family. B'tween constant off-planet missions, leadin' the Freedom Fighters, knowin' there's someone waitin' for you to come home and wonderin' if this'll be your last mission…" He shrugged again. "Always just seemed more intelligent to cut and run. I never wanted to leave yet another widow behind. There're too many of 'em up there as it is." His eyes took on an unfocused, faraway look, recalling certain memories, and Charley's expression softened. She offered a sympathetic smile and a light caress over his cheek, trying to distract him from his sudden melancholy.

   It worked. He blinked, the sadness clearing from his expression as he straightened and offered a grin that seemed just a bit forced. "Anyway, there's a reason I came back," he told her. "Throttle radioed me and told me the good news 'bout you and Vinnie. I hear some congratulations are in order."

   She squirmed, embarrassed. "It's just … nothing really happened," she mumbled. "We both came to an understanding, is all."

   "Bah." He gave her ear a playful tweak. "You ain't foolin' no one. You're so happy you're about ready to start climbin' the walls."

   She pouted at him. "Stop probin' at me. It ain't polite."

   He chuckled. "I don't have to. Yer practically shoutin' it from the rooftops," he teased. "Anyhow, I come bearing gifts. Thought you could use 'em. And it's traditional to give gifts on such a glad occasion."

   "Really." She eyed him skeptically. "Just for a pair of friends becomin' a couple?"

   "Weeelll…" He waved his hand in a so-so gesture. "There's a bit more involved than that, but we'll just skip a few steps, right?" He nodded at the pouch sitting on the table. "Have a looksee an' tell me if you can use 'em."

   Well, now he had her curiosity piqued. Charley opened the pouch and peered inside, and her eyes went wide as her jaw dropped in astonishment. Stoker grinned at her expression.

   "So. Will they help you out?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

   "Wha—These are—" She pulled out a large gemstone and held it up to the light. It looked like a sapphire, flashing with dark fire. "Jiminy Christmas, is this thing real?"

   He chuckled. "Yep."

   She dug through the bag, eyes wide. "And all these others?"

   "Of course. I figure they're probably valuable. Most of 'em were set in jewelry, but I needed the metal for my … project. Not a lot of diamonds in there, either. I needed most of those, too. Sapphires and rubies, they don't focus energy as well as diamonds so they aren't any help to me."

   She frowned. "You building a super laser or something?"

   "Something like that." His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "You can probably sell 'em, right?"

   "Where did you get them?"

   "Found these and a big stash of money in a cave a few years back, when I was scoutin' around further west for new workspace. Think it must've been one of those old outlaw hideouts, like you see in the movies. There was all sorts of stuff in there; old guns, supplies, that sorta thing. Most've it was rotted out, but those jewels just needed a bit of cleanin' up, and they were good as new."

   "How is it nobody else ever stumbled into that cave in all these years?" Charley asked.

   "Cave-in," he grunted. "It was hidden pretty deep in the mountain, and the whole place was closed up. Figured by that point whoever'd left that stuff there wouldn't be needin' it anymore, so I helped myself. Didn't stay in the cave, though. Still too unstable to make a safe work environment."

   Charley sighed, dropping the gemstones back into the bag. "Stoke, this is incredibly generous of you, but there's no way I can accept this gift." She tried to hand the pouch to him, but he pushed it back into her hands.

   "Don't be stubborn," he scolded. "You need these more 'n I do. What am I gonna do with 'em? Not like I can walk into a store and sell 'em. But you can, and you can use that money to get your garage in order."

   Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Alley been flappin' her gums again?"

   "Nope. Throttle," he replied easily.

   "I don't need charity," she snapped. "I spent ten years building this business. By myself. And I'll keep it goin' just like I always have. By myself. I know you mean well, but please just keep yourselves out of it." She slapped the pouch down on the table and turned to stalk out of the kitchen, heading back to the garage to reopen.

   Stoker sighed, running a hand over his face. "Well, that went about as well as I'd expected," he snorted to himself.

   "I could've told you she wouldn't take 'em."

   He looked up to find Alley peeking around the corner at him, her expression blank. "Don't suppose you could—"

   "Nope. I can't." She smiled a little, moving further around the corner. "She's made it pretty clear she's not interested in anything I have to say about the matter."

   "I don't think it's your opinions that pissed her off. I think it's the fact you voiced 'em in front of the guys. That lady's got far too much pride for her own good. And I guess we all kinda treat her like a delicate little flower sometimes, and that pisses her off, too, because we all know she's anything but."

   Alley hummed, stepping fully into the kitchen and picking up the pouch to riffle through it. She withdrew a pendant on a thick silver chain, set with a large sapphire and ringed in smaller diamonds. "Chris told me his step-mom has ties with the diamond exchange," she said thoughtfully, examining the stones. "She could probably get this stuff appraised. Maybe even find some buyers. The jewelry that's still intact is probably worth even more than the loose gems, just from age alone. Antiques are a big commodity among collectors."

   He shrugged. "Won't do much good if Charley won't accept 'em. Even if you went and sold 'em behind her back, she'd never take the money they bring in."

   "It is a conundrum."

   He raised an eyebrow. "You got any bright ideas?"

   She sighed, dropped the pendant into the pouch and leaned back against the table. "Not really, no. Nothing that wouldn't piss her off even more, anyway." She offered a shrug and the bag of jewels.

   He held out a hand to stop her. "Keep 'em," he told her. "I don't need 'em."

   She blinked, astonished. "What'll I do with them?"

   "Whatever you want. Sell 'em, wear 'em … they're yours now. Anyway, I'd like to stick around longer and talk, but I got some work that needs my attention, so I'll be goin' now."

   "What kind of work do you do down here?" she asked, suspicious. "You're always coming and going, and nobody ever knows where."

   He pressed a finger to his mouth with a wink. "That's a secret."

   "Of course it is." She rolled her eyes. "Well, have fun plotting world domination or whatever. I got plenty of work of my own to do, so … you can see yourself out, I'm sure." She ducked under his hand when he tried to pet her hair, sauntering from the kitchen without a backward glance. He shook his head with a whimsical smile as he watched her go. Two steps forward … and a massive shove back.

   Sometimes the game could be as exasperating as it was fun. But that just made winning it all the more worthwhile in the end.

Next

#BMFM #bmfm fanfiction #romance #humor #Stoker #OC

[quickeningheart]

Fifteen

   When Alley woke up, it felt like someone had run over her head. She lay there, eyes squinched tight, and waited until the ringing in her ears cleared enough to try and recall why she appeared to be suffering from a hangover. Her mouth felt and tasted like an old sock. And her face felt uncomfortably tight and sticky. She shifted, turned onto her side and …. oooohhh there was the nausea she'd been waiting for! She let her head dangle over the side of the bed, clenching her teeth against the urge to vomit, grimly determined not to up-heave all over her nice shag rug.

   Which, for some reason, had moved itself to another part of the room, draped messily over her beanbag chair in the corner. She frowned, trying to remember how the hell it had gotten all the way over there.

   The wave of nausea slowly faded and she cautiously sat up by degrees, desperate not to upset her stomach any more than it already was. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, sat a moment until the fresh bout of head-pounding dizziness passed. Even with the bedroom lights off, the sunlight streaming through her opened window was enough to send lances of pain through her overly-sensitive eyes. She slowly stood and made her way unsteadily to her dresser, searching for the sunglasses she'd tossed there.

   There was a tumbler of something thick and brown sitting there, instead. She squinted at it, considering. She was pretty sure she hadn't left it there herself, which meant someone had left it for her. She just couldn't figure out why. Its contents looked … well, she didn't want to think about what it looked like. But it sure didn't resemble anything edible. She leaned over for a cautious sniff, finding there wasn't much of an odor, which was also odd. That's when she noticed the slip of paper tucked under the glass, pulled it free to read the short note scrawled messily on its surface.

   Drink this. It'll cure what ails ya.

   "Oh," she said softly, finally recalling the many events of the previous day, ending with her impromptu drinking binge on the roof, and Throttle's soothing company. She glanced at herself in the mirror, grimacing. Ugh. She looked like a raccoon. A raccoon that had gotten into a fistfight, and lost. And he had seen her looking like this? She chose not to ponder why the idea embarrassed her so much, instead picking up the tumbler and taking a careful gulp. She immediately choked; whatever it was, it had the consistency of watered-down applesauce and the bitterness of strong, black coffee. The taste she could handle, but the texture made her gag; she'd never been a big fan of applesauce.

   Still, if Throttle had left it for her, there was a good reason. Some kind of medicine, if the note was to be believed. So she plugged her nose and drank the rest of the contents in three large swallows, gasping for air as soon as the last rank dollop slid down her throat. "This crap had better work some magic," she choked out, slamming the glass back onto the dresser and digging through her drawers for a change of clothes. She needed a shower, stat.

   She had just left her room when the nausea abruptly returned full-force. And she knew there would be no holding it back this time. Eyes widening in panic, she slapped a hand to her mouth and made a mad scramble for the bathroom, slamming the door and diving for the toilet in the nick of time as she proceeded to empty her stomach into the porcelain bowl, heaving until there was nothing left, and even after that.

   When she finally finished retching, she sat on the floor with her face pressed against her forearm for another five minutes, waiting for her head to stop spinning. Eventually, she forced herself to her feet and shakily peeled off her soiled clothes, kicking them into a corner. She rinsed her mouth in the sink, turned on the bathtub faucet and let the tub fill.

   And just as she about to step into the steaming water, sudden, horrible cramps seized her stomach, making her bend nearly double and almost fall into the tub.

   Her skin flushed hot as her entire body broke out into a cold sweat; she cursed fluently as she staggered back to the toilet, wondering if she should start calling for help. She'd been poisoned. She was sure of it! And if she lived through this, she was going to murder Throttle the next time she saw him!

   And if she didn't live through it, she vowed, her vengeful spirit would haunt the golden mouse for the rest of his natural life. There would be no place in this universe or any other where he could escape her wrath!

   She'd let the water run too long; when she finally managed to crawl into the old-fashioned, claw-foot tub, it sloshed over the sides and onto the floor. Charley was gonna kill her, but she felt too sick to care at the moment as she stretched out, keeping one arm draped over the side so she wouldn't accidentally drown herself if she blacked out. The water was no longer steaming by that point; it couldn't even be considered lukewarm anymore, but she was too exhausted to reach past her feet and turn on the tap again. So she just floated with her eyes closed, afraid to move, or breathe, or do anything that might cause the sickness and cramping to start all over again. Her tense muscles soon began to relax, and the pounding in her head eased as she rested, the dizzying pain fading by slow degrees.

   After a while, when she was sure the sickness wasn't going to come back, she held her breath and slid further down into the tub, fully submerging. She stayed under as long as she could, scrubbing her face and running fingers through her hair to work out the tangles. The cooled water felt good against her tight, aching skin and helped clear the last of the fog from her mind.

   When she finally surfaced, blinking and wiping water from her eyes, Stoker stood inside the bathroom with an armload of towels and a bemused expression.

   She blinked at him in confusion for a few moments, trying to process what she was seeing. Were hallucinations the next step? Was this the part where the poison reached her brain? She was about to die now, wasn't she? She started to hyperventilate.

   "Easy there, honey," Stoker said softly, frowning as he stepped closer to her. "Take deep breaths. That's it."

   And that's when it hit her that, yes, there really was a Martian mouse standing in the bathroom and yes, she happened to be very naked at the moment. She allowed herself one, brief moment of relief that she wasn't dying (yet), before choking out a startled squawk; even more water sloshed onto the floor in her mad scramble to press her body against the side of the tub, trying uselessly to hide from his sight. "What're you doing? Get out of here!" she barked, voice hoarse.

   "Relax, princess. I just came in to make sure you were okay." Stoker kept his voice low and soothing as he approached her. "Good thing you came up for air. I called and knocked. When you didn't answer I thought you'd passed out in the water. I was about to jump in there after you." He offered a quick smile, dropping half the towels onto the floor to sop up the mess. She dared to reach out and snatch another from his arms, pulling it into the tub with her.

   He chuckled. "There's no need for that, is there? You don't have anything I haven't already seen a dozen times over." She glared and he relented, grinning as he sat back on his haunches. "So, is all this just from the hangover, or did you drink my medicine?"

   She started. "You left that vile crap on my dresser? What the hell did I ever do to you to deserve being poisoned?"

   "I didn't poison you, honey. You'll be just fine," he soothed. "It's an old Martian remedy. Throttle radioed me last night, asked if I happened to have any on hand. Seemed to think you'd be needing a dose."

   "I'm gonna kill you both," she groaned, resting her forehead on her arm. "Remedy, my ass! You damn near turned me inside out!"

   "Hmm. Then it did its job, at least." She jumped when his hand came to rest on her head, running gently over her wet hair. "I'm sorry, honey. It's a pretty strong concoction. I halved the usual dosage, but I guess it was still a bit too much for your little body. Think maybe I should've quartered it, instead. But I wanted to make sure it was effective. Never tried giving it to a human before."

   She peeked at him over her arm. His expression was sincere, just a bit regretful. "What was it?" she asked grudgingly.

   "In simplest terms, a detoxification drug," he explained. "There are a lot of natural gas pools on Mars, since the Plutarkians invaded and wiped the planet, disrupted the ecosystem. They form deep underground, building up until the pressure finally causes the ground to rupture, like a … a gas geyser. If still underground, that escaping gas gets trapped in caves and forms deadly pockets. Or, even worse, it can escape into channels and natural vents and leak into other passages, some of them in habitated areas well-used by the cave mice."

   Alley nodded at him to continue.

   "The gas is highly poisonous, full of fast-acting toxins that will spread through the entire body, shutting it down. A few breaths can kill a mouse in minutes. The detox drug is meant to do exactly what it did to you. Basically, eject and purge the toxins from a body by any means necessary. Vomiting, bowel expulsion, sweating … well, you know what it does." He grinned at her dark look. "It doesn't completely cure the damage, but it keeps you alive long enough to get rescue and proper medical attention." He flashed another grin and a saucy wink. "Turns out, it's also pretty good for curing hangovers in a jiff."

   She glowered at him. "That's a little extreme, don't you think? Aspirin, a dark room, and lots of sleep would've done the same thing. Hell, I felt better before I stuffed that crap down my throat."

   "I guess this is a case of the cure being worse than the disease," he teased. "But sleeping doesn't detoxify your blood stream. Trust me, your liver will thank me."

   "My liver might, but I can't say the same for my stomach. Which I'm pretty sure is still in the toilet. Along with most of my intestines. Possibly a lung," she grumbled. "You couldn't have warned me about the affects or something?"

   He laughed. "Would you have drank it if I did?"

   "Hell no!"

   "Well, then."

   "You're the devil," she groused, dropping her head on her forearm again. "I'm being punished, aren't I?"

   He ruffled her hair. "At the very least, you won't be tempted to finish off an entire jar of moonshine by yourself again, will you?"

   "I didn't finish the entire jar. Hell, I think Throttle drank more of it than I did! Please tell me he got a dose of your crap remedy, too."

   "Sorry, honey." He flashed a sheepish grin. "Don't think he'll be needing it. Mice have a much stronger constitution than humans. Our bodies can handle a lot more alcohol, filter out the bloodstream more easily. A little moonshine ain't gonna affect him overmuch. Now, Martian ale, on the other hand … a bottle o' that'll knock a mouse clean off his feet."

   "Damn it. That's just not fair," she complained.

   He laughed again, reached out to pull the drain, then turned the tap on to let fresh hot water pour into the tub. "When you're cleaned up, come out to the kitchen for some food."

   "Never. Eating. Again. Stomach … toilet … remember?"

   "You need to replenish all those nutrients you just lost. I'll whip up somethin' light and healthy for you."

   "You can cook?" She regarded him doubtfully

   "Course. I don't keep a maid, ya know. It's cook, or starve to death," he replied.

   "Where's Charley?"

   "Working. She got called out to fix a flat tire or something, and the boys are out patrolling. It's just you and me for now."

   "Then who's running the garage?"

   "I imagine it's shut at the moment."

   Alley thumped her head against her arm in frustration. "How does she not tank her business?" she muttered to herself. But, whatever. Charley'd made it perfectly clear she wasn't interested in any help. Or in sound, logical advice, for that matter. "Not my concern … not my concern…"

   Stoker chuckled. "It's sweet how you worry for your cousin. Useless, but sweet."

   She pouted at him. "Feel free to leave the room any time now."

   He winked. "Sure you don't want me to stay? I can help scrub those hard-to-reach places."

   "Out!"

Next

[quickeningheart]

Fourteen

   Charley closed the garage a bit earlier than normal that evening, and the gang all headed up to the apartment for their typical Friday night movie marathon. As per usual, Modo popped in an action flick, Throttle raided the kitchen for snacks, and Charley claimed a spot on the couch, snuggled up against Vinnie with her head tucked under his chin. Vinnie looked like a mouse in paradise, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and an expression that could only be described as bliss covering his features. They all made themselves comfortable and settled in to watch The Fifth Element—Charley promised they'd enjoy it—and nobody mentioned the conspicuous absence of the newest member of their little family.

   But Throttle could feel her absence. Keenly. Or, rather, what he was feeling was the churning turmoil of her emotions ricocheting inside his skull.

   He shifted, casting a furtive glance toward the hallway. He'd always been the most empathic of the three of them. Not as sensitive as Stoker, of course, but he was no slouch when it came to his mental faculties. He was able to pick up and read emotions from nearly anyone he met, even manipulate them if he had time enough to concentrate. This was a great tactical advantage on the battlefield, being able to put terror and confusion into the enemies heads that could turn the tide of battle against them. Unfortunately, the ability had its price; it tended to put him into a near-coma with too much use. Thus, he didn't employ the ability very often, keeping it strictly for life-or-death situations when there was no other option for escape.

   It was especially easy to read humans, who didn't possess any natural ability to keep mental intruders out, and tended to project their emotions loudly and often. Were it not for his own fortified mental blocks, the constant barrage from the population of Chicago alone probably would've driven him insane years ago. As it was, even with his mental doors slammed tight, Alley's confusion and grief and guilt still managed to seep through the cracks. He could tell Vinnie and Modo were being affected, too; he wasn't the only one sneaking glances down the hall.

   He slid his gaze toward Charley. She appeared to be absorbed in the movie, but when he lightly probed, he could tell she was distracted. A bit angry, a lot hurt, and worried. About Alley? Something else? He couldn't tell. But he did know that things couldn't be left like this. And since he doubted either of the two stubborn women would be willing to take the first step toward fixing things, it fell to him—being the natural diplomat that he was—to help them along a bit.

   He hopped to his feet, drawing their attention. "Bathroom," he grunted, stomping down the hall. He felt his bros' mental support as they realized what his real goal was, and thus encouraged, stopped in front of Alley's repaired bedroom door and tapped quietly. There was no answer from inside; he didn't really expect there to be, but that wasn't about to deter him. Testing the knob, finding it unlocked, he pushed the door open just far enough to poke his head through.

   Only to discover the room was vacant.

   A brief moment of startled panic, before he sternly brought himself under control, sending mental reassurance to Vinnie and Modo, who had picked up on his distress. Of course Alley hadn't really left; he could feel her strongly which meant she was still close by. Besides, her belongings were still there. Including her pet. Which growled at him in warning and quickly vanished into a large nest of wood shavings and shredded paper. He snorted. Rats.

   The window was wide open, a cool breeze fluttering the gauzy curtains and glittering strands of beads she'd hung up. He inhaled, searching for a scent … which was a bit pointless as the room was steeped in her sweet fragrance. On impulse, he climbed out onto the fire escape, shimmied up the ladder to the roof and peered over the side.

   She was there. Reclining on a blue shag rug in the middle of the roof, a small pink beanbag propping her up as she gazed at the half-moon struggling valiantly to shine through the cloud cover of an approaching storm. A box of tissues rested beside her leg, and judging by the myriad of crumpled white balls around her, she'd been making good use of it.

   Throttle took the time to question how she'd managed to get all that up there without killing herself before he pulled himself over the ledge and approached cautiously. The light was dim enough that his green field specs were more of a hindrance than a help, so he tucked them into his belt. His vision adjusted, and he took note of her blotchy face, the dried tears and grayish smears of makeup streaking her reddened cheeks. Her eyes looked unusually glassy, and he figured out why a moment later when she lifted a small glass jar of clear liquid to her lips and took a sip; the sharp-sweet scent of strong liquor hit his nose, making his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

   "Aren't you a little young to be drinking?"

   Alley started violently, nearly spilling the drink down her front. "Jiminy Christmas, don't do that!" she snapped, slapping a metal lid on the jar. She glared up at him for a moment, before her expression faltered and a look of confusion crossed her features. "…Throttle?" she asked uncertainly, and he recalled that she probably had never seen him without the shades before.

   "Yep." He sat on the rug beside her, watching her reaction from the corner of his eye.

   She looked down, fidgeting with the jar in her hands. "Your turn?" she mumbled.

   He could feel her mentally bracing herself, realized that she was expecting another bawling out. "I ain't here to bust your chops," he assured her. "Just came up to see if you were okay."

   She blinked. "Why?"

   "Cause you obviously need to talk, and humans don't have an off-switch." He tapped his temple.

   She looked confused, and then her expression cleared. "Oh." She looked down again. "Sorry."

   "Ain't your fault." He nodded at the jar in her hands. "What is that stuff, anyway? And where'd you get it?"

   She shrugged. "Moonshine. I found it stashed in the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Charley's dad probably sent it to her. He sends my dad a few jars every year at Christmas. Apple cinnamon moonshine. It's pretty tasty." She uncapped the jar and took another sip, nearly choking when Throttle abruptly pulled it away from her.

   "You're too young," he repeated firmly.

   "Okay, Papa Smurf. I'm twenty years old. That's one less year than the legal age. Arrest me," she shot back, snatching it back from him.

   He chuckled. "Gimme a swig?"

   She pursed her lips, then shrugged and handed it over. He took a swallow, coughing as the liquor burned a sweet, hot trail down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach. "Yeah," he choked. "Strong stuff."

   She giggled, leaning back into her beanbag. Her amusement slowly faded and her expression sobered as she gazed up at the clouds. "I wanted to watch the stars," she murmured. "But the city's too bright. Can hardly see them in the middle of Chicago."

   "The cloud cover probably doesn't help much, either."

   Her smile was faint and brief. "Is Charley mad?" she asked in an abrupt change of subject.

   He took another swig, savoring the taste. It really was pretty good stuff. "Not so much," he replied. "She's more hurt than anything."

   She frowned. "Does she want me to leave?"

   "I think she wants you to understand."

   She turned her head to look at him, eyes sad. "Am I … a terrible person because I don't?" she whispered.

   He set the jar between them; she immediately reached for it to take a sip, and then one more. "I think," he began quietly, "that you're a human being who reacted pretty much like any human'd react to seeing … well, what you saw." He considered. "And if Charley-girl was caught makin' out with one of us on Mars, there'd be more'n a few raised eyebrows over it there, too."

   "But I thought you all know about humans."

   "That don't mean a relationship between a human and a mouse'd be accepted there any more easily than it'd be here," he admitted. "Corruption's a universal problem, and so's bigotry and prejudice against anything and anyone different and outside the norm."

   Alley sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "I know I'm a brat," she mumbled. "I know I'm spoiled, and shallow, and I can be too bossy and I stick my nose where it doesn't belong. I've been coddled all my life. Overprotective mom, a dad who lets me get my way too much … I'm aware of my faults. But … I've never been accused of being a bigot before." Her eyes opened, glittering with a sheen of fresh tears. "The worst part is, I'm not sure it's wrong," she choked out.

   Throttle pulled some tissues from the half-empty box and handed them to her wordlessly. She accepted them and blotted at her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to get herself under control. "You are good, decent people. I know you are. And if you were human, I wouldn't have any problem with one of you dating Charley. Not even Vinnie. But, I just—"

   "Can't get past the looks," he finished.

   She shuddered, pressing her forearm over her hot eyes. "I never realized I could be such a jerk," she mumbled, voice choked. "I didn't mean to hurt Charley. I don't mean to hurt any of you. I should be happy for her and Vinnie that they found each other. Instead, I made my own cousin feel like she has to choose between him and her family. She shouldn't have to feel that way. She shouldn't have to pick one."

   "You're right. She shouldn't."

   She shot him a sour look from under her arm. "You know, you kinda suck at this whole cheering up business."

   Throttle smiled faintly at her expression, scooting closer. He plucked the tissues from her fingers, lowered her arm and tilted her chin up to carefully dab at the tears on her face, cleaning off the streaked mascara. "I ain't here to bust your chops, but I ain't here to pat you on the back and tell you it's all okay, either. Because it ain't. And it won't be until you get a few things straight in your head."

   Her gaze slid away, but he gave her chin a gentle shake to bring it back to his. "Fact is, Charley-girl's got her own life and it involves giant alien mice. And she happens to have special feelings for one of those mice. So you've got to accept that and move on, just like she said. Or you really will be makin' her choose between him and you. And, sorry to say, it probably won't be you."

   "I know," she whispered. "But I don't know how to just … pretend I'm okay with all this."

   "Well, take a page from Charley's book, an' take it a day at a time. You're already gettin' okay with us as a whole, aren't you?"

   "I … I don't know."

   "Put it this way," he said. "When you first arrived you could hardly look at us without shiverin' and cringin' away whenever one of us got too close. Now look at you." He gave her chin another teasing shake. "I've got my hands on you and you don't even flinch. We're drinkin' moonshine outta the same jar, and you sure don't seem disgusted by it. What's a little spit-swappin' between friends, eh?"

   She grimaced. "There's a mental image I didn't need."

   He smirked at her. "Smartass."

   "Better'n a dumbath," she retorted, words slurring slightly. She pulled a face. "Damn. Think my tongue's broken."

   He chuckled. "You better lay off the 'shine now."

   "Nah." She picked up the mostly-empty jar and shook it. "Better to finish it off an' hide the evidence. You can't tell Charley now, ya know. You sat here and got drunk right along with her underage cousin. She'll lay into you worse'n she did me."

   He snorted. "You're probably right. That woman's a force to be reckoned with when she's pissed."

   "I'll drink to that!" She tipped the jar back and took a long swig, choking on a laugh when he snatched it away from her. She leaned back again as he finished off the last of it, pleasantly buzzed as the world spun lazily around her and warmth spread through her body, turning her arms and legs into limp noodles. "S'probably gunna rain," she mumbled.

   "Yeah. I can smell it comin'," he agreed.

   "Probably should get up 'n drag all this stuff back in, huh?"

   "You don't look like you can even walk, much less take a ladder with an armload of stuff."

   She stuck her tongue out at him. "That mean you gonna carry it in?" At his look, she giggled. "S'okay. I'll just stay here 'n drown in the rain. Charley won't mind."

   He huffed. "You're just tryin' ta guilt me into carryin' you in."

   "Is it working?"

   Chuckling, he shook his head and turned his back to her. "Hop on," he commanded. A moment later, two slim arms circled his neck as a warm body leaned heavily against him. He gulped, feeling the press of her breasts against his back. That meant nothing. He was just lonely; seeing Vinnie and Charley cuddled so closely reminded him of how long it had been since he'd been with his own lady. He twined his tail around Alley's waist and hooked his hands under her knees, rising easily to his feet. He tried to pretend it was Carbine he carried, but the weight was too light, her legs much slimmer and softer than Carbine's lean-muscled form. Not to mention the absolute lack of fur on her bare thighs, warm and silken under his palms. Definitely a bad idea, he thought, gritting his teeth against the sudden urge to run his hands over her legs. Instead, he hooked her legs around his waist, reached down and grabbed the rug and chair.

   "Hang on tight. And please don't scream," he muttered, hopping onto the roof edge and then leaping off, falling the short distance to land on the platform outside her window. The fire escape shook with the impact, and she squeaked and clutched him tighter as he ducked inside and dropped her things on the floor. She slid down and leaned against him for a moment, regaining her balance, and he held her up with his tail until she was steady.

   "Your fur's really soft," she mumbled, tottering to the bed and sitting heavily on it. "'S kinda like hugging a giant Teddy bear."

   "Thanks ever so," he deadpanned.

   She sniggered and heaved herself backward onto the bed, kicking off her flip-flops before sprawling atop the covers. "Throttle?"

   "Yeah?"

   She sighed, already half-asleep. "Thanks for coming t' talk to me. And for not yelling at me. And for not dropping me."

   He chuckled. "Sure."

   She smiled faintly up at him. "I promise to try harder."

   "Okay."

   She reached out and gripped his fingers, tugging lightly. "And I think I understand … a little bit more." She was silent for a while; he thought she'd fallen asleep, until she opened her eyes again to meet his gaze. "She should've fallen for you, instead," she murmured. "You're the sweet one. And you've got kind eyes."

   He stared down at her for a long moment, surprised by the confession, before freeing his hand from her grip and quietly leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Next

#BMFM #Biker Mice from Mars #bmfm fanfiction #main cast #OCs #romance #humor #drama #Don't drink if you're underage kiddies #She's gonna be feelin' THAT in the mornin'...

[quickeningheart]

Thirteen

   It was almost six o'clock before the Archer twins dropped Alley in front of the garage and took off to make it to their scheduled dinner in time. Chris was fretting about being late; Chex, of course, couldn't have cared less. They drove away, still arguing, as Alley waved goodbye, her purchases at her feet.

   She picked up numerous shopping bags and slung them over her arms, then hefted the heavy box bearing the disassembled pieces of her new desk, awkwardly dragging it into the garage and wishing she'd taken Chris up on his offer of helping to lug it up to the apartment. But since purchasing the desk at the last minute was the reason they were running late to begin with, she'd insisted he leave to meet his father as planned.

   She noticed that Stoker's bike was gone again, but Throttle and Modo were engaged in a card game. Throttle looked up, chuckling as she staggered past the folding card table. "Need a hand there, Alley-girl?" he asked.

   "That would not be unappreciated. Thanks," she replied with a weak grin, handing off the box to him. "You can just leave it in the living room against the wall or something. I'll put it together later." She started up the stairs for the apartment, shifting the bags in her arms as she went.

   "I thought you were shopping for a phone. Did you buy the whole store out?" he teased.

   Alley laughed. "Oh, sure. I couldn't decide which one I wanted so I figured I might as well just take … them… " Her words trailed off and she stopped dead in her tracks just outside the living room, bags sliding from her suddenly-limp arms. Throttle nearly ran into her as he came through the door, hastily sidestepping to avoid bowling her over. His protest died in his throat when he caught sight of what she was gawking at.

   Charley and Vinnie were in the kitchen. They'd come up earlier to make dinner, but that sure didn't look like what they were doing. Charley leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and Vinnie stood just in front of her. It seemed innocent enough, but the white mouse stood just a little too close, eyes lidded as he spoke quietly, clearly flirting.

   The eavesdroppers waited for her to push him away with a laugh and a retort, like she usually did when he got too cheeky. Instead, she offered a slow smile and raised her hand to gently tickle the fur under his chin, and that was enough to make his ears turn pink. His tail snaked around her legs, tugging her closer as her arm slid around his shoulders. He lowered his head to softly nuzzle at her ear, one hand settling on her hip as her eyes began to flutter closed.

   And Alley just couldn't hold it in anymore. "What the hell?" she yelped, and the pair jumped apart like a bomb had gone off between them, expressions torn between startled and mortified. Unfortunately, Vinnie's tail was still wrapped around Charley's legs; she was yanked forward and straight into him, losing her balance and sending them both crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

   Before Alley could open her mouth again, a pair of black-gloved hands clapped around her head and what felt like a boa constrictor coiled tightly around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor. "Sorry about the interruption, folks," Throttle's voice purred in her ear. "We'll just be … er … in the garage. Just minding our own business! Carry on!" And he forcefully carted a fuming Alley back down the stairs, leaving the pair to untangle themselves.

   "Uh … did I miss somethin'?" Modo took in the odd scene with raised eyebrow.

   "You sure did," Throttle chuckled. He turned Alley around, tail still tightly wound about her waist. "If I let you go, do you promise not to go chargin' back up there?" he asked sternly.

   She replied with narrowed eyes … and a sharp kick to the knee that made him yelp. "Put … me … down," she muffled around his hand.

   "Better do as she says, Throttle. Before she bites ya next," Modo warned with a grin.

   Alley jerked her head free from Throttle's hands. "I wouldn't do that," she said sweetly. "I'd hate to have to pick fur out of my teeth, after all."

   Throttle cocked an eyebrow, pulled off his glove and held a hand in front of her face, palm forward. The skin was tan and calloused … and completely bald. She'd never studied their hands so closely before, and had never noticed how the fur shortened over the backs and disappeared entirely over the palms and insides of their fingers. Throttle's hand was very much like a human's, but a little more elongated, with thicker pads on palms and fingers, and knuckles a little more pronounced. His nails were trimmed but seemed thicker than normal; she wondered if they'd grow into natural claws if he didn't cut them, and whether he'd be offended if she asked.

   And then she gave herself a mental shake, reminded of the issue at hand and pissed that she'd let herself get distracted so easily. "What the hell is going on between those two?" she barked, jerking her head toward the stairs.

   "That's actually a really good question," Throttle replied with another chuckle. "Looks like Vincent and I need to have a little chat." He looked undeniably pleased.

   "Wait." Modo's eye widened. "You mean to say … Vinnie and Charley Ma'am…"

   "Looks like. Bit of bad timing on our part, though."

   "Whoa, Mama." Modo sat back in his chair, one hand coming to rest on his forehead. "I ain't never thought I'd see the day when those two actually quit dancin' around the subject an' get straight to the point."

   "Yep. Looks like some congratulations may be in order," Throttle agreed.

   "Heh. Yeah. An' a whole lotta ribbin," Modo finished with a grin. "This's gonna be fun."

   Throttle jumped and grunted when another sharp jab in the leg reminded him of Alley's presence. She glared at him, arms crossed, one eyebrow cocked and lips pursed with displeasure; the very picture of impatience. She probably would've been tapping her foot on the floor, just for added affect … except she was currently dangling a foot above it, still wrapped firmly in his tail.

   "Oh. Whoops. Almost forgot about you."

   "Ya think?"

   He grinned and set her on her feet, but still held her in place. "Stay," he told her firmly.

   She just glared harder. "What am I, a puppy?"

   "Stop being difficult," he sighed, finally unwinding his tail from her waist. "There's no reason to get so upset."

   "No reason? Your pal was macking on my cousin and … and she was macking back! Sure, what's there to be upset about?"

   Utter silence greeted her words. Both mice stared at her and neither of them looked particularly happy; she had the oddest sense of having just walked herself casually into a lion's den. Blindfolded.

   "You sayin' you don't approve?" Modo finally asked, voice dangerously soft.

   "Are you saying you do?" she shot back.

   "Those two've been dancin' around each other since they met. 'Bout time Vinnie wised up and started takin' stuff a little more seriously," Throttle grunted. "She's good for him. And I think he's finally figuring that out."

   Alley chewed on her lower lip, brow furrowed as she thought about what to say and how to say it without setting either of them off. "I just think … it isn't a good idea," she hedged. "Vinnie isn't exactly the … take-him-home-to-meet-the-folks kinda guy. Didn't we just establish earlier that letting the world find out about you is a bad thing? That humans aren't ready to accept the fact that aliens walk among them?"

   "Who says the world's gotta know?"

   "Oh, come on!" She started to pace, getting frustrated. "What kind of … of relationship could they possibly have when they'd never be able to … go out on normal dates or meet up with friends and family at holidays? What if things actually get serious and they decide to take it further? Get married or whatever? Exactly who would be invited to the wedding? You think Charley's parents wouldn't be hurt that their only daughter actually gets herself hitched and they never even get a chance to meet the guy?"

   "Okay, kid, derail that train of thought right there."

   Charley stomped down the stairs, clearly having heard most of the conversation, and looking none-too-pleased as she dragged a protesting Vinnie behind her. She marched herself over to her cousin, lips drawn into a thin line. She maintained a solid hold on Vinnie's hand, who looked like he was ready to turn tail and bolt, offering a sheepish grin to his brothers when they looked at him with raised eyebrows.

   Charley didn't even look at the other two, her attention focused strictly on her fidgeting cousin. "Alley, I realize that you've only known these guys a short time," she began, voice stern. "I realize that you probably hold the same natural prejudices as any other human who'd meet them, and I won't fault you for that. I imagine the thought of me being with what essentially amounts to a giant, talking animal might even sicken you a little. And I won't fault you for that, either."

   Alley tried to speak, but Charley held up a hand, blocking her words. "I'm only going to tell you this once. These guys are as much family to me as anyone I've known. I would do anything to protect them, even give up my life, my career, my family. I've never thought of them as animals. Under the fur and the tails and the mousy features, they're more … more people than a lot of humans I've met, and having them fall into my life was nothing short of a miracle. And whatever this is…" She gestured between herself and Vinnie. "Whatever may or may not be starting, or evolving … it's strictly between us. What I choose to do with my life, who I choose to do it with, is nobody's business but mine. You can either accept that fact and move on, or you can pack it up and move yourself back to Florida. The choice is yours."

   There was utter silence. All three mice gaped at her, stunned by the confession, and the absolute conviction in her roiling emotions. Alley stared at her for a long moment, face shifting through a myriad of expressions. She blinked a few times, a tell-tale glitter brightening her eyes, and her chin quivered ever-so-slightly before she jerked her head in a brief, shaky nod and turned to flee the garage.

   As soon as she disappeared up the stairs, Charley's bravado vanished. She dropped Vinnie's hand and ran her own hands through her hair, breath leaving her in a rush as what she'd just said and who she'd just said it in front of hit her with the force of a brick to the head. Her face was flaming, and she couldn't bring herself to meet anyone's eyes. She wasn't empathic but even she could feel their shock reverberating in the room. "Well, uh, guess I'd better get back to work. These cars won't fix themselves," she mumbled, reaching for her tools … only to find a strong, furry arm sliding around her shoulders from behind, pulling her back against a warm chest.

   "Did you really mean all that?" Vinnie asked, voice awed. "What you said just now, is it true?"

   She squirmed, face growing even hotter with embarrassment. It wasn't often she let her temper get the best of her. She worked way too hard to appear tough and capable and to set such a girly-girl display of emotion loose in front of the egomaniacs was a serious blow to her pride. "C'mon, fellas. You think I'd let you clumsy lummoxes run loose in my garage and home if I didn't like you?" she joked weakly.

   "Then … what about the last part?" Vinnie pressed. "This mean you're my girl now?"

   She squirmed again, biting her lip and peeking up to find Modo and Throttle grinning openly at her. They looked so happy that she found herself relaxing a little, a small, shy smile twitching at her lips. "I guess … it couldn't hurt to see where things go from here," she replied.

   Immediately, Vinnie's other arm joined the first and Charley yelped as she found herself lifted clean off her feet and spun around, nearly deafened by his whoop of joy. Throttle and Modo high-fived, and Vinnie plopped Charley on her feet and grinned down into her blushing face, hands resting at the juncture of her neck. His thumbs caressed her jawline and that, coupled with the open adoration in his red eyes, was enough to make her weak in the knees.

   But his expression slowly changed, happiness replaced by growing doubt. "But, ya know … Sweetheart, what Alley girl said ain't wrong," he mumbled, ears drooping. "I don't got anything to offer you. Can't take you to fancy restaurants or do anything normal people do on this planet. An' it'll be awful hard to explain to your folks why you never bring the boyfriend to meet 'em. I mean, given her reaction, what d'ya think they'll have to say about it?"

   "I don't really care," she replied softly, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "Like I told her, what we do is our business. Whatever this is, let's just take it a step at a time, yeah? No need to think too far ahead, is there? As for the rest of it, I've never been a flower and chocolates type of girl, and you know I don't have time for fancy dates. All I need from you is … is your promise that you won't turn tail and run the moment things get tough. No matter what anyone says or does, if we just stick it out together, I think … I think it'll all work out just fine."

   He offered a slow smile, pressing their foreheads together. "Lady, you have made a very wise decision," he murmured. "I promise, you are not gonna regret it."

   Whatever he might have said or done next was disrupted by loud whoops and catcalls from their nearly-forgotten audience. "Better'n a movie!" Modo cheered, as Throttle heaved a dramatic, love-sick sigh and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

   "It just … gets a bro right here," he simpered, tapping a fist to his heart. "Anyone got some antacid on 'em?"

   Vinnie glowered, arms tightening protectively around Charley, who bumped her forehead against his chest, rocking it back and forth as her shoulders shook with laughter. "Oh, I am so gonna regret this."

Next

#BMFM #bmfm fanfiction #Biker Mice from Mars #OCs #main cast #romance #humor #adventure #is that a hint of actual romance we see?

[quickeningheart]

Twelve

   There was a drawn-out silence as the mice and Chex sized each other up. After a moment, Throttle cleared his throat, stepping forward. "I'm sure you must be mistaken, Citizen," he began, attempting nonchalance. "We're just three normal bros, getting our bikes looked over by—"

   "Oh, give it up," Chex snorted, crossing her arms. "I'm not an idiot. There's nothing wrong with my eyeballs. And those helmets don't render you invisible, so you might as well take 'em off. I don't know who you think you're fooling. If alien mice doesn't explain all the fur, then my next guess is the evolutionary Missing Link. Or very short Yeti."

   Alley stifled a laugh, and Throttle shot her an annoyed glance as he slowly pulled his helmet off. Vinnie and Modo followed his lead.

   "Well, damn," Chris said softly, eyes wide.

   "Told you," Chex replied, looking smug. She practically vibrated where she stood, she was so excited. "Man, I can't believe they've been here all this time. The club's gonna flip when I tell 'em I got to see them face to face!"

   "Club?" Throttle repeated, frowning.

   "It's some little forum she joined," Chris explained. "For people who think they've been abducted by aliens or some weird shit like that."

   "Shut it, butt-head." Chex delivered another punch to his arm. "That's not what the club's about." She turned back to the mice. "You've saved a lot of people in Chicago since you've been here, right? Well, some of those people started an online forum to socialize and share experiences. Hypothesize about why you're even here. Stuff like that."

   "And … you're one of those people," Throttle guessed.

   "Sure am." Chex nodded at Modo. "Big Gray there saved my life awhile back."

   The mouse straightened, startled by the sudden attention. "The name's Modo," he corrected. "Modo Maverick."

   "Maverick, huh?" Her smile widened. "I like that. Totally a hero's name."

   Modo beamed as Vinnie whistled and nudged him in the side.

   "So what happened to you?" Charley wanted to know.

   "There was some big skirmish downtown about three years ago. Felt like an earthquake or something. Total chaos, people running around, screaming like a buncha lunatics… And I remember there was this really weird whining. Sounded kinda like a drill, but deeper and a lot louder."

   "Hey, I remember that!" Vinnie cut in. "Wasn't that when Limburger decided he was gonna dig under the big shopping center?"

   "Yeah, he was lookin' for something. Anybody ever figure out what that was?" Modo asked, scratching his head.

   "Who cares? He goes out an' makes with the boom-boom, we go in an' stop 'im. That's all we need ta know." Vinnie punched his fist into his palm with a wicked grin.

   Chex huffed. "Yeah, well, I happened to be in that shopping center when it was all goin' down. Everything was crumbling around me and all the exits were getting blocked off. Some guy bowled me over, and I got my leg pinned. I was trying to pull free, and then these loud cracks went off right over my head. Sounded like a buncha gunshots. I thought someone had opened fire on top of everything else. So I looked up, and the freakin' wall's about to topple over." She shuddered, rubbing her arms. "I won't ever forget what that felt like, watching that slab of concrete falling in slo-mo right on top of me."

   "So what then?" Alley asked, wide-eyed.

   "Well, I sure wasn't goin' anywhere. When that asshole shoved me, I fell into the rubble and knocked something loose. Big chunk fell right on top of me. My leg was good and pinned. Hurt like hell, too. I just sorta buried my head in my arms and prayed I'd die quick, and I wouldn't end up buried alive or be laying there in agony for days wondering if anyone'd find me. I might've screamed, I guess. I don't really remember." Chex shrugged. "Someone heard something, though, 'cause when I figured out I still wasn't dead, that's when I looked back up and saw this huge gray … person standing over me, hefting that slab of concrete like a piece of paper. Just tossed it aside with his bare hands! And then he grabbed the big chunks pinning me down and tossed them, too. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and there was all this fur and metal and big ears … and then he started talking to me, asking if I was okay. And all I remember thinking is he was the biggest damned hamster I'd ever seen."

   "Aw, c'mon!" Vinnie protested, tossing his hands in the air. "They never get it right! Why don't they ever get it right?"

   "We're mice, ma'am. Just for future reference," Modo rumbled, mouth quirking.

   "Well, sure, I can see that now," Chex snorted. "Waddaya want? I'd just lived through my first near-death experience. Sorry if I was a little delirious."

   "Least you didn't call him a rat," Alley teased. "They hate that."

   Modo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Seems I recall findin' a little girl pinned down, 'bout to be squashed flat. Your leg was busted up pretty bad, wasn't it? I pulled ya loose an' dropped you off at the ambulance outside. You were bleedin' out pretty heavily."

   "Yeah." Chex nodded. "The femur bone was snapped in two places. And my tibia was broken so badly the bone ripped clean through the skin. Scary shit. I ended up in surgery and the hospital for two months, a full-leg cast another two months after that. Took a lot of therapy just so I could walk again, too." She pulled up her ripped legging, showing off a long, jagged scar that started at the middle of her calf and ran up under the material covering her upper leg. "Ends at the thigh. Pretty cool, huh?" she said proudly.

   Modo whistled. "Impressive battle scar. You doin' okay now?"

   "Sure. Leg still aches when the weather changes, and I won't ever win any marathons or anything, but I can walk, and even more importantly, I'm not a greasy smear on the pavement." Chex approached him, gray eyes searching his face as she took his metal hand into both of hers. He blinked down at her, nonplussed; it wasn't often a human willingly touched him, after all. "Like I said, I was really out of it back then, and I don't even remember if I thanked you," she told him sincerely. "So I'm saying it now. Thank you, Modo Maverick. You're a really good person. And I'm glad I can tell you that face to face."

   Modo squirmed, ignoring the catcalls and whistles from his comrades as he smiled awkwardly down at her, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, it wasn't anything, ma'am," he mumbled, flustered. "Just doin' my job and all that."

   Chex seemed to recall their audience then, quickly dropping his hand and stepping back, hooking her thumbs through the belt loops of her checkered skirt with a self-conscious shrug. "Yeah, well, just sayin'. Thanks," she mumbled, ducking her head. Her face was nearly as red as her hair. After a moment, she straightened up, affecting her usual aloof attitude. "Anyway. That's how I found out about alien mice. I had to know who you were, so while I was recovering, I started searching around on the net, looking for … I dunno, info on mutant rodents in the subways or something." She smirked at Vinnie's snort of disgust. "That's when I found the forum, and figured out there were others who'd been saved by giant talking, bike-riding mice, and there it is."

   "And there it is. Gotta love social media. So much for covert operations."

   All eyes turned to the black-clad figure coasting into the garage on a sleek black racer, taking in the scene from behind the visor of a wing-eared helmet.

   Chris straightened up, surprised. "Hey! You're—"

   "Yep. I'm," Stoker grunted, pulling the helmet off to meet his gaze with shrewd eyes. "And you're the whelp who stuck with our Alley Cat the other night. Thanks for that, kid."

   "The name is Chris. Christopher Archer. And my sister is Constance."

   "Chex. Call me Constance and I'll be forced to cut your tongue out," the redhead mumbled. "Cool bike, by the way. That's like … super stealth bike or something. I didn't even hear the engine."

   "That's 'cause I turned it off," Stoker said with a chuckle, dismounting and rolling the bike over to Charley. "She needs a checkup, if you get the chance. Maybe some oil. Had a bit of a bumpy ride gettin' back."

   "Run into some problems?" Charley asked.

   "Just a few random goons out lookin' for trouble. Nothin' I couldn't handle. But they did get in a few shots to my ride here. Think one of 'em might've taken out the suspension."

   "Poor baby. I'll have you fixed right up," Charley crooned, petting the dusty crankshaft affectionately. And damned if the bike didn't rumble right back.

   Alley blinked. "Did … did that thing just purr at you?"

   Charley laughed. "I did tell you Martian bikes are equipped with AI, right?"

   "Uh, yeah, I seem to recall something about that. I just didn't—They actually respond to you? Like, they can understand what you say?" Alley looked the bike over with new appreciation.

   "That is the general definition of artificial intelligence," Charley deadpanned.

   "Wow. Real AI. How cool is that?" Chex crouched in front of Modo's bike. "Hey, if you can understand me, honk or something."

   There was a moment of silence. Then a short, sharp beep sounded, startling Chex into falling back onto her rear. She gaped for a second, then laughed. "That is wicked! Where can I get one?"

   "Forget it, Short Stack. Dad'll never let you get a motorcycle," Chris scoffed.

   "I'm eighteen. He doesn't really have a say in the matter," she tossed back, hopping to her feet. "Hey, will you give me a ride?" She grinned up at Modo, who sputtered for a response.

   "Chex, we're here to see Alley, remember?" Chris sighed.

   "Oh, well, she could come along."

   Alley's eyes widened. "Uhhh … no thanks. I've seen how these guys drive those things around. I'm rather attached to my life. I'd like to keep it, if it's all the same to you."

   Chex laughed. "Wuss."

   "If by 'wuss' you mean 'possessing a healthy dose of self-preservation', then yes. I am a huge wuss," she sniffed, smoothing down her skirt.

   Beside her, Stoker chuckled low in his throat. "We'll have to work on that," he murmured, smirking down at her.

   She pulled a face at him. "Where the hell have you been skulking around, anyway?"

   "You miss me? I'm touched." He flashed a cheeky grin.

   "Yeah, sure." She waved him off. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

   "Aw, honey, go easy on an old mouse's ego."

   "Sir, your ego is indomitable. I'm sure nothing I say will make a dent," she huffed, a smile twitching around her lips despite her best efforts to remain stern.

   He noticed, leaning in with a sly smile, eyes lidded as he prepared to turn up the charm.

   Only Alley suddenly wasn't there anymore, having been pulled out from under his nose by Chris's grip on her arm. He straightened, glaring at the intruder. "You mind? We were having a private conversation."

   Chris winced at the venom in his tone but, as before, refused to back down. He turned to Alley. "Listen, Chex and I have to be back at the dorms in a few hours. We promised our parents we'd have dinner with them tonight."

   "You promised them," Chex corrected.

   He ignored her. "Anyway, if you wanted to go shopping for a new phone, maybe have something to eat and do a little sightseeing downtown, we'd probably better leave soon."

   "Oh. Sure, lemme go grab my purse. It's upstairs," Alley replied, shooting him a grateful smile as she turned to flee the garage.

   "Cock-blocked!" Vinnie sang under his breath as soon as she left, earning himself a whack across the head by Stoker's palm and muffled sniggers from Modo and Throttle.

   "And speaking of phones…" Stoker's tail whipped around and plucked the smartphone Chex had been using to covertly snap pictures neatly from her fingers. "Ah-ah. None of that now," he scolded, not unkindly, as he browsed the files.

   "Hey!" she yelped. "Give that back! What're you doing?"

   "Just a little damage control." He navigated the touch screen with ease before tossing the gadget back to her.

   She hastily checked it over, jaw dropping. "You deleted them! You deleted everything! All of my info … my videos! Do you know how hard it was to get some of this stuff?" she lamented.

   "I'm sorry for your loss," Stoker deadpanned, not looking sorry in the least. "No offense, Red, but I don't fancy having our ruggedly handsome mugs plastered all over the internet. Makes it real hard to work when you've got people out hunting you down for a celebrity snapshot. Kindly refrain from future endeavors."

   Chex pouted. "What's wrong with wanting to show Chicago that we've got our very own superheroes protecting us from the mafia? The cops sure as hell don't do anything about it."

   "Oh. Uh…" Alley offered a sheepish grin as she descended the stairs, having overheard the conversation. "Yeah, about that mafia story I fed you…"

   Chex's eyes widened. "No way. Is Limburger an alien, too?"

   "Something like that."

   "Awesome!"

   "Not really, no." Alley shot her a funny look. "He's trying to strip-mine the planet, starting with Chicago. There's nothing remotely awesome about it."

   "Is that why he wants the school?" Chris asked. "He wants to rip it apart?"

   "Likely. It's sitting on a choice piece of property," Stoker grunted. "Lots of resources to ship off to Plutark."

   "Is that his planet? And that's why you guys are here. To stop him from doing it?"

   "Yep."

   "But why?" Chex asked. "I mean, this isn't your home. Why are you risking your necks for a world that doesn't even know you exist?"

   "Because the Plutarkians are a disease that need to be wiped out," Modo growled, eye glowing. "They started with our planet Mars, and nearly demolished our entire race. Earth is next on the list, and unlike Mars, it doesn't have the kind of defenses needed to beat 'em off."

   "And once they're through with this dirt ball, they'll move on to the next," Throttle added. "Just like a huge, smelly swarm of … waddaya call 'em? Locusts?"

   "We do have nuclear weapons," Chris said doubtfully.

   "Hah! The stinkfish live off that sorta thing!" Vinnie scoffed. "Toxic waste and radiation and destruction … they eat it for breakfast. A couple of nuclear bombs wouldn't even slow 'em down."

   "Yeah, all you'd be doin' is helpin' em rip up the planet that much faster," Modo added, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

   The twins exchanged glances. "The government—" Chris started.

   "Is next to useless," Stoker cut him off with a snort. "They can't do anything we're not already doin'. Besides, it'll just come back to nuclear warfare and vaporizing their own planet in a useless attempt to get rid of the Plutarkians."

   "Yeah, and then they'll probably turn around an' use the same methods on us," Vinnie grumbled.

   "That's true," Charley agreed with a sigh. "I don't think Earth is ready for the knowledge that 'little green men' actually exist." She chuckled when Vinnie huffed, tweaking his ear. "Don't worry, you're all much cuter than E.T.," she teased.

   "And about time you admitted it, Babe," he replied, crossing his arms smugly. But he was blushing under his fur.

   "What I don't get," Alley cut in, "is how they don't already know. I mean, people are talking about you guys online, and Chex probably isn't the only one who's tried to take pictures and videos. Right?"

   "Oh, sure." Chex shrugged. "Media gets posted on various sites all the time. The problem is, it never stays posted. It's like the moment new footage appears, the site goes poof for a few minutes. When it comes back online, all the footage is gone. Happens every time. The Mouseketeers think—"

   "The Mouseketeers?"

   Chex laughed at the disgust written across four furry faces. "It's what the forum folk call themselves. Don't look at me like that, I didn't come up with it!"

   "Well, come up with somethin' else," Vinnie grumbled. "That name's just embarrassing!"

   "Yeah, sure, I'll get right on that." Chex rolled her eyes. "Anyway, the general theory is the government is responsible for getting rid of the evidence. Keep the knowledge of alien warfare happening right under our noses from getting out to the general populace. Hold off the world-wide panic it'd cause. In the meantime, hope the two species end up wiping themselves out nice and neat, and save taxpayer dollars by not having to send in our own military to finish the job."

   "And they're not at all worried that two alien species with superior technology battling over our planet might end up, I dunno, completely obliterating it instead?" Alley asked skeptically.

   "Hey, I did say it was a theory."

   "And that's all it is," Stoker put in, shaking his head with amusement. "Sorry to burst your conspiracy bubble, but none of Earth's governments are responsible for keepin' this invasion under wraps. Mars has been monitoring your satellites for decades. Any evidence of alien species that pops up is immediately eliminated, especially Martian and Plutarkian. Can't risk having our own civilization exposed trying to save yours, after all."

   "You can't possibly silence everyone who finds out about you," Chris argued. "What about the probes we send up?"

   "Bah. Inferior Earthen technology. Easily compromised," the mouse snorted. "As for the rest, well…" He tapped one of his antenna. "These ain't here just for show, ya know. We have ways."

   "What do you mean?"

   "Memory wipes," Throttle grunted, mouth twisting with distaste.

   "You can do that?" Charley asked, startled. Clearly, this was news to her.

   "Not all of us," Vinnie told her. "Only a few 'specially powerful empaths are trained for that sorta thing. Ain't easy, and fiddlin' around with another person's brain is pretty frowned upon. I mean, one wrong move an' you've got a drooling vegetable on your hands."

   "Luckily we have little cause to employ such techniques," Stoker added, expression grim. "But there's been a time or two when the wrong person discovered us, and we've been forced to go in for a little … mental rewiring."

   "And by 'we', do you actually mean you?" Alley asked. Stoker didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes. She frowned. "Have you ever … made a wrong move?"

   "No," he replied firmly. "But my predecessor did, with another empathic race from the Quantrum Sector."

   "The what now?"

   "Another galaxy. You wouldn't have heard of it. That was a bad job. Pretty much the guidelines of what not to do when attempting a mind-wipe. Not only scrambled the poor bastard on the receiving end, but his own brain, as well. That's when I was pulled in to take over his position by the army. This was back before the Freedom Fighters, of course. When I was just a young punk, barely older'n Rimfire." He nodded at Modo.

   "You never told us this before, Stoke," Vinnie said, sounding awed.

   "Ain't somethin' I like to talk about," he replied. "Not a part of my life I'm particularly proud of. For the greater good or not, there's no honor in wipin' another person's mind. Especially when you're never told why you're doin' it in the first place. Toward the end, before I defected, I had my suspicions that the government was gettin' a little corrupt. They were sendin' us in more 'n more often to 'take care of things'. I suspect it was to keep control over an increasingly disgruntled population, when Plutark stepped in an' started buyin' up Martian property."

   "And that's why you formed the Freedom Fighters," Throttle finished.

   "Yep. That about sums it up. Somebody had to protect what was left of our people. We're all they had left."

  "Your own government sold you out?" Alley asked softly.

   "Money is power, honey. Even on other planets. Corruption is a universal problem." Stoker glanced at Chex with a raised eyebrow. "And you might consider tellin' your online buddies to start bein' a little more careful what they slap up on their sites. I may not be one of the army's guard dogs anymore, but that don't mean I've forgotten what to do. And there're still more guard dogs who ain't as nice as me, either. You annoy the wrong people or become a big enough threat, you just might find yourselves on the wrong end of Martian antenna."

   Chex gulped, face paling under her makeup. Even Chris looked a little green around the gills.

   "Great. Well, now that you've finished terrifying my friends, I think it's time for us to go," Alley muttered, starting toward the Caprice.

   "Hold up, there!" Charley snagged her by the back of the shirt as she passed, bringing her up short. "Just so you know, you 'n me are gonna have a talk when you get back."

   "What'd I do?"

   Charley shot her a look. "Guess."

   Alley's brow furrowed. "Oh, what, you're pissed 'cause I was worried about you? That's gratitude."

   "Do you honestly believe that's why I'm upset?"

   The cousins stubbornly faced each other down, before Alley conceded defeat, shoulders slumping. "Okay, okay," she grumbled. "You can bust my chops when I get back. Just lemme get these two out of your hair first." She stomped to the twins, who were now waiting in the car.

   "What was that all about?" Chris asked as she opened the passenger door and slid in.

   "Somebody in trouble?" Chex teased from the back seat.

   Alley waved off their questions. "Don't worry about it. Right before you arrived, we were having a … family discussion of sorts. I might've said a few things I shouldn't have in front of a few people I shouldn't have… She's a little steamed about it."

   Chex hummed. "Wanna hide out in the dorms for awhile until the storm blows over?" she offered. "I could probably stuff you under the bed."

   Alley laughed. "Thanks, but I'll take my licks like a good little soldier, and pray Charley doesn't decide to send me packing back to Florida."

   They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Chex leaned forward, draping her gloved arms over the back of the bench seat. "Hey, you think that Stoker guy was serious about the whole, you know, mind-wipe thing?" she asked.

   Alley shrugged, poking through the cassette tapes Chris had stashed in a worn shoebox on the seat between them. "Dunno why he'd lie about it. He's a trained soldier, and from what I've heard, he's got some mad skills on the battlefield. Like, a four-star general or something. The mice do have some sort of telepathic ability. I guess some could be strong enough to erase memories." She chose a cassette and shoved it into the player; Queen's These are the Days of Our Lives blasted over the speakers. "Oh, I love this song!" She began to sing along.

   Chex shifted impatiently. "But, like, do you think he'd really do it?" she pressed.

   "I dunno. Maybe. Why do you want to know?"

   Chris snorted. "She probably wants to go tell all her little forum buddies where they can find them. She never could keep a secret."

   "Shut up," Chex grumbled, slumping back in her seat.

   Frowning, Alley turned around in her seat. "Look, I can't say what Stoker may or may not do, but I can tell you that all four of those guys are way protective of Charley. They consider her one of theirs, and they'll fight tooth and nail to defend their own. If you go blabbing their location around and end up putting her or her garage in danger, getting mind-wiped will be the least of your worries. You've already seen Modo in action. Do you really wanna risk pissing off a bunch of trained rebel soldiers who can heft concrete walls with their bare hands?"

   Chex didn't have much to say on the matter after that.

   Alley could only hope she wouldn't have much to say on the matter at any future time, either.

Next

#bmfm fanfiction #BMFM #Main cast #OCs #humor #romance #adventure

[quickeningheart]

Eleven

     Naturally, the mice did not take kindly to their Charley-girl’s life being threatened, and they showed their displeasure by promptly storming Limburger’s tower and blowing it up.

    When the city shook from the impact of a hundred-thousand tons of steel and brick meeting the ground head-on, Alley shrieked and dove for cover under the desk. Charley, in the midst of replacing her damaged brake line, just rolled her eyes and kept right on working. "It's not an earthquake," she said blandly. "It's just the guys showing Limburger their appreciation."

    "By taking out half the city?" Alley crawled out from under the desk, frowning at the smears of grease now staining her skirt.

    "Don’t worry. Over the years, they’ve turned toppling that tower into something of a fine art. The destructive radius barely passes a hundred feet in any direction anymore.”

    Alley blinked at her. “I don’t know if that should impress me or make me run screaming for the hills.”

    Charley laughed. “Better go throw some dogs on the stove. And pull a few packs of root beer out of the fridge, will ya? They'll be completely hyped when they get back."

    “And feeding them carbs and sugar is your solution to calming them down, huh?”

    Charley just smirked and flipped a wrench in her hand, laying back on the platform dolly and scooting under the truck. Alley sighed and shook her head. “Call me a nut, but wouldn’t destroying Limburger’s property sort of … I dunno … royally piss him off?”

    "Definitely,” came the muffled reply. “But it'll also keep him busy and out of our hair for at least a week.” She reappeared and sat up, holding the ruined brake line tubing. “It’ll buy us some time to scout around and find out what he's up to.”

    “It only takes a week to rebuild an entire skyscraper?”

    Charley pressed her palms flat against each other and bowed her head. “As blowing up the tower has become an art form, so has Limburger turned rebuilding it into one.”

    Alley tipped back her head. “It’s the ciiiirrrcle of liiiiife!” she sang dramatically, throwing out her arm and gliding to the stairs, earning a bark of laughter from her cousin.

    “Go boil some hotdogs, you nut!”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   True to word, the boys were practically vibrating with adrenaline when they roared into the garage fifteen minutes later. Vinnie screeched to a stop with his signature howl of victory, hurling his helmet across the room. It sailed dangerously close to Charley’s computer, slammed into a nearby stack of tire rims and sent them crashing to the floor in a cacophony of scattering steel.

    “Vinnie! Dial it down a notch, you macho lunkhead!” Charley snapped, throwing the wrench she was holding at him. “You almost took out my computer! And pick those rims up!”

    “Eh, sorry, Sweetheart. Got a little carried away.” He offered a grin and a sheepish chuckle, hastily moving to clean up his mess.

    A few seconds later, Alley skittered down the stairway, holding a pair of tongs and looking around with wide eyes. “What the hell is all the racket? Are we under attack?”

    “The boys are home.” If Charley’s voice got any drier, she’d start spitting sand.

    “I see that.” A pause. “Was someone howling just now?”

    Modo snickered. “Nah. That was just Vinnie.”

    “His way of showin’ the world what a bad mammajamma he is,” Stoker added with a wicked smirk.

    “Oh.” Alley pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Because, for a second there, I thought maybe the garage was being overrun by feral dogs or something.”

    Charley put a fist to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle her amusement. The other three mice didn’t even attempt to try, and Vinnie glared at them, readying himself for an old-fashioned throw-down.

    “Don’t you dare,” Charley warned before the white mouse had a chance to pounce. “My garage is not a wrestling ring. Take it outside!”

    “Ah, forget it.” Vinnie deflated, pouting. “I’m starvin’! Where’re the dogs ‘n beer?”

    “They’re cooking upstairs.” Alley turned, then hesitated, shooting him a questioning glance over her shoulder. “Do you really howl like that every time you take out Limburger’s tower?”

    “And for any other reason he can think up,” Charley snorted.

    “It’s my battle cry!” Vinnie sniffed, brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from his arm. “Every superhero needs a battle cry.”

    “And ‘cowabunga’ was already taken,” Throttle quipped.

    Alley nodded, her expression serious. “It’s just … you know … the guys who yelp the loudest, Vinster,” she reminded him with a sigh, continuing on her way.

    Vinnie’s jaw dropped. He sputtered uselessly for a comeback, gaping at her retreating back. Modo and Stoker guffawed, Charley buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

    And Throttle just stood there looking confused, wondering what the hell was suddenly so funny.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    The rest of the week passed in relative peace.

    Well, as peaceful as it ever got around the Last Chance, anyway. Alley soon learned that the mice never seemed to be happy unless they were making as much racket as possible. “Quiet as a mouse” did not apply to the Martian variety. While Charley seemed perfectly content to let them cohabit her garage, blaring the rock stations at levels that could only be described as “deafening”, Alley took it upon herself to invest in a bottle of aspirin and some good ear plugs. She wondered at first how they didn’t go deaf, what with ears as large and sensitive as theirs, before chalking it up to their overall weirdness.

    Since the guys were always at the garage more than they weren’t (well, the trio was; Stoker came and went as he pleased, and Charley didn’t appear to give a hoot about that, either), it gave Alley a good chance to observe them. While Vinnie was always flapping his mouth and up to no good, the other two mice were far more reserved in their behavior. Especially Throttle. While they all joked around and roughhoused a lot, he tended to be a little more careful and reigned in the other two when they got too carried away. He must have been their leader of sorts, since they always deferred to him and fell in line when he told them to. Unless Stoker was around. All three of them deferred to Stoker, and it was clear the older mouse was well-respected as a mentor and a war hero.

    One thing Alley could say about the guys; they all had a very well-developed sense of self-preservation. At least when it came to females, and Charley especially. They seemed able to tune in to the times when the mechanic was extra stressed trying to finish a particular job, and her patience was close to the snapping point. That was generally the time they herded each other out the door to “patrol the city” for awhile. Which Alley suspected was code for getting out of the way before her cousin could strangle them with their own tails. Either way, she certainly did appreciate the rare times of peace and quiet their absence bought.

    Unfortunately, this particular Friday morning was not one of those times.

    Almost an entire week, and she was still trying to get the mess of Charley’s paperwork sorted out. A job she’d thought would only take a day or two was taking a heck of a lot longer than that. And the blaring hard rock that was slowly driving a small railroad spike through her skull certainly didn't make it easier to concentrate.

    The cordless phone on the desk rang, and she answered it while making a beeline for the large boombox sitting on its makeshift shelf beside the garage door. Ignoring everyone's protests, she turned the volume down to a more reasonable level before returning to the desk to arrange customer's appointment. From the corner of her eye, she noted Throttle sneakily reaching for the volume control. "Excuse me for one moment, Sir," she said politely into the receiver. Covering the mouthpiece with her palm, she mustered her fiercest glare and snarled, “Throttle. If you touch that dial, so help me, I’ll rip your fingers off one by one and stuff ‘em up your ass.”

    The others chortled loudly as Throttle raised his hands in surrender, slowly backing away from the radio with a raised eyebrow. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, giving Vinnie a swat with his tail when the white mouse cheered, and staggered a little as Modo gave him a “friendly” clout across the back.

    “Having some problems there, Alley Cat?” Charley teased, eyes sparkling with humor.

    Alley took a deep breath and pasted a saccharine smile on her lips. “Thank you for holding, Mr. Anderson,” she told the waiting customer sweetly. “To confirm, your car will be brought in for inspection at nine AM this coming Wednesday. Are you planning to drop it off, or do you wish to wait?” She paused. “No, sir, the Last Chance doesn’t provide shuttling service, but a taxi can be called for you. There is also a bus route three blocks away. Yes. That will be fine. Thank you for choosing the Last Chance Garage. We’ll see you on Wednesday.” She hung up the phone and sighed, shooting her cousin an exasperated glance. “Did you get all that?”

    “Yep. State inspection. Wednesday. Nine o'clock,” Charley grunted, struggling to loosen a nut from part of an engine. “There’re some Post-its in the drawer. Jot it down for me, will ya?”

    “Oh, hell no.” Alley glared at her. “The jotting of appointments on sticky notes stops now, you hear me? It’s unprofessional and half the notes end up falling into the garbage anyway! You are, without a doubt, the most unorganized computer genius I've ever known. How have you managed to not tank your own business in all these years?”

    "What can I say? It’s a gift." Charley pulled a face at her.

    "Well, here’s a much better gift." Alley waved a brown leather book in the air. "See this? Say hello to your new best friend. All of your appointments are sorted and logged into this ledger. Your assignment is to actually use it."

    Charley’s brow furrowed. "I do have an appointment ledger, you know."

    "If you’re talking about that greasy, torn up notebook I found buried in the bottom of your desk drawer, I threw it out. You haven’t written any actual appointments in it for the past six months, anyway.”

    Charley shot her a dry look. “I don’t recall making you the supervisor. When did you get so bossy?”

    “I’d say during the week I just spent attempting to salvage your pitiful excuse of a business practice,” Alley deadpanned.

    “Oooooh. Burned!” Vinnie sang softly under his breath.

    Charley shot him an irritated glance. “Don’t you have something to go blow up?” she grumbled.

    “You shouldn’t criticize her, anyway,” Alley added. “You’re all part of the problem.” She raised a hand to halt the immediate protests. “Charley, when is the last time you tried to organize your finances? I mean, have you even looked at the balances in the past year? Hell, the past three years?”

    “Of course I have! That’s the one thing I did keep up with. I’m not a complete moron, you know.”

    Alley pursed her lips and folded her hands atop the desk. “Then you’re fully aware that the Last Chance is just barely keeping afloat. You’ve managed to keep your finances in the green, but you hardly pull in enough extra for basic living expenses. The only thing saving you is that you own this building outright. But you still have property taxes, the highest electric bill I’ve ever seen, you’re making payments on some of this equipment yet … and every month that line between success and bankruptcy is narrowing further and further. I see you’ve had to dip into your savings on several occasions just to make ends meet.”

    “Is this true, Charley-ma'am?” Modo wanted to know. All three mice were listening, concern etched on their faces. “You in trouble?”

    “No!” Charley protested, while at the same time Alley stated, “Yes.”

    Charley rubbed her temple, looking irritated, and just a little defeated. “I guess … things are a little tight, financial-wise,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t really concern you, though, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

    “Except it does concern them.”

    “Alley!” Charley glared at her. “Stop it.”

    “No. Let her talk.” Throttle’s voice left no room for argument. “Are you sayin’ it’s our fault?”

    “Partly.” Alley shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. “And Limburger is at fault, too,” she added. “He's the reason this part of the city is all but abandoned. I don’t imagine that’s helped business, any. But he’s not responsible for a lot of the damage and repair that’s been done on the garage in the past few years, is he?” She tapped the computer monitor. “The garage doors had to be replaced how many times? I mean, not just worn-out parts, the whole, entire doors. Who kept putting giant holes in them?”

    “Um…” The trio glanced at each other, uneasy.

    “That’s why I had the automatic sensors installed,” Charley cut in.

    “And there’s also the matter of all the … upgrades done to your bikes. Specialized parts to be ordered in and … I don’t even know what else.” Alley fixed the mice with a questioning glance. “Has it even once occurred to you to ask where those upgraded parts come from? Or did you just assume she farts 'em out her ass on command?”

    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alley!” Charley threw her hands in the air. Her face was suspiciously red. “It’s not their problem, so don’t involve them! I volunteered to take care of their bikes. It was entirely my decision.”

    “And it’s costing your garage way more money than you can actually afford right now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often they just help themselves to stock off the shelves when they’re maintaining those bikes, either. More money out of your very shallow pocket.”

    “Can I see the figures?” Throttle asked, stepping forward. Charley started to protest, but he ignored her as Alley scooted away from the desk to let him look at the spreadsheet. He studied it for a few minutes, face expressionless.

    Charley glowered at her cousin. “You’re fired,” she muttered.

    Alley waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Fire me. But it would've caught up to you eventually. I don’t get what you were trying to accomplish by keeping it from them, anyway. Why shouldn’t they know?”

    Charley sighed heavily, perching on the end of the desk. “Because … they’ve done so much for this city. And for me. I told you, without them, things would be going a lot worse with the Plutarkians. Chicago owes them a huge debt, and doesn’t even know it. I’m just … doing what little I can to repay them for their efforts. There was no need to let them in on how much it was costing me.”

    "Did you think we'd be happy if we ended up tanking your business, or mad if ya told us we were eatin' yer profits?" Modo scolded. "You oughta know better 'n that."

    "Yeah, Sweetheart, we woulda paid ya or somethin'," Vinnie put in, sounding hurt.

    "And how would you manage that, huh? Go out and get yourselves a nine-to-five?" Charley snorted. "You guys ain't exactly rollin' in cash."

    Nobody could argue with that. Alley shook her head. “You could pay her in physical labor, you know. Help her out with the garage, take some of the workload off. If she had more than just herself to finish jobs, she could take on more customers, and bring in more money.”

    “Yeah, but … we’re no wrench jockeys,” Vinnie grumbled. “An’ Charley-girl won’t let us near the equipment, anyway.”

    “That’s because you always blow up anything you touch,” Charley snapped.

    “So, teach them,” Alley said with exaggerated patience. “Start them off with simple stuff. Like motorcycles. They’re always tinkering around with theirs. An Earth bike isn’t that different, is it? Start with that and go from there.”

    Charley sighed. "I'll think about it, okay? But even if they did help, it's not gonna bring more customers or money in any faster, you know."

    "That's because you don't advertise."

    "Last I checked, advertising costs money, which we've already established I don't have."

    "Well, how have you been getting business?" Alley asked.

    "Mostly through word-of-mouth. And most of my customers have been with me since I opened the place. The ones Limburger hasn't managed to drive out of the neighborhood, anyway."

    “Which is great, but new business would be even better. We’ll have to think up some advertising schemes. Maybe print out some cheap fliers and post them around the city? Coffee shops, grocery stores; places like that usually have notice boards where you can tack stuff up, and it doesn’t cost anything. Maybe a small ad in the Sunday paper, or, I dunno, those paper place-mats they use to advertise in diners and stuff. There are ways to get more business.”

    “Great,” Charley sighed, defeated. “Just what I need. More work.”

    “You do need more work. And you need more help. And you’ve got three perfectly able-bodied me—um—mice who can give you some, if you’re willing to let them.” Alley considered. “Four, if you count Stoker. Where is that guy, anyway? I haven’t seen him since Wednesday.”

    “Probably in one of his secret labs,” Throttle replied, straightening up, finished with his perusal of Charley’s files. “He prefers to work alone.”

    “He has secret labs? What is he, a mad scientist?”

    He chuckled. “Something like that. Don’t ask us what he’s cookin’ up, though. He’s pretty hush-hush about the whole thing.”

    “Sounds like him, all right.” Charley smiled fondly. “Always the lone wolf, that one.”

    Throttle fixed her with a look. “You sure aren’t one to criticize, Miss My-garage-is-going-under-but-damned-if-I-ask-for-any-help.”

    “Okay, okay. No need to rub it in,” Charley grumbled. “I just didn’t want to make you guys worry about me, that’s all. You tend to get all protective and you hover. It’s annoying.”

    “Biker Mice do not ‘hover’,” Vinnie sniffed, crossing his arms.

    “Oh, you so hover. Like a little mother hen.” Charley shot him a teasing glance.

    Vinnie looked to Alley for help, but she just shrugged. “Hey, leave me out of it. She’s right. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how one of you guys followed us every time we had to leave the garage this week. We even made fake trips just to see who’d be next in line to tail us. You were totally hovering.”

    “Oh, yeah, that reminds me. You owe me five bucks.” Charley nudged her shoulder. “I said Throttle would be the one to follow you to the bank yesterday, and he did.”

    “Damn. Thanks a lot, Throttle.” Alley pulled a wadded bill out of her wallet and tossed it to her grinning cousin while the mice gaped at them.

    The bell went off just then, effectively bringing the conversation to a halt. The mice quickly scattered, heading back to their bikes to don protective helmets as the huge door slowly rolled up, revealing a very beat-up Chevy Caprice idling on the other side. The classic car was painted two-tone blue, at least where the large spots of rust didn’t cover the body. After a moment, the engine turned off, the doors opened, and Christopher Archer unfolded himself from the driver’s seat as his sister hopped out of the passenger’s side. “Uh, is there an Alley Davidson around?” he asked uncertainly, looking highly doubtful.

    “Guys!” Alley hopped up from the chair and trotted to them, grinning widely. “What’re you doing here? Come for some service?”

    Chris relaxed, tossing her a lopsided grin. “Actually, we came to kidnap you for the day. Got plans?”

    “Uh…” Alley looked at her cousin, who smirked and shooed her off. “Guess not. Great! I need to go phone shopping, and I thought you guys can help me out, yeah?” She turned to Chex, who had spotted the trio of gleaming bikes a few feet away and had honed in on them and their furry owners with predatory interest. Alley watched her watching them. “Hey, you okay?”

    “Yeah, sure,” Chex mumbled, taking a few steps closer. The mice looked at each other, fidgeting nervously under the unexpected scrutiny.

    “Don’t mind her. She’s got a major thing for bikers,” Chris snorted, rolling his eyes.

    Chex ignored him, reaching out to trace a finger along the mouse-shaped headlamp gracing the front of Modo’s bike. The big mouse drew himself up, prepared to defend his precious ride … but she didn’t give him the chance.

    “Holy shit!” she suddenly shouted, startling everyone into jumping and Vinnie into dropping the wrench he’d been holding. “Holy shit, holy shit!” She gave a few excited little hops, turned to slug her brother in the arm. “I told you!” she exclaimed over his pained yelp. “I told you they were real!”

    “What’s real? What the hell’s wrong with you, you psycho?” Chris snapped, rubbing his abused bicep.

    “It’s them!” Chex gestured wildly. “You know, them! I told you! They’re real! I didn’t make it up, those alien mice dudes really exist and they’re standing right over there!”

    There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Vinnie, in two words, said exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

    “Aww, cheese.”

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #bikermice #bmfm fanfiction #ocs #Charley #Vinnie #Throttle #Modo #Stoker

[quickeningheart]

Ten

   “Hey, you hungry?” Chris asked as he and Chex followed Alley out of the office. “There’s a great bar and grill right on the school grounds. They’ve got the best seafood chowder this side of the country.”

   Alley hesitated. She really should get back to the garage and let Charley know what she’d seen, but she was a bit famished. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it was already past six o’clock. Her stomach gave a long, low gurgle at the reminder, and she grinned as Chris laughed. “I could use a bite to eat,” she agreed.

   “Then right this way, if you please.” He steered her away from the parking lot and toward another smallish building that was only two stories tall. “This is the Atrium,” he explained. “Well, the first floor of it is the actual atrium; the upper level is offices for the teachers and staff. It’s pretty much the hangout for students. The bar is inside, a few small gift shops, the school bookstore, and lots of seating for just hanging out and relaxing.”

   “Best part of the whole school,” Chex put in. “Although if you plan on drinking, you’ll have to show ID.”

   “I’m only twenty,” Alley admitted.

   “Really? I kind of thought you were older than that,” Chris said, looking surprised.

   “He’s into the older chics,” Chex teased, poking her brother in the ribs.

   “Why? How old are you?”

   Chris looked embarrassed, scratching his head. “Actually, we’re only eighteen. Just graduated high school.”

   Alley’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? I thought you were like my age or something!”

   “You’re only a college freshman, too, right?” Chex wanted to know. “Shouldn’t you be in a higher grade?”

   “I took a year off after graduating to work full-time and save up extra money. And to figure out what school I wanted to attend. I did take a couple of weekend courses at the community college to get in some of my credits and stuff, but nothing full-term.”

   “Hey, that’s fine. In college, age doesn’t really matter. We’re all still consenting adults,” Chris said.

   Chex smirked at him and waggled her eyebrows. “Consenting for what, I wonder.”

   “Aw, shut up, Red. Nobody asked you.” Face flushed, Chris stomped into a dimly-lit restaurant and made his way to the bar.

   Chex laughed. “He’s such a weenie around girls.”

   Alley grinned. “He’s kinda cute, though. For a kid,” she teased, earning a dry look in response.

     ~*~*~*~*~

   The food really was good at the Atrium Grill. Not only the chowder, but the thickest, gooiest grilled cheese sandwich that Alley had ever had the pleasure of biting into. “I’ve died and gone to nirvana,” she sighed, wrapping the cheese that had oozed out of the bread onto her plate around her fork. “What was in that sandwich?”

   “Cheese.” Chex took a bite of her fried chicken.

   Alley snorted a laugh. “Well, duh. I meant what kind?”

   “Not sure. Trade secret, but I’m pretty sure they use a blend,” Chris replied. “And they grill it using mayonnaise instead of butter. Supposed to be healthier or something.”

   “Right. Because six different blends of cheese in a single sandwich is the absolute epitome of health food,” Chex said blandly.

   “How do you know that?” Chris eyed her suspiciously, and she smirked.

   “I have my ways.”

   “You boinked the head cook, didn’t you?”

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

   “Actually, I really, really wouldn’t.” He shuddered as Alley sought to hide her grin behind her soda glass.

   “How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching for her bag, but Chris waved her off.

   “Don’t worry about it. My treat,” he replied.

   “Are you sure?”

   “Of course! What kind of gentleman makes a woman pay for her own meal?” He ignored Chex’s derisive snort and flashed a smile at Alley. “I invited you, so I’ll pay this one, okay?”

   She consented with a nod and a smile. “Well, if we do this again, let me pay for you as thanks. Both of you,” she added, not wanting Chex to be left out.

   “Oooo. Friend-zoned!” Chex sang under her breath, earning a kick under the table. She just smirked at her glowering twin.

   Alley bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t offended him, but he gave her another charming smile and pulled some bills out of his wallet. “School year is just beginning,” he said casually. “I’ll definitely take you up on the offer for another meal."

   “Yeah. Me, too,” Chex added, grinning. “You seem like fun. Even if you do look like a Barbie doll.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   It had grown dark by the time they left the Atrium. Alley had stopped by the bookstore to pick up the last two textbooks she needed for her classes. Chex said her goodbyes before heading toward the dorms, where she was staying. “More privileges of being the dean’s kid. Really cheap boarding, and I don’t have to live at home with the wicked step-mom,” she explained with a smirk.

   “She’s not that bad,” Chris said with a frown.

   “Not to Mr. Perfect Son. But she doesn’t like me very much. I refuse to bend over and kiss her ass.”

   “Well, maybe if you wouldn’t dress like—”

   “Like what? Like someone with her own brain and a willingness to use it?” Chex stopped walking and faced him with a fist planted on her hips. “I’m my own person. I have my own way of living, and there’s nothing wrong with how I dress. You might be willing to let her groom you like a little lapdog, but I refuse. She’s not even our real mom, and she hasn’t done anything to earn the title.” She flipped her cherry hair. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re living in the dorms, too!”

   “Because there’s no point in driving to school when we can live right on the grounds,” Chris sighed, clearly used to this conversation.

   “Right, whatever. I’m heading back. See you around, Alley. We should hang out sometime.” She stomped off, skirt swishing.

   “Yeah, I’d like that,” Alley called after her.

   Chris flashed her a sheepish grin, shrugging. “Typical sibling spat. They never last long,” he apologized. “She’ll be over it by morning.”

   “You said you had a step-mom?”

   “Yeah. Our real mom took off when we were just little.” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Dad was always busy in the school, so we were mostly raised by nannies. Then he came home one day a few years back and said he was getting remarried. Her name is Victoria. She’s a real classy lady. She comes from money, you know? I guess Dad had met her at some associates’ function raising money for the college. Anyway, I was okay with him getting married, but Chex took it hard. I guess … she was always holding out hope that Mom might come back someday. Or something.” He shrugged again. “We were seven when she left. Chex took it the hardest. Mom hardly ever contacts us. Maybe a birthday or Christmas card here and there. But she made it clear she just wasn’t willing to be a mother. She’s living it up on some tropical island somewhere.” His smile was brittle.

   “I’m sorry,” Alley said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry or bring up bad memories.”

   “Nah. Not your fault. Anyway, guess you should be getting back, huh?”

   “Yeah, Charley’s probably getting a little worried by now.” Alley juggled the books as she fumbled for her keys in the bottom of her bag. Chris pulled his phone out of his pocket, fiddled with the touch screen for a few seconds, and then the camera flash flicked on, effectively giving her light to see by. “They need to install more lights along the walks. Dad’s been after the board to get on that for years,” he complained.

    “The parking lot is lit well enough.”

   “Yeah, but getting to it can be dangerous after sundown. Not everyone around here is as nice as I am, and you’re a really pretty girl.”

   Alley blushed a little, charmed by his fumbling attempts to flirt. “That’s sweet of you, but I can take care of myself. I’ve got pepper spray with me. And I also know self-defense. Dad made me take some classes when I started growing boobs.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “The truck is right … over…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the pickup. Or, more precisely, on the three very large men who were standing around the pickup, talking amongst themselves. “Aren’t those…?“

   “Limburger's thugs,” Chris huffed. “What’re they doing? Where’s the boss?”

   Alley slowed and ducked behind a large SUV parked in the nearly empty lot, trying to see what they were up to. “Are they trying to break into the truck?” she whispered.

   “No, looks more like they’re keeping watch. Or waiting for someone.”

   “For me to come back?” Alley shifted nervously. “Why would they be waiting for me? They don’t even know who I am.” Unless somehow they’d figured it out … but how would they? She hadn’t given Limburger her name, and there was no reason for him to ask for it. She doubted she even registered on his radar enough for him to get curious. There was absolutely no way he could have figured out who she was in those few brief moments of passing.

   Unless…

   “The truck,” she breathed, smacking her forehead. “It’s got the garage’s name on the doors. He must’ve seen it and recognized the name, and thinks Charley is here. And he’s sent his thugs to wait for her to come back.”

   “Planning on jumping her?” Chris whispered.

   “I dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a nasty piece of work, from what I heard. And he really doesn’t like her friends.”

   “We should call the police. They won’t touch Limburger but his thugs aren’t off-limits.” Chris pulled his phone out again, but was stopped by Alley’s hand on his.

   “Wait. I think … they’re leaving,” she said, slowly standing up. Indeed, the men had backed away from the truck and were currently sauntering across the lot to a pair of what looked like dune buggies parked in the shadows.

   “Hey, weren’t there three of them?” Chris asked. “Where’d that fourth guy come from?”

   “Who cares? I’m just glad they’re gone.” Alley made a beeline for the truck, only to be brought up short by Chris’s hands on her shoulders, bringing her to a staggering halt. Just as a large, gleaming, vintage 1930s Rolls Royce cruised slowly past them. Alley’s jaw dropped. It would have been a beautiful car … had it not been painted an eye-gouging shade of purple. She knew instantly who it belonged to. To prove it, the car came to a gliding halt and the window rolled down. Alley instinctively held her breath as Limburger’s cold, gleaming eyes met hers.

   “So, young lady. We meet again.” His voice was cultured, refined, smooth as an oil slick. His eyes left hers, darted to the truck she stood only two feet away from, slid back with a raised eyebrow. He said nothing, but his gaze was suspicious. She bit her lip, feeling light-headed from lack of breath, and prayed he’d just leave before she passed out. “Be careful out there,” he warned, a humorless smile tugging at his thick lips. “There may be … unsavory people lurking about.”

   “Thanks for the warning,” she choked out, and let loose the breath she’d been holding when the window rolled up and the car moved on. “Okay, I’m totally freaked out. Are you totally freaked out? ‘Cause I’m totally freaked out,” she babbled.

   “Hey, hey, relax,” Chris soothed, putting an arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm vigorously. “The creep is gone, we’re fine. Are you okay?”

   “I don’t know,” she groaned, staggering to the truck to lean heavily against the door. She looked it over, checking the locks, but nothing seemed out of place. Then she frowned as she recalled the fourth thug who’d popped up from nowhere, a niggling suspicion forming. “Lemme see that light again,” she grunted, kneeling on the ground beside the truck. “Shine it under here.”

   He complied, and her worst fear was confirmed: Something dark and liquid was leaking in a steady drip under the cab, steadily forming a large puddle. “Holy shit,” Chris breathed. “What’d they do?”

   She sighed. “I’m pretty sure they cut the brake line. They were aiming to murder me. Well, my cousin, anyway.” She flashed him a weak smile. “Still think he isn’t a threat?”

   “I’m calling the cops.” His voice left no room for argument.

   “And tell them what? Limburger has it in for my cousin so he got his goons to sabotage her truck in order to kill her? There’s no proof he had anything to do with it. We didn’t get a good look at those guys, either, so we have no descriptions.”

   “Well, what else can we do?” he huffed, frustrated.

   “Can I borrow your phone? I have to call Charley. She’ll have to come tow the truck back. And she’ll want to know I’m okay.” Alley sighed. “Maybe you should take off. If Limburger figured out I’m related in any way to Charley or the mi--her friends, he’ll be back. And you’ll be targeted, too. Just by association.”

   “If it comes to that, I’m a target, anyway. He’s after this place, too, and I am the dean’s son, after all.” Chris handed her his phone and crossed his arms. “I’m not about to take off on you now. So don’t even bother trying.”

   “Thanks.” She smiled at him gratefully and dialed Charley’s number. “Come on, pick up. Pick up!”

   The line clicked. “Last Chance Garage, this is Charley speaking.”

   “Charley? It’s me.” Alley held the phone away from her ear as Charley immediately started in on her.

   “Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is? I mean, I know you’re a grown-ass woman and all but for cripe’s sake couldn’t you at least call and let me know you’re not gonna be home for supper or something?” Charley bellowed.

   “Ma? Is that you?” Alley deadpanned, earning an indignant huff on the other end.

   “I can see now why your mom worries to death over you,” Charley grunted. “You don’t even have a phone! Where are you calling from? And what’s the matter?”

   Alley sighed and rubbed her temple. “It’s a long story. To make it short…” She took a deep breath. “I’m still at the college and Limburger showed up ‘cause he’s after the land and he saw your truck and I’m pretty sure he cut the brake line and I’m calling you from my friend’s phone to ask if you can please come pick me up ‘cause I’m really kinda freaking out right now,” she said in a rush.

   There was a moment of silence. Then, “What?”

   “I said—”

   “I heard what you said. Are you okay? Is he still there?” Charley’s voice radiated genuine concern.

   To her horror, Alley felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes, her emotions dangerously unstable. “No, he’s gone,” she replied, voice trembling despite her best efforts to steady it. “He drove off in that hideous car. His thugs are gone, too.”

   “You said you’re with someone?”

   “Yeah. His name is Christopher Archer.” Alley sniffed and swiped impatiently at her tearing eyes. “He and his sister were hanging out with me today and showing me around. They’re really nice.” She flashed a watery smile at a concerned Chris.

   “Listen, go back inside the school and wait, okay? I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

   “I think…” Alley bit her lip. “He saw me at the truck. I think he’s suspicious about who I am. I’m pretty sure it was you he was aiming to murder.”

   Charley muttered a curse under her breath. “Well, he’d figure it out one of these days anyhow. Just … go inside, and if he shows up again, hide until we get there.”

   “We?”

   Charley chuckled. “The guys overheard. Big ears and all. You won’t keep them away even if you tried. So maybe lose your friends before we show up, yeah?”

   “Yeah, okay. I’ll be in the Atrium. It’s the small two-story near the back of the property.” Alley ended the call and handed the phone back to Chris. “Look, thanks for all your help. You’ve been so great. My cousin is on her way, so if you want to take off now, I promise I won’t be offended or anything.”

   “Pfft. Right. I’m just gonna leave you by yourself after all that?” He shook his head. “Not happening. Come on, we’ll go to the Atrium like you said. I don’t know about you, but I could use something to drink!”

   “Hey now, Mr. Dean’s Son. Aren’t you a little young to be imbibing in alcohol?” She gave him a teasing poke in the side.

   “Who said anything about alcohol, old lady,” he teased back. “There’s a vending machine that sells fantastic hot chocolate. I could really go for a cup. How about you?”

   “In the middle of an August heat wave? On top of all that hot food we just ate?” Alley shrugged. “Sounds like a plan.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   The chocolate was good, and Alley savored every sip of it as her jangled nerves slowly calmed, but no matter what she said, she couldn’t talk Chris into leaving her alone. Part of her was annoyed (she wasn’t a little girl, for cripe’s sake), but a larger part was relieved by his persistence. She doubted the Purple People Eater would be back, but she felt safer having someone by her side. Even if that someone was essentially a perfect stranger.

   Half an hour passed, and Alley spent the time curled up on a cushy sofa, paging through her textbooks as Chris delved back into his novel. It was quiet, with only a few students hanging around the Atrium. That’s why, when the front doors suddenly burst open with an ear-jarring clatter, Alley just about jumped out of her skin, nearly falling off the couch and dropping her book in the process.

   She looked up, wide-eyed, as a tall, slender man dressed in head-to-toe black strode through the doors, paused to look around, and then honed in on her. He headed right for her, head encased in an oddly-shaped biker helmet. She started to panic, wondering if Limburger had sent someone back for her after all, before she caught a gleam of reflected light, saw the long, metal tail lashing behind him. She relaxed, recognizing him. Stoker.

   She didn’t know where he’d dug up the leather biker clothes, but it was astonishing how different he looked in them. Without the fur and mousy features to distract her, she could appreciate for the first time how built he was, the dark material hugging his lean, muscled body. He moved with purpose, strides smooth and graceful, like a dancer. A traitorous thought worked its way into her mind that, under all the fur, he was really kind of beautiful. And she wondered if all of the mice had such beautiful forms. She hastily banished the thoughts from her mind.

   Chris had put himself between her and the agitated mouse, nearly a head shorter, but still determined to protect her as he faced down the intimidating figure. “Who’re you?” he growled, voice cracking just a bit.

   Stoker just chuckled.

   Alley’s eyes widened when she saw Chris’s hand clench, quickly scrambling up from her seat to grip his arm. She didn’t even want to think of what might happen if he took a swing at the war veteran. She didn’t think Stoker would hurt him, but then again, he was a trained soldier. He might not take kindly to physical violence. “It’s okay,” she said. “He’s a friend … of my cousin.”

   Chris relaxed by degrees, his fist unclenching.

   “Where’s Charley?” Alley asked the mouse, who hadn’t bothered to take off his helmet. All the same, she could feel his gaze on her, assessing.

   “She’s looking over the truck with the others,” he finally replied, voice muffled behind his helmet. “I came to find you. You okay?”

   “Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” She flashed a bright smile, and turned to Chris. “Look, thanks for everything today. I mean it. It was so nice meeting you and Chex. I hope I’ll see you around, once classes start."

   Chris’s gaze slid away from Stoker and he offered a weak grin. “Yeah, same here,” he replied. “We’ll do this again. You know, when things get a little less crazy around here.”

   “Definitely.” Alley squeezed his hand. “Tell Chex I’ll call her sometime. When I get a phone, that is. Maybe you can both come with, help me pick one out? You can show me around Chicago or something, too. And I can buy you lunch like I promised.”

   Chris chuckled, sounding nervous as Stoker cleared his throat and crossed his arms, impatient. “Sounds good. Well…” He shifted, casting an uncomfortable glance at the tense, black-clad man. “Your family’s here, so guess you don’t need me around anymore. Take care, yeah? Hope I’ll hear from you soon. I’m gonna grab another cup of chocolate and head back to the dorm.” He gave an awkward grin, a polite nod to Stoker, and then he turned and walked off.

   Alley released a breath and picked up her bag, cradling her books to her chest. She turned to leave, and jumped when a heavy arm abruptly settled around her shoulders, as Stoker led her gently but assertively out of the building. “Hey, do you mind?” she hissed, red-faced, as she caught the stares of the few remaining students in the building. She tried to balk, but Stoker was stronger than he looked. “I know where the parking lot is.”

   He didn’t answer. His hand merely tightened on her arm, leading her away from the Atrium, and then off the walk and into the darker shadows cast by a towering oak. Only then did he remove his helmet, and she was taken aback by the genuine worry etched across his features. “Are you okay?” he repeated, his voice soft. “Did he lay hands on you in any way?” Under the concern, she heard simmering anger, and she shifted uncomfortably.

   “He didn’t even get out of the car,” she mumbled, looking away from his intense gaze. “It was his thugs that killed the truck.”

   “But he saw you at the truck? You sure he knows you’re associated with us?”

   “I was headed right for it. The lot’s pretty much empty.” Alley shrugged. “I doubt he could mistake which car I was aiming for.”

   He sighed, running his hand over her hair in a soft caress. “Sorry, honey. Looks like you might be involved in this war now, like it or not.” He quirked a grin. “Don’t suppose I could talk you into runnin’ back to Florida now, can I?” He chuckled at the look she gave him. “Didn’t think so.”

   Alley, uncomfortable with his proximity, not to mention the way he kept looking at her, stepped out from under his hand and continued to the parking lot, where she found Charley and the three other mice hooking the pickup onto the back of her tow truck.

   “Alley Cat!” Charley handed the winch to Vinnie and threw her arms around her cousin. “You okay, kid?” she asked. “You sounded really upset on the phone.”

   “Yeah, a little shaken up, I guess.” Alley offered a small smile. “I’m okay now. Chris stayed with me until you came. He’s a really nice guy.”

   “Do tell.” Charley raised an eyebrow with a catty smirk. “Not even started classes yet and already have the boys wrapped around your finger.”

   “Well, that’s nothing new,” Alley replied, earning a laugh from her cousin as she clambered into the passenger seat of the tow truck and leaned out the window. “Was there really any need to bring the entire army?” She gestured to the mice.

   “They were worried. And who knows if Limburger would come back and wait for me to show up, if I really was the target. No sense taking chances.” Pickup secured, Charley climbed into the driver’s seat. “Okay, guys. Let’s head back now. Thanks for coming out with me.”

   “Not a problem, Charley-girl,” Throttle replied. “Glad you’re not hurt, Alley.” He smiled up at her, gave a signal, and the four bikes took off down the road with the tow truck following close behind.

Next

#Biker Mice from Mars #bmfm fanfiction #OCs #Stoker

[quickeningheart]

Nine

     Alley muttered to herself and punched the button on the elevator, waiting for the lift to carry her up to another floor. This was the fifth ride she’d taken so far in search of the elusive Main Office, and her nerves were about shot. And it was totallyStoker’s fault. He’d had her so turned around that she’d taken off without remembering to grab the GPS out of Priscilla’s glove-box, thus leaving her to find her way to the Chicago Institute of Art and Design without so much as a road map to guide her.

    After two hours of battling downtown mid-afternoon traffic, getting turned around twice (once going the wrong way up a one-way street), stopping at three different convenience stores to ask for directions, she’d finally made it to the main campus located three miles outside of the actual city. Only to be faced with another conundrum: the campus really was huge. The four buildings on the campus were huge. And only one of them contained the offices where she was supposed to fill out the final papers to turn in for the start of her school year.

    On a whim, she’d picked the biggest building that was located the furthest from the gated entrance, which had thankfully been the right choice (according to the random student she’d asked in passing). But now that she was in the place she was supposed to be, she found herself confused and lost all over again. The large floor layout maps hanging on the walls by the elevators and escalators were proving less than useful. Big red dots with the words “You are here” graced every one, but the maps themselves were all wrong, and didn’t seem to match the actual floor plans at all. So no matter where Alley supposedly was, she couldn’t help feeling like she was supposed to be somewhere else altogether!

    The elevator dinged, the door slid open, and she stomped out of the lift and turned right … only to run headlong into a wall of books and poster tubes, hard enough to knock herself flat on her ass. There was a startled yelp from behind the book-wall as it promptly came tumbling down, scattering tomes and tubes all around her. And the tall, skinny man who’d been holding them blinked owlishly at her from the wire-framed glasses that had been knocked askew on his nose.

    “I am so sorry!” Alley cried, scrambling to her knees to help pick up the scattered books. Her entire body was flaming with mortification. “I wasn’t looking and I knocked into you and I am just so sorry,” she babbled.

    “No worries,” the man grunted, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t exactly looking where I was going, either. What with the books blocking my view and all.” He offered a crooked grin, soft gray eyes smiling down at her through an unkempt mop of sandy brown curls. “You okay?” He offered a hand to help her up, which she gratefully accepted. “No broken bones or anything?”

    “Nah, I’m fine. How about you?” she replied. “I hit you pretty hard.”

    “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s used to being knocked on his ass by girls.”

     The man heaved a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes as a woman dressed all in purple and black joined them. She smirked at him and kicked a poster tube out of her way with a well-worn engineer boot. “This your new method for picking up women? Play the injured puppy and get them cooing and drooling all over you in sympathy?” she teased.

    “Don’t you have some kittens to eat or something?’

    “I upgraded my diet to pig hearts this week. More protein.”

    Alley watched the two of them banter, fascinated. They were as different as two people could be. If she had to put a title, he was classic preppy nerd while the girl was clearly the punk-goth type. In normal society, these two would hardly take time to look at each other, much less interact like … well, a lot like her and Charley did, actually.

    “Are you two related by chance?” she blurted, and felt herself blushing all over again when the pair stopped talking and turned to face her. Goth Chic had gray eyes, too, she noted, heavily made up with dark shadow and liner. And she suspected that under the cherry-red hair dye, the girl’s natural hair color was also brown.

    “You’re good,” Goth Chic commented. “Most people don’t figure it out on the first try. You must have an annoying brother, too.”

    “I’m an only child, actually. But my cousin and I get along pretty much the same way,” Alley explained. “So, you’re siblings?”

    “Yeah, we’re twins. Can’t you tell?” Goth Chic’s voice was so bland, Alley couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

    Preppy rolled his eyes and smacked his sister across the head. “What the birth defect means to say is her name is Constance Archer. And I’m Christopher.”

    “Call me Chex,” the girl put in. “If you call me Constance or Connie, I'll be forced to kill you. You can call him the Mutant Hobbit.” Another smack over the head from said Hobbit. “Okay, fine, call him Chris.”

    Alley laughed. “Alley Davidson,” she said. “Freshly relocated from Florida. And you’re from?”

    “Oh, we’re born-and-bred Illinoisans,” Christopher replied with a grin. “Chi-town residents for the past ten years. A little town called Penbrooke before that.”

    “They call it a town, but it’s more like a speck of dirt on a map. You know, the kind you try and scratch off with your fingernail.” Chex demonstrated by scratching the air with a black-painted nail. "Oh, speaking of maps, I probably should tell you, the maps on the walls? They’ve been switched around.”

    Alley’s brow furrowed. “Switched?”

    “Yeah.” Chris nodded at the map behind them. “That one says Atrium floor, but the Atrium is actually in another building. This is the Hospic floor. Who knows where that map ended up.”

    Alley’s jaw dropped. “No wonder I can't figure out where I am!” she huffed. “What morons went and switched the maps?”

    “Just some prank from the senior students,” Chex said with a shrug. “The frat houses tend to pull crazy shit like this to confuse the hell out of the newbies. Congrats. You can consider yourself officially initiated. Welcome to college. Just like high school, but with a lot more drinking.”

     ~*~*~*~*~

   After picking up the rest of the books, the twins guided Alley to the correct office located on the first floor in the back of the building. They seemed to know their way around the place pretty well, and when Christopher told her why, she was astonished. “Your father is the dean?” she repeated.

    “Yeah, but don’t hold it against us,” Chex deadpanned. “We can’t help who we were born to.”

    “So you know this place pretty well, huh?”

    “We’ve been running around these buildings since we were kids. I always wanted to attend school here,” Chris told her. “My sister is here because her other option was Military boot camp, but the food is better here.”

    “Ah.” Alley grinned. “That would be those pig hearts you mentioned?”

    “And let us not forget the kittens,” Chex added. “So, what’re you majoring in?”

    “Well, because my parents absolutely insisted on me picking something I can make a real career out of, my major is graphic design. But since I’m not sure if that’s what I actually want to do, I’m minoring in creative writing and music composition, and looking into a few possible art courses for next semester.”

    “Sweet. Another writer type. I dig it.” Chex offered a high-five, but hastily reconsidered when she nearly dropped her armload of books. “What’s your preference? Novels? Poetry? Essays?”

    “Well, I don’t really know,” Alley admitted. “I’ve mostly kept journals and stuff, and I’ve written some song lyrics here and there, a few poems. But since I’ve never actually let anyone read any of it, I don’t know if they’re any good or not.”

    “You write music?” Chris asked.

    “Sort of. I didn’t take a lot of music classes in high school, but I do know my basics. I took piano lessons for eight years. I’m in the beginning course for music composition. I think it’d be fun to try writing my own songs.”

    “Do you sing, too?” he asked hopefully.

    “What’s with the twenty questions?” Chex nudged her brother. “Trying to recruit her for your little band?”

    Alley raised her eyebrows. “You’re in a band?”

    She must’ve sounded skeptical, because he drew himself up, looking a little wounded. “It’s nothing spectacular, just a garage band I put together back in high school, but we get decent gigs on weekends and stuff,” he replied. “It’s a lot of fun. Hang out, play good music. Get paid for it, even. Since we graduated, though, some of the members have left. The drummer headed to Oxford and our female lead singer is attending Juilliard. We’ve still got our bass and guitar players, and I sing and play the keyboard.”

    “That’s cool,” Alley said.

    “We’ll probably hold auditions for another keyboard player and singer once classes start. See if we can get some interest. It’d be great to keep the band going, if we can.”

    Chex cupped a hand to her mouth and added in a stage-whisper, “That’s a hint for you to show up and sing.”

    Chris mimicked the move. “She’s just mad ‘cause we won’t let her join. She can’t hold a note to save her life.”

    “Butthead.”

    “Birth defect.”

    “Awww, you guys love each other so much,” Alley teased. “Almost makes me wish I had a brother, too.”

    “Don’t. You’re better off,” Chex said blandly.

    Alley laughed. “So what’re you majoring in, Chex? You like writing, too?”

    “Connie has wanted to be a professional writer since she was old enough to pick up a pencil,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t get her started on the subject or you’ll never get her to shut up again.”

    “Don’t mind him.” Chex pulled a face at her brother. “ His ultimate goal in life is to be our dad’s personal Mini-Me. He fully plans to take over the position of dean when Pops retires.”

    “That’s not set in stone,” Chris muttered, blushing a little. “But it’s sort of a position that’s been passed down in the family since the school was founded. As the oldest son—”

    “As the only son,” she cut in with a snort.

    Chris shot her a brief glare before turning his attention back to Alley. “Our family founded this school,” he explained. "We don’t own it, per se, but it’s always been the Archer sons who have taken the position of dean.”

    “It’s got something to do with the founding father’s will or some sort of legal shit like that,” Chex put in, waving a dismissive hand. “Even though there’s a board of directors and all sorts of officials these days, they can’t kick an Archer son out of the position, unless he willingly steps down.”

    “So, when Dad retires, I’ll be taking over as the dean,” Chris finished.

    “Wow. That’s kind of nice, knowing you’ve got a career path all planned out for you.” Alley pursed her lips, considering. “Unless … you don’t want to be the dean? Then I guess it’d be kind of a pain in the ass.”

    “No, I’m willing to step into the position, but it’ll be after Dad retires, and since he’s only in his forties, that won’t be happening for awhile.”

    “So, what do you plan to do with yourself in the meantime?”

    “I’m majoring in musical composition, the advanced classes. I’d like a career in music. Maybe become a pianist, or even a teacher. It’d be kind of fun to teach classes here, actually.”

    Chex snorted. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, my brother really loves this school.”

    “Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

    Alley grinned as she listened to the twins’ bickering, which only ended when they finally reached their destination. “The offices are right through here," Chris announced, pushing open a set of swinging doors to reveal a posh waiting room.

    “The dean’s office technically closes at five,” Chex said, “but being his kids gives us certain advantages.” She flashed a cheeky smile at the secretary and sauntered down the short hallway as if she owned the place, stopping before a closed door. “Hey, Pops, you in?” she called.

    “C'mon in,” came a deep voice from the other side. Chex pushed the door ope and stepped into a large, richly furnished office with Chris and Alley bringing up the rear. “Got those books and posters you wanted,” she grunted, dumping her armload onto the mahogany desk. The dark-haired man on the other side glanced up from his ledger, gray eyes crinkling with a smile.

    “Thanks, kids.” His eyes fell on Alley. “I’m sorry, young lady, the office is closed now.”

    “Um,” Alley began, but Chris hastily stepped in. “She’s with us,” he explained. “She got lost trying to get here because someone went and switched all the floor maps on the walls.”

    “Again?” Mr. Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Didn’t we just go through that last year?”

    “Better up the security, Pops.” Chex took her brother's armload of books and unceremoniously dumped them into an empty armchair. “Tricky bastards, those seniors.”

    “Language, Constance,” the dean sighed.

    “Sorry, Sir.” She didn't sound sorry at all.

    “Alley has some more papers she needed to sign. Think she could do that real quick? After all the trouble she had getting here and all…” Chris prodded.

    “Sure, sure. Have Mary pull the file. Alley, was it? You can sit at the table out there and finish what you need. I just ask that you be done by six thirty. That’s when Mary has to leave.”

    “Oh, that’ll be plenty of time. Thank you, Sir,” Alley replied gratefully, placing the poster tubes she was holding on the chair beside the books. She stood awkwardly, wondering if she should bow or curtsy or something, and settled for a polite nod as she turned to follow Chex back to the waiting area.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Half an hour later, Alley was on the final paper, filling in her new address. She jotted Charley’s house phone down as a temporary number until she could buy a cell phone. She considered who to put as the emergency contact. Her parents were on the other side of the States, so they were out. Charley was the only person she knew in this city, aside from the mice, but she could hardly use their names. She wasn’t sure if they even used phones. Probably best to leave it blank for the moment. She could always fill it later.

    She glanced at the twins, who had for whatever reason decided to stick around; Chris had made himself comfortable in an armchair, absorbed in a well-worn copy of what looked like a science fiction novel.

    Chex lounged on a loveseat with her long black-and-purple-striped legs resting against the back of the couch and her bright red hair brushing the ground. She didn’t seem to care that her short, black-lace tutu skirt had ridden up her waist and now rested in a frothy pile on her stomach. Or that her upside-down face was slowly turning the same shade as her hair as her booted feet danced in the air, keeping time to whatever song was playing on her iPod. She completely ignored the disapproving glances both Mary and her brother kept tossing at her; if anything, they only seemed to encourage her as she drummed the air with her purple-gloved hands, body squirming as she danced on her back. Alley found herself grinning, wondering if she could convince Chex to come shopping with her for a new phone that week. She had a feeling that, despite their very different appearances, the two of them would get along swimmingly.

   A disturbance from the front of the waiting area caught her attention, and she looked toward the front desk, where three men had entered the doors and were casually strolling toward them, ignoring Mary’s frantic attempts to stop them.

    “Aw, shit,” Chex swore softly. “The Purple People Eater’s back.” She quickly flipped herself around and patted down her skirt, snatched a photography magazine off a nearby rack and hastily flipped it open. She didn’t seem to notice it was upside-down. “Keep your head down,” she hissed to Alley. “Don’t look at ‘em, don’t draw attention to yourself, and whatever you do, hold your breath. ”

    “Hold my—bwoaaarph,” Alley gagged as a most awful stench suddenly hit her like a brick to the face. She choked, one hand coming up to pinch her nose shut as she ducked her head, staring through tearing eyes at the forms in front of her. The three men passed them, and she dared to glance up for a better look, then did a triple-take. Purple People Eater was right! He was the largest man she’d ever seen. And he was dressed in the most glaringly purple pinstriped suit her eyeballs had ever had the misfortune to encounter. His greasy black hair was slicked back in some semblance of a coif and he carried a cane in one white-gloved hand. All he needed was a Tommy Gun and he’d be the epitome of the classic 1940s mob boss.

    He noticed her staring, gave her a cold smile that sent a chill shivering up her spine, and sauntered down the short hallway to Mr. Archer’s office. The two henchmen following him, looking more like typical thugs on a street corner than anything, didn’t even glance her way. She watched them go, wondering why in the world she felt like she’d seen him before.

    As soon as the office door opened and shut, Alley released her breath and gasped for air for a moment. “Holy hell,” she hissed. “Did somebody drop that guy into the Bog of Eternal Stench?”

    Chex burst out laughing and reached over to slug her brother in the arm. “See? I told you I wasn’t the only person in the world who watches Labyrinth!”

    “Well, we all must have some flaws,” Chris sniffed, shutting his book.

   “Says the guy reading The Man Who Fell to Earth for the umpteenth time.”

    “It’s a classic book!”

    “And Labyrinth is a classic movie!"

    “Guys!” Alley snapped her fingers to get their attention. “Focus. Who was that?”

    “Trouble,” Chris grumbled. “He’s been coming around lately. Dad says he’s been trying to convince him to sell him the school or something. He wants the land around it.”

    “Yeah, he seems to have it in his head that Pops owns the place and has the legal authority to sell out, or can convince the board members to sell out, or something. I dunno, the guy’s a nutball.” Chex circled her temple with a finger.

    “Well … hasn’t anyone called the cops on him or something?”

    “Won’t do any good.” Chris ran his fingers through his tousled curls, mussing them even further. “His thugs are there for show, but he hasn’t actually gotten violent or anything so they can’t toss his fat ass out. Dad wouldn’t, anyway. He prefers to keep the peace and try and talk things out.”

    “Yeah, he’s stupid like that,” Chex muttered, earning a glare from her twin.

    “Besides, we think he sort of owns the police. He lines their pockets and all.” Chris rubbed his fingers together.

    “He’s got some weird-ass cheese name,” Chex added. “Like, it really fits him, though.” She glanced at her brother. “What was it? Muenster? Pepperjack?”

    “Limburger,” Alley said quietly, as it abruptly hit her where she’d seen him before. In Throttle’s memories. “That’s Lawrence Limburger.”

    “Yeah! That’s it!” Chex laughed. “Smelly cheese for a really smelly guy!”

    “How often does he stop by?” Alley asked.

    “I dunno. He started coming around about two months ago. Once or twice a week, I guess. No big deal, really.”

    “No, listen, this is a big deal.” Alley shook her head. “That guy, he’s dangerous. He’s—” She stopped, struggling to think up a way to explain how dangerous. She doubted the truth would get her anywhere but locked up in a nuthouse. “He’s mafia,” she finally blurted. “He’s a boss in the mafia, and he’s buying up property all over the state to strip-mine it. He seems focused primarily on Chicago, though. My cousin, Charley? She’s been harassed by Limburger for years, trying to buy out her garage, or take it by force. She’s managed to resist, but only ‘cause she’s got some good friends helping her out. If it wasn’t for them, she’d be out of business by now. Possibly worse. He has gotten violent with her in the past. If something isn’t done to stop him, he’ll start using force to get what he wants here, too. Trust me on this, okay? I believe my cousin.”

    The twins stared at her, wide-eyed. Even Mary had stopped what she was doing to listen.

    “But, when he first showed up, Pops called the cops on him, and they didn’t do anything,” Chex finally said. “I mean, they said they couldn’t do anything.”

    “Never mind that he was legally trespassing, showing up after-hours without an appointment and even making veiled threats,” Chris added. “That’s why we figured he’s got the police in his pocket. They could’ve done something otherwise.”

    Alley chewed on her lower lip. “I gotta get back,” she decided. “I’ve been gone too long, anyhow. Charley needs her truck back, and I want to talk to the guys about this. Her friends, I mean. They can probably help, and the cops never even need to know.” She gathered the paperwork and slid it back into the folder, taking it to Mary.

    “You two should get yourselves home,” the secretary told the twins. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay and make sure Mr. Archer gets out safely. I’ll call security in to escort him if I have to.” She took the file from Alley and nodded. “Welcome to the Institute, Miss Davidson. I hope you’ll enjoy yourself here.”

    Alley flashed her a weak smile. “Well, can’t say it won’t be interesting, at least.”

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#bmfm fanfiction #Biker Mice from Mars #OCs #humor #romance #adventure

[quickeningheart]

Eight

   "It's all good, huh?"

   Alley tipped her head back to meet Stoker’s amused gaze over the back of her chair. "It would be, except Charley forgot to mention her supercomputer's possessed," she grumbled,  glaring sulkily at the lines of foreign text flashing across the monitor. "I don't even know what I did! I just opened what was supposed to be a spreadsheet file and next thing I know..." She trailed off and shrugged, gesturing helplessly at the screen.

   “Hmmm…” Stoker leaned over the back of her chair, eyes intent on the monitor. The fur on his arm tickled her neck as he reached past her to tap a few keys, and she leaned away to give him more space. A warm, strangely familiar scent hit her nose, musky and sweet. It reminded her of horses and hay and sun-warmed fur, and she found herself inhaling deeply.

   He noticed, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow as a small grin twitched his mouth. “Something smell good?” he asked, voice low.

   She scowled. “Just thinking you smell like a horse stable,” she snapped, attempting to cover her embarrassment. “Do you bathe regularly on your planet?”

   His expression shuttered. “Actually, water is pretty scarce on Mars, no thanks to the stinkfish. Portions are strictly rationed, and baths are considered a luxury. We get by with what we have.” His voice held no anger, but Alley knew she’d just been thoroughly chastised, and she ducked her head, blushing to the roots of her hair.

   “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t—”

   “Ahhh, now isn’t this interesting,” he cut in, completely ignoring her pitiful attempt to apologize. “Somehow, you’ve managed to access a Martian programming file.”

   She hesitated, wondering if she’d misheard. “A … what now?”

   “See all this text?” he tapped the screen. “This is incomplete Martian coding. Looks like the beginning of a program, but there are parts missing. Here … and here… Looks to me like our Charley-girl’s been a busy little bee.” He chuckled. “The rookies always brag about how smart that lady is. I think they were understating. She’s a technological genius.”

   “Wait…” Alley rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. “Pretend for one second that I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s this mean? What’s she been busy at?”

   “I’ve been attempting to build a two-way communication system,” Charley said from behind them, making Alley jump. She leaned over the desk, tapping a sequence out on the keyboard. The monitor flickered and went blank; a moment later, the regular desktop came up. “I’ve got the basic communication coding down thanks to the guys' bikes, but you’re right, Stoker, it’s incomplete. I need to study something a little more advanced than the bikes for what I want to accomplish.”

   “You’re trying to build a communicator strong enough to reach all the way to Mars,” Stoker reasoned. “That’s why you asked me to bring some ship communication components next time I dropped by.”

   She shrugged. “I know it’s hard on the guys, being stuck down here without any way to contact Mars, always waiting for some communication from home. I can tell they’re restless. They worry about what’s going on up there. I figure maybe if they could talk to their families and loved ones, it’d help. Even if they can’t leave Earth, at least they’d feel a little closer to home.”

   “But, wait,” Alley interjected. “How can you do that? I mean, wouldn’t NASA or someone pick up on the radio signals or whatever?”

   “And there’s the trick of it.” Charley nodded. “But the mice have been studying Earth for decades without anyone being the wiser. They’ve come and gone, and have always managed to evade Earth’s detection. They have ways of … cloaking the signals so they don’t get picked up. I’m sure if I can get a look at their technology, I can copy it well enough to build a makeshift communicator of my own. The guys do have a small port unit that can receive messages and orders from Mars. My plan is to build on it, so they can send them back without detection, as well.”

   “Wow,” Alley breathed, deeply impressed. “You really are a genius.”

   “That’s if I can get it to work.” Charley smiled wryly. “My Martian coding isn’t up to standard yet, I’m afraid. It’s pretty slow going. The war might be over before I can even get it up and running.”

   “Why not ask the guys for help?”

   “Well, it’s sort of a surprise. They have no idea I’m doing this,” Charley admitted.

   “Then I’ll help you out,” Stoker offered. He chuckled at her dubious look. “Don’t worry, I can keep my mouth shut. They won’t get a peep outta me.”

   “That’d really be helpful. Thanks, Stoker.” Charley beamed at him. “My hope is to be finished with it by Christmas. I figure it’d make a hell of a gift.”

   "That it would," he agreed. "In exchange for my help, I want to be there for the unveiling. I'd love to see the expressions on those punks' faces when they get a load of this."

   "So you're plannin' on sticking around for awhile?" Charley asked.  "It'd be real nice to see you, but won't HQ get a little pissy if one of their best guys ups and disappears on 'em?"

   "I told 'em where I was goin'. They can't complain."

   "Uh-huh." Charley smirked at him. "Knowing you, you probably just tacked a note on the door before taking off. 'Gone to Earth. Be back soon!' Am I right?"

   He grinned. "It's almost spooky how well you know me."

   "Oh, it's no mystery," she snorted. "I practically live with a trio of Stoker-clones. If I haven't figured out what makes you macho mice tick by now, I don't deserve to be called a genius."

   Stoker winked and chuckled before heading back to his bike.

   As soon as he was gone, Charley gave her cousin a hard pinch on the arm. "Ow!" Alley yelped. “The hell, Charley!" She glared and rubbed her abused bicep. "It's not like I knew you were hiding some big secret in this thing!"

   "That's not why I pinched you. You promised, Alley."

   "Promised what?"

   "To treat my friends with respect. That includes Stoker." Charley lowered her voice. "I heard what you said to him, and if I heard, that means the guys probably did, too. Retired or not, Stoker is a well-respected general, and insulting him in front of his subordinates is demeaning!"

   "Come on, I'm not deaf. You guys have been goin’ at it all morning," Alley protested.

   “That’s different. Teasing and good-natured banter are fine. Deliberate insults are not.”

   "I didn't insult him."

   Charley raised an eyebrow. "So telling him he smells like a stable was a compliment."

   "Yes," Alley replied pertly.

   "On what planet?" Charley threw her arms up, and Alley pressed her lips together to keep from grinning.

   “Remember Pop-pop Davidson's horse ranch in Montana?"

   Charley blinked down at her cousin, nonplussed. "What's that got to do with anything?"

   Alley leaned back in the chair. "Those summer visits we used to have when we were little kids. Well, when I was a little kid, anyway. Fishing and swimming and horseback riding… And remember how he always let us sleep out in the horse stables, up in the hay loft? We'd pile all those hay bales together and make blanket forts and mazes out of 'em, and tell each other ghost stories. Yours were always way scarier, though."

   Charley’s expression softened. "Wow. I haven't thought of the ranch in years. That brings back memories. Those were great times, huh?"

   Alley smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Those trips were always my favorite vacations, getting to hang out with my cool older cousin. I was so mad when the family sold the ranch after Pop-pop died."

   "Well, our dads weren’t exactly the rancher types,” Charley replied with a laugh. “And they had the garage to run, after all. Couldn't just drop everything and move out to the country. Selling it was the reasonable thing to do. ‘Sides, that money helped Uncle Chuck start his business in Florida, right?"

   “Sure, I know that now. But I still miss those days sometimes.”

   Charley pursed her lips. “That’s all well and good, but I still don’t see how the ranch relates in any way to the current topic."

   Alley squirmed, embarrassed. "I'm saying, I always thought the stables smelled good. Clean hay and horses and fresh air. Like good memories. That's what … Stoker smells like. And that’s why telling him he smells like a stable wasn’t an insult." She felt herself blushing as a delighted grin slid over her cousin's face. "And if you ever tell him I said that, I'll kick your ass."

   Charley held up her hands, her expression oddly coy. "I won't say a single word," she promised, sounding way too innocent.

   Alley's eyes narrowed, and then she huffed and let her head drop onto her crossed arms. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

   "Well, not right behind you. He's actually about five feet back and a little to your left."

   She lifted her head to glare. "And it would've killed you to let me know he was listening?"

   Charley grinned, winking at the tan mouse. “I figured his poor ego needed a bit of soothing after that bawling out you gave him this morning.”

   “How thoughtful of you,” Alley muttered. “Gimme your truck keys. I need to head to the school for that paperwork and stuff.”

   “What about the filing?”

   “It’s almost done. I’ll finish when I get back.” Alley held out her hand.

   “You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” Grinning, Charley dropped the keys into her open palm.

   Alley chose not to dignify that with a response. She grabbed her messenger bag off the back of the chair where she’d slung it and made a beeline for the door, pausing just long enough to shoot Stoker a threatening glower. “It doesn’t mean anything and I don’t wanna hear one word about it.”

   He held up his hands in mock-surrender, affecting a serious expression. But he couldn’t quite hide the grin twitching at his mouth as she turned on her heel and stomped out of the garage to the truck parked around the side. He glanced at Charley, smirking. “What was that you said about me losing my touch?” he teased.

   Charley laughed and threw a rag at his head.

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#Biker Mice from Mars #bmfm fanfiction #humor #drama #romance #Charley #original characters #ocs #Stoker #the trio