Disclaimer: I do not own, nor make any money from, Dark Angel. I really really wish that I did, but I don't. I'm a poor, suffering university student. I have no money. I have nothing. Don't sue.

A/N: This is my very first fanfic, so let me know what you think. I don't know if I should continue the story, or where to go with it, so let me know! Also, they've only *just* started screening the second season here, so I'm a little behind, and missing some details. Forgive me for turning Logan into a drunk, I read a summary of one of the season 2 eps, and thought it was a funny idea.

Keeping a hero down

*** Foggle Towers, NIGHT***

There was a loud bang as the bottle hit the bottom of the trash bin Logan kept in the corner of his study. He stared at it blankly. Three months ago, when he was still playing basketball, he would have taken a few seconds to silently gloat over making the shot. Now… He slumped back down onto the desk and sighed. Drunk again. It didn't happen every night, just every night that he missed Max. Which was every night that he was conscious. As he faded into sleep, he relived the last few days he'd spent with her, yet again.

"If only she could see me now." Logan slurred. "The great eyes-only…" he lowered his head into his hands and succumbed to an alcohol induced sleep.

Across the street, on top of the very same building Max had once used to check out Logan's apartment, stood the figure of a man, consumed by shadows. With his enhanced vision, he watched Logan, and took in the details; drunken man, picture of a girl taped to the computer, the built up files, large amount of computer equipment, and empty bottles. He shook his head in disgust. This couldn't be the guy he was looking for. He'd been watching the place for days, and many a bottle had been pitched at the trashcan. Still shaking his head, and now scowling, the figure scouted the exterior of the penthouse, his eyes glimmering when they fell on the skylight.

***Jam Pony, DAY***

"Packages ain't gonna deliver themselves, bip bip bip!" Came the drone of Normal, Jam Pony's self-professed god. Three bike messengers rolled their eyes simultaneously, sombre looks on their faces.

"Have a little respect mun," came the reply, spoken with a heavy accent. Herbal Thought turned to look at his boss. "Today's a sad day for all of us. Max 'as been gone for t'ree months." Sketchy, as well as a third messenger, Darin, nodded in agreement. Normal sighed, and looked at each messenger in turn.

"Well, grieving time officially ends in five minutes. These packages aren't gonna move themselves." As an afterthought, he added, "Still no word from Max, huh? I wouldn't say goodbye to the likes of you either." The look from the three messengers in front of him was enough to silence him, on that topic at least.

"And where the firetruck is Original Cindy?"

***Space Needle, DAY***

"Guess Original Cindy don't know why she didn't believe your boy, suga. He got all upset an' all, saying how you died in his arms. Just didn't feel it. An' Original Cindy has a feel for these things." The lone figure on top of the space needle sighed. She looked around, as if waiting for Max to walk up beside her, but there was no one. Not even the usual onslaught of drug dealers and street kids that frequented the needle. She sighed again.

"He ain't doin' too good. I'm gonna take care of it. Original Cindy's been puttin' it off, but she'll look after her homegirl's business. Make sure your boy gets looked after." Sighing again, Original Cindy looked down upon the broken city below. "Freedom, boo. If nothing else, Original Cindy is glad you got your freedom from those black helicopter guys, wanting to mess you up good. Freedom. Whatever. Dead or not, you still my boo. Take care of Diamond." She turned, walking slowly away from the lookout point. Her voice catching in her throat, she whispered, "Miss you forever suga."

***Foggle Towers, DAY***

Banging on the door roused Logan from his sleep. Someone wanted into his apartment. Now. He groaned, lifting his head slightly. He groaned louder, wondering briefly how many bottles it had been last night. The banging continued. Logan felt around his desk for his glasses. More banging. No glasses. Where were his glasses? Where were the headache pills? The banging not subsiding, Logan wheeled himself to the door and yelled a loud 'Who is it?' before regretting yelling anything, and holding his head. If possible, the hangovers were getting worse.

"It's Original Cindy. Open this door before I get all Manticore on your ass!" the voice on the other side of the door cried out. Logan groaned again, not appreciating the joke. He pulled back the locks on the door, and turned the handle.

Original Cindy took it all in; the messy living room, dishes piled high in the kitchen, and through the open door to the study, a trash can with at least two empty bottles of something alcoholic. And the man in front of her. She'd never seen a sorrier sight.

"Been busy, Suga?" she asked, not waiting for an invitation into the apartment. Catching sight of more empty bottles in the kitchen, she raised her eyebrows.

"Original Cindy sees you've been very busy." He glared at her. 

"What are you doing here?" He growled, still very aware of the state of his head.

"Now, is that any way to treat a guest? Original Cindy got your back, boo! She came to get you out of this slump you been in. You don't make a good drunk." Logan looked up angrily. His eyes narrowed.

"This is not," he began, his tone icy, "a slump. This," he continued, "is called mourning. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. I'm not in a slump. And I don't need your help, or you 'getting my back.' Thank you." Original Cindy lost her smile, and narrowed her own eyes. Adopting Logan's icy tone for herself, she answered,

"Mourning? You call this mourning? This is a selfish cycle of self-pity, this ain't no mourning. How dare you call it that? Don't know what my boo ever saw in you. Sure as hell know she wouldn't see it now. The great Eyes-Only, forgetting the world and thinking only about his own sorry ass. Might as well give up and call yourself 'I, only' " She joked, though her tone stayed the same.

"How do you know about that?" Logan asked angrily. She was right, which only served to make him angrier. "Who have you told? What have you-"

"Original Cindy ain't told no one." She cut in. "Not that they'd believe her, even if she did. Pathetic boy like you, little lost rich boy-"

"Enough!" Logan exclaimed. He sighed, and lost the ice from his voice. "I know what you're trying to do, I really do. I think I even appreciate it. It's just, just…" He looked down. "I need more time." He finished softly. Original Cindy looked him over, knowing she'd lost, for now anyway. She headed toward the door, but stopped, and turned, looking back at him.

"Just don't take too much time, suga. The world's still broken, and there ain't too many heroes out there." He looked up at her and gave her a small smile.

***Jam Pony, DAY***

"Come on people, bip bip bip! Why can't I have decent, hardworking employees?" Normal muttered to himself.

"'Cause decent, hardworking employees ain't stupid enough to wanna work here." Original Cindy answered, walking past his desk.

"Hold it missy!" Normal exclaimed, bringing her back. "You just think you can waltz in here at any time of the day? Think the departure of your friend means you can take over as most punctual employee?" A glare from OC put him in his place.

"Original Cindy had some shit to do." Normal shook his head and muttered something inaudible. He tossed her a package.

"Here, hot run, 415 Euclid." Normal barked. She turned and grinned at him. "What?" he asked.

"One-oh-five, Normal." She answered brightly. "Original Cindy's on a break." She tossed the package back, and walked to where Herbal and Sketchy were sitting, watching the TV, and doing very little else. They each looked up, and began their greetings, when a familiar face and voice caught all of the messengers' attention.

"Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a streaming freedom video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city."

The bike messengers cheered at seeing Eyes Only appear on the screen.

The cable hack continued. "Since the early 1990s, billions of your tax dollars have been diverted from legitimate government programs to fund secret experiments in genetic engineering…."

"He's back!" Sketchy exclaimed. "Thought we'd lost him!"  Original Cindy smacked his head.

"Sketch, you fool, don't you know anything? Takes a lot to keep a hero down." She smiled, as the cable hack went on, detailing the ins and outs of Manticore.