DISCLAIMER: Still no closer to being mine, though close to my heart–

--as are all the lovely responses to my recent, first public airing of my questionable laundry. Many thanks! After years and years of writing only for myself to stash stories and ramblings under the bed, in the closet, in the glove box, I was suddenly kicked by an invisible foot to dream up a bit of spur of the moment fic and post it last night for my very first public airing of anything. See what happens when you send encouragement? Here's tonight's entry, as I still hunt around for what's going on with these two (and hunt around for the finer points of formatting on this thing!)

IN ALL SINCERITY–thanks for the warm welcome. No more bio crud here, I promise. And again, your comments and input are appreciated!

Logan pushed back from the computer, sighed, and rubbed a stiff hand across tired eyes. 2:00 AM and finally, he had enough material to complete the case against the latest black market master–a former private investigator who rounded up his contacts to establish a busy little cottage industry in bathtub hootch. Bootleg booze, for God's sake...it could even be comical if the stuff hadn't been prepared to be cheap and available to school kids who were looking for a low-cost buzz, and mixed with chemicals that had killed five, burned two stomachs and an esophagus, and even blinded two...

The hack would write itself, and Eyes Only might endear himself to those widows Max mentioned, maybe even the small children, if not the animals...

And Max? Would she be impressed with this one, that he could bring down someone hurting kids, especially the poor kids, who didn't have stay-at-home, country club moms? He really had no evidence to show that tough-guy Max had a soft spot for children–but it was a child held hostage that moved her first to take on the fight and bring a little girl back to her mother where he himself had failed the keep her safe; it was the memory of the child-"siblings" who defined family for her that was her reason for moving forward, each day.

He wondered where she was at that moment, what she was doing. At Crash, with the crowd from Jam Pony? No reason she shouldn't be, she was part of a family there too, her friends always up for a night out of noisy, harmless fun. She didn't even need to sleep most nights–damn, what he would have given back in college to borrow that particular talent for the occasional week-long orgy...She was that age now, maybe not in college as he'd been but certainly smack-dab in the middle of the post-Pulse, hard-won, Manticore-haunted university of life-- and she deserved every second of fun and happiness she could find. Thank God she was strong and healthy and had the stamina to allow her such times...

...what he wouldn't give for even a tenth of that energy now...

The irony rose bitterly as he turned, his progress limited to the snap of his wrists and the responding glide of his wheelchair across hardwood floors. Effortless, in a way...and as alien to the colorful, smoky, beer-splashed world Max must be in at the moment as was imaginable...the thought of that life she enjoyed gnawed at him, as it always did, because at no other time was he so keenly aware of the many differences between them, and how unfair and impossible his unspoken, returning fantasies were to them both. In the now-silent penthouse, the contrast was even more stark as the hushed, dark rooms were in every way antithetical to the excitement of Crash, reminding him just how distant she was from him...

...until the tiny scraping of the metal pick in his lock let him believe the distance might not be so great...

The door opened smoothly in her hand and Max slipped inside, seeing only the glow from the computer monitor and equipment panels, and the city lights gently bouncing up across the buildings near Logan's. But he was there, only a step or two into his living room and Max saw a weary but wakeful Logan facing her, away from the window where he usually did his brooding, blinking in some surprise. "Hey" he said, sounding–what, hopeful? Maybe he was pleased to see her.

"Hey" she grinned, walking up to him with a languid, easy sway, and cocked her head, looking curious. "So, you got it done?"

"Oh, yeah, everything I need. I'll broadcast tomorrow."

"Did you tape already?"

"No, but it won't be hard to put together–I have the photos downloaded and I could even do it live, it's so complete. These guys left their fingerprints all over Seattle."

"Good," she grinned, pleased for him, and further surprised him by just sitting suddenly in a graceful heap, at his feet.

"Hey, you can be comfortable–or do you want something to eat?" He found himself hoping for the impossible, that she'd stopped by the see him, and not just to grab a bite at the Cale all night drive through. Even so, he wasn't sure he was hearing right, when she spoke.

"Oh...no, thanks..." She was still for a moment, but then added, slyly, "but don't think I won't demand a raincheck..."

"Absolutely," he grinned–so she had stopped by, just to see him? Did he dare to burst the bubble? "So, they close Crash early tonight and kick all of you to the curb?"

"Nah, they were still at it, but...you know..." she trailed, as if maybe she didn't "know," herself... "I started wondering if you'd gotten everything you need, or if you might need a last minute sneak- thief in your arsenal." When the response to her words was simply Logan's silent, growing smile of appreciation, she quickly blustered, "'cause the way to get me crazy is to keep secret whatever scumbag you've been busting this week."

As he laughed, he realized any feeling of weariness or discomfort was gone. "I'll remember that–for future projects" he promised.

"So if you're done, you were probably beat and on your way to bed for a week or two." She looked up to him from her seat on the floor, smiling winsomely.

'Breathe, Logan...' he remembered only long moments after seeing those eyes, seeking his. "Actually, I'm still pretty wound up from the stuff I found." Well, in a sense...it wasn't exactly a lie... "How about a cup of tea? No caffeine" he promised.

"Okay" she nodded. "I don't suppose you'll fill me in, while you're making it, about the hack?"

"No, I think I like you curious– it sounds as if it will make for an enthusiastic sidekick, in the future." He softly popped off his brakes to move out to the kitchen. Max followed along... and as he poured water into kettle and warmed water on the stove, Max regaled him with the evening's events... as they drank tea by the window and shared a small bowl of strawberries he'd managed, he told her about the new requests Eyes Only received that day, for help... as the night drew to a close and Max saw even the hopeful, sparkling life in Logan's eyes soften tiredly, she took their mugs to the kitchen and promised she'd call right after the hack the next day...

And as the dawn began to creep up over the dark night sky, shifting black into charcoal into soft grey, and the pink fingers of color painted ribbons of light outside his window, Logan smiled to think that Max would be watching for his hack, waiting for his report, and would learn that this time, his target was a dirtbag preying upon the most vulnerable children in the city. Maybe she wouldn't recognize the tenderness in herself for these littlest victims; maybe she didn't even suspect it was there. But Logan knew. And he knew somewhere, deep down, that this Eyes Only victory would be more impressive to Max than busting a corrupt mayor or proving a convicted felon innocent...

...it was a thought that would give him the energy to get up in a very few hours and start another day...