2

He was so lost in thought that he almost passed Faith’s building; if it wasn’t for the jerk in the next lane having a spasm of road rage at a slow moving Honda, he might have driven past it completely.

He hated this; he hated the way a sudden memory could make him lose himself, backslide him into total introversion. Logan knew that wasn’t a safe place for him to be. When he really had time to think, nothing good ever came of it.

Which was why he felt the need to visit Faith, as she had a tendency to shove everything else out of his head. She either kept him occupied, or simply distracted him, and either one was good.

He’d barely knocked on the door when she swung it open, and looked at him expectantly. “Bob gone?” she wondered.

He nodded. “Bob’s gone.” He barely got the reply out before she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him into a long, hard kiss, leading him inside her apartment.

Maneuvering was a little difficult, as she’d been starting to pack, and boxes were scattered everywhere, booby traps waiting to send them sprawling. They’d manage not to trip, just for Faith to shove him down on the bed. “You dawdled, didn’t you?” she said, pulling her shirt off. “I thought we weren’t going to have any time left.”

Now this was what he called distraction.

It was raw, passionate sex, the kind that said “Goodbye” pretty damn well. And it was goodbye; he knew it, she knew it, they just hadn’t talked about it yet. But it was why she was packing up her things - she was moving technically to Vancouver, to be closer to Tony Tagawa, since that was his general base of operations. He did come to L.A. a couple times a year though, so she’d be back, she’d probably have an apartment in one of his buildings (much nicer than her current one by far), but she’d only be back once in a while. She’d probably spend more time in Japan with him.

In a strange way, he was okay with this. He liked Faith, he really did, they had phenomenal sex, and he was pretty sure he could love her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling she deserved more than him. They were both “damaged goods“, yes, but she was still young, with her whole life ahead of her, and he was convinced she needed someone who could bring some light into her life. He couldn’t. He was darkness, he wore it like a visible penumbra, a shadow that just wouldn’t go away. He didn’t want that to be so, but it was; he didn’t kid himself on that front. He’d told her once that she deserved more than him, but she dismissed it as bullshit. He wondered when she’d learn it wasn’t.

She fell asleep afterwards and he was inclined to let her - he’d slept enough as it was - but her phone rang shrilly, and he couldn’t answer it immediately, as she had moved it to make room for a duffle bag. On top of that, when he did find it to answer it, it was a wrong number. “Anyone we know?” she murmured sleepily.

“Do you know a Mr. Pun?”

“Isn’t that the Riddler?” she wondered. He looked back at her with a raised eyebrow, and she grinned slyly.

“You and Marc should start a comedy team.”

“O’Hanlon and Drury? It sounds like we’re lawyers.” She sat up, stretching languidly, like a cat.  He tried not to watch, but wound up doing it anyway, out of the corner of his eye.

He padded out to the kitchen, only to find out she’d already cleaned out the fridge. “Damn.”

“Umm, look in the box by the sink. I think there’s a beer in there. It’s probably not cold, though.”

“Don’t care,” he admitted, digging around the box mentioned. It seemed to contain mostly non-perishable foodstuffs (lots of dried pasta of various forms; the poor person’s lifeline) and refrigerator magnets, but he did find two slightly sweaty cans of beer. “Want one?”

“Hey! I don’t want the boss smelling beer on me on my first day. Gotta have something held back for the second day.”

“You’re very wise,” he told her, popping open the can and taking a deep swig of the beer. It was lukewarm and not the best, but he was thirsty, so it was fine. “Got a place in Vancouver already?”

“Apparently. I haven’t really seen it yet, but he says it has a view of the water. I’ve never had a place with a view of the water … unless you count a motel pool with a dead rat in it.”

“That’s not so much a view as a special feature,” he deadpanned.

She smiled at him, and it made her look painfully young. “Come on, let’s hit the showers before the sun comes out and this place gets to ninety.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Jesus, woman, I’m just one man.” But the look she gave him told him that was no excuse; she already knew about his healing factor. “Don’t you have a plane to catch anyway?”

She grabbed a couple of folded towels from a box by the foot of her bed, and scoffed. “Hell no. Tagawa’s got a private plane waiting for me at the airport; I can go whenever. Can you believe that? A private plane.” She paused briefly. “You sure he ain’t evil?”

“Positive. He’s just eccentric.”

“But good eccentric, right? Not Michael Jackson eccentric?”

“Oh hell no,” he assured her before gulping down the rest of the beer. He crumpled up the can and tossed it back in the food box (where else was he going to put it?) before Faith tossed a towel towards him. He caught it just before it hit his face.

She gave him that sly, seductive smile that she knew turned men’s knees to jelly. “Come on - my back isn’t going to wash itself.” She then disappeared into the bathroom, and with the slightest sigh, he followed.

What was he going to do without her? He didn’t even want to consider it.

****

Because it was her last chance for a "real American burger" (said with a great deal of facetiousness), they went out to eat at a burger joint she liked a couple of blocks over. Before heading out, they piled her boxes in her rental car (not many of them, actually; just one for her comics, magazines, paperbacks, and DVDs, one separate one for all her CDs, and clothes and weapons taking up the rest. There was also a box of stuff she didn't want or wasn't hers to begin with (ex-boyfriend stuff) that she left off to the side of the building, figuring the homeless around the area could take what they wanted from it). She briefly got misty eyed, looking up at the plain brick facade of the building, and then said, with a touch of nostalgia, "I am so not going to miss this shithole." She said it with such evident sincerity it was hard for him not to laugh.

Over lunch, they talked about what they'd been avoiding - the question of them. She didn't want to break up, and he didn't either (even though he knew it was for the best; still, there was a limit to his own martyrdom), although she admitted the idea of a "long distance relationship" scared her, as she really didn't know how to manage such a thing. Also, she liked sex, and that wasn't something you could manage over the phone or email (well, not really). So they weren't sure what they were going to do exactly.

"You could come work for him," she said, trying to encourage him. "I know he likes you, and face it: together, we're the most kick ass team in the galaxy."

He sighed, not ready to tell her about his complicated relationship with Tony. In fact, he was never going to mention it, as he didn't want to sour her relationship with him. Tony was a good man, especially for a rich old bastard, but he was ruthless. There was just no getting around that fact. But it did give him an idea. "I've got the whole itinerant loner thing goin' on, Faith. I don't go for steady employment. Besides, I'm kind of like a part-time X-Man, or something."

She lifted an eyebrow at that as she munched on a fry. "That sounded enthusiastic."

He shrugged and glanced out the window, watching the crows battle over a discarded piece of bun in the parking lot. People were such slobs, but then again, that was usually good for the scavengers. "Naw, it's just ... I don't know where I really stand with that. I guess I owe 'em some, just like they owe me some, and ... I dunno. I'm not good at trusting people."

"Color me shocked." She flashed him that big, winning grin. "And hey babe, I know exactly where you're coming from, not my strong suit either. But I saddled up with the Scooby Gang anyway, so ... I guess we can always change."

"Yeah."

"We just don't have to like it."

He gave her a half smile, as he couldn't quite commit to a full. But she was right. She might have been young, but life had rode her pretty hard; she had more experience than you would naturally think. "Y'know, I'm not interested in taking up with Tony, but, uh, maybe I could help you settle in Vancouver. Ever been there before?"

"No. I've never been to Canada before. So is it true you guys eat whale blubber and are ass-deep in snow three hundred and sixty five days a year?" She gave him a smartass grin before sipping her chocolate shake.

He scowled at her, although mostly in a humorous way. At least she was joking. "Just for that, I'm gonna make you eat a big plate of poutine."

"Poutine? Is that some kinda poop joke?"

"No, it's a Canadian delicacy. You'll love it."

She studied him with great suspicion. "It's some kinda tripe, isn't it?"

"No. It's fries covered with gravy and cheese curds."

She was quiet for a moment. "You just made that up."

"Nope. You'll find out once we get there."

"Cheese curds? Like the stuff in cottage cheese?"

"Kinda. Drier and bigger, usually."

She mock shuddered and made a face in disgust. "Oh sick. I think I'd rather have moose testicles."

"I'll see what I can arrange."

She balled up a straw wrapper and flung it at him, making him laugh. And he was intending to give this woman up without a fight? Goddamn, he was insane.

****

They dropped by Angel’s office to say their goodbyes (for now), and everyone was there, including Xander, who sort of threw things in a new direction, mainly everyone being shocked about his new eye.  After the hugs and congratulations, Faith turned to him and asked, somewhat accusingly, “You knew and never told us?”

He shrugged, trying hard not to look guilty. “I didn’t feel it was my place to tell.”

Xander looked at him suspiciously, and Logan guessed what he was going to ask before he did. “Did you tell him to do it?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t much use to him at that point. Bob did it himself. He’s impulsive like that.”

He looked like he doubted him, but he seemed to accept it after a moment. Still, Logan had a sick feeling he was going to start getting Christmas cards from Xander every damn year. He had to remember to thank Bob for that. Xander did thank him for his help with the whole Berto “thing”, and he wondered if he was actually afraid to admit that Berto was dead out loud, as if saying it would make it irretrievably so.

Angel was sitting stiffly on the far arm of the sofa, although he got up when they came in. He was surprised by Faith’s hug, especially since the last time they were together they were fighting each other, but he accepted it gratefully. While everyone else - Giles, Naomi, Bren, Xander, Faith - was talking, Angel pulled him aside, and asked quietly, “Are you okay?”

He wasn’t sure if he was asking after his physical state or asking him about the separation between him and Faith. “Yeah. How’re you doing?”

For some reason, that reply seemed to surprise him, although Angel was so stoic you had to know him well to see it. It was the slightest widening of the eyes, a minor shift in posture before he crossed his arms over his chest. “Uh, um … I did kill you, you know.”

“Get in line.” Angel straightened as if about to take a step back, but he’d have run into the wall then. “Look, it’s no big deal. You were being hit with bad mojo, and I wanted you to kill me anyway, so Bob’d come out. So it’s cool, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

Angel continued to stare at him in mild disbelief, brown eyes still wide and a bit startled. “You take these kind of things far too nonchalantly.”

“Hey, I went evil and tried to kill you once - we’re even.”

He pondered that, brow furrowing in thought, and finally admitted, “I never thought of it that way before.”

“See?  Don’t worry about it. I ain’t losin’ sleep over it.” Before Angel pointed out he was lucky to get sleep ever anyway, he asked, “So how’re the new powers working out for you?”

He seemed to squirm uncomfortably in his own skin for a moment. “I have no idea why I’d need any of them. I mean, what the hell was I going to do with mesmerism?”

“Impress the chicks?” He smirked at Angel’s glower, aware that he’d kept the speed and strength, or at least a portion of it, for now. Bob had still been controlling him when he “tailored” the abilities he had gained.

So at least things with Angel were cool, between him and the big guy and him and Faith. He could tell Bren didn’t want him to go just yet, but the kid had his number, if he really needed to call him (he did emphasize the “need” part). Getting a goodbye hug from Naomi felt strange and just a bit too familiar to do him any good. He felt like he was only just starting to stop missing her.

It was still a little bittersweet when they left the office, headed for the airport, but Faith talked about nothing for a while, filling the awkwardness with sound. He was actually kind of glad, as it was distracting, and it gave him a chance to talk about books. (Some of the paperbacks she was bringing along were actually his, although one he’d given her as a present.) Not a lot of people asked him about books - most seemed surprised he could actually read - so it was kind of … diverting. A little strange too.

The private plane awaiting Faith’s beck and call was small, but inside it was fairly plush. They knew this because once the plane actually got airborne, Faith laid down on what was essentially the love seat (you could fold in the arms of one row of seats to make one big seat) and fell almost instantly asleep, her head on his leg. He felt he’d slept enough, he wasn’t tired, so he just looked out the window and stroked her hair, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Los Angeles was such a weird place, full of creepy crawlies, lawyers, and all sorts of other predators. But Angel had managed fine on his own before, and now not only did he have more help than usual, but he had a greater edge than last time. So that was something.

And he wasn’t going back to Canada just so Lafayette would be in striking distance if he decided to move on him. No, he had other reasons … he did. He almost believed that.

He must have nodded off anyway, because he jerked awake on touchdown, but at least he couldn’t remember dreaming. He woke up Faith, and discovered she had drooled a bit on his thigh. Well, no big deal; he couldn’t say he hadn’t had worse.

But here was the part he was dreading without quite realizing it. They disembarked to find a long silver Lexus parked parallel to the plane, just close enough to them that it was easy to see that the people who got out were the huge, muscular Ehud (forever in a dark suit - was that some Mossad habit he never got out of, or did he just prefer the way they looked?) and the smaller, slender, silver haired figure of Tony Tagawa, in a light grey, excellently tailored suit. Ehud he didn’t mind, but his gut tightened at the sight of Tony. Was he ready to forgive him for Hong Kong yet? Could he do it for Faith?

It suddenly occurred to him that maybe it was hypocritical of him. After all, he’d forgiven Angel for killing him; certainly using him as a weapon against the Triad and the Yakuza wasn’t as bad as that.

Was it?

****

Martin Leung frowned in annoyance as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket like an angry wasp. It was well known he didn’t like being interrupted during meals, so he had to assume it was an emergency. Either that, or the person calling his was an idiot who was about to regret being born.

He checked the number display, and was surprised to see it was Keith. What had gone wrong now?

He flipped his phone open and gave the waiter a warning look to send him veering off to another table. “What is it?” he snapped, keeping his voice to a whisper that couldn’t be heard over the clinking of glasses, the low murmur of chatter, and the background lilt of classical music.

“Check out the image I sent you. It probably ain’t a great shot, but, uh, I guess keeping an eye on Tagawa finally paid off.”

Leung viewed the image Keith had sent him, but he’d been underestimating himself when he said it wasn’t a great shot; it was fucking horrible. Clearly it was a picture from an airport, and he recognize the silver sheen of one of Tagawa’s cars (and the hulking, dark form of his dour Israeli bodyguard), but there were two other people in the shot, neither of which he could make out at all. One seemed to have long hair, and was probably a woman.

He sighed impatiently as he stuck the phone to his ear once more. “Tell me, what the hell was I looking at? And if you say the airport, I will have you shot.”

There was a sudden pause, as Keith had to know he was serious. His poached salmon was starting to get cold, and someone was going to pay for it if none of this was worth his bother. “It’s … uh … it looks like he’s meeting with Logan Yashida again.”

Leung had picked up his fork, intending to flake off more of the delectable pink flesh, but Keith’s words stopped him cold. “Say that again.”

“Logan Yashida, sir. Through the binoculars … well, it’s him all right. He doesn’t look any different.”

“How the fuck isn’t he dead yet?”

“Uh, I don’t -”

“It was a rhetorical question!” he snapped, dropping his fork and putting his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the table.

The white guy with the Japanese name was a walking bit of irony, considering he turned on the family whose name he adopted - like a badly trained dog - and killed them to a man. That was living proof that you didn’t let gaijin (especially unstable ones) into the fold. It was a little, hidden side note in history, one that he probably never would have heard about if it wasn’t for the fact that the Yakuza seemed to be strangely galvanized by the name (equal parts terror and rage), and the fact that he was visited upon everyone in Hong Kong not too long ago, like a homicidal ghost from the past that hadn’t realized that it just needed to lay down and die.

Someone with a cell phone camera caught Yashida jumping from the thirtieth floor of a skyscraper, while taking automatic weapons fire, into the open hatch of the helicopter attacking him. He not only made the jump, somehow still alive, but he brought the copter down. It looked like a stunt from some kind of action film, except Leung imagined that bodies would have flown out of the chopper if it had been for a film. As it was, as the copter banked away, a gun came flying down, spinning like a lost rotor, until it shattered on the pavement thirty stories below. It was the last scene of the video that had now become legendary among both the Triad and the Yakuza, with the cameraman saying, “Fucking shit. Did you just see that?” Even the teenage boy who had filmed it couldn’t quite believe what he’d just seen with his own eyes.

For good reason. They no longer made fun of the Yakuza for their cowardly fear of a stupid gaijin - Yashida wasn’t just a freak, he was a living, walking weapon; the Human equivalent of an attack dog who had long ago acquired a taste for fresh, hot blood. Tagawa should be dead, Yashida should be dead about a dozen times over … and yet they were now chatting at an airport just west of here, like nothing remarkable had ever happened.

But the Yakuza and the Triad knew damn well what had happened. By employing the Yashida death dealer, Tagawa had declared war on all of them. That should have been un-survivable arrogance, and yet no one was even attempting to punish them. Why? Because no one knew how to handle Yashida. They threw a fucking helicopter at him and somehow he walked away.

It was pathetic. It made them all look like fools. Now with Yashida back, it was clear that Tagawa, that foul old man, was up to something once again, using Yashida as his shield and his weapon. Did he know he was back on the hit list? Did his money buy him information that good?

After realizing he had lost his appetite, he told Keith, “I want to keep a watch on Tagawa, but pull back farther.”

“Farther?” Keith repeated in disbelief. “If we get any farther back we won’t be able to keep an eye on him at all.”

“It’s the digital age, for Christ’s sake - join it!” Ehud was good, there was no doubt about it, but two bodyguards was always worse than one, especially if they included the Yashida dog. “Call me back when you know where they’re going.” He then flipped his phone shut and dropped it back in his pocket.

The most likely scenario was Tagawa was girding for an attack, or perhaps just being overly cautious, as old men were. But if he thought Yashida was enough to protect him this time, he was completely fucking wrong.

See, it was a new age - an age of freaks and tragedies, of travesties and accidents. Yashida was far from the only one, although he was perhaps the best known amongst the gangs of the Pacific Rim. But now they had a weapon of their own.

May the best dog win.