Disclaimer: I do not own Biker Mice From Mars and I make no money off this work. The characters Hannah and Chuck Davidson belong to me, so please don't use them in your stories. But feel free to draw them and send me a copy.

This story contains cussing, graphic depictions of violence, and sexual situations. If you're not mature enough to handle it, go read something else.

I really mean it--explicit situations. Proceed at your own risk.

And thanks to Red Ogress for suggesting the title. This story is dedicated to FoxFire because she absolutely, positively hates Asphalt Jack MacCyber.

Biker Mice From Mars: Domestic Bliss

She stood up out of the water and felt it sheet down her muscular and curvaceous body. She faced the shore, a secluded area with a grassy spot right under a large oak tree perfect for reclining beneath. Three males were already taking advantage of the shade.

"Even us interplanetary heroes need time off now and then." The tan mouse stretched out on his back. His black leather vest fell open and gave an unimpeded view of his fur-covered, sculpted abs and pecs.

"There ya go, darlin'." The largest one with grey fur and an eyepatch said to his motorcycle as he finished polishing it. "Pretty as a one-two punch."

"Speaking of knockouts." The white mouse finally noticed her, and sat up with such an expression of appreciative lust, it made Charley blush inside her dream self. His two companions turned their attention to the water. It was a shame that they weren't in bathing suits, though the tight jeans left nothing about their physiques to the imagination.

It's just so... real. She could feel the sun drying her shoulders. Warm and cool currents in the water churned around her legs. It's the weirdest sex dream I've ever had. And it did feel sexy having three gorgeous males staring at you. I know them. I know their names. Just a little longer. What are they going to do?

But as she tried to remember, the dream vanished. Fighting her disappointment and a strange panic, Charley opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window to the right of the bed, tossing a pattern from the blinds onto the white wall. She could see the navy blue comforter at the end of the bed. When did I buy that? She didn't remember. She also didn't remember the modern-looking, black vanity with chrome handles on the drawers and molding around the large, circular mirror. A tall dresser on the right wall matched it.

This wasn't her furniture. This was not her bedroom. A muscular arm suddenly slid over her stomach underneath the sheets. She shrieked and jumped, ending up on her feet three feet away from the bed.

A man groaned while sitting up. "Charley? Baby, what's wrong? Did I pinch you?"

The face was familiar underneath the bright red beard. He had been smooth-shaven the last time Charley had seen him, that rainy day when they had broken off the engagement. The brown eyes gazed at her sleepily, but slowly changed to wary. "Jack? Jack MacCyber? Where am I? What are you doing here?"

"Oh damn." He ran his hand through his long hair. "The doc said this could happen. What's the last thing you remember?"

It was hard finding something. She hadn't seen Jack since they broke up, but it seemed so long ago. "Breaking up, you were going back for your second year of college." Her voice lost strength as his expression grew more concerned.

"We've been married four years now," he said gently, "five years come December."

"Married?" Charley echoed. A row of diamonds set in a gold band was wrapped around her left ring finger. "Why can't I remember that?"

"You hit your head." Jack climbed out of the bed wearing a pair of navy blue silk boxers. He had gained some muscle since high school. He walked around the bed and Charley caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity's mirror. She didn't look any different. A dark green, silky nightgown with spaghetti straps draped her slim figure. A large piece of gauze was taped to the upper right corner of her forehead, and her chestnut hair fell over it. She touched it gently before Jack blocked her view of the mirror and grasped her arm. "The doc said the best way to deal with amnesia is for you to get back to your normal routine."

"And my memory will come back?" She infused her voice with more confidence than she felt. "Just put me in the garage, I still remember how to spin a wrench."

He winced. "Charley, there is no more garage. The Last Chance burned down."

"The Last Chance is gone?" She felt dizzy.

Jack gripped her arm harder. "It happened right after your father.... You do remember what happened to your father?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

"It happened a few months later. It brought us back together. I realized I couldn't lose you." He moved quickly, wrapping his arms around her and moving in for a kiss.

Sudden fear struck Charley. She pulled away. Jack sighed as he let her go and stepped back. What am I afraid of? Jack and I have done more than kissing before. I have to say something; he looks upset. She reached up and caressed his cheek, combing his close-cropped beard with her fingernails. "I'm sorry I can't remember. But this is so weird. Weirder than the dream about giant mice."

"Giant mice?" He frowned, and his hands curled into fists by his sides.

"Yeah, on motorcycles. Where did I come up with that?"

"Hannah must be making you watch too many Disney movies." His laughter was strained. He moved to one of the doors on the west wall, opening the closet.


"Our daughter, Charley. Surely you remember our daughter?"

"Jack, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She sat down on the bed before her knees gave way.

"No, I'm sorry." He knelt in front of her. "I'm not being very understanding. We have one daughter, Hannah Charlene MacCyber. She's four years old. You stay home with her since she isn't in school yet." He gently squeezed her hand. "Do you want me to stay home from work? I can, it's not a problem."

"The doctor said I should get back to normal right? I think I can handle a four-year-old." Her world felt topsy-turvy. A kid? What the hell am I doing with a kid? I have enough trouble trying to make them behave. Them? The elusive them's identity flittered away.

"Are you sure?" Jack asked softly. "Alright, let's introduce you two." He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms. Charley wrapped a matching green robe around her body and followed him out of the bedroom.

The hall went across the width of the entire apartment, made a sharp turn and ended in a living room. The well-cushioned sofa and recliner were made of black leather. A Harley-Davidson blanket was spread across the back of the sofa, with white pillows placed just so. The black metal and glass entertainment center was filled with the latest electronic gadgets. Some expensive Harley-Davidson artwork and a metal etching of a motorcycle as long as the couch hung on the white walls.

Hannah by BSVPA little girl lay on the beige carpet in front of the television set. Her elbows were propped on one of the white pillows as she gazed enraptured by the cartoons on the set. She scrambled to her feet as they walked into the room. She wore a Mickey Mouse nightgown, and her bright red hair was still tangled in two slept-in ponytails. Charley's heart skipped a beat when she saw her own green eyes staring back seriously.

"Hannah, you remember what I told you?" Jack asked sternly. "Mommy is fuzzy on what she does around here. So you have to help her. Can you do that?"

"I can do dat, Daddy." The little girl wrapped the end of her ponytail around her fingers. "Hello Mommy," she said seriously as her grip on her hair tightened. "Does yer head still hurt?"

"No, it doesn't." Charley smiled at Hannah and was rewarded with a dazzling smile in return. "Should I cook breakfast?"

"I'll grab something on the way to work." Jack kissed her cheek before she had a chance to react. "And just let the answering machine take all calls, okay?"

"Okay," Charley turned back to Hannah while Jack vanished down the hall. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Cereal." Hannah shyly grabbed her hand and pulled her across the living room. Halfway though the room, beige and white tile began. A glass table with black pipe legs and matching chairs were set up in front of the window. The kitchen was tucked in the recess of the L-shaped room.

Two bowls of Capt'N Crunch and Jack running out the door later, the woman and girl sat quietly at the table. Charley twisted the loose, diamond-encrusted wedding band on her finger. I can't believe it is gone. The Last Chance was what her father built for his family, where he had raised her after her mother had walked out on them both. Where her grandmother had come every night to read her a fairy tale and tuck her in. Where her father had taught her everything about engines and motorcycles, designing and riding them. I can't believe I didn't rebuild it.

"Are you okay, Mommy?" The small voice woke Charley up from her musings.

"Yeah, Hannah, yeah. What do we usually do now?"

"We need to go pick out the food. Dat goes with the coupons." She pointed to the refrigerator.

Amidst a collection of magnets was a shopping list pad filled out in Jack's handwriting. Charley stared at the otherwise blank fridge. "Hannah, don't you like to color?"

"I love colorin'."

"You don't have any pictures on the fridge?"

"Daddy don't want 'em dere."

"Oh," Charley said softly. She remembered finding boxes of her childhood drawings her father had kept. And all those years she thought he had just thrown them away. "Go get dressed while I take a shower."

"I had a bath last night. Don'tcha 'member?""

"Then go get some clothes on and I'll comb your hair."

"Okay." She dropped out of her chair and ran back down the hall.

Charley shook her head as she cleaned up breakfast and retreated to her bedroom. She pulled the wedding band off her finger and stared at her slightly tanned hands. Something tugged at her mind, but it refused to surface. "Oh, give it up. You can't make it come back any faster."

She shrugged out of her robe and nightgown and ran her hands over her firm stomach and hips. "Well, I've certainly kept my figure." She remembered one of her friends that had a baby right out of high school, and how she lamented the fact she couldn't wear a bikini again because of stretch marks. Charley's giggles stopped as she ran her hands across her stomach again. She didn't have any stretch marks.

She met the eyes of her reflection. The little girl in the living room had the same eyes and the same face shape. And she had Jack's shade of red hair. "If I didn't give birth to her, who did?"

Her hands slowly peeled off the bandage. The skin was unblemished beneath it. Charley shivered, turning away from the mirror, and jumped into the shower. "What's going on?"

This question still lingered in her mind as she dressed, fixed Hannah's hair, and drove the dark-green Toyota Corolla she found in the apartment building's garage to the supermarket. She shoved it to the back of her mind as she rearranged the mid-calf, dark blue skirt after climbing out of the car. Her feet squirmed to make the black leather flats fit more snugly. "I feel like a Stepford wife," she muttered. But apparently, she had thrown out all her jeans in some time past that she couldn't remember.

"What's a step ford wife, Mommy?" Hannah asked as the seat belt released and she climbed out of the car booster seat. The four-year-old was dressed more comfortably in a lavender T-shirt, dark purple denim overalls, and a pair of white tennis shoes.

"A horror movie you're not going to see for a long time yet." Charley grabbed hold of her small hand. They left the car in a parking space in front of the supermarket's building with money in the meter for two hours. Enough time to finish the shopping before earning a ticket.

Charley heard the bike engines as they passed on the street and paid them no attention. But Hannah stopped in her tracks and turned. "He's gonna get hurt!"

She turned to see what her daughter was talking about. A man on a red motorcycle popped a wheelie to execute a flawless 180. The car right behind him--now right in front of him--honked desperately. The red bike's front wheel briefly touched the ground as the powerful engine revved. Charley pulled Hannah closer. The bike accelerated. Ohmigod! He can't be serious. There's not enough room! The bike sailed over the car, inches from contact with its roof. He landed with a cocky slide to point his bike directly at the building. The car continued to drive away, increasing its speed to get away from the madman. Two more bikes roared back up the street.

"Wow! Mommy, did you see that?" Hannah's eyes shone brightly as she alternated her gaze between her mother and the biker.

Charley remembered when her eyes first lit up like that. But she had been safely in the stands of an arena. This guy might drive on the sidewalk next. "Yeah, he's good but stupid. And I think his friends are coming to tell him that. Let's go inside."

"I thought only mommies and daddies could tell you when you were bad." Hannah craned her neck to look back at the bikers.

"His type never listens, so everybody has to tell them." The automatic glass doors slid open in front of them. Charley released Hannah's hand when she pulled the metal buggy free from the rest. The little girl trotted beside her as she guided the buggy over the tile floor and around the metal shelves.

"Why are we getting so many?" Hannah pointed to the shelf of hot dog wieners that Charley had nearly emptied into the buggy.

"I don't know," she answered honestly as she started putting the packages back. I just automatically came to the meat department and straight to the hot dogs. It's not even on the list.

She studied the list more intently after that, not paying attention to the other shoppers. She and Hannah moved from the meat and produce department into the long aisles of shelves that filled the store. They moved up and down the aisles, pausing to consult prices, coupons, and the shopping list. Household cleaners, canned vegetables, juices, and she thought the insane biker from the street was following her shopping list. But he vanished when she looked again. Charley bit her lip. Now you're getting paranoid. Maybe he just thinks I'm cute. She shook her head and stopped the buggy next to the shelves. "Do you like this cereal, Hannah?" Charley considered the box that she pulled off the well-stocked metal shelf.

There was no answer. She glanced away from the brightly colored box. The white-tiled floor next to her was empty. She blinked but the red-haired child didn't appear. "Hannah? Hannah!" The box bounced against the floor. Charley's head swiveled from one end of the aisle to the other. Another cart, pushed by an elderly man, rolled around the display. Her heart thundered in her chest. There was no Hannah. No, no, no. I can't lose her, I can't. She's just a little girl! She ran back down the cereal aisle, leaving her cart behind.

The old man's cart swerved into her path, trying to angle closer to the shelves. She grabbed the large metal basket on wheels and shoved it aside. Ignoring his angry protest, she swept past him and around the display at the end of the shelves. Then, through the pounding in her ears, she heard the sweetest sound she felt she would ever hear again. "Yer followin' us." Hannah, hands planted on her hips, confronted a man. They stood in front of the display of canned vegetables two aisles down.

The guy, wearing an odd-shaped helmet and green belts crisscrossed over a white shirt, backed up a couple of steps. "I don't know what you're talking about, kid. I'm shopping." He grabbed a can from one of the bottom rows. It jerked out so quickly a shock wave rippled up the pyramid of cans. Hannah scampered back as the cans toppled over. The biker threw his arms over his head helplessly as the cans crashed down. He stepped back, right onto a can. His booted foot rolled out from under him, and he landed on his butt.

The red-haired girl waited until the cans stopped falling before stepping close. "Yer following me and my mommy. What do you want?"

Charley finally found her voice. "Hannah!" She hurried forward, the black flats slapping against the tiled floor.

The four-year-old girl turned around. "Mommy, the guy who jumped over the car is followin' us!"

"Mommy? She's your mommy?" The biker on the floor asked bewilderedly.

Hannah turned back to him. "Yeah. Haven't you seen a mommy before?"

"Hannah, come here!" Charley stared at the biker as Hannah trotted to her. Another image flashed before her eyes. This biker sprawled on his back with his feet and legs against the wall of the Last Chance garage. Charley shook her head. The garage was gone.

Hannah tugged on Charley's skirt. "Mommy? He's been behind us everywhere in the store."

Charley scooped her into her arms and carried her back to the cart. "Don't you know not to talk to strangers! You scared Mommy."

"I didn't mean to."

Charley set Hannah in the built-in seat of the cart. She couldn't slip away from there. "You shouldn't talk to grown-ups you don't know. And you definitely should stay with me, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy. But what 'bout him?" Her slightly pudgy hand pointed.

Charley looked over her shoulder. Another biker, in an odd-shaped helmet and a black leather vest, ducked out of their aisle. She swallowed, but it didn't ease the tight feeling in her chest. Hannah's right. They're following us. They saw us on the street and came into the store after us. Why? Would he have grabbed Hannah if I hadn't found her? Her heart pounded. What if they have something to do with my missing memory?

That last thought ended the shopping trip. After paying for what they got, she quickly loaded groceries and child into the Corolla while keeping a wary eye on the automatic doors. Movement down the street caught her attention. Another biker swung his legs down off the handlebars of his purple Fatboy and sat up straight. He wore the same type of helmet that the two inside did. A red, blue, and black chestplate was fitted over his grey shirt. And if the proportions of the bike were right, he was practically seven feet tall. He and his bike were parked next to two more bikes: a black-and-chrome Softail and the red racing bike (whose make she couldn't readily identify) that had jumped the car. But just looking at those bikes conjured up images of parts, engine details, and weapon systems. I've worked on those bikes.

Charley slammed the car door shut. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles blanched. But the Last Chance is gone, has been gone for four years. Jack would've said if I worked in another garage. So I couldn't have worked on those bikes. But how come I know them so well?

She slowly eased into the flow of traffic, keeping one mirror fixed on those bikes. The other two bikers exited the store and, after a hasty consultation, they jumped on their bikes and moved into the traffic lane. Who are these guys, and why are they following me?

She turned a corner. The bikers followed, a few car-lengths behind. They are following me! Well, I'm not going to show them the way back to the apartment until I know why they're after us. She turned the car again and rode up the ramp onto the freeway. By the time she got in the furthest left lane of the overpass, the three bikers had merged into the flow of traffic.

Hannah peered out of the windows of the back seat, twisting in her booster seat. "Mommy, where we going?"

"We're losing those guys. Hang on." Charley shot down the left-side offramp. This offramp had an easy U-turn lane to head back in the freeway's other direction. She floored the accelerator. The car wove from the left to the right lane. The car shot down the next offramp, crossed under the freeway, and headed toward Lake Michigan. Stopping at the red light, she looked over her shoulder at the freeway in the sky. The three bikers shot past the offramp she just took. "Bye-bye boys."

"WOW!" Hannah's bouncing was held in check by the seat belt. "You should be in the races!"

Charley grinned in relief as the light changed. "That was pretty good driving for four wheels."

"Better'n Daddy."

Charley laughed. "I was always a better driver than your Daddy. They called him Asphalt Jack in high school."

"As fault?"

"The black stuff on top of roads. Your Daddy spent more time on it than on the back of a bike." Hannah giggled at that description. Charley's laughter continued as she drove car down the street. The mirth died when an imposing tan-and-blue skyscraper came into view through the windshield. Her heart pounded. She wanted to turn the car and peel away. Her skin crawled as the hairs on her arms raised. Her stomach clenched. She forced herself to turn the car and drive past it.

She watched Hannah in the rearview mirror. The little girl stared up at the building pensively. "Don't like it," she said quietly. "Bad place."

"I don't like it either."

Tears brimmed in Hannah's bright green eyes and Charley longed to take the little girl in her arms. "Get us away, Mommy, please."

"We're leaving, Hannah-baby. Right now." The speedometer inched up, and Charley steered around the block.

Hannah's encounter with the bad skyscraper turned her cranky. Charley put her to bed. She wasn't sure if four-years-old was too old for naps, but she knew she couldn't deal with whining right now. Once Hannah was tucked in and the groceries were put away, Charley fixed herself a mug of root beer. What do I do now? Sit around trying to find my lost memories, of course. Her fingers itched to wrap themselves around some metal. In desperation, she started exploring the apartment. A fancy computer system was stashed in a closet converted into a micro-office. That's where she found paper and pens. At least it gave her fingers something to do.

While her fingers drew automatically, her mind wandered back to the building. I have never been so creeped out about a place. Maybe that's where I had my accident. But that doesn't explain why Hannah got so upset. Unless she was with me. Why didn't Jack say anything about that if she was?

Charley stared at what she had drawn. Motorcycles, specifically the bikes of the men who had followed her and Hannah from the grocery store. Her mouth went dry. The details she had sketched weren't possible from the glimpses she's had of the machines. She held the sheet of paper in her shaky hands, and remembered those bikes inside the garage.

She was inside a neat and orderly double-bay garage. She knew it was the Last Chance: the beige walls, the office door there, the tire shelf mounted on that wall, the swinging door to the kitchen, the trapdoor to the master bedroom in the ceiling. She had her hands deep in the body of the red racer. She tightened the last bolt without jostling any of the sensitive weaponry. "There! Okay, tuck it in."

The red racer beeped. The silver triangle-shaped wings that stretched above the bike folded and pulled into the section over the rear wheel. She grinned and pressed a new button on the crankcase. The wings easily popped back out. "Well, did I get them right, girls?" All three bikes beeped enthusiastically.

She circled around the bike, critically studying the hang-gliding style wings. "I know that's what you had originally, but I don't like it. Doesn't let you use the boosters efficiently. The front wings do, but the balance is off, and you can't stay in the air long." She chewed on her bottom lip. "I guess it's back to the drawing board."

The purple Fatboy beeped softly and rolled up to her side like a big, loyal dog. She patted its crankcase. "At least you three appreciate what I do--unlike your riders." She quickly put the covering metal back on the red racer. "Let's get you two done, and then I can go back to the specs." All three bikes beeped and revved in approval. She glanced over at the bench where the hand-drawn specifications were carefully laid out. She kept such detailed records just in case she ever had to rebuild the bikes completely--not a pleasant thought, but given how the guys rode them--and to learn as much as possible to apply to her own designs.

The phone's trill jarred Charley back to the apartment. She dropped the sketch onto the table and hugged herself. The answering machine picked up. "This is Dr. Karbunkle," a wheezy voice said through the speaker. "I was just calling to check on the patient." His chuckle made Charley leap for the phone, but the line was dead by the time she answered it.

What exactly did she plan on doing? For some reason, she had the violent urge to throw the phone out the nearest window. She dropped the receiver back into the cradle and hugged herself again. Her hands rubbed up and down her arms, trying to warm away the goosebumps. What the hell? Why am I so... scared? It's just a doctor checking up on me. Her stomach went queasy. The fear was forgotten when she saw the black and chrome clock hanging in the dining area. "Crap! Supper!" She dove into the kitchen. A frantic search through the pantry and cupboards yielded enough food and utensils to start cooking.

She half-heard the footfalls on the tile floor behind her. "Hi Mommy, I wanna help."

"Go clean the table off, okay?" Charley peered under the lid of a boiling pot.

"Okay." That didn't keep Hannah occupied very long. "Mommy, you drawed the modorc... modorc... modorbikes?"

"Yeah, Hannah-baby, Mommy can draw. Why don'tcha color it for Mommy?"

"Okay." Charley peeked on her a few minutes later. She had the sheet of paper on a thick, plastic clipboard on her lap. Her crayons were scattered on the beige carpet around her. Her bright-red head bent over the sheet. "Dis one is wed," she muttered to herself. "The man dat knocked over the cans, he roded on it." Charley smiled and left her alone.

The front door unlocked and opened while Charley was putting the finishing touches on supper. "Hello, Daddy," Hannah called out.

"Hello, Hannah."

Charley heard Jack put away the stuff he took to work. She didn't pay much attention to the living room until Jack growled inarticulately. Something plastic crashed against the wall as Hannah cried out, "My dwawing!"

"Where did you get this?" Jack screamed. Charley dropped the bowl of peas on the counter and rushed into the living room. Jack grabbed Hannah's arm, jerked the little girl to her feet, and thrust the sheet of paper in her face. "Where!"

The child sobbed. "Mommy!"

"Let her go, Jack! What is wrong with you?"

He let go as he whirled to face Charley. "You lying slut! How long did you wait till running after them?" The skin on his face turned as red as his hair. Charley stepped back. He closed the gap between them. She leaned away from his fist around the crumpled drawing. "Where did you meet them?"

"Dey followed us at the store!" Hannah answered in a tear-thick voice.

Jack whirled around. "Don't protect her! You belong to me! Not to those freaks!" He lifted his arm above his head, fist curled shut.

Charley grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare hit her!" Hannah's green eyes darted from parent to parent before she bolted. A door slammed down the hall. Jack shook himself loose. "I saw those bikes at the store when we went shopping, and I drew them when we got home. What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? You're the one who can't get enough of those furry freaks! Dreaming about them, drawing them, sleeping with them! But you belong to me!" He whirled around, and his fist came down.

Charley felt herself falling back as blackness drew up. The blackness slowly faded but left her not wanting to move. Her left cheek throbbed. She was face down, bent at her hips, on top of something soft and a little too tall to let her kneel comfortably.

Hands grappled with the waistband of her skirt. "We're just friends," Jack muttered. The button popped free, the zipper jerked open, and the seam ripped apart. "I don't feel that way about you anymore." Fingers inserted themselves between her skin and the waistband of her pantyhose and panties. "No, not when you have something fuzzy to curl up with." He peeled them down her legs, leaving the material bunched around her ankles. "But you belong to me."

She heard his pants drop. Before she could move, his bare thighs pressed against hers. Charley screamed and jerked upright. Jack put his hand between her shoulder blades and pushed her back down on the bed. "Jack, no! Let me go! Jack!" She tried to hit him. He grabbed her wrists and leaned his body weight on her. "No!"

"You want it rough? Too bad we didn't keep the toys. But I'll give it to you rough, just the way you like it." He took both her wrists in one hand and pinned her arms above her head. Charley bucked against him, but he didn't move. "Can't wait, can you? I'm the only one who can please you. That's why you're mine." His legs spread her knees apart.

"Stop! Jack, stop, please! No!" Tears ran out of her eyes. "Jack, don't! No, please, no!" He thrust into her. Charley screamed. His hand grabbed the back of her head and turned her face to the bed. She gulped air through the comforter. He let her head go when she stopped screaming. He rammed into her. The bed bounced her back into him. His free hand moved underneath her and kneaded a breast. He squeezed it harder with every pant.

The wet comforter was cold under her face. Jack grunted as his orgasm shot into her. He pulled out of her and freed his hand from under her, but didn't let her wrists go. Charley waited. His hand rubbed her bare ass cheek. "Who married you, Charley?" When she didn't answer fast enough, he smacked it hard enough to make the bed bounce again. "Who married you?"

"You did," she said softly.

"I didn't hear you!" He hit her again.

"You did!"

He rubbed the stinging spot. "That's right, and you're mine. They can't have you, ever. Right?" The hand slapped her again.

"Right." She would agree to anything, just so he would let her go.

"I forgot how much fun the rough stuff was." He kissed her spine. "Remember the night with the paddle?" He moved his hand between her legs. His finger stroked her. "You looked so hot, waiting for me to spank you, blindfolded so you couldn't see it coming."

Charley pressed harder against the bed. She buried the whimpers in her throat. Let me go, Jack. Just let me go.

"Yeah, we'll play like that again. Once we leave Chicago and buy new toys. Can't play anymore tonight. Work tomorrow." He wiped off his hand on the ripped skirt. He let her go as he stood up.

She pushed herself off the bed and landed on her ass on the carpeted floor. She scooted away from Jack, but he paid her no attention. He stepped out of his pants and boxers walking toward the dresser. While his back was turned, she crawled into the bathroom en suite.

She locked the door and slid down it. She couldn't stop shaking. Stumbling to the shower, she stripped out of the ripped clothes and got under the warm water. She scrubbed her skin red, finally stopping before making it bleed. She sat on the floor of the shower. "They'd kill him. God, I want them to!" The mysterious they again. Was it the bikers Jack hated so much? She dried off roughly, trying to erase the memory of his touch. She wiped away the condensation fogging the mirror. A blackish-blue spot covered her left cheekbone. She set a washcloth soaked in cold water against it. Hopefully, it would reduce the swelling and discoloration.

"It's a bad world out there, Charley." She could hear Chuck Davidson's voice echoing in her mind. "And I won't always be there to look out for my little girl." He gave her ponytail a playful tug. "I want you to promise me that you'll never stay with a man that hits you."

"I promise, Daddy," she echoed her remembered self.

"A man that hits a woman is the lowest form of scum there is. You are too strong, too smart, and too pretty to stay with an asshole that can't appreciate that." His face reddened, but she knew he only used language like that when he was upset. "You understand?"

"I understand, Daddy."

It had been a long night waiting for morning. The locked bathroom door shuddered under Jack's pounding. "Come on, Charley!"

She didn't move any closer to the door. She sat wrapped in a towel on the tile floor and tightened her hold on the shower cleaner spray she had found under the sink. Just let him try something. This stuff should be as good as mace.

"Fine! But it doesn't change anything. We're leaving Chicago, so you better be packed by the time I get home from work!" He gave the bathroom door a final kick.

She waited until she thought she heard a faint door slam. She eased the door open, spray bottle aimed to fire. The bedroom was empty. "Sure, I'll pack, dear. You just run along to work and save your ass." She quickly put on some underwear as she searched the bedroom. She found a pair of suitcases in the bottom of the closet. The most sensible underwear went into the suitcase. The pieces of sexy lingerie went on the floor, and she stomped on them. "Damnit! Still nothing but skirts and blouses." Charley growled as she pulled on a black T-shirt and a long denim skirt. She slung the green nightgown and robe into the suitcase, followed by three skirts and three blouses. Everything else in the closet festooned the room. "I'm buying some jeans!"

A tap on the bedroom door interrupted Charley from grinding her make-up into the sheets of the bed. "Mommy?"

"Yeah, Hannah-baby. Where's your daddy?"

"He went to work."

The doorknob refused to turn in Charley's hand. Jack had locked her in. "The stupid bastard. Hannah, go wait for me at your bedroom door."

"But Mommy?"

"Go, Hannah!" The little girl moved away from the door. Charley hiked up the skirt to her waist. The kick put a dent in the wood right above the doorknob. She kicked it again. The door shot free of the doorjamb. She sat down on the corner of the bed and massaged her foot.

Hannah peered in the door. "Mommy?"

"I'm okay."

She ran into the room and crawled onto her lap. Charley wrapped her arms around the little girl and rocked her. "You were screaming last night, Mommy. You scared me."

"I'm sorry, baby. When I'm hurting, I scream."

She lifted her head and gently touched Charley's cheek below the bruise. "Daddy hurt you bad. He shoulda hurt me. I was the bad girl." Her lower lip trembled.

Charley squeezed her tight. "You were not a bad girl. Your daddy is the bad one."

"But dat's why Daddy hits 'cause I was bad."

Slowly Charley started breathing again. "Hannah-baby, look at me." She found strength in those so-similar eyes. "Your daddy wanted to hurt us. Hurt us badly. Not because of anything we did, but because something is wrong with him. And we are not staying here to let him hurt us again." She gave her a final hug and slipped her off her lap. While Hannah watched, Charley filled the second suitcase with the little girl's clothes, rifled through Jack's files and grabbed anything labeled with her and her daughter's names, and snatched all the children's videos from the entertainment center.

Hannah clutched the Cabbage Patch doll with yellow yarn hair to her chest and poked some large pieces of green plastic with her foot. "Daddy broke my crayon box."

"I'll get you a new one." Once they were both dressed, Charley led her out of the apartment. Even though her memories were still missing, she knew this was the right thing to do.

Her daughter let her drive around about thirty minutes before asking the inevitable question. "Where we going, Mommy?"

Charley paused at a red light to think over her strategy. She had been seeking those bikers, she realized. Her chances of finding them were less than zero. And Hannah needed a bed for tonight. Besides, what makes you think they can help you? "We're looking for a new place to stay."

"Oh. Without Daddy?"

"Yeah, without Daddy." Charley drove the car down the street. A lump formed in her throat. This was her old neighborhood, well what was left of it. A lot of buildings were partially demolished. Why had she come this way? Had she wanted to see everything that was missing from her life? What filled the Last Chance's lot now? She swallowed hard and continued driving. I can't run away from everything. Still feels like I'm coming home. She took a deep breath, looked at the familiar spot on the block, and brought the car to a screeching halt.

Hannah rocked in her car seat and grabbed hold of the plastic. "Are we at the new home now?"

Charley didn't answer. She stared at the tan, two-story building, the slightly faded signs of a bike on outstretched wings and the larger "Last Chance Garage" above the two garage doors. Her shaking hands finally opened the car door. The bricks were rough and solid underneath her fingers. She kept her hand on the building, not trusting her knees, as she walked to the office door. The alarm was on, but her code deactivated it. The door was unlocked.

Her stomach flip-flopped. The desk still faced the outside door so the person sitting behind it could watch both doors. The filing cabinet in the corner hid the safe. Posters of motorcycles covered the walls. Charley rapidly walked through the office and into the garage bays. Nothing had changed, not since her father died, not since that memory of working on those almost-living bikes. Charley's stare moved all over the garage as she hyperventilated. He said it was gone. She repeated it out loud. "He said it was gone." The large garage bays suddenly swam. "He lied to me. He lied to me!" She ran to the garage door switch and sent the metal door rumbling up.

"Mommy, you okay?" Hannah asked when Charley climbed back into the car.

"Yeah. Mommy didn't think this place was still here." She parked inside, and let the garage door close as she got Hannah out. The familiar smells of oil, brake fluid, transmission fluid, and the heavy detergent she used to keep it off the floor welcomed her. She was home. "Come on, Hannah-baby, let's explore."

The kitchen hadn't been remodeled since her father had built it. Why should it have been? Everything still worked. No one had repainted the crisp light yellow walls or replaced the white lace valance across the small window above the sink. The appliances were that dark beige color that was so popular in the early 70s. The recycle bins were filled with glass bottles and soda cans all emptied of root beer. A pot of water that had been used to boil hot dog wieners was still on the stove, but other than that the kitchen was spotless.

The stairs were still in the corner next to the back door. Charley let Hannah climb up in front of her. They reached the living room, and the little girl darted around the couch and headed straight to the TV set. "We shoulda packed the bigger one."

Charley moved around the table and chairs and placed her hands on the back of the green and brown couch. The material was just the right blend of roughness and softness to keep you warm like your favorite blanket. And also covered with fur--grey, white, tan. Where did that come from? She glanced around the room again. Three doors led off the living room. The furthest one from the stairs was the guest bedroom.

Nothing too personal in here at all: just the bed, a repainted dresser, and a nightstand. The bed was made up with an ivory quilt with a star design made out of pastel colors. Charley blinked back tears.

Hannah jumped onto the bed and bounced as she sat. "Pretty blanket." She petted it.

"Your great-grandmother made it." Charley took a deep breath.

"What's dat?"

"Well, she was my daddy's mommy, so that makes her your great-grandmother."

"Oh." Hannah swung her legs. "Does she live here?"

The tears really threatened now. "No, not anymore." She looked around the room again. With a few personal touches, it would be perfect for Hannah. Move the storage closet to make room for her clothes. Maybe hang up some fairy tale pictures. Get her a small desk that she could color at.

Charley moved back into the living room. The other bedroom was less sparse than the first. The queen-sized bed had a patchwork quilt made by her grandmother spread over it. The closet was filled with black jeans and blue work-shirts with the less practical outfits pushed to one side. A hot biker babe outfit hung in front of a nearly strapless green gown. A small jewelry box filled with earrings sat on the dresser top. A door led straight into the bathroom. The shelves were neatly filled with a woman's toiletry needs: towels, one very small bottle of an expensive perfume along with hardly-used compacts of make-up. Another door led back into the living room.

"Mommy, look, you've been to Disney World." Hannah pulled a metal-framed picture off the nightstand next to the bed. She took the hefty frame from the girl. It was chrome-plated with the words "Best Friends" molded all over the metal. And it surrounded a four by six snapshot of her, dressed in one of the blue work-shirts and black jeans outfits, with the mice creatures from her dreams beside her, all laughing and smiling at the camera.

She gripped the picture frame. It had to be a trick of some kind, costumes or something. But she recognized the green straps the white humanoid mouse wore across his chest. That would explain why he didn't take his helmet off in the store.

"Mommy, you sick?" The small hand tugged on her skirt.

"You belong to me! Not to those furry freaks!" Charley felt nauseous and lightheaded remembering what Jack had said. She sat down on the toilet seat lid. "Hannah, put this back."

"Okay, Mommy." She trotted out of the bathroom with the inexplicable photograph.

How could she forget something this weird? How could she've believe Jack that the Last Chance was gone? How could she have let him...? She shook her head.

"Mommy, who lives here?"

Charley looked up. "We do. This is our new home."

Her daughter frowned thoughtfully. "Okay, I like it. Can we get lunch now?"

"Yeah, how 'bout we go eat in a restaurant?" Charley smiled as Hannah jumped up and down. "Mommy just needs to change first." She put on a pair of black jeans and a work shirt. She found a pair of dark brown cowboy boots in the closet as well. After she was finished, she studied the look in the mirror. The foundation and powder felt caked on her face, but it covered the bruise. At least strangers on the street wouldn't stare. She brought the pair of suitcases up from the car next. Hannah set her doll beside them, admonishing it to watch their stuff.

Downstairs in the garage, Hannah spied another door. "What's in here?"

Charley darted after her. It was the downstairs bathroom, impersonal enough for the public to use. The washer and dryer stood next to a shower stall--so handy when she didn't want to track something yucky through the apartment. The toilet and extra-large sink were on the opposite wall. And opposite the door, the large frosted-glass window made an excellent escape route. "Come on, you. Let's go eat."

Hannah dived into the clothesbasket next to the dryer. "Who got feet dis big?" She held up a white sock long enough for her to use as a stocking.

"Put that back."

"You said Daddy didn't live here." She dove into the basket again and pulled a pair of boxers out of the jeans and socks.

"Hannah! Do you want to eat?" Charley took the sock and boxer shorts. "Go to the car." She sighed as Hannah left. The white cotton boxers in her hand were made oddly. The fly was normal but there was a hole sewn into the center seam on the butt with a button to fasten the top back to the waistband. She dropped them back in the basket with a baffled sound.

Can this day get any weirder? Charley parked the Corolla at the white, one-story, 50s-style diner. All the stuff at the garage should be the weird stuff, but it feels right. At least Hannah's treating it like one big adventure. The little girl ran to the white table underneath a giant red and white umbrella. I want to make this as normal as possible for her. "Come on, Hannah, we're eating inside."

The old man behind the counter jumped as they walked in. "Charley?" He came out into the customer area of the diner. "Charley? Is that you?"

"Hi, Chef Andy." The thin man wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her like he hadn't seen her in years. His grey moustache tickled her ear. "It hasn't been that long, has it?"

He let her go and looked into her eyes with his blue ones. "Charley, where have you been?"

"Mommy?" Hannah tugged on her hand. "I'm hungry, Mommy."

"Mommy?" Chef Andy looked down at the little girl. He looked back up at Charley. He shook his head to stop from asking the question in his expression. "Couple of specials, and then we'll talk?"

"Sounds good to me." Charley helped Hannah onto a stool at the counter. Andy Steinhaur was an old friend of her father's. Steinhaur's Diner was a fixture of the neighborhood. He quickly piled the hoagies together and set them in front of Hannah and Charley. "You sit here and eat while Mommy talks to Chef Andy." She slid into a booth on the yellow wall opposite the counter.

He wiped his hands on his white apron and sat down across from her. "You've been missing for two weeks, Charley. Your friends have been worried sick."

Charley nearly choked on her root beer. "Two weeks? Friends?"

Andy scratched the bald scalp under the paper soda-jerk hat. "Your friends, my best customers, the ones who don't like Limburger, the bikers that saved my diner. You don't remember them?"

"I don't know what's happened to me. Everything between Dad's death and yesterday is gone."

"That's nearly four years." He glanced at the back of Hannah's head and lowered his voice some more. "What happened to you? I was the last one who saw you two weeks ago, and you hadn't forgotten."

She shoved the paper bin holding the untouched hot dog away. "Jack said I had hit my head, and that's why I didn't remember our marriage or Hannah." She twisted the wedding band on her finger. "But my head isn't hurt, and he lied to me about the Last Chance being destroyed."

Andy's frown escaped from under his moustache. "He lied to you about the other stuff, too. Charley, you've never been married, not to Jack, not to anybody."

"Why would he lie?"

"You had lunch here with him two weeks ago. Now I didn't listen in, but when you've ran a diner as long as I have, you recognize things. Jack had romantic intentions, and you turned him down flat. He was furious and chased after you. And nobody's seen you since."

"But how could he make me lose my memory? And get a doctor involved in a big charade? What was his name? Dr. Karbunkle."

Andy's eyes widened. "Karbunkle? That's Limburger's lackey. He's not a real doctor. But from what your friends have said about him, he could've messed up your head."

"Then he probably knows how to fix it. Where can I find him?"

"In Limburger's building, but Charley." The miserable tone in voice stopped her from getting up. "Charley, you've never been pregnant."

She gripped the edge of the table. That didn't stop the spinning. "I don't have any stretch marks," she said a little louder than a whisper. "But she is my daughter."

"She looks too much like you to be anything else. But where did she come from?"

Charley frowned. "Maybe this Karbunkle knows about that too."

"You can't trust him."

"Then I'll just poke around his office. I'll be careful, Andy. Can you watch Hannah?"

"Charley, please stay. Wait for your friends. Let them deal with Karbunkle."

She shook her head. "No, I have to do this. It's my life. I can't depend on anyone else." Seeing his worried expression, she relented slightly. "I'll protect myself. Now, will you watch Hannah? Please, Andy, there's no one I trust as much as you."

"Alright, Charley, I'll watch her." He glanced back at Hannah. "She has Jack's hair."

"He's the father, somehow. Don't trust him."

"And I was going to give you the same advice."

Charley smiled as much as she was able and slid out of the booth. Hannah had mustard spread from ear to ear. "Was it good?"

"Bery good." She squirmed as Charley cleaned her face. "We goin' back to our new home now?"

"No, there's things Mommy has to do. So I want you to stay here with Chef Andy. You'll be good?"

Hannah's green eyes studied the grey-haired man wearing the red T-shirt, slacks, and white apron. "You sure you don't need me?"

"Thanks, but I think I can handle it. You'll be good?"

"Yeah, I'll be good."

Charley pressed her lips against her forehead. "I love you."

"Ever had a root beer float?" Andy caught Hannah's attention as Charley left.

Charley drove back to the garage. Andy would take good care of Hannah. She entered the office and knelt next to the fireproof safe. She still knew the combination. There was a little bit of cash, but not enough to make it worth robbing. Must've gone to the bank recently. She dug to the back of the safe and pulled out a handgun. Running a garage was dangerous business, and her father had taught her how to use the Glock 19. The holster tucked onto the waistband at the small of her back and was held in place by her belt. The clip came out of the safe, she checked the safety, and her jeans hid the loaded gun. The spare set of keys kept in the safe went into her pocket. She found the pouch for her belt and filled it with tools. Now it was time to research Limburger's building.

It was nearly dark when she made it to the tan and blue building. She got through the unmanned lobby, up the stairwell, and hot-wired her way past a locked steel door with trouble only from her shaky nerves. She took a few deep breaths to keep from hyperventilating. "I have to do this. I can do this. I have to do this." She ignored the row of elevators in the hall and concentrated on the round mental doors across from them.

The metal-lined room behind the door was huge, at least two stories high and as wide as the building. Her heart pounded when she saw the metal examination table. She moved away from it, hitting a counter. The gun pressed uncomfortably into her back. "Get a grip, Charley!" A computer terminal sat on the metal counter.

The screeching of metal on metal made her whirl away from the computer search she had started. She covered the door with her gun, but the metal doors stayed closed. She took a deep breath, turning back to the computer. The screen now read: "Charlene Davidson: 3 reports, 108 cross-filed references. Search criteria?"

"Well, how do I look at them?"

A boom rocked the entire room. Glass beakers crashed against the floor. Charley whirled back around. The doors slid open and three motorcycles roared into the lab. They skidded to a stop, making a perfect row formation. A wild laugh was followed by "Hickory, Dickory, Doc! Hey, he's not here." The doors slid shut, ending the flow of smoke into the lab.

She blinked at the three bikes and their bikers: the same bikes she remembered working on, the same bikers from the store yesterday. The edge of the counter pressed against her back.

The biker on the black and chrome bike saw her first. "Charley!" He leaped off the bike.

She jerked the gun up, turning off the safety. "Stay right there!"

"Oh Momma," the largest biker astride the purple Fatboy moaned. "He said her memory was gone."

"SHHH! So where'd you get a sweet slug thrower like that, sweetheart?" The rider on the red racer cocked his helmet to the side. Their face shields were gone and she could dimly make out snouts inside.

What she had thought was shirts she realized was actually fur. And the colors matched the ones from the picture back at the garage. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. Okay, get a grip, Charlene. The photo wasn't a trick. They really do exist. But can I trust them?

"It's okay, Charley-girl. We're not gonna hurt you." The tan-furred humanoid pulled off his helmet, revealing clearly the mouse stamp on his facial features. He raised his empty hands and took a step closer.

The muscles in Charley's arm quivered but the gun stayed aimed at the bare chest underneath the black leather vest. "Don't come any closer!"

"We're awfully glad to see you in one piece, Charley-girl." He took another step froward, hands still raised. "But this ain't the best place for a reunion. We should go."

She lowered the gun just enough to show them she was willing to talk but not feeling entirely comfortable. "How do you know me?"

"We're friends."

"Yeah! You'd be a bro except you're a girl." The white mouse finished, like the fact should be obvious to everyone. The tan mouse turned and glared through his shades. The grey mouse just shook his head while staring at the ceiling.

"And that's why you're following me?" Charley asked.

"We were worried, Charley-ma'am. It's not like you to just disappear." The grey mouse's tail twitched from side to side. "Let's go talk 'bout it somewhere else."

"I'm not going anywhere until I know what this computer knows about me."

The three males exchanged glances. "Well, get it, and let's blow up this joint," the white mouse encouraged.

She glanced back at the screen with a grimace. The computer was still asking for search criteria, and she had no clue how to get to the three reports about her. "Here's an idea." She looked back at the mouse in the sleeveless, black leather jacket. "How 'bout you put away the shooter, and we'll download everything it has on you into my bike's computer and look at it away from here?"

"You can even pick where," the grey mouse added.

She looked at each of them. I dreamed about them. And Andy trusts them. But then I never thought Jack could do what he did. If they try anything funny, they'll regret it. She holstered the Glock behind her back. "Deal. This place is giving me the creeps."

The lead mouse, the one with fur the color of golden honey, pushed his bike to the computer terminal. Charley stepped back and watched him pull a cord from inside the crankcase and plug it into the computer. Both machines beeped and whirred. Images on the computer screen flickered by too fast to make out clearly. "She's downloading everything in there." He patted his bike fondly. "Piece of cake." He grinned at her. Charley wanted to trust that warm and friendly expression. She shifted uneasily. "Whatsamatter; you don't trust us?" His grin faded as he stared at her face. He slowly pulled off his green and black shades. The look of serious concern in his red eyes surprised her. "Who hit you, Charley?"

Her left hand jerked up to cover the swollen spot on her cheekbone. So much for covering it up with make-up. I guess the bruise is getting darker. Answer his 'whatsamatter' question, and maybe he'll back off. "I don't know who to trust anymore." She swallowed hard to dislodge the quiver in her voice.

He blinked but his eyes never left her green ones. "Jack hit you, didn't he? Last night or today, 'cause you didn't have that in the store yesterday."

"MacCyber did what!" The white mouse leaped towards his leader and Charley. The big grey one grabbed the green straps where they crossed on his back and jerked him to a stop.

Charley's gaze came back to the mouse practically in front of her. "You guys know Jack?"

"You introduced us."

"Wait till I get a hold of him!" The white one continued to rant.

"And just what is an egocentric cat-bait like you going to do?" Jack slowly stepped into the lab, holding a red pistol steady at the group. He wore a dark blue, leather jacket with red shoulder and elbow pads with matching leather pants. A squad of sneering men followed him, aiming the same kind of guns. "Raise 'em."

The leader shrugged and lifted his hands even with his ears. The grey giant let go of the straps and did the same. The white one seethed and snarled as he turned to face Jack and raised his hands. "Cat-bait! Come here and let me show you what I'm gonna do!"

Jack shook his head with a coldly bemused smile. He sauntered away from the bald men. "You shouldn't be here, Charley. Let's go."

Charley glanced at the tan mouse. His red eyes bored into hers. Can I trust you? I can't fight my way out of this alone. But do I trust you?

"Damnit, Charley!" Jack glared at the mice. "Those buck-toothed aliens don't care about you."

"We do care!" The grey mouse bellowed.

"A lot more than you do, you tailless monkey," the white one muttered.

"Oh really?" Jack sneered. "You brought your war here. Anybody trying to hurt you takes her hostage. And what about the firefights, the bombs, the riding stunts? You're going to get her killed."

Charley ignored their conversation, staring at the leader mouse's face while he watched Jack. If I were running those risks, I would've known what they were. Daddy didn't raise no idiot. And you tried to get me out of here before something like this happened. The leader winced when Jack listed all the dangers they put her in, but the firm set of his mouth betrayed his resolution. You wouldn't let me get hurt if you could help it. You said we are friends and you wouldn't flinch like that if we weren't friends. The tan mouse glanced away from Jack and locked eyes with her again. The anguished caring in those eyes made more sense than anything Jack had said in the last two days. Jack had never looked at her like that. I do trust you. "My being here has nothing to do with them, Jack. I don't remember what I've been doing for the past four years, but I sure the hell haven't been married to you!"

He used the gun to point as he gestured to include the mice. "You believe them over me?"

"I believe Chef Andy." Charley thrust her chin up.

Jack frowned through his orange-red beard. "And how much I love you doesn't matter at all? Or Hannah? We belong together. All these aliens are just here to screw the human race over, and you and me along with them! Can't you see they're using you?"

Charley clenched her fists by her sides. "You're the only one in this room who used me. And I'm not giving you a chance to do it again."

"Damnit, Charley! We're married; I'm entitled. You used to like to play."

Every muscle in Charley's body tensed. She clamped her mouth shut until the furious desire to swear was practically dead. "You lousy son of a bitch...."

His angry face shifted to a more yearning expression. "I'm sorry, Charley. I really am. I love you so much it... I lose it. But I'll make it up to you. I'll give you anything you want, anything. Just come back to me."

"Anything?" The mice stared at her in slacked-jawed shock. She twisted off the gold and diamond band and threw it hard. The mice and Jack's eyes followed the ring. It gleamed as it bounced off Jack's chest. "Give me back how I used to feel about you."

Jack's burning brown eyes locked with hers. And then, the tan mouse tackled her, shouting, "Save the girl, number twenty-six! Now!" The momentum shoved her underneath the metal counter the computer terminal was on. She heard a familiar whine, and the leader mouse convulsed into her with a grunt of pain. His head rapped against the counter. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him underneath with her. He landed heavily on top of her.

The black and chrome bike yanked the cord out of the computer and rolled in front of them. Laser cannons popped out of hidden compartments surrounding the front wheel. That familiar whine came out of them as the bike fired.

Charley heaved the mouse into another position. He was still breathing. Her left hand skidded up his back and touched something warm and slightly sticky at his shoulder. She clamped her hand down on the wound automatically. He's been shot. "Please, don't die. Please, don't die. Please." She murmured that mantra constantly in his ear as the whine of laser bolts and yells of the fight were replaced with the crashing din of falling metal.

The white mouse's laugh had a reckless tinge to it. "We gotta remember to thank Limburger for the shoddy construction standards."

The bike rolled out of the way and a pair of arms--one thickly-muscled and covered in grey fur and the other made of boxy metal segments--reached underneath the metal counter. "Are you two alright?"

"He's been shot, and he hit his head, out cold." Charley gratefully levered the tan mouse's bulk into his larger friend's arms. Once they had pulled away, she crawled out and surveyed the damage. A fifteen-by-fifteen-foot section of the wall and ceiling above the round door now laid in a crumbled heap on the floor, blocking the door and pinning down most of the group of vested men who had come in. "Is Jack in there?"

"No." The metal mask on the right side of the white mouse's face twisted with his scowl. "Let's go get the son of a rat. He needs to learn what happens when you mess with a Biker Mouse's bros!"

"Can we just get out of here?" Charley frowned at the leader's wound. She couldn't tell how bad it was through the burnt and bloody fur. She pulled her blue work shirt out of her black jeans.

"Where's the fun in that?" The white mouse asked plaintively. "Whoa! We gettin' a peepshow?"

"Grow up." Charley ripped off the bottom of her button down shirt. The frayed bottom now came to just above her belly button. She wrapped the cotton material under the mouse's arm and around his shoulder twice before knotting it. "We've got wounded in enemy territory."

"She's right." The grey mouse rumbled in his deep, drawling voice. He hoisted the leader mouse to the purple Fatboy and set him against the bitch bar. "Payback'll hafta wait."

The white mouse groaned but jumped on the red crotch rocket. He jumped the bike forward, wrapped his tail around Charley's waist and yanked her to sit on the bike behind him. She felt like a human yo-yo. "Hang on, sweetheart!"

All three bikes roared toward the wall. Nine laser bolts blew a hole through it. The dust settled, and she could see the starry night and randomly lit office buildings across the street. The breath caught in her throat, and she clutched the white mouse tighter. The ground rushed closer as they drove down the side of the skyscraper. The bikes leaped and hit the concrete.

Laser bolts rained down on them from guns mounted on the skyscraper. Strange dune buggies with weapons mounted on their kickbars emerged from huge, hidden sliding doors on the first floor of the building. Charley glanced around and pointed up a side street. "There's my car!"

They quickly skidded their bikes to a stop beside the dark green Corolla. The white mouse smirked as he unwound his tail off her waist. "You've been driving that?"

She ignored him. "You two know where the Last Chance Garage is?" She opened the passenger side door and wrapped the leader's good arm over her shoulders. "You guys take care of those bozos and meet us there."

"Now that's a plan I can get behind!" The grey mouse helped the leader into her car.

Charley buckled the front seat belt over the mouse. The grey mouse had placed his shades back over his eyes. The two bikers wheeled around and raced headfirst for the dune buggies. She maneuvered the car around to head up the street. The black and chrome bike followed her. Somehow, she knew they'd make it back to the garage just fine. I'll go get Hannah first and maybe finally get some answers.

A few blocks away, her passenger groaned his way to consciousness. He moved his right arm and hissed with pain. "Hell of a wake-up call."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I was used for Sand Raider target practice. I owe MacCyber big time for that."

"Jack shot you?"

"He was aiming at you."

You took a shot meant for me. I was right to trust you. "Thank you. I've had a bad enough day without getting shot."

A faint smile curled on his snout. "You'll forgive me if I don't promise to do it again?"

"Once was enough." Charley laughed easily. The muscles in her back loosened and she leaned against the seat.

The leader mouse's left ear twitched as he surveyed the neighborhood. "You're takin' a long way back to the garage."


He interrupted with, "Where else do you have to go?"

"First we have to get Hannah. Then it's back to the garage."

The mouse rubbed his chin with his left hand. "Hannah, the little girl with you in the store?" She nodded and he chuckled. "The baby-sitter charges more after eight o'clock? Who is she?"

"My daughter."

"Since when?" Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Did everyone know she didn't have a kid? "Hey, Chef Andy's diner," he continued. "Let's grab supper while we're here."

Charley stepped out after parking the car. The thin old man wobbled down the steps before she could leave the car. "Andy?"

He grabbed hold of his patio table with his free hand. The other hand clutched a dishtowel to his bald head. "He took her, Charley. I... I tried to stop him. That way." The red-stained dishtowel fluttered in the direction of the river.

"Hannah." Charley leaped into the car. Shifting gears so hard she probably stripped the automatic in the process, she shot the small car down the road.

The mouse braced himself against the dashboard and the door. "Are you sure you know how to drive four wheels?"

She ignored him as she threw the car around the corner. Luckily, the streets were deserted at this time of night. Most drivers stayed on the firmer freeway--she swerved around a giant pile of crumbled building spilling into the road--too hard for them to see the ruined patches of street. She dodged a spot of missing asphalt that stretched for a block. This is so much easier on a bike. The gas pedal actually touched the floor of the car. The four-door sedan charged down the street. She leaned closer to the vinyl-covered steering wheel.

The tan tail wrapped around her ankle and slowly lifted her foot. "You can't jump the river in this bucket of bolts!" he yelled.

Charley didn't take her eyes off the road, but recognized he was right. This road didn't have a bridge across the river; you had to turn right or left. Her foot eased on the brake. She had to find a clue as to which way Jack went. And she couldn't go around the corner blind. The headlights spotlighted the black iron fence across the road as she slowed the car. The orange light from the street lamps lining the street next to the river illuminated small pockets in the night. She jerked her head looking for taillights. Nothing was coming or going in either direction, so she eased the car further into the street.

"Maybe we passed him up," the mouse offered. He pulled his tail back to his side of the car.

A horn blared up the river. Charley moved the car further into the street until she could see clearly. A bridge spanned the river a block up the road. A lone motorcycle and rider had parked in the center of the bridge. He watched them from that perch. She hadn't seen the dark racer before, but the guy was wearing Jack's riding leathers. "What the hell is he up to?" Charley dropped her hand down to the shift lever on the steering column.

"Wait." The tan-furred hand grasped her arm just like a human hand would. "MacCyber might have a weapon. We'll follow on my bike." He let go of her arm and opened the car door.

Charley sighed, but she had to respect his logic. She stepped out warily. I don't trust you, Jack. I'll never trust you again. Never. She stared up at the biker on the bridge. He swung off easily even though he was using one arm to hold something to his chest. A shrill cry carried easily over the water. Jack wrapped both arms around his struggling load. He walked up to the railing of the bridge and the street lamp's light revealed a bright orange-red head against his chest. Charley slammed the car door shut. "HANNAH!"

Jack reached the bridge's railing and held the little girl over his head. Hannah screamed again. The arms cocked back. Charley's boot heels pounded against the pavement. But there was no way to reach them. His arms shot forward. Charley screamed watching Hannah's small body falling through the air, arms and legs flailing. A tan blur surged past Charley. He leaped on the black iron railing and dived into the water. The orange-red head disappeared under the black water.

"No! No, please God, no!" Charley's waist and knees banged into the black iron railing. She stared down at the water, barely hearing the fading roar of a motorcycle engine through her chant. "No, please no, please." The orange light on the murky blue water changed its color to a glassy black. The black and chrome bike rolled up to the railing besides Charley, shining more light onto the water from its mousehead-shaped headlight and beeping worriedly. The small waves slapped against the concrete pilings. A breeze flooded her nostrils with a dank, mildewy smell. "Please, no, please."

A head finally broke through the murky surface snout-first and gulped down air. A smaller orange-red head was above his shoulder, held even with his ear. "Hannah!" Charley's knees tried to buckle and she grabbed hold of the railing. "Toss them a line!"

The bike beeped reproachfully at her, like it already knew to do that. It whirled around and backed up to the railing. A grappling hook fired from a compartment under the seat. It sailed across the water and the mouse caught hold of the rope with his gloved, right hand.

The bike hauled them to shore. Charley grabbed hold of his arm and belt and hauled them over the railing. Both adults collapsed on the sidewalk with the four-year-old girl cradled between them. Hannah coughed, forcing the water out of her lungs. Her small, right hand clutched the lapel of the mouse's sleeveless, leather jacket so tight her entire arm shook.

Charley pushed the bangs off Hannah's forehead and loosened her clothes to help her breathe. "Hannah, Hannah-baby. Oh, Throttle."

"She's okay, Charley." He ran his free hand over the thin arms and legs. "Nothing broken." Hannah finished coughing, inhaled deeply, and burst into wailing sobs. "And when a kid cries like that, you know they're okay," he added with a grimace. His uncovered red eyes winced as he rocked her gently. "Shush, Princess, you're safe now. It's okay."

Charley scooted in closer and wrapped her right arm around Hannah as best she could. She kissed her pale forehead and cheeks. "Shush, Hannah-baby. Mommy's here. I'm here."

"Mommy! Mommy," Hannah sobbed. Her left arm snaked around Charley's neck and squeezed tight. The right hand still clutched the leather jacket.

Charley hugged her daughter tighter. "Thank you, Throttle, thank you, thank you."

He put his wet arm around her bare waist and drew her even closer. "Shush, Charley, everybody's okay. It's okay."

She hadn't realized she was crying until he said that. She dropped her face onto his shoulder and sobbed, wrapping her free left arm around the mouse for support. His arm released her waist so he could stroke her hair. When the tears were finally back under control, Charley pulled back and smiled wanly. "Didn't intend on having a nervous breakdown on you, Throttle."

"You never plan for those anyway." The tan mouse looked at her quizzically. "You called me Throttle."

"I'm sorry. It just popped in my head."

"Modo or Vinnie didn't tell you?"


He cupped her face using his thumb to gently wipe away the remnants of her last tear. "You remembered my name, Charley." He looked embarrassed and took his hand away. "We better get this little girl out of the cold."

"Right," Charley realized just how wet they still were. She squeezed Hannah one more time and climbed to her feet. She hurried back to the car, opened the trunk, and pulled out the blanket kept there for roadside emergencies.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Hannah shrieked.

Throttle jumped to his feet. "Shush Princess, it's okay. Look, Mommy's at the car. See." He hurried after Charley and held Hannah so she could see. "See, she's right there."

Charley took the fuzzy, grey, wool blanket and stood on tiptoes to wrap it over Throttle's broad shoulders. He helped her take a portion of the homemade cloak and tuck it around Hannah. "We're going home, baby." She kissed her again. "You don't mind holding her?"

The mouse chuckled. "I don't think she'll let me go."

She opened the passenger side door and snatched his shades off the seat so he could sit. Once they were safely inside, she climbed behind the steering wheel. Clenching it hid her trembling hands. "Your shoulder?"

"Is fine. Don't use it as an excuse to practice your racetrack skills."

"Mommy's a good driver," Hannah said defensively. And then her bright green eyes opened wide and her face turned even paler. Her right arm shook harder against his leather vest. "Sowwy," she whimpered, her body tense.

"She's a great driver." Throttle tucked the blanket around her better and petted her hair. "I just think we don't need anymore excitement tonight."

Hannah shivered but snuggled closer to his chest as he stroked her hair. The mouse leaned back and closed his eyes. Charley stared at the street moving under the headlights as she gnawed on her bottom lip. You saved my life twice in one night. I don't know if I can ever repay you, but I'm going to try my best to. "I'll take it easy, I promise." She turned the heater on, spreading the smell of wet fur.

The ride continued in silence until Hannah grabbed hold of Throttle's ear with her free hand and tugged it experimentally. He chuckled and opened his eyes. "Uncle Throttle's kinda attached to that."

"Are you related to Mickey?" She asked in a quiet voice.

The car moved around a pile of debris. Charley glanced at them out of the corner of her eye.

"Nah, Princess. I'm from Mars. Does Mickey have antennae?" He leaned over slightly so she could see them better. "That's how you know if a mouse is from Mars or not."

"Oh. Why do ya keep callin me princess?"

"Cause your mommy is the queen of all mechanics and that makes you a princess." He rubbed the end of her nose with his finger.

"You're a queen, Mommy?" Hannah's eyes widened as her mouth fell open.

Charley felt her face grow hot. She stopped the car for a working traffic light. "Why did you say that? He just means I'm a really good mechanic, Hannah-baby."

He wrinkled his snout at Hannah. "Doesn't she look funny with her face all red?"

"Yeah," the little girl giggled. Her hold finally relaxed on his leather vest. "What's yer name?"

"Call me Uncle Throttle."

"What's an unca?"

"Well, we're your mommy's bros, so that makes us your uncles."

"Even though I'm a girl?" Charley asked wryly.

"Hey, Vinnie is the one who made that statement, not me."

Charley parked the Corolla inside the Last Chance Garage. Throttle's bike pulled next to the other two parked inside and shut off. Throttle set Hannah down and pulled himself out of the car. "Mommy says dis is our new home. You live here too?"

"No, but we spend a lot of time here."

Charley winced when she saw his shoulder. The red blood had seeped through the blue cotton becoming a rusty-brown spot. She walked around the back of the car to join them. I have to patch him up. But what to do with Hannah? I don't want her to see a gunshot wound.

The kitchen door exploded open but managed to remain on its hinges. The white mouse with the metal mask on his face bounded into the larger bays and immediately shrank the room. "Where have you been?" He threw his arms out, almost hitting the larger grey mouse that followed him out. "We could've trashed the Tower three times by now!" His fist slammed into his open palm. "You pick the worst times to get knocked out, Throttle. MacCyber got away, and you went swimming!" The fist slammed into the palm again.

Hannah shrank back with every wild gesture he made. She finally decided that her new Uncle Throttle wasn't enough protection and latched her wet body onto Charley's leg. Charley picked her up. How in the hell do I shut him up before he scares her worse? She wondered as she tried to rock away Hannah's trembling.

He finally noticed Hannah when Charley picked her up. "You went and got the loopy kid that thinks Charley's her mom?"

Hannah stared into Charley's eyes. "Yer not my mommy?" Her lower lip trembled and the tears streamed from her green eyes.

Charley pressed Hannah's face against her neck. "I am your mommy. Don't listen to him. He's just trying to be funny." And the woman's green eyes aimed a glare at him that could have flayed the white fur from his skin.

The white mouse gulped and looked over his shoulder. "What did I say wrong?"

The grey mouse towering over him just shook his head. His one red eye rolled up and stared at the ceiling.

Throttle leaned wearily against the dark green car. Charley riveted her attention to him. He needed to get dry, get bandaged, and get off his feet. Hannah had stopped crying--probably didn't have any tears left--but still clung to Charley's neck. The tan mouse rubbed his left hand over his face. "Vinnie, go check on Chef Andy. MacCyber attacked him, and he looked hurt."

"Chef Andy? You got it." The white mouse leaped onto his motorcycle. "I didn't mean to make her cry."

"We know, Vinnie."

Vinnie peeled out of the garage, popping his helmet on before he hit the street.

So that must make the grey giant Modo, Charley realized. He walked toward her and Hannah, metal and flesh hands outstretched to take the little girl. "I'll take her upstairs and get her ready for bed, Charley-ma'am. Had practice with my niece Primer."

Hannah lifted her head and looked at him with a far more serious expression than a child should have. She sniffled and looked at Throttle. He smiled back encouragingly. Charley smoothed the wet and tangled, fiery braids. "I need to help Uncle Throttle with something, and then I'll be right up. Okay, baby?"

"You won't leave?"

The fear in the tiny voice formed a lump in Charley's throat. "No, I'm going to be right down here. You'll go with your Uncle Modo?"

Hannah considered the large grey mouse again, nodded slowly, and reached out for him. Modo cradled the little girl in his flesh arm and carried her into the kitchen.

Throttle sighed as he pushed himself off the car and staggered into the downstairs bathroom. Charley trailed after him, sidetracking to lock the gun back in the safe and to grab a towel out of the bathroom's storage closet. He sat down on the toilet lid, cut the makeshift bandage free with a jackknife that disappeared back into his belt pouch, and peeled off his leather vest. "Some nights, there ain't enough pain killer in the galaxy."

"Your shoulder?"

"Everything, shoulder included. But mostly Vinnie."

Charley blotted his hair and fur, trying hard not to hurt his shoulder, ears, or antennae. "I owe you so much," she started to say.

"Skip it. You're worth all this and more, Charley. Besides, not even you can teach Vinnie when to shut up."

She felt herself blush for no good reason. She grabbed the first aid kit. "What's safe to use on you guys? I don't want to make it worse."

"Everything in there has been mouse-tested." He chuckled, "You have to patch us up a lot."

"Oh." She did know what to do when she stopped worrying about it. She quickly cleaned the gash, applied the antiseptic, and taped down some gauze over it. "You really should take a shower and clean off anything nasty from the river."

He chuckled again. "One of these days I'm gonna get banged up enough to qualify for a sponge bath. I'll get clean tomorrow when I can stand up again. But I will change into some dry clothes."

"There are some clean men's clothes in the basket." Charley gave the basket in question a small kick as she put the first aid kit away.

"Oh, so that's where we left those," he said innocently.

A little too innocently. Charley was thinking of a sarcastic comment when shrill screaming began. "Oh hell, now what!"

Her boots pounded up the wooden stairs from the kitchen to the living room. Throttle ran right behind her. At the top of the stairs, she made a sharp right turn and skidded to a stop inside the bathroom. The screams were coming from her practically naked and hysterical daughter. Hannah tried to leap into Charley's arms. Charley fell to her knees and held her. Modo stood next to the partially filled bathtub. "I... I was just givin' her a bath. She just went nuts." His hands were raised, waiting for the officer with the cuffs.

"Drain the tub," Charley ordered. The mouse's tail dipped into the water and pulled the plug. Charley petted Hannah's now unbraided mass of hair. "Shush baby, Mommy's here. It's okay. He wasn't trying to hurt you. It's okay, Hannah-baby."

Modo slicked the water off his tail fur. "She's scared of baths? I was just tryin' to get her clean and warm. I don't like takin 'em either, but...?"

"You'd be scared of baths too, if MacCyber threw you in the river," Throttle answered as he sagged against the doorjamb.

"He did WHAT?" Modo roared. His eye blazed with a red light.

Hannah screamed again. Her arms and legs jerked, trying to find a way to crawl inside Charley and run away at the same time. "Gonna hit!" was all she could make out within the little girl's sobs.

"That's not helping!" Charley snapped at him. Modo's eye stopped glowing when he looked down at the shrieking little girl and winced. "Turn on the shower." Again, he obeyed Charley's mother tone.

Throttle sighed. "You know, I hear there are some people who get to enjoy quiet nights at home."

"Quiet night? What the heck is that?" Modo tried to sound jovial, but his voice was too strained to be convincing.

Hannah clung to Charley with an impressive strength given her shaking. Her sobs had quieted to hiccups and streaming tears under Charley's gentle murmurs. There is only way to get her into the shower. What the hell, I could use one too now. "It's okay, Hannah-baby. Mommy's gonna take a shower with you." She eased her arms free and stripped out of what was left of the blue cotton work shirt.

Modo's face turned bright red under his grey fur when he saw the white bra. "You got things handled now, Charley-ma'am." He bolted for the door.

She caught a glimpse of Throttle's equally red face before both mice slammed the bathroom door shut. "Motherhood has sure made Charley a lot...."

"Less shy?" rumbled through the door.

"Yeah, Modo, a lot less shy."

Men, she thought exasperatedly before turning full attention to her daughter.

She finally got Hannah and herself washed, once Hannah realized that the falling water wasn't going to hurt her. They got dressed for bed. It wouldn't be much longer before Hannah collapsed. The little girl pulled on her Mickey Mouse nightgown while Charley found a large T-shirt and cotton knit shorts in the dresser. I don't want to wear anything I wore for Jack. If it wasn't so late I'd go outside and burn that whole suitcase.

Hannah tugged on the T-shirt with her free hand. The other hand rubbed her eyes. Charley picked her up and held her against her front. Hannah laid her head on Charley's shoulder. Charley sighed. My poor baby. It's gonna get better, I promise. She carried her back downstairs and into the garage bays. All three of the mice were sitting around a table near the kitchen door. An untouched platter of hot dogs was the focus of their attention until the door swung shut. Throttle stood up--now wearing a pair of black, knee-length, athletic shorts and his shades--and made a move to take Hannah. He thought better of it and pulled a chair out for them. Charley sank gratefully into it, resting against its straight wooden back.

Throttle knelt down to be face-level with Hannah. "Hey there, Princess."

She didn't raise her head or unlock her arms from around Charley's neck. "Hey."

"You've had one lousy day, huh?"


"Bad," Charley answered.

"Yeah, bery bad day."

"You mad at your Uncle Modo?"

Charley looked across the table at the large grey mouse. He watched Throttle and Hannah with cringing despair that made Charley want to hug him herself. His hands gripped the table, keeping him anchored to his chair.

Hannah took a deep breath. "Mommy said he didn't mean it."

The quiver in her voice sent a quiver up Modo's arms. He jerked up out of his chair, almost stumbled over the white mouse, and fell on his knees next to Throttle. Hannah jerked her head off Charley's shoulder. "Oh li'l honey, I never meant to hurt ya. Please don't be mad. I'm sorry." A tear trickled out of his red eye.

Hannah reached out and wiped the tear out of his fur. "Don't be sad."

"You ain't mad?"

"Not mad at ya."

Modo grinned at her, and his shoulders sagged. "Good, I wanna be your friend."

"But you're Mommy's bros."

Throttle chuckled and touched her nose. "But we can be your friends, too. Let's eat."

Hannah looked at Charley with a shy smile as the mice went back to their seats. Charley smiled back, rubbing her nose with hers. Thank you, guys. She's going to need real father figures. I guess you're the only ones who qualify. And we're going to need all the friends we can get if Jack comes back. Charley glanced at Throttle's bike while Hannah turned around on her lap to face the table. I have to know what happened to me in there. If that info from the computer can tell me.

Throttle saw her look. He glanced over at the bike, then down at Hannah, and met her eyes again. Charley shook her head. No, not yet, after Hannah's asleep. He nodded and grabbed a hot dog off the platter.

"You hungry, baby?" Charley pressed her cheek on the top of Hannah's head.

"No, Mommy." She twisted her head to watch how each mouse inhaled the hot dogs.

The idea of food made Charley's already tight stomach churn. "How's Andy?"

Vinnie paused before shoving a hot dog in his mouth. "He's okay. Just shook up. The little cut on his head was nothin'. He was more worried about Hannah, which I guess is the kid."

Hannah crossed her arms above where Charley's arms held her on her lap. "I am not the kid. How 'bout I call you the mouse?"

Vinnie scowled as he swallowed. Throttle and Modo chuckled. "I am Vincent Van Wham, the Velocity Atrocity, the baddest mammajammer this side of the asteroid belt, and don't you forget it."

"Dat's too long. You need a shorter name." Even Charley cracked up at the flabbergasted expression on Vinnie's face. "But it is too long," Hannah insisted.

"Just call him Uncle Vinnie," Throttle advised with a grin.

"Bet you don't even know your name," Vinnie said sullenly.

"I'm Hannah Charlene MacCyber."

Vinnie's face darkened, but he aimed his scowl at the nearly bare platter. Modo's fist curled on the table, and he fought with his face not to frown. Charley could see the taunt jaw muscle on Throttle's face that kept his teeth clenched. The rest of his expression betrayed nothing.

"Mommy." Hannah's hands gripped her arms.

Charley swallowed hard. "I know what we need. We have a new home now, so we need new names to go with it. How does Hannah Charlene Davidson sound?"

"Hannah Charlene Davidson," she repeated slowly.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful Princess," Throttle said finally.

"Is yer name still Mommy?"

Charley kissed the anxious, upturned face. "Yes, Hannah-baby, I'm still Mommy."

Hannah turned back to the mice. "You hate Daddy?"

"Yes. He hurt Charley," Vinnie answered bluntly. "And you."

She turned in Charley's lap and pressed even closer to her. "Why he do it, Mommy? Why?"

Charley closed her eyes against the sudden upwelling of tears. She pulled her daughter closer. "I don't know, baby. I don't know. I think he wanted to hurt Mommy and that was the best way he could think of. But I won't let him hurt you again. I won't, I won't." She rocked Hannah as the little girl's hot tears fell against the T-shirt.

Throttle reached and placed his hand on the back of Hannah's head. "None of us will let him hurt you again."

Charley opened her eyes to look at them, saving Throttle's face for last. "Will you stay tonight?"

"If you want us to."

Charley nodded, unable to speak, and kissed Hannah's forehead.

They remained quiet as Charley steadily rocked and hummed to Hannah. "She's asleep," she finally announced softly. "I'll put her to bed."

"I'll help." Throttle stood up as Charley got to her feet. He cut off her weak protest. "I feel responsible, okay?" He held the swinging kitchen door open for her.

Charley sighed. Why do I get the feeling that you guys don't listen to me even when I'm making sense? "I'm putting her in my bedroom." Throttle nodded and opened the bedroom door from the upstairs living room. He turned down the covers on the large bed and stepped back out of the way.

She tucked Hannah into the bed and kissed her forehead. "Her doll is by the suitcases." He crossed over to the other side of the room and brought back the Cabbage Patch doll. Charley tucked it in next to Hannah where the little girl could find it. "Wish I had a baby monitor."

Throttle shuffled his bare feet as they left the bedroom, and Charley eased the door partly closed. "Charley, look the stuff in my bike.... You've been through a lot today. It can wait till tomorrow."

He just wanted to protect her. She knew that. "If it was you and you were missing four years of your life, could you wait?"

He shook his head with a rueful smile, and they headed back down to the garage.

"So, what do we do now?" Modo asked.

"Now, we see what's in my bike." Throttle walked straight to his motorcycle and gestured for Charley to sit on its brown leather seat.

"Um, Throttle?" Vinnie tugged on the purple bandanna knotted around his neck.

"It's my call," Charley sat sidesaddle on the bike.

Vinnie and Modo exchanged shrugs and moved to stand behind her. Throttle took a deep breath and hit a sequence of buttons next to the screen.

Static was quickly replaced with the image of a turnip-shaped head. His large forehead had a patch of sandy-colored hair perched on top like a hat. Green goggles covering his eyes with black lenses, a hooked nose, and wide mouth stretching in a sinister grin fell in between the large expanse of forehead and the pointed chin. Charley's muscles knotted just staring at him. She could feel the mice tensing all around her. She felt like pounding that face until it bled. The mouth finally opened and his nasally whine of a voice came out. "Experiment #20,020,414. Field: genetics. Jack MacCyber--see file in Useful Earth Scientists--approached me with an interesting challenge. Erase the memories of one Charlene Davidson--see file in Troublemakers--so he could create an alternate past for her, a past without the Biker Mice, and to build them a child to anchor her in this new reality. Without the human female to help them, the Biker Mice would soon fall prey to Earth's local governments. Perhaps a hint to their Area 51? I decided that the easiest way to build this child is to take genetic material used for sexual reproduction in humans."

A pair of hands settled on Charley's shoulders. The thumbs quickly massaged her tight back muscles. The scientist or whatever he was pulled away from the camera and it moved to view a metal examination table. Charley didn't think her tight shoulders could get any tighter. She was wrong.

"Let me go, you Neanderthals!" It was her voice coming out of the bike's speaker. "Let me go!" Two huge men wearing black vests and blue jeans hauled a chestnut-haired woman into the camera's range. Charley felt her mouth go dry seeing the same features she saw in the mirror twisted by so much fury.

The goons slammed the angry Charley on the metal table. It took both of them to hold her down while they fastened metal straps around her bare ankles and wrists, stretching her body to each corner of the narrow table. She continued to struggle as the goons backed away.

The scientist in the long white lab coat that resembled a dress came back into view carrying a large pair of shears. The green eyes of the Charley on the table opened wider. "Hold still," he ordered with a giggle.

Charley's deep breaths matched the ones that the Charley on the table was taking. The scientist started at the bottom of her black jeans' leg. Charley shivered, feeling the cold metal against her skin as the shears cut up the seam. He cut methodically all the way through the jeans' waistband, then started on the other leg. Once the jeans were cut, they yanked off easily. The blue cotton work shirt was cut off next, followed by her bra and her panties. He closed another metal binder, like the ones around her wrists and ankles, tight around her waist. The Charley on the table sobbed when the scientist walked away, but she clamped her mouth shut as the tears ran down the sides of her face. She resumed the futile struggle against the restraints.

Modo muttered something undecipherable under his breath. Throttle's hands clenched into fists. The hands on her shoulders pressed down harder, pausing in their kneading. Charley felt her stomach flip-flop. Could it get any worse?

The scientist pushed a metal cart next to the examination table. He picked up a remote control that was connected to the table by a thick wire. He pressed the buttons, and the table's lower half split, spreading her legs apart. It bent her knees up like a perverted gynecologist exam. The medical equipment on the cart she recognized was from a gynecologist's office too.

The Charley on the table struggled harder against the bindings. "NO! NO!" He moved a stool in between her legs and the cart within reach. "NO!"

The scientist sat down on the stool. "Now just relax." He giggled again.

The hands dropped off Charley's shoulders. Pain lanced through her abdomen. When the eerily familiar screams tore out of the speaker, Charley leaped off the bike and ran into the bathroom.

"Charley!" intermingled with a guttural growl of rage and the sound of crumbling masonry. Charley gripped the rim of the toilet but all that was coming out of her was dry heaves. I won't cry. I'm too mad to cry. Oh my God, what else did they do to me? What did that bastard do to Hannah?

The water in the sink ran briefly. Someone knelt beside her and pressed the cool washcloth on her face. She took the damp material from him and held it to her face. "Charley, you okay?" Throttle asked.

"Would you be okay if that happened to you!"

There was a long pause. "At least I came out of Karbunkle's lab lookin' normal. Vinnie and Modo weren't that lucky."

She pulled the washcloth off her face. His shades were aimed away from her. "I'm sorry.... I didn't mean.... I don't remember." Tears threatened to spill over, and she rapidly blinked her eyes. "I can't believe...." She wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees to her chest.

He turned to her. "It's alright, Charley. I guess we're going to be playing catch up for a while. Unless...."

A yell and then crumbling masonry echoed outside. Vinnie said something she didn't recognize at all. Must be in Martian. She started to ask what he had said, but Throttle's face had turned bright red under his fur.

"Vinnie! You don't say that in front of a lady!" Modo protested.

"She's in the bathroom!"

Throttle avoided Charley's eyes. "What did he say?" she asked quietly.

"Um, what he wants to do to Karbunkle." He climbed to his feet and walked back into the garage. "Hold it down. Traumatized kid sleeping upstairs, remember?"

Yeah, I bet that's what he said that made you blush like that. But you aren't going to tell me, are you? Charley tossed the washcloth back in the sink and stood in the door.

Vinnie stood next to two new holes in the wall between the garage bays and the office, holes about the size of his fist. His chest heaved and his red eyes glanced at her before locking eyes with Throttle's shades. "Let's go get that demented, deviant bastard!"

Throttle shook his head. "Not tonight. The goons'll be on high alert."

"You're just gonna let Karbunkle get away with what he did!"

"Please," Charley swallowed hard as the males' eyes turned to her. "I don't want anyone else getting hurt tonight. I just want to finish watching."

"But Charley-ma'am?" Modo winced and looked away.

"I have to know what else he did. I have to know what to make him pay for." She looked down at the floor.

A low growl slowly escaped from Vinnie. He cocked his fist back and shattered the wall again, forming another hole. Throttle grabbed his arm. "Stop it," the tan mouse ordered in a quiet tone that no one would disobey. "We're not going tonight and that's final."

Vinnie yanked his arm free from Throttle and stalked over to the black and chrome bike. He stood beside it; arms crossed over his chest.

Throttle sighed. "Let's do it."

Modo looked down at the floor. "I don't know if I can."

Charley swallowed hard and moved toward the bike. "I have to know what else he did. This is the only way I have to find out."

"You need to get checked out by a real doctor." She turned back, and saw the blush spread across his grey cheek and down his snout of his profile. He rubbed his mechanical arm and awkwardly tried to hide it with his body.

Her hand curled around the bruise on her cheek. "Jack wanted all my parts working, believe me." She sat back on the bike to show the conversation was closed.

"Just as long as you go," Modo muttered worriedly.

"Let's skip ahead a little bit." Throttle pressed the buttons beside the screen again. The image that replaced the static this time was a cylindrical vat filled with a bubbling amber liquid. Karbunkle's high-pitched voice continued the narration. "The embryo responds quite well to the age accelerator. The trick is to give just the right amount to get the child to four-years-old but to allow it to age normal after that point." A tiny embryonic form grew larger in the vat. It was like watching one of those time-lapsed videos. It went from alien creature to a newborn baby girl in a matter of minutes.

Charley had to jump-start her breathing. That's my baby. That's my Hannah. No wonder I didn't have any stretch marks. She's beautiful. She could see the fine lines of hair on Hannah's head even though the amber liquid distorted the color. Her tiny hands clenched and relaxed.

"I can't believe Karbunkle didn't screw her up on purpose." Modo muttered awed, drawn to the screen in spite of himself.

Robot arms moved into the vat. They held Hannah's perfect little arm, and an IV needle was guided into it. Charley whimpered, but Karbunkle's voice returned. "At this stage, the fetus would be born and the umbilical cord severed. The IV supplies the body with the nutrients it needs to grow at the accelerated rate." More robot arms brought down an oxygen mask and fitted it over her nose and mouth. One arm held the mask, and the other arm kept her head in place. Electrodes floated down with their own robot arms and fastened all around her head. A robot arm with a pair of surgical scissors at the end cut the cinched-off umbilical cord once it was obvious Hannah was breathing on her own. "Now begins the education process. MacCyber is insistent on the child being the same as any other Earth child." Karbunkle's voice sighed in irritation. "However given the mental capabilities of the parents and initial intelligence test, the child's inherent mental abilities put her out of the normal range."

"Huh?" Vinnie stared at the screen.

"Hannah's smart like Charley and MacCyber," Throttle translated.

"Why didn't the thunderin' loony just say so?"

Charley couldn't stop staring at Hannah's development. Her arms, legs, and torso grew longer. Her hair floated in the tank but it looked about shoulder-length already. Jack cheated me of this, cheated her. I can't forgive you for that. Never.

Throttle gently caressed her shoulder. "She looks like you, Charley."

Karbunkle's voice began again. "She has reached the approximate age. We'll keep her under sedation until MacCyber is ready for delivery."

"Delivery? The bastard didn't even stick around?" Modo's glowing red eye reflected in the bike's side view mirrors.

Static filled the little screen again. It was replaced by Karbunkle's face. "Experiment #20,020,428. Field: Brain functions. The second phase of MacCyber's project would be more efficiently completed with a total memory wipe. But since erasing everything in her pretty little head is undesirable, I've settled for suppressing Charlene Davidson's memories of the past four years. I thought I could isolate only those memories concerning the Biker Mice but apparently, human retention does not work that way. There appears to be multiple levels of memory." The image abruptly ended, and Throttle's bike beeped softly.

"That's all she got before the fight. Sorry, Charley." Throttle hooked his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his shorts and looked at the floor.

"Now I know." Her throat hurt with disappointment. She had been so sure there would have been something to get her memories back.

"Now we know." Vinnie's voice was edged with bitterness. "Now, we know why MacCyber had to talk to you without us around. So, what are we going to do with the science experiment upstairs?" His thumb jerked up at the ceiling.

Charley clenched her fists. "Hannah's not a science experiment! She's my daughter. It doesn't matter how she got here. All she knows is that I'm her mommy."

Vinnie's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "How can you want her?"

"She's my daughter, and I'm not losing her for anything!"

He scowled and turned away. "Hell. Maybe if Mom had wanted me, I'd understand you."

Throttle looked up. "Come on, Vin. She's an innocent victim just like Charley. None of this is her fault."

"What are you saying, Throttle? I told her not to go!"

"You acted like a jealous jerk and made her mad," Modo rumbled.

"So say what you're thinking! It's all my fault!" The white mouse shoved his way out of the garage. The kitchen door banged shut after him.

Charley winced. Had his painful outburst woke up Hannah? Throttle was already up the ladder, peeking into the room through the trapdoor. "She's still knocked out," he announced, coming back down.

She nodded, still trying to find something to say. "I can't give up Hannah to make him happy."

"He doesn't expect you to, not really. It's a lot for him to wrap his head around. He'll get over it," Throttle said.

"Or we'll pound some understandin' into his thick skull," Modo promised.

"Don't do that," she sighed. "He has a right to how he feels."

"You can't let what Vinnie said make ya feel bad, Charley-ma'am. He just needs to lash out. And when he can't use his fists, he uses his mouth."

"I know, I know, but with so much missing...." She looked at the floor. "What did I do to make Jack do this to me?"

"Nothing." Throttle looked at her over the rims of his shades. "This is not your fault. MacCyber is responsible for his own actions."

"It's just, I can't remember!" Charley paced across the garage bay. "How many times am I going to put my foot in it because of something I should already know?"

"We ain't letting Karbunkle touch ya again." Modo crossed his arms over his chestplate.

"There might be another way," Throttle said slowly.

Modo glanced at Charley and then back at the thinking mouse. "Are you gonna keep us waitin'?"

"Sorry, I think I can show Charley my memories with touch-telepathy."

Charley stared at him. He was seriously considering it. "No offense, but I don't want anyone else prowling around in my head."

Throttle shook his head with a smile. "It doesn't work that like that. All I can do is show you my memories. Hopefully, it'll jog yours. But I understand if you don't feel up to it."

She looked at him sitting on the bench. You wouldn't hurt me. And I'm so tired of not knowing. "No, I want to try it. What do I do?"

"Sit right here." Charley sat on the section of bench Throttle patted. He swung his leg over to straddle it facing her. "Relax." The pair of antennae extending from his hair started glowing, and he touched her head with them.

She closed her eyes and gasped at the images flooding her mind. The scene crashed through the large window to land in her garage bay just in time to keep GreasePit from squashing Vinnie.

"Mouse," Modo replied firmly to the right.

"You got a problem with that?" Throttle's voice asked with an echo.

After the short fight and realizing that Vinnie was okay, the gaze turned to the unnerved human civilian they had just rescued. She was beautiful, and her fighting spirit put a flash in her green eyes and a red tint to her cheeks. She has enough guts to stand up to the jerk threatening her; a potential ally on this planet and definitely worth getting to know better. "You okay, ma'am?"

Charley saw herself raise a wrench. "Don't you come any closer, you-you-!" the woman shouted.

The admiration for her fighting spirit was spoiled by annoyance. Come on, we're the good guys here! What if all the Earthlings movies were right? "Whoa, whoa, hey, don't break a nail!" Throttle's snapped response had that same weird echo, and Charley realized that this is how he heard his own voice. "We just came in to get my bike fixed!"

Memories flowed faster, and Charley found herself remembering details that weren't there. Another moment anchored itself. Evil Eye Weevil had used his hostility ray on the mice. When Throttle's anger had worn off, he started searching for his bros to make up.

"Throttle!" She saw herself ride up outside the garage. Hope swelled up against the dejection felt about what had happened between them. She parked next to his bike. "I've been looking all over for you! Something's happening!"

"Yeah, I know. Have you seen Vinnie and Modo? I'd like to talk to them." Remorse piled higher. Have we been through everything we've been through, just to end it now? "We kinda had words."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you!" Charley's voice gained that annoyance she got when she felt they weren't paying attention. "Limburger's imported a new villain called Evil Eye!"

"Evil Eye Weevil?" The guy is still alive!

"You've heard of him?"

"Yeah. He had a stunt show on Mars for a while. He's also got a hostility ray." Charley's heart panged at the bitterness he felt. "Oh yeah. That would explain a whole lot." Limburger must have Modo and Vinnie. Her vision suddenly gained a golden tint as the helmet's face-shield slid in place. "Hold the fort, Charley-girl!" He told her. "I gotta ride!" He swiveled his bike to accelerate away.

"I'll come with you!" In the bike's side view mirror, he could see Charley reaching out to grab hold of him.

"No!" No, it was too dangerous for someone he cared so much about. Modo and Vinnie were already on the line. But he loved how selflessly she volunteered to help, despite how they had treated her earlier. She dropped her hand, and her face fell with it. There wasn't anything he didn't love about her. He grabbed hold of her hand, holding it firmly. Charley's lips dropped open a little, and her cheeks flushed slightly. Throttle, you idiot. You have Carbine waiting for you if you ever make it back home. And Vinnie's crazy about her. You can't steal a girl out from under your bro's whiskers. But she cares. He subdued his voice, mainly to drive that hurt look from her eyes. "Believe me, Charley, I appreciate that." He paused, searching for the right words and lingering to enjoy the warmth of her hand. "But this is between me and the guys." He gave it one final squeeze, before clutching his bike's handlebars and taking off.

More images pulled her forward in time. The last two weeks had been spent in anxious searching. And then the overwhelming relief of finding her unharmed, a feeling that didn't end even with the chestnut-haired woman pointed a gun at his chest. She wouldn't shoot, even if she didn't know them anymore. He was so sure of that he was willing to bet his life on it.

She saw the room shift as he took a step forward. And I think I just did. She was so scared; what had happened to her? Why didn't she know them? Figure it out later. Right now we got to get out of here before Limburger or Karbunkle grab her. If she doesn't remember us, she probably doesn't remember them either. And he didn't want to think of what could happen to her in this lab. "We're awfully glad to see you in one piece, Charley-girl." He took another step forward, hands raised, and confident she wouldn't shoot. "But this ain't the best place for a reunion. We should go."

She could feel his unshakable faith in her, one of the few who had never betrayed them. She would never shoot him.

"You were right," she muttered.

"Charley?" Throttle pulled back and the images stopped. She blinked her eyes, suddenly thrust back into the present. He gripped her arm. "Charley?"

She smiled into his worried face. "It worked. I remember." She threw her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. "I remember everything!"

He gave her one tight squeeze. "Welcome back, Charley-girl." She heard a minor tremble to his husky voice.

"Are you sure you remember? I mean... you sure it ain't just what Throttle knows? Karbunkle's done shoddy work in the past but...." Modo stammered while looking at the floor.

"Smooth. I like that in a mouse." He looked back up with a relieved smile starting to form. She had to jump slightly to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her completely off the floor.

"What's goin' on?" Vinnie asked from the kitchen door.

Modo set her down while clearing his throat. Charley quickly hugged the pensive white mouse. "Throttle got my memories back!"

"Martian mind tricks, huh?" Vinnie wrapped his muscular arms around her back and pressed his left cheek against hers. "I'm sorry, Charley-girl."

"It's alright. I know you didn't mean what you said about Hannah."

"Oh yeah, I guess I'm sorry about that, too. But I'm more sorry that me and my big mouth kept us from keeping you safe." He swallowed hard.

The fight came back to her. Vinnie's harping on Jack's inadequacies, on how Charley was happier with just them, on what right did Jack have to dictate to Charley, and other rantings of his insecure jealousy, until she finally snapped. "Do I get this bent out of shape when you have company from Mars? I'll go have lunch with who I want to!"

She winced as she saw his uncharacteristic, dejected face. "Vinnie, no." She cupped her hand under his jaw. "Jack wanted me to feel something for him I just don't feel anymore. And then he thought he could force me to feel it. Don't... don't beat yourself up over it. I treated him the same as any of my other friends. He just had other plans."

Vinnie pulled her back against him. "I'm gonna get him for you, Charley-girl. He won't hurt you again."

She hugged him again and rested her head on his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid for my sake."

"Um...." She felt his head shift so he could look behind her.

"If and when MacCyber comes back, that's when we nail his ears to the wall." Throttle's voice held an edge as he explained. She shivered, remembering how his anger had felt in his memories.

"Oh. Okay, Charley-girl, if that's what you want." He released her a little reluctantly and looked in her face. "You need sleep."

"We all do," Throttle replied with a sigh. "Go on up, Charley. We'll lock up."

The weariness descended on her hard. "Alright, guys. Goodnight." They chorused "good night" as she walked into the kitchen.

By the time she reached the living room, she realized the mice didn't have anything to sleep on. The guest bedroom closet held the extra blankets. She had a thick one in her arms and was stretching for the next one when it was gently taken from her. She turned and found Modo standing beside her with an indulgent smile on his face. "Bed," he said firmly. "We can take care of this."

"That's a first. All right, I'm going." Hannah's body curled around the Cabbage Patch doll, but she was sleeping deeply. Charley crawled into bed careful not to wake her up. She listened to the mice settling down on the other side of the wall. Their voices murmured softly for them; they were making an effort to be quiet. If they had done nothing else, that would prove they care. All was safe and sound. Then why was it that all she could do was stare at the ceiling?

The voices drifted into silence, and then into reverberating snores. I'll never sleep at this rate. She climbed out of the bed, making sure not to wake Hannah, and went to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Everything was fine; everything was back to normal. Except for having a four-year-old daughter, because she had been used as a scientific experiment set up by Jack.

Charley grabbed the sink basin. Daddy always pointed out his gotta-have streak. I called it ambition. A hot tear trickled down her cheek, and she angrily pushed it away. How could I be so stupid? Even Vinnie was suspicious. And now Jack's out there and wants to kill the guys and Hannah and me. She shuddered, remembering the shot Throttle took.

Her knees finally caved, and she sat down on the floor. Why? Why? Why? He had been so persuasive with his logic. In his mind, they belonged together. Every relationship they had since they broke up had ended badly, except her relationship with the mice. That's why she turned Jack down; he just couldn't compete with their faults. She didn't think any human male could. The only other people on the planet she loved as much as her new daughter and she had put them in even worse danger. Why didn't I see it coming? Why didn't I stop him?

She couldn't stop the tears now. Hannah, my poor baby. How can I explain this to her? Oh god, what if Jack tries to take her through the courts? What if I can't ever have any more kids because of Karbunkle? What am I going to tell everyone who knows I didn't have a baby four years ago?

The tears just wouldn't stop. She stifled the sounds with her hands. She could feel the bastard probing her. She could still feel Jack's hands taking what he wanted. How can I protect Hannah? I can't even protect myself!

A door eased open and closed softly. The bathroom door to her bedroom behind her hadn't opened. Before she could stop crying, someone knelt in front of her. He gently stroked her hair. Without looking, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. His muscular arms embraced her, pulling her into his lap. "Let it out. Just let it out," his husky voice whispered.

She didn't think she could stop now. She curled her body into his furry embrace. She sobbed and he rocked. She finally gained enough air back to ask. "Why... why does it hurt so much?"

"Because you loved him."

"I did not."

"Not romantically. But he was your friend, you trusted him, and he betrayed you."

"You wouldn't."

"No, but then I've had my over-abundance of integrity thrown back in my face. It hurts for a while, but you'll survive. And you got us." The furry legs under hers shifted slightly. The fur down his legs was a completely different texture against her smooth-shaven skin.

Charley took a deep breath. "I'm scared." She waited to hear laughter or boasting.

"Of what, Charley-girl?"

"Everything. Raising Hannah, keeping her safe from Jack, keeping you guys safe from him, helping you guys fight Limburger, keeping the garage solvent, figuring out how to keep Hannah, figuring out if Karbunkle...." Her throat tightened and she couldn't say anything else.

The arms squeezed her gently. "Modo's right about that one. You need to go to a real doctor." She whimpered and he petted her hair. "A nice female doctor. And you can tell her that you participated in a fertility study but you're afraid the quack doctor might have damaged you."

"You already thought of a cover story?"

"Shoulder hurts just enough to keep me awake. Had to think about something. No good fantasizing about pounding MacCyber; doesn't help with what we have to do now."

Charley sighed against his chest. "You're always so logical."

"Come on, babe, I'm no Spock. It's just somebody has to think of this stuff. Now everything else you're scared about, that's just overwhelmin', thinkin' about it all at once. But you're not alone. We're gonna help."

"Yeah, right."

"You know you can count on us. Have we ever let you down?"

"Only when your machismo gets in the way."

Throttle chuckled. "Your battle status just got upgraded. But Mom, you might want to sit them out."

"I didn't think about that," she admitted. "I'm a single-parent now."

He combed his fingers through her hair, pulled it off her neck, and repositioned it. "Are you okay with...?"

"She's my daughter; it doesn't matter how she got here." Charley took a deep breath to dislodge the lump in her throat. His fur was soft and warm where it touched her skin. "I... I don't know how I'll ever explain all this to her. And what if Jack tries to take her in a court fight? How do I prove she's mine? And what about when she starts school?"

"Do you really expect MacCyber to do that?"

"We have to be ready for anything. I should've shot the bastard."

He kept running his fingers through her hair. "No need to dirty your hands. Ours are dirty enough already."

"You guys don't want me to do anything. Even when it's my problem."

"It's not like that. Not really. We just want to spare you." He swallowed hard. "Well, he had to have some papers to make this whole family thing work. We just hafta get them changed. You can find somebody to do that, can't you, Charley-girl?"

She pulled away and looked at him. Throttle's tan eyebrows raised as he dropped his arms. "Yeah, I took everything he had filed that related to me and Hannah." There was a large wet patch of tan fur covering his chest. She made a futile attempt at blotting it dry with her hand. "This is the second time tonight I got you all wet."

Throttle chuckled. "I dry easy. Oh look, you do still remember how to smile." His tail reached up and pulled a towel off the shelf.

Charley took the other end and wiped her face. "I must look a fright." She stood up and splashed water on her face from the sink.

He passed her the towel. "Well, you've got the best lookin state of fright I've ever seen." She stared at him in the mirror. He reddened. "I shouldn't've said that."

"No, it's okay." She hid her face in the towel. Is it okay? There is Vinnie; how do I feel about Vinnie? Oh stop it, Charlene. It's nothing you need to figure out tonight. She moved the towel down. Throttle still stared at his feet. "Thank you. I'm not exactly feelin' pretty."

His tail lashed. "Charley, I... what was that?" He opened her bedroom door.

Hannah thrashed against the covers making a strange gasping noise. The tan-furred mouse moved around the bed. Charley jumped onto it and unwound the quilt and sheet. Throttle pulled Hannah out. Her eyes were closed, and the hollow of her throat indented as she tried to take a breath. Her flailing hands felt Throttle and latched onto him.

Charley shook her shoulder. "Hannah, wake up! Hannah-baby!"

Hannah's green eyes flew open, and she took a deep, normal breath. "Mommy! The water, Mommy!" Her hands tightened on Throttle's fur.

He winced but hugged her tighter. "It's all right, Princess. I pulled you out before, and I'll do it again."

"You just had a nightmare, Hannah. It's alright." Charley smoothed Hannah's red-orange hair and tried to take her from Throttle.

"I don't think she's letting go." Throttle's tan fur stuck out of Hannah's fists.

Charley sighed and pulled down the quilt and sheet. "Get in."

She thought his red, cybernetic eyes were going to fall out of his head. "Charley, I... um... it's not...."

"Would you rather me take Hannah and those fistfuls of fur come out by the roots?"

"Don't go! Please don't go!" Hannah pressed closer to him.

Throttle sighed and crawled into the bed. "And you thought we wouldn't help." He lay down and turned on his side so Hannah was cradled in his arm.

Charley settled next to Hannah and pulled the cover back over them. She set her arm around her daughter. "I knew it wasn't true when I said it. And Hannah already knows to trust you."

He rested his free hand on top of Charley's. "Whatever you need."

She smiled and kissed Hannah's temple. "Thank you." She closed her eyes.

The End

Most of my Biker Mice From Mars end up with songs in them. This one does not, but I'd like to recommend listening to Nickelback's "Never Again." You can find it on the soundtrack I made for the Evil Jack series.
Download the Biker Mice From Mars: Evil Jack Soundtrack here

Louisiana Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-888-411-1333
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY).
The National Domestic Violence Hotline Website

Link to the Next Story

Link to Author's Notes Link to Overview of Biker Mice From Mars Characters Link to Fiction Teasers