Disclaimer: Dark Angel and its characters belong to Fox.

Characters/pairings: ML all the way. Though their relationship in each piece might not be as romantic as I usually like, and I might feature another characters.

Rating: T. May content (like this first part) subtle references to sex, perhaps violence, but nothing too graphic or too much to bear. Still, I am open to the suggestion of changing it to M.

A/N: I probably write way more than I should, yet years passed before I realized it was pointless to keep all of those drabbles stored in my laptop rather than let them wander around. I decided to use the ABC's motive plenty of MA shippers use (my apologies if they feel offended by this). Most of these will be one-shots, though I will politely point out if one of them is related to another.

Abecedarium

After: prep. Subsequent in time to; at a later time than.

Max collapsed, her heart stopping for the longest in her life before beating again.

Logan embraced her, trying to regain his own breath as the mellow aroma of her tousled hair invaded his lungs. How had they come down to this? Seconds passed before he was flooding with the memories of the last hour: a sudden, non-alcohol driven confession; a relieved, heart-melting admission and now, the overwhelming feeling of rightness as he grazed his lips across the thick locks of brown hair. Her own lips curved up into the faintest smile and he felt them against his neck, dying just to see the content in the gesture, yet not willing to break the blissful moment...

AAAAA

In the middle of their after-dinner ritual, I love you was all he'd said, almost defiantly, to her. All she did after that was to crawl into his lap and accept the challenge.

Then it all came in the most natural of ways. He allowed her to explore him in the same level he was discovering her, and learnt her secrets as he let her provoke responses. It was like understanding physics in its most primal way: how every action, even as delicate as the way she trailed kisses down his neck, could evoke such profound reactions.

Even when their naked bodies clashed together, he hadn't thought how this was all new to him, until the mere sound of his name, divided in its two syllables as she crumpled under his touch, became too much for him to bear. A part of him reminded him he was as closest to a virgin as he could ever again be but, before embarrasment took the best from him, Max, the fast learner she was, took in his gestures and slowed the pace, entangling her fingers with his, pausing for a second as she stared into the emeralds in his eyes, whispering. "Relax."

AAAAA

Max shrugged off the arm that held her tight and sat in his abdomen, an angelic look on her features as she studied her lover. He was about to voice his complain when she placed a finger across his lips, then two, before leaning down and kissing the tip of his nose. He frowned, she giggled.

"You're weird," he finally muttered, a tenderness in his voice that he found foreign yet so natural, and she laughed a little more.

"You're a weirdo yourself, Logan Cale."

His hands traced the sides of her body, as if looking for a way to tie her down to him. She dismissed the touch, rolled over, and sat, her bare back turned to him. For a moment, Logan considered his comment had been found offensive by his companion and regretted ever been granted with the gift of speaking. After a minute, she chuckled and he forced himself to relax, then quivered as short, newly manicured nails traveled across his left side, starting just two inches above his injury, the feeling quickly vanishing. His eyes followed the movement, only imagining what the sensation would be, amazed at how the idea was more than enough.

Once she reached his ankle, she stopped and tilted her head, barely meeting his scrutinizing gaze. "How much would it take for me to become your PT?" she asked as her skilled hands grabbed his foot and guided his leg into a flexing position, then placed his sole in the mattress.

At first, Logan didn't quite process the question, his attention now focused in his once athletic legs. Memories of a time when his whole body was both attractive and fully functional came to him, but none of them was as appealing as the sight before him. Messy hair framing the olive skin of her face, she rested her chin into his kneecap, still waiting for an answer. "Well, Max, I'm sorry to be the one breaking this to you," he replied after a while, "but I'm sure your... revolutionary methods don't qualify as therapy."

She feign indignity, then kissed his knee. "Oh, Logan, this wasn't therapy. This was more like a reward for you," she paused, then added before he could jump into a wrong conclusion, "and me. Though I wouldn't mind to experiment later and see what kind of effect this could have in your health."

It was his time for faux offense, an eyebrow arched. "So, you're saying I have an unhealthy life style?"

"Definitely. You work a lot. A girl like me could always use a little more of attention."

He smiled at the implication of her request. "What about my meals?" he inquired, "I mean, you'll need to eat here more often, so you can be sure I'm feeding myself just fine."

"Oh, you can be sure of that," she grinned. "Maybe you can teach me a few cooking tips," then suddenly paused, a pensive look on her features.

"What?"

"How did you learn to cook?"

An untold story about his father and his fascination with Arab cuisine was revealed, followed by another inquire and yet another answer, and then another and another... It felt a lot like playing twenty-questions, but Logan didn't feel pressed by her insatiable curiosity. Actually, it felt kind of nice, knowing there was someone who wanted to know all about him, but wasn't looking down at him. It was part of Max's charm; she never pretended to stand higher, let alone lower, than him.

In the end, when he was laying naked–beyond the literal meaning of the word–before her, he had a question of his own, one he'd fought to keep in the back of his head, one he desperately need the answer for.

"What's gonna happen in the morning?"

He even had to wonder why the question had come out that way (in the morning, rather than with us? Seriously?), and hoped he hadn't sounded pathetic. But as Max lowered herself, her eager, warm body covering the length of his just as her tongue brushed his lower lip, he decided he didn't really want to know the answer to that and gave into the kiss. If she ran away, if she had to go to Jam Pony, if she made love to him... it didn't matter. What had already happened was the only tangible fact, and the future wouldn't take that away from him. Still, when her lips abandoned his, her skin caressing his cheek as she slid her mouth closer to his earlobe, he felt like he knew everything, like he understood the very core of the mysteries of the universe.

"In the morning," she murmured as if preparing her answer, her breath warming him in a way nothing else before had, and once again he felt her smile against his face, his own matching hers upon hearing her words, "I will still love you in the morning."

On a second A/N: I'm such a sucker for ML romance. Sue me.