Anodyne: Chapter Four
Title: Anodyne
Genre: AU - Romance/Mystery
Summary: With just six months to live, Roxas makes a desperate attempt to find the mysterious man from his past - his last chance to survive a fatal disease.
Rating: M (eventual)
Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Warnings: Language / Violence / Sex
Comments: I sent this chapter to a beta a few days ago and haven't heard back, so I'm going ahead and posting it because I feel kinda guilty for making people wait two weeks for a dinky little chapter. As always, constructive crit is very much appreciated and encouraged.




Anodyne

Chapter Four: Panties Drop



"It's always the quiet ones, you know?"

Roxas looked up, startled out of his trance. Max was staring at him in the rearview mirror, one tiny eyebrow quirked. What kind of self-respecting American man plucked their eyebrows to begin with?

"I'm sorry, what?" Roxas sat up. He noticed Max rolling his eyes in the mirror.

"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?"

"I guess not. I don't make a habit out of talking with people who throw me in and out of cars."

"Touché." The officer turned onto a street made up almost entirely of Grecian restaurants. Roxas's mouth began to water; he hadn't eaten all day and the idea of a hot Mediterranean lunch sounded nothing short of delicious. He almost spaced out again until Max spoke.

"I mean the quiet ones as in criminals. The kids that are so quiet and nice that end up being killers when they grow up. You wouldn't believe the people I see brought in for questioning due to death threats or possession of weapons at school. S'pretty sad." At Roxas's confused silence, Max laughed and explained, "I just saw one of those kids coming out of a restaurant is all. Lengthen your attention span, Cibola."

"Ci-what?" Figuring it was another insult, Roxas glared at the cop in his mirror.

"Goddamn are you dim. Cibola's the ancient word for Vegas." Max tapped his temple with one finger, smirking. "The things you learn from King novels."

Roxas blinked. He sat back against the seat and returned his gaze to the window, watching the cafes and shops and people of this new and beautiful city rush by. There must be a million people in Los Angeles, and what on earth were the chances that the cop driving this car was his real donor? McCormick wasn't an altogether uncommon name, and Max certainly didn't seem to be the gentle, loving type of person that would donate an organ to some kid. His unnatural thinness could explain the small size of the kidney, but he was still much older and taller than Roxas, especially since the boy had been a sick thirteen-year-old.

But the chances, what were the chances?

"Where are we going, exactly?" Roxas asked as they turned into a district that looked very much Hispanic.

"Well, I said I'd return you to your parents, didn't I?"

Roxas quirked an eyebrow. "You're driving me back to Vegas?"

Max laughed. "Hell no. I'm taking you to the station. We'll call your parents and they'll have to come retrieve you at the LAPD headquarters which I'm sure will be tons of fun."

Roxas pressed his face against the glass, banging on it with his fist.

"You fucker! I already told you, I don't have parents!"

"Precisely why I'm taking you to the station. Background checks take all of five minutes and without a doubt I'd be able to find your parent or legal guardian, call 'em up, and have a happy little chat. I'll admit, I'm looking forward to the happy little chat part."

Tears stung Roxas's eyes as anger bubbled up inside him. How dare this cocky asshole not only destroy Cloud's honeymoon but also the very foundation of their friendship!

"Did you miss the part about me dying? That seeing L.A. is like my final wish?! What kind of awful person wouldn't even let a sick kid like me get to see the city of his dreams?!" Roxas began to beat the seat beside him with his fist, glaring daggers into the rearview mirror.

Max sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another cigarette. He maneuvered the steering wheel of the car with his knees as he lit up, smoothly navigating through the streets as if he had done this millions of times before. He kept his eyes on the road, never catching Roxas's deathly looks in the rearview mirror.

"Hello?! Are you listening to me?!" Roxas cried right up against the small holes in the thick plastic.

Max scowled, finally speaking. "Look, kid. Roxas. This isn't very fun for me either, you know that?" At Roxas's silence, the man went on, "I get blamed for everything that goes wrong at the station. I always fuck up my missions. In short, this job sucks. And you're making it suck even more by being a bitch." He paused in order to take a drag of his cigarette, the smoke slowly drifting out from between his thin lips as he exhaled. "In short, just accept your fate. Makes my life a hell of a lot easier."

Roxas sat back, deflated. Max's calm response had definitely overruled any more objections. Still, there had to be a way to stay in this city, even if it killed him.

A few more awkward moments passed in complete silence. The officer finished his cigarette and tossed it out the window. Roxas continued to stare blankly out at the street, watching his breath fog up the glass even on such a hot, dry day. The boy's panic began to recede into a kind of anxiety, making his head throb and his fingers twitch at the thought of what was to come when Cloud found out about his escape to California. His face paled and his stomach churned with-

Oh no.

"You have to pull over," Roxas suddenly croaked, bringing his knees up to his chest and curling his body forward. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Yeah right. You damn well better keep your stomach where it is, I just cleaned out some drunk fuck's puke last night."

"No, I'm serious," Roxas whined, beginning to rock from side to side. His movements didn't seem to have any effect on the burning sensation beginning to creep up his esophagus.

"I'm not stupid, kid."

"Pull over! God, please!"

And then Roxas was lurching forward, his entire body shaking as foul-smelling, acidic bile poured from his mouth and onto the floor of the police car. The boy could barely hear Max's swearing over the ringing of his ears or the heaving, choking sounds the back of his throat was making. Luckily he hadn't eaten much that day and his vomit was fairly watery rather than chunky, and before long he was merely dry-heaving. The boy hadn't even noticed that Max was saying something about how gross he was and how he was damn lucky there was a carwash up ahead, or how he was going to make him pay big time if the mat of the car was ruined from his violent discharge.

When Roxas finally looked up, bleary-eyed and pale, Max was turning into what appeared to be an extremely run-down Mexican carwash. The redhead parked in front of one of the booths meant for cleaning the interior of the car and climbed out, walking briskly over to Roxas's side of the car and unlocking the door. His large hand wrapped around Roxas's still shaking arm and began to pull him out of the back of the vehicle.

"C'mon, Cibola. Let's clean this mess up."

Roxas took a few deep breaths as he leaned against the back of the car, watching through half-lidded eyes as the cop pulled the backseat mat out between his thumb and forefingers. The redhead's face was twisted into a disgusted scowl, and Roxas almost felt the urge to laugh at the ridiculous spectacle if it wasn't for the fact that it was his own stinking vomit dripping from the fabric.

"Sheesh, kid, there's even blood on here." Max reached into his back pocket and pulled out a few coins, pushing them into the machine. The mat slapped against the ground as Max dropped it on the concrete. He squirted it with a generous amount of shampoo and began to rub the machine's extendable Spot-Lifter atop it.

After about thirty seconds of steady breathing Roxas straightened up, running a hand through his mussed hair. Luckily his clothes were completely free of any kind of stain. The boy glanced back at Max, who was still bent over the mat, scrubbing it with the Spot-Lifter and muttering angrily to himself under the steady roar of the cleaning machine.

This would be his only chance.

Without any hesitation Roxas turned on his heel and took off for the street, turning swiftly around the corner of a building and nearly running into a lamppost. He drew no attention from the people he passed, even when a very tall and very pissed-off police officer rounded a corner and sprinted after his escaped prisoner.

Roxas knew he was doomed as soon as he stumbled over the crack in the sidewalk and the steady rhythm of Max's huge feet hitting the pavement came closer and closer. He must really be flying, the boy thought as he quickly ducked into a lingerie store, his last attempt at preserving his freedom. Why the hell did I have to have such short goddamn legs?!

A split second later Max crashed into the store, grabbing the fleeing blond around his waist and sending them both flying into a rack of thongs. The both of them were swearing and screaming at one another, oblivious to the dozen or so women in the store that stared in complete shock and horror at the sight of a little blond boy being pinned against the floor by an enraged police officer, an expensive pair of lacy delicates hanging off one red spike.

The two young men struggled amidst a sea of panties, their angry cursing digressing into exhausted panting. Max let go of Roxas's wrist, while the boy loosened the fingers around the other's throat before letting his hand drop. The two scarcely had time to catch their breath before the manager of the store appeared, obviously annoyed as she asked Max what exactly the problem was and why he needed to chase his prisoner into her organized, perfumed store.

"Won't happen again, ma'am," the officer assured her as he got to his feet. He grabbed Roxas's arm and pulled the wheezing boy up with him, twisting his wrist behind his back. "You know how slippery these kids can get. In your car one minute, down the street the next."

"Of course," the manager said with narrowed eyes. "But please refrain from wrestling with your 'prisoners' on the floor of my lingerie boutique. It gives my clients the wrong impression of my fine establishment."

"Of course." Max gave the woman one last sheepish grin before she turned around and began to pick up the fallen racks of underwear.

The officer glared at Roxas, who didn't have the strength in him to glare back. Max felt around his belt for his handcuffs and, upon finding none, resorted to snatching a fuzzy pink pair off of a rack while the manager still had her back turned. He ripped off the packaging and grabbed Roxas's other wrist, pulling both his arms behind his back before he snapped the cuffs shut and led the boy casually out of the shop.

"I can't believe that you totally stole those handcuffs."

"And I can't believe that you totally ran away from a police officer who had you in custody, to a lingerie store, where you then proceeded to strangle said officer who, under call of duty, followed you inside against his wishes," Max mimicked. He fisted a chunk of Roxas's hair in one large hand and dragged the whimpering boy back to the carwash, where the department vehicle had remained untouched. Even the machine was still whirring.

"You led me down the streets of Los Angeles in fuzzy pink handcuffs," Roxas retaliated, scowling. A smile crept across Max's features at his comment.

"Yeah? Sorry kid, no idea what happened to my metal ones. Musta left them on a goddamn bus."

Words could not begin to describe the anger Roxas felt at that, and all the boy could do was kick at the ground like a petulant child and make frustrated, if amusing, noises. For some reason the cop found this endlessly amusing, judging by the broad grin on his thin face as he switched off the spot-lifter and wrung out the still-damp mat.

"There," he said flatly, holding up the mat. "Your puke came out of it. You're damn lucky it did, too." The cop opened the car door and set the mat back down. "Get in."

Roxas glared at Max, planting his feet firmly in place. He'd be damned if he was going anywhere with that asshole.

Max put a hand on his hip, staring back coolly. He drummed his fingers on the door, the action betraying his irritation. "We both know you're getting in this car one way or another. It's up to you which way."

Roxas spat on the ground and pulled more at his cuffs. He ignored Max's threats, an idea beginning to take shape in his mind.

"Hey, throwing a tantrum isn't gonna get you anywhere, you fuckwad." Roxas cried out as Max's fingers grasped at his hair, yanking him towards the door. His head was almost inside the vehicle when the boy lifted his foot and brought it down upon Max's. Roxas's head whacked against the top of the car as Max recoiled, swearing loudly.

Max took a few steps back, wagging his sore foot as Roxas pulled his head out of the car and leaned against the open door. He noticed the kid was smirking, for some reason. Cocky bastard probably thought he was real smooth, getting such a pissed off reaction from a cop such as himself.

"Hey, Axel?" Roxas asked.

"Yeah?" The words had barely left the cop's lips before a sneakered foot was whirling towards his head in what appeared to be a rather vicious roundhouse kick. To Max's amusement the kid lacked the advantage of using his arms for balance and missed his head entirely, the power behind the kick causing him to stagger. This gave the officer enough time to lunge, pinning Roxas against the side of the car by gripping his cuffed arms.

"Smooth, Cibola. Quite the bitch, aren't you?"

"I knew it! Oh God, I knew it!"

The officer blinked. Roxas's words sounded hitched, as if he were crying. And sure enough, upon peeking over the kid's shoulder he saw the telltale glistening to tears on the boy's smooth, young face.

"Kid?"

Roxas lifted his head and rested his chin on his shoulder, not daring to look at the officer. He didn't even notice that he man ad let go of his arms, letting him rest against the side of the car as his body shivered. Finally, he took a shuddery breath and spoke. His voice was so low and breathy that Max had to lean forward in order to hear it.

"Axel. I called you Axel."

"...Yeah. Yeah, you did." Axel McCormick stood stupidly behind the crying boy, shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets.

"I knew it. You... you lied. You're the one who, who..." Roxas bit his lip to keep from crying again, his eyes squeezing shut as liquid rushed to his tear ducts.

"Is that, uh, is that why you kicked me?" Axel asked softly with an air of humor.

Roxas sniffed, his watery smile widening a little.

"No. That was because you're a bitch."

"Guess I deserved it, then," Axel quipped. He pulled his hands out of his pockets to lift one of Roxas's arms, kneeling down to inspect the fuzzy pink monstrosities still locked around them. "Shit, how am I gonna get these off? I think I left the keys at the shop, dammit."

"You donated a kidney." Roxas said. "You donated a kidney and it's in my body."

"Tell me something I don't know," Axel grumbled as he began to pull at the handcuffs. His mind wandered as he tinkered with the lock mechanism. Did Roxas hate him now, the absolute reject of what his mind had probably conjured up as the perfect savior? But the kid had laughed a little when he had croaked out those words, unless it had been the kind of laugh one emits when totally horrified. Shit, and he had admitted to only having six months to live, too. Some welcome he had gotten from his "donor."

The cuffs clicked and Axel slipped them off Roxas's wrists.

"There was a kind of emergency button under the fuzz, I guess in case someone gets too frisky," Axel said. He clipped the cuffs to his belt out of habit.

His hands free, Roxas lifted them to his reddened face. His body was shaking even more now, and Axel had a vague feeling that the kid was going to be sick again. The boy showed no signs of heaving however, crying silently for at least a minute until Axel placed an awkward hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Cibola. It'll be okay. Calm down."

Coaxed by the soft words, Roxas slowly let his hands fall to his sides. His eyes were red and tears still dripped from his chin, but he still managed to scowl in that way Axel had already become so familiar with. It wasn't even much of a scowl, in fact, more of a pout. The picture was almost cute, in a way.

"Are you still gonna send me home?" Roxas asked.

Axel bit his lip. How to answer? Saying no meant he would have to take the kid in, and also meant endangering his job and reputation if anyone found out. But saying yes meant handing this poor, sick kid over to another sick months of waiting for death's cold hands to take him while withering away in some dark room in the outskirts of Las Vegas.

"We'll see, okay? Just don't cry again, okay? That shit won't cut it here."

"Bastard," Roxas said, still pouting. Scowling? No, definitely pouting.

Axel crossed his arms over his chest. He figured the two had been here at the carwash for at least ten minutes, decking out this entire soap opera while dozens of people probably watched. He self consciously scanned the buildings around, as if some nosy old woman had her ugly face pressed against the glass. He didn't see anything of the sort, but figured it was best to end this soap opera before the drama progressed.

"Hey, I'll take you to my apartment, okay? You can chill there for a while. I've got cable and everything," Axel said. He patted the side of the car. "I'll even let you ride shotgun. Just no more crying or puking."

"Okay." Wiping the back of his nose with one hand, Roxas opened the passenger side door and climbed inside.

Axel closed the door for him, then leaned against the side of the car and placed a fresh cigarette between his lips. The cop took a few seconds to admire the flame as it danced against the tip of the cancer stick, smoke already beginning to drift into the air.

Goddamn, he'd really fucked up this time.