Originally written and posted to my LiveJournal on February 22, 2007.

Max learned early on that if she brought some kind of raw food material to Fogle Towers, it would quickly be transformed into something edible. And a girl raised with no home appreciated nothing more than a good meal.

She hopped up onto the counter, sliding the wrapped steaks across to Logan. "Work your magic, do whatever it is you do, because I'm starving."

Logan unwrapped the package. "These look great."

Max shrugged. "I know a guy."

"You know several, if memory serves." He rolled over to the cupboard below the stove to retrieve a skillet. Max watched him carefully. He'd looked weaker lately, not that she'd made it a point to watch him. She'd figured a good steak could only help.

"You'll have to help," he said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"That is not our arrangement. I swipe, you cook."

"Tough." A smile brightened his worn face. "Thanks for these."

"You're welcome." His smile felt like a gift he'd given her in return, and she didn't know what to think about that.

/2/

Max caught herself humming under her breath and scowled, bringing her bike to a stop at an intersection. It had been two days since she left Logan at the hospital and she still couldn't get that mournful melody out of her head - or the feeling that she'd heard it somewhere else. It was starting to piss her off.

She shook her head quickly, hoping to shake off the feeling of deja vu. A splash of color caught the corner of her eye, and she turned left down an alleyway. Braking in front of a hastily set up stall, she grinned at the vendor when she saw the contents of the stall. "Are those what I think they are?" she asked excitedly. There was little enough to get excited about in this world; she'd long since learned to make do with the simple things.

"What's in the bag?" Logan asked as Max closed the hospital room door.

"Contraband," she replied with a mischievous smirk, crossing the room to settle herself on the foot of his bed. "How are you?"

"Never better," he replied sarcastically, wincing as he used his hands to prop himself back up against the pillows.

"Liars don't get presents," Max sing-songed, shaking the bag just slightly in front of her face.

"Fine. I feel like shit," Logan admitted. "But it's better than knocking at death's door, I'm happy to say." His lips quirked in a small smile. "Thanks to you."

Don't let go.

I won't.

Max blinked hard, dazzling lights flashing behind her eyelids. "Weird," she muttered.

"What?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Logan said "so, what'd you bring me?"

"The pleasure of my company isn't good enough for you?" Max said, pretending to be hurt.

"It would have been if you hadn't come in here bragging about contraband," he teased back.

"Fine," she huffed, softly chucking the bag at him.

His face lit up when he reached into the bag and pulled out a large, round orange. "I used to love these. How could you possibly have known that?"

"Duh," she scoffed. "Who do you think you're dealing with here? I have my ways."

"You do at that."

/3/

Logan was just about to turn out the lights when he heard the distant roar of a motorcycle engine. Walking quickly to the door, he stepped out onto Joshua's front porch and almost tripped on the large cardboard box set in front of the door. Crouching down, he opened the flaps and smiled when he saw the contents. A card with an incongruous blue bow sat atop a jumbled mix of computer equipment. It looked like the final pieces of what he needed to get Eyes Only up and running again, and it could only be from one person.

He jogged down the stairs and out onto the street, looking left and right. The block was deserted, which didn't really surprise him. Running a hand through his hair, he reread the card in his hand.

Happy Birthday. M.

/4/

"Could you use a drink? Because I could use a drink," Max said wearily, slapping at the makeshift television screen mounted above the communications console to turn it off.

"It's going to take time, Max. You knew that going into this."

"It's been five months, Logan, and we've still got most of the media talking about us like we should be lined up execution-style and shot." Dropping into a folding chair, she reached underneath the desk to rummage through one of the crates. She let out a "hah" of triumph when she came up with two unmarked bottles of liquor. She extended one to Logan, who shook his head almost imperceptibly. Cursing yet another element of her stupid, stupid life, Max said bitterly, "I have gloves on and the seal's still in place, so you won't drop dead. If you don't drink one of them, I'm drinking them both."

Apparently deciding - wisely, Max thought - that it wasn't worth arguing the point, Logan accepted the bottle and straddled the chair next to her, resting his forearms on the chair back. "Do you want me to give you the pep talk?"

"Logan," she cautioned, taking a swig from her bottle.

"Because I will."

Max groaned, "God, don't I know it. Save it for your broadcast, would you?"

"I'm just saying," Logan shrugged, uncapping his bottle.

"And I'm just saying that I can kick your ass without actually laying a finger on you," Max snapped. If it were anyone else she'd feel the need to apologize, but she figured if the guy was going to stick around through a virus from hell and fun time with the Manticore freaks, he could deal with a little verbal abuse.

Proving her point, Logan just smirked and said "Someone needs a cat-nap."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Give me that back," she said, snatching the bottle out of his hands.

/5/

"Do I want to know where these came from?"

"Hmm..." Max pretended to consider for a moment. "I'm gonna go with no."

"That's what I thought," Logan sighed. Flipping the box open again, he studied the two platinum bands, simple yet elegant, obviously expensive. "I thought we weren't going to worry about rings. Drawing attention to ourselves..."

"Death, destruction..."

"Blah blah, woof woof."

Max smiled, pulled another box out of her pocket. "No one said we had to wear them on our hands." She pulled two identical chains out, let them dangle from her index finger.

"Brilliant," he said with a grin.

"I thought so." Plucking one of the bands from the box, she threaded it onto the chain. "I, Max Guevera-"

"We already did this part," he reminded her.

"It's ceremonial. Shut up."

end