"There's a level of corruption that goes beyond our wildest imagination. It's not just in our lower government, or just in the highest of ranks, but amongst ourselves. The people walking on the street next to you, the guy paying the electric bill in front of you and even in the corporate lawyer that claims to want to help you with your problems. People walking with secrets; hidden agenda's and they'll stop at nothing to get what they want. They're him and her; you and me and it's not going anywhere, but growing worse as our fear builds in us."
Logan switched off the machines and turned in his wheelchair, expecting Max to be there, but she wasn't. He gave a small sigh, then became angered at himself that he'd wanted her to be there. He wanted to impress her with his expertise, with his words of wisdom; words that he himself found unintelligible sometimes. Moving to his computer, he flicked it to 'sleep' mode and then wheeled himself into the living room where he had the file open. Max's file.
He'd been collecting information: from her and the world around him about the project she'd been involved with and he was starting to think that maybe he had it figured out; maybe he'd be able to give her the answers she wanted, but he knew he was far from anything definitive. There was a man out there hunting her; had come close to catching her many times and Logan was beginning to think that her spending time with him was bad for her. He couldn't run as fast as she could when he could run and now he was even more of a hindrance to her. What would happen if they came here and she was with him. Logan lowered his head, knowing what she'd have to do.
Leave.
Max's head would shoot up, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders as her eyes focused in on who was busting into the apartment and she would glance at him. He would nod his head and she would turn on her heel and spring out of the apartment whatever way she felt was most efficient and then he would either not see her for a long time or he'd never see her again. Worst, he feared, the men would kill him for knowing her.
Logan spent a lot of his time in fear now. Mostly fear for her; but sometimes he'd wake in the middle of the night with a terror in his belly that he was in danger by association. Whatever she was a part of, it was super secretive. The government wanted no one to know about it. They'd rather kill those experimental Manticore's than let them get to the outside world. Logan flipped through the pages. Max had allowed him to take one photo of her face and another of the bar code on her neck. She scoffed at the suggestion of more.
She was always so serious. Even when she jested, her features were hard, molded into mourning over the past; over herself. Logan knew that no matter how much she kidded, she'd still be hurting. Logan knew the feeling. He let his hands fall onto his lap and closed his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like. They'd told him there were experimental treatments and therapy's; that there was a chance he could regain mobility, but that didn't help him now. He wanted to get up and walk.
Slamming the folder shut, he took it back into his small office and hid it in a desk drawer, locking it quickly. The apartment was quiet; it was always quiet. No one was there with him now and he rubbed his nose, wheeling towards his kitchen to see what was inside the refrigerator for dinner. Swinging the door open, he glanced at the contents, knowing that the top shelves would be bare, except for some military rations he kept in case Max came by hungry.
Logan slumped in his chair, examining the items before him while the cold air penetrated his chest underneath the dark T-shirt he wore. He scratched at it and heard the noise behind him. Turning, he smiled, seeing Max there. She cocked her head at him and lifted a bag in her right hand.
"Figured you'd be hungry, brought Chinese," Max gave him a half grin and dropped the bag in his lap when he approached her.
Opening the bag, he saw the carton and glanced up again, "Thanks." "Least I could do." She watched him go to the table where the chair had been removed days before and take out the small white box, opening it quickly and beginning to scoop the rice into his mouth. "Damn, Logan, didn't your momma ever tell you chew your food?"
He shrugged, looking at her. She was in her normal 'cat-burglar' attire, which consisted of tight black pants, black boots, black long sleeved top with a black leather vest zipped up body tight. Logan wondered how anyone would even try to beat her up, though he often wondered if most figured they could easily subdue her and could have their way with her. He pitied men who thought that.
"Penny for your thoughts..." Max purred. She walked around him, touching his shoulder gently as she moved to stand at his left. "'Cause if it's got something to do with me, I gotta right to know."
He laughed, "Why would my thoughts revolve around you?"
"Because the drool-trail on your chin is not food induced."
Logan looked up at her, watching her cock her head again, a smile spreading on her full lips as she waited for his answer. "What's with the get-up?"
"This is what's on your mind?"
"What'd you expect, sexual innuendo's?"
Max nodded, "Actually..."
"I was just thinking about how you're dressed and what effect it has on your abilities."
"Skin tight makes for less weight makes for faster movement. Reeks of efficiency, doesn't it. Who'da thought, me trying to be efficient." She faked shock.
Going back to his food, Logan remained silent, waiting for her next statement. He was surprised she hadn't gone on about whatever she'd done during the day, she'd taken to telling him what Original Cindy did, or what Kendra didn't do in the house, or what problems Normal was causing at work with his holier-than-thou approach to bossing people around. But Max was silent. She leaned on the wall and waiting while he ate, as if making sure he did eat.
Logan found it amusing that a girl who was very much intent to stay far away from him was now hanging around to take care of him. He knew it wasn't because of the wheelchair, but more because she knew he could probably help her. Logan hoped that, on some level, it was more than that. Not that he wanted her to be attracted to him (not that he wouldn't mind,) but he wanted her to be his friend; he hoped that she thought of him as that.
Friends could be trusted; friends could be comfortable around one another; friends were forever. Logan had learned that in grade school. After the Pulse hit, everyone figured out who their friends were and weren't. Logan learned that the world sucked. Max pushed off the wall and walked back around him, and he turned to her, "Where are you going?"
"What, you think I'm playin' baby sitter tonight? There's some rockin' clubs open on Friday nights. I'd ask you to join me, but I don't think you're up for it."
"And how would you know what I'm up for?" He smiled at the challenge. Max's grin disappeared, "This isn't a sit and chat type of situation," she pointed at his wheelchair. "Not to be all down, but I'm not one for bringing someone into a bad deal."
"Gotcha," Logan sighed. "I'll just sit here all by my lonesome."
"Guilt isn't gonna work me, baby."
"Ok, just go, have your fun." Logan waved a hand at her, "Thanks again for the food."
Max backed towards the door slowly, "Just making sure you understand." "I understand." Logan repeated, knowing she wouldn't leave until he repeated the words. He wondered if it was something they'd done to her when she was at the government compound. If she asked you if you understood, she wouldn't let up until you repeated the words.
"But what ARE you going to do?" Max fought with her own concern and Logan can see it on her face. Torn between caring and not.
Logan glanced around the room. "There's a good Discovery Channel special on species and their evolution past the Pulse. All about what our situation has done to theirs."
Max pursed her lips and widened her eyes, looking away from him, trying not to make a joke about it as she reached the door. "Knock yourself out."
"Bye!" Logan called as she slipped out the door. He laughed to himself and then went to the couch, pulling himself off the wheelchair and onto it with a grunt. His arms were getting stronger, but it was still an effort to do anything. Turning on the television, he switched to the correct channel and waited. The dark apartment flickered with the colors and lights onscreen and before he heard her, she threw herself over the couch and into the seat next to him, grabbing the remote.
"Now, there's gotta be something better than that..."
"Thought you were going clubbing."
Max shrugged, and said with a sigh, "That's what friends are for, or so I heard."