Of Journals & Journeys (AU M/L, YTEEN) Ch. 62 Pg 22 - 12 / 29 [COMPLETE]

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha!

What's a great surprise! Loved the new part and John telling about his wife and how they meet!

A little bit the way Max meets Liz but differently... But I will believe that they will free him when I read it!

Thanks and looking for more! EVE

[Misha]

Ok, let's give Max a little bit of space, shall we?


August 22nd, 2011 – Day 1774 and counting

Sometimes the Universe is out to get you. Everything is a disaster waiting to happen. Nothing you do goes well. Even staring at the ceiling seems like the end of the world if you look at it wrong.

And then there are days—days when every single molecule in the world sings to you. Days when you're spared Samuel Summers's smiling face and impossible tests.

Days when Frank wakes you up to put you on a plane to the middle of nowhere, and you love it.



Chapter Forty-Two
Mission


Max had no idea how Frank had managed to pull it off, but he was in a balcony overlooking the Mediterranean, half a mind going through the brief he'd just read, the other half weighing the merits of escaping to this exact location. He could so get used to the view.

The whole thing felt like a celebration of sorts: Maggs was getting closer to a perfect dose. Summers was literally half a world away. No one knew about Parker. John would help him out once he escaped.

His fingers tingled with excitement. He couldn't even suppress the tiny smile that graced his lips. The last time he'd been this happy had been eons ago.

He was here "working", of course. In two days, he would be risking his life to get some top priority information out of a man who had more bodyguards than Parker had formulas. The whole thing had to be orchestrated with precision down to the second. Even his "tricks" would not be enough if all hell broke loose.

Wouldn't it be ironic that I'd be this close to be free just to die here?

"Evans," his commander said by way of good-night.

By the corner, their hacker stared at him without shame. She was a tiny blond with green eyes and a mouth like a sailor's. She'd certainly kept the conversation lively for the past twelve hours.

"What?" he asked at last, giving in.

"I have a colleague who got a fucking warning for nosing around your files," she said without blinking, measuring him like prey. "Some classified shit on a level no one even knew existed."

So that hacker did go after my files, Max thought, his eyes back to the sea. Even at night, its presence was soothing.

The first time he'd seen the ocean, he'd been fourteen. The sight, the sheer volume of it, had left him feeling tiny—a lesson in humility if ever he'd had one. The smell was different here, but the memory lingered.

"I have half a mind to do some digging there myself, what do you say? You gonna set the dogs on me, too?"

"If you compromise this mission in search of ghosts, it won't be pretty," Max replied quietly.

"What are you, fucking dead?" she asked, cracking her knuckles, ready for a challenge.

Max chuckled. "It's more like I was never even born."

She blinked. Blinked again, clearly trying to figure out where the catch was. She shrugged after a second, and stood up, walking to him. "A little birdie sent me footage of you entering through the impossible door. How did you do it?"

That described half the missions he ever participated in. She was probably talking about the mission with the hacker, a blurry memory in his mind by now. He remembered the hacker himself, of course, the fear of what would happen if he got to his files, the helplessness at not being able to stop him.

"I don't remember," he replied honestly, not that she knew it. She raised an eyebrow. "I go on five different missions a month, you think I keep track of each one in my head?"

She pouted, her shoulders slouching. "You're not fun. Every time I bring up the fact that none of us has a clue of how you're going to make it to the target's computer, the Commander shuts me up. As if I was fucking cursing us by saying your name! You know what that brings? Distrust, pal. Complete and utter distrust."

This was a new version of an old argument. He didn't tell them what he did, just to get him to the place to do the job.

"Well, if you must know, I have alien powers that allow me to use telekinesis to disable the cameras and open the doors; a little bit of molecular manipulation to change clothes and pass through fingerprint and retinal scanners; and a few creative techniques to gather the information we need from the computer. Though on this particular mission, my job is mainly patching you up to the satellite once I'm in, so the rest is not really in my skill set. You do get to play."

They stared at each other, the sound of the sea suddenly loud.

She threw a punch that connected with his shoulder with shocking force. "Idiot," she spat, turning around and stalking to her computer. Rubbing the sore spot, he turned to the view.

And they say the truth would set you free…

[keepsmiling7]

How much space do we need to give Max??
Thanks for the new part.

[begonia9508]

Great new part, Misha!

Something is slowly bothering me; do you have more aliens in this story, because the little blond girl who was talking to him remembers me a lot of someone vicious from the show... Yes? No?

Anyway, I love it and I am always waiting for a new part and two in two days; You've made my day!

Thanks EVE

[Misha]

Hey!!

begonia, eerrrr I have enough on my plate with the aliens I already have running around



August 27nd, 2011 – Day 1779 and counting

Some things I will never miss: the sudden orders to drop everything and get on a mission. The intense briefing. The adrenaline of hunting down and eliminating your target. The long way home.

And some things never get old: like stopping at my favorite Starbucks—or visiting my favorite doctor.



Chapter Forty-three
Shadow of Thought

The Starbucks clerk smiled at him with a bright smile. He smiled back at her, an action followed by badly stifled giggles from another female clerk in the far side. He'd been a regular for the most part of eight months now, so his face was well known around this place.

That's actually a first, it occurred to him while paying, realizing there was a place on Earth where people knew of his existence that didn't entail drugs, missions, and warfare.

Parker's lab is like that, too, the thought came at the same time he received his change, the girl smiling even broader when he left a five-dollar tip. The one piece of advice Frank had instilled in him was to tip properly. It made everyone around him happy, leading to better service and better atmosphere all around.

The smell of coffee was like an old friend, even if coffee hadn't been part of his life before last year, and it all had started so he could keep an eye on Parker, the surroundings, and his precious escape plan.

He sat down, his eyes eagerly searching for Parker's blue Honda. Sure enough, Max spotted Whitman's rental, right beside his doctor's car. A world of relief flooded him, and the taste of coffee added to the sweet moment.

The first time he'd come to this Starbucks, he'd asked for chocolate. The second time, for tea. Coffee didn't make an appearance until he'd started officially stalking Parker and her late hours at the lab. Then he'd needed to be awake after long hours of traveling and a world of aches all over his body threatened to send him to snooze. Coffee had been the means to an end, then.

He smiled. Saying all that out loud would surely land him on the creepy side of things. Never mind he'd done it to save his life, he'd stalked the doctor, researched her, followed her every move as best as he could in the limited time he had. All from this Starbucks, all perfectly camouflaged. Even his internet searches had been courtesy of this wi-fi.

In truth, he owed this place big. Maybe he would try to leave a bigger tip next time. Maybe he would ask for his name to be placed on a plaque: Max Evans was here.

He contemplated carving his name on the table while he watched the last of the lab techs leave. Surely, Parker would stay behind, doing some research or other—maybe even waiting for him.

The thought brought another smile to his lips. For once he was not expected at the lab, Summers was not staring at him, and Parker was safe and around the corner.

By 6:00pm, no lights remained in the building except one: Parker's.

taking the cup with him, he crossed the familiar path and went up the equally familiar stairs. Not so long ago, he'd been walking these halls like an intruder, waiting to be stopped, waiting to be rejected.

Now he walked as if he belonged here. Or rather, he walked with the confidence that he was wanted. That took him by surprise, but he already stood in the doorframe, unable to process the thought fully.

No one was in the lab.

A cursory glimpse told him that both Parker's and Whitman's belongings remained, meaning they had probably gone out somewhere close by to have dinner.

He entered the lab, debating if he should wait for them or not. He knew the place as well as he knew his own room: Lab stations, expensive equipment, immaculate order. This was a lab run by one Elizabeth Parker, a lab that came with a set of rules posted on a big colorful billboard beside the door.

At his left, Parker's microscope reminded him that she literally saw into his deepest secrets.

The first time he'd seen her here, she'd been looking at some tiny sample while the silence of the lab wrapped around her. Of all the details he'd come to know about her, that one aspect still piqued his curiosity: she didn't mind the silence.

Most people would have been listening to something. At the very least, they would have been humming or—worse—talking to themselves. But Parker never seemed to mind it, never seemed to want to break it. She belonged here, in her lab, doing the work she loved, happy with the choices she'd made in her past. She had everything he wanted: a fulfilling life. Maybe she could teach him how to get it right once he was out.

He looked at the clock on the wall, and sighed. For the first time since he'd followed Parker, she was out before 5:30pm, a treat for her. She'd put so much of her time into helping him, that he felt like a selfish jerk for being disappointed that she wasn't working late. Again.

Granted, he'd been looking forward to seeing her, but standing here without her left him feeling lost.

He frowned, a curious idea running at the back of his mind. A flash from Parker was almost as good as seeing her, he guessed, tentatively raising his hand to her microscope. Weeks ago, he'd been afraid of getting too many flashes at once, too much information. But now he had the hang of it, it was worth it to coax a moment of Parker's life.

He touched Parker's favorite toy before he decided against it. Harvard came all at once, all shiny and imposing and grand, the way Parker had seen it the first day she stepped through the iron gates of her new home. She'd loved it in a way Max had never loved anything in his life.

His fingers moved over the counter, eager for more. He was drunk in her life, running through a myriad of images from Parker's childhood and her complicated mind when it came to formulas and equations. She wasn't a complicated person per se, but she could deal with tons of numbers and make sense out of them the same way he made sense out of blueprints and tactics.

Max had been encouraged in physics and math, certainly on how to cook up a bomb on short notice, but he'd never been pushed towards the world of chemistry, where molecules ruled the world. He didn't know what to do with Parker's information any more than she would know how to use his powers.

He was so impatient to find little treasures from her past, he was getting too many of them, a kaleidoscope of stories, and smiles and tears. Calm down, he scolded to himself, his shoulders relaxing and his breathing slowing. Trying to elicit memories out of ordinary objects took its toll.

Oh my God, Maria! He's totally not worth it! a teenage Parker laughed over ice cream, her best friend flashing in his mind in the way Parker saw her: spirited, wild, and loyal. A friend in every way, someone who was there despite their differences. Maria reminded her that the wild side of life was not all that bad.

He let the moment go, hunting for something more immediate. He found it when he touched a pen. She was looking at his blood, and the avalanche of emotions that crushed him a moment later made him lose his concentration. He staggered a bit, bewildered at how women could balance so many feelings at the same time. Fear mixed with wonder, and that mixed with horror at the unknown and the exhilarating thought of discovery. She wanted to leave, she wanted to stay, she wanted to run a hundred tests, and she wanted to see him again. She worried about him.

"Wow," Max whispered. She amazed him.

He missed her. He truly, achingly, missed her.

His phone vibrated, the alarm telling him it was time to go. He could spend only so much time up here before it became suspicious. He had to head back to the base, back to his life. Nodding to himself, he walked out of Parker's lab, absently touching the doorframe were he used to spend so much time.

The flash was crystal clear, almost as if John were in front of him: I'm not done yet. Whatever John wanted, it had nothing to do with Max, and that scared the hell out of him.

[keepsmiling7]

love it......plaque with "Max Evans was here".....
Thanks,
Carolyn

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha, great part!

Until yet, Max never even considered his own feelings...

It is normal; he never had a mother or a sister, to help him build a sensual, affectionate and love life... and I understand the shock he is feeling about the discovery...

But what John had to do with Liz, I guess I will have to read next part...

Thanks EVE

[dreamon]

So happy to see the new part! Can't wait to read more!!!

[Misha]

Thank you for coming back to read!!





September 1st, 2011 – Day 1783 and counting

Sometimes, your instincts tell you to run. Sometimes, you can't run fast enough.


Chapter Forty-four
Day off

Frank had been back to his normal, nonchalant way as soon as Max came back from his mission. The routine that followed, his debriefing and check-up, was a badly needed calm Max had been unconsciously seeking for the past month.

This was his normal, plain and simple.

The last time Max had sat down with Summers had been eleven days ago—eleven too-short days in Max's mind. Part of him knew he would be called back into Summers's lab sooner rather than later, but the other part of him argued he was too valuable in the field to be back inside those four walls so soon.

When the phone rang in Frank's office, Max visualized himself silently boarding a plane to the Middle East.

"Yeah?" Frank answered the phone, his eyes on his monitor. After a moment, he stopped reading and looked up at Max. "Yes, he's here. I'll let him know."

Max arched his eyebrows, trying not to grin like an idiot.

"Samuel wants you in his lab in an hour."

Closing his eyes, he swallowed the bile and the disappointment, and ruthlessly killed his good humor. For the next sixty minutes, he paced in his room, imagining new ways to entertain his new doctor with powers he barely controlled.

It's only mental gymnastics, you can do this, he told himself as he walked down the halls, passed a couple of biometric scans, and arrived at his destination.

Whereas Parker's lab was spotlessly clean, this place was clinically sterile. Summers might use much of the same equipment, but between the harsh lights and the absence of windows, everything in here warned Max of danger.

His skin crawled while he greeted Summers with a handshake and a smile, reminding himself that being in Summers's good graces was important.

Hours went by in this colorless room. Two or three, or maybe four or five. By the time he dropped the sand sculpture he'd barely crafted, he honestly couldn't care. He knew he would soon be out of there, running to Frank's waiting arms and his fix. He'd never been happier about fix day in his life.

"Hmm…" Summers said, bringing a chair and sitting in front of Max. He watched him with a mix of clinical interest and practical mind. This man had never praised him for pushing his limits or achieving impressive goals, but even Max had to admit that under those steely eyes of his, he'd accomplished far more in the past month than in the last four years combined.

Motivations.

The staring went on beyond normal. Sitting face to face with Summers had to be its own circle of hell, Max decided, drinking from a bottle of water while he wiped sweat out of the back of his neck.

Because his biometrics steadily showed on the monitors in the far wall, Max had to keep an eye on remaining relaxed enough to fool the machines—and Summers—while he concentrated on whatever test the doctor had devised for him. Or in this case, while he was stared at.

"I talked with Frank earlier today," Summers started, standing up and going to his desk. "We're both very impressed with the way you've improved in the past month. Quantum leaps, I told him."

With Summers's back to him, Max chanced a look at his watch: 4:58p.m. Two more minutes and he would be expected at Frank's office for his dose. For the first time in hours, he truly felt relaxed.

"So that got me thinking… We must have changed something in your routine. You started with the flashes on your own, and then moved at lightning speed. You know what I found?"

Max shook his head once, frowning.

"The timing of your dose differed from the last twelve months."

"What?"

Max avoided glancing at the monitors at all cost, and prayed his blood pressure wasn't betraying him.

Of all the things that have changed in my life in the past year, this is what you found?

"Well, they do say timing is everything," Summers said, reaching for something in a drawer. A syringe came next, and this time, Max's heart jumped in his chest, doubling its beating for all to hear.

"What is that for?"

Summers ignored what was painfully clear: He'd always known he made Max nervous, but had never remarked on it.

"Oh? I guess Frank didn't mention it. I'll be administering your dose today. We're starting a more controlled timing of your doses, see if we can make those neurons of yours flare more brightly."

Even if no straps prevented him from bolting from that chair and running all the way to Parker's lab, Max couldn't move. He needed the dose, for one, and I don't like him was not reason enough to flee from Summers.

Letting that man put a needle into his arm was not even the worst part. No, that honor was reserved for the one hour Max had to endure in this man's presence to make sure no side-effects came from his dose. That was standard procedure. That was normal, but only if Frank was doing it.

Stoically—broodingly—Max rolled the short sleeve over his shoulder as Summers approached. If his body didn't heal so fast, he would have dozens upon dozens of needle marks by this point.

"It's the damnest thing, you know," Summers said, placing his hand on Max's shoulder with a white cotton ball. The smell of alcohol brought too many blurred memories of needles and tests to keep them straight. "Trying to explain to the committee your remarkable jump in performance lately has been interesting."

In went the needle, the transparent drug finding its way into Max's bloodstream. Four years and endless shots had taught him to expect nothing as a side-effect, but this time, his body told him that something was off.

"Then I started thinking," Summers continued, pulling the needle out. "What if we were missing something more obvious here? I mean, the advances you've shown are years ahead of you."

Pressure started at the back of Max's head.

"So, what do you say if we knock off all the pretenses, John?"

"Wh—at?" Max asked, the word slurring out.

"I figured it out a couple of days ago. That's why we've worked so well together for the last few weeks, isn't it? I've gotta tell you, I'm really, really glad you're alive."

Max's eyesight double slightly, and the sound of his heart came from a million miles away. Am I dying?

"Wha—what did you—?"

"Relax. I need to know what's been going on, what did you do with Max, why are you back? That sort of thing. I realize sodium pentothal is not exactly the most reliable way to start you talking, but it'll give me some insights."

Truth serum? All of Max's secrets came to the front of his mind in big, bold, red letters. John, Whitman, Maggs. My God, he wants me to betray Parker!

The world swayed as Max stood up, the chair falling on its back, the electrodes detaching as he moved back, sideways, to the front. He didn't know where he was going, but as long as it was away from Summers, he didn't care.

"Calm down, John," the doctor said with a smile that made every single hair on Max's back to stand up. "I'd rather have you than Max, and you know it," he added, righting the chair and effortlessly guiding Max back into it.

"Now, tell me everything."

[begonia9508]

Hey Misha!

Wow! Poor Max!

Now that torturer of Summers thinks that Max is John! Are they so similars - like twins maybe - for Summers to mix them up?Or maybe he plays cat and mouse with Max, to let him know that he is the next John because John is not interessing enough?

Anyway, even if it is a story, I shudder at that! but I am waiting impatiently for more!

Thanks! EVE