Another retread...
Cross-posting this one to lover100 ...future Max& Logan AU. It's been up for a while on FFN, just trying to fill a few more boxes in all the challenges I have going here...!
TITLE: This Mortal Coil
AUTHOR: Fauxcynic
FANDOM: Dark Angel
PAIRING: Max/Logan
GENRE: Het
TABLE: A
PROMPT: #90, Home
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: c. 4900
SUMMARY: A future AU, M/L. A slice-of-life scene from a possible Max and Logan future. They had almost lost Logan this time -- and his homecoming is so very sweet...
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel characters, and the lines quoted from several episodes included in this ficlet, lovingly borrowed from Cameron & Eglee, or those taking from them. No profits realized.
This Mortal Coil
Sam had warned her that his first day home, he might be worn out just by the trip back and the readjustment back into his own place, and though she had been warned, Max was worried all over again by how easily Logan had tired, how drained of energy the simple matter of coming home had left him the night before. He’d barely made it into bed before falling asleep, and didn’t stay awake long enough for more than a couple bites when she woke him for dinner.
But this morning, his first full day back, he looked better than he had in so long: there was some color in his cheeks and she swore the old twinkle was back as it had been, even when he was still too weak to move out of bed completely under his own power. Letting her help him slip out of bed and into to his chair, he even threw her a smirk and teased, his voice still reedy with his weakness, “don’t think you’re going to get away with dragging me out of bed like this for very long.”
She grinned at his clear pleasure in being back home, at his willingness to let her help. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you lay around when there’s so much you have to catch up...”
It had been a frightening few months, his desperate illness, a long, hard recovery - but all signs pointed to Logan coming back, maybe even back as strong as ever. When he had been stricken with a gradual, spiraling illness that brought him closer and closer to death, his organs one by one beginning to shut down, Max, Benjy and the others could only stand by in fear as his doctors worked in vain to find what was killing him, unwilling to try transfusing him with Manticore blood in fear that he might finally be reacting to all the blood he’d gotten - and rejected - that caused his march toward death now.
He’d come so close. He was on total life support, on dialysis and a ventilator; there were no machines left to sustain him further. But when one of Sam’s colleagues discovered an unusual build-up of a chemical in his hair and fingernails which in turn was discovered to be the less well-masked by-product of a deadly poison, it wasn’t long before his medical team discovered and removed two small, subcutaneous discs still feeding the usually untraceable poison into his bloodstream. With that, and head to toe x-rays to be sure there were no other offending poison “bullets” remaining to finish him off, his blood was immediately “scrubbed” in an emergency flush and filter process, as fast as his body could tolerate it, and first Max, and then the others, lined up to donate Manticore’s stem-cell-rich blood to the dying man. Sam believed any risk of rejection was worth it; he told Max that if its healing properties would bring Logan back far enough, with each infusion, to trigger his body’s own healing processes, maybe any rejection would not set him further back.
And blood he could tolerate well was not so far off that they needed to rely on Max’s for long. Like Joshua’s blood so long ago, many of the donated pints were tolerated well and Logan showed no signs of rejection before he started to rally: one by one, his organs started to strengthen and, eventually, return to their earlier health. Max was touched and gratified how many came to his rescue, and from how far: Alec was still close, so donated probably more than was healthy, letting his own system run down to the point of anemia while they waited for others to make it back to Seattle; Joshua came all the way from New Orleans, where he’d found a welcoming home; Brin and Syl came from San Francisco and Sacramento. Mole made it a personal affront that there was any question that his blood was compatible and that Logan would not only want it but be far better for it; his gloating ‘I told you morons so!’ could be heard across the hospital’s lab when he was told he’d be a suitable match. And Max thought Benjy would try hooking himself up with some rubber tubing for a direct transfusion, much like she and Logan had that very first time, to give his father some of his own blood when they told him he should let the others donate.
As Logan recovered, the investigation began in earnest to determine who had attempted so chilling a murder, who had gotten close enough to plant the delivery discs so easily - and why. Until there were answers, the blood donors became body guards, and not only Logan, but Max and Benjy, had Manticore-designed body guards watching out for them.
The Seattle PD had joined with the local FBI, again in an effort by those who had known and respected Logan for his many years’ efforts to champion the powerless, and the source of the poison had been discovered. Arrests had been made and further connections followed to root out one of the larger crime syndicates the west coast had seen in years. The fact that Logan’s murder was to have been a warning was, oddly enough, one of the bigger breaks in the case: as Matt had joked to a weak but improving Logan, “it’s not much of a warning if you can’t brag about being the bad ass who made it.”
And now on a blissfully boring, normal Saturday, as the sun peeked into the penthouse windows and glittered off windows and buildings nearby, Max walked across from the bedroom to the kitchen again, pretending to be doing something between the rooms but surreptitiously glancing back to Logan, now stretched comfortably on the living room couch, actually poking a little at the computer in his lap. She smiled softly and grabbed the coffee carafe, heading back to the living room to warm his cup.
She’d first known he wasn’t well when he had no energy or interest in working or writing; she first was certain he was on his way back when he’d finally asked for his notebook, and then his laptop. Seeing him looking over his files, missed for so many weeks now, she felt another wave of hope take her over, more ready now to believe that the recovery Sam promised might just be in his future - their future. She leaned over and topped off his steaming coffee, and he smiled up at her.
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. As she took it, he pulled her closer, gently, for a soft kiss that he let linger, sweetly, before breaking it. He looked long into her eyes before he spoke again. “I wish I could tell you how good it is to be home,” he tried.
“You don’t have to,” she sat beside him on the couch. “It’s all over your face - you look weeks better already.”
He chuckled, “I realize I’m not in much of a position to complain - but half my problem was being in the hospital for so long.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” she rolled her eyes, remembering the heroic efforts taken to keep him alive. Even if it had ultimately been the transgenics’ blood that saved him and not only pulled him back from death, literally, but had allowed his organs to repair themselves from damage they probably wouldn’t otherwise, he was kept alive long enough to find the problem by the valiant efforts of Sam and his staff. She knew Logan knew it, too, and was as grateful as she - so she allowed him his good-natured griping. “You just missed all your toys here.”
“My toys - and you two.” His eyes softened, a look of longing there. “Max, I’m sorry that all of this was so hard on you and Ben...”
She looked at the green eyes she so loved, not quite clear from the illness yet but definitely coming back, seeming to glow even more green now, framed as they were by his pale, translucent skin and his paler hair, his illness draining his hair of color to turn it first gray, and then on to white in short order, with the stress done to his system... Feeling her eyes prickle as if she might become emotional again, she simply leaned in again to steal a kiss, finding strength in the contact.
Hearing Ben cross the hall into the kitchen and rummage in the refrigerator, she slowly broke the kiss and leaned back to look at Logan meaningfully, gently squeezing his hand still in hers. “You had it a little harder than we did. We’re just glad to have you back underfoot.”
He smiled at her teasing as Ben came in with a large glass of milk and plopped down in a chair near his father, saying nothing, but unable to hide the smile he wore to see his dad up even before he was on this Saturday morning. Their son had been mature beyond his fifteen years before, even if he didn’t always act like it, but with his father’s recent close call, he’d been with his mother at Logan’s side every moment Max allowed it, and had made her proud over and over throughout the ordeal.
She stood and spoke to both of her men now. “Cinnamon rolls all around? They should be warmed up by now. From Hooper’s Bakery,” she turned back to Logan to explain.
“Hooper’s? What’s the occasion?” Logan teased, pleased that she’d gone to his favorite bakery for his first morning back - in all likelihood, that very morning. The thought of the rich, buttery pastry with freshly brewed coffee, in his own home, made him hungrier than he’d felt since he’d fallen ill.
Max just smirked, hiding her satisfaction that her breakfast surprise seemed to be just what he needed, and went on to the kitchen. As Logan first watched Max saunter back out to the kitchen, and then turned to his son, he found that Ben had watched it all, amused. His smile still lingering, Ben shrugged and suggested, “I’m thinking that you were in the hospital long enough you could probably get Mom to bring all your favorites, for a couple more weeks at least.”
Logan laughed, pleased that the boy was so easy around him now, that his illness no longer scared him so badly - it had taken Ben a while to relax and trust his dad would be okay. “I think that’s a quickly tapering effect - maybe another day or two, but not much past that.” Logan leaned back against the cushion, already tiring a little with the computer work, but too buoyed with being home to be sleepy. “So catch me up, Benjy - you didn’t say a whole lot about school when I was in the hospital.”
The boy shrugged. He was a good student who didn’t have to work at it and wasn’t impelled to being an exceptional one; his parents thought it was actually safer that he fit with the crowd - as long as it was on the better achieving side - and he did enough with his mom and dad that they knew he would be in good shape to handle whatever he might decide to do after he finished the school program available there in Seattle. “Same ol’ stuff. You missed the soccer play-offs, though.”
“I know - I’m sorry. And I’m sorry your mom didn’t go either, but I’m really glad you went. Mom said that Kelly’s dad videotaped the games, and gave you a copy?” At his son’s nod, he said, “then let’s arrange a showing. We order some pizza, call in all our friends, maybe rent out the Convention Center...”
“Dad...” Ben groaned.
“See that tapering effect? Not twenty four hours and you don’t let me throw a soccer party.” Logan was grinning widely now, teasing his son. “At least we get the pizza, and you and mom can watch me watching them. You can do the color commentary.” He didn’t want to take his eyes off Benjy, unable to completely shake the idea that he’d nearly lost the chance to see his boy become even more adult than he already was. He’s such a great kid, he reflected for the millionth time...
“I do have a question, though - some school stuff you could help with, if you feel like it.”
“Sure,” Logan said. Ben didn’t often ask - he didn’t often need help. Logan’s eyebrows went up in interest just as Max came in with a plate of cinnamon rolls and the coffee pot. As she had so often over the last weeks, she looked at Logan, first for the signs of his illness and increasing his health, then for signs of his waning energy or new weakness. It was a habit she hoped she could break soon, but couldn’t yet, not until Logan had been home for a while and continued to thrive.
At the moment, she saw that he wasn’t as energetic as he wanted them to believe, but she forgave him his deception and said nothing as both Ben and Logan grabbed a cinnamon roll and munched it appreciatively - the look Logan had for Benjy, and the way Ben sat close to his dad ... she knew the best thing for them both now was exactly this, and that there was no better antidote for Logan than his son’s request for school help. If Logan got too tired, he’d just fall asleep; if that happened, Benjy would understand, as he’d seen much of Logan’s illness. Max was once again pleased that she trusted her judgment and let Ben come along though so much of it. As a result, he knew what was going on with his dad, when it was bad news but when it was good news, too; he understood how much better Logan was now, even though he might appear weak to those who hadn’t seen him through it all. Because of it, Ben was completely at ease with Logan as he was recovering. Smiling a little to herself, she topped off Logan’s coffee again and lifted his glass. “More milk?”
“I can get it - ” He started to get up, and Max was again reminded how much her son had matured through Logan’s illness - and how he had become so aware of the effect Logan’s illness had on her, too.
She shook her head. “I got it - I want to get some too, and get another pot of coffee started. Some milk, Logan?” When he shook his head with a soft thanks, she reached out to ruffle his hair and moved out to the kitchen. Logan couldn’t help but again watch her walk out to the kitchen, and when he looked back to his son, Ben rolled his eyes. Logan chuckled, caught.
“Okay, Ben - sorry. I’m focused; I’m on it. What did you want to ask?”
Ben smirked at his dad’s response to his mother - something he’d seen often enough and that meant his dad was really getting better - and leaned forward to grab another cinnamon roll. “Okay...” He took a bite, thought a moment, then asked, “How well do you know Shakespeare?”
Logan shook his head soberly, and vowed, “no matter what anyone tells you, Benjy, we’re just good friends.”
Ben’s grimace was punctuated by Max’s soft chuckle, and he muttered, “you wouldn’t laugh at him if he hadn’t just come home.”
“Probably not - but he probably wouldn’t have made that dumb a joke.” She put the glasses of milk on the low table and sat on the end of the couch, a deft hand under Logan’s knees allowing her to slip under them and bring them across her lap. “Shakespeare’s got nothing on your dad, Benjy. He reads Shakespeare for fun.”
“You’re studying Shakespeare?” Logan helped his son back to his question.
The boy nodded. “Hamlet,” he groaned. “And we’re going to do another one after that, one of the funny ones, but Mr. Boyd says he wanted us to start off with one of the heavy ones, with all the lines everybody keeps quoting. He wants to see what we can figure out before he tells us.” He shrugged. “I tried reading some of it, but it’s like he just doesn’t get to the point.”
Logan nodded, “or gets to it by lots of flowerly language.” At his son’s nod, he prodded, “that’s a big part of the reason people like his work. He says things we all say and think, but he uses language to say those things in ways that we just can’t match.” He saw Ben grimace again and he asked, “what’s the assignment? Were there some specific things you wanted to ask about, or the play...?”
“Well - yeah. I’ve got the list...” he got up to find his assignment, and Max smirked at Logan.
“Gonna make a convert, Dad?” she teased.
“Sounds as if it might take a few runs at it,” Logan smiled, amused to think that Ben didn’t seem to be following his father’s love for language and the beauty of artful expression.
“Like here,” Ben was coming back in, reading from a rumpled paper. “‘What are the themes of the play? Who are the main characters and are they sane?’”
Logan chuckled at that. “Another score for Mr. Boyd. You’re lucky to have him.”
Ben gave his father a withering look. “He does these weird questions just ‘cos he knows we won’t find fast answers in canned study outlines.”
“Imagine that,” Logan replied, his grin telegraphing how much he’d missed the comfort of his family, their mundane, homey moments like this. “Making you guys use your very own brains.”
Ben went on, “‘...tell us about the quotes we hear all the time from this play and what they mean. Are they quoted correctly? Why are they important?’” He looked up and asked, “you want to hear the quotes?”
“Sure,” Logan nodded.
“Okay. The first one is ‘to be or not to be that is the question...’”
Logan frowned. “Did he write it like that, all one line?”
Ben shrugged. “Yeah. See?” He handed the paper to his father, who looked it over and beamed.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot how much I like Mr. Boyd.” He glanced at Max. “He’s got the famously misquoted lines, too.”
“A fellow geek,” Max smirked.
“So have you looked at enough of the play to get the main themes?”
Ben thought for a moment. “I dunno if it’s a main theme, but there’s a lot about death in it.”
Logan nodded. “Good. Like what?”
“Well ... he’s upset ‘cos his dad died...” Ben suddenly looked up at Logan, realizing that the play may not be what his own father wanted to discuss at the moment. “Maybe too much death for your first day home?” he asked, guiltily.
Logan smiled at his son’s concern and was quick to reassure him. “A nice reminder of the fact that I bounced back. Oddly enough, from the same thing - you caught what killed his father?”
Benjy thought a moment, and asked, puzzled, “poison?” Logan nodded, and he frowned again, “but ... in his ear?”
Logan shrugged. “Why not? Seeps though his system...”
Ben shifted uncomfortably. “Dad, I didn’t think...”
“Hey - ” Logan reached over to grab his son’s knee and give it a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, Benjy - I got better. It’s not hard to talk about at all,” Logan fibbed a little for his son, and tipped his chin back to the paper. “More death stuff in the play?”
“Well... yeah. Him. And others, and his dad’s ghost even shows up.”
“What about more than just the actual deaths?”
Ben thought for a moment, then nodded, “well, they talk about it a lot. Or at least Hamlet does.”
“That’s good, Ben, he does.”
His son even laughed, “yeah, and his mom and uncle the king tell him to get over it...”
Logan grinned proudly at how much his son had picked up, despite claiming to have not gotten much. “Yeah, they did - but even that part is a good example of what makes Shakespeare so popular even now, so many years after it was written, because how well he says things. Lots of plays and stories and TV shows might have the same scene, with mom and uncle saying, ‘get over it already. Everyone dies. You’re being really girly about it, and you’re creeping us out.’” Ben grinned despite himself, and Logan challenged, “isn’t that what they were saying?”
At Ben’s nod, Max said “why don’t you get the play? I want to hear how Shakespeare says it.”
“Okay.” As he popped up again to get his book, Max turned to Logan and traced his cheek affectionately. “You’d make a pretty good teacher yourself.”
“With your back-up.” He leaned back, feeling calm and contented, as Ben came back in, flipping through the play.
“Wanna read it, Dad? You’d do it better...”
“I don’t think so. You found it just fine, so you know how it needs to be read.”
Ben seemed to be pleased with the confirmation, and looking down the lines, half-laughed, “yeah, this is how his uncle starts, ‘How is it that the clouds still hang on you?’”
As Logan smiled in his fatherly pride, watching his son get pulled in by Shakespeare in spite of himself, Max’s eyebrows went up, seeming genuinely surprised. “Good way to put it.”
“Yeah, and it’s worse, because this is from his uncle,” Ben explained to his mother, more engrossed in the story now. “See, his dad died, and his mom married his dad’s brother right away, but then his dad’s ghost comes back to tell Hamlet that it was his uncle - his dad’s brother - who killed him.”
“Sounds like a soap opera.”
“Oh, yeah,” Logan chuckled. “What else do they say, Ben?”
“Um ... oh, here’s the King: ‘'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow; but to persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief.’”
Max’s eyes clouded over for only a moment, the sound of the callous King’s words so close to what she’d heard as a child. She felt Logan’s hand squeeze hers gently as he asked Ben, “you know what he’s getting at?”
“Sure - ‘everyone dies so suck it up.’”
Logan nodded, “but anyone can say it that way. And he got to the point, didn’t he?”
Ben smirked, caught. “Yeah, I guess so. But what about all these quotes, ‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well...’”
Logan grinned. “Did you find that quote in the play?” At his son’s head shake, Logan suggested, “Try Act V, Scene I. And that’s not the actual line.” As Ben flipped through the pages of his book, Logan explained, “It starts off with a couple clowns digging a grave, lots of jokes and puns and plays on words - then Hamlet and his buddy show up and they joke about the skulls being dug up as the new grave is being dug, wondering who they were. The gravedigger even talks about him, about Prince Hamlet, being crazy and being sent off to England - he has no idea that’s who is there with him in the graveyard - and all at once, with another skull, Hamlet asks who the skull belonged to. And what did the gravedigger say?”
Ben traced down the script, and found, “‘A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?’ ... and Hamlet says ‘Nay, I know not.’ And the clown says, ‘A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.’ and Hamlet says, ‘this,’ and...”
“No, not ‘this...’” Logan interrupted him gently. “After all the joking and traded lines, the guy says, ‘it’s Yorick's skull, the king's jester.’ Hamlet’s in this stinking graveyard, death on his mind a lot lately and at the moment, all around him, and suddenly it’s personal. And he says ‘...this?’ Like, ‘this is Yorick?’” And the gravedigger says it is, and Hamlet reaches out, suddenly thrown back in all these memories, and says ‘Let me see...’” Logan mimed taking the imaginary skull, and stared at it in his feigned, wary amazement, and continued, “‘Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio...’”
Logan looked over at Ben, as he repeated the famous lines, not as a quote but as if he were explaining to his son that this person, this skull, wasn’t just any stranger, but an old friend. Ben - and Max - were riveted.
“‘... a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now ...’”
Logan fell quiet and realized he’d let the scene take him over, too. Coloring a little, he dropped his hand and explained softly, ‘a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy...’ he was always telling jokes, told great stories ... From someone Hamlet knew and who had entertained him - gave him piggyback rides - now all that’s left is a skull in a cemetery, the smell of death around him, taking over his memories. The jokes and songs didn’t last...”
Ben looked at his father, long, and the emotion deep in the boy’s eyes told Logan maybe he’d made too much of an impression. Before he could say anything, though, Ben closed the script, stood, and gave his father a sudden, emotional hug. “I’m glad you’re home, Dad.”
Logan held his son close, feeling the powerful emotions in his child echoed in himself. “Me, too.”
After another moment, Ben stood, and held up the script. “I’m gonna go read this again.” As he started to leave, Logan called to him.
“Look, Ben - maybe that’s kind of heavy for right now. What about later? We could just watch a movie or something...”
The boy shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It just makes it all pretty real, ya know? Things I didn’t really get before...” He paused a moment, then suddenly looked back to his parents with the dazzling smile he’d gotten from the Cale side of the family. “Besides, you said it - you got better.”
Logan looked at the young man and finally nodded, grinned too. “I did. But, just for fun - maybe you need to follow up with a comedy right away, like A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s got sex in it...” He chuckled at Max’s immediate smack on his leg.
“Cool!” Benjy beamed. “Maybe I should read it first.”
“Would just impress your teacher, reading beyond the assignment.” Logan’s grin lingered as he watched Ben disappear back into his room. He looked over at Max, who was beaming at him, her eyes moist.
“Doing homework on a Saturday morning. Definitely your kid,” she prodded him, emotionally.
“Like I’m the only overachiever here,” he lay back against the cushions, weariness creeping up on him again.
“The only geek.” She saw him tiring and shifted out from under his legs to come around to his side. “Logan, don’t ever think about leaving us again,” she whispered, leaning in to rest her forehead on his, but then pulled back, smiling her encouragement and hoping to bring a little lightness back into the room. “We love you way too much to let you ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’”
“And here you acted as if you’d never read Hamlet.”
She grinned. “Think you’re the only ham actor in the family?” She reached again to trace his cheek lovingly, and said, “rest up, Shakespeare. You’ll have your hands full with Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
He grinned; she kissed his forehead. She’d barely gotten to the hall before she heard his breathing deepen into a soft, steady sleep. With a soft smile to herself, she felt herself relax a little more. Logan was home and was spouting Shakespeare on his first day back. If ever there was a sign that things would be back to normal soon, that had to be close...
TITLE: This Mortal Coil
AUTHOR: Fauxcynic
FANDOM: Dark Angel
PAIRING: Max/Logan
GENRE: Het
TABLE: A
PROMPT: #90, Home
RATING: G
WORD COUNT: c. 4900
SUMMARY: A future AU, M/L. A slice-of-life scene from a possible Max and Logan future. They had almost lost Logan this time -- and his homecoming is so very sweet...
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel characters, and the lines quoted from several episodes included in this ficlet, lovingly borrowed from Cameron & Eglee, or those taking from them. No profits realized.
This Mortal Coil
Sam had warned her that his first day home, he might be worn out just by the trip back and the readjustment back into his own place, and though she had been warned, Max was worried all over again by how easily Logan had tired, how drained of energy the simple matter of coming home had left him the night before. He’d barely made it into bed before falling asleep, and didn’t stay awake long enough for more than a couple bites when she woke him for dinner.
But this morning, his first full day back, he looked better than he had in so long: there was some color in his cheeks and she swore the old twinkle was back as it had been, even when he was still too weak to move out of bed completely under his own power. Letting her help him slip out of bed and into to his chair, he even threw her a smirk and teased, his voice still reedy with his weakness, “don’t think you’re going to get away with dragging me out of bed like this for very long.”
She grinned at his clear pleasure in being back home, at his willingness to let her help. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you lay around when there’s so much you have to catch up...”
It had been a frightening few months, his desperate illness, a long, hard recovery - but all signs pointed to Logan coming back, maybe even back as strong as ever. When he had been stricken with a gradual, spiraling illness that brought him closer and closer to death, his organs one by one beginning to shut down, Max, Benjy and the others could only stand by in fear as his doctors worked in vain to find what was killing him, unwilling to try transfusing him with Manticore blood in fear that he might finally be reacting to all the blood he’d gotten - and rejected - that caused his march toward death now.
He’d come so close. He was on total life support, on dialysis and a ventilator; there were no machines left to sustain him further. But when one of Sam’s colleagues discovered an unusual build-up of a chemical in his hair and fingernails which in turn was discovered to be the less well-masked by-product of a deadly poison, it wasn’t long before his medical team discovered and removed two small, subcutaneous discs still feeding the usually untraceable poison into his bloodstream. With that, and head to toe x-rays to be sure there were no other offending poison “bullets” remaining to finish him off, his blood was immediately “scrubbed” in an emergency flush and filter process, as fast as his body could tolerate it, and first Max, and then the others, lined up to donate Manticore’s stem-cell-rich blood to the dying man. Sam believed any risk of rejection was worth it; he told Max that if its healing properties would bring Logan back far enough, with each infusion, to trigger his body’s own healing processes, maybe any rejection would not set him further back.
And blood he could tolerate well was not so far off that they needed to rely on Max’s for long. Like Joshua’s blood so long ago, many of the donated pints were tolerated well and Logan showed no signs of rejection before he started to rally: one by one, his organs started to strengthen and, eventually, return to their earlier health. Max was touched and gratified how many came to his rescue, and from how far: Alec was still close, so donated probably more than was healthy, letting his own system run down to the point of anemia while they waited for others to make it back to Seattle; Joshua came all the way from New Orleans, where he’d found a welcoming home; Brin and Syl came from San Francisco and Sacramento. Mole made it a personal affront that there was any question that his blood was compatible and that Logan would not only want it but be far better for it; his gloating ‘I told you morons so!’ could be heard across the hospital’s lab when he was told he’d be a suitable match. And Max thought Benjy would try hooking himself up with some rubber tubing for a direct transfusion, much like she and Logan had that very first time, to give his father some of his own blood when they told him he should let the others donate.
As Logan recovered, the investigation began in earnest to determine who had attempted so chilling a murder, who had gotten close enough to plant the delivery discs so easily - and why. Until there were answers, the blood donors became body guards, and not only Logan, but Max and Benjy, had Manticore-designed body guards watching out for them.
The Seattle PD had joined with the local FBI, again in an effort by those who had known and respected Logan for his many years’ efforts to champion the powerless, and the source of the poison had been discovered. Arrests had been made and further connections followed to root out one of the larger crime syndicates the west coast had seen in years. The fact that Logan’s murder was to have been a warning was, oddly enough, one of the bigger breaks in the case: as Matt had joked to a weak but improving Logan, “it’s not much of a warning if you can’t brag about being the bad ass who made it.”
And now on a blissfully boring, normal Saturday, as the sun peeked into the penthouse windows and glittered off windows and buildings nearby, Max walked across from the bedroom to the kitchen again, pretending to be doing something between the rooms but surreptitiously glancing back to Logan, now stretched comfortably on the living room couch, actually poking a little at the computer in his lap. She smiled softly and grabbed the coffee carafe, heading back to the living room to warm his cup.
She’d first known he wasn’t well when he had no energy or interest in working or writing; she first was certain he was on his way back when he’d finally asked for his notebook, and then his laptop. Seeing him looking over his files, missed for so many weeks now, she felt another wave of hope take her over, more ready now to believe that the recovery Sam promised might just be in his future - their future. She leaned over and topped off his steaming coffee, and he smiled up at her.
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. As she took it, he pulled her closer, gently, for a soft kiss that he let linger, sweetly, before breaking it. He looked long into her eyes before he spoke again. “I wish I could tell you how good it is to be home,” he tried.
“You don’t have to,” she sat beside him on the couch. “It’s all over your face - you look weeks better already.”
He chuckled, “I realize I’m not in much of a position to complain - but half my problem was being in the hospital for so long.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” she rolled her eyes, remembering the heroic efforts taken to keep him alive. Even if it had ultimately been the transgenics’ blood that saved him and not only pulled him back from death, literally, but had allowed his organs to repair themselves from damage they probably wouldn’t otherwise, he was kept alive long enough to find the problem by the valiant efforts of Sam and his staff. She knew Logan knew it, too, and was as grateful as she - so she allowed him his good-natured griping. “You just missed all your toys here.”
“My toys - and you two.” His eyes softened, a look of longing there. “Max, I’m sorry that all of this was so hard on you and Ben...”
She looked at the green eyes she so loved, not quite clear from the illness yet but definitely coming back, seeming to glow even more green now, framed as they were by his pale, translucent skin and his paler hair, his illness draining his hair of color to turn it first gray, and then on to white in short order, with the stress done to his system... Feeling her eyes prickle as if she might become emotional again, she simply leaned in again to steal a kiss, finding strength in the contact.
Hearing Ben cross the hall into the kitchen and rummage in the refrigerator, she slowly broke the kiss and leaned back to look at Logan meaningfully, gently squeezing his hand still in hers. “You had it a little harder than we did. We’re just glad to have you back underfoot.”
He smiled at her teasing as Ben came in with a large glass of milk and plopped down in a chair near his father, saying nothing, but unable to hide the smile he wore to see his dad up even before he was on this Saturday morning. Their son had been mature beyond his fifteen years before, even if he didn’t always act like it, but with his father’s recent close call, he’d been with his mother at Logan’s side every moment Max allowed it, and had made her proud over and over throughout the ordeal.
She stood and spoke to both of her men now. “Cinnamon rolls all around? They should be warmed up by now. From Hooper’s Bakery,” she turned back to Logan to explain.
“Hooper’s? What’s the occasion?” Logan teased, pleased that she’d gone to his favorite bakery for his first morning back - in all likelihood, that very morning. The thought of the rich, buttery pastry with freshly brewed coffee, in his own home, made him hungrier than he’d felt since he’d fallen ill.
Max just smirked, hiding her satisfaction that her breakfast surprise seemed to be just what he needed, and went on to the kitchen. As Logan first watched Max saunter back out to the kitchen, and then turned to his son, he found that Ben had watched it all, amused. His smile still lingering, Ben shrugged and suggested, “I’m thinking that you were in the hospital long enough you could probably get Mom to bring all your favorites, for a couple more weeks at least.”
Logan laughed, pleased that the boy was so easy around him now, that his illness no longer scared him so badly - it had taken Ben a while to relax and trust his dad would be okay. “I think that’s a quickly tapering effect - maybe another day or two, but not much past that.” Logan leaned back against the cushion, already tiring a little with the computer work, but too buoyed with being home to be sleepy. “So catch me up, Benjy - you didn’t say a whole lot about school when I was in the hospital.”
The boy shrugged. He was a good student who didn’t have to work at it and wasn’t impelled to being an exceptional one; his parents thought it was actually safer that he fit with the crowd - as long as it was on the better achieving side - and he did enough with his mom and dad that they knew he would be in good shape to handle whatever he might decide to do after he finished the school program available there in Seattle. “Same ol’ stuff. You missed the soccer play-offs, though.”
“I know - I’m sorry. And I’m sorry your mom didn’t go either, but I’m really glad you went. Mom said that Kelly’s dad videotaped the games, and gave you a copy?” At his son’s nod, he said, “then let’s arrange a showing. We order some pizza, call in all our friends, maybe rent out the Convention Center...”
“Dad...” Ben groaned.
“See that tapering effect? Not twenty four hours and you don’t let me throw a soccer party.” Logan was grinning widely now, teasing his son. “At least we get the pizza, and you and mom can watch me watching them. You can do the color commentary.” He didn’t want to take his eyes off Benjy, unable to completely shake the idea that he’d nearly lost the chance to see his boy become even more adult than he already was. He’s such a great kid, he reflected for the millionth time...
“I do have a question, though - some school stuff you could help with, if you feel like it.”
“Sure,” Logan said. Ben didn’t often ask - he didn’t often need help. Logan’s eyebrows went up in interest just as Max came in with a plate of cinnamon rolls and the coffee pot. As she had so often over the last weeks, she looked at Logan, first for the signs of his illness and increasing his health, then for signs of his waning energy or new weakness. It was a habit she hoped she could break soon, but couldn’t yet, not until Logan had been home for a while and continued to thrive.
At the moment, she saw that he wasn’t as energetic as he wanted them to believe, but she forgave him his deception and said nothing as both Ben and Logan grabbed a cinnamon roll and munched it appreciatively - the look Logan had for Benjy, and the way Ben sat close to his dad ... she knew the best thing for them both now was exactly this, and that there was no better antidote for Logan than his son’s request for school help. If Logan got too tired, he’d just fall asleep; if that happened, Benjy would understand, as he’d seen much of Logan’s illness. Max was once again pleased that she trusted her judgment and let Ben come along though so much of it. As a result, he knew what was going on with his dad, when it was bad news but when it was good news, too; he understood how much better Logan was now, even though he might appear weak to those who hadn’t seen him through it all. Because of it, Ben was completely at ease with Logan as he was recovering. Smiling a little to herself, she topped off Logan’s coffee again and lifted his glass. “More milk?”
“I can get it - ” He started to get up, and Max was again reminded how much her son had matured through Logan’s illness - and how he had become so aware of the effect Logan’s illness had on her, too.
She shook her head. “I got it - I want to get some too, and get another pot of coffee started. Some milk, Logan?” When he shook his head with a soft thanks, she reached out to ruffle his hair and moved out to the kitchen. Logan couldn’t help but again watch her walk out to the kitchen, and when he looked back to his son, Ben rolled his eyes. Logan chuckled, caught.
“Okay, Ben - sorry. I’m focused; I’m on it. What did you want to ask?”
Ben smirked at his dad’s response to his mother - something he’d seen often enough and that meant his dad was really getting better - and leaned forward to grab another cinnamon roll. “Okay...” He took a bite, thought a moment, then asked, “How well do you know Shakespeare?”
Logan shook his head soberly, and vowed, “no matter what anyone tells you, Benjy, we’re just good friends.”
Ben’s grimace was punctuated by Max’s soft chuckle, and he muttered, “you wouldn’t laugh at him if he hadn’t just come home.”
“Probably not - but he probably wouldn’t have made that dumb a joke.” She put the glasses of milk on the low table and sat on the end of the couch, a deft hand under Logan’s knees allowing her to slip under them and bring them across her lap. “Shakespeare’s got nothing on your dad, Benjy. He reads Shakespeare for fun.”
“You’re studying Shakespeare?” Logan helped his son back to his question.
The boy nodded. “Hamlet,” he groaned. “And we’re going to do another one after that, one of the funny ones, but Mr. Boyd says he wanted us to start off with one of the heavy ones, with all the lines everybody keeps quoting. He wants to see what we can figure out before he tells us.” He shrugged. “I tried reading some of it, but it’s like he just doesn’t get to the point.”
Logan nodded, “or gets to it by lots of flowerly language.” At his son’s nod, he prodded, “that’s a big part of the reason people like his work. He says things we all say and think, but he uses language to say those things in ways that we just can’t match.” He saw Ben grimace again and he asked, “what’s the assignment? Were there some specific things you wanted to ask about, or the play...?”
“Well - yeah. I’ve got the list...” he got up to find his assignment, and Max smirked at Logan.
“Gonna make a convert, Dad?” she teased.
“Sounds as if it might take a few runs at it,” Logan smiled, amused to think that Ben didn’t seem to be following his father’s love for language and the beauty of artful expression.
“Like here,” Ben was coming back in, reading from a rumpled paper. “‘What are the themes of the play? Who are the main characters and are they sane?’”
Logan chuckled at that. “Another score for Mr. Boyd. You’re lucky to have him.”
Ben gave his father a withering look. “He does these weird questions just ‘cos he knows we won’t find fast answers in canned study outlines.”
“Imagine that,” Logan replied, his grin telegraphing how much he’d missed the comfort of his family, their mundane, homey moments like this. “Making you guys use your very own brains.”
Ben went on, “‘...tell us about the quotes we hear all the time from this play and what they mean. Are they quoted correctly? Why are they important?’” He looked up and asked, “you want to hear the quotes?”
“Sure,” Logan nodded.
“Okay. The first one is ‘to be or not to be that is the question...’”
Logan frowned. “Did he write it like that, all one line?”
Ben shrugged. “Yeah. See?” He handed the paper to his father, who looked it over and beamed.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot how much I like Mr. Boyd.” He glanced at Max. “He’s got the famously misquoted lines, too.”
“A fellow geek,” Max smirked.
“So have you looked at enough of the play to get the main themes?”
Ben thought for a moment. “I dunno if it’s a main theme, but there’s a lot about death in it.”
Logan nodded. “Good. Like what?”
“Well ... he’s upset ‘cos his dad died...” Ben suddenly looked up at Logan, realizing that the play may not be what his own father wanted to discuss at the moment. “Maybe too much death for your first day home?” he asked, guiltily.
Logan smiled at his son’s concern and was quick to reassure him. “A nice reminder of the fact that I bounced back. Oddly enough, from the same thing - you caught what killed his father?”
Benjy thought a moment, and asked, puzzled, “poison?” Logan nodded, and he frowned again, “but ... in his ear?”
Logan shrugged. “Why not? Seeps though his system...”
Ben shifted uncomfortably. “Dad, I didn’t think...”
“Hey - ” Logan reached over to grab his son’s knee and give it a supportive squeeze. “It’s okay, Benjy - I got better. It’s not hard to talk about at all,” Logan fibbed a little for his son, and tipped his chin back to the paper. “More death stuff in the play?”
“Well... yeah. Him. And others, and his dad’s ghost even shows up.”
“What about more than just the actual deaths?”
Ben thought for a moment, then nodded, “well, they talk about it a lot. Or at least Hamlet does.”
“That’s good, Ben, he does.”
His son even laughed, “yeah, and his mom and uncle the king tell him to get over it...”
Logan grinned proudly at how much his son had picked up, despite claiming to have not gotten much. “Yeah, they did - but even that part is a good example of what makes Shakespeare so popular even now, so many years after it was written, because how well he says things. Lots of plays and stories and TV shows might have the same scene, with mom and uncle saying, ‘get over it already. Everyone dies. You’re being really girly about it, and you’re creeping us out.’” Ben grinned despite himself, and Logan challenged, “isn’t that what they were saying?”
At Ben’s nod, Max said “why don’t you get the play? I want to hear how Shakespeare says it.”
“Okay.” As he popped up again to get his book, Max turned to Logan and traced his cheek affectionately. “You’d make a pretty good teacher yourself.”
“With your back-up.” He leaned back, feeling calm and contented, as Ben came back in, flipping through the play.
“Wanna read it, Dad? You’d do it better...”
“I don’t think so. You found it just fine, so you know how it needs to be read.”
Ben seemed to be pleased with the confirmation, and looking down the lines, half-laughed, “yeah, this is how his uncle starts, ‘How is it that the clouds still hang on you?’”
As Logan smiled in his fatherly pride, watching his son get pulled in by Shakespeare in spite of himself, Max’s eyebrows went up, seeming genuinely surprised. “Good way to put it.”
“Yeah, and it’s worse, because this is from his uncle,” Ben explained to his mother, more engrossed in the story now. “See, his dad died, and his mom married his dad’s brother right away, but then his dad’s ghost comes back to tell Hamlet that it was his uncle - his dad’s brother - who killed him.”
“Sounds like a soap opera.”
“Oh, yeah,” Logan chuckled. “What else do they say, Ben?”
“Um ... oh, here’s the King: ‘'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, To give these mourning duties to your father: But, you must know, your father lost a father; That father lost, lost his; and the survivor bound In filial obligation for some term To do obsequious sorrow; but to persevere In obstinate condolement is a course Of impious stubbornness; 'tis unmanly grief.’”
Max’s eyes clouded over for only a moment, the sound of the callous King’s words so close to what she’d heard as a child. She felt Logan’s hand squeeze hers gently as he asked Ben, “you know what he’s getting at?”
“Sure - ‘everyone dies so suck it up.’”
Logan nodded, “but anyone can say it that way. And he got to the point, didn’t he?”
Ben smirked, caught. “Yeah, I guess so. But what about all these quotes, ‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well...’”
Logan grinned. “Did you find that quote in the play?” At his son’s head shake, Logan suggested, “Try Act V, Scene I. And that’s not the actual line.” As Ben flipped through the pages of his book, Logan explained, “It starts off with a couple clowns digging a grave, lots of jokes and puns and plays on words - then Hamlet and his buddy show up and they joke about the skulls being dug up as the new grave is being dug, wondering who they were. The gravedigger even talks about him, about Prince Hamlet, being crazy and being sent off to England - he has no idea that’s who is there with him in the graveyard - and all at once, with another skull, Hamlet asks who the skull belonged to. And what did the gravedigger say?”
Ben traced down the script, and found, “‘A whoreson mad fellow's it was: whose do you think it was?’ ... and Hamlet says ‘Nay, I know not.’ And the clown says, ‘A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! a' poured a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the king's jester.’ and Hamlet says, ‘this,’ and...”
“No, not ‘this...’” Logan interrupted him gently. “After all the joking and traded lines, the guy says, ‘it’s Yorick's skull, the king's jester.’ Hamlet’s in this stinking graveyard, death on his mind a lot lately and at the moment, all around him, and suddenly it’s personal. And he says ‘...this?’ Like, ‘this is Yorick?’” And the gravedigger says it is, and Hamlet reaches out, suddenly thrown back in all these memories, and says ‘Let me see...’” Logan mimed taking the imaginary skull, and stared at it in his feigned, wary amazement, and continued, “‘Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio...’”
Logan looked over at Ben, as he repeated the famous lines, not as a quote but as if he were explaining to his son that this person, this skull, wasn’t just any stranger, but an old friend. Ben - and Max - were riveted.
“‘... a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now ...’”
Logan fell quiet and realized he’d let the scene take him over, too. Coloring a little, he dropped his hand and explained softly, ‘a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy...’ he was always telling jokes, told great stories ... From someone Hamlet knew and who had entertained him - gave him piggyback rides - now all that’s left is a skull in a cemetery, the smell of death around him, taking over his memories. The jokes and songs didn’t last...”
Ben looked at his father, long, and the emotion deep in the boy’s eyes told Logan maybe he’d made too much of an impression. Before he could say anything, though, Ben closed the script, stood, and gave his father a sudden, emotional hug. “I’m glad you’re home, Dad.”
Logan held his son close, feeling the powerful emotions in his child echoed in himself. “Me, too.”
After another moment, Ben stood, and held up the script. “I’m gonna go read this again.” As he started to leave, Logan called to him.
“Look, Ben - maybe that’s kind of heavy for right now. What about later? We could just watch a movie or something...”
The boy shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It just makes it all pretty real, ya know? Things I didn’t really get before...” He paused a moment, then suddenly looked back to his parents with the dazzling smile he’d gotten from the Cale side of the family. “Besides, you said it - you got better.”
Logan looked at the young man and finally nodded, grinned too. “I did. But, just for fun - maybe you need to follow up with a comedy right away, like A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It’s got sex in it...” He chuckled at Max’s immediate smack on his leg.
“Cool!” Benjy beamed. “Maybe I should read it first.”
“Would just impress your teacher, reading beyond the assignment.” Logan’s grin lingered as he watched Ben disappear back into his room. He looked over at Max, who was beaming at him, her eyes moist.
“Doing homework on a Saturday morning. Definitely your kid,” she prodded him, emotionally.
“Like I’m the only overachiever here,” he lay back against the cushions, weariness creeping up on him again.
“The only geek.” She saw him tiring and shifted out from under his legs to come around to his side. “Logan, don’t ever think about leaving us again,” she whispered, leaning in to rest her forehead on his, but then pulled back, smiling her encouragement and hoping to bring a little lightness back into the room. “We love you way too much to let you ‘shuffle off this mortal coil.’”
“And here you acted as if you’d never read Hamlet.”
She grinned. “Think you’re the only ham actor in the family?” She reached again to trace his cheek lovingly, and said, “rest up, Shakespeare. You’ll have your hands full with Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
He grinned; she kissed his forehead. She’d barely gotten to the hall before she heard his breathing deepen into a soft, steady sleep. With a soft smile to herself, she felt herself relax a little more. Logan was home and was spouting Shakespeare on his first day back. If ever there was a sign that things would be back to normal soon, that had to be close...