xXx

She pulled her clothes back on, her body loose and tight from the biting cold water of the spring. She twisted her hair, just so, to get most of the water out of it. Then she twirled and twisted it for a few seconds, and it was in a serviceable bun that would stay put. She mused that advanced hair care was not something she had expected to learn from ninja conditioning, but she didn't complain.

Her fourth day at the cabin, she reflected as she walked back up the narrow trail. Four days and it already felt kind of like home. She let her mind out to sift the surroundings, out of habit. Irritation ahead, and not far from the track. She picked up the pace.

Logan squatted, looking down at the path.

"Not peeking, I hope," she said dryly.

"Nope," he said.

"What are you following?" she asked.

"Deer," he lied. He stood and smiled. "Let's head back. I found a rabbit warren not far from here, so I figure we'll have stewed coneys for supper."

"Coneys?"

"Bunny rabbits," Logan grinned. "Good eatin."

"You should work for Disney," she sighed with a smile. "Logan, thank you for inviting me up here. The woods are really quite beautiful."

"Yer welcome," he said. "I feel lucky to have this place. I've only been up here a couple weeks myself, I'm learnin the place."

"Really?" She blinked. "You fit in so well I thought you must have lived here for years."

"Nah," he said, gesturing. They started up the trail. "I lived in a tiny apartment in New York."

"Really?" she said, genuinely surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"I didn't say I liked it," he said. "But it was necessary." He was abruptly quiet. Then he sighed. "Anyway, I got one week left before I gotta get back to work."

"What do you do?" she asked. "For work."

"I'm a Security Specialist," he said with a lopsided grin, "at Stark International."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Not sure yet," he shrugged. "And even if I was, it'd be classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to whack not only you but all the people you telepathically linked with before maximum checkout." He grinned.

"Stark sounds paranoid," Braddock said. "What is he hiding?"

"Like I'd know," Logan said. "But enough about me. I mean it. I like this place," he said, gesturing around, "because there's no questions, no thinkin, no time besides day and night. I can just be, and let it be."

She was quiet for a moment, and their feet crunched along the path. "That's profound," she said.

He shrugged. "Don't know about that. It's true."

She looked away over the trees. "Privacy is so hard to get," she said. "Even the people who say they want to honor it walk on eggshells so they don't offend you, but find it hard to get around their questions to deal with you when no answers are forthcoming. The only other people who don't ask don't care; about the answers or about you."

He looked at her sideways, and her delicate Asian features were almost sad.

"I do care," he said, and he looked for the words to explain.

"I know," she said. She quickly looked away from him. "This is a wonderful place, Logan."

He felt suddenly awkward and didn't know why. He wasn't sure whether to thank her or apologize. So he swallowed his puzzlement and let it go, wondering if everything was alright.

They got back to the cabin. "Well," Logan said, "I've got some trackin ta do. I think a bear came onto the premises, and I'm gonna find it an make sure it's laired right, so it don't come down here. The dump's a good mile away, so we should be out of harm's way."

"I'll amuse myself," she said. He nodded curtly and headed off into the brush.

She went inside and puttered until he was well and truly out of earshot. Then she went unzipped her unzipped her black bag. She pulled out a pair of butterfly swords, their blades wide and short, sheer purple and black scarves on their pommels. She walked out into the clearing.

Set her stance.

Slowly at first, she began working through the iterations of the sword kata. Then faster. As she moved faster, her mind was freed as her reflexes took over; her body knew the routine better than she did. Conditioning. Her mind expanded as her body moved.

Twirling and spinning and slashing, blocking, parrying, thrusting, kicking, she moved around and around. Finally she reached the end of the kata and stopped, still breathing lightly, and her consciousness was sharpened.

Thought.

She spun and faced the cabin, her psionics sharply focused. There; through layers of defense, a mind. A mind that had been there for some time.

She heard a muffled tearing crack on the other side of the cabin, then another on the far side of the clearing. She spun to see a crouched figure.

He was blue, swathed in drifting fumes.

Beyond that, he had pale yellow eyes, and the hands he extended as if to ward her off each had two fingers and a thumb, same as his feet. He was dressed in dark leathers, and aside from a thin blade in a sheath at his waist he seemed unarmed.

Seemed.

"Explain yourself," she said, her voice tight with anger.

"Greetings and good morning," he said quickly. "I came to speak with you."

"Took your sweet time showing yourself," she said sharply.

"I did not wish to interrupt," he explained. "I wanted to choose a time that would not startle you. I come bearing news."

"How did you evade my probes?" she asked.

He sighed. "If you must know, it's a bit of technology designed against your particular talent, but I can tell you no more about it. Please, I have news you must hear."

"Go on," she said. She sensed Logan coming, fast and quiet. Tracking a bear, indeed.

"Concerning the ninja clan, the Hand," he said. "Because of your break with the Institute, they have broken their ties as well. Since you are an outsider, you must be killed to protect their secrets. They will hunt you…" he said, glancing around, "to the ends of the earth."

"Don't take kindly," Logan said from behind the newcomer, "ta trespassers."

"Logan," the fuzzy blue man said, "we must talk as well."

"By all means, finish with the lady," Logan said. "Don't be in a hurry ta talk ta me. You might not like it."

Elizabeth Braddock had been thinking. "You are right," she said to the furry blue man. "I can't stay here. I must return and face them."

"I'll go with ya," Logan said.

"No," she replied, shaking her head slowly. "This I must do alone."

"I'm good at causing distractions," Logan said, stepping out of the brush. "And I aint a mac truck when I'm tryin ta be quiet, either."

"I don't doubt your skill or your friendship, Logan," she said. She turned to the trespasser. "Why did you bring this news to me?" she asked.

"My employers do not wish you to be killed," he said simply. He flashed a bright white smile. "Goodbye."

A dull muffled crack resounded, and he was gone, leaving only swirling hazy smoke and the stench of brimstone behind.

Braddock sighed.

"Smoke 'em if you got 'em," she said, waving the smoke away from her face.

"Fair enough," Logan shrugged, pulling out a cigar. "You know, one of these days I'm gonna throttle the identity of his employers out of him."

xXx

They sat quietly on the porch in the warmth of the afternoon. Logan's cigar trailed a lazy drift of smoke. His boots were propped up on the railing. Betsy sat with her legs primly crossed, a glass of tea forgotten on the small table beside her.

"I'm leaving at dusk," she said quietly. He nodded.

The afternoon unwound around them.

"The spy isn't gone," she said.

"I know," Logan replied. "Him an me got business still."

"Should I leave sooner?" Braddock asked.

"Nope," Logan said. He put the cigar to his lips and breathed in through it; the tip flared. He puffed the smoke out and lowered the cigar again. Ash fell to the floor unheeded.

Braddock bit her lip, looking out over the clearing and into the forest. "Logan," she said, "I'm not sure how to say this."

"Say what?" he asked.

"I'm not available, Logan. I have… too many questions. Too much to sort through."

He barked a laugh. "Bets, even if you were available, I wouldn't make the move," he said. He looked directly at her. "I got few enough friends in this world without screwin up with one of the best." He looked back over the yard. "You always got a place to run to, long as I got or can make a place," he said, his tone final. "Always."

She found herself unable to speak for a moment.

"That work for you?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "That works for me," she said, and she couldn't help but smile.

xXx

Dusk.

She left, supper still warm in her stomach.

He watched her go.

The trespasser returned.

"What do you want, Kurt," Logan said, looking into the deepening gloom. "Make it snappy."

"First of all to thank you," Kurt said. "Stark does not make defective explosives."

"Yer welcome. Now to the point." He did not turn.

Kurt chuckled. "I don't suppose you'd believe that was the point?"

"Not a chance in heaven or hell."

Kurt sighed. "My employers have not given up on Tymaz Nine."

Logan faced him. "Stark doesn't have it any more," Logan said. "He destroyed the sample when he manufactured the countermeasure to the disease."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "And you believe Stark?"

"Yep."

Kurt sighed. "Don't. It's a sure bet he still has a sample."

"I won't save you again, Kurt."
"If you find out he still has a sample," Kurt said slowly, "perhaps you would feel differently. Perhaps you would consider making a deal?"

"Kurt," Logan said, choosing his words, "no. Not a chance."

"Then," Kurt said, "it seems we have nothing further to discuss."

"How about the weather?" Logan said, looking up into the deep star-splashed expanse.

He was alone.

xXx

She waited. Right on time, he prowled under her tree, along the trail she had left. Then it ended; not in a stream or over a wall or on a slab of stone; right there in the loam the tracks just stopped. He looked around, puzzled, then realization dawned on him.

"Bets," he sighed, "yer better than I am in the woods now. Will the travesties never cease? You gonna start makin better franks n beans than me next?"

Logan's words echoed in the empty woods.

He looked down at his boots and shuffled a little. "Okay, so I broke my word. I'm comin after ya. Bang ya got me." He looked around in the canopy, sniffed.

Her ninja training was too comprehensive for him to detect her so simply.

"You aint gone," he muttered. "Not yet. Might as well be, though." He sighed. "Thanks fer comin. If you ever need to come out here when I aint around, place is yours. And if you ever need anythin, just look up Stark. He'll know how to reach me, even if I'm unreachable. Guess that's all there is to say." He turned and trudged back the way he came.

Silent, elegant, invisible, she raised her hand to bid him farewell. Then she was gone, and the trees rustled with the night breeze.

March 14, 2002

Snow twirled down out of the sky, each flake blazing an aimless trail down towards the earth. Together, they formed a shifting, glittering curtain. Enough individual and seemingly random movements made a single, monolithic impression. The man watching out the window smiled to himself.

"Lovely weather," he murmured. His assistant waited outside the door, so he whispered a thought to him; enter, wait. As always, his very thought was obeyed. Report.

"All is in readiness, sir," Geraint said. "We have the three restraint chambers crafted to your specifications."

"Excellent," Xavier said. He relaxed, and closed his eyes. He listened, as few other mortals could listen. "They will not be long now," he said, a smile lingering on his features. "Perfect weather for the Ides of March, don't you think?" he chuckled.

Geraint had nothing to say to that.

xXx

"You know about the Chateau?" the man asked, his voice shaky, his eyes haunted. The beautiful Asian woman seated next to him at the shadowed end of the bar nodded once. The man looked down into his beer, watched the surface tremble as he touched it with his hands; hands that never stopped shaking.

"Where is the Chateau?" she asked softly.

"I don't know how you found me," the man muttered. "I'm one of maybe five pilots that take supplies from here to there. Just a handful of bush pilots contract with the Chateau. We got a rotating schedule. A truck with supplies shows up once a month, and one of us flies it out. There's no road up to the place, just a small airstrip. I think they got a chopper or two, but we always fly in, they never fly out."

"Sounds reasonable enough," the beautiful woman said. He looked at her sideways, then downed his beer in a long draught. He slapped down the empty mug and dragged the back of his hand across his loose mouth.

The woman nodded at the barkeep, who drew another mug of beer and slid it down. The woman passed it on, and the pilot flashed her a brief smile.

"Hardly creepy," she added.

"I guess not," he shrugged, unconvinced. "I guess that's not so creepy. See, we can never remember where the site is, no matter how many times we fly up there. We make up excuses. But we never make any notes or check our readings to get a fix on the place. See, when we get close, the Heads Up Display flickers on, and guides us the rest of the way in." He stopped.

"But?" she prompted.

His staring eyes bored into her. "I checked the plane," he said softly. "They don't have HUD in 'em."

He looked back down into his beer. "Too scared to quit," he said. "I got no proof of nothin, and there's no news story, far as I know nothin illegal goin on up there. But it scares the bejeezus out of me all the same. Once we set down, these long haired eurotrash types with real tight mouths direct some guys in jumpsuits to unload the cargo, then the money shows up in our accounts the next day. Slick operation."

She nodded, and then looked deep into his eyes. "Henry," she said, "where is the airstrip the supply planes use to head out?"

"What are you thinking of doing?" he asked slowly, unblinking, his voice small.

"Don't you agree it's better," she said, her smile flashing teeth in the dim light, "if you don't know?"

xXx

Logan snapped the cap off the child proof bottle of pills. One by one, he placed the pills on the pen tray of the easel. Little pink pills. He sighed to himself. "Thank you, Stark," he murmured. The door chime to his room sounded.

Quickly, he grabbed the sheets of newsprint curled over the back of the easel and tugged them down over the sheet with writing. He tossed the bottle on his bed and squinted at the door.

"Ontray Vew," he said.

The door slid open, and an attractive woman with dark hair and large glasses smiled at Logan. "Evening, Logan," she said. "That's almost French."

"Evening, Ms. Potts," he grinned back. "Stark said the French were almost civilized. Somethin I shoot for. I forget to check out again?"

"No, no, nothing like that," she said. "May I come in?"

"Sure," he said with a gesture. "I'm off duty at the moment. Mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all," she said, and she stepped into his rooms. Logan walked over to the wall and flicked a switch. A ventilation system whined to life, and he sat down in a battered but comfortable chair right under the vent. He lit up his cigar and grinned, then gestured at another chair.

"No thanks," Potts said. "I'm working through my to-do list before I get off duty. Just had a few questions."

"Fulla answers," he grinned, and he puffed. The smoke trailed up quickly and vanished into the wall.

"Are you satisfied with your housing?" she asked, gesturing. He glanced around the open living room with the television and game system and kitchenette, the couch, the comfy chair with a vent; a hallway to a bathroom and his bedroom.

"Couldn't be happier," he grinned. "Stark's a prince. I got no windows, but he said I got the run a the place, so I can go outside anytime I want. This deal's workin out just fine."

"A prince, huh," she said. She hesitated for a moment, then rushed on. "What do you think of him as a person?"

"Well," Logan said, grinning, "he's rich, so he's wacko. I don't know we'll ever be buds, but he's done a stand up job by me and I trust him. An he's sharp as a whip, I mean real smart. I'll never figure him out, but long as he does right by me I don't need to. He's given me everything I asked for, and I'm much obliged."

"So you're satisfied?" she said.

"Yep," he nodded, and he dragged on his cigar again. "Even premium smokes."

"Is there a situation with a significant other that we may need to compensate for?"

Logan barked a laugh. "No, fraid not. Been nineteen years since I had a 'significant other' and it just aint worth the bother. Thanks fer askin, though."

She shrugged. "It's my job to fix things before they break," she smiled.

"One helluva job," Logan said, shaking his head. "Night."

"See you around," she said, and she left. The door slid shut behind her.

"Damn Star Trek doors," muttered Logan, and he chuckled to himself. Then he got up and turned several sheets back on the easel.

It was working better than he had hoped. After the first week, the pills had started disappearing, and now ten a week vanished off the easel. More than she needed. So she could have some extras, in case something happened to him. He smiled, and shrugged out of his jumpsuit, pulling on sweats. As he headed for the door, he turned and regarded the bold blocky printing;

Tymaz Nine countermeasure it read, with crude arrows pointing down to the tray. Take one daily.

"Welcome back to the real world," he murmured. "Somewhere. As for me," he grinned, "time for my run." He turned and opened the door; then the console chirped.

"Agent Logan," came the collected voice of the complex operator. "Call for you."

"What the hell," Logan said, closing the door. "I'll take it."