Author's Note: Okay, was anyone else a bit disturbed by how dark "Pollo Loco" was? It didn't give me a hell of a lot of shippery stuff to work with either. Beware, loyal readers, there is more angst in this chapter than usual. As always, none of it's mine, please don't sue, blah blah woof woof. Shout outs to my beta homegirls, Lady Callie and Evil Twin!
Author's note 2: Callie, I hope this makes you a little more okay with "Pollo Loco" as a whole.
A/N 3: I wrote this in half an hour. Just thought I'd share.
Story Note: An entry from Logan's journal...
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My head is spinning. I can't believe everything that has gone on in the last several days. First, I have to deliver the news to Max that Ben was dead, only to find out he was not dead. Then Max nearly was caught by Lydecker, and then they *both* began covering for the killer, who I had no doubt was an X-5. I hated that she wouldn't let me in, wouldn't let me help. Just when I thought we were getting past that. Still, though, I guess, she *did* decide to let me in eventually, showing up on my doorstep tonight, her clothes torn and tattered, her body bruised, her posture making her look weak and defeated. But it was her eyes that shocked me. They were red, swollen, and puffy, and her face was tear streaked. She listlessly knocked on my door and just stood there when I opened it.
She looked so helpless I wanted to cry for her. I couldn't think what to do. Tentatively, I reached out and touched her hand. Without really acknowledging it, she squeezed it, hard. She looked deep into my eyes, as though she was searching for safe harbor. I whispered her name and she began to weep again. I don't know what made me do what I did next, but I pulled her into my arms, across my lap, and held her while she wept. Bling came out of the kitchen and shut the door for me. Then he wheeled me into the living room, allowing me to keep my arms firmly around Max. She buried her face into my neck and wept so bitterly, so openly, and with such pain, I wondered what had gone on since I'd last seen her. I assumed Ben was dead, but I still don't know how he died or why it would make her weep so. I mean, I know he was her brother, but her weeping in my arms was guttural and full body. She was wracked by sobs and I was afraid she was going to have a seizure.
I stroked her hair and rocked her as best I good, murmuring soothing gibberish to her. I was afraid she was going to make herself sick. And she did, Suddenly, she bolted from my lap and ran towards the bathroom. I could hear her retching. As I wheeled towards the master bath, Bling came up behind me and gave me a damp face cloth. I found Max leaning against a recently flushed toilet, looking spent and drained. She would not look at me. I slid myself out of the chair and forced her to lie down, her head in my lap. The cloth went across her forehead and I asked Bling to bring me another one that I placed on the back of her neck. She looked at me sadly then started to cry again, although this time with considerably less physical torment.
We were like that for a long time, Max weeping, me stroking her hair and telling her that whatever had happened, it was going to be okay, that she had me, that I wasn't going to leave her. When she stopped crying long enough, I suggested she take a shower. She helped me back in the chair and I brought her a robe I had purchased for her not long after the mud incident. I told her I'd be there in an instant if she needed me, all she had to do was call. I shut the door and went to the kitchen to make her some soup. Bling had already gotten the pan out for me.
She was in the shower for nearly forty-five minutes. After that long, I got worried and went to check on her. I knocked, but she didn't answer, so I cautiously pushed the door open. I could see, through the blurred glass of the shower door, that she was sitting on the floor of the tub, her knees to her chest. I pulled the glass back just enough to reach the knobs and turned off the water. Then I handed her a towel and left the room to give her privacy. She drudged out minutes later and listlessly, but without argument, drank down the hot soup. Then she went and stood by the large window in the living room, not saying a word.
Part of me wanted to press her for information, but I refused to do that to her, to make her relive whatever had transpired before she was ready to. So I went in my office where I could still see her and I began to read. Then Bling dropped the bomb in my lap. Lydecker had gotten pictures to the Informant Net, and they had been delivered to me. I felt sickened by what I saw. First, because I had virtually asked for these pictures, foolishly going to Lydecker. I knew he was going to try to manipulate me into turning Max over to him, and I had prepared myself not to listen. But I wasn't as prepared as I thought and as ashamed as I am to admit it, his words got to me. Then the bastard sent me pictures of her as a child, blood smeared across her face and in her crew-cut hair. The pictures of what he had trained her and her siblings to do were what sickened me most.
I looked at her and knew I felt afraid. And I hate myself for it. I am not afraid of Max. She has shown me time and again that I have no reason to be. Even though neither of us are willing to admit it, I know she cares deeply about me. She's saved my life a million times and probably will a million more. But what she and the others did to that convict was horrific and brutal. Still, my fear turned into sorrow, for her. I felt sorry that she and the others have to live with that memory. I'm sure that's what drove Ben to do what he did. He was doing it so someone would stop him, stop the killing he was trained to do. He wanted to be stopped. He just could not stop himself.
God, I hope it wasn't Max who stopped him.
Damn Lydecker for what he did to her, and to them! Damn him for what he said to me. Damn me for listening.
I'm so sorry Max. I don't know what you went through tonight, but I promise I won't ask you until I think you're ready to deal with it. I'm sorry you've had to live the life you've lead. I'm sorry you've experienced so much physical and emotional pain, I wish I could take it all away from you. I'm sorry I went behind your back and met with Lydecker. I'm even more sorry I let him get to me. I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry. I don't hate you. I'm not afraid of you. I know what they did to you at Manticore and I in no way hold you or any of the others responsible for your actions. I'm sorry I looked at you with horror, terror and disbelief. I didn't mean to. I never want you to see me looking at you like that. I'm not terrified of you. You're the most important person in my life. I'm terrified, however, of what you when through. But please please please know I have never seen you as a monster, and I never will. I have always only seen you as human, beautifully, wonderfully, and mysteriously human.
I vow, right now, that I, Logan Cale, Eyes Only, defender of widows and puppies, will do whatever is in my power to make sure you never have to go through any of that pain ever again.
Damn, now I'm crying.
Author's note 2: Callie, I hope this makes you a little more okay with "Pollo Loco" as a whole.
A/N 3: I wrote this in half an hour. Just thought I'd share.
Story Note: An entry from Logan's journal...
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
My head is spinning. I can't believe everything that has gone on in the last several days. First, I have to deliver the news to Max that Ben was dead, only to find out he was not dead. Then Max nearly was caught by Lydecker, and then they *both* began covering for the killer, who I had no doubt was an X-5. I hated that she wouldn't let me in, wouldn't let me help. Just when I thought we were getting past that. Still, though, I guess, she *did* decide to let me in eventually, showing up on my doorstep tonight, her clothes torn and tattered, her body bruised, her posture making her look weak and defeated. But it was her eyes that shocked me. They were red, swollen, and puffy, and her face was tear streaked. She listlessly knocked on my door and just stood there when I opened it.
She looked so helpless I wanted to cry for her. I couldn't think what to do. Tentatively, I reached out and touched her hand. Without really acknowledging it, she squeezed it, hard. She looked deep into my eyes, as though she was searching for safe harbor. I whispered her name and she began to weep again. I don't know what made me do what I did next, but I pulled her into my arms, across my lap, and held her while she wept. Bling came out of the kitchen and shut the door for me. Then he wheeled me into the living room, allowing me to keep my arms firmly around Max. She buried her face into my neck and wept so bitterly, so openly, and with such pain, I wondered what had gone on since I'd last seen her. I assumed Ben was dead, but I still don't know how he died or why it would make her weep so. I mean, I know he was her brother, but her weeping in my arms was guttural and full body. She was wracked by sobs and I was afraid she was going to have a seizure.
I stroked her hair and rocked her as best I good, murmuring soothing gibberish to her. I was afraid she was going to make herself sick. And she did, Suddenly, she bolted from my lap and ran towards the bathroom. I could hear her retching. As I wheeled towards the master bath, Bling came up behind me and gave me a damp face cloth. I found Max leaning against a recently flushed toilet, looking spent and drained. She would not look at me. I slid myself out of the chair and forced her to lie down, her head in my lap. The cloth went across her forehead and I asked Bling to bring me another one that I placed on the back of her neck. She looked at me sadly then started to cry again, although this time with considerably less physical torment.
We were like that for a long time, Max weeping, me stroking her hair and telling her that whatever had happened, it was going to be okay, that she had me, that I wasn't going to leave her. When she stopped crying long enough, I suggested she take a shower. She helped me back in the chair and I brought her a robe I had purchased for her not long after the mud incident. I told her I'd be there in an instant if she needed me, all she had to do was call. I shut the door and went to the kitchen to make her some soup. Bling had already gotten the pan out for me.
She was in the shower for nearly forty-five minutes. After that long, I got worried and went to check on her. I knocked, but she didn't answer, so I cautiously pushed the door open. I could see, through the blurred glass of the shower door, that she was sitting on the floor of the tub, her knees to her chest. I pulled the glass back just enough to reach the knobs and turned off the water. Then I handed her a towel and left the room to give her privacy. She drudged out minutes later and listlessly, but without argument, drank down the hot soup. Then she went and stood by the large window in the living room, not saying a word.
Part of me wanted to press her for information, but I refused to do that to her, to make her relive whatever had transpired before she was ready to. So I went in my office where I could still see her and I began to read. Then Bling dropped the bomb in my lap. Lydecker had gotten pictures to the Informant Net, and they had been delivered to me. I felt sickened by what I saw. First, because I had virtually asked for these pictures, foolishly going to Lydecker. I knew he was going to try to manipulate me into turning Max over to him, and I had prepared myself not to listen. But I wasn't as prepared as I thought and as ashamed as I am to admit it, his words got to me. Then the bastard sent me pictures of her as a child, blood smeared across her face and in her crew-cut hair. The pictures of what he had trained her and her siblings to do were what sickened me most.
I looked at her and knew I felt afraid. And I hate myself for it. I am not afraid of Max. She has shown me time and again that I have no reason to be. Even though neither of us are willing to admit it, I know she cares deeply about me. She's saved my life a million times and probably will a million more. But what she and the others did to that convict was horrific and brutal. Still, my fear turned into sorrow, for her. I felt sorry that she and the others have to live with that memory. I'm sure that's what drove Ben to do what he did. He was doing it so someone would stop him, stop the killing he was trained to do. He wanted to be stopped. He just could not stop himself.
God, I hope it wasn't Max who stopped him.
Damn Lydecker for what he did to her, and to them! Damn him for what he said to me. Damn me for listening.
I'm so sorry Max. I don't know what you went through tonight, but I promise I won't ask you until I think you're ready to deal with it. I'm sorry you've had to live the life you've lead. I'm sorry you've experienced so much physical and emotional pain, I wish I could take it all away from you. I'm sorry I went behind your back and met with Lydecker. I'm even more sorry I let him get to me. I shouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry. I don't hate you. I'm not afraid of you. I know what they did to you at Manticore and I in no way hold you or any of the others responsible for your actions. I'm sorry I looked at you with horror, terror and disbelief. I didn't mean to. I never want you to see me looking at you like that. I'm not terrified of you. You're the most important person in my life. I'm terrified, however, of what you when through. But please please please know I have never seen you as a monster, and I never will. I have always only seen you as human, beautifully, wonderfully, and mysteriously human.
I vow, right now, that I, Logan Cale, Eyes Only, defender of widows and puppies, will do whatever is in my power to make sure you never have to go through any of that pain ever again.
Damn, now I'm crying.
