xXx

Kravinoff, Logan, and Natasha stood at the edge of the runway as the small prop plane prepped for takeoff not twenty yards away.

"Take care," Logan said. "Kravinoff, you get her the cure. Thank you for trusting us," he said to her. "I'll sleep better for every person we free from Tymaz Nine."

"Thank you," she said. "We should get going."

Logan shook his head. "I'm gonna stick around here in case the Project decides to give chase or get frisky. Git. Kravinoff, see you in New York. By the time I get there," he added, turning to Natasha, "you'll be long gone."

"Be careful," Kravinoff said. They shook hands, then the two Russians turned and walked towards the plane. Logan watched them go, stood waiting until they pulled up off the runway and soared into the dark sky.

He turned and walked in to the airport. He headed for the elevators, glancing around. Not much going on here this late at night. No people. He stopped, sniffed, stiffened. Stepped around the corner, looking down the hall to the elevators.

Standing in the elevator was a woman, sleek, her flesh smooth and midnight blue. Dark crimson hair fell straight, framing her face. One hand held the "open" button in the elevator, the other pointed a silvered exotic-looking pistol at Logan's chest. He gauged the distance. Thirty feet.

A long, long thirty feet.

"Logan," she said, nodding to him.

"Mystique," he said to the woman who had earlier been Ana.

"I won't forgive Kravinoff for this," she said softly. "Not for stealing the Widow. Or for making me one."

"You an Creed were never married."

"We were as close as I will ever get," she said. "I lost you; fine, these things happen, I got over it, and I still see more of you than I want to. Now I've lost Creed. Times change, seasons change, years pass, but it is hard to lose an era. Every time it is hard." She cleared her throat. "I will never see him again, Logan."

"So you plannin ta shoot me?" he asked softly.

"Only if you require it," she said.

They were quiet for a moment. Her gun did not waver.

"Pretty low," Logan said, "offerin the cure to Tymaz Nine when you don't have it."

"Logan," she said, "the blows that hurt the most are the ones you don't see coming. An ambush in a secured area. The contradiction of your instinct and experience. I got used to the idea that nobody would ever kill Creed. He was too strong, too resilient, and unburdened by honor and sacrifice. You can imagine how I felt when I discovered I was wrong. He was killed by a man. Not some super creature, or weapon, or poison, or explosion. Hewn down in hand to hand combat." She shook her head. "It's hard to adjust, when you find out your senses lie to you, when you were wrong all along, that you're more mortal than you realized."

"I know this is hard for you," Logan said, fumbling for words.

"I do not want your pity," she said, her voice brittle. "That is the business we are in. Perceptions change. Truth shifts. We are not in this business for charity or for enlightenment. Some find it more difficult to change than others, that's all. I've obtained a measure of my revenge," she said, eyes narrowing, "but I'm just getting started."

"What… what do you mean?" Logan asked warily.

She removed her hand from the "open" button on the elevator door. As the door began to slide shut, she reached into her pocket. Pulled out a canister.

Her eyes locked with his as she pumped the small spray, perfuming herself.

Before the scent reached his senses he suddenly understood, his eyes wide.

Brimstone.

The door slid shut as Logan's mind reeled. Project helicopter. Project tracker. The Project had the cure. And he had been deceived.

Trespasser was innocent.

"What have I done," Logan whispered.

His nose told him Garrett stood not far behind him.

He slowly turned to face the Project agent.

"Any questions?" Garrett said.

Logan stared at him for a moment.

Garrett nodded. "You walk away, I walk away. You want to confront, give chase, do battle," Garrett said, looking around, "this is a public place. It'll get messy. Walk away." He nodded. "Walk away."

Logan walked away.

Garrett let him.

xXx

The medical technician removed the needle and put a band-aid on the small pinprick.

"Congratulations," Kravinoff said with a gleaming smile. "You are cured."

She leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes for a moment. Kravinoff could not help but admire the elegant curve of her throat, her delicate jaw, high aristocratic cheekbones, her toned and lithe body.

The door to the medical bay opened, and a dapper executive strolled in. "Ms. Romanova?" he said. "I'm Anthony Stark."

"Pleased to meet you," she said with a small smile, shaking his hand. "We've… done business before. You did not know it," she added with a smile, "but I have both helped and hurt your cause a few times."

"In that case," he said with a grin, "let's hope you'll take advantage of the opportunity to retire."

Kravinoff was surprised to realize he did not like the way she was smiling at Stark. He sighed and shook his head. This I do not need, he thought to himself.

"I'm afraid to invite you to stay for a few days," Stark said, "considering your career."

"I promise to behave myself," she said. "In a few days I'll have some business to conclude before I can go on with my life anyway."

"I would guess I'm happier not knowing about it," Stark said.

"Without question," she nodded.

"I'll be on my way," Kravinoff interrupted.

"Okay," Stark said. "Might want to leave a note for Logan." He smiled at Natasha. "Would you like a tour?" he said.

They left the room together.

Kravinoff let out a deep breath, then glanced around the empty medical bay. For a moment, he felt very alone.

xXx

Dawn.

Logan leaned his back against the post with the pay phone. The other end of the line he was listening to was ringing. Kravinoff picked up, "Hello?"

"Smee, Logan," said Logan. "Everything okay in New York?"

"Natasha is cured, Stark is very friendly with her."

"Hardly a shock," Logan muttered, "Russians invented caviar."

"What?" Kravinoff said.

"Not a thing," Logan said quickly. "Look, I ran into Mystique. I was wrong all along, Kravinoff. The lousy stinkin Project got my copy of the cure for Tymaz Nine." He paused. "You led me right to em, Kravinoff. I have my answer. You owed me a hunt and the identity of the thieves. You got me both. Yer a good man, Kravinoff."

"It's been a pleasure working with you," Kravinoff said. "We will meet again, as friends," he added.

"Yeah," Logan said, and for a moment he was lost for words.

"I am not an easy man to reach," Kravinoff said, "but I will be in touch. Be careful, Logan, be swift and safe."

"One helluva goodbye, I bet you say that to everybody," Logan said.

Kravinoff chuckled. "As you wish. Goodbye, my friend."

"See ya," Logan said, and he hung up. His coins rattled down through the phone. He took a deep breath and looked up into the lightening sky, the colors flaring across the horizon. He took another deep breath.

"Life goes on," he muttered to himself. "Makin mysteries, solvin riddles." He shook his head, and almost smiled. "Had about enough intrigue fer one day."

He sighed. "Spies an ninja an robots, oh my," he said aloud as he started walking. He lit a cigar. "Maybe," he said to himself, "I'll win the next one."

The sun rose, the city woke up, and Logan disappeared.