-scene-

Logan grunted, folding out the old cot, then stood back to admire his handiwork. An old cot in a broom closet wasn't much of a bedroom, but it was sure as hell better than the rat trap the kid had been living in.

"Come on," he commanded, leading the boy across the hall to his own room, "I'll get'cha some blankets."

Remy followed close on the man's heels, his eyes darting down the narrow hallway. He'd never been allowed access to the upper levels of the bar before and it was all very exciting.

Logan's room was almost as bare as Remy's closet, adorned only with an aging, steel bed frame, a wooden dresser, what appeared to be an army trunk, and three angry looking gashes down one wall.

Remy glanced to the man, assessing him; a little out of curiousity, a little trepidation.

The room did, however, posses one feature the boy genuinely envied; a window. He loved the way the cool rays of the moon streamed through the glass, casting shadows on the uneven wooden floor.

Logan rummaged in the army trunk, producing a set of sheets and a scratchy looking blanket which he shoved into the kid's arms, starteling him from his marveling, before grabbing a pillow from his own bed.

"Go on." He pushed the boy, closing the door behind him. "Bathroom's down the hall." He told the kid. "Y'need a towel er somethin', they're in the closet."

"Merci." Remy murmured, still in awe of the entire situation.

After Logan had retreated to his room, Remy made up the rickety cot and toed off his boots, sliding beneath the covers. He was surprised to find that the blanket was not at all as he had expected it to be. It was warm and soft and held a comforting musky smell within its folds.

He stretched up as far as his lanky torso would allow, catching the drawstring of the light between the tips of his fingers. He gave it a tug, and with a soft 'k-chink', he was left in the dark.

He lay back, sighing deeply into the pillow and flushed hot in sudden realization. The smell on the blanket was the same as the pillow, and that smell… was Logan.

-scene-

The man had been sleeping soundly for the past thirty minutes when a thought suddenly woke him. He hadn't eaten dinner. Now, that usually wouldn't bother him, but there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind. If he hadn't eaten, then most likely, neither had the kid.

He tossed off the covers, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, hissing slightly at the cool contact of cold floor to bare feet. He padded quietly across the hall only to notice that the closet door had been left hanging open and its occupant was nowhere to be seen. Logan grunted to himself and ambled down the heavy wooden stairs to the kitchen.

The kid's back was to him which made him an easy target for observation. Logan watched as the redhead drained a glass of water before sauntering to the sink to refill it.

"Hold it." Logan's gruff command arrested the boy's action.

Remy spun around, clutching the glass to his chest in surprise. "Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "Gon'scaya de life out a person!"

The older man frowned, stalking up to the boy and snatching the glass from his hand. "There ain't any need for that here." He told him, turning away and putting the glass in the sink.

"Excusez-moi ?" The boy asked, confused.

Logan jerked open the fridge, casting the boy an un-amused look over his naked shoulder. "If yer hungry, then eat. Ya' don't need ta be fillin' up on water."

Remy flushed, his cheeks going almost as red as his hair. He'd been found out. It was rare that someone called his bluff.

"Now, lessee…" Logan was mumbling as he dug through the contents of his refrigerator. "How ya' feel about breakfast?" he asked with a wry grin. "It's still morning, after all."

The young man's stomach replied before he himself had the chance, with a low, angry gurgling. He grinned. "Sound divine, Boss."

Logan paused a minute. "That's another thing. Y'gotta stop with all this 'Boss' stuff, kid. Name's Logan. It make's me feel older than I already am, an' that's sayin' somethin'."

Remy paused a minute in thought. "Den you got to stop wit dis 'kid' stuff, Boss. Make me feel younger den ah am… an ah don' have to tell you da's sayin' a lot." he smirked coyly.

Logan quirked an eyebrow. He wasn't used to taking orders, or making bargains, especially with a punk kid that cleaned his toilets. "That a fact?" he asked, amused. "Well Gumbo, then ya' better earn it."

"Shua t'ing Kanuk." The kid shot back, and Logan stood a bit straighter, having retrieved the eggs and sausage from the refrigerator.

"How'd ja' know where I was from?" he demanded, a bit more gruffly than he intended to.

Remy chuckled. "Y'undastan' mah French, Ya drink Molson, an' ya' dressed like somebody in a lumberjack porno." He replied. ((Molson in a famous Canadian Brand Beer))

Logan glanced down to his red, flannel boxers. "They're comfortable." He defended, turning away quickly. He snatched a frying pan from the wall, cracking a few eggs into it before it had even gotten warm. "Cut." He ordered, tossing an onion to the Cajun. "Ya' like omelets?"

"Y'no Logan," the kid replied, trying out the new name. "Remy not really in a place ta disagree, non?"

"Hn." Logan grunted. "Good point. Shut-up then."