DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokemon, never have, and never will. They are
trademarks of Nintendo, Gamefreak, etc. etc. The purpose of this fanfic is
NOT to profit from another person's idea. It's just for fun so. don't sue
me, 'kay? ^_^''
THE FLEDGLING
CHAPTER 1-WHAT YOU GET YOURSELF INTO
As the afternoon sun slowly began to drift westward, its light fell to rest on a lone figure making her way up the majestic peak of Mount Iron. Grunting, she pumped her long, slender legs, trying to push herself up the gradually rising slope of the mountain as beads of moisture on her forehead glistened in the fading sunlight. The pack on her back, which contained her equipment for the expedition, felt as if it were full of rocks. Sighing, she eased herself onto a flattened ledge to rest for a while.
Rasha, a young Pokémon researcher who made her start in Kanto, daydreamed about her mission as she sipped her water. Mount Iron, located in Johto, resided an ocean west of her homeland. Besides different species of Pokémon, though, the two lands shared many common features in both its environment and its people, and Rasha felt at ease here. most of the time, anyway.
Rasha twisted her pack onto her lap and searched for her water bottle among the various pieces of equipment stuffed into it. Shoving aside her camera, she finally slipped the bottle out from the bottom of the pile, uncapped it, and drank deeply, sighing when she finally pulled it away from her lips.
If only Falcon were here! Rasha thought as she jammed the bottle into her pack and yanked the zipper back into place. This mission would've gone a lot quicker with her friend's expertise and experience to help it along - and besides, she would've enjoyed seeing Falcon again. Since they'd met at the Indigo League, near the end of Rasha's graduating year at Pokémon Tech, they'd kept in touch only through occasional letters and phone calls. As they watched the grueling League battles together, Rasha had been duly impressed by Falcon's general knowledge of Pokémon, but Falcon's vast range of knowledge on the subject of Legendary Pokémon enthralled her. Perhaps that friendship had played a key role in leading her here, she mused. For weeks before she'd arrived, a rash of legendary sightings had broken out among the residents of the towns near Mount Iron's foot. Excited by the prospect of encountering one of the mythical creatures, Rasha traveled out to try and observe one of the elusive beasts in the wild. But nearly a month passed, and still she had not encountered a Legendary Pokémon. Any chances of success were growing less and less likely.
Knowing she'd better get moving if she wanted to search the mountain again before the sun set, Rasha slowly rose from her seat and turned to study the terrain in front of her. A main trailed for hikers wound around the mountain, but Rasha had left that long ago to pursue a more difficult path. Steep, dry rocks and sudden, random clusters of scratchy dead weeds slowed her ascent, but Rasha, as always, welcomed the challenge. Groping for a handhold, she struck out with her left hand to grab a jutting-out piece of rock. and put her hand in something wet and sticky.
Jerking in surprise, Rasha flipped her hand back and forth to dry it off and was shocked into silence by the glistening drops of red that flew from it to spatter wetly on the dry mountain dust. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach now, Rasha held her hand up to examine it and felt her throat tighten at the dribble of blood crawling down her wrist. Swallowing her fear and nausea, Rasha carefully felt for a new spot on the rock and pulled herself up to examine the now-smeared red patch. Craning her neck, she spotted another clot of blood clinging to a dead weed that blew free not more than a foot above her. Still more created dark patches on the dirt and rock, forming a broken trail of blood leading up to a higher point on the mountain.
Now Rasha hesitated. Should she go further and investigate, or mind her own business? She certainly preferred the latter; her insides vibrated with dread apprehension, and she longed for nothing more than to race down the mountain and back to her warm, quiet little house at the mountain's foot. But for all her fear, she couldn't dismiss the thought that she might be abandoning someone who needed medical attention. Swallowing and gritting her teeth, Rasha hoisted herself up to follow the path of blood.
Once she climbed over a few more rocky obstacles, the ground leveled out into a relatively flat earth plane; her tired muscles welcomed the ease with which she could walk over it. As she studied the ground ahead, Rasha detected steadily growing spatters of blood, more black than red now. Her eyes swept along them and finally came to rest on a crumpled rag doll form huddled against the mountain's side. Wincing, she took the last few steps to kneel before the fallen person.
The young man, who looked no older than 19 or 20, lay as if dead on his stomach. The dust had powdered his raven-black hair an earthy dun. Ages of dirt and grime covered his ragged clothing; Rasha couldn't see what color they had originally been. A large tear in the left leg of his pants revealed long, ugly gash that oozed blood. His shirt also displayed three long tears, which aligned with three more gashes that created dark pools on the ground beneath him. Gingerly, Rasha reached out with two fingers and pressed them into the soft flesh of his neck, where she felt his pulse racing so fast she thought it might burst his skin. Frantically, she unzipped her pack and yanked out a small first-aid kit. She lifted out a roll of white gauze and began wrapping it tightly around his leg, trying to stop him from losing any more blood. When she had finished, she lifted him up by the back of the shirt and wrapped up the wounds in his chest and abdomen.
Now that she had done that, she faced another problem: how to get him down the mountain. She definitely couldn't carry him; she needed both hands to climb. Reaching down to the left side of her belt, she removed a small Pokéball and enlarged it. The Pokéball was white on the bottom, but on the half that was usually red it was colored with green and brown splotches: camouflage colors. Rasha tossed the Pokéball to the ground as she called, "Sudowoodo, come out!"
A flash of light burst from the Pokéball. It stretched and changed shape before fading away to reveal a tall Pokémon that looked like a tree. Three fat, round green fingers tipped each of his branch-like arms. A two- pronged horn adorned the top of his head.
"I want you to carry this man down the mountain, Sudowoodo," Rasha instructed, motioning toward the lifeless body of the young man. "Be careful with him!"
"Sud!" Sudowoodo acknowledged. The tall Pokémon carefully scooped up the limp boy in his deceptively thin arms and cradled him like an infant, so his head flopped over the right arm and his legs dangled over the left. Rasha turned to head back down the mountain and Sudowoodo followed with his burden, moving with surprising surefootedness over the rocks.
Slowly, his consciousness began to return. He wanted to just lie there forever, but something itched at the back of his mind, forcing his eyelids open. Everything hurt. Stifling a moan, he lay still and waited patiently for his vision to focus. Something was not right. He felt warm, but could not see the sun. The ground beneath him had softened, and blankets covered his body. With some effort he raised his head and lifted the blankets slightly, examining himself, and found that an oversize gray sweatshirt and white sweat pants had replaced his dirt-covered rags.
Fear engulfed his being.
He looked up at a soft sound by his head, startling its creator: a young woman with tanned skin and medium-length brown hair. His captor.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he cut her off quickly. "Where am I?" he demanded angrily. "What have you done to me?!"
"What?" Rasha stammered, confused. Did he not realize that she was trying to help?
The boy's dark green eyes narrowed down to dangerously glittering slits as he tried to prop himself up on the couch where he was lying. "What have you done?" he repeated. "Talk, woman! Where have you taken me?"
Now Rasha's temper was shortening. "I just saved your life!" she snapped indignantly. What an ingrate!
The comment didn't even faze him; he only glared harder. "I appreciate it," he growled, not sounding like he meant it at all. Rasha's temper flared. "I'll be leaving now." Wincing slightly, he tried to get up.
"You can't go anywhere in this condition!" Rasha protested.
"Watch me."
The boy staggered to his feet, nearly falling over several times before he learned to shift his weight to his uninjured leg, and looked around for the door. Rasha stood silent, watching him. After a few seconds of pondering, he began to limp unsteadily across the room.
"Where are you going, anyway?" Rasha asked finally.
"Where do you think?" he snapped.
Rasha's eyes widened. Had he injured this head? Was he really thinking about climbing the mountain? "You'll never make it like this," she informed him.
"Mind your own business," he retorted. "I'll be fine."
"You can barely walk down here! How do you expect to climb a mountain?" Rasha nearly shouted back.
She was right, of course. He immediately felt his determination sink. He had barely gotten back to the cave after the Rhyhorn had finished with him, and then he had already been halfway up. There was no way he could climb the whole thing. He curled his lip in disgust at his own stupidity.
"You brought me down here," he said after a while. "You take me back."
"Forget it." Rasha folded her arms. "My Pokémon and I already carried your ungrateful carcass down that mountain. No way we're carryin' you back up."
The boy angrily hissed through his teeth.
"Stay until you recover," Rasha reasoned, her mouth moving against the protests of her mind, which was seething with anger for her ungrateful companion. Somehow, his anger hadn't derailed her pity. Besides, she told herself, anyone would have an attitude after getting mauled by God-knows- what up on some hot, dry mountain in the middle of nowhere. "After that," she continued, "you can do whatever you want."
The boy's shoulders slumped, but he knew he'd struck a dead end. All right. he would stay until he regained his strength, but not one second more! Besides, he thought, getting her to escort him back up to the cave had been a foolish idea, anyway. If he waited, he could go back alone and remove the risk of discovery.
With a sigh of frustration, he again looked down at his outfit. "Where the hell are my clothes?" he asked tersely.
"Washing machine," Rasha told him.
He hunched over like a vulture, eyes narrowing. "I don't need you to wash my clothes, woman," he groused.
"And I don't need dirt all over my couch," Rasha countered. "You can have 'em back when they're clean."
"Fine," he grumbled.
"Good." Rasha paused a second before asking, "What's your name?"
His eyes flashed and he turned away from her as if he knew she'd recognize him as a criminal if she heard his name-either that or his introversion's extremity forbade him even to allow her his name. Either way, he said nothing.
"Come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Unless you prefer to be called 'boy.'"
"It's Logan," he snapped.
"Logan," she said, testing it. "I'm Rasha."
She extended her hand, but he backed away and eyed it as if it venom might seep from it and burn him. As she slowly lowered it and turned to exit the room, Rasha wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser just to leave him on Mount Iron.
Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes later, Rasha turned off the dryer down in the dank laundry room.
Logan was getting on her nerves. It wasn't however, what he was doing that bothered her; rather, it was what he wasn't doing. Ever since he'd woken, he'd been sitting on the couch in her living room like some dark, wraithlike statue, staring blankly out the window. She'd offered him food and drink, and he'd refused. She'd asked him if anything was wrong, and he'd snapped at her to mind her business. He barely responded to her efforts to make any other kind of conversation. Logan simply sat with his shoulders hunched and his dark eyes wide, like a hawk on a dead oak limb waiting for some movement in the rolling grass below.
Rasha pulled the laundry basket down from the top of the washer, opened the dryer, and began dumping the clean clothes into it. The least he could do, she thought, would be to thank her for letting him stay. Okay, so maybe he hadn't asked her to help him. How could he? He'd been unconscious! Still, Rasha had saved his life out of pure compassion, and he had the indecency to treat her like an annoyance. So why did she still feel sorry for him?
She was about to take the basket into her bedroom for folding when she remembered that Logan's clothes were mixed in with the pile and that he wanted them back. Sighing, she set the basket back down and began to paw through it, not sure what she was looking for. Those filthy rags could've been any color. Frustrated, she dumped the pile out on the floor and began to spread it out, shoving her own jeans and T-shirts to one side until she finally located something foreign: a torn white shirt, a pair of white pants, and a smaller black shirt that was torn the same way as the white one. She picked up the pants, folded them, and laid them aside before reaching for the shirts. The black shirt she folded and set on top of the pants. She then picked up the white shirt and flipped it over.
On the front was a large red R.
Logan sighed restlessly and ran his fingers through his dirty black hair. His stomach rumbled, but he hardly noticed - he didn't feel like eating.
Shifting agitatedly on the couch, he peered out through the darkness at the spectral peak of Mount Iron, wondering how the Pokémon he'd left there were doing in their Pokéballs. He imagined them hungry and worried, waiting for their master to return, and swallowed hard. He had to get out of here! Not only he scare his Pokémon if he didn't, but he suddenly remembered that it'd been too long since he'd made a trip into town for supplies. Things up at the cave were running low.
He sighed, wondering not for the first time how he could stand to live like he did. Before, there had been a time when he'd thought he was capable of anything; that he was invincible. Now, he couldn't even remember what that had felt like.
He realized that he couldn't hear the dryer running anymore and knew that the woman, Rasha, must be getting his clothes out of the laundry. Snorting slightly, he shook his head. He wished she'd leave him alone; he had enough to think about without her hovering around him. Even as he thought it, a little trickle of remorse entered his mind, but he quickly forced it down. I didn't ask her to do this, he thought. I don't owe her anything. I don't owe anyone anything!
His breath caught in his chest. With all his soul he knew that wasn't true, and he felt horribly guilty just for thinking it.
Logan felt his throat tighten, but he hardened his glare and again turned his laser-focus toward the window with a single, determined thought: I'm coming.
THE FLEDGLING
CHAPTER 1-WHAT YOU GET YOURSELF INTO
As the afternoon sun slowly began to drift westward, its light fell to rest on a lone figure making her way up the majestic peak of Mount Iron. Grunting, she pumped her long, slender legs, trying to push herself up the gradually rising slope of the mountain as beads of moisture on her forehead glistened in the fading sunlight. The pack on her back, which contained her equipment for the expedition, felt as if it were full of rocks. Sighing, she eased herself onto a flattened ledge to rest for a while.
Rasha, a young Pokémon researcher who made her start in Kanto, daydreamed about her mission as she sipped her water. Mount Iron, located in Johto, resided an ocean west of her homeland. Besides different species of Pokémon, though, the two lands shared many common features in both its environment and its people, and Rasha felt at ease here. most of the time, anyway.
Rasha twisted her pack onto her lap and searched for her water bottle among the various pieces of equipment stuffed into it. Shoving aside her camera, she finally slipped the bottle out from the bottom of the pile, uncapped it, and drank deeply, sighing when she finally pulled it away from her lips.
If only Falcon were here! Rasha thought as she jammed the bottle into her pack and yanked the zipper back into place. This mission would've gone a lot quicker with her friend's expertise and experience to help it along - and besides, she would've enjoyed seeing Falcon again. Since they'd met at the Indigo League, near the end of Rasha's graduating year at Pokémon Tech, they'd kept in touch only through occasional letters and phone calls. As they watched the grueling League battles together, Rasha had been duly impressed by Falcon's general knowledge of Pokémon, but Falcon's vast range of knowledge on the subject of Legendary Pokémon enthralled her. Perhaps that friendship had played a key role in leading her here, she mused. For weeks before she'd arrived, a rash of legendary sightings had broken out among the residents of the towns near Mount Iron's foot. Excited by the prospect of encountering one of the mythical creatures, Rasha traveled out to try and observe one of the elusive beasts in the wild. But nearly a month passed, and still she had not encountered a Legendary Pokémon. Any chances of success were growing less and less likely.
Knowing she'd better get moving if she wanted to search the mountain again before the sun set, Rasha slowly rose from her seat and turned to study the terrain in front of her. A main trailed for hikers wound around the mountain, but Rasha had left that long ago to pursue a more difficult path. Steep, dry rocks and sudden, random clusters of scratchy dead weeds slowed her ascent, but Rasha, as always, welcomed the challenge. Groping for a handhold, she struck out with her left hand to grab a jutting-out piece of rock. and put her hand in something wet and sticky.
Jerking in surprise, Rasha flipped her hand back and forth to dry it off and was shocked into silence by the glistening drops of red that flew from it to spatter wetly on the dry mountain dust. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach now, Rasha held her hand up to examine it and felt her throat tighten at the dribble of blood crawling down her wrist. Swallowing her fear and nausea, Rasha carefully felt for a new spot on the rock and pulled herself up to examine the now-smeared red patch. Craning her neck, she spotted another clot of blood clinging to a dead weed that blew free not more than a foot above her. Still more created dark patches on the dirt and rock, forming a broken trail of blood leading up to a higher point on the mountain.
Now Rasha hesitated. Should she go further and investigate, or mind her own business? She certainly preferred the latter; her insides vibrated with dread apprehension, and she longed for nothing more than to race down the mountain and back to her warm, quiet little house at the mountain's foot. But for all her fear, she couldn't dismiss the thought that she might be abandoning someone who needed medical attention. Swallowing and gritting her teeth, Rasha hoisted herself up to follow the path of blood.
Once she climbed over a few more rocky obstacles, the ground leveled out into a relatively flat earth plane; her tired muscles welcomed the ease with which she could walk over it. As she studied the ground ahead, Rasha detected steadily growing spatters of blood, more black than red now. Her eyes swept along them and finally came to rest on a crumpled rag doll form huddled against the mountain's side. Wincing, she took the last few steps to kneel before the fallen person.
The young man, who looked no older than 19 or 20, lay as if dead on his stomach. The dust had powdered his raven-black hair an earthy dun. Ages of dirt and grime covered his ragged clothing; Rasha couldn't see what color they had originally been. A large tear in the left leg of his pants revealed long, ugly gash that oozed blood. His shirt also displayed three long tears, which aligned with three more gashes that created dark pools on the ground beneath him. Gingerly, Rasha reached out with two fingers and pressed them into the soft flesh of his neck, where she felt his pulse racing so fast she thought it might burst his skin. Frantically, she unzipped her pack and yanked out a small first-aid kit. She lifted out a roll of white gauze and began wrapping it tightly around his leg, trying to stop him from losing any more blood. When she had finished, she lifted him up by the back of the shirt and wrapped up the wounds in his chest and abdomen.
Now that she had done that, she faced another problem: how to get him down the mountain. She definitely couldn't carry him; she needed both hands to climb. Reaching down to the left side of her belt, she removed a small Pokéball and enlarged it. The Pokéball was white on the bottom, but on the half that was usually red it was colored with green and brown splotches: camouflage colors. Rasha tossed the Pokéball to the ground as she called, "Sudowoodo, come out!"
A flash of light burst from the Pokéball. It stretched and changed shape before fading away to reveal a tall Pokémon that looked like a tree. Three fat, round green fingers tipped each of his branch-like arms. A two- pronged horn adorned the top of his head.
"I want you to carry this man down the mountain, Sudowoodo," Rasha instructed, motioning toward the lifeless body of the young man. "Be careful with him!"
"Sud!" Sudowoodo acknowledged. The tall Pokémon carefully scooped up the limp boy in his deceptively thin arms and cradled him like an infant, so his head flopped over the right arm and his legs dangled over the left. Rasha turned to head back down the mountain and Sudowoodo followed with his burden, moving with surprising surefootedness over the rocks.
Slowly, his consciousness began to return. He wanted to just lie there forever, but something itched at the back of his mind, forcing his eyelids open. Everything hurt. Stifling a moan, he lay still and waited patiently for his vision to focus. Something was not right. He felt warm, but could not see the sun. The ground beneath him had softened, and blankets covered his body. With some effort he raised his head and lifted the blankets slightly, examining himself, and found that an oversize gray sweatshirt and white sweat pants had replaced his dirt-covered rags.
Fear engulfed his being.
He looked up at a soft sound by his head, startling its creator: a young woman with tanned skin and medium-length brown hair. His captor.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but he cut her off quickly. "Where am I?" he demanded angrily. "What have you done to me?!"
"What?" Rasha stammered, confused. Did he not realize that she was trying to help?
The boy's dark green eyes narrowed down to dangerously glittering slits as he tried to prop himself up on the couch where he was lying. "What have you done?" he repeated. "Talk, woman! Where have you taken me?"
Now Rasha's temper was shortening. "I just saved your life!" she snapped indignantly. What an ingrate!
The comment didn't even faze him; he only glared harder. "I appreciate it," he growled, not sounding like he meant it at all. Rasha's temper flared. "I'll be leaving now." Wincing slightly, he tried to get up.
"You can't go anywhere in this condition!" Rasha protested.
"Watch me."
The boy staggered to his feet, nearly falling over several times before he learned to shift his weight to his uninjured leg, and looked around for the door. Rasha stood silent, watching him. After a few seconds of pondering, he began to limp unsteadily across the room.
"Where are you going, anyway?" Rasha asked finally.
"Where do you think?" he snapped.
Rasha's eyes widened. Had he injured this head? Was he really thinking about climbing the mountain? "You'll never make it like this," she informed him.
"Mind your own business," he retorted. "I'll be fine."
"You can barely walk down here! How do you expect to climb a mountain?" Rasha nearly shouted back.
She was right, of course. He immediately felt his determination sink. He had barely gotten back to the cave after the Rhyhorn had finished with him, and then he had already been halfway up. There was no way he could climb the whole thing. He curled his lip in disgust at his own stupidity.
"You brought me down here," he said after a while. "You take me back."
"Forget it." Rasha folded her arms. "My Pokémon and I already carried your ungrateful carcass down that mountain. No way we're carryin' you back up."
The boy angrily hissed through his teeth.
"Stay until you recover," Rasha reasoned, her mouth moving against the protests of her mind, which was seething with anger for her ungrateful companion. Somehow, his anger hadn't derailed her pity. Besides, she told herself, anyone would have an attitude after getting mauled by God-knows- what up on some hot, dry mountain in the middle of nowhere. "After that," she continued, "you can do whatever you want."
The boy's shoulders slumped, but he knew he'd struck a dead end. All right. he would stay until he regained his strength, but not one second more! Besides, he thought, getting her to escort him back up to the cave had been a foolish idea, anyway. If he waited, he could go back alone and remove the risk of discovery.
With a sigh of frustration, he again looked down at his outfit. "Where the hell are my clothes?" he asked tersely.
"Washing machine," Rasha told him.
He hunched over like a vulture, eyes narrowing. "I don't need you to wash my clothes, woman," he groused.
"And I don't need dirt all over my couch," Rasha countered. "You can have 'em back when they're clean."
"Fine," he grumbled.
"Good." Rasha paused a second before asking, "What's your name?"
His eyes flashed and he turned away from her as if he knew she'd recognize him as a criminal if she heard his name-either that or his introversion's extremity forbade him even to allow her his name. Either way, he said nothing.
"Come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Unless you prefer to be called 'boy.'"
"It's Logan," he snapped.
"Logan," she said, testing it. "I'm Rasha."
She extended her hand, but he backed away and eyed it as if it venom might seep from it and burn him. As she slowly lowered it and turned to exit the room, Rasha wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser just to leave him on Mount Iron.
Approximately an hour and fifteen minutes later, Rasha turned off the dryer down in the dank laundry room.
Logan was getting on her nerves. It wasn't however, what he was doing that bothered her; rather, it was what he wasn't doing. Ever since he'd woken, he'd been sitting on the couch in her living room like some dark, wraithlike statue, staring blankly out the window. She'd offered him food and drink, and he'd refused. She'd asked him if anything was wrong, and he'd snapped at her to mind her business. He barely responded to her efforts to make any other kind of conversation. Logan simply sat with his shoulders hunched and his dark eyes wide, like a hawk on a dead oak limb waiting for some movement in the rolling grass below.
Rasha pulled the laundry basket down from the top of the washer, opened the dryer, and began dumping the clean clothes into it. The least he could do, she thought, would be to thank her for letting him stay. Okay, so maybe he hadn't asked her to help him. How could he? He'd been unconscious! Still, Rasha had saved his life out of pure compassion, and he had the indecency to treat her like an annoyance. So why did she still feel sorry for him?
She was about to take the basket into her bedroom for folding when she remembered that Logan's clothes were mixed in with the pile and that he wanted them back. Sighing, she set the basket back down and began to paw through it, not sure what she was looking for. Those filthy rags could've been any color. Frustrated, she dumped the pile out on the floor and began to spread it out, shoving her own jeans and T-shirts to one side until she finally located something foreign: a torn white shirt, a pair of white pants, and a smaller black shirt that was torn the same way as the white one. She picked up the pants, folded them, and laid them aside before reaching for the shirts. The black shirt she folded and set on top of the pants. She then picked up the white shirt and flipped it over.
On the front was a large red R.
Logan sighed restlessly and ran his fingers through his dirty black hair. His stomach rumbled, but he hardly noticed - he didn't feel like eating.
Shifting agitatedly on the couch, he peered out through the darkness at the spectral peak of Mount Iron, wondering how the Pokémon he'd left there were doing in their Pokéballs. He imagined them hungry and worried, waiting for their master to return, and swallowed hard. He had to get out of here! Not only he scare his Pokémon if he didn't, but he suddenly remembered that it'd been too long since he'd made a trip into town for supplies. Things up at the cave were running low.
He sighed, wondering not for the first time how he could stand to live like he did. Before, there had been a time when he'd thought he was capable of anything; that he was invincible. Now, he couldn't even remember what that had felt like.
He realized that he couldn't hear the dryer running anymore and knew that the woman, Rasha, must be getting his clothes out of the laundry. Snorting slightly, he shook his head. He wished she'd leave him alone; he had enough to think about without her hovering around him. Even as he thought it, a little trickle of remorse entered his mind, but he quickly forced it down. I didn't ask her to do this, he thought. I don't owe her anything. I don't owe anyone anything!
His breath caught in his chest. With all his soul he knew that wasn't true, and he felt horribly guilty just for thinking it.
Logan felt his throat tighten, but he hardened his glare and again turned his laser-focus toward the window with a single, determined thought: I'm coming.