FicWad

"I'm Not Dead"
by siriusfanatic (aka terrabm)
Biker Mice from Mars
Throttle/Stoker slash


Disclaimer/author's note: Well, I've been talking about it for months, doing a real BMFM slash piece, and it was all talk till now. Amazing what having extra time at work does to your brain.
You all know the drill. I don't own any of these characters, and none of my originals make an appearance here.
Also this has NOTHING to do with anything else I've written, so don't get all confused. Strictly AU. Therefore, I can be a slash-tastic as I like! Whoo-hoo!
Takes place during/post the "Caveat Mentor" episode.
Also would like to say that this fic was inspired by the song "I'm not Dead" by Pink. I recommend getting the new CD if you're a fan. It rocks.




Part one: Where all conversations twist



Throttle was sitting idly in the alley that ran along side the Last Chance garage. Night had fallen, and he'd been out there for the last hour or so, watching the sun-set behind the Chicago sky-line, and watching as the sun light was replaced by the electric glow of city lights. With only Lady, his bike, and his own thoughts for company, he let his mind wander to things that had been weighing on it lately. Things he normally didn't like to think about.
Carbine was the first thing that came to mind. Things had gone so wrong, so not according to plan. It had been a year since they'd split up, helped by the fact that she was twenty-three million miles away from him on a daily basis. Throttle had to admit, that while he had picked up the pieces, he wasn't sure if he had moved on or not. Carbine had been the only woman he'd ever thought he could marry. After a year of separation, he realized to think that might have been his biggest mistake.
Still, old flames die hard. He leaned his chin on his folded arms that rested on his handle bars, and blinked tiredly into the night sky. He was lonely.
His solitude was broken then by Modo, who had suddenly excused himself out the back door of the Last Chance.
"Hey bro," he greeted.
Throttle nodded to him. "Ready to head back?" he asked.
"Yeah, Stoke and Rimfire are waiting for us. Vinnie's, staying, obviously..." the big grey-furred mouse replied.
He sighed, leaning against the wall of the alley as he followed Throttle's gaze towards the sky-line, where the moon had begun to rise.
"They're at it again." Modo said, without preamble. His single eye drifted towards the top most window of the garage, where the curtains had been drawn and the lights glowed dimly inside.
Throttle grunted. "Like a bunch of horny teenagers."
Modo smiled knowingly. "Jealous much?" he added.
Throttle gave him a hard look over the rim of his sunglasses. "Bitterly, yes."
It was nothing new that Vinnie and Charlie were having sex. They'd been in a serious relationship for the better part of three years now. It was only in the past few weeks that it really seemed to bother Throttle. Modo wasn't sure if it was loneliness and envy after his break-up with Carbine, or if it was something else. In either case, he thought it best to stay out of it.
"Yeah well...not much we can do about it, right?" Throttle added, trying to change the subject. Modo got the hint immediately.
"Well, let's pick up dinner. Dogs and root beer?" Modo nodded, climbing onto his bike as Throttle revved his engine.
"As if there were anything else?" Throttle chuckled, masking his bad mood.



*

Since Stoker and Rimfire had arrived a two days ago, things between the Biker Mice had changed subtly, but noticeably.
The entire mess with the guards from Phobos following Stoker here had left a bitter taste in all their mouths. Stoker's moods had become utterly unpredictable, one moment looking for a fight, the next utterly withdrawn.
Rimfire had expected this kind of behavior however, ever since he'd sprung him. Stoker was in bad shape, and was more desperate than ever to hide it. Rimfire had tried to talk to the older Freedom Fighter once or twice, but Stoker always brushed him off. The younger mouse expected he didn't feel comfortable talking to him about it.
Still it would come out sooner or later he supposed.
Stoker was currently stable, and had been going over Rimfire's dented and bruised bike for the last hour and half just to keep himself busy. Rimfire said nothing about the way his hands shook as he did.
"How's she look?" Rimfire asked, looking up from the tv.
"You changed the oil on this thing lately? It looks like hell." Stoker grunted back.
Throttle and Modo arrived then, arms full of to-go bags and cases of old-fashioned root beer.
"Honey, we're home!" Modo called, setting the load down on table, after Throttle had swiped the junk off it.
"Alright, I'm starving!" Rimfire smiled, grateful for a distraction.
"Of course you are, you're a growing mouse." Modo said, in a fatherly sort of way.
Throttle glanced over at Stoker, who hadn't bothered to look up from his work. "Comin', Stoke'? Plenty to go around." he coaxed.
Stoker gave him a quick, side-long glance. "No thanks, kid. Not hungry." he answered.
Throttle frowned slightly. "But you haven't eaten at all today...come on, it's fresh off the grill!" he urged.
"No thanks..." Stoker grunted, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Modo shrugged, not knowing what else to do, but was clearly worried. The three of them sat down to eat in silence as Stoker continued his work. A few minutes later he stood up made his way up the cat walk and onto the roof without a word.
"He's been like this all day," Rimfire said to his uncle when they were alone. "Not really talking, not eating. He just seems so restless."
"He's been through a lot, nephew. Give him some air, he'll come around." Modo nodded assuredly, quite convinced of this.
But Throttle didn't feel as certain. "I'll go talk to him." he said, excusing himself.

The tan mouse found his old mentor standing there, staring blankly out at the dark Chicago skyline in the same way Throttle had only an hour ago.
"Stoker?" he asked as he approached, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Stoker physically flinched at the touch and jerked away. "Don't!" he hissed, much harsher than he meant to.
Throttle blinked in confusion. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you..." he fumbled.
"You didn't." Stoker insisted, forcing a wide grin. "I'm just messing with you."
Throttle rolled his tongue across his teeth as he stared at the older mouse. "Yeah...okay."
Stoker turned his attention back to the skyline, studying the buildings with great interest. "It's beautiful here, really. Does it always look this way?" he asked.
Throttle nodded. "Mostly yes. It's a great city."
"Where's the punk?" Stoker asked. Throttle's frown deepened unconsciously.
"Sleeping at Charlie's. It's a pretty regular thing." he answered. This time it was Stoker who fixed him with a questioning, thoughtful look.
"This bothers you?" he asked.
"No." Throttle answered stiffly. "I didn't say that."
Stoker nodded in his familiar, knowing way. "You didn't have to. I can tell something about it upsets you, just the way you're standing there."
Throttle folded his arms across his chest. "We aren't talking about me." he said, staring hard at the chocolate-furred mouse. "Something up?"
"Don't change the subject." Stoker grunted, also folding his arms across his chest.
"You changed it first!" Throttle said incredulously. He then threw up his hands in frustration. "You know what, never mind. Forget it."
"Don't get all pissed off..." Stoker sighed.
"I am pissed off!" Throttle shouted, rounding on him. "Why are you making this so hard? You know something's wrong, we all know something's wrong, so quit acting like it isn't!"
"Who the hell asked you!?" Stoker shouted back.
"God, you are worse than Vincent!" Throttle groaned, tugging on his ears.
Stoker pushed past him, making his way towards the fire escape. "Where are you going?!" Throttle yelled after him.
"Fuck you." was the chocolate-furred mouse's reply.
Throttle chased after him, grabbing hold of his wrist. "You don't know your way around Chicago, especially at night, what are you-?"
"DON'T PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME!" Stoker roared, decking the younger mouse hard across the face.
Throttle stumbled with the force of the blow, his glasses clattering to the ground. The two of them stood there for a moment, both stunned, breathing heavily.
"Throttle..." Stoker muttered, sounding scared. "Bro...I'm sorry." he said, bending down and scooping up Throttle's specs from the ground.
Throttle rubbed his throbbing cheek, staring blindly forward. Stoker replaced his fallen specs on his face, and he was surprised to see how shame-faced his mentor was. Stoker touched the blossoming bruise on his cheek and bit his lip hard, hating himself.
"Put some ice on that, it's gonna swell." he said after a long moment of silence. He walked away this time, and Throttle didn't try to stop him.




Throttle went to bed that night, sleepless and disturbed. He was glad that Modo and Rimfire had decided to take in some of the night-life sites and left him alone. He didn't feel like explaining his black eye to them.
Stoker still had not returned from wherever he had disappeared to. The tan-furred mouse was just about to get up and go look for him, when he heard the door open. He sat up in bed, seeing a lone figure make it's way through the room towards the pull-out sofa in the middle of the room.
"Stoke?"he called in the dark.
"Go back to sleep, bro." Stoker replied, his voice seemed hoarse and forced.
Throttle climbed out of his bunk and went to his side, his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly enough.
Stoker's hunched position, the way he was nervously rubbing his arms, gave him away.
"What hurts?" Throttle asked softly.
"Everything..." Stoker whispered.
Throttle nodded and left him briefly and rooted across the littered counter tops to return with a small white bottle. He sat down on the bed next to his mentor, twisting off the cap.
"Here, take a few of these." he said.
Stoker eyed the white pills that fell into Throttle's palm. The sight of them instantly made him want to vomit.
"It's called Tylenol. It's a pain killer, Charlie's given it to us a thousand times."
Stoker at first seemed to resist the idea, but took them from his hand and swallowed them dry.
"How long have you been like this?" Throttle asked.
"Hour, maybe more. I dunno...time's funny here." the chocolate-furred mouse coughed.
Throttle sighed deeply, looking worried. "Why didn't you tell us?"
Stoker chuckled. "I don't want you to worry about me." he answered truthfully. He wanted to keep his pain and suffering to himself as long as he could. Maybe that way he could convince himself it wasn't real.
"I'm scared for you." Throttle said at length. "I know you're holding it all in because you don't want us to think..." he fumbled again, not sure what to say. "You should know me better than that."
Stoker raised an eyebrow and smiled lightly. "You?" he asked.
"Us, I mean." Throttle corrected.
Stoker raised a hand and brushed it across the other mouse's cheek. "How's your face?" he asked softly.
"I've had worse." Throttle nodded.
"I know you have." Stoker answered. The tan mouse put his hand over his and looked back into Stoker's green eyes.
"Why won't you let me touch you?"
"It just...it hurts." Stoker answered weakly. He didn't seem to have the energy to argue, or fight back. He gave the instinct impression that he would simply wilt and collapse onto the bed if he had to speak another word.
Throttle laid back onto the bed with him, still staring at him. "It won't always feel this bad..." he said softly.
Stoker didn't say anything, and simply closed his eyes. Throttle staid there for several long minutes with him, still holding his hand without realizing it, until he heard Stoker's breathing even out and deepen.
"Goodnight, bro."