A/n: Thanks again for your reviews, everyone. Sorry for the delay, my muse took a hike and got back just in time for my exams. I seriously should be revising, but this was just writing itself in my head. You know my brain itches when that happens.

By the way, this chapter is about the fluffiest piece of fluff I have ever written. Have fun with the Logan images.

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Chapter 34: Domesticity

Max shifted languorously in the bed, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton sheets against her skin. She smiled as she remembered the activities of the morning; evidently she wasn't the only one who could make it up as she went along. Then her hand reached the other side of the bed and she frowned, opening her eyes to confirm that she was alone. Please, do not let this have been a dream, she thought, suddenly terrified that it was only another fantasy. Then common sense kicked in; she was awake and naked in Logan's bed. The sheets were disturbed beside her and if she really tried she could hear the faint sound of tyres on a hardwood floor. Plus, unless she was very much mistaken, she could smell the delectable aroma of a Logan Cale culinary miracle being prepared.

Max couldn't restrain a grin. Reality beat dreaming hands down.

It was about ten minutes later that Logan rolled back into the room, a tray balanced on his lap. He too couldn't help smiling as he took in the sight of the woman he loved, positively glowing as she relaxed in his bed. Her messy dark curls were spread over the pillow as she gazed at him through half open eyes.

"Where have you been?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at his t-shirt and boxers. "And why'd you cover up that work of art I've been... appreciating?"

"Fixing you lunch in bed, your highness," he replied, eyes sparkling with laughter. "And cooking isn't the best activity to do without clothes; unless you like your 'art' crispy fried."

"Guess I can overlook it this once, then," she said. "What's for lunch?"

"Pasta Napolitano, with salad and brochette," Logan informed her, wheeling to the side of the bed and passing Max the tray so he could transfer.

"A girl could get used to this," said Max, deftly sliding a piece of sauce-covered penne into her mouth with her fingers and closing her eyes in ecstasy. "Mmm, a girl could get very used to this," she mumbled.

"Really, Max, where are your manners," said Logan, as she reached for some brochette. He gently captured her wrist and brought her stained digits to his lips, slowly sucking the sauce from them.

"If you do that again, all your efforts in the kitchen are gonna be wasted," she managed when he released her.

"But it'd be worth it," Logan grinned. "Here." He passed her a fork. "That should save you from temptation for a while. Long enough to refuel, anyway."

"What if I don't want to be saved?" She asked seductively, putting the implement down.

"That's what microwaves are for," Logan replied, as Max placed the tray safely on the nightstand before straddling him.

"Good plan," she said. "Now, where's my art gone..." she ripped Logan's t-shirt cleanly in half. "Oh, there it is," she purred. Logan could only groan as she began to 'appreciate' his toned chest.

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It was mid-afternoon before the couple got around to eating lunch. Full, happy, and sated they curled up on the couch to watch a movie from Logan's dusty and eclectic collection of DVDs. Neither was really paying attention; they were simply enjoying the normality of the situation. For once in their lives, they were simply Max and Logan, couple, instead of Max, genetically enhanced killing machine on the run, and Logan, paraplegic cyber journalist crusader.

Max hated to break the mood, but there was something she had to say. "Logan?" She began, tentatively.

"Max?" He asked, sensing she was about to say something he wouldn't want to hear.

"If tomorrow goes wrong... you know I'm coming in after you, right?"

"Don't think about tomorrow, Max; just try and focus on the here and now. Remember, the universe is right on schedule. Everything happens the way it's supposed to." He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"I can't help it, Logan; I can't lose you, not now, not ever."

"You won't," he whispered, gathering her close to his chest. "I'm not going anywhere." Max just clung to him, her quiet tears soaking into his clothes as he held her close.

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So? Fluff rating on a scale of one to ten?