Subject: [OTL]: [Maverick, Kai] [R] From Russia, With . . . 13/14 Date: Sun, 14 May 2000 20:34:12 -0700 From: Jaya Mitai (See previous posts for disclaimer. And thank your lucky stars you only need to refer to post one ONE more time after this!) * * * * * * * "Heard y'had a talk wid Jubi dis afternoon." The coffee curdled in her mouth, and she set the mug down. Slowly. Turned. Slowly. "You used that power of yours to make me believe you, didn't you." Remy's smile was broad, but somehow sad. "Oui." He sat backwards in one of the kitchen chairs, his arms loosely on the back. "What did y'xpect me t'do? Didn' 'xpect t'get caught like dat. Dere was no place f'me to put him, no place handy, an' I didn' have any tranq on me. Stupid on my part. Still, y'knew de guy. Y'knew how good he was." Knew. Was. Past tense. Because Evan was dead. "He was one of the best, Remy. It's rare to find an agent with morals. An agent with a soul." Her eyes were hard as rocks, belying her stomach, which insisted on being mush. "And you killed him, just like that. Bloodlessly. And just ditched the body in some bushes." Remy shrugged helplessly. "Dat I did," he finally admitted. "'Course, he woulda been more dan happy t'do de same t'me." Kai shook her head sadly. "No. He woulda liked to beat the hell outta you, but he wouldn't have killed you. Damn you, LeBeau, he _respected_ you. All the X-Men. For standing up for mutants." Again Remy shrugged. "So now what y'wanna do? I c'n follow y'outside, if y'wanna settle dis." She twisted her face into something resembling a smile. "I'm sure that would go over well with your teammates." "'Bout as well as y'slaughterin' de other Logan," he shot back. His tone was playful. His words were not. "He killed whole families. Children." "Actually, de real Logan did dat. De other Logan jus' doin' de remote control effect on 'im." She turned her back to him, grabbing the countertop to keep her hands busy. "Get out." "Non." It was a kitchen. Plenty of nice sharp things to gut him with. Dull ones, too. "LeBeau, you're real close to being dead right now." "Usually am. Or don' y'know 'bout my past, too." That was it. She whirled on him, her right foot where his head had been a second ago. He stepped smoothly back and away, taking out a short metal rod. It sprang instantly into a full-length bostaff. Kai grinned. If she could get it away from him, it wouldn't matter how fast he could move. "You two need t' lighten up," a voice quipped from the doorway. Both spun, keeping the other in their peripheral vision. Pete leaned casually on the doorframe. "Hate t'have to kick you out before y'even saw Logan, gel." His eyes twinkled. Kai eyed the both of them, her jaw set. "He killed a friend," she said tersely. "Someone he didn't have to." "Didn' know dat den," Remy pointed out quietly. "Should have, with that charm power," she shot back. "You were pissed and you didn't want him to be non-threatening. You wanted to see us as the bad guys." Pete chuckled. "Y'heard the one 'bout this pot, and this bloody kettle . . . must 'ave been something the limeys thought up . . ." Kai almost struck out at him. Pity he had a point. "Excuse me." She brushed past Pete without another word. Pete looked apologetically at Remy. "She was drinkin' Moira's coffee. Coulda turned ugly for y', that." Remy watched Wisdom for a minute, then put away the staff. "Heard 'bout dis stuff. Is it dat bad?" "Depends on how many units of th' coffee, and how many units of th' Scotch. Th' more Scotch, th' better it gets." Remy nodded. "Same true f'whiskey?" * * * * * * * Logan regarded the woman that walked in. Smelled her. Knew her. She was the one in the cell. The one Logan had tried to protect. The one that had tried not to hurt him. The one on the plane. The one that watched him with sad, sad eyes. Logan approached her slowly, so not to spook her, and she ducked her head down submissively. Good. She remembered Logan's lesson. Logan never knew when He would show up again. It was good that she remembered. * * * * * * * Kai sat down well away from him, keeping her head bowed, as he lumbered up and sniffed her from head to toe. This time, she only smelled like coffee and soap, instead of Sinclair, and he never snarled. In fact, after a moment, he seemed satisfied with his inspection, and flopped down rather companionably, much like a reclining, lazy tiger. Not a bad comparison, really. Kai sat Indian-style, but this time he showed no interest in mimicking her. He watched her lazily, every once in a while glancing at the observation window, thankfully two way. Moira had learned quickly that he didn't like mirrors one little bit. Outside, she could hear them talking. "If he doesn't mimic her -" "Aye, but ye remember how he treated Kitty?" "All I caught was fear, though, despite the noise. I don't think he wanted to hurt her, but to frighten her away." "An' he feared th' kitten, as Kai told us. Pity th' other personality is taking over th' coherent Logan - he wouldnae answer me questions about it." "They must have used that against him at some point -" "Would make sense, but they'd ha'e t'ken quite a bit aboot him . . ." Kai tried to ignore them. So Kitty had tried the same thing, and he'd behaved the same as when they'd tried the kitten. She didn't want to think about that. "Logan-san," she tried quietly. He stared at her curiously for a moment, then hooded it. Hooded . . .? Animals don't do that . . . In Japanese, she spoke almost inaudibly. "I know you understand what I'm saying. Your friends and family are worried about you - could you at least let them know you understand them?" Logan rumbled something even she couldn't make out, and he became agitated, getting up to pace back and forth, to his heartbeat. Like a beast. "Logan-san -" He snarled. Kai raised an eyebrow. He had understood her, she was sure of it. Unless -- Unless he couldn't deal with knowing what he'd become, that he'd been broken? That he didn't want to understand them, didn't want to face it? "It happened to me, too," she said, too low for the human ear to register. His pacing stopped abruptly, and he openly stared at her. "He understands me," she said, loudly enough for the intercom to pick up. He glared at her, and resumed pacing. His scent seemed . .. outraged. Oh no you don't, big guy. You're not running away. Too many people got hurt, too many people, and it was my fault. "Logan-san -" He snarled again, and made a half-hearted attempt to appear threatening, but he didn't pop his claws. "Ye done enough for one day," Moira said over the intercom. "He needs some time tae think it through. Leave him be." Kai almost smiled at her tone. This was the kind of woman that could probably cow Darius, if she so chose. Logan ignored her as she rose slowly and walked to the door. It buzzed, and Kai froze. "Dr. MacTaggert?" "Aye?" "The last cell he was in, the door buzzed." She heard the woman swear musically. "I wish ye'd mentioned that before -" Kai opened the door and stepped through, closing it gently behind her. * * * * * * * Control looked up as she walked into the bedroom style place he'd been moved to. Getting better at taking charge. Logan wasn't as strong as he used to be. Giving up. About damn time. Her scent was familiar, and her face as well. The bitch he'd flashbombed. The one that had gotten Logan out, put the distance between him and Logan. The one that had nearly destroyed him. "Moira send yah in here?" She didn't even realize, sitting comfortably in one of the chairs. This could get . . . interesting. She glanced up as the door locked. "No. I just wanted to see how you . . . two were doing." Control sighed, his eyes roving to the sword Logan had insisted Kurt bring to him to do his katas. Damned sharp blade. This could get fun. "Whoever . . . whoever I am, he's . . . he's getting out a bit more lately. I know that's what Moira intended, but . . ." "He's a bastard," Kai supplied humorlessly. Control grinned. "Somethin' like that. And Logan, he's no better than before. Jeannie keeps trying to cut the link, but something about whatever I do is keepin' her from doin' it." Kai nodded. "Told me something along those lines." Logan stood, started pacing. You bastard, you leave her alone. Control smoothly cut in, slowing the pacing a bit. No rush, friend Logan-san. "Jubi ain't too fond of you, is she." Kai laughed. "How did you guess." He smiled faintly. "She's just worried, is all." "I gathered." "So why're yah here? Y'got yer missiles." "Yeah, I did. And we lost the base, thanks to you and Remy. And Evan." Control just nodded in mock sadness. "Found the body, I take it." "Yeah." He looked up at her hard tone. "Gumbo still alive?" She regarded him with steel eyes. "For now." "Watch him, darlin'. Grew up with assassins." "So did I," she muttered quietly. She was completely unprepared when he moved, having pacing into position a long time before. He'd discovered that, with practice, he could just pop one claw at a time, and he did this now, pining her by her throat to the chair with two, the middle one still sheathed. She didn't so much as twitch. "You're the bitch that did this to me," he snarled. "If he'd stayed nearby, we wouldn't have had to strengthen the link. I wouldn't be stuck with a goddamn psychopath in my head!" "Shouldn't have taken the job," she said coldly. "Shouldn't have taken the job," he mimicked in a simpering voice. "You're in no place t'preach, woman. I oughta kill you now." Kai never flinched. "So tell me, I know you slaughtered the rest of them, when Logan was with me. You get as big a kick out of it doing it yourself as you did controlling him?" He twisted his face. "Bastard gets a goddamn high off blood. I ain't that sick." "Yeah, you just like your women underaged. Not sick at all." He cocked his head to the side. "You're not, and I could get a real kick outta you." Kai smiled suddenly. "You could. Why don't you try it?" He popped the claws of his other hand. "Don't tempt me, bitch. You're here t'kill me, aren't you." Kai continued her smile, one that didn't touch her eyes. "But yah can't, not when . . ." And Logan shoved Control aside. Realized that Control had let him. Because she wasn't going to kill him. Bastard. Control snickered. I might keep you around for kicks, pal. The ol' healing factor ain't too bad, either. Logan yanked his claws away from her, stalked to the other side of the room. "Get out," he snarled. "Get out and don't come back." Kai said nothing. He heard her stand, go to the door. Knock. It was unlocked, and she strode out without a word. The door was shut, and locked. Logan picked up his katana. The Honor sword of the Yashida Clan. Balanced perfectly, an extension of his arm, he began his katas, slowly, methodically. That won't stop me, Control taunted. You're weakening. The link is breaking down. Pretty soon, you'll be gone. Doesn't work like they think. Logan'll never be the same again. I took his thoughts. I took you out of him. And I'm killing you, pal. Destroying you. So you better play nice, or I'll decide I'm better off without you here. Logan ignored the voice, his katas keeping their slow, steady pattern. * * * * * * * It was nightfall when Kitty carefully phased up through the floor, poking her head out and looking down the dark hallway. Peter was taking his break; she'd left him in the kitchen, talking to Pete, which was a surprise all on its own. The two had been discussing, of all things, which trees were native to Russia. Pete was describing them, and Peter was naming them. Men were so strange. However, it gave her a golden opportunity, one that she gladly took. Without pause she airwalked the rest of the way into open space, and phased through the door. Logan's back was to her, and he knelt before his empty katana stand and the low window, staring out towards the ocean. The room was dark; he'd been meditating for hours, then, and hadn't bothered to hit the light. The moon was behind the racing clouds at the moment, and she was content to wait until it came out once more. There was so much she needed to tell him, the part of Logan that could truly understand. So much she wanted to reassure him. To remind him that he was loved, no matter who he was or what he had become. Maybe that Kai was right. Maybe there was another person in there, the real owner of a body that so looked like Logan. And maybe he wasn't such a nice guy. She'd overheard Remy warning them to keep her and Jubilation Lee away from him, that he was dangerous. But all she saw were his gentle brown eyes, and the steel behind them. Eyes that had watched her grow up, always been there when she needed him. And now it was more than time to repay the favor. It was time to ask him what he wanted, instead of just doing what was they thought was best. If this was where the soul of her Wolverine was, then it should stay there, and the mutant that tried to take it got what he deserved. If this was permanent, if Logan really was no longer a part of the man in the basement, then he didn't deserve to be caged up like a freak. And if he was fighting for control, fighting to keep himself intact, then that was a private battle, and one he had to face alone. In his case, alone meant the woods, before. Where he would fight the animal, and always, always he came out victorious, if only by a thumbnail. This was no different. If what Kai had said was true, the man that he had originally been was an animal, and deserved to be punished. But not Logan, as well. Not Logan. The moon slowly cut through the clouds, at first the barest of silver glows, gradually brightening to its white splendor. It suddenly made Logan look ancient, the silver caught and reflected by hair, making it shining white and less wild, somehow. His shoulders were high, his arms held before him peculiarly, something she hadn't noticed before. She didn't remember any position that would have his arms held in front of him like that -- Besides that, he was kneeling very formally, instead of a more relaxed position that would allow proper circulation to his legs and feet. Everything about his position was very ritualistic, and completely unmoving. He was wearing his formal robes, as well, his clan robes, open at the chest, for some reason, open down to the bare feet that balanced perfectly on a carpet soaking up the moon's rays in its dark embrace -- Yet the carpet she was standing on was off-white. It took her a moment in the semi-darkness to make out the color of the dark blood that stained the pile carpet for almost three feet around him in all directions. Her horrified gasp didn't move his position, either. "Logan!" She raced up, careful not to touch him, finally recognizing the position, the costume. Seppuku. He was committing seppuku. The only honorable way for a samurai - or any true warrior - to erase a great dishonor to Emperor or clan. A very, very honorable way to die, it involved using a ceremonial blade to cut oneself across the abdomen from left to right, then turn the blade into the wound and cut a notch upward. And after that, your ____________ was supposed to end your pain, and remove your head, leaving only a strip of skin connecting it to your body, so those present could not see any expression of pain had it crossed your face, leaving your head bowed in death. The entire time, to betray the pain was to cause yourself great dishonor, and shame to your family and clan. She hadn't heard of anyone committing this form of suicide in a long time. Decades. Nor anyone ever attempting to commit it alone. Without witnesses, it couldn't be chartered whether you died like a warrior, or like a dishonorable stuck pig. She circled till she was in front of him, silhouetted in the moonlight, standing to the side so that the light still shone in his face. His eyes rose serenely to meet hers. Not a trace of pain in them. "Logan, oh Logan-san, you can't, you have a healing factor -" He didn't smile. To change expression at all was the same as expressing pain, and forbidden. "Couldn't get an inhibitor collar," he said slowly and evenly. "Healing factor is going as the other takes over. Not as good as it used to be." Even as she stood there, he used the blade to reopen the slightly healed wound. Not a muscle twitched on his face as he drew it across, causing a new spill of blood to flow to the carpeting, over the silk robes of his clan. Kitty was almost sick. Oh, God, no, you can't be doing this, she wanted to scream. That would dishonor him. To show any grief, would be the most traitorous thing she could do, chipping at his will. Only a worst enemy would do such a thing. She swallowed almost convulsively. I can't do this! I can't watch him try to die like this! The pain he'd have to go through to do this, with the healing factor, once he fell unconscious, he'd heal, he had to know that - and to live through such a thing, he'd just try again, while he was still weak. It wasn't fair, she couldn't let him do that -- He didn't have adamantium. "Logan-san, allow me the honor -" Her voice choked. "No," he said, as gently as he could manage, trying not to give away any emotion. "I don't deserve the honor the ___________ gives." You do! Oh, Wolvie, you do, you above all others, why won't you let me end this?! She turned sharply and knelt to the side, trying to witness, then, anything to let him know she was there, to give him comfort, without letting the tears spill, and it was getting harder every moment. You coward, she thought to herself viciously. If he can take all that pain without flinching, so can you! You do him dishonor! She forced the tears back, her breathing steady and slow, matching his. Once he fell unconscious, she could bind the wounds, get him down to Moira. They could save his life, and she could -- No. That wasn't what he wanted. When he fell, she would end his pain, whether he forbid her or not. Overdoing your suffering was also a form of dishonor, and he was too clouded to see that this was exactly what he was doing. But could she? He stared ahead, at the ocean, his eyes blinking occasionally as they watched the endless movement of the ocean. What was he thinking? You were supposed to remember the joy of life during this part of the ceremony, the great feelings of love and comfort and the wonder of being alive, as your life drained away. You were supposed to remember the happiness, and the sadness, and the struggles. And she wondered, even now, as long as he must have been sitting here, if he had gone through half of his life. Damn you, Logan! I love you! You have not dishonored us, you have fought back, you've . .. I need you! Please don't do this! She remained still as he again reopened the wound, and less blood oozed from it than before, still a fair amount. Already the stain had spread another half-foot. They'd never get it out of the carpet. Usually seppuku was done before a stand of the house and clan idols, so they could witness, as well, and on stone, so that the rocks could seep up the blood, and the warrior would still be a part of all things. Excalibur would probably toss the carpet away. No. She would burn it, and set it out for the ocean. It seemed to be comforting him, somehow. The endless cycle of waves, to remind him that all is an endless cycle of living and dying and rebirth. Never stopping, or abating, rhythmic and continuous. The blinking of his eyes grew steadily more sluggish, and after a long while, he spoke to her even as he was reopening the wound what would probably be the final time. "Leave me now." "No." "You mind me," he told her flatly in English, and she flinched. "Wolvie, I -" She stopped herself. It was his wish. She could phase back in later, and finish this. Where he started it. It was the only thing she could do for him. Murdering her teammate, her mentor, her friend. The best thing to do. She didn't let the half-sob escape her throat. Where had she been when he needed her? What had driven him to such lengths? Why hadn't she seen, why hadn't she looked? When had it gone so far? Slowly, steadily, she rose to her feet, padding behind him and phasing through the door. Only then did the tears start to flow, and she fled, lest he smell them, and know of her own dishonor to him. Pete watched her go, phasing through a wall without care. She was going to blow the fuse box if she wasn't careful. Bloke must have been hard on her. Well, at least she got her say out. If he heard one more bloody thing about Russian soil and farming, he was going to . . . oh, bloody hell. She'd been solid for a few moments, and left dark footprints on the Oriental runner that stretched down the long wood floor. He knelt, touched them. Wet and sticky. Sniffed. Smelled of metal. He unlocked the door quietly, pushing it open. "Y'doin' something daft?" There was no answer. He walked in, shutting it behind him. Logan was kneeling, facing the window, his arms outstretched, his shoulders high but drooping. Blood all over the place. "Bloody hell . . ." "Get out," he said flatly. Pete circled him, moving so he could see Logan's face. Bloke eviscerated himself. Many times, by the look of it. Blood was everywhere. He wondered if the healing factor could cope with that, and if Logan knew how futile that was. "Neat way t'kill yourself." "It's called seppuku." "Look, mate, I'm takin' y-" "You're not." No wonder Kitten had been in tears. Guy didn't look to be in much pain; actually, he didn't look like he was in any, which was the damnedest thing Pete had ever seen. He didn't think that kind of self-control was possible. "You Logan?" No smile, no change of expression. "Yes. Caleb fled. Hates pain." "Control, y'mean?" "Yes." Logan was speaking very formally, probably some damn Japanese ceremony, this seppuku. "Y'know when you pass out, Kitty'll be getting Moira t'look at you." He didn't exactly move, but something in his bearing changed. "No. She'll kill me." Pete raised his eyebrow. "Moira? Not likely. Yell a bit -" "When Kitty comes back, she'll kill me. I can't . . . let her do that." Pete didn't know whether the break was from pain, lack of breath, or him choking back a sob. "Hold on one bloody minute -" he started, but Logan caught his eyes. "She can't handle that, Wisdom. I can't do that to her." Pete closed his mouth with an audible snap. He was right, there. Kitty wouldn't be able to deal with finishing off Logan. She talked about the guy like he was a god, a lover, and a father all wrapped up in one. Hell, his death would tear her up enough, but this? "Why're you doing it this way?" "Take the sword." He didn't offer it, and for a moment Pete wondered if Logan really meant it. Then he decided it was part of the same ceremony, and he took the hilt, amazingly clean of blood, from Logan's unresisting fingers. "Now wot?" "Take my head. Leave a little . . . bit so it doesn't fall off, but make sure . . . it kills me." He was losing consciousness, that's why his voice was breaking. He didn't seem the least bit frightened, only . . . defeated. Of course, every drop of blood in him was currently in the friggin' carpet, sure, but . . . "Y'sure?" "Yes." Logan bowed his head forward slowly, deliberately, and held it a position that left his neck exposed and at the perfect angle. Bloody hell, he really meant it. Pete froze, his fingers testing the grip of the blade. Kitty would never forgive him. Team would never forgive him. This was murder, plain and simple. And Logan bloody wanted to make him look at it like putting down a rabid dog. Bloke deserved better, that. "Yer doin' me an honor by lettin' me do this, aren't y'." Logan didn't move. Probably wasn't allowed to speak at this point. Pete raised the blade, noting how the moonlight glinted off the absolutely smooth steel, and clouded and choked as it reached the part that had been bloodied. The light seemed to look sickly, there at the tip, and the bevel made the blood appear two shades, on a bright red of silk, and the other a dark, thick, sick-looking paste. Man and animal? He raised it above him, testing it. He didn't know how hard he'd have to strike to go through a spine, and not through the rest of the soft tissue. The blade was light, and danced in his hands, undoubtedly more than up to the task. He lowered it once, experimentally, judging how much the weight would do the work for him, like a logger with a new axe. Oh, that's a bloody nice picture. "Yer a good bloke," he said, "And I'm sorry in advance if I frag this up." Logan did nothing. Pete again hesitated, raising and lowering the blade. This was insane. Kitty would never have forgiven herself for doing this, though. Likely, neither would he. "Good journey," he said tersely, and the blade flashed. Above them, the moon shone even more brightly the clouds moved off completely for a moment, and Logan's - Caleb's - body curiously remained as it was, in a balanced kneel, his face just brushing his chest, hiding it from view. A body that, somehow, didn't look quite like the Logan that had walked in, a week ago. Pete glanced around, wiped the blade carefully with a silk handkerchief hanging on the katana stand he guessed was for that very purpose, and gently set the sword down, carefully avoiding soiling the satin-wrapped hilt with the blood that had splashed a bit onto his hands. Then he sat on the bed, quietly, and pulled out a fag. Logan's body settled slightly, and the moonlight slowly faded, like the dark velvet curtain at the end of the play, shielding the audience from the reality they'd seen, and rescuing them back to their mundane lives. Signaling the end of a great epic, or a slapstick comedy, or a swashbuckling adventure, or a gentle romance. Or maybe, just maybe, signaling only the intermission, and promising of the great things to come. * * * * * * *