The Things We Do for Love

The things we do for love are almost limitless. From fighting wars, to facing fears, to abject humiliation....those we love are worth anything, as Charley proves.

Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish I had my own Martian Mouse....

The Things We Do for Love

Chapter 1

Charley stared at the stack of envelopes on her kitchen table. She gave a bone-deep sigh at the sight of so many. "God, I hate bills," she murmured. Water bill, electric bill, heating bill, mortgage payment, insurance payments. (Oh, she knew someone up in the cosmic scheme of things just had to start laughing hysterically the nanosecond she had tried to get a better insurance policy with Martians in the house.) Which led to a groan about the repair bill for another wrecked wall.

Then there were her business expenses; car parts, motorcycle parts, oil, gasoline for her tow truck, power for the garage's many extra tools, maitenance on the tools and her equipment. Not to mention all the damned-to-the-tenth-level-of-hell paperwork. (She now had nothing but complete and utter respect and sympathy for Carbine. If just running a garage was hell at times, imagine running an entire army and an economy and rebuilding a government while at war.)

And oh, all the Biker Mice related expenses..... She loved those macho furballs, she really did. But for heaven's sake, nearly five hundred dollars a month just for groceries?! And the parts for their motorcycles did not come cheap either. Most of those had to be custom ordered, and some of the supplies weren't exactly legal in this country. (She didn't tell her boys that.) Thank god they didn't live at the garage, where they would be adding exponentially to her bills. The Quigly stadium barely noticed their take of water, power, and heating.

The giant holes in the walls of the stadium blown out from their playing various Martian games, now that was another story.

She sighed again. This had been her normal state of affairs for a while, but now things were going south quickly. She had run into a dry spell at work, barely any jobs in the last two weeks. The lack of funds had driven her bills to the point that if she didn't get around three thousand dollars by the end of the week, she would be forced to file bankruptcy. (She could hear Limburger laughing, she would swear that on a stack of Bibles.)

She turned her attention to the newspaper. Surely there had to be something. If she couldn't get any work in her own shop, she would just have to find another job. A very well paying job, something along the lines of three thousand a week. The woman growled to herself. Yeah, right. Nothing short of major business positions payed that well. Nothing legal, anyway.

Unless....

Charlene shook her head at the very idea. Oh no. Hell no. Not if it was the last job on earth. She had some dignity left, didn't she? A glance over at the bills had her reconsidering that. She couldn't afford dignity, not anymore. With a feeling of dread in her gut, she clipped out the ad and went over to the phone, dialing the number to apply for the job.

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Two days later....

Vincent Van Wham yawned as he rode down the city street. It was late, almost three in the morning. He was tired, and all he wanted was a quick snack and a hot shower before bed. They were getting low on food at the board, so he swung by the Last Chance. He hopped off his bike before quietly opening the garage doors, hoping to not wake the mechanic that was probably sleeping inside. The last time he had come in like he normally did at this time of night, she had gotten out her nail gun and started sniping at him from her bedroom window.

So he was incredibly surprised to see the kitchen light still on. He almost called out, but though better of it. Charley had probably just forgotten to turn it off, right? A small sound made him stiffen, pulling out his blaster. Or maybe someone had broken into her house, and she hadn't heard them. He got ready to fire as he went silently down the hallway. If someone had broken in, they were going to get a very nasty surprise in the form of a very pissed off Biker Mouse. Nobody messed with his girl.

A quick glance around the corner had him relaxing, a smile of releif on his face. Charley was still awake, sitting at the kitchen table with a hand over her eyes. He made ready to walk in and say hello when he caught the sound that he'd heard before. A tiny sniff, a hiccup, a very quiet sob. His jaw dropped as he realized what he was seeing.

Charlene Davidson was crying.

He had no idea what to do. Throttle was better with this sort of thing, not him!! Even Modo was better with crying girls than he was! Although, he was more than willing to beat the shit out of the one who'd made his girl that upset. She had gone with them on some of the most dangerous and crazy missions, never flinching, never once backing down. She was brave, damn near fearless, always optimistic and confident. Whatever it was that had made her cry, it was bad.

He was frozen, unable to decide what to do. She suddenly stood, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. She put down the peices of paper in her hand and headed for the upstairs bedroom. An almost lifeless flick of her wrist turned the lights off. The white mouse slowly moved forward, staring up after the girl with a concerned look on his face. What could be so bad?

The pile of papers on the table caught his attention. He made a face as he realized what they were. It turned to a worried frown as he saw how many of them there were. His jaw dropped as he ran some quick math in his head, adding it all up. Holy--she couldn't possibly make all that money! There had to be something he could do, something he and bros could help with. The mouse turned and went back to his bike. His bros would know what to do.

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