*Disclaimer* I do not own Dark Angel or any of the characters, they are the property of James Cameron. Any infringement is completely unintended.
This is my first fan fiction ever. I just recently started rewatching the series and couldn't stop thinking about all the possibilities! This is an homage to Max/Logan fans but also just a way for me to live out my weird/boring Dark Angel fantasies. Read and Review if you like!
Blood Brothers- part 1
The man chopped the bright colored onion with expert precision as soft music played in the background. As usual he was expecting a guest and so there was an extra flourish in his strokes. Logan Cale had known a lot of beautiful women in his life, a benefit of being raised in the most exclusive circles of Seattle's society scene, but somehow his guest effected him in a way that all of these women could not. That was why he had spent the majority of his afternoon working on a pork shoulder with a chipotle crust. Well there were other reasons... there was the simple thrill of cooking, one of the things Logan could continue to do with full independence, and the matter of the favor he needed. Chipotle crusted pork was the perfect bribe.
Logan took a look down at his outfit, checking again to make sure everything was in place. He was wearing a pair of charcoal grey slacks, and a simple white button up shirt, untucked with the sleeves rolled up. Nothing too fancy, but enough to convey the message that he meant business. His guest would probably show up in a pair of cargo pants and zippered sweater but she would still put him to shame. Hell, she could put him to shame in anything. Especially that tight, black catsuit she was so fond of...
He was wrapped up in his musings he didn't hear the front door ease open or the nearly silent footsteps that followed. In fact he didn't hear anything until, "Hey you." He whipped his head around to locate the source of the feminine purr while at the same time, bringing his sharp knife down on his thumb. She was leaning against the counter behind him, clad in her work clothes and a saucy grin.
"Ouch!" He cried, turning back to the cutting board. He had caught the side of his thumb with the knife and almost immediately a pool of blood was forming in the crevice. While he would normally reply with something borderline playful he simply replied, "Hey Max."
"Whoa, no use crying over chopped onions," the young woman said, coming toward him as he dropped the knife and wheeled one handed to the sink. It was a difficult process and so by the time he reached his destination Max had already turned the water on.
"I believe the expression is spilled milk," Logan informed her, sticking his thumb under the cold flow from the facet.
"Spilled milk is a shame but I don't ever remember milk making my eyes water," Max said with one of her deadly, sultry grins. "Speaking of, you got any in your digs?"
"Second shelf in the fridge," Logan replied, his brow furrowing as his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. His thumb was now beginning to sting and if the redness of the water collecting in the stainless steel sink was any indication, the bleeding was not slowing down.
"Excellent," Max declared, peeling away from the counter and walking over to the fridge. Since the pulse everything had become hard to come by, especially necessities like fresh milk. But Logan had his connection and since meeting the cat burglar and learning about her condition he had always made sure his fridge contained some sort of milk substance.
Max opened the fridge an immediately located the milk. While her first instinct was to drink it straight from the glass bottle she quickly thought better of it and fetched a glass from the cupboard, filling it to the brim with the cool liquid. She could thank Logan for the new found manners and with this thought she turned back to her friend. He was still at the sink, rinsing his cut and looking slightly perturbed. She couldn't help but notice the way his white shirt hugged his chest, built up from month in the chair. Not to mention the smooth lines of his forearms, bare from the elbow down. Hot boy, huh? She couldn't help but think, running her roommate's nickname for Logan through her mind.
"You need a hand over there?" Max asked. She sauntered over before he had a chance to reply and placed her milk on the counter beside him. She disappeared for a moment and just as Logan was beginning to wonder where she had gone she returned with a band-aid in her hand. "Let me see." Feeling slightly ridiculous Logan backed away from the sink, jerking his right wheel so he could present Max with his hand. She was leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, so Logan's hand rested against her thigh. She took it in both of her hands, careful not to look at her friend. Logan was grateful for this as between her warm thigh and the nimble workings of her soft hands, outfitted in her cutoff bike gloves, a warm blush was beginning to form on his cheeks. She looked at his thumb, turning his hand side to side in a surprisingly gentle gesture before twisting and grabbing the band aid, tearing the paper open with her white teeth, and releasing his hand while she pulled it out of the wrapping. Logan allowed the side of his hand to rest against her leg, but was worried about bleeding all over her green cargos.
He shouldn't have been worried though because with inhuman speed Max had the band-aid freed and his thumb wrapped tight. Then, surprising both of them she ducked her head and brought his thumb to her lips so she could blow on it lightly, easing some of the pain. They looked eyes and for a moment neither of them could move. Her chocolate brown orbs were so dark, so welcoming, and Logan felt his eyes darkening to match. Then, spurred on by fear for his rapidly disappearing restraint he said, "So doc, what's the prognosis?"
Max looked at him, confused for a moment before she gave herself a mental shake and her muddy eyes were cleared. Now she looked at him with a mixture of amusement, curiosity and impatience. "My expert opinion? You'll live."
"That's a relief," Logan said, recovering with one of his simmering grins that always seemed to calm Max's shackles. "What do I owe you for the check up?"
"How about seconds of whatever you're cookin'?" Max said, breathing deeply and dropping his hand. He reclaimed it and looked at his thumb, judging her bandaging job to be near perfect. "Seriously Logan, it smells dangerously good."
"Thanks," he said, flattered by her enthused reaction. With the spell broken they moved away from each other, taking up their usual positions on opposite sides of the counter. While Logan returned to the chopping board, moving the bloody knife to the side Max scooped up her milk and sat on a stool across from him. "By the way, you feeling okay?" He motioned to the milk on the counter in front of her. She had already drinking almost the whole glass.
"Me? I'm right as rain. Just felt like this girl could use stronger bones," She said with a noncommittal shrug. Truth was she had been a little shaky earlier in the day and thought that a little natural dose of tryptophan wouldn't hurt. If Logan had caught the lie he certainly didn't act like it, but he did send her a soft look, the same one he sent her every time he was worried for her health, which had been a lot in recent months.
"If your bones were any stronger they would give diamonds a run for their money," Logan said with an amused snort. He finally finished slicing the onions and slid them onto a nearby plate.
"So what exactly are you cooking, and am I to assume it is the reason you paged me three times today before lunch?" Max asked. She finished off her milk and then pushed the glass away.
"Oh, you mean the three pages you didn't respond to?" Logan asked.
"Couldn't find a phone," Max shrugged. "Besides, thought I would drop by on my way how anyway and figured whatever it was could wait until then. Girls gotta have a life you know."
"Well I'm cooking a crusted pork shoulder with roasted vegetables on the side, and its part of the reason why I paged," Logan said, looking at her with pleading eyes that she had come to recognize and fear, mostly because she had a hard time saying no when he looked at her like that.
"Oh come on Logan, I just finished a job for you last night. I haven't even had time to shower and heal," Max groused, suddenly feeling foolish for fawning over his hand just moments ago. The man deserved to bleed a little.
"I know," Logan replied. "And you know I appreciate it, and wouldn't be asking for your help so quickly if it wasn't important."
"Well important or not, forget about it," Max told him, tossing her short, curly hair. "I need at least a few nights off if you insist on using my talents for another one of your crusades." She hadn't outright declined, and this gave Logan hope for a bargain.
"What if I promise you something else instead?" Logan asked.
"Like what?" Max replied, making it clear that a few nights off was not an easy thing to replace.
"Well, dinner tonight," He started.
"Nuh-uh, that is payment for your stellar medical treatment," She informed him, her dark eyes dancing with humor. "You're gonna have to up the ante."
"A full week of uninterrupted dinners," Logan offered.
"Are you sure you can promise that?" Max asked, quirking her eyebrow. Despite her response a whole week of uninterrupted dinners between her and Logan sounded... wonderful. They rarely had time together that wasn't tainted by work, news of her siblings, or some sort of unwanted social call.
"I keep my promises," Logan answered, responding to her feigned disinterest.
"Alright, I also want a bottle of oil for my baby," she said with business like brusqueness. She knew how difficult it was to locate oil with the state that the market was in. That was the reason for the challenge in her gaze as she surveyed her friend and employer.
"Done," Logan replied, smiling at her. He was actually surprised at how easy it was going to be to provide her requests. "In fact, wait here for just one minute." He rolled away, leaving Max alone with her empty glass and her thoughts. Her last mission hadn't really been that bad she supposed. Although she did rip the sleeve on f her favorite red sweater, which was easy enough to fix but a pain none the less. Maybe, she thought to herself, she should have asked for a replacement sweater too. Although knowing Logan he would probably end up buying her he wrong size or color. Oil was better. Not only was it more necessary, but he would have a hell of a time finding a bottle.
But damn that pork whatever sure did smell good. With thoughts of the cook Max wandered over to the stove, opening it to take a deep breath. Inside was a simple casserole dish, covered and not revealing anything. Damn her boy could cook, Max mused, then mentally slapped herself. Logan wasn't her boy. Just a boy. Not even really a boy but a man. Especially the way he was looking tonight with his scruffy beard and messy hair, and the shirt that hugged every angle... She nearly jumped when she heard him wheeling back into the kitchen and rushed back to her seat on the stool to avoid suspicion. He arrived with a grin on his face and a brown wrapped parcel in his lap. Max couldn't decide which was more exciting.
"You didn't tell me you figured out my birthday," Max said.
"I didn't. Although don't think I've given up the chase," Logan warned. He wheeled forward and deposited the parcel on the counter before moving back to survey her with a pleased look. "Open it." Max sent him a saucy look before pulling the package toward her. There was a small card taped to the front and so she ripped it off, pulling it out of the small yellow envelope.
"To my Angel," she read in a sarcastic tone that became increasingly soft. "Just a little thanks for all the help. Your hardheaded employer and friend, Logan. Wow, getting all soft on me already." In truth the card was touching and she wasn't sure how much further she should go. What if it ended up being lingerie, or worse yet some type of framed treasure? Even so she covertly pocketed the card, the crow in her wanting to collect every remnant she could of the man in front of her, and the times he treated her well.
"Just letting you know I'm not blind to the trials I put you through. Now don't make me tell you again, open it." Her curiosity reinvigorated, Max ripped at the brown paper wrapping. Inside was a simple cardboard box and she tore it open. Sifting through a few layers of tissue paper she can up with a bottle of motor oil. "I ran across it a few weeks ago and I was just waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you. I wish I had done it before you asked for it, to keep it a surprise, but this works just as well."
"Alright, its even the right kind," Max said with a grin. "How did you know I would be a sucker for oil?"
"Well I seem to remember how thrilled you were when someone else scrounged some up for you a few months ago and lets just say it stayed in the back of my mind," Logan said, his eyes narrowing into that inscrutable expression of his.
"Hmm? A few months? That was so long ago, I hardly remember," Max said nonchalantly. They both knew she was lying and that Logan's words conjured an image of the bumbling but sweet Eric. Another thing she could blame on her screwed up DNA... It had taken a lot of convincing but Logan had finally accepted that they had not been dating or anything else of that sort. Not that it mattered.
"Well now that we have that squared away let me get you the file for what I have been working on. So far it seems to be a simple missing persons case, but I can't shake the feeling that something bigger is going on-" Logan started, turning toward the living room.
"Logan!" Max cried. He slammed on his breaks and turned back to her. "One more condition. We eat and we do not make one mention of the great eyes only or his missions. I'll have you know I had a jam packed day at good ol' jam pony, and I expect you to listen to every word about it. Aiight?"
"I think I can manage that," Logan answered, sounding pained.
Half an hour later they were almost finished dinner. Max was sopping up the last bits of juice and tender meat with a stray piece of bread. All the while she was telling a story about her friends with more expression than Logan usually saw from her.
"So Sketchy is screaming at the top of his rotten lungs while O.C. practically drags his sorry ass through the street, yelling at him to give her package back," Max explained, pausing only to shove the bread in her mouth. "This goes on for a while, until I notice the new girl looking real guilty all of a sudden. While everyone else is watching the show she turns and pitches a package onto the roof of the run down apartment beside us. Doesn't take a genius to realize what was happening. So she turns back and looks at me, and I look at her..."
"Well what did you do? Did you help Sketchy?" Logan wanted to know.
"Oh hell no," Max declared, snorting. "That boy deserves the extra slaps even if he ain't guilty of the crime. Besides I've helped his ass out way too much. So her and I just look at each other and then I just shrug, letting her know I didn't see it if she didn't want me to."
"That's a little cruel, don't you think?" Logan asked, hopping off the stool into his chair before grabbing Max's plate and clearing the rest of the counter.
"Oh please. Sketchy got his, and the way I see it I made a new friend," Max explained with a shrug, sitting back as she rested her hand on her full stomach. The meal had been delicious and her content facial expression told Logan that. Well that and the fact that she had nearly been purring as they ate.
"What about O.C.'s package?" Logan asked, wheeling to the sink where he deposited the dishes in warm soapy water.
"I went back after the crowd moved on, made sure she got her signature and a hefty tip I slipped into her bag after," Max assured him. Logan looked at her in surprise before his expression settled into a grin. "I might as well use my powers for good right? That's what you're always tryin' to say."
"Something like that," he agreed. She picked up a dishtowel and joined him at his side where they fell into a companionable silence. She debated trading tasks with him, just so he wouldn't get his band-aid wet, but her hatred of pruny hands won out and she stuck to drying. Besides Logan wasn't complaining, in fact he looked positively elated as he passed her the soapy plates and glasses. Probably thinking of the file sitting on his desk, Max mused with a mental eye roll. In truth he was thinking of how lucky he was to have his friend standing next to him. It was such a domestic task, doing the dishes. He had never done it with Valerie as she insisted on using the dishwasher, a waste of water if Logan had ever known one. No, Max was the type to enjoy the simple put necessary task. It was one of those moments that he couldn't help but think of what the same activity would mean if he wasn't in the chair. A late dinner, good wine, intimate conversation if it weren't for the chair it could be one of the best dates he had ever had. But instead it was just a dinner. Business, even.
Once they were finished the dishes Max sent him a warm smile. It wasn't her usual cocky, toothy grin, but a small, unsure and tentative smile. It was the smile that had the potential to floor Logan. It was as if this gorgeous, ethereal creature was looking to him for some sort of approval. He grinned back like an idiot before breaking the gaze to wheel to the living room. She followed him, not even grumbling about his dedication to his work.
"So what do we got?" Max asked as soon as Logan pressed on his breaks and brought his computer screen to life. She leaned against the desk, her hip visible, but too far away to touch innocently. Without moving his gaze from the screen he passed her a manila file folder. In the process his hand brushed against the front of her thigh again, but they let it go.
"Pamela Trewitt. Grade five teacher, married ten years, mother of two," Logan started. Max flipped the folder open to see a snapshot of a pretty, older blond woman. She was sitting on the grass, two young boys wrapped in her arms as if they were wrestling but had paused to smile at the camera. Quaint, Max thought bitingly, but when her family wrestled there was no pausing for a flash. "She was last seen en route out of the city about a week ago. Her husband can't figure out what she was doing and if any of her friends did, they aren't talking."
"What kind of car does she drive?" Max asked, flipping through the file. She found the information and nodded slowly. Mid level, comfortable car, out of the range of an elementary school teacher but not exactly something that would attract a discerning car thief. "So you're thinking this isn't just a simple car jack?"
"That's the thing. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to think so I ran her details through a few databases and came up with six more hits in the last six months," Logan explained. He pulled up the other files and Max leaned over to examine the screen. All the profiles were different except for one thing, they were all last seen on their way out of Seattle never to be heard from again. "At first I wasn't sure we had anything at all to go on, but then I noticed two things. First of all, they all seem to be healthy if not in their prime. Second, two of the missing persons share the same doctor."
"You're really fixated on health lately aren't you?" Max demanded. "You sure you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," Logan snapped in an annoyed manner. "Not that your constant concern isn't appreciated." His tone suggested that it most definitely was not.
"Whatever," she tossed back. "So we got one link. You talk to this doctor man? Or is he another one of our famous Seattle low life's"
"I had an informant check him out and he came back clean," Logan shrugged. "He's a general practitioner, been working in Seattle since before the pulse and has never had so much as a parking ticket."
"Squeaky?" Max questioned.
"Squeaky," Logan confirmed with a sigh.
"Sometimes that's even more suspicious," Max argued.
"I've been running his name through every database I could think of and I haven't turned anything up yet. Doesn't mean I haven't given up on him," Logan informed her.
"So is Pamela one of the patients?" Max asked, turning her attention back to the file in her hand.
"Yep, according to her husband's testimony she was seeing him regularly. Seems they were trying to conceive again and were having a hard time of it. That was the husbands reason for contacting eyes only in the first place, he knew she wouldn't just run off if they were in the middle of in vitro," He sat back an surveyed Max. While she must have had some interesting views on people using the process she wasn't sharing them.
"Well if that's our only lead I'ma have to milk it," She said with a shrug. "Any chance you can get me an appointment with this guy?"
"Oh look, just our luck," Logan said, turning to his desk to open a drawer and then turning back to Max with a bundle of envelopes in his hand. "A Natalie Holtz has a one o'clock appointment tomorrow, and here are all of her papers, including proof of insurance."
"And what would you have done if I had turned down this job?" Max asked, sending him a knowing glare as she accepted the envelopes.
"Begged until you said yes, and if you still said no... well I haven't dressed in drag since college but I was told I made a very convincing woman," Logan said with a serious glint in his eye. Suddenly the image of Logan in a short pink dress popped into Max's mind and it was all she could do not to break down into tear filled laughter.
"I'll try to survive with that image in my mind," Max said, laughter making her voice lighter and bouncier. "Well if that is all your majesty, I'll be retiring to my hovel now."
"If you give me a minute I can drive you," Logan offered.
"It's aiight, I got my work bike leaning up against your hallway wall," Max replied. He sent her a disappointed look before quickly looking away. "Although if I'm going to look the part I suppose I'll need some nicer threads than this and I can't be biking through my hood and hope to get home dry."
"Go pick through your arsenal in the spare room and I'll get ready to go," Logan said with a smile. Max felt better about their plan as she entered the spare room and threw the closet door open. She figured potential mother would have to look clean cut but not too businessy... soft and maternal were never her thing but she figured she could figure them out. Finally she picked out a long flowing skirt and sleeveless white blouse. She might not know what it was like to be a mother, but by god she could look the part.