Genre: Humor… and other stuff too.
Pairing: M/A-ish. Dunno for sure yet. Maybe M/A, maybe just M/A-friendship.
Summary: Max wanted a simpler life. She got her wish. She reaaaally ought to have been more specific.
A/N: So, what do I say about this little adventure…? Still working on TDTMFT, don't worry about that. This is just a side-project. Unsure of how long it'll be at this point, but I have at least a few more chapters in mind. Should warn you though that it's a bit…different. And you'll see soon why I wrote that note regarding the pairing.
It's also rather rough and unbeta'd, as I'm flying by the seat of my pants here. I figured I shouldn't invest too much time in the side project when I already have plenty on my plate as it is.
Here, Kitty, Kitty
- 1 -
Life was not fair, Max decided.
The wind whipped against her face, making her eyes sting and her nose run, and she had the urge to wipe it on her sleeve. And did so a moment later, because it wasn't as if anyone could see anyway, and she wasn't going to stop to search for a tissue that she most likely didn't have.
Life was oh so unfairly NOT FAIR—when she had to admit that she was wrong, and that Alec…
Her lips twisted in a grimace and she forced herself to swallow past the bitter taste in her mouth.
… And that Alec was right.
Because Alec had been the one who thought she should tell Logan the truth about "them" and this phantom relationship that he seemed to think he'd stumbled across. And she had told him that she knew what she was doing (implying that he didn't), and that she would take care of it on her own (hinting that she'd do the same for him if he didn't back off), and that he owed this much to her anyway (dredging up old guilt and stirring the still waters beneath the proverbial bridge).
All that for what? To realize that he had been right all along.
So not fair.
She wondered how long he would rub this in her face. Probably till he found himself looking down the business end of a good ol' fashioned ass-kicking, in all likelihood. Well, that she could certainly accommodate.
Max pedaled faster, zipping through the streets on her familiar trek without thought or pause.
She wasn't looking forward to facing him, especially not with this confrontation looming ahead. Sure he might feel better knowing that she hadn't left him for another man—and Alec, at that—but she had a feeling he wouldn't be altogether pleased to know that she had lied to him (refrained from telling the complete truth, she corrected mentally)… or that she had seen it as something necessary.
Because that was why she'd done it. A necessary evil, so to speak. Hurt him, to save him.
Even if no one else seemed to agree with her.
But it wasn't working out quite how she'd either hoped or expected. Nowadays all their conversations were consumed with awkward pauses and quickly diverted glances. Now, when they needed most to push aside personal relationships and private hang-ups, to focus on the big picture—the runes, the Familiars, and the growing threat the ordinaries presented. So she figured the best way about it was to "come correct", as Original Cindy would say.
Despite how much she hated the thought of Alec being right.
'Why does it always have to fall on me?' she thought with a regretful sigh. 'Why does my life have to be so complicated?'
And she didn't even care about being "normal" anymore—whatever the hell that meant anyway. She just wished that things could be… simpler. Not so intense all the time. It seemed like every day that "big picture" got larger and larger in scale. She didn't want the fate of the whole damn world resting on her shoulders. She didn't want to be responsible for anyone's future but her own. But if this so-called prophecy that White had spoken of, that seemed to be encoded in the runes that were surfacing on her skin, held any grain of truth—then it was her own fate that was completely out of her hands.
Man, that sucked.
A small, furred figure darted out into Max's path, putting an abrupt halt to her thoughts. Her reaction was instantaneous, though later she would curse her reflexes, for all the good they did her.
She slammed down on the brakes with as much force as possible. The bike skidded, an impressive screeching protest from the tires accompanying the motion, and rubber leaving a streak of black on the road in the process.
Max soon gave up on any thought of coming to a gentle stop and, loosening her grip on the handlebars, twisted her body until she was traveling in the front of the metal contraption. After all, she would recover; the bike would not. And no way in hell was she forking out the money to get a new one.
She hit hard, just as she knew she would. Even preparing herself for the fall couldn't save her the sudden burst of pain that ran up her side with the landing. It couldn't prevent the inevitable road rash that would come of the uncovered flesh of her right arm dragging along the pavement.
The only thing she didn't see coming was the curb that put a premature halt to her phenomenal wipeout—using her head as a rubber bumper in the process.
Stars exploded in Max's vision and then everything went temporarily black…
And slowly came back into focus again. She blinked cautiously.
'Well, that wasn't too bad.' Except for the fact that, you know, her brain seemed to have exploded in her head.
But even that lasted only a few—long, long—seconds, before the roaring in her ears eased to a more manageable purr. And neck-down, she seemed to have come out fairly unscathed…
Then she tried to move.
'Ooh, bad idea!'
Well, not that the pain was overwhelmingly terrible… she'd been through a lot worse in her life. But it seemed that her equilibrium was still off, because when she tried to get up, it felt like somebody had switched around all her wiring, and the wrong nerve endings were firing off, sending the wrong messages to the wrong parts of her body.
Lying on her side, she managed to roll over after a moment's pause. Except… she should have ended up on her back—that made sense, roll onto your back, slowly ease yourself up into a sitting position—but instead, somehow she wound up flat on her stomach.
Strange. She hadn't thought about it, just acted instinctively. You wanna get up? Move, like this.
Max flexed her hands and placed them palm-down on the pavement—and froze.
Fingers! Where were her fingers?
And why were her hands so small and hairy and, and—
Eyes wide with shock, and heart firing like an Uzi in her chest, Max forgot all notions of moving tentatively, and leapt to her feet—of which there were currently two too many, by the way—