Three Ships by carino2

Category:Maximum Ride
Genre:Angst, Romance
Published:2009-01-03 17:22:18
Updated:2009-01-30 20:38:43
Packaged:2021-05-07 02:27:33
Summary:The story of three non-canon pairings of Maximum Ride Characters. Femmeslash. Second is MaraxMarian

Table of Contents

1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2

1. Chapter 1

Title: Three Ships, Part I: Action
Rating: M
Pairing: Angel/Max
Warnings: femmeslash that's kinda somewhat explicit; slight swearing
Disclaimer: disclaimed
Comments: Sadly, it's not even for a kink meme (but can we call it close enough?)

Angel was educated now about the importance of actions.

She'd majored in psychology, after all; it had seemed like the best idea at the time. She had a certain kind of…sensitivity to others' emotions, she'd told all of her examiners when they asked her how she could always find the answer. In every case assigned, she succeeded, and while those who had taught her were satisfied, they wanted to know her secret. So she'd made it up for them; a simple lie to make them feel better and to make her feel more normal. It wasn't easy for her to blend in because of the whole wings deal, and it irked her that no one bothered to be sensitive to her feelings.

Sensitive? Maybe the only reason they acted as they did was because they couldn't read minds.

The mind reading had been, in general, an advantage in her profession. Though she couldn't talk about things that her patients had not admitted, she could often find the words that would make them talk. And when that didn't work, she could still usually diagnose them correctly. She'd have to blame the diagnosis on something else, of course, but that was too easy these days. It didn't bother her if she had to lie a little bit. Most of these people were here because they were lying anyway, either to themselves or to the world at large.

Angel had also used the mind reading in school: back then, she had lived under the philosophy that she didn't need to learn things for herself if she could learn them from other students. The perfect student; that was Angel. And since she was, well, special, no one had bothered to question it. She'd been rather immoral then; a few talks with Max had straightened that out. She still wasn't a person you'd expect to abide by the honor system, but she was more careful about who she cheated. And she was better about staying out of other people's heads.

The invasion of privacy had always been a bit deal to Max. As part of a bargain she'd made—she couldn't remember the other bit; it had been unimportant—Angel had learned to turn off the part of her mind that sensed others' emotions. Now was one of those times she put this into effect. It felt wrong to her, somehow, to listen to what Max was thinking. Besides, she knew that Max trusted her enough to tell her…well, almost everything, and if something remained unsaid, then it must be for the better.

Sometimes, Angel wished she hadn't become so moral.

Anything had be easier than the way things were now. Angel always felt so vulnerable and uninformed around Max. That in itself was rather odd, because Max had at one point been her safe harbor. She could make anything all right. But things had changed, and they'd gone their separate ways. The next time they saw each other, they had each noted the differences: they were quieter, more refined. More lost, somehow, now that they'd finally found homes.

Angel knew, even without reading her mind, that Max was looking for the feelings she'd had back when the flock was still together. Angel felt the same way herself sometimes.

There was probably a disorder like that, and a fancy name for it, but Angel didn't know what it was.

Either way, she and Max had fallen into each other. Not that Angel needed Max. She was a solitary person, for the most part, much like Max had been. And if Angel needed company, there were always the boyfriends. She was in high demand.

For Max's sake, though, Angel gave up her parties and stayed home. Not all the time, of course; Max had her own place and only came over to Angel's every now and then. Other times they'd have drinks, or maybe just go out together, with just the two of them…it was all in Max's personality, Angel supposed, because Max never seemed to like the parties. She was more shy, and somehow less fond of attention.

Tonight, Max seemed even quieter than usual. She'd refused Angel's invitation to try out the new bar—VIP only, and they could get in easily, Angel had bragged—so vehemently that Angel had just invited her straight over. It was not like Max, really, but Angel hadn't been brave enough to ask why. She always wanted to be connected to what was going on. Max was the only one who would deny her that. She didn't even have to ask most other people what was happening, with as eager as they were to have her attention. They'd talk and talk, telling her anything and everything to ensure she was listening.

She was, of course. She always was.

But Max…Max was different. She was moody; she was difficult; she had so many problems, or she had to. But Angel hadn't been able to find out what they were, because she had vowed to never invade Max's thoughts. And for what she'd heard, she knew no cure.

The only thing she could do right now—hell, it was the only thing she could ever do—was to comfort Max. That was one thing that Angel had learned how to do quite well, and without anyone else's help, too. Maybe it was from knowing Max for so long; maybe it was simply intuition, but she'd known just how to find that part of Max that wasn't yet shut off from Angel and the rest of the world. Soft kisses, first on the lips, then moving down to the neck, and then wherever else need took her until she got a reaction. Every time she used this method, she was scared that Max wouldn't respond. And every time, it seemed, it took Max longer to warm up to her.

Sometimes, Angel was afraid she was going to lose Max forever.

Thankfully, tonight Max seemed plenty involved, offering her own soft kisses in return. She was so skittish these days, as if she thought she would scare Angel off. There was no chance of that; Angel had done it all. Not that she'd mentioned that to Max. It wouldn't have done much to solve the problem.

The reason Max was so wary, Angel had concluded long ago, was because she'd had some messy relationships before. She had never bothered to ask. Then didn't matter; then was over. And this was one situation in which Angel felt no need to analyze. It wouldn't do her any good, anyways. All that was needed was being given.

Max pulled her closer now, and these were the moments that Angel lived for…those times of feeling that she was needed, and of being able to tell herself that she was making a difference. Max's moans, soft in her ear, told Angel that she was doing something correctly. If only Max would always be this responsive.

"I love you, Angel," Max whispered in her ear, and Angel felt the weight of Max's words settling on her.

"I love you, too," she whispered back reflexively, wondering why it felt so much worse to tell that lie to Max than it had to any of the men she'd kept.

As a response, Max ran her hands down Angel as if she was still exploring, though she must have done this hundreds of times, and Angel had to admit that it felt good. And it wasn't just the helping Max, though that was a good thing, too…there was something in the way Max touched her that was pleasurable almost in a way she'd never felt before. However, she told herself she was only here to pay Max back: Angel knew she was deep in Max's debt for all of the things that had happened when they were still young. How she'd know when she and Max were even again and what she'd do then were still mysteries to her. She didn't care to think on such topics.

What she liked to do was to lay here and take what love she could get from Max. She liked to revel in the adoration she received. She liked the feelings…what of, happiness?…that helping Max gave her.

Yet Angel couldn't help but gasp as she felt Max's hands slide beneath her skirt. It wasn't love she was feeling, she knew, but she couldn't think of the name to give it that did it justice. Was it close enough to love; a sort of bond the two had formed that could last them as long as they lived?

Angel had to remind herself that here, she didn't matter: if it was love Max felt, it was love that she had to give. Another lie, but of good meaning…wasn't it close enough to truth? Maybe this whole venture had, in truth, been a mistake, because Angel had never meant anything to come out of it. It had been designed as a one-night stand to banish the loneliness for long enough that Max could pull herself together again. But one night hadn't been long enough for Max, and once started down this path, neither of the two could seem to give it up.

Angel only wished she could feel the same things for Max that Max felt for her.

Actions were important, that was true, but Angel sometimes wondered if the intentions behind them mattered far more than their outcomes.

I'll be posting the next two chapters when I can get around to typing them up, but in the meantime, I'd like crit. This isn't a type of writing I'm very good at yet, but I can (hopefully) make parts II and III better if I know what I'm doing wrong. Thanks much.

2. Chapter 2

Title: Three Ships, Part II - Words
Rating: still M
Ship: Mara/Marian
Warnings: more explicit femmeslash. but you know that, don't you?
Disclaimer: ....really?
Comments: Whoever gives me the best smushname for this gets e-cookies.

Exotic was one word that had been used to describe Mara. Unique was another, unpredictable a third.

Marian herself had never applied any of these labels to Mara, at least not aloud. She might have whispered them to herself late at night when there was no one else around, but she'd never said them around anyone else. They weren't hers to say and besides, what would have been the use? After all, the girl seemed to elude all description. It was best to let people see her and come to their own conclusions.

Besides, such terms were ill befitting to the scientist that Marian had become. Viable was more up her alley; successful; commendable. And those phrases worked too; they fit Mara's situation perfectly and were always on the tip of Marian's tongue, no matter what she was going to talk about. She spoke a language of Science around her peers, a speech in which frilly adjectives had no place and were not understood.

Of course, there were always times when the language deserted her and she reverted to her old tongue: that of the days when she was simply Marian, college student; not Director Janssen of Itexicon Corporation. It was the times when she became particularly excited that she wanted to be careful, as well as in moments of anger or surprise. Slipping back into regular speech was always quite an embarrassment afterwards, because Marian had spent her whole life fighting the typecasting that seemed to follow female scientists around.

Upon meeting Mara, Director Janssen had experienced one of those moments of surprise. Of course, she had known it would be a different sort of encounter—after all, Mara was the first successful human-feline hybrid ever created—but it wasn't just the shock of seeing a person that looked so much like a cat. That was to be expected, for the most part, though it was true that some of Mara's traits were decidedly contrary to the predictions. No, it was the fact that the girl, who had been quite a bit younger then, lacked refinement in a way that Marian had never quite seen before. She was, quite literally, part animal. There were times when Director Janssen found herself wondering if terminating the experiment would be for the best, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Surely she would be able to figure out some sort of justification for this at a later date. The concept behind Mara had been sound, and she had turned out almost exactly according to plan. Minus the few discrepancies.

Perfect, Marian had pronounced. Her colleagues had given her surprised glances. Of all the experiments they'd run, Mara was only in the middle, accomplishment-wise. And she was the first of her species, and she hadn't been around long enough for hardly any tests to have been run. Besides, even the most successful hybrids so far had not earned such high praise from the Director. How could this girl, who was obviously flawed in so many ways, be perfect?

She was referring to concept, the Director explained later when asked about her response. According to the actual plans for design, Mara had turned out just as she'd imagined. The possibilities of this project were exciting, and she wanted to see how far they could take this idea. The scientists had nodded their heads wisely and walked away in a daze, wondering if they'd just been complimented on their work and, if so, how they could repeat the feat. Marian had watched them go and then locked her self in her office for some time off. She needed to gather her thoughts again, because she was having trouble making her words sound believable at the moment. She suspected it was only the flattery that had made her explanation sound credible, and she couldn't risk giving herself away. She had an appearance to keep up.

Marian had learned from her mistakes. There was no way she could avoid seeing Mara—after all, she had to keep track of the girl's (no, the experiment's) progress, and put her through the mandated series of tests for all projects in her lab—but she was more prudent about the times she chose to visit. Mara was to be her project, she told her coworkers, because she needed something to do and Mara was available. Marian had also learned to control her words better. She'd kept quiet as she administered the tests, preferring to simply watch and learn about Mara. She was quite an amazing case, after all. First attempt of her kind, and look how well she'd turned out. Marian was already in way over her head.

Since those early days, Mara had only become more interesting. She had grown and developed as she'd been expected to, and now there was much more to her than simply perfect. Marian had tested Mara more extensively than any other subject, and what the girl had lacked in the qualities that were being looked for, she made up for in other ways. During this time, Marian came up with a few other phrases that might be able to describe the girl. They were words that Marian had never used before; ones she hadn't thought she'd known because they were buried so deeply. Mara had a way of pulling those silenced parts of Marian out, though Marian liked to pretend that no one had so much influence over her. She did her best to not let Mara know what was going on, and either she was successful or Mara knew when it was best to keep quiet.

For the life of her, Marian hoped it was the former. Professional was one of those words allowed in her industry, yet it seemed to be one of the ones that was getting less and less use lately. In fact, Marian was beginning to think that she was ignoring it more than those other adjectives, the ones she'd sworn did not belong to her. And that was simply not acceptable.

But, said a small part of Marian's brain that seemed to be, for some reason, lacking common sense, shouldn't it be a perk earned with status? Wasn't it only right that she should receive reward for her work? And couldn't she, for once, drop all the formalities?

No, was the answer, and no, and no. She was a leader with a vision; propriety demanded that she stay detached. She hadn't started down this path for her own enjoyment, after all, though she did love science. She was doing this for the people, her people, and she could not, in any way, be unprofessional.

No, protested that part of her as she examined herself from every angle (perfect, of course; she was always perfect), professionalism was not required, per se. Sense and discretion, yes, but professionalism was only needed in appearances.

That word again, appearances. It was there that Marian's (already illogical) arguments always lost steam: it was a barrier she could not cross. Even she could not find a reason to explain her longings; even she could not make the words fit the situation in a way that made them sound acceptable. These moments were always the turning points for her; the times during which she vowed she would shape up.

Of course, it was never quite that simple, and she couldn't seem to get her resolutions to last. It was so easy, when she was sprawled on the floor and Mara's head was between her thighs, to give in to what she wanted for once, and take what she called a healthy break for selfishness.

The only problems with that bit of logic were that what she was doing had no tie to her health, it wasn't excusable (another one of those terms that she couldn't seem to avoid), and it would have consequences sooner or later. Besides, selfishness was one of those things she was trying to avoid.

So how was it that she hadn't changed anything yet? What she was doing was immature, completely inappropriate. It wasn't like her at all, yet…it made her feel alive again.

What was the point, asked that part of her that Mara always seemed to bring out, of creating something perfect…of trying to change yourself to be that very same way…if you got nothing out of it?

Marian knew there had to be a perfectly sensible answer to that, but she couldn't seem to think of it. She couldn't concentrate now, when Mara was standing next to her already mostly unclothed, wearing only her skimpy undergarments, that hungry look that only she could seem to pull off correctly. And she tried not to think of such things at other times.

Only when Mara was present did Marian allow herself to think of what was going on: that was her rule to ensure that she did not get too caught up in the matter. Truthfully, that venture had failed; she had become so used to living as she was now that it was sometimes hard for her to remember how things had been before. It had become an addiction, so when Mara comes she knows that she'll surrender herself to her subordinate (and it won't be the last time, as she likes to claim), losing herself in the purrs, the scratches, the licks, and the growls that Mara seems to do all the better for her uniqueness. Marian has to wonder why she'd even consider giving this up, because there is nothing in the world that she would rather be doing in these moments, and nowhere else she'd rather be. So why was it that she could stay here forever?

It had become an addiction; there was no longer the question of giving it up. That was why, whenever Mara knocked discreetly on her door, Marian knew what would happen. She would surrender, once again, to her subordinate, losing herself in the purrs, the scratches, the licks, and the growls that Mara seemed to do all the better for who she was. Though maybe at one time she would have thought it would be the last time, there is no longer doubt on this subject in her mind. Marian would be left to wonder why she'd even consider giving this up, because there was nothing in the world she'd rather be doing at these moments; nowhere she'd rather be. So why was it that she could not stay here forever?

Propriety. Oh, yes; that was the reason.

If Marian were herself right now, she'd be embarrassed by her whimpers, by her begging (just one more time?), by her lack of control both of herself and of the situation. After all, she's the one who should be in charge. But she's not ashamed, because Mara obliges though time is short, and Marian doesn't have room for much else in her mind at the moment.

As Mara gets up to leave, Marian can do nothing but stare after her from where she is on the floor. Only once the door closes and the room is empty again does Marian move, picking herself up slowly to make herself presentable. She has things to do, that's right: a meeting, perhaps, or a less-formal briefing in the labs? Either way, she's a professional at this by now (and why can't that count for something, says that part of her that she tries to ignore), she knows exactly how to make herself look perfectly normal again. When she's finished with her makeup and her hair, she's covered up every last bit of herself that she hasn't deemed proper for public appearances. No one looking at her would guess that there was anything about her that wasn't ideal.

Which had been the point, she had to say.

Once again, it was back to those goddamn appearances.