04-03-05:
Ohmigosh, it's finally fucking here! Chapter Nine, ladies and gents, for your viewing pleasure!
A formal apology has been issued to all you loyal fans here:
http: I love you
all, and thanks so much for sticking with me through the last almost
two years. :D You all roxor.
Loves!
"Zack!" he yelled, growling at the same time. He shot straight up in bed, every nerve ready to attack the next thing that moved. Slowly, however, he realized that he was in a bed, when he had originally been sitting at the computer, which... was on his left? And he was tucked in? His shoes were off, and there was a needle in his arm..?
"What the hell?"
There was a little whimper of sound coming from behind him on his right. He whipped his body around, only to see Max standing there holding a glass of water and as wide-eyed as a kitten.
"Good afternoon?" she squeaked.
Logan blinked, releasing the unknown pent-up breath of air he had held in his lungs. His confused gaze turned from Max in the doorway to the top of the blanket. The fact that it was green and silver, just like the rest of the room, dimly registered in the back of his mind as he rather clumsily tried to push the covers off of him to get out of the bed. At this point, Max realized what he was doing and overcame her shock enough to quickly step over to the bed.
"You uh, may not want to do that," she cautioned timidly, gently trying to make him lay back down in the bed with one hand. She was still holding the glass of water in the other.
He jumped at not only the proximity of her voice – why didn't I hear her approach? – but also the touch of her hand on his arm. His head turned around towards her swiftly. His movements, having been so precise and accurate moments before, degenerated once he realized that she wasn't about to hurt him. Surprisingly, their faces were closer than he had originally assumed, and he blinked up at her, as if by the sheer number of times he blinked he would be closer to understanding what the hell was going on.
Max swallowed awkwardly, immediately recognizing how this position could look to her mother if she just happened to walk in. She took a half-step back, putting distance between them. "I—I'm sure that you noticed the IV." He nodded. "Well, I bet that you've been taught what to do when you're hooked up to one, right?" She watched his eyes but didn't think the fact they were glazing over was important. She continued on. "We've got tryptophan dripping into your veins…"
Logan blinked and pushed memories of a similar occurrence out of his mind, comprehension dawning in his mind. Locking his gaze with hers, he calmly reached over to the IV and plucked it out of his arm like he would with a splinter. Her eyes widened a touch with alarm at his actions while she watched him push the covers back and stand up, walking towards the door. He looked as if he'd only just rested and not had a seizure, Max thought. On my bed. My bed, not –
"Wait a second..! Wait!" She spun around to her door in time to see him round the hallway and heading into the living room. She gave an exasperated sigh and followed him. The closer she got, the more voices she heard. Her step hitched as she momentarily speculated about Logan's reaction to their guest, but she continued onward.
Logan awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, looking back and forth between Maybel and Mercedes, confused. He didn't understand why Maybel was there, but, as he stopped to think about it, it made perfect sense. There was no way he could expect Merche to keep out of his own background after the escape from the hospital. That would be a sign of a lack of thorough research, and how, then, would he be able to trust that she had done everything to locate his siblings? The noise Max made when entering the room went largely ignored as he focused upon Maybel.
"Why are you here?" Logan asked, interrupting the almost cheery conversation between the two women.
Maybel looked affronted, as if he had no right to ask her such a question, especially whilst she was speaking with someone else. "Merche here called me in a panic and told me what had happened. I simply dashed over with the tryptophan and they took it from there. And honestly, Logan," she scolded. "Must you be so rude? I am having a conversation." She was in what she called her aristocratic mood, Logan noted, and while in such, nothing but proper manners was to be used around her. There was no way to speak with her otherwise.
He tossed his hands upwards in a rare gesture of a human emotion other than contempt, amusement, and anger. He didn't have time for this. Why was I in Ma – that room anyway? It took him perhaps a bit longer than normal to remember, since he'd been in a coma and everything for the past – he looked at the clock; five hours – but when he remembered he was furious. Turning to face the hallway he had just exited, his eyes landed on the small figure still holding the glass of water, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.
"Oh, Max, may I have a word with you? In the kitchen?" His voice was syrupy sweetness, construed by the two older women on the couch as perhaps the evidence of a budding relationship between the two young adults, and they immediately began murmuring to each other excitedly. To the person in question, though, the voice meant everything other than what was implied on the surface. The water in the glass reflected her movement as she moved towards the kitchen despite her latent fear.
Once positioned in front of the only exit out of Merche's sacred room, Logan's eyes flashed a glare in Max's direction. He decided to ignore niceties and get straight to the point.
"What the fuck were you doing with information on Manticore on your fucking computer where the whole damned world could get to it?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to chance the others overhearing what was going on.
Max shot him an endearing smile and held out the glass of water. "I thought you might be thirsty, so I got you some water." Her voice was bright and cheery. "It's a bit warm now, but ice will – "
Logan glowered at her, stepping close enough to yank the glass out of her unsuspecting hand and slam it down, the water sloshing over the rim and onto the counter. Inches away from her, his eyes penetrating, he hissed, "Don't play games with Manticore, you unthinking bitch." Max's eyes went wide at this; who was this guy in front of her and what had he done with the Logan Cale she knew? She tried to sink farther back, but only succeeded in bending back above the metal sink.
Logan continued along in the same vein. "You have no idea what you're getting into, Max. You may think it merely a test, to see if you can get in, but allow me to assure you, it is nothing of the kind. Manticore…" His voice trailed off and his eyes unfocused for a moment, allowing his prisoner a brief hope that this odd interrogation would end sooner than she thought, and with less violence. But just as she thought to slip beyond him and make her escape, his eyes caught hers, and they were filled with just as much intensity as before. "If you mess around with Manticore, you will die. I won't be around to save your sorry ass from their… their machines." He spat the last word in disgust. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the words just wouldn't form. This allowed for a few moments to pass before he pushed away from her and left the room, and the penthouse, if the sound of the door slamming was any sort of indication.
Max stood motionless in the kitchen, shocked to her core at what had just passed. The two other women came into the room, looking puzzled. Slowly a look of utter amazement mixed with a pinch of fury appeared on her face.
"He called me a bitch! Nobody ever calls me a bitch." Her eyes narrowed. "At least, no one does so and gets away with it. She stalked out, grabbing her coat on the way.
Maybel turned to Mercedes and commented pleasantly, "Well! That went quite well, now didn't it?"
Merche made a face and stared at the door leading out. Somehow, that's not quite what she thought.
