It wasn't that he sympathized with her, because he didn't, even if she was pretty and a hell of a lot younger than he'd expected when he was sent out to find her. He was still pissed with Erik for forgetting that vital, she's seventeen and really fucking young for her age bit of information, because when he'd first seen her, he hadn't believe that the power Erik had described could possibly inhabit that half-starved body.

Almost left her there in the bar--or maybe he wouldn't have, even if she hadn't been the one he was looking for. Something about her appealed to him and that made it hard for him to be around her, made his mood that much nastier than usual. Which might have seriously been saying something, considering he'd never been famous for good temper at the best of times. Which this most fuck-assuredly was *not*.

And how the old was she? Seventeen. *Seventeen*. Shit. Mystique had started out younger here and he'd worked with her before she was past her eighteenth birthday, but he'd never been able to see her as a kid, even then, certainly not now.

"Damn," Mystique murmured, teeth set tight together, and Logan threw her a glance as she stretched out on Erik's desk like a cat. She'd been watching the girl since she'd come in with a strange mix of curiosity and casual interest. Not quite enough to do much for the kid, but more than he would've expected she was capable of. He's almost call it pity if he'd seen that look on anyone else's face.

This was the third trial run with the third failure and Logan was seriously beginning to suspect that piece of crap machine wasn't going to work at all. Which considering how much time he'd spent working on it personally, and with that son of a bitch Creed, was facing annoying any way he looked at it.

But as the platform came down for the third time, he watched her pull her own manacled hands away with the sound of ripping paper--he wondered how the hell her palms were standing up to the abuse. While Creed dragged away the third guinea pig--third failure, Logan already knew it, saw the signs as quickly as Erik did--she slumped against the poles briefly, fighting for consciousness. Third time in two weeks, and the first time, she'd cried, but not since. Trying to force herself erect, head coming up faster than it had the time before, and the dark eyes studied the room warily. The first time, she'd passed out and Creed had carried her out. Hadn't done anything but scare her pretty badly in her cell, though. Erik wanted her healthy and Creed, being Creed, would never be able to restrain himself. But scare her, yes. Mark her, yes, and that just pissed Logan off too. Territorial crap, he admitted it to himself--he brought her in, therefore he had first right to her. Not that the sort of thing Creed was into was Logan's style at all, but it was the thought that counted. And he knew part of the reason Creed was sniffing around her was just to piss him off.

It was working.

He'd been turning over those thoughts in his mind ever since he picked her up, and it wasn't too logical, but again, Logan rarely gave a good fuck about logic. Watching her sleep and making sure she ate and sending Mystique in with medical supplies wasn't terribly in character either, and he'd seen Erik's speculating look more than once. The man hadn't said anything, though, and Logan liked it that way.

"Logan."

He turned his head slightly, seeing Erik walking up, looking a little grim, mouth a thin slash of disappointed anger.

"It ain't gonna work." Erik frowned, but didn't contradict the statement, turning slightly as the girl blinked, staring down at the manacles. Briefly, they rose, lifting her wrists, and Logan watched in interest as her body went completely still, brow furrowed in concentration. The distinct sounds of the locks breaking cut through the silence of the room, and both fell away, clattering against the beams. She hit the floor, dead unconscious, but her lips were curved upward. A little smile, the smile Logan had seen on her face three days ago when Creed made the mistake of coming too close when the manacles were off and she darted out with both bare hands, grabbing him.

Creed had been lucky his reflexes were so good, because all she got was hair that time. Almost broke her neck until Logan slid an adamantium claw against the man's throat to remind him exactly who was in charge of this little venture. Thing that stuck with him later, was the expression on her face when Creed dangled her a good foot from the floor, hands restrained behind her.

She hadn't looked scared at all. And that interested him.

Some people broke under the pressure of pure fear. Some people didn't--you could split the world pretty much into those two categories and be relatively accurate about the characteristics of each one. The girl didn't break. Watching her stare into Creed's eyes, it was a lot easier to believe that she'd been on her own for awhile. When Creed dropped her, she landed on the balls of her feet, stumbling back against the wall, her fingers tracing the line of her throat like she was marking a memory. Breathing in gasps, she stared up at him with too-big eyes and in her head, he knew Creed was tagged and bagged, so to speak, just give her five minutes alone without the manacles, at full strength and with a weapon.

He'd seen that look before, and since he didn't like Creed anyway, it was almost a tempting thought, to wait until she recovered and then lock Creed in there. Pure strength the man had--but he was just stupid enough for her to get the job done, if she was willing to go any distance to get revenge.

Logan rather thought she very well might. She had that look--that kind of hate lasted forever and time only made it colder and harder. That kind of hate never burned out.

"Get her out of here. She's of no use to me." A pause, grey-blue eyes looking at Victor speculatively, and Logan straightened from his position against the cold stone wall in alarm. Girl was disposable; therefore, Victor was allowed to play.

"Gotcha." Creed was already moving and the girl was regaining consciousness--eyes opening, startled to see Creed coming at her--and while she could control metal for hours after one of these little charges, she had to be relatively recovered from the strain of being in the damn machine in the first place. She'd be dead long before she was able to do anything to defend herself. He knew what Creed was like--there was a good reason Mystique didn't share Victor's bed anymore.

"No."

The word was out of his mouth before he knew he was going to say it, and the girl's head snapped up, looking straight at him with naked shock. From the edge of the desk, Mystique looked up in interest. She flickered a look at him, eyes going briefly to Creed and narrowing before letting them fall back down and away, hiding the expression in them.

So she wouldn't interfere either way. Good. Erik probably didn't give a shit. Even better.

And the girl--what the hell was her name anyway? She'd told him. He shook his head to see her slowly sitting up, eyes going from Creed to Logan and back, focusing on him for a moment. Pushing her bloodied palms to the floor, she struggled into a full sitting position, trying to move into something vaguely defensive. Cute.

"Logan?" Erik asked. Erik tended to let things take their course around Logan and Creed--they didn't get along, never would, but they would fight together if they were allowed certain amounts of latitude in behavior. Probably pissed Creed off he had to answer to Logan, but that's how it went. Creed hesitated, looking between him and the girl, and Logan found himself taking the five steps that put him directly between Victor and the machine where--Marie--was still sitting.

Marie. Got it.

"She's valuable, Erik," Mystique purred, and Logan had to smile. He heard the girl standing up, stumbling against one of the metal posts her pieces of her torn flesh still clung to, before finding her balance somehow. Turning slightly, she looked between them all for a second. "She could be of use."

"You think so, Mystique?" Though Erik wasn't paying attention to her at all--he was watching Creed and Logan with an amused expression. "I think the boys want to play with her. Logan--"

"I found her." Logan interrupted, never taking his eyes from Creed. "I can train her."

"And I'm sure your reasons are that altruistic," Erik said with another smile.

"Nope. Purely personal."

He could feel her behind him. She was edging backward, bracing herself against a post, trying to get her strength back.

"Logan--"

"First choice, Creed." A pause. "You wanna do this now?"

They'd faced off before, but not since the second time had Logan lost. Four draws and four almost wins, and Logan had learned a few things since he'd spent extended time working with Mystique, who was perfectly willing to play the part of Sabretooth for a price. Which he had no problems paying. Creed wasn't going to win--Logan had found her, had brought her in, and had no intention of turning her over like that.

Victor wasn't moving.

"I want some time off, Erik," he said over his shoulder. No good reason to turn his back on Creed quite yet. "You need me around for the next coupla months or so?" He kept Victor's gaze, daring him to try. Shit, maybe he wanted him to try. He'd had shit to do but work on that machine for two weeks and he needed to get rid of some serious energy.

Erik laughed.

"Go play with your new toy, Logan." A pause, and Erik's voice dropped. "But if you bring her back, you had better be sure she's on the right side."

"No problem." He turned his back deliberately on Creed, looking at the dark eyes staring up at him with blank shock.

"I want him dead," she whispered.

"Then do it yourself," he answered, just as softly. "I won't kill him for you." Reaching, he caught her elbow, and she stumbled for a second, then followed, and Creed didn't move for a moment, just waiting.

And while he might not kill for her, he'd kill Creed for fun, no problem. He waited the other man out, knowing Erik really wouldn't give a shit if they beat the crap out of each other--having healing factor made it close to impossible for either of them to really kill the other without some serious weaponry, and anyway, Erik had issues with his people going down because of each other. And for a second, Logan actually thought Creed might give him the fight and he liked the idea, liked it *a lot*--but really, he had time off and he'd been itching for a reason to get out for awhile.

Creed moved. A significant thing, and he felt Marie's surprise, before getting her out of the room and the door closed behind them. Her scent changed, and he got both her wrists in one gloved hand before she could do more than reach out a hand and had her pressed against the wall. Her feet kicked against the rough stone and he pressed a knee between, effectively trapping her.

God, she was quick, though. He hadn't even realized how much of her strength had returned. And he really had to admire her for trying. That was a hell of a lot more than he'd expected.

"If you're gonna try to get away, shoulda had the sense to wait until we were outside."

The big eyes stared back at him, dark, angry, confused, scared to death. He wondered what on earth she thought he was going to do to her. Well, obvious. Even with her skin, there were ways around that.

"And trust me, Marie, you sure as fuck don't want me in your head."

"Why?"

He paused, knowing the question she was asking. And he didn't feel like answering it, because he didn't know himself. Except he knew what Creed did to his lovers. And this kid was his, period. He made it simple.

"You wanna live?"

Interest, he saw it flare bright-hot in her eyes.

"Yes."

"You want him dead?"

"Yes."

He wondered what Creed had done to her, in that cell, when Logan was out. Nothing too damaging, though--there was the scarring imprint of teeth just below her ear, which annoyed him, but he didn't have the time or interest to do a full body check yet.

"Then you'll learn." He let her down, watched her regain her feet--she was survivor, no question. "Look, kiddo, you don't exactly have anyplace else to go. No money, no people, you're on your own. Get the idea? You think you're gonna get a better offer?"

She blinked, taking a step back.

"What are you offering?" Wary. Curious, definitely.

"You get to live."P>

"What'll it cost me?"

He looked her over, slowly, knowing she felt it, and knowing she understood.

"Nothing except maybe you don't try to kill me. Nothing you won't do willingly. Come on."

She breathed out sharply, and he took her elbow again, pulling her down the twisted halls toward his room, pushing her gently toward the wall while he decided what to take. He didn't have that much, so there wasn't a huge decision going on here. He'd chosen this room specifically for its distance from the other inhabitants of Erik's little fortress--he liked his privacy, thank you very much.

"Strip. Your clothes are filthy." Turning, he saw her standing perfectly still at the doorway, looking around her, and her hands dropped automatically to the edge of her sweater, then hesitated. "Kid, if I had other intentions, those clothes would stay on."

She knew he had a point and he got a jerky nod as her hands lifted limply from her sides to her top, smoothing the dirty wool.

"Where we goin'?" She slowly took the edge of her sweater in her hand, wincing a little, and he realized her hands had to be killing her. Turning, he surveyed her for a second, then made it simple--unleashing a claw, he cut through the cloth, almost but not quite brushing her skin. Smart girl, she didn't move, didn't even breath, and after he was done, he turned away and kept packing. Behind him, he heard her let out a breath.

"A place I know." Behind him, he heard her carefully dropping the slashed clothing and then the slow slide of her jeans. She needed a shower, but this just wasn't the time--he could feel the itch to go and Creed just might get his balls back--win or lose, probably win, though, he'd be out of it for days. And shit, he didn't want a delay. So no, no reason to wait.

"I don't have any clothes."

Logan almost sighed.

"I wasn't gonna send you out there naked. Just a second." He turned, taking in the expanse of bare flesh--she didn't recoil at all, though she began to flush the longer he looked, and he took his time, marking the injuries more than anything else, planning what he'd need to buy to get her back in decent shape. God, she was thin, bones protruding, not a single ounce of fat left on her body. Nodding to himself, he went to the closet, ruffling through the random items Mystique had left, finding something that approximated her size. He threw it on the bed and she picked it up, running curious fingers over the sweater and leather pants before beginning to pull them on with painful slowness.

"I'll buy you more clothes later."

"I wasn't asking." He heard her pull on the shirt, then sit on the bed, struggling with the pants. She was so thin they slipped on with minimal effort, and considering they clung to Mystique like a second skin, it was sort of amusing, like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothes. "But, thanks. That'd be nice."

"Magneto's money anyway." Hmmm...shirts, jeans, cash, some sundry weaponry because he didn't go anywhere without it.

"You get paid to do this?"

God, did she think he was in this for the philosophical crap? Zipping up the pack, he grabbed his jacket.

"Don't think I do this for free, do you?"

"How much was I worth to Lensherr?" she asked softly, and Logan frowned, trying to remember.

"Twenty-five grand on delivery," he answered, and caught her wince from the corner of his eye. "Business, darlin'. Don't take it personal."

"Wouldn't you?" She sounded angry. Well, she made a good point, he had to admit.

"Probably." He thought about that briefly, then turned around, sitting down on the edge of the bed to look at her. "You can be pissed about it or get over it. I really don't give a damn as long as you don't try to stick a knife in me when my back is turned."

She just stared at him--he had to remind himself at seventeen, practicality probably didn't really play a big part in her thinking.

"I wouldn't do that."

No, she probably wouldn't. He was pretty good at reading people and she just wasn't the cold-blooded type. It occurred to him that this could be a definite downside. What he did, what the Brotherhood did--she might not be able to learn that. Leaning back on one arm, he tried to arrange his thoughts. He couldn't just drop her off outside Anchorage and tell her to have a nice life--if she didn't end up dead in some asshole's truck when she picked the wrong person to hitch a ride with, he could almost rest assured that the government would find her highly interesting for that skin of hers.

He had a pretty good idea that was *not* something he could hand her over to. She had all the self-preservation instincts of a puppy and even fewer defenses. Letting her go off on her own was just not an option.

"I'm worth twenty-five thousand dollars?"

She'd probably never assigned a value to herself before. Probably never realized that people could be worth hard cash.

"Yeah."

"You--you do this for money. I just figured," she waved her hand a little and he felt his bones shift, the itch of the metal claws under his skin move with her. Just for a second, and her eyes widened, face draining of color at what she'd done, letting go instantly, and he gave her a long look.

"Yea, but the bastard can't sleep and hold me back at the same time." A pause. "Never do that again, baby. Ever."

She nodded slowly.

"Okay. Good point."

"Isn't it though?" He gave her a long look and then pulled his jacket on. She was slipping back into her worn boots and he made a mental note to get her some decent footwear.

"You made your point in the hall. I get it. No choices." Lightly, she wrapped her arms around herself, eyes fixing on the floor. Young and small and helpless again. A puppy was a good analogy. He remembered her smile in his camper, before she knew what he was and what he was going to do with her, and had no idea why it occurred to him this instant that he wouldn't mind seeing it again.

"Just makin' sure, darlin'. Stay here a sec." Ducking into the closet, he found one of Mystique's jackets and pulled it out, automatically checking the pockets for anything interesting. She tended to drop dangerous objects in and forget. Walking back out, he handed it over to her. "Here."

"Who did this belong to?" She pulled it on, obviously a little surprised by how well it fit.

"'Stique."

A little smile turned up her mouth.

"Fits nice."

"I'm sure she'll be happy to here that. Come on. We're going."

She nodded, then hesitated, staring at him again.

"Why are you doing this?"

He still didn't have an answer, wasn't sure that even if he did, he wanted to give her one. Answers were power, he knew that. But--

"Because I want to."

She blinked, but accepted it, and then glanced down at her bare hands for a minute. He shook himself in remembrance, going back to the bed, finding a pair of gloves that would cover her well enough until he could get her some more. She slid them on, wincing, and he stopped her, running a finger along the edge of her palm, blood smearing.

He lifted her hand to study the wound carefully. Too bad he couldn't get Creed in here and let her do a little absorbing before they left. Logan lingered on the thought, but decided against it--hunting down the bastard and holding him still would take too long, and in any case, little Marie didn't seem like she'd be interested in getting Creed in her head. Logan was pretty sure himself that spending close quarters with a girl with a piece of Victor in her wouldn't do him much good either.

"I'll get something for this the second we get out of here." Without really thinking about it, he licked the blood away from his finger, turning back to the door, feeling her follow this time.

"Why'd you do that?" Her voice was low now, and he had to think what she was talking about, until he tasted it again, sharp-iron now fixed in memory like her scent. Permanently.

"Because you're mine."

Which may be the only real reason for this entire thing he'd ever need. And that he could live with.