Dark Angel 1. fallen hero

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

**Clean Slate **

Chapter 1

_Fallen Hero_

It was a typical June morning in Post-Pulse Seattle. The sun had risen early and was already beginning to burn off the marine layer and drizzle that had settled in the night before. That little bit of rain the city received every night was welcome. It cleaned up the streets some; made everything a little bit fresher; like the city got a new start every morning.

Max rode her bike through back alleys and crowded streets, weaving her way between the broken down abandoned cars, the impromptu businesses set up in doorways, the groups of people huddled in masses trying to fight off the morning damp and chill, and finally down the ramp into Jam Pony to begin yet another day and make yet another dollar.

The messengers were getting ready to start their day; the ones recovering from their late nights and hangovers hid in the back and the break room, hoping to be overlooked for those more prepared to take the early runs. As Max rode past the front desk, Normal made a point of glaring at her, and then glaring pointedly at the clock before glaring at her again. "You're late, Missy! Again! Keep this up and you won't have a job to be late for!"

A myriad of comebacks and smart-ass replies floated into Max's mind. _Dead dog? Used that one before. Mugged? Nah, he wouldn't believe it anyway. Couldn't find my lucky panties and after twenty minutes finally decided I would just have to go without? No – Instead of shocking him silent it might just turn him on. Better not to risk it_, she calculated. _Oh, screw it, I'm too tired,_ and instead she didn't look up or acknowledge him at all as she proceeded towards her locker. _This is good. This will piss him off worse… and it takes less energy on my part_, she concluded happily as she purposely ignored his apoplectic rant about slackers, degenerates, Liberal Democrats, and the demise of the American work ethic.

Original Cindy stood in front of her locker shaking her head at Max. "Someday you're gonna kill boss-man. Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna cheer and wear a red dress. But you're gonna kill him."

"Whatever. I'm only ten minutes late. For me, that's almost like being early."

"So Normal should be grateful?"

"Exactly. Is he still yelling at me?" Max casually questioned, looking over her shoulder to see if the verbal diatribe was still being directed at her.

"Nah. Looks likes he's bruising up Sketchy, now. You just got him started off. You wanna grab lunch later?"

"Yeah, maybe. Check with me in a couple of hours?"

"What! You waiting to see if your boy calls up with a better offer?" Original Cindy shook her head sadly. "It's a sad, sad day when a girl abandons her friends for a man. 'Specially a man that ain't even called her yet…"

"It's not that. He just might need me to run an errand for him. I'll know later. I'm not blowing you off."

"Whatever, girl." Cindy rolled her eyes and turned towards her locker, muttering very quietly under her breath, "Always running rich boy's errands. Original Cindy would like to know what's so _damn_ important he's gotta get his girl to do it for him. Boy can't run his own damn errands..?"

Her angry mutterings were interrupted by the shout of another messenger. "NO WAY!" He was in front of the TV, gawking at a newscast.

"Woah!" Sketchy stared in awe at the screen. "Max! OC!" He called out. "Come here, you're not gonna believe this!" Rolling her eyes, Original Cindy walked reluctantly over towards the television. Max curiously followed close behind.

"…**The privately funded team was able to trace the broadcast source of the underground cyber-journalist to an apartment in the heart of Seattle. Police immediately responded to the report but we are still waiting to hear if the notorious Eyes Only has been taken into custody. Seattle police have issued a statement …"**

"Man, I can't believe they caught him! This sucks! The guy is a total hero!" Sketchy lamented to the TV screen. All the messengers began an animated and loud discussion about how they couldn't believe it, how wrong it was, how someone could have found him, how it was probably all just a hoax, how all the cops were a bunch of stupid…

Max was totally silent, but her mind raced. While her emotional and immediate reaction was to inwardly scream "Logan!" and to rush to his aid, her rational mind knew that in order to help him, she would need to think. How could they have found him? She supposed anyone with enough money and resources could track him down eventually. The news report had said "privately funded team." That ruled out the D.A. Manticore? They probably wanted him dead pretty badly after he warned the others away after Zack's escape. However, she doubted very much that Lydecker would take the trouble of reporting his findings to the daily news before sending a team to extract all of Logan's secrets and then make him disappear forever.

That left someone with money and a grudge. A pissed off drug lord or crooked politician who wanted to do whatever it took to make Eyes Only go away forever. There were probably quite a few suspects that fell into this category.

_Who_ didn't really matter right now, she rationalized. The priority is to get to Logan and get him out of a dangerous situation. To protect him.

In the few seconds that Max spent rationalizing and prioritizing, she almost missed the next bombshell.

"…**the identity of Eyes Only. The Sector 9 apartment where all broadcasts originated is owned by Logan Cale, a major stockholder of Cale Industries and former journalist for the Pacific Free Press. We go now to a live report…"**

The television screen contained two images. On the left was a picture of Logan, the one Max recognized as being from his sector pass. On the right was the familiar face of Eyes Only, the streaming banners frozen against the still red, white and blue background. Looking at the two images side by side, it didn't take too much imagination to recognize that the eyes were exactly the same.

Suddenly everyone in the room went from staring at the TV in shock to staring at Max in shock. They recognized this guy, and they knew why he came around. Max, who had spent the last eleven years learning to disappear in a crowd, shifted uncomfortably under everyone's glances.

"Don't you go out with that guy?" One of the messengers asked incredulously.

She merely swallowed. It never really occurred to her before that if Logan's identity went public she would be as exposed as he was. Her anonymity was threatened and she wasn't sure what to do. She felt like everyone was looking at her for an explanation, confirmation, something.

Original Cindy softly questioned, "Max?"

"Cindy, it's not what you think…"

"Relax, Sugar," she said with an understanding smile, "this actually explains a whole lot of stuff." She gave a small laugh. "I suppose it wasn't enough that he was just rich and smart and good-looking, huh?"

Max then noticed that a couple of the other riders were looking at her with…what was it? Respect?

It didn't matter! They were still looking at her and she had to do something to control the exposure. She had to think fast. She needed to snap out of it; get her head back in the game and work her way out of this mess. And she needed to do it fast so she could go help Logan. A million thoughts, excuses, and lines floated around in her mind. She could fix this. Then the on-site reporter's voice penetrated into her brain.

…**here, where the car registered to Logan Cale exploded, parked in the underground structure of the building where he resided. Although the fire is being contained, the full extent of the damage has yet to be determined. We do know that a body was found, and authorities are reporting that Cale was most likely killed in the blast.**

All the swirling thoughts were suddenly replaced with one very powerful thought.

_Logan!_

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for lending her encouragement and advice…_

_Reviews Welcome_


	2. angst and aggression

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

Clean Slate

Chapter 2

_Angst and Aggression_

Max couldn't breathe. It was like when she was forced to do training exercises at the bottom of the pool and she held her breath longer than even she thought possible while her lungs burned and colors began to swim in front of her eyes. Images mixed with the colors. She was vaguely conscious of Cindy's arm around her; of the strange look on Normal's face, as though he felt something; of the television showing pictures of Logan's burnt out SUV and the crumpled remains of a wheelchair that had been blown half way across the garage by the strength of the blast.

She stood in front of this same TV a year ago, watching a bullet rip through Logan's spinal cord...

He was supposed to take his car in to the shop on Thursday to repair the damaged windshield from the hoverdrome...

They had beautiful strawberries at the market. She was going to bring him a basket next time she went over...

Logan…

She needed to go; she needed to see. It just didn't feel right. She had always imagined that she would _feel it_ if anything ever happened to Logan. She needed to see his body, needed to find out what really happened. Only then would she be able to figure out who was responsible for taking Logan away from her and track down every last one of them and kill them slowly and painfully by remembering all of the tricks that she had spent the last eleven years trying to forget.

Tears pooled in her eyes but she wouldn't let them fall. She was so intent on making her plans that she jumped in surprise when her pager sounded near her ear. Cindy pulled the pager from the strap at Max's shoulder and handed it to her. Max stared at it for a moment as though she had never seen it before, but she forced herself to recover. _Focus!_ She reminded herself sternly. _You're still exposed! Keep it together!_

It wasn't a phone number she recognized.

She walked over to Normal's desk and dialed. She kept her voice calm and neutral. Anybody could have been on the other end of that line. She wouldn't give anything away. "I was paged to this number," was all she said when the other side answered her call.

"Max, it's me." She recognized Bling's voice and relaxed a tiny bit.

"What's going on?"

"Max, it's OK. _Everyone_ is OK. We've had a busy morning, that's all. We're at the safe house on Seneca. Can you come right away? He says he has something for you."

It was like there was oxygen in the room again as the pain in her chest lessened. He was OK; everything would be OK. She could breathe again.

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

She hung up the phone and went to her locker to retrieve her bag. As she passed Original Cindy, Max leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry." She quickly squeezed her friend's hand and walked out of Jam Pony. She never once looked back at the questioning and unbelieving faces which she was so concerned with only a few moments before.

Max made her way across downtown Seattle as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself. She was desperate to get to Logan. As she traveled past city blocks and took shortcuts through questionable alleys, Max forced herself to deal with feelings that she had been conveniently ignoring for months. They were the same feelings that jumped up and bit her in the ass this morning, and she couldn't pretend she didn't feel anything when it was still so fresh.

Those few moments when she thought he was dead were the loneliest moments in her little life, and she never wanted to repeat them. He was the only one in the whole mean world who really knew her, looked out for her, made her feel safe. _I don't want to lose Logan!_ Her mind cried furiously.

The fact was that the thought of losing him terrified her. Thing is, Max realized, she was always scared of losing him, not just today. She was scared that Manticore would catch up with her and she would have to leave him. She was scared that they would hurt Logan because of her, and he was in danger just by being around her. She was scared that he would finally realize what a freak-show killer she really was, be disgusted and leave. And if she let him get too close, it would just hurt all the more when she did end up losing him. Max never got to keep anything for long.

It occurred to her that she didn't let herself have anything because she was so scared of losing _everything_. She tried so hard to keep things from getting complicated with Logan so it wouldn't hurt when she lost him. But when she thought she had lost him, it hurt anyway. Like it or not, things were complicated. And it wasn't in her nature to run from things that scared her.

Max reached the safe house. It was a tiny, one room studio apartment, shabby but clean. The building was run down but functional. It was the sort of place that didn't really draw any special attention, which is exactly what Logan Cale was counting on when he leased it through a false bank account many months ago.

She impatiently tapped on the door, and listened to the clicking noise as Bling unlatched the chain and stepped aside so she could enter. Moments before, Logan had been sitting at the small table in the corner typing away on his laptop. As Max appeared in the doorway, he pushed his computer back slightly on the table. His face lit up as he stood up, gave her a small smile, and softly said, "Hey, Max".

His balance was affected slightly as she desperately launched herself straight into his arms.

The tears she refused to shed and the emotions that she tried to squelch finally surfaced as she clung to him. "God, Logan, I thought you were dead," she whispered to him as she cried quietly and held him even closer to her.

"Shh, Max, it's alright." He calmly reassured her, stroking her hair and holding her tightly. "Everything's fine now. I'm right here." He was totally perplexed at her hysteria. Was she really this emotional at the thought of losing _him_? That notion filled him with a surge of joy and hope, even in the wake of all that had happened, and conflicting with the regret he felt for making her worry and cry like this. He regretted that there just hadn't been time to call her sooner. He held her closely and brushed the hair from her face until her tears subsided and she began to relax the vice-like grip she had around him.

After a few last deep, shuddered breaths, she had composed herself enough to pull away from him. Calmer now, and more than a little embarrassed at her overt display of girliness, she offered up a shy and tentative smile in apology. His eyes were full of understanding and reassurance as he smiled back and placed a quick and gentle kiss on her forehead before letting her go.

Max got up and took a few steps away before suddenly stopping. Almost as though she just remembered something, she spun around and crossed the distance back to Logan. Glaring at him, she slammed a strong right hook into his arm, just below the shoulder.

"OW!" She hit hard! Logan was stunned by the amount of force she could put behind a punch almost as much as he was stunned by the sudden and complete change in her mood. "What was that for?"

"You scared the Hell out of me today!"

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her advice and encouragement…_

_Reviews Welcome_


	3. flight plan

_Author's note: This story goes AU sometime during MEOW. Logan has a working exoskeleton, but Max never hooked up with the pizza guy. That's as specific as I can get…_

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

**Clean Slate **

Chapter 3

_Flight Plan_

"You know they have your picture up on every channel, right?" Max inquired.

"I know. It's proving to be very inconvenient," Logan replied absently, more concerned with assessing the bruise that was forming on his arm.

"And you know your car's been fire bombed?" She tried again, hoping to goad him into telling her what happened. "The news said they found a body."

"Yeah, well, fortunately, it wasn't mine."

Logan had awakened at an early hour, determined to make a good start at making the world a safer place so he would feel justified in opting out of his family obligations in favor of important work. Since his uncle's very public funeral a few days ago, Seattle was infested with extended relatives and distant family he hadn't seen –or thought of- in years. Everyone seemed to want to "get together for lunch" and "catch up" and other social activities that he just didn't have the stomach for. If he was saving the world, he had an excuse, he figured. So he woke up early, brewed a pot of coffee, and started the crusade.

He had just finished sending off an e-mail to an informant when an alarm on his computer sounded and a window popped open and flashed to get his attention. Someone was attempting to track his signal, and they were almost in. Logan wasted a few precious minutes trying to send false information to whomever was hacking into his system, trying to divert them off of his trail. When he realized it wasn't going to work, he went into overdrive saving files to his laptop and then booting the program which would totally destroy all of his data if anyone other than him were to get hold of it, transferring select items onto discs, and wiping all information off of his hard drives.

He collected all of the files that were piled haphazardly around his desk, along with his paper trails from past investigations that hadn't been shredded yet. He stuffed all of the documents into his a metal wastebasket and carried them into his bathroom. He set the wastebasket inside his shower and set a match to the documents, pausing only long enough to make sure that the flames were igniting properly.

He knew he was cutting it too close, but he was satisfied that nobody would be able to access his files and that his informants would be safe. Then he turned to the less important task of saving his own butt. He knew that someday the bad guys would find him and try to take him out of business for good, but he had no intention of making it easy for them.

Logan had never minded taking risks, but he was a firm believer in good planning. He figured an escape route was always a good idea, and three or four of them was a better idea. There was always the possibility that he would have to relocate in a hurry.

On the chance that he would have to get out fast, he had prepared an escape kit, and he periodically updated and improved on its contents. His "run-away-bag," as he had always referred to it in his mind, was a large black backpack that resided in the back of his closet and was always ready to go. It contained a driver's license, sector pass, birth certificate, and passport, all under an assumed name. There was also a gun with ammunition, three disposable cell phones, $20,000 in cash, and a very small box that held the things he had decided he wouldn't want to leave behind if he never came back. The box held his mother's wedding ring, his father's watch, a few letters that he had saved over the years, and a small stack of family photographs that he never displayed because of caution but never got rid of because of sentimentality. He had added his mother's locket to the box shortly after Max had liberated it on his behalf. It was tucked securely underneath a few changes of clothes and a well stocked bag of toiletries and first aid supplies. There was just enough room in the bag for his laptop, which he slid into its padded compartment as he prepared to leave.

There was also a second, smaller bag in the back of his closet, a "run-away-bag" that he began putting together for Max shortly after his surgery, when events with Lydecker had reminded them that she may have to leave in a hurry someday as well. He had outfitted it with a new and complete set of false IDs, a substantial amount of cash, a pharmacy size bottle of tryptophan that he hoped would last her many months, and a disc of all the Manticore data he had so far collected for her, just in case she needed the information and couldn't contact him.

He made a split-second decision and grabbed the second bag along with his own. He was leaving his apartment in a hurry, but he would stay in the city until he knew what was going on. He would give it to her before he left. She needed those things, he rationalized, all the time knowing it would give him an excuse to see her again.

He grabbed his wallet, his coat, his keys, and his phone. Hefting up the two bags, he took a last look around his apartment, knowing he wouldn't see it again any time soon and desperately hoping that he wasn't forgetting anything.

He was immensely grateful for the exoskeleton during those hurried moments. It saved him those precious minutes that could make the difference between escape and capture. His wheelchair was in his car, along with everything else he figured he would need to make a clean getaway. He had attended a family obligation the day before, and had once again chosen to appear in the wheelchair despite wearing the exoskeleton under his clothing. He hadn't been ready to go public with the fact that he was up and walking again. Logan decided that in retrospect, that was a very wise thing, and it would probably be very useful to his getaway to have people assume he was still chair bound.

Logan rode down in the elevator, but on impulse, decided to get out on the first floor. If he were to run into anything unpleasant, it would most likely be in the lobby or the parking garage, he figured.

He took the stairs from the first floor to the ground floor, briefly and subtly inspecting the lobby. After deciding it was clear, he took the stairs further down to the parking garage. He started to enter the garage when a sudden movement made him freeze. A man was walking past his car. He was tall, strong, and thug-like, and he looked like he couldn't afford to live in Logan's part of town. Logan watched as the man unscrewed the gas cap from his SUV and replaced it with something else.

Logan backed away from the door as quietly as he could, climbed the stairs back to the lobby, left the building through a fire exit door in the back, avoided the sidewalk in front of his building by walking down a back alley, dug out his cell phone, and tried not to flinch when he heard the explosion.

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her advice and encouragement…_

_Reviews Welcome_


	4. lying eyes

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…the e-mail format is attributed to D.A. Stern._

**Clean Slate **

Chapter 4

_Lying Eyes_

"He called me on his way over here to warn me and keep me from walking into a bad situation," Bling interjected as Logan was finishing his story. "Then he walked to the safe house, and he's been here working ever since."

"So whose body did they end up finding?" Max wondered.

"My best guess," Logan ventured, "our friend the car bomber wasn't very good at his job and triggered an explosion. I figure that if a bystander got hit by the blast, we would have heard about it by now. Someone would have been reported as missing." He reflected sadly, "A lot of people could have gotten hurt today."

"_You_ could have gotten hurt today!" she reemphasized. She had never totally shared Logan's altruistic love of the masses; she was much more concerned with Logan's longevity than that of a dead hit man.

"But I wasn't. The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated." He smiled softly at her, still touched and amazed at her obvious concern for him. For so long his insecurities had never allowed him to believe that Max could feel anything more than detached friendship towards him. Her mere presence calmed him, and he was just so glad that she was here with him today, if only for a short time.

Logan's phone rang, and he briefly glanced at the display to see who was calling, but he didn't answer. He had been doing that a lot over the last hour. Since the news began reporting his secret identity and subsequent death, his phone had been ringing nonstop. People wanting to know what was going on, find out if he was OK, see if it was really true. He ignored them all. He had already called the people he needed to speak with and sent the appropriate codes out on the informant net. As far as everyone else was concerned, it was better if they thought him dead.

This last call gave him pause, though. It was his cousin Bennett. Logan was genuinely fond of Bennett, more than anyone else in his father's family perhaps, and he would have liked to have reassured him, but he decided against it. While Logan had paid good money to make sure his phone was secure and untraceable, he doubted that his cousin had taken the same precautions. It was entirely possible the police were sitting in Bennett's living room waiting to hear the other end of the conversation, or that the bad guys that had tracked him down also had a phone tap on every member of his family. He couldn't risk answering.

What must his family be thinking of him now? _Little Logan Junior_ _is really Eyes Only_. Did they still think he was a disappointment, or did they now think he was a traitor? Logan wondered how many of them had made the connection between his broadcast and the downfall of the family business. There were probably a couple of newly impoverished relatives who hoped he really was dead. He hoped his cousin wasn't one of them.

The thought made his stomach hurt. He would think about it later, when everything calmed down some. Instead, he turned his attention back to Max.

I've got something for you," he said as he sat down next to her on the bed and handed her the small black bag.

He couldn't help but smile at her predictable feline curiosity as she showed an immediate interest in the bag and its contents. He watched her as she nodded appreciatively at the false IDs, raised her eyebrows at the large bundle of cash, smiled tenderly at the tryptophan, and looked at the disc with curious distrust. "What is all this?"

"It's just some stuff I started putting together for you awhile back. Some things you'll need if you ever need to get out of town in a hurry." He added quietly, "Like last time…" He looked at her for a moment as he remembered the 'last time' and how painful it was to part from her, knowing it was for the best but breaking his heart just the same. It seemed like it was about to happen all over again. "The disc is all the intel I've found on Manticore and the other eleven escapees, along with some notes and contact information so you can keep going without me."

She gave him a hard stare. Somehow the words "without me" were the only ones she was able to concentrate on, and she dismissed the rest of his statement as unimportant by comparison. He was leaving? Of course he was leaving! People were trying to kill him, what choice did he have? She knew it was the only option and she just had to accept it. After all, it was more important to keep him secure than to keep him close. The world needed men like Logan Cale.

But the little voice in her head persisted. Logic and practicality be damned, she didn't want to lose Logan! She had already lost him and got him back once that morning, only to find she was just going to lose him all over again. That horrible feeling of loneliness began to creep back upon her. It felt just like before, when Lydecker had closed in on her. She had found a way back to him then and pushed back the inevitable separation, but it seemed this might really be the end.

"I always figured that Manticore would find me and everyone would be after me and I would have to run. I just never thought about you being the one who would have to disappear in the dead of night." She gave him a feeble smile and stared at him with sad eyes as he gently brushed the top of her hand with his fingertips.

"I know," he whispered back, his own eyes filled with apology and regret. He continued to gently stroke the top of her hand while he desperately tried to think of something to say. It was hard to find the words that would convey the sorrow he felt at the thought of leaving her and the regret that he would carry because there would always be so much left unsaid between them. But the words seemed so inadequate and there was still so much left to do and he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that they weren't alone, so he forced himself to be content just to be able to sit near her and look at her and touch her hand for a moment.

He desperately wished there was more he could do for her; more he could give her. Max did so much for him. She saved him, from danger and from despair. Not only did she jump off of buildings to rescue him and give up her own life-blood to heal him, her mere presence gave him a good reason to get out of bed in the mornings, which hadn't been an easy thing since the shooting. She watched over him, fought for his causes, as if she were his own personal guardian angel who had come to Earth just to look over him. And what did he ever give her in return? Some incomplete information about her siblings, some medication, a few small favors here and there. Occasionally he boiled pasta for her. He reflected bitterly that there was very little he could give Max, and that was another regret he would take away with him.

Everyone in the room immediately stilled as they heard a sudden tapping noise. Max's body tensed as she got up from the bed and carefully approached the door. She could hear one body breathing outside, and she verified that by peering through the peephole in the door before she unchained and unbolted the locks, then stepped back to allow Detective Sung to enter the room.

"Hey, Matt. Thanks for coming," Logan greeted the detective.

"Hello, Logan. Are you alright?" Both Max and Logan noticed how Matt Sung was looking in the corner of the room and the spot just behind Logan's shoulder, but not actually at Logan himself. He seemed distant and spoke with quiet, polite formality.

"I'm fine. What's the situation out there?"

"It's pretty chaotic. There's a squad of police at your apartment, you won't be going back there for awhile. They still haven't been able to ID the body. I didn't see it, but I heard it was pretty messy down there. The station managers at the local news stations all said that the tip on your identity and location was phoned in anonymously, the same way it was sent to the police chief. My guess is that somebody pretty high up in the department knew about the search for you since an entire unit was mobilized as soon as the tip came in. We usually don't respond to anonymous tips like that without some sort of proof."

"So whoever found me has someone high up in the department. That might help narrow it down. What about charges against me?"

"Right now the D.A. officially wants you for questioning in regard to several unsolved murders. Criminals who wound up dead after Eyes Only exposed them. There was some smuggler about 9 months back…" Matt trailed off quietly after that, as though lost in thought. "That night, in the hanger with Bronk…you were telling the truth that night."

"I wasn't sure how much you would remember about that night." He sighed. Now Logan understood why Matt wasn't looking at him, why he seemed so ill at ease. How many other people felt betrayed by his lies? Again the thoughts of family and friends hearing the reports of his alter ego surfaced in his mind, making him feel ill when he imagined their potential reactions. "Matt, I never wanted to lie to you. It was for your own protection as much as anything else."

The detective merely nodded, still unwilling to look his friend in the eye. He did understand the need for secrets, but still couldn't help but feel betrayed at the deception from the man he trusted and considered his friend. If he had been honest with himself, he would have realized that he also felt embarrassed and foolish for not figuring it out sooner. Yet he _did_ understand.

"The D.A. thinks he can pin you with the murder of Joel Solinski. After Eyes Only talked about Solinski's death in one of his –I mean _your_- hacks, a couple of prosecutors got suspicious and started piecing together a case."

"He didn't kill Solinski," Max piped in. _I did_, she thought to herself. _Well, not technically. I just put him in a position where he could get very dead in a hurry. But he was a murderer and deserved it and Logan didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with what I did…Doesn't matter now._

"Either way," Matt shrugged and slowly shook his head at the hopelessness of the situation. "If the D.A. gets hold of you, there's a good chance that you'll get life in prison or the death sentence. And for every one cop out there who'll bring you in, there will be another one looking to do you harm. But the biggest problem is that your name and face are all over the television. Every enemy Eyes Only ever made knows what you look like now, and you stepped on a lot of toes over the years. If you have an escape plan, now is the time to use it."

Logan was quiet for a moment while he reevaluated his plans. "You said that body was pretty bad?"

"From what I was told, yeah. Like I said, I didn't see it myself."

"I think it would probably be a pretty good idea for Logan Cale to stay dead for awhile longer. I have a contact in the coroner's office that can probably make that happen. It might buy me some time."

The exoskeleton whirred as Logan walked across the room towards his laptop to send off a new e-mail. At first he only thought to send word to Beverly Shankar as soon as possible so she could interfere with the identification of the dead man, but after four steps across the room he slowed his pace at the incredulous look on Detective Sung's face. Logan realized a moment too late that Matt would be shocked to see him walking.

"It's called an exoskeleton," Logan explained sheepishly as he pulled the cuff of his pant leg slightly higher to show part of the device to Matt. "Made by the Department of Defense. A friend sent it to me a little while ago to help me get around."

Matt sung merely nodded and Logan continued to sit at the table and type out an e-mail. He briefly wondered why he felt so guilty, as though he was just caught in another dirty lie. He supposed in a small way it was: a paralyzed man who could walk around town could be interpreted as somewhat dishonest. He felt as if all of the deception was catching up to him. Eyes Only had always been about honesty, about finding and exposing the truth. In order to do that he had to stay anonymous, and at the time it seemed like the safe, correct, and necessary thing to do. Why, suddenly, did it feel like his usually high morals were crumbling down around him?

As he typed out an e-mail, he wondered if Beverly was feeling the same betrayal that Matt was so clearly experiencing. How many of his informants would feel deceived, knowing that all the times he had been delivering messages from Eyes Only had been a lie. Did they still trust him? Would they still help him?

He tried to control the feeling of dread as he sent off his message.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To: raven

FROM: iionly

DATE: 6/4/20

RE: Dead Man Walking

Raven,

The informant net is still secure. Tuxedos and single gun shot wounds.

By now your office has probably taken in the body found near an exploded car in the parking garage of an apartment building. Police and news reports are assuming that the body belongs to Logan Cale. It would be very helpful if they could continue to assume that for as long as possible.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Max was uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange. Again, her mind was operating on two levels. She was forcing herself to come to terms with the fact that Logan would never again serve her dinner by candlelight or fight to stay awake all night just to keep talking to her because he knew she didn't sleep. She had always felt some guilt at the one-sidedness of their relationship. Logan had always given her so much. He helped her track down her family, he was always getting her out of trouble, and he listened to her and gave her a safe place to be herself and made her feel human. What did she do for him in return? Some B&E? Big deal. She was made to do stuff like that. Protecting him was the least she could do, and today was proving that she wasn't that good at it. The last time she failed to protect him he landed in a wheelchair.

She forced herself to ignore the scared little voice that had been plaguing her all morning and focus on protecting Logan. If he stayed in Seattle he faced prison or worse. He had made a lot of enemies over the years, and now they all had his photo and home address. If there was ever a time to get the hell out of Dodge, this was it.

"Logan, do you have a plan to get out of the city?"

"I have a little place on the California coast, about halfway between LA and San Francisco. It's pretty isolated, self-sufficient. I bought it a few years ago through a proxy in South America. I own it, but it can't be traced back to me. The plan is to get down there and lay low until things are quiet again. The hard part seems to be getting there. Bling, any luck finding me a car?"

"Nope. I've called everyone I know, and the soonest that I'll be able to get a hold of a new car with hand controls for you will be in three weeks."

"I would estimate you have closer to three hours, Logan." Matt explained, "The longer you wait, the better organized the search becomes. Can't you drive in that skeleton thing?"

"Unfortunately, no. I can't actually feel the brake or accelerator…"

"We can't risk planes or trains," Bling interjected. "Your face is all over the television. It only takes one person with a cell phone to bring you down."

"That's true," Matt confirmed, "You can't risk being recognized. And they're going to be searching cars and busses at every sector checkpoint, city limit and state border. Honestly, I'm not sure how you'll be able to get out of here."

"I am," Max said. "He's getting out on the back of a motorcycle."

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for lending her advice and encouragement…_

_Reviews Welcome_


	5. revised flight plan

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…the e-mail format is attributed to D.A. Stern._

**Clean Slate **

Chapter 5

_Revised Flight Plan_

"No, Max."

"What?" she demanded incredulously.

"I said no."

"Why not? You know I can get us out. Most of the sector cops know me; they won't give me a hard time. And they're looking for a guy in a wheelchair – they won't pay any attention to us."

"Max, I can't leave with you." Upon hearing those words come out of his mouth, Logan wondered if he was masochistic or merely insane. She wanted to come with him! To help him, maybe even just to be with him. To push back for at least a few more hours -or maybe even days- the inevitable pain of having to say goodbye. But he wouldn't let himself take advantage of her like that.

"Do you not want me to go with you?" she questioned carefully. She wondered if she had really misunderstood the situation so badly.

"It's not that I don't want you, Max." _You have no idea how badly I want you, Max_. "If you leave Seattle with me you may not ever be able to come back. Everyone will know you're connected to me and your cover is blown. You tried so hard to build your home here. I know how much it means to you: your job, your friends. I'm not going to be the one to take it away from you. I couldn't stand to see you lose everything because of me."

Max was again overcome by the sudden surge of tender emotion that only Logan ever seemed to inspire in her. Sometimes she hated that feeling! It went against all of her training and kept her from thinking clearly. _Better be careful, Max, _she told herself. _He's getting you to feel all sorts of things, and that's not safe until we get him out of the city. Focus. _She forced herself to keep it together and keep her mind on the mission. The mission was to protect Logan. _Don't lose Logan!_

"Logan," she began carefully, hoping she was choosing all the right words, "Everything in Seattle that matters to me most is in this room right now. Please stop wasting time. We need to go."

"Are you sure, Max?" he questioned quietly, taking her hand in his. "This isn't your fight, you know." He wanted to make sure she knew exactly what she was getting herself into. He also wondered at her words. Did she mean what he thought she meant? He wished yet again that he possessed the courage to ask her for clarification, but he was always too afraid of her potential answers. He was usually a very perceptive man, but for some reason with Max, he was never quite sure.

"When somebody tries to incinerate you, I make it my fight. I'm sure, Logan." He smiled at her and she beamed back at him, gently squeezing his hand, both so relieved that it wasn't goodbye yet. "And you're still wasting time."

"OK. So, do you have a plan?"

"Yeah. The plan is…we go. If anyone gets in the way, I'll kick their ass." She shrugged and gave him a look that defied him to ask for more details. She wondered why everyone always expected complicated planning from her. She made it up as she went along. Why did they still not get that?

"Simple and elegant; I like it." He was amazed at how lighthearted he suddenly felt. All the dread and anxiety of the last few hours was melting away, and he was filled instead with an optimistic calm that was telling him that everything would be all right now. He wondered if the fact that he was still holding her hand had anything to do with it.

He was momentarily distracted by a small chime from his laptop alerting him to an urgent incoming message, reminding him again of his dire situation. Logan reluctantly left Max's side to return to his computer. He ran a brief check to make sure that the I.P. addresses were still constantly shifting before opening the e-mail.

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TO: iionly

From: Raven

Date: 6/4/20

Re: Re: Dead Man Walking

I was very sorry to hear about Logan Cale. On the few occasions that I met him, he seemed like a remarkable man.

Your dental records were mysteriously misplaced once they reached this office, but any electronic files need to get lost in the system, fast!

R.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I've got to do some quick hacking before we go," he informed her. "It might take me about ten minutes."

"I'm gonna run home and grab some things and pick up my bike. I'll be back here, ready to go, in twenty. Is there anything at your apartment that you absolutely can't live without?" she questioned, offering one more B&E mission on his behalf.

"Don't worry. I packed my toothbrush," he answered, indicating with his eyes the bag resting in the corner. "And, Max, be careful out there."

"I always am. And you two," she turned a fierce gaze onto Bling and Matt Sung, "don't either of you open that door or let Logan out of your sight until I get back."

Logan was already at work at his computer, deleting all of his medical and dental records from any known databases as she walked out of the small, shabby safehouse and headed towards her own apartment. She was more cautious than usual as she entered her building, aware that someone may have already made the connection between her and Logan and tracked her down as well, but she sensed nothing out of the ordinary as she entered her apartment. She wasted no time throwing a few things into a small bag and getting her bike, but she did hesitate a few seconds over scrawling a quick note to her friend. Max figured that she probably wouldn't be back for awhile, and it wasn't right to just leave Original Cindy wondering about her.

_OC, _

_I have to leave and I don't know when I'll be back. I'm running an 'errand' with a friend, and we'll be just fine. Tell Normal I was abducted by aliens or something, and take good care of yourself. I'll miss you._

_Max_

She tucked the note under a cracked coffee cup on the kitchen counter, grabbed her things, and wheeled her bike out of the building without a backward glance. She was remarkably calm and focused as she rode back to the safehouse, her mind playing out possible scenarios about obstacles they might encounter at various city and state checkpoints.

She wheeled her bike into the building's hallway and tapped on the apartment door. Max noted with approval the way two guns were returned to their holsters when she entered the room, and she decided that both Bling and Matt were good men to have at your back when things went sideways. Only Logan could inspire such fierce loyalty in so many people, she decided.

"I'm back. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." After permanently misplacing all of his electronic medical, dental, and hospital records, Logan had removed his sector pass and credit cards from his wallet, along with anything else that had his name on it or could be connected to him. He had replaced them with his new counterfeit I.D., packed up his computer, put on his jacket, and spent the remainder of the time while he awaited Max's return idly wondering how many of his valuable possessions were currently being looted from his apartment by corrupt police.

"Here, put this on." Max handed him the motorcycle helmet that she kept but rarely wore herself.

"Actually, I was thinking it might be better if we got a different helmet, one with a visor that would totally cover my face."

"No. Bad idea," she countered.

"Why?"

"Because, _Batman_, when you cover your face, people get curious and want to _see_ your face. Sector cops at every checkpoint are going to ask you to lift up the visor to compare it to your sector pass, which could cause all sorts of unnecessary excitement for us today."

"So I take it you have a better idea to keep me from being recognized as we pass through all those inconvenient checkpoints?"

"Yep. Today Clark Kent wears sunglasses." Max handed him a pair of dark glasses that had been in her apartment for as long as she could recall. She thought they originally belonged to one of the men that Kendra brought home for passionate and short-lived relationships, but she couldn't really remember. She was just happy that they were there when she needed them. "I mean, really, how often does a cop ask you to take off your sunglasses?" she pointed out.

"If you say so." He had learned to trust in Max's instincts, and he decided she was slightly more adept in _escape and evade_ that he was. He took the sunglasses from her and turned to say goodbye to his friends.

"Here, Matt, I've got something for you," Logan said, handing over a disc that he had held out while repacking. "Be careful with it. That's Eyes Only."

The detective's face immediately registered surprise and shock, as though he hadn't heard his friend properly. "Excuse me?"

"That's everything that Eyes Only is working on right now, all my leads and my files and my contact information. I was hoping you could take over with the investigations. But Matt, if you don't want it, I'll understand."

"No, I'll take it," Matt Sung said, carefully placing the disc inside his jacket pocket. "Eyes Only's message still needs to get out. So this is it for you, huh?"

"No!" Logan was shocked at the very idea. "I'm not quitting, I'm just relocating for awhile. Don't worry, I'll be back. Stay strong in the struggle, my friend," he said as he extended his hand out to Matt in farewell.

Detective Sung nodded. "Yeah, you too. Be careful out there, man," he said, shaking Logan's hand.

"Bling," Logan said, turning to his friend and shaking his hand. He sighed, not quite sure how to express his gratitude and say goodbye. "Thank you, for everything."

"Just so you know, Logan, I'm not comfortable with the idea of you going anywhere without a wheelchair. That _thing_ could short out anytime. Make sure you order a new one as soon as you get where you're going."

"Yes, Mom."

Their goodbyes said, Logan and Max headed out to the street. Glancing at her watch, Max noticed that it was a little over two hours since she rode her bike down the ramp and into work that morning.

She climbed onto her motorcycle and edged forward as Logan awkwardly climbed on after her. He was still getting used to the exoskeleton and he had never tried anything like this before. "Are you gonna be OK back there?" she asked.

"I think so," he answered shifting his weight. Movement wasn't a problem, but the lack of sensation in his legs made staying upright on a bike a challenging task. "Balance is hard. I might have to hold on to you pretty tight."

She turned around, looked into his eyes, and gave him a slight, enigmatic smile. "Not a problem."

_Reviews Welcome_

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for lending her advice and encouragement._


	6. Hwy 101

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

**Clean Slate**

Chapter 6

_Hwy 101_

Logan thanked God as well as DaVinci and Newton and Copernicus and Edison and Galileo and every other great scientist who somehow laid the foundation for the brilliant minds at the Department of Defense who were able to develop his exoskeleton. He knew that without it he might not have gotten out of Seattle in time and he definitely wouldn't be speeding away along the Pacific Coast on the back of a motorcycle with his arms wrapped firmly around Max's warm waist and her hair gently whipping at his face and neck.

Their escape from the city limits had been easier than he ever would have dared to hope. They passed through checkpoint after checkpoint with relative ease, with Max calling out "Jam Pony messenger!" and cutting to the front of the line. She was a familiar sight to some of the guards, and they waved her through with a friendly nod and only a cursory glance at Logan's sector pass.

There were a few anxious moments when a cop would give them a closer scrutanization, when he felt Max tense and he tightened his grip around her, knowing at the first sign of trouble she would probably kick the cop over, jump the sector fence, and speed away into the distance. But in the end they were always waved through. No one questioned his fake sector pass, nobody ever asked him to so much as remove his sunglasses.

They had even made it past the city limits unchecked. It was nerve-wracking as they spent many long minutes detained at the gates that would allow them to exit Seattle. During that time Logan noticed a large printout of his picture in the guard shack and saw busses full of passengers being forced to unload for an extensive search where he heard one of the guards call out the word 'wheelchair,' and he overheard another guard grumble under his breath that he didn't know why he needed to be on the lookout for a dead man. He merely looked ahead as Max explained to the patrolman that they were headed down to Olympia to see her mom and spend the night, and they had eventually been ushered through.

They left the interstate at their first opportunity and headed west to travel along the coast. Max had decided the coastal route was strategically advantageous. Sector police would not be patrolling the isolated highway the same way they would be on the crowded interstate. In the outlying counties, sheriff resources were stretched too thin to afford many patrolers, and state troopers were almost nonexistent since the Pulse. Plus, fewer towns meant fewer people to recognize the now public face of Eyes Only, and there would probably be a much easier border crossing to get them out of the state.

As they raced down the highway, pristine pine forests on their left, the bright blue Pacific Ocean on their right, and beautiful sunshine overhead, Logan felt an exhilarated freedom that he had never experienced before. He was forcing himself to ignore the fact that since he woke up that morning, his life as he knew it had ended and that he had lost almost everything he had and that attempts had been made on his life, and he concentrated instead on the fresh air and the beautiful scenery and the exciting speed of the motorcycle along the highway, and on Max - always on Max.

A few hours before, being exposed to the world as Eyes Only was the most detrimental thing he could imagine happening. His alter ego was now on display to the entire world: his friends, his family, his informants, and his many enemies. He was suddenly homeless and he was running for his life; it didn't make sense for him to feel so relaxed and free.

It had all changed when Max said she would go away with him. _Interesting choice of words_, he thought to himself, _'go away with him,'_ as though they were on their way to some secret, romantic tryst instead of fleeing the state in an attempt to preserve his life and freedom. It was so easy to imagine that they were. The moment that Max announced her intentions to stay with him, it was like someone had injected him with a drug that made all his worries fade.

In his mind, he kept going back to her words_. 'Everything that matters to me most is in this room right now.' _What exactly did she mean? He always suspected that Max felt a sense of responsibility towards him since he was shot, as though she blamed herself for not being there, as if she were the reason he landed in that damn chair. He desperately wanted to know if she was coming with him to keep him safe from harm or for other, more personal reasons. He hated to think she was coming with him out of a sense of duty, and he simply couldn't bear the thought of her helping him because she thought he was too _helpless_ to help himself.

_Still_, he reasoned, _she had_ _said_ '_everything that matters to me most_…' She told him that he mattered to her, didn't she? Logan decided that for someone with Max's boundary issues, that might be equated with a heartfelt and passionate declaration of love. And she _was_ here with him, pressed dangerously close to him and comfortably situated inside his arms. And that fact alone was enough to make him forget about the peril and the loss and the deception and all his insecurities. He couldn't imagine any place he would rather be, so he just held on tight and enjoyed the ride.

Not too long after turning south on the coastal highway, they passed through a small fishing town with a working gas pump, so they decided to stop and refuel and allow themselves a break. Logan desperately needed to stretch his legs and give himself a rest from holding his balance for so long. As Max filled the gas tank, he glanced around. It was a tiny little town, home mostly to the fishermen who braved the icy Northern Pacific. The buildings were worn and weathered, and the front lots were overgrown with weeds, seedling pines, and wild blackberry brambles.

But as he surveyed the town, Logan was more interested in their local cuisine than in the curb appeal of their real estate. Ever since they left the interstate, he decided that if he had known that morning's breakfast would have been his last meal in his well stocked kitchen, he would have had more than toast and coffee. He was starving. From what he could see from his vantage point, the town featured a run-down restaurant that served clam chowder and a small shack with the words "Bakery and Deli" painted in the window. He decided the restaurant was a foolish choice since it meant spending many minutes sitting at a table under the inquisitive glances of small town residents. The town was still close enough to Seattle to receive their television feed.

"Wait here. I'm going to go grab us some lunch," Logan informed Max as he nodded toward the small structure across the way.

Max also felt that breakfast seemed like a long time ago, but she didn't like the idea of Logan getting too close to anyone who could recognize them. "No, I'll go. We'll get something and take it somewhere. And put those sunglasses back on when we're in public. I went to a lot of trouble coming up with that master disguise."

"And a brilliant disguise it is, despite my blurry vision. Here," he said, beginning to pull some bills from his wallet to hand to her.

She waved her hand to dismiss him as she walked away and smiled over her shoulder, "Don't worry about it. Some guy gave me a bag full of money this morning."

Max walked into the little store and checked out the selection while keeping a protective eye on Logan through the window. She bought a loaf of bread that was wrapped in brown paper and looked like it had come out of Grandma's oven earlier that morning, along with some cheese, a few of the pears that were almost always available in their little corner of the world, a couple of drinks, and some candy bars that were in a box by the register.

A few miles further down the coast they pulled off the highway to eat their lunch. They picnicked sitting on a washed up tree log at the top of a sand dune looking over the ocean. Again, Logan decided he would never have been able to plan anything this perfect if he tried. In his daydreams, he often imagined riding off with Max to some beautiful, romantic location, a picnic he had prepared laid out before her as she rested against him and laughed at something witty he had come up with. Surrounded by bleached sand and tall grass, breathing in the heavy sea air, he decided that his dreams were close to coming true.

Since he got it working again, the exoskeleton had certainly boosted his confidence. Without it, he would never have been able to ride behind Max on a motorcycle or walk with her on the beach or keep up with her at all. He had always fervently believed that she deserved all of those things and more, and it killed him inside that he couldn't give them to her. The exoskeleton was the first glimmer of hope he felt since Dr. Vertes had been killed, ending his hopes for recovery permanently. It didn't give him feeling below the waist, but it allowed him to pretend beautifully.

"Logan," Max began hesitantly, pulling him from his musings, "Are you OK?

"Hmm? Yeah. Why?"

"Well, your life changed kinda abruptly this morning. I thought you might want to, I don't know, talk about it, or something," she finished awkwardly. Discussing emotional upheavals wasn't her strong suit; she wasn't comfortable with touchy-feely conversations, but she knew Logan would listen to her if their positions were reversed, so she tried, despite not knowing where to begin.

"Max," he said, both amused and touched at her discomfort, "I understood the risks. I always have," he paused for a moment, remembering running from the car before a bullet in his back had stopped him_. The universe is right on schedule… _"I knew something like this could happen. It's all going to be OK. Besides," he continued, shaking it off, "you're always telling me that I should take a vacation. Looks like now I'll get the chance."

"So where _exactly_ are we going?" Max asked.

"As far away from civilization as I could find while still getting cell phone reception," he joked. "It's a little town in that part of California that's so far from major cities it never really grew up into anything. I think you'll like the house. It's not too big, but it's right on the beach. You could learn to surf," he ventured.

"Yeah, maybe," Max answered noncommittally, while her insides did a summersault. This was the first time either of them had mentioned what they would do once they actually reached their destination. Max supposed that neither of them had taken the time to think that far ahead. She knew she wouldn't be able to go home for awhile, not until all the heat was off, maybe not ever. Because of his broadcasts about Manticore, Lydecker would be investigating the death of Eyes Only, and they were bound to find somebody who could confirm a link between Logan Cale and a pretty, dark haired girl named Max. It would probably be one of her own friends or coworkers who would unknowingly give her away. She understood exactly what Logan meant when he warned her that she might not be able to go back, maybe even better than he did.

She would need to go somewhere…

God, she _wanted_ to stay with him! She dreamed about someplace safe and isolated and private, with no one chasing them, where they could just hole up and be together without all of the other stuff getting in the way; their own little deserted island, with or without cell phone reception. She wondered if he wanted that too. She thought he did, during his unguarded moments, but he was so good at retreating when reality got too close.

They were tempted to linger on the beach once they finished eating. The adrenaline was wearing down and they were full and the sun beating down on them made them feel calm and relaxed, but Max, always mindful of her mission objectives, knew they were still in dangerous waters. She reminded him that they needed to keep moving, so they once again began their journey down the highway.

For hours they continued their trek down the PCH. The monotony of the long trip was made more bearable by the beautiful scenery and the occasional stops that Max insisted they make at quiet state parks along the highway. She could have gone for hours-or even days-without resting, but she knew Logan couldn't keep such a pace, and that he would never have admitted it, especially to her. She decided it was easiest to sidestep his enormously delicate male ego by simply announcing to him at every safe opportunity that she wanted to stretch or needed to find a bathroom, forcing him to take a break as well.

While they were indulging in their third break, stretching in an empty parking lot, Max idly wondered about the advisability of changing her identity as well. In her mind she calculated the odds that her name had already been linked to Logan's. It was unlikely, but possible, and word on her identity may have reached state lines by now. She decided there was no point in risking it. She dug out the new false ID that Logan had procured for her and inspected it closely. She had to admire its quality; Logan really did have connections with the best paper man in Seattle. She gave a deep sigh and reminded herself that there was no going back now. She discarded her old ID and replaced it with her new one, hiding 'Max Guevara' inside an old paper bag in a rusted metal trash can.

Logan quietly observed her actions and felt a conflicting wave of sadness at their significance. He was sorry that she had to leave her old life behind, but immensely grateful that she had given it all up for him. He reached out for her hand and pulled her next to him on the split rail fence he was leaning against. He put an around her, a comforting half of a hug, and said quietly into her ear, "Thank you for coming with me, Max."

She merely shrugged, embarrassed at being caught in an emotional moment and very aware of his proximity. She knew it wouldn't be tactful to tell him that he probably never would have made it out of the city without her, and she had absolutely no intention of telling him that part of the reason she was coming along was because he was the only one who could fill the emptiness inside her and the thought of staying behind without him was too lonely to bear. She was still rationalizing that idea to herself! She met his gaze and leaned into his arm and gave a small smile and shrug, "No regrets."

She let out a gusty sigh and jumped up, dragging Logan along with her. "Let's go. I'll feel better once you're a fugitive from justice on the _other_ side of the border." And they continued their journey through the last beach town in the southernmost corner of the state.

As they approached the guard gate at the state line, all of Max's senses heightened. She made careful and automatic observations about the number of guards, how they were positioned, how they were armed, and how they communicated. She was pleased to note that she was right; there were only a third as many state patrollers as there would have been at the Interstate 5 check point into Portland. As they rolled to the gates, a guard approached them and asked them their business in the state of Oregon. Using the same story that got them out of Seattle's city limits, she told the guard that they were on their way to visit her mom in Lincoln City, where they would spend the night. The guard closely inspected both of their IDs, pocketed the hundred dollar bill Logan had folded and passed along with his identification, and compared their names to a list he had attached to a clipboard in his other hand. Satisfied that he had done his job properly, the guard nodded his approval and allowed them to leave the state.

They both let out a collective sigh of relief as they crossed over the river that separated Washington from Oregon, knowing that the worst of it was behind them now. They still needed to be careful, but getting over the state line had been the last hurdle that Max was most concerned with. She was starting to buy into Logan's optimistic belief that everything would be OK.

Max was pleased to find another working gas station in Astoria and decided it would be wise to top off the tank. Gasoline was difficult to come by in the big city and along the major interstate, so she figured that they should grab every refueling opportunity they had as they traveled along the less populated coastline. Of course, Max wasn't above siphoning off a gallon or two from a parked car in the dead of night. She did what she had to do during a fuel shortage, and she wouldn't hesitate to do _anything_ she had to do to get Logan to safety, but she was hoping she wouldn't have to resort to gas theft on this journey. She had a pretty strong feeling that Logan would frown on such activities.

As she filled her gas tank, she looked around at the town, noting the old run-down Victorian houses built on the hill to overlook the mighty Columbia River meeting the Pacific Ocean. It looked a lot like all the other dark, shabby fishing communities that they had passed through that day, only larger.

"We should probably start looking for a place to stay tonight," Max offered. With the long June days, they still had a few hours of daylight left to travel by, but it was already well into the evening and she decided that it didn't really matter where they slept, as the risk in each town was about the same. She was more concerned with Logan and didn't want to push him too hard. Dinner and a good night's sleep seemed more important than making another hundred miles before dark.

We could," Logan agreed, eyeing the town skeptically, wanting to take her someplace better. "There's another little town further down the coast, maybe twenty-five miles. I vacationed there a few times: Cannon Beach, it's much nicer. Gorgeous, actually. I'd like to show it to you."

"I've stopped trusting you when it comes to little towns on the coast," she mocked, remembering their eventful weekend away in Cape Haven. She was suspicious and skeptical. "Why's it called Cannon Beach, anyway?"

"Once, a long time ago, a cannon washed up on the beach," he answered dryly.

She remained silent for another moment as she waited for him to finish the story. Apparently, that was the end of the story. "That's it? Seriously?"

"Seriously. I think there's even a plaque somewhere…"

"I thought you said it was a nice place," she said with indignation.

"Oh, it is." He answered earnestly, trying to convince her. "In fact, it's probably one of the most beautiful places in the world as far as I'm concerned. Come on, Max," he said, giving her one of those devastating smiles that always made her insides quake, "just because something has a strange story doesn't mean it can't be perfectly beautiful. Just look at you."

She turned her head so he wouldn't be able to see the grin she couldn't hide. She was convinced.

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her advice and encouragement._

_Reviews Welcome_


	7. fresh starts

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profit realized_

**Clean Slate**

Chapter 7

_Fresh starts_

Max had to grudgingly admit that Logan's little coastal town was a hell of a lot nicer than Cape Haven had been. Max had thought the entire Northern Pacific coastline was beautiful, yet that specific spot was somehow _more _beautiful. Every little hamlet they had passed through that day had either been a weathered fishing community, poor and close-knit, or an abandoned amusement spot, left to ruin after the Pulse had made such distractions nearly obsolete. A natural treasure, Cannon Beach had always been the destination of the prosperous, a home to artists and craftsmen rather than loggers and fishermen. It had survived the Pulse with quiet dignity and had struggled to maintain the beauty and charm of its more lucrative days.

Logan was pleased to see the tiny little town had remained much as he remembered it from his last visit. He mentioned to Max that they should check into a hotel and then find a restaurant for a nice dinner. In response, Max informed him that he was definitely crazy and most likely suicidal. She then proceeded to lecture him in the fine art of fleeing for your life, where she patiently explained that she hadn't spent the better part of the day sneaking him across state lines only to have him be recognized and arrested before the salads were served.

"We'll get you settled and then I'll go bring something in. Don't get sloppy on me, Logan."

"Sorry. The extreme hunger must be making me light headed."

"Don't worry. I'll get you fed. And the hotel's not a good idea either. People always coming and going, not enough exits; we'd be better off in a cabin tonight." Max focused her eyes in on a painted wooden sign a little less than four blocks down the road.

Ocean Front Lodgings

Private Cabins

Vacancy

They traveled the extra blocks down the town's main street, and Max left Logan to wait in the parking lot while she went into the front office to secure a room. A bell over the door chimed as she entered the room, and an old woman in a hand knit cardigan sweater slowly ambled in to meet her. "Good evening," she greeted.

"Hi. I need a room."

"Oh, certainly," she replied unhurriedly, "I have four cabins unoccupied tonight. What did you have in mind, dear?"

"Something private," Max answered shortly.

"Your husband?" the old woman inquired with a nod of her head towards Logan's back as he stood looking out at the ocean.

"Uh-huh," Max affirmed with a fake smile that she tried to make as cheerful looking as she could without appearing idiotic.

"How sweet. I have the perfect one for you, number 8. I save it for young couples whenever I can," the old lady winked. "Set slightly apart from the others, right on the bluff, with a beautiful view of Haystack Rock, very romantic…" she cooed.

"Sounds perfect," Max muttered cryptically as she traded a few bills for a room key and returned to the parking lot to find Logan.

They walked along the sand and gravel covered trail that led to Cabin 8, Max pushing her motorcycle and studying the terrain and possible escape routes with an almost unconscious vigilance. She was happy to find a covered porch and secured her bike just outside the cabin's front door.

Max threw her small bag into a corner and flopped onto the bed while Logan stood in the doorway surveying the room. There was a large bed covered in a handmade patchwork quilt in the center of the room and a small table with two chairs in the corner. Two open doors along the opposite wall revealed a full bathroom and a closet. The walls were tastefully decorated with photography from local artists, most of them the different camera angles of the same giant rock and ocean landscape that they could view out of their large window. Logan's glance returned to the bed-the _one_ bed that Max was sprawled out on.

"Did you only get one room?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," she made her 'obviously' face at him. "How'm I supposed to keep an eye on things from the next bungalow down the beach?"

Logan fought to keep his expression neutral as he dumped both bags into the open closet and ran a mental analysis of the situation. Had Max wanted to stay in the same room, she could have requested a cabin with two beds. What if she had intentionally requested one? He wondered if he could dare to safely assume that she had arranged this situation on purpose. Of course, he rationalized, there may not have been a room with two beds available, or she may not have had the foresight to ask for one, or she may have had an elaborate cover story prepared for the clerk which prevented it. He decided that if he were to ask her, it might embarrass her, and if she were to answer, it might embarrass him. Instead, he decided to add this deliriously happy circumstance to his long list of things to be grateful for that day and asked her what she wanted for dinner.

He had been imagining a private dinner of fresh seafood and local delicacies by candlelight and was wondering if he could make that happen by phoning a few of the town's better restaurants when Max expressed her preferences.

"Pizza!" Max exclaimed with enthusiasm. "There's a really great pizza place about a block off the main road, near that first intersection. They were using fresh tomatoes and bell peppers."

"How do you know that?" he wondered.

"I could smell it," she answered with a hint of uncertainty in her voice, feeling the awkward vulnerability she always experienced when others became aware of her special abilities. She mentally kicked herself for opening her big mouth before realizing that the average woman couldn't smell the difference between canned and fresh tomatoes from over a block away on a speeding motorcycle. There were times when she wondered if she would ever master the art of pretending to be human. She waited nervously for Logan's reaction.

Logan just smiled, once again in awe at everything Max was capable of and unaware of her inner doubts. "Anything you want, Max." As an afterthought he murmured, "Pizza always tastes better at the beach anyway."

"OK, I'm walking there. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone," she cautioned as she headed out the door.

"Don't worry. I'll be good," he muttered back as he followed to lock the door behind her. He set the latch in place behind her and stated at her retreating form through the window as she walked away. When she was well down the path he continued to gaze out at the beach, taking in the natural beauty and comparing the view with the photographs. He amused himself for awhile by wondering if the pictures had actually been taken from the doorway their room; he figured they could have been. Logan decided to clean up and change his clothes. He was trying not to let his anticipation of an evening alone with her get out of control, but he wasn't really succeeding.

Logan had just retrieved his bag from the closet when his right leg shot out and kicked the door frame, forcing him to lose his balance and end up on the floor. He pulled himself up again, immediately grateful that Max was well down the path and not returning anytime soon, and focused his attention on what had happened.

His leg had jerked away from him for no apparent reason. Logan wondered if it was a muscle spasm. It was possible. He had been more active than usual that day, using muscles that, until recently, had been neglected to the point of nonuse.

Logan fervently hoped that it had been a muscle spasm, because the only other likely explanation was a problem with the exoskeleton, and he didn't even want to _think_ of all the terrifying possible complications that could result from that. He needed that exoskeleton; he was dead in the water without it. He fought to control the panic that threatened to take over as he realized how very vulnerable he truly was. His escape was totally dependent on that piece of machinery. He knew that if it stopped working, he would be a sitting duck –_ literally,_ and unable to defend himself, back in a chair forever.

Logan wondered how he could have been so foolish – allowing himself to pretend that everything was fine. He harshly forced himself to remember that just because he was able to pass off the outward appearance of a walking man didn't mean he wasn't still broken, and he ruefully admitted to himself that Max probably hadn't fallen for it either. He realized with bitter clarity how easy it had been to fall into that fantasy with her beside him, in his arms, and the adrenaline from his escape still fresh in his blood. He reminded himself that he was still just a useless, damaged man with nothing keeping him from the floor except a piece of repaired machinery with no owner's manual.

Logan tried to shake it off, telling himself it was just a muscle spasm, attempting to recapture that elusive, joyful euphoria that he had been feeling all day, but it was lost to him. Shock and fear had replaced the calm serenity that going away with Max had instilled in him and reminded him of his real life. Now he only felt vulnerable.

So Logan did what he always did when the terror of his situation threatened to overwhelm him: he started working.

He went to retrieve his laptop and phone from his bag and carried them to the bed, the whirring of the exoskeleton as he moved now grating on his nerves, an auditory reminder that he was still broken. He decided that it would be prudent to turn the exoskeleton off for awhile to let it cool down. After all, he didn't need his legs to do research on the computer. That was one of the things that made his work seem so alluring to him over the last year. Logan leaned against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him, shut the exoskeleton off, pulled his computer onto his lap and started to work. He established a network connection and ran a check to make sure his server was secure. He had been out of contact all day and was anxious for news and information that would help him track down his newest enemy.

He logged on to see if anyone had left any new intel for him. The informant net was silent. The informant net was never supposed to be silent! There was always a buzz; contacts reporting in, people exposing corruption and looking for Eyes Only to investigate, people sharing theories and ideas. For the first time since its inception, there was absolutely no activity. It was…dead.

Logan was suddenly hit with a horrible sense of loss and ineptness as he was once again blind-sided by reality. He knew he shouldn't be surprised; he had sent out the codes that morning warning everyone of a security breach, telling them to use the net only as a last resort until he sent out the codes that would signal 'all clear'. But he still hadn't been prepared for the sudden shock he felt at seeing the informant net - _his_ informant net that he had spent years perfecting – _silenced_.

Logan decided that whoever had done this to him - they were good. Not only had they discovered his identity, they knew that sharing the information with the entire world would permanently disable him. They didn't just track him down, they destroyed Eyes Only. In one fell swoop, they had made him a criminal, a target, and totally ineffectual.

Logan suspected that the thug who had tried to set the bomb in his car might not even be affiliated with the masterminds who found him. He might just have been one of the hundreds of pissed off criminals who wanted him dead and figured they could do something about it once they learned his real name.

Logan closed his eyes as it slowly occurred to him that he would never find out who had tracked him down, never complete his investigations, never bring another criminal to justice, and never again help the people who really needed him. Eyes Only was finished. His sources would dry up, and it would be too risky to contact them anyway. He had no way to broadcast the truth if he ever managed to uncover anything again. You couldn't investigate crime and corruption when you were running for your life and hiding under a rock. It wasn't just the informant net – _he_ was silenced as well.

Logan sat for a long time contemplating his fate. He no longer had a mission, he no longer had a purpose, and if he didn't have Eyes Only, what did he have?

Just then Max walked in the door.

"Dinner is served," she announced to Logan as she walked in. She was carrying a pizza box with a brown paper sack of groceries balanced on top. "I was right. Those guys had fresh tomatoes, fresh peppers, _and_ fresh mushrooms." She set the pizza box on the table and pulled two drinks and a small stack of paper napkins from the bag, which she then set in the corner, concluding her dinner preparations.

"Hey," Logan greeted her tersely before bringing his eyes back down to his laptop.

"You OK?"

"Yeah," he said in the same quiet, tense voice, again not holding her gaze for more than a second.

"Did you want to have dinner in bed?" She questioned when he made no move to join her at the table.

"I turned the exo off for awhile," he answered shortly in explanation for not joining her at the table.

"Oh. Is there something wrong with it? Did something happen?" she asked, bringing dinner to him instead and looking at his face for clues to what she could sense he wasn't telling her. She set the pizza box in the center of the bed and placed Logan's drink on the nightstand by his elbow. She sat cross legged at the foot of the bed and began eating, her eyes on Logan, awaiting his answer.

"No. I just thought I should let it cool down for awhile. No point in taking any chances with it."

"Oh." She repeated. She wondered what had happened to change Logan's mood while she was gone. He had gone from being in good spirits to the sullen and pensive Logan she was all too familiar with. She wondered if his sudden melancholy was the result of an accident with the exoskeleton or something deeper. He had been too calm on the road, too relaxed, and she wondered if things were starting to sink in. He was way too accepting of everything that had happened to him today, and in retrospect she realized it was probably his high before the fall. She wondered if something specific had occurred while she was out or if Logan had simply had time to come down to reality.

They ate their dinner quietly, making some light conversation but mostly lost in their own thoughts, Logan feeling lost and desperate while trying to come to terms with his situation and Max feeling helpless and frustrated at the unknown turn of events that had changed everything so suddenly.

"Have you checked the news?" she asked him as they finished eating.

"I haven't had a chance yet," he replied pulling his computer onto his lap again.

"Are you still dead?"

"Looks like it," he muttered, scanning the news story of his discovery and probable demise from the only on-line news source left in Seattle. Suddenly he gave a loud, hollow laugh, as though he couldn't contain his amusement, but there was sadness behind the laugh at the same time. Max looked at him with curiosity and he explained, "My Aunt Margo has issued a statement to the press. 'Entire family is shocked'…'unaware of my illegal activities'…They're not even sorry that I'm dead," Logan muttered indignantly.

Max couldn't help but smile at the illogical sentiment.

Logan tried to control his seething. His family made him crazy! They always had the ability to make him revert to an awkward teenager, and he was never comfortable around any of them. They had never understood him and had never wanted to. At least the charred remains of a corpse had gotten him out of afternoon tea with his great aunt Henrietta. He suddenly realized that he would never have to see any of them again. It was another thing he was well rid of. He ruefully decided that maybe starting a new life wasn't a bad idea after all.

An epiphany struck him that he really was starting over in every way. It made him thoughtful. On one hand it was scary, walking away from everything he had ever known, but on the other hand, he felt a strange, liberating freedom at the chance to start over and begin his life on a fresh page. He no longer had a mission or a camera to hide behind, but he had endless possibilities ahead of him. Just like his day had been, he realized, fear of being exposed and hunted conflicted with the excitement and the joy of being with Max.

She was the only part of his past that he truly wanted to keep with him.

"I'm going to miss your apartment," she announced out of the blue, as though her thoughts had been running on a parallel course to his own.

"Yeah, it was pretty nice." He imagined that she would miss the luxury of it, as her cover and lifestyle didn't allow her to indulge in too many of the finer things in life. He was always happy to provide them for her whenever he could, welcoming the excuse to be able to give her something.

"I guess. It just felt like home, you know: safe, the place you belong. I liked it there."

He regarded Max steadily. Logan couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when he had fallen in love with her. He knew he was attracted to her from the beginning, but he was never really sure when it crossed the line. Part of him felt like he had always loved her. He tried to remember at what point in the relationship his day couldn't really begin until he heard her voice. "Max, what would you do if you could have a fresh start in life? Imagine that you could start over and have anything you wanted. What do you dream about?"

She returned his gaze steadily and saw the earnestness in his question. They were always dancing around each other, hiding from each other. He would approach her and she would retreat; she would run towards him and he would run away. Max realized that one of them would have to stand still long enough for the other one to catch up.

How could she tell him that she wanted to feel wanted, that she wanted someone who knew what she was and could accept it, how she wanted to be his? She wanted to know exactly what he wanted from her and wished she had the skills to ask him. She wanted to know if it inwardly repulsed him that she was a genetically enhanced killing machine, and a poorly manufactured one at that.

"Oh, I don't know, she answered him, "A safe place, quiet, where nobody knows me and I don't have to hide who I am all the time. A place where Manticore can't find me. I guess I dream about someone who gets me, I mean really knows me, all my secrets…someone who isn't scared that that I'm not totally human or that I can walk up walls or that I was taught nineteen different ways to kill a man with only my left hand at the tender age of seven."

There were so many times when she wished she knew how to express herself in a way that he would understand. She wished she could tell him that he was the best man she ever knew and she wanted to be in that safe place with _him_. She wished he would understand that she was talking about him and wanted to be with him for as long as he would have her.

"Someone who could take care of you, keep up with you. Someone strong, like you." he mused. _Someone whole_, he thought to himself.

Max saw the sudden pain and doubt shining in Logan's eyes, and she knew exactly where it originated. There were times when her heart cried out for Logan and how much he had suffered because of his injury, when she shared his anguish about how his life had changed, and she would have given anything to make his frustration and heartache fade away and convince him that he was still the same wonderful man he had always been and that his injury didn't matter to her one little bit.

And then there were times when she wished she could bitch slap his insecurities right out of him.

"No," she spat back at him, "Just someone who didn't always wallow in self-pity thinking he wasn't good enough for me and shutting me out before I ever get a chance to tell him that he is and that all that other crap doesn't mean anything to me as long as…" She forced herself to shut up, appalled at the range of emotion that she just put on display for him. There was no point in showing her vulnerability, especially if he didn't share those feelings. "But they're just dreams, right?" She smiled, trying to play down the all emotion she just advertised. "What about you, Logan? What do you dream about?"

Logan stared at Max, and for one of the very few times in his life, he didn't think. He didn't weigh her words looking for hidden meaning, he didn't consider all the possibilities, he didn't play out possible scenarios or think of the repercussions. He didn't think at all, he just reached out and grabbed her hand, quickly and roughly pulling her closer to him. As he brought her close against his body he urgently reached for the back of her head with his other hand and guided her mouth to meet his in a hungry, yearning, desperate, passionate kiss.

He released her a long moment later, both of them breathless and shaking slightly. She felt an immediate loss as he parted from her, his hands still holding her close and wrapped in her hair, and he pulled a few inches away from her mouth to look at her.

"I dream about you."

_Reviews Welcome_

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her advice and encouragement._


	8. good night

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

_Advisement: This chapter contains sexual imagery and is not intended for younger readers._

**Clean Slate**

Chapter 8

_Good Night_

"I dream of you."

"You do?" Max felt the burning sensation of tears welling behind her eyes as his declaration and actions and all their implications started to sink in.

"Even when I'm awake, Max," he answered, his voice full of sincerity and a slight tinge of desperation.

This time she leaned in to kiss him. And kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, and he kissed her back, and suddenly there was no stopping them. They were both so impatient from the months spent testing the waters and gauging each other's reactions and waiting for the right moment. It was as if a flood gate had been opened and all of their pent up desires began to pour out and spill over onto each other. Soft and reverent caresses quickly evolved into a frantic and raw need as they consumed each other with a passionate fervor.

Logan had fantasized about kissing her like this for so long, day-dreaming about feeling her body pressed against his and tasting her lips, but the reality of it was much more than he ever thought possible. All the longing that he had bottled up for those many months finally found an outlet, and the dreams suddenly seemed hollow and inadequate compared with the stunning reality. Instead of satisfying his longings, it made him crave her all the more. He reveled in the fact that she seemed as impatient as he was to exchange desperate, needy kisses in the fading light of the setting sun, making him hope that she might be suffering from want as badly as he was.

Eager kissing progressed to gentle groping as Logan felt determined hands working down his back and gently pulling his shirt from his waistband. With a smooth, fluid movement Max swung her leg over to straddle his hips, bringing herself closer to Logan as he held her tightly and relished the feeling of her body against his.

The soft tugging at each other's clothing continued and his hand found her back. Heat flashed through him as his palm made contact with her soft, warm flesh. His other hand returned to wrap in her hair, pulling at it slightly to force her to expose more of her neck to him. As he tasted the skin behind her ear, Max let out a soft, high, breathy sound. _Oh dear God, he had made her moan!_ Logan shuddered and felt a fresh rush of adrenaline at the thought.

Their kisses and caresses continued to spiral out of control, and for a moment Logan considered stopping her before things progressed past the point of no return and they crossed the line into territory that they weren't ready to face yet. It was the briefest moment of his life. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stop if he wanted to, and why in God's name would he ever want to? If this was real he never wanted it to end and if it was a dream he never wanted to wake up, so he tossed cautious rationality out the window and instead gave in to the urge to kiss her senseless.

Max interrupted contact just long enough to seize the hem of Logan's shirt and pull it over his head before tossing it over her shoulder and resuming her seductive assault, making him jump as the sharp edges of her teeth scraped his lips and nipped at his throat and shoulder. Her fingers explored his chest and gripped his strong back as she pulled him closer to her. She was everywhere at once, kissing and nibbling and kneading and clawing, reminding Logan that she really could multitask and parallel process like nobody's business.

Interpreting her actions as permission, he slowly lifted her shirt off over her head, gazing at her in open admiration and trying to commit the sight to memory before crushing her naked skin against his in another heated kiss. The contrast of the cool wood of the headboard against his back and Max's warm, soft curves pressed against his chest only served to further heighten the experience.

Logan felt like a wave had crashed over him and pulled him under, and he had no desire to resurface. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he really had died in that fiery bomb that had destroyed his car that morning. Maybe everything that had happened to him that day was the end of his eternal, final journey and now he was in Heaven, claiming his reward for a lifetime of good deeds. It couldn't be real; it felt too good to be real. He couldn't think straight, and he wasn't totally sure that he could breathe, but at that moment, he could _feel_. It may have been memory sensation or his imagination or Max's mere presence pulling responses from his body that he never thought he would experience again; he didn't really give a damn. All he knew was that every nerve that was still connected in his body was on fire and his senses were threatening to burn out completely from the overload of sensation he was experiencing.

He really hoped that his body would remember to breathe…

Logan barely had time to register Max sliding off of his lap and was about to protest her absence when he realized that she had already shimmied out of her jeans. His unformed complaints died instantly and he pulled her back onto his lap and ran his hands over her hips, down her thighs, across her back, her abdomen, her breasts, everywhere he could reach, his desire to touch her overwhelming. He was forcing his hands to memorize every curve, sure he would never experience anything this perfect again.

Max slowed down and tried to control her frustration as the exoskeleton hindered her attempts to separate Logan from his khakis. She forced herself to remember that it wasn't prudent to destroy such an expensive and irreplaceable piece of machinery in her haste to rip his pants off. Chuckling ruefully at their predicament, he helped her unfasten the complicated device and it landed on the floor with slightly more care than the rest of their discarded garments.

Logan pushed himself further down the bed and Max once again wrapped herself around him, their hands and lips franticly exploring each other. He reverently murmured into her ear how beautiful she was, how perfect, how badly he wanted her. She breathily assured him of how good he felt, how she loved the way he touched her.

As Max sat up and moved over his body, Logan wrangled with a final half-hearted attempt to still her onslaught. He needed to explain to her what this meant to him, _how much_ this meant to him. He couldn't bear the thought of her doing this out of pity or obligation or convenience. But the look on her face and the emotion in her dark eyes reassured him that she understood, that it meant just as much to her, even though she might not have the words. Her smoldering eyes burned through the last of his resistance, and he gave up his last feeble try to rein in the overpowering need to be with her. His desire to for her once again consumed him, and he wanted nothing more than to make love to her until she couldn't take anymore.

As their bodies finally merged, they gazed into each other's eyes, and there was no longer any hurry, no longer any rush to completion. Time slowed and there was nothing but tenderness and shared passion as they moved to meet each other in steady rhythm. There was caring and acceptance and devotion, and no one had ever given that to Max before, not all at once, in every movement. This was so very different from anything she had ever experienced. She had never been caught up in anything so fragile and strangely powerful before, and it scared her and took her breath away at the same time. Surges of emotion crashed over her, and she reveled in the love and need that she read in his crystal blue eyes, captured by his gaze like a willing prisoner.

She moved over him again and again, her hands running along his flanks and over his chest and her lips nibbling at his torso, a soft moan escaping her as he shuddered under her hands. Logan was overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation. The touch of Max's hands and mouth on his body, the taste of her skin and lips, the feel of her warm smooth flesh, and the sight of her perfect body as she straddled over his hips all combined to create a delicious, familiar tension inside of him.

Max's eyes closed as she leaned in to find his lips again, her whole body touching his as they met in their passionate search for completion. Wanting more of him, she moved down to the sensitive cords of his neck, causing a low rumble of pleasure to escape from him. She felt a wild surge of victory as she heard his heart racing and pounding in his chest, smug with the knowledge that she had made it that way. Max felt him straining underneath her, his breath fast and hot on her neck, making her pulse speed up as the heat spread through her body and her hips automatically increased their pace. She moaned into his mouth, breaking their kiss, and as the fire inside of her took over, she cried out her desperate pleas to a God she wasn't always totally sure she believed in. Unable to hold back anymore, Max released around him, calling out Logan's name. Her body jerked as the orgasm rushed through her in forceful waves of completion.

Logan's breath came in shuddering gasps for air, his heart pumping wildly, his body tensing as shivers ran through him. He felt weak and at the same time stronger than he ever had. His hands on her back held her close to his chest, enveloping her and holding her tightly as his internal explosion released the pressure inside him, the blood pumping through him, loud in his ears.

Max laid her head on his heaving chest and enjoyed the receding waves that continued to wash softly over her. Fingers entwined in his hair, she rested on top of him, still reeling from the emotions he sent rushing through her. The intensity of her own feelings, frightening to her at first, relaxed into a tender warmth that spread throughout her. Logan's hands continued to hug her close to him and he buried his face in her hair. A long shuddering sigh escaping him, filled with satisfaction and amazement and wonder and pure joy, and he buried his lips in her hair, still unable to speak. Max smiled against his chest, happiness overwhelming her as she relaxed fully on top of him, wishing she could stay with him like that forever.

_I love you! I love you, Max! I would die without you! You are everything to me! I love you so much! I love you!_ The words screamed inside his head. He wanted so badly to tell her that he craved her, needed her, worshipped her, wanted her to be his forever. He forced the words back, knowing that she wasn't ready to hear them. Logic forbade him to say anything. His rational mind knew that pressing her would frighten her away, and losing her now would surely kill him.

Max lifted herself slightly and gazed happily into his eyes. She said, "I love you, Logan," before wrapping her arms around him, sliding against his side, and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too, Max," he said softly as he kissed the top of her head.

_What the hell did he know, anyway?_

"You know, I'm actually a little sleepy," Max stretched out her limbs like a cat and repositioning herself inside Logan's embrace after reaching out for the warm, soft quilt to cover them.

"Uh-hmm," he replied, content in his own drowsiness.

"I'm never sleepy," she pouted.

"'S OK he muttered, tightening his hold around her shoulder and resting his lips on her forehead in a sleepy kiss.

"I think maybe I'll try to get a little sleep," she ran her hand from where it rested upon his chest down his side and back again in one final sated caress.

"Wouldn't blame you," he smiled against her hair. "We had a pretty busy day."

"Yeah, we kinda did, didn't we?"

A busy, hectic, reckless, life-altering day; Logan knew what he had lost, how he had walked away from everything he had, and so did Max, but it didn't matter anymore. They had each other now, and everything else would be alright. It would be better than alright, it would be amazing!

A gentle, cleansing rain began to tap softly on the roof, washing away the day and cleaning up in preparation for the morning. They listened to the hypnotic rhythm and drifted off to sleep. As they held each other tightly, they wondered what tomorrow would have in store for them.

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her advice and encouragement._

_Reviews Welcome_


	9. epilogue

_Disclaimer: No ownership implied, no profits realized…_

**Clean Slate**

_Epilogue_

_Three months later…_

Logan made several trips to his back porch in preparation for his breakfast. He had already deposited his coffee, computer, and newspaper on his patio table, and he balanced his breakfast on his lap as he wheeled himself outside to enjoy his morning overlooking the beach, as he had become accustomed to doing over the last few months. He savored another morning stretch, rolling a kink our of his shoulder muscle and inhaled the ocean air. He let his gaze wander along the coastline and took the time to appreciate another pristine September morning before sipping his coffee and turning his attention to his computer.

He scanned the headlines, a self satisfied smirk turning the corners of his mouth because he knew what he would find there. Carlos Avila was taken into custody the previous night for multiple charges and was currently being held without bail, Logan read with glee. He relished every word of the article before letting out a satisfied sigh.

He had done it! He had nailed that son of a bitch!

When Eyes Only had begun looking into the affairs of Carlos Avila five months prior, Logan had no idea what he was getting himself into. He had been fairly certain that Avila frequently smuggled imported drugs and illegal weapons up from Mexico, but he had no idea he occasionally exported the occasional small child, stolen from its family and sold to wealthy South Americans. Logan had barely scratched the surface of figuring out how dirty this guy really was, and he completely underestimated Avila's reach.

Avila owned the assistant police chief, the deputy mayor, a city councilman, an assistant to the district attorney, a half dozen other corrupt city officials, and a criminal who moonlighted as an Eyes Only informant and was more than willing to triple-cross Logan's organization for the right cash incentive. When it was brought to his attention that Eyes Only was looking into his business, Avila fought aggressively and offensively and began a preemptive strike against Eyes Only before his own business could be scrutinized. Using what he had learned about the informant net from his turncoat, Avila had spent a lot of money to hire the best hackers available to track Logan's signal, turning the information about Logan's whereabouts over to his insiders on the police force and in the district attorney's office, as well as every media source in Seattle. When Eyes Only went quiet, Avila congratulated himself on a successful venture and wrote the cost off as a necessary business expense.

But Logan had decided not to go quietly into oblivion.

It had been slow going, with his limited computer equipment and sources drying up everywhere he looked. But the inner circle of friends and allies he had recruited had still come to his aid, getting him what information they could and taking the answers to the right people. Once he had enough information to convict Carlos Avila, Logan set out to expose him.

He could no longer do a cable hack, but with the help of a few old friends and an unexpected Eyes Only fan group, a new solution had been found. Every sordid detail of Avila's business dealings were printed on the cover of yesterday morning's _Seattle Tribune_ and dispatched to the public before anybody could stop them. His old contacts from the Pacific Free Press were now scattered throughout Seattle, and they were in a position to get the truth out. That front page had been created in secrecy, inserted into the printing at the last minute, and distribution sped up so the truth reached the public before anybody in a position to censor it could intervene.

And his old friends were currently stationed all over the west coast, just waiting to help. Even though Eyes Only was gone, Logan wasn't out of business. As he outlined his research plan for his newest investigation, he idly wondered about a new name. Maybe he could call himself _Guardian Angel_ or something like that…he decided he would have to think about it.

When he had finished his outline, he turned his attention to other matters and noted the balance transfer into his off shore savings account had gone through overnight. Logan imagined that his family had been quite disturbed to learn that he had bequeathed all of his earthly possessions to his physical therapist. He also imagined some of the aunts and cousins would have fought it a little harder if they had suspected that his Last Will and Testament had been inserted into his attorney's electronic files half an hour after he had been declared legally dead.

Bling had listed Logan's penthouse apartment and sold off most of his antiques and artwork, and deposited all the profits into his former patient's numbered account. Taking Logan's advice, Bling had kept the stock for Cale Industries 'in the family', and he had taken to wearing shorts and T-shirts to the monthly share-holder's meetings, much to the amusement of everyone but the share-holders.

He had shipped Logan's favorite copper saucepans to California last week.

Logan stopped working as he watched a surfer expertly ride a wave to the shoreline with perfect form. He paused long enough to appreciate the effect of sunshine and water on a beautiful woman. The days when he was so consumed with his mission that he wouldn't stop to enjoy life were fading fast. Living at the coast had been good for him. Living with Max had been _very_ good for him.

Max emerged from the water, carrying her board under one arm and using the other to wring the excess water from her hair as she walked up the beach towards the house. She planted her surfboard into the sand that came to the edge of the porch and reached around to unzip the top of her wetsuit, pulling it off her arms and letting it hang around her waist. She turned on the water spigot and hosed off of her board and then her suit. She walked up to Logan and gave him a salty and thorough kiss before taking a sip of his orange juice and helping herself to most of his breakfast.

"Did you see me?" she beamed at him, her smile like sunshine.

"You were perfect," he reassured her. "I think it's safe to say you've mastered the sport."

"It's not so much a sport as an art form," she chided happily. "I love surfing!"

"I love you," he quipped in response.

"I love you, too." Her smile softened and grew tender as she balanced on his knee and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him again. He absently pushed his laptop away to prevent salt water from dripping into the keyboard, but such things just didn't bother him like they used to, especially in the wake of such pleasant distractions. "Thank you for bringing me here, Logan," she murmured softly in his ear.

He pulled back from her so he would be able to look into her eyes. "Thank you for coming her with me, Max," he answered with an earnest sincerity. It wasn't the first time he had uttered that phrase. He repeated it occasionally to remind himself of his remarkable good fortune.

After three days of cautious travel along the Pacific Coast Highway, Max had safely deposited Logan in his new home. Logan used the last of his energy to check the solar panels and get the water and power going in the long empty house before wearily tumbling into bed, Max crawling in beside him and curling up along his side as he held her tightly in his arms.

And she never left.

Logan had never asked her to stay; never made any formal declarations about his intentions or tried to put a title on their relationship. He didn't want to risk jinxing his amazing luck by saying the words out loud. He was just immensely grateful that she was there and tried not to frighten her off. He simply prayed she would stay forever.

Together, they had planted citrus trees outside their bedroom window so they could wake to the smell of orange blossoms every morning.

They were careful in their new life, both always mindful of his risk of exposure, her risk of recapture. They laid low the first few weeks, avoiding outside contact whenever possible. But as 'Logan Cale' remained dead and the story became boring, news casts moved on to more interesting topics. The news of Logan's identity and the memory of his photograph soon faded into the background. He went out now, greeted by his friendly and infrequent neighbors as one of their own, a successful author who had come to enjoy a secluded life at the coast. He was a familiar sight at the Sunday Farmer's Market and at the electronics store in the next town over, where they helped him indulge in what they thought of as his new hobby.

He was becoming an expert on the wines of the Santa Ynez Valley.

Max had taken to climbing to the top of the old lighthouse and staring at the ocean in the early morning hours, sometimes checking out the surf conditions, sometimes just thinking.

Logan often reflected back on that fateful day he left Seattle: one hell of a morning turned into one liberating day turned into one incredible night. He occasionally wondered if it was the day that his life ended or began. Not many people were lucky enough to get a chance to start over, and he was determined to make the most of his opportunity. After all, life was too precious to waste, especially a brand new one.

_The author gratefully acknowledges Shywr1ter for her encouragement and advice. _

_The author would also like to send her most humble gratitude to everyone who took the time to review this story. Your kind words and suggestions and praise were a deeply appreciated source of inspiration. Thank you._

_Reviews, as always, are welcome. _


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