Chapter 6: Another Beginning's End

Chapter 6: Another Beginning's End

Max squinted, taking in the weak, gray sunlight streaming in from the window, "Is it morning already?" She grumbled, taking a moment to stretch. Cracking her neck, she was just about to swing her feet onto the floor when she realized what it was she'd said.

Morning? I slept… 'Till morning? Isn't that supposed to be—impossible…?

She shook her hair out, trying to put it in some semblance of order, "Huh."

Maybe he was right, for once… Maybe I was tired… She smiled, Logan might not be right about much, but every once in a while, he'd hit the nail on the head. Or drive it into a coffin… She paused, Now where did THAT thought come from?

Not aiming for anywhere in particular, Max headed into the kitchen, surprised to find that it was clean, the table cleared, and dirty dishes nowhere to be found. He probably couldn't sleep. She surprised herself by being overly concerned, It was probably something I said, too. Huh. 'S what a girl gets for honesty. She meandered over to the doorway, leaning against it for a few moments, trying to figure out what it was she was supposed to be doing. Covering a yawn with one shapely hand, she figured that if anybody knew what was up, it was Logan, and headed towards his room, still drunk on the excess of sleep.

"Hey, Logan—" She hissed, standing on the threshold, "What d'you—" She stopped short, noticing the alarm clock by his bedside, 5:57? What the hell-- Oh, yeah… just changed the clocks, didn't we? She scrubbed her eyes, entering the room, Huh. Can't believe I forgot… Then again, today seems to be a day of firsts for me…

Sleep was decidedly a strange sensation for her, she felt… Lazy. She plopped down in a chair by Logan's window, watching him as he slept.

Y'know… He's almost adorable… One arm was thrown across the bed, bars of sunlight playing on the hairs on his forearm, fingers slightly curled, as if he would reach to take hold of something at any moment. His face, usually so guarded lately, was erased of any emotion but contentment. Max couldn't help but smile, he exuded peace.

Her eyes drifted across the room, scanning for anything worth noticing, and her eyes settled on the wheelchair, steadfast by his bedside.

Not my fault. That was her assertion, every time she started to think about it, she had to convince herself. He'd gotten into the whole thing himself, he was a big boy… And yet… If only she'd teamed up with him sooner…

(I kinda like being able to walk…)

Almost as if to reflect her thoughts, his brow furrowed, and a slight sound escaped his lips… It sounded like a question. Under his lids, his eyes moved, suddenly, his lips moved upward, almost into a smile.

The music, it was Dvorak's New World Symphony… My father used to listen to it all the time, but he took the CD with him on the boat, and it was drowned alongside him. Knowing that, I couldn't listen to it again. But, next to her, it's bearable. It seems a trifle—it seems stupid to worry. After all, she's in my arms, and smiling and dancing to the music along with me. Smiling as if it were some cosmic joke only she and I shared—as if this existence was privileged to the two of us, and the two of us alone. Dancing so slowly, almost every inch of my body in contact with hers, the feeling of her bare shoulder against my hand too sweet, to smooth, to perfect to even be understood. I take a few moments to revel in it. The smell of her hair, the perfect texture of her skin, the incredible architecture of her face.

My eyes meet hers, and it is as if we were connected by pure energy. The space between us is pure electricity, her smile tells me she feels it too. Her eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to tell me something, her lips stretching further into her smile. I cannot hear, but it doesn't matter. We don't need words.

I pull her closer to me, lower her into a dip, and she laughs, her chin pointed to the sky, her neck extended. Slowly, she stands up straight, her eyes meeting mine once again.

I have something I need to tell you, she tells me. Or at least, that is what I think I read on her lips, I need something from you.

I stroke a tendril of hair away from her face, Anything you want. I try to tell her, and smile, but she looks at me quizzically, as if she doesn't understand.

Her eyes darken, I'm not who you think I am. She breaks away, and the music stops, there is only silence between us. Her eyes cloud further, and she turns her head, trying to escape, I can't-- But she turns her head and the rest of the words are lost to me.

What? I ask, beginning to panic, What?

I look down, and see she is wearing her cat suit, her hair falls down around her shoulders, the elaborate construction of it disappearing. Good-bye.

Wait! I cry, Wait! I try to run after her, but it is useless, I fall to the floor. My legs won't respond, Oh, God… But I cannot hear my own words, I am stuck here. I swallow a sob, my arms scrabble, trying desperately to find purchase. I manage to lift myself a few inches, only to find the floor too slippery and fall back, onto my chin.

I hear laughter.

Gimp.

They are the first words I've heard yet.

Who was that? I scream desperately, but the sound is swallowed, Who said that?

More silence.

I start to cry. I feel I am at the end… Again.

Where did I put my gun? It was… I was…

I turn, on my belly, like a snake. I am crying at the desperation of it, I have been unmanned. I have to send someone else to do my work. I am useless. I am worse then useless, I am a massive lump of wasted potential. Rich, spoiled playboy…

My wheelchair stands in front of me, looming over me, dark and stark, and terrible. A hand flits out, bats at it, and I am rewarded by a spectacular pain radiating up my arm.

NO. I scream, I HATE YOU.

Am I talking to myself?

Oh, God, I hear a voice, one that isn't attacking, Is this what you really think?

Rich, spoiled, nothing of a man… A boy. Still a boy, crying in the dark for his parents… My parents…

Dvorak plays, low and mournful. Sound is returning, and it assaults my ears, I long to hear that voice again, the one that spoke, so calm. The only thing about this that makes any sense at all…

Please… I whisper, unsure that speaking will have any effect, but, to my relief, I can hear my own words, Please, help me away from here… I try to push myself up, when I feel two hands under my arms. They lift me up to my feet, No, I protest, I can't… But I do, I am on my feet, and she is looking at me.

You really did try to end it all, didn't you? She asks, her voice mournful.

I nod.

She looks as if she is about to cry, I reach for her, to tell her I'll live for her, but she slaps my hand away.

How can you be such a coward! She cries, backing away.

(I would never… How can he think…? The voice is almost out of range for hearing, fading away.)

You don't understand… But she turns and runs away, too late, I see Lydecker in the shadows, MAX! I scream, but not soon enough, the silence has stolen my voice again, and I can only watch as she is torn down by a hail of bullets. One of them misses her head, unlike three others, and tears off a lock of hair. It flutters down to the floor, to rest in a pool of her blood.

Lydecker turns to me, Thank-you for all your help, Eyes Only. I take it you will have no problem broadcasting this? He hands me a package.

(Eyes only cannot be bought.)

I stare at him from where I sit on the floor, uncomprehending, You'll be paid handsomely for her termination. My eyes drift to her broken body where it lies on the floor.

My mouth shapes a word, but I give up, knowing nothing will come out, I merely take the package, and nod.

The tears roll down, until I cannot see a thing, but I can feel.

How I wish I couldn't.

I can feel everything in my twisted heart, but I cannot feel my legs under me.

I can only try to scream.

"Logan!" Max cried desperately, "Logan!" The images parading through her mind, the feelings that had suddenly assaulted her, they were too much, she was so afraid that they were real. Logan was moving in his sleep, the blankets bunched around his torso.

He moaned, a desolate sound.

"Wake up!" She hissed, taking him by the shoulders, "Please, just wake up."

With a gasp, his eyes flew open, his hands seized hers, "What—?"

His eyes darted around the room for a few moments as he tried to reacquaint himself with his surroundings, "Logan?" She asked, as his eyes focused on hers.

"I just had the strangest dream…" He told her, in a voice that was hoarse and scratchy.

"I would never…" Max repeated, "I would never…"

I would never walk away from you.

In a moment, they both understood, she had been the voice... Max threw her arms around him.

They didn't say anything for a few moments, just allowed each other to think in the security that they gave each other.

"Let's go have breakfast," Logan murmured, just as it was about to become an uncomfortable situation, "There's an explanation for this."

Nodding, Max walked around the bed, to help him into his wheelchair.