I'm not a comic guru, so my experience with these particular characters is limited.
My indoctrination in the world of the X-men came via my son.
Upon seeing the X-men Origins: Wolverine
I felt deeply Jimmy Logan and Victor Creed's humanity.
The concept of Logan and Victor's immortality fascinates me.
Perhaps this should have been billed as a crossover fic.
Certainly, if you're an LotR fan you're going to see the references there.
For the rest, they're not too terribly overt—not enough so that it should affect your enjoyment
of the story being told.
I cannot help but imagine that not all of the elves would have gone over the sea, no matter how much the human race effects the land it claims. I cannot help but imagine that some of them would have stayed—would have integrated to some degree into our culture and yet stayed apart of them.
There are some very real logistical problems with being immortal.
Having to constantly reinvent yourself would be one.
You wouldn't be able to live for generations in the house of your father and your grandfather.
Wouldn't pass it down to your children.
Would have to constantly shift and change and accommodate the way the world worked.
It would, I imagine, be emotionally draining. Wearying.
And yet I hope that tucked in some corner of the world, shepherding growing things, there still exists a clan or two of the elder race, watching and waiting and working…
… - - - …
(Our tale picks up after Logan dines with the Hudsons…)
She wandered out to the barn after the last of the dishes had been placed in the drain to dry. She waited that long.
"So..." she pushed open the door to find him crouched against a stall. "You don't smoke, do you?"
"What?" She'd interrupted his very private misery. Interrupted his reliving of the betrayals, one after another.
"Barn...hay...you don't smoke, do you?"
His snort of laughter was harsh, abrupt. "No, no, I don't. But for the clothes your father gave me I have nothing whatsoever."
"Did you smoke?"
"Once or twice. Never for long. Need a bum?"
She shook her head slowly, the rain-straight locks swishing around her shoulders. "I've never understood the rapture that comes of sucking burning plants into your lungs. Fire is meant to purge and purify and comes from nature. It was never meant for temporary transformations."
His eyebrows shot straight up. She'd spoken very little during the meal. Certainly she'd said nothing that sounded like this.
He wasn't in the mood to be receptive.
"Have you a long, sad story?" she asked. "Or has a fate kinder than memory been yours?"
"I have memories."
She nodded, then passed him a bottle. He realized it was open. Her nocturnal trek must have included a few swigs. With nothing better to dull his heartache he took a swig.
"Are you going to tell me how you managed to dismember the guest bath?" she asked as he swallowed.
"You wouldn't believe me."
"Try."
He shook his head. "I thank your family for its kindness. I thank your father for the use of your brother's clothes. But I will not willingly involve you in what I've done or what I'm going to do."
She was silent. Pensive.
They passed the bottle back and forth a few times before he had to ask about the brew.
"What the hell is that-moonshine?"
"Aruvir."
"What?"
She shook her head. "Call it homemade brandy. It's warming and restoring and obliterating all at once. And, unless you heal abnormally, it'll give you a hell of a headache in the morning."
"Give me another slug," he ordered, holding out his hand.
"Don't get hungover?" she asked.
"Don't get hungover. Ever."
"He was my husband."
"I'm sorry?"
"The man whose clothes you're wearing, the son whose seat you took this evening. He wasn't my brother. He was my husband."
"I'm sorry."
"No sorrier than I. When I met him I fell in love with him. And I felt relief at knowing that I could. And I made the bargain-with myself-that it would be enough."
"He left you?" Logan guessed.
"He did. He lies now in a graveyard with his brethren. Men who were brave enough to stand up and try to serve a greater good. I tell myself that I'm not sorry. That good memories are more than a lot of my kind get. That I had my forever...my small, precious forever."
Logan sniffed and brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand. The bottle hung forgotten from his fingers. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Don't be stupid. Whatever is inside you that ripped and sliced like that-whatever vengeance and hurt are in your heart-don't be stupid."
"Was your husband murdered by a brother?"
She closed her eyes. His pain was an aura of heat and fouled the air around him. "He was. A raid went bad and one of the men in the accompanying unit or troop or whatever went berserk. Apparently he made a habit of brutalizing women after their men were dead or captured. When one of Gavin's officers tried to stop him he killed the man, then flew into a rage. Gavin stood with his brothers and he died with them. There were few survivors left to tell the tale."
"Jesus, you could be talking about my brother."
"I doubt there was only one who lost reason and responsibility in that place. Many men feel the primitive bloodlust and are unable to deal with the adrenaline afterward. And, I think, some simply like to kill. Perhaps some hate simply as well. I just don't know. I'll never know. Never understand what drives men to conquer. It never, ever turns back the clock to a better time. I felt Gavin's pain. I know it was present in other men within his command as well. Some men simply can't draw lines and box it in. When their minds break they lash out."
"You would forgive him?"
"If I knew for certain I faced the man who killed my husband I would rip his heart still beating from his chest and make him watch as I set it on fire."
Logan simply raised his eyebrows.
"I had but one lifetime to spend with my husband. Precious few years. I wanted that. I wanted two decades to sleep with him and weave dreams with him and call him mine. That's all I asked in my prayers. Even that was not to be."
"And you didn't have his child before he left?" Logan asked softly.
She shook her head.
"I served."
"I saw the tags."
"I walked away from my unit. They'd crossed that line and I left them in a jungle in the middle of Africa."
"Wise choice."
"My brother-my flesh and blood brother-killed Kayla because of it."
"That is his sin and not yours. And I guess it had something to do with your running naked into our barn?"
He snorted again. "It did."
Loden reached out to stroke the back of his hand with her knuckles. "If I may? This is not a time to be rash. The best of revenges can all do with a bit of planning and preparation. I don't know what was done to you. But I look in your eyes and I see a man whose memories hold more than a thirty-something. Or forty-something. My father-in-law told you I know history. He told the truth of it. He told what he believes to be true. Tell me your history."
Logan shook his head. "I can't do this-I can't replace your husband tonight."
Loden laughed happily. "I made vows and will keep them a while longer at least. You've no fear of me slipping into your bed."
Logan's eyes cut sideways and narrowed. His jaw clenched and shifted. "Tell me who you work for."
"I'm an entrepreneur. I have history degrees from five of the world's most prestigious colleges. I'm no seductress. Right now I'm a farmer, helping fill the hole in hearts that still hurt from putting a son in the ground beneath the colors. So...who did you work for?"
"I'm going to bed."
"Fine. But remember this. In the morning you'll be offered assistance. Because you're obviously a good man and obviously one in need of help. I can keep them safe if I know what to look for. I can't if you give me nothing."
"I won't ask them for money."
"Money's not a problem. Take all you want."
"Then what?"
"I don't know, Logan. That's what's behind you." She rose, swiping the dust and chaff from her dark pants. "Enjoy your bottle."