Hola.  I'm not a professional writer or associated with Marvel 
Comics in any way.  The following is a work of fan fiction 
featuring the X-Men, primarily Logan and Remy LeBeau.  
Victor Creed is also involved.  I make no money from this at 
all.  Don't sue me.

Kai is mine.  Don't touch her without permission or your 
fingers will be chopped off, or so I've heard.

This story takes place after "Kai and Logan: Muir Island."  Kai 
had something pretty bad happen to her in "In The Woods."  
Victor Creed hurt her in a big way.  She's a tough gal, but 
things like that leave marks.  How's she coping?  Let's find out.  
Oh, and for any who care, the Danger Room sequence towards 
the end is from Wolverine #65.

This ain't for kids.  Bad language and some violence.  The 
children may leave the room, now.

Comments to Kaylee1109@aol.com.  Let those fingers get to 
tapping!

Enjoy!

--"Kai and Logan: Reactions"--
By Kaylee (Kaylee1109@aol.com)

Thud!  Scrape!  Clunk!  Crack!

"Goddamnit!"

"Keep focused, darlin'."

"Don't..."  Thump!  "...call me that when I'm..."  Slam!  
"...losing!"

"Then I won't be callin' you that for a while," he replied as we 
circled each other, bo staffs held at the ready.  There wasn't an 
ounce of compromise in his voice; of pity, of coddling.

Which is exactly what I asked him for.  "You're counting those 
chickens early, Logan," I told him, ignoring the sweat that 
dripped into my eyes.  My heart was pounding far faster than it 
shoulda been and the half-snarl hadn't left my face no matter 
how hard I tried to force it away.  I recognized the stink rising 
off of me as easily as he did.  Fear has a taste no enhanced 
senses could miss.

But I shoved it back as far as I could, putting it away from 
awareness just as I did the numerous bruises that I was 
sporting and the twisted ankle that hadn't quite healed past the 
hurting point, yet.  He eyed me, and for a moment I thought he 
was gonna call a halt to the activity as he had on previous 
nights.  Frustration surged into my chest, goading me into an 
attack quick enough to actually knock him back a step.  His bo 
rose to block the overhand strike, then thrust out and snapped 
towards my knee in one of many calculated moves to rattle my 
thin composure.

And it worked, damn it, just as well as the previous ones had.  
I flinched sideways and slammed my bo into his to protect the 
knee with an overzealous block.  I let the staff move just a 
fraction too far out, and he reversed his motion easily with a 
countering strike that grazed my temple.  I suppressed the cry 
only because I saw the move coming in time to turn it into a 
growled shout.  He watched dispassionately as I reeled back a 
step and brought my bo up in an entirely defensive position.  
_Again!_

"Goddamnit," I said more softly, seeing that he wasn't gonna 
follow up on the attack.  My jaw clenched tight and my eyes 
stared coldly as I pulled myself together enough to offer him a 
stiff bow.  He matched it, effectively ending the session.  I let 
the bo slide down to rest the tip on the ground and leaned 
against it for support while I sucked in breaths.  "Goddamnit."

He said nothing for a few minutes, letting me steady my 
breathing without distraction.  I didn't look at him; didn't want 
to see the expression on his face.  Eventually I backed to a tree 
and sank down to rest against its base, glaring at an 
unoffending clod of dirt.  I don't _like_ frustration.  I don't 
_like_ having hang-ups that become weaknesses.  I don't 
_like_ being bruised and sore from a workout that shouldn't 
have been anything more than exercise.

"Still the knees," he said when he decided I'd had long enough.

"And the elbows, and anything else that I happen to remember 
at any given point," I added bitterly.  "Bo, sword, chucks, 
tonfa, hand to hand...it doesn't even fucking matter how we're 
fighting.  It's always the same damned overreaction that gets 
me killed."

I didn't look up as he came to sit beside me against the trunk.  
As always, I half-expected meaningless words of comfort...a 
poor attempt at convincing me that everything would be 
"okay."  Thankfully, they didn't come now any more than they 
had the first time we came out here in the woods in the middle 
of the night to try to overcome this.

"You're thinking too much.  Not letting reflexes do what ya 
trained 'em to do.  It's slowin' ya down...making ya sloppy."

"I know."  And I did.  All too well.  I was reminded with every 
strike he managed to land and every thump of a heart that 
insisted on remembering another episode in woodlands not so 
long ago.  "Goddamnit," I said again.  The word was becoming 
my mantra.  "This is taking too fucking long, Logan.  I should 
be over it, by now."

"Well you're not."  Blunt and honest as always.  I tried not to 
snarl at him.  "You're not...an' ya won't be 'til you stop seeing 
Sabretooth every time I swing at you."

Sabretooth.  I'd never once called Victor Creed by that name.  
Not even when he almost killed me in a twisted psychopathic 
rage.  The name always seemed an excuse to me.  It let Vic 
write all his bad deeds off to "Sabretooth," and forget that 
there's a human past that who's every bit as accountable for his 
actions as the one-dimensional moniker he goes by.

"He may not've broken me," I muttered, mostly to myself, "but 
he sure bent me up a good bit."

"Yeah."  Logan slid a hand across the ground to take one of 
mine.  He started rubbing gently at my palm until I let some of 
the tension bleed out.  As always when this subject came up, 
the scent of rage wafted off of him.  I knew that if I looked at 
his face now, his eyes would be hard and fierce with silent 
promises of a lingering death to the other man.  I'd seen that 
look far too often, of late, no matter how much I insisted that 
this was something I had to deal with alone.  The only thing I 
asked of him was that we practice away from the others like 
this until I managed to conquer the fear.  The X-Men didn't 
know what had happened with Creed.  They simply thought 
that I'd made a really dumb mistake in going after him alone, 
been defeated, and more or less fled in shame for a while.  It 
made things uncomfortable around the mansion, but I 
preferred that to letting them know just how far the situation 
had gotten outta my control.

I sighed and leaned back, leaving my hand limp in his.  It 
woulda been easy to cry, just then.  To pull Logan close and 
sob on his shoulder.  To let words pour out asking stupid 
questions that mostly started with "why?"  He would've 
allowed it, too, because he thought I was tying myself up in 
knots with all this suppressed emotion.  He'd told me so more 
than once.  But I couldn't do that and stay _me._  It's partly 
pride, I'll admit...but it's something else, too.  I spent a long 
time as a glorified slave in the not-so-distant past, being 
stripped of pride, confidence, and self-worth in a program 
called "conditioning."  A day came that I overcame, more or 
less, what was done to me and escaped.  I broke conditioning.  
After that, I had a whole lot to learn about how I was going to 
survive in the world, and with the help of a man who became 
like a father to me, I eventually found those missing pieces of 
myself and built a new person from them.  It took a long time.  
Every scrap of new "self" was clutched as tightly to me as my 
strength would allow.

And now some of it was lost.  Part of _me_ was lost.  Until I 
found it again, I wasn't whole...and I couldn't possibly allow 
myself vulnerability, which would crumble the foundations of 
what was left.

But goddamnit...this was taking too long.  And time is a luxury 
people like us aren't often allowed.

***

In the late morning, the team ran through a training session in 
the Danger Room.  I put in an all right showing, since the only 
person there who knew my weakest points was Logan and it 
didn't take much to protect those against the less skilled 
holograms we fought.  Scott gave a short nod and told us he 
was pleased...then launched into a rendition of what we could 
do better.  Ororo stood a little off to his side, and when he was 
through she added her own comments.  Frankly, I thought hers 
were better.  We filed out in singles and clumps; most making 
a straight line to the showers, a few heading for the pool out 
back.  I opted for the pool, and after a quick change and a dip 
in the cool water I sprawled on a towel and waited for the 
temperate day to lull me into sleep.

I'd nearly been successfully lulled when I heard my name 
whispered by someone in the pool.  Bobby Drake, I knew 
instantly.  Boy has a habit of "forgetting" that my ears are as 
keen as my nose.  I gave no sign I'd heard and left my eyes 
closed as he murmured to someone about how what I'd done 
should constitute betrayal, seeing as I'd cost the team a chance 
to recapture Creed.  And what had I done afterwards?  Run 
with my tail between my legs to hide and wait for them to 
forget how bad I screwed up.  It was an effort to keep my 
muscles from tensing at his accounting of events.  Frustration 
again choked up my throat, and I'd almost started to raise my 
head and say something when another person answered for me.

"Bobby, you always be judgin' 'fore y' know any'ting.  Leave 
her be.  We don' know what happen at de base, an' she don' 
wan' be tellin'."  I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that 
Remy would stick up for me.  He'd been the target of Drake's 
ire before himself, and it was only with the arrival of a 
convenient new target that Drake softened towards him at all.  
Remy wasn't foolish enough...or enough of an asshole...to 
assure his welcome at my expense.  He was rather comfortable 
as the "outsider," and enjoyed the renegade reputation to the 
hilt.  Like Logan, though without quite the same level of 
success, he established early on that he made his own rules for 
himself.  He was sneaky enough to get away with that, too, 
which disturbed some of the "original" X-Men to no end.  
Particularly Drake, Worthington, and of course, Summers.

I rather liked the guy.

Assured that Remy could and would handle Bobby, I let my 
mind wander off again.  Unfortunately, this time it chose 
thinking instead of sleep.  I knew I couldn't keep the team from 
figuring out that something was wrong for much longer.  How 
long would it be before we were thrust into a field situation 
and I discovered  that the problem wouldn't magically "go 
away" just because the situation was real?  For all I knew, 
Logan wouldn't even let me go on a mission.  He'd reason that 
it would be too dangerous for myself and the team, and he'd be 
right.  And all he had to do to stop me was open his mouth on 
the truth.

I had to face this thing.  I had to _beat_ it.

And as I lay there, I started to get an inkling of how I just 
might do that. 

***

He slept with the window open.  I'd noticed that before.  It 
wasn't much of a challenge to lower myself from the roof and 
swing in through the inviting opening, and before I had time to 
think about what I was doing I was already perched on his 
windowsill and staring at the sleeping man.  Remy's a hunk, 
that's for sure.  In sleep, tangled up in bed sheets and with a 
muscular arm tucked under his pillow, he looked surprisingly 
peaceful and innocent.  I could just imagine all the women 
over the years that had woken up to find him next to them and 
wished for a way to keep him there forever.

"Remy," I said quietly.

As quickly as that, he was completely awake.  His hand jerked 
out from beneath the pillow holding three cards, all of which 
were already glowing with the distinctive kinetic energy he 
charged into them.  I trusted his reflexes and senses enough not 
to worry that he'd actually throw them, so I didn't move from 
my seat as awareness flickered into his unique eyes.

"What you doin' in here, chere?"  He let the glow around the 
cards fade, sitting up and hardly bothering to tuck sheets 
around himself more securely.  His eyes took in my black 
fatigues; my "business outfit," so to speak.  "Dere a problem?"

"I need a favor from you."  

"In de middle a' de night?"  At my nod, he set the cards down 
on the table beside him and drew knees up beneath the sheet to 
rest arms on them.  "Go 'head, den."

"Two favors," I clarified.

"Dey multiply when I ask questions, or sum'ting?"

I allowed a faint smile, then let it fade.  "The first is 
confidentiality."

"Ah."  He gave me a considering look, then shrugged.  "You 
got it.  An' de second?"

I told him.  He blinked in confusion and rubbed at reddish 
brown hair thoughtfully.

"You can' get Logan to do dis?"

"No."

"You gotta do dis now?"

"Yes."

He sighed.  "All right, chere.  Meet you down dere in five 
minutes, neh?"

I left by the window even as he was climbing out of bed.

***

"Why dis program?  Dere others wit' him in 'em."

I didn't answer while I slipped the virtual reality helmet onto 
my head and secured it.  He asked again, perhaps thinking I 
hadn't heard.  I tightened my jaw, but gave him the answer.

"This one is closest to what happened."

He went silent.  I waited without looking up to where he stood 
in the Control Booth of the Danger Room.  My heart was 
pounding hard already, but I kept an expression of calm and 
fervently willed him to not back out now.  A long minute 
passed.  I felt sweat trickle down my face.  Overwrought 
nerves started to tingle.

Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.  "Remy?"  I had to stop 
and clear my throat to firm my voice.  "Will you start the 
program?"

His voice dripped with reluctance.  "You sure 'bout dis, 
chere?"

"I'm sure."  Yeah, right.  But I had to do _something._  "Start 
it up."

He didn't protest again.  Very suddenly, I wasn't in the Danger 
Room any longer.  I stood in the open door of a little wooden 
cabin, staring in at the scene inside.  I knew it wasn't real...but 
the impact hit like a sledgehammer regardless.  The very first 
thought that leapt into my mind was, surprisingly enough, _Oh, 
Logan..._  It took no imagination to know what he'd been 
feeling when he saw this with his own eyes.

Victor Creed looked up from where he crouched over the body 
of a lovely Native American woman.  My stomach gave a 
sickening lurch as I saw what had been done to her.  With a 
cruel grin, Victor raised one blood-stained claw to his mouth 
and licked it slowly.

"She was an uppity squaw, Logan.  She said 'no.'"

So did I.

He advanced on me, still grinning.  I knew it was nothing but 
an image sent into my head...knew the only pain I'd feel would 
be the phantom, false pain my mind fed into me with the help 
of the helmet...but that didn't seem to matter a whole hell of a 
lot.  The image's eyes gleamed at me with full knowledge of 
what the original had done.  The lips pulled back in a sick 
smile while he thought of what he would do again.  Claws 
flexed with their desire to tear into my flesh.

"She said _'no'!_"  He leapt with all the speed I remembered 
from reality, somehow propelling over three hundred pounds 
towards me with the quickness of a striking jungle cat.  
Drowsy reflexes threw me to the side an instant too late to 
avoid him entirely.  Something tore through my shoulder, 
feeling as real as the claws had before.  I cried out and whirled 
as he did, lashing a foot out with the motion and slamming a 
kick into his jaw.  He was spun, but recovered as quickly as I'd 
known he would.

"She said 'no'!" he repeated.  I wondered distantly if any other 
words had been programmed in.  He lunged, this time catching 
my arm at the elbow and throwing me to sprawl across the 
ground.  The fear surged up at the pain I felt, and I clutched 
the arm to me as I tried to gather feet to stand.

"Do y' wan' me to end dis?" Remy asked.

"Don't you dare!" I shouted back to him as Creed came in 
again.  "Don't you fucking dare end it!"  Even as claws cut air 
towards me, I thrust myself forward and rolled to my feet.  The 
false Creed overbalanced with his strike.  I lunged for an ankle 
and jerked it from the ground, twisting until I heard a 
satisfying "snap!".  He roared and went down as I pulled the 
limb upwards.  A huge hand lashed out and clamped down on 
my knee.

"She said 'no'!" he told me again, trying to shift his angle to 
twist the knee aside and dislocate or break it.  The fear was 
choking me, turning my vision to red, but something else was 
rising, too.  Rage, of course...but more.  A memory of a time 
when I saw all the world through that haze of terror and fury, 
and a man who showed me how to funnel it and work it 
through until it no longer dominated me.

"Sensei," I breathed, shoving myself forward over Creed's legs 
and slamming down to straddle him with my knees.  "I 
remember..."  His phantom hands closed on me, but this fake 
Victor knew little more than how to slash.  I ignored the 
tearing I felt along my ribcage and slammed a fist into his face.  
And another.  And another.  And again and again and again.  I 
was speaking and hardly aware of it; little muttered words that 
rambled out meaninglessly.  "Not break...not win...give 
you...nothing...give you...promise...you-will-keep!"  The 
tearing in my sides stopped as the program registered that I'd 
hurt him badly enough to overcome his defense.  He was lying 
there, staring up at me from a face battered and blood-
smeared...yet still smiling.

"She said 'no.'"

I raised a fist and took my time about setting up.  "You're 
goddamn right I did."  I let the punch carry the rest of my 
frustration with it.  Bone cracked beneath my hand.  The form 
beneath me fizzed out for a second, then came back.  Blood-
filled eyes looked blindly at me.

"End it, Remy."

"He's still 'live, chere."

I nodded, pulling the helmet off and shaking out sweat-soaked 
hair.  "I know he is, Remy.  I want him that way."  Feet 
gathered beneath me over the still form.  I didn't even give it 
another glance.

He shut down the program, saying, "I don' und'stan'.  After 
what he did..."  He broke off, perhaps realizing I might resent 
the knowledge he now had.  But I didn't...too much...and there 
was something else entirely on my mind at the moment.

"I want him that way," I repeated, moving to put the gear 
away.  The phantom pain had vanished the second the helmet 
was removed, and I felt strangely invigorated after the workout 
physically, even if I was wrung a bit dry emotionally.  My eyes 
sought Remy's in the Booth.  "This meant a lot to me, Cajun," 
I said quietly.  I'm never any good at "thanks."  He probably 
started to answer, but I was already heading out the door.  
There was someone I really needed to see just then, and 
answering Remy's questions wasn't something I was looking 
forward to.

***

He woke up when I came in and rolled over in bed.  "Where've 
ya been?"  

I gestured to my BDUs.  "Busy.  We have to go to the woods.  
Now."

"Right now?"

"Right now."  I waited while he slid from the bed and drew on 
his uniform pants.  He raised an eyebrow at me and gestured 
towards the weapons rack in a silent question.  I shook my 
head.  "No.  Hand to hand."

We went.  We squared off.  We fought.

I didn't flinch.

We whirled around each other with all the speed and fervor 
our old sparring sessions had; darting, striking, blocking, 
kicking.  His eyes widened when I didn't fall for the knee strike 
trick...or the elbow, or the feint to the knee followed by a 
counter somewhere else.  I saw the grin start on his face after 
the third engagement.  Felt the answering expression on my 
own after the fifth.  He lunged backwards when a kick sneaked 
in under his guard, and even as he held his stomach he was 
laughing.

"You _got_ it, darlin'!" he shouted, evidently not caring if we 
attracted attention.  I laughed in utter, mindless happiness and 
pressed my attack on him.  He let me catch a surprisingly solid 
hold on one arm, and I flipped him over my back and to the 
ground with a rush of exhilaration.  He pulled me down with 
him by the simple dint of sweeping my feet out from under me 
and dragging down on my arm.  I caught myself on my palms, 
arms straddled on each side of his chest.  "You got it," he said 
again, smiling and panting.  I was doing much the same.  Fire 
burned through my veins again; I could feel it dancing outta 
my eyes.  I was whole.  I was solid.  I was _me._  

And Logan was lying there, sharing in the triumph as 
euphorically as I.  One of my hands shifted to trace along his 
sweaty forehead.  One of his rose to tuck a loose strand of hair 
back behind my ear.

His smile faded just a little.  "You're cryin', Kai."

I took a breath to tell him I wasn't, and instead heard, "Logan, 
he broke my knees."

"I know, darlin'."

"My fucking _knees,_ Logan."

"C'mere."  He sat up and wrapped arms tightly around me, 
holding on as the words poured out.

"I got careless and cocky and stupid...I let him get me 
down...and I couldn't stop him!  Once he had me, I couldn't do 
a fucking thing!  It was...it was all outta my control, and I was 
so...so..."

Sensei had been the first person after I broke conditioning a 
decade ago to see me truly emotionally vulnerable.  Logan was 
the second.  Somewhere in the torrent of words, I think I told 
him this.  If I did, all he responded with was a tighter hug and 
quiet support.

I decided I could deal with that. 

--end--