A/N: Dark Angel is owned by Cameron/Eglee Productions – not me.

A/N: Most of my stuff is posted at http://nunswithpens.hyperboards.com but I thought it would be fun to post at least one of my stories here. This particular story was the result of a strange challenge brought up during chat regarding purple socks.

This one's for you, Zac!

He wasn't sure by what miracle he had made it into his bed. Or home at all for the matter, but even more miraculous was the fact that he had finally found a way to do it. Proper motivation was key of course, but when it came right down to it, the mechanics were actually quite simple - transgenic speed and a near continuous supply of scotch.

Alec was plastered. Beyond plastered. He had quite nearly drunk himself to oblivion, which was of course the plan; regrettably it didn't quite work out that way.

The alcohol had temporarily robbed him of coherence and consciousness. What it didn't do was ease the pain. If anything, it just made it more confusing. More terrifying.

Their faces in life, melting into their faces in untimely death by his hands.

His hands.

Pulling the trigger.

His hands.

Slicing the jugular.

His hands.

Planting the bomb.

His hands.

Now he stared down the barrel of his target's gun – taunting him with the promise of relief and retribution.

"Do it," he screamed into the night, "Do IT!"

But instead of the rip of lead, his forehead was met with a soft gentle touch, smoothing his brow, whispering words of comfort; the wave of compassion sending shudders through his body.

"Rachel."

Her hand ran soothing circles through his hair, her lips kissing the wetness from his cheeks.

"Your going to be okay."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I'm sorry," over and over and over, finally trailing off into a deep stupefied sleep.

"I know."

ÚÚÚÚÚÚÚ

The haze lifted slowly with the dawn, light from the unusually bright morning sun casting a painful orange glow right through his lids. Nothing like a transgenic sized hangover. If it didn't hurt so much, he would've made a mental note never to do that again.

A sound nearby coaxed one eye open and Alec just caught a glimpse of a woman's foot as she bolted out the door. A shoeless foot. Wearing a purple sock, of all things. He sat up quickly to give chase.


"Uh."

He grabbed the side of the bed and closed his eyes waiting for his swimming head to stop pounding.

The apartment door slammed shut. "Ahhhh." Really … really loudly.

"A clean get-a-way," he said to the room. Cautiously he stood and when it became apparent that the apartment was in fact not spinning he grabbed his blue towel from the knob, "Hi-ho, Hi-ho."

ÚÚÚÚÚÚÚ

Max glanced at the vibrating pager, rolling her eyes.

"You better call him already," OC warned.

She thumbed the little black box, staring at the all to familiar number.

"You owe him that much."

"You're right."

"But I don't like it," she added, sulking to the payphone. She had placed Alec as an unwilling wedge between her and Logan to keep him safe. That was the reason. And it still was, but now it seemed there was another reason. She didn't love Logan. The past few weeks spent largely away from him had made it abundantly clear.

To her.

"Paged?"

"Yeah. About a thousand times. You never showed up last night. As a matter of fact no one showed up last night."

"I know. I'm sorry. We just …, " Max sighed. She really didn't want to get into all of this right now, "We had a little trouble with Alec at Crash."

"Ah. Berrisford's suicide."

"Yeah."

"Well. Least he's got you," Logan stated unsympathetically, "Right?"

Was that a challenge? Did he know her relationship with Alec was a farce?

"Yeah. Good thing."

"So how is he?"

"I don't know. He hasn't come in to work yet."

"Look, have everyone meet me at Crash tonight. We'll go over the details of the job there," he paused for proper effect, " That way I can be sure you'll all show up."

"Fine," she agreed through gritted teeth.

ÚÚÚÚÚÚÚ

Having been flipped off twice on his way in, Alec entered warily, wondering whom else he might have pissed off during his binge. Why did every Jam Pony employee have to frequent Crash? 

Normal spied him immediately.

"Ooooooh, there's my boy," he bellowed, gesturing wildly.

Alec resisted the urge to cover his sensitive ears, but flinched all the same.  He held up his hand, "Hey, Normal, I, um, think I hear OC calling me."

"Oh, no you don't."

Alec turned with a ready smile, "OC!" only to be met by a seething glare.

"Hmph," she grumped on her way out the door.

Her cropped pants made it easy for Alec to sneak a peek at her ankles. Hm, no socks at all. Guess she could've taken them off when she got home.

"You'd better treat this fine young man with a little more respect, queenie," Normal squawked after her.

Alec took the opportunity to escape to his locker, where Bitch #2 awaited with her arms crossed.

"Good morning, Max," he chirped.

"You look like shit."

"Yes, I do," he said, working the combination.

She watched him uncharacteristically fumble with the lock.

"You alright?"

"I think you know the answer to that," he quipped with a bright smile, doing his best to hide the frustration as he pulled on the lock for a second time and it again refused to open.

Max shoved him roughly aside, nimbly working the lock. He leaned over her shoulder.

"So, what'd I say to OC? She seems … less happy with me than usual."

A smirk grew on Max's face, "You told her you always wanted to firmly pack her brown sugar."

Alec cocked his head. Crass? Yes, but not too terribly bad.

"Then you stuck your tongue down her throat."

Alec groaned. Scratch OC from the list of possible caregivers. Max stepped away from his open locker, laughing.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

Alec glared through his lashes while he put his riding gloves on. This sucked.

Sketchy passed, grunting hello to Max and turning his back to Alec, sliding quickly by.

Alec turned to Max with his palms up.

*Help*

"Well, it would seem, even in your impaired state, not only did you beat him in ten straight games of pool, but you trash talked the whole time. Totally dissed him in front of a girl he was trying to impress."

Alec groaned again.

"Guess I better go fix this." He took a deep breath. This was Sketchy right? How hard could it be?

"Sketch. My man."

Sketchy turned toward Alec, his mop top flopping a millisecond behind.

"Don't 'my man' me, man. You took every game, you took my money, but worst of all you talked me down, Alec," he said solemnly, looking his buddy square in the eye,  "You took my dignity and made me look bad in front of the ladies."

Alec scratched the back of his neck.

"Look, I don't usually get drunk and …"

"I'm not interested in your excuses, dude. Friends don't do that."

No argument there.

"You're right. Let me make it up to you."

Sketchy looked both skeptical and hopeful at the same time.

"Really?"

"Just tell me what to do."

Sketchy looked at the wall for a moment, then narrowed his eyes.

"Be at Crash tonight."

Alec grimaced. The absolute last place he wanted to be.

Sketchy turned in disgust, "Shoulda known you didn't mean it. Who cares? Its only Sketchy."

"No. No, I meant it. I'll be there," Alec grabbed his arm, "I'll be there."

Sketchy nodded, "Okay."

Alec shook his head, watching Sketchy leave. One down, completely unknown amount to go.

"Good morning, Gina."


SLAP

*Sigh*

 It was going to be a long day.