May 5, 2002

"How'd you sleep?" the trim man asked as he watched the gently glowing monitor over what looked like a tanning bed.

"Fine, thanks," replied the woman with dark, iridescent hair. She peered at the monitor. "Any change?"

"Yes, he's responding to the gel treatment," the man said. "He should pull through fine, with very minimal scarring." He looked at her. "Then what is your plan, Ms. Braddock?"

"I don't know what to do when he is healed," she admitted.

"He could be a great asset to Stark International, if he's as powerful a psion as you say."

Braddock looked him in the eye. "Not if you want to keep control of your company, Mr. Stark." She sighed and shook her head. "You're sure the sedatives in his atmosphere will keep him unconscious until he is ready to be released? It might be a bit shocking to wake up in there. He probably has a great fear of becoming a test subject. Most of us do."

"He could really make me do whatever he wanted and I wouldn't be able to protect myself?" Stark asked, more softly than he intended to.

She looked him right in the eye and said nothing.

He shivered slightly.

xXx

Logan leaned against the wall, looking out the window, waiting. He glanced at the mirror at the end of the hall, and faced himself grinning. His hair swooped up away from his head with the same defiance it had shown as far back as he could remember. He smoothed it down and back. It popped up. He smoothed it down and back. It popped up.

Just then, the door opened and Logan turned. A slim, attractive Asian woman stepped out, a trim athletic executive right behind her.

"Logan!" the woman said. "Good to see you." She gave him a hug. "How did you know I was here?"

"I was just walkin down the hallway mindin my own business when bam, I walked right through yer scent hangin in the air not five minutes old. Had ta follow, see if it was you or if there was gonna be a problem." He grinned broadly, then looked at the man by her side. "Shoulda told me she was comin, Stark."

"Not my job," Stark said, half serious. "I've got some work to attend to. Would you mind giving Ms. Braddock a tour of the facility?"

"I'd be delighted to," Logan said, "if she thinks she wants to see all yer techno toys."

"Not all of them," Stark corrected quickly.

Logan shrugged. "Hell, any of em."

Braddock laughed. "Lead the way."

They strolled down the hall away from Stark, turning onto an enclosed elevated walkway. "Yer in the medical wing," Logan said, his voice subdued, "and I'm sure you know that. Anything I should know about?"

"Is this part of the tour, Logan?" she asked, amusement in her eyes.

"Yeah, we grill all the visitors this way, somethin about corporate espiosomthinerother Stark goes on and on about," Logan said, half grinning. "You okay?" he added softly.

"I'm fine, Logan," she nodded. "I'll tell you about it later."

He shrugged. "Okay. Later. So what do you want to see? The hydroponics lab," he began, ticking off the locations on his fingers, "the microcircuitry facility, research and development, which is otherwise known as the Wacky Wing—"

"The Wacky Wing?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"By me, anyway," he shrugged, not missing a beat. "Metallurgy development, chemical analysis, disease control center, and, a course, the lunchroom."

"Do you live on site?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am. I'm in the dorm wing."

"You didn't say anything about the dorm wing," she noted.

"That's on account a I gotta kill anybody who sees the secrets down there," he said solemnly.

"I'll take my chances. I'm curious to know what kind of home you've found in the midst of all this," she said, gesturing at the complex.

"Fair enough," he grinned, and they walked without further comment down through the administrative building and out onto the grounds.

"You can reach about anywhere through tunnels if you know what yer doin," he said. "Me, I like to get out now and then. Keep up my tan."

They moved through a lobby, took an elevator down underground, and walked down a long hallway lined with doors. Logan stopped in front of one of the doors. "Home sweet home," he said. He pressed the door's "open" panel and gestured for her to step in.

She did, looking around. This room was cooler than the hallway; he had left the conditioner running. The room was meticulously neat, if not dusted. She saw a large framed picture of a gazebo on the wall, and an easel with a pad of newsprint covered with silly scribbles. A battered, comfortable chair was firmly in place under a vent to the outside. Next to her was a table with two chairs, and there was a mini kitchen. A hall led back to the bedroom.

"Here we are," Logan said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "This is my home away from home."

"I like the cabin better," she said absently, "but this has definitely been made into your space."

"Yep," he said. "Um. Hey, you hungry?" he asked brightening.

"Sure," she replied, a smile growing. "Are you on duty right now?"

"I'm special measures," Logan said, trotting over to the kitchenette. "I'm plan b, not plan a."

"Speaking of which?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Far as I know, Remy's fine. We split up on the Louisiana border." Logan shrugged. "I never heard somebody whine for so many consecutive hours before. When I had a kid—" he stopped abruptly, then shook his head. "Remy's about as mouthy as they come. At least Creed shuts up when it's time fer business." He opened the cabinet and pulled out a skillet, then he opened another cabinet and pulled out a can of beans; from the refrigerator, barbecue sauce and hot dogs, from the cupboard, molasses.

He paused, looking over at Braddock, his eyes unreadable. "Thanks fer comin with me, down to pull his fat outta the fire. After we blew up Xavier's house, I… I wondered if I'd see you again. You gave me that phone number, to call if I needed you. I was glad. I was glad I got an excuse to call. Cause, you know…" he trailed off, awkward, unsure of how to finish.

"It was my pleasure to answer your call," Braddock said. "It always will be." They regarded each other, and the moment glinted as it spun between them.

The door chimed. "Yeah," Logan barked.

A hulking man opened the door and filled its aperture. "Logan, have you—" he began, and he saw Braddock. "Oh, excuse me, I did not know that you had company."

"Elizabeth Braddock, meet Piotr Rasputin. Pete, this is Betsy." He grimaced as he fought with the can opener, trying to get into the can of beans. "Damn techno toys everywhere you look, can't turn around without trippin over one, but they can't make a decent can opener." He shook his head at the state of things.

"You are Logan's… friend?" Rasputin said, raising an eyebrow. He stepped into the room and the door closed behind him. At six and a half feet tall, he towered over the other two. His body was trim and massive at the same time, with no wasted space. His jaw was square, his eyes bright, and his hair dark and slicked back. He was handsome and athletic and confident.

She narrowed her eyes. "I am his friend," she said. Piotr nodded knowingly. He looked over at the counter where Logan had finally cranked the lid off the can of beans. Piotr groaned.

"You are not going to allow him to stew a toxic mess again are you?" he groaned. "Human beings should not place such poisons and trash in their bodies. I am an athlete, and you are a work of art. Such as we should not sully our bodies with his… his… what is the word… concoction."

"I take it he doesn't like beans n franks?" Braddock asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Logan set his jaw and started cutting up the hot dogs.

"Not only that," he growled, "he made fun a my mash. My mash, Betsy."

"You didn't like his mash?" she asked Rasputin, surprised.

"In Russia," he said loftily, "we have many uses for the noble potato. Each of them is insulted by his creation."

"Lissen ta that, willya," Logan grumbled. "Noble potato?"

"You must love him," Rasputin said in good humor, "if you can stomach the garbage he makes."

Logan turned and looked him in the eye. "Ruskies otta know," he gritted out, "what a bad idea it is to fight a war on two fronts. You mess with my food, fine, but leave her outa this."

Rasputin looked at her. "Your accent is English," he said, "but you look Asian. Chinese, perhaps? Are you from Hong Kong?"

"I prefer my cloak of mystery," she said with a disarming smile.

His expression darkened. "In this facility there are many secrets. If we are to trust you here, you must not dissemble."

"Dissemble means to lie and deceive, ya meathead," Logan said, turning to face him. "She's just witholdin information. She's here on Stark's leave and her credibility is good on my say-so. Stand down, Rasputin. Yer dead last in the line a people who should bring up trust." For a long moment their eyes met.

Rasputin smiled at him fondly. "The little mongoose is jumpy today," he said.

"Perhaps you should go," Braddock noted, her voice quiet and impossible to fight with, her eyes bright. Rasputin glanced at her, noticed the threads of purple flaring in her irises.

"Enjoy your lunch," he said with a charming smile. "I will be seeing you," he said to Braddock.

He left. It was quiet for a long moment. The hot dogs started to sizzle.

"Cultural issues," Braddock said sagely.

"Yeah," Logan muttered, his voice tight.

She sighed. "Relax, Logan. He left. Let him go."

"I know," he said. "That damned Ruskie hits my buttons, though." He looked at her sideways. She smiled at him.

"Okay," he said, letting out a breath. "I made this rule. Never make franks n beans while angry. End up with too much pepper and molasses."

"That sounds like a good rule," she agreed.

xXx

His eyes snapped open. His mind, fogged and hampered by the drugs and chemicals, reached out. Simple chemicals and drugs were not enough to stop him; over the years he had studied biofeedback to purge poisons from his system, to alert him when certain thresholds were crossed in his physiology. Someone had drugged him. And the horrible, horrible pain was still racing through his nerves; was this it? Had he been caught?

He sensed a sleepy mind nearby, slipped into it; so clumsy, the pain and drugs made him clumsy. A technician. Watching over his life signs. Some sort of healing gel bath; that must be why his limbs wouldn't move.

If he could have, he would have nodded. Satisfactory. Ms. Braddock had indeed taken him to safety. He prepared to meditate to speed his healing. But first… he reached out with his mind once more.

xXx

Braddock and Logan headed for Stark's office. "I hope you had a good time," Logan said. "It sure was a surprise seein you today. If you hadn't showed up, I would have spent the day under the chemical lab learning all the subcorridors and access hatches. Stark thinks I know more about the ins and outs of this installation than any other single person, including himself. Hey," he shrugged, "if we get attacked I want ta make the most of my home field advantage." He fired up a cigar.

"Sounds like you've found your niche as special security," she said.

"Yeah, and when I'm done here I'm gonna check out some of his remote sites, help them guard against infiltration and stuff," he said. "Here we are." He opened the door and walked into the reception area for Stark's office. "Hey Nancy, seen Pepper or Stark?"

The receptionist looked up with poorly concealed distaste. "Mr. Stark is in his office. I'll let him know you're here," she said. She picked up the phone and turned away. "And no smoking."

"Hardly welcoming," Braddock noted. "Aren't you an employee here?"

"Stark picks em for their cold shoulders," Logan shrugged. He bit the glowing tip off the cigar and quickly swallowed it. "Save it for later," he said, tucking the cigar into his pocket. "Stark doesn't like getting bothered in his office by anybody who can't bypass this layer of security. Don't tell her that, though." He grinned.

"You may go on in," the receptionist said. Logan strolled through the door.

Stark sat at his desk, his eyes unfocused, a vague look of dismay on his face.

"You okay, boss?" Logan asked while Braddock narrowed her eyes and looked deeper.

"He says he's started nicely, but he's in a lot of pain," Stark said to Braddock. "I've never felt anything like that before."

"He can open your thoughts like you'd open a computer file," Braddock said. "And make changes."

Logan's eyes widened. "Xavier? You brought Xavier here?" he snapped, looking back and forth from Braddock to Stark.

"You have a history with him?" Stark asked.

"Well, sir, you bet I do. I infiltrated his fancy house in the mountains and rescued Betsy and blew the place up. He was trapped underground fer days. I imagine he prolly holds a bit of a grudge." Logan scowled. "I sure as hell do. He was mind controllin Betsy here."

Stark looked at Braddock, who did not look back. "Forge," she said. "There is a man named Forge. He is the only one I know who can make technology that shields against psions."

"Not for long," Stark said, his eyes thoughtful. "I bet Xavier could teach me enough about how his mind works for me to devise a technological countermeasure." He was suddenly very quiet, his eyes distant, his mind working. Logan heaved a deep sigh.

"Vipers cuddled up to yer bosom, Stark," he muttered. "Between cue ball and tin man yer gonna make this place a regular snake pit."

"I suspect they feel the same way about you, my friend," Stark said, looking directly at Logan. He stood. "Well, Ms. Braddock, thank you for making sure we have things under control. When does your flight leave?"

"This evening," she said, looking at the floor.

"Yer leavin so soon?" Logan asked, raising his eyebrows. "Tell ya what, stick around for a while longer and we'll save you all kindsa time by just flyin in ta where you want to go with one of Stark's planes."

"Logan," Stark said with a pained expression, "I do wish you wouldn't take such liberties with my personal property. The last plane you borrowed didn't make it back."

"It's fine," she said, smiling at Logan and Stark. "I need to take the airplane from the airport. I think I'm being followed, and it's simple enough to keep track of Stark assets if you're connected and clever."

"Some of them, anyway," Stark amended.

"The planes," Logan nodded.

Stark gave him a look. Logan didn't notice.

"I was thinking about catching supper before I head to the airport," she said. "Would you gentlemen care to join me?"

"Sure," Logan said quickly. He glanced at Stark.

Stark smiled. "I'd love to, but I have some appointments and some other business to take care of. I need to get to bed by midnight, tomorrow is a busy day. Another time."

"Another time," she nodded.

"Be back," Logan said with a brief wave. "Mind if I take a car?"

Stark sighed. "Take a car."

xXx

"I think that's a dangerous place for you, Logan," Braddock said, idly stirring her ice water with her straw.

"Yep," Logan agreed. "You gonna tell me where you're going? Or who's after you? You need somebody to watch yer six." He clamped his jaw shut.

She looked into his eyes, and she saw what he was asking. What he would not ask. She looked down at her drink. "I just don't think you see the dangers at Stark International." She shifted, her evasion uncomfortable.

He sat back, stretching his legs out under the table. He glanced around, oblivious to the afternoon heat of the sidewalk café. The heat was enough to drive most of the patrons inside, so they had this corner of the café all to themselves. "I know about some of the danger," he said, almost to himself. "I almost left Stark not long ago. He convinced me to stay."

"How?" she asked. "If I'm not prying."

He chuckled. "I can't begin to go into why that's funny. He needs me, Bets."

"For security?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not from companies and goons, but… the Project made a grab at his stuff and they made a regular mess of the place. Still, I'm not talking about that kind of security." His eyes wandered the street. "You grew up rich, right?" he said.

"Yes," she affirmed warily.

He shook his head. "I will never, ever understand rich people. Maybe you will. Stark, he got everything he wanted. Spoiled him rotten. Now he is coming under fire from lotsa places at once, and he… he needs… me, I guess," Logan shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know how to explain it." He looked at her for a quiet moment. "I guess it feels good to be needed."

"Not only did I grow up rich, I grew up English," she said, a hint of amusement under her voice. Logan glanced at her sideways. "Let's say I know of a way to understand Stark. In the modern age, he's the Lord of the Manor. He protects his territory while ruling over his charges with a firm but benevolent hand." He sipped her drink.

Logan mulled that over for a moment. "So… that makes me his knight in shining armor?" he grinned.

"Sure," Braddock said, her eyes meeting his. "You wear yours on the inside."

"Cut it out," Logan chuckled. "Yer gonna make me blush. Lords of the manor," he mused. "Do they ever suit up for battle?"

"All the time," she said. "They led their troops to the battlefields. They had some of the most elaborate armor of all."

"Damn straight," Logan muttered under his breath. "Hey, when do you need to get to the airport?"

"I can walk from here," she said. "I don't have any luggage."

There was quiet for a moment.

"I hate turnin loose of you this quick," Logan said.

"I'll be back," she promised, her bright eyes fixed on him. "Count on it."