Disclaimer: DA isn't mine, but no profits made here so no one is losing out.
A/N: A flurry of challenges have appeared recently on the DAR board: in a rush of enthusiasm, a group of M/L-aholics have posted a handful of challenges, requests and goads for new fic (some pushing heavy on the fluff.) While they were pretty open-ended and completely out of control, this fic was started in response with one challenge in mind, then another twisted another in. By the end it even addressed a generally despised fic-syndrome currently under discussion.
These challenges and such will be posted at the end of this entry, so as not to give too much away. Be warned: it is not Halloween related, it is AU, and it's... hmmm. Mooshy?
WINTER'S CHILL
I.
It was seven hours since Logan left for the meet, five since he should have been back, and three since Max started out on her search for him. Knowing only that he'd gone out of the city, out toward one of the county's several lakes, with no more idea of which or how far, Max had no idea what might have befallen Eyes Only on this trip, the one that was not risky in the least, he'd assured her. He'd said that it was fine that she couldn't come; he'd asked her along only for her company and a second opinion on the information, that was all; no danger or uncertainty in the slightest.
Why the hell did I listen to him? she wondered, her heart in her throat as she rode longer and farther, sweeping the back roads, finding no sign of him. Why the hell don't I just chain him to his computer, so he can't keep getting into trouble and making me understand why Lydecker said that emotions just get in the way...
There! A metallic glint in the barely remaining daylight; in the cold, grey evening, the sleet and snow of the afternoon had stopped, and the temperature dropped along with the clearing of the sky. Logan! she whispered to herself, seeing the Aztek askew just off the roadway, tilting precariously into the shallow ditch, straddling the road shoulder, no engine noise, no lights ... but the ground at the driver's side door had been roiled with tire tracks – wheelchair tracks – leading out and around... and back? Max barely came to a stop before she hopped off her bike to come around to the window...
...and pulled the door open in a rush, her heart pounding, finding Logan in the driver's seat, unmoving, pale, eyes closed...still... "Logan!"
Nothing. She quickly pulled off her glove to lift her fingers to his neck and to her great relief, found a pulse... but slower and not as strong as was normal for him. His skin was icy...
"Logan!" Hypothermia? The cold would affect him faster than someone with an intact nervous system, or with a better circulatory system than his. "Logan?" This time his eyes opened sleepily and he rocked his head, not lifting it from the headrest, and smiled drunkenly to see her.
"Max? Hey..." He lifted his head from the seat briefly, then let it flop back, smiling happily at her appearance. "I was hoping you'd come," he managed, his slurred words making it sound more like he was a college frat boy at an all-nighter than a stranded motorist, and he watched Max quickly do a once over, her terribly warm palms assessing his cheek, hands and neck... and he supposed his ankles or calves, from her movements. "Hey..." he repeated, unable to find anything more appropriate at the moment.
"Logan, what were you thinking?" she scolded, relief at finding him easing only the first layer of her concern. "And you're wet; what did you do, get out and try to push it out yourself? All this, way out here, for a stupid informant. You'll freeze to death..."
He was shivering. Shivering again. 'Shivering uncontrollably' he thought vaguely, his thoughts unfolding slowly; did I really know what that meant, before I was shot, before it was harder for my body to keep itself warm, back when I could shift around and stomp and move when I was getting cold? "Stupid, stupid, I know; stupid..." he trailed off, shaking his head ... forgetting that he was talking to Max...
"Logan?"
Her voice shook him back to the present, and he blinked toward her. "I just ... it just went off the road ... on some ice, and I..." words slurred even more as he tried to remember, he trailed off once more, frightening Max all over again. Quickly now, she looked around only cursorily as she opened the passenger side, not really too worried at the moment who would see her, and braced herself at the open door, forcing her fear aside so she could function.
"Put it in neutral, Logan" she ordered, firmly. When he didn't move but seemed to be drifting off, she spoke again more forcefully. "Logan. Put the gear into neutral."
He roused a little but blinked, still as if drugged. She leaned across to shift the gear lever into neutral and carefully planted her feet to push the Aztek out of the shallow but icy ditch and back up to the road.
"What the hell were you thinking, coming all this way alone? And no one came by, right? No one who could help, and you know why? Between the gas shortage this month and the hold on sector passes, you're probably the only one within twenty miles of this place..." She muttered, her fears lessened a tiny bit with getting the car back onto the roadway, venting her fears by griping at the nearly-unconscious man.
"...but you came..." he said softly, like a prayer. The sound of his voice, the trust and yearning she heard made her stop and look into his face, despite the desperation she felt to get him home. His green eyes could barely focus, but they were open, and looking at her with such tenderness...
...but only for a moment; in the next they were rolling back in his head and he slumped...
"Logan! Come on, stay with me..." She pleaded, moving again.
He felt himself, as if at a distance, being tugged and hauled across one seat to the other, and propped upright against the passenger's side seat back. When he felt Max lean across him quickly and caught the scent of her hair passing again under his nose, he realized it was time to assert himself. "Hey..." he managed...
Click. Shwoomp.
He'd been buckled in, and the door at his right shut securely. The crunching on the gravel outside seemed to telescope away as he fought a losing battle with consciousness, but he knew that the sound was Max, too, and he waited as in his last lucid moments, the driver's side door was pulled open and a terse, unspeaking warrior got behind the wheel.
His wheel. His warrior...
His Max...
II.
It was now twenty five minutes after she had gotten Logan back to the penthouse, and Max finally eased herself down to sit at Logan's side, knowing his temperature at 95.7 was at the threshold of dangerous for him, and still wondering if she'd been wrong to bring him here instead of taking him straight to the hospital. She watched his still features, remembering the training she'd had years ago. She was never really expected to use it for herself or her siblings, as they could all withstand extremes of temperature far greater than "ordinary" people could, but nonetheless, it had been provided: Get victim into a warm room or shelter, removing any wet clothing; warm the center of the body first, with an electric blanket if available, or skin- to- skin contact, with plenty of blankets over all. If victim conscious, give him warm beverages; keep him dry and wrapped in a warm blanket...
...and get medical help.
She thought this would be enough, to bring him home and treat him here, but she would regret it until the day she died if she made another wrong choice – as wrong as when she decided to believe him when he told her that the meet wasn't risky...
Bling was out of town and unavailable by phone; Sam Carr was in surgery. She spoke to one of Sam's assistants and though Max could hear it, in her voice, that the woman thought it would have been better to bring him to emergency, she conceded it was probably treatable at home, as Max described what she had done for him so far. Max also heard the woman's understanding as to why home would be where Logan preferred, knew that Max was caring for him as tenderly as even Sam would ... and that Max would bring him in immediately if Sam directed her to do so. The woman promised to have Sam call as soon as he could...
And so now she sat at his side, watching the unconscious man as he lay in his bed, piled with blankets and quilts, his shudders quieting but still unresponsive. Warm beverages did nothing for someone still unable to drink them, Max worried...
Warm the center of the body first, warm the core... His temperature was still far too low, and blankets too slow... he didn't have an electric blanket; unable to judge its effect over half his body, he was encouraged to avoid their use...
So that left skin-to-skin contact.
But it was Logan ... and skin-to-skin with Logan would be so much harder than with any other, random 'victim'...
Damn you Lydecker; why do you have to be right about this?
...skin-to-skin contact with Logan should be saved for when they were ready to be...
...to be skin to skin...
Standing up suddenly and yanking off her tee shirt, kicking off her boots and nearly ripping off her jeans, she grabbed her tee shirt again and, using it wadded in her hand, she roughly buffed her arms and legs with the fabric, scrubbing all the friction-warmth she could into her own limbs, not sure if it would help but hoping for a faster transfer of her body warmth to his, suddenly angry at herself to have even hesitated a moment before doing what he needed her to do, for such selfish, silly reasons...
Tossing her shirt aside again, Max lifted the sheets and slid in along the nude, still form in the bed, still so cold and clammy... remove any wet clothing... Sam's assistant had directed her to get him warm first, before worrying about struggling him into clothing; any inadvertent binding might be more harmful than helpful, anyway, if it constricted circulation and he couldn't tell, even after he awakened...
It was what she'd been told to do, leave him nude; it was what she was trained to do, warm his body with her own ... she shivered herself as she snaked her body along his and wrapped her warm frame around his cold one; she brought her tummy up across his and her cheek on his chest, breathing in his sweet, masculine Logan scent and dared to bring her arms around him, her legs entwined around his, not disturbing the blankets tucked carefully around his feet...
Shakily, she sighed out the breath she was holding and tried to relax, to broaden herself across him and bring herself closer...
...and her fingers traced the strong shoulders and the muscular torso. She found herself nuzzling the soft hair on his chest, sighing out in her tentative embrace. Not exactly necrophilic – he would be fine, she chided, and what was she doing even comparing him to a corpse, even in a very private jest – but it seemed indecent, to be thinking all she was thinking, feeling the strength of the desire she was feeling as she held his naked form to hers, with him so dangerously close to being a corpse for real...
Soon enough it could be hot soup and blankets, warm socks and sweats. Maybe he'd never know about this, she thought, drowsily ... if she played her cards right ... if she managed to hold herself back from the hunger and craving she was feeling for the man she held close... but for now her thoughts wouldn't hurt ... and she let herself imagine, relaxing more deeply into her hope that she really could feel her warmth seeping into him, as she breathed him in and curled into his chest... she let herself imagine...
III.
She woke with a start and realized that what had awakened her was a breath, drawn deep, by the strong chest below hers ... in a momentary alarm that she'd dozed off when she should have been monitoring him closely, she moved her hand out across his shoulder to pause, sensing him, then raise her palm to his cheek, then back down to his chest, relief at his warming form spreading its radiant glow through her own chest as well...
...and with another deep breath, Logan's left hand came up unerringly to curl around Max's right, as it lay protectively on his bare chest...
She looked up to his face, feeling caught, amazed at the look of complete happiness and acceptance on his face, no surprise or embarrassment or ... or was it the lingering effects of the cold? It wasn't the Logan she knew, to be so sanguine awaking to such a scene ... She swallowed, more nervous than she wanted to be, and whispered, "Logan?"
He smiled wider, and lifted her palm to his lips, kissing it gently. "Max..." he murmured happily. He managed to bring his other arm around her form, drawing her even closer than she'd been, when she wrapped herself around him.
Tipping her face up toward his, she looked closer, tracing his brow, gently. "What's going on in there?"
His eyes still closed, he half chuckled. "This one's a good one, Max; you feel so real..." His words softened as his breathing deepened for the moment, dozing ... but in a moment the chuckle was back. "The first part of the dream, though ... it wasn't too cool." It was only a moment before he started chuckling again, to himself, at his weak pun...
Understanding, Max felt her own grin start, and she snuggled back down into his arms, not sure how he'd feel in a few minutes, when she didn't disappear ... but for now, she was wrapped all snuggly and undressed with Logan, who had dreamed about this with her ... would he feel any better to know she'd dreamed about it, too?
The challenge: x318's demand for "Logan naked on a bed, no sheets, he must be warmed up somehow," (okay, I caved–but technically, no sheets–only blankets and quilts! ;) coupled with"Logan is sick; Max takes care of him," a part of a Reilynn challenge.
And possibly: a wink to those who are trying to out-do the next guy withcliffhangers?