Logan and Remy are Marvel's. No money. Don't sue.

Kai, Mama Francis (yep, she's back! :), now-deceased JoJo,
Candy, and Officer Jeff Hartley (you met him in 'Christmas
Eve') are all mine. Once upon a time someone borrowed my
characters without permission. They're still hearing the
screams in the person's hometown. Swear. Don't try me. ;)

This is a continuation of 'Drug of Choice.' Part 2, I guess,
though you can expect the storytelling style to change from
chapter to chapter. There should be about, oh, one more
before this is finished. Other stories in the K&L series and 
the previous chapter of 'Drug of Choice' can be found at Tag
Team on Fonts of Wisdom--
http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/kailogan.htm .

Comments to KayleeSama@aol.com. I'll sic my Furby (yes, I
caved and bought one, somebody kill me) on you if you read
and don't comment. :)

Enjoy!

Kai & Logan: Drug of Choice 2
By Kaylee

The sun didn't seem to realize that it was supposed to be
hiding behind looming clouds, offering scant warmth and
making miserable balls of humanity huddle closer into warm
dark coats while shivering endlessly. A day like today was
_meant_ to be gloomy and chilly and all together grim. Not
bright, relatively warm, with a few disrespectful birds 
singing cheerful songs from nearby rooftops.

JoJo's funeral was determined from the start to be something
less dark than tradition would have it. A bright spring day
greeted me when I opened my eyes, finding Logan already up
and in the kitchen. It was a day that paid no mind to grief 
or mood.

But still somehow it was a _heavy_ day, when the weight
consisted of something that was _gone._ Throw in the little
element of failure...

"Breakfast is almost ready," Logan said from the kitchen when
I'd done nothing more than sat up and yawned.

"So I smell." And it smelled _good._ No one will ever
mistake Logan for a gourmet chef, but give him a kitchen and
some simple staple ingredients, and you've got yourself a
hearty -- if cholesterol-thick -- meal. He'd long ago figured
out that it was safer for him to cook than me, so even though 
I think that on some level he'd've preferred being surprised 
with breakfast in bed served by a woman (hopefully me) in a
birthday suit, he never once complained about _not_ having
that occur. In fact, I think he was grateful. For not having to
eat the food, that is... not for missing the birthday suit part.

I stood. Padded to the bathroom and went through the
morning routine on autopilot. A five minute shower gave him
plenty of time to serve breakfast up on plates, so by the time 
I came out, wrapped in an oversized fluffy bathrobe, my sizable
mound of ham and cheese omelet was ready, steaming, and waiting. 
"Coffee?"

He slid a mug over without a word, sipping on his own. He
was already dressed in jeans and a typical flannel shirt,
looking oddly _normal_ for a day like today. His face gave
him away, though. Those always-lined features were haggard.

That was natural, I guessed. Like I said... a heavy day.

We hadn't even found a way to track her killer, who'd of
course been long gone by the time we reached his house.
Barely had any evidence gathered from his place that we could
use to put the puzzle together, and the sonuvabitch was
traveling on cash. He'd even had the sense to dump his car at
a bus station, where the attendant swore up and down that he
didn't remember seeing the man come through. Even _after_
Logan paid him, then threatened him.

It left us with too many questions, which we were still
struggling to get answered. Where'd Frank Bascetti get the
shit? Was he small time, or did he deal himself? If he was
dealing then who'd the supplier switch to for moving the drug
after Bascetti skipped town? Had the bastard just set up shop
uptown, spreading his same disease there?

A friend in Forensics -- Lynn Mathews, a woman whose son
got snatched a couple of years ago, then snatched back by
yours truly -- promised me a report on the drug as soon as 
she could make copies of the file. Tonight, probably. All we
knew about it so far was that it was called Desire, it was the
newest hot shit to hit the streets, and someone, presumably
Jo's bastard boyfriend Frank Bascetti, had cut it with
household chemicals as solvents. It's actually a fairly common
way for dealers to increase their profits, but the concoction
had proved to be too much for JoJo's heart. She'd died less
than an hour after I'd gotten her to the emergency room.

The doctor had assured me there was nothing I could've done.
I still wasn't sure I believed him.

I finished the omelet, a bit unnerved by the silence, and
grabbed his plate along with mine to wash. Normally there's
companionable bickering between us. Idle chitchat over the
morning news and casual tactile contact that sometimes 
leads to more. Today the words sat thick and unmoving in my
chest, unwilling to disturb the heavy somnolence of the air.

I stretched, hearing my back pop faintly, and straightened to
head for the bedroom to get ready. "We need to leave in about
an hour."

"I'm not goin'."

I stopped. Convinced myself readily that I'd heard wrong.
"Come again?"

So he said it again: "I'm not goin'."

"And just why the hell _not_?"

His back was to me as he put away the pans he'd brought out
for breakfast. "Don't do funerals."

~Oh _no_ you don't...~ "Yeah," I said, hearing and not
curbing the irritation in my voice. "And _I_ just _love_
them."

He didn't answer right away. I planted fists on my hips and
waited with amazing patience, if I must say so myself. Of all
the times for him to pull the 'strong guy mourns alone' thing...

Did this count as mourning? She wasn't really a friend.
Sometimes I'd been convinced that she damn well hated me.
Jo'd spent her life being a victim, willingly, which was
something I could never accept for myself. Not... again. And
she'd known it... despised it. Thought I considered myself
superior to her because I was something of a _have_ in this
realm of _have nots._

~Speak well of the dead much, Kai?~

Well, I'd never really bought into the crap about revering the
dead just because they'd had the misfortune (depending on
who you ask) of getting there before you did. We'd all get
there sooner or later (hopefully the latter), and I didn't think
_I'd_ want people telling happy white lies over my grave.

Hopefully there would be a little happy truth to share there,
instead.

I guess he finally realized that I wasn't about to leave, so 
he turned and faced me, his expression hard to read. "I just
_don't,_ Kai. I don't go to funerals."

"Logan..." ~Hold your temper, Kai.~ "JoJo didn't exactly
have a lot of friends."

"I know."

"Candy said she'd try her damnedest to fly up, but
otherwise..." ~Don't you dare make me stand at her grave
alone, you bastard.~

He looked away, vaguely in the direction of the television. 
"I don't think Jo much cares anymore if anyone's there."

"_I_ care."

"So don't."

"You--"

His hand cut down suddenly, sharply, clapping against the
breakfast bar with a violently loud sound. My nerves were
edgy enough that the action made me jump, and _that_ did
wonders for my state of mind.

And my temper. "Cut the fucking _attitude,_ Logan!"

"Quit _badgering_ me!"

"I thought you gave a shit about her... excuse me for daring to
think _that_!"

"Of _course_ I gave a shit! The one's got nothin' to do with--"

"_Keep,_" I said sharply, cutting in, "telling yourself that. 
Just keep doing it." ~Keep your cool... don't say anything 
you'll regret later...~ "God_damn_ you, Logan." ~_Great_ start.~
"When the fuck did you turn into such a selfish prick?"

With a sharp motion he swept his keys up from the counter.
"Wake up, darlin'... I've always been one."

He was out the door before I found a single comeback. Which
just went to show how very unusual the day was, since I once
out-cussed the entire crew of a US Navy aircraft carrier after
they'd picked me up in a little inflatable boat that was all 
that was left of the equipment I'd been sent to a small Japanese
island with. It helped that few of the sailors spoke Russian, so
hardly any of them realized that half of the insults involved
ticket stubs and what they could do with them.

Even that pleasant memory didn't help alleviate my utter
pissed-off-ish-ness at the moment, though. I was angry. I was
insulted. Maybe a _little_ part of me was just a teeny bit hurt.

Damn the man. Sometimes I hate that I've let him get close
enough to do this to me.

***

I was footing the bill for JoJo's funeral. Well, to be totally
honest, Logan was helping... but I didn't really wanna think
about that right then. I was still thinking of just what I'd 
like to tell _him_ to do with Russian ticket stubs, which wasn't
exactly the state of mind I needed to be in at the moment.

We'd decided to forego any sorta visitation prior to the funeral.
Jo really didn't have friends, other than Candy. No point in
sitting around for hours in a church -- not the kinda place 
I'm most comfortable in at the best of times -- waiting for
strangers to walk in and ask if we were having a buffet. 
There would be a simple graveside ceremony with a few words
spoken by a priest. That was for Jo's sake, not mine. I still
didn't think that a man she'd never met reading passages from
the bible would really matter to her one way or the other, 
but I'd occasionally seen her wearing a small cross when she
wasn't dressed for 'work,' so I assumed she had some sorta
religion. Maybe that would relieve a bit of pain for Candy,
too... if she even made it.

I arrived at the graveyard about an hour ahead of time.
Nothing better to do in the meantime. Sure as shit didn't
wanna sit at the apartment waiting for Mr. Undeniable Prick to
come home for Round 2. The priest wasn't there yet, but there
was someone else standing beside the freshly-turned earth.
Took me a moment to recognize the cop I'd only seen once.
Jeff Hartley -- smooth black skin, hazel eyes, and a serious
expression that did the atmosphere justice.

~What's he doing here...?~ Reluctantly, I walked up to him.
"Officer Hartley, right?"

He turned. Smiled that slight greeting smile that's all most
people allow themselves on funeral days. "Ms... Smith, wasn't
it?"

"Right." I offered a hand. He shook it, grip firm, not tight.
"Kate Smith. I go by Kai."

"Why's that?"

"First and middle initial. Childhood nickname." Time to
satisfy _my_ curiosity... "Pardon me for asking, Mr.
Hartley..."

"Jeff."

"Jeff. I'm surprised to see you here. Any particular reason
you came?"

His head bobbed once at the grave. Jo was under the ground
there. I wondered distantly, morbidly, if the dead could feel
claustrophobic. "I busted her once. Couple of months before
I met you and your boyfriend. Thought I should come pay my
respects."

"That's... unusual."

He shrugged slightly. "So am I." Eyes sharpened. "So, I
think, are you. Not many people would foot the bill for a
hooker's funeral."

~Typical cop. Nosy sonuvabitch.~ I took a step back and
smiled faintly. "Been doing your homework, huh?"

"Always. So tell me, Ms. Smith... Kai... why _are_ you
paying for this?"

"She was a friend," I lied readily. "Maybe it's hard for you to
believe this, but hookers _can_ have friends. They're human,
y'know."

He grunted something unintelligible. "She's one of the ones
you two watched out for, right?"

"She _was,_" I emphasized quietly. "Looks like we didn't do
a good enough job."

"It _wasn't_ your job." Mild voice, dead-serious manner.
"You're not a cop. You're not paid to take the risks we are."

"Right," I agreed sourly. "I really saw you guys out there
taking those risks for people like her. Right in between
lurking at the coffee shop and trying to make names for
yourselves with the big busts." It was harsh. It was only
partly true. There were good cops to balance out the bad, and
of course they couldn't be everywhere. But I was in a mood to
strike at someone. Just so happened that particular someone
wasn't _there,_ so I was making do with the most convenient
target. "She was just a hooker. No one's even turning over
stones to catch her killer."

Jeff didn't take to my manner too kindly, for some reason.
"You're wrong there. Narco's all over it."

"Narcotics? What the hell are they doing investigating a
homicide?"

"Tandem investigation. Homicide doesn't really give a fuck
about your gal here... yeah, I know it's the truth, so you can
stop looking surprised that I'd admit it. You know how many
hookers come up dead in this city every _day_? She's an old
story -- uses the drugs to take herself away, and one day goes
too far to come back. Woman like that won't find much pity
in a detective's heart. Not when there're cute little girls 
getting killed a few miles away. It's not pretty, but it's true." 
He scratched his chin, not looking as if he wanted to meet my
eyes overly much. "Narco, though... they're after the shit she
was killed with. They want her supplier, and his supplier, and
everything going back to the source. So they're your best bet
for whatever kind of 'justice' you're looking for."

"Desire," I murmured.

"What?"

"I heard the shit's called Desire."

His demeanor didn't change, but his interest seemed to take a
little jump upwards. "How'd you hear about that?"

I _should_ have heard it on the streets. If I were paying
enough attention to my home I'd've picked it up as soon as the
drug hit circulation. Maybe if I had... just maybe...

May be, might be, would be, should be. Not worth
considering. Just another way to beat myself over the head
with recrimination.

"Friend mentioned it to me," I temporized. "Said it's the
newest thing."

"Right. Carnal Desire, they call it. Does things to a person's
sex drive."

"So does Viagra."

"Viagra doesn't kill you."

Now my interest sharpened, though I think I hid it as well as
he did. "I thought it was the solvents that killed her."

"Nah. Oh, don't get me wrong... they fucked her up pretty
badly. But Desire would've killed her before long, anyway.
That's what's so bad about the stuff -- it hooks you, you take
more, and within a few weeks you're deteriorating faster than
any other recreational drug we know will make you. And
you're feeling great and having great sex the whole time 
you're on it."

"So it _wasn't_ just Bascetti..."

He stopped trying to hide just how much attention he was
paying to my words. "What do you know about Bascetti?"

Tit for tat. He gave me info, I'd willingly trade some back.
"JoJo's old boyfriend. Abusive sonuvabitch. Logan and I had
to step in once when he was at her place. He gave her the
shit."

"Do you know where he is?"

I raised an eyebrow. "It's a Narco matter, right? Not Vice."

"Look," he said with more fervor than I would've expected. 
"I can already see your opinion of cops isn't all that high, but 
one thing you need to understand about me... I took an oath when
I took this badge. 'To serve and protect'... surely you've heard
that. I didn't go into Vice because it thrills me to bust these
women. I wanted to _help_ them. I kept hoping that just
_one_ would have the sense to get off the streets... that maybe
some kid who hadn't sunk too far might _listen_ to me when 
I ran her in..." He paused. Swallowed hard. "I didn't manage
to get this woman out of it. That makes me responsible for
what happened to her. I don't want this one to fall by the
wayside, Ms... Kai. I want to see _justice_ done."

"Pretty speech," I said coldly. "You ever noticed how easy it
is to make pretty speeches when people are freshly dead?"

"Go easy on the man," came a familiar voice from startlingly
close and conspicuously downwind. I whirled with that
typical thump-thump to my heart of 'someone's _close_!' as
Logan approached.

~What the... he said he wasn't... he got downright fucking
_rude _ about not...~

He stopped a few feet away, looking only at me. "He's here,
isn't he?" he finished, and he wasn't talking about Hartley.

I quieted my heart with an internal curse -- he enjoys
surprising me _way_ too much sometimes -- and searched for
words. "Yeah," I managed intelligently. "He is." In a suit, no
less, complete with a tie. Despite the tired face he looked...
dignified, somehow. More comfortable in the suit than I'd
thought he would be. He wore it like a man whose
accouterments were of only marginal importance.

Very _him,_ all in all.

Jeff nodded a greeting. "Figured you'd be here."

"Two points for you." Logan eyed me, as if waiting for some
sign of acceptance... maybe apology. Which he wasn't gonna
get, and I think he figured that out after a moment. "Sorry 
I'm late, Kai," he said eventually. Closest _he'd_ get to an
apology, I knew already. "Traffic... you know."

"Right. Traffic." ~Ease up the bitch-tone, Kai. He's _here._~
With effort, I obeyed that little internal voice. "Glad you
made it."

His head nodded back towards the road. "I'm not the only
one."

"Oh?" I turned. He'd evidently parked the bike wherever
Logan had stashed his, far enough away to keep from
attracting attention, and now walked to greet us with a familiar
lengthy stride that covered lots of ground while somehow
making it look as if he was only sauntering idly. "Remy?"

Remy waved, eyes safely hidden behind dark shades, hair in 
a neat ponytail that only served to make him look even more
dapper in his tailored suit. I glanced at Logan for an
explanation, to which look he merely shrugged and said, 
"He knew her."

Right... he'd visited the apartment a few times, and I vaguely
remembered a mention here or there that implied acquaintance
with Jo... that time Hank had come by he'd said something
about Remy acting like he knew Candy and JoJo both...

Remy walked up with that unconscious charm and enveloped
me in a warm hug, which resulted in my face being pressed
low against his chest, given our height disparity. "I'm sorry,
chere," he murmured.

One part of me wanted to say something snarky about how I
wasn't a grieving widow here or anything... but the arms were
supportive, caring, and his presence was a welcome and
unexpected surprise. I couldn't think of anything that wouldn't
sound out of place, so I said nothing and only hugged him
back.

"LeBeau," said Jeff, his voice dripping with something very
like distaste. "_You_ I did _not_ expect to see here."

I pulled away from Remy and glanced over at the cop. ~What
now?~

Remy, typically, didn't appear at all nonplused to have an
unfriendly officer of the law challenging him. "Jeff-somet'ing,
neh? Still wit' Vice?"

"That's Officer Hartley to you, LeBeau. Still spending time at
Grayson's on weekend nights?"

"Moi?" Remy may not be that old, but he's completely
perfected the look of baffled innocence in his relatively short
life. "Y' must have me mistaken wit' someone else, _Officer_
Hartley. I don' know anyone named Grayson."

"Just like you 'don't know' that Grayson isn't a _person,_
right?"

"Oui," Remy answered, looking pleased. "Dat's right."

"Zip it, Cajun," Logan said tersely. "This ain't the place."

I sent a glance at Jeff to see if he'd follow suit and shut 
his mouth. He was still watching Remy with a certain gleam to
his eye, like a hunter who's just come in sight of the Big One,
the one that could make his reputation soar. ~Even now... for
all his talk about doing it for 'justice'...~ I felt vaguely
nauseous. Found myself questioning _my_ intentions, what
right _I_ had to be there. Never went out of my way to offer
friendship to Jo. Never tried to knock her out of the
downward spiral her life had become. Sure, I'd patted myself
on the back for the 'interventions' when she was in trouble, 
but all things considered, that was _easy_ for me. Why hadn't 
I ever made the effort to do something hard? Like simply
_talking_ to her?

"You keep interesting friends," Jeff said when I walked away
from Remy and Logan to stop beside the grave. His voice was
low. I wondered absently if he had any idea that it didn't
matter... that Logan could hear him regardless. "Hookers,
hoodlums, and a man like LeBeau."

"Who're the hoodlums?" I asked, only half-interested in 
what he was saying. ~Geez, it _would_ be one of those
introspective moments now, wouldn't it?~

"Your boyfriend for one. You for two, maybe."

Enough was enough. I turned a tired, irritated gaze on him.
"Look, Jeff... we do what we can. To _help._ I'm sorry if our
lives aren't acceptable to you, but with all due respect, you 
can take your pre-judgments and stick 'em where they hurt the
most. I've got _zero_ patience for this today." Now I glared
down at the turned earth, trying not to think about all the
connotations it called up in my mind. "Why the fuck did you
even come here?"

"I..." He glanced towards Logan and Remy, who were talking
in low voices, watching us. Logan was trying to sound Remy
out on what Jeff might have on him. Remy was maintaining
his innocence with a wall of charm and lies that were steadily
making Logan an even _more_ moody bastard. "When I heard, 
I just kept thinking..." His words were more hesitant, less 
brash. "Well. I just kept wondering... who cries for a
worn-down prostitute?"

Who cries for women like JoJo?

I wanted to have an answer. But my eyes were dry.

"Kai." Logan's voice overrode my thoughts, for which I was
grateful. He nodded towards the road when I looked at him,
calling my attention to the soft purrs of motors... more than a
couple. My brow furrowed as I saw the new arrivals, feeling a
dull stirring of anger that some other person was going to have
an entourage to see him or her to the next world while Jo had
to make due with a handful of people who couldn't summon
up a tear between them.

And then I saw her, and my feet were in motion before I'd
even caught her scent to confirm. Candy. She'd made it. I
should've known she wouldn't miss this. Jo was her friend,
inasmuch as she could be. Candy would move heaven and
earth to get here.

She'd brought people.

She'd brought...

Mama Francis?

My feet scuffed to a halt a good twenty feet from the cars that
stopped with various degrees of brake-squeals, most at a range
less-keen ears would never have heard.

Francis Harper was _here_?

~Play it cool...~

_My mother_ was _here_?

~Fuck, like I'm ready for _this_...~

Two women -- two of her 'daughters,' presumably, and both
strangers to me -- were helping her out of the Buick she'd
arrived in. Candy stood nearby, her eyes fixed past me. The
grave.

I couldn't look at her anymore. My _mother_ was here. My...

Remy walked over to stand beside me. Halted and followed
my gaze. "Who's she?"

"She's..." My _mother._ "... Francis. Francis Harper. She...
helps people." Lots of people. Countless people, all because
she once lost her daughter and wouldn't stand for other people
to suffer like she had. "She's sorta... sorta like a mother. 
For everyone. Kinda."

"Oh?" He sees too much, Remy. Always too much. "She like
a mama t' you, too?"

My throat felt dry. It took effort to swallow. "Something...
something like that, yeah."

And just like that, he was striding casually towards Francis.
"Den I oughtta meet her, neh?"

"Wait...!" Too late. The bastard was already waving
cheerfully at the new arrivals, despite the somber settings. 
I could see Francis' face stretch into a generous smile of
greeting as he approached. Did she _ever_ frown? Was
frowning genetic? Did my father frown? Did...

Always like this, when I thought about that past I couldn't
remember. _Always_ I found myself trapped in 'what if'...

I sent a semi-desperate look over my shoulder to Logan. He
was watching me assessingly, not looking as if he'd be much
help right then. Various words he'd spoken over the past
months reverberated in my mind... words like, 'You're not 
a coward.' All that bullshit.

~Just say hi. That's not a big deal. Just 'how are you?' You
can handle that. It's not like she's a fucking Sentinel or
anything...~

I cleared my throat, hardened my nerves, and walked forward
briskly... to Candy. "Hey. I'm glad you could make it." ~So 
I am a coward. It's not news.~

I'd never seen her in a dress like this one -- simple and pretty,
covering everything modestly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but
dry, and her hair was pulled back in a simple, lovely coiffure.
"Me, too. Oh, Kai..." And just like that, her eyes were damp.
"Kai, I wanted her to come to Florida and live with me... she
said no... but I could've _helped_ her, I just know it..."

Oh shit, no no, she was really _crying_ again... I was no good
at handling tears... I needed... needed...

"Candy," said Remy in a soothing, soft voice. "Chere." He
reached us and held his arms out for her without hesitation,
and she walked into them with a quiet sob. Remy hugged her
tightly, murmuring reassuring nothings, and then caught my
eye, bobbing his head toward Francis. 'I can handle this,' 
his manner said. 'Go.'

I took a breath. Turned.

Francis, utilizing a cane, walked slowly towards me, dark blue
dress waving lightly around her legs, gray hair braided--
~Braided... _I_ braid my hair a lot...~ --and left full around 
her high-cheekboned face. "Kai."

"Francis. Uh... hi." ~Dolt.~ "What're you doing... I mean, it's
good to see... y'know..."

She stopped in front of my frozen form and smiled. "It's good
to see you, too." Her eyes flicked briefly past me. "We came
for Candy. And for you."

"For... me?"

A nod. "I know how hard it is to lose someone in your life."
And her eyes said that she did... oh, how she did...

"I didn't... know her all that well. Not as well as I could...
_should_ have..."

The skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled. "No regrets," 
she said quietly. "No blaming yourself." Then she nodded
towards the grave. "Help me down there, will you? I'm not as
spry as I used to be."

Hesitantly, I moved to take her arm. When my skin touched
hers I fancied I felt a strange little shock… blood meeting
blood. Did she feel it? Was it obvious?

No. She didn't seem to notice a thing.

Her greeting to Logan was warm, friendly. He put off his
temper enough to smile at her and take her hand briefly,
almost gallantly, calling her 'ma'am' in that quietly respectful
voice and sounding remarkably amiable. I thought my heart
was fluttering in my chest, though I wasn't quite brave enough
to examine the why of it. He must've heard how quickly it
was beating; he raised an eyebrow at me ever so slightly, but
said nothing aloud.

"Over to the grave, dear... I want to say something..."

I aided her, though to be honest she scarcely seemed to need
it. For a woman her age she was surprisingly strong and
healthy. A bit taller than me, I noticed now, but fairly slim
despite some expansion of hips that I assumed had to do with
not being as active as a younger woman. Her bones seemed
sturdy, not frail. Her eyes were alert, with a quick mind
animating them.

Would I ever look like that? Would I ever age? Would I...

_Again_ with the questions!

For a long minute she gazed at the dark earth, silent. Her 
hand moved to take mine, and her palm was warm and dry against
my skin. She smelled like spices; earthy and tingling to my
nose. Logan once told me that _I_ smell liked wild herbs...
genetic? I couldn't really smell _myself_ for some reason,
except after a hard workout, that was, and then I didn't
particularly _want_ to...

"I've been to so many funerals," Francis said suddenly,
contemplatively. "It never changes. There's always
something so powerful about saying goodbye, even to a
person you never had the chance to know."

They seemed to ask something of me, her words. I searched
briefly for something intelligent to say. Couldn't really find
anything. "I haven't been to all that many..." Mainly because
I hate the atmosphere... the formality of grieving. Part of why
I was so pissed at Logan earlier for wanting to skip out on
something that _I_ wanted to skip out on, and couldn't.

"Then this must be very hard for you," she said gently,
squeezing my hand.

Not nearly as hard as standing beside her and wanting to tell
her so much about me, about who I was, what I was, what I
might have been... "It's... taking a little getting used to."

She smiled at me. "I'm glad to see you're still with Logan.
We need support at times like these."

Support. Right. "When he's not being a first class ass he's
actually a great guy," I said without thinking, then nearly
kicked myself. "Uh, that is..."

Her smile twisted towards a grin. "I'm eighty years old, dear.
I've heard it all. No need to curb your tongue around me."

I flushed and looked away. Was this normal? Feeling this
way around a... a parent? Do _all_ people suddenly rethink
their normal ways of action and thought when their mothers
are near? "Right. It's real... really nice of you to come. I'm
sure it means a lot to Candy. And, um, me, too." Damn, I just
couldn't get a single sentence out without sounding like a fool,
could I? "So... how was the flight?"

"A little turbulence. Nothing bad. But I tell you, dear... 
once you get past sixty you do _not_ want coach seats."

"Heh," I managed weakly. Sixty-two. The number still
played over and over in my mind like a silly ditty that
wouldn't leave. _I_ was _sixty-two._ I qualified for discount
rates at McDonald's. In theory I'd already lived two-thirds of
my allotted lifespan.

Every now and then, on rare occasions, I'm so grateful for the
symbiont that I'm almost willing to forget all the shit I've been
through because of it.

Her hand slid from mine. I found myself missing the warmth
as she used her cane to step a little closer, seeming to pull
herself somehow out of the same three narrow dimensions I
walked in and into something just a finger's-breadth out of
reach. Her voice was soft, her words for JoJo, not me. I felt
like an eavesdropper, listening.

But I listened anyway, taking in what little of her I could 
from the words.

"I'm sorry, little one," she told Jo. "I wish I'd known about
you earlier. I'd like to think I could have found a way to make
it easier on you... life, I mean. There were so many options
you never saw..."

How could she do this? How could she _feel_ so much for a
woman she'd never met? Where did this compassion _come_
from?

Did I have a share of it, or was that gone with everything else
that had made up the sum of this woman's daughter?

Logan approached, this time not trying to be quiet. Stopped
beside me, looking at her and saying nothing.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked, trying to
distract myself. My voice betrayed me, thickening noticeably
enough that I couldn't hide it. "Why'd you come?"

Nothing for a moment. The sparse clouds tripped by, hardly
strong enough to blot the sun at all.

He slipped an arm around my waist, weighty and comforting.
"You," he said only.

Sometimes I really hate that I've let him close enough to make
me feel things so strongly.

This was not one of those times.

***

The funeral had been short and bittersweet. I hadn't planned
for anyone other than the priest to say anything, but Candy
took up the slack and spoke for us all. She wasn't the most
eloquent speaker. She didn't have to be. Her words were
heartfelt, touching on something beautiful that I had to 
wonder if I'd ever felt. A few sets of eyes were damp when 
she finished, including her own.

Not mine. Never mine for grief.

No matter how much I wish it... I... was different.

The hard part came afterwards, when Candy, still sniffling,
suggested a small reception at the hotel they were all staying
at, giving us a chance to unwind and chat a bit. A reception?
Me, at a reception? With all these people? With my _mother_?

But Francis agreed that it was a great idea, if, in her words,
"Kai can find the time to join us." How could I argue with
_that_?

And then how was I supposed to argue when Francis
suggested that she ride in my Jeep with me, giving her a
chance to "see how things are"?

I waited until she'd fastened her seatbelt, fidgeting a bit 
with the keys, looking anywhere but at her. She was oblivious. 
Or rather, she _acted_ oblivious. Something told me this old
woman was far too keen to miss the fact that I was all but
sweating with nerves, here.

"Well, then," she said after her belt clicked into place. 
"Shall we?"

I was still busy trying to look fully in control of myself.
Almost thought I was even doing a halfway decent job of it.
"What?"

Her smile made her look somehow younger. "Drive."

"Oh." ~Good. Brilliant. I see Oscars in your future, Kai, 
I really do.~ "Yeah, sorry. Woolgathering."

"You should get a bit older before you start that, dear," she
told me, chuckling. "Senility doesn't usually set in until you're
out of infancy."

That was enough to rattle me out of my daze a bit. I grinned
as I put the key on the ignition and fired up the loyal Jeep.
"Exactly how young do you think I am, Francis?"

"Twenty-something, right? Maybe thirty? Just a baby," she
assured me with a twinkle in her eye. "You shouldn't even be
'legal' until you're forty, I think. In a perfect world."

I pulled onto the road with a little bump as tires caught
pavement. "Well... I'm a little older than I look..."

"Oh?"

~Too much info, too much info, pull up, pull up!~ "I mean, I
think I am. It's hard to know, what with the amnesia and all."
I damn near groaned. ~Oh, geez, as if _that_ didn't sound like
something from Soap Opera Digest...~

"Amnesia?" She raised her voice over the rumble of the Jeep -- 
it's a trusty thing, but not particularly quiet. She didn't really 
_have_ to speak up, of course, but I wasn't about to attempt
explaining the senses now after just flubbing the age-thing.
"That's right... you did say something about not remembering
your past... Tell me, dear, did you ever find out who your real
parents were?"

...

Somehow... that hurt.

"I..." Words wouldn't come -- not lies, not truth. My eyes
locked on the road and stayed safely there.

Her hand touched my arm. I quelled the start of surprise. "I'm
sorry," she said, very softly. "You did, didn't you? And it was
painful."

If I hadn't been driving I'd've closed my eyes. As was I just
cleared my throat, fighting the thick lump sitting high in there.
"Something like that."

"Kai, I... I know you don't know me very well yet..."

That hurt even more.

"... And I know I can never replace your real mother -- 
I wouldn't try -- but if you ever want to talk to me about
anything, I'm here. I'll listen."

The lump got impossibly bigger. "Anything?" I said hoarsely.
"Even things that might make you uncomfortable?"

I could feel her eyes on me, though I didn't turn to look.
"Anything," she promised surely.

This time I did close my eyes, very briefly. Opened them to
see the road whipping by with its familiar dot-dot-space, dot-
dot-space. My mind was whirling, reeling, and I thought my
heart was about to thump right out of my chest.

She didn't know me. She'd built her life up after losing her
daughter, and she'd done something... wonderful... with it.
What would it mean to her, to know? How would it change
things? Would it displace some other treasured daughter
who'd put in the time and the tears to earn her affection?

"You... you _did_ have a daughter..." My mind still churned
over what to say, but this much at least I could get out. 
"A blood daughter. A long time ago."

I saw her nod from my peripheral vision. "I'd assumed one 
of the girls would have told you about her by now. You're
wondering why I didn't mention her the first time we met?"

I could only nod, not trusting my voice.

"I didn't want you to feel more uncomfortable than you
already were. Most people believe that it pains me to talk
about her now, as if the fact that she's gone is more important
than the fact that she was here. I thought telling you about
Kaitlin then would have been cruel. Raising your hopes, only
to crush them. Not to mention that it might have embarrassed
you to think you called up something that would upset me."

Only complete earnestness was in her voice, and I knew
enough to hear it. "I... understand." If she'd told me... if she'd
said it, I might have _known_ so much earlier... "Did you..."
~Just get it _out,_ Kai!~ "... you must've... loved her."

"She was spirited and disobedient. No end of trouble to her
father and me." Her hand squeezed again, like it had by the
grave. JoJo's grave. "And she was the most loving, beautiful
little girl in the world. I loved her very, very much."

She spoke about a stranger. Someone who'd existed once,
then vanished. Not _me._

"It's because of her that I've been able to open my heart to all
my girls and boys. Everything I felt for her, I try to share. I
think she would have wanted that."

Those girls and boys _deserved_ her care. They'd needed, and
she'd answered their need. They, in turn, had answered hers.

She didn't have that same need anymore. She had her
children... grandchildren... maybe _great_ grandchildren.
Francis had learned to live without her daughter.

What right did I have to throw her world into upheaval?
Could I really be selfish enough to rip the familiar ground out
from under her feet and show her that everything she'd built
her life on was a lie?

"Your daughter..." I started, feeling choked. "She..."

Her voice was calm. Steady. Kind. "Yes?"

My vision misted... but nothing spilled over. I couldn't let it.
It's not who I _am._

"She... was a very lucky girl."

~end~