Hiya.  Logan and assorted X-types are Marvel's.  I make no
money from using them.  Honest!  Don't sue me.

Do I even have to say this anymore?  Well, better safe than
sorry...  Kai is mine.  Don't use her without permission.  I
_have_ given permission in the past when asked.  However,
using my gal _without_ permission is a Very Bad Idea.
Capiche? ;-)

Okay, I'm playing around with other characters a bit more,
here.  We've got Betsy...we've got Remy...we've got Scott (in a
surprisingly human role...I was shocked<g>)...and we've got
Pete Wisdom.  Alla you folks who're experts in these particular
characters, lemme know how right or wrong they turned out
here, 'kay?  I'm curious.  And a note on Jean...  I like her well
enough.  I really do.  I _try_ to be fair to her.  Here's the
problem...when you tell a story from a character's point of
view, it's _gonna_ get skewed by said character's opinions.
Now, think of Kai.  Now, think of Jean.  Need I say more?<g>

And I promise...we'll get back to real action soon. ;-)  Maybe
even humor, if I can find where I left my funnybone...

The K&Ls finally got numerous enough to warrant their own
subarchive over at Fonts of Wisdom.  If you like these stories
and want to read the rest, head on over to
http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/kailogan.htm  and drop me a
line of feedback once you're done. ;-)

Special thanks to Luba Kmetyk for her help with "Pete-speak"
and to Shera Crawler 007 for being a test victim. ;-)

Comments to Kaylee1109@aol.com.  I really really really like
mail.  I even answer it!

Enjoy!

Kai and Logan:  Ghosts
By Kaylee (Kaylee1109@aol.com)

How do you get to Carnegie Hall?  Practice practice practice.
How do you keep yourself alive when you throw your body at
every would-be world dictator, happy-crappy terrorist,
doomsday messiah, and blood-crazed sociopath who comes
along?  Practice practice practice.

And what were we doing?  Practicing practicing practicing.
And practicing some more.  Logan, Remy, Betsy, and myself;
all running through a Danger Room program that catered more
to those of a martial artsy bend.  The dime-a-dozen ninjas were
no threat in and of themselves...dunno if the Danger Room
can't quite handle the details that'd be necessary to make 'em a
real danger, or if they just weren't based off very skilled
templates.  But we were mowing through them easily enough
until the numbers got overwhelming, and then we formed up
and started working on the team aspect of this training session.

That's when things got screwy.  I'd noticed over the past few
days that something was bugging Logan...hard to miss it when
your lover starts taking off on his own even more than usual
and barely speaks three words in a row to anyone for days at a
time.  Ungenerously, I might have said he was being moody
and sullen.  After a day or so, though, I started to see it was
more than that.  He was...withdrawn.  Quiet and tense even
when he should be at his most relaxed.  Quicker to anger than
ever, but choking the anger down to let it smolder just
inside...where it's most dangerous.

And now, facing the seemingly endless rows of faceless ninjas,
he was starting to let that smothered anger rise a bit.  We were
_supposed_ to be fighting loosely back to back, but that wasn't
what was happening.  I couldn't catch a glimpse of how Betts
and Remy were doing, but Logan and I weren't supporting
each other at all.  He was moving erratically, unpredictably;
exactly the kind of thing that makes him such a damned good
fighter...on his own.  In a _team_ situation, though...  Well, I
was getting more than a little irritated at having no one to
watch my back.

I was fighting with two long-knives that lacked a couple of
inches of being called short-swords.  Hadn't been willing to
replace the ancient blade of Sensei's that I'd lost some time
back during a fight with Victor Creed.  Maybe it was shame or
guilt that kept me from getting a new one...but that doesn't
really matter.  It was gone, and until I found it I planned to
focus on other weapons.  So I fought with the long-knives,
getting up nice and close and personal with more than a few of
the identical forms.  Safeties were off.  The blows they struck
actually hurt.  All the more reason not to get hit.

But when you've got five people coming in at once and *no
one watching your back* you're gonna get nicked a time or
two.  That's why I laugh at all the lovely movies showing the
heroes battling honorably through legions of evil enemies and
coming out on the other side fresh and uninjured to face the
ultimate foe.  (Who then proceeds to lead the fight for a few
engagements, causing several painful-yet-curiously-not-
incapacitating injuries before suddenly forgetting all his skill
and losing ignobly.  Damn, I wish it really worked that way!)
Fighting for your life isn't clean, isn't neat, because even as
you're doing your damndest to survive, so's the person you're
facing.  You get in close.  You grunt.  You sweat.  You get
cuts, bruises, strained muscles, twisted ankles.  And your
enemy never fights you in the classical martial arts way; not if
he lasts longer than an engagement or two.  Nope, you're
talking all-out anything-goes full contact pain.  Knees lash out
as frequently as swords.  Fists fly.  Toes get stepped on, shins
kicked.  So when facing multiple enemies you _know_ you're
gonna get hurt...the goal is seeing that any injuries you take
aren't enough to inhibit your continued survival.

I'd beheaded two, gut-thrust one, and removed the sword-arm
from a fourth before number five got through to plant the blade
of his foot firmly in my kidney.  I blurted something completely
uncivilized and almost got knocked to my knees, but a quickly
thrust out foot caught me and let me pivot to face him a little
off-balance, but standing.  He came in quick, katana flashing
for my throat.  I cursed again and jerked back just far enough
for the blade to miss me, then caught the quick return strike
between crossed knives, twisting them sharply and wrenching
the hilt from his hands.  As the sword went flying I half-spun
and let the side-kick that was just _aching_ to be thrown thrust
out to crack at least three ribs.  He went back.  He almost went
down.  I was on him before he reached ground and stabbing for
the heart.  I yanked my blade free and sprang away from the
body that might ensnare my legs, looking to locate the next
target.

And then I saw Logan.  He was tearing through bodies left and
right, butchering the false-ninjas with sheer brutality as
opposed to his usual savage skill.  There was
something...unsettling...about his face, about the gleam in his
eyes over his bared teeth.  More than unsettling.  His body
would tense, lash out like lightning, recoil.  Claws cut with his
typical lethal efficiency, but the expression on his face...  I
couldn't spare him more than a glance, since another opponent
quickly placed himself in my way, but that little glimpse was
enough to chill my blood.

I'm a fighter.  Some have called me a warrior, though I'd never
put that label on myself.  But I fight, and I take pleasure in the
way my body moves, in feeling the ready response to an attack,
in the surge of adrenaline and the almost painful eagerness of
muscles.  I've worked very hard over a long time on refining
my skills, and I'll ever-so-humbly say that I'm really damned
good.

But it's a rare thing for me to utterly lose it in a fight, in battle.
I had to learn the hard way to keep my head...was forced to
learn by a sensei who wouldn't tolerate senseless rage any more
than he'd tolerate self-pity.  And what I was seeing the start of
in Logan was nothing short of a full-out, bloody-minded battle
frenzy.

The ranks of enemies were thinning.  Targets were fewer and
fewer.  Logan was more and more savage.  I only hoped Remy
and Betsy had enough idea of what was starting to happen to
stay the fuck away.

No such luck.  From the corner of my eye I saw Betsy neatly
eviscerate the last one fighting her.  Remy brained another with
a clean bo strike to the temple.  They came as a unit to help me
with the two I was holding off, but the distraction they served
for the ninjas was enough.  One, heart-strike.  The other lost
his throat.  And then I was standing there over the bodies as
Remy passed me to "help" Logan...

Logan had already disarmed his last enemy, and his left hand
was gripping the back of the guy's face-mask.  He jerked the
head back sharply as his right hand – claws extended – plunged
just above the navel and tore upwards.  The body jerked
sharply.  I heard the growl in Logan's throat over the choked-
off, simulated scream.

And then he flung the body aside forcefully and leapt without
hesitation for Remy.

What followed was a bit confused.  Fast as Remy was, he
couldn't get the bo staff up in time to block Logan's attack.
The compact weight took him down hard, and I saw his skull
slam back against the ground.  I was running, but Betts was a
little closer and reached them first.  Logan's right hand was
up...claws were fully out and ready...I saw the strike start
down and still couldn't believe it...

But Betsy got there in the nick of time.  No finesse, though
she's usually grace personified.  No hesitation, either, despite
the fact that we all knew Logan could take her when it came
down to brass tacks.  She dove for him and slammed him aside
with a full-out tackle.  He recovered before they even hit floor,
twisting and starting to grab for her to hold her for a blow that
– considering the way he was acting – just might have three
sharp blades involved.

But Betts is no fool.  Her hands weren't near enough his head
for that psychic-knife thingy of hers, so instead of trying for it
she jerked herself away from him before he got a solid hold and
dove for the shadows by the wall.  Logan was after her in a
heartbeat, but she vanished into the darkness and left him to
rebound and kick himself right off the wall...back towards
Remy.

And me.  I'd reached Remy and now stood over him, body
loose and ready and knives waiting.  I wasn't scared – it's a rare
state of events for me to feel fear in the _middle_ of a fight...I
save feeling nerves 'til afterwards when I start to realize just
how close I came to serious pain – but I sure as hell didn't want
this to be that big confrontation where we finally figured out
which one of us was the better fighter.

A brief moment of hesitation from him as he saw me, saw my
stance...a flash of sanity in eyes that looked wild and hard and
furious...

Into that pause I told him, "You go nuts on me and I'll put you
through the fucking wall."

No bravado.  Not even much arrogance, though I'm wont to
have that from time to time.  Just cold anger and
uncompromising warning that said _Not *me,* 'bub.'_

For a heart-stilling moment we held that stare between us – a
tenuous link of sanity and boiling emotion and confusion.  I
waited for an attack and put every bit of my anger into willing
it _not_ to come.  His snarl, twisted and furious (and looking
uncomfortably like another man's wild, savage face), eased just
a bit as his eyes narrowed more.  Sick confusion battled with
whatever it was that set him off.  I'm not sure _he_ even knew
what that was.  That purely predatory tension throughout his
body – that trembling need to attack – was choked back behind
his usual iron control...though I suddenly didn't have the faith
in that control I'd always had before.

Claws snapped back into forearms.  He straightened without a
word, then turned and stalked out of the room, slamming open
the door with a clenched fist without even bothering to see if
Remy was okay.

I let out the breath I'd scarcely been aware I was holding and
cross-sheathed the knives in the harness over my back.  Remy
gave a drawn-out groan that ended in a sour curse.  I crouched
down next to him and put a hand to his forehead.  "You all
right?"

"What de hell happen t' him?" he grumbled, shifting arms to
shove himself into a sitting position.

"Damned if I know, Cajun."

I heard Betsy's footsteps – cat-quiet – as she slipped back
through the shadows into the room and came to us.  "He's
heading for his room.  He'll probably get changed and go out
somewhere for a while to try to get his head together."

I nodded and cast her a glance.  "D'you know what the fuck
just happened here, Betts?"

"It's not the 'what' you need to worry about.  It's the 'why.'"

I uncoiled from the crouch and gave her an impatient look.
"Fine.  Do you know _why?_"

The violet eyes looked as mild and wary as always.  She slid
her gaze to Remy.  He was scowling and levering himself to his
feet, one hand going to cup his head.  "Come with me," she
told me, eyes still on him.  "You need a drink."

"Won't do a damned thing for my head."

"Then come talk with me while _I_ have a drink."

Well then.  That was different.  I put a hand on Remy's arm.
"You gonna be okay?"

"Fine," he said tightly.  "S'cuse me."  He didn't look at either
one of us as he gingerly scooped up the bo staff and left; pain,
anger, and injured pride weighting down his shoulders.

I watched him distantly.  <This is gonna be trouble.  Damnit.>
"All right, Betts.  Let's go have that drink."

***

The place was called Harry's Hideaway.  Betsy informed me
off-handedly that it was an old X-Men hangout.  I supposed
this was my initiation into the "club" or something.  Place was
a bit tame, a bit stale.  I've always been of the opinion that you
go to a bar as much for the entertainment as anything else –
there's just something _so_ amusing about watching beer-
gutted men get into brawls over country music songs.  But we
weren't looking for entertainment at the moment, and the
quieter atmosphere of the place was welcome enough right
about then.  Betsy greeted the man behind the bar in a friendly-
but-reserved way, and then we took a booth a good ways from
the entrance, both of us unconsciously scooting around to give
ourselves a clear view of all entrance and exit possibilities.

She ordered a brandy.  I ordered a whiskey.  For a few minutes
we sat in silence.  My mind was spinning over what had
happened and what had _almost_ happened.  Some corner of
my brain was laughing at me for having the brass to think I
knew it all, knew everything important about the man.  Had I
honestly thought that because we slept together, played
together, fought together...did I really believe that meant I
_knew_ him?

She spoke, cutting into my milling thoughts with that level
voice that gives no clue what goes on in her head.  "This is the
first time you've seen him like that, isn't it?"

A short nod.  Then a doubly confirming, "Yep."

"Are you scared?"

"Confused."

"Angry?"

"Betcher ass I am."

"Mmm."  A slow, composing sip of brandy.  "That wasn't
aimed at you."

"I kinda figured that when he didn't try to carve me into shish
kabob."  But some part of me still hammered furiously inside
my chest, shrilling the painful warning it'd been screaming
when I got a good look at his expression.  "You gonna get
around to telling me _why_ that happened?" I asked, as much
to distract myself as to know.

She sat back, exotically slanted eyes once more sweeping over
the sparse occupants of the bar.  Mid-afternoon apparently
wasn't a very busy time for Harry.  Didn't look at me as she
spoke again.  "What do you know about Mariko Yashida's
death?"

The frown bunched my brows a little.  "What's that gotta do
with..."  But I trailed off as I realized that I'd never seen Betsy
speak of something this personal to another, this important.
She wasn't messing around.  "She was tricked into cutting
herself with a blade coated with blowfish toxin."  The violet
eyes fixed on me.  She waited.  "He...ended her suffering."

A considering look.  "He told you that?"

"In a roundabout way."  Actually, it had been fairly early on in
our "relationship."  We'd shared the bed in his room for a week
before I got around to asking about the lovely, warmly-smiling
Asian woman in the picture on his dresser.  He'd taken a long
time to answer, then had said only, "M'iko."  Not one for
subtlety or tact, I'd asked for more.  "She was gonna be my
wife."  He'd said no more then, but some weeks later I'd
brought it up again; hesitant and uncertain, because I knew
well how tender and painful those areas of the soul can be.
He'd looked away and told me in a level, gruff voice that she'd
been poisoned with the toxin.  I'd said quietly, "That's...a hard
death."  He'd held a hand out in front of him, staring fixedly
down at it as he flexed muscles and snapped claws out.  "She
didn't die o' the toxin."  I hadn't asked more after that.

Betsy finished her brandy and waved for another, waiting until
it came to speak again.  "It's a horrible way to die.  He only did
as she asked."

"I've got nothing against what he did," I said impatiently.  "His
choice, no right or wrong answer.  What I wanna know right
now is why the fuck he looked about ready to slaughter the lot
of us today."

"The anniversary of Mariko's death is in two days."

"...Oh."  I couldn't think of anything more clever to say.  It
certainly did explain a lot, if not excuse.  "Did you...know
her?"

"Not well.  I only knew what she meant to him."

I was getting a bit more uncomfortable with this as she spoke.
"She was...a noble lady, right?  Daimyo of her clan, if I
remember correctly..."

"Yes.  Head of clan Yashida after her father
was...removed...from a position he wasn't worthy of."

"Takes guts for a woman to take such a position in Nippon.
Sensei had a bitch of a time getting his Master to accept _me_
even as part of the lineage when I was presented to him."  Of
course, the old Master had been helped along in making that
decision when I defeated every one of the students he sent
against me to prove me "unworthy"...but no reason to say that
here.

"You expect Logan to fall in love with anything less than a
courageous woman?"

<Courageous.  Another label I never stick to me.>  "So he's
messed up 'cause he's remembering her death."

"And Silver Fox.  She was found and then lost shortly
afterwards.  To Creed."

I flinched and dropped my eyes, trying to disguise the motion
belatedly by tucking a napkin into my lap.  "Yeah.  I heard
about that."  More than heard about it...I'd woken him from the
nightmare more than once after I returned from my own
recovery from Creed's...attentions.

Betsy was eyeing me with a look that reminded me suddenly of
Logan's when he's seeing more than I want him to.  There was
just the faintest, barely perceptible hesitance in her voice as she
said, "There are those at the mansion who believe...that
perhaps you allowed Sabretooth to escape when you
encountered him last.  Because of your brief history with him
when he was incarcerated there."  There was no question in her
voice, but it was there...unstated.  And beneath even that was
something very, very hard.  Betsy had paid a hefty price in
trying to stop his escape and in saving the life of the kid he
might've slaughtered.  I knew without her saying a word that if
that was indeed the case, I'd have an enemy sitting across from
me.

But that most definitely wasn't the case.  "I didn't _let_ him
escape, Betts."  Eyes lifted to meet hers.  "We fought.  I lost.
That's all there is to it."

Barely masked skepticism.  "Is it?"

I clenched my jaw a bit, feeling eyes narrow.  A hand went to
grasp the collar of the T-shirt I'd changed into and tugged it
down just low enough to bare some of the faint scars that criss-
cross my torso in many places – claw marks, these.  And teeth
marks.  Momentos of a night I'd really rather just forget...if I
could.

<But I can't.  That's not finished yet,> I promised myself
grimly, as I always did when I thought of it.  <Barely even
started.  There's still a reckoning on the way.>

But aloud I only told her, "Like I said, Betts.  We fought."
My voice went hard and flat.  "I lost."

She looked at the thin, barely visible scars for what seemed like
a long time, mind absorbing what they meant.  Then said
quietly, "Logan knows?"

The hand released the collar and let it sag back upwards.
"Yeah.  He knows."  A sip of throat-burning whiskey.  "But it's
not his fight."

Her eyes widened a bit in surprise that I'd say that.  "Creed _is_
his fight.  More than most."

"Creed is.  But not about this.  This one...this one is _mine._"

A slow nod of acceptance.  I think maybe she understood the
sentiment better than most would.  "You're a different sort,
Kai.  From the rest of the women on the team, I mean."

I snorted and dug out a cigarette.  She made no complaint as I
lit it.  "Y'know...most of the rest could live that normal life
we're all fighting for.  I can see Jean and Scott snuggled up
nice and happy in the suburbs somewhere.  If Rogue found a
way to control her powers, I could see her tousling with her
kids and playing baseball with 'em.  Even 'Roro...give her some
open land and air to be free in, and she could let it all go.  All
the fighting, I mean."  I exhaled a slow stream of smoke.  "But
not you, I don't think.  And not me."  There was the hint of an
acknowledging smile on her lips, but it wasn't a particularly
pleasant one.  "We'll find a reason to fight because it's what we
know.  It's where we're comfortable."

"You can't un-temper a blade," she murmured in agreement.
"If it's experience that makes us what we are...then I think
perhaps we share some in common."

"You mean the fact that we've both been royally fucked over
somewhere along the line."

The smile broadened a tiny bit.  "That's one way to put it."  A
little twinkle deep in the lovely eyes.  "And yet still we've come
out on top."

"Vicious bitches of the world unite?" I suggested only half-jokingly.

Now she outright laughed.  It was a deeper, heartier laugh than
I woulda expected from someone who often seems the height
of aristocratic nobility.  But I understood the need to laugh
over it, too.  These things leave scars; scars a good bit deeper
than the pale little things on my skin.  Either you learn to mock
them, to challenge them, or you let them weaken what makes
you fundamentally _you._

Which isn't an option I'm even willing to consider.  "So he's
strung out, running on edge.  I can understand that.  But hell if
I know what to _do_ about it, Betts.  I mean, if he doesn't
wanna confide in me about this, I sure as hell can't make him."
I waved for another whiskey, and while waiting for it
continued.  "That's sorta an agreement we've got...he lives his
life and I live mine.  Most of the time those run side by side,
but sometimes they don't."  A drag from the cigarette while I
collected thoughts.  "And you know better than most, I think,
that he's a damned private man."

"He is," she agreed wryly.  "His strength and his weakness."

"Hmph."  I took a last pull from the cigarette just as the new
whiskey was brought over by the friendly blonde waitress.
After she left I said quietly, "This doesn't need to reach the rest
of the team, Betts."

"His actions today?"

"That and...well.  All of this.  I don't need Jean giving me
advice on it."

One elegant eyebrow raised in amused consideration.  "Has
she?"

"Constantly," I answered dryly.  "I don't think she's so sure I'm,
oh...what's _best_ for him.  If you get my drift."

"You don't get along with her?"

A shrug.  "I like her well enough, I suppose.  We don't have
much in common."

"You don't have much in common with Ororo, yet you seem
close to her."

"That's different."

"How?"

"It just is.  So do you have a problem with not bringing this up
to the others?"

She snorted.  Far more elegantly than I do.  "I owe him a lot,
Kai.  I'll keep this quiet."  Another slightly arched brow.  "But
there's no guarantee about Remy, you realize."

"I'll talk to him.  He owes me one."  I sighed and rolled
shoulders that felt tight and tense.  Then fixed eyes on her
again, noting once more the red tattoo over her eye that she
has left over from the Crimson Dawn that saved her life after
Creed nearly gutted her.  "Does it bug you?" I asked in an
abrupt turn of subject.

"What...?  The mark?"

"Yeah."

A slow, one-armed shrug that somehow didn't convey the
casual nonchalance she was trying for.  "I'm used to being
stared at.  It's nothing."

"It's a reminder."

Half-smile.  "I have enough of that in my own scars."  A slim,
strong-fingered hand rose to touch it lightly, tracing the line of
the thing unerringly.  "It...itches, sometimes.  Not a _physical_
itch, but...something that never quite goes away."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"That I didn't kill him."

Brows bunched just a little, mouth quirking sideways.  "There's
no need for that.  I don't need your apology."

I lit another cigarette; more to keep my hands busy than
anything.  "Anyone he kills after that...it's on my head."

"And how do you think _I_ feel?" she asked angrily.  "If I'd
stopped him when he first tried to escape he wouldn't have
gotten to you."

I jetted smoke out sharply.  "It was my own damned fault.  I
knew what I was risking.  I just got cocky and careless."  I
stared at her, but my eyes were seeing another face, another
memory.  "It won't happen again."

She composed herself forcibly.  "So you'll find him?" she asked
tightly.  "You'll kill him, if you can?"

("Don't give up."

"_Never._")

(<I swear to you Vic...someday I'll make you validate that
promise...>)

"We'll see," I muttered in answer; to her, to him, to myself.
"We'll see."

***

I found Remy in his room, lights out and arm clamped firmly
over his eyes.  He hissed when I knocked, then half-growled,
"Go 'way, whoever y' are."

I let myself in and closed the door behind me.  Red-on-black
eyes cracked and looked at me, then closed on an irritated
groan.  "I ain' in de mood t' talk, Kai."

"Have you been to see Hank?"

"Non."  He made no further efforts to get me to leave; maybe
'cause he realized they wouldn't work.  "It'll go 'way.  Jus' a
headache, dat's all."

"Hmm."  I sat beside him and pulled his arm from over his
eyes.  He kept them stubbornly shut.  "Look at me, Remy."

"I jus' wan' sleep, chere."

"Later.  Look at me."  He scowled and did, wincing a little as
light from the open window hit his eyes.  I held a finger in front
of them.  "Follow it."  A glare, then the red irises trailed after
the finger as I moved it right, left, right, up, down...  "Sit up a
little.  Let me have a look at that bump."

"Y're _mean,_ chere."

"I know."  The lump wasn't too bad.  Not pretty and more than
a little tender, but I'd seen uglier.  "How bad is your head?"

"Had worse.  Y' jus' come here t' poke at me, or y' got sum'ting
else y' wan'?"

"Something else."  He waited.  I sighed and told him.  "I need
you to keep your mouth shut about what happened down there
today."

"Why's dat?"  At least he wasn't outright saying no.  "Y' wan'
me t' jus' f'get y' boyfriend 'bout cracked my skull wide open?"

"Accidents happen, Remy."

"Dat was no accident, chere.  An' y' know it."

Got that right.  "I'm not trying to excuse it.  He snapped.  If he
doesn't get his head straight, he's gonna do it again.  But I still
need you to stay quiet about it."

"An' if he loses it again?  Wit' someone else?"

Another sigh.  My eyes shifted to the window, tracking the
flight of a distant bird.  "I heard you were there.  When Mariko
died."

A long pause.  "I was dere," he admitted reluctantly.

"You saw what it did to him.  You probably know it better
than I do."

"I saw...some of it.  An' oui...it fuck him up pretty bad in de
head."  As if that reminded him, he put a hand gingerly to the
bump on his skull.  "Y' t'ink y' c'n get him straight again, Kai?"

"I dunno, Remy.  But he'll level out in a bit.  It's just...been
building for a while, I guess."  And I didn't even notice, damnit.
"Rough times, y'know?"

He laid back with another groan.  "Las' I check, y' still one up
on me wit' de favors bein' owed.  I give y' dis one, den we
even, neh?"

"Even," I agreed.  His eyes closed again.  I leaned in to kiss
him lightly on the forehead.  "Thanks, Remy."

"Jus' see dat y' get his head in one piece, chere.  'Fore he break
someone else's."

"I'll try."  I just wished I had some idea of what to _do._

***

When Logan hadn't returned to the mansion by late that
evening I decided to go to the apartment and check there.  I
spent the drive listening to whatever happened to come on the
radio, humming along tunelessly and trying not to think
overmuch about things I was clueless on.  When I hopped out
of the Jeep, JoJo was just heading out for a last foray out into
the night in search of one more customer.  She gave me a
barely civil nod, which I returned in kind.  We've had problems
before, me and JoJo, but she still needs a hand every now and
then, so she doesn't want any real bad blood between us.

The Harley hadn't been in the parking lot.  No scent of him
there, either.  He hadn't even come by.  My heart sank a bit as I
let myself in.  <Where the fuck is he?  Probably off getting into
trouble somewhere...>  But I couldn't carry on with the
thought.  I've never tried to judge him.  It's not my place, and I
sure as hell don't have much room to talk when it comes to
moral issues.  But as wired as he was...

Three messages on the machine.  I hit it and went about
ordering the apartment a little as I listened.

*Beep.*  "Hi, Logan...it's Kitty.  'Roro said I might be able to
reach you there, but...oh well.  Kurt and I were thinking of
coming by for a few days.  Give us a call if you get a chance."
*Beep.*  "Geez, I get like _one_ phone call in this friggin'
prison Frosty runs and you're not even _there!_  Or...are ya
screening?  C'mon, Wolvie...pick up the phone...c'mon...Kai?
Somebody?  Fine!  Wolvie, call me.  Bye!"  *Beep.*  "It's Bob.
Where the fuck is y'all's rent money?  You're two days late.
Hurry up and get it to me."  *Beep.*

Kitty and Jubilee.  Doubtless they were calling because they'd
had the foresight to pay attention to the date.  "For such a
stubborn, thick-headed son of a bitch you've sure got a lotta
people caring about you, Logan."  One of which was me.
Damnit.  Life was so much simpler when I didn't have to think
about anyone but myself unless it was out of the "goodness of
my heart."  _Then_ going out of my way to help someone was
considered wonderful and remarkable.  _Now_ everyone
_expected_ me to do it.

<Bitch moan bitch moan bitch moan.  Can't you find something
better to do?>

Yeah.  Call Bob.  Oh goodie.

I handled that annoying bit of business, swearing up and down
on my parents' graves (hah!) that I'd have the rent check to him
by morning if I had to rob a bank to get the money.  (Wouldn't
go so far, of course.  I've actually got a pretty good stash of
cash from the days when I did some freelance work for some
government pals of Sensei's, and Darius pays me quite well
when I do jobs for Three Eyes.  Not that I'm loaded...but
comfortable enough not to worry overmuch about funds.)  I
rang off with Bob and decided to waste some time trying to
improve my cooking skills.  A quick check in the fridge
showed some ground beef that didn't smell like it was too old,
though I sure didn't remember buying it.  (I try to avoid buying
anything with a more complicated cooking procedure than "set
timer, press Start.")  Set the stove to heating...pulled out a
skillet...made a couple of beef patties...smelled something
_really_ unpleasant…

"Oh shit!"  The handle of the spatula was nicely melting just
over the burner and the nasty burned plastic stench was quickly
filling the apartment.  I swore a bit more for good measure as I
grabbed the thing – burning my fingers in the process – and
threw the warped and softened instrument in the sink.  Sucking
on the abused fingers didn't ease the sting much.  Glaring at the
offending burner didn't help much, either.  I sighed and turned
it off, then wrapped the beef and stuck it back in the fridge,
waving my hand in a futile effort to ward off the smell.

A key turned in the door.  <Oh, this is just fucking _perfect._>
Here I was, standing in the middle of a kitchen I barely have
any acquaintance with, sucking on burnt fingers and fanning
smelly air while my moody lover – who happened to be in a
_lousy_ temper – came in from wherever the fuck he'd been.
<Bet _Mariko_ never burned anything...>  But that was a
pretty self-pitying thought, trying to compare myself with a
noble daimyo who doubtless had more class in her pinkie finger
than I did in my whole...and there was another self-pitying
thought.  <Just my day mope, I guess.>

He didn't look at me right away, turning back to relock the
door without a word.  I waited for the typical complaints that
usually followed one of my disasters in the kitchen.  Nothing.
He turned around and leaned back against the door, looking at
me with one of those unreadable serious expressions.  Looked
almost as if he wanted to say something...but he didn't.

So I did.  "Spatula," I offered by way of explanation.

A weary, forced half-smile.  "You ain't s'posed to cook
spatulas, Kai."

"So I found out."  An uncomfortable silence.  I gestured
towards the machine.  "Couple of messages for you.  Kitty and
Jubilee."

Wrong thing to say.  That guard snapped right back into place.
"What'd they want?"

I shrugged.  "Just to talk, I guess.  Kitty said she might be
coming to visit."

His jaw went tight, eyes closed and dark.  "Get sick o' people
nosin' into my business."

<Okay, so now's _not_ the time to push.>  "So don't call 'em."

A hand rose to scrub tiredly through his hair – a gesture he
sometimes makes when he's unsettled and searching for words.
I was careful not to scrutinize him as I finished putting
everything away in the kitchen and just waited for him to come
out with it or not.  I'm not the most sensitive person in the
world, but I get by...and time has taught me a bit about when
to shut up and let a person talk on his own.

He watched me, not moving away from the door.  I closed the
last cabinet, leaving the mutilated spatula in the sink for later,
and opened the fridge once more to grab a beer.  Without
asking, I tossed one at him that he caught with a casual grab.
Then I went to drop down on the couch, popping the cap and
taking a swig.

Finally – "I wouldn't've hurt ya, Kai."

<Arrogant little...>  "Arrogant little asshole, aren't you?"
Oops, there I went letting mind and mouth run hand in hand
again.  Damnit, I hate it when I do that.  "Maybe you shoulda
been more worried about _me_ hurting _you._"  <Oh, _that's_
good.  Heavy on the ego there, Kai.  Just the thing to settle
him down.  Idiot.>

"Would ya quit makin' everything a fuckin' contest?"  There
was a hard note to his tone, and it caused me to do a little
double-check on the mouth that really wanted to ream him.
Time enough later for bitching.  This was _serious._

"All right," I said after a minute.  "You wouldn't've hurt me."

"No."

I nodded once.  Then said carefully, "Are you sure about that?"

"What the hell's that s'posed to mean?"

"It means you damn near brained Remy.  And you mighta done
worse if Betts hadn't jumped in when she did.  Seems to me
you weren't thinking too clearly."

He didn't say anything.  It was starting in his eyes, the seething
guilt and self-disgust that had been doubtless boiling
somewhere deeper ever since it happened.  There was no
answer he could give me; we both knew it.  That hand
scrubbed through hair again as he pushed away from the door
and reached out to set the unopened beer on the breakfast bar.
"I'm goin' to bed."

"Okay."  I watched him cross the floor.  He didn't look at me
again.  His jaw was set, everything about him tense.  In this
state of mind, I was actually a bit surprised that he'd chosen to
come back tonight instead of getting a room somewhere to let
himself think things through.

The shower ran for a few minutes, hot steam drifting out to
tickle my nose.  I stood and stretched, hearing a few cranky
pops in my back, then finished my beer, trashed the can, stuck
the other in the fridge and headed for the bedroom.  I tossed
clothes – actually making an effort to get them in the laundry
basket for once – and stood for a brief moment in front of the
mirror, idly scrutinizing muscle tone, thready scars, general
condition.  My hand trailed up to lightly touch the silver locket
clasped around my neck; a heart-shape, and it hadn't been there
long enough for me to get totally used to the weight yet, or the
sight.

The water shut off.  I tugged the rubber band from my hair and
ran a quick brush through, then tossed back rumpled covers
and slid into bed, throwing aside the little Loogah and Kah-ee
rag dolls that usually grace the quilt.  He came out after a
minute; swathed in a towel that hugged his hips, chest and hair
still damp.  My head was propped on one hand as I looked at
him.  He didn't quite meet my eyes, turning instead to open the
closet by the bathroom and pulling out a light blanket and a
pillow.  I couldn't really think of anything to say.  Not anything
that'd do any good, anyway, since all that came immediately to
mind were a few choice comments about his parentage.  He
headed out the bedroom door.  I sat up, saying, "Logan..."

A brief pause in the doorway.  He turned his head a little
towards me, but still didn't meet my eyes.  "Don't, Kai," was all
he said; the sorta thing that normally has me up in arms to
_do_ whatever it is I'm told not to.  But something about his
tone...how it was almost, but not quite, a request...

He closed the door.  I stared at it.  An uncomfortable thought
was starting to work its way to the forefront of my mind...a
thought about how I trust him, about how I let myself be in the
most vulnerable position with him without thinking twice about
whether or not he'll take advantage of that.  And a thought that
maybe, just maybe...right now he didn't trust _himself._

<Well.  That's a great thought to fall asleep on, Kai.  Lovely.>

Needless to say, I didn't sleep for a very long time.

***

When I woke in the morning he was already gone, but the
scents of breakfast greeted me with something resembling
cheer.  He'd taken the time to scramble a couple of eggs and
make some sausage, and the plate was set on the breakfast bar
in the kitchen along with a glass of orange juice.  Still warm,
too.  He knew my habits well enough to figure when I'd be
awake, I guessed.

<So what is this...an apology?>

So far as apologies went, this was a tasty one.  I finished the
surprise breakfast, actually took the time to wash the dishes,
and donned jeans and a T-shirt to head out for the mansion.
The phone rang just as I was reaching for the door.  I debated
screening...but chided myself and answered.

"Hello?"

"Kai, this is Jean."

<Damnit.  Shoulda screened.>  "What is it?"

"Is Logan there?"

"Nope."

A pause.  "Do you know where he is?"

"Nope."

"How about when he'll be back?"

"Jean, he could be on a flight to Japan right now, for all I
know."  <And that just might be a _good_ thing for him if he
was...>

"Oh."  She hesitated.  I wondered if it was real or just social
tact.  "Is everything all right, Kai?"

"Fine.  Why do you ask?"

"You said you don't know where he is..."

"Do you know where _Scott_ is all the time?"

Another pause.  Then – "Yes."

<Oh yeah…the psionic link...>  I scowled at the phone.  "Well,
I don't have your particular gifts, Jean.  If I'm gonna know
where he is, he's gotta tell me.  And he didn't."

I could hear her shift around on the other end of the line,
maybe sitting back and getting more comfortable.  "I'm worried
about him, Kai."

<You and me both.>  "He can handle himself."  <I hope.>

"The next day or so is going to be rough on him.  You...know.
Don't you?"

A barely suppressed surge of irritation, mostly directed at
myself.  Did _everybody_ have that date memorized except
me?  "I know."

"He might need some help getting through this."

"He'll talk when he's ready."  <If he's ever ready.>

"I'm not so sure...he's a private man."

<No shit.  So back the hell off and respect his privacy.>  But
that wasn't really fair.  She was just trying to help, in her own
way.  "Jean, I'll be at the mansion later.  You wanna talk more,
we'll talk then.  I gotta go for now, though."

A few more words, then I hung up.  Grabbed keys and headed
out the door, remembering at the last minute to snatch the
checkbook for the account I keep under "Kate Irene Smith."
I've got a handful of others, but that's the identity I used to co-
sign the lease with Logan, and the initials K.I. made it easy to
explain going by "Kai," so...  One of the minor annoyances
about not having a birth certificate or any legal identification is
having to set up falsies like that.  On the up side, it makes it
real easy to disappear when there's need.  Not that there's
_been_ need for a while...but you never know.

Not so long ago, I found out my real name.  I _could_ get all
pertinent records on my life – at least my early life – and
answer a lot of the questions I've been asking myself for years.
More than that, I could perhaps open a door to the past by
going and talking to the woman who was...who _had_ been my
mother.  My mind had been running in circles around the issue
for weeks, but I was no closer to making any sorta decision
now than I was when I first found out that I used to be Kaitlin
Francis Harper.

And so I put the decision on hold, as I put a lot of decisions on
hold, and continued to live the way I was used to – one step
just outside of legality.  Creeps like Bob never questioned...he
didn't give a shit _who_ I was so long as he got his rent check
every month.  Other than that little bit of ordinary life, the X-
Men kept me busy, and whenever things were quiet with them
it seemed that Darius popped up with something he wanted my
help on.  And the funny thing was that I doubted I'd change it if
I could.  As I told Betsy...this life was where I was
comfortable.  I wouldn't know _how_ to live another.

I got the money to Bob – he was in a surprisingly good mood,
and didn't even give me his usual glare when I woke him – and
climbed back in the Jeep to finally head for the mansion.  Didn't
bother with the radio this trip, but spent the ride in silent
contemplation.  The drive wasn't short, but I still hadn't
managed to come up with any answers by the time I reached
the mansion.  Hell, I wasn't even quite sure what the
_questions_ were.

No sign of Logan's bike.  I swallowed the resigned sigh and
went in to handle some business I'd been putting off for a little
while; training tapes to watch and evaluate, both for my
performance and the others'.  Scott had decided pretty quickly
that I had a decent head for tactics, so we'd been doing a
separate analysis of each session and comparing notes on what
we thought worked, what didn't, who'd been slacking off...that
sorta thing.  Not my favorite pastime by far, but I had some
time to kill, and it wouldn't hurt to get my mind off a situation
that I couldn't seem to do a damned thing about.

Scott found me after a bit.  Came in relatively quietly – he'd
been working on creeping.  Wasn't as good yet as he _could_
be if he'd just ask Logan or Remy or Betts or even me to show
him some of the tricks...but he got by all right for someone
teaching himself.  "Which session?"

"Rogue against Betsy from Tuesday."

"I remember this."  He sat down in the next chair, ruby-quartz
gaze directed at the display.  "Working on rediscovering that
seventh sense."

"Yep."  A bit of quiet from us as the sounds from the monitor
– set on low volume for my sensitive ears – punctuated the air
with the occasional shout or grunt or frustrated screech from
Rogue.  "She's hesitating too much," I commented after a
minute of watching.  "_Waiting_ for it instead of just letting it
come.  You can see where she's trying to force it."

"Watch for a second.  She picks up before long."  He sat back,
hands loosely cupped in his lap and looking uncomfortable, and
yet somehow more informal than usual.  "I'm a bit worried
about Logan."

"Why's that?"  Having easy access to the training tapes had
made it very easy to see that the one from yesterday was
destroyed, so he couldn't have viewed it...and I generally make
it a habit to erase records of sessions like that one, anyway.
Scott doesn't approve of even simulated lethal force.

"The way he's been acting the past few days...it's like he's
getting close to snapping."

<Closer than you realize.>  "He's got a lot on his mind."

"I know."  He didn't look at me, but I looked at him sharply
with the next words.  "I know a little about how he feels, Kai."

It took me a second to find a response.  Scott doesn't usually
involve himself in the emotional issues of teammates.  So long
as something doesn't affect team performance, he leaves it be.
"Do you?"  It was all I could think of to say.

A brief nod.  "We're different men.  Very different.  But there
are days that come around sometimes...like the anniversary of
the Phoenix's death..."  The eyes stayed firmly fixed on the
screen, ignoring the look I was giving him.  "I thought
she...it...was Jean.  And I still feel some of that loss.  Some of
what I felt when I saw her die."

"That must get...complicated," I said lamely.  <Did Jean put
him up to this?>

"It does."  Now he looked at me.  I wished for the umpteenth
time that I could see his eyes.  The eyes are where you read so
much of what a person means with his words.  "But I want you
to know...despite how it all ended, I was able to...love again.
After that.  Not replace.  Not substitute.  Love.  And I knew
that Jean would have wanted that.  And she wouldn't have
wanted...she _wouldn't_ want whoever I was with afterwards
to feel any less or think it means any less that she wasn't the
first...or think that because she's _different_ she's not every bit
as important to me."

Not a word came to mind or mouth.  I was utterly floored,
both by what he was telling me and by the fact that he _was_
telling me this.  If I wasn't gaping like a fish on land it was only
because I've got a bit of practice in hiding big reactions.
<Jean...Madelyne...is there someone else I don't know about?
Someone...different?>

He gave me a little smile; a bit uncomfortable, but it looked
genuine.  Then turned his attention back to the video.  "Watch
this part...Betsy's been working on that jump-spinning back
kick series from that session last week."

Slowly I focused on the images again, a corner of my mind
analyzing everything on the screen, the rest of it thinking
of...other things.  Unacknowledged doubts and maybe even the
_tiniest_ traces of insecurity...insecurity that was, in its own
way, selfish.

Damn, but I hate having to face these things about myself.

***

The day crawled by.  Towards afternoon the tediousness was
broken when Kitty, her boyfriend Pete, and Kurt Wagner
arrived in Excalibur's aircraft, the Midnight Runner.  (A bit of a
pretentious name, maybe, but the thing was impressive as all
get-out to look at.)  Pete kept surprisingly quiet.  From what
I'd seen of him on Muir Island, I rather expected the habitual
wry comments and caustic observations that seemed his
trademark.  Apparently Kitty had ordered him to be on his best
behavior, though, because he didn't even do more than glower
at Scott when he greeted them – and I _know_ he and Scott
don't get along.  Kurt seemed more than a little disappointed
that Logan wasn't there, but he cast it off with a smile and a
shrug, saying that he was sure Logan would show any time.

He might've been psychic.  Maybe an hour after they arrived,
while long-winded greetings were still going on and Pete was
looking his most miserable, I heard the distinctive rumble of
the big bike.  Kurt automatically 'ported outside to greet him
with the powerful welcoming stench of brimstone.  I only
hoped he didn't try to surprise him by popping in right on top
of him or something.  That could get ugly.

But it seemed Kurt survived the greeting, because not two
minutes later the bike roared to life again and they left
together, most likely off for a beer.  Or twenty.

I slipped away from the others and made my way out by the
pool, lighting a cigarette and wishing absently that it was
already night so I could star-gaze a bit.  <Logan still owes me a
trip up there one day...>  And I was determined.  One day
before I died, I _would_ get to go to space.  I couldn't imagine
dying without taking that opportunity.  <And wherever that
Savage Land tribe sent us doesn't count.  We didn't even get to
meet any aliens.>

"So is this th' smokers' lounge 'ere?"

I smiled to myself.  <Heard you coming, Pete.  Sorry, you
don't get a jump.>  "Close as we've got to one, yeah."

"'Bout bloody time I found it," he grumbled.  There was a faint
crackle as he lit the cigarette, then the familiar odor of burning
tobacco.  "So what're you mopin' about?"

<Well.  He's direct.>  "Just got a bit on my mind."

"All this buzz about that bleedin' boyfriend o' yers?"

"He wouldn't want it."

"Well, I bloody well wouldn't want it, either.  But you go an'
get these soddin' X-types worryin' about you, looks like yer
stuck."

I snorted and said nothing.  Cloth rustled as he settled to lean
against the wall behind me.  "Kitty's goin' t' want t' talk t' you."

"I figured as much."

"So why don't you talk t' her quick so we can hurry up an' get
th' bloody hell out o' here?"

That was enough to get me to turn and look at him.  "No
ulterior motive there at all, huh Pete?"

He scowled.  "Ain't no big damn secret, Kai.  I don't much like
this place or these blokes.  There's just somethin' _wrong_
about this many friggin' plonkers with a spandex fetish in one
place."

Couldn't help the grin.  Didn't know this guy too well, but I
was already thinking I liked him.  "Can't argue with you there."

A considering look.  "You got any room t' talk?"

"Yep.  Black fatigues.  No spandex."

"Well."  He rocked back on his heels, looking very much as if
his estimation of me had just gone up a notch or two.  "Then
you got a bit more sense than all yer mates 'ere, don't you?"
Eyes narrowed assessingly from behind a trail of smoke.
"'Cept for th' fact that yer shaggin' with a borderline nutcase."

The grin fled.  I was suddenly starting to think that I didn't like
this guy.  "Bad time to joke, Pete."

"Who's jokin'?  Yer all walkin' on fuckin' eggshells around 'im.
You'd think he ain't got what it takes t' make it through
rememberin' that woman."

So apparently Kitty'd filled him in...  "He's just a bit strung-out
right now."  <Okay...more than a 'bit.'>

"So talk t' him about it so I don't have t' get me arse dragged
across a bloody ocean 'cause Pryde's worried about the friggin'
wanker."

I looked away, working hard on _not_ resenting yet another
person giving me advice on this.  Took a drag from the
cigarette.  "He's not ready to talk."

"Not ready t'...bloody hell, woman!  You expectin' him t' just
decide one day it's time t' open his bloody yap an' let it all pour
out?"  A sharp glare at him, but it didn't do the least bit to shut
him up.  "Fer Christ's sake, Kai...th' sod's got a lot o' hurt that
he's been buryin' deep fer a long time.  An' he ain't exactly the
most stable bloke t' start with, y'know.  You got t' give 'im an
openin' t' let that stuff out."  I started to cut in, but he ranted
on before I could say anything.  "An' not this fuckin' crap from
most o' these gits, talkin' 'bout how 'life goes on' an' all...he
doesn't need t' hear that right now any more'n you need t'
bleedin' say it.  You got t' let him rant.  Let him scream.  Let
him curse whatever bloody gods he believes in.  You don't give
him that outlet, an' yer goin' t' find out just what I mean when I
say the bloke's crazy, 'cause that stuff'll drive even a _sane_
man over th' edge if you ignore it."  An arm gestured widely
towards the mansion.  "All o' those pissheads in there...they're
scared of lettin' him go off.  They just want t' pat him on th'
head, tell 'im they understand how he feels, an' have that be th'
end of it.  They ain't got th' fuckin' brass or th' balls t' see him at
his worst."  A demanding, fierce look.  "Do you?"

I tossed the cigarette and crossed arms loosely over my chest.
"Just how the hell much did Kitty tell you about him?"

"Plenty fuckin' more'n I wanted t' hear, I'll tell you that."  The
cigarette was flung away, another lit without hesitation.  From
his finger, like Remy does it.  Damn, I wish I could do that.
"Yer wot...almost thirty?"

"Roundabouts."  <Give or take a few decades.>

"So how can you be so bleedin' stupid about relationships?"

"It's a gift."  Yeah, a gift called 'never having been in one that
mattered.'  <Does everybody in this fucking world know more
about relationships than I do?>  "Tell Kitty I'll have that talk
with her later."

"Where the bloody hell you goin'?"

"Just tell her."  And with that I turned and headed off for the
woods, 'cause it looked like I'd just had a lot more stuff to
think about dumped in my lap...and 'cause if one more person
wanted a heart-to-heart with me about this, I thought it just
might run the danger of becoming a fist-to-face instead.  And
at the moment I wasn't feeling too picky about _whose_ face,
either.

***

The stars were finally peeking their way through the studded
black canvass of sky.  The little lake caught each pinpoint and
reflected it right back up again in a delicate balance of light.
The pale moon, lacking a few days 'til full, was creeping up to
add its own illumination to the dark trees below.  This lake was
farther from the mansion than the main one where picnics were
still an occasional occurrence.  More overgrown, so it took
someone really good at woods-walking or really determined to
get through to find a clear patch of grass on the shore.  I was
both.

The past hour had been spent trying to imagine being poisoned.
Dying, knowing I was dying, and not being able to do a
damned thing about it.  I've been close enough to that before
that it didn't take a huge effort.

But the part that _did_ take effort was where I tried to make
myself think of asking Logan to kill me and end my suffering.

"End yours," I muttered, "and make his last forever."

<Cold, Kai.  She was in pain.  _Bad_ pain, with no hope of it
ending short of death.>

And what about his?

"I really need to quit having conversations with myself inside
my skull."  My voice sounded overloud in the quiet air.  "I
might have to start worrying about me."

Of course, _I_ was the _last_ thing I needed to worry about
right then.

Mariko.  Dead because she was in the way of the wrong
people, and because she was courageous enough to fight for
honor rather than power.  Dead in his arms, with her blood
staining his claws.

Silver Fox.  Dead, and then not dead.  Alive, but not the same.
And then...gone because of a crazy man with a fetish for
manipulation and another man with a fetish for slicing things
up.  <Creed...>

<No.  Deal with that later.  Deal with _him_ when the time is
right.  Right now there are other things to think of.>

There had been other women, too.  Despite the fact that Logan
looked to be no more than in his forties, he'd lived a long, long
time.  Long enough to carve some deep channels in a heart
after a while.  Long enough to love and lose and love and lose
and love and lose again.  So how did he do it?  How did he find
it in him to take that chance one more time after each was lost?

My hand strayed to the silver locket around my throat.  <And
me...too much of a coward to wanna risk the pain he's been
through over and over again.>

<'Course on the other hand, I'm a veritable baby next to him,
age-wise.  Or at least memory-wise.  I suppose I've got time to
learn.  Not that I _want_ to learn about this...>

The faintest rustle of overgrown underbrush, and then a helpful
dash of breeze bearing a scent.  I sat up and craned my neck
around to see him.  The shadows by the trees tried to hide his
shape, but my eyes are good in the dark. 

<Great.  Now has he been there long enough to hear me
rambling on to myself...?>  Hands propped behind me.  I
turned and stared out over the little lake, waiting for him to
decide to stay or leave on his own.

More quiet rustling.  I smiled to myself.  <Not so easy to sneak
up and give me a heart attack when _I_ choose the ground, is
it?>  He stopped a few paces away, saying nothing.  Perhaps
waiting for me to acknowledge him further, to say something
to welcome him or chase him away. 

So I spoke.  "Kinda expected you to take off again.  Thought
you'd wanna be alone tonight."

"I do."  Whispering of grass as he shifted his weight.  "An' I
don't."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Why?  So you can tell me ya 'understand'?"  Bitter tang of
sarcasm layering pain and anger.  "I hear enough o' that
already."

"I'll bet.  But I don't think I _do_ understand."  <If I
understood I wouldn't be out here trying to figure it out, would
I?>  "Why don't you make me?"

The brush of a hand through hair.  "It ain't that easy, Kai."

"Neither is dealing with you when you're like this."

Quiet rumble...a suppressed growl?  "I just came out here to
make sure you were okay.  Not to listen to you tellin' me what
an ass I am."

"You don't want me to be honest with you, you can always
leave."

Definitely a growl.  Grass hissed a complaint as he turned
sharply.  <No no no...you're _supposed_ to _stay,_ damnit!> 
Did I go after him?  Call out?  Let him walk away?  <Nothing's
ever easy.>

But he stopped a few paces away.  "You gonna stay out here
all night?"  Words short, bitten off, angry.  I wondered how far
buried that rage I saw yesterday was.

"I might.  Unless there's some reason to head back."

Flesh shifted...skin slid over skin.  He was probably crossing
his arms and glaring at me.  He does that a lot.  "What the hell
is it you want from me, Kai?  You want me to tell ya all about
M'iko?  Silver Fox?  You want me to spend all night makin' ya
feel like you're that important to me?"

Now I turned, meeting his glare readily with my own.  "I'm not
looking to compete with any ghosts, Logan.  This isn't about
me.  This isn't even about us."

"That's right," he answered sharply.  "So why're ya pokin' your
nose in?"

"Have I asked you _one_ fucking question about it?  Have I? 
_One_ thing past offering to listen?"

A scowl twisted his face, but he grudgingly answered, "No."

I swiveled back around to stare at the star-dotted lake,
swallowing down a curse.  "Do you think I really believe I
_know_ what it was like for you?  Damnit, I know I'm an
arrogant bitch, Logan, but even _I_ wouldn't go that far."

A pause.  Then -- "No...I guess ya wouldn't."

I dropped down to lie on my back again, hands tucked beneath
my head.  "You wanna stay out here, stay.  We can talk or not. 
Up to you.  You wanna go off and do your damndest to drink
enough to get past your healing factor, do that.  Just make up
your mind, already." 

Another pause, longer this time.  Then the gruff voice -- "I
don't wanna drink tonight."

My eyes closed in faint relief.  I didn't even want to _imagine_
him going to a bar and getting into a fight in this state.  "Do
you wanna be alone?"

"Guess I wouldn't be here if I did."

"Then pull up a plot of grass and get comfy."

Took him a minute.  Tension was practically radiating through
the air, thrumming along my skin in response.  I kept my eyes
closed and waited, and soon enough heard, scented, felt him
near as he sat down a few feet away.  "I really wouldn't've hurt
ya the other day."

<Arrogant little...no.  Stop that, Kai.  Let him talk.>

He paused, as if waiting for me to fill the silence with my
typical comment.  When I didn't, he went on hesitantly.  "It
was...I was angry.  That ain't the right word...but it's close as I
can get to it.  Just...alla this stuff inside..."  A deep, heavy sigh. 
"Been a while since I lost it like that."

"Scared you, didn't it?"

"A bit."  Sound of grass being torn from the earth, then fibrous
ripping as he starting methodically shredding the blades. 
"Thought I had it more under control.  I work at it, Kai, but
sometimes...sometimes it just...god, I dunno.  I'm not tryin' to
make an excuse."

"Didn't think you were."

"Did I...scare ya?"

"You pissed me off."

"That ain't what I asked."

"It's what you get."

"I'm sorry."

"Forgiven."

"I...what?"

"You heard me."

Silence.  His stare almost felt like a tangible weight, though I
didn't open my eyes to see it.  Then -- "That easy?"

"In this case, yeah."

"You're just gonna let it go?"

"If you will."

Another sound of shifting.  I thought that maybe he was lying
down on his back, too.  "You're not star-gazin'."

<Not _too_ obvious with changing the subject, there...>  A
hand raised to gesture, eyes still closed.  "Orion," I said,
pointing.  "Sirius, the dog-star.  The Seven Sisters, a little hard
to see with the moon this full since they're so faint.  Do you
want me to go on?"

A wry snort.  "Star-gazin' without the gazin'."

"Just how I relax."

"You're gonna hafta teach me that trick one day."

"Night."  Eyes opened, and I turned my head to look at him. 
Yep, he was lying down, gazing up at the distant suns as if
searching for what I found in them.  "Any time you want, I'll
show you."

"It's gettin' late," he said abruptly, staring blindly upwards. 
"Almost tomorrow." 

"I know."

"I shoulda gone to light incense for her."

"It's not too late."

He held a hand up in front of his face, turning it over and
flexing fingers, eyes tracking the motion of tendons.  Turned it
over again, palm to him.  Claws sprang out with a "shlukk!" 
His other hand rose to trace along the bone blades.  "They
were metal, then.  Coated in adamantium."  I watched
wordlessly.  His fist tightened.  "Cut cleaner'n they do now." 
Moonlight softened their color to a cream-white.  I imagined
the way it would've glinted off metal.  "Quick.  Painless."

"Mariko shouldn't've asked," I said before I could stop myself..

"She shouldn't've had to."  The claws snapped back in.  He sat
up, resting forearms on upraised knees and looking straight
ahead at nothing; nothing _I_ could see, anyway.  Muscles
rippled and clenched along his shoulders.  "She was a proud
woman.  A noble woman.  An' I all but made her _beg_ me
to..."  The claws thrust out again, right hand only.  He stared at
them fixedly.  "I told her I couldn't do it.  Me.  How many
fuckin' people've I killed?"  Somehow I didn't think he knew
the answer to that one any more than I did.  "And she
was...was hurtin'..."  Claws retracted.  He shoved off the
ground and stood swiftly, staring out over the water, jaw tight. 
"An' all I could tell her was, 'I can't,'" he said savagely,
mocking himself with the words.  "I fuckin' _can't!_"  Claws
snapped out, in.  A tremble passed through him, then his head
turned sharply to me as though suddenly worrying that he'd
said too much.

I met his eyes with a calm surface overlaying the unfamiliar
empathy churning in my chest.  "If it had been easy for
you...well, you'd be a very different man."

"It _wasn't_ easy."

"I know."

"It was one of the hardest things I've ever done in my whole
goddamned life."

"I know."

"You _don't_ know!"  He whirled fully around, face contorted,
fists clenched tight.  "You _can't_ know what it's like to be
holdin' the person you love...holdin' her and seein' her hurt and
knowin' that this'll be the _last_ time she'll ever be able to say
your name.  To have all these fuckin' words runnin' around in
your head, an' not bein' able to say one damn thing to let her
know..."

"No," I agreed softly.  "I can't."  <And I hope I never do.>

But he was going on, words pouring out in a torrent of heat
and pain.  "Smellin' the death on her.  So strong...like somethin'
I could almost fight if I could just figure out how.  All that
warmth and smile...all wrapped up in one last moment.  My
claws..."  They snapped out again, thrust deep into the fabric of
the night in challenge to whatever watched.  "Her blood on
_my claws!_"

Hands pushed me into a loose crouch, forearms resting on
thighs.  "She asked it, Logan."

"You think that makes it any easier?!"  Fight or flight -- the
instinct was tearing him in two, making him tremble all over. 
"D'ya think _anything_ makes it easier?!"  He was standing
locked in place, fixing me with a wild look of fierce, hooded
desperation.  "I wanted to go nuts...to just tear outta there and
let it all go.  All the efforts to be better.  Everything I did to
fight back that side o' me.  I just wanted to throw 'em all away
an' run mad 'til someone killed me."

"But you didn't."

"_She_ wouldn't've wanted me to."  Injured rage at being held
back.  "And then Silver Fox was there...I don't know what the
fuck I was thinkin' could come of it.  She _hated_ me.  All I
could remember was bein' together in the cabin...lovin' each
other and not worryin' about a thing past _livin'._  And...Creed,
he..."  Burning confusion lit the deep, furious eyes.  He closed
them tightly, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his
voice.  "Not then, but later.  Butchered right in front of my
goddamn eyes, an' I didn't do a fuckin' thing to stop him."

"You tried."

"I _failed!_  M'iko.  Silver Fox.  All of 'em."  Eyes opened.  My
heart ached at the raw pain in them.  "Why does it keep
happenin', Kai?  Why do they keep..."  He held his hands out,
retracting claws and staring at them.  "...slipping through my
fingers..."

"I don't know," I murmured.  "I don't."

"What if it happens to you?"

"What?"

"What if the same thing happens to you?"  He looked up,
expression hollow.  "What if it's just a matter o' time before
you're gone, too?"

There was a suspicious lump in my throat.  I didn't even try to
figure out why.  "Are you asking me what I'd want you to do if
I died?"

Words were growled out.  "I've heard it before, Kai.  'Live. 
Find someone new.  Be happy.'"

I waited a moment, looking at his face and thinking about it. 
_Really_ thinking about it.  Knowing I didn't have the answers
to all the questions ripping through him...but looking for
something that might settle, at the very least, one of them. 

Then -- "I think I'd at least be worth a drinking binge."

A couple of surprised blinks.  No, _not_ what he expected. 
"What?"

"A drinking binge."  Thighs flexed, pushing me to stand.  "A
righteous, liquor-hazed binge.  Enough booze to set your
healing factor back on its ass for a little while."

And "What?" again.

I gave him a nod, letting the idea form in my head as I talked. 
"Yep.  I want you to get shit-faced.  Plastered.  Utterly soused. 
But only..."  I held up a finger and shook it slightly from side to
side.  "Only once.  And then I want you to take a few days to
get over that...and go skydiving."

"_Skydiving?_"

Another nod, firm and decisive.  The finger jabbed towards him
warningly.  "_With_ a parachute.  And you'd better pop silk,
too.  None of this 'going out on an adrenaline high' crap.  You
drink.  You go skydiving.  You pull the chord so you _don't_
go splat."

He was staring at me as if trying to decide if I was making a
cruel joke or going crazy.  "I ain't in the mood to play, Kai," he
said uncertainly.

"Neither am I.  I'm one hundred percent not joking.  That's
exactly what I want you to do if I die."

He hesitated, but reluctant curiosity glinted in his gaze.  "An'
after that?"

A single-shoulder shrug.  "After that maybe your head'll be
straight enough that you can decide what to do."  I crossed
arms over my chest.  "Your turn."

"Are you _serious?_"

"As a heart attack.  What would you want me to do?  And it
better start with a righteous binge, 'cause that's a given."

He shook his head, looking downright mystified.  "A drinking
binge?"

"A _righteous_ one."

"A...righteous binge..."  A sharp look.  "You're not playin'?"

"Nope."

That hand scrubbed through hair again.  The confusion looked
considerably better to my eyes than the rage and half-
smothered pain...though I wasn't foolish enough to think that
totally gone.  Not now.  Maybe not ever, entirely. 

But chased back, for now, just a little ways.  Knocked off
balance as thoughts were redirected.  "All right," he said
slowly.  "Drink 'til ya can't count to ten on your fingers. 
Then..."  The faintest hint of a smile, finally.  "Go hang-
gliding."

I considered for a few seconds, then told him, "Deal."

Shlukk!  A single claw from his left hand.  I watched him draw
it across the palm of his right, cutting deep.  Blood welled. 
Eyes met mine, a challenge in them as he thrust the bleeding
hand out towards me.  "Well hurry up before it heals."

<I think I'll have full right to bitch about this later.>  But for
now I gripped his left wrist without hesitation, pressed my
right palm over the (painfully) sharp edge of the extended claw,
and slashed the heel of my hand neatly.  <Ouch ouch ouch!> 
Then our hands gripped briefly, sealing the promise in one of
the oldest ways known.

He grinned suddenly, the expression startling after days
without.  With a tug he pulled me to him, retracting the claw
and wrapping his free arm around me tightly.  Lips smacked
my forehead soundly.  "I gotta go," he told me, the ring of
abruptly-made decision in his voice.

"Huh?"  <He's upset, he cuts, he's happy?  Is that what it takes? 
That doesn't seem healthy...>

"I'm gonna get Kitty to fly me to Tokyo in that fancy plane o'
theirs."  He cupped my chin in his non-blood-smeared hand. 
"There's still time." 

"Huh?"  <Was Pete actually _right?_  Just getting him to let it
out helped...?>

He went on before my brain could reset and catch up.  "An'
then I'm goin' to Canada.  To the cabin.  I promised Silver Fox
I would in the spring, but I can go now.  I need to."

"Huh?"

"And then..."  A smile, pain lingering in his eyes, but suddenly
not alone there.  "I'm comin' back, and we're goin' on a
vacation."

"A vacation?"

"Anywhere you wanna go."

"Anywhere?"

"Yep."  He tilted my chin up and pressed his mouth to mine;
lightly at first, then he suddenly gripped me tight and kissed
fiercely enough to chase breath from my lungs.

And then broke it off abruptly.  "See ya, darlin'."  He released
me and, light-headed from that kiss, I almost swayed on my
feet.  His grin broadened at that, but he didn't say anything else
before turning and jogging for the treeline back towards the
mansion.  I watched him leave, mind reeling.  Tension I'd
barely realized was there fled, and I sank down to my butt as
he vanished into the woods.

"Well," I said after a moment to the empty air.  "That was..." 
_What_ was it?  "Well."  A frog croaked agreement from
across the lake.  I shook my head in bemused wonder.  The
healing hand itched.  I held it out to examine the faint white
line beneath the drying blood.  <Wonder if I shoulda told him
that the last time I went hang-gliding, I crashed...>

Then I sighed and stretched out on my back again, rubbing
absently at my palm as I stared up at winking pinpricks of light
in the endless sky.  A minute passed of swirling thoughts.  The
man in the moon smiled down at me.  After another minute, my
lips slowly stretched to match the expression.

Ghosts laid to rest?  Maybe not.  But not locked up tight
inside, at least, hammering away at him and driving him over
the edge.  <Wish I knew what was going on in his head...> 
But Logan's always been a hard man to figure out.

<Well, life with him is never boring.>

"Anywhere I wanna go," I murmured to the smiling moon.  A
laugh wanted to start inside.  I felt it quiver in my chest.  "He
didn't say anywhere on _Earth._"  I stared at the stars and
grinned to myself, wondering just what the hell a person was
supposed to pack when going on vacation in outer space. 
<Well, one thing's a given.  Traveling with Logan, I can be
pretty sure I'll need the uniform.  And some weapons, too.>  I
considered for a moment.  <_Lots_ of weapons.>

A few minutes later the Midnight Runner screeched off into the
sky.  I pressed fingers to my lips and blew a kiss after it.  <This
relationship stuff isn't so hard.>

Or maybe it is.  But I'm starting to think it's worth it.

--end-- 

Notes from Kaylee:  Okay.  I gotta say...I just wasn't too happy
with the chat Jean gave Logan after Silver Fox's death.  He was
_hurting,_ not sinking into self-pity, and she told him,
essentially, that he was being selfish. <grrr>  So this was my
effort to take another look at the effects of that double loss. 
Continuity-wise, this'd actually take place around the second
anniversary of M'iko's death -- the first had him going to a
temple on the outskirts of Tokyo to light incense in Mariko's
honor...the same temple where they were going to have their
wedding. 

>From the story -- Kai's experience with Creed happened in "In
the Woods."  She met Kaitlin Francis Harper's mother in
"Mama's Day."  She was close enough to death to imagine
what Mariko felt in "Virus."  Kai and Logan were sent to an
alien desert by the Savage Land tribe in the cleverly titled
"Desert."  The Loogah and Kah-ee dolls come straight from
"The Great Loogah."  If you like the K&Ls and missed those
somehow, you really should oughtta read 'em.  (And we'll just
tag on the addy again, in case you somehow didn't see it
prominently displayed at the beginning. ;-)  Go to the Kai &
Logan subarchive at Fonts of Wisdom
(http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/kailogan.htm) and enjoy! ;-)