From: "Veronica Bowles"
Date: Thu, 24 May 2001 11:57:22 -0400
Subject: New post Source: direct
Title: If You Want Me Too
Author: Mystic25
Email: yellowrubberduck31@hotmail.com
Distrubutin: Archive. So long as my information remains the same.
Genres:Vingette/Angst
Relationships: Max/Logan friendship..slight USTish Content: some graphic
images of violence
Keywords: Post episode
Rating: PG14. the archivist can decide if it needs a higher rating. I'm
not that good at that.
Spoilers: Pollo Loco Summary: The thoughts of Max and Logan during that
scene before the morning Max goes into confession.
Disclaimer: If they were mine the season finale wouldn't have ended the
way it did. There His and His and Fox's. they will be returned, I swear.
The title is taken from a very moving song by christian artist Ginny
Ownes. There is no mention of it in this story. I just feel she deserves
credit for it.
Author's note: I thank everyone for the positive feedback on my
"Choices" series. The third installment is still in the making and will
be posted hopefully soon. I just wanted to try my hand at a mood piece.
*****
Max
I pull my bare feet up under me, tucking them into my body. I don't want
anyone to notice this almost child like state I have allowed myself to
fall in. A lot more must be bare then just my feet because I can feel
his eyes on me from across the room. His deep blue iris boring into the
back of my head becomes so intense that I turn to face him with an
unreadable look. He matches it with one of his own, a stare that isn't
just casual, it's almost analytical, oh hell who am I kidding? It IS an
analyzing look. He is divulging his side of psychological self
diagnosis. Trying to figure out what when on during the last few days.
Why I had to lie to him.
Well Logan, it's like I said before, if your brother was a murderer,
would you want anyone to know? How he snapped the necks of his victims,
severing their vertebrates with one fast maneuver, so that they never
saw it coming, their faces gaped and frozen in their last moment of
surprise. That's what they looked like ya know. That chicken I had
snagged had that same deathly gaze when I detached it's spine from, in
Original Cindy's words it's "little chicken face." I watched her stunned
look as I ended the life of that piece of poultry.
But that little action didn't faze me in the slightest. After all, it
was just a bird. People do this shit all the time, kill them like that.
I mean, the worlds gotta eat right? So I just ignored the look my girl
gave me and enjoyed every piece of that little winged creature. Is that
what Ben felt when he killed those people? Like it was just another job
that he had to accomplish?
Bet Lydeker would be proud if that was the case. His soldiers would be
exactly what he wanted them to be, cold blooded killers. I told myself
that this was not the case for me, chanting it like a mantra in my head.
That's why I escaped with Zack and the rest in '09. I didn't want to do
that, to be a weapon that murdered ruthlessly, without guilt or
morality.
That's what I thought I BELIEVED, until last night. Ben made me
remember. Brought me back to a place I'd rather forget. That prisoner
with his knife. His breath coming in pants as he made a run for the
barbed wire. The loud hitch of surprise as we descended upon him. We
were the hunters and he the hunted. We reached him quickly. Someone
ripped open his shirt and..a mark, something we had never seen before.
It looked nothing like our own barcodes.
"He's an anoomile!" Ben had shouted, and we joined him in his cries, and
beat him, with our fists our feet, and then one of us delivered the
mortal grip, and he fell limp at our feet. I remember helping the others
splay him out like a sacrificial lamb. His blood ridden corpse remained
there as we headed back to the barracks. A mission completed.
****
Logan She has remained in that position for a long time. It has been
almost a full fifteen minutes since she faced me with that almost
impassive look on her face. Almost like she wanted me to say something,
but I was at a loss for words. /She was meant to kill, mercilessly,
coldly/ Those words still ring in my ears, as I stare at the younger
version of her in this photo. She looks to be about nine, but her eyes
bare a look that I've seen only on the hardest men in prison. Ones who
have murdered hundreds and have no remorse. It sounds so terribly cruel
to place her in the same category as them. She was only a child, forced
into that hellish life. She only did what she had to do, what she was
trained for. But still that look.
When she came here tonight she told me what she did, sparing me the gory
details and sticking to clinical detachment. She seemed a little out of
it, but come to think of it I did too. The woman that I had come to
respect, admire, and yes I'll admit it LOVE had just admitted to murder.
It's not like she hasn't done anything like that before. Hell I've asked
her to at times, but never in this nature, in this gruesome fashion.
Do I really know her? As much as I hate to think it, that enters my
mind. She is not the 'girl next door' as Lydeker so admirably put it.
She is beautiful, but beauty can be dangerous. Am I willing to pay the
price? Oh god, where did this come from? Max does not deserve such a
harsh reprimand. But I cannot help my wandering thoughts as I look at
her.
*****
Max
He died instantly. His head twisted where I snapped his spine. Hot tears
of emotion leaked out of me then. I had killed my brother. He had begged
me to stay, reminding me of what they did to ones like him, the
anomalies. He was my brother after all, so I stayed. Crouched by him I
asked him to tell me about the good place. Those stories that he use to
recite like a fairy tale to the rest of us. The place of no punishment,
where no one gets hurt. It sounded so wondrous to me.
Could such a place exist? Would Ben's Blue Lady be waiting for him
there? Or would he go somewhere else? Where they said your burned for
eternity. He was young, but he was a murderer. And so am I..a cold
hearted, merciless killing machine. In one second I took Ben's life
without regret, or at least not much. I had done what I was trained to
do. But then why did my heart feel like it exploded, and why did tears
mar my vision? If I was so merciless why did I snap? Why was it so hard
to leave him there as I heard the jeeps approaching? Why did he have to
die? Why did I have to see to it that he did?
*****
Logan She almost looks like she's asleep, that's how long she's been in
that position. She still has yet to face me. It is just as well. I
wouldn't have any idea what to say to her at this point. She is watching
the rain. Processing whatever is running through her mind at this point.
Are you thinking of him Max? Did you hate what you did, or just shrug it
off like another checkbox on your 'To Do List'? /Stop it!/ Of course she
hated it..she took another life. She is not merciless. She is flesh and
bone. She feels regret like anyone else. Who are you to judge her
actions?
Do you really WANT to know what she was thinking when she did that? How
can someone show remorse if they weren't taught what it meant? /But
she's not like that!/ I scream at my conscious, trying rid it of these
cruel questions. /When she thought that Ben had been murdered, she
cried./ But then she held back. She lied to me. She didn't tell me where
she was going. Or why she didn't show up for work that day.
*****
Max
He made a sacrifice. Ben did, before he die-I mean *I* killed him. He
offered up his victims teeth to the Blue Lady at that church. It
sickened me to pull back that cloth and reveal what was laid out before
my eyes. Hard enamel, dirt and blood from the ones of his latest kills.
The father would have been one if I didn't do what I did. He acted like
we were back at Manticore. He told the other man to run, sprint into the
woods for his own life. And Ben followed him for every step. Just like
back then, a game of predator and prey.
He had him on his back by the time I reached them. One foot on his neck,
ready to break in one motion. I tried to plead with him then, saying
that there would be others, better ones. But he never took to it. "This
is for you Maxi." he said, like it was a present taylor made especially
for me. He said I should know why he did this. Why we all had to do
this. It's in our blood. Part of our genetic makeup to kill. As I sat
with him on that cold forest floor I tried to convince myself otherwise.
But when I heard those men coming for him, I proved that Ben was right
all along. /No emotion. No fear, just cold detachment/ Lydeker's
training mantra to us went through my head during those terrible moments
of the aftermath of what I did. I did. I killed him, my brother. I
killed my brother, I am no better then he was.
IkilledhimIkilledhimIkilledhimIkilled him..NOOO..my mind is screaming
now. I did not want this! He was my brother. I loved him! I kept him out
of their hands. They can't ever take him back to the Dark Place. But did
I send him to another one? More gruesome than that steel room? Is that
where murderers go when they die? Is that where I am going?
CRASH! I heard it snap. His second vertebrate broken like so many dried
crackers. Are you proud of me Lydeker? Is this what all of that training
was for? Am I fucking proud of me? I am not though. I am a murderer..I
killed my family.
I KILLED MY FAMILY!!
*****
Logan
I snap my head up in the direction of the living room. Bling halts in
his actions as well of cleaning up the glass that I dropped. Did I
imagine it? But no I hear it again. A scream. A piercing one at that
coming from my living room. Where Max was at. Oh god Max... My thoughts
of before leave my head as I make my way to my living room to see what
could have caused her to scream like that. I had never in my life heard
such a cry. But even that did not prepare me for what I saw.
Murderous rage, hot blooded emotions. But not on anyone else. They were
all directed upon herself. She had gotten up from the chair and stood
once again by the window. The pounding rain did nothing to deafen the
sounds emitted from her lips. "WHY!? WHY WAS IT THE ONLY WAY?" her cries
echoed off the glass of the window. She pounded on the thick glass with
both fists, hard unyielding blows on the shiny surface. She began to
curse, damning herself to every kind of hell that ever existed.
I remained a silent witness in the room, just watching. /If she is a
merciless killer, she is a damn lousy one/ Do I feel better now? Knowing
of her regret? She turns and faces me. I see the gleam in her eye,
slightly startled that I was observing her. She looked at me for the
longest moment. But it was as if she wasn't looking AT me, but at
someone else. Someone that didn't exist in this room. Who does she see?
*****
Max
He is looking at me but I don't see him. I can't face him now. I already
know what he would say.
I heard him talking to Bling. I have super hearing remember Logan, did
you think by keeping your damn voice low that I wouldn't pick up the
conversation? I spy that still opened file on his coffee table. Did you
think I wouldn't notice? Those livid, colorful images capturing that
gruesome day, returning from the kill. Ben was right. I see him in my
dreams. Hear each of his dying breaths in my ears during the long hours
of night. Thankfully I don't sleep much or I would have gone utterly
insane reliving that even for the short amount of time I closed my eyes.
Now I know I will dream not only about him, but about Ben.
I will never forget that look of surprise that will remain on his face
for an eternity. My dreams will torment me, I know they will. WHY? I
prowl to the middle of the room unaware if I had even spoken that last
question aloud. But I am beyond caring what I say at this point. I am
wired with emotions I have tried all the fucking day to repress. Because
that's who I am. That's what I was taught. Manticore soldiers weren't
allowed to have moments of weakness like everyone else. It wasn't in our
genetic makeup.
But they have snuck up on me, like a counter attack on my senses. My
head is spinning with all the events of the day. /"Please stay with me,
don't let them take me."/ /"I can't."/ /"Please! you know what they do
to ones like me. They'll put me back there."/ /"Tell me about the Good
Place."/ He smiled then, a childlike look that I remember from our
youth. /"The place where no one gets hurt."/ /"Where there are no
punishments.."/ I reached around then and gripped his neck, feeling the
second vertebrae under my hand...
*****
Logan
"BEN!" His name is a scream on her lips. I sit there in stunned silence.
I have never heard such a heart rendering cry in all my life. "WHY DID
YOU HAVE TO DO THIS?!" her chest is heaving from her outbursts. She is
as tightly wound as a spring, pacing about my living room like a caged
tiger, restlessly, unceasingly.
She suddenly stops in her actions, and whips her head upwards to the
ceiling. "YOU SAID THAT YOU WOULD SAVE US! HE BELIEVED IN YOU!" "WHY
DIDN'T YOU HELP HIM? The sounds of a choked sod reaches my ears, and I
am stunned to see tears fall from her eyes.
That one she shed this morning when she thought Ben had died was nothing
in comparison to these. "Why didn't you stop me from killing him?" the
words were just a whisper, like someone had suddenly turned down the
volume on a radio.
Her eyes still do not register me, as she slides down to her knees onto
my hardwood floor. She tucks her legs up under her chin and I hear again
the sobbing, only these have a hysterical tone to them, a gut wrenching
sound of emotion. I wheel myself over to where she was at, hugging her
knees to her like they were a lifeline.
One hand reaches out to touch her shoulder.
"Don't you fucking touch me!" her outburst is so harsh that I pull back.
She turns her tear streaked face to me, and I had to repress a gasp at
the brutal agony I see written there. "I do not deserve it. I am
murderer. I killed my brother.." her words trail off towards the end
into more tears. She buries her head in her knees again. I grasp her
torso from behind, to pull her up towards me. She fights me for every
movement. Trying to break out of the grip I had on her.
"LET ME GO! I DESERVE TO STAY WHERE I LIE!" She lashes out with arms and
legs, but to no avail. The strain of her emotions coupled with my
recently acquired upper body strength has given me the better hand. I
grasp her wrists and turn her to face me. She keeps turning away, so I
let go of her wrists and firmly hold her head in my hands.
"Why are you doing this?" She asks, addressing me fully for the first
time in almost an hour. "I am a killer, a trained weapon. I was meant to
murder coldly, without feeling or remorse." I felt my heart constrict
then at the mention of the words that Lydeker had used to describe her
to me earlier. All my harsh reprimanding thoughts now sounded like utter
croaks of shit in light of her condoning her own self for what she did.
"NO!" I shake her head a little harder then I meant too because she
tries to pull back, actually thinking I was challenging her. I take a
stronger grip on each cheek, looking straight into her eyes. "You are
not cold or unfeeling Max. You never were. You did what you had to do."
"I killed him Logan." she said tears leaking out of her eyes. "I snapped
his neck like it was pencil. I fucking *murdered* my brother with my own
hands." During her entire mantra she hadn't fought at me anymore. Her
body shook in the aftermath of her emotion.
"Oh god Ben, Why did you have to be right? Why did you do this for me?"
she says this part quieter and falls forward, as if her body no longer
possessed the strength to keep her vertical.
Her face is buried in the cotton of my sweater. I allow it to remain
there, keeping her position by placing a hand behind her neck.
I feel her shudder slightly at my touch, as if she was not worthy of the
contact. But, she has no strength left so she does not pull away.
*****
Max
I feel like I'm falling. Descending into hell, if I believed there was
such a place. Where I feel I am going might as well be that biblical
stereotype of fire and brimstone. A place of eternal damnation,
somewhere dark where the voices of those we have killed haunts us for
eternity. Has it all come down to this? After ten long years of working,
rebuilding, trying to make something of the shit filled life I had been
born into had I come back to where I began?
Maybe Lydeker knew it all along. That we could never run from what we
are, never escape what we were created to be. Maybe it was just a test,
like all those others we had to undergo. If that is the case, then I
passed. I can feel Logan's presence all around me. Even after everything
I did he still treats me as human. He holds me close to his warmth with
strong arms, trying to offer me something. Comfort? Maybe he is
indulging his own senses again and doing this out of pity for me. I
sincerely hope it isn't the latter. I will take his anger, his distance,
but I cannot bare his pity.
I do not want you to feel sorry for me Logan. To look at me like a lost,
runaway, genetically supped up waf that was dropped on your doorstep. I
don't do pity parties. I need you to help me. To keep me from plunging
head long into the abyss that I find staring me in the face at present.
I want you to grab my hand before I am disemboweled against the jagged
edges of my own demons, pulling me out of the haunting shadows and back
into the light. But I want you to do it because you want to, not because
you feel bad for me, and where I have found myself.
If this was your goal when you first moved to embrace me, then I don't
want any part of it. I have fought my battles alone for a long time, and
can say I have done pretty well at it. I don't need someone on the
sidelines waiting to coddle me, and promise me eternal protection he can
never provide. I need someone to fight *with* me. To bleed with me, to
cry with me. That is who I need right now. Is that what your are trying
for Logan?
*****
Logan
She has cried more tonight then I have ever seen her do in all the
months I have known her. Her hot, wet tears have left a damp spot on the
cashmere of my sweater. Her hysterical sobbing had finally let up about
ten minutes ago. But it was due more to the fact of physical exhaustion
then of her own free choice.
I stroke her back in gentle circles, feeling her limbs loosen a little
from their tightness as time progresses. Her breathing still comes in
ragged hitches, but it is slower now, sluggish and deep. I do not know
if she has fallen asleep or merely reached a place where she has found
some semblance of peace. But either way I decide not to disturb her with
words. This woman had to walk through hell today and take a good long
look at the grotesquness of it.
She deserves, no NEEDS a break from the world right now. There will be
time for words later. Right now I am content with holding her in my
arms. These moments are few and far between, so this action is healing
for both her and me. When it became obvious that she was, in fact,
asleep I had moved us both to the couch, and gently placed her limp
figure in the cradle of my lap. She did not stir at all during my
actions, and I was grateful of that, not knowing what would have
happened if she had spoken.
Words can be a very useful tool. They can be used to color the world in
bright and wondrous description. But they can also reveal the horrible
ugly truths that we are all terrified to admit. How in the blink of an
eye what we have tried to escape our whole lives comes back to haunt us
at full force. Or how they can transform our thoughts, making us
susceptible to fear, to doubt, judgment and unmerciful analyiziation.
They are the necessary evil.
Actions speak louder then words. This cliche is old, but has never been
more true then now, on this rainy night. No amount of speech, either
colorful description, or down right dirty realism could ever be enough
for her tonight. She needs more then that, more then just a spewing
forth of sweet nothings and promises that I cannot keep for her. She
need something physical, something she could reach out and touch. I only
wish I knew what it was.
*****
Max
He is there, making shadow puppets on the wall of our barrack. Giggles
are not heard. Even as children we were to hard for that. But his
playfulness did emit smiles from us. Tinga whistles in an imitation of
osprey, giving vocals to Ben's shadow. Jondy pokes at me and whispers
how Zack sounds like that at training. Zack overhears and whispers back
that ospreys are birds of prey, cunning, quick, and having traits like
theirs is nothing to be made fun of.
Syl snickers and tells him that he'd better be careful then 'cause most
of us have cat genes in us and we might turn on him. Tinga eavesdropped
on him the whole time and hissed at Zack in a playful show of Syl's
warning. Ben's hands suddenly lowered and he was on the floor. Our mood
had changed as we watched him convulse.
"They're going to take him again Maxi." Jondy says to me. The doors open
then. Routine barrack check. We sprint off the floor and each stand by
our own cot in a strict stance of attention. All except Ben, he is still
lying there, where he fell. The guards enter then and grasp Ben by his
arms, dragging him out, his feet trailing on the floor.
"Please.." he was heard to say. "Don't take me back there.." "Don't let
them take me." I am drawn foreword in time. Gone is the barrack walls
and guards. There is leafy vegetation surrounding us, and in the
distance the sounds of the jeeps approaching. Gone is the shaved head of
Ben's youth. Now his long brown locks are damp on his forehead as he
pants at the pain in his leg. His high boyish voice had been replaced by
a deep one of that of a man. A dying man, clutching desperatly at his
sister, pleading for her to stay.
"Tell me about the Good Place." gone is the childish wonder of a nine
year old girl. Instead it is replaced with the voice of a woman who
reaches beyond the tangled mass of hair and grasps his neck, twisting in
one smooth flowing motion...
*****
Logan
Her breathing suddenly becomes erratic. A raspy sound in her chest. She
clutches at air, never waking, grabbing at something unseen. "Please god
no..what have I done?" these words tumble out of her lips, laced with
pain and sorrow. Her hand still continues to reach for something,
anything. I take it, placing it in my own. I cover her smaller hand with
mine, and kiss her fingers.
A simple action, but something she responds to. Her breathing begins to
even slightly, and the fast paced movements of her eyes under their lids
began to ebb away. Breaths finally return to normal and a whimper
escapes her lips.
"I love you Ben, I need you.." tears began anew at whatever she is
seeing in her dream induced world. "Wait for me..at the Good Place.."
her words drift off into nothing and she fall silent again. She sounded
so sad..so lost. It was hard for me to imagine Max as anything but a
tough, strong, independent woman. But she looked so small lying in my
lap, assaulted by nightmares from her past.
I see before me not the woman I know and have come to love, but the
child she once was. A girl born into a life that even the most harshest
of parents would never wish upon their children. /"You may think you
know her, but you have no IDEA what she is capable of."/ But I do
Lydeker, you filthy piece of shit, I DO know her. I know how she likes
to pop wheelies on her bike because she enjoys the feel of the wind in
her hair. I know she has a fetish for chocolate, so I keep some handy
for her visits. I know she loves children and babies, I see how she
talks to the little boy who lives in her building. I know her heart and
her mind, her dreams, things that make her human. Things you never
bothered to learn or know, or instill. But she acquired them, in spite
of you.
And now I see the girl of her past. But it doesn't make me afraid of
her. It makes me sad to see the pain and hear the cries of memories that
are old, but are still very fresh. And all I can do is sit her and touch
her, stroke her and pray that it is enough. There is a small rustle of
fabric as Bling places the afghan that was resting on the back of the
couch over her still figure. Another act of voiceless communication.
I pull it up to her shoulders, and she responds to it's warmth,
cacooning it closer to her body.
Had she been cold this whole time? How could I have not noticed? I knew
the answer to that last question. My mind was elsewhere, caught up in
events that I couldn't even begin to understand. Maybe that's why she
avoided telling me all this time, she knew what my reaction would be.
How I would see the cruelties she committed in her past, but forget that
she had been in a place where the line between her and hell was a razor
thin one.
Who am I to judge her actions? That question has passed through my mind
countless times on this cold and rainy night. Do I see myself as so high
that I now claim right to pass judgment on the ones who faced death
everyday? And who suffered unspeakable horrors, much worse then the ones
they committed? I finally realize why she looked at me the first time,
why her eyes looked with uncertainty into my own. She saw right through
my stotic expression, right into the dark and unmerciful thoughts I
harbored in the recesses of my brain.
Did I actually believe that I could keep something as deep as those
brutal musings a secret from her? What if I had confronted her with
those grizzly photographs? What then? Despite Lydeker's remarks about
her ruthlessness and hunger for the hunt and taste of blood, I know now
that it would have been one blow too many for her soul tonight. She has
already lost her brother, being reminded of her past in bright vibrant
color would not help her self recovery of the traumatic past few days.
My fingers cascade through her silky curls. I tuck loose strands behind
her ears and away from her face. I do not know if she can feel my
movements. I read somewhere that that a loving touch can transcend
through the unconscious. I hope that is true. I am sorry Max, my
stunning angel. Sorry for the harshness and doubting that I have thought
of you tonight. You did not ask for that world, you were born into it.
You cannot help what you were created to be.
And I have no right to judge someone for walking through the fires of
hell and coming out with burns, with scars and a charred past. If we are
the people that we are because of the experiences in our lives, then
you, my love, are a survivor. And I'm sorry it took me this long to
realize that. I move my hands to her forehead and stroke it gently. I
want her to know that I am here, to stay as long as needed.
Can you feel that Max? Can you feel me touching you?
*****
Max
My vision has changed again. Back to the prisoner. I dug into his flesh
with my nails and my teeth. His blood was hot in my mouth, and it
dribbled down my chin. He stops breathing and we cease our attack. Like
hunting wolves we know when the kill is over. The adrenaline rushes in
our veins and I wipe the bits of blood and flesh on the dried leaves of
the forest floor. We heap his carcass over and position it so that the
predatory animals here will have easy access to the supple flesh of the
belly.
The drill sergeant comes out and orders us back to the barracks. We
abandon our conquest to follow orders. As we began the march back the
bright light of a flash shines in our faces, once. twice. I spit the
blood from my mouth to rid it of it's rancid taste, but try as I might I
cannot get the feeling of the hot sticky blood to come off my hands. I
feel them drowning in crimson, and can feel the hideous heat spread over
my body.
*****
Logan
I touch her forehead again, worriedly. It feels too warm. Despite the
heat radiating off her, she is shivering like she does when she has a
seizure. I hear myself call to Bling to bring a thermometer and a wet
rag. He complies in record time. I place the rag atop her forehead while
I wait for the thermometer to beep. The reading is alarming, "102."
Bling brings over a bowl of water and I sponge the cold liquid over her
face and neck. I curse myself for being wrapped up in my self doubt and
not realizing of her condition.
The water mingles with the sweat that now appears on her skin. Her hair
is damp where it meets her scalp. Bling is worried as well, because he
brings the extra bottle of her meds that I have in case a seizure were
to be brought on by her high temperature. I dab at her face with the
cloth again before replacing it on her head. I kiss her. "I'm sorry Max,
please be okay I need you." For all my struggles to say these words, the
actual speaking of them is so simple.
I hold her fever stricken body closer to me, wanting so much to give her
my strength to see her through this.
*****
Max
"I need you." Those words again. But not spoken by Ben. I am back in the
forest again, in that same clearing. And I am alone. So where did that
sound come from?
There are no jeeps approaching this time. I crouch in the undergrowth,
looking for his body, but it is not there. That phrase, I hear it again.
Who keeps saying that?
Something dark is approaching me. Not an animal, but a person. I stand
to see who it is. He is coming closer, dressed entirely in black, only
the blue of his eyes is set apart from the dark clothing.
Logan? How did he come here? He comes to a stop to stand before me.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in my dream?" I hear myself
ask. Even in a dream world he is handsome. Dressed in those clothes, he
could have been one of us. But, that would mean he would be no better
then we are, and I do not ever wish that upon him.
"Because you needed me to help you." he responds looking right into my
eyes. "And because I *want* to help you."
"It's to late" I respond harshly "He's dead. And nothing can take back
what I did. Especially not anything that isn't real."
"It doesn't have to be real." he reaches up a hand to touch my face "It
just has to be true." Sapphire iris bore into mine. "You have fought the
battle for a long time Max. But the stakes are becoming higher, you can
no longer fight it alone."
"I have fought that way all my-" his finger stills my words.
"I didn't say you couldn't fight, you just need someone to help you. And
I want to help."
I look deeper into his eyes, if that were even possible. This part of
Logan's soul that has entered my dream has answered my question. He
wanted to fight *with* me, not for me. "You may find out things about me
that you don't like."
"Scars." he begins "They are not who you are Max. They show the courage
of someone who walked through the fire and came out alive. Burned, but
alive."
"And you are willing to go through that again, should it come to that?"
He nods, his eyes never breaking their contact from mine.
"Why?" I question.
"Because I want to." I touch my vision
"Thank you." A soft rain begins to fall, showering the forest with
blessed coolness.
*****
Logan
I open my eyes because of the persistent shaking on my shoulder. I clear
away the visions of that dream and come fully awake. I identified the
shaking as Bling's arm. He tells me that her fever broke a few minutes
ago. I gaze down at her and come alive with relief. She is glistening
with sweat. The body's wondrous homeostasis mechanism, cooling the
inferno within her.
Another temperature reading confirms my relief. "99.5" I wipe the sweat
away from her face with the rag.
She stirs then "Logan?" "Right here." my voice reassures above her ear.
She tells me thank you for helping her. How the soldier side appreciates
my wanting to be a counterpart for her, not just an observer. And more
importantly about how the human side reveled in the knowledge of doing
it because I wanted to.
I begin to suspect we must have had the same dream. When I couldn't find
the words to say what I had to, my subconscious found it for me. And I
am grateful for it. For saying everything I was afraid to say. I hover
above her ear again "I'm sorry." Some things needed to be said out loud.
A smile, the first one in a long time tugs gently at her lips. She
understands.
*****
Max
I reach up and touch his face, just like in my dream, only this is real.
I know what he apologized for, even if he couldn't say the words. He
takes my hand in his own. We communicate with our eyes. The storm has
ended, and a few rays of sun peak through the clouds. I will soon have
to get up, face the world and reality again.
I think I'll pay a visit to the father. To see how he is, and to seek
his council. I will do all this soon, but right now, this is where I
should be.
*****
Logan
She has not won the war yet. It may take a long time before she even
reaches that point, but I will fight with her for every step. And one
day that time will come.
*****
End
This was written before the season finale, when I was blissfully unaware
of all the bumps in the road. Cameron is a big meanie for leaving us
hanging like this all summer. But that's why God invented fan fic:) I'd
love feeback on this.
Date: Thu, 24 May 2001 11:57:22 -0400
Subject: New post Source: direct
Title: If You Want Me Too
Author: Mystic25
Email: yellowrubberduck31@hotmail.com
Distrubutin: Archive. So long as my information remains the same.
Genres:Vingette/Angst
Relationships: Max/Logan friendship..slight USTish Content: some graphic
images of violence
Keywords: Post episode
Rating: PG14. the archivist can decide if it needs a higher rating. I'm
not that good at that.
Spoilers: Pollo Loco Summary: The thoughts of Max and Logan during that
scene before the morning Max goes into confession.
Disclaimer: If they were mine the season finale wouldn't have ended the
way it did. There His and His and Fox's. they will be returned, I swear.
The title is taken from a very moving song by christian artist Ginny
Ownes. There is no mention of it in this story. I just feel she deserves
credit for it.
Author's note: I thank everyone for the positive feedback on my
"Choices" series. The third installment is still in the making and will
be posted hopefully soon. I just wanted to try my hand at a mood piece.
*****
Max
I pull my bare feet up under me, tucking them into my body. I don't want
anyone to notice this almost child like state I have allowed myself to
fall in. A lot more must be bare then just my feet because I can feel
his eyes on me from across the room. His deep blue iris boring into the
back of my head becomes so intense that I turn to face him with an
unreadable look. He matches it with one of his own, a stare that isn't
just casual, it's almost analytical, oh hell who am I kidding? It IS an
analyzing look. He is divulging his side of psychological self
diagnosis. Trying to figure out what when on during the last few days.
Why I had to lie to him.
Well Logan, it's like I said before, if your brother was a murderer,
would you want anyone to know? How he snapped the necks of his victims,
severing their vertebrates with one fast maneuver, so that they never
saw it coming, their faces gaped and frozen in their last moment of
surprise. That's what they looked like ya know. That chicken I had
snagged had that same deathly gaze when I detached it's spine from, in
Original Cindy's words it's "little chicken face." I watched her stunned
look as I ended the life of that piece of poultry.
But that little action didn't faze me in the slightest. After all, it
was just a bird. People do this shit all the time, kill them like that.
I mean, the worlds gotta eat right? So I just ignored the look my girl
gave me and enjoyed every piece of that little winged creature. Is that
what Ben felt when he killed those people? Like it was just another job
that he had to accomplish?
Bet Lydeker would be proud if that was the case. His soldiers would be
exactly what he wanted them to be, cold blooded killers. I told myself
that this was not the case for me, chanting it like a mantra in my head.
That's why I escaped with Zack and the rest in '09. I didn't want to do
that, to be a weapon that murdered ruthlessly, without guilt or
morality.
That's what I thought I BELIEVED, until last night. Ben made me
remember. Brought me back to a place I'd rather forget. That prisoner
with his knife. His breath coming in pants as he made a run for the
barbed wire. The loud hitch of surprise as we descended upon him. We
were the hunters and he the hunted. We reached him quickly. Someone
ripped open his shirt and..a mark, something we had never seen before.
It looked nothing like our own barcodes.
"He's an anoomile!" Ben had shouted, and we joined him in his cries, and
beat him, with our fists our feet, and then one of us delivered the
mortal grip, and he fell limp at our feet. I remember helping the others
splay him out like a sacrificial lamb. His blood ridden corpse remained
there as we headed back to the barracks. A mission completed.
****
Logan She has remained in that position for a long time. It has been
almost a full fifteen minutes since she faced me with that almost
impassive look on her face. Almost like she wanted me to say something,
but I was at a loss for words. /She was meant to kill, mercilessly,
coldly/ Those words still ring in my ears, as I stare at the younger
version of her in this photo. She looks to be about nine, but her eyes
bare a look that I've seen only on the hardest men in prison. Ones who
have murdered hundreds and have no remorse. It sounds so terribly cruel
to place her in the same category as them. She was only a child, forced
into that hellish life. She only did what she had to do, what she was
trained for. But still that look.
When she came here tonight she told me what she did, sparing me the gory
details and sticking to clinical detachment. She seemed a little out of
it, but come to think of it I did too. The woman that I had come to
respect, admire, and yes I'll admit it LOVE had just admitted to murder.
It's not like she hasn't done anything like that before. Hell I've asked
her to at times, but never in this nature, in this gruesome fashion.
Do I really know her? As much as I hate to think it, that enters my
mind. She is not the 'girl next door' as Lydeker so admirably put it.
She is beautiful, but beauty can be dangerous. Am I willing to pay the
price? Oh god, where did this come from? Max does not deserve such a
harsh reprimand. But I cannot help my wandering thoughts as I look at
her.
*****
Max
He died instantly. His head twisted where I snapped his spine. Hot tears
of emotion leaked out of me then. I had killed my brother. He had begged
me to stay, reminding me of what they did to ones like him, the
anomalies. He was my brother after all, so I stayed. Crouched by him I
asked him to tell me about the good place. Those stories that he use to
recite like a fairy tale to the rest of us. The place of no punishment,
where no one gets hurt. It sounded so wondrous to me.
Could such a place exist? Would Ben's Blue Lady be waiting for him
there? Or would he go somewhere else? Where they said your burned for
eternity. He was young, but he was a murderer. And so am I..a cold
hearted, merciless killing machine. In one second I took Ben's life
without regret, or at least not much. I had done what I was trained to
do. But then why did my heart feel like it exploded, and why did tears
mar my vision? If I was so merciless why did I snap? Why was it so hard
to leave him there as I heard the jeeps approaching? Why did he have to
die? Why did I have to see to it that he did?
*****
Logan She almost looks like she's asleep, that's how long she's been in
that position. She still has yet to face me. It is just as well. I
wouldn't have any idea what to say to her at this point. She is watching
the rain. Processing whatever is running through her mind at this point.
Are you thinking of him Max? Did you hate what you did, or just shrug it
off like another checkbox on your 'To Do List'? /Stop it!/ Of course she
hated it..she took another life. She is not merciless. She is flesh and
bone. She feels regret like anyone else. Who are you to judge her
actions?
Do you really WANT to know what she was thinking when she did that? How
can someone show remorse if they weren't taught what it meant? /But
she's not like that!/ I scream at my conscious, trying rid it of these
cruel questions. /When she thought that Ben had been murdered, she
cried./ But then she held back. She lied to me. She didn't tell me where
she was going. Or why she didn't show up for work that day.
*****
Max
He made a sacrifice. Ben did, before he die-I mean *I* killed him. He
offered up his victims teeth to the Blue Lady at that church. It
sickened me to pull back that cloth and reveal what was laid out before
my eyes. Hard enamel, dirt and blood from the ones of his latest kills.
The father would have been one if I didn't do what I did. He acted like
we were back at Manticore. He told the other man to run, sprint into the
woods for his own life. And Ben followed him for every step. Just like
back then, a game of predator and prey.
He had him on his back by the time I reached them. One foot on his neck,
ready to break in one motion. I tried to plead with him then, saying
that there would be others, better ones. But he never took to it. "This
is for you Maxi." he said, like it was a present taylor made especially
for me. He said I should know why he did this. Why we all had to do
this. It's in our blood. Part of our genetic makeup to kill. As I sat
with him on that cold forest floor I tried to convince myself otherwise.
But when I heard those men coming for him, I proved that Ben was right
all along. /No emotion. No fear, just cold detachment/ Lydeker's
training mantra to us went through my head during those terrible moments
of the aftermath of what I did. I did. I killed him, my brother. I
killed my brother, I am no better then he was.
IkilledhimIkilledhimIkilledhimIkilled him..NOOO..my mind is screaming
now. I did not want this! He was my brother. I loved him! I kept him out
of their hands. They can't ever take him back to the Dark Place. But did
I send him to another one? More gruesome than that steel room? Is that
where murderers go when they die? Is that where I am going?
CRASH! I heard it snap. His second vertebrate broken like so many dried
crackers. Are you proud of me Lydeker? Is this what all of that training
was for? Am I fucking proud of me? I am not though. I am a murderer..I
killed my family.
I KILLED MY FAMILY!!
*****
Logan
I snap my head up in the direction of the living room. Bling halts in
his actions as well of cleaning up the glass that I dropped. Did I
imagine it? But no I hear it again. A scream. A piercing one at that
coming from my living room. Where Max was at. Oh god Max... My thoughts
of before leave my head as I make my way to my living room to see what
could have caused her to scream like that. I had never in my life heard
such a cry. But even that did not prepare me for what I saw.
Murderous rage, hot blooded emotions. But not on anyone else. They were
all directed upon herself. She had gotten up from the chair and stood
once again by the window. The pounding rain did nothing to deafen the
sounds emitted from her lips. "WHY!? WHY WAS IT THE ONLY WAY?" her cries
echoed off the glass of the window. She pounded on the thick glass with
both fists, hard unyielding blows on the shiny surface. She began to
curse, damning herself to every kind of hell that ever existed.
I remained a silent witness in the room, just watching. /If she is a
merciless killer, she is a damn lousy one/ Do I feel better now? Knowing
of her regret? She turns and faces me. I see the gleam in her eye,
slightly startled that I was observing her. She looked at me for the
longest moment. But it was as if she wasn't looking AT me, but at
someone else. Someone that didn't exist in this room. Who does she see?
*****
Max
He is looking at me but I don't see him. I can't face him now. I already
know what he would say.
I heard him talking to Bling. I have super hearing remember Logan, did
you think by keeping your damn voice low that I wouldn't pick up the
conversation? I spy that still opened file on his coffee table. Did you
think I wouldn't notice? Those livid, colorful images capturing that
gruesome day, returning from the kill. Ben was right. I see him in my
dreams. Hear each of his dying breaths in my ears during the long hours
of night. Thankfully I don't sleep much or I would have gone utterly
insane reliving that even for the short amount of time I closed my eyes.
Now I know I will dream not only about him, but about Ben.
I will never forget that look of surprise that will remain on his face
for an eternity. My dreams will torment me, I know they will. WHY? I
prowl to the middle of the room unaware if I had even spoken that last
question aloud. But I am beyond caring what I say at this point. I am
wired with emotions I have tried all the fucking day to repress. Because
that's who I am. That's what I was taught. Manticore soldiers weren't
allowed to have moments of weakness like everyone else. It wasn't in our
genetic makeup.
But they have snuck up on me, like a counter attack on my senses. My
head is spinning with all the events of the day. /"Please stay with me,
don't let them take me."/ /"I can't."/ /"Please! you know what they do
to ones like me. They'll put me back there."/ /"Tell me about the Good
Place."/ He smiled then, a childlike look that I remember from our
youth. /"The place where no one gets hurt."/ /"Where there are no
punishments.."/ I reached around then and gripped his neck, feeling the
second vertebrae under my hand...
*****
Logan
"BEN!" His name is a scream on her lips. I sit there in stunned silence.
I have never heard such a heart rendering cry in all my life. "WHY DID
YOU HAVE TO DO THIS?!" her chest is heaving from her outbursts. She is
as tightly wound as a spring, pacing about my living room like a caged
tiger, restlessly, unceasingly.
She suddenly stops in her actions, and whips her head upwards to the
ceiling. "YOU SAID THAT YOU WOULD SAVE US! HE BELIEVED IN YOU!" "WHY
DIDN'T YOU HELP HIM? The sounds of a choked sod reaches my ears, and I
am stunned to see tears fall from her eyes.
That one she shed this morning when she thought Ben had died was nothing
in comparison to these. "Why didn't you stop me from killing him?" the
words were just a whisper, like someone had suddenly turned down the
volume on a radio.
Her eyes still do not register me, as she slides down to her knees onto
my hardwood floor. She tucks her legs up under her chin and I hear again
the sobbing, only these have a hysterical tone to them, a gut wrenching
sound of emotion. I wheel myself over to where she was at, hugging her
knees to her like they were a lifeline.
One hand reaches out to touch her shoulder.
"Don't you fucking touch me!" her outburst is so harsh that I pull back.
She turns her tear streaked face to me, and I had to repress a gasp at
the brutal agony I see written there. "I do not deserve it. I am
murderer. I killed my brother.." her words trail off towards the end
into more tears. She buries her head in her knees again. I grasp her
torso from behind, to pull her up towards me. She fights me for every
movement. Trying to break out of the grip I had on her.
"LET ME GO! I DESERVE TO STAY WHERE I LIE!" She lashes out with arms and
legs, but to no avail. The strain of her emotions coupled with my
recently acquired upper body strength has given me the better hand. I
grasp her wrists and turn her to face me. She keeps turning away, so I
let go of her wrists and firmly hold her head in my hands.
"Why are you doing this?" She asks, addressing me fully for the first
time in almost an hour. "I am a killer, a trained weapon. I was meant to
murder coldly, without feeling or remorse." I felt my heart constrict
then at the mention of the words that Lydeker had used to describe her
to me earlier. All my harsh reprimanding thoughts now sounded like utter
croaks of shit in light of her condoning her own self for what she did.
"NO!" I shake her head a little harder then I meant too because she
tries to pull back, actually thinking I was challenging her. I take a
stronger grip on each cheek, looking straight into her eyes. "You are
not cold or unfeeling Max. You never were. You did what you had to do."
"I killed him Logan." she said tears leaking out of her eyes. "I snapped
his neck like it was pencil. I fucking *murdered* my brother with my own
hands." During her entire mantra she hadn't fought at me anymore. Her
body shook in the aftermath of her emotion.
"Oh god Ben, Why did you have to be right? Why did you do this for me?"
she says this part quieter and falls forward, as if her body no longer
possessed the strength to keep her vertical.
Her face is buried in the cotton of my sweater. I allow it to remain
there, keeping her position by placing a hand behind her neck.
I feel her shudder slightly at my touch, as if she was not worthy of the
contact. But, she has no strength left so she does not pull away.
*****
Max
I feel like I'm falling. Descending into hell, if I believed there was
such a place. Where I feel I am going might as well be that biblical
stereotype of fire and brimstone. A place of eternal damnation,
somewhere dark where the voices of those we have killed haunts us for
eternity. Has it all come down to this? After ten long years of working,
rebuilding, trying to make something of the shit filled life I had been
born into had I come back to where I began?
Maybe Lydeker knew it all along. That we could never run from what we
are, never escape what we were created to be. Maybe it was just a test,
like all those others we had to undergo. If that is the case, then I
passed. I can feel Logan's presence all around me. Even after everything
I did he still treats me as human. He holds me close to his warmth with
strong arms, trying to offer me something. Comfort? Maybe he is
indulging his own senses again and doing this out of pity for me. I
sincerely hope it isn't the latter. I will take his anger, his distance,
but I cannot bare his pity.
I do not want you to feel sorry for me Logan. To look at me like a lost,
runaway, genetically supped up waf that was dropped on your doorstep. I
don't do pity parties. I need you to help me. To keep me from plunging
head long into the abyss that I find staring me in the face at present.
I want you to grab my hand before I am disemboweled against the jagged
edges of my own demons, pulling me out of the haunting shadows and back
into the light. But I want you to do it because you want to, not because
you feel bad for me, and where I have found myself.
If this was your goal when you first moved to embrace me, then I don't
want any part of it. I have fought my battles alone for a long time, and
can say I have done pretty well at it. I don't need someone on the
sidelines waiting to coddle me, and promise me eternal protection he can
never provide. I need someone to fight *with* me. To bleed with me, to
cry with me. That is who I need right now. Is that what your are trying
for Logan?
*****
Logan
She has cried more tonight then I have ever seen her do in all the
months I have known her. Her hot, wet tears have left a damp spot on the
cashmere of my sweater. Her hysterical sobbing had finally let up about
ten minutes ago. But it was due more to the fact of physical exhaustion
then of her own free choice.
I stroke her back in gentle circles, feeling her limbs loosen a little
from their tightness as time progresses. Her breathing still comes in
ragged hitches, but it is slower now, sluggish and deep. I do not know
if she has fallen asleep or merely reached a place where she has found
some semblance of peace. But either way I decide not to disturb her with
words. This woman had to walk through hell today and take a good long
look at the grotesquness of it.
She deserves, no NEEDS a break from the world right now. There will be
time for words later. Right now I am content with holding her in my
arms. These moments are few and far between, so this action is healing
for both her and me. When it became obvious that she was, in fact,
asleep I had moved us both to the couch, and gently placed her limp
figure in the cradle of my lap. She did not stir at all during my
actions, and I was grateful of that, not knowing what would have
happened if she had spoken.
Words can be a very useful tool. They can be used to color the world in
bright and wondrous description. But they can also reveal the horrible
ugly truths that we are all terrified to admit. How in the blink of an
eye what we have tried to escape our whole lives comes back to haunt us
at full force. Or how they can transform our thoughts, making us
susceptible to fear, to doubt, judgment and unmerciful analyiziation.
They are the necessary evil.
Actions speak louder then words. This cliche is old, but has never been
more true then now, on this rainy night. No amount of speech, either
colorful description, or down right dirty realism could ever be enough
for her tonight. She needs more then that, more then just a spewing
forth of sweet nothings and promises that I cannot keep for her. She
need something physical, something she could reach out and touch. I only
wish I knew what it was.
*****
Max
He is there, making shadow puppets on the wall of our barrack. Giggles
are not heard. Even as children we were to hard for that. But his
playfulness did emit smiles from us. Tinga whistles in an imitation of
osprey, giving vocals to Ben's shadow. Jondy pokes at me and whispers
how Zack sounds like that at training. Zack overhears and whispers back
that ospreys are birds of prey, cunning, quick, and having traits like
theirs is nothing to be made fun of.
Syl snickers and tells him that he'd better be careful then 'cause most
of us have cat genes in us and we might turn on him. Tinga eavesdropped
on him the whole time and hissed at Zack in a playful show of Syl's
warning. Ben's hands suddenly lowered and he was on the floor. Our mood
had changed as we watched him convulse.
"They're going to take him again Maxi." Jondy says to me. The doors open
then. Routine barrack check. We sprint off the floor and each stand by
our own cot in a strict stance of attention. All except Ben, he is still
lying there, where he fell. The guards enter then and grasp Ben by his
arms, dragging him out, his feet trailing on the floor.
"Please.." he was heard to say. "Don't take me back there.." "Don't let
them take me." I am drawn foreword in time. Gone is the barrack walls
and guards. There is leafy vegetation surrounding us, and in the
distance the sounds of the jeeps approaching. Gone is the shaved head of
Ben's youth. Now his long brown locks are damp on his forehead as he
pants at the pain in his leg. His high boyish voice had been replaced by
a deep one of that of a man. A dying man, clutching desperatly at his
sister, pleading for her to stay.
"Tell me about the Good Place." gone is the childish wonder of a nine
year old girl. Instead it is replaced with the voice of a woman who
reaches beyond the tangled mass of hair and grasps his neck, twisting in
one smooth flowing motion...
*****
Logan
Her breathing suddenly becomes erratic. A raspy sound in her chest. She
clutches at air, never waking, grabbing at something unseen. "Please god
no..what have I done?" these words tumble out of her lips, laced with
pain and sorrow. Her hand still continues to reach for something,
anything. I take it, placing it in my own. I cover her smaller hand with
mine, and kiss her fingers.
A simple action, but something she responds to. Her breathing begins to
even slightly, and the fast paced movements of her eyes under their lids
began to ebb away. Breaths finally return to normal and a whimper
escapes her lips.
"I love you Ben, I need you.." tears began anew at whatever she is
seeing in her dream induced world. "Wait for me..at the Good Place.."
her words drift off into nothing and she fall silent again. She sounded
so sad..so lost. It was hard for me to imagine Max as anything but a
tough, strong, independent woman. But she looked so small lying in my
lap, assaulted by nightmares from her past.
I see before me not the woman I know and have come to love, but the
child she once was. A girl born into a life that even the most harshest
of parents would never wish upon their children. /"You may think you
know her, but you have no IDEA what she is capable of."/ But I do
Lydeker, you filthy piece of shit, I DO know her. I know how she likes
to pop wheelies on her bike because she enjoys the feel of the wind in
her hair. I know she has a fetish for chocolate, so I keep some handy
for her visits. I know she loves children and babies, I see how she
talks to the little boy who lives in her building. I know her heart and
her mind, her dreams, things that make her human. Things you never
bothered to learn or know, or instill. But she acquired them, in spite
of you.
And now I see the girl of her past. But it doesn't make me afraid of
her. It makes me sad to see the pain and hear the cries of memories that
are old, but are still very fresh. And all I can do is sit her and touch
her, stroke her and pray that it is enough. There is a small rustle of
fabric as Bling places the afghan that was resting on the back of the
couch over her still figure. Another act of voiceless communication.
I pull it up to her shoulders, and she responds to it's warmth,
cacooning it closer to her body.
Had she been cold this whole time? How could I have not noticed? I knew
the answer to that last question. My mind was elsewhere, caught up in
events that I couldn't even begin to understand. Maybe that's why she
avoided telling me all this time, she knew what my reaction would be.
How I would see the cruelties she committed in her past, but forget that
she had been in a place where the line between her and hell was a razor
thin one.
Who am I to judge her actions? That question has passed through my mind
countless times on this cold and rainy night. Do I see myself as so high
that I now claim right to pass judgment on the ones who faced death
everyday? And who suffered unspeakable horrors, much worse then the ones
they committed? I finally realize why she looked at me the first time,
why her eyes looked with uncertainty into my own. She saw right through
my stotic expression, right into the dark and unmerciful thoughts I
harbored in the recesses of my brain.
Did I actually believe that I could keep something as deep as those
brutal musings a secret from her? What if I had confronted her with
those grizzly photographs? What then? Despite Lydeker's remarks about
her ruthlessness and hunger for the hunt and taste of blood, I know now
that it would have been one blow too many for her soul tonight. She has
already lost her brother, being reminded of her past in bright vibrant
color would not help her self recovery of the traumatic past few days.
My fingers cascade through her silky curls. I tuck loose strands behind
her ears and away from her face. I do not know if she can feel my
movements. I read somewhere that that a loving touch can transcend
through the unconscious. I hope that is true. I am sorry Max, my
stunning angel. Sorry for the harshness and doubting that I have thought
of you tonight. You did not ask for that world, you were born into it.
You cannot help what you were created to be.
And I have no right to judge someone for walking through the fires of
hell and coming out with burns, with scars and a charred past. If we are
the people that we are because of the experiences in our lives, then
you, my love, are a survivor. And I'm sorry it took me this long to
realize that. I move my hands to her forehead and stroke it gently. I
want her to know that I am here, to stay as long as needed.
Can you feel that Max? Can you feel me touching you?
*****
Max
My vision has changed again. Back to the prisoner. I dug into his flesh
with my nails and my teeth. His blood was hot in my mouth, and it
dribbled down my chin. He stops breathing and we cease our attack. Like
hunting wolves we know when the kill is over. The adrenaline rushes in
our veins and I wipe the bits of blood and flesh on the dried leaves of
the forest floor. We heap his carcass over and position it so that the
predatory animals here will have easy access to the supple flesh of the
belly.
The drill sergeant comes out and orders us back to the barracks. We
abandon our conquest to follow orders. As we began the march back the
bright light of a flash shines in our faces, once. twice. I spit the
blood from my mouth to rid it of it's rancid taste, but try as I might I
cannot get the feeling of the hot sticky blood to come off my hands. I
feel them drowning in crimson, and can feel the hideous heat spread over
my body.
*****
Logan
I touch her forehead again, worriedly. It feels too warm. Despite the
heat radiating off her, she is shivering like she does when she has a
seizure. I hear myself call to Bling to bring a thermometer and a wet
rag. He complies in record time. I place the rag atop her forehead while
I wait for the thermometer to beep. The reading is alarming, "102."
Bling brings over a bowl of water and I sponge the cold liquid over her
face and neck. I curse myself for being wrapped up in my self doubt and
not realizing of her condition.
The water mingles with the sweat that now appears on her skin. Her hair
is damp where it meets her scalp. Bling is worried as well, because he
brings the extra bottle of her meds that I have in case a seizure were
to be brought on by her high temperature. I dab at her face with the
cloth again before replacing it on her head. I kiss her. "I'm sorry Max,
please be okay I need you." For all my struggles to say these words, the
actual speaking of them is so simple.
I hold her fever stricken body closer to me, wanting so much to give her
my strength to see her through this.
*****
Max
"I need you." Those words again. But not spoken by Ben. I am back in the
forest again, in that same clearing. And I am alone. So where did that
sound come from?
There are no jeeps approaching this time. I crouch in the undergrowth,
looking for his body, but it is not there. That phrase, I hear it again.
Who keeps saying that?
Something dark is approaching me. Not an animal, but a person. I stand
to see who it is. He is coming closer, dressed entirely in black, only
the blue of his eyes is set apart from the dark clothing.
Logan? How did he come here? He comes to a stop to stand before me.
"What are you doing here? How did you get in my dream?" I hear myself
ask. Even in a dream world he is handsome. Dressed in those clothes, he
could have been one of us. But, that would mean he would be no better
then we are, and I do not ever wish that upon him.
"Because you needed me to help you." he responds looking right into my
eyes. "And because I *want* to help you."
"It's to late" I respond harshly "He's dead. And nothing can take back
what I did. Especially not anything that isn't real."
"It doesn't have to be real." he reaches up a hand to touch my face "It
just has to be true." Sapphire iris bore into mine. "You have fought the
battle for a long time Max. But the stakes are becoming higher, you can
no longer fight it alone."
"I have fought that way all my-" his finger stills my words.
"I didn't say you couldn't fight, you just need someone to help you. And
I want to help."
I look deeper into his eyes, if that were even possible. This part of
Logan's soul that has entered my dream has answered my question. He
wanted to fight *with* me, not for me. "You may find out things about me
that you don't like."
"Scars." he begins "They are not who you are Max. They show the courage
of someone who walked through the fire and came out alive. Burned, but
alive."
"And you are willing to go through that again, should it come to that?"
He nods, his eyes never breaking their contact from mine.
"Why?" I question.
"Because I want to." I touch my vision
"Thank you." A soft rain begins to fall, showering the forest with
blessed coolness.
*****
Logan
I open my eyes because of the persistent shaking on my shoulder. I clear
away the visions of that dream and come fully awake. I identified the
shaking as Bling's arm. He tells me that her fever broke a few minutes
ago. I gaze down at her and come alive with relief. She is glistening
with sweat. The body's wondrous homeostasis mechanism, cooling the
inferno within her.
Another temperature reading confirms my relief. "99.5" I wipe the sweat
away from her face with the rag.
She stirs then "Logan?" "Right here." my voice reassures above her ear.
She tells me thank you for helping her. How the soldier side appreciates
my wanting to be a counterpart for her, not just an observer. And more
importantly about how the human side reveled in the knowledge of doing
it because I wanted to.
I begin to suspect we must have had the same dream. When I couldn't find
the words to say what I had to, my subconscious found it for me. And I
am grateful for it. For saying everything I was afraid to say. I hover
above her ear again "I'm sorry." Some things needed to be said out loud.
A smile, the first one in a long time tugs gently at her lips. She
understands.
*****
Max
I reach up and touch his face, just like in my dream, only this is real.
I know what he apologized for, even if he couldn't say the words. He
takes my hand in his own. We communicate with our eyes. The storm has
ended, and a few rays of sun peak through the clouds. I will soon have
to get up, face the world and reality again.
I think I'll pay a visit to the father. To see how he is, and to seek
his council. I will do all this soon, but right now, this is where I
should be.
*****
Logan
She has not won the war yet. It may take a long time before she even
reaches that point, but I will fight with her for every step. And one
day that time will come.
*****
End
This was written before the season finale, when I was blissfully unaware
of all the bumps in the road. Cameron is a big meanie for leaving us
hanging like this all summer. But that's why God invented fan fic:) I'd
love feeback on this.