Logan really should have done it the moment he got back to New York. Even if every time anyone approached they were liable to get the crap beaten out of them, or shipped off to some other dimension to get the crap beaten out of them, or astral projected to get the crap beaten out of them, and that he'd technically sworn never to go down Bleecker Street ever again, well... Remy did not look like he was giving a choice. And between being dragged to the bayou to see Remy's Tante Mattie, he was definitely going to the magician with greater geographical proximity to him.

Some days, he wondered why he let Remy get away with so much flack.

The door opened as he prepared to knock, and Wong gave a small bow. "Wolverine. Gambit."

Being tall for a native Tibetan, Wong fairly stood over Logan himself, and could look Remy in the eye. His expression was serene, to say the least. Wong's poker face was so good, it almost qualified as a superpower. "My master is expecting you. Please, may I take your coat?"

"No, t'anks," Gambit twitched. Despite the urge to steal in sight, Gambit should have been fairly clear on how stealing from magicians and the like was not a good idea. "Remy like to keep coat on hand."

"Of course, we understand. One must always plan for a quick getaway in the business." Wong looked at them, before nodding sombrely and leading both men into the doctor's office.

It was large, a large study packed full of books, scrolls, tablets and knick-knacks, all rather neatly organised. An enormous mahogany desk was the centrepiece and there was a fire crackling in a fireplace. Behind the desk sat Dr Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme.

"Gambit and Wolverine, master," Wong spoke in calm, formal tones.

"Thank you, Wong," Strange answered with a calm, resonant voice. "Our guests have travelled a long way. Could you please find them some refreshment?"

"Very good, master."

"Thank you," Strange waited until the man had left. Steepling his fingers to glance at them. "Good day. I thought you'd be by."

"Saw us coming, eh, docteur?" Remy smirked.

"A certain degree of foresight is always good in businesses like ours," Strange neutrally replied. "But no. I saw the report." He picked up the Daily Bugle, now with the blaring headline:

BOY FOUND MAULED NEAR XAVIER INSTITUTE

"I guessed that the matter would have been brought to my attention sooner or later."

"Actually, it's two matters," Wolverine clarified. "One is the boy, Derek Hunt. Why?"

Strange looked... sad. More tired than the perfect silver streaks at his temples should allow. "Hunt is... was a member of an ancient Irish family line. His family has a notable history. Sometime in the murky past, legend would have it, St Patrick cursed his ancestor to become a ravening beast at every full moon. The curse came with two addenda. First, that it would be hereditary, passing down to someone new each and every generation. And second, that the cursed line of the family would never, ever die out, lasting until the end of days. Since the last loup-garou, as his kind is referred to amongst the supernatural world, was killed, Derek Hunt obviously became the new generation."

"A Catholic saint?" Logan sceptically muttered.

"Who knows," was the reply. "But to be cursed with such a fate... it is sad. There is often no way to break such curses, save one."

"To kill them," Remy murmured.

Strange merely inclined his head. "And the other problem, gentlemen?"

"I've... been approached by a weird guy," Logan slowly admitted. "Do you know of a shop that grants wishes?"

Strange shrugged. "Many claim such a thing. Few actually keep their word."

"The shopkeeper's called Kimihiro Watanuki," Logan slowly reversed the order of names.

Strange did nothing, at first. Then, it was with a slow and deliberate motion that he reached beside him for the whiskey decanter that Wong delivered, almost like magic. The clink of ice on crystal notwithstanding, the silence continued until three glasses were handed out, one generously dealt, and Strange had downed his own.

"The shop of the Dimensional Witch is a reputable establishment," Strange finally answered. "To cross paths with the shop, never mind the new shopkeeper, that is indeed powerful. I can only assume that you have a wish left unfulfilled."

"Great," Remy interjected. "So how to chase him off?"

Strange frowned, before he pushed his chair back and settled himself. "Absolutely not."

Whatever the answer, clearly that one had not been expected. "Why not?"

Strange leaned back, expression genuinely disturbed. "You are aware that all forces act in balance. My powers are part and parcel of that balance. Likewise, the powers of the shop of wishes are another part of that balance. I am not free to employ them at whim without serious repercussions – to do so is incredibly dangerous. Not to mention, I have no guarantee of survival."

"You?" Logan echoed. "You're the bloody Sorcerer Supreme!"

"I am that," Strange admitted. "And the shopkeeper was once a with capable of transcending space-time, armed with powers beyond my compare. I tell you that I can match gods, maybe persuade them. The Witch of Dimensions who once owned the shop could create gods, if needed. And that is the crux; I am the strongest sorcerer of this world. But not of other worlds."

"You know, you could've just said that you can't take the guy in a straight fight."

"It is not that," Strange frowned. "Despite all the power of the shop, it possesses by itself a very limited offensive power. It is primarily a broker of agreements and arbitrations, a creator rather than a destroyer, an intermediary of lower and higher planes meant for humans to have their wishes granted. But, were I to turn my powers against that of the shop would be" he actually paled – "an abuse of that which is entrusted to my care. A blasphemy of the primal forces of our world."

"Yeah, you could've just said that it's a bad idea, and left it at that." Logan snorted dismissively. "Thanks. We'll take it from here."

Strange gave him a politely curious look. "You are not unduly disturbed by the prospect."

"Worst-case scenario, I buy something and the guy leaves, right?" Logan frowned.

Strange steepled his fingers. "The price for your wish is equal to what you wish for. There are those who have gone mad from paying the price. I am sorry. I can do no more."

Logan sighed. "Nah, you're right. I'll just... tell him to run the hell away."

Strange's look was appraising now, until his eyes wandered to Remy, where he merely smirked. "I see. I recommend you do not embark on such an endeavour alone."

Logan remained silent until they were escorted out. "It's like an encyclopaedia salesman, I swear."

"Hear, hear," Remy sardonically muttered. "What do we do?"

"We?" Logan echoed. "There's no we. There never was a we."

"Mon glouton, are you really going to do that?" Remy stuck his chin out.

"Yes." Logan glared, then deliberately went to his waiting Harley.

"Where ya going, Logan!" Remy shouted as the engine started up.

"To solve the problem!" Logan shouted as he drove off.

Although their paths would meet, Logan sincerely had no idea how he would find the shop. It was probably thankful that he went to the Village and found it.

"Have you thought about it?" Watanuki inquired lightly, a small pipe clamped between his lips. His gaze never leaving Logan's eyes, a wisp of smoke deliberately wafted past a brilliant blood-red peony stood in a vase on the table.

"I don't need you to grant my wish," Logan bit out. "I got what I want. I ain't paying whatever you give."

"Companionship," Watanuki leaned forward. "And challenges. How do you feel, attached to a school of young ones with barely any knowledge of this cruelly dark world? There are others out there, people without powers who are victimised by the darkness. And how many classes have passed you by, now? How many have you seen born, dead, how many years have passed? Even for the forty years of your memory, times have changed so much that they may well be unrecognisable."

Logan's jaw set, and he merely said nothing under the scrutiny of four pairs of eyes, Maru, Moro and Mokona. There was no lie in it.

"I too face the same thing," Watanuki sighed. "How old do you think I am?"

Logan swallowed at the curve of the man's throat, swept by silk and incense-scented robes.

"A constant, now and forever," Watanuki murmured. "And all I need is your occasional assistance in this shop, to grant wishes to those who require it. The loup-garou child is merely the tip of the iceberg. You cannot know of how many of those monsters of legends are indeed true. You do not know of how many children have been caught and ensnared."

"I help kids just fine," Logan muttered.

Watanuki merely gave a small smile. "And when have I said that you must leave it behind? I only require your... occasional company. As a dinner and drink companion, as conversation... or what were you thinking?"

Logan stared into those mismatched eyes that twinkled. "I... I don't know?"

"Do you wish to know?" the hem of the robe dipped as Watanuki leaned forward. "Maru, Moro, get the snacks ready in the kitchen. Mokona, help them, please."

"Yes!" the chorus rang out as all three milled out, leaving Logan in a cage of smoke wisps that may well be metal.

Watanuki descended, and the slender limbs that began to encroach into his personal space was as pale as his face suggested. "Well, Mr Logan?"

The feral took a deep breath. Warm, fragrant, incense, that invited a trance and something magic, yet stilled in time, untouched. Not spicy, vivacious, musky or explosive...

"Peace," Watanuki murmured lowly, almost a song, not with the different discords that were invited between the Cajun English peppered with French. A promise, oblivion, control, challenge... peace.

A card fluttered, and Watanuki and Logan dived out of the way as it exploded.

"What the fuck?" Logan swore, claws cutting through tatami in an instant.

Standing at the doors, Remy was holding a card, prepared to charge and fling it. Opposite him, Watanuki grinned in reply, the small fox-like thing slithering to puff up, growing tin size and tails to defend Watanuki. All nine tails bushed out, the fox hissing.

"M. LeBeau," Watanuki greeted.

"Sorry, Mr Watanuki," Remy's voice cracked. "Logan's just been sent to Louisiana for a few weeks. And to my Tante Mattie's place. So you won't be able to contact him for a long while, 'kay? Right, good."

"Oi!" Logan hotly growled as he was dragged out of the room.

"That's enough, Mugetsu," the fox purred by Watanuki as the seer took a deep breath, blowing out more smoke from between his lips. "If only this action were enough... did you get the pictures?"

"Yes!" Maru and Moro held up the Polaroids.

"What the hell is your problem!" Logan raged later. The shop still managed to disappear, which was creepy because apparently, it could be in two places at the same time. Or accessed from different places at the same time. Still creepy.

"You were going to be-" Remy protested. "He might be messin' about in yer head, mon cher! Remy was looking out for you!"

"You do not throw the rough equivalent of a grenade into the place!" Logan groaned. "Even I know that!"

Remy scowled. "He was... really close to you-"

"And so was Rogue, Kitty, Laura, and plenty of others..." Logan trailed off at the realisation. "Are you... attached to me?"

"Aww, cher," Remy smirked. "Who wouldn't be attached to the big, manly strong guy who's like a big furry bear that's just about as endearing."

"I'm going to ignore that you've just called me a stuffed animal and focus on the first four adjectives," Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "God, you sound like a teenage girl. I wonder what they think of us now?"

Within the shop, the cackles of four evil – relatively speaking, of course – persons echoed.

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