Chapter One

He woke before he opened his eyes and he wished that he had stayed unconscious. There were multiple stones digging painfully into his back and the back of his throat was caked in thick, cloying dust. His head felt like someone had reached inside and turned his brain to paste, before whacking him with a brick just to make sure they'd done the job properly. But even as he thought that, the pain started to fade.

He opened his eyes and stared blankly at the blue-gray canvas spread before him, the gray a procession of swirling clouds of dust. He could hear the murmur of voices nearby, a half-understood hum of words, as his brain attempted to make sense of what everything meant. There was a set of running footsteps coming closer, the beginning of a slow trudge further away, and then a pained moan from the female of the two voices. He did not recognise any of them.

He did not know who he was.

He sat up slowly, a scene of destruction spreading itself out before him, parts of buildings still collapsing and sending more great whorls of dust up into the dense air. The rustle of a chain and a faint tug along the back of his neck drew his attention to the dog tags around his neck. 'Logan' it said on one side, and 'Wolverine' on the other. He wondered what that meant. His name, perhaps. A codename, maybe. Certainly not anything like dog tags he'd owned before.

Had he owned things like this before? It felt natural to think so, but he couldn't remember actually owning them. He didn't - well, he couldn't really remember anything.

The owner of the running footsteps rounded one of the piles of rubble. "The kids are safe," the stranger told him, then stopped short. "Damn," he muttered, staring at his forehead.

He pulled himself to standing, facing the stranger on a more equal footing. On some level he knew that he could trust this stranger - that he wasn't actually a stranger - but he didn't know where that feeling was coming from.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"What do you mean, 'who am I'? I'm the guy that brought you here. Now we've got to go." The stranger took a couple of steps towards him, still glancing at his forehead occasionally.

He shuddered as some dangerous thing shook through him. There was fear and confusion and anger. Without realising he was doing it, he grabbed the other man by the lapels of his coat, shaking him a little.

"Where the hell am I?" he growled.

Understanding flickered through the man's eyes, and he raised his hands in a universal sign of peace. "Listen, man, I'm your friend. Your friend."

"What's my name?" he muttered, the fear clawing up his throat and attempting to strangle him. "What's my name?!" he repeated, yelling this time.

"Your name is Logan," he said, repeating the label on one of the dog tags. His name then. But no surname. No first name? "You need to trust me, we have to go," the man continued.

Logan released him slowly, trying to calm the wild, scared thing inside himself that was insisting that he run as far and fast as he could. There was no way to fight the blank space in his head where his life used to be, so he wanted to run, and keep running.

There was a scuffle of noise, and he tensed, fists clenching automatically and a dark prickle of something danced across his knuckles.

"Logan?" a voice called breathlessly, a pained whimper following it.

He did not stop to consider this could be a trap, running around the corner to where a young woman leant heavily against a slab of fallen concrete. There was blood all down one side of her top, and her fingers were clamped down over what Logan assumed was the wound itself.

Her eyes lit up with some unnameable emotion that made Logan want to smile and swing her up into his arms and kiss her. But his eyes returned to her side, and the fear he had felt for himself was pushed aside in fear for her, whoever she was.

"It's ok," she told him, smiling weakly and staggering a bit as she pulled herself up straighter.

Logan was at her side in moments, looping an arm under hers and taking her weight. "That's not 'ok'," he remarked, eying the hole in her top worriedly.

"Not yet," she replied, an odd amusement in her tone that he couldn't understand.

"Who's she?" the other man asked.

Logan hesitated, glancing between the two of them. He knew her, he was sure of it. He might not remember who he was anymore, but he knew enough to know that he would not feel as overwhelmingly worried as he was over her for a stranger.

"I don't know," he murmured, wincing as she stiffened at his words. "I don't-" he stopped and swallowed, looking out across the strange place he'd found himself and wondered if he was the one who had caused the ruin.

"Stryker had a gun," the woman in his arms said. "I heard two shots before he came over to me, and he was not hurt."

"Is that what happened?" Logan asked, gesturing to her side.

She shot him another look, this one part fond, part exasperated. "No. I stopped him. You always did worry more about hurting others than yourself."

The man let out an amused snort, nodding in agreement. "We need to go," he reminded them. "I've got a plane that'll get us out of here."

There was the sound of sirens in the distance, that stopped any protestations they might have had. Logan hesitated only a moment before scooping the woman up into his arms, the arm that had been across his shoulders already tightening briefly before she relaxed. Inexplicably, her movement seemed to have become easier, rather than stiffer as her wound lingered untreated.

"I'm Gambit," the man introduced himself as they ran toward his aircraft, eyes glancing at the woman in Logan's arms, although he suspected it was more for his sake than hers.

"Kayla," she replied. "The people who were held captive here-"

"Are fine," Gambit interrupted. "I don't know where they're headed, but it seems we weren't the only ones with eyes on this place."

"Good," Kayla replied, wincing as Logan set her down in the plane and they clambered on. "So long as it's not another Government operative."

"It wasn't," Gambit replied, firing up the engine and running rapid pre-flight checks. "They're safe. I'm sure we could track them down later whenwe're safe, if you need to."

Kayla nodded, and stared out the window as they took off. "One of them is my sister," she said, almost too quietly to be heard over the rush of air. She'd curled in on herself as she said it, heedless of her injury. The hand that had been lying unmoving under Logan's, turned and grasped his tightly, entwining their fingers.

"None of them were left behind," Gambit reassured. "Trust me, your sister is fine."

Another nod, and Kayla turned to Logan, burrowing herself against his side. Once her face was buried in his shoulder, his arm tight around her, she started shaking quietly. It took Logan a moment of panic to realise that she was sobbing rather than having a seizure of some sort. He froze, uncertain how to react with a strange woman crying into his chest, before he just tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

Gambit kept sneaking glances at them, practically stinking of curiosity. He held his tongue, however, and Logan was glad for whatever small favour he could get. It was clear that, in whatever arrangement they had that had led to Gambit bringing Logan to The Island, Kayla had not been mentioned. She had known his name, and his heart was still speeding in fear of the injury in her side, but more than that, she fit against his side like a lover who had long since worked out how best to fit them together so there was as little space dividing them as possible. Logan refused to believe that she was his enemy.

The flight was not a particularly long one, but it seemed to take forever. Kayla had finished her emotional breakdown faster than Logan had thought she would, and had rubbed the tear tracks away from her face before they landed. Without his entire attention focussed on her, and doing his best not to think about the blank he kept drawing while trying to remember, Logan had plenty of time to rediscover his fear of flying. He was certain that his grip on Kayla was going to leave bruises, but she wasn't complaining - was even holding him just as tightly - so he didn't ease up.

Gambit led them, from what was less a landing strip and more an empty field, to the only building in sight. In spite of its solitude, the house seemed well cared for, and the lights were on inside.

"Where are we?" Logan asked, holding Kayla upright again as they followed Gambit towards the house.

"Outside Baltimore. I didn't think your girlfriend was up to a five hour trip back to New Orleans," he replied, with a nod to Kayla, who smiled a little weakly.

"I'd have been fine, but I do appreciate being able to stop for rest now," she said.

Logan glanced between Kayla, Gambit, and the house. "You do know these people, right? You haven't just landed outside a random person's house?" he asked dubiously.

Gambit snorted another almost-laugh and shook his head. "They're friends. Stay here while I talk to them." He didn't offer any more explanation than that, just strode up to the door and knocking briskly. Logan stayed several feet away, still propping Kayla up.

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked her quiet as the door opened and Gambit had a hushed conversation with the old lady who answered.

She didn't say anything, just tugged her top up to reveal her side. Where Logan expected a bullet hole or deep stab wound there was a wound maybe a little bit larger than a needle mark. The skin around it was shiny and stretched taught, but even before his eyes it seemed to dull and become more like normal skin, and the hole got smaller. Kayla dropped her shirt back down again and leant forward to stroke his chin, gently persuading his jaw shut.

"You're healing yourself really quickly," he remarked blankly, searching her eyes for an answer.

"You do it a lot faster," she told him. "I … have another mutation, too. So do you."

Instinctively, Logan stretched away from them with one hand and encouraged the dark prickling across his knuckles. With one smooth movement three blades shot out with the vaguely sickening sound of cutting flesh. Pain flashed across his hand where they appeared, but faded almost instantly. Against him, Kayla shook suddenly.

"They used to be bone," she explained, reaching out and tracing the blunt side of one of the blades with her finger. "I am so sorry," she apologised, blinking back tears again.

Logan retracted the blades and turned his attention to her. "Why?" he asked, wondering if he wanted to know the answer. With his memory gone, perhaps it would be better to start over entirely, to begin again without whatever mistakes had been made in the past. That thought was rapidly dismissed. The blank spaces were like an itch that he could not resist. He had to know.

Before Kayla could answer, Gambit called for them, and their attention was diverted. The old lady he'd been talking to had disappeared into the house and didn't seem to be about to reappear anytime soon, if the fact that he locked the front door behind them was any indication.

"Plausible deniability," Gambit explained at the curious looks he received. "Destiny is happy to help out anyone, so long as if they get caught doing something illegal she doesn't get implicated."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "The place we just left got totally wrecked, you really think this old lady stands a snowflake's chance in hell against whoever it is we're fighting here?"

Gambit's returning grin was cheeky and daring. "First, you haven't met this old lady. And second, it was you who levelled that place, not Stryker or Creed. So unless you feel like destroying this place too…?" he trailed off suggestively.

The only answered he received was a vaguely negative sounding grunt. "Do you think you can manage the stairs, or do you want me to carry you?" Logan asked Kayla. She shot him a sideways look, question clear. Her side was almost completely healed; whilst she was still exhausted, tiredness did not make someone incapable of climbing stairs. He shot her lopsided grin at her and she giggled a bit at him.

Behind them, Gambit chuckled. "So you'll only be needing the one room," he said wryly, laughing again when Kayla flushed and Logan's ears turned red.

Turning back to Kayla, Logan tipped his head in question and she nodded in reply. "We've been sleeping together for four years. So long as you're fine with it, sharing a bed with you is much more comfortable for me than sleeping alone."

"I love you," he blurted, without thinking. "I mean. I don't know you, I don't remember you, but I know I love you."

Kayla's arms were around his neck, her lips on his, before he could speak another world. "Logan," she breathed against his mouth. "God, Logan, I love you so much, and I am so sorry." She kissed him again, and it was salty this time. She was crying, he realised.

"You keep saying that," he said. "And I don't know why." He spared a glance for Gambit, who was clearly listening intently, but had had the decency, at least, to pretend to be very interested in the curtains. "I'm scared," Logan whispered. "I'm fucking terrified. I don't know what I've done or what I wanted to do. I don't know who I am."

She kissed him again, hands cupping his face and running through his hair. "I know, baby. And I promise, I will help you through this. You told me a lot about your past, and I'll tell you all that I know." Another kiss, this one heavy with a promise made. "I love you," she said again. "Just don't forget that."

-xXx-

Logan didn't sleep much, in the house belonging to Gambit's strange old lady friend. It wasn't that he wasn't tired, just that whenever he closed his eyes there were strange impressions and half-dreams waiting for him. There were strangers who he ought to know the names of around every corner, a promise and a betrayal like lead in his stomach, though he did not know what either was. And everywhere there was blood and destruction and the moon watching over it all, seeing it all and doing nothing.

"You're the trickster."

He woke with tears in the corners of his eyes and not knowing why they were there. Kayla was curled against his side, soft and vulnerable in sleep, and he wanted nothing more than to protect and save her. He could not remember what it was he was trying to save her from.

With gentle fingers he probed against her side that had been injured the night before, glad to feel that the marks seemed to have disappeared entirely now. Her bloodstained clothes still laid crumpled in one corner, the stink of them making his nose twitch in distaste, and he longed to burn them and forget that she'd ever been hurt at all. He didn't move, knowing that if he did she would wake up. Whether it was some subconscious part of him that knew she was a light sleeper, or it was common sense telling him that anyone would be jittery after whatever had happened the day before, he couldn't tell.

"I know you're awake," she muttered into his shoulder, making him jump a bit. He hadn't realised that she was awake. She stretched languidly before cuddling more comfortably against him again. "Are you alright?" she asked.

Logan thought about this for a moment, but the only answer he could provide was, "I still can't remember anything."

She sighed softly and kissed the closest part of him she could reach. "I was hoping you'd remember, but I suppose that was silly of me, considering your healing ability."

He didn't reply to that, only tightened the arm around her. "Are you going to tell me who I am today, or leave me guessing?"

"I'll tell you. It would probably be better if you were left to try and sort it out in your own time, but I don't think we have time for that luxury."

"What do you mean?" he asked, more sharply than he'd meant to.

Kayla bit her lip, considering. "I think that explaining that might work better if it was part of the whole story. Just telling you bits and pieces and making you try and sort through it will probably only make matters worse."

He laughed darkly. "Worse? I don't think it gets much worse."

In one swift movement, Kayla had rolled on top of him and was sat astride his hips. "Worse?" she repeated the question back to him, mockingly. "You want worse? Stryker could have won. You could be dead, with your head on a pike somewhere and the kids that were saved - including my sister - still locked in cages and being experimented on. Maybe Stryker and Creed are still alive, but you are too! Do you know what it would have done to me if you were killed?"

She was slouched over him, her hands loose fists resting on his chest. Logan reached up and gently pulled her to lie down again, running soothing hands up and down her back. He didn't say anything, because there was nothing he could say. He was alive in the most technical sense of the word, but he was a brand new person, with only the oldest and deepest scars on his psyche still echoing up through the memory loss. He didn't even know if he could be the same man she had loved ever again.

A soft knock on the door broke their reverie, and Kayla called for whoever it was to come in. Gambit stuck his head around the door, raising his eyebrows and clearly fighting the innuendos that rose to the forefront of his mind seeing them still in bed together.

"You need to get up. We need to sort out what we're doing from here, and I promised we'd be out by midday," Gambit told them, starting to close the door before hesitating. "Do you want me to see if Destiny has any spare clothes you could use?" he asked Kayla, eying the pile of bloodied fabric that she'd worn the day before. Logan had leant her his shirt to sleep in.

"If it's not too much hassle," she replied.

"No hassle," he reassured with a lecherous grin, closing the door and disappearing with a laugh before the pillow Logan chucked at him hit him.

Kayla hid her face in Logan's chest and laughed lightly. "Seems like just the kind of guy you'd make friends with," she remarked.

"Horny?" Logan asked rhetorically, a tinge of jealousy still coating his words.

"A rebel and a rogue, but a good man at heart," she replied honestly.

Logan only shrugged in reply and rolled out of bed to start the day. He could feel Kayla's eyes follow him as moved about his morning ablutions, but her gaze did not unnerve him. It was domestic in a way that he wouldn't have thought he'd be comfortable with.

Gambit returned shortly with a summer dress for Kayla and before long the three of them were gathered in the kitchen, each cradling a cup of coffee.

"You were born in Canada in 1837 to John and Elizabeth Howlett," Kayla began, but was almost immediately interrupted.

"1837?" Gambit asked, spluttering. "Mon dieu, you're ancient!"

"Gee, thanks bub," Logan grumbled, waving a hand at Kayla to continue.

She told both of them the shortest version of his life story that she could, considering it spanned well over a century. It was only when she got to her involvement that she stuttered.

"Stryker knew my father - not very well, just in the way that all men with a lot of power or money seem to know each other - and when he discovered that both Emma and I had developed mutant abilities, that familiarity made it ridiculously easy for him to kidnap us. Emma is telepathic and can turn into living diamond, so her skills were useful. Mine were - not so useful. My healing factor is nothing compared to yours or Victor's, both of which he had, and my mental persuasion works only if I'm touching someone."

"Wait," Logan cut in this time. "What do you mean 'mental persuasion'?"

Kayla turned a penetrating gaze to him, not looking away and doing her utmost to convince him of her total honesty. "When I touch someone I can influence their thoughts. It doesn't work on you or Victor, nor on anyone with proficient mental protection. But Stryker didn't know it didn't work on you, and he wanted someone to keep an eye on you."

Logan felt icy fear come crashing down on him and tried to concentrate on what she'd said before - she loved him.

"He kept my sister locked up, used her as blackmail, and directed me to get as close to you as I could," she continued, grasping for Logan's hands and squeezing them tightly. "I fell in love with you, Logan, I swear, it's as real to me as it was to you."

"Did you tell me?" he asked lowly, his voice coming out as barely more coherent than a growl.

Kayla bowed her head, hiding her face from his searching eyes. "No," she whispered, gasping when he pulled his hands free from hers. "He had my baby sister, Logan, and he had eyes on my parents and my brother. One word from me and they would have all died. He left us alone for four years, I thought that maybe he'd give up on us, that he'd let her go and we could stay together and you wouldn't have to ever find out."

She looked utterly dejected and lonely as she continued the story, with help from Gambit, up to the current moment. She sat on one of the hard backed kitchen chairs, hugging her knees to her chest and searching Logan's face desperately for some kind of sign that she was forgiven - or would be - again.

But Logan was too overwhelmed by the story of his life to pay too much attention to what she needed. He didn't know the exact date, but if Gambit's comment had been any indication, he was a lot older than he looked - a lot older than he felt - which meant that the loss of his memories was an even deeper blow than he'd thought. So much time and life and stories lost, just like that. Kayla knew bits and pieces, but from the way she talked it was clear that he'd spared her the worst of his past.

He clung silently to the kitchen counter that he was propped up against like it was a lifeline, trying to come to terms with it all.

"Our home," he said after a long silence. "Is it still there?"

Kayla nodded. "So far as I know. Unless you went back and tore it down after finding my, um. My body."

Logan shuddered again. Fuck. What a mess. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, holding it in with a thousand swirling thoughts and ideas, before letting it out slowly and struggling to chose the right options. He opened his eyes to see Kayla watching him fearfully. Wordlessly, he opened his arms to her in a silent gesture for an embrace.

She had betrayed him, but it had not been her choice. A rich girl from a privileged background, kidnapped and blackmailed, and falling in love with a stranger who was more entangled in the centre of it all than she was. It was a wonder that she hadn't just given up entirely. Instead, here she was, trying to be strong for his sake, apologising for mistakes that had probably seemed like her only option at the time. There would, no doubt, be times when they struggled with this element of their past, but in the here and now he could not begrudge her the choices she had made.

Kayla jumped up into his arms, clinging to him and fighting sobs again.

Gambit watched them with dark eyes. "You have a messed up relationship," he told them sombrely when Kayla had settled down again.

Logan growled in warning, but the Cajun continued regardless. "I can't talk. I was engaged to my childhood friend against both our wills and ended up killing her brother in self-defence when he kept attacking me. Stupid bastard didn't realise I didn't want to marry her, but she loved him and now he's dead and I get kicked out of New Orleans only to get imprisoned by a mad scientist. His guards are crap at poker, though, and Bella Donna had talked down both our families by the time I got back. Then there's Ororo-"

"How old are you?" Kayla asked incredulously, cutting him off.

"Um, twenty? Twenty-five?" Gambit asked more than answered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm not entirely sure."

"How can you not know how old you are?" Logan asked, then shrugged when they both stared at him accusingly. "I have an excuse," he replied.

"I don't know what year I was born," Gambit said with a one shouldered shrug. "I was abandoned and kidnapped so my birth certificate was never completed. Then I spent several years in exile and in Stryker's prison. I'm sure my father could tell me if I asked, but they're not exactly fond of me at the moment, what with the whole-" he flapped a hand vaguely "-thing," he finished.

Kayla shook her head disbelievingly. "And you call us messed up?"

"Let's be messed up together!" Gambit cried cheerfully, before growing serious once. "Although, I think we've probably done pretty well, in the grand scheme of things. Sure, there's been blackmail and memory loss, but, well, there are some very ugly things going on."

Logan narrowed his eyes at the other man. "Stryker has another base?"

"At least one," Gambit agreed. "But it's not just him. There were rumors about a guy called Shaw a few years back, and word on the street is rife with something called the 'Brotherhood', not to mention the countless smaller-time crooks who are forcing people into prostitution or drug dealing. I guess it's nothing humans haven't done to each other before, but with mutant powers behind it, the whole thing's about ten times uglier."

"And I'm guessing Victor still wants you dead," Kayla added, watching Logan with concern.

He grunted to show that he'd heard all they'd said, and continued staring into the dregs of his coffee. "I want to go back to our house," he said. "See if it jogs my memory. Gives us an opportunity to pack some of our stuff, sell the things we don't need."

"Then what?" Kayla asked, a slightly hysterical note entering her voice.

Logan looked at her calmly and said, "Then we track down your sister. Check that her and the other kids actually are alright. After that - it's up to you. With Creed on my tail I won't be able to settle, but I have a feeling I'm pretty good at surviving on the road, if what you told me about my past is true."

"And me?"

"You have your sister and your parents," Logan told Kayla softly. "I can't ask you to come with me."

"But if I wanted to?" she prompted.

He paused, letting the sound of their breathing fill the air. "I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure I've always had a hard time saying 'no' to you."

It was not the ringing approval she might have hoped for, but it was the best that Logan was able to give - with or without his memories. With Creed out there somewhere, and Stryker still alive and probably very pissed off too, they would have to stay on the road. Logan had resigned himself to a life on the move, but there was no way that he would tie someone else to it too. If they voluntarily tied themselves to him, however, he was not going to say no.

"What about you?" he asked Gambit.

The younger man shrugged casually, an easy smile on his lips. "I go back to New Orleans, mes amis. I have my family and my cards, and that is all a man like me can ask for. It has certainly been an … interesting experience, meeting you."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Logan said dryly.

The three of them left the house, Gambit lingering behind to have a few more quiet words with their hostess.

"I'd offer to take you where you need to be, but my baby barely has enough fuel to get me home," Gambit apologised, slapping the nose of the airplane. "If you ever find yourself in need of a friend, I am at your service," he added, with a sweeping bow and a crooked grin.

"At a price, I'm sure," Logan grumbled, before giving Gambit an awkward slap-on-the-back hug.

Kayla stepped forward after him and kissed Gambit on the cheek, accepting the note he passed her with grace.

"A cell number," he explained. "If you need to contact me in a hurry. Although if you're in New Orleans, just drop the name 'LeBeau' and that will get to me faster than a phone call."

"Stop hitting on my girl," Logan warned, wrapping an arm around Kayla's waist and pulling her to his side. "We'll see you around, kid."

Gambit nodded, climbing into the plane as they walked to a safe distance. He waved as he began take off, and before they knew it he'd vanished from sight.

"So," Kayla said, glancing around at their surroundings. There was the field and the house they'd stayed in the night before, and that was it. "How are we going to get to the Rockies from here?"

Logan smiled wolfishly at her. "I'm pretty certain I know how to hotwire a motorcycle?" he suggested.

-xXx-

It took them a little under a week to reach the cabin Kayla and Logan had owned and lived in together, and the journey had been awkward, the conversation a little stilted and the transport itself always somewhat dubiously obtained. Once the first blush of knowing that the other was still alive and still in love had faded they realised that unless Logan's memory miraculously returned over night, they had to start from the beginning again as strangers.

They both knew that, one day, they would be good again. They knew it, because they had to believe it. They'd done it before and now, more than ever, they needed another human being who knew them entirely to cling to. Admittedly, Logan only knew of Kayla what she'd told him, but he had an unwavering faith in her that she would have not found anywhere else except, perhaps, her sister.

She confronted him about it somewhere between Chicago and Minneapolis. "Why do you trust me?" Kayla asked.

"Because you don't smell like you're lying," Logan replied simply, shooting a smile at her. "That's probably why you managed to get so close to me for so long without me realising you worked for Stryker. You were on 'my side', even if the bastard was blackmailing you to be on his."

"How do you know I'm not influencing you to think that?"

Logan sighed, concentrating on the road and decidedly not looking at her. "I have no memory. I can't trust anything that I think I remember in case it's only a dream. If I can't trust in my senses, at least, I might as well give up now." There was a painful moment drawn out a beat too long before he looked at her again and smiled crookedly. "Besides, you touch me a lot, darlin', but you don't touch me all the time," he added teasingly, breaking the tension.

Which had, indirectly, led to another issue that neither of them had the first idea how to approach. The casual touches between the two of them were just as frequent as they had ever been; a brush of fingers here, a hug there, a brief flicker of hands in hair. But it was never anything more than that. They both knew that they'd been together for years, but Logan's memory loss was a wall between them that they weren't sure how to tackle.

It was worse for Kayla, and not just because she remember their relationship. Logan had never been particularly tactile anywhere that might have even the slightest chance of being considered public, and getting a kiss out of him around others was always a bit hit and miss. So now that he had lost his memories, it was like they were back to the very beginning again; where the only kisses would be chaste and private, few and far between. Kayla knew that it was Logan's way of being respectful, but that did not stop it from being frustrating.

Similarly for Logan, his body remembered the patterns of affection that they'd woven into their daily routine, but his mind had forgotten. So he would find himself leaning in for a kiss without thinking, then pulling back as he realized what he was doing. If Kayla caught the action, pain would flash briefly in her eyes, followed sharply by stinging guilt.

Neither of them knew where the boundaries were, and it was something they'd only be able to figure out through trial and error. There were moments when the new distance between them was agonizing, and it was impossible to look at one another, but those moments were becoming fewer, just as the moments of closeness increased.

When they got to their house, it had been trashed, but the claw marks in the walls were in sets of five, rather than three. Most of their larger appliances and pieces of furniture had been ruined, but a lot of their clothes could be saved, as well as a few keepsakes that Kayla took care to stash in her bag as they hurriedly packed.

"This is us," Logan remarked, stating the obvious whilst pointing at a picture of the two of them out by the lake. It had been taken in the early summer of the previous year by one of their mutual friends who lived in the valley. Behind them stretched the lake, the mountains and the sky, decorated in the rich color of the evergreens, but the thing that had really caught his attention was the sheer happiness of the people in the photo. They were both beaming at the camera, their arms wrapped around each other and looking as though their life couldn't get better than this.

Kayla peered over his arm to glance at the photo, a tremulous smile on her lips. "I hadn't heard anything from Stryker in over a year, when that photo was taken. I was starting to think that I had my life back. A life and future where my biggest worry was what I should cook us for dinner."

"I want that back," he told her simply. "I want us to be happy and in love again."

"And instead we're on the run from your crazy psychopath of a brother and our house has been destroyed," Kayla replied somewhat bitterly.

Logan did not flinch, but the flash of darkness in his eyes was as good as. He would never apologize for the actions of his half-brother, and it was something they both felt he shouldn't have to apologize for. It didn't stop the hurt that flared when Logan was reminded that his only flesh-and-blood relative was such a terrible person.

He flipped his wallet open and tucked the photo neatly inside. "Something to aim for," he explained somewhat ruefully under Kayla's questioning gaze.

Slowly, more uncertainly than she would have before, she leant forward and kissed Logan tenderly. "I love you," Kayla told him simply when she leaned away again. It was the first time since he'd lost his memory that the words were not spoken as a reminder, or a promise, or a plea. Instead, they were an utterance of a fact, laying bare an essential part of her character for him to look at and judge however he wished.

Logan did not echo the words back to her, but caught her cheek in one callused palm and returned her chaste kiss. He bowed their foreheads together for a long moment, watching her, and hoping the flicker of memories of pale dresses and whispered fairytales were true. Then he dropped his hand from her face and they both moved on, gathering the things they wished to take in silence.

They left the ruin of their house behind, and as soon as they had travelled far enough so as not to be recognised, emptied their bank accounts into a joint account under the fake names of Mr and Mrs Vadas. They then promptly drained most of that money on buying a motor home that was large enough for both of them to live in. Without knowledge of what had become of Stryker and Victor, it was a unanimous decision to keep moving from place to place, picking up jobs where they could but keeping moving.

All told, neither of them particularly minded it. The forced closeness was awkward at first, but after the days spent kipping on the back seats of stolen cars, the slightly larger space of the tiny caravan was a blessing. The assumed titles of husband and wife were also strange to hold for the first couple of months, no matter how much more convenient they made various transactions with locals in whichever town they passed through. But it was too easy for them to fall into a routine of efficiency and affection, to the point where they had returned to some semblance of the relationship they had had before.

It was not seamless; it was too easy for Kayla to forget that Logan no longer possessed all his memories, or for one or both of them to get tired of the confines of the caravan and the frugal life they now led. The second year, especially, had been the worst. The first year had been too tentative, too uncertain of each other and themselves for the blind rage of the following year. Once they'd regained a little certainty, and the excitement of living on the road had dulled to irritation at not being able to build a home, they had taken out their insecurities on each other.

It had been almost an entire twelve months of blazing rows and icy silences, of sullen apologies and unspoken resentment. It was in late August, after another furious row, that things finally came to a head. Kayla had approached him some hours after she had stormed out, everything about her portraying an infinity of sadness when she had said in a clear, trembling voice, "Perhaps I should leave."

Logan had not expected the blow of the words to be as much of a physical strike as they were. They left him gasping for breath and eyes stinging.

"My father would, no doubt, welcome me back with open arms, and I know Emma is longing to actually see me again. I love you, Logan, but I think that might not be enough. I don't think it's been enough for a while now. All we do is fight, and I hate the people we're becoming because of it-"

He cut her off with a kiss, touch at least no longer a problem at this point. But she pulled away.

"You can't just kiss me and hope that it'll all go away," she told him gently.

Logan nodded. "I know. I don't want you to go."

"I know, baby," she replied. Then she had turned away from him, shoved some clothes in a bag, and left.

"I'll stay here for a month," he'd promised her. "Just in case you change your mind."

He ended up getting a job at a shop, fixing up motorbikes. The workshop was a tip and badly run, so the motorcycles brought there tended to be end of the line models, some barely an inch from falling apart, but it was hard work that kept his mind from going back to Kayla. There was an ancient, block-like mobile phone in the caravan that he would end up spending most of his evenings staring at, hoping it would ring, and the only thing that kept him sane were the cage fights at one of the local bars where he could burn off the excess energy and earn himself a dollar or two.

Precisely thirty days after Kayla had walked out, a sharp knock on the door of the caravan woke Logan up. Still lethargic from sleep, and having long since convinced himself that Kayla wasn't coming back, he had only the presence of mind to gape at her where she stood, smiling somewhat sheepishly up at him.

"Hi," she said, adjusting the strap of her bag.

Logan grunted and opened the door wider, a signal for her to enter, before disappearing towards the coffee machine. She followed him slowly, lowering her bag carefully and shutting the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment, flickering her eyes shut briefly in what Logan knew to be a way she tried to gather her nerves. She shouldn't ever have to do that around him.

Kayla took the mug of coffee he offered her without words, humming appreciatively as she sipped it. It was the cheap stuff and tasted nowhere near as good as the ridiculously expensive beans her father kept his kitchen stocked with, but only Logan knew how to make it exactly as she liked it. Just one of the thousands of things she'd missed.

"I thought you'd left," Logan muttered into his mug. "Permanently," he added.

She shook her head, though he wasn't looking at her. "No. I-" she stuttered a little, taking a deep breath before soldiering on. "I needed a break from us, from this. I thought we both did. All we ever did was fight, and only ever over really stupid stuff. I can't remember what most of our fights were about now and - well. I went to see my family. It was great for the first week, you know? We were all just happy to see each other. But. Jesus, I hate them. I forgot how controlling my father is, how much of a bitch my step-mother can be, and I don't even recognise Christian anymore. I knew he was having some difficulty with drugs, but I never thought-" she cut herself off, and stared resolutely at her trembling hands, wishing they'd stop.

"I only stayed for Emma. It was brilliant seeing her again. We haven't talked properly in years, not since before Stryker. I told her everything, about us, and do you know what she said?" Kayla stopped and looked up to see Logan staring at her intensely, cup of coffee in his hands entirely forgotten. "She told me I felt too much, and that I was an idiot." Kayla laughed; a broken, weary thing with a hint of hope hidden there. "She told me to get my ass back here pronto, and to order you to take me back."

Logan tilted his head a bit as she finished that, cataloguing everything he could about her, just in case this was a dream and he would wake up properly in any minute. There was a hint of expensive perfume clinging to Kayla now, where there had been only cheap soap before, and the clothing she was wearing was different, newer. The bag she'd left by the door was a different one than the one she'd taken. It was larger and better constructed, though just as pragmatic.

But in spite of the better clothing and the fact that the way she held herself was looser - her body relaxed from big comfy beds rather than the cramped cot they had here - he could still smell the truth in her words.

"I love you," he told her, as matter of fact as she had told him years before. Then he drained his mug and put it in the sink, moving around her easily as he continued his morning routine.

She exhaled long and slow, eyes watching him fondly and the shaking of her hands gradually stilling.

At the end of the day, when Logan returned from work with his final paycheque, and Kayla's clothing had been unpacked and her bag stowed away again, they rolled out of the town without a backwards glance. In the months that followed they would have to work through their issues, Logan comforting Kayla as she whispered the truth about her families problems, and Kayla carefully easing her way back through Logan's barriers until their relationship was better than it had ever been.

They still fought, of course, and it was ridiculous to assume that they never would, but the fights were fewer and less vitriolic. The stony silences, where neither refused to budge an inch, rarely ever made a reappearance. The dance that they had been acting out before, a certain level of wariness that had been maintained, disappeared entirely, until it was just the two of them, and the happiness of the photo still tucked carefully in Logan's wallet stopped being a dream and became an everyday reality.

Which was how, five years after Logan lost his memories, and neither of them having heard hide nor hair of Creed, it was a different proposition on Kayla's lips when they rolled into the same town where she had left him and come back to him, three years before.

"Why don't we settle down?" Kayla asked, catching him by surprise as Logan pulled out coats for both of them before they braved the cold outside. They still gained most of their money from the cage fights that Logan partook of more frequently than Kayla would like.

She could not pretend that she didn't like watching him beat the crap out of some random hillbilly cranked up on steroids. It was amusing to watch the faces of the audience fall when they realised they'd placed their money on the wrong contestant, and it was arousing when Logan 'accidentally' lost his shirt and she could watch his gleaming muscles knowing that in a few short hours she'd see all of him, touch all of him, own all of him. And he liked watching her watch him. But Kayla didn't like how frequently he had to resort to fighting to earn the money they needed to keep gas in the tank and food in the fridge.

"We haven't even heard of Creed or Stryker since The Island, and-"

"It'd be nice to find somewhere we can call home?" Logan finished for her, helping her on with her jacket. "Alright," he agreed after barely a moment's consideration.

"Really?" she questioned, trying to hide the spark of excitement that was already starting to grow.

Logan held the door open for her, locking it behind them once they'd both stepped out. "Sure," he agreed. "So long as there's plenty of area to run in."

Kayla stopped walking and turned to face, stretching up to kiss him slowly, a promise for more to come later. "This is Canada, baby, where isn't there room to run?" she asked teasingly, giggling and leaning into him as he smacked her lightly on the ass, and they continued towards the bar.