Logan jerked awake. He had fallen asleep in his chair in front of his blank computer screen, one hand resting on the phone. His eyes felt dry and stiff, and his back and neck ached from the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he was sitting with his computer off, but Max's capture and the surprise of Gen's betrayal and reversal came back to him so quickly that for a moment he felt the shock of it all over again. His glasses had shifted while he slept, and he settled them more comfortably on his nose.
It was dark out; a smoldering, fretful kind of dark. Logan twisted his arm to read his watch. It was nearly eleven. Fingers raked through unruly hair. He was surprised to discover that he wasn't afraid for Max anymore. He felt more numb than anything else. As if the whole hellish affair were something happening to someone else.
He suddenly had an urge to double check the tickets and sector passes that were lying on the dining room table. He had only checked the four times before: two people, one-way, to Geneva. His story was simple. He was a man of means, traveling to Switzerland to inspect his bank. Max was his assistant, and their sector passes, like their plane seating, were first class. He'd pulled every string, called every favor and used every piece of underhanded blackmail that he had. He'd even burnt some of his bridges, but he wouldn't leave without Max.
The stack of disks still sat on the un-powered demagnetizer. They teased Logan, even as he turned his back on them.
In the dining room, looking out the big bay window at the dark city, was a bedraggled figure in a sheepskin coat with a hood. Logan knew he should have felt surprised, or frightened, or worried, but all he could feel a tingling despair. "Gen?" he whispered, but even as he spoke, the figure turned, and he knew just by the way she moved that it was Max.
And then he could feel again, first a dizzying leap of relief and hope, followed in a roller-coaster rush by a stinging terror that it wouldn't be the Max he knew anymore.
In two strides, she closed the distance between them, and Logan had a split second to fear for his life. But she lifted him out of the chair and enclosed him in a desperate embrace that was somehow ferocious and gentle all at once. "I'm never going back," she whispered into his shirt. The hood had slipped off to reveal her shaven head, already showing dark prickly stubble. Logan held her fiercely, one arm around her shoulders and one hand at the back of her neck. "I will never let you."
It was awkward letting go. Neither of them knew exactly where to look, and it was clumsy getting Logan back in his chair.
"They shaved your gorgeous hair," Logan said, once he was safely back in his chair. He wondered as soon as he'd said it if it was an insensitive thing to say.
Max shrugged and smiled. "It grows fast. No big dealio."
It was the first real hint of her old self, and Logan felt enormously relieved.
They stood and looked anywhere but at each other for a moment, and Logan suddenly said, "The disks..." He turned his chair and wheeled into the computer room. Without hesitation, he flipped the power switch on the de-magnetizer. The tape disks didn't change outwardly, but Logan could picture the files swirling together like ink on a page suddenly splashed with solvent.
Max had followed him. "Were those your Eyes Only save-the-world disks?"
Logan looked up at her. "Everything. The hacking programs, access codes, contacts. Saving widows and small children was getting old, you know." The attempt at humor fell flat.
Softly, hesitantly, Max said, "You know, you didn't have to do that. You could have taken those with you, started over in another city. You don't even have to go with me. We can go separate ways. You'd be safer without a bar-coded ball and chain."
Afraid of her answer, Logan asked, "Do you want to take separate paths?"
There was a pause in which Logan's heart did not beat once, an agony of waiting.
Then, "No." She was looking at her bare feet again. "Gen..." she faltered. "Gen said that I was taking my gifts for granted. That I had a lot in my life that I didn't appreciate. She was right."
Logan wondered what else Gen had told her, but only asked. "Where is Gen?"
Another ghost of a smile from Max. "She told me we were parting ways. She threatened to drug me and call you to pick me up if I didn't let her go. I believed her." The smile faded. "Of course, I believed her before, too."
Logan chose to be grateful that Max wasn't as... damaged... as he had expected. She seemed haunted, but hadn't retreated into herself, or cracked. All over again, he felt a certain amount of awe for her strength of spirit.
"Where are we going?" Max had a trace of her old flippancy back. "Himalayas? Egypt? Or did you book us a romantic cruise in the South Seas?"
"Anywhere you'd like," Logan said sweepingly. "But first to Switzerland. We can tour the world once we've settled some banking, or find a house in any country you please."
Max grinned as they moved back into the dining room. "I could get used to that. But first, do you have anything to eat? The military is stingy with rations for runaway genetic monsters in solitary."
Logan gave Max her tickets and sector pass. "There is a tub of chicken salad and some sandwiches in the fridge. You can eat in the car on the way to the airport."
Max looked down at herself. "But fairy godmother, I haven't got a dress for the ball!"
Logan mentally smacked himself for not remembering. "There are clean clothes on the bed. I hope they fit." They'd been delivered by Sacks of Seattle earlier that afternoon. "I didn't think to get you any shoes, though."
One finger touched the dark stubble on her head. "No one's going to be looking at my feet with my scalp shining like this."
"How do you feel about head scarves?" Logan ventured.
"Ugh." Max shuddered. "I'll deal."
When she emerged from the bedroom, she looked a changed person. The jacket was a little snug across her shoulders, but the skirt was flattering, and the shirt looked lovely. She'd scrubbed the dirt off of herself, and, though she was still scratched in several places, they looked less like barbed-wire scratches and she looked less like a waif-ish war victim. She'd found a bandage in Logan's bathroom and wrapped one of his socks onto her ankle. His slippers looked enormous on her feet, and her leg looked lumpy rather than swollen, but at a glance it was a wonderful disguise. The scarf that had come with the outfit was wrapped in a lopsided turban on her head. It didn't completely cover the fact that she had no hair, but she looked ethnic and exotic, and a casual observer might assume religious reasons for her hairlessness. She held the plate that her sandwich had been on in one hand.
Her expression was doubtful, but she waved away Logan's compliments on her appearance. Her voice was soft and pensive when she finally spoke, returning the plate to the kitchen as if they would be returning sometime soon. "Are you sure you want a genetic freak of nature like me holding you back? I will probably be hunted for the rest of my life. Do you know what you're getting into?"
"Are you sure you want a chair-bound cripple to slow you down?" Logan countered. This he had anticipated. "I'm not exactly an ideal catch myself."
"Says you." With a relieved smile.
"Max, we have plenty of time to talk about this on the flight. I know what I'm getting into." Followed by the thought, 'Do I?' Followed by the thought, 'Does it matter?' If Max was with him, things were right in the world. He would give up Eyes Only to follow her to the ends of the earth. He would give up anything he could for her. And how often does that happen in this strange, brutal, dark world? He loved Max, knew that with clarity of vision that man is rarely gifted with. He wasn't sure what it was between them, or where it would go, but whatever it was, it was so precious and rare and fragile that it was worth any pain or heartache to realize it.
If their relationship was strange, how much more so their lives? One a genetically engineered killing machine with sexy legs, the other a wheel-chair bound man with an over-developed moral obligation. Logan wondered if there would ever be peace of mind for either of them, no matter what continent they chose, or where they ran. Peace, he finally decided, was not the kind of descriptor that would fit easily on their shoulders. But now, leaving his apartment and his life behind, he felt a kind of contentment settle into his heart.
It was enough that they were together.
*********
Authors notes: Whew... this chapter was a killer to write, and I'm not sure the timing is quite what I wanted it to be yet. (I'm also a bit concerned that the last few paragraphs are disgustingly clichéd...) There is one more to come (You want to find out what happened to Gen, right? Right?!).
It was dark out; a smoldering, fretful kind of dark. Logan twisted his arm to read his watch. It was nearly eleven. Fingers raked through unruly hair. He was surprised to discover that he wasn't afraid for Max anymore. He felt more numb than anything else. As if the whole hellish affair were something happening to someone else.
He suddenly had an urge to double check the tickets and sector passes that were lying on the dining room table. He had only checked the four times before: two people, one-way, to Geneva. His story was simple. He was a man of means, traveling to Switzerland to inspect his bank. Max was his assistant, and their sector passes, like their plane seating, were first class. He'd pulled every string, called every favor and used every piece of underhanded blackmail that he had. He'd even burnt some of his bridges, but he wouldn't leave without Max.
The stack of disks still sat on the un-powered demagnetizer. They teased Logan, even as he turned his back on them.
In the dining room, looking out the big bay window at the dark city, was a bedraggled figure in a sheepskin coat with a hood. Logan knew he should have felt surprised, or frightened, or worried, but all he could feel a tingling despair. "Gen?" he whispered, but even as he spoke, the figure turned, and he knew just by the way she moved that it was Max.
And then he could feel again, first a dizzying leap of relief and hope, followed in a roller-coaster rush by a stinging terror that it wouldn't be the Max he knew anymore.
In two strides, she closed the distance between them, and Logan had a split second to fear for his life. But she lifted him out of the chair and enclosed him in a desperate embrace that was somehow ferocious and gentle all at once. "I'm never going back," she whispered into his shirt. The hood had slipped off to reveal her shaven head, already showing dark prickly stubble. Logan held her fiercely, one arm around her shoulders and one hand at the back of her neck. "I will never let you."
It was awkward letting go. Neither of them knew exactly where to look, and it was clumsy getting Logan back in his chair.
"They shaved your gorgeous hair," Logan said, once he was safely back in his chair. He wondered as soon as he'd said it if it was an insensitive thing to say.
Max shrugged and smiled. "It grows fast. No big dealio."
It was the first real hint of her old self, and Logan felt enormously relieved.
They stood and looked anywhere but at each other for a moment, and Logan suddenly said, "The disks..." He turned his chair and wheeled into the computer room. Without hesitation, he flipped the power switch on the de-magnetizer. The tape disks didn't change outwardly, but Logan could picture the files swirling together like ink on a page suddenly splashed with solvent.
Max had followed him. "Were those your Eyes Only save-the-world disks?"
Logan looked up at her. "Everything. The hacking programs, access codes, contacts. Saving widows and small children was getting old, you know." The attempt at humor fell flat.
Softly, hesitantly, Max said, "You know, you didn't have to do that. You could have taken those with you, started over in another city. You don't even have to go with me. We can go separate ways. You'd be safer without a bar-coded ball and chain."
Afraid of her answer, Logan asked, "Do you want to take separate paths?"
There was a pause in which Logan's heart did not beat once, an agony of waiting.
Then, "No." She was looking at her bare feet again. "Gen..." she faltered. "Gen said that I was taking my gifts for granted. That I had a lot in my life that I didn't appreciate. She was right."
Logan wondered what else Gen had told her, but only asked. "Where is Gen?"
Another ghost of a smile from Max. "She told me we were parting ways. She threatened to drug me and call you to pick me up if I didn't let her go. I believed her." The smile faded. "Of course, I believed her before, too."
Logan chose to be grateful that Max wasn't as... damaged... as he had expected. She seemed haunted, but hadn't retreated into herself, or cracked. All over again, he felt a certain amount of awe for her strength of spirit.
"Where are we going?" Max had a trace of her old flippancy back. "Himalayas? Egypt? Or did you book us a romantic cruise in the South Seas?"
"Anywhere you'd like," Logan said sweepingly. "But first to Switzerland. We can tour the world once we've settled some banking, or find a house in any country you please."
Max grinned as they moved back into the dining room. "I could get used to that. But first, do you have anything to eat? The military is stingy with rations for runaway genetic monsters in solitary."
Logan gave Max her tickets and sector pass. "There is a tub of chicken salad and some sandwiches in the fridge. You can eat in the car on the way to the airport."
Max looked down at herself. "But fairy godmother, I haven't got a dress for the ball!"
Logan mentally smacked himself for not remembering. "There are clean clothes on the bed. I hope they fit." They'd been delivered by Sacks of Seattle earlier that afternoon. "I didn't think to get you any shoes, though."
One finger touched the dark stubble on her head. "No one's going to be looking at my feet with my scalp shining like this."
"How do you feel about head scarves?" Logan ventured.
"Ugh." Max shuddered. "I'll deal."
When she emerged from the bedroom, she looked a changed person. The jacket was a little snug across her shoulders, but the skirt was flattering, and the shirt looked lovely. She'd scrubbed the dirt off of herself, and, though she was still scratched in several places, they looked less like barbed-wire scratches and she looked less like a waif-ish war victim. She'd found a bandage in Logan's bathroom and wrapped one of his socks onto her ankle. His slippers looked enormous on her feet, and her leg looked lumpy rather than swollen, but at a glance it was a wonderful disguise. The scarf that had come with the outfit was wrapped in a lopsided turban on her head. It didn't completely cover the fact that she had no hair, but she looked ethnic and exotic, and a casual observer might assume religious reasons for her hairlessness. She held the plate that her sandwich had been on in one hand.
Her expression was doubtful, but she waved away Logan's compliments on her appearance. Her voice was soft and pensive when she finally spoke, returning the plate to the kitchen as if they would be returning sometime soon. "Are you sure you want a genetic freak of nature like me holding you back? I will probably be hunted for the rest of my life. Do you know what you're getting into?"
"Are you sure you want a chair-bound cripple to slow you down?" Logan countered. This he had anticipated. "I'm not exactly an ideal catch myself."
"Says you." With a relieved smile.
"Max, we have plenty of time to talk about this on the flight. I know what I'm getting into." Followed by the thought, 'Do I?' Followed by the thought, 'Does it matter?' If Max was with him, things were right in the world. He would give up Eyes Only to follow her to the ends of the earth. He would give up anything he could for her. And how often does that happen in this strange, brutal, dark world? He loved Max, knew that with clarity of vision that man is rarely gifted with. He wasn't sure what it was between them, or where it would go, but whatever it was, it was so precious and rare and fragile that it was worth any pain or heartache to realize it.
If their relationship was strange, how much more so their lives? One a genetically engineered killing machine with sexy legs, the other a wheel-chair bound man with an over-developed moral obligation. Logan wondered if there would ever be peace of mind for either of them, no matter what continent they chose, or where they ran. Peace, he finally decided, was not the kind of descriptor that would fit easily on their shoulders. But now, leaving his apartment and his life behind, he felt a kind of contentment settle into his heart.
It was enough that they were together.
*********
Authors notes: Whew... this chapter was a killer to write, and I'm not sure the timing is quite what I wanted it to be yet. (I'm also a bit concerned that the last few paragraphs are disgustingly clichéd...) There is one more to come (You want to find out what happened to Gen, right? Right?!).