Disclaimer: No rights, ownership or other interest here in Dark Angel or its characters; no profits made.

A/N: This is written to set a challenge, to be explained below and in further detail at Forums/TV Shows/Dark Angel/Blah Blah Woof Woof/Interactive Fiction. Everyone please jump in!

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Tinker, Tailor, Beggar-man, Thief.

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Tinker, tailor,
Soldier, sailor,
Rich man, poor man,
Beggar-man, thief.

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"Logan, he's hopeless! I mean, I love him; in a weird, sad sort of way, I love him. How can I help it, he needs someone to care about him, he's such a mess." Max leaned on the counter as she watched Logan blending the ingredients for a sauce he would use to stir-fry the vegetables she had cleaned and cut to his specifications. She had come in not long before, as he'd begun his preparations for their dinner, and she was regaling him with Sketchy's latest, inept antics. Now she laughed, shaking her head at the thought of her hapless co-worker. "It's not like he doesn't change his mind a couple times a day about what he's going to do to get away from Jam Pony – he's had more hare-brained schemes and ideas than anyone I know. And he keeps going back to this 'investigative reporter' idea. He loves your work, and talks about your articles for weeks after they've run. But he's like a little kid when it comes to Eyes Only. He's made you his mentor, convinced he can roust out crime and corruption, fighting side by side with his hero. And, because he's decided that he sees more and learns more as a messenger than most people do, he figures he can get all the big scoops that way. He's going to write about them, save the city and retire when he's thirty."

Logan snorted, "Well, I don't know about the 'retire' part – but at least he's got the right enthusiasm." Logan grinned, the thought of Sketchy as a side-kick too comic to imagine properly. After another moment, he added, more realistically, "You probably do have access to more people and places than ninety five percent of the city does. I seem to remember you admitting that was part of what attracted you to the job in the first place."

Max nodded with a smirk. "That, and the fact that Normal didn't exactly expect a resume."

Logan looked up, considering Max, suddenly chewing on some new thought. "It's been pretty convenient for Eyes Only, your having such easy access around town. Your ID, and the fact that some of the sector police are used to seeing you around with the ID and know it's legit..."

"You're saying maybe Sketchy has something, the use of the job for his own, ulterior motives?" Max's eyes twinkled as she asked him, as if in challenge.

But Logan shook his head, the thought taking over. "No, it just made me wonder..." He stopped working, watching her closely, something new in his expression now. "If it wasn't such a help for Eyes Only – would you still be working there?"

She blinked, not getting it. "You have a better idea for how I keep my bike in oil and gas? 'Cos I know you weren't too crazy about my other revenue-producing activities ... even if it did hook us up."

At her words, Logan colored a little, both at the jab at his stuffy disapproval of her more larcenous activities, as well as his blatant use – and appreciation – of them. "That wasn't exactly my line of thought – but close enough." His grudging smile was rueful. "Actually, I ... well, I know how thankless it can be, the way Normal treats you all, let alone some of the customers ... out in whatever weather comes along, in the traffic and all the grime of the city... I just..." He paused. "I wondered if you might have left by now, figured out something else to do."

And Max got it: he was feeling some guilt to think that she stayed at the job only because he wanted her to stay, to use it as a convenient cover for her activities assigned by Eyes Only. She felt a smile grow, amused and touched that it took this long for the idea to occur to him, and that once it did, how much it seemed to matter to him. She shrugged, looking to blow it off. "What else would I do? It's not as if I have a Yale degree to wave under anyone's nose."

"Are you kidding?" Logan looked a bit surprised. "Max, you know as well as I do how much you can do. And I've never seen anyone who's such a fast study; I would think you could pick up easily anything you decided you wanted to try." Again he looked at her, a question there. "What would you do, if it could be anything?"

Again, she shrugged; this time she wouldn't make eye contact. "Ride a bike for Normal. It's my life's dream." Her voice had flattened slightly, the issue not an easy one, given the givens. She knew why he was asking – but no matter his motives, or his genuine concern – it didn't change her reality. Logan was the dreamer ... and the trust-fund boy. And he hadn't yet learned that sometimes it hurt more to have dreams than to keep them at bay...

"C'mon, Max..." Logan looked over at her averted eyes, her hands fussing with vegetables already pared and cleaned. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"So what if I had?" Her tone was slightly defensive, as if Logan had struck a nerve, even if unwittingly. " I'm the one with Lydecker and posse on my tail, remember? I can't really go above ground too much more than I have already – I've probably gone too far as it is. And there just aren't that many options for someone who can't show what she ever stepped into a classroom, ever, even first grade..."

"There are ways around that..." Logan interrupted, softly. "I'm the one with the 'Identities 'r' Us' kit, remember? 'Transcripts while you wait...'"

She wavered, and finally glanced up at the shining, emerald eyes before her. Still resistive, she lifted her chin in a small show of defiance to say, "yeah, well, maybe I want to 'hang out for the afternoon in a cafe someplace wearing $2,000 wristwatches, planning our next vacation.'"

He smiled, softly, in recognition. "Is that what you'd want to do, really? If you did, I think it could be arranged..." At her continuing discomfort, he added, with a soft, wry grin, "at least you've proven you have good memory skills to bring to a job, as well." He hadn't wanted to make this an issue, or upset her, but his work was so important to him, defined for himself who he was, that he'd been struck by the sudden awareness of Max's lack of freedom to make such a choice for herself – and his apparent failure to even consider it before. "Max..." He leaned forward, catching her eyes, his voice softening to urge her reflection. "If you could be or do anything at all, no matter the training or the risk or the cost – complete dream life, no holds barred – what would it be?"

Max looked up at the steady gaze before her, waiting for her response. After long moments, again reminded that this was Logan who was asking, who really cared what she answered, she relented, and drew a breath to speak...

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Tinker, Tailor,
Soldier, Sailor,
Gentleman, Apothecary,
Plough-boy, Thief.

Army, Navy,
Medicine, Law,
Church, Nobility,
Nothing at all.

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And the Challenge begins!

This Challenge is set to solicit your responses as to what Max really, truly would do with her life if she could! Please see details at FFN's Forums/TV Shows/Dark Angel/Blah Blah Woof Woof/Interactive Fiction, including a few housekeeping matters, but in a nutshell:

–For you writers, if you want to offer a response installment, send it to me at Shywr1terYahoo (dot)com, and I will add it as a "chapter" bearing your name.

–For non-writers, if you have an idea and would like to offer it as an idea for a response, send it to the above e-mail or post on the Forum topic noted above. You might even be able to poke a favorite writer into giving your idea a try, or we'll do so for you. Anonymous donations are accepted as well as signed ones; it will be your choice if you want to have the idea attributed to you or not.

The more the merrier, people! WWMD?