DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters.
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Someone to Watch Over Me
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Many minutes past midnight, in front of the monitors:
He heard the water stop as Max must have finally come to the limit of his seemingly bottomless hot water heater, having succumbed to his suggestion that a hot shower and warm sweats help ease just about any ills. After she'd gone in he found some sweat pants that might not be too huge, a blanket-soft pullover, and warm socks – although he somehow he couldn't picture Max padding around stocking-footed. Leaving them all on the corner of his bed – and doing his damnedest not to think of her travel between shower and the pile of clothes awaiting her – he'd gone off to warm milk for some real hot chocolate. Pleased that he could pull out the tin of cookies brought to him that afternoon by Mrs. Moreno as her thanks for his previous day's resurrection of her dying computer, he readied cookies and mugs and went back to work as he waited for Max to finish her shower.
As he once again imagined her emerging from the steamy bath to grab the clothing waiting for her, he suspected that her shower had been long enough that he might need to reheat the milk just a little. He went back to the kitchen and moved the pan back onto the burner, turning it on, low. He'd let the milk warm 'til she was ready. He'd wait forever if it was for Max, he mused. He wondered if she had any idea that was so... if there was any chance she could miss it...
She had stayed with him in the front room, kneeling quietly at his side, leaning into his form, as they lost track of time. They hadn't spoken for many minutes, the silence soothing and comfortable as each spun their own private thoughts of what it meant, of how it felt to be together, as they were ... of what could be ... Each decided to keep the real world at bay just for a while, finding that the closeness and the quiet was something they could discover together, even in the harsh life that awaited them on the streets, a little dream they could share. When she'd finally shifted to look up at him again, sitting up to pull away gently, few words were passed between them – was she feeling alright? Could he get her something to eat? Wouldn't she please stay, so the third shift sector police wouldn't take advantage of the hour to hassle her, just because they could?
...and he wondered if she could see his relief when she told him she would...
Many minutes past midnight, master bedroom:
The long hot shower had allowed Max her few hurting, bitter tears a private escape, and her pain a retreat, now softening to a dull, lingering ache. Coming out of the large bath suite into Logan's bedroom, a sanctuary she'd invaded on very few occasions, she was lifted enough from her mourning by the surroundings to look around with a quiet, new curiosity. Coming to the foot of the large, plush bed, she found herself imagining him tangled in the soft grey duvet before her... and she chided herself a second time as she realized her images had been of the room bathed in candlelight... Eva, what kind of a sister am I, to let memories of you be interrupted by something like this?
Maybe ... just maybe... her wiser self reminded her, you should ask what kind of a man is Logan Cale, to pull you from such powerful memories?
She saw the clothes he'd left for her and lifted the jersey to her nose, breathing the scent of freshly laundered clothes, of Logan ... It dawned on her that he gave her his clothes – not some left over from another woman, not Valerie's – and idly, she wondered if he just didn't have any remnants of old affairs left in his drawers and closets, or if he was being tactful by not suggesting there had been a parade of others through his shower. She pulled the jersey on over her head, shaking off the thought with a rueful, self-deprecating laugh. Face it, Max, anything he had here that he didn't need would have gone to a safe house or a shelter by now, she mused. That's Eyes Only out there – no way would he let the lost souls of Seattle go naked ...and he's too practical to let sentimentality override a few more years' use in a pair of jeans or a sweater... She smoothed the jersey over her hips, its mingled scent like arms around her now.
...or would he?
Max stared at the sweat pants, lying in wait on the bed, as her thoughts turned to consider how much her life had changed since she first dropped into this penthouse and into Logan's life. From running through snow... and running from truant officers and police ... to running from too many questions from sector patrols and Normal, and always, always running from Lydecker...
...was this it? Was it Logan I was running to...?
She closed her eyes, drew a deep breath. Eva, we made it; some of us did ... you never asked to be the catalyst but you were, you were sacrificed so we'd see what was in store for us if we didn't escape ... did Lydecker have a clue about what he was showing us at that moment? Could you have known, in your last moments alive? Max felt one more, lone tear press out from between her eyelids, and she opened her eyes again. Before her, the quiet elegance of Logan's bedroom, like the rest of his home – like Logan himself – spoke of alternatives, the assurance that not all in this life was squalid and dank and desperate...
She sighed and pulled on the long sweats, pulling at them to adjust to her smaller frame. No matter the guilt she might feel at taking so much from Logan, she wouldn't feel guilt for living, for having around her the things Logan offered, the things she earned with her own job. She would never have expected Eva to feel it, had the situation been reversed; she knew Eva would never want her to feel survivor's guilt – and Manticore's survival training was too much a part of her, no matter how much the murder still pained her. No point at all for the living to feel guilty for making it one more day, Max reflected, lifting the socks, considering them, then dropping them back on the bed. Of course, if it would bring Eva back ... I'd manage to find guilt in every moment I've been alive that she hasn't...
She opened her eyes again. Here she was, surrounded by comfort and beauty, and was reminded yet again how lucky she was, not only that Logan was so gracious in sharing all this with her, but that she had survived this long, to enjoy his generosity...
Which awaited her yet again, as she knew he was up and moving around, had heard him in the kitchen and now again at the computer ... if she wasn't here he might still be getting some rest, she reflected sadly. He was waiting for her, waiting in concern, ready to sooth or comfort or help any way he knew how. He'd never go to bed without seeing her, assuring himself she was alright. A modern knight in shining armor; twenty - first century chivalry... and wouldn't Lydecker be surprised to know that one of his souped up soldiers not only responded to, but craved, that care ... Logan's care...
...because I'm human, Max suddenly breathed. Just as Logan said...
And knowing that the sooner she got out there to convince Logan that she was just fine, the sooner he might get some sleep, Max took one last look at his soothing, sumptuous bed, not letting her thoughts go further, before turning to head back out of his bedroom...
And few minutes more past midnight, in front of the monitors:
He tried not to listen for her, now moving around in his bedroom and bath, as he came back to the computer array, poking at the information there without anything really sinking in at the moment. His mind was on the sounds he was trying to ignore. Not fair to her ... not sane for me, he lectured himself yet again, reminding himself of who and what they were. Not now, as hurt as she was ... and not ever likely, the way things stand for me. But just having her close, in his bedroom, in his sweats, made the words an exercise in futility, empty words that he felt obligated to repeat. She'd come to him in trust and in need, and the gift she'd given him of her rarely seen emotions, defenses down and open to him, let him imagine all things were possible. Don't make yourself crazy, he'd warned himself. But just as quickly, he heard a small voice in his head prodding him that it was too late for that...
The sound of softly padding feet met his ears only moments before the scents of soap and shampoo and shower taunted him, and he struggled to keep his eyes on the monitor, feigning deep interest and concentration. Just breathe, bucko, he found himself thinking. If you can look Gerhardt Bronck in the eye when he's got you tied up, you can manage the same with Max...
"Hey," he tried, with a casual, platonic and very brief glance up her way. His immediate, involuntary, double-take glance back up at her wasn't nearly as brief, as he met her eyes, taking her in...
"Hey," she smiled, and he was glad he'd already spoken, because his voice had left him for the moment: damp hair curling and her skin still aglow from the hot shower, Max stood before him looking like a lost child, in oversized borrowed clothing – his, he swallowed, imagining the contours within them. Her smile was game, but it still wasn't 'Max...'
What was it about the male gender that made male so ready to play caveman for female? What was it about Max that made him think he could even begin to 'protect' her? At least he damn well knew why...
"Feel better?" he managed. Did his voice sound as strangled to her ears as it did to his own? Not now, Cale... the warning was more terse, this time. Don't do this to either of you... take a breath and remember why Max came to you, tonight...
"Yeah," she smiled, her manner still quiet, but calmer than it had been when she arrived, and her sad eyes not as desperate. As she pulled the desk chair over to sit, he noted absently that her feet were bare. "So whatcha working on?" she tried teasing. "Has Eyes Only gotten any new calls or leads or puppies that need rescuing?"
She sat in the desk chair beside him, not perching on the desk or straddling the chair backward, as usual, but mostly sitting in the chair as it was made to be used, sitting forward, but with her bare feet poised on the splayed legs of the chair base, toes almost curled around them as if holding on. The image pulled his interest, inexplicably, and it took him a moment to shake free of its spell, and to attempt a response...
She didn't want to hear about his latest information on the South Africans or their ties with Manticore, not tonight. Not like this. He didn't want to remind either of them of their strength. And he didn't want to bring the ugliness of the world back in, now that she had begun to leave it behind. But this time, he actually had something he could tell her that might not intrude too heavily...
"Well, not exactly..." As he answered, Max saw an honest smile start crossing his face, and his eyes took on the light of pride she saw on rare occasions when he allowed himself to believe he could make a difference. "... but an intrepid investigative journalist whom you happen to know got a tip and followed it into a rather juicy story."
Max smiled for his words, but more for his enthusiasm. "You gonna tell me or make me guess?" she prodded.
"It's better over hot chocolate and cookies..." He snapped off his brakes and pushed back from his computer. "Milk's hot and ready, and Mrs. Moreno's cookies are waiting for you."
As Logan turned to go, Max sat unmoving for a moment, simply gazing at him, his ready thoughtfulness leaving her feeling inadequate. No matter what he asks of me, no matter what I can do for him or for Eyes Only, I could never make up for all he's done... She felt her eyes swim again, victim of her emotional evening. But something in him makes me never want to stop trying...
Sensing she wasn't coming, Logan had turned to find her still sitting alone, almost forlorn in the moment. "...Max?" he tried, stopping too, waiting.
But at the sound of his voice, she lifted her eyes to his and, at the contact, offered a smile of hope to him. "I love cookies," she whispered.
He looked at the beautiful woman, with the little girl peering out through her eyes. "I know," he smiled softly. "That's why I saved them for you..."
...to be continued...