Spinelli was surprised that the unquestionably intoxicated Maximista did not slip into dreams while he was driving back to the penthouse. The heater was turned up and it started to rain, promising the roads would be a mess of ice in the morning. Neither one of them spoke and the silence was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable – it simply was.

Once they pulled into garage and he had turned the car off, he motioned for her to wait and hurried across the front to open the door for her. She stepped out clumsily, feet weighed by alcohol, and Spinelli ached to reach out to steady but knew better. Slowly, they made their way to the elevator and Spinelli looked over to see Maxie huddled in the corner, shoulders hunched in some sort of backwards bloom that was not familiar to him on her frame.

He opened the apartment door and followed her in; she immediately began to stumble up the stairs. She stopped half way and placed a hand on her head as if it could stop the spinning she was obviously feeling. Spinelli, ever faithful and concerned, was right behind her.

"Maximista, perhaps you would allow The Jackal to assist you?" Spinelli asked, offering an arm to her. Maxie looked at it warily and then shook her head no. Spinelli tried not to feel hurt, knew it was not him that was causing her fear, not really. "As you wish."

He stayed behind her as she walked up the stairs, ready to catch her in case she took a tumble. Somehow, very, very slowly she made it to his bedroom and he watched her climb into his bed and pass out almost the moment her head hit his pillow.

Sighing, Spinelli stood in the doorway looking at her. Should he sleep on the couch? What if she needed him? Stepping in he grabbed a pillow up of the floor – one he must have knocked over in his haste to pick her up at Jake's – and moved it a few feet across the room.

He decided lay down with the pillow under his head, staring at the ceiling – after all, it wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"No."

The first time it was mumbled and Spinelli wasn't sure he really heard it. He began to count each breath he took, listening intently.

"No…"

This time he was sure he heard it. He sat up, and looked over at Maxie who was tangled up in the sheets fully clothed, curled up tightly in the fetal position. Then suddenly her body unfurled, turned, and trashed slightly.

"No! Don't. Don't."

Spinelli stood so quickly the blood rushed to his head and he got dizzy. He debated for a moment how to wake her up without scaring her, but did it matter because wherever she was in her mind right now was obviously worse than The Regrettably Pink Room.

"Logan," she whimpered.

Spinelli felt the familiar course of anger flow through his veins and he clenched his hands so hard his nails left half-moon indents in his palms. Crouching down next to the bed to make himself appear smaller, he took a deep breath and spoke.

"Maximista? Wake up; you're having a nightmare," he said in a loud voice.

Maxie's head turned but she didn't wake up. She was obviously sleeping very deeply due to her night of tequila. Though he knew it was not what she would want, he placed a hand on her back through the comforter and shook her slightly.

"Maximista, wake up; you're having a nightmare!" he said again.

This time Maxie sat up so swiftly it scared him and he noticed through the glow of the moon through his window that her skin was slick with sweat.

"Get off me!" she screamed. "Get off! Please stop! Stop it! Logan don't! Please, please."

Not knowing what else to do, Spinelli hopped up onto the bed and took her face in his hands. She fought him for a moment but stilled as he continued to talk to her.

"Maximista, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I knew, I knew he was hurting you and I didn't do anything. Please, Maximista, open your eyes. I may have failed you once, but I swear you're safe here. Nothing will happen to you again," he promised.

Maxie collapsed into tears and surprised Spinelli by throwing herself into his arms. He cautiously began to rub her back when her fingernails dug into his arm. He could feel her hot tears on his neck as she buried her face in its curve.

When she finally cried herself out she looked at Spinelli – his eyes were green and full of hurt, concern, empathy. And when he went to go lay back down on the floor, apologizing for letting her be hurt and being forced to wake her, she stopped him – pulled a corner of the blanket up and he slid inside without a word.

They slept without touching, but somehow it was just enough hearing him breathe to lull her into more peaceful dreams…