DISCLAIMER: I know this has no effect whatsoever, but it's no less true -- Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. Bring it back on the air, you can have any of this you want, as long as there's no silly recasting of Logan...

A/N: As always, thanks to those of you hanging in. If you're out there, let a guy know...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Someone to Watch Over Me

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

11:40 PM:

Max stood astride her Ninja, looking up at the lights in Logan's windows, feeling torn: the pattern of lights she saw, which rooms and how bright, told her he was still up and working. Available to talk... available to listen... She sighed, inexplicably aching. Whether it was because of her memories, or the need she now felt to share them and seek his solace, she couldn't really tell.

She'd left the Space Needle and made a hurried beeline for Logan's place, at first speeding through the streets, hungry to see him, to see the tousled hair and sparkling green eyes and to hear the soothing, velvet voice in the hush of his genteel surroundings. These things always made the bad seem better, cradling and comforting her, representing not only the safe haven of Logan's knowledge of all her secrets, but his care for her, his fierce willingness to be her protector and his concern that she be safe and warm and content...

But as she neared, she slowed, and the years of running and harsh training worked to tamp her haste and remind her that she knew better than to embrace such ease: the only thing you can depend on is yourself... weapons fail, contacts may be compromised, teammates turned. Each person you trust is another nail in your coffin, soldier; each person who knows something about you is your downfall, your murderer. Friends will betray you; lovers will turn you in. Trust will get you killed...

As she stood looking up, staring at his windows, she shivered again, now merely in reaction to the battles raging within her, and she felt angry shame that she'd come to this. Whom should she distrust, after all – Logan or Lydecker? Which of them showed her compassion and concern, and which murdered her sister? Which of them gave to her, freely, of his larder and possessions and safety, and which would have her captured, even killed?

Which of them saw her as human, and which as his escaped science project?

In the damp, cold night another shiver threatened, as Max recognized which of them drew her so powerfully now it was almost a physical craving. In a painful recognition of her all-too-human frailty and need, she found herself hoping it was truly a choice she made, to let Logan in, and not some admission of her failing, of weakness ... She wanted to believe what she had told Zack, that this was a choice and that she was trying to live like anyone else, no matter how she'd been made... and usually she believed it, too. But when so many things pulled at her still-new emotions, she wondered if her desire for Logan's strong support was just more evidence of her being flawed ... a lemon...

As she moved her bike into the garage to bring it close to the familiar, dusty Aztek, the sight of the boxy, comic vehicle, smudged and battered, reminded her of its owner and in that, a dawning hope grew: the man who had everything and could, no doubt, arrange elegance even with hand controls, instead had a dirty, ill-conceived vehicle that probably irritated his family as much as his hair and stubble did. It wasn't her failing that led her back, again and again, to Logan, she understood, coming closer to accepting her desire for his warmth and comfort, it was his strength...

And even though the emotions that had battered her left her spent and sad, with far more questions than answers, Max knew she'd come to sanctuary: the place where, no matter the seizures or the insecurities or the secrets of her creation, she was accepted, even valued, and made to feel welcome...

11:44 PM:

As Max rode up in the quiet of the elevator to Logan's penthouse, she found herself leaning her forehead against the cool, dark wood of the elevator wall, still remembering what Lydecker had done to Eva. No matter how crazy her own life might have been, at least she'd had one – Eva's was stolen from her before she'd gotten to taste freedom, to see the world, to sleep in a private room, eat alone, dress up or down, dress sexy or girly, have a best friend do her nails...

The elevator stopped and Max took a moment to still her emotions. No matter what she said or did, Logan would know something was bothering her, and she still fought the competing urges to tell him and let his wise thoughts ease the hurt, or to keep silent and not lose face, not show him any more of just how weak she could be. She would not lose sight of the fact that no matter how accepting and generous he'd been, Logan was human, and she couldn't yet quite believe that he wouldn't, sometime, find her neediness distasteful. She'd been taught the hard way that it never paid to show weakness, and he'd seen her physically helpless, wracked with seizures; no matter what she tried, he'd seen through her tough-guy act to know that her family was important to her, and that friends weren't far behind. And now, to let him see how she could let emotional pain hobble her more than physical pain would? Even Logan might say it's time to suck it up and deal...

She let herself in quietly, still not knowing what she'd say if he asked what was wrong – when he asked – but knowing that she wanted to be with him more than anywhere else, at that moment. Coming quietly to the computer room she saw the system up and humming but its operator absent, no data scrolling across the screen to suggest his whereabouts. With a slight frown she turned back to the hall, coming around into the dimly-lit living room...

...where she found him. She stopped, looking at the lanky, dozing form, her gaze softening as her heart did, to see him lost in sleep. It hadn't occurred to her, once she saw the lights. He was stretched out on the couch, not stirring, his breathing deep and even...

On silent cat's feet she came close to study Logan's compelling form in the anonymity of his oblivion as he lay quiet, his brow less troubled than when he was awake, glasses still on and laptop humming only inches away on the coffee table. The sight of him, all hero-handsome and little boy rumpled, lessened her obsession with the past and brought her focus to the present, to his presence. She wanted to touch him, but would not wake him for the world...

He'd been exhausted. She knew that in the past weeks he'd worked long hours with few breaks to develop the intel they needed to watch the mayor's case as it developed, and as he did so decided he needed to step in, to protect the witness who would put the mayor away for his involvement with Sonrisa's crimes. Long weeks shifted then to long hours, as he battled for distance, battled to see Anselmo as a witness needing protection, no more, no less. The strain of doing so had been telling on him as well.

But in recent days, the most revealing battle Logan fought was the one he fought for her, the one he waged to find something about the men who'd attacked her, who knew about her – and knew about Manticore. The little gem Bruno dropped about the word on the street – Manticore by name, no less, even if he couldn't remember it without help – and the bounty placed on her and her siblings by Lydecker's people worried Logan maybe even more than it did her. No matter what other projects Eyes Only was battling, this obsessed him, and he was doing all he could to discover more about the South Africans who not only wanted her, but apparently had a small army of thugs who could actually overtake her...

The thoughts reminded her of another reason she'd come seeking solace from him, and she ached for the comfort he had shown her, the strength and care he'd offered her time and time again. But for the moment, it would be have to be enough to be close, to draw in his soothing, embracing scent, to rest at his side in the cool quiet of his elegant penthouse...

Silently, she slipped to her knees beside him, all the while watching the aristocratic face in repose, the artistic hands lying quietly across his chest... If she was careful not to jostle him as she did so, so that she didn't cause ripples he'd sense in his back or arms, she could just ... be here, with him, take comfort from his being close ... because even if he was asleep, the warmth and concern he'd shown her since she'd known him was more nurturing and caring than anyone else had ever offered her in her two, hard-won decades...

And not closing her eyes until the last possible second, Max slowly, carefully, leaned up close beside him at the couch, and cautiously ... so careful not to wake him ... leaned her cheek against his thigh... and finally began to relax...

...to be continued...