DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized.

A/N: Warning: extreme hyper-moosh! This is another installment in an AU one-shot that didn't know when to quit. The other stories are in production, too, but for a variety of reasons I was in the mood for some hyper-moosh, and decided to finish off an installment started long ago. There is a theme to these chapters, however, and if you haven't read the first chapter, reading it would help this one make a little more sense.

Thanks for reading; any and all reviews, comments, and opinions welcomed, as always.

January 17, 2023

It was dim in the Penthouse for 4:00 in the afternoon, heavy grey clouds hanging over the city like a thick, down comforter, lighter grey wisps skittering quickly across the deeper grey above them. The sound of the rain was soft, however, as was the gentle roll of winter thunder Logan heard in the distance, rumbling long and low under the soothing piano of a Satie Gymnopédie playing from the speakers across the room. He glanced up from the file balanced on the arm of his couch and watched the rain trace down along the window for a moment, the soft patter and darkened sky leaving him with a comforted, cocooned feeling, and he turned back to the sight that had pulled him away from his more haunted window brooding some time ago.

Max.

She lay curled up beside him on the couch, her head in his lap, as he'd read through a file, idly stroking her hair. Her breathing had slowed, and her muscles softened, as she relaxed into his touch.

His gaze lingered on her soft, burnished skin, the gentle contours of her cheek, her lips, slightly parted as she napped, before he took in the rest of her, in still-dazed awe of finding himself and Max at this moment, in this life. The street-wise, immovable Max had collided with the stubborn, self-righteous Eyes Only and look what happened, he marveled for the hundredth time, now, as always with a catch in his chest, as his eyes traveled along the graceful form curled up along the couch, her silhouette now rounding dramatically with the growing child she carried. Our child, Logan reminded himself yet again, the idea, even still, so moving and new. Our child ...

Logan hadn't ever imagined himself as a father; first, because he was young and knew he had his life stretching many years ahead of him; then, because his lifestyle and his mission as Eyes Only had made it out of the question; and then, after, because it just wasn't all that easy for the shell-shocked sperm of a SCI patient to soldier on, the way they might have before...

Guess those statisticians hadn't figured in the effect of feline DNA and the cat-like response of the female in estrus to ovulate at the time of the Act, he found himself smiling wryly. What better proof that Max and he were fated to be together, than to find that a sluggish Cale wriggler was gobbled up with such enthusiastic glee by Max's waiting, voracious ovum?

His smile faded slightly as his little joke passed, thoughts sobering again, and he considered what a ride it had been so far. Not knowing if Max's concocted DNA make-up and his mundane, civilian DNA would fit together safely, if something would go terribly wrong, or something in between, they'd been afraid to be too happy, to share the news before it became so obvious they didn't have to say it ... to have too much hope. Those first weeks, he fought to hide the fear he felt, for Max – would pregnancy make the seizures more severe? Was something written into her, designed as she was to be a soldier, to end the pregnancy before it went too far? Would they even recognize if the pregnancy was harming Max in some unusual way that they wouldn't catch until it was too late? How would they safely monitor her though a process that ought to be overseen by a doctor, but that might reveal that she wasn't just any old mother-to-be?

At least that part had been easy, he reflected, and seemed to go remarkably well. Although Sam Carr wasn't an obstetrician, he served as her primary physician in it all, with the excuses that he was a trusted friend, and she had a history of seizure disorder, and what with the hormonal changes brought by pregnancy, they wanted to take no chances. As far as the pregnancy itself, a midwife was Max's chief care-giver, working well and closely with Sam, and she could monitor all the signs such as weight gain and signs of a healthy expectant mother; Bling was nearby as always and helped the midwife with the parents' training in pre-delivery exercise and birthing, keeping his own tabs on Max's health as well. Max's vital signs were generally those of any vibrant, fit human being, in perfect running order, and the midwife ultimately had no reason to suspect anything more than having a patient who was a blessedly healthy expectant mother. She'd have no opportunity to do the sort of tests which might reveal just how special the patient was. The midwife and Bling, then, kept an eye on Max's pregnancy and kept Sam informed, who could steer her to a specialist should it come to that.

Which, to the continuing relief of the expectant father, it had not. Max was just as healthy as ever and felt fine, not bothered by any sign of morning sickness, her robust appetite still strong. She had started sleeping everyday, though, even a full night's sleep most nights during her first three months, and a good number of her nights thereafter. It was a sign that didn't really bother Sam all that much after confirming with an obstetrician on the hospital staff, and seemed to be Max's version of 'normal.' After several weeks of it, with all the other signs so positive, even Logan began to accept her sleeping as a good thing, and he delighted in the simple pleasure of falling asleep with Max in his arms, and finding her still there, nestled in close to him, when he awoke...

His gaze traveled upward again to the long, dark lashes, the flawless, soft skin ... so it's true what they say about expectant mothers, he reflected idly, looking down at her lovely features, at rare repose and peace. They really do glow...

He was too much of a pessimist to believe it could all be so easy or remain crisis free, too long in the underground, too long a Cale to trust that there could be happy endings, for him. But here she was, curled up in his lap, smiling a Mona Lisa smile of such normalcy and contentment he started to believe it might actually be true.

"Are you obsessing again?" The smooth countenance was suddenly crossed with a wry grin.

Caught. Again. He smiled for her. "Just waiting for the other shoe," he admitted.

"Sometimes..." She opened her eyes and looked up, raising her hand to trace it lazily out along his arm to lace her fingers through his. "...there is no other shoe."

He wished that she could really meant it, that she was as unworried as she sounded, but he knew different. Manticore had embedded too many surprises in her to ignore, and each new discovery tore at her with reminder of their control over her, even so long after her escape. It was undeniable that the designers who engineered them all in order to create a new race of soldiers would be sorely tempted to fiddle with her reproductive system as well. All the expectant parents could do was just wait to see if Manticore had figured out how to manipulate the next generation – or their beginnings – as well.

So far, there was no sign of it. Selfishly, for Max's sake, Logan dared to hope that the focus for X-5 was on that generation alone, and that any thought that they had for creating a series to be self-sustaining was saved for the later series they knew had been developed. Max's strength, robust constitution and remarkable healing abilities were well suited to pregnancy and it barely slowed her down, other than her more frequent craving for sleep and, on occasion, certain foods seemingly keyed to the baby's development. Maybe that's all they planned for them, Logan hoped, super moms breezing through their pregnancies. She felt good and had even been seizure-free though-out, the extra tryptophan Sam suggested probably helped by the extra sleep she was getting.

But it wouldn't be much longer now, and he vowed he would hide any remaining fears he had for her from now on as well as she had from him. He smiled for her and let his free hand trace gently across her rounded tummy. "Maybe. However, the shoe you do have is coming along in fine fashion, here. Hard to miss."

"Your fault," she grinned smugly.

"Well, then, I suppose I'd better attend to you both," he mused. "Hungry yet?"

"'Yet?'" she repeated. "Don't you mean 'still?'" At his smirk, she shrugged, "I suppose I could wait 'til dinner if I had to..."

"Speaking of dinner..." he let his fingers trace lazy circles on her tummy, a caress which they had discovered soothed not only Max but a sometimes active baby within her. "Did you decide if you'd like to go out somewhere for your birthday dinner? Pretty soon, it won't be so easy to just head out when we want for an elegant evening on the town."

She sighed, conceding, "I know. But really, if I get to choose, I'd rather it be just us, here ... if you feel like cooking."

"Always," he smiled for her, warmed by her words. "A command performance for an appreciative audience? Better than going out in the rain by a mile."

"Which one of us has the feline DNA?" she asked, pushing up to a near-sitting position, leaning cozily into his side as he drew his arm around her. "You sure you don't mind?"

"That you want me all to yourself? I'll deal," he grinned, rakishly.

She rolled her eyes. "You have something to cook?" she asked, still sounding a little sleepy.

"Always prepared," he smiled, a sudden tenderness filling him at her choice to stay in. He brought his arm around her just a little closer. "In case you decided you wanted a home-cooked meal, I got a few things."

"I knew I could count on you," she purred.

The sound of it emboldened him, let him start to believe that she might be right about that 'shoe' thing, let him believe that his gift for her this year might not be just asking for bad luck, as he'd feared. Why not start believing in the luck of the Irish, Cale, instead of just bad luck? If you're going for the metaphysical, why not go for the good stuff? "Hey," he tried, softly, watching her as he spoke. "When do you want your present?"

"'bout time," she grumped, comically. "I was wondering if you forgot."

"Yeah, I 'forgot' – that's why the baby's room has been off limits since yesterday?"

"Well, maybe you forgot about whatever your 'off-limits' dealio is all about." There was no change in her voice or expression, but she opened her eyes as she spoke, looking into his, and he saw that look that never quite went away where the baby was concerned, a look of wary, vulnerable hope, of waiting ... of steeling herself for whatever might lie ahead...

And seeing his own doubts reflected in hers, Logan knew that more important than anything now was that he stay strong for her and let her know that he could trust in their luck this time, that the luck of the Cales, while imperfect and dysfunctional, had actually brought him far more good luck and good fortune than bad, considering what messes he'd gotten himself in over the years. "You'd never let me get by with that." His smile to her now was warm and centered, relaxed. "We can go look any time you like."

She searched his face, looking for what had suddenly occurred to make it time for her present. She smiled, tentatively to ask, "I could have had it, all along?"

He shrugged, amused. "Yeah. I was just waiting for you to ask."

She smirked. "For an underground hero, you're not all that good a liar." He was pleased to see that her own expression seemed to clear, and her eyes twinkled in pleased anticipation. "Let's go see now."

Max unfolded from the couch and stood aside as Logan shifted smoothly from the couch to his chair to follow her. They had begun preparing the nursery in cautious steps, and now that they were only six weeks away, they had outfitted the room in elegant but noncommittal fashion, finding a crib, dresser and changing table in a red cherry hardwood that blended perfected with the outer wall. But they had done nothing else with the room nor added the things the baby would need, staying away from the room for the most part, keeping the door closed for now. Oh, they'd gotten a couple sets of linens and receiving blankets, but in a plain, unpatterned white, telling themselves they would wait until the baby was born to decide the colors and prints for the room. At one time or another, each had seen the sadness in this and had hoped the other did not, keeping it to themselves. Neither found any other way they could prepare any more than this and not be devastated, should things go wrong.

... the other shoe, even with this, Logan reflected. But as they neared the nursery door, Logan knew that his decision to push ahead, just a little, was what they needed now, more than ever...

"Go on," he urged, as she looked at him in question, but as she reached to slide the door aside, he spoke again suddenly and reached for her hand, to stop her. As she looked back, a question there, he gently pulled her toward him and lifted his face for a kiss. After a long, sweet moment, he pulled back to nod her inside. "Happy Birthday, Max..."

She smiled back toward him, then turned again to roll the door aside. Looking in, her eyes widened, then misted slightly in emotion. "Logan..." she whispered, finally turning to look at him. "It's ... perfect."

"Go on," he urged. "Try it out."

She nodded and moved inside, Logan following, toward the graceful wooden rocking chair, its gleaming red wood a match for the other cherry pieces around them, a fluttery white bow tied on in celebration. She lifted another two packages from the seat, one large with softened rectangular edges, one small and crisp. Both were wrapped in white paper and festooned with red ribbons. "Logan," she whispered again, shrugging in her emotional response.

He nodded again toward the chair, both relieved and gratified that she seemed pleased with it, too. "Does it fit?" he teased, softly.

She smiled and sat slowly, settling back into its curved frame, and a new smile of delight crossed her face. "It's perfect," she beamed. She reached out and ordered, "come here." He crossed the remaining couple feet to come up beside her, taking her extended hand and meeting her waiting lips as she leaned toward him for another kiss. "It's going to get a lot of use," she vowed.

"I know it will." He pulled back a little and saw that her words, no matter how hard she tried, were tinged with the hint of question and fear, and he raised his hand to her cheek and dared to voice what had been with them, for all these weeks. "Max – it will." he promised her. "We've come this far, and you and the baby are fine. We're going to be a family in about six weeks – and every day when I get back from the market, or come up for air from some investigation – I'll come looking for you, and I'll find you right here, in this chair, with our baby sleeping in your arms." He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke steadily, ready now to believe, for her sake, as if his belief would pull them through by the sheer force of his willpower. "Bet me," he added, smiling confidently.

"You mean it," she observed. It wasn't a question; she saw that he believed what he said. "What happened?"

"Just realized this is going to happen," he smiled. "No other shoe. Go on, if you don't believe me," he nodded to the other packages, and said,"try the big one."

Her uncertain smile creaked up further in stages, and her eyes lightened with his words. "I love you," she said, softly, achingly.

"I love you, Max – you and the little shoe in your belly," he urged warmly.

Her eyes sought his face for any sign of doubt and, seeing none now, Max straightened a little more, her smile settling into a more comfortable, trusting one, and she leaned over to lift the larger package. "What's in here?"

"Better look..." he said, hoping this too would be right. As the papers fell away, Logan watched Max's face widen into a dazzling smile, and her eyes now filled to spill over.

"Look at this..." she said in soft delight, first lifting the soft, airy baby blanket to her, hand-knit and pure white, cheerily trimmed and decorated in red, its attitude suddenly brightening up the somber room. "It's beautiful ... and ..." she lifted the little shirt and hat, the baby booties – the first they had – in fire engine red, with bits of white trim, and as another tear fell, her laugh hiccupped, "Look at these, Logan, they're..." She laughed. "They're red."

"For your birthday. January – garnet," he grinned. "In case you'd forgotten."

"How could I, after the last two?" She laughed again, and looking back at the tiny clothes, so bright and colorful in the room where they'd been so afraid to have such faith, and held them close. "I love them."

"But they're not really for you to wear ..." Logan managed to keep his voice steady, despite seeing Max's happiness finally emerging, and watched as she held up the tiny hat, examined the booties. I'm sorry you've been cheated out of the joy you should be feeling in all this, he told her silently. "One more present, Max," he said managed, his voice soft but even. He wouldn't let Max's tears cause his to fall. "The little box."

She smiled back at him and turned to lift the smaller package, pulling the paper away to find a jeweler's box inside. With both hands she opened the hinged leather box, and her breath caught. She looked back up at the green eyes watching her closely, waiting to see if she liked them. "They're perfect..."

She lifted the earrings from the box, each one a tiny cluster of delicate garnets in a cut and pattern that matched the single, flawless gem at her neck, her present from Logan two years ago for her very first real birthday. "They're alright?" Logan asked.

"Way past 'alright.' Everything is way past alright, Logan – thank you..." She admired the earrings for another moment before moving to put them on. "I'll wear them to dinner," she grinned. Once on, she asked "how do they look?"

"Beautiful," he grinned, stealing another kiss. As he pulled back, his smile softened a little and he added, "you're beautiful ... Happy Birthday, Max."

This time their kiss was long and emotional – each knew there were no guarantees, but a new trust had been born, a new faith, that things just might work out as well as everything else had this far, and that they might end up with a normal little life – at least, their version of 'normalcy.'

They finally pulled apart and Logan said, "I promised you dinner. Maybe I should get it started.."

Max nodded, "okay." As Logan began to pivot toward the door, she spoke again. "Hey –" he turned back to look at her, in question, and she said, "I think I'll just stay here a while, while you cook ... okay?"

It took all of Logan's strength not to let her see the effect her words had on his resolve. "Okay," he smiled. "Dinner should be ready in about an hour."

"Good," she smiled, settling back in the rocker.

"Yell if you need anything."

"I will." Again he turned to go and again she stopped him. "Logan?" Again he turned, waiting.

"Did I forget to tell you ... you know. That I love you?"

He chuckled, glad to have the emotional release, and said, "Maybe you'd better tell me again, just to make sure."

She nodded. "I love you. Red," she then laughed again, shaking her head, and lifting the blanket and baby things into her lap. He shrugged, and in a moment, still not speaking, turned to leave the room.

Max sighed and leaned back in the chair, stroking the soft blanket admiringly before daring to lift the tiny, bright booties, feeling her eyes well up again. We're having a baby ... and we'll all be just fine...

...and after another moment, gazing long over the little red outfit and on across the room, Max slowly... and emotionally ... started to rock, ever so gently, in the chair...