Spinelli sat awake in his room later that night, replaying the short but horrifying encounter with the Broken Blond One. He couldn't get it out of his head – a soft brush of fingers and she was sent into a realm that he could barely draw her out of. And worse than that, Lowly Logan – Vile, Evil Logan had her so completely turned around and lost that she thought he, of all people, would hurt her.

All he wanted to do was gather her delicate self in his arms and heal all wounds inflicted. Dully he felt his eye throb and it didn't bother him, in fact, he tried to concentrate on it – tried to make the pain worse by driving the heel of his palm into the bruised skin. It didn't work. Nothing, absolutely nothing in this world could take his mind away from his beautiful friend.

Picking up his cellphone from the nightstand he dialed her number. Maybe she would talk to him if it was on the phone, where she was safe in bed, and could hang up whenever she pleased. The phone continued to ring and ring and it grew crystal clear in clarity that she did not plan on answering. Suddenly her voice filled his ear, causing his body to jerk.

"Hi! It's Maxie, and I'm doing something more important than answering my phone. Leave one!"

She sounded so cheerful in the message, her voice full with suppressed laughter and light. Would he ever hear that again without dialing her number and getting her voicemail? It was then he realized he had been sitting silently for a few seconds without speaking. He coughed awkwardly.

"Maximista – Maxie," he corrected. "It's the Jack – It's Spinelli. I was only calling in the hopes to hear your voice and know that you arrived home safely. You were quite upset when you took leave and vanished to quick for me to follow – though that didn't seem like something you would want. I respect your need for time alone, but please get in contact with me soon. The Jackal... I worry."

Throwing the phone harder than necessary onto the ground, he sunk back into his bed, held a pillow over his face and for what seemed like the millionth time – fought back the tears that burned behind his eyelids. Wasn't this what love was? When she was happy, he was happy. When she was sad, he was sad. When she was utterly, completely destroyed… so was he.

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Maxie knew she shouldn't be here, knew that this was a bad idea – didn't care. Hugging her jacket tighter to frame she did her best to give off 'leave me the hell alone' vibes. Probably failed miserably considering inside she felt like a scared doe shaking on wobbly legs. She swung the door open and stepped in.

Jake's. So it was probably a little more than a bad idea, but right now all she wanted to do was forget. Alcohol did that, right? When you consumed enough, you could completely obliterate any semblance of memories. She took the stool at the end of the bar.

"What's your poison?" Coleman asked her in a slimy tone. She took a deep breath, willing herself not to be afraid of him. He was a tool, yes, but he was not to be feared. She was Maxie Jones. She was Maxie Jones. She was Maxie Jones.

"Tequila. Lots of it."

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The ringing roused Spinelli out of a deep slumber. He was almost growing used to this. When he flipped the cellphone open he fully expected to hear Maximista's hollow voice down the line – instead he was greeted by Coleman.

"Hey Spinelli, man. What's up?" he asked.

"The Jackal was in a deep state of unconsciousness," Spinelli replied running a hand through his untamed hair. "Can I help you with something?"

"I'm so glad you asked that, man," Coleman said with a rueful laugh. "I've got your pretty little blond friend here. Maxie. She's drank way too much, and I can't exactly call her daddy, if you know what I mean."

"I'll be there," Spinelli muttered quickly before he hung up and rushed out of the penthouse – not even bothering to change out of his plaid pajama pants.

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"Why?" Maxie asked Coleman.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what you're asking me," Coleman responded. Maxie went to take another sip of her drink, and Coleman knew better than to reach for it. She had gotten mighty upset the last two times he had tried.

"Why would… Why?" Maxie asked shaking her head as if to clear it. This only served to make her dizzy. She didn't understand.

"Sweetheart, look who's here! It's your friend Spinelli!" Coleman said with great relief. He leaned over the bar when Spinelli approached. "Dude, you've got to do something."

Spinelli nodded and stood for a moment trying to figure out the best way to approach the wounded creature sitting on the stool. He walked forward and stopped, sat down with a stool between them and then took a deep breath.

"Maximista?" he questioned.

Maxie's head turned sharply at the sound of his voice and her one foot slid off the stool, hitting the bar with a loud thunk. He looked down expecting to see her usual heels, but only found dirty running shoes, aged with time and use.

"Spinelli?" she asked him, her eyes wide and blue. "Spinelli, why?"

"I don't know, Maximista. All I know is that it wasn't your fault," he whispered softly.

A single tear fell down her cheek and it was the saddest thing Spinelli had ever seen – it was somehow worse than if she had been a pile of limbs on the floor sobbing. He didn't know why. Maxie lifted the drink to her lips again and Spinelli spoke.

"Hey Maxie, why don't you give me the beverage?" he questioned.

Maxie looked at him once more and then at the drink in her hand. Instead of handing it to him, she set it down on the bar.

"Are you going to take me home, Spin?" she asked him, her voice soft and eerily sober. "I need you to take me home."

"Yeah, I'm going to take you home, Maxie Mine…"