(Note to readers: I wanted to post the last two chapters at the same time, but the last isn't ready yet, and Real Life has interfered greatly. Therefore, since I was already delayed in posting, I decided to post what I had. Fortunately, the last chapter is 'epilogue'; hopefully, I'll get it done soon.)

ALPHA/OMEGA

Book Two

ELEVEN

Pain. Awareness always began with pain. He felt his consciousness swimming upwards through a sea of darkness, and he grasped the torment gladly, as proof of life continued. He yearned for his senses, sight, sound, touch, something to connect him to the world once more. He recognized and remembered this feeling, the familiarity of it somehow comforting even as his nerves raged against the pain.

Wherever he was, it was quiet. He could hear at least one person moving around. His eyelids fluttered, relearning their job of regulating vision. Finally, he managed to open his eyes. The ceiling above him dimly shone, a uniform gray unlike anything he'd ever seen. Carefully, he turned his head to the soft sounds of movement.

A woman stood nearby, her back to him. He noted the walls of the room, also gray, and the many tables. All were of some material he did not recognize, bearing devises he'd never seen. These walls were not stone, or wood. Rather, they were unlike any monastery or inn he'd ever seen. The woman's clothing was not that of a nun, or an inn hostess. She wore some strange sort of pants, and very fitted shirt of white materiel that clung to her form. Long unbound white hair hung down her back.

He must have made some small noise, for she turned suddenly. Her eyes widened when they met his.

"Logan? You're awake?"

She came closer, and he marveled at her coffee colored skin. He'd rarely seen an African, and none with hair like hers. He struggled a moment, breathing ragged. Finally he was able to moisten his lips and force out a word.

"Carl?"

"I made him go to sleep, or he would have fallen over right here. Logan? You should rest some more."

Satisfied that his beloved was well and somewhere close, he closed his eyes again and let his lingering exhaustion overtake him. His last conscious moments were wasted wondering why she called him Logan.

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The next time, he let himself drift on the dark tides of semi-awareness. His senses still dulled, he dug through his own mind, trying to remember what brought him to this state. Begin at the beginning, he told himself, and tried to remember his own name.

My name is--

Gabriel Van Helsing. Or is it? (Logan)

I am--

a Knight of the secret Order of the Church of Rome. (I am nobody. I am a mutant.)

I call the Vatican my home. (Chuck's mansion.)

Images of the church of Saint Peter filled his mind. He labeled these memories 'Home.'

But as soon as he did, memories of a tiny vehicle, 'a truck', 'a camper', and the image of a large mansion house, a school, competed for the title of 'home.'

Quickly, a memory of pain.

Water?

Needles and men in uniforms toasting to success.

More pain. Fear. Anger.

Carl! His heart cried out for his love. Lost love. Pain of a different sort. Carl, gutted by werebears. Falling. No!

Almost immediately, he remembered Carl smiling. Talking to him in a large hallway. The mansion again. Carl with his hair cropped indecently short, talking to young people.

In an effort to make sense of his memories, he tentatively labeled the Vatican 'the Past'.

Immediately, his mind became more coherent. He dubbed the mansion 'the Present'.

Fighting weremonsters. In a cave, in the cold. 'The Past.'

In a cave, the glow of red flares. 'The Present.'

Other memories fell in line, sorting themselves out, almost without his assistance. To his everlasting relief, one constant asserted itself between 'the past' and 'the present'.

Carl.

Satisfied, he let himself wake up.

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He could hear two people talking softly nearby.

"It's really amazing. He never used to heal quite this fast."

"It's pretty much instantaneous. I know - I've felt it. When Magneto kidnapped me, he almost killed me. Logan gave me his healing abilities to save me."

"But he's still unconscious after three days." Carl's voice betrayed his shudder. "What if he's lost his memory again? What if --"

Rogue reached out with a gloved hand and laid it comfortingly on Carl's arm. "He'll be fine. He should wake up any time now." She smiled hesitantly at him. "Are you going to tell him how you feel?" Carl shot her a sharp look, but she only smiled wider. "It's pretty obvious. You were a basket case when y'all got back, and Storm had to threaten you with sedatives to get you to go sleep." She cocked her head. "I didn't figure you for a switch-hitter."

Carl blushed. He paused, then said, "Over a hundred years ago, he was a different man. I loved him then. I lived for him. And I died to save him. Now.... Yes, I love him all over again. It was easy when all I had were visions of the past. It got even easier when I got to know him now. He's just as remarkable as he ever was." Carl's smile lit up his face. "If he'll have me, he'll never get rid of me."

He smiled to hear his beloved make that declaration. God or whatever had given them to each other before, and had given them back to each other now. He opened his eyes, recognizing the view of the ceiling. Ah yes, his favorite table in the clinic.

He turned his head to see Carl and Rogue perched on stools next to a table. Carl did look terrible, days of worry etched on his face. His blue shirt was rumpled and his cheeks unshaven. Still, no marks from their terrible battle were visible.

It was Rogue who happened to glance over first, and see his eyes were opened. "Logan!" She exclaimed, jumping up. Carl immediately followed suit, both of them delighted to see him awake. Rogue grabbed his arm and squeezed, relieved. Carl refrained from touching him, hanging back just a bit.

"Hey, kid," he said to Rogue hoarsely. He looked over at Carl. "Hi."

"How do you feel?" Carl asked.

"Like shit." He shifted and stretched a little, before making the effort to sit up. Rogue assisted him. He'd been stripped to his shorts, but then, his X-Suit would have been basically destroyed. He stretched and popped his spine, giving Rogue a smirk when she giggled foolishly.

Carl's eyes darted over him. "You're not even scarred."

"That's not unusual," he replied nonchalantly. "I've had three days."

Carl suddenly frowned. "You've been awake this whole time, haven't you?"

He grinned impudently at Carl, nodding. "Yep. It was pretty.... Educational."

Carl's expression turned into one of sheer exasperation. The former friar seemed prepared to launch into a tirade, a classic rundown on the darker man's shortcomings. Just as he opened his mouth, Rogue jumped in. "Well! I better go let the Professor and everyone know you're up and OK." She immediately beat a retreat.

"Hey, Kid!"

"Yeah?"

"Remember you asked me, was Logan a first name or a last name? It's a last name."

"Ok." Rogue blinked, then asked, "So what's your first name?"

He caught Carl's gaze and held it. "Gabriel."

Rogue made a squeak and exited the clinic with all speed.

Carl's rant usurped, he stared at the man still seated on the table. "Logan? What do you remember?"

"Everything. Rome, the lab, London, Transylvania." He reached out and took Carl's hand, gently pulling him close. "All the hunts, London again." He wrapped his arms around Carl and buried his face against the other man's neck, inhaling that exquisite, intoxicating scent. "Moscow."

"Gabriel!" Carl exclaimed, holding him just as tightly. The two men spared a moment to just cling to each other, finally reunited. Eventually, Carl pulled back to stare into Gabriel's eyes. He tenderly touched Gabriel's face, his eyes shining.

Logan stood, and pulled Carl close again. "So, God is still making it up to me." He smiled. "And you get to be the instrument of God's love."

Carl grinned back, remembering those words as well as Gabriel did, but any reply he might have made was prevented by a kiss.