Long after Max had stormed out, Logan sat still, trying to process what had happened. At some point, he came to his senses long enough to assume his usual brooding post in front of the bay window. He sat motionless for so long, in fact, that Bling came to see if he was alright.

"Man, are you okay? You look kind of," Bling searched for the right description. "Nauseous. Did you and Max have a spat? I thought I heard yelling earlier." Logan sighed.

"I made a 'self deprecating' remark that apparently she took great offense to. She slapped me." Logan admitted, using air quotes, then proceeding to feel extremely lame for doing so.

"Can I say something?" Bling asked. Logan snorted.

"What, you need my permission?"

"Well, this seems more serious than the things I usually meddle in." Bling sighed. "Look, when you regained the use of your legs, you did it how?"

"You know that it was Max's blood transfusion," Logan replied, slightly testy. "But I don't see what that has to do with..." He trailed off as realization dawned on him. "Oh, crap. You don't think--"

"That Max feels guilty that her blood failed to withstand your immune system? That she when she walked in to find you with that gun..." This time it was Bling who trailed off, he didn't need to finish the sentence.

"Oh damn," Logan groaned.

"So, what're you going to do?" Bling asked.

"I have no clue," Logan admitted. "I figure I should probably give her a day or so to cool down before I call her."

"Wise choice," Bling said wryly. "Well, I've got to motor. See you tomorrow." He turned and headed for the door.

"Yeah, have a nice night," Logan called after him. Now alone, Logan decided to get back to work. He sighed, and wheeled around to head back to his computer, and the files Max had brought.

Max paced the apartment for the two hundredth time, stopping yet again to stare at the phone.

It's three in the morning Max, the alpha voice in her head thought. He's probably asleep by now. And even if he's not, then he certainly hasn't learned his lesson yet.

Does that really matter? The annoying sentimental beta voice that only made its presence known when she was alone interjected. You want to see him. And we both know that he's not going to figure it out on his own. He's like you: emotions are to be neither seen nor heard. Besides, maybe if he knew how much you cared-

SHUT UP! There will be no wishful thinking here. That only leads to pain and weakness. You know that you should ignore that voice.

What if he's so mad about you hitting him that he doesn't want to see you again?

There's no use risking tactical disadvantage on maybes and what ifs.

Imagine the tactical disadvantage if he cuts off your tryptophan supply.

Then we'll find a pharmaceutical dealer.

Excuse me? That's a major disadvantage. It's less trouble to just go check on him. For once, the annoying voice won. Max grabbed her jacket, and wheeled her bike out onto the street.