A/n: I haven't actually decided if I'm going to make Zack gay or not. Then again, he's only about 22, so there's no reason he can't be confused.

I'm just trying to show the thoughts and feelings he hides under his soldierly exterior. What if, like Max before she meets Logan, what's going on in Zack's head is completely different from what he says to other people?

Blah Blah, Woof Woof: Part 1

Logan Cale must die.

It has to be done. I've thought about it and considered it since I left and I have no choice. He knows too much. He's putting Max in danger by tying her to Seattle. He's a liability. I can't let emotions cloud my judgement like she has. I have to do what's best for her, for all of them.

So, I'm crouching on the roof of a building across the street, sniper rifle in hand, waiting for a clear shot. I focus in and there he is, writing in a notebook in his living room. He's totally oblivious to all else, brow furrowed as his pen skitters across the paper like it has a life of its own. He won't feel a thing.

I take careful aim on his temple and find I can't make my finger tighten on the trigger. All I can hear is his compelling voice, "just make sure it's not what gets you killed." The warmth, the intensity, the sincerity. The whole idea that our lives were more important than the mission. The way his eyes shifted from greeny grey to warm summer sky blue.

No! I can't do this! I can't be weak! Emotions are weakness, I'm the leader, I have to be strong for my troops. I have to make the tough decisions they can't. Just do it, Zack, you have to do it, for Max. He'll get her killed and you know that, you have to remove the threat, like you did with Vogelsang. Don't feel, just act.

I force myself to look back at him and find he's stopped writing. He's sitting bolt upright, clutching at his back with one hand, eyes closed, face contorted in pain. After several clearly agonising seconds he slumps in his chair, gasping for breath. What can be wrong with him? Now I come to think of it, he's a little paler than I remember, and the light is glinting off a few beads of sweat on his brow.

Despite myself, I can't help but feel the sting of concern. I came here to kill him, and I can't do it because he's already hurt? How did he affect me like this? I've only met him a couple of times, there's no way I should be this worried about him.

He puts his book away and dry swallows a couple of pills from the table in front of him. Hastily he shoves them into the drawer as Max strides in. He's hiding his illness from her, whatever it is. That makes me suspect it's serious. After all if I were sick I'd hide it from Max, try and stop her worrying.

I watch as he tries to pretend he's fine, act normally, be strong for Max's sake. He makes her dinner and they eat together, chatting easily over the food. I wonder why she doesn't look into the depths of his eyes, see the pain there, the grey where there should be sparkling blue. But she only lets herself more than glance at him when he's not looking. She doesn't want him to see the blatant tenderness in her eyes, the admiration and something more, an emotion I can't quite put my finger on.

They move across to a small table after a while, facing each other across a chessboard. Max wins every game easily and then gets up to leave. Her face is alive and inviting as she asks him something, but his closes down even further into his defensive mask. The flicker of hurt and anger at his reply is clear on her features before she covers it by erecting her own perimeter defence and stalking out.

As she leaves, he is overcome by another wave of pain. He pushed her away so she wouldn't see him like this. If he can endure his illness alone to protect her he can face any torture Manticore can devise.

And I know I can't do it. I've pinpointed the emotion in Max's dark eyes. I've never experienced it myself, but I have seen it before, in Tinga's, when she looks at her husband and son.

Love.

Tell me if it's good, bad, or indifferent.