Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs lock, stock, and smoking barrel to James Cameron & Co. I own none of it. No reason for legal action

DARK SOUL

By

X5R-731

Logan rolled the inoffensive looking pill bottle through his fingers. After staring at it for what seemed like an hour he looked up at Asha and said resignedly, "You're right."

The S1W leader stood leaning against his bedroom door, her deceptively sleepy blue eyes full of concern. "Do you want me to make the appointment?"

"No," he said. "I'd better do that myself. However, can you give me a lift?"

Asha smiled. "No problem."

Three Months Later …

"Logan," Max announced, as she barged into his penthouse. "You here." She heard typing coming from his work station. Marching up to it she said, "Hey, what's up? Whose earned the wrath of Eyes Only that you can't – oh."

She found Asha sitting at Logan's computer. The two women stared at each other awkwardly for a minute before Asha said, "Logan's not here."

"So where is he?"

"He had some things he had to take care of."

"Like what?"

"Personal stuff. You can ask him when he gets back. Feel free to make yourself at home."

Max bristled at Asha's tone. She resented this woman, seemingly having free access to Logan's life. "Gotta blaze. Tell Logan I was by."

Max talked to Logan later by phone, but didn't get a chance to see him for another week. When she arrived at Fogle Towers she saw Logan leaving in his car. Curious she followed him. They ended up at the place where Lydecker had gone for his Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. She observed him going into a room scheduled for a substance abuse meeting. More confused than ever, Max slipped inside and took a seat in the back.

This must be some sort of Eyes Only mission, Max thought. One of these junkies' got something he needs. Why else would he be here?

Then Logan stood up. "Hello, my name is Logan and I'm an addict. It started about two years ago when I had surgery to remove bullet fragments from my spine. The pain afterwards was excrutiating. I couldn't walk or stand without it feeling like someone was stabbing me hot needles. My doctor gave me a prescription for painkillers. I took them regularly for the pain, then out of habit. Then someone – special – to me died. A few months later, a co-worker pointed out how often I was taking the pills. My doctor had stopped prescribing them for me and I'd been getting through other means. She tried to tell me I wasn't doing myself and the people depending on me any favours by being dependent on drugs. As is often the case, I didn't listen to her – I'm notorious for not taking advice that's good for me.

"Then one day I became incapacitated when I ran out of pills. People almost died because I needed a hit. After that, my co-worker friend put me in touch with you people and the rest is history. I've been clean and more or less sober for over a month and hope to stay that way."

Max sat quietly, shocked. This wasn't an act, she could tell. He was being completely truthful. Why hadn't he told her? How could she not have noticed? She thought about confronting him after the meeting but axed the idea immediately. This wasn't one of those times. Other occasions when she'd butted into his life had been to warn him about possible trouble. Direct confrontation would only result in an argument she couldn't win.

As the other attendees told their stories of addiction, Max effortlessly slipped away. Astride her Ninja she decided to wait for Logan at his apartment and wait for him. They'd chat, eat, bond and maybe (just maybe) he'd open up about what he'd been through when she was 'gone'.

"Good luck Logan," she said softly. "Get well soon."

THE END