Biker Mice From Mars Fan Fiction ❯ Of (Biker) Mice and (Wo)men ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter Three

Charley suddenly found herself grappling with a hundred and twenty pounds of dead weight. “Fantastic,” she grunted, hefting Alley's slumped form in her arms. “Way to make a first impression, you lunkheads. One of you care to help me out here?”

The mice snapped out of their stupor and Vinnie hurried forward, scooping up the unconscious woman and carefully depositing her onto the worn couch that had been made up as a bed. “What can I say?” he preened. “No woman can resist this studly bod! They’re just overcome by my sheer awesomeness.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pal. Maybe someday it’ll come true.”

Vinnie pouted and whipped his tail at his snickering bros. “So what’ll we do with Sleeping Beauty here?”

“Will she be all right?” Modo hovered over the couch, looking worried. “I didn’t mean to scare the little lady.”

“It’s okay, big guy.” Charley patted his arm. “Give her a few minutes. She’ll come around.”

“Maybe we should clear out before that happens.”

“She’s gotta get used to you at somepoint. Better now than never. But … maybe give her some breathing space, huh?” Charley eyed the three hovering males with amusement as they hastily backed away from the couch. And then she bit back a curse when the bell went off in the garage. She checked the wall clock and sighed. “Damn. Opening time already?” She looked torn. “I hate to leave Alley alone, after what happened…”

“Want us to hang around until she wakes up?”

“I dunno if that's such a good idea. All three of you might be too much for her.”

“So, one of us stays and the others come back later. Someone needs to explain things to her.”

“I’ll do it!” Vinnie volunteered eagerly.

“We need to reassureher. I don’t wanna come back and find her curled up in a whimpering little ball in the back of a closet,” Charley snorted.

“Hey!” he protested over more snickers.

“I’d do it,” Modo said slowly, “but I guess I sorta blew it a bit. I’d probably just scare her again.” His ears drooped and he looked so dejected that Charley gave him a hug.

“She’ll get over it. It’s half my fault, anyway. I should’ve told her a little sooner, I guess.” She turned to Throttle. “Aside from Modo, you’re the calmest and most diplomatic. You’re probably the best choice in the matter.”

“Swell,” Throttle sighed, settling back into an armchair to wait. Well, it beat lugging furniture up a flight of stairs, at least.

~*~*~*~*~

He was bored.

Nope. Scratch that. He was reallybored. He was starting to regret ever agreeing to this whole babysitting gig, especially since there were so many more interesting things he could've been doing. Like flossing his teeth, or picking the lint out from under his toenails. He heaved a heavy sigh and switched positions, folding one leg across his knee and resting his chin on his fist. The fingers of his other hand drummed an impatient rhythm against the armrest of the chair he'd been sitting in for waytoo long.

Twenty minutes had already passed, and Alley was still out for the count. He shot her an irritated glance, wondering—not for the first time—how two such completely different people could come from the same family. Sure, Charley had been afraid of them, too, but she hadn't fainted like some delicate little snowflake. She'd threatened to knock his head off when he got too close! Now thatwas someone he could admire.

He sighed again, putting some extra oomphinto it, in the hopes of drawing the little princess out of her slumber. No such luck. He pouted, then decided that, since he was sitting there, he might as well take a closer look. So, he slid off the chair and knee-walked over to the couch, where he proceeded to give his charge a critical once-over.

Sure. Watching a lady sleep might be considered sort of stalkerish and creepy by some people, but some people weren't there, and Alley was far more interesting to look at than the wall. He had to admit; she was kind of pretty, for a wimp. Charley hadn't been kidding about her unique tastes, though. She looked like a dead rainbow. Bright colors streaked through her pale knot of hair. Each of her fingernails was painted with a different shade of glittery polish, and a lacy purple butterfly was tattooed on her right hand between her thumb and forefinger. The fingers of her left were decorated with silver rings. So were her ears—two piercings on the left, one on the right—and crystal stars and a moon dangled from the tiny hoops.

Her face was made up, too. Smokey eyelids, thickened lashes, and a shiny, pink gloss slicked across her mouth. Throttle found the whole concept of makeup strange. Charley almost never wore it, and of course no female mouse couldwear it because of the mess it would make of their fur. It clearly wasn't practical, but the affect wasrather alluring. Especially the way those full, pink lips glistened, drawing his attention almost against his will.

It was probably a goodthing that Alley chose that moment to finally rejoin the land of the living.

Throttle bit back a yelp and all but scrambled back into his chair, sitting with hands folded primly in his lap, the very picture of innocence as the girl slowly stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then scowled and muttered to herself, “Weirddream. That's what I get for mixing expired cream into my coffee.”

Throttle chuckled despite himself, and the sudden noise made Alley yip and sit up … a little too quickly, apparently. She gripped the back of the couch for a moment, before cautiously taking a quick glance around. And Throttle suddenly found himself looking into the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen. They reminded him of the blue crystal formations found in the deepest caverns of his home planet, clear and bright and piercing.

Unfortunately, so was her voice. Which she demonstrated by opening her pretty pink lips and letting loose a shriek that made his teeth vibrate in the back of his skull. He cringed into his seat, clapped his hands to his ringing ears, and wondered how such a big noise could come out of such a small woman.

“Lower the volume, lady! I'm not deaf,” he grumbled. Yet.

She responded by attempting to burrow into the back of the couch in a bid to get as far away from him as possible. Throttle was insulted. Geez, you'd think he had fleasor something, the way she was acting! But, as the last thing he wanted to do was make her pass out again, he gathered all the patience he could muster and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Easy there, Sweetheart,” he crooned in his softest voice. “I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just here to make sure you're okay.”

Alley glanced wildly around the empty apartment. “Charley!” she bellowed.

Throttle winced. So much for not going deaf. “She’s in the garage. A customer came in or she wouldn’t have left you alone. She'll be back in a bit,” he explained, still keeping his voice as low and soothing as possible. He didn't get it; he'd been told on more than one occasion that his voice could make any female (and possibly some males) swoon right into his arms. Hell, he'd used it on Carbine on more than one occasion in the past, with spectacularresults. But for some reason, it just didn't seem to be working right on Alley.

Talk about a blow to the ego.

Alley had given up on yelling and was now curled up in the corner of the couch, using the afghan like a flimsy shield. “Wh-what are you?” Her voice quavered, and she looked ready to burst into tears.

He sighed. Swell. The lastthing he needed was a crying, hysterical woman on his hands. The non-crying version was irritating enough. “My name is Throttle Thorneboy. Just so you know, I’m a mouse, not a rat. I come from the planet Mars.” He gestured to the red antenna atop his head.

Alley’s eyes slowly followed the gesture, studying the appendages, before lowering to look the rest of him over. “A … Martian mouse.”

“Yep.”

She chewed on her lip for a moment, glanced around before asking, “Weren’t there … three of you?”

Oh, yeah. He'd almost forgotten about them. “Ah, yeah. My bros, Modo Maverick and Vincent Van Wham. We, uh, decided it was probably better to wait a bit before proper introduction. Until, you know, things got explained a bit more. They'll be back later.”

Alley didn’t look particularly happy to hear it. “Why are you in Chicago? And how did you meet my cousin?”

“That’s kind of a long story,” he sighed.

She frowned. “You don’t want to tell me?”

“It’s more like … it’d probably be easier if I showedyou.” He eased off the chair and crept closer, hesitating when she edged away. “May I?” He pointed to his antenna. “I can transmit my memories through these, from my mind straight into yours. It'll be faster than talking.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re telepathic?”

He sought to reassure her before she started screaming again. “In a sense. We can’t transmit direct thought unless we’re in physical contact. But we are empathic, capable of picking up on heightened emotion from a distance.” He peered over the rim of his specs and met her eyes. “You don't have to be afraid. I promise it won't hurt you. You can ask Charley; I once used the same method on her and she's never suffered any ill-effects.”

Alley hesitated another second, then took a deep breath, gathering her composure, and nodded once. She closed her eyes, startled a little when he nudged her chin up and gripped the back of her head. He pressed his antenna to her temples and opened his mind. She jerked, but he'd been expecting that and held her still, knowing the sudden explosion of information pouring into her head would be a bit overwhelming to a human. He kept the stream slow and steady and mentally explained what she was seeing, and she gradually relaxed as understanding replaced fear. He showed her everything that had happened, from the complete strip-mining of Mars by the Plutarkians, to the present struggle to prevent Limburger from doing the same thing to Earth.

It only took a few minutes, and when he finally withdrew, Alley opened her eyes and stared at him, looking stunned. “Wow,” was all she said.

“Yup.” He chuckled. “That about sums it up.”

She shook her head. “Well, I guess that explains why half of Chicago looks like the aftermath of a natural disaster.” She eased back, drawing her knees up to her chin. “Does this happen a lot? With the whole thwarting evil and … blowing up that guy’s tower and such?”

“Once or twice a month,” Throttle replied. “Usually depends on how fast old Cheese Head can rebuild. It’s been pretty quiet lately, though. Makes me think he’s up to something. His tower’s probably due for another toppling any day now.”

“And Charley is dragged into this war howoften?”

Nope. She definitely did notsound happy about the casual way he spoke of wanton destruction.

“Easy, Alley-girl. That’s what we’re here for, to make sure nothing happens to her,” he tried to reassure her.

“But stuff doeshappen. She’s been kidnapped already, a few times!”

He pouted. “We’ve always gotten her back again! It isn't like we willinglylet her go charging into danger. We try to leave her behind where it’s safe, but she's pretty stubborn. You should see how well she handles a rocket launcher, though.”

Alley did notlook impressed.

Throttle decided it was probably time to change the subject. “So, uh, Charley-girl tells us you’re here to attend school,” he began awkwardly, after a few long moments of silence.

She blinked. “Yes. College.”

Aaaand, apparently she wasn't much of a talker. Or maybe she just didn’t want to talk to him. While Charley had warmed right up to the trio—He supposed saving her life repeatedly within the first few hours of meeting probably had something to do with that—Alley still looked like she was ready to head for the hills.

For the love of Mars, what did it take to get this girl to relax? She was wound tighter than Vinnie on a sugar binge! Throttle drummed his fingers on the armrest again, considered whether he ought to go drag Charley back up, or even call his bros back … anything so he didn’t have to be in this supremely awkward situation all by himself.

And then, a long, low growl greeted his sensitive ears. Alley blushed and clapped her arms across her stomach. He had to chuckle at the embarrassment on her face. “You hungry, huh?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she grumbled. “I didn't get around to breakfast yet.”

He raised an eyebrow. Finally.A spark of something other than quivering terror. They were making progress! “You can go ahead and eat,” he offered gallantly.

She slowly got to her feet. “You, um, you don’t have to stay here. If you ... have other places you need to be.” She sounded so hopeful.

And she’d just handed him the out he’d been so desperately wishing for! Why wasn’t he scrambling to take it?

Maybe it was because he felt just a bitoffended that she was still so eager to get rid of him.

Or maybe he was too distracted by the second tattoo he’d just spotted on the back of her neck; a larger, more colorful version of the one on her hand.

Then again, even that wasn't nearly as distracting as the way the thin strap of her fluttery, lacy, very girly top kept trying to slip down her shoulder. Or the way the tight black jean shorts she wore under it hugged her hips and butt. He gulped and quickly dropped his gaze, then blinked. Good grief, even her toenailswere painted. A bright, glossy purple that matched the color of her shirt.

“Do … uh … do you want some?”

Throttle guiltily jerked his gaze to meet Alley's; apparently he'd been staring just a littletoo hard. She had set a glass casserole dish full of … something unfamiliar on the table, and was now regarding him with a questioning look. His nose twitched as the scent of cinnamon tickled his senses. “Sure,” he agreed, before common sense could catch up with his brain. “Er, what is it?”

She tilted her head. “It’s baked oatmeal. You’ve never eaten oatmeal before?”

“Can’t say I have. We don’t have oatmeal on Mars.”

“Yes, but… Oh. You’re why Charley keeps the fridge packed with soda and hot dogs, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Good stuff, that. Can't get that on Mars, either.”

She considered. “Is that really allyou eat? It can’t be good for you.”

“Hasn’t killed us yet,” he replied with a chuckle.

She snorted. “Give it time. I’m sure your heart will give out eventually.”

He scoffed. “Nah, we’re made of stronger stuff than that.”

Alley seemed to realize that she was fighting a losing battle. She simply shrugged, cut two large squares of the oatmeal and put them into shallow bowls. While they heated in the microwave, she dug around in the fridge and withdrew a fresh gallon of milk and a can of whipped cream. “I take mine with milk and cream,” she told him. “You can try it with or without.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had milk, either,” he admitted, eyeballing the bottle with distaste.

She gaped. “Seriously? Not once?”

“There aren’t a lot of milk-producing mammals on Mars,” he explained. “Aside from us mice. And the rats. And the sand raiders. And maybe one or two other species that are usually too busy trying to eat us to let someone … eh…”

“Milk them?”

“Yeah. Ugh.”

She actually cracked a smile at that. He noted that her teeth were shiny white, but a little crooked. She pulled a small glass out of the cabinet and poured it half-full of milk, offering it to him. He regarded it with a raised eyebrow. She raised hers in silent challenge. “Just try it. This came from a cow, incidentally.”

“And that makes it better … how?” But he accepted the glass, because he was finallygetting her to relax and didn't want to ruin it by being rude. Took a cautious sip. Let it roll around in his mouth a bit before swallowing. It was … not as horrible as expected. But it was an odd texture; kind of thick, with a faintly sweet taste. He could feel it coating his tongue and throat and wasn’t sure he liked that. He also wasn’t used to drinking anything that wasn’t carbonated aside from water.

“So?”

“Eh. I think I prefer the root beer.” But he finished the glass in two more gulps, because she was smiling at him again.

Her grin widened. “You’ve got a little…” She gestured at her mouth; he raised his hand and was embarrassed to find a ring of cream soaking the fur on his muzzle. “Don’t worry. Milk mustaches are pretty normal for the uninitiated,” she teased, taking the heated oatmeal from the microwave and sliding one of the bowls across the table to him. She added a bit of milk and a healthy dollop of whipped cream on top of hers, and dug in.

He followed her example and took a cautious bite; he hadtried different Earth foods in the past, but most of them tended to be fried, grilled, and heavily seasoned. This, however, was surprisingly good. A faint flavor of cinnamon and what he assumed was the oats; without the milk and cream to sweeten it, it would have been pretty bland, actually. But it was warm, and filling. A good staple food (although still not as good as hot dogs). “That wasn’t bad,” he told her when he finished. “Thanks for the grub.

“Sure.” She cleared the dishes, carrying them to the sink. He helped by putting the food back in the fridge, snatching a root beer with his tail before closing the door. He felt Alley’s gaze on him, and found her watching his actions with a look of fascination. He set the root beer on the counter, then used his tail to turn on the faucet and grab the bottle of dish soap to squeeze some into the filling sink. Her eyes followed his every move.

“Your tail is prehensile?” she asked after a moment.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, uh, I guess because earth rodents don’t have prehensile tails.”

“Well, I’m a bitdifferent from an earth rodent,” he sniffed.

“Oh. I didn’t mean—” She bit her lip and turned to the sink to begin washing out the bowls. He waited; he could feel her curiosity tickling along his senses. Now that the fear was fading, it was inevitably kicking in. “So, uh, can you do anything with that tail, or are you limited with its mobility?” she asked after a moment. “I mean, is it very strong?”

“Strong enough to lift a fully-grown mouse. Or a human,” he replied. Although he wouldn’t have chosen to use himselfas a topic, at least she was starting to open up and talk. “Think of it as a third arm, or something. Losing a tail impacts a mouse as much as losing an arm or leg would impact a human.”

She nodded, stacking the dishes in the drainer beside the sink. “And it doesn’t hurt to lift something that heavy? I mean, your tail is attached directly to your spine, right? It doesn’t put excess strain on your back or anything?”

“We develop very strong muscles from a very young age. Our backs are well-padded, don't worry.” Throttle was surprised by Alley’s blunt questioning. Charley had never asked them such things, in all the years she'd known them. Perhaps she felt such questions were too personal. Herather felt they were too personal, but he supposed he could put up with it. At least she was no longer screaming, or crying, or attempting to throw blunt objects at his head.

“Hey, guys. Anyone here?” Charley’s voice drifted from the direction of the living room, making them both jump in surprise.

Throttle felt a rush of relief at her appearance. It was about time! “In here,” he called, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway. She took everything in with a raised eyebrow, then tossed him a catty grin. “Well, isn't thisthe cozy little domestic scene. Getting along, are we?”

He was glad for his thick fur at times like these, when it felt like his whole head might erupt in flame. “Sure. Piece of cake.” He shrugged, attempting to affect casual aloofness. “She fed me and everything.”

“There’s still some oatmeal left in the fridge if you want any,” Alley put in. “I can make more tomorrow. I bought fresh ingredients yesterday.”

Charley straightened, looking back and forth between Alley and a highly-embarrassed mouse. “Wait. You fed Throttle,” she repeated.

Alley blinked at her. “Uh-huh.”

“You fed him oatmeal.”

Throttle scowled at her; she ignored him.

“Yeeeees,” Alley replied slowly, looking confused. “And half a glass of milk.”

Charley slumped against the counter, one hand dramatically clutching her heart. “I don’t believe it. I’ve spent yearstrying to get these macho mice to eat anything resembling health food, and you somehow manage it within the first half hour of meeting them!” She reached across the counter and clutched a very confused Alley’s hands in hers. “Please. I mustknow your secret!”

Throttle growled, trying to sound annoyed despite the grin that kept twitching at his mouth. He whipped his tail around to give Charley a playful smack on the rear, making her yelp and laugh. “Don’t go getting any ideas, now. I was just being polite!”