A/N: Dark Angel doesn't belong to me, etc etc. This takes place in late S2, sometime after Hello Goodbye (probably right before Freak Nation, I haven't really figured out exactly, heh). Sorry for any mistakes – this went un-beta-ed so, yeah. And sorry for the cheesy ending. Heh. I haven't written in a really long time, and didn't feel up to putting in toooo much angst, so… more excuses, on my part, ;D. Ideas/criticisms/error-point-out-age would be greatly appreciated, as always. Okay, now on with the story! ;P
She knows he wouldn't want her to be like this – he wouldn't want her to give up the good fight.
But since when did she listen to anybody, even Logan?
She remembers the time he told her about how he sat, unmoving, for days, when they'd all thought she was dead. She remembers his expression as he recounted to her the tale – the raw pain in his eyes, the grim line of his mouth – but she also remembers the look on his face when he saw her again, alive.
Alive.
And then, the hesitant, cautious… impassioned embrace, bringing back memories of kisses past and the hope for those to come – all to be shattered in the next moment, with the ominous foreshadowing of their actual future.
She tries with all her might not to remember their last kiss, when she saw that look in his eyes. It wasn't sadness, pain, or fear… no, it was purely an overwhelming sense of… finality.
And she remembers, as much as she tries not to, the feel of his skin on hers, warm and yet quickly clamming up, bumps forming, more and more every second…. and she cries, and cries, and cannot stop.
She hides herself from the others, like she had attempted to do so many times before -- but this time, it works. Alone, wrapped up in herself, she cries – she cries in the darkness until there is nothing left to cry, until she is left choking on her dry sobs, eyes sore, lungs gasping for breath. Until no longer is she Max, one of those who loved despite her fears, nor Max, another human living in a broken world, and neither is she simply 452, deadly weapon in the form of a genetically engineered woman – no, she feels herself losing form, slipping away into the long, cold night, drowning in the distant stars, until her body is empty, completely empty, and she can't even feel the tears that continue to trickle down her worn, reddened cheeks.
- - -
He is walking with long, purpose-filled strides into Terminal City. Maybe he's coming to confront her about Alec, or maybe to apologize, or maybe to give her hope for the future with memories of their laughter from the past. Who could know?
She is also in the middle of Terminal City, unaware of his presence except for a strange itch caused by that odd sixth sense she has about him. She is at a computer, doing something that later she can't even remember – the only thing she remembers is the moment in which she felt something behind her, hair whipping out as she turned.
And she sees, in both her mind's eye and the reality in front of her, just the tip of one slight strand of hair brush against his cheek, just for a split second. Their eyes widen together, looking deep into the other's, full of unspeakable emotions…. and almost simultaneously bumps are running across his skin and he falls to the ground.
Max freezes for a moment, unsure what to do. "Logan!" she cries out. Maybe it's followed by a frantic "Get help!" but a weakened Logan tugs at her ankle from his spot on the ground, and already she's forgotten. Instantly she crumples to the floor, in a heap along with him.
"Max," he starts, "Max, it's too late." She is crying now – the tears that threatened to escape a moment ago have burst over. "Max," he repeats quietly, soothingly. He wraps his arms around her, kisses her gently. Her tears stop as an odd feeling overwhelms her, and she kisses him back, then lets her gaze fall to meet his own, silently.
"It's okay," he forgives her, saying so much in just two words. I understand – I forgive you – Don't worry – It's okay.
"Shhh—" she wants to say. She wants to tell him that it'll be okay, that they have all the time in the world, that it was just a slight, accidental touch and the doctors would be here soon with a cure… but she knew that wasn't true, from the very first second of wide-eyed terror.
"I know…" his breath is labored by now, as he begins to speak again, but his famed determination and stubbornness take over.
"Max, I…. I want you to know that being with you for just one second has…" he pauses, coughs a little. His eyes roll back and close, but then he forces them open again with visible effort. "… has been enough to make up for… for all those moments of longing and," another choke, "of pain."
She has no idea how he managed to say so much, and his skin is clamming up in her arms, and the bumps continue to rise, and sweat is rolling down his face and back and… she holds him tightly against her, burying her face in his unruly hair, running her fingers with their cooling touch against his face and back. She whispers something in his ear, fresh tears falling, and the next moment she feels his body stop – she feels it like she feels something in her very own being die. His arms, wrapped around her in a hug, fall, and his head slides down and to the side, but she catches him and this time it's him dying in her arms, and this time it's he who won't, who can't come back.
- - -
Years later and she's almost alive again. Being in charge of an entire city has taken up most of her energy, and what remained had been used up in finding White and his cult.
She still has dreams, though, and she's pretty sure they'll never stop. How many times has she woken up to her own cries, Original Cindy instantly by her side to comfort her, while knowing that such a feat would be impossible? Or how many times has she been in that colorful, spinning room, holding Logan and dancing in an endless circle? What about those dreams of their kisses, their hugs, their touches? The looks that passed between them, and their visible, almost tangible desire?
Every time she wakes up from these dreams, Cindy, who she started living with again when Terminal City became habitable for normal humans, can see it in her eyes, but says nothing.
And when a doctor who they – Logan and Max – had been trying to contact, lets Max know they've found a cure, Max feels everything in her stomach rise up into her throat, the world starting yet again to turn.
Sometimes, when the seizures come, Max doesn't see Manticore, but Logan's look of undeniable fear as he fell to the ground. And in those nights when that part of her which shames her most takes over, each touch is Logan's, every gasp and moan and heated breath belongs to him, and every release is drenched with tears.
One night, she is walking to meet Cindy and the crew at some new bar, where they go when they don't go to Crash. Usually she hangs for a few minutes, hoping some impossible hope, then returns home to face her pain without any shield of alcohol or friend's laughter.
Tonight, she vows, will be different. She will stay, she will finally move on. She knows she could never forget him, never stop loving him… and she would never even try, but Logan wouldn't want her to live her life dead. He wouldn't want her to give up everything, especially not for him.
Or so she tries to tell herself.
However, like always, life has different plans for Max.
Out of nowhere, a dark van pulls down the road, slowing as it gets closer. By now, Max is on the edges of a crowd full of people waiting impatiently to enter a club that happens to be somewhere between Max's original location and her destination.
Shots are fired randomly, loud shots that break over even the cries of the rowdy crowd. People fall, and run, and cry and scream….
Max is leaning against the building in a heap on the dirty ground, blood pouring profusely from various gaping wounds. Somehow, out of all the bullets that had been fired, three managed to lodge themselves inside this small woman. To the chest, twice, and once to the brain.
She isn't sure if her eyes are open or closed when she sees an absolutely breath-taking sight in front of her – all fears about the future of TC or her friends or even herself disappear in that instant.
It's Logan, blonde hair messy as usual, a sad grin covering his face as he holds out his hand to her.
"I didn't want it to be this way," he tells her sadly.
"I know," she replies, somehow lucid. "But…"
And he smiles, a real smile this time, seemingly reading her thoughts.
Neither dares to actually speak it, but they know that their friends will never forget them although they will continue to live, will forgive them for letting go… and that soon enough they would all meet again…. But for now, it was just about these two, Max and Logan. About the time they had deserved but never received in life.
"I missed you," she whispers into his ear, now standing upright, supported by Logan's comforting embrace.
"Dance with me," he says to her, repeating her words from a shared dream that now seemed ages ago as music seemed to rise up around them.
"Logan…" she says, in that tone that makes everything inside him weak.
"I promise," he reminds her, understanding without words.
And like this, holding each other and spinning around, they dance away into eternity – into the future, into the past, into the present, and beyond time.