Author's Note: The "little thing" is definitely not what any of you are expecting. And don't worry, *every* character gets bashed in this story, not just Logan.
Thank you for all of those awesome reviews! I've never gotten that much for a chapter... keep it up and there will be very short waiting periods between chapters again! I've got up to chapter six written, and the sooner you guys review, the sooner you will get to read the rest of the story. :)
Three weeks earlier;
"Max?"
"Hm?" She stopped staring into space and reverted her eyes back to Logan's face. Something about his stupid computer desk sent her mind into a big span of nothingness. She could've sworn she was meant to be recieving messages from beyond when he was shooting his mouth off with all that technobabble. "Sorry. So someone's been programming subliminal messages into twinky commercials?"
She backed up on instinct when he pulled away from his desk a bit, getting into her face. "Max," he said gently. "What the hell happened to our quid pro quo? Brainwashing the general public into twinky messages is practically a crime. I need your help on this."
"Interrupting Simpsons reruns with a story about a mob boss is 'practically' a crime too," she quipped. "Shouldn't I be ripping off White's computer systems right now?"
"Hate to have to apologize, but terrorists putting subliminal messages--"
"You can only call them terrorists if you can put a name and face to a terror-causing crime." She could honestly care less about his Eyes Only mumbo-jumbo today; one of those old Powerpuff Girls cartoons would've interested her more. Not to mention the fact that transgenic boredom spared no one, including boyfriends, roommates, and 'the general public'.
"Okay.. But people putting subliminal messages in twinky commercials is very serious," Logan intoned. "Everyone loves twinkies, especially kids."
"And kids are so dangerous when brainwashed. Gotta watch them kids," Max chirped, and it was easy to tell that her care-free attitude was getting to him. A worried look flitted across his face on her last sentence; she didn't bring it up.
"Look- you can't just go chase every little lead. This might be not be too bad," she gently reminded him, looking right into his eyes. "Chill. Take a day off." Then get a cure for that virus and come to your cabin with me, where we will engage in hot monkey sex, she thought to herself. Then, nah, she decided. While she did love Logan- and always would- she just couldn't imagine having a relationship. Not now.
He pulled back to his desk, Max's heart aching when he didn't turn to look at her. "Fine. I'll have Asha do it," he said in a cold voice. "I think we should end our little quid pro quo program after you get that stuff from White."
Which little quid pro quo? She couldn't bring herself to actually say that, and she spewed filler instead. "I've got a computer, y'know," she said softly. "I got it last week. I don't need you to um, decode the disk I'm going to get."
"Good for you." He didn't turn, but he didn't do anything with the computer either. With a grunt, Max leaned on the desk with her elbows, chin on her hands.
"Would you look at me when you talk?" she asked boldly. "God, I know I was being a little mean, but that's no reason to--"
"Just go! I'll... I'll pick you up to do that White thing later." She stood back up, a little annoyed that the mumbling Logan had cut her off like that. "Wait- Max-"
She was gone.
. . . . . .
Logan drummed his fingers on the Aztek's steering wheel for a few minutes, staring out at the darkness that surrounded him.
No sign of Max.
Sighing, trying not to show he was worried even though no one was around, he shoved the car keys back in and turned them towards himself. No lights, just the radio and oh-so-trusty digital clock above it. He hummed along to his default, classical music station, alarmed when someone actually started talking.
"Hey there Seattle, this is Classic Ninety-four-point-one, puttin' some class in your evenings. We're gonna flip you offa your rockers right now, with a selection guaranteed to get you up off your stank old couch and onto the catwalk! Are you too sexy?" Logan groaned as the opening beats to Too Sexy started up.
I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love,
Love's going to leave me.
Absentmindedly, he bopped his head, drummed his fingers, and almost hummed along to the "love's going to leave me" line.
He jumped right into singing along softly, bored. "I'm... Too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuurts." Logan sang in a horribly quiet, off-key monotone that irked even him. Embarassed, he shut up for the moment.
And I'm too sexy for Milan, too sexy for Milan,
New York and Japan,
And I'm too sexy for your party, too sexy for your party,
No way I'm disco dancing.
Sighing again, he looked over the steering wheel and leaned on the horn, muttering every obscenity he could think of at the noise. This was a simple, hit-and-run job; what was taking Max so long? He started singing another time.
I'm a model, you know what I mean.
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah,
I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Max... Beautiful, genetically engineered, the love of his life. Perfectly flawed in every way. Unlike him- he was just human. You idiot. Good job telling her to fuck off. His mind went back to trying to remember the lyrics to the song as the passenger-seat door flew open, and a leather-clad, twenty-something woman jumped in. She gave him an odd look, glancing from the radio to him again. Logan turned three shades of red and changed the radio station. Max swatted his hand away from the tuner.
"Do you mind?" She muttered.
"Yeah."
I'm too sexy for my car, too sexy for my car,
Too sexy by far.
And I'm too sexy for my hat,
Too sexy for my hat, what d'you think about that?
"That's a bad habit," she pointed out with a sly grin, changing the station back. "I got it, by the way. Names, locations, occupations, and small pictures of every Familiar in Seattle." She waved a CD case in one of her gloved hands.
He thanked her and turned the ignition forward. The car hummed slightly as they pulled away.
I'm a model, you know what I mean.
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah,
I shake my little touche on the catwalk...
"You're thanking me for something I did for myself and that's it? A thank you? Where's my 'excellent'?"
Logandidn't say much, trying to concentrate on the road. "In syndication episodes of the Simpsons, perhaps?"
They were silent for a few moments.
I'm too sexy for my, too sexy for my, too sexy for my...
'Cause I'm a model, you know what I mean,
And I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Yeah, on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk, yeah.
I shake my little touche on the catwalk.
I'm too sexy for my cat, too sexy for my cat,
Poor pussy, poor pussy cat.
I'm too sexy for my love, too sexy for my love,
Love's going to leave me.
And I'm too sexy for this song.
"Oh!" Max cried out suddenly, making him jump. "I gotta stop by Alec's. Be a dear, would you?"
"Did he have a sudden laziness relapse, rendering him unable to go to work on Friday and miss out on getting a paycheck?"
"Apparently." They chuckled softly, the awkward silence growing. Logan almost started to say something, but Max urgently shushed him as a certain commercial came on the radio.
"Dough, the stuff they put in twinkies... Ray, the guy that buys me Twinkies... Me, the person he buys them for... Fa, lalalalala Twinkies! So, I think, I'll have some Twinkies. Tea, no thanks, I'll have a Twinkie... Which brings us back to doh-doh-doh-doh-doh-doh-doh Twinkie!" Max nodded at the radio and looked at Logan expectantly, waiting for the 'Sound of Music'-inspired Twinkie tune to end.
"I love that song," she smiled. "Don't you?"
He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. The cream filling turns me on," Logan said flatly.
"What?"
. . . . . .
Max pounded her fist on Alec's door, still a little weirded out from Logan's cream filling comment. He answered sooner than she expected, dressed in his usual attire, his hair a little scruffier than normal. "Hey. Would you like to get paid?"
He pursed his lips, leaning on the half-open door. "Depends. For sexual favours or for delivering packages? Or will I be getting paid in sexual favours?" Max practically shoved his paycheck at him.
"Normal decided to pay you in buttons," she chided.
"I dunno... I think hearing about the gladiator saga going on in his subconscious was payment enough."
"Believe me, if you knew Normal... Gladiator fantasies are only the tip of the iceberg." Alec's expression went from bemused to disgusted, and then to a wierd, "oh, hello" look. He raised his eyebrows at something behind Max and she turned slowly.
Fifteen Steelheads glared at them, spokes ticking from their skulls and other body parts not covered in leather or denim. Several of them carried metal pipes, arms crossed, slouching defiantly. Max simply shrugged it off and turned back to Alec.
"So yeah, you gonna show up at work tomorr--" One of the lead males grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her around by the jacket. "Um, something you'd like?" she smiled sweetly. The Steelhead looked from her to Alec and back again.
"You boy here owes us some... Goods."
"Hey!" Max turned slightly to see Alec waving one hand to get their attention. "Me? Out of drug dealing. And you guys are gonna get your asses seriously kicked."
"Humphf," she muttered, his horribly-unadjusted slang hurting her head. "Don't like, freak on them, man."
"Anyway," he continued, trying to make a deal and get their leader to release her. "How about you all get the hell out of here before I embarass you again?"
. . . . . .
How long does it take to drop off a check? Logan wondered to himself, whistling along to the sweet sounds of the Spice Girls' 'Holler'. He would never admit it to anyone, but he hadn't just been a fan of the girls themselves...
A huge pack of oddly-dressed men and women that he recognized as Steelheads walked into Alec's building, not exactly looking like they were going to start a party that was about loving thy neighbour. He watched them stalk off into the building before slowly turning off the car and getting out. Logan knew all too well that those freaks had a lot of business going on with Alec...
He didn't, quite frankly, give a rat's ass about the man, but he wasn't wishing him- or Max- dead. Besides, he hadn't saved the day in almost a week.