Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
Summary:  Set after "Camera," Logan tries to adapt to life without money. Max tries to help. Will he survive?
AN: 1) Re reviews chapter 4: Can see I'm not getting away with anything here. Yes, of course it's Hockney—Hocking is the guy who painted my house last year . . . yeah, that's it.
2) Thanks to mapleleaf for the car wash idea.

This Makes No Sense Whatsoever
Chapter 5: Meo-ouch, Part 1

Max sighed as she gazed out of her apartment window into the gathering night. She should have suspected something when she got that irresistible craving for fish the other evening, and then last night when she had almost given into the urge to rip off Logan's clothing and lick him all over. If the entire fire fighting force of the greater Seattle area hadn't shown up when they did . . . well it was best not to think about that. He had made it clear they were just friends, so she would just have to control herself. Yes, it was that time of the year again and her feline DNA was taking over.

She had hoped to avoid the party she had agreed to accompany Logan to at Margo's tonight, but there was no way out of it. That afternoon she had asked Sketchy to call Logan and tell him she had to work late and couldn't make it. However, when she had returned from her deliveries five hours later, he was still on the phone with Logan's answering machine asking it how he really knew that he had reached the number he'd dialed? And what if he'd dialed the wrong number? And what if Logan was lying and he had reached an entirely different number altogether? . . ..

To make matters worse, after she had beaten Sketchy viciously about the head with her backpack, she had caught a view of Normal in his undershirt and socks as he changed into a suit to watch Dan Rather Jr. read the six o'clock news and had to imprison herself in a locker. Of course, she had busted out of that in no time flat and had to imprison Normal instead. Fortunately, OC had taken charge of things at that stage and smacked her several times across the face, before yelling for every male in the place to run for his life.

She shifted uneasily as she waited for the Aztec to pull up in the street below. The party was a black tie affair, and the only suitable thing she had found to wear was a red cocktail dress that Kendra had stored in a matchbox in the back of the closet and had forgotten to take with her when she moved out. She hoped Logan wouldn't think it was too skimpy. Fortunately, it matched the stilettos he had given her on the fifteenth anniversary of Janet Reno's successful feminist overthrow of the papacy, saying that they had once belonged to J. Edgar Hoover and were valuable historical artifacts. She still didn't understand why he insisted she wear them every time he came over—but that was Logan, always obsessing about American cultural heritage.

It was probably just as well it had been too late to cancel on Logan. He had seemed preoccupied and . . . well, a little goofy lately—probably too much stress. It wouldn't be right to let him go to Margo's alone, and she knew how important this event was to him. With Cale Industries in a shambles, this party was intended to butter up the government types who were in charge of the massive reorganization. Many senior and mid-level executives, who Logan was sure knew nothing of the corruption and illegal goings on of Jonas and his cronies, were being assigned to positions in remote facilities in the artic circle. Still more unfortunate individuals were being sent to Muncie, Indiana. Logan wanted to do whatever he could to protect the innocent from such a fate.

Anyway, she wanted to keep an eye on him--what if Daphne was there. True, she and OC seemed to have a thing going, but she still didn't trust the woman. Well, she had ways of dealing with Daphne. Yes, in her days in the basement torture chambers of Manticore she had picked up a few useful tips.

She smiled sweetly, licked her lips, and patted down the hairs on the back of her neck as she spotted Logan waving from a parking space below.

***

Logan relaxed as they pulled into the car wash, his allocated wash was just a couple of minutes from now—perfect timing. He felt bad having to swing by here on the way to the party, but the last time he had parked at Margo's with a dirt encrusted vehicle she'd had it towed and it had taken the proceeds from six of her solid silver candlesticks to get it back. Well he wasn't going to stuff any candlesticks down his pants tonight, not with Max accompanying him.

His building super had always taken care of car related matters before, but he had refused to accept pickled olives in lieu of tips, and so Logan was on his own. Even with Seattle's average annual rainfall of 1042 inches, it was amazing how dirt clung to vehicles. Of course, water rationing had been in effect for the last several years since a disgruntled city employee had removed all the plugs from the reservoirs and the correct paper work to requisition new ones still hadn't been completed in full.

He had been lucky to get allocated a time at all, in fact, if he hadn't agreed to help that nice older lady in the water rationing department lift those heavy boxes of files from her desk to her bookshelves he might not have. It was reassuring to know that little acts of kindness really could pay off sometimes. And she had been so appreciative, insisting he take off his shirt lest it get dirty and even toweling the sweat off his upper torso when he was done. Although, he really didn't understand why she had changed her mind and insisted he return all the boxes back to their original position. She had looked a tad flushed and was definitely breathless when she made that request though, so maybe she was unwell and feeling confused.

Logan glanced over at Max who was smiling quietly and waiting patiently—he hoped she wasn't sick. He'd had a long talk with himself the previous night and decided to reconcile himself to the fact that he and Max were in a quid pro quo relationship, and she considered him a business partner, no more. Then he had downed a quart of scotch and resisted the urge to lock himself in the bathroom and mix up all the toxic cleaning fluids he could lay his hands on.

He squirmed as he tried to recall the events of last night, but he was hazy on what had happened after the ammonia and bleach mixture had gone to his head. He did remember the firemen confiscating his oven and that Max was gone. Still, nothing too bad could have happened or Max would have called and cancelled on him this evening. Of course, some moron had tied up his answering machine for five hours that afternoon, but she was here next to him and very obviously enjoying his company. She looked so wonderful tonight, positively glowing—almost radioactive. Careful . . . remember, business partners . . . toxic chemicals . . .. Time to have a talk with her, clear the air, and set his mind at ease.

***

They were just friends . . . friends who had a business relationship . . . a relationship she could muck up irrevocably by letting her thoughts continue in their present direction. But Logan was looking so appetizing tonight, in his black suit and tie . . . shame he had to wear a shirt. She had to focus, focus quickly, before her primal instincts overwhelmed her. What was he saying? It was difficult to hear him over the sound of the water and foam spraying, and the rotating brushes beating against the doors of the SUV.

"You know how much I value your friendship and  . . .." Oh God, he was taking off his sexy little glasses and rubbing his eyes. "And our working relationship is a great asset . . .." Now he was scratching the back of his neck in that self-deprecating, incredibly sensual way of his. "Such good . . . friends . . .." He was loosening his tie with one hand and wiping a light sheen of sweat from his brow with the other. She could smell his scent, masculine and arousing; sense the pent up power of his well developed muscles; almost feel the graze of his unshaven face against her flushed and agonizingly sensitive skin. Concentrate, concentrate . . . she was conditioned to resist the most heinous torture techniques know to man . . . she could resist him surely. Just focus on whatever he was babbling on about.

What? Yes, yes . . . friends, they were friends . . . But friends didn't imagine friends reclining naked across the hood of an Aztec, swathed in lather and ready to be taken advantage of, did they?

"Pop the hatch."

"What?"

"Pop the goddamn hatch."

"Max! Max!" She could hear him calling her name as she ran screaming from the vehicle and through the automated bumper buffers into the night.

Will they make it to Margo's party? Will Daphne survive? Will Logan engage in any petty thievery? Will Max engage in any immoral behavior? Will Logan survive?

Well I, for one, have no idea. You don't think any prewriting is actually involved here, do you? Hadn't intended this to ramble . . . er, evolve into two chapters. Hope Max and Logan can find enough to get up to to sustain the word count . . .