Disclaimer: Not mine. Dark Angel belongs to rich people (J. Cameron, C.H. Eglee, Fox) who don't deserve it and the story was written by me and is now Lisa0316's.

A/N: This is a little one-shot, a result of fooling around in e-mails and private messages and following the installation of the AURLCO (Authors United to Rip Logan's Clothes Off). Anyone interested to join this noble institution can apply with a PM and a fic, ficlet, snippet, whatever that features Logan in a state of partial (or complete) undress. Any genre is welcome, but fluff preferred.

Warning: Not a native speaker. This has not been betaed.

What's wrong today?

Logan knew that something was wrong the moment he woke up.

"What the hell is wrong with me today?"
Although he usually was a quiet sleeper – as being unable to move your lower half makes you a quiet sleeper- his shirt had somehow managed to ride up and was now wrapped around his shoulders, while the sun was lazily drawing circles on the smooth skin of his bare chest and abdomen. Blinking sleepily into the sunlight he pushed himself into a seating position, ran his hand through his tousled hair and - after a moment of thought - stripped the unruly piece of cloth and transferred. Bare-chested he made it to the bathroom to take a shower and lavishly exploit the fact that the Cale fortune granted him an unlimited supply of shower gel (which was a rare thing to get in a broken world these days, just like toothpaste). While the hot water ran over his shoulders, he covered his whole body in suds and enjoyed the fresh masculine scent, without giving a second thought to his unusual awakening.

"Logan, what the hell is wrong with you today?"
Bling asked unbelievingly. "First you soak your work out shirt, 'cause you don't close the water bottle and now – orange juice?" Logan didn't reply, but silently looked down at his sweater where yellow liquid was mingling with dark green wool and then at the now empty glass in his hand. With a soft groan he put the glass in the sink and turned to his bedroom. The sticky fabric clung to his skin like a rubber glove and he desperately needed to change. Just a second later the sweater had joined his white night shirt and his grey Guevara shirt in the laundry basket and Logan decided to wear one of his favourites, a long sleeve shirt in light grey.

"Logan, what the hell is wrong with you today?" Mia panted for air and tried hard to breath despite her fit of laughter. The grey shirt had lasted exactly one hour and twenty-one minutes. Alerted after the mishaps of the morning, Logan had done everything to be extra-careful in his actions, but despite his caution the attempt to prepare puff pastry for dinner had lead to a Logan covered in flour, a not so amused frown on his face, and Mia shaking with laughter. Even his deadliest stare couldn't stop her – the sight of Logan with flour in his hair and on his face and shirt was too much. Slowly he reached for a dishtowel, wiped his glasses and face first and then the wheels of his chair, still shooting Mia the "death glare from hell" he usually reserved for cable hacks against villains and high ranking criminals. "Do you really think this is funny?"

"Yeees!" Mia squeaked with amusement, but still caught the towel he tossed to her and started to help him. After they had cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and Logan had somehow managed to get the most of the flour off his chair, he went to change into a tight red shirt.

"Logan, what the hell is wrong with you today?"
Corey asked concerned as he stopped next to Logan, who was trying to get back in the chair after the latest of countless falls at basketball practice that day. "Never seen you that clumsy before." His team mate didn't answer immediately. With surprise Logan had noticed that he wasn't even surprised as a fall that wouldn't have had any consequences any other day had ripped a giant hole in his shirt.
"I better get home. Something's strange today."

"Logan?"
Max snuck in around midnight. She had suddenly felt hungry at Crash and had left Mia and Original Cindy behind to get a little snack from her favorite meal ticket. Having felt kinda punk all day, she had taken an extra dose of Tryptophan, but didn't feel better. "Nothing that a post-pulse Pinot Gris couldn't cure. With the right company."

Expecting to find Logan in the computer room or brooding in front of the window, she was surprised to see light in the kitchen, walked around the corner and froze. There was Logan, stirring in a small pot and… not wearing a shirt. Logan startled, looked up to find Max standing there, cursed her transgenic stealth once more and blushed immediately.

"I,… I'm …" unable to find the words for his predicament he pointed at the little pot. "Milk and honey."

Meanwhile Max had recovered from the initial shock of being exposed to the wonder that was Logan's body, had had the time to fight the sensory overload and was on her way to the fridge, trying her best not to look at him. "Milk and honey? Half-naked?"

"You don't want to know!" Logan sighed and thought of the heap of discarded clothes in the laundry basket. In the evening and after Mia had left for Crash he had decided that it would be for the better not to ruin another shirt, had thanked the universe for being right on schedule with central heating and had spent the rest of the night topless. But if he had known that Max… He needed a shirt. Now.

"Max, I know you're hungry, but could you wait just …"SPLASH! The universe had decided that being right on schedule was Logan, his chest and tepid milk and honey, all in one cute and embarrassed package.

When he looked up again, to get a dishtowel and trying to avoid her gaze, he suddenly heard a strange sound next his ear and there was Max, purring and flushed. And although he noticed her reddened cheeks and saw the playful sparkle in her dark eyes, it took him by surprise as she leaned forward and started to lick the warm milk off his chest.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LISA0316!!!

Many thanks to Shywr1ter for lending Cory to me. And now folks, first review and the go and read Clean Slate and Minimum Contacts, ok?