After the blackout night, he didn't hear from Max for a while.

He couldn't decide whether to call her. If there was one thing he had learned about Max, it was that she didn't like being needed. Nothing would send her running faster than having someone depend on her, expect something from her. Cindy had actually managed to make him laugh once or twice over the summer, telling stories about the many excuses, each one wilder than the last, that Max had given Normal for her chronic absences from Jam Pony.

Of course, no one knew better than he did that Max had had plenty of good reasons for being late to work a few times. What had made him laugh was knowing that Max hadn't felt the slightest remorse over letting her employer down. If anything, she'd blamed Normal for counting on her in the first place. Moron.

So right now he hated the idea of seeming needy. Besides, other than the memory loss that had wiped out a year of her life -- their lives -- she didn't seem changed at all. She was Max. She would show up when she was ready to show up. If she didn't -- well, trying to find her would only cause some sort of disaster. Better to wait.

As it turned out, he was wrong about that.

The night Max showed up again, he worked late. He was in the office, just closing up some files on the computer. The waistband of the exoskeleton was hot and itchy, and he wanted to take it off and relax in bed.

"Hey."

He turned from the desk to see Max leaning against the doorway. He opened his mouth to say "Hey" back, but the words caught in his throat as he understood what he was seeing.

She stood there in an attitude of frank seductiveness, her tight jeans emphasizing the curve of her hip, her smooth skin showing above and below her short top, a little smile playing on her full lips as her eyes locked with his. "Hey," she said again, in a soft, sexy voice. He could smell the faint flowery scent of her across the room.

Oh no. Max was in heat.

Desire and panic fought inside him. He couldn't help feeling thrilled at the sight of her and the knowledge that she wanted him, but he had no intention of allowing anything to happen under these circumstances. Dammit, where was Cindy? Why hadn't she locked Max in the closet or at least called to warn him?

He glanced around the office quickly. Was there any way to make a run for it without --

Quicker than he could react, she had him. He heard papers crackling and assumed that his butt was leaning on the table. He threw a hand back for support, trying to push her gently away with the other. It was hopeless. She was too strong and way too determined. Catching his wrist, she placed his free hand firmly on the table and held it there, her eyes never leaving his. Then he heard his zipper and felt the flat of her arm against his belly. Which meant that her wrist, and her hand, were ... oh God ... He tried to look down, but her dark head blocked his view.

"Max, wait," he began.

"Take these off," she gasped, and he saw her yank his pants, hard, then thrust her hand further down. Suddenly her expression changed. He looked down to see the plastic, metal, and strapping over his right hip exposed, and next to that, a flat expanse of brief. He couldn't tell whether it was the exo or the all-too-obvious lack of arousal that caught her attention, but wide-eyed, she released him and stepped away.

"Oh God. I'm sorry. I thought you were into ... I mean, God, I just assumed ... sorry," she panted, fumbling for her jacket. "Oh, God," she said again.

"Max, wait --"

"Sorry. I'm so ... I'm out of here. Sorry." And with that she ran from the office, jacket flapping. Seconds later he heard the quiet click of the front door closing.

Damn! He slammed his hand on the desk in frustration. Of everything that could have gone wrong, this was pretty high up on his list of No, please not that. He didn't dare call Cindy now, since Max was likely to head home. Or maybe not, he thought bitterly, remembering her last heat cycle. And Rafer.

But Cindy would be hearing from him first thing in the morning.

Belatedly remembering his dignity, he zipped his pants and headed for the shower, where he sat for a long time under the spray of hot water, trying to decide whether what felt worse: that he hadn't been able to stop her coming on to him, or that she now believed he wasn't interested in her. Damn, damn, damn.

--------------------

He overslept in the morning, so that when Cindy showed up with her bicycle he was still in a t-shirt and sweat pants, hair standing crazily on end. "What happened last night?" he demanded, rolling past her into the living room. Cindy raised her eyebrows.

"Good morning to you too, sugar," she replied, leaning her bike against the hallway wall none too gently. Logan winced at the scrape of her handlebars against the paint. She came into the living room and stood with her arms folded.

"Look, I got to get back to work, so let's make this quick. Original Cindy messed up last night. That's a fact."

"What did she say? Forget that, I don't want to know."

Cindy ignored him. "She thinks you're into some kind of freak scene and you ain't interested in regular straight-up hetero love. At least not with her."

"Oh God," Logan groaned.

"The good news is, the whole thing spun her so bad she came straight home and let Original Cindy watch her back. No pizza boys this time."

Logan sighed. "Probably would have been better than what happened."

"No need to get all down," Cindy scolded him. "Won't take no time at all to fix. You give her twenty-four hours to get past this and then you talk it out with her."

"And say what?"

"Look, you got to stop frontin' like this. Tell the woman the truth about yourself."

"Which is?"

Cindy let out a loud, exasperated sigh. "That you ain't into any freak thing, that you're crazy in love with her. And that you got shot, so it ain't about wanting her, 'cause we all know you do. And when the time is right ... " Cindy gave him a hard look. "Twenty-four hours. I'll call you when it's safe. And then you gotta step up and take care of this. You got me?"

"Okay, call me," he said resignedly as Cindy wheeled her bike out of the apartment.

As soon as the door closed, Logan went to the window. He sat there for a long time, staring at nothing. The thought that had kept him awake most of the night was back, stronger than ever.

It went like this: I've been around Max before when she was in heat before. She never came on to me then. Why now?

Was it because this time he had been on his feet? Because -- in spite of everything she had said to him that first year -- it really was about him being able to walk?

Had he been kidding himself the night of the blackout? Sitting there in the candlelit dark, letting the wine seduce him into thinking that all along, Max had treated him the way she would have treated any guy? Because right now it seemed like he had missed something fairly obvious. Sure, she had treated him just the way she would have treated any guy -- any guy who was her pal, her co-worker, maybe even her brother.

But not her lover. Not until now, when she knew him as a completely different person.

That was a long day, followed by another long night.

--------------------------------------------------------

Cindy called almost exactly twenty-four hours later. She gave no details, merely announced in a low voice that "it" was all over and that both she and Max were at work. She also said that Max planned to head straight home that evening - alone - for dinner before heading out to Crash. "Would be a good time for you to catch her," Cindy informed him in a tone full of meaning. Then she hung up before he could respond.

He threw the phone at the couch. It hit the back and bounced off the cushions once. He left it there and went to the office.

By the time the apartment grew so dark he could no longer see the papers on his desk, he knew what he had to do. Cindy, as much as he hated to admit it, was right. He simply could not allow Max to go on believing ... whatever it was that she now believed. That he didn't want her? That she owed him an apology? That she deserved to be ashamed? He didn't want the word "humiliation" to be the first thing in her mind whenever she thought about him. He wanted her to be able to stand thinking about him. Scratch that. He wanted her to love thinking about him as much as he loved thinking about her. Even if that love might never be the kind he most wanted.

So he didn't bother turning on the office light. Instead, he closed the file on screen and, before he had time to change his mind, picked up his car keys and left the apartment. He was going to Max's place. Wrinkled shirt, unshaven face, and all. And in the chair.

It's not like she needs to know she was there - or not there - when it happened, he thought as he started the car, pulling out into the street, grateful for the rush-hour traffic that gave him time to compose himself.

I've been overcomplicating this. All I have to tell her is that I was out on a job, got shot, and here we are.

Did I know you then? she'll ask, and I'll say, We'd met, but we didn't start working together until after. After I came home from the hospital, he amended sternly. Don't dance around it.

He didn't get out of the car right away when he arrived at her building. Instead, he took a deep breath and dialed Max's number on his cell. She answered on the second ring.

"Max? It's Logan." Don't give her time to get scared. "I'm outside your building and I'd like to come up and talk to you. May I?"

There was a short silence and then she said in a flat, expressionless voice, "Yeah, sure. Come on up."

"Thanks," he said. "Um - is your elevator working tonight?"

"Yeah," she answered, sounding like she couldn't imagine what on earth he needed to know that for. Suspicious. Just wait, he thought sardonically.

"Thanks," he answered, hurriedly closing the phone and reaching for the chair. He was slow; he'd been using the exo so much lately he was out of practice, and now he regretted spoiling himself. Effort and anxiety made his forehead and palms damp with sweat. Feeling disheveled, he wheeled into the lobby and waited for the ancient elevator to creak to a halt.

Upstairs, the hallway was silent and Max's door was closed. Guess I couldn't expect her to rush out to greet me, he thought. He swiped his palms on his pants legs a last time, tugged his jacket down, and knocked on the door.

When Max opened the door she looked right over his head for a few seconds, clearly expecting the Logan who was quite a bit taller than she was. "Hey," he said helpfully, and she looked down then. The astonishment on her face would have been funny if it hadn't been for what he was about to tell her.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Max, never big on etiquette even in more ordinary circumstances, stepped aside and watched -- stared, really -- as he rolled in. She shut the door with a quick push and sat down on the couch, hard, still staring at the chair.

"Shouldn't you lock the door?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, and did, then returned to the couch to stare some more.

His heart was pounding now, but that was something he knew how to handle. He had been scared, really afraid, the night he was shot. He didn't remember the actual shooting, but he did remember the hours leading up to it. At the time he had thought his fear was a protective instinct, heightening his alertness. Now sometimes he wondered whether he'd had a kind of sixth sense, an instinct, that the job would go wrong. I hope that's not what I'm feeling tonight, he thought, but even as he thought it he realized he had no right to expect this conversation to go well. He took a deep breath.

"So. I guess you're wondering about this." Best just to say it straight out. "A year and a half ago, I was on an investigative job and got shot. Took a bullet in the spine. I'm paralyzed." There.

"You were walking," Max answered as if he'd just said the stupidest thing she had ever heard.

"Yes. I got my hands on a surplus Department of Defense exoskeleton, and it allows me to walk. But, I'm still paralyzed." Most of his attention was on her, waiting for her reaction. But a little part of his mind was saying, Listen to you. You said it. Twice. Right out loud. He pushed the thought away for later.

Then comprehension broke over Max's face. "How paralyzed?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"From about here --" he indicated a spot between his rib cage and his hipbones "-- all the way down." He hoped she couldn't see how badly his hands were shaking. "I'm lucky. Twenty years ago, it would have been a lot worse. At least I got state of the art treatment in a decent hospital." Shut up now, Logan, and let her process all this.

She seemed to be thinking, though he had no idea what was really going on behind that beautiful face. Abruptly she stood up, and now he could see that she was angry. Instinctively he backed the chair up a few inches. She stalked over to the window, then turned back to face him. "You could have told me, you know," she said furiously. "I thought -- the other night -- I thought it was me!" she finished in a burst.

Now he didn't know what to say. If there had ever been a time when he wanted to confess his deepest love, lust, and longing for her, it was now. He would have done anything to reassure her. And of course he couldn't say a word. He'd deceived her, embarrassed her, and on top of all that, he was more or less still a total stranger to her. Feeling like a complete idiot, he began, "It wasn't you, Max, it was me, and --"

Where it would have gone from there, he never found out. Max was suddenly standing in front of him, and she was really angry. "Oh sure, that's what all the guys say. It's me. Well, thanks for the explanation, and now I've got plans for tonight, so you'll have to excuse me." It took him a few seconds to realize she'd just thrown him out. There was nothing else for him to do but head for the door.

Unfortunately the chain was out of his reach. He waited.

"What?" Max snarled when he didn't leave.

"Could you unlock the door?" he asked, and Max stalked over.

"Excuse me for not noticing. Maybe if you'd told me the truth two weeks ago I'd be thinking of stuff like that by now." She dropped the chain loudly against the door. He opened it with as much dignity as he could summon, then rolled into the hall.

The door slammed resoundingly behind him before he even had a chance to turn around.