-scene-

Logan ran his hands through his hair, tugging his fingers through the short, black tufts in frustration.

"Dammit Warren…" he mumbled to himself.

"You're attracted to him."

"Fuck." He'd been watching the kid like a hawk all evening, no, more like a mother hen; dangerously protective.

He'd always felt relaxed at the bar. It was a calm place; stress free and easy. That was why he'd left the mansion in the first place.

He'd always been protecting, watching, tensing till it drove him mad; first Jeanie, then Charles and the kids, then eventually all of them.

He couldn't take it after awhile; he got spread too thin. When they went to battle, he'd take the front, draw the attacks; try to fight the entire battle himself. He couldn't count the number of times he'd been slashed, gutted, riddled with bullets or maimed and mutilated in some other way. …And then the war was over, the Brotherhood, Striker, the FOH… It was all in the past, and yet, he still couldn't relax.

There were skinned knees and broken hearts, Bobby's failing grades or Kitty not getting invited to the girls' party; a hundred fatherless kids all looking to him for the guidance their own folks had neglected to give, and why him? He was brutish, feral, wild, but he was safe. Sturdy, reliable, dependable, at least to the kids. His heart gave a little twinge remembering the many failed attempts to win a certain redhead's hand. He was everything they needed him to be… and it was driving him mad.

"Go on, Logan."

"But Charles-"

"Take a vacation. A few years away from the mansion might do you some good. Don't worry, we'll contact you if anything should arise."

"Now look-!"

"He's right, you're not well, Logan…"

"Not you too, red!"

"It's not just her, Logan, we've all noticed."

"Hank? What is this? A friggin' intervention!"

And he'd left. What choice did he have? It had been two years, and they were right. Out here, he could relax. The broken dreams of bums were easier dealt with than those of teenage girls.

Out here, no one knew what a mutant was, or why they should have cause to fear their surly, short-sheet bartender. It was all a pretty relaxing deal… until the kid came along…

Now those instincts were kicking in worse than ever before.

Was the kid getting thinner?

Was that jacket getting shabbier?

Weren't the customers a little friendlier than usual?

And Warren was watching him all the while.

Warren was the only one who had come down, offering the excuse that things were too quiet without Logan stirring up trouble. And maybe it wasn't just an excuse, 'cause he'd stayed. These last six months, he'd stayed, and though it seemed Warren was the one stirring up trouble, Logan had to admit it wasn't entirely unwelcome, but that kid…!

"Goddammit, Remy! Get'cher gumbo-lovin' ass back in the kitchen an' start the dishes!"

"Shua ting, boss!" the Acadian called with a grin, brushing a russet lock from his dazzling eyes, and that's when Logan noticed it for the first time. Something wasn't right about the kid's eyes. But he didn't have time to ponder as a disappointed cacophony rose in response to the change of events.

The kid sauntered around the corner like an obedient mutt to his master.

"Aw! Don't go Remy, come sit with me!" one man cat-called.

"Remy can't!" the boy protested giddily, "Boss say time fo' dishes. Got to wash dishes ta keep ma' job!"

"Ah, don't listen to him!" the man continued. "I'll take care of you, baby!"

"Cochon!" Remy poo-poo'd the man playfully. "Remy much preffer monsieur boss's company." He rested his hands on Logan's broad chest as he passed, accenting his point.

Logan stiffened at the intimate touch as the boy disappeared into the kitchen and the rowdy man's friends jeered him for the rejection.

Logan caught Warren grinning and glowered.

-scene-

The evening wore into night, and the night gave way to early morning, bringing with it a pre-dawn downpour. It was nearing one. The kid would be exhausted, Logan knew. He'd been there since just after noon, and Logan had been giving him the shit jobs all night. He felt a little twist of guilt in his stomach, but he tried to ignore it as he pushed open the door to the kitchen.

The redhead was meticulously scrubbing the grease-caked cast-iron, determined not to be caught nodding off on the job again.

"Get'cher coat." He ordered gruffly. "It's raining; I'll take ya home."

The boy stiffened and his face went white. "Ah, no need, Boss," he replied hastily, grabbing his coat from the hook next to the door. "No need t' trouble y'sef. Remy walk in de rain befo', dis boy not gon' melt, not made a' suga'." He flashed that cocky grin, and Logan was just starting to realize that it was a mask.

"Don't matter if ya' done it before," he shook his head, already reaching for his own jacket. "I don't want ya to tonight."

"No, hones' boss, no need, Remy like to walk, like de fresh air. Good fo' de body, non?"

"Yah, an' I'm sure pneumonia is too," Logan rolled his eyes. "Now stop with the bullshit and come on." He grabbed his keys, shutting off the bar lights.

"Non." The boy said firmly. His voice was quiet, but stubborn.

Logan narrowed his eyes. "No?" he asked dangerously. Nobody told him no.

The boy stood straight and tall, a perfect poker face, devoid of all emotion. "Das right." He replied calmly. "Remy gon' to walk."

Logan took three calm steps towards the boy, forcing him back against the wall of the kitchen. "I don't like my offers bein' refused." He growled through his teeth, "So put on your damn jacket and get in the damn car."

The kid shook his head, successfully intimidated by the bigger man.

Logan braced his hand on the wall by the kid's head, leering at him angrily. The kid had been sashaying around his diner all evening, getting the older man's tongue, temper and pants all in a bind and he was about at the breaking point with this impertinence. The little brat was really starting to rile him. "Why won't you let me take you home?" he hissed.

"Cause ah don' wan'choo ta see wheya ah live." The kid admitted in a meek voice.

Logan halted, his anger giving way to the cold shock. As the anger left him, it gave reason and conscience the chance to seep back in, making Logan uncomfortably aware of his outburst. He could feel the cool wall, sweaty against his palm, only inches from the boy's face. He could not only see the fear on the kid, but he could smell it, and as he felt a tightening in his groin, he cursed himself angrily to know that another's fear could excite him this much.

The kid was shorter than he had originally thought, or maybe he was just so dwarfed by Logan's anger… There was no sound but the steady dripping of the faucet and Remy's tremulous breathing.

"Shit." Logan cursed under his breath, pulling away to wipe the sweat from his brow. He exhaled softly, trying to calm his jangled nerves. "Kid…" he began slowly, much more kindly than he'd been before. "Why wouldn't ya want me ta see?"

-scene-

The rain had stopped, so they'd decided to walk after all. In a way, they'd both won. The two were silent as they approached the island of the park in the middle of the suburban jungle.

"Uh, kid…" Logan broke the silence. "This is a park."

The boy turned to give him an unimpressed look. "You shua dee obsa'vent one, boss." He commented.

"Yah, pride myself on it." He replied sarcastically.

Wordlessly, the kid lead the way to a small bridge over a long-dried-up creek, ducking underneath.

What Logan saw made his breath hitch in his chest and he had to swallow to keep from yelling. It wasn't that he hadn't seen worse, but his guilt never escaped the suffering of others.

A small, tent-like structure had been erected using the leftovers of an old blue tarp and several cardboard boxes. Inside the ramshackle hut was a mildewing pile of cloth-scraps and a faded, worn out satchel.

"Now you unda'stan." The boy replied, his voice cracking, but only slightly. He took a deep shuddering breath, and suddenly, his demeanor changed. "Not es'acly de place fo' entatainin' guests!" he joked. "Don' wan'choo ta tink ah'm not grateful fo' de job, but y'no rent a little mo' expensive deeze days…" He eventually tapered off when he realized that Logan wasn't responding to his jests and jabs and that awkward, self-consciousness crept back into his posture.

Logan cleared his throat, once… twice, and then one final time before responding. "Y'aint stayin' here." He avowed.

"Que?" The boy blinked in surprise, his long lashing dusting his cheeks. "But Monsieur boss… dis de on'y place ah-"

Logan gripped the boy's arm in one massive paw, steering him away from the degradation of his former life.

"Ah! Attente! Wait, mah bag!" the boy protested, wriggling out of his grasp to grab the tattered satchel. He clutched it to his chest like a child with a beloved stuffed-animal.

"Alright, fine." Logan snapped hurriedly, "But yer' comin' back ta the bar."

Remy shook his head. "Non, boss, da's too much, Ah… Remy be fine heeya."

"Bullshit." Logan replied in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "Either yer comin' back on yer own, er I'm carryin' ya. Which is it gonna be?"

Remy blanched. He gave the man a quick once over and decided he could certainly do it if he wanted to before trotting up to his side. "D'accord." He agreed. "But… jes tonight."

"Whatever." Logan replied, trying to decide where he was going to put the kid.