Author's Note: Sorry this story is coming so late. My gosh darned modem bit the dust and the repairman did not come until this Wednesday afternoon. Grrr. Anywho, that's why this has taken so long. As always, none of it's mine, I borrow it all, and put my own spin on it, yada yada yada. Thanks to by incredible betas, Callie and Evil Twin. You guys make these stories printable and free of typos. Thank you.
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~Logan's POV~
I've known her for six months and she never ceases to surprise me. This time, she literally *did* surprise me. I paged her, but hadn't counted on her arriving so quickly. I don't know why. I know how fast she is. She always responds to my pages ASAP, unless she's detained by Normal or the latest Manticore bad guy du jour. Still, after I paged her, my Muse paid me a visit. Or maybe I knew that my Muse was on her way to pay me a visit, in the form of the ever lovely and still mysterious Max. Either way, I was writing when she arrived.
I have to admit, I was embarrassed when she caught me. I loved my father, but he was a Cale through and through. Writing would be considered weak. He'd not been thrilled with my choice of careers as it was; if he'd known I was also a closet poet, he might have died long before...he died. Some ghosts need to remain in the attic. I snatched the leather bound manuscript from her excited hands, enjoying the playful banter and cat and mouse game we had started. But I also knew it was time to get down to business. Not that Max was going to make it easy. Not only was she completely disregarding everything I was trying to tell her by telling me about her lesbian friends, but she was also leaning on my desk, torturing me with the view afforded by her neckline. I swear, she's trying to kill me.
I should have known she was listening though. She always does. "I can parallel process and multi-task like there's no tomorrow," she'd said playfully, obviously enjoying the repartee herself. I wonder how well she would process the information I could tell her; how I really feel. Wouldn't that send her into shock? I knew the answer to my own question. It would freak her out and send her running. And I couldn't handle that. So until we're both ready to give voice to the way we feel, I have to be content with the state of my relationship with Max. It's damn hard to be content though when the woman I'm in love with was leaning on my desk, her denim jacket open enough to reveal the parts of her not sufficiently covered by the blue shirt she wore underneath.
I watched her snatch up the plans, and heard her ask me if I'd mind if her fingers got extra sticky during this mission. I told her just to get the disks and that I didn't want to know what else she did. But I was really too busy staring at her, memorizing the lines of her face, the way she looks when she'd flirting with me, the way her eyes twinkle when she knows she's got me right where she wants me, because I know that at any minute, she could be forced to run and leave me here, without her. Ever since my prevented self-pitying attempt at suicide, I've been trying to savor every moment I have with her.
"Cool," she said, and I could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew I really didn't mind. We have this amazing unspoken dialogue, something that just kind of developed on its own. It's like we know what each other is thinking, even if we won't admit it.
I watched her start to leave and felt the pang I feel every time she leaves. Some part of my mind wonders if this is the last time. Desperately, before I can really consider what I'm doing, I blurt out, "So they were really making out, huh?" I still can't believe I said that, but I did, and I had to deal with the consequences.
Max turned and eyed me suspiciously. I couldn't tell if she was going to laugh at me or hit me for having such a momentary case of testosterone poisoning. I keep trying to show her I'm not like other guys; I'm not chauvinistic. Kinda. "Yeah," she says, her voice thick with suspicion and a tiny bit of aggravation.
"Hmmm," is all I could brilliantly respond before she left. I wonder if she knew what I was thinking then, not of Original Cindy and the new old on again girlfriend, but of she and I, making out. Were they visions of the future? Only time will tell. We're taking it one step at a time.
~Max's POV~
When I showed up at his penthouse after the fight down near the South Market, I was surprised to find him doing bicep curls, his brow covered in a sheen of sweat. I stood in the doorway briefly, watching him as he concentrated on his weight lifting, making his upper body strong. I could tell by the striations in muscle I could see through the skin that he had been doing it for a while. In some way I guess you could say he's trying to compensate, or maybe overcompensate, for the muscles he can't control in his lower body. We're going to get that fixed sooner or later. I don't care if he's in a wheelchair or towering over me, but I know how much despair it causes him to be confined to the wheelchair. I catch him, sometimes, when he doesn't know I'm looking, or doesn't know I'm there, looking sad, staring briefly at his uncooperative and unresponsive legs.
Again, he didn't know I was standing her. I had no desire for him to accidentally drop the dumb bell and hurt himself, so I cleared my throat gently and waited for him acknowledge me. He looked up, the surprise and something I can only describe as gladness evident in his striking eyes, and invited me in, which was funny, because I had already invited myself in. Or maybe I had just taken his permanent invitation. He gave me a key to the place a long time ago, to keep me from having to break in every time I come over and he's preoccupied to open the door.
We talked about my encounter and I handed him the somewhat antique looking gun I had grabbed off the goon who tried unsuccessfully, as most do, to kick my ass. He continued the bicep curls until I gave him a new toy to play with. Once I figured out that our shoptalk was done with for the most part, I was surprised to find myself not ready nor wanting to leave. In a move that kinda shocked me, I sat back to back to him. I figured out a while ago that I'm not afraid to be near him, to be close to him. I guess that's a huge step, on my part. I guess it means I trust him completely. I already knew that though. That's something else I figured out a long time ago. The first time I had a really bad bout of seizures since we had met. This was the first place I'd thought of coming to be safe until it was over.
My move to be closer to him must have shocked Logan too, because the next thing I knew, he was telling me how much he worried about me. I thought it was kind and sweet. I know he worries about me. I can see it in his eyes every time I go out. I can see the relief in his eyes every time I come back. I know he worries. Still, I had to insert one of my Manticore dogmas, quipping, "Worry accomplishes nothing." Immediately I worried, ironically, that he would take that as a defense mechanism on my part, and I didn't want him to think I didn't appreciate the gesture. So I said quickly, barely missing a beat, "But it's good to know you think of me as more than your own personal cat burglar."
He nudged me gently and I felt the warmth of his body brush against mine. I could smell his cologne, a light scent, nothing too heavy or overpower, and his own scent, the natural smell that was distinctly his. I would know that scent anywhere. "Much more," he said warmly, and I remember being surprised I didn't totally freak. In fact, I didn't freak at all. Instead, I continued the flirtatious banter we had established and asked if any of the poetry I hadn't caught him writing was about me. I watched in amusement as his ears grew red and he insisted that although he didn't write poetry, some of it was maybe about me. Maybe.
"I can live on that for a couple of days," I said, hoping he would get the impression that I wouldn't completely freak if he ever tried to tell me more than that. Deep inside though, I felt kinda bad, because I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't freak if he was ever to admit to me the feelings I know we both have. I wonder how much that would scare me. I wonder if he'd still be here when I got over my fear of getting *that* close to someone. Because I know that when you say something out loud, it makes it real. I jumped off the table we had been sitting on and told him "Later." As I left the apartment, he rewarded me with one of his charming, coy, boyishly dashing glances, meeting my eyes and holding my gaze just so long, that one look conveying words we can't yet bring ourselves to say.
~Logan's POV~
Running the trace on the weapon Max had given me was my first priority when I got up the next morning. Even though I discovered it was not linked to Manticore, not knowing who had hired the Tacoma-based bounty hunters worried me enough to fear for Max's safety. Thankfully, she returned my page within a minute, and I was able to get her up to speed on what I'd discovered.
I liked hearing her voice in the morning. It made me want to page her more often, just to talk to her. But I know we're not there yet. She'd get suspicious or maybe even annoyed if I kept getting her at work without any Eyes Only or quid pro quo excuse.
I could hear the slight concern in her voice when I told her about the bounty hunters. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days," I told her, knowing she probably wouldn't do it. Secretly, I was thankful. Even though I will probably set up her safe house the next time she has to run, I'm not ready for her to leave just yet. I smiled when she told me that she'd be all right, that she had to knock a safe over for a friend.
It's good to know the girl I'm infatuated with is my own personal cat burglar. I wonder what I am to her. Am I just her meal ticket, her hot shower, her way of finding her sibs and stopping Manticore? Or am I more than that? Am I truly her friend, her ally, her refuge? I guess I'll find out eventually.
~Max's POV~
The first thing I did when I broke out of Synthedine-before I knew it was called that-was go to Logan's. It's the first thing I always do. It started just to report in, let the great and powerful Eyes Only know what was the what. But over time it has evolved into something we both need. He needs to see I'm okay and I need him, I guess, to pat my ego, to tell me I did a good job. I go because even though I razz him about it, I need him to fret and fuss and make every little cut and scrape a bigger deal than it is. It makes me feel wanted, and loved I guess. I bet a shrink would tell you it's because I never had a loving home environment as a child-I never had a mom or dad to kiss my scraped knees and make everything all better. So now I have Logan. Not that I want him to go kissing my knees or anything.
Well, not yet.
As usual, he worried. He tried to hide it and sound all business like, but I could hear it in his voice. Manticore designed us for stuff like that-being able to discern voice patterns. "I've been paging you all night," he said.
Sheesh, you'd think the guy cared about me or something.
Kidding. I know he does.
As we went over the files, Logan reverted into total Eyes Only mode. His fingers began furiously typing away as he tapped into the Informant Net and showed me pictures of Satan, or whatever his real name was, and together we discovered his connection to Cindy's lickety boo. I like when stuff like that happens, when Logan and I figure stuff out together. It's like we're really connecting. He's not being Eyes Only, or displaying his Only Child Syndrome-at least, I think he's an only child; come to think of it, he knows more about my childhood than I know about his. We're going to have to change that-and I wasn't displaying signs of my Manticore-given thick headedness.
Logan made some kind of off comment about me having a busy night. I wonder if he knows I would have preferred to spend it with him, at the penthouse, sipping wine and listening to Sibelius or some of Logan's non-poetry. I don't just come here for the meals anymore; I hope he knows that. I come for the company. I come for him.
~Logan's POV~ (A/N: Do I really have to write it? I'm sure you guys are picking up the pattern by now...;-p)
We decided that this puzzle was a bit too complex for Eyes Only and a superhero to figure out alone, so we got in my Aztec trekked across town to Sebastian's lab. I have to admit, when I first met Sebastian, I pitied him. Then when I became friends with him, I admired him. Now, I see him as not only my friend, but as my kick in the ass, the one Max can't always give me. As bizarre as it sounds, seeing Seb reminds me that even though I'm in this chair, things could have turned out much worse.
Max stood behind me the entire time we were in the lab listening to Seb's findings. I have to admit, it was rather distracting having her so close, yet not being able to do anything about it. I could smell her, feel her. Her hands would brush up against my back every so often, and I could feel the heat radiating off her body. It was actually quite maddening.
Then I heard Sebastian, or at least his voice modulator, say the words that made my heart drop and my overwhelming sense of Max-related panic momentarily set it. "Communicable. Terminal. Contagious." Diamond had been living with Max. What if she somehow passed the bioengineered disease on to Max? How would Max's system handle it? Would it give her seizures, worse than the ones she had in Cape Haven? But then, I knew that what Max had said earlier was true. Worry, at least in this case, accomplished nothing. Max hadn't had as close contact with Diamond as Original Cindy had. Right now they were the priority. And Max knew it. As soon as she heard the news, she flew out of Seb's lab before I could even tell her to be careful. After she had gone, I noticed Seb was staring at me, his eyes mysterious, knowing somehow. I felt like he was chastising me without speaking.
"Don't look at me like that," I said, a bit harshly.
But my friend merely smiled and said, "She'll be fine. Go home." Then he wheeled away. I was dismissed. There are only three people on the planet who can do that to me. My Uncle Jonas, who, when he does it, makes me feel belittled and I remember why I like being the black sheep of the family. Sebastian, who, when he does it, reminds me that I don't know as much as I think I know. And Max, who, when she does it, reminds me that she's the superhero with the secret and painful past, and I'm the rich boy who's madly in love with her.
~Max's POV~
After we escaped from Synthedine, my first instinct was to go to Logan's. But I knew Cindy needed me, even if she was putting up her tough as nails, I'm a megabitch front. I let her be for a while when we got back to the apartment, but slowly I worked my way in, so she could talk if she wanted to. What I didn't know is that the things she said would ultimately help me as much, if not more than they helped her.
It started when she talked about Diamond as the person who helped her get her arms around who she really was as Original Cindy. I knew exactly what she was talking about. Before I met Logan, I was an escapee on the run who lived in squalor and hung with my crew, always hiding the truth from them. After meeting Logan, I began to realize that I was more than that. I began seeing myself as he sees me.
"I try not to have all these feelings, 'cause it's easier that way," Cindy went on, looking at me with melancholy acceptance in her eyes.
"But the feelings keep coming anyway," I heard myself say, and was kinda surprised by it.
Cindy looked at me knowingly, her eyes saying silently "I told you so." Then she kept going in her catharsis, but I got the sense we weren't talking about her and Diamond anymore. "Even though you ain't with that person, you're not alone in the world either." I knew Cindy was right. She had me, I had her, we had the Jam Pony Crew. I had Logan. And he had me. Probably not the way either of us wanted to have each other, but it was a good relationship for the time being.
Not long after she finished my second manicure-ugh, it so sounds like Manticore-in three days, my pager went off. Cindy and I looked up. I gave her a glance, "I can call him and tell him some other time."
My Boo shook her head, "Naw girl, go on. Original Cindy will be fine. Go on to your boyfriend."
I laughed, "Cindy, I keep telling you, it's not like that."
"Whatever," Cindy said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the keys to my baby off the counter. She tossed them too me and said, "Now get goin'."
I wasn't even going to bother fighting about it with Cindy, or try and make her see it my way. Because I knew it would accomplish nothing. I gave up trying to dissuade her a long time ago.
Maybe it as when I realized she was right.
~Logan's POV~
When Max showed up, she looked tired, but basically amiable. I was waiting for her, rather shamelessly, even though I tried to make it look like I wasn't. I don't know if she knew or not. But Max let herself in and joined me in the living room.
"What's the haps, Boss?" she asked, waiting for her next assignment.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
She sighed, and I understood she was worried, even sad, for what Original Cindy had gone through. "Basic infiltrate and destroy," she said as if she were giving a debrief at Manticore. "Went in and got Cindy, but Diamond was too far gone. So Cindy and I bounced and I rammed through the gates with a Hum-vy."
I chuckled, but didn't say anything. It looked like something was troubling Max, but I couldn't figure out what it was. So, I suggested what I always suggest when I want to get information out of Max. "How about I make us some dinner?" I watched as her face lit up and she nodded, getting up to follow me into the kitchen. When I first met her, she could barely boil water, but she's picked up a few things by watching me. I let her make the salad while I whipped us up some steak au jus and mashed sour cream and chive potatoes.
We ate in relative silence, which is actually better, because Max has a tendency of talking with her mouth full. It used to irritate the hell out of me, but now I think I find it kind of endearing, in some weird way. When we finished, Max sat back in her chair across from mine and smiled, "Once again, chef Cale, you have outdone yourself."
I smiled, "But wait, there's more." With a sly grin, I took her plate and mine and placed them in my lap, wheeling myself into the kitchen.
"Logan Cale, what are you planning?" Max asked, starting to get out of her chair.
"Just stay there," I called from the kitchen where I was assembling our desert. "You'll see in a minute."
When I re-entered, I made her close her eyes. It was bittersweet, because the last time I'd done that, the last time I had a surprise for her, I stood. Now all I did was place a bowl full of raspberries, blueberries, whipped cream and chocolate bits in front of her.
"Open," I said, repositioning myself across from her. I don't think she'd ever seen or tasted fresh berries before, because her eyes widened in shock and she ate them with great gusto. I, on the other hand, was a little more reserved with my desert. But it made me laugh to see her chowing away at her food like she was a three year old in an ice cream shop.
"Logan, that was wonderful," she said happily. "You spoil me."
I smiled, "I know. I like it." Before she could respond, I set about clearing the table. I wouldn't let her help. Not out of some warped sense of pride, but out of old fashion manners. She was a guest. End of story. Just as I had set the dishes in the sink, the power went out. "Brownout!" I called.
"Thanks Captain Obvious!" she replied good- naturedly. I could hear her groan in the other room. "I hate these."
"You get the candles, I'll get the matches," I said, re-emerging from the kitchen.
Max rose and nodded, "Deal."
Little did I know she'd find *every* candle I owned. She piled them all up in her arms and carried them out into the living room, setting them up rather quickly, thanks to her enhanced genes. Of course, she let me to light them all as she went in source of some wine. I think she took extra time to allow me time to get everything lit. When she returned, I was sitting behind the couch, facing where she would me. I admit it; I love the way candlelight makes her face look. She looks vulnerable, and yet peaceful, as if she feels safe.
"These brown outs are getting to be a major drag," she muttered, pouring us some vintage red wine.
I remember responding something fairly priggish and matter of fact, but I don't know what I said. I couldn't take my eyes off her. To distract her from the fact I was gawking at her, I asked about Original Cindy. Then, I made a colossal error. I told her that I thought you never really got over your first love.
"I wouldn't know," she said, the bitterness and remorse in her voice painfully evident. I immediately felt bad for saying it, sorry to have caused her heartache. I can't stand when I'm idiot enough to do that. Maybe that was why, even though I was embarrassed as hell, I let her read one of my poems. I guess it was a huge step for me, letting myself be that vulnerable and exposed in front of her. It's a one-eighty from a few weeks ago when I was going to off myself and leave my cold dead body for her to find. I still can't believe I was going to do that to her. I was supposed to be the one who took away her pain, not added to it exponentially.
I opened up to her more that night than I ever thought I would, sharing my poetry and a glimmer of my past. I haven't ever told her much of anything about my parents. But that night I let her into my past, just a bit. "My dad was one of those manly men who thought introspection meant you were weak."
Se responded in classic Max form, reminding me why I shouldn't take crap from anyone, "Since when does Logan Cale, man of words, speaker of truth, let the Fred Flintstones of the world get under his skin?" her tone was mocking, yet sympathetic and compassionate.
"Oh since I was about three," I replied quickly, continuing our never-ending verbal sparring match. In Zach, I detested the Manticore wit. In Max, it was part of what endeared her to me. I handed her the poem, the one, one of the ones, I had written about her, and watching in nervous anticipation as she read it. I saw every emotion I had anticipated cross her face-joy, surprise, and shock. Then I saw the tears. They were only there for an instant, but they were. And I know she wasn't crying for sadness. I admitted to her that it was about her, for her. Hell, I nearly admitted she was my muse, my purpose. But I didn't.
I couldn't believe the giant step we'd taken, so I turned my head away. In the glass, I saw the reflection of her tearing her poem from my book and stuffing it in her coat pocket. That's why I wasn't surprised when she handed the book back to me and bolted. I figure she went to the Space Needle and read and re-read and re-read that damned thing until the paper was tattered. I'm glad if she did. It was my gift to her. I think I was trying to give back what she'd given to me. Not because I didn't want it, but because I wanted her to realize what she'd given me.
*Forever Eyes
Dark
Somebody's Angel*
She's my angel.
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~Logan's POV~
I've known her for six months and she never ceases to surprise me. This time, she literally *did* surprise me. I paged her, but hadn't counted on her arriving so quickly. I don't know why. I know how fast she is. She always responds to my pages ASAP, unless she's detained by Normal or the latest Manticore bad guy du jour. Still, after I paged her, my Muse paid me a visit. Or maybe I knew that my Muse was on her way to pay me a visit, in the form of the ever lovely and still mysterious Max. Either way, I was writing when she arrived.
I have to admit, I was embarrassed when she caught me. I loved my father, but he was a Cale through and through. Writing would be considered weak. He'd not been thrilled with my choice of careers as it was; if he'd known I was also a closet poet, he might have died long before...he died. Some ghosts need to remain in the attic. I snatched the leather bound manuscript from her excited hands, enjoying the playful banter and cat and mouse game we had started. But I also knew it was time to get down to business. Not that Max was going to make it easy. Not only was she completely disregarding everything I was trying to tell her by telling me about her lesbian friends, but she was also leaning on my desk, torturing me with the view afforded by her neckline. I swear, she's trying to kill me.
I should have known she was listening though. She always does. "I can parallel process and multi-task like there's no tomorrow," she'd said playfully, obviously enjoying the repartee herself. I wonder how well she would process the information I could tell her; how I really feel. Wouldn't that send her into shock? I knew the answer to my own question. It would freak her out and send her running. And I couldn't handle that. So until we're both ready to give voice to the way we feel, I have to be content with the state of my relationship with Max. It's damn hard to be content though when the woman I'm in love with was leaning on my desk, her denim jacket open enough to reveal the parts of her not sufficiently covered by the blue shirt she wore underneath.
I watched her snatch up the plans, and heard her ask me if I'd mind if her fingers got extra sticky during this mission. I told her just to get the disks and that I didn't want to know what else she did. But I was really too busy staring at her, memorizing the lines of her face, the way she looks when she'd flirting with me, the way her eyes twinkle when she knows she's got me right where she wants me, because I know that at any minute, she could be forced to run and leave me here, without her. Ever since my prevented self-pitying attempt at suicide, I've been trying to savor every moment I have with her.
"Cool," she said, and I could tell by the look in her eyes that she knew I really didn't mind. We have this amazing unspoken dialogue, something that just kind of developed on its own. It's like we know what each other is thinking, even if we won't admit it.
I watched her start to leave and felt the pang I feel every time she leaves. Some part of my mind wonders if this is the last time. Desperately, before I can really consider what I'm doing, I blurt out, "So they were really making out, huh?" I still can't believe I said that, but I did, and I had to deal with the consequences.
Max turned and eyed me suspiciously. I couldn't tell if she was going to laugh at me or hit me for having such a momentary case of testosterone poisoning. I keep trying to show her I'm not like other guys; I'm not chauvinistic. Kinda. "Yeah," she says, her voice thick with suspicion and a tiny bit of aggravation.
"Hmmm," is all I could brilliantly respond before she left. I wonder if she knew what I was thinking then, not of Original Cindy and the new old on again girlfriend, but of she and I, making out. Were they visions of the future? Only time will tell. We're taking it one step at a time.
~Max's POV~
When I showed up at his penthouse after the fight down near the South Market, I was surprised to find him doing bicep curls, his brow covered in a sheen of sweat. I stood in the doorway briefly, watching him as he concentrated on his weight lifting, making his upper body strong. I could tell by the striations in muscle I could see through the skin that he had been doing it for a while. In some way I guess you could say he's trying to compensate, or maybe overcompensate, for the muscles he can't control in his lower body. We're going to get that fixed sooner or later. I don't care if he's in a wheelchair or towering over me, but I know how much despair it causes him to be confined to the wheelchair. I catch him, sometimes, when he doesn't know I'm looking, or doesn't know I'm there, looking sad, staring briefly at his uncooperative and unresponsive legs.
Again, he didn't know I was standing her. I had no desire for him to accidentally drop the dumb bell and hurt himself, so I cleared my throat gently and waited for him acknowledge me. He looked up, the surprise and something I can only describe as gladness evident in his striking eyes, and invited me in, which was funny, because I had already invited myself in. Or maybe I had just taken his permanent invitation. He gave me a key to the place a long time ago, to keep me from having to break in every time I come over and he's preoccupied to open the door.
We talked about my encounter and I handed him the somewhat antique looking gun I had grabbed off the goon who tried unsuccessfully, as most do, to kick my ass. He continued the bicep curls until I gave him a new toy to play with. Once I figured out that our shoptalk was done with for the most part, I was surprised to find myself not ready nor wanting to leave. In a move that kinda shocked me, I sat back to back to him. I figured out a while ago that I'm not afraid to be near him, to be close to him. I guess that's a huge step, on my part. I guess it means I trust him completely. I already knew that though. That's something else I figured out a long time ago. The first time I had a really bad bout of seizures since we had met. This was the first place I'd thought of coming to be safe until it was over.
My move to be closer to him must have shocked Logan too, because the next thing I knew, he was telling me how much he worried about me. I thought it was kind and sweet. I know he worries about me. I can see it in his eyes every time I go out. I can see the relief in his eyes every time I come back. I know he worries. Still, I had to insert one of my Manticore dogmas, quipping, "Worry accomplishes nothing." Immediately I worried, ironically, that he would take that as a defense mechanism on my part, and I didn't want him to think I didn't appreciate the gesture. So I said quickly, barely missing a beat, "But it's good to know you think of me as more than your own personal cat burglar."
He nudged me gently and I felt the warmth of his body brush against mine. I could smell his cologne, a light scent, nothing too heavy or overpower, and his own scent, the natural smell that was distinctly his. I would know that scent anywhere. "Much more," he said warmly, and I remember being surprised I didn't totally freak. In fact, I didn't freak at all. Instead, I continued the flirtatious banter we had established and asked if any of the poetry I hadn't caught him writing was about me. I watched in amusement as his ears grew red and he insisted that although he didn't write poetry, some of it was maybe about me. Maybe.
"I can live on that for a couple of days," I said, hoping he would get the impression that I wouldn't completely freak if he ever tried to tell me more than that. Deep inside though, I felt kinda bad, because I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't freak if he was ever to admit to me the feelings I know we both have. I wonder how much that would scare me. I wonder if he'd still be here when I got over my fear of getting *that* close to someone. Because I know that when you say something out loud, it makes it real. I jumped off the table we had been sitting on and told him "Later." As I left the apartment, he rewarded me with one of his charming, coy, boyishly dashing glances, meeting my eyes and holding my gaze just so long, that one look conveying words we can't yet bring ourselves to say.
~Logan's POV~
Running the trace on the weapon Max had given me was my first priority when I got up the next morning. Even though I discovered it was not linked to Manticore, not knowing who had hired the Tacoma-based bounty hunters worried me enough to fear for Max's safety. Thankfully, she returned my page within a minute, and I was able to get her up to speed on what I'd discovered.
I liked hearing her voice in the morning. It made me want to page her more often, just to talk to her. But I know we're not there yet. She'd get suspicious or maybe even annoyed if I kept getting her at work without any Eyes Only or quid pro quo excuse.
I could hear the slight concern in her voice when I told her about the bounty hunters. "Maybe you should get out of town for a few days," I told her, knowing she probably wouldn't do it. Secretly, I was thankful. Even though I will probably set up her safe house the next time she has to run, I'm not ready for her to leave just yet. I smiled when she told me that she'd be all right, that she had to knock a safe over for a friend.
It's good to know the girl I'm infatuated with is my own personal cat burglar. I wonder what I am to her. Am I just her meal ticket, her hot shower, her way of finding her sibs and stopping Manticore? Or am I more than that? Am I truly her friend, her ally, her refuge? I guess I'll find out eventually.
~Max's POV~
The first thing I did when I broke out of Synthedine-before I knew it was called that-was go to Logan's. It's the first thing I always do. It started just to report in, let the great and powerful Eyes Only know what was the what. But over time it has evolved into something we both need. He needs to see I'm okay and I need him, I guess, to pat my ego, to tell me I did a good job. I go because even though I razz him about it, I need him to fret and fuss and make every little cut and scrape a bigger deal than it is. It makes me feel wanted, and loved I guess. I bet a shrink would tell you it's because I never had a loving home environment as a child-I never had a mom or dad to kiss my scraped knees and make everything all better. So now I have Logan. Not that I want him to go kissing my knees or anything.
Well, not yet.
As usual, he worried. He tried to hide it and sound all business like, but I could hear it in his voice. Manticore designed us for stuff like that-being able to discern voice patterns. "I've been paging you all night," he said.
Sheesh, you'd think the guy cared about me or something.
Kidding. I know he does.
As we went over the files, Logan reverted into total Eyes Only mode. His fingers began furiously typing away as he tapped into the Informant Net and showed me pictures of Satan, or whatever his real name was, and together we discovered his connection to Cindy's lickety boo. I like when stuff like that happens, when Logan and I figure stuff out together. It's like we're really connecting. He's not being Eyes Only, or displaying his Only Child Syndrome-at least, I think he's an only child; come to think of it, he knows more about my childhood than I know about his. We're going to have to change that-and I wasn't displaying signs of my Manticore-given thick headedness.
Logan made some kind of off comment about me having a busy night. I wonder if he knows I would have preferred to spend it with him, at the penthouse, sipping wine and listening to Sibelius or some of Logan's non-poetry. I don't just come here for the meals anymore; I hope he knows that. I come for the company. I come for him.
~Logan's POV~ (A/N: Do I really have to write it? I'm sure you guys are picking up the pattern by now...;-p)
We decided that this puzzle was a bit too complex for Eyes Only and a superhero to figure out alone, so we got in my Aztec trekked across town to Sebastian's lab. I have to admit, when I first met Sebastian, I pitied him. Then when I became friends with him, I admired him. Now, I see him as not only my friend, but as my kick in the ass, the one Max can't always give me. As bizarre as it sounds, seeing Seb reminds me that even though I'm in this chair, things could have turned out much worse.
Max stood behind me the entire time we were in the lab listening to Seb's findings. I have to admit, it was rather distracting having her so close, yet not being able to do anything about it. I could smell her, feel her. Her hands would brush up against my back every so often, and I could feel the heat radiating off her body. It was actually quite maddening.
Then I heard Sebastian, or at least his voice modulator, say the words that made my heart drop and my overwhelming sense of Max-related panic momentarily set it. "Communicable. Terminal. Contagious." Diamond had been living with Max. What if she somehow passed the bioengineered disease on to Max? How would Max's system handle it? Would it give her seizures, worse than the ones she had in Cape Haven? But then, I knew that what Max had said earlier was true. Worry, at least in this case, accomplished nothing. Max hadn't had as close contact with Diamond as Original Cindy had. Right now they were the priority. And Max knew it. As soon as she heard the news, she flew out of Seb's lab before I could even tell her to be careful. After she had gone, I noticed Seb was staring at me, his eyes mysterious, knowing somehow. I felt like he was chastising me without speaking.
"Don't look at me like that," I said, a bit harshly.
But my friend merely smiled and said, "She'll be fine. Go home." Then he wheeled away. I was dismissed. There are only three people on the planet who can do that to me. My Uncle Jonas, who, when he does it, makes me feel belittled and I remember why I like being the black sheep of the family. Sebastian, who, when he does it, reminds me that I don't know as much as I think I know. And Max, who, when she does it, reminds me that she's the superhero with the secret and painful past, and I'm the rich boy who's madly in love with her.
~Max's POV~
After we escaped from Synthedine, my first instinct was to go to Logan's. But I knew Cindy needed me, even if she was putting up her tough as nails, I'm a megabitch front. I let her be for a while when we got back to the apartment, but slowly I worked my way in, so she could talk if she wanted to. What I didn't know is that the things she said would ultimately help me as much, if not more than they helped her.
It started when she talked about Diamond as the person who helped her get her arms around who she really was as Original Cindy. I knew exactly what she was talking about. Before I met Logan, I was an escapee on the run who lived in squalor and hung with my crew, always hiding the truth from them. After meeting Logan, I began to realize that I was more than that. I began seeing myself as he sees me.
"I try not to have all these feelings, 'cause it's easier that way," Cindy went on, looking at me with melancholy acceptance in her eyes.
"But the feelings keep coming anyway," I heard myself say, and was kinda surprised by it.
Cindy looked at me knowingly, her eyes saying silently "I told you so." Then she kept going in her catharsis, but I got the sense we weren't talking about her and Diamond anymore. "Even though you ain't with that person, you're not alone in the world either." I knew Cindy was right. She had me, I had her, we had the Jam Pony Crew. I had Logan. And he had me. Probably not the way either of us wanted to have each other, but it was a good relationship for the time being.
Not long after she finished my second manicure-ugh, it so sounds like Manticore-in three days, my pager went off. Cindy and I looked up. I gave her a glance, "I can call him and tell him some other time."
My Boo shook her head, "Naw girl, go on. Original Cindy will be fine. Go on to your boyfriend."
I laughed, "Cindy, I keep telling you, it's not like that."
"Whatever," Cindy said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing the keys to my baby off the counter. She tossed them too me and said, "Now get goin'."
I wasn't even going to bother fighting about it with Cindy, or try and make her see it my way. Because I knew it would accomplish nothing. I gave up trying to dissuade her a long time ago.
Maybe it as when I realized she was right.
~Logan's POV~
When Max showed up, she looked tired, but basically amiable. I was waiting for her, rather shamelessly, even though I tried to make it look like I wasn't. I don't know if she knew or not. But Max let herself in and joined me in the living room.
"What's the haps, Boss?" she asked, waiting for her next assignment.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
She sighed, and I understood she was worried, even sad, for what Original Cindy had gone through. "Basic infiltrate and destroy," she said as if she were giving a debrief at Manticore. "Went in and got Cindy, but Diamond was too far gone. So Cindy and I bounced and I rammed through the gates with a Hum-vy."
I chuckled, but didn't say anything. It looked like something was troubling Max, but I couldn't figure out what it was. So, I suggested what I always suggest when I want to get information out of Max. "How about I make us some dinner?" I watched as her face lit up and she nodded, getting up to follow me into the kitchen. When I first met her, she could barely boil water, but she's picked up a few things by watching me. I let her make the salad while I whipped us up some steak au jus and mashed sour cream and chive potatoes.
We ate in relative silence, which is actually better, because Max has a tendency of talking with her mouth full. It used to irritate the hell out of me, but now I think I find it kind of endearing, in some weird way. When we finished, Max sat back in her chair across from mine and smiled, "Once again, chef Cale, you have outdone yourself."
I smiled, "But wait, there's more." With a sly grin, I took her plate and mine and placed them in my lap, wheeling myself into the kitchen.
"Logan Cale, what are you planning?" Max asked, starting to get out of her chair.
"Just stay there," I called from the kitchen where I was assembling our desert. "You'll see in a minute."
When I re-entered, I made her close her eyes. It was bittersweet, because the last time I'd done that, the last time I had a surprise for her, I stood. Now all I did was place a bowl full of raspberries, blueberries, whipped cream and chocolate bits in front of her.
"Open," I said, repositioning myself across from her. I don't think she'd ever seen or tasted fresh berries before, because her eyes widened in shock and she ate them with great gusto. I, on the other hand, was a little more reserved with my desert. But it made me laugh to see her chowing away at her food like she was a three year old in an ice cream shop.
"Logan, that was wonderful," she said happily. "You spoil me."
I smiled, "I know. I like it." Before she could respond, I set about clearing the table. I wouldn't let her help. Not out of some warped sense of pride, but out of old fashion manners. She was a guest. End of story. Just as I had set the dishes in the sink, the power went out. "Brownout!" I called.
"Thanks Captain Obvious!" she replied good- naturedly. I could hear her groan in the other room. "I hate these."
"You get the candles, I'll get the matches," I said, re-emerging from the kitchen.
Max rose and nodded, "Deal."
Little did I know she'd find *every* candle I owned. She piled them all up in her arms and carried them out into the living room, setting them up rather quickly, thanks to her enhanced genes. Of course, she let me to light them all as she went in source of some wine. I think she took extra time to allow me time to get everything lit. When she returned, I was sitting behind the couch, facing where she would me. I admit it; I love the way candlelight makes her face look. She looks vulnerable, and yet peaceful, as if she feels safe.
"These brown outs are getting to be a major drag," she muttered, pouring us some vintage red wine.
I remember responding something fairly priggish and matter of fact, but I don't know what I said. I couldn't take my eyes off her. To distract her from the fact I was gawking at her, I asked about Original Cindy. Then, I made a colossal error. I told her that I thought you never really got over your first love.
"I wouldn't know," she said, the bitterness and remorse in her voice painfully evident. I immediately felt bad for saying it, sorry to have caused her heartache. I can't stand when I'm idiot enough to do that. Maybe that was why, even though I was embarrassed as hell, I let her read one of my poems. I guess it was a huge step for me, letting myself be that vulnerable and exposed in front of her. It's a one-eighty from a few weeks ago when I was going to off myself and leave my cold dead body for her to find. I still can't believe I was going to do that to her. I was supposed to be the one who took away her pain, not added to it exponentially.
I opened up to her more that night than I ever thought I would, sharing my poetry and a glimmer of my past. I haven't ever told her much of anything about my parents. But that night I let her into my past, just a bit. "My dad was one of those manly men who thought introspection meant you were weak."
Se responded in classic Max form, reminding me why I shouldn't take crap from anyone, "Since when does Logan Cale, man of words, speaker of truth, let the Fred Flintstones of the world get under his skin?" her tone was mocking, yet sympathetic and compassionate.
"Oh since I was about three," I replied quickly, continuing our never-ending verbal sparring match. In Zach, I detested the Manticore wit. In Max, it was part of what endeared her to me. I handed her the poem, the one, one of the ones, I had written about her, and watching in nervous anticipation as she read it. I saw every emotion I had anticipated cross her face-joy, surprise, and shock. Then I saw the tears. They were only there for an instant, but they were. And I know she wasn't crying for sadness. I admitted to her that it was about her, for her. Hell, I nearly admitted she was my muse, my purpose. But I didn't.
I couldn't believe the giant step we'd taken, so I turned my head away. In the glass, I saw the reflection of her tearing her poem from my book and stuffing it in her coat pocket. That's why I wasn't surprised when she handed the book back to me and bolted. I figure she went to the Space Needle and read and re-read and re-read that damned thing until the paper was tattered. I'm glad if she did. It was my gift to her. I think I was trying to give back what she'd given to me. Not because I didn't want it, but because I wanted her to realize what she'd given me.
*Forever Eyes
Dark
Somebody's Angel*
She's my angel.
