Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing! NOTHING:begins to cry:

A/N: Oh my gosh, wow. Did not think I would actually write this... but I did... oh dear, this can't end well.

This one is from Max's pov (more or less), so, there you go.

At Least This

Part II

By Toblerone

Waking up is always a surprising feeling for one who never sleeps. It's startling, often even confusing. She always feels as if she has missed something. Quickly she pushes past the fogginess of sleep. What's happening? Why was I asleep? What woke me up? A flurry of thoughts bombards her. Analyze the situation. Formulate a plan.

His form, so close, halts all examination and preparation. He stops all her Manticore instincts and plotting in an instant, without even waking up. Typical. She can't help but gaze, almost in awe, at his scruffy face.

Moving so that she is closer, she wonders when she had slipped out of his embrace. She has to remind herself not to hold him too tightly. She is acutely aware that her grip can bruise, that her hands can snap bones, and that her actions can scar and break with out much thought or effort. Many times, she has sworn, both unconsciously and deliberately, to protect him from all harm. More often than not, she finds she is trying to save him from herself. She is the greatest danger he comes in contact with – most of the time - or so it would seem.

She breathes in deeply before pulling back slightly. Her fingers gently slide across his cheek. His breathing is even and his features relaxed – at peace even. For a minute she feels overwhelmed and she rolls over so that her back is to him. The whole scene is surreal. The two of them tangled together in her tiny bed in her dirty apartment.

It isn't what she usually pictures. Usually (frequently) she envisions them his comfortable penthouse with candles, soft music and matching, half full, wine glasses. They lay in his spacious bed, covered in clean white sheets – the lighting low, the timing perfect. Her daydreams rarely ever feature the two of them at her place. She finds that she doesn't mind that things didn't turn out the way she'd imagined.

Last night, when she had fluttered anxiously about the kitchen as Kendra explained the finer points of seductive sauce making, the fantasy would suddenly rise up in her mind and fill her with an excited nervousness. As quick as the visions would enter her head though, she would force them out. He's the best friend you've ever had, why try to mess that up? Not smart. Not safe. Try to control yourself around him… for once…

But then they'd been laughing and smiling and he was looking at her the way he did. His face had been close to hers suddenly, yet not unexpectedly (her couch was quite small, after all) and he moved forward just a few centimeters before he caught himself and froze. She had seen that look before, on other men, and on a few unguarded occasions with him as well. He'd wanted to kiss her, maybe just as badly as she wanted to kiss him.

Later, maybe she would blame it on the wine or his incredible eyes. But then, at that moment, with his stubbly face within reach and his expression confused and conflicted, and even a little bit sorrowful – she just couldn't help herself anymore. He so near, and she could smell his aftershave and his Logan smell that she'd memorized, and he was the only person who knew what she was, and he looked at her like she was more, like she was human, and his smile was enough brighten up her whole day, and there and then she simply wanted to have what she so craved, even if it was just this once.

So she grabbed him and kissed him… and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him… and he kissed her back…

She turns back and studies him again, but the great wonder that is Logan Cale remains a mystery to her. Of course. She shifts so that she is closer to him again and lifts his arm gently so that she is encased in his embrace. As she relaxes into his warm form, she allows herself to wonder what it might be like to be forever like this. Forever with him.

One day she will have to leave, she knows. She will flee to the darkest, deepest, most obscure hiding places imaginable. She will change the way her hair looks and probably even her eye color and maybe wait tables at some small dinner in the middle of some hick town. She'll sit on top of buildings and stare at nothing remembering only the way he whispered that she was beautiful and incredible over and over. She'll recall that his hair was always every which way and remember the way his eyes would focus on her and her alone. She'll sympathize entirely too much with the heroines of those disastrous love stories that are on TV, late at night, in certain bars. Sometimes she'll cry a little and long for better circumstances.

She hopes their separation will be that peaceful. In actually she probably will bleed or stave (most likely both), in some cell, thinking only of the man who told her that he loved her one time. She can only hope that the last thing she dreams about, before her death or indoctrination, is his comforting presence.

She'll miss him terribly… especially now, after their glorious lapse in judgment and his sleepy declaration…

It is not the first time that she's wanted to claim something. When one never has anything that truly belongs to them, they often yearn for something to call their own. The only thing she has managed to hold onto for an extended period of time (a few years) is her motorcycle… She's very protective of her bike… but one day it'll be gone too.

Still, for a few minutes, she lets herself pretend that he is hers to have.

"Mine," she says quietly, without meaning to, "you're mine."

She hears Kendra's alarm go off, and smiles a little at the resulting grumblings. Glancing back at her own digital clock she sees that it's six o'clock. She's been asleep for about two hours. Wow. New record? Probably.

Have to go to work… eventually… Sighing, she memorizes everything around her that she can, for future fantasies and reminiscences, before she begins to move out of his arms.

The movement wakes him slightly. He tightens his grip, groans slightly, andattempts to pull her back to him.

"Where ya' going," he says groggily.

"Shower, then work," she regretfully informs.

"No, no I don't think so," He tugs her back to him, his eyes still only half open. They lie on their sides, facing each other. She smiles at his playfulness, something she's rarely ever seen before

"I have to. Have to get paid," She runs a hand through his messy hair and kisses him, despite her own protests. He deepens the kiss and runs a hand down her back. Shivering a little, she breaks the kiss.

"Seriously," he moves his lips to her neck, "Logan, you…" she trails off when he finds the particularly sensitive spot at the base of her neck, that he had discovered (quite happily) the night before.

"I have to-"

"No you don't," his voice is soft and pleading, and she wonders at his behavior. He is playful and even somewhat forceful this morning.

He moves back to her lips and she closes her eyes and decides that she really doesn't feel like seeing Normal anytime soon.

I want to stay. I just want to stay with him.

The relief on his face is fairly obvious when she murmurs a simple "okay."

"Good," his sighs, ashis nervousness beginning to dissipate.

He doesn't want this to end either. She touches his face and stares into his endless eyes. Maybe he needs me just as badly as I need him.

I wish this could last.

Okay, for those of you who were disappointed with the terrible amount angst in this chap, my apologies. I didn't mean for it to turn out so angsty, it just sort of happened. Sorry.

But, fear not dear readers! There is one more (hopefully only one more..) chap in the works that is significantly more upbeat (Yay!). There will be some teasing and hopefully some flirting and maybe our dear heroes will have some of their deeper insecurities somewhat taken care of (although not completely, of course, as that would be a miracle of science, and I'm no scientist... not yet any way...: devious laughter:)

Wow, I'm a crazy person!

Reviews always appreciated. Thanks.