Alphabet


A/N: This is a response to nickeldime17's series of alphabetical prompts for M/A oneshots. It's been a long time since I've posted anything here, but reading nickeldime's "A to Z" and having her mention others giving it a shot just finally kicked my brain back into gear. I haven't written anything in several years, so bear with me, please.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel or any of the characters. The prompts are nickeldime17's, not mine, and I won't even pretend that my attempts will be nearly as good as hers.

A – K+

B – T


Anything

It was funny how she never really noticed it. Funny in a that's more of a sob and not a laugh kind of way, but funny nonetheless. After all the time they had spent together and all the crap they had been through. She couldn't believe she'd never noticed. So much for being genetically engineered to be superior at everything. She failed to notice even the most obvious things.

Like how he always, always had her back. And maybe she did notice that, but not for what it really was. She thought it was annoying. He was always there with his laughing and his talking and his breathing. Never too far away and even out of sight didn't mean he was out of mind. If he wasn't a waggling, smart-talking presence in her face, he was a niggling, whispering presence in her mind and she couldn't shake him. It had been infuriating. Now it seemed like it should have been endearing.

That whole devil-may-care, happy-go-lucky sociopath guise made hating him so easy. Made shoving him off and not caring that much simpler. The way he'd throw her off whenever she tried to chip away that stupid mask, and the way he'd never just roll over when she wanted a little emotion from him. He kept her at arm's length and she hated when he didn't need her. But more than that, she hated when he did need her. She hated that she hated it, and she hated that he didn't. She hated that, even after all the names and all the fighting and all the times she'd ripped through him, he still came back. He came back and he had her back. He could become all hard edges and 'leave me alone's but he never really left. Not completely and never for good. And she'd hated that constant presence. Maybe she shouldn't have.

The world was ending. There had been so many times when it felt like everything was crashing down around her, that apocalyptic feeling was almost common place. But this was the real deal, the genuine article. People were dying and so were transgenics. Mole's corpse had been one of the last she had watched dragged back and burned because they didn't want to leave anything behind for anyone to desecrate. The Conclave was unrelenting, and they were unblinking. Fighting a soulless enemy on one front and fighting the government and the ignorant masses on another was destroying everyone.

She just wanted something to give.

If she had known, she would have done something. Anything. If she had noticed, which was the funny thing about it. She never did. He was always there, always in the background, always picking things apart with that stupid smirk and that stupid logic and that stupid sincerity that sometimes scared her when she looked into his eyes. She should have noticed the way the green had turned a little gold and she should have noticed the way his jaw set. She could recall it now with perfect clarity; a painfully accurate eidetic memory made sure of it. She should have noticed.

It wasn't raining. She noticed that. Rain in Seattle wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence, but the sky had been clear and even the dinghy grey that always stained the sky had made way for a bit of blue. Blue like Logan's eyes, which she had been looking into via webcam for over an hour as they discussed the latest issues with the Conclave and the latest contact Eyes Only had who happened to have finally located a Manticore doctor that was just outside the city limits. She thought the fact the sky was clear and the rain was conspicuously absent had been a sign. Things were looking up and they were going to be okay. Maybe they were going to be great if Logan's contact paid off. Now, blue skies made her think of anything but signs and hope.

Rations were low. Medical supplies were low. Morale was low. Everything was low. Everything but tensions. Those were high and they were volatile. She had tried her hardest to keep things together, but it was like trying to tighten her grip on a handful of sand. The harder she held on, the more things slipped through her fingers. She should have noticed that every time she dropped something, he came along and picked it up. Smoothed things over, patched things up, worked out schedules. Mr. Irresponsible was more responsible than she ever thought to give him credit for. Some things she shouldn't have ignored.

Like the desperate look in his eye when she decided she was going to deal with White on her own. Like the defeated look when she said Logan thought he'd found a cure. That frustrated growl when she told him he couldn't come with her because he'd just cause more trouble than she needed. That look of resolve that would have told her he was coming anyway. Everything gave him away and she noticed nothing.

"Come on, Maxie, let me do something," he'd pleaded, and though his expression had been nonchalant, she should have noticed the sincerity that made his eyes shine. "Anything. You name it."

"I want you to stay here, Alec," she'd told him flippantly, hand on her hip and a glare set on her features.

"Anything but that," he'd grinned and she'd crossed her arms over her chest. Her glare had stopped working on him ages ago. "I'd do anything for you, Max," he'd told her in a serious tone that made her uncomfortable. So she'd punched his arm and walked away.

Anything had meant he would follow her when she told him not to. Anything meant he would waltz out behind her like that had been the plan all along and anything meant he would put a bullet through White's eye the same time the bastard would put a bullet through her shoulder. Anything meant he'd take four more hauling her out, and anything meant he'd break her fall when he threw them out of the third story window when they got cornered.

But out of everything that anything had meant, the one thing it didn't include was to listen to her when she demanded he wake up and when she willed his heart to start beating again.


Brick

Red was the color of the shirt Original Cindy had been wearing when she showed up for her weekly night in Terminal City. She could never stay longer than a day, two at the most, thanks to the toxins that were keeping the rundown area's citizens safe. The shirt was red, like her nails and her lipstick. Cherry red, she'd informed with a quirk of a perfectly manicured eyebrow as she'd swept by him to visit Max, leaving Sketchy in her wake to babble excitedly to Alec.

It had taken him a solid month to convince the uptight leader of Terminal City that a bar was a necessity. She had railed against the idea the same way she'd railed against the idea that she should run things with a military structure. She was always like that. Against everything he ever came up with. She didn't want it to be too much like Manticore, but then she didn't want to provide them with any fun either. She'd smacked him hard enough that the back of his head stung for almost an hour when he suggested that didn't know what she was talking about. The challenge and a little more string pulling ultimately resulted in his idea getting the green light. She wanted to fight against Manticore's training more than she wanted to fight against him, after all. Alec always enjoyed coming off the lesser of two evils.

"We can't be all gloom and doom all the time, Max," he'd pointed out, "Not all of us enjoy sulking and heavy sighing twenty-four seven."

"If I think about it, maybe I'll see if we can afford it," was all Max had really said about it, but he knew that was just as good as a yes. Even if she would never admit it and she wouldn't ever just actually agree with him, Alec knew Max could at least see reason when it was right in front of her face.

Red was the color of the bartender's eyes at TC's latest endeavor. Some green skinned, reptilian transhuman had taken to the job and Alec had accepted his scotch from the barkeep with a grin and a nod.

"So Hot Boy, where my baby boo at?" Original Cindy asked, taking a sip of her beer and watching Sketchy try to convince Mole to give him an interview.

"Dunno, probably exchanging lovey dovey sighs via webcam with good old Logan," Alec had shrugged. Max had been edgy the past day or so, maybe she was talking about feelings with her 'not like that ex-boyfriend' or something.

Red was the color of the impossibly short skirt Max was wearing when Alec realized they were in trouble. Red was the color she had painted her pouty, kissable lips when he realized they hadn't thought about how the blessed suppressants Manticore had pumped them full of would eventually wear off. She slinked into the bar and Alec's mouth went dry. Original Cindy offered a low whistle and a suspicious glance. "What is my boo wearing?" Alec didn't hear her question; he was trying to force himself not to grip his glass too tight, lest he break it.

The pheromones hit him like a mack truck and Alec took in a stuttered gasp at the realization. She was in heat. And if she had his attention, that meant she had everyone's attention. Suddenly, she was much, much too far away and Alec felt a surge of desperate frustration when he felt more than saw the X5 beside him move off his bar stool.

Red was the color he saw when the first X5 made a pass at her. Max practically purred and pressed herself against the body of a dark haired man that Alec didn't care to recognize. He stood up and started to make his way toward her. To stop the display and to get her out of there, really, that was it. His heart was pounding and Alec insisted it wasn't jealousy that was coursing through his veins, but instead it was just wanting to look out for his good friend. It was a hard argument to keep up as he watched her hand run down the other man's front.

Red was the color that burst forth from the other man's nose when Alec finally did get close enough. He thought detachedly that blood red was an underrated color. It was such a vivid shade of red, and it always got a bad rap. Alec liked the way it looked coming from the asshole's nose, and he liked the way Max purred at him after his very macho display. He had forgotten his original chivalrous notions as Max ran a finger over his barcode, and Alec hauled her out of the bar and into the alley.

Brick was the shade of red that Alec decided he liked best. It was the color of the wall he crashed against when Max decided he wasn't moving fast enough and his apartment was too far away. It was the color of the wall he would shove her up against only moments later when he would decide he wanted to be in control. Brick was what his head would slam against when Max pushed back, because she was always such a sadist, and brick was what would be responsible for the scrapes along her back once Alec finally got the upper hand, because he hated being told what to do.

Brick was the kind of wall that he felt like he was talking to when Alec finally cornered Max the next time he saw her. She had bailed the second he'd fallen asleep after their heat-induced coupling, and she had been avoiding him ever since. Three days. It took him three days for him to finally track her down. He should have known she would be an expert at escape and evade. He just hadn't expected her to want to avoid him. Maybe it was the fact everyone seemed to think he had some claim on her now. And Max hated anything that had to boil down to their biology, and she hated it even more when it connected her to him, of all people. Alec the screw up had screwed up yet again. Never mind it had been her breathy demands and growls and 'please don't stop's that put them in this position in the first place.

Brick was the shade of red Alec decided he liked least. It wasn't the brilliant shade of the blood that he found on his fingertips after he'd pulled them away from his face once she'd backhanded him for demanding they talk. It wasn't the red her lips turned when they were swollen after he'd kissed her hungrily and desperately in an attempt to convince her he hadn't just used her for sex. It was the ugly red of a wall he rammed his fist into when she said that was all she'd used him for, and it was the dull red of the same wall he sagged against when she walked away and didn't even bother looking back when he called her name.