Disclaimer: I don't own the show Dark Angel, I don't own the characters either. Those would be the property of the creators--Mr. Cameron and Mr. Eglee. Life just wouldn't be complete if I wasn't allowed to at least write fanfic for it though.

A/N: Please don't hate me. I know it's been years since I updated anything. Unfortuanately, college loans will not pay themselves back, and I just haven't had the proper inspiration to complete some of my thoughts for various chapters. That is changing. As you can see with this chapter, I am updating. It may take some time, but it will happen.

A/N2: I know many of you aren't happy with the fact that Max is defenseless, but she does have Alec. If you trust me and my writing, please keep reading. You won't be disappointed. I do have a plan.

Always a Woman

Chapter Six: Never Write Secrets Down on Paper

Dust curled around the air as Alec shifted another large piece of sheeting from the boxes he had found piled in the basement. He sighed, unable to even imagine what waited in the boxes before him, and moved to the first one in his path.

It's only been a day and I'm doing housework, he thought, restraining the urge to vocally grumble at the task. It had to be done. If they were all going to fit in the house, they needed the space in the basement. God knew they couldn't live through another night like the one before...

As night settled around them, Alec took it upon himself to dole out sleeping arrangements. "Alright. Max gets dibs on the only bed in the place. And OC can bunk with her in there." He gestured to the only room, other than the bathroom, that had a door and stood up from the place he had taken on the couch next to Max. "Macpherson can have the—"

"No way!" Logan cried landing himself on the cushion Alec had vacated. "If you're going to say he can have the couch, it's out of the question!"

Max stood up from the couch with OC and moved to the bedroom, far away from the inevitable argument. Logan was behaving more like a child lately, and it annoyed her.

"Why are you whining about this? That is, other than your natural selfishness?" Alec stared at the older man, tired of putting up with his grumbling.

"I'm not whining. It's a valid reason! This couch is the only surviving piece of furniture I have from my old apartment. For sentimental reasons, I claim the couch," Logan proclaimed defiantly.

"A couch?" Alec rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, Logan. You're supposed to be the voice of justice and social resistance to crime, yet you choose to pick a fight over who gets to sleep on your couch." He sighed leaning back against a wall. "Jeez, man, get a hobby."

"Alec," Macpherson said, leaning on through the kitchen doorway. "Its fine, I can sleep in the kitchen."

"At least let me find you some blankets," Alec offered. The man had been open and helpful to them, he deserved better than sleeping on the worn kitchen chairs, most likely slumped against table.

Macpherson waved Alec's offer away, heading back into the kitchen, the microscope cradled gently in his arm on top of the table. "It won't be the first time I've slept at the table."

Logan lounged on the couch clutching three pillows tightly beneath him, quickly falling into a lightly-snoring sleep.

Alec sat on the floor with a groan. He leaned back against the wall outside the bedroom where the women slept. They had to survive at least one night. They would have time to do something differently for tomorrow, but for now, all they had to do was sleep...

Between keeping general order in the house, and trying to clean out the basement, Alec started to feel like a mix between landlord and father. He shook his head at the idea. It had only been a day and he was going nuts.

He shifted the box to one of the piles he lined along the walls, attempting to hide the gray cinder blocks. She wouldn't like it, but it was the safest place in the house. He could already see her shuddering at the idea of being holed up in a windowless room.

He pursed his lips in contemplation. Maybe he could find some of Joshua's paints and do a little something to liven it up.

… … …

Max paced the living room, brooding over her new predicament. This sucked. She couldn't even go outside on her own because Alec was freaked she would get swiped by White and his ghoul-like band of Familiars. She was bored, and human.

This really sucked.

Defeated, Max slumped to the couch and agitatedly leafed through the periodicals that lay strewn over the coffee table. Logan was such a slob lately, it was disgusting. She used to think that Alec would be a pig, but it turned out that his military-mode of cleanliness had been maintained. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that it was Alec sorting through the boxes of who-knew-what that resided in the basement rather than Logan.

Part of it made sense. Most of the boxes pertained to Sandeman, and therefore Manticore, so it was unlikely that Alec would want Logan anywhere near them. But Logan was such a neat-freak when it came to his information. Something about the two of them didn't settle with her anymore. Everything had been turned upside down. Logan was a slob and Alec was an over-protective neat-freak. Go figure.

She shrugged, finally giving up on deconstructing the change—if it was even a change, or simply facts she hadn't noticed before.

Max's eyes wandered the room as the antsy feeling returned. She was bored again. Her gaze settled on a metallic object poking out from beneath the magazines. "Oooh, toy," Max said, reaching for Alec's discarded cell phone.

… … …

Most of the boxes he had sorted through contained reports on procedure and financing. Boring stuff. And it was all paper. Granted, all of the information gathered in the masses of boxes probably constituted Manticore's entire database.

Research planning, model characteristics of the transgenic program, and individual profile and mission logs... Some of it might even be helpful in Terminal City. But it was all paper. It would take days to sort through everything that had been collected. Then there was analysis...

Alec sighed, leafing through another folder. Dix and Luke would probably love this kind of thing. He dropped the file on top of a waist-high stack, dust lifting to move lightly on the air. Before he could send it all to the boys in TC, he knew he had to sift through the rest of it. There could be something about Max in here that could help.

He picked up the next box and set it on the piano bench. He lifted off the dusty cover and pulled out the first file. He stopped, staring fixedly at the first page. It was Max. Her entire transgenic genetic sequence. A profile of what she was...what she used to be anyway.

He leafed through the other folders in the box, anxiously. He wouldn't allow himself to hope now. Hope would lessen his strength and lead him to rely on an unconfirmed speculation. He set the box aside, masking it among the other piles he stacked against the wall. If he could help it, he would be the only one who would look through that box. The unsettled feeling growing just under his ribcage told him their existence relied on what that box contained about the girl upstairs.

... ... ...

"Alec, why am I on your speed-dial list?" she asked looking up from the menu on his phone as he came up the stairs.

He met her gaze, but didn't respond.

She frowned at the dazed expression in his eyes. When his expression turned reminiscent, her eyes narrowed. "Hellooo? Pretty boy, are you in there?" she drawled, sarcasm lacing her voice.

He dropped beside her on the couch. "What?" He glanced at the face of his cell phone, glowing from its place in her hand. "Oh," he grinned, "that's only for when I need a good lap dance." Alec held his arms up in defense, anticipating her retaliatory punch to the gut.

Max pursed her lips uncomfortably at his reaction. "Moron," she breathed, forcing away the smirk that threatened at the edges of her mouth. She couldn't find pleasure in his instinctive reaction anymore. Now it was merely a habitual response. He knew better.

Alec dropped his arms and looked at her. "I'm sorry, Max." He had known it was stupid to joke about it when her humanity was such a sore point for her. He opened his mouth, but closed it. He couldn't tell her. In case it was nothing, he didn't want to get her hopes up for nothing.

She shrugged, shifting slightly, still unused to the deflated feeling her muscles moved with. Her recovery was slow, but progress was being made. At least she no longer felt like her arms were noodles. She sighed. So far it hadn't been an issue, but it was only a matter of time before it would turn into a large, glaring problem.

She trusted Alec, sure. But usually, it was the two of them in dangerous situations. She wouldn't be able to watch his back, and he would most likely be too preoccupied watching hers to defend himself if the time came. She really hated the weakness. She hated the idea of not being useful to anybody. She hated being human. After nearly two years of wanting to be a normal girl, she got what she wanted, and she despised it.

Alec plucked his phone from her hands, after noticing the murderous glint in her eyes as she slowly squeezed it. He wasn't entirely sure what the look was for, but he knew it had nothing to do with his weak taunt. "I need to go pick up a few things." Alec could tell that Max needed a little time to think through things. He figured now was as good a time as any. He stood from the couch to show his intent, knowing that her focus was directed inward, battling her own thoughts. "So, if you need anything at all, just call me." He patted her on top of the head, drawing her from her thoughts.

She aimed an aggravated swat at his gesture. He let his arm go loose, allowing her to force it away. "Regardless of my physical state, I will kick your ass one way or another," Max stated defiantly.

Alec smirked. "I know," he said gently, then left.