Marcus was cool about everything, as he was inclined to be, despite his short temper. He had a mercenary temperament, in that he knew caring about something beyond the surface level was a good way to get hurt or dead. And yet he couldn't completely submerge the tendency, no matter how hard he tried. He still cared about his "people", as he saw them, and he honestly did care about Logan. He would never say it, but he felt he and Logan were somewhat kindred spirits, and he was probably right. They were both - as Marcus saw it - "hardcore", and that was certainly true. Also, he also knew he could trust Logan, because Logan didn't betray anyone as a matter of course. He was - to quote Marc's feeling on it - very "samurai" about keeping his word.

Bob wondered if Marcus would ever know how accurate he was. Probably not - even Logan didn't know. Okay, he heard the former Dayu Takabe refer to him - several times - as the "Yashida's samurai" while under Bob's sway, but he didn't believe it; he refused to believe it. He insisted it was a "figure of speech", that he was nothing more than their "hired gun". "A gaijin samurai," he snorted derisively. "That's somethin' out of a Clavell novel."

The most oddly funny thing about that was Logan, in his mind, thought he had said "white samurai" - not gaijin, the Japanese (and slightly derisive) term for white foreigners, and Logan never realized he had accidentally slipped into Japanese. Logan did that a lot, slipping into other languages, usually around people who also spoke it, but he usually realized it immediately afterward. Logan's mind - bless him - was a complete fucking mess: scrambled eggs in the cranium.

That was part of the reason why he was so amazing, even if he never bothered to admit it. He could walk and talk, and be relatively coherent - and in more than one language. Bob knew his mind was far more different than other people's, in a way that couldn't be measured by current technology. Although Logan thought he only heard people's thoughts, he could "see" them if he wished, and whether simply "audio" or "visual", there was a certain rhythm to the chaos of people's thoughts (demons differed according to species). But the brain scrambling Logan had undergone was reflected in the chaos of his thought rhythms - they had more "holes" than most people's (for obvious reasons), but here was something Logan didn't know about himself, and would never know: his thoughts were multilingual. He often thought in many different languages at the same time. English was his primary language, but he had a surprising amount of thoughts in Japanese, and third on the list was French (well, he was from Canada-that probably explained that ... but how did he explain Cantonese being number four in the line up). But that was why he sometimes slipped into other tongues without being aware of it - some part of his brain had been "thinking" in that language, therefore it was its language - it was not odd to his brain. But Logan didn't know that. How could he when his brain instantly interpreted
almost every language you could name? The mind scrambling had left Logan somewhat disconnected from his own thought processes, so he would probably always be something of a stranger to himself. It was a shame, because Bob was curious how he could pick up all these languages so easily.

Bob knew how he could - seeing and hearing other people's thoughts gave you a definite edge in picking up the language. But since Logan wasn't a telepath, something had to give him an edge over others in the language department. Could it be something as simple as his hearing being above average? Sensory intuition? Some mutation in the language processing center of his brain? Because Logan had been essentially broken from that connection, no one would probably ever know; he'd be the idiot savant of languages - able to speak and read nearly everything, and yet perfectly unable to tell you how.

He liked Marcus, and promised to treat him to a night out later - he just had to talk to Logan now, in private. Marcus seemed to understand, and wished him luck. "Some heavy shit's happened," Marcus confided to him. "He's pretending to be cool with it ... but man, he ain't."

Bob knew that, but he thanked him for the warning anyways. Logan was just bristling with resentment towards him, and it didn't take Bob long to figure out why. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. No wonder Xhal had taken her guise to fuck with Logan.

But Bob knew Logan had to tell him - he knew he needed to get this off his chest before he exploded in rage and hurt someone. And if Logan wanted to funnel it towards him, that was fine - Bob knew he could take it.

Rather than take Logan out drinking in Baltimore, which he didn't really know, he transported himself and Logan back to the Way Station ... well, after he'd showered and changed into some clothes that weren't bloodstained and covered with bits of rotting demi-god flesh. It was surprising what a bummer that could be.

Lau was on shift at the bar, not Lia, and in a way that made things easier, as Lau just thought he'd been away on vacation. The bar was sparsely populated with customers, and when two vampires recognized Logan, they slipped out the back. Logan was too busy fuming quietly to notice.

Bob got them both a beer and made sure the demons remaining in the bar could neither see nor hear them. The jukebox was playing one of his favorite obscure Faith No More songs, and he was singing along with it before he realized what he was singing. "Gods fall, with each pleasure that you give. You fall, and take the whole world with you.
But will you even bother to look down?" He stopped as he returned to the table and put a beer down in front of Logan. He probably would have taken it personally if he sang the "The circumstance it turns you inside out, so we can have peace before you find out what's inside your head " bit. Some ironies were nasty, and Logan was in no mood to humor anyone. Was it his fault so many songs seemed to encapsulate bits of Logan's life?

"So, gonna fill me in what I missed?" He asked with false cheer, before helping himself to a big gulp of his Castlemain XXX. He was going to need serious alcohol for this. Also, it tasted good after so much time without a body. You missed on the little things like taste and a good, solid buzz.

Logan glowered at him over his beer. "You know what happened, Bob. I know damn well what you're doing."

"What's that?"

Logan's stare was molten enough to set the furniture on fire. Yes, he did know, but this was for Logan's good, whether he knew it or not. "She's dead, Bob. Is that what you wanted me to say?"

Bob had no idea why, but looking into Logan's mind, he saw ... what the hell was that? It was like an energy trace, but not his ... new. Not demonic - or at least not a demon he recognized. Way too powerful an energy signature to be mutant, and too powerful to be anything Xhal and Xhos could have done. They couldn't effect anyone permanently anyways. Did Logan know about it? How could he not know? "Are you sure?"

Logan scoffed derisively. "She's dead? Oh, I don't know-she only had two tons of water crash down on her head. I'm sure she's fine."

Bob sat back in his chair, feeling the resentment boiling up in him. "Just say it, Logan."

He glared at him, fuming, and finally he said it, but it came out as more of an aggrieved shout. "Where the fuck were you, Bob? Where the fuck were you?!" Logan then put his head in hands, his shoulders stooped, as if he was bending under a sudden and savage weight.

Logan knew why he wasn't there - he didn't want an answer. He just didn't want Jean dead. And right now, for all his anger, Logan was full of self-loathing - he felt he had failed Jean in some way, like he had failed so many others. He was also thinking (in Japanese-he didn't know that, though) 'I could have survived that. And if I didn't, what difference would it have made?'

And while Logan was lost in his remorseful thoughts, Bob caught the briefest glimpse of the energy thread again, twisting in his mind. Fuck, was that thing still active? It was still connected to something.

What he told Logan was true - once anything had cut a "doorway" through your mind, that doorway always remained. The passage could go dormant - the one Xavier had left was currently dormant, for example - but this "thread" wasn't; it was ...

... it led straight through the passage Jean had left in Logan's mind. Did that mean something? It must have - how could something "piggyback" the passage Jean left in his mind? He'd never heard of such a thing before, and he'd encountered all sorts of weird shit. But that wasn't Jean - Jean always had lots of power potential ( and he'd been in her mind; he knew that better than she had ), but nothing like this.

Logan finally dry washed his face and looked up, forcing Bob to focus on him. "My eyes are normal," Bob told him, giving him the slightest push. Only Logan would notice that his pupils were larger than normal, and would know what that meant - that he was looking inside his own mind.

Logan didn't notice, exactly like he was supposed to do. "I don't suppose you can bring her back."

Bob was tempted to ask once more if he was sure she was dead, but didn't. After all, being able to swap bodies or remain a conscious, thinking entity - such as he had just done - without a physical body was hardly a Human thing to do. "No, I'm sorry. I don't do resurrections. I can keep people from dying, but I can't give them a  jump start once they're completely dead."

Logan looked at him dubiously, jaw muscles tight. He didn't believe him, and didn't want to believe him, both of which were fine. It was Logan's choice. After a moment, he looked away, presumably at the bar. "They said they could, you know."

It didn't take a lot to guess who he meant. "Xhal? No, he didn't have that kind of power. Except, ya know, making zombies."

He nodded, still looking off at the bar. He didn't want to look at him, because Logan didn't want him to see his desperation, although he knew he probably did and resented him for it. Bob felt bad for Logan at times like these, but he knew if he mentioned it, Logan would try to kill him. "I figured as much," Logan admitted. "Too good to be true." He glanced back at him, and tried to sound blasé as he asked, "But there are gods who can do that shit, right?"

Bob really did feel bad for him now. He knew, after the death of his first wife, Maggie - way back in Botany Bay, long before he rediscovered his powers - he'd have done anything, cut any deal, to get her back. He'd have done what Logan was trying to figure a way to do - switch places, swap his death for hers. It never worked that way, but it was a nice, tormenting thought. It was probably his first thought about Mariko too - "If I died, she wouldn't have." It still wasn't true, even after all this time. "There are, but you can't trust a one of them. There are always loopholes and high prices for such deals."

And it was Maggie's death that spurred the suicidal agony that let him discover who he truly was - not just a blue blooded Belial demon passing for Human, but something else entirely. So as horrible as deaths were, they did have a purpose; sometimes they spurred great changes. But Logan was in no mood to hear that now. (Besides, if he was right, Mariko's death put Logan on the road that led him to getting mutilated  - hardly a positive.)

Logan nodded and looked down into his beer, in case there was something fascinating at the bottom of the can. "I know. No free lunch, right?"

"Right." He gleaned that the energy signature in his mind was connected to something that was bothering him. He let Logan see the look on his face.

"What?" He snapped irritably.

Bob had to struggle not to smile. "Something else is bothering you too."

"No," he denied, a knee jerk dismissal. At Bob's continued scrutinizing look, he relented with a reluctant shrug. "I've had these weird dreams lately. Weirder than usual."

Here it was. "Beyond torture chamber stuff?"

Logan nodded, and had a gulp of his beer before getting down to it. "This energy thing has been interrupting  my dreams lately. It wasn't you, was it?"

"No. You'd know anyways, wouldn't ya?"

"Yeah, but ... just wanted to make sure. You can be a dick at a times."

"Only at times?" He grinned. But Logan's snide look made him at least get to pretend to sober up. "Okay, tell me about this thing."

"I can't. I mean I always forget about the thing after I wake up; I can't remember it no matter how hard I try. I just know that there's something ..."

"Do you know what it wants?"

Logan shook his head, grimacing in frustration. "No. I just know it wants something from me."

"But you don't know what?"

"No."

"Bad or good?"

Logan shrugged with a hand, making a sour face that suggested this was a real sore point for him. "No fuckin' clue. Could go either way. But it hasn't killed me, so that's good, right?"

"Usually." Was it covering its tracks, or was its energy flux so erratic that its matrix broke up as a matter of course? The only way to find out was to try and follow it.

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. "That didn't sound promising."

"Well, it's the unknown - by definition, it's unpredictable." He could feel Logan's exhaustion from here. It was no surprise he was tired - he'd only had his throat cut, after all. His blood volume was probably adequate now, but he needed rest to get his equilibrium back. Logan knew that, but didn't like it.

Bob took a sip of his beer, hiding his mouth from his view. "Hear me, but don't notice me talking," Bob said, giving him a slight push. "When the intruder comes back, you will not only remember it - in spite of what it does - but you will be able to confront it as you wish. And then, once it's gone, you will use the doorway, and you will find me."

He would have tried to laid in wait for the thing, but it was so powerful he was sure it would know he was there, and abort. If Logan could come get him immediately after it had gone, he might be able to follow a fresh trail out to its source. He was sure Logan would agree with this tactic, so he didn't feel too bad about it. He'd have told Logan, but it was best he wasn't consciously aware of it, so if the thing was a mind reader it wouldn't glean the trap.

Logan tried to swallow a yawn, and Bob said, going back to normal voice and putting down his beer, "There's a room in the back. You can crash."

He shook his head, which was what Bob expected. "I'm good."

"You're not good," Bob pointed out gently. "You're shagged out. Nearly bleeding to death does that to people."

Logan glanced at him sharply, but even it had a weariness to it. "Nearly doesn't count." Bob just stared at him until he  sighed. "What d'ya want me to say, Bob?"

"I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to give yourself a break. No one is perfect, and you don't always have to see how indestructible you can be. Backing off for a bit is no crime."

That made him snort derisively again. "I'm as far from perfect as you can get."

"So why do you hold yourself to a higher standard than other people? So you have the right to be as cocky as hell?"

Logan's eyes narrowed in angry distaste. "I never make any claim I can't back up."

"I know - I didn't say you weren't honest. If anyone has the right to be so confident in themselves and their abilities, it's you. But you know, everyone's allowed to bobble the ball a bit now and then. In fact, unless you can control entropy, it's pretty much impossible not to."

Logan's intense gaze didn't let up. That was one of his more loveable tendencies - he knew he couldn't win against him, and yet Logan still insisted on trying to fight him. He was a pigheaded, stubborn mule, and Bob found that an endearing trait. Okay, he knew he was weird, but he admired the people who kept going, even though they knew in the end it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. He'd been like that himself, hence him getting the shit whipped out of him in Botany Bay. How many times did he get strung up for a meeting with the cat o' nail tails? Shit, he couldn't even remember anymore. Good thing he had a demon body, or his back would still be ground chuck. "I don't like bein' psychoanalyzed," Logan sneered. "So stop it."

"I wasn't psychoanalyzing you," he replied. "Just givin' you a helpful hint." He then flashed a sarcastically innocent smile, and Logan rolled his eyes and looked off towards the door, watching as a large horned Grbek demon squeezed inside the bar.

Bob kept the corner of his eye on Logan ( if he looked at him straight on, he'd instantly pick it up ), and wondered what the "intruder" in Logan's mind was as Radiohead warbled from the jukebox, "Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there."

There were benefits in having Ganesha as a personal friend. Sure, he sometimes left a bathtub ring in your swimming pool, but he also could bend entropy away from you, and it wasn't all that unusual from him to use music to communicate, since he was very body conscious and didn't like crowds. Bob wondered if he was doing that now. Was there a through line here?

That also reminded him he had to replace Logan's Ganesha fetish, the little jade one he gave him for his trip to London. Logan kept trying to throw it away, and of course, since it was under Ganesha's sway, it kept going back to where it had been before ( no entropy - therefore no destruction, and that included being discarded, unless Ganny wished it so ). Eventually he asked Nariko, the matter changing Japanese girl, to make it chewing gum - she did, and Logan chewed it up and spit it out in a garbage can at a highway rest stop somewhere between New York and Connecticut. Logan could be a real card at times.

"You know, maybe I should call Wes," Logan said half-heartedly. "Thank him and shit, let him know we're alive, and Santo Marco's a mystical sinkhole no more."

"Call him?" Bob repeated. "Mate, he lives only a couple of miles from here. You could drop by, ya know. Bring him a fruit basket or something."

Logan looked back at him, chuckling in disbelief. "A fruit basket?"

"Well, sure. He'd never expect a fruit basket, 'specially from you. It'd be a nice gesture."

Logan shook his head and looked down at the table, trying to hide his smile. "Thanks for helpin' me save the Southern Hemisphere - here's some oranges."

"It's the thought that counts."

Logan chuckled and rubbed his eyes, trying to hold back another yawn. Was he going to have to push him to make him get some sleep before he passed out? "So how was the Higher Realms?" Logan asked, obviously trying to change the subject. "I was wonderin' if they were gonna let you out or not."

"Well, much you like you, people only want me around if I can be controlled or manipulated in some fashion. Otherwise I'm more pain than I'm worth."

Logan grimaced and nodded in sage agreement. At least they had that in common.

It was split almost down the middle, those who wanted him to stay, insisting the Realms needed him, and those that basically wanted him out or dead ( preferably both ). He had broken one of the unwritten laws - the biggest they had - and yet he had done so to save their asses. They couldn't condemn and "sentence" him for killing a god when they'd all but asked him to do it, to spare them from death at Kumiho's "hands". It was a little distressing to realize even a professional outsider had a specific role in a hierarchy. Logan was the only one he knew who could understand that, because that was the role he played for Xavier - he was the professional last resort. Every system, every group, needed someone who could do the dirty work for them, so they could conserve their sense of moral superiority, and yet still be safe from those with far fewer principals.

Logan was unable to stifle his yawn this time, so he tried to lose it by chugging his beer instead.

"Ya know, I ain't lettin' you pass out here," Bob told him. "Would you get in the back already? I assure ya, Hel ain't here."

Logan smirked, but Bob sensed the wash of guilt before Logan said, "Uh, look, after you disappeared ... Hel and I, uh ..."

"I know," he assured him, touched that he would feel some guilt about it, even after everything. "Ask me if I care."

He nodded, still feeling some guilt, but aware that it didn't matter to Bob at all. "She's a hell of a woman, ya know."

"I know," he agreed.

"She loves you, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Can't help but love her for that." How could you not love Helga? She was another professional outsider, like the pair of them. They were like their own little pariah club. "Now, are you goin' back there, or do you think the crack motel a couple of blocks away from here might be better?"

Logan scowled at him - which he expected - and gave in with a sigh. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"Nope."

"What about this energy thing?"

"I hope it shows." He hoped that Logan understood he couldn't say more than that.

Logan got it without needing a push. He nodded grimly and stood up, the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor getting a few odd looks from demons who had no idea anyone was at that table. "In the back, huh?"

"Use your nose. It's the room that doesn't smell like my office."

"Or a portal to another realm?"

Bob smiled and gave him a thumb's up sign. "Got it in one."

"I bet it's standard in all homes in L.A. , right?" Logan asked sarcastically, as he headed towards the back.

"Nope - it's optional. I had to pay extra and everything." After a pause, Bob caught a glimpse of something in Logan's mind, something else that was bothering him that he had no intention of mentioning. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

Logan froze in his tracks, spine stiffening as if he'd just taken a bullet there. "What?"

"Stryker. He was bullshitting you. You "volunteered for it" - yeah, my rosy red ass. Blame the victim mentally is the second refuge of scoundrels, right after patriotism."

Logan had his back to him, and refused to turn and face him. He was angry and frightened, and he didn't want to talk about this, but it needed to be said by someone. "Drop it,okay?"

"You know he lied to you, Logan - he said he gave you claws. Need I remind you about the scars on Dayu Takabe's face? Bloody Friday? You already had them."

He swallowed hard. "He just made them adamantium." He had whispered that, as if he couldn't bring himself to say it fully aloud and possibly make it real. "But Bloody Friday proves his point all the same. I'm a killer, an animal."

"No, mate, you're not."

Logan's head snapped back towards him now, anger etched in his face, a mask barely covering the pain. "Do I have to start reciting my body count?"

"Leave Bloody Friday out of it. They murdered your wife, Logan, right in front of you." That made Logan wince and turn away. "There isn't a jury anywhere who'd convict you." And Bob knew if he told Logan the kicker - that not only did they poison Mariko and drop her in his lap, but they made him kill her to spare her from further agony. Was there anything more psychologically violent and cruel than that? Making someone kill the thing they loved? Of course it made him snap; it would make anyone snap, if it didn't break them entirely. Logan would probably never remember doing it, simply because his mind couldn't deal with the pain of that single, agonizing act.

Bob knew if he told Logan about that, Logan would never view the Bloody Friday incident as cold blooded murder again. But he also knew, if he told him, that something inside Logan - probably that little kernel of hope for better things, and his wonderful, recurring memories of Mariko that he was having sporadically - would die violently, and never return. It would turn him to ice, from the inside out.

"Do you think, if we wiped the memories of a serial killer, implanted some vague, disturbing memories, and dropped him on the street, he'd suddenly be a good person?" Bob asked, taking a slightly different tack. "No, he would not. Are you perfect? No, of course not, but you're no psychopath. We are the sum of our memories, but what you have to understand about people is that there's also something else inside us - a core aspect of our personality, if you will - that remains within us, a residue of our personality and our memories merged together. And even when the memory goes, that's still there. I know, because even when I thought I was just a Belial demon, I was the same old jackass that got me exiled in the first place. And ironically got me exiled again, to Botany Bay.

"It is with you - even Xavier saw that. You've done dark things, mate, desperate things, angry things ... but I see right through you, and I can tell you, with all honestly, you are not a killer. You're a Human, warts and all - just like almost everything else in this dimension."

Logan snorted, not even looking back as he wended his way through the tables and disappeared into the darker recesses of the bar. But he paused in the inky hallway, and said, low enough that Bob could barely hear him, "Maybe that's bad enough." Then he was gone, having found the room easily. He still had disquieting thoughts, but Bob knew he had gotten through to him, even if only temporarily.

Bob sat back in his chair, holding his oversized can of beer in both hands, and sang along quietly with the jukebox. "She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she's out back counting stars." He wondered if that was some sort of clue.

But there were some things too cryptic even for him. So he let the sound of guitars wash over him, and waited to see if the other shoe was going to drop.