A/N: If the action scenes seem stunted, that�s because they are. I�m a �ship writer, not an action one (see my Buffy fic, RE: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Underworld/9157/) I respect action fics, I just don�t like writing them. �Cause it�s all tense and Fighty McFight and I�d much rather see Max and Logan relaxing on the couch with a bottle of pre-pulse Riesling. However, may I recommend BlackWolf�s DA fic for some quality action stuff? �Kay. Back to our regularly scheduled part 9.
Chapter 9: I Got Your Back
Max purposefully led Keith Groening to the chemistry lab at the old university, since he had to think she was after the shipment. She didn�t bother sneaking in this time, but smashed every door and lock on her way into the large warehouse. The sirens blared and men came flooding out of the lab and the storage bays, shouting commands and attempting to follow procedures they�d never tested. Max easily evaded capture and wished she had Zane around to wire the building with explosives. She wanted the lab obliterated so no one else could take over the production of Carfanol or any of its nastier forms.
Touching the rip in her pant leg, Max smeared blood on the side of the building. Any idiot could find that stain, even on brick. The familiar bark of guard dogs was comforting, in a strange way. At least they had the power to track her when human powers fell short. It baffled her why the offices weren�t guarded but the warehouse and lab had better security, a staff, and guard dogs. Either Groening was arrogant enough to think that no one would bust into his mountain hideaway, or there was something else in the lab worth hiding besides the manufacturing of Carfanol. Max jogged towards the arena, staying far ahead of the guard dogs. They had her scent now, knew that the blood on the side of the building was her precious Manticore fluid. The wound on her thigh felt like a constant bee sting, but it wasn�t serious. Logan could stitch her up later if he wasn�t squeamish, or she�d do it herself. It was still bleeding because she was still moving. She�d traveled with far worse.
Like the time she fell out of a tree when she was five and on surveillance training, breaking her arm. She finished her shift without complaint, jogging back in the rain with the other X-5�s and saving the news until debriefing, five hours later. One little flesh wound was nothing compared to that. This time, all she had to do was say, "I�m hurt" and Logan would come running to take care of her. That was a luxury she wouldn�t take for granted.
Max was pleased to see a small battalion of sector police at the marina, armed to the hilt. Each boat and small vessel was in the process of being thoroughly searched, which was drawing a crowd despite the early hour. The stars still shone brightly in the dark sky, dawn still hours away. Max slowed her pace, sticking to the shadows on the beach. She went into the ocean and dunked herself under, welcoming the sting of salt water into her wound. She couldn�t take the chance of any canine getting past the Terry Harbor squad and tracking her past the marina. The dogs came over the hill a few minutes later, followed by most of the lab techs and warehouse workers. The sector police surged up the hill in hot pursuit, but Max hesitated.
The smell of the ocean, the chill in the air, the sight of guns and men yelling, shouting out commands, hiding behind brick and cement� it was just like the Massacre, without the fires. Women�s voices were also missing; when the college students revolted, men and women both got involved in the fray. Max pressed her back against a thick piling and closed her eyes to fight off a nasty panic attack.
A huge explosion rocked her out of her flashback with some force. Over the hill she could see a thick cloud of smoke and the reflection of fire on the tips of the pine trees. She hoped it was the chemistry lab. The smartest thing Keith Groening could do would be to destroy the evidence that would convict him, including the folder of incriminating papers she kept close to her heart. Rousing her spirits, Max climbed up onto the boardwalk and looked around for Logan.
She spotted him instantly, wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his loose jacket, his wheelchair parked next to an unmarked squad car. He was talking to a man in a pressed suit who wore an ear piece and held a cup of coffee. Max crept around the far side of the car, her boots squishing with every step. She pulled out the soggy folder, quickly flipped through it to make sure the writing was still legible, and slid it in the window of the car. Most of the information was written in ball point, which didn�t bleed too much, even in salt water. Not all the pages were ruined. Some weren�t even wet. There was still plenty of information to incriminate Groening and the whole operation. Her job was done.
"Logan," she called out, casually coming out of the shadows. She positioned herself behind his wheelchair, hoping her dark clothes wouldn�t look so obviously soaked.
"Max," Logan said, unable to keep the surprised relief out of his voice. "Agent Visan, this is Max. My wife."
"Pleasure to meet you," Agent Visan said cordially. "Sorry you had a personal run-in with Carfanol," said, shaking his head.
"You have no idea," Max said, wondering how much Logan had told the man.
"I�m disgusted the stuff was manufactured in Terry Harbor. With the information from Eyes Only, we should be able to shut it down forever. Excuse me�" Agent Visan trailed off, visibly distracted. Someone had found the folder on the front seat of the car and was flipping through it, excitedly motioning for him to come over. He took the folder, looked at the first few pages, and nodded at Logan before turning his back and barking out a new set of orders to his men.
"He on the take?" Max asked quietly.
"No," Logan assured her. "Agent Keith Groening was on the take. Did he show up in any of those papers?"
"He showed up all over my gunshot wound, that�s for sure," Max joked. At Logan�s stricken face, she put her wet-gloved hand on his shoulder. "He�s named everywhere�signatures, confirmation passwords, lab reports, invoices. I�m guessing he�s the pyro behind tonight�s light show, too. Wanna wait around and see if they catch him?"
Logan shook his head. She sounded so eager, like a kid waiting for the ice cream truck to arrive. He also noticed that the hand not absently rubbing his shoulder was pressed tightly against her leg, over a rip in her black pants. He looked up into her pale face and made a swift decision.
"Let�s go home," he said casually, jerking his head towards the waiting Aztek. "You okay?"
"Go slow," Max said. "Attract no attention."
"You do know you�re scaring the hell out of me, right?" Logan said lightly as they passed through the frenetic crowd. He wheeled slowly and wished she would walk in front of him, but she stayed behind him, using the chair to shield her wound from anyone who might be watching closely.
"I�ll be fine. It�s just a little messy, is all. You squeamish?"
Logan laughed uneasily, picturing the worst.
"You know," Max added thoughtfully, "this is like the second time in a week an Eyes Only mission has gotten me�"
"Don�t even say it. I�m guilty enough as it is."
"Logan, I�m kidding!" Max laughed, finally coming around to face him when they reached his car. "It�s not your fault. I was just playin� with you. Get that serious look off your face and stop thinking you�re the cause of all the trouble I get into. My choices, my responsibility, and I�m not going to fight about it until I�m warm and dry."
Logan maneuvered himself into the driver�s seat and locked the doors as soon as Max was inside. It was a useless gesture against anyone still tracking Max, but it made him feel that much safer. She was still strictly business, ripping the sodden fabric further so she could take a better look at the wound. Logan tried to get a peek, but Max pressed her fist against the hole in her leg that was still sluggishly seeping blood.
"What I wouldn�t give for a dose of Carfanol now," Max tried to joke. "My boyfriend�s gonna perform minor surgery on me� at least you�re not jumpstarting my brain again."
Logan would have smiled at the use of the term "boyfriend," but Max was too pale and shaky-looking for his comfort. She was also starting to shiver a little, like when she had her seizures, but he figured that was because of her wet hair and clothing. Knowing he�d get whacked for the effort, he rolled down the window and called to the nearest sector police officer.
"Where�s the hospital?" Logan ventured, feeling Max slug him hard on the arm.
"Go down Main street and take a left on Evans. It�s on the right past the elementary school. You okay?"
"Yeah, fine. No big deal. Thanks."
"Logan," Max hissed.
"I don�t exactly have sterile medical equipment in my uncle�s cabin, Max. If all you really need is stitches, then that�s all they�ll do. I�ll stay with you the entire time. No one will see your barcode, I promise. I promise," he reiterated, driving towards Main street through the growing crowd.
"I hate hospitals," Max whispered. "Pull over."
"What? No!"
"Look, I can�t just walk into the emergency room soaking wet with a gunshot wound in my leg." Max climbed in the backseat as she spoke, moving her leg gingerly. "Get back here and take your pants off."
"What?!"
"We have to share. I�ll wear your boxers and jacket in, and you can get rid of that bulletproof vest. No one�s gonna know you�re going commando under your khakis except me and I won�t tell, I promise. I�ll just say I wandered out of bed to see what was going on and got caught in the line of fire. No one�s gonna care about some random innocent bystander, especially if she�s the wife of the guy who set up Agent Visan with the goods on Groening."
"Max�"
"Hurry up, I�m freezing!"
Logan saw her pull her shirt over her head and brought the car to a screeching halt.
