Disclaimer: See previous chapters

A/N: Sorry about the delay, in case anybody cares… RL, several computer-crashes…

Big thanks for the reviews and…

...huge thanks to Shywr1ter for betaing and being very patient with my more than nitpicky questions (Do I get that Queen of nitpickiness-title now?:-). All remaining errors are mine, of course… and if you find them please tell me.

Oh, and for once it's a rather short chapter, I'm soo proud of myself:-)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Logan's penthouse, 11:10 PM

As the sun went down over Seattle, slowly sinking lower to leave the city to its misery, Logan was lost in a blur of apathetic staring, caught in a haze of countless hours in which he tried to oppress any thoughts, afraid that they might lead him back to the desk, back to the gun. He felt so numb, tired and exhausted, was willing and ready to die… but there was this promise he'd given to Max. It left him hesitating to do that final, irreversible move, despite all his hopeless attempts at convincing himself that she would be better off without him.

Then, suddenly, without a knock or any other noise, and just when his thoughts had wandered again to her panicked reaction that afternoon, Max was back, and this time she didn't let him get away with a halfhearted 'I'm fine' and some dismissive gestures. She prodded and poked, looked scared and vulnerable and mad as hell as she gave up all their comfortable pretenses, until eventually his weakened defenses crumbled and he gave her what she wanted.

He didn't want to lose her, and so he called her back when her hand already was on the door handle, ready to bold, afraid that if he let her go now she might walk out of his life and never come back. As she turned in uncharacteristic hesitance, their eyes connected, and, while guardedness and resignation shielded Logan's more treacherous emotions from her dangerous compassion, he found himself saying things he never had told anybody, never had wanted to share. He told her about the pitying stares, his uncle's eternal disapproval, about how he had disappointed every single person in his life… finally spilling the painful truth: he was a failure, better off dead.

It all had came out, leaving him drained and empty, muted by the nagging thought that from now on, every moment with Max would be spoiled, her formerly so welcome sight transformed into a sickening reminder of his embarrassing breakdown. Unable to face Max any longer, Logan had dropped his gaze onto his lap, intently focusing on a wrinkle in his otherwise perfectly smooth slacks.

And yet, as the awkward silence stretching between them left him disturbingly clueless about Max's reaction, Logan couldn't help but lift his head for a cautious examination of her face, expecting to see her cringing in disgust or pity or another dreaded emotion. Almost despite himself, he found himself staring at her yearningly, gaze drawn up by a childlike craving to find comprehension, to hear her soft voice say something like 'It's okay, Logan. I understand'.

Max's face, however, was unreadable. As he continued watching her with a foolish longing that was stronger than the shame for his break-down, Logan couldn't decipher any emotion on her even expression, nothing but stunned surprise. He couldn't blame her; it was an apt reaction for seeing who the oh-so-noble Logan Cale really was.

Watching Max out of the corner of his eye, Logan almost could hear his uncle's acid voice, mocking him, calling him pathetic and self-pitying and useless. As hard as he tried, as long as it had been since he'd left the Cale mansion, Logan had never been able to escape his uncles disapproval, could inwardly hear his belittling judgment every time he acted against Jonas' values, effectively catapulting him back to the time of his uncle's harsh indoctrination. "Nobody wants to put up with a whining weakling", this was what he'd told Logan, as he had been standing by his parents' graves on a cold and windy Seattle day, to watch his father's coffin being lowered into the muddy hole which only two years before had swallowed his mother. It was only a childhood memory, one that long ago had softened and faded… yet right now, as he was so close to ending his own life, it felt as if he was eleven again, stifling strangled sobs and feeling utterly lost and alone among his aunt, uncle and a mass of strangers he'd never seen.

His uncle's words hadn't been more than a hiss, his voice hushed so nobody would overhear their exchange, but nevertheless, their unyielding harshness had been enough to effectively mute Logan, to make sure that he never showed his grief in front of his uncle again. Soon it had become second nature to Logan to show the world only the successful student, the cocky, self-assured bachelor, the driven journalist. He had been okay with it, hadn't really missed anything, never felt the need to let anyone see his inner core and most secret thoughts. Only twice he'd briefly, tentatively opened up… in that short period where he'd thought that Daphne might be the one, and then later, in his marriage, before Val had started drowning her problems in booze, leaving him to watch helplessly and think that, maybe, it was all his fault.

Then Max had come along, demanding to know why he'd created Eyes Only and spent his evenings alone behind a desk, solving other people's problems. In a voice that carried incomprehension she declared him to be crazy and obsessed, watching him with veiled curiosity… and maybe, just maybe, the tiniest bit of admiration. Involuntarily she had slipped behind his defenses, like him reluctant to get involved too much – but still coming back with unfailing regularity and hardly ever turning down his offers for dinner. Sometimes, when they were sitting together, chatting comfortably over the safe distance of the chess board, or even when she was yelling at him for obsessing with work, Logan had caught himself thinking what it would be like to show Max a little more: to tell her a funny story about his parents or a not so funny story about his uncle, to let her in about how helpless he felt when she was out there risking her life… He fantasized about asking her over for another dinner to tell her, while she was under the spell of candles and wine, how much she meant to him. But just as soon as these thoughts emerged they were dismissed with brutal force, squashed as ridiculous daydreams that could never come true.

How could Max possibly understand what it was like to be him? To Max, who started her life with literally nothing, and who was living proof of physical perfection and unbreakable willpower, his tale about the bored rich kid with the messed-up life must have sounded like self-pitying whining.

'Stupid fool'. Those were the words echoing in his head as he risked another defeated glance at Max, who was still sitting motionless on the sofa with a lost, faraway expression, surely considering how to let him down easily. Any moment now, he thought, watching her with resigned anticipation, she would stand up and walk out of his life, repulsed by her short glimpse of the real Logan.

Max, however, surprised him once more. In a voice that in its soothing resoluteness triggered an almost forgotten memory of his mother comforting him over a nightmare, she set him straight. She stated that he was not a failure, declared with solemn determination how she found him worthy of affection, that she stayed in Seattle just because of him.

It was exactly what he had hoped for – and yet, even though she erased his fears, confirmed his dreams, Logan found it impossible to believe her. His protective shell of distant solitude was up again, hard and unyielding, and not even Max's astonishing admissions were enough to crack it. So his only reaction after she stopped talking was a simple nod. Maybe she'd really meant her words… in all likelihood, though, this was just another one of those situations which would be downplayed as an embarrassing emotional outburst tomorrow. Just like the kiss in front of the cabin. But he didn't want to think of that bittersweet moment now. Instead he focused his gaze on Seattle's nightly myriad of lights which offered a welcome distraction from the inevitable fact that, whatever had happened tonight, tomorrow they would be back to normalcy, that tomorrow all that alluring closeness would have evaporated like treacherous fog.

He so wanted to believe her – even if only so she would see that he was worthy of her attention and continuing visits, worthy of all the emotional turmoil she had been going through tonight because of him – but he couldn't. Logan knew the situation, this 'mind over matter'. He had been tricked by it before, the days around his nearly fatal surgery when they had been forced apart with brutal abruptness, she running like a hunted animal for the next station of her never-ending escape, he left behind because he was unable to keep up with her, unsure even to survive the next day. Then however, coming completely unexpected when Logan already had thought that Max's sadly retreating back would be his last memory of her, that kiss had happened. It had been shared through the open car window, spoiled by the sickening knowledge that that this was their last chance… with only the prospect of never seeing the other again letting them dare to cross the line from friends to lovers. The kiss… it must have triggered that dream of a magnificently lit ballroom where it was possible to overcome the reality of his severed spinal cord with an act of sheer willpower, just because Max uttered a simple 'Mind over matter'

It was a memory he cherished, only rarely allowing himself the sweet torture of playing it over in his head, afraid that the pictures of Max in her ivory gown might wear out like an over-used videotape… sternly telling his more hopeful self that the infatuated look in her eyes hadn't been real then and never would be.

Then the impossible had happened. Mind over matter had come true, not by Max's words but by her blood. His legs had reacted again to the orders of his brain, proving his worthiness for Max. Suddenly, everything had changed, and they had found themselves in a miraculous world of flirtatious smiles and happiness.

It hadn't held, couldn't have held. All he had left now was the cruelly mocking memory of how his life could have been if only Bruno's had bullet missed. 'Mind over matter' was just an alluring illusion. The past several days had proven that with unmistakable clarity, and Logan wouldn't fall for it for a third time. With all this in mind he listened to Max's affirmations, grateful that she was here, sorry to have shaken her so much, but steeling himself against her words so he wouldn't be lured into trusting them too much. He didn't want to have his hopes shattered again, not now in this sorry state.

Logan had done his best to protect himself from falling too deeply for her, stubbornly reminding himself of his brokenness whenever his mind had wandered off. He had failed miserably, from the very beginning unable to resist Max. He'd smiled at her like an idiot, used her cat-burglar abilities as an excuse for paging her… every now and then he even had allowed himself a lighthearted moment of easy banter and forgetting that he couldn't hope for more than a purely platonic friendship between the guy in the wheelchair and the young beauty with the perfect body. It just couldn't be.

And yet it was. Suddenly, Max was beside him, her arms enfolding his body, gentle but firm. Logan was almost startled by her sudden presence, having already spiraled back into his former gloomy brooding as he forced her impossible affirmations out of his mind together with that madly insistent spark of hope they'd ignited.

Despite all his well-practiced rituals of denial – here she was, so close that the warmth of her body seeped through the layers of clothing separating them, making him realize in sudden surprise that he actually had been freezing. Even while his mind busily insisted that the only purpose of her words had been to lure him away from his suicidal edge, Max's body was pressed against his, feeling good and right, comforting him despite his resolution not to be affected by anything she did. And so, after an instant of hesitation, he gave in, mimicking her gesture as he tentatively returned her embrace.

Max was here. She had chosen him over an evening with her friends or of cruising the deserted streets. As hard as he found it to believe her words, as much as he fought her confession in his fear that she might take it back eventually, this time he didn't shove Max away, afraid that if he moved and broke the spell of the moment he would be alone in the silent penthouse again, with the gun as his only company. Just for this moment Logan allowed himself to be comforted by Max's warmth, holding her close while his overtired brain still was unable to fully process what she'd said.

She was an amazing person. As he took in her fresh, soapy scent, Logan felt a tender rush of gratitude toward Max. Deep down she cared so much for those around her, despite her tough lonely warrior attitude, despite her constant remarks about not being human. She, who could have her pick of every single male in Seattle, was here with him, clinging onto his body as if it was she who so desperately neeeded comforting, seemingly not taken aback at all by the chair or his earlier words. She was here. Logan didn't know from where he took the courage or even the idea to do so, but somehow, suddenly his fingers started stroking Max's back, gentle, hesitant – touching her as if to assure himself of her continued presence, as if to confirm to Max that he was still alive.

………….. To be continued …………