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.

Author's Note: Special thanks go out to Brynn McK, who beta read a part of this section. Her comments helped me make this better than it ever would have been otherwise.

Introspection

Max was hit with a jolt of pain as she opened her eyes; her first coherent thought was that she was going to puke. She sat bolt upright in her bed, leapt up to her feet, and dashed across the room, making it to the bathroom toilet just in time to heave her guts.

"Good morning," she heard Rory call out cheerfully from another room. His pleasant tone made Max want to throttle him, but she didn't dare leave the bathroom yet. She knew she was not quite done. Max's body shook with a strange chill, and she suddenly realized that the room was spinning. Leaning forward, she grasped the edges of the toilet as her body retched again. This time she produced nothing but dry heaves, and while she was thankful that there was no more bile coming up to burn the back of her throat, she was not certain that the agony of regurgitating nothing was worth it.

"You almost done?" Rory asked as he walked up to the door.

"I think so," Max replied, not daring to look up from the toilet.

"Good, because I made some breakfast," Rory replied. "Bacon and fried eggs, over easy."

"Fried eggs?" Max asked.

"Yep, and they're all runny and everything," Rory answered. Max felt herself start to gag again, and two full minutes of dry heaves followed as Rory stood passively over her.

"Get out," she growled, furious that Rory would be cruel enough to torment her with the thought of runny eggs.

"Fine," Rory replied. "I just wanted to make sure you were done, though. This time, I think you are."

"Great," Max replied.

"First hangover?" Max could only shake her head in confirmation. "Well then, get into the shower and stay there for a little bit," Rory advised. "I'm gonna get some stuff together for your recovery while you're in there."

Max did as she was told and found that the shower's cool water running down over her skin felt like the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced. She finally turned off the water and moved to get out, but realized immediately that as soon as the water had stopped, her headache and nausea returned. Oh God, I'll never, ever drink again. I swear it. Just don't let me die. She turned the water back on, only to hear Rory's voice a moment later.

"That's enough," he said sternly. "That water, as cool as it feels, is still warm enough to make your skin sweat a little, and that's only dehydrating you more." He handed Max a towel and moved out of the bathroom; a minute later Max staggered out to join him in the small kitchen.

"What did I drink last night?" she asked.

"Pretty much everything you had left," Rory answered. "According to what you told me last night, that included a bottle of vodka, a third of a bottle of rum, and a bottle of butterscotch schnapps." Max felt her stomach start to churn slightly as she thought about the schnapps. Hearing about it, her mind vaguely recalled having drunk it, and her body was involuntarily revolting at the memory.

"Why did you let me do that?" she asked miserably.

"You didn't seem to want me to stop you," Rory replied. "A little bit of self-destructiveness can be good now and then."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you got a few hours where you felt fine and didn't have to think about your problems," Rory answered. "And now you feel like hell, so there's pretty much nothing you can do but sit around and let your body recover. While you do that, it seems you'll finally be forced to face your situation. That's a good thing."

"I hate you," Max muttered.

"That doesn't bother me, you know."

"Great," Max replied. "So what about that stuff you said will help me feel better?"

"Ah yes, that," Rory said with a smile that made Max want to throttle him. He gestured Max out into the living room, and then followed with three tablets and a tall glass filled with a liquid that was a disturbing shade of purple. "First take a few sips of the drink," Rory instructed. "If your body can't even keep that down, then there's no sense in taking the pills yet."

"What is it all?" Max asked suspiciously. She doubted that Rory would drug her, but after a year of playing Justice virtually every night, she had developed a bit of paranoia.

"The liquid is Pedia-Lite," Rory answered. "Grape flavor, to be precise. Two of the tablets are ibuprofen, and the other is multi-vitamin." Max looked closely at the tablets, and saw that one of them was small and purple, and shaped as something she didn't recognize. "That's Dino," Rory said, apparently reacting to Max's puzzled gaze. Max didn't recognize the name at all. "Haven't you ever heard of the Flintstones?" Rory asked. "I know it was before our time and all, but seriously..."

"I've heard of them," Max answered. "I've just never eaten a vitamin that was shaped like anything but a pill."

"Sorry, it's all I had," Rory answered.

"You eat Flintstones vitamins?" Max asked dubiously, waiting for some kind of punchline to a joke.

"Yes, I do," Rory answered with a sheepish smile. "One Barney and one Wilma to start the day, and I'm set. You have a problem with that?"

"Not at all," Max answered, venturing a few small sips of the Pedia-Lite. The taste was bland and held a faint hint of something that was strangely akin to grape. The flavor was not something she would describe as good, but it was tolerable. "You sure this is gonna work?"

"Absolutely," Rory assured her. "You should really have drunk the Pedia-Lite before going to bed, but you sorta passed out all at once."

"I'll remember it next time, though," Max promised. Silence followed for a long while as Max hesitantly drank larger and larger sips, and then finally mustered the courage to take the ibuprofen and her vitamin.

"Give it a few hours," Rory said. "You should be feeling much better by noon, and I think you'll be able to stomach a full dinner by tonight."

"I guess it was a good thing you were here to take care of me," Max commented, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned back against the arm of the couch. "I would never have known how to deal with a hangover. You get these a lot?"

"No," Rory replied. "I've only had one in my life, and I decided I would stop drinking then and there."

"And you haven't drunk since?"

"Maybe an occasional beer here and there, but no more heavy drinking," Rory clarified. "But enough about my drinking habits. I think we should start discussing what you've been doing."

"I don't know that it's any of your business," Max replied evenly. "Until you showed up here a year ago, no one had seen hide nor hair of you for ten years. You never bothered to tell me what you'd been doing, so I don't know why I should bare my soul to you now."

"You want to hear my life story?" Rory asked. "Would that make you happy?"

"Well, it would make me more willing to talk with you," Max answered, "though I don't know if it would make me happy. I don't know if I know how to be happy anymore."

"I'm sorry," Rory said. The very tone of his voice made Max's heart ache even as she felt a brief flash of comfort at having someone care about her again. It seemed as though it had been too long... "When was the last time you were happy?" Rory asked.

"I couldn't tell you," Max replied honestly. She searched her memory for something... anything... that stuck out as being a good memory. The last satisfying thing she had done was convince Lydecker to stay out of Seattle, but not even that made her happy. It was simply the result of a properly executed plan, and that was not reason for celebration. I don't think I've really been happy since that night Logan made dinner for me, she realized. And of course, that whole night turned into a fiasco. Thinking of Logan, though, she became aware of the fact that she had been happy once lately, though very briefly. When she had awakened in Logan's apartment, after Rory brought her there to recover, she had experienced a moment of something she could only refer to as bliss. Then she and Logan had started talking, and she had ended up walking out again. The memory hurt her.

"So, if nothing else we have to figure out a way for you to find a little happiness," Rory announced, as if it were something that could simply be placed on Max's 'to do' list.

"And maybe we can start by having you tell me a nice story," Max said with a wicked grin, returning them to the topic she had wanted to get to. "You didn't think I'd let you weasel out of telling me what happened after the escape, did you?"

"Well, I had hoped," Rory replied with a smile. "Lean back, Maxie, and let me tell you a story," Rory said warmly, his voice tinged with the same caring tone that Max had always found in Logan's voice. Just the sound of his words made her feel warm and safe.

"As you know, we got the order to escape," Rory said needlessly. "I made it to the perimeter and ran through the woods for a couple of minutes until I came to a road. There was a car, and it stopped. The man behind the wheel gestured for me to get in."

"This sounds a little familiar," Max commented. "I was picked up by a nurse. Must have been a shift change going on or something, I guess. I think she was even more nervous about the whole thing than I was."

"Lucky you," Rory said. "If a woman had stopped for me, I would have been more at ease. The man that stopped was fairly large. I wondered whether I would be able to defend myself in the close confines of the car if he turned out to be an enemy."

"But he wasn't an enemy," Max surmised.

"No, he wasn't," Rory agreed. "He got me out of the area, and it turned out he was a geneticist. He was one of the ones that actually put us all together. Anyway, he told me later that he had always been able to deal with the work he did because he never really had to face the reality of his efforts. But seeing me, and realizing what Lydecker and the others did to us... well, he decided not to go back."

"Then what happened?" Max asked. She was amused at how much like a child she seemed, hanging on Rory's every word. In the back of her mind she realized that to a small extent she was happy again. The conversation – the give and take with another person, and the fact that the likely result of the exchange would not be her killing the other individual – it all made her feel completely at ease. She had never noticed how much she had missed simple things, such as talking with a friend. I guess it's true when they say that people really shouldn't become isolated.

"Well, both of us needed a way to disappear from the face of the earth," Rory continued. "So the man – his name was Dr. Patrick Quinn, in case you ever run into him – drove us to a monastery. The brothers took us both in, and Dr. Quinn took a vow of silence until he decided he was ready to talk about the things he'd done."

"That seems a little drastic," Max commented.

"Maybe," Rory said, "but it suited him just fine. I think the entire change in lifestyle was just what he needed. At the monastery we had a simple life, waking up early, working in gardens and fields throughout the day, and eating a hearty dinner. Sure as hell beat morning drills, though I have to admit I did most of my training exercises anyway. I mean, I really didn't know what else I could do, since I hadn't ever known anything but Manticore. Then, just as I was getting settled into my new life, the Pulse hit."

"So you left?" Max asked.

"No, we both stayed," Rory answered, but if you remember, people of Middle Eastern descent weren't exactly popular at the time. A few Muslim holy men came to the monastery, and they were granted entrance. Then, after a Buddhist monastery burned down a couple of hundred miles away, some Shaolin monks came to live with us, too. The monastery became a melting pot of ideas, cultures, and faiths."

"And let me guess, one of the Shaolin priests was like that Cain guy from Kung-Fu, and he taught you to be a master," Max said with a grin.

"Actually, yes," Rory replied, seeming thoroughly pleased as he watched Max's jaw drop in shock. "But it wasn't the martial arts training that I loved. It was the days full of contemplation, and the nights rich with discussion and reading. I got an education in philosophy and religion that's probably unequaled in the world, while all the time being left to train myself physically, both with my Manticore routines, and my new martial arts exercises."

"And all this while most of the rest of us were struggling to survive on the streets," Max said jealously. "I don't know if that's quite fair."

"It probably isn't," Rory admitted, "but that's just the way it was. I happened to have a safe environment surrounded by people that not only cared about me, but took it as their responsibility to educate and train me."

"And what about Dr. Quinn?" Max asked curiously.

"Yes, I learned from him, too," Rory replied, seeming to have guessed exactly what Max was wondering.

"So you know things about us."

"I do," Rory answered. "I know every species that was included in our transgenic blueprint. I know each of the genes involved, and I know why they were included and where in the DNA strand they were spliced. I probably have a better idea of our capabilities than Lydecker has. I even have some thoughts on training methods to improve us that I'll bet he hasn't even thought of, yet."

"Such as?" Max asked curiously.

"That's a discussion for another time," Rory said. "Right now, though, we're going to talk about you."

"What about me?" Max asked.

"We have to find a way to make you happy," Rory reminded her.

"Being happy is overrated," Max said, sitting up straight. "I don't need to be happy."

"Every being has a right to be happy," Rory replied quickly. "Don't fool yourself."

"I have responsibilities," Max shot back. "You're the one that pointed that out to me and got me started on this crusade of mine. Now you're going to tell me I'm wrong?"

"Your goal is the right one," Rory said calmly. "We both know that we were made for a purpose, and that given the environment in which we live, fighting for the happiness of others seems our proper destiny."

"So what's the deal?" Max asked. "Am I wrong, or not?"

"Your goal is right, but your methods need some adjustment," Rory replied. "You said last night when you were drunk that you had almost killed a friend of yours. Did that make you happy?"

"Of course not," Max said.

"So have you thought about a way of addressing your lifestyle?" Rory asked. "Maybe you could find happiness for yourself and others by simply toning down the violence."

"Toning it down?" Max asked skeptically. "Like, maybe punch a guy here and there? That won't get it done."

"Why not?" Rory asked. "So you've been going out there killing bad guys left and right. Has that cut down on crime?"

"Not yet."

"Well, has it at least cut down on the number of criminals?"

"Not exactly," Max admitted.

"So just what is it that you've gained?" Rory asked. Max only replied with silence. "Maxie, before I left Seattle the first time, I advised you never to stop questioning anything, but that's exactly what you've done. You've stopped questioning why your methods are not meeting with success."

"I just haven't been working hard enough," Max growled. "If I increase my efforts, my enemies will back down."

"No, your enemies will just get more creative, like they did in the alley," Rory answered.

"What?" Max asked, surprised by this tangent in the conversation.

"The nails in the briefcase were barbed," Rory pointed out. "That's why I had to do all that drilling. I think that explosion was meant for you. That way, even if you somehow escaped being killed, you'd likely end up crippled, and in the whole scheme of things, that would have been just as good. Any of the other criminals in that alley, if they survived, would have been able to his job with a serious physical infirmity... all except for you."

"No, that can't be right."

"It makes sense, though, doesn't it?" Rory asked. "Someone decided to sacrifice a few of their people to remove you from the equation. They figure that they can deal with the police, but not with someone that has no rules."

"And maybe they're right," Max answered. "That's why I'm needed. I can do the types of things that the cops can't."

"But you're making yourself no better than them in the process."

"Maybe not, but I'm saving lives," Max shot back. "I've made a difference."

"And you'll get killed much sooner as a result," Rory said. "What do you think the cops will do if they ever get their hands on you?"

"They won't," Max said confidently.

"And how are you so sure of that?" Rory asked. "You willing to cut a few of them down, too, if they ever corner you?" Max was stunned into silence, faced with a question she had never really pondered. "You couldn't do it, could you?"

"No," Max admitted.

"Well, that's good at least," Rory said. "But remember that there are two groups of cops looking for you. One group is made up of all the guys on the take that are being paid to take you out if they ever get a chance, so as to help out the criminals that are paying the bills. The second group is made up of honest cops that realize what you're doing is wrong."

"You really think I'm wrong, don't you?" Max asked.

"I do," Rory answered evenly. "I'm not trying to be judgmental or anything. I'm not condemning you for your actions, I'm just saying that I don't agree with your decisions."

"So what would you do if you were in my place? Come on, Rory, really? It's not like you ever had to live this rough life. You got to be tucked away safely in a monastery, left to your own devices to be all you could be. I had to grow up in this world, and let me tell ya – it sucks. I did what I had to do." Max stopped for a moment to search Rory for any sign of a reaction, and saw none. He looked as calm and at peace as he always did. "Seriously, Rory, tell me –what would you have done in my place?"

"You see yourself as an embodiment of justice, but justice can't be meted out by just one person," Rory said. "The concept of a jury evolved because the society that was harmed by a wrongdoer was seen as having an interest in administering a punishment on its own. Only the society itself could really know what justice was. Neither one of us is really a part of this society, Max. Sure, I spent time in a monastery, but we both spent our formative years in a military compound. You may be more a part of the world than I am, but you're still not really a part of it. We grew up isolated, Maxie, and we don't have the right perspective. Maybe some of these guys you've put down would get sentenced to death for some of the things they've done, but maybe they wouldn't. Either way, it's not our decision. We were designed to be tools, and not decision-makers. It's our lot in life."

"One more time – what would you do?" Max repeated, not bothering to hide her agitation.

"I would come up with some kind of code," Rory said. "You have to start living by some set of rules, and the closer they resemble the laws of our society, the better."

"You're kidding, right?" Max asked.

"No. Look, Max, we're effectively nothing more than ronin," Rory explained, referring to the masterless samurai of medieval Japan. "We're probably the deadliest people in the world, but we no longer have a master. We have no direction, and no honor."

"You really believe that?" Max asked.

"You really believe there's honor in killing fifteen year old drug dealers?" Rory countered. Max was unable to respond. "I'm not telling you to stop going out there to help people," Rory said. "Like you said, I'm the one that convinced you that we have a responsibility. But we have to come up some kind of a code to live by; we have to set standards for our own conduct. Otherwise we're no better than those we hunt – we're just another problem in a city that has too many problems already."

"So no more killing?" Max asked, wondering if that was a good place to start.

"I don't know," Rory replied. "Are you comfortable with a blanket rule like that?"

"No," Max admitted. "I mean, maybe it would be necessary at some point. Maybe if someone was being held at gunpoint, and I needed to be able to save them quickly... maybe a head shot would be okay in that circumstance."

"Maybe so," Rory said.

"Or maybe not," Max said. "No, there can't be any more killing, no matter what."

"Are you sure?" Rory asked. "Coloring the world in only black and white will likely lead to trouble. You'd be setting yourself up to cross the line, sooner or later. I don't think you'd want to face this whole dilemma again."

"You're right," Max admitted, turning the question around in her head once again. "Okay, killing is a last resort, and never something to be taken lightly."

"That sounds like it is as it should be," Rory commented.

"I will never again sentence anyone to death, no matter what they do," Max said.

"Good," Rory said with a smile. "That's a rule that makes sense, and it's certainly the beginning of a code. We might make something honorable of the two of us yet."

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