Author: Jadyn
Category: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None, I think...
Summary: Logan is losing hope, but not if Max has anything to say about it
Disclaimer: Max and Logan belongs to James Cameron, Charles H. Eglee, and FOX. The song Angel belongs to Robbie Williams and his record company. I'm not making any money from this (yeah, I wish!).
Author's Notes: PLEASE review! Send me an e-mail, I live for feedback. This is technically my first piece of fan fiction (a completed one anyways), any comments or suggestions will be of great help. I actually started writing the story based on the lyrics below, don't know if it still fits though... Oh, and visit my site, JH: Dark Angel, for more fan fic and DA stuff!
"I sit and wait, does an angel contemplate my fate." - "Angel" by Robbie Williams
Sitting and waiting. Those seem to be all I can do, ever since my goodwill landed me the jackpot from hell, in other words, this wheelchair. Today is no different, once again I'm sitting, once again I'm waiting. Sitting here looking out on the run-down landscape of Seattle, waiting for things to come over the informant net. At times it seems hard for me to envision when I was mobile below the waist. Walking, running, dancing, those are hazy memories to me, memories from dreams long passed.
A few days ago, during a therapy session, Bling suddenly asked me if I wanted to walk again. I looked at him like he grew a third eye. "Of course I want to walk again," I told him. He seemed satisfied with that answer, since he didn't press me about it. But something about my own answer surprised me. Not the words I said, but the way I said it. Something was missing, what was it? Ah yes, the fierce determination of Logan Cale had somehow been reduced to a factual monotone. When did that happen? The shooting was only months ago, and here I am tumbling halfway towards possessing the mindset of the average bum on the street. I'm losing my edge, just like everything else I lost in my miserable excuse for a life. My parents, Valerie, my legs, might as well add my brilliant mind to the mix.
"Logan? You okay?"
If my legs could move, I swear I would have literally jumped. Instead I whip my head around to find Max standing two feet behind me, studying me with her liquid brown eyes. I turn back to the window, knowing that I'd drown in their depths if I looked into them a second longer.
"I was okay, until you finally decided to speak up and gave me a heart attack. You can always call before you come. You can even call collect if you don't have change."
"So the new policy dictates that I need an appointment to have an audience with Mr. Cale. Or are you just ever-so-subtly trying to tell me to get lost." She's smiling, her tone playful, but nevertheless I feel a slight pang in my chest. I would NEVER want her to be out of my life.
"I'm just trying to save you from the trouble of always needing to pick my lock. Besides, locks aren't particularly cheap these days." I keep up my end of the banter, hoping that she wouldn't see my stiff posture.
"How about this, I'll start giving the doorbell some attention only if I don't have to call ahead, okay?" She doesn't seem to notice the tension, and I'm already starting to relax. Good.
"Deal, how about we seal it with a toast."
"Care to add some chocolate fudge to that?"
"Knock yourself out." I can't help but smile, for a genetically engineered woman she sure likes her chocolate.
As she bounces over to the freezer, I pick out a bottle of wine, yet another pre-Pulse vintage, a pretty good one too. I usually save those for special occasions, but the way I figure it, any occasion with Max is special enough for me. I'm wheeling myself to the counter when all of a sudden a sharp pain in my lower back surprises me. I drop the precious bottle, vaguely feeling frustrated and useless through the fire of the pain. Out of nowhere Max's arm shoots out like a frog's tongue and catches the bottle five inches off the ground. Minutes crawl by, and slowly the tide of pain recedes. I find myself sitting hunched in my wheelchair, forehead beaded with sweat. Although I'm dreading the look that would be on her face, full of pity and maybe even annoyance, I still look up anyways.
My breath catches in my throat as my eyes graze over her beautiful features. She kneels before me, her slender hands lightly grasping the sides of the wheelchair. But it's her eyes, that look burning itself deep into my memory. The liquid brown depths aren't disappointed, angry, disgusted, or even pitiful. The emotions swirling in them I can only describe as unconditional support.
Out of reflex I immediately squash the thought. Unconditional support would mean she cares about me. A lot. Too much for a paraplegic to expect from a gorgeous young woman. Besides, she has always made it clear that our relationship only involves some legwork for me, some information for her, and maybe a few meals and games of chess in between. We've crossed the line between being business partners and friends, there's no denying that. But the road to the boundary of love and passion was a journey that Max simply won't take, with Lydecker's Manticore preaching still anchoring her, refusing her fulfillment of the heart and soul. No amount of hoping and praying on my part can change that. Great, another thing I've lost, but what makes this my greatest failure of all is that I've never had it in the first place.
All of a sudden Max stands up silently and gracefully, with an expression I've identified and labelled as determination. She proceeds to wheel me to the couch help me onto it without uttering a single word. I feel slightly surprised, but most of it is washed away by waves of dejection.
"Logan." I keep my eyes fixed on the coffee table, suddenly fascinated by the clear surface and metallic legs.
"Logan, look at me." Her tone is gentle, yet insistent. Without waiting for a response she guides my chin up and sideways with her soft but firm fingers. She looks me over for a few more seconds, as if unsure of how to go on. During that moment of silence I did my damndest to keep my expression neutral, hoping that I succeeded and that my despair isn't showing on my face. Then a look of clarity comes over her, and I can almost see the gears in her military-issued brain clicking into place. If the circumstances weren't so grim I would have laughed.
"I want to tell you something, about my escape from Manticore." I can feel my eyes widen, Max never used Manticore as a topic of conversation, never even giving me more than the basics, leaving me to research for myself. What prompted her to talk about it now?
"Zack had told us about the escape two weeks before we put the plan into action. At first it didn't feel right, ditching the chain of command and all. But eventually I got over it, which wasn't very hard, actually. I had a good excuse, escaping was a direct order from my CO, that counts for obeying my superior." She talks about it like it was no big deal, like escaping from Manticore was as normal as eating dinner. But I know those memories hurt her, almost as much as it did all those years ago. I'm glad that she opened the door to her soul another inch for me, but I'm still mostly puzzled as to her timing for this revelation, and where she's going with it.
"Then one night Tinga began to panic. Even with all our military training we were susceptible to fear. She doubted that we could ever hope to get past the perimeter, let alone disappear from Lydecker's radar and live normal lives. As I lay there on my bed in the barracks, that panic began to grow in me too. I kept thinking, 'Tinga's right, we are just children. Lydecker's men were bigger, more in numbers, better equipped. Our odds of actually succeeding were miniscule if not nonexistent. How could we have thought that this plan would actually work?'"
"Then Zack spoke up from across from my bunk. It was probably the first piece of real wisdom I've ever heard. He said that if you believe in something and set out to accomplish it no matter what the odds are, then you'll always have a chance of success. But if you don't believe in it and yourself, then you won't succeed even if you have all the gods, deities, luck, and fate on your side. To this day I still have no idea where he picked up that one, but I still remember it. Maybe you should too." She turns to look at me with shining eyes, and the point of her story immediately slaps me across the face.
She saw right through me, she must have seen the misery on my face when I nearly broke the bottle of wine. She knew that I was wallowing in self-pity and losing my resolve to stand up again. That story was to keep me from abandoning hope, to make me believe that I will walk again someday. My gaze falls to my knees in shame. Max shouldn't have to dredge up those agonizing memories just to cheer me up. What kind of fighter for truth, justice, and the American way am I?
Her fingers entwine mine in a gentle grip, causing me to lift up my eyes. I can see the acceptance, understanding, and encouragement written on her face. My heart is expanding from pure joy and elation. I feel honoured that she was willing to emerge from her metal armour for me. From this moment on, I know that Max will be there, helping me with Eyes Only work, helping me overcome my disability. I smile, silently communicating my thanks and renewed purpose to her. Her lips also curve up in a dazzling smile, having received my message and accomplished her task.
"You want to stay longer? I have fresh pasta and chicken in the fridge."
"Sure. Free food, why not? I'll go get things ready."
I can hear clinking in the kitchen as the fiery sun set over Seattle. I send a prayer up to God, or whoever's in charge up there, for what I have. Most importantly for the beautiful and intelligent woman who's willing to stay and fight by my side, to catch me when I fall, both physically and mentally. Tomorrow will be a new day, and I will continue to fight, for the innocent, for justice.
I will fight for a better future.
I will walk again.
THE END
A/N: So what do you think? Worthy of a first effort, or should I just stay away from the keyboard? E-mail me with feedback!