"Float Like A Butterfly"
Chapter 15: Goodbye to You
by: Mochaije

Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Angel or its characters. Other than that, the story and characters are mine.
Summary: Max has healed up, but the world is still a broken place.
Rating: PG 13
A/N: It gets a little bit smutty about halfway through, but nothing you wouldn't see on the actual show. :) Also, I accidently uploaded chapter 14 instead of this! Whoops!

Max's POV

Tap, tap, tap go the keys on my laptop. Psych papers are a real bitch to do in only one night, but when that's all you've got, that's all you've got. Softly, I close up my notebook computer and lie back on my bed. The two-bedroom I share with Asha is cozy and comfy, with her Ikea-flavoured taste in furniture practically coating the apartment. Much to her discontent, I painted my own room crimson red and not white, put in cheap Pergo flooring instead of her incredibly short, library-esque carpet that covers the other floors. I kept with the light-coloured wooden shelves, though, because it went with the crimson and Pergo. But other than that, my room is dark, like my mood.

I remember that night hazily, almost a year ago. Hacking into Logan's computer, then having him stab me in the back--literally. I remember waking up at the hospital with Scott's overjoyed, smiling face looking at my own, then everyone except Logan whisking me away to a truck they'd stolen. Ben had been the one to kill Logan, or so they told me. Scott told me the truth, though; Asha did it. I avoided them both for two weeks. She just went to the sewer and slit his throat. She doesn't know that I know.

I was depressed for almost two months following that. I'd been betrayed in a severe way by the man I'd loved and trusted and the one I currently did, stabbed, ripped out of the city and country I'd called home for so long, torn from my friends. Once we'd settled into Montreal for good however, I forced myself out of being depressed, not just for me, but also for Scott. It hurt him horribly that I was so unhappy; I was unwilling to socialise, go out, do anything. Fuck, I avoided him for almost two weeks--again.

I went to Logan's penthouse a week or so after we'd decided to stay in Montreal. It was untouched and creepy; the smiling man who had sat at the computer would never smile again, I'd never hear his voice, feel his touch. He'd never again save the world. At that moment, it didn't matter that he'd helped in my near-death twice. I understood that he kept himself alive, put me in danger, whisked me out of it without Manticore knowing who it was. I felt so hoirrble for not being awake, being the sensible one that would figure out a way for Logan to stay alive. I sat on the floor for hours, wondering what he was thinking when--if--he found out that I knew that he was ruining my life.

I'd take a breath and burst into tears when I realized Logan would never take in another gasp of air, that he bled to death in a sewer from a two-inch cut in his neck, hands tied behind his back. I'd sit at the computer and stare at the blood stain in the carpet that I'd left, the place where we'd shared our first actual kiss all those nights ago. I knew by then that he'd been with Asha at the time, but that didn't matter. I did love him, before we broke up. And I still cared about him after that. He'd been my best friend for so long, and it took a long time for the fact that he was a bad person to sink in. It still hasn't really hit me yet.

The phone rang while I was over there; it was his cousin Bitsy, wondering if anything had happened to Logan, because he hadn't been home in two months. I bit my tongue and asked who Logan was--said that I lived there alone. She said goodbye and hung up. It hurt that his family still didn't know, but I couldn't bring myself to tell them. I sit back up, yawn softly, and pop my laptop back open as Asha bursts into the room.

Asha's POV

Max's curly-haired head flicks up when I open her door. Every time I see her face, I feel horrible about lying to her about who killed Logan. I can still feel the cold knife in my wand, swiping across his neck... I feel sick every time I think about it. Slitting his throat and leaving him there to bleed to death. It was a pretty superficial slit, nothing that couldn't be healed if the right person got there quick enough. Every day, I wonder if he's still out there somewhere. Max asks what I want and I snap out of my daze.

"Artificial or real tree?" I ask, completely forgetting that I was here to tell her the truth about Logan. She gives me a look and goes back to tip-tapping away on her laptop.

"I don't celebrate Christmas," she mutters, tucking a raven curl behind her ear and out of her face. "And I doubt that's why you took the time to talk to me. Hurry up, I'm in a pissy mood."

I lean against the doorframe. "No shit. I gotta tell you about something."

"Okay, shoot," she says, slamming the laptop shut and looking at me intently, giving me her full attention. I walk over to the end of her bed and sit on the edge of it, biting my lip, taking a deep breath and sighing it out. We're both silent for a couple of minutes, until she speaks. "Look, I've got a psych paper due tomorrow at nine in the a.m., make this snappy."

"I killed Logan," I blurt out. "But I figured that Ben was leaving and the others thought it would be okay if I pinned it on him." Max suddenly looks much more sour, about to slap me. I can't believe I just did that. We've never been best friends; we're pretty much roommates who greet each other ever so often. I bet she dislikes me even more now.

"I know," she says evenly. "You should've told me in the first place. Are you going out tonight?" I nod and leave, not sure what else to say.

Max's POV

Asha leaves then. Fuck, she should've told me. Didn't she realize that's why I avoided her for so long and still try not to talk to her? I open my laptop back up and the front door opens, so I creep out of the room, peeking around the corner. Scott flashes me a smile and I relax, kissing him hello.

"Asha's not around, is she?" He asks, setting down a medium-sized, festive-looking bag. Crap, I forgot to get him something... Seeing as we're Manticore kids, we don't techincally have birthdays, so we get to skip giving each other gifts then. But Christmas is something else. Something I didn't get to celebrate last year. Every time I think about that, I get a sharp pain in my back. I shake my head at him in response and lead him into the kitchen.

"So, Asha told me that she killed Logan," I say, trying to make conversation. I don't feel like talking about it any more; the subject is so tired now.

"'Bout time," he tells me easily, getting a can of Spaghettio's out of the cupboard. That was the thing about Logan, when he got something out of the cupboard, he didn't microwave it... Damn, I'm going to be thinking about him all week now. Stupid Asha. "Spaghettio's?"

"Hell yeah!" I say enthusiastically, grabbing myself a can and shoving it in the under-cupboard opener, flicking the small machine on. I take the can off and Scott swings his own can into the opener, as if we've done this a million times. Oh wait, we have. I grab a bowl and pop open the microwave.

"So, who's the bag for?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.

The can opener jams and spews spaghetti sauce on Scott's face. I turn around, giggling as he wipes it off. "It's for you. Not 'til Christmas, though."

"Aiight." I toss another glance over my shoulder. "Can't I have it now?" He smiles and nods, then goes into the other room for a moment and returns with... Nothing. "Where is it?" I ask. He pulls a small box out of his pocket and the world suddenly goes slow-mo. He sure as hell isn't giving me a birthstone ring. I don't have a birthday. Promise ring? I hope. Please, don't let it be a...

"Max," he says, taking my hand, a lone spaghettio noodle staring at me comically from his cheek, popping open the box. The ring... Oh my God, the ring. Beautiful in it's simplicity is the best phrase I can think of to describe it. A single cunk of diamond, not raised too much over it's slim, white-gold band. I still do a lot of ass-kicking, he probably wouldn't want it to snag or break. "I am seriously about to piss myself, I... Max Guevara, will you marry me?"

I wrap my arms around him, sharing a brief kiss and pulling away about an inch. "I will," I smile broadly.

"Thank God," he returns my stupid, toothy grin and kisses me. "Asha gonna be around tonight?"

"Hell no," I grin slyly. He slips the ring onto my left ring finger, our lips meeting again. Scott's mouth moves to my neck and I let out a small moan, almost not hearing the distinct noise that someone makes when they're about to open your apartment door. "There's someone outside," I moan, hands travelling to take off his shirt. Mmmm, he has the nicest abs... His slightly cold hands go up my shirt, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Who cares," Scott says, going back to kissing me on the mouth. We break apart only to take off his shirt and he realizes my own is a button-up, casual blouse with a camisole underneath and just undoes it. The door opens and we pull apart, him throwing his shirt back on and me buttoning myself up. I see the shocked expression on Scott's face and whirl.

"Asha," I call, running a hand through my hair and walking into the living room. She hangs up her coat lazily, the expression on her face one of pure joy.

"I got promoted," she says giddily. "They want me in Miami by New Year's Day. Isn't that great? I'm going to be lead supervisor at one of the automotive plantes there!"

"That's great!" My enthusiasm is faked, but Scott, her, and I share a big group hug. "So when are you moving out?"

"Tomorrow! Sorry I couldn't be around for Christmas and all..."

"Actually, that works out really well, 'cause... Max, you wanna tell her?" I shake my head, encouraging him to go on. "We're getting married," he smiles, putting an arm around me. I grin goofily at Asha and the happiness is pretty much mutual. Marriage...

"That's awesome. I'm gonna go to bed." And she does just that, pretty much ruining my plans for the evening. Me and Scott sit on the couch instead, bored. The TV flicks on at my mental will and we snuggle a bit. Eleven o'clock news. How exciting. I tingle at Scott's touch, enjoying just being near him, safe in his arms.

"Our top story tonight... A brand new exposition at Museum on the Bay, the most elite museum in the entirety of Seattle to most. Aptly named 'U-neek 22', it's this year's version of unique items you actually want to see: Home run balls, outfits worn by famed pop idols of the past forty years, and an exquisite red dress that was donated to the museum by a Logan Cale approximately three months ago." Scott and I both stiffen at Logan's name.

"I'm going to have to pay a visit to the Bay," I tell him, getting up. He asks me what I'm going to do and I've got his answer ready before he had the chance to blink.

"He must be a Friend of the museum... A donator. Gotta pull his file and look this 'Logan Cale' up."

"No, you don't," Scott tells me, gently pulling me back down to the couch. "There must be a million Logan Cales in the world."

"Better safe than dead. I'll call you." I blow him a kiss, grab my coat and keys and head for the Museum on the Bay.