James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

Time to Heal

Ignoring the searing pain in her right leg, Max staggered into her apartment and immediately made the decision not to turn on the light. There was an unfamiliar scent, and that meant she was not alone. She pushed aside thoughts of treating her wounds and began thinking strategy – her natural low-light vision might give her an advantage. She steeled her will and walked without a limp, determined to show no signs of weakness to whoever might be watching. She also moved her hand down toward her 9mm pistol even as she did her best to act as if she had no idea anyone was there.

"Hello, Max," she heard a vaguely familiar voice say.

"Rory?" she asked, surprised that she had not recognized his scent. He must be masking it somehow.

"Of course it's Rory," he replied, switching on the light in her living room. "Who else would have known to find you here?"

"I don't know," Max said evenly, once again allowing the majority of her weight to rest heavily on her relatively uninjured left leg. "Why are you here?"

"Just visiting."

"And is my apartment a stop on some tour?"

"Well, you are a celebrity now," Rory said with a slight grin. "You had to expect that you'd be put on someone's Seattle map of important people's homes."

"Great," Max replied, limping into the room. She picked up a heavy blanket from the love seat and threw it on the floor, then sat down on it, confident that the blanket was thick enough to prevent any blood from seeping through to her carpet.

"You got rid of the fish tank," Rory commented, referring to the pets he had kept when he had lived there.

"I think I frightened them," Max said with a forced grin. "I felt bad for them, so I gave the tank to my old roommate so they'd feel safer. They must have sensed that part of me just wanted to scoop them out of there and swallow 'em whole."

"Oh, that's pleasant," Rory returned, his grin growing wider. "So how bad you get it tonight?"

"It's not good," Max admitted. "Someone rigged a briefcase to blow, and I was too close when it went off. They had nails inside, so as you can imagine the shrapnel is rather painful."

"You need help stitching yourself back up?" Max looked down at her right thigh, remembering how the wounds had seemed before she had bandaged them. Located on the back of her leg, they would be difficult to reach properly.

"Oh, I think I could use all the help I can get," Max finally admitted, "and not just with the stitching part." She knew the kind of medical training Rory had received as a child at Manticore. She trusted him to do every bit as good a job as she could do herself.

"Well then the first thing you're gonna have to do is get out of those clothes," Rory said. Max simply glared at him. "Hey, this is simply in the interest of giving you the medical attention you need. For the next hour or so, why don't you just think of me as your doctor."

"Great," Max answered. "But if you want to play doctor, I have to tell ya you're a little too late to have too much fun. I was in heat three weeks ago."

"Just my luck," Rory replied. "Now stop stalling and get out of those clothes." Max did as she was told, but decided not to stop with just slipping out of her black cloak and ninja garb. She also discarded the black tank-top and exercise bra, and within moments was left in nothing but a black thong. She got the reaction she wanted – Rory couldn't stop staring. It made Max feel sexier than she had in a long time, knowing that another one of her kind, all of whom were something more than human, obviously found her alluring. It felt good to get attention that didn't involve gunshots fired in her direction.

"My God, Max," Rory muttered. "What's happened to you?" It was only then that Max realized it was not her figure that Rory was staring at, but her scars. Her feeling of confidence vanished, and she suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious. In one fluid motion she gathered up the edge of the blanket and covered herself up. She averted her eyes, too mortified even to meet Rory's gaze. "No, don't do that," Rory finally said. His hand gently touched hers, and lowered the blanket once more, slowly exposing her body once again, inch by inch. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Max. You're still beautiful. I just didn't expect you to have taken such a beating."

"I'm a walking wound," Max said, wincing as she shrugged her shoulders. She noted that she probably re-separated her shoulder a bit at some point. She almost felt grateful that the shrapnel had hurt enough to almost conceal the shoulder pain. Separated shoulders were starting to annoy her.

"Lie down on you stomach," Rory instructed, noting with approval the field bandage that Max had applied before coming home. The bleeding had definitely been controlled, and her genetically engineered platelets had done their job, clotting the blood before she lost enough to go into shock. "Where's your First Aid kit?"

"Under my bed," Max replied. A minute later Rory was searching through the kit, and Max felt him start to cut through her bandages.

"This is pretty bad, Max," he said, telling her nothing she didn't already know.

"I'll live."

"Yeah, but you won't be walking for at least a couple of days."

"I know," Max admitted. She hated the very thought of having to stay at home for several days, but there was no choice. She was out of commission, and knew it. "I think there are two nails back there," she added, hoping to assist Rory's analysis.

"Yep," he agreed, "along with some smaller pieces of metal. All in all, though, you're lucky. It's really just a four inch by three inch area that really took the hit, and the major blood vessels were missed."

"Lucky for me. I was hiding behind a dumpster," Max explained. "There was a hole near the bottom of it, though, so I didn't get complete cover."

"You're lucky the hole wasn't any bigger." Max felt Rory's hands running over her skin, examining her with the precision of a surgeon. The nails had entered at odd angles, and he had to figure out which way to pull. She knew this would be the easiest part. After this, everything he did would be painful. "You ready?" he finally asked.

"No," Max replied, "but do it anyway." She felt a slight tugging on the back of her thigh, and the feeling quickly changed into one of tearing. She winced, and then moaned in agony. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked quickly, trying to keep her voice even so as not to give away just how much pain she was in.

"Who did this?" Rory asked, his tone making it clear he felt Max was hiding something.

"I told you, the bomb was in a briefcase," Max said.

"And the shrapnel was packed inside," Rory continued for her. "The thing is, though, that these nails are barbed. They tore you up enough going in, but getting them out again is going to be even worse. I don't know if I can do this here."

"I can't go to a hospital," Max pointed out needlessly.

"You're gonna be a bloody mess within a minute of me starting," Rory said. "Add to that the fact that you're probably gonna start screaming with the pain. I'm gonna have to get a scalpel and actually cut these out of you."

"I won't scream," Max replied stoically.

"Oh yes you will," Rory countered. "I know I would, and I doubt you're really any tougher than I am."

"Then gag me," Max suggested. "We'll go into the bathroom, and I'll get into the tub. Blood won't be a problem then. So no blood, and no screaming. We can do this."

"Max, seriously, you should have a professional do this."

"We were both trained for this," Max replied. "Stop being a wimp."

"I'm gonna have to put you under," Rory said. "You agree to that, and I'll agree to do the work myself."

"And where do you suggest we get the drugs?"

"I know someone," Rory replied. "I'm gonna bandage you back up. Then I'll go out really quickly. I'll be back soon, and then we'll dope you up."

"Then you'll put me back together again?"

"I promise," Rory said evenly. Max agreed, and Rory went back to work re-stabilizing her wound until he could get back to work on it.

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As Rory cut into Max's thigh, he was forced to wonder why her enemies had used the nails that they had. If they had only meant to pack the briefcase with shrapnel, any old nail would have done. These were not ordinary nails, though. Each one had barbs that had been individually sharpened for increased penetration. The sharpness of the nails had even allowed one of them to become embedded in Max's femur. Rory realized with some concern that a scalpel would not be enough – he would need a bonesaw... or at least a drill. I can probably find a drill in the building manager's apartment, he decided.

As Max was anesthetized, he knew she would not feel any increased discomfort by the prolonging of the operation. He left momentarily to 'borrow' a drill, and once he returned he set upon his sibling's wound once again. He had cut into her thigh and removed the first nail easily. Now he drilled one and a half millimeters into her femur to remove the second. He could only guess at the pain Max would feel once she awakened, and doubted that even the morphine he had acquired at the hospital would be enough.

After two hours he was done, and he looked over the stitched-up injury with a bit of pride in medical skills that he had not used in years. Well, it'll definitely do, he decided. Had Max had less than her genetically enhanced healing process, he knew she would likely never again walk without a limp. Manticore creations proved to be far more resilient, however. In a short time her augmented stem cells would repair the damage. She just had to remain safe until then. It's a damn good thing I have somewhere safe to bring her. If anyone found her in this condition, crippled and doped up, she wouldn't stand a chance.

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Max's first thought was that something was very wrong. Her senses seemed... dulled, somehow. I've been drugged, she realized. Her mind immediately began to race along, trying to figure out where she was and who had drugged her. Am I going to be interrogated? Tortured? She strained to remember any details, but kept coming back to Rory. The last thing she remembered was him putting her under for what should have been a relatively quick and easy operation. Did something go wrong? Did the apartment get attacked?

As great as her disorientation was, she still knew that she was not at home. She tried to look around, but the room she was in was dark, and her vision was distorted too greatly to be of any use. The scent was completely wrong, though, but somehow familiar. Oh my God, I'm back at Manticore! She started to struggle to rise, but found that she was tied down. Settle yourself, soldier, she chided herself. Think strategically.

She began to focus on her surroundings once again, trying to figure out what had happened. Wait, that's not the smell of Manticore, she realized. It's different, almost homey. As she breathed in more fully her sense of smell began to return to her a slight bit and she started to feel at ease, almost laughing at herself once she recognized the scent.

"Are you okay, Max?" she heard a familiar voice ask.

"Yeah, sure," she replied evenly. "Why am I here?"

"Rory needed someplace safe to bring you."

"So am I one of the helpless people you're protecting now, Logan?"

"Right now, yes, you are," Logan replied. "You mind if I turn on the light?"

"Not at all." Max fought to get control of her body, to will her senses to work at peak efficiency despite the lingering effects of the drugs. She slowly moved again, and began to notice a dull ache coming from her right leg. The light came on, and Max found herself lying in Logan's guestroom, her body strapped down and her leg wrapped in a heavy bandage.

"So, are you okay?" Logan repeated as he came to her bedside and unfastened the straps. Max guessed she had been strapped down to prevent her from moving around too much in her sleep.

"I guess I'm alright," Max answered. "My leg hurts a bit."

"That'll pass," Rory said as he strode into the room. "You've been out for twelve hours, which means you're well on your way to recovery. The injury was worse than I had guessed. One of the nails had embedded itself in your femur."

"So you had to do some drilling," Max surmised. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Logan wince, but she disregarded his reaction with amusement. "How deep?" she asked nonchalantly, knowing her indifferent attitude would only shock Logan more.

"One and a half, maybe two millimeters," Rory said. "It went quickly and easily. The flesh should be mended within another day, and the bone should be as good as new within twenty-four hours after that."

"Great," Max said enthusiastically. She was already thinking of ways to go about discovering what had gone wrong in the alley. She had been hurt, and that meant someone was going to be punished. Severely.

"Why don't you stay around here until you're ready to get going again?" Logan suggested. "You'll be safe here, and I could sure use the company."

"I have to go down to the waterfront and meet with someone," Rory said quickly. Max guessed that Rory would have said anything to get out of the apartment just then. He walked out, and Max immediately began to rip into Logan.

"I don't need any protection, you know," she said evenly, glaring into his eyes.

"I know," Logan replied. "You've become quite the bad-ass soldier."

"Oh, and let me guess, you have a problem with me being all that I can be?"

"I have a problem with you murdering people," Logan shot back, not missing a beat. "I respect your goal, but your methods are abhorrent."

"Abhorrent?" Max asked. "What, are you using word of the day toilet paper now or something?" Logan suddenly smiled, instantly draining the tension from the confrontation and throwing Max completely off-guard. "What's so funny?"

"I forgot just how razor-sharp your wit can be, Max," he said, taking a deep breath before he continued, almost as if he was steeling himself for what he was about to say. The obvious effort put Max on guard. "I've missed you."

"Really?" Max answered, not knowing how else to respond. Well, if you missed me so damned much, then why the hell didn't you ever come looking for me? she asked silently. Max knew that would be a bad thing to say, so she searched for something more friendly. "I'll bet that was hard to say."

"Not as hard as it would have been to watch you leave again without having told you." Max could tell that Logan was straining to say every word. He hated putting his feelings out in the open almost as much as she did.

"I'm sorry I just left like that," Max muttered.

"I'm sorry I told you to go," Logan replied. Several minutes of silence followed as each of them avoided eye contact while all the while working to make it seem as if they were not doing so purpose. Should I say something? Max wondered. He opened himself up by admitting he missed me. Of course, I did apologize first. She thought for another minute. Yeah, it's definitely his turn to speak.

"Is it even possible for us to make a friendship work again somehow?" Logan asked almost on cue.

"You mean the way it used to be?" Max felt a slight twinge of excitement at the thought, but didn't stop to wonder at its meaning. She was a soldier – sentiment had no place in her life. It would only confuse her.

"Yeah, can it be the way it used to be?"

"Can you accept what I do?"

"No."

"Then I guess we can't be friends," Max stated for the both of them. I guess we were actually right when we called it quits a year ago.

"We can't just leave it like this," Logan said, his voice almost pleading. Max had never heard him speak like this, and she could feel her heart pouring out to him.

"Why not?"

"You have to realize what you're doing is wrong," Logan said.

"According to who?" Max asked with amusement. "The state is incapable of bringing order to its streets and security to its citizens. I'm a product of the state, so not only do I have every right to do what I'm doing, I have the responsibility."

"You're not an all-knowing super-being," Logan replied. "Who do you think you are, passing judgment on people?"

"I'm Justice," Max shot back, hardly thinking any more before she spoke. "I know you've heard of me. I punish those that prey on others."

"You're out of control."

"Just because you don't understand me doesn't mean I'm out of control," Max spat. "Remember that I was designed with an I.Q. at least eighty points higher than yours. Don't even try to pretend you can fathom everything I do."

"I understand that you've gone ahead and turned yourself into everything Lydecker ever wanted you to be."

"What?" Max said with a gasp. Logan's words hit her like a brick, and even as she began to gather the breath necessary to argue the point, she struggled to find something to say. She couldn't.

"You never even realized it, did you?" Logan asked quietly, seeming to enjoy that the shouting had ended.

"Like I said, don't even pretend to understand me," Max replied, her voice hardly more than a whisper. To her heightened senses, though, it sounded as if she were shouting. Yep, the drugs are definitely wearing off. "I have to go," she said quickly, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"You're in no condition to leave yet," Logan said.

"I'll be fine," Max answered. "I can walk without opening the stitches. That's all that's required of me right now. It's not like I'm planning to rush back into battle."

"You'll be vulnerable," Logan pointed out. "The pain alone-"

"- is controllable," Max finished for her acquaintance. She rose to her feet, gritting her teeth as she limped toward Logan's door.

"If you ever need to talk, I'll be here," he said.

"I'll remember that," Max replied, wondering why she was grateful for the offer. I don't need to talk to someone who's going to spend all of his time judging me. Who does he think he is, anyway? Then she suddenly remembered his words – Who do you think you are, passing judgment on people? She wondered if she was, in effect, any better than he was. No, it's different, she told herself. He just doesn't understand. This is what you were meant to do.

"It's not too late to go back," Logan said as Max opened the door. "You can always change."

"No, I can't," Max replied, noting the sadness in her voice. "I can't ever go back to the way I was. I've gone too far, Logan. I'm not the same person anymore."

"There's still a piece of you that remembers," Logan said. "I can still see that gleam in your eye, the carefree, fun-as-hell woman you used to be. Why don't you just stay here for another twelve hours?"

"Because I have to go," Max said. Before you can really get me thinking about what I've been doing, she added silently. "I'll see you around."

"You promise?"

"Yes, Logan, I promise."

To be continued.............................