Rating: PG
Author: Allia Rose (figmentfan@hotmail.com)
Archive: Go ahead.
Content: Max/Logan
Spoilers: Assumes you've seen Out.
Summary: Even the most carefully crafted walls will fall with time.
Disclaimer: No amount of stars, birthday candles, and fountains will ever make them mine...and, believe me, it would be pretty pointless to sue. :)
Notes: This is not my first fanfic, but it is my first attempt into the Dark Angel characters' minds. And I don't normally write first person. Let me know what you think!
This takes place right after Out, and is from Logan's POV.
She's smiling.
Her eyes are laughing, for once devoid of the haunted look she carries with her. I shoot an amused glance in her direction as she giggles, yes giggles, as she chops up a red pepper with unusual enthusiasm.
For tonight, her guard is down. My earlier admission has dropped her barriers. And though I realize that by morning she will be back to her old ways, hiding behind a mask of anger and attitude, I can't help but enjoy the present.
I sneak another glance at her, continuing to stir the sauce, pretending to be engrossed with it. But I need not be concerned with being caught. She's taken on her task with an eager dilligence. Avid, intent, childlike.
I have to bite my lip to hold back a chuckle at that thought. Child. There's a word I thought I'd never use to describe Max. Her eyes hold guilt, pain, and suffering beyond her twenty years. Beyond a thousand years. But at this moment, none of that matters.
I am studying her openly now, and she feels the tender caress of my eyes and looks up, meeting my gaze.
"Earth to Captain E.O." she teases gently.
I smile back, reassuring her, and we each go back to our seperate tasks in silence. Somehow we both just know. Push each other's boundaries too far, and the defences will snap back into position. And neither of us wants that. Not tonight, anyway.
Soon enough, it'll happen anyway, and we'll very likely even welcome the distance. We've both been isolated too long to jump into this too quickly. So we move slowly, one night at a time.
She finishes chopping the pepper and moves over to where I'm still absently stirring the sauce. She reaches over me to add it to the pot and I'm suddenly intoxicated by the smell of cherries and soap and Max. It's moments like this that make it hard for me to tell myself that I'm not falling for her more every second.
But she moves away, padding across the kitchen in search of the pasta. My head clears. We're friends. We may feel more for each other than we should, but neither of us are ready to act on those emotions yet. Old demons are rather resiliant, I guess.
She returns with the pasta, and reaches over to flick on the stove, lighting up the bruner under a pot of water just waiting to be boiled.
"See, I told ya." she says with humor in her eyes, and the hint of a familiar smirk lighting the corners of her mouth.
I laugh, unable to help myself, and she soon joins in. Even after I've stopped, she continues, now laughing more at the absurdity of the situation than at her joke. And I'm just content to sit here and watch my troubled cynic giggling in the middle of my kitchen. If I listen closely, I can hear the walls crumbling.
With a final giggle, she plops down, cross-legged, in the middle of the floor. Now, she is content to watch me, as I finish making our dinner. I feel her eyes on my back and wonder if her thoughts mirror my own.
Our first joint cullinary masterpiece complete, we settle down to eat. She teasingly praises her own cooking talents and I joke back, telling her that my spatula has been turned over to her capable hands. At this, she wrinkles her nose.
"Good try, but as long as I'm still saving your ass, you're still making me dinner!"
Who am I to argue with that arrangement?
We finish eating and clean up the kitchen together. I wash, she dries. Afterward, she heads off to my living room and I follow. She helps me out of my wheelchair and on to the couch before settling herself down, lounging with her feet tucked under her slim frame. Stuffed and happy, we sit in companionable silence.
The next thing I am aware of is her gently shaking me awake.
Her voice is a quiet whisper. "I've gotta blaze, work in the morning." Then she looks away shyly. "I didn't want to just leave..."
I tell her that she is always welcome to crash in the guestroom, but she politely declines, making up an excuse about Kendra worrying. We both know the real reason. Too much, too soon.
And as much as we want to, neither of us are ready to give up the defense walls we've so carefully crafted throughout the years. But even the strongest, most heavily armored walls fall. It's just a matter of time.
She walks toward the door, but before she can let this night end, turns to smile brilliantly at me.
"Thanks."
She's smiling. And for now, that's enough.
Thanks! Feedback? Please!?!? :)
Allia Rose