The next morning Cindy called Logan from the pay phone at Jam Pony.
"Boo had kind of a bad night," she reported in a low voice that hardly carried over the background din of Normal's dispatches and the answering shouts of the messengers. Logan was immediately worried.
"Bad night how? Is she all right? Should I call Sam?"
"Nothing he can do about this. She took some of those painkillers he sent her home with and woke up crying in the middle of the night. Said she'd been dreaming. Said it was about Zack."
Zack. That couldn't be anything good. Logan ran a hand through his hair. "Is she okay alone? I mean --"
"Hang on, sugar." The background noise got louder and he heard Cindy bellow, "What?" and then, "Keep your shirt on. I'm comin." The din receded and Cindy told him, "Look, I gotta go. Normal's gettin' on my case twice as bad today since he don't have Max to pick a fight with. Do me a favor. Give her a call and check up on her?"
"Sure --"
"Thanks. Later," she said, and hung up before he could finish his sentence.
He listened to the dial tone for a minute, started Max's number, then changed his mind and closed the phone. What was wrong with him? Why was he hesitating? He had expected days to go by before he thought of a decent excuse to call Max, and now Cindy, bless her, had given him one. So why wasn't he grabbing his chance?
Because, he told himself, you're scared.
How else was he supposed to feel? He loved Max, and she was indifferent to him. What if she brushed him off in that way of hers, the one that let a guy know she had a hundred better things to do with her time? Once before he had found the way past the hard shell around her heart, but could he do it again? How?
One thing was for sure -- he knew what he wouldn't be doing. Though well over a year had gone by since they first met, he still turned red with humiliation whenever he remembered the way he had come on to her, in the days before the shooting. He wanted to cringe every time he thought of himself lighting the candles for dinner, or touching her hair in front of the old mirror that had been in the hallway then. Yeah, you thought you were such a player, he told himself. So irresistible. Little did you know that over-the-top seduction and casual sex were the last two things on earth that were going to impress Max. Lucky you got shot when you did. Saved you from making an even bigger ass out of yourself than you already had.
He was so deep in his memory of those days that he didn't hear the phone ringing at first. Then he nearly dropped it in his hurry to answer before the caller hung up. "Hello?" he said.
"Hey," Max answered. "Am I interrupting anything?"
Max. The sound of her voice after what he had just been thinking flustered him completely. "No, not at all," he said quickly. Too quickly. Don't sound so eager. "Are you all right?" he asked, forcing himself to slow down.
"Yeah, if you can call being bored out of your mind 'all right.' Listen, Cindy said you might be able to fill me in on some stuff about my family. Got a few minutes?"
"Tell you what. I was just about to head out. Can I come by your place and we'll talk there? Probably not the kind of stuff you want to discuss over the phone." He held his breath. He really wanted to see her.
"Sure," she agreed. "Whatever." Probably out of desperation, but he'd take it. He was desperate himself.
"Okay then. See you in about an hour." He hung up and found that his hands were suddenly shaking. Terrified as a kid going on his first date! Now what could he bring her? Food. Max loved his cooking. He found some leftover pasta with chicken and sauteed vegetables in the refrigerator and a bottle of mineral water. He could stop and pick up some bread at the market. Flowers too? No. Too personal. Too much like a come-on. What had she called him the last time? "Bent"? Not going there again, he reminded himself.
It felt like forever, but at last he found himself climbing the stairs to her apartment. He was so nervous he didn't have good balance and had to hang on the rail with his free hand or risk falling over backwards. The last thing he needed was Max dragging herself out of the apartment to pick up the pieces. That would really impress her, he thought grimly, taking a deep breath and pushing open the door Max had told him she would leave unlocked.
Max lay on the couch, eyes closed, hair pulled up in a messy bun. A few dark strands trailed over the pillow and he longed to reach out and touch them, touch her beautiful face, but as if she knew what he was thinking her eyes popped open and she sat up. "Hi," she said. "What's in the bag?"
"Huh? Oh. Lunch, if you're hungry."
"Oh yeah? Cindy left some soup but let's see what you've got."
Logan walked over to the couch and held out the bag. As Max reached for it, she frowned. "What's that noise?" she asked.
He looked around the room, puzzled. "Noise?"
"Yeah. Clunking -- and this kind of high-pitched whiny sound." She looked at him suspiciously. "You carrying some kind of electronic equipment or something? Maybe a tire iron?"
Oh crap. The exo. She could hear the servomotors and the clunk of his heavy shoes and the foot attachments hitting the floor. "Huh. Maybe my cell phone," he improvised, standing still and shaking the bag to distract her.
"Doesn't sound like a cell phone to me," she objected, but took the bag from him and peeked in, then took out the container of pasta and lifted the lid. "Smells good," she announced. "But what's that green stuff?"
"Spinach."
"I hate spinach."
"You like it in this," he replied without thinking.
"How do you know?" she snapped back, then looked up. She must have seen what he was feeling in his face, because she suddenly looked confused. "Oh. Did I eat this with you before?" She frowned. "Wait a second, I eat with you? I thought we just worked together."
"You worked up an appetite on a couple of the jobs you did for me. You were welcome to whatever was in my fridge." He watched her. For a moment he thought she was going to say more. Then she shrugged and closed the pasta container. "Could you put this away? I'm not hungry right now," she said.
When he returned from the kitchen, making sure to sit where she didn't have a clear view of his feet, she had fixed her hair and was ready to talk. "Cindy says you can fill me in on some things." She frowned. "How do you know anything about Manticore anyway?"
He felt on safer ground now. Talking to her about this would be like Eyes Only working with a source. He settled back in the chair and answered, "Manticore is not as secret as you might think. There were, and still are, rumors everywhere. I'd heard about it long before I met you."
"Oh. So exactly how did we meet?"
He had to try very hard not to smile. "You broke into my apartment," he said, watching her face.
She laughed out loud, looking for a moment like her usual healthy, irrepressible old self. "And you trusted me after that?"
"No," he returned, "but you were good at what you did, and I figured I could work with that."
"So how have you been paying me? Besides leftovers, I mean. I'm sure I haven't been doing this out of the kindness of my heart."
He let that one go. "You keep whatever profits you seize from the evildoers. I give you information about your family."
Suddenly her face was sad and she shifted restlessly on the couch. "I was dreaming about my brother Zack last night," she said. "I haven't seen him in ten years. I can't remember finding him in the dream but it feels like I did."
He took a breath. Now came the hard part. "You did find him. In real life, I mean. Or, he found you."
Her head came up then and she stared at him fiercely. "He did? Where is he?"
"I'm not sure. It's complicated." He knew that wouldn't satisfy her at all, so he went on quickly, "While you were searching for your family, Lydecker was on your trail. Then Manticore got in on it. They caught Tinga, Max." He had already decided not to mention Brin, or Ben. But there was no getting around Tinga.
"They found her? Captured her? She's there now?" Her distress showed clearly in her face. She half-rose from the couch, as if she were ready to head for Manticore immediately.
"Not quite. You and Zack went to free her, with Syl and Krit. But it was too late. Max, she died before you got there. You and Zack were captured and held prisoner for three months. Then you escaped and the place burned to the ground. It's gone."
Max fell back against her pillow, her face filled with conflicting emotion. Her eyes filled with tears. "She's gone? Tinga's gone?"
"I'm sorry, Max." He let her cry for a few minutes, feeling the tears come to his own eyes, wishing he could comfort her. There was only one thing he could think of to say, and after a moment he said quietly, "I don't know if this helps any, but before she was captured she married and had a son. Who is free and safe."
"A son?" Max whispered. She looked up again, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. "I'm an aunt?"
"Twice by now, or any day now. Your sister Jace was expecting, last you saw her."
Max smiled a little. "An aunt twice, huh?" she said, a little shakily. "That's cool." He could see her push her grief away then and focus her attention again on the rest of what he had told her. "Did you say -- Manticore's gone?"
"That installation is. Hard to tell how many others they had. And you still need to be careful. There's some evidence that the National Security Agency is on your tail. Rounding up everyone who escaped, in '09 and the night you got out."
"Where is everyone else? Zack? The others? Did I -- did Zack -- find anyone else besides Syl and Krit?"
Logan hesistated. He had decided the night before not to mention Brin, or Ben. He had no idea whether Brin had escaped the destruction of Manticore, or where she might be if she was alive. And Ben ... he had long suspected that Max knew more about Ben's disappearance than she had ever admitted to him. He didn't want to pry into those secrets now and Ben was long beyond her help, or his. Best to let him rest in whatever peace he might have found. Someday he would tell her, but not today, or tomorrow, or any day soon.
But when it came to Zack, there could be no evasion. The only question was, how much of the truth should he tell her? Zack wasn't in Seattle at the moment. Lydecker had taken him out of the city a week ago, to the secure location where he and Syl and Krit had spent the summer hiding. They were guarding him there day and night. To keep him from trying to kill Logan again.
Logan's thoughts drifted back to the night the virus was cured. And to that moment when at last he kissed Max, then drew back and took a breath ...
Max, there's something I want to tell you.
What?
Max, I --
And then the door bursts open and there's Zack. Zack, who has been living with Max since his escape from the Steelheads, recovering. What now, Zack? Logan starts to say, and then he sees the gun. It's pointed at him and Max is shoving him out of the way, shouting, and he's running for the door (thank God he's wearing the exoskeleton), down the elevator, into the parking garage to the car, but before he can get there Zack and Max come spilling out of the stairwell, Zack is shooting again, hitting the car, finally hitting the hip of the exo. There's a zing and a crackle as the servomotor shorts out. He's down. Zack is coming, relentless. Max frantically tears some wires loose from an electrical box on the wall and drops them on the wet floor where Zack is walking, and at the last second Zack goes down.
But the relief doesn't last. After Lydecker takes Zack away, Logan begins again.
Now where were we? There's still something I want to tell you.
There's something I want to tell you too. I can't see you any more.
What?
I'm a danger to you. I thought it was just the virus but it isn't. It's me. You heard what Sam said. It's all still in there. He could try to kill you again any time.
Max, you can't --
I can. Goodbye.
Max, don't. I love you ...
But she walks away ...
She was watching him, waiting, drinking tea from a chipped mug she had picked up from the floor beside her. He still hadn't decided what to say when a shudder shook her body so hard the tea sloshed over her hand and down her shirt. "What's wrong?" he asked sharply.
"Uhhh," Max almost groaned. "All of a sudden I feel like crap. It might be --" Another shudder shook her and Logan realized what was happening.
"A seizure," he finished. She hadn't had one since the trip to Cape Haven, at least not as far as he knew, but maybe the blood loss, or the anesthesia, had triggered them again.
"Guess you've seen this show before," she gritted through clenched teeth.
"Yes. Do you still keep tryptophan here?" No time now to tiptoe around what she did and didn't know. Seizures were one thing when she was in perfect health. They were another, far more dangerous situation, in her weakened condition. If nothing else, she ran the risk of reopening her incision and bleeding again. He needed to get her under control as quickly as he could.
"Top shelf, bathroom," she whispered, rolling onto her side and curling up to hold herself still. Logan hurried into the bathroom, thanking God for the exoskeleton. Without it he never would have been able to reach the dark brown bottle on the top shelf.
There was some milk in the refrigerator. It was sour but he poured her a glass, then helped her sit up enough to swallow the pills. "Ugh," she complained at the first taste, pulling away from the glass, leaning back against his arm for support.
"Drink up. It will get into your system faster than the pills can," he said, and she nodded, gulping it down obediently. When the glass was empty she handed it back, closing her eyes. Gently he lowered her back to the couch. The next hour or two would be rough, he knew, until the trypto had a chance to do its thing. He pulled a chair up next to the couch, picked up a pillow, and handed it to her.
"Max, listen to me for a minute. You need to protect your incision. I want you to take this pillow and hold it against your stomach -- yes, that's good, just like that. When you feel the shakes coming, hold it against you. Like that. That's right." He made his voice as soothing as he could. "Try to relax. I'm right here with you and I'll help you, okay?"
She didn't answer, just nodded, and they stayed like that for the next hour, Logan supporting her during the worst shaking, occasionally checking the dressing on her stomach. To his relief there was only a small amount of extra bleeding.
Max spoke only once. "Seems like you've ... done this before ... "
"Something like that." He hesitated, then reached out and brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Don't talk now. Plenty of time for that later." He pulled his hand back and for a long time the only sound in the room was the occasional soft moan Max couldn't quite hold in.
Finally, as night came and the room began to darken, the seizures eased at last. Max stopped shaking and began yawning. "I kept you here all afternoon," she said sleepily. "You probably need to get out of here."
"That's all right. I make my own hours. I'll stay."
"No. Go. I can take care of myself." She closed her eyes and rolled over to face the back of the couch.
"Okay," he said, but didn't move from the chair. After a few minutes her breathing became slow and regular, and he knew she was asleep. He leaned back in the chair, stretching, and the rickety old thing gave a sudden loud creak. Max stirred. He froze.
"I never ate your food," she said drowsily, without turning her head.
"That's okay. Keep it for later," he answered.
"Thanks," she said almost inaudibly.
When he was sure she had gone back to sleep, he rose as quietly as he could. He didn't want to turn on a light, but with the unreliable power in the building Max and Cindy kept candles on every windowsill, tabletop, and counter. He found a book of matches and lit one candle, just enough to see the rise and fall of Max's breathing as she slept.
He sat in the chair and watched her sleep until Cindy came home.