DISCLAIMER: (Insert any from previous chapters here.)

THANK YOU again for the kind words, encouragement, and chuckles. What fun it's been to read everyone's reactions! The time and thoughts shared have been greatly appreciated.

CHAPTER 9

FOGLE TOWERS

Once back at the penthouse, Bling was quiet, sober with the realization that Max was not the only victim of the corrupt pharmacist: his employer had gone through his own emotional battering over the past 24 hours that rivaled the physical one he'd suffered. Bling didn't even try to suggest that he be the one to carry Max inside, even though it would have been far easier; Logan's eyes were glazed with a feverish intensity that had the trainer standing nearby for the first opportunity to tend to Logan's wounds and give him a thorough once-over. He was wise enough to recognize it would have to wait until Max was looked after to Logan's satisfaction.

He'd convinced Logan to let him examine Max to be sure no physical injuries were missed while she was still unresponsive, and to wrap her in a pair of Logan's flannel drawstrings and a soft T-shirt. To fill the time as Bling did so, Logan went to fetch extra pillows and blankets back to the guest room, even changing the unused, cold sheets on the bed to fresh ones, sweet smelling from the linen closet. He looked around vaguely for anything more he could add, for her comfort, and found nothing other than some candles, some delicately scented...he brought them back into the room and lit them, hoping he'd found the ones Max had liked the best.

Bling satisfied himself that, beyond the potential after-effects of the drugs they'd used on her and some dehydration, nothing appeared to be seriously amiss with Max. He carried her to the waiting guest bedroom from the training room, where he'd examined her, touched up a couple scrapes, and injected a field saline mixture to combat the dehydration. Laying her on the bed, he stepped back as Logan pulled up alongside, close to the groggy form, tucking the fresh linens around her and tenderly tracing away the last hours with a warm, damp washcloth across her brow and temples. His check of Max done, Bling grabbed the small box he'd filled and went downstairs to wait: Bling had made the call to a friend working graveyard shift in a nearby clinic; a second call dispatched a runner from the Informant Net to meet Bling in the garage to take drug samples he'd packed up for testing to the waiting tech. In only a very few minutes the runner appeared, and Bling turned back to the elevator to ride back upstairs.

Coming back into the penthouse, he glanced into the guest room from the hall to see Logan hunched over Max in obsessive worry, a far cry from the normal, "we're not like that," feigned-cavalier facade he affected. Bling frowned again, knowing this was more than just the last 24 hours. The man was smitten with the woman who lay before him, in denial about the depths of those feelings, and unwilling to believe that he could act on them. What would this particular adventure do to him–to them? Presuming that Max would bounce back once she had a few hours away from the stuff–after all, though groggy, she'd demonstrated that all systems were intact –would this change things? Would his conviction that Max was better off without him weigh even more heavily on Logan now? Bling suspected that, if so, his difficulty in accepting life as a paraplegic would be even greater...

"Hey..." Bling came in to speak, softly. "How 'bout your turn? Let me take a look, get you some clean clothes."

Logan shook his head stubbornly. "She might wake up–I don't want her to be alone again."

"How's she gonna like it when she's here and you're off recovering from untreated injuries in the hospital?" His tone made Logan blink up at him, momentarily. He hadn't intended the irritation to come through, but Bling too was human, worried about both of his charges. He relented. "Here's a thought–get out of those pants, put on some boxers, and meet me back here. No reason I can't look you over in here, while you're waiting." He nodded, encouragingly, toward the master bedroom. "Go on–I'll wait here, with her."

Logan wavered, green eyes haunted as he looked at his therapist, as he looked back to the pale but untroubled face on the pillow...without speaking he softly released first one brake, then the other, and backed a bit to pivot, come around the bed, and head off quickly to do as Bling suggested.

The therapist released the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Glancing back toward the form disappearing down the hall, he looked back to the sleeping woman and came closer. He thought he actually saw a tiny bit of color coming back to her cheeks, and was gratified to see that her breathing was easy, rhythmic. A brief touch of her forehead and cheek assured him that her temp was within acceptable range...she'd bounce back, he thought. At least physically. But he wondered again about what would happen to the odd little tug-of-war that was the relationship between Max and Logan...

The whir of rubber on wood brought a rise of Bling's eyebrows, as Logan had changed faster than he ever had, back in black boxers and T-shirt, feet bare, a pair of sweats and socks draped across his lap, ready for the exam to be over. Bling stood aside as Logan came up to Max again, looking her over as if he'd been gone a week, and Bling stepped out to get the medical supplies he'd need, gritting his teeth silently at the long laceration he'd seen purpling now along Logan's thigh.

Logan was oblivious to Bling's concerns, his attention fully drawn by the quiet, perfect form in his guest room. Afraid to wake her, afraid she wouldn't rouse, he carefully traced back her hair, brushed his knuckle along her cheek...even the adrenaline that had been keeping him going had faded some time ago, but he stubbornly focused on her, to be sure she was alright...to keep at bay all the memories of the past 24 hours, what he'd done, what he'd become...what he'd learned about Manticore...what he hadn't...

Bling came back in the room, bringing with him one of the bar chairs from the kitchen. Logan had recently taken to hopping up into them when working at the bar, the movement now mastered, and the higher, better angle would make for an easier time for Bling. "Bring it over and up, alright?" He encouraged Logan, softly. "You and I both will have a better angle to see what we need to see." Logan initially made a face, prickly with the fuss, but conceded the need, looking himself at the long, deep gash, and seeing he would have a better view of Max as she slept. He wheeled over, locking his chair to make the transfer, and pulled up easily into the seat as Bling stood near, unobtrusively making sure it remained steady, away from the kitchen bar corralling it. "Right back..." He was gone for the moment it took to return to the training room for the wheeled stool he kept there. Straddling the stool in a graceful move, the trainer grunted as he sat. First looking long and carefully into the thigh wound, he finally asked, "You wanna tell me about this?"

"I cut my leg..." Bling wasn't sure if it was humor, testiness, or complete exhaustion. He grunted again and peered at his charge.

"That much I'd managed. You forget I'm a professional." Bling allowed the moment to take a deep breath and regain his usually endless equanimity. "Any specifics you can offer, such as when, and on what?"

Logan's eyes left Max for a moment as he looked guiltily to Bling, then back. "Not really; sorry. It had to be somewhere around midnight, give or take a couple hours either way."

Bling's eyes narrowed. "What the hell were you doing out there?"

Again, a wan, vague look. "Oh...you know...just crawling around out there–looking for her..." His last words were nearly a whisper, negating any humored irony that may have been offered with the first.

"Uh-huh" the trainer disapproved. He started a more careful and thorough visual inspection of Logan's legs, feet and ankles, noting for the first time that there were bruises and scrapes along them, most fresh and reddening. "Damn, Logan" Bling breathed, more to himself than his patient. He knew it wouldn't matter, anyway...

He continued his inspection, insisting with the appearance of all the battle scars that Logan be examined everywhere, a thorough assessment not only below his level of sensation but above–and when Logan dutifully pulled off his t-shirt, Bling found a couple deep bruises beginning along his ribs and back, with plenty others peppered there, as well as along his arms.

Bling grimaced. "You're gonna be sore" he murmured. He wasn't as concerned about the upper body bruising–the basketball team Logan had joined led to some color, on occasion–but the deep bruises weren't the best news for a SCI patient–and the fact that the battering was in addition to the cut, and followed a recent infection of his knee...

Bling pulled out a thermometer which he managed to get into Logan's ear for the 10 seconds required, despite the patient's complaints. He had turned back to look again at the gash, trying to decide if too much time had gone by to stitch the wound, when a small voice murmured from the bed, sounding troubled, then called, a child-like plea. "...Logan?"

"Yeah, Max; I'm here..." The exhausted man suddenly sparked to life, green eyes shooting a quick entreaty to Bling, who simply rocked back to stand and steady the stool. Logan's transfer was instantaneous, and he didn't stop to adjust his feet, immediately coming to her side. "Hey, Max..." he looked into the deep brown eyes blinking groggily up to him, leaning toward her to reach a caressing hand toward her brow. Halting midway–she was awake now, he reasoned, what would she think–he nonetheless dared to trace back a curl delicately, trying an encouraging smile. "You waking up?" He barely noticed that the trainer quietly stepped out of the room.

"Maybe" she managed to joke. "Where's the tank that hit me?"

His smiled, starting to believe she'd be alright. "Totaled" he promised. They hadn't even heard back yet from the lab tech, but Max was lucid for the most part, and griping...good signs, he told himself. "How ya feelin'?"

"Like the tank won." Her eyes closed, tiredly, opened again, glancing up and over briefly, then closed. "Looks as if I've gotten a room at the Cale Hotel for Widows...Small Children..." She started to fade out again.

"...and lost animals...." He whispered. "Yeah..." He watched her closely as her eyes flickered again, fighting sleep, and asked, softly, "What is it, Max?" His voice was soothing, comforting. "What do you need?"

"Logan...stay here, with me? Please...?" The brown eyes opened again and in them, Logan saw that she fought the memories–whether of the past hours, or of Manticore, or both, he couldn't know–but in her eyes Logan saw Max's need to let go and let someone else keep her safe, just so she could rest, if only for a little while...

"I'm here, Max; and I'll be here when you wake. Just get some rest..." As she relaxed, letting down her guard and drawing a deep breath, Logan carefully lifted her hand, curling his around it, and sighed. 'What a twenty four hours it had been,' he admitted to himself...and began to allow the thoughts in. Max had been rendered helpless, weak...and he had turned vicious, cruel...brutal. The memory of what he had done to the man who had held Max captive knotted his stomach. Never in his life had he lost control like that, to act solely from anger, without thought. As he considered what he'd become he felt sickened–and fearful that it still lingered inside of him and could surface again, unexpectedly. How could he continue Eyes Only– how could he hold his head up to Sebastian, or Matt, or Bling–or Max–if he was as base as the criminals he fought?

But for the moment, he watched Max as her breathing again deepened in sleep, and reached up to trace her jaw, gently. Sitting up a little, he understood that his time with her, like this, was ending. Lifting her hand to his lips to press it there, long moments, he sighed...and laid her hand back down, backing up a little to wait for Bling's return...

To be continued...