Alexandria (ONC entry)

Part three

Maxence watched cautiously as Dawson set the briefcase down and stalked towards her, lips moving in what was probably a string of curses and eyebrows drawn together in a scowl. Maxence's heart hammered in her chest at the fierce glint in the young man's dark eyes, and for the first time since she found herself face to face with him, she was completely speechless. A little scared, too, and she almost didn't dare breathe. For a moment–even though it felt like an eternity–they just stared into each other's eyes, and tension built in the air until Maxence was positive she could almost hear it crackling.

Then Dawson dropped into a crouch and Maxence acted on instinct, ripping her feet from their bonds and planting a foot in Dawson's stomach, sending him sprawling on the floor. Freeing her wrists and letting the rope drop to the ground, she dashed for the briefcase and yanked it to her chest, holding it over her stomach like a shield. Okay, Mills. What now?

The door. She spun on her heel, ready to rip the door from its hinges if need be, but her path was blocked by Dawson. Brandishing the briefcase, she considered if it was worth it to hit the man over the head with invaluable archaeological finds, and running the risk of damaging them. Her fingers tightened of the handle, but Dawson postponed her decision by putting his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy.

"Wait! I'm helping you! I want to help you," he wheezed, doubling over in a fit of coughs. Her kick had been really well-placed, Maxence notices. She only felt a little sorry.

She took a step back, jutting her chin up. "You kidnapped me, tied me to a chair and stole my finds. Pardon me if I'm a bit suspicious," she snapped.

"You have every right to be suspicious," Dawson said, his hands still open and tilted towards her. "But it's not like you have many options right now. Also, you would never get out of here on your own."

Maxence considered that. Hated that he was right. She narrowed her eyes, scanning his face, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or not. To her dismay, she came up with nothing. Reading people had never been her strong suit. "Why?" she asked. Why would he help her?

Dawson shot another nervous glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the door, as if he was afraid that someone could hear him through a solid slab of wood. "Can we–not do this right now? We don't have a lot of time," he hissed. His whole composure was tense, Maxence noticed, his shoulders drawn up and his leg muscles taut, his stance wider than necessary. "Well?" he prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Maxence was frozen. This wasn't her, a voice in her head yelled, but was quickly drowned out by the flurry of thoughts screaming at her to go with Dawson, that this might be her only chance at escape and that she would immensely regret it if she stayed here, on the boat. Besides, what else had she to lose?

So she briskly marched up to Dawson, stepping almost uncomfortably close to him and jabbing a finger in his chest. She noted with grim contentment that she was about the same height as he was, and found herself not having any trouble looking him in the eye. "Fine. But if you screw me over, you will regret it and I will go to the police and have you arrested. Also, I'll be holding on to this," she added, giving the briefcase a jiggle. "I'm not letting you anywhere near it anymore. Got it?"

Dawson cleared his throat, taking a small step back, and Maxence was pleased to see a flush darkening his cheeks. "Right." He turned, unlocking the door and sneaking a cautious glance outside before fully stepping outside and gesturing for her to follow.

The ship was strangely deserted. That was the first thing Maxence noticed as the two of them made their way along the small corridors and to the deck–at least, that's what she assumed. Dawson wasn't exactly talkative. She wondered if his head was filled with as many thoughts as hers was right now.

"Where is everyone?" she muttered under her breath when they rounded another corner and there still was nobody to be seen. She didn't expect an answer, and that was probably why she was so surprised when she got one.

"Dinner hall. We have..." he checked his watch, "about fifteen minutes to get off this ship and book it to the nearest coast."

Maxence gaped. "And there's no guards or anything?"

"We're on a boat, Maxence. There was a full search when we first went on board and there are twenty-three heavily armed men constantly roaming the corridors. They're their own guards." Dawson swiftly pulled open one more door and tiptoed up a set of stairs. Maxence was about to follow him when she caught a flash of movement in the corner of her eye, and she spun, squinting. There was no more movement. Shaking her head, she bolted up the stairs behind Dawson and followed him out into the chilly night air.

Dawson made a beeline for the backside of the ship, where the small powerboat sat on the side of the ship, waiting to be cut loose and laid into the water. Dawson wasted no time in untying the knots that kept the cover in its place, throwing it onto the deck and beckoning Maxence to step inside the boat. She only hesitated for a moment before thinking, What the hell? and hopping in.

Their departure was as smooth as hoped: nobody seemed to come running or try and stop them, and soon the ship was a small dot in the distance as Dawson steered their little boat towards the shore. If she hadn't been running for her life, helped by the very man who got her in this situation in the first place, Maxence might even have enjoyed the ride.

"It'll take us about a day getting to shore," Dawson muttered, his hand on the steering wheel. Then he reached beneath the bench and pulled out a dark brown duffel bag, chucking it in Maxence's direction.

She caught it, shooting him a cautious look before zipping open the bag and peering inside. It was filled with food, water bottles, and– "My stuff!" Maxence exclaimed. Shoving her hand in the bag, she pulled out her wallet, along with her notebook and her phone. When she tried to turn it on, all she saw was the red battery icon: it was dead. She should have known. Even though it was basically useless, she still felt a lot better holding it. "Thanks," she said, and she meant it.

Dawson's cheeks darkened. "You're welcome. It's not everything, but it's all I could grab without making it look suspicious." He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "My name's Asura, by the way," he added, meeting her eyes and casting her a tentative smile.

Maxence didn't quite trust him yet, but she appreciated what he'd done to get her off the boat safely. Clutching her notebook and her phone to her chest, she felt a lot safer: and the fact that he was willing to risk her calling the cops on him said something about his spirit. She wasn't sure what: idiocy? Trust? A gamble?

Whatever it was, she was grateful for it. She sighed, stuffing her wallet and her phone back into the duffel and grabbing a bottle of water and turning her back on him, looking out onto the open ocean, curled into a ball and gripping her notebook tightly, counting down the minutes until she'd be safely on land again.