Picking Up The Pieces

By Guardian Angel ([email protected])

1/24/01

Rating: R

Setting: Sometime in the future… Basically could happen anytime before M/L get together as an official couple. *shrugs*

Spoilers: Really minor one for "Out."

Author's Notes: Well, this is what happens when I have a really bad week. I was gonna try to wait until I had some of my other projects finished, since I have like four started right now, but I just felt the need to start writing this tonight…Poor Max and Logan, they always get the crappy end of the deal… I seem to take unnatural pleasure in torturing them…oh well. At least I get to get this story out of my head, it wasn't letting me sleep. Anyway, I'll shut up now…enjoy…or whatever, not really sure what I'm supposed to say with angst!

Many thanks to my wonderful betas, you guys are the best! Thank you, Dan, Mandy, Jen, and Ana. :-)

Oh, and the reason it took me so long to finish this is cause after writing like the first ten pages in one night, I ran into a huge mental roadblock…it took me awhile to work past that. :-)

Dedication: To Dan. You know why.

*****

Despite all that they'd done, all the precautions they'd taken, in the end it wasn't enough. Lydecker had caught up with her.

Now, in his hands, she was as good as dead.

Every time he thought of his beautiful, headstrong, independent Max- which was more often than he cared to admit- being reduced to a heartless soldier once more, her spirit shattered, Logan had to fight the urge to punch something. Or cry.

I failed her. Even if he'd never said the words aloud, for fear of her claiming she didn't need him, he had sworn to himself that he would protect her. He failed. Now she was gone.

It had been over six months since she had been captured. Each day was a small victory for Logan, a testament to the much-doubted fact that he could, indeed, live without her. He had doubted the possibility for a long time following her disappearance, moping about his penthouse, neglecting his Eyes Only work, and usually drinking himself into a stupor.

It wasn't until Bling threatened to beat the shit out of him, then proceeded to do so, that Logan began to find his way out of his own private hell. He hadn't believed that Bling would take on a man in a wheelchair, and had taunted him, telling him to "bring it on," and "put him out of his misery." He was shocked when the first punch had landed in his face, breaking his nose and sending blood spewing everywhere. The force of the blow had sent his wheelchair tipping, and he'd spilled unceremoniously on the floor.

Bling had stood over him, glaring down at the battered man, and told him that if he didn't shape up now, there would be more where that came from.

"Max would be the first to beat on your ass for locking yourself away and neglecting your work. Since she's not here, it's up to me to knock some sense into you." Bling's words still echoed in his head, over four months later.

Luckily, the argument provided the needed impetus for Logan to start pulling himself together, and pick up the pieces of his life. It was unbelievably painful, and the process often sent him lapsing back into despair for long periods of time. It seemed like every little thing reminded him of Max in some way.

The dining table, where they'd shared so many meals. The computer, where he'd found out information on her siblings, and helped her. The kitchen, where they'd made Pasta Tre Colori. That chair, where she'd so often tossed her jacket upon her arrival. The roar of a motorcycle on the street below, the words "gotta blaze."

Big or small, his penthouse and the world in general were filled with memories and reminders, and at times he thought the entire thing was designed to torment him.

Frustrated by his line of thinking and the restless energy it always spawned, Logan shoved himself away from the computer and stood up, prowling around the room. That was another thing that had changed; three months ago he had undergone a radical new surgery to repair his spinal cord. Between the surgery and the massive amounts of physical therapy he had undergone afterwards, and still was keeping up with, he now had two fully functional legs.

If only she could see me now. I can imagine the look on her face… It wasn't hard, and unwanted imaginings of Max's reaction began to flit through his mind, as they so often did.

I'd be sitting at the computer, in my wheelchair, like always, as she comes in. We'd exchange our normal greetings, and I'd gesture her closer.

"Max, come here. I have a surprise for you."

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?" She'd have some smart-ass reply, like she usually does…she's always good on the comebacks. It was amazing how much he missed those amusing retorts of hers.

"Much." I'd be facing her now, as she stands in front of me. "Cover your eyes. And no peeking!" Gotta watch her, she's sneaky…

She'd grumble at my demands, but grudgingly follow them. She doesn't like being told what to do, that's for sure. Even if it is for a good reason.

Anticipation hanging ripely in the air, I'd slowly stand up. As I stand there, looking down on her, I realize that I'd almost forgotten how much taller than her I really am.

"You can look now."

She'd lower her hands quickly; eager to see what little surprise I have for her. Expecting some little trifle, nothing overly important, the shock on her face as she realizes she has to look up to meet my gaze.

She would launch herself at me, and I'd scoop her up and spin her around in a dizzying circle, leaving both of us breathless…

There were a hundred different endings to his little fantasies, going from the more realistic to the wildly imaginative. His favorite was probably the one where they ended up in bed, making love.

But it would never happen. She was in Lydecker's hands once more.

At that morbid thought, Logan stopped his pacing, staring out the wide window at the glittering city below. The darkness, coupled with the bright lights shining out of apartments and buildings, did a wonderful job of cloaking the broken city, and making it appear 'normal.' As he gazed out the window, his eyes unfocused and unseeing, ore dismal thoughts took control of his mind, shoving out the fancies about her reaction.

She's out there, somewhere. Alone. Facing God knows what. I imagine that she's being pumped full of drugs, and made to watch subversive videos, in order to regain control over her body. Of her mind.

They won't care about her brilliantly active mind, or her innate skill at getting herself out of problems without having a plan. They won't want the compassionate heart she tries to hide. They'll do their damnedest to destroy her, mind and body, turning a stunningly perfect woman into a mindless drone, a thoughtless killing machine.

Unnoticed at his side, his hands clenched into fists. His jaw was tense, his mouth set in one thin line at the thoughts whirling through his mind.

Not a day went by when he didn't miss her, and he'd lived with a constant ache in his chest for the past six months. They always say time heals all wounds…but it sure as hell doesn't seem to be making a damn bit of difference yet. "Max…where are you?" The words were an almost-silent whisper; he didn't even realize he had spoken them aloud.

If anyone had been around to hear his last words, that person might have noted the irony of the statement. However, the unintentional foreshadowing of his question was lost on Logan, as he continued to stare out into the night and wonder.

Suddenly his body went taut as he heard the door to his apartment thud shut. While the sound was not muffled, meaning whoever it was probably wasn't trying to hide from Logan, he was still suspicious. The only person who had a key to his penthouse was Bling, and he wouldn't be here this late, unannounced.

Moving as silently as he was able, he crossed the room and slipped his shotgun out of its hiding place. He heard another thud coming from the hallway, and his curiosity grew. He quietly slid the door to his office open, carefully peering around the doorframe to see what was going on.

His breath caught, and his body stiffened. "Max." The word was a quietly whispered prayer, as he saw the slender figure at the other end of the hall, leaning drunkenly against one wall. In his haste to get to her, he tripped over his own feet and almost ended up landing unceremoniously on his face.

It wasn't until he got closer that he realized that she hadn't said a single word, and that all was not right in his world once again. She just stayed where she was, using the wall to support herself, and staring blankly at nothing in particular. When he finally took a good look at her, he stopped in his tracks, stunned.

She was caked in blood. It was smeared on her cheeks and face, streaked in dirty tracks down her shoulders and arms, matted her hair in tangled lumps to her skull. Some of the blood came from obvious cuts and wounds; still more was apparently from an unknown source. Her clothing was black, making it hard to distinguish blood on the dark fabric, but from the way it was clinging wetly to her in many areas, his educated guess was that her clothes hid more cuts and injuries. Her right arm was bent at an unnatural angle; it was obviously broken.

Despite the rivers of blood, it was her eyes that hurt him the most. Her beautiful chocolaty brown eyes, normally so full of life and humor, now appeared dead. They were unfocused, as if the horrors she had seen were too much for her to bear.

As he stood there, trying to make sense out of what he was seeing, she seemed to loose what little strength she had, and went sliding to the floor in a boneless heap. Her head lolled back on her neck as if she couldn't support it anymore. Brought back to reality, he was instantly kneeling at her side.

"Max." He examined her quickly, trying to pinpoint any wounds that looked like they could become fatal, but was afraid to touch her, for fear of hurting her even more. "Max, where does it hurt most? Talk to me, please." As her eyes began to drift shut, he panicked. He was no doctor, but even he knew that it was unwise for a possible concussion victim to sleep. And from the blood caking her hair, it didn't take a damn brain surgeon to guess that she probably had a concussion. "Max, wake up. Dammit, don't you dare go to sleep on me now!" He couldn't help the desperate frustration in his voice, he felt so helpless. "I just got you back, goddammit, don't you even think of leaving me!"

Her eyes fluttered slowly open, taking long, precious seconds to focus on his worried face. "Lo…Logan?" Her voice was a thready murmur, speaking was obviously difficult for her.

He studied her face, gently brushing several wayward chunks of hair out of her eyes. "Hey Max… I'm here." His heart ached at the pain he knew she must be feeling. "You're not alone anymore, you're safe. Don't worry, just relax and I'll fix you up." In his worry for her, all of his walls were down and he didn't even notice the endearment he'd just used. Max was hurt, and nothing else mattered.

As he gently cradled her head in his lap, he swept his gaze down her body, trying to gauge what needed attention the most. His gaze lighted on her neck, and what he saw there made his blood boil. Clearly imprinted on the tender skin of her throat, ringing her entire neck, he could see fingerprints. It was obvious that someone had tried to strangle her, and the marks were a dark, livid purple. No wonder she was having trouble speaking! For some reason, the stark marks against the pale gold of her skin enraged him more than anything else he had seen.

Brutally forcing himself to keep the rage out of his voice, he tenderly gazed down at her, catching her gaze with his eyes. "It's going to be ok. I promise. I need to go call Bling, he'll have a better idea of what to do, but I'll be right back, ok?" He had no idea how much her pain-dazed brain actually understood, with the way her eyes were starting to glaze over again, he wasn't even sure if she'd realized he was speaking. However, he knew that he did not have the knowledge to take care of such extensive injuries, and so he gently laid her head on the floor, making sure she was as comfortable as possible. He dragged himself off to call Bling, unable to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder several times as he went.

Ten minutes later, the door to Logan's penthouse burst open, and Bling stepped inside. He'd made the trip across town in record time, borrowing a car from a friend in order to get there sooner. He immediately crouched at Logan's side, examining the broken and battered woman in front of him as much as he was able.

"Bling…tell me you can help her."

It was impossible for him to miss the helplessness and pain in his friend's voice, and his eyes pleaded with him. Bling sighed, trying to decide what the first course of action should be. "Logan, you know I'm a physical therapist, not a doctor-"

Logan cut him off, desperation beginning to color his tone. "Dammit Bling, you're the only hope we have. I can't take her to a doctor, they wouldn't know what to do or how to help her, and they'd just start asking questions we can't answer. She's lost enough blood that they'd want to do a transfusion, which would of course lead to questions about her odd blood type. She just escaped from Manticore, for Christ's sake, you know we can't risk any publicity!" He abruptly ran out of steam, and his brilliantly blue eyes pleaded with his friend. "Please…" His voice broke on the last word, unused to the strain of so much emotion. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to feel this much.

Bling sighed again. He had known, even before he'd said anything, that this would be Logan's reaction. Still, he'd had to try. "Ok. I'll do what I can." He stood up, holding an internal debate with himself on the best course of action, before making a decision. "We need to move her into the bathroom- *carefully*- and get some of this blood cleaned off. There's so much of it that I can't even see where most of the cuts are, I have no idea what is serious and what isn't."

"Ok. We can do that." Grateful to have something constructive to do, instead of just sitting there, holding her head and worrying, Logan leapt up. "Umm…" He pondered the best way to pick her up, worrying about causing her more pain. With a helpless glance at Bling, he finally gave up and bent down, scooping her into his arms as gently as possible. Following Bling, he carefully carried her through his bedroom and into the spacious master bath.

"Let's see…Set her down on the toilet seat for a moment, I'll start some water running." Bling flicked the drain closed and began filling the large bathtub with lukewarm water.

Looking dubiously at the cold porcelain seat, Logan shook his head in denial. Instead of following his friend's directions, he sat down on the toilet seat himself, cradling Max delicately in his lap. "What…what are you doing?" Logan was puzzled, he expected his friend to be worrying about the cuts and wounds, not drawing a bath for God's sake!

"She's covered in blood, Logan. I can't see where it all is coming from, much less where to begin patching her up! We need to get her cleaned up at least enough for me to be able to see what I'm doing."

Bling's words were logical, and Logan nodded. "Ok, makes sense."

Carefully shifting Max around so that he could see her face, he studied the exhausted woman in his arms. Her gaze was vacant, her eyes often drifting shut for long moments of time, and he was pretty sure she had no idea what was going on. The thought flitted through his mind that she'd obviously used the last of her strength, and then some, to come home to him. As soon as she'd seen him, she had given up, giving in to the demands of her body, and had fainted. A small, inner portion of his heart was warmed by the fact that she seemed to trust him so much, though the more cynical side of his brain realized that in the state she was in, she probably hadn't had much choice…her body was simply not capable of supporting her any longer.

He was roughly dragged back to reality at Bling's next words.

"Go ahead and strip her, by the time you're done the tub'll be full."

"Wha…what?" It was amazing how a few simple words could turn a normally intelligent, with-it male into a babbling idiot.

Bling shook his head, slightly amused by his friend's predicament, but refusing to give in. This was too important, and they both knew it. "Forget about modesty, Logan. We need to get her cleaned up, so I know what I'm doing, and we need to do it now. We don't have time to waste on sensibilities and wondering if Max would want us to see her naked. And at this point, you and I both know she wouldn't give a flying fuck, even if she manages to work her way through whatever distant part of her brain she's lost herself in enough to realize what we're doing."

Logan nodded, knowing his friend was right. Gathering up his courage, he gingerly began to peel the form-fitting black tank top off of her. He was frustrated by the way the thin material stuck to the blood; he was afraid that he would hurt her even more by trying to get it off. "Bling, it's stuck on there with dried blood. I'm afraid of hurting her. Couldn't we just put her in the tub, and let the water loosen the blood, before we try to undress her?"

Bling considered for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, that would mean that we'd have to peel her out of wet clothes, which would be just as difficult, if not more so." He thought for a moment more. "Here, wait a minute, I've got an idea."

He ducked out of the room, only to return a moment later. "Here." He handed Logan a pair of scissors. At his friend's blank look, he smiled slightly. "Cut her out of the clothes, Logan." He couldn't help but feel slightly like he was talking to a child. The poor man was so overcome with worry that he wasn't thinking straight. Not that he blamed him; he would have to be complete idiot if he didn't realize how much Logan cared about this woman.

Logan took the scissors, slightly nonplussed. He stared at Max for a moment, gathering his courage once more as he tried to figure out how to juggle scissors, clothes, and woman all at once. Gulping softly, he sent a silent prayer heavenward that everything would be ok, and began to delicately cut the ruined clothes away from her.

It wasn't long before he was lost in his task, his attention focused solely on the thought of ridding her of her clothes with as little extra pain as possible. All of his earlier embarrassment was gone as he sliced the tank top off of her, inch by inch, carefully peeling the fabric away from her skin. Dimly, he was aware of Bling moving about the apartment, gathering together the supplies they would need to fix Max up.

After several long, agonizing minutes, Logan finally tugged the last of her shirt away. She was naked from the waist up; she wore no bra beneath. Blood, both dried and fresh, was the only thing that even partially hid her from his gaze.

Unable to help himself, he paused for a moment to look. Like her arms and face, her torso was crisscrossed with various cuts and bruises. The most notable was a deep slice starting out on her left shoulder, extending down across the top of her left breast, passing under her right breast, and finally ending near the bottom of her ribcage. The wound still sullenly eeked deep red blood in several places.

"Logan, finish up. The water's ready."

Bling's words roused him from his thoughts of tracking down whoever had done this to her, and killing them. Slowly. Painfully.

"Yeah." He focused once again on his work. Luckily, while the tank top had clung like a second skin, the jeans she wore were rather loose, as if she had found or borrowed them somewhere. That made his work all the easier, he didn't have to spend so much time worrying about accidentally cutting her with the sharp scissors as he cut open each leg.

When he was finished, he carefully held Max up enough that Bling could pull the tattered denim away from her. She wore no underwear beneath the jeans, confirming Logan's belief that she had either found or stolen the clothes from somewhere after making her escape.

"Ok. Let's get her in the water." As he picked up her feet, Bling whistled softly. "Wow, they sure as hell managed to do a number on her. Your girl's got guts, that's for sure."

Logan just nodded, carefully supporting her shoulders and head as the pair lowered her into the warm water. He had long ago given up trying to convince Bling that Max was not "his girl," he refused to listen and it just hadn't seemed worth the effort. Besides, as much as he had tried to deny it, he truly did want Max to be his girl. He couldn't stop the errant hope that maybe, just maybe, now that she was back they actually stood a chance at building something together.

As she came into contact with the water, Max's eyes fluttered open for a minute, focusing blearily on Bling. "Wha? Log-Logan?" Her words were slurred, and she seemed confused as to where she was.

"Right here, Max. I'm right here."

At the comforting sound of his voice, she sagged back against the rim of the tub, content with the thought that he was there, and he would take care of her.

With a minimum of words, the pair went into action once more. Bling started at her feet, Logan started at her head, and they slowly worked their way towards each other, carefully, gently, cleaning her up. As the blood and grime was washed away, even more cuts and bruises were revealed.

"Jesus." The thought of Max having to deal with all of this, having to face the pain alone, made him ache deep inside. He wanted to cuddle her close and magically make it all go away.

Banking the emotions that swarmed him, he forced himself to concentrate on the work at hand. Slowly, carefully, the two men began to mend her torn and tattered body.

*****

Sidenote- This wasn't supposed to be a two-parter, but Dan suggested I break it in half when I post it, since it's so long, and I think he's right…but hey, I was nice, I waited until I completed the whole thing before posting! :-)