Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel
A/N: This is Griever's present for the Christmas in… August-challenge.
Griever wished for Logan cooking dinner, Original Cindy, Crash (one tiny mention) and ML ML ML (may or may not have that, depending on her definition). Very surprisingly, not including the Virus, Renfro and Asha was no problem at all.
Cindy-speech courtesy of Lisa. Big thanks to Shywr1ter for suggestions, fishing out mistakes and for keeping Logan from offering Max something that could be mistaken as dog-food:-) All remaining mistakes are mine.
I guess this could play sometime after 'Haven'.
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Hallway in front of Max's apartment, 9:15 PM
It had been a bad idea. Now, as Logan was sitting in front of Max's door, clearly out of place amidst the dingy rubble and indefinably nasty smell of the hallway, he felt decidedly silly for coming up with the notion of bringing Max dinner.
Half an hour earlier it had seemed like the most sensible thing to do.
As he did so often, he had asked Max over for dinner at eight and, as she did so often, she had agreed quite willingly. Stirring in a last, refining splash of cream into the lazily bubbling stew, Logan remembered with a pleased smile her anticipation and curiosity as he had explained the warming benefits of his chicken stew in the cold, wet weather.
Logan wasn't really worried when she still hadn't arrived at half past eight, knowing that between her overly eager boss and several checkpoint crossings some delay was normal. He still wasn't really worried when his cell phone rang, assuming that it must be Max just announcing that she was late. However, his level of concern peaked up to alarming heights as he recognized Original Cindy's voice, immediately assuming that there could be only one reason for her to call: something must have happened to Max. In under a second his apocalyptic brain had plotted a frighteningly detailed sequence of her being abducted by a phalanx of black-clad figures, taking her back to Manticore where he would never see her again.
With this in mind, hearing Cindy's voice proclaim that Max would have to cancel their dinner plans because of a seizure was almost a relief. Logan relaxed even more as Cindy, apparently misunderstanding his silence, hurried to assure him that Max was in good hands, that they were fully stocked with tryptophan, and that it really was just a matter of not letting her speed through the streets in this state, revved-up super soldier or not.
Then she hung up and Logan was alone with a huge pot of food that had been measured for the insatiable appetite of a transgenic stomach and was likely to spoil if he didn't find someone to help him eat. Even worse, by tomorrow his cake was going to be soaked through thoroughly by its strawberry topping and certainly would be in no state to serve as a presentable-looking surprise desert. As Logan absently stared at the red fruits in their vanilla cream-bed, his face creased into a pondering frown, thinking what a pity it was that Bling was out of town for a family visit. There weren't exactly a lot of other people he could call on short notice to bestow them with his cooking. Bennett maybe, or Mrs. Moreno, and possibly even Matt Sung… But then old women were hardly known for consuming huge amounts, inviting his cousin would certainly trigger a bunch of unwanted questions about Max and somehow Logan just couldn't see himself rolling into the police office to hand out a round of stew.
So the idea was born that if Max couldn't come to the food, the food would have to come to her. After all, he wouldn't be able to eat all this alone and throwing it away would be a terribly waste of all the time he'd put into hunting fresh strawberries and a well-nourished chicken. The fact that eating alone didn't hold much appeal was busily ignored as Logan scooped a generous amount of his now lukewarm creation into a casserole. It would have meant acknowledging Max's role in his daily routines, admitting that without her visits his food regimen would be a lot more monotonous.
As soon as Logan was in the car and out of the garage, a trickle of doubt started to force its way into his mission-focused single-mindedness. What would Max think if he just showed up on her doorstep? Sure, she did that with him all the time, but that was… different. After all, she was working for him, and sharing the niceties of his apartment was just part of their quid pro quo.
What if she didn't want to see him when she was sick or took his food-delivery as sign of concern that crossed the boundary beyond harmless friendship? What if she saw it as an indication that he was caring more than he wanted her to know?
Indecision usually wasn't a term Logan would use to describe himself. From early on he had prided himself of sticking with his rational, well-thought decisions. Yet with Max and this undefined something hovering between them, as tender and elusive as a daydream, right and wrong, yes and no had started to mingle, fusing with Logan's otherwise impeccable morals and principles… compromising his silent vow that stemmed from the end of his marriage to stay away from any deep emotional involvement.
After passing the drive in the dull, whooshing hum of the of rain-wet streets, some unfamiliar chicken-hearted part of him started to hope that maybe her old, creaking beast of an elevator wouldn't be working, providing him with an easy way out. Yet as Logan warily stabbed its rusty buttons it came to life with a reluctant, metallic groan … and so, as his mind failed to come up with more excuses, his hands unerringly propelled him to Max's door.
There he sat for several minutes, caught in his internal debate of the pros and cons of his plan and an absent inspection of his grungy surroundings culminating in the conclusion that Max really deserved a better place than this dilapidated hovel disguised as an apartment block. At least the scraped steel of the door looked sturdy enough to keep out unwanted visitors... But then of course that same door hadn't hindered him in the least from entering, back when he'd been here for the first time, still on his own feet and still blessedly able to convince himself that the only thing he wanted from this girl were her bodyguard abilities.
It seemed like another life now.
Finally he knocked, then leaned back to wait for the sound of approaching steps. But as much as he strained his ears against the fragmented bursts of noise pouring into the hallway from the other doors, Max's apartment continued to be filled with the silence, its meaning unclear to the person waiting on the outside. Perhaps, Logan thought as he disgustedly studied a cavity in the wall suspiciously looking like a mouse-hole, he should leave in case Cindy had gone out and Max was asleep. He wouldn't want to wake her.
He was just tentatively lifting his fist for a final knock, when the door abruptly opened and he – or more exactly a spot slightly above his head – was showered with a torrent of swearing full of colorful creativity, to say the least.
Before Logan could quite figure out what the 'obtuse, moronic creep' had done wrong to earn Cindy's scorn, she stopped mid-sentence, realizing that her breath was wasted on the wrong person. "Oh… Logan… Hey. I thought you was that damn fool from downstairs bitchin'about the noise again…"
Logan looked up at her with an expression of polite blankness, undecided whether he was supposed to be amused or better feel uncomfortable at her slightly perplexed surprise. He decided for the latter as her apologetic smile was followed by a questioning look which he rightly took as a prompt to explain the motives of his visit.
"I.. uh… Since Max couldn't come over, I thought I'd bring you both some of my stew… You know, just in case you hadn't time to cook yourself… And I can't keep it fresh in the fridge, with all these brownouts lately…"
He trailed off awkwardly, suppressing the urge to squirm under her intently probing gaze, which in its friendly firmness strangely reminded him of the unbelieving 'Yeah, right'-look Bling always threw him when the conversation came to Max. Under normal circumstances Logan considered himself to be quite adept with words, but Cindy's strangely knowing smile just threw him. It was as if she was suggesting some underlying assumption which he couldn't quite figure out, and knew even less how to address.
She couldn't be thinking that this was merely a cheap excuse to see Max?
"So… if you just could give her this, please…", he lifted the pot and the plate with cellophane-covered cake in Cindy's direction, "and tell her I hope she feels better" ...?
Instead of taking both from Logan's outstretched arms, she simply rolled her eyes heavenward at his inarticulate reluctance to simply come in. Then, in a tone of gentle amusement, she spelled out the obvious. "Why don't you just come in and give them to Max yourself? I'm sure she'd wanna see you."
With that she turned to announce his presence to Max, not giving Logan any opportunity to just hand her the food and disappear.
He followed her inside, hands acting on auto-pilot as his mind was engaged in a deep analysis of Cindy's behavior throughout their short conversation. He'd only met her a few times before… and yet something in her voice made it seem as if she knew more about him than he would normally expect, far more than he'd ever wish to share. Logan felt as if he'd stumbled into one of their girl-talks, unable to catch the subtleties, but with the irrational feeling that he was the topic. Unbidden, the image of Max, in all her glorious beauty, popped up in his mind, telling Cindy something along the line of 'We're not like that'. And even though she was perfectly right, some remote, uncontrolled part of him twitched in prickling disappointment at the thought.
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Max was sitting on the sofa, legs tugged under her; upon his entry she hid a shy, wordless smile behind a steaming mug of tea. On the battered camping table before her the multi-colored strands of scrabble letters wormed their way through an assortment of flickering candles and some female stuff Logan couldn't name. It was a picture of a quiet evening of comfortable, girlish domesticity, disturbed only by the tremors shivering through Max's body and the dark circles around her eyes brought out by her pale face.
As he watched Max straighten into self-aware stiffness from the corner of his eyes, Logan started to feel like an intruder. He was invading her privacy, spying on her home-persona that maybe had relaxed into normalcy now that Cindy knew of her transgenic make-up.
Sure, he had been here before, but then he had been invited. Now he had burst in without warning, not giving Max any opportunity to put up a non-committal face and hide all the things she didn't want him to see.
After all, this wasn't like his own apartment, which despite the constant coming and going of Bling and Max, was spacious enough for him to maintain his privacy. Here with one unmoving glance he could take in every detail of their tiny kitchen, small living room area and even a peek into Cindy's bedroom. In here, Max's life was as openly visible to him as was the clothes horse protruding into his vision and daring him to take a blushing second look at the more delicate pieces of their laundry dangling in between biking pants and t-shirts.
Realizing that he had been engaged in mute staring long enough himself to have become the object of Max's and Cindy's curiously enquiring looks, Logan cleared his throat nervously. "Cindy said you don't feel well…"
Max simply shrugged, feigning fascination with the swirling contents of her mug. It was a rather obvious attempt of hiding her flustered embarrassment with this new, foreign experience of others fussing over her seizures.
It only lasted for a moment. Rolling her eyes in Cindy's direction, Max played off this unnecessary over-protectiveness in a tone of soft grouchiness which, for someone who had learned to read her, held timid traces of affectionate appreciation. "It's not that bad, really. Mother hen here just decided that she preferred babysitting over an evening at Crash"
Logan smiled, thinking how in her wide, worn-out sweatshirt and pink, fuzzy socks she looked more like a sulking teenager than the exotic, coolly self-confident young woman he knew. "Oh, you know, she's right. You really shouldn't be out there like that."
Like expected, his comment earned him a glare of exaggerated suffering. Logan's reaction was quick, hoping it might pacify her: Lifting the food like an offer of peace, he bestowed her with that special, flashing smile that always worked so well with female informants. "I brought you something to eat."
His strategy worked with amazing efficiency. Taking the load from his hands to put it onto a free corner of the table, Max deftly picked a single strawberry off the cake to pop it into her mouth, face relaxing into pure, undisturbed enjoyment. Then she carefully lifted the casserole's heavy lid, her eyes briefly grazing Logan's in mild curiosity. They both ignored the slight shaking of her hands.
As Max deeply breathed in the spicy aroma, her timid smile grew wide. It was the simple happiness of someone who couldn't take food for granted, someone for whom everything more than the plain, tasteless nourishment necessary for survival was a reason to celebrate.
Her obvious pleasure with his gifts was enough for Logan to make up for the eternal frustrations of food shortages, to let him believe, at least for now, that all his nervous fretting had been unnecessary.
If he just left now, the atmosphere would keep its silent peacefulness, wouldn't be addled by another round of the wooden silence inevitable coming if he stayed any longer. And so Logan flipped off his brakes, already moving toward the entrance before Max had any opportunity to halfheartedly offer that he should stay. "Well, I'll go then and leave you to your meal…"
He was already at the door, occupied with the awkward task of opening it as gracefully as possible in the narrow space, when Max's voice stopped him. "Logan…? Thank you."
It was the gentle softness in her voice that made her gratitude special, that calm serenity only coming to life in sheltered moments like this.
Halting in his movement, Logan looked back over his shoulder for an instant with a tentative smile memorizing the image of Max sitting there in the warm, mellow light of the candles. Then he set out for his homeward travel through the cold, hostile night.
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