Chapter Six: "Out of the Ashes of Old…"

Logan paused a moment staring back at his well-lit apartment, sighing. There was a part of him that wanted to rush back to her, to claim the fault for everything, and just somehow make her feel no pain from the ordeal that she had been through. Well meaning? Yes… well intentioned, of course, but he knew that it was not the best of actions to take, not with Max. She saw through false sentiment like it was glass and she tended to make shards out of it, very sharp ones, he knew. A few of their most infamous fights were over such false shows of emotion, or claiming none where it was burgeoning.

He would continue to refrain from pushing her a direction she was not willing to go, realizing that she may not be as ready to make up as he was. Another trait she was good for, holding grudges.

Logan looked up again as he realized that he was staring at the concrete at his feet, and his eyes went directly to the window he knew she was behind, even with the mirroring that tended to make the interior of his place VERY private. She could see him from where she sat, he knew, if she even cared to look up at him. Finally he decided the time was right to try and mend the rift the years had put between them, and he made his way across the expanse of tile between him and his balcony entrance, wondering if she was watching his progress. His radar told him that she had not moved from the spot where she had lit on the couch and he cautiously made his way back there to talk to her again.

Right now he just needed to get her mind off the subject, but he wasn't sure how without sounding callous and uncaring about what she had gone through. He slowly walked up behind her, running light fingers down her neck watching as she shivered uncontrollably at his touch.

"So the answer is 'yes'," He started feeling brilliant for coming up with a way to approach and then back off from the subject.

Max turned to face him looking confused, "Yes what?" She said in a harsh tone. Logan could tell that she was still angry with herself.

Logan looked at her with sincere eyes as he said, "You asked me to wait until you were done with your story," Logan sat down next to her. Max shifted a little more on the couch to look at him without straining her neck, "The answer is yes, despite everything that you… that we have been through, I still love you, Max."

"You mean that," Max asked in a shaky voice.

"Max," Logan said his voice descending and fading away until it was almost inaudible, "I wouldn't say something like that if it were not true. I survived four tedious lonely years, never knowing that you were still alive, but loving you all the while, unable to feel anything for another person the way I had felt about you. I stormed into a Manticore held base when I got word that you were there and alive, despite my misgivings about the possibility it was a trap to get me into a cage… all to get you out. Believe me… I mean it."

Max's smile faded in and out as she judged the sincerity of his words. Eventually it faded out again as something pricked at her consciousness, "Even if…" She paused a moment, "But… I don't think…" she started stumbling on something obviously bothersome to her, "I'm not sure… that kids… are going to be an option, Logan."

Logan looked down licking his lips and unconsciously putting his watch back in just the right spot on his wrist. He looked up a little more soberly, "Kids were never a condition of my love for you," He shrugged, "I married you because of a lot of things. The way we complement each other, the fact that we don't always agree and know it's OK not to… Lot's of things. If children happen it will only make me that much happier. If it doesn't," Logan shrugged again, "I can't hold it against you either," He purposely neglected to mention his advancing age to her, "What matters to me the most right now is that I have you back in my life. I…" He seemed to choke up a bit, "I never realized just how much… I missed you until you came back to me."

Max felt her heart compress a bit at his admonition. She reached out for the first time to touch his face. She smiled through her pending tears and ran a thumb lightly over his lips before leaning in and kissing him lightly on the lips. It was a short kiss, and she smiled slightly again as she backed away. Logan smiled too, not pushing the issue, knowing she was not ready for anything more intimate than that right now.

Logan stood up slowly, stifling a yawn and consulting his watch. It was two fifteen, "I think it's time we went to bed," He said simply, offering her his hand again. This time she smiled and took it helping herself to her feet.

"That sounds so good right now," She said sounding tired.

They went to the bedroom together Logan maintaining contact with Max with light fingers on her back as they made their way down the hall. They lay down again, maintaining that contact, as Logan held her close against him, letting her feel his warmth, letting her take strength from him, as he did the same with her presence. Neither needed more than that, content just to be near one another.

Max woke early the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to peek through the high rises surrounding their home. She slowly freed herself of Logan's warm and protective arm and got out of bed. She looked down at him smiling at the peaceful way he was sleeping. She padded lightly out of the room and out into the hall. She was beginning to revert to a very old routine, one that predated her and Logan's meeting, little or no sleep each and every night. She usually slept more during the day, staying up nearly all night long, and she could feel her body starting to readjust. She had never known what time it was when she was captive, and she was never able to get a good sleep in, only catnaps. A catnap, that is, because she was either interrupted by Lydecker or suffered terrible nightmares that woke her and kept her from sleeping for hours afterwards.

Max felt slightly better this morning, and the weight that she had been feeling seemed to have lifted a bit as she slept. She padded slowly about the apartment taking in more detail than she had the night before, distracted as she had been with her own personal demons. They were still there, pricking at the back of her consciousness, making her stomach twist on occasion, making her doubt herself, her past choices and even Logan's sincerity last night.

They both had really wanted a family… that the possibility existed that it may not happen nagged at her. She tried to ignore it, concentrating instead on her home, God but that sounded good rattling around in her head. A warm welcoming place where she felt safe from threats, it was a false hope she knew all too well, but it was one she chose to cling tenaciously to.

She had thought that very little had changed in it last night, but now she began to notice differences both subtle and jarring, from the way it had been when they had first married. Her previous assessment about the knick-knacks had been right on, much of the smaller items of interest in his house were now gone, surely sold to keep Logan above water. The expansive apartment seemed more frugal a place for their absence.

She moved down the hall stopping first in his study. Max slowly opened the sliding door, taking a look around. At first glance it looked the least changed in both style and function. His computer and recording equipment had not been rearranged since she had been here last nor had it been sold off piece by piece like some of the artwork had. It was probably what he had sold the art for to support the Informant Net for Eye's Only. She was sure that he had not given that up, his conscience still pricked at him she was sure, to save the downtrodden and weary masses yearning to go unnoticed. And there, exactly where she remembered it last was the last wheelchair that Logan had been using before the use of his legs had been restored. He had a friend make it into a work of art for him, mounting it such that it balanced one large wheel tilting the empty seat toward any and all who would enter the room. It had been adorned with ivy in various shades as if rooted to the base of the sculpture. He had made it into the centerpiece of his study, a tribute to life and a sharp reminder of its bitter sense of humor. She slowly stepped over to it running light fingers over the frame of it as the memories from that time flooded back into her mind. It had been a tumultuous time in both of their lives, and they had butted heads more than they had gotten along. She smiled fondly at the remembrances of it.

She tried to imagine what it might have been like living for nearly a year without being able to walk or run or jump. Jarringly she realized she knew exactly what it was like, worse even. She remembered the stiff metal chair cold and hard under her and the straps that bit into her flesh and had always restricted her breathing. She had been confined like that for over two years, unable to even get up to relieve herself.

She backed away from the wheelchair staring back at it as if it was the source of that uncomfortable vision, she was shaking as she tried to dump the correlation out of her mind. He had at least been mobile, she had not even been given that luxury.

Max quickly moved her eyes elsewhere trying to distract herself before her mind went down that dark and convoluted road of her internment again. She looked closer at his desktop as she noticed the highly advanced model of his current computer arrangement. It was a very expensive, extremely fast model. She wondered silently what he would need with one so fast, as she ran her fingers gingerly over the keyboard. Shrugging to herself she wandered out of the study, deftly avoiding looking at Logan's old Wheelchair again.

She moved further down the hall stopping abruptly as she came to what used to be his physical therapy room. She saw nothing of what she remembered it looking like in the past. When he had first lost the use of his legs all that had been in here was a bench and a couple of sets of weights. Once he had recovered the use of his legs it had been transformed into a workout studio of treadmills and stair-climbers, to assist him in building up his atrophied muscles. It was now completely changed from that even. It was a training room. The room was bare of any furniture, the floor was covered wall to wall in a blue padded mat. At the other end of the room was a punching bag, well used from the look of it. That left most of the floor space open, for what she could only guess was sparring. There were weights mounted to the walls as well as several sets of padded kickboxing gloves and protective headgear. An eyebrow raised at the sight, realizing that he had actually begun to take his talents seriously.

Max pursed her lips stepping into the room in earnest, realizing that she had not been able to practice herself in a long time. Tentatively, feeling very self-conscious about it she began to stretch out working her underused muscles. She then began to practice at first just fighting stances working through a routine she had tried many times in the past to forget, but it always came back natural as breathing, one she had been pounded with every day in her nine years in Manticore. One that she worked through without thinking, not wanting to remember the source of the drill just the benefits of knowing it.

When she was done loosening up she began to work at the bag, feeling her frustrations burn off as flesh hit canvas. She started off with standard punches and kicks not sure of the quality of her balance to try her more acrobatic defensive fighting. Her practice became more and more aggressive and her punches and kicks began to get harder as pent up frustration and anger surfaced in her, given vent finally on something forgiving. Soon she was sweating profusely feeling better every minute.

She stopped abruptly as she realized she had an audience. She spun around quickly her adrenaline up and her fighting instincts piqued.