In the morning Logan picked Cindy up and drove her to the hospital to meet with Sam.
He hadn't slept at all the night before. The hours crawled, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself with work. Finally he gave up. He couldn't concentrate on anything but Max. After all those times she'd accused him -- fairly, he had to admit -- of being too obsessed with his work, now here he was, obsessed with her, heart and soul, just when she couldn't have cared less.
He went to the window then, thankful that the exoskeleton let him pace, work off some of the pent-up energy he'd only been able to hold inside in the past. It was a clear night and the lights of Seattle, though not as bright or numerous as they'd been before the Pulse, sparkled below him, and a nearly full moon rose behind the dark Needle. Stars, moonlight -- they reminded him of the nights with Max here in the apartment, the glow of candles in a blackout, the night he'd dared to show her his angel poetry. What had she really thought of that poem anyway? Would he ever find out, now?
All those precious moments ... if they were lost to her forever ... if he alone remembered that only days ago she had finally, joyfully told him she loved him ... thinking of that, he felt as lonely this morning as he had ever been in his life. And anxious. He couldn't wait to get to Sam. He wanted Sam to tell him where to start.
At the next light he realized he had the steering wheel and the hand controls in such a tight grip that his knuckles were turning white. With an effort he relaxed his hands and glanced over at Cindy. She was slouched down in the seat, arms folded, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Late night?" he asked, just for something to say.
"Huh? No." Cindy folded her arms tighter. "It's just that -- well, Original Cindy has to admit, she ain't scared of much, but hospitals make her nervous."
"I hate them too," Logan replied, surprised to hear the passion in his own voice.
"Straight up, sugar," Cindy agreed sympathetically, but didn't say anything more.
Logan sighed. Last night he had made some decisions, and he wanted to talk about them. Somehow he couldn't find the words to start, though. He realized he'd been hoping Cindy would do that for him. He and Cindy had talked sometimes over the summer when Max was gone. Cindy had never been afraid to remember the good times or tell him honestly when she thought he'd let Max down (which was plenty, he remembered ruefully) and he'd been counting on her fearlessness this morning. Somehow he'd never thought that anxiety would shut Cindy up. That was usually his act, wasn't it?
The morning traffic was light and they made it to the hospital quickly. Logan led the way to Sam's office. After Logan introduced him to Cindy, he motioned them over to a set of CT scan images clipped to a light board.
"Good news," he said encouragingly. "See here? And here? Perfectly clear, no shadows. That means there's no bleeding in her brain. Just a simple concussion." He snapped off the light, leaving only sunlight to illuminate the room.
"So that means she might get over this soon?" Logan asked eagerly.
"Not quite," Sam cautioned. "It's hard enough to predict when someone will recover their memory after a simple head injury. But in a case like this, there are so many factors I can't even begin to figure out what's going to happen."
"She's revved up. Won't that help?" Cindy asked.
Sam nodded. "Yes, that's the good news. The bad news is, we have no idea exactly what happened at Manticore, or what kind of stuff that lab tech put in her to cure the virus." He shook his head. "It's anybody's guess what's been done to her in the last few months. Or how it will affect her."
"Can't you test her? Get some answers?" Logan demanded impatiently. Damn Manticore. Thanks to them not even the simplest thing could be simple for Max.
"I could, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I want to discharge her today. If you're ready to take her home," he added, to Cindy.
"Today?" Logan was alarmed. "Isn't that too soon?"
Sam shrugged. "It's early, but the gunshot wound is healing remarkably fast. And quite frankly, Logan -- " He lowered his voice. "I've been diverting all her blood work and lab tests, running them myself, but every day she stays here, we risk of accidental exposure. If someone gets a look at her tests, or even sees that barcode when she's sleeping, well -- "
"Not to worry," Cindy interrupted him. "Boo don't need to hang around here eating bad hospital food. A little TLC from Original Cindy, some homemade soup, and she'll be kickin' ass again in no time."
"So where does that leave us?" Logan asked, frustrated. All that had kept him going through the long night was his belief that Sam would have answers. He hadn't expected this.
"Patience, Logan. The way she's healing, it will only be another week or so until she's close to normal, physically. Then you can start to worry about the rest of it."
"But what do we --"
"For now, while she's recuperating, just take it real slow. She'll ask a lot of questions. Answer them. Going home may very well stimulate her memory, and that's great. For now, keep it simple, and try to keep it positive. Save the heavy stuff for when she's got her strength back." He glanced at his watch. "Let me call upstairs and get the nurses started on discharging her. Meet you up there in ten minutes?"
Logan and Cindy went out into the hall together. "Show me the way and let's get this bitch over with," Cindy said, looking apprehensively at a passing gurney carrying an unconscious man.
"Hang on a second." Logan led her down the corridor to a seating area with three or four battered plastic chairs. Pulling two into the corner, he sat. He was a little nervous. He couldn't wait any longer to tell Cindy what he had decided last night, not with Max coming home today. Besides, Sam had given him the perfect opening. He cleared his throat and began, "Remember how Sam said to keep things positive at first, nothing too heavy?"
"Yeah?" Cindy looked at him suspiciously. She was too smart, Logan thought. She knew already he was up to something.
Trying to keep his voice casual, he went on, "So I'd, uh, appreciate it if you didn't say anything to her yet about me and the, ah, wheelchair." He had been hoping that after Sam's instructions she would agree with him, but no such luck. She was all over it.
"What do you want to do that for? Weren't you listening to me when I told you that don't make no difference to her? Now you want to start all over again with a lie?" Cindy fixed him with a stern look.
"I was listening to you. That's just the point," he said patiently. He had thought it all out last night, including this conversation, and he was very sure of himself. "You told me she never stopped feeling guilty about the shooting. Well, she has now. She has no idea anything even happened to me and even less idea that somehow she might have stopped it. I want to keep it that way."
"Yeah?" Cindy pointed down at his shoes, where the metal footpieces of the exoskeleton were clearly visible. "How you gonna hide that from her?"
"I'm not," he said, making himself sound a lot more confident than he felt. "She probably won't even care, and if she does, I'll think of something." He looked Cindy straight in the eye. "Please. Don't put her through that. She'll have enough to take in when we tell her about Manticore. About what's happened to her sisters. And most of all, Zack. This can wait."
For a moment they stared at each other, equally convinced that they were right and the other was wrong, and then Cindy gave in. "Well ... okay," she said grudgingly. "For now, Original Cindy won't tell on you. But you take her word for it, the day is gonna come when you're gonna have to step up to the truth. So to speak," she added.
Relieved and pleased, Logan smiled. "Yeah. Well, we can worry about that later. Shall we go upstairs and get her?"
Upstairs, though, his mood turned bleak again. He stuck his head in the door of Max's room, got a quick, indifferent, "Hey" from her when Cindy explained that he was giving them a ride home, and then found himself waiting out in the hall while Cindy helped her dress.
He wished he could take her back to his place, the way he had after her run-ins with the Reds. She had come to him so many times there, not just when she was a little roughed up but when she was lonely, when she had lost yet another friend or family member, or when someone needed a place to hide when they were on the run. He had always been secretly proud that she came to him like that, for comfort and help, though she wouldn't have admitted it in a million years. Free food and a hot shower, she would have said, grabbing whatever she wanted from the refrigerator as if she owned the place. Now ... well, no point in going there, he told himself as a nurse came down the hall pushing an empty wheelchair, which she took into Max's room.
A few minutes later the door opened again and the wheelchair reappeared with Max in it. He should have expected that, but he had forgotten that hospitals never let anybody leave on their own two feet, even when they could. The sight of her in a wheelchair hurt him so much that for a moment he couldn't breathe. Then he heard what Max was saying and smiled, in spite of everything.
"I'm telling you, I don't need a ride out of here. I can walk," she was insisting. Cindy, carrying her bag, rolled her eyes behind Max's back. Logan saw to his relief that Max already looked much better than she had the day before. There were still dark circles under her eyes but there was color in her face again and she was definitely annoyed at the nurse.
"Hospital policy, ma'am," answered the nurse in a patient, bored voice.
Max sulked all the way through the elevator ride downstairs and out the door. The moment Logan pulled the car up Max hopped out of the wheelchair, said "See ya" to the nurse in a tone so full of attitude that Logan had to hide another smile, and climbed into the back seat. Cindy got in the front seat and they drove away. An awkward silence filled the car. Desperate, Logan looked over at Cindy, but she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts again.
Finally, from the back seat, Max said, "So this is your car, huh? What happened to it?"
Logan's heart jumped. He should have known Max wouldn't miss a thing, especially not the plastic covering the back passenger window. His mind raced. Damn. Had she noticed the bullet holes decorating the passenger door and side panel? He hadn't had the time or the money to have the car repaired, and the last thing he wanted Max to remember right now was that her brother Zack had shot the car up. It had happened that last night they were together, the night that was supposed to have been their beginning but instead had led to this mess.
Cindy was watching him, waiting for him to take the lead. "Oh, the plastic," he said, trying to be casual. "Window broke. Somebody threw a rock. Just haven't had time to get it fixed."
"Oh yeah?" Max replied. "Somebody throwing bullets at your car too? Or have you got enemies? Maybe I ought to think about taking the bus home. Getting shot up once is plenty for me, thanks."
Me too, he thought. "Sorry, nothing that dramatic," he said aloud, keeping his voice light and sneaking an apprehensive glance at her in the rearview mirror. Was anything coming back to her? "Just found it that way one morning out on the street," he went on, trying to cover his anxiety.
"Some nutjob taking target practice," Cindy threw in helpfully.
"Must have been," Logan agreed, watching Max in the mirror.
She was staring out the window, expressionless, and for a moment he was afraid. Then she yawned hugely. "Whatever. Boy, I'm beat. Can't wait to get home."
"Almost there," Cindy said, and the bad moment passed. Max closed her eyes, leaned back, and stayed that way until they arrived at her building. Then she hopped out with a quick "Thanks." As she walked away Cindy stuck her head back in the car.
"Don't look so pathetic," she told him. "I'll call you later, okay?"
He could only nod, watching Max disappear into her apartment building, followed by Cindy. When the door closed behind them he sat for a moment, feeling utterly alone. He would have given anything right then to take her home, cook for her, care for her, help her get better. Love her. Instead, here he sat in the car, a cold draft from the plastic window blowing down the back of his neck, and the only useful thing left for him to do was go away.
No telling when he would see her again.