Disclaimer: Dark Angel and affiliating characters belong to 20th Century Fox, not to me. I'm just pretending I'm a writer for the show. Don't sue me.

Spoiler: None, just set sometime during the better season 1.

Rating: R Explicit imagery, language.

AN: Listening to Portishead's "Dummy" while writing this. Giving Max "a reason to be a woman"...

"What, the all knowing Eyes Only needs reminding to take his medication?" Max sauntered up behind him, dropping the small bottle into this lap. She smirked briefly at the back of head before he spun to face her.

Her grin grew. She loved that incredulous look of his. So very Logan.

His eyes met hers for mere seconds before glancing at the parcel in his lap.

Naturally, she heard the gruff exhalation of aggravated breath.

Pivoting on her heel, she marched for the kitchen, making sure to sway her hips in perfect rhythm with her steps. God, she hoped it drove him nuts. "This girl's starved," she exclaimed, extra loudly, for his benefit of course.

No questions, she knew, don't ask him about the pills. Not yet anyhow. Hungry Logan is prickly Logan. She rolled her eyes at the thought, scouring the inside of the fridge. Ingredients stared back at her, alien like. Toss 'em all together, whatever it was he did, she certainly couldn't find the right combination.

"Logan, how the hell do people grasp the concept of cooking? It's like... whack." She shut her eyes. Say something, damn you. Anything.

A grin. Unless you're speechless from the mere sight of my ass, in which case, by all means, keep it up.

"Uh, right. You're hungry. Who'd have thought?"

She heard his approach from behind, his hand on the small of back, a gentle request to move. She stood back, holding the fridge door open, staring down at him. God, Logan, you're beautiful.

He dove inside the fridge, reaching for items easily, not pausing to think, to wonder; just began piling things on his lap. He glanced up at her, briefly. "Ah, yes, a definite surprise miracle for you." His eyes twinkled back. "So, how was work?"

"Totally, utterly, 'Normal' if you catch my drift."

The corner of his mouth twisted up at her, his smile reached his eyes. A rare sight.

Max reddened, turned away, letting the fridge door gently smack his wheel. She hoisted herself on the counter as Logan backed away, turning to reach under the pantry for pots and pans, whatever miracle tools he needed. "Why, you got some for me?"

His eyebrow arched.

"Work, I mean. You know, evade and escape dealios, stealing precious documents, save the world one dirtbag at a time stuff."

He laughed at her, he actually laughed. Short, but sincere, a sound she'd thought he'd forgotten. Wow. Logan. Good mood.

Max smiled at him, straightening her top, the cotton wrapping around her bra perfectly.

He pulled a large knife from the drawer and grabbed the cutting board, placing them next to Max's thigh on the counter.

"No way, you're the chopping guy. OC'd kill me if I ruined these babies." She shoved her hands before his eyes, fresh blue nails reflective.

He plopped several sorts of vegetables on the board before waving his hand at her. "So move over then."

She scooted left, watching his arms contract as his pulled himself onto the counter, leaving his feet resting on the seat of his wheelchair. His hip was touching hers.

Logan turned away from her as he began to chop whatever green stuff that was, supporting himself with one hand on the countertop. Max kept her eyes on his hip, resting next to hers, and slowly brought her hand forward, a single blue fingernail tracing the curvature of his thigh through his pants. Of course he couldn't tell, and Max found herself biting her lip at the thought of taking advantage of his paralysis, but whatever, she just... wanted to touch Logan. All damn day she'd been wanting to touch Logan.

He was talking about some recent EO development, but she couldn't hear it. She was simply inhaling, inhaling Logan, soap and aftershave and fresh laundry. Deodorant masking faint, earthy, decidedly male sweat. Male, man, muscle, flesh... nipples, penis... sex. Sex. Oh god, sex. Logan, Sex. Fuck. Fucking... heat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed her legs together; she shuddered. She continued to feel his leg, one finger... two... three... palm down.

Her hand bumped the small cylindrical shape in his pocket, medication rattled. From the corner of her eye, she saw him stare at her hand. Fuck. He knows.