They were thirty minutes past the border when the sun peaked in the sky. They would have been in Canada six hours ago had they not given such a wide birth to the newly formed Manticore base. That detour alone added two hours to their trip, and the checkpoints and sector police were no help either.
Finally, on this deserted highway, Zack decided it was safe to gas up and stop for some nourishment. Even without an enhanced olfactory sense, Zack and Max could smell the diner down the way. The sign above the door read "Momma's Place" and adjacent to that was the gas station.
"I'll fill up the bikes, you guys order some food. Get me whatever you're getting," Zack said as they parked their bikes next to a pump. Raven jumped off of Zack's bike, stretched a bit and followed Max to the diner.
When they got there a plump waitress, with the name Greta stitched onto her light blue uniform, welcomed them and sat them at a secluded booth by the window, placing well-used menus before each of them.
"Would you ladies like a drink to start you off?"
"I'll grab an iced tea please," Max said and the lady scribbled it down on a notepad. They both turned to Raven, waiting. Raven was confused for a moment. She had rarely been given a choice of what to ingest both inside and out of Manticore. It was always bottled water or an enriched formula that Manticore had supplied. Was it even safe for her to try anything else? If it was safe for Max it would probably do her no harm.
"I'll have an iced tea as well," Raven said hesitantly, "please."
Max smiled at Raven's order. She found herself remembering Manticore, and all that they had been denied. They went without such simple pleasures as juice, and instead had to eat specially formulated gruel and set amounts of hideous tasting liquids, though they had no way of knowing how repulsive it was, having tasted nothing else.
"Sure, darlin', and for your third party?"
"He'll probably take water, so could we get a pitcher of water and three glasses?"
"No problem. Two iced teas and water," Greta said, confirming orally what had been asked of her, "I'll be right back to take your order."
When Greta was out of earshot Max smiled at Raven.
"How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, it's the way I was made." Raven answered nonchalantly, intensely studying the menu since she had a feeling she would have to order her own meal as well.
These words from Raven's lips once again tugged the corner of Max's mouth up into a crooked half smile. This girl was more and more reminding her of herself. She could recall a time when she had said almost those exact words to Logan. Logan… the smile quickly fell from her face. But she would not let another tear drop from her brown eyes, it was time she moved on. The wound would not heal if she dwelt upon it.
"Are you okay?" Raven asked. Max thought Raven may have spied her sad expression and knew the source, but the girl still had her head buried in the menu.
"Yeah. I'm all good."
"Because I smelt back on the highway that someone was having another seizure and I could feel it wasn't Zack, so I concluded it must have been you."
"Oh that, it wasn't too rough and I have my tryptophan."
Raven lifted her head from the menu now, confusion filling those blue grey eyes, almost exact replicas of her sires. "Why is it that you can heal your seizures with a few pills and Zack has to down a whole bottle? I thought you were all genetically flawed in the same manner."
Max didn't like where this conversation could lead too, but there was no reason not to tell her. "My tremors have also been steadily increasing in intensity. Zack was born around two years before myself so his seizures are probably further on in their concentration. From what I've gathered, they will keep increasing, and in the end," she shifted in her seat, "we may develop some sort of rapid aging syndrome."
"Oh," was all Raven had to say to that. By the way Max moved about in her seat it was obvious that she was uncomfortable talking about her own mortality. She didn't want to pry any further and an awkward silence ensued. After a minute of looking through the menus Max timidly broke the silence.
"So, how are you liking it?"
"This place is a dump."
"No," Max smiled at the misunderstanding, "I meant you're freedom. Not having to answer to any higher ups. No more following orders."
"Yeah," Raven agreed, though really she still had no idea what this elusive freedom was. If that was how Max defined freedom she had experienced that several times already when in deep ops with minimal contact with her C.O., minimal commands to execute. Just an objective to be completed by any means she saw fit. That couldn't be what freedom was, was it? Still filled with doubt Raven continued, saying what she knew Max would want to hear, "I haven't been out very long and already it seems there is a huge burden off my back. It's as though I don't have someone staring over my shoulder all the time."
"Exactly," Max's face lit up, remembering her first weeks of liberty. They may have been hard, but in the end they were worth it.
"Hey did you order yet?" Zack asked a pack thrown over his shoulder, eyeing the washrooms in the back.
"No, how does the Big Momma's brunch sound?" Max asked pointing to the first item she saw on the menu.
"Sure," Zack answered absentmindedly, "I'll be back." For all he heard, Max could have said goat brain on rye with live octopus on the side, and he would have agreed to it. It was obvious this mind was on other things as he left for the back corner of the diner. They both watched his back until he was finally out of sight when they resumed their conversation.
"How did you handle the first days of freedom? I mean, obviously you didn't have a group of X-4's to hang out with. You were on your own weren't you?"
"Yeah," Max thought back to the days following the escape. "It was pretty tough, having to find shelter in caves in the woods before I finally reached a city. And even then, I called many a cardboard box my home, stealing clothes from clotheslines, breaking and entering to get some food, having to leave every few days, cause, well, you now, enemy territory."
Raven nodded her head, as she listened intently trying to understand.
"Sometimes I began to wonder why I even left in the first place. But then again it wasn't hard to remember."
"So why did you leave then? I know why Zack left, and you all just follow him since he said so?"
"We left because we were lab rats. They would break our bones just to see how quickly we would heal. They would kill us at any sign of a flaw for study and research. It was a matter of survival."
Raven considered this. "So then you would return when you develop the syndrome you spoke of earlier?"
"If I developed r.a.s. I would rather take my chances out here then return to that hell hole. Death would be a sweet release if it meant not going back there."
"But you just said it was a matter of survi-"
Max cut her off, not liking how Raven was sounding so doubtful of the benefits of freedom. "That among many things."
Again there was another awkward pause.
"There was one more thing I have been meaning to ask you."
Max was more wary this time, but waited as Raven formed the question in her mind.
"If freedom is so great, why do you cry?"
At this question memories of her friends and the life she lead in Seattle came to mind and an image of Logan forced its way to the top of her thoughts. She could almost hear her heart scream deep in her chest. But she held herself in check, she could grieve for her losses on her own time. At least there was some comfort in knowing that she could answer her daughter's simple question, "It isn't a matter of crying but the choice to cry without having to worry about being beaten down for showing such a weakness."
"Then why would you want cry? It is only over a few humans."
The way Raven said 'humans' made Max feel, for the first time in all her freedom, that she wasn't human at all. For all those years since the escape she knew she was revved up, but she still felt human. The tone Raven spoke with made it sound like she thought herself and Max to be a superior species, not even of the human race, and it was this that frightened Max. She would have to change Raven's view.
"What is joy without suffering?"
Raven nodded. It made sense. But she could see how flustered her comment made Max. Wasn't it true though? They weren't human, they were more, and to deny that would be a crime to one's self. Like the genius that shriveled away cleaning dishes at a restaurant, it would be such a waste.
"I gotta go freshen up," Max said, standing to leave, "If Greta comes by could you get me the strawberry pancakes, and get the brunch for Zack, and order something good for yourself."
"Sure." Raven easily committed the order to memory.
*****
Zack stood in the single washroom, leaning over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. What was happening to him? He was craving Logan's medicine and he hadn't even gotten down from the high of his last shot. Every part of his body was still fully his to control, his strength still at levels three times his peak, and yet the liquid called to him like a siryn's sweet song.
In his pocket he could feel the small vile, and enclosing it in his grip he pulled it out. It was so small that it was fully hidden within his fist. His fingers gripped as though their lives depended on it and he found himself having to force his hand open to view the small bottle. With his other hand he reached into his other pocket, withdrawing only the tourniquet. Throwing that in the sink he delved his hand once again into his pocket, searching for the needle.
'No!' his mind cried. Nothing would be as potent as when he shot it straight into his blood stream. A sickened feeling waved over him: he had to find that needle. Shoving the vile back into his jacket, he double-checked his other pockets. Confirming it wasn't there, he turned on his bag like a hungry wolf eyeing its prey.
Reaching into its depths he felt his clothes, rolled and placed in the most compact way so as to achieve maximum storage use. When no hard cylindrical shape met his fingers he pulled out his clothes and threw them out of the way in desperation. Still no light of the plastic tube that held his syringe shined through. He finally resorted to shaking his bag upside down, spilling all of its contents onto the floor, then tossing it aside like a used hoar. Zack ignored the pain when he dropped to his knees. As he groped the pile of disheveled cloth, sprinkled with rations and other various supplies, he could feel the panic rise in his throat. Searching to no avail, he returned to his bag, meticulously opening and checking every pocket twice over, finding two which did not open, despite his earlier assault.
Forgetting his inborn strength, he nearly ripped one pocket clean off the bag in his frantic need to know its contents. After again finding no needle he pulled his hand back to find it was shaking.
'Oh shit, please no!' he mentally screamed at his hand. His tremors couldn't be coming back so soon. There was no way.
Finally, in the last pocket, success. The needle sat alone as if mocking him, telling him that he was an idiot for not remembering he had put it there. When he finally gripped the needle in his fist an eerie calm washed over him and he shook no more.
Again, he pulled out the small vile, and looked upon them together.
What was happening to him? He had to stop this. This was ridiculous. He looked around the restroom, the guts of his bag strewn about every which way, in stark contrast to their previous state.
Just then a knock at the door.
Zack froze in his kneeling position, not wanting to make a sound.
"Zack?" the voice was so familiar; he should have recognized it right away, but his mind was in much the same state as the room that surrounded him. "Zack? Are you in there?" It was Max.
"Uh, yeah," was all his brain could get his mouth to stay as it tried to collect itself into coherent thoughts.
"Well, are you almost done? When a girls gotta go…"
"Uh, yeah," he repeated, shoving both the needle and the vile into his right jacket pocket, "Where's Raven at?" As he spoke it finally dawned on him what he had done and he began to feverishly throw everything back into his bag in nor particular order or form, there was no time for that.
"She's still sitting at the table. I can see her from here, no worries," Max paused, obviously hearing the commotion beyond the door, "What's going on in there? Did you miss the bowl? 'Cause you'd think that with your kinda background-"
"Hold on," he called through the door, shoving the last of his supplies into his bag. Closing it tight, he took a deep breath to calm himself before reaching for the knob. When he opened the door she stood directly in front of him, a playfully impatient look on her face.
"What'd you do? Paint the Sistine chapel in there or something?" To emphasis her point she glanced up at the ceiling. But when she looked back down she received nothing but Zack's piercing glare. "Whoa, ease up big guy," she patted him on the chest, "I'm just joking with ya."
They switched spots, and Max closed the door behind her. Zack had inhaled another deep breath for good measure and took a step toward the table when Max opened the door again.
"Zack?" He turned around again, and in Max's hand lay the tourniquet, like a limp snake playing dead. "Is this yours?" The look on her face was that of concern. But knowing nothing of Zack's daily life, she knew she had no right to pry. Still, that little bit of concern made Zack cringe. He would have to hide this side of himself from her. Max could never know.
"Yeah," he quickly grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket, his knuckle brushing against the vile in the process. No, Max didn't need to know.
*****
Death was a tempting mistress and Logan flirted with her in his mind. Though the sun was already high in the sky, Logan couldn't bring himself to move from his bed. He had been laying there for the whole morning since Bling had the day off and was not there to drag him out of bed. Thoughts of sweet release drifted into his mind and seemed to find it a suitable home to take root. Slit wrists, asphyxiation, overdose, hanging, poison, gun shot, leaping from his penthouse window, the different ways to end his wretched life were more then he cared to count.
The only difference that made this morning worse then all the others was that today he woke up to the knowledge that Max was no longer in his life. Even the prospect of walking again could not lift him out of bed. Everything seemed to be balancing in his life. While gaining back something he had taken for granted for so long, he was losing another. He thought back to those days he would push her away without a second thought, opting, like a fool, to work on some Eyes Only project instead. The most beautiful woman was within his grasp and he was too much of an idiot to do anything about it.
Now he was paying for it. Truly he did not lose her, because he never had her in the first place. In his mind he replayed situations over and over again, where he should have held her tight, instead of pushing her away. But that was all it was, things he should have done and could have done, but never did. 'What if' scenarios shined through the darkness of his thoughts just to drag him down once again into the depths of despair that wrapped him in a warm, soothing shroud of death.
'No.'
It was only a slight whisper in his mind, that small part of him that refused to let go.
'No.'
The simple word, that held all the hope of life, seemed to echo inside his skull. Each time, gaining strength. With it clung the images of his friends and of the people he had saved. Among those was the night Max said good-bye. That final kiss they had shared held more passion then he had ever felt in all his life combined. It even overpowered the zeal with which he carried out his role as Seattle's watchdog. Killing himself held no purpose in the light of that memory. It was the coward's way out.
'No.'
The word had its own substance now, built on the foundation of those memories. Its presence alone banished all the darker thoughts that lurked in the corners of Logan's mind. He would live another day, he owed Max that much.
Finally gaining enough strength to move himself, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze. He had expected it to be a clumsy maneuver but his legs performed the act in a smooth motion. Now even thoughts of Max were pushed out of his mind as he stared in awe at his legs. Hesitantly, not wanting to push his luck, he tried to roll his right ankle, and to his amazement it responded to his command. It wasn't a full rotation but what did it matter? With continued treatments he would be walking as though he had never been chair bound before.
Now only his toes lay beyond his capabilities, but they weren't essential for walking. A ridiculous grin crept to his lips, his mind hysterical with joy to the point that he didn't even remember that just moments ago he was suicidal.
Slowly, he leaned forward and, for the first time in countless months, stood on his own two feet. It was nothing short of a miracle! His first steps were still wobbly, his legs needed to adjust to being used again. Soon, he would be whole again, and only then would he think himself as truly a man.
With small shuffling steps he made his way to his bathroom. That small feat alone, demanded such exertion that he had to lean against the doorframe to catch his breath. It was then he noticed something was different. The feeling started in the pit of his stomach, where your body was somehow aware of it, but your mind had not fully processed it.
Then it hit him. His medicine. It should have been on the counter, since that was where he last placed it. But where there should have stood a small bottle, now only half full of that life saving liquid, there was nothing. He tried to recall last night, when he took his last shot, but when he tried it was like a door had been opened and a flood of emotions fought to stream through. It took all his mental strength to bottle that all up and clean his thoughts for the question at hand.
With a few more unsteady steps he leaned against the counter for support and opened the medicine cabinet. Not there.
Bending down he opened the drawer that held his supply of needles. Not there.
Finally getting down on all fours to search to floor of his bathroom. Not there.
A feeling of despair threatened to wrap around him again. How much longer would he have to wait to walk again if he did not have his shots? Dr. Carr had said that the shots weren't necessary and were only used to speed up the process… But Logan wanted his legs back now, he had waited long enough. It was like ripping it down a highway at twice the limit only to slow to a crawl just before the destination.
He needed his shots and he could probably convince Dr. Marion to whip up another batch. Money wasn't a concern when it came to his legs. He would pay any price. So now only one question remained. What had happened to his treatments?
Then it dawned on him. Zack's voice echoed from a vague memory: 'You shouldn't leave your window open if you don't want visitors.'
Finally, on this deserted highway, Zack decided it was safe to gas up and stop for some nourishment. Even without an enhanced olfactory sense, Zack and Max could smell the diner down the way. The sign above the door read "Momma's Place" and adjacent to that was the gas station.
"I'll fill up the bikes, you guys order some food. Get me whatever you're getting," Zack said as they parked their bikes next to a pump. Raven jumped off of Zack's bike, stretched a bit and followed Max to the diner.
When they got there a plump waitress, with the name Greta stitched onto her light blue uniform, welcomed them and sat them at a secluded booth by the window, placing well-used menus before each of them.
"Would you ladies like a drink to start you off?"
"I'll grab an iced tea please," Max said and the lady scribbled it down on a notepad. They both turned to Raven, waiting. Raven was confused for a moment. She had rarely been given a choice of what to ingest both inside and out of Manticore. It was always bottled water or an enriched formula that Manticore had supplied. Was it even safe for her to try anything else? If it was safe for Max it would probably do her no harm.
"I'll have an iced tea as well," Raven said hesitantly, "please."
Max smiled at Raven's order. She found herself remembering Manticore, and all that they had been denied. They went without such simple pleasures as juice, and instead had to eat specially formulated gruel and set amounts of hideous tasting liquids, though they had no way of knowing how repulsive it was, having tasted nothing else.
"Sure, darlin', and for your third party?"
"He'll probably take water, so could we get a pitcher of water and three glasses?"
"No problem. Two iced teas and water," Greta said, confirming orally what had been asked of her, "I'll be right back to take your order."
When Greta was out of earshot Max smiled at Raven.
"How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, it's the way I was made." Raven answered nonchalantly, intensely studying the menu since she had a feeling she would have to order her own meal as well.
These words from Raven's lips once again tugged the corner of Max's mouth up into a crooked half smile. This girl was more and more reminding her of herself. She could recall a time when she had said almost those exact words to Logan. Logan… the smile quickly fell from her face. But she would not let another tear drop from her brown eyes, it was time she moved on. The wound would not heal if she dwelt upon it.
"Are you okay?" Raven asked. Max thought Raven may have spied her sad expression and knew the source, but the girl still had her head buried in the menu.
"Yeah. I'm all good."
"Because I smelt back on the highway that someone was having another seizure and I could feel it wasn't Zack, so I concluded it must have been you."
"Oh that, it wasn't too rough and I have my tryptophan."
Raven lifted her head from the menu now, confusion filling those blue grey eyes, almost exact replicas of her sires. "Why is it that you can heal your seizures with a few pills and Zack has to down a whole bottle? I thought you were all genetically flawed in the same manner."
Max didn't like where this conversation could lead too, but there was no reason not to tell her. "My tremors have also been steadily increasing in intensity. Zack was born around two years before myself so his seizures are probably further on in their concentration. From what I've gathered, they will keep increasing, and in the end," she shifted in her seat, "we may develop some sort of rapid aging syndrome."
"Oh," was all Raven had to say to that. By the way Max moved about in her seat it was obvious that she was uncomfortable talking about her own mortality. She didn't want to pry any further and an awkward silence ensued. After a minute of looking through the menus Max timidly broke the silence.
"So, how are you liking it?"
"This place is a dump."
"No," Max smiled at the misunderstanding, "I meant you're freedom. Not having to answer to any higher ups. No more following orders."
"Yeah," Raven agreed, though really she still had no idea what this elusive freedom was. If that was how Max defined freedom she had experienced that several times already when in deep ops with minimal contact with her C.O., minimal commands to execute. Just an objective to be completed by any means she saw fit. That couldn't be what freedom was, was it? Still filled with doubt Raven continued, saying what she knew Max would want to hear, "I haven't been out very long and already it seems there is a huge burden off my back. It's as though I don't have someone staring over my shoulder all the time."
"Exactly," Max's face lit up, remembering her first weeks of liberty. They may have been hard, but in the end they were worth it.
"Hey did you order yet?" Zack asked a pack thrown over his shoulder, eyeing the washrooms in the back.
"No, how does the Big Momma's brunch sound?" Max asked pointing to the first item she saw on the menu.
"Sure," Zack answered absentmindedly, "I'll be back." For all he heard, Max could have said goat brain on rye with live octopus on the side, and he would have agreed to it. It was obvious this mind was on other things as he left for the back corner of the diner. They both watched his back until he was finally out of sight when they resumed their conversation.
"How did you handle the first days of freedom? I mean, obviously you didn't have a group of X-4's to hang out with. You were on your own weren't you?"
"Yeah," Max thought back to the days following the escape. "It was pretty tough, having to find shelter in caves in the woods before I finally reached a city. And even then, I called many a cardboard box my home, stealing clothes from clotheslines, breaking and entering to get some food, having to leave every few days, cause, well, you now, enemy territory."
Raven nodded her head, as she listened intently trying to understand.
"Sometimes I began to wonder why I even left in the first place. But then again it wasn't hard to remember."
"So why did you leave then? I know why Zack left, and you all just follow him since he said so?"
"We left because we were lab rats. They would break our bones just to see how quickly we would heal. They would kill us at any sign of a flaw for study and research. It was a matter of survival."
Raven considered this. "So then you would return when you develop the syndrome you spoke of earlier?"
"If I developed r.a.s. I would rather take my chances out here then return to that hell hole. Death would be a sweet release if it meant not going back there."
"But you just said it was a matter of survi-"
Max cut her off, not liking how Raven was sounding so doubtful of the benefits of freedom. "That among many things."
Again there was another awkward pause.
"There was one more thing I have been meaning to ask you."
Max was more wary this time, but waited as Raven formed the question in her mind.
"If freedom is so great, why do you cry?"
At this question memories of her friends and the life she lead in Seattle came to mind and an image of Logan forced its way to the top of her thoughts. She could almost hear her heart scream deep in her chest. But she held herself in check, she could grieve for her losses on her own time. At least there was some comfort in knowing that she could answer her daughter's simple question, "It isn't a matter of crying but the choice to cry without having to worry about being beaten down for showing such a weakness."
"Then why would you want cry? It is only over a few humans."
The way Raven said 'humans' made Max feel, for the first time in all her freedom, that she wasn't human at all. For all those years since the escape she knew she was revved up, but she still felt human. The tone Raven spoke with made it sound like she thought herself and Max to be a superior species, not even of the human race, and it was this that frightened Max. She would have to change Raven's view.
"What is joy without suffering?"
Raven nodded. It made sense. But she could see how flustered her comment made Max. Wasn't it true though? They weren't human, they were more, and to deny that would be a crime to one's self. Like the genius that shriveled away cleaning dishes at a restaurant, it would be such a waste.
"I gotta go freshen up," Max said, standing to leave, "If Greta comes by could you get me the strawberry pancakes, and get the brunch for Zack, and order something good for yourself."
"Sure." Raven easily committed the order to memory.
*****
Zack stood in the single washroom, leaning over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. What was happening to him? He was craving Logan's medicine and he hadn't even gotten down from the high of his last shot. Every part of his body was still fully his to control, his strength still at levels three times his peak, and yet the liquid called to him like a siryn's sweet song.
In his pocket he could feel the small vile, and enclosing it in his grip he pulled it out. It was so small that it was fully hidden within his fist. His fingers gripped as though their lives depended on it and he found himself having to force his hand open to view the small bottle. With his other hand he reached into his other pocket, withdrawing only the tourniquet. Throwing that in the sink he delved his hand once again into his pocket, searching for the needle.
'No!' his mind cried. Nothing would be as potent as when he shot it straight into his blood stream. A sickened feeling waved over him: he had to find that needle. Shoving the vile back into his jacket, he double-checked his other pockets. Confirming it wasn't there, he turned on his bag like a hungry wolf eyeing its prey.
Reaching into its depths he felt his clothes, rolled and placed in the most compact way so as to achieve maximum storage use. When no hard cylindrical shape met his fingers he pulled out his clothes and threw them out of the way in desperation. Still no light of the plastic tube that held his syringe shined through. He finally resorted to shaking his bag upside down, spilling all of its contents onto the floor, then tossing it aside like a used hoar. Zack ignored the pain when he dropped to his knees. As he groped the pile of disheveled cloth, sprinkled with rations and other various supplies, he could feel the panic rise in his throat. Searching to no avail, he returned to his bag, meticulously opening and checking every pocket twice over, finding two which did not open, despite his earlier assault.
Forgetting his inborn strength, he nearly ripped one pocket clean off the bag in his frantic need to know its contents. After again finding no needle he pulled his hand back to find it was shaking.
'Oh shit, please no!' he mentally screamed at his hand. His tremors couldn't be coming back so soon. There was no way.
Finally, in the last pocket, success. The needle sat alone as if mocking him, telling him that he was an idiot for not remembering he had put it there. When he finally gripped the needle in his fist an eerie calm washed over him and he shook no more.
Again, he pulled out the small vile, and looked upon them together.
What was happening to him? He had to stop this. This was ridiculous. He looked around the restroom, the guts of his bag strewn about every which way, in stark contrast to their previous state.
Just then a knock at the door.
Zack froze in his kneeling position, not wanting to make a sound.
"Zack?" the voice was so familiar; he should have recognized it right away, but his mind was in much the same state as the room that surrounded him. "Zack? Are you in there?" It was Max.
"Uh, yeah," was all his brain could get his mouth to stay as it tried to collect itself into coherent thoughts.
"Well, are you almost done? When a girls gotta go…"
"Uh, yeah," he repeated, shoving both the needle and the vile into his right jacket pocket, "Where's Raven at?" As he spoke it finally dawned on him what he had done and he began to feverishly throw everything back into his bag in nor particular order or form, there was no time for that.
"She's still sitting at the table. I can see her from here, no worries," Max paused, obviously hearing the commotion beyond the door, "What's going on in there? Did you miss the bowl? 'Cause you'd think that with your kinda background-"
"Hold on," he called through the door, shoving the last of his supplies into his bag. Closing it tight, he took a deep breath to calm himself before reaching for the knob. When he opened the door she stood directly in front of him, a playfully impatient look on her face.
"What'd you do? Paint the Sistine chapel in there or something?" To emphasis her point she glanced up at the ceiling. But when she looked back down she received nothing but Zack's piercing glare. "Whoa, ease up big guy," she patted him on the chest, "I'm just joking with ya."
They switched spots, and Max closed the door behind her. Zack had inhaled another deep breath for good measure and took a step toward the table when Max opened the door again.
"Zack?" He turned around again, and in Max's hand lay the tourniquet, like a limp snake playing dead. "Is this yours?" The look on her face was that of concern. But knowing nothing of Zack's daily life, she knew she had no right to pry. Still, that little bit of concern made Zack cringe. He would have to hide this side of himself from her. Max could never know.
"Yeah," he quickly grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket, his knuckle brushing against the vile in the process. No, Max didn't need to know.
*****
Death was a tempting mistress and Logan flirted with her in his mind. Though the sun was already high in the sky, Logan couldn't bring himself to move from his bed. He had been laying there for the whole morning since Bling had the day off and was not there to drag him out of bed. Thoughts of sweet release drifted into his mind and seemed to find it a suitable home to take root. Slit wrists, asphyxiation, overdose, hanging, poison, gun shot, leaping from his penthouse window, the different ways to end his wretched life were more then he cared to count.
The only difference that made this morning worse then all the others was that today he woke up to the knowledge that Max was no longer in his life. Even the prospect of walking again could not lift him out of bed. Everything seemed to be balancing in his life. While gaining back something he had taken for granted for so long, he was losing another. He thought back to those days he would push her away without a second thought, opting, like a fool, to work on some Eyes Only project instead. The most beautiful woman was within his grasp and he was too much of an idiot to do anything about it.
Now he was paying for it. Truly he did not lose her, because he never had her in the first place. In his mind he replayed situations over and over again, where he should have held her tight, instead of pushing her away. But that was all it was, things he should have done and could have done, but never did. 'What if' scenarios shined through the darkness of his thoughts just to drag him down once again into the depths of despair that wrapped him in a warm, soothing shroud of death.
'No.'
It was only a slight whisper in his mind, that small part of him that refused to let go.
'No.'
The simple word, that held all the hope of life, seemed to echo inside his skull. Each time, gaining strength. With it clung the images of his friends and of the people he had saved. Among those was the night Max said good-bye. That final kiss they had shared held more passion then he had ever felt in all his life combined. It even overpowered the zeal with which he carried out his role as Seattle's watchdog. Killing himself held no purpose in the light of that memory. It was the coward's way out.
'No.'
The word had its own substance now, built on the foundation of those memories. Its presence alone banished all the darker thoughts that lurked in the corners of Logan's mind. He would live another day, he owed Max that much.
Finally gaining enough strength to move himself, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze. He had expected it to be a clumsy maneuver but his legs performed the act in a smooth motion. Now even thoughts of Max were pushed out of his mind as he stared in awe at his legs. Hesitantly, not wanting to push his luck, he tried to roll his right ankle, and to his amazement it responded to his command. It wasn't a full rotation but what did it matter? With continued treatments he would be walking as though he had never been chair bound before.
Now only his toes lay beyond his capabilities, but they weren't essential for walking. A ridiculous grin crept to his lips, his mind hysterical with joy to the point that he didn't even remember that just moments ago he was suicidal.
Slowly, he leaned forward and, for the first time in countless months, stood on his own two feet. It was nothing short of a miracle! His first steps were still wobbly, his legs needed to adjust to being used again. Soon, he would be whole again, and only then would he think himself as truly a man.
With small shuffling steps he made his way to his bathroom. That small feat alone, demanded such exertion that he had to lean against the doorframe to catch his breath. It was then he noticed something was different. The feeling started in the pit of his stomach, where your body was somehow aware of it, but your mind had not fully processed it.
Then it hit him. His medicine. It should have been on the counter, since that was where he last placed it. But where there should have stood a small bottle, now only half full of that life saving liquid, there was nothing. He tried to recall last night, when he took his last shot, but when he tried it was like a door had been opened and a flood of emotions fought to stream through. It took all his mental strength to bottle that all up and clean his thoughts for the question at hand.
With a few more unsteady steps he leaned against the counter for support and opened the medicine cabinet. Not there.
Bending down he opened the drawer that held his supply of needles. Not there.
Finally getting down on all fours to search to floor of his bathroom. Not there.
A feeling of despair threatened to wrap around him again. How much longer would he have to wait to walk again if he did not have his shots? Dr. Carr had said that the shots weren't necessary and were only used to speed up the process… But Logan wanted his legs back now, he had waited long enough. It was like ripping it down a highway at twice the limit only to slow to a crawl just before the destination.
He needed his shots and he could probably convince Dr. Marion to whip up another batch. Money wasn't a concern when it came to his legs. He would pay any price. So now only one question remained. What had happened to his treatments?
Then it dawned on him. Zack's voice echoed from a vague memory: 'You shouldn't leave your window open if you don't want visitors.'