Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to James Cameron, I guess. Not me, that's for certain.
A/N: This story is the preface, if you will, to a longer piece I'm working, sporadically, on. Set post S2's "Freak Nation."
THE LIES WE LEARN
"So." Max shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Pasta's good."
Logan smiled at her from the other end of the table. The candlelight made his skin glow, even though he was pale from staying so determinedly indoors. Especially after the siege of Jam Pony had broadcasted images of his face – blurred, but anyone could clean them up – all over the news. Logan had been prepared for that, though, since before he'd even started being Eyes Only; this new apartment, with the same luxuries as his life before . . . well, her, was proof of that. "Thanks." He raised his glass, the fine wine a pale gold inside shimmering crystal. "To Terminal City."
"Yeah." Belatedly, Max reached for her own glass, and gave him a bittersweet smile. "To Freak Nation."
There was just the slightest frown on Logan's face as he tipped the glass to his lips. He doesn't like that name, Max remembered.
"You're different," Logan said after he swallowed. "It doesn't make you freaks."
Something welled up in her that she couldn't put a name to, but it burned. "What about Mole and Dix and Luke?" Max thumped her own glass down on the cloth-covered table, wine sloshing as it hit fine linen a little too hard. "And all the other transhumans and anomalies? Would you say the same thing to them?"
Logan's blue eyes locked on hers. "Of course I would, Max."
She breathed. Yeah. He would mean it, too.
"Yeah," Max murmured, fight blown out of her. "I'm sorry."
He reached out, settled one latex-covered hand over hers. "It's okay, Max. I know this is stressful for you. You're running a small city, for all intents and purposes."
She lifted a shoulder, awkward. "It's not so bad. Well-oiled military machine, remember? They've been trained for this kind of stuff."
"But not for living in the real world," Logan pointed out. "They need you, Max. I get that."
He's so close, she thought inanely. She could smell him, a heady musk of wine and Old Spice and man, warm and delicious. They were separated by the short length of the table, the scarce thinness of his gloves. It was nothing, really.
She pulled back, a breath away from giving in and kissing him. Killing him. "I – I gotta blaze," Max whispered. She pushed up from the table, food completely forgotten. Logan followed her to her feet, rounding the table and ending up a hair's breadth away.
She stiffened, and the brown eyes that met his were dark with pain and wariness.
Logan swallowed. "Yeah," he sighed. He only took one step away from her, but it felt like a million miles had cropped up between them. He tried to breach them with a smile. "Better get going, fearless leader."
"Next week," she promised. Just like last week, and the week before that. It wasn't nearly enough, but it was all she could give him.
"I was thinking cordon bleu," was Logan's response.
His fingers wrapped around hers, latex barring skin from skin, and squeezed.
Seconds later she was gone, leaving only the breeze of Seattle through an open window in her wake.
Fin