Please forgive me, I am not used to writing soft spoken romance, I just found myself thinking about Max looking out Logan's window, and thought about what an easy silence they share at times. I know Logan doesn't sound right in this, I'm not sure that was the point, think about how you think when your mind is jumbled, do you really sound like yourself? I know I don't. All Logan's POV. Be easy on me, I hate breaking into new fandoms.. no self confidence. :P This can be set pretty much anywhere in the season, I had no particular episode in mind when I wrote this, so use your own discretion.
Hope everyone takes it as is, just a story that struck me while I was supposed to be working (((Danae looks around, uh, my boss doesn't read here does he? :P))
Goddess in my Window
By: Danae Bowen
I look forward to the dark these days. With the night comes my mysterious goddess to prop herself up at my window and stare out over the dark shadows of the city with a combination of both awe and dread. We both know what lives in those streets, we're banned together to lighten Seattle's great load, but still, even I look out sometimes and see some of the beauty that still exists.
The proof of that beauty doesn't even turn towards me as I slowly wheel up behind her.
It's hard to believe, watching her revel in the calm evening, that she was raised to be a heartless killer. Sometimes I ache to the center of my being for the lost little girl that exists somewhere within this stunning woman. Sometimes I thank the God that I am unsure exists for her past life, because without Manticore she would never have crossed my path.
Is that a horribly greedy thought? Not that it matters anyway; being rich makes most people believe that I am egotistical and self-centered. Still, even stuck in this chair, watching her from a distance neither of us could cross, I don't know what I would do without her in my life.
She gives humor to humorless situations. She gives beauty to dank degradation. She gives poise to wallowing in destruction. She gives meaning to who I am, what I'm doing, and what we're fighting to save. I never thought of myself as dead, but she's breathed new life into me.
It's hard to remember sometimes that she's just a child. Her expressions can be so hard, her body and face unreadable as she drives her fist into the gut of someone three times the size of her. Other times her eyes are filled with such innocence and wonder that my breath catches in my throat and I know for one instant that I could never send her into danger again. Sometimes I just want to pull her into my arms and hold her until all the pains of the world are washed away, and it's safe for her to fly free once more.
Listen to me. When my mind is wrapped up in her, I sound like a poet. Who'd have figured? Must be something in the air.
I wonder how bad it will hurt when she leaves me; I know in my heart that she will; it's just a matter of time. It's too late now to worry about it, but I still wonder. Somehow I've come to think of myself as her protector, even though physically she will never need me for that. Super human warrior woman being protected by rich guy in wheel chair. Laughable, isn't it? But when her little girl side shines through, there is no one on earth that could get through me to her.
She sighs deeply and I ache to reach out to her, but in reality I can do nothing except wait for her to come to me.
I had no excuse to page her tonight. I just wanted to see her fed and relaxed a little. I just wanted to see her. For the first time in what seems like forever, I realize that Eyes Only can wait. Hell, Eyes Only can wait forever, my lost little goddess can't.
She turns to look at me and raises an eyebrow curiously. I don't know what my face and eyes were telling her, but her expression softened before she looked back out the window.
If only I could heal us both. The broken rich man and the tortured super girl. What a tale. Hey, Max, you never know, one day they may write stories about us. You'd be the hero, of course, but as long as it was me you came home to at night, I could live with being a sidekick.
Her body tenses. She's either seen something or has grown bored standing there in silence. She's going to leave again. I brace myself for the tear in my soul as she turns and flashes me that heart-breaking smile I pray is mine alone.
"Gotta book."
With that she ruffles my hair and disappears through my door. I'm left staring after her. After a moment, I turn back to my window and roll to the place she had just vacated.
I imagine I can see her dark shadow far below, mounting her bike and disappearing into the guts of the city on the wings of her engines roar. Who knows? Maybe some of her enhancements were rubbing off on me and I really could see her through vast distances. Then again, maybe she'd gone to my head and I am just insane.
Logan Cale insane? There's a novel thought. At least that would explain why I just sat here for an hour spewing out this inner monologue rather than sharing more than a comfortable silence with the woman I love.
Yep. I love Max.
Is that what all this is about?
I could sit here and scream to Seattle that Logan Cale loves Max Guevara. I could feature an Eyes Only special on it and tell the world. Or I could just sit here in silence and wait for her to return.
I choose the latter. I inhale deeply and I could swear her scent lingers in the spot upon which she had stood for so long.
My Max.
The Goddess in my window.
Tomorrow I will page her for no reason other than to be with her once more. Tomorrow she will stand in this very spot and stare out over this ruined city and I'll battle my inner demons in silence until once again I am left alone.
But that's tomorrow.
Tonight I stare out the window, my computer long forgotten, imagining the bright look of joy that will come to her eyes as I tell her I love her for the first time.
I tell myself that I will share everything with her tomorrow, even though I know there will only be silence.
Oh, Max.
Will you still be here when my fears finally allow me to speak?
End.