d . a . t . e .
by bulletproof (bulletproof_android@yahoo.com)
characters owned by cameron/eglee productions.
(post-'Out', pre-'Art Attack').
PART 1
"Well, that was fun."
Max entered the penthouse before him, tossing her jacket carelessly to one of his couches without a second glance, like she owned the place. Somehow that little action made Logan feel a little better, made what he'd decided to do a slight easier.
"Yeah," he replied, not feeling the usual bite to his sarcasm, "it was fun if you're a genetically-engineered soldier. Us civilians gotta make do with plain ol' painful."
Max peeked her head out from deep within Logan's pantry and saw him rubbing at the beginnings of a bruise on his forearm.
"Lemme see," she sighed, relinquishing her prime position, so close to so much food, and held up his arm for inspection. "It's not that bad," she clucked, "'sides, I had you covered."
Logan grinned as she turned back to the kitchen, remembering her crazy heroics on the dock that night, "That you did."
Max allowed a secret smile to spill over her lips at his small admission of gratitude, but hid it by snagging the nearest piece of openly available food, an apple, and biting into it.
Logan gulped while her back was turned to him, pushing a nervous hand through his dirty-blonde spikes of hair and bit the bullet, "So, Max, what are you doing this Saturday night?"
Interest piqued her features as she raised a brow, "What's up? Got some more mobster ass for me to kick?"
"No, I think we've intercepted their last shipment of arms for a while," his voice tense and serious then flicking back to desperate and unsure, "So are you?"
"What?"
"Free on Saturday night?"
Max furrowed her brow, detecting an indecipherable edge in his voice, "Why?"
Logan cleared his throat, eyes darting everywhere around the room, landing on anything but her and his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, "Well, I was thinking we could check out this restaurant in sector five..."
"Is it running a back-door weapons trade?"
"No."
"Drugs?"
"No, nothing like that."
Max noted Logan's anxious demeanour and felt suspicion rise in her, felt warmth grow in her voice, soften the hardened contours of her face, "So this has nothing to do with Eyes Only?"
"You could say that..."
"Logan Cale," Max called him out, amusement colouring her tone as she let a smile slip by her defenses, "are you asking me out on a date?"
He looked up at her, guppy-mouthed and caught out, almost unable to form words, "W-What?"
"D.A.T.E. Date. As in a meeting between two people, completely outside the context of work, mostly held in some romantic setting, whereby the male of the species entertains the hope that said meeting will perpetuate a development in the relationship, possibly culminating in sex."
Logan blinked at her description, not knowing what to think of it, "Would you say no if I was?"
"No," she simply said, a small part of her enjoying the brief flash of hurt that broadcast itself across his face. He was seriously nervous about this.
"Is that 'No you don't want to go out on a date with me' or 'No you wouldn't say no to...'"
"Logan," Max interrupted his babbling with a smug smile on her face.
"Hmm?"
"Pick me up at eight."
END PART 1/?
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