Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me… they belong to those two guys… you know, the ones with all the money.
Summary: Max's fears in her relationship with Logan are realized.
Rating: PG-13… for a bad word and a bit of suggestiveness.
Spoilers: Not really.
A/N: Now, don't go telling me how this is completely out of character. Frankly, I agree. I could NEVER see this happening on the show. But I got the idea, it amused me, and I wrote the story.Regular Girl
Her words to OC from only a couple of weeks earlier echoed in her ears as Max stepped into the hallway right in front of Logan's apartment. What if he had gotten sick of all this Manticore-related shit that was constantly bogging down their relationship? What if he had finally decided that he'd had enough and it was time for him to move and find a nice, regular girl?
The door slid open quietly—all those years of cat-burgling, and not to mention the soldier training, kicking in. It had been locked, but it was nothing her picks couldn't fix. She could have knocked… but there wasn't much fun in that.
The telltale signs that assaulted her senses as she stood on the threshold, halfway between in and out, were unmistakable. The scent that hung heavy in the air, the sounds that carried across from the bedroom—they would have been apparent even without her enhanced senses.
A barrage of emotions vied for her attention, though the two dominant forces were the pain of betrayal and rage, absolute rage.
The rage won out. No tears now… they would have to come later, when she was alone and could dwell on her pain in private. Right now, all she knew was that she had had enough of cheating boyfriends to last her a lifetime. And she needed to vent her anger on suitable targets.
Almost without thought, she found herself moving forward, to the closed bedroom door, leaving the apartment one wide open behind her.
Oh, there was no mistaking those sounds. Wow, Logan must really be hitting hard times if he couldn't even manage a mattress without the squeaking bedsprings. Either that, or they just weren't making Sertas like they used to.
She stared at the thin wooden panel, the only obstacle now keeping her from the sight she so dreaded to see, yet knew she could not avoid. Her hand clutched the doorknob, turning the metal ball with painfully slow deliberation. But Logan's voice made her pause.
"Oh my god, Aaaaa…"
'I'm going to kill him,' she thought. 'Scratch that—I'm going to kill her… No, I'm not going to kill either of them, but I am going to leave them severely mangled and adequately consumed by pain.'
Her fist clenched harder, the knuckles turning white under pressure, and there was real concern that the doorknob might just rip off into her hand. But before that concern could be realized, the door sprang open.
The room's occupants stilled, and then there was a flurry of motion and a dull thud as a body fell off the far side of the bed.
"Max," Logan gasped, hands scrambling for the crumpled bed sheet.
"Save it," she growled before turning to his co-transgressor. "Get your scrawny ass back up here," she called out in a low voice. "No sense clinging to some false sense of modesty, now is there?"
No one moved. A heavy silence fell over the room as Max waited, rather impatiently, for her orders to be followed.
"Hey, what's going on?" a worried voice suddenly broke in from behind her. Max turned, mouth gaping open as she took in the sight at the still open front door, where the owner of the voice stood, a small frown etched on her face.
"Asha?" The other woman regarded her with raised eyebrows, but said nothing.
Max turned back to the bedroom.
A moment of hesitation passed, then a tousled head and a sheepish grin appeared over the edge. "Hey Maxie."
Shock rooted her to the spot, her mind a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts as she floundered for an explanation to give herself.
She had come in expecting to find a particular blond… but not that particular blond. Never, in a million years, that blond.
And all this time she'd been worrying that Logan might decide to go hook up with a nice, regular girl.
How wrong she'd been.
I left it kinda up in the air because I figured you could interpret it as being whoever you wanted… although I did have a particular person in mind when I wrote it. C'mon people—use your imaginations!