The X-Project

Logan's out enjoying some sun and a good smoke when Nate comes along, still pissed about the FoH op, to give a piece of his mind. Logan's just not very receptive to Nate's attempts at browbeating.




Logan, after a rather thoroughly gruelling session with Xavier and his new minion Haller, sat outside, trying to calm his mind. A cigar - one of his traditional stinky ones - sat clenched between his jaws, smouldering happily away. His healing factor quite happily dealt with the damage to his throat, nose, and lungs as soon as it happened. He was having a really, really shitty day and at times like this it wasn't a good idea to inflict it on the Conflict-Free Section of the Mansion.

The back door opened and closed again as Nathan stepped out onto the porch, still limping heavily. The bulkiness of a bandage was visible beneath the leg of his pants, and he'd had to go drag the old cane back out of the closet, which did not impress him. Much like the rest of this situation, he thought dourly, gray eyes narrowing as he spotted Logan.

Logan scented Nate coming as soon as he stepped outside, but he didn't let himself react physically. If Nate had something to say, he'd come over and say it. Simple as that. Besides, Logan didn't really care much what the guy had to say - if he wanted to chew Logan for losing it, Logan had a chewing coming. If he didn't, then he wouldn't. Whatever happened, happened.

The stairs were a little awkward, and Nathan's mood was growing increasingly foul by the time he got over to where Logan was sitting. "Feeling better?"

"No." he said, taking a deep drag off his cigar and letting the smoke escape through his nostrils. "Does it matter?"

"I'd prefer to see you not hallucinating or attacking people, yeah. I think I speak for the group." It might have been a bantering tone, under other circumstances.

"Got it covered." he said. "While I'll never have a clean bill of mental health, Chuck locked down the nasties that got loose. How's the leg?" he asked, not really caring if he got an answer either way. He asked because he was expected to ask, and if because some fifty-foot-tall monstrousity decided to march down Fifth Avenue tomorrow he wanted to know if Cable'd be ready for it.

Locked down. That was wonderfully temporary-sounding. "I'll be out for a week or two," Nathan said, his voice clipped. "I may not have a healing factor, but my father was a cellular metamorph and my metabolism isn't precisely normal either."

"Good for you." he said, then took another drag on the cigar. "Clean cuts. Nothing vital. You'll be fine."

"And what if I'd been Shiro or Jamie? They were in there too." He didn't actually care about his damned leg. Well... that was a lie. Although his pride hurt worse than the leg. It was Logan's dismissive tone that was pissing him off now. Just one more 'attacking my teammates' incident, nothing to get excited about...

"Shiro knows how to block and Jamie dupes on impact. Doubt I could put him down without making another." he said. "Look. I'm not going to sit here and grovel for your amusement. You got something to say, say it. Otherwise, go play with your daughter."

Nathan's eyes widened briefly, then narrowed again, the air around him shivering with force for just an instant, the only outward sign of just how pissed he was. "You're a liability," he said bluntly.

"Maybe." he said, not disagreeing but not fully agreeing either. "So were you. The X-Men got by."

"The X-Men also didn't put me on active status for eight months. Not until they were sure I was cured of the worst of my bad habits. This crap about locking stuff down? Give me a fucking break. All that means is that it's going to come out again at the worst possible time."

"Maybe." he said, the same way as before. "Maybe not. Wheels thinks different. You think I don't know I'm crazy?" he asked bitterly. "If I was as crazy as you think I am you'd be dead. So would Shiro, Jamie, and those FoH punks we rescued."

"Try not to give yourself too much credit," Nathan said, a definite bite to his tone. "You went down hard enough when I decided to put you down. And I've cut myself worse shaving."

Logan just shot Nate a _look_. "You can put down a guy who's tripping like there's no tomorrow. You must be _very_ proud of yourself. What do you do for an encore, push Chuck down the stairs?"

"The only reason you were a threat back there yesterday was because I didn't have the sense to put you out as soon as I saw you were hallucinating. Because I was cherishing the idiotic idea that you might snap out of it and start doing your job." Without quite thinking about what he was doing, Nathan was shifting his body language and tone, semi-consciously sliding into old learned feral habits from Mistra.

"Who trained you, the Care Bears?" he retorted, then took another drag on his cigar to cool down. "You limp out here looking to make yourself feel better by taking shots at me?"

Nathan shook his head sharply, not bothering to respond to the first question. "Yeah. Go right ahead, Logan, make this about your self-esteem rather than the fact that you apparently can't be trusted not to turn on your teammates out in the field."

"I don't think you want to start comparing bodycounts, Cable." he said curtly. "Or have you forgotten already?"

"Forgotten what, asshole?" Nathan asked almost conversationally, wondering what Logan thought he was referring to.

"Little Greek island, a couple of dozen dead, all because of a little ol' carebear dragging his business into everyone's life? Sound familiar?" he said, then closed his eyes. "Go away, Nathan. You ain't a shrink and you ain't in command. You got a beef, take it up with Slim or 'Ro."

"Pretty poor logic there," Nathan finally said, and if his jaw was a little tighter than it should have been, only someone who knew him very well - or a feral - would have noticed. "Poor reading retention and math skills, if you actually did more than skim the file on Youra. You know what they say about poor attention to detail being the sign of a sloppy mind."

"Say what you want. Way you just clenched tells me you got the message." he said quietly.

"If you mean that you hit a sore spot, yeah, you did. Anyone with half a brain would know that. If you think you drew some kind of profound parallel, that half a brain's not working very well." Nathan's hand clenched around the cane, the air around him just a trace brighter than it should be for a moment. "This going to be the usual tactic? Someone calls you on being a loose cannon and you do whatever you have to do to shut the conversation down rather than deal with it?"

"And speaking of the ability to read, you really do need to take a look at the active roster again, bub." he said, leaning back to kick his feet up.

"Well, congratulations, asshole. I'm sure it was all kinds of fun to save that up to score points at the end of this conversation," Nathan growled, disgusted. "While you're dealing with your shit, you might get it through that metal-plated skull that you're as accountable to every single one of your teammates as you are to the COs and Charles. This isn't where either of us came from. You were at this before I was, and you should know that."

"Good luck with that. Hope it works out for you." he said dismissively, and turned his attention back to his smoke and the fading light of the early-evening sun.

Nathan's jaw clenched. "Good luck with the bench," he grated, turning to leave. "I think it's going to become your second home at this rate..."

Logan just shrugged and enjoyed his smoke as much as he could. Truth be told, the bench was probably the best place for him at this point, at least until he got his crap under control. Or until he got bored.