Some unspecified time after X-force #26. Spoilers. :-(

Logan and Kurt aren't mine; they're Marvel's.

…three…four… five…six…seven.

The cell phone on his bed vibrated, and Logan kept his own phone pressed to his ear, listening for the gawd-awfully irritating sound of a line failing to be picked up. Twelve irritating BWEEEPs, and his heart raced, raced, raced, for no good reason on Earth whatsoever.

Guten Abend! Apparently, the Incredible Nightcrawler, also known as Kurt Wagner, isn't available at the moment. Please call again later, or leave your message after the annoying BEEP sound you're about to hear. Or, of course, you can always nag Logan about my whereabouts; he's bound to know them. Well, auf Wiedersehen!

BEEEP

CLICK

…well, this was embarrassing. Nine times in a row.

Oh, how Alpha Flight psychiatrists would gloat now. Here's the ultimate proof for their diagnosis. No need for long, irritating, useless sessions, brain scans, telepatic probings. All one would have to do would be taking a peek into his cell phone list of calls, and there it is.

Again, his rough, tobacco-yellowed fingers press the green key on his phone; again, his throat thickens; again, the backs of his wrists start to burn as his need to destroy something, anything, fights his determination to remain in control.

Control. Yeah. Sure.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Twelve BWEEEPs. Heart, racing. Eyes, burning, swimming.

Guten Abend! Apparently, the Incredible Nightcrawler, also known as Kurt Wagner, isn't available at the moment. Please call again later, or leave your message after the annoying BEEP sound you're about to hear. Or, of course, you can always nag Logan about my whereabouts; he's bound to know them. Well, auf Wiedersehen!

BEEEP

CLICK

Pathetic. As. One. Can. Get. He knew it. He despised himself. He'd had enough losses in his too-long life and, by now, he should have known better. This was sheer masochism on his part; twisting a double-edged knife in his chest, deliberately slashing, with morbid intensity, at one of those wounds that won't heal.

Still, he kept on doing it.

He took another swing of Jack Daniels, wiped his stubbled face with his dirty sleeve once again, lit up another cigar, pressed the green key on his phone again.

Seven seconds. Twelve BWEEEPs.

Guten Abend! Apparently, the Incredible Nightcrawler, also known as Kurt Wagner, isn't available at the moment. Please call again later, or leave your message after the annoying BEEP sound you're about to hear. Or, of course, you can always nag Logan about my whereabouts; he's bound to know them. Well, auf Wiedersehen!

BEEEP

CLICK

…aw, fuck. This couldn't be healthy. Not that he'd ever been prone to doing anything particularly healthy, but this topped pretty much everything he'd ever done…allowing himself to be eaten by Predator-X included.

Yeah, them psychiatrists would be in such extasy if they saw him now. He didn't know all definite signs and symptoms of psychosis, but he was almost certain that calling your dead best friend's cell phone just to hear his answer message and pretend for those few seconds that he's still alive qualified as such.

How many calls was this in a row? Eleven? Twelve?

He'd better keep his phone away from Scott's and Emma's sight. Imagine if Emma, the dearie she was, decided to cast a quick look an his call list and found dozens of calls to a dead guy.

He should really quit this shit. It was doing him no good. He should destroy something, pick up a fight, get to Melita, fuck her hard, drown down a barrel or so of whiskey.

Kurt's silenced phone was on his bedside. Why did he keep it functioning? Why didn't he just let it die? Why did he have to witness it started ringing frantically when dosens of prople begun trying to reach Kurt after they heard the news, as if they couldn't have believed their own ears; the display flashed names- Mara, Megan, Brian, Michael, Richard...until Logan silenced it down, hands shaking with fierce desire to shatter it against the wall into million of pieces, and shoved it into the drawer of his bedstand. Why didn't he just pack it along with other Kurt's things?

Why did he spend minutes and hours watching it vibrate, counting seven seconds and twelve BWEEEPs, before hearing that voice message over and over again?

He shouldn't do this. It was unhealthy for mind and soul, and he'd never been particularly strong there.

Green key. Seven seconds. Twelve BWEEEPs.

Guten Abend! Apparently, the Incredible Nightcrawler, also known as Kurt Wagner, isn't available at…

END