DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel characters lovingly borrowed from Cameron & Eglee, or those taking from them. No profits realized.

A/N: Written in response to prompt #16 in LJ's Fanfic100, "Purple." A scene missing from "Out."

Thanks to Mari83 for reading and catching my omissions! Very much appreciated...

Bruised But Not Broken

From the moment Max had heard from Bling that Logan had been abducted – or, really, from the moment she'd figured out that Bronck was shipping human cargo, specifically, very young, teenaged girls – Max had been in mission mode, cold and focused. She'd gone to the penthouse and figured out with Bling where Bronck might have taken Logan; she found him and Matt still intact for the moment and turned her efforts to the kids and the bad guys. She was able to stop both from getting to their planned destination.

Max had dragged the unconscious pilot outside and lashed him to one of the plane's large wheels with some serious bungee cord she found on board for strapping in cargo. Matt and his officers could sort out how involved he was, but figuring he had to have some clue about what was going on, she wasn't going to let any of Bronck's men get away. Finding Bronck himself still out cold on the tarmac, blood oozing from the place where he must have struck his head in the fall, Max dragged him over to another wheel, not too concerned about the friction burns he probably incurred in her doing so, and used the cord to bind him as well. She hopped back up into the plane again to look in on the cargo bay full of scared kids. None of them could be older than thirteen or fourteen years old. She felt a new wave of disgust, but she wasn't sure if it was more for Bronck, or for the customers who kept his business going.

"The real police will be here in just a few minutes, the good guys, and they'll get you home," she assured the whimpering girls. "You want to come back inside and wait in there? I promise all the scumbags are gone."

Slowly, one, then another, then the others, scampered behind Max to slide out of the plane and trail behind her into the hangar. With a worried glance into the large bay where she'd left Logan and Detective Sung, Max went past and ushered the girls back into the room where they'd been held before, leaving the door open for them this time in the hope they'd see she didn't have plans for them as bad as Bronck's were. As she was turning to go back to Logan and Matt, to see if they were alright, she heard the sound of sirens piercing the air. Bling must not have waited to see if Wharton was the right airfield, she relaxed a little to hear them. Bet he put out the word that the cops' missing detective was out here.

But as she entered the hangar bay, Max saw that Matt still seemed to be unconscious. He was now lying stretched out on the floor, behind the heavy desk, Logan's expensive leather jacket folded up under him as a pillow for his head and shoulders. Logan, sitting on the floor near him, his back propped against the desk at his side, was looking at him worriedly. Max went directly to Matt and, crouching down beside him, felt for his pulse as Logan said tersely, "he's been out for twenty minutes, maybe thirty." He wouldn't meet her eyes, keeping his on the detective. "I called his precinct to tell them what happened, and told them to send an ambulance. I called Bling, too..." he added, his feeling of powerlessness palpable.

"I heard sirens, not all that far off – they'll be here any minute. What did they do to him?" Max asked softly, frowning up at the machinery on the desk.

"Shocked him – I don't know how many volts, but they used it on him at least three times." Logan's sense of guilt for events made it sound as if he was taking personal responsibility for every volt that Matt had taken. "Max, look – would you go out and meet them, show them where to find Matt?"

As much as she wanted to assure Logan that this wasn't his fault, and that as long as Matt's pulse was steady, as it had felt to her, he was probably not in too much danger, she merely nodded and dashed off to meet the officers. Not a bad idea, all things considered; it would not only get help to Matt as soon as possible, but would immediately establish her as one of the good guys, and she might avoid some of their usual suspicion that way. She could also tell them about the girls and where to find Bronck and his henchmen.

But she'd seen the look in Logan's eyes and knew that he was taking on all responsibility for what must have happened to Matt. She also realized, suddenly, why he was on the floor – his chair seemed to be nowhere around. Max could only imagine how humiliated a still-hypersensitive and chair-less Logan would feel, all but immobile without his wheels...

Running out onto the empty airstrip, she saw the bounce of patrol car headlights along the rutted, abandoned road. Not finding any of the switches working to light the property, she waited until they pulled in and their headlights picked her up. She waved toward them, directing them into the hanger, and as soon as the siren was cut off, yelled to them, "this way! They're back here..."

One of the officers reported in with the radio mic clipped to his shoulder; both who emerged from the cruiser ran in behind Max as she led them to Matt. From the radio chatter she heard than an ambulance had been dispatched and was only a few minutes out; they had called for a transport wagon, already expecting a handful of bad guys. Max gestured to the second officer, standing by inside now as the first urged responses from a finally rousing Matt.

"I think you'll need another wagon, but maybe a clean one, huh?" Max gestured the officer back across the bay and nodded into the large, open room. "Bronck's inventory," she explained softly. "I think they'll ride in about anything if it means getting back home."

As the officer gaped at the roomful of girls for the moment, Max nudged him to make the call. To his credit, however, he shook off his amazement and tapped his radio for another wagon. Leaving the officer to the girls as he started taking down names, addresses and phone numbers, Max went back out into the open hangar bay to see the ambulance personnel pulling a gurney toward Matt. With a look of understanding and worry toward Logan, Max watched his intense, concerned observation of events, scooting back a bit to get out of the way and stubbornly insisting to one of the ambulance techs he didn't need any medical attention. With a small sigh, she crossed over to the other SPD paramedic who stood by, filling out a form, as the other returned to tend to a now upright but still groggy Matt.

"I think they're okay, but you have a couple dozen very scared kids in the other room, back there, with one of your officers," Max nodded toward the hall. "Think you might go take a look, just to be sure?"

The tech looked up in irritation at first, being told how to do his job, especially being told to leave a fellow cop to do so, when he caught an eyeful of the beautiful face and sincere eyes doing the asking. He relented. "Anything for you, sweet thing," he even grinned for her, putting down his clipboard.

Max threw him a humored smirk and shifted coltishly to stand, weight characteristically on one leg, fist on hip, to counter, "oh, yeah?" Her voice softened only slightly, half-hoping Logan wouldn't hear – or might not realize what she was after, quite yet. "How about one of those instant ice-packs for the lieutenant's friend over there?"

The tech gave a quick glance toward Logan, but had already seen the purple swelling under his eye, the broken lip. He reached in the van and pulled out two thin white packages. "One for now – one if he needs it later, after the first loses its cold. You know the drill?"

Max shrugged. "Area like that, ten on, fifteen to twenty off, right?"

He nodded. "Just be sure the skin comes up to temp in between."

"Thanks," Max offered him a smile.

"Like I said – anything for you, baby." But this time the man's attitude wasn't quite so rough – he'd caught the look Max had given Logan, and had seen that even though hurting, the man had waved off help so that Detective Sung could have their undivided attention, if it was needed. His grin was less leer now, more genuine. "Lemme go see if those kids of yours need anything."

She nodded another thanks and watched him go for only a moment, before crossing over to where Logan now sat, not really watching Sung anymore, but not looking at her. "Hey," she said, coming up to crouching near him, down at his side. Her expression softened unconsciously as she looked at him, and, shifting to raise her hand to his cheek, barely touching him, her fingertips traced his purpling cheekbone. Dropping her hand, she lifted one of the packages and stuck the other in her jacket, for the moment. Cracking the seal on the package, she squished the contents around, the package immediately becoming icy. "Got something for ya," she offered, gently, holding out the package toward him. "How about you ice this down, before Bling sees it and starts in with another lecture about poking the wrong bad guy?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze. He sat, unmoving, for the moment, but finally reached over to take the outstretched ice pack. "Thanks," he murmured. Heavily, he raised the compress to his cheekbone, grimacing slightly as the cold hit tender flesh. "And ..." he glanced up to her for only a moment, awkwardly, then away again before he drew a breath. Finally, as if to take what he had coming, Logan looked back at her to say, "thanks, for ... all of this, for coming out here," he added, said simply. "I know after last night..."

Logan's reference to the last time they'd seen each other, when he had callously ignored her efforts to make him dinner, when he again treated her like just another one of his hired help, brought only a momentary stab of hurt with the memory before she chose to ignore it. After all, he looked miserable enough for all of it, and it appeared that part of his misery might even be his guilt about their fight. "You were right, Logan," Max said smoothly, burying it all for now, well used to covering the bruises and bumps in her road. "Bronck was selling kids – the plane was loaded with about two dozen girls, maybe thirteen years old, give or take." His expression in response helped her remember why she might come second in his life: he had made it his mission, literally, to eradicate dangers like this, especially to the defenseless. The news of what Bronck had been doing – and that he had probably managed to keep at it for a while before getting caught, all on Eyes Only's watch – seemed to strike Logan more powerfully than did the fact that he'd just helped put an end to it. Max shrugged, hoping to nudge Logan around to the brighter side, to say, "looks as if you showed up right on time."

He snorted and immediately looked away. "Showed up," he muttered. "Yeah, I'm a great help. I let Bronck stay in business months longer than I should have, then drag Matt into things ... get us hauled out to the middle of nowhere ... and now am flat on my ass on the floor." His self-deprecation was biting and sharp; his assessment of his present value not kind. "Before you got here I was leveling them all with my biting sarcasm. Had 'em just where I wanted them..."

"Yeah, it's what you do, isn't it?" She wasn't going to let Logan talk himself out of what he'd just accomplished. "Not that I'm buying it for a minute, but even if all you did was make yourself a target to get picked up, it worked. Bronck brought you out here, Bling and I managed to find you and now everyone but Bronck is going home." She looked at him, seeing that she might have gotten through a little with her reminder that Bronck would now be out of business, and nudged, "no one else managed to do that."

He seemed to consider it for the moment, but, possibly with some of his own memory of their night before, grudged, "a while back, though – I could have done the same thing, but not drag you and Matt into it all. I even might have gotten here without getting caught in the process." He reddened, clearly getting to the heart of it, to add, "I wouldn't end up on the floor, waiting for you to save the day – and for Bling to get me moving again..."

Max smiled a crooked smile and prodded, wryly, "last time I saw Matt Sung he was pretty much on his feet, and had the whole of Seattle's PD to help him – and he hadn't gotten Bronck figured out." She glanced up at the detective, being loaded onto the gurney the paramedics brought, and wondered that Logan was still so torn up about his injury he really couldn't see it. "Matt was as tied up as you were – probably packin,' too, for all the good it did him." She took in his expression as he wouldn't yet meet her eyes, still self-conscious for his immobility, and she tried, "it's not the chair that makes me want to stick close so I can bail you out if you need it, you know." At that, Logan couldn't help but look up at her words – that she wanted to "stick close" – and saw in return, before dropping his eyes again, a grin that was affectionate and warm. "It's that stubborn, rich-boy, save-the-world, gonna-stick-my-nose-into-all-the-trouble-I-can-find thing you have going that makes me feel needed."

No matter how he wanted to fight it, no matter how afraid he was to trust that Max meant all she said, Logan couldn't fight the fact that she had a point. The fact that she saw it made his feeling of shame subside, at least a little. Finally raising his eyes to meet hers, he saw her hopeful, encouraging reaction, lifting her eyebrows at his eye contact, almost in question. At that, crumbing a little to offer his own, rueful smirk, he shrugged, "yeah, now that you mention it – maybe Matt will have a harder time living this down than I will."

"Neither of you have anything to 'live down' – how many thugs jumped you, four? Wasn't a fair fight." Her look softened as she looked at him, and, shifting her hand under his as he held the ice pack down by his side, loosely, and lifting it to his cheek, she nodded, "c'mon, get this up here – purple's so not your color."

His smirk faded a little with the reminder of his easy captivity, but he felt a new appreciation for what Max hid under her tough-guy armor. She was there for him, saving the kidnapped girls, taking out the bad guys and not even busting on him for what he'd done to her and her dinner the night before. Instead, she was telling him he was a hero, that he bested the far-more-mobile-than-he police department... and looking at him with such affection in her eyes that he felt his pulse pick up a bit in hope.

He owed her so much ... and so much more than he'd shown her this week. "Max... I..."

"Logan?" The sharp, worried sound of Bling's voice came through from the hall, interrupting the apology Logan knew was due her. Max smiled quickly at his arrival, almost as if relieved – maybe she sensed what was coming and felt as awkward about it as he did, Logan couldn't tell. But he owed her, and he would tell her. Just not now...

Max raised her eyebrows in question, not wanting to answer for him, but making clear she expected him to reply. "Yeah," he finally called, almost hating to see this moment end. "In here," he added, almost quietly. Max stayed at his side, eye to eye, even as Bling came in with Logan's chair, retrieved from the park. Logan found that he was finally able to smile back at her – and as he did so, it seemed her own smile brightened into a more settled contentment. That in itself raised new questions in his head – even made him wonder about things he had decided, early on, were beyond the bounds of the chair...

As Bling came up beside them, Max stood with a soft greeting for Bling, who in his concern for his charge seemed, uncharacteristically, to miss the undercurrent between them. "Logan," he frowned at the remnants of Bronck's interrogation, "you alright?"

"Yeah, just a couple bruises – my cheek, my dignity..."

But this time, Max was pleased to see, Logan looked up to her mid-gripe, meeting her eyes and smiling softly along with his sarcasm. She beamed at him in return. "You two sort out the police, okay? I think I'll bounce before they think up some questions for me."

She wasn't going to stay and wreck this new-found connection by waiting for Logan to get back in the chair in front of her. She wasn't exactly sure why it would, but she knew it would bother him, and they all knew she had completely legitimate reasons for getting out of there as soon as possible. She turned to leave.

"Stop by later?"

Logan's words interrupted her turn, and she looked back to see his green, hopeful eyes shining up at her. She grinned again. "Yeah. An hour or so?"

He relaxed into his own, haunted smile. "Yeah."

She nodded and was soon back outside, walking her bike out toward the road, just to lessen the chance that the cops would notice her leaving without checking in with them. She saw them packing up the ambulance to take Matt back to town, and, waiting the couple extra minutes, started up her motorcycle precisely as the ambulance's engine jumped to life, the one engine helping mask the sound of the other.

No wonder Logan's so focused, she thought again. The bad guys out there don't stop for pasta tricolore, so he doesn't want to, either. He does plenty for you, Max, and you really ought to cut the man some slack. Maybe, one of these days ... the timing will be right. Until then ... she smiled to herself, we'll deal...