It was a cold day for so early in October. Logan watched absently as a gust of wind caught a plastic bag, tossing it past the big picture window in front of the bar.

"Damn site of a day to be caught outside," the man at the bar remarked.

"Thinkin' the same," Logan replied, turning to rinse the glass he'd been holding.

"So have you thought about it?" the man pressed as though he were continuing a conversation they had begun hours ago.

"What does it even have to do with you, Warren?" he sighed irritably. "Look, I told the kid I didn't need any help 'cause I don't. I told him this four times now an' if he wants to make it five, so be it."

Warren glanced up to the old clock hanging above the bar. "It's Thursday." He commented in an offhand sort of way.

"So?" Logan replied, knowing exactly what the other man was getting at.

"It's almost three o'clock." He smiled in a self-satisfied way.

"I know it is." Logan shot gruffly, wetting a towel to wipe down the bar.

"You know he's going to be here." The blonde finally caved. "Are you really going to turn him down again? I don't think I could bare it…"

"Don't you have anything better to do with your time than spendin' it here, tryin' ta turn my life into a soap opera?"

The man cocked his head to the side. "I've taken a philanthropic interest in the boy," he explained.

"Then why don't you give him a job?" Logan retorted.

"You know there isn't anything for him to do in my firm, Logan, he's clearly uneducated…" the last was said out of pity, not disdain, and no insult was intended, but it was true. The boy was barely literate; not exactly material for a multi-million dollar medical firm.

Logan grunted rather than reply as he collected an armload of glasses, carrying them into the back room. "And there's somethin' for him ta' do here?" he demanded.

"He could wash dishes." Warren said simply.

"Hmph." Logan grumped. "I don't need nobody to wash dishes. I do it myself, when I get a minute."

"If you let him do it, you wouldn't have to leave your customers." The blonde replied. "He could probably do other things to… sweep, wait tables. Maybe even some of the short order stuff. And if you weren't such a tight-fist about your drinks, he could probably learn to do a lot of that after awhile… you could take a day off."

"You got it all figured out, don'cha?" Logan sneered at him. "I said I don't need him."

"Fine then," Warren decided, "do it to settle our debt."

"What!" the brawny man yelped, startled by the quick jab.

Warren grinned. That was about the response he'd been expecting. "I saved your life, remember? The least you could do is give the kid a job."

"I thought you weren't gonna bring that up anymore." Logan grumped.

"Yes well, you always said you wanted to repay me, now's your chance."

Logan grit his teeth with a low growl, but before he could reply, the bells on the door rang, signaling the entrance of one very talked about young man.

"Great…" Logan muttered.

Warren spun in his seat to watch the action unfold. It really was the most interesting part of his week. He called it a human drama and insisted that Logan was the Ebenezer scrooge of a new era. Logan glared at him from his position on the other side of the bar before changing his attention to their guest.

The kid's old courderoy jacket seemed to grow shabbier with each week and Logan couldn't help but wonder what sort of work he'd been doing to buy the thread holding that tattered rag together. The kid's cheeks were almost as red as his hair, and that was saying something, as that shock of cinnamon had been what first caught Logan's attention about the kid. Must be colder out there than I thought… Logan mused to himself.

The kid rubbed his hands together briskly before looking up. "Bonjour Monsieur!" he greeted cheerily. "Nice day, non?"

"Y' think so?" Logan asked wryly.

"Today, Remy still alive." The boy smiled. "A good day." There was no ire or self pity in the remark; an honest statement.

Logan's mouth felt inescapably dry.

"I ain't got any work for ya'." He said quickly, beating the kid to the punch. He didn't think he could stand hearing him ask it for some reason.

"Non?" the boy asked. "You shua?"

Warren gave the older man a warning glare.

Dammit… He wasn't gonna let that one go. Logan sighed. "What… what can ya' do?" he finally asked.

The boy stood up straighter. "Many t'ings." He replied. "What you wan'… Remy to do?"

Logan felt his stomach surge suddenly. That little pause… the innocent way in which he'd said it… It almost made him ashamed of the thoughts forming in the back of his mind. That's not what he meant… Logan chastised himself. Or was it? He paused to wonder once again what it was that the kid had been doing to take care of himself.

He cleared his throat, turning away. "You can wash the dishes… clean up… do the bathrooms, stuff like that. Tonight only." He added firmly. "We'll see after that…"

"Merci bouqut!" the boy exclaimed.

Logan felt a little pang of guilt. If the kid was that excited to clean his toilets, he had to be in a bad way. "Well… go on then, get in the back and start the dishes." He barked.

The redhead obeyed instantly, heading around the bar, but Logan halted him. "Gimme yer jacket." He told him, grabbing the lapel.

"Ah, oui, shua ting boss." The boy nodded, twisting out of the filthy thing before heading back to the kitchen.

Logan examined the article before raising his eyes to Warren's. "What the hell is this?" he exclaimed in a quiet voice.

"It appears to be… the carcass of a jacket." Warren replied, lifting one sleeve and dropping it in a morbid fashion.

"It's almost see-through…" Logan continued, rubbing the thin material between his thumb and forefinger. "You think this is all he's got?"

Warren shrugged. "I don't know, Ebeneezer, what's with the sudden concern? A visit from the ghost of Christmas past, perhaps?"

"Can it," Logan spat, tossing the jacket on the counter, thouroughly unsettled.

The evening wore on uneventfully, except for the kid's occasional inquiry "Any'ting mo', Monsieur?" He was so innocently eager to do anything that Logan asked… it really got on his nerves. He'd had him take out the garbage, wash the dishes, clean the bathrooms, buss the tables… any number of horrible jobs he could think of.

One night only; that's what he'd agreed to. After that, his debt was settled. He glared at Warren down the length of the bar while fixing drinks for the couple that had just arrived.

"Hey, Gumbo!" he called into the kitchen. "Get'cher ass out here an' start takin' orders!"

The young man emerged from the kitchen, wiping his soapy hands on the apron Logan had provided for him. "Shua ting boss." He smiled, not even batting an eyelash at the harsh manner in which he'd been addressed.

He slipped the apron down, folding it in two and retying it about his waist as he sauntered up to one of the tables. "Bonjour Mad'moiselle et Monsieur." He addressed the couple with a charming smile. "What ah ken get fo' you dis evenin'?"

Logan blinked, awestruck. The kid was a natural. He watched in a stunned silence as the boy deftly took the couple's orders, not writing a thing down, pausing only for a friendly touch here, a convivial hand on the shoulder there, or to lean in, biting his lower lip sensually, mugging with mock-concern as he made the rounds of the tables.

Moments later, Logan could feel his blood boil as the kid returned, the list of orders kept only in his memory and on his fingers. "De firs table want a-"

"Write it down next time." Logan interrupted him angrily.

The boy paused, obviously taken aback. "Don' worry boss," he attempted to brush off the man's concerns, "Remy ken rememba ev'ting dey order. No need. De firs table, dey wan to get-"

"I don't give a shit," Logan replied. "I said write it down."

Remy paused, looking uncomfortable for a minute before straightening and looking Logan directly in the eye; a feat few would attempt. "Ah can't write." He said calmly.

Logan swallowed, caught off guard by such blunt honesty. He paused, not knowing how to respond.

The boy licked his lips before drawing a breath. "Table one want de chicken wit two salads, no dressing. A bee-ah fo Monsieur an' a cocktail fo de lady." He continued, unperturbed.

"…Sure." Logan replied, rummaging for a notepad and jotting the order down quickly. "I can't remember that sort a thing…" he explained self-consciously. He could feel Warren's eyes on him, watching this exchange and it only pissed him off more

As the evening wore on, the clientel changed from college kids and happy couples to older men and depressed loners, but the kid's demeanor stayed the same.

"Jes a drink, Monsieur?" Remy asked the man sitting at the bar, sliding shyly into the seat beside him. "Shua you don' wan' sometin to go wit dat?"

Logan watched, his fist balling angrily in the material of his shirttail, as the man rested his hand on the boy's upper thigh.

"An' what d'you recommend, little man?" The older man asked with a grin.

The man's overforward actions angered Logan, but not nearly so much as the kid's response. He made no effort to deter the man or discourage his advances, only gave a demure smile and a coy chuckle. "Mmm, Remy tink Monsieur would be pleased to try de apple pie. Boss make it his'sef," he replied, shooting a smile to Logan that cut him to the quick. The kid knew he was watching.

"Sure, that sounds fine." The man replied, giving a little squeeze.

"Remy get it fo' you," the boy offered, turning to slide off of the stool.

"Your boss can get it." The man replied gruffly, turning the stool back to face him. "Right, Logan?" he called.

"Yah… sure." The bartender replied in a curt manner, turning towards the kitchen.

"Now," the man asked, leaning in and tugging at a lock of the boy's cinnamon hair. "Where you from, kid? You're a good southern boy, aren'tcha? I ken tell… but what's that accent?"

"Remy from N'Oleans," he replied with a smile. "But ah'm not dat good…"

"I bet'cher not!" the man guffawed, slapping his knee, "I bet'cher not indeed…" He made to place his hand higher on the boy's leg, but was startled as a plate was slammed down in front of him.

"Get'cher ass back in the kitchen, Gumbo!" Logan snapped at the young Cajun, "You got dishes ta do!"

"Shua ting, boss." Remy replied in a meek voice, jumping up from the stool and making a hastey exit.

Logan watched until the boy disappeared from site into the kitchen before lunging across the counter, grabbing the man by the shirt-collar.

"What kinda bar you think this is!" he demanded, giving the man a harsh shake. "You keep yer hands off my waiter, y'hear me? Keep your goddamn hands off my waiter!" And suddenly, Warren was restraining him, pulling him off of the helpless customer, and Logan found himself wondering vaguely how his friend had gotten behind the counter so fast.

"Cool it, Logan," he murmured soothingly, "He was just being friendly, alright?"

The man rubbed his throat, drawing back, unused to such outbursts in his familiar bartender. "Geez, sorry Logan," he mumbled. "Really didn' mean any disrespect. The kid was bein' friendly, I was just tryin' ta be social…"

"Yeah, I bet'cha were…" Logan growled, trying half-heartedly to pull out of the armlock he was being held in. He knew he could escape it easily, but that wasn't the point. Warren knew the man's strength, he had only intended to remind Logan of his tenuous position in the world of men.