February 21, 2005: A short note. No, really…;)
Someone who reviewed asked who was responsible for the questions for Max and Logan's game of 'Truth or Dare'.
The 'Dark Angel' universe belongs to others, but the
writing and ideas herein are my entire fault. :)
Thanks, once more, to Alaidh for being a super Beta. I hope you like where the game is going, guys.
Sorry for the delay. Real life occasionally takes me away from my writing. Thank you for your patience. :)
Thoughts in the Dark
Chapter 4
Her smile is evident over the headset.
He isn't sure how he can tell, he just knows. He can picture her entering the gloom of the building's third floor, a bounce in her step despite the dust, a radiance to her that sets the empty hall glowing where her black boots leave their mark.
Logan takes a moment to reflect on the visual memories he has stored of Max, indelible like ink, intractable like a cryptic crossword. Some images are stills, like photography: a warm smile, a look of annoyance, the back of her jacket as she leaves him to stew in his damned logic, again. If you flip the photos, it's almost like a movie.
Some are like shadow theatre he can replay behind his eyes, over and over. Max leaping from the hotel roof, a beautiful avenger to rescue him as he plummets to his death, when he'd come to rescue her. Max fighting the Reds in the garage of the courthouse - and losing. Max returning to the Aztek, her face distraught, and kissing him with so much regret it takes his breath.
He smiles. Tonight, she is black leather in darkness, a study in tonal qualities. Emma Peel in her cat suit before 'The Avengers' went to colour. He contemplates that analogy and decides he'd look silly in a bowler hat.
He shakes his head and tries to describe exactly all the things 'Max' would mean if you were to look her up in the dictionary:
Max, noun: A woman of mystery genetically designed by a government agency, a chimera (see Manticore); a bike messenger who moonlights as a thief (see footnote on Bast); a temperamental angel who is learning to interact with certain obstinate members of Humanity (see Cale, Logan).
Logan sighs and admits to himself that he's playing 'Truth or Dare' with a young woman he associates with an Egyptian goddess.
Could his life be more bizarre?
The game has developed into something he least expected. He has admitted to several things he determined months ago never to tell her. He isn't exactly the Catch of the Day. More like Bachelor Number Two, who never gets chosen because he speaks the Truth.
And yet, he feels… lighter, somehow. Free. Not only has it been revealing, but he's actually having fun. He worries about whether or not he should be worried that he's having fun. They're on a Mission. This is Serious Business. He realizes he's clenching his jaw and tries to relax.
He'll handle the repercussions of their revelations when the mission is completed.
"Everything okay?" Of course it is, he tells himself. She'll let you know if something's wrong. He is part of the team, though. It's his job to remind her that she isn't alone.
"No problem," she says. There's a change in the sound of her voice, reflecting her presence within the walls of the building - an echo the night didn't possess. He checks the floor plans he has on his screen and guesses she must have reached the bottom of the stairs from the roof. No doubt the hall is empty and the plaster walls are tingeing her voice an eerie colour - any of several fluctuating shades of pale purple. "Not much to look at, either." She sniffs. "It doesn't smell damp just… I dunno…"
"Forgotten?" he suggests. He reminds himself - again - to relax. The place is clear. Max will be fine. Any worry he has developing as tightness in his chest is just his over-active imagination. He wonders if she's curious about the people who used to work there. Wonders if she thinks much of the décor.
Wonders if she'll like the linguine.
"Forgotten." She tests the word with her tongue. "Yeah. That'll do." She clears her throat. "So…"
"So." He waits, hoping she'll return to the game, anticipating her choice.
"Truth."
"Okay." He checks his watch: 7:39 PM. He swallows and decides the darkness can be liberating. "Did you take my poem the other night?"
He doesn't have to say which poem. There is only one missing from his journal.
Forever eyes. Dark. Somebody's angel.
His angel.
"I'm at the end of the hall," she says, ignoring his question. "Taking the stairs to the second floor."
It's the first sign of evasion in their game. In a way, his question has been answered, but he has to know for certain.
"I'm not accusing you of anything, Max, and I'm not angry. I just… want to know." He looks at the plan for the second floor on his screen and pictures her descending the stairs, moving silently along the darkened walls like a ghost. "It's the third door on the right," he adds, though she knows already. The mission is pretty straightforward but they went through it with the same level of detail they have come to accept as How They Operate.
Nothing left to chance. Ever.
"Logan?"
He licks his lips. Is she going to end the game? Did he take it too far? "I'm here."
"I - I've got your poem."
Hearing her say those words is like a balm to soothe an open wound. His journal is very private, and he had almost changed his mind about sharing it with her several times.
"You took it that night?"
"Yeah." She laughs softly. "I like it."
Maybe the tightness in his chest isn't concern about the mission.
"You like it?" His voice holds surprise and elation. It sounds loud in the SUV. He hopes the emotions don't scare her as much as they are scaring him.
"Yeah." Her voice turns stern. "And you've had your allotment of questions for this round, mister."
"Sorry," he says, sounding anything but. Can his smile grow any wider?
"I'll let it go… this time."
"Nice of you," he says dryly.
"I thought so." She sighs. "'Truth or Dare', Logan?"
He doesn't hesitate; he isn't going to risk having to sing. "Truth."
"Hmmm… It's locked."
He hears the sound of a door handle being shaken. "Locked?"
"Yep."
"And it's the third door on the right?"
"Yep."
"It isn't supposed to be locked." He opens another window on his screen to double-check his information. Max grunts a word he doesn't quite catch. He stops his search, hands pausing over the keyboard. "You in?"
"As if there was any doubt."
He relaxes slightly. "Never doubted you for an instant."
"Good to know I've got your support." The door needs work; he can hear it creak through the headset.
"I've got your back, Max."
"I know," she says.
Logan suspects they are having at least two conversations with those words. He considers bringing that element into their conversation.
"Truth, you say?"
"Uh, yes."
He wonders what she's going to ask him about. His last game of 'Truth or Dare' was a lifetime ago - someone else's life. The truth involved telling nine other faces which of the five girls in the circle he liked most. The dares included kissing them in another room and other audacious intimacies performed when you are fourteen and eager and drunk on three bottles of beer.
"Why have you never made a pass at me?"
He wasn't expecting that one, though he should have known it was a possibility. He isn't blind and he isn't stupid. They are attracted to one another but he is well aware he continues to reinforce his emotional walls when he feels them weakening. Why? For his own protection? For hers?
We're friends, he could say, and rattles the list of other evasive responses that sound lame. We're not like that. It's a business relationship. Quid pro quo. I don't have time for dating.
Equally lame are: I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to get hurt. I'm in a wheelchair and not happy about it, did you notice?
Logan isn't fourteen. He licks his lips and absently rubs the part of his thighs that aren't covered by his laptop.
He decides she deserves better than inane excuses.
"You make me nervous." He's speaking quietly but knows she'll be able to hear him, regardless. "You are… truly… the most intelligent, beautiful woman I have ever met. I… enjoy being with you and I don't… I don't want to blow it, Max." He sighs and closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the seat. He shouldn't have encouraged the game. He is an insecure man, paralyzed physically and mentally, who copes with his life by trying to make the world a better place for other people.
In his daydreams about a rosy future, he usually excludes himself from participating in the happy ending.
Silence.
"Max?" His eyes snap open and return to the screen. He checks the headset, frowning slightly, and strains to hear anything. His heart sinks as realization cuffs him roughly in the head.
Either their connection has been broken or he's just lost the friendship of the only person in the world he feels he can trust.
