Disclaimer: Dark Angel and all its characters belong to James Cameron and the people at FOX.
"Walking By" is a song by Something Corporate.
Author's Note: This takes place after "And Jesus Brought A Casserole." Max didn't escape Manticore and was re-indoctrinated to become a true blue soldier again. Seven years have passed, and she and Logan haven't seen each other since then. Now, after all this time, she draws the mission to assassinate Eyes Only.
This is purely an AU fic, inspired by my encounter with a beautiful stranger at the airport, and the movie "Serendipity" (go see it if you haven't). I can't believe I didn't get her name. I'm convinced that this is going to be a one-shot. I have a lot of ideas for a storyline like this, but in the end, it just depends on the feedback I get. I might continue it.
Dedication: To my very own Sara Thomas, wherever you are.
Walking By
And
these nights I get high just from breathing.
When I lie here with you I'm sure that I'm real,
like that firework over the freeway.
I could stay here all day but that's not how you feel.
Max had added an extra anchor to her safety line about two meters above her, on the assumption that if and when the cops got reinforcements up to the rooftop they might simply cut the line without bothering to haul her up first for the formality of questioning. Now, dangling a hundred meters above the ground, she eased her low-light eyepiece around the edge of the darkened window beside her and peered inside.
It was a child's bedroom— a children's bedroom, she corrected herself, spotting the second bed pushed against the far wall. Currently unoccupied; and since Max had been debriefed that none of the two Cale children had followed their parents back to Seattle, it was reasonable to assume the room would stay that way.
Replacing the eyepiece into its jumpsuit pocket, she pulled out one of her Manticore issued stilettos and extended its invisibly slender blade. Like a diamond tip, the stiletto could cut through nearly anything. Unlike a diamond tipped blade, though, the stiletto's blade was incredibly delicate. A quick thrust against an assailant nearly always resulted in a broken blade— along with a dead assailant, of course— and even the most painstakingly careful cutting job was as likely as not to end up ruining the tool.
Fortunately, the task facing her wasn't going to be large enough to push the odds. With most buildings in Seattle, she would have had to cut away an entire window to get inside, but the window's designers had incorporated traditional French swing-out panels to allow for free airflow. All she had to do was maneuver the stiletto blade between the panels and slice through the catch, and would be in.
After, of course, finding and disabling whatever alarms the cops had installed.
That task turned out to be easier than she'd expected. The window carried only a single alarm, ranged to watch for incoming helicopters. Apparently, it hadn't occurred to the cops that someone might be crazy enough to rappel down from the rooftop the way she had. Though of course, to be fair, they had put a guard up there.
Two minutes later she was inside the darkened room, pulling the window closed behind her and listening hard. There were the usual soft mechanical noises of any modern dwelling, along with the muffled sounds of conversation from elsewhere in the apartment.
Max tiptoed over to the door and pushed it open a millimeter wide. She had thought there were multiple people in the apartment, but as it turned out, she was wrong. The conversation died down as the TV flickered off. Her target jabbed a button on the remote control and set it down on the coffee table. He looked much different than she remembered. He had more white hairs than before, and his face was creased with lines of age. But besides those small changes, he was still the same man she had left. Or rather, the same man she had been taken away from.
His back was now facing her, which gave her the window of opportunity she needed to move forward. With the utmost care, she silently stalked forward to stand four meters behind him. She drew her gun.
"You didn't write," he said, his voice coarse and thick with fatigue. Slowly, Logan Cale, turned around.
Max didn't flinch in the least to the sound of his voice; Manticore had been preparing her for this confrontation for years. But even through the horrors of re-indoctrination, she could never truly forget what they once shared.
"I tried, but mom and dad wouldn't let me," she replied coolly, displaying that brash attitude he loved about her.
A small smile played around his lips. "… I knew they'd send you to come after me," he confessed.
"Because I knew your location?" she questioned, her finger solidly set on the trigger.
"No," he stated honestly. His watery blue eyes met her piercing hazels. "Because they knew I wouldn't fight back if you came."
The two of them fell into an awkward silence.
"So, kids now, hm? The great Eyes Only finally settles down, now that's newsworthy," she spoke into the silence.
"They're my blood and soul," he admitted, his throat tightening. "They should've been yours though."
She bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes. It wasn't an act of aggression so much as a defense mechanism. "How long have you and Asha been married?" she finally asked.
"Two years after you disappeared," he paused to think, "Five years," he finished. "Our anniversary's coming up."
"Congratulations in advance," she said impassively. Max had read the briefing; Asha and Logan had divorced three years ago. Logan wasn't fooling anyone.
"Thanks, I'll be sure to pass it on."
The two fell silent again, their eyes still firmly connected.
"What did they do to you, Max?" his expression turned from stoic to pained.
"Made me see the error of my ways," she recited mechanically. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.
"I see," he replied dismissively, as if he was rushing to say something more significant. "Any chance our story will have a happily ever after?"
"No," she replied quickly— honestly— painfully. "You shouldn't have kept making those Eyes Only hacks. I told you to stop. I told you, Logan. I warned you," she said despairingly.
"I know you did," he replied softly, thinking back a few years ago when a mysterious letter had arrived on his doorstep. "But they took you away from me, Max. They can't do anything else to me."
Max was engaged an epic internal battle; she was torn between loyalty and love, a fight that could only end in a lose-lose situation. She came to a conclusion. "Run, Logan, run," she said gently. She slowly lowered the gun to her side and clicked the safety on. "I'll tell them you left in the middle of the night, but you have to take your family and go now."
"I'm not going anywhere, Max," he stated defiantly. Logan had a crazed look in his eye, a look she only saw when he had too much alcohol. But Logan was sober at present, and feeling the full force of his loss. Her appearance in front of him had opened a slew of old wounds, and the consequences were evident. To him, she was forever gone.
"Damn it, Logan, they're on their way! You need to take your family and go NOW," she was begging him now, pleading.
"Asha and the kids have been in Canada for three months," he informed her, standing stiffly still in place. He had a feeling she already knew.
Now frustrated, Max reached forward to take him by the arm, but quickly retracted her hand at the last minute. "I can't touch you," she said sadly. "But right now, I'm trying to save your life! In about ten minutes, that door's going to bust open and this place is going to be swarming with Manticore agents."
"You can't touch me?" he asked, bewildered. "Well that's a new one. Will I drop dead if you do?"
"Something like that," she bit out, clearly not amused.
"Good," he reached out to seize her by the shoulders.
Her reflexes told her to move, but move she couldn't. "Do you have a death wish or something?" she glared at him, but stood perfectly still. The virus couldn't penetrate through the jumpsuit, and she refused to back down to him.
"Something like that," he mimicked. "I've been waiting for you for seven years now, Max. I guess it really is a lucky number."
She bit the inside of her cheek and eyed the door. Her support team would break in at any moment now.
At that very moment, he pulled her towards him and kissed her. It wasn't a starved kiss of passion, but a light, sad, parting kiss. One that was fused with pure love— their love— a tragic love.
Max let her mental and emotional walls down completely and sunk into his arms, and the two embraced each other. She couldn't believe the corner they had found themselves in yet again. Fate's scapegoats as it seemed. "I love you, Logan," she confessed, her voice cracking from impending tears. "I've always loved you. And … I always will. Why won't you let me save your life?"
He didn't respond.
Slowly, his breathing grew ragged and his body temperature rose. Meeting the girl of his dreams once again and embracing her was what he dreamed of every second of every minute of every day for seven years. Now that night had come— it had been worth the wait— no matter the cost. Logan tried to find his voice even as his life slowly drained out of him. "I … I love you too, Max," he meant it with every fiber of his being.
"… You've already saved me," he whispered into her ear.
At that moment, the elevator door swung open and a pair of X5's followed by four guards entered the apartment. Rifles ready, they entered the room where Max and Logan were embracing. The two soulmates were still holding each other; the only difference was that Max was holding Logan up.
He had died peacefully in her arms.
"X5-452?" a blond X5, the one she had named 'Alec' interrupted. He set his hand firmly on her shoulder.
Max turned to face him, consumed with anguish, and with tears freely cascading down her cheek. She never let go of Logan's body, she held on to him as long as she was allowed to. It took her a minute to find her voice, and when she did, it sounded empty to her ears.
"Mission accomplished."
And
what did I do that you can't seem to want me?
Why do we lie here and whisper goodbyes?
Where can I go that your pictures won't haunt me?
What makes it so easy for you to be … walking by?
FIN.
Author's Note: The End. Or is it?
