From Darkness to Light VII: Sorrows Undone

After that first night I thought it would be different for us. Not our first night together, but the first night after Logan's relapse. Seeing the words in his medical file, not finding him in his apartment...the gun on his desk. I thought I had lost him. That night in his bed, I swore to myself that I would never lose him again.

But somehow he disappeared from me. I still saw him each day, but he was slipping away a little bit each time I came to his apartment. I tried to talk to him, but let's admit it...communication has never been my strong suit. I just didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to tell him the chair never mattered.

Don't get me wrong, I said that all the time, but somehow my words didn't seem to affect him. It was as if they went in one ear and out the other. I needed to do something to shake it up. I thought that maybe getting out of our routines, out of this city would help. I thought it couldn't hurt...but then again what do I know? I'm just a escaped medical experiment gone wrong.

The trip back to Seattle was long and silent. By some miracle from a power I'm not so sure I believe in, the seizures appeared to finally be subsiding. I hate the way they make me feel...weak and out of control. It's probably how Logan feels on a daily basis. There was a look of humiliation on his face in the bar when BC and his pals took us on...there was no way he could have prevented being flipped out of his chair, and I just reacted, like I was trained to do, but I could see later what it cost him. He wants to protect me and sees the chair as his downfall. It's just not the case. Nobody is going to protect Max Guevara. Nobody but me myself.

But he did protect me tonight. Without him, we would all be dead...him, me and Sage. Sidekick or not, he had our backs.

I reached over and slipped my hand into his, squeezing it lightly. I've never enjoyed killing, but I know it's a part of doing battle. I'm not sure I would remember the number, let alone the details of the situations that required me to use that kind of deadly force, but Logan would always remember this night. It would weigh heavily on him. It was his nature and why I loved him.

"Here, on the left," Logan pointed to the garage where he had the Aztek worked on. He sighed heavily as he lowered his arm back to his lap.

"Is it very sore?" I asked.

He turned and stared at me.

"Sage told me, I know you took a shot in the chest," I whispered, not wanting to alarm our driver.

"It's fine, Max," he responded, his voice tired.

I wouldn't press him. The day had been long and the night longer. I was just glad that we were back in Seattle and there was some hope of eventually lying down in my own bed.

"So..." Logan looked over at the Aztek, sitting outside the garage door. The tail lights of the tow truck were the only sign of life on the street and they were quickly headed toward sector seven.

"So..." I replied.

"Shall we call a cab?"

"I can get my bike."

Our words tumbled out on top of each other, neither suggestion making much sense. No cab was coming here at this time of night and despite his protestations that he was fine, there was no way Logan was going to be able to ride my bike in his current condition.

"Nice night for a walk," he answered, pushing his chair forward a half stroke. I heard him gasp slightly.

"Can we save this argument until after we've showered?" I asked, placing my hands on the back of his chair. I knew it was a sign of his independence, but handles on this chair would really be a help right now.

His back straightened and I knew if I came around and looked, his jaw would be clenched. I hated to have to be right, but this was the only way we were getting home and quite frankly the stench on Logan was motivating me a great deal more than worrying about his dainty pride.

With a heavy sigh of exasperation, I leaned forward and began to push Logan's chair up the hill toward the Towers.

Finally we rounded the corner and his front door was in sight. I was half tempted to let him go in by himself, but I was half afraid I might come back and find him in a pile in the living room in the morning...or worse yet, in the office with that gun again.

We rode up on the elevator without a word. As soon as the door opened, he pushed himself out into the hallway, toward his door. I could see that the movement was costing him some effort, but decided to hold my comments to myself. Asking for help was not a Cale family trait.

He left the door open, a de facto invitation to follow him in, I guessed.

"You, uh, need anything?" I asked, trailing him into the kitchen.

"A shower," he retorted.

I could have told him just how much, but that would've reinforced the fact that he has bits of...well, evidence of the events of the evening on his clothing. Manticore taught us how to kill without feeling remorse, to do our duty, but I remembered the first one. I remembered feeling empty for
hours after the kill.

I wanted to tell Logan about that...about my first one, but I couldn't. Now I realized the enormity of what we did as children, what it might seem like to those who weren't a part of the military establishment. A group of children killing a defenseless man wouldn't probably play very well in front of this crowd. No, it would be better to leave that story in the past.

I sat at the table and watched as Logan drank a Scotch neat. He reached for a second one, grimacing slightly as he grabbed the bottle on the counter.

"Can I at least look at it?" I asked, getting up to cross to him.

He didn't answer, but he didn't say no either. I slid the zipper down on his coat and helped him slip his arms from it. He hissed lightly as I slipped his right arm out. I tossed the coat aside and reached for the bottom hem of his shirt.

"Just lean your head forward, let me do the work," I instructed. I didn't want him hurting himself any further by straining chest muscles, let alone the possible damage if he had a cracked rib.

"Does it hurt to breathe?" I asked as I freed his left arm from the shirt.

Logan shook his head. "No, just when I...you know...move."

My fingers trailed down his chest, tracing over the bruise that had formed just below his left nipple.

"Little bit lower and I wouldn't have even felt it," Logan said, smiling a bit.

I looked up at him, a smile crossing my face as well. "There's always next time, Sidekick."

I waited while he showered. I had considered going in to join him, but I didn't want to jeopardize the little bit of headway we'd made.

I was sitting on the bed when he wheeled in from the bathroom. His boxers were sticking to his wet legs, his hair sticking up the way it does after he's showered. He was so beautiful to me.

"You're still here."

It was more of a statement than a question. I wondered if that was a good thing. I figured if he hadn't told me to leave, I was good to stay. I nodded. "I just wanted...wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine, Max. Just a little sore, don't worry."

"That wasn't what I was talking about," I answered, sliding further across the bed so he could transfer in next to me.

He stared at me, then shook his head.

"I'm going to bed, Max. The gun is safe in the office."

Dammit, I knew he wasn't going to talk about this.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I thought you might want to talk. I thought we were still friends. I guess I was wrong about that." I moved to get up, but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back into the bed.

"We are, Max. We are."

Logan looked away from me, out the window and across the city.

"I know it's probably nothing big to you, but...I..." His voice broke and he couldn't keep talking.

Wiping the tear that had escaped from his eye, he continued.

"When the South Africans had you, the Reds, I would have killed them, but I couldn't. They were superhuman and it was okay to use a deadly force against them. Tonight I...I..."

Logan stopped talking, concentrating all of his will on not breaking down.

"Tonight you took a life...lives," I responded, taking his hand in mine. "But those people were going to kill you. They would have killed you and me and an innocent child. What you did was a good thing, even though it doesn't feel like it right now, Logan. It was okay."

With my free hand, I tipped his chin up so he was looking in my eyes. "You did what was necessary and that's nothing to be ashamed of. That doesn't mean that you have to forget it, but never be ashamed of what you did, Logan Cale."

I leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was our first real touch in days and my lips burned with the touch of his skin against mine. I wanted to take him in my arms, to hold him until the end of time, but it was too soon. He was too vulnerable, definitely not ready for our previous level of intimacy, yet.

I pulled the blankets up over his chest, my fingers running across the bones below his neck.

"Sleep now. We'll talk again tomorrow."

He closed his eyes and I slipped across the room to watch him sleep. I didn't want him to be alone tonight and I couldn't bear to leave him this way.

We still had a lot to figure out, me and Logan. He has got some stuff to work through about walking or not walking, about what he's had to do and probably what it means to be with me. I didn't want to press him on that stuff, but I know that I've begun to ache for him.

That's a first...Max Guevara, not in heat, but maybe...just maybe in love.

FIN

Feedback gratefully received and acknowledged at rachel _wilder@hotmail.com