Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

                Morning. Or maybe early afternoon. Vinnie could not quite tell by the shade of the light filtering through the broken and dusty blinds of the old tailor home, but his internal clock told him it was probably closer to the latter.

                His mouth was dry and tasted disgusting; the tell-tale remnants of a night of too much drinking and probably previously being sick. Now that he was alittle more alert he could definitely confirm that. Flashes of the bathroom stall, and his guts heaving, gripping the toilet bowl for dear life as hand rubbed his back.

                He groaned and pressed his face into his pillow, wondering if he couldn’t recapture the tail-ends of the sleep that was slipping away. But of course, it was too late for that. He was aware of snoring somewhere else nearby, and a body shifting in the bed behind.

                The masked mouse blinked hard, twisting suddenly towards his bedmate. “Charlie--?”

                It had been a silly thought. More of a wish.

                The person asleep beside him in the bed was not his beloved and much missed earthly-fling Charlene Davidson, but rather his bro.

                Throttle was half smashed against the wall and the bed, still fully clothed and looking like Vinnie felt. Dirty, battered, and ruffled. Vinnie groaned at him in disappointment, then picked up his own pillow and swatted at the tan mouse.

                “Hey! What’s the big idea making all that racket?!” he muttered at him.

                Throttle came awake with a jolt, grabbing at the pillow and jerking it free from Vinnie’s hand, looking at up at him with bloodshot eyes. “Jeezus…that anyway to thank me for last night?” the other quipped.

                Vinnie blinked, suddenly scrambling to remember how drunk he had exactly gotten last night.

                As if reading his thoughts, Throttle frowned and whapped him with the pillow in return. “Oh please, don’t flatter yourself…I’ve never been that drunk, Vincent.” His bro sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “You went a little hard at the race last night. More than your usual. Modo and I didn’t want to you spendin’ the night alone.”

                The snoring sound hit a crescendo making them both look towards the open bedroom door and out into the narrow hallway leading into the living room and kitchen. Modo must have taken up residence on the couch and was still undisturbed.

                “Maybe he should see a doctor about that…” Vinnie muttered.

                Throttle sat up full, climbing out of the rumbled bed and stretching, trying to work the stiffness in his neck and shoulders out. “You know you might be a little more grateful, bro. We coulda let you weather the night back at the track alone. But neither Modo or I have bail money for you right now.”

                Vinnie relented, softening. “Sorry bro.” He scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly, then reached up, scratching at the spikes of new hair growing along the ridge of his mask. He didn’t know how to feel about it. For years nothing had grown there beyond his regular fur, now all the sudden it was like he was sprouting something new.

                “You should let it grow out,” Throttle nodded, spotting his fidgeting.

                “Yeah?”

                “Sure. I think you’d look pretty badass with a wave of hair there, or a short mohawk.”

                “You mean I’d look like you.” Vinnie snarked.

                Throttle winked at him, “Well, I am pretty badass, aren’t I?”

                The tan mouse dodged the pillow before it could hit him, slipping through the door as it hit Vinnie’s childhood dresser and rattled the collection of old junk gathered atop of it. “I’ll go wake the big fella and see if we can rustle you up a hang-over cure,” he called back, leaving Vinnie alone in the bedroom once more.

                The white furred mouse nodded, and then, in the solitude, felt suddenly and strikingly alone. He looked around the bedroom that had not changed much since his youth. The warped paneling on the walls, still plastered with motorcross posters and clippings, stolen signage and license plates. Photos that were sun damaged and fading, taped to the sliding closet door.

                The carpet under his feet used to be blue, but now it was a soft of off grey-ish green from years of going un-swept and uncleaned. The musty smell of it made him feel sneezy, but his nose did little more than twitch.

                He sat there, on the edge of the double bed and tried to think…how it was he was right back where he had started. How he had lived through an occupation, an invasion, a war, the near ecological collapse of his planet, exile to another planet for ten years, only to end up right back in his childhood bedroom, staring at the same old junk, doing the same stupid shit with the same two people?

                On Earth, he had heard Charlie refer to things like this as a “Midlife Crisis” sort of moment. He was pretty sure he’d been having one since they had come back to Mars, almost five years ago now.

                He’d been a Freedom Fighter, a war hero, an intergalactic fugitive, an alien superhero and now… what was he? What the hell was he doing with his life?

                It was a question that he and his bros currently shared at the moment, though they weren’t aware of it yet.

                In the small kitchenette of the trailer, Throttle began to dig through the barely stocked cabinets for something to feed their collective hangover while Modo was beginning the day in the bathroom.

                He heard the flesh of the toilet, followed by the gush of water from the sink and the big grey furred mouse emerged, having to duck to avoid hitting his head on the low doorway. “Yikes…what did Vinnie eat last night?”

                “I think that the lack of eating was the main problem, big fella. Eight drinks on an empty stomach and a night of racing equals praying to the porcelain god.” The tan mouse answered. He glanced at his taller companion. “How about you? Keepin’ everything down?”

                “Yeah…more or less. Tongue feels like sandpaper.”

                Throttle handed him a glass of water from the tap. It was still synthetic and tasted odd, but it would do the trick. Modo gulped it down gratefully.

                “You look like you slept under the bed. What happened?”

                “Dunno…passed out after his third or fourth trip to the toilet I think, was trying to make sure he didn’t choke in his sleep. My head is pounding.”

                Modo looked around the old trailer, noting the dust that had collected. “I don’t think the environment is helping much. How about I crack a window, let some air in this place, hmm?”

                Throttle gave him a thumbs up, fishing out some pancake mix and what looked like hashbrowns that had been frozen for a better part of a year. Maybe longer. He dropped the hard frozen spuds on the counter—half testing to see if they would shatter—and then searched for a pan.

                Meanwhile, Modo moved towards the front door. The trailer had a main door, and a screen door. It had been broken and patched over time with tape in the places the screen had been punched through. It, like the rest of the trailer, was a patchwork of age and incidents.

                “Tell me again why we crashed here?” He asked Throttle, letting the main door hang open wide and closing just the screen to let the fresh air in. “Mama’s place is just a few miles up the road.”

                Throttle glanced at him over his shoulder. “Mmmhmm. But I don’t think she would have cared for the three of us crashing in on her at 2 in the morning, half sloshed. Some of us mostly sloshed.”

                Modo winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah…there’s that. But we could have crashed in the barn for the night. Ain’t like we haven’t done it before.” He grinned back at Throttle, who rolled his eyes but also smirked.

                “Let’s not go down that road, big fella…”  He greased on the skillets and let it rest on the hot burner, chipping away at the frozen hashbrowns until they were in manageable chunks, scattering them across the hot surface. “Besides…I think he’s been missing home lately.”

                Modo nodded sagely, “Yeah. Not the only thing he’s missing, I can tell you that. Heard him calling for Charlie in his sleep again.”

                “You can quit talkin’ about me like I’m not here!” Vinnie’s voice drifted to them from the bedroom.

                “Then how about you come out and join the conversation!” Modo called back. He shook his head. “Boy has no manners, I swear.”

                “Can’t a mouse get a moment of peace in his own house?!” Vinnie fired back, almost petulantly, slamming the bedroom door as he attempted some privacy while changing. Both Throttle and Modo cringed, hearing the tell-tale sound of the door getting stuck in the frame and Vinnie’s quiet cursing behind it.

                “Is it his house?” Modo mused then, looking around at the sun-faded and dusty furniture, all left just the way it had been the last time they had been here, before their exile to Earth. “I mean, if you don’t live in a place for more than fifteen years…do you still own it?”

                “That’s a good question.”

                Both Throttle and Modo stiffened at the sudden intrusion of a new voice. They turned, Throttle nearly knocking the hot pan off the stove, to see a woman standing on the other side of the screen door.

                Neither of the two mice recognized her at first, both instinctively reaching for weapons that were always on their person. Modo’s obviously at the most ready. His arm canon made a soft whirring sound as it warmed up, ready to pop the hatch and take aim if necessary.

                The woman blinked back at the pair of them through the screen. White furred, long haired, and dressed in what they would best describe as an army cover-all jump suit.  She leaned on it casually, peering back at them, and they noticed that she was not un-armed, wielding what looked like a basic lazor blaster in one hand.

                “What are you two squatters doing in my house exactly?”

                “Squatters?” Throttle scoffed. “I think maybe you might have the wrong house, ma’am. Best move along…”

                But Modo, who was standing closest to the door, finally recognized the face on the other side of it. His bionic arm lowered immediately as his ears perked in surprise. “Jessie?”

                She blinked back at him, taken off guard. “Wait…” she tucked the blaster away and stepped inside, the door clacking loudly behind her the way it always did. “Modo? Is that you?! You grew like…2 feet?!”

                She was beaming at him, clearly stunned. Her eyes swept over the tall figure, taking in the bionic arm and the stark black eyepatch, as well the notches in his ear along side the gold hoops. Her gaze turned to Throttle, sizing him up the same. “Oh my lord…what have you boys been up to?”

 It was still dawning on the two males who they were looking at.

                “Yeah…guess it’s been awhile.” Modo nodded slowly, feeling a renewed sense of awareness of his battle scars under her scrutiny. He automatically tucked his bionic arm behind his back, wanting to hide the handicap.  “How are you, Jess? We…” Modo stammered, still taking her in. He floundered for words and looked to Throttle, as he usually did when he was unsure. The tan mouse had moved away from the food and stepped closer, shoulders squared and lacking the self-consciousness Modo was feeling.

                “We thought you were long gone, girl! It’s been a war and a half!” He explained, the shock still clear in his voice but edged with something else. Not exasperation exactly, but something close.

                Jessie blinked at him and bit her lip, looking at the floor briefly. “Yeah, I know…I know it’s been a long time. I always meant to check in with you boys, you know, I heard stories about you all the time. Really kept us all going there in the dark times.”

                Throttle frowned at her, his gaze still stern. “He thought you were dead.”

                She looked genuinely surprised at this, her eyes going wide. “What? Dead? Why would he think that?!”

                “I dunno, maybe because you picked up one day and then vanished for almost 20 years without so much as a letter, a vidcom check in, nothing!?” His voice was rising, surprised at the anger that was suddenly rising to the surface. His bro was equally surprised, touching his shoulder gently as if to ground him.

                “Easy, bro, easy…sure there’s some sort of explanation.” He looked to Jessie again, as if urging her to divulge.

                She faltered, blinking between the two of them. There was guilt on her face, and a longing as well. Like she was holding something back. “Look, it’s not that simple okay—”

                Before she could do any more explaining, there was hard banging on the bedroom door from down the hall. Vinnie, trying to escape from his accidental prison. “Hey! What’s going on out there, who are you guys talking to!?” He called.

                They all stared down the hall at the door as it shook on its hinges. All aware they should go and help, but all seeming reluctant to move.

                Finally the door popped free, a new sizable crack zig-zagging down the top corner of it, and Vinnie emerged, now dressed in more than a pair of boxers, thank goodness.

                He stalked towards them, his tired eyes and the shadows of the windowless hallway dimming his vision. “Gee don’t get up or anything guys, I totally don’t need your help…”

                His complaint was pushed aside as he caught sight of her. Taller than him by an inch and half—a fact she had never let him forget—her hair having grown out and trailing nearly to her hips. Tall and lean and not looking at all like a teenager on the edge of womanhood. She was grown. They both were.

                “Jess?” The sound was small, and almost childish coming out of him. Lacking all of his usual bravado, charm or snark.

                None of them spoke, the two other mice watching the siblings take each other in. Jessie lifted a hand towards her mouth as if to cover it, but it stopped short, resting at her throat. She was staring at the mask that adorned the left-side of Vinnie face. Something so common to the other two now, but jarring and unfamiliar to her.

                Vinnie’s gaze dropped, suddenly self-conscious in a way his bros hadn’t seen him since he’d first gotten the mask.

                “Hey little bro,” she offered softly, her eyes misting slightly now. “It’s been awhile, huh?” She tried to laugh, but the sound cracked and broke off, too feeble to carry itself. Her face crumpled and she closed the distance between them, arms around him, hugging him fast and hard. “Oh my gods, look at you. All grown up. Fuck, you look just like Daddy…”

                Vinnie said nothing, just held her back, fingers digging in her clothes. His silence was a measure of the shock he was feeling, the complete overwhelm.

                “You’re alive?” he asked, his voice still too small.

                She pulled back, cupping his face. “Yes! I’m here. I’m sorry you didn’t know…really, little bro I thought you did.”

                “How? How would I know that, Jess?!” he spat suddenly, pushing her back slightly. “How would I know that?! You’ve been completely radio silent for years! Where the hell have you been!?”

                She sighed shakily, clearly feeling overwhelmed but also defensive. “Look, it’s not like I went out joyriding one night and never came home, Vinnie! I went out to do something with my life while I still could! I’ve been in the Out Flow, I got medical training and I spent the war there as an EMT. I’ve been busy…”

                “The Out Flow? Well that explains it…place got hit hard by Plutarkians, been cut off for years while they dried out the water there.” Modo mused. “But we were there a few times on missions…hardly any settlements there. How did you survive?”

                “We were transient, like most of the mice colonies left. Stay moving, stay out of trouble. Seen more than half the planet now. Or what’s left of it.” She shrugged, seeming unable to decide whether she was proud or not. But they were all studying her with such intensity that she prickled, tail lashing with anxiety.

                “Where have you three been? Still riding around this dump I suppose?”

                Vinnie’s tail began to lash the same way hers did, and his temper flared, eyes wide. He laughed in the cynical way he did when he was irritated. “Oooh…you’re shitting me, right? You are shitting me. You think I’ve been kicking around this dumpy ol’ trailer since the war?! Doing what, Jess?! Waiting for you to show up?!”

                “Well, I mean, you are here…”

                “We’ve been off planet for ten years! Exiled to fuckin Earth, after we fucking got our asses near blown off and escaped capture from a Plutarkian lab! Or did you think I have this damn metal face just for looks!?” He shouted, forcing her to look at it.

                She winced, obviously hurt and feeling ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

                Vinnie groaned. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

                The siblings were silent for a moment, the words hanging heavily between them. Jessie looked on the verge of tears, staring at the floor. She put a hand over face, trying to hide beyond what the curtain of her hair provided. “I’m so sorry…”

                Her brother softened immediately, triggered at once by the sight of his big sister in distress. He pushed his own anger aside, pulling her into a hug again. “Hey…don’t do that. It’s not fair. You know I can’t stand to see you cry.”

                She tried to laugh but the crying won out, and pressed grateful kisses to his cheek. “Love you, little bro.”

                “Love you too.”

                Throttle and Modo looked at each other anxiously, unsure how to proceed. The tan mouse cleared his throat quietly. “Hey, um…we’ll give you two a minute alone hmm? We’ll be outside.”

                He tried to catch Vinnie’s gaze, trying to confirm this suggestion. His bro gave the smallest of nods, and that was their queue to leave.

                The shuffled out onto the weather-worn deck that had been built around the length of the trailer, the wooden slats of the sun-shield above them shielding them from the glare and heat of the midday sun, offering some much needed shade.

                Jessie had arrived in a truck, the back filled with a couple bags and boxes, and a motorcycle. A silver and lavender colored dart of a speedster, good for racing and obviously custom designed.

                “Well…my hangover is gone now. I think that shocked it out of me.” Modo admitted as they stood at the rail, taking in the desert sprawling around them. The Van Wham’s trailer was tucked back from the road, a short scrub trees and Martian cacti used to grow along the drive that lead to it.  The place itself was not much to look at but the land around it had been the real draw. Wide spaces to race and ride, a small gulch not far behind them that the boys used to explore and camp in.

                He looked to the other mouse, who’s face was drawn and tight. Still angry. He moved a little closer to him, arms folded across his broad chest. “Go on. Better get it out of your system now.”

                Throttle sighed heavily, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. “You aren’t a little upset that she pops up out of nowhere after all these years of letting us think she died? Of letting him think he was alone in the world?”

                Modo’s lips thinned as he exhaled. “Yeah…it’s not ideal.”

                “Not ideal?” Throttle snapped, again his anger prickling in ways that surprised them both. It was rare for something to get so under Throttle’s skin, but clearly this was one of them. “Did you forget those nights we sat up with him? Did you forget the extra-reckless behavior we had to curb?” He shook his head, staring back out at the desert. “None of us need that extra grief. There’s plenty to go around as is.”

                Modo put his good hand on his bro’s back, rubbing lightly between the tense muscles. “But at least he had us, right?” He offered. It didn’t make it right of course. And Modo was not without his judgement on the matter. It had been needless stress and grief on Vinnie. And he was sure it would be reckoned with. But for the moment, he was focused on the small miracle of it. That she had come back. Displacement and separation was not uncommon at all among their people since the days of the occupation, and certainly the war. So many loved ones lost and scattered to the winds. But against the odds, Jessie had not been lost completely.

                Throttle nodded, relenting that little bit. His ears perked, trying to catch wisps of conversation from beyond the closed door. There were mutterings of voices but nothing he could fully discern.

                “Do you believe her? About being in the Out Flows all this time?”

                “Guess so. They got hit hard and cut off early when it really kicked off. We were already with Stoke then, I think. Sometimes my memories get weird, looking back on it. Feels like ancient history and yesterday all at once.”

Throttle nodded. “I know exactly what you mean, big fella.”

“She looks good.” Modo mused, looking back through the window and the crooked blinds to glimpse the woman speaking with their bro.

                Throttle followed his gaze and raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh?”

                Modo blushed, as if realizing he had trailed off on that thought and let his stare do the rest of the talking for him. “I mean…she does, doesn’t she? She was always pretty.”

                Throttle rolled his eyes, but smiled as he did so. “Childhood crush, comin’ in hot.”

                His bro nudged him, “Hey now, I don’t bust your chops when you moon over Carbine do I?”

                Throttle looked away, eyes on the horizon again. Modo wished he hadn’t said anything. That was a whole other situation that he did not envy in the slightest.

                Movement then, the pair inside making towards the door. Vinnie barged through first, looking moody and a little frantic. “Come on bros. Let’s hit the road. I’ve got some energy to burn off.”

                Jessie sighed, lingering near the door-frame as she followed him out. “You’ll come back though, right?”

                Vinnie laughed harshly. “Wow, what a question!”

                Her face tightened, more guilt rushing over her pretty features. She folded her arms across her chest, as if hugging herself. “Look, I’m not going to tell you not to be mad at me. I deserve that. But let’s at least talk about it.” She looked hopefully to the other pair, as if they might provide some mediation between them. “How about I get this place cleaned up and ya’ll come back tonight for some home cooking? I still remember how to make Mom’s casserole.”

                Throttle shrugged, doing his best to be diplomatic. “Couldn’t hurt, I guess. Though you might need a hand tidying up the place. Been sitting empty awhile.”

                Jessie looked mildly relieved at this. “Oh! Okay, that would explain it…honestly I thought you boys were just living like this.”

                “I could stay behind, give ya a hand with the cleanup.” Modo offered suddenly, perhaps a little too eagerly.  Throttle cocked his head, a little surprised at his bro’s ambition. But it seemed to allow Vinnie some assurance on the matter.

                The white furred mouse considered, drumming his fingers on the rail of the porch. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan. We’ll be back in a few hours. Come on, bro.” He motioned to Throttle, who didn’t hesitate to follow, only pausing at the foot of steps to look back at Modo and Jessie with a careful, almost parental look. “Have a good time you two. And watch out for Vinnie’s laundry hamper. I think there’s ten years worth of crusty clothes in there.”

                Jessie laughed and waved goodbye to them, deflating just a little when the pair straddled their bikes and road off in a rising cloud of dust and pebbles. She let her head fall back against the door-frame, arms still wrapped around herself and groaned quietly. “Shit…”

                Modo looked at her sympathetically. “Just give him a little to digest it, Jess. He’ll come around.” He offered.

                She looked at him, grateful. “Thanks. You were always such a sweetie, Maverick. I missed you.” She opened her arms and swept him into a hug, head on his shoulder. She giggled, remembering when they were the same height, once upon a time. “I can’t get over the way you’ve filled out!”

                He blushed and smiled awkwardly. “Well…years of fightin’ will do that to you.”

                Her eyes strayed to his bionic arm but she looked away again quickly, avoiding it. “Yeah, guess it will.” She leaned up on tip toes and kissed his cheek, and he went even red-er under his fur.

                She gave him a little playful punch in his shoulder. “Well, come on, muscle mouse. Let’s whip this pile of bolts and paneling into shape!”

***

Chapter Text

***

                The pair of the motorcycles streaked through the desert hard-pan along the gulch, kicking up tornadoes of dust in their wake. If anyone had causally observed them from afar, they might have thought the pair were desperately trying to escape some unforeseen danger. But the only thing that they were trying to outrun was Vinnie’s overwhelm of emotion.  Despite the roar of their engines, Vinnie’s voice caught on the wind, even through barrier of his helmet visor.

                Throttle tried his best to keep up with his bro, if not for the benefit of channeling his own frustration, than to keep Vinnie from losing control entirely. But Van Wham was going flat out, harder than they would have even for something like the Crater Leap or the Roadhouse Races.

                “I can’t believe her! What kind of sociopath dips out for twenty years and acts like it’s nothing!?” He raged through his com. “I thought she was dead! What else was I suppose to think! And she just comes waltzing in like she just went out for milk or something!?”

                “Must have been some special kind of milk…” Throttle attempted, but Vinnie ignored his attempt to diffuse him with humor.

                “I mean—if I hadn’t decided to crash at the trailer last night—was she just gonna go about her business, not even try to contact me!? Would I have even known she was back!?”

                “Hard to say…”

                Vinnie’s bike kicked harder, the engine screaming as she seemed to streak ahead of him by yards in only a few seconds.

                “Vinnie, go easy! Cherry’s gonna have a hard time of it if you burn her damn wheels off!”

                “You know what, fuck her! I don’t need her! I didn’t need her for twenty years, why the fuck should I start now!? She wants to dip out and go her own way that’s just fine-by-me!” he shouted, punching extra emphasis on the last three words. Trying to make them true by force alone.

                “Yeah you sound totally cool about it…”

                He glanced at Lady’s control panel and realized they were easily about to clear 115 mph. While the bikes had—going at their most brutal—reached 150, Throttle knew he had to slow things down.

                Gritting his teeth, he punched his own gas and streaked hard along side Vinnie, swerving in front of him and forcing Vinnie to drop back to avoid him.

                “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” The white furred mouse howled, the sound piercing through the speakers of the helmet com making the tan mouse cringe.

                “Trying to keep you from becoming a food for buzzards, hot shot, the terrains getting a little rough!”

                Vinnie muttered something and cut back in front of him, streaking ahead towards a small ridge that flowed into the gulch beyond. “You’re just pussin’ out—I know what I’m—”

                All it took was a crack in the hard-pan. The size of pothole. Cherry bounced in the sudden dip, loosing her traction and was up and airborne, along with her rider. Vinnie shouted in fear in spite himself, bucked from his ride. He knew the impact he was about to make with the ground was going to fuck him up royally.

 But he never hit it. Throttle’s arm was suddenly hooked against his middle, pulling him against him as he and Lady tried to compensate for the extra weight—hitting the ground in a hard slide, the tan mouse only managing by a hair to keep balance and set them both upright. His tires were smoking, melted rubber tracks left against the copper colored ground.

                Cherry had skidded close to the edge of the ridge and was lying on her side. Dusted, scraped and slightly dented but not done for. She made a whining sort of beeping noise in dismay before going quiet.

                “Whoa…” Vinnie panted, realizing how close he had come to dumping himself down a forty foot rocky drop into a very shallow river bed below, all at break-neck speed.

                For a brief second Throttle’s arm seemed locked around him like a vice, with no intention of letting go of him. Then he was pushed away, making him stumble to stay on his feet.

                “Dammit Vincent!” The tan mouse howled at him, pulling off his helmet in frustration and throwing it to the ground as he dismounted from Lady.  “Explain to me how getting yourself killed is gonna make you feel better?!”

                For a moment Vinnie said nothing, catching his breath and slightly reeling from the shift in emotions while he was still flooded with adrenaline.  “I mean…I’ll be dead? Kinda cancels out all my problems by that logic.”

                They stared at each other, caught between outrage and absurdity. Throttle sputtered on a curse, but eventually devolved into a sort of shocked laughed, unable to help himself. And seeing him laugh made Vinnie laugh too. The rush of energy bubbling out of them any way it could.

                Throttle clapped a hand to his forehead, raking his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, every time you make me so mad I wanna choke you, you turn around and say something so dumb that I forget all about it…”

                “It’s my secret defense. Be so charming they can’t kill you.” Vinnie answered. But his chuckles and giggles had a harsher, sharper note to them. And as they gasped, Throttle saw his eyes become wet and the laughs begin to devolve into cries.

                Vinnie snarled, and hide his face in his hands. “Fuck!”

                Throttle was beside him instantly, pulling him in.  “I’ve got you.”

                He didn’t need to say it, but it was nice to hear it all the same. They stood together for a long time, Vinnie leaning into the embrace and Throttle saying nothing. Just keeping him upright. The sound of the desert began to filter back to them, no longer drowned out by screaming or the sound engines roaring. Distant bird song from the gulch below. The faint trickle of the shallow sluggish riverbed. Small animals shifting in the midday heat. The world continuing to turn no matter the small heartbreaks and dramas of its inhabitants.

                Finally, Vinnie pulled free of the other mouse’s arms, wiping his face as he turned away and attempting to compose himself. “Shit, sorry…got sand in my eye or something.”

                Throttle nodded, letting him have his excuse. He turned his attention to Cherry, and Lady who had driven herself over beside the fallen bike as if to inspect her. Concerned for her sister bike in an imitation of his concern for Vinnie.

                He moved to examine the red racer, “Poor girl. If you were looking for an excuse to give her a fresh paint job, now you’ve got one I guess.” He moved to pull her upright as Vinnie came along side him, cautiously running his hands along her, checking for any serious damage.

                Luckily other than some scraping and a dented side mirror, Cherry had escaped remarkably unscathed. “I’m sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to play so rough with ya. I’ll buff you all out all shiny and new soon as we hit the garage, give a good wax job…”

                “You know taken out of context this all sounds really inappropriate.” Throttle muttered, and Vinnie choked on another unexpected laugh.

                “Pervert.”

                “You’re the one going on about wax jobs.” Throttle countered. They sounded like kids bantering back and forth instead of the middle aged Mice they were. And in truth they felt like kids then too. The world feeling too big to cope with at times.

                Throttle turned his gaze across north, to a patch of faded green that sat tucked against a rock formation, creating a lip that over looked the gulch below. It had a spectacular view at certain times of day, and it’s protected position allowed the plants and short scrub trees that grew there to thrive despite the dryness of the land around it.

                It housed a small community cemetery. One of the boys knew well.

                Vinnie followed his gaze, seeming to read his thoughts. He dusted Cherry off and tested her engine and she started up again without hesitation, seeming ready for more of whatever he could dish out.

                “Come on. We’re overdue for a visit.”

                It was not a particularly old cemetery, only going back a few generations. This area outside Brimstone had fewer settlers, more land between them, and many of the clans and families that had later come to occupy the area had moved into the city proper, and were buried within it’s walls.

                It was the greenest bit of land for miles, like most Martian burial land. Monuments and stones with family names and clan markings were evident, but there were no caskets, no stone tombs below the surface holding the bones of those already gone by. When you died, you went back to the land, the cycle of life, death and renewal uninterrupted. Simple as that. Only the freshly dead would have left much of a trace in the ground below.  But the gift of the dead was all around them in the new green that was growing. Soft grass. Flowers. Rich soil and budding trees. An oasis among the battle scared desert.

                Vinnie’s parents graves were among some of the newer additions. Their stones were still clean of moss or growth and the engraved names clear and easy to read. Vinnie crouched in front of them, gazing speculatively at the names.

                “Well…guess I can stop beating myself up about not adding Jessie’s name to the stone then. Knock that off my to-do list.” He sighed. He spied the few flowers—freshly cut—that had been left beside the stones. There was no question that it was Jessie who had left them. “She must have stopped here before she came to the trailer.”

                “Paying respects.” Throttle noted. He didn’t say that she had probably been checking to see if Vinnie’s name had been added. “You know she really didn’t seem to recognize us when she came to the door. Could be she thought maybe you’d died in the war, same as we thought she did.”

                “Why wasn’t she sad then?”

                “Well, it has been over a decade, bro. You were expecting her to show up in a black veil?”

                “It would have been nice, yeah.”

                Throttle rolled his eyes but smiled, squeezing Vinnie’s shoulder lightly as they looked at the names of the former Van Wham’s etched on the rust-colored headstone. Van Wham--Jay Dam and Sea Sparrow--Kind, Courageous and Willing. Forever Missed.

                “Still remember the day of the accident. She held me for hours. It was like she was afraid if she let me go, I’d die too.” Vinnie mused, the memory bubbling to the surface.

                “I know. It was a hard day.” Throttle agreed. They were young then. Not boys exactly but not men yet either. Too soon to lose a parent, much less both of them at once. Vinnie put his hand over his bro’s, grateful for his sturdiness.

                “Damn…I know I should be happy she’s alright. And I am. I just…still don’t know why she left the way she did.”

                “Maybe she didn’t intend to be gone so long. It was before the shit really hit the fan here. Maybe she meant to come back sooner…just didn’t work out.”

                “Yeah well…guess we have that in common don’t we.” He tried to laugh. “Dunno. Maybe I’m overreacting.”

                “Well…it’s shitty, I’ll give you that.  I know communication hasn’t been fully restored across the regions but you would have thought she’d heard something about us still kicking around still. She did say she heard stories about us. You’d think she’d try to reach out, even if there was a possibility.”

                “Must have been war stories, not ones from Earth.” Vinnie mused. He blinked then, suddenly brightening, as if hit with new inspiration. “Hey, yeah! She doesn’t know about all our righteous adventures in Chi-town! Oooh, just wait till she hears how little ‘Vinnie the Ninny’’s been out saving the galaxy while she’s been bumming it in the Out Flows! HA!”

                Throttle blinked at him. “What, now you’re just pumped to rub your high-light reels in her face?”

                “Well yeah of course! She seems to be laboring under the delusion that I was some washout after the invasion. But oh man, I gotta set the record straight on that!”

                Throttle winced, removing his specs to rub the bridge of his muzzle. “Oh my gods…”

                “What?”

                “A minute ago you were in pieces because your sister appeared out of nowhere without an apology after blowing you off for twenty years, and now you’re just…what…fine with it? Because you feel like you can get one up on her?”

                Vinnie blinked, not understanding the question. “Well I mean…kinda.”

                Throttle sighed long and loud, walking past him. “You’re hopeless, Vincent. Absolutely hopeless.”

                Vinnie watched him as he drifted off, walking over several spots to less recent plot closer to the outer rim of cemetery. There was no shade here, but from its vantage point you could see well into the gulch, and in the evenings you could see the sunset over the rocks, and the stars bright and clear at night. There was a dusting of flowers among the grass, growing in little patches. The flowers were small, and nearly translucently white. Too delicate to pick, but pretty to look at.

                The tan mouse folded his arms across his chest as he gazed at the stone before him, the names new and old engraved into its cracked surface. His father’s name; Evander, Axel, beside the more recent addition of his mother; Evander, Rosemary “Rosie”.  Beneath two other names, written before either of the parents. The sons that had come before him, born sickly and passing too soon, having lived only a few short days.  Smoke and Aias : Lost but Beloved.

                Being the third born but the only surviving of his older siblings made for an interesting dynamic in the Evander household. It had always seemed in those early years that the ghosts of those lost children had lingered in the home with them. A void never filled. So despite being the only child, he never grew up with that unique perspective of having his parent’s sole attention. Maybe it made him lonelier in a way. More eager to make friends. And he may have never known those siblings, but he certainly found ample replacements.

                He stood there quietly in front of the grave for awhile, thinking. Mulling over his own feelings on Jessie’s return. There was relief of course. And it was always a blessing that one of more of them had survived the Plutarkian’s attempted genocide. But that relief was tempered with his own anger. Anger for the pain Vinnie had been put through. Anger for needless grief. And…quietly, privately…a secret jealousy.

                He felt Vinnie come to stand behind him, throwing an arm around one shoulder and resting his chin on the other, forcing Throttle to adjust his balance so that they didn’t both tip forward.

                “Gosh…sometimes I forget she’s gone. Your mom, I mean.”

                Throttle nodded mutely.

                He waited for Vinnie to jabber on about something, to try to make some joke or continue his scheme of how he was going to even things out with Jessie. But he didn’t. He shared that quiet with him, that reverent stillness.

                They had shared plenty of things over their long years together. But this bond had been unique to only them. To know what it is to be the last of your family. The last of your line, until fate or circumstance chose different. Modo had lost a father yes. And later a brother in law. And that pain was heartfelt and shared among them. But he had others to return to, to hold him and welcome him with open arms, always. They were envious. Though they never lacked for warmth and love from that same family, who took them in as one of their own.

                And they would always be grateful. Just as they were of Stoker, who had done the same for them. The father figure that all three shared and loved equally—if in their own way.

                But the burial plots and the headstones would not be expunged. The homes they’d been born into had become places they could never return to. And that was a different kind of sadness.

                “I miss her.” Vinnie said finally, honestly.

                Throttle nodded again, feeling a familiar burn in both his eyes and his throat. He didn’t trust himself to speak. So many years later and he could not predict when the thought of them, of her, would pass quietly through him or bring him to tears.

                Vinnie squeezed against him in a half hug.  “I was her favorite, you know.”

                Throttle laughed again, the sound a sudden shocked bark escaping him. He shrugged the white furred mouse off, swatting at him playfully. “Oh sure, she just loved when you’d come over and eat us out of house and home.”

                Vinnie grinned and shrugged. “Hey, I was a growing mouse.”

                They turned their gazes back across the hard-pan, towards the faint outline of the trailer they could see in the far distance through the haze of sun and passing clouds.

                “So…what do we do?”

                “Hard to say.” The tan mouse mused. “You uh, do remember that Modo used to have a massive crush on your sis when we were kids, don’t ya?”

                Vinnie blinked. “What? Nah…I mean it wasn’t anything serious. Just boys being boys…”

                His bro rocked thoughtfully on his heels. “Hmmm, maybe. But uh, he sure did seem kinda eager to stay behind and help with clean up.”

                “That’s just Modo and his weird chivalry thing.”

                Throttle stared at him silently over the rim of his specs. Vinnie somehow paled under his already stark white fur. “No…noooo…she’s way too old for him!”

                “She’s five years older than you, Vinnie.”

                “Yeah exactly!”

                “That makes her only a year older than Modo.”

                Vinnie’s face contorted, doing the mental math and looked more worried as he glanced back to the trailer. “Yeah…but so what? It’s bro code; you don’t date each other’s family members. Modo knows that. No way he would make a move.” He assured himself.

                Throttle rolled his eyes. “’Bro Code’ huh? Are we twelve?” He started to walk away, moving back to where the bikes waited at the edge of the cemetery. “Besides, if it’s such a sacred truth, then why did you try hitting on Sweep that one time?”

                “I was drunk!!” Vinnie howled, hurrying to follow after him. “Besides…Sweep could crush me with her thighs.” He let a little giggle slip out, “…not gonna say that ain’t kinda hot.”

                “I’m telling Modo you said that.”

***

Chapter Text

***

                The pair moved through the trailer automatically, setting about tasks each had done hundreds of times before. Stripping bedding and dragging it out to be washed in the ancient washer and dryer unit that sat tucked in a closet in the narrow hall between the living room and the bedrooms.

                The carpeting was discolored and needed replaced, but for the moment a heavy sweeping would take care of the dust and grime. Counter tops and surfaces were soaped down, same for windows and doors. Every window and door that could be open was, allowing it all to air out.

                To Jessie it was something of a grind. Being here, doing this menial tasks was triggering a lot of old memories for her. And the more she cleaned, the more she seemed to trip over little forgotten pieces of this life she had left behind.

                Pictures and little trinkets stuffed inside drawers. One of her mother’s lost rings. A pretty tiger-eye set in copper. She slipped it on her finger and admired the way it stood out so bright against her fur. Her dad’s multi-tool lying on the counter next to the refrigerator.  Such small things, but so loaded with their personalities.

                Modo came in from hanging the heavy comforters from the beds outside on the clothesline and found her standing there in the kitchen mutely, turning that multi-tool over in her hands, eyes misty and sniffling.

                “Hey…” He moved in cautiously. “Everything alright?”

                She blinked hard and tried to look away from him, not wanting him to see the mist in her eyes. Not that he couldn’t smell the tears that had already slipped out. “Yeah, yeah! Just…funny how  you forget about little things like this, isn’t it?” She forced a smile and looked back at him at last, showing him the tool. “We got him this for Long Night one year, and he was so stupidly obsessed with it. Wanted to use for everything. Went out of his way to use it.  It was so annoying, but so funny. I think it’s just a knife, a screwdriver and a bottle opener.”

                Modo shrugged, “Sounds pretty useful to me.” He nodded. “I’m sure he just wanted you to know he appreciated it.”

                “Do you remember our dad at all?”

                “A little.” Modo mused. “To be honest, him and your mama being away was half the reason we spent so much time with Vinnie.”

                “Yeah…restless kid. He jumped at the chance to go out tumbling with you and Throttle, trying to get your necks broken riding that canyon.” She shook her head, tucking a long loose strand of hair back behind her ear as it slipped from the bun she had tucked it into.

                “Well, as I recall, you were out riding those same canyons. Getting into your own trouble.”

                She blushed. “Sometimes, yeah…” She looked him up and down, still reconciling the teenaged image of him in her mind with he grown man in front of her. “You saw me there? At those races?”

                Modo had turned to her, was dusting an old lampshade in the sitting area. “Maybe.”

                She smiled to herself. “Little Modo Maverick, were you sneaking out to watch the big boys?”

                He looked back at her over his shoulder. “I wasn’t so little. I was sixteen. Just a year younger than you.”

                She considered this, “Wow…yeah I guess that’s right. I guess I just…always thought of you as younger for some reason.” She looked down at the tool in her hands. “Maybe I just felt older.”

                She knew this was the truth of the matter. She hadn’t felt like a teen or a young woman. She had felt older than her mother most days. While her parents went out on adventures, continued to live the lives of two love-sick kids who saw only each other and their goals, she had been left home to take care of Vinnie and herself. She had never doubted her parents love for them, never. But their priorities were deeply misguided. She had grown up too fast as a result. Much too fast.

                Her gaze turned out the kitchen window again, looking way back across the expanse of flatland towards the gulch and canyon beyond. Modo noticed how her fingers drummed anxiously against the tool.  “What happened to his face?” she asked quietly.

                “Battle accident.” Modo answered. “It’s flex-plate shielding. Makes a protective covering for him.”

                “Doesn’t hurt him, does it?”

                “Naw,” Modo chuckled. “No, no. Just something else for him to polish really. He think it makes him look hardcore.”

                “Sounds like Vinnie.” She chuckled. Her eyes drifted towards his arm, and he turned back to his chores, feeling self-conscious again.

                “Did…you get that in the same accident?”

                Modo nodded but didn’t offer any other answer. He did not want to talk about this right now. Some days it was easier than others. Right now was not one of them. He reached for the sweeper and clicked it on, dragging it back and forth across the rug between the couch and the arm chair. Lifting the edge of the couch and tipping it up by a good foot so he could sweep under it.

                Jessie watched the way he did this as easily as if it were a folding chair and felt a little flutter of excitement in her. Damn, he lifts and he cleans. Quite the package.

                She tucked the tool into her pocket and turned her attention to the fridge. What was inside was sad and mildly disgusting. A few jarred goods, bottles of beer and soda, and one sad, clearly-past-it’s-prime, fruit.  The frozen—now thawed—hashbrowns Throttle had discovered earlier were still resting on the counter, and the ones in the pan were half cooked, waiting to be finished.

                “So when you’re not crashing in this pile of aluminum and bolts, where are you boys staying?” she asked him once the roar of the vacuum had quieted again.

                “Oh, here and there. We tend to move around a lot. Sometimes we crash at Mama’s up the road here. Some times with Stoker.”

                She brightened suddenly. “Stoker’s still kickin around!?”

                “Uh, yeah? Or at least he was last week. Don’t tell me you thought he was dead too.”

                “Last I heard he was captured, doing time somewhere.”

                Modo laughed. “Oh geez, old news, girl. Old news. My nephew sprung him from Plutarkian prison ages ago, he’s been kicking around since. Right now he’s helping Bowie run his place, but he’s been in talks with the big wigs at the Catherda lately. They want to bring him in as a consultant on things, give him a say in how Brimstone runs going forward.”

                “Sounds like a lot of commitment.” She mused, seeming only half interested. She turned at last to him and sighed heavily. “I hate to say it but there’s not much to work with here.” She looked disappointed. But Modo just smiled back at her.

                “No problem there! How about I zip up the road to Mama’s, get a few things from the pantry? We’ve got a surplus of harvest right now, sure she won’t mind us taking some.”

                “You really don’t mind?” She batted her big pretty eyes at him and the mouse felt his heart do a little flutter in spite of the obviousness of it.

                “No ma’am. Don’t mind at all.” He replied back, and this time it was Jessie that felt the little flutter, hearing both the deem rumble of his voice and the sweet sincerity in it. He moved towards the door, “Wanna ride over with me?”

                The woman considered a moment, feeling a little tingle of excitement and warmth in her belly at the idea. But she shook her head. “Maybe next time, big fella. I’m gonna stay here and finish up, maybe catch a shower. Wash some of this dust off.”

                Modo looked slightly disappointed but nodded. “Alright then. Won’t be long, maybe 20 minutes.” He gave her a careful look then. “You’ll be here when I get back right?”

                Jessie blinked, looking surprised. But Modo thought she looked a little more like a kid caught with their fingers in the cookie jar. “Of course silly!”

                He nodded, then excused himself, stepping off the porch with he screen door making its tell-tale whaap behind him, hinges screaming. He hesitated a moment on the steps, deciding his next move. He spotted Jessie’s bike waiting there off to the side of his, loaded with a duffel-pack and a bundle or two, tethered to the bike. The girl traveled light.

                He rolled their conversation over in his head, everything they had talked about, and realized they hadn’t talked about much at all really. Clearly Jessie hadn’t come here on the off chance she might find her long-lost brother, or even to revisit an old haunt. Their presence here had clearly thrown her off.

                So…if she wasn’t here for family, what was she here for?

                Modo moved to Lil Hoss and straddled her uneasily. The bike gave a welcoming little beep, giving an excited rev and he patted her gently. “We’re going, little Darlin’, don’t worry.” He glanced back at Jessie bike for a moment more, considering. “Something about this whole situation just isn’t sitting right…” he stroked her chasse absently. “What do you think it is, hmm?”

                Lil’ Hoss gave a few low beeps back, which Modo took to mean she was as stumped on the matter as he was. “Well, think we can get to Mama’s, grab some grub and make it back here before those other two slow-pokes mosey on home?”

                At that she revved again and he grinned, taking off in a small cloud of red dust.

                Inside, Jessie waited until she heard the sound of the bike peeling off before she moved towards the screen door, scanning the yard. She could see the multiple tire tracks and saw the small distant dust cloud where Modo was barreling off down the trail towards the main road and his family farm beyond.

                She moved quickly then, darting from the living room down the short hall to the bedroom on the right hand side of Vinnie’s. The door stuck momentarily in the jam and came open with a shudder and she got a breath of hot, closed off air that made her sneeze and crinkle her nose. Her own bedroom was not so unlike her brother’s. Small and cluttered with the things of their youth. She had her own motocross posters, band posters. Pictures from days gone by. A boutique of flowers still hung upside down by the window, dried in the sunlight to preserve them. Pink Seed plants and Daisies.

                But she didn’t spend time going over the trappings of her youth. She hadn’t unsealed the vault of this place for that purpose. She moved inside to her bed, pulling it away from the wall. There was a visible line left on the wallpaper where the headboard had slowed the fading process. Jessie felt along the seams in the paneling beneath the paper and quickly found what she had been looking for. Her nails dug into he seam and the paper gave way along with a loose bit of paneling. Inside, tucked safely in a dry-wall cubby was a box.

                With effort, Jessie pulled it free from it’s hiding place, wiping the dust and cobwebs from it. Sitting it down on her lap, she paused to listen, her ears twitching. Making sure that no one was inside or outside the mobile home.

                Her heart fluttered, anxious. She told herself it was paranoia. That no one would expect her to come here, and no one had followed her. She had been sure of that. Taking the most round about way here possible and delaying herself by a full day to be sure she would lose anyone who might be tailing her.

                But the threat persisted in her mind, and with good reason.

                Finally sure that no one else was around, she opened the box carefully. Inside there was an assortment of trinkets. More photos, some of her mother’s good jewelry—a necklace and a pair of cuff bracelets that were real silver and turquoise, a few folded and age-crisp pieces of paper. Notes she’d saved over the years. To whom she no longer remembered readily. And underneath…wrapped in plastic wrap—Plutarkian Gold Gills.

                The bright, gaudy looking squares—shaped like floppy discs—looked up at her accusingly. Jessie felt her stomach turn over as she looked at them. There was at least half a dozen there. No fortune by any standard, but what probably equaled a thirty thousand dollars here on Mars. Enough to pay her debt.

                She looked around again, half expecting someone to bust in on her with a weapon. But the trailer was still empty. She hung her head, fingers digging into the sides of the dusty little box. She didn’t know how to feel in this moment.

                She had imagined some relief, finding the box untouched and right where she had stashed it six months ago. She hadn’t been sure it, or even the trailer itself, would still be here. It was a small miracle that no one had looted or raided it in all the time that it had sat empty. Perhaps with it being so close to The Maverick’s land, they had kept an eye on it over the years. That wouldn’t have surprised them. Their family had always been looking out for hers.

                Was it possible, if Vinnie had been kicking around and been back here before, that he would have found it?

                But she pushed that thought away almost immediately. If her brother knew she had Plutarkian money stashed here, he would have probably burned the place down just out of spite. She wouldn’t have blamed him. It was blood money, essentially.

                Guilt twisted in her, bringing a sour taste to her mouth.  Things were not supposed to work out this way. Leaving home was supposed to give her freedom and purpose. Let her do something with her life, instead of being trapped here looking after others and fading into general obscurity. She laughed at herself, realizing the hypocrisy of that want. She hadn’t wanted to take care of other people…yet she had become a nurse. She had joined a band of rebel smugglers, who had their own band of bikers, their own kind of Freedom Fighters on the coast, and looked after all their bumps and bruises. Revived them after they got caught in a firefight or a sting operation.

                The girl who didn’t want to be responsible for anyone but herself had made herself responsible for an awful lot of people. Not all necessarily good ones either.

                She looked up helplessly at the small dusty room, and had the same spinning dreadful thought her brother had had only a few hours ago while sitting in his. What was she doing with her life?

                She closed the box again, dimming the glare of the gold gills and letting herself breathe a little, trying to stay rational. The boys being here was definitely a kink in her original plan, but perhaps this worked in her favor. It gave her a good cover for being here, and no one from her new life knew about her roots. That she had a brother, or any roots. Much less ones tied to such big names in the rebellion.

                The boys would make a good cover. She could go about town without being overly noticed, check to see if some of old contacts were still around. Someone she could rely on to convert this blood money for her. There was always avenues of such trade if you knew where to look. Then she could settle down, catch her breath. Try to rebuild things with Vinnie.

                The idea of it made her heart swell with something. Hope? Excitement? Nervousness? Could it really be that easy, after everything?

                It felt dangerous to dream.

                Sighing, she tucked the box and its evidence back into it’s hiding spot, secure and safe for the moment. She rose from the floor, feeling her nerves getting the better of her, making her jaw quiver and his knees shake. She was so close to this nightmare being done with, of putting all her bad decisions behind her. She just needed to hold out a little longer.

                Trying to shake the anxiety from her, she padded her way from the bedroom into the compact bathroom. The place still had the faint lingering smell of cleaning supplies used liberally to cover the vomit smell from the night before. She tested the water in the tub/shower, ignoring the rust build up around the facet and drain. The pipes shuddered and after a moment the water began to squirt out in rough bursts before finally gaining consistent pressure.

                She peeled herself out of her clothing and stepped into the spray, gasping at the contact and turning the heat all the way up. She needed something to ease her muscles, to melt the tension as best it could. It stung at her skin, fur growing heavy with it, but she didn’t’ care. Alone, and under the muffling spray of water, she let herself finally cry.

**

                It had taken Modo longer than he had planned to gather everything. Mostly because he was attempting to dodge Sweep’s noisy questions throughout, while simultaneously avoiding his mother’s knowing looks.

                He swore at times she was an actual mind reader, that something was always buzzing between those antenna of hers, letting her pick up on everyone’s inner thoughts even at a distance. Sweep reminded him, sharply, that he and the boys had promised to help around the farm in the next few days. There was plenty to harvest and bring in before the spring storms started, and she would need all the hands she could get it.

                Modo promised again and again they would be there, but she seemed dubious. More so when his mother had causally walked up to them, and given Modo one of the many hand-made quilts she had made over the years.  “Add this to the pile.’ She said.

                Her children blinked between her and the proffered item. The quilt was pink and green and very floral and smelled of scented soaps. It was not something she would typically offer to one of her rough riding boys.

                “What’s this for?”

                The old woman blinked back at him serenely. “Well, I imagine your lady friend will want something that doesn’t smell like axel grease to cuddle up with while she’s there.”

                Modo went pink. Sweep’s head swiveled on her neck to stare at her brother. “You three have a girl over there?” she gasped, accusingly.

                “I never said—” he stammered.

                “You didn’t have to. I saw her ride up that way this morning while I was on my walk.”

                “You mean you were spying.” Her son corrected.

                She looked at him, unbothered, still smiling. “Like I said, on my walk.”

                “Mama…”

                “Where in the hell did you find a girl that would be willing to shack up in that rust-heap? Let me guess, Vinnie met a girl at the races and brought her home to keep trying to impress her…” Sweep sighed.

                Modo cringed. “She’s not anyone’s girlfriend! It’s Jessie…”

                It took a moment for the two women to recognize the name, the realization dawning on them at the same time. Modo did not want to tell his sister how much she mirrored their mother then, but it was uncanny.

                “Jessica Van Wham? But I thought…gods, I thought we lost her years ago.”

                “So did we.” Modo nodded. “Vinnie’s trying to adjust to the news. Throttle and I have it covered, and I’ll beg you both kindly to keep your noses out of it. Let the girl breathe before you flock in there with your questions.”

                Sweep picked up a hefty bag of potatoes from the pantry floor where they were all gathered and slung it—none too gently—into her brother’s arms. “Fine. But when the poor girl can’t stand another minute of your horseplay and antics, you send her our way. Sure she’ll be glad to not have to listen to your belching contests.” She teased.

                Mama Maverick seemed pensive however, something that caught both her children by surprise.

                “…gone such a long time. And to come out of the blue like that. No letter, no calls asking about her family. Seems strange.”

                Modo nodded. “Yeah…I thought so too. But these things happen. Guess she’s been in the Out Flows all this time, working as an emergency medical tech. Sure that was some hard living for her.”

                Sweep nodded. “Well…if anyone could make a living out there, it would be Jessie. She was always a tough cookie. Those Van Whams, tougher than horned-beast leather and twice as stubborn.”

                She turned back to the large pantry, rooting for a minute and then pulled out a box tucked way in the back behind several tall jars and put it on top of the growing heap in Modo’s arms. “Give her these. A little welcome home present.”

                Modo eyed the box, realizing they were the last of the homemade candies from the winter before. Sweep must have been saving them. He nodded to her, giving her that knowing smile he always did when she exposed her softer side.  “I’m sure she’ll like them.”

                Lil’ Hoss has been loaded with goods, all placed in a crate and strapped to the back of her to make the short ride from one property to the other. There was still no sign of Throttle and Vinnie, and he figured it was just as well.

                He carried the grate back up the rickety porch steps and made his way inside. The place already looked and smelled a ton better than it had the night before. Looking almost fully inhabitable again. “I’m back!”

                No answer.

                Modo walked with the crate and set it down on the kitchen table, blinking around for some sign of their house guest. He heard the water running, and realized she must be in the shower. Glad at least she hadn’t taken off again, he set to work putting away the new groceries and sorting through what he thought they might need for the night.

                He carefully draped the quilt his mother had sent over across the back of one of the kitchen chairs, not wanting it to get wrinkled or dirty. When quiet in the house became too much, he turned to the radio perched in the corner of the counters and turned it up. Rock music flooded the trailer and drifted through the open windows and doors, filtering into the air outside.

                Jessie only became aware of the din of it when the water stopped running. At first it startled her, and she stood frozen in the shower, watching the door, straining to hear voices or footsteps. Her heart began to hammer lightly inside her chest and she looked around for something to defend herself with that was easily in reach. She still had a stunner hidden in her clothing, but if someone decided to shoot through the door at her, or bust in, she would likely not reach it in time.

                The nearest thing she could grab was a plunger, and as ridiculous as she felt, she wasn’t taking any chances. She stepped slowly from the tub, moving towards the door. She could hear movement but not directly outside. There was too much steam and the smell of soap and cleaning product for her to easily detect other scents.

                Cautiously, she tested the door knob, peeking outside through the sliver between it and the door frame. The music grew louder, no longer muffled by the door. But she couldn’t see anyone directly in front of her.

                After a few moments, she reached and grabbed her underwear, her shirt and the stunner from it’s holster. She pulled the t-shirt on over her wet fur, the panties as well, and then moved into the hallway, hands gripping her weapon.

                There was nothing behind her, no movement or change from the bedrooms. But there was plenty of movement from the main living area. Moving down the hall, staying as much in shadow as possible, she scanned for threats.

                Modo had his back to her, doing a little sway and dance with the beat of the tune—Jessie thought it might something from AC/DC—while he tucked away items in cabinets and discarded others on the table.

                Her heart was still hammering as she watched him, realizing she was not about to be attacked. She lowered her weapon slowly, leaning against the wall. Her long hair dripping down her back and shoulders and making little puddles on the hardwood floor of the hall. She stared at this easy, calm domesticity like she didn’t recognize it.

                Such things had not been part of her every day for years now. Not even at home with her partner, if you could call him that. She had been completely ready to have someone try to jump her in the tub, to have someone start screaming at her, drunk and throwing fists…

                But there was only Modo.

                He turned then, spotting her out of the blue. He yelped in surprise, and his reaction startled her in return.

                Jessie dropped her weapon fully, letting it clatter to the floor. She stepped back as if to make a hasty retreat from the other mouse, but her foot slipped in the water, the floor devilishly slick under her feet.

                She cursed and fell backward, hitting the floor hard on her butt. She yelped again, and Modo was suddenly in front of her. “Are you okay!?”

                She blinked up at him, jittery with adrenaline and embarrassment and surprise at his genuine concern. “You scared the shit out of me!” she yelped at him.

                “Clearly!” Modo gasped, eyes darting from her to the gun on the floor beside her.

                Jessie reached for it but Modo pulled it away first, examining it and securing the safety on it before tucking it aside on a nearby shelf, just out of her reach. “You always take a weapon with you to the bathroom?” he asked her.

                She blinked back at him and then gestured to his bionic arm. “I mean…don’t you?”

                Modo stared at her flatly. “Ha ha.”

                “Sorry…”

                They were both suddenly very aware of how sheer her shirt had become thanks to the wetness of her fur. Modo’s cheeks burned red under his fur and he did his best to look away. “Um…let me get you a towel or something.”

                Jessie blushed too, but didn’t move to cover herself. She wasn’t sure why. The way he looked at her, but also didn’t, gave her a little rush in her belly, adding to the initial attraction she’d felt before.

                Modo moved and grabbed the quilt off the back of the chair, returning to drape it around the woman as he helped her stand up. “There…don’t want ya catchin’ a chill.”

                Jessie was not at all worried about that, as she suddenly felt like she was back in the shower steam. Modo was so careful not to ogle her, and had wrapped the blanket around her gently. Didn’t shove it at her, or demand she cover herself. Or even the opposite; trying to tear it off her.  For such a big tough looking guy there was something so soft about him.

                “Thanks.” She hugged the blanket around herself, fully wrapped in it like burrito.

                “Where’d you get this?”

                “Oh, uh, Mama sent it over.  I guess she saw you ride in this morning.” He explained, his words a little clumsy as he was still recovering from basically being flashed and possibly shot.

                Jessie’s blush deepened. “Wow…been a long time since I’ve seen your Mama. How’s she doing?”

                “Oh, she’ll out live us all I think. Sweep says hi too. She packed you something as a welcome home present.”

                Jessie blinked. Somehow that phrase sat strangely with her. Made her want to bolt. She looked skittishly at the door, as though she were thinking of her next move. It was something Modo didn’t fail to notice.

                Tentatively he put his arms on her shoulders, as if trying to steady her. “Jess…are you in some kind of trouble?”

                She blinked up at him, suddenly rigid and confused. She licked her lips slowly as she sought for some diplomatic answer to the question. Modo leaned a little closer, pushing her wet hair out of her face.

                She was so pretty. He had always thought so. And in her worry, she looked strangely young to him. Reminding him too much of his teenage crush. “Listen, I know it’s been a long time, but we’re still here for you. If there’s something you need help with, all you need to do is say so.”

                “That’s very noble of you, Maverick.” She teased gently. “That what you boys do? Ride from place to place, helpin’ ladies in distress?” she giggled softly, one hand drifting out from the protection the blanket to rub his good arm. “Just like those old Westerns you and the boys used to watch together?”

 There was something low and flirtatious in her voice then that was making Modo grow more and more pink under his fur. She leaned a little closer to him, and he could smell the soap on her skin and fur, feel the heat coming off her from the shower.

                Heat dropped into his lower belly and began to pool downward, and now he was the one who was considering bolting. This was…intense.

                “Are you a lady in distress?” he asked, still trying to get to the point, though he was growing more and more distracted.

                Jessie didn’t answer. Still holding back. Not ready to show her hand.

                Modo was about to try again, when the woman closed the small gap between them, leaning up and kissing him. First on the cheek, near the corner of his mouth, then fully on the lips. Modo’s remaining eye blinked in surprise, all of him feeling electric for a moment.

                Jessie pulled back a breath, looking at him cautiously. Seeming to wait for permission, or to be told to back off. Part of Modo’s brain flashed a warning light, telling him to back off, that this was too sudden and really just a distraction.

                But it didn’t matter. He leaned into her this time, drawing her back, returning the kiss. Jessie sighed against his lips, clinging to him lightly. Modo felt the press of her near nakedness against him, the quilt drifting to the floor.

                Want, and the realiziation of how long it had been since he’d been with anyone, hit him like a sledgehammer and he pulled her closer, his own clothing starting to absorb the residual wetness of her fur. Their kiss deepened and Modo was sure she could feel that he was starting to stiffen in his jeans. She was so warm and soft against him and…

                He pulled back with effort, both of them panting. “Jessie…”

                The way he said her name made something in her quiver. That low soft rumble of his voice like low thunder in the distance. Her heartbeat had picked up again but not from fear this time.

                “It’s okay…” she coaxed, stroking his cheek and keeping herself pressed close, knowing he could feel her through his shirt, wanting him to. She moved one hand from his back to slide down his hip and inward, wanting to tease him. But his hand caught hers.

                She tensed for a moment in the grip, but it was not harsh. “I’m sorry…this is just…it’s too fast.” Modo admitted.

                Jessie felt a new heat replace her lust. Shame burned in her again, familiar and hateful. She closed her eyes in embarrassment and bowed her head. “Shit, I’m sorry.” she mumbled. She pulled back, eager to retreat now, trying to hide herself. “I’m sorry I just got swept up in the…” She covered her mouth, trying to stifle embarrassed, angry tears. “I’m not that kind of girl, really.”

                Modo seemed to ignore her babbling. Instead he reached for the fallen quilt and wrapped it around her again, even though she tried to pull away. He hugged her gently, and after a moment she leaned into it, grateful. Heat lingered between them, but they let it dull to a simmer.

                “You know, I always had a crush on you.” Modo admitted after a moment.

                She blinked up at him. “You’re kidding?”

                “Cross my heart and hope to die.” Modo said, even raising his right hand and placing it over his heart. Jessie giggled.

                “You never said anything though.”

                “Well…you were out of my league, I guess.” Modo shrugged. “And frankly, Vinnie might have killed me.”

                Jessie giggled at him again, looking up at him. She leaned up on tip-toes to kiss his nose. And then his lips again, softer, more careful this time. Modo didn’t push her away.

                It was then that the screen door opened and the pair both startled apart. Throttle looked back at them from the door, his eyes wide even behind his field specs.

                “H-hey bro! Didn’t hear you ride up!” Modo laughed, obviously nervous and anxious to change the subject. Throttle eyed the fact that the front of his bro’s grey-purple t-shirt was now soaked and sticking to him, as was the front of his jeans, which looked suspiciously tight.

                This was to say nothing of Jessie, who was obviously wet and wearing a blanket like it was a cloak. “Am I interrupting something?” the tan mouse asked, though he knew damn well he was.

                Modo and Jessie were both scarlet.

                “Uh no, we were just, uh…cleaning up.”

                Throttle fixed Modo with a look that his own mother would have been proud of. A piercing, knowing squint that had the big grey-furred giant feeling like a kid caught stealing treats.

                “Unh-huh.”

                Jessie moved towards him suddenly, anxious and pleading, the blanket dropping enough so that Throttle could see part of the still wet shirt she was sporting. “Please, Throttle, it just sorta happened, it was just a little kiss. I was taking a shower and Modo spooked me and we had a little laugh. That’s all.”

                It really was all. If you discounted Jessie clearly packing a weapon and the obvious sexual tension between the two of them.

                “Hey, hey, we’re all adults here. Nobody’s judging.” 

                Modo looked back at him, leveling his own gaze. “Unh-huh.”

                Jessie looked around Throttle’s shoulder, trying to spy if Vinnie was close by.

                “I sent him out back to get the clothes of the line. Wind’s picking up a little.” Throttle explained. She looked relieved and nodded. She looked earnestly towards the tan mouse, eyes meeting as she carefully gripped his arm.

                “Please, can you not say anything to Vinnie about this?”

                Throttle immediately tried to pull away but she wouldn’t let him. “Please? I just…he’s already upset, and I don’t want to pile this on top of it. It was just a little kiss.”

                “If that’s the case, what’s the big deal?” Throttle asked.

                Modo stepped in. “Bro, you know how he gets. I’ll talk to him about it later, just…the optics right now are a little weird.”

                “You don’t say?” Throttle snarked back.

                Jessie squeezed his arm again, looking at him more seriously. “Throttle, please? I really was nothing. I don’t want this to over complicate things when they’re already messy.”

                The tan mouse considered a moment, but inevitably folded under the pleading gaze of the other two. He sighed heavily. “Alright, alright. What’s a little kiss between pals, right?”

                She smirked at him and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek as if to make the point. “Exactly!” Then hugging the quilt around her she trotted off, practically on tip toe, ducking briefly into the bathroom to grab the rest of her clothing before darting into the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

                Modo stared at his bro. “She’s um…a little all over the place right now.”

                Throttle nodded slowly. “I can see that.” He moved closer to Modo, looking at him cautiously. “What are you doing?”

                “It was nothing!” Modo gasped, waving his hands. “I came back with grub, she must not have realized I was home, she got out of the shower—ready to shoot me might I add—”

                “Wait, what!?” Throttle gasped and Modo shushed him, looking back towards the door where Jessie had vanished.

                “What do you mean she tried to shoot you?”

                “She’s clearly spooked, okay? I think she’s in trouble.”

                They both eyed the door where she had vanished, letting the weight of this settle over them for a moment. Throttle poked Modo lightly in the chest, feeling the dampness of his clothing. “You always make out with people who try to shoot you?” he asked, a bit more jokingly to Modo’s relief.

                “If they’re pretty enough.” The other answered with a smirk. “Please don’t’ say nothing to Vinnie though.”

                Throttle sighed and patted his bro’s arm. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my lips shut.” He moved towards the kitchen to see if he could help with the abundance of items laying about. “But you know, if I wanted to deal with walking in on a make-out session around every corner, I woulda just stayed at Stoke’s.”

                Modo rolled his eyes. “You really gonna begrudge a bro a kiss from a pretty girl once in awhile?”

                “If that girl’s an estranged sister to your other bro, I think it falls into question.” The other answered.

                Modo moved beside him, resuming the mundane tasks of tucking away the food and supplies. “Aw, don’t be jealous just because you and Carbine are in a dry spell…”

                Throttle tensed unexpectedly and Modo blinked at him, surprised that the little joke seemed to have landed so hard.

                “Can you not bring up Carbine?”

                “What, it’s just a rough patch bro, it’s fine, happens to the best of us…”

                Throttle looked strained, maybe even angry. But before Modo could ask why, Vinnie was struggling his way through the back door, which slid open with twhunk! The thick plexi-glass panel shuddering under the force. His arms were full of the now dry bedding, piled so high you couldn’t see his face. “Make way, make way!”

                He tromped into the room and threw everything on the floor and the couch, dusting his hands as if he had accomplished some great deed. “There, fresh as spring time! Don’t say I never did anything to help out—” He turned and looked at his bros, the food and supplies and the odd expressions on their faces.

                “What, did I scare ya?”

                “Yeah, but not in the way you think.” Modo sighed. “Could you fold those, hot shot? And get them off the floor?”

                “Touchy, touchy. Why don’t I just get you an apron big guy and you can play house-mouse all day?” He eyed Modo’s wet clothing. “What’d you do, fall in the sink?”

                “Oh he fell into something…” Throttle muttered and Modo stepped on the tip of his tail to shut him up.

                Vinnie, oblivious, looked around. “Place looks great. Where’s Jess?” He tried to sound casual but there was in fact a little note of worry in his voice.

                “She’s just getting cleaned up.” Modo answered.

                Vinnie nodded, a bit nervously, as if reassuring himself. It hurt them to see his anxiety showing up this way, even in this little gesture. Modo felt a small sting of guilt and looked to Throttle who had already pulled away.

                Vinnie turned back towards the bedroom and then noticed the out of place new addition on the shelf, spotting the stunner lying there. He stared at it, confused, pulling it from it’s place carefully. Modo’s fur bristled with worry, his ears perking. Throttle observed them both, the anxiety quickly catching.

                “Hey, what’s this?” Vinnie asked, looking back at them.

                Modo didn’t know what to say, feeling dubious about giving answers for Jessie. The woman appeared then as if summoned by his thoughts, stepping up behind Vinnie.

                “What’s up?”

                “Dunno,” Vinnie mused, still studying the weapon. “Just wondering where this little beauty came from…don’t remember stashing any of these around the place.”

                Jessie tensed too, watching her brother handle the weapon she had nearly shot his best friend with. She bit her lip and opened her mouth to say something, when Throttle spoke.

                “Oh, I think that’s mine.”

                Vinnie blinked at him, as did Modo and Jessie, before exchanging curious glances.

                “Yours?” Vinnie asked. “Not your usual style, bro. A little light-weight. You and Carbine mix your gear up last hook up?” He laughed lightly, tossing it to him and Throttle caught it easily, tucking it away.

                “Yeah, guess so. Sorry about that.”

                “Hey no problem, just don’t like to leave things lying around. Safety first!” He looked back at Jess, “Oh good you showered, no offense but you smelled like you had been riding for a while girl, whew! You still gonna help with that casserole recipe.”

                She rolled her eyes and poked his stomach. “Still thinking with your stomach little bro?”

                “You know a muscle mouse needs to keep his protein up! Beside Throttle and I worked up an appetite on our ride. Come on, let’s see what we’re working with.” He moved hurriedly over to the supplies Modo had brought over, oblivious to the tension between the other three Mice.

                “Uh, if we all want to keep dinner down, why don’t you leave it me, bro. Just tell me what’s in the casserole and I’ll whip it up.” Modo offered.

                “Oh, you sure?”

                “Yeah, yeah, my pleasure. Throttle can give me a hand peeling some fresh potatoes.” He nodded towards his bro, hoping he would understand the silent request hidden in the suggestion.

                Throttle paused, but eventually took the bait. “Yeah sure. Relive my army days, I guess.” He shrugged. He looked to Vinnie and Jessie, “Our ride got a little rough out there, why don’t you two head out and see if you can buff the dings out of poor Cherry? And Lady wouldn’t say no to a nice wash either, I’m sure.”

                Vinnie nodded, “Sure, but I think I’m getting the better end of that deal, bro.”

                Throttle sighed. “I won’t argue that…”

                If Vinnie heard the utterance he didn’t show it, patting Throttle on the shoulder affectionately before heading towards the door. “I’ll grab the tools from the shed, meet ya outside!” He called, trotting off ahead of her.

                In his wake they all looked at each other. “Why did you--?” Jessie began.

                Throttle waved her off, sitting at the table. “You guys don’t want to complicate things, so I’m just playing along. You explain it to him later.” He sighed.

                “Thank you.” She nodded, sincerely before turning to follow her brother outside, leaving Throttle and Modo alone in the kitchen once more. The air was heavy between them for a moment, each silently sizing up the other and what they wanted to say. Unsure yet if they would engage.

                The tan mouse reached across the table and grabbed the bag of potatoes that had been left there, tearing open the mesh bag and beginning to sort through them. “Got a peeler?”

                Modo paused a moment, then dug through the drawers, producing the tool and pressing it lightly into Throttle’s palm. It was only when he didn’t let go right away that the other mouse looked up at him.

                “Don’t be mad. It was just a silly little kiss. That’s all.”

                Throttle blinked back at him. “It doesn’t matter to me if it was or wasn’t. I just don’t want him getting upset with you. Or her. And frankly…I don’t know what’s up with her.” He pulled out the stunner and laid it on the table beside the food, considering it.

                It was not the kind of stunner they were used to handling. Definitely not army issue despite Vinnie’s quip. This thing was built from parts, and it had been modified. This was a smuggler’s weapon. Something Sand Raiders used.

                Throttle noticed strange stamp under the grip that had been partially rubbed off. Some kind of insignia though he did not recognize it. “I have a bad feeling Jessie brought more baggage home than we realized.”

                Modo nodded heavily. “Yeah. I thought that too.”

                “We gotta look out for him. I’m glad she’s back, I’m glad she’s safe, but I don’t think I can sit here and pick up the pieces of him again if she decides to run off. I just don’t have it in me.”

                Modo nodded, but he knew that was a lie. He knew his bro too well not to know. He slipped an arm around his shoulders, holding him in something that was a mix of a hug and a headlock. It made the other mouse laugh. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s gonna get hurt. This is a good thing, you’ll see.”

                He dug the knuckles of his good hand into Throttle’s scalp, causing him to push him off. “And quit worrying so much all the time! Vinnie says I need apron strings, but you’re the biggest mother hen of all. Give Sweep a run for her money.”

                He went back to his work at the counter, laying out baking dishes and checking them for grim, and did not see Throttle’s face fall back into worried lines as he tried to keep himself busy.

                Throttle wanted Modo to be right. He wanted everything to be fine. For this to be the sign of better things on the horizon for them. But time and circumstance had a way of making you recognize patterns. Change, even good change, often brought turmoil with it. He just hoped they were all ready to weather it.

***        

Chapter Text

***        

                The rest of the afternoon slipped away, largely uneventful, bringing a needed sense of peace to the trailer and it’s little inhabitants. The scene down right domestic with the comings and goings from the kitchen and the yard.

                Large embankments of clouds began to drift in over the horizon, lazily wandering over the flat lands and making the long grass in the places where it grew ripple like waves on the ocean. The breeze was welcomed, and as the afternoon trudged on, it began to carry the scent of rain on it. Real rain. A celebrated event here on the dry and devastated planet as it slowly began to recover from what it’s invaders had done to it.

                Behind the trailer in the scrubby grass and bare spotted yard between the homestead and it’s tool shed, Vinnie and Jessie were crouched together on stools and kneeling in the dirt as they worked to clean and buff out Cherry, as well as the other bikes.

                Jessie marveled at her brother’s red rocket racer and the way it responded to his comments and commands. It felt more like Cherry was a pet than a typical machine.

                “So how’d you come by this baby anyway? I don’t remember you riding around anything this cool while I was here.” She asked her brother.

                Vinnie blinked at her, “Wait really? You don’t remember that?”

                “Wouldn’t have asked if I did…”

                “Cherry was my 16^th birthday present. Mom, Pop and Stoke all went in on her, don’t you remember? It was kinda a big deal.”

                Jessie considered, “Hmm…no, I thought that bike was less…shiny than your pretty girl here. Wasn’t she something of a beater, that first one you got?”

                Vinnie tapped Cherry affectionately and she beeped in return, giving a little purr of her engine. “Same bike, baby. Took some time, took some elbow grease. And a lot of bartering, begging and stealing for parts and upgrades…but I molded her into the work of art you see here today. Ain’t that right, baby?”

                His sister blinked in surprise. “Wow. That’s impressive, little bro! Mom and Pop would be proud!”

                Vinnie laughed, but she could tell that the comment touched a soft spot. She smiled at him affectionately. “So…you’ve spent all this time, getting your bike souped up, fighting in the war, still hanging around with your best friends since diapers…and did time on Earth in exile.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know I really can’t tell if you’ve actually changed or if you’re just doing the same silly shit you always did but on a bigger scale.”

                Vinnie shrugged, “Well sis, all I can say to that is that you need time to really marinate in the experience that is my awesomeness to get the full picture. A simple summary just doesn’t do it justice.”

                She laughed, shaking her head. “Yep. Same ol’ baby brother.”

                She continued to toil with her own bike, giving it a quick oil change while they chatted. She had made sure her own ride had been prepped and ready to go before now, needing to assure it would get her as far away from the Out Flows as possible. But the busy work suited her, lubricated the conversation.

                Vinnie studied her for a moment, “So…are you just passing through? I mean…guess you’ve probably got friends and such to get back to as well.” He watched her face, trying to gauge her reaction.

                The little wrinkle between Jessie’s brows appeared, a tell of stress. She frowned, but tried to keep her face neutral; another sign she was holding back.

                “No, not really. Everyone in my old unit has been kinda scattered these days. When the fighting dries up, so do the emergencies, so too does the work. We’re all scattered to the winds now. I’m just following suite.”

                “But you came back here. I mean…you chose to come home.”

                “Yeah, figured I’d stop by. Pay respects.” She paused and sighed but did her best not to look directly at him. “I did miss the place, I guess.”

                She felt his eyes on her and at last had to return the look. “I’m sorry. If I had thought you were here, I would have come sooner. Really.”

                Vinnie said nothing, trying to distract himself again with Cherry. “You never came back this way before? Neve asked about us?”

                Jessie winced. “Vinnie…”

                “Well I mean…what I’m getting at is why? Can’t have just been the work. You must have had something keeping you there that was worth the distance. Come on, Jess. You aren’t the loner type.”

                She blinked at him again, wiping her hands on a rag tucked into her belt. “…Mister Insightful now, hmm? That’s definitely different.”       

                “Answer the question.”

                She sighed and groaned. “Do we really have to get into it? Yes, I had people there. Now I don’t. It’s just like that sometimes. Not all of us become co-dependent on their friends, you know.”

                “Hey! We aren’t talking about me right now—”

                “That would be a first—”

                Vinnie picked up a rag and threw it out at her and she squealed as it smacked her across her face, streaking her white fur with fresh grease smudges. “Ugh! What was that for!?”

                “I can think of a few things, take yer pick! Maybe being a prissy brat is the top of the list!” he spat at her.

                She picked up her own rag and hurled it back towards him. “Better than being a whiny little piss baby like you!”

                They were fighting like children again. Frustrated and angry but unfocused, and somehow becoming more preoccupied with the strange thrill of getting a rise out of the other.

                From the kitchen window, Modo and Throttle watched the back and forth. “The kids are fighting again.” Throttle sighed.

                Modo patted his back, “Well, I guess they’ll just have to sort it out between themselves. A little scuffle in the dust between siblings never hurt no body. Builds character, that’s what my mama always said.”

                Throttle looked back at him. “You aren’t taking into account that both you and Sweep are built like pro wrestlers and letting you two wail on each other is about the only way she probably got any peace.”

                Modo smirked. “You and Mama been havin tea together again?”

                Throttle winked at him and then looked back at the scene in the yard. “This is all givin’ me the weirdest case of déjà vu, I’ll say that much.”

                They gathered plates and utensils, along with covered dishes of hot food that was ready to serve. Modo had followed the Van Wham’s casserole recipe, and when it came out looking like something that had been regurgitated into a casserole dish, he had decided to add a few other items to the menu.

                Modo finished setting the now cleaned and covered table—moved to the porch to allow them all a little more room—when he caught the scent of it on the air.

                Throttle had come out the door behind him, carrying covered dishes. “You smell that?” Modo asked, not taking his eye off the sky.

                The tan mouse lifted his head, the wafting breeze fanning his hair and fur in a quick ruffle. “Smells like a storm. How far off?”

                Modo pointed out on the far horizon beyond the edge of the canyon that was hazy in the afternoon heat. The sky over the red and orange rocks had turned a deep grey purple and they could see whisps of trailing cloud reaching down toward the earth, silvery threads that indicated water.

                The pair stared at it in awed silence for a moment.

                “Hey Vinnie!” Modo bellowed, and Throttle added in with a shrill whistle.

                A moment later they heard the back door inside the house slam open and shut, stomping feet as Vinnie came through the front door. “What?! I’m kinda in the middle of something, you can’t just---”

                His rant trailed off when he too spotted the cloud bank in the far distance, becoming aware of the humidity rising on the breeze. “Oh wow.”

                They glimpsed thin bolts of hot pink and green lightening beginning to flicker from the clouds, the smallest rumble of thunder. The three looked at each other excitedly.

                “Do you think it will hold?”

                “Dunno. Hard to tell with this wind. It might break up. But damn, we could use a real good hard rain.” Modo sighed. He spotted Jessie then in the yard, having come along the side of the trailer. The wind whipping her hair behind her as another gust rolled over them, shaking the metal porch covering and roof of the trailer.

                Modo couldn’t help but stare at her. She cut such a lovely picture standing there, her coloring so stark against the grey and orange backdrop of the land and sky.  “She’s shifting south!” the woman called to them. “Can you feel it?”

                The wind had begun to change direction, the shift subtle but abrupt. “Think she’s gonna keep her distance.” She added.

                “Damn.” Modo sighed. “Coulda used a good storm.”

                Jessie moved to join them on the porch, tearing her eyes from the horizon to the spread that the boys had laid out for them, included with bottle string lights that had been strung from the roof, and across the support poles of the porch covering, and the daisies Modo had cut from their sporadic place in the yard and placed in a sweating jar of water to keep them fresh, using them as centerpiece.

                “This is so nice,” Jessie beamed at them. She reached and hugged both Throttle and Modo. “You boys really know how to welcome a girl home, I’ll tell you that.”

                She pressed a kiss to both their cheeks and then pulled away, pretending not to notice the way Modo blushed and looked to Vinnie. She let out a little puff of air, looking at her equally oil streaked sibling. She extended her right arm stiffly.  “Dinner truce?”

                Vinnie rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I guess.” He muttered, begrudgingly shaking her hand. Another familiar ritual from their youth. Jessie grinned and then yanked her brother forward and hugged him too, planting a loud and almost painful kiss on his cheek, the smacking sound of it making Vinnie cringe and push her away. “UCK! Get off!”

                She slipped away from easily. “I’m just gonna dust off, be right with you guys. Everything looks great!” she called, disappearing into the house once more.

                Vinnie tried to wipe her spit from his cheek. “Ugh, some people just don’t know when to grow up.” He muttered, missing the expression Throttle gave him at this statement. Instead his eyes went to Modo, who was still pink in the face and gazing dreamily through the screen door into the house.

                “What’s up with you? You two get into the beer while you were cookin?”

                Throttle clapped his oblivious brother on the shoulder. “No, but I’m about to fix that. How about a round, bros? I really think I’m gonna need one.”

                They spent the evening pleasantly together, the clouds continuing to roll and gather but keeping their distance from the little group and their ramshackle dwelling. The multicolored lights swayed in the breeze, and the one sad rusted pinwheel in the long dead garden bed around the porch squeaked feverishly as it churned over and over. Tumble weeds and little tornadoes of dust swirled softly along the ground and through the grass, and insects and small animals trilled and sang softly in the oncoming dark. They too were anticipating the humidity and the storms that lurked miles off.

                As night came on, the low thunder continued to roll softly in the distance, and the winds became low and steady. Dark came on early, and the Mice bunkered down in the trailer to weather the night once more, their bikes secured under the protective garage at the back of the trailer, safe from the elements.

                All four of them were somewhat comfortably intoxicated, listening to the radio and the low rumble outside, the conversation died down to quiet chit-chat. Vinnie and Modo were entertaining themselves with a cobbled together board game they had found stuffed under the couch. A relic from years past, and were presently making up the rules as they went. Both Jessie and Throttle had “retired” early from the game, watching as the other pair became increasingly competitive and unhinged in their nonsense competition.

                Throttle excused himself, stepping outside to once more watch the storm off of the porch. The bracing air helped shake some of low grade grogginess from his mind, but also woke up all the semi-sleeping worries in his head.

                As he leaned against the rail, watching the sky, his mind even farther away, he became aware of the woman who siddled up next to him. He startled slightly at her unnanoucned approach and they both gave a small nervous laugh.

                “Sorry, Jess…didn’t hear you creep up.”  The biker amended. “Shouldn’t sneak up on a solider, you know. We get jumpy.”

                She nodded, “Yeah, sorry…you probably came out here to get away from me and, well I just can’t seem to take the hint.” She replied, still nursing her beer.

                “Wouldn’t say that…” he attempted, but there wasn’t much conviction in his debate.

                Jessie nodded. “It’s okay. I just…I wanted to thank you.”

                “Thank me?”

                “Yeah. You know…you and Modo really stepped up. You’ve been looking after him all this time. And don’t say you haven’t because I think we all know that without the two of you, he would be in that burial plot with Momma and Daddy. Kid’s always had a mean restless streak. I couldn’t keep up.”

                “Well…you shouldn’t have had to. You were not much more than a kid yourself.” Throttle admitted.

                “And what were you back then, hmm? Just a boy too. But you took to him so fast, Throttle. I always thought he was more your brother than mine. You and your mama were good to us. Modo’s family too. I don’t think we woulda made it without your help.”

                “Your parents did their best, Jessie. I think they just…”

                “Had a hard time growing up?”

                “Yeah. Maybe.”

                She sighed, leaning a little closer to him as they shared the railing together. “Yeah. For a long time I told myself I would never be like that. I wasn’t gonna waste my life trying to relive the glory days. I was gonna go do what I wanted to do so I wouldn’t have any regrets.”  She frowned into her bottle. “…boy was I stupid.”

                He looked at her carefully. “Everyone’s got regrets. Some worse than others.” He offered, carefully. Wondering if she would take the bait.  She didn’t look at him, but began to fidget with her bottle instead.

                “You ever have a regret so bad it follows you around? Like a ghost?’ She stared out into the dark, and Throttle tried to follow his gaze.

                “Yes.” He answered simply.

                This made her look at him. “What do you do about it?”

                He reached into his thigh holster and pulled out the gun she had abandoned on the bookshelf, showing her the half distorted insignia. “I don’t know. But I’m not sure this will help.” He tapped his finger against the marking. “Jess…is this what I think it is?”

                She straightened, suddenly anxious and reached to pull the gun from his hand but he wouldn’t release it at once. “It’s nothing…”

                “This is a smuggler’s brand. I think the name is ‘Cerberus’. A Sand Raider ring that was running plenty of rackets along the Out Flows in the day. You have a run in with them?”

                The woman looked at him, stone faced, and pulled the gun from his grip. “I’m a med tech, Throttle. We go where we’re needed. We help who needs us. Not just Mice, Rats and Sand Dogs too.”

                “And they gave you that as some sort of thank you, I suppose?”

                She tucked the weapon away and finished her bottle in three big gulps, leaving it to sit on the edge of the rail. “Something like that.” She turned, heading back towards the door, able to hear Vinnie and Modo arguing and increased volume as they aggressively tried to beat each other at the game that had no rules.

                “Think I’ll turn in early. Need to head into town tomorrow, catch up with a few other folks. Goodnight.”

                “Jessie.”

                The way he said her name gave her pause. It was low and stern, but soft. It reminded her too much of her dad. It was jarring coming from someone she still thought of as another sibling, or perhaps an over friendly neighbor.  She glanced back at him, expecting to see that wary look of judgement on his face that had been present since she arrived.

                “If you’re running from something, that’s your business. But if you want somewhere to run to, then you need to be straight with us. You owe him that much.”

                She paused, the words still processing, churning in her mind. “Owe him?” she repeated. “He hasn’t got anything to do with this.”

                Throttle’s expression turned harder. “Doesn’t it?”

                She didn’t answer, ending the conversation by stepping back into the house and leaving him alone outside again. He listened for a moment to their bluster inside, the argument that Vinnie and Modo were having losing steam quickly, easily diverted.  

                Throttle turned back towards the horizon, seeing the distant glow of the house lights from the Maverick’s farm in the early dark. Hadn’t it been dark like this that night too? The winds howling and Deimos nearly full as it rose.

                Some of the details had begun to blur and fade in the long march of years. But that moment that when he and Modo had arrived on Stoker’s tail, their mentor having broke the horrible news of the accident.

                The long conversation between Stoker, the Mavericks and the local authorities over the ugly particulars.  While he and Modo tried to help the siblings cope with the news. Throttle remembered vividly the way Vinnie had wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that there was a mistake, that he wanted proof. Jessie grabbing at him and shaking him, telling him to just stop and listen. Both of them crumbling into shock.

                And when the authorities had left, leaving them in the cold aftermath. Jessie breaking into tears, letting go of the little brother she seemed to be holding together to dart outside. Stoker going after her, trying to calm her down.

                Vinnie, looking too small and too young and too afraid. Shouting for his sister to come back, even as she pulled free from Stoker and made a mad dash for her bike, taking off into the dark.

                Now, as an adult, Throttle understood. How overwhelmed she must have been in that moment. How much she probably wanted to run from the weight that was now forced onto her shoulders. The burden before her.

                But at the time, all he saw was how horrified Vinnie had been. How afraid he was that something else might happen and swallow up the last piece of his family. Because now the worst case scenario was real. There was no more ability to distance himself from tragedy. It was here. In his house. And he couldn’t deal with it alone.

                The rumble of another motorcycle and the flash of it’s high-beam headlight shook him from his memories and back to reality. He watched the lone bike speed down the dirt road that separated the Maverick’s land and the dirt patch that the trailer sat on, heading straight towards them.

                Immediately the former Freedom Fighter was tense and ready, hand already feeling for his weapon inside it’s holster, knuckles flexing under the soft glove that held his nuke-nuks. Ready to go at a moment’s notice—always. The war might have ended years ago but the fight never really did. Not for them.

                But as the bike road closer, half obscured by the dust cloud that spun around it, he realized that most of his caution was unwarranted. As his field spec adjusted, he realized he knew this rider. Intimately in fact.

                Carbine stopped a yard or two from the porch step, parking her army issue bike—one of the newer sleeker models—and gave a quick wave to him.

                He prayed then that a freak lightning strike would bolt out of the sky and fry him where he stood. He did not want to deal with this.

                He glanced back at the trailer but it seemed like no one inside had taken notice of their company. So he resigned himself, stepping down to meet her half way.

                “I didn’t realize you and the boys were going off grid.” The General greeted. “You sure know how to make yourself hard to find when you want to.”

                “Never stopped you before.” Throttle returned, trying to offer something of a smile. “What brings you all the way out to the sticks, General? Kinda far from the Cathedra, aint’ ya?”

                “Yes,” Carbine answered, clearly irritated. “But it couldn’t wait. I tried reaching you at your place, and Stoke’s, but came up with nothin’.  Harley told me to try you out here; that you and the boys were doing some off roading.”

                She looked up at the trailer. “You uh…tryin’ to rough it out here?”

                “It’s Vinnie’s family’s place. His sister just got back into town. Guess we’re celebrating.” He explained, not caring to give too much detail. She studied the house again, as if trying to get a glimpse of the mystery woman in question.

                “Sister hmm?”

                “What do you need, Carbine?” he asked her pointedly, tired of beating around the bush.

                She met his eye then, if somewhat reluctantly. “I wanted to give you a heads up is all. We got some intelligence of suspicious activity in the wastes just beyond here, near Kokomo Canyon. Another biker gang, causing a big stir out that way. Harassing the smaller settlements and getting into deadly fire-fights with the Sand Raiders.  Thought you oughta know.”

                Throttle nodded, folding his arms across his chest, feeling the chill that was settling in with the night air and the harsh breeze. “Sounds like a mess. You need an assist?”

                “Strain and I have it covered.” She answered.

                The tan mouse frowned darkly. “Yeah, bet you do.”

                Carbine’s practiced decorum dropped here, “Oh please. Don’t pout. You have no right to do that, not after everything. We both need to move on, Throttle.”

                “I know that.”

                “Knowing it up here, and knowing it in there,” she poked him in the chest. “Are two different things. It wasn’t going to work. You said it yourself. We just want different things.” She looked at him, needing him to agree. To lessen whatever this ache, this painful unfinished thing between them was.  “Are you taking care of yourself?”

                “Why wouldn’t I be?”

                She looked at him knowingly. “Because you’d rather take care of those two knuckle heads.”

                “Oh come on…”

                She sighed heavily, irritated. “I didn’t come here to argue, I came her to warn you. Now I’ve done that, so I’m going to get the hell out of here before that storm decides to change course. I’ll keep you in the loop if I can. I expect you to do the same.”

                She was about to remount her bike, but paused, stopping to dig into the pocket of her fitted moto jacket. “Um…here. I keep meaning to give this back to you.”

                She held out her palm. A necklace, a dark purple gem in gold teardrop setting lay coiled in the middle of it. It still had it’s shine, the glitter of it catching the flood light from the porch.  Throttle felt a lump in his throat looking at it.

                “I gave that to you. Keep it.” He said, lightly closing her fingers around it again. Carbine pulled her hand away, offering it again, more urgently.

                “I can’t, Throttle. You know I can’t.”

                He did. But it hurt. Despite all the logic, all the rationalization the pair had fed themselves on and off since he’d returned to Mars. It still hurt. “That’s your family’s stone. You should have it. The right one will come along, and you’ll want to give it to them.”

                He said nothing, but held out his hand again, this time accepting the offering. The chain and the gem could not have weighed more than a few ounces but it felt so heavy in his hand. “Thanks.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “Me too.” She nodded.

                They hesitated there in the dark together a moment longer. For a moment it looked like Carbine might embrace him. He would have let her. Would have held her back. Might have even asked her to stay. But there would be no point to it. Nothing but prolonging ripping off the same band aid they’d been trying to remove for five years.

                Without saying anything else, the raven haired woman mounted her bike again and sped off without another word, leaving him standing there in the dark.

                He might have stood there all night, unable to will himself to move. Until there was a tug on his tail that pulled him back from mental void he was teetering on.

The tan biker turned and found Vinnie at the foot of the steps, having snagged his bro by the tail, tugging him playfully backwards as though he were trying to reel him in. “Hey! Come in from the cold, would ya? Yer gonna blow away soon if you stay out there.”

                Throttle allowed himself to be pulled back, Vinnie snickering at his own joke.

                “You’re a little drunk, hmm?”

                “Just a little.”  Vinnie nodded. He poked the other mouse in the chest. “But so are you so…so there.”

                “Hmm. Right.”

                “Who were ya talking to?” Vinnie asked, glassy eyes following the tracks Carbine’s bike had left in the dirt, though the wind was making swift work of them. His eyes caught on the little glint of gold dangling from Throttle’s fingers. Without thinking, he reached for his palm, trying to peek at what was tucked beneath his fingers.

                Before Throttle could stop him, Vinnie glimpsed the necklace clutched in his palm.

                The younger biker mouse looked up at his bro in surprise, suddenly sober. Throttle couldn’t meet his eyes.

                “Bros?” Modo called suddenly from inside. “Everything alright?”

                Vinnie glanced awkwardly toward him and then back at Throttle. The calm, cool and collected bro, also so sure of himself, looked much too vulnerable then.  Vinnie saw that in this moment, he could not bear to explain what must have just gone down. Later, but not now.

                “Yeah…” he squeezed Throttle’s hand gently, reassuringly. “…everything’s cool. We’ll be right there.”

***

Chapter Text

***

                Jessie had only been inside a few minutes when she had heard the approach of the other motorcycle. This unexpected company immediately put her on edge, and she did not wait for Modo or Vinnie to acknowledge the arrival. The pair too embroiled in their silly made up game. She caught a glimpse of Throttle walking towards the rider, and then hurriedly excused herself towards her childhood bedroom, closing the door behind her.

                Her palms began to sweat anxiously, as she tried to center herself. The rider could have been anyone. And clearly it must have been someone Throttle knew or he would not have approached so readily. This was all probably for nothing.

                But she couldn’t help her fear. If he had found her here, she didn’t know what he would do. She needed to protect herself, and her family. She pulled the blaster Throttle had confronted her with from her belt and checked to see if it was still armed, removing the safety, then put it back in it’s hidden holster. In addition, she grabbed what looked like three silver rings from the pocket of her duffel, slipping each on her three middle fingers. They were pretty and unassuming, if not slightly thick for women’s jewelry. But, if she pressed her fingers together hard, they formed something new. The metal would lock together and expand up past her knuckles into sharp little prongs. Painful to be stabbed with yes, but more painful if she pressed beneath the device with her thumb, which would electrify it. Turning it just as effective as tazor without the bulk and a certain personal touch that only some of the hardest fighters would use. Flexing her fingers apart would retract the spikes and cut the electric current, rendering them simple rings again.

                Armed now, she took a deep breath to calm herself. If Rod and his cronies decided to turn up, looking for her and his blood money, she’d be ready. And gods help him if he or any of them put a single finger on her brother…

                She heard a change in the voices from the living room then. No more boisterous yelling or laughing coming from Modo or Vinnie. The tones were hurried and disjointed. She pressed her ear to the door and strained to listen, catching only a few words.

                Steeling herself, she opened the door and stepped back into the hall. From the shadow of the corridor, she could catch a glimpse of the boys in the living room. There seemed to be no newcomers and now she realized the sound of the other motorcycle was gone. Whoever had been here had already left.

                She moved cautiously towards the bunch, seeing Throttle dropped down on the couch with his head in his hand, Vinnie bent in front of him, looking concerned and talking low. Modo close beside the other two, and the first to notice her approach.

                “What’s going on?” she asked.

                “Oh um…” Modo fumbled, unsure what to say.  Throttle seemed to curl a little further in on himself, as if trying to avoid being seen. Vinnie looked at her directly.

                “Got a bit of a heartbreak situation here,” he said.

                “Vinnie…” Throttle shook his head but Van Wham ignored him, patting his knee.

                Jessie moved tentatively to the other side of the group, looking at Throttle sympathetically. One glance at his face told her that what Vinnie had said was more than true. The usually stoic mouse looked crushed and dazed. She glimpsed the gold chain that was still dripping from his palm, and could make a good guess what had happened.

                “I’m sorry.” She offered, sincerely.

                Though a moment ago the pair had been at odds with each other, she pushed it aside. She reached and rubbed his shoulder gently. Glancing at Modo and Vinnie, she saw how they looked to her for answers. Both slightly distressed at their brother’s upset and looking like lost puppies in their state of intoxication.

                She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s okay, boys.” She assured. She moved past them and pulled the big door shut, latching it securely and pulling the windows closed to just a crack, allowing the breeze to pass through still. “I know just what to do.”

                In short order, she swept about cleaning up the remains of the shattered board game and any left over bottles. A movie was put on, something mindlessly ridiculous and only mildly violent. Jessie mixed  a drink for Throttle, golden milk with a hefty dose of whiskey in it.

                She sat beside him, having to nudge Vinnie out of the way and pressed the warm mug into his hands. He looked at her, confused and glassy eyed but said nothing. It seemed like all the words had left him.

                “You’ll be okay.” She promised him.

                “How?”  His voice cracked, seeming strained. She could tell he was on the verge of tears but was fighting them back. It was strange to see him so soft, when only a few minutes ago she had been pressed and irritated by his cool demeanor. It reminded her that she wasn’t the only one with guards up. Not the only one with troubles.

                “Well, you’ve got us, don’t you?”

                “I’ll drink to that!” Vinnie nodded, resolute and serious if not intoxicated. His sister reached and pushed him back down to where he was on the floor, and the masked mouse resigned himself to the spot, deciding getting up to drink more was not worth the effort.

                Jessie tugged at Modo, bringing him to sit on the other side of the tan furred mouse, dragging the quilt from the back of the couch over them and tucking it around them, “Now, we’re all going to sit here and mindlessly watch this awful movie, until you either feel better, or at least marginally less bad.”

                The tan mouse only nodded blankly and took a hefty slug of the drink, not even tasting it.

                They sat together in the muffled quiet for a long time, the only speaking coming from the characters on the television and occasionally Vinnie offering commentary or critique on a scene.

                Modo stretched his arm across the back of the couch behind Throttle and glanced discretely towards Jessie. She did the same, letting their fingers lace briefly.

                “Thank you.” He mouthed towards her.

                She smiled back at him, squeezing his fingers. It was only then that Modo noticed the new rings she had placed on her fingers. He studied them for a moment in passing curiosity, but when she pulled back quickly his casual observance shifted.

                After a few more minutes, noticing that Throttle hadn’t finished any more of the drink, she plucked the now cold mug from his hand and stood, carrying it to the sink. Modo watched her thoughtfully. He shifted then too, catching Vinnie’s attention.

                “Pee break?”

                Modo gave a no committal nod and slipped away, allowing Vinnie to jump readily into his seat. “On your feet loose your seat!” he called.

                Maverick slipped up behind Jessie as she washed out of the cup and left it in the sink. “Thanks for the help, jess. Nice of you.”

                She smiled at him, sighing a patted his arm lightly. “Well, I’m only sorry my training doesn’t include fixing broken hearts.” She looked back to the pair on the couch. “How long were they together?”

                “Years. Been off and on recently. I didn’t know how bad it was.” He answered back softly.

                Vinnie glanced their direction and made a shushing sound. Jessie slipped her hand into Modo’s and pulled him from the kitchen, slipping down the hall with him as Vinnie began to chatter away mindlessly to Throttle, who still seemed utterly checked out.

                Alone in the dark, tucked out of sight and ear shot, Modo took her hand in his again, eyeing the rings on her middle, ring and index fingers. “These are interesting.” He said, giving her a knowing look and studying her reaction. “Haven’t seen something like this in in action in a long time. A classier version of brass-knuckles, I gotta admit.”

                She looked up at him nervously, pulling her hand from his. “I don’t know what—”

                “You’re in trouble. We all know it. So just tell us what’s going on.”

                She didn’t answer, refusing to look at him. Modo sighed, craning his neck to catch her gaze again. “Jess…I’m not judging you. Whatever it is, whatever the reason, we can help. It’s what we do.”

                “No!” she hissed, making him blink in surprise.

                “No…I can’t get you guys mixed up in this. Especially Vinnie. I didn’t come here to dump my troubles on his shoulders. Or on any of you for that matter! I’ve got it handled.” Her gaze shifted towards her bedroom subconsciously, thinking of what was hidden there in the wall behind her bed. “I just need another day or two, and then I’ll be out of your hair. You won’t have to worry about me.”

                “You’re gonna just leave again?” Modo hissed.

                “It’s for the best!”

                He looked at her hard. “No! No you can’t do that! You can’t just walk in and walk out of someone’s life. That’s not how family works!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice from carrying back to the others.

                She started to argue again, but he took her hand and pulled her to the edge of the hall again, pointing at the pair on the couch. “Are you really gonna tell me that you don’t care after that? That you’re just around to bring trouble?”

                The white furred woman just looked on, looking close to tears, shaking her head. She managed to walk away from him again, trying to escape into her bedroom. Modo caught her again, pulling her instead into the only other room in the trailer that hadn’t been explored.

                They did not bother with lights, allowing only the thin light of the moons outside, slipping in and out of heavy clouds to illuminate them in the dark and close-air of the room.

                “What are you doing?” she hissed at him.

                “Trying to get you to see sense,” Modo said, able to talk more freely now that they were not in the open. “Jess…Vinnie needs you. Whatever you’re running from, he would want to know. You’re his sister. You have to know he worries about you, cares about you! He never stopped!”

                “Not all of us are like you, Maverick.” She argued. “We aren’t all close knit that way. I’m not…good for him. Throttle even said it! I couldn’t help him back when mom and dad died and I sure as hell can’t do it now! How would I even explain it? Should I just tell him, ‘hey baby brother sorry for totally leaving you behind to deal with a whole fucking war all by yourself, but see I went got myself mixed up with a real bad guy and now he’s out for blood and---"

                She watched his single eye go wide, her partially intoxicated brain too slow to stop the words from slipping out in her emotional state. She slapped a hand over her mouth, as if she could pull them back. But of course, she could not.

                “Oh my gods…” she mumbled after a moment. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

                Modo sighed heavily, dropping back to sit on the edge of the empty bed. His head ached dully, the rise and fall of emotions in such a short period of time leaving him feeling disoriented and tired.  “Someone’s after you?”

                Jessie exhaled shakily.  “I’m sure he would be. But he didn’t know about my life here. Or Vinnie. He shouldn’t be able to find me, as long as I’m careful.”

                “Ex-boyfriend?”

                She nodded. Modo’s eye slipped towards the rings on her fingers again. “Bad break up then?”

                “Wasn’t so much a break up as I made a run for it.”

                “He hurt you?”

                The rumble in his voice when he asked this made something in her tremble. The low warning in his already deep tenor, made he realize that Modo was exactly as dangerous as he looked if provoked.

                “It’s not your fight, Maverick. I can handle myself.”

                “You don’t have to, though.” He reminded her.  “You don’t have to fight alone.”

                She threw up her hands in a gesture that was a little too much like her brother, frustration on her pretty face. “Look, I am done with men who think they know what’s best for me, alright!? I came here to take care of things, only to find you three idiots! I’ve got a jaded baby brother who still acts like we’re teens, I’ve got Evander and his stupid judgy face telling me what a piece of shit I am, and then there’s you! You and your big stupid sweet face, trying to treat me like a lady in distress!”

                She moved closer to him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, balling it in her fists. “I am so WAY PAST waiting for a nice guy to come rescue me, okay!? Where were you two years ago? Ten years ago?! Where were you when I was still someone worth fucking saving!?”

                She hadn’t realized she crying. Or that she was on the edge of screaming all this. Only glad that the tv and the howl of the wind through open winds seemed to be enough to muffle the sound.

                Modo just gazed back at her, saying nothing for several long moments as she panted and tried to catch her breath, cheeks wet.

                She started to pull away from him, but he caught her and pulled her back, pulling her down and kissing her. Jessie gasped against his lips, startled. His arms came around her and held her close. Not harshly, not wanting her to feel trapped.

                Her resistance faded quickly though, whimpering as she put her arms around his shoulders and let him pull her down onto the bed with him. Every other thought fled Jessie’s head. All her worry, her anger, her self-loathing seemed to evaporate like bubbles in the sink.

                There was an instant spark with Modo, and now she was convinced it wasn’t just a fluke. There was something, albeit soft, new and unexplored, between them. The same heat she had felt from their earlier kiss rose in her, the tingly starting low in her belly and spreading down as she laid over top of his much larger frame. As tall a girl as she was, it was rare for someone to make her feel small. But Modo did, and in the best way.

                This time it was his hands that began to rove, sliding up and down her back, fingers twisting into her hair, and settling on her hips. She moaned, feeling the press of him below her coupled with his loose grip there.

                Their heated kiss broke, Modo looking up at her in the dark. “Jess…”

                Her thighs squeezed slightly, the way he said her name doing things to her. “Hey,” she grinned down at him, “…anyone ever tell you you’re a really good kisser?”

                He chuckled softly. “Not recently, ma’am.”

                “Well…that’s a real shame. Cause you are.”  She pressed against him for emphasis, lips melting against his. Both of them inhaled shakily a moment later, clearly fighting the obvious urge between them.

                “You’re still kinda drunk, huh handsome?” she asked.

                Modo nodded. “Yes. But not so much that I know I want you.” He admitted, gently squeezing her hips again.

                Her cheeks were pink, smiling at him softly and brushing her fingers through the short fur along his head and over his ear. “You’re too sweet, you know that?” she asked. “But listen…I’m not gonna feel right if we rush this. And I’m really, really tired of messing things up.”

                He nodded, moving his hands from her hips to her waist and back, rolling so they could lay side by side instead. “I’m not in any rush.” He assured. “I mean…I’ve waited almost twenty years. What’s a little longer?”

                She beamed, cuddling closer, just happy to be held by someone who seemed to actually care about her. “You’re an old school romantic, aren’t ya? Thought your type had died out long ago.”

                He nuzzled against her neck, drowsy and warm and a little too comfortable. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” He mumbled.

                She continued to scratch softly at the back of his head and neck, until he went quiet and she felt his breathing become soft and even, falling asleep beside her. Jessie watched his face in the dark, thinking over everything until the white noise of the trailer and Modo’s body heat lulled her to sleep too.

**

                Hours later, Modo woke in deep dark gloom. He might have rolled over and gone back to sleep, assuming the night hadn’t passed yet, were it not for the faint gray haze in the light. His ears perked, listening for rain. Nothing, but he could smell it in the air from the open windows.

                The big grey mouse sat up, now seeing where he had ended up. He was laying on top of the comforter of a queen sized bed. The one formerly belong to Mr. and Mrs. Van Wham. It was an odd sensation. Of all the places in the trailer, visited in his youth and now, he had never been in here before. And he wasn’t sure how he had gotten here now.

                The slight headache gave him a decent reminder though. A few too many drinks. Not nearly as many as the previous night at the racetrack, but still…enough to leave him with the ghost of a hangover.

                Beside him on the bed was another sleeping body. Jessie, curled beneath the comforter, her back to him, long hair dripping down her back. Modo felt his heart do a hard skid as if it were a tire trying to stop on a dime. But the momentary panic subsided quickly. They were both clearly still dressed, at least partially. There was no indication that anything other than sleeping had gone in this room.  

                Relief, followed by…disappointment?

                He leaned over Jessie’s shoulder, spying her sleeping face. She was dead to the world, sleeping hard, face relaxed. He brushed some of the stray hairs from her face lightly and then slipped from the bed, tip-toeing out of the room without waking her.

                No sound from the rest of the trailer. Outside, some animals calling in the distance. No doubt anxious or excited about the looming storm. Modo made his way out into the hall, looking first to the open door of Vinnie’s bedroom, expecting to find the white furred mouse there, snoring away.

                Nothing.

                The door to Jessie’s room was shut, and the bathroom was empty.

                His bros must be crashed out in the living room.

                He padded down the hall and found a scene he hadn’t expected. The tv was on, playing low. Modo couldn’t tell if the garbled broadcast was a commercial or a cartoon. Loudly announcing about this and that in bright animated colors and flashes.

                Vinnie was sitting on the floor beside the couch, same as he had last night, munching away on a bowl of cereal. On the couch behind him, Throttle was stretched out, fast asleep. Modo’s chest pinched, seeing that he was still clutching the returned necklace in one hand, spying the chain dripping through his fingers.

                Vinnie looked back at him in greeting. “Morning.”

                “Is it?” Modo mumbled, looking out the windows at the dark grey skies that hardly let any light escape. “I can barely tell.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “You look pretty alert for someone who should have a hangover.”

Vinnie shrugged. “You can’t get hung over if you don’t sleep I guess.”

Modo blinked. “You were up with him all night?”  He looked back at Throttle. “How long has he been asleep?”

                Vinnie glanced back at him. “Not long. Maybe an hour or two. Finally crashed.”

                “Poor guy.” Modo pulled the quilted blanket from the back of the couch over their middle bro’s prone figure, slipping his glasses off his face carefully and letting them rest on the arm of the couch. “Guess we should have seen this coming, huh?”

                Vinnie looked back at Throttle mournfully, smoothing a hand over his forearm lightly. “Yeah, it’s too bad. They were a badass power couple for sure…guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Vinnie sighed.

                “You throw that phrase around like you know what it means.” Modo mumbled.

                “Well I do, big fella. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find a way. Hell and high water, you’ll find a way.”

                “Hell and high water, huh?” the older mouse answered. “Of maybe a couple million miles distance?”

                Vinnie’s tail gave a little bristle and he blinked. But of course Modo had hit the nail on the head. “You aren’t fooling anyone pretending you’re over her, by the way. Throttle’s a bad liar, but you’re the worst in the galaxy.”

                His younger bro made a face back at him. “Oh alright Mr. Know-It-All, then tell me what I’m supposed to do about it? The lady probably hates my guts after just bugging out of there the way we did.”  He tried to eat another mouthful of his breakfast but the colorful sugary shapes had lost all taste to him. He set the bowl aside to be forgotten.

                “Charlie knew what she was in for with us, bro. Maybe not when we first got there, but by the end…she knows you wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. When we can get back there, we will. But for right now, it’s too risky.”

                “When has risky stopped me from doing anything?” Vinnie asked, more to himself than Modo.

                The older Martian Mouse moved to the coffee maker, doing his best to make the brew strong as possible, though nothing here on Mars matched the way Earth made their coffee.  He glanced down the hall back towards the open door of the master bedroom where Jessie was still sleeping. “Hey, um…my memory’s a little fuzzy. How’d Jess and I end up in the bedroom?”

                Vinnie side-eyed him. “Come again?”

                “Uh…I guess we fell asleep together.”  Modo shrugged, trying not act as nervous as he felt saying this, even though it was innocent. “I remember getting up to stretch at some point and then…”

                Vinnie stared at him like all the gears in his brain had suddenly come to a grinding halt. He was up and walking past Modo into the hallway, leaning into the open bedroom, as if realizing for the first time where his bro and his sister had spent the rest of the night.

                Throttle lifted his head suddenly from the couch cushion, staring blindly in Modo’s direction, eyes unfocused and hooded with lingering sleep. “…what’s going on?’ he mumbled thickly.

                Modo stared at him, knowing he couldn’t see a thing and glad of it. Because he would have seen that the big grey furred mouse was ready to bolt.

                But Vinnie didn’t return to the kitchen. Instead he slipped into the bedroom. A moment later, there was a screech that made both Throttle and Modo’s fur bristle up like grass in a high wind.

                “HEY! GET OFF ME YOU TURD!”

                Without thinking Modo was sprinting towards the sound, grabbing the door frame to keep from smacking into it, and found the siblings…wrestling.

                Vinnie had grabbed Jessie by the ankle and was trying to physically pull her off the bed. His sister, pissed and only in her t-shirt and underwear, was reasonably indignant at this very rude awakening.

                She kicked out at Vinnie with her other leg, her hands gripping the headboard to keep herself on the mattress.

                “Get out of there! What are you doing you sick weirdo!? That’s their bed!” Vinnie grunted, still trying to pull her free.

                “For fuck’s sake Vinnie!” she screeched back, kicking him again and this time managing to connect with his shoulder. It was hard enough to knock Vinnie back into the heavy wooden dresser that stood directly across from the bed, the mirror above it shaking at the impact. Dusty bottles of perfume wobbling and falling over, clacking together, one chipping and releasing the sharp scent from inside. “Dammit! Now look what you did!” Vinnie barked, rushing to try to right the objects.

                Jessie threw a pillow at him, smacking him in the back of the head. “What is wrong with you!?” she barked. “Are you freakin’ crazy!?”

                “Why are you in their room!” he howled back, and the confusion and anger in his voice seemed to finally break through her own upset, making her stop for a moment. She blinked around, as if fully realizing for the first time where she was. She looked small, scared, suddenly sitting rigidly on the bed.

                “I…I wasn’t thinking about it, I just…I was tired.” Her eyes flicked anxiously towards Modo, as if searching for confirmation, or help.

                He moved in then, moving first to Vinnie. “I’ve got it. Go out. Take the bottle outside or it’s gonna smell up the whole place.” He instructed. Vinnie looked at him, as if not understanding. It was only the weight of Modo’s bionic hand on his arm that seemed to snap him back to himself.

                He nodded, gathering the broken bottle and slipping quickly away.

                The grey furred mouse turned his eye on Jessie then, who seemed stranded on the bed as if she were on a rock in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by sharks. He slipped around to her side and without asking, scooped her up. She let him, arms slipping around his shoulders. “It’s okay.” He promised.

                He moved with her out of the room, carrying her across the hall to her own room before setting her on her feet. He could feel her shaking.

                Jessie’s eyes didn’t meet his, looking at the floor, raising her palms to her cheeks. “Shit, shit, oh my gods…why did I do that? Why did I--?”

                “It’s okay. There’s no harm done. We’ll put it back together just how it was.” Modo offered. “You were tired, I was tired. I should have thought…”

                She shook her head quickly at him, palm against his chest. “No, no Modo you didn’t do anything wrong. I was stupid, I wasn’t thinking.” She looked past him into the hall, still staring out the open door they had just exited. “Gods…he hasn’t been in there once, has he? Not since the funeral I bet.”

                Modo shook his head.

                “Shit shit shit!” It came out in a whimpering whisper, the woman dropping into a crouch in front of him, her face in her hands, pressed against her knees as if she was trying to make herself into a ball.  “I’m the worst sister…”

                Modo crouched beside her, tentatively reaching to rub her back. “Hey…it was just a mistake, Jess. We’ll fix it. I’ll help you.”

                “You shouldn’t have to.” She mumbled, slowly pulling herself together, though now her cheeks were streaked with tears. “Why am I so bad at this?”

                “You’re not.”

                She smiled at him gratefully. “You’re too sweet to me, Maverick.”

                Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her cheek gently, then stood up, leaving her to collect herself while he moved to who needed him next.

                Throttle was still pulling himself together, fumbling to find where Modo had laid his specs. Maverick caught his arm easily, picked up the fallen item—knocked on the floor in his frantic search—and slipped them onto his face. “Lie back down, I’ve got this.”

                Throttle blinked at him. “You sure?”

                Modo nodded and moved towards the back screen door, finding Vinnie outside with the cracked and leaking perfume bottle. Now that the sharp smell of alcohol had faded, the actual scent started to come through. Only whispers of it now, as the notes had faded with age.

                Modo strode through the back door, making his way towards the other mouse with ease and calm. “Well, let’s see the damage. I’m sure we can probably fix it, or put it in another bottle.”

                Vinnie didn’t say anything. He was just glaring at the bottle, the smell starting to seep into his fur and skin along his hands and wrist. The smell of his mother, something he had long gotten used to the absence of.

                “You guys had no business going in there.” He muttered to Modo, ignoring the proffered help. He sighed in frustration. “Why does she just…think she can walk back in and everything’s okay?”

                Modo looked at him carefully. “I think she doesn’t know what else to do. Fake it till you make it and all that.”

                Vinnie glared out across the back yard. “Yeah well…it sucks.”

                Modo squeezed his shoulder gently. “I know.”

                He took the bottle from Vinnie’s hand, the other offering no resistance now and examined the crack and the chipped bit of glass in the dark blue bottle. “You know…I think Mama has something like this back at the house. Sure she wouldn’t mind lending you one of her old bottles to replace it.”

                Vinnie tried to smile but it was weak. “Nah. It’s okay. Chuck it.”

                “Really?”

                “She’s gone. Been gone. And she’s not in that stupid bottle, or in that room either. I shouldn’t be so touchy about it.” He snarled at himself, digging his palm into his eyes. “Fuuuuck I need to get out of here. This place it’s just…full of fucking ghosts I’m not ready to deal with.”

                “Jess isn’t a ghost. She’s here and she wants to help.”

                “Maybe I don’t want her help.”

                They were quiet for a moment, letting that settle between them. Vinnie heaved another huge sigh and leaned back, putting his head on Modo’s shoulder, glad of the rock-steady feel of it. “I really, really wanna go blow some shit up. Can we do that? Or go find some asshole and just…completely wreck his day?”

                Modo patted his head affectionately. “Being a public menace isn’t going to fix things.”

                “Sure it will! You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

                “Hey bros!”

                Throttle’s voice beckoned to them from inside and the pair ducked back through the door. The tan mouse was standing by the radio, Jessie joining him, now fully dressed, and biting her nails in nervous habit.

                “Weather alert. They’re calling for a real kicker of a storm in our area. Rain advisory.” He grinned at them and the grin was catching, spreading from him to Modo and Vinnie.

                “Guess that means we better get prepared! Let’s head back to the farm, bros! Mama and Sweep will need all the help they can get.”

                “On it!”

                Throttle was tearing around the house, quickly closing any windows and turning off lights. Jessie watched them, slightly confused, following her brother and Modo out the front door as they grabbed their boots and helmets, ready to ride back to the Maverick’s homestead.

                “What are you guys on about it? It’s just rain. Shouldn’t we shelter in place?”

                Vinnie scoffed. “Jeezus, Jess! Have you been under a rock? I don’t know how it is in the Out Flows but this far inland, when it rains, it’s party time!”

                “We need to collect as much as we can. Don’t know how long it will be before another good downpour.” Modo explained. “Grab your bike, girl, we’re heading out.”

                “Collect it? But you guys have city water out here, don’t you? I mean you must have, the wells would have dried up years ago.”

                “Less talky more walky!!” Vinnie hissed at her, whistling for Cherry as she sped around to greet them. Throttle came riding up close behind with Lil’ Hoss following suit.

                Modo moved to straddle his chopper, looking to Jessie. “You comin’?” He held out his hand, as if offering her a ride behind him.

                She smiled at him flirtatiously. “Tempting offer, big fella.” She nodded, then gave a whistle for her own bike, which came screaming around the corner and stopped sharply beside her, engine gunning. “But I’ve got a better one. Race ya!”

                She slipped onto the bike and immediately popped her into a hard wheelie, “Last one there is a pair of Plutarkian underwear!” She took off like a streak and Vinnie cursed, kicking Cherry into high gear.

                “OH IT’S ON!”

                He was gone in a cloud of dust before his other two bros could even get a start, streaking back and forth with Jessie across the cloud shadowed flat-lands towards the Maverick’s farmhouse in the distance.

                “Yeesh…sometimes the resemblance between those two really shows.” Modo mumbled to himself.

                Throttle shrugged. “Hey, you’re the one making time with one of them. At least it’s the pretty one.”

                Modo looked at him, startled, but all the tan mouse did was shrug before speeding off and leaving him in the dust. “Oh mama…your son might really be in deep this time.”

Chapter Text

**

The front door of the Mavericks’s farmhouse was standing open when they arrived, following the trail across the hard-pan that eventually rolled in somewhat softer greener terrain of the cultivated farmland. Past the barn, where Modo could see the horned beasts and other smaller animals had already been herded inside to shelter from the oncoming storm.  A roll of thunder helping to announce their arrival.

Primer and her grandmother were already darting in and out, carrying various buckets, tubs and water vessels through the door and setting them out along the edge of the porch, as if to catch all the soon to be run off from the roof.

Vinnie, the winner of their friendly little race, turned and smirked at his sister. “Still fast wheels this side of Tharsis,” he crooned, obviously pleased with the little win.  She nodded back to him, deciding not to tell him she had let him win. The boost to his mood was better than any small ego boost she might get.

As Throttle and Modo pulled in behind them, Mama turned and waved to them, obviously glad for more helping hands. Primer paused beside her, raising a hand to her eyes to keep her hair from blinding her as another gust of wind picked up, making the wind chimes dance and sing.

“Well look what the Catatonian dragged in.” Primer grinned, waving excited as well. “Come on, it’s about to start! Can you smell it!?”

“Whooo! Sure can baby girl!” Modo called back, grinning into the bracing breeze as he took off his helmet. “Where do you need us, Mama?”

“Sweep and Rimfire are already putting down sandbags if you boys wanna help! There’s also a couple big tubs in the back and that need moved!” she instructed.

“On it!” Vinnie waved, ready to trot off.

“Ah-ah!” the old grey furred mouse called, stopping him in his tracks. “Just a moment, Vincent! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He blinked at her and then moved up the steps hurriedly, letting the old woman pull him into a hug and planting a big kiss on her cheek in return.

“That’s my boy. You’re keeping out of trouble, yes?”

“Me? Trouble? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He replied, giving her a playful wink. But as she looked at him more carefully he relented and gave her a real nod. “No trouble, Mama. Promise. Besides, those two don’t let me get away with anything these days.” He looked back to Throttle and Mod, who pretended not to hear him.

She gave him a knowing nod and then looked past him to where Jessie stood watching and motioned her up to the porch as well.

“Now here’s someone that owes me more than a few years worth of ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’!”

Jessie blushed, slightly flustered. Modo gave her a little nudge to coax her forward. “Mrs. Maverick! It’s so nice to see you again! I’m sorry it’s been so long—“

Mama didn’t let her finish, pulling the brother and sister together into an embrace. Both siblings glanced at each other, a shared tingle going through them. A feeling of nostalgia, love and time warp disorienting them for a moment.

When she pulled back, she looked at them both side by side, taking in time and the shadows of their youthful selves she still recognized in them. Her wild rambling daredevil children, all grown, home at last.

“My my…you know how to make a woman feel her age, I’ll say that.” She chuckled. She took Jessie’s hand in her softer, leathery one, keeping her aside while she waved Vinnie off to help with the rest.

“Primer and I can use your help here, honey. Now let’s see…”

Jessie knew of course she couldn’t refuse. The old woman would have whatever she wanted and she wouldn’t begrudge her any request, awkward and guilty as she might feel having been gone for so long. And for her part, Mama Maverick acted as though Jessie had only been gone on a long road trip. Away a few days or maybe a week. There was no slip in her sweetness towards her, her affection, because that would never waiver, whatever the distance.

The boys joined Rimfire and Sweep, who were in the process of moving dozens of heavy sandbags from the back of a large truck bed, using them to divert any washout from the rain to towards the low land of the farm, where the pond and small creak were and well away from the house or the animals.

“Let us give you a hand with those!” Modo called trotting over eagerly and loading himself up with four or five heavy bags before turning to add them to the makeshift wall they were creating.

Sweep had four herself on her shoulders, and rolled her eyes at Modo’s—perhaps unconscious effort—to upstage her. “About time! Was beginning to think maybe you had left without saying goodbye.” She chided.

“Mama raised me better than that.” He retorted to her.

“Uncle Modo bring those down here!” Rimfire called, ushering the big mouse towards him as he moved with own load further down to where they only had a few strays laid out.

For the moment the banter between the two competitive siblings was put on hold. Vinnie and Throttle approached the truck to take their own loads, and Sweep happily dropped several into the white furred mouse’s arms. “Vinnie, you finish off the line here, Throttle I need your help with Ol’ Blue, the thunder scares her and she won’t budge for me. Maybe she will for you.”

Vinnie laughed, “Ha! Look at that, new girlfriend prospects already.”

Throttle gave him a spiteful grin back and dropped two more heavy bags into Vinnie’s already full arms. “Sorry, did you say you needed more, Vincent?”

Vinnie wheezed and glared at him but they were already on the move, moving around the truck and climbing over one of the fences. They trotted across the grass towards where one lone horned beast stood stubbornly under a short tree, as though she were hiding from sky itself.

Blue was a sow, one fo the few females still left on the farm and she was long past her prime birthing or milking days. But the Maverick’s kept her all the same, as she was a family favorite. A sweet if not stubborn thing. And like them, the sow had her favorites among the mice. She responded best to Rimfire and Primer, but she tolerated Sweep well enough. But she just happened to have developed a strange sweet spot for the tan furred extension to their family.

“I can’t believe Ol’ Blue is still alive. Ain’t she pushing nearly 60 in beast years?”

Sweep shrugged, “Surprises me much as you. Guess there must be something she cares to stick around for.”

The sow lowed sadly as they approached, her tail wagging behind her. They approached her more cautiously, knowing if she was too anxious she might bolt or try bucking at them. And though her horns and tusks were nothing compared to a bull beasts, they were still nothing to laugh at.

“Hey Blue! Long time no see, pretty girl…” Throttle coaxed her and she lowed again, more softly and made a few little steps towards him, hoofs digging into he ground. He kept his hands out in front of him, cautiously reaching to touch her soft grey-blue head. She made a bleating sound and pressed into his palm and then cried again, moving closer to nuzzle into him. It was clear she still remembered him, even after years without a visit.

Sweep smiled, shaking her head. “Yep…she’s in love. Poor ol’ girl. I think she missed you.”

The tan mouse chuckled softly, but there was no mirth to, shaking his head. “What’s to miss?” he asked.

The sow answered however, nuzzling against him more urgently and making happy snorts and grunts at his affection, her broad face pressed into his belly and chest. The hot huff of air from her nose tickled, producing a real chuckle from him, and he melted a little. Stroking the sow’s head and back across her stringy coarsely blue mane and along her broad neck. Sweep watched him as she moved along the animal’s side, stroking her back.

“You look like it’s been a long couple of nights over there.” She offered. “Everything okay?”

He blinked up at her, as if confused by the question. “Well…I can’t say it hasn’t been eventful.” He sighed. Still petting and scratching Blue, he turned his eyes back towards the house and where Modo and Vinnie were hard at work.

“Vinnie’s been going through it. Misses Charlie like mad. Going stir crazy. We’ve been fighting so long that not having another battle to race off to his messin with his head a little. Now that Jess is home…I don’t think he knows what to do with himself.”

Sweep nodded mutely. “And how is Jess?” She kept her tone careful, even. But the other mouse knew her too well not to detect the unspoken questions beneath the obvious.

Throttle considered carefully, still looking back at the house. “I don’t know for sure. But I think things will come to a head soon. Whatever it is.”

With Blue calmer now, they began to guide her between them, herding her steadily towards the barn.

Sweep side-eyed him. “So. Modo confess his childhood crush yet?”

“No, but only cause Vinnie keeps diverting attention. Nothing out of the ordinary there.”

“And you hate it.” There was a knowingness in her voice that was only sharpened by her smirk.

“I do not.” He muttered back. He looked at Blue. “Do you hear this? Do you hear the way she’s spitting lies about me?”

Blue huffed in response, one big brow eye gazing at him like a giant marble.

“Well, to be honest I’m not thrilled about it either. Not bad enough to worry how it’s affecting our Vinnie, but…I know my brother. And the look in his eye when he came to pick up supplies yesterday…” She sighed heavily.  “…He’s still pining for her. And that could mean a world of hurt. For all of them.”

They gazed at each other briefly as they walked, finally reaching the barn. Sweep left Blue with Throttle just long enough to go and open the heavy doors, allowing him to walk her inside. The other beasts lowed and grunted, as if urging Blue inside and she went without further fuss.

Throttle gave her a hug around her neck and clap on her side before letting her trot off towards the other sows, happy to be out of the wind.

“Well…not much I can do about it.” Throttle sighed.

Sweep put her hand on his shoulder and gave him that stern, older sister look he had gotten so used to over the years. “Just do what you do best, honey. Look after them.”

He looked back at her, and there was something confused in his gaze. As if to say he didn’t know if he that would be enough this time. But whatever uncertainty he felt was pushed down and he nodded dutifully. “I always do, don’t I?”

He was trying to assure her, but it was Sweep who pulled him in then, hugged him from the side and kissed his temple and then his cheek. Grateful for him. Worried for him too. “You take care of yourself too, alright? And if you need a shoulder to cry on, it’s always here.”

Throttle nodded mutely, letting himself linger in that embrace for a moment. Needing it more than he realized.

The sky above them grew darker, the clouds swelling, sinking lower still until they were laying over the farm and the flatland and canyon beyond like a rain soaked quilt, making the air taste heavy, sweet and electric with the rain it promised to unleash.

They waited, all gathered now on and around the porch, silent in anticipation.

The first few drops hit the roof of the farmhouse. Too soft to be heard. More followed, a trickle that produced small visible dots in the dust around their feet. They held out their hands, feeling the drops as they sprinkled down, trying to catch them and hold them. Ephemeral and precious.

The rain made tinkling noises across the gutters and as they splashed down into the plethora of collected basins and vessels, making music of their own.

For long moments, the group was silent. Just listening. As if afraid to interrupt it, or cause the phenomenon to case. Superstitious and silly. But when you had been made desperate for what once was ordinary, the mundane takes on a greater significance. Becomes magical and unpredictable.

The youngest of the bunch, the latest additions to the Maverick lineage, moved further from the shelter of the porch eve and stood in the stray, feeling it grow stronger as the cloud burst gained strength. No more just mist and spray but real rain. There were not as many years between them and the last time this had been their norm. Their childhood after all, had still been green. And they could remember it clearly still.

Remembered sprinting home across fields from where they had been playing. Racing to where their father would be calling them from the porch. Both Rimfire looked back at once, as if sharing the same memory, and looked to where Enfield would have been standing on the third porch step. Feeling his absence like a paper-cut.

It hit Rimfire first, his eyes welling and spilling over in a matter of seconds. Rain splashed down on his face and mixed with the tears. And for the first time in a long time when he thought about his father, he felt like he wasn’t so far out of reach.

Primer began to laugh, looking up onto the clouds, letting the fat droplets now coming in quick irregular patterns soak into her face and hair, making the blonde tresses stick to her face and neck.

Her laugh was infectious, and Rimfire followed, head tilted back to take in more of drops. The wind gusted again, making a silvery sheet of water ripple over them. The older generation moved into the open too, faces all turned towards the sky.  The water soaked into them, running in rivulets through their hair and fur, seeping into clothing and rushing down their frames to puddle at their feet.

The red-orange dust turned a darker shade of rust under the liquid assault, running more red than orange now. Mud beginning to form with haste. The tall grass, yellow green in the sunlight seemed to glow under the spray, hurriedly soaking up the draught and steadily deepening it’s hue to a bluer green.

                Primer bent and scooped up a handful of the newly formed clay-like mud, letting it run through her fingers. She looked up mischievously at her brother, who quickly shook his head. “Don’t…don’t you even—!”

                She squealed and slung the clod at him, letting it splatter across his chest. Rimfire stared at her, mouth hanging open, but only for a moment before bending down and scooping up a double fist of his own.

                “Hey now! Hey, you don’t play fair--!” She yelped, laughing too hard to fully get the words out before he was on her, slapping the mud onto her face and in her hair.  She roared and grabbed him in retaliation, trying to get as much of the slop on him as possible.

                “Hey now! You two are too old to be—!” Sweep gasped, only for Modo to sling a handful of the stuff at her, catching her along the side of her face. She turned and glared at him and the big grey mouse cursed softly and made a run for it. He didn’t get more than a few feet before she tackled him, the pair rolling in the dirt.

                Mama Maverick sighed from her place on the porch step. “I’m not doing all that laundry, I’ll tell you that much.”

                Vinnie, attempting to ambush Throttle from behind, found himself thwarted as the tan mouse’s tail looped around his ankle and pulled his feet out from under him, upending him and sending him flat on his back with he bucket of water he’d been holding sloshed all up and down him, adding to the mud that now covered his back side.

                “HEY!” Vinnie howled. “You don’t need those glasses, you’ve got eyes in the back of your damn head!” he laughed.

                Throttle snickered, shaking his head. “Maybe I could just smell you coming, ever think of—AHH!” Modo had caught him in his distraction, pulling his vest away from his back and heaving a now full pitcher of mud-ruined water down his back, soaking him completely.

                “You were saying?” their older bro grinned.

                Throttle shuddered, feeling the water even fill and slosh out of the top of his boots. As his bros cackled at his comeuppance, the tan mouse ducked and got heavy fist-fulls of clay and grinned viciously at them before splattering one across Vinnie’s face and spinning to shove the rest down the front of Modo’s jeans.

                “UCK!”

                Another clod of mud was smashed into Throttle’s hair and in minutes all three of them were howling and cursing and laughing, wrestling in the mud slick like giant muscled toddlers.

                The only two Mice who were now not completely drenched stood together on the porch steps. Jessie shook her head, trying to cover her laughter as she watched them all. Watched their shared joy, the easy bond between all of them. Feeling as if she had been so divorced from such closeness and comradery longer than she wanted to admit.

                She felt the old woman’s hand settle on her back, rubbing there and catching her attention. “You know, you don’t have to keep your distance.” She offered.

                “I know…” Jessie sighed. “Guess I just feel like an intruder.”

                “You can’t intrude if you’re invited.” Mama nodded sagely. While she let Jessie absorb this she studied how the vessels were filling, pleased to see many were already nearly half full.

                She reached and plucked up one of her nicer pitchers, cradling it close against her as she stepped further back onto the porch. “I’m going to get this one started in the filter. I’ll make a big batch of sun-tea as soon as the storm passes.” She mused, mostly to herself. She glanced to Jessie again. “You do have a change of clothes here, don’t you sweet pea?”

                “Huh? Oh yeah,” Jessie nodded, absently.

                “Good.” Mama nodded.

                She looked towards the rest of the rowdy lot and gave a loud whistle that caught all their attention. The old woman nodded towards Jessie—her fur almost luminous white in the rain—unblemished by the mud the rest of them were caked in. “I think you missed a spot!” she crooned, before excusing herself.

                Last thing she heard before stepping back inside was Jessie’s squeal as they set on her, dragging her into the brawl with them.

**

                The heaviest of the cloud burst lasted for a little more than an hour, slowly tapering off into a low, steady drizzle as the heaviest part of the storm moved off to other parts of the parched region.

                All of the Mice save Mama Maverick staid out in the downpour as long as they could stand, all drenched through as if they had been swimming. By the end of it, most of the mud had washed from them, and the euphoria of the event had dimmed back into quiet reverence.

                Thunder continued to roll in the distance, another front moving in slowly behind this one. Promising more rain through the night and possibly into the next day.

                They had gathered up the full smaller vessels and hurried them to the large filter in the basement of the house, quick to replace each vessel they took as it was emptied. This would promise weeks of fresh water for the house and the farm itself. Something they would strive to make last as long as they could. It might be weeks, even months before real rain came again.

                The girls had all headed inside to wash off the mess in different bathrooms, while the boys were on the back porch, stripping out of drenched and sopping clothing and letting the rain be their outdoor shower, all grateful that the Maverick farm had plenty of privacy and a good distance from the main road.

                Throttle grunted, sitting on the edge of the porch in just his underwear while he tried to comb the last of the dirt clods from his hair with his fingers. “I oughta shave the pair of you for this…” he muttered to his bros.

                Vinnie, strutting around in his birthday suit carelessly as he soaped himself down just snickered. “Hey, that’s the price of vanity, pretty boy. Not all of us are so high maintenance. Some of us are just effortlessly flawless.” He grinned, using a piece of scrap metal to admire his reflection and make sure he hadn’t missed any mud. His fur still thick and matted with soap suds from the bar soap he was using.

                Throttle made a gagging sound in response.

                Modo joined him on the porch, pulling on clean shorts since his previous pair were beyond saving, red packed with clay after Throttle’s frontal assault. “Hey I don’t even want to here it. I’ve got pebbles where the sun don’t shine after all that.”

                Rimfire was toweling dry, heading inside. “I’ll bring us out some towels. If the girls left us any.”

                “Thanks, nephew.” Modo nodded, grateful. As he looked back to Vinnie he sighed. “Can you please put your pants back on, bro? I don’t remember signing up for a full frontal.”

                “Yer just jealous.” Vinnie replied airily. “It’s okay, I’ve come to accept it.”

                “Again, I am not beyond shaving you. I’ll make you match that baby picture of yours.” Throttle reminded him, finally his hair from his face, satisfied most of the dirt was gone.

                Modo laughed out loud at the memory and even harder at the indignant look Vinnie shot their middle brother. “Watch it…” the masked mouse warned.

                Lightning crackled pink and green overhead, a thunder clap drawing their attention skyward briefly. They watched the neon crackles chase each other over head, striking the tips of rock faces and then spiking down like a finger from the gods into the flatlands beyond. Striking well past the trailer and landing several strikes near the cemetery.

                Another echoing rumble joined the heavenly noise, but this thundering sound was not skyward. Instead, it came from the ground. The trio watched the far distant edge of the road as a pack of riders came rolling fast along the old highway. Cutting along the farthest edge of the farm land.

                Six or seven motorcycles rolled past them, one or two trailing off from the pack and rolling towards them at the edge of the trail.

                All three Biker Mice stood in alert, Vinnie finally making a quick grab from his own shorts hanging off the edge of the porch and yanking them on as the riders came within shouting distance of them.

                “What the hell? Where’d they blow in from?” the white furred mouse asked, moving closer to his bros to confer.

                Modo jumped down from the porch and strode towards them, Vinnie and Throttle quick to flank him as they made towards the sparse and weathered fencing that edged the farm from the road.

                The rider, still hidden behind his dark helmet raised a hand in greeting, but didn’t cut his engine. Neither did his partner.

                “Can we help you, citizen?” Mood asked, remaining polite but guarded. Ready to defend against this stranger should they make any strange or sudden moves.

                “Looking for a place to shelter for the night. How far to Brimstone?” the dark clad rider answered. Throttle was the first to spot the patch on his jacket. The same emblem that matched the mark on Jessie’s stunner.

                “You’re just on the edge of town.” Modo answered. “You keep following the road it’ll take you directly into the city. There’s a hotel about a mile in, and probably a hostel or two if that’s full up.” He instructed, pointing to the road where the rest of the biker pack had drifted down, all peeled to the side of the road as they waited for the rest of their group.

                The rider nodded. “Alright. Thanks for the directions.”

                “Hell of a time for a ride,” Vinnie cut in, looking at them pointedly. “Did you miss the alert or something? Flash floods come on in a blink of an eye this far out. You should be more careful.”

                The rider gazed at him steadily and through the tint of his visor Vinnie could see some of the details of his face. A rugged looking mouse with a hard stare looked back at him appraisingly and grinned. “We aren’t afraid of a little mud, pal. But thanks for the heads up.”

                He surveyed the lot of them slowly. “You lot look familiar. Have a I seen you somewhere before?”

                Vinnie grinned then, “Well, just so happens you’re standing in the presence of The Biker Mice from Mars. Only Mars’s baddest motor-jammers, heroes of the Red Planet and beyond.”

                He waited for their praise and astonishment but all that came was a low snicker. “Never heard of you.” The stranger replied.

                While Vinnie dealt with the direct blow to his ego, Modo was quick to press on. “We won’t keep you then. The weather’s turning a little wild. You keep on heading east and you’ll get where you’re going in about 2 miles. I’d hurry if I were you.”  His voice was still even and courteous, but there was an edge of warning to it now. A signal not to wear out their welcome.

                The stranger nodded, and caught the way the silent member of the party was eyeing his jacket. “See something interesting, partner?”

                Throttle shifted his gaze to him. “Not particularly.” Was his only answer, cold and to the point.

                The stranger’s smirk disappeared. He gunned his engine, his partner doing the same and they turned and sped away back towards the rest of their pack, roaring down the mud slick road again at dangerously high speed.

                “What a douche!” Vinnie gasped. “Never heard of us my ass…”

                “Looks like a heap of trouble. Lets hope the storm blows it away from us.” Modo nodded, watching until the other bikers faded further into the distance, washed away in the grey haze of rain. They started back towards the house, and Throttle glanced up, spotting someone watching them from one of the upstairs windows.

                She moved immediately upon being spotted, but he knew it had been Jessie.

***

Chapter Text

***

                From the bedroom window, Jessie watched the road and paced. The fact that Rod and his gang had ridden all this way was telling of her situation.

It could not have been coincidence that they would have traveled here. Someone must have seen her, given them some sort of tip off. Rod was not that clever, but the people he answered to were. And Slick Szylack had spies everywhere.

There was the urge to make her way to the door, grab her bike, and hightail it in the other direction. Only stopping long enough to refuel her bike and herself before heading out again. And to just keep doing that. All the way to the Polar Icecaps if she had to.

But in the more rational, but still scared part of her mind, she knew that was just a fantasy. She had already run so far. And here he was. If he could find her here, he could find her anywhere.

She paced the floor in front of the window over and over. Back and forth. Back and forth. Bare feet beginning to learn the groove and grain of the wood beneath them. Learning where each step would fall, and how the wood below it would react.

Where it would creak and groan beneath her weight.

She had taught herself similar things in the shitty apartment she had lived in back in the Out Flows. The sound his footsteps, hers, and other strangers made, going to and from. Learning to decipher even the mood of the walker before she saw their face or spoke a word to them, just by the sound of their step. Rod had stomped all the time. But it got harder, and quicker when he was angry. It would shake the house when he was furious.

The day it had ended between them, he had prowled the house like that. Back and forth, muttering to himself, while she watched anxiously from their bedroom door, waiting for it to subside. Waiting for the storm in him to quiet and abate, when she could talk to him, reason with him.

But it didn’t seem like it was going to end any time soon. She had gotten up from their bed, wearing shorts and one of his shirts and made her way to the door, arms wrapped cautiously around herself as she watched him.

He had been in a mood since his last “meeting” with their contact. The mysterious informant who dictated the biker gangs supply runs and surveillance rides through the wastelands, supposedly directing them to travelers or smaller outposts and towns in need. But it had been a long time now since their rides had done anything so charitable or altruistic. Lately, everything was smuggling weapons from one depot to another and half the gang getting in a firefight along the way.

Jessie had gone from providing care and comfort to those they rescued from a Sand Raider attack or storm, to patching up her fellow riders who were riddled with lazor burns, knife wounds and bullet holes.

The gang had not been back to home base for more than a few days, most still licking their wounds from the last run. Now it seemed they would going again, sooner than expected.

He spied her looking at him and paused, snarling in exasperation. “What?”

She did her damndest not to flinch, not to back down from the tantrum. He worked himself up like this. And when he did, she had to be the one to stay calm and focused. “…you told me this was the last time. That we were done running for them.”

He made an angry disgusted noise at the question, looking away from her. “Yeah! Yeah I know what I fucking said! But this is big, Jess…it’s big, and you don’t just…you can’t just say no to them, you know?”

“Why?!” she gasped. “Rod, this is bullshit. You know it’s bullshit! They are using us!”

He glared at her, glassy-eyed, angry and slightly drunk. Like he always was these days. He pointed at her, wagging his finger. “That’s not…that’s not true. This is for the cause, Jess. We run for them, they get what they need, we get what we need. So we can keep helping. Keep fighting.”

She looked at him with a mix of pity and disgust, shaking her head. It hurt to see him like this. Strung out and grasping at straws. The life they had tried to build here, the name he had tried to make for himself…a crumbling façade that wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Maybe not even him. But he would be damned if he admitted it.

“There’s nothing out here to fight for anymore. This place has been dying for years, and we’re about the last residents in town. We’ve been trying to tell you that for weeks. We should pick up and move on. Head inland where there are still towns that maybe need us.”

“We aren’t going anywhere.” He muttered. “We fought too hard for this place. Or did you forget that?”

She quieted for a moment, looking at the floor and her bare feet on it. “I know. I know we did.” She offered quietly, instinctively softening as if this would lower his guard, relax him. It used to work. But it was getting harder.

“But baby…the town is lost. Everyone that survived the last few raids have all moved on. I feel like…I’m living in a bone yard here. Don’t you?” She asked. She shivered, a small uncomfortable chill running up her spine. Like someone had walked over her grave.

He said nothing, looking away from her now and dropping down slowly in the faded mustard yellow recliner, staring at the floor for a long moment and then back to her.

Normally she would have walked over to him, crawled into his lap and kissed him all over, trying to make it better. Let him bend her and bruise her and take her however he needed to lessen the storm in his head.

It didn’t matter if it had long since stopped bringing her any kind of pleasure. It didn’t matter that it hurt her more often than not. As long as afterwards he returned to baseline. Got himself in check so that he would not recklessly and stupidly put the rest of them in danger.

That was how she fixed him. And he said he loved her for it.

But that wasn’t love.

“We don’t move. Not unless the plans change.” He sighed, resolute and resigned.

She should have given up. Left it at that. But she was so tired of bowing to his inaction. To his shit choices. Much as it scared her, she pushed pack. Tepidly, testing.

“I thought you made the plans?” She mumbled.

His eyes flicked towards her, a silent warning in them as he reached to finish his bottle of beer. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He muttered.

She tried again, more boldly this time. “Just say it. You’re staying because of them. You’re staying to do their dirty work and get paid in blood money. Just say it. You want to be feel powerful, even if it’s a lie.”

He smiled nastily at her, his face curdling with it and wagged that condescending finger at her again. “You know that ‘blood money’ has paid for your medicines right? Your med-kits? Your anesthetic and disinfectant. Those new patches that heal wounds from the inside? Those are top of the line, a pretty penny. You didn’t seem to mind where the money came from then.”

She frowned darkly. “And what has it paid for lately? Your gambling, your bike upgrades…whatever the hell you got up to at The Roadhouse a couple nights ago?” She hissed.

He shrugged his shoulders, petulant. “You said it was fine. A guy deserves to blow off a little steam. Thought you liked your presents I brought you back. That pretty nightie and those earnings?”

She felt her stomach curdle at the thought, more disgust and shame boiling in her. She didn’t want to back down, wasn’t going to let him hold something like that over her head. Something she hadn’t wanted or asked for. It was just distraction from what was really going on.

“You know, you’ve gotten real moody and lippy ever since you took that ride inland couple days ago.” He mused, the idea bubbling to the surface. “You been talking to someone while I had my back turned?”

She sighed and licked her lips. A small tell that he may or may not have been aware of. “Who the hell would I talk to, Rod? You’re all I got.”

He nodded slowly, skeptical but seeming satisfied with her answer.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Jessie could or would do anything on her own. It hadn’t yet come to his attention that she had found a sizable chunk of what he’d been using to pay for their upgrades. The gold gills that were part of the black market headed by Slick Szylack and the Sand Raider warlords who were buying and selling what remained of their war-torn planet for their own personal gain.

He never would have thought that she had taken part of the money and stashed it in her family’s abandoned trailer. Insurance for a rainy day that was coming sooner than either of them expected.

“That’s right.” He nodded, seeming assured of her dependency on him. That there was no real threat of change. “So you’d better show me some respect.”

This was more than Jessie could take.

“You’re running weapons for Szylack and getting paid in Plutarkian gold gills to roam around the desert and pick off people you don’t agree with! That’s not helping anyone Rod! You’re not even a fucking bounty hunter; you’re a hired thug!”

He was up moving towards her, feet stomping on the floor as he moved. He pulled his stunner from his belt and pressed the barrel of it between her breasts. It dug into her, pressing against her sternum, trying to push her back into the room towards the bed. But she wouldn’t be budged, gripping the door frame and staring him down.

“You shut up. Just shut up! You’re always riding me about this shit! You always think you know best—“

“I’m trying to help you! That’s all I’ve ever been trying to do!” She barked back, her own eyes glassy as she fought between emotions. Her pity and affection for this lost man that she had thought cared for her, and the rage and disappointment that had slowly strangled it.

“You wanna help? “ he sneered, mocking her. “Get on your knees and blow me. That’s how you can help.”

He smirked at her, almost laughed. As if he thought this was funny.

For a split second longer she looked at him, processing this. How he thought this was funny.

Her pity for him died that day.

She gripped the gun and twisted it in his hand, forcing his grip on it to break so that his wrist wouldn’t. As he cursed, she pressed forward and slapped him hard, the weapon now in her possession. “How dare you! How dare you?!”

He sputtered, palm against his offended cheek. His red eyes were wide and startled, enough to take some of the drunken daze from them. It was clear that he had forgotten who she was when they first met. Forgot she was not some timid wallflower, easily cowed by his cheap brand of meanness. That her kindness, her affection, was not weakness he could bend and exploit. It was her gift, and she could revoke it at any time.

“Goddamn bitch you hit me!” He whined. Whined at her, like a child.

Her lip quivered and then tightened into a thin line as she exhaled, holding his weapon at the floor, arm shaking because she wanted so badly to turn it on him.

Jessie opened her mouth, jaw working hard as she forced the words out. “Yeah. I hit you. Doesn’t feel so great, does it?”

He started to retort but she stepped towards him. Once more, something he hadn’t expected. He retreated and she stared at him. Her breath escaped her in a huff and then in a short, surprised laugh. Mirthless and full of epiphany.

“Oh. I see.”

She looked at him a moment longer, shaking her head, then turned and moved back into the bedroom, immediately gripping for her duffle and throwing whatever lose items were still about the room into it.

He watched her for a moment or two, and when she had stuffed the blaster into her waistband he made a move forward.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He muttered at her.

She didn’t look at him. “What I should have done a long time ago.” She muttered back. She zipped the bag shut, stepped into her boots and grabbed her jacket from the bedpost. “I’m done. I quit. You and the guys are gonna have to patch yourselves up from now on.”

“You’re not leaving, Jessie.”

She looked at him hard. “The hell I’m not. You think you’re so tough, trying to throw your weight around, make everyone think you’re some kind of Freedom Fighter but you aren’t half the mice they are. You’re a bully, Rod. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

His glassy eyes bulged at her words, but no sound but small, outraged sputtering came out of his mouth.

He gripped the sides of the door with both hands, as if he were blocking her path to escape. She scowled at him and reached to lift the duffle, planning to push her way past him, with her fist if necessary.

She didn’t expect him to launch himself at her then, moving like a pro wrestler bouncing out of his corner of the ring. She didn’t expect the fist flying so hard and fast that when it hit her, first in the face and then in the stomach, all she could do was fold.

Falling to the floor gasping, only for him to grab her by the hair and throw her onto the mattress. She had screamed as he fell on her, but his fists were coming too hard and too fast.

The beating she took that day, kept her quiet and complacent for another six months. Six months of living in fear and biding her time. Plotting her escape.  But she hadn’t run far enough.

A sound behind her, a new footstep on the floorboard, startled her from her memories. She whirled, almost ready to scream, reaching for a weapon she no longer had at the ready.

Her brother stood in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at her cautiously. “I know that look.” He said after a moment, stepping fully into the room now and moving towards her watchful place at the window.

“What?” she rasped, trying to conceal the tremor in her voice and fingers, steadying her hand against her collarbone and tapping restlessly.

“It’s the same look I used to have when dad would catch me joy riding on his bike.” Vinnie explained. He glanced out the window, staring up and down the road. Outside, the storm had died down to steady fine mist, but thunder still rolled softly in the distance. He sighed, settling against the wall.

He seemed older to her then. More somber and serious. Suddenly all the years between their last meeting were very apparent, and he was no longer her wild-child of a little brother. He was a veteran, who had lived a whole life without her knowing. Almost older now that their parents had ever been.

“Look…I know it’s easy to write me off as the guy with the big mouth and the big ego. And maybe I am that guy…but I’m not dumb, Jess. You’re scared shitless right now, and that gang of riders definitely has something to do with it.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t know—”

“You can’t lie to me.” Vinnie cut in, more sternly than she had ever heard him speak. “Dammit, Jess…I know it’s been a long time. But I’m still your brother. And I know you.”

Her face crumbled, trying to keep her composure but failing. “This is something you can’t help me with.” She said quietly. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to do that.”

“What does fair have to do with it?” Vinnie demanded then. “We’re family. That’s supposed to mean something. It’s supposed to mean looking out for each other. If I was in trouble, Modo and Throttle would be there, instantly. I wouldn’t even have to ask. They’re just…there.” He smiled a little at the thought, assured in this solid truth. “Why wouldn’t it be the same for you?”

The siblings stood together in the darkened bedroom, the offer standing between them. Vinnie looking at her, worried but eager, ready to put aside their differences, at least for the moment.

Her eyes glimpsed his mask then, the metal catching the gleam of the flashing lightning outside. It was an unbidden and uncomfortable reminder of what he had been through. That what she was looking at wasn’t an aesthetic accessory. That the mask was covering damage from battles fought before.  Battles she had left him to fight on his own.

Jessie had a flash then, what her mother had once said was her “intuition”. A vivid rush of imagery, as stark as a recent memory, but of something that had not yet come to pass. A premonition. A fluke. A possibility.

She saw her baby brother, bloodied and beaten, fighting to defend her. While Rod stood over him, a bloodied pipe in his hand, ready to send it crashing down on Vinnie’s skull. She thought she heard the crack of the metal hitting bone, and she gasped and looked away.

“Jess?”

He was at her elbow, more worried now. She shuddered and tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t go. Pulling her and hugging her tight. “Hey…hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is…it’s going to be okay.”

She cried, unable to help herself. She shook her head but hid her face in his shoulder, arms gripping him tight.

                “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Jess. Promise.”

                She sobbed softly, and just let him hold her. Unsure if she would be able to offer the same.

*** 

Chapter Text

***        

                The rain and general stormy conditions lingered for the rest of the day, keeping the Mavericks and their extended kin close in the farm house’s safety and general comfort.

                Mama Maverick was quiet enjoying herself. For the first time in a long time she had all her children gathered close, where she could feed them and care for them, and see with her own two eyes that they were safe and well. It was a luxury that the war had forced her to give up, and one that she thought she lost all together for many years after. No one could blame her then if she wanted things to linger a little longer.

                From the kitchen, she could watch and hear her family mill about, and began to pick bits and pieces of their conversation out. As she made fresh tea from the newly filtered water, she glimpsed Modo and Jessie, sitting quietly together in the den.

                As she worked, she would catch glimpses of them from afar. Saw the way Modo could not take his eye off her, how he leaned in close and listened so attentively when the pretty young woman spoke. It was not so different when he had been much younger man, mooning over from afar. Her boy was love struck, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. And though she knew her daughter worried—as she always had by her nature—Mama was glad. Her son had so much love to give, and he deserved to experience it. He had lived such a wild and dangerous life for so long. Had outlived many of his peers. A little bit of softness seemed due.

                She made her way into the living room, walking softly as to not interrupt the conversation between them. They only noticed her once she was standing in front of them, putting the tray of drinks down on the table in front of them.

                They both blushed a little, smiling and looking away when she entered. Engulfed in their own little world, and feeling a bit flustered to have it interrupted.

                “Thank you,” Jessie said quickly and earnestly, picking up her already sweating glass. “It looks delicious.”

                “Mama makes the best, and even better when we get real water.” Modo nodded, picking up his own glass and taking a hefty chug of it.

                “Everything’s better when you can get the real thing.” Mama nodded with a little wink. Beyond the den she could hear Vinnie and Rimfire loudly playing some table game, and the sound of the rain from beyond the screened door of the back porch.  “I want you all to stay here tonight. They broadcasted that these storms could be moving through the area for the next day or so. I’ll need help with things.”

                “Of course, Mama.” Modo nodded, as if this was a given.

                Jessie looked slightly anxious, shifting in her seat ever so slightly. “Thank you so much, but…are you sure it wouldn’t be imposing?”

                The steel-haired woman gave the younger one a firm glance. “Jessica Van Wham. Having you or your brother in my house has never, not ever, been an imposition. Besides, if I’m getting you to do chores than it’s not as if you’re simply bumming around.” 

                Jessie nodded and relaxed, if only a little, taking another sip of her drink.

                Mama moved on with her tray of drink, and once her back was turned, Modo put his hand on Jessie’s knee lightly. “Relax. She’s glad you’re here.” He assured her. “Believe me, if she could keep us all here indefinitely and ply us with sweets and mixed drinks, she’d be a happy camper.”

                Jessie nodded appreciatively and Modo leaned a little closer, looking at her a bit more seriously this time. “Seriously…if you feel safer here. You’re welcome to stay.”

                “Safer?” she asked, almost choking on her drink. She flustered, suddenly worried Vinnie might have said something after their earlier encounter upstairs. But Modo quieted her, hand still on her knee.

                “Jess. It’s okay. Really.” He assured. “Besides…the beds are better here and it smells a hell of a lot better. And that’s coming form me.” He added, giving her a wink. She relaxed a little more then, realizing he wasn’t going to press for more information.

                She slipped her hand over his and squeezed it softly, letting her fingers lace with his. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

                Mama made her way past where Vinnie, Rimfire and Sweep were seated at card table in the next room, doused in the warm glow of the low hanging lamps, and knee deep in a card came and something a little stronger than her tea.

                Vinnie grinned devilishly and threw his cards on the table. “Read ‘em and weep bros!” he laughed, leaning back in his chair, feet up on the edge.

                Rimfire frowned sourly. “What?! How can you win again that’s three hands in a row! You’re cheating!” he chided.

                Sweep huffed, pushing Vinnie’s feet off the table and sat down her own cards. “Nice set, little bro, but I think I beat you.” She laid her own hand out neatly across the table, and the boys stared at it.

                “Hey! How did you--!”

                “You got cocky, that’s how! You have the worst tell, Van Wham, I ALWAYS know what cards you’re holding and that’s why you can never beat me.” Sweep smirked at him, obviously pleased with herself.

                “Alright, alright, best out of 6 then, lets go—” Vinnie gathering up the cards to shuffle again as Sweep smiled at his attempt to save face and Rimfire groaned.

                “I hate this game…”

                “You hate it because you’re bad at it.” His mother teased and her son scoffed in mock offense.

                Mama didn’t interrupt them, setting more drinks down close by and only pausing to kiss Rimfire’s head as the other two were embroiled in their little back and forth.

                She made her way across the polished floorboards to the screen door then, spotting Throttle and Primer on the porch, lying in the puddle of lamp light as they watched listened to the rain, the world beyond them swallowed up by night again.

                “Oh my…” Mama sighed, breathing in the cool damp air deeply. “Not often it gets like this does it? Reminds me of when I was a little girl.”

                Primer looked up at her grandmother from her reclined spot on the porch, dressed in pajamas with her hair tied up in braids to keep it out of the way. Her uncle was up at once, reaching to help Mama with the tray, but the old woman waved him off.

                “Sit down, sit down…you do enough!” she chided. She handed both of them a glass  and then set the now empty tray aside. “Mind if I join you two for a minute?”

                “Well it is your house, Grandma.” Primer chuckled.

                They gazed into the dark together, listening to the night sounds and the songs of small animals rejoicing at the rain. As the wind continued to blow softly, they got glimpses between the clouds of the canyons in the distance, and the few short trees that swayed softly. Diemos poked its face out briefly to illuminate the world, continuing it’s casual and constant trailing across the sky, always chasing its brother.

                The three shared silent company for a few moments, breathing in the coolness of the dark. Mama folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head slightly. “Those riders from earlier, they came up from the south?” she asked.

                Primer glanced up at her from the cradle of her arms as she laid on her stomach, looking sleepy. “What riders?”

                But Throttle knew exactly what she meant. “Suppose so. They didn’t have much to say. Were heading into town for the night, looking for a place to crash.”

                “Well, Brimstone could always do with more business. Not many travelers these days…things have dried up, I suppose. Too many highways destroyed to make travel as safe and easy as it used to be.”

                “Not much to go to beyond Brimstone,” Primer yawned, settling again. “What’s the point?”

                Neither of her elders said anything in response, but both were thinking plenty.  Mama looked down at Throttle and then put her hand lightly through the back of his hair. He looked up at her, as if slightly startled by the touch. She just smiled down at him. “You’re growing your hair out.”

                He shrugged. “Too lazy to cut it, really.”

                He fingers curled around the short ponytail it had formed. “Your daddy wore it like this too. Always very handsome. I always did like a man with a good head of hair.”

                “Wasn’t granddaddy bald?” Primer asked, cracking one eye towards her grandmother.

                Mama Maverick gave her a sly side-eye and Throttle laughed at the teasing. She bent slowly, easing herself down onto the porch beside them. “I’m sorry about your girl, sweetpea. I know you’re gonna feel that loss for a long time.”

                His face fell and he stared into the dark again. The weight of the stone she’d returned to him felt heavy in his pocket.

                “Makes sense though, doesn’t it?” he asked her. “We fell in love in the middle of a war. Everything felt so…intense and urgent. It’s weird how that goes. How something that feels so right in the heat of it all…just sort of fades away after the fire goes out.”  His face fell and he stared into the mud beyond the porch. “It’s my fault. I left. All that time, wondering, not knowing if I’d come back. It wasn’t fair to her.”

                “But you did come back.” Mama offered. “So what then?”

                He blinked, not sure he understood. “I don’t know…we just couldn’t…”

                Primer rolled onto her side and looked at him pointedly. “You know, you can love someone, and not be in love with them.”

                Now her uncle blinked at her, finding this curious coming from his somewhat sheltered and reclusive niece, whom to his knowledge had never so much as had a date. “Well, look who’s suddenly worldly.” He teased.

                “I’m serious. Happens to me all the time.”

                “Does it now?” Mama added, clearly curious herself.

                Primer looked at them both flatly. “You guys really think that all I do is do chores around this place and run errands in town for Mama? Ya’ll don’t know my life.”  She rolled her eyes at them and they both laughed a little unable to help themselves.

                She got up with a disgusted grunt. “I’ll be right back,” she muttered disappearing into the house, the screen door clattering behind her.

                “That girl’s gonna rattle the stars one day,” Throttle mused. “Just hope she’ll give us a heads up before hand.”

                “She’s the quiet type. Plays it close to the vest.” Mama nodded. “But she is right, you know. About loving and not being in love.” She sat a little closer to him. “Can I say something you may not like?”

                He nodded slowly.

                She looked at him thoughtfully, pushing his hair away from his eyes to see him better, not letting him hide. “I think you wanted her to let you go.”

                “What?”

                “Hear me out,” she cautioned. “Just…listen.”

                She waited and when he didn’t move or look away from her she began again. “Now I know that I’m just an old woman tending her farm and trying to scrap out what’s left of a living out here. But I see things. And I hear things. And, young man, I have watched you grow from the time you were barely hip high to me. In a lot of ways, you are still that strange quiet little boy, standing in my door way, looking through my window to see if your playmate was around.”

                Throttle shook his head. “Is this your round about way of saying I was a creepy kid?”

                She ruffled his hair to shush him. “Lonely, is what I would call it. You waited to be invited in. You never pestered, you never even openly asked. You just…waited. Patient. I think you would have stood on this porch all day waiting if I had decided to ignore you.  But the moment you got my blessing—not to mention my boy’s-- you made yourself right at home. My point is…you don’t assume you’re wanted. You always feel like you have to earn it. Is that right?”

                He said nothing, which only confirmed it.

                “I think…you felt like you didn’t earn her. Or that you did something wrong. So that spark you two had, it turned into something else. And maybe you think that’s a bad thing now, but I don’t think it will be in the end.”

                “Mama…”

                She pulled him in and kissed his temple. “Someone’s gonna come along one day, baby, who isn’t gonna hesitate to let you in. That will be the one. I know it.”

                He put his head on her shoulder and she hugged him, sitting like that in the pool of lamplight.

                Primer returned, halfway through some baked good, her cheeks still full. Seeing her porch companions like this made her smile and settled down next to them again. “If you need more cure for heartache, there’s pie in the kitchen.” She said through another mouthful of the sticky-sweet crumbly stuff.

                “If pie were a cure-all darlin, I have a feeling we’d all be a lot better off. If not possibly larger.” Throttle replied.

                “Now, if only we could figure out how to get our Vincent to settle down.” Mama sighed.

                Primer laughed, spitting crumbs. “Never gonna happen…”

                “Someone call my name?” Vinnie asked suddenly, appearing in the doorway. He grinned at them all, “Mind if I join?”

                “You get tired of Sweep creaming you at cards?” Throttle sighed. “As usual?”

                He scoffed, settling down next to him. “Please. I let her win. It is her house after all.”

                Thunder rolled softly in the distance, announcing another front approaching. They all looked up attentively, searching for lightning in the dark skies above.

                But something else caught their attention then. Rumbling of a new kind. Not from the sky, but from the ground. They felt the faint, faint tremor in support beams of the porch, saw the way the puddles were disturbed not by rain drops but by something else.

                There came a long, low squeaking sound. Like the rusty hinge of a door being blown back and forth in the breeze. For a moment, that was what some of them thought it might indeed be, glancing hurriedly towards the barn or the shed.

                “What is that?” Primer asked, feeling suddenly anxious.

                Another low roll of thunder, this one slightly closer and the shaking feeling again. Throttle stood, moving along the edge of the porch with Vinnie at his heel, both looking off into the distant dark.

                “You hear it?”

                Vinnie nodded in reply, standing at his brother’s elbow, squinting through the silver-veiled blackness. The rusty squeaking sound continued, but the wind distorted it here and there, making it difficult to pinpoint.

                “It’s big…whatever it is.”

                “I don’t see any lights.” Throttle replied, squinting behind his field specs.

                Another thunder roll and then a flash of neon pink and red lightning. For a few seconds in the flicker of the atmosphere, they saw them.

                Looming huge and in the distance. AT-AT Walkers. Sand Raider craft. Moving like a slow procession of cattle in the distance.

                The jarring sight of them, looming so close to the edge of Brimstone made they all go stock still. After a moment, Mama and Primer were right behind them, having glimpsed them as well.

                Primer ducked under Vinnie’s arm, wrapping her arms around him no different than she had as a little girl when she was afraid. Mama stood with her hand to her mouth, eyes wide.

                “This close?” she gasped. “They dare come this close?”

                “Don’t think there’s much daring in the matter.” Vinnie said gravely, eyes glued to where the machine had last been spotted. They were at least 2 miles off, but their monstrous size still made that distance seem inadequate.

                It had been years since they had battled with such machines. They knew what it was like to ride so close to one. To fear being crushed under the weight of one of it’s mechanical limbs, to be in the sight of it’s gun turrets.

                “Why are they here?” Primer whispered as lightning flashed and they glimpsed the giants again. They were moving slowly and steadily away, seeming to take little notice of the farm in the distance.

                “Passing through,” Throttle guessed. “Probably using the storm to cover their activity. The army would be on their ass otherwise.”

                “Should we be worried?” Mama asked.

                Throttle and Vinnie exchanged careful looks and then the tan mouse shook his head. “No. Not now at least. But someone should alert the Watch Tower, just in case.”

                Vinnie scoffed, “What, so you girlfriend can get all the glory?”

                Throttle shot him a glance and Vinnie winced. “Er…I mean…why drag the army into it if there’s no immediate threat? I mean…we are just sitting around on our duffs aren’t we?”

                Throttle recognized the manic glint in his bro’s eye that meant he was keen for some action.

                “Let’s not go provoking things, Vincent. They obviously don’t want to tangle with us or they would have made a move already.”

                “Okay, yeah, sure, but you and I both know that if they are breaking out those big bad boys and trying to move them on the sly, it means one of two things. Either they’ve got a shit load of guns, or shit load of prisoners. And I don’t think they should have either. Do you?”

                More movement on the porch then, as the rest of the house came to see what was causing the tremors they could feel through the floor.

                “Oh mama…” Modo gasped as another round of lightning strikes further illuminated the migrating Sand Raiders in the distance. “What are those things doing so close to the city?”

                “Well if you ask me, they’re sending us an invitation to investigate!” Vinnie grinned. He pulled gently away from Primer and jumped off the porch, splashing into new mud.

                “Vincent, don’t—”

                “Oh come on! You know I’m right about this! Those four-legged u-hauls are trying to sneak by us in the dark and that can’t be good. We should at least investigate! Plant a tracker one of them at the very least!”

                Throttle looked uncertain, but Modo nodded. “I think Vinnie’s right on this. Can’t be a coincidence they’re using the storms as cover. We should follow them.”

                They both looked again to their leader and Throttle sighed. “Alright then. Let’s gear up. We’re gonna need they hydro-foils to navigate this water and make sure the shield crystals are functional. Let’s move out!”

                “Be careful!” Mama admonished them all breathlessly, knowing better than to try to stop them.

                Modo smiled and kissed her forehead, squeezing her hands for reassurance. “We always are, Mama.”

                “Finally some action!” Vinnie crowed, pumping his fist in the air. The old woman caught him by the ear and pulled him back to the edge.

                “You just be sure you come back in one piece, you understand?”

                He softened, not even seeming to mind that she was pinching his ear. “Mama! I swear, it’ll be no trouble at all.” She let him kiss the top of his head.  “And I’ll keep an eye on these two for you while I’m at it.”

                “You’d better.” She nodded.

                “I’ll ride with you!” Rimfire suggested, following Modo as he made his way off the porch, both heading towards where the bikes were safely stored, Vinnie at their heels. Primer made to do the same, but her Grandmother shook her head. “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going anywhere, miss. Your mama and I need you here.”

                “But Gran—”

                “No ‘buts’.” The matriarch said sternly. Primer deflated, looking helplessly towards her mother who was in the doorway, as if looking for back up. Sweep frowned and turned back inside, saying nothing as her mother joined her.

                Primer tensed in frustration, caught between frustration and disappointment that bordered on outrage. “You always do this to me! I can help, you know!”

                The other women ignored her, but Throttle put his hand on her arm gently. “Hey, there’s no use in arguing.”

                She started to protest but he pulled something from his belt and pressed it into her palm. It was an ear-piece, a small almost unnoticeable one. “This will keep you in the loop. It should sync to a certain device I know you’ve been working on in that ol’ shed of yours.”

                She blinked, startled by his awareness of her “hobbies” which was really just actively spying on the general activities of the surrounding down. For security reasons, of course.

                “Really?” she asked quietly.

                He winked at her. “Do as your mama says, baby girl. We won’t be long.” As he picked his helmet up and slipped it over his head, he tapped the side of it lightly, and Primer heard the earpiece make a small sound, like tinkling music, signaling it was live and synced to his comlink.

                She smiled, slipping it in her ear, and shot him a thumbs up as she lingered on the porch.

                As Modo was gearing up, Jessie moved into view. He looked up at her curiously. “Something wrong?”

                She blinked at him. “If you mean other than AT’s are stalking around the edge of the city in the dark, then no not really. Rain just makes my hair frizz. Nothing a messy ponytail won’t fix though.”

                She moved towards her bike, but the big grey furred mouse moved with her, looking concerned. “Whoa, whoa, hold up, Jess. I think you ought to hang tight here. This could get dicey.”

                She looked at him directly. “But you said you were just gonna track them. How is that dicey?”

                “Well, we could be seen for one thing. And that will piss them off for sure.” Vinnie mused as he readied Cherry. “Or on the other hand, we could not be seen, in the worst way, and get crushed into macho biker pancakes.”

                “So you are going to fight them?” Jess asked, sound irritated and looking accusingly at Modo rather than her brother. “And what, you think it’s too dangerous for a little ol’ waif like me?”

                “Now now, I didn’t say that.” Modo amended, but the way his ears wilted a little gave away that he had indeed been thinking it. “You’re just not as experienced with these guys as we are, that’s all. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

                She relented, if only a little and reached up to pat his cheek. “Listen big boy, you meat-heads aren’t the only ones who have seen a battle or two. Now maybe I wasn’t one of Stoker BlackRuby’s wing-men, but I can hold my own.”

                She grabbed her helmet and slipped on to her own bike as Modo and Vinnie looked helplessly first at each other and then to Throttle, who just shrugged. “Well, if we’re going, lets go. No telling how long we’re going to have this cover. Better make the best of it.”

                Rimfire nodded excitedly, the first to speed off with Throttle tailing him. Vinnie glared at his sibling. “Fine. You can tag along. Just hang back and don’t get in our way, you got it?”

                She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh please. Like anyone could divert attention from your swelled head.”

                They casually flipped the bird at each other and then Vinnie took off, spraying mud. Only Modo lingered, once more looking anxiously at Jessie. “You sure you’re up to this?”

                She gripped her handlebars and revved her engine, engaging the hydrofoils that would allow her to glide through the mud without losing traction. “Question is, big guy, can you keep up with me?”

                She sped away with a little laugh, and Modo heard her call back to him on his comm. “Enjoy the view, cutie!”

*** 

Chapter Text

***

                They kept their distance as they left the open ground of the wastes and traveled into the rocky, winding terrain of the canyon. While the high and overreaching rock faces buffeted some of the rain, they almost made the terrain more treacherous.

                Here they were not just in danger of hydro-planing, but rockslides and flash floods. All while doing their best not the be seen by the AT-AT’s as they moved.  This meant riding in the dark, headlights off, using only the infrared of their visors to see by.

                “Bros, I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.” Throttle cautioned as they followed the uneven dirt trail along the canyon floor. They had crested and dipped at least three times now, and the dips in the floor were growing steeper. More water collected here, and in the valleys they were crossing, small ponds rather than mere puddles. The water kept rising.

                As they cleared another valley, their bikes struggling to make it up the dirt incline back towards the next rocky peak, Jessie and Rimfire both struggled and had to climb off in order to push their rides the rest of the way up the incline.

                Vinnie looked out ahead through the zig-zagging canyon, watching as the AT’s moved further and further away from them, their progress not slowed by the rain but by the mud forming on the canyon floor, which suckered to their giant flat feet.  “They’re gaining ground…if we don’t catch up we’re gonna lose ‘em around that next pass!” he called back anxiously.

                “I think we should turn back.” Jessie suggested, lightning crackling above their heads again in angry spears that briefly illuminated the deeper shadows of the canyon. “Wouldn’t want to be stuck out here in case of—"

                “Flood?” Rimfire cut in sharply, turning their attention behind them.

                Rocks had given way in the pass behind them, washing out into the road, and water that had been trapped in higher pockets of rock now swirled down in a rush of rust colored mud.

                “Can’t go back the way we came…” Throttle muttered anxiously. “And the way ahead is—watch out!”

                Another fork of lightning splintered down from the low clouds above and struck one of the higher spires of rock. The blinding flash had them all wincing, feeling the sizzle of heat and electricity rippling through the air, making their fur bristle despite the rain. But the greater issue came a second after, as more rocks cascaded down from what remained of the spire, peppering the ground around them.

                The mice splintered off, trying to take shelter from the fall.

                Their saving grace came in the form of the all too common caves that formed in the rocks. This canyon seemed to have fewer than some, but few was better than none.

                “TAKE COVER!”

                Modo grabbed hold of Jessie and made to reach for Rimfire, but the falling rocks had his nephew retreating out of reach. The grey furred mouse watched with growing fear as a full avalanche threatened to crush him.

                But Rimfire—ever the most agile of the group—remained quick on his feet, sliding and tucking into a roll that he sprung out of like a gymnast as he avoided the falling rocks, reaching his bike and climbing back on in a hurry.

                He gunned his engine and in a spray of mud and loose grit they kicked forward, all five struggling to to keep from being struck. It was impossible to stay together for a longer than a few moments, causing further divergence. Rimfire splintering off towards Vinnie and Throttle while Modo and Jessie were stuck behind.

                “Modo, in here!”  Jessie urged, tugging at him as they spun and dove into the nearest cave opening.

                The pair lingered near the mouth, trying to see out through the hail of rock, splashing water and more rain. “Bros! You make it!?’ he called anxiously into his helmet com.

                “Barely!” Vinnie gasped back a moment later, making Modo sigh with relief to hear his voice. “You and Jessie good?!”

                “Good as we can be…” the other mouse answered. He tried leaning out the opening again and glimpsed his bros and Rimfire further up the pass, having climbed into a cave slightly higher up the path. There was a deep rumble of what they thought was thunder, more rocks and mud slipping loose.

                Modo cursed as a wash of gravel, silt and sand slid across the opening of their cave, washing inside, but thankfully creating no more issue than that. If anything, the extra barrier of rock helped to keep anymore rain from washing inside.

                “What was that?” Jessie cursed, visibly shivering.

                Modo paused, turning to focus just on her then. He put his good arm around her and drew her in carefully, rubbing her back and shoulder. “You’re okay,” he promised. “We’re all okay. Just bad timing is all, I think. This is just a washout from the storm. We’ll sit tight until it passes.”

                She nodded, his calm, low voice soothing her. She pressed into him and tapped her own helmet com. “Vinnie? You and the boys alright?”

                “Sure sis,” the answer came back. “You ain’t scared are ya?”

                There was more caution than tease in his question and Modo raised an eyebrow curiously, unable to help but overhear.

                “I’ll be fine.” She promised, still shaking. “I shouldn’t have let you talk us into this. We should have stayed at the farm…”

                “Yeah, well, coulda woulda shoulda, sis…sit tight. Climb on Modo if you have to.”

                “Excuse me?” she giggled, shaken from her nerves momentarily and even Modo went slightly pink at the unintended suggestion.

                “Not like that!” Vinnie shot back in a hurry.

                Modo tapped into the conversation once more, “Let’s preserve power until this flood dies down bros. Stay safe.”

                Jessie continued to tremble and Modo gave her a gentle squeeze. “Geez, you alright?”

                She nodded, embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah…it’s just the adrenaline wearing off.” She said, but he could see that was only part of the truth. He was quickly learning that unlike her brother, who often blurted whatever thought passed through his head without filter, Jessie was tight-lipped and secretive.

                 He looked back further into the mouth of the cave, finding it short with no apparent tunneled depths beyond. Which was good news; it meant no surprises from any critters that might have been sheltering there.

                Jessie moved back towards her bike then, digging into the saddlebag and sorting through her supplies. She pulled out a small lantern, which she placed on the highest, flattest surface she could find, and then dug around for some quick-drying towels, offering one to Modo.

                “Here, if we get stuck here it’s best we’re not sitting around in wet fur and clothes. Hypothermia’s still a thing.”

                He smiled at her appreciatively. “You come prepared.”

                She gave a small nod, needing to stay focused if only to stave off her own nerves. “Yeah, well hopefully our ‘bros’ have done the same. If this storm keeps up we could be here awhile.” She sighed heavily, shaking her head as she toweled herself off, hanging her jacket on the back of her bike to dry.

                “I bet you boys were a lot better off before I came along. Seems I dragged my bad luck in with me.” She smirked at her own self-depricating joke.

                “Are you kidding? We’ve been in way worse scrapes than this on the regular. Keeps things interesting.” He returned, hoping to raise her spirits.

                But Jessie still seemed on edge, unable to settle. There was a deafening rumble of thunder then, enough to make them both jump. But Jessie screamed and covered her ears as well. Modo was beside her instantly.

                “Hey, hey…” He drew her a little further inside and guided her to smoother rock edge where they could both sit down.  He staid close, but didn’t press her further, and just the nearness of him helped to ease her jitters. They both turned and watched the mouth of the cave, seeing water continue to fall in sheets and run down the path which was fast becoming a stream rather than a road.

                “You boys ever get caught in one of these floods before in the canyon?” she asked after a moment, teeth chattering.

                Modo shook his head. “Never here. Other places, couple of times.”

                Jessie nodded, rubbing her arms. “When Vinnie and I were little, Dad used to take me out here riding with him. We got caught in a bad storm like this once. The water moves so fast once it starts to rise and you can’t get traction. You can’t see two inches in front of your face…never been so scared. Took me almost a year before he could get me out riding with him again. And I guess I never did fully get over it.”

                Modo nodded in understanding, sitting close to offer both warmth and a shoulder to lean on. She smiled, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her head on his shoulder. “I just need a minute.” She assured, trying to remind herself to breathe and focus.

                Her childhood fear might be getting the better of her at the moment, but there were much bigger things at stake.

                They were both quiet for a moment, listening to space between the thunder claps, ears twitching for the sound of more rock fall, or distant movement from the AT-AT’s. But everything had died down to a low and steady roar.

                Modo stood and moved back towards Lil’ Hoss, who was mud splattered, but anxious to be of use. She beeped at him fondly and Modo stroked her side, reaching for her saddle bags. “Easy, darlin’. We’ll get our chance to chase down those dogs, don’t you worry.”

                He pulled from her bag what would have appeared to be a large, foil wrapped brick. The biker unwrapped it, and then cleared a place towards the center of the cave floor with his boots, creating a small basin for it. Then he set it down and let his arm canon heat it until it was a bright glowing coal.

                Warmth immediately began to radiate from the brick and Jessie looked up curiously. “Well, I guess I wasn’t the only one who came prepared.” She teased. “They teach you that in Boy Scouts?”

                Modo winked back at her; “Scouts? Don’t need no merit badge when you’re raised on a farm like I was. Preparedness for emergency is half the job, harvesting and shoveling dung is the other.”

                She giggled softly and he swore his heart did a little flutter in his chest, turning his face away from her as his cheeks burned pink. He felt like that teenage boy with a crush all over again.

After a moment or two, he moved back to her side, satisfied that heat from the brick was beginning to spread. “That should help the jitters, anyway.”

**

                In the cave several yards above, the other three Mice were a little less cozy.

                Their shelter was not merely a short carved out hollow in which they could easily rest. It narrowed and twisted and disappeared deep into the dark, and none of them were keen to follow it. The air from there was cold, and smelling strange. Water had washed into the opening, and turned the floor into a pool of mud that tried to suck their boots from their feet every time they tried to walk through it, and left their bikes sitting several inches of it, their tires mired in the muck.

                Vinnie, of course, could not keep still. He kept trying to pace, the effort causing an awful sucking, popping, squelching sound every time he took a step until eventually he lost one of his boots and stepped sock first into the muck, which was oddly ice cold.

                “UCK!” He bellowed in disgust at the feeling.

                “Will you stop!?” Throttle hissed back at him. The tan furred mouse was still near the mouth of the cave, crouched and trying to watch where the Sand Raider AT-AT’s had gone, the sound of them becoming increasingly distant and lost in the other sound of the storm.

                Vinnie had half a mind to take off his wet sock and throw it at him, but instead just muttered under his breath as he tried to retrieve his fallen boot and hobbled somewhere to sit. Luckily, Rimfire was able to pull him onto an outcropping shelf of rock, where he himself had taken up residence.

                “You know it’s all fun and games until the rain you hope and pray for decides to overcompensate and make you wish you had an arc.” Vinnie muttered. “Of all the rotten timing.”

Rimfire eyed him thoughtfully, “I guess we should have gone around the canyon and tried to catch them there.” He mused, “but there’s no telling which pass they would have gone through, there are at least three they could have taken.”

As the younger mouse pondered this, he noticed Vinnie’s scowl. “Hindsight is 20/20 kid…where was that input when we were riding out?”

Rimfire shrugged almost sheepishly, “Well…you just made it sound so urgent.”

Vinnie sighed, recognizing that between the two of them, he was the more seasoned biker and fighter. It made sense that Rimfire would defer to him, even if it felt slightly strange.

“That probably would have been the safer call, sure. I just got a feeling about these guys. After that gang that rode through before. Something feels off. And I’d lose more than sleep over it if scoping it out could prevent someone from getting hurt.”

It was sound enough reasoning, especially coming from Vinnie. It piqued his interest.

“You really think they might be transporting slaves in those?” Rimfire asked, his voice dropping lower subconsciously, as if afraid to speak the fact into existence.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Vinnie said darkly.

“I know, but…it hasn’t been like that since the war ended, you know? Sand Raiders still attack and take prisoners sure, but never to the kind of scope those AT’s could haul. And to move so close to the city…” he looked anxiously back out the mouth of the cave where Throttle was still crouched and felt his stomach pinched. “Feels too much like the bad ol’ days again for my liking.”

“Same, kiddo. That’s why I want to be sure.” Vinnie nodded.

The stripe-haired mouse looked at him directly again, ears perking slightly as he recalled something. “Does this have something to do with the gang you saw before?”

Here Vinnie looked to Throttle who had finally moved further inside, shaking some of the rain from his fur and clothing and joining them on the shelf to keep from sinking to his knees in the muck.

“Let’s just say not every mouse shares the same idea of who’s valuable and who’s not. Times are still hard out there beyond the capital. It’s dog-eat-dog in a lot of ways. That goes for mice too.” Throttle answered. “Sadly wouldn’t be the first case of wayward Mice making rough deals with Raiders.”

Rimfire’a face curdled a little, the thought lingering like a bad taste in his mouth. He had been so young when the war had started and still young when he had joined the fight. In a way, that close camaraderie had shielded him from what life was like outside the close-knit structure of both the Army and the Freedom Fighters. But he was not ignorant of it. He had witness first hand what betrayal looked like among your comrades.

The three were silent for a moment, waiting out the storm and contemplating their next move. Vinnie pulled two of his flares from his bandolier and made a spot for them on a lower bit of rock next to the shelf they occupied, igniting them and leaving them to burn.

“Doesn’t throw off much heat, but hey…it’ll do in a pinch.”

Throttle shrugged himself out of his soaked jacket and tried to shake the rest of the water from it, then flopped back against the cold stone of the wall. “Don’t you have a burner brick?”

Vinnie looked towards his poor mud-splattered baby, coated in muck. “Uh, possibly. But I’m not willing to wade through the crude to try and get to it. I feel as if it would be counter productive to our present predicament.”

Throttle rolled his eyes. “That your round about way of saying you don’t want to get mud in your shorts?”

Vinnie nudged him. “Alright smart ass, what about you? Doesn’t Lady have one in her saddle bag?”

“Wouldn’t know, I believe you borrowed it last time you went out joy riding and never replaced it.” Throttle sighed.

Vinnie sighed in disgust and flopped back against the wall beside him, “Well fuck me then…guess we’re gonna have to tough it out like real mice then.”

“Yes, yes, because every real mouse tests his metal by stubbornly freezing to death in the mud. Hands down Vinnie, you win.” Throttle snarked back.

The bickering died off quickly, lacking any real momentum as a sort of groggy malaise fell over them in their present unwinnable situation.

Rimfire stretched and was on the move then, “You boys take a load off. I’m going to radio Mama and Primer and let them know what’s up, then I’ll see if I can hack into the radio frequencies of our sand raider pals. Maybe they’re having as much trouble with the flood as we are.”

This shook the older two mice from their grim daze. “Good idea.” Throttle nodded.

“Yeah, have at it whiz kid!” Vinnie chimed in eagerly.

Rimfire rolled his eyes but smirked, and made his way back through the mud to his own bike, immediately tinkering with her radio and tracking system once he had dragged her onto another ledge, where he could work better.

Throttle took his now dried jacket and balled it, “Here kid, catch!”

Rimfire caught the ball of heavy lined leather deftly, just barely avoiding falling full bodied into the mud and then looked back at the tan furred mouse with a raised brow.

“Put it on, it’ll keep you warm.”

“What about you?”

Throttle shrugged. “Are you kidding? With these flares sparking it’s like a bonfire over here.” He winked and Vinnie gave him an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. As Rimfire gratefully settled into the warmer clothing and went back to work, the other bikers settled as well watching him with a sense of familial pride.

Vinnie sighed deeply settling back against the wall and trying to make himself comfortable. “Man…look at him go. Crazy how to think not so long ago he was tagging along and doing back flips off anything he could climb, trying to impress us.”

Throttle chuckled softly. “Yeah. He’s all grown now, a mouse all his own.” He nodded appreciatively. “Guess we’re getting old, hmm?”

Vinnie snorted. “Ha! Maybe you bro….but Van Whams? We never grow old.” He smirked, satisfied with his delusion for the moment, and then glanced back at Rimfire. “But man…you get a glimpse at something like this…suddenly those long days feel real short.”  His expression softened with a mix of love and worry. “Makes me wonder what it must be like looking after a little brother.”

“Hard work.” Throttle answered.

Vinnie glanced at him in surprise, seeing his own expression mirrored back at him. He went slightly pink beneath his fur and cleared his throat. They fell into comfortable silence together and Vinnie’s eyes began to droop, listening to the hypnotic drum of the rain on the rocks.

“Shouldn’t have had all those drinks with Sweep…” he yawned. He put his head on Throttle’s shoulder and the other didn’t shrug him off. The closeness and the body heat easing the shivers felt by both.

After a few minutes, the soft sound of his snoring began to fill the cave.

Rimfire looked up from his work and shook his head. “He calls me a kid but it’s apparently past his bedtime.” He teased.

Throttle chuckled softly, but looked equally tired behind his specs. “You’re tellin’ me, kid…”

“You could grab some shut eye too,” the younger Maverick offered. “I’m not tired at all, and it looks like we’re going to be here awhile.”

Throttle nodded gratefully but had no intention of taking the younger mouse up on the offer. His mind was too busy mulling over what to do next. Through the mist of the deluge outside, Throttle could see the cave where Modo and Jessie were holed up, and the faint flicker of light from inside it.

He tapped his helmet com. “Modo, you two alright there?”

A moment’s hesitation and then his other bro’s familiar rumble. “Fine here. You?”

“Rimfire’s working on trying to hack into our roaming rover’s radio. Maybe we can catch up with them beyond the canyon.” He explained.

“Do you think it’s too late to turn back? By the time we catch up with this bunch they’ll have left us well in the dust. Might not be worth the trouble if Carbine and the Watch Tower’s already on the look out.” Modo suggested.

Throttle mulled it over silently for a moment, thinking of Vinnie’s urgency and his words to Rimfire on the matter. Thinking of those strangers rolling into their town and the look on Jessie’s face from the window as she watched them drive by.

“I don’t think it’s that simple anymore, big fella.”

There was a small amount of dead air between them, and Throttle swore he could hear Modo’s worry rise just by the faint shift of his breath.

“How bad do you think it is?”

“Bad enough to run from, apparently.” Throttle answered.

“I hear ya. Sit tight.”

Throttle glanced down at Vinnie’s sleeping face and then across to Rimfire, deep in concentration, wondering what other choice he really had.

**

An hour drifted into two. The rain did not stop, but the storm itself ebbed. Twice Modo got up to check the state of the path beyond the canyon but they remained cut off by the continuous flow of water and dirt.

                Jessie had been mostly quiet during the interlude, dozing uneasily here and there but always jerking awake before any real sleep could catch her. As she shook herself awake once more, she noticed Modo watching her from across the small expanse of the cave as he was tuning his bike. His pensive and worried expression gave plenty of insight into his inner thoughts and she hurriedly tried collect herself.

“Sorry…was I snoring?”

Modo blinked at her, ears twitching ever so slightly in confusion. “Nope. Not even a little. But what about it? Just means you’re getting some shut eye.” He offered.

She laughed a little, “Well, I have to say it bodes well for a girl that you’re not put off by a little thing like nocturnal noises.” She winked. “Or if you are, you’re too much of a gentlemen to say so.” Her smile grew as she looked at him, as if amazed somehow. “Man, they just don’t make ‘im like you anymore, Maverick. They really don’t.  I hope whoever snaps you up knows how lucky she is.”

“Mighty nice of ya to say,” he replied, slightly pink under the fur with the compliments. “But I don’t know too many ladies who are keen to settle with this battle torn cyborg.” He shrugged, attempting to mask his disappointment with nonchalance as he pretended to focus on his ride. “And besides…haven’t exactly made much time to settle down over the years. Rockin’ and Riding’ two and from planets, fighting hostile take-overs and monsters of the week…my schedule’s packed.”

She moved towards him then, drawing his attention away from his bike, cupping his chin her palm as he looked up at her, obviously struck by the sudden closeness. “Hey, you listen to me, tough guy…any girl who doesn’t appreciate you, scars and all, doesn’t deserve you.”

He put his hand over hers lightly and gave it a squeeze. “…that statement should go both ways, Jess. If you get what I mean.”

She blinked, not having expected him to turn it around on her on such a way. She started to pull back from him, but he rose, still staying close, hand still in hers.

 “Jess…the situation you left. Things were bad there, weren’t they?”

The woman stared at him a moment, obviously caught out.  Her knee jerk reaction was to deflect however, merely shrugging and trying to smile sardonically. “I don’t know too many places where things are good these days, to be honest.”

He leveled his gaze at her and she saw that this time he was not going to let her off the hook. “Yeah. Things were bad. Throttle was right about the insignia on the stunner.”

Modo nodded slowly. “So…that’s your old gang that was heading into town before?”

She swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Modo exhaled slowly, glancing out the cave opening again, looking more than a little uneasy. “Do they have anything to do with this? These Sand Raiders?”

She followed his gaze out into the mist, brow furrowed and body tense, either unsure of afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know. But I can’t rule it out. Our unit leader, he made a lot of supply deals with the raiders. It was best to be on good terms with them. But things got messy…” she looked at him guiltily. Shame burning in her cheeks. “You probably think I’m trash, going along with them. After everything you and my brother fought for, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You’re not trash,” Modo replied. “Sounds to me like you got mixed up in a bad situation.” He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his broad chest. “I know what that’s like. Being stuck with no good options.”

“You? Mr. Prepared?” She chuckled almost incredulously. “I find that hard to believe.”

He looked back at her skeptically. “Come on. I’ve done a lot of livin Jess, same as you. Made mistakes. Trusted people I shouldn’t…I even fell for a bounty hunter once.”

She stared at him, obviously caught by surprise. “What?”

“Oh yeah…big stupid mess I made over it too. One of the few times me and my bros ever seriously rumbled over anything. Looking back at it now, man…definitely doesn’t go on my greatest moments list. But, my bros were there for even, even though I ignored their warnings and sure didn’t treat them right in the moment. They were still there for me when the chips were down.”

For a moment she paused, eager to ask him more about this so-called ill-fated affair with a bounty hunter. But of course, there was more to the story. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Cause I sure wish you’d tell me what’s really going on.” He answered. “Your personal life ain’t my business, I know. But it you’re in this kind of trouble, we need to know. Your brother deserves to know.”

She was silent, lips tight and face drawn with stress and worry. They were nearly the same age but she looked so much older then and Modo’s heart ached in sympathy.

“His name was Rod.”

He blinked at her in surprise as she spoke, but remained silent, waiting for her to continue. She had to draw in another shaky breath before continuing. “He was the leader of our unit. And the guy I stupidly fell for. I thought…” she looked at the floor, shame choking her. Hating herself for not seeing through the façade, not knowing what was coming. But how could she have? Why would anyone expect someone who swore they loved them to treat them this way?

“I don’t know what I thought. But it doesn’t matter. I spent years making excuses for him, trying to rationalize what we were doing. We started out helping people, then we were only helping ourselves.” She shut her eyes tight. “If Vinnie knew what I got mixed up in...gods, I couldn’t face him. Mama and Daddy didn’t raise me to be so stupid. And after all you boys fought for…for me to turn around and get mixed up with smugglers…”

Her anger for herself and her situation seemed to strangle her, choking off anything else. She felt ashamed for crying in front of him this way, the same as she had in front of Vinnie. Poor Vinnie, who didn’t’ even know how bad it was. Whose biggest grudge against her was for her leaving, not yet knowing what she had inadvertently tied herself to. What she had unintentionally dragged to his doorstep.

Modo’s arms were around her, pulling her in, hugging her close. She let him, pushing her face into his broad chest and digging her fingers into his back, knotting in his shirt.

“Don’t you cry, Jess.” He rumbled, kissing the top of her hair. “Don’t you cry for any scum that roped you in like that. It’s not your fault. And no kind of mouse worth anything would do that to someone they actually cared about. You got fooled. It happens.”

She nodded, staying quiet as she composed herself, grateful that he was there to hold her up. More grateful that he didn’t seem to judge her, even though she was doing plenty of that herself. She pulled back and gazed up at him, then leaned up on tip toes and kissed him again.

Modo felt the spark in his belly as he had before back in the trailer, but there was more to it this time. Every touch between them seemed to feed it, and he knew he was sinking fast. A total goner.

She pulled away first and he had to bite his lip to keep from pulling her back in, the feeling gone to soon. She giggled, having caught the wanting expression and stroked his cheek.

“Later, big guy.” She assured softly, wondering if he was aware of how much he made her swoon. “I’ll tell you the whole story. All of you. But not here.”

She started to pull away again, and Modo looked at her pleadingly, though it was clear this was no longer about the kiss. “Time’s not exactly our friend right now,” Modo pointed out, feeling a growing prickle of helpless frustration. “If you know something that could help, we—”

                She held up a hand and shushed him sharply and he frowned, trying to protest, until she pressed her finger to his lips and leaned closer. “Listen!” she hissed.

                He blinked, confused, not to mention flustered by how they were standing. But then his other senses kicked in and he realized what was missing. His ears perked and twitched like satellite dishes searching for a signal. They both looked out through the mouth of the cave and realized that the rain had begun to die off, fading abruptly from a steady downpour into the faintest sprinkle.

                Modo stepped hurriedly to the mouth of the cave, ducking his head out and looking in each direction. It didn’t seem that his bros were yet aware of the development, as there was not any movement from their camp just yet.

                He stepped out past the small barrier of rock that had kept them insulated, testing the path. It was still slick, still running with water past his ankle. But he didn’t sink and if he was careful he kept his footing. As long as the bikes had the hydro-foils on, they could manage now.

                He looked back at her excitedly. “Come on, let’s get while the getting’s good!”

                Jessie agreed, whirling, hair flying with the movement and made for her own ride.

                Now out in the open, the storm clearing and leaving the canyon a misty, haunted place, they glimpsed their path ahead. Jessie saw it first, giving a small gasp and moving to squeeze Modo’s arm to alert him.

                “There! Do you see it?!”

                She pointed upwards into the distance and as Modo looked, his eyes adjusting, it came into shape. One of the AT-AT’s had crashed into the side of the canyon wall trying to make it’s way through the narrower pass down the line. It was still standing, but leaning heavily into the orange and red rock. Steam billowed from it’s mechanical carcass.

                The pair were on the move, seeing their chance.

                They made the precarious trek to the other cave opening, meeting Throttle, Vinnie and Rimfire just as they too were emerging.

                Vinnie looked to Modo but moved first to Jess. “Hey, you made it!” it sounded like a tease but they both knew there was more to it. He hugged her, and she returned it, if not a bit hastily.

                “Were you really that worried?”

                “Well…yeah. I know you how you get about floods and such…” Vinnie shrugged. He glanced at Modo. “Sure the big teddy-bear here kept you company though. Right big fella?”

                Modo blushed and Vinnie elbowed him, but it seemed that despite this playful ribbing, Van Wham was not yet aware how much truth there was behind this statement.

                The big grey-furred mouse looked quickly for distraction, before Vinnie could finish putting two and two together. “Scope out what’s ahead bros. Looks like the storm didn’t just ground us.”

                Throttle and Rimfire peered in the distance, both marveling at the machine leaning into the distant rock face and the odd and eerie spectacle it was.

                Throttle turned quickly to the group. “Alright, we’ve got a second go at this thing. Approach with caution. We don’t know if it’s been abandoned or what it could be packing, so no grandstanding, no showboating, no—”

                “Hey hey, why do I feel like this is directed at me?” Vinnie gasped in mock offense.

                His bro leveled his gaze at him over the edge of his specs and Vinnie’s bravado deflated under the blind and serious stare. “Alright alright…no funny business. Got it. Mom.” Vinnie scoffed, wanting to get a little dig in back.

                Modo barely stifled a chuckle at this, mostly due to the way Throttle’s face curdled, but Vinnie had gotten what he wanted, hurriedly dragging his poor mud splattered bike from the mud hole they’d sheltered in. “Follow my lead, bros!”

                He sped off before anyone could argue with him, and Rimfire made to follow, giving his other uncles a shrug.

                “Don’t encourage him.” Throttle chided, looking to Maverick, who continued to snicker.

                “Sorry, but…if the apron string fits, bro…”

                Jessie patted them both on the back, “Boys, it don’t sweat it. It would take a whole army of parents to wrangle that wild child, and he would still do whatever the fuck he wanted. You’re doing your best.”

                She moved to her own bike as they followed suit, cautiously making their way towards the towering behemoth in the distance.

                About a quarter of the left side of the cruiser was embedded in the rock face. It seemed the head of the machine, which would have served as the cockpit and gunning station was inactive and out of sight at their vantage point.

                Upon closer approach they could see that the rear cargo bay of it’s body was left open however, despite the long distance from the ground. Nothing inside seemed to move, and this somehow felt more precarious than if the machine had been active and openly trying to get unstuck.

                “Did they abandon it?” Modo wondered, as they stopped the bikes about twenty yards back, still partially shielded around an small outcropping of spire shaped rocks.

                “Looks like it to me,” Jessie added. “Nothing’s moving in there that I can see or hear.”

                “I think it bears a closer look.” Throttle replied, trying to zoom in as close as his helmet would let him, but still unable to spot anything from this angle. “Rimfire, you picking up anything?”

                The younger mouse was at work on the dashboard of his own bike, which was tricked out to be a bit more high-tech in this department than his uncle’s. His own modifications that he and Primer had been working on with the help of a certain surprisingly tech-savvy bartender in the city.

                “I’m picking up on some heat signatures inside…can’t tell exactly what it’s from though. The shielding around this thing is making it hard for my sensors to penetrate.” He sighed.

                Vinnie grinned. “Well?” he cooed expectantly. “If you want a closer look, that leaves us with one option.”

                Throttle sighed. “Fine…lead the way.”

                The white furred mouse beamed with manic excitement and then moved from hiding, making sure he was packing plenty of fire power before darting out into the open, Throttle following swiftly after.

                Modo made to move next, Rimfire and Jessie getting ready to follow, but the one-eyed mouse looked back at them quickly. “You two stay put. We need eyes on the ground in case something happens.”

                “Are you serious?!” Rimfire hissed, obviously annoyed.

                Modo gave him a stern look that told him there was no time to argue, and when Rimfire did not quickly bow to it, ran off to avoid further debate.

                “You know what, somethings really never do change.” He muttered bitterly and the woman beside him gave a light consoling pat on the back as she stared after her brother and his friends, a knot growing in her stomach.

                The three biker-less riders stood beneath the wreckage of the behemoth and took aim with grappling hooks at it’s open cargo bay. With all three grips landing securely, they were pulled skyward by their tethers, like spiders ascending quickly back up silky lines of webbing through the mist and steam that billowed through the valley.

                They pulled themselves aboard with effort, all three ready to be greeted by lazor fire or worse. But nothing stirred at their arrival. At least not officially.

                Staring into the dark, wide mouth of the cargo area, they were at least to relieved that nothing looked back at them. No Sand Raiders and no captives either. A wave of collective relief washed over them as they cautiously stepped further inside.

                “Well, it’s not a slave transport. Thank gods.” Throttle nodded. “No signs of cells or anything here either, so they didn’t move them from one to the other.”

                “Okay, then what were they hauling then?” Vinnie muttered. “This is a lot of room…and I just don’t buy the idea that they were just passing through.”

                Modo approached several large crates that were stacked two or three deep against the wall. With his bionic fingers it easy to pry them open, the wood cracking faintly under the strain as he peered inside. “Weapons. Lots of them.” He muttered darkly.

                His bros joined him, peering inside and seeing the heavy stock pile of long-distance rifles tucked inside the crate. They moved to another to find thousands of rounds of ammunition, smaller guns, tangle-spring snares, unarmed grenades and the lot. “Jeezus…how’d these yellow bellies get their grubby paws on this much fire power?! This is like a whole armory.” Vinnie gasped.

                “Could have easily raided an old military outpost bro, who knows. Our populations may be dwindling, but by gods, we are well stocked in the things that kill us.” Throttle sighed. He kept moving further back across the rows of crates and found an odd one that was not wood, but rather thickly insulated plastic. Something that looked almost like a cooler, though it was secured heavily in place so that it wouldn’t move around much and was separate from the other storage.

                “What do you think this is?” he mused, fiddling with the restrains and locks as Modo moved closer to see what he’d found.

                “I dunno…maybe it’s their traveling snacks?” he offered, trying to lighten the mood.

                Throttle ignored the joke, noticing now the warning labels on the side of the box. “Highly volatile, flammable, combustible…” he shrugged back at Modo. “Sounds like a fun party favor.” He managed to break the seal, and inside revealed small glowing vials of something bright magenta carefully insulated in molded packaging foam.

                The two mice froze anxiously. “Shit!”

                Instinctively Modo pulled Throttle back and they stepped away from the box.

                “What is it?” Vinnie asked, looking up from his own exploration.

                “Uh, you remember that little town outside of Argyer Basin that we were stationed at for a minute?” Modo asked.

                “Yeah…you mean the one that went up like a time-bomb?”

                “Yeah, that’s the one.”

                Vinnie was moving beside them then, all three staring at the box. “Oh no way…I thought they stopped anyone from making more of this shit!”

                “Yeah, well maybe this is leftovers.” Throttle replied, cautiously closing the lid again. “Bigger issue is, as precarious as this stuff is…if this tub of bolts gets knocked loose from the rock and crashes properly and that stuff ignites, it’s going to rearrange half this canyon.”

                “We need to get it out of here. We can’t wait for Carbine and Strain.” Modo nodded. “We should take it Stoke.”

                “Ugh, why drag him into this!?” Vinnie whined. “Every time you get a little spooked you wanna go running to the old man. Ever occur to you that we can handle this?”

                “Oh, so you have a safe place to store this back at the trailer?” Throttle shot back. Vinnie curled his lip, mocking at him, but Modo quickly diverted their bickering.

                “Rimfire’s got eyes on something!” he gasped, the transmission obviously playing inside his helmet.

                The three of them moved hurriedly back towards the mouth of the cargo hold, They could see nothing in the distance, but they could hear it. Motorcycles.

                “There’s three or four heading right for us, coming the opposite direction!” Rimfire’s voice crackled through the speaker.

                “Sit tight and stay out of sight!” Modo warned sharply. “Don’t make a move until you have to.”

                The sound of engines quieted and the three inside the cargo bay watched and waited. There was a clunking sound from behind them that startled them, making all three whirl as their party-crashers entered from the cockpit area rather than from the open cargo bay.

                Three Martian Mice stepped into the hold with them, all armed, looking surprised to find more of their kin there. Lazor pistols were swiftly aimed at the trio, “Hands up, don’t move!”

                “Easy, citizen.” Throttle cautioned, looking to the speaker. “We came to investigate this wreck same as you, I suspect. We’re all friends here.”

                The newcomer at the forefront of was still in shadow but as he came closer to the light, Throttle recognized the tattered jacket he wore and the patch on the arm. Their easy riders from before.

                He removed his visor revealing his face as he smiled in surprised at the lot of them. He was a sort of champagne-blondish color, made darker in the shadows, and his face a thinner, leaner look to it than most, but still attractive. Throttle could see the curl of his sweaty hair flattened against his brow under the crush of his helmet and noticed tufts of it coming out of the back of his helmet as well.

                The other biker grinned, rolling the tip of his tongue across his teeth as he surveyed them. “Well…the Biker Mice from Mars, wasn’t it? Funny seeing you boys here…fully dressed no less.” He chuckled and his companions did the same, the snickering sound echoing off the metal walls of the AT.

                “Kinda a rough night to be out riding, isn’t it?”

                “We ain’t afraid of a little mud.” Modo replied, quoting the man back to himself.

                “Guess not.”

                He lowered his weapon and stepped a little closer to the trio, as though sizing them up before diverting his gaze to the cargo. “Quite a find, huh? Big boy like this could be hauling anything. I assume you concerned citizens called the local authorities?” he asked, and they could see by the way his eyes darted that he was nervous.

                “Not yet.” Vinnie lied, knowing damn well Rimfire had already sent out the signal. “We know the terrain a bit better, figured we’d help out.”

                The blonde mouse eyed the masked one, “That’s very civic minded of you, boy scout.” He nodded. “We could lend a hand, right boys? Give you heroes a break. You look like you’ve been out in this storm awhile.” He grinned again, and they all hated it. Hated the sleaze and the false self-confidence of it. This biker had all the smarmy charm of a used car salesman. “Why don’t you bros head on back to the ol’ homestead for the night? We’ll call the locals, meet them here. Get this all sorted for ya, huh? As a thank you for those excellent directions.”

                He winked fondly at Modo and the big grey furred mouse struggled not to form a fist, itching to pop him right in the face.

                Vinnie laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, sorry pal, not gonna happen.” He sighed, even as Throttle threw him a pleading look not to provoke. Vinnie was already on the move, striding closer to where the newcomers were, looking completely unbothered by their pop-gun shooters, considering what he himself was packing.

                “You see, no one runs a Van Wham off his own terf. You dig?”

                The blonde mouse’s eyes widened for a moment and he stiffened before his gaze sharpened and zeroed in on Vinnie. It did not go unnoticed by the white furred mouse, who had been in the sights of killers and predators too long not to recognize when one was looking back at him.

                “Van Wham? Really…you got any kin around these parts, bro?”

                Vinnie blinked, but luckily did not answer. “Funny question. Don’t tell me you’re some long lost relation sniffing around for some of the glory?”

                Both Throttle and Modo were moving closer to him now, uneasy. The intruders companions were doing the same, clearly squaring up for a fight.

                The blonde biker gave Vinnie a mean, sneering smile. “Glory? Not sure that’s what the Van Wham name is known for…maybe washouts, has-beens, hacks and whores I guess—”

                Vinnie’s eyes flashed and his fist was flying forward. Unfortunately, Rod dodged the blow, if only just. Vinnie cursed and moved forward but Throttle grabbed his shoulder.

                “Vincent, don’t! Not in here!”

                Vinnie tried to shake him off, too angry to listen. “Come here and say that again--!”

                The other laughed, clearly fed by Vinnie’s rage. Loving getting a rise out of him. “Ooh, I’m shakin’ bro. Shakin’ in my boots!” he mocked. His comrades moved forward as he moved back between them, allowing the bigger muscle to take the lead. “Listen boys, this little chat has been fun, but I’m commandeering this cargo and you’re not gonna stop me.  I’ve got debts to pay and this payload should foot the bill nicely. Now you can show yourselves to the door…or my boys can throw you out it.”

                One of his companions, a gangly white furred mouse name Stacks, looked back at him, as if confused. “Rod, we can’t kill ‘em!”

                The blonde snarled at him and pointed his pistol in his direction instead. “Shut the fuck up and get them out of here! We’re on a deadline!”

                Modo was suddenly in motion, knocking hapless Stacks aside as he surged past him and the other mouse—a bulky thug that went by Chet—and grabbed the taunting biker by the front of his shirt and flung him against one of the larger crates. The wood buckled and splintered under the force and Rod wheezed painfully in surprise.

                “Rod, is it?” Modo growled, teeth bared and red eye glowing.

                The ropy-muscled biker squirmed, clearly taken aback and anxiously eyeing the grey mouse’s bionic arm.

                “What’s it to ya, fugly?”

                Modo pulled him forward and then slammed him even harder into the crate until the wood behind him started to splinter around him. He drew back his fist, aiming it directly for Rod’s face.

                Before the blow could land, however, Rod brought his knee up and kicked Modo hard in the gut, knocking him backward with a grunt.

                The brawl started in earnest, Rod’s bikers throwing fists and kicks, and being met with double the force.

                Vinnie scrambled to get to Rod and help Modo beat him into a pile of mush, only to have Stacks come at him swinging with two pairs of brass knuckles and screeching like a maniac. Vinnie easily avoided the first couple of swings, but Stacks finally landed one on the flex-plate covered side of his face.

                Sparks flew, much to both of their surprise, and in the momentary shock of the reaction, Vinnie ducked low and barreled into the smaller mouse’s gut in a hard headbutt, knocking him to the floor before grabbing him by the ankles and swinging him to the side, sending him crashing into a wall.

                “Careful bros, some of this stuff is kinda volitale!” Throttle yelled, engaged in his own battle with the much bigger Chet, who favored a club over a more “civilized” weapon. He was clearly the kind of guy who liked to throw his weight around.

                “I’m gonna bash your face in four-eyes!” he cackled. “No one fucks with Cerberus!” He swung and caught Throttle in the arm, enough to make the other mouse yell and knock him aside, but a long way from putting him down.

                “You back water thugs better get a clue,” Throttle muttered in return, “because the Biker Mice from Mars don’t back down from any fight!”

                He ramped up, scaling one several of the stacked crates until he had higher ground and then came crashing down boot first into Chet’s slack-jawed face, flattening the other biker to the floor and pinning his club-wielding hand behind his back.  “Now what was that about bashing my face in?”

                Modo meanwhile was coming at Rod like a freight train, both fists flying as the smuggler tried to avoid the blows. He was smaller and faster than Modo, and definitely not afraid to run. Or fight dirty.

                He scaled some of the tethered crates, getting to higher ground and kicked the smaller ones down on Modo. Boxes of weaponry shifted and came cascading down on the grey mouse, who wad forced to jump back to avoid being crushed. He raised his arm, canon warming to stun as he took shots at the slippery thug.

                But all the movement within the half toppled AT-AT brought a new danger to the forefront. The metal carcass of the machine gave a loud, hideous groan and crunch and the felt a shift in it’s gravity.

                All six were suddenly aware that their skirmish had caused enough shifting for the abandoned machine to come loose from the rock face, and with nothing to power it and it’s towering legs unstable, gravity had taken over.

                “EVERYONE OUT, NOW!” Throttle bellowed, reaching for Modo and yanking him away, pulling him along with Vinnie towards the open hatch, even as the floor creaked and began to tilt under their feet. Anything loose or not bolted down began to slide towards the opening as well.

                “When this tub goes over, it’s going to blow sky high!” Vinnie gasped.

                Rod and his beaten companions were already bidding a hasty retreat out the cockpit the way the had come, abandoning the other bikers to whatever fate may come like the cowards they were.

                Modo whistled hard, and below there was the roar of the bikes as they sprung into action, all three arriving on rocket boosters and propelling themselves through the hatch.

                Their riders scrambled on, screeching free of falling machine. As it crashed into the neighboring wall of canyon, the combustible substance in the sealed crate detonated. A chain reaction of explosions rippled through the canyon and metal and rock and all sorts of debris erupted across the pass, fire and black smoke billowing upward towards the night sky.

                The biker mice hit the dirt and mud of the pass below, but the shock wave proved to be difficult. They skidded and were blown aside, both Modo and Vinnie coming unseated from their rides as they were sucked under in the thick mud momentarily.

                Throttle fell clear, spinning in his tracks and looking back in terror for his bros.  “VINNIE, MODO, GET OUT OF THERE!”

                Van Wham was down, dazed, moving too slowly and Modo was beside him, trying to help pick him up. As flaming debris continued to fall around them, one of the AT-AT’s tall legs, now free from it’s body toppled towards the downed pair on the pass.

                Throttle was in motion, screaming, trying to race back in time. He Lady’s front canon, managing to strike the falling appendage and slightly change its directory. But not enough.

                It crashed down, folding and crumbling on the rocks surrounding the other two mice before disappearing them from view.

                Throttle felt like his heart stopped. Like the world itself stopped.

                He knew he was moving. He knew he was screaming. But the world had tunnel visioned for him. All he could see was the dented and burnt wall of metal and bolts that had disappeared his bros from sight.

                The tan mouse was off his bike and running before Lady even skidded to a stop, sliding in the mud and water and not caring, crashing against the debris and beating at it with his hands and fists, as if he could move it that easily.

                It was an after-thought to activate his Nuke-Nuks, but once he did the metal began to yield more readily under his relentless force.

                As the metal began to shift, he heard Vinnie’s voice crackle inside his com. “BRO!”

                The shock of hearing him broke the other mouse out of his panic, and his broader senses filtered back in a head-spinning rush.

                “Vincent!? Vinnie where--?!”

                He glanced down and could see a gap between the bottom of the severed machine leg and the mud slick floor. He dropped to his knees, and saw, pressed there in the thin dark space, Modo, bent over Vinnie’s pressed form, his bionic arm straining and sparking, actually baring the weight of machine trying to crush them.

                They were both sunk deep into the mud, pressed into it, Vinnie almost fully submerged. The soft ground, combined with the smaller interfering clusters of rock and Modo’s brute force had kept them from an abrupt and grisly end.

                “I can’t hold it…” Modo’s voice, pained and panicked filtered through his com.

                “Hold on, just hold on I’m coming!” Throttle gasped, first trying to wedge himself beneath and then scrambling back, doing his best to try shift and lift the debris off them. It creaked and gave, but not enough.

                Within a few moments Rimfire and Jessie had joined them in the scramble. “We need more lift!”  Throttle gasped.

                Rimfire looked around anxiously, and then saw that there was a ledge just above them. “There! If we can get the bikes up there, have them hook their grappling lines into it we can drag it off them!”

                Throttle nodded, looking to Jessie. “Go!”

                She was off in a second, speeding up the ledge and ushering for both Rimfire and Throttle’s bike to follow suit until all three were lined up on the ledge, firing their lines. The metal leg shook at the hooks attached to the metal and Modo screamed in pain beneath the shifting weight.

                Vinnie pushed his arms up, trying to help brace him and take some of the painful weight off his bionic arm, seeing how it was sparking and buckling. “HURRY!”

                The bikes on the ledge peeled out, pulling forward as hard as they could, spraying dirt and rock and debris everywhere as they tried to lift the crushing weight off the other two mice. The metal leg shifted again, and with Rimfire and Throttle both pushing, a more sizeable gap appeared below them.

                Throttle strained, lifting with all his strength and warping the edge of the leg with the force of the Nuke-Nuks, giving Rimfire a wider opening. “Go kid! Get them out!”

                Rimfire didn’t hesitate, sliding underneath the wreckage and crawling towards his uncles as the metal above them creaked and groaned

                Once it lifted high enough that Modo’s arm was not needed, the big grey mouse slumped over Vinnie, exhausted and fading. His extra weight pushed Vinnie deeper into the mud, submerging him briefly and he gasped and struggled to keep his head up as Rimfire reached him. He gripped Vinnie’s arm and pulled, using his tail to drag Modo, the three of them squirming, crawling and being dragged through the muck.

                Throttle’s own tail looped around Rimfire’s thigh and gave a last hard pull that allowed the stripe-haired youth to gain enough leverage to get up on his knees and pull Vinnie and Modo the rest of the way. The moment they were out from beneath the wreck, Throttle dropped his hold on the twisted metal leg, letting the wreck roll and crash fully against the canyon wall.

                He turned, breathless and aching and dropped down beside the downed pair. “Bros!!”

                Vinnie coughed mud and water, rasping for air as Rimfire patted him on the back. Modo groaned in new agony, his arm clearly no longer in the socket correctly, parts of it warped.

                Throttle grabbed him and braced him, “Easy big fella, easy easy I got you…”

                Modo grit his teeth and tried to hold back a cry but it came anyway, agonized and awful. He buried his face in Throttle’s stomach as the other went to work, not caring that his own fingers were bloody and burned from holding the debris. With practiced precision he detached Modo’s bionic arm from the socket, bringing instant relief from some of the pain.

                He let it fall to the dirt  and began to massage and check the shoulder socket for further damage, seeing tears in the scar-tissue laden skin below his shoulder pad, but nothing that looked too serious.

                Jessie joined them, leaping off her bike as the other bikes rallied, even Modo and Vinnie’s, which had finally broken free from their own barricade of debris. The bikes seemed to form a protective circle around the downed riders, an odd sight among the smoke and ash and ruin.

                Jessie dropped to her knees and reached for her brother, not caring that he coated her with mud as she hugged him hard. “Oh my gods oh my gods…” her voice was high and shaking, clutching him tight. “Vinnie! Vinnie are you—”

                He shook his head, still catching his breath. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” he coughed out. His chest ached, realizing he probably had a few cracked or bruised ribs. He squeezed her as much he could before looking back anxiously at Modo cradled in Throttle’s lap.

                “Big fella, you making it?”

                Throttle glanced up at him, “Give him a minute,” he panted.

                Vinnie nodded, eyes fixing instead on his other brother. “Damn bro…didn’t know you could lift that heavy. You been workin’ out?”

                Throttle stared at him and then huffed a small breathless and incredulous laugh, tears of relief rushing down his face. “For fuck’s sake Vincent…”

                The white furred mouse moved a little closer to him and Throttle scooped him into a half hug, resting helmet to helmet with each other. “Don’t ever change.” Throttle added and Vinnie nodded.  

***

Chapter Text

***

                Jessica fought to open the door, finding that the rapid change in the weather had made the frame swell and the door stick. Normally, she could have popped it open with her shoulder, a swift bump against it usually enough to force it. But with Vinnie still heavily supported against her, that manuver wasn’t going to work. She’d have to go lower.

                She kicked the thing open and it slammed back with a bang. It made her, Vinnie and Throttle jump, but only for a moment.

                “Well…if anyone was waiting to ambush us in there, you just knocked their teeth out.” Vinnie mumbled.

                Jessie shushed him and helped him limp inside. Throttle followed after, fully carrying Modo.

                Jessie scanned the living room and the kitchen beyond and into the deeper dark of the descending hallways. But she saw no one. No did she smell anything new here. Her ears twitched and perked, trying to detect any sound of breathing or shift in movement. Still nothing.

                After a moment, she continued forward again, her free hand no longer twitching towards her blaster. She moved Vinnie to the couch and deposited him there as gingerly as he could. He moaned, but seemed grateful, hands going to his chest.

                Throttle moved past them with Modo, and made his way into the master bedroom. Both Van Whams looked after them in worry, then caught each other’s glances. “He’ll be alright.” Vinnie assured her.

                “His arm looked pretty bad.”

                “Just be glad it was the metal one, sweetheart. Easy enough to repair.”

                Something, nearly forgotten, drifted back to him then. Something Harley had said to him back in her garage. Back when he was a love-sick kid with a burning crush on a spoken-for woman a good ten years his senior.

                “…they’re all chrome and grease and hot metal and if they get broken…well…all it takes is a little elbow grease to put them back together. Lot less scary than a broken heart.”

                He looked at his sister a little closer now.

                But Jessie didn’t linger long enough for him to ask what had suddenly come to his mind. She was up and moving as Rimfire came in through the back door, closing it securely behind him and glancing quickly out the glass one more time before drawing the curtain. “Bikes are safe in the shed. Didn’t see anyone out there, Mouse or otherwise.”

                He looked to Vinnie and Jessie as she passed him. “Where’s Uncle Modo?”

                The woman waved him on, the pair coming to stand at the bedroom door.

                Inside, Throttle had spread Modo out on the queen bed, rolling him onto his side so that his empty shoulder socket was exposed. Throttle was feeling along his shoulder blade,  and under his arm bit, checking for further damage or trauma, while Modo breathed heavily beneath him, dazed and pained.

                Jessie moved in, “Here, let me look.”

                Throttle looked up at her sharply and Jessie saw his wariness of her. But it was more than that. Clearly, this was something that the bros had encountered before, and Throttle had put himself in charge of mending. She was intruding. Or at least, he thought so in that moment.

                She might have backed away then, excused herself. Embarrassed and feeling the shame of her absence again. But instead she reached cautiously and put her hand on his forearm. “It’s okay. I know what to do for this. I won’t hurt him, I’m promise.”

                It was her job. Her oath to do no harm. But it was more than that as well.

                Modo shifted below them. “It’s okay, bro.”

                Jessie smiled at him, and he tried to offer one back, but winced inside and pushed his face into the pillow.

                Throttle relented, lifting himself from the edge of the bed. “I’ll get your med kit. Probably a compressed tendon or a torn rotator cuff.” He explained.

                Jessie blinked at him. “Good guesses. You have med training? You’d be one hell of a nurse.”

                Throttle softened, if only a little. “Nah. Only nursing I do is for these two dummies when the heroics go a little too hard.” He disappeared past Rimfire, who stepped more fully into the room.

                “Uncle Modo I can take a look at your arm, but…doesn’t look like you should reattach it for a bit. Give your shoulder a chance to rest.”

                “Much appreciated, nephew.” Modo groaned.

                “What happened up there?” he asked at last. It was something Jessie wanted to know as well. “Those other riders showed up and next thing we knew, the whole tub was crashing down.”

                “It was them same bikers from before. They wanted the cargo. All weapons and explosives.” His eye flicked towards Jessie and she felt a cold rush in her stomach. “A guy named Rod and his cronies. Not sure if they got clear of the crash.”

                “They made it out better than you.” Rimfire pointed out.

                Throttle returned shortly with Jessie’s bag of supplies, handing it off. “Yeah well, if they cleared the debris of the explosion, chances are they made a run for shelter somewhere. Hopefully far from here.”

                Jessie nodded mutely, but her tense expression did not go unnoticed. But Modo attempted to shift himself, only causing more pain and making him whimper with it, clutching his limbless shoulder. This diverted the woman’s focus immediately, falling automatically into her training as she tried to soothe him.

                Throttle lingered only a second longer, then moved once more back into living room, then to the kitchen, scrounging through the ancient refrigerator to find an ice pack for the masked mouse on the couch.

                “Hey, grab me a cold one while you’re in there, huh?” he teased.

                Throttle gave an irritated, long suffering exhale through his nose, but complied. Returning to the couch with an ice-pack and a can of soda. He pressed the ice-pack to Vinnie’s ribs, watching as the other jolted at the cold touch and set the can on his forehead.

                “Hey, what’s that for?”

                “Your swelled head.” Throttle replied, settling beside him.

                Vinnie stuck his tongue out at him and then readjusted the can, pressing it to the back of his neck rather than opening it. “Thanks for pulling our tails out of the fire. As usual.” He eyed the rusty stains on his bro’s fingers, knowing they had to hurt. “Modo gonna make it?”

                “He’ll be alright. Just needs to rest.” He confirmed.

                He was surprised then when Vinnie shifted, taking the can and pressing it into Throttle’s palm, carefully folding his fingers around it. Cold relief from the burns and cuts.

                “I’m gonna take like…a four hour power nap.” Vinnie declared, his voice wheezy and slightly punch drunk after his fall and near crushing. He flopped over with a thud against the pillow, groaned painfully and shifted his ice-pack to a new location. “But when I get up…I’m going to track down those wanna be easy riders and grind their faces under Cherry’s tread.” He muttered darkly.

                Throttle patted him lightly on the shoulder. “You tell ‘em, Vin-Man.”

                “No one fucks with my bros. My bike. My…canyon. And no one spits on the Van Wham name!”  He was rambling at nothing, muttering and swearing until he got comfortable enough to close his eyes and nod off fully.

                Throttle glanced behind them towards the bedroom door, thinking of the mouse who called himself “Rod” and what he had said about the Van Wham name.

                Rimfire emerged, moving towards the front door then, with Modo’s arm canon wrapped carefully in a towel and bundled into his arms. “Where ya going kid? You oughta stay put until morning at least.”

                The striped haired mouse shook his head, “Nah. I have a feeling you guys are gonna need this back in action sooner rather than later.” He explained with a wink.

His uncle nodded gratefully. “Just watch your back. Any sign of trouble—”

“Hit ‘em back twice as hard.”  Rimfire nodded. “Just stay out of trouble till I can get you guys fully reloaded.” He was gone without further preamble, and Throttle watched and listened until he was sure the younger mouse had made it safely away from the trailer.

In the silence that followed, he stewed. He wasn’t sure how long Jessie remained in the bedroom, tending to Modo, but when she emerged, the can in his palm had lost it’s chill, now merely room temperature.

She made her way towards them, surprised it seemed to see Throttle still awake while Vinnie snored and wheezed gently beside him. “Bit of a nightowl, hmm?” she teased, moving around the couch to check on Vinnie.

When Throttle didn’t readily answer, she looked at him. The way he studied her made her realized that her days of playing coy and holding her cards to her chest were done and over with.

“Who’s Rod?”

She flinched at the sound of his name, especially posed to her in such a stark, demanding way.  She sighed heavily, feeling a familiar stress tremor in her body begin to rise.

“He was the leader of the gang I was with before I came here. Before I got out.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound like you left on good terms.” He noted.

She shook her head, throat constricting slightly. “No. Not at all.”

“You’re on the run from them.”

She nodded.

“What are they gonna do when they find you, Jess? How would that have gone down, if you had been up there with us? Or they had spotted you and Rimfire on the ground?”

“I would have handled it—” she began, only half believing herself as the words fell out automatically.

He looked at her hard, giving her no room for excuse. “You’d be dead.”

They stared at each other, the silence between them ringing. She was up and on the move, arms folded protectively around her chest as she paced. “You’re making a lot of assumptions, Throttle. I’ve been holding my own for a long time. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Why don’t you set me straight then. Tell me why you came here, really.”

She looked anxiously towards Vinnie, who was still sleeping, oblivious. The tan mouse stood, discarding his now lukewarm can of soda and moved beside her, ushering her out onto the back porch where they could speak without being heard.

The deepest part of the night had already passed. The sky was a dark slate grey, still cloudy, dawn an hour or two away.

Jessie felt a spark of panic, of innate defensiveness, sensing the impending confrontation between them. Her brow furrowed and she glared at him from the corner of her eye. “Listen, I don’t owe you an explanation about my life choices, we’re not kids anymore, I can make my own decisions—”

“I don’t care about that.” The other answered firmly. “You think this is about me judging you for getting mixed up in something you shouldn’t?” he shook his head, the idea almost comical. “Your choices, good or bad, are your own, Jessie. My problem is that they followed you here, and now you’ve put my bros in danger! That’s what I care about!”

She rolled her eyes. “How are the three most famous and notorious bikers on the planet in danger from a strung out bunch of outlaw wanna be’s? Sounds like you’re not giving yourself much credit.”

“Bullshit. Those riders were easy pickings, but we would have handled that canyon situation a whole hell of a lot different if we’d known what we were really dealing with. Who was at risk! What they were actually after! You made us vulnerable!”

“What happened in the canyon was a fluke—”

“A fluke can kill you.”

His stubbornness finally brought her to a boiling point. “You want so bad to be like Stoker, don’t you?” she fired back. “I hate to tell you, Evander, but you’re not him. You’re not even your dad! He was a Ranger, he had authority! You and the boys are just…vigilantes at this point. The old guard, putting around here killing time. Modo and Vinnie can make their own decisions, they can hold their own and choose their own battles! They don’t need you to tell them what to do, or what to think!”

“You really think this about some fuckin ego trip?” he shot back.

“I’m just saying that you act like your bros haven’t got the smarts to hold their own in a situation!”

“The bad guys don’t have to be smarter than you, they just have to get lucky. Once! That’s all it takes to lose everything!” His voice was louder, almost fully shouting now and it echoed in the emptiness beyond the trailer, carrying on the breeze.

She saw, however briefly, the look in his eyes that gave him away. Some horror playing on repeat at the back of his mind. All his soft-spoken pre-tense out the door in a moment of desperate frustration to make her understand. And at last, she thought she did.

He looked away first this time, shaken by his own outburst it seemed. He moved to the rail of the back porch and gripped it, too hard, the weathered wood cracking under his hands. He exhaled heavily, staring across the waving grass and rock towards the gulch far beyond.

“Is that how it happened?” she asked him after a moment. “Modo’s arm, his eye? Vinnie’s face?”

He nodded.

“All I’m trying to do is protect the things that matter to me. Modo and Vinnie are my family. And you’re part of that family too, even if you’ve been gone all this time. Don’t know if you realized that.”

“Well…to be fair. You didn’t exactly make that obvious when I showed up. Seemed like you would have been happier if I’d staid gone.”

“Nah. Just not used to lost things coming back, I guess.” He admitted. “Level with me, Jess. What do these guys want? They were looking for cargo to sell. Said something about a debt to pay. And they seemed real interested to hear about the Van Wham name having more than one heir to it.”

It took her a minute to reply, struggling against hot tears that she didn’t want to shed in front of him, already feeling too raw.

“I’ll show you.” She turned and went back into the house, ushering him to follow after. They made their way into her childhood bedroom, and Throttle lingered in the doorway, watching as she made her way to the bed, pulling the frame away from the wall enough to reach behind the paneling. He watched as she produced a small box from the hiding place and slipped the lid free.

Throttle moved closer,  spotting the gold gills inside. He stiffened, eyes wide behind his specs.

“It’s Rod’s stash. Payment from Sand Raiders to stand by while they raided one of the small costal towns. He thought I didn’t know about it, but he hid it in his bedside drawer.” She sighed and closed it again. “He was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, that’s for sure.”

“What were you going to do with it? Anyone here catches you with that, and you’ll be taken in for questioning so fast your head will spin.” Throttle explained.

“There’s a broker here that will still take it. Unless your Watchtower friends have shut him down already.” She sighed. “I was going to pawn it off to him. Take whatever cash I could get, start over.” She looked defeated once she had spoken it out loud. As if it were childish. A pipe dream that was never going to work out.

Throttle said nothing for another full minute, leaning against the door frame as he mulled this over. “Where’s this broker?”

“In Brimstone.” She explained, “part of Old Town. Rod’s traded with him before when we’ve been through here. He might still recognize me.”

“What does he do with the gold?”

She shrugged. “No clue, man. My guess would be sells it back to the Sand Raiders somehow.”

“Counter productive…” he mused. He glanced down at the box again. “That’s solid gold, yeah? Heavy?”

She nodded, confused.

He moved closer now and reached into the box, picking one of the disk of gold up. Solid and gleaming, engraved with the face of a fish that Throttle guessed was the High Chairman, though it was a more flattering version of the bloated carp he knew of. “It’s the real thing alright. And thin enough to melt easily at the right temp.”

“Melt?”

“Jewelry. They melt it into jewelry. I’d bet my life on it.”

Jessie’s eyes widened, the idea hitting her with sudden clarity. She touched the gold studs in her ears, then flicked up to glance at Throttle’s own adornments. “Holy hell, it’s the perfect scam. No one would know and you could sell it back at twice the value!”

Throttle let the disc drop back into the box. “I have a feeling I know your broker, Jess. And I’m sure he’d be glad to get his fingers on this. Probably actually pay you what it’s worth since he’ll make back double that.  We’ll head into town before noon, catch him when it’s still early. Get your money and get out of there.”

She stared at him and then laughed softly. “You wanna help me launder Plutarkian gold gills? Seriously?”

“I wanna get that blood money out of your house. I want you to get Rod his damn money so he will fuck off back to where he came and leave you and the rest of us alone.” He replied, his tone deadly serious.

She looked at the floor again, and he softened. “Look. I’ve made mistakes in my past too. Trusted—loved, someone I shouldn’t have. I’ve got to face the regret of that every day. So I know what you’re going through. And maybe I’ve been a little unfair about it.”

This intrigued her, but she held her questions. Instead she put the box on the bed and hugged him, head on his shoulder. He seemed startled, stiff in the embrace for a moment, before hugging her back. “We’ll get you out of this, okay?”

“Thank you.” She sniffled, trying to hold in tears. “And I’m sorry for what I said about Stoker and your dad. I know Stoke’s got to be so proud of you. Your parents would be too.” She pulled back enough to kiss his cheek and beamed at him. “I guess somethings about people never really change, huh? I’m still acting like a kid and trying to clean up my mess, and you’re trying to be everyone’s big brother.”

“Hey, we’re all here to help each other, no matter the mess. What’s family for?”

“Apparently they’re for helping you launder gold-gills to some shady dealer on the sly.”

Modo’s voice startled both of them and they turned to see the big grey giant standing in the door way, looking at them both with a stern, displeased glare. “The walls are paper thin in here, ya know. I may have lost an arm, but I didn’t lose my hearing.”

Jessie looked like she wanted to bolt, and Throttle tried to explain, looking caught out as well.

“Save it. I heard everything.” Modo cut off, moving into the room. He seemed slightly unsteady, or rather off balance, without the weight of his cybernetic prosthetic and was quick to ease himself into the bed, hearing it creak under him. He looked at each of them, as if sizing them up and gathering his words. It was a look not unlike the one his mother often fixed her children with when they had gotten out of hand.

He sighed then and the sound turned into a huff of a laugh. “You two…I can just picture you walking into that pawn broker’s shop. One of the most recognized members of the Biker Mice and his pretty partner who just happen to have some illegal gold-gills to trade in. I don’t know what’s gonna happen first—either he’ll shoot you both dead and take the money for himself and run, or he’ll call Watchtower and get you both thrown in a cell.”

Jessie looked at Throttle. “He’s got a point.” She admitted. “You guys have a certain aesthetic, let’s say. No way you could slip in there like that, even if I’m with you.”

“Well you’re not exactly inconspicuous either, big fella, and there’s no hiding Vinnie’s mask. Nevermind that neither of you are in any shape for an operation like this right now. And we don’t really have time to sit on this.”

They all looked warily at the box of gold, knowing that Rod and his thugs would be back soon enough to sniff around after their encounter in the canyon. The box felt like a bomb, just waiting to go off.

“Why don’t we just turn the gold in? Explain to Carbine what happened—” Modo began.

But Throttle soured immediately. “No go. They’d probably take Jess in for questioning regardless, and it leaves Rod still scrounging around for his debt money. It might get ugly. And now that he knows us, wouldn’t take too long for him to set sights on the farm for revenge.”

Modo frowned, then added. “Fair. But I think there’s a little bias in that opinion. Considering your ex is involved.”

Throttle ignored the jab, with of course meant that Modo had made a point, even if it wasn’t the driving factor.

“I could go alone.” Jessie offered. “That was my plan to begin with.”

“Too risky.” Modo said quickly. “No offense, Jess, but any sleaze dealing in gold gills might not hesitate to take advantage of a pretty girl who wanders through his door.”

She smiled at him. “Do you realize that’s the second time you’ve called me pretty in this conversation?”

Modo blushed and Throttle took his own turn to roll his eyes. “Focus. We need to figure this out, and preferably before Vincent comes around.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a familiar gesture when he was tired or stressed.

Jessie’s ears perked. “I have an idea!” She stepped closer to Throttle, taking him by the arm and turning him towards the mirror of her vanity. She swept his hair back away from his forehead, causing it curl backwards in a swoop. “Ooh. Yeah. I like that. A little pomade in that, get you in some nicer clothes…I think Daddy’s suit is still in the closet somewhere…”

“Um…what’s happening?” Throttle asked, nervous. “Why is she touching my hair?”

“I’m not following you, Jess.” Modo added.

She looked back at him over Throttle’s shoulder. “I say we try a little undercover operation.  With a little sprucing up and the right clothes, Throttle could easily pass as someone from the Cathedra, there to do a little discrete shopping. If I go in dressed up as his date, I don’t think they’d recognize us.”

“I hate this idea.” Throttle said blandly.

“Oh I love this idea.” Modo chimed in. “She has a point, bro. You clean up good.”

He frowned and tried to put his glasses back on, but Jessie pushed his hand down. “No no! Leave those off, you’re too recognizable with them!”

Throttle laughed nervously. “Yeah, see…the thing is, Jess…I can’t see anything without them. Like at all.”

She seemed confused for a moment, then, studying his face, seemed to become aware of the faint scars, almost completely hidden beneath the downy fur that grew there. This close, she could also see that while he looked in her direction, his eyes did not focus on her smaller movements or expressions. He was blind.

“Oh…!” she gasped, stepping back so he cloud replace his shades. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize…”

“It’s okay.” He assured.

Modo moved closer, gratefully providing distraction from the awkward revelation. “Hold up just a second bro, that might work to our advantage.”

“Come again?”

Modo pressed his good hand to his back lightly, as if to assure him. “If we go with Jessie’s plan—gussy you both up and pose you as a couple—it will be even more disarming if they think you’re…um…” he faltered a little, trying to find the right word.

“Not a threat.” Jessie cut in quickly.

Throttle rolled his eyes. “You both owe me. BIG TIME.”

“Dogs and all the root beer you can drink for the foreseeable future, bro.” Modo agreed. “I’ll tag along, keep an eye on things and be the getaway if we need one.”

“Your over seven feet tall and missing an arm, you’re going to be wildly noticeable, bro.”

“I can lay low.” Modo assured. “Between the pair of us we’ll have an almost fully functioning Freedom Fighter.”

“What am I, chopped liver? I can shoot too, you know.” Jessie cut in. “And I’m more than capable of dragging both your asses out of the fire if it comes to it.”

“Good, cause we just might need that.” Throttle replied.

“Wait, what about Vinnie?” Jess cut back in.

All three glanced out the bedroom door towards the living room where they could hear Vinnie’s soft snores. “Someone should stay behind, help keep an eye on the farm in case those creeps come prowling around again.” Modo replied.

“Good call. But I’m not breaking it to him.” Throttle replied, slipping out of the room before they could talk him into any further madness.

Modo and Jessie were left looking at each other and Modo sheepishly held out his fist. “Rock paper scissors?”

Jessie smirked at him, put her hand over his fist and leaned up to steal a kiss. Clearly the winner.

***

Chapter Text

***

They lingered in the back alley that fed into the small cul-de-sac, tucked out of sight while shoppers and other civilians passed them by without notice. From their shadowed vantage point they could see the store front, and peer through the tinted glass of the windows. Inside they could see the outline of the long counter, and watch the pawn broker pace lazily back and forth as he organized and inspected his wares.

“I hate this idea.” Throttle muttered. He struggled not to pluck at his clothes, feeling too warm and too stiff inside the tailored and expensive fabric. Instead of his usual leather vest or jacket with optional t-shirt, he now wore a more traditional Martian suit for more prestigious occasions.

                The dark blue tunic top felt too tight at the collared neck and too loose at the sleeves, which opened wide at the elbows, under which he wore wrist gauntlets that extended nearly back up to the elbow, all embroidered leather, soft and well-tended.

                The tunic tucked into a thick waist belt, also leather, under which were what could best be described as riding pants. Cream colored, tight, and meant to be tucked into knee high boots. The only thing that Throttle seemed actually comfortable in.

                Jessie, dressed in a coordinating outfit of her own—a paler blue dress with the same matching collar and long billowing sleeves that ended at her wrists rather than the elbow, tapering at her waist and opening to below the studded belt to reveal leggings and boots of her own-- gave him a little shove at the shoulder to quiet him. “Quite your belly aching! You look fantastic.”

                “I look like some dopey diplomat from Elysium.” He sighed. “I can’t believe your dad wore this.” He tugged at the collar again.

                Jessie rolled her eyes and looked to Modo, catching him staring at her openly. She blushed, “Guess I clean up alright too, hmm?”

                Modo’s face went completely pink under his fur. “Oh uh—sorry, darlin’—”

                “Please don’t apologize. Haven’t had anyone look at me like that in years. Especially not with my clothes on.” She explained.

                Throttle snapped his fingers, drawing their attention back. “Focus up, lovebirds. I have a feeling we’re only going to get one shot at this so we’d better make it count. Modo, you’re cool to stay here and keep an eye out?”

                Maverick nodded. “No sweat, pard. I can see the shop clear from here, and any one coming in or out of the cul-de-sac. I’ve got your back.”

                “Glad to hear it.” Throttle nodded. “Jess, you got the gills?”

                She shifted the satchel she’d brought with her and opened the flap to show the gills, still wrapped carefully in cloth, inside. “Good to go.” She nodded, one curl of white hair slipping out of place. She tucked it back quickly, beaded bracelets clinking. A thing that made her frown a little, shaking her wrists. “I kinda forgot how cumbersome all these accessories are…”

                “I’ll trade you the bracelets for something with a looser collar any day.” He mumbled, tugging at it again. She sighed and adjusted it for him and he breathed a little easier.

                They paused, staring at each other a moment.

                “You ready?”

                He exhaled slowly and nodded, glancing anxiously to Modo. His bro gave him an encouraging little nod, and Throttle slipped off his specs, folding them and pressing them into Jessie’s palm as his world turned to white dazzling snow.

                “Don’t worry. I’ll keep them safe.” She promised, tucking them away carefully into a pocket of her dress. She pressed her hand against his chest to help ground him, and his hand slipped over hers, squeezing lightly as he gave another shaky exhale. This was asking a lot, and she was just starting to see how much. She pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his cheek. “I’ll keep you safe too.”

                Modo looked up then as he heard the little tinkle of the shop bell, and saw the previous customer of the pawn shop take their leave, walking away hurriedly down the street. Now only the owner remained inside.

                “If we’re gonna make a move, best we do it now.”

                “Oh boy…”

                Jessie slipped her arm around his, giving the impression he was escorting her while she was really leading him. “Just smile and look pretty, Evander. Let me do the talking.”

                “Have I mentioned how I hate this idea?”

                They set off, crossing the road, and stepping from the shadows and into the sunlight. Jessie giving Modo one last glance back and offering him another assuring smile. The big grey-furred mouse nodded, settling back against the building, hidden by the overhang of the balcony above it and pulled the loose cape he wore over his shoulders a little closer around him. His remaining hand closed over the butt of the blaster in his hip holster. It felt strange, having had no need for an external firearm in so long. But until Rimfire could fix his arm, it was the best he could do.

                He tapped the com in his ear. “Hey, Vinnie. You read?”

                “Loud and clear,” Vinnie’s voice answered. “You got eyes on them?”

                “They’re going in now.” Modo said quietly. “Should be quick if it all goes smoothly.”

                “You’d better hope so. Still can’t believe you left me here.” Vinnie muttered bitterly. “And you tell Throttle to pull Jessie out of there the moment things even smell off—”

                “Chill, bro. Don’t get your tail in a knot. I won’t let anything happen to them.” Modo assured, keeping his single eye fixed on the shop window, Lil’ Hoss leaning against the wall beside him, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

                Inside the shop was just as Jessie remembered it. It was not what one might have expected from a typical pawn place—shelves lined with clutter, more expensive items tucked back in cages or behind glass shelves with heavy locks. This place was all polished wood and pretty etched glass. Display furnishings that looked antique and very expensive, coming from some of the oldest and wealthiest families in the region most likely. It smelled like wood polish, dried flowers and cigar smoke. It seemed like it wanted to either be a jewelry store or perhaps one of those higher end, old world pubs.

                But Jessie saw it for what it was. A front. Something that looked pretty and on the level. Someplace with old world charm and ‘standards’. But what was beyond the door leading into the back room of the place was wildly different story. An ugly and seedy underbelly. A smuggler’s daydream, full of illegal contraband, outlawed weapons, alien substances for all sorts of nefarious purposes. If you couldn’t be caught dead with it in broad daylight within the city walls, you could find it here.

                But the purveyor of said goods was not presently in sight. They could hear the clerk’s voice distantly, and realized he had slipped into the back store room behind the counter just as they had arrived. Probably having missed the tinkling of the bell announcing their arrival.

                To the right of the long display counter there was a separate area, filled with fine furnishings and displays of expensive items. Gem stones, jewelry, antique weaponry and paintings. It looked like an Estate sale to Jessie.

                Throttle, unable to take any of the displays in, crinkled his nose. “It smells like a funeral home in here.” He muttered.

                She chuckled. “Shush. You’re supposed to be a worldly, discerning consumer. You should be eating this up. Someone else’s forfeited treasures all for the taking.” She teased.

                He nodded, trying to play along, “Right, sure. Of course. Should we pick out matching end tables for our estate home, darling? Maybe I can find a nice rusty sword for my collection.”

                “You’re hopeless.” Jessie teased back. “I bet Carbine hated to take you anywhere that wasn’t a part’s store.”

                “Hey, we all have our own tastes. Just because mine tends to come in chrome doesn’t mean it’s any less discerning. Besides, you don’t exactly strike me as a girl who’s into things like silver candle sticks and matching curtains.”

                “Hey, even us ride or die ladies appreciate the finer things.” She answered, leading him around the shop while the clerk seemed busy elsewhere.

                They stopped suddenly in front of painting that was partially hidden behind a velvet curtain, and Jessie’s sudden stillness and her change in breathing caused her blind escort to tense. “Jess? What is it?”

                “Um…” she blinked at the painting, as if unsure of what she was seeing. “Nothing, just…there’s this picture. It’s um…well, I recognize it, is all.”

                “Oh?”

                “Yeah, it’s…do you remember the Long Night addresses the Regent used to give? Before the war? When we were kids? That broadcast that went out on the solstice.”

                “Yeah…boy that’s digging in the memory bank. Why?”

                “Remember that big painting that used to hang behind him?”

                Throttle was quiet for a moment, staring in the direction of the painting without seeing it. “You gotta be kidding me. I thought all that sort of stuff was lost when the city burned the first time, after the volcano eruption.”

                “Well, someone must have saved some things.”

                “And it ended up here.” Throttle noted grimly. He looked in Jessie’s direction. “You did bring our insurance, right?”

                She lightly tapped the blaster strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath the flare of her skirt. “A lady is always prepared.”

From the back room she could hear the sound of shuffling and faint bickering, as if he was speaking to someone else.

                “Who’s that, you think?” Throttle whispered. “Store clerk?”

                “Maybe.” Jessie whispered back. She heard the door to the back storeroom open and quickly looked away, dragging Throttle towards another display case and feigning interest at the items inside.

                The clerk behind the long glass and wood counter looked at them. “Well good morning!” he greeted, sounding pleasant if not slightly surprised.

                “I hope we’re not catching you at a bad time,” Jessie said quickly, her voice lifting an octave to sound slightly higher, an artificial sweetness to it that almost made Throttle crinkle his nose in both distaste and amusement. It was absolutely giving ‘customer service phone rep’ voice. “My husband and I were in the neighborhood and we heard you might be worth a look.”

                “Well, I’m always glad to receive good word of mouth.” The clerk replied. He was an older mouse, a pale grey color with dark hair and silver starting at his temples. His eyes darted from the woman to the man beside her. “I don’t normally get very many walk-in customers at this hour. Usually by appointment only. But you’ve caught me at a good time, so I guess it’s your lucky day. Welcome to Burk’s. What can I do for you?” He grinned, showing a glint of a gold-capped tooth.

                The tone in his voice indicated a different question, and Throttle smirked a little. He didn’t need to be able to see the mouse in question to know how full of shit he was. The real question was ‘what can you do for me?’ in this shop.

Throttle nodded congenially in the direction of the voice, “We appreciate it, Mr. Burk.”  They stepped a little closer, and he allowed Jessie to gingerly guide him closer to the counter. “We were doing some inventory and came across an heirloom that we thought you might be interested in.”

He nodded towards Jessie, who reached for the bag at her side.

The clerk spoke quickly then, waving for her to stop. “Oh, oh! Pardon me, Miss, just a moment if you please.” He hurried around the counter then, striding swiftly towards the front of the store.

Throttle stiffened and Jessie looked back in confusion, realizing he was reaching for the curtain pulls. As they fell shut, leaving the shop in deeper, closer darkness, he took the added precaution of locking the door behind his guests.

“What’s going on?” Throttle mouthed, barely daring to whisper.

Jessie squeezed his arm to keep him quiet. “Is something wrong?” she asked the clerk.

“No, no! I apologize, Miss. Just a precaution. I very much like to focus on each appraisal as it comes, so it’s best to avoid any unnecessary interruptions. For privacy’s sake.” He nodded to her, as if she should understand this. As if he already suspected she had something of a delicate nature to show him.

She kept the façade, nodding gratefully. “You’re a very shrewd man, Mr. Burk. I knew we came to the right place.”

“I certainly hope so.” He nodded back, pleased and returning to his post with a more relaxed air. “Now,” he sighed, lacing and stretching his fingers before resting his palms eagerly on the counter top again. “What have you got for me?”

                Outside, Modo watched as the clerk inside the store moved suddenly towards the window and drew the curtains. “Uh oh…” he muttered, feeling a nervous pinch in his stomach. “I don’t like the look of that. No sir…”

                He started forward, meaning to move in closer, possibly even to knock on the door, which now bore the “sorry we’re closed sign” on it’s front window. Beside him Lil’ Hoss stirred, beeping curiously, and Lady did the same from her tucked back position.

                “Standby little darlin’s…let me get a closer look…don’t want to jump the gun.” He told them.

                The bikes of course had no ready answers for him, merely chirping softly and beeping as their A.I. systems registered this new command. Or tentative one at the very least.

                But Modo had not taken more than a step when a new voice called out to him from further down the street.

                “Modo?”

                He turned, startled, and saw Carbine striding towards him up the alley from the street below. Not far behind her, waiting at the intersection was the broad and unhappy looking figure of Brigadier Strain.

                Modo cursed softly under his breath as she approached, casting another worried glance back towards the shop.

                “Interesting get up there, Maverick.” The black-haired General mused as she approached him, trying not to smile. “You look like a mouse who doesn’t want to be noticed.” She gave him a deadpan gaze then. “It really isn’t working out for you though, sorry to say.”

                Modo stepped towards her, trying to keep her from coming to the edge of the street and noticing the pawn shop that he had been watching so intently. “Listen, Carbine, it’s good to see you but I’m kinda in the middle of something important…” he cautioned.

                “Oh yeah?”  she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she glanced from him to the pair of empty bikes tucked back against the overhanging building. “Where’s Throttle?”

                “He’s uh---shopping.”

                She blinked and snorted a small laugh. “Throttle Evander? Shopping? For what, spark plugs?” She looked around at the cluster of buildings in the circular dead-end road, noting that the only other actual business here was a liquor store that wasn’t even open at present.

                She sighed heavily and fixed Modo with a knowing look. “You want to tell me what’s going on here, or do I have to get the big guy involved? Because no one is going to like that. Especially not Throttle, I promise you.”

                Maverick sighed at her. “Listen, it’s nothing for you to be concerned about, okay? This is family business.”

                She looked slightly confused by this statement, and then perhaps a little hurt by the exclusion. But of course, after the other night, she supposed she deserved it. “Alright. I won’t pry. But I do want to talk to you boys about whatever happened at the canyon last night. We sent a patrol out about an hour ago after a distress call came in…”

                Modo wasn’t listening to her though, he had glanced anxiously back towards the shop again, and as he moved, Carbine saw the cloak he wore around his shoulders shift, and recognized the absence of his bionic arm.

                “What happened to your arm?”

                “Nothing.” Modo mumbled absently.

                She looked past him towards the shop, her suspicions renewed. “Yeah well, ‘nothing’ is getting awfully interesting.” She sighed.

Jessie glanced at her escort before reaching into the bag once more and very carefully produced the wrapped gold gills from the satchel, lying them gingerly on the counter top and allowing the shop clerk to unravel them himself.

His eyes widened upon glimpsing the gold, and the sheer amount of it. Stacked together like plastic-wrapped cheese slices, glistening in the overhead light above the counter. “My goodness…”

He glimpsed up, noting that the woman was watching him intently while the man seemed less focused. “This is…quite the find.”

“We were cleaning out a family homestead…we found this tucked away in a drawer. We thought it best to bring it here.” Jessie offered, hoping the story was vague enough to not raise too much suspicion.

“I’m flattered you thought of me.” He nodded. He carefully brought one of the discs free from the wrappings, admiring it closer in the light. “If you’re looking for trade value, I’m prepared to be very generous. Though I do take a little off the top for myself, you understand. Something like this takes a lot of extra time and energy to properly process.”

“Of course.” Throttle answered. “How much do you think is there?”

The clerk looked at him carefully. “You haven’t counted it?”

The tan furred mouse gave a small, embarrassed smile and shifted slightly. “I’m afraid I don’t handle many of those affairs since the war, Mr. Burk. My wife is good enough to help me.”

The clerk nodded, now understanding the mouse’s inattentive gaze as he looked a little closer, seeing the scars at the edges. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize.” He nodded apologetically. But, as Jessie had hoped, this seemed to relax the clerk just a little as he now turned his attention back to her.

“Do you have an estimate on the amount?”

“If my conversion rates are correct…I’m guessing it’s somewhere around thirty thousand.”

She watched the clerk’s eyes widen at the prospect of this.  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you’re very lucky to have found this before any authorities did. There would be a good deal of questions for something this substantial.”

Jessie nodded. “Yes, I’m aware.” She leaned a little closer to him, doing her best to look both very pretty and very serious. “You can imagine the kind of stress this has caused my husband and I, finding this in a family home. We are very anxious to see something good come out of such a find. If we understand each other, Mr. Burk.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course, Miss.” He carefully folded the gills up in the cloth again. “I can tell you that you aren’t my first costumers who have come in with such a find. I understand it can be…jarring to deal with. But I will make sure that you are fairly compensated for your trouble.”

“That’s all we ask.” Throttle nodded.

He shifted against the counter, looking at her closely, getting down to business at last.  “How much do you want? I can offer fifteen upfront.”

“Fifteen!” Throttle gasped. “You’re going to take half?”

“I’m afraid that’s all I have on hand,” Burk explained quickly, in hopes it seemed to tamp down any outrage. “I could give you that now and perhaps another six by tomorrow if you’re willing to come back then. Business has been on the slower side lately and as you did arrive without an appointment…”

Throttle pretended to think about it before smiling towards Jessie. “Is this guy trying to take us for chumps, honey?”

She nuzzled his shoulder, “I’m not sure, pumpkin. But I definitely think he’s holding out on us.” She added.

Burke looked between them and then smiled, shifting again against the counter. “You know…I think I may have misspoken before.”

“Is that so?” Jessie teased.

“Yes,” Burk admitted. “See…I knew something was off about you two when you wandered in here. And it wasn’t the fact that your so called husband is obviously blind as a bat, or that you’re both wildly over dressed; I could overlook all that.”

He looked directly at Jessie then. “But you two just so happen to walk in here, unannounced, not one day after Rod called me up, telling me all about how his woman robbed him blind and he was looking to make some quick cash—"

Throttle heard it. The small click of a safety being pulled back.

As Jessie began to argue back with Burk, the biker gripped her hard suddenly, yanking her back and away from the counter just as a shot erupted through it. It would have struck the woman in the stomach if she had lingered just a second longer.

The pair fell back, Throttle scrambling for his own weapon as Jessie pulled her blaster from her thigh and shot back at the clerk. An eruption of glass and woodchips rain downed on them as they scrambled to put more distance between each other.

“Jess, my specs!” the biker gasped, still firing blind.

The white furred mouse scrambled to cover them with one hand while fumbling for the glasses still trapped in the pocket of her dress.

Burk fell back and fired again, catching Jessie along the arm. She cried out at the burn and the spirit of blood that erupted from the deep tear, Throttle’s glasses falling to the floor. She struggled to reach for them, but forced to back off as another volley of fire ricocheted across the small pawn shop.

“Jessie!”

“I’m hit!” she gasped.

Throttle felt her moving beside him and he held out his blaster in front of her, “Point me in the right direction!”

She gripped his arm with her good hand and pushed it towards the clerk, “Fire! Fire!”

Throttle squeezed the trigger rapidly, the concussive blast of the lazor causing several loud explosions as they struck various shelving units. Burk fell to the ground, either hit by debris or knocked back by the blast.

With a break in the crossfire at last, the pair on the floor scrambled up, trying to make towards the door and get free of the closed and deadly space. Jessie fumbled with the door, trying to get it too unlock, just as a renewed blast came from behind the counter.

It missed them both and shot a sizeable hole through the large glass window beside them, but it still made them both shout. Throttle whirled, blindly laying down another hail of fire before whistling hard.

There was a roar of an approaching bike and then Lady came crashing through the already splintered window to skid across the polished marble of the shop floor.

Jessie grabbed Throttle’s arm and yanked him towards the bike, jumping on and pulling him behind her. “Hang tight, hot shot!”

“PUNCH IT!”

She kicked the bike into high gear, tires squealing  and punched back out the way they came through the now ruined picture window and out into the street. Any remaining citizens scattered for cover, screaming and shouting in shock and fear.

More heavy lazor fire followed them, and Jessie swerved to try and avoid it, only for Modo to race past her on Lil’ Hoss, returning the blasts with her front canon.

“I take it negotiations didn’t go so well?”

“You might say that,” Throttle grunted.

They looked back through the battered and broken front of the pawn shop as Carbine rushed to join them in the square. “What the hell is going on!?” the General demanded, reaching for her weapon.

“Seems the pawn shop broker got a little paranoid…” Throttle tried to explain.

“WATCH OUT!” Modo warned.

Burk had appeared in the shattered window, now sporting a rather high powered looking machine gun and looking quite crazed and unpolished as he aimed it at the group in the middle of the road.

The peppering pop of bullets, firing off at rapid speed, sent the mice into a scramble for cover. Modo grabbed Carbine and pulled her onto Hoss as they sped off, he and Jessie darting in different directions to make it harder for the mad man to pick a target.

Burk decided to focus on his initial intruders however, following the pair on the black and silver Harley as closely as he could. Throttle grit his teeth as he felt bullet ping off of Lady’s fender and exhaust pipes, gripping Jessie tighter.

“I’m still flying blind here, lady, be my eyes, tell me where he’s at and then point me at him!”

Jessie shook her head, “You can’t fire fast enough! If I get any closer he’s going to turn us into swiss cheese!”

Throttle could smell the blood on her from the wound on her arm, and felt how tense and tight she was against him, terrified. But they didn’t have time to be afraid.

He pressed closer to her, catching her by surprise as he moved one hand from her waist and felt along the bike’s gas tank up to the control panel, “Swing our tail towards him!”

“What?” she gasped.

“Trust me!”

She did as he instructed, swerving the bike so that their back was fully towards the shop. Throttle’s fingers found the button he was looking for and pressed hard, igniting Lady’s back rockets.

They erupted towards the shop and Burk was forced to duck for cover as each struck the structure, blowing the front façade piece off the roof and sending it crashing to the ground, while the other struck the edge of the building beside it, causing more chaos and rubble as a pipe burst, flooding the street with steam.

Modo and Carbine swept in front of the other pair, the General leaping off the back and heading towards the ruined store front, her own blaster drawn. “Weapons down, hands up where I can see them! DO IT NOW!” she ordered.

Modo looked from her back to Throttle and Jessie, seeing the blood on the young woman’s arm. “Jess, you’re hit!”

“Just a flesh wound,” she promised, though she seemed clearly pained.

Throttle slipped from behind her and Modo hastily reached to offer him his helmet, which the biker pulled on gratefully, closing the visor and breathing a little easier as it allowed him to see again. “Big fella, get Jess back home before anyone else spots her, I’ll clean up here.”

Modo nodded, pulling Jessie from Throttle’s bike and onto his, seating her in front of him. “I’ve got you girl, don’t worry.”

She looked to them remorsefully, “I’m so sorry guys, I thought I could—”

“It’s not your fault, Jess.” Maverick insisted. Strain made himself known then, approaching them with hard set features as he looked around at the all the chaos.

“Well it sure as hell is somebody’s fault. What the hell happened here, it looks like a grenade went off!”

He looked to see Throttle making his way towards Carbine and sighed deeply. “Well that explains it, doesn’t it?”

Modo gave him a warning look. “I’d be real careful how you approach,” Maverick cautioned, voice low and serious and with no love for the leader of the Watchtower. “And just remember that we’ve been picking up the slack for you jugheads for years and years. You owe him some respect.”

“I’ll ask the same of you.” Strain replied tightly. “Don’t go anywhere! I’ve got questions for the both of you!” he added, before making his way to where Carbine and Throttle had disappeared.

Modo glared after him. “Lucky for you, I don’t take orders from the Army.” He muttered, curling his tail around Jessie to make sure she was secure against him. “Take us home, Lil’ Hoss.”

They sped off, Jessie looking anxiously in the rear view as the shop and Throttle faded behind them.

Carbine swept away the shards of broken glass with the side of her boot, grateful for how thick they were, as catching a stray edge would have been both deeply unpleasant and inconvenient.

The pawn shop was disaster zone, overturned and exploded shelves, glass and wood splinters and debris everywhere. Her nose caught the scent of burning fabric and realized one of the velvet curtains was smoking and smoldering. She yanked it down and stomped out the embers as Throttle climbed into the shop behind her.

There was no sign of their shooter.

“You want to start explaining? Or you want to stand here and listen while I make guesses?” she asked him tightly.

“No one asked you to butt in.” He answered, more coldly than she expected.

She blinked at him as he searched the place, really taking him in for the first time, seeing what he was wearing. “Nice suit. Never thought I’d catch you dead in one of those.”

“You almost did.” He muttered. She noticed the blood on the chest and sleeve of the tunic and moved in closer.

“Are you—”

“It’s not mine.” He assured quickly, showing her there was no entrance or exit wound in him or the fabric.

They stared at each other quietly for a moment, then Throttle’s defenses lowered and he sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you were only doing your job.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. She looked down at the floor and spotted his specs among the debris. She bent and scooped them up carefully, holding them a moment and seeing a sizeable crack in one of the lenses. “You still haven’t told me what you were doing though.”

She pressed them into his palm gently and he nodded, grateful. He turned his head towards the counter. Just below it, a few stray gold gills had fallen and laid glittering in all their garishness on the floor. “It’s complicated.”

“Usually is with you and the boys.” Carbine nodded. “Does it have anything to do with that disturbance in the canyon last night?”

He nodded mutely.

She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and whined quietly. “All I wanted was a nice boring Sunday patrol…”

Strain pushed his way into the room then, using the busted front door. The bell on it chimmed sadly and awkwardly, dented but not broken. The larger mouse stared at the destruction and the pair standing in the middle of it.

“Where’s our shooter?”

Throttle nodded towards the open door behind the counter, making his way carefully around the ruins and peering through it. The back store room was empty, and the sliding door that lead into the back road behind them was left wide open. There were blood drops on the floor, and smear of it along the door itself.

“He made a run for it, looks like. Must have some help. But if he’s bleeding he won’t get far. Sure one of your other patrols can probably catch up with him shortly. You can slap charges on him for money laundering, extortion, bribery and um attempted murder I suppose.” He shrugged. He glanced up and saw Strain looking at him coldly.

Throttle shrugged again, “Of course you’re free to come to your own conclusions. Don’t let me do your job for ya, big guy.”

                “Your brand of vigilante justice has no place here, Evander. The war is over. We aren’t under marshal law anymore. I ought to haul your ass in for—”

                “For what?!” Throttle shot back with more venom than he expected. “For defending ourselves against a clearly trigger happy con-man who’s been operating under your noses for ages apparently? You’re going to arrest me for that?”

                “I have no doubt that the attack was provoked—”

                “I’ll show you provoked—” Throttle snarled back and started towards Strain like he was about to punch him but Carbine swiftly pushed between them, knocking the two men apart with a hard shove.

                “STOP IT!”

                She glared first at the Brigadier as if he should know better and then whirled back towards Throttle. “Quit acting like a meat-head and just tell me what you were doing here? You clearly know something is going on, and if it’s a threat to civilian safety then we need to know about it!”

                But Throttle shook his head stubbornly. “The bros and I have it covered.”

                “Not an option, Throttle.”

                There was a noise then, a shifting of something from the back room. The three mice turned towards the open door again, just in time to see one of Burk’s stock boys, who must have been hiding, make a run for it.

                “You there, stop!” Strain shouted, darting after him. Carbine started as well, then paused, realizing that Throttle had not moved to follow.

                She looked at him, confused.

                “Go on, General. Don’t let him get away.”

                Her expression twisted into something between frustration and sadness, and turned to follow Strain, leaving Throttle alone in the shop.

                He didn’t linger, limping his way back out of the rumble to where Lady was waiting, tucking his broken field specs into the pocket of the tunic with a heavy sigh. “Come on, ol’ girl. Best we get while the getting’s good.”

*** 

Chapter Text

***

He arrived back at the trailer a good twenty minutes after Modo and Jessie. He could have arrived sooner, but had weaved and backtracked through the city, partly to throw off anyone who might have been attempting to follow him.

But even as he arrived outside the Van Wham’s trailer, he was reluctant to move from Lady and walk inside. Already guessing what sort of scene he was about to walk in to. It was rare that a plan ever went this poorly. And this was definitely a stand out failure.

Not only had they completely blown whatever cover they might have, but if Burk had managed to get away he was going to tip off Rod and his cronies for sure about the gold. Now the Army was mixed up in it as well. And even if Carbine decided to pity him, she wouldn’t be able to hold off a deeper inquiry forever.

He sighed heavily, removing his helmet and replacing his cracked specs. Luckily, the crack didn’t damage the polar white out setting too terribly in the cracked lens. His vision appeared mostly normal, save for some blurriness on the cracked side.

He looked up at the trailer, hearing muffled voices inside, and sighed heavily, finally drawing himself from his seat and trudging towards the door.

As Throttle made his way to the front door and cautiously pushed it open, he spotted Modo first. Still without his bionic arm, the big grey mouse paced listlessly back and forth in the living room, looking anxious and flustered.

Vinnie and Jessie were not insight, but they could hear the pair arguing faintly back and forth with each other from deeper inside the trailer.

Modo and Throttle stared at each other for a long moment, saying nothing. Each waiting for the other to begin an explanation.

Maverick broke the silence first, his nerves winning out. He started towards him, looking at him hard, almost angrily. “What happened in there? I thought you had it under control!”

Already being on edge, Throttle’s defenses went up immediately, backing away from Modo’s advance. “We did! Until we didn’t.” he explained sharply, shaking his head. “My guess is he made me and Jessie from the jump as people who didn’t belong there. Or he knew about the money before we arrived, maybe even expected someone to come in with it. He got nervous and made a move, there was nothing—”

“That place got shot to hell! What happened to playing it cool?!”

“I told you, he got nervous—”

“He gets nervous--you stay cool--that’s how you always play it, you know that, Throttle!”

The tan furred mouse looked at his grey furred companion incredulously, feeling as if they were both speaking sperate languages, completely misunderstanding each other.

“If it had just been me in there, it would have been fine! If I’d been able to see a damn thing I might have been able to defuse it before he tried to blow us away through the damn display case, but that didn’t happen!” he barked, frustration rising. “And where were you at any rate! You were supposed to be watching our backs!”

“I was! I did!” Modo barked back, his remaining hand in the air as he gestured in his growing frustration. “Carbine stumbled in—”

“Oh, so you know what it’s like to get distracted then?” Throttle shot back.

Maverick bristled, straightening his back and pulling himself up to his full towering height, exhaling like a bull through his nose. His bro had made a valid point, but his guilt made him defensive. “Carbine was a wild card. You and Jessie were supposed to know what you were doing. You were supposed to know what you were doing!” He pointed at Throttle accusatorily.  “She’s not a fighter, Throttle, you were supposed to protect her!”

Whatever retort Throttle might have offered died immediately. There was no point to argue here. At the end of the day, Modo was right. He was the hero, the solider, the seasoned fighter who knew his way around dicey situations. Jessie, whatever she had gotten mixed up, was still a civilian. He hadn’t been able to keep the situation from escalating. Jessie had gotten hurt. And now they were more vulnerable than before, a now obvious target on their backs.

“You’re right.” He admitted, tired now, defenses dropped. “I should have squashed this idea from the start. It was too risky to bring her into this.”

Modo found his own panic ebbing, and with it, a cooler head prevailing. Remorse for coming in so hot when it was clear his bro was equally disappointed with the day’s events. He looked him over, at the blood on the tunic, at the crack in his glasses. The fire went out of him and he softened, the worried big brother side of him overriding everything else, closing the small distance between them easily. “Are you hurt?”

He touched the drying splatter on Throttle’s chest and arm as if searching for a wound. The tan mouse shook his head, staring more fixedly at it himself now. “No. It’s not mine.” He looked towards the hall and the bedrooms beyond. “Is she okay?”

Modo followed his gaze. “Vinnie’s patching her up. Was pretty shook up when we got back.”

The voices from the other room continued to grow in pitch and volume and the other pair cringed slightly. “Sounds like it’s going well.”

The door to Jessie’s room came flying open and Vinnie came storming out, muttering under his breath and obviously out of sorts. His eyes fell on Throttle and his features darkened further. “What took you so long?” he barked, clearly exasperated. “I was starting to think you got hauled in!”

“I had to make sure Watchtower didn’t put a tail on me. Or anyone else for that matter. If Rod and his thugs didn’t suspect our involvement with Jessie before, he sure does now.”

Vinnie huffed in frustration. “Great. Juuuust great. So much for flying under the radar!”  he muttered. “I never should have left this up to you—”

“Me?!” Throttle gasped, insulted. “Hey, this wasn’t my idea, may I remind you. Your sister said trust her and I did. But who’s plan it was is besides the point. Walking into Brimstone with that much in Plutarkian gold gills was bound to spark trouble either way—”

“So we should have left it here and gone after Rod and his pals directly. Given them the ass-kicking they’re obviously itching for—”

“Right, because that would have gone so well with you and Modo already busted up from last night. Think with your head for once, Vincent.”

Vinnie seethed but bit off whatever retort might be boiling under the surface, dropping moodily onto the sofa, folding his arms across his chest, which still felt tender to the touch after his near crushing.

Throttle sighed heavily, headache brewing. “Now…if you two are done giving me the third degree…we need to focus on what’s in front of us.” He continued, voice tired but even. “I’m still not sure if they collared the guy or not. We should probably stay at the farm tonight, in case there’s any trouble—”

“No way.” Vinnie cut in sharply.

Throttle blinked at him, stunned by the frank defiance.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re the Biker Mice from Mars! We don’t sit around and wait for trouble to come to us! There’s an active threat out there, one who is after my sister and one who has already tried to bust up my bros! Do you really expect me to sit on my tail and wait for these assholes to come to the Maverick’s farm and possibly cause more damage?!”

                Jessie came out of the bedroom then, her arm wrapped and now free from the more formal clothing, back into a lavender colored tank top and familiar green cargos. She looked at the three of them, all tense and ready to start in on each other again.

                Modo’s attention diverted to her first, anxiously glancing her over. “Jess?”

                The other two followed her gaze, momentarily distracted from their argument.  But she looked directly to her brother. “Vinnie, you running off to start a fight you’re not even fully prepared for isn’t going to fix anything. You can’t solve every problem with your bike and a fist!”

                “Watch me.” He retorted.

                “Gods you’re impossible!” she retorted with grit teeth.

                “Vincent, just cool down and let’s talk this through—” Throttle started, but Vinnie shot him a look that cut him off immediately.

                “You had your chance! Your dumb idea to play dress up and spies nearly got you both blown up. No I think it’s time for a more direct approach.” He started towards the door but Throttle blocked him, and Vinnie looked up, tail lashing, obviously struggling to keep his hot temper in check.

                “Bro, I really wouldn’t push it with me just now...”

                “You’re pissed, I get it.” Throttle answered. “But even if you think these punks are sloppy, they’re still clearly armed and dangerous. Judging by how it went down at Burks, they’re in some real shit and if you try to take them on your own, you’re gonna end up in worse shape than you already are.”

                Vinnie fumed, his frustration boiling just below the surface. He looked at the blood on his bro’s clothing. His father’s suit. Everything he had to loose, everything he had already lost, seemed to loom before him then. Finally squashing some of his outrage.

                He exhaled hard and shook his aching head, relenting. “Fine. But you’re not leaving me out this time. Clearly, I’m the secret ingredient in making these plans work.” He dropped down on the couch and Jessie sat on the arm beside him, offering a small shoulder squeeze. She looked relieved when he didn’t pull away from her.

                The others breathed a little easier, the tension beginning to ease.

                Jessie looked to Throttle. “Did they catch Burk?”

                “Can’t be sure, but I doubt it. Which begs the question of what comes next? Does he run to Rod and his pals to tell them what went down? Or does he save his own skin and get the hell out of Brimstone before someone starts inquiring about his business practices.”

                “If he’s smart he’ll leave town while he can. What happened to the money?”

                “Watchtower would have confiscated it by now. It’ll get locked up impound somewhere as evidence.” The tan mouse explained.

                This made the woman look nervous, rubbing her bandaged arm absently. “So much for making the trade off. Which means Rod will still be hard up to repay that debt. Which means he’s going to get even more desperate.”

                “Don’t worry, Jess. I’ll keep you safe.” Modo promised, earnest and resolute as she looked up at him. Jessie felt her heart give a warm little leap, her stomach pinching as she looked back at him, seeing there was no lie or doubt in his words.

                Vinnie looked between the pair as they gazed at each other and for the first time seemed to fully catch on to what had been brewing right under his nose. His ears perked and he sat at attention, blinking between them. “Uh…did I miss something?”

                Both Modo and Jessie blushed, shifting awkwardly.

                Throttle stepped behind the couch, patting Vinnie on his other shoulder. “Easy Vincent, don’t pop a blood vessel.” He made his way past the group towards the bedrooms, eager to change out of the borrowed clothes.

                As he stepped inside the empty bedroom, he glimpsed the rufuse left on and beside the bed. The bloody gauze and blood stained wash clothes, discarded wrappings of liquid stitch and bandages. The air in the bedroom felt heavy, and Throttle felt that his knees had locked up, his feet taking root to the floor.  Something about the scene ate at him. The bizarre, intangeable feeling that he had been here before and would be again. Rooms like this, empty, still holding the debris of injury, pain and eventual ruin, were going to be a constant in his life.

                For no reason he could think of then, the ghost of his father rose in his mind. A vivid memory of his own parents bedroom, of him helping to bandage his dad up after a particularly rough journey, when he’d come limping home in the middle of the night. Sometimes with Stoker, sometimes not.

                One particularly bad night, when his father had taken a hit to his leg. The wound was almost five inches across, had ruined his jeans and bled into his boots. Blood everywhere, his dad’s hands shaking too bad to stitch it himself. It had fallen to Throttle, who had done the best he could.

                He remembered his hands shaking as he tried to stitch the wound the old fashioned way, his dad doubled over and squeezing his thigh, teeth grit, fur wet with sweat.

                “I don’t want to hurt you more!” His own small voice, strange in his memory, came back to him.

                His father had looked up at him then, eye to eye, mustering whatever calm he still had and had put his big rough hand on the place where his shoulder met his neck and Throttle felt the tremors in his fingers. “Don’t worry about that, okay? I can take it. Do what you need to.”

                He had. He had plunged the needle and the thread through his skin, and struggled not flinch when he heard the sharp inhale his father took, biting off the pain. Didn’t move away from the grip on his shoulder, which turned hard and painful as Axle tried to keep composure.  But then it was over. He pulled the thread tight to close the wound and bit it off. Axle had collapsed back on the bed, panting but Throttle distinctively remembered the look of relief on his face.

                Jessie had told him he would have made a good nurse. Of course he would have. He’d been patching and fixing up his father since before he hit puberty. He had always been trying to fix things.

                Throttle pulled himself from the memory with a sharp breath, forcing himself to move and to look away from the bed and trash beside it, moving deliberately towards where his own clothes were laying on a chair beside the dresser.

                He hadn’t more than wiggled out of the tunic and undershirt, attempting to pull off the high boots when Vinnie barged into the bedroom with him, glancing back behind him before shutting the door.

                “Can you believe this?” he hissed.

                “What, that you don’t know how to knock?” Throttle shot back.

                Vinnie rolled his eyes, “Please, like I ain’t seen you in way less than that.” He scoffed.

                “It’s called courtesy…” Throttle muttered, uselessly.

                “Courtesey-smertesy!” Vinnie retorted. “How about Modo making time with my sister! Where’s the courtesy in that?!”

                “Oh come on, Vinnie, you know Modo’s always carried a torch for her. Shouldn’t be a surprise that the spark came flickering back to life now that she’s back. Best you just let it play out however it’s going to.”

                Vinnie made a gagging face, before turning and focusing on his bro again. “You sure you’re, okay? Heard things got pretty wild.”

                “I’m fine.” Throttle assured.

                Vinnie moved in a little closer, eyeing his specs. “Still, must have been kinda rough. She must have really laid it on thick to get you to agree to going in without your specs. I know that’s not an easy thing for you. So…” he looked at him pointedly and there was no avoiding his gaze. “…are you okay? Really?”

                Throttle smiled at him. “Yes. Really.” He nodded. “But I don’t think we should try that again any time soon. She wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I had acted faster.” He looked down warily at the rusty red splatter on the tunic. “I’m sorry about your dad’s suit.”

                Vinnie shrugged his shoulders, “Eh, somehow I don’t think he would mind it getting a little scuffed. Pops was never too much for formal wear.” He moved to sit on the bed beside him, taking the fabric from his hands and turning it over thoughtfully. “So…what now? These guys are bad news. I think we need to tackle them head on. But I don’t want Jess in the crossfire again.”

                “I agree.”

                “But…seems too close and too obvious to leave her with the Maverick’s. Rimfire can hold the fort there and all, but I’d feel better if she were somewhere they wouldn’t come lookin’. Some place I know she’d be safe.”

                Throttle considered a moment. “Well…there’s only one place I can think of to guarantee that.”

                Vinnie side-eyed him, “…oh?”

                “Well, you are overdue for a visit.” Throttle cooed.

                Vinnie groaned, hiding his face in the shirt. “Ugh don’t say it don’t say it don’t say iiiit!”

                Throttle stood. “Oh come on. Just because Stoker wipped the floor with you in the last motorcross challenge doesn’t mean you get to hide out from him forever. Besides, Harley misses you.”

                “Yeah…but I think I owe Bowie for the last bar tab still…” he muttered.

                Throttle gave him a stern, parental look and he whined again, throwing up his hands. “Fine, fine! I’ll do it for Harley.” He looked at him pointedly. “But you owe me. Half that tab was your drinks.”

                “Deal.”

**

                They took every back road and alley into old town, doing their best to avoid being seen by any patrols while also keeping an eye out for any unusual or suspicious characters watching them.

                Rather than pulling their bikes into the front lot of the bar, they drove behind the neighboring lots and pulled into the long lawn that spread out behind it, past the back patio where Bowie sometimes served guests, and into the array of scrap and bike parts that Stoker and Harley were slowly hoarding for various projects.  Here they could hide their rides easily, sheltering them under a tin roofed awning that was essentially being held up by string and stacks of cement bricks.

                “Ugh. This hiding out thing sucks.” Vinnie muttered, “Cherry deserves five star accommodations! Not to be lumped in with the rest of the scrap yard.”

                “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Modo reminded him. He had reclaimed his arm after a quick stop home, and while he was glad his nephew had been able to patch it up so quickly, it had cost him dearly in his nephew’s frustration and disappointment. Being left behind to defend the homestead once again was clearly wearing on him.

                Jessie dismounted beside him, pulling off her helmet and taking in the look of the yard. “Looks like Stoke’s been busy since I’ve been gone.”

                It wasn’t just junk that filled the yard of course. It was more of a color conglomerate of recycling and eco projects. Barrels lined against a fence with funnels and filters to collect rain water, stood beside a few short rows of garden plots filled with dark soil that were budding small but healthy looking vegetables.

                Windchimes clinked softly in the distance as the breeze kicked up, stirring the fans of tall windmill that whirled and creaked above a plot of tall, blood red sunflowers, which stood nearly as tall as Modo now.

                The mix of chipped and rusted edge colors, orange, blue, pink, army green and yellow made it all feel homey and close and well loved.

                “Yeah well, every old man needs a hobby I suppose.” Vinnie shrugged, pretending not to be impressed.

                “Who are you calling old man, punk?!”

                Stoker’s voice wafted to them from above, and they saw him leaning out the window of the second story, spying them from the upstairs apartment. He looked at them with that old wily fondness that he always did, leaning on the sill with a sigh. “You know you could come in the front door the way everyone else does. Instead sneaking around my lawn like you’re still teenagers.”

                “Where would be the fun in that?” Modo called back.

                Stoker cocked his head, realizing he had not just three guests, but four. “Who’s your friend?” he called.

                Jessie stepped out a little further into view and gave a tentative way. “Hey, Stoker!”

                He leaned a little further out the window and then pulled back and disappeared. A moment later, he appeared at the back door and came trotting out to greet them. “No way in hell…my eyes have to be playing tricks on me…”

                “Yeah, yeah it was a surprise to us too, no need to—” Vinnie started but Stoker ignored him. As he reached Jessie he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace, hugging her like she was his own. It made them all go quiet for a moment.

                Jessie’s was silent only for a moment, feeling the crush of the leaner mouse’s body against hers, the familiar smell of him and closeness making something spark inside her chest. She had worked so hard for so many years to make herself forget about everything here. But it hadn’t forgotten her.

                Her eyes welled immediately and she hugged him back just as hard. “I missed you, Stoke.”

                “Missed you too, girl. Missed you too.” He pressed a rough kiss to her cheek as he pulled back, taking her in more fully. “Look at that…you don’t know how much you look like your Mama. I thought it was her standing there for a moment, crazy as that sounds. Then again…I thought you were a ghost too.”

                Her face crumpled with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”

                “Yeah well…don’t be. We have an over abundance of ghosts here. Always nice when we get to keep something warm and breathing a little longer.”

                He looked past her finally, taking in his boys. “And you three…getting into trouble as usual I presume?”

                “What makes you say that?” Throttle asked, feigning innocence.

                Stoker nodded to the obvious crack in his lens. “Call it a hunch. Or call it that I’ve had two house calls today from Watchtower, asking if I’d seen you lot around after that shady little pawn shop got shot up like swiss cheese this morning.”

                The boys looked at each other nervously, but Stoker waved it off. “Come on, you can tell me all about it inside. Bar’s been empty all morning and there’s left over breakfast.”

                “Thank goodness, I’m starving.” Modo nodded, sticking close to Jessie as they moved after the older Freedom Fighter.

                “Wait, who made breakfast? Harley or Bowie?” Vinnie paused, posing the question with absolute seriousness.

                “Bowie.”

                Vinnie nodded, pleased. “Alright then, load me up. This muscle mouse is in need of some sustenance!” He moved past Stoker, slipping inside ahead of all of them, with Modo and Jessie ducking after and slipping into the inner dark.

                Stoker paused at the threshold as Throttle reached him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You good, kiddo?”  He looked anxiously at the crack in his glasses.

                But Throttle smiled, hoping to ease some of his obvious worry. “Yeah. Things got a little rough, that’s all. Happens.”

                Stoker nodded and made a small affirming grunt. “I’m sure I’ve got a spare lens somewhere. We’ll fix you right up. And you can tell me all about the mess we’re in now.”

                He looked into the stairwell that divided the bar and the apartment upstairs, watching as Jessie faded through the doorway. Clearly still in a bit of shock. “Does the Prodigal Daughter have anything to do with today’s headlines?”

                “Afraid so.”

                Stoker sighed. “Well, she wouldn’t be a Van Wham if she didn’t bring a storm on her heels wherever she went.”  He rubbed his back and pushed Throttle inside, lingering a moment more at the back door and gazing out across the back lot to make sure no one had seen them before closing the door behind them.

**

                Downstairs, the usual bar flies had trickled in now that lunch time had rolled around and the majority of the excitement from this morning had died off, the city returning to business as usual. Bowie kept busy, and kept up appearances that it was just another day, while upstairs Stoker paced and mulled over the details.

                The bros and Jessie sat at the small round table in the kitchen, each with their now empty plates and near empty drinking mugs. All weighing their options, which seemed woefully few.

                “My favorite part of this,” Stoker sighed, “Is that you came to me for advice as an after thought.”

                Vinnie let his head fall back between his shoulders with a loud and disgusted groan. “Oh come on! You really expect to be consulted every time something goes down?!”

                “When it involves my city and my bros, yes.” BlackRuby replied sharply as if this should be damn obvious.

                “Us not coming before wasn’t anything personal, Stoke,”  Modo offered. “It’s a situation that just sorta…came to a head while we were still getting our bearings.”  He looked to Jessie, who glanced down at her half empty cup with guilt.

                “Hmm.” Stoker grunted. “So the AT walker in the canyon…you think these punks were raiding it to sell the cargo? Pay off this debt they have with the raiders?”

                “That’s our best guess.” Throttle nodded. “Or it was a separate score, but Rod seemed real keen on taking the stuff that would sell for the highest amount. It’s clear he’s in hot water. Acting desperate. And it’s only going to get worse now.”

                “If he’s that apt to pay off a debt it must mean whoever he owes it to is out looking for him. Which means they’ll come here.”

                All of the younger mice looked at him pointedly. “They wouldn’t dare.”

                “Sand Raiders haven’t come within ten miles of Brimstone in ages. Not unless they have a death wish.”

                “You might be surprised what money compels some people to do.” Stoker cautioned. “Rod and his pals might try to lie low here, but it’s not exactly a good hiding place for them. My guess is they’ll try to stick to the outskirts until they gather what they need.” He looked pointedly at Modo. “Sweep and Rimfire know what’s going on?”

                “They’re already on watch.” Modo nodded. “Do you really think they’ll try something at the farm?”

                Stoker looked to Jessie. “If they think they might find you there, then I almost guarantee it.”

                Jessie shifted uncomfortably. “This is all my fault.”

                The older Freedom Fighter shook his head, his long hair slipping off his shoulder and swaying across his back. “Don’t do that. It’s pointless to worry about blame. Facts are we have a problem and we have to deal with it. I think it best if we put out a lure.”

                “A what?” Vinnie quipped.

                “A lure. Bait. We need to get them to a predetermined location, make them think Jessie and the money will be there. Getting them far away from civilians and anyone else they might be able to use as leverage is going to be key. Question is where…”

                Jessie looked around the table at their faces, touched by their worry for her and the way these people—whom she had so foolishly pushed away—had come together without a second thought to help her.

                She lifted her gaze and looked at Vinnie then. “They’ll come to the trailer. By now they have to know about it. Once they’ve put it together who our family really is—and they will now that they know who you are—there’s no way they won’t check there.”

                “All the more reason to avoid it.” Modo mused.

                “No. Actually it’s perfect. If we tip them off that I’ll be there, and they think I’m alone, they’ll swarm in. If you guys can close them in there, we can finish this.”

                “What, in a firefight?” Modo gasped. “Jess that’s too risky.”

                “Not if we surround them.” Vinnie replied. “If we hide out along the ridge at the edge of the farm, we’ll be able to take them out before things go bad or they have a chance to go at the Maverick’s. How many riders do think, Jess? There were three when we tangoed with them in the canyon.”

                “Never less then ten.” She nodded.

                “Ten’s easy.”  Vinnie nodded, his confidence growing. “Heavily armed of course, especially if they made off with any cargo.” He grinned manically. “But that makes it even better.”

                “Bros, lets not get ahead of ourselves…” Throttle cautioned.

                Vinnie whipped his head towards him, “What? You wanted a plan, I’m giving you a plan! We heard the baddies to one location, then we snare them, feed them some well deserved payback—”

                “And then give them the option,” Modo cut in, his own excitement rising. “Either cool their heels in our jail, or we toss ‘em back out in the desert for the Sand Raiders to collect their debt out of their hide. Should be an easy choice.”

                “And a win-win either way!” Vinnie beamed. He looked again at Jessie. “You sure you’re up for this?”

                She smiled back at her brother, an old glint in her eye that he hadn’t seen since they were kids. “What was it Daddy used to say? ‘I was born for this’.”

                Vinnie whooped and raised his hand, slapping his sister a high five, the resulting crack loud enough to make the others wince slightly.

                “No.”

                Throttle’s voice, firm and decisive, cut like a knife through the excited clamor.

                Vinnie, Modo and Jessie looked at him with confusion, but Stoker only glanced his way, as if he had somewhat expected this.

                “Huh? Come again, bro?”

                Throttle shook his head. “It’s too risky. I get where your head is at Jess, but you should be far from this situation. Now, if we can make them think you’re there while keeping you holed up here, we might have something—”

                Jessie’s palm slapped down on the table, catching their attention as she looked hard at the other mouse. “No! No, I’m not going to sit back on the sidelines and watch while you clean up my mess. I’m not helpless, Throttle. I can fight! It’s not enough for them to think I’m at the trailer—Rod will want to be sure! And if he has any doubt I’m there, he will turn tail and tear this city apart until he finds me.”  She looked anxiously towards Stoker. “He’ll come to the Mavericks. He’ll come here. He will not hesitate to hurt any of you to get to me. I’m the one who fucked him over. I’m the one he wants. So I’m the one who’s going to face him. I’m done running away from my problems.”  She looked at Vinnie, her eyes misty. “The more I run, the bigger they get. I didn’t think I had anything to lose before but…” she looked from her brother to Modo. “I was wrong about that.”

                Modo squeezed her hand gently.

                Throttle stood then, his chair scraping across the floor as he pushed it back. “No, I’m not going to dangle you like a piece of meat in front of that guy. I’m sorry, Jess, but it’s too risky.”

                Vinnie looked at him hard across the table. “Uh, excuse you? Who gave you last say in this?”

                The pair glared at each other and the air in the room seemed to stand still, tension crackling like electricity. The look on Throttle’s face was a mask of composed, cool dissatisfaction, but they could all see that he was close to boiling over. As close as Throttle ever got.

                “Okay, Vincent. You want to make the decisions? You want to call the plays? Be my guest. Because let me tell you something—” his voice was tight and fast, the rage underneath beginning to boil over—“I am tired. I am so tired of chasing after you, always one step behind, always trying to keep you from getting your stupid tail shot off because you don’t ever think before you speak or look before you leap! YEARS, Vinnie, YEARS OF KEEPING YOU—BOTH OF YOU—” he looked furiously at Modo, who was wide eyed. “—FROM GETTING YOURSELVES KILLED BECAUSE YOU WANT TO PUNCH FIRST AND ASK QUESTIONS LATER!”

                He looked at Jessie, “And what really kills me is that you walked away. You walked away, because you didn’t want to deal with this! You left me and Modo and Stoker and everyone else to pick up the pieces. For years, Jess! And now—NOW—you want to throw yourself into the fray and clean up your mess?! You don’t know what you’re doing and you’re gonna to get someone hurt!”

                Vinnie stood now, knocking his chair over as glared Throttle down, his own temper flaring fast and bright, just as his bro described. “You know what I’m tired of, Throttle?!” he seethed. “I’m tired of your superior attitude! I’m tired of you always shaking your head and giving me and Modo that look—that look like you think you’re so much smarter and more capable than us! Like you ALWAYS know best. But we both know that’s not true. Now don’t we?” The growl in his voice was dangerous.

                Both Modo and Stoker were on edge, looking between the pair, looking at Vinnie like he was handling a grenade, teasing the pin.

                “Vinnie—”

                “Shut up, Stoke.” Van Wham barked without taking his eyes off Throttle. “Shut up because you know I’m right and this isn’t about you.”

                “You’re a real piece of work, Vinnie…” Throttle muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. If you want to put your sister in danger go right ahead, but when it all goes to shit, don’t come crying to me. I won’t be there to hold your hand and make it all better when this blows up in your face!”

                He turned and stared to walk away, but Vinnie wasn’t done. “You’re jealous!” he barked.

                Throttle laughed, still walking away, but Vinnie was moving around the table, even as Modo tried to move to stop him. “Wow, you just had to throw your ego in there too huh Vin, couldn’t help yourself—”

                “You’re jealous!” Vinnie repeated. “No one asked you to be my keeper you know! No one asked you to take that role, to play big bro, to do any of this! No one asked you! You wanted that place, you wanted people to need you and now that Jess is back you feel threatened—”

                “You are so full of shit…”

                “Vinnie stop!” Modo hissed.

                “You’re jealous, Throttle. You’re jealous that I don’t need you to survive. And what’s worse—you’re jealous because she left and came back. And no one came back for you.”

                The pin had effectively been pulled.

                “Vincent!”

                It was Stoker’s voice, harsh and stunned that uttered his first name in such a way. Not Throttle’s.

                Throttle said nothing. He stared at Vinnie with a look that was pure shock. Eyes wide behind his specs. No sound. Barely a breath. An implosion, rather than an explosion.

                “He didn’t mean that.” Modo said, breaking the silence first. Still holding Vinnie back, he looked in wide-eyed concerned at Throttle, who still looked like a deer in headlights. Frozen. “Throttle, he didn’t mean that.”

                Throttle didn’t look at him. He didn’t look anywhere but Vinnie. And then, finally, he moved. Turning and striding out the door that lead into the hall, slamming it behind him.

                “For fuck’s sake…” Stoker muttered, actually looking panicked. He moved hurriedly after the tan mouse, pausing only briefly to look at Van Wham. “I’d slap the shit out of you if I didn’t think it’d break my hand on your cement block of a head!”

                He was out the door, leaving the other three behind, Vinnie only just starting to realize what had come out of his mouth, the adrenaline and the anger that had clouded his head a moment before staring to clear. Leaving him face to face with the aftermath.

                Slowly, he dropped back into his chair and put his head in his hands. “Fuck.”

***

Chapter Text

*tw heavy angst

***

                He was moving too fast. Just short of running. Needing to get more space between him and they eyes that had been fixed on him. Needing air. Knowing his constant, carefully crafted and practiced composure was more than compromised.

                He felt sucker punched. Winded. Wounded.

                It was more feeling than he could bear just then. And he had to escape.

                Throttle was already out the back door and into the yard, kicking up dust and pebbles behind him before Stoker was able to catch him. The older mouse may have more greying hair, but he hadn’t lost a single step.

“Throttle!”

His mentor caught his elbow and pulled him to a stop, the tan furred mouse trying to shake him off unsuccessfully.

“Let me go, Stoke—!” he snapped, the sound coming out a choked sort of snarl. He bit off any further complaint, still trying to hold onto the little bit of control he still had.

“You’ve got every right to walk away from that,” his mentor conceded, keeping his voice even and calm.  “You know how Vinnie is when he gets backed into a corner about something. Like a Pitbull on a crowded elevator…”  He sighed heavily looking back at the house, still slightly reeling from the exchange. “I just didn’t think he’d turn that on you.”

He studied the younger mouse, waiting for him to explain. To tell him about whatever the hell it was that had stirred up so much trouble between them. And praying it wasn’t the obvious thing.

                But the tan mouse stood, silent, refusing to meet his gaze and started to move towards his bike again. “Yeah well, it is what it is. Ain’t the first time we’ve butted heads over things.” He muttered, but the excuse seemed even less than half-hearted.

                Feeling more worried, Stoker pressed. “Buttin’ heads is one thing. You and Vinnie can argue each other in circles, hell even you and Modo have gone at it more than a few times. But this was below the belt. This was personal. What’s going on?”

                “Nothing!” he barked, then softened immediately as he looked into Stoker’s concerned face. “It doesn’t matter anyway…he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Throttle added, his tone quiet and miserable.

                Stoker’s eyes widened in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

                The other biker looked back at him, as if he were tired of the older mouse’s denial of the obvious. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. It’s okay to say it. People, leave, it’s what they do. No matter how hard I…” he trailed off, looking at nothing in the distance, jittering, anxious fingers digging into his pockets, and finding the necklace still buried in his jeans. Touching it felt the same as accidentally slicing his hand on unseen glass. Insult to injury. “Something about me just ain’t worth sticking around for. So maybe I am jealous.”

                Throttle huffed out a harsh mocking little laugh, looking away and shaking his head. Stoker could see his eyes were wet behind the damaged specs. “I can’t do this.” He muttered again, taking off with renewed speed towards Lady.

                Stoker scrambled now, more urgently than before. “Bro, wait, talk to me—“

                He mounted Lady in a hurry, not even bothering with his helmet, which fell free and clattered on the ground. He kicked Lady into gear and Stoker planted himself in front of him, grabbing hold of his headlight, refusing to budge.

                “Out of my way, Stoke!”

                “Turning tail isn’t the way to fix this!”

                It may have been the truth, but it was clear that Throttle had heard enough “truths” for the day.

                He threw Lady into hard reverse, pulling free of Stoker’s block. Dust and pebbles kicked up in a cloud behind him as he swerved hard and took off through the side gate, leaving Stoker coughing in the dust.

                Modo came trotting out, cursing to see he had come too late, reaching Stoker only as his other bro sped away. “Where’s he going?” He gasped.

                Stoker waved the dust from around his face. “To blow off steam.”

                Modo spotted Throttle’s fallen helmet on the ground and scooped it up gingerly, a new knot of worry in his stomach.

                “Oh mama…I think we really messed up this time.”

                Stoker looked at him as if this were the understatement of the year.

                Vinnie’s voice wafted towards them from the back door, the white furred mouse trailing out with Jessie not far behind. The third member of the Biker Mice approached without really looking at the pair waiting for him, already lost in whatever he was trying say, as if ready for whatever rebuttal he thought he had waiting for him.

                “Okay, okay, so things got a little heated back there. I admit that, and maybe some things were said that were—“

                “Can it!” Stoker barked. Vinnie blinked in surprise, not just by the anger in Stoker’s voice but in realizing the person he was fumbling an apology to wasn’t even there. Throttle was conspicuously absent among the group. He saw his bro’s helmet in Modo’s hands and stiffened, confused and wary.

                “What in the hell would possess you to say something like that to him?” Their mentor demanded, closing in on Vinnie and making the younger mouse take a step backward reflexively. “Seriously, Vinnie, I’d love to know. So let’s hear it.”

                Vinnie bristled, obviously uncomfortable under the familiar scrutiny of his mentor. He glanced to his sister, as if he expected her to offer some backup. But Jessie seemed as shocked as the others were, perhaps more, considering her lack of context for how the bros usually handled conflict between them.

                “The mouse asked you a question.” She offered. “If you think it was justified…” she gestured, as if hoping he had something to back this up. “…let’s hear it.”

                “Look, maybe what I said was harsh—“

                “Harsh?” Modo chimed in this time, and Vinnie’s ears flattened a little hearing the serious and agitated timber of his usually easy baritone.  “Road rash is harsh. That was way over the line. You know he just lost Carbine, why would say something like that?!” Modo gasped.

                “What do you mean lost Carbine?” Stoker asked, startled even further by this new information.

                Modo looked at him remorsefully. “It’s over, she gave him back his stone and everything. Happened the other day.”

                Stoker sighed heavily. “Shit…”

Vinnie paused again and then glared at Modo, “Hey I didn’t exactly hear you disagreeing with me! You know exactly how he gets and how he’s been since Jess showed up.”

“Which is what exactly?” Stoker cut in, glaring at all of them.  

“Like he doesn’t trust her!” Vinnie gasped, clearly exasperated as he came to crux of his outburst, the bur in his side.

Modo frowned, because he couldn’t deny this. Throttle had all but said as much. He hadn’t wanted to listen either, had been reluctant to really face the fact up until they had been confronted by Rod and his crew.

Vincent Van Wham looked between his sister and his bro, “Look me in the eye and tell me he didn’t say anything to either of you about it. You think I don’t hear things, that I don’t pay attention, but those walls a thin.”

“He had reason to be.” Jessie cut in, surprising both of them. “I’m not exactly proud of it, but Throttle was the only one who saw that I was in trouble. You were pissed at me, and you…” she looked helplessly at Modo. “I think you were too sweet to say what you really thought.”

She looked at Stoker pointedly then. “There’s a gang of smugglers that followed me back here. I had something that they owed to the Sand Raiders they were mixed up with. I came here to hide it and regroup, but…I wasn’t expecting to find you three waiting for me.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Stoker said bluntly.  He stormed away from the three, making towards his own bike. “Once again, it’s up to me to pull your sorry butts out of the fire. Modo, you’re with me.”

Modo paused only a second to glance at Vinnie and Jessie before hurrying to follow suit, the urgency of the situation becoming more concrete by the minute. Vinnie started to follow too but Stoker held up a hand, blocking him. “Nope. You’re gonna stay here where your big mouth can’t do anymore damage and really think about how you’re gonna fix this when we get back.”

                He looked past Vinnie and caught Jessie’s eye too. “Both of you.”

Vinnie scoffed, stunned and irritated at being spoken to like a child. But the look on Stoker’s face coupled with his own mounting guilt shut off any argument.

“Boys?” A lighter voice called from the back door, Harley standing there, looking curious and concerned. “Everything alright?”

Her tone indicated that she knew it wasn’t.

Stoker nodded back to her. “Just got a mess to clean up, darlin’. As usual.” He blew her a kiss and then sped off, Modo right beside him.

Vinnie watched them go, a helpless pit forming in his stomach. He looked to Jessie, as if in hopes of some understanding. To his surprise, his sister looked as lost and guilty as he felt.

“What did you mean by that?” She asked him quietly. “That he’s jealous that no one came back for him? What did that even mean Vinnie?”

Vinnie folded his arms around himself and turned slightly as Harley came to join them there in the yard. “It’s a long story.”

Jessie blinked at him and then turned to greet the honey colored woman she didn’t recognize. Harley looked at her curiously, but didn’t approach her first, instead looking at Vinnie.

“Sounds to me like your engine got a little overheated back there.” She offered with considerably more charity than Stoker had offered. She cupped the side of his face gently, always the masked side, fingers smoothing over both flesh, fur and chrome.

Any bravado he had left melted, his remorse evident. “Yeah. I blew it.”

Harley looked at him sympathetically and coaxed him to meet her eyes again. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t work out. You bros always do.” She looked at Jessie then, “and who’s your friend?”

“I’m um…Vinnie’s sister, Jessie.”

Harley’s big blue eyes widened in surprise now looking more carefully between the pair and realizing the resemblance.  “Oh really?” She gasped. She looked more pointedly at Vinnie now, silently questioning how this had never come up before, and offering Jessie her hand to shake. “Well, I’m Harley. Good to meet you, Jessie.”

The white furred woman looked more confused. “Yeah, you too…sorry, how do you know my brother?”

Vinnie and Harley exchanged loaded glances, the mechanic turned nurse smiling somewhat incredulously. “Well um…”

“Like I said. It’s a long story.” Vinnie replied.

**

Modo was not surprised when Throttle did not answer his coms. With his helmet stored behind him, it would have been easy enough for him to ignore or turn off his radio as well.

He was surprised however, when he realized that his bro had also turned off his tracker on his bike. And he must have been going flat out, wherever he was heading, to leave no trace of himself a long the road, only vague tire tracks that were easily lost in the shifting sand across the streets.

He and Stoker followed the most likely path in silence,  finding no trace of the mouse in the city and heading to its farther edge, back towards the farm and the trailer.

They stopped on a hill, just at the edge of the Maverick’s land. From this vantage point, they could see across the couple acres to the Van Wham’s trailer in the distance. But there was no sign of the silver and black motorcycle or it’s rider anywhere.

Modo tapped his com. “Rimfire? Primer? Anyone here me? This is your uncle Modo, come back.”

There was a momentary pause of radio silence and then Primer’s voice, sounding pleased but slightly flustered. “Hey Uncle Modo! What’s up?”

“Hey, girl you seen your Uncle Throttle around?”

A seconds pause and then his niece answered back “No…didn’t he leave out of here with you and Vinnie a little while ago?”

Modo looked anxiously at Stoker and then back to the horizon. “Yeah, but we got split up. Will ya let me know if he stops by the house?”

“Sure…is everything ok?”

“Nothing to worry about. Just keep yer ears perked, darlin’. Appreciate ya.” He ended the transmission before she could ask any further questions. He looked to Stoker. “Where could he have gone? It’s like he just vanished.”

Stoker’s fingers drummed across the handlebars as he considered their options, then said almost twinging look came across his face. “If he doesn’t want to be found…there’s only one place he’s go. Follow me.”

Modo’s brow furrowed but he nodded, following his mentor’s lead as they rumbled away from the farmland.

The path Stoker lead them down became rougher and more difficult as they sped along. The pavement here clearly hadn’t been tended and treated in a long time, weeds growing up through the cracks. They were at least two miles off the main highway now, on the very periphery of Brimstone, in an area that had essentially been reclaimed by the wastes since the war.

“Why are we way out here?” Modo asked, almost wondering if Stoker had somehow gotten lost.

The older Freedom Fighter glanced back at him. “You really don’t remember?”

Modo blinked, clearly confused, scanning the landscape again. It was rockier terrain here, more spires of rock and small cliffs and mesas. Not far from here there had been a few pockets of volcanoes, all dormant for many years. Trees grew better here than in most of other places, filling in the lower terrain between the rocks. It had once been very pretty, and quite the place to explore. The wilds at the edge of their great city, before it opened fully onto desert plains. But no one had been here in ages, as it had long been deemed too unsafe. For a great multitude of reasons.

Stoker nodded to the ragged pavement below them. “Tire tracks. Recent ones too. Can’t tell if they’re his, but I’m not sure why anyone else would be out here.”

As they followed the broken road, the memory began to open up. As they came around a sweeping curve of what Modo first thought was just another foothill of the cliffs, he was greeted with a stark color change in the rock. No longer the familiar rust red, but black and grey, glittering and crusted.

Lava rock. Discolored by sand and dust but now showing its glistening black shell for what it was. Vegetation had begun to grow on it and it might have been beautiful. If it were not poured into the center of what had been a small residential neighborhood.

The black rock had flooded over the area, consuming land and structures alike. Some buildings still stood, partially encased in the new formed rock. But most had been burned to their foundations. Only stone, cement and piping left behind. It was a strange and disquieting scene, this ruin that had nearly been forgotten about even by even such life-long residents as they had been. It was as if they had collectively blocked it out, not having enough mental bandwidth for all the tragedy they had seen.

They came to a dead end street and Stoker pulled to the edge of a sidewalk, overgrown with weeds. A series of cement stone steps that lead up to the foundation of what had once probably been a very cozy family home. But the home itself was gone. Consumed by fire decades ago.

Modo stared at it, a chill going down his spine. “This was it?”

Stoker nodded. “Once upon a time.” He nodded. “I used to trip up these stairs quite regularly, me and Axle dragging each other’s sorry asses inside after a long patrol. Sorry pair of idiots we were back then.” He looked wistfully to the top two steps that actually touched the foundation itself. “Throttle and Rosie used to sit right there and wait for us.” He smiled thinly at the memory and then looked back to Modo. “You really don’t remember this place?”

The big grey furred mouse looked solemnly at the wreckage. “Not like this. Not a burnt outline of building.” He explained. “Throttle was always at our place seemed like. Hardly saw this place after…”

He grew quiet again, the weight of the place and its significance heavy on his shoulders.

“Why would he come back here?”

Stoker’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Can’t say for certain. Just something about what Vinnie said, the look Throttle had after. Made me wonder if he might.”

The big grey furred mouse shook his head. “I can’t believe Vinnie dug up that kind of ancient history like that. They’ve been uneasy as hell since Jess rolled back in but I had no clue that was still brewing in the back of Vinnie’s mind.” He glanced down at his arm, considering his own part in that mistake. But he shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. “Bringing up Mace like that right after he gets dumped by Carbine—”

“Mace?” Stoker gasped, cutting off Modo’s thought abruptly.

The old Freedom Fighter looked back at his protégé in confusion, and Modo cocked his head. “Huh?”

“You think that was about Mace?” Stoker gasped, seeming incredulous.

“He’s only ever had two relationships, and Carbine just left. Seems kinda on the nose to me. What else would it be about?”

Stoker gestured to the ruin they stood in. “Vinnie said no one came back. But I think you two forget how much your bro has already lost before that ever happened. Or did you forget how Throttle ended up being such a mainstay at your Mama’s house?”

Modo looked back at the barren foundation, old memories stirring from their archives. Childhood things, tucked away as their world became so much larger, and so much less certain. An awful ache bloomed in his chest.

“He couldn’t have thought Vinnie meant that--!” he gasped. “Vinnie might have been angry, but he would never—”

“Maybe not.” Stoker said without looking at Modo. His own gaze was fixed on the place where the house once stood, as if mesmerized by it. “Just the way he looked at me, what he said when he did. That he wasn’t worth stickin’ around for…”

Modo winced, hearing this. “Oh man…he can’t really think that, can he?”

Stoker didn’t answer readily, thinking to himself. “You didn’t see what I saw that night.”

It hadn’t started out as a bad night. He had started out ordinary and peaceful. Happy even.

Thirteen and still scrawny for his age, Throttle gripped the handlebars of Stoker’s bike with deadlock ferocity, grinning fiercely into the win as they sped across the old highway. Sunset, near twilight. No one on the road but them.

Stoker, sat right behind him and ready to take control the moment they went off kilter, was whooping and hollering, having nearly as much fun as the kid in front of him.

“That’s it! Give it some gas, kiddo, don’t be shy! My ol’ girl ain’t afraid of a little speed!” He coaxed over his shoulder.

Throttle nodded, gaining confidence and opened her wide, the engine roaring with the sudden influx and they jolted forward like a bullet train.

Throttle almost lost his grip, but Stoker’s rough hands slid easily over his, keeping them pointed straight and true. They crest over a small hill in the road and came down with a bounce into a wheelie and the teen yelped in both fear and delight again.

They slowed, going easily into a controlled skid before coming to a stop along the edge of the road. “You like that huh?”

“Hell yeah!” Throttle cheered back, wide eyed and beaming.

Stoker grinned back at him. “Man, you’re just built for this, huh? You got that wild-child look in your eye that only real adrenaline junkies get when they really let loose.”

The boy looked back at him, swelling with a new sense left pride. “You think so?” He pulled off the borrowed helmet and shook out his sweat damp hair, giving Stoker’s ride an appreciative pat along her tank. “I can’t wait till I can get one of my own. Dad says not until I’m older. Ma says not until I’m 40.”

Stoker chuckled, un-surprised. “Yeah well, your Ma worries about ya is all. She’ll come around. Till then, we can keep these practice sessions between us. Then when you’re ready for a ride of your own, she’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”

The boy nodded and looked off into the distance then, the previous thrill and enthusiasm fading from him slowly, like a coal burning low. Stoker thought how much older he looked when his features were set so seriously this way.

“Dad’s not been sleeping too good last few nights. She’s getting worried.”

Stoker nodded solemnly. “I know. But when I came to get you, your Ma said he was about to lie down for a nap. And that was hours ago. He’ll be feeling better when we get back, I’m sure. He just needs some good rest to get his mind right.”

“Make him stop seeing the ghosts?” Throttle added.

The two gazed at each other and Stoker nodded slowly. “He tells you about them?”

“No.” Throttle answered. “And yes. Sometimes, when he’s been drinking. He’ll tell me. But mostly, I hear him talking to people who aren’t there.”

“They aren’t real, kiddo. It’s just bad memories. Things that still hurt him.” Stoker nodded. “He just need to sleep. And stay the hell away from the liquor. Then he’s fine.”

But they both knew the use of the word was inaccurate. “Functional” might have been a better fit. But functional was one step closer to normal.

Throttle nodded, hopeful. But they both knew to be cautious in that hope.

Stoker stretched with a big exaggerated yawn, then used his tail to coil around the smaller mouse’s waist, hoisting him from his spot in front and lining him over his head before letting him drop easily behind him.

“Hey! I thought you were gonna let me drive home?!”

“Not tonight, kiddo. If your Mama catches you, I’m the one who will end up with his tail in a sling.”

Throttle sighed, clearly disappointed but also quietly relieved. His hands were still shaking ever so slightly from the rush, the adrenaline wearing off.  They would ache into his wrists through the night. But it was a good ache.

They rumbled off again, back towards the old neighborhood. Above them Phobos was rising, full and somehow angry looking, taking on an uncommon aura of light around it. Although lovely, it gave Stoker an uneasy feeling. One that would turn out to be warranted.

As they rumbled up to the sidewalk, pulling up the drive that lead around to the back of the house and the garage, there was already the inkling that something was wrong.

As soon as Stoker killed the engine of his bike, the muffled shouting from inside the house could be heard, cutting through the otherwise quiet night air.

Both Mice tensed, ears and antennas perking. A small electric shiver ran down Throttle’a spine and followed all the way down his tail. There was a feeble, silent wish between them, that the sounds were not coming from the Evander's. But they both knew better.

The boy was off the bike before Stoker could grab him, making his way hurriedly through the back door. “Mom? Dad?!”

Stoker hastened to follow, stepping into the back door and up the small step that lead into the kitchen, which was still warm with the lingering smells of dinner and recently washed dishes, night air filtering in through the open window that overlooked the driveway and the yard behind.

Axle’s voice in a distant room was a roar that felt like it shook the walls. But Rosie’s scream of dismay was so much closer.

Stoker sprinted around the corner, nearly sliding on the clay tile floor and rounded into the living room, making his way towards the stairs to the second floor.

Throttle was already there, at the foot of the stairs, at his mother’s side. The tawny furred woman was slumped against the wall halfway down the stairs. Her hair was coming close from bun at the back of her head, wild springs and coils of hair falling over her face, but it could not hide the thin line of blood that went across her forehead.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor above, breathing shakily, taking a minute to register the other mice as they crashed into her house.

“Mom?!” Her son gripped her arm urgently and tried to pull her towards him, off her awkward perch on the steps.

She finally dragged her gaze away from the top of the stairs and blinked at him, before pulling at him, as if trying to pull him into her lap. “Honey! Watch your feet, there’s glass!”

Throttle glanced down to see some of the picture frames had come off the wall and shattered on the floor. The teen shook his head, caring little for what was crunching under the soles of his shoes. “You’re bleeding!”

She blinked at him, as if not yet having realized this fact. Stoker was beside them in short order, while muffled muttering and growls continued above them.

“Rosie,” he reached and lifted her slight frame easily from the steps, sweeping her away from the mess. He looked warily at the cut on her head, trying to inspect it closer. “What happened? How long has he been like this?”

She swallowed roughly, looking worriedly upward again, ignoring the way the other biker was fussing over her, trying to better gauge how serious the cut across her brow was. “He finally fell asleep, but he must have been having a night terror. I tried to calm him down but—“ her lip quivered, whole body shivering. Clearly frightened. How could he possibly blame her, with the sounds the wounded beast upstairs was making. Like the world was ending.

There was another crash of furniture from upstairs and a pained shout from the mouse missing in action, and Throttle was suddenly on the move, both his mother and Stoker trying to grab for him, but he was too quick.

“Little bro, don’t go up there! Throttle, wait--!” Stoker rushed to follow, and when Rosie started to scramble after he twisted sharply to look at her. “No! Stay there, Rose, let me handle it!”

At the top of the stairs, the second floor opened in a crescent shaped loft from which the other rooms branched off.

Throttle spotted his father on the floor, on his knees, hunched and holding his head, fingers dug deep into his hair and clawing at his scalp. Mewling. Moaning. Saying something that the boy couldn’t understand. Either because it was muffled or because it was nonsense. The ravings of a sick and tortured soldier who’s mind was coming undone. Unable to cope. Unable to distinguish between the past and the here and now. The hurt, the fear, all of it bleeding together.

Throttle had paused, and then slowly edged towards the mouse on the floor, careful to avoid the broken wardrobe and overturned lamp that was still flickering an odd spotlight of yellow across the wall and creating shadows at strange and disjointed angels. Adding to surrealness at hand.

“Dad…?”

Throttle approached his father the same way he approached the temperamental old sow that belong the Mavericks. Slowly, gently. Trying to be a soothing and non threatening as possible.

“Dad, it’s okay. You just woke up wrong. The ghosts aren’t here, it’s just Mom and me. It’s okay.”

Axle huffed several harsh breaths, but the moaning stopped, reduced to sniffling and gasps. After a moment, he looked towards Throttle, a wild-eyed wreck. It made the boy stand very still, obviously afraid.  Either of him, or for him, Stoker didn’t know. It didn’t matter.

The older biker was on the move then, drawing his attention away from the young mouse. “Ax…” he greeted cautiously. “Ax, come on. Let’s sit down, catch our breath. It’s going to be fine.”

Axel looked rapidly between them for a moment, as if unsure if they were there to harm him or not. If he believed they were who they said they were. But slowly, slowly, something like clarity started to filter back into his eyes. Whatever horror had snared him losing it’s grip. Just a little.

“Where…where’s Rosie?” he panted.

“She’s downstairs.” Stoker replied. “She’s okay…”

Throttle glanced back behind them, and saw the dent in the drywall near the stairs. Saw the broken wooden sculpture that had sat beginning and forgotten on an end table for ages, that had clearly been lobbed at great force at the wall. His expression changed as he looked back at his father.

“You didn’t throw that at her…did you?”

The accusation cracked through the air like electricity and Stoker winced. But Axle looked wide eyed at his son, as if unable to comprehend the question for a moment. Then he shook his head quickly. “No…no, I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t. It wasn’t her standing there it was…”  For a moment that haunted look came over his face again, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of his answer.

Stoker moved in, “Axle, hey, buddy, you gotta look and me and listen alright? What day is it? I need you to tell me what day it is, and where you’re at.”

He was trying to reorient him. Trying to bring him back to the present and out of the hell inside his head.

Most of the time, this was enough.

But not tonight.

Axle’s face changed again. No longer a mask of fear, but of rage.

“Do you really think I would ever do anything to hurt your mother? Do you really think that?!” he bellowed.

Throttle winced, almost cowered at the rage in his father’s voice, now turned on him. But he didn’t apologize immediately, or back down. Torn between worry and loyalty of each parent.

“She’s hurt all the same.” He pointed out, mustering what courage he could. Then, more assertively, with blooming frustration that had been building for heaven knows how long. He said the thing he normally wouldn’t. “I know you’re hurting, but the ghosts aren’t real! They’re not real and we are! You might think you’re hurting them but you’re hurting us!”

Axle turned towards his son with an expression that would haunt both Throttle and Stoker for the rest of their lives. It was the look of a person possessed. A complete distortion of the mouse they both knew and loved. Anguish and hatred, muddled with a sort of wounded confusion.

“Dad…”

He took a small step back towards the stairs, and Stoker gripped Axle’s shirt in both hands, leaning closer, “Axle—”

The broader, stronger ranger surged forward and out of Stoker’s grip with stunning force, charging the smaller mouse, who could not move fast enough. Axle lunged at him, grabbing the small figure by the front of his shirt, dragging him upwards until only his toes touched the floor, shaking him hard enough that collar of his shirt tore with the force.

“And what the hell good are you for then?! Huh? You were supposed to fix it! You were supposed to make everything alright!! So why does it still hurt?! They’re dead and you’re alive, so why is nothing better?!”

Throttle’s were huge, made to look even bigger by the way they welled with shocked and pained tears. He tried to stammer out some answer to the awful question his father demanded. But he couldn’t. There was nothing to say.

Stoker was in between them, wrenching the smaller body away from his partner and shoving the broader mouse back hard enough to make him stumble and fall into the dresser, tipping it to the side with another loud bang and crash.

“Don’t you put your hands on that boy ever again!” Stoker bellowed at him, his own fury enough to rival his partners. “That’s your son! Your son! Have you lost your mind completely!? What are you saying?!”

Axle howled back at him, and charged again but Stoker was ready now, feet planted. He cuffed his partner along side the head, elbowed him in the chest and then tripped him, bringing him to the floor with a thud.

Winded, the other mouse lay there gasping and cursing. “You fucking bastard! Get off me! How dare you hit me, you fucking traitor--!”

Stoker brought his boot down on his back and flattened him again. “SNAP THE HELL OUT OF IT!” he yelled. Axle twisted and tried to tear at him, but Stoker again pinned him. If Evander had been in his right mind, if this had been a real fight, he might have struggled more. But this was a battle with a sickness, and it was uncoordinated and unfocused. The surges of insane strength came fast, but faded quickly.

“You can rage, and you can cry, and you can howl at the gods all you want, but it’s not going to bring your boys back, Axle. I know. I’ve been right there in that hell with you. But you haven’t fucking lost everything. Don’t you dare EVER speak to your son like that again—”

“Stoke!” Rosie was at the top of the stairs now, and there was another set of footsteps behind her. A neighbor and their husband, come to help.

The sight of his wife, the sound of her voice, seemed to bring Axle back to some kind of focus, and he stopped struggling against Stoker’s hold. The cut on her forehead startled him, starting to piece together the events.

He laid there panting, and then curled in on himself, too ashamed to look at any of them.

Stoker moved away, and back towards Throttle, who was pressed against the wall, just staring. Stock still and unnaturally quiet.

“Kiddo, go downstairs with your Mama. I’ll take care of him.” He assured.

Throttle didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him and Stoker’s chest tightened and he touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Throttle…it’s okay…”

Rosie moved to he son, looking at him carefully. “Baby, you alright?”

He just looked at her, dazed. She hadn’t heard what he’d said to him. She didn’t know all the hurts were on the inside. For whatever reason, in that moment, he decided that he never wanted her to know.

He gave her a shaky sort of smile and nodded. “I’m okay, Mama. I’m fine.”

She kissed his forehead and hair, hugging him close before looking back at her husband, who was still struggling. She and Stoker exchanged cautious looks with each other, and she moved in closer.

“Honey…” she coaxed.

Axle, on his knees, looked up at her cautiously through the curtain of loose sweat damp hair. “Rosie?” He stared at the blood on her forehead and whimpered. “Rosie…”

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m fine. The edge of one the frames caught me when I was going down the stairs. It’s not even bleeding anymore.” She assured him, talking soft and light. “I think we ought to take you into town honey. Get you looked at by the doctor. Just for tonight. It’s been so bad, Ax, and you’re so tired…if you just sleep—”

He shook his head. “No doctor. No, I’m not going.”

“Honey please…” her desperation was obvious in that plea. This was her husband. The man she loved more than anything. Who on his good days, was everything she had dreamed. A good spouse, and good father, and good person. But when this darkness in him took over….she was helpless. Just waiting for the storm to pass.

“You’re going.” Stoker said resolutely. “Stop pussin’ about it. You’re going. You need help!”

Axle snarled at him. “Fuck you. Get out of my house you back-biting, cock-sucking—”

“SHUT UP!”  Throttle shouted, startling all of them. “Don’t call him that! Don’t say that! He’s just trying to help you—” He started towards his father, the same as he would have any bully who was after one of his friends or one of the smaller kids, and pushed at him, as if trying to knock some sense back into him.

Whatever calm Axle had managed to reclaim was gone instantly and he struck out at the boy, grabbing him by the face and pushing him to the floor. He would have fell on him, but Stoker hit him first. Axle fell back to the floor, his cheek bone throbbing as he crashed down from the hook his partner had just landed on him. It stunned him, leaving him dazed on the rug.

Stoker was done hesitating. He picked Throttle up, getting the boy to his feet and tucking him under his arm, and then grabbed for Rose, arm around her waist. They were rushing the door as he looked at the stunned neighbor. “Call an ambulance. Wait for them outside. Don’t go near him.”

They all struggled down the stairs, trying to avoid the broken glass and frames. They moved in a hurried rush, hitting the back door once more, but not going for the bike idling near the detached garage. Instead they made for Rosie’s jeep.

Stoker shuffled them into the back seat and slipped behind the wheel, only leaving once he’d made sure the neighbors were safely outside and help on the way. Then he sped off, anxious to clear the neighborhood so he could punch the gas. There was only one place he could think to go then, glancing back at the shaken and disheveled pair in the back seat, huddled together.

Ten minutes later, they were rolling up to the Maverick homestead, and shuffling their way towards the front door.

                It opened, and a woman with long silver hair, plaited in a braid that hung to her elbow, and wearing a robe came to the door. Ada Maverick had seen the lights of the jeep pulling up to her farm, and knew it meant trouble even before she knew who was inside.

                Her son, fifteen and already taller than her by almost a head, shuffled in as well. They watched as Stoker escorted Rosie and Throttle to the door.

                “Stoker? What’s going on, what’s happened?”

                The Ranger gave her a mutedly grim look. “Sorry for not calling ahead, Ada. Kind of an emergency.”

                Rosie gave a miserable little sniffle, and tried to hide her face. Embarrassed and overwhelmed.

                Mrs. Maverick swept towards her without another thought, putting her arms around the smaller framed woman. “Oh honey, honey…come inside. I’ll fix you right up.” She coaxed.

                Rosie mumbled her gratitude and let the woman lead her inside. Ada looked back at Stoker and Throttle, glimpsing the boy worriedly. “Sweetheart, come in. Getting cold out there.”

                Throttle didn’t budge. He didn’t even seem to hear her, or really register what she was saying. Modo slipped out into the porch with them, and nodded to Stoker. “I’ll sit with him.”

                The Ranger patted the taller teen gratefully on the shoulder and then disappeared after the two women.

                Modo had given his friend a worried once over, and then motioned for him to follow him. The pair had flopped down at the edge of the porch, legs dangling off the edge, staring out at the expanse of waving prairie grass that grew along the front of the homestead.

                “Is it your dad?” Modo asked cautiously.

                Throttle nodded, but said nothing. Modo saw how ruffled he was, the tear in his clothing. Could feel his body heat, raised by the stress, radiating off him. Cautiously, the older mouse put his hand on his friend’s back.  “It’s okay. You guys can stay with us until he’s better, no problem.” He smiled hopefully, as if this might be of some comfort to the other.

                Throttle didn’t answer. He kept staring into the dark. Then, finally, he glanced in Modo’s direction, eyes wet and voice strained, trying to hold in a cry. “I don’t think…he’s going to get better. Not this time.”

                Modo took a deep breath and gave aa small stress shiver, brow furrowing. “Wasn’t long after that, was it? A few days I guess. Since he…”

                Stoker nodded.

                Modo’s face fell in a hard wince. “No one came back for you.”

                The words had such horrible weight now. And he was sure Vinnie had no idea how painfully accurate he had been. If he had, he was sure he never would have said such a thing.

                Maverick nodded. “He doesn’t ever talk about it. Not ever. He brings up his mama sometimes, but not often. I guess it hurts him too much.” He sighed heavily. “My head’s been up my ass, Stoke. I didn’t think Jessie coming back would affect him like this. Bring all this up again.” He looked at his mention, “Why didn’t he just say something!?”

                “Because our bro has a bad habit of trying to fix himself by fixing everyone else.” Stoker explained. “Vinnie said he’d been hovering lately. Being a mother hen. I bet Jessie did throw a huge wrench in the works for him. You two didn’t need him as much.”

                Modo winced again. “That’s not true. He’s our bro. We want him around regardless.”

                “You tell him that lately?”

                Modo thought about how quick he had been to jump at Throttle after what happened in town. He had been worried, not just about Jessie, but about him. He trusted Throttle to always be on top of things, as he had so often proven he was. He trusted that certainty, that Throttle could handle anything, even if he and Vinnie fell short. It seemed a given. And that was clearly the problem.

                “Man, we messed this up.”

                “Yeah well, don’t focus on what you didn’t do then. Focus on what you can do now.” He moved from his bike and walked around the remaining sidewalk and street on foot, studying the ground. “There’s tire tracks here, but…I don’t think they’re Lady’s anymore.”

                Modo moved to do his own looking around, and realized in the lot next to them there was clear evidence of the dirt drive—mostly weeds and seed grass now—had been recently disturbed. Deeper, bigger tracks were there, pressed into the dirt. “Even if they were…looks like someone else was here too.”

                They scanned the area, looking into the trees and surrounding mounds of rock and skeletal buildings, suddenly afraid they were being watched.

                “I think we should go.” Modo cautioned. “If he was here, we would have seen him by now.”

                Stoker nodded silently, but Modo still had to guide him back towards his bike. The place seeming to still have a grip on him.

                They turned and sped off, hastening back the way they came. They had lost more than an hour, and it seemed like the longer their bro was MIA, the more dire the situation felt.

                Modo refused to think that Throttle would go down the same path his father had. But he also knew there were some pains that never really went away. And sometimes, it won.

                That wasn’t going to happen to his bro. Not while he was around.

*** 

Chapter Text

***

                Vinnie paced the yard like a dog on a chain. Arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed on the back alley roads his bros and he had used to come and go from here. Behind him, Harley and Jessie were talking, but he wasn’t really listening.

                His anger was a thing with a life of it’s own, and over the years, it seemed to have taken up more and more mental headspace for him. When he was fighting—either on Mars or Earth—either in the war or in the constant skirmish battles they had held in the streets of Chicago—it served it’s purpose. It was a tool, a driving force. Something he used to his advantage.

                But only now, since they had come home and there were no more battles to be fought. The righteous rage that had been fuel for him, stagnated. Regret began to mix with it. Regret for what he’d lost. Fear for what he might never get back. For who he might never get back…

                Motorcross, and hunting Sand Raiders and picking fights in random bars with random trouble makers was not enough of an outlet for such a heady mixture. It had begun to poison him.

                A light had touched his shoulder and he turned sharply. For half an instant, he expected someone else. Auburn hair and smooth skin. Bright green eyes.

                “Vinnie?”

                He blinked at Harley, and the dizzying overlap of Charlie remained in his mind even as he looked at her. It was not the first time this had happened, and it was just as jarring then as it was now.

                The blue-eyed mechanic looked at him with tight concern. “Easy, hot-shot. You need to cool that engine.”  She looked at him plainly. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

                “No.” he said bluntly. He looked past her in frustration, back to where Jessie lingered a little further back and the back of the bar/apartment behind them. “I’m really not interested in another lecture. Throttle and I had words, that was it.  He’ll be back soon enough and we’ll talk it out—it’s fine!”

                He looked at his sister, exasperated. “And you! You freakin’ threw me under the bus back there! When I defended your honor!”

                Jessie looked startled and then scoffed in disgust. “Hey, no one asked you to ‘defend my honor’ you cheese-head! That was all you Vinnie, I had nothing to do with it!”

                “Oh there she goes! Classic Jessie, doesn’t want to get in the mud with the rest of us, can’t be bothered, she might break a freakin’ nail!”

                “Will you grow up!?” She roared back. “It wasn’t even his plan, Vinnie! It was mine! You knew that! I mean you went awfully hard at the guy—”

                “He put you in danger!”

                “I was already there!”

                The retort from Jessie came out more forcefully than she had meant it to and it had clearly startled him a bit, his ears lowering ever so slightly. In that split moment of shock, she saw him as the little boy he had once been. Her tag-along of a little brother. Always seeking attention. Approval. Validation. Starving for it. And far more sensitive than he let on at times. “Vinnie…you are always putting your foot in your mouth. You don’t think before you speak you just blurt out whatever pops into your head at the moment and then—” she waved around helplessly. “—everyone else has to clean up the mess!”

                “Not everyone.” Her brother answered, more flatly than she expected. He was looking at her harder now. “You certainly made sure you didn’t have to. Not for years. I may run my mouth, Jess, but you just flat out run!”

                It stung. But it was true.

                Jessie frowned sourly, shaking her head. “Well damn. Blew me out of the water too, I guess. Direct hit.” She nodded tearfully. “Can’t wait to see what kind of bomb you drop on Modo, bet that will be a good one—”

Vinnie bristled, on the defense again. “I just said the thing that nobody else was willing to say. If Throttle couldn’t handle it, then he shouldn’t have been dishing it out! And neither should you!”

                “Enough!” Harley barked sternly, startling both siblings into silence. She looked between the pair, shaking her head. “Gods, it runs in the family apparently.”

                Jessie looked offended, and then narrowed her eyes. “Look, there are things going on here that you don’t understand—”

                Harley looked at the other woman plainly. “I understand well enough, honey.”  And though her tone was even, there was absolutely zero room for argument. The statement carried weight and a warning, that she would not tolerate being talked down to. Not in her own fucking house. “Why don’t you go inside and take a breather? Bowie’s in there. He’ll make you a drink.”

                Jessie frowned, but relented, sulking away back into the back door.

                Vinnie almost laughed. It was rare for him to see the mechanic turn nurse use that authoritative, no-nonsense tone in his presence. But any childish enjoyment he might have gotten out of someone else being in the hot seat instantly died when she turned her gaze back on him. Blue and piercing.

                “What exactly has gotten into you?” she demanded.

                “Harley, don’t—”

                “Oh no!” She cut in sharply, grabbing him by one the front of his t-shirt and poking him in the chest. “That may work on Stoker, but it doesn’t on me. What you said to Throttle was cruel, Vinnie. I think it’s the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. Especially directed at someone who loves you so much. So how do you explain that?”

                Vinnie scoffed. Disgusted. But mostly with himself. “It was shitty, okay? I know that. I was…awful. He just…” he looked away from her and glared back towards the alley again. Waiting. “Things have just been…off with all of us lately. Off me with, especially. And I know he means well, but dammit, I’m not a dumb kid anymore! I’m not a foot solider, or a cadet! I don’t need Throttle Evander constantly looking after me! And I don’t need him treating my sister like she’s liability when it’s a goddamn miracle that she’s even here!”  His voice was raised again, but it was no longer blind anger driving him. It was the true thorn in his side that was beginning to show.

                “He’s had nothing but skepticism and doubt since she turned up, like she was an intrusion on things. And that pissed me off, okay! We got back here, and both of them had futures waiting for them! They got to go and pick up where they left off and me…”  he deflated. The anger dying, something else rushing in and his voice tightened and cracked. “I left my future back on Earth. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

                He looked down quickly, and Harley saw several small droplets hit the sand near his boots.

                “Vinnie…”

                “Why couldn’t he just be happy for me!? I finally had something to—I dunno—move forward with! But he couldn’t just admit that he was jealous. That Carbine dumped him, and he was the one who was down for once. Not me. For once I didn’t need him to prop me up.”  His face twisted sourly, “And then Modo fuckin goes and starts making moon eyes at her and jeezus…I just lost it.”

                He exhaled deeply, holding his head. Ashamed. Embarrassed. But no longer angry.

                Harley moved a little closer again and put her arms around him, turning his face to look at her, though he tried to hide the damp trails on his cheeks. “That sure sounds like a lot to hold in.” she offered gently. “You ever think that the people who might need to hear that are the same ones you’re mad at?”

                Vinnie sighed, and nodded. “I know. But we’re guys, we don’t…talk about this shit.”

                “Bullshit.” She corrected. “You, Mr. Macho Mouse, just get too in your head. Throttle and Modo will always listen. They love you.”

                He nodded and looked back towards the alley again. “Man, what the hell is takin him so long?”

                Here Harley looked confused. “Honey,” she said gently, but seriously. “If you think he’s just gonna come rolling back in here, I think you’re being too optimistic.”

                “Why? We had a fight, it’s not—”

                “Vinnie. You know it was more than that.”

                He did. And the worry was really beginning to settle in now. The look on Throttle’s face really began to settle into clarity for him. The surprise and hurt there. And for the first time, without the blinders provided by his anger, he really thought about what he had said. The implication of it.

                He had brought up Throttle’s past bad decisions and misjudgment of character to prove the point that he wasn’t always right about people. He had said that he was jealous to make a similar point. But the greater context had been lost on him in the heat of the moment.

                Now it was glaring at him. Blooming and terrible. The way one might look at an entrance wound and think it small, manageable, not even bleeding all that much…until you saw the carnage created by the exit wound.

                “What did I do?” he said more to himself than anyone else.

                Harley squeezed his arm lightly. “If you broke something, hot shot, the only thing you can do is try to fix it.”

                “What if I can’t?”

                “Try anyway.”  She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Be the mouse I know you are. Go make this right.”

                He nodded, kissed her forehead in return and then rushed towards Cherry. “Tell Jessie I’ll apologize when I get back!” he yelled back, gunning her engine and readying to speed off.

                “You can tell it to my face!” Jessie’s voice called back.

                She came back out the door then, rushing past Harley and making a bee-line for her own bike.

                “What are you--?”

                “How much bigger of a lead do you want Stoker and Modo to get on us huh?” she asked. “Come on. Lets go find your bro.”

                Vinnie didn’t argue, nodding in agreement and then turning in a hurry, speeding away with his sister hot on his tail.

                Harley stood in the yard and listened until the sound of them had nearly died away all together before Bowie came and joined her in the yard, slipping his arm around her waist. “So uh…did I miss something?”

***

                There were few places in the city Vinnie thought Throttle might run to. He knew his bro well enough that when something really got under his skin, all he wanted was space, and being in the heart of Brimstone wasn’t going to offer that.

                Instead they had raced towards the trailer, expecting maybe he had return to their most recent crash pad to regroup. But there was no sign of him there either.

                Vinnie’s stomach began to pinch in growing anxiety. There was no more self-soothing lie that he and his bro had just had an argument, or even a fight. He began to fear that he had finally found Throttle’s breaking point. Something Vinnie had comfortably believed for decades did not exist. His bros were the most steadfast thing in his life. Other things came and went. But they were always there, no matter the squalls. The idea that this time could be different ignited a fear in him that he only experienced in the heat of battle.

                “Should we check the Mavericks?” Jessie offered.

                “No…he’s not there, or Sweep or one of them would have let us know.” He explained. He looked around helplessly, lost. “Where the hell did he go?”

                “Doesn’t he have his own place somewhere?” she asked.

                “No…we usually crash with Stoke or Mama. None of us really have a permanent place ‘cept the farm. Only came here recently and that was a fluke…”

                Jessie blinked. “Are you three just…bumming around most of the time then?”

                “Hey, we like to go where the wind takes us.” Vinnie replied. “We like the free-wheeling, hard riding lifestyle of the open road. And having to pay rent puts a big kink in that.”

                Jessie rolled her eyes and then looked towards the canyon and the desert beyond, her own anxiety growing. Rod was still out there, somewhere, and had surely heard what had gone down in the city earlier. If he was aware that Throttle was involved in that, and they came upon him alone…

                “We need to find him soon. If Rod—”

                But before she could further express her concern, the sound of approaching bikes caught their attention. Both looked up in alert, hopeful that maybe their search was over. But the pair of motorcycles racing towards them did not include Lady or her rider.

                Instead, Modo and Stoker came racing up, meeting at them at the intersection of road in front of the trailer’s lot.

                “Where’s Throttle?” Vinnie asked anxiously, looking at the other two, hoping they at least had news or some kind of lead.

                “That’s the question of the hour, apparently.” Modo sighed. “We’ve been all over, thought we found tracks but it was a dead end. No sign of him.”

                “Did he leave town?” Jessie asked. “How far could he have gone in such a short time?” She looked towards the desert beyond the canyon, knowing that even if they all split up, it might take them hours, possibly even days to find the other mouse if he was truly set on disappearing.

                Modo shook his head, “I can’t see him doing that. Not with everything going on.”

                Stoker looked back at the city, “Maybe he doubled back and we missed him somehow…?” His exasperation was growing. “This is bad baby bros. If you’ve got smugglers on your tail I don’t like the odds of them catching him on his own.”

                Vinnie turned in his seat then, looking back at the trailer as if he remembered something.

                “I know where he is.” He said suddenly, resolutely.

                The others perked up in surprise. “What? Vinnie were just—” Jessie probed, but Modo shushed her gently. He realized Vinnie was not looking at the trailer itself, but beyond it. Back across the rolling hardpan and the waving prairie grass. Back towards the glutch.

                “The cemetery.”

                Vinnie nodded, turning Cherry in that direction. Modo and Jessie made to follow but the white furred mouse shook his head. “Hang back. I need to handle this.”

                Modo looked reluctant, “I dunno, bro, I think I should be there in case—”

                “I made this mess. I have to clean it up.” Vinnie said firmly. He gave his other bro a pleading look, needing him to understand. And luckily Modo seemed to.

                “Alright. We’ll wait right here.” He relented.

                Vinnie nodded, grateful and glanced to Stoker, who only gave him a small nod of approval. “Don’t fuck it up, kid.”

                He coasted up to edge of the green place, spotting his missing bro almost immediately. He put Cherry into park and hesitated a moment, still feeling the vibration of her in his palms and thighs as her engine settled in silence.

                The absence of her sound let the wind and its rustle through the short trees and tall grass filter to his ears. The graveyard seemed so small and yet felt so vast, holding a lost world within it’s foundations. That this was where his bro would seek solace hurt him, but didn’t surprise him. And perhaps that fact made the hurt worse.

                Steeling himself, he stepped free from his ride and walked slowly through the short stone gate that closed off the hollowed place from the rest of the land.

                Lady was sitting idling in the little pebbled and dusty trail between the stones, turning towards him almost expectantly. Her headlight flashed briefly at his approach and he patted her handlebar gently before turning to see where Throttle knelt in front of his family’s stone.

                His back was to him, and the black-clad biker did not look up or turn towards him, saying nothing. Vinnie moved towards him cautiously until he stood behind him.

                “Room for one more?”

                The reply did not come immediately, the few seconds of silent delay so loud in its absence.

                “Weird question to ask in a graveyard.”

                The feeble attempt at a joke gave Vinnie some relief, but made him ache too. He sat down carefully beside the other mouse, delaying looking at him directly. It felt intrusive to do so. Like he needed to wait for permission.

                “Throttle, listen—”

                “You were right.” The other mouse cut him off, his words heavy and blunt. Falling like a rock between them.

                Now Vinnie did look at him, brows raised. His bro looked…hollowed out. Exhausted. The kind of sad that Vinnie had seen on him more than once, and each time it felt worse.

                “No. I wasn’t.” Vinnie tried to amend.

                Throttle didn’t argue or try to counter the point. Instead he continued to stare fixedly at the names on the stone in front of him. “You know…when I was a kid, I used to imagine what it would have been like. If they had lived.”

                Vinnie’s eyes moved to the names of the two deceased children, etched above the names of their parents. Gone before their lives had even gotten a chance to start.

                “I used to play pretend that they were still here. Just off somewhere, doing something cool. And that they would come home any time now and tell me all about it. Maybe take me with them next time.”  He swallowed hard. “But that went away pretty quickly…once I was old enough to really get it. To really understand. When I started figuring out why my mother would look at me sometimes and it was like…she was looking behind him. Past me. Through me. At these two holes that…I couldn’t fill.”  His voice broke, cracked with the effort to back the sob trying to get out. “I was just a kid. How could I compete with that? How could I fix it? I-I couldn’t. I couldn’t make her stop crying for them. I couldn’t make my father stop chasing the ghosts of them. And in the end…” he glared at the headstone, eyes flooded and then looked sharply at Vinnie. Not angry, but completely at a loss. Defeated. “…in the end they chose ghosts over me. Both of them. I was right there. And they didn’t even see me.”

He hung his head again and tried to catch his breath.

Vinnie thought breathlessly about Rosie’s sickness and how it had stolen her mind. How slowly, surely, she had forgotten her loving and dutiful son, who staid by her side as long as he could. Who always promised to come back. Even when she had long forgotten his name.

And he thought of Axle. The Ranger he only knew through Stoker and his parents. Thought of his “accident” and how one night he had been there, and then not. How all the adults in his life had grown so quiet and hushed about it. And how Throttle had come to stay with the Mavericks, and by extension, him.

Sleepovers, and camp outs and long rides into the canyon. But at night, hearing his bro cry into his pillow. And not understanding why, not fully, until the night he had lost his own parents.

“And I guess when Jessie came back…it felt like you were doing the same thing. Choosing a ghost. And I was jealous. And scared.” He glanced at him again. “You and Modo are all I really have, you know? The only constant, I mean…without you, I’m lost.”

                Vinnie felt his insides freeze.

                None of this had been about what he had thought. He hadn’t been about control, or pride, or the unspoken competition between them. It had never been about who was right and who was wrong. Or making judgements about people that would turn around and bite you in the ass. It had been so much simpler.

                Vinnie put his arms around his brother and pulled him in, hugging him hard. “I’m not going anywhere.” He assured. “What I said was absolute shit. And if you don’t punch me square in the mouth for it and make us even—” He huffed a ruefully little laugh and pressed his head against Throttle’s. “I’m so sorry.”

                Throttle nodded but kept his eyes down. Vinnie’s fingers scratched lightly through the back of his hair, to the ponytail growing back there that was starting to curl in the humidity of the day. “I really, really didn’t mean what I said. I was mad and stupid. And I sure as hell didn’t think you’d take it…” he glanced around at the headstones, feeling almost dizzy by the way this had spiraled. “—like this. You know, you know I would never mean it like that…don’t you?”

Throttle shrugged. “I dunno. Like you said…we’ve been out of sorts since we came home. You and I have never fought like this. I’ve had worse fights with Modo.” He looked over his shoulder, as if expecting the big grey furred mouse to show himself then, to be standing at the edge, waiting for the all clear to enter. But Vinnie must have had him hang back.

Vinnie nodded. “ Yeah. I know it aint’ been easy. And I ain’t been the most uh…forthcoming with you and Modo about it. I miss Charlie so much and I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. I’m afraid I lost her.”

He stared out blankly across the horizon and Throttle squeezed his hand. Of course he did. Offering comfort even to the guy who had treated him so carelessly.  “So getting Jess back…it felt like a win. One that I really needed. And when you pointed out the obvious issues I was…”

                “Stubborn?”

                “Yeah…”

                “Butt-hurt?”

                “Yeah…”

                “An absolute asshole?”

                Vinnie looked up at him, eyes meeting at last, both of them still teary-eyed and aching, but smirking now. They were bruised but not broken. “The worst. And you didn’t deserve that.” He nodded. “I love you bro.”

                Throttle hugged him back hard. “I love you too, asshole.”

                Vinnie squeezed him tighter and added more quietly, “You know I would never choose a ghost over you, don’t you?”

                Throttle only nodded mutely, but it was a smaller gesture. Still insecure.

                They parted, slowly gathering themselves and stood, dusting off the grass and the dirt. The skeleton flowers growing around the Evander’s grave waved softly in the breeze. Throttle glanced around, but realized Vinnie had come alone.

                “Sorry for taking off.”

                “Yeah…” Vinnie nodded. “Gotta admit, that was kinda scary. You never run off. Not like that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, trying to fidget away some of this intense vulnerability he was exposing. It was heavy and taxing on his system and he was ready for distraction. “One thing I can count on. You never leave. No matter the circumstance. You’re always right there. You’re like a pace car.”

                Throttle snorted a laugh, still drying his own eyes. “Gee, thanks?”

                “It’s good, I mean. Something to rely on.”

                He glanced back across the fields, towards the trailer and the road beyond. “We better mosey on back. I’m sure Stoker’s not done chewing me out, and we still have a situation to handle.”

                Throttle was about to speak something in reply, when a distant noise broke the relative calm of the graveyard. Sounds like lazor fire, and a short loud cry, followed by the distant roar of engines carried over to them on the wind.

                Both Mice stood stock still for only a moment, then were on the move. “Jessie!” Vinnie gasped.

                Throttle looked at him in renewed dismay, having hoped they had left Jessie safely with Stoker and the others.

                Mounting their bikes the pair took off once more like streaks across the hardpan, racing back towards the trailer and the main road.

                Coming along the ridge, no longer hidden by jagged outcroppings of rock, a new scene opened in front of them.

                Stoker was on the ground beside his overturned bike. Modo was likewise, but moving, crawling towards the downed Freedom Fighter in state of dazed panic. Jessie’s bike was standing idly where she had left it, but there was no sign of the woman anywhere.

                “BROS!”

                Throttle was off Lady before she had come to a full stop, skidding in the dirt to reach the fallen pair, Vinnie right beside him.

                “What happened?!”

                Vinnie gripped Modo, checking him for injury as Throttle was beside Stoker, rolling him onto his back and checking for vitals. The older mouse was stunned, but breathing.

                “They got the drop on us…Rod and his thugs. They must have followed us here, they were hiding out behind the ridge. Didn’t see them until it was too late.” He looked anxiously to Stoker. “Is he alright? They shot him in the back—"

                Throttle nodded, shaken but relieved, propping Stoker’s head in his lap. “Just stunned. Are you hurt?”

                Modo was shaking, fighting the effects of two direct hits with stunners that had numbed him and left his limbs struggling to coordinate and function. It would pass, but for the moment he was down and vulnerable. “I’ll be fine…but Jess—”

                “Did they hurt her?! Where is she!?” Vinnie looked anxiously back at her bike, noting hers seemed to have been put purposefully into park, rather than forced to a stop like Lil’ Hoss and Stoker’s bike Bronco.

                “She went with ‘im.” Modo replied mournfully, and Vinnie stared, wide-eyed. “They had a gun to my head, and she went with ‘im if they’d leave us alone. I told her not to—”

                “Of course she went.” Throttle explained. “Big fella she wasn’t going to let you or Stoke get killed. Do you know where they went?”

                “Looks like the tracks will be easy enough to follow.” Vinnie replied, nodding to the dark burned rubber tire marks, at least four or five of them, left on the road.

                Stoker groaned softly, shaking off the affects of the stun shot. “Holy hell did someone kick me…?” he gasped, wincing.

                Throttle pressed a hand to his chest to keep him still. “Easy, Stoke. They hit you hard, it’s gonna take a minute to wear off.”

                His mentor winced and then squinted up at him, relieved to see he was alright. He reached up and patted his cheek lightly. “Well you showed up late to the party I guess…but at least you’re here. Help me up…”

                Throttle did, and the older mouse coughed and hissed, his own limbs quivering, and looked anxiously to Modo, seeing that he too was down. His worry grew worse when he realized that instead of gaining a fifth, they were back to four mice. “Where’s Jessie?”

                “Those smuggler scum got her.” Vinnie seethed, moving back towards Cherry. “And I’m about to make them wish they had never been born.”

                “Vinnie, hold it! Charging after them is exactly what they want us to do! Jessie went with them to keep them from taking Modo and Stoker out, you don’t think they won’t be even more keen to blast the metal right off your mug?” Throttle exclaimed.

                “If you’re expecting me to sit here and wait for Watchtower to drag their sorry asses her with reinforcements then—”

                “No one said anything about that. This is personal. It gets handled personally.” Throttle amended, looping his arm around Stoker and pulling him to stand, as Modo struggled to do the same. Throttle wrapped his tail around his middle and steadied him, and he nodded gratefully, the last of the tremors already ebbing.

                “Yeah, as in personally pounded through the pavement if they muss so much as a hair on her head!” Modo fumed, eye flaring in rage at the thought.

                “I’m right with ya baby bros, we gotta use our heads on this one. These boys fight dirty.” Stoker grunted, still struggling to recover. Something that unnerved them all. “Besides, it’s not like they didn’t leave us a real clear trail of where they went.”

                Vinnie squinted down the road where track steadily vanished. “Where the hell does that go? There’s nothing out that way except…”  His eyes widened and immediately diverted to Throttle, recalling where the road

                “I knew I felt something weird when we out there. Those bastards must have been hiding out there and followed us back here.” Modo muttered.

                “What in the world where you bros doing out there?” Throttle asked.

                “Looking for you.” Stoker sighed, settling back on his bike, who beeped and emitted a low indignant whine. “But we seem to be operating on a ‘one in one out’ rotation that’s gotta stop. Time to switch gears. If these guys are the bad news you say they are we can’t wait for back up. If Jessie is standing between them and something they want, it’s going to get ugly fast.”

                “Well, if Rod and his little posse want to play dirty, then I say we play by their rules. Since they want to fuck around in my old stomping grounds, that gives me the home field advantage. I know every way in and out of that neighborhood. Ways those pistol-packing piss-ants would never think of.” Throttle growled.

                “Now you’re taking my language!” Vinnie howled, pulling to the front, anxious to give chase.

Throttle looked cautiously back at his mentor. “Stoke, you stay here, catch your breath. We may need you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Go spring our girl.”

“ Modo, can you ride?”

                Maverick had already righted Lil’ Hoss, reviving her eagerly, and the bike sounded as angry and dangerous as her rider currently was. “Way ahead of you, bro. Let’s ride!”

***

Chapter Text

Blood.

                Her nose and mouth were full of it, and her face ached. A pulsing in her cheek bone that kept time with heartbeat. She could feel the tackiness of it on her face, sticking to her fur, drying on her shirt in speckled blotches.

                She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to. She knew where Rod was. Could hear the scrape of his thick boots on the cold, gravel scattered cement below her.

                Jessie heard him muttering to himself. Fuming and cursing in low puffs under his breath, then snarling out string of swears and slurs before letting his voice turn back to a mutter. It was always the same. When he was angry, he erratic and mean.

                And he had good reason to particularly angry today.

                “Take it easy, Rod.” Chet’s voice, familiar and base, entered her awareness and helped to flesh out the world around her. “She’s not going to tell you nothin’ if you keep bashing her face in—”

                “Shut up!” Rod snarled at the bigger mouse, lunging towards him. She heard his boots skid on the ground again. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on her or her face now did I?! Huh?!”

                Chet replied, placating, perhaps a bit defeated. “No, chief. You didn’t.”

                “Damn right I didn’t.” Rod replied and resumed his pacing.

                Jessie cracked one eye lid, trying to take in the lay of the land. It was darker here than the hour suggested, and cooler too. He ground below her was cold and firm. Cement and stone. But it smelled damp. Earthy. Like growing things. Moss and fungi.

                There were not many places even close by that could produce such an environment. She glanced upwards, and found that she was below ground level, and staring up through holes in a rotting and forgotten floor to see sky far above.

                “It’s not gonna be long until those Biker Mice come after us.”  Stacks cut in, and Jessie glimpsed him fidgeting to the side, staying near the stairs that lead up to the ground level above them.

                Rod scoffed loudly in disgust. “What’s the matter, Stacks? You scared?”

                The gangly white furred mouse shook his head. “No. Just know it’s comin, is all.”

                “Yeah well, that’s fine by me.” Rod replied. “I hope they bring their whole damn posse…especially that one with the mask and that hulk with the arm.” He seemed genuinely pleased with the idea, and this unnerved Jessie.

                “Be careful what you wish for…” she muttered quietly.

                His ears twitched and the turned towards her abruptly. “What was that?” he snapped, eyes lighting viciously.

                She shifted again, not trying to loosen her restraints but to see him better through the curtain fall of his hair. “I said you better be careful what you wish for.” She answered.

                He stormed forward and the others all watched, waiting for the show.

                She stayed limp, knowing it was better not to tense up in a moment like this. She thought for a split second he was going to kick her. Right in the face. Punt her skull like a football and that would be it.

                It was an awful thought. But not a surprising one.

                Rod had become both cruel and predictable, and nothing he did surprised her anymore. Not in the way it used to. Not when she was still lying to herself. Lying that he had ever really loved her. That he was doing something for the greater good, even if it meant going against everything else in the meantime. He didn’t surprise her. He just disappointed her.

                He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her up. Jessie yelped in spite of herself, feeling her scalp scream at the pull. He shook her, getting in her face. Something she could only tell by the feel of heat and the smell of his stale breath as he screamed. “—look at me! Look at me you stupid bitch!”

                She squinted at him, and he smiled nastily at her. “Did you really think you were going to get away with it?” he asked her. “Did you really think you were going to get away with fucking me over like that? Did you really think I was just gonna let that go?”

                Jessie glared at him, not bothering to answer with pleading or even with some argument about where the money had come from. All that was a moot point. And Jessie was far past the point of being subtle.

                She wriggled suddenly, not caring that it made the pull on her scalp that much worse, and brought her knees up and her feet out and planted them firmly in Rod’s gut. He lost his balance and fell over, letting go of her in and effort to catch himself.

                And while he managed to keep himself from fully sprawling on his back, it did not save him. Jessie was quicker, laid back fully, only to bring her legs up as if she were doing a reverse crunch, only to bring them down in a decisive, hammering line, so that her heels struck him directly between the legs.

                Rod howled, grabbing his testicles and coiling up into a ball, winded and agonized.

                His men, five of them, all stared in shock—and barely muffled amusement—before Rod began to scream and cough at them to do something. Chet and Stacks both moved to help Rod away from the flopping, squirming figure on the floor, helping him to stand.

                Stacks moved to Jessie then, grabbed her and flipped her onto her stomach, pushing her hard against the floor as he settled over her hips to pin her down more firmly. Jessie wailed and screeched, trying to buck him off. Starting to panic at the feel of his body against hers.

                He knew it too, and leaned over, hissing in her ear. “It ain’t me you gotta worry about, honey. The Raiders will be here soon to collect their due. And since you decided to get smart and back-stab us…they’re gonna take it out of your pretty little hyde. I promise you that, sweet thing. Pleasure slaves sell for way more than labor ones.”

                Jessie’s eyes widened in terror at the thought and turned her head towards Rod again. “No! No, no, Rod please!” Even as it was gushing out of her mouth, she hated herself for pleading with him like that. But in the moment she couldn’t stop the impulse. The fear was too intense.

                Her former boyfriend, having regained at least some of his composure, shook his head at her, sweat-damp blonde curls falling in his eyes. “Bet you’re sorry now, huh baby?”

                He crouched down beside her with effort, and reached wipe some of the tears and blood from her face. “Bet you’re real, real sorry for what you did to me. And I’d forgive you. I would. You were my girl, Jess.”

                Rod leaned a little closer and Jessie tried to squirm away, but had nowhere to go. Being this pinned was starting a panic in her chest that made it hard to breathe. Made more tears come despite of how useless she knew they were.

                “But thing is…a debt’s a debt. And since you decided to take my money—” he gripped her face, nails digging into her cheeks and muzzle while his palm painfully pressed her jaw closed. She attempted to stifle the cry that rose in her, afraid she might choke on it. “—and you brought it here. You let your chump-ass of a brother and his friends take it and lose it. Now that wasn’t very smart of you, was it honey?”

                She looked back at him, bitter and hateful.

                “So I’ve gotta repay them their cut, don’t I? Now I might have been able to recoup that from the weapons in the AT—but they fucked that up too. So…only way out of this I see for you, baby doll, is to make a trade.”

                He loosened his grip on her, going soft again, wiping away more of the tears  and pushing her hair back to see him better. “I know they’re gonna come looking for you. They’re gonna rush in here, bikes roaring and guns firing. Big heroes.”  He paused and laughed, and his cronies followed suite, snickering at the idea. “But you see me and the boys are real itchy for some payback from the canyon. So I figure we can both win in this. You help us take them out, I give them to the Raiders as payment along with their pretty bikes, and you and I….we’re square.”

                She stared at him, wondering if he was drunk on top of everything. “You expect me to help you attack and sell my brother to a bunch of Sand Raiders?”

                Rod shrugged thoughtfully. “I mean…what do you really owe the guy? Ain’t like he’s done anything for you. Hell, till this week, I didn’t even know you had a family. So I can’t see where you lose in this situation.”

                “You’re a sick fuck, Rod.”

                He gripped her violently again, eyes flashing with sudden rage. “See there you go being nasty to me again!”

                He knocked her head against the cement again, and it was enough to nullify some of her struggle, leaving her dazed. He might have pushed things further, were not for the way Stacks and Chet were watching, wondering if they should get the others and leave.

                “What are you looking at?!” Rod raged.

                Chet licked his lips and replied, “We need to get someone top side is all,” he explained. “I don’t think it’s going to take long for those bikers to track us here. And we’ve only got about an hour or so before the Raiders arrive.”

                This frustrated him clearly, but there was little argument to be had. He stood, still wincing, and bow-legged now and started carefully towards the steps. “Come on then. Let’s get it ready. Soon we get this settled the better and we can get out of this dump of a town.”

**

                Throttle lead them along rocky back roads that skirted the edge of the Lava crusted ruins. In the old days it would have been easy to hop fences or wander through expanses of back yards, empty parking lots to reach to the main street on the other side. But now, finger-like mounds of black rock, covered in new growth made for interesting obstacles.

                They moved behind a series of small houses, these were more sheltered and thus had not decayed so badly, providing amble cover. At the end of the row, there was a tall, sloping and layered hill of black rock that coiled up and came to rest over the roof of what had been a local bank. Here at the top, trees had begun to grow, short but with wide canopies, giving them a place to be both top-side and well covered.

                The bikes made the smooth ascent up the flow of rock and sat safely back upon the roof top, out of view from the street below, while the bros took position under the shadows of the roof-top forest.

                “Any sign of her?” Modo whispered.

                Throttle, at the forefront, shook his head, scanning the street and the structures that remained. “Not yet. But I’m sure they’ll show. They made no effort to hide that they came here. They’re expecting us.”

                Vinnie tensed, and it was clear that all he wanted was to jump into some kind of action. But he pushed the instinctive urge to act down. Exhaling slowly. “You got a play for this?” he asked quietly, looking directly at Throttle.

                The tan mouse blinked back, then answered. “Sure. Do you trust me?”

                The question lay heavy between them for only a moment, Vinnie struggling to convey how sorry he was for ever doubting. “With my life. Like always.” He offered, giving him a reassuring smirk. “No one else I’d rather follow into battle.”

                Throttle took this in, then felt the weight of Modo’s hand on his shoulder, offering a familiar friendly squeeze. “With you all the way, bro. Hellfire and brimstone. No matter what.”

                There was so much more to be said, apologies to be offered for forgetting this. But for now, this was enough. Throttle grinned at them resolutely. “Alright then. Down to business…”

                Modo’s ears perked and he nodded ahead of them.

                Silently, the three positioned themselves under the deepest shadows, and watched the street below.

                Other mice began to emerge from the wreckage of an abandoned house, filtering out from a cellar door and into the street empty street. Four in total emerged, but there was no sign of Rod or Jessie as of yet.

                The smugglers moved off the overgrown lawns and onto the weed splintered sidewalks, all looking around in dimming daylight, the sun slipping behind the wall of the mesa that surrounded the back of the city, and dousing the neighborhood in artificial twilight.

                More smugglers began to filter out from other structures they had been sheltering in or behind, until they were at least ten for show—as Jessie had previously predicted. They all looked uneasy, not merely on alert, calling to each other in tight hushed tones.

                Somewhere in the ruin, an animal called out to its mate. A high screeching sort of whine, like the yowl of a cat.

                On the ground, the smugglers startled, looking around anxiously and gripping their various weapons. “What was that?” one barked, looking hurriedly to his closest companion. “What the hell was that?!”

                “Shut up, Mitch, it was probably some damn snipe or something!” his irritated friend replied. “Gods, you jump at everything!”

                Another of the mice snickered openly. “Mitch is always jumpy when he thinks there might be ghosts around…”

                “Shut up!” Mitch snapped back. “You think it’s funny now, but places like this is always full of haunts and haints! You’ll fuck around and find out one of these days…” he hissed in reply, then spit on the ground and returned to his watchful post.

                “Aw go on you superstitious fuck…”

                “Not just superstition,” another mouse interjected. “There’s always spirits in places like this. Just look at it. Haunted as fuck if you ask me.”

                “Yeah well…soon as we nail these Freedom Fighters and settle things with Slobber’s boys, then we can be moving on. So keep your eyes peeled. And don’t worry about no ghosts…”

                They quieted again, falling into position, but their unease was obvious.

                On the rooftop, the bros slipped back deeper into the shadows. “These chucklefucks are high strung.” Vinnie noted. “Bunch of yellow-bellies for sure.”

                Throttle nodded. “Let’s use that to our advantage. Sow a little chaos, raise some hairs.”

                He grinned, and Modo and Vinnie felt an equal familiar thrill at the sight of it. This was gonna be good.

                Rod carried Jessie out of the basement, the woman slung over his shoulder like a dead animal, and dropped her onto her butt the overgrown lawn of the house. She grunted, but didn’t try to squirm away, and so his interest diverted to his men.

                “Any sign yet?”

                “Not yet.” Stacks called back from the mouth of the dead end street, staring down the broken road, which appeared to be the only way into the lot while on two wheels.

                Rod frowned, and glanced at Jessie. “Maybe your brother is smarter than I thought, and has already given up on you.”

                Jessie glared up at him, “You wish, asshole.”

                He smirked at her. “For your sake, sweet-cheeks, I hope so. Otherwise, you’re going to get real close and personal with one of those flea-bitters real soon. And I’d just hate that for you.”

                He stepped away from her, leaving her to be watched by Chet as he moved out into the cul-de-sac with the majority of his crew.

                Mitch and two others looked at him. “You want us to shoot on sight boss?”

                Rod considered. “I want ‘im alive if you can help it, boys. Live slaves always sell better. But don’t be gentle about it. You know what I mean?”

                The group grinned. “Oh we know what you mean.”

                “What if they bring back up?” another mouse asked. “We are at the edge of the city. Might bring enforcers…army.”

                “They don’t strike me as the type.” Rod replied. “You wait and see boys, they’ll be roaring up any minute now…”

                He did his best to sound confident in this, but his nervous fingers betrayed him. He knew that Jessie alone wouldn’t be enough to clear that debt, even with the weapons they had managed to steal. If he couldn’t give Slobber’s pals something they could really sink their teeth into…they were going to take every missing penny out of his hide.

                He paced again, waiting for the sound of approaching bikes or some kind of battle cry. Instead there was only the sound of the breeze through the overgrowth of trees and shrubs and the soft creak and grown of the lost buildings. Their dark and broken windows looking down on him and his crew like the eyeless sockets of skulls.

                “Fuck this place…” he muttered.

                Silence as the shadows deepened. Then a small, but abrupt sound. It clanked and clacked. Falling, clunking against brick, stone and metal, then skittered to a stop.

                “Just gravel. Probably one of the buildings settling.” Another of the smugglers noted. In the shade, the temperature was dropping quickly, and burned out window panes and door frames would creak and pop, sometimes dislodging debris.

                Unsettling, but far from dangerous.

                Another moment of silence passed, and a new cry came from the ruins. This one seemingly also animal, but stranger, louder and more guttural.

                The smugglers tensed and shifted about, uneasily gazing around. “Now don’t even try and tell me that was a snipe.” Mitch muttered.

                “No, it was probably your mom—” the nasty retort came but Rod whistled shrilly at them.

                “Shut up!” He stalked towards them, moving down the street towards their position and leaving Jessie abandoned on the grass. “It’s nothing, probably just something---”

                Directly across from him, in the building that was half swallowed by crusted and overgrown lava, the door opened with a long slow creeeeeeeaaaaaaaaakkkk….

                The four mice in front of it stared, all stock still, ears perked and eyes wide. More like rabbits than mice just then. Their collective pulse jumped, staring into the black maw of the half consumed building.

                Mitch swung his riffle in that direction, fingers shaking. “The hell was that?” he hissed.

                Rod didn’t answer, just glaring at the door.

                After a moment, he nudged one of his cronies. “Well. Go have a look.” He muttered.

                The other mouse looked displeased, but unafraid. He was wielding both a blaster and a piece of lead pipe after all. He stalked towards the open door with the attitude of an enforcer, ready to storm his way inside and yank whatever was in there out by the tail.

                The swaying door rattled as he past through the threshold and vanished inside. For a moment, they saw a bit of his bulkier frame through the fading light shining through the cracked windows on either side…then nothing.

                Even the sound of the bruisers heavy footsteps faded into more of that eerie silence.

                Rod’s bikers all looked at each other uneasily. Several more drawing in from their defensive positions to see what was going on. Only one or two remained actually watching the road.

                “Where’d he go?” one of the younger riders asked, clearly nervous.

                “Maybe he fell through the floor.”

                “We would’ve heard it, dummy!” the other sniped.

                Then all at once there was a muffled sort of scuffle and a strange green glow that moved in an arch through the air, and the bruiser came flying back out the door as though ejected by some unseen force, and landed on his back with an audible thud. He was obviously stunned, and disarmed.

                A moment later, his mangled blaster and the now dented pipe, came flying out after him, clattering to the ground in a new cacophony of noise.

                “There’s somethin’ in there!” Mitch yelped, eyes bugging.

                “Then fuckin kill it!” Rod snarled, shoving his shoulder, and Mitch didn’t have to be told twice. He opened fire rapidly, peppering the façade of the bank and the threshold of the door with laser fire that burned new holes in the brick and shattered what remained of the blackened glass.

                This went on for at least a minute, maybe more, and then stopped only when Rod squeezed Mitch’s shoulder and jerked him back a step.

                They all watched the building, waiting for something to stagger out, or try to return fire. But nothing moved in the dark.

                Behind him, another of the smugglers suddenly collapsed with a gasp, falling into a sprawl. The mice around him jumped and yelped, only one moved to inspect the fallen, seeing that he had taken a stunner shot to the chest.

                “He’s been sho—” The mouse attempting to raise the alarm had it cut off abruptly, as he too was struck by a shot and fell on top of his companion, dazed and twitching.

                The seven remaining mice looked around in panic, scanning for where the shots had come from, but seeing no one but their own men.

                “FAN OUT!” Rod shouted. “The bastards are here, find them!”

                As his startled crew hesitated, unsure about the command, the loud, menacing rumble of a motorcycle engine caught their attention, drawing it back up the street.

                Modo sat at the mouth of the cul-de-sac, seeming to have appeared from nowhere. Lil’ Hoss’s headlight a blinding white glare among the purple and maroon shadows that covered them.

                The bike roared softly, the growl of her more frightening than any wild animal.

                “Guess you fellas didn’t learn your lesson the first time you came here.” Modo called. His forward canons raised, ready to fire on the scattered group in his sights, and his bionic fingers coiled more tightly around Hoss’s handlebar. Itching for a reason.

                “You mess with the bull, you’re going to get the horns.”

                Rod grinned at him manically through the glare of the headlight, eyes huge and reflecting the gleam, showing all his teeth. “GET ‘IM! FIRE YOU MORONS!”

                Mitch had only managed to get a single shot off—which wiped past Modo’s head in a bright flash of red—before the biker surged forward, tires screeching and charged them head on.

                The smugglers in the road scattered, yelping and cursing, firing a range of weapons at the grey furred biker as they either tried to get a closer shot, or fled for their own bikes.

                At the speed and skill which Modo rode, no one could touch him. If anyone tried to get in his path and force him to swerve, he merely jumped them, and gave them an up-close and personal punch for good measure.

                He took the curves of the dead end like a twister, and the smoke of his exhaust and the speed caused the air around him to churn as if he was one, making it that much harder for Rod’s men to get a shot off.

                Once or twice their lazors or bullets made a connection with the blur of purple and silver. There was distinct metallic clang as a bullet bounced off one of Modo’s wheel wells, and for a moment his control was shaken, making him waver and weave before skidding to a hard stop.

                Three of the smugglers made to move on him, and one was taken down by another shot from above.

                Rod saw then, standing far enough back from the smoke and blinding crossfire, that another mouse was in the upper window of the bank building, taking shots at his men. He pulled out his own weapon and began firing at him, while his other men continued to swarm Modo.

                In the chaos, Jessie laid on the lawn, dazed and still squirming in her bonds as she watched the showdown play out in front of her. If she could just work her hands free from the rope, she might—

                She felt hands on her shoulders then, pulling her back, as if trying to drag her off. Jessie started to scream but the sound was smothered by a palm, and a face appeared close to hers. Vinnie looked down at her anxiously.

                “Shh, I’m trying to save you dummy!”

                She stared at him, breathless, and as his tail worked her hands free, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. “You came back for me…?!” she gasped, crying in spite of herself.

                Vinnie kissed her cheek and her hair. “What are brother’s for?”

                He glanced up at the chaos his bros had created as cover, and resolved not to squander it. He scooped Jessie into his arms and ducked quickly back under the cover of the building, following the weed-spotted gravel drive until they were safely out of sight.

                Cherry lingered there, lights flashing briefly and chirping in response to their approach. Vinnie sat Jessie down along the sloping side of the drive and took hold of the ties around her ankles, snapping them with little effort.

                Jessie sighed in relief, rubbing her numb ankles and aching feet, feeling the uncomfortable pin-and-needles rush of her circulation returning to normal. “We don’t have a lot of time; Rod’s expecting company. The Raider’s he owes money to will be here any minute to collect their due.”

                “That so?” Vinnie mused. “Sounds like we got a block party on our hands then.” He grinned.

                Jessie caught hold of his bandana and pulled him down to eye-level with her. “This isn’t funny, Vinnie, those dogs are gonna come armed to the teeth and wanting their money. Which we don’t have. Rod was gonna sell me and you three in exchange for keeping his own skin.”

                “Yeah well they’re about to be sorely disappointed. Leave it to us, Jess. They could come with a whole rig of Raiders—nothing me and my bros can’t handle.”

                “You really dig this hero stuff huh?” she asked.

                “You have no idea, sis.” He nodded. A shot flew past his ear then, singing the edge of it and he whirled, seeing that a pair of Rod’s gang had followed them and were now trying to pick them off.

                Cherry zoomed in front of him for cover, her guns turning and firing back at the pair, causing them to fall back for cover. Vinnie straddled his bike, pulling on his helmet, glancing back at Jess. “Take cover, I’ll deal with these guys!”

                She didn’t argue, pushing herself up and stumbling back behind the house to the open free-standing garage that stood at the back. With her safely out of range of the oncoming fire, Vinnie pulled Cherry into a sharp wheelie and sped forward, chasing the retreating smugglers through the narrow alley along the back side of the houses.

                The fleeing pair were making their own break for their own bikes—small, narrow framed things built for speed over desert dunes and wasteland hardpan, not armed or armored for fighting.

                Vinnie peppered lazor fire at their heels, but the taller among them turned and hurled a grenade at him.

                “Jeezus!” Vinnie yelped, skidding Cherry into a hard slide that made him crash through the rotting and warped remains of a wooden yard fence. The grenade hit the ground and exploded with great clods of dirt, grass and lava rock spraying all of them.

                The short distraction gave the smugglers enough time to mount their rides and charge Vinnie, pistols firing as they easily ramped over fingers of lava rock and scattered debris.

                “Oh you think you’ve got me by the tail do ya?” Vinnie sneered, bobbing and weaving as he tried to avoid the crossfire. “Let’s see what happens when you tailgate.” He patted Cherry fondly and she chirped in agreement, her rear missile door opening as it launched, sending the explosive spiraling back towards the other riders.

                Vinnie heard them curse and howl, veering off in panic as the missile found home in the ground between them, blowing another chunk of dirt and pavement sky high. It should have been enough to knock them from their rides or at least make them consider backing off.

                Instead, the pair doubled down, veering off the path on either side of the red motorcycle, only to cut sharply back into his path just a few yards down the road, charging him head on.

                Fire peppered Cherry’s hood and Vinnie felt the familiar zing of hot pain nick his thigh and graze his bicept.

                Snarling, he ducked low and drove Cherry forward, her forward shields raised to deflect the oncoming shots.

                The other riders expected him to break off or to try to jump, but Vinnie was coming directly at them, set for head-on collision.

                “He’s gonna ram us!”  the shorter mouse gasped.

                He was on top of them, and even at this close range their shots had no effect against the shield. Then, at the last second, it dropped, and Vinnie sat up right, both arms out, his hands each holding one of his signature flares.

                They sparked to flame alongside the other rider’s helmets, startling them but doing no initial harm. But as the masked mouse sped through the narrow margin between them, threading the needle, he stuffed both now lit flares into one of each of their tail pipes.

                Both of the smaller dirt bikes bounced and flipped through the air, their back wheels spinning and sparking like pin-wheel fireworks while their owners finally and thoroughly hit the dirt.

                Vinnie slid to a graceful stop, pausing to admire his handiwork. “That’s what you get when you mess with the Biker Mice from Mars!” he declared, pumping his fist in the air.

                More loud crossfire and squealing tires brought his attention back to the on-going fight in the street. “Sounds like my bros could use some back up!”  He raced back, making a beeline for the garage where he had left her.

                He did not see the Jeep, hidden between the narrow side yard of two houses, suddenly roar to life and charge him until he was in its headlights.

                “SHIT!”

                He goosed Cherry’s gas, giving him just enough of a jolt forward to avoid a full blunt-force collision with the Jeep’s grill. But while he avoided a direct hit, the bumper still caught his tail end and sent him rolling.

                He crashed to the ground, Cherry rolling with him then bouncing up and over him and continuing to roll for another few feet before coming to a beeping, smoking stop.

                Vinnie lay dazed in the grass, a high pitched tone ringing in his ears and his vision blurring in and out. He heard the Jeep—somewhere behind him—hurriedly throw itself into reverse, tires spinning in the dirt and loose gravel as it tried to finish him off.

                He pushed himself up on hands and knees, reaching for the pistol still in his thigh holster, scraped palm aching as he took hold. The jeep barred down on him, ready to crush him beneath it’s wheels and he shot out its front tire.

                As its front end sagged to one side, losing some of it’s control, the jeep still lurched forward, and Vinnie was not fast enough. The bumper caught him at it’s corner, as he got to his feet, and all the mouse could do was roll into it, flipping up and over the hood and then the windshield before being thrown free and crashing to the ground again.

                He laid there, sprawled and coughing, trying to pull himself together before he was flattened like so-much roadkill. The jeep had rumbled on for a few yards before forcing itself to turn, the homicidal driver—a Rat with ears completely full of piercings and eyes that regarded Vinnie with maniacal glee—cackled and pointed to the downed mouse.

                “Let me know how my tires taste, Freedom Fighter!”

                Vinnie’s eyes widened, a new sense of terror dawning on him until he caught sight of a second pair of headlights charging towards the only partially turned jeep.

                The rat turned in confusion, only to have the new jeep—which was being driven by none other than Jessie Van Wham herself—came charging.

                “WHAT THE--?!”

                The collision was deafening, the newcomer T-boning the rat in the other jeep and pushing both into what remained of a stone side of the nearest house. Both vehicles were a mangled mess of metal in the aftermath.

                And while the Rat had met an abrupt end, Jessie had jumped free moments before, and now lay on the grass not to far from her dazed brother. She crawled towards him, gripping him as he squirmed to reach her on the grass.

                “Vinnie!”

                “Holy shit…” Vinnie panted, and Jessie looked at him frantically.

                “What? What is it, where are you hurt--?!”

                But Vinnie only started laughing. “Holy shit! That was insane! You went full demolition derby!?! That was…awesome!”

                She laughed, relieved, and pulled him up, hugging him hard. “That was fucking terrifying. I hated that! Hated it!”

“Aw come on…you just need some practice.” Vinnie teased. They rested against each other, the adrenaline rush beginning to ebb, body aching from being thrown about like a rag-doll. He looked mournfully at his sister and kissed her cheek gently, careful of the bruising. “I think we look a little rough, sis.”

She smiled back at him, nodding. “Yeah but…you should see the other guy. Right?”

She laid her forehead against his, squeezing his hand, and then slowly the pair pulled themselves up, leaning on each other as they limped towards Cherry.  Vinnie’s eyes widened and he wailed, breaking free as he knelt beside his fallen ride.

“Baby! Oh my poor baby…look at you, they cracked your windshield!”

                Cherry beeped piteously, but the pair of mice were able to right her.

Cherry rolled her tires back and forth, anxious to speed off, and the tone of her beeps and squeals had taken on a decidedly angry note. 

“This thing’s as crazy you are!” Jessie gasped, looking the motorcycle over in awe. Despite some obvious scrapes and a few dings, she was remarkably unscathed. “Daddy wasn’t kidding when he said these babies were built Brimstone tough!” Jessie laughed, affectionately patting the bike’s side.

                Her engine rumbled appreciatively, and Vinnie straddled her again, trying to hide his wince at the movement. “She knows we got a score to settle. Hop on!” he pulled his sister on behind him as they heard more concussive blasts from the street. “Can’t keep our bros waiting!”

                Unaware that he was about lose his bartering chip, Rod moved around the outside of the fray in the middle of the street, still focused on the one picking off his men from above. The black clad mouse’s focus was of course diverted from his friend, now having to focus solely on Rod’s volley of shots in his direction.

                As rage began to swallow him, his aim became more erratic, his finger pulling back on the trigger over and over, focusing on trying to shoot the biker in the face. A shot made almost impossible through the narrow window frame Throttle was sheltered inside of.

                But Rod didn’t care. This was personal. They were fucking not only with his crew, making them look like petty goons and fools, but they were fucking with his very survival. And if he failed at everything else in his life, he could at least say this; he had survived. No matter the cost.

                A bunch of has-beens, who had already out-lived their glory days, were not going to take that from him.

                His shots missed their mark again and again, but they were forcing Throttle back, barely letting him get a shot in return. Then, finally, there was a cry and small spray of blood and the tan mouse fell back from view.

                A surge of triumph went through Rod and he darted hard for the bank door, literally stepping on poor Bruiser’s fallen form as he rushed inside, ready to go in for the kill. Chet and Stacks, seeing where he was headed, followed closely behind, leaving their remaining brethren to defend themselves against the bionic mouse.

                Beyond the threshold there was little of note, save for the charred and grease-blackened husks of old teller desks and smoke-stained glass partitions. But there was a staircase that led to an upper floor. Rod darted towards it, boots heavy on the stairs. He was not worried about the element of surprise, preemptively thinking his opponent had been rendered helpless.

                As his head appeared at the top of the stair, several more lazor shots darted over him and struck the wall behind him, blackening it. He returned the fire in renewed frustration, and Stacks clambered around him to do the same, unafraid to take the lead.

                They saw Throttle scramble behind another heavy office desk for cover, noting the smell of burned fur and blood in the air. Stacks gnashed his teeth, feeling like a shark with blood in the water. He wanted to tear him to shreds, with his bare hands if Rod would let him.

                He made an impulsive dash from the stairwell to the desk, leaping on top of it and cackling as he expected to find the wounded and cornered biker on the other side, cowering and  looking up at him in horror.

                “GOTCHA YOU—!”

                It was not fear or surprise he was met with, however. He had not pounced on his prey. His ‘prey’ had only been waiting for him to get close enough to spring his own trap. The strange green glow appeared again, and Stacks watched as it enveloped the biker’s right fist before it streaked towards his face like a fiery comet, not only knocking Stacks back several feet, but flipping the desk after him, until it landed squarely on top of him, crushing him to the floor.

                Cover gone, Throttle was up and taking aim again. Rod remained in the stairwell, while Chet moved to take his turn at the other mouse. Despite his larger frame, he was less reckless, and did not dive at Throttle immediately, but sought to push him further into a corner.  The pair exchanged shots in the close quarters to hazardous results, the plaster and moldering ceiling beams coming free in smoky puffs and splinters of wood they had to jump and dodge.

                Throttle’s aim was off. Rod had struck him in the shoulder, and after the punch with the Nuke-Nuks, he had strained the damage muscle nearly to the max. Chet was not nearly so hampered. Unfortunately, he was not a great shot either, and neither of them seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

                Chet glanced towards Rod, who was just…standing there. Shielded by the railing of the stairs, watching him do his dirty work. “Are you gonna do something or--!?”

                “SHUT UP!”  Rod barked at him viciously, then ducked when Throttle shot his way again, making him briefly vanish from sight once more.

                “Your boss is a fuckin’ coward!” Throttle addressed the other, darting behind the slim cover of a support beam, his fingers numb and the gun beginning to feel too heavy to lift, so he switched hands. “Maybe now would be a good time to consider whether you’re willing to take the fall for him.”

                Chet smirked, “Like I got so many options?”

                “You could.”  Throttle panted, sounding almost hopeful. “You don’t have to go down his same path. Look at him, he doesn’t give a shit about you, any of you! You really want to put your life on the line for a guy like that?”

                For a flicker of a second, Chet did seem to consider this option. He had no doubt that the biker was right. His boss was indeed a cowardly shit when he wanted to be. But he was also a vicious bully, who refused to suffer even the pettiest insult without full retaliation.

 Chet shrugged, taking better aim at the panting and bleeding mouse, knowing he had him on the ropes. “You’re probably right. But the devil you know is better than the one you don’t, they say. Sorry, chum.”

                He took aim, but the shot never came. Behind Chet, the window, which had only been partially obscured by the climbing lava rock, exploded in a hail of wood chips and glass shards and Lady came roaring through, landing with a heavy crunch right behind him, engine gunning, wheels rims sparking with flame.

                Chet whirled, staring in shock at the free moving bike, going pale and ready to piss himself. Its forward guns were set on him and he shakily pointed his blaster at her mouse-head shaped headlight. “What the fuck!?”

                Behind him, Throttle grinned. “Get ‘im, girl.”

                Lady surged forward in a screech peel of burning rubber and drove directly into Chet. The bigger mouse let out a huge grunt as the wind was knocked out of him as the front wheel went between his legs and found himself astride backwards on the handlebars as the bike zoomed across the space and exited the way she came—directly through the nearest window.

                She and Chet vanished, Chet howling all the way down to the ground below.

                Throttle shook the dust from himself, peering out the bike-shaped hole left in the wall and into the chaos below. “Mind that first step, chum.”

                He turned back, but too slowly. In his momentary distraction, Rod finally found the nerve to strike. He fired from the steps and struck Throttle in the knee.

                The tan mouse shouted in pain, buckling, and only managing to catch himself enough to shoot the gun from Rod’s hand. It skittered free across the floor and the blonde chased it, grabbing it again and returning fire a second time.

                Throttle dropped flat to avoid the shot, but couldn’t right himself, his left leg temporarily useless and the pulsing pain of the stunner knocking the air out of him. Rod cackled, seeing an easy opening now, and stalked towards him.

                “Goddamn…you know I wanted to bring you and your “bros” in alive. But I think the satisfaction I’m going to get from blowing your fucking head off is gonna be worth the pay cut—” He cackled, raging and self-satisfied as he took aim at Throttle’s face. “What’s one less Biker Mouse anyway?”

                Rod’s finger curled around his trusty trigger, his own manic eyes locked on the widening ones behind the cracked specs, feeling a familiar murderous rush that was almost orgasmic. He pulled and the shot went off, he felt the familiar kick of it through his arm into his elbow and shoulder.

                A hulking grey form slid between his shot and its intended target. The red beam of lazor fire striking a fast-moving metallic silver form, before reflecting it back at the sender. It went high, just over Rod’s head, singing his hairline and antenna. But he felt the force of it, the aftershock pulse. He tumbled backward, crashed into the stair rail and slumped there, stunned and staring in disappointed confusion.

                Throttle blinked up at Modo, his living shield, awed. Maverick didn’t turn to look at him however. He was stalking towards the smuggler, tail lashing like a whip and Throttle didn’t have to see his face to know that his bionic eye was glowing hot red.

                Rod sputtered in fear, seeing his certain end in that red-eyed stare, and fumbled for the knife in his belt. But Modo grabbed him by the front of his ragged muscle-tank and hoisted him into the air effortlessly, dangling him at least a foot off the ground.

                “Let go of me, you bionic freak!” he rasped, kicking his feet uselessly.

                Modo pulled him in close so that Rod could see the reflection of his own pathetic features in the Mouse’s glowing pupil.

                “Whatever you say, pal!” Modo snarled. He smashed his fist once to into Rod’s face, then a second time, prompting a spray of blood from his nose and then tossed him back, letting him free fall down the stairs, where he flipped head over and heels until he skidded to the bottom with a groan.

                Maverick peered after him, if only to confirm that he wasn’t about to get up again and then hurried back to downed mouse on the floor, his rage replaced by fear.

                “Throttle!”

                The tan mouse grunted, trying to right himself, struggling. “What did you go and do that for—I had ‘im on the ropes…” he quipped, but the joke was cut off by a pained gasp, as he was unable to put much weight on his wounded leg, and catching himself with his burned shoulder only made him cry out louder.

                Modo dropped beside him and slipped an arm around him, easing him back against the wall for support. “Easy, easy!  I’ve got you.” He assured.

                He untucked his shirt from his jeans tearing off the bottom in a long swath before carefully adjusting his bro’s bleeding leg to bind it, wincing at how deep the gash was, and how blood was still flowing freely from it, instead of being cauterized from the heat of the lazor. It must have nicked a vein.

“Cuttin it too close, bro.” Modo noted, anxiously, trying not jostle him too much in his grip. He glanced up at the blood on his chest and arm, more worry rising. “Are you—"

“It’s shallow,” Throttle assured, “Didn’t hit anything major. The knee looks worse than it is, my knee plate deflected the brunt of it.” Modo shifted the appendage in his grasp and Throttle shouted again, face crumbling.

“Seems to feel worse than it looks too then.” Modo decided. He tied off the binding, then bent and scooped the tan mouse up easily, holding him securely against him.

 Throttle couldn’t help but chuckle at the bridal lift he found himself in. “My hero.” He teased, but his gaze was more than grateful.

                “Yeah well, I certainly owed you one.” His grey furred bro amended, just grateful he had gotten there in time.

                Throttle turned his head, looking anxiously out through the hole that Lady had made when she removed their other guest.

                In the street below, both Lady and Lil’ Hoss were still circling, tires squealing, holding back any attempts by the remaining thugs attempt to take them or breech the bank again. “Looks like they’re turning tail. Vinnie found Jessie yet?”

                “Only one way to find out.” Modo nodded and rushed towards the stairs, doing his best not to jostle the other mouse too much. They were both surprised to find that Rod was not in the expected heap at the bottom of the steps, having utterly disappeared.

                “Where’d that rat fink go!? He should have been down for the count!” Modo gasped, jaw clenched and eye flaring again.

                “No time to wonder, let’s find Vinnie and Jessie before he does.” Throttle insisted. Modo darted down the stairs, and his bro buried his face against Modo’s neck, trying to bite off any pained cry that tried to escape at the pain the movements caused.

                It was clear to Modo that whatever advantage they had initially in this fight it was fading fast.

                “Do you think you can ride?”

                “Ride, sure. Just don’t ask me to do the two-step for a couple weeks…” Throttle panted, squeezing his thigh to stem both the bleeding and the throbbing nerves.

Maverick swept him across the threshold, standing once more in the open. “Ain’t this the part where someone throws a bouquet or something?” Modo teased and Throttle rolled his eyes.

“Save that for your lady-love, smart guy.”

Modo eased him down onto his good leg and supported him as he stood and whistled hard.

                Both Lady and Lil’ Hoss responded to the familiar call, pausing briefly in their terrorizing to turn towards their owners.  They raced forward, and Throttle gratefully fell into Lady’s leather seat as Modo followed suit.

                The remaining thugs were scattering among the buildings, one or two attempting to turn and trade fire, though Modo met them with equal force until they fled fully. They scanned the cul-de-sac, but there was no sign of their bro or their damsel in distress.

                Modo tapped his com, “Vinnie come in! What’s your position? Where’s Jess?”

                There was a short burst of fire that they recognized as coming from Cherry’s forward guns, followed by several howls and yelps as she clearly met with their fleeing enemies. A moment later, the cherry red speedster came careening from behind another building, leaping over the foundation and skidding to a sharp stop in front of them.

                Both the bike and it’s riders looked like they had just sped full speed through a war zone, battered, bruised and dusted with dirt and debris. But Vinnie was all wild smiles and bright eyes, beaming at his bros.

                “About time you two finished fooling around!” Vinnie retorted.

                “Oh is that what we were doing?” Throttle sighed sarcastically. “My bad.”

                Vinnie’s eyes widened at the sight of his injuries, just as Throttle’s and Modo’s were at the sight of Vinnie's and Jessie, clinging to Vinnie’s back.  

It was impossible to ignore the beating she had taken, and both of them stiffened in alarm, but before either could express concern she spoke first; “We have to get out of here. Raiders will be coming any minute, and if they find Rod and his gang like this and us hanging around, they’re gonna recoup their losses on our hides.”

“Yeah and that’s more than some of us can afford.” Modo nodded grimly.  “Let’s get out of here and rendezvous with Stoker, no doubt he’s gotten back up by now and is heading our way. Then we can round of up what’s left of these back biting bastards.”

“What about Rod? Where is he?” Vinnie demanded.

“Throttle and I had him on the ropes but he made a run for it,” Modo explained.

Vinnie looked back across the now smoking and bombed out remains of the neighborhood, eyes scanning for signs of the traitor. “No way am I gonna let that fucker get off that easily…”

                Jessie moved into his line of vision, and his rage was tempered with worry again. “Vinnie…let it go.”

                He put his hand over hers against his chest, giving it a quick squeeze to give her some assurance. But he couldn’t let this go. He wouldn’t.

                Vinnie pulled ahead, making for the read leading out of Throttle’s old neighborhood, back to the safety of the highway and their home beyond. As they sped off, something behind them among the wreckage moved.

                Rod staggered back out into the open of the cul-de-sac, limping and battered. He watched as the bikers made a bid for freedom, taking with them what rightfully belong to him. The insult of it all was too much. They were going to pay. He was going to make sure of that.

                The toe of his boot bumped against something heavy and metallic, spotting the pipe that one of his men often liked to wield as a base, blunt weapon. The simplicity of it. The brutality of it  appealed to him then. Made sense to this blind, black rage that he was steeped in. He wanted to smash Jessie and her life to bits. Just as she had smashed his. He was ruined. But he wasn’t going down alone.

                He bent with effort, and picked it up, and then began to follow the bikers.

***

Chapter Text

***

From the kitchen window, Sweep saw the arrival of multiple motorcycles heading up the dirt path towards the house and sighed heavily, a familiar tension in her shoulders. Primer, who had been at her elbow, helping with the dinner prep, followed her mother’s  worried gaze and issued a sigh of her own.

“Looks like they dragged half the town in with them. Trouble?”  The petite blonde asked.

“No doubt in my mind.” Sweep nodded.” Where’s your brother?”

“In the barn, settling the heard for the night. You want me to—?”

“Leave him, we’ll handle this.” She nodded resolutely, turning the flame of the stove down to a flicker under the simmering stew and leaving her vegetables half chopped on the cutting board.

 She turned her head and yelled through the kitchen into the dinning room, where her mother sat in her chair, knitting and mending clothing from her basket sat beside her.

“Mama! The boys brought company.”

Ada looked up from her mending and was up at once, making her way into the kitchen to stand between the other two women of the house.

They noted that four bikes, not three, rode in close to the house as possible, stopping just shy of the porch, while four more tumbled in behind, spread out and not coming nearly as close. As if they were more concerned with creating a barrier to the road. Their uniformed nature gave Ada greater pause, having seen military issue bikes too often not to recognize them even from a distance.

The Maverick matriarch was on the move, face set, her grey hair coming slightly loose from her bun.  “Trouble” was turning out to be an understatement, and she had no doubt it had a lot to do with what had gone down in the canyon the night before.

Hastily throwing open her front door, she set her eyes first on her son and the four clustered with him. “What’s happened?”

“Just a little tussle, Mama, nothing to get too excited about,” Modo assured, trying to keep her from panic. “But we’re in need of a patch job.” He glanced anxiously between Throttle and Jessie.

“What about them?” Primer asked as she appeared behind her grandmother, nodding towards the uniformed group who lingered behind.

“I’ll handle them. Pry, help Mama get them inside.” Sweep said, striding off the porch and past her kin to what she first assumed were intruders.

At least until the lead stepped from her bike and removed her helmet, revealing a long sheath of thick black hair and a familiar face.

Sweep stopped short in surprise, but planted her feet all the same. “Carbine?”

                The General acknowledged her briefly before turning to look at the riders that flanked her.

                “That’s far enough. I’ll handle the questioning from here.  I only need one of you to stay behind and watch the perimeter, the rest of you can meet up with Strain. Report back to me if you see anyone else on the road, Sand Dog or Mouse, doesn’t matter.”

                The other officers looked dubiously between each other. A redhead, smaller and more green around the edges than her compatriots spoke up, “General, Ma’am, do you think that’s a good idea?” Her eyes strayed across to Sweep with a dubious, appraising glance, then flicked back to her superior. “Protocol says—“

“I make protocol.” Carbine corrected her with cool authority.  The cadet looked taken aback by this statement, even resentful.  She looked again towards Sweep, as if her influence had somehow tainted her superior’s intent.

“Yes, Ma’am, but…surely you’re not just going to let some farmhand dictate procedure—"

The General stepped closer to the girl, blocking her view of Sweep.

“What was your name again, cadet?”

“Tilley, Ma’am.”

She hummed knowingly. “Now I know that you’re good at following orders, considering your prior post, Ms. Tilley. Unless you want to be back holding up walls at the Cathedra and guarding file rooms, I suggest you listen keep your opinions to yourself.”  She glared at the girl with no open hostility, but enough boldness to show she would not argue the matter further.

The cadet nodded, slipping back into the fold, looking both sour and thoroughly chastised.  The rest gave no further hesitation, falling back to entrance of the farm and peeling off, while Tilley herself stood watch, in spite, Carbine supposed.

                She turned back towards Sweep, only to find that Modo had joined them and the pair had effectively blocked her path from the rest of the group. Shutting her out as she had done with the rest. It was a jarring scenario.

“This is an open investigation, I need to—“

“Just hold your horses, General,” Modo cut in, more defensive than anyone of them might have guessed. It was clear that whatever had transpired in the old ruins had shaken him and left him on edge. “Stoke came to you for back up, no one consented to an interrogation. We’ve got people who are hurt and you ride in here with your stormtroopers—!”

“I did you a favor!” She interjected, cutting off his complaint firmly, her composure starting to fray. “Stoker didn’t summon me here by the way. Like the rest of you thick-headed dummies, he thinks he can handle this on his own. We already on our way to investigate a lead when we met you ninnies on the road. I allowed you come back here when I should have detained all of you on the spot for questioning!”

Sweep looked at her brother. “What did you do?”

“Those smuggler scum got the drop on us after we left Bowie’s. Knocked me and Stoke cold and took Jessie hostage. We went and got her back.” He said, as if the matter was that simple. As if they hadn’t been in a firefight that could have easily cost all of them their lives. To Modo, it was no different than any other battle. But his sister and Carbine seemed to feel differently on the matter.

“Not to mention you demolished a bunch of condemned buildings and probably injured a few suspects from our earlier incident.” The General added sharply. “All without Watchtower’s knowledge or consent. You can’t do that!”

Modo shrugged. “Sounds like a civil service to me. You wanna give us a medal?”

Carbine blinked, taken aback. This was sarcasm she expected from Vinnie, even from Throttle if you caught him in the right mood, but never from Modo. Clearly more was wrong than she had first assessed on the road, and whatever had been going on behind the scenes was far bigger than she guessed. And she was sure it all had to do with Jessie Van Wham.

“Modo,” she addressed him personally now. “You can’t keep ignoring me just because of what went down with Throttle and I. Believe it or not, my job doesn’t depend on whether or not I’m in the good graces of the Freedom Fighters.”

“So I guess that translates into not caring that one’s beat to hell and the other’s got multiple lazor wounds?” Modo muttered his frustration and anxiety rising. “I should be tending to my family not arguing law with you or all people Carbine! You know who the bad guys are here!”

“It’s more complicated than that—!”

Maverick started to reply, but Sweep’s hand squeezed his shoulder, stopping the retort before it could start and finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Bro, they need you inside. Go help. I’ll handle this.”

Modo gave her a short sideways glance of aprehension, but seemed to know better than to argue. Finally he turned and trotted towards the bikes, helping Stoker carry Throttle up the porch steps and into the house, Vinnie following swiftly behind with Jessie tucked protectively under his arm as Mama ushered them all in.

The two women watched their movements in silence, and both felt wrong in their inert positions. It was not like either of them to stand aside and debate while they could be of use elsewhere.

“You can ask all the questions you want, but we’ve got people who need medical attention first. Can’t you come back later when—” Sweep offered.

“No.” she answered and her expression was tight with worry. Her eyes fixed on Throttle as he was swept through the threshold before finally drifting back to Sweep. “I wish I could. But I have a job to do.”

Both women seemed at stalemate for the moment, gazing at each other in search of a solution and some understanding.

“Sweep, please…it’s either me asking the questions or they’ll send someone else. Someone else who will care a whole lot less about what’s happened to them and who they’re protecting.”

The taller woman glanced back towards the gate at the scrawny cadet who was keeping watch, picturing the self-satisfied smirk she would have seeing any of her family dragged off for questioning. She nodded finally, and turned, leading Carbine inside.

As they stepped through the threshold, they were greeted by the flurry of movement between rooms, hushed and quick voices. The smell of supper cooking on the stove mixing with wood polish and linen, interrupted by urgency and worry gave them both a sense of time warp. They had both been here, many times before. The family home turned into an emergency shelter for displaced neighbors, a soup kitchen, a hospital…

Sweep stepped through the threshold just as Primer was trotting hurriedly down the stairs from where she had just been.

“Jessie’s upstairs, Gran and Vinnie are with her. Modo took Throttle and Stoke into the den.” She directed. Primer eyed Carbine warily, unsure what her presence here meant now. Torn between their former familiarity and the present circumstance.

For a scant moment, Carbine’s eyes flickered towards the den and the tell-tale look of worry crossed her features again. This alone seemed to ease any worry that Sweep and her daughter might have held about her intentions. Whatever had happened between the pair, it was clear that some of the love remained.

“Take her upstairs, honey. I’ll check in on the boys down here.” Sweep instructed and gave Carbine a subtle nod that she would look in on the person she was most concerned for.

The white-haired mouse watched the pair disappear up stairs before slipping into the now crowded den. The sight of bright red on the now discarded rag on the floor, on Throttle’s  clothes and fur, dripping smearing across her couch from the marred biker’s leg and shoulder startled her briefly into stillness.

Without bidding it her mind flashed to Enfield, and dozens of others, and then back to the present again, leaving her colder for the memories.

“Dammit…!” she cursed softly under her breath, looking at the three males for some kind of explanation.

Throttle looked back at her with pained chagrin on his face, “Sorry sis,” he offered. “It’s nothing to worry about—“

He gasped sharply then as Stoker pulled off his boot and tore his jeans up the seam with a loud popping tear, working to get at the wound without obstruction.

“Jeez Stoke! Take it easy!”

The chocolate furred mouse glanced up at him briefly, “You want bedside manner or you want me to stop the bleeding? Modo, hand me that bottle of antiseptic and the gauze. Gotta keep pressure on this…”

Modo hurried to do as asked, grabbing the green bottle and gauze from the first aid kit Primer had already provided. The house was always well stocked, and Sweep was grateful and bitter for the fact at the same time.

“Should I call a doctor? Or an ambulance?”

“Ironically, our resident EMT is upstairs.” Modo sighed.

Stoker paused as if considering then shook his head. “No, I can handle this. But Jess will need looked at too. Looked like the creeps worked her over pretty good before you boys arrived.”

Modo’s expression fell into darker worried lines and Sweep gently squeezed his arm again.

Stoker tested the tan mouse’s range of movement, Throttle bit off a hiss of pain and gripped the couch hard enough to pop seams in the upholstery.

“Hurts that bad?”

“Well it sure doesn’t feel like a tickle!” Throttle hissed, forcing the words out between clenched teeth, still clutching and tearing at the couch.

The next moves were instinctive; Modo moved to Throttle’s side, reaching to brace him, while the other reached up with his good arm to grip him tightly, grateful for something to hold on to.

Stoker paused for only a moment to let him catch his breath, then began again, going as gently as he could, positioning the leg and beginning to clean the open wound. The burn of it made Throttle’s fingers dig into Modo’s arm, but the grey furred  mouse couldn’t have cared less.

“You’re gonna be feeling this for awhile, sorry to say. Looks like only minor muscle damage, but it’s still going to suck anytime you bend or flex it. How’s the shoulder?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, I could go for a game of tackle football!” Throttle grunted, breathing hard and desperately wanting this to be over with.

Modo glanced at Sweep and the siblings shared a twin thought.

“I’m going to go out on and make you a cup of Mama’s special tea,” Sweep explained. “Guaranteed to take the edge off.”

“Yeah cause it’s tant amount to a horse tranquilizer,” Modo muttered under his breath and Sweep swatted at him before looking pointedly to her “bonus” brother. “You hang tough, soldier, you’re in good hands. Just don’t get blood on my rug! The couch’s a lost cause already!”

“I’ll do my best,” Throttle called back, though his voice was strained and he hadn’t relaxed on his grip on Modo at all. His bro eased him back against the cushions best he could and took to cleaning the shoulder wound while Stoker finished with his leg.

“I should have gotten to you sooner,” Modo muttered, his voice sullen and worried. “Should have never let that creep out of my crosshairs…” He pulled off his already ruined shirt, tearing it carefully to create a broader bit of fabric he could fashion into a sling once he had covered the wound itself with gauze and tape. The short reprieve from cleaning and repositioning gave Throttle enough to time to regain some of his composure.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, you did all you could. Saved my hide in fact. I’d be compost if you hadn’t jumped in when you had and deflected that shot.”

It was clear by Stoker’s ever-furrowing brow that he did not care for these new details at all.

“For gods sakes…ain’t you learned to watch your tails better than that!?”

Throttle shook his head, trying to deescalate their worry. “I’m fine, bros, really there’s no need to—"

Stoker’s eyes snapped towards him, “ ‘I’m fine, I’m fine’…” he mocked, then shook the remains of the gauze roll at him. “If I hear you say that one more time while wiping blood off you, I’m gonna make you eat this damn gauze!” He warned. Done with the supplies, he rose to replace the rest inside the kit and clean the blood from his hands, leaving the pair to talk amongst themselves for a moment.

“I think Stoke could use some of Mama’s tea too.” Modo he chuckled, and was pleased to see it earned a smile from his bro.

Throttle deflated a bit further into the cushions, clearly spent from the day’s events. “How’s Jess?”

“Mama’s seeing to her right now and I’m sure Vinnie’s hovering. He looks a bit busted himself, though his bike clearly got the brunt of it. Poor Cherry.”  

Modo did his best to sound calm and unworried, but his face betrayed him. This had become such a mess. And most of it—at least the worst of it—might have been avoided if they had just listened to Throttle’s concerns up front. If they had taken the matter into their own hands without letting Jessie involve herself.

He should have done a better job of keeping her—and all of them—safe.

“I had him in my hands. Shoulda torn ‘im to pieces for what he did, to her, to you …” His rage and regret simmered just below the surface, but the other felt it palpably.

“Yeah well, it would have been a bigger mess if you had,” Stoker chimed in, returning from the connected bathroom. “So, we’ll count our blessings there. Last thing any of us needs is Bowie baking you a cake with a file in it to bust your sorry butt out of jail.” He patted Modo’s shoulder affectionately, offering some solace. “I’ll see if Addie has some ice packs for the swelling. Keep pressure on his leg a bit longer for me, yeah?”

Modo blinked at use of his mother’s first name, let alone a nickname from his mentor’s lips, reminded again of the history they shared. He nodded and took up their mentor’s spot on the floor at Throttle’s knee, ignoring the obvious ploy to allow Stoker to speak to Throttle more directly.

BlackRuby then paused, leaning down as he gripped Throttle loosely by the back of the neck, bringing him forehead to forehead with him. “I’m pissed at you, you know that?” He huffed quietly, voice choked with emotion neither was expecting. “Don’t you ever run like that. Don’t you do it. You promise me?”

His tone was low and quiet, tight with urgency. This was something meant to be private, Modo was sure. But something in the moment drove their mentor to speak his mind despite an audience. Or perhaps they had slipped only because Modo now understood the context.

Throttle winced and hugged him back, expression crumpled and full of remorse. “Stoke I’m sorry—.”

“Just promise me.” Stoker pleaded.

“I promise.”

Stoker nodded and fierce kissed his forehead before finally disappearing from the room without looking back.

Throttle lifted his specs and tiredly rubbed his eyes, pretending like they weren’t wet. When he replaced them and blinked back at Modo, he surprised at the grey furred mouse’s expression. As if he knew what the exchange really meant.

He paled, feeling more vulnerable than he would have liked just then. The tan mouse began to fumble for some explanation, but Modo turned and pulled another throw pillow from a neighboring chair and tucked it gingerly under his injured knee as he spoke instead.

“You know, sometimes I forget how lucky I am.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Real lucky. Plenty of people stumbled out of this war with nothing; whole lives burned to the ground. But I’ve always had people I can depend on.” He smiled gratefully, sadly, the weight of it settling on his broad shoulders. “When you know you can count on somethin’, maybe sometimes, you expect too much from it…”  

“Modo, you don’t—“

“I shouldn’t have come down on you the way I did. You only ever look out for us. I know that. I got so worried about Jess and couldn’t do enough on my own without my arm…I was mad at myself for falling short for her and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have trusted you when you said it was risky, when you said something about this whole thing was wrong. I was just so turned around, all these old feeling about her coming up and second chances. I let it cloud my judgement…”

He looked ashamed of himself.

“Bro, I know what it’s like to go a little crazy over a girl.” Throttle assured. “I’ve been in love before. And besides, we’re not exactly talking about just any girl. This is Jessie Van Wham. Dream girl material.”

“Yeah well…regardless. I let it trip me up. And I won’t let that happen again.” He looked at Throttle then with kind of conviction that would stay burned into their memories. “It’s always been you, me and Vinnie. It’s always gonna be that way. I got no intention of leaving you behind, no matter who or what else comes along. You’ll never be in my rearview, bro. Not by choice. Not ever.”

That vow settled over them and though Throttle didn’t readily reply it was clear that it touched him.

Swallowing hard, he managed a choked attempt at a laugh, “Gee bro, no need to go soft on me…ain’t like I was going anywhere.”

Modo surprised him then by leaning forward and pressing his face against his bro’s chest and stomach arms cinching around his middle tight. It was normally the sort of embrace that was proceeded by being lifted into the air, hugged breathless and then tackled to the ground. Affection with a side of body slamming.

“You’d better not.” Modo mumbled against him, the words almost more felt than heard.

A moment later Sweep returned with a warm tumblr of tea and paused to eye her boys. Still she could not resist a small tease at their expense. “Should I leave you two alone?”

Modo lifted his head and frowned up at her, pulling himself carefully free of the other mouse. “Ha ha. You missed your calling as a comedian, sis.”

She waved him off, one of the few never put off by his size or muscle as she had plenty of her own to boast, and handed her patient his medicinal brew. “This should fix you up good, tough guy. I even put a little extra in there for ya.” She winked.

Throttle dubiously tasted the tea, and besides the strong herbal flavor there was the near equally strong taste of whisky. He coughed and nodded. “Now I know I’m your favorite.”

She ruffled his hair gently. “Damn right.” She smirked and looked at Modo again. “I’ll take care of him. Go get your girl.”

**

The bedroom belonging to Sweep, was crowded but hushed as Modo approached it.

The door was left open just a crack and peering through it he could see the white furred young woman seated on the edge of the bed, being slowly and carefully peeled out of clothing as his mother checked for injuries.

Ada’s expression was focused and concerned, taking in the sight of the deep bruising and numerous—though thankfully small—lascerations across the woman’s body.

Jessie kept her eyes on the floor, trying her best not to flinch at the any touch, no matter how gentle.  “It’s alright honey,” Ada Maverick promised, her voice soothing but not cloying. As if she understood that in this already vulnerable and exposed moment, Jessie needed as much dignity and autonomy as she could manage. “Is there anywhere that hurts worst than the others?”

“No,” Jessie answered. “Other than this headache and my cheek…mostly I just…ache.” She answered.   Her long hair covered most of her now naked back, exposed without her shirt. They could see bruising in wide blotched spots on her ribs, arms, and hips even beneath her fur, the discoloration turning the white sheen a sort of grey purple and pale maroon.

She cried softly when Mama touched one of the dark spots on her side and cringed away, and the old woman shushed her gently and let her lean against her until the pang past, stroking her hair lightly.

Jessie glanced up at Primer once she’d regained her composure, who was watching her anxiously from the corner of the room, unsure how to help. She looked scared, as if she had never seen something like this before. At least, not for these reasons. To be battered and nearly beaten to a pulp by someone who had once claimed they loved you. And that filled Jessie with a bitter sweet sort of hope. That maybe this was the first and the last the poor girl would have to see of it.

Meanwhile, the dark-haired General who had followed them, watched everything.

“It looks like the boys arrived just in time.” She noted, and Jessie nodded slowly as Mama applied salve to the deep bruises around her wrists, and the finger-print shaped ones on her upper arms.

“They got lucky. Rod was ready for them to ride to the rescue. He wanted it. The firefight I mean. He had some half-brained scheme that he was going force them to surrender, or take them prisoner and use them as extra collateral to the Sand Raiders.” She explained. “All to pay his debt.”

“And by debt, you mean the gold gills?” Carbine asked pointedly.

Both Mama and Primer’s ears perked at the mention, but Jessie’s lowered, shame stabbing her again. “Yes.”

“You could have brought them to us, you know. Explained the situation. We could have helped.”

Primer scoffed softly, and Carbine looked at her in surprise. The young blonde lowered her eyes, but did not fully back down. “Sorry it’s just…if she had that much in Plutarkian gold gills, even if she told you what happened, you would have questioned if she was some kind of spy for the Raiders. Everyone knows that.”

“Primer, it’s more complicated than that—” Carbine started.

“Enough.” Ada said firmly, cutting the debate off decisively. “This is no place to argue about things like that. If you two can’t help take care of someone in need right in front of your faces, then I’ll thank you to leave and let me work.”

“Sorry Gran,” Primer said quickly. She looked to Jessie. “I’ll get you some ice for the cut on your cheek. Be right back.”

Her grandmother nodded approvingly, and Primer excused herself quickly. As she slipped through the door, there was a confused bustle of movement, and Carbine quickly pressed the door fully shut to offer Jessie better privacy.

“Modo and Vinnie are listening at the door. Should I get rid of them?” she asked.

“No. They’re just worried.” Jessie smiled softly. “Worried’s all any of them seemed to be since I showed up. I should have never have come here.” She sighed.

Carbine moved in a bit closer, standing at the edge of the bed. “I doubt that. Seems to me like this is the best place for you, Jessie. There’s no substitute for people who love and care about you, whatever troubles you have.” She glanced appreciatively to Mama, who softened and smiled back at her. “And you seem to have plenty of that here.”

“No doubt about that.” Mama agreed.

Carbine tucked away the note pad she had been scribbling on, and instead dug more deeply into her utility belt, “I’ve got liquid stitch and plenty of antibacterial swabs and numbing cream.” She looked at Jessie and tapped the place under her own eye, signifying the bruise Jessie sported. “Works wonders for spots like that.”

“You just carry that sort of thing around?”

“First rule in the Army; always be prepared.”

“I thought that was scouts.”

“Some rules are universal I guess.” Carbine nodded.

Jessie chuckled softly. “I um…still don’t know who you are.”

 “My name’s Carbine. Officially I’m here with Watchtower to ask you some questions. But right now…let’s just call me a friend of a friend.”

                Jessie wondered what she meant by that, when the door opened and she gasped, trying to cover herself, as her brother’s nudged his way inside. “Hey how about some updates here—”

                “Vinnie! Get out!” she hissed.

                “Oh for heaven’s sake!” Mama Maverick sighed. As Carbine helped block Vinnie’s confused view of Jess, the old woman gathered the discarded bloody clothing and hastily shoved it into Vinnie’s hands, pushing him out of the room. “Make yourself useful! Go wash these and let us take care of it!”

                Vinnie attempted to sputter something. Either an excuse or an apology. But the words wouldn’t form. His brain was too busy processing all the additional marks he had glimpsed on Jessie, the damage tallying up in his mind.

                Modo, who was also right outside the door, started to ask something of his mother, only for her to push Vinnie out and shut the door in their faces again.

                “Wait! Mama! Can’t you at least tell us what’s going on--?” he asked. Primer scuttled past him again, slipping under his arm and through the door before he could say more and shut it hard against him again. “Dammit!”

                He groaned in exasperation, raking his hands across his head, making his antenna bounce briefly and then looked to Vinnie, who looked mildly shell shocked, clutching a bundle of clothing and saying nothing.

                “Well? What did they say? Is she gonna be okay?”

“Yeah…” Vinnie mumbled. He looked down at the bloodstained shirt in his hands bitterly.
“She’ll be fine…” he frowned darkly, clutching Jessie’s bloody shirt in his hands helplessly. “Just fine.”

He stared at the rusty blooms of red helplessly. After a moment he looked up at Modo. “Tell me you got some good shots in. Tell me that piece of shit who did this is hurting at least as bad as she is.”

“You can rest easy in that, bro. Wherever that snake slipped off to it’s at a crawl.” He did not add that he wished that he had finished the job, but Vinnie seemed to read it on his face and nodded.

The masked mouse nodded. “With any luck, Strain and his pals will snare him on the rebound and he can rot in a cell. Or the Sand Raiders he owes will take what he owes out of his hide…”

Vinnie looked up and saw that Modo’s eye was fixed on the door, ears perked and listening to the soft voices inside.

Vinnie realized he had been shoving away the obvious. He had been doing that a lot lately, it seemed. But standing there, seeing his expression, he could no longer deny that whatever Modo felt for his sister was deeper than childhood infatuation or anything as shallow as simple attraction.

“She’s tough. She’ll be alright.” He said, his tone shifting and catching the grey furred mouse’s attention again. “But she’s been through a lot and she’s gonna need someone who can, you know…sit with that. Not rush into things too quickly you know…if she’s not ready.”

Modo cocked his head slightly and smiled. “Are you telling me how to date your sister?”

Vinnie squared his shoulders. “Maybe. I mean, Pop’s not around to do it so…” he shrugged, looking for the words. “I know you’ll take good care of her.”

Modo nodded. “Thanks, Vin. That means a lot.”

“Yeah well…just don’t fuck it up.”

The door opened again, and Carbine stepped out between them, looking grim faced.

Both bikers stiffened anxiously, expecting further confrontation.

“At ease, boys.” She sighed. “I’m not here to pile on. Hard as that might be for you to believe.”

“You’re not taking her in?” Vinnie asked, both surprised and relieved. “I mean obviously you can see these guys were after her--!”

“Yeah, that’s pretty obvious. And for the moment, I’ve got nothing to hold her on. Not unless those gold gills resurface or Burk decides to show his face again and press charges. And that would be a cold day in hell, considering his back of log of suspicious involvement. So for now, everyone stays put.” She looked at them both speculatively. “And I trust you’ll keep her out of trouble?”

Vinnie snorted a laugh. “A Van Wham? Ha! Sweetheart, that’s like keeping quills off a porcupine!”

Modo pressed his palm over his mouth to silence him and looked at Carbine sweetly, “She’ll be good with us, Carbine. You can rest easy on that.”

She sighed, wanting to believe him, but unsure if she did.

“And um…I’m sorry for how I acted out there. I know you were only trying to help.”

“Yeah well, we can all act a little crazy when it comes to protecting people we care about. Don’t sweat it.”

The pair of bikers exchanged another glance as she began to move away from the door, seeming as if she would show herself out.

“You uh…wanna look in on him before you go?” Vinnie offered, catching her at the edge of the stairs.

“I don’t think he’d want to see me.” She replied and he could tell that it pained her to say so.

Vinnie shrugged. “Won’t know until you see for yourself.” He headed down the stairs without her. “Just a suggestion.”

The General hesitated a moment longer, then followed him down the stairs. Vinnie trailed into the kitchen, depositing Jessie’s bloody clothing into a large ceramic sink at the back of the room in a small annexed area away from the main sink and stove, where the washing and storage was kept.

Carbine drifted towards the open arch that led from the kitchen to the den beyond, spotting Throttle on the couch, bandaged and laid up.

For the moment, he seemed to be alone. The room quieter than the rest of the house with Sweep having slipped off elsewhere. She stepped cautiously into the room, side-eyeing the other mouse.

At first glance he appeared to be asleep, head dropped back against the pillows and his eyes closed and glasses removed, resting within easy reach.

She felt a twinge at the state of him, hating to see him hurt, and knowing that it must have been a hell of a showdown for such a skilled and practiced fighter to have come off this badly.

She lingered beside him for a long moment, just studying his face. Thinking about everything that had passed between them. About how he looked when she returned his stone. She did not regret her choice. It had been the right thing to do. But it was never because of a lack of love. If it had, this would have been so much easier.

She brushed her gloved hand along his as it rested against his chest and turned to leave. But he caught her. His good arm reaching up to catch her wrist. He looked towards her, blindly and heavy-lidded with exhaustion.

“Not even gonna say goodbye?” He asked thickly, obviously groggy.

Her face fell and she was glad he couldn’t see it. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” He reminded her.

She eyed the half-empty cup on the floor beside him, the smell of it tickling her nose. “Mama gave you the good stuff, hmm?”

He grinned at her and she hated how much it melted her. She perched neatly on the slim edge of the cushion beside him and settled his hand back at his side, though she seemed reluctant to release it.

“We can’t keep meeting like this, you know.” She teased, but it was half-hearted.

“Why not? It was practically how we met.”

“Hmmm, I seem to remember a lot less bandages involved with that meeting.” She mused. “But it did involve you doing something reckless as usual. And me bailing you out.”

“I think it was the other way around, babe.” He retorted.

The familiar nickname fell like a sour note between them and they both grew quiet for a beat. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

He slipped his hand from hers. “I guess you should get going. Sure they’re waiting on you back at headquarters.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

She shifted as if she would stand and he closed his eyes again. Even if he could not see her, he did not want to watch her go. To even see the shadow of her slip away.

But instead of leaving she pressed forward suddenly and kissed him quickly and firmly.

He kissed her back, holding fast to her as long as he could.

She pulled back and he let her go reluctantly. She stood quickly and he heard her sniffling faintly. She left without saying anything else and he listened until her footsteps faded and he heard the front door open and close behind her.

In the kitchen, Vinnie heard the front door open and close in quick succession, but didn’t quite register the meaning. His gaze was focused on the bloody shirt in half full sink, watching the water and his hands turn pink as he scrubbed it.

The back of his skull and his chest ached, and neither had anything to do with the rough ride he’d had earlier. The coil of near constant frustration and anger that had begun in him since leaving Earth felt like it was tightening and growing.

All the things he could not fix, all the injustices he could not undo, were beginning to choke him. And fear of what he could lose—and what he had already lost—nestled in beside it comfortably.

He needed an outlet. And his mind kept flashing on Rod’s face. Wishing he had been able to deal with the thug himself. Fantasizing what he would do if he got another chance…

He had begun to wring and twist the shirt in the water, unaware of his strength. He was thinking about getting his bike and slipping away. Considering what back roads Rod might take to leave town…and how unfortunate he would be if Vinnie found him there in the dark.

“Uh, bro?”

Stoker’s voice startled him out of his black thoughts and made him slosh water over the lip of the sink and onto the floor, splashing across their boots and the tile.

They stared at each other a moment and then Stoker nodded towards the churning pink water. “Pretty sure you’ve killed it. If that’s what you were trying to do.”

Vinnie blinked, pale under his fur, and looked down at the soapy water again. The shirt was a mangled mess, stretched almost completely shapeless now. The ghost of the bloodstains stubbornly remained despite his efforts.

“Oh. Oops.” He pulled it free and let it hang on the line over the empty side, watching it drip.

He felt Stoker’s hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” He answered, surprised at his own forthcoming.

The older Freedom Fighter eyed him a little longer, worrying his lip in thought. “Yeah well, that’s fair enough. Been a long night for all of us. Maybe you should take a load off. Regroup.”

“I’m not tired.” Vinnie snapped without really meaning to. He hung his head, leaning heavily on the sink. “My bro’s in rough shape. So is my sister. I can’t sit here and do nothing about it! That’s not what I do, that’s not who I am! Doesn’t anyone understand that!?”

His voice had raised from a growl to a shout and it made small dark windows above the sink rattle faintly in their panes.

But Stoker looked unbothered by the outburst. Continuing to appraise him coolly as he leaned against the door frame.

“I do.” He answered finally. “Probably more than you know.”

Vinnie’s face crinkled skeptically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I can guess that just now you were thinking about the possibility of slipping off and seeing if you could beat Watchtower to the punch.”

Vinnie blinked, unnerved at how easily his mentor had been able to read his thoughts.

“Maybe…”

“Yeah.” Stoker nodded. “I know you won’t like hearing this, but it’s spooky how much you remind me of myself sometimes, punk.”

Vinnie rolled his eyes. “Is that a round about way of patting yourself on the back?” He scoffed.

“It’s a warning.” Stoker replied. “One thing you might learn someday baby bro, it you’re lucky enough, is that you want the younger generation—your kids—to have it better than you did. Sometimes that means helping them not make the same mistakes you did.”

Vinnie sighed and stared at the ceiling, trying to tamp down the part of him that wanted to lash out needlessly. He knew Stoker meant well. Just as Throttle did. But he had never been one to take advice easily. And if Throttle looked at Stoker like a father, Vinnie saw him as another older brother. One who was always trying to one up him.

“Same mistakes hmm?”

“You’re angry. And it’s eating you up. Making you push people away. Making stupid choices.” He said this part carefully and the way his eyes bore into him Vinnie realized he knew something. Something his bros didn’t even know.

His face went as pink as the water in the sink. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, almost whispered.

“Really? You don’t remember me having to haul your ass off that empty motorcross track with your pants down around your ankles, black-out drunk, with some woman you’ve never even met—!”

Vinnie rushed him, slapping both hands over his mouth in an effort to stifle the rest of the story, bug-eyed and frantic as he shoved Stoker roughly against the doorframe in his haste.

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

Stoker grunted and pushed him off him, wincing at the doorframe jammed against his spine.

“And I’ve kept that to myself because we’ve all had a rough night or two…but that doesn’t unring the bell.”

“There was no bell to un-ring!” Vinnie hissed and Stoker chuckled.

“Oh really? Because I didn’t see a condom anywhere and I sure as hell saw everything else—"

“That was…a mistake. I was drunk I was…missing Charlie…but it was nothing! Wild Oates and all that! Look me in the eye and tell me you never did that. Oh wait of course you did— his name is Bowie! Or would Harley better fit that description—I never can tell with you.”

Stoker blinked but reacted little otherwise. Instead it was Vinnie who winced. “Fuck. I didn’t mean that.” He said softly.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Stoker said softly. “You’ve got a big mouth Vinnie, always have. But all that anger and resentment you’ve got building up—it’s turning that mouth into a weapon. It’s making you hurt people I know you would never hurt otherwise. Now, I can handle your bullshit but your bros don’t deserve it—“

Vinnie’s face tightened as his defenses drew up, guilt and irritation rushing in with the tide of it. “Let it lie, okay? Throttle and I hashed it out, we’re fine. He doesn’t need you to fight his battles for him—“

“One day you’re going to say something you can’t take back.” Stoker cut in, growing both more insistent and irritated with the other’s resistance.

Vinnie stared back at him, and there was something on the tip of his tongue. A cutting remark that would have shut his mentor down immediately. Stoker saw it in his face and stood, waiting.

Vinnie swallowed it down, hanging his head. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “I’ve just… never felt this bad before, Stoke. I’m lost.”

The tension between them broke, and Stoker hugged him and was surprised when Vinnie leaned into it. “I know. But it won’t always feel this bad. You got to hold out some hope for things. Find your purpose again. Okay?”

Vinnie nodded, pulling free after a moment and glancing down at his pink stained hands. Still unsettled inside.

“Stay put tonight, punk. Sit with the discomfort awhile. It’ll do you a world of good.” Stoker noted before excusing himself again.

He paused in the kitchen proper and poured himself a drink from the bottle of whiskey Sweep had left on the counter, then sauntered out onto the front porch. He plopped down on the steps, letting the night settle over him as he made himself comfortable. With the bikes parked directly in front of him and his wide view of the winding drive and road beyond, he was making damn sure that if anyone was making their way in or out of the place, he’d know about it.

He hadn’t been out there long, when the lady of the house joined him there on the old creaky floors boards.

Ada had let her hair down, hanging in a loose braid now over her shoulder and it made her look younger. She was also holding a mug, which Stoker quickly realized was full of the same amber liquid as his.

“Room for one more?” She asked.

He patted the spot beside him fondly. “It’s your porch.” He reminded her.

She chuckled and eased herself down with a bit of effort. “Well…I think they’re all sorted finally.  Settled in.” She sighed softly. “I have to admit, I sleep easier when the house is full.”

Stoker nodded. “I know what you mean. But it must be an awful lot of work, keeping this place up. Rimfire and Primer are grown now, just leaves you and Sweep most of the time I imagine.”

“I’ve got no intentions of giving up this farm.” Ada said. “If I was gonna do that, I was would have done so after my husband died all those years ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She smiled at him. “Because I figured you’d need it. Not just you either. Axle and Rosie and Jay and Sea…my white furred Daddy always said a mouse should have some place to come home to. So…why not here?”

He smiled at her affectionately. “Good ol’ Addie…”

They stared out across the expanse in the dark, hearing the wind whistle through the prairie grass. The sky seeming so huge in the darkness, washed with the light of the Milky Way and moons chasing each on the far horizon.

“You ever think it would come down to us? You and me?” He asked.

She shook her head slowly. “No. Was damn sure you’d get yourself killed first. You or Jay I suppose…” she looked at him carefully. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I’m glad it’s you. And I think it the rest of them could take a vote on it…they’d be glad too.”

Stoker said nothing, staring off into the dark. It was a bode of confidence he was not sure he deserved, after all the ways he had fallen short.

Ada Maverick tugged him closer and kissed his cheek adoringly. He smirked and kissed her back and the pair raised their glasses, taking a swig before pouring the rest into the dirt, in offering to those who could only now stand with them in spirit.

***

Chapter Text

***

Night deepened over the homestead and all sheltered inside. Peace and calm replaced the days earlier strife and fatigue.

Upstairs, still safe in the bed with Modo’s arm protectively around her, Jessie woke from thin sleep. The herbal tea she’d been given earlier had worn off fully now and her mind was racing, trying to pick up the slack, still ready for another attack.

Behind her, Modo breathed and kissed her neck softly. “It’s okay,” he promised. “You’re safe.”

She rolled to face him, surprised to find him so alert. “You’re still awake?”

He shrugged and glanced at the clock beside the bed that showed the hour as almost midnight. It had been hours ago that they had lain down together and they had little to show for it.

“Guess I’m not that tired either.” He admitted.

She smiled at him knowingly and kissed him softly. “They really don’t make ‘em like you anymore do they Maverick?”

He grinned and combed his fingers through her hair. “Should we get you so more tea—?”

She shook her head and sat up, wiggling free of his embrace for the moment. “No. I just need to clear my head.” She glanced out the window at the moonlit darkness outside. “Could we maybe take a little walk? Just to the barn and back? Fresh air would help.”

Modo considered a moment then nodded.

They made their way out into the hall, listening for sounds of movement or talking. The only noise seemed to be the low faint static of the radio from the kitchen and the sound of quiet snores from the bedroom across from them.

They made their way downstairs, into the kitchen and towards the den, meaning to slip out onto the back porch from there.

One dim lamp remained lit within the room, allowing them see Throttle, fast asleep on the couch where Modo had left him, and Vinnie passed out on the floor beside him, snoring loudly though the other seemed not to notice.

Jessie smirked at the sound of Vinnie’s noise and adjusted the pillow under his head to help alleviate the sound. As they lingered, Modo felt fingers lightly grip his and glanced back to see Throttle looking in his direction, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Everything ok?” He murmured, voice thick with disuse.

Modo gave his fingers a squeeze and pulled the old quilt over him to settle him again. “All good, go back to sleep.”

Despite Jessie’s best efforts, Vinnie began to snore again in earnest, ripping a particularly loud snorting inhale of breath before exhale in a whining sigh.

All three cringed at it.

“Easier said then done.” Throttle sighed. He reached down and let his hand settle along Vinnie’s back and the familiar pressure and touch seemed to resettle his breathing, quieting him.

Modo nodded at the familiar tactic, while Jessie looked impressed.  It gave her heart a bit of an ache, the way they took care of each other. The way it seemed to come so easily between them. Second nature.

Modo slipped his good hand into hers as they slipped off again, letting the other pair resume their rest.

They did their best to make it through the squeak and whine of the back porch’s hinge, the night air bracing compared the the still warmth of the house.

Modo grabbed one of the work jackets from the hook near the door and draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her up but she certainly didn’t mind, plus it had the bonus of smelling of Modo. A mix of sweet hay, diesel smoke and dryer sheets.

They slipped into work boots as well and began their stroll, Jessie hugging his arm as they moved slowly across the familiar walking paths. She moved at a limp but didn’t seem to mind.

She glanced up at the big grey mouse, wondering at him. “You know, back when we were in school, I would have thought something like this was so cheesy.” She giggled. “A guy that wanted to hold my hand and walk around with me, doing nothin’…I would have thought it was so boring. Turns out, that’s exactly the kind of guy I needed. I was just too dumb to realize he was half a mile down the road from me all this time.”

Modo blushed and kissed the top of her head. “Well, to be honest…I wasn’t exactly that guy back then either. Me and the bros have spent plenty of years getting into our fair share of trouble. Riding hard, fighting hard…that’s still a big part of me.”

She nodded, understanding. “Of course.”

Modo glanced back towards the house. “I spent a lot of years wondering why it was so hard to settle down. Part of me always figured I was supposed to. Take over the family farm when Mama got too old. Raise up a family to do the same…”

He glanced back towards the house, its dark shadow looming over them. They way it seemed to follow him, waiting and expectant.

“And?”

“Well…instead I ended up biking across the galaxy fighting super villains and bad guys of every creed. And let me tell you Jess…I’ve loved it. All of it. But it’s made coming back here a little…I dunno. Bittersweet. Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m just chasing my tail or not. If I’m stagnating or…if this where I’m supposed to end up. Same old house, same old barn…”

She smiled hopefully at him. “Same ol’ girl next door?” She asked, unable to help the note of nervousness in her tone.

He smiled at her. “Yeah…guess so.” He sighed and looked out at the dark. “Funny how the world works that way.”

“Yeah…but it could also be coincidence.” She added. She looked in the distance, way across the yard and the road to where the trailer stood, its porch light still lit.

“I don’t want to feel like an inevitability. And I don’t want you to feel like just because the universe shook out this way that I’m your best option or something like that…” she winced, unsure the words were coming out right.

“What do you wanna feel like?” Modo asked after a moment’s consideration.

“A choice, I guess.” She shrugged her shoulders beneath the oversized coat, even if it hurt her to do so. “But that’s not what I’m trying to get at, Modo. I wouldn’t want to be the stone around anyone’s neck. Especially yours. I wouldn’t want to be the thing that comes between you and what you want in life.”

“And what do you think I want, exactly?”

She glanced back towards the house. “You and the bros were clearly made for what you do. Nobody better in the business I imagine. I couldn’t break up the band.”

Modo laughed softly at the idea, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, that is one thing I never worry about. Me and my bros, that’s for life.” His confidence was easy and natural, making her feel more assured that his faith in this was unshakable.

He put his arm around her, pulling her in closer. “Besides, who says the band’s gotta break up? Maybe it just gets a new member. Maybe they start playing some new tunes along with the old favorites.”

“Are we talking about a cover band or a relationship?” She giggled.

“All I’m trying to say is…maybe I’m ready for a new chapter. Something a little less…bombastic? Maybe I was just waiting for the right person.”

“What makes you think I’m that?” She asked.

He shrugged and answered her honestly. “I dunno. But I sure would like to find out.”

The big grey mouse grinned at her and she leaned up on tip-toes to kiss him again. This time it was more heated, the pair melting into one another a little. A familiar want stirred and they found themselves pressing closer.

After a long moment, Modo managed to pull himself back with obvious effort.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her lips trying to chase his.

“Shouldn’t rush it.” Modo mumbled. “Maybe we should hold off until you’re better…”  

Jessie shook her head, pulling him in, his face cupped between her palms, gaze meeting his. “No, no, I’m fine. With you I’m better than fine. Besides…I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”

He nodded, kissing her again. His hand slipped into hers and they moved quickly towards the barn, the only place that offered some modicum of privacy compared to the overcrowded house.

**

From the front porch, Stoker was roused out of a doze from the soft squeak of the front gate in the distance. He inhaled sharply, shaking the drowsiness off. The night had turned chilly as the dark deepened and he could see little puffs of breath swirling in front of him.

Across the dark lawn, he saw a familiar lone mouse making his way towards the door. Rimfire sauntered up to him, hands in his pockets.

Stoker watched him pensively. “What’d you do, walk the whole perimeter on foot?” He asked the young man when he reached the steps.

Rimfire shrugged, “I didn’t want them to hear me coming, in case someone was hiding out there.”

Stoker settled back against the bench he’d been resting on and muffled a grunt caused by a stiff back.

“You think there’s someone hiding out there huh? Kinda paranoid aren’t ya?”

Rimfire smirked at him. “Says the guy sleeping on the front porch like a watch dog.”

They smiled at each other and then the younger mouse mounted the stairs and settled down by the older Freedom Fighter. “I didn’t see anyone. Caught a transmission from what I guess is Carbine’s group, hearing back into the city. Raider activity in the area for sure, but seems like they backed off.”

Stoker nodded. “Makes them smarter than most, I guess. They’re cowards and scavengers at heart. It’s one thing to take on a few mice alone in the wastes or at the edge of town. But they aren’t ballsy enough to face Watchtower.”

Rimfire eyed him. “What about the Freedom Fighters?”

Stoker’s expression shifted ever so slightly. Something that might have been easily missed by someone who didn’t know him as well, or played off as the light shifting across his face.

“Most of them are right here. And worse for wear.” He stared into the dark, looking much further than either could actually see. “They’re making us obsolete. Slowly but surely. Not the first time they’ve tried of course but…it might actually stick this time.”

Rimfire frowned. “You can’t let ‘em do that, Stoke. The Cathedra and the Army…they’re ass backwards about these things. About what really needs protecting.”

“Yeah, I know kiddo. Been that way longer than you’ve been alive. Only good thing to come out of the actual government overthrow was when people finally started realizing we had to fight for each other, instead of constantly creating obstacles and conditions to keep the lower classes down and those in power in power indefinitely.”

“That’s why we need the Freedom Fighters! We need to be the buffer. We need to put a stop to these slavers, not just here but everywhere! Places maybe the Regent doesn’t care about and Watchtower won’t bother with but we can do something about! We could be a whole and free Mars again!”

Stoker looked at him a long moment. Then put his hand on Rimfire’s shoulder. “Sounds to me like what Brimstone really needs is you, Rimfire. Not the Freedom Fighters.”

The striped haired mouse blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that maybe you don’t need to rely on us to achieve that vision. You’ve been a fighter from day one, kiddo. Came out kicking and screaming. You always had a lot to prove. You’ve proved it to me and your uncles a hundred times over. Maybe it’s time you set your sights higher.”

Rimfire sat with this a moment, and the pair looked out into the dark again. Finally, Stoker rose, his back stiff from sitting and the new cold and stretched. Rimfire couldn’t help but glimpse his bionic tail as he it waved lazily beyond him, catching glimpses of the porch light.

He turned towards the door, ready to head inside. The striped haired youth turned to follow, but paused. “Actually, you go ahead. I’m gonna do a quick lap around, make sure there aren’t any windows or anything open.”

Stoker looked at him skeptically, but decided not to question it. As he slipped inside, Rimfire trotted back down the stairs of the porch and started slowly around the house again.

He was pleased to see that the windows were all shut tight, and that nothing seemed to rustle or move beneath the wrap-around porch—nothing larger than a small animal or insect at least.

The wind was beginning to pick up and the clouds were beginning roll over head, dousing parts of the farmland in pitch, where the light of the brother moons didn’t reach. He made his way to the back porch and was almost safely in the ring of warm porch light when a distant sound made his ears perked. It was faint enough that it was nearly blown away by the breeze, and when he looked back, he at first could not find the source.

Then, as the clouds moved and the moonlight illuminated the distance again, he could see that one of the barn doors had come ajar and was swaying back and forth in the wind. Occassionally thudding back hard against the side of the structure.

Rimfire watched for a moment and sighed in new agitation. He was sure he had latched that thing, how had it come undone so easily?

He had half a mind to leave it, his head overcrowded and overtired enough as it was. But of course, if he left it open, some of the beasts might decide to wander away, leaving themselves open to all sorts of things. Plus the noise alone might drive them all to agitation and he’d have the whole agitated herd—what there was of them—to deal with.

He turned away from the house and started off again.

As he walked, he watched the way the long prairie grass waved and rippled in the wind, the moonlight catching the dew on it. It created a shimmering ripple affect, looking almost like dark waves beneath the sky. It was deep the further towards the barn he went. Almost knee high in some places.

In the dark, and with his thoughts so distracted from the day’s events and Stoker’s words on the porch, it was easy for him to miss the dark patch on the ground, hidden by the waving grass around it. He did not see it as he passed it. Nor smell it. Nor even sense that it was something living, and lying in wait.

He was not aware of it at all until all at once it moved behind him all at once and grunted at him like a wild thing, catching him just as he turned towards it.

The pipe came crashing down with violence against him. It caught him in the shoulder, just as he raised his arm to defend against the charging body. Sickening pain raced up along his collar, down beneath his arm, and up his neck and he knew the blow had broken it.

But the full force of that pain was not given a chance to be fully appreciated. Rimfire’s attempt to defend himself broke his shoulder but saved his skull, interfering with he force of the blow so that it only struck him senseless, rather than killing him on the spot.

He crumpled to the ground, sprawled on his back and laid there, helpless.

Rod stood over him in the dark, the pipe still held at the ready, poised to finish the job. It would have been easy. And satisfying—even cathardic—to take out his rage by crushing the skull of this unwitting interloper.

But as he considered this, he looked back up towards the barn, and all thoughts of wasting his energy on someone he deemed unimportant faded instantly. He looked back in the dark, scanning the otherwise silent farm land. As if he were afraid someone had seen what he had done. But there was no one else. Not here anyway.

He set his sights once more on the barn and stepped over the fallen mouse, limping off towards the structure and the swinging open door, knowing what he would find there.

**

Stoker slipped back into the warmth of the foyer, and then into the kitchen. The room was filled with the soft murmur of the radio and intermittent static, and the constant melody of Vinnie’s snores wafting in from the den beyond.

 He paused at the sink to wash his hands and splash some water on his face, trying to shake off the urge to sleep. There were a handful of cups left over from the evening, and to keep himself busy he decided to wash them, so that the ladies of the house would not wake to more work in the morning.

Behind him, he heard the rustling of movement and nodded, expecting that it was Rimfire coming in through the back door, “So, all’s quiet on the Western Front I take—” he turned, but did not find Rimfire standing there. Instead, Throttle stood in the doorway, supporting himself on his good leg and using the wall for balance with his arm that was not in a sling.

“It is anything but quiet in there.” Throttle replied. As if to verify this, Vinnie’s throat emitted a heinously loud and gargling snort that rumbled for several seconds before giving away to wheezing sort of sigh. They both cringed.

Stoker moved forward and quickly looped an arm around him, offering himself as a crutch as he eased him into the nearest chair. “You can say that again.” He looked back into the den. “I’ll roust him out of there, he can sleep in the front room if he’s going to make that kind of racket, that will keep anyone from coming in, for sure.”

“No no, let him be. I’m wide awake anyway.” Throttle insisted. But there was a big different between awake and rested and they both knew it.

The tan mouse adjusted his glassed as looked at his mentor cautiously. “You uh, looked like you were expecting someone else. Who’s still awake?”

“Oh…Rimfire’s been out patrolling, that’s all. He said he was gonna do one last look around. Thought that was him, that’s all.” He explained.

“Patrolling for what? Any word on the raiders?”

“No. But you did say our main antagonist slunk off before you could give him a proper send off. Wouldn’t hurt to make sure the place is secure.”

Throttle nodded and now they were both looking out the back door, through the screened dark, waiting for the other mouse to arrive and prove all was well. A few minutes ticked by in silence save for Vinnie’s snoring, and the rest of the cups in the sink remained unwashed, the bubbles fading.

Stoker moved around the table, pushing Throttle back into his chair automatically as he tried to rise and stepped into the den. He had a mind to give Vinnie a little nudge with his foot, if only to stop the awful sounds he was making, but his focus settled on the door.

After a moment, he pushed through the screen door, stepping out onto the porch, standing in the puddle of lamp light as he looked back and forth across the expanse of the house, listening for sound of footsteps. But there was no sign of their nephew.

Inside, Vinnie’s snore stopped abruptly with a grunt. “What gives man…?”

 Stoker was joined a moment later by two more figures, one leaning on the other.

“Well? Anything?” Throttle asked.

Stoker shook his head. The three of them stared out through the blue-black midnight, the wind rustling through the grass, singing to them.

“Anyone care to tell me what we’re looking for?” Vinnie asked groggily, still rubbing the sleep from his eye. In the distance they heard the faint thudding sound, and caught a glimpse of the source in the moonlight. The barn door, open and waving in the wind.

“Oooh, scary door…great show, bros. Can we go back to sleep now?”

“Rimfire’s out here somewhere.” Throttle explained.

Vinnie blinked. “You sure about that? I thought he came in ages ago.”

No one answered him, and Vinnie’s eyes went back to the barn. Slowly, the more wakeful he became, the eerie unsettledness that his companions felt seemed to slip over him too. They could see nothing in the dark that indicated any kind of danger. But something felt off.

“There!” Stoker gasped suddenly, pointing.

Slipping out of the shadow of cloud, they saw a far distant figure moving steadily towards the barn. He was too far away for them to discern anything other than that he must indeed be a mouse by the shape of his ears alone. But everything else was too vague.

“Well, there ya go. Mystery solved. The kid went to close the barn. Can we get back in the Mystery Machine now and go the fuck to sleep?” the masked mouse groused.

“Rimfire!” Stoker shouted, his voice carrying on the wind.

It seemed even from the distance that the other mouse heard him, for he stopped, if only briefly.

The three watched, dead silent. Waiting.

Slowly the other mouse raised an arm and gave an awkward wave, then moved off again.

“Can you see him any better with your specs?” Vinnie asked, all joking and complaints aside. He was suddenly very awake.

“No luck bros. But are we entirely sure that is Rimfire?” Throttle replied.

Vinnie nodded grimly. “Only one way to find out.”

Stoker whistled, already on the move. His bike came speeding around the corner, humming and Vinnie gave a whistle of his own, Cherry racing to join.

“Now don’t go hot-doggin’ it too close to the barn, punk. If you scare the beasts and get them stampeding, you can spend the night chasing ‘em down.”

“Hey worry about yourself old timer! Besides, I’m sure it’s nothing…unless I’m really, really lucky and Rod wants to give me a second chance at bashing his teeth in.”

Stoker pulled on his helmet just as Lady came around the corner as well, and both he and Vinnie looked back at their bro sharply.

“I hope you don’t think you’re coming along.” Stoker chided.

“And why not?”

“Uh, maybe the fact that you’re only operating with half a set of limbs right now?”

“I only need one good hand to ride,” Throttle answered, and Vinnie bit off whatever comment was brewing in his brain in retort, though Throttle was sure it was something particularly raunchy.

“Besides, you two can handle the barn. I’ll scower the pasture in case anything else is wandering. Maybe Blue got out again.”

“The last thing I’m worried about is that old sow getting into onions and—”

“Hey, hey, cut the guy some slack! If he wants to chase that four-legged handbag, I say we let him!”

“You’re only saying that because last time you tried to round her up she headbutted you in the nuts, chuckles.” Throttle replied.

Stoker didn’t wait for them to finish bantering, riding off with Vinnie following in his wake. Throttle eased himself down onto his seat with effort, but he had to admit, it was harder than it looked and his knee sang with new aches every time he moved.

                He glanced up at the house, wondering if he should wake Modo, then thought better of it. This might all be for nothing. But a nagging feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him believe that. Not fully. Below him, Lady beeped softly, her control panel lights flickering briefly, sensing his anxiety.

                He patted her tank affectionately. “I don’t know, baby. I just know I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

**

                Two bright headlights cut through the swaths of pitch and midnight that laid across the farm, a sharp contrast to the greyish yellow moonlight that filtered through the fast moving clouds above them.

                As the grass waved, it was easy to lose sense of the world around them, as if all that existed was what they could see directly in the beam of their headlights.

                “Are we overreacting?” Vinnie asked, glimpsing towards Stoker.

                BlackRuby was about to reply, when the edge of his headlights caught a new shape in the sea of grass. He was almost on top of him before he realized what it was.

                “HOLY SHIT!”

                There was no time to stop. Stoker instead pulled his bike back into a hard jump, leaping over the prone figure on the ground and skidding to a halt several feet away. Vinnie, luckily was far enough away that he was able to veer off and stop, leaping from Cherry.

                “Rimfire!”

                The edge of Vinnie’s headlight put the prone form in the grass in a spotlight as the other two mice rushed to his aid. Vinnie dropped beside him, lifting his arm that was laying awkwardly across his chest and grimaced when he felt the weird way it moved.

                Stoker gripped it, “Don’t! It’s broken, look.”

                He nodded to the blood on the sleeve of Rimfire’s shirt, the crushed skin and the blood that flecked his ear. Stoker braced him and felt for a pulse, listening for breath, while Vinnie stared around in the dark, looking for some sign of what had done this.

                “He’s breathing, but I don’t want to move him without help. We need a board or something—”

                “Stoke, what the hell happened to him?”

                The older mouse shook his head, unsure.  “Looks like someone caught him from behind.” He felt behind the younger mouse’s ear, feeling the tacky blood there, but luckily nothing deep. The wound felt super ficial. But there was a definite knot forming there against his scalp.

                “Go back to the house, get Sweep and Modo, we need some type of broad to carry him inside on, something that’s not going to move him too much—”

                A scream cut through the dark surrounding them. Distinctly female. Terffied.

                “Jessie…”

                Vinnie was up and leaping onto Cherry before Stoker could call him back, shouting for him to stay with Rimfire. Then he was off like a shot, speeding the rest of the way towards the barn.

**

                The pair inside the barn had previously been oblivious to what was circling them, lying in wait.

                Jessie had been surprised when Modo had brought her inside and lead her towards the ladder that reached the upper loft the barn. As they climbed, the smell of livestock and damp hay beneath them, she almost reconsidered this bid for privacy. It seemed more fun in her head than in practice.

                But she was surprised when the upper loft was dry, and the smell of the animals below didn’t carry as far. The warm hay up here was sweet smelling, and she was surprised to see that there was a small area that had been built up like a fort, where thick blankets had been laid down, and most of the loose hay swept clean.

                She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Do you bring girls here often?”

                Modo blushed and shook his head. “Nah, this isn’t my doing. Not recently anyway. But it’s always been a get away spot. The bros and I used to camp out up here from time to time. Guess it’s been a time honored tradition.”

                He looked nervous for a moment. Like he was afraid she might be rethinking this, that she was unimpressed. She pulled him in and kissed him again, and any worries he might have had dissolved.

                At first they felt like teens again, clumsy and giggling with nerves and shyness at being so exposed to each other.

                She saw the first real hint of worry on his face as she peeled him out of his clothing, exposing more than his obvious battle wounds. The smaller ones now visible too. The rivers of pale silver under his arm and down his ribs—stretch marks and scarring from the loss of his arm and the addition of the cybernetic one. Dozens of smaller pock marks and battle wounds, mostly hidden by fur and the dark. She might have never noticed most of them, but it was clear he was aware of each one. And thought himself somehow less because of it.

                She looked him over, shirtless and without his shoulder bracing, and his eyes didn’t meet hers. He reached to run his hand along her leg, and automatic movement with his right arm. He drew back awkwardly, making a small breath that sounded like a wince, before switching to his left side. Jessie slid her hand over his as it brushed along her thigh, catching his attention.

                “It doesn’t bother me, you know.”

                He gave her a sympathetic look, like he’d heard this before. His fingers flexed. “It’s gotta feel weird though.”

                “Does it feel weird for you?”

                He shrugged, “Doesn’t feel anything, to be honest. I mean, I’ve got some sense of touch in it, but it’s dull. Almost more of a memory of how things feel than really feeling them. And I know it’s uh…not exactly attractive.”

                He frowned, and Jessie slid her hand along the cybernetic appendage, comparing it’s hard lines to the curve of his muscle on the other arm. “It’s part of you. That’s good enough for me.”

                She kissed him and he melted into her until they were lying back, his much broader frame over hers. It made her shiver in a pleasant way, a little surprised that she was not afraid after everything she’d been through.

                He started to undress her more fully now, going slow, not tugging at her the way some did. He kissed down her stomach as he pulled her sweats down carefully over her hips and thighs, kissing the newly exposed places softly.

                She hid a shivering whine behind the back of her hand, whole body momentarily too sensitive with excitement. He was right there, kissing just below her naval and it was everything she had not to press his head down between her thighs. She wanted him, but fear was intruding. He could see the bruises here as well as on her face and torso. He could see all of it now, even in the dark.

                It was terrifying to be seen.

                He kissed the inside of her thigh and she let out a shivering whine, looking for something to hold onto to keep herself grounded. Caught between wanting him and wanting to push him away.

                Modo moved, and Jessie was surprised as he wrapped himself around her again, level with her, hugging her tight. “It’s okay.”

                She gripped him back hard, face in his neck, nodding, eyes wet without shedding tears.

                To have all your damage laid out bare was not something to be taken lightly. And both knew this. They had both seen hell in their own way and carried a shame that didn’t really belong to them about the marks it had left on them. They were not pretty, these witness marks. And no amount of romanticizing the strength it took to heal them would make them so. There was no beauty in the damage. The beauty was in that it was understood, completely, between them.

                Knowing that, both let go of hesitation. Modo kissed her the way he had wanted to since their youth and Jessie responded, at ease in his arms, pulling him in and wanting more. She finally managed to pull back enough for full breath, his attentions turned to her neck and shoulders as her fingers scratched softly down his broad back. “Want you…”

                He looked up at her, and the look in his eye made molten heat settle low in her stomach, tingling between her legs. He looked at her like she’d just granted him permission into heaven and she was caught between a giggle and a moan. This mouse was going to be the absolute undoing of her. And she had never wanted anything so badly.

                Jessie cupped his face and kissed him again, smiling through it, hooking her thighs around his hips. The new position made them both moan, and Jessie started to really appreciate the way he was straining through his underwear, hot against the inside of her thigh. She slid a hand between them to touch him, pulling the fabric of his briefs away and Modo moaned against her shoulder, hips swaying against her hand.

Modo grunted, almost whined, feeling the heat of her against him and finding he could no longer think straight. “Jess…” he panted, almost fearing he go over the edge just from the teasing. Almost.

                Jessie kissed his cheek and jaw, pressing up into him, slick and anxious for everything he could give her. And he certainly had plenty. Almost more than she could take. At least on a first go.

                “I’ve been waiting for you,” Modo admitted, slipping his bionic hand under her hips to lift her slightly, her panties pulled away. “I can’t wait anymore…”

                She pushed him against her and they both breathed heavier, Jessie’s voice hitching into a higher moan.

                Everything that had come before that moment felt far away and unimportant. There was just the two of them, moving against each other in the dark. The cold night air constrasting heat between them.

                It had been years since Modo had been intimate in this way, with anyone. There was the occasional encounter here and there, but he was a mouse who thoroughly believed that such intimacy was to be reserved. His Mama had raised him right. He just hadn’t realized he had been saving this feeling for so long. Hadn’t realized his feelings for Jessie were still this strong. And now that he finally had an outlet for it, it was difficult to hold back.

                Jessie whined and gasped, legs locked around him, seeming desperate to keep him inside her and Modo moaned, holding her tight, assuring her he wasn’t going anywhere.

                They pressed and pushed at each other like that, need mounting, until their noises drown out any lowing from the beasts below or the sound of the trouble brewing just outside.

                Jessie felt her knees weaken, an ache inside her to keep her darling muscle mouse right where he was for the rest of the night. But they both knew they couldn’t stay here much longer. This sanctuary was only temporary, and the real world was waiting for them.

                Modo kissed lazily at her throat, fingers twisting in her hair. “I love you…” he murmured.

                Jessie gasped, then giggled softly, fingers stroking along his scalp and the back of his neck. As if this were another sweet nothing mumbled in the afterglow. She didn’t expect him to look up at her, gaze searching hers. “Jess. I love you.”

                She blinked back at him, realizing he meant it. She stroked his cheek and pulled him nose to nose with her. “I love you too…” her voice shook when she said it. Not because she was not sure. But because she was afraid that she was sure. It felt crazy. It felt reckless after everything she had been through to offer that word up again.

                But she couldn’t remember the last time she had said it to Rod.

                “Is it weird…that this feels fast and…not fast at the same time?”

                He nodded, laughing a little himself. “Yeah. That’s exactly how I’d put it. It’s like we’ve been on hold for decades. Now we’re just…catching up.”

                “You’ve been on hold with a dead girl?” she asked him.

                Modo shrugged lightly, kissing her sweetly. “The heart wants what it wants. And mine’s a big dummy. Doesn’t seem to care about things like that.” He nuzzled her, still reluctant to move. “Wish I’d told you all this back then though…”

                “We were kids, Modo. It probably wouldn’t have played out well.”

                “Maybe.”

                He slipped free of her finally and sighed at the loss of heat. Jessie closed her thighs, pulling the edge of one the blankets over her as she sat up slowly, feeling a good kind of ache in her core. At least she’d have some good soreness to add to the rest of her aches come morning.

                He gathered their clothes, slipping into his briefs and jeans too quickly for her liking. Modo really had no appreciation for how attractive he actually was, scars and all. She decided she was going to help him get over that insecurity.

                Jessie was slipping on her own clothes, pulling the borrowed over-sized jacket on over her loose button down from Sweep, when noises outside caught their attention.

                Modo was at the edge of the loft, looking down, abruptly aware of the thudding of the open barn door in the wind. He frowned. “Damn. Thought I closed that…” he sighed, almost certain he had. Growing up on the farm as he had, one knew not to be so careless about these things, so even a minor slip was troubling.

                He descended the ladder, jumping the last three feet down as Jessie came to the edge of the loft, seeing the trouble with the door.

                From her bed of hay, Blue looked up sleepily and mooed in a low, vaguely disgruntled tone towards the door that was echoed by two or three other sows.

                Modo waved back at them. “Sorry ladies. I’ll handle it. Don’t want ya catching a cold now do we?”

                The door swung back towards him in the breeze, and he caught it easily, walking back to latch it shut. But it gave a sudden jerk in his grip, breaking free. The big grey mouse blinked in surprise, having not though the gust of wind to be that strong. He stepped out a little further to catch it again.

                The pipe appeared first.

                Modo only had time to register the shape of it, moving fast and arching towards his face. Like his nephew, he raised his arm instinctively to protect himself, and had the benefit that Rimfire did not.

                The pipe crashed against his bionic arm, warping the metal of it and leaving a noticeable dent in the bionic bicep plate.

                Modo cursed in surprise, catching a glimpse of Rod’s wild features briefly in the light of the electric lantern and then the smuggler was on him, swinging and raging. Modo opened fire, but the other was too close. One of the blast blew a hole straight through Rod’s left ear, but the other mouse seemed to only dimly register it.

                He took a wide vicious swing and caught Modo in the ribs. The big grey mouse folded with a wheeze, his good arm wrapping around himself reflexively at the new pain that exploded there. He fired again, only Rod was able to push his fist up and away, sending the shot above his head and blowing a hole through the façade of the barn rather than the smuggler’s face.

                Still gripping Modo’s fist, he swung again and sent the pipe crashing against his leg. Modo was lucky that he was able to pull back far enough to save his knee. But the blow still knocked him off balance, calf and shin singing and he hit the floor.

                The sudden pull put Rod off balance and Maverick was able to punch up, blowing his fist into his guts and sending the mouse flying backwards, landing into a closet full of supplies.

                Now the beasts in the barn were stirring, anxious and afraid, crowding and bumping into each other in an effort to get away from the fight in front of them.

                Jessie was still in the loft, scrambling for some way to help. She ran along the edge of the loft, looking for something heavy, something she could fight back with. All she found was a pitch fork leaning against the wall.

                Rod spotted her from above and pointed at her. “You stay right there, bitch! I’m coming to get you next!”

                “Over my dead body!” Modo snarled, up and charging. He fired the other mouse again, who rolled to avoid the shot. He continued to clutch the pipe, swinging it like a sword at the bigger mouse as they continued to circle each other.

                “You should have staid gone, asshole! Cut your losses! Now I can guarantee you’re not walking away.”

                Rod grinned, showing bloody teeth. He charged, or pretended to, and as Modo prepared to meet him, the smuggler tried another of dirty, underhanded tricks. He pulled something small from his pocket, a tightly packed black ball that was nothing more than a flash-bang firework with let out a loud pop and spark when it hit the ground. He threw it front of Modo, who wasn’t really deterred by the party trick.

                But he didn’t need to be.

                The beasts heard the bang, smelled the sulfur and saw the bright spark it caused. They bellowed and began to run, charging for the door. One of them caught Modo along the side, knocking him over and nearly putting him in the path to be trampled. But the solider was too quick for that, managing to swing himself up and over the backs of one of the smaller sows and get on his feet again.

                But Rod had taken off towards the loft ladder, going after his real target. Meanwhile, his stupid little diversion had sparked among one of the hay bales, which was now smoldering and trailing smoke.

                Modo tried to smother it before more fire could spread, but abandoned it the moment he heard Jessie scream.

                He heard the sound of another bike racing towards them, and Vinnie suddenly forcing his way through the door as the last of the beasts broke free, trampling out into the pasture.

                Modo was at the ladder as Rod was just reaching the top. The big grey furred mouse shook the structure, trying to shake the smuggler free. Rod shouted, but managed to leap onto the platform, before kicking the ladder back and making the other mice dodge it as it hit the ground hard, several rungs now broken, rendering it useless.

                “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Vinnie shouted.

                Modo waved him over to the largest tower of hay and the two began to climb, knowing they could jump the rest of the way to the loft.

Jessie tucked herself back behind one of the taller stacks, pushed as far into the dark as she could be, clutching the pitch fork and watching. Rod’s boots thunked against the wood as he limped about.

“Come out and face me, Jess. You know this is your fucking fault. All your fucking fault! I save your ass, I take you in, and this is how you repay me!?”

She grit her teeth and set her jaw to keep herself from crying. Out of fear, out of hatred. This bastard had taken more than his pound of flesh from her. It was time she took a little back.

He was coming around the corner, swinging the pipe and little it crash against the hay, as if he suspected she was hiding inside the looser piles. The whipping sound it made as it cut through the air was a terribly easy give away to his location. But he was not trying to surprise her. He was trying to scare her enough to make her show herself. Then he would pounce.

Beyond them, he could hear the others scrambling to reach them. It should have worried him, but it didn’t. He’d take care of them too. And if they killed him…so what? Better this end that what would happen if the Sand Raiders found him again. He had nothing left to lose. And that made him more dangerous that he had ever been.

Another lazor shot fired over his head and missed by a mile. He turned and realized the other mice were only guessing at his location, having not yet spotted him. He ducked low, ready to spring up like a jack in the box.

It was then that he glimpsed the tip of a white tail poking out from between two narrow stacks of hay.

He grinned demonically and tried not to laugh, creeping forward. “Come out, come out, wherever you are—”

He made to dart into the shadowy divide between the bales, but another shot from one of the lazors made him lose a step. That small hesitation saved him.

From between the bales, Jessie lunged, and if he had been standing where he meant to, arms raised to send the pipe crashing down on her pretty skull, she would have run him through with all three prongs of the fork, skewering him like a kabob.

Instead, she caught him with one, between two lower ribs. Blood spurted across the iron fork and the girl’s hands that were gripped too close to it. She huffed in shock and surprise, staring at him.

He wasn’t sure if he had screamed, the sound coming out of him more of a muffled grunt. He looked down at the fork protruding from his chest, his t-shirt swiftly dying itself crimson. Then swung at her.

Jessie ducked and fell back, unwittingly freeing her target.

He swung again and knocked the fork from her hands. He was on her, trying to pin her. She grabbed his arm, keeping it from crashing down and did the only thing she could do at this close range. She bit him. Sinking her teeth in deep into the flesh and of his forearm.

He screamed, and grabbed her hair with his other hand, ripping her away and flinging her against a beam. She bounced off it and crashed the floor, dazed, mouth red with his blood as she torn a chunk out of him for her trouble. She whined and spat, trying to get to her feet.

Rod moved, but arms came around him, dragging him back. A fist crashed into his face as Vinnie punched him repeatedly.

“Get the fuck away from my sister!” He howled, striking over and over. Rod tried to shake him off, tried to break out of the headlock he was in, but he couldn’t shake the other mouse.

He twisted and writhed, pressing hard backwards until the pair of them suddenly found the edge of the loft. It’s flimsy railing—never meant to support two warring Martian Mice—gave under the force of their combined body weight, and they were in free fall.

Vinnie hit the ground flat on his back, the air knocked out of him, helmeted head saved from bouncing off the floor that had the thinnest covering of cushioning hay.

His grip on Rod was finally broken, and the other mouse wheezed and gasped, scrambling away.

Above them, Modo reached Jessie, panicked, but she was only dazed.

“Jess!” he gasped, wide-eyed at the blood on her face.

“It’s not mine,” she gasped, letting him pull her up. They heard the crash of the rail breaking and bodies hitting the floor. Modo picked her up and ran towards the edge, seeing the pair sprawled below through the screen of smoke that was beginning to fill the air.

“BRO!”

He needed to get down there and fast.

Jessie saw what was about to happen next before he did. She saw Rod get to his feet, the pipe in his hands, standing over Vinnie’s sprawled form. Her vision was coming true.

“VINNIE!”

Dazed, Van Wham winced and then focused all at once on the figure standing over him. Rod, his face now a swollen and bloody mess, the rest him matching, looked like a nightmare made real surrounded by swirling smoke and the haze of the lantern light.

“SAY GOODNIGHT--!”

A singular shot fired, catching Rod directly in the chest.

For a moment he had stared at Vinnie, wicked glee in his eyes. For a flicker of a second they were surprised, then blank. The mouse fell backwards, crumpled like a puppet with his string’s cut. The pipe clattered loudly to the ground and then was silent.

Vinnie twisted, realizing the shot had come from behind them and not above. In the doorway of the barn stood Throttle, propped against the door for support, his arm still out stretched and his pistol aimed at the mouse who was now very dead on the floor. He was breathing hard, obvious that he had limped here. Leaving his bike behind so that they would not hear him. It was a desperate move, and a shot that could have easily been missed in the haze.

They stared at each other. “Couldn’t have cut it any closer could ya?” Vinnie asked, though his voice trembled slightly.

Throttle smiled back at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I never miss my shot.” He answered readily.

Modo and Jessie came bouncing down the hay towers, hitting the floor at a slide. “Bro! Bro are you—”

“I’m okay…” Vinnie grunted, starting to push himself up. His sister crashed into him and nearly put him back down, hugging him hard, sobbing for breath. They were clearly not the only shaken ones.

Vinnie hugged her back as Modo moved to grab one of the drinking troughs, lifting the whole fixture from the floor and carrying it over to the smoldering hay, drowning out the smoking attempt at flames. The barn filled with more steam and smoke, fading gradually as the night air blew in.

Modo turned and looked at Rod’s crumpled form on the barn floor, blood seeping into the floorboards and dying the golden straw a horrible cherry red. Jessie was still gripping Vinnie for dear life, and the pair exchanged relieved but shaken looks at each other.

“He caught Rimfire in the field. Busted his shoulder and gave him a knot on the head he won’t forget any time soon.” Vinnie explained.

Modo tensed in fear, moving towards the door, pausing by Throttle, who reached out to stop his anxious movements. “It’s okay…” he promised. He nodded in the distance, and they could see more movement. Stoker and Sweep settling his nephew onto the back of a trailer bed. Primer looked up and then started to run towards them.

Modo looked back at his bro and squeezed his good shoulder firmly. “What would we do without you?”

Throttle smiled back at him. “Here’s hoping we never find out, big fella.”

The Van Whams were picking themselves up, and Modo moved to help Jessie away, slipping his arm around her and turning her so she could not look back at the body on the floor. He didn’t want her to ever have to think about that creep again, dead or alive.

She slipped free of his grip long enough to make a beeline for Throttle, throwing her arms around. He grunted, trying to keep balance, but held her back best he could. She pressed kisses to his cheek and temple. “You’re a freakin god-send you know that?!”

“I think some might beg to differ.” He chuckled. They looked back at Vinnie, who shook off the new ache in his back and shoulders, making his way to them. Jessie looked back at him, relieved. “I think it’s pretty obvious you three work best as a team. Anytime you go it alone, you’re prone to getting your tails in a sling.”

“Can’t argue that.” Modo nodded.

Jessie’s kissed Throttle’s cheek and let Modo lead her away again, leaving the tan mouse in the care of her brother. “Ya’ll need to stop making time with my sister.” He teased.

Throttle rolled his eyes. “I’d punch you if my arm wasn’t numb.” He sighed, clearly wearing out. “That was way too close, bro. Way too close for comfort.”

“We’ve had closer shaves than that.” Vinnie argued. Throttle fixed him with the familiar “enough” look and Vinnie relented out of pity. He slipped an arm around him to help bear his weight. “You know you could have rode in here and blew the guy away. That would have been cool. Machismo rating off the scale.”

“He would have heard Lady coming. Couldn’t risk it. Sometimes the element of surprise is better than the grand entrance, Vincent. It’s not always about the show.”

Vinnie shrugged and helped him limp back towards his bike, easing him down onto the seat. “Yeah well, looks like I owe you one.”

“Isn’t it more like one million?” Throttle sighed. “Most of my job description is pulling your tail out of the fire, and I haven’t gotten a raise in years.”

“Pffft please, you give yourself too much credit.” He scoffed. He watched as Primer met with Modo and his sister, and his tough-guy act faded. “Thank you.” He added more quietly. “Really.”

Throttle squeezed his hand. “What are bros for?”

He tried to adjust himself in the seat and nearly toppled backwards, knee screaming, and Vinnie caught him and righted him again. “Uh, how about I ride us back, hmm?”

“Fine…” Throttle sighed, pretending to be put off but secretly grateful. He looked back towards the open barn and the body inside. It felt strange. Too much time had lapsed since their last real, deadly battle he supposed. But in truth, he never really got used to the body count. Especially when it was another Martian. A life, even a shitty wasted one like Rod’s, still weighed on him.

He just hoped it would be a long time before he had to use his weapon like that again.

Vinnie slipped behind him, keeping Throttle in place by slipping his arms under his and letting the other mouse lean back against him. Lady rumbled underneath them, the familiar purr soothing.  “What were they even doing out here anyway?” Vinnie wondered, looking back towards Modo and Jessie as they debriefed with Primer.

Throttle dropped his head back against Vinnie’s shoulder and looked at him plainly. “Vincent, do I really have to explain to you what your sister and our bro were doing alone in a hay loft in the middle of the night?”

Vinnie’s face crinkled. “Gross.”

Throttle grinned, feeling almost drunk on exhaustion now that adrenaline was fading. He patted Vinnie on the side of the head. “Never change, bro. Never change.”

        ***  

End