It's been one year exactly since Max left. One year full of depression and hopelessness; one year of pretending
everything's okay. I almost imagine when I make dinner that Max will pick the lock and come sauntering in with a saucy
remark and a smirk. That she'd answer my pages with a relish, play chess for hours into the night, and dance with me in
the living room.

Well, I made the dancing part up. She left before she had the chance to see my recovery. It was only three months after
she was gone that I was told that I would walk within weeks. And I did. Now I'm back to normal... back to the way
things were before she came charging into my life. 

But it's not the same. I think of her every minute of every day, wondering where she is, if she's happy, if she ever thinks
of me too. I know the answers. She far away, as happy as she'll ever be, and never once thinks to the time she spent
with me in her old hideout, Seattle. It stings just to think about it.

I was just another chapter in the never-ending adventure of Max Guevera. One of those people she meets and drops.
Duty calls, she had said. I thought we had something more important going... between the lines of friendship and
something more... something different. Apparently she didn't think so.

I saw nothing in those dark eyes when she left. She stared straight at me and just said, "I'm leaving." Not another
word. It took me a moment to comprehend. My Max was leaving once and for all. 

"Why?" was all I could think to ask. He reasons were many and few at the same time. Many in number, few in sense.
The others needed her, Lydecker was closing in, Seattle was boring, she wanted to find Zach and get him to spill where
the others were, she wanted to rescue Brin... 

As she rattled off the reasons, she stared at the floor. It seemed like she pitied me. 'No', I had thought, 'I pity you Max.
You think you have it under control, you think you're happy living like a soldier. You're wrong. I pity you for your
ignorance.'

But she never heard my sorrow. She had disappeared after a muttered goodbye, into the darkness outside my balcony.
Then she had come back, briefly, to give me a parting kiss, one that had summed up everything I had felt. Maybe there
had been something there; only it wasn't enough to keep her. She had pulled back and looked at me with those eyes,
trying to remember just how I looked. Then she had turned without a word and left.

I have never lived since that day, and now I know that I love her. I've finally admitted it to myself that what I felt was
real. And she's gone.

I'm here now on the exact day that, one year ago, I died. Except now I stand instead of sit. I stand exactly where I had
sat as Max babbled her reasons; apologies hidden behind her wall of icy indifference. I close my eyes tight and feel tears
trickle down my cheeks.

Where is she tonight? Does she know what I know? That it's been one year since she killed me? I can almost hear her
voice ringing through the apartment, 'Logan? You home?' I can imagine watching her surprised face as she walks in and
sees me standing, walking, dancing. She'd smile and run to me and I'd whirl her around like nothing happened, like she
never left.

Sometimes I can't sleep at night. I think about her dangerous life on the run. I think about Zach, the bastard. To this day
I believe that he talked her into going, made her pick her siblings or me. And she chose him.

If I could kill the man, I would. But not before making him tell me where Max was. I know where most of the others are
and I keep up on them. I never stopped looking, even when Max left. I figured if she ever came back, I could give her
what she so desperately wanted, her family. 

I scoff at myself, watching the blackness of the city, listening to the sounds. Like she'd ever come back to this, to me. It
hurts. I hope I don't have to suffer like this every year or I'll kill myself before I'm thirty. Maybe that wouldn't be such a
bad idea.





I nervously lick my lips as I navigate the Seattle streets like I've never left. It all seems so... familiar. So much like home.
I mentally reprimand myself. I don't have a home.

I pursue the darkness hoping for answers. I don't know what drives me back here. I don't want to show up and Jam
Pony and say hi to all the guys. I left them without an explanation, just that I had to go. But I want to see them again.

I creep the streets until I come to crash. I slip inside the doors and duck my head. I haven't changed at all in
appearance, and I can still spot familiar faces that also haven't changed. But there's a lot of new ones too.

Life doesn't really change, does it? Even if you leave something behind, it continues on whether it's part of your life or
not. And when you come back to it, crawling on your knees for the memories it brings back, you fit right in, as if you'd
never ever left, no matter how much it's changed. Or how much it's still the same.

I glance around and spot who I'm looking for at the bar. I feel a jolt in my stomach at the all-too familiar sight. Cindy's
sitting next to Logan's ex... the one that I met at his cousin's wedding. I knew they were perfect for each other, even if I
do hate the woman for what she did to Logan. Herbal's there as well, looking completely unaffected, like he had been
frozen in time just for me. Natalie and Sketchy are there making eyes at each other; Kendra's hanging onto Mr. Multiples
with a wide grin.

And there's someone else. A plain-looking girl with a Jam Pony cap covering messy light brown hair. She look's plainer
then Natalie, if that's possible. The girl cracks a joke as I sneak up a little closer, and everyone at the table laughs. 

"Good one, Boo!" Original Cindy proclaims. 

I feel hot rage and jealousy sweep over me. I came back to see this! Well fuck it! I'm about to leave, but something
stops me. I listen to their chatter from where I'm standing, about five feet away. They talk about Normal being a
hard-ass and Sketchy being an idiot.

No news there. I nervously hop foot from foot... trying to decide what to do. I know I won't go over... but maybe I'll
listen a bit longer. They scruffy looking brunette that has taken my place pipes up.

"Thank God me and my girl here came to bail your ass out, Sketch," she said, motioning to Cindy. 

Cindy nodded. "Yeah. Me and Boo are sick of saving your scrawny little ass every time you mess up."

I feel a pang of nostalgia hit and my face clouds with pain. Replace me with that scruffy little bitch and it'd be just like old
times.

Kendra's laughing as she looks up, and straight into my eyes. Her jaw drops open and she gasps. Everyone stares at
her as she recovers from the shock. I'm too scared to move.

"What is it, Kendra?" the scruffy girl asks.

"Max?" Kendra asks in awe. 

They all whip around and look at me, each of them, square in the face. And they all know it's me. 

"Max!" Cindy yelps, and jumps up, nearly upsetting the table as she does so. 

Instincts kick in and I fly out the door, taking to my feet like never before. I can hear them giving chase behind me. They
know who it is. They knew the moment they looked into my eyes. 'Damn' I think. 'Zach was right. I should have made a
clean break and never came back.'

Soon I'm racing down the streets, footfalls behind me. Jam Pony employees always were good runners, they have to be,
and my clouded mind keeps me from my superhero advantage. I'm too confused to snap into high gear.

I turn and hop onto my bike. They're less then a block away now. I rev the engine and take off as they just about reach
me. I gun down the road so fast it hurts my head. And leave them behind... again.

I ride aimlessly to calm my raw nerves. It's turning out to be one hell of a night. As I ride, I think about what else in
Seattle could have drawn me back. I'm painfully all-too aware of the truth. 

I wonder to myself if it would hurt to have a peek at Logan. But then again, I could find that my place has been taken
there, just as it has with my friends. Soon, almost as if I had been paged, I found myself at Logan's building. 

I park the bike with shaking hands. I close my eyes briefly, feeling the hot prickling of tears. Why did I leave? I was
scared. I thought I was alone. Zach said that if I stayed, Logan would die. He said Brin was dying because I wouldn't
help him save her.

Turns out she was dead anyways. She hung herself when she found out what Lydecker had in store for her. And he
never told me where the others were, either. He just wanted me away from Logan. And to himself. He told me that he
loved me. I said he was confusing his sense of responsibility for me with love. He said he hoped I was right. I left him,
too.

And I came here, to the one person who would never hesitate to tell me the truth, never withhold something I wanted
to know, never try to tie me back or keep me from something I wanted. Someone who gave a damn about how I felt and
would do anything for me. Someone I loved.

Just thinking it nearly made me cry. I had lied to myself so long, convinced myself I couldn't feel, that acknowledging the
ache, no, the biting pain, of Logan's absence, was harder then anything I had ever done.

And standing here now, I could honestly admit that I loved Logan Cale. A minute didn't go by that I wasn't reminded of
him. His boyish grin that melted my heart, his day-old scruff, his sophisticated-looking glasses hiding those eyes... they
were all things that hovered in front of me in my dreams, and in my nightmares.

With a shock I realized that it was exactly one year ago that I had left. I was even the same black cat suit I wore that
night. I wonder if he remembered. I wonder if he saw how much I was hurting. I wonder if he knew how much I loved
him. 

And now, gazing up at the apartment high above, I believe that he didn't. I left without an excuse, without the slightest
hint of emotion either. He probably thought that he was just a meal ticket to me. Just someone to be used for news on
my sibs and some good food. 

I feel my feet carry me to the side of the building where the fire escape hangs down. I flip onto it with practiced ease
and start to climb. His penthouse is extremely high up, thank God I don't need too much oxygen to survive. 

Why am I even going up here? Do I want to see some lady friend sitting with him by the fire, sipping wine out of the
glasses he and I used to share? What if he's married? Had kids? Maybe there's a junior Eyes Only sitting in a crib in the
guest room where I used to crash and listen to Logan's gentle breathing in the room over. 

I know it's torture to wonder, but I have to know. Has he forgotten me? Or maybe, just maybe he hasn't. Maybe he's
holding out hope I'll come back. I don't think Logan was... is... the kind of person who would just forget me like so many
others have. Gods I hope not.

I sniffle as I climb; I'm almost there now. I can't help the few tears that flow from my eyes and down my pale skin. I
reach his penthouse's windows. They're all brightly lit.

I bite my lip nervously. This is too much for me... maybe I should go. Forget it ever happened. But something stops me.
Just one glance of him... just one look. Not that my memory needs refreshed. His face is always within reach to me. But
he's not. 

I decided I don't want any nasty surprises and check all the dark windows first for signs of another woman or maybe a
baby. But I see nothing. It's like I never left. Somehow I feel I should just pop his door open with my pocket knife and
call his name. I imagine his surprise as I waltz in like nothing happened, asking if he's got any time to whip up some
culinary magic or if he's too busy with work. 

I can almost see his face. But the image suddenly morphs in front of my teary eyes and his look of joyous surprise turns
into regret. A pretty blond woman with long hair cascading over her shoulders comes up behind him and smiles
charmingly. She's a beautiful blonde who's polite, successful, charming, and high society. Everything I'm not. 

I shake the thought off. That's why I'm checking the empty rooms first, and I see that nothing's changed. Logan doesn't
have a live-in. That makes this slightly more bearable.

Finally I creep to the last window, the one for the living room. It's open even though it's a bit chilly out. I close my eyes
and pull myself up and open my eyes. He's standing up without any help of any kind, he's been healed, and he's staring
out the open doors of the balcony in the same spot I left him one year ago. 

The next thing I notice is his face. It hasn't changed at all. The same scruff, spiky hair, glasses, and beautiful eyes. Then
I see the look in them. He's heart-broken, I realize. 

Bitter jealousy washes over me again. I'd kick the ass of anyone who left him in this state, heart-broken and lost. Alone.

"Max," he mutters. If it hadn't been for my fine hearing, I wouldn't have heard it. I feel my stomach plummet into a pit.
"God Max... where are you?"

I wonder how I'll be able to kick my own ass as I watch him slump over to the sofa and sit down, burying his head in his
hands. "I love you," he whispers into the silence.

He said love, not loved. I bite my lip so hard I'm sure it's bleeding. I clumsily lift myself over the ledge and pull the
window sash open. Logan's so wrapped up in himself that he doesn't even hear me. I'm standing in his house now. It
shouldn't feel so comfortable, so familiar, but it does. Like I was made to be here.

I'm torn with indecision. What is there for me if he notices I'm here? Will I stay or will I leave once again? I shift back
towards the window and forward again.

He sighs deeply and when he looks up I get a full view of his profile. A tear runs down his face. It's y undoing and I
manage to choke out a word past my own tears.

"Logan?" I ask.

He whips around and stares at me in shock. "Max?"

He sob and nod and then I'm lying to him, my arms wrapped around his neck, my head buried in his shoulder. He
clutches me so tightly to him I can hardly breath, but none of that matters. 

I'm here, and so is he, and for one minute, everything's right with the world.





Author's notes: I whipped this up in about twenty minutes, typing like hellfire and not rereading it, either. First draft
here, people. What do you expect? I'm no good at angst; I overdo it. Ah well.

I'm not going to continue unless I have someone co-write and help me with the romancey and angsty parts. My friend
Sam automatically thinks M/L smut when I emailed this to her. She says "Oh my God, Aimee! You just have to have a
romantic ending, if ya know what I mean!" I told her I can't write that sorta thing and she told me to get someone who
did; someone who could do it without making it trashy because she said, and I quote, "I hate it when they make Max
look like a slut."

I agree, dear Sam. So if anyone out there would like to help me write a romantic sequel to my quick little story, just give
me an email! I respond immediately, if I can!

Otter
Aka: Aimee