13. Lines of Sight

The door opens and the light burns my eyes like laser beams. I squint, even though it doesn't help much after the aeons of darkness, but I don't want to turn my head away. I don't dare to. I want to see what's coming, and the light is a piddling pain in comparison.

The doorman thrusts the door open all the way and it bangs against the wall. He apparently looks at me but I can't be sure, I only see a distorted, black figure against the burningly bright light that eats away all contours. I assume he does since he doesn't move for awhile before stepping back to make way for someone else behind the wall.

'Okay, all yours,' he says to whoever it is beyond what the doorway reveals; I would want to brush the hair away from my face but I can't be bothered to. A familiar figure shades the light filling up the doorway with his broad frame. I welcome the shade, it lessens the pain in my eyes even if or precisely because I know it's the only good thing that he will grant me.

I don't get up, don't even sit up. There's no point in doing so. He steps in bowing slightly as he passes under the lintel. He stops in front of me and his boots fill my field of vision. Someone hangs a trouble light on the hook by the door. The door closes and the soft, artificial glow of the bulb is balm to my eyes. I look up and he looks down on me. We both know how this goes.

He pushes me over to my stomach with his boot, not kicking, just moves me around like I was a stone on a path or a log to sit on. I appreciate that; it's the little things that count here. Just like the shade. And the trouble light. You need to count your blessings and know when to quit.

He kneels down on me, like he always does, one knee on my spine just below the shoulder blades. He's heavy. I adjust my head as his weight hampers my breathing; I know he does it on purpose.

He holds still, much longer than usually. I count that as a blessing too. Then I feel his fingers in my hair as he pulls the locks away from my face and tucks them behind my ear. Strange. Scary. He never does that. I can't remember him ever touching me unless for pain. I can't keep my muscles from tensing up under him and I know he will notice. I hold my breath.

He keeps on stroking my hair, lets my matted shag of hair slip through his fingers. He doesn't pull on the knots but lets them pass. I'm confused. He never does that. Never, not once. I'm scared for the first time in a long while. Had forgot how it feels.

He pulls away and I could swear I hear him sigh. He makes me wait again. I hear him unbuckle his belt.

'Let's get this over with.'

Wait! Did he speak? He has never spoken before. Did he really say something? Wait! Wait! What did you say, I want to say but I can't. I can't remember how long it's been since I last spoke. I try to push my shoulders off the floor so that I could see him, but he grabs my hair on the back of my head and pins my forehead down against the stone.

'Don't,' he says into my ear and this time I'm sure I hear him speak. It sounds like a growl, a warning, and I take the hint. I feel his breath in my ear. I give up. 'Good girl,' he says softly. I feel him move away. He lifts his knee off my back and puts it between my thighs. I count my blessings and give up. I feel his hands on my pelvis.


The touch of a heavy hand on my loin burned like branding iron and I woke up. The hand didn't disappear. It was a real, solid touch weighing down on me. I smelled him. I heard his breath, calm, calculating, impersonal. The touch of his hand held me still, his thumb just above my hipbone, his fingers spread on my back; the palm in contact, warm, affirming the state of affairs. I would have known that touch from anything. It was him.

He sat down on the bed next to me. The mattress yielded under him causing my body to lean against his hip; I was lying on my left side. He moved his hand over to the small of my back, then upwards with a movement akin to a caress. I would have shivered but I had learned my lesson and I stay still, absolutely still under him. It was easier that way. Less pain. Over sooner. More merciful. I kept my eyes closed. I was in a bed and it was all I wanted to know: the softness of the mattress, the blanket across my legs. His hand moved upwards towards my neck and he stroked my hair, my shoulder, the side of my neck with the fingers touching gently on my throat and the artery leading up to my brain. I tried not to but I begun to shiver. He would not like that, I knew. I tried so hard not to but I failed. I heard how my breath spluttered in my throat.

He pushed me over to my back, gently but irresistibly, and I felt my body obey. I begun to shake. It was a new thing, to be turned over to my back, he had always had me lying on my belly. He shifted his body coming up closer to my face; he had left his hand on my shoulder. He stroked my cheek with his free hand, gently, almost as if trying to be reassuring. His smell. I had though it was over, but there he was.

'Grace?'

It was the voice that set me off, the deepness of it, the dark rumble. The pent-up energy of fear burned through and I went after him with all I had. I grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and managed to sink my knee into his side just under his armpit. With any other man it would have been enough to bust some of the rib bones and to drive the pieces into the lung but not with him. All I managed was to get tangled up in the blanket as I fought. He had so much more muscle and sheer weight on him. He pinned me down, swearing as he grabbed my hands. I tried to pry myself free, to throw him off, to unroot him. His hands came down on my shoulders and I countered with another kick at him, tried to get my legs between us. I got one hand free and threw a wide punch but it got blocked and my wrist was closed within his fist. He growled a warning that made me give up the fighting. A scream burned in my chest as I got pinned down on the bed but I had learned my lesson and I let the sound die. He sat down on my hips, captured my wrists in one hand pressing them against my belly and pushed with the other one against my sternum. I opened my eyes. I wanted to see what was coming, seeing was the only thing left to my will.

'Hey, whoa.'

I tried to focus my vision. I trembled uncontrollably under the weight on my hips.

'Hey, come on, slow down. You're only gonna hurt yourself.'

He sounded so nice, so deceiving. Like when he had talked to me in that cell, kindly, that one time, long ago. So long ago. He had sounded regretful but he had returned a few days later and nothing had changed. I begun to cry. He would cash that in later on.

'Hey, hey. Come on. Look at me.'

I looked up, and it was him, and the scream that I had tried to deny escaped.

'Sh, don't –.' That sent me into another hopeless struggle to free myself. He put a bit more pressure on my chest but relieved it the instant I stopped fighting him. 'There you go. Is alright. Look at me.'

I kept on quivering but eventually looked at him again. He had brown eyes, deep auburn ones. I wanted to look away but I couldn't anymore. He lifted his hand off my chest and begun to stroke my hair again. I couldn't fathom why. Why would he touch me so gently only to do what he was about to do? My shaking changed into a frozen tension. I kept on looking into his eyes. I wanted to see what was coming. I wanted him to keep on doing what he was doing. As long as his hands were grabbing my wrists and stroking my hair they could not move down onto his belt.

'See, it's alright.' I saw him smile at me and it chilled my spine. He pulled his hand way from my hair.

'I'm gonna let go and stand up now, okay?' I kept on looking at him. What was this? 'Do you hear me? I'm gonna let go and stand up. You just stay there. Right there, alright?' I took a look around. 'Are we clear on this?' he demanded. I nodded.

He opened, slowly, his fingers around my wrists and backed away with slow, relaxed movements. I escaped the other way, up against the headboard as soon as he was off of me. He put his hands out, palms towards me reassuringly as he withdrew on his knees towards the feet of the bed.

'Whoa, it's alright. Nothin's gonna happen here.'

I caught my breath and the world begun to clear up. Something was not right. I had my clothes on, my own clothes. I looked up, confused, at the man. 'Logan?' He didn't say anything, just got off the bed. I looked down. It really was a bed I was on, not a stone floor. Around me was a small one room apartment. Daylight crept in through the half closed blinds. I had my trousers on. And my jacket. I let myself breathe again.

'Grace, you okay there?'

I smiled weakly, but only glanced at him. I was so afraid, of him, and I lied to the best I could hoping that the smell of fear would cover the dishonesty. 'It's okay. I'm slowly gathering my wits here.'

'You had a nightmare. Bad one.'

I let out a nervous chuckle: 'Aye. A bad one.' I took another look around the room making sure I really was where I was. The door was too far away.

'What was is about?'

I shuddered. 'It's nothing. A weird dream. Something that happened a long, long time ago.'

Logan grunted as if agreeing and smiled crookedly. 'In a galaxy far, far away. Got those too. I'm gonna sit down on that chair again, if it's okay with you.'

I nodded and tried not to pull away from him when he got closer to me.

'Just gonna sit here.' He turned the chair so that he wouldn't face me directly but in a slight angle. I watched him sit down; his proximity still made me nervous. He put his legs out, crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his chest.

'Was it me in your dream?'

I couldn't keep from adjusting my seat timidly. 'What makes you think that?'

'The look on you face when you saw it was me sitting on you.' Blunt and honest as ever. 'You got more scared when you saw it was me.'

I was scared of him.

Had it really been him? Not just in the dream but in real life? He had the build and the appearance in general. 'I'm not sure,' I admitted, 'I think it was you in the dream.' I looked away, ready to bolt. Couldn't help it. I wanted somebody to hug the fear away from me.

'And in the real memory?' He sounded casual though I knew he was anything but.

'I don't know.'

'You don't know or you're not sure?' Somehow he didn't think that I might not want to tell him. Or more likely he just didn't care.

Had it been him? Who had it been – for those six months? I had almost forgot about those months, hadn't thought about them in a long while. Could it have been him? 'I'm not sure,' I confessed, 'There is a resemblance.' An uncomfortable silence followed.

'Right,' was all he said. He avoided my eyes and got up. I twitched. 'Relax, darlin'. I'm gettin' us some coffee.' He sounded unconcerned. 'No tea in this house.'

I pulled myself a bit more together while he busied himself with the coffee maker. I untangled my feet from the bed spread and sat on the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes. Nothing in the past can hurt us anymore unless we let it. It was ancient history, what had happened to me. I had survived. They had found me and got me out.

I hoped it had not been him. But I wasn't sure. Memory is a funny thing. You think you would remember such a man. There was something like him in Logan and something like Logan in him. I hoped it was the memory playing tricks on me.

'With milk, right?'

I surprised myself by not shying away. 'Aye, thanks.' The hot mug felt good in my hands. Logan sat down on the chair and took a sip from his mug. I would have preferred black tea, but coffee was better than nothing and it helped to ease the tension. The power of social rituals.

'So, what was it about?' He took a sip and looked up at me from behind the mug's rim. Not the one to beat around the bush.

And no point in hiding in one: I knew he could smell much of the story on me. 'I was captured once. Years ago. By – opposing forces.' The coffee felt so good. I felt how the warm liquid flowed down my throat and along the walls of my stomach. Its heat helped to dissolve the memory of the cell.

'Where?'

'In –,' I wasn't sure if I should tell him but, what the hell, he would have known whether I lied or not, and besides, it had been a long time ago. 'In Afghanistan. Late seventies. Just before the Islamic revolution in Iran.'

'Then it probably wasn't me.' There was a hint of relief in the change of his posture.

'I wasn't held there, only captured. They transported me rather soon after they had caught me. Everyone, at least those I saw there, spoke English.'

'And that was in –?' He lifted his eyebrow for emphasis.

'Can't tell you. It's classified.'

To my relief he shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 'Fine. What they wanted for you?'

I frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'You were a hostage, right? What did they demand in exchange?'

I snorted dismissively. 'I wasn't a hostage. I was a captive or just held in captivity at least.' The ordinary words used to describe a person locked up in some forsaken dungeon did not quite catch how I would describe the experience. They would have treated me better if I had been a hostage. 'I wasn't officially there.'

He nodded. I reckon he had a pretty good idea of what I was talking about. 'How long?'

'About six months.' No reply on that.


I wonder how long I was held. Captivity was not the word he would have used to describe his ordeal. Nor imprisonment. Words just did not do justice to his experiences. Did a lab rat qualify as a prisoner in any meaning of the word?

He studied Grace as she sipped the coffee. Six months was a long time and not a pleasant period by the look of her. The smell of fear hovered about her like cloud of mustard gas and he wondered if she was aware that her hands still shook. She avoided looking directly at him but she clearly kept a keen eye on him.

What the hell did happen to her there? He was able smell some of it on her.

Not quite the wake-up he had had in mind. She had been so peaceful throughout the night – especially in comparison to the previous occasion – and when her healing sleep changed into ordinary one some two hours ago, he hadn't thought much of it. He had already been up when the nightmare had begun, but he had not thought to wake her up before it had got so intense all of a sudden. And when he had put his hand on her hip to shook her awake, then had tried to sooth the terror away from her with gentleness that had surprised him, all hell had broken loose. What the fuck had she been dreaming about?

Like you don't already know.

'What was the dream about?'

Can't you guess, dumb-ass? Don't you fucking smell it?

She looked so small there, sitting on the bed's edge and hugging her hot mug with both of her hands as if its warmth could safe her life. But he wanted to know, especially if it was about him.

She put the empty mug down on the floor. 'Something that happened while I was there.'

'And what was that?' Unfair. Life's a bitch. Logan knew he had the right to know if he indeed had been there, part of her personal history. Grace looked as if she was about to bolt again; he almost reached for her hand. He made a small concession: 'What did they wanted from you?'

'I can't remember. First they asked questions, some at least, but that lasted only for a month if even that.' She shuddered. 'I don't know why they kept me after that.'

Alive you mean. Unusual anyhow. He let her settle down a bit while he finished his mugful. 'So they didn't leave you alone after the – questioning?' Unfair.

'No.' She lifted her feet on the bed and hugged her knees. Logan remembered how she had looked that night, after the poolside drinking, crying to get into his bed. No hidden agendas there, bub, he reminded himself, she got your DNA that way. He had figured that out during the night. He waited for an answer but she didn't seem willing to go there. Logan decided to adjust his approach.

'How do I fit in there? If it was me.' He more or less doubted he had been there. Why would have I met her? Why would they have let two captives meet? It seemed a bit presumptive to assume that they would have happened to be in the same place.

She said something in a language he did not recognise and begun to rock herself gently. She sighed after awhile and glanced at him. 'They kept me in this lightless small room with stone walls and stone floor. A bit like a cellar but it was warm. And always pitch black when I was alone and I was alone a lot. Except when I was fed and when he – paid a visit.'

Logan tried to remain as seemingly neutral as possible.

'He came by every three, four days. I don't know, it's real hard to keep track of time there.' She rubbed her brow. 'It was real hard. Was.'

He waited.

'He always came in alone. Others mostly didn't come in at all, if you don't count the times I was taken out for a medical. Otherwise it was always him alone.' She drew in a long breath and closed her eyes. Concentration and determination furrowed her brow. 'He always came in alone, turned me onto my stomach and –'

'I get the picture,' Logan interrupted. He didn't want to hear it from her lips, he knew already. Raped. Every third day. For six months. And she remembers it, every detail. I have only hazy dreams and nightmares. He was jealous of her ability to remember.

Oh, Jesus Christ, what if it was me? He looked at her directly, trying to remember, but all that made into his mind were the days after she had found him. She had brought those papers back with her, papers where they said he was wanted for a rape. Maybe it was me? He remembered sitting on her on the floor of her cabin and slicing through her shirts in rage, ready to molest her. I thought she smelled familiar then. Is this why?

Her voice cut the silence. 'Could I have another cup of coffee?'

Logan looked at her in surprise. Grace returned his gaze with resolve; some decision had been made without him being aware of it and it rattled his gage to be left out of the loop. He clenched his jaw but scooped up the her mug where it lay on the floor next to her feet. His forearm brushed roughly against her leg accidentally – he really had not meant to – causing her to flinch. It stung him. I thought to make her fear me.

Mission accomplished.

He went over to the kitchenette and slammed the mug down on the counter. He reached for the coffeepot but changed his mind and opened the cupboard above it instead. He took out a glass, pulled out a bottle from underneath the countertop and returned to the chair. She took the glass he offered and let him pour a hefty measure of whiskey for her. She sniffed in the fumes.

'You want water in it? It's cask strength, ' he asked.

She smiled shyly. 'It's fine. I'll survive it.' He wondered if it was the booze she meant. He watched her to take first a sip then a steep gulp from the glass. She swallowed and drew air in through her teeth. 'Islay,' she offered with slight surprise.

'Ardbeg,' Logan verified and presented the label on the bottle as a guarantee. 'I like the peat,' he elaborated. Another weak smile flashed on her face and she raised the glass in salute. Logan seconded with the bottle and drank a mouthful with her. It was a strong tasting liquor, even overpowering with its intense flavours of peat and smoke and even a hint of salt somewhere in the background. He let the fumes from within his mouth reach his nose. The exhausts of the cask strength whiskey almost forced tears from his eyes as the tastes and the odours and the burning of alcohol overrun his olfactory array suffocating momentarily all other sensations. Water of life, he thought and almost bared his teeth as the fumes seared his nose and throat. He might not be able to get drunk but the sensory overload from strong and complex liquor was a high on its own right, a small rapture relieving him, if only for a second, of the mundane. A song started to play in his mind, emerging from some forgotten crevice of his mind, and he begun to hum the tune aloud, softly, without meaning to do so.

'Water of love,' said Grace silencing him, 'You have a nicer voice than Knopfler.'

Logan took one more swing from the bottle and patted the cork down without offering her a refill. 'Is that what it is?' He took the bottle back to the cupboard. The wordless tune kept on playing in his ears. He picked up an apple and tossed it to Grace as he went to sit in the armchair. Grace caught the apple and bit into it. The tune persisted and he grunted.

'How did you get out?'

Grace sighed, fell backwards on the bed, and Logan caught a hint of relaxation in her air. 'I was rescued. They took their time but they got me out eventually.' She munched on the apple for awhile. 'I wish they had come –.' She sat up abruptly and buried her teeth into what was remaining of the apple.

You wish. No-one came for me. 'Are you done?' he said being suddenly frustrated by her presence. 'You said yesterday that you needed to talk to me. You done yet?' He suddenly wished he had killed her the first night at the cabin. I should have killed her. Would have saved me so much pain.

But who would then kill me?

'No, there's still stuff we need to talk about,' she said. Logan looked up and saw that she had turned towards him. 'The thing is,' she continued and lifted her right leg on the bed so that she sat half cross-legged, 'now that we know what you are we want to find out where you come from, who made you.' She grimaced as he scowled at her words. 'I'm sorry, meant to say that we want to know where you come from.'

'Fuck that. Like you said, I didn't come from somewhere. I was made.'

She remained calm as if she had felt the burning in his blood. 'We have to find out who made you,' she repeated, 'and we have to find out if there's more – people like you out there.'

A chill run up his spine. 'More?'

'Aye, more. It's really complicated to produce something like you, and since they succeeded, they probably didn't stop there. The chances are,' she said staring at him steadily, 'there are others.'

Now he really felt the cold. 'Weapons like me?'

'Soldiers like you. Maybe others with different skill sets. That's something else we need to find out.'

He remembered the dream he had had about the jungle and his hand inside a man's chest. There had been others in the bush with him, and he was sure it had not been an ordinary, regular, everybody-has-them -kind of a dream; He didn't have ordinary dreams, not the ones that he remembered. If it was true and there were others like him, with his talents and desires, even he could see how that would not do. They won't have us runnin' amok. They'll be comin' after us. He stood up. Grace followed his lead.

'I ain't comin' with you, darlin', he said hunching his shoulders in rising anger with his legs apart and his weight on the balls of his feet. 'I ain't goin' to be used by you.' He took a step closer and matched his shoulders and chest against hers; she was almost as tall as him. He looked down into her eyes, but he kept his hands at his side, in readiness. 'Someone might have manufactured me but I ain't yours.' The last word came out as a growl. 'And if you, darlin',' he whispered as he took a step pressing her back, 'if you get into my way –.' He took another step and lifted his finger on the soft spot between her collarbones where he had clear access to the arteries supplying her brain. He snarled and finished the sentence: '– then I get to lick your blood off my hands, like I promised.'

She looked down at his finger and hand on her. 'This is getting ridiculous,' she said reeking exasperation. She lifted her hand under his on her chest and twisted his hand away in one smooth movement of her wrist and arm. 'I thought you wanted to find out how you were and are – Wolverine. Feel free to figure it out all by yourself.'

'Never asked your help in that, did I,' he answered scathingly and put his finger back where it had been. He waited for a retaliation and felt a bite of disappointment when she didn't. Her eyes are brown, he realised when she didn't avert her eyes as he tried to stare her down. She tilted her head back a little and she squinted her eyes in a pensive gesture.

Grace sighed admitting her defeat as her shoulders loosened up. 'Aye, you never did.' She turned away from him and picked up her boots from the floor before sitting down on the bed. She put the boots on and begun to lace them up. Logan stared at her in surprise. Was this it? Her whole demeanour had changed and he felt how she withdrew from him. The strange closeness he had had with her was shrivelling up in front of his eyes.

'I will keep what I promised,' she said when she had the first boot done. She sat up before continuing to the second and looked at him with a tinge of sadness in her eyes. 'I will be there when you need me.' She took a pen and the black notebook from her pocket and scribbled something on one page which she then tore off and handed to him. 'Call me on this number or you can just drop in at my place. You remember where the cabin is, don't you?' Logan took the paper and nodded. He read the number knowing that he would remember it and stuffed the paper into the pocket of his jeans. She was smiling softly, but with a hint of regrets he thought, when he looked back at her. 'If I'm not at home,' she said as she bent down to lace up her other boot, 'get the key from Lou. I'll tell him to expect you.' She stood up. 'The White River Trading Company, the only store in town, remember?' she explained when she saw him frown.

Logan swallowed. 'I remember him.'

'Feel free to wait for me there. Even if its days or weeks. I'll come up with some story for Lou to explain you staying there.' She cocked her head slightly to one side as she looked at him. 'I will keep my promise. No strings attached.' She fell silent and Logan smelled deeper sadness than what he would have expected. It seemed as if she was about to say something more but she settled for a smile and a simple 'See you then, mo caraid.'

Logan' eyes followed her as she passed him on her way to the door. Her scent flooded his nose. 'Hold on,' he barked as she was about to move beyond his reach. He tried to catch her by the shoulder but his hand landed more on her neck; her hair felt silky under his hingers. To his dismay Grace fell onto her knees like a rag under his touch. Her arms flew up to shield her head and the reek of fright blasted at him like the heat from exploding ordnance. Logan stood dumbstruck by her reaction. The smell of her fear licked his skin and he for a moment all he could do was to watch her cower at his feet. She didn't emit a single sound, just held herself recoiled on her knees in a partial sitting position, arms around her head, elbows bent forward shielding her face. Her body quivered.

She's waitin' for me to beat her, he realised to his astonishment, Where the hell did that come from?

Logan circled around her and kneeled down. He touched, cautiously, her shoulder. She flinched under his touch and her breathing came in shallow pants.

Not this shit again.

He pulled back a little and waited. He watched her wait a little while longer for the blow that would not come, then her arms relaxed and she exhaled before slowly lowering her guard. The readiness, though, never left her.

'What the fuck was that about?' He was fed up with shit like this but he stayed on his haunches.

'It was you.'

'What?' he asked tiredly and stood up. She didn't. The smell of fear lingered still like the smell of ozone after rain.

Grace backed away from him before slowly raising up. 'It was you, there. Your hand –,' she looked at the hand with which he had tried to grab her shoulder. A shudder run through her. 'It was you. Your hand on my neck. You used to hold me down with your hand on my neck.'

Then he remembered it. How he had held her by her hair. How he had her pinned down under his knee on her back. He remembered the smell of the cell, the smell of her and her scent, and the smell of himself and how he had felt. He took a stumbling step backwards but then steadied himself.

'You're sure?' It didn't come out as defiantly and self-assuredly as he had intended.

Well, what do you think? You know it was you. You know what you are. Call the fuckin' spade a spade and quit foolin' yourself.

Like you didn't know already.

This is who you are. This is what you do. You maim and rape and it's all in your nature.

She didn't reply in words but he saw the repulsion on her face and the readiness to fight or flight in her posture. The mixed odours of fear, confusion, anger and disappointment crept up on him. It hurt him deep under, somewhere.

'I already told you what I am, right from the get-go,' he spat out looking for a defence, for anything to put between them. Rancour, the only reaction he felt available to him, crawled up his arms and he advanced towards her. She retreated before him. 'You should've taken my word for it, darlin',' he said, sneering, feeling threatened. It was her own fault. She hadn't believed him. She circled around the arm chair and he followed. The rage in him pushed his claws out, slowly; he watched her brace herself for the impact. Seeing her raise her hand to ward him off with an open palm as if that would have been a match for him even without the claws, amused him. He sneered first at her, then at the hand, thinking about what he would do next when he realised what it was he was looking at.

Her hand.

She cut her hand on my claw.

He halted in mid-step.

There's no scar.

He looked at his own hands. He opened his fists; the claws were twice as long as his fingers.

What the fuck are you doin'? You told her she could trust you. His knees wobbled. What the fuck did I do to her? He had never felt so close to crying before.

'Grace,' he said out loud. She had a guarded, doubtful expression on her face but she didn't back away from him, and the scents of fear and anger had been subdued by curiosity. There was an openness to her pose and Logan clung onto it. He held his hands out trying to reassure her with his open palms; the claws were still fully extended, protruding from his knuckles.

What the hell have I done to her?

'Grace.' He despaired when he notice she begun to move her weight back. 'No, wait.' He took a step towards her as he spoke and she didn't move way. He wanted to say that he had not meant to do what he had done, explain that he had been a meagre pawn in some sick, twisted, perverted game mastered by others but not him. That someone had forced him on her. That ain't true. There hadn't been someone pulling the strings without or even with him knowing it. He had done what he had done willingly. Free will. A choice. Somebody had asked and he had obliged with pleasure of his own. You did it 'cause you loved it, he told himself; he still remembered the feeling, the pure heat and lust for blood. He felt sick. 'Love, godallmighty, what I did to –.'

The door of the flat swung open behind his back and he smelled musk - the real thing, not the synthetic substitute. Grace was the first to react before he had even really figured out what was taking place behind him. He saw her look beyond his shoulder, how astonishment took over her expression, her saying 'Sattar? and by then it was too late. An unfamiliar pair of hands gripped his neck and shoulder, and exquisite pain and following numbness flooded him as he fell to his knees gasping for air. Pain seared his nerves every time he even attempted to move. A man came into his field of vision, dark haired, tanned skin, clad in linen-coloured suit and the fragrance of musk. The man read Logan's features, concern furrowing his brow. Logan stared back, tried to glare at the man but the man turned away towards Grace. Pain clamped Logan's teeth together when tried to speak. The spasm split a molar in his lower jaw (His teeth didn't heal. Broken ones fell out in a day or two when a new one pushed them out.), but he did manage to get a word out. 'Grace?' came out more like a pathetic whimper than anything else.

'What the hell are you doing here?' Logan heard Grace say. He tried to look up again but the pain the movement caused felt like molten steel and he was forced into staring at the floor. He tasted copper.

'You missed your check-in call,' said the man holding Logan in his grip. 'Sattar called me after he couldn't reach you. Are you okay?'

'I'm fine,' Logan heard her answer but smelled the lie.

'You're lying, even I can tell,' the man replied. 'What did he do to you?' Logan could tell by the direction of the voice that the man was looking down at him. Logan tried to yank himself free but only managed to summon up more pain strong enough to make him vomit, most of which landed on his chest and lap.

Grace didn't answer right away. The two men waited patiently in silence, one maintaining his grip on Logan who heard the other man take a step in Grace's direction. The silence held on making Logan understand that despite of her answer the men would know he had done something. He spat out the remains of the puke. The paranoia in him flared.

It's a set-up.

She cut her hand to keep me here until these two fuckers could get here.

He let the rage rush through him bathing in its intoxicating refuge. He had the claws out already. All he had to do was to use them, but when he made an attempt at the man holding him he was met with pain reminiscent of the adamantium-bonding in his nightmares. He couldn't growl, breathing became optional. His heart rate and blood pressure surged as his body tried to cope with the stress. Then a murmur appeared into his heart beat and he saw stars and smelled sulphur in his nose. His body went limp and the panic died away as he begun to drift.

Maybe I'll die here.

He heard a woman's voice near him: 'What he did or did not do is between me and him, Nick. Let him go.'

'He has his claws out. I can take care of him right here. He's not worth the risks, Grace.' Logan smelled the bottled up anger, concern, and underlying jealousy as he stared at the man's shoes. Then the world turned dark but he could still hear Grace and the man, Nick, argue over him.

'He's mine, Nick,' Grace's voice said warning the man.

No I ain't.

'You're not bound by the Code to him anymore, Grace. If he caused harm to you, you're not bound to him.'

What the hell does that mean?

'I still claim him, and it's my call anyhow, not yours or anyone else's. And he can't retract the claws when you are holding him down. He can't even breathe. Just look at him.' She sounded very angry.

'Nick,' the musk-scented man said with a low, soft voice, 'she is right. It is her call and he is hers to claim. Especially because of – whatever happened between them two. Let him go.'

'You got to be kidding me, Sattar. Don't encourage her. This idiocy has lasted long enough.'

'No. It is very likely that we will need his help,' the man called Sattar answered. A long silence followed and Logan managed to draw in a whining breath.

'Is that what your talent tells you?' Nick said eventually.

'Yes. The probability is high.' Another silence and another breath. The pain it delivered caused Logan's heart to loose its rhythm.

'He's arrhythmic.' Grace. 'Let him go. Now.'

Grace.

No.

I had it commin'.

The pain dissolved and he could breathe properly again. The claws retracted on their own making his overstrained body twitch at the pain. Someone took his hand and familiar warmth radiated into him.

'Grace, this is not a smart move.' That Nick fellow again. Logan realised that he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall under the window; he felt the cool air leaking in on his neck. It was Grace holding his hand and he felt her consciousness move in him fixing the damage with his ability to heal. It occurred to him that if he really was a weapon, a manufactured tool, then there probably was a name for his ability to heal himself absurdly quickly. A production code. Or a feature. It gotta have a name in a list. Grace pulled out and he felt colder, but his heart had got its beat back.

'Logan, can you hear me?'

He nodded. 'Yeah, loud and clear. Seein' still a mess.' He could barely see enough to catch her smile. She smelled relieved. Why? He wanted to touch her face. He lifted his right hand but a heavy boot came down on it before it got off the floor.

'You keep your hands to yourself.' Logan felt dizzy as he lifted his chin to see the speaker. The tall, burly man gazed calmly down at him. Logan recognised the leather jacket and remembered seeing the man outside the cafe with Grace. Logan answered with polite 'fuck you' and a growl. 'Watch it,' the man he knew to be Nick warned.

Grace's hand came down on Logan shoulder and he turned his head, still groggy, to her. His sight was clearing up. Grace had a concerned look in her eyes and he touched her neck below her ear with his left hand; some of her hair got entangled with his fingers. Then it wasn't her sitting in front of him but him sitting almost on top of her, with his hand in her hair and the other one loosening up his belt. She didn't have much on, just some disgustingly filthy rags for clothes, and her thighs and hips were in full view and covered in bruises. He knew it had been him who had put them there. He felt his hand unbutton the fly of his camouflaged fatigues and reminded himself to take care with his hold on her as intense arousal sometimes caused his claws to extend involuntary. He had been told off for cutting her too badly. They wanted her intact, reasonably intact, at least. She needed to stay fit enough. For what?

He heard her say something he didn't quite catch. He blinked, shook his head and saw the present version of her again. His fingers were clenching her neck with his thump buried painfully under her jaw. She was holding his wrist trying to gently but firmly make him let go. He unclenched his grip and she let him go.

You knew what I am.

Logan yanked his right hand free making Nick stumble and leaving some torn-off skin under the sole of the man's boot. Logan stood up, swayed, shook his head again and found his senses. He turned his back deliberately to the two men trying to signal his contempt and dominance through the indifference of the gesture. He kept his eyes on Grace but could not make himself to look into her eyes directly. There was a curl of hair falling down across her temple and he nailed his eyes on that.

'You ain't bound to me in any way.' He wanted to add some term of affection to the sentence but failed to come up with any. He almost glanced at the men over his shoulder but managed to stifle the movement into a mere twitch. He forced himself to meet her eyes. 'You owe me nothin'. He –,' now Logan shoot a look over his shoulder at the man in leather behind him, 'Let him kill me, I've had it comin' for a long while,' Logan continued as he looked back at Grace, 'but I think it ought to be you.' He looked away into the distance through her. The presence of the two men behind him felt like weight on his back. This is it. No further. It ends here. He felt a surge of relief rise through his legs followed by an unprecedented calmness, a state of surrender. 'I think it ought to be you,' he repeated quietly with relief (it was between them two and them two alone). 'But you can have him do me in. If he can.'

Grace remained silent with her eyes looking at his but not seeing. Logan waited for a while for her judgement but when there seemed to be no reply, he turned around to face the two men. He bit his teeth together and faced Nick. 'You want me dead, right?' The man nodded. 'And you can do it too, right now?' Another nod. Logan didn't dare to turn towards Grace, not anymore, though he felt her standing close to him and it felt strangely reassuring, safe. 'Alright,' he said looking straight at Nick as he knelt down: it would be easier for them if he was lower down already. 'Do it now. She deserves to see it.' He saw a shadow of a smile flash across Nick's face.

'Get out, you two.' It was Grace from behind him. Her voice was calm and quiet but without room for argument. The men held their ground a moment longer, then Sattar nudged Nick by the arm and the man relented. Logan remained on his knees as the men walked out. He heard the door close.

'Get up,' she commanded and he followed.

'It's good that it's you,' he said when she came to stand in front of her. 'Can you do it without the sword? I might fight back if you try to do it by –,' he searched for the term, 'delvin' in me. I wouldn't mean to, but still might.'

'I don't want you dead.'

It was a slap in his face and it showed. 'Why the fuck not?' Who wouldn't?

Something rippled in her, he could sense it. 'You want me to kill you just because it would be an easy way out for you.' She bit her tongue and sighed. 'But your death is your own, like I said.'

'And I give it to you,' love he added but didn't say it out loud. 'You know what I am. And I did what I did to you. Willingly,' he added though without wanting to, 'I raped you over and over again 'cause I wanted to. Somebody asked me to and I was happy to comply.' There was no escaping that anymore, he knew it. At least I can own to it, if nothin' else.

'It wasn't you.'

He laughed with scorn towards himself. 'Oh, it was me, darlin', believe me.' Images of the memory flooded his eyes. 'It was me, have no doubt. I remember what I did.'

'I know it was you.' A shiver run through her and she turned slightly away from him for a moment. 'Sattar is right, you know, the two of us are in this together. And I don't want you dead, not for me.'

He laughed again. 'And why not?'

'You're not that man anymore.'

Logan snorted. 'Right.'

'You have changed.'

'And you would know.'

Grace laid a gentle hand on his forearm. 'I'm really afraid of you now, you know. I said I wouldn't be but I am.' He knew she wasn't lying. The smell of fear had never left her since she woke up and her hand trembled slightly. 'But you're not the same man anymore. There's something profoundly different in you. Something has changed.'

'How?' Her touch was a blessing he dared not to receive.

She looked up at him and smiled. 'It's the amnesia, I think. The process of applying adamantium is such a shock that it's usual for the subjects to suffer extensive mental side effects. Without the genetic material that was used to – make you, you wouldn't have even survived. Even if your body could've taken it. No-one comes out as the same person that went in. One changes. Often for the worse.'

'And I'm supposedly better of. Why?'

'Damage to the brain can cause a dramatic change in personality as brain tissue containing personality traits and key memories gets lost. And you have had some serious damage done during the adamantium bonding. Your healing factor restored most of the lost tissue but some information unavoidably gets lost and in your case, most of it was concerned with your personal memories and psyche.'

Healing factor. So you do have a name for it. 'Memories make us into who we are,' he offered.

'That's right, and without them you have a certain freedom.'

Certain freedom. But not absolute. 'I did rape you. Who knows what else I've done.' He did have an idea through his dreams. 'I still – like violence.' No point in denying the facts. He loved to cause pain, he loved the power he had over other people. It was a source of security, if nothing else. And he was remarkably good at it. Skilled, even articulated in his own way. And it came out instinctually, the skill to fight and maim, without him needing to think ahead and that was a sign of significant competence, of professionalism, a proof of his mastery.

'Do you regret it?' she asked tentatively.

He didn't hesitate. 'Yes,' but it was a mixed feeling. He was truly sorry it had been her, and yet it felt at odds with the pride he took in his might and skill. I just wish it hadn't been you. 'Now what?'

Grace looked around thinking. 'I'll go home with the guys. We'll keep an eye on you but only if it's okay with you and from the distance. We really need to find out who's behind this.'

'Fine by me. Do I need to call you or what?' He felt obliged to accept the terms – for her sake but for no-one else.

Grace smiled. 'Not unless you feel the need. Use that number I gave you. You won't see us but we'll be there. We'll let you know it anything pops out of the woodwork.' She begun to button up her jacket, ready to leave. Unthinking Logan squeezed gently her arm by the elbow. She froze and he jerked his hand back.

'Meant nothing by it,' he said being unable to apologise. She rubbed the arm where he had touched him without a reply.

Shit. She's lost to me.

Managed to fuck that up too. What ever that was.

'Logan, could you do me a favour?'

'Sure.' He was ready as a boy scout and it annoyed him.

She took a deep breath. 'You really, truly, utterly scare me.' Ain't that a surprise, he thought but did not interrupt her. Grace cleared her throat: 'I don't want to fear you. It's – I can't have that.'

'I won't lay a hand on you again.' He honestly meant to keep that promise.

'It's not enough. It takes all my might to stay in the same room with you. It's pure terror to be in your presence. I can't –.' Her voice crumbled and she didn't continue right away. 'When I was there, in that cell, I learned not to fight you. I learned to stay absolutely passive and still.' He knew that. He remembered beating her up, and worse, when she had tensed under his touch at first. 'Now, when you move,' she explained, 'I'm scared to death of you moving.'

'I won't lay a hand on you. You're –,' he paused to swallow, 'safe. You trusted me last night when I said you could.'

'Aye, I did, but it's different now.'

Logan scowled. 'So what the fuck do you want then?'

He saw her shy away from his tone. He almost followed her out of worry.

'I want you to hug me. Put your arms around me and hold me no matter how hard I fight.'

He laughed with a slightly sinister undertone. 'You want me to fuckin' cuddle you? You want to be fucked too as an antidote to me raping you?' He hadn't meant it to come out like that. He hadn't even meant to say it out loud.

'No,' she spat, 'I just need you to hold me tight. This will not work out if I'm goddam petrified every time we're in the same room. I know consciously that you are no threat to me but my subconsciousness is another matter. The quickest way to fix it is to just force it through the experience.'

He did see the point in going cold turkey on it. 'You wanna do it right now? What about those two,' he said nudging with his head towards the door.

'They'll wait.'

Logan though about it. He didn't want for her to be afraid of him, not anymore, not now that he knew. But it was intimidating to let her come so close to him and in such a manner. Not because what it meant for her, but because he didn't completely trust himself to behave accordingly. The memory of her scent under him lingered in his mind, tempting the arousal her presence fed in him. The memories of the cell were still fresh in his mind, too vivid, too infested with emotions and intent.

'Okay,' he said. He took off the vomit-stained t-shirt and cleaned the stains on his jeans with it. He threw the shirt on the floor.

Grace frowned but came to him. She set her arms across her chest, tightly, as a barrier between them. Logan inhaled and put his arms around her trying his best to be reassuring and well-meaning but he held her close. She was stiff as steel, yet passive and malleable to his touch. He kept on holding her like that for a minute or a two, then he lifted his hand to her neck and guided her head to rest against his shoulder. He left his hand there entangled in her hair. It felt strange to hold her like that, with care. He closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

The image changed. Now they were back in the cell, him grabbing her hair and humping her from behind. He felt her tremble under him.

He came to his sense when he realised he was pulling her by the hair. He relaxed his grip instantly. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered without meaning to. She begun to quiver and it made him stroke her hair. 'Is alright,' he said. 'I ain't gonna do nothin'.' Her legs buckled leaving her weight on his arms. He held on, hoisted her up a bit into a more firm hold. She was shaking now, uncontrollably, sounding as she was about to hyperventilate. Logan considered carrying her onto the bed but abandoned the thought. It would probably be too much for her. Instead he sunk onto he knees. Grace whimpered as they moved down. 'Is alright,' he repeated, 'Nothin's gonna happen.' But she either didn't comprehend it or she took it to mean the opposite.

It felt good to hold her like this, against him, with him embracing her, he realised. It felt good. She begun to cry voicelessly. The smell of tears summoned up a memory in him. He was staring down at her on the stone floor. She had very little on her, some rags and a skimpy thin grey woollen blanket. He saw himself pull it way and how he shoved her over to her stomach with his boot. She was limp, no resistance what so ever left in her, and he knelt down with his knee on her back; he knew it hurt.

He was already aroused when her hair caught his eye. It was matted and dirty but he remember how nice it had been at first when they had opened to door for him for the first time months ago. Logan saw himself reach out and pull the hair away from her face. She was good looking, had been good looking too. All gone now, replaced with blank eyes and cheeks swollen up by his hand.

He had felt sorry for her then, he remembered to his surprise. Genuinely sorry. She hadn't deserved it. They had said she was like him, that she could heal in a similar manner, but it hadn't been as fast as his; he could see the bruises his hands had made on her three days earlier. He touched her cheek gently, trying to be gently, but he saw the shiver his touch caused.

It was all too late by then. He supposed he could have done it differently, if he had wanted to, right from the start. He could have been gentler, caring even, but it was what it was now. And besides, they had let him into believing she could take it. Whoever they were.

He had said something to her then, before moving to fuck her again. He had said something and she had come back alive for a moment. What had it been?

Let's get this over with.

'One time, back there,' he whispered to her hair as she whimpered in his hold, 'I saw you, I saw what I had done to you.' He knew she had heard him. She was quiet again in his arms but the tense energy was still there as was the reek of terror. 'It could've been done differently but it would've been done anyhow. I took the offer but there would've have been somebody else to take it if I hadn't.' He said it more for his sake than for hers. 'I could have been more – careful.' It was only a matter of skill, he knew it. He could have done it differently if he had been more calculating but he had let himself loose on her.

Logan collected her limbs closer to him. She was still crying but the shaking was gone and she smelled more sad that scared.

'Grace, you want me to let go now?' He feared it was time to let her go and he loosened his grip.

Grace pulled her hands free and wrapped them around his torso. 'Not quite yet.' Logan didn't argue. He drew in her scent trying to drown in it. She was warm now. She had been cold at first, but she was warm now and it helped him to relax. He remembered how she had looked the first time he had seen her with her hands cuffed behind her back. She had been so calm. They had wanted him to beat that calmness out off her.

He realised his hands were stroking her back and he stopped.

'Don't,' she whispered.

'I didn't mean to. I know it's not what you wanted.'

'Don't stop. That's what I meant. It felt good.'

He picked up the motion hesitantly, but when she didn't seem to mind he relaxed into it. It did feel good. Her back under his touch. They way she leaned into him. Her arms around his midsection with her palms open against his bare skin. She sat on his lap with her thigh pressing on his groin. Then she moved to release her arms and begun to pull away in order to stand up.

He kissed her then, on the lips, holding her head between his hands with his fingers in her hair, before she could escape beyond his reach. He realised the inappropriateness of his act when he pulled away but she smiled at him with warmth. She pushed some hair away from his face. The fear of him was not completely gone, not all of it. Some still persisted under her individual scent but he could live with that. Then she kissed him back, lovingly (he recognised the sentiment since is was such a rare thing to have) before she stood up.

'Thank you,' she said. 'Feel free to pop by. Anytime. I'll be there if you need me.' A cloud of sadness moved across her face.'And the sword is there too, if that's what you need. That still holds and I'm still bound to you by that request. Your death is your own, Logan'

Logan stood up. 'I told you there's no bonds between us.' Not in that sense, anyway. 'You may have the right to take my head, but it ain't an obligation just because I asked you to.'

'Do you still want me to kill you?'

'Only because you have the right to take it. Didn't him, that Nick, say that 'cause I have caused harm to you, that Code-thing doesn't apply anymore?'

'Aye.' She seemed to be sorry for that. 'But the sword is there for you, when you want it. Fuck the Code. I can't have your death. It's yours alone.'

Logan gave up. 'Fine.' He walked past her to the door. 'You'd better go. Before they come back up again.' He put his hand on the knob ready to let her go. She followed her and he opened the door. He blocked her way with his arm across the doorway just as she was about to leave.

'You really think I've changed?'

Grace considered the question. 'For sure, no.' That stung. 'But you have the chance. It all depends on the story you keep telling yourself.'

He left his arm where it was, then he simpered at her. 'I'll come by someday. If I feel like it,' he added as to have an escape hatch. She flashed a crooked smile at him and he let the arm drop.

'You know where I keep the bottle. I'll make sure it's Islay,' she said before she left.


Caveat Lector: This chapter has not been betaed. If you find something wrong with the grammar, send me a heads up and I'll fix it. And remember that this story is posted in two parts. Read All Partial Evil – part I first if you're new to this story.