Title: L'Homme Bleu (1/1)
Summary: A.U. Max helps Zack deal with some problems.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Cameron and Eglee.
Date: March 25, April 23-24, 2001.

Liquid silk against her skin as Max sank inch by inch into the heated water filling the tub. A near purr vibrated in the back of her throat as she settled back. Flesh was smooth and moist where water advanced and retreated with her every deeply-drawn breath. The bathroom was veiled with steam, blunting fading paint, cracking floor tiles and the sense of decay that clung to the room in harsher lighting. Max's tongue swept across her lower lip, catching the taste of vanilla air. Running water created ripples in the bubble-filled tub. The water blotted out the sounds beyond this place and time.

A lazy movement, and one of Max's legs rose from the water. Painted toes rested against metal taps. An arc of slender feet and she nudged the taps so that the water stilled, several rebellious droplets rolling free, hovering momentarily at the tap before falling towards the waiting pool. Max had wound her dark hair atop her head. A gold clip was sunk into the amassed hair, loosely holding curling strands in place. She sank, gliding across the bottom of the tub, smoothed by water and generous amounts of bath oils. Water tickled at the back of her neck, trembled against the barcode imprinted against the heated flesh there. She breathed, thoughts following the intake and release of air, smooth and calm.

Space and time regained meaning at the sound of footsteps beyond her closed bathroom door. A brush of cold air as the door opened. Dark lashes parted, vision attesting to what other senses had already discovered. Water ran from her slim arm as it lifted from the water in order to drape over the edge of the bath. Long nails, smoothed glossed ovals, pointed in his direction. Her hand turned, palm upwards, and her index finger curled in towards her. "Close the door," she murmured.

Zack stepped into the bathroom, door shutting at his back. Her lips curled into a pleased smile when he complied. She did so enjoy when he listened to her without disagreement or a frosty glare that eloquently spoke of his displeasure. He ghosted across the room, covering the distance between them in a few silent steps. His eyes held hers as he lowered, kneeling on the dark blue bath mat lay out next to the bath. His fingers relearned the shape and texture of her face: the dark curving slash of her eyebrows, soft flesh over her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. Fingers hovered against her lips. Playful, Max's tongue darted out, a quick flicker against the pad of his fingers. She smiled as Zack jumped slightly.

His forehead rested against hers. "Max," he sighed, long and low and containing a quiver only Max had ever sought and found. Zack's hand cupped the base of Max's skull, fingers biting into her slightly. Held her head as his mouth caught at hers, tightly reigned emotions screaming loose through teeth and tongue and lips. He drew at her, rough with urgency and Max rose upwards with the pull of his hands. Zack's arms wound about Max, lifting her up over the bathtub. Her wet body fell against him, arms flying about his neck. "Max," he groaned, her name a plea repeated again and again until it ceased to be separate units and blurred into a single cry.

They turned as Zack moved, Max's legs shifting to wrap around him. The wall was wet with clinging mist against her bare back. Zack was shaking against her, the cry that had been her name transforming once again, a scream twisting and choking in his throat. Max's hands rested open palmed against Zack's cheek, felt the muscle in his jaw jump as he struggled to maintain the man he thought it necessary to be. He came back to her wounded, sore with loss and weary with fear and responsibility. Zack would not tell her where the others were, rarely spoke of what he found when he visited them. Max didn't need the details. She could feel the broad strokes of his experiences in Zack's body, his voice, his eyes.

Delicate touch, her hands cupped around his face. She met his eyes and smiled -- her own expression not devoid of sadness -- before she brought her lips to his. Her tongue swept through his mouth, tasted misery and blood and the medication that kept them all from shaking and shattering to pieces. Salt against his skin, the memory of tears he never shed. "Zack," she whispered, his name cracking against her lips.

Hands skimmed against her body, tracing familiar routes. Her head fell back, lips at her throat as rough fingertips dragged across the curve of her hip, down her thighs. Pulled hard enough that cloth tore halfway up Zack's arms. Weak, suddenly, and they were sliding downwards, meeting the floor, a sightless sprawl across the tiles. She fumbled at his belt, nipping at his neck and shoulders and chest.

Vanilla air and sex. The sound of trembling water against the slopped sides of the bath, steady drip of new droplets falling to drown amongst their fellows. Flesh and flesh. Couldn't loose herself to unrestrained sound, arched and bit her lip hard. The whispered scream of her name as Zack moved against her.

Shaking, he held her pressed into the floor, his head resting in the curve of her neck and shoulder. Her hand drifted through his hair as Zack listened to the blood pounding through her. "_Max_..."

"'S okay, Zack."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered. His breath was drawn in sharply, released in a quick puff of air. He was choking on his own breath, attempting to force tears into stillness. His chest rose and fell in a nearly violent motion. Zack's fingers tightened against the smooth expanse of Max's thigh. His grip loosened, a quick release as Zack forced himself back into the form he thought necessary to fit himself to. The muscles in his arms bunched as Zack pushed himself off of Max. She took his proffered hand and let him pull her upwards.

Max had left her robe hanging on the back of the bathroom's door. She slid it around her shoulders, the soft material shifting against her skin. Max tugged the sash closed, knotting it with a deft twist of her fingers. "C'mon," she commanded, glancing at Zack over her shoulder. His head was bent, shadowed eyes fixed on his hands. He started slightly when Max sighed and opened the door, letting a cool wave of air drift into the misted room. "Zack," Max called out to him, her voice softening.

"Give me a minute," Zack responded. He smiled, tight and pained, in an attempt at reassurance. Max hesitated for a moment before nodding.

Max was sitting at the small, round table in kitchen when Zack emerged from the bathroom. Max's bare feet were resting on the seat of the table's second chair. They slid off when Zack approached, and Max pushed out the chair with her feet in silent invitation. Zack sat down across from her, accepting the cup of coffee and plate of toast Max pushed across the table. She could see stubble at his chin and along his jaw, remembered the feel of it against her flesh. His face was thin, tight and sunken with tension and the recent memories of hard times. They could survive on the bare essentials for relatively long periods of time. Things must have been rough to have left such a visible physical impact upon Zack.

She took a cautious sip of her coffee, watching Zack openly as he worked his way through the plateful of toast. Max cast a glance in the direction of her counter where the bag of bread lay. It was running towards empty. Max stood up, untying the bag. She drew out the last two slices and dropped them into the toaster, checking to make sure that the toaster was on the appropriate setting before settling back down. Zack flashed her a quick smile before turning his attention back to his hands, laid flat against the scarred tabletop. "You want to talk about it?" Max offered, not holding much hope as to a positive reply.

"Tosh," Zack said, naming one of their fellow X5s. His eyes drifted shut and Zack fell back in his chair, hands sliding off the table to lay limp against his thighs.

Unease curled through Max. The sound of her brother's name sent Max tumbling back into the past, standing stiff in a memory-blue world. A small pointed face came into view as Tosh lifted his shaved head. He looked at her with wide brown eyes too large for his face. The sudden flash of a smile, brilliant in the darkness of his skin. His lips moved in a silent challenge: race you! and they were flying forward, feet moving so quickly they barely brushed against the ground. The toast popped behind her, making Max jump in surprise. Her memory cracked, fell aside as her current reality reasserted itself. Max twisted in her chair, reaching for the toast. "What happened?" she asked as she deposited the last two slices onto Zack's crumb-filled plate.

Zack's eyes opened, meeting Max's worried gaze. "He's gone, Max," Zack answered, his voice rough with emotion. "I couldn't help him. He needed my help and there wasn't anything I could do." Zack rubbed at his face, a slow drag of his open-palmed hand from his forehead towards his chin. Max saw the movement coming. She didn't flinch as Zack surged upwards, flinging the plate before him against the wall at the other end of the kitchen. It shattered, and Max ducked the small shards that came flinging back in her direction. Zack didn't move. He stood stiff, his hands clenched at his side so tightly that his knuckles went white. "I hate this!" he growled, fist hurtling towards the kitchen table.

Max caught Zack's wrist. "I know. Destroying my kitchen and setting me back several paychecks isn't going to make things better," Max said, swallowing back her own sorrow. 'Take care of him for us, would you?' she thought, casting her words heavenwards despite her lack of definite belief in higher powers.

"You don't understand," Zack snarled, shaking Max's hands off of him. He stepped away from her, running a hand through his hair, a jerky, frustrated motion.

"I understand the frustration at not being able to help someone you care for. I know what its like being too little, too late. I've failed people who have depended upon me. I've lost people I love." Max's patience shattered, mingled anger and accusation filling her voice, "maybe if you'd let me help you, let all of us help each other--" Zack's expression made Max falter in her tirade before it could fully blossom.

"Maybe you're right," Zack said, his voice sharp and raw. "Tosh is dead because of me and my pride. I've admitted it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No," Max breathed. "I didn't mean that," she began.

Zack turned a hard-eyed stare towards her. "Spare me the lies, Max. We both know precisely what you meant." Zack hooked his thumbs through the belt-loops of his jeans, stilling his hands before they could curl into angry fists once more. There was more open anguish in his voice than Max had ever heard from him when Zack spoke again. "You are right. You are." Zack swallowed hard and broke eye contact.

He moved towards the shattered remains of the plate he had thrown, his back towards her as he swept the larger fragments into his hands. Max silently went to get her broom and dustpan. They swept up the plate, depositing the debris in the half-full garbage bag beneath the sink.

"I should leave," Zack stated.

"You shouldn't be alone right now," Max said, laying a cautious hand on Zack's tensed arm. "I don't want to be alone tonight. Stay with me? Please."

Zack hesitated, considering her from the distance that had sprung up between them. Finally, he tilted his head in a slight nod. His lips moved silently: thank you. "I will."

...~*~...

Max had led Zack towards her bedroom. He had silently stripped, neatly folding his clothing and placing them on the closed top of Max's hamper. He always lay on his back, hands folded on his stomach. Max knew that should she climb into bed beside him during the night, Zack would turn onto his side and curl about her. Zack slept only due to necessity. She knew that he hated being unaware of his surroundings and not being in complete control of his body and its actions. If his pride suffered at being watched over while he was forced to rest, Zack didn't speak of his feelings. He had fallen to sleep quickly, the desperate reach for sleep of those who knew that they might be forced to go without for long periods of time.

"Oh, Zack," Max murmured, running her fingertips lightly across his cheek. Zack managed to look hard and worn even in sleep. Max brushed a kiss against his forehead before straightening. Zack's hand had fallen away from his stomach. It lay twisted on the sheets, fingers digging into the material and clawing into the mattress. His throat worked, head tilting back slightly as he worked through his dreams. Max pulled the bedroom door closed behind her.

Max made a quick tour of her kitchen. Her food supply had dwindled more than she had realized during the past week. Zack's body would heal itself as he slept. He would wake hungrier than he was when he arrived at her home. Max headed towards the living room, lifting her wallet off the end table where she had dropped it when she came home earlier that day. She grimaced as she flipped through the meager amount of bills before shrugging. Genetically engineered super-soldiers or not, they had to eat. She had taken her clothing from the bedroom before she had left Zack to his sleep. Max shrugged off her fuzzy white bathrobe, sliding into her street clothes.

He was still sleeping when Max returned an hour later. She settled two bulging white plastic bags on the tabletop, drawing out the food within them and situating them in their proper places within her kitchen. Max stopped, a jar of peanut butter in hand, and fell back into the chair behind her. Her head fell forward, face hidden behind her arms as she drew them about her head. "Tosh," Max whispered around her tears. She'd last seen him slowing behind her, blood against his upper arm where a bullet had grazed him. She had turned her eyes forward, concentrating on her objective. Reach the fence. Escape. Freedom. She hadn't thought that Tosh had escaped until Zack had mentioned him in passing some few years earlier. Gone now, and she had never been given the chance to know the man he had become beyond Manticore.

Zack woke late the next afternoon. He had found the clothing Max had set aside for him, remainders of his past visits. He had taken a quick shower before joining Max in the kitchen, and his hair was still laying in damp strands against his forehead. He trailed the faintest hint of vanilla behind him and Max smothered a grin behind her hand. Bacon was sizzling on the stove. Zack dumped a few pieces on the bread he pulled out from the bag and tore free some lettuce. Not bothering with a plate, Zack, breakfast in hand, sat down at the table with Max. Zack chased back his first bite with a sip of orange juice before speaking. "I've been thinking," he began.

Max's eyebrow quirked. "Have you really?"

"Do you want to hear what I've decided or not?" Zack asked, waiting for Max's long sigh and nod. "You were right last night, Max. I can't take care of this by myself," the words were slow, forced past years worth of belief that he alone should protect the escaped X5s. Max leaned forward, hands clasped before her on the table, eyes widening slightly in anticipation. "If you're willing to give this up," he said, waving about Max's apartment, "I'll take you with me on my rounds."

"I guess sleeping with the commander has some benefits," Max grinned, nodding her head enthusiastically.

Zack glowered at her. "This is serious, Max," he stated in his best commander's voice.

Max's grin slid away. "I know, Zack. Believe me, I know."

"I don't think you do," Zack said. "The situation has changed. Lydecker has brought the others out. Jace was there, Max." Anger and worry warred for dominance upon Zack's face as he looked at her. "It's been hard keeping the others out of Lydecker's clutches in the past. If he's using X5s now..." Zack's voice trailed off.

Max reached across the table, gripped Zack's hand over the scattered pieces of the newspaper. "I'm coming with you, Zack. I'll help you take care of things." She squeezed his hand a final time before letting go. Max popped her last piece of overly crisp bacon into her mouth before rising. She absently wiped her hands against her thighs. "Well come on, Zack. When are we heading out?" she inquired, a smile making its way to her lips once more. She would worry about Lydecker and Manticore's X5s later. Right now, all she cared to think about was seeing her family.

"Eager," Zack commented.

"Don't you know it," Max responded. "You finish off," she told him, glancing at the half-eaten sandwich Zack held. "I'll pack up and make a few phone calls. We can be out of here within the hour." Max slipped around to Zack's side of the table, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Thank you," she murmured.

Zack shook his head, watching Max's retreating back. He thought of what he had seen, what he had done as he fought for the freedom of his family. "Don't thank me yet," Zack muttered.

...~*~...