DISCLAIMER: No, I haven't suddenly bought them. All of it's still in the clutches of Eglee, Cameron & Fox.

THANKS to all passing through, and for the kind encouragement. And a special thanks to Lee, whose review got me to thinking more fully about tying up a loose end!

MAX'S APARTMENT

Max stared at the exotic bronze figure in her hands, inspiring yet another round of vague irritation at Logan Cale: his small statue of Bast had ended up in her hands yet again, the first time having been for only a few minutes in his penthouse; this second, following his break-in of her home to leave the priceless object with her.

She'd tried fencing it–after all, that was why he'd brought it to her, wasn't it? But to her surprise, when Max tried not once but twice to dump the thing while Cale was still recovering, she found that, apparently, she'd developed a conscience– a scruffy, myopic, stubborn, caped-crusader conscience, sitting on her shoulder, who stopped her each time she tried to fence the thing and pocket the money she damn well needed...

She gave up. He might even need the money himself, now that he'd been shot, and not exactly bouncing right back. So she called a couple "brokers" she knew. While she was able to learn the name of the art dealer from whom Logan originally bought the statute, she was also warned that the dealer was now dead and the partner who took over the business, untrustworthy...

And now what? Just leave it in his home, as he had in hers? Oh, no, she felt herself bristle, she was washing her hands of him, and smelled a "test" in all this: if he learned that she hadn't fenced it, he'd never leave her in peace, ready to enlist her as another charity worker, just like himself. She'd heard him with BL these past few days, and had seen him pushing his workouts with a vengeance. He wanted to get back to things, and was looking to keep up his mission. If he still held any thought of signing her up, he could just kiss that good-bye. And she wouldn't do anything to let him for one minute think he could buy her services...

Making up her mind and planning her attack, she started burrowing through her closet for something that could pass, finding a dress that could work, more conservative than her other things, kept for those odd times when a change of Max might be needed. She dressed quickly and pulled her hair back into a smooth, conservative tail, moving quickly to get downtown before noon. As much problem as the police were these days, they were more apt to get the thing back to Cale than any other way she could think of. With luck, the man's money and family name might get the cops to play it straight for him. If not...well, she'd given it a shot...

SEATTLE POLICE–CENTRAL DIVISION

Matt Sung was returning from a mid- morning call, crossing over to his desk, mind on the case he'd just been assigned, when he looked up to see the new guy, Klaus, talking with a remarkably attractive woman: young, brunette, exotic features on tawny olive skin, she was clearly becoming frustrated with the newly minted investigator. Matt's ears perked up a bit as she asked– apparently, not for the first time–to see a detective. Also, apparently not for the first time, Klaus assured her he was one.

"But look, lady–we don't handle lost and found. It's downstairs, room 104..."

"This isn't just some bowling trophy" she demanded, jiggling the box a little. "I work for an art dealer–this is a very valuable object. It needs to go back to its rightful owner, but we can't reach him. You could do something..."

"Like what?" Klaus asked, exasperated. "We can't do a missing persons for the guy unless you specifically report..."

"He's rich. He has connections..." She whispered ominously. "You've heard of Cale Industries? He's that rich. Maybe this would make his family very happy..."

"Klaus...miss...?" Matt came up in what he hoped was a casual saunter, the Cale name setting off all sorts of alarms for him, "What was it we can do for you?" He looked to Max, ignoring the glare he was getting from the unseasoned detective.

"I have a statute here that belongs to Logan Cale–but we can't find him at home, either by phone or visit to his penthouse." Max turned on the concerned charm for Matt, neither of them suspecting the other's connection to the man. "It needs to go to him, we just don't know how to reach him. It showed up on the Black Market–and my boss managed to intervene before it was shipped out of town. Mr. Cale and his family are valued clients and my boss wanted to be sure..."

"Your boss is...?" Matt probed, gently wary.

"Josef Rimmel."

Matt's eyes narrowed only slightly but Max caught it; this detective knew the name of the mangey partner of Cale's broker. Maybe he knew Rimmel was a problem? Not terrific...

"...The Cales have been clients for years, and Mr. Rimmel told me that we have to return this statue to him." She let her voice and face shift, in a look of concern. "I could be fired if I mess this up, after we were able to get the statue from the fence."

The cop wasn't completely convinced, but relented a little, she thought. "Well, we don't normally handle things like this..." It would be easy enough for Matt to call Logan: it would be an excuse to call him, and if Rimmel wanted him to have his statue back... "I think we can find Mr. Cale."

The woman's face brightened. "Oh, thank you, Detective..?"

"Sung."

"Detective Sung." She purred, offering her hand, almost coyly. "You saved my job."

Matt finally relaxed, the woman's sparkling eyes too bright to resist. "May I tell him who...?"

"Oh, just tell him Mr. Rimmel sent it over" she breezed, turning to go. "It was all his idea..."

METRO MEDICAL COMPLEX: TWO CENTRAL TOWER: Library

Bling walked from the rehab unit across the atrium and over toward the main part of the hospital, taking the stairs to the second floor library. As reported, inside, he saw cyperjournalist/AWOL patient Logan Cale hunched into a computer monitor, his long fingers delicately dancing over the keyboard, intent on his fishing expedition. Bling crossed over to Logan's shoulder and spoke, low. "What, you eat your Wheaties this morning or something?"

Hungry for the information scrolling before him on the screen, Logan began turning his head toward Bling before he could tear his eyes away. "...what?" His eyes finally lifted to Bling's, all innocence, honestly not remembering much beyond his immediate research.

Bling lifted an eyebrow. "I hear you've been busy." When Cale still looked puzzled, shrugging in question, Bling finally prodded, "You didn't like me as a driving instructor?"

With that, the light came on, and Logan's face drew into an expression of defensive self-righteousness, suddenly remembering: after a less-than-stellar maiden voyage in his new, hand-controlled vehicle the day before, Logan had sneaked out again that morning, at the crack of dawn, to tackle the unfamiliar hand controls, touring the parking lot and connecting drives around the hospital until he was comfortably confident behind the wheel of his new Aztek. It would just take time for his hands' response to become second nature as the response of his feet had been...

"Not much of a performance yesterday" he muttered, the renewed memory of his solo accomplishment making it a better day, as he tried to dampen the bit of smile that threatened to light his face. He sat up to stretch a little and started closing screens.

"You ready?" Bling asked, watching as Logan backed out of the sites he'd been trolling.

"Yep." Logan made it back to the log in screen, unlocked his brakes and pivoted back and around to move with Bling toward the library exit. "Are you still able to get away this afternoon to go over to my place? If not...I guess I have my own transportation..."

"Uh-huh." Bling drawled. "You tool around the parking lot for five minutes this morning and now you're ready for driving across town? This I plan to see."

"It was more than five minutes" Logan grumped, hitting the elevator button as they came into place in the hall.

"Good. Then I'm able to get away --and you're driving."

"Deal." Logan agreed, swallowing the small wave of nerves he felt to consider the drive. At least Bling would be with him, in case he got into trouble. As he had been, since Logan awoke as a shooting victim... How far Bling had brought him, he mused...

He pushed forward into the opening elevator and neatly pivoted around to face the door. "C'mon, let's go" he snapped, finally allowing a smile to snake along his lips. "We got things to do..."

METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Rehab Unit

In ninety minutes, after an upper body workout that left Logan's shirt damp and his arms still warm, Bling stood at the side of the exercise table where Logan was stretched out on his back, breath still drawn deeply, watching the tall man work his joints smoothly, patiently. After three months of this, it was not so foreign to watch Bling there, moving legs he could not feel...he'd thought, early on, that he'd never get used to it...but it wasn't so foreign any more...

And with a deep breath, rather proud of himself for what was to come, he smirked toward the trainer to ask, "Stanford, huh?"

Bling shot him a look, saying nothing. His client was feeling playful, it would seem, and while Bling wasn't too interested in talking about himself, at least Logan was pursuing something. It was actually a very, very good sign, Logan nosing around like that, he decided–and would let Cale play a bit. "Showing off, that you can hack into confidential files even from the library terminal here?"

"Pre-med, biomechanics..." Logan shrugged, ignoring the jab. "You should have been the one operating on me in there."

Bling chuckled at that. "Oh, then that would leave Sam to be kicking your ass into shape here?" The trainer never broke his pace, working Logan's hip and knee joints. "Sam's a fine neurosurgeon, but that's where he needs to be. If he were here, instead of me, you'd be lying around doing nothing all day, gettin' all flabby and fat, while you ran him ragged doing your bidding."

"Oh, really?" Logan actually laughed at that. "Now, what have I ever done that would make you think that I'd take advantage of Sam's good nature–of anyone's--?"

"So you don't listen to yourself gripe during therapy...I'd suspected as much..."

Logan was quiet for some moments, lost in thought...long enough that Bling started to wonder if the lighter mood he'd just seen had passed...but Cale then started speaking again. "So, you went into medic training with more training than the trainers..." his voice was quiet...respectful.

"Well, not for the practical stuff, not really...I got a good dose of 'practical application readiness' there."

"Not interested in going back, for medical school?" Bling glanced up to see the green eyes looking into his, steady and concerned. He suddenly understood-- Logan suspected that he, as were so many post-Pulse, was forced to give up the dream of an expensive education abruptly, out of reach without grants or scholarships or loans. Bling was reminded yet again of the clandestine work that had landed this man on his caseload... and smiled slowly, shaking his head.

"Not yet..." he lifted an eyebrow, admitting that he might always be interested–but assuring Logan that it was his choice, not something taken from him. "Too many things I had to do first, still not done."

"Like what?"

Bling slowed his movement now, seeing the intensity back in Logan's eyes. He hadn't taken Bling's comments as cast off misdirection, but as life planning–and there was only one reason he could think of that it would be so intensely important to Logan. Bling met his gaze. "This. This, and the other medical work you'd seen me do, before. It's on the front line of things. Medical school, then internship, residency-- takes too much time before you can do much, for real. This is hands on, now. It's just as necessary as any medical practice I might have, and..." He shrugged to admit, "it's more personal than just cutting into someone...definitely longer lived." He added with a chuckle.

Logan nodded, the intensity lessened slightly, but his gaze still direct and steady. "Come work for me." he said, without preamble. "Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it. If you say no I'd need to pay two people, a therapist and someone who can help with my work. I'll just give you both salaries..." He watched the man's reaction. "What do you say?"

Bling blinked a little, taken aback; he hadn't expected that generous–or that ambitious–an offer. "Logan...I have other patients...and the hospital has only two therapists as it is..."

"Keep a caseload here, part time; your schedule with me can be flexible."

"That's not fair to you..." Bling shook his head.

"You won't take advantage of me." Logan's eyes were powerful, Bling thought at that moment . How fitting, given the man's public persona: he knew he could not deny him his assistance, whatever he needed...it was precisely the sort of work he'd chosen over medical school. "Bling–would you want to work for me?"

Bling's sober expression relaxed a little, appreciation there. Wavering only another moment, he said quietly, "It can't be forty hours a week–but maybe thirty. I can work my hours here early mornings, way before you usually are up and running." Bling said in a low, even voice. "But I only want what's reasonable–not two full time salaries for part time hours."

The green eyes finally shifted from the focused, determined stare to a look of relieved satisfaction. "We'll figure something out." A small smile played his lips. "Thank you."

"You need to get back at it." Bling pronounced, resuming his work on Logan's feet and ankles, looking away, suddenly feeling some emotion that he wasn't ready for Logan to see. "And I want to be there to see that you do."

METRO MEDICAL: THREE EAST: Patient Room #4, Rehab Unit:

Logan coasted out of the bathroom to his dresser, stopping to lift the towel from his lap again and give his hair one more rubdown before tossing the towel over the towel bar. The workout had worn him down a bit, but also made his breath deeper and slower, actually relaxing him and easing the knots he'd had in his shoulders earlier. Raking his fingers through his hair absently, he pivoted to pull out a lightweight jersey and pulled it on over his head, just as his room's phone rang. He reached for it in surprise, answering–it may have been the first time in his stay it had ever rung...

"Logan? Hey, it's Matt Sung..."

"Matt...hi" Logan was pleasantly surprised to hear the familiar voice.

"Hi." The voice was apologetic, right off. "Look, Logan, I stopped by to see you a while back, but...they said you weren't seeing anybody..."

Logan felt an awkward embarrassment at that, at the way he'd hidden from everyone, refusing to see visitors...and knew that he would have another wave of that embarrassment when he first saw Matt again, after he went home... "I..know, Matt; I'm sorry. I just wasn't ready to get on with things, and needed a little time..."

"Hey, it's okay–I'm just glad you took my call." The detective urged. "So–are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, no problem on that" he wanted to get past all the medical stuff to the reason for Matt's call, even though Matt was just trying to be a nice guy. "So what's been happening out in the real world?"

"Same as ever...broadcast TV's been pretty boring, though..."

Logan knew the man would not be able to resist some mention of EO's absence. He drew a breath to offer, "I've noticed...they have TV in here, too." C'mon, Matt, what've you got? Logan wondered, breathing slowly, in studied patience. What made you call?

"Yeah, of course..." Matt sounded awkward with this, too, but got back to business. "Well, look... we got something of yours today. Did you have a small statue stolen, looks, what, Egyptian, bronze, a human figure with a cat's face, one of those goddess figures?"

Logan's eyebrows went high in surprise. "...Bast..." He rallied, quickly. "Not stolen, actually, but...yeah, it's been gone for a while. How did you end up with it?"

"Your dealer pulled it out of a Black Market load–or, I guess, saved it from getting lost out there. They tried to contact you and had no luck, so ended up asking us to consider it stolen property and take it through the property division, to get it to you. I knew I could contact you fairly quickly so I just said okay."

But it made no sense...how would Rimmel have gotten it, from Max? He couldn't imagine the connection, even if Rimmel was looking for sneak thieves–which he may well have been. Max had that statue, but if she'd fenced it, Rimmel never would have gotten it–not without paying huge sums himself ...and he'd demand even more to buy it back, not just give it happily to Matt. It had to mean--didn't it?-- that Max just turned it in, herself...?

"Great" he managed. "You didn't happen to see who brought it in, did you?"

"Yeah, she said she worked for Rimmell..."

"...she?" He perked up. "What did she look like?"

"Beautiful. Brunette, twenties, full lips...petite... Beautiful..." He repeated. "You know her?"

"Yeah..." Logan said slowly, a smile of wonder on his lips. "I think I might..."

...TBC...