(Three)
"No," Logan complained, trying fruitlessly to move away.
"No, what?" Asher asked softly.
"This is all bullshit."
"Is it? Surely you recognized yer own voice screamin' at ya? Didn'cha hear the truth of it?"
Wolverine couldn't argue. If the sharp bitter memory of his own face shouting torrents of bitter abuse and insults at Wild Child was familiar enough, seeing Jael had to be true as well. He looked down into the pale blue eyes of Wild Child's distorted cougar's face, seeing only the quiet desperation of one simply waiting to die. In spite of Logan being educated, all Famayalin still wanted was the ice cold of Logan's metal claws separating his head from his neck. It was probably the only sure way he could die. Kill me, those eyes were demanding. / I'm trash. I know it, you know it. Let's just do the world a favor, huh? C'mon, do it.
"Either let me up or finish this," Wolverine grumbled to Asher, turning away. He couldn't look in those eyes any more.
"As ya wish."
Wild Child was liberated from the cell and taken to Jael's lair. If he thought he was going to be returned to civilized society, he was sadly mistaken. He was put in a nice roomy cave with a door made of bars, keeping him from escaping. He didn't mind the confinement all that much, not for long. Jael had freed him with a purpose in mind, one that Wild Child was happy enough to fulfill. His new name was Grog (a private joke on Jael's part) and he was, simply put, Jael's little garbage disposal. Jael had been going around collecting mutants for his army and they all had their special jobs to do. The Dognan warrior had recognized in Wild Child a hunter, one who might enjoy the taste of human flesh. Anyone who crossed the terrorist was punished by being fed to Grog who happily complied with his new master's wishes.
Grog had no reason to argue. He had more space than his previous prison cell, wasn't tortured, and hey, the food was better. Here he was allowed to hunt his prey freely with no punishment to follow. They didn't even bother to hose him down afterwards. They wanted him to stink, it added to the fear factor and he was mentally too far gone to care. His hair grew wild and before long, he had a long scraggly beard, full of bones and old food.
Here was fresh meat, and plenty of it. The men he hunted down and feasted on. The women, well, he took them sexually and with the same brutal force he had his previous rapes, never seeing them as anything other than what they were to him - things to be enjoyed before being consumed. Their screams meant nothing to him, he could have cared less that they suffered. These memories made Logan sick to his stomach. As animalistic as he was, he had never once found pleasure in taking a woman by force. He had murdered men for less.
When there weren't any available prisoners for him to eat, Jael, being anti-human, gleefully fed Grog as many human children as he could steal. Wolverine knew Jael was evil incarnate, but this was an extreme he had never before seen. He wanted to rip and shred and tear Jael's body to pieces, but that job had already been performed by someone else. All he could do now was simply deal and keep watching.
Before long, the floor of Grog's lair was littered with the bones of his meals and ripe with the smell of decay and excrement. Hell had found him indeed and he reveled in it.
Sometimes, if Jael was feeling especially sociable, he might watch as Grog hunted down his prey, praising his beast when the job was done. Jael never stayed to watch him eat, it was simply more than he could stand, but the hunt brought out the savage in him. That was fun, oh yes. Especially when one of those victims had been personal, as he watched the Clansman Joseph scream for a mercy that never came.
"Mutherfucker!" Logan swore. Joseph had come home with the X-men when they had originally been kidnapped by the Dognan. The man had not been pleasant, but that didn't mean he deserved to die like some kind of animal. Joseph had run away from the X-men's mansion and disappeared though they had suspected this was where he had ended up. Here now was their proof.
Logan's grumbling didn't stop then. No, it accelerated when he was next given the memory of when he and the X-men had stormed Jael's lair looking for the terrorist. Logan had gotten separated from the team and here now was a nice little playback of something he had missed. Cyclops, the team's field leader, and his wife Jean had gone looking for Jael and found Grog's cave instead.
Grog, clever thing that he was, used the cries of his latest meal - a small child - to lure the X-men inside his lair. Cyclops would never refuse the cries of a child pleading for rescue. He recklessly charged inside where Grog pounced on him. Here was that oh so satisfying squeal of pain as Grog slashed Cyclops down the side, ripping him open with his claws.
Logan and Cyclops had never gotten along and for a moment, there was some shared deep satisfaction in hearing the man curse and fumble about in the dark as he bled. As much as Wolverine disliked Scott, he wasn't thrilled for long with hearing his teammate cry out in pain. It was the protector in him. He didn't like to see any of his team mates harmed. Of course poor Grog once more got his as he was dragged out by Cyclops' powerful and telekinetic wife, Jean, and was next smashed into a wall.
Logan watched next as some of Jael's other followers came to rescue him from her, feeling Kyle's intense disappointment even as Grog hid his despair and went along. What would have been more divine than to have that fiery redheaded woman be the one to finally set him free of this life? Oh, well. Once more Kyle loses. What a shame.
Wolverine grumbled to himself. He had been told about Grog when the team had debriefed after that mission, but no one had made the connection to Wild Child. Why would they? He hadn't been heard of in years. In this world of many mutants, ferals were a dime a dozen, really.
Grog was shipped off to another lair, another cave, another dull and empty nightmare. Years passed, time lost in a haze of blood and darkness. He was losing what little there was left of himself and he was down to just the most basic levels of existence - hunt, eat, sleep, masturbate once in a while for kicks. Just when he thought it couldn't get any better than this, he was dragged out for a final little show.
He found himself being led into a big room with a small group of people standing around a strange machine. Jael had constructed something and they were all here to admire it. Grog was pleased, he was being allowed to join in, he wasn't forgotten. His sense of joy kept him from taking in the whole scene. There was also a long, automated examining table with restraining straps. The machine was actually an enormous gun on a stand that pointed towards it, waiting.
They lured Grog to the table with meat, laughing. Grog, in his befuddled feral state, didn't get it right away but Logan sure did. This was going to be a treat, the crowd was saying. Yes, they were watching gleefully as Jael's little freak was captured, pinned down and strapped in. This brought back painful memories of Weapon X and Grog howled in protest, his cries lost on the crowd. The table he was on was raised in line with the gun that Jael had pointed at it. The gun was strange and most likely of Dognan design, large enough to be a cannon, Logan could now see. By the time it sank into Grog's tiny childlike mind that he was really fucked now, it was much too late to stop it.
The gist of this was that Jael needed a test subject for his new invention and Grog would serve as well as any other. Logan watched them all laugh again as the gun was activated and a horrible burning energy blasted through Grog's body, stripping away all the fine work that Weapon X had done, leaving only a ragged scrap of flesh in its place.
Wolverine could feel the energy come, felt it as Grog's pure animal strength was drained away. That horrible suffocating feeling as his extra senses become muted. Grog squealed in confusion and pain but no one cared. He was just a thing, an object to be used. Unreal, unloved. Nothing.
It was soon done, the redness passed and the pain was gone. Grog hung in his straps, helpless and exhausted. He was unclipped from the table and he fell to the floor in a ruined heap. Jael, his benefactor for so long, came to him. He said soft words, offering comfort, and Grog responded, falling towards him. Obviously there had been some kind of mistake and he would forgive the Master, yes. Just so long as he could go back to his cave and sleep, he was so tired now.
It wasn't to be. Quick as wink, Jael cut him, slicing him across the chest with a knife he'd had hidden. "Tell me if it heals," Jael commanded to a nearby doctor and left.
For Grog, the pain was unbelievable. It came without the itch of healing he had taken for granted for so long. What he did get was a fierce sense of betrayal. What had he done to deserve this? Wasn't he the perfect pet, always willing to please?
Grog was taken to a small cage in the lab and examined every hour for the next two days. The injury didn't heal at all, in fact the doctor was forced to stitch it or the boy would've prematurely bled to death. The blood wouldn't even coagulate and the wound became infected, giving Jael his answer. His invention worked. His gun would remove the gifts of any mutant placed before it. Satisfied, Jael had Grog brought to him once more. "You've been an excellent test subject, Grog. What a fine lad you've been."
Grog snarled at him and spat, furious at his terrible treatment.
Jael just kicked him and nodded to the group waiting behind him. "Kill him and dump the body in the City."
The others come, all wanting a turn. Razel, Jael's second in command was there with a sneer, "I've wanted to do this for so long..." He gave Grog three savage kicks to the ribs, breaking bones, and let another take his place.
It hurt but Grog was not entirely displeased. He was going to die now and that at least would be good. He groaned in complaint only when the beating stopped and he was still alive. They thought he was dead, but he wasn't, not yet. It didn't matter, he would be soon, the dark grey dim coming for him had told him so. He felt himself being lifted and dumped into a sack. Blackness came and he later woke when his body hit cold, wet pavement. For the first time in years, he heard the sounds of cars and people and realized he was now outside. They had no further use for him now so they dumped him in an alley just like the rest of the trash. That was okay, he didn't really mind, not anymore. Not with death so close.
Back in the holding cell, Logan looked down on Wild Child's face. The boy had closed his eyes and tears were leaking out. But was there just the faintest of smiles on his face? "What's he so happy about?" he asked Asher, confused.
Asher just smiled. "Famayalin is about to relive the only time he wuz ever happy. Too bad it didn't last vera long."
Grog looked up when he saw a bright shimmering light come towards him. Reaching through the rain and garbage, a slender white hand came out to touch him. "There you is, just like the spirits said ya would be."
Grog laughed at the voice, it was so very kind and loving as if an angel had come to take him up to Heaven. "Mrr! T-takes me!"
The hand obeyed, yanking him up close. Grog looked up into the bright green eyes of Skye and smiled drunkenly. He never questioned it when the angel leaned in to kiss him and then he was filled with a great peace and love as Skye blasted him with his Kundatesh empathy, blowing his mind and taking away all of his pain. Oh, yes, Grog couldn't help but think. He couldn't quite make it to Heaven in this condition so it must have come down to him. Nothing had ever felt as good as this.
"Calls me Master," the angel demanded.
"Mrr! Master!" Grog croaked happily and blacked out.
He woke hours later only to discover he was somehow still alive. Or at least it must be so. He was still in this body at least and it was hurting again. The Kundatesh Skye had used had worn off. Grog had been cleaned and placed on a bed, covered up all warm and cozy. He started to whimper from the pain and the angel came back to him, bringing water and soft comforting kisses that were more powerful than words could ever have been. Grog didn't fight it when he was once more blasted with that great love and all his pain faded away. Never had he been kissed like this and he offered no resistance even though the angel seemed to be a man. Grog had never seen an angel before and knew even less about them, but who was he to argue with one who so clearly wanted to help him?
Fueled by his victim's apparent ease with his new situation, the angel embraced him and then yes, he was turned onto his side. Grog was groggy indeed, high, but not so high not to realize that things were not quite as they seemed. This angel was hugging him and then, then, the guy was penetrating him, stabbing into him painfully with a blunted weapon hard as steel. When it finally occurred to the boy what was going on, that this wasn't exactly the version of Heaven he had expected, he thrashed in protest and fear. This stupid angel was fucking him? Fucking him like everyone else had done! Using him for their own sick pleasure! Was he being tricked now? What the hell!
"Shush now, this is fer the healin'," the angel whispered into his ear with that soft and silky voice, all the while still holding him down.
Being restrained only intensified Grog's fear and suspicion and he thrashed, trying to escape. As he moved, his many broken bones ground roughly together and he cried out again in real pain. Betrayal again! He snarled, angry now but was next pacified with a wave of Kundatesh, of a love so brilliant it stupefied him.
The angel began to whisper to him words of honey that killed his fear. Grog was gone, there was only Kyle back again and then came another name. "Oh, my good Famayalin. M' Little Lion. How sweet ya are. Kin ya feels me inside of ya? Lovin' ya?"
"Mmrr!" he protested, not exactly in agreement.
"Just relax now. See? That's better. Yer so fine. So tight and fine. Such a tasty little alpha, yes," Skye purred, using his slang term for mutants. "Feels me now. Feel m' love fer you. Let it come an' you'll feels no more pain an' fear. That's it. Such a good boy. What a fine lion yer gonna be."
Lion? What the fuck did that mean? The boy thrashed with renewed fear and that was when it happened, the strangest thing he had ever seen. Red, sparkling glitter came from those glowing hands and cascaded over his skin. If he had thought the Kundatesh was good, this was something on a whole new scale. The sensation was indescribable. Glorious heat and pleasure flooded his brain and shot right through his body right where the angel had been hurting him most, making him jerk and climax violently with a roar, a lion indeed. It was the hardest he had ever cum in his life. It was also more than he could stand – he gasped, shuddered with ecstatic aftershocks, and then flooded with love and bliss on a scale he had never known before, simply passed out.
Wolverine, now experiencing this himself, was torn. Once more he was confronted with rape and it angered him, but this wasn't a matter of torture. No, this was a whole new thing entirely. He had heard Gambit, a man who had taken more than one of these Siskans for a spin or two, whisper softly at times about empathic sex, teasing gently that it was like having an orgasm on Crack. Only such a bizarre description could be so apt.
Being a creature of senses himself, Wolverine was painfully aware of just how much Grog had enjoyed this. When Grog later awoke, this mysterious angel took him again and again, using this new magic each and every time. Grog, now Famayalin, never fought back once, not since that first time. This was a whole new thing, something the kid had no real reason to fight. The actual act of sex had been obliterated by the sensory input, by the shivers of pleasure tearing right through him.
Logan was forced at this point to take a step back and really think this out. Skye was using pleasure as a weapon and what a fine weapon it was indeed. This kid's previous sexual experiences had all been tainted by violence from the beginning. He had started out in the streets molested by filthy men, giving blow jobs for money just to survive, not because it was anything he had ever enjoyed. Later, when he finally broke out from Weapon X, he had essentially lost his virginity by savagely raping and beating a woman to death. There was no doubt about the boy's orientation, after that first time with a woman, the kid had never expressed a sexual interest in a man. The men Jael had tossed to him as Grog were always hunted and then eaten, never messed with. The women however, Grog had raped each and every one. Now Skye was teaching him something new - that sex could come without beatings and blows and blood. As screwed up as Skye was, he was at the same time curing and reshaping the boy's mind into something better.
And not just his mind, as he watched over and over again, Logan could feel Famayalin's animal sense of hearing and scent come back alive, a thrill just as great as the waves of love stroking the hurt inner child that had raged within. This had to be the same experience Remy had had with Kimble — no wonder Gambit's head had turned for a short time. This was intoxicating and terribly, terribly addicting to poor shattered Famayalin lost in its spell.
Famayalin was bombarded with pure pleasure, coupled with that soft and lovely voice. One that promised him love and comfort. This angel was his friend, would be his Master. Famayalin was finally loved and important, desired and accepted for who he was, as he was. He had a job to fulfill, the angel told him, and they would do it together. They would slay the evil man Jael and free the world. Famayalin could care less about that. What he craved was the love. It made him drunk, it made him high, it made him cum harder than he ever had before, blacking him out every time.
And that was the thing, you know? The more this happened, the better he felt. Stronger. As the days passed, he could hear, smell, and see like he had before, but it came without the harsh demands of a military environment or a cave full of dead people's bones. There was an itch in his legs, but it didn't hurt. Not even when they began to change shape. It was the same with his face. His teeth were growing and his nose was moving out, becoming cat like and accommodating his new fangs. The madness that had clouded his brain for so long was fading quickly, killing his great anger and despair and leaving him all the more receptive to Skye's overtures of love.
And there were overtures, indeed. Skye was relentless in his seduction. First he healed Famayalin's body, and then his heart. He lavished attention on the boy, washing him with painstaking care, massaging those poor aching muscles until the bruises were gone. Skye cooked and fed him the finest of foods before settling on Famayalin's apparent favorite – raw human meat. Skye hunted for his lion and fed him his kills, giving him the blood he craved without the violence. He was affectionate, taking Famayalin to his bed and simply holding him, kissing him, touching him with nothing but the tenderest love.
The right or wrong of this thing that had started out as rape or coercion had faded quickly from Famayalin's mind. He put up with the sex at first, hating the pain of it, but before long, as the pain came less and less, grew to not only enjoy it, but to crave it deeply, doing anything his Master wanted only to experience the Morrowhiem again and again. He obeyed his Master and didn't complain when he got punished for doing the occasional thing wrong. Skye's favorite tool of correction was a large bull whip he kept in a tall wooden case. Yes, the whipping hurt, but the healing? One session with the Master was worth a thousand whippings. He did anything he was commanded to do, sexually or otherwise. He was in Heaven, such as it was, and he just didn't care. He now had all the personal attention he could ever desire. He was content in a way he had never known before.
For the first time ever, Famayalin had the full one on one relationship real love demands. The sex was mind blowing with the empathy and Morrowhiem, the boy never stood a chance even though he wasn't actually gay in the true sense. He was smitten and fell hard, giving over his heart and his very soul. This was why the separation now was so hard and heartbreaking.
A flash of intimate memories sped through Logan's mind – the pair lying on a bed, basking in the afterglow of a skin tingling round of play, Skye lazily running his fingers through Famayalin's sweat soaked hair. Another memory had Famayalin crouched at his Master's feet, being fed by hand from his Master's plate, affection passed along with every bite. But Famayalin's favorite? Skye shaving him. There was nothing more intimate and loving than when Skye's hands touched him oh so gently as he used a straight razor to scrape away the rough stubble from his face. It was personal, close, and full of what the boy desperately craved – tenderness.
Logan struggled to process what he was being shown because it was only from Famayalin's perspective, the one being seduced. Wolverine knew better, he knew Skye was sick. He also knew Skye was most likely split as well. This was the term for a Siskan that was so damaged, its psyche shattered into more than one personality. Skye had been split in the past, that was fact, but he had supposedly been repaired. What Wolverine was seeing now made him question if that repair had held. The Skye that Famayalin was dealing with didn't switch voices or anything like that, but Logan knew better than to trust this seemingly perfect Master.
Skye was a user, a person who did what he had to to get what he wanted and then he moved on, not caring about the one he had just discarded. He had once tricked Gambit, a man wise about Siskans, into freeing him from one Master and placing him in a home where he could escape out onto his own. That hadn't been easy. It only showed just how clever this evil little snake in the grass really was. What Skye was doing now was presenting Famayalin with a persona the kid would never be able to resist and it had worked. Skye was getting what he wanted even though in reality, he had other plans.
Famayalin was about to find out what those plans were, it seemed. The memories continued to play and Logan watched as Famayalin's bliss dulled his hearing in certain respects. It was too easy to ignore the words his Master had later said when he was told that they couldn't handle Jael alone, that another lion was needed to help them. It only hit home what that actually meant the day the Master came home with someone new. Skye had found Sabretooth, called him Kristalay, and the twosome was now a threesome.
"Cripes," Logan muttered, feeling Famayalin's betrayal as if it was his own. Just how much more does this kid have to suffer? Not Sabretooth, anyone but him. Wolverine knew this already, but he was feeling it now as Famayalin did then and it hurt deeply, like a stab right through the heart.
Jael had used the same depowering gun on Sabretooth, beaten him even worse than he had Grog, and left him for dead on the X-men's front lawn as a warning. Skye, with his way of knowing things, had stolen what was left of the man for himself. He was going to heal him in the same way he had Famayalin.
Like Famayalin, Kristalay fought Skye at first, but soon begrudgingly succumbed the Siskan's will. It didn't mean his character had fully changed. He was still Sabretooth inside and Sabretooth was predictable in so many ways. He was ever the survivor and made the best he could of whatever situation he found himself in, no matter how bizarre. It came as no surprise to Logan when Kristalay made it quite clear early he wasn't about to take third place. No, he would be top dog - or top lion, so to speak - of the two subordinate slaves. Wolverine watched as poor Famayalin hopelessly tried to defend his place at his Master's side and lost.
The pair had fought savagely one day in the Master's large bathroom and Famayalin had gone down hard, but down he had gone. It had been bloody and fierce, possibly the worst thing Logan had ever seen, made all the worse from its being from Famayalin's point of view. The pair had clawed and gored one another, their renewed healing factors keeping them going. It had ended with a brutal rape, with Kristalay possessing the boy's body for himself and demanding his submission once and for all. Famayalin hadn't been strong enough to win, he broke and shattered a bit inside, especially when Skye had stood there and done nothing to stop it. What choice did Famayalin have then?
He now had to submit to Kristalay in all things, and he did not share well. He still felt his Master's touch even though it was nowhere near as much as it had been before, leaving him lonely and bitter. He still did his best to please, but once more his attempts were overshadowed by Kristalay. During the Game, when they had finally gotten down to the work Skye had stolen them for, Famayalin had managed to retrieve two more Siskan Courtesans from Jael, a good thing, but it was Kristalay who had Jael's blood on his hands. Skye had wanted a point and shoot weapon, someone to deal out his own revenge. He hadn't cared which lion would do it, only that one might succeed. Of course it had been Kristalay who had gotten the one kill that had truly mattered to Skye. It was Kristalay who had earned the Master's praise when they had all found each other again afterwards. Kyle had failed once again.
Not that their reunion had lasted long. They had all been locked up immediately following the Game and while that by itself might have been tolerable, here now was Logan, Famayalin's oh so favorite person, fucking yelling at him again. Threatening him. Desiring his blood.
Famayalin had called and called to his Master for rescue but Skye had not responded. No, Skye had gotten what he had wanted – Jael's death – and could care less what happened to Famayalin or Kristalay now. Kristalay hadn't minded all that much but Famayalin was devastated. What a stupid waste of time. There was no love in this world, not one that was real, one that would never betray. Famayalin had reached his end. He refused to eat, knowing it might kill him eventually. Just three days away from the Master's magic and he could already feel some of his strength failing. The boost he had received rom Skye's Kundatesh was starting to fade. All the better. He wanted to be done.
Wolverine opened his eyes, this bizarre journey now finished. He looked into Famayalin's pale blue eyes and saw only defeat.
"Mrr! K-kill me!" the boy grunted.
"No," Logan replied softly, sick from all this.
Famayalin let go with a loud sob and began to cry, bawling now. Reminded once more of that once perfect love with Skye, it hurt all the more to be without it now. He still didn't get it that Skye was only using him and that it hadn't been real love the way it should be. All he knew was that if he couldn't have it anymore, all he wanted now was death. What could he possibly have left to live for?
"Shush now, kitten," Asher soothed quickly, releasing Wolverine in order to hold the boy tightly. "S'okay ta crys, but don'cha gives up on me."
Logan heard Karen come, followed by Max. They had heard Famayalin's outburst and came to investigate. Wolverine couldn't look at her, he covered his face and tried to regain control. He was being swamped by guilt. If he had only paid better attention when Kyle was first given to him maybe all this could have been prevented. He could see Kyle's suffering, see how the highs and lows of the poor boy's life at times reflected his own. So much pain and suffering they had shared. It was like an evil sickness.
"No," Asher said to him as if reading his thoughts. "Ya knows what evil is? It's the lack of empathy fer others. A complete lack of compassion. No one knows this more'n a Kintay du Lushna-esk Siskan, my friend."
Logan had heard that term before – Kintay du Lushna-esk. Aiden, one of the surviving Siskans of the Game, had coined that phrase to describe himself. A Kintay, one of the "Touched", was a Siskan who through systematic abuse, had also gained additional powers and skills. Gifts, but those that came with a heavy price. Most of the Siskans who had survived the Game fell into this class, including Skye.
Asher continued, "That's what makes us what we are, even Skye in his way. Skye's just been corrupted by that evil. He treats his clients the way he wuz treated, like a possession, just sumpthin' ta be used."
Logan sat back on his heels and shifted away. His eyes were wet and he wiped at them, not letting his tears fall. Famayalin had stopped bawling now, he was turned into Asher's chest and gasping out the last of his tears. One clawed hand covered his face.
"Do ya sees him now?" Asher asked, his hands still holding his precious charge. "Really sees?"
"Yeah," Logan replied, his voice harsh and scratchy. He could hear Karen pacing just outside the cell and was thankful she was perceptive enough to leave him be for the moment. She was letting this ride, waiting to see what his responses were going to be. He wondered if she and Asher had planned this all along. It wouldn't have surprised him. Sometimes when you're dealing with as tough a subject as himself, desperate measures had to be taken.
"Sees him. Sees him now he does, oh yes," Smee mumbled, back on Asher's shoulders, his light purple whiskers twitching. "With all of his eyeses."
Asher stroked his pet, his eyes on Logan. "It wuz yer DNA that changed him, what tooks a boy an' made him sumpthin' not made fer this world. It wuzn't yer doin', I ain't saying that, but maybe you kin takes some of the responsibility fer it."
Wolverine looked up at him sharply. "What?"
"You got some pups at home, eh? They ain't so old now, but they's gonna be teenagers someday. What if they turn out like Kyle here? You wouldn't turns 'em away, they's yer kids. Right now, there ain't much more seperatin' this pup from thems. He's yer kin, James. He's yer son. How could ya turns him away?"
"I- I couldn't," Logan stammered awkwardly, the twist of words making him see just what Asher was getting at. "I wouldn't turn him away. I won't."
Famayalin stopped his sobbing and he looked up at Logan in puzzlement. "Mrr?"
"I wouldn't turn ya away an' I ain't gonna," Wolverine repeated, holding out his hand in invitation. "We'll work this out. Don't know how just yet, but we'll figure it out somehow. The both of us, together. Startin' over. What do ya say?"
Famayalin sat up drunkenly, not quite believing what he was seeing. He wasn't sure he could trust it, it was too soon.
"Don't be afraid, kitten," Asher soothed, his voice gentle. "You gots nuthin' ta lose in acceptin', an' everathin' ta gains."
Famayalin seriously considered this new option he had just been given. This man who had hated him so, was actually offering the first hand of real friendship he had ever been given. The truth was, he had been under someone else's authority for so long, he was unsure and shaky all on his own out here. In his fragile state of mind, he simply couldn't refuse it. Not when it was offered so willingly. Not when he had seen that they both shared a bond of pain and suffering. They had a lot more in common than he ever could have realized. They had both been shoved through the Weapon X grinder and survived to live another day. They had both lived through long periods of time where their fates had been decided by cruel men. They had both been possessions. They had both suffered through the black rages. It might be enough to hold them together as something more than just enemies.
Famayalin, weak now from this emotional ordeal and lack of food, showed his acceptance by flopping forward onto his shaky arms, almost spilling into Logan's lap. He whimpered softly in pain as Wolverine's big strong arms reached out for him and pulled him close in an awkward hug. He was squeezed and felt a blast of Logan's body heat as the man grasped him tightly. "I'm so sorry, kid," Logan was apologizing. His bargain with Asher was forgotten, this was an apology from the heart. "I'm so sorry."
"Mrr! Huh-help me!" Famayalin pleaded. "May'lin tired!"
"Don't ya worry 'bout that. I'll get the doc ta help ya out. You just sit quiet now. Ya hungry?"
"May'lin tired," he repeated and went slack. He offered no resistance as Logan shifted and picked him up to lay him on the bed. Asher had risen stiffly from the floor himself and handed him a blanket, helping Logan to get the kid situated. Famayalin curled up and fell asleep quickly all on his own, his heart at peace for the first time since Skye had so horribly betrayed him.
"Come," Asher said to Logan and tugged on him gently, pulling him out into the hallway. Once there, he locked Wolverine with his eyes and spoke, "Ya got yer ears open, James. Now listen good. The diff'rence 'tween a man an' a monster is fergiveness. I knows ya thinks I'm just some sort of fucked up Jesus wannabe, but you best git this straight. Ya cain't have peace an' hope without fergiveness. You done wrong an' been fergiven fer it. Pass on that kindness given ta ya and learn from it. This kid could be a fighter on our side, he's got so much loves ta give, it's just burstin' right outta him. Use it. Help him. Save him. Save yerself."
Asher then gave Logan a swift kiss on the cheek, one the poor bewildered man didn't have the wits about him to argue with, and clopped off, his head down and tired. He had been here awhile and was drained from his work.
Logan watched him go, feeling no less tired himself. His head down, he nodded at Karen and took his leave. He needed to move, to breathe some fresh air. He considered going to the underground Solarium, but instead found himself simply heading home. His apartment here at the Complex was quiet but not empty. His two daughters were in group play sessions right now for all the poor shell shocked children here at the Complex, but his son, Carter, was home, being watched over by a nanny.
He nodded a quick greeting to the nanny and went to his son's room. He couldn't help himself but pull the boy right up into his arms and hold him tightly. Of his three children, Carter was the only one who had come out X-gene positive. He was dark haired and serious just like his father, a Logan if there ever was one. His fingertips were slightly disfigured, showing he would later have the taloned hands of his uncle Kristalay. At just past a year old, it was too early yet to see if he would also inherit the same bone claws of his father.
Logan held his son and breathed in his scent, happy beyond measure when the boy gurgled happily against him and returned his embrace freely. Up close now, Logan was struck at how similarly the two youngsters smelled, Carter and Kyle. It brought a sting of tears to Logan's eyes, a sharp stab of regret and hope.
"You okay, Mr. Logan?" the nanny asked with some concern. It wasn't like him to come home during the day like this, but then they had all been through so much these past days.
"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his face against his son, wiping away the tears. "I am now."
Finis
Up next: Rogue and Simone, oh my!