Dysfunctional -- Epilogue -- Part 2: Alec (X5-494)

Disclaimer:  The TV show Dark Angel, all of the characters that appeared on it (Alec, Biggs, Renfro, etc.), and everything else that has to do with the show belong to their respective owners, not to me.  No money is being made off of this fic.  I only own the original characters (Sasha/X5-121, etc.).

Notes:  This part takes place a day before chapter 24 of “Together.”  Spoilers/spoiler-ish stuff for “Proof of Purchase.”

I pulled my car up to the curb and shut off the engine and took a good look around. Oh yeah, back in beautiful old Seattle. Are you some kind of glutton for punishment, Alec? Remember what happened the last time that you were here? White, him leading you to think that you were about to get your head blown off, Max and Becky having to save your ass…that whole deal. I shrugged mentally. I wonder if either Max or Becky are still here in Seattle. Why? So they could make your life miserable?

I shook my head as I got out of the car and started to walk down the street. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t purposefully make my life miserable, not even Max. Max might be a huge bitch, but I have the feeling that she’s a good person deep down. To be perfectly honest, Max in a lot of ways reminds me of 121.

My mood plummeted and I sighed. The enthusiasm that had rubbed off on me from 334 all those weeks ago was definitely long gone. Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m lonely. It’s not like I’ve lacked companionship, especially of the female variety and at night, but I haven’t seen my best friends in almost two months. I haven’t joked around with them, I haven’t traded rude remarks, I haven’t even caught a glimpse of them. It wasn’t for a lack of looking, that was for sure. I could understand why. It was kind of critical at this point not to be found, not to mention that 121 had two extra reasons not to stay on the proverbial radar. Even so, I missed the hell out of them.

My stomach grumbled and I chuckled. I might miss my best friends like nobody’s business, but I still needed to eat. I looked up and saw a small Italian place just down the block. Not bad. I’ve always liked Italian food and a good chicken parm hero sounded pretty good. I walked over to the restaurant and went inside and sat down. This wasn’t too horrible by post-Pulse standards. It was clean enough at any rate. I looked up and saw a sign on the wall. Owner, blah blah blah, manager, blah blah blah, assistant manager…I blinked. J. McGrath. Nah, it couldn’t be 941. I know that he’d said that he’d liked the alias from that mission, but that was awhile ago and this J could easily stand for another name other than Jeffrey. Yikes, Alec, you must really be missing your friends. Somebody has a name similar to an alias that the kid had on a mission and you think it’s him. Yeah, right.

“This is terrible,” a woman sitting a few booths down from me said in disgust. Ah, now there’s a nice distraction. Not the woman. She was about twenty or more years too old for my tastes and she’d obviously let herself go in middle age, but it’s amusing to watch people act like complete idiots sometimes. I twisted around so that I could get a peek at her and sized her up. Yep, anal retentive to boot. It’s probably a fork or a knife with a speck of dirt in it. Either that or she thinks what is actually pepper in her food is really dust or something. The woman raised her voice. “Excuse me, I would like to speak to the manager if that’s at all possible!” Loosen up, lady. A few moments later, the swinging doors leading to the kitchen swung open and my jaw almost dropped. Holy crap, it was 941! I watched as he calmly walked over to the woman’s booth.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.

The woman glared at him. “I said I wanted to speak to the manager, not some dumb kid!”

Kid, yes. Dumb, far from it. Trust me on this, lady. 941 just kept on smiling. I got to hand it to him, he does have the temper for this kind of a job. “I’m the assistant manager, ma’am.” I saw him point to his name tag. “The manager isn’t in right now. Can I help you?”

“Fine,” the woman said. “There is dust in my soup!” I barely managed not to laugh. Damn, reading people can be fun.

941 obligingly took a look at the woman’s bowl. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am. That’s pepper, not dust. I was in the kitchen when the chef was preparing your soup. There’s no way that it’s dust as opposed to pepper.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” the woman demanded.

Well, it is easier when you can smell the difference like 941 and I can. “It says so right on the menu, ma’am,” 941 said. Man, the kid has patience. “’Our signature chicken soup is topped off with fresh pepper and a sprig of parsley.’” I saw the woman make a face, but she didn’t say anything and started to eat her soup.

I snickered a little bit, just loud enough for 941 to hear me. “Nice job, kid.” I picked up the menu and started to look at it and sure enough, a few moments later I heard somebody slide into the booth across the table from me. I looked up and saw 941 sitting there, a smile on his own face.

“Thanks,” he said. “It’s great to see you again, 494.”

“It’s Alec now,” I said. “I’ll explain the whole story with that one later. It’s a good one. You won’t be disappointed by it.” I gestured to his name tag. “You re-took the name from the Alaska mission?”

“Yeah, I liked it. It’s definitely Jeff from here on out,” he said. “When did you get back into Seattle? How long have you been here?”

“Total? Not all that long,” I said. “I stayed in the general vicinity for about a week after our old home burned to a crisp and then I got into some trouble and I got out of here and I got back into the city about a week ago. I think I might stay here for awhile this time.”

Jeff looked at me thoughtfully. “Are you okay, Alec? You look tired.”

I shook my head. “I’m not tired. I’m just feeling a little lonely. I haven’t seen 511 or 121 since the night of the fire. I didn’t see either of them as we were getting the hell out of there. Good grief, it was insane that night.”

“To say the least,” Jeff agreed. He looked down. “I lost 761 that night. He took one right in the neck from one of the X7s that were on perimeter duty.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I shook my head. “I don’t know how many of my unit made it over the fence that night. We were pretty scattered through the building at the time of the fire. I don’t even know if 511 or 121 made it out. I hope that they did and I’m confident that they made it out, but I don’t know. It was so chaotic that night.”

“Tell me about it,” Jeff said quietly.

“So, how have you been?” I asked. “Have you met back up with anybody from your unit? How long have you been here in the city?”

“I haven’t been in the city all that long,” Jeff replied. “As for my unit mates, I’ve made contact with 252, 583, 437, 312, and 111. These days they’re going by Riley, Dustin, Vance, Wes, and Christian.”

I slapped my forehead. “Shit, I almost forgot.” I grabbed a pen out of my jeans pocket and wrote a phone number down on a napkin and slid it over to Jeff. “The night of the fire, I somehow ended up on the other side of the fence with an X5 originally from the Wyoming facility and your unit mate 334. Before the three of us split up, she got a cell phone number and asked me if I ever ran into you to give it to you. There it is.”

“Thank you,” Jeff said gratefully. He took the napkin and stuck it in his pants pocket. “How is she doing?”

“Other than the fact that she still has a weak stomach when it comes to blood, she seemed to be doing well the last time that I saw her,” I said.

Jeff chuckled a little. “Yeah, that’s 334 for you.”

“Um, excuse me? Is the manager here?” a male voice said behind us. Jeff and I looked over and saw a guy about my age with a messenger bag slung over one shoulder talking to a waitress.

“Nah, the manager ain’t here right now, but the kid is,” she replied. She jerked her thumb in Jeff’s direction. “He’s the assistant manager. He’ll help you. Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Oh, sorry, Jam Pony Messenger,” he said. He walked over to Jeff and me and took something out of his bag and handed it to Jeff. “Jam Pony Messenger. I have a delivery for a Fred Ross for this address?”

“Fred’s the manager, but he’s not here. I’ll accept it for him, though. He should be in this evening,” Jeff said. “Do I need to sign anything?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” the guy said. He took a clipboard and handed it to Jeff, who signed it. “Thanks for reminding me, man. If my boss sees that I forgot to get a signature again, he’ll shit kittens.”

“Sounds lovely,” I remarked.

“He’s really not that bad. He’s just kind of uptight most of the time,” the guy said. He held out his hand. “Calvin Theodore, but everybody calls me Sketchy.”

I grinned. I liked this guy. “Alec McDowell. Have a seat.”

“Sure,” Sketchy said. He sat down next to me. “Are you on your break, dude?”

“Only unofficially,” Jeff said.

“I hear ya,” Sketchy said understandingly. “That’s everybody at Jam Pony when we’re not out on a run.”

“You know, I just got into the city and I’m looking for a place to work,” I said. A messenger service sounds pretty good, especially considering the all-access sector pass that Sketchy was sporting. “What’s this place like?”

“It’s pretty cool,” Sketchy said. “Our boss Normal and don’t ask about the name because I have no idea where it came from like I said is uptight, but everybody who works there is cool. The hours are decent and the pay is as good as a job like bicycle messenger could be. Not that it’s much, but it’s decent enough. If you’re lucky, you’ll get tips.” He grinned. “Like I said, the people who work there are great. Two of them I’ve been friends with for a few years now. Max and Original Cindy.”

“Max? What’s he like?” Jeff asked. I was crossing my fingers underneath the table and praying that the Max that Sketchy was talking about really was a guy and not the Max that I knew.

“Max is a she,” Sketchy said. “She’s pretty cool. She actually had a heart transplant about five months or so ago, but she came back here about two months ago and she seems fine.” Damn, it was her. I knew it. Sketchy grinned. “We also got this new girl about the same time that Max came back. Holy shit, this girl is smoking! You guys will go nuts.”

“Oh? I believe we need details,” I said.

“Sure,” Sketchy said. He held his hand up. “Her name’s Becky. She’s about this tall, blond hair, grey eyes, a rocking body, and she is just a complete babe.” He sighed dejectedly. “The only drawback to her is that she’s not eighteen yet. But hey, Jeff, that would make her perfect for you. Are you eighteen yet?”

“Not until December,” Jeff said. He had a thoughtful look on his face. I had a pretty good feeling that he was thinking about Becky. I wondered if he had told her how he felt about her yet. Then again, if the look on his face and his body language was any indication, I’d put my money on no. He’s still head over heels for her. That was loud and clear.

“I’d like to meet her,” I said. “And this Max and Original Cindy.” What the hell. If this job gets me a sector pass and can allow me to go whenever wherever in this city, then it’ll be worth having to spend almost everyday with Max and Becky. “I think that I just might have to come work there, Sketchy.”

“Awesome!” Sketchy said happily. “You wanna come back with me right now?”

I thought for a few moments and then I shook my head. “I can’t. I’ve got some business that I need to take care of. You know, settling in stuff. I’ll be by in a few days at the most. I promise.”

“Great,” Sketchy said. “In the mean time, there’s a bar called Crash that we all hang out at after work.” He pointed his thumb in a direction. “It’s a few blocks over that way. We go there almost every night to chill. Either of you guys wanna come?”

“Tonight doesn’t look too good for me, but definitely tomorrow night,” I said.

“Same here,” Jeff said. “I’ll definitely go tomorrow night.”

“Perfect. Meet me over by the entrance at around nine-thirty,” Sketchy said. He looked at his watch. “I should be getting back to Jam Pony soon.”

Jeff stood up. “Give me a sec before you go.” He went back towards the kitchens and came back out a few minutes later holding a paper bag. He handed the bag to Sketchy. “Consider this a tip. I hope that you like eggplant parm heroes.”

“I do, thanks a lot,” Sketchy said gratefully. He put his clipboard and lunch away in his messenger bag and he got up and shook hands with myself and Jeff. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow night.” He left the restaurant.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Jeff said. He looked contemplative. “My age, blond hair, grey eyes, that tall…if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he was pretty much describing 405.”

“Then you must not know shit because that’s exactly who he was describing,” I said.

His eyes widened. “405—what did he say her name was? Becky? She’s actually in Seattle?”

“Yeah, she’s been here since the fire, I think,” I said.

“How do you know?” Jeff asked.

“She and Max got me out of a tight spot about a week after we left the old home,” I said. “I got into underground cage fighting a few days after I got out of there, it was the night after 334 and 601 and I went our separate ways. Later that week, I got spotted by the people who are in charge of finding us and cleaning this mess up.” Jeff knew exactly what I meant. I sighed and continued. “This NSA agent, his name is Ames White, he told me that he implanted a micro-explosive near my brain stem and he would set it off if I didn’t assassinate five transgenics and bring them their barcodes as proof, so there went any chance I had of playing his sorry ass. I did get two of the anomalies and then I went over to Terminal City figuring that I would find more of them. The first transgenic I ran into, though, wasn’t an anomaly but an X6. He wasn’t any random X6 either. He happened to be X6-115. Just my luck, huh? At any rate, I couldn’t kill him. I just couldn’t. I made up a story about how he was in trouble and I sliced off his barcode so I could try to pass it off to White that I had actually killed him and I dumped 115 in front of a hospital. Fortunately for him, Becky and Max happened to be the first people to find him. 115—who’s going by Kyle now—had heard me mumble about White and then the three of them found me and Max and Becky went and we got myself as well as this X8 and X9 that White had captured, out of the jam.” I snorted. “That micro-explosive? He never even implanted it in me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff said. He frowned. “Wait a sec, who is Max?”

“Max is the infamous X5-452,” I said.

“Oh,” Jeff said. He thought for a few moments and then shrugged and smiled. “Cool.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you never had a grudge or anything like that against her or her brothers and sisters for running away back in ’09?”

Jeff shrugged again. “No. I never saw the point in hating them like most of us did. I did get put in Psy Ops for three months when they escaped like the rest of the five and six C.O.s, but it wasn’t as if Max or 599 or 210 of any of them physically went up to any of us, threw us in the room, and strapped us into those damn chairs themselves. They ran, but the trainers, Marshall, Lydecker and Warren were the ones who made the decision to put us into Psy Ops and they were the ones who strapped us in and tortured us for the however many months that we were there.”

I nodded. I swear, it amazed me how Jeff handled things and the way his mind worked. He might be seven years younger than 908 and 786, but the two of them could never achieve that level of calmness and maturity that Jeff already had. “If a lot of people back home thought the way that you do, it would have saved so many people a lot of grief.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jeff said. We were quiet for a few moments and then Jeff smiled. “I’m guessing that you didn’t come in here just for a chat. What do you want?”

“Chicken parm hero,” I said. Jeff got back up and started to go back to the kitchens. “Hey, Jeff?”

Jeff paused and walked back over to the booth. “What is it, Alec?”

“I was going to pull off a job on this bank downtown late tonight,” I said. “It’s over in Sector 9 so there’s going to be plenty for the taking. I’ve got all the recon done and everything but it will still be easier if it’s a two-person op. You wanna pull it off with me? We’ll split what we grab fifty-fifty.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jeff said. He grinned. “I’d be happy to join. Just let me know where to rendezvous with you and I’ll be there.”

“Not a problem,” I said. I told Jeff where to meet me. “Be there at twelve-thirty a.m. sharp.”

“Will do,” Jeff said. “I’ll go get your sandwich.” He went back into the kitchen and I sat back, smiling. It was great to meet up with Jeff again. He wasn’t one of my best friends, but he had the potential to become one. I also had a potential new friend and who knows? Maybe I’d even become friends with Max and Becky. I still missed the hell out of 511 and 121, but I felt energized again. I’d find them someday. And in the meantime…well, hopefully the meantime wouldn’t be boring.

The end!