Check out www.darkangelvirtuality.com for information on Dark Angel Virtual Season 3 premiering on September 10, 2002.
Disclaimer: See chapter 1.
Summary:  Set after "Camera," Logan tries to adapt to life without money. Max tries to help. Will he survive?
AN: 1) Thanks so much for the feedback on chapter 7, especially the touching comments regarding my sanity.
2) I did have the most amazing OC and Herbal dialog in this chapter, but as my beta couldn't understand a word of it I had to translate it into the pathetic attempt you read below.
3) I freely admit to plagiarizing almost an entire scene from BBWW, but I have added a little dialog of my own and some additional action, which I feel may give the scene more meaning . . ..
4) The pigeons are the intellectual property of Fin Tuscany (as per "The Stronghold").

This Makes No Sense Whatsoever
Chapter 8: Aftermath

Bling kicked the door closed behind him, keys dangling from his mouth and balancing a bag of groceries in either hand. "Oh my God!" Keys and groceries crashed to the floor as he took in the scene of destruction around him. It had finally happened; Eyes Only had been discovered, and the bad guys had come calling.

Quickly he picked his way through the debris to Logan's work area and offered a silent prayer when he found the gun and ammunition in the desk drawer. It was possible the perpetrators were still here, lurking amid the ruins of the apartment. He loaded the weapon and began the grim search for his friend and ex-employer, his heart filled with dread as to what he may find.

Methodically he swept the rooms, creeping around upturned furniture, avoiding scattered shards of glass and china, almost loosing his balance in the enormous pool of strawberry/kiwi Jell-O smeared across the kitchen floor. Only the bedroom remained. He braced for whatever horror might await him and swung around the doorframe, gun at the ready.

"Logan! Speak to me." His friend's body lay in a tangle of sheets under the upturned mattress on the floor. Bling flung the mattress off the inert form and gasped in shock. "Logan, my God, what did they do to you?" Every inch of his exposed body was red and puckered, as if some giant octopus had wrapped its tentacles around him and applied all its suckers at once. There was a hideous circular wound in the center of his forehead and a mass of scratches ran down the length of his back. The bastards, the cowardly bastards—to have attacked a disabled man so viciously and left him here to die alone.

"Hey Bling." He staggered back in amazement. Logan was alive and conscious and . . . grinning. Clearly, he was in shock. Bling placed one hand on his arm, the other on his back, and gently tried to assist him to a sitting position. "ARRGGGHHHH."

Quickly, he returned his friend to the floor. "OK, where does it hurt?" The fear in his eyes belied the calm and even tone of his voice.

Logan paused, obviously assessing the extent of his injuries. "Everywhere." He grinned even more. Bling tried to maintain his stoic exterior, his mind frantically assessing the likelihood of brain damage. "Yeap, my forehead, shoulders, arms, ears . . . all the way down to my toes."  Bling sighed. He'd better get Sam Carr to call in a    specialist as soon as possible.

"Who did this?" At least he could try to avenge Eyes Only's tragic end.

"What do you mean?"

"This."  Bling motioned to his friend's battered body and to the devastation surrounding them.

"Oh that. Well . . . I . . . I was working out."

"What?"

"Guess I got a little carried away."

"What? You and the Green Bay Packers?"

"No, Just me . . . "--Bling looked stern and disbelieving--" . . . and Max."

Bling's expression turned from incredulous . . . to blank . . . to inscrutable. He paused a minute to assimilate the information. "You'd better get your ass up off the floor. You've got a lot of cleaning up to do." He smiled to himself as he left the room. Later he would offer Logan a massage and torture some of the details out of him, except for the Jell-O, he really didn't think he wanted to know about the Jell-O.

***

Max had left early, looking like her old self again and yelling something about forgetting to let Normal out of her locker. Logan hoped they could deal maturely with the aftermath of this, and not let things get weird between them. He had wanted to get up and see her off, but twelve times in an eight hour period was just too much to ask.

He lay on the floor, reflecting on the activities of last night. They had moved from the chair to the shower—eventually. Yes, he was so proud that she had finally overcome her cyclical fear of water. In fact, they'd used up the entire building's supply of hot water and had had to transfer to the bathroom floor. At that stage, they'd tried to make it to the bed, but had somehow fallen into a closet along the way, where Max had discovered the vacuum cleaner and its attachments. He shivered at the recollection.

She had then decided she was hungry so they'd rolled to the kitchen, stopping twice in the hallway along the way.  While he fixed sandwiches, she had run out to the 24-hour convenience store, saying she had a sudden craving for Jell-O. He'd been polite and not mentioned his aversion to the stuff when she had return 2.5 minutes later with a couple of dozen four packs of the ready to eat variety. However, now he could see its appeal; his mistake had been trying to eat if off a spoon all these years.

Of course, then they'd had to shower again but, as only half of the building's 100,000-gallon tank had reheated, they couldn't linger too long.  On the way to bed, the computer had beeped, signaling an incoming message. Never one to put pleasure before work, he had gone to check it out. However, he had barely had time to open an email before she had snuck up on him and savagely attacked him from behind.  Logan frowned at the thought that they might have erased the entire Informant Net—but it had been a very educational experience; he'd had no idea keyboards could be put to such uses.

In due course, they had reached the relative safety and comfort of the couch—but not for long. A particularly enthusiastic demonstration of ashtanga yoga on Max's part had sent them tumbling across the floor to the dining room table where--he smiled with pride--he had taught her a thing or two. He had to admit, she'd been an excellent student, insisting they practice on both kitchen tables on the way to the sink for a glass of water. There she had demonstrated that her fear of water was indeed conquered, and finally they had dragged themselves to bed. However, the sight of Max reclining naked on his sheets had been too much for him and they had tangled one more time before collapsing onto the floor where he now lay. It would be a miracle if he could ever get up again.

***

Jampony was a relaxed, almost happy place that morning. No one had any idea as to Normal's whereabouts, and the annoying, high-pitched bip-bip-bip coming from the vicinity of Max's locker apparently hadn't been noticed by any of the fifty or so employees lolling about the place.

"Where be Normal?" Herbal, surrounded by a dense cloud of smoke, was looking laid back and very herbal.

Sketchy turned toward him, inhaling appreciatively. "Missing . . . and you hear that bipping. Cindy says it's the new musak system Normal had installed. We're going to have to listen to that all the time. As soon as the boss gets back here, I'm lodging a formal complaint. Or maybe Max could 'fix it' first."

"Where be Max?"

Original Cindy breezed past looking distracted and impatient. "Just called. She's on her way in. Had to go home and change before coming to work." She almost cringed, slamming her mouth shut.

Sketchy suddenly came to life and bounded out in front of her. "Out all night? Doin' what? With who? For how long? In what  . . .

"Shut up fool. You say I let anythin' slip, they'll be pickin' your body parts up for a three mile radius. If they've microscopes powerful enough to find them, that is." She swaggered toward the entrance, attempting to look nonchalant.

Sketchy went back to inhaling and pouting. He wished Max were here to distract OC from beating up on those unable to defend themselves. When OC was on the rampage even Normal's presence was reassuring. He sighed. With both of them missing he was easy pickings . . . both of them missing? He screwed up his face in concentration. Both not here at the same time. Max out all night. Normal who was always at work, not at work. His head hurt, but he felt that he had stumbled on something important. He inhaled deeper and closed his eyes.

OK, when had he last seen them? Go back in time Sketch. He was eight years old and had his tongue stuck to a frozen flagpole. No, not that far . . . yesterday . . . yes, yesterday evening before knocking off time. He waited for the tape to rewind. Normal had been changing into his suit. Max had been--suddenly he tensed--she had been looking at the boss in a strange manner. Not unlike the strange manner in which she looked at him in his favorite fantasy involving Max, her motorcycle, a large tub of treacle and New York Philharmonic Orchestra. "NONONONONO!" His screams were quickly replaced by uncontrollable sobbing. Just say . . . just say it wasn't so.

Seeing OC attach herself to Max at the entrance and guide her back to the Ladies Room, Sketchy inserted his fist in his mouth and concealed himself behind some nearby lockers. He had to hear what they were saying . . . he had to know for sure.

"Tell your boo all about it." Cindy backed her friend into the little room, ignoring the door gaping open behind them.

"Cindy, it's kinda personal."

OC rolled her eyes. "OK just tell me if he . . . how you both . . .what exactly he did . . .."

"What didn't he do . . . " Max sounded a little pissed with the interrogation, " . . . multiple times . . . all night." Gasp! Sketchy pushed his fist further back in his throat.

"Was it  . . . different? Y'know, given the givens."

Yeah, thought Sketchy, given that it was with such a miserable excuse for a human being.

"He was . . .very inventive . . . we did things I'd never dreamed of . . .in ways I'd never imagined . . . " Max relaxed into a smile " . . . the man was amazing. OK?"  

"OK then . . .. But, just spill some of the details . . . com'n Max. Y'know I don't keep any secrets from my boo." Sketchy peeked through the doorjamb, watching Cindy wringing her hands in frustration. Max looked a little repentant. Sketchy inclined an ear further in their direction.

"Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip." NO . . . not now. Would someone turn that damn muzak down. Oh no, now the girls had their backs to him, heads close together, discussing things he would sell his collection of Pamela Anderson action figures to hear. He ventured a little closer to the door straining to hear any snippet of conversation drifting his way.

". . .party . . . in the car wash then . . .." Oh, speak up for God's sake. " . . . slapping . . . all wet . . . then the parking garage . . .." Sketchy moved closer still. " . . . couldn't wait for the  elevator  . . . so the stairway . . .. Hey what's that groaning noise?"

"Don't hear nothin'. You're not goin' to tell me the juicy bits are you?"

"Have to leave something to the imagination. Of course, you'd need a pretty good imagination . . .. You know, I swear I can hear someone crying." Max was making for the door. Quickly, Sketchy slipped into a convenient locker, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Hey, they've got pigeon burgers at McDonald's." The unfortunate messenger relaying the good news from the front entrance was instantly trodden underfoot by a herd of protein deprived young people. Cindy, emerging from the restroom to investigate the commotion, was pushed aside in the melee and crashed into the locker door, trapping a weepy Sketchy inside.

"Rats!" he exclaimed at the latch clicked home.

"No, that was last week." Cindy rolled her eyes. That Sketchy was such a fool--she looked around in confusion--wherever he was. "C'mon boo, early lunch."  She and Max walked out into the rain sodden streets of Seattle, leaving a deserted Jampony behind, the usually bustling workplace silent except for the occasional "bip" . . .  "sob" . . .  "bip" . . . "sob" . . ..

***

Logan sat in the kitchen, holding the last container of Jell-O and looking thoughtful. Max hadn't returned his page from that afternoon. He knew that didn't necessarily mean anything, but given Max's skittishness where commitment was concerned, he couldn't help but fear the worst. He had to be careful not to scare her off; he should play it cool.

"Hey." She announced her arrival with a shy smile.

He wanted to grab her hand and run off with her to a desert island, where they would grow old together.  If they hurried, they could fling the remains of his art collection in the back of the Aztek, hit the pawnbrokers and make it to the airport before the last flight to somewhere tropical. "Hey yourself." He permitted himself an 'I'm happy to see you, in a noncommittal sort of way' smile and moved his wheels a quarter turn in her direction. "You hungry?"

"No," she cooed. "Sorry I didn't get back to you. I was busy all afternoon helping Normal reconstruct a daring robbery attempt he foiled last night. He distinctly remembers being shoved head first into a locker, after fighting off a rampaging hoard of package thieves."

"Did he take much convincing?"

"Not really. Twenty-one hours in a confined and isolated space aids the power of suggestion remarkably."

'I bet."

Max took a step toward him, grinning. "You know about what happened."

"After the fishpond . . . and the sector police barriers, and the impact with the dashboard, and the dust storm, and the fall down the flight of stairs."

'I was real emotional with all that was going on."

"I know."

"It's not . . ." desperately she looked into his eyes for understanding, leaned on the counter, and tilted her hips in the way that seemed to drive him crazy  ". . . like I meant to remove all your clothing and have my way with you."

"Me neither." He put the Jell-O down and grinned back.  "Take off your shirt."

"I mean . . ." She flung the scrap of fabric in his direction.

"Exactly." Logan dodged. "Come over here."

"So long as that's clear." She grinned as Logan scooped her onto his lap.

"I'm glad we talked about it." Although, it was really hard to carry on this heartfelt conversation with Max in that sexy black lace bra. Best just set it aside on the table for now.

"Me too." She arched her back. "Maybe we should discuss it at length, in a more comfortable setting."

"Definitely, but my hands are full right now."

"Allow me."  Max started wheeling them down the hallway to the bedroom, doing her best to keep in a straight line.

***

And so, we leave our lovers to explore the intricacies of their relationship. Maybe someday they'll share the thrust of their discussion with us, but for now . . . CRASH . . . for now . . .

"Logan move your fingers for a minute . . . ooohhhhh."

"Hey, I moved them didn't I."

. . . for now . . ." OOOHHHHHH" . . . oh, for heaven's sake. I can't work under these conditions. Next season I'm writing Star Trek fan fiction—bet Picard and Troy don't behave in such an unprofessional manner . . .. Hey, what if Logan were bald—would Max would find that sexy? . . .. Think of the possibilities . . ..

Gee, now I'm not sure. The BBWW scene as originally written was very touching in its own way. Maybe I should go with the original and back to my alternate scenario where they never lay a hand on one another again . . ..