“I’m not singing,” Logan insisted.

“Then I’m not taking you to Arcanum. No sweat off my schnozz.”

He scowled, but Lorne had set his jaw and just stared back at him, willing to be as stubborn as he was. Damn it. “Rags said you were from Vegas. I thought you were from around here.”

“Oh, technically I’m not from this dimension at all, but I’ve recently moved to Vegas.  L.A. just has too many bad memories for me, and don’t think changing the subject is going to help.”

He rubbed his eyes, growling quietly in his throat. He didn’t know Lorne that well, but he knew enough about him to realize that he wouldn’t have been on Angel’s team if he couldn’t have held up his end of a skirmish. So what he lacked in obvious physical ability he must have made up for in general, hard-hearted stubbornness. Logan knew that that was also one of his attributes, and he didn’t appreciate the irony. “I am not singing in public.  I’m not auditioning for some goddamn reality show.”

“Hon, we’re in Beverly Hills. You’d have to blare out like a fog horn to even get anyone’s attention, and even then, good luck. That’s why demons love this place - everyone’s so self-absorbed, they never even notice you’re green, or made of slime, or a talking kangaroo. Until they get eaten, of course, but then it’s too late, and botox won’t save you.”

Logan stared at him in disbelief. “You were the comic relief, weren’t you?”

“At times. Now come on, quit stalling. The waiter will be over any minute.”

“And why am I singing for you again?”

“I’m psychic, I read people, but I can only read them when they sing.”

“That’s the stupidest power I’ve ever heard of.”

“Then you haven’t heard what Ugg demons can do.” He folded his green scaled hands neatly on the table, and gave him a slightly impatient look.

“I didn’t ask to be read.”

“No, but I want to do it for my own well-being.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re a cynic.”

Logan smirked at that. “See? 'Didn’t need to read me, there.”

“Honey, you wear your cynicism like body armor.  Even Anna Nicole Smith coulda figured that one out.”

“Why don’t you just tell me where Arcanum is?”

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t help you, and I think you know that. You need a golden ticket to get in, and, sadly, you’re looking at him.  A ticket that’s about to get up and walk.”

Logan glanced around nervously, then covered his eyes with his hand.  He didn’t think he could face anyone while singing. Odd, he could take on army without flinching, but the idea of singing made him want to hide under the table. How stupid was that?  He hated himself for being frightened at the prospect, even while resenting Lorne for making him do this. “I hate you,” he muttered.

“Well, you’d hardly be the first.”

In a voice low enough to qualify as a whisper, he very reluctantly sang the first lyrics that popped into his head. “In her false witness, we hope you’re still with us, to see if they float or drown. Our favorite patient, a display of patience -”

“Okay, okay,” Lorne said, waving one hand as if in distress, while he pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand, grimacing as if in great pain. “Christ, Wesley told me you’d been through some nightmarish shit, but I had no idea.”

Logan didn’t know what to say, but he was glad he didn’t have to sing anymore. He glanced around, but he’d kept it low enough that no one else had heard. Or Lorne was right, and no one was inclined to care.

Lorne seemed to take a couple of deep breaths, as if he was honestly in pain, but Logan wasn’t sure why. Was his singing that bad?  After a minute for recovery, Lorne said, “That was Nirvana, wasn’t it?”

“Umm, yeah. Does that matter?”

“No, it’s just that no one’s ever sung Nirvana for me before. Weird, isn’t it?  I don’t get too many contemporary hard rock tunes thrown my way. I should have known you’d go for the grunge. You not only have the angst, but the leather and flannel should have been a giveaway.”

Logan scowled at him. “What’d you see?”

Lorne rubbed his red eyes once more, and seemed reluctant to look straight at him. “Lots of thing I wish I hadn’t. You still have a little Bob in you, don’t ya?  Boy, his energy stings like no other.”

“It’s just for telepaths. Bob said he’d take it out before I returned to the mansion, so I wouldn’t give Xavier migraines.”

“You’re not going back for quite a while.”

“I know.” He paused, looking at him funny. “How’d you know that?”

“Psychic, remember?” Lorne rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Man, I shoulda had a few more drinks before I tried to read you.”

“Are you happy now?”

“No, but I am satisfied.” He sighed heavily. “They haven’t picked you yet, at least not exactly.  Good for you.  Good for us both, actually.”

“Who hasn’t picked me for what?”

“The Powers.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Do you really think you would know?  They’re pretty damned sneaky nowadays.”

Logan waited for him to tell him his future or something, but Lorne did nothing for many seconds but rub his forehead. Finally, he prompted, “Well?”

Lorne looked up, annoyed. “Well what?”

“My future? What did you see?”

“It doesn’t work like that, or at least not usually.”

“Can you tell me anything? Am I gonna bring down the Three Dragons or not?”

Lorne scratched one of his horns, quickly lowering his hat to hide it again. “There’s still a couple different ways that can go, but they were definitely not as ready for you as they thought they were. But - by the same token - you’re not as ready for them as you think either.”

“I already know that,” he grumbled, thinking of Dru.

“You have a good voice, you know. 'Need a bit more confidence, sing from the diaphragm, you’ll knock ‘em dead. In a non-lethal way.  In fact, I‘m the silent partner in this nightclub on the Strip in Vegas, and I bet I could whip together a show around you. ‘The Singing Mutant‘.  It would be fabulous.  Know any Sinatra?”

Logan glared at him. “No. Now what about Arcanum? What’ll happen there?”

He shook his head. “Weren’t you paying attention, big guy? That’s one of the things that could go either way. Answer unclear - try again later. But I can tell you this: you’re destined to go to Arcanum.”  He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging as if he was deflating. “And, by extension, so am I.  Shit.  I never, ever wanted to get sucked into the battle of good and evil crap. I’m just not cut out for it. They never warn you that even the good guys have to do bad things sometimes.”

Logan studied him curiously, aware he was referring to something specific, something that bothered him so much he could see it on his face. But he wasn’t sure if he should ask Lorne about it or not, as it didn’t look like he even wanted to remember it, not to mention discuss it. “I coulda told you that too,” he finally said.

Curiously, Lorne reached across the table and patted his hand. “I know, desperado, and it’s appreciated. All this hero stuff needs to be left to you guys;  the guys who can stomach it, and live with the occasional bad consequence. “

You guys? Was he referring to him and the X-crew, him and Angel, or all of the above? “It’s not that we can stomach it, or even live with it, it’s just that we find ways to cope.  Or not.  Sometimes the best you can do is try and forget it.”

“I hear that. But it’s not as easy as it sounds, is it?”

“Nothing ever is.”

“Ah, there’s a philosopher buried under all those muscles and facial hair, huh?  Not all that surprising really. You’ve lived enough for a couple lifetimes, haven’t you?”

He looked at him askance. “Maybe; I’m not really sure. Can you tell me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know, hombre. Why don’t you go back to your motel and rest up, and I’ll have a few more drinks and pick you up at sundown. We’ll hit Arcanum then.”

“Why not now?”

“’Cause it uses a dimensional phasing trick during daylight hours.  It’s only accessible at night.  Did you forget you were dealing with bad demons here?  Night time is play time.”

Logan groaned in disappointment, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Yeah, demons did love the cover of darkness, didn’t they? “Fine. We need back up?”

Lorne stared at him with genuine surprise. “You’re not enough?”

He shrugged with his hands. “I guess I am.  Just tell me now if we’re gonna be greeted by the Crazy 88’s at Arcanum or not.”

“You think you couldn’t handle them?”

“No, I could, but I won't be wearin' good clothes if I’m just gonna get 'em all bloody.”

Lorne smirked and glanced away, catching the waiter’s eye and raising his empty glass to signal he needed a refill. “You are the macho man’s macho man, Logan. You could make a fortune in this town.”

He really didn’t know what to say that.  He knew Lorne probably meant it as a compliment, but it kinda sounded like an insult.

Gus let him use his back “office”, which was basically a storage room where he had a chair and a table for counting money and balancing his ledgers among the crates, as Logan told him it was “police business”. It was bullshit, of course, but with the slaughter so fresh, everyone was inclined to believe it.

As soon as he shut the door, Logan wheeled on the sepulchral government man, and snarled, “What the fuck are you doing here? I was given an honorable discharge!”

The man gave him a tiny smile that verged on patronizing. “Are you going to tell me that no strings were pulled there? You wanted - needed - out, and by chance your commander owed you one. You saved his life in Moreuil Wood, didn’t you?”

He glared at the wiry man, wanting badly to put his face through the wall, although he didn’t really know why. Yes he did - he just wasn’t cut out for taking orders. Some people were made to lead, others made to follows, and others still made to be left alone. “I saved a lot of people in Moreuil Wood; we all did. That was the job.”

“Quite a job it was too,” he agreed, oozing patronization. He took off his glasses and started cleaning the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “Superior German forces, backed up by machine gun fire, and still your unit won. The Regiment’s finest day. Tell me, did you change your last name to Woods in honor of that? You sound like a place - Logan Woods. In fact, I believe I have heard of at least one place by that name … “

“Tell me what the hell you want and get out.”

That made the oily man smirk as he carefully put back on his eyeglasses. “That’s what your record says, you know. It says you are remarkably calm and able most of the time, but you do have an “explosive” temper. In fact, you’re considered “highly emotional” - did you know that? That was why it was so easy to believe a man who had actually refused the Victoria Cross had just disappeared off the face of the earth and discarded his name. You always were a queer duck, weren’t you?”

He didn’t want to pace, didn’t want to show any sign of weakness, so he simply glared at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“Persistent, single minded, stubborn - that too was in your file. You were extremely hard to track down. Luckily, we had some contacts in the RCMP.”

“Who’s “we” exactly?”

The man gave him that fragment of a smile once more, one that oozed with smugness and condescension. “You’ve never heard of us. We’re a new government agency, and we’ve been looking for people with … unique talents. We believe you would make a valuable asset.”

He sighed and shook his head. “No. Go away.”

“Hear me out.”

“No. I’m done with that military regimental shit. I only got involved with them in the first place because they needed a translator. I’m not a military kind of person, all right? I like peace, quiet, and privacy. I’m happy here, and I fulfilled my end of the bargain. You guys hold yours.”

“We’re not military per se. We are an … autonomous group, and we could give you what you seek, Mister … Woods. It’s odd; I want to call you by your military name, Jones.”

“You can’t give me what I seek, trust me. Now go.”

But the guy wasn’t taking the hint. He looked as fixed in his spot as Logan was. “How did you acquire your lingual fluency, Mr. Woods?”

He couldn’t believe he was going to be grilled about this again. “I’ve already explained this -”

Now it was the G-man’s turn to interrupt him. “Oh yes, the world travel, the education that you can’t verify due to several unfortunate incidents, the identity you can’t verify for similar reasons. Believe it or not, the government isn’t quite as stupid as you think. We know the birth certificate that you - Logan Jones - turned over was a forgery. A very well done forgery, but one all the same. Still, by the time it was done, you were already a hero, and out of the Regiment, and the friends you had made there were not inclined to pursue the matter. But you caught the eye of some people who had some honest curiosity about you.”

“I am not a hero,” he insisted, feeling his face flush. He didn’t want to get mad, get “emotional”, but god it was hard not to with this heavily starched idiot. “And I’m sorry my birth certificate was a fake, but it was real as far as I knew. It ain’t easy being the only survivor of a family that didn’t bother to leave me all the proper documents, okay?”

“A story guaranteed to elicit sympathy. You do know the right things to say, don’t you? The tests proved you were far more intelligent than anyone had ever guessed, which is why it’s so curious you seem attracted to places such as these.”

“What tests? And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The G-man held his arms out wide, gesturing to the roof hewn wooden floor, the low ceiling, the kegs and sacks of supplies surrounding them in the cool, cramped room. “Does this hamlet even have regular electricity, Mr. Woods? A man with your knowledge and abilities could certainly afford a better station in life. It seems rather curious when you pervasively do the opposite. It leads one to believe that you have something to hide.”

He couldn’t quite suppress a sneer. “It always comes down to class, doesn’t it? ‘One’ would be wrong, thinking that if you’re not a snob, you have something to hide. Maybe it doesn’t appeal to you, but I prefer living closer to nature. “

His pale eyes glittered with amusement. “Is that what you call it? Is that why a man of your age looks so unbelievably young?”

Oh shit. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“According to your forged birth certificate, you’d be almost fifty, wouldn’t you?”

“Tell me what the hell you’re after, and go back to Red River.”

The man gave him that superior smile once more, seemingly relishing the fact that he caught him in a lie he couldn’t quite squirm out of. “The world is becoming an increasingly dangerous place, Mr. Woods. Unusual things - people - seem to be occurring at a rapid rate, and not all of them are as benign as we would hope. We foresee problems, problems that will take special handling. We need special people, intelligent people with unique talents and insights, and you are at the top of our list.”

“I don’t have any talents.”

“Ah, but you do. Your gift with languages, for one. For another, you seem to be especially gifted in physical combat for a man who doesn’t like to fight, and we know you’re quite intelligent, despite the façade you prefer.”

He scowled at him. “The façade you prefer? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“You were in the Regiment, and served admirably. You wouldn’t even need much in the way of training. And we can give you something you can’t quite achieve on your own - completely anonymity. You can live far from the madding crowd, with any identity you choose - or not identity, if you wish. Whatever records do exist of you, we can make them disappear. You will not exist, save for when you wish to.”

“For what price?”

“Simply that when we need you, you are there.”

“Need me for what?”

“Whatever the mission - or your country - requires. It will probably be more of an intelligence variety as opposed to military or policing, which we think you will find more pleasing. “

“I think I will find it pleasing if you got your smug face out of here. I have said no and I mean no, and I’m not changing my mind. Now get.”

He gave him a cold and oily smile that almost gave him a chill. “Think about it, Mr. Woods. I’ll be in Red River for the next week. Please stop by if you change your mind. Ask for Malloy. Good day.” Finally he turned and left the stuffy office, and Logan let out a deep sigh, desperate to punch something. He kicked a near by crate, checking his strength somewhat so he didn’t shatter it. He still accidentally put a hole in it.

Goddamn it, what did these people want from him? Now he knew it was a mistake to reveal himself to these people, but at the time he just wanted to help. They needed translators, and he erroneously volunteered to help. They sent him to Siberia, they sent him to France, and he thought he was careful; he made sure he wasn’t too good, or at least tried very hard not to seem that good. It probably didn’t work as well as he’d hope. Did anything ever?

He could hear people still milling about outside, peppering “Malloy” outside with questions about the “bear”, and he wisely declined to answer them. Logan was too angry to go out and face them, so he went out the back door, which was an overgrown expanse where Gus had a tendency to pitch stuff he didn’t need. It also led to the paddock where the Hellers kept their horses.

He saw two horses out in their pasture at the moment, a roan he knew was a mare called “Millie” (this was some kind of family in-joke; he assumed she was named for a hated relative), and a gelding simply called ‘Tex’. Tex was old and kind of skittish, so that left Millie as his choice. He knew where the Hellers kept their saddles and tack - there was precious little he didn’t know in an outpost this small - and easily hopped the low, split rail fence to retrieve them from the barn. Since he was sure he’d be seen leaving, they would know he’d taken her, but would also understand - hopefully - that he was just borrowing her.

The smell of hay and horseshit made him sneeze, startling Tex as he came out with the saddle, saddle blanket, and bridle. But Millie lingered by, cropping the stubby grass and barely flicking an ear at him as he saddled her up.

He should have faked his death. He did that once - why couldn’t he do it again? Fake it and disappear, maybe go back to India or something. But if these government people, whoever they were, figured he faked it once, they would probably know he had done it again. Besides, he actually kind of liked this place, and he wasn’t going to be chased out by the likes of them. They weren’t blackmailing him … yet. But it would probably come down to that, if they actually wanted him that bad.

Part of him was angry he had to deal with them, and another part was angry that he had to hide what he could do, what he was. And what was he anyways? Did they know? He seemed to be very oblique - special, unique. How much did they know? Were they simply guessing, just because he hadn’t aged? But the implication that there were others like him - were there? Odds were simply too great, there must have been, but why had he never met any? Or were they too hiding like he did, pretending to be something they weren’t out of fear of what would happen if they revealed themselves? Part of him was tempted to take the offer just to see if there was, to see if they were being truthful about that.

No, he couldn’t afford to trust them. Governments had a tendency to chew people up and spit them out; hell, most organizations did. It was the nature of the beast. But what if there was ..?

“Humans are pretty stupid, aren’t they Millie?” He asked the horse, grabbing the saddle horn and pulling himself up on her back. She snorted as if in agreement, and he thought that was pretty funny.

How stupid was he willing to be? He figured he’d know for sure after a visit to Camp Spencer.

****

When he woke up, the first thing that crossed his mind was, ‘I can ride a horse?’ He had no idea he could do that. But what was real disturbing was the idea he was in … World War One, wasn’t it? Yep, that had to be it. Fucking frightening. Had he been fighting stupid battles all his life? (What did they want to give him the Victoria Cross for?)

The most disturbing thing of all was the government guy’s offer. Make him disappear, not officially exist? That’s what happened, wasn’t it? How could he have ever taken them up on their offer? If he did, he was a moron, and he deserved what happened to him.

Could that be it? Did he actually sign up with them, the Organization in its embryonic form? Was he a willing victim? Was Stryker right?

No, he couldn’t believe that. He couldn’t have joined with them - something must have happened, something else. Maybe they did blackmail him or something. And he did leave - he knew he left, probably more than once. He still had vague, fleeting memories of being attacked in a bar parking lot by guys with paralyzers … but when? Why couldn’t the Powers let him remember that?

Actually, come to think of it, he didn’t want to remember any more. They could keep it to themselves.

Logan had to peel the bed sheet off of him, as his air conditioner, which still rattled like it was in pre-launch sequence, was pumping out warm air.  He went and took a cool bath, figuring a shower wasn’t enough, but it only worked while he was in the tub; when he got out, he felt sweaty and sticky again.  God, Southern Californian summers were a little slice of hell, weren’t they?

By the time he got dressed and out of the stifling motel room, he figured he’d walk across the street and get a beer. He did, and sat in the shade, waiting for Lorne to show up.

The sky had cycled from dark, blood smeared orange to something more closely approximating night by the time an old model Pontiac painted a really unfortunate shade of teal screamed into the lot, nearly crashing into a parked truck before screeching to a halt about fifteen feet away. The back door popped open, and Lorne leaned out, beckoning him over. “C’mon, tough guy, we got an evil Mickey Mouse Club to crash.” He had changed into a more “casual” suit that almost matched the color of the car, and held a brightly green colored drink in his other hand. From here, he could smell the Midori, vodka, and god knew what else.

“What the hell is that?” He snapped, as Lorne scooted over to the other end of the leather seat.

“Electric Lizard. It tastes as bad as it sounds, but it hits you right between the eyes, and is more portable than a Hurricane. Want some?”

“No. Are you drunk?”

“Oh honey, I wish I was. I’m barely buzzed. Nowadays I need to get good and lubed before I can even think about doing crap like this.” He rapped the clear plastic window separating the front seat from the back, and said, “Petal to the metal, Thrakkypoo.”

Logan did a slight double take as he realized he saw no one in the driver’s seat, and then he did. Holy shit, Thrak was poured behind the wheel, a pile of clear slime with three drippy tentacles at ten, two, and four o’clock on the steering wheel. “Thrak is driving?!” He exclaimed in horror. “He doesn’t have eyes!”

“Yes he does,” Lorne said, as the car lurched away from the parking lot. “They’re just not like ours. He couldn’t make his living as a taxi driver if he couldn’t see.”

Logan stared at him as Thrak surged into traffic at inadvisable speed, and he wondered if he was still asleep and having a new kind of nightmare. “You’re shitting me.”

“No, hon, it's true.  How do you think he makes his money?  Demons need to be able to get from one place to another, too.”

“You’re telling me there’s a demon taxi service?”

“There’s a demon almost everything. I thought you knew that.”

People honked as Thrak made illegal passes and cut into lanes with inches to spare, and he asked, “How can he reach the pedals? He doesn’t have legs.”

“He- well, he … improvises.”

“How?”

“Do you really want to know?”

He considered that as more people honked behind them, and someone screamed a rather choice Mexican obscenity. Logan rubbed his eyes, which felt like they were drying out due to vodka and demon fumes, and muttered, “My kingdom for a horse.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, deciding he wasn’t going to look out the windows unless he absolutely had to. “So where are we going?”

“Just North of Rodeo. Oh, hey, while I remember, it’s in a place called Mirror Lake.”

“Arcanum?”

“No, the base you’re going to hit. It’s a place called Mirror Lake in North Dakota.” Lorne gulped down the rest of his drink, then added, “I caught a glimpse of that, but I kinda needed to process it, get every vision in its right … order, I guess. A lot of what I read about you threw me for a loop. I was more rattled than Courtney Love after a ride on a warp speed Tilt-A-Whirl.”

Logan stared at him, grabbing on to the door handle to hang on as Thrak took a wild, hard turn around a corner, leaving even more Californians honking in their wake. “You - you saw that?”  Did he even need to hang onto the phone from the Org any more? “The Organization base in North Dakota?”

Lorne nodded, grimacing as if the thought was unpleasant. “Well, if you were gonna hide something, wouldn’t you put it in North Dakota?  Nobody goes there.  It’s like the state version of Euro-Disney.”

“How did it go?”

“How did what go?”

“The - the raid, the hit on the base.”

“Oh. I didn’t really see that. I just got the place name.”

The car came to a halt so abrupt and screeching both he and Lorne almost went head first through the plastic barrier. After being thrown back into the seat, Lorne glanced out the passenger window, and said, “Hey, we’re here. Ready to kick some bad mama-jama ass?” He didn’t wait for an answer, he simply opened his door and stepped out.