Nothin' Like Regret
by
Alex SisterWolf


Disclaimer: All characters belonging to Marvel Comics are used without permission, but with no intent of copyright infringement, and no profit is being gained from this work.

Archive: With permission

Warnings: Violence, swearing, sex. The good stuff.

---

I think I was wrong. I think you were right.

You'd love to hear me say that, wouldn't you? Fucker. I can just see that little smile on your face as you puff cigar smoke out and tell me, "I told ya so, darlin.'"

I wish I could see that. I wish I could see anything.

I can't see a goddamned thing since they shut the lights off a couple days ago. Maybe a week ago. I can't tell anymore. They're trying to drive me crazy. They're doing a good job of it.

I trace my face with my fingers, anything to keep my mind active. The thick fur slides under my fingertips, parting easily around my razor-sharp claws. I can't change back from tiger-woman form anymore. It's part of what they've done to me. That and but I don't want to think about that. I can't think about that. I think about you instead.

That night in Westchester we were both so angry. I wish I could take back the things I said. Not that I'd ever tell you that when I see you again. If I see you again. We're both so damned stubborn. God I miss you. I'd give anything to be holding you right now, feeling your prickly stubble against my face, running my fingers through your wiry hair, breathing in your scent of cigars and motor oil and male Memories are all I have left.

"You don't own me, you arrogant sonofabitch!" My hands were clenched into fists, my nails cutting into my own flesh.

"It's not about ownin', it's about honor! But you don't get that, do ya, darlin'," Logan snarled at me contemptuously.

"Are you saying I don't have honor?" My voice came out in a thin whisper. I shook my head incredulously. "How the fuck do you think you can judge me when you don't know a goddamned thing about me?"

"I know you fucked that psycho sonofabitch the second my back was turned," Logan said, his voice rough. If I'd been listening, maybe I would have heard the pain in his voice. But I was too angry, too hurt.

"You have no right to judge me or my honor or anything I do."

"Fine," he growled, turning his back on me.

"Fuck you, Logan. It's over. Goodbye." I slammed the car door and squealed the tires as I headed down the driveway. I watched in the rearview mirror as Logan walked away without sparing me a second glance. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," I gasped as tears started to stream down my face.

I pulled out of the driveway of Xavier's mansion and headed north blindly, with no destination in mind, just knowing I had to get as far away as possible. I wasn't watching where I was going.

The last thing on my mind was the possibility of an ambush.

And that's how I ended up here. I'm so sorry, lover. I wish I could take it back well, most of it anyway. You _were_ being an irrational asshole. But then again, so was I.

* * * * *

The lights blazing on is the only warning I have that my host is coming to pay me a visit. After all these days in complete darkness, my eyes can't take the light. I cover my eyes, trying not to whimper from the pain.

"Vy, my dear. Have you had time to think over my offer?" His voice is like a thousand spiders crawling over my skin.

"Fuck off," I growl, squinting against the unbearable glare. He's got two of his henchmen with him, I can smell them. Not Creed though, thank god for small favors. The female bodybuilder and the guy with the gunsArclight and Scalphunter, or as I like to call them, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber.

"Unreasonable as ever, I see. Well, we'll simply have to continue with your therapy. You're just making it harder on yourself."

"Go to hell." All I can see of them is fuzzy dark shapes. I give them the finger.

A quick *pphhht* is the only warning I get.

Without thinking, I dodge the tranquilizer dart and spring for the doorway. I knock over Arclight, my claws ripping into her stomach on the way down, and continue my leap into the corridor without a pause. I'm moving _fast_ on all fours, bounding down the corridor.

I hear a shot from behind me and try to dodge, but the bullet rips into my shoulder.

Even as I collapse onto the cold floor, one thought is going through my mind: what the hell have they _done_ to me?

* * * * *

I wake up back in the cell. They've left the lights on this time, not that it's much of an improvement. Four blank white walls, a bench, and a commode.

I sit up too quickly and almost pass out. What have they done to me now? I run my hands over my body, do a quick check to make sure they haven't added any limbs or anything fun like that. Nope, four limbs, still, but I notice that my legs are different, shaped more like a tiger's than a human's. I walk on the pads of my feet now, continually on tip-toes, but it feels natural. No other changes, at least none that I notice right away.

How long have I been here? I lost track of time when they turned the lights off on me. A month maybe? Two?

Have you realized yet that I'm gone? Did you try to find me, or did you care that I'd walked out of your life? Are you searching for me right now, or are you drowning my memory in whiskey?

Do you love me? Do you hate me? Is it both now?

Am I ever going to know?

At some point, I stopped going back to my room after we screwed.

At some point, I noticed that I had more clothes in your room than in mine.

At some point I started to think of it as our room.

At some point, Bobby referred to me as your girlfriend and it felt right.

At some point, I realized that what I felt for you was love.

But we never said it.

I say it now. Sitting naked in a prison cell, my body and my genetics being played with like tinkertoys by a razor-toothed mad scientist, I finally say it out loud.

"I love you, Logan."

* * * * *

A click from the door and I'm awake instantly, crouched and ready for battle before the door even swings fully open. My senses have always been better than human normal, but now they're better than ever. I can smell that it's Victor, that he's showered recently, that he had toast for breakfast.

Memory rips through me

"Pretty lady like you shouldn't be drinking alone."

I glance up. "What the hell are you doing here? Isn't this a little too close to Salem Center for you?"

Victor Creed, Sabretooth to his enemies, and there are a lot of them, lowers himself into the booth across from me. He shrugs. "I can take them X-dweebs if they decide to fuck with me."

"Did I say you could sit there?" I say, half amused, half pissed off.

"Nah." He leans back, all muscle and arrogance. I feel the same mix of attraction and revulsion he always seems to cause in me. Like I want to fuck him senseless and then beat the shit out of him.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"Business. But it's all pleasure now." He leers at me.

I laugh. "Whatever."

All that goes through my brain in the split second it takes me to launch for his throat.

He's fast enough to get his arms up, but not fast enough to keep my fangs from slicing deep into his flesh. My momentum knocks us to the floor in an untidy pile.

I missed the jugular, but he's still bleeding heavily. The scent and taste of blood seem to trigger something in me. A red haze descends over my eyes.

The next few minutes are a fragmented jumble. There's a low growl that seems to be coming from my throat. I'm ripping something large into bloody shreds. There's a ribcage, the bone stark white against the red. For some reason I'm determined to get to the heart and eat it. I slice open the stomach, spilling intestines over the red-splattered tile, and lower my muzzle to dig into the muscle under the ribs.

There are people standing at the door. I raise my bloody muzzle and snarl at them. Stay away, this is my prey.

One of the humans vomits. The other raises a long stick-like thing. There's a sharp noise and suddenly there's a feathered sharp thing in my shoulder. I roar and grab the feathered thing in my jaws and toss it to the side, but for some reason I start to feel hazy and sleepy and I collapse on my side

* * * * *

I wake disoriented. I'm strapped to a cold hard surface. There's a woman to my left shouting.

"She fucking ripped his intestines out! She was eating him! I want the bitch dead, now!"

A man's voice. Something about it makes me afraid. "Your wants and needs are not my top priority, Arclight. This specimen is much too valuable to terminate simply because it eviscerated your compatriot. Sabretooth is healing the damage as we speak, so you won't lack his scintillating company for long, at any rate."

Silence. I can practically hear her trying to work her way through his complicated speech. I don't know why I know that she's not terribly bright. I don't know who either one of them is. Arclight? Sabretooth? Are those actually names? Who are these people?

A terrifying thought occurs to me

Who am I?

* * * * *

I growl at the man as he comes closer. "Ah, good, you're awake." He is small and weak, compared to me, but for some reason he frightens me. He reaches above my head and there is a soft click. "Subject regained consciousness at thirteen hundred hours. This is an improvement of approximately forty minutes over previously logged recovery time. Subject's healing factor appears to be improving"

The words fade into the background. I don't understand what he's talking about anyway. Am I 'subject'? Is that my name? For some reason that seems wrong, but I don't know why.

". milligrams of mutagenic compound"

Everything around me is stark white or shiny gray. It smells wrong, bad. What is this place? How did I get here? I flex my claws and try to dig into the shiny gray surface I'm tied down to. My claws don't even leave a scratch.

" subject evidences increased metabolic rate"

Frustrated, I snarl at the man. He ignores me. I strain at whatever it is that's holding me down, but to no effect. Panting, I lay my head back down on the cold surface.

" scan reveals accelerated changes to gene sequence"

Blinking lights attract my attention to a row of clear containers behind the man. They seem to be filled with liquid and small, formless shapes. I squint at them, trying to remember why the containers fill me with such a feeling of helpless rage. There was something about them but no, the memory slips away from me.

The sound of heavy footsteps distracts me, and I glance up to see a large man with flowing golden fur. "Sinister!" he shouts.

The other man calmly replies, "Sabretooth. I see you have recovered from your experience."

Sabretooth, if that's what his name is, growls, "No thanks to this bitch." As he stalks toward me, I catch his scent.

Must kill! I strain against my bonds, heaving with every muscle in my body, and I feel one of the bonds give. Roaring, I lash out with one paw and just miss Sabretooth as he jumps back.

Too late, I notice the other man stab me with a small sharp thing. I fight against the overpowering drowsiness, but I can't keep my eyes open and I fall

* * * * *

Waking again, feeling groggy and dizzy. There are loud noises nearby. Shouting and the strong smell of blood and smoke. I'm still strapped down to the cold hard surface. I open my eyes and try to understand what I'm seeing.

There are people fighting not very far away. I hear growls, yelling, occasional loud, sharp noises. I can't see them clearly through the smoke that fills the area. I heave against my bonds again, but I can't work anything loose.

A woman enters my field of vision. She's got bright gray fur and a dark face. She bares her teeth at me and I growl in return. She raises a hand to her face quickly, her eyes watering.

"Vy Is it you, Vy?" she asks in a gentle tone.

I don't know if Vy is my name. I wish I could tell her that. I blink at her slowly, hoping she'll understand.

"I don't know if you can understand me, but we're getting you out of here," she says. She seems like she wants to take care of me. I blink at her again in encouragement. Soon as I'm out of these bonds, I can take care of myself.

There's a sudden flurry of movement. A rolling tumble of yellow and blue crashes into one of the rows of white square things. They separate quickly into the man called Sabretooth and another man, smaller, dark-furred, with long claws. They circle each other, panting. The woman steps back toward me.

Must kill him! I throw myself against my bonds, growling. The woman jumps, startled, then lays her hand on my head, murmuring, "He'll be all right, Vy."

Who'll be all right? The short man? Do I know him?

"Seen your girlfriend yet?" Sabretooth asks in a taunting voice. I don't understand the word, but it seems to infuriate the smaller man. He launches himself at the bigger man, growling. There's a quick exchange of blows, then they separate again, Sabretooth bleeding from a set of cuts across his chest.

The scent of blood reaches me and I throw myself at my bonds again, desperate to reach him, tear out his throat, eat his heart!

"Vy, calm down, you'll hurt yourself!" says the woman. I hardly hear her through my growing bloodlust.

"I'm gonna rip yer head off and piss down yer throat, bub," the smaller man growls.

"What, doncha like the new improved version of your girlfriend? Little bestiality for ya?" Sabretooth ducks as the smaller man charges, throwing him into the row of clear containers, which break under the impact. Sabretooth turns back towards me, grinning nastily. "You be sure to tell your boyfriend all about me, Vy." Then he takes off running, disappearing quickly into the smoke.

The woman crosses over to where the smaller man landed among the broken containers. He's trying to rise, despite the crunching noises of broken bones I heard as he impacted. "No, Logan, you're hurt, don't try to stand up."

"It ain't nothin', Stormy," he grunts, standing up. The cuts on his face and body are already starting to close.

"Stubborn," she says, baring her teeth again. Stormy? What kind of a name is Stormy? His name is Logan, which sounds right, for some reason.

"Is that her?" he asks, staring at me. I growl a little, just a warning.

"I think so." Then, as he walks toward me, she says, "Maybe you shouldn't, Logan. Let Charles and Henry take a look at her first."

I keep the growl up as he walks nearer, just a warning. He stops and looks over me. It's hard for me to read their bare, furless faces, but he seems sad? "Hey, darlin', it's okay, just me," he says in a gentle voice, reaching out his hand toward my head. His claws are gone, so I allow him to softly touch the top of my head. His eyes are watering.

A man and two women walk over to Stormy and talk to her in quiet voices. The man has a strange thing over his eyes. One of the women has fur the color of fire, and the other has a gray stripe in her fur. Logan runs his hands over the bond that holds down my neck.

"This has gotta go," he mutters. I hear an odd *snickt* from his hands and growl a louder warning.

"Logan, what are you doing?" yells the other man.

"Freein' her," Logan growls.

"No!" the fire-furred woman shouts. Logan freezes suddenly. "Logan, she's in no state to be released from the straps. She's frightened and ready to attack."

Logan stares into my eyes for a long moment. "Sorry 'bout this," he whispers. Louder, he says, "Fine, Jeannie, yer right. I won't release her. Now how 'bout releasing me?"

What's he talking about? She's not holding on to him.

"I'm sorry I had to do that, Logan, but I fear that if we released her now she'd attack. I can't sense much coherent thought from her," the woman he called Jeannie replies.

"Let's get her loaded into the Blackbird," the man with the strange thing over his eyes says. "Jean, can you lift her and the table?"

"Sure, if you take out the legs," she replies. I don't know how this small, weak woman is going to lift _me_. I'm at least twice her size.

The man touches the thing over his eyes and a bright red light shoots out, aimed under the hard surface I'm lying on. There's a crackle and a sharp smell of burning. I roar and throw myself against my bonds again.

"Logan, could you try to calm her down? She's making it difficult to hold the table steady," Jeannie says.

"Easy there, darlin'," he whispers as he runs his hand over my side. The combination is soothing for some reason. I begin to calm down, lulled by his soft, deep voice and his hand smoothing gently over my fur. "Okay, Jeannie, you can start to move her."

The strange sliding motion startles me, but Logan keeps murmuring and stroking me, and I calm down again.

Who are these people? Do they know me? Am I Vy, as they keep saying? Why does Logan seem so familiar?

These questions keep my mind occupied as we slowly make our way through the smoking, battle-scarred remains of the only place I can ever remember being. We come to a halt in a large area I've never been to before, and the flat surface I'm lying on begins to rise into the air. I snarl and struggle, terrified. The motion stops and I hear Jeannie say, "Logan? Would you mind riding up with her?"

A thud, and Logan lands on the end near my head. He crouches and begins rubbing under my jaw, murmuring soothingly.

I could easily bite his hand off, but I don't. His smell is so familiar, and it brings faint wisps of memory that are gone before I can catch them. A forest at night is the only clear image I get.

We rise into a dark, cave-like place. There are blinking lights and a blue-furred man who exclaims, "Oh my stars and garters! Is that Vy?"

"Yeah," is all Logan says. He keeps rubbing his hand under my jaw, telling me, "We're takin' ya home, darlin'. We're goin' home."

A rumbling noise fills my ears. After a startled moment, I realize it's me. I'm purring.

"We're goin' home."

* * * * *

Three paces. Turn. Three paces. Turn.

I stopped to glare at the short, dark-furred man the others called "Logan." He returned my stare silently. I snarled a little.

Three paces. Turn. Three paces. Turn.

Some rescue this was. They'd removed me from one prison only to put me in another.

I growled at Logan. He ran a hand through the unruly fur on his head. "Listen, darlin', I don't like this any more'n you do."

Yeah, well, you're not the one in the cage, I thought.

Three paces. Turn. Three paces. Turn.

"Jeannie an' Chuck say that yer real personality an' memories are still in there somewhere. Just gonna take a little time. Till then, we can't let ya go."

I flicked my ears at him contemptuously. Real personality? This is my real personality. Memories okay, so I can't remember much before yesterday. So what?

Three paces. Turn. Three paces. Turn.

"An' maybe once they fix whatever Sinister did ta yer mind, you'll remember how ta change back."

I barely glanced at him as I paced past him. What did he mean, change back? Change what?

Three paces. Turn. Three paces. Turn.

"Listen I know ya probly can't understand me. But I want ta tell ya something. I'm I'm sorry 'bout the things I said. 'Bout you not having honor. That's bullshit. Ya got honor. It was just just smelling it on ya, the booze and the sex, an' then recognizin' Sabretooth's scent Somethin' just snapped. I shouldn'ta lost it like that. But the thought of that murdering sonofabitch touching youI couldn't take it."

Three paces. Pause.

Images were flitting through my mind. I didn't understand what most of them meant. A short human woman with dark fur a crowded, smoky human place a big man with golden fur a dark place the feel of cold cement against my back

I shook my head, growling. What did the images mean? They made me angry and afraid.

"Do ya remember? Vy, do ya remember anything?" He'd crossed the room and was now leaning against the bars, his hands curled around the bars as if he would rip them apart.

I snarled and raked a paw across his hand. The wounds bled for a moment and then healed.

"Logan, what are you doing?" The flame-furred woman entered the room, frowning.

"Nothin'," he muttered, turning away from the cage.

"Her mind is very fragile at the moment. The wrong stimulus could do a lot of harm." In a softer voice, she continued, "I know how worried you are. Charles is confident that we can break through the mental block Sinister constructed."

"I know, Jeannie." He looked at me again, then stalked toward the door, moving with a predatory grace.

"Where are you going?" she called.

"Out," he said, disappearing out the door.

She stared after him a moment, and then sighed and turned back toward me. "Always running away," she murmured, sitting down next to the cage.

I sprawled on the floor, grooming my front paws and ignoring her. She sat quietly, her breathing slowing into a measured cadence. In out In out

I felt a strange tickle in my mind. I snarled, shaking my head. Then I seemed to hear her voice in my head: <>

Her voice was so peaceful, so gentle. I began to feel calm, relaxed, strangely at peace. I laid my head down on my paws, feeling so sleepy

* * * * *

I woke up in a large cage in the Medlab. "What the hell?" I muttered, standing up. I'd been sleeping on the cold cement floor.

No one was in the lab, not even Hank, who as far as I could tell tended to sleep down here more than in his own bed. I took a look at the cage.

Very sturdy construction. I'd awakened in my tiger-woman form, which was pretty damned unusual in itself, but even in that form I couldn't budge the bars of the cage. I scowled at the food bowl and LARGE kitty litter pan. "Bobby? Hank? This better not be some kind of prank, cause if it is, you are in for some serious payback!"

The door to the medlab opened, revealing Hank, large, blue, and beaming from ear to ear. "Vy, my dear! You've regained consciousness! And I must say, though your feline form is certainly a very impressive specimen of Panthera tigris, it is a distinct pleasure to regard once more your humanoid form."

I blinked at him, trying to absorb the flood of words. He grinned cheerfully back.

"Ummm I was unconscious?" My throat felt sore, my voice even huskier than usual.

"Indeed you were! Now, my dear, one moment and I shall unlock the somewhat dismal cell to which we were forced to confine you until such time as you regained the use of your full faculties." He bounded over to the door of the cage and pulled a large ring of keys from his labcoat pocket, which, as usual, was the only thing he wore besides a pair of blue swimtrunks.

"Why was I locked up?"

He cocked his head, his intelligent blue eyes meeting mine. "You don't remember, do you?" He paused in unlocking the door. "What is the last thing you remember?"

"I was on my way back to Minneapolis after the training week. What am I doing back here in Westchester?"

He sighed deeply, but finished unlocking the door. "Oh dear. I believe I should alert the rest of the team as to your status."

"What do you mean, my status?" I demanded. "What's going on?"

"Perhaps you should wait down here. This will only take a moment," he said, making for the door. I easily caught up with him.

"Like hell I will. I want to know what's going on." My tail lashed in annoyance.

"Very well," he replied, leaping up the back stairs with me following. Despite my confusion, I almost laughed at the vision the two of us must present: both furred, one in bright blue and the other in orange and black stripes, one dressed in a lab coat and a pair of swimtrunks, and the other dressed in not much more than my long, luxuriously furry tail.

All urges toward laughter stopped as soon as we entered the Professor's office. Xavier and Jean stared at me as if they'd seen a ghost.

"Vy. How are you feeling?" Jean asked, her green eyes guarded.

"Just fine," I answered, frowning. "What's going on? Why am I back in Westchester? Why was I locked up in a cage? What did Hank mean about my other form?"

Jean's eyes flashed toward Xavier. He gestured for me to take a seat in front of his desk. I did, feeling a bit like a kid up before the Principal.

"Vy, I want you to think very carefully. What is the last thing you remember before you awoke downstairs?" His voice was a deep, cultured baritone.

"Ummm I and the team were on our way back to Minneapolis. We got to the airport, I remember boarding the plane, and then nothing. Why? Did something happen to the plane? Are my teammates okay?" I asked, worried.

"No, nothing has happened to your teammates." Xavier and Jean exchanged a significant look.

"Listen, whatever it is you're not telling me, just tell me. I can handle it. The only thing I can't handle is not knowing what's going on."

He folded his hands on the smooth mahogany desk. "Vy, I am sorry to tell you this, and I realize that this will come as a shock. You and your teammates left Westchester almost a year ago."

I stared at him. Almost a year? "What I mean why don't I remember anything? A year? How could I forget a year?"

"You were captured by a man called Sinister. He performed certain experiments on you. Apparently, part of what he did was place a mental block. When we rescued you, you had no memories. You had regressed to a feral state."

A horrible suspicion dawned on me. "Is that why the cage? And the food bowl?"

"He had experimented with accelerating and accentuating your mutations. You were in a fully-realized tiger form when we rescued you." He gazed at me, seeming to gauge my reactions. "Jean and I were able to remove the mental block. I don't know why you cannot remember the past year. It is possible that there is a secondary mental block in place. Unfortunately, it is also possible that Sinister's mental manipulation has destroyed those memories."

Jean spoke quickly, her voice full of compassion. "The professor and I will do all that we can to help you regain those memories."

"Ummm" I felt as if I was drowning in quicksand. Yesterday I boarded a plane for Minneapolis. Yesterday, a year ago. "Do you know anything? About the year I lost? Maybe if I hear what I was doingcan we contact my team?"

Xavier hesitated. "You had joined the X-Men."

"I _what_? I joined the X-Men? Why?"

"This was not your first run-in with Sinister. Shortly after your return to Minneapolis, you and a young mutant were captured by Sinister. You were rescued by Logan and Remy. You decided that since you were a target for Sinister, you would do what you could to ensure the safety of your teammates by leaving them and joining the X-Men."

I laid my head back against the high back of the chair. "I'm sorry. This just seems so unreal. Okay. So I joined the X-Men. That's what I've been doing for the past year? Running around in some weird spandex costume?"

Jean coughed, sounding as if she were smothering a laugh. The professor shot her a look. "Yes, essentially. Jean, why don't you take Vy to her room. I believe she could do with some peace and quiet."

Jean smiled at me, her green eyes kind. "I think that's a good idea."

She led me up the back stairs, turning right at the corridor. I counted the doors on the way, knowing that if I forgot which room it was I could very well end up walking in on someone. Beyond the embarrassment factor, there was a good chance it would be someone who could kick my ass.

She opened the door to the very last room and gestured me in. I stepped in warily, looking around me. This was my room for the past year? It was very neat, which was entirely unlike me, and there was a samurai sword on a cedar chest against the wall. That and the cowboy hat made me realize Jean had made a mistake. I turned back to her. "No, this can't be my room. It's got someone else's stuff in it. And it smells like like Logan."

Jean blushed. "I uh sorry, I forgot that you"

Logan stepped casually past her into the room. "Yeah, I know it's cleaner than our room usually is, but hey, I haven't had ya messin' up the place for a while now."

He pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. As I gasped for breath, two questions popped into my mind: how was it that I was in tiger-form and he was still an inch taller than me, and what the hell did he mean, OUR room?

* * * * *

"What the hell do you mean, OUR room?" I demanded, trying to push my way out of Logan's arms. I wasn't terribly successful. He may be short, but damn is he strong.

He loosened his grip and looked me up and down. "Yer short."

I knew what he meant. Normally, in tiger-woman form I towered over him, but now I was just about an inch shorter than him, five foot two, my "real" height. I didn't know why the change had occurred, but it pissed me off not to be able to loom over him any more.

"You're not exactly Colossus either, Logan. Stop trying to change the subject. Our room?" I saw a quick exchange of glances between Jean and Logan and knew that she was explaining things to him telepathically.

"Ya don't remember nothin' 'bout the last year?"

"No, I don't. The last thing I remember is boarding the plane for Minneapolis after the week of training. Would you mind letting me go?" I shoved on his chest, not even budging him. He let me go but kept a muscular arm around my waist. I decided not to make an issue of it.

"We think there may be a secondary block in place. Or possibly Sinister destroyed those memories, accidentally or purposefully," Jean said.

Logan growled. I swear, he actually growled, sounding like the biggest, meanest Rottweiler I'd ever met. His voice carried the same growl as he said, "I'm gonna rip that bastard's throat out." I heard a soft *snikt* as his claws slid out.

"Ummm, ditto," I said, a little unnerved.

"Well," said Jean cheerfully, "I'll leave you two alone." She escaped out the door before I could figure out some excuse to stop her.

I moved away from Logan, walking over to a small dresser. There were several pictures on top, including a few of people in old-fashioned clothing, but one caught my eye. It was a picture of Logan and I, dusty, disheveled, and grinning, holding up a volleyball in triumph. I didn't remember it.

"We played volleyball?" I said, to kill the uncomfortable silence.

"Yep." His voice came from just behind me. I jumped. Even with my enhanced hearing, I hadn't heard him walk over.

"I don't remember."

"I know, darlin'." He put his arms around my waist and gently pulled me back against him.

I stood there quietly, looking at the picture and feeling Logan's breath against the back of my neck. It was so strange. All I remembered of him was one week, which admittedly had included a lot of screwing, but really never involved anything more intimate, strange as that may sound. This was the first time I could remember Logan hugging me, just hugging me. Almost in spite of myself, I could feel my muscles relaxing as I stood there in Logan's arms.

"We kicked their asses. You, me, Gambit, an' Rogue against Scott, Jeannie, Bobby, an' Hank." Laughter rumbled in his chest. "We lost a few balls during the game. Gambit got worked up an' accidentally charged one up. It exploded in Bobby's face so he lobbed one made outta ice back at us. Rogue hit it a little hard, an' that was the end o' that one." I giggled, picturing Rogue reducing an ice-volleyball into shards. "Then I kinda lost my cool an' spiked one with the claws." I snickered. "But we won anyway."

He was so warm. His body radiated heat like a stove. I relaxed back against him, staring at the faces in the picture. We looked so happy. I wished I could remember.

"It's so weird To me, it's like I just got on the plane yesterday. It's frightening," I admitted. "Seeing a picture of me and not remembering anything about it."

Logan rubbed his face against the side of my neck. A shiver ran down my spine. "I missed ya, darlin'."

I tensed up.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I pushed against his arms. "Let me go, Logan." He didn't release me. "I said, let me GO!" I repeated, digging my claws into his forearms.

He released his hold, and I backed across the room, watching the blood drip from the deep gouges in his arms. His face was impassive, closed, no emotion showing in his deep-set eyes.

"Shit, I'm sorry," I said.

He just watched me, not saying anything or doing anything to staunch the flow of blood from his wounds. After a few moments, they stopped bleeding, leaving his forearms streaked with blood but unscarred.

"Fuck, Logan, I didn't mean to do that," I whispered.

He still didn't say anything. I didn't know what else to do, so I left.

* * * * *

I walked quickly through the Mansion, hoping no one would stop me. I had to get out. I had to get away.

I made it out of the Mansion without anyone stopping me, miraculously enough. I walked across the enormous back lawn, past the pool and the tennis court and the volleyball court. The sight of the volleyball court caused a curious twisting sensation in my stomach. How the hell had Logan and I managed to look that happy in the picture when it seemed like we couldn't talk for more than five minutes without having an argument?

The woods surrounding the Mansion welcomed me in, the cool shade under the trees exactly what I needed. I walked without any goal, wandering deep into the forest, hardly noticing when night fell.

Eventually I found my way to the lakeshore. Slowly, I walked down the pebbled shore and into the water.

The water was cold and pitch black in the moonlight. I walked out into the lake until I could no longer feel the bottom, then turned, floating on my back, staring up at the stars.

<<They're so cold>>, I thought, <<so distant. Nothing we do matters to them. I wish I could be a star, floating in the night.>>

Everything was still.

I could feel my body getting colder, even through the fur, but it didn't bother me.

Nothing bothered me anymore. I was a star. Time meant nothing to me.

Civilizations rose and fell while I floated in the immense darkness of space.

* * * * *

Water hit me in the face. I coughed and choked, gagging, unable to breath. A large hand grabbed the back of my neck, unceremoniously dragging my head above the water.

"What the hell do ya think you're doin'?" Logan growled in my ear. I sputtered, weakly struggling. He hooked an arm around my neck, dragging me through the water. Once we reached the shore, he picked me up and dumped me on the ground.

On hands and knees, I retched out lake water. Logan stood there with his arms crossed, not saying a word.

At last I finished emptying what felt like about three gallons of lake water from my lungs and stomach. I swayed for a few moments, then crawled to the side and collapsed.

"What. The. Hell. Did you think you were doing?" Logan growled.

"Nothing," I moaned. "Go 'way."

"Were you TRYING to kill yourself?" he roared, picking me up by the scruff of the neck and shaking me.

"No!" I whimpered. I felt like puking again, but I didn't think there was anything left in my stomach to puke. <<That's it,>> I thought. <<I'll puke up my stomach and then I can lie on the shore like a dying fish and Logan can tell me I'm wrong and he's right until I die.>>

"If Chuck hadn't 'a felt you losing consciousness and told me to go grab you, you'd be dead right now!" He was still dangling me in mid-air.

"I'm sorry!" I tried to yell, but it came out as more of a squeak. My whole body was starting to shiver.

I couldn't help it. I did the most humiliating thing possible. I started to cry.

"Shit," Logan said. He dropped me.

I kicked him weakly. "Sorry," he muttered, and picked me up a lot more carefully. I tried kicking him again, but the angle was wrong.

As Logan carried me through the woods and back to the Mansion, my shivering intensified. One side of me was icy cold, the side next to Logan's chest burning hot.

He kicked the door of his room (our room?) closed with his foot and carried me into the attached bathroom. Dumping me into the tub, he turned on the showerhead full blast, and closed the door. I slumped on the floor of the tub. <<Great, survived the lake, gonna drown in the tub,>> I thought.

The glass door slid open and Logan stepped in, naked. He put his hands under my arms and hauled me to my feet.

I leaned against him limply, feeling the hot water pound into my back. I was still shivering, my teeth chattering together. He rubbed his hands up and down my back briskly.

"Dammit, Vy," he muttered.

I leaned against him, crying again, great gulping sobs that echoed horribly in the shower. Logan rubbed my back in circles, leaning his head against mine and murmuring, "It's okay, darlin', it's okay," while I sobbed.

Eventually my shivers subsided, as did the tears. Logan lifted me out of the shower and wrapped me in a huge, soft towel. <<Must be mine,>> I thought. My towels were always enormous, and I couldn't see Logan caring about the softness of his towels.

He gently rubbed my fur dry. I was too exhausted to insist that I could do it myself. Once I was dry, he picked me up again and carried me into the bedroom, laying me down on the futon. He pulled the blanket up over me and padded away silently.

I slipped almost immediately into sleep, waking only slightly when he got into bed. He slipped an arm under my neck and gently pulled me back against his body, spooning me. I drifted off to sleep, feeling warm and safe with his muscular arms around me and the feeling of his chest rising and falling against my back with every breath.

* * * * *

I expected to feel like crap the next morning, what with the near drowning and the hypothermia, but instead I woke up feeling great. I was refreshed, my body felt overflowing with energy, I could have run a mile if I wanted to.

Goddammit, I am NOT a morning person. Of all the things that had been taken away from me, this was one of the least significant and yet one of the most upsetting. It was hard to feel in control of anything when I couldn't even predict the reactions of my own body.

Logan was gone. This didn't surprise me. He was good at that. I needed to keep that in mind. If I started to depend on him too much, I'd be lost when he eventually left. Just as Stephen had left me.

Stephen. I wondered what he'd been doing in the past year. I wondered if I'd ever returned his ratty old U of I sweatshirt to him. I wondered if I'd told him when I went to live half way across the country, to move in with the X-Men.

I couldn't stay here. I had to get some time to myself, time to think. Time to deal with the fact that I couldn't change back into my human form. Ever. I wasn't stupid, and during my wander through the woods I put together the pieces of the puzzle. What was it Hank had called it? An impressive specimen of Panthera tigris? My other form was now "fully realized", as Xavier had so succinctly put it.

I got up out of the bed and padded into the bathroom, looking at myself in the little mirror. It was a familiar sight. I'd been able to change into tiger-woman form since puberty. Orange and black fur. Gold eyes. Fangs. Pointy furry ears. In other words, a damned good Halloween costume.

But unlike a costume, I couldn't pull off this one and see my human face again. It hadn't been a bad face. Dark eyes, arched nose, pretty in its own way, not gorgeous, like Jean or Storm or, well, any of the X-Women. I stared at myself in the mirror and tried to remember exactly what I looked like. Dammit, I never could picture myself. I snarled with frustration.

So. Okay. Say goodbye to ever looking normal again. I was calmer today, not as out of control as I'd been when I walked into the cold lake waters in what I had to admit had been a rather lame-ass suicide attempt.

"If you really want to kill yourself, no one can stop you," I told the reflection in the mirror. The cold logic helped in its own way, as it had years ago, when I'd sat in my dorm room with a knife, thinking about doing it. If you really want to kill yourself, you'll do it, I'd told myself then, and found, as I did now, that maybe I didn't want it that much.

"Right. So stop the fucking pity-fest and think," I told myself.

I'm never going to look normal again! part of me whined.

"Shut the fuck up," I growled at my reflection.

I'm never going to look normal again. I'm never going to be able to lead a normal life. Okay. That's fine, that's a given, that's nothing that I can change. Now get past it, think forward. What are you going to do now? the logical part of me said.

I don't know! the whiny part of me cried.

Oh grow up! Stop fucking pitying yourself.

So, here's the basic problem: do I stay or do I go?

I stared down at my hands. They weren't paws, exactly, but they were furred except for the palms and the pads of my fingers. Nasty claws tipped the fingers, sliding in and out as I twitched tiny muscles that humans just don't have. These were my hands now, for good. I couldn't ever paint my fingernails again.

A quirky smile twisted my mouth to one side as I contemplated painting my claws. A nice classy beige-pink. Sure. That'd be just pathetic.

"Focus," I snarled.

So, do I stay?

It was definitely the easiest answer, at least on the surface. Stay, continue this fucking bizarre relationship with Logan, try to fit in with the team. Hope that Jean and Xavier could eventually unearth my memories of the last year.

But how the hell could I even try to make a relationship with Logan work when I couldn't remember it? At the best of times, I'd give us fifty-fifty odds on being able to keep a relationship going without killing each other, but with my memories gone no way in hell. There was no getting past that.

So I need to go. Where? Hell, I don't know. Anywhere but here.

I left the room our room behind and headed downstairs.

* * * * *

I knocked once on the door to the professor's office and entered, finding him behind his desk, as usual. I didn't sit down.

"I'm going."

"You're not up to travel right now, Vy," he said, sounding reasonable as always.

"Yeah, I am. Can I borrow a car?"

"I really don't feel this is wise."

"I need to, Professor. I need some time to myself." Almost pleading, I said, "I need to figure out my head for a while. I can't stay here. I passed two people in the hall on the way here who knew my name, and I couldn't remember ever meeting them before."

He sighed. "I do need to remind you that you can no longer pass for human. You would be in a great deal of danger."

Good point. "Maybe you could just drop me off in some wilderness area," I said, smiling hopefully.

"Vy, given your recent recovery from the feral state in which we recovered you, I believe that a wilderness area would not be conducive to your emotional recovery."

"No, seriously, it'd be great."

"I cannot in all good conscience allow you to distance yourself from medical care in your fragile emotional state." His voice was sympathetic, but final.

He knew. He knew that my 'accidental' near-drowning had been anything but accidental. I felt tears springing into my eyes and left, quickly, before I started crying in the middle of his office.

* * * * *

I couldn't stay in the Mansion. I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep from crying if I ran into a sympathetic face right now. So I headed back into the woods, where at least I could be alone.

Not completely alone, of course. I had no doubt that Xavier was keeping a little psychic watch on me, just to make sure I didn't try again.

He didn't need to worry. I was past that point. Thanks to Logan saving me.

I climbed up a tree and sat in one of the lower branches, only about twenty feet off the ground. Funny how instinctive that felt.

Logan saved my life. I sat back and looked at that idea. I guess it sounded pretty romantic, until you took into account the fact that I puked up a few gallons of lake water after he saved me. Plus the whole picking me up by the scruff of the neck and yelling at me thing. And he didn't get any points for dropping me on my ass either.

Well speak of the devil. Logan stepped silently into the clearing below my tree, sniffing around for a few moments and then looking up straight at me. He made short work of climbing up the tree and settling down on a branch a little below and to the side of mine.

"Go away, Logan."

"Nope," he said calmly, then pulled out a cigar and proceeded to light it.

I stared out into the trees, watching the birds and the squirrels and the chipmunks going about their simple little lives. Find food, find a mate, hide or run from predators. Pretty nice life.

I decided not to talk to Logan.

That lasted about an hour, then I couldn't stand it anymore.

"When did I move to New York?"

"'Bout ten months ago."

"When did we start sharing a room?"

"'Bout two weeks later."

Damn. That was quick. I'd dated Stephen for four years without us moving in together.

"When did Sinister capture me?"

"'Bout two months ago."

Eight months living together. I was amazed we hadn't killed each other.

"How long since you guys rescued me?"

"A week." His voice was still calm, but I knew him. I knew the tension in his shoulders, the hard note in his voice.

"What did they want me for?" It just didn't make sense. Why experiment on me? My mutant powers weren't impressive or unique. All I did was change form, and heal fast, but not as quickly as Logan.

He popped one set of claws and pretended to inspect the metal.

"Logan, what? What aren't you saying?"

*snikt* *snikt* It was a nervous habit of his, popping his claws in and out, and I knew he only did it when he was really angry or nervous. With him, usually angry.

I swung over the side of my branch and landed, crouching, on his. Staring into his eyes, I demanded, "What? Tell me!"

He frowned down at his claws and they slid back into his hands. Quietly, he said, "We found some stuff at the lab. He was experimenting. Usin' yer genetic material."

"To do what?" I whispered.

"To breed stronger mutants. Foot soldiers."

"What? He was cloning me?"

"Not cloning. Combinin' yer genetic material with Creed's."

"No" I closed my eyes tightly. I wanted to rewind my life, make all this go away.

I felt him reach out a hand and place it on my shoulder. "Darlin'"

I pulled away. "What did youWhat did you do with the, the material?"

"Destroyed it." His eyes were sad and old, looking into mine.

This time, when he reached out to me, I let him pull me into his arms. I huddled into his warm embrace and cried, for what I'd lost, and for what should never have been.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, I spent most of the daylight hours in the forest, coming back to the Mansion only to grab quick meals and to sleep. Without really discussing the matter, I continued to sleep in Logan's our room. We didn't really talk about much, since he wasn't a great talker at the best of times and I didn't particularly feel capable of talking about any of the things going through my mind. I'd sense him staring at me, when he thought I wasn't looking. I'd catch his eyes on me, and try to match him stare for stare, but it was always me that looked away first.

The rest of the team was friendly, if not particularly outgoing. I got the feeling that this was a group of people who'd been through so much together that new people could never quite breach the inner circle. That was fine with me. I had too much going on in my head to want anyone to be close to me.

The professor and Jean continued to try to unearth the year's worth of memories from inside my head, but with limited success. There were flashes I would get, memories of walking down a hall or something just as unimportant, but nothing that addressed the questions burning in my mind. How had Sinister captured me? What had he done to me while I was a captive? I began to feel discouraged about ever learning the answers to those questions.

About the only person I enjoyed spending time with was Hank. I'd wander down into his laboratory at about two or three in the morning, when no one else was awake, and he'd talk to me. I can't say that I was much for keeping up the other end of the conversation, but that didn't seem to bother him. He'd talk about science and math and stuff, and I'd sit there feeling happy that here was someone who made absolutely no emotional demands on me whatsoever.

I could sit there for hours without saying a word, and he'd happily explain some scientific thing or other to me while messing around with his beakers and slides. I'll admit, I didn't understand much of what he explained, since I hadn't taken any science or math classes since high school, and even my college anthro courses were getting a little hazy, but it was wonderful to sit there in his lab and let his gentle, educated voice flow past my ears.

He never asked me why I came to see him. I think in his own way Hank's a rather lonely guy.

As the days went by I started ranging farther and farther afield on my daily wanderings. I was surprised to find exactly how extensive the forest behind the Mansion is. Then again, considering how rich Xavier is, I guess it shouldn't have surprised me that much.

I found a little stone cottage deep in the woods one day and I guess I kind of adopted it. I don't know how old it was. I guessed it was pre-Revolutionary War, but then again, it had been a long time since those college anthro courses. The roof was almost completely gone, so I spent a couple days repairing it with tree branches and long grasses. The end result wasn't exactly rain-proof, but it was an improvement over nothing at all. The door had fallen in when the leather hinges rotted, so I scavenged some rope from the Mansion and jury-rigged new hinges.

When I was done with the repair work and cleaning out years of dirt and weeds from inside the cottage, it looked pretty cozy. I liked the fact that probably no one but me had seen the place in years. It felt like mine.

The X-Men were by this time accustomed to the fact that I usually spent all day in the forest. Logan never asked me where I'd been when I finally slipped into bed around four or five in the morning. Of course, I never asked where he'd been, either, when he came in stinking of booze and cigarette smoke. We turned to one another silently in the darkness, with an intensity that spoke of desperation and need.

One day, probably about ten days after my rescue, I lay on the grass in front of the little cottage, staring up at the sky, not thinking about much of anything. The branches of the trees above me waved a little in the wind, letting shadows brush over my face like a caress.

I wasn't aware of his approach till his shadow loomed over me. He'd been careful to approach from downwind, and he could move with a silence unexpected in someone so large.

"Vy," he said, his voice a low snarling purr.

I blinked up at him in terror, my heart pounding, fragmentary memories whirling through my mind uncontrollably. A smoky bar a dark alleyway a prison cell I scrabbled backwards on the grass, unable to look away from his unnaturally dark eyes.

He moved with a predator's smooth grace, crossing the grass and pouncing on me before I could get very far. He pinned me, his huge hands easily holding down my wrists. "Ya don't look happy to see me."

"Fuck you, Creed! Get the hell off me, you fucking psychopath!" I raked my claws over his wrists. He shifted his hold so that both of my wrists were in one hand and I could no longer scratch him. He held my eyes with his own as he brought his wrist to his mouth and licked off the blood.

"Pissed off at me, honey?" he said, grinning.

"I'm gonna rip your throat out, Creed!"

He stroked the side of my face with a clawed finger. "I missed ya too, tigercat."

"Fuck you!" He was easily three times my size and had me well and truly pinned. God, I wish I'd stayed closer to the mansion

"Oh, come on, tigercat, I came fer ya soon as I could. Sinny got his panties in a bunch 'bout the X-dweebs trashing his lab. Took me a while to get away. They been treatin' ya all right? Cause if they haven't I'll shred 'em inta little teeny pieces." He sounded as if he meant it. I stared up at him, trying to figure out when the world went crazy.

"What are you" My voice broke. I tried again. "What are you talking about?"

"Our plan. Ya know. Our plan, to get ya outta Sinister's hands." He scratched just the right place under my jaw.

"What the hell do you mean, our plan? Why the hell would you want to help me?" I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with _Victor Creed_ of all people, murderer, psychopath, three hundred pounds of crazed bloodlust gently scratching under my chin.

"Ah, yer still pissed at me cause 'a what I said to the runt. I had ta make it sound good, else Sinny woulda known somethin' was goin' on. Plus I like jerkin' his chain." He smiled, showing way too many sharp teeth way too close to my throat for my comfort.

"Are you telling me that we planned to have the X-Men rescue me?" This had to be some kind of bizarre dream. My subconscious had to be pretty fucked up to come up with something like this.

"Yeah. What, doncha remember? Ya gotta remember this," he purred, gently licking the side of my neck. Every muscle in my body stiffened, and I honestly couldn't say whether it was arousal or terror.

"Let me GO!" I demanded, and strangely enough, he did. I scrabbled backwards several feet and stared at him, lounging on the grass for all the world like an enormous housecat. "Are you trying to tell me that we were, that we were lovers?"

"Yep." He grinned.

"You're a murderer, a psychopath, and a rapist!"

He frowned. "Murderer, yeah, psychopath, yeah, but not anymore, and rapist, only when I was crazy."

"Oh, you're trying to tell me that you got better?" I crouched on the grass, my tail lashing back and forth. He wouldn't catch me off guard again.

"Yep. Sinny wanted ta make me better at tactics an' leadin' the Marauders. I dunno how, but he flipped some switch in my brain that made me sane again."

"You're serious."

He shrugged. "Yep. I woke up one mornin' an' things were clear again. An' then Sinny captured ya the first time, an' I worked things so ya'd escape. We started meetin' every couple'a weeks, whenever ya could get away from the runt."

"You're lying! I'd never have an affair." He was just trying to screw with my mind, I thought triumphantly.

"We didn't." I stared at him suspiciously. "We just got together ta bullshit. Oh, I wanted to, but ya had some weird hang-up about cheatin' on the runt."

"I don't believe you."

"Ya tol' me yer real name." He looked completely relaxed, stretched out on the grass in his jeans and wolfskin coat.

I stared at him without speaking.

"Violet," he said, stretching out the syllables so it sounded more like Viiiioooolet.

"Bullshit! I never would have told you that. Sinister must have drugged me and gotten my name out of me. I never would have!" I was on my feet, my arms wrapped around my middle, my claws digging into my own skin.

"An' ya changed yer name to Vyaghri after ya dropped outta college. Means tiger in Sanskrit."

"Shut up! I'm not listening to you! You're lying! I never would have told you that!"

"It's the truth, babe."

"Fuck off!"

He flowed to his feet and stretched like a cat. "Well, I gotta get back ta work. You comfy here, got everythin' ya need? Cause it's gonna be a little while 'fore I can off Sinny." He made an eloquent throat-cutting gesture.

"You think you can kill Sinister? You are crazy." My voice trembled.

"Well, I gotta have goals. But once I get rid o' him, it's you an' me, Vy, private island in the South China Sea, jus' like I promised ya." He walked up to me. I refused to give ground, to show fear. He ran a clawed hand down the length of my spine and drew me closer, then kissed me passionately. Desire and fear and anger warred within me, and without meaning to, I responded, kissing him back and then biting into his lower lip.

He licked the blood off his lower lip, grinning. "That's more like my tigercat." He crossed the clearing in a few steps, then turned back for a moment. "If ya still don't believe me, ask the runt why ya left the Mansion the night ya were captured." And he was gone, disappearing into the woods like a ghost.

"I don't believe you," I whispered, then shouted after him, "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU, YOU PSYCHO SONOFABITCH!"

Distant laughter was the only response I got.

I don't believe him, I don't believe him, I told myself. But still I took care to wash all trace of his scent off me in the lake before returning to the Mansion.

* * * * *

"What happened the night I was captured by Sinister?"

The dark form that was Logan paused, then continued taking off his shirt. He hadn't turned on the light when he came in. I knew he could see as well as I could in the faint light that filtered through the curtains. Dawn wasn't far off.

"You an' I had an argument," he said, his voice guarded.

"About what?" I asked. I wasn't sure I believed Creed's version of the events, but I needed to know what Logan's version was.

"You'd been out drinkin'." The bed rustled as he sat down on the edge.

"We had an argument over one of us going to a bar? Jesus, Logan, if we had an argument every time THAT happened"

"We had an argument 'cause you'd been with Creed." His voice was perfectly calm, but I could smell his tension.

"What do you mean, I'd been with Creed?" I asked, part of me dreading the answer.

"You and Creed" He took a deep breath, his hands flexing. "You'd had sex."

"It wasn't rape," I said, knowing what the answer would be.

"No."

The silence stretched out. We were both sitting on the bed, only a foot between us, but it felt like an immense gulf, bottomless, filled with sharp jagged rocks.

I didn't want to tell him. I'd washed the smell of Creed off of me so that he wouldn't know. But something inside me said that if I didn't tell Logan the truth now, our relationship was doomed. Eventually that little seed of untruth would grow and poison everything between us. I'll admit it, usually I'm not all that wise. Sometimes I'm as dense as a rock. But just then, teetering on the brink of the abyss, that little flash of wisdom came to me and saved me from throwing everything we had been or ever could be away.

"I saw him yesterday."

"Creed?"

"Yeah."

He said nothing, running his hands through his thick hair and making it more of a mess than usual.

"He said that we'd been meeting for several months before I was captured. Is that true?"

"I don't know, Vy. Ya weren't tellin' me much of what ya were doing back then."

"He said that he helped me escape from Sinister, that he's sane now."

His head snapped up and he snarled, "Don't ya believe it. Don't ya believe him. He's a killer, that's all he's ever been. He tricked us inta believin' that he was all cured before, an' ya know what he did? Left a teenage girl who was naive enough ta believe him bleedin' ta death on a concrete floor. She almost died, an' it was all Hank, Jeannie, and Chuck could do ta put her body an' mind back together again."

We sat together in silence for several minutes after his outburst.

"Did you ask me why? I mean, why I slept with him?" I asked, trying to reconstruct my motivations.

"Sort of," he muttered.

"What does that mean?"

"You an' I we were both so angry there was a lot of yelling going on."

"And then what?"

"Ya left."

"Did we break up?"

"Yeah."

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"After we rescued you?" I nodded. He said, "I didn't know what ta say. What could I say, glad ta see ya again, oh by the way before you were captured we had a huge fight over ya sleepin' with my worst enemy and ya told me ta get the hell outta yer life?"

"It would have been something!"

Muscles bunched and rolled in his shoulders as he laced his hands together and rested his arms on his raised knees. He didn't say anything.

"Logan" I said quietly. He didn't respond. "Logan, listen, I'm sorry. I just feel so goddamned helpless. I can't even remember the last year of my life, and to find out that I did something so completely against my nature It makes me wonder. Who I was, what was going through my mind that I would sleep with Victor Creed, of all people."

He stared into the darkness, and at first I didn't think he was going to say anything. To my surprise, he said, "We were havin' problems. Before that, I mean. We were both goin' out ta bars, not together either. It seemed like we couldn't talk anymore, like every time we tried we'd just end up in another fight."

"What about?"

He shifted restlessly. "Oh, like me not communicatin' with ya."

I snorted. "I can see that."

"Then the thing with Creed."

"Yeah." What the hell had I been thinking? How could I have possibly justified cheating on my lover to myself? I could have screamed at the year-long blank in my memories.

"An' then I let ya drive off inta the night, even though I knew Creed had gotten his paws on ya."

"I don't think you can blame yourself for that."

"I do. I know what Creed's like. I shoulda known he'd grab ya. But I was too angry an' I didn't think. Then the next day, when I found the car wreck, and you were gone I knew Creed had ya."

I started to say something, but he overrode me. "I've got somethin' ta say, and god knows I'm not much of a man for talkin', so ya might wanta let me say this while I've still got the balls ta say it."

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again. "I had a lot of time ta think while you were gone. I thought about the troubles we were havin', and I thought about what ya said. About me never tellin' ya what I was thinkin'. An' I realized that I might never have the chance to tell ya. Creed ain't much fer keepin' captives alive fer very long."

The muscles in his arms flexed and his claws popped free with a soft *snikt*. Logan stared at them as if surprised to see them, then relaxed his arms and let them slide back into his hands.

I stayed silent. This was the longest speech I had ever heard from him, and I wasn't about to interrupt his train of thought.

"So I had a lot of time ta think. An' I thought about my track record with women in the past. Damn, sometimes it seems like every woman I hook up with ends up dead, one way 'r another. An' I'm not sure how an ol' Canucklehead like me deserves such amazin', tough, brave, gorgeous dames. Hell, I'm ugly as sin, got metal stuck ta my bones, ain't much fer social graces, an' nobody, includin' myself, knows how old I am."

He shook his head. "Damn, get me talkin', an' all of a sudden I can't shut up... So I realized that I never told ya how important ya are ta me. An' I realized that I might never get the chance. So I wanted ta tell ya"

I was almost holding my breath, afraid that any movement might spook him.

" I wanted ta tell ya that I that that yer real important ta me."

I looked at him in the shadowy half-light of dawn. He wasn't a good-looking man, life and pain had marked his face too heavily for that. He was short, and quick-tempered, and hairy. But you know what? At that moment, sitting there with him, I realized that he made me happy, and that was all that really matters in the end.

I leaned across and rested my chin on his shoulder. "There ain't nothin' like regret to remind you you're alive," I sang softly.

"That's one way of lookin' at it."

"It's all in the way you look at it, Logan. Listen, I don't remember the past year. I don't remember the problems we were having, and I don't remember why I slept with Creed. I could look at that as something that I'll never be able to overcome. I could give up on us. But all that's in the past. I can't change the past, but we can always change the future. And I'm willing to try."

He took my chin in his hand and looked into my eyes. "Do ya mean that? Do ya understand what yer committin' to? We've both got nasty tempers, an' you may not remember the fights we had, but I do. We can both be stubborn jackasses. Are ya willin' ta fight for this relationship?"

"Yeah, I am, Logan."

He smiled then, a real smile, one that crinkled his eyes and quirked his eyebrows. "All right, then, darlin', long as ya know what yer in for."

"Logan?"

"Yep."

"Kiss me, you dork."

And he leaned forward and kissed me, long and slow and deep, and he let his body express the words that he couldn't say.

And you know what? It was okay that he couldn't say the words, because maybe I couldn't have gotten up the courage to say them either.

Or maybe, with the two of us, words didn't matter as much.



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