Disclaimer: The series "Dark Angel" is not mine. It belongs to a bunch of a--wipes Twentieth Century Fox. I also have no claim to the band Korn or any of their work.

Setting: Fogle Towers, approximately 6:30pm.

Logan sat at his desk, trying to concentrate on the work in front of him, and failing to do so. His hands were sitting motionless on the keyboard, as they had for the past ten minutes. He was waiting for Bling to head home for the night. It wasn't that he didn't like Bling; quite the opposite in fact. It was just that tonight every single noise was a source of distraction for him. That, and his pride wouldn't allow him to start sulking until there was no other living being around to ridicule him for it.

So, of course, Bling decided to stop in before he left to see if there was anything else that Logan needed. And, of course, the first thing he noticed was the expression on Logan's face as he sat staring dreamily at the unlit Halogen desk lamp sitting next to the computer.

"Something wrong, Logan?" Bling asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway in what Logan noted to be a very Max-like manner. Logan broke out of his trance to glance up at him for a moment before focusing on the computer screen.

"Somethings always wrong, Bling," Logan replied steadily, wanting the other man to leave. "We live in a broken world." He gestured to his computer screen as he spoke.

"Now, we both now I meant with you," Bling's facial expression was one of amusement and concern. "What's up, you and Max have a tiff or something?"

"A 'tiff?'" Logan found Bling's choice of words amusing. "Well, I don't think I'd call it that."

"So what would you call it?" Bling was triumphant that Logan had admitted that something had indeed happened between he and Max.

"I," Logan paused before admitting, "have absolutely no clue. She's mad at me, I guess, for working when she was around."

"Uh-huh," Bling nodded, indicating that Logan should continue.

"It- I don't know," Logan sighed in frustration. "Look, Max just needs time to cool off, and I'm giving it to her. That's really all that can be done. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to what I was doing."

"Absolutely nothing, you mean?" Oh yeah, lots of amusement in that tone. Bling straightened from the doorway and turned to leave. "Well, okay then. I'll leave you to it." He paused and turned his head back to call "Hope she comes back soon. You seem lost without her, you know." And with that he left for the evening, calling to Logan that he'd see him tomorrow.

Logan said nothing, marveling at the fact that the other man was right, and only one thought passed through his mind for several long minutes afterwards:

What the hell am I going to do now?

Cough, Cough

You people are lucky I'm sick and have nothing better to do than torture fictional characters.

CUT TO:

Setting: Max and Original Cindy's Crib

Max slammed her bedroom door behind her in order to express the finality of the conversation to Original Cindy. She flopped down onto her seldom-used bed and stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

When she noticed her position on the bed and it's resemblance to Logan's that morning, her mind raged at the image of Logan, under his comforter, wearing a gray cotton tee that was clingy in all the right places, and possibly navy boxers, but she'd only had a glimpse of them.

This train of thought continued for all of two minutes until the sensible voice of 452 in her head blocked them out.

What's the matter with you, Soldier! You are not in heat. Sentimentality is the quickest rode to a painful death at the hands of militant whack jobs!

Oh please, The other voice drawled, you're a militant whack job.

I'm keeping us alive.

Just because we have a heartbeat doesn't mean we're really living.

Max shook her head to silence the voices. That's it, she thought, I've gone insane. I'm listening the Annoying voice yet again. Once OC's at Crash, I'm going to go see Logan and apologize. Not because I feel sorry, but because I need to see him. The cold, paralyzing ache had settled in her chest once again.

You're like a junkie itching for a fix. Her inner Soldier scolded.

There is no sweeter high. The Annoying Voice replied in a sing-song voice.

You can't possibly justify-- The Inner Soldier began.

Tryp-to-phan The Annoying Voice sang in reply.

Damn.

Max groaned, rolled to a stand, and went to probe her closet for something different to wear. Then she waited for OC to leave, fortunately, she didn't have to wait long. Then she hopped on her Ninja, and sped through the streets of Seattle on her way to Logan's.

Korn's See you on the other side blasts as the Author Coughs up a Lung

Cut To:

Setting: Logan's Penthouse, about thirty minutes later.

Having given up any hope of working, Logan had decided to eat and then call it an early night. He was pouring himself a bowl of Corn Flakes when a voice far to feminine to be Bling's spoke up from somewhere behind him.

"That," The Voice Scolded. "Is not a proper meal." Logan grinned and wheeled to face the Voice.

"And a grown man," Max added. "Really shouldn't be turning in at oh," She glanced at her watch, "8:30. What are you, eighty?" Logan simply grinned at her.

"Well, in regard to the cereal," He said. "I had no inspiration for anything else." His grin grew as Max turned slightly pink at his words.

"Yeah, well, now you've got some," Max retorted.

"Oh I do, do I?" Logan's voice did nothing to conceal his amusement.

"Yes," Max replied. "It's called 'survival.'" Logan laughed.

"Okay, just let me get this cleared away," he said as he proceeded to pour the (thankfully) dry cereal back into the box. "And I'll make us some real food."

Just what I wanted to hear," Max agreed, snatching the cereal box from him and putting it away for him. Logan laughed, recognizing her helpful act as an attempt to get him in front of the fridge (and, consequently, dinner's ingredients) faster.

A/N: That's All for now, Folks. To be continued...