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Chapter 23

Acts of Vengeance, part 3

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Colonel Wraith stood at the window looking down at the city below. The sun had set about an hour ago, leaving Manhattan blanketed in darkness. The only evidence that the city was still alive were the thousands of lights shining from the streets below and from the buildings that surrounded his office. He always thought cities were more beautiful at night anyway, with the darkness hiding the clutter and 'disease'.

The door to his office opened without so much as a knock and he knew who had entered without even turning around. After all, only one person he knew of was crazy enough, and rude enough, to dare ignore Wraith’s stature in the military ranks.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asked, his voice low and dripping with venom.

"Doing my job," the sergeant answered.

"You were supposed to be back hours ago," Wraith informed him without turning around. He waited for an explanation for the delay and when he didn’t get one Wraith turned away from the window to glare at him, smoke from the cigar clenched between his teeth swirled around his head. His total dislike of Victor Creed was apparent in his eyes and in the tone he used with him. Colonel Wraith knew the man had his own ambitions, which was fine by him as long as his agenda didn’t interfere with the mission at hand. "Well?"

"Well what?" Creed replied as he sat down on the leather couch and began to poke his finger around in a dish of assorted nuts on the table in front of him.
Sometimes his arrogance and outright insolence was infuriating. He had no fear and seemed to enjoy pushing his superiors to anger.

"Do you have the information on our target that I requested or not?"

"Yeah, I got information for ya’," Creed answered as he popped a Brazil into his mouth and slid back into the couch, stretching his arms across the back of it. His eyes shifted to Wraith as he pulverized the crunchy snack between his jagged teeth.

Wraith pulled the cigar from his teeth and dropped it into the ashtray in front of him. Putting his hands on the desk he leaned forward to address his underling who was now testing his patience to a dangerous degree.

"Don’t you even entertain the thought of playing with me, Victor," Wraith advised with great contempt. Creed’s head snapped around and he snarled at Wraith.

"Don’t call me that!" he hissed.

‘Ooh,’ Wraith mused to himself, ‘I do believe I found a sore spot.’

"That is your name, isn’t it?" Wraith replied, trying to hide his amusement. After all, if Creed wanted to pull his strings, well, two can play at that game he figured.

"That name means nothing to me! You call me Sabretooth!" he warned through clenched teeth.

"All right… Sabretooth. It’s getting late and I’m not in the mood for games. You said you did your job, so whatd’ya got for me?" he asked, barely holding his temper.

"A few miles outside the city. On a little country road."

"Does the road have a name?" Wraith asked as if speaking to a slow child. The sarcasm was not lost on Creed. He glanced angrily at his commander then shifted forward to pick through the bowl again.

"Graymaulkin Lane," Sabretooth replied as if the name itself left a sour taste in his mouth.

"How quaint. You got the address?"

"It’s hard to miss," Creed answered, preoccupied with the snack bowl. "You’ll know it when you see it."

"Address!" Wraith demanded.

"1407. Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning."

"Institute for…?" Wraith repeated in disbelief and his forehead creased into a deep frown. "You gotta be kidding."

"Nope," Creed answered casually, his attention still focused on the bowl in front of him.

Wraith turned his attention back to the window and the city below, clasping his hands behind his back deep in thought. Creed glanced at him a couple of times as he collected a handful of nuts, picking them out of the bowl one at a time.

"Why would he be holding up at a…? Wraith began.

"He ain’t holding up anywhere. He lives there," Creed offered, cutting him off. Wraith turned around and looked at him.

"He lives at a school?"

"Who woulda thought, huh?" Creed replied with amusement at the expression on Wraith’s face, then rolled his eyes. "The school’s a front." Wraith shifted his eyes and stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Creed finally let out a sigh. "It’s a school for mutants."

"Mutants?!"

Creed nodded and popped a couple Brazils in his mouth. He wasn’t really fond of nuts, but he loved crushing them between his teeth. It helped to satisfy his savage desire to sink his teeth into something... anything.

"It’s also a heavily armed fortress," he added.

"Fortress?"

"Yeah. High tech security systems, motion detectors, automated weaponry, the works."

"Automated weaponry? To protect a school?" Wraith asked.

"Nooo," Creed replied sarcastically. "To protect the secret headquarters inside the school."

"Secret headquarters? For what?!" Wraith nearly shouted. He was getting tired of playing twenty questions.

"For the X-Men," Creed told him matter-of-factly.

Wraith’s face froze, then his thoughts began to race and he slowly sat down behind his desk. He was beginning to see the bigger picture now. He took his cigar from the ashtray and flicked the ash a couple of times as he glanced at the open files strewn across his desk. He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts still racing. A few moments later he slowly leaned forward again to glare at Creed.

"Is there anything else that I should know?" he asked quietly, not knowing if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"Yeah."

"What?" he asked.

"He’s wounded," Creed mentioned, seemingly disinterested. Wraith’s head snapped up and he turned his full attention on the large mutant.

"What?! How?!"

Creed shrugged as if he didn’t know and really didn’t care. Wraith couldn’t help but be suspicious, wondering how Creed would know that. It’s not exactly the kind of information the X-Men would advertise, especially to Victor Creed. Wraith narrowed his eyes at him.

"How do you know he’s wounded?" When Creed didn’t answer and actually acted as though he didn’t even hear the question, Wraith pursed his lips together with suppressed anger. "Victor! How do you know he’s wounded?"

At the mention of his birth name again Sabretooth snarled at him, but he didn’t answer. They stared at each other for half a minute and that’s when Wraith noticed the large hole in Creed’s shirt. It was singed around the edges as if someone had tried to torch his clothes with him still in them. Then there were the bloody holes on his sleeve that looked like he’d been skewered by a three-bladed weapon.

"What did you do?" Wraith hissed at him, curling back his lip as his anger grew.

"Who said I did anything?" Sabretooth growled back.

"We’re supposed to take him alive!" Colonel Wraith reminded his subordinate.

"He is alive! I think."

"You think?!" Wraith bellowed and Creed thought that if he stared at him long enough he would probably be able to see smoke coming from the colonel’s ears. He remembered seeing that once on one of those feeble cartoons that parents let their kids watch on Saturday mornings. "Great! That’s just great!" Wraith yelled. He stood up and went to the window, but he was barely there a second when he turned around and stormed over to stand in front of Sabretooth. "Seven months of work! Seven months! We got everything in place and you decide to screw it all up?!"

"Relax, Colonel. He heals fast, remember?" Creed replied, unruffled.

"That’s not the point! And you know it!" Wraith nearly screamed at him. Sabretooth stood up angrily and towered over his superior.

"Look! You wanted me to find him! I found him!" he yelled back. Victor didn’t bother to mention that he'd already known for quite some time where Wolverine was hiding out.

"Yeah! Find him! Not confront him!" Wraith clarified.

"He caught my scent! What was I supposed to do?!" he growled angrily.

"Caught your scent? Caught your scent?!"

"Yeah. He caught my…"

"He wouldn’t have caught your scent if you had stayed downwi….!" Wraith caught himself there as a thought struck him. Now fuming, he added, "But you know that, don’t you? You wanted him to catch your scent, you sonuva…you blew your cover on purpose."

"Prove it," Creed snarled. Wraith turned away from him and walked back to his desk. Grinning, he shook his head in disbelief.

"I knew you would try something like this." He stepped behind his desk and spun around on the large mutant. "But I figured you’d at least wait until we had him in custody!" he screamed.

"Custody?!" Victor roared at him. "Don’t you mean captivity?" Now it was Sabretooth’s turn to stomp over to Wraith. He towered once more over his field commander, but Colonel Wraith only glared back at him. "Let’s not beat around the bush here, Kestrel! Our mission is to kidnap Wolverine and bring him back to Department H against his will!" he yelled at Wraith. "Alive?! If we’re lucky! Unharmed?! In your dreams! He’d rather take his own life if he could than go back there!" he roared swinging his arm, gesturing to someplace far away.

"You’re not going soft on me, are you, Sabretooth?" Wraith asked sarcastically with a grin.

"Hardly," Creed sneered. "Nothing would please me more than to see that little runt used as a lab rat for Project X for the rest of his unnatural life." Creed told him. As he continued, Victor spoke more to himself than to Wraith. "Tortured… humiliated… and scored to the bone… again. Yeah…" His words trailed off as he imagined his dream coming true, then he collected himself and looked at Wraith. "But, if you think you can just waltz in that place and drag him outta there then you’re an idiot!"

Wraith checked his anger now. It appeared to him that his scout had been doing his job a lot longer than anyone knew. Victor apparently knew a whole lot more than he had let on. Wraith realized they had underestimated Creed’s intelligence. That was easy enough to do, as most of the time the man acted like a barbarian rather than the highly trained soldier that he once was. But their years apart had obviously not lessened the hatred the two men felt for one another. He could definitely use that to his advantage. Creed was no longer a liability he figured, but was going to be a tremendous asset.

"Okay, Victor, what’s your take on this mission?" Wraith asked quietly and Creed ignored the reference.

"You’ll never get close enough to that place to even get a visual on him. You have to get him away from there," Sabretooth advised.

"How?" Wraith asked suspiciously.

"Bait," Creed sneered.

"What kind of bait?"

Sabretooth grinned. Wraith leaned forward, curious now.

"The female kind."

"Any female? Or… you got a particular frail in mind?" Wraith asked. Sabretooth snickered and shook his head in amusement. He brought his hand up to rub his chest through the gaping hole in his shirt.

"Frail… is not exactly the proper word to describe this one," he said and Wraith began to understand. He grinned and nodded his head.

"She one of the X-Men?"

"Yeah," Creed half-whispered. "They’re close."

"How close?" Wraith asked with great interest. Sabretooth shrugged, he didn’t really know, but he had seen Wolverine make an advance toward her and she'd almost consented… almost.

"Who knows?" he answered. "Close. And close… is enough for a guy like him," Creed enlightened him.

Wraith was quiet now. His original plan of action would prove disastrous he knew in light of this new and important information. He figured he could afford to sit back a little while longer and come up with a new strategy. His aim was now the female and Wolverine would come looking for her. And they’ll be ready and waiting.

He needed to find out what Wolverine’s condition was first. Knowing first hand the type of injuries these two have been known to inflict on one another, Wraith didn’t want to make a move until he was sure that Wolverine was healthy enough to travel without a nursemaid.

"We already know that we have the facilities to contain Wolverine once we have him… in custody," Sabretooth stated. "I hope you’re now turning your attention to the female."

Wraith nodded, then sat down. Leaning back in his chair he let out a long sigh as he looked at the folder laid out on the desk. Then he leaned forward and flicked the pages absently, deep in thought. Creed watched him, waiting for him to say something.

As the minutes passed in silence, Victor noticed that the folder Wraith was focused on in front of him was stamped ‘Top Secret’. He tilted his head slightly as if trying to read it upside down and that’s when he noticed the page sticking out from the top of the folder. The first line under the Department H heading read, ‘Project: Weapon X’ and next to that, ‘Subject: Logan X’ (NFN)(NFI). Creed furrowed his brow curiously, then straightened up quickly when Wraith’s voice startled him back to attention.

"How much contact have you had with him in the past twelve years?"

"Enough," Creed admitted. He saw no reason to hide the fact now.

"How much does he remember?"

"The best I can make out… not much, just bits and pieces." Wraith glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow in question. Creed shrugged. "His memory is swiss cheese." Sabretooth detailed for him, "They fried his brain pretty good back then. All he remembers is pain… a whole lot of pain, but he don’t remember any details."

"Do you?" Wraith asked. Sabretooth shook his head, thinking.

"We never got to witness none of his training if that’s what you’re asking. We only got to see the results, at the end of his sessions, when they dragged him back to our quarters… totally incapacitated.

"Mindless dead eyes staring into space. Unable to move his own muscles or even to swallow, drooling like a rabid animal. We tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t respond. Maverick would tend to him, but it was like he wasn’t there anymore."

"Total mind-wipe, huh?" Wraith asked. His voice sounded detached, as if it floated into the room from miles away.

"Yeah, total," Creed confirmed.

"What about Maverick?" Wraith asked. Sabretooth looked at him, shocked by the mention of the name.

"What about him?" Victor asked, his voice elevating slightly.

"How much do you think he knows about it?"

"Nothing more than me and no more than anything Logan could’ve told him, which is nothing," he said. "Even if he did know anything, he'd never help you capture Wolverine."

"Yeah, they were kind of close, huh?" Wraith remembered. Sabretooth nodded.

"Pretty amazin’, isn’t it?" Creed asked and Wraith could tell his thoughts had taken a change in direction. He looked at Sabretooth curiously.

"How so?"

"Logan ain’t no push over. Never was," Victor told him. "He’s one tough Alpha-class mutie. One bad ass soldier, even for a runt," he had to admit.

"What’s your point, Creed?" Wraith asked impatiently.

"Well... what did they have to do to him to finally break him? What did they put him through… to finally drive him mad?" Creed asked. Wraith became uncomfortable with the question and sat forward, picking his cigar out of the ashtray.

"I think the bonding process would’ve been enough to do that," Wraith told him, trying to sound conversational.

"No way. That may've been the breaking point, but they had to be doing other things to him to twist him out of shape before that."

"Having second thoughts?" Wraith asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Second thoughts?" Creed asked, not understanding the question.

"Yeah. As I recall, you were the one that wanted to be chosen as Weapon X. Change your mind?" Wraith asked. Sabretooth didn’t answer at first. He stared at Wraith, suddenly suspicious. ‘How does he know that?’ he thought, but found it more prudent to let that particular question ride for now.

"Whatd’ya think they’re gonna do to him this time?"

"All I know is… they want their weapon back," Wraith told him. He didn’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out what other people intended to do. He may not like his superiors, but he liked his job and he was allowed to keep it simply because he didn’t ask too many questions. "We’re supposed to bring him in for retraining. That’s all I know." After a pause he added, "That’s all I want to know." He gathered up the files on his desk, shuffling them into some semblance of order. Then he offered a final statement to Creed as the large mutant moved toward the door to leave. "Maybe we’ll get a bonus for bringing in two Alphas, heh?"

Sabretooth stopped in mid-stride and turned his head slightly. Then he decided not to say anything and left the room. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting all of a sudden. Wraith was hiding something and it wouldn’t be the first time he knew. ‘But, we’re talking about Wolverine here. Who cares what they want him for? He deserves everything he’s about to get.’ He told himself. ‘As long as I get my dues, they can do what they want with him.’


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Ororo sat alone in the dimmed area of the infirmary, since the rest of the team had left a while ago. Some had gone to bed, as it'd been a long and stressful day and it'd been late into the night before the surgery had been concluded. Others had gone to other areas of the mansion to get a snack or sit together in quiet company, unable to discontinue their weary vigil. Not a single team member had left the medlab while the operation was in progress. They'd stood or sat, alone or in small groups, throughout the night turning the infirmary into a waiting room.

Storm had sat with Jubilee for quite some time, holding and rocking her as the girl stared into space exhausted and frightened. Gambit finally came over and offered Storm a break and she offered him a grateful smile. When he sat down on the bed next to them Jubilee turned her head slowly to meet his eyes. He placed his hand on her head, a very tender and compassion filled gesture and she'd let go of Ororo and scrambled into Remy’s arms. He held her and whispered to her softly. He told her that he understood how she felt and she needn’t fear.

The room full of X-Men had been so quiet at times that Storm often found herself looking up to make sure they were all still there. Each had their own thoughts and feelings to contend with, as they worried and prayed, and none were willing to leave until Hank came out of the operating room and told them that Logan was holding his own for now.

*~*

Ororo sat next to Logan’s recovery bed. The chair was comfortable enough but she found that she couldn’t sleep. As she waited for him to regain consciousness she found herself pondering what Sabretooth had said about Logan being a killer and the government wanting him back. She knew Logan had killed in battle, that is what soldiers sometimes do. She knew the reputation of ‘Wolverine, Government Assassin’, they all did. They just didn’t know all the details and neither did he.

There were large gaps in Logan’s memory, things about himself even he didn’t know. Things that had been done to him and things that he'd done he couldn’t quite remember. He suffered nightmares too, that often woke everyone from a sound sleep as he yelled out in terror in the middle of the night. He'd be so agitated and confused that it was often impossible to calm him down. He would sometimes leave the mansion in the middle of the night to wander the grounds; a feeling of impending doom clouding his rational mind. Sometimes he slept outside for days; unable to find comfort within the walls of the institute.

He often suffered flashbacks too, which Charles termed 'intrusive recall episodes'. Intrusive, because Logan’s subconscious would flash vivid images in his head at inopportune times. A memory fragment that would intrude unbidden into his present life, forcing him to relive portions of his torturous past but leaving him with no more answers than he'd had before. They seemed to serve only to torment him.

She and the other X-Men, at one time or another, have witnessed the effects left behind by these uncontrolled and unwanted memory flashes. Often triggered without warning, the abrupt and shocking images would cause Logan to gasp and physically fumble, dropping tools while working on his motorcycle or missing his cue in a Danger Room exercise. The images always left him confused, frustrated and visibly shaken.

Professor Xavier had tried desperately to help him grasp the meaning of the images he saw. He was rarely able to remember any detail, but they always left him feeling victimized over and over again and that feeling made him angry and he'd lash out at those around him.

Logan tried so hard to look to the future, to focus on his life now with the X-Men to put his pains behind him and leave them there. But his past had a way of creeping up on him and ambushing him when he least expected it, refusing to let him escape from it. ‘Just like Sabretooth this afternoon,’ she thought.

The professor had offered Logan his help dozens of times over the past ten years. His offer? To go inside Logan’s head and guide him through his subconscious mind to uncover the hidden memories that were buried there. But, Logan; whose past was filled with mind manipulation and memory tampering, was understandably resistant to that idea. So resistant, in fact, that he often threatened Charles with physical harm if he ever tried to get inside his head without permission.

Ororo recalled the time when Logan did finally ask the professor for his help; the only time that Logan ever asked for anything in the many years that Charles has known him, and Charles had to decline with great regret.


*~*~* Then *~*~*

Charles had been having tea and quiet conversation in the den with Ororo, Jean and Hank when Logan barged into the room, frustrated and angry after a recent unnerving memory event. It was obvious to them that it had just happened only moments before. When they saw the condition he was in they were momentarily stunned; their blissfully quiet afternoon had been blown asunder. His eyes were wild, his hair stood on end and his hands were curled into tight fists.

He'd barged through the door and began to walk in a large circle off to one side rambling incoherently. His body had kicked itself into a ‘fight or flight’ mode, he wasn’t thinking clearly and he didn’t know what to do or where he should go. Hank was able to get Logan’s attention and calm him down enough for him to regain control over his mental faculties and Charles spoke to him in his ever-soothing tone.

"What is it, Logan that has you so frightened?"

Logan didn’t answer, he just shook his head as he continued to pace back and forth. He couldn’t say because he didn’t know, he couldn’t make sense out of the images that haunted him and he couldn’t explain them either. Then Logan suddenly spun around on Charles and demanded that the professor get inside his head and either block out the images completely or tear down the existing blocks so he could see the memories in their entirety. Charles tried to explain to him why, in good conscience, he couldn't do that.

Logan started yelling at him, furious that when he finally lowered himself to ask for the professor’s help Charles rejected his request. He'd felt that Charles had betrayed him by rejecting him and Logan accused him of trying to humiliate him.

Hank, once again, was able to calm him down enough to give the professor a chance to explain and the three X-Men watched with growing concern as Logan paced the floor; his face screwed up in a vicious snarl. He was barely able to contain the raging animal inside him as he listened; every now and then a low growl escaped his lips and his fingers flexed as the claws beneath itched to be set free and he was unaware of doing either. Charles explained the reason for his decision, using a metaphor he hoped Logan’s semi-rational mind could understand.

"Logan, your mind… is like a bottle... and your memories are like liquid in that bottle. Your mind takes the memories it doesn’t want you to see and hides them away in that bottle.

"Every now and again the bottle gets shaken and a drop or two spills over the edge. One drop being a fragment of a memory. As this blocked memory fragment escapes into your conscious mind you are able to see it briefly before it evaporates."

"I want to see all of it," Logan growled. He stopped pacing, turned and looked at the professor again. "You can break the bottle."

"No," Charles answered quietly, lifting his eyebrows with the finality of his decision.

"You can tear down the blocks!" Logan yelled, pointing accusingly at the professor. "You can let me see!" His body trembled and his head shook with the force of his rage.

"No, Logan," Charles repeated with a stern calmness.

"Yes!" Logan demanded, taking a threatening step toward Charles.

"No! I can’t!" Charles shouted back, stopping Logan in his tracks and watching Wolverine closely he added, "I won’t."

"Why?" Logan asked, his animal side bared its fangs yet the man sounded desperately forlorn. Charles could tell that Logan was barely holding it together and he felt great pain for his friend. The things that had been done to him were not his fault and neither were the lingering effects of those actions. Logan suffered still from what had been done to him and they all knew that the hardest part, for him, was not knowing exactly what had been done to him. But, Charles understood all too well that the memory blocks, that inhibited Logan from remembering the details of his suffering and years of torture were not necessarily implanted by the government. The workings of the human mind were wondrous and Xavier felt that he needed to err on the side of caution when it pertained to Logan’s hidden memories.

He knew that Logan desperately wanted to know the secrets of his past, but sometimes the subconscious mind knows what is best for the individual and that individual’s ability to function and survive. It was difficult for Wolverine to admit to himself that it could be true, that perhaps the only thing standing in the way of his remembering everything was his own subconscious mind.

"Logan, you must understand... your subconscious mind hides certain things from you... to keep you safe. To keep you sane," Charles told him.

"Sane? Do I look SANE?!" Logan bellowed.

"My friend, you are in great pain," Charles said, reaching out to him with compassion, "but believe me when I say 'you are, right now, completely sane'." The pained expression on Logan’s face tore at his soul. He'd always tried so hard to hide his feelings, to protect himself from further pain, but in only a matter of minutes, they'd seen it all. Everything Logan tried so hard to keep private was on display for all to see and he was lost in it's depths and unaware of it at the same time. Anger, pain, sadness, fear… loneliness and rage, defiance and power, innocence and madness, victim and victor, protector and assassin. Strength born of terror, passion dominated by the need for vengeance and for justice wanted and wanting it not. The child and the man, the man and the beast, the honorable samurai and the unstoppable weapon. Ferocity and vulnerability, love and hate and finally, exhaustion and… surrender.

Logan turned his back to them and hung his head, he was tired and it was difficult to think. He raised his hand slowly and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers. He took a deep shaky breath and let it out and they watched him silently, giving him a few moments to gather himself. After taking one more deep breath, he confided in them.

"I don’t know how much more of this I can take." He'd never come that close to admitting defeat before and his shame for having said it hung heavy in the air. Charles felt a surge of anger rise inside him. It wasn’t anger toward his X-Man, but anger toward the people who'd done this to him. Those people who made him believe that only the strong deserve to live and the strong have no limits. "A warrior shows no weakness; a good soldier feels no pain."

‘A warrior, a soldier, a weapon..!’ Charles reflected angrily. ‘What about the man? The boy? The child?’ All of them stood before him now: lost, lonely and wounded.

Ororo stood up and went to him. She gently put her hand on his back, offering her support. The feel of her touch made his head snap up and he turned to look at her. Her beautiful blue eyes were so full of compassion that Logan felt he could drown in them and what Ororo saw when she looked into his eyes mesmerized her. She saw the strapping young man he once was - the one he could have been - so full of wonder and vitality, but the man who stood before her now remembered only pain and loneliness. He wasn't alone anymore though and she'd see to it that he understood that sooner or later. She smiled at him to reassure him.

"God will only put upon you that which he knows you can handle," she told him.

"Yeah?" he answered quietly. "Well, I wish he didn’t trust me so much."

Storm had to catch herself as she nearly laughed aloud when she realized their exchange mirrored a statement made by Mother Theresa herself. The thought that Logan and Mother Theresa had the same thoughts regarding what God expects of them made Ororo grin. Then she put her arms around him and hugged him and to the surprise of everyone present, including Ororo, Logan immediately responded to her; wrapping his arms around her, he clutched the back of her robes tightly in both hands, gathering the material in his fists.

*~*

Ororo closed her eyes now with the memory and she could still feel the way he'd clung to her that day. She could relate the embrace to that of holding onto someone who stood too close to the side of a cliff, someone who was absolutely terrified of going over the edge. Metaphorically speaking, she believed that’s exactly what she had done that day, saved him from slipping over the edge. She remembered how he not only accepted her embrace, but seemed to hunger for it. She'd held him tightly, pressing his head gently to her shoulder and she believed that he'd felt safe, maybe for the first time in his life he'd truly felt comforted and safe.

It had been exactly the same as the other day up in his room and just like the other day he'd pulled away trying to compose himself. She'd tried to maintain contact with him, keeping her hands on his shoulders, until he excused himself informing them that he'd be in his room. She'd worried about letting him go off alone, but Charles assured her that he would monitor his activities, telepathically, until he was confident that Logan would not endanger himself or flee the property as he often did at times like this.

Storm leaned forward in the chair and covered her face with both hands, she was so tired but just couldn’t bring herself to leave his side. The surgery had taken hours and was as difficult as Jean had expected and it took its toll on everyone. With Wolverine's special healing abilities depleted the operation had posed as great a threat to his life as it would’ve to anyone else and it was difficult to face the fact that Logan was as mortal as the rest of them. He always seemed so… indestructible, but as things stood right now, until his recuperative powers regained their strength he was as vulnerable and defenseless as an average human.

‘No,’ Ororo reconsidered that thought. Even without his healing factor there was nothing about Logan that was average. He was powerful. Even unconscious it radiated from him like waves of heat on desert sand. He was short in stature, below average in height, but built for strength and speed. His will to survive was stronger than anyone she'd ever known and she'd seen him survive a lot. She had no doubt that he would come through this too.

Here now, alone with him, Ororo found herself looking at him in a whole new light. In his own way he really was quite attractive: rugged and weathered and handsome in his own right. ‘Must be that animal magnetism,’ she mused. He was quite muscular without being muscle bound and he had agility and grace in movement that could only come from years of training and self-discipline. Even in battle his movements appeared to be a kind of warrior’s ballet. After all, he had been trained as a soldier, a ninja and even a samurai and he was highly regarded and respected in each of those categories.

Ororo stood up to look at him more closely. His powerful shoulders and muscular chest were visible above the edge of the blankets that covered him. The dark hair covering his arms and chest was thick making him appear almost hirsute. What surprised her was how soft it was. She always expected it would be hard and coarse, sort of like his attitude when they first met. ‘Those first impressions will get you every time.’

When she came back from her thoughts and realized she was gliding her hand slowly across his chest, she pulled away quickly and shot a glance up to his face, praying he was not aware of what she was doing. He was still unconscious though, his expression relaxed and peaceful. Ororo sighed deeply and closed her eyes. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ she scolded herself. She stepped back away from the bed and sat down in the chair. Leaning back, she swept her hand through her hair and closed her eyes. She thought about pulling the curtain aside just enough to let a little light shine in, but she really liked the feeling of privacy it offered.

There were no private recovery areas in the infirmary, but drawing the curtains around the bed and shutting the light off in the ceiling directly above them created the feeling of privacy. The lighting fixtures in the infirmary were deliberately set up that way so patients could rest without having to darken the entire room.

Beyond the curtain Ororo heard the door to the infirmary slide open with a quiet hiss. She stood up stretching her back, then glanced once at Logan before stepping through the curtain into the bright light. Jean had entered the room looking rested and when she saw Ororo she offered a sympathetic smile.

"How’s our patient?" she asked.

"Still unconscious," Ororo answered as she smoothed her hair back, trying to ignore the stress she felt. Jean glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that it was two a.m.

"My god, I was asleep for four hours?"

"You needed it, you had quite a night," Ororo told her in a tired voice.

"What about you?" Jean asked. "Did you sleep at all?" Storm looked at the floor wrapping her arms around herself, then shook her head.

"Every time I close my eyes I start to think that something might happen. Then I get frightened, thinking he will need me and I’ll sleep right through it and not be there for him."

"Oh, ‘Ro…" Jean put her arm around Storm’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. "C’mon, I’ve got to check on him," she said, guiding Ororo back to the enclosed area.

*~*

As they stepped through, Jean pulled back a portion of the curtain with a slow but swift motion. The small plastic wheels zipped along the metal track in the ceiling as they got pulled along by the curtain. Unbeknownst to the women, Logan’s semi-conscious brain registered the sound. His hypersensitive ears heard the noise at a decibel level nearly ten times louder than it actually was. To his groggy mind, it sounded like the whirring of a drill and he mentally grimaced, although outwardly there were no signs that he was regaining consciousness.

Jean snapped on the overhead light and Logan’s brain registered the blinding light through his closed eyelids. She moved about adjusting the monitors next to the bed and Logan heard the clicking sounds as she flipped switches and beeping sounds as she adjusted the volume. She checked the I.V. line, pulling slightly on the needle and pain shot up his arm. Logan’s mind showed him the dozens of needles, spikes and tubes imbedded in his body.

Jean checked the dressing on his wound, unintentionally pulling at the incision she had made and Logan felt ‘them’ cutting into him. Then she moved the oxygen mask to check the ‘airway adjunct’ that was inserted in his throat to ensure his tongue wouldn’t fall back cutting off his airway. Unconscious, he was unable to correct any airway blockage that may occur, so the adjunct – a hollow piece of hard plastic tubing about five inches long – could maintain an open airway until he regained consciousness. Making sure the adjunct was clear, she made sure the mask was replaced properly. Logan could feel the weight of the helmet that wasn’t really there, the pain of the tube they had shoved down his throat and the confinement of the heavy respirator over his mouth and nose.

While Jean innocently checked her patient’s condition, she had no idea that her movements were triggering a dark and painful memory. A memory that tormented her patient even under less strenuous circumstances. She placed her hand gently on his forehead and frowned, as he felt hot to her touch.

"He’s still feverish. I don’t like that," Jean spoke aloud and pulled the blankets aside to feel his arms and abdomen. "He’s burning up."

"Hank said to give him time, Jean. He’s been through a lot," Ororo said.

"I know, but he’s been through a lot before. He’s absolutely on fire," Jean replied, replacing the blankets then walked away. "I’m gonna pack some ice around him, see if we can get his temperature down a little."

Ororo put her hands on Logan’s arm, careful not to disturb the I.V. needle. Jean was right, he was burning up. She hadn’t noticed it a moment ago.

"It's so difficult to see him like this," Ororo admitted somberly. "We always see him so strong and powerful… so determined and angry. I never imagined ever having to see him so weak and defenseless. So dependent on us."

"This isn’t the first time," Jean said, coming back to the bed carrying a small tub filled with bags of ice. She packed the bundles of ice around Logan’s body. She touched the under side of his arm, just below his armpit and pulled away. The level of heat trapped there was shocking. She packed the ice tight under both armpits and did the same between his legs and under his neck.

Once she completed the task, Jean pulled the sheet up to his chin. The thin material would help to keep the coolness of the ice close to his body, but would also allow the heat his body was generating to rise through the light draping. She folded the blankets at the foot of his bed and turned to Ororo, taking her by the hands.

"He needs us now," she told Ororo.

"I know," Storm whispered.

"And, we're not going to let him down, are we?"

Ororo shook her head, barely able to hold back her tears and Jean gave her a
hug.

*~*

Logan could feel them touching him and his mind redirected the sensation into the nightmare he was experiencing. They were holding him, pinning him down in the cooling tank as he thrashed and convulsed in pain. The feverish heat racing through his body was interpreted as a liquid fire pouring into his body. His bones were being encased in the searing liquid metal.

In his mind, the pain was so intense he could barely find his breath as he thrashed his head back and forth. Then, finally able to take a breath, he screamed. They pinned him down, callous and uncaring, oblivious to his torment. The weight of their bodies on his tortured flesh, the agonizing pain from inside threatening to rip his body apart and they didn’t hear his screams, they didn’t see his pain. He was helpless and alone and they wouldn’t even look at him.

‘We need more anesthetic,’ he heard someone say and for a moment there was hope. Then another voice farther away, muffled through the thickness of the liquid coolant he was submerged in, but still he heard it clearly.

‘Why bother? His healing factor just kicks it from his system and that stuff ain’t cheap, ya’ know. I’m not about to authorize a continual feed of that stuff for the next six hours. He’ll just have to deal with it.’

‘You’re gonna kill him. Then what are you gonna tell the professor?’

‘Oh come on, you should see the shit they put this guy through before he ever got to this point. Nothing can kill this mutie, that’s why the professor wanted him. Now just hold him down, dammit!’

‘Adamantium supply nearly drained, sir, and the process is not complete yet.’

‘How can that be? We made all the calculations… go to reserve.’

‘But, sir…’

‘Go to reserve tanks, goddammit! This is a one shot deal. It’s now or never!’

Another wave of excruciating pain raced through his bones, they were burning him alive from the inside. His muscles convulsed, every nerve in his body felt exposed. His healing factor was keeping him alive working over time and his adrenaline surged to help speed up the healing process. As his cells and nerves healed and repaired themselves they were assaulted over and over again and each time they regenerated they were more sensitive than the ones before. Virgin tissue, never having felt the sensation of touch -being ‘born’ raw and vulnerable amidst this chaos, this inhumane torture - and his own body worked against him, not even allowing him the comfort of being able to pass out. Another flow of liquid and he screamed.

The mental screams finally escaped his weak body as a barely audible moan. Ororo stood up and Jean leaned down close to his face. She listened closely, ready to pull the tube from his throat so he wouldn’t gag on it if he suddenly regained consciousness. She spoke quietly to him so as not to scare him.

"Logan? Can you hear me?"

For a moment Logan thought he recognized that voice. It was a beautiful voice, friendly and caring. He wanted to reach out to that voice, to the person it belonged to, but he couldn’t move. There it was again, but this time it sounded like it was under water. Or was he?

Oh god, he was!

Submerged in the tank of liquid nutrients, in a secret underground government facility, forced to be an experimental guinea pig in some ‘Top Secret’ project and physically altered against his will. Faces looking in at him dispassionately as they recorded his progress and his pain. He promised himself that he would dispose of his enemies with as little mercy as they have shown him. In the infirmary, he let out another moan.

"Logan?" Jean waited for a response. As she watched, his breaths quickened and his forehead creased into a frown. She placed her hand on his bared chest, hoping that her touch would be comforting and he’d relax. Her fingers sank into the thick hair and she could feel the heat trapped within it unable to dissipate.

"He’s dreaming," Ororo realized, watching his expression.

"By the look on his face it’s not a good one," Jean stated.

"Be mindful of those claws," Ororo warned. "You know how he gets." Jean nodded and put her hand on his forehead again. Logan moaned with a grimace and turned his face away.

"Shhh. It’s okay," she whispered in case he could hear her. "It’s alright, you’re safe now." Behind her, the door to the infirmary slid open and Hank and Bobby entered.

"So, how is he doing?" Hank asked, as he and Bobby came up alongside the bed.

"He’s still breathing," Jean answered sullenly and Hank raised an eyebrow in surprise; he'd expected a more professional update. Jean pursed her lips together.

"I hoped he would recover faster," she explained.

"Oh, my dear… patience. We almost lost him last night," Hank reminded her as he began to assess his patient. He placed his right hand on Logan’s sweaty forehead and used his thumb to gently lift his right eyelid, then the left. As he was doing that he wrapped the fingers of his left hand around Logan’s wrist. Although the monitors were displaying Logan's recorded vital signs, Dr. McCoy still believed in the personal touch. It was nice to have the mechanical assistance, but Hank refused to let machines take over. Nothing could replace a good bedside manner or the comfort and reassurance of human contact.

"You need to allow him time, Jean. The trip back to health can be long and arduous. You shouldn’t rush him," he advised her, knowing exactly how she felt.

"You’re right, of course. I guess I just got used to him letting me off the hook, so to speak... as a doctor," Jean admitted.

"Well, this time..." McCoy replied, pausing as he adjusted the positioning of a monitor lead, "our resident ‘tough guy’ needs you, Doctor." Then he turned and patted her hand, "You’ll do fine."



TBC in Acts of Vengeance, part 4





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