Jewel, thanks. You're a gem. Heh.

Epilogue - Startin' Somethin'

It was raining in Seattle. Again. Logan took it as a sign that maybe things would be returning to normal. He sat in the den of his penthouse, surrounded by his computers and video equipment and deeply immersed in the latest reports from the Informant Net. He was finally getting comfortable again, now that he was back in his element. It was the best way for him to ignore the fact that Max hadn't come by to check on him, or called, or answered any of his dozen pages. She was probably just trying to stay under the radar. With everything that was going on right now, White was sure to be on the prowl. It was safer for them both this way.

Cotton hissed against leather as he shifted a little in his seat, but there was no whir and click of the exoskeleton. The doctors had instructed him not to tax his body with the apparatus for at least another week or two. So, his movements were once again restricted to the questionable agility of his wheelchair. It was another thing he was trying not to think about. He was also trying to ignore the terrible itch he had beneath the cast on his right forearm. At least he'd been able to finally take his left arm out of the sling earlier that morning. And most of the swelling in his recently dislocated shoulder had disappeared completely. Small mercies.

He put aside the legal pad filled with notes he'd been reviewing and rubbed a hand over his eyes, careful to avoid the cut on his forehead that was finally starting to close. After a moment, he sighed and turned back to his the bank of screens above his desk. His reflection in the largest monitor was translucent, making him appear ghostly to his own eyes. He was setting up for a long-overdue Eyes Only broadcast. The newscasters on every television network had been reporting misinformation on the transgenics for the past forty-eight hours. Enough was enough. The people had the right to know the truth. And who better to set the record straight about the transgenics and their plight than him?

A loud sigh erupted behind him. "I'm bored."

Logan jerked around at the interruption. He winced, and a hiss escaped him as the sudden movement pulled at his fractured ribs. When he finally blinked past the stinging in his eyes, he found Alec lounging in the doorway leading to the front hall. His hair and jacket were damp from the rain, but it didn't seem to bother him that much. The moisture was sure to leave a mark on lacquered frame that he leaned against. He had a sandwich in his hand. The crumbs were falling on Logan's hardwood floor.

Alec continued on as if he hadn't just given Logan a near stroke. "But I gotta say, old buddy, this roast isn't half bad," he said around a mouthful of food. "I'll have to try it warm, next time."

Logan glanced from the transgenic toward his darkened kitchen and back again. So, Alec had been in the apartment long enough to make a sandwich and he hadn't even noticed. He really, really hated the easy way the transgenics could just sneak up on him. As if he needed yet another reminder of how much better Alec was at all things physical. As if he needed another reason to resent the man.

Adjusting his glasses, Logan turned resolutely back to his monitors with the hope that his heartbeat, irregular from the shock, wasn't noticeable to the transgenic. He pretended that Alec wasn't there, and, more importantly, he pretended that Alec wasn't there when Max hadn't contacted him at all. After a few moments, he could hear Alec shift behind him and then the sound of him wandering through the back of the house. He knew that the other man was deliberately making enough noise for him to hear the movement. It grated on Logan's nerves like industrial-strength sandpaper. He clenched his jaw and kept on with his work. Maybe if he ignored Alec, the transgenic would just disappear? Above all, he. Would. Not. Ask. About. Max.

"Just for the record," Alec bellowed from back in the bedroom, "that chick was kicking your ass."

Logan ground his teeth together, and actually raised his voice – but, only to be sure that Alec heard him. "I didn't fight back. I would never raise a hand in violence to Max."

Alec gave a rude snort. "And your precious nobility almost got you killed." Somehow he made his shrug into a gesture that could be heard several rooms away. "Not that you could have really done much damage to Max, anyway."

Logan couldn't take it anymore. With a painful hold born of absolute frustration, he gripped the handrails along the wheels of his chair and slowly rolled away from the desk out into the hallway. "What are you doing here, Alec?" The younger man emerged from the back rooms with his trademark smirk in place, but no reply on his lips. Logan watched him pop the last of the sandwich between his lips and enter the living room. He trailed after him, his annoyance growing with every turn of the wheels and the extra care he had to take not to exacerbate his injuries.

Much of the living room was still in the chaos that Max had created just a couple of days earlier. The glass from the shattered coffee table had been swept away. Logan's blood had been cleaned from the floor, along with the transgenics'. The floor-to-ceiling window had shattered outward with the impact of Alec's body so there hadn't been much to clean up there. But, new cork planks covered the gaping hole left in the frame.

Alec knew that Asha had been here not too long ago, clearing away some of the debris. From his hidden perch on the roof, he'd watched her moving through the penthouse and listened to her chatter away with Logan about the latest S1-W cause. He wondered if Logan was really as oblivious to her clear attraction and feelings as he seemed. He doubted it. Logan probably just chose to ignore Asha in favor of his fixation on Max. Alec really couldn't blame him. Asha was a good woman, but Max was…well…he gave a mental shrug…Max was something special.

He turned to face the real reason he'd come into this room. The plaster of one wall was still caved in a vague echo of Max's shape. He walked over to it and ghosted a finger along its outline. His mind flashed back to that night, how Max's body moved as they danced with fists and feet. A real smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was so beautiful when she was fighting. The whole thing had been such a rush, one that Alec hadn't felt for a very long time. He was hoping he could convince her to start training with him routinely. Blood-pumping, heart-pounding exhilaration on a regular basis would do them both some good. Adrenaline was like vitamins for transgenics.

Logan's irritated voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you going to help me pay for the repairs?"

Turning, Alec dusted unseen breadcrumbs from his hands and jacket. He smiled. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. My entire living space was destroyed during your little sparring match, Alec."

Expressive eyebrows raised over equally expressive hazel eyes. "That sparring match saved your life."

"Saved my life?" Logan sat back and narrowed his eyes in condescension. "Oh, please. You're deluding yourself if you honestly believe that Max could ever seriously hurt me." At Alec's pointed perusal of his many injuries, he ground out, "She would never do any permanent damage. Her heart wouldn't let her."

"Right," Alec's gave the one word layers of mocking. "Her heart. So buddy, which part of her would you say was responsible for nearly detaching your head from your body?"

"That. Wasn't. Her."

Alec rolled his eyes and walked by him back into the den muttering, "Now who's delusional?"

Logan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He called out, "I ask again, why are you here, Alec?"

"I left my bike behind in your garage the other night," Alec offered by way of explanation. "And, Max wanted you to check this out."

Logan could hear something hitting his desk. Curious, he wheeled himself around to return to the den. A plain envelope was sitting next to his keyboard. Alec was lounging against the opposite doorframe staring at him expectantly. Logan retrieved and opened the package, noting that it was damp at the corners. Inside was a small pendant with the Familiar's cult symbol etched on it. He glanced up.

Alec shrugged. "It's Josh's. Said Sandeman gave it to him. Max figured you'd want to draw a few conclusions."

"So, you're just the messenger." Logan was trying to bait the other man. He knew it was juvenile and beneath him, but he just couldn't help it.

Alec stuck his hands in the pockets of his new jean jacket and smirked. "That's what it says on the sector pass."

"Uh-huh. Why didn't she bring it herself?" Alec just stared at him, whether because he didn't want to share the answer or didn't know it Logan couldn't be sure. After a few moments, Logan dropped his eyes to the pendant in his hand. "Let her know I'll look into it."

"Will do."

Logan nodded once and then cleared his throat, still looking at the pendant in his hands. "Dr. Shankar told me that the cure was successful in ridding Max of the virus," he said in his usual quiet tones. "I assume she told Max –"

Alec kept his voice carefully neutral. "Max knows she can touch you now without killing you."

He nodded again and set the pendant back on his desk. He forced himself to look the other man in the eyes. "Shankar also informed me that it was the cure that made Max sick. I want," he broke off to swallow, "could you tell her how sorry I am." Effort made him pause again before he could say, "Please."

Alec's head was tilted downward and he studied Logan through thick lashes, his expression unreadable. He let the man choke on his pride for a few more heartbeats before speaking. "Max doesn't blame you for what happened. She wants you to know that." He watched with that same hooded stare as Logan visibly relaxed, the guilt melting off of him in waves. "But, I want you to know something else."

The X5 pushed away from the doorway and stalked toward the desk. His normally expressive face had become cold and lifeless. His eyes, usually filled with mischievous laughter, were hard and unmerciful. Logan looked into the face of the man standing less than three feet away from him and felt a chill run down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He remembered that, up until just a year ago, Alec had been a government-sanctioned assassin. Logan was staring cold, efficient, ruthless Death in the face.

"I want you to know that I do blame you, Logan." Alec leaned forward, wrapping his hands firmly around the wheelchair's armrests. Hazel eyes trapping blue, he spoke quietly, but with a tone of solid steel, "And if you ever do anything that stupid again, anything that even remotely endangers Max or threatens to expose us, I will kill you."

Logan swallowed, but held that flinty gaze – points for him – and gave the only response he could. "I love Max."

Some joviality returned to Alec's face. He chuckled. "Who doesn't?" He pushed away from the wheelchair and plopped himself down in the chair across the room. The smirk was back.

It took a few moments for the implication of Alec's words to fully register in Logan's mind. When they finally did, he couldn't stop his bark of incredulous laughter. "What?" he scoffed. "You think that you're the man she'll choose in the end, Alec?"

Alec gave a casual shrug. "I'm not a man. And Maxie? Well, let's just say she's no lady."

"I know Max," Logan bit out in the face of the other man's flippant attitude. "I know exactly who she is."

"Oh, sure you do," Alec's voice was thick with sarcasm. "'Cause what makes us different from humans is trivial: a little military brainwashing, a few heightened senses, a few cousins that walked on all fours. Nothing to lose sleep over. No reason to discriminate, right Logan?" He quirked an eyebrow over serious eyes. "But it's nature, not nurture. Even those of us who look human are closer to Joshua and the freaks than you know. If we blend in with you ordinaries, it's only because we make a conscious effort and because you all don't like to look beyond the surface."

Logan shook his head. "Alec, what you're saying has no bearing on my relationship with Max. No matter what she pretends, she is not a loner. She needs me in her life."

The X5 rolled his eyes. "You can't even keep up with her, Logan. Not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. You're almost twice her age, but she knows more about life now that you ever will." Alec words were sure, but there seemed to be a hint of sympathy beneath them. "You're right about one thing, though. Her loner stance is bullshit. But, where she's going you can't follow."

The pity in his voice sounded like a challenge to Logan, and made him forget how Alec had scared him not five minutes earlier. He rolled toward him as swiftly as he could, his features twisted into an angry sneer. "Oh, but I suppose you think you can do better, Alec? Think you can be everything that she is? Think you can be her partner?"

The moments stretched taut between them before Alec answered matter-of-factly. "Yes. I do. I am."

In a fit of unthinking desperation, Logan swung his right arm. Alec didn't even blink before catching it barely an inch from his face. His expression remained bland as he slowly squeezed his hand around the other man's wrist until he could hear the plaster creak beneath the pressure. "Don't test me Logan. You have no idea what we're capable of." Alec resisted the urge to squeeze harder, releasing his grip instead.

From what seemed like an eternity ago, Lydecker's words flashed through Logan's mind.

"They're all killers. All they need is a trigger."

He cradled his hand to his chest and said, "It doesn't matter to me what she is. I don't care." His statements were more of a reply to the memory echoing through his mind and an answer to the doubt he'd hidden in his heart for almost a year than a rebuttal for the transgenic.

Alec stood and put some distance between them before his temper got the better of him.. "Of course you don't care." The muscle in his jaw ticked visibly when he all but snarled out, "You don't understand."

Logan shook his head and bit out, "I realize it's hard to be a transgenic –"

"That's where you're wrong," Alec interrupted quietly with a cold little smile. "It's hard trying not to be a transgenic. You ordinaries don't have a clue what it's like to be one of us.

"I know better than most."

Alec shrugged. "Maybe you do. But, do you know what's it's like to smell fear? How many colors do you see? Do you know what it's like to fly, Logan?"

"You're different. I get that." Logan could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his grinding teeth.

"It's not that I'm different. It's that I'm better. That's why some humans will always fear us. Because we're better." Alec gave a cocky smile, as if being feared were just one more element to his irresistibility. "Anyway," he switched gears as if they'd only just been talking about the weather, "I hate to cut our little afternoon of bonding short, but I've got to swing by and see OC about Max's things."

Logan's red-faced expression went from impotent frustration to puzzlement.

Alec raised an eyebrow and feigned innocence. "Oh, didn't I mention that we're holed up in Terminal City? Max thought it best, at least until the Ordinaries die down with the whole transgenic frenzy. Josh nosed out some great digs for us." He canted his head to the side and smiled. "The big guy just loves having Max close and so many other trannies around. It's kinda cute."

"Why are you there?" Logan regained his composure and some of his bravado. "Shouldn't you be looking out for number one?"

Alec shrugged. "They're my kind too. Besides, Max asked me to stay." His smile was starting to remind Logan of the Cheshire cat. "And I never could refuse the hot ones." He jerked his chin toward the desk. "She put her cell number in the envelope. Of course, you could always just try my phone. After all, I'll be with her." He turned to leave, throwing parting words over his shoulder, "Don't get up. I'll show myself out."

For a while after the echo of the slamming door had faded, Logan sat in the middle of the room. More than just his legs seemed paralyzed as his mind ran a gamut of emotions, from impotent rage to despair to stubborn hope. He needed a drink. But, he had a job to do first. He wheeled himself back to his bank of monitors. He glanced once at Joshua's pendant with it's cult symbol deeply etched. Research could wait until after Eyes Only's broadcast. Logan fiddled with his camera and executed his anti-trace program on the computer.

"Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is an Eyes Only streaming freedom video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city…"

---

From a television bolted high in the wall of a covert ops headquarters, Logan's voice droned on amidst the rapid clacking of fingers on keyboards.

"Lately every crime, every act of violence committed on our city streets is being blamed on transgenics..."

Agent Ames White strode in and headed straight for his lead agent. "Sixty seconds enough time for a trace?"

Otto's expression was slightly apologetic. "It's hard to say, sir. But, he tends to go over."

"Keep rambling, pal." White's smile was cold and quick. The seconds ticked by, and the cyberjournalist's righteousness was grating on more than just ears. Satellite images flew by on computer screens as the agents came closer and closer to triangulating the signal. White leaned forward. "Give me good news, Otto."

"Almost, sir. The techs are…"

"This has been an Eyes Only streaming freedom video bulletin. Peace. Out."

"Damn," one of the programmers muttered. "A few more seconds and we would have had him."

"We almost had him, sir," Otto repeated unnecessarily. "The next time we'll definitely be able to pinpoint his exact location."

White grunted. "Lucky for you he seems to love the sound of his own voice. Make sure next time is the last time the rest of the world is subjected to it." His cell phone rang as the other man nodded. "Keep me informed, Otto." He strode away and answered his call. "White…" He smiled a tight grin into the phone. "Fe'nos tol."

End Volume 2

Author's Note: First off, if you reacted to this chapter with a meh, we may be soulmates. This little epilogue is sub par, but making it into something magnificent (a la Brain, heh) was beyond my limited talents. Yet, it needed to get out and doesn't belong in Metamorphosis 3 (coming to a computer screen near you in 2006…). So, please forgive me. Secondly, thanks for allowing me to subject you to the meandering journey that is my story. If it has entertained y'all at all over the years (yeesh!), I am truly lucky and absolutely grateful.

Author's Rant in Three Parts: I highly value constructive criticism, I really do. If you have taken the time to read my stories and have an opinion on my grammar, the structure of the plot, Alec's hair color, or OC's voice, I'd love to hear it. If you find my style hard to read, if I've failed to paint a clear picture of the action, or if I've neglected or contradicted a subplot, please tell me so that I may improve on it. This kind of straightforward feedback is one of the greatest gifts for which a writer could ask, and I welcome it.

What I do not appreciate is when one presumes to tell me where they know my story is going. Such a one assumes that, just because some other author(s) s/he read empowered or diminished or directed certain characters in a particular way, I am inevitably going to bore the reader with more of the same tripe. Those kinds of audacious disparagements are an insult to my intelligence, my creativity, my originality, and my ability as a writer. You are reading my story, so judge its merits or problems within its own context – i.e., the 150 pages I have written and the circumstances that I have created for the characters.

However, if you do, out of some sense of altruistic responsibility, feel the need to offer up conjecture in order to caution me against falling into an overused cliché, at least have the decency to post your comments with an email address so that the road is open to conversation and exchange of opinions and ideas between us. Otherwise, you're just posting a "review" because you like the look of your own voice – in which case you should feel free to go write your own story and leave me to mine. Thus endeth today's rant of the righteously indignant.