DISCLAIMERS: Not my characters, no matter how hard I wish!

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU who have read, especially those who have offered ideas and suggestions and encouragement–more, more; please, more! And to Alaidh: One bit just for you–suppose you'll believe it was all just a cleverly planned plot device–or me just making lemonade now? Either way, maybe this will resolve one little matter!

CHAPTER 10: FOGEL TOWERS

The dream seemed to be on an endless loop, rising again and again when she closed her eyes: Zack running into her life long enough to get her attention so she could watch him running away...and now Jondy... oh, Jondy...she'd joined the dream but faceless, formless, out of her reach, dropping crumbs for her to follow that turned out to be false leads, empty hopes...a trap...

And she was still alone...despite all the time, all her efforts, she was alone and her brothers and sisters didn't know or didn't care...no matter how long she'd searched, there was no one there for her...

Until strong, steady arms lifted her from the dark, swirling depths, held her close and whispered that she would never be alone again...

Max felt as if she'd been drifting, lost; unused to sleeping so long or being so disoriented, she could feel her muscles creak a tiny bit with the hours of bed rest. For someone who went days on merely a few hours of occasional sleep, the convalescence –and whatever they'd pumped into her--made her head feel cottony and muddled and achy...

And the gaps. As she lay still, eyes still closed, feeling pillows propping her up a bit, she rooted around in her memory and still found that so much of what had happened must still be missing, either completely or just out of reach, surfacing as a remembered emotion-- the feeling of loss, or of terrible, sweeping loneliness.

But she was safe now, feeling warmed and cared-for...as the sleep subsided she felt the soft, creamy slip of bed linens, fine ones of rich weave, along her skin, smelled the fresh, clean scent of them...felt the down pillows under her shoulders...Only Logan had such things, she reminded herself, burrowing a little deeper in the luxurious comfort. Logan, who had warned her to be careful, to wait for him, who tried to tell her that it wasn't Jondy at all...

Logan, who had come to her rescue, even though she'd ignored his warnings and his requests that she wait...all that and Logan had brought her out, brought her to his place...

...Logan had come to her rescue...

She suddenly remembered a moment, when she would rather have seen him than anyone else in the world, the ache of it returning with the memory...she remembered another small scrap, the worried voice of Logan in a cold, bare room, but when he came in he brought hope...

...She remembered being gathered in close to him, his strong arms protecting her when she was weak...his carrying her out to be safe...

...and in a sad moment she knew she had to have been dreaming at least some of it...at least the part where Logan swooped in to carry her out...maybe it was a hope she held for him, knowing it was so important to him, that one day he could do something like scooping her up and walking her into freedom, as she'd imagined he had done...

Maybe he had been there. Maybe it had been his voice, even his arms...at least she knew this was his home, his bed, cradling her as she'd thought his arms had done, not so long ago...he had gotten her out, or at least had engineered her freedom, and at least one thing was right in the world: she might not have her siblings, maybe never would. But Logan was there for her and would not let her fall...

So many years, she reflected...so many years, she went her own way, avoided ties or alliances, waiting for her siblings... But look at her now. Not only Original Cindy, and everyone at her job...but Logan. Bling too, because of Logan. Logan was her guide, he got her back, he challenged and frustrated and "guilted her"...he fed her... he cared...and she realized that he banished that pain of loneliness she'd fought her whole, manufactured life...

Nestling further into Logan's sheets and pillows, feeling their warmth in both body and soul, she shifted, turning her head toward her right slightly...and she saw on the bed beside her, along her right side, a tousled head resting on a bent arm, the other arm flung out along her thigh, in exhausted oblivion. Max looked down at him, feeling a funny tug of tenderness to see the abandon with which Logan had succumbed, at her bedside...but as she roused a little more she knew she couldn't let him stay. Still, she lingered, another moment, to watch him sleeping. He looked like a little boy, spiky hair awry, innocent, untroubled. She wished he could have moments, awake, of such ease...

She lifted a hand to his shoulder, speaking softly, "Logan...? Logan, you need to get out of your chair for a while..." He started; looking up to her, he pushed to sit up and grimaced, every muscle stiff and sore. "Hey," she watched in concern, still woozy herself. "You okay?"

"Yeah; fine" he lied, and roused, blinking, to look to her in concern. "What about you? You look a little more conscious," he offered, hopefully.

She smiled softly. "Gettin' there" she managed. "Look, you need some sleep, and need to get out of that chair..." She knew he'd been up with her and felt the guilt of that add to the growing pang of self-recrimination for dragging him into the situation he'd warned her to avoid. "Bling will kick both our asses."

"I'm fine" he repeated, without thought, as he glanced at his watch–9:05. "It hasn't been that long, and..." he hesitated, then went on, "I promised to hang around while you slept, didn't I?"

She looked at the expressive green eyes that carried so much, and heard herself say, "Then why not come up here, stretch out for a while..." The flicker in those green eyes of withdrawal and impossibility that she could see, even in her groggy state, made her add, "there's plenty of room, you can stay, and Bling will leave us both alone..." and hoping to cajole him along, she added, "and if you even try to take advantage of a girl in a weakened condition, I'll kick your ass as soon as I'm able..."

At least he smiled, looking away to laugh softly, almost self-conscious. Drawing a breath, exhaling with a sigh, he grinned, wryly, the sadness not gone, "Well, as tempting as that offer is, I'll have to decline." He looked back up into the sweet face, near his. "I need to get going pretty soon, anyway..." At the silent question in her eyes, he said quickly "I'm supposed to meet Matt in a couple hours. But Bling will be here, in case you need anything."

In the silence that followed, as she saw the unwavering, unconditional support he offered her, Max felt a wave of regret for her stubborn recklessness. "Logan, I'm sorry..." her words came suddenly, her remorse palpable. "I didn't think about the consequences..."

"Don't, Max..." he soothed. "You're home...you're safe. That's all that matters now." Without thinking, he raised his hand again to her brow, brushing back the curling wisps of hair along her temple, unconsciously trying to brush away the worry there. "Just close your eyes...it won't be long now and you'll be feeling like yourself again..." As she looked up at him again, he urged, "C'mon...rest now. You can worry about who will be kicking whose ass later."

His words did the trick; as she softened to laugh a little at his words, her eyes closed, tiredly. Within moments, her breathing deepened into sleep. And Logan continued to sit close, at her side, still tracing back the concerns from her brow...

...............................................

Bling had insisted that Logan report for inspection immediately after his shower, so his sutures could be examined, the wound dried thoroughly, and his leg patched properly. He didn't complain about it as much as Bling would have expected, and the therapist suspected it wasn't a good sign. Coming into the training room, dutifully, in fresh boxers and t-shirt, Logan came alongside the training table and moved to push himself up and onto the workout bench, grimacing with the soreness and aches still remaining even after his steaming shower.

"You okay?" Bling asked, low, having added his hand on Logan's arm to steady him as he transferred, seeing a tremor in his arms with the pain.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" The tone was distant...protective. Bling had heard it before. Logan was building a wall, retreating behind it–now that Max was healing, the veneer would be back in place over Logan's emotions and he would never admit to being any other way.

"The last twenty four hours, for a start." Bling tapped his shoulder. "C'mon–shirt off." At the glower of the green eyes as they swung toward him, Bling did not relent. "Whenever you're ready." He stood his ground, unmoving, waiting for Logan to comply...

Which he did, his sigh a bit shorter for the irritation. Bling walked around him, his grimace at the sight not hidden. He shook his head, finally. "What went on, before we got there?" he asked softly, all attitude gone. "He said you broke his wrist, just by grabbing it and twisting. And this...?" His dark eyes looked into Logan's, veiled now in self-protection, as he indicated the bruises deepening along his ribs and hip. "What happened out there?"

The green eyes looked away, and Logan shook his head. "Doesn't matter" his voice was quiet. "Max is back, and the guy is in custody. Nothing else matters." he pronounced.

"I suppose not" Bling countered, "unless you're interested in keeping you sane."

Cale's eyes looked to Bling's momentarily, almost meeting the challenge, then looked away. "Not part of the job description, is it?" he returned, woodenly. "And you should have left, hours ago..."

"No extra charge" Bling moved around to look more closely at the sutures he'd placed a few hours before, and got to business. "We're going to have to work on this, Logan. The laceration went into the muscle, and as it heals we're..."

He trailed off as he glanced up and, at the same time Logan did, saw Max standing in the doorway, unsteady, looking pale and smaller than when bouncing around at full power. Her eyes had grown large as she looked at Logan, bruised and battered. A look of guilt filled her eyes, as she came close, fingers reaching tentatively to trace the skin near the stitches along his thigh. "Logan..." Her huge, dark eyes raised to his, slowly, "What happened?"

He swallowed, looked away, and shrugged. "Had an argument with a pharmacist."

But she shifted with him, and the beautiful eyes caught his and held them, filling. "I'm sorry, Logan..." she whispered. After a moment, her eyes dropped, remorseful, to look back to the sutured laceration along his leg. "You were right; I shouldn't have gone in alone like that, without thinking..." she whispered, "and look what happened..."

"Hey," he resurfaced, unable to resist this sad, hurt side of Max, unable to let her take on this blame, and even managed a smile for her. "Can you imagine your not going, as soon as you could?"

"It was stupid of me; I should have known it was a set-up." She shook her head, sinking down onto the stool near the bench. "Why would Jondy have a picture of herself from back then, of her bar code? And how could she have a piece of our uniforms...?"

Logan shook his head, not understanding, "Wasn't that all you were given to wear?"

"That–and nightgowns" she said in a small voice. "We ran at night–after lights out."

Logan suddenly had an image of a dozen kids, racing through frozen, snowy woods on a February night–in nightshirts, probably barefoot...his eyes softened in compassion as he looked at her bowed form... "Max..." he tried, then again, "Max..." She finally looked up. "We'll find them." He felt a tug at his chest to see her eyes puddle a little at his words.

...to be continued...