This is an old story; I re-read it and made some very minor changes.
This takes place immediately following the ending of "Out." To refresh your memory, Logan had cancelled on Max for dinner at the beginning of the episode in favor of a mission. At the end, he offers to make her dinner to make up for it.
Please read all the other great fanfic at www.delphi.com/darkangelfans/start
Dangerous Games
"The world will still be broken tomorrow."
Max turned away from Logan towards the counter, busying herself with the water to hide the grin spreading across her face.
//I win this round. Wait, it's not a game. I don't play games. So I beat out his job tonight. He just needs his genetically engineered killing machine, not like he ever notices I'm female.//
"Let me get that before you squeeze it into sauce." Logan removed the red pepper from Max's tightening grip. "You forgetting your own strength again?" Max silently counted to ten. "I must have been thinking about something else," she said sweetly. "Let me help you with that." Bracing herself with one hand on the counter, Max leaned across Logan's lap to reach for the vegetables on the far side of the counter. "Uh, thanks," he said, her bare midriff stretched a few inches from his face. "I can reach everything in here myself, you know. It's set up that way."
//Does she think I'm not a man anymore, when she does things like that? The towel was bad enough.//
"Just trying to be helpful," she answered with an angelic smile, patting him on the shoulder, letting her hand linger against the side of his neck. "We both know I can't cook, so I thought I'd help organize."
"Why don't you go organize the wine?" Logan replied, patting her on the thigh nearest to him.
//I don't know what her game is but I can play as well as she can.//
Max walked around to the other side of the counter to grab the wine. Facing Logan, she placed the bottle on the counter at belly level, raising her right arm and slowly screwing the opener into the cork. Placing just a bit more pressure from the shoulder than necessary, her breasts were pushed together as she rotated the opener, and then pulled the cork from the bottle. Logan tried to concentrate on the vegetables he was slicing. He tried to avoid looking in her direction, which was a mistake. His eyes seemed to travel that way of their own accord, and in his distraction he nearly added a finger or two to the julienne.
//So she's gorgeous. Fine. I'm not so bad myself.//
Logan grabbed the vegetables and dumped them into a pot. Pushing up his sleeves, he reached for the remaining ingredients and a large spoon. He carefully poured oil and measured spices, making sure to flex his recently-developed biceps as often as possible. They were coming along nicely with all of his physical therapy, if he did say so himself. Across the counter, Max poured the wine into two glasses without looking down, the second overflowing onto the countertop.
//Did he always have arms like that or is it the chair? I wonder if his shoulders have been...affected...too.//
"Hey, that's good Pre-Pulse vintage. Don't waste it on the Formica." "Right," she said thoughtfully, eyeing the wine, then downing half the glass as she handed him his. "This is good. Here, drink up." Logan considered mentioning that one does not gulp fine wine. Then he watched her lick a drop of wine from her lower lip, his grip tightened dangerously on the crystal stem of his glass and he drank the entire contents in one long sip. Max bit back a smile and refilled both glasses.
//What, no comment on my table manners?//
Logan noticed the smug set of her lips. "Your water is boiling. Let me show you how to fix the pasta." "Boiling water. Dry pasta. Pour one into the other. I think I can handle that much," Max retorted. "Oh, but there's a lot to be done in the pouring," Logan replied. "Pacing, flow, you want to keep things going smoothly."
//She must really know nothing about cooking if she's buying that one.//
Putting one arm around her from behind, Logan placed his hands just below her wrists and guided her hands as she let the pasta drop gradually into the water. As the bag emptied, he slid his hands slowly up her arms to the elbow, his fingers barely tickling the fine hairs, the thumbs smoothing along the undersides. Max found herself holding her breath, pouring as slowly as possible.
//Either I'm really winning here, or he's on to me.//
Just then the sauce began to boil, each pop sending a small splatter into the air. Logan abruptly backed away to grab the pan, being hit with a few flying drops along the way. Max took the opportunity for another inelegant swig of her wine. "This is just about done," he said, taking a few rapid sips himself. "As soon as the pasta is cooked , we'll be all set. Help me set the table." Max began grabbing cutlery, meeting Logan at the table and helping him arrange the place settings. She noticed a drop of sauce on his upper arm and used the pad of her thumb to slowly wipe it away.
//Yes, moving that chair does good things to a man's upper body. Wait, Max, you're supposed to be bothering him, not the other way around.//
"Wow, this is good," she said, licking the sauce off her thumb. As they arranged the table, Max found several more opportunities to remove nonexistent drops of sauce from Logan's face, finally letting her fingers linger on one supposedly large splash at the hollow of the neck. He swallowed, hard. "The pasta should be about ready now. Want to pour it out?"
//Food. Food is something to focus on. Good. We'll eat, we'll talk, she'll go home. Good.//
"Why don't you stay over there and pour some more wine, while I put the sauce over the pasta. You can trust me to do that much, right?" Logan, who didn't trust himself to move any closer to her at that moment, agreed. Max did a creditable job of plating the food, and set the plates on the table. For a few moments they ate and drank in silence.
Max, never a big drinker, began feeling the effects of the wine.
//All that genetic engineering and they can't even give me a head for alcohol. Not fair.//
Logan watched her, seeing the hint of sadness in her eyes. Affected more than he liked, he tried joking. Badly. "What's the matter, Max, you have bad pasta memories or something?"
//Bad pasta memories? Smooth, Logan.//
"I'm fine," Max said. "Just thinking about genetic engineering, it's not my favorite subject." "About that," Logan replied. "About Manticore. What you said today, about not wanting to find them. Did you really mean it?" "I guess not. It's just...they're the only family I have. And when they show up, it's nothing but trouble." "Family can do that to you," Logan said with a smile. "I guess I wouldn't know," Max answered. "Personal relationships are...complicated, aren't they? Do they always have to hurt this much?" Dangerous question. Logan thought for a moment before responding. "With the good comes the bad, I guess. When you care about people life can be very, very good. And when it doesn't go the way you want it can hurt like hell." The two sat for a moment, lost in thoughts, Max of her siblings, Logan of his ex-wife. Max shied away from her thoughts first, taking another sip of wine and standing up with her plate.
//I don't want to think about them tonight. Tonight is not about work and Manticore. Tonight is about...I don't know what it's about, but I'm still in the game.//
"Are you finished? Let me get your plate for you." Max came up behind Logan's chair, resting one hand on the back of his neck as she reached for his plate. She slid her hand down his upper back before picking up his silverware and walking to the dishwasher. Logan drained his own glass, hoping she didn't notice his shaking hand.
//OK, it got too personal for her and so she's....hitting on me again. I think. Why did I drink all that wine?//
Logan began gathering the remaining items from the table, taking several trips to the refrigerator and dishwasher. As he crossed Max's path, he made a point of gently touching whatever part of her body came into reach. Just to avoid running into her, of course. After a few trips, Max was so sensitized to his touch that she had to steel herself against jumping from his light brush against her hip or her arm.
//So he feeds me and gives me wine and gets me all soft talking about relationships. Is he trying to get through the armor plating, or trying to keep me around for a few more Eyes Only runs? Too much wine, too much stress today. Not the time to find out.//
On his last trip to the sink, Logan realized he'd better keep his hands to himself. Just the touch of his fingers on her skin, or the rough fabric of her jeans, was affecting him almost more than he could handle. He noticed Max shooting him a glance as he passed her without contact. She looked....almost....disappointed?
//I thought her game was to distract me, not the other way around. Why would she care if I stop playing? Unless this really is the first crack in that armor of hers. But I'm tired and worried about that job in the morning. Tonight's not the night to figure out Max.//
Lost in their own thoughts, Max and Logan headed for the living room at the same time, on crossing trajectories. Logan's wheel caught on the lace of Max's boot and she fell, twisting, landing directly in his lap.
//I don't trip. I never trip. OK, once today in the mud, but never twice.//
Max sat for a second, considering her inexplicable clumsiness. And considering the inexplicable comfort of Logan's lap.
//Get a grip.//
Firmly she planted her feet on the floor and started to stand. Logan reflexively grabbed her around the hips and pulled her back down. A memory of a bed, a hotel room, a conveniently placed rope flashed through Logan's mind.
//Only this time there's no rescue mission to use as an excuse for letting go again. So I guess I'd better mean it.//
"There's no kid to save this time," Max said. " So no pulling me down like that unless you mean it."
//What am I saying?//
In response, Logan tightened his grip on her waist. For a moment, Max allowed herself to relax into his lap. Then she sat bolt upright. Logan steadied her with a hand on her back. "What kind of game are you playing here?" she sputtered. "Game?" Logan asked. "You're the one who's been playing games all night. I don't even know the rules. Tell me, Max, what is it you're trying to get from me?"
//She's not getting up.//
"I want the truth. You're Eyes Only, you're all about the truth, aren't you? Well, what is it you want from me? A partner? An employee? A friend?"
Logan breathed deeply for a moment, feeling the wine in his blood and trying to sort his conflicting thoughts. He gave up. "Max, I appreciated what you said before, that I don't need to wear a mask for you. I believed you. So I won't." Logan took another breath and looked steadily into Max's eyes. "I love you and want whatever I can get from you."
//She wants the truth, fine. Her game now. Let her figure out how to deal with it in the morning.
Max's first instinct was to run, and she attempted an unusually ungraceful scramble for the floor. But Logan's arm around her waist held her in a grip she couldn't bring herself to resist. Frustrated, Max slumped back onto his lap. Logan stared at her for a second, his hand moving gently against the bare skin at her waist, her face only inches from her own. Slowly, gently, giving her every opportunity to back away, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, pulling away only enough for breathing room. Max was still as the breathed a fraction of an inch from each other, waiting for her inner monologue to begin screaming for an exodus. It was oddly silent.
//Fine. His game now. Let him figure out how to deal with it in the morning.//
Max tilted her head a few millimeters and brought her lips back to his. Logan's lips softened against hers and his hand came up to stroke her cheek, following the line of her jaw and resting in her hair. Max kissed him with the pent-up frustration of the evening, of all of the evenings since their denied last kiss. Logan responded in kind, and for long moments they were conscious of only skin, and breath, and every point of contact.
Until Max's beeper beeped. Max rose with a start, shaking herself like a puppy and straightening her clothes. She located her beeper on the table and shut it off, not even bothering to check the number before sticking it in her pocket. "Right. Beeper. Somebody probably needs me or something. Look, page me tomorrow when you know the deal with the new baddie, OK? I should have some time, I can come over whenever you...need me to."
//Or I could sit back down.//
"Beep you? For a minute I was hoping you would be staying. I wouldn't need to beep you then." Logan noticed the flare of longing in her eyes, no matter how quickly she extinguished it. "I'm not going to make you stay, Max. I want you to. But I told you, I love you and I'll take whatever I can get. For now. I'm still a man, you know." "I know," Max answered, a bit defensively. "So fine," Logan said. "Simple question. Staying or going?" Max stared at him while thoughts of the past months, the past years, flitted through her head.
//Come on, Max, you're not in heat. Life's complicated enough. Flirting is one thing, but this...is something else. If you're not ready for something else, get yourself home.//
"Staying or going, Max?"
".....Staying."
This takes place immediately following the ending of "Out." To refresh your memory, Logan had cancelled on Max for dinner at the beginning of the episode in favor of a mission. At the end, he offers to make her dinner to make up for it.
Please read all the other great fanfic at www.delphi.com/darkangelfans/start
Dangerous Games
"The world will still be broken tomorrow."
Max turned away from Logan towards the counter, busying herself with the water to hide the grin spreading across her face.
//I win this round. Wait, it's not a game. I don't play games. So I beat out his job tonight. He just needs his genetically engineered killing machine, not like he ever notices I'm female.//
"Let me get that before you squeeze it into sauce." Logan removed the red pepper from Max's tightening grip. "You forgetting your own strength again?" Max silently counted to ten. "I must have been thinking about something else," she said sweetly. "Let me help you with that." Bracing herself with one hand on the counter, Max leaned across Logan's lap to reach for the vegetables on the far side of the counter. "Uh, thanks," he said, her bare midriff stretched a few inches from his face. "I can reach everything in here myself, you know. It's set up that way."
//Does she think I'm not a man anymore, when she does things like that? The towel was bad enough.//
"Just trying to be helpful," she answered with an angelic smile, patting him on the shoulder, letting her hand linger against the side of his neck. "We both know I can't cook, so I thought I'd help organize."
"Why don't you go organize the wine?" Logan replied, patting her on the thigh nearest to him.
//I don't know what her game is but I can play as well as she can.//
Max walked around to the other side of the counter to grab the wine. Facing Logan, she placed the bottle on the counter at belly level, raising her right arm and slowly screwing the opener into the cork. Placing just a bit more pressure from the shoulder than necessary, her breasts were pushed together as she rotated the opener, and then pulled the cork from the bottle. Logan tried to concentrate on the vegetables he was slicing. He tried to avoid looking in her direction, which was a mistake. His eyes seemed to travel that way of their own accord, and in his distraction he nearly added a finger or two to the julienne.
//So she's gorgeous. Fine. I'm not so bad myself.//
Logan grabbed the vegetables and dumped them into a pot. Pushing up his sleeves, he reached for the remaining ingredients and a large spoon. He carefully poured oil and measured spices, making sure to flex his recently-developed biceps as often as possible. They were coming along nicely with all of his physical therapy, if he did say so himself. Across the counter, Max poured the wine into two glasses without looking down, the second overflowing onto the countertop.
//Did he always have arms like that or is it the chair? I wonder if his shoulders have been...affected...too.//
"Hey, that's good Pre-Pulse vintage. Don't waste it on the Formica." "Right," she said thoughtfully, eyeing the wine, then downing half the glass as she handed him his. "This is good. Here, drink up." Logan considered mentioning that one does not gulp fine wine. Then he watched her lick a drop of wine from her lower lip, his grip tightened dangerously on the crystal stem of his glass and he drank the entire contents in one long sip. Max bit back a smile and refilled both glasses.
//What, no comment on my table manners?//
Logan noticed the smug set of her lips. "Your water is boiling. Let me show you how to fix the pasta." "Boiling water. Dry pasta. Pour one into the other. I think I can handle that much," Max retorted. "Oh, but there's a lot to be done in the pouring," Logan replied. "Pacing, flow, you want to keep things going smoothly."
//She must really know nothing about cooking if she's buying that one.//
Putting one arm around her from behind, Logan placed his hands just below her wrists and guided her hands as she let the pasta drop gradually into the water. As the bag emptied, he slid his hands slowly up her arms to the elbow, his fingers barely tickling the fine hairs, the thumbs smoothing along the undersides. Max found herself holding her breath, pouring as slowly as possible.
//Either I'm really winning here, or he's on to me.//
Just then the sauce began to boil, each pop sending a small splatter into the air. Logan abruptly backed away to grab the pan, being hit with a few flying drops along the way. Max took the opportunity for another inelegant swig of her wine. "This is just about done," he said, taking a few rapid sips himself. "As soon as the pasta is cooked , we'll be all set. Help me set the table." Max began grabbing cutlery, meeting Logan at the table and helping him arrange the place settings. She noticed a drop of sauce on his upper arm and used the pad of her thumb to slowly wipe it away.
//Yes, moving that chair does good things to a man's upper body. Wait, Max, you're supposed to be bothering him, not the other way around.//
"Wow, this is good," she said, licking the sauce off her thumb. As they arranged the table, Max found several more opportunities to remove nonexistent drops of sauce from Logan's face, finally letting her fingers linger on one supposedly large splash at the hollow of the neck. He swallowed, hard. "The pasta should be about ready now. Want to pour it out?"
//Food. Food is something to focus on. Good. We'll eat, we'll talk, she'll go home. Good.//
"Why don't you stay over there and pour some more wine, while I put the sauce over the pasta. You can trust me to do that much, right?" Logan, who didn't trust himself to move any closer to her at that moment, agreed. Max did a creditable job of plating the food, and set the plates on the table. For a few moments they ate and drank in silence.
Max, never a big drinker, began feeling the effects of the wine.
//All that genetic engineering and they can't even give me a head for alcohol. Not fair.//
Logan watched her, seeing the hint of sadness in her eyes. Affected more than he liked, he tried joking. Badly. "What's the matter, Max, you have bad pasta memories or something?"
//Bad pasta memories? Smooth, Logan.//
"I'm fine," Max said. "Just thinking about genetic engineering, it's not my favorite subject." "About that," Logan replied. "About Manticore. What you said today, about not wanting to find them. Did you really mean it?" "I guess not. It's just...they're the only family I have. And when they show up, it's nothing but trouble." "Family can do that to you," Logan said with a smile. "I guess I wouldn't know," Max answered. "Personal relationships are...complicated, aren't they? Do they always have to hurt this much?" Dangerous question. Logan thought for a moment before responding. "With the good comes the bad, I guess. When you care about people life can be very, very good. And when it doesn't go the way you want it can hurt like hell." The two sat for a moment, lost in thoughts, Max of her siblings, Logan of his ex-wife. Max shied away from her thoughts first, taking another sip of wine and standing up with her plate.
//I don't want to think about them tonight. Tonight is not about work and Manticore. Tonight is about...I don't know what it's about, but I'm still in the game.//
"Are you finished? Let me get your plate for you." Max came up behind Logan's chair, resting one hand on the back of his neck as she reached for his plate. She slid her hand down his upper back before picking up his silverware and walking to the dishwasher. Logan drained his own glass, hoping she didn't notice his shaking hand.
//OK, it got too personal for her and so she's....hitting on me again. I think. Why did I drink all that wine?//
Logan began gathering the remaining items from the table, taking several trips to the refrigerator and dishwasher. As he crossed Max's path, he made a point of gently touching whatever part of her body came into reach. Just to avoid running into her, of course. After a few trips, Max was so sensitized to his touch that she had to steel herself against jumping from his light brush against her hip or her arm.
//So he feeds me and gives me wine and gets me all soft talking about relationships. Is he trying to get through the armor plating, or trying to keep me around for a few more Eyes Only runs? Too much wine, too much stress today. Not the time to find out.//
On his last trip to the sink, Logan realized he'd better keep his hands to himself. Just the touch of his fingers on her skin, or the rough fabric of her jeans, was affecting him almost more than he could handle. He noticed Max shooting him a glance as he passed her without contact. She looked....almost....disappointed?
//I thought her game was to distract me, not the other way around. Why would she care if I stop playing? Unless this really is the first crack in that armor of hers. But I'm tired and worried about that job in the morning. Tonight's not the night to figure out Max.//
Lost in their own thoughts, Max and Logan headed for the living room at the same time, on crossing trajectories. Logan's wheel caught on the lace of Max's boot and she fell, twisting, landing directly in his lap.
//I don't trip. I never trip. OK, once today in the mud, but never twice.//
Max sat for a second, considering her inexplicable clumsiness. And considering the inexplicable comfort of Logan's lap.
//Get a grip.//
Firmly she planted her feet on the floor and started to stand. Logan reflexively grabbed her around the hips and pulled her back down. A memory of a bed, a hotel room, a conveniently placed rope flashed through Logan's mind.
//Only this time there's no rescue mission to use as an excuse for letting go again. So I guess I'd better mean it.//
"There's no kid to save this time," Max said. " So no pulling me down like that unless you mean it."
//What am I saying?//
In response, Logan tightened his grip on her waist. For a moment, Max allowed herself to relax into his lap. Then she sat bolt upright. Logan steadied her with a hand on her back. "What kind of game are you playing here?" she sputtered. "Game?" Logan asked. "You're the one who's been playing games all night. I don't even know the rules. Tell me, Max, what is it you're trying to get from me?"
//She's not getting up.//
"I want the truth. You're Eyes Only, you're all about the truth, aren't you? Well, what is it you want from me? A partner? An employee? A friend?"
Logan breathed deeply for a moment, feeling the wine in his blood and trying to sort his conflicting thoughts. He gave up. "Max, I appreciated what you said before, that I don't need to wear a mask for you. I believed you. So I won't." Logan took another breath and looked steadily into Max's eyes. "I love you and want whatever I can get from you."
//She wants the truth, fine. Her game now. Let her figure out how to deal with it in the morning.
Max's first instinct was to run, and she attempted an unusually ungraceful scramble for the floor. But Logan's arm around her waist held her in a grip she couldn't bring herself to resist. Frustrated, Max slumped back onto his lap. Logan stared at her for a second, his hand moving gently against the bare skin at her waist, her face only inches from her own. Slowly, gently, giving her every opportunity to back away, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with his, pulling away only enough for breathing room. Max was still as the breathed a fraction of an inch from each other, waiting for her inner monologue to begin screaming for an exodus. It was oddly silent.
//Fine. His game now. Let him figure out how to deal with it in the morning.//
Max tilted her head a few millimeters and brought her lips back to his. Logan's lips softened against hers and his hand came up to stroke her cheek, following the line of her jaw and resting in her hair. Max kissed him with the pent-up frustration of the evening, of all of the evenings since their denied last kiss. Logan responded in kind, and for long moments they were conscious of only skin, and breath, and every point of contact.
Until Max's beeper beeped. Max rose with a start, shaking herself like a puppy and straightening her clothes. She located her beeper on the table and shut it off, not even bothering to check the number before sticking it in her pocket. "Right. Beeper. Somebody probably needs me or something. Look, page me tomorrow when you know the deal with the new baddie, OK? I should have some time, I can come over whenever you...need me to."
//Or I could sit back down.//
"Beep you? For a minute I was hoping you would be staying. I wouldn't need to beep you then." Logan noticed the flare of longing in her eyes, no matter how quickly she extinguished it. "I'm not going to make you stay, Max. I want you to. But I told you, I love you and I'll take whatever I can get. For now. I'm still a man, you know." "I know," Max answered, a bit defensively. "So fine," Logan said. "Simple question. Staying or going?" Max stared at him while thoughts of the past months, the past years, flitted through her head.
//Come on, Max, you're not in heat. Life's complicated enough. Flirting is one thing, but this...is something else. If you're not ready for something else, get yourself home.//
"Staying or going, Max?"
".....Staying."