Logan rubbed his eyes wearily and hung up the phone. He had forgotten about the time again. Bling was taking a well-deserved day off, and hadn't been there to remind him to eat dinner. Which was all right, because Max had just called and wanted to bring a friend over. "Should we bring something to eat, or will you feed us out of the warmth of your heart?" she had asked.
Logan could never resist Max's requests for food. Or for anything, really. She had somehow crept into his life, despite his best efforts. "Just as friends," he told himself. "That's all we are. That's all I feel." Maybe if he told himself that often enough, he'd eventually believe it. Like Bling's idea of therapy. "Feel your legs. Imagine the muscles."
Logan wheeled himself to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. He almost wished that it were a brown-out. With the brilliant lights, the chef's-dream kitchen seemed sterile, too bright, too shiny. Too isolated. "This is a fine mood to be in," Logan muttered to himself. He opened the fridge, adept, now, at positioning his chair so it didn't interfere with the arc of the door. Nothing looked good, though the vegetables were all fresh and the meat was all from recognizable animals. The freezer held nothing better.
Finally he shrugged, "Pasta, like always," he said. The amount of bitterness in his voice surprised him.
He washed the vegetables awkwardly, leaning out of his chair uncomfortably to reach the sink handles. The whole suite had been retro-fitted with the best in handicap accessibility, but that didn't mean it was easy accessibility.
The pasta had finished boiling, and Logan was rinsing it in the sink, when he heard a scratching noise at the door. He grimaced; he had forgotten to unlock the door, and rather than knocking, Max was pulling her usual trick of picking her way in. He left the noodles in the strainer and rolled to the kitchen entrance to meet her.
The lock-picking took longer than usual, and Logan was about to unlock the door himself, when the door opened in a peal of unabashed laughter. "I didn't have the advantage of all that great training you had," a light voice said, and two girls walked in.
Max answered, "Next time, keep the blade pressed towards the door jamb."
The stranger was a perfect foil to Max, pale and fair-skinned to Max's exotic dark looks; a hair taller, but of the same graceful build. She looked a few years older, but her face was clear of the street-wise look that Max frequently had. Next to Max's night-on-the town clothes, she looked conservative in a non-descript gray skirt and long sheepskin coat. They were both wet; it was raining out, and they both had grins like cheshire cats.
Max walked in confidently, and nodded to Logan. "Logan, Gen. Gen, Logan." She moved towards the kitchen, scenting the air. "Alfredo?"
Gen tested the air as well. "With fresh garlic and real olive oil," she exclaimed in delight. "I haven't had real olive oil in about three years." She extended a polite hand to her host. "Thank you for your hospitality."
Logan shook it gingerly, questions clear in his face. "Glad to meet you, Gen."
Gen moved into the room, drinking in the tasteful decor. "Nice wheels," she commented.
Logan blinked. "Wheels?"
Gen smiled at him. "The chair. You haven't been in it long, have you." It wasn't a question.
"Does it show?" Logan wasn't at all sure what to make of Max's new friend.
"Sure. You made a motion as if you would get up to shake my hand, and you don't seem comfortable looking up at people." Gen was matter of fact, without treading towards blunt. "I was in a chair twice for fractured vertebrae, twice for broken legs and once for a cracked hip."
Logan collected his bottom jaw from his lap and tried to find something to say. Max swept in to save him. "Are you going to feed, us or let us waste away to the smells of your food?"
The meal was delightful, both in food and banter. Max and Gen traded childhood stories, and Logan found himself both delighted by Max's uncustomary candor and jealous that she was so easy talking about herself to Gen, while he had to practically drag details from her when they were alone, or suffer the dark expression she usually wore when she spoke of Manticore. Gen was light-hearted about her youth, nonchalant about her weaknesses, and honest about her hopes and prides. Gen even made an effort to drag Logan into the conversation, though he was more interested in hearing about Max and Gen, and he found himself relating the story of his second cousin's attempts to sabotage his entrance into college.
This is what Max had been searching for all along, he realized at some point during the night. She wanted someone like her, but without the dark past of Manticore dictating her actions. Gen was everything she had wanted; a sister to share her troubles with, who wasn't a soldier by training. Someone who understood her differences, knew her background, and could relate to everything that made her stand apart. Someone that Logan desperately tried to be, but couldn't ever really attain, bound by different laws of genetics and flesh.
Dawn surprised them all, creeping fingers of light in through the enormous windows. They were in the living area of the apartment. Max was perched on the back of a couch near Logan, Gen was draped in an armchair swirling a goblet of milk as if it were fine pre-pulse wine, and Logan was beginning to feel as if his eyelids were made from concrete. He yawned enormously, and tried to hide it, but Gen noticed at once, and sat up in her chair with chagrin obvious on her face. "Max," she laughed, "We forgot about our super-powers, and our poor mortal friend is falling asleep in his chair!"
Max grinned at Logan, more relaxed than he had seen her in ages, and bantered, "Logan's used to it. I'm such trouble to him."
Logan smiled back and opened his mouth to tell her that she was never trouble, exhaustion having dampened his usual discretion, but another yawn escaped instead, and Max and Gen both rose to leave. "I have to be at work in a couple of hours anyway," Max said. She lingered though, while Gen got directions to the docks where she was planning to meet a friend, and put on her coat. "I'll meet you at The Bean Bag this afternoon," the blonde said with her infectious smile, and opened the door to the suite. Before she closed it, she shot back, "I'll let you tuck Logan in, Max. Sleep tight!" The door clicked behind her.
Logan blushed, trying to hide his embarrassment. "You don't have to do that," he said.
Max, surprisingly, seemed equally abashed. "So what do you think of my new sister?" she asked, changing the subject away. She was fingering one of the statues on the mantle, not meeting Logan's eyes. He thought suddenly that he had never seen her so vulnerable and happy at the same time. Usually a snappy, upbeat attitude was something Max hid behind, to hide a dark hunger for... Logan wasn't sure what exactly. This open, softer Max was something new that Logan didn't want to let go of, no matter how his eyes were craving sleep.
"She's a delight," he said honestly. "It's hard to remember that she's from Manticore." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered if they were a mistake, but Max seemed to take it in stride.
"Can you check out her story?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"Sure," he said quickly. He could never turn her down.
He started to wheel towards the computer room, but, in a flicker, Max was in front of him. "Not tonight, Clark Kent," she said. "We kept you up all night, and I won't have you losing sleep on my account."
Logan wondered if she knew how much sleep he had lost over her since they had met, and as he was forming an excuse, another yawn escaped, and he allowed Max to take the handles of his wheelchair and steer him towards the bedroom.
She didn't push him all the way in, though, and there was an awkward moment when neither of them was sure how to say goodbye.
Max finally looked at a clock and said, "I have to take a shower before work, and I'd better not be late."
With a smile, Logan turned his chair so that he could watch her leave, slinging on her jacket with a devil-may-care attitude. "Have a good night... er, morning," he said.
Max smiled, her slowest, deepest smile. "Sleep well."
The door latched behind her softly.
************
Authors notes: Please review, of course... and I promise there /will/ be more action in future chapters. Also, now taking votes: happy ending or grim?