Disclaimer: Please see Chapter 1.
A/N: Please see the notes in Chapter 1 regarding the challenges that got this started. Thanks to anyone who has read, double thanks for those of you who found this during FFN's unfortunate illness and thoughtfully reviewed. Let's all keep our fingers crossed that FFN doesn't get sick again any time soon – it's hell on all of us!
SPECIAL THANKS to Revanche and to Coach, for their time spent with this chapter in editing, nudging, poking, prodding and editing again. All remaining errors and blunders are my doing, not theirs.
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Winter's Chill
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IX.
Over the past several hours, Logan Cale had gone from slowly freezing himself into a stupor, to being hauled unconscious into his not-quite-warm-enough bed, to be being nursed back to near-temperature by a very warm, very soft Max, to lying back against his pillows as he was now, Max again all but nude and wrapped along his body, cuddled into his arm which now circled her in, close. Max was allowing him to stroke her back and shoulder, and he gently drew his fingertips across her soft skin, savoring the feel of her without daring to let his mind wander any further than that. He was still unconvinced that this was all real, but he'd stopped fighting his all-too-sober sanity and just enjoyed the moment, without letting all his doubts and skepticism end this private fantasy apparently conjured by being frozen. If this is how it goes, he indulged himself, I might have to chill myself down a lot more often... He even nuzzled Max a couple times but once she sensed his kissing deepen, taking him over, she gently pushed him back to chide him that there would be plenty of time for that later, but that he was still recuperating and hadn't had Sam's blessing for anything that ... vigorous ... yet. She seemed surprised at his delight with her stopping him, but didn't ask about it, which was a relief: how can I tell her what her stopping me means? She had never, not once, stopped his advances when he was dreaming...
So he lay back, not fighting the lull of his surroundings or the aftermath of his adventures. He'd slowly begun remembering: the afternoon's drive... the meeting with his "informant" that had been largely a waste of time... the nasty weather... the poor conditions that he fought on the way back...
"How'd you end up in the ditch, anyway? Do you remember?" Max was curious, naturally, but now asked not only to hear how he'd ended up in this condition, but to see if his thoughts were organized, his speech clearer, his memory intact – all things Sam would probably want to know when he called. She'd probed with gentle questions, her voice soothing but compelling his replies. From his answers so far, Logan seemed sleepy, still, but largely unscathed–he seemed to remember most of his day, and was apparently unfazed by events. More and more she was sure he'd escaped without any lasting effects, allowing her to relax as well, finding herself looking forward to what came next, now that they'd made such a major leap forward, landing as they had, here in his bed...
He lay back against the pillows, eyes closed tiredly, but he laughed a soft, rueful laugh as he thought of his answer. "A couple wolves... or maybe wild dogs, I couldn't tell... suddenly darted up in front of me on the road and I had to swerve a little to avoid them. If it hadn't been slick right there..."
"You froze off your tail for a couple dogs' tails?" She asked, a little melodramatic exasperation thrown in for effect. It worked, and he chuckled ... but said nothing else. She felt his muscles continue to relax as she lay curled into his side. Testing him once more, she tried, "why didn't you just call?"
"Tried..." he murmured, drowsily. "No signal at that spot. I got out and tried going a little ways down the road each way to see if I could get one..."
"...in the sleet and rain?"
He snorted softly. "No one gave me a vote on the weather or I'd've gone with tropical." She saw his smile of satisfaction with his answer lift even higher at her indignant nudge. He drew a breath, his smile still lingering, to resume, "No signal, though. Maybe the whole system was out..."
He'd be asleep in a few minutes... and Max felt a sudden wave of relief and gratitude that he'd be his old self with only a few more hours rest. "Want the rest of your tea?" she coaxed, lifting his cooling mug. "Just another mouthful or two."
He chuckled again but this time managed to pry open one eye to peer at her, suspiciously. "Did I know about this maternal streak, before?"
She shook her head immediately, grinning. "You're just dreaming again." At the reference, the second eye opened and he looked at her, slightly sheepish, but saw her beam even wider at his reaction. He relaxed further, but raised his hand to take the mug from her and drain the tea, and Max took the cup from him, reaching back to place it on the bedside table. Thinking he might slip off into sleep before long, she said, "You know, if you're hungry, I think it would be okay to have something. I'd wanted to wait 'til Sam called, to see what he had to say about getting you back to normal, but he's in surgery. I spoke to Lilly – she said that he'd just gone in on an emergency, and it looked like it might be another several hours. I didn't want to start forcing soup or food on you if it was too soon – but you probably haven't eaten all day..."
He shrugged, " 's okay. I'm not really hu..." He broke off, a sudden thought gripping him. "What time is it?"
"About seven..." She looked at him, frowning at the abrupt change in him: he was fully awake now, the muscles in his chest and arms now tightening, his jaw tense. Even his voice had shifted, sounding strained. More like the normal, driven Logan, she realized – and felt a ripple of sadness at the thought, no matter how true it was. She waited, trying not to show her confusion – and concern – and disappointment...
He nodded, eyes closing once more, but this time in the embarrassment he knew was to come. Logan, pal, face it: she's physical perfection, and you're not even in one piece anymore. And just wait 'til she learns what's in store in that department... He knew he would always remember these two moments: the first, when he awoke with a nude Max wrapped around him; and this, the second... when he'd drive her away from his bed...
He opened his eyes now, hating the fact that he had probably known this all along, that the sweeter the dream, the more painful it would be when it crashed all around him. Staring down at the comforter thrown over their forms, he said woodenly, "I ... uh... I'd better get up..."
"Oh, no, Logan, you're still recuperating!" Max propped herself up on her elbow, still clueless as to what had done it, but understanding without a doubt that he was retreating – from her? She reasoned, "If it's Eyes Only stuff, I can check the machine ... or your e-mail ... and you can tell me what needs to be done..."
He shook his head, hoping he didn't telegraph the ache he felt inside. "It's not that..."
She tried to muster the same confident, protective demeanor he'd brought out in her brief moments before, as she leaned to kiss his forehead possessively and sat back with an encouraging smile to pronounce, "Then there's nothing that can't wait 'til tomorrow..."
He let his eyes close again, humiliation already making his stomach lurch. With a shaky sigh, he opened them, planted his hands at his sides, and forced himself up to sit. "Yeah, there is..."
Max searched back wildly through the last few minutes to figure out what had gone wrong, what she had done wrong, to cause him to swing so suddenly from contentment to... this, this Logan-esque detachment... "Logan, what...?"
He felt her eyes on him, knew without looking up they'd be full of concern, soft and warm. He couldn't bear to think of them once she saw it all, revulsion changing their warmth into disgust. But she'd never let it go without some explanation ... and so he murmured, "For you, Max... and nearly everyone on the planet... it's the call of nature. For me... it's a scheduled program." And a whole parade of other things you haven't thought of yet... and once you get a good look at the plumbing, you'll think twice about any more 'skin to skin contact'...
Of course... Max realized why he wouldn't make eye contact even after being so intimate, moments before. She should have known that it was somehow connected to the injury that he'd managed, apparently, to have overlooked until now, in the haze of hypothermia. She'd learned long before that, ultimately, it was usually the source of all pissiness or anger or despair Logan felt. And in all of these last moments, she reflected, he'd been far too unperturbed about his being naked in front of her, their kisses and touch had been too easy...
Max watched now as he retreated from her back into his shell, the signs as familiar to her as the first, hated tremors of her own seizures, and it stung that she could not stop his withdrawal. He turned with a grimly determined set to his shoulders, avoiding her eyes as he pulled a blanket toward him to cover his bare lap, self-conscious now, and reached toward his chair. She had no words to offer; nothing at all came to mind as she stared at him, helplessly, knowing that despite whatever her DNA offered her to protect him physically or help him intellectually on an investigation, she was powerless to take away this all consuming shame he bore, so needlessly...
Logan fought a wave of lightheadedness along with his humiliation as he moved though his transfer, knowing she'd seen him do this countless times, but the circumstances making this as painful as if it were the first. She'd brought his chair close, he recognized; of course she was well-practiced in anticipating those needs. He decided he would not ask her to leave, though he would have done anything to avoid her seeing this: his abandonment of her arms because his body could not be trusted to behave on its own ... his quick move to flip back the covers on his side of the bed. He prayed she wouldn't understand this last action, fighting his own wave of disgust at his need to be sure, along with a rush of gratitude that at least he'd not waited too long, and had avoided being completely disgraced in her eyes ...
Rattled at the sharp change in atmosphere, Max couldn't stand by and watch the wall rebuild between them, growing thicker and higher in each moment of silence that passed. "...Logan..." she whispered, urging...
"Don't, Max..." He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so pathetic and battered; he tried to summon what strength he had left. "Just... give me a few minutes..." There's no place to find dignity when there's no place to hide, his thoughts taunted, when she sees it all... Transfer completed, he worked to force everything else out of his thoughts but his grip on his wheel rims, the tickle of the blanket corner brushing his ribs, the chilly leather on his bare back. Focus here, and everything else fades away...
Max watched in unspoken sorrow for him as she saw how his reality battered his pride, undoing everything that had happened in the past hour, and felt clueless as to how to make things right again. Could he ever see this as being as natural as if he'd just had to pop out of bed to pee, just like every other man on the planet? The fact he let it so completely dishearten him made her feel a wave of frustration, even anger, at the forces that had worked in his life to make plumbing such an issue. Was it really that big a deal to pee standing up? The more rational part of Max knew full well there was more to Logan's pain at the results of his injury, but at the moment, confounded by her inability to do more, she indulged in making his problems just that simple: more than half the world's population doesn't pee standing up and we've never let it be such a cause for embarrassment...
He said nothing as he stopped at his large closet and pulled out some clothes; she said nothing as he went on into his bathroom and shut the door behind him. Flopping back down on the bed, Max felt her eyes burn with tears of frustration that she refused to let come, angry for what his injuries did to his head ... and angry for her own silence. Just when the stars had finally aligned to help get them past the armor they'd built around their hearts, real life reminded Logan why his was donned in the first place...
...which in turn reminded Max how ill-prepared she was to convince him it wasn't important to pee standing up...
She shook herself angrily and snapped out of bed, finding one of Logan's t-shirts for herself, and stalked into his front room, oblivious to the clear, black vibrancy of the sky and stars beyond his windows. She paced to get a grip on the emotions which battled to dishearten her, too. Some soldier, she chided herself. You say you always make it up as you go along – so deal. This can't be any harder a mission than any others you've had... But she had no great ideas, not really. All she could think of at the moment was just to be there and as stubborn as he, just continue to return, to seek his arms, to tell him what she felt and what was important to her...
'Continue' she repeated to herself. Max, have you ever really told him just exactly how you feel? Today you said more than you ever have, and it was bumbling at best...
"Actions speak louder than words" she muttered aloud, defensively. "And he couldn't misinterpret those actions, a minute ago..."
Yeah, that's why he's locked himself in the bathroom, feeling crappy and undesirable, her wiser inner self goaded.
"He deserves someone who can make him understand..." she whispered aloud, trying on a bit of self-pity for herself, trying out Lydecker's prediction that good soldiers make lousy lovers...
Then get to work, her inner bitch demanded, because he deserves, for once, getting what will make him happy. And from what he's saying – with his 'actions' speaking louder than his words ... he's already chosen...
And pacing stopped, Max stared down at the floor for the moment. She would, indeed, make it up as she went along, because that's what I do. No plan, other than the refusal to let him succumb, and an unreasonable trust that if she kept at him, kept remembering that he'd dreamed of her, they could get past even a bullet to the spine...
A small smile started as she felt the butterflies flicker in her tummy once again, in tentative hope. "Take that, Lydecker..." she whispered... And with a glance up to the rare netting of stars blanketing the city, Max turned back toward the bedroom and her mission of the night...
X.
Max waited now, silently, sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing the bathroom door. It wasn't much of a wait before the door opened and Logan came out, now dressed in sweats and a heavy football jersey. Looking up to see her waiting so blatantly for him to emerge, he colored a little, and, without speaking, turned to move toward the door. She spoke, softly, "Hey ... how about coming back to bed?' Back to where we left off, her thoughts continued, wondering if she could telegraph her thoughts as an additional lure...
He slowed, almost stopped – but still didn't look at her. "I'm fine, Max; back to normal. No need for it anymore..."
"How about if I need it?" How about if I don't want you 'back to normal'...?
He stopped fully now, almost physically reeling with his struggle not to believe. He paused in profile to her, weighing her words, still not looking up; weighing his possible responses before shaking his head. Not falling for it, he said softly, sounding defeated, "Yeah, well..." He began moving forward again, his movements stiff with the effort of fighting her invitation. "We both know, as far as need goes..." he'd moved into the hall by now, Max getting up smoothly to trail behind him, "you're not in too bad a shape..."
She bit her lip, refusing to be baited, and followed him to his computer room, watching him mindlessly open his e-mail, scanning recent additions with an expression that convinced her he wasn't really registering them. "I didn't mean my temperature" she offered gently.
Her voice was soft and even, but with a will behind them that made him glance up, finally, in spite of himself, to meet her gaze. He hesitated, then shook his head, looking back to the monitor, the usual stubborn, maddening determination in his eyes, even if sadder than she'd ever seen them. "I have work to do."
"Yes, you do," she returned, still softly, still unwavering, "but nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."
He glanced away from the monitor again, knowing this wouldn't shake her, and drew a long breath. After another moment, he nodded and said quietly, staring at the floor, "You're right." He backed away from the computer to move again, this time toward the kitchen. "I know you're hungry by now; I can get..."
"Logan..." She stepped around in a smooth, quick move and stood before him, blocking his way. "Don't do this..."
He stopped before running into her, but kept his eyes fixed on the floor ahead of him, breathing forced into the pattern of calm Bling had taught him, refusing to succumb. When it became clear she would out-wait him, his curiosity helped strengthen his resolve, and he managed to look up, mask in place. "Do what?'
Even knowing she'd see such a front, the pain he bore touched her, and the edges of her own determination softened a bit. "We were just in there, in your bed, wrapped around each other, very, very naked," her voice was soft, as gentle as her hands had been, stoking his chest. "I think at this point in our ... relationship... we can sit down and be honest about what's going on. It's not work. It's not Eyes Only, it's not Manticore or who needs what..." The words flowed from her, almost without her consideration. "Right now ... it's about your dreams ... and mine. And more skin to skin contact..." She knelt beside him, threading her fingers through his to lift his hand off the wheel rim he held fixedly, coaxing his eyes back to hers. "...maybe you didn't plan to go freeze yourself, but you did, and now here we are. No matter what you say, Logan, it felt good to you, it felt right... " She saw the first wave of defense begin to crumble as his stubborn denial dropped away, leaving a more vulnerable look of anticipated hurt in his expressive eyes. Max swallowed, suddenly emotional upon seeing the depth of his pain, but squeezed his hand a little and urged, "And I think it's time we finally admit the big one..."
He wavered another moment, balance completely thrown by events and easily tumbled in his post- hypothermia haze. Not sure he could find his voice, not sure he wanted to, the promise of hurt so intense, his insistent hope outshouted even that, and he fell right into her trap. "Admit...what?" he dared.
"...that we are 'like that...'"
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...and so...?