Title: Dizzy

Summery: Max is in heat, Logan's in California. How far will she go to get a lil sumthin-sumthin (from him of all people)? It's sort of comical, a little dirty and beautifully narrated if I do say so myself. My first naughty "heat" fic….be nice…

Disclaimers: Don't own Dark Angel…I wish I did (I pray for it every night) but alas my God is a cruel God (haha j/k). I don't claim rights to any DA characters (except maybe Logan or Alec on occasion…oh wait, that was a dream I had…). All non DA characters are mine. Nor do I claim rights to the Goo Goo Dolls and their song "Dizzy", from which I borrowed lyrics for this fic.

~*~Logan~*~

You're cynical and beautiful
You always make a scene
You're monochrome delirious
You're nothing that you seem

            The gas pedal almost stuck to the floor from the weight of his foot as Logan pushed down harder and harder on it. As he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the roads and highways, he tried to slow his hurried breathing and listened to the blood pound in his ears. He needed to get out of Seattle—fast. It was "that time": when Max's body went out of control and caused her to lower her defenses and become any man's fantasy. She was "in heat" and from what Original Cindy had told him, it wasn't pretty this time.

He had hung around and watched this for going on three years now. A fourth time would be the last straw for him. He was sure this time he wouldn't be able to contain himself and nor would she. Putting it off was killing them and while she was in heat all bets were off.

"No telling when it's gonna roll round," Max had said. "It's better you leave and not tell me where."

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan scanned the backseat to confirm he had indeed thrown his suitcase and laptop in there. He had planned that he would only be gone four days, just until this thing with Max had blown over.

He had planned ahead and gotten a hold of one of his childhood friends, Brent Laszlo, whom he hadn't seen since they were sixteen and suggested they get together for a few days. Brent who lived in Fresno, California, was ecstatic at Logan's suggestion. From what Logan had been told that Brent had a wife, Priscilla and two kids—nine-year-old Amy Ann and five-year-old Mark. Brent assured him that there would be room for him and promised the kids wouldn't bother him.

The Aztec's windshield fogged as Logan drove through the torrential rain. He opened the window of the drivers side and let the cool water and icy wind hit him like a breath of fresh air. He shivered and it was nice. His glasses fogged up slightly as the abrupt change in temperature adjusted. Logan sighed in relief—all he needed was some mental health days, he assured himself. This will have nothing to do with Max.

Of course that's not true…this has everything to do with Max. Are you crazy?

In a moment of weakness, he admitted to himself he had fantasized about Max. Nothing masturbational, but just seeing her standing in his kitchen, leather clad with her hair mussed from her last motorcycle ride and eating strawberries, was more erotic than any of the hundreds of pornography magazines he and Brent and his other friends had swiped as experimental preteens.

Oh boy, Logan shook away his thoughts. This is going to be one hell of a mental health period.