"Hello, darlin'."

"Oh, it's—it's you again."

"It's me. Just like it's you."

There are moments throughout a man's life where he, upon having time to properly reflect, wonders if he made the right choices. Not all of these choices are obviously life-changing, of course; they are the simple instances, oftentimes an innocuous decision that ripples across a pond, in a chain of causality. Logan Black stood, leaning back against the outside walls of the precinct, thinking about the choices that lead him to this moment, talking to Cassandra Porter's daughter once again.

"You look...different," she said, and man, wasn't that just a pot calling the kettle moment? No more hot little sparkly black dress; this time she wore jeans, chucks and an oversized ECU sweatshirt, looking very much like the college co-ed that she was. Her red curls were tied back into a loose ponytail and her big emerald eyes were gazing up at him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she dyed her hair and wore contacts.

"So do you," he said, and he smiled at her, a genuine smile, because damn, she was just so pretty and he couldn't help himself even if he wanted to.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, and her full lips curved up in a smile to mirror his own, though her narrowed eyes told him she was suspicious and on guard. Smart girl.

"Oh, y'know, just catchin' up with old friends. Waitin' for my uber now." He felt the urge to light a cigarette, but fought it. He wouldn't smoke in front of her, he decided. He didn't like her negative judgement. "What's brought you here?"

"Bringing my mom some leftovers."

"Well, ain't that sweet of you."

She got closer to him now, and once again he felt a twinge of surprise at her boldness. "What's with the get-up? Didn't take you for an atheleisure kind of man."

"Hmm. You watch the local news later on, you might find out."

"So you're not going to tell me?"

"Don't like to trouble pretty women with violent stories."

This time she threw her head back and laughed, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her neck, the hollow of her throat. He bet she would taste feminine and soft and divine.

"I'm not some fragile little girl, Mr. Black," and she was right next to him now, her head level with his chest, and if he leaned down just right, he could kiss her and send her into a fit if he wanted to.

"Never said you were, darlin'."

"But you don't think I can handle knowing the real reason you're here. You're pretty patronizing, you know; and I'm not your 'darlin'' or 'sweetheart' or whatever."

God, she was so cute, even as mad as she was right now. Maybe if he had met her sixteen years ago, he wouldn't have volunteered to get shot at; wouldn't have gotten blown up sky-high; wouldn't have started painting houses for the Old Man. But that's not what happened, and he was here now, and much too old and poisonous for a girl like her. Choices; causality.

Fate.

"What's got you all riled up?"

"You. " She was poking him in the chest now, in his space and completely fearless, and he had to focus on not letting his jaw drop at her audacity.

"Gettin' pretty handsy with a man you don't know. Oughta be more careful, especially 'round here. Would probably be difficult to explain to your friends in there." Dammit all, he wanted to touch her too; wanted to touch her about as much as he wanted to light up a cigarette. He did neither.

"I know you plenty, Logan Black."

"Oh, do you now? What exactly do you know, hmm? Enlighten me."

"I know enough." The hand was splayed on his chest now, like she and him were lovers, and had been lovers for years. She looked regal in the orange light of the afternoon sun, and if he unfocused his eyes, he could see a platinum crown atop her head. Nonsense , he told himself. She's just a girl. A girl like any other girl, even if her looks were particularly striking. Yet she was throwing him off balance, and he was letting her, and damn, when was the last time he ever let anyone push and pull him around like that? She's just a girl and you're only a man.

Not some ancient god. A flesh and blood human man, who's made choices and stands at the edge of hell's gate every day. Soiled. Not a man she should have any business talking to or flirting with, and yet—

"Your momma tell you everything she does, everything she sees?" He was whispering, he realized. Was he angry with her? This didn't feel like anger. Frustration, maybe. She was teasing him, and he wasn't sure if he was a fan of it or not.

"None of your business."

"Well, then, same to you."

They stared at each other, her green eyes giving away nothing, and again he felt the urge to kiss her. Get a hold of yourself, you pervert.

The black BMW pulled up, and Logan could see his driver Misha eying the girl curiously. "That's my ride."

"Of course it is."

"Tell you what," Logan said, rolling his shoulders and grinning like a fool. "You come to the club tonight, we'll have a real chat. Whatever you want to talk about. Whaddya say?"

"It's a school night," she said, but she was smiling too, the little hellion.

"Didn't stop you before," he said, waving his hand dismissively. He could feel her looking at him, and could tell by Misha's puzzled expression that he was still smiling like an idiot, despite everything.

"Who is girl?"

"His wife, Misha." Logan clutched his knees tightly at the sound of the voice. Damn Grim Reaper was in the car with him, right next to him in the back seat.

"Boss?"

"Just a girl, Misha. If you ever need to know, I'll tell you."

"Wow, Your Grace, not even going to bother to introduce me to your driver? C'mon, don't give me that look. Even when you were mighty, that glower never worked on me. I'm Death itself, remember? What are you worried about—oh, the driver? He won't notice a thing. Speak your mind, Hades."

Suddenly and as if by command, Logan felt a sharp, stabbing sensation pierce through his chest.

Fuck, he thought. "What did you do to me?"

Death rolled his pale eyes, crossed his skinny arms. "Just reignited what was left of your immortal soul. It's going to hurt for a while. It's supposed to."

"I feel like I'm having a fucking heart attack." Logan held his chest. It really, really hurt; so much so he thought his heart was going to burst. God, he couldn't breathe.

"Relax, it's just a panic attack. You numbed yourself for so long, anything beyond rage is going to hurt like a bitch. Sorry, Boss. It is what it is."

"Fuck you, you little shit!" If he had the strength, he would've lunged towards the kid and choked him out, but pain and panic kept him seated in place even as a nightmare engulfed him.

Bullets whizzing through the air; the acrid smell of gunpowder. The heat; the unrelenting heat of the sun's rays bearing down across the desert like a concentrated laser. The heaviness of his flak and kevlar helmet.

The lieutenant was dead. Just one squad of twelve men left. Ambush—they'd been ambushed. Blood stained the walls and flowed through the streets in small rivers. He carried a private on his back.

Heavy. Everything was so heavy. He could barely move. He set the kid down—the young man was only eighteen, looking up at him with doe eyes, frightened beyond anything.

"Gunny, am I gonna die?"

"No," Logan said, not knowing what else to say. Kid's leg had been blown off; Logan had already placed two tourniquets on him, and he was so pale. And his eyes—"Hansen. Hansen. Look at me, private."

But Private Hansen couldn't look at him anymore, because he was dead.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Logan screamed, as loud as he could, so hard his lungs burned, all the while Death sat beside him, motionless.

"Like I said, Boss, it was going to hurt you way more than it was going to hurt me."

And like that he was back in the car, clutching his chest. "Just kill me already," Logan breathed, desperate. The pain was unbearable, traveling out from a singular dense point in his chest to the rest of his body. He was right on the edge of vomiting.

"We've been over this before, Boss. I'm not here to kill you; I'm here to set you free. But you've dug a very deep hole for yourself and getting out of it is going to hurt. The human heart can only take so much darkness before it withers, so be glad you're only mostly human."

"Fuck you," Logan spat. "I didn't ask for you to come into my life and...and turn me into this."

"Ah, so you're acknowledging that I'm real. Progress."

"I'll acknowledge whatever the fuck you want if you'll just take this poison out of me."

"Boss, Boss, Boss—it's not poison. It's pain. And that pain is yours; it's not mine to give you or take from you. It's yours to acknowledge and to move past."

Logan leaned forward and gagged, simultaneously relieved and disturbed when nothing came up. "Why did you do this to me?" he asked, feeling completely drained.

"I told you already, Boss: the clock is ticking, and we need you to wake up."