DISCLAIMER: See earlier chapters. Characters borrowed for a while.
A/N: Trying to post these chapters in the midst of FFN's breakdown has been frustrating. I have appreciated the reviews from those of you who have written, many of you being Bling fans, but it would appear that either the FFN problems have run people off (and have actually eaten a couple reviews that came through via e-mail!), or this Bling-thing just isn't working for a lot of readers. I truly would appreciate feedback either way for future reference, especially if the vote if that this is a dud. I know there's a wide variety of tastes out there, but it's a great help to know what flies and what tanks. So any thoughts, suggestions, thumbs up or down are welcomed and prized.
METRO MEDICAL: FOUR WEST. Ten Days Later:
The pain was intense, but he was unwilling to acknowledge it: he knew Bling stood by watching him intently but showed the good grace not to ask him how it felt. He tipped his head back a bit, this new, forty-five degree angle painful and disorienting, making him feel surprisingly dizzy and unbalanced. Millions and millions of holes, he noted for the millionth time, now with teeth clenched, looking at the thousands of holes in each acoustical tile overhead, looking at the stretch of tiles from up behind his head, where the ceiling met the wall, and way on across to the far wall, to over the windowless walls, cutting him off from any hope of escape...
..it would take years to count all the holes...lifetimes...
There must have been holes in the emergency room ceiling, he rationalized yet again, but without his glasses he had no way to know. Plus, the drugs and shock and emergency surgery pretty well prevented his counting them. When he finally awoke in recovery, he'd been there unsuspecting for a while before Bling brought his glasses and he'd discovered them. He'd nearly finished counting all he could see, even with the nurses coming in a few times a day to log-roll him, "corset" and all, onto one side or the other, when Bling came in and announced he would be sitting up today...
"Getting any easier?" Bling's voice, gentle, as it often was, he realized, brought him back to the present. The tone made him feel awkward, underscoring his helplessness–or was it his body's response to the simple feat of sitting at an angle that made his feel so ...disabled?
"Sure. It's great." Logan muttered through clenched teeth.
"Seriously, Logan–any dizziness, or sudden headaches?"
"I'm fine." His response cut off all discussion–he thought.
"You won't tell me, you're coming down, and we set things back a while." Bling moved cooly to grab the bed controls.
"No–wait." Logan gasped. "You made me wait this long to even move this far..."
"And will make you wait until you're willing to be honest and tell me how it's affecting you–because I know it's not 'fine.' I'm not going to risk your blood pressure shooting through the roof or your back being further damaged because you're too stubborn to admit what's going on..." The descent started.
"Alright; wait." Logan pleaded this time–and Bling stopped, waiting. Cale drew a shuddering breath and admitted, "I feel...as if I'm falling over. Sort of woozy but...not really dizzy, not like just at first."
"That's better. Headache?"
Logan considered, then spoke. "No. Not really...more like...an ache up my spine, into my head."
"Ache? Or any sharp pain?"
"No, an ache–like a few days ago, just started up again."
Bling nodded, and relented. "Okay. Want to try a little higher?" At Logan's nod and murmured assent, Bling punched the controls to move him up and maybe another five degrees higher than he'd been before. "Still the same?"
"Yeah." Cale clipped, but breathed, raising his eyes again to focus intently on the ceiling as Bling had seen him do countless times–as he had seen other patients do. But in just a few moments, he spoke again. "This does...get better, right?"
Bling smiled and nodded, pleased he could give the man some good news. "Sooner than you'd expect, with how you feel now," he promised. "Just hang in with me a while, Logan. This is what I do."
METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST. Five Weeks Later:
Max paused in an empty adjacent hallway, listening, before rounding the corner. Because it was the middle of the day, with staff and visitors coming and going along the hospital corridor, she was more likely to pass unnoticed if she took a normal pace, and walked along as if she was there as a visitor, too.
Which, in a way, she was; she had been in and around this hospital many times now, different shifts and different times, different clothing, even different floors, all in an ongoing effort to get the guy's back–or at least, keep an eye on things, to make sure that all the threat from Sonrisa and his pack of scumbags was put down as surely as the kingpin himself and his dim-witted assassin had been. And after a couple weeks of watching Sonrisa's offices and the hospital, she had satisfied herself that the all the juice from that group had dried up.
Not that he knew. Not that she wanted him to know.
The idea of doing the bedside vigil, bringing flowers and inane chatter--she couldn't do that, and she suspected it wasn't his thing, either. He was here because of his own whack decision to play savior of mankind, and just as he should have expected, thrown from bad odds to worse, with physical exposure when it all went sideways, he was here. At least he was here, and not in the ground like his muscle-bound friend...but she'd seen his chart. He wasn't going to be walking out of the place. All because he didn't have enough excitement in his own life, that he had to start rooting around in other people's?
But she kept coming back, keeping an eye on things...whatever drew her here that first time led her to check out his place again, not only for information on Sonrisa and Anselmo, so she could pay them a visit of her own, but to take a look around and satisfy herself that it was secure from further break-in, at least from anyone without a key or her own 'special skills.' Finding Loren there, she was then lured into helping the distraught mother find her child.
'..and after that? Think, Max,' she scolded her self, her inner voice sarcastic as she sensed nothing unusual around the corner. 'You took out the threat, got mom and kid away, and rich boy is in the clear. Why are you here this time?'
She couldn't shake it off, not the voice–and not the compelling, hungry urge to come see him, to study him, to try to figure out what in the world would compel him to do the things he did. No one could ever suspect him of having any training in such things; his actions were so contrary to the training she and her siblings had received, she knew he wasn't some paid mercenary--at least not a military type. And when they'd spoken, he was cocky, so sure of himself, even rich-guy smug, more sure of the righteousness of his cause and decisions than was smart. In any other circumstance she wouldn't give him a minute's thought–would she? After all, wasn't he thinking of himself enough for them both? For plenty of others? Normally, given all that, she would have run the other way.
So...what was this?
Repeated visits risked exposure, recognition. Even among these people, plodding through their work days or focused solely on getting to their visit, where she should be nearly invisible, the more times she came, the more likely...
...and, moving head down toward the rehabilitation unit where her objective now lay, she literally bumped into the wide, powerful chest of a large, dark man, who at the very last moment stepped nimbly right into her path...
And she fell for it, she'd later chide herself. Just as she was lulled into complacency, thinking she was surrounded by sheep, this guy shows up. And just as he wanted her to do, she broke her stride and looked up at him, revealing herself, eye to eye...
"Hey. Sorry..." his soft voice came. His hands lifted away from his body not only in a universal gesture of apology...but broadening his ability to block her path. "Only a minute" he breathed. "Just a question or two..."
Max considered her options. She recognized the signs, and this guy had some training. Plus, he had a name tag; he worked here–which meant she, a stranger, wasn't likely to convince the staff he was the threat. She had a hunch he could spin it the other way, and would be believed. And the kicker: this guy was working with Robin Hood in there.
She wasn't in any immediate danger. This guy worked for Cale, who'd called off his muscle before. And her feline DNA was just aching for some answers...so she'd give it a minute...
"...who's askin'?" She took a casual but wider stance–at which the dark eyes twinkled, catching the significance. He was still wary, though–and it occurred to her this one was more thoughtful than the last bodyguard she'd had to face. She broke the glance and looked at the name tag. "What kind of name is 'BL'?"
"What kind of name is 'Max'?" he answered softly, eyes still on hers. "Because that's who you are, isn't it? Jam Pony messenger?"
"Don't know what you're talking about..." She started to push past, testing him...and his sideways step was subtle, smooth...and completely effective. "Look..."
"Why are you here? It's okay to go in to visit, if you want..."
"Why are you here? The last bodyguard didn't do such a hot job, you know..."
Bling nearly hid his reaction, the painful stab he felt at that. "I work here. I'm a physical therapist, and I'm working on getting him back out there."
"You're not going to get him to walk out of here, though, right? Unless you have a magic potion to make a severed spinal cord grow together."
"No...but there's a lot more than just walking involved...he's done a lot, to get himself strong enough to get out of here."
Max wavered, finally admitting, "I know. I've seen..." She had been by and had peered in, she'd thought unseen, to watch the man's struggles, and his therapist's patient, firm-yet-gentle ministrations. She'd felt less of a need to be here so often, after seeing Cale with him; even then she suspected this "BL" knew how to handle himself, and so had been more apt to come at times she suspected he would be gone for the day. No point in duplicating efforts...
"It's alright to go in." Bling repeated, a bit softer now. "He might like having a visitor."
So he had none? Somehow, that both surprised her and was what she'd expect. Damn him, she fumed, suddenly angry at him just for existing, for being complex and compelling–a far cry from the largely vacuous crowd she'd cultivated. Only Original Cindy had much upstairs. Max loved her like a sister; she'd give her life for Cindy and even she didn't know the secrets Cale knew about her...even she didn't draw her back again and again, to see what made him tick...
"...Max?" Bling tried, seeing the emotion cross her face. He'd seen her there a few times and felt no threat from her yet, but decided before it went much further she needed to know he knew she was there. From Peter's vague mention, in his last days, of some female cat burglar who'd dropped in in the middle of the Sonrisa thing and laid him out–admitted only after a couple beers and some prodding from Bling–to the description of a young leather jacketed woman who moved Cale out of harm's way moments before his room exploded, to Cale's brief answers to Bling's casual questions about improving security in the building, including roof access...he knew there was something unusual about this tiny woman, and knew she would be back, no matter what he did. So he decided ingratiation might be the best strategy for the present...
"No, thanks. And don't tell him I was here; I was just..."
"In the neighborhood." Bling helped.
"Right. Visiting a sick friend."
"Right." Bling nodded. "Well, you're welcome to visit any time, but..." He wavered, not sure how much to admit, not needing her to know the network of hospital employees he'd managed to enlist to keep an eye on things, to let him know if anyone suspicious was around...including the security cop who'd phoned him a few minutes before to report that Max was back. "Someone might try to finish the job on Logan, and...I have some folks trying to watch out for him. If you are stopped again...they're probably just trying to keep him safe."
"Well, you can call everyone off" she said lightly. "I took a look around, myself–the ones who would have been a problem are dead. The other roaches have run to find new rocks to crawl under."
Bling's eyes narrowed, wondering now if it was due to some actions she herself had undertaken. "Then...I don't suppose you've heard anything about the girl and her mother?"
"Reunited about 48 hours after your boss man landed here; probably a continent away by now, just to be safe."
Bling blinked, any facade dropping. "Logan will be so relieved," he said. With a pause, he decided to give it one more try. "Why don't you go tell him?"
"No–and I don't want him to know I was here." Her irritation flared, but, she realized, she still wasn't exactly sure why. " Just...tell him whatever you want" she relented, "but they are safe."
As she turned to stride away, Bling called once more. "Max..." She turned slowly, and waited, irritation on her face. "Thank you. For him, too. And, seriously..." Bling considered the fresh, cheeky stance, the deep, brown eyes that carried far more intelligence and depth than was needed to be a Jam Pony messenger, and tried, "Come in and say hello, one of these times."
METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Moments Later, Training Room #2, Rehab Unit:
Logan's hairline was wet and a couple rivulets of sweat traced along his temples; his shirt clung to his chest as he lay back on the mat, momentarily alone in his workout, while Bling took a call. He struggled to strengthen his abs; his level of injury affected them somewhat, but as he healed from the trauma and the surgery to repair it, and worked with Bling to improve the control for what he had remaining, his front to back movement wasn't far from normal. Balance was coming along; control of his laterals was what kept it a bit dicey, as he still needed a hand or something to lean on if he turned or moved too much while seated.
'coming along...' He was surprised to find how, on his better days, he fell into Bling's way of thinking, that this was some measure of success, that he should have even more return but if not, half a body was plenty, that he could be sprung from this prison ..this refuge...and be just swell. But those times were short lived, infrequent, and usually disappeared when Bling left for the day. There was just too much time to think here, and he hadn't yet gotten back the energy to write, to research–even to read. Bling counseled patience–with himself, with his body–but it was not a virtue Logan had ever possessed.
With Bling out of view, he tried to shift from the straight sit-ups he'd added to his workout this week, to try the twisting sit-up he knew ought to target those recalcitrant laterals...and felt a sharp stab of pain as he overworked a portion of his muscle responsive to his brain, but not yet tough enough to carry the rest of the load Logan demanded of it at the moment...
He flopped back on his back, sucking in his breath, but easing it out again to try the same move, albeit more cautiously, on the other side–and felt a similar, quieter complaint on his other side. He rolled back on his back, staring at the ceiling, yet again admiring the holes in this room, too. His damn spinal cord... who'd'a thought how handy it was to have it intact...
His days were fairly regimented and similar, in the rehab wing; the food was no better, really, but it was available from a unit kitchen, buffet style, over a two hour period, and was one small area of his life over which he had a modicum of control. He didn't eat much–wasn't really hungry–but Bling insisted. The only reason Logan finally started eating more of the hospital food was that Bling would stop and buy him some real food, from the Outside, and not let Logan even try to reimburse him–although access to his accounts wasn't an easy process, without car or computer. So, the only way he could stop his therapist from blowing his paycheck on his client was to choke down some of the offerings here–and occasionally telephone a familiar restaurant or two where the maitre d' knew him and would put lunch for two, complete with delivery, on the Cale account.
He focused to do another ab crunch, one he'd been approved to do, then a slow, long lateral to the left, perspiration breaking out in another wave across his forehead with the strain, and another to the right, with much the same effect. He lay back, gasping, wondering how much more return he would see from his broken body...
"I saw that." Bling came back into the gym, coming around to Cale's line of sight. "You are just bound and determined to stay longer than planned, aren't you? Because I can't think of any other reason you'd push ahead and strain muscles that aren't ready for what you're trying to do."
"You don't push me enough." Logan grimaced. "Besides, what am I in training for now, high jump? Hurdles? Or maybe it's the charity marathon for spinal cord research..."
"You keep it up I'm not likely to tell you some news that I think you'll want to hear." Bling folded down into an easy crouch at his side, offering a forearm which Logan grabbed and used to pull himself up to sitting. "You through?"
Calre rolled his eyes, snorted...paused a moment in his consternation...and finally laughed a little, ruefully shaking his head. "For now," he grudged. "What's it worth?"
"The news that Loren and Sophie are happy and healthy and out of the country." He said levelly–and watched Cale as the news was digested, weighed–almost not trusted.
"Are you sure?"
"Decent source–I think so." Bling smiled.
"Anyone I know? Trustworthy?"
"Look–you can get it all when you get back home. Just trust it's okay, for now." Bling pulled over the "trainer" chair he'd been using, with anti-tip wheels and a heavier base. "C'mon. Let's get you to hydro before those lats really hurt." He stood by as Cale worked to get himself into the chair. "It's coming, you know?" Bling acknowledged. "Good thing too–your new chair will be ready to go tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Cale blinked. It meant one small step closer to freedom–to being kicked out of this sheltered place. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.
"Tomorrow. Believe me–once you switch you'll wonder how you managed with this one."
"I do, now." Cale growled.
"Well, then–you'd best be getting to hydro–wouldn't want you to have to wait any longer. He smiled to himself as the man settled into the chair and pushed off toward the hall. Prickly, maybe, but coming along right on time. So far, things were settling into plan...
...to be continued...