Disclaimer: Any characters that appear in Dark Angel are not mine. I have
no association with the show and I'm not making any money from this story
Spoilers: Season 1, Between "Camera" and "Meow."
Reviews: Eight chapters – how did that happen? Feeling like I'm running a marathon. Need encouragement…criticism…an "I was here"…anything! Please.
A/N: Don't faint, there's actually some action in this chapter.
_______________________________
Max stretched contentedly in the noon sunlight dribbling onto the front porch. Saturday evening had been spent for the most part in the kitchen, a room Max was rapidly growing very fond of. While Logan and his grandmother prepared the large chicken and its delicious accompaniments, she had acquired a lot of embarrassing information on Logan's childhood antics. She smiled as she tightened the laces of her running shoes, remembering Logan's pained expression. They had taken desert and coffee to the living room where Anna had insisted she look at the old family albums at which point Logan gave in to the inevitable and related a few adventures he and his siblings hadn't shared with the grown ups at the time.
"Why not take the Aztek?" Logan asked his grandmother hopefully as they joined Max on the porch.
"No, it will get banged up and filthy on the road. The Land Rover's already a wreck." Anna smiled as she headed off toward the garage.
"My grandmother's driving has that effect. Wish me luck." Logan zipped his heavy jacket against the cold northwestern air. "So where are you taking your run."
"Oh, just around."
"You don't have to go all the way to the top you know." Logan had no doubt she had the headland in mind. He watched as she waved back at him and started to jog down the road toward the coast, her hair flying in the breeze.
He found himself dwelling on that image of Max as his grandmother and Jake sat on the old sofa in the cabin discussing construction plans. He had forgotten how much of a perfectionist Anna was, going over every detail and exploring every option. His attention, however, surprisingly kept coming back to Max. Not that she hadn't occupied his thoughts in Seattle, he had spent many sleepless nights looking out of his penthouse windows oblivious to the city below, his mind exploring every aspect of her. He had told himself that he was lonely and she was beautiful and enigmatic and such thoughts were understandable. Now he had spend two whole days in her presence and still her absence affected him like this.
After an hour and a half, Logan could no longer pretend to listen politely to the dynamics of the airflow through chimneys and wheeled himself outside. Looking northward toward the headland, he was surprised to see the sky turning rapidly gray and threatening. As he wheeled himself around, back toward the cabin, he noticed that the mountains beyond to the west had disappeared in a layer of dark cloud.
"Looks like the weather's taking a turn for the worst. Better get going. Still not too late in the season for a nasty storm." Jake had come outside while Logan was lost in thought and together they watched the wall of darkness extend down the mountain range. The two men parted, Jake heading for his truck and Logan for the cabin door.
"I hope that old piece of plywood in the bedroom window will hold if the wind gets any stronger." Anna was looking out the den window having noticed the gathering darkness outside.
"We should go and see if Max is back yet." Anna smiled at her grandson's worried tone.
"Somehow I think Max can handle herself. She's probably sitting by the stove right now with a cup of cocoa." Anna led the way outside, pulling up the collar of her woolen coat against the rain, now starting to fall in large drops. As she turned toward the Land Rover Logan noticed her stumble slightly and clutch at her left arm. Before he could reach her, she had sunk to the ground. Logan pulled up beside her, panic welling up inside him as he noticed her ragged breathing and the lack of color in her strained face.
Without thinking he had set the brakes of his chair and bent down to her, all signs of consciousness now absent from her frail form. He gathered her in his arms, his face lined in determination. The rain fell heavier and the wind whipped at the two huddled forms. Suddenly he didn't know what to do. He couldn't drive the truck, there was no phone, no neighbors; sweat beaded on his high forehead momentarily before being swept away in the downpour.
He felt her face, cold against his chin, and snapped back to reality. He had to keep her warm and the truck would be a lot easier to heat than the cabin. Awkwardly he maneuvered them across the wet ground and tugged the rear door of the vehicle open. With the brakes of his chair set, he lifted her up onto the bench seat, struggling to keep her steady. When he was satisfied that she was sitting securely, he closed the door and let himself in the drivers door.
Quickly he turned the keys she had left in the ignition and turned up the heat and fan. Bracing his arms, one on the passenger seat and one on the driver's, he hauled himself back onto the floor in the rear of the vehicle. He pulled her gently over so she was lying on the bench and placed the folded blanket she kept under the seats beneath her head as a pillow.
Desperately he examined her face for signs of consciousness. Her breathing was shallow and her face still deathly pale. When he held her wrist her pulse was weak, in contrast to the blood that pounded through his temples. He leaned back against the side of the vehicle, stroking her forehead with his hand and trying to gather his senses, all the time cursing his useless legs. He couldn't get her to help so he would have to bring help to her.
Levering himself with his hands on the floor, he pushed his butt forward until his feet were wedged against the door. Reaching forward, he opened the door and immediately swore at his stupidity. The chair was at the driver's door, out of his reach. His attempt to slide down to the ground resulted in him landing in a heap on the grass. The cold rain again stung his face as he used his elbows to pull himself forward to the wheelchair.
As he lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his legs sprawled behind him, he looked up at the chair above him. Even in the intense cold, he was still sweating while his arms burned from his efforts. Reaching up he slammed the rear door shut and pulled the chair around to a position accessible to him. He had hauled himself into it from the ground on more than one humiliating occasion but this time his arms refused to cooperate.
Logan felt a wave of helplessness wash over him as his arms gave out and he found himself face down on the cold mountainside. He forced himself to take some deep breaths. Breathing was good, … so was focus. Focus on the task and breath through the pain and frustration. He knew how to do this – he'd had plenty of practice.
His arms felt nothing as he pulled up and twisted himself roughly into the wheelchair. He cursed loudly as he forced his body to do his bidding. And it was going to do what had to be done. In his mind he set aside all his doubts and self-pity, casting them to the wind, now whipping ferociously into his face as he started off for the trail to the farmhouse. All he allowed himself to feel was his anger, using it to focus on his mission, to ignore anything that got in the way. He knew how to do this – he'd had plenty of practice.
Spoilers: Season 1, Between "Camera" and "Meow."
Reviews: Eight chapters – how did that happen? Feeling like I'm running a marathon. Need encouragement…criticism…an "I was here"…anything! Please.
A/N: Don't faint, there's actually some action in this chapter.
_______________________________
Max stretched contentedly in the noon sunlight dribbling onto the front porch. Saturday evening had been spent for the most part in the kitchen, a room Max was rapidly growing very fond of. While Logan and his grandmother prepared the large chicken and its delicious accompaniments, she had acquired a lot of embarrassing information on Logan's childhood antics. She smiled as she tightened the laces of her running shoes, remembering Logan's pained expression. They had taken desert and coffee to the living room where Anna had insisted she look at the old family albums at which point Logan gave in to the inevitable and related a few adventures he and his siblings hadn't shared with the grown ups at the time.
"Why not take the Aztek?" Logan asked his grandmother hopefully as they joined Max on the porch.
"No, it will get banged up and filthy on the road. The Land Rover's already a wreck." Anna smiled as she headed off toward the garage.
"My grandmother's driving has that effect. Wish me luck." Logan zipped his heavy jacket against the cold northwestern air. "So where are you taking your run."
"Oh, just around."
"You don't have to go all the way to the top you know." Logan had no doubt she had the headland in mind. He watched as she waved back at him and started to jog down the road toward the coast, her hair flying in the breeze.
He found himself dwelling on that image of Max as his grandmother and Jake sat on the old sofa in the cabin discussing construction plans. He had forgotten how much of a perfectionist Anna was, going over every detail and exploring every option. His attention, however, surprisingly kept coming back to Max. Not that she hadn't occupied his thoughts in Seattle, he had spent many sleepless nights looking out of his penthouse windows oblivious to the city below, his mind exploring every aspect of her. He had told himself that he was lonely and she was beautiful and enigmatic and such thoughts were understandable. Now he had spend two whole days in her presence and still her absence affected him like this.
After an hour and a half, Logan could no longer pretend to listen politely to the dynamics of the airflow through chimneys and wheeled himself outside. Looking northward toward the headland, he was surprised to see the sky turning rapidly gray and threatening. As he wheeled himself around, back toward the cabin, he noticed that the mountains beyond to the west had disappeared in a layer of dark cloud.
"Looks like the weather's taking a turn for the worst. Better get going. Still not too late in the season for a nasty storm." Jake had come outside while Logan was lost in thought and together they watched the wall of darkness extend down the mountain range. The two men parted, Jake heading for his truck and Logan for the cabin door.
"I hope that old piece of plywood in the bedroom window will hold if the wind gets any stronger." Anna was looking out the den window having noticed the gathering darkness outside.
"We should go and see if Max is back yet." Anna smiled at her grandson's worried tone.
"Somehow I think Max can handle herself. She's probably sitting by the stove right now with a cup of cocoa." Anna led the way outside, pulling up the collar of her woolen coat against the rain, now starting to fall in large drops. As she turned toward the Land Rover Logan noticed her stumble slightly and clutch at her left arm. Before he could reach her, she had sunk to the ground. Logan pulled up beside her, panic welling up inside him as he noticed her ragged breathing and the lack of color in her strained face.
Without thinking he had set the brakes of his chair and bent down to her, all signs of consciousness now absent from her frail form. He gathered her in his arms, his face lined in determination. The rain fell heavier and the wind whipped at the two huddled forms. Suddenly he didn't know what to do. He couldn't drive the truck, there was no phone, no neighbors; sweat beaded on his high forehead momentarily before being swept away in the downpour.
He felt her face, cold against his chin, and snapped back to reality. He had to keep her warm and the truck would be a lot easier to heat than the cabin. Awkwardly he maneuvered them across the wet ground and tugged the rear door of the vehicle open. With the brakes of his chair set, he lifted her up onto the bench seat, struggling to keep her steady. When he was satisfied that she was sitting securely, he closed the door and let himself in the drivers door.
Quickly he turned the keys she had left in the ignition and turned up the heat and fan. Bracing his arms, one on the passenger seat and one on the driver's, he hauled himself back onto the floor in the rear of the vehicle. He pulled her gently over so she was lying on the bench and placed the folded blanket she kept under the seats beneath her head as a pillow.
Desperately he examined her face for signs of consciousness. Her breathing was shallow and her face still deathly pale. When he held her wrist her pulse was weak, in contrast to the blood that pounded through his temples. He leaned back against the side of the vehicle, stroking her forehead with his hand and trying to gather his senses, all the time cursing his useless legs. He couldn't get her to help so he would have to bring help to her.
Levering himself with his hands on the floor, he pushed his butt forward until his feet were wedged against the door. Reaching forward, he opened the door and immediately swore at his stupidity. The chair was at the driver's door, out of his reach. His attempt to slide down to the ground resulted in him landing in a heap on the grass. The cold rain again stung his face as he used his elbows to pull himself forward to the wheelchair.
As he lay on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his legs sprawled behind him, he looked up at the chair above him. Even in the intense cold, he was still sweating while his arms burned from his efforts. Reaching up he slammed the rear door shut and pulled the chair around to a position accessible to him. He had hauled himself into it from the ground on more than one humiliating occasion but this time his arms refused to cooperate.
Logan felt a wave of helplessness wash over him as his arms gave out and he found himself face down on the cold mountainside. He forced himself to take some deep breaths. Breathing was good, … so was focus. Focus on the task and breath through the pain and frustration. He knew how to do this – he'd had plenty of practice.
His arms felt nothing as he pulled up and twisted himself roughly into the wheelchair. He cursed loudly as he forced his body to do his bidding. And it was going to do what had to be done. In his mind he set aside all his doubts and self-pity, casting them to the wind, now whipping ferociously into his face as he started off for the trail to the farmhouse. All he allowed himself to feel was his anger, using it to focus on his mission, to ignore anything that got in the way. He knew how to do this – he'd had plenty of practice.