Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel
Secret Santa story for Shywr1terHer wishes were:
1)"need not be whole story, but at least a warm, fuzzy, intimate moment w/ just M & L"
Warm and fuzzy yes, but rather distant M/L ness.
2) "Christmas plans/celebration/festivities of some sort"
Most definitely.
3) "heck, I don't know! Surprise me and let there be hope and happiness at least in the DA sort of way...!"
Hope and happiness in abundance, in fact in a rather un-DA way and so artificially over-sweetened that this should be read while drinking Tabasco for sugar detoxication.
Don't say I didn't warn you. Also this isn't beta-ed, so if you find my mistakes please tell me.
Many thanks to Lisa for her dictionary-services and to Griever for test-reading.
Timeline: Whenever Christmas may be in S1 but before Camera.
When Logan unexpectedly found a huge grapefruit on his kitchen counter on the morning of December 1st, he didn't really think about it, assuming that Bling must have left it there.
However, the next day the grapefruit had doubled into two unusually flawless pieces of fruit, their shiny, bright pink contrasting with the cool chrome of the kitchen. Intrigued now, Logan questioned a clueless Bling even though in the back of his mind another suspicion already had started to form.
On December 3rd there was a handful of almonds decorating his table and on the fourth his breakfast toast was sweetened by a luxuriously thick layer of his new, pre-pulse quality jar of nougat spread.
Unsure about the motives of this little game, Logan decided to play along, putting a snack of milk and cookies on the counter as he had done on those Christmases many years ago when his world had still been intact.
The next morning the cookies were gone while the empty glass wore the slightly pinkish imprint of unusually full, female lips. Max.
In exchange for the cookies, a small paper bag of coffee was waiting for him, whole beans of a premium Ethiopian sort he hadn't seen for years. Inhaling the bitter, aromatic scent, Logan's face relaxed into a tentative smile of slow understanding as the stream of little presents throughout five December days in a row suddenly made sense.
An oversized advent calendar.
Running a hand through his hair in a gesture of pleased perplexity, Logan's smile widened into a sheepish grin at discovering the higher sense of Max's apparently random bestowals.
With his plans to spend the holidays in the quiet seclusion of his penthouse, far away from any kind of merry meetings and traditional celebrations, he would have been surprised to be included into any kind of Christmas plans. But finding his kitchen transformed into an oversized advent calendar by Max from all people gave him the silly urge to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming…
Moving over to the coffee machine, the expression of mild astonishment lingered on Logan's face at the realization that Max, who had never even experienced the innocent childhood experience of sweetly prolonged Christmas anticipation, was familiar with this specific tradition of daily gift-giving. Despite the occasional Santa Claus with reindeers already decorating the shop displays, they both hadn't touched the topic of the holidays yet, correctly assuming that the other couldn't find much enjoyment in the idea of celebrating harmonic family life either. And even if Logan had happened to ask Max about her thoughts on Christmas, Logan would have been sure that she would have minimized any kind of sentimental custom with one of her sarcastic remarks.
And yet, something must have moved her to bend traditions in a way that was uniquely hers, sneaky and quiet, thoughtful and daring, her nightly presence in his apartment at the same time intensely intimate and securely absent.
Logan didn't know whether Max had meant it to be a calendar from the beginning or whether it had just developed like that after the first days, just like he didn't know whether the presents really would continue until the 24th. And it was just this lingering bit of insecurity, mingling in between an uncharacteristic lightheadedness, that made him understand the fragility of what was going on.
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Not wanting to endanger the stream of nightly surprises, Logan never mentioned them in broad daylight, as if speaking it out aloud would put an end to their clandestine appearance.
Max neither gave any indication that something was going on. She came over for lunch every other day, her face glowing from the cold winter air, snapped at him when he forgot to prepare the promised dinner in his obsessed preoccupation with his latest case or returned from a night of fruitless observation in barely restrained crankiness.
Only for a few, elusive moments Logan caught her watching him in absent thoughtfulness, as if she wanted to know whether he had noticed her presents at all. Then they shared a faint, knowing smile, barely noticeable and promptly killed by nervousness and their inability to openly deal with any emotion that went beyond platonic friendship.
They continued their usual game of pretension, not daring to leave the safe surface of innocent friendship, only that now the underlying tension of mutual attraction was intensified by the knowledge of a shared secret.
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Like a child willing to catch Santa Claus, Logan tried to stay awake, hoping that he might catch her putting a crooked gingerbread man on his bedside table like she'd done the night before.
But he never succeeded. Even though normally all the thoughts spinning in his head kept him from falling asleep after a long, exhausting day, now he felt himself drifting of almost immediately, resting like a child knowing that somebody was watching over him.
She left him such rarities as vanilla beans or a handful of nutmegs, computer parts or a new set of original filters for his coffee machine, all the little things that were so frustratingly time-consuming to find even for someone who had the money to buy them.
On December 10th, a shaving day, she made him laugh.
Just when the dull roughness of his razor had reminded him that he'd wanted to go out and search for the scarcity of new blades for over a two weeks now, Logan's gaze fell on a small, rectangular item next to his toothbrush, so far going unnoticed in his early morning stupor: An original package of Gillettes, their silver logo reminding him of pre-Pulse times.
As the new blade glided smoothly over his face, making the nuisance of shaving a bit more pleasant, Logan oppressed a mischievous smirk at his resolution to keep up his usual hazardous shaving pattern, making his new possessions last as long as possible.
That evening Max acknowledged his clean-shaven face with a tiny smile, her eyebrows lifting in silent appreciation of the unusual sight.
On December 16th, just when he'd thought that maybe Max hadn't been able to come up with something today, Logan spotted a slim, white folder on his desk. Opening it to find the long-sought connection between the mayor's office and the chemical plant polluting the city's water reservoirs, Logan felt a strange tingle of pride and satisfaction at her unfailing choice of 'things Logan likes'…
Even more than the other items, this one meant that Max understood what mattered to him, that she'd noticed his frustration with watching helplessly how the health of more and more people was endangered while he failed to find a definite proof. She had seen what was going on inside him and, despite all her cynic claims of not caring about the state of the world, had been willing to sacrifice her time for his cause, for his ideals and worries.
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On the evening of the 24th Logan went to bed with an odd reminiscence of the giddy anticipation of his childhood when he'd run down the stairs toward their oversized Christmas tree in unrestrained enthusiasm at the first signs of daylight.
But unlike his younger self, who had been barely able to await Christmas morning, now Logan didn't want the advent time to end. He had gotten used to his new morning ritual of searching her present more than he liked to admit, even thinking of it in those first, disorienting moments after waking up. It had given his days a new steady rhythm, breaking his dull routines… but even more so, it had helped him over the night, his sleepy ponderings about what might be tomorrow's little something keeping away all the nagging self-doubt otherwise troubling his sleep.
But all this was over now. Logan had not once allowed himself to think that the pattern of this short month would continue, had restrained himself from imagining how things might develop from her innocent gesture that he wished to be so much more.
And still, eventually, in between appreciation and silent regret, Logan drifted off, toying with the idea of finally asking Max to come over for Christmas dinner.
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Merry Christmas!