Entry # 1 - September 12

It has been nearly seven weeks since Logan came home, and he has made little progress in that time. He is no longer feral, as he was when we found him, but he is so full of that familiar rage and he is not willing to explore it. Henry is worried, and rightfully so, that if Logan does not begin to deal with what happened it will destroy him.

He refuses to speak of the events that took place during his internment at the Weapon X facility, but we all have a pretty good idea of the type of treatment he received there. When asked about it, he responds with such anger it hurts us to watch. He remembers it this time, I am sure of it. If he didn’t, I am sure he would not be this angry.

Not only is he angry, I fear, but also… ashamed. Of what, though? Having been captured again and forced to face that nightmare all over again? For being feral when we found him, thinking all this time that he had his animal under control? For the conditions he had been forced to live in?

I am certain he would not have chosen to be left in the quarters in which we found him. I suppose ‘quarters’ would not be an appropriate term. ‘Containment cell’ would be the more valid descriptive.

[Details to Remember: cold, damp cement cell – under ground - illuminated only by light in corridor when door was opened – naked, beaten, starved and drugged – chained, hands and feet, at odd angles and limited reach – collared (power suppressant) and tethered to wall – each tether was 18" in length, anchored 24" from floor (for neck and hands) and directly behind him, at floor level, to limit foot range. In essence, he was forced to remain in a crouched position, unable to bend elbows more than an inch or so, and unable to stand or lie down.----For how long??? Torture was obvious, physical and psychological abuse evident.]

Having studied human psychology and sociology under Professor Xavier’s tutelage, I am familiar with his present behavior, which is common among victims who are lead to believe that whatever they had endured was by no one’s fault but their own. Jean, has tried, on numerous occasions, to get him to confide in her. Our hopes were, that because of his past ‘friendliness’ with her, he might feel comfortable enough with her to talk. Unfortunately, all three times, he seemed totally mortified at the very thought of sharing this with her.

We decided, after the first few failed attempts, that perhaps going at it from a clinical angle was not the best choice. So we tried not to harp on him about it, and went back to our normal activities, with the hope that he would start to participate. Jean even went back to the playful bantering she used to share with him, but he would just look at her, as if he had never seen her before. The other day she crossed the line when she began to openly flirt with him, hoping he would respond to it. It only seemed to make him uncomfortable and he refused to look at her.

She thought he only needed a little nudge to get him going, so she walked to where he was sitting. I watched closely, as his breaths became more rapid the closer she got to him. Jean was too busy concentrating on saying ‘the right things’ as she approached him slowly, seductively, that she didn’t seem to notice. Or perhaps she thought it better not to acknowledge his reaction, hoping she could smooth things out. By the time Jean was close enough to lean forward, putting her face right in front of his, whispering ‘sweet nothings’ to him, he was close to a fight or flight response. His adrenaline skyrocketed, obvious by the way his body trembled and his eyes turned bloodshot. Even his pupils dilated to the point that his beautiful blue eyes seemed to turn black. His nostrils flared as he sucked in copious amounts of air through his nose, and his fists were clenched, resting on his thighs.

Before I had the chance to distract her, without embarrassing him, Jean made her move. She draped one arm across one of his shoulders, and I watched his entire body tense up. Then she caressed his cheek softly with the back of her other hand. Something horrible must have flashed through his mind at that moment, because his eyes became as big as saucers before flinging himself backwards off the chair. He scurried to his feet as we all stood there in shock, some of us trying to calm him down. Henry pulled Jean away from him, realizing Logan would now see her as a threat.

He stood hunched over, holding his head low, his back to the wall. He was scared out of his mind. And it became obvious to me at that moment, that he had, in some way, been conditioned to fear being touched. Although he is severely cautious whenever one of us gets too close to him, he does not react in an overt manner. He refuses eye contact and is wary of every movement in the room, but if someone touches him, he panics.

The beatings were obvious, by the marks on his body: bruises, welts, lacerations- psychological abuse was also obvious: limited range of motion, unsanitary conditions, sensory deprivation - and emotional abuse: humiliation, helplessness, feeling defenseless and alone, and made to feel completely vulnerable, leading to his reversion to feral behavior.

As I have watched him closely these past weeks another question arose in my mind. Had he been sexually threatened, or abused, as well? I wouldn’t put anything past them. And his responses are indicative of such treatment. What better way to break a ‘wild thing’ of its spirit?- especially a male ‘wild thing’. Even more specific, an Alpha male ‘wild thing’. There is no doubt that they would do whatever they deemed necessary, to gain his ‘cooperation’. And as they already know, from previous experiences with him, what would and would not work to their benefit, in trying to break him… would they take it to that level? I have no doubt.

I have given this a great deal of thought the past few days, and have discussed my suspicions on the matter with Dr. McCoy. He agrees with my summation, and concurs that the best way to break the spirit of a male animal, especially an Alpha male, would be to castrate it. No. He had not been physically neutered, of that we were certain, because Henry had given him a full physical, under sedation, upon his return. And, I am sure those bastards would not even consider that option with him, even if it would guarantee docility. Because after all is said and done, it is that very spirit, as well as, his mutation that makes him so valuable to their organization.

I do not believe they would ever consider taking away Logan’s ability to reproduce. After all, the chances that he would pass on his own characteristics to his offspring are very good. That is what an Alpha male is designated for, by nature, isn’t it - to reproduce the same strength, skills and indomitable will to survive in the next generation?

Now that I am thinking about it, perhaps that is the very reason for which they took him away from us this time. Perhaps they had finally given up on ever getting his cooperation, and decided that, if they couldn’t have him… they would have his offspring. Must speak with Henry about this. Maybe I am off the mark on this one. I certainly hope so.

Entry #2 - September 13

Spoke to Henry about the ‘offspring’ theory. We spoke in depth about it, actually. Before making any decisions, as to Logan’s mental prognosis, I must research further. My ‘mission’ is to try to confront Logan, in a manner that, hopefully, will not be too frightening for him.

Patience, kindness, love, and understanding, is what is needed here. And, as Henry reminded me, no matter the problem, no matter his mental state… Logan has always trusted me, above and beyond anyone else. He did not have to remind me though. I have loved Logan since our first weeks together as X-Men. I know he doesn’t feel the same toward me, after all, I am not Jean. But a woman in love is a woman in love, and I will do anything for the man I love. Anything… even if it means bringing him back to himself, so he can go back to chasing another woman.

Tomorrow… his therapy begins. Whether he likes it or not.

TBC …. In "The Calming Storm"

Part Two:

The Calming Storm (Part One)

**************************************************

Entry # 3 - September 15

Well, you would not believe it. Logan succeeded in evading me the entire day yesterday. Sometimes I can not help but think he has some telepathic ability. I did catch a glimpse of him out the kitchen window as I was finishing breakfast with the others. He was walking into the woods, and had not even stopped in to have something to eat.

He still is not eating or sleeping well. Many nights I have stopped in to check on him only to find his bed not slept in, and he, not in his room. The security monitors do not indicate that he leaves the mansion in the middle of the night. Where does he go? I have not been able to locate him in any of his usual spots.

He still shows no interest in participating in any group activities. We have tried to get him to sit with us for meals, watch television, play pool, go for walks, spar in the Danger Room or exercise in the gym…he has not even touched the four beers he has in the refrigerator, which have been there since he was taken.

Well, it is 07:15, and everyone will be gathering for breakfast. Perhaps today will be the day he decides to join us.



* * * Real time events ***

Ororo wasn’t too surprised to have made the walk from her loft all the way to the kitchen without seeing a single soul. Breakfast had already been laid out, and all the X-Men would be sitting down to eat. All but one, she was sure.

When she pushed through the swinging door, she was greeted with smiles and salutations from all in attendance. She tried to return their greetings with a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. Logan was not among those present. As she poured herself a coffee, she looked around the room and noticed someone else was not in attendance.

"Where is Henry? He’s not still working in the lab, is he?"

"We called down to him about fifteen minutes ago, said he’d be right up," Cyclops informed her. "He’s still examining the items we brought back. Still can’t figure out how they work." Ororo steeled herself at the mention of ‘those items’. She stared at Scott, clenching her teeth and swallowing the vile taste that suddenly developed in the back of her throat.

One of the items he was referring to was a ghastly looking helmet, which was made of a heavy metal alloy. It had optical lenses attached to the front, which were obviously meant to cover the eyes. It also had a small video camera with audio capabilities, which was mounted off center to one side. There were hundreds of wires protruding from connection points on the outer shell, and appeared to be connected to leads, which hung from the helmet’s interior, looking like the poison tendrils of a man-made jellyfish.

Another item was a visor. It resembled the visor that Scott wore, although it was much bulkier and had no lenses for which to see through. It also had leads and wires attached to it, and like the helmet, they were marred with dried blood. Both items were found on a table, in a corner of the cell, where Logan had been held. It was obvious that these ‘items’ were used in Logan’s ‘re-training’ program. She despised their very existence, and abhorred the fact that they were here, in their home.

The third item was the suppressing collar, which was used, mainly, to interrupt Logan’s healing process. It was locked in the laboratory safe, as Hank had promised. The items were kept hidden from Logan and she prayed that he never would find out that they were here, in his home. She wanted them destroyed, but Hank had argued, and he made a good point, that if he could figure out how they worked, and what they were used for, then perhaps they could find the answers they needed to help Logan.

"Ro, are you alright?" Scott asked. She blinked as her thoughts came back to the present.

"Yes, I’m fine," she replied, trying to shake off the image of Logan being forced to wear those horrendous instruments of torture. She turned to place her cup on the counter, effectively turning her back on the group, and taking a moment to settle her nerves.

"Has anyone seen Logan?" she asked, trying to sound casual. As she heard a chorus of negative responses, the door opened and Dr. McCoy entered.

"Ah, Ororo, I’m glad you’re here. I could use your help with a… matter," he stated.

"Of course, Henry, what is it?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Well… it’s Logan," he informed her, and although he had hoped not to upset her, she was quickly heading for the door before he had the chance to explain.

"Where is he? What’s wrong?" she demanded, as she tried to shoulder past him. Hank grabbed onto her shoulders to keep her from barreling through the door. When it came to Logan, Ororo did not always use controlled judgement. When he was in distress or injured Ororo’s only thoughts were to get to him as quickly as possible. When it came to Logan, she reacted with her heart and not her head.

"Whoa there. Hang on," Hank told her as he stepped in front of her. The others in the room also gave him their full attention.

"Where is he, Hank?" she demanded, trying to shrug off his restraining grip.

"Yeah, Hank, what’s up?" Scott asked.

"Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you," Hank told them calmly, then he turned his attention to Ororo. "I was on my way up here after Scott called down. I was just finishing up some notes, when… I suddenly felt like I was being watched." Hank did not hurry his explanation, giving Ororo time to settle down. "When I turned around, he was there… in the lab… watching me."

"He was in the lab?" Ororo asked in surprise. After what he had been through, the last place any of them would expect him to go, voluntarily, was inside the lab.

"Yes," Hank confirmed. "He was just standing there, behind a curtain. I don’t think he was trying to hide, because I could see him from the angle I was sitting at." Ororo nodded and waited for Hank to finish. He was right, if Logan wanted to hide from him he would not have been seen. "I spoke to him, but he wouldn’t respond. I invited him to come out, but he shrank back behind the curtain, out of view."

Ororo furrowed her brow. Why would Logan go to the lab? Why would he let Hank see him, and then hide? It didn’t make sense. Then she thought of the items Hank had been working on. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear.

"He didn’t see the… things you were working on. Did he?" she asked, and Hank was shaking his head before she even finished asking the question.

"No. I was already finished with them. They were covered on top of the table."

"I want those things locked up, Hank. I want them out of here." She told him. She was adamant about it, and there was no talking to her - not about that. Hank let out a breath and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Where is he now?" she asked. Hank met her gaze and shrugged.

"I’m not sure. When I stood up he took off," he told her, then added. "I believe he may still be in the sub levels, though. None of the elevators had been activated, and the alarm on the Emergency Stairwell door didn’t go off." Ororo nodded. She understood the dilemma. Logan had been hiding beneath the mansion in the sub levels, probably in the darkened corridors and storage rooms. That’s why she couldn’t find him when he was missing. It was the last place she thought he would go, so she never considered looking there. The question was… why?

She left the kitchen with Hank, leaving the others to their meal. They didn’t offer any assistance, knowing full well that if their help was needed they would be called. It was always best to leave Wolverine to Ororo’s care, unless asked. She didn’t like their interference when matters involving Logan’s trust were being challenged.

Upon reaching the sub-levels they conducted a systematic search of all corridors and storage rooms. They left no stone unturned knowing he could hide and sit, very still, for hours. It took nearly an hour for them to complete the search, coming up empty.

"He couldn’t have gotten upstairs without us knowing it, could he?" Ororo asked, knowing the answer before Hank spoke.

"No. He’s down here. Somewhere."

"The only place we have not checked is the lab," she replied as they rounded the corner to the corridor leading back to the elevators and Hank’s lab.

"He couldn’t be there, I locked it up before I left." McCoy replied and Ororo gave him a look that asked ‘when has a locked door ever stopped Wolverine?’ Hank got the silent message, his eyes widening at the thought of Wolverine’s claws tearing through the solid steel doors. They quickened their pace, rounding the next corner, heading for the lab. They came to a halt in front of the lab door. It was still in one piece and in tact. Hank tried the door handle. Locked. He looked at her and shrugged. Ororo stared at him, actually she stared through him deep in thought.

"He’s in the lab," she told him definitively. She was sure of it but Hank shook his head.

"He can’t be, I saw him leave."

"Yes, but you didn’t see him come back."

"No, he couldn’t have…" he started to say, then he sighed. "The Wolverine is quicker than the eye?" he asked. Ororo nodded, then she looked at the locked doors.

"Why would he let you lock him in?" she asked. Hank shook his head, he had no answer for her. He unlocked the door and they stepped inside cautiously. Looking around, they saw nothing obvious or out of the ordinary. It was dark and quiet, exactly the way Hank had left it. They moved out in different directions, taking it slow and easy. There were just too many places to hide in here and they had no idea what was going through Wolverine’s head right now.

"Oh… my stars," Hank half-whispered in the semi-darkness of his desk lamp. Ororo stopped and turned when she heard his quiet exclamation. She turned her gaze to where he was looking and saw a crisp white sheet on the nearby table was turned back, revealing to her sight that ghastly metal helmet.

"Hank, cover that disgusting thing!" she hissed at him.

"It was covered… when I left," he told her. Then he turned his head to meet her gaze. "The visor is gone," he informed her quietly.

"What?!"

"It was right here with the other one. It’s gone," he explained. Ororo took a deep breath and turned back to scan the room. She concentrated real hard, trying to use her nose to pick up Logan’s musky scent. Her sense of smell was no where near as sensitive as Wolverine’s, but he had taught her long ago not to depend too much on what you see... or what you don’t. She walked slowly around the room as Hank watched her, keeping his eyes open for a possible attack. She peeked under beds, behind curtains and even inside cabinets that she was sure he couldn’t fit in… because you just never could tell, not with him. She made her way around the room, coming to the large walk-in storage closet in the far corner. Ororo looked at the closed door for a moment then looked at Hank. He nodded for her to proceed… cautiously, of course.

Ororo reached for the handle and slowly twisted it downward. She froze when she heard a low, menacing growl come from the other side. Hank quickly moved across the room to stand beside her. He nodded a signal for her to open the door. Ororo continued to pull the handle downward until she heard a click... and another growl. She swallowed the lump in her throat preparing to defend herself against her friend, then slowly opened the door.

The closet was pitch black inside and the dimmed lights of the infirmary lab added little to illuminate the interior room. Hank reached across a file cabinet to the wall switch on the other side. When the lights came up he heard Ororo gasp in shock before he could turn back around. Looking inside for himself, Dr. McCoy stilled at the sight.

Logan was crouching in the far corner of the darkened room, snarling at them. He had taken some restraining belts that were normally used for patients who could not be calmed down and had rigged them up in a manner that mimicked the restraints used on him in the containment cell at the compound. He was stripped of everything but his jeans and that damned visor wrapped around his head, the leads and wires dangling around his shoulders.

"Dear God…" Hank exclaimed quietly at the sight.

"Why did he do this?" Ororo asked, nearly in tears. Hank shook his head, unable to close his mouth from the shock of it.

"I don’t know," he finally whispered. Ororo stepped into the dark cubical, bending at the waist to bring the sound of her voice to his level.

"Logan?" she tried. Wolverine growled at her and backed himself up away from her until he could feel the cold wall against his back. The restraints pulled his arms out in front of him and out to the sides, leaving his chest open and vulnerable to attack. Ororo crouched down to the floor and slid up in front of him, talking softly to him. "It’s alright, Logan. Hank is with me. We want to help you."

Wolverine growled and shook his head then turned his face to the side, trying to dismiss her. Ignoring the message he was trying to give her, Ororo reached out and grabbed the visor lightly in both hands. Logan felt the pressure of the extra weight and tried to shake her off. Before she could be dislodged Ororo pulled the visor off, then just sat still for a moment looking at him. He just sat there with his eyes shut, refusing to look at her. Ororo then realized she was still holding the visor and, disgusted with the feel of it, she turned and handed it to Hank.

"Logan?"

"Go away!" he growled at her.

"Please… tell me… what is going on?" she asked.

"Go away!" he repeated angrily but Ororo scooted closer to him and placed her hands on his head. He tried to shake her off again, but she held on.

"No. I am not going away!" she told him, raising her voice so she could be heard over his snarling. When he realized she wasn’t letting go and he was restrained, Logan calmed down. She gave him a moment to collect himself, listening to his panting breaths, then she spoke quietly. "What is going on, Logan? Why did you do this?"

"Do what?" he asked sarcastically.

"This! Why are you in here?"

He snickered darkly and turned his head to the side. Now that he was responding to her, Ororo released him and waited for his answer.

"Why am I in here?" he repeated and Ororo waited. "You tell me." Ororo furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I don’t know, Logan. What’s happening with you? Tell me."

He turned his face toward her, eyes still shut, and drew in a deep breath through his nose. He was scenting her she knew, then his lips curled into an evil smirk.

"They’re good," he said. "You even smell like her."

"Like who?" Ororo asked, not understanding the statement.

"You know who," he replied, "and it ain’t gonna work. What? Do ya’ think I’m stupid?"

"No, I do not think you are stupid," Ororo replied. "What isn’t going to work, Logan?" Wolverine sighed. He always hated playing twenty questions.

"This little parlor trick o’ yers," he told her.

"What parlor trick? What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I know what they want," he told her. "And they ain’t gonna get it!" Before Ororo could ask him what he meant, Logan went on… shouting to people who obviously were not there. "You can send who you want! I know this game! Played it before, remember?!" he yelled.

"What game, Logan? I don’t understand," she asked, bringing his attention back to her.

"Of course you don’t," he replied. "You wouldn’t know yer part o’ the game. That’s the way they program ya’, darlin’. Yer supposed ta believe yer her. But, the thing is… I know ya’ ain’t her, an’ I know I ain’t here. Well… yeah, I’m here… but I ain’t there. Where ya’ want me ta think I am."

Ororo shook her head confused. "Logan, you’re not making any sense. Where do they want you to think you are?" she asked and he sat real quiet for a moment, thinking... then he replied softly.

"Home."



TBC in "The Calming Storm" part two

Part Three:

The Calming Storm (Part Two)

**************************************************


"Home?" Ororo asked, confused. She looked up at Hank - her _expression, one of silent questioning. Dr. McCoy was staring at Logan with a seriously concerned look on his face, then he glanced at her and shook his head slowly. He was not at all pleased with Logan’s mental state. Ororo turned back to Logan, hoping to sort this out.

"Logan, I’m not sure I understand. They want you to think you are home? You are home," she told him.

"No, no, no," he shook his head. "No, no I’m not. You can’t fool me… not any more." Ororo could tell that Logan really didn’t believe that he was home and he didn’t seem to believe that she was who she was. What had they done to him?

"Logan, please, no one is trying to fool you. I am sure… that they hurt you in that place... but you’re safe now. We've brought you home." As she spoke, Logan was shaking his head. He seemed determined not to listen to what she was saying. He kept his eyes shut the entire time, refusing to look at her.

"Tell me… please," Ororo asked, "what did they do to you?" Logan shook his head, refusing to tell her. "Why won’t you talk to me?" she asked him. He turned his head toward her and she watched his face screw up into an almost painful grimace, as if he really didn’t want to acknowledge the thoughts that were in his head. He made a couple of attempts to say something, but no words came out. Whatever it was he needed to say was obviously very painful for him. Ororo waited patiently, trying not to rush him. Hank remained silent behind her as he studied Logan’s behavior.

A few minutes went by and Logan’s _expression relaxed and he let out a sigh. Ororo wondered if he had forgotten her question or that she was even still there. She reached out and placed her hand as gently as she could on his arm just above the restraint. The feel of her hand startled him and Logan flinched away from her as best he could. In turn, his reaction made Ororo jump and she reflexively pulled away from him.

"Don’t touch me!!" Logan yelled at her. He tried to pull his arms in away from her, twisting them in the wrist restraints. Ororo watched his hands closely as they swelled and turned purple under the backward pressure he was causing against the leather restraint.

"Logan, please stop. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t touch you. Please." But even as she spoke, Ororo couldn’t keep herself from reaching toward him. She stopped herself short of actually touching him though. He finally stopped pulling at the restraints and Ororo put her hands over her face and took a deep breath, to calm herself and get her own thoughts under control.

"Logan, please talk to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"No, go away," he replied.

"Why?" Ororo asked. "Don’t you trust me?" Logan shook his head to indicate no and Ororo thought her heart would break. "Why don’t you trust me? I am your friend."

"No," he said with a shake of his head.

"I have always been your friend. Don’t you know me? I’m Ororo. I’m Storm."

"No."

"Yes! Why won’t you believe me? You have always trusted me, Logan. Why not now?" she asked.

"Because! You… do… not… exist!!" he shouted.

"I do exist, Logan. I’m right here," she told him. "You are home... with the X-Men. We are your friends. We are not going to hurt you." Logan just shook his head at her as she spoke. "We went to the compound and rescued you. You are free. You are safe."

"NO!" he shouted at her and she flinched in surprise. "Don’t gimme that shit! Who d’ya think yer fuckin’ with?!" His unexpected rage surprised her and Storm stared at him silently. "You do not exist! Not here! Not anywhere! You are a figment of someone’s imagination!" he yelled at her.

"That is not true. I do exist. We all exist, Logan…" She tried to explain, but Logan continued to rant.

"They implanted the image of you in my head! To make me think I had friends! People who cared about me!"

"We do care about you…"

"No! You’re not real! Don’t ya’ get it!? You don’t exist! My life with you… doesn’t exist! I am not an X-Man! I am government property! I have never left this place! I never will! They made you up! To placate me, to keep me ‘happy’ when they weren’t using me!"

"That’s not true. They’ve confused you, Logan. They want you to believe that."

"Well it worked! So get the hell away from me! I’m not talking to you!" His anger flaring, Logan tried to stand up in haste and was wrenched backward by the strap he had secured around his neck. He fell unbalanced against the wall, unable to use his hands and feet to steady himself. His head and shoulders slammed the wall and Ororo gasped in surprise. Her automatic reaction was to grab onto his wrists to pull him back up, as she watched him being hanged only inches off the floor.

"Don’t touch me! Get the fuck off me!" he screamed at her, despite being strangled.

Hank had seen Ororo’s intentions to grab hold of Wolverine and was moving toward her even before she made contact. He pulled her away at the very moment Logan started shouting at her to leave him alone. She was pulled clear just as Logan started thrashing violently against the restraints in his attempts to throw her off. In his panic, he tried to kick out at her but was unable to straighten his legs. His fear spiked to terror as he tried to get his feet back under him with little success. He began throwing himself back and forth against the straps - bucking and twisting his back, growling like a rabid animal. Ororo was positive that if it weren’t for the adamantium being unbreakable he would’ve snapped his back in two.

She fought against McCoy as he dragged her out of the storage closet and across the infirmary floor toward the doors leading out of the lab, removing her from Wolverine’s line of sight. Ororo was still shouting to Logan, trying to reason with him in an attempt to calm him down… until he disappeared from view. She immediately began to scold Hank for his interference, ordering him to release her. They could hear Wolverine growling viciously inside the small, dark room - as he continued to fight off enemies that were never there.

"Henry! Release me, at once!" she ordered one last time, as they reached the exit. Hank removed his arm from around her waist, but quickly grabbed onto her elbow as she turned away from him.

"Ro, do not go back in there!"

Ororo spun around in anger. "He needs me!" she yelled at him. "I won’t leave him alone! He’s terrified!"

"He’s psychotic!" McCoy shouted back.

"Don’t say that! He’s not crazy… he’s just scared!"

"Ro… he’s delusional. He doesn’t even know who we are," McCoy explained hastily, trying to keep his voice calm.

"He’s not delusional. He’s confused."

"And extremely violent… we can’t do this alone," he told her in hushed urgency. "We need the whole team in on this."

"No," she hissed at him. "He’s scared…and he’s cornered. He feels trapped. We’ll only make matters worse if we surround him with a dozen people," she told him.

"What do you suggest? We leave him in there?" McCoy asked.

"Of course not."

"He put himself in there…" Hank reminded her, "he’s not going to come out voluntarily...especially if he thinks we’re the enemy." Ororo stared at him - listening closely - knowing exactly what he was going to say and not wanting to hear it. "We have to go in… and get him out."

They stared at one another, contemplating what that meant exactly. Ororo closed her eyes, not wanting to think about what that was going to entail. Hoping… praying…it won’t be as bad as she feared it was going to be. Hank leaned toward her so he could speak softly. "We need the others. We’re going to need their help."

"Let me try to talk to him…"

"You just did that. Look how far it got us."

"So? We shouldn’t try to talk to him? Just move him around bodily, against his will, without his understanding? Like they did?"

"No. Of course not," Hank replied. "But we can’t help him like this. We need to get him out of there, out of that… ‘reality’… he’s built for himself." Hank waited for her to reply. He knew that Ororo's personal feelings toward Logan were getting in the way of her rational thinking. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the sounds of Logan’s struggles in the other room. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

Ororo nodded and Hank gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. A few moments later they were surrounded by silence, as Logan quieted down – obviously regaining control over his situation. Ororo’s eyes opened wide looking at Hank with something akin to hope. Hank shook his head at her dispelling her hopes.

"Listen," he whispered and Ororo did as she was told, straining to hear through the sudden silence. She could hear Wolverine’s raspy, panting breaths from across the room. He had quieted, but he was still highly agitated and, she had no doubt, extremely dangerous.

"Let’s get him out of there," she whispered to Hank, staring across the room at the open door of Logan’s ‘cell’. Hank nodded, thankful that she was being reasonable again.

"I’m going to go upstairs and explain the situation to the others," he told her.

"I’ll wait hereh" she answered.

"Please do not go back in there while I’m gone. Promise me."

Ororo thought about it a moment, then nodded. "I promise."

She could feel Hank’s eyes on her. He didn’t believe her. So she moved away and took a seat in the chair beside his desk. Ororo closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself. She could feel Hank still watching her, so she opened her eyes and gave him a ‘what are you waiting for’ look. McCoy pursed his lips tightly, then nodded and left the room.



TBC in The Calming Storm, pt 3

Part Four:

The Calming Storm (Part Three)

**************************************************



Ororo waited for Hank to return with the X-Men. He’d only been gone a few minutes but those few minutes seemed like an hour. She couldn’t stand the thought of them going in there and manhandling Wolverine to get him out of that ‘cell’. They needed to gain his trust, and wrestling him into submission was not going to accomplish that.

Storm crossed her legs and let her foot bounce in irritation. She needed to think this thing out. Why – after seven weeks home – did this come about now? What happened to make him suddenly believe that he wasn’t home?

Ororo thought back through the past seven weeks. He hadn’t behaved like himself since the day they brought him home. He was paranoid – more than usual. He stared at Jean like she was some monster out of one of his nightmares. He looked at the rest of them as if they were total strangers. He wouldn’t eat, at least with the rest of them. He didn’t sleep in his own room. He wouldn’t participate in any activities… he didn’t talk to anyone… he… he…. He NEVER believed that he was home. He hasn’t believed it since day one. ‘Oh, Goddess.’

Ororo sat up straight in her chair, planting both feet back on the floor. She had to talk to Logan… now. But, she had promised Hank that she wouldn’t go back in there while he was gone. Ororo twisted around in her seat, looking at the open doorway where Logan had hidden himself. She couldn’t hear him anymore, apparently he had calmed down in their absence.

‘I don’t have to go in there to talk to him,’ she told herself. ‘I could stay outside the door. That way I can talk to him and keep my promise to Henry.’

~Yep. That sounded like a plan~

She nodded to herself and stood up, running her hands across her dress to smooth it down. It was more a nervous gesture than one of preening. Ororo walked slowly toward the small room, moving in an arc so when she came to the front of the door she was standing about ten feet in front of it. She could see Logan in the dark space, crouched on his haunches, arms spread wide in front of him. His eyes were closed and his head hung forward. She wondered if he had fallen asleep.

She took a step toward the open doorway and stopped. Logan didn’t move. Ororo took another step. He still didn’t move, but she heard him take in a deep, slow breath. He knew she was there.

"Logan?" she said quietly.

"You again?" he asked just as quietly. He wasn’t behaving defensively nor was he angry. He seemed… tired, resigned to the fact that she just wasn’t going to leave him alone.

"Yes. It’s me again. I’m alone this time," she informed him.

"I know," he replied. His acute senses not detecting any other sounds or scents in the area.

"Can I talk to you?" she inquired softly, asking for his permission.

"What about?" he asked.

"About us," Ororo replied.

"Us?"

"Yes. About our relationship," she told him specifically.

"We don’t have a relationship," Logan told her, his voice still quiet.

"Yes… we do. You and I… we are friends. The best of friends."

"I don’t have any friends. I don’t have anyone," he told her. "I’m just a lab animal."

"No, you’re not. You are my best friend. And I thought I was yours."

"I thought so, too... but I know the truth now. You don’t exist. Only in my head."

"And in your heart," she told him.

"My heart," he repeated in a whisper. "My heart is cold and empty."

"That’s not true. I know that’s not true," Ororo countered. "You have a warm… gentle heart. They use it to hurt you."

"They can’t hurt me anymore. I know their secrets. I know what they do," he droned in a voice dull and emotionless.

"What do they do, Logan?" she asked, kneeling down in front of the door.

"They make me believe things that aren’t real. An’ then they make me feel things that are too real," he told her.

"What kinds of things do they make you feel?" Ororo asked, her voice gentle and loving and wanting to understand.

"You know."

"Pretend I don’t," she told him. Logan let out a deep sigh and thought about it for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"No… I feel stupid talkin’ to someone who doesn’t exist. They’re probably laughin’ at me right now."

"And you don’t like being laughed at, do you?" she asked, already knowing the answer to that.

"No."

"I understand," she told him sincerely. "But, if I never did exist… and you’ve been talking to me for years, wouldn’t they be used to hearing you talk to me?" Logan was quiet for a while, obviously thinking about what she had said and Ororo waited for him to answer.

"I suppose."

"So? What’s different?" she asked. He didn’t answer. "Tell me… what do they make you feel?" Ororo asked. She completely expected him to say things about love and friendship, but the answer she got floored her.

"They make me feel them cuttin’ into me. When I wake up, an’ they still have their hands inside my body, movin’ things around… gutted…opened wide…filleted on the fuckin’ table."

Ororo couldn’t speak for a minute or two, she just stared at him in horror. She thought she’d be sick when she remembered how he had looked when they'd found him. Covered in cuts and bruises and… half healed incisions. It took her a few moments to catch her breath, the thoughts of him being cut open and laid out on an operating table… surrounded by faceless people who didn’t care about what they did to him, and he…awakening to the horror…

"You wake up… when they’re operating on you?" she asked, her voice hitching with disgust and sorrow at the very thought. Logan didn’t say anything, he just nodded his head. "And… they don’t knock you back out?" she asked, nearly in tears.

He shook his head no. "Hurts," he whispered.

Ororo’s mind was reeling, she didn’t know what to say. Hurts? How do you respond to something like that? How do you acknowledge that you understand such pain…when you can’t possibly know what it feels like to open your eyes and see someone standing over you, covered in your blood, holding your organs in their hands, and telling you it’s just not worth putting you back out? How could they just ignore his screams?

He must’ve screamed…Right? No one could experience such a thing without screaming, right? How could they be so cold... so inhumane? It seemed to take forever for Ororo to get her thoughts back under control. Her heart was racing and her mouth had gone dry. No wonder he didn’t want anyone to touch him.

"Why… why did they operate on you? Do you know?" she asked, her voice barely audible, but she knew he could still hear her clearly.

"To check fer damage," he told her, grimacing with the memory of it.

"Damage? From what?" Ororo asked.

"Damage caused from their experiments," he whispered matter-of-factly.

"What kind of experiments, Logan?"

"Toxins… and chemicals," he whispered. Ororo blinked, thinking. ‘Of course.’ He was their perfect little super-soldier. His healing factor was what made him so valuable to them. It was why they chose him in the first place.

"They exposed you to chemicals and toxins and then checked for damage to your organs? Is that what they did?" she asked for clarification.

"No," he replied. "They opened me up, then pumped me full o’ the shit and they watched it work against me. And they’d monitor the reaction as my healing factor kicked it out of my system."

Ororo didn’t know where to go from here. She didn’t know what to say, so she decided to change direction. It was too deep, she couldn’t handle this alone.

"When they weren’t hurting you… what were they doing?"

"I don’t know," he told her. "When they were done with me, they just threw me back in the cell and chained me up… and left me alone."

"Did they put the visor on you?"

"Yes. Can I have it back?" he asked. Ororo had been leaning against the doorjamb, and now she turned to look at him.

"Why do you want the visor, Logan? What does it do?"

"It takes me to a better place. Can I have it back?"

"What do you mean ‘a better place’?" Ororo asked him, curious to find the answers they needed.

"A better place… no pain… just pleasure."

"What kind of pleasure?" she asked.

"Ya’ know… pleasure."

"Sexual pleasure? Is that what you mean?" Ororo asked, concerned.

"Sometimes," Logan replied. "Until that bitch betrayed me!"

"Who?" Ororo asked, getting up on her knees and putting one hand on the doorframe to steady herself. "Who betrayed you, Logan?"

"The red-head. The one called Jean," he told her, his lip curling back into a snarl.

"How did she betray you, Logan?" Ororo tried to stay calm, but he was finally talking to her and she rattled off her questions quickly so he wouldn’t have time to think about not answering her.

"She came to me. Like she always did. Made me feel good. Let me escape the pain. But then… she turned on me… she laughed at me. Told me the only reason she was here was to gain my trust. That she didn’t love me, no one did." Suddenly he stopped talking, as if he realized he had said too much.

"Why did she need to gain your trust, Logan?" He didn’t answer. "Logan, please tell me. Why did she need your trust?" Ororo prodded.

Logan sighed miserably, then he answered, sounding ashamed. "So I would let her touch me… pleasure me," he whispered.

Ororo’s heart sank, knowing now that they had used images of Logan’s friends to cause him pain. Even the memories of pleasure were now painful memories, because it was used to betray him. So why did he want the visor back? Why had he put it on in the first place? Ororo asked him, and waited for his reply.

"Because," he answered, "I don’t know what’s real anymore. And as long as I’m in here like this… they won’t hurt me."

Ororo slid down to sit on the floor, leaning against the doorway. She stared at Logan bound up in the dark, his eyes closed, his muscles now trembling under his weight as he continued to crouch there – how long now? He’d been starving himself - punishing himself in the absence of his enemies – he was showing signs of dehydration and exhaustion. He didn’t trust the things he could see, or hear, or smell, or touch. His senses were useless to him now, he didn’t trust them. The virtual ‘reality’ they had kept him caged in was distorting his belief of which reality truly existed. He was free of them and yet he was still their prisoner. He was home. He was safe. Everything was supposed to be fine now.

"Can I have the visor back?" he asked quietly, and Ororo covered her face and cried.




TBC in "The Calming Storm – Part Four"

Part Five:

The Calming Storm (Part Four)

**************************************************



Ororo sat in the doorway hiding her face in her hands. She sobbed quietly, trying not to upset Logan as he repeatedly asked if he could have the visor returned to him.

"Can I have the visor back now?"

His quiet, solemn tone became monotonous, and she cried a little harder each time he asked, his voice drifting across the darkened ‘cell’ as if asking the question for the very first time.

‘Is he even aware that he is repeating himself?’ she wondered. Each time he made his request the only thing Ororo could think about was how small… and how lost… and alone he sounded. Her shoulders shook as she cried her silent tears. Finally, Logan stopped asking long enough for Ororo to calm herself. As she wiped the tears from her face she heard him sniffing at the air. Ororo took a long, shaky breath as she regained control of her emotions and wiped her dampened palms against the skirt of her dress. As Logan sniffed the air again she turned her head to look at him.

"What’s wrong, Logan?" Ororo asked. And, although she tried to sound casual, her voice trembled from the effects of her released emotions. Logan sniffed the air again and Ororo swiveled around so she was facing him. His eyes were still closed and his brow was furrowed, either in concentration or confusion… she wasn’t sure. He held his chin high and his nostrils flared as he collected the scents from the air. "What is it, Logan?" she asked.

"Salt," he answered curiously. "There’s salt in the air."

"Like…" she sniffled, "when you’re at the beach?" she asked, wondering where his mind had taken him. Logan shook his head no, then replied quietly.

"Like… when somebody’s cryin’." Ororo was caught off guard and she looked at him not knowing what to say. "Are you cryin’?" he asked.

"No, Logan, I’m not crying. I’m fine," she answered, not wanting to upset him further.

"Oh," he replied. Then he lowered his head and gave it a quick shake as if he was trying to clear his thoughts. He forced air out through his nose dispelling the scents that he had collected. Then he mumbled something she couldn’t hear but, from the tone, Ororo realized that he had cursed himself.

‘Or cursed his senses for sending him the wrong message?’ Ororo suddenly realized her mistake. Logan already didn't trust his senses and, she realized, that by trying to protect him, she was only exacerbating his inability to trust what was real. "Oh, Logan… I’m sorry," Storm amended. "You are correct… I was crying."

"You were, huh?" he asked, but he no longer sounded like he would believe that.

"Yes, I was," Ororo admitted to him. Logan sat quietly, thinking and Ororo waited for him to respond.

"Why were you cryin’?" he finally asked.

"That’s what people do when they are upset," she told him.

"That’s not what people do when they’re upset," Logan countered. "When they’re upset… they hit… they cut… they hurt." Ororo looked at him, pondering the things that he told her and not knowing what to say. As she gazed at him he took a slow deep breath. Then he spoke.

"Are ya’ gonna hurt me now?" he asked calmly, preparing himself.

"Oh, goddess… no, Logan. I’m not going to hurt you."

"How come?" he asked.

"Because… I would never hurt you," she explained to him. "And, I’m not upset with you."

"So?"

"Why would I hurt you if I’m not upset with you?" she asked. Logan shrugged. He really didn’t know why people hurt him… only that they do.

"So why are ya’ cryin’?" he asked again.

"Because…" she said slowly, trying to think of the right words. "Because I am sad."

"Why are ya’ sad?" he asked. His voice sounded robotic, as if he was simply responding because he was expected to respond and it didn’t really matter to him why she was sad.

"I’m sad… because… someone hurt my friend. They hurt him real bad… and he doesn’t deserve it."

"Why did they hurt him then?" Logan asked, apparently not making the connection.

"Because they are mean people. And, they want something from him."

"And he doesn’t wanna give it ta them?" Logan asked.

"No… he doesn’t."

Logan nodded thoughtfully. "I know how he feels," he answered. Then he said, "An’ yer cryin’… ‘cause they hurt yer friend?"

"I’m crying… because they hurt you, Logan," she told him. Her answer made Logan pause. His forehead creased, making his eyebrows draw closer together. Then, to Ororo’s surprise, he opened his eyes and stared at the floor.

"Me?" he asked.

"Yes… you, Logan. You are my friend… and they hurt you. And that makes me very sad," she told him. Ororo watched Logan closely as he gazed at the floor. His eyes darted about as his thoughts began to race.

"Yer cryin’… fer me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Ororo answered, swallowing hard.

"No one cries fer me," Logan replied softly.

"I do," Storm confirmed. Logan sat quietly, thinking about that. Then his face screwed up into a grimace as if he had a vile taste in his mouth.

"Don’t." he said simply. His response was unexpected and Ororo blinked at him.

"Don’t what?" she asked him.

"Don’t cry fer me," he said with a hint of anger in his voice. Ororo didn’t know how to respond at first. As she sat there trying to come up with a reply Logan turned his head and looked at her. His blue eyes, suddenly filled with anger, pierced through her. Ororo straightened herself, alert to his sudden change in behavior. Logan curled his lip back to snarl at her.

"Don’t EVER cry fer me!" he growled loudly.

"Logan…" she started to say.

"DON’T!!" he shouted, making Ororo jump. At that moment, the door to the infirmary lab opened and Hank entered, followed by the rest of the team. The first ones to enter the lab heard Logan shout and saw Ororo’s startled reaction. Hank marched straight toward her, upset that she had gotten that close to Logan while he was gone. Colossus followed him, while Jean went to the medical cabinet and Scott made his way to the safe. Nightcrawler, Rogue, Iceman and Gambit stood back and waited for their cue.

Ororo heard them enter and turned around just as Hank got to her. Concerned, he pulled her to her feet and Ororo gasped lightly in surprise. Logan saw McCoy grab onto Storm and haul her to her feet. Her startled reaction, although slight, was enough to trigger Wolverine’s protective response. He growled loudly when Ororo was dragged from view.

"Henry? What are doing?!" she demanded to know. Ororo looked at the rest of the team quickly, assessing their behavior and their actions. They were prepared for a fight. They had come for Wolverine. "Henry, don’t do this," she pleaded angrily. "Not like this!"

"We have no choice, Ororo. Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing," he assured her... or tried to. Ororo’s mouth hung open slightly as she shook her head at him in disbelief. Then she saw Scott coming toward them. He was holding the power-suppressing collar he had just taken from the safe.

"Henry, what are you planning to do?" Ororo demanded to know. As Jean came up to stand beside Scott, Ororo noticed that she was holding something wrapped in a towel. "What are you going to do?" Ororo asked Hank.

"It’s alright, ‘Ro," Jean tried to assure her friend, "he’ll be okay, I promise." Ororo stared at her, remembering what Logan had said about Jean.

"You can’t be a part of this," she told Jean. "You don’t understand…"

"He needs to be sedated, Ororo," Hank told her, not catching her comment to Jean. "We can’t sedate him as long as his healing factor is at full power. We’ll use the collar to take care of that," he explained to her as he ushered the team into position.

"No. Don’t do this. Not like this!" she said to anyone who would listen. Hank turned to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Ororo, we need to control this situation. Logan is not in control of his faculties at the moment. He’s dangerous… to himself as well as the rest of the team. He needs to be in a controlled environment for his own well being… and for ours," Hank explained. Ororo glared at him and jerked her chin into the air defiantly.

"I will not be a part of this," she told him. "He needs time to adjust. Is that so much to ask? He just needs time!" She looked around at her teammates hoping for some support. When she saw that she would get none, Storm turned back to Hank. "I will not be a part of this!" she repeated, emphasizing each word. Hank sighed deeply and his reply was not what she'd expected.

"It’s probably best that you’re not," he agreed. Ororo’s mouth opened slightly in surprise and Hank explained. "If what we’re about to do affects him in a negative manner and I am sure that it will… he’ll need to have someone among us who is not associated with this event. Someone who will still have a chance to gain his trust. We all agreed… that you are the best choice for that undertaking." As Ororo continued to gape at him, Hank gently guided her backward out of the way and out of the immediate area. He stopped, leaving her to stand beside Jean who put a supportive hand on her arm. "You’ll be better off to remain here while we…"

"Take him down?" Ororo finished for him, the anger evident in her eyes. Hank looked at her sadly. He understood how she felt, Logan was his friend too. If he could think of another way… he would gladly choose the alternative. But they had lost too much time already. He knew now, that they should have begun aggressive treatment of Logan’s mental condition as soon as they had returned home with him. But they hadn’t been aware of it… not to this degree.

"Yes," Hank whispered. When it came right down to it, he had to admit, that’s exactly what they were doing. Taking Logan down - aggressively and quite physically, he was sure. Unable to bear Ororo’s angry glare any longer, Hank turned away. He slowly walked back to the team members who were quietly waiting for him as he brought his mind back to the task at hand.

Ororo watched as her friends entered the small chamber one by one. She could only imagine the level of Logan’s rising terror as he crouched there restrained – trapped! - slowly becoming surrounded by people he could not identify as friends. She wanted to put a stop to this, but as she stepped forward Jean wrapped her arm around Storm’s shoulder and held her to her spot. Ororo turned to Jean opening her mouth to rebuke her friend’s actions, but she froze. Hearing the angry and fear-filled sound of Logan’s feral growl Ororo felt her heart clench in her chest. ‘Oh goddess, what have we done?’



TBC in "The Calming Storm – Part Five"

Part Six:

The Calming Storm (Part Five)

**************************************************



Colossus stepped slowly into the small ‘cell’ where Logan was crouched and moved toward the back wall to make room for the others to enter. In human form, and standing 6’ 4", Peter Rasputin towered over the 5’ 3" Canadian on any given day. Now, he had transformed into his steel form and, in so doing, gained in size - in both height and girth - looking like a living, breathing monolith. As he entered the room Wolverine snarled. Pulling his lips back in a vicious display he showed Peter his oversized canines, reminding Colossus of the destructive power of those one-inch fangs.

Hank entered the room next followed by Cyclops and Gambit, both of whom had to remain nearer the door for the lack of space inside the small storage closet. Wolverine growled at the men standing over him, but they didn’t move or show any fear, they just looked at him silently… waiting. Wolverine’s eyes shifted to each of them in turn trying to figure out what they wanted. Then Hank spoke.

"Logan?" Wolverine looked at him. "We’re here to help you," McCoy explained. "Do you understand?" Wolverine stared at him, then stretched his neck forward lowering his head in a predatory fashion. "We’re going to take you out of here, Logan," Hank told him in a very calm voice.

"No," Logan growled. "Go away."

"I can’t do that, Logan," Hank replied, shaking his head sadly. "You really need to come with us so we can help you," Hank replied.

"I don’t need yer kind o’ help," Logan growled menacingly.

"We’re not going to hurt you," Hank told him, taking a slow step forward. Logan straightened his back, snarling at Hank, and the four X-Men watched as the hair on Wolverine’s arms and chest rippled like a wave and stood on end. Then his dark mane bristled and fanned out. ‘Raising his hackles’ in this manner served to make Wolverine seem larger than he actually was, in an attempt to intimidate his enemies. It was an instinctual response, not a conscious one and it was a part of Logan’s mutation that his teammates didn’t see everyday. Few people have ever actually witnessed him raising them like that – although, after battle he always looked a bit ‘crazed’ and disheveled. "Logan, please don’t make this harder than it has to be," Hank asked of him calmly. "We are prepared to take you out of here, but we would rather you come of your own accord."

"I’m sure you would," Logan replied with an evil smirk. The X-Men looked at one another, prepared to do what none of them wanted to do. Wolverine took that opportunity to scan the room quickly. The two men standing in front of him were the largest of the four, the two smaller men were standing between him and the door. He didn’t like the looks of the one standing closest to him on his right. He wore a visor which hid his eyes and, while the others managed to appear somewhat calm, this one was rigid… on edge. The other one was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest, relaxed and off his guard. He wasn’t wearing the trench coat Logan often saw him in and… he was unarmed. Wolverine could scent that there were others outside the door out of view. ‘But, first things first.’

Logan looked back up at McCoy, just as Hank turned his eyes toward him. "Okay," Logan stated and McCoy looked at him curiously.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Logan answered quietly. "I’ll come with you," he said lowering his chin toward his chest and his eyes to the floor. Hank looked at Logan for a moment, not sure of what to make of this change in behavior. He didn’t trust that Wolverine had become so submissive so easily. But, then again his behavior had not been what they expected at all recently. Logan just sat there and waited.

Hank tested Wolverine’s docile demeanor by making him wait like that for a minute or two. McCoy just stared at him silently as the others looked back and forth between the two. Finally, Hank gave a nod to Scott who nodded back and proceeded with the next step - to release Logan’s ankles from the restraining straps. He moved slowly, and very cautiously, knowing that the last thing he wanted to receive was a kick in the face or chest from Wolverine’s powerful legs. Once Logan’s ankles had been released, Cyclops moved back to a safe distance and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Logan?" Hank tried again, just to be sure.

"Yeah?" Logan answered calmly.

"We’ve removed the restraints from your legs," Hank informed him.

"Yes," Logan responded.

"We’re going to free your hands now," Dr. McCoy informed him.

"Okay."

"Are you okay with this?" Hank asked.

"Mmmhhhmm," Logan sounded with a nod. His eyes were now closed and he appeared to be very relaxed. Hank wondered if Logan had managed to put himself in a meditative trance, using his martial arts training to calm his mind. If so, that was a wonderful thing. But he had known this man called Logan for a very long time and one of the things Dr. McCoy had learned very early on was to never underestimate this particular man. Coming to the conclusion that he had no other choice at the moment, but to accept Logan’s calm demeanor, Hank gave Scott a single nod. Scott moved forward cautiously and began to release the straps from Logan’s wrists. As they came loose Logan dropped his hands to his sides and waited. Then Scott loosened the strap from Wolverine’s neck and stepped back.

Logan opened his eyes slowly and stood up, feeling his leg muscles stretching out and allowing his blood to circulate freely through the starving tissues. He took a long, deep breath and raised his eyes to look at Dr. McCoy. As Logan’s gaze shifted to the colossal steel form standing beside the blue furry Beast, Hank spoke to him.

"Everything is fine, Logan," McCoy stated softly. The compassionate tone of his voice served to comfort most of his patients and Hank hoped Logan was no different. "No one here wishes to hurt you." Wolverine’s eyes returned to Hank.

"Then why do I have to leave this room?" Logan asked, his voice low and distrustful.

"Because there are much more comfortable places for us to talk," Hank told him. "That is all we wish to do. We just want to talk to you."

"So talk," Logan challenged, narrowing his eyes.

"Not here," Hank countered. "Out there," he said, gesturing toward the open door. As Logan glanced in that direction, Gambit moved quickly to recover his stance, trying to hide the object he had just been handed by someone unseen on the other side of the door, but he wasn’t quick enough. Wolverine did a quick double take, his eyes flaring with rage. Gambit froze in surprise at having been caught, his hesitation was only momentary but it would cost him dearly. With a surge of anger and without hesitation, Wolverine spun around and was on LeBeau so fast that the Louisiana-born X-Man had no time to react.

"Traitor!!" Logan screamed, as his fist slammed Remy right between the eyes. Instead of falling backward into the lab, Remy got pinned against the doorjamb as Logan pummeled him in rampant fury. Wolverine had been standing still one moment and was on the move the next and, although they had fully expected Wolverine to put up a fight, his actions had been dealt out so quickly and so viciously that it took a few seconds for the situation to register in their minds.

Because Scott was closest he got to them first. He grabbed onto Wolverine, trying to pull him off of Gambit who was desperately trying to protect his head and face as Wolverine’s metal-filled fists wracked him relentlessly. Logan’s rage had always served to make him stronger, quicker and more unstoppable and he easily dislodged Cyclops with one powerful sweep of his arm. As Cyclops slammed into a nearby wall, Beast and Colossus tackled Wolverine. The three men were sent sprawling onto the floor by the sheer force of the two large powerhouses as they each tried to seize control of the smaller man. But, Wolverine was incredibly agile for a man of his size and build and he was able to twist around beneath the force of the blow, evading capture and allowing him to maintain his hold on LeBeau.

Wolverine pulled the injured X-Man along with him as the momentum threw him toward the center of the lab. Logan’s bare feet scrambled for purchase on the tile floor and, once he found it, he was on his feet instantly. He snarled at the object that Gambit had been holding before the attack, which now lay on the floor nearby. Before Logan could move to pick it up Kurt teleported in, grabbed the suppression collar and was gone again in the blink of an eye. The acrid odor of sulfur and burning brimstone left behind by Nightcrawler’s teleportation stung Wolverine’s heightened sense of smell and burned his eyes and throat. The effects slowed him down enough to allow Colossus and Beast to regain their feet.

Colossus grabbed onto Wolverine, wrapping his arms around Logan’s torso, and began to drag him across the room. But, Logan grabbed onto Remy’s tank top and, dragging the injured X-Man in tow, continued punching him as he pulled Gambit across the tiled floor.



As Storm tried to race forward at the onset of the attack, Jean grabbed her by the shoulders and held her firmly to her spot. They watched with growing concern as Wolverine continued to fight his teammates with savage brutality. Ororo could not believe this was happening. She stood, nearly in shock, watching the horrific scene being played out before them. She knew with certainty that she could’ve gained Logan’s trust and cooperation if they had just allowed her more time. This show of force would solve nothing and only served to give Logan a viable reason to release his vindictive rage.



On the other side of the room the brutal assault on the fallen X-Man known as Gambit continued. Gambit tried to break free of Logan’s grasp, but his repeated attempts to escape the frenzied fury of his teammate failed. Wolverine was so focused on his target that he didn’t even fight back as the attempts to restrain him continued, he just kept a tight grip on LeBeau’s clothes as Peter dragged him toward the infirmary.

"Traitor! Murderer!" Logan roared over and over again.

Hank was finally able to grab onto one of Wolverine’s legs just as Bobby raced forward and wrenched Gambit free of Logan’s grasp. When Wolverine realized that he had lost his prey he reflexively kicked out with his free leg and caught Remy square in the face. Blood exploded from Remy’s mouth and nose and he nearly lost consciousness. The tremendous crushing force produced by Logan’s powerful kick against his teeth had split Remy’s lower lip wide and deep. Hank grappled for Logan’s free leg and, when he finally caught it, he had to hold on for dear life because only then did Wolverine understand his predicament.

Logan’s intense fear of being pinned down and unable to move took over and he bucked and strained frantically against the hold his friends had on him. Wolverine was short and stocky, but he had enormous strength which his teammates were reminded of as they were nearly thrown off balance by his desperate flailing.

"Traitor!" Logan shouted out at Remy as he was carried away. "You’ll pay, you murdering savage!"



LeBeau got shakily to his hands and knees with blood pouring from his mouth and nose. He could barely mumble a response to Logan’s name calling as he tried not to choke on his own blood. "Look who’s talking," he managed, unable to close his mouth.

Rogue ran to him as Jean went to get some towels from a nearby linens closet. She handed them to Rogue who held one lightly to Remy’s mouth as Jean knelt beside him to check the damage.

"Why he call Remy a traitor?" he asked, not understanding Wolverine’s demented behavior.

"He’s not thinking straight, Remy," Jean tried to explain. "They messed up his mind. He doesn’t know who we are or where he is… or who to trust."

"Dey make de Wolverine… crazy?" he asked. His mouth and eyes were beginning to show signs of the beating. Swelling and bruises began to appear across his handsome face. Jean shook her head as she tried to mend his wounds not knowing how to answer his question. She didn’t want to believe it herself, but it was hard to deny what they all had just witnessed.

"No, Remy. Logan’s not crazy," she finally answered, trying to convince herself as well. They could still here Logan growling and shouting profanities as he struggled to get free of his ‘captors’. The three sat quietly together as Jean tended to Remy’s wounds. The sounds of Logan’s seemingly irrational hysteria echoed loudly through the corridors as he was carried away toward the institute’s infirmary. "We’ll help him," Jean finally blurted out nodding her head vigorously, refusing to accept the possibility that Logan may be beyond their help this time. When there was no response to her statement she looked up to see Rogue and Remy looking at her with concerned disbelief. "He’ll be fine," she told them, trying to sound confident of that fact. They both nodded, not so much because they believed it but because she needed to believe it. Then they heard a soft whimper and the three turned around to see Storm still standing behind them. She was still standing in the spot where Hank had placed her and Jean had kept her… away from Logan. She had her hands pressed firmly against her face, as she sobbed forcefully, trying to muffle the sounds of her grief.

"Ororo?" Jean said, concerned, but Ororo didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at them before turning and racing out of the room. She ran down the corridor toward the infirmary, the tracks of her tears drying on her cheeks. Determination and regret etched deeply in her elegant features. Ororo was angry. Angry with the people who had done this to Logan. Again! She was angry at her teammates who had taken the situation into their own hands and refused her council. Angry with them for not giving Logan the time he needed to learn that he could trust them, to learn to believe he was safe, to learn he was among friends who would fight to protect him and keep him safe as best they could.

But mostly, she was angry with herself. For allowing them to take the situation into their own hands and for allowing them to refuse her council. She was angry… because she didn’t fight hard enough on Logan’s behalf. She didn’t fight hard enough for his trust, his sense of worth… his love. Ororo was determined now. No one would get in her way… ever again. No one would destroy Logan’s faith in her… ever again. No one would take him from her… ever again. No one would come between them and keep them from each other… ever again!




TBC in "The Calming Storm – Part Six"

Part Seven:

The Calming Storm (Part Six)

**************************************************



"Get off…get off o’ me!" Logan roared in rage as he continued to thrash violently on the bed under Collosus’ restraining hold. "Getcher fuckin’ hands off o’ me!" he growled loudly, but Peter continued to pin him to the mattress by his biceps while Hank tried to keep a solid grip on Logan’s ankles. The rest of the team followed them to the infirmary in case they were needed and Dr. McCoy began to bark out orders as he got his thoughts organized.

"Kurt! I need you to go back and get the sedative from Jean!" Hank had to yell over Wolverine’s growls and shouts as he loudly protested Peter’s restrictive hold on him.

With his lips pulled back, flashing a mouth full of large sharp teeth, Logan threw his head from side to side snapping and growling. Saliva dripped from his fangs and his eyes were wild and bloodshot. Wolverine was determined that he would not go down without a fight this time. If they were intent on causing him more pain then he was prepared to give as good as he'd already gotten.

Kurt nodded and quickly handed the power-suppressing collar, which he’d recovered during the scuffle in the lab, to Rogue who was now standing beside him and quickly ran out of the room and down the corridor to the lab.

"Rogue!" Hank shouted to get her attention. "I need you to slip that collar around his neck! Can you do that?" he asked. Rogue looked up at Hank with wide eyes, still in shock, as her mind tried to catch up with the reality of what was taking place.

Jean was tending to Remy back in the lab and had insisted that Rogue come to the infirmary to lend a hand. She didn’t understand at the time why she was being shooed away from the lab and her injured boyfriend but now she understood exactly why. Thanks to her mutant ability to absorb the powers of other mutants Rogue had become nearly indestructible over the years. Her skin, bones and soft tissues had become impervious to all forms of mutilation - including bullets, knives, claws… and teeth. She stood near the door holding the collar in front of her, the knuckles of both hands turning white as she gripped the steel ring tightly. She watched the battle to control her deranged teammate as she came to grips with her own role in this planned series of events.

"Rogue!" Hank shouted again. She shifted her gaze back to McCoy and their eyes locked on one another. Hank lowered his voice and nearly pleaded with her in a calm tone even as he continued his struggle to maintain a hold on Wolverine’s legs. "We need your help," he stated simply. Rogue blinked as her thoughts cleared. She nodded vigorously and moved quickly forward, stepping between Collosus and the wall she came around him to the other side at the head of the bed. Wolverine didn’t notice her at first as he was still too busy trying to free himself from the situation. Rogue raised the collar up above his head and took a deep breath.

"Logan," she said quietly to get his attention. Surprised to hear a voice coming from behind him, Logan ceased his struggles long enough to look up at her. As he tilted his head back, raising his chin toward the ceiling, Rogue slammed the collar in place across Wolverine’s throat. His immediate and instinctive reaction was to clamp his powerful jaws around her forearm attempting to tear her flesh with his huge fangs. "Hey! Watch it, wild boy!" she scolded.

Wolverine expected to hear a blood curdling scream and a frenzied panic, not a calm yet sarcastic witticism. Before he could react, Rogue jerked her arm free from his powerful jaws and quickly secured the collar around his neck. With a renewed sense of panic, Wolverine began to thrash again violently and actually succeeded in dislodging Dr. McCoy. In surprise Hank stepped back, away from Logan’s flailing legs.

As he prepared to lunge forward again Collosus shook his head and informed him that he had the situation under control. McCoy understood and nodded. There was no need for him to risk physical injury when Peter had things well in hand, successfully pinning Wolverine to the bed by his upper arms. Hank stepped off to the side, out of Logan’s immediate view, and as he waited for Kurt to return he took this opportunity to make a clinical assessment of Logan’s psychological state.

He watched, along with the other team members, as Wolverine threatened Peter with bodily harm and then cursed him using the most-foul language any of them had ever heard. When those attempts to gain his freedom failed, Logan tried quiet persuasion and manipulation. When all of his attempts seemed to fall upon deaf ears he became angrier and pushed even harder against Peter with the hope of slipping his steel grasp.





As Ororo made her way quickly down the hall she could hear Logan’s deafening roars echoing past her through the corridors – his terror masked only by his intense rage at what he must perceive as an unforgivable betrayal. She ran down the corridor toward the infirmary, passing Kurt racing in the opposite direction. They barely glanced at each other as they passed one another. Ororo was determined to get to Logan in hopes of easing his fears… and regaining his trust. But as she raced through the door leading into the medical bay Cyclops grabbed onto her to hold her at bay and to keep her from rushing into an already out of control situation.

Ororo spun around in his grasp as her momentum came to a sudden halt. She immediately tried to push away from him but Scott held on tight. He spoke to her quietly but with a hushed urgency that she couldn’t ignore. Storm wasn’t completely aware of what he was saying but his _expression and manner told her clearly that the worst thing she could do right now was to interfere. Her time would come, he told her.

She blinked at him as her tunnel vision dissipated, then turned around slowly in his arms to watch the outcome. Scott continued to reassure her that she would be allowed to be with Logan once the situation was under control. Ororo watched as Logan’s desperate attempts to fight Colossus failed and she had to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from yelling out to him. Then she noticed, as Logan continued to flail on the bed beneath Peter’s weight, that they had already succeeded in placing the collar around his neck.

She seemed to be the only one who realized that in their attempts to help Wolverine, the X-Men were only succeeding in re-enacting the horrors of Logan’s nightmares. And their actions, well intentioned as they were, were triggering all of his memories of the torture inflicted upon him, bringing them back in vivid detail. He was re-experiencing not only the remembered pain but his feelings of helplessness, confusion, terror and humiliation. Ororo turned her back on the scene, unable to watch Logan’s distress. She crushed herself against Scott’s chest and cried. She had failed Logan again.





Only moments later Kurt returned to the infirmary with the objects that Jean gave him to bring back to Hank. Dr. McCoy took the small bundle and, placing it on the desk, unfolded the towel as he continued to listen to Logan’s repeated attempts to coerce his teammate. Kurt moved closer to where Bobby and Scott were standing with Ororo. They remained nearby in case they were needed but stayed clear of Wolverine’s flailing legs as he tried to gain some leverage against Peter. As Hank approached him, holding a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid, he informed Logan that he was going to be administering an injection.

"I don’t need an injection," Wolverine growled. "Let me go."

But Dr. McCoy remained undeterred as he pulled a chair up next to the bed. "You’re getting this injection," Hank told him, keeping his voice calm. It took all the strength Hank had to push his personal feelings aside so he could complete the task before him. He had to concentrate on not becoming emotionally involved so he could do what he knew as a doctor needed to be done.

"What is it?" Logan asked as he continued struggling.

"It’s a sedative," Hank told him as he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

"A sedative? I don’t need that," Logan told him and Hank could hear the sincerity in Logan’s voice. He really didn’t see his behavior as anything other than rational.

"Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?" Hank replied, keeping his voice level. Logan stopped struggling and gave McCoy a bemused, if not evil, grin.

"Those don’t work on me, remember?" he challenged.

"This one will," Hank answered and Wolverine’s grin widened.

"What makes ya’ think so?" he asked.

Hank always held onto a strong belief that the patient always has the right to know what is happening to him. And although he knew that Logan was unstable, and incapable of rational thought at the moment, he decided to explain the situation to him. Dr. McCoy leaned toward Wolverine, looking him in the eye and proceeded to talk softly to him. He didn’t want to rile him up any more than he already was, but it appeared to him that Logan had already forgotten about the collar around his neck.

"We’ve suppressed your healing factor…" Hank began to explain. He tried to be as gentle as possible as he relayed the information to his patient, knowing the sensitivity of the subject. Wolverine’s feral grin faltered slightly as he stared at Hank, listening to every word the large blue Beast was saying. "The collar around your neck…" McCoy continued slowly and Wolverine’s smile disappeared as his eyes widened with the realization. "It won’t shut down your healing factor, but I have set it to a level which will slow the acceleration of your healing ability… which will allow the sedative to take affect and subsequently wear off at a more normal rate."

Wolverine forgot about Peter for the moment and stared at McCoy in disbelief. "Yer kiddin’, right?" he asked with a hint of fear in his voice. Hank pursed his lips together and looked away from Logan to take a deep breath, then he looked back at those pleading blue eyes and answered his friend’s question.

"No, Logan, I would never kid you."

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, then Hank sat back in the chair and reached for the items on the side table next to the bed. He raised the small vial, turning it upside down just above eye level and inserted the needle into the cap. Tilting his head back slightly, so he could read the dosage lines on the syringe through the bottom half of his bifocals, Hank pulled the plunger downward. As he drew the medication from the vial into the syringe, Hank suddenly felt his stomach turn over as he realized Wolverine was watching in fear. He could feel Logan’s eyes on him and imagined those big blue eyes filled with terror.

"I don’t need that, Hank," Logan nearly pleaded.

Doctor McCoy understood Logan’s fear. He knew where it came from and he hated himself for what he was about to do, but it had to be done… for everyone’s safety. Logan’s personality was seriously disorganized and his sense of reality was obviously impaired. His mental and emotional states had always been erratic - like a ride on a roller coaster, varying speeds and direction. Sometimes it was a slow uphill climb that would eventually level off – giving everyone a chance to catch their breaths – or it would reach the peak only to plummet at an alarming speed, to seeming disaster. Those who chose to tag along for the ride would find those rare moments of breathless exhilaration…or the whip-lashing, spine-cracking twists and turns that would leave their heads spinning and their stomachs churning.

"I don’t need that, Hank."

"Trust me, Logan," McCoy replied softly.

"NO!" Logan growled viciously. His reply surprised Hank, causing him to pause. He glanced down at Logan, furrowing his brow. It was obvious to him now just how much Wolverine’s mind was off balance. One moment Logan seemed to recognize him as a friend and the next moment only as an enemy.

"Trust me, Logan," Hank repeated, hoping Logan would be able to understand that his intentions were not to harm him.

"No! Don’t!" Logan shouted. "I don’t need it!" His fear and anger grew and he tried to wrest himself free with a sudden burst of violence that sent Bobby and Scott rushing forward to help hold him down. Logan was adamant about not getting that shot. He didn’t trust Hank and he believed his feelings of being betrayed were now justified. As Hank turned toward him with the syringe in hand Logan demanded answers for the doctor's traitorous actions.

"Why would you do that?!" he yelled accusingly. "You said you were my friends! You said you wouldn’t hurt me! You lied! You fucking lied!" he screamed at them as he bucked and strained furiously against their hold.

"We didn’t lie to you, Logan. We are not going to hurt you," Hank tried to reason with him. "You are not well. I know you think you are, but you’re not... and I realize you don’t understand this, but we’re trying to help you."

Wolverine struggled for a few moments more, then all of a sudden, as quickly as his burst of rage had manifested, it vanished. He not only stopped fighting, but his behavior completely changed - so drastically in fact, that it left everyone stunned.

"Please don’t do this," Logan pleaded. "I’ll be good," he told them, sounding so small. Hank’s forehead creased with concern and he stopped what he was doing to look at Logan. ‘What the hell does he think is happening here?’ Hank wondered to himself.

"Logan, this isn’t punishment," Hank told him. "How do I make you understand? We’re not going to hurt you."

"No! Please! I promise! I’ll behave!" Logan shouted. Grabbing onto Peter’s forearms he looked up at the giant Russian as if pleading with the man to protect him. It was obvious to Hank that Logan was not hearing what he was trying to tell him. It was as if his brain was only picking up certain words, and sending the message to Logan all jumbled up. "This is// punishment. /// do / //// you understand? We’re /// going to hurt you."

"Logan, please, listen to me," Hank said. Despite what he knew to be the facts he tried once again to reason with him, "We are not punishing you. We are trying to help you."

"Don’t need it! Don’t help me!" Logan pleaded loudly. "Please! Don’t! I wanna stay in control!"

"You think you’re in control?" Bobby blurted out without thinking. Scott and Hank both shot him a look that demanded he keep silent. Logan was already frantic and the situation demanded professional intervention not outbursts that would continue to set him off. But Logan looked at Bobby hoping to make his case.

"I am, I am." Logan answered, "I’m okay… really! You can trust me," he rattled out, panting heavily under his physical and emotional strain. "Please. Don’t knock me out. Please! Oh, god. Don’t. I, I…I can’t defend myself…if there’s danger. I, I, I can’t…" he stammered uncharacteristically. "Please! Don’t knock me out!"

Logan looked up at McCoy as the doctor gently pulled on his wrist. Straightening out Logan’s arm, Hank pulled it toward him with some assistance from Peter. "There is no danger here, Logan," Hank told him quietly, "except from you right now."

"No! I can control it," he told Hank. "Really. I’ll be good. I swear to god. Don’t do this. Please! I promise!"

Hank shook his head sadly as he rubbed alcohol on Logan’s arm. The veins inside the crook of his elbow were distended from the surge of adrenaline kicking up his blood pressure and triggering Logan’s ‘fight or flight’ response. The intense strain on Logan’s system caused his veins to dilate in order to compensate for the enormous blood volume coursing through his body. ‘Well, this makes my job easier,’ Hank thought to himself as he pushed the cotton swab against a large vein to test its integrity. It remained highly visible which meant he wouldn’t have to search for another site. When he was satisfied, he tossed the piece of cotton onto the nightstand next to the bed and picked up the syringe.

"Oh, god, don’t." Logan begged, watching Hank’s every move, "Please don’t. Please?"

Hank tried to ignore Logan’s pleas. He placed the cold, sharp needle against the swollen vein and a strangled, involuntary noise escaped from Logan’s throat. The sound made Hank hesitate. He stared at the insertion site and the sharp point in position against Logan’s skin.

"Hank?" Logan’s tiny voice reached McCoy’s ears and he tried not to look at him. ‘Just do it,’ he told himself. "Hank?" Dr. McCoy turned his face toward Logan but didn’t raise his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look the man in the face. He couldn’t look into those big blue eyes, desperate and pleading, and do what needed to be done. "Please don’t do this, man. I promise ya’. I’ll be good." Logan’s pleas threatened to rip his heart out and Hank clenched his teeth. "I can be good. Give me a chance, man. I’ll show ya’. I can be good."

Hank closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he heard Peter asking him a question. "What did those people do to him?" The large Russian asked, barely able to contain his own anger, but it was Ororo who answered him.

"If I told you... it would make you sick," she stated shakily.

"I’m already there," Collosus replied and the others nodded in agreement.

Building up his nerve, Hank took another deep breath then opened his eyes and pushed the needle smoothly into Logan’s vein. They all felt Logan’s body stiffen and freeze in fear as he stared at the needle buried in his arm. Hank slowly released the sedative into Wolverine’s bloodstream. Only then, as he slowly pushed the plunger down, was Hank able to look up at him and that was only because he needed to watch for any signs of adverse affects.

He’d never administered such a serum to Logan before and with his healing factor suppressed Hank had no idea what the proper dose should be or even if Logan would be allergic to the medication. Logan raised helpless eyes to him and Dr. McCoy hated himself for doing this to his friend. No... he hated the people who had set this stage and put him in the position to have to do this. Hank felt his own bestial rage start to boil deep inside him. He wanted to hurt somebody for making him do this... he wanted to hurt them bad. Then he heard Logan whimper and quickly pushed his anger back down.

"It’ll be all right," Hank reassured him softly as he finished administering the last drops from the syringe.

"Oh god…" Logan moaned weakly. He could already feel the affects of the serum and his eyes rolled lazily around, unable to focus as he fought to keep them open.

"It’s gonna be all right, Logan. Don’t fight it," Hank told him as he swept Logan’s bangs off his sweaty forehead and laid his hand there gently.

Logan’s eyes rolled back in his head and with a weak gasp he forced them open again. His fingers and toes tingled then went numb. His lips felt tingly too and the tip of his nose felt cold.
His worst fears were being realized and his breaths quickened in response. It was out of his hands now. Hank had mixed a potent serum. His heart was pounding in his chest and Logan focused on that because it was the only thing he could feel. He was aware of the heavy weight of his own arms and legs, but he couldn’t feel any sensation. He couldn’t feel the hands still holding him down or Hank’s thumb putting pressure on the punctured vein as he carefully removed the needle from his arm.

Logan’s eyes rolled over white again and the X-Men watched as he strained to keep them open. He moaned as he tried to fight the affects of the powerful drug. He tried with all of his might to keep his eyes open even as his muscles went limp. His whole body felt like a ton of dead weight. Through blurred vision and a sluggish brain trying to do its job, he looked up at the ‘faceless’ people standing above him, pinning him down, staring at him. Logan was scared and his fear escaped him in the form of another weak moan. Hank motioned for Ororo to come over and she did so quickly, nearly pushing Collosus out of the way.

She took Logan’s hand in one of hers and she stroked his hair with the other. Leaning down close to his face, Ororo pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear. Logan moaned in response to her and she felt him squeeze her hand lightly. Hank motioned for Bobby and Scott to release Logan’s ankles, they did and stepped back. Hank nodded and waved them toward the door as he wanted to maintain the quiet environment now inside the room. The two X-Men left, taking Kurt and Peter with them.

"Keep talking to him Ro," Hank advised softly. "Let him know he’s safe."

Ororo stared at Logan’s face and continued to comb her fingers through his hair. She spoke in a whisper, but Hank wasn’t sure if she was answering him or speaking to Logan.

"I’m not going anywhere," she whispered, her lips nearly brushing against Logan’s as she spoke. Hank watched her with Logan for a moment. The way she looked at him, the gentle way she touched him and reassured him. Ororo really did understand Logan better than most, Hank realized as he watched her interact with him. She kept herself close to his face - allowing Logan to hear her and smell her and feel her near. She clearly understood just how much Logan relied on all of his senses - without them he was as good as ‘blind’. Without her, he was alone. And they had tried to keep her from him. McCoy shook his head at the thought.

Hank stepped closer to check his patient before leaving them alone. He checked Logan’s breathing and heart rates and then lifted his eyelids gently to check the color of the whites of his eyes. Everything looked fine. Hank let out a tired sigh and patted Logan’s hand.

"Rest now, my friend," he half whispered. Hank wasn’t surprised to know that Logan could still hear him, because he knew that even when a person is in an altered state of consciousness the hearing is the last of the senses to go and the first to return. He was surprised, however, to hear Logan whisper back just before the silent darkness over took him.

"Can…be…good…man," he whispered, then fell silent. Ororo stared at him closely with the tears welling up in her eyes threatening to spill over. Hank squeezed Logan’s hand.

"My friend, you are a good man," he replied then turned and walked away, leaving his patient to Ororo’s watchful eye.





Now alone with the man she loved, Ororo let her tears fall. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips then laid her head on his chest. Unconsciously reveling in the softness of the thick hair covering his torso she absently brushed her cheek against it. "You… are the best man I know," she whispered to him, then closed her eyes. She fell asleep against him, with one hand idly stroking his thick dark hair and the fingers of the other entwined with his own. Her breathing slowed in unison with his and her heart took on his beat.

Ororo fell asleep, feeling totally secure. Feeling safe.Feeling warm. Feeling whole. She fell asleep with an elegant and knowing grin playing on her lips. Ororo adjusted her loose embrace and settled against him. She fell asleep with only one thought playing in her head.

‘Tomorrow… our future begins.’






TBC in "In the Storm’s Wake , part one"

Part Eight:

In the Storm’s Wake (Part One)

**************************************************

After helping Hank in the infirmary, Rogue went to assist Jean in the med-lab. Jean had already stitched Remy’s lip and Rogue helped him to get cleaned up. After some argument they were able to get him to lie down on one of the beds. He insisted that he was fine and wanted to check on Wolverine, but Jean wanted to keep him for observation.

Although her assessment showed he had only a minor concussion and a mild ‘whip lash’ injury, she felt it was best to keep him confined to med-lab for now and to keep as much space between him and Wolverine as possible. But Remy disagreed, he felt the best thing he could do for Logan right now was to show him that he didn’t hold a grudge, to show him that he was still his friend and lend his support.

Once she'd gotten Remy settled and he fell asleep, Jean insisted that Rogue go upstairs and get some rest. She was looking a bit frazzled and Jean suspected they would all be looking the same way soon, if things didn’t start to calm down. She contacted Hank telepathically and he informed her that Wolverine was successfully sedated.

‘You sound tired, Hank. Why don’t you get some rest?’ she told him.

‘We’re all tired, Jean. Besides, I need to watch him. This sedative is something new to him, I can’t leave him unattended,’ Hank replied.

‘Ro’s not there with you?’

‘Yes, she’s here.’

‘Why don’t you let her…’

‘He’s my responsibility, Jean. He’s in my charge,’ Hank told her. They went around in circles for a few minutes and the conversation ended with Hank telling her point blank that he would not leave the infirmary until Logan came out of sedation and he was sure there were no ill effects and Jean wished him luck. Hank looked up from his desk to check on Ororo who was sound asleep in the chair next to the bed, curled up under a heavy blanket. Logan was quiet lying on the bed next to her. Dr. McCoy let out a sigh and went back to his files.


**** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****


While Logan slept sedated in the infirmary, Charles Xavier slept soundly in his bed on the second floor of the mansion. It was 9:30 in the morning and it was unusual for him to still be in bed at that time of the morning. But, his students were busy with other matters and hadn’t noticed his absence. Professor Xavier was caught deep within a dream... or what he perceived as a dream at first. As it turns out, his sleeping consciousness had tuned into another consciousness reaching out for help.



He was sitting in his chair in the center of a bright spotlight with darkness all around. He was positive he was not inside a room – the darkness was too vast, infinite. His senses told him that the darkness stretched out seemingly forever, on all sides, although he couldn’t see beyond the spot of light. As Charles tried to determine where he was he suddenly sensed that he wasn’t alone.

"Who is there?" he asked. He was not frightened because he sensed no threat, but there was definitely someone lurking beyond the light, hiding within the darkness. "Do not be frightened. Please, show yourself," he invited his unseen visitor.

No one came forward, but he could feel the air reverberate around him as the invisible watcher circled him just beyond the edge of the light. He used the vibration to keep track of the visitor’s location, but he wasn’t picking up any thoughts or feelings from the entity. If it weren’t for the physical interaction with the surrounding atmosphere he wouldn’t even know they were there. But the vibration he felt through the space between them was evidence of great strength.

"You are very powerful, my friend. Why do you hide yourself from me?" he asked silently, projecting his thoughts toward the entity. "Please come forward. I will not harm you." As Charles waited for a response, there was a sudden disturbance in the atmosphere around him and he was hit with an energy vibration that felt very much like a shock wave. Charles caught his breath and waited for it to subside. "Are you angry with me?" he asked aloud after the wave diminished. There was no response but he felt the darkness around him reverberate again as the entity circled him slowly. He turned his head to track the motion, but still he could see nothing. "Are you afraid?" he asked as the entity came around from behind him to his left. There was no answer. It continued to move until it was directly in front of him again, then it stopped. Charles strained to see through the darkness, but it was so dense that he felt as though he was surrounded by an enormous vacuum, a vacuum as impenetrable and impervious to light as a black hole in space.

Charles moved his chair forward hoping to cross through the barrier. To his dismay, the darkness receded in front of him and advanced behind him, keeping him centered within the light. ‘Alright,’ Charles realized to himself, ‘you won’t allow me to penetrate your defenses, I understand. But can you cross over to me?’

"Do you wish to communicate with me?" Charles asked the entity. The only response he got was a slight vibration that rippled the air and it made him think of a person trembling. ‘In fear or excitement?’ he wondered. It was definitely not a physical tremor, but a psychic one. "You possess great strength, my friend. I can feel your power. Won’t you please come forward? I would like to speak with you," Charles beckoned, but again received no response. "Are you able to step into the light? I really would like to talk to you." Then he heard a small voice coming from the darkness.

"I’m not supposed to talk to strangers." It was a child’s voice. Charles was awe-struck.

‘How could a child possess such power?’

"Won’t you come forward so I can see you?" he asked the child. "If we could meet then I won’t be a stranger anymore," he offered gently. Again he waited patiently but got no response. "I won’t hurt you. I promise." As Charles peered into the darkness he thought he saw movement and, seemingly without actually moving, a small boy appeared in front of him. He stood just inside the circle of light staring at Xavier with eyes full of wonder.

He had dark hair and big, blue eyes and he stood before Xavier small and frail and barefoot. He wore a white shirt and brown pants that were rolled up above his ankles and black suspenders holding them up around his small frame. Charles smiled at the boy but the child didn’t smile back.

"My name is Charles Xavier," he told the young boy, who was now scrutinizing Charles and his wheelchair from a distance. "You may call me Charles if you like." The boy looked up at him and let out a sigh. Charles was sure this young boy was a mutant child. ‘So young,’ he thought. And why hadn’t Cerebro alerted him to the boy’s activity? "What should I call you?" he asked. The boy shrugged. "Don’t you have a name?"

"Doesn’t matter," the boy answered, lowering his head with a pout.

"Why doesn’t it matter?" Charles asked.

"Ain’t got nobody to call me anyway," the boy told him and Charles frowned at that. ‘Another disposable child, just tossed away and forgotten.’

"You have no one?" he asked and the boy shook his head ‘no’. "Don’t you have a mother?"
The boy stared at him, then looked away without answering. Charles figured the child had to be about seven years old although he was small for his age. He seemed lost and scared but he was trying hard to be brave and strong. "Where is your mother, child?" Charles asked and the boy looked at the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets, but he didn’t answer. Then he saw a tear roll down the boy’s cheek. "Child, where is your family?" he asked.

"Don’t have one," the boy answered quietly. Then he swiped away the tear with the back of his hand and looked at Charles angrily, setting his jaw with indignation. "Who needs them anyway?"

"Everyone needs a family," Charles told him softly.

"What for?" he asked still sounding angry.

"We all need someone to love us… and watch out for us."

"I don’t," the boy replied stubbornly. "I don’t need nobody."

"I don’t need anybody," Charles corrected.

"You neither?" The boy asked with new wonder and Charles couldn’t help but smile.

"Where is your family?" Charles asked. The boy lowered his head again and shrugged, then began to walk slowly around the circle of light. Charles watched the small boy pacing as if in deep thought. "I could help you find them?" he offered.

"Why?" the boy asked not looking up.

"Because I want to help you," he said, watching the boy over his shoulder as he circled behind him.

"Why?"

"Because you’re alone, and no one should be alone," Charles replied.

"I don’t want them," the boy answered. "They only pretended to love me, but they never did."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because… if you love something, you don’t just throw it away."

"They threw you away?" Charles asked. The boy nodded, staring at his feet as he placed them carefully one in front of the other. "Why would they do that?"

"Because," the boy answered.

"Because why?" Charles asked.

"Just because."

"That is not a proper answer, there has to be a reason," Charles said and the boy looked up at him with a frown. Charles quickly added, "Not that there are any good reasons for turning your back on a child."

"Yes there is," the boy said softly, looking back down at his bare feet in shame.

"And what reason would that be?" Charles asked already knowing the answer. This was no ordinary human child. This child was strong enough to penetrate Charles’ thoughts, and yet he was able to keep himself hidden from Cerebro. This child was a mutant... and so powerful at such a young age.

"Because… I’m a monster," the boy finally told him.

"You are not a monster," Xavier corrected evenly.

"I am. Mama said so," the boy replied, not knowing whether to be sad or angry. "I’m different from her… and the others."

"There is nothing wrong with being different," Charles replied.

"Mama says I’m bad… evil," the boy added.

"Why would she say such a thing?"

"Cause I am a monster."

"No, my child, you are not," Charles told him calmly.

"You don’t know!" the boy replied accusingly, crossing his arms.

"Oh, I think I do," Charles replied. The boy dropped his hands to his side, staring at the professor in shock then he lowered his head and spoke quietly.

"They told you?" he asked.

"No, no one told me, but I know what you are," Charles replied.

"How do you know?" the boy asked suspiciously, lifting his head slightly to look at him.

"Because I have special gifts too, just like you."

"There’s nothing special about me. Mama says I never should’ve been born. She says I’m a abom… abomb… a-bomb-in-nation…"

"No, you are not!" Charles said heatedly, but the boy continued his thought out loud.

"…a monster that should’ve been a-bor-shun-d."

"That is not true!" Charles countered trying not to let his anger at such a thought show in front of the boy. "You are not a monster. You… are a mutant," he explained and the boy looked up at him.

"What is a mu-tant?"

"A mutant is a person who is born with special gifts. These gifts make them different from other humans. These gifts make them… special," Charles told the boy who stared at him, listening closely. "My gift lets me read other people’s thoughts."

"Really?" the boy asked, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

"Yes."

"Can you read my thoughts?" the boy asked excitedly. Charles frowned.

"No. I tried, but… no, I cannot," he admitted and the boy frowned.

"Because I’m not a real person," he whispered sadly.

"That is not why," Charles replied. "You have great strength… and it is difficult for me to penetrate your mind. You are not telepathic, but your psi-blocks are strong," he told the boy who looked at him, apparently not understanding. "You are very much like a friend of mine," he added. "I would like it very much for you to meet him."

"Where is he?" the boy asked.

"He’s at my school."

"Are you a teacher?" the boy asked.

"Of sorts," Charles replied with a nod.

"What do you teach?" the boy asked.

"I teach mutants," Charles answered with a smile.

"Mutants?" the child asked, now showing great interest. "People like me?!"

"Yes."

"There are more?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Oh yes, many more," Charles assured him.

"Can I go there too?" the boy asked with controlled excitement.

"I would like that very much," Charles told him and the boy became sullen.

"What if they don’t like me?" he asked quietly.

"They are going to love you," Charles replied with a soft smile.

"No one loves me," the boy told him sadly.

"We will love you. You will be safe with us."

The boy looked at him unsure. He cocked his head to one side as he thought about the professor’s offer. Charles watched him and knitted his brow at the familiarity of the boy’s movements, but before he could say anything the boy smiled and ran toward him. He jumped up into the professor’s lap and wrapped his tiny arms around Xavier’s neck. Charles wrapped his arms around the boy in acceptance.

"You come to see me, alright?" Charles told him. "I will be waiting for you."

"Take me with you now," the boy said, his voice muffled against the professor’s neck.

"I cannot," Charles told him, and the boy pulled away to look at him. "You have come to me in a dream," he explained. "We are both asleep. When I wake up you will be gone."

"You throwing me away?" the boy asked.

"Never," Charles assured him. "You found me once, you will find me again. When you are awake, you come to me," he told the boy.

"I can’t," the boy replied lowering his eyes and shaking his head.

"Of course you can."

"No. It won’t let me go," the boy told him. Charles frowned with concern for the boy.

"What won’t let you go?" he asked.

"The darkness," the boy answered. "It is too strong. It is stronger than me. It won’t let me go."

"What is the darkness, child?" Charles asked.

"I don’t know. It holds me, it protects me," the boy answered.

"Protects you from what?"

"Everything," the boy replied.

Even as they spoke of it, the darkness around them began to expand toward them. The boy gasped and wrapped his arms around Xavier’s neck, nearly strangling him with the desperateness of the embrace.

"Don’t let it take me!" the boy screamed. "Please! Take me with you! Please take me with you! I don’t like the darkness!"

Charles held up one hand and tried to push the darkness back but it pushed against him. The terrified child buried his face in Charles’ neck and nearly strangled him with his hold. Charles could feel the boy’s tears soaking his shirt.

"Please," Charles pleaded with the dark entity, "let him come to me. I will protect him." Charles tried to reason with it. He could sense its intentions were to protect the child but, in doing so, it also held him captive and isolated from all who would love him and guide him.

The darkness began to pull the child from his arms. The vacuum grew in strength until Charles was forced to use both arms to keep his hold on the boy. The child screamed and pleaded for Charles not to let go and his feet were elevated into the air as the darkness tried to pull him back into itself. Charles fought with all his might and the exertion caused perspiration to pour down his back. Suddenly the child was torn from his embrace and the boy screamed reaching out to Charles. The professor grabbed the child’s wrists and his chair bolted forward.

"Hold onto me, please! Don’t let me go!" the boy begged through tear-filled eyes as they stared desperately at one another. "Don’t let me go!"

"I won’t let go!" Charles tried to assure the frightened youngster, even as perspiration collected in his palms causing him to loosen his grip.

"Please don’t give up on me!" the boy screamed in terror. "I need you! Please don’t give up! Hold on tight!"

His grasp on the child’s wrists was nearly impossible to maintain as the vacuum strengthened even more. He couldn’t understand why he was sweating so much. ‘My god, I can’t hold on!’ Charles yelled inside his own mind. He looked down at his hands, hoping to will all of his strength into his fingers that were wrapped around the boy’s blood covered hands.

‘Blood?!’ Charles looked on in shock. ‘Where did all this blood come from?’ There was no way he could be causing the boy injury. Was there? Then something caught the professor’s eye, something peculiar, and he looked closer forcing himself to focus. ‘Oh my god!’ The professor’s mind screamed when he realized what was happening.

There, from the child’s own hands, were six little bone claws, each one about four inches in length and protruding from the boy’s knuckles. Charles shot his focus back to the child’s eyes and he did recognize that terror... he’d seen it before, many times.

"Logan!" Charles yelled just before the boy was ripped violently from his grasp and disappeared into the depths of his own inner darkness. "NOOO!" Charles yelled.

He was still yelling out as he awoke, with the sun gleaming through his window drenching him in bright sunlight. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was drenched in sweat. He threw the covers aside and reached for his wheelchair even as he threw on his robe. Charles understood what had happened. He hadn’t been in a dream, nor did the child visit his mind as he slept. He had been pulled out of his own psyche and thrust into Logan’s and the only one who could possibly have managed such a feat… was Logan himself.





TBC in In the Storm’s Wake, part 2

Part Nine:

In the Storm’s Wake (Part Two)

**************************************************

Charles sat in his chair holding the kitchen door open as he peered in from the hallway. A concerned frown etched his face as he surveyed the abandoned breakfast, which had been laid out and then left abandoned. It appeared that the X-Men had been interrupted during their morning meal. He let the door close silently into place as he backed his chair into the hall.

‘X-Men? This is Professor Xavier, can anyone hear me?’ he asked, projecting the thought in search of his students. Immediately he heard Dr. McCoy answer.

‘Yes, Professor, we can hear you. Perhaps you should meet us in the lab.’





Xavier met with the X-Men in Dr. McCoy’s lab and Hank relayed the morning’s dramatic events to him. Charles checked on Remy’s condition and recounted the details of the dream he’d had and explained why he believed it hadn’t been a dream at all. Ororo stood in the doorway listening quietly, still trying to get the sleepiness to lift from her eyes. She rubbed her fingertips across one eye then swept a strand of loose hair from her face.

As Charles finished the story of his own experience she stepped into the room with her arms wrapped around her waist. She looked exhausted and Charles asked how she was doing. She nodded politely trying to give him a smile as she walked toward the bed where Gambit lay recovering. As she passed behind the professor’s chair her eyes caught sight of something peculiar. She paused in step and frowned, then turned to look again. She walked slowly up behind him staring at the back of his robe. "Charles… what is this?" she asked, her voice low and not quite awake yet. Charles peered at her over his shoulder.

"What is what?" he asked even as Scott moved forward and came around behind him to see what she was looking at.

"This," she stated, her tone rising slightly with concern. She used one hand to gently push him forward in the chair and touched her fingers to the back of his robe. As Scott stood next to her looking on his forehead creased in serious question echoing Ororo’s _expression. As Ororo pulled her hand away, Scott also reached forward to brush a finger against the professor’s back and looked at his fingertip. Ororo looked from her hand to Scott’s finger then raised her eyes to Scott’s.

"It’s blood," she said quietly and Scott nodded. "Charles, are you injured?" she asked in urgency, coming around in front of his chair to inspect him for wounds.

"No," he replied and seeing her concern he took her by the arms to stop her harried inspection. "Ororo, I assure you, I am not injured," he said. She looked at him not understanding and raised her hand to show him the blood. Charles looked at it for a moment, thinking.

"It’s all over the back of your robe," she told him, her sleepy mind still not registering. Charles pulled his hands away from her arms and looked at them. They were smeared with now-drying blood. "Charles?" Ororo said looking at his hands, the professor began to comprehend where the blood came from and looked up at Hank.

"It’s Logan’s," he stated simply. "I felt it in the ‘dream’, I thought it was perspiration. This is Logan’s blood." Ororo immediately stood up, pushing away from his chair and ran from the room. She was followed closely by Hank, Scott and the professor. "The rest of you, stay here," Charles instructed the X-Men as he exited the lab. They nodded, then looked at one another in silence.



Ororo ran into the darkened infirmary and straight to Logan’s bed. Scott came in right behind her and slowed in the middle of the room waiting for the lights to come up. Dr. McCoy snapped on the light switch as he entered. He strode passed Scott to Logan’s bedside as Charles wheeled into the room behind him.

Ororo checked to see if he was still asleep and was running her hand through Logan’s hair as Hank came up on the other side of the bed. They looked at each other and Ororo sighed in relief to find that Logan was okay. Hank looked down at the bed and grabbed the edge of the bedding which had been drawn up across Logan’s chest. With another glance at Ororo he pulled the bed linen down toward Logan’s feet. Ororo looked down and covered her mouth with her hands to try to silence the loud gasp she drew in.

The crisp white hospital sheets were covered in blood, which was still flowing slowly, but steadily, from puncture wounds between Logan’s knuckles. It was quite obvious by the gaping holes in his flesh that he’d protracted his claws while under sedation. Hank grabbed some dressings and bandages and proceeded to try to control the bleeding. Raising Logan’s left hand off the bed, he tossed the bandaging material toward Ororo’s side and Scott came over to assist her.

"Take the collar off," Ororo told Hank and he shook his head.

"If we remove the collar the sedative will be pushed from his system. He needs more time," Hank told her.

"He needs his healing factor," 'Ro stated sternly as Hank and Scott packed Logan’s hands in sterile dressings.

"What he needs is rest. We can handle this," Hank refuted as he finished securing the bandage around Logan’s hand.

"Remove the collar," Ororo repeated, emphasizing each word. Hearing the anger in her voice, Hank looked up at her with a serious _expression.

"Ororo…" Hank began to say.

"Remove it… or I will," she said, staring at McCoy with unquestionable determination in her bright blue eyes. She’d vowed to keep Logan safe, to earn his trust, and to never be swayed from what she believed to be in his best interest… ever again, and she intended to keep that promise. As they stared at each other Hank could feel the hair on his body bristling with the static building up in the air around him. The others were not quite as sensitive to it, but they could also feel the electricity in the air.

Charles guided his chair to the foot of the bed and looked from one to the other. Ororo was determined to have it her way. Her feelings for Logan were stronger than even he’d realized and when Ororo’s emotions got out of control, or were uncontrollable, bad things happened… and people got hurt. But Professor Xavier also felt a strong need to have Logan brought out of sedation. He wanted to assess Wolverine’s behavior. He needed the chance to understand what Logan was going through and to try to reason with him and calm him down.

Charles believed that it was the very strength of the sedative that was the reason Logan was able to reach out with his mind and come to him in his sleep. The potent serum had worked to relax Logan’s consciousness - which was the obvious intent - but he believed the incredible strength of the sedative continued to work even afterward to successfully relax - and drop - Wolverine’s psi-blocks. Allowing the trapped and frightened child within him to seek out Xavier’s help... which was something Logan could never bring himself to do. But ‘the darkness’ dwelling within him – which they referred to as ‘the animal’ - held Logan close to it, protecting him from all outside threats and often battling Logan himself for control of his mind and body. And it refused to let Logan escape from its protection.

Instead, it had indulged the needs of the ‘inner child’ by pulling Xavier’s psyche into its realm - in order to keep the child from trying to escape - when it realized the psychic barriers had been dropped. It allowed the ‘child-Logan’ to make contact and seek comfort… if only for a short period of time. But when Xavier had offered his protection and love, and the ‘child-Logan’ accepted his offer, the dark entity reared up to take jealous possession of the boy again.

'Incredible,’ the professor remarked silently. He realized now that the psychic blocks Logan possessed – just like his claws - were not put in place by the Weapon X scientists as they’d all believed. The government most likely helped to strengthen them to a certain degree but, as far as Charles was concerned, they’re time and effort was wasted in vain. For it was obvious to him now that Logan had actually been born with these psychic blocks already in place. Nature had made him undetectable by telepaths - impervious to psychic probes and manipulation. He was a being created for absolute stealth, born to be the most efficient predator the animal kingdom had ever seen.

His predatory instincts and bestial rage - partnered with inhuman agility, grace, speed and strength, not to mention large claws and teeth – and combined with the exceptional cunning and intelligence of the man, was what made Logan perhaps the deadliest mutant on the face of the earth. Now add a healing factor to the entire package and what you have is ‘a ferocious, blood thirsty, killing machine that is virtually unstoppable’. That was the reason he’d been pursued and hunted by so many government factions. It was also the reason that Logan and his ‘gifts’ were coveted so vehemently by the more ‘evil forces’ of the world... like Sinister, Magneto and… Apocalypse.

When Apocalypse captured Logan years ago - and turned him into one of his ‘Four Horsemen’, known as Death – he’d been a true force to be reckoned with. Brainwashed to do his master’s bidding, which was to cause death, he was an exceptionally skilled adversary. He was ruthless and without mercy or conscience and the X-Men barely survived the challenge of stopping him.

The only thing that stopped the Wolverine/Death from wreaking havoc across the face of the earth and tearing humanity to shreds was Logan’s determination and strength of will to ‘remain human’. The absolute strength and perseverance it must’ve taken for Logan to battle the beast at every turn – with every breath – was unimaginable. It would be so much easier for him to just give in to it and accept it … like Sabretooth did. But Logan wanted more for himself. He didn’t just accept who and what he was or what he so easily could become just by letting go. He fought hard every day to be better than what nature intended. And if nature felt the need to see how the world would fair - with such a creature in it – then let Storm’s goddess be praised for having put the weight of this burden upon a man like Logan… and not Victor Creed.

For Creed would’ve embraced such power without hesitation. Instead, he mocked Logan with every breath, with every beat of his heart and condemned him for ‘taking his true gift for granted’. Sabertooth laughed at Logan’s ‘cowardice’, believing he was afraid to use his ‘true power’ to the fullest and that such power was ‘wasted on the weak’. It’s funny, really, when you think about it. Creed accused him of being weak for not tapping into the Wolverine’s true potential… and the X-Men admonished him for being weak when he did ‘tap into’ the ‘berserker rage’ in battle against their enemies. In truth, Charles realized with a new found pride in his student, Logan was stronger than any of them ever gave him credit for.

Xavier had tried to fend off the darkness himself and the ‘battle’ barely lasted a few moments. And not only did he lose his hold on the ‘child’, but was ejected from Logan’s mind with such a force that he’d dare compare himself during the experience to being no more than an insect slammed against the windshield of a speeding car. It was quite apparent that Logan did not receive the proper credit for the battle he waged against himself everyday.

They’d always been quick to admonish him for his unruly behavior and uncontrollable temper when, in fact, they should’ve been lending support and encouragement for the days he was able to hold the animal at bay. It was also obvious to Charles now that ‘Project:Weapon X’ was hardly the success that the military, the scientists or the government proclaimed it to be. They’d taken the credit for turning nature’s most superior hunter into a ‘super-soldier’. They’d also taken the credit for turning the man, known only as Logan, into the animal-like Wolverine. And then, they went beyond that, to turn Wolverine into the mindless assassin known and feared throughout the world as Weapon X.

But that was the only thing they really could take credit for. Well, that… and the adamantium-laced skeleton Wolverine now possessed. In fact, Charles discerned that the only thing they really – honestly - could take credit for was the monumental physical and psychological abuse, and torture, of an already tortured soul. Their brutal methods were merely an attempt to break him down - to break his spirit - so they could build him up again into the mindless creature they wanted him to become.

But in the end, Logan proved to be even stronger than any of them had ever imagined. Beaten, starved, tortured and humiliated in the most deviant experiments any human being could conjure up… not just once, but many times… even physically altered against his will… and the man still fought back. Psychologically stunned, emotionally numb and in the greatest physical pain no other creature would ever experience… and the animal still fought back. It not only survived… but broke free of its chains and took its revenge on those who’d taken their freedom, their memories, their dignity and their humanity. The man and the animal – together – survived and overcame all possible odds.

Because of his gifts; his heightened senses, tracking abilities, retractable claws, fighting ability, healing factor and predatory instincts - Logan’d spent his entire life being treated like an animal. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Humans had put laws into place to protect animals from such cruelties. They marched and protested such atrocities committed against ‘helpless animals’ in the name of science. There were never any laws put into place to protect mutants from such cruelties. There were no laws, then or now, that could’ve or would’ve protected Logan from such unimaginable brutality. The only laws that could’ve protected him… the only law that would’ve saved him… did. Because when all was said and done, it came down to survival of the fittest… and that is the very law of nature.

Logan… Wolverine… Weapon X…whatever name you wish to put upon him… was a true force of nature, a powerful force of nature. Whose very power was held in check only by the man’s resolve to keep it in check. Charles shook his head as he came to a decision.

"Dr. McCoy…" Charles said softly. "Would you remove the collar please?"

Hank and Ororo both turned to look at him. Ororo’s anger began to ebb with the support from Professor Xavier and she looked back at Hank with a sense of hope, but Dr. McCoy only blinked in surprise. They had worked so hard to get Logan under control and now he was supposed to just let him go?

"Professor…" he started to say, but Charles pulled his gaze away from Logan and looked at McCoy with a gentle smile on his lips.

"Henry," the professor said quietly, "remove the collar please." Then he turned to Scott with a request. "Would you ask Remy to join us?"





TBC in "In the Storm’s Wake, part three"

Part Ten:

In the Storm’s Wake (Part Three)

**************************************************



Scott acknowledged the professor’s request then left the infirmary to get Remy and bring him back. Hank, still unsure about the decision, turned to Charles. "Professor, I must state for the record that I strongly disagree with your decision to remove the collar. Logan needs the rest this sedative can offer. He’s exhausted both physically and emotionally and if we allow him to wake up now there is no telling what condition he will be in. He could very well… and most likely will, wake up in a feral state."

"I understand that possibility exists, Hank," Charles replied quietly and undeterred. Hank sighed in resignation and glanced at Ororo. She was considering what he’d just said and her _expression was one of worry and doubt.

"Would it be logical to request that we at least bind his hands to slow the protraction of his claws if he wakes quickly and… not in the right frame of mind?" Hank asked.

"What do you have in mind, Hank?" Charles asked.

"Well," Hank started slowly, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "Ordinary wrist splints should do the trick," he answered, moving toward the supply cabinet to retrieve two of the items in question to show them. He handed one to each of them and they turned the splints over in their hands and Ororo looked at Hank questioningly.

"These certainly do not look strong enough to stop the protrusion of adamantium blades," she remarked and looked to Xavier for concurrence. Instead of giving it to her, Charles looked over the splint device one more time then turned his attention to Dr. McCoy.

"Please… explain your theory, Hank," Charles said smiling at him, fascinated.

"The way I see it," Hank began to explain as he walked back to the supply cabinet for a roll of medical tape, "the only material, man made or not, that adamantium can not penetrate… is adamantium. Do you agree that I am correct in making that statement?" He turned from the cabinet with tape in hand to see Ororo and Xavier nodding in agreement. Closing the cabinet door, Hank continued his explanation as he made his way back to Logan’s bedside. "Nothing can stop him from releasing his claws… that is, no barrier except adamantium, in any case we have none so the point is moot. So…!" Hank said taking the splint which Charles now handed back to him. "This small and somewhat flimsy device is our best option at the moment."

"How…?" Ororo began to ask as she scrutinized the pre-formed splint she held in her hand. Dr. McCoy slipped the splint onto Logan’s left wrist and began securing it to his hand and forearm with the roll of tape.

"Let me explain," he offered. "In order for Logan to release his claws his hand and forearm must be aligned perfectly straight, so the blades can slide along the bony tracks in his arm and into the tracks in his hand. With his hands bent slightly outward, in this case due to the shape of the splint, he cannot line up the tracks and therefore cannot release his claws from their housings," Hank explained indicating the slight inclination of the pre-formed material. "It’s as simple as that really." As he concluded he set Logan’s splinted hand down on the bed beside him. "Voila." Ororo and Xavier studied the splinted hand now resting on the blood soiled sheet. It was an amazing revelation that the simple positioning of his hand was enough to deter the release of Logan’s inborn weaponry.

"Amazing," Charles proclaimed under his breath and McCoy turned to look at him as he finished splinting Logan’s right hand.

"Of course it is only a theory, but I do believe it is founded."





They waited only a short while until Scott returned to the infirmary with Remy as requested. And due to the injuries he’d sustained from Wolverine’s assault, Scott found Jean’s request to accompany her patient reasonable and allowed her to join them.

Professor Xavier greeted Remy and thanked him for his willingness to assist them after what he’d already been through. LeBeau’s face and eyes were bruised and swollen, as was his bottom lip which still bore the stitches needed to close the wound.

"Wanted ta be here from da beginnin’, Monsieur. Logan ma friend, mes ami, dat hasn’t changed non," Gambit replied. "Da Wolverine… he in trouble, mi. Remy wanna help." Charles nodded with a grin. He felt enormous pride in his X-Men and the loyalty they showed to one another at all costs. "What ya’ need Gambit ta do?" he asked the professor.


"Well, at the moment we’re not entirely sure we will need your assistance, Remy. I’d like you here in case we can’t get through to him when he awakes. Perhaps you will be able to." Charles told him and Gambit nodded, then the professor turned back to Hank. "Dr. McCoy? If you would, remove the collar please."

Hank nodded and took a deep breath in preparation. Reaching out, he unlatched the locking mechanism on the metal ring around Logan’s neck and slowly, with Ororo’s assistance, slid the device out from under him and placed it on the side table. They waited a few moments but Logan didn’t stir. Hank sat down on the bed and checked his patient’s vital signs. All appeared to be normal.

"His healing factor has been slowed significantly. It may take a few minutes for it to recover and expel the sedative from his system," Hank explained as he worked checking Logan’s breath sounds with a stethoscope and using his thumb to gently lift his eyelids to check his pupils. The others nodded silently and waited.

Minutes passed and Hank looked up at Ororo to offer her a supportive smile when suddenly LeBeau gasped loudly behind them and stumbled, clutching his head as Scott grabbed onto his arm to steady him. Before anyone could ask him what was wrong, LeBeau forced out one word through his pain. "Wolverine," he groaned.

A moment later, Logan’s eyes opened without warning and he snapped his teeth viciously at the figure hovering over him. Hank, momentarily surprised, pulled away and Wolverine immediately retreated from Hank’s towering form. He began to back pedal across the bed, away from the blurred shape looming over him. He dragged monitor leads with him as he dug his heels into the mattress pushing himself up into a sitting position on top of the pillow and slamming his back against the wall. Realizing immediately that that was as far as he could go, his back against the wall, he growled savagely striking out at Hank with a splinted hand. Hank barely dodged it before he realized the claws were restrained.

‘Thank God,’ Hank exclaimed silently.

The whites of Logan’s eyes were blood red and his pupils had dilated to enormous size. His hair bristled and changed shape, i t now stood on end, over-exaggerating the pointy tufts on his head that he was well known for. Hank had mentioned this phenomenon to the rest of the team earlier and explained the natural reasoning behind this ability.

Wolverine, like his animal namesake, was small compared to the average-sized human male – mutant or otherwise – and, like the four-legged version, Wolverine’s hair shafts are hollow, which enables him to ‘puff up’ under stress to give the impression that he was larger than he actually was and it still fascinated him to see Wolverine put his hackles up that way.

"Logan," Hank said, hoping his voice would trigger a familial response in his feral teammate. "Take it easy," he offered quietly, but it didn’t. Logan’s mind was locked in an image from his past – an image of pain, humiliation and torture. The stresses of his ‘take down’ earlier and images of the Weapon X lab converged. He had no idea where he was or who all these people were. He swiped out at Hank with his left hand and to Wolverine’s dismay his claws did not release. ‘Thank the Almighty,’ Hank thought as he jumped back again.

Wolverine began tearing at the splint with his teeth, growling savagely. Hank stepped forward and slapped it away from Logan’s mouth with a powerful swipe of his hand. The strike surprised the berserk X-Man and he bolted over Hank, kicking out at the doctor’s head as he leapt over him. The power-driven kick would’ve sent an average human sprawling unconscious to the floor, but Hank’s own power and strength equaled Logan’s, in proportion to each man’s physical size, and as Hank was the larger of the two he’d been momentarily stunned but hardly incapacitated. He spun around in time to see Logan land hard on his feet, the sedative making his body feel heavy and, lacking his normal agility and balance, he went sprawling face first into the tiled floor.

"Logan!" Ororo shouted, moving toward him in concern.

"No, Storm," Hank warned her, waving her back with his hand. She stopped only a few feet from where Logan was laid out on the cold tile, wanting desperately to pull him into her arms and calm his panicked mind.

When Logan bolted from the bed, the monitor leads that were attached to his head and torso had snapped back and were now wrapped loosely around Hank’s arm and chest. He absently pulled them free, letting them fall to the floor as he moved around the bed. Logan was still lying on the floor stunned and Jean quickly moved Charles away from him fearing that he’d been Wolverine’s intended target.

"Okay. Everyone stay calm," McCoy advised them softly as he moved cautiously toward his patient. "Jean? Would you initiate the emergency door locks please?" he asked in a conversational tone so as not to alert Logan to his plans. Jean nodded and the sound of the locks moving into place could be heard. Logan regained his bearings, sort of, and scrambled to his feet trying to clear his head with a few quick shakes. Tearing the splint from his left hand with his teeth he let the torn remnants fall to the floor. "Take it easy, my friend. We’re not going to harm you," Hank tried to reassure him.

Logan turned to face him. Growling, he flashed his sharp teeth at Hank then ripped the splint from his right hand and positioned both fists at his sides, wrists locked straight. His shoulders rounded forward and he held his head low. He stood on weak and shaky legs, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Wolverine was prepared to fight to protect himself. It was obvious to them that he was not at all aware of where he was or who all these people were. The events of the past few days had thrown him into a confused state where the pain and terror of his tortured past blended with the memories of his most recent captivity at the Weapon X compound. The events and the memories twisted and danced in his mind until he was no longer sure what was then or if then was now. His awareness of once again being restrained inside a laboratory setting and surrounded by people intent on keeping him caged had thrown him over the edge.

He stood before them barefoot, bloody and half-naked and he blinked at his teammates with a blood red haze blurring his vision. Hank moved slowly toward the snarling, feral X-Man and noticed that the gaping wounds between Logan’s knuckles had healed over and were visible only as scars now. Logan’s healing factor was recovering from the sedative and with that knowledge Hank became aware of a fact that he’d overlooked many times before. Wolverine’s accelerated healing ability allowed him to recover from horrendous physical injury almost instantaneously, never leaving behind any evidence of the trauma that Logan had endured.

Anyone else suffering the same injuries that Logan did would’ve taken weeks and in some cases months to physically recover depending on the seriousness of the injury. The time it would normally take for the average human, or even a mutant without a healing factor, to recover from such debilitation would’ve certainly allowed plenty of time for the emotional trauma to ease before being placed back into the mainstream and declared fit for duty. Hank realized now, with great remorse, that that was a necessary part of healing that Logan had never been allowed. His healing factor was unsurpassed when it came to healing his physical wounds, but it could not however relieve any of Wolverine’s emotional or psychological trauma. And whenever he was physically able to return to active duty he was deemed once again combat ready and put into one life threatening situation after another. And after so many years of conditioning, Logan still forced himself back into action even when the professor and Dr. McCoy demanded he give himself a little more time.

Hank also realized that the human condition does not readily accept, nor sympathize with, another’s pain unless the actual physical evidence of the trauma was staring them in the face. And Logan’d learned long ago that only his physical condition was of any concern or importance to those around him and should be his only concern also. That was Logan’s true curse, not his mutation, but living a life where his emotional and psychological needs were ignored as soon as his physical injuries were mended.

"Not this time, my friend," Hank finished his thought aloud. "We’re here for you." Wolverine, hearing his voice but not understanding the words, snarled at him and the hair on his arms and chest rippled as he postured in defense.

"Henri," Gambit spoke softly, still recovering from the empathic overload of Wolverine’s berserk psyche. "He frightened, mi… an’ confused."

"I know, Remy," Hank replied, not taking his eyes off Wolverine.

"His rage… blinds him. Don’ hurt him, mec." LeBeau offered, shakily.

"I have no intention of causing him any more harm," Hank stated, still wary about averting his eyes. He knew just how quick his primitive pal could be.

"His bete… in control…" Remy continued, rubbing his temples as he waited for the pain to subside.

"Remy, please!" Hank shushed him, he really wanted the Cajun to be quiet. He needed to think and think of something quickly. If Wolverine decided to attack none of them would be a match for his razor sharp claws. They would be able to stop him, but not without hurting him and Hank didn’t want that. Then a thought struck him. "We need Peter," he decided. "Jean?"

"I’m on it," she said with a nod. With that, she quickly contacted Kurt telepathically and instructed him to teleport the large Russian to the infirmary immediately to help wrangle the Wolverine.





In the infirmary, Beast stood his ground making sure to stay between Wolverine and the others. Seconds felt like hours as he prayed that Logan was only looking out for himself and not looking for blood. Finally, with a puff of black smoke and the familiar odor of burning brimstone Kurt materialized with Peter just a few feet behind Dr. McCoy. The acrid smell of sulfur that accompanied Nightcrawler’s teleportations filled their nostrils. The striking odor stung Wolverine’s heightened sense of smell. That, and the sudden appearance of his two teammates, startled Wolverine and he bolted for the door.

"Logan, no!" Hank shouted, knowing the door was locked and would not slide open as Wolverine probably expected it to.

Logan sprinted for the exit. When the door didn’t slide open on his approach, he realized he was trapped and would have to claw his way out. In less time than it takes to tell, Logan closed the distance and leapt into the air, unsheathing his claws. Embedding them in the metal door and planting his feet against the steel plates, he began clawing his way through the thick steel as he clung to the door four feet above the floor.

Peter Rasputin, seeing his cue, stepped around Hank without a word spoken. Standing at six feet four inches he already stood head and shoulders above the rest, now with the speed of thought, his human flesh turned to organic steel and his physical mass gained in height and girth. As he approached the frenzied X-Man, Colossus now towered over Wolverine and in his frenzy for freedom Logan was totally unaware of his approach.

Colossus reached out and wrapped his right arm around Wolverine’s torso. He gave a slight tug to test Logan’s weight and how well he was anchored to the door. Calculating correctly, he gave a sharp tug that was sufficient to dislodge Wolverine’s grip without crushing him.

"I’ve got you, Tovarisch," the giant Russian told him passively as Logan kicked his legs wildly trying to loosen his hold, then he wrapped his left arm around Logan’s arms, successfully pinning down those lethal blades. Wolverine wiggled about violently, trying to free himself. Saliva clung to his chin as it streamed from his deadly, oversized canines.

"Can you hold him, Peter?" Jean asked.

"Da, I have him," Colossus answered calmly even as his deranged teammate kicked him violently, trying to turn his head to bite. The loud clashing of his teeth as they snapped and closed on nothing but air gave evidence to the power of those jaws. Sadly, Wolverine was frantically trying to defend himself against the very group of people who would never hesitate to put their own lives on the line to protect him. And Colossus, whose heart was as big as his steel form, continued to speak quietly to Wolverine trying to sooth his rage even as he thrashed the gentle giant.

"I’ll get the sedative," Jean announced as she turned away but before she could take her first step…

"No!" Storm snapped, stopping Jean in her tracks.

"What?!"

"Do not sedate him again! Let his rage run its course!" Storm told her, then she turned to Hank. "If we force him under again, like this, he’ll only wake up a few hours from now like this… or even worse. His rage has a cause… and a purpose, and we have to stop ignoring that. He needs to know it is valid and justified. He has a right to feel angry, to feel rage…"

"Ororo, he’s dangerous…" Hank started to rebuke.

"So let’s talk him down, let him know we care. Sedating him solves nothing. We have to gain his trust and let him know he is safe… and loved. We sedate him and push him in a corner so we do not have to deal with it and that has got to stop. He needs to learn how to regain control and that we are here to help, not hinder or hurt."

"Ororo is correct," Charles told his students. "That is why I have asked Remy to be here."

"Gambit?" Scott asked surprised. "What can he do? Explode a few cards at him? No offense, Gambit," he said turning to LeBeau.

"None taken, Boss," Gambit replied with a smirk.

"Gambit’s mutant abilities do not stop with his ability to charge objects kinetically," the professor informed his attentive pupils. "He also has the gift of empathy."

"What?" Scott blurted, and was echoed by the others in the room.

"His ability to charm people, which he is well known for, is actually the ability to feel others’ emotions. He can project feelings to others, and from one person to another, as well as absorb those emotions himself." Charles explained as Gambit stood nearby nodding. Scott looked Gambit up and down from head to toe as if seeing him for the first time. Gambit shrugged at him with a sheepish grin and Charles answered the next question before Scott had time to verbalize it. "We just found out, Scott. It took a while for me to understand the way his ‘charm’ powers worked. He had trouble explaining it clearly enough for me to identify it for what it truly is," Charles explained.


"You can help us to project our true concern for Logan," Ororo stated as she stepped forward grasping his elbow with the strength of renewed hope. Gambit smiled slightly and nodded. "He can’t trust what he hears or what he sees, but…" she looked up into his scarlet eyes with tears of joy building in her own, "he’ll trust what he feels in our hearts."

Gambit laid his hand atop hers, which were gripping his elbow fiercely, and nodded with a compassionate smile as his empathy picked up Ororo’s deepest feelings. He didn’t have to reach for them or search them out, Ororo’s heart was on her sleeve for all to see if they so desired. She loved Logan, but more than that… she was in love with him. She no longer denied it to herself and apparently had no desire to deny it any longer to others. Her soul was screaming for the chance, just one chance, to tell him how she felt. She was ready now, she was ready to reach out to the man who’d been reaching out to them for so long and been denied. Gambit was ready too, ready to bring the two of them together, the way it should be… the way it was meant to be. He kissed Ororo on the forehead and stepped toward Colossus and his rebellious charge.




TBC in "In the Storm’s Wake (Part Four)

Chapter Eleven:

In the Storm's Wake (Part Four)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gambit stepped up cautiously alongside Colossus who was now sitting on the floor holding onto Wolverine. Logan had been kicking and trying to wrest himself free from Peter's grasp with such a ferocity that Peter was afraid to hold him any tighter. So he'd sat himself down in order to put one leg across Logan's to keep him from hurting himself.

Remy crouched down next to him as Wolverine tenaciously refused to give up his fight. He reached out, trying to rest his hand on top of Wolverine's head, but he was thrashing around so violently that he couldn't make contact. He waved at Ororo to come over and as she stepped up next to him, Remy took her hand and guided her down to kneel beside him. She was nervous as she looked at Gambit with worry in her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile, then the smile faded as he let his empathy reach into Ororo's mind. She felt a sudden sensation, almost like a tingling in her brain as Gambit drew her emotions to the surface. Once he had them, he redirected them toward Logan.

"Dis may not be as easy wit' him as it would be wit' someone else," he mentioned as he went about his work. "Logan's shields and psi-blocks may interfere, but I should be able ta get a "tap" on his brain to at least give ya' a chance." Ororo nodded that she understood and watched for any change in Logan's behavior. A few moments passed and there was no visible change. Ororo began to lose hope as her heart sank, then Remy turned to her, speaking quietly.

"I'm in," he told her. "But the opening in his shields is very small. It will take time, but you have a chance." Ororo took a deep breath and nodded again. "Reach out to him," Gambit instructed.

"How?" Ororo asked. She wasn't a telepath or an empathy, she had no idea had to do it. Remy smiled at her and she turned to him waiting for his answer.


"With your hand," he replied, trying not to laugh.

"Oh." Storm replied and smiled bashfully, then turned to look at the feral X-Men still fighting in Peter's arms.

"Nice and easy," Gambit advised. "Just go slow."

Ororo swallowed hard and slid forward a little so Logan could catch a glimpse of her as he threw his head from side to side. At first glance Logan flinched away from her, startled by her presence then he froze. Sitting rock still he glared at Ororo with huge piercing eyes.

She reached out very slowly and he bared his fangs at her. Ororo stopped and gave him a stern look, staring him right in the eye. A moment later his lip relaxed just a little, but did not come down. Reaching forward slowly, she placed her hand gently on his head. His eyes shifted upward at the feel of her touch and tried to shrink away from it. He couldn't go far though, as Peter had him in a vice-like grip. "It's all right," she told him softly. "We're taking you out of here."

Everyone looked at each other in question. What did she mean they were taking him out of here? When was that decided?

Logan didn't understand her words, nor did he like her touch and without warning he began to thrash around again, growling and snapping at the arms holding him down. He didn't target Ororo but she wisely withdrew her hand. She trusted Logan, but she also knew that Wolverine's jaws were strong enough to strip flesh from bone and she didn't need to be putting herself in harm's way foolishly. Ororo stood up and turned toward the others.

Jean gave her a quirky smile. "I thought you had him there for a minute."

"If only it were that easy," Storm replied, returning the smile then she turned to Kurt. "Can you teleport us outside, toward the forest? I'll show you where to take us."

"Ja, I can. But..."

"Ororo?" Hank jumped in. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking him out of here," she stated lightly with her decision.

"What? You can't," Scott replied.

"I most certainly can... and I will," she answered. "He needs to get out of here, out of this place. He needs to regain control."

"We're trying to control him," Jean reminded her.

"No!" Ororo replied with more force than she intended. "He needs to be in control of what happens to him. I'd say he's made his choice." Turning toward Hank she said, "He wants out."

"Ro, he's not thinking rationally. Hell, he's not thinking, period!" Jean argued.

"No, he isn't, is he?" Ororo replied. "He is acting out of pure instinct." She looked at each of her friends one by one. "You cannot chain him. You cannot lock him in a cage. Wild belongs to the wilderness. Let me take him there." Her gaze fell on Charles as she finished. Ororo waited for her mentor's decision, but it was Hank who spoke first.

"She's right," he admitted, having given her words serious thought.

"Yes, she is right." Scott concurred, giving Storm his support.

"What do you propose, Ororo?" Charles asked curiously.

"Let me take him someplace safe. Some place quiet and secluded....isolated." She turned to look at Wolverine. Undaunted, he continued to snarl and wriggle around in Colossus' arms trying to gain his freedom. "The forest," she specified again.

No one said a word. They didn't know what to say. They were all thinking pretty much the same thing - 'unleash a frenzied, bloodthirsty Wolverine on unsuspecting hikers? Don't think so.' The team looked to Charles for an answer.

"Charles?" Ororo prompted, waiting for a decision. After giving her proposal serious thought he finally nodded.

"I'll agree, under one condition. He is to stay confined to estate property. He may go anywhere he wishes, as long as he is contained within the perimeter of the estate," he explained clearly. "Agreed?" Ororo nodded gratefully and turned to watch Peter again wrestling with his charge.

"I know where he likes to go... to think and meditate. I'll take him there until he recovers."

"I will go with you," Kurt offered.

"Thank you, Kurt," Ororo replied. "But this is something for which he needs solitude, not an audience." Kurt frowned in disappointment although deep down he knew she was right. "Will you still take us?" she asked.

"Ja, I'll still take you," he answered. If that was how he could help, he wasn't going to turn away from the opportunity. "Wait a minute... I just remembered. When Logan is like this his senses are... like, ultra-sensitive. 'Porting makes him sick. It throws off his equilibrium and disorients him." Kurt reminded her and Ororo nodded.

"That'll give Peter enough time to release him and get away with you before he can recover," she reasoned.

"What?" Jean exclaimed. "You're not planning on staying out there with him... alone. Are you?"

"One on one is better," Ororo nodded.

"He's too dangerous!" Jean said with great concern.

"He won't hurt me." Ororo told her, confident of the fact.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Ororo told her. "He'll have no reason to harm me… and he'll be free. Well... at least out of here," she said waving her hands to indicate the walls and locked doors of the medical lab. "He'll be able to move about freely without fear or concern."

"But alone, 'Ro?" Jean asked.

"Jean, you are just going to have to trust me on this. I can explain it to you later, and I will be more than happy to, but we need to go now, for his sake."



***** Moments ago *****


Peter's heart jumped into his throat, as Wolverine nearly slipped his grasp. Ororo's calming presence had given him a brief moment to relax his hold and he wasn't prepared when Logan resumed his fight for freedom. For someone so short and stocky, Peter couldn't believe what a 'live wire' Wolverine could become, and it really did take a lot of effort to keep him from wriggling free.

Having seen the Logan snared in traps before, Peter knew that Wolverine wouldn't hesitate to chew off his own limbs to gain his freedom. In his native Russia he'd often seen wolves do exactly that. Which was the reason Colossus always opted for the complete 'body wrap' technique with Wolverine, rather than snaring him by wrists or ankles.

Logan had been known to actually dislocate his joints trying to free himself from traps. A few times he'd nearly pulled himself apart literally, as his friends tried to get to him. They've had to assist him, many times, out of various traps set specifically for him throughout the years.

Their enemies were known to devise traps of ingenious design with the specific purpose of removing Wolverine quickly from a fight. With Wolverine 'safely' out of the way, their foes could then direct their full attention and mayhem on the remaining X-Men without the feral little man-animal getting in the way. It was definitely a scary thought as far as Peter was concerned. Having to choose between captivity or dismemberment. For Logan there was no dilemma and there was no question. His only concern was 'freedom at all costs'.

When they materialized in a field two miles from the mansion Logan was no longer fighting. As Kurt had warned, he'd been disoriented by the trans-dimensional travel of Nightcrawler's teleportation. Ororo figured that he must’ve been feeling a bit dizzy by the way his head wobbled about when he tried to lift it up. And if the world was spinning out of control then he was probably feeling a bit nauseated, too. She also noticed that his claws had retracted.

“Release him, Peter,� Storm urged, “…quickly.�

Colossus gently placed Logan on the ground, guiding him into a seated position. Logan snarled weakly at him as he lay down at Peter’s feet. Squeezing his eyes shut, he crossed his arms over his face as if trying to shut out the spinning sensation. Concerned, Colossus watched him for a moment. He didn’t want to leave Logan out here like this, he wanted to stay here with them and help out. He knew Storm didn’t want that, but he still couldn’t help feel as though he was just dumping Wolverine out here, ‘in the middle of nowhere’, and abandoning him. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Storm giving him a sympathetic, yet understanding smile.

“Thank you both, you are good friends,� Ororo told them as she gave each of them a kiss on the cheek. Then she bid them away before Logan could regain his senses. After they'd gone, Ororo moved a few yards away and sat down near a large rock. She closed her eyes and tried to relax letting her other senses work at taking in the sounds and smells of the forest around her. She listened to the sweet sounds of the birds singing as they moved about the trees, and the aromatic smell of the towering pines put her instantly at ease. This was her playground, too the open skies inviting her to dance and spin among the wispy clouds, above the rolling hillsides and the swaying pines.

A wistful smile crossed her lips as her thoughts went back to the very first time Logan had ever seen her dance her aerial ballet. She was down by the pond, in the middle of the night, and that was the way she preferred it. She felt completely free to express herself when there were no distractions, and because she preferred to dance in the nude Charles had requested that she take the appropriate measures to limit her possible ‘exposure’ to ‘the general public’. Ororo knew ‘the general public’, to which Charles was referring was simply the other residents of the institute, and more specifically those of the masculine variety. Of course, that night she didn’t realize that Logan was out on one of his nocturnal strolls through the woods, which was something he did often when he was feeling restless and couldn’t sleep. She'd been lost in thought and fantasy peaceful in her world of dance and reveling in the freedom of her own nakedness.


The wind and gentle rain, which she'd beckoned to her, felt glorious against her skin. As she rose on the winds, spinning and twirling and diving toward the earth again, she caught a glimpse of something below her on the shore, something she hadn’t noticed earlier.

She'd lowered herself gracefully toward the ground to get a better look. Upon recognition, she caught her breath silently and momentarily halted her descent. But Ororo Munroe was never one to feel awkward or embarrassed because of her nudity, believing it to be the most natural thing for any human being to want to be.

But she did feel a bit awkward at being caught at it… by him. ‘Why was that?’ she wondered. Why did she feel so totally exposed that night? Was it because she knew his night vision was exquisite and for once she could not count on the darkness to cloak her features from his view? Or was it because his animal nature and appeal intimidated her? She still wasn’t sure why his presence had startled her so. Ororo thought maybe it was the way he looked at her - naked and exposed, in all her splendor. He didn’t move, and he didn’t look away when he realized she'd spotted him. She'd taken a brief moment to compose herself, drawing on the confidence that what she was doing was not perverse, and she intended to have words with him if he made any comments to her in that regard.

She'd gracefully touched down in front of him near the place she'd left her clothes, throwing a glance his way as if to warn him to keep his churlish comments to himself. In her own defense she thought - as she pulled her clothes about her - that a gentleman, realizing that he was intruding on her private time, would have quietly turned around and walked away. When she'd finished dressing, she turned to look at him, setting her jaw squarely and ready to rebuke whatever ill-mannered comments he was waiting to throw at her. Ororo was not prepared, not in the slightest, for what she saw as she turned to face him.

He sat there just looking at her. His mouth was turned downward, not in anger as was usual but more like… what was that look? Regret? His hard features had softened somewhat and there was sadness in his eyes that she hadn’t really been aware of until now. But it was the reverent sparkle they now held for her that would have knocked her over if she could have moved. His gaze met hers evenly. No, not evenly… humbly, and a moment later he lowered his eyes to the ground. He was breathing heavily, although it did not appear that he was sexually aroused by her nakedness.

It seemed more like he was feeling... that excitement one would feel after witnessing something magnificent and wondrous, something privy only to you simply because you happened to be in the right place at the right time. Ororo'd suddenly felt ashamed of herself for once again she'd misjudged him. As she watched him silently he stared at the ground for a few moments then, swallowing the lump in his throat he stood up. Ororo remembered how she'd felt, standing before him - this normally indignant and powerful creature, this man of great strength and even greater rage- and although she'd felt a bit of feminine pride, she was also quite humbled by his reaction to her. Logan’s own humility at the sight of her natural beauty, in all its glory, had left her speechless.

“You’re…� Logan began, his baritone voice hitched as he tried to speak and he cleared his throat. “That… was beautiful,� he'd told her and she smiled shyly at him.

“You liked my dancing?� she asked him quietly. Logan nodded and took a deep breath, as if still recovering from what he'd witnessed.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,� he replied quietly.

“Thank you,� she replied. The sincerity in his voice and the fact that he'd been moved tremendously had made Ororo’s eyes glisten with tears and she'd just wanted to throw her arms around him and hold him tight.

She'd just realized that his pessimistic nature, and his apparent willingness to not see the good in all things, was probably because he'd never been shown the beauty and peace that exists in the world only the pain and the ugliness. Before she'd had the chance to react though he'd turned away and quietly disappeared back into the darkness of the trees and she was surprised with herself, that she actually felt saddened by his departure.

The manner in which he'd spoken to her, the way he'd looked at her, his posture, everything… she'd thought he would’ve knelt before her if only she had asked. He'd made her feel appreciated, beautiful, wanted… truly loved. She'd looked up at the stars, covering her smile with both hands and a silent tear of joy slid down her cheek.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She opened her eyes and looked over at Logan lying on the ground a few yards away. Ororo began to wonder if he was even conscious when she saw his hand reach out and move slowly across the grass.

He was lying on his back seemingly much more relaxed than he'd been before. She watched his chest rise with a long steady breath as he inhaled deeply, taking in the scents around him. Ororo smiled to herself, then she closed her eyes again, hoping he would allow her a few more moments of respite.

Logan opened his eyes and squinted at the sky. It was the most beautiful sight he could've hope for. He felt tired, but he was free. He stroked his hand across the grass then rolled over onto his stomach. His head began to spin wildly from the movement and he had to lay his cheek down on the thick carpet of sweet smelling grass waiting for it to subside.

He was still wearing the bloody jeans from the med lab and he quickly stripped them off with as little movement as possible leaving him with just his shorts. The soft grass was soothing against his aching body. His entire self - mind, body, and soul - felt stimulated by each blade of grass tickling his skin. He lay there focusing his senses on this caress from Mother Nature’s embrace and a few moments later he fell fast asleep, comforted by her touch.

Sitting in the soft grass with the warm sun caressing her skin, Ororo realized she'd dozed off. When she awoke Logan was gone. She casually looked around the clearing hoping he was nearby. Not seeing him she stood up. ‘Where did you go?’ she thought to him silently. Had he gone back toward the mansion? Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. No. She knew, given the condition he was in he’d want to keep as far away from other people as possible.

Ororo turned and scanned the edge of the forest. ‘Where did you go?’ she asked again silently. She considered taking to the skies to locate him, but decided against it. If Logan caught sight of her floating above the trees he may feel he was being hunted. She also knew that if he were to ‘go to ground’, specifically to evade her she would never find him. ‘Besides’, she told herself, ‘it’s a beautiful day for a walk in the woods.’


~ * ~ * ~ * ~


She'd been walking for hours and there'd been no sign of Wolverine. Ororo was starting to feel very alone and her feet were beginning to ache. She began to wonder just how deep into the forest she would have to go before she would find him. ‘Might find him,’ she realized. Logan was perfectly adapted for life in the wilderness and he moved swiftly, and in complete silence. If he didn’t want to be found and if she happened to be upwind of his position, he could evade her forever.

She also knew that it was entirely possible that while she slept he could've already made his way to the perimeter fence, a ten-foot high iron barrier that surrounded the entire estate. If he had scaled the fence, he could be halfway to Canada for all she knew. This was not a good thing. She'd promised the professor that she would at least contain him within the boundaries of school property. She prayed she would not have to return to the mansion to organize a search party.

Sometime later, lost in her own thoughts, she stumbled upon a clearing overlooking a river about twenty feet below. Ororo stopped short of entering the clearing. This was the spot. Logan came here to meditate, to think and to just get away from civilization whenever the mood struck him. He used to come here a lot, but not so much anymore… and apparently, not now.

Ororo couldn’t bring herself to step out from the tree line. It didn’t feel right to her to be here without him. She felt like an intruder on his unspoken claim, but unspoken or not, this was Logan’s territory and everyone respected his need to have it. Exasperated, she sat down and leaned against a tree. ‘How do I find him now?’ she asked herself. ‘Where could he be?’

After all that had happened in the past few weeks she was emotionally exhausted. On top of that she was now hot, tired and thirsty as well. There were pine needles in her hair and forest debris clinging to her clothes. She brushed them away and combed her fingers through her hair. As she did so, she turned her head and caught a glimpse of something nearby. As Ororo did a quick double take, a startled noise escaped her and with a catch of her breath she froze. Behind her just over her right shoulder, Logan was crouched in the thick brush about ten feet away. He stared at her with angry eyes.

‘How long has he been there?’ she wondered. Had he been following her the whole time? She was positively certain that he had been. The entire time that she was searching for him, he'd been stalking her. Now he just stared at her, unblinking. She decided to try to speak to him.

“Logan?� she said quietly. His steady gaze never wavered as he pulled his lips back, showing her his fangs. Ororo looked at him, stunned. It was one thing to see his rage in battle, quite another to see him like this… wild, untamed, stripped of everything that made the man civilized. She'd seen it before, but she still couldn’t get used to it. He was an awesome sight. Then she heard the rumble.

She’d heard it a hundred times before. That low rumbling that came from deep within his chest. A warning. Stage one. It wasn’t quite a growl. It didn’t become a growl, until it rose up from his chest into his throat. That would be a threat, stage two.

Stage three, would be that growl erupting in an animalistic roar. And there were two distinct versions Ororo knew, if one paid close enough attention. He could roar a challenge, letting his opponent know that he was prepared to fight with no intention of backing down. And he could roar a bloodthirsty, primordial war cry – and that would be the last thing his enemy would hear before their life would end painfully on the receiving end of Wolverine’s deadly metal implements. This was just a warning though. But what was he warning her about? What had she done? Confused, Ororo just stared at him but Logan didn’t move, he just stared back.

Then the rumbling sound again, only louder this time and she trembled involuntarily. Why was he warning her? She didn’t understand. She was just sitting here. She didn’t go into his territory. She was just sitting here looking at him. Staring at him, she suddenly realized. Ororo quickly averted her eyes and put her head down. ‘Stupid!’ she scolded herself. ‘Never! Never stare!’

She'd suddenly remembered a lesson spoken to her by her father when she was just

a little girl growing up on the plains of Africa. “Never stare into the eyes of a wild animal�, he'd told her, “it may perceive it as a challenge and attack.� Ororo realized she had come dangerously close to making a grave mistake. By averting her eyes and lowering her head, she quickly conceded any perceived challenge and proved herself submissive. He was the victor. He was strong and powerful and this was his territory.

There was no question in Storm’s mind that she'd taken the appropriate course of action. In this state, it was extremely difficult for Logan to distinguish friend from foe, and he obviously did not recognize her still. Ororo sat there for what seemed like an eternity with her head down, waiting. She figured the next move had to come from him. Finally, from the corner of her eye she saw him approaching.

Her desire to look up at him, to identify the tiniest bit of humanity in his eyes, was squelched by his close proximity. She closed her eyes so there would be no chance of making eye contact. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she knew he could hear it. He could smell her fear and sense her nervousness. She swallowed reflexively, hoping he would listen to what his senses told him… she was not a threat.

She could hear his heavy breathing now, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face... then her neck and ear. He took in her scent, sucking the air into his nostrils in short little bursts and forcing it back out, again and again. With her eyes closed, Storm was acutely aware of his scent, too. His naturally musky scent mixed with his perspiration and it was a heady combination. On top of that, the scent of ferns and pines clung to him giving him a natural and primitive aroma that aided in concealing him in the wild.

A long moment later, she heard him move away and Ororo slowly opened her eyes, but kept them directed at the ground. Moving her eyes from side to side she finally spotted him in her peripheral vision. He was crouching about twenty feet away almost centered in the clearing.

She shot a glance at him then quickly dropped her gaze again. He was looking right at her. She held her breath and waited, but he didn’t move. Logic told her that if he didn’t want her here he would have surely chased her away, but he hadn’t. Ororo took a chance and looked again being sure to keep her head down. Wolverine looked back. He didn’t look angry like he did a moment ago. Although his features were forever creased into a scowl, his eyes did not have the same angry glare. He seemed to be looking at her with a sort of… curious acceptance. Curiosity was good. Acceptance was crucial.

Ororo watched him for a moment or two. She noted that, although he appeared to be relaxed in her presence she knew he was totally focused on her and alert to her every move. His behavior reminded her of a lion, that great king of the beasts who surveyed his kingdom with an almost arrogant confidence. She decided to move a little closer come what may. Keeping low to the ground, she inched her way toward him. As she moved, Logan slowly turned his eyes toward her. When he did, Ororo sat down.

When Logan looked away Ororo began moving toward him again, and when he looked at her again she stopped. A mild breeze drifted into the clearing and Logan’s attention was drawn away as he sniffed at the air. His senses pulled in every scent, separating and sorting them then dismissing them.


To Storm’s surprise, he let out a deep sigh… then he yawned. He seemed to be bored. Logan turned his head to look at her again then his gaze dropped. She watched as his eyes moved across the ground between them, then he sighed and yawned again. The worry crease on Storm’s forehead disappeared as she realized that Wolverine wasn’t bored… he was waiting for her.

As he scanned the open ground that stood between them, Ororo realized he was calculating the distance between them and trying to figure out how long it was going to take her to actually clear the distance as she advanced toward him an inch at a time. His yawns were an overt signal to her that he did not feel threatened by her, and it afforded her a rare glimpse of Logan, at peace with himself and theworld around him. She stood up slowly and he turned his head to look at her. She kept her chin down as she watched him and waited.

Logan stood up, using his powerful legs to raise his bulky frame smoothly, effortlessly. He looked her up and down then he turned to walk away. Ororo wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him, so she stayed put.

He took a few steps then turned around again. He stood there looking at her then he grunted. Ororo thought it could’ve been an invitation so she took a few steps toward him. When she stopped, he grunted again then raised his hand in an attempt to point to something. Ororo thought he must’ve wanted to show her something so she moved forward again and he turned to lead the way.

He disappeared down the slope and by the time she got to the top to look down, Logan was crouching at the edge of the stream. He turned to look up at her then he dipped his hand in the water and offered it to her. Ororo smiled at him then made her way down to the stream. She stood a few feet away from him and he gestured for her to sit so she crouched down and dipped her hands in the water. As she slowly washed the dirt from them Logan watched her then he drank the water from his hand and motioned for her to do as he had done.

Ororo scooped her hand into the cool river and drank the refreshing liquid. She was so thirsty, and she drank until she was satisfied. Then she offered him a smile and he grunted his own satisfaction at what she had done. She took the time to finish cleaning up, and at one point Logan reached over and pulled a twig from her hair. She smiled at him and he offered her the twig. She took it from his fingers gently and he gazed into her smiling eyes as if he recognized her, but couldn't think of how he knew her. Ororo stilled as she held the small twig in her fingers.

She found herself transfixed by the way Logan studied her. As she watched him quietly she could see his mind working fervently behind those striking blue eyes as he tried to figure her out. Then his gaze dropped and he blinked a few times and the moment was gone. He shot her a quick glance then he began to move along the riverbank, hunched over or on hands and feet, stopping every now and then to show her something.

Ororo followed a short distance behind him and spoke to him now and again. She knew at this point he couldn’t understand her language, but she hoped that sooner or later he would come to recognize the words she said. At first, he would try to quiet her by placing his fingers over her mouth while she was talking, but she would gently pull his hand away telling him that it was okay. Then he’d move on and she would follow.

They spent the afternoon this way. Logan showed her the plants that were safe to eat and showed her the best places to fish. Ororo watched him as he sat near the shore - as still as a statue with the claws of his right hand exposed. Then, with lightning speed he’d strike into the water, and as he followed through with a single sweeping motion, he’d toss the fish onto shore without even looking up.

Ororo relaxed nearby. She found him to be extremely entertaining to watch and she had to admit that she felt a little bit better knowing they would at least be able to have supper tonight. He was teaching her the art of survival in his wilderness, and he not only accepted her presence within his territory but he was offering to share it with her. The first crucial step had been accomplished - he trusted her. And the more comfortable she became interacting with him, the more relaxed he became in turn.

As the afternoon drew on Logan began to gather brush and moss to make her a place to bed down for the night. He was certainly capable enough to take care of himself, but he proved his inherent intelligence by recognizing that she was unaccustomed to this kind of living. He knew instinctively that she would need assistance to rest comfortably through the summer night’s chill.

After he finished making up her bedding he invited her to lie down. Ororo hesitated briefly as she wasn’t sure if he intended to join her in the makeshift ‘nest’. But she couldn’t decline his hospitality; that would be rude. So she made her way over to the primitive bed and Logan watched her closely - with that serious scowl etched on his face - as she carefully climbed in.

Once she was in he proceeded to tuck her in, pulling the brush and warm moss up around her. Ororo was amazed that it was actually quite warm inside this so-called nest. And she accepted his "gift" graciously, although her own powers would've served her well if she were to become uncomfortable during the night. When she was all tucked in to his satisfaction, Logan moved a short distance away and curled up near the large rock to go to sleep.

He seemed to be perfectly comfortable with lying out in the open, even wearing almost nothing, but she imagined that was the whole purpose for the thick soft hair that covered him from head to toe. He wasn’t hirsute like Hank - who was covered with a thick animal-like pelt - but it was enough for him. Mother Nature had incredible ways of looking out for her children, and she had endowed Logan with the abilities he needed to survive in the wilderness.

But, their Mother also seemed to have known that Logan would be born into a society that didn’t readily accept that type of behavior. So she also gifted him with a high level of intelligence, so he could make his way through a more civilized society, if that’s what was to be thrust upon him. Ororo couldn’t help but think as she watched him, how much their Mother must really favor Logan. He was her favorite son, and right from his first breath she'd made sure to do her best to give him the tools that he would need to survive any challenge, any situation.

Ororo fell asleep watching him, and a few times throughout the night she woke to find him perched atop the rock, as if on guard duty… or perhaps just unable to stay asleep. He just sat there quietly, staring across the river to the forest on the other side and she wondered if he knew that he wasn’t completely free.

In the morning he woke her up with an offer of breakfast. He'd gone fishing, and now he dropped four large trout on the ground beside her bed. Rainbow trout. Ororo thought how beautiful they were; beautiful, yes except for the gaping holes now penetrating their sides. Logan crouched beside her bed, looking at her, and Ororo smiled sleepily at him. Logan looked down at the trout that he'd flopped into the dirt beside the bed, as if making it clear that they were now hers to deal with then he moved away. ‘Okay', Ororo thought to herself with a smile as she swept her hand across her sleep filled eyes, 'Day two, begins'. She emerged from the timbered bedding, scooping up the fish and headed for the river.



TBC in A Feral Repose, pt 1

Chapter Twelve:

A Feral Repose (Part One)



Gambit skipped breakfast this morning, not feeling very hungry after a sleepless night. Just before sunrise he'd gotten tired of tossing and turning in his bed so he decided to get up and get dressed. Lying there wasn’t doing him any good anyhow. He couldn’t stop thinking about Logan and what'd happened inside med-lab yesterday.He couldn’t stop worrying about his friend and the condition he'd been in.

He stood alone on the dew drenched grass in front of the mansion watching the sun rise which had completed its ascent, clearing the horizon a couple of hours ago. Now he stood there deep in thought looking at the forest’s edge a short distance away. It'd been quite some time since he and Logan had had the opportunity to spend any real down time together. Now he found himself feeling quite pessimistic about ever having that chance again.

Remy hated brooding, life was just too short. That’s what he always told Logan anyway, whenever he found him trying to drink himself into a stupor. He used to find that kind of humorous, considering Logan’s healing factor prevented him from feeling the effects of alcohol for very long. But that’s not to say he didn’t give it the old college try at times.

He was beginning to understand even more clearly now just how much his friend suffered. It wasn't the first time he'd heard the sounds and seen the destruction caused by Logan’s hidden rage – the fear and unbridled anger that Logan successfully kept under control, most of the time. ‘How can he keep such intense feelings under control? To keep them buried, and deny they exist?’ LeBeau couldn’t even begin to understand such strength… such torment. As an empath, Remy lived to "feel" others' emotions and to lend them his own in return. To share that kind of intimacy with another human being.

He craved being touched, both physically and emotionally. And he couldn't help but grieve deeply for those souls who would experience such horrors in their lifetime as to make them turn completely away from those very things that sustain his own life. He stared at the tree line and let out a sigh.

“You okay, Cajun?�

Remy turned to look over his shoulder. Scott was standing at the top of the steps of the mansion’s entrance. “Yeh, I’m okay,� he replied turning back around.

Scott descended the stairs slowly. "We missed you at breakfast,� he stated quietly.

“Not hungry,� Gambit replied with a shrug.

“Mmm,� Scott responded with a nod of understanding. He came up alongside his teammate and stopped. He stood silent, looking in the same direction that Gambit was. Scott put his hands in his pockets and waited. He knew Remy was troubled by the events that took place yesterday and Scott was hoping he'd want to talk about it. They stood there in silence for almost five minutes and Scott began to think that he'd been wrong. Maybe Remy didn't need to talk about it. Scott was just about to excuse himself when LeBeau finally spoke.

“Boss?�

“Yeah.�

“I want t' go out d'ere,� Gambit confided without looking at him.

“Yeah,� Scott replied softly, “I know you do.�

“Non, mec… I really want t' go out d'ere,� Remy re-iterated as if Scott didn’t understand.

“I know, Rem,� Scott assured him. There was a short moment of silence as the two men pondered that. “Be patient, Remy,� Scott offered quietly.

“Fuh how long?� LeBeau asked, and Scott had to smile at that. He quickly adopted a more serious and understanding _expression before answering the man's question.

“For as long as it takes,� Scott told him.

“How long does it usually take?�

Scott sighed. He wished he had a definite answer to give him. “It’s hard to say,� he finally admitted, then added, “You know, sometimes it’s easy for us to forget…� Scott’s words trailed off and Gambit waited a moment before turning to look at him.

“Fuhget what?� he asked. Scott looked down at his feet pursing his lips together, thinking of
what he wanted to say. Then he looked back up at the trees as he spoke.

“We forget… that the line Logan walks between his humanity and his… wildness… is a very thin one. And, we forget that… for him, every day is a tremendous test of balance.� Scott explained the best he could. As he spoke he turned to look at the tall, red haired Southerner. “When someone lives their life teetering on a tightrope… you have to expect them to lose
their balance once in a while.�

“Is dat what happen, Boss? He lose his balance?� Remy asked. Scott lowered his head again in thought. Then he frowned and looked up at Remy as the answer came to him.

“Not this time, Gambit,� Scott answered sullenly. “This time… he was pushed.�

“So what we do now?�

“We wait,� Scott instructed.

“Fuh what?�

“For him,� Scott said simply. LeBeau crinkled his nose in confusion and looked at his leader with a scowl hoping for an explanation. “Sooner or later,� Scott continued, “he’s going to start climbing back up, onto that tightrope… and we need to be there, to guide him, and offer support. We’ll be his safety net as he begins to test the limits of his balance again.�

“What good dat gonna do? He already hit da bottom,� Remy replied.

“No, not yet,� Scott assured him. “He just tumbled over the edge. But, he’s got a life line…�

“Stormy?" LeBeau guessed.

"She'd kill you if she heard you call her that, you know." Scott chuckled, making the other man quirk the corner of his mouth, then he became somber again. “Yeah. That’s why she’s out there. She’s sort of... his guiding light, to help him find his way back.� Scott sighed heavily, shaking his head. Then he shrugged and added, “She can explain it better than I can.�

“Non, Remy got it, Boss,� the tall Cajun replied. “She out d'ere, to make sure da Wolverine... don’t decide t' stay out d'ere.�

“Yeah, that’s right,� Scott answered quietly, putting his hand on Remy’s shoulder. LeBeau nodded, and a moment later he turned to Scott.

“I still want t' go out d'ere.�

Scott almost snickered at that. He gave the younger X-Man a pat on the back then rested his hand briefly on his shoulder, giving it a supportive squeeze. The two men offered each other half-hearted smiles, both of them feeling a little better now that they had this chance to talk. Their brief moment of silence was broken however as a voice came from behind.

“We all feel the same as you do, Gambit. Believe me.�

The two men turned around to face Charles. Jean was with him at the top of the stairs and she offered them a smile. “Bobby and Kurt already came to us with the same request,� she informed them.

“Indeed. And I must remind everyone to be patient until we hear from Ororo. We have been through this before,� Charles reminded them. His three students stood silently looking at him. They understood what he was saying, but that didn’t mean they had to like it. They all felt an
overwhelming desire to see for themselves that Wolverine had actually benefited from his release into the wilderness. Charles didn’t need telepathy to know what they were thinking as he scanned their faces. “I’ll tell you what…� he offered, “I’ll contact Ororo and get a report.
Perhaps that will put our minds at ease. Will that be sufficient for now?�

The three X-Men smiled at him and nodded.





Ororo picked the fish up out of the dirt and headed down to the river to wash up. Logan followed her, curious to see where she was taking the fish. She placed the catch on the rocky shore and leaned over to wash her hands. She began to get a sense of déjà vu when she noticed debris from the bedding in her hair and on her clothes. She scooped up water in her hands and tried to splash them away. The moisture only seemed to aid in adhering the debris to her clothes and skin.

Ororo sighed and looked at Logan who was crouching nearby watching her intently. He, too was showing signs of needing a bath… and a haircut. She'd noticed yesterday that, since his abrupt awakening in the infirmary his hair had grown about six inches. That was due to the acceleration of his body’s systems. Cell rejuvenation included hair cells. And now he wore a long, dark mane that hung about his shoulders and fanned out at the sides. He was covered with a layer of dust which mixed with his perspiration as the humidity in the air began to rise, giving him a muddy appearance.

‘Today’s going to be a scorcher,’ Ororo realized. Logan sat there looking at her, waiting. Ororo'd also noticed that he was breathing through his mouth, trying to release some of the heat that his body couldn’t sweat out. She knew he was more habituated to the colder climate of the Canadian mountains, and she could only shake her head at the image of him running half naked through waist high snow drifts, and loving every minute of it.

She watched him as he crouched there looking back at her. Then he’d glance at the fish lying nearby. Then to her again, waiting.

“I know. You want breakfast,� she said with a smile. She picked up the fish one at a time and swished them around in the water, to rinse them of the dirt that'd gotten stuck to them when Logan laid them on the ground beside her bed. Once they were rinsed, she laid them on a nearby rock so they wouldn’t get dirty again. Ororo looked at the now shiny fish and her eyebrow arched as she realized they were now cleaner than she was. With a sigh, she looked at Logan.

“We are going to have breakfast, my friend. I promise… but, first things first,� she told him quietly aloud. She knew he still didn’t understand her, but she made it a point to keep communicating with him verbally. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, big guy, but I really do feel grundgy. I’m going to take a little dip and wash off some of this dirt, okay?�

Logan just looked at her blankly, blinking in the sunlight and she smiled. Ororo stood up, slipped off her sandals, and walked back to the water’s edge. She looked back at Logan, who was moving toward the fish now lying unattended on the rock. “Help yourself, my friend,� she whispered mostly to herself.

She turned back toward the water and gracefully pulled her dress up over her head, and dropped it onto a patch of dry grass. Ororo waded into the water, and Logan caught sight of her. Suddenly attentive, he straightened his back wondering what she was doing. Then he made his way slowly to the shoreline.

When Ororo got to the middle of the stream she ducked down to submerge her shoulders. It was only about eight o’clock in the morning, but the humidity already hung heavy in the air and the cool water felt so refreshing. She turned back around to see Logan looking at her from the shore.

“You want to come in?� she asked him. He tilted his head in response to her questioning tone. Ororo smiled at him and moved her arms across the surface of the water. “Come in if you like. The water is wonderful,� she invited. Logan scanned the depths of the water with a serious look on his face, then he looked at her again. “I know you can swim,� she told him. His _expression didn’t change. “You’re not afraid of the water, are you?� she teased in a friendly manner.

Logan stared at her a moment, then he moved to pick her dress up off the ground. He sniffed at it, identified it as hers, then held it out to her. “In a minute,� she assured him as she swept her hair back with both hands. Then she submerged, disappearing beneath the water’s surface.

Logan saw her go under and moved quickly toward the water. A second later she surfaced, smoothing her hair back. Logan relaxed for half a second before she quickly disappeared again. He jumped into the shallow water up to his ankles, then he stopped when he saw her come back up again. He held his breath, staring at her with huge eyes.

“Ahhh,� Ororo vocalized her pleasure as the water cascaded from her face. She squeezed the excess water from her hair and opened her eyes. She stopped short when she saw Logan standing in the water wearing a grave look on his face. His feet were set wide apart, he was leaning slightly forward and his chest heaved with each breath. “What’s wrong?� she asked, more out of habit than expecting him to answer. She recognized this posture, often referring to it as ‘standing heavy’. Ororo watched as his eyes scanned the water, then he looked at her again. “What?� she asked curiously. Logan grunted at her, then he held up her dress indicating for her to come out of the water. “What’s the matter, Logan?� she asked again, becoming concerned.

Logan stepped backward onto dry land expressing himself with a low, guttural sound. Ororo got the message. He wanted her out of the water, and he wanted her out now. She stood in the middle of the stream trying to figure out what the problem was, then she realized she must have spooked him when she disappeared under the water.

“Did you think I was drowning?� she asked him seriously. Logan started behaving in an agitated manner and Ororo knew that she had seriously frightened him. She began to make her way out of the water toward him. “You did, didn’t you?� she said. It was more of a statement than a question. The closer she got to the shore the more he relaxed his posture. Her innocent attempt to bathe in the stream had caused him to become highly agitated, and that perplexed her. Logan was a powerful swimmer, and yet he had hesitated to come in after her.

‘Maybe he doesn’t remember that he knows how to swim,’ Ororo thought, knowing that was a possibility. She walked over to him so he would calm down. She easily recognized his distress by the way he swayed his body from side to side.

“That old adrenaline rush jackin’ you up, sweetie?� she asked him with a touch of regret in her voice. She stood in front of him now and she could hear him grinding his teeth, and his nostrils flared as he sucked air in through his nose. “It’s okay, Logan. I’m fine,� she tried to reassure him with a soft tone.Then she noticed that he was clutching her dress in his fists, holding it tight against his belly. Ororo reached out and pressed her palm gently against his cheek. Logan became still and she looked deep into his eyes.

“I know you are in there,� she whispered. Her sultry voice was soothing to him, and he'd always responded to it. “Be at ease, my friend.� Her touch gave him a new sense of calm, and she could literally feel him shed his anxiety under her gentle touch. The muscles of his jaw, which were being severely exercised as he ground his clenched teeth together, finally relaxed. He gazed at her with a look of uncertainty, as she slowly freed her clothes from his grasp and slipped her dress back on.

As she got herself straightened out, she realized that Logan hadn’t had a real meal in days, and was still waiting for his breakfast. The single trout they shared last night would not be nearly enough to sustain him for long. He was trying to be polite by waiting for her to eat too, but Ororo realized now that Logan needed to eat. He needed the protein in order for his system to function properly, and the lack of it was probably contributing to his odd behavior.

She led him over to the fish and persuaded him to extend one claw to cut their bellies open. Once they were gutted, she rinsed them once more and carried them up the hill, as Logan tossed their entrails across the rocky ground. No sooner did he turn to come back to her when the crows descended in droves to clean up the discarded organs.

When Logan came back up the hill, Ororo already had a small fire going. She suspended two of the fish from a stick and held them over the flame. Logan crouched down next to her looking curiously at the dangling trout. But the fire was a little too warm for his liking and he soon moved a short distance away, taking the other two fish with him. Ororo rested her chin in her hand and watched him as he went to work devouring his breakfast, Japanese style.

‘Right, of course… sushi,’ Ororo mused. First, he stripped off all the fins with his teeth. Then he gripped the fish with both hands and, starting at the head proceeded to eat every single bit of it. Nose, eyeballs, brain… nothing was left to waste. Even the bones were pulverized into harmless bits by his powerful jaws. By the time Logan finished, the only evidence he left behind of his meal were the tail, dorsal and pectoral fins lying in the dirt. Then he was off.

Ororo picked slowly at her own breakfast as she watched him explore the area nearby. Then she heard a voice inside her head, and welcomed it.

// “Ororo, can you hear me?� //

// “Yes, Charles. It is good to hear your voice.� // she answered silently.

// “How are you?� // he asked.

// “I am fine. Thank you.� // Storm replied.

// “And how is Logan?�//

// “Better.� // Ororo answered with a smile. She watched Logan as he followed a small creature - perhaps a mole or a mouse - in and out of the brush.

// “Is he talking yet?� // Charles asked.

// “No, not yet. That could take some time.� // She informed him.

// “Is he interacting with you?� //

// “Yes, very much so.� //

// “That’s good.� // Charles replied, sounding pleased.// “Is there anything you need?� //

// “A toothbrush, a hot shower, a soft bed… other than that?� // she answered, and she could hear Charles laugh softly inside her head. // “Honestly, Charles, everything I’ve needed, so far Logan has done well to provide.� //

// “Indeed?� // he responded, sounding like the ever-attentive teacher.

// “Oh yes, bed and breakfast.� //

// “Excellent.� // Charles replied, again sounding very pleased.

Ororo continued to watch Logan scampering around the area. She knew that Wolverine would deny, with a resounding boom that he ever scampered, but she couldn’t think of another word for it at the moment. He was having fun entertaining himself as he chased the small creature, playing with it as he tested his reflexes and hunting skills.

At one point, it scurried through his legs and he spun around, hopped a few feet to his right and cut off its escape. Logan shot his hand out with lightning speed and scooped it up in his hand. He studied it up close for a moment then he let it go, and Ororo shook her head in amusement as he disappeared, chasing it into the brush again.

// “Ororo?� // Charles’ voice brought her back from her musings.

// “Yes?� //

// “Do you think he would come in with you?� //he ventured hesitantly. His question made her pause, and she turned her attention away from Logan.

// “You mean… today?� // she asked a little puzzled.

// “Yes.� //

// “I don’t know.� // She slowly answered. // “He would probably follow me in… why, Charles? What’s wrong?� //

// “Oh, nothing is wrong.� // He assured her, // “Just some concerned friends.� //

// “I see. Well… you can assure everyone that he is doing just fine. He is at peace, and his behavior is improving. In the meantime, I will see how close I can get him to the mansion… but, I will not force him. Alright?� //

// “Fair enough. I’ll pass on your message. We’ll be waiting.� // He replied. Then it was silent again, and Ororo let out a sigh.


* * *

After her conversation with Charles ended, and she finished her breakfast, Ororo slowly went about extinguishing the fire as she gave his request serious thought. Watching Logan meander around, disappearing into the thicket again and again only to reappear a short time later made her wonder if the best idea this time was to let him go along at his own pace.

Ororo was well aware that it hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours yet, but she began to believe that if she didn’t start pushing him along now he may become too comfortable out here. If he wasn’t already. During previous times such as this Logan had always maintained an aggressive temperament, even keeping her at a distance sometimes for a week or more. This time it was different. He was different. He was more passive this time and, for some reason that was beginning to bother her.

Ororo sat on the ground next to the smoking embers quietly watching him, and it occurred to her that right now he seemed to be completely void of pain. ‘He is at peace,’ she thought to herself. ‘He is happy and comfortable right where he is… in the wild.’

She figured Logan was showing no aggression because he saw no reason at all to be aggressive. Had he been pushed so far over the edge that he held no memories of ever having been in danger? He seemed to be totally unaware of the fact that his usual behavior and thought patterns had always been defensive or aggressive in nature. He was behaving as an innocent, completely unaware that an entirely different world exists outside his forest paradise. The fact that he'd so easily welcomed her into his little world was evidence, as far as she was concerned that he had no intention at this point of returning to civilized society.

Perhaps, in his present mindset he wasn't even aware that a civilized society even exists. Ororo suddenly straightened with the realization that she wasn't here now as his lifeline back to humanity, as was her intention. But she had unwittingly become the first member of his pack. He'd invited her to share his way of life in the wild and she had unknowingly accepted. He'd proven himself worthy of her by providing shelter and food, and she'd found his offerings to be more than satisfactory.

But by staying here, she was only lending credence to his wild desire to remain wild. His behavior was more docile than she'd ever known him to be and she knew that that kind of docile behavior in a wild animal existed only as evidence that the animal in question had never been exposed to the cruelty that human beings are capable of. Logan appeared innocent and docile because he obviously could not remember ever having been brutalized by the outside world. This was a good thing, wasn't it? No memory of pain, no memory of loneliness, no memory of excruciating torture and best of all... no memory of those faceless people or that damned facility that'd taken everything away from him.

No. This wasn't good! Ororo felt a sudden spike of fear rise up inside her, for this lack of memory would make him more susceptible to further abuse. Because if he doesn't remember it, then he won't be expecting it. And if he won't be expecting it, he can't protect himself.

Ororo knew she needed to activate his memory quickly. She'd told Charles she wouldn't rush him, and as much as she'd like to force-feed him his humanity right now she couldn't do that to him. But she wasn't going to just sit around enjoying the show either. If she went slowly and took her time... but she'd need the X-Men's help too.

'Later though... not right now', she thought to herself. 'I've got him with ME now... alone... just the two of us. We will take care of each other. A couple of days... then I'll contact Charles... I just want a couple of days... for myself.'



TBC in "A Feral Repose, Part Two"

Chapter Thirteen:

A Feral Repose (part 2)

**************************************************


Ororo was beginning to feel impatient. She'd decided to contact Charles a few hours ago and vent her worries about Logan's lack of memory and he agreed with her that Logan could be in more danger without his memories and he reassured her that the X-Men would assist in any way possible. All she had to do was ask for it when she was ready.

But it seemed the longer she sat here in silence the more her own thoughts screamed at her to move it along, and now that her thoughts had taken a sudden turn in direction she was no longer content to just sit here and wait. She wanted to get going, back to the mansion and the support of her family and friends. She made her decision and stood up; dropping the stick she'd been using to stir the cold ashes of her long-since-dead campfire.

“Okay, big guy, I think it is time for us to go for a walk,� she said aloud to Logan as if he was listening, but he didn’t even turn around at the sound of her voice.

Logan was perched on top of his rock in the center of the clearing, where he'd been for the last twenty minutes. He was perfectly content to just crouch
there, listening to the wind in the trees and analyzing the scents that it carried.

The mild breeze was as hot as the ambient temperature and offered no relief from the intense humidity. She'd been watching him for some time, amazed at the amount of attention he gave to the natural things around them. Every now and then something would catch his attention on the other side of the river, or in the brush nearby and she’d watch as he tracked the movement with his eyes. There appeared to be more than enough activity around them to keep him occupied, but she was starting to get bored.

Even when Logan showed her where to look - unless it was a large animal or even a small one right out in the open - she just couldn’t see the things he could see. For all she knew, the movement on the other side of the river could’ve been a rabbit hiding under a bush a quarter mile away. And Logan didn’t understand her inability to pick up on the activities that surrounded them. He didn’t understand that his senses were extra-ordinary, while hers were the average for their species. Ororo had no trouble whatsoever hearing the obvious sounds, such as the fish jumping out of the water to catch insects a hundred feet down river, but she was well aware that, under these peaceful conditions and with the winds just right, Logan could hear something as slight as a whisper from half a mile away… and yet, he hadn’t shown any sign of having heard her when she spoke out loud to him.

Ororo didn’t realize that he'd gotten so used to hearing her voice, because she spoke to him as often as she could, that it had produced the opposite effect that she'd hoped for. He didn’t understand her words and found her vocalizations distracting, so he decided not to pay too much attention to it. Instead of calling out to him again, she walked over to where he was sitting.

“Hey,� Ororo said, tapping him on the arm with one finger and he turned his face to her. “Let’s go for a walk,� she suggested. Logan looked at her for a second then tilted his head to the side. Ororo brought her hand up in front of him and pointing her index and middle fingers toward the ground she moved them alternately back and forth. “Walk?� she asked as Logan watched the movement of her fingers, then shifting only his eyes he looked at her again. Ororo pointed at him and then to herself, then she pointed toward the woods and showed him the sign for ‘walking’ again. “You… and me, go… for a walk?� she asked him again as she motioned with her hands and to Storm’s surprise she saw a spark of understanding in his eyes just before he jumped off the rock and headed for the path.

Ororo’s heart skipped a beat when she realized he'd understood. She'd finally succeeded in communicating with him. Until now all her attempts to communicate with Logan had been severely lacking. Looking back now, Ororo realized that although she'd had no trouble at all understanding him and the lessons he'd taught her, Logan seemed to be having the hardest time understanding her at all. Even though his vocal abilities were nothing more than grunts and growls at this point, she always knew exactly what he wanted by the gestures that he used.

Up until now, she had used only words to communicate, with the hope that Logan would begin to recognize her language and try to vocalize his wishes back to her. It wasn’t happening and Ororo suddenly felt extremely foolish. ‘And you call yourself a teacher,’ she chastised herself silently, ‘…start thinking like one.’

Now Storm wasn’t fluent in sign language but she figured she didn’t have to be. Although Logan was quite intelligent, all he'd been using to communicate with her were simple and obvious gestures. His ability to get his point across came from a primitive and uncomplicated series of movements. Logan obviously knew, even in his present state, that human beings relied on body language to communicate a lot more than they were even consciously aware of. He had crossed the language barrier first and without great effort.

‘Smart boy,’ Ororo smiled; amused with herself for having thought Logan was the one with the communication problem. ‘He must think you’re a moron, Ororo,’ she quipped silently.

Well, now she decided that she was going to try to teach him words and language using the same simple techniques he'd used with her - gestures and repetition. After all, that's how people of all cultures teach their children to speak and, at this stage, Logan was really no different. Human beings are not born knowing the language of their parents. Although they possess vocal cords and the ability to speak, they must be taught how to make the sounds that when put together make up their language. Normally, Logan could speak at least half a dozen languages fluently; Basic English should be a snap.

“Time to remember,� she said, making her final decision. Then she turned and followed him down the wooded path.





Victor Creed sat in a booth in a small café in New York City, across the street from the office building that now housed the operational headquarters of Canada’s secret military force. He ordered a large breakfast that consisted of steak and eggs, potatoes, corned beef on toasted rye, and half a pound of bacon. When the young waitress wearing a nametag that identified her as Joyce came over to fill his cup with coffee he told her to just leave the pot. His animal-like features, jagged teeth, and anti-social behavior guaranteed that he always got exactly what he asked for.

He poured the last of the coffee into his cup and finished off the last morsels left on his plate when a young man wearing military fatigues stepped into the café. The soldier glanced around nervously at the few patrons in the restaurant, and was about to leave when he noticed Creed watching him from the booth. Sabretooth glared at him over the rim of the coffee mug as he sipped the hot beverage, feeling annoyed by the intrusion.

Corporal Timms swallowed hard then mustered up enough courage to walk over to the booth. As he approached, Victor lowered the cup to the table and didn’t even bother to look up when the man stopped next to his booth.

“What?� Creed asked curtly.

“Uhm, Sir? Sergeant!" Timms corrected himself quickly.

Creed normally would have found the man’s fear amusing, but he wasn’t in the mood. He made a quick decision, that if this little peon happens to wet himself right here he’ll just have to kill him where he stands. Victor was sure he could hear the man’s knees knocking together as he tried to form the words he came here to say. Sabretooth shot an irritated glance at the young soldier.

“Spit it out, boy. I ain’t got all day,� he growled.

“Uhm, the colonel… Wraith? Uh, Colonel Wraith sent me to, uhm… bring you, Sir. Uhm, he wants you… wants to see you…� Sabretooth rolled his eyes and looked at Timms. He wasn’t going to let the man off the hook that easily. He knew perfectly well what Corporal Timms was trying to say, but he found it entertaining to watch the man flounder in his presence. Timms finally stopped stammering long enough to take a deep breath and collect his thoughts. “He’d like to see you in his office, Sir… Sergeant!�

Having said it, Timms dropped his eyes to the empty plates on the table. He prayed that the giant mutant’s hunger was now satisfied and hopefully was not thinking about taking a pound of his flesh for dessert. Creed let out a sigh of irritation and slid out of the booth. His irritation was with Wraith though, not this foot soldier. Corporal Timms took a hesitant step backward as Sabretooth stood up, straightening to his full height.

Victor casually reached into his pocket and tossed a wad of crumpled up bills on the table. He turned and looked down at Timms, whose eyes were as big as the plate on the table. Then he left the café without a word and crossed the street, leaving Timms standing beside the now vacant booth. Joyce came around the counter with a fresh pot of coffee in hand. She walked over to Timms, who seemed stunned that he actually survived his encounter with the famed mutant.

“You look like you could use a drink,� she told him and he turned to look at her. He could tell she understood exactly how he felt for she had survived unscathed as well. She lifted the pot toward him as an offering, “How about a cup of coffee instead?�

“Sure,� he replied quietly. He began to lower himself toward the booth as if to sit down, but quickly changed his mind. This particular table gave him the heebie-jeebies and he rebounded from the seat as if it were suddenly on fire and pointed toward the counter. “Uhm, I’ll… sit over there,� he informed her and Joyce nodded with a bemused grin.

* * *

Sabretooth stepped off the elevator on the thirty-second floor and marched down the corridor to the office at the end of the hall. His long stride and quick pace caused the knee-length duster he wore to billow out behind him and his long blond tresses bounced with the impact of each heavy footfall. He barely missed a step as he pushed through the door to Wraith’s office.

His momentum brought him to the center of the room before he realized the office was empty. Victor stopped and looked around; he could smell Wraith’s scent, strong and close, so he had to be here somewhere. Then he heard the sound of running water coming from behind a closed door to his left and a second later the door opened and Wraith stepped out, drying his hands on a paper towel.

“Ahh, Victor…� he greeted casually and Creed narrowed his eyes at him. Wraith walked to his desk, ignoring the look he was given and dropping the crumpled towel in the wastebasket as he passed it by. Sitting down in his expensive leather chair he flipped open the cigar box on his desk. “I trust you already had breakfast.�

“Just finished,� Creed told him with a sneer, then added sarcastically, “Thanks for the concern.�

Wraith smirked as he lifted the box toward Sabretooth. “Cigar?� he offered and Creed stared at him without replying. Wraith raised his eyebrows then shrugged. He picked out a cigar for himself and placed the box back on the desk and closed the lid. He sat back in his chair and rolled the sweet smelling stogey under his nose, savoring the fine scent of the expensive Cuban.

“Whatdya’ want, Kestrel?� Sabretooth asked impatiently. Wraith glanced up at him, then bit off one end of the cigar and spit it into the trash.

“It’s been seven weeks,� he informed Creed as he fished in his pocket for a lighter. Finding it, he looked back at Victor. “I need information on Wolverine’s condition. Department H has been all over me the past forty-eight hours. They want to know where we stand but I can’t tell them, can I? Why -- because I don’t know where we stand. But, you’re going to find out where we stand… today,� Wraith told him, specifically repeating his words with the hopes that Victor would understand the importance.

Sabretooth stood silent as he was given his assignment. He had an overwhelming desire to rip out Wraith’s throat as the colonel glared at him with his expression and tone becoming seriously threatening. Sabretooth didn’t like to be threatened, even when the threat was only insinuated.

“Your mission… is to watch and listen. Do you understand?� Wraith hissed at him.

Creed dropped his gaze to the floor and gritted his teeth. He didn’t like Wraith’s threatening tone at all, but in this instance he thought it best to keep his mouth shut. He figured Department H already knew he'd fouled their plans and he was sure his punishment awaited him at the end of this mission; he didn’t feel it was necessary to stack the deck against himself.

“You take up a position for surveillance," Wraith continued. "You sit…you watch…and you keep quiet. You do not engage him... and you do not confront them. You do not take action of any kind. Do you understand?�

Sabretooth raised his head, his teeth clenched, and he looked out the window at the horizon. He didn’t like being spoken to as if he was a child, but he knew if he screwed this up in any way he would be removed from the mission. And he wanted to be a part of this more than he ever wanted anything.

“Do you understand your assignment, Victor?!� Wraith asked, demanding he answer.

“I understand,� Sabretooth growled, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his anger.

“I hope you do,� Wraith told him in a menacing tone, “or you may find yourself shackled right beside our old friend for the trip back to Canada... and I don’t think the good doctors will show you the same courtesies they’re going to bestow upon their ‘golden boy’.�

Sabretooth shifted his eyes from the window to Wraith. Their eyes locked and the two men glared at one another. Wraith’s eyes however held a glint of sarcastic delight as he reminded Creed of his placement, which was always one step behind Wolverine in the eyes and hearts of the military bigwigs. After a moment of hate filled silence Wraith spun his chair around, rudely turning his back on Creed in silent dismissal. Victor clenched his fists and a low growl escaped his lips as he sneered at the colonel’s back then he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The impact made the glasses on the wet bar rattle and an evil grin spread across Wraith’s face as he lit his cigar.




After Charles had left the impromptu meeting, the X-Men remained in the library for quite some time discussing amongst themselves the situation they were now being presented with. The discussion seemed to last for hours, each member adding their own thoughts and airing their own concerns.

“I’m still not sure I understand exactly what we’re supposed to do,� Bobby admitted.

“None of us are really sure, Bob,� Scott told him.

“Just be yourselves,� Jean advised them.

“What does that mean?� Kurt asked her.

“Just what I said,� Jean said shrugging her shoulders. “Just be here for him. Let Logan take the lead if you want when they return. I’m sure Ororo can advise us as we go along, but if you think of something that may help jog his memory, present it. We don’t have to go into any of this with some pre-rehearsed dialogue.�

“That probably wouldn’t be the best course of action anyway,� Hank added. “As unpredictable as Wolverine can be, it would be a waste of time to think he would follow any of our predisposed plans or even react to them the way we would hope.�

“Exactly,� Jean nodded. “He’d see right through it anyway. Just present yourselves honestly. If you feel a little scared or intimidated, don’t try to hide it. If you try to hide your feelings from him, he won’t trust you and he’ll see you as a potential threat. If you’re unsure, let him know that. Let him react to that.�

“And how do we go about jogging his memory?� Kurt wanted to know and everyone looked at Jean with expectation. She looked back at them, suddenly feeling like she was under a microscope but she didn’t have a precise answer to his question. Jean looked at her teammates' faces and was about to offer some lame suggestion, but as she opened her mouth to speak Bobby cut her off.

“I heard once, that our memories can be triggered by certain odors. Different scents that have a precise meaning for us… with Logan’s sense of smell…�

“It is true that our sense of smell can play a major role in memory recovery,� Hank concurred with a nod. “But the other senses can also be a huge factor: sounds, taste, touch...�

“Count me out of that last one,� Rogue quipped and Jean and Hank smiled at her, as did Scott. She turned to Remy hoping she'd gotten him to smile too, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stood next to her quietly, leaning against the table she was sitting on. His arms were folded across his chest and he wore a serious expression. He looked sullen and brooding as he stared unfocused at the floor.

“Gambit?� Rogue said to get his attention. Remy glanced at her then moved his eyes quickly to indicate Warren’s presence silently. Known by the codename Angel, Warren Worthington III was one of the original five members of the X-Men. He and Logan had never gotten along simply because Warren did not trust the feral.

He'd been on an extended vacation until his return today and his presence at this particular time was making Gambit uneasy. Remy ignored Rogue's attempt at humor and was about to address Hank instead, when Warren spoke up. “How do we control what memories we bring back?� he asked.

Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise to the question and looked at Angel over the rim of his glasses. Everyone else looked at him stunned. “We don’t,� Hank answered calmly. “Why would we?�

“Well…� Warren responded slowly, trying to choose his words wisely, “he doesn't like most of the memories he had to begin with. Maybe we could just bring back the good ones. You know... the civilized ones. And…�

“We don’t have the right to choose that for him, Warren!� Jean told him, trying not to let her anger show.

“Yeah," Iceman piped out. "I mean… how would we know which ones he would want and which ones he wouldn’t?� Bobby asked, missing the point entirely.

“We don’t!� Jean answered. “Even if we had the knowledge of how to do it, it’s not our place to decide which ones he should keep.�

“Mein Gott!� Kurt shot out. “Do you hear what you are saying? Do you hear yourselves?! I can’t believe that question was even asked!� Then he stood up and turned on Angel. “You stand in this room and dare ask how we go about manipulating Logan’s memories?!� When Warren didn’t reply, Kurt turned away from him to address the rest of the group. “I think we are all well aware of the fact, that it is precisely that kind of tampering that caused the images that torment Logan to begin with!�

“I was only suggesting…�

“I know vat you are suggesting!� Kurt said then he squinted his yellow eyes at Warren. “Vat do you wish him not to remember? Vat are you hiding?�

“Nothing!� Warren answered.

“You have something you want to share with us, Warren?� Scott asked, giving Angel a chance to explain his motivation behind his original question. This was his chance to offer some real insight regarding whatever the problem was that he had with Wolverine. Everyone stared at him and Hank hoped he would take advantage of Scott’s open attempt to understand. When he did respond to Scott’s question, it wasn’t the one Hank had hoped for.

Warren looked Scott square in the eye and then shook his head slowly. They seemed to be at a stand still; Warren obviously had a bone to pick with Wolverine and, because of Angel's negative attitude toward his teammate, Logan was always on alert around Angel.

Cyclops had made numerous attempts to get Warren to talk about it, but he was determined, it seemed, that no one would know what was between him and Logan, not even Logan. Finally, Peter stood up. He'd been sitting quietly, listening to everything as it transpired. He was never one to jump to conclusions, nor did he judge a person or that person’s actions, without getting as much information as he possibly could. He stood still in the ensuing silence of the apparent stand-off, looking weary and concerned.

“Please, stop,� he spoke quietly, his tone was soft and mournful. “This does not help our situation.�

“Peter, are you alright?� Jean asked.

“Nyet," he answered. "No, I am not alright. This arguing is upsetting.� He looked around the room at each of his teammates. “Has it been so long? Do we not fight our enemies enough that we need to fight amongst ourselves?� No one answered him. They knew it was a rhetorical question. It was Peter’s turn to vent his feelings and they let him. “Do you really expect Wolverine to want to come back? To this?� he asked them, almost accusing them of deliberately causing a situation that would be impossible for Wolverine to enter into voluntarily. “We need solidarity here. We need to be united. If we are splintered and harbor anger toward one another, he will know.�

Warren listened to Peter as he walked over to a window. He listened to the giant Russian’s words as he stared out toward the trees that bordered the grounds. Kurt sat down to listen, knowing Peter was right and Hank removed his glasses, dropping them carefully on the desk in front of him. He rubbed the tension from his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

Jean and Rogue watched Hank then looked at each other. Bobby sat down next to Kurt and stared at the floor.

Scott looked around the room and saw Remy looking back at him with a concerned look on his face. Cyclops drew in a deep breath and let it out; he hadn’t noticed just how much everything was spiraling out of his control.

“Being a loner comes naturally to Wolverine,� Peter continued. “Being out there… it is natural for him. It is where he has always preferred to be. His decision, through all these years, to remain among us... here, in this place, was not an easy decision for him. He didn’t make that decision so many years ago. He makes that decision every single day... every morning that he wakes up. It is a very conscious decision. And it doesn’t come from a need or a desire to be part of our society. His decision to remain here with us, and to fight alongside us, springs from a deeper desire… a desire, a desperate need... for hope. It is a tiny seed of hope… a seed we planted," Peter reminded them all. “Hope for peace, for a better life….for the chance at a better life. Not just for him, but for all mutantkind.

“We planted that seed of hope where none existed before… in barren soil. And it took hold, it prospered and flourished. It took root deep in his soul… and has gained tremendous strength. It has faced many obstacles and we have often seen it bend under stress… and yet, it has never been broken. Its branches reach for the sky, trying to feed off the things that will keep it alive. It has weathered many storms… and finds continued strength in the light of each new day. And yet, with all that we have accomplished, all that he has achieved can be torn asunder by one thing, only one thing.� Peter finally fell silent and Kurt looked up at this farmboy- turned- philosopher.

“What’s the one thing?� he asked quietly and Peter looked down at him somberly.

“Us.�

Still looking out the window Warren frowned. He turned around to address Peter. “What do you mean?� he asked and Peter turned toward him with his answer.

“Wolverine… he does not need us to survive,� Peter explained, “but the X-Men? We gave him a life, a life with great purpose.�

“Wolverine… he always had purpose,� Remy countered softly. “De gov’ment see ta dat.�

“That was exploitation, Gambit, not a life... and certainly not a choice,� Scott corrected. “That wasn’t a life of purpose; it was a life of captivity. That kind of life has no purpose for the one who lives it.�

“You are most certainly correct, Scott,� Hank acknowledged from where he sat behind the desk. “But so is Peter and it is Peter who poses the real concern here.�

“What’s that?� Bobby asked.

“We brought Wolverine into our fold and offered him a chance for a better life than the one he had at the time,� Hank began to explain. “Right now, according to what the professor just told us it would appear that Logan’s natural animal instincts have embraced the freedom of the wilderness. We must ask ourselves… ‘Can we now offer him something better than what he has found out there?’ “ Hank asked, nodding toward the window.

“Of course we can,� Bobby replied getting up to walk toward the desk and Dr. McCoy turned toward him.

“Are you so sure?�

“What. You really think he’d choose to sleep out there in the dirt if we offer him a warm bed?� Bobby challenged McCoy.

“Aaah,� Hank exclaimed pointing a finger in the air, “but what price that bed?�

“Huh?�

Hank rose from his chair and came around to the front of the desk. Placing his hand on the young X-Man’s shoulder he looked him in the eye. “Is a warm bed worth the price of freedom, Robert?�

“… but freedom at what cost?� Iceman asked in return. Hank raised his eyebrows at the question and its seemingly obvious answer.

“Freedom is priceless, Bobby,� Hank told him.

“Even if it means being alone?� the boy asked.

“To a loner,� Hank reminded them all, “it would be paradise.�

The X-Men stood silently, thinking about that. Dr. McCoy let go of Bobby's shoulder and leaned against the desk. He folded his arms across his chest and looked around the room at all the eyes looking back at him. He could see that they now understood the true dilemma, and why Ororo was so concerned about getting Logan back to the mansion as soon as possible.

“So,� Scott ventured, ‘how do we lure him out of paradise?�

Hank let out a sigh. Then with a shrug, he shook his head.

“I have no idea.�


TBC in "A Feral Repose, pt 3

Chapter 14:

A Feral Repose (part 3)

************************************************



Ororo walked along the wooded path lost in her own thoughts as she tried to think of a way to persuade Logan into coming back to the mansion with her. She really didn’t think it was going to be all that easy. As it was, she couldn’t even get him to walk with her on the path.

Logan seemed to prefer moving along through the trees or climbing over rocks and through the brush instead of strolling along beside her. His physical appearance, at least from a distance was beginning to look more and more feral. His long, bushy mane was unkempt and the pointed tufts that grew out just above his ears - and were ever present no matter what length he kept it - now stood straight up and curled inward about six inches above his head. His muttonchop-style sideburns had also grown out to a fuller extent and were now curled up under his jaw although his chin and the little ‘mustache area’ above his lip showed only signs of morning stubble.

From a distance his outward appearance would make you stop and freeze in your tracks, praying that the ‘wild thing’ wouldn't notice your presence. When he was up close though, and you could look into his eyes, you could see an intelligence burning within them that couldn't be dismissed. He also had a natural playfulness, which before Ororo would've denied existed, and his natural curiosity about everything made him entertaining to watch.

As they walked along, Ororo had been forced to stop a few times to give her feet a rest. They were aching now, from sliding around in the sandals as she hiked the uneven ground, and at one point she sat down on a rock to remove the assaulting footwear and rub away the pain. ‘The next time I will wear proper footwear for hiking,’ she'd thought to herself.

Each time she'd stopped to rest, Logan would bounce out of the woods or drop out of a tree right next to her. He'd look at her with curious anticipation, as if wondering what was holding her up. Ororo could only shake her head and smile at his seemingly limitless energy. This time Logan crouched in front of her and watched as she massaged her aching feet, first one then the other. With a questioning look on his face he reached out and grasped her foot lightly, then squeezed his hand around it, imitating her. Ororo smiled at him and nodded.

“My feet hurt,� she told him, acknowledging his unasked question. He looked up at her and furrowed his brow. “Hurt?� Ororo repeated, and Logan's eyes focused on the movement of her mouth. She wondered if he even had a clue as to what aching feet felt like. “They hurt. Understand?�

‘No, probably not,’ she thought with a sigh, but to Ororo's surprise Logan opened his mouth as if he was going to speak. The only sound that came out though was a deep, guttural, incoherent noise. He hadn’t said the word, but it appeared to Storm that he had tried. Ororo’s eyes lit up and she slid forward on the rock so she could lean toward him attentively.

“Hurt, Logan. Say it,� Ororo prodded him. If he'd tried to say it once, maybe he’d try again. She could tell he was thinking about it. His eyes moved about as if searching for something, but they were focused inward as if he was trying to remember something. “Logan?� Ororo said getting his attention, and he raised his eyes to her and focused. “Hurt?� she repeated. It was an easy word, although perhaps not the best one to start off her lesson. He didn’t say it... he didn’t even try. “Hurt, Logan,� she prodded once more.

Instead of saying the word, Logan sat down on the ground in front of her and clutched his head lightly with both hands. Then lowered his hands to his abdomen, curling his fingers he pressed the "claw" hands into his belly. The _expression of pain and sadness on his face, as if he was feeling the pain now, made her want to cry. Ororo’s heart sank, fully aware that the one word Logan seemed to have a complete understanding of related to pain.

“Yes,� she confirmed quietly, her voice a half-whispered thought. “They hurt you.� Logan looked at her sadly and let out a deep sigh. “Does it still hurt?� she asked, not having the presence of mind to have asked before. His behavior never indicated to her that he may be in any pain, and she realized that that was something Logan probably wouldn’t have made known to them anyway.

He didn’t answer of course and Ororo slid off the rock to sit beside him on the ground. They looked at each other for a moment, then she placed her hand gently on top of his letting him know that she understood the pain he now remembered.

“Someone… hurt Logan,� she told him as he looked back at her. His sad and confused _expression told her clearly that he didn’t understand why someone would want to hurt him. Ororo took a deep breath and let it out. She wasn't able to comprehend their desire to hurt him either.

They looked at each other silently and Logan raised his hand slowly, absently rubbing at his chest as if satisfying an itch. The dust that'd collected there in the past twenty-four hours or so, and was held captive by his thick hair, was dislodged and formed a wispy cloud that hung in the air between them before it fell away. Of course the action once again drew Ororo's attention back to the fact that he was in desperate need of a bath. With a mother’s instincts Ororo took Logan's hands in hers and studied them front and back, as if she might scold him for having not washed them properly. Logan looked down at his hands as Ororo turned them over this way and that and with a knitted brow he raised his eyes to her as if asking her what she was doing.

When Ororo noticed Logan looking at her with that questioning, yet comical _expression on his face, she let out a soft laugh and let go of his hands. She smiled at him and shook her head at herself, realizing how silly that was. But even so, she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to brush some of the thick dust off his arms, then his shoulders and chest. “You are truly filthy, my friend,� she informed him, and then wondered if all the dust and dirt even bothered him.

She'd moved without thinking, and so quickly in fact, that she was nearly finished with her task before it dawned on her that Logan had gasped. He was breathing heavily as Ororo withdrew her hands and sat back, and now it was her turn to look at him curiously. Had her movements frightened him?

"Logan? What's wrong?"

Logan looked at her without moving, his mouth hanging open slightly and his eyes wide with surprise. Ororo reached out to him again, slowly this time, and Wolverine's eyes followed her hand as it came closer. He knew this time that she was approaching, so he shouldn’t be startled by her touch. In an attempt to show him that he had nothing to fear from her, Ororo pressed her hand gently against his sternum. His chest heaved and expanded in response to her touch. Logan took another deep breath and Ororo could feel his heart pounding beneath her hand - not just beating, but pounding - and his breathing became heavier to compensate for his bounding heart’s demand for oxygen. Ororo found this curious, he didn’t appear to be frightened and he made no attempt to move away. He just stared at her, with those darkened blue eyes peering out from beneath the black locks that now fell across his brow.

She watched him very carefully as she slowly curled her fingers into the thick black matte of hair on Logan's chest. As her fingernails scraped lightly against his skin Logan's respirations quickened and his eyes slowly closed. Ororo realized at once, that she hadn’t frightened him with her unexpected touch... she'd aroused him. At the very least she'd aroused his interest in the pleasant sensation. His affected response seemed to have surprised him as much as it did her.

‘Of course!’ Ororo considered. Logan’s heightened sensitivity to touch not only caused him to feel pain more acutely than others, but a seemingly innocent gesture, like the gentle brush of her hand, could cause an intense pleasure response. That very question had run through her mind a thousand times before; womanly curiosity, she supposed now. But she'd always refused to believe and absolutely refused to admit that her interest in him... well, was anything but personal. The very possibility of such an intense reaction from him had always frightened her; not knowing how she would react to - what could possibly become for him, she imagined - an uncontrollable and intensely powerful state of arousal. And having just seen his reaction to those very sensations, she was sure she'd been right all along, for it appeared to have nearly overwhelmed him as well.

Ororo had always shared a close bond with Wolverine; not just as teammates, who often found themselves putting their lives on the line for each other. And not just as friends who shared common interests, their bond was a spiritual one and it bound their very souls together. They understood each other and they respected each other and it went far beyond just being the best of friends. Ororo knew that. She'd always known that, but she'd always tried to deny it as well. She'd always denied her deeper feelings for him and, in doing so, she'd always denied him. She'd denied him the love and comfort and the intimate sharing of body and soul that he was so desperately searching for.

And she wasn’t sure how to feel about this, even now. Especially now, knowing she'd just caused a flood of very pleasant sensations to course through his body and, as the co-leader of their team, it made her feel a little awkward. But as a woman, she found herself quite intrigued by his reaction and more curious than afraid. It certainly wasn’t the first time she'd ever touched him in the many years they'd known each other. Why hadn't he ever reacted in that manner before? ‘Perhaps he had,’ Ororo answered herself silently. But using the same will-power and self-control that he'd often exhibited in keeping his reactions to pain in check, so he must also have done to control his responses to pleasurable stimuli. ‘Amazing.’

Ororo studied him as he sat in front of her. His eyes were now closed and his head was tilted slightly to one side. He seemed to be almost transfixed, focusing all of his attention on the feel of her touch as she continued to move her fingers lightly over the spot in the center of his chest. She watched as a mixture of emotions flittered across his face, as peace and
contentment battled with need and desire. These were the things Logan hid away and kept under tight control, but he wasn’t hidden from her this time. His defenses were down and Ororo could clearly see the aching need, that he'd always hidden so well, etched across his rugged features - the need to be loved, to be cherished, to be wanted.... and to love and want in return.

She marveled at the intensity of his _expression, realizing that the anger and the violence of the Wolverine was indeed balanced, to a perfected degree, by the gentleness and the passion which Logan steeled away within himself. It was obvious that he kept that part of himself carefully hidden and hidden so deeply in the shadows of his own soul that it seemed as though he literally had to lose himself in order to experience it again.

His body gave a light shudder and Ororo watched as the hair on his arms and chest stood up on end as a tingling sensation ran through him. She also noticed that his nipples had hardened beneath the thick hair in reaction to her touch and she let her palm glide over one. Her eyes roamed freely over his face and body and it was quite apparent that she was physically arousing him with her light caresses.

And because he was re-experiencing these things again for the first time, so-to-speak, Logan wasn’t expecting her touch to cause such an incredible sensation or invoke such an intense reaction. Ororo could only wonder, with a bit of awe mind you, at Logan's ability to keep such strong reactions under constant control. Ororo dropped her gaze to the spot where her hand was once again lain over his heart. Her fingers curled tightly into the thick soft matte again and before she realized it she was moving, closing the small distance between them, as she leaned forward to press her lips to his.

Logan jolted in surprise, his eyes flashing open and his back stiffened as all of his systems went on alert. Ororo registered the surprised reaction and immediately backed off. Logan stared at her again; his eyes intense and unblinking, his body as still as a statue. Even his breathing ceased as he looked at her with intense curiosity. Ororo brushed her fingers across her lips, as if wiping away the kiss would make it as if it had never happened. Looking toward the ground, she fidgeted nervously as she tried to recover her previous position. She brushed the hair from her forehead, clearing her throat loudly which caught Wolverine's direct attention.

Thinking she'd growled at him, he growled back. Ororo froze and shot him a look. She looked deep into his eyes for a moment as he regarded her seriously and, as she watched, Logan's now-black eyes flashed with a hint of gold and he lowered his head in that familiar predatory fashion. Ororo removed her hand from Logan’s chest and watched him closely. She looked down at the spot where her hand had been and realized that something was missing. The precious tags he'd always worn around his neck were missing; they had been torn from him during the struggle in Hank's laboratory.

Jean had found them later, lying on the floor and turned them over to Ororo just in case. Now, she reached into her pocket feeling the tags still safely nestled there. As she drew them out of her pocket, they produced a tinny rasping sound as they slid along the chain and the unusual sound caught Logan’s attention. He opened his eyes and looked toward her pocket curiously.

“I have something for you,� she said quietly then opened her hand to show him the shiny tags resting in her palm. Logan leaned in closer to examine them and after a moment he reached out his hand to stir them slowly with one finger. Ororo moved her hand toward him; inviting him to take them but, as she did, Logan withdrew his hand and sat back.

Ororo simply figured he didn’t understand that she was offering them to him, so she spread the chain out between her hands, letting the tags dangle from it. They made a sharp ‘ting-ing’ sound as the tags gently knocked together, then she leaned forward to drape it around his neck. When Logan realized what she was attempting to do he ducked his head and rolled away from her, and was on his feet instantly. He looked at her with apprehension, as if he didn’t understand why she'd just tried to put a chain around his neck.

Ororo froze in motion, then sat there stunned. ‘That did not just happen,’ she tried to tell herself. She looked up at him, trying to gauge his _expression. ‘What is he thinking? Does he know what they are, what they represent?’

Logan had clearly rejected the tags, and now stood nearby watching her closely. He seemed confused by her attempt to return the tags to him and she wondered if perhaps the sight of them had jogged part of his memory. And if it did, was he now associating her with that horrendous pain? She certainly hoped not.

Not knowing what else to do at the moment, Ororo stood up slowly and put the tags back in her pocket, to keep them safe in case he changed his mind later. She wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it, after all, the tags were not her focus - he was.

She was aware of him standing only a few feet away on alert, watching her. Moving nonchalantly, as if nothing unusual had happened, Storm slid the sandals back on her feet and flashed him a friendly smile. Then she continued along the path, inviting him to come along. Logan hesitated for a couple of seconds, watching her curiously as she walked away. Then he followed her at a distance.


* * * * * *

The X-Men finished their discussion in the professor’s absence, and finally concluded that there was no singular way to approach the situation with Wolverine that was particularly better than another. So they decided not to approach it with any specified plan of action.

“Just take it as it comes then?� Rogue had asked.

“I think that’s all we can do,� Hank replied. “How could we possibly predict what to expect when they come in?� he asked them all in return. “Therefore, how could we presume to know, beforehand, what the most appropriate course of action would be?�

“The only thing we can be sure of,� Scott added, “is that we can’t be sure of anything.� Jean nodded in agreement and the others had to accept it, reluctantly.

“I say…’leave him out there,� Warren said quietly as he stared out the window, then he turned toward the group, “If you want my opinion.�

“We don’t,� Gambit replied scornfully.

“Remy, be quiet,� Scott admonished his younger teammate, then he addressed Angel. “What’re you saying, Warren?�

“I’m sayin’… ‘Leave him out there.’ At least until he comes to his senses and comes in on his own,� he answered.

“Without our help Warren that could take a long time,� Rogue informed him.

“So?� Warren remarked. “I say let him be. Wolverine can take care of himself. He’s safe enough on the grounds… and we’re safer without him.�

“Safer without him? What makes you say that?� Scott asked, not believing that for a second.

“He would never hurt us, Warren,� Jean said, more in an attempt to support Scott than being so convinced of that herself. “He has no reason to harm us.�

“No reason?� Warren repeated in surprise. “Since when does he need a reason? Wolverine is dangerous. He’s volatile and unpredictable, always has been. You people are just fooling yourselves thinking otherwise,� he retorted, and Dr. McCoy leaned forward in his chair.

“There was a time, yes, when Wolverine was a great threat… to himself, as well as others. But…�

“No!� Warren interrupted. “No ‘buts’. He still is… and always will be! Do you think he was just playing when he tried to get away from Peter the other day?�

“He was frightened, Warren, and confused. Can’t you understand that?� Jean tried to explain. “He was hurting…�

“That’s just it! He’s always gonna be hurting! Those people who did this to him made sure of that! He may've gotten away from them, but he will never be free of them! They made sure of it! Don’t you understand? Their hold on him will never be loosened!� Warren was nearly shouting and everyone looked at him, stunned. Scott took a step forward, and tried not to sound accusatory when he spoke.

“What do you know about all that?� he asked. Warren didn’t answer, but his _expression told them clearly that he regretted shooting off his mouth. He lowered his eyes, letting out a big sigh and ran his hand through his blond hair, pulling it away from his face and shaking his head in exasperation. “What is it, between you and Wolverine that we don’t know?� Scott asked, this time he didnt care how it sounded, he wanted an explanation for Warren’s behavior.

“There is nothing between us,� Angel replied, sounding quietly convincing. “I've been there, Scott. That hurt… it just goes too deep. Can’t escape it.� It was obvious to Scott that Warren was referring to his own capture and torture by the mutant known as Apocalypse. And whatever was going on between the Angel and the Wolverine was going to remain between them, at least for now. The X-Men looked at him without another word and, when the silence became too uncomfortable to take anymore, Gambit took his leave.

“I need a smoke,� he said and strode out of the room.



TBC in "A Feral Repose, part 4"

Chapter 15

A Feral Repose (part 4)


As Ororo walked along the path, she saw Logan come out of the woods about fifty feet ahead of her. He crouched down on the path, sniffing at the air as he waited for her to catch up.

“Lo-o-gan?� She called to him almost like a song, her melodic voice pitched slightly higher than normal, sounding like a half-sung question but he didn’t turn around.

There was a hot summer breeze drifting through the pines. It offered only a trace of relief from the day’s humidity, but Logan’s attention was drawn to it. The variety of scents that it carried was like candy to his nose and he turned his face upward into the slow moving current to savor the aromas that washed over him.

Ororo smiled and waited patiently. There was no sense in trying to pull his attention away from it, but she hoped that once he was satisfied and the breeze died down he would give her the same undivided attention.

She didn’t have to wait too long though before the heavy air was still again. He lowered his head and took a deep cleansing breath through his nose, then forced it back out dispelling the scents he'd collected.

“Logan?� she repeated as she topped a small incline not far from where he waited. Her tone was one of expectation, the same one she'd often used in the classroom when trying to get the attention of a student whose focus was on something other than the lesson she was teaching. Logan glanced over at her, then turned away again.

“Logan!� Ororo repeated sharply, and the seriousness of her tone made him turn around. "Come here,� she said softly, and he blinked at her curiously. Ororo raised her hand and waved it toward herself in a gesture of invitation. “Come over here.�

She was mindful of the fact that he was not deliberately trying to be rude and reminded herself again to remain calm. Logan watched her gesturing closely, then stood up. Ororo took note that he was still relying heavily on her body language in order to understand what she wanted.

She stepped a few feet to her left and sat down on a small mound of earth just off the path. It was nearly noon, the heat was almost stifling and she was starting to get a little hungry. Ororo hoped she could get him a bit closer to home before Logan got hungry enough himself to start dragging her back toward their camp.

Their friends were waiting for them and she wanted to get home. But she'd already decided that, no matter what, she would not leave him out here alone. She'd already made that vow... he'd never be alone again.

“Come here,� Ororo invited lightly, encouraging him with a smile.

Logan walked over to her and, upon reaching the spot where she was sitting, squatted down beside her. He was sweating profusely from the heat and droplets of perspiration made the thick hair on his face glisten.

The edges of his long mane were stuck to his shoulders and the individual hairs were clinging to each other, forming large dampened strands. He had to blink often, squeezing his eyelids shut tight, trying to relieve the sting as sweat rolled into his eyes.

Ororo gathered the hem of her dress in one hand and proceeded to wipe his face dry. He let her do it without resistance, but he batted his eyes reflexively as the cloth moved about his face. Ororo couldn’t help but smile, as she watched his reaction and imagined the same behavior from a small child withstanding ‘mom’s’ relentless washcloth.

Once she'd made his situation a little more comfortable she took his chin in her hand, turning his face toward her. Her touch was gentle and he didn’t flinch away. Ororo waited for his eyes to come up to meet hers, then she smiled at him to keep him at ease.

“Time to remember,� she said softly and Logan furrowed his brow. She let go of his chin and dropped her hand to his shoulder.

Logan stiffened slightly at the feel of her hand on his skin, and almost glanced at it but was quickly distracted by the movement of Ororo's other hand as she pointed her finger at him.

“Logan,� Ororo stated simply. Logan looked closely at her finger with the long blue nail, which just happened to match the color of her dress. “Lo-gan,� she pronounced slowly. “That is your name. Logan.�

Logan sat very still, staring at the finger which was still pointing at him. Then he raised his eyes to look at her, giving no indication that he understood. Ororo then turned her hand toward herself and pressed her palm to her chest.

“Ororo. O-ror-o,� she said with slow deliberation, but Logan continued to stare at her hand. Ororo reached out, touching him lightly under the chin with the tips of her fingers and motioned for him to watch her mouth, not her hand.

“O-ror-o,� she repeated, demonstrating for him how to form the word with dramatic movements of her mouth. Logan watched attentively, with so much concentration in fact that he absently moved his mouth in imitation, but no sound came out.

"Good. That’s good, but… you have to make sounds, Logan. Use your voice,� she instructed him.

Logan looked at her for a moment but made no attempt to make any sound, then he turned as if to move away. She'd lost his attention already, and in frustration Ororo shot her hand out. Grabbing his chin, she squeezed down on Logan's jaw in an attempt to keep him in place.

“No!� she scolded and Logan cringed. The sharpness of her voice startled him, and the surprise of her sudden grasp caused Logan to reflexively snarl at her. At the sight of those one-inch fangs flashing at her, Ororo quickly pulled her hand away and held it up in front of her.

“Oh... no! Logan, I’m sorry,� she apologized quickly, hoping he would understand that she meant no harm.

“I’m sorry. I am so sorry,� she repeated softly, mostly to herself as she calmed herself down once again. Logan looked at her, bewildered. He didn’t know what to make of her actions, and although his own reaction to her grabbing him was instinctively defensive, he seemed to also know that it was uncalled for.

He tried to settle down beside her again, but Ororo could see that his adrenaline had already kicked up a notch, and it made him appear jumpy. His muscles twitched involuntarily and his eyes shot about the area on alert.

‘I’m sorry, Logan,� she repeated with sincere tenderness, and the expression he gave back to her told her that he was too.

Although Ororo had startled him, the rashness of her behavior gave Logan the impression that whatever she was trying to tell him was important to her. He was ready to listen now and he gave her his undivided attention.

Ororo rested her hand on Logan's shoulder again, aware that he may snap at her, but he didn’t. He did glance tentatively at it however, as if waiting for some kind of punishment.

She gave him a moment to realize that he wouldn’t be threatened for his reaction, and when nothing of the sort came about Logan looked up at her and waited. When Ororo spoke again, her voice was calm and her tone soft.

“Okay. Let us try again.� She took a deep breath, held it, reminding herself to be patient and to remain calm. When Ororo had her thoughts centered again, she let the breath out slowly.

Logan took a deep breath himself, held it for a moment, then he let it out. Ororo was vaguely aware of it... at first, then it slowly dawned on her. She looked over at him and gave him a questioning smile. ‘Did he just copy me?’ she wondered.

When Logan realized that she'd noticed, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly and his lips parted. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he gave her a sly grin.

‘You rascal,’ Ororo thought to him as she grinned back, then shook her head in wonder.

“You are a clever one,� she told him. “So let’s exercise that intelligence. Okay?� Logan grunted, as if he was acknowledging her question. “Okay,� Ororo agreed with a single nod. “Let us start with that then, shall we?� she offered, referring to the grunting sound he'd just made.

Ororo proceeded to try to imitate the half-grunt/half-growl sound but it came out sounding more like a deep hum. Logan’s head tilted to one side, as he contemplated the unusual sound the female was making.

Ororo tried again, then shrugged sheepishly at her lack of growling skill. Then Logan straightened abruptly and growled back.

“That’s the sound I’m looking for,� she told him happily, nodding in approval. She imitated the sound he'd made the best she could, and let the sound grow in her throat until it developed into the shorter version of her name that Logan always used.

“Rrrrr-ro,� she said. Logan cocked his head, and Ororo smiled at him. “Your turn,� she said gesturing toward him.

Logan thought about it for a minute, and Ororo watched him putting it all together in his head. And, finally realizing what it was she wanted him to do, Logan growled back.

“Rrrrr-ro,� he imitated. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he hadn’t used it in a very long time, but Ororo’s eyes lit up and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, good. That was good, Logan,� she praised, hoping her encouragement would keep him interested and he could see that she was pleased with him and what he'd done.

“Rrrr-ro,� he repeated again, this time without any prompting.

“Yes. That’s me,� Ororo told him, putting her hand to her chest. “Ro.�

“Rr-ro.� The deep baritone voice rumbled like thunder.

“Yes.� She smiled at him with obvious satisfaction. Then Ororo reached out and tapped Wolverine on the chest and he looked down at her hand. "Logan.�

Knitting his brow slightly Logan looked up, giving her a sidelong glance like she had to be kidding. She tried to ignore his expression of doubt, knowing full well that his verbal abilities at this stage may be limited to only single syllable words.

“Watch my lips,� Ororo instructed. “Lo-gan.�

Logan watched her form the word slowly as she repeated it for him a couple of times. Then Ororo watched as the tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth. He was going to try it, so she demonstrated it for him again.

“Lo-gan.�

“Lo. Gun,� he echoed, his voice deep and gravelly.

'Now we're getting somewhere.' Ororo was nearly beside herself with excitement, but tried to remain calm. “Yes, that is good. That is your name... Logan.�

“Lo-gan.�

“Yes. My name is… Ororo,� she told him.

“Ror-o,� he growled out in a soft rumble and Ro grinned.

“Outstanding,� she whispered aloud in approval, smiling into those big blue eyes looking back at her.

“Ows-ting,� Logan tried, and Ororo smiled compassionately at him.

“That’s a pretty big word…� she told him, “but I give you an ‘A’ for effort.�

“Effff-ert,� Logan mimicked. He continued to echo Ororo's words as she gave him examples to follow.
She didn’t want to overtax him though, so she stuck mainly to simpler words. Ororo didn’t know yet if Logan understood the meanings behind the words, but he'd found his voice and he practiced using it.

After a short while, something caught Logan's attention in a thicket nearby, and he moved toward it on the prowl. Ororo smiled as she watched her student. He'd done very well so far and she allowed him to take a break.

“Well,� Ororo stated aloud to herself, “...every successful journey begins with one small step.�

“Sss-tep.�

Surprised, Ororo shot him a look. Logan was still repeating her words as he moved a short distance away, staring at the thicket. Not only did Wolverine not need to look at her anymore when he heard a new word, but he was still paying her attention even as his attention was drawn to something else.

Even at this "evolutionary" stage Ororo realized, Logan was capable of complex thoughts and problem solving... and was certainly capable of splitting his attention equally between two separate tasks.

“You are so… amazing,� she whispered.

“May-zing,� Logan echoed as he moved away.

Ororo’s heart jumped into her throat. She'd forgotten that although he was now about thirty feet away Logan could hear her clearly, even at a whisper. She let him wander around for fifteen minutes more, then she called him in and they continued their trek toward home.

As they walked along, Logan continued to slink around through the brush in predatory fashion, and Ororo tested him every now and again to see if he retained what he'd learned. Even when she couldn’t see him, she would just blurt out a word to see if he was close by.

“Mouse,� she chimed casually as her fingers drifted across the feathery fronds of a large fern as she strolled by.

“Mouse,� Logan repeated from a bush nearby.
Sometimes his voice would come from above, as he moved through the branches of the trees. Or it would come from behind her, as he'd stop to investigate something under a rock and would lag behind before catching up with her again.

After a while it became a sort of game, to keep her own mind occupied and just give her the chance to hear a voice other than her own. Logan repeated words like ‘tree’, ‘bird’, ‘rock’, and ‘dirt’.

At one point while playing their game, he slipped from a tree and fell about twelve feet to the ground. He landed on his feet, after fighting to keep balanced in mid-air. Landing with a loud explosion of snapping twigs and branches, he dropped into a thicket of thorns.

Ororo gasped in alarm when she realized he'd fallen. She hoped she hadn’t distracted him with her lesson, causing him to lose focus as he moved through the branches above her.

She watched Logan through the bushes. He scowled back up toward the tree as if accusing it of tossing him out, then he made his way out of the brush to the path where she was waiting for him. Ororo winced as the thorny branches snagged his skin and hair as he moved toward her, but Logan didn’t even react to it.

When he stepped out onto the path he was covered in deep scratches that healed themselves as she looked on. Then he looked up at her with an almost comical expression on his face, as if he was trying to figure out how to excuse his mistake but really couldn't think of how.

“Ouch.� Was all Ororo could think to say with a glint of humor in her eyes.

“Ouch,� Logan seemed to confirm.


****

As they continued their walk through the woods Ororo found it more and more difficult to keep Logan on the track toward home. He'd divert down paths that led away from the direction she intended to go, sometimes doubling back toward their camp.

She finally had to give in and let him lead her to wherever his curiosity or interests lay. At times Logan flat out declined to go in the direction she'd indicate as if he knew what her plans were. So Ororo followed him this way and that, finding it less stressful to just let him have his way.

An hour or so later she came upon him sitting beside the river. She had to admit the thought of a cool drink and a swim was inviting. So Ororo settled down beside him with a sigh and offered him a smile when he looked up at her.

She sat on the bank cooling herself with handfuls of water as she watched Logan go fishing again. He was crouching on a rock just above the surface, as still as a statue staring into the depth of the river: the claws of his right hand extended, his arm bent and positioned high ready to strike.

Ororo wondered how long he'd be able to sit like that before he started to cramp up. It would seem that most of the fish trolled the river upstream near their campsite. Which would be, obviously, why he chose it to begin with.

As she watched him staring into the water, his nostrils flared and he took a couple of breaths through his nose scenting something. Ororo looked at him curiously, knowing full well that he couldn't possibly smell the fish below the surface. But before she had a chance to think it through, Logan's eyes shot to his right and he leapt to the opposite bank in one bound.

Ororo stood up in surprise wondering where he was going as he disappeared into the brush on the other side. She could easily track his whereabouts by the movement of the bushes, and moments later he emerged victoriously carrying a large rabbit impaled on his silver talons.

Ororo smiled proudly, and the thought of having rabbit for dinner actually made her stomach growl although she wasn't much of a meat eater. But she was hungry and didn't know how to relay to her predatory friend that she was a vegetarian. She hoped she could eat at least a bite or two before retching it up, although he may take offense to that as easily as if she refused his offering to begin with.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Logan gestured for her to follow him as he held the rabbit aloft in one hand and made a grand sweeping motion with the other to get her attention. Then he looked upstream and gestured with his chin, telling her they were going back to camp.

A tad disappointed, Ororo followed Wolverine back to the campsite. Once there she started a fire and proceeded to clean the catch as Logan watched her curiously, listening to her disgruntled mumblings.

Logan watched intently as Ororo crinkled her nose in disgust as she pushed the rabbit's carcass onto a stick and set it over the flame. Then she walked to where he was crouching, wiping her hands together as if to rid them of the rabbit's stench and grumbling to herself.

Ororo sat down beside him, away from the heat of the flame to watch over their dinner. She wiped her hands hard on the material of her dress, then looked up to see him studying her every action with an almost painful intensity.

She watched him watch her for a moment. Then he looked up at her very seriously and Ororo sighed deeply, giving him a smile. Logan watched as her beautiful lips turned upward and her expression softened.

Her scent told him clearly she was in some sort of distress, and yet she was trying to show him that she was not. His head cocked to one side as he wondered why, then he glanced at the rabbit on the spit.

Taking one of her hands in his, Logan sniffed her palm with the meaty scent then held it up toward Ororo's face, trying to bring it closer to her nose. Ororo pulled away with an expression of mild distaste.

Logan looked about the area and back at the rabbit again. With a quick glance at Ororo he was up, moving and out of sight before she had a chance to ask where he was going.

Ten minutes later, Logan returned to their camp with two large trouts in his hand. As he came over to the fire, where Ororo was removing the cooked rabbit from the flame, he tossed them into her lap. The action startled Ororo who gasped, nearly dropping Logan's meal in the dirt.

Her mouth opened slightly in pleasant surprise as she looked down at the offering in her lap. Logan had not only caught her a meal she would eat, but had washed and cleaned them as well; a few minutes over the fire and she'd have a wonderfully satisfying meal.

She looked up at him and smiled. With that, Logan grunted as if irritated and took the stick with the rabbit from her hand. He marched over to the large rock and sat down in its shade of it to eat. He watched her cook her meal while he ate, and by the time Ororo was finished with her meal and the campsite was cleaned up it was nearly dark.

*****

Logan sat perched atop his rock looking out across the river below to the forest on the other side. Ororo opened her arms and let the firewood she'd collected drop to the ground and swept a strand of hair from her forehead with a tired sigh.

She turned toward the rock and watched Logan staring at the trees on the far side. Pursing her lips with a touch of sadness she walked over to him.

"Logan?" she said, and he turned his head to look at her. "You know you are not truly free... don't you?" she asked him knowing the answer already, but he just blinked at her not understanding her words.

They looked at each other for a moment then Logan turned back to his viewing. Ororo studied him closely, looking him over from the top of his dirty feet to the top of his tangled head.

"Why do you stay?" she asked softly aloud, not expecting nor getting an answer.

She turned away from him, deep in thought and walked down the embankment to the river. It was still warm as the day's heat rose from the cooling earth and it was time to remove the grime from the day's adventures.

Ororo pulled her dress over her head slowly feeling her muscles stretch in relief, then dropped it to the ground. Removing her satin underthings she dropped them on top of the dress, and stepped carefully into the water.

The water was still warm from the late summer sun and she felt herself instantly relax as the slow moving water embraced her. She ducked down to submerge her shoulders and heard a loud splash behind her. She turned to see Logan standing in the water, staring at her.

~ De'ja vu ~

He didn't move, he just stared. Serious and dark... watching her. Ororo smiled and waded toward the shore... toward him. And Logan watched her without moving - his head low, his eyes dark.

As she approached, his eyes wandered over her naked form. She was an attractive female - strong and elegant. He knew what he wanted... her.

Her hand reached out to him and his eyes followed the water's descent as it cascaded down her lithe body, leaving her brown skin glimmering in the dying light of day.

Her eyes were the color of sky, her hair white as virgin snow. She was the most extraordinary creature he'd ever seen... and he wanted her.

Her hand came to rest lightly upon his arm and when he didn't move or flinch away Ororo moved to take his hand in hers. She led him out into the deeper water until he was waist deep.

She was surprised that Logan had let her lead him into the river, considering his reaction the last time. But she also was well aware that those dark eyes were glued to her. At first it made her a little uncomfortable, but then she figured if it kept him there long enough to wash away the grunge, then so be it.

She started slowly at first, just splashing his arms lightly and rubbing off the dirt with her hands. Logan didn't move or react in any way, so she continued on to his shoulders and chest, then his back.

Logan stood completely still, only moving his head to watch her as she moved around him. When she came around again to stand in front of him, she couldn't help but smile in amusement. He now stood there perfectly clean from the neck down, but his shaggy head with the dirty face now looked like it belonged on a different body.

Ororo placed her hands on his shoulders and began to push gently downward, trying to get him to lower himself into the water. After a moment he blinked as he became aware of what she was trying to do and he looked down at the water then up at her again.

"Come on, Logan just..... low enough..... so I can..... wash..... your hair," she grunted as she applied more pressure.

Finally he relented and sank down into the water and waited. Ororo tried to push his head gently backward but he resisted. Then she tried to bend his head to one side then the other, but he didn't understand what she wanted him to do.

With a sigh, Ororo decided that if she could just get the dirt and sweat off his face then the long tangled mane could wait. So she cupped her hands into the water and poured the water slowly across his forehead letting it sheet down his face and through his beard.

Logan blinked dripping lashes at her as she poured another handful of water across his face. Ororo began to comb her fingers through his sideburns which caused him to shake his head. He ran one hand down his face, then up through his hair pulling it away from his forehead.

Suddenly, to Ororo's surprise Logan disappeared under the water momentarily. She watched him reappear and just as quickly go under again. When he came up the second time to face her, his long dark hair was lying shiny and smooth down his neck and shoulders. He stood up to face her finally debris free, even his facial hair sparkled with the droplets that clung there.

Ororo smiled at him, she knew he'd be more comfortable through the night now that he was cleaned and refreshed. Then her hands flew up and she shrank back with her eyes shut tight against the onslaught.

She let out a high-pitched scream and laughed like a school girl as Logan shook his head violently, dispelling the enormous weight of the water captured in his thick mane. Ororo found herself pelted by the large drops as they were propelled across the surface of the water.

When the spray finally stopped and the water around her settled she opened her eyes and peeked through her raised hands at him.... and burst out laughing. His once shiny, smoothed hair was now puffed up like a lion's mane and pointing in every conceivable direction.

Logan cocked his head in response to her giggles. Unable to stop herself Ororo decided to not even try to explain it to him, and instead took him by the shoulders, spun him around and guided him back toward shore.

*****

They sat by the fire opposite each other, Ororo was there hoping its radiating warmth would dry them enough so they wouldn't spend the night chilled to the bone. Logan was there because she was.

He crouched quietly, waiting... only his eyes moved as they scanned the area constantly and once in a while his head would snap left or right alert to movements or scents from the woods around them.

Ororo took advantage of the peaceful atmosphere to relax, then she contacted the professor to let him know she would try again in the morning to bring Logan in. But she honestly didn't feel the rush to get back at the moment. She loved being out here just as much as Logan did.

Charles informed her that a small consorteum had waited in the meadow for them most of the day, hoping to escort them home and make the transition easier for Wolverine, by re-introducing the team a few people at a time.

Ororo smiled at the thoughtfulness of their friends - their family. She thanked him for the information and said good night. And her thoughts drifted slowly away, reminded of the special nature of their chosen family. Not their mutations, but their compassion and concern, and their true and honest caring for and about each other.

A smile danced across her face lighting up every beautiful detail, she seemed to glow in the fire light and her eyes sparkled with so many fond memories. She watched the memories flicker in the dancing of the flames and it was some time later when she finally looked up.

Ororo was going to offer a symbolic apology to Logan for having drifted off and ignored him, but when her eyes finally were able to focus on him through the distorting waves of heat rising from the flames her smile faltered slightly.

Sitting across from her, staring at her with an intensity she could physically feel... was the Wolverine. Ororo stilled. Her smile slowly disappeared, replaced by serious contemplation.

His dark eyes - once blue, now black with dilation - glowed with the reflection of the flames between them. His long thick mane, now clean and shiny black, seemed a symbol of his prowess, virility... and his power.

Ororo was reminded, looking at him, that Logan's memories - the few he had - were not as peaceful and comforting as the ones she'd just reminisced about. She remembered why that was... and what brought them out here to begin with.

Logan stood up suddenly, startling her. Ororo watched him closely as he slowly moved around the fire toward her. As he got closer, staring at her intently, she stood up and took a step back.

Storm got the distinct impression that the Wolverine was looking to assert his position as the leader of this little pack. The look in his eyes was scaring her. So she moved around the fire to keep it between them.

When Logan realized what she was doing he stopped. He stared at her, his jaw clenched and after a moment he averted his eyes with a thought - he was being rejected. It appeared to him that she was afraid of him. But he didn't scent fear, not really. Wariness, yes... but why? Hadn't he proved himself worthy of her? What more did she need? What more did she want?

He looked at her closely as his feral mind contemplated these thoughts. Ororo stood still, not knowing what to make of the expression on his face. That ever present scowl was so hard to read: anger? - hurt? - frustration? - confusion?

Calmly he turned and walked into the woods and Ororo was left standing alone in the glow of the fire light. As she watched him disappear into the shadows of the night forest, she listened for any sounds that would indicate in which direction he was going. But as usual, he was as noiseless as a spirit in the night.

*****

She waited up for hours hoping he'd return. Hours passed within moments it seemed, and it wasn't until she saw the moon, which had been high over her right shoulder only a short time ago now hung low in the trees to her left that she realized exactly how much time had passed.

Ororo was sure he wouldn't be returning tonight, so she decided to end her lonely vigil by the dying fire. She climbed atop the bed of leaves, twigs and ferns which Logan had built for her their first night in the woods, but found it increasingly difficult to fall asleep.

She rolled onto her side, facing his rock, and watched the lazy flicker of the low flames reflecting their dance upon it's surface. She had no idea how long she'd lain there nearly hypnotized by the shimmering light, when a shadow appeared there, cast by the moonlight and the waning light of the fire.

Ororo was stilled, unaware that she was holding her breath. She stared at the dark figure before her and waited, she could tell by the stance that he was watching her.

What seemed like an eternity later, the shadow moved. Ororo waited breathlessly, hoping she wouldn't be forced to fend him off. Then she felt the bedding move, heard the crunching of the leaves and twigs as Logan crawled up beside her.

Without a word or a sound, he laid down beside her and curled up behind her. Logan snuggled up against her back and gently rested one heavy arm across her waist. She waited a moment to see what may come next, but he made no other moves.

Unable to stand the weight of his arm across her midsection, Ororo reached up and took his hand in hers and guided it to her hip. His fingers tightened around her hip bone and she felt him cuddle up against her. They had an understanding... and they fell asleep, at peace in the closeness of the presence of the other.



TBC in A Feral Repose (part 5)

Chapter 16

A Feral Repose (part 5)


When Storm awoke the mid-September sun had already risen. She couldn't believe she'd slept so late, nor believe she'd slept through Logan awakening and leaving her side without stirring her.

She sat up and looked about the area as she let herself come fully awake. Ororo took a deep breath inhaling the heavy morning air, then yawned and stretched her arms above her head feeling oddly content.

She moved off the bedding and as she stood up to her full height, stretching her back with a gentle arch, she looked skyward. It was going to be another beautiful day although, she was sure, another scorcher.

She leaned forward against Logan's rock, standing on the tips of her toes to peer over it, searching for him. She scanned the area on the opposite side carefully, toward the river bank and back to the treeline. There was no sign of him anywhere nearby.

With a sigh, she turned around and leaned her back against the large boulder looking toward the path. Then an idea hit her. Storm looked down at the ground trying to determine which of his footprints in the dirt were the freshest. If she could tell them apart she could follow them.

The thought amused her and she smiled to herself. Did she actually believe, with no tracking experience whatsoever, that she would be able to find the Wolverine by following any tracks or signs that he might've left behind?

Ororo shook her head; a soft smile upon her lips, as she crouched down to touch her fingertips to the shallow imprint in the soft, warm earth at her feet. Only a moment's reflection then she stood up. As she rose, Ororo took a deep breath preparing to shout for him.

"Lo...!"

That was as far as she'd gotten when he dropped down beside her, startling her. She drew in a terrified breath, gasping loudly and jumping back a bit. Logan looked at her, his expression neutral. But the sparkle in his eyes told her that he thought that was amusing.

"Logan!" Storm scolded, only half serious. "You startled me!"

He just stood looking at her, until she settled down and offered him a smile. One corner of Logan's mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a crooked grin.

"Where have you been?" 'Ro asked, the inflection of her words caught his attention. He didn't know what she'd said, but he took a step toward her and that's when Ororo noticed he was holding one hand behind his back.

"What are doing, Logan?" she asked curiously, trying to hold a nervous smile in place. "Do you have something there?"

As Logan took his step toward her, she took half a step back. He scanned her quickly, always taking note of every movement. His expression softened again as he offered another smirk and it was Storm's turn to tilt her head in wonder.

This time Ororo held her spot as Logan took another step closer. She watched him warily as he withdrew his hand from behind his back producing two ripe apples. Seeing her face light up, he offered them to her with a grin.

Ororo happily took the fruit from his hand and took a bite. She groaned with the pleasing, refreshing taste. Logan watched her with bright eyes and when she noticed Ororo clutched the apples to her chest.

Showing pleasure in the proffered breakfast with all the drama of a stage actress, moaning and gasping and reaching out to him, her eyes closing in pretend ecstasy. Logan wasn't sure what to make of her performance, but it was amusing and he watched with great interest as his smirk grew into an actual smile... teeth and all.

When Ororo stopped, looking over at Logan to see if she was entertaining him at all, she was shocked to see the wide, genuine smile on his face. She looked into those eyes and recognized the man, trapped within, looking back at her. His pupils, now dilated only half the size they'd been the past few days, made the clear blues seem so intense.

Ororo wrapped one hand around Logan's upper arm and, without a word, led him down the path once more. She offered him a bite of her apple, feeling a bit romantic. He accepted her offering, sinking his huge fangs into the flesh of the fruit - his jaws snapping solidly shut - and snapping off half the apple with a loud crack that made her think of lightning hitting a tree, she was extremely thankful she hadn't gotten her fingers in the way.

Then he was off again, leaving her to lag behind as he playfully disappeared and reappeared in and out of the brush, crossing over the path in front of her every few minutes.

**************************************************



McCoy could feel the tension building up inside him as the morning turned to afternoon. But he forced himself to sit quietly, trying to relax.

He was sitting on a rock at the edge of the field, where the nearby trees offered some shade from the noonday sun. Kurt stood nearby, in a shaded patch of grass right next to him.

Hank could tell that Nightcrawler was feeling a little tense too. He stood as still as a statue, staring at the spot where the path disappeared into the shaded darkness of the forest.

Kurt shifted his weight from one leg to the other and let out a sigh. It felt like he'd been standing there forever. He shifted again, then dropped into a more comfortable position.

Nightcrawler, like Wolverine, was always more comfortable crouching on his haunches, so he squatted down and tried to be as patient as Dr. McCoy appeared to be. His anxiety, however, was clearly being advertised by the almost constant sweeping of his tail. Once in a while, out of boredom, he’d look to see what Bobby was doing.

Iceman, unlike his two companions, couldn’t sit still while he waited. He had to keep moving. Trying to ease his own anxiety he strolled around the large open area, stopping here and there to look at the flora before moving on.

It took him about twenty minutes to circumnavigate the perimeter and make his way back to Nightcrawler and Beast. When he got within normal voice range, his impatience poured out of him in a string of questions - which Hank politely did his best to answer.

“When are they going to get here?�

“It should be anytime.�

“What if they don’t come this way?�

“If they’re heading home, Ororo will be sure to lead him in this direction.�

“What if he won’t come with her?�

“We’ll have to wait and see.�

“Do you think he’ll know who we are?�

“We can only hope.�

“Do you think he’s talking yet?�

“I really can’t say.�

“Do you think he’ll come back with us?�

“Bob?�

“Yeah?�

“We’ll just have to wait and see.�

“But…�

“We’ll do the best we can.�

~ sigh ~

Kurt had spun around on his toes to watch and listen to the volley of questions and answers. His head turned to each man in turn as if he was watching a tennis match.

When the questions finally dried up Bobby let out a sigh and pulled a leaf off the tree he was standing under. Kurt watched him as the Iceman studied the leaf absently before letting it drop from his fingers and let out another sigh.

When Bobby glanced up and caught Nightcrawler's gaze, Kurt quirked the corner of his mouth offering him an understanding grin. Bobby pursed his lips,
acknowledged Kurt’s support with a slight nod, then slowly walked away again.

**************************************************


Ororo wasn't consciously aware of the fact that she'd picked up the pace. Her focus had centered on reaching the halfway point. She hoped that if they could make it to the field perhaps it would help draw out some of Logan’s memories.

Although Wolverine’s path took him zigzagging ‘cross country’, Storm was determined to walk straight ahead. Her attention was on getting them home, nothing else concerned her at this point.

They'd been walking for hours and the heat of the day was exhausting. She'd already been forced to stop and rest a couple of times, hoping Logan wouldn't get too far ahead of her.

But as her steps brought her up and over a small knoll, she came upon Logan who'd stopped to wait for her. As she got closer to him, Ororo could see that he was absolutely drenched with sweat. His mouth hung open as he tried to pant away the heat, his face was dark red from over-exertion and as she approached, he looked up at her but he didn’t move. His eyelids were heavy and Ororo thought he might just fall over.

“Logan?�

She knelt down beside him and could feel the heat emanating from him. His warmer-than-normal body temperature always served him well in colder climates, but as hot-blooded as he was normally, the high temperatures allied with the extreme humidity turned his body into a living furnace.

He was showing serious signs of heat exhaustion and Ororo realized that - with Logan's level of reasoning being diminished - she should've had the presence of mind to make sure he stopped and rested when she did.

She'd opted not to use her powers today, as much as she was tempted to, for fear that Logan would not understand her abilities and she didn’t want to spook him. But the effects of heat exhaustion can come about so quickly that, if you’re not on top of it every second, it can become a life-threatening situation before you realize what you’re dealing with.

The human body can compensate for such temperature extremes, but only for so long. And it was apparent by the amount of sweat his body was producing, as it tried to cool itself, that Logan had reached his limit. Without water to replace what he’d been losing he had overheated, and was not aware of the consequences, until they slammed him without warning.

With no more effort than a thought, Ororo's eyes began to white over and the tips of her hair began to float as the static surrounding her pulled at the long strands. The lovely maiden 'Ro turned into the goddess Storm right before the exhausted feral's eyes.

Logan sat paralyzed in fear as the female he'd already claimed for himself began to change. He watched in terrified awe as her eyes lost their color, her hair flying wildly in front of him captured his gaze. Her skin seemed to grow translucent and insubstantial as her physical mass turned toward energy.

Her physical odor changed, yet remained the same, and it confused Wolverine who growled in fear. Her scent had changed and now she smelled of wind and rain, and lightning and snow.

Her scent said she was Ororo, the talker and the eater of apples. Her scent told him she was the female, but beyond physical... beyond sexual. Her scent said that she was as beautiful and as deadly as the sun up in the sky.

His primitive mind told him that she did not just have power... she was power. She... was the power of sun and sky itself. Logan's mouth slowly fell open in awe and silent worship, and his body vibrated in respectful 'fear' as the hair on his body stood up on end from the electricity in the air.

Storm called upon the elements to produce a cooling mist which began to fall down around them. It was wonderfully refreshing, and as the tiny droplets settled on them, Logan shuddered involuntarily.

Ororo opened her eyes to see if the misty drops were having any affect on his condition. She was taken aback by his expression as the wolverine scented her cautiously and stared with piercing eyes in open-mouthed wonder.

It was in that moment that Ororo saw him for the first time. The wild man who sat before her was not a poor man wrecked on the shores of life like a mighty sailing ship repeatedly crashed against the breaker rocks. No.

This creature was not only power and strength, but wild and loving, passionate and furious, wise and yet innocent. He was beautiful and deadly as life itself. If she was the air that gives breath and life, then he was the fertile earth and the blood that supports the life.

They sat transfixed for an eternal moment, seeing the truth of the other behind the masks of flesh and bone - goddess and demigod, the sky and the earth; each one defining the other and completing the 'wholeness' that each had been seeking.

They each took a step forward, unconsciously aware of the other, and the physical action broke the spell which held them enthralled with the other - it vanished, washed away in the falling mist. As each became aware of their surroundings again, Logan shuddered involuntarily and Ororo caught her breath.

Most of the falling precipitation was too light to penetrate his thick hair, but it was a relief in itself as it cooled the ambient air directly around them. Logan closed his eyes and turned his face upward into the descending mist, so as not to refuse the generous offering.

As his body’s temperature began to cool, it raised goosebumps on his arms. He licked the moisture from his dry lips, then gave a quick shake of his head to expel the collected moisture from his mane. Storm held her hands out in front of her, cupping them together, as a small sprinkle of rain appeared above them and filled her hands with cool water.

The pooling liquid immediately caught Logan’s attention. He cocked his head to the side for a moment, then instinctively reached for it. Storm smiled as she watched him trying to figure out how to get the water out of her hands.

First, Logan tried to use his right hand to scoop the water from hers, but that didn’t work so he tried with his left. When it became apparent that just one of his hands was too large to fit into Ororo's cupped hands, he tried to splash it toward his mouth with his fingers.

He started to get excited with anticipation and quickly tried different ways of taking possession of the cool liquid. He would've given anyone the impression of being frantic. Ororo too would've thought so if she hadn't been close enough to see the look in his eyes.

He was definitely thinking in an orderly fashion, but the ideas were coming to him so quickly that when one idea didn’t work he immediately moved on to the next strategy. As his hands moved around hers, Logan would shift positions and try again.

Ororo’s smile grew as she watched him bounce from one side of her to the other, his complete attention on her hands. She'd already decided, of course, that she would show him the solution he was looking for if she had to. But she waited, giving Logan the chance to figure it out by himself.

He'd been imitating her all day, and she was waiting for him to cup his hands like she was doing so she could fill his hands with water too. It took about thirty more seconds for Logan to come up with a solution, although, strangely enough, it wasn’t the one she'd expected.

All of a sudden he stopped moving and she looked up at him, her smile fading into an expression of mild concern. He was looking down at her hands, staring at them, not moving, and she thought he'd given up.

Then he looked up at her, raising one eyebrow. Ororo couldn't help but smirk, wondering what he was up to. Before she could ponder what his next move would be, Logan moved right up in front of her and cupped his hands around hers, then lowered his lips to the cool liquid, sucking it up directly into his mouth.

Surprised, Ororo giggled and shook her head at the simplicity of his solution. When he'd extracted as much as he could get, he sat back on his haunches licking every last drop from his parched lips, looking a bit smug.

Ororo let the excess water fall from her hands before cupping them in front of her again, to fill them for herself. As she did, Logan moved toward her again ready for seconds. But when she drank the water, instead of offering it to him, he grunted and put his hands out to let her know he wanted more.

As his hands came together, she quickly filled them with the water. Logan's eyes lit up with wonder, and he quickly looked up at her for confirmation that he was doing it correctly. Ororo smiled and gave him a nod as she drank from her own hands.

Logan drank several handfuls too quickly and Storm hurried put an end to her miniature rainfall. She didn’t want him to gulp it so fast, fearing he would get stomach cramps and just throw it all back up.

But Logan was insistent on getting more and she knew he needed it, so she decided to let him have his fill, but she regulated how fast he could get it. She forced him to pause between each handful, until he could ‘convince’ her to do it again.

By the time Logan was satisfied his color was much better and he was ready to take off again. His body’s ability to compensate for, and overcome, any ills that affected it was nearly instantaneous as long as its internal balance was kept.

Once they got moving again, Ororo made sure to keep him close. It wasn’t too difficult now that he knew the effects the heat could have on him he kept a slower steadier pace.

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


They only walked about half a mile more when Logan suddenly froze in his tracks. Ororo stopped too. She recognized this behavior, knew it all too well. He was sensing something.

His head turned in short abrupt movements, which told her that he was hearing something. After a moment, he was able to pinpoint where the sound was coming from and moved out in that direction.

Ororo really didn’t want to go off the path. She wanted to keep moving, but she didn’t want to lose track of him either and as Logan took off through the woods at a steady pace, she turned left off the path and followed him through the trees.

She realized she would have to hurry to keep him in sight and, finally, was able to catch up to him. He was crouched low, staring straight ahead as she came up behind him.

Ororo slowly made her way over to him, trying to make as little noise as possible. As she approached, Logan looked over his shoulder at her, then turned back around sniffing at the air.

As she came up beside him, Ororo looked in the direction he was focused on, but all she could see ahead of her was dense forest. She looked down at him wondering what it was that had caught his attention.

Logan just stared intently through the trees. His body trembled and a rumbling sound rose from his chest. Then his hackles went up, causing his mane to change shape. Ororo didn’t know what had him on edge, but he was taking it as a serious threat. She quickly glanced around, but saw nothing.

Ororo held her breath and became as quiet as she could. Then, in the stillness, she heard it too. Voices.

Someone was out here. Their friends had come out to meet them and escort them home. She turned to Logan to let him know that it was okay, that the sound he was hearing was their friends and she wanted him to know that those people would not harm them. But he was gone. He'd slipped away without a sound.

Ororo looked around quickly but there was no sign of him, and no indication of which way he'd gone. She knew he wouldn't have left her there to face a danger on her own, so she was sure he hadn’t run away.

Which meant he must be going toward the sound, to try to intercept the threat; to protect her, to keep her safe.

‘Oh, Goddess,� she realized, “they don’t know he’s coming.�

**************************************************


Bobby and Kurt settled into quiet conversation with Hank after having used him as a sounding board to air their concerns and anxiety. Although McCoy didn’t have a definitive answer for all of their questions, it did appear that just having had the opportunity to voice them out loud had eased their anxiety and afforded them a deeper sense of calm.

Bobby was now sitting on the rock next to Beast, and Hank was grateful for that. After all, Bobby Drake was called ‘Iceman’ for a reason. His special mutant ability gave him the power to manipulate temperature to its lowest extremes.

By pulling moisture from the air the Iceman could turn anything into ice, create ice sculptures out of thin air, and reduce his own body temperature - enabling him to turn himself into a living icicle without any adverse affects.

Without being aware of it, Bobby was cooling the air closest to his body, as a natural and instinctive solution to the amount of humidity in the air. And as humidity is the result of dense molecules of moisture in the air, Iceman was able to easily produce a cool, dry atmosphere directly around himself.

To McCoy, it was like sitting in front of an open freezer, and the crisp air was collected between the hairs of his thick animal-like pelt and held there to cool him down. Sitting in the comfort of Iceman’s presence, they had become absorbed in leisurely conversation ranging to all kinds of topics for the past forty-five minutes or so. The three X-Men had nearly forgotten where they were and their purpose for being out here, until Ororo stepped out of the woods and into the clearing some distance from where they were sitting near the path, and where they had expected her to come from. Bobby'd just finished telling them an amusing anecdote, and was setting up to tell another, when Kurt looked up just in time to see her enter the field.

“Storm!� Nightcrawler exclaimed as he quickly scrambled to his feet and Bobby and Hank just as quickly snapped to attention, suddenly alert again.

As Bobby and Kurt ran to her, Hank moved out a bit more cautiously, scanning the area. If Wolverine wasn’t with her, and it didn’t appear that he was, then...
'Where could he be?’ McCoy wondered.

The two young X-Men greeted her enthusiastically with hugs and a barrage of questions that would've made anyone think she'd been out here for weeks, instead of just over two days. Storm tried but was unable to answer their inquiries as quickly as they were throwing them at her.

Hank quickly came to her rescue, gently pushing through his two young friends and taking her in his arms, he gave her a moment to collect herself. Ororo took that moment to let it sink in that she was no longer alone in her endeavor. Then she lifted her head from Beast's shoulder and gave him a thankful smile.

“My friend, I have missed you,� she told him, and Hank smiled.

“How are you?� he asked with mild concern.

“I am doing well. Really,� she assured the good doctor.

“Where is he?� Hank asked quietly. It was information they required, but he didn’t want to appear pushy. He had no idea, at this point, what Ororo had dealt with in the past seventy-two hours or so. He knew she'd already had a long trip, and and they were still two miles from home.

“I don’t know,� Ororo told him.

That was not exactly what Dr. McCoy was hoping to hear. Even if Wolverine had come this far with her, he knew they would not be able to force him to return with them. But he'd hoped, at least, to have the chance to take stock of Logan’s condition; physically and psychologically.

Bobby's and Kurt’s disappointment etched across their faces as Ororo told them how she'd followed Wolverine toward the voices, then he'd just vanished.
Iceman scanned the area toward the far side of the field and Kurt glanced past the group in the opposite direction.

“He may be near,� Ororo offered and Kurt’s eyes went wide.

“He’s probably watching us... hiding in the trees,� Hank guessed as he scanned the leafy branches that encircled the meadow.

“Oh... he’s watching us... but he’s not hiding in da trees,� Kurt informed them at a near whisper, trying hard not to let the fear in his voice show.His companions turned to look at him, then they redirected their attention to the place where Kurt was staring.

The small group of X-Men were standing in the middle of the sun drenched field, and it took them a moment to focus their eyes and to distinguish Wolverine’s form in the shadows. If Kurt hadn't focused, specifically on that spot, he never would've seen him with just a quick glance.

Kurt had been listening to the conversation between Storm and Beast, and he had begun to wonder why they couldn’t have this discussion in the shade where it was cooler, when he looked back at the rock where they had just been sitting.

And that’s when he saw Wolverine, perched atop the very rock the three X-Men had just vacated. That unnerved him a little - wondering if the feral man's plan had been to ambush them.

Logan had assumed a resting position on top of the rock, that made Dr. McCoy think of that old children’s game aptly named ‘Leap Frog’. His feet were set wide apart and flat on the rock, with his weight balanced evenly and his hands planted in front of him. He was holding his head low, nearly even with his shoulders, which helped to camouflage his shape with the natural shape of the rock. If Kurt hadn’t forced himself to focus there, Wolverine would have gone unnoticed for some time.

“Logan!� Storm called to him, relieved that he'd stayed nearby. Wolverine remained very still, glaring at the unwelcome guests.

“Mein Gott,� Kurt whispered, in reaction to Wolverine’s predatory expression.

“Whoa,� Bobby exclaimed as he too got a good look.

They had been expecting Logan's behavior to still be somewhat primitive, but none had expected his appearance to be so feral-looking. He was an awesome sight.

Ororo began to walk toward him. Bobby and Kurt automatically began to follow her until McCoy stopped them.

“Wait a minute, people. Everybody stop,� Hank told them. They all stopped and gave him their attention - except Ororo, who didn’t want to take her eyes off Wolverine; she'd seen just how quickly he moved when he decided to.

“Bobby and Kurt, stay with me. Ororo, see if you can get him to come out in the open, so we can all see each other clearly. We don’t want any surprises,� Hank instructed.

Ororo nodded that she understood and proceeded toward Wolverine. Logan stretched his neck, elevating his head, as he waited for her to come to him. He was aware that the other males may try to stop her and he was ready to intervene.

Kurt found it hard to believe that Ororo could just walk up to Wolverine like that and he made a comment to that effect.

“She’s been out here with him for almost three days and nights,� Bobby reminded him. “If he hasn’t tried to hurt her yet, why would he now?�

“Don’t put that much logic into it, Bob,� Hank replied. When Iceman looked at him, McCoy nodded once toward Logan and offered an explanation. “He just sat there watching her interact with three strange men. He may feel he's been betrayed. She needs to stay alert.�

As far as Logan was concerned he'd already claimed Ororo as his, and she'd accepted him. Who knew what he was thinking now - if anything - after seeing her ‘being passed around’ in the arms of the three men.

Hank’s fears were misplaced though, and he was thankful to see that she was actually able to walk right up to him. The three men watched from a distance as Ororo tried to convince Logan to come down from the rock.

But it appeared that Wolverine was ignoring her, only giving her a passing glance as he eyed the three strangers. Finally, Ororo turned away from him and began to walk back toward Hank.

Confused by her actions, Logan began to show signs of anxiety. It appeared to Dr.McCoy that Logan wanted to follow her - to stay with her - but it went against his instincts to approach the group of males outside his territory. At this point, Wolverine was just keeping a watchful eye on his female, and apparently would only come forward if he felt that she was in danger.

Ororo seemed to have realized that also. She crossed half the distance between Logan and Hank’s group, then she stopped and just sat down on the grass. She knew for a fact, that Logan had no intention of moving from his spot unless she forced him to. Once she was comfortably seated, Ororo turned to the three X-Men and gave them instructions.

“If he won’t come down, wait a few moments then start walking toward me,� she told them and the three men nodded.

Hank knew she was planning to use them as a perceived threat, to trigger Wolverine’s protective response. He informed his companions of her plan and also advised them to use great caution and to stay alert at all times. Kurt nodded slightly and Bobby swallowed nervously.

Logan watched as Storm sat down and proceeded to ignore him. He looked a little sad, Hank thought, a bit sad and a whole lot confused. Wolverine had no idea what she was doing and he couldn’t believe that she'd left herself vulnerable like that to the other males nearby.

Hank waited a few moments, watching Wolverine struggle with the decision as to what he should do... then he proceeded with Ororo’s plan.

“Okay, let’s go,� he said simply. Kurt and Bobby spread out, one to his left and the other to his right, then followed Hank’s lead.

As the three X-Men advanced slowly toward Ororo, Logan straightened his back, alert to the threat they posed. He looked at her to see if she was aware of the supposed ‘ambush’.

Ororo could see him from the corner of her eye and she felt bad about having to do things this way, but Logan had to learn that their friends posed no threat. A warning rumbled from his chest, but the challengers kept coming.

Logan rumbled a second warning, much louder than the first, and Ororo prayed she was doing the right thing. When the other males did not heed his warnings, Logan bolted from the rock landing just outside the shaded area of the trees.

He obviously wanted them to see him now and Kurt missed a step as he hesitated in fear, and that was exactly the reaction Wolverine was looking for. The three men stopped and Logan glared at them.

McCoy reassured his teammates and started forward again. Logan held his ground about twenty feet from where Storm was sitting. When the would-be challengers got within twenty feet of her on the opposite side Logan growled an undeniable threat and his mane fanned out, making the pointed tufts stand straight up.

It really didn’t matter how much smaller he was than the others, that action alone was enough to put the fear of God into most men. It even worked to intimidate his own friends, even though he didn’t yet recognize them as such.

“Hank?� Bob whispered.

“It’s okay. He just wants us to back off. Keep moving,� he told them.

“Why don’t we just back off?� Kurt asked nervously. It may have sounded humorous if he hadn’t been so scared.

“Keep moving,� Hank whispered, and as soon as they'd crossed over the twenty-foot mark Logan closed the distance between himself and his female.

He moved so fast that Hank’s group halted in fear, thinking he was charging them. But he wasn’t. He was, however, right beside Ororo so quickly that she'd
squeezed her eyes shut and prepared herself to be knocked over.

When she didn’t get ‘freight trained’, Ororo warily opened her eyes to see that Logan was now standing over her, literally. She could feel his right knee brushing against her back and his left foot was planted next to her left knee.

She turned, trying to confirm her perception of his position, but quickly changed her mind as she realized that Logan's crotch was right next to her left ear. That made her feel a bit uncomfortable, but she reminded herself that he'd taken up that position strictly to protect her. There was no way, with her being completely underneath him in this manner, that anyone could get near her without dealing directly with him first.

She turned her face skyward to look up at him, but she couldn’t see his expression from that angle. All Ororo could see above her was Logan's heaving chest as he leaned forward, setting his stance and preparing for battle.

“Storm?� Bobby’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

“I’m okay,� she assured her friends. “Start backing away... slowly.�

She spoke to them quietly so as not to startle Wolverine, causing him to attack. Hank and his cohorts slowly reversed direction. Ororo could hear Logan’s rasping breaths and the grinding of his teeth, but she couldn’t see his face as he snarled at the friends he still didn’t recognize.

She tried to lean back against his leg to get his attention and spoke his name and the next thing Ororo knew was her head being pushed back down, with Logan’s strong hand planted firmly on the top of her head.

Once her head was down he gave her a slightly stronger shove before he removed his hand, silently telling her to keep her head down. He expected her to be submissive - he didn’t want her distracting him - and he didn’t need to deal with her vocalizations right now.

A burst of prideful anger shot through Ororo momentarily, until she reminded herself that Logan wasn’t being ‘macho’ - expecting his female to appear weak. She knew that his wild instincts would make him behave in the same manner even if it had been a weaker male in his charge.

Storm began to wonder if Wolverine was questioning her loyalty to him. After all, she did have the scents of the three other males all over her. Perhaps that was why he was shoving her around. Maybe Logan felt that he needed to prove himself to her again.

She certainly didn’t want him to think that he needed to prove himself by ‘bringing down’ the other males. She needed to do something, now.

Ororo slowly raised her left hand, wrapping her arm loosely around Logan’s left leg just above his knee. It was her way of telling him that - even though she had other options available to her - she, once again chose him.

But Logan didn’t relax his posture. Ororo knew, that although she'd accepted him as the dominant male, he still perceived the others as a threat – after all, they could still try to take her by force.

Ororo brought her other hand up and around to rest on his leg and leaned her head against the inside of Logan's thigh. She was well aware of the intimacy conveyed by this type of contact, but she needed him to believe the sincerity of her message.

Logan didn't react to her touch though. He was so focused on the others that he was unaware of her caress.

'Of course', she realized. For Wolverine, everything was a matter of survival... and survival came before all else. Anything, and everything, else was a luxury that had its time and place and luxuries would always take a back seat to necessity.

Ororo finally acknowledged the fact that only she had the ability to put an end to this standoff. It was up to her to show Logan that Hank and the others were not looking to harm either of them.

“I know what to do,� Ororo told them quietly, then she slowly moved out from beneath Logan’s protective stance and stood up.

At five feet eleven inches tall, she stood eight inches taller than Logan and the same height as Dr. McCoy. Bobby and Kurt - standing at five eight and five nine respectively - also dwarfed Wolverine. But every one of them knew, first hand, that Wolverine never faced a situation where he believed himself to be outnumbered or outmatched. In his mind, there was no such thing.

Ororo - alert to the fact that Wolverine had not yet ‘popped’ his claws, but was certainly prepared to do so - tried to act as mediator for the standoff. She laid her hand on Logan’s left forearm, which was poised and ready, and applied gentle pressure.

“Logan, it’s alright,� she told him. As Ororo pushed down on his arm, he flashed his fangs at the group of strangers and pulled up against her hand.

“Logan…� she repeated calmly and he shifted his eyes to look at her. Ororo kept the gentle pressure on his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “No,� she said shaking her head.

He looked at her, a bit confused, then quickly turned his attention back to Hank’s group, setting his stance to reaffirm his position to defend.

“Logan, please... No,� Ororo reiterated and stepped in front of him. She made sure not to block Logan's view of the others, but she was making it clear that she wanted him to stand down. Logan looked her squarely in the eye and he knew what she wanted. He glanced past her, at the three men, as he weighed his choices.

“Hank?� Ororo said, requesting that Dr. McCoy step forward. She was holding her arm outstretched behind her, an indication to Logan that she was signaling the others.

“Hank…� she repeated as she waved her hand behind her. Logan recognized the motion as the ‘come hither’ gesture which he'd seen earlier, but this time she was inviting the strangers to come over. Logan quickly shot a glance at the small group, then furrowed his brow at Ororo. “It’s alright,� she assured him, then called to McCoy again. “Hank?�

“Are you sure, Ororo?� McCoy asked. “I wouldn’t want to…�

“Yes, it’s alright,� she replied, looking over her shoulder at him. “Come here.�

Bobby and Kurt stood quietly nearby, looking back and forth between Ororo and Hank. As Henry McCoy stepped forward and approached them, Logan studied the large blue Beast.

As the distance between them narrowed Logan trembled a couple of times. Each time he trembled Ororo could feel the tremor through the contact she had with his arm and she quietly reassured him.

There was no mistaking that Wolverine was wound up tight and more than ready to spring into action, but he seemed willing to trust her judgment and hold back for now. Ororo made sure to commend him over and over again, to keep his mind focused on her voice.

Hank came up behind her slowly and stopped just out of reach of her outstretched hand. Good thing too, because Logan checked.

Keeping one hand on Wolverine’s arm, Ororo took Hank's by the other and guided him up to stand along side her. Logan studied Hank’s facial expression
and body language closely and found no indication of threatening behavior. His sense of smell told him that, although McCoy was cautious, he held no fear or hidden agendas.

Hank took this opportunity to check out Wolverine’s condition up close. Overall, the doctor concluded, he looked pretty healthy - except for the outgrowth of hair and the layers of dust and dirt he looked pretty good.

Psychologically he was still quite primitive in behavior and Hank noticed, as Logan looked back at him, that his pupils were still quite large although they appeared to be receding.

“Logan? Hank,� Ororo introduced him to Dr. McCoy. When a moment went by and Logan didn’t respond, she repeated their names and touched each one on the chest as she did. “Logan. Hank.�

Dr. McCoy watched him with great interest. Logan cocked his head to the side, still staring up at him.

“Hh-ank,� Logan finally repeated hoarsely.

“Oh my stars… he’s talking,� Hank observed.

“Well, not exactly,� Ororo corrected. “He’s repeating. Mimicking.�

“I see,� Hank replied. McCoy brought his hand up slowly and reached out to Logan in an offer of friendship. He held it there patiently as Logan stared at it.

After a moment of pondering the action, Logan touched McCoy’s hand curiously, checking out the large blue fingers. Then he took Ororo’s hand and, holding one finger between his finger and thumb, he looked at her nail. It was the same color.

He then compared Ororo's blue fingernail to Hank’s blue fingernails and made it a point to show them the similarity. Both Hank and Ororo acknowledged the observation.

“Mimicking and matching. He is coming along,� Hank noted aloud.

“Curious,� Ororo added.

“It’s not, actually. After all, that is how we learn,� Hank replied.

“No,� Ororo said with a smile. “I meant, *he* is curious. About everything.�

“Oh,� Hank smiled. “That’s good.�

“Yes, it is,� Storm agreed, smiling affectionately at Logan. Oblivious to what all their words meant, he just looked back at them blankly.

“There is something that I'm curious about,� Hank mentioned.

“Yes?�

“His pupils. Have they been dilated like that the entire time? Or did that just happen when he became defensive?�

“No, they have been like that the whole time, but I noticed this morning that they appear to be going back to normal. You can see some of the blue from his iris around the edges. See?� Ororo pointed out.

“Mmm. Yes, I see," Hank acknowledged. "And when exactly did he begin to vocalize?�

“Yesterday afternoon. Why? Do you think there is a connection between the two?� Ororo asked.

“There could be. It’s just a theory I have, but it’s a sound theory,� Hank told her. “Of course, I wouldn’t be able to confirm anything without doing some tests… and I’m quite sure he wouldn’t agree to sit still long enough for that to happen. We could try to sedate him I suppose, but…� Hank began to mumble out loud, more to himself than anyone else, but Ororo was now becoming a bit concerned about the direction in which Hank’s thoughts were going.

“Wait a minute… tests on what?� she interrupted.

“His brain,� McCoy answered without pause.

“His brain? You think there is something wrong with his brain?� Ororo asked. She tried to keep her voice calm and level, although now she was a little frightened.

“Wrong? No. Different? Yes,� McCoy assured her, but before he could explain further a voice piped up behind them.

“Hellooo.� Hank and Ororo turned toward Bobby. “Can we come over too, or what?� he asked, putting his hands on his hips and shifting his weight over to one hip, showing his obvious lack of patience.

Logan looked over at him.

“Sorry, Bob. I got a little absorbed in…� Hank’s words trailed off as Logan stepped past him.

Everyone fell silent as Wolverine took the initiative. He approached Iceman cautiously, glancing over at Kurt often. Bobby fell silent and dropped his hands to his sides, looking a lot less confident than he had just ten seconds ago.

Hank and Ororo followed Logan just to be safe, but he appeared to be more curious about Iceman than anything else. When he got about ten feet away from Bobby, Logan stopped and sniffed the air between them, then turned to look at Ororo for reassurance. As she stepped up next to him she put her hand on his
shoulder and smiled.

“It’s okay,� Ororo told him. “Logan. Bobby.� Logan wasn’t paying attention to the introduction though. He was looking past her to make sure Nightcrawler hadn’t moved. Ororo could sense that Wolverine was nervous about Kurt’s appearance and the smell of sulfur that clung to his clothes probably was not lending any comfort to Logan’s perception of him, so she tried to put him at ease. “That…� she said, pointing at Nightcrawler, “is Kurt. Kurt.� She repeated, emphasizing his name.

“Ker-t.� Logan repeated in a low, gravelly voice.

“Hello,� Kurt greeted softly in return. His kind voice with the soft German accent took Logan by surprise. He stretched his neck to look around Ororo with bright, curious eyes.

Without waiting for a prompt, Kurt came forward to offer his hand to Logan. It was a naturally friendly gesture; without fear or concern and Logan found that intriguing. Because of Kurt's relaxed demeanor Wolverine took to him immediately, finding him curiously fascinating.

Looking beyond Nightcrawler’s fuzzy blue - devilish appearance - with his pointed ears and tail, Wolverine studied Kurt’s eyes. Color aside, they told Logan everything he needed to know. There was nothing to fear from him.

Logan gently grasped Kurt’s proffered hand and showed it to Ororo, indicating to her the two large fingers and one thick thumb. Then he crouched down and compared his own feet to Kurt’s - which also had only two thick toes. Ororo smiled then looked at Hank, who was shaking his head in amazement.

“I don’t know what I find more compelling,� Hank admitted, “his ability to comprehend at this level… or his innate gentleness and curiosity.�

“I know,� Ororo agreed with a smile then she turned to Bobby and invited him to participate. “Why don’t you show him what you can do?� she suggested, but he looked at her a bit unsure. “It’s alright, Bob. He won’t hurt you. Go ahead.�

Bobby nodded and squatted down to Logan’s level, instinctively removing any dominating position and putting himself on equal terms with Wolverine.

“Logan?� Iceman said calmly.

When Wolverine turned away from Nightcrawler to look at him, Bobby held out his right hand, palm up. Then he cupped his left hand over the right and a small bright light illuminated his fingers from within.

Logan’s eyes widened a little at the show and spinning around on his toes, gave Drake his undivided attention. He stared at Bobby’s hands, slowly moving toward him to get a closer look.

When Logan stopped in front of him, Bobby opened his hands to show him a small, sculpted chunk of ice now sitting in his palm. Logan arched his eyebrows and looked at Bobby, then he tried to imitate what he'd seen.

Logan cupped his hands together the same way that Iceman had done, but when he opened them he seemed surprised to see there was nothing there. Drake grinned, then reached over and covered Logan’s hand with his own.

The light appeared and Logan could feel something happening. He tried to peek under Bobby’s hand but he didn’t pull away. When Bobby moved his hand away there was a small, turtle-shaped ice sculpture sitting in Logan’s palm.

Wolverine looked at Bobby with appreciation, then carried the turtle to 'Ro to show it to her. As he pointed at Bobby, she smiled at him and nodded.

“Iceman,� Storm told him.

The small ice turtle began to melt in the summer heat and Logan watched the cold water run down his arm. He looked at the turtle, then at Iceman.

Bobby was still holding his own sculpture - but because of the cold temperatures he created naturally - his wasn’t melting. Drake smiled at Logan’s expression, then popped the fancy ice cube in his mouth. Logan followed suit and immediately crushed it between his teeth... then he came back for more.

While Logan took the time to get used to Iceman and Nightcrawler, Hank and Ororo took advantage of the extra down time to catch up. By the time Storm and Beast were ready to start the walk toward home, Kurt and Bobby were following Logan in and out of the woods as he began to show them the same things he'd already taught Ororo.

He'd pick a few leaves from a small plant and hand one to each of them, then he'd eat his and wait for them to do the same. They didn’t want to appear rude so they swallowed the bland tasting vegetation.

When Hank finally called to them, Bobby and Kurt were relieved. They really didn’t want to sample whatever Logan was chasing. Thankfully, whatever it was kept eluding him by scurrying under a rotted log.

When they finally got his attention, Logan followed the two young men back automatically and the three led the way home. Logan never seemed to notice that they just kept walking farther and farther away from his territory.


TBC in "Shades of Humanity (pt. 1)"

Chapter 17

Shades of Humanity (part 1)


Charles sat alone in his study trying to concentrate on other things that needed his attention, but he just couldn’t keep his mind from wandering. His X-Men were in crisis and, try as he might, he couldn’t think about anything else. The past few days had been an emotional rollercoaster and he was starting to feel the tension amongst his team. Hopefully they would find the strength to support each other and not let it tear them apart. He tossed the pencil on the desk and let out a sigh. Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Come,� he replied, thankful for the distraction. The door opened to reveal Jean.

“Professor?�

“Yes, Jean, come in. Please,� Charles invited, doing his best not to show his despair.

“Am I interrupting anything?� she asked.

“No, not at all. Please, come in,� the professor invited again. Jean entered and walked over to the desk, taking a seat in front of him.

“Are you alright, Charles?�

“I’m just fine. Why do you ask?� he replied in a tone that sounded convincing, but Jean was a telepath as well and she knew better. She frowned at him and crossed her arms.

“To whom do you think you are talking to?� she asked in a tone that scolded him for lying. Charles offered her a half-hearted smile, then pursed his lips together and sighed again.

“I promise, I will be fine,� he told her.

“It’s not your fault, you know.�

“What isn’t?� Charles asked.

“Any of it,� Jean answered, leaning forward in the chair. “None of this is your fault.�

“Oh… I know that.

“You may think you know it, intellectually, but emotionally you feel guilty about what’s happened to Wolverine.�

“Perhaps,� he replied, not willing to commit to an answer.

“You have nothing to feel guilty about,� Jean repeated forcefully.

"No, I have,� the professor answered sadly.

“No, you don’t. How can you say that?� she asked. “You didn’t do this. Someone else did this. Someone else…�

“I promised him,� Charles interrupted her. Jean was caught off guard and her eyes narrowed in thought.

“You promised him?� she repeated and Charles nodded. “Promised him what?�

“I promised him… that if he agreed to stay with us, I would help him learn control,� he explained.

“And you have,� she replied quietly. “He’s gained a lot of control.�

“If I had… he wouldn’t be in the state he’s in,� Xavier countered.

“You can’t eliminate his atavistic responses, Charles, his wildness is a part of him! No one can change that," she cried out in exasperation, then stopped and took a deep breath. Regaining her calm she continued, "You told me once, “with every gift there is also a curse�. Rogue can assimilate other mutants’ powers, but she can never touch another human being without hurting them. Storm has the elements at her command, but she is so attuned to them that she must keep a tight rein on her emotions lest she wreak havoc upon us.

"Well, this is Logan’s cross to bear," she explained, telling him what he already knew in his heart. "He can deny its influence on his life and you can even pretend that you have the ability to change what nature has done… but, you’d both be lying to yourselves," she told him a bit angrily.

“Logan needed help to control his anger, to learn how to manage it and not lash out every time he got upset about something. And you have done that…� Jean stopped herself when she saw the professor shake his head. She thought about her words, then shrugged, “Okay, so it’s a work in progress. He has a lot of anger…�

“He’s justified,� Charles replied softly.

“No one would argue that… but this is something different.�

“I promised!� Xavier repeated heatedly and Jean jumped right back at him.

“You promised to try! And you have!�

“You don’t understand, Jean,� he told her quietly. Jean looked at him for a moment then sat back in her chair. She raised an eyebrow as she watched the professor stare blankly at the papers on his desk. She was determined not to leave until she had driven her point home.

“Oh, I understand, Charles,� she said evenly, almost without emotion. “I understand that you blame yourself for not being able to help him dispose of his wild tendencies." Charles raised his eyes to her. "I understand that you feel guilty for not having been aware of Wolverine’s existence during a time in his life when he desperately needed someone to care about what was happening to him." Professor Xavier lowered his eyes again, saddened even more by the memory while Jean continued. Her voice rose slightly as her own anxieties and worry over her mentor began to show. "I understand that you refuse to admit that you had no control over the people who did those horrendous things to him. I understand… how sick you feel in your heart to know that you couldn’t have stopped them even if you had known.�

“I could have tried," Charles nearly whispered. "If I had known.�

“IF you had known,� Jean nodded, “but there was no way for you to know. There was no reason for you to even guess.�

“Cerebro should have…�

“Cerebro *would* have… if he hadn’t been locked up behind iron curtains and adamantium walls, deep underground beneath a secret military installation thousands of miles away in another country!" Jean nearly shouted. "For God’s sake, Charles… Logan doesn’t blame you for all of that!

“But I do know…" she continued, dropping her voice. "...that he is thankful that you did come for him and that you gave him an alternative. You gave him a choice and respect. Two things, I am sure, he had always been denied… until you came along.�

“I still cannot help but feel that I have somehow failed him,� Charles confided to her.

“Failed him?! Charles... look at him!� Jean exclaimed. She couldn’t believe that, with all that Logan had accomplished and overcome, Professor Xavier could sit here and tell her that he had failed. She stood up exasperated and moved around the desk to lean against the windowsill. She couldn’t stay there long though. Stepping toward him, Jean crouched down next to his wheelchair and thought about the words she really wanted to say. Then she put both hands on the armrest and spoke calmly to him. “When you first brought him here and offered him a home… he was so full of rage and anger and loneliness... he didn’t trust anyone. He never smiled... or laughed. He wouldn’t even talk to anyone."

“He was so alone, Charles, completely stressed out and totally traumatized. None of us ever thought he’d be able to fit in here. He was dangerous and out of control. He was damaged goods and we all worried that you'd set yourself up for failure.� Charles looked at her as she paused. Jean thought for a moment, then smiled. “Now look at him, Charles. He’s integrated into our family. He trusts us. He smiles and even laughs and what a wonderful laugh he has, huh?� she said, and Charles nodded with a grin. “You gave him hope. You gave him a life.� She leaned in toward him. “You gave him back his laugh.

“And he not only smiles and laughs now, but he tells jokes and he plays with the children. He’s a wonderful mentor and teacher and he’s able to show others love and compassion because you showed it to him.

“He’s much more relaxed now and he even has dreams and goals. He doesn’t try to hurt himself anymore and he doesn’t disappear for weeks at a time leaving us to worry about what’s happened to him. He’s even fallen in love,� she concluded softly and Charles looked at her.

He felt her sincerity and realized that Jean was right. Saying that he'd failed Logan was completely untrue: an unfair statement that belittled everything Logan had worked very hard to achieve. By saying that he'd failed Logan, he was, in essence, calling Logan a failure and he would never say that. Wolverine was his greatest and proudest achievement. He was living proof that Xavier’s dream could become a reality and proof that anyone can be reformed. No, not reformed... regained. As in something that once was lost and now is found. Yes, regained with proper love and guidance. He now realized that although the bad times would occur from time to time, they were now the exception and no longer the rule. Jean was right. Logan was damaged goods, and so much damage had been done that for him to expect any repairs to ever be complete was just not plausible.

“Thank you, Jean,� he said patting her hand and she smiled, glad that he understood.

“He doesn’t want our pity, Charles. He just wants our support,� she told him, "and he deserves that.� She finished, then stood and kissed him on the top of his head. She went to the door, but paused with her hand on the knob. “Ororo was right, you know,� she said.

“About what?� Charles asked.

“She once told me that, when he slips over the edge like this and finds himself in the deep end, he doesn’t want us to jump in over our heads and tread water right beside him. He’d rather we keep our feet on solid ground and just throw him a rope. We are his anchor, Charles... something for him to hang on to and focus on when he’s lost and trying to find his way home.

“You see, Charles? You haven’t failed him… and he certainly hasn’t failed us. He tries so hard to keep his head above water, and he knows… he believes we'll throw him that rope. But he doesn’t expect us to do all the work, he just wants us to stop him from drowning," she explained as Charles nodded. Then she looked at him with a serious expression. “Logan doesn’t know how to give up. You know that. We can point him in the right direction, but he won’t allow us to carry him. He’ll keep right on kicking as hard as he can until he’s standing on solid ground again." Charles nodded again, knowing all of that was true. “He won’t give up on himself, Charles. Don’t you give up on him.�

Charles listened intently to everything Jean was saying then nodded thoughtfully, awed by the wisdom of his student. “You are absolutely right, Jean,� he told her, feeling a little ashamed for having been so absorbed in his own self-pity. It was time to get back in the middle of things. It was time for him to be there for all of his students. “Where are the others?�

“Everyone’s outside waiting. Well... except Hank, Bobby and Kurt. They went out to meet them.�

“They did?�

“Yep," Jean replied with a smile. "Scott and Alex are on the front steps, Peter is sitting all alone in the garden and Rogue is sitting under the shade tree out back near the old barbeque with Remy," she informed him, then laughed briefly. "Rogue is still bugging Scott and Remy to build a new pit before winter sets in." That made the professor smile, knowing Rogue had been huffing about it all summer. He was sure she was only doing it now to keep her mind off the other things going on. "Shall we go join them?�

“Indeed. Why don’t we do just that,� Charles turned off the desk lamp, maneuvered his chair around the desk and followed Jean out of the study.

---

Kurt and Bobby had taken up point, leading the way home while Ororo and Hank followed a short distance behind. Their constant conversation was kept casual for the most part.

Logan walked wherever he wanted to. Sometimes he'd run ahead and Bobby and Kurt would hurry to keep up with him, then he’d back track toward Hank and Ororo and they would keep him in sight until he went his own way again.

He spent a lot of the time off the pathway, scrambling through the brush. Ororo assured everyone that Logan was still following them and that he'd show himself again somewhere up ahead.

She demonstrated her word game for them, shouting out short words that Logan would repeat casually from the thicket causing the others to chuckle at the sound of his ‘bodiless’ voice echoing back at them from the trees.

After a while, Bobby and Kurt took over, feeling as though they were helping Storm with her lessons. They were good teachers and they had the youthfulness to chase Logan through the brambles as he played his own version of hide-n-seek.

When he finally showed himself again they were able to keep him closer by changing Ororo’s word game to a kind of show and tell. They'd show him different items and tell him the word for each one. That kept him interested and kept the lesson from becoming tedious.

Later on they'd point out different objects, then they'd say the name of one of the items and Logan would have to point out the correct object. He was learning that the words he was saying had meaning. He learned quickly by association and never forgot what the words meant. He was a very good student.

Sometimes the group had to stop and wait for him, as he examined an old tree stump or tried to extract a salamander from under a rock. At one point, Logan stopped right in the middle of the path and the others had to step around him. They expected him to follow at his leisure, until they'd gotten a couple hundred feet ahead of him and Ororo glanced behind her to make sure he was still there. She saw that he was just sitting there, looking at her.

“Hold up,� she called out to the others who turned toward her curiously. They also stopped when they noticed he was just sitting there. “Come on, Logan.� She gestured to him, but instead of coming toward her Logan shuffled backward a couple of steps. Ororo furrowed her brow as Bobby came up next to her to take a look.

“What’s up?� he asked.

“I’m not sure,� Ororo replied. She took a few steps toward him and Logan moved further back. “Oh no. Please don’t do this, Logan,� she whispered aloud, but mostly to herself. She took another step toward him and Logan backed up another few steps.

“Uh-oh. Vas is he doing?� Kurt asked. Ororo shook her head, not knowing for sure.

"Wait here,� she instructed her companions and tried to move toward him again. But every time she took a step toward him, Logan would move back three. “Logan, please stop,� Ororo said holding her hands up in front of her in a gesture to halt. He seemed to understand that she was asking him to stay where he was, so he settled back down on his haunches and blinked at her. Ororo took a deep breath, furrowing her brow in question. “What is it, Logan?� she asked calmly. “Where are you going?�

He cocked his head at her questioning tone then pointed behind him, back the way they'd come. The crease in Storm’s brow deepened.

“What’s he doing?� Bobby asked her and Ororo shook her head slowly.

“I don’t know,� she answered. “Logan, come here,� she repeated, pointing at the ground in front of her. Logan looked over his shoulder and pointed, then looked back at her.

“I do believe he’s telling us that he wishes to go back,� Hank surmised.

“No,� Ororo whispered. “Please, no. We are so close.�

“Can I try?� Bobby asked. Ororo looked at him with a hopeless expression. She knew very well that when Logan had his mind made up there was little anyone could do to change it. “Please? Let me try,� Bobby insisted.

“It’s no use,� she told him with mild frustration. “If we walk toward him he’s just going to keep moving backwards.�

“I don’t think so,� Bobby offered thoughtfully as he watched Logan, then turned to Ororo. “He’s moving backward because he thinks you’re following him. If *you* don’t move, I don’t think he will.�

“I must agree with Robert on this, Ororo,� Hank concurred. “Why don’t we let him try?� Ororo thought about it a moment, then nodded. Bobby took a deep breath and let it out then took a step toward Logan. He actually did expect Logan to back up, but he didn’t.

Iceman took a few more steps and Logan watched him come closer, albeit very slowly. Logan didn’t appear ready to bolt away so Bobby picked up his pace and, to his surprise, walked right up to Wolverine and squatted down next to him. He sat quietly for a moment, watching Logan furrow his brow at Ororo as if wondering why she wasn’t coming too. After a moment Logan looked expectantly at Iceman.

“What’s up, buddy?� Bob asked him. Logan cocked his head, not understanding the question. A few seconds later though, he raised his hand and pointed back the way they'd come - back toward the deepest parts of the forest. “What?� Bobby shrugged.

Logan grunted at him impatiently, then he put one hand to his belly and pointed again with the other. Ororo saw the gesture and knew instantly what the problem was. She knew this would happen. 'Goddess, no,’ she prayed silently.

“He’s hungry! He wants to go back to camp to get something to eat!� she yelled to him explaining, then turned to Hank. “I knew this would happen! And we are so close.�

Bobby looked at Logan for a moment, considering the options as Wolverine stared expectantly at Storm. “You can get something to eat this way,� he told Wolverine, pointing toward Ororo and the only thing Logan understood was that Iceman was pointing in the opposite direction that he wished to go. He grunted at the young X-Man and pointed insistently behind them again. Ororo stepped forward in frustration and Logan caught sight of her. Thinking she'd decided to go back with him he quickly moved backward, ready to lead the way.

“Logan! Stop!� Ororo yelled at him in irritation. The sharpness in her voice surprised him and in response Logan cringed slightly and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wow. You really got him trained,� Kurt quipped, trying to lighten the mood, but Ororo turned on him.

“He’s not a pet!� she shot back at him and instantly regretted it when she saw her young friend’s face drop. She didn’t mean to take her frustrations out on her friends and Storm looked at him for a second with regret. She would apologize to him properly later, but right now she had to focus on the problem at hand. She turned back toward Logan and Kurt looked to Hank for support.

“I didn’t mean to…� he started to say, but Hank stopped him with an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t take it personally, my friend. She is upset with Logan, not you,� Beast told him and proceeded to explain the dilemma to him as Ororo turned her full attention back to their feral teammate.

“Logan…!� she shouted across the short distance. She knew perfectly well that she could whisper to him and he would still hear her easily, but raising her voice helped her vent her frustrations. She pointed sharply behind her toward home. “This way!� Logan laid his hand on his belly again and pointed behind him. “You can get food this way!� Storm told him, but he didn’t understand. He stood up and gave a quick shake of his head. He was hungry, and he was not waiting.

Crouching beside him, Bobby could see that Wolverine was becoming assertive and hoped that aggression would not follow. He stood up slowly and moved away, just to be safe.

“Logan, there is food this way,� Ororo told him as she pointed the fingers of one hand toward her mouth – a sign for eating – then she pointed toward home. Logan was just about to shake his head at her again, when the motion registered in his brain. He stopped and looked at her, tilting his head to the side. Ororo raised an eyebrow, knowing she had his attention and she gestured again before he could look away. “You want to eat, Logan?� Ororo asked him. “Eat?�

Logan watched her for a moment, then looked over at Iceman. “Eee-t?� he asked, his voice deep and hoarse. Iceman nodded and gestured in the same manner that Ororo had.

“Yes. Eat,� Bobby confirmed. Logan looked at him for a moment, then nodded, imitating Bobby. He stood up and walked back toward Ororo. When he got to where she was standing with Hank, he didn’t even bother to slow down. He walked right past her with barely a glance.

“Yes. Eee-t,� he told her as he walked by, brushing past her. Bobby trotted up to the small group and he and Kurt let out a snicker before hurrying after him. After they'd run after Logan, Ororo turned to Hank. Her expression clearly told him that she was feeling a little put off by Wolverine’s arrogance as he'd brushed past her with barely a glance. She wasn’t happy about it in the least and felt a tiny bit jealous. Now that Logan once again accepted their friends she was beginning to feel ignored and perhaps a bit rejected by all the attention he was giving the others.

“He’s really coming along. Hmm?� Ororo asked sarcastically, throwing Hank’s words back at him. Hank couldn’t help but laugh. It was a nice hearty laugh that seemed to heal all the stress he’d been feeling, but Storm was not at all amused and folded her arms across her chest. Setting her jaw, the Weather Witch narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

“Why are you laughing?� she asked, demanding an answer for his lack of seriousness in this situation. “I thought we'd lost him.�

Hank was finally able to regain his composure, mostly, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He put one arm around Ororo’s shoulders in support, but continued to sputter out little chuckles which were a bit more difficult to stifle. Ororo stepped out from under his arm shouldering him away, then turned to him with a stern look on her face. Hank knew that Logan’s behavior had frightened her and that she'd suddenly came face to face with the fact that this entire day could've been for naught.

Her spirit had been flying high and Logan had suddenly put a damper on her hopes of them being reunited with their friends. All she wanted was to get them home safe and sound. She'd made tremendous progress with him and then he'd appeared to just slam on the brakes and Ororo's stress just seemed to keep multiplying. But Logan’s reaction was so… Logan, that Hank couldn’t help but feel some relief.

“I’m sorry, Ororo, it’s just…,� Hank shrugged.

“Just what?� she asked, still miffed.

“I don’t know really,� Dr.McCoy had to admit with another shrug. “I’m just relieved I suppose. I mean, he certainly seems to be returning to ‘our old, loveable Logan’... attitude and all.� Ororo continued to stare at him, not at all amused. “Oh, come on,� he said with a grin, trying to sway her from her anger. “Seventy-two hours ago we were fighting for his sanity... for his life, 'Ro. We almost lost him … for good.� Ororo's expression softened a little as that truth came back to her. “If he wants to get his hackles up and put his foot down over getting a meal, well… I’m willing to give him that.� Then a thought came to him and he let out a short laugh. “Remind me again why you never want to get between a hungry wolverine and a meal.�

At that, Ororo had to chuckle too. She shook her head at him then smoothed her hair with both hands, forcing herself to relax. She was relieved as well to still have Logan close to her... attitude and all. Then she let out a giggle as she reflected on that similarity between Wolverine and his four-legged namesake. Even she had to admit that there was no one on the team who could pack away food the way Logan could... especially when he was really hungry. Nope, not even Colossus.

Putting his hands on Ororo’s shoulders, Hank spun her around one hundred and eighty degrees and guided her forward. Ororo felt a little abashed about the anger she'd felt toward him and blushed, giving him a grateful smile. Hank acknowledged her attempt to apologize with a friendly grin.

“Now, let’s see if we can catch up to him, shall we?� he challenged her and Ororo nodded in agreement. They started out after their three companions and after a few yards they had to pick up their pace, as they realized they'd been left behind.

---

Colonel Wraith sat behind his desk looking through the stacks of government records and files containing information that, he hoped, would assist him on this particular mission. There were folders fanned out across the top of his desk and he glanced from one to another as he referenced and cross-referenced the various bits of information.

In more than three decades in the service of his country John Wraith had found few things that actually shook him up. He was a seasoned soldier and hardened to the core. At least he always thought he was, but seeing the photographic records contained in some of these folders had made his stomach churn; an unexpected reaction, especially for him.

He glanced up at the stack of folders piled on the corner of his desk and shook his head. He'd spent the last seven months becoming intimately acquainted with the information they held; studying them, memorizing them. Every single folder on his desk was stamped "Top Secret—No Eyes", and had been sealed tight in an attempt to keep them that way.

He was in a dark mood. That’s not to say that his mood today was different than any other day, but in the past few weeks his attitude about this particular mission had become more focused and, the more he read in those files, much more serious. Months of planning and information gathering would soon be put to the test.

He was used to dealing with assassinations and covert missions all around the globe, but this time the target was not marked for assassination. Quite the contrary, this time the mark was to be captured alive. His orders even stated, to be precise, ‘alive and unharmed’.

‘Yeah, right’, he thought sardonically. This target was no picnic. He knew the man and his reputation. Neither was anything to thumb your nose at.

He flipped the folder closed and picked his cigar out of the ashtray. Jamming it between his teeth he spun around in his chair to look out the window. His temporary office sat high above the city and he looked out over it as he contemplated his first move.

They had given him this mission with little information to go on at first. But Wraith had little tolerance for incompetence or doing anything half-assed and that meant being properly briefed on the task at hand. Asking him to undertake a mission of this magnitude without allowing him access to the Top Secret information he needed to get the job done was… well, intolerable. After all, this mission had been deemed ‘Top Secret: In the Highest Regard’. To deny him the information he required to accomplish his goal was nothing short of irresponsible.

Colonel Wraith had made his feelings clear, and openly scorned his superiors for their arrogance and their attempt to keep him dumb and blind to the situation. Then he had threatened to decline the mission if they didn’t cough up the files.

He was a genius tactician and a brilliant strategist and they knew it. That’s why he was their first choice, their only choice really, for such an undertaking. Wraith had no illusions about this assignment though, and was well aware that his target was just as gifted in those abilities as he was. The only thing that would give him the upper hand on this one would be the element of surprise.

He was ready. Everything was set. All he was waiting for now was information from his scout and confirmation of the target’s location. The sergeant had been gone a couple of days now and should be returning soon. ‘Actually’, he thought, ‘he should’ve been back by now. Where the hell is he?’ Wraith had worked with the man many times before and knew if anyone could track their target it was Creed.

They had worked together, years ago, as members of the same Special Forces unit out of Canada. When the team was dissolved, Colonel Wraith had remained employed by the government while Sergeant Creed, Lt. North and Major Logan had taken off for parts unknown. Or so he had thought, up until now.

He would’ve preferred to have Logan by his side for this particular operation, but that was not an option. Creed was the best he could hope for right now and, be that as it may, Wraith wasn’t real comfortable about his re-instatement into the military ranks for just one mission. The fact that Creed was nearly drooling over their assignment didn’t sit well with him, either. The man was a savage, always had been. As volatile and uncontrollable as he could be, Wraith had serious doubts about Creed’s intentions to do as he was told. In fact, those were his only orders.

"Do as you are told, no more, no less. You got that, Creed?" Wraith had warned.

Creed had glared at him with those beady little eyes and growled at him. Only after being threatened to be taken off the assignment did he agree. But, Wraith knew that Creed had no conscience and could care less about honoring any agreements. The only thing Creed cared about was himself and damn the rest of the world. He could never understand how the man was allowed to remain a member of their Black Ops Special Forces squad.

Black Ops had always been the sought-after reward for the top covert operations units and his former squad had been the best the Canadian government had ever seen. However, Victor Creed never seemed to understand the meaning of the word ‘covert’. Many of their missions turned sour simply because Creed refused to keep his head down and Major Logan, as the team’s field commander, had had his hands full.

Logan was the best there was. No one could come close to even challenging that fact, although Creed often tried. He always fell short of his goal, though and hated being overshadowed by Wolverine’s abilities. He hated Logan and the two men had tried to kill each other more times than he could count. Logan had no patience for stupidity.

‘And neither do I.’ Wraith reminded himself. ‘If he gets his own ideas about how this mission is going to go down, I’ll kill him myself.’



TBC in Shades of Humanity (part 2)

Chapter 18

Shades of Humanity



After Jean and the professor left the study they went outside to gather the remaining X-Men together, then they all met with Rogue and Remy under the shade tree near the pool. Charles decided to contact Hank to find out what progress his group had made, if any, and he was elated to learn that not only had the good doctor made contact with Ororo and Logan, but they were all together and heading home where they belonged. Dr. McCoy informed the professor of Logan's condition and progress thus far and prepared him for the fact that Logan didn't seem to recognize any of them.

"I wish we knew what was happening," Rogue said just as Charles broke his psychic connection with Dr. McCoy.

"They are almost home," Charles informed the team.

"You've made contact?" Jean asked.

"Yes. Dr. McCoy informs me they should be here within the hour and... Wolverine is hungry," he added with a smile.

"He's with them?" Rogue asked, leaning forward with anticipation.

"Yes," Charles confirmed, then he thought for a moment. "I suppose we should prepare something to eat. I'm sure they'll all be hungry by the time they arrive."

"Actually, I'm kind of hungry myself," Scott interjected.

"Well, that's no surprise, sugah," Rogue replied. "Ain't none of us eaten since breakfast and it's way past lunch time now."

By the time their teammates would return home it would be closer to dinnertime so Jean offered the suggestion of a nice sit down meal in the dining room. After all, it was air-conditioned and would be more comfortable, but Charles reminded her of Logan's feral mentality knowing that he would most likely not want to enter the building. The others agreed. Besides, the humidity was less now that the height of the day's heat had passed. So they proceeded to put together a nice outdoor feast as Scott warmed up the old barbeque.

Remy seemed distracted as he placed a dozen steaks on the grill and helped Scott tend to them. The others set out chairs and put together a casual buffet-style layout and, once everything was set, there was still plenty of time to sit back and relax. And wait.

Scott took his time grilling the steaks slowly over a small flame so they wouldn't be ready too soon. He glanced over at LeBeau, who was sitting atop a picnic bench nearby smoking a home-rolled cigarette. He appeared to be deep in his own thoughts.

"Hey, Remy," Scott said getting his attention. LeBeau flicked away the ash on his cigarette then casually turned to look at him. "You okay?"

"Yeh, Boss. Jus' fine," the Cajun answered without flair. His monotone was hardly convincing, but Scott didn't push it.

The air was so much cooler now and the shadows were beginning to lengthen on the ground, evidence of the sun's slow descent toward darkness. It wouldn't actually be dark for another hour or two, so there should still be plenty of time for a daylight reunion.

"When are they going to get here?" Rogue huffed impatiently, sitting forward in her lawn chair.

"Soon, Rogue," Charles assured. "It shouldn't be too much longer."

"Well, the steaks are about done," Scott rang out from his position at the pit and Jean, who was sitting at the picnic table nearby, picked up a large platter and brought it to him. Scott transferred the steaks on the grill to the platter and tossed a couple more on the fire as Jean carried the platter back to the table.

"Oh baby! Those smell great!" Bobby Drake shouted, as he came out of the woods a few hundred feet away. Everyone jumped to attention as he made a beeline toward the picnic table.

As he approached Iceman held his arms outstretched as if waiting to accept a hug. Rogue jogged out to meet him and gave him one and Bobby continued walking with his arms wrapped around her dragging her backward. Rogue giggled, then let out a squeal as their feet tangled together and Bobby stumbled, nearly dragging them both to the ground. Kurt wasn't far behind him and he passed by the two as Bobby checked up long enough to untangle himself from Rogue. Then they continued in with their arms around each other's shoulders.

When the three had made it back to the picnicking area, the others greeted them with a hundred questions. Charles settled everyone down as Hank emerged from the treeline with Ororo in tow. She kept looking back over her shoulder and Hank was nearly pulling her along. He kept whispering to her as they approached the picnic area and the others grew real quiet when they saw that Wolverine wasn't with them and Remy turned to Bobby.

"Where is he?"

"He's there," Bob told him as he stuck his finger into the potato salad. Scooping out a clump, he popped it into his mouth.

"Where?" Remy asked again, scanning the trees. Bobby held up one finger suggesting that LeBeau hold his questions until Hank and Ororo got there. And as the two approached and gathered around the table Jean came over to give Ororo a hug.

"Girl, you look tired," Jean said with an understanding smile and Ororo smiled back with a nod.

"Yes, hungry too," Ororo added, looking at the feast set out on the table.

"Well, there's definitely more than enough to go around," Scott smiled as he stepped forward to embrace her as well.

"Where's Logan?" Remy wanted to know and Warren shot him an irritated glare.

"Oh, he's here," Hank assured the Cajun, but seeing LeBeau's doubting expression he knew an explanation was in order. "He got nervous when he saw everyone sitting here. I'm sure he's checking things out from a 'safer' distance."

Ororo nodded then walked over to Charles who was waiting patiently for them to get settled. She bent forward to wrap her arms about his neck.

"I tried to get him to come in with us," she told him, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. Then she loosened her embrace and looked at him. "But the more I pushed, the more anxious he became."

"That's quite alright, Ororo," Charles replied. "You were able to bring him this far and, from what I have been told, you've done an outstanding job." Ororo gave him a tired smile.

"Boy, the food looks great! Let's eat. I'm starved," Bobby exclaimed, grabbing a plate and heading back to the bowl of potato salad.

Jean walked over to Storm and asked if she'd like to get cleaned up first, but Ororo shook her head. "I should bring Logan some food," she replied, and Hank turned away from the table.

"Why don't we wait a little while," he suggested. "Perhaps he will come in on his own."

Storm thought about it for only a moment, then shook her head again. "I promised him food if he came with us," Ororo reminded him.

"So throw him a bone," Angel tossed out rudely.

"Warren!" Rogue scolded, as everyone turned to glare at him. Ororo looked at him curiously, meeting his gaze squarely.

Warren met her eyes for a moment then grabbed a plate of food and walked to the bench on the other side of the pit. Without a backward glance he proceeded to eat his dinner away from the others. Ororo turned to Jean, who was looking at her apologetically.

"Is there some hostility here I should be aware of?" Storm asked her.

"Not at all, Ororo," Charles assured her and she turned to look at him. "Just nerves." Ororo thought about it, then nodded. When she turned away again Charles shot Warren a scolding frown. Warren offered no response as he looked sidelong at Xavier from the corner of his eye, sliding a mouthful of food from his fork. Then he turned his full attention back to his plate.

Kurt brought Ororo a plate of food, setting a place for her at the table. She glanced at the woods briefly then, making her decision, she grabbed the plate from the table. Tossing a couple of steaks on it she headed across the yard.

"Ro?" Jean asked, a little concerned. Hank watched Storm solemnly, then told Jean that Ororo knew what she was doing. Everyone stopped to watch her and even Warren twisted around on his perch to watch.

When Ororo got about halfway to the trees she sat down on the grass, placing the plate of food on the ground in front of her and casually began to eat. Gambit was just about finished filling up his plate when he'd glanced up to see Ororo sitting alone.

"I'll go sit wit' her," he offered as he took a steak from the platter.

"I wouldn't suggest it," Hank replied as he took his place at the table.

"Why not?" Gambit asked.

"That's how she gets him to come out," Hank informed them as he sat down next to Scott. "If you go out there, he won't come out. Be patient."

Kurt and Bobby finally took their seats at the table across from Hank and Rogue went to sit with Jean in the lawn chairs off to the side.

"Vait 'til you see him," Kurt told them as he stirred the food on his plate. Scott got up to offer Charles a plate, but was politely waved away.

"You sure?" Scott asked.

"Yes, thank you," Charles replied. "Perhaps later." Scott nodded and set the plate back on the table. Charles watched Ororo closely, hoping her attrmpts to lure Wolverine from the cover of the trees would be successful. Scott went over to the grill to flip the steaks then returned to his seat. Everyone settled in to eat and it became very quiet as they all took a few moments to satisfy their hunger.

When the silence became noticeable Hank struck up some casual conversation. Everyone finally relaxed and got comfortable as things seemed to be returning to normal. Some laughter broke out as Bobby told one of his humorous anecdotes and Hank glanced over at Ororo, wishing she would come and relax with the rest of them. As he watched her though he saw movement just inside the tree line to Ororo's left. Hank turned his attention back to his plate and spoke quietly to the others.

"Don't everybody jump up..." he advised them, "but we have a visitor." Dr. McCoy continued to eat and act as normally as he would at any other outdoor gathering, but everyone else stopped and raised their eyes to him. When Hank realized that all the conversation at the table had ceased he looked up, and was met by a dozen eyes staring at him.

Bobby and Kurt; who were already adjusted to Logan's appearance and behavior - and were comfortable being around him - continued to eat their meals. They casually glanced over their shoulders now and again to check on Wolverine's progress as he made his way cautiously across the yard toward Ororo.

One by one the others turned to look also. Remy was the first to see him and he couldn't believe that the creature he was now seeing... was his friend. "Mon... Dieu," he exclaimed quietly under his breath. His reaction got Warren's attention and he stood up slowly to see what was going on, moving closer to the group at the table. They all watched as Wolverine moved toward Storm, sniffing the air as he approached her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

He stayed low to the ground and moved deliberately, keeping his eye on the group gathered near the table. At one point a loud snap came from the fire in the pit and the noise startled Wolverine who froze in step. He stared at the group sitting a short distance away and Ororo tried not to look at him. By ignoring his presence she was forcing him to come closer in order to let her know that he was there, but when she realized that Logan was staring intently at the people staring back at him Ororo spoke to him, only to pull his attention away from the others.

"You hungry?" she asked him without looking up. Wolverine looked at her and Ororo picked up one of the steaks with her hand and held it limply in front of her. She didn't offer it to him though, he had to come and get it.

Wolverine checked out the group one more time and, seeing that no one was attempting to move, he made his decision. He moved swiftly across the ten-foot distance separating him from Storm and crouched down close to her left shoulder.

Logan sniffed at her, picking up the scents of the other X-Men who'd embraced her earlier to welcome her home. Ororo swept her hair back from her face as she tried to ignore him.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"My god, he's so..." Warren said trying to think of the right word.

"Feral," Scott finished for him and Angel nodded as he continued to stare at Wolverine, then he furrowed his brow.

"What is he doing?" Worthington asked.

Scott looked up from his plate again to see what Warren was talking about and watched as Logan sniffed at Ororo's hair; causing it to repeatedly fall into her face and she repeatedly pushed it back again patiently.

"Picking up our scents," Scott answered simply and Warren gave him a look that he couldn't quite read. "Because we all hugged her," he explained further.

"Oh... right," Warren replied slightly disgusted by the idea, then turned his concentration back to Ororo.

* * *

She raised her hand; offering Logan the steak and hoping to distract him from his activity, but he ignored it for the moment. He did glance at the cooked meat from over her shoulder, but he needed to satisfy his nose first as he sifted through the new scents that clung to her. Only when that was done did he turn his attention to her offering of food.

Logan reached out slowly and took it gently from her hand. Once he had it in his grasp, he took a step backward and tore into the cooked flesh with carnivorous fervor.

* * *

"Geez... he's not going to go into a feeding frenzy or anything, is he?" Angel asked nervously.

"Don't worry. We've got plenty of food here," Scott assured him with an amused grin. Then, realizing that his teammate may be fearing an attack he added, "He's not a cannibal, if that's what you're worried about."

Warren felt foolish, because that was exactly what he'd been worried about. He gave Scott a sardonic grin just as LeBeau leaned in close and whispered to him.

"Non, mon ami, he may not be a cannibal but he a predator. Obviously prefers meat... any kind o' meat..."

"Remy, stop it," Rogue lightly scolded him with a smile. LeBeau gave her a mischievous smile of his own and she shook her head still grinning. Neither one of them noticed Warren's eyes narrow in anger.

* * *

Logan finished his steak and Ororo offered him a forkful of potato salad knowing full well that he would never settle for that when there were two good-sized London Broils sitting in front of her. He curled his lip and huffed at her, moving his head away from the fork. Ororo smirked and pursed her lips together to keep from giggling out loud.

"You sure?" she asked. Wolverine shifted his eyes to meet hers and she grinned. He didn't seem to appreciate her offer of potatoes over steak and his expression told her so, but she found it comical. She moved the fork toward him in a teasing manner causing him to curl his lip again, so she ate the salad and offered him another slab of meat. He took it and ripped through it with the same gusto as he'd done with the first.

After Logan did away with that one Ororo teased him again with the last bite of salad from her plate. Annoyed, he grunted at her as he leaned away from the fork then he reached out and grabbed the last steak from Ororo's plate. She playfully grabbed at it, making Logan jump backward out of her reach with an irritated growl. Storm watched him finish his meal with a grin gracing her lips and her eyes full of affection for the feral X-Man.

Then she stood up with the empty plate in her hand and Logan gulped down the last of his steak, standing up to check out the now empty plate. Ororo walked away from him, moving toward the group of X-Men whom she was sure were waiting anxiously for them. Logan automatically started to follow her, then realized where she was going. He stopped and hunched down as Ororo continued to walk back to the others. He stared at her curiously as she took a seat beside Charles.


* * *

"How many steaks do we have left?" Ororo asked Scott. He twisted around in his seat to look at her, giving her an amused smirk.

"There's plenty," Scott assured her. "How many would you like?"

"Two for now. Thank you," she replied casually. Scott nodded and stood up. He brought her the steaks and quickly returned to his seat at the table.

Everyone watched Wolverine as he stared at Ororo from afar, but she ignored him and started up a casual conversation with her teammates who answered her questions robotically at first, much more interested in watching Logan. Until he began to approach them slowly, warily.

"Storm?" Rogue said to get her attention.

"Just ignore him," Ororo replied casually without looking up. "He will keep coming in if he thinks you don't know he is there."

Ororo kept them involved in conversation as Wolverine moved into the group, stopping now and then to study the crowd of strangers. He finally made his way over to Ororo's chair and crouched down next to her as if no one would notice he was there.

He looked at the group again - studying each person individually - and recognized Bobby, Kurt and Hank sitting safely among them. Logan checked them out thoroughly - by scent, sight and body language. They appeared to be relaxed and comfortable. And they were unharmed... so Logan allowed himself to relax just a little, although his feral scowl remained and his eyes continued to dart about the group.

Ororo was aware of him looking at her from time to time for reassurance but she didn't interfere, she wanted him to make up his own mind. His gaze, however, was constantly drawn to Kurt and Bobby who sat at the table facing him. Bobby glanced up and caught his stare.

"Hey, buddy," Bobby greeted with a smile and a wave, then continued his meal as if Wolverine's presence was really no big deal. Hank turned around briefly and gave Logan a friendly smile before returning to his meal.

"I like his hair," Kurt mentioned off-handedly through a mouthful of food, to no one in particular. Wolverine's long thick mane had hardly gone unnoticed by the other X-Men, nor did his feral black eyes which seemed to absorb the setting sun.

In the coming darkness, his eyes took on a hollow appearance as they reflected the day's dying light. They now shone brilliantly with an animalistic golden hue which only served to complete the image of the X-Man as the 'nocturnal predator', which was his birthright.

Logan finally turned his eyes back to Ororo and the plate of food on her lap. He looked up at her as if waiting for his cue. She glanced at him and smiled.
"You can have them," Ororo told him, gesturing toward the steaks. "They are for you." Instead of taking one from the plate, Wolverine's eyes shifted uneasily to Charles and the two looked at each other silently. When Ororo realized that the former teacher and his student were silently staring at one another, she turned her smile toward Charles. "Talk to him," she invited the professor quietly.

"What should I say?" he asked in return without taking his eyes from Wolverine.

"Whatever you like. The words are not important," she told him. "Just let him hear your voice."

"Yeah. He don't understand a lot of words yet anyway," Bobby mentioned casually between mouthfuls.

Charles had no idea what to say that would ease Wolverine's mind. He just looked upon his 'son' with tremendous compassion. He looked at the glorious creature before him knowing that this gentle soul, this 'wild thing', was the cause of Logan's deepest fears. This was the part of himself that Logan could feel calling out to him every day; and feared deeply what its existence meant for him.

Wolverine tried to hold the professor's gaze but couldn't. His eyes shifted away, glancing around uncomfortably before returning to Charles'. Logan could sense the professor's position of authority within the group and he found it difficult to hold a challenging stare. After all, he was the outsider here and he was outnumbered.

There were many unfamiliar males here and, if he wanted to remain within his female's 'pack', he couldn't chance being run off... at least not yet. Logan finally relinquished his natural instinct to challenge and lowered his head, glancing around quickly one more time before leaning his forehead on Storm's knee.

"I don't believe it," Bobby exclaimed quietly, his mouth hung open in astonishment. Hank glanced over his shoulder and seeing Wolverine's offer not to challenge he turned back to address Iceman.

"Why don't you believe it, Robert?"

"Well, because... Wolverine... he don't submit to anybody!" Bobby explained haltingly.

"Correction, my friend, he doesn't submit to *just* anybody," Hank replied.

Ororo placed her hand gently on top of Logan's head and looked at Charles with a soft smile, as if to ask him what his intentions were. Wolverine was waiting for confirmation that he would be accepted within the group. Charles looked at Ororo for a moment, then pursed his lips together and took a deep breath.

"Logan," Charles said softly, but Wolverine kept his head down. "Logan, please... come here. It's alright." Logan lifted his head from Ororo's knee but kept his eyes lowered. He listened to Xavier's soothing voice and Ororo felt him tremble against her. "Logan..." Charles repeated again in his ever-patient tone and Wolverine began to breathe faster. His eyes closed and he started to rock back and forth on his haunches. These were the obvious signs of heightened anxiety that Ororo knew all too well. "What is it?" Charles asked as Ororo leaned forward in her chair.

"I don’t know," she replied curiously, shaking her head. "Logan, look at me." She tried to raise his chin to her, but he pulled free of her grasp and squeezed his eyes shut tight with a groan.

"Doesn’t he usually act like that when he has one of those memory flashes?" Bobby asked.

"Yes, he does," Hank concurred, and as if to emphasizehis reply Logan grunted almost painfully.

"Logan… it’s alright," Storm tried to comfort. "You’re okay. You’re safe."

"What do you think caused it?" Jean asked as she came closer.

"That’s impossible to say," Charles replied, keeping a close eye on him. "Many times there are no identifiable triggers, sometimes they just happen."

Ororo continued to try and get Wolverine’s attention, but Professor Xavier explained that Logan couldn’t hear her at the moment - he was lost in the image of the memory. Charles assured her that Logan *was* only recovering a memory and he was now in a fugue state, but he would be fine in a short while.

Logan’s eyes focused inward toward the vision. Ororo could hear his teeth slam together as the tension in his jaw locked the muscles tight, then he began to grind his teeth. His breathing became heavy and quick and his nostrils flared as he sucked in huge amounts of air through his nose.

The entire event lasted only a minute or so and a moment later he blinked his eyes rapidly as the flashback lost its grip on him. He looked as though somebody had just smacked him hard upside his head with a two by four. Then Logan raised his eyes to Charles and snarled, flashing his sharp teeth.

"Logan!" Ororo scolded but he didn’t pay her any attention. He did however stand up and take a step toward the professor. Jean was on her feet instantly and Charles raised his hand, halting her in step.

"Charles?" Jean asked with mild panic.

"Take it easy, Jean," he advised her calmly as he looked at Wolverine now standing before him. Logan opened his mouth as if to say something then looked at Ororo. She looked very concerned, but she nodded to encourage him to use his words. Logan looked back at the professor.

"Hur-t… Lo-gan," he said in such a deep, gravelly voice that they weren’t even sure if he had said a word. Charles heard him though and he nodded.

"Yes. I’m sorry, Logan," he answered quietly. "I *have* hurt you in the past, but I was only trying to help."

"Hhel-p," Logan repeated, staring at Xavier curiously.

"Logan?" Ororo said, touching his arm gently. Logan looked at her, then he crouched back down next to her and spoke to her instead.

"Hhel-p… Lo-gan… hurt," he said, tapping his knuckles against the side of his head, then lifting his chin to indicate Charles.

"He knows that you've caused him pain, Charles," Jean said nervously.

"Perhaps," Charles replied as he continued to study Logan's behavior.

"Maybe he’s remembering that you tried to *take away* his pain," Scott said, offering another suggestion and Logan looked up at Storm unsure about all the chatter.

"He’s confused," she stated softly.

"Ya’ think?" Warren quipped sarcastically and everyone shot him a look, then Peter stood up.

"What is your trouble, comrade?" Peter asked, demanding an explanation for Warren’s insensitive remarks. Logan was immediately alert to the possibility of a confrontation and he spun around on his toes to face the two men, then stood and set his stance in front of Ororo.

"Gentlemen…" Charles said, keeping his voice level with only a hint of urgency, "this is not the time for an argument."

Warren and Peter looked over, as did the rest of the team, to see that Wolverine was set for a fight and sniffing the air to get their scents on mental record. Not wishing to see the situation escalate, Peter sat down slowly and Worthington backed off a few steps. Wolverine stepped forward toward the picnic table and, as he approached the larger of the two men, Logan sniffed at Warren and snarled as he passed him by.

Logan walked straight up to the picnic bench where Hank was sitting next to Scott and pushed between the two men as he climbed up to the top of the table. Hank slid over to give him room on the bench and, when he realized Logan was continuing straight to the top, he hurried to move plates and glasses aside.

Wolverine gestured for Peter to stand up so he did. As Colossus stood to his full height Logan had to straighten himself up too in order to keep his eyes level with the giant Russian. He appeared to be quite impressed by Peter’s physical stature, as he looked him up and down and Bobby took the initiative, standing up to make a proper introduction.

"This is Peter. Logan? Colossus."

"Klos-iz," Logan tried to repeat off-handedly, then he jumped off the table and moved toward the Angel. He landed on the ground and crouched low, resting on his haunches. Logan sniffed at Warren who swallowed nervously and took a step backward. He crouched there in front of Angel longer than they'd expected him to and that's when Ororo noticed that Logan was gently swaying back and forth.

She stood up and went to him, lowering herself down beside him and saw once again that his eyes were focused inward. ‘Another memory?’ she wondered and, as he fell deeper into that hypnotic stare, Wolverine took in huge samples of Worthington’s scent.

A moment later the memory flash was over and Logan quickly became aware of his surroundings and, in turn, became extremely agitated. He grunted at Warren as he stood up then walked toward him. Then he circled the winged X-Man checking him out from head to toe, as if looking for a vulnerable spot. As he circled Angel a second time his lip curled back in a vicious snarl.

"Oh, Ah don’t like the look o’ this," Rogue stated as she stood up.

"Neither do I. Call him off," Warren replied.

"Logan?" Storm said trying to get his attention, and as he came around the other side of the giant wings Wolverine glanced over at her. "What is it, Logan? Do you remember Warren?"

"Mmmm," Logan grumbled. He continued to move around Angel, inhaling his scent deeply. "Mmmm," he repeated and, as he moved around Warren again, Ororo also stepped around to keep Logan in view. "Mmmm-aa…"

To Storm, it sounded as if Logan was trying to say something specific and was trying to come up with the word on his own. He was thinking really hard about it too, and he snarled dangerously at Warren when he couldn't come up with it.

"Mmm-arr…"

"What, Logan?" Storm asked, but Logan shook his head quickly at her to stop her from distracting his thought.

"Mmar- ad…..mar-ad-er…" he growled.

"Maurauder!" Rogue exclaimed, then realized it wasn’t something she should be overly thrilled about. "Wait a minute, you were never a Maurauder," she added.

"Mar-ad-er-er…" Logan tried again. Then he stopped and swung his head around at Warren and flashed his over-sized fangs at the winged mutant. "Maur-ad…" Logan squeezed his eyes shut and balled up his fists, straining to come up with the memory or the word. Hank watched fearfully as the hair on Logan’s arms bristled, then his mane fanned out.

"Oh my… god," Warren half-whispered in shock, his eyes huge.

"It’s alright, Warren," Scott assured him. "Storm?" Ororo glanced at him and shrugged, she was as lost on this one as they were.

"Mmard-er," Logan tried to tell her, desperately wishing she could tell him the word he wanted.

"Maurauder?" she asked, trying to help. "That is Warren, Logan."

Logan became so agitated, because he couldn’t say the word he wanted, that he slammed his fists against the side of his head as if trying to jog the word from his brain.

"No! No, no, stop!" Ororo grabbed onto his fists so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He pulled against her, but she held on to his wrists as tight as she could. Logan tried to wrest himself free. "Logan… what is it? Why are you so upset?" she asked. Warren backed away until he had the fire pit between himself and Wolverine.

"Mar-er…der. Mar-erd-er-er," Logan kept repeating, frantically pleading with her to understand.

"Okay, okay." She tried to comfort him and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t fight her because he was so focused on trying to find the right word that he barely even noticed her restraining embrace. Bobby, totally dumbfounded by the situation, blurted out without thinking.

"It sounds like he’s trying to say ‘murderer’," Bobby observed aloud.

"No… I’m sure it’s maurauder," Scott countered.

"Murderer!" Logan yelled. Now that someone had said it, he could repeat it.
"Murderer!" he screamed at Warren and Ororo tightened her grip on him as he tried to pull away shouting at Worthington. Hank quickly got up and moved to give Storm a hand in restraining Wolverine, who was absolutely frantic; shouting at Angel and trying to get loose from Ororo’s grasp. Scott stood up too, concerned about Wolverine’s reaction to Warren then turned to him.

"Is there something you need to explain, Angel?" Cyclops asked.

"Murderer!! Murderer!!" Logan screamed, struggling against Storm and Hank as they tried to calm him.

"He doesn't know what he's saying," Angel told them over Logan’s screaming even as he backed away. Rogue stood up looking at Warren with disbelief. This couldn’t possibly be what he’s been trying to keep hidden from Wolverine… from them. ‘Murderer?’ "Wolverine… he's wrong, I'm telling you. I swear… wrong word, wrong man," Angel told them in response to their shocked expressions. "He is mistaken, I swear."

"He seems pretty sure to me," Iceman told him, coming closer to Hank to get a good look at his friend fighting to get loose of Hank’s grip. Bobby turned slowly to Warren. "Is that what you didn’t want him to remember?" Warren shook his head. "Did he see you murder someone?" Bob asked accusingly.

"No!" Angel exclaimed.

"Murderer!" Logan kept shouting.

"He’s mistaken!" Angel shouted over his screams.

"Logan!! Calm down! Please…" Storm pleaded with him. She took his face between her hands and stepped in front of him to block his view of Warren. He struggled a few seconds more then he looked up at her with fear, anger and confusion in his eyes. "Ssshhh. Calm down," she whispered to him.

"Mur-der…" he stammered, in a quieter tone.

"It’s okay," Storm whispered to him. She wouldn’t let him look around her, no matter how he tried. "Warren?" she said after a thought, "You may want to go somewhere that he can’t see you."

Warren looked at all their doubting eyes, then swallowed hard and nodded. Taking a few steps back he unfurled his large wings, then he turned and flew away. Scott furrowed his brow and watched with concern as Angel disappeared in the darkened sky.

"It’s okay, pal," he told Logan, wondering what it was that he was remembering or whether he was remembering it correctly. Scott just shook his head at the thought then looked at Wolverine standing beside him.

"Murderer," Logan told him. Scott patted him on the head giving his hair a light tousle in the same manner he used with his little brother.

"Okay, pal."

* * *

Hank and Ororo were able to loosen their hold on Wolverine as he'd calmed down significantly only moments after Warren was out of sight and scent range. Kurt and Bobby however had become assertive, obviously coming forward in support of Logan and were still hot in his defense. Charles tried to keep everyone calm so as not to set Wolverine off again, but Iceman became defiant, almost to the point of becoming rude.

"Kurt, Robert, there's no need to raise your voices. Please try to control your reactions, you may disturb Wolverine and set him off again," the professor said quietly, trying to restore a friendly atmosphere. Iceman however was so incensed he wasn't listening to reason and his heated reply was so rude that Cyclops had to put his foot down.

"Iceman! Nightcrawler," Scott said crisply, "I will not tolerate any form of disrespect toward Professor Xavier! You forget yourselves and even common courtesy?"

Realizing how their behavior was coming across, the chastized pair immediately apologized to Charles and he readily accepted the apology. He knew they meant no disrespect, they were just voicing their concerns and allowing their emotions to take the lead over rational thinking.

Through all of the commotion Peter Rasputin had kept his seat and had kept quiet. He saw no reason to interfere or to cause anymore confusion, but he had watched Wolverine’s behavior closely through it all and it saddened him to see his friend so distraught. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that Wolverine was still perfectly able to defend himself and would not hesitate to do so. That much had not changed. What had changed… was Wolverine’s willingness to accept Storm’s guidance and discipline.

Peter had always believed that Ororo possessed a special talent for connecting with Wolverine even when all others would try and fail. He had once witnessed five people trying to restrain Logan as he lashed out in a blind fury. They'd tried to get his attention long enough to make attempts to calm him down and they failed miserably.

When Ororo had stepped forward and spoke to him - having to repeat herself a couple of times, but remaining calm and quiet - Logan had looked at her. Her understanding, but stern expression and the no-nonsense, but soothing tone of her voice always seemed to grab his attention.

Peter had always been amazed by it. He didn't understand it, but he admired her for it. It was as if, even when Logan didn’t always understand what was happening to him or why, Ororo could always reach out to that part of him that hurt so badly and she'd always find it waiting to accept her.

The actual details of Logan‘s past never seemed to really concern her. Ororo didn’t need to know the gruesome details of his life to understand the pain it left behind. She cared only about what Logan was feeling, she cared about the effects his life had on him, but the actual details didnt matter. He didn’t have to explain things to her, he didn’t need to justify his pain… it was there, that’s all she needed to know.

As the others talked quietly amongst themselves over what'd just transpired, Peter watched as Logan slipped away from the small group and came toward him. Right up and over he came again to perch on top of the table in front of him. He crouched down in front of him, then Wolverine turned to look over his shoulder at the others before turning his full attention back to the living monolith.

It seemed to Peter that Logan looked lost, almost sad. Besides the expression in his eyes, the most obvious change in Wolverine’s appearance was the tremendous length his hair had grown in just a few days. It hadn’t only grown long, but it grew outward as well, with a definite shape and attitude.

It really was an impressive feature and a beautiful symbol of what Mother Nature may have originally had planned for Logan’s intended station in life - a fate or destiny, that would never be realized thanks to human intervention.
As the two looked each other over, their eyes met and Colossus was amazed at what he saw. ‘The eyes’ - it had been said - ‘were the windows to one’s soul.’ Peter always believed that.

He'd known Logan for many, many years and had always believed that Wolverine’s rough edges and hard exterior had to be, in part, to protect himself from ever being hurt again as badly as he already had been.

Now Rasputin sat in silent awe, staring into the eyes of a man he once knew as a callous and uncaring military combatant, a ferocious fighter and a savage, merciless killer. He saw nothing of that man now. Right now, at this very moment, that man-made assassin did not exist.

Looking into those piercing blue eyes, Peter could see only gentleness and an understanding that existed naturally, before Logan’s psyche had been manipulated and perverted by the cruelty of human hands for their own selfish reasons.

Peter realized with profound regret that, because Logan had been beaten and tortured under the ‘reasoning’ that his animal-like instincts and physical features made him less than human - and because he'd been kicked and spat on while ‘intelligent’ people accused him of being nothing more than an animal – Logan had learned quickly to despise the animal within him. The saddest part of it all was that Logan had been conditioned to hate and fear the very best part of himself.

Colossus picked a small piece of steak from his plate and offered it to Logan as a sign of acceptance and friendship. Jean turned to check on Wolverine just in time to see Peter offering him a portion from his plate. She whispered to Ororo and they watched as Logan took the offering very gently from Peter’s fingers. The team walked to the table and both Peter and Logan glanced at them with barely any interest as Peter continued to offer Logan portions of his meal. Wolverine took his share with docile acceptance.

Dr. McCoy reached out slowly and placed his hand on Logan's shoulder. He was interested in what sort of response the touch would elicit, but Logan barely glanced up in response. Then he went to collect the steaks that had been left forgotten on the grill over the dying flame.

He carried them back to Peter and placed them on the table beside him. Logan’s eyebrows arched in delight and he slid across the table toward the plate, tearing a bite from the piece the large Russian had just given him. "Keep him occupied, would you please?" Hank asked him. "Dr. Grey and I would like to give him a quick examination."

Peter nodded and took a steak from the plate. He slowly cut it into pieces keeping Logan’s attention while Jean cautiously gave him the once over. She examined some of the cuts he'd received as he ran through the dense woods and as they seemed to be healing normally for him, she moved upward. She checked his cuts and bruises and gently went through his thick mane looking for any hidden injuries or infections he might've received that his healing factor might have trouble with. Finding none she rubbed his long dirty hair between her fingers.

"Maybe we should try to clean him up a little bit," Jean mentioned. Hank agreed that it couldn't hurt and she sent Kurt off for soapy water and a towel.

Logan caught the scent of sulfur left behind by Kurt's teleportation. He curled up his nose and forced the insulting odor from his nasal passages, turning to look for the reason for the vile odor just as Jean touched his neck gingerly to see how tender a bruise was.

Her touch was painful and Logan flinched reflexively. His mind flashed an image of remembered pain - a pain inflicted on him by another. Logan’s mind flashed back to images of a large, bright room; of people without faces holding him down, cutting him open; feeling the pain and trying to scream… and not being able to.

That entire image hit Logan all at once. His head jerked upward as if he'd been hit with an uppercut and he gasped loudly from the intense shock of the memory’s image. As the whiplash effect of his reaction pulled him off balance, he threw his arms out to the side catching Jean’s shoulder in his right hand and Peter’s arm in his left. They in turn grabbed onto him in surprise, to keep him from throwing himself backwards off the table.

"Oh my god… Logan!" Jean exclaimed tightening her grip.

"Got him!" Peter assured her.

"That was intense! What happened? What’d you do?" Bobby exclaimed.

"That was a flashback... and a pretty intense one, I’d say," Hank explained.

Kurt reappeared with the supplies and quickly assessed that he'd missed something significant. "Is he alright?" he asked.

"He’ll be fine," Jean answered, not too sure of it herself as Ororo moved to the other side of the table quickly to assist Peter. Logan was now somewhat reclined on top of the table, his head and shoulders supported by Colossus.
Jean moved swiftly to check his condition. His eyes were wide as he stared toward the night sky, lost and unfocused. His mouth open in shock, his heavy and irregular breathing expressing his terror just as well as any scream could have.

Storm spoke to him softly, trying to control her own feelings of desperation. She cradled Logan's head in her arms as she tried to rescue him from the horrors of his own mind.

"Can I get some water?" Storm asked, to no one in particular as Logan started to come out of his altered mental state.

Bobby grabbed the pitcher, poured the water with shaky hands and handed her the glass. Logan blinked his eyes to clear the lingering remnants of the vision from his head as Ororo touched his face with soothing caresses. He was quite obviously disoriented and she helped him take a sip of water.

"I want him inside tonight," Charles instructed.

"Charles…" Ororo began to protest.

"No arguments, Storm. He needs supervision," he told her. "He’s obviously beginning to recover his memories and they are not returning passively. Recovering lost memories is unsettling enough… to have them return with that kind of intensity…" he didn’t need to finish. Ororo nodded knowing she couldn’t possibly deny the logic of his orders.

* * *
It had taken a lot of persuasion and a whole lot more patience, but they were eventually able to persuade Wolverine to step inside the mansion’s front entrance. He took some time to check out the large foyer, looking into the two rooms off to either side. Bobby tried to encourage him to go farther into the rooms but he wouldn’t cross through the doorways.

When he got to the wide staircase leading up to the second floor Logan looked up curiously, but when Jean walked a short distance up the steps and tried to get him to follow he quickly moved away. Jean shook her head with a smile and looked expectantly to Ororo.

The weather goddess moved forward and proceeded up the stairs. Logan watched her attentively, but he didn’t move and she made it all the way to the top before turning to look at him. Logan was looking up at her and his expression, although still a scowl, was full of confusion. It clearly told her that he really didn’t want to go any further, but he didn’t want to be left behind either.

"C’mon, Logan. There is nothing to fear," she told him and he glanced at the others who were standing nearby. They all stood quietly watching, not wanting to interfere. Their expressions remained friendly and relaxed and they were giving him his space. He considered these things as he tried to make a decision. "Logan?" Ororo drew his attention back to her. "No fear," she told him simply. He looked up at her and she could see it in his eyes, he really wanted to believe her.

"No… hurt… Logan," he said back to her and Storm felt her heart breaking.

"No, sweetie. No one will hurt Logan here," she assured him.

He looked back at the others one last time then started up the stairs. As he got closer to the top, his pace slowed as he sniffed the air. Ororo held her hand out to encourage him to come closer, but Logan stopped just before reaching the landing. Leaning forward he checked out the hallway to the left, then to the right.

"I’ve got something to show you," Ororo told him. It appeared to be safe, so Logan took her hand and she led him down the hall to his right. The rest of the team followed up the stairs after they disappeared down the hall.

As Ororo led him past the closed doors of the bedrooms belonging to different team members, Logan sniffed at them as if to identify which X-man occupied which room. When they passed by Warren’s bedroom door, Logan pulled back against her hand and snarled at the door. Storm quickly pulled him along and the sight of Hank and the others coming up behind him helped to keep him moving.

They'd passed three doors on the left before they came to the first door on the right. Ororo stopped in front of it and Logan sniffed at it, then he turned wide eyes to her. She smiled at him then opened the door. Logan barely hesitated before stepping inside to check things out. Every inch of the room was covered in his scent. He turned to look at Ororo standing in the doorway.

"This is *your* room," she said, pointing at him. She moved to the bed and turned down the covers and Logan watched her for a moment with a blank expression. Then he moved across the room and pushed through the glass doors that lead out to his private balcony.

He looked up at the night sky then peered over the railing. Ororo came out and guided him back inside, locking the doors behind her. Logan stared out through the panes of glass as Storm went back out to the hall to give him some room. Jean came up beside her and peeked in at him. She offered Ororo a smile to let her know that she was doing the right thing.

"He’ll be alright, ‘Ro. Why don’t you take some time for yourself? We can watch him," Jean offered. Ororo thought about it as she let out a sigh – 'a hot shower, clean clothes, a warm bed?' Her expression told Jean that she really would love just fifteen minutes to get herself together. "Go ahead. He’ll be fine," Jean told her and Ororo nodded, then turned down the hall.

* * *

Ororo's room was on the third floor. She'd instantly fallen in love with the openness of the attic layout and Charles had given it to her to make her own.
The large balcony leading outside and the three large skylights allowed an abundance of sunlight into the room and helped to keep her claustrophobia at bay. The solar heat afforded the room a tropical feel and helped to turn the attic space into her own private little rainforest. Ororo Munroe definitely had a green thumb and the hundreds of plants that she tended to daily flourished under her care.

She climbed the stairs and the sweet aroma of exotic and tropical flora welcomed her home. Ororo went straight to the shower and turned it on. A hot shower would certainly ease her aching muscles... and her exhausted mind right along with it.

She certainly wouldn’t have any trouble falling asleep tonight. The fragrance of shampoo and tropical shower gels filled the bathroom with a relaxing aroma. As she bathed Ororo kept thinking about those crisp, clean white sheets that were waiting for her and the feel of silk and cotton that would soon embrace her as she fell into the deepest sleep of her life.

Twenty minutes later she emerged from the steam-filled room feeling a hundred percent better. She towel-dried her hair as she moved to turn down the covers on her bed promising herself that she would check on Logan before settling in for the night.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair and closing her eyes with a very contented sigh, when she heard footfalls on the stairs. It couldn’t be Logan because he wasn’t wearing shoes and whoever it was... was coming up the stairs quickly. Storm opened her eyes and stood up holding her breath, she feared that Logan had gotten away and one of her teammates was racing up here to give her the bad news. She started toward the stairs just as Jean made it to the top and the two women looked at each other with almost the same expression.

"What is it?" Storm asked worried, but she wasn't sure she really wanted the answer.

"Sorry," Jean began sheepishly, "I only left him for a moment. He sure is quick."

"Where is he?" Storm asked trying not to sound demanding. Her heart was pounding in her chest and Jean looked at her in a funny way then arched her eyebrow. "What?" Ororo asked. Jean leaned slightly to one side and looked past her, deliberately forcing Ororo to turn around.

Logan was sitting quietly on the floor on the other side of the room; seemingly at ease and comforted by the abundance of plant life. Storm let out a sigh of relief and she couldn't help but smile.

"He must’ve made a bee-line straight up here as soon as he realized you'd gone. It took me a while to figure out where he went," Jean explained. "I’ll take him back to his room."

"No, it’s alright, Jean," Ororo replied quickly. "He’s fine right here."

Jean easily sensed Ororo’s relief ; she didn’t want to be separated from him either. She'd been given the time to take care of her own needs and she was now more than ready to turn her attention back to him. He needed her. Ororo knew that and knowing that gave her the strength to be patient with him. He needed her and she would never turn him away.

She took the time to make up the couch in the corner for him to sleep on, but she couldn’t convince him to get up on it. So she offered him the chaise-longe and then the hammock that was set up on her balcony, but in the end Logan was happy to just curl up on the floor beneath the cover of the indoor canopy.

Once he'd chosen his spot and settled in for the night, Ororo slipped under the covers on her bed. She gave him one last look before turning off the light and in minutes she drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.


TBC in "Shades of Humanity" part 3

Chapter 19

Shades of Humanity, part 3



At 3:17 am the X-Men were jarred awake by a large crash. Scott Summers bolted upright and sprang from the bed as a voice cried out in terror, piercing the stillness of the pre-dawn hours.

He was the first to make it into the hall and looked around in dazed surprise as the other team members joined him. It took only a moment for his sleepy mind to clear and realize what was happening. He turned to run down the corridor just as another crash sounded. With the team right behind him, Scott ran up the stairs to Ororo's loft, clearing the steps three at a time.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ororo had been shocked awake by the commotion that sprang up in the darkness of her room. Her mind raced in panic as she scrambled for the light next to the bed, almost knocking it off the bedside table.

Momentarily blinded by the sudden bright light she squinted beneath a raised hand trying to figure out what was going on. As her eyes adjusted, and Storm was able to focus, she saw Logan staggering around in a daze; eyes wide with terror, hands pawing at the walls.

Ororo watched in shock as Logan stumbled over the huge plants, scrambling to find an escape. He slammed into furniture, tripping and falling hard to the floor, but was on his feet again quickly as Ororo threw the covers aside and leapt from the bed.

She ran to him and tried to grab onto him to keep him still, but Logan pulled clear of her grasp and stumbled backward. In the grip of his nightmare Logan had no idea who was trying to capture him and he tried to move backward away from his assailant's clutching hands. Logan stumbled over a large potted fern and crashed to the floor again even as Storm grappled for him.

"Logan, it is me! Ororo!" she shouted to him as he scrambled away from her, hoping her voice could slice through the fog blanketing his mind in terror.

Each time she was able to grab onto his ankle Logan tried to kick her off and ended up pulling her along the wood floor. Impeded by her satin nightgown, Ororo was forced to let go each time she was pulled off balance as Wolverine fled from her.

He crawled away, scrambling backward through the plants, only to be met by a wall and he immediately got to his knees, running his hands frantically across the panelling, searching for a way out. As she heard sounds coming from the stairway behind her, Ororo shot a look over her shoulder and was relieved to see Scott who suddenly appeared at her door, stopping momentarily to assess the situation.

"Bad dream!"

That was all she needed to say and he quickly moved across the room to assist her. Half way across the loft Scott was hit by a cool breeze coming from the open balcony doors. He immediately realized that there was nothing between Wolverine and the open doors that would keep Logan from trying to escape that way... and it was a long way down.

Scott quickly detoured toward the doors, squeezing frantically between a small desk and a free-standing shelf unit that blocked his shortcut to the balcony. Once clear of the obstacles he moved quickly to secure the doors, but not quickly enough. Logan caught the scent and the feel of the crisp, fresh air and blindly turned toward it. Cyclops never made it to the doors.

"No!" Ororo shouted. "Scott...!"

At Storm's warning Cyclops turned around just in time to catch Logan as he tried to race for freedom. He knew that Wolverine's physical strength could easily overpower him, especially in a panicked state - and as Logan wasn't wearing enough clothes to grab onto - Scott did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped his arms around Logan's thickly muscled neck and threw himself backward to the floor, dragging Wolverine down with him.

Wolverine growled loudly as he struggled to get his feet back under him and Scott strained to keep his hold on the feral, squeezing his arms tight against his body so Logan wouldn't slip free. Logan got back to his feet, but was forced to remain bent over at the waist, as he dragged Summers off the floor, still wrapped in the leader's headlock.

Scott knew he couldn't keep Wolverine down on the ground by himself, but he figured he could at least slow the Canadian down. So he tried to keep Logan's head as low to the ground as possible while keeping the feral's back to the doors. Even so, those short powerful legs dug in and began to drag him slowly toward the outer doors.

Logan shook his head violently as he tried to dislodge the weight of the other man and grappled with the hands that were clasped tightly around his neck. He could hear Cyclops grunting under the strain of trying to wrangle a frenzied Wolverine all by himself.

The struggle lasted only a few moments, but was enough to exhaust all of Scott's strength. He honestly couldn't imagine being the victor in an actual wrestling match against the compacted power of that brawny little Canadian. Scott Summers couldn't even imagine being able to walk away from such an event. His strength was depleted just trying to hold the man in a headlock, so he was quite relieved to look up and see Colossus appear above him. Cyclops released his weary but determined hold on Wolverine.

With the weight now lifted from him, Logan straightened, turned in a flash and bolted for the doors. He landed only one step before Colossus reached out with one arm to block his path. His momentum was suddenly halted by the backward force of Peter's 'iron-girder' forearm against his chest. Logan was yanked off his feet, and the air forced from his lungs, as Peter twisted around with a smooth sweeping motion; lifting Logan off the floor and tossing him onto the bed. He immediately pinned the struggling X-Man under his weight as Ororo helped Scott to his feet.

"No!" Logan yelled as his mind registered the weight of his teammate holding him down. His voice was back to normal, clear and strong, and heads turned in surprise. "Let me go! It's not safe! Can't be trusted!"

"We trust you, tovarisch. Everything is alrigh,." Peter replied calmly.

"No. Danger here!"

"There is no danger. You are safe," Peter told him as the fog cleared from Logan's mind. He watched his friend calm down as he gained control of more rational thoughts and stopped fighting. Logan lay beneath his weight, his eyes closing as he tried to catch his breath and calm himself.

Ororo came to the bed and looked down at him, relieved to hear his voice. She reached out to touch his face and Logan unconsciously turned his face into the tender touch and opened his eyes.

"Ro," he said with true recognition. Storm nodded and smiled softly.

"Yes," she confirmed, then settled onto the bed beside him. "Please try to calm yourself, Logan. You had a bad dream, that is all. You are safe."

"What happened?" he asked blinking up at her through the lingering images flashing in his head. "Where are we?"

"We are home and you are safe," she answered. Logan's eyes searched the room trying to figure out why it was familiar. Ororo could almost hear what he was thinking: 'this isn't his room..!' So she added, "You are in my loft."

"Your loft?" he echoed in confusion, then became aware of Peter's hold. "You can let go now," he said quietly, and Peter looked to Ororo who nodded. He let go slowly and took a step back as Logan pulled himself up onto his elbows and looked around.

The entire team was standing there in their night clothes, half asleep and gaping at him. The men wore shorts and the women wore cool silky tops and night shorts. He tried to put it all together... it was summer... it was night... it was all a fog... his mind a blank.

"What the hell is goin' on?" he asked as he looked down at himself - filthy, half-naked, lyin' on Storm's bed with the X-Men standing in a circle around him.

Ororo watched him for a moment as his eyes moved about in search of the answers he didn't have. She gave him a moment and watched the scowl deepen on his features before she spoke again.

"Do you remember?" she asked softly. Logan shook his head slowly and his eyes shot to hers as he became aware of the tremendous weight of the long, thick mane now hanging about his shoulders. He lowered eyes as his hand came up, then he threw her a concerned look as he rolled from the bed.

"It is alright, Logan," she tried to assure him as he marched over to the mirror on her dresser. His hands clutched the edges of the bureau, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the truth of his reflection.

"Oh my god," he whispered in shame and horror.

"Logan... it is alright," Ororo repeated calmly as she stepped toward him.

"What did I do?" he asked no one in particular, but it was assumed by all that Ororo would handle this.

"You suffered a tremendous trauma..."

"How?" he interrupted without looking up. His voice vibrated with repressed anger. Ororo hesitated with the answer, not sure how much he could handle knowing right now. "What did I do?" he repeated harshly in the absence of her answer.

"You did nothing wrong," she stated clearly as she moved closer to him.

"Did I hurt anybody?" Logan demanded to know as he turned around to look at her. "What did I do??" he nearly shouted moving in on her in a threatening manner, but Storm knew better and held her ground. He stopped about a foot in front of her and glared up at her, but Ororo could see the pain in his eyes at the thought of what he already knew.

"You reacted... instinctively," Storm replied carefully.

"Instinctively," Logan echoed with controlled emotion. Ororo nodded, concentrating on holding his gaze. Then he turned his head to look at the concerned expressions of his other teammates who stood silently watching before turning back to Storm. "You mean... I went berserk," he clarified with a snarl.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Ororo answered truthfully, her voice full of compassion for her friend's feelings on the subject.

"I lost control," he said in disbelief as his eyes dropped to the floor. He couldn't believe it, those days were supposed to be behind him. Logan stared at the floor trying to sort through all the thoughts racing through his head.

"Logan..." Ororo said, reaching out to him. She had a sudden and intense desire to just hold him and give him comfort from this fear of his. But Logan sensed her plan and took an evasive step backward as his _expression changed from a confused frown to an angry scowl. There was no way in hell he was going to show weakness in front of her, in front of the team... in front of anyone.

Ororo watched as Wolverine's defenses came up hard and strong. She desperately wanted to plead with him not to shut them out, not to shut her out. She didn't get the chance.

"Well, you can all stand around here all night if you want to..." he shot out gruffly then turned for the door.

"Logan..."

"I got things to take care of," he informed them as he pushed through the crowd hovering around and marched to the door.

Storm looked over her shoulder at Scott. He gave a crisp nod and moved quickly around the bed to follow her down the stairs. The others slowly filed out to head back to their rooms.

"Wolverine!" Scott shouted as he trotted down the stairwell, gently pushing past Ororo to catch up, but Logan didn't stop. "Logan!" he yelled out again as he hit the floor in the main corridor, demanding that Logan stop.

"Leave it alone, Scott," Wolverine growled out as he continued to march down the hall toward his room.

"Wolverine! You've been through a lot, we all know that..."

"Drop it, Cyclops!" Logan ordered as he came to a sudden halt in front of his door causing Scott to check up quickly so as not to invade the troubled man's space. Logan turned the knob and let the door swing open.

Scott watched, expecting Wolverine to move into the room and lock them out, but he didn't. He just stood there; his head inclined in deep serious thought, his chest heaving under the stress and Scott watched him for a moment before speaking again. When he did his tone was quiet and sincere.

"Talk to us, man," Scott said, offering support. His tone made Wolverine turn his head slightly in his direction, but Logan couldn't bring himself to look the other man in the face.

"There's nothing to say," Logan replied quietly in return. He turned back to the open door and stepped in, shutting the door quietly behind him.




Most of the team had returned to their beds after the incident in Storm's loft, except Scott and Hank. Scott had offered to make a pot of coffee and they sat with Ororo in the kitchen, sometimes talking briefly but mostly reflecting silently on their friend's plight.

Scott stood from the table, picking up his mug and going back to the near empty pot on the counter. He poured himself another cup and offered another to his companions.

"Ororo?" he said again pulling her from her thoughts and she looked to him curiously. "Would you like another?" he repeated, lifting the pot slightly higher.

"Oh..." she exclaimed in mild surprise. "Umm..." she tilted her empty cup toward her to peer inside it then placed it on the saucer again before standing up. "No... thank you, Scott. I think..." she looked up to the clock on the wall to see that an hour had passed since they'd left Logan upstairs. "I think I'm going to go check on Logan."

She excused herself and left the kitchen. Scott returned to his seat exchanging glances with Hank before taking a sip of the hot beverage and the two shared each other's quiet company for a while longer.




Ororo stood outside the door for a moment, listening for any movement inside the room. She wondered if he'd fallen asleep while she'd been gone and thought it best to leave sleeping dogs lie, but knew she'd never get back to sleep herself unless she knew for sure that he was alright. She reached for the doorknob, but had second thoughts of just opening the door unannounced. Tapping her knuckles lightly against the door she called out quietly to him.

"Logan?"

No response. She knocked again and with her face close to the door Ororo called his name again. Logan was a very light sleeper and the lack of response from him caused her worry. Fear clutched at her belly as she wondered if he was alright or if he was even still in there. She hesitated only a moment then turned the knob, pushing the door open slowly and prepared to pull it shut again if he wasn't quite decent or in no mood for the intrusion.

The room was dark, save for the dawning light of the newly rising sun which gave her enough to see that he wasn't in the room. The bed was still turned down the way she'd left it and it was apparent that he hadn't even attempted to lie down on it.

"Logan?"

No response. Ororo pushed the door open the rest of the way, peering through the space between the hinges to make sure he wasn't lying in wait for her to enter. She had no idea what mindset he might be in at the moment and didn't want to find herself in an ambush situation. When the door came to rest, tapping lightly against the wall, Ororo stepped into the bedroom. The balcony doors were still closed and locked from the inside so he hadn't left that way. Turning, she looked toward the bathroom. The door was closed and a light shone from beneath it.

Ororo was relieved that Logan was still in the mansion, however the lack of sounds or activity behind the door made her curious. She moved across the room, approaching the closed door cautiously. She listened for a moment, waiting to hear the sound of running water or perhaps the opening and closing of cabinet doors as he prepared for bed, but there was no sound from the little room. She took half a step back, looking down at the sliver of light from beneath the door, watching for a shadow of movement.

Nothing.

She wondered what he could be doing in there, or.... what had he done? Her heart jumped into her throat and that same fear dropped like a brick into the pit of her stomach. Knowing that his healing factor served him well in most situations didn't alleviate the fear that he may be so emotionally distressed that he'd actually make an attempt to hurt himself. And it was his emotional and psychological state that worried her the most right now. Leaning her forehead against the door she closed her eyes in silent prayer. She spoke his name quietly, knowing that he'd hear her.

"Logan," her voice hitched with emotion. He didn't answer. Ororo placed one hand on the door beside her head, tapping her open palm lightly on the door, afraid to open it and find him inside. "Logan??" she rasped, her tone demanding with tension and fear. A sound. She caught her breath. Did he answer? She lifted her head and stared hopefully at the door.

She called to him once more and when no response was forthcoming Ororo decided to open the door. She fully expected him to call out angrily at the intrusion, but as the door slowly opened there was no such outburst. When the door opened wide enough to get a look inside, she just let it continue on its smooth swing as she stood there stunned by what she was seeing.

He was sitting on the edge of the tub with his feet on the tiled floor and a towel wrapped around his waist. It was barely large enough to cover him, exposing one thigh as he sat there unaware. He just sat there, not moving; his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands.

Ororo glanced around the room to see there'd been no attempt to clean himself up yet, although the cap was off the shaving cream and a black comb lay haphazardly in the sink as if he'd dropped it and didn't bother to retrieve it. All evidence showed that he hadn't showered or shaved yet; apparently he'd been overwhelmed while preparing to do so, at least that's the way it appeared to her.

As she stepped into the small cubicle Ororo noticed that he had cutting shears clutched tightly in his right hand. He'd been sitting there for a while, she surmised, probably since they'd first left him. It was difficult for her to take her eyes off of him - almost naked and every muscle bulging with tension - she could stand there all day just looking at him.

~ No she couldn't. ~

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Ororo grabbed another towel from the shelf and knelt down beside him. He didn't move, he didn't acknowledge her at all. Ororo looked at him closely; his hands covering his face, his fingers gripping the cutting tool so hard his knuckles had turned white. She released a quiet sigh then reached up to lay her hand gently upon his head. His body stiffened, but she'd barely noticed.

"Logan," she whispered softly.

He slowly raised his head to look at her with bloodshot eyes full of pain - a pain few people could understand. His eyes moved about her face gauging her _expression, which was full of understanding and compassion. He pursed his lips together tightly and breathed heavily through his nose. He tried not to tremble, but she could see... he was trying desperately not to cry.

She offered him a sad smile and reached up to pry the scissors gently from his fingers. Once she had them, she placed them on the floor behind her without saying a word. Ororo held his gaze as she unfolded the towel she'd brought over with her. Holding it open in front of him she pushed lightly against his forearms until he raised his elbows. He continued to stare into her eyes as she placed the extra towel across his lap. She felt less distracted with the added coverage although the towel he had on covered him mostly. He finally looked down, as if in a daze and smoothed the towel across his legs seemingly unaware of what was happening. Ororo watched him closely, waiting patiently. He finally looked back up at her and when he spoke, his voice was lifeless, void of all emotion.

"I'm lost."

"No, sweetie. You're not lost. You are home, right where you belong," she told him with extreme tenderness, brushing a curly lock from his forehead.

"I don't feel... like me," he told her and Ororo looked at him concerned. "I feel like... I'm outside of my body... can't feel anything... numb... don't know why..." he droned out.

Ororo got up on her knees and reached out to him as if wanting to embrace him, but she waited for his reaction. He watched her in a daze, taking a moment to realize what she was offering. Her change in position finally began to register in his mind, but he still wasn't sure if he was reading her correctly. So he lowered his head and slid toward her slightly, pensively, then he stopped. Ororo encouraged him by leaning closer to wrap her arms about his shoulders, trying to draw him closer without forcing him. When he realized that he'd gotten it right Logan slid off the tub, letting his legs fold up beneath him as he collapsed in her lap. He immediately wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, his fingers clawing at her back.

She leaned across his back, draping her body over him as if attempting to shelter him from the world. He gathered the material of her gown in his fists, clenching them tightly as if afraid to let go and she rocked him gently back and forth. Feeling him clawing at her, Storm closed her eyes tightly; unable to fathom such an intense need for comfort and affection. She bit back the sound as she wanted to cry out for him. She could feel his hunger for human contact, for that closeness and warmth only another human being could offer.

His need was overwhelming and Ororo found that she just couldn't hold him close enough. If she could've wrapped him in her very soul and bring him completely into herself, it still would not be close enough. His anguish and loneliness were just too great. She cried silent tears and let them roll down her cheeks, burying her face in his hair as she lifted him up in her arms. Resting his head against her chest and wrapping her arms about him, Ororo shed the tears that Logan couldn't. A long while later she felt him stir in her arms, releasing his grip on her clothes. He began to pull away from her and she loosened her embrace, raising her head to look at him.

Logan drew himself up in front of her looking into her eyes. She could see the pain that lingered there although it seemed to have lost some of its intensity. As he stared at her, Ororo felt a familiar pull, like the one they'd shared on the forest path. It was the feeling of uncertainty, but of completeness as well.

Logan reached up slowly and placed his palm against her cheek. He gently wiped away her tears with his thumb, then raised his other hand to do the same on the other side. He wiped away all evidence of the tears she'd shed for him. His thumb moved downward brushing across her lips. His touch was so gentle and Ororo felt an intense emotion building inside her. Logan stared at her lips as his thumb caressed them tenderly. Ororo couldn't help herself; she wanted his touch. She could feel his passion through his fingertips and she wanted him to kiss her.

"Logan," she whispered, unable to keep silent and she trembled beneath his hands. Ororo closed her eyes trying to control her reactions. Logan watched her, then moved closer. He gently pressed his lips to hers waiting for her to pull away, but she didn't. Parting his lips slightly, he moved his mouth tenderly against hers and she responded to him. Opening her mouth slowly, Ororo invited him in.

Logan kissed her softly, but passionately, and she kissed him back the same kind of intensity. Ororo brought her hands up to his head, holding him to her. The action caused him to let out a low moan and she took the sound into her mouth, feeling it ripple through her entire body. He tasted so good and he made her feel so alive. How could she have denied him for so long? How could she deny him any longer?

She tightened her embrace, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. He could smell her desire for him and the scent made him tremble. His fingers came up to grip her shoulder tightly and suddenly he broke away and Ororo opened her eyes in surprise. Logan looked at her intently for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. Ororo stared wide-eyed at him as she tried to cling to the memory of how he'd felt against her lips, his own were firm and yet so soft. She could taste him on her tongue and wanted more.

Logan moved away first, breaking eye contact and getting to his feet. The towel she'd placed across his lap fell to the floor in front of her and Ororo reflexively picked it up as Logan extended a hand to help her to her feet.

Ororo accepted his offer, placing her hand in his and shifted her position to rise from the floor. In doing so her eyes fell upon the reason for his quick retreat. She averted her eyes quickly from the towel wrapped around his waist, which was now stretched a bit tighter as it tried to cover his semi-aroused state.

She sprang to her feet quickly, wondering how in the world she kept finding herself in that particular position. A bit flustered by the thought, it took her a moment to get the image out of her head and try to control her embarrassment so she could look at him. Logan stood quietly, waiting for her. It was quite apparent by her reaction and the change in her scent that she was suddenly very uncomfortable. A wave of shame hit him as he realized why she was so uncomfortable and he dropped his gaze.

Ororo caught his reaction out of the corner of her eye and glanced at him, realizing she'd over-reacted to the situation when she saw the look on his face. Storm needed to reconnect with him quickly and hopefully keep building on the foundation of trust she'd had with him in the forest. She hoped that even though he didn't remember their time together in the wilderness that perhaps the feelings would remain. She didn't want to lose that.

She looked at him sadly as he stood there with his head down. His hair, still too long and heavy falling across his shoulders and into his face.

"Why don't you take a shower and get cleaned up," she mentioned quietly. "You'll probably feel much better afterward." Logan nodded and Storm bent down to retrieve the shears, leaving them on the edge of the sink. Then she moved to the door and turned around. "I'll wait for you," she told him, then shut the door to leave him to his privacy. She settled into the chair outside the door and a moment later she heard the water in the shower turn on. As she waited Ororo dozed off.



Half an hour later, she was drawn from her slumber by the sudden silence as the rhythmic drumming of the shower water was turned off. She could hear him moving about as cabinet doors opened and closed, then the slooshing sound of pressurized foam being forced from a can. Ororo could imagine him standing at the sink trying to shave off the thick stiff beard he'd grown. Fifteen minutes passed before the door opened, letting the steam roll out into the bedroom and the brighter light washing over her.

She could see him silhouetted in the doorway just before he stepped out and he paused a moment realizing he wasn't alone. He turned his head to see Ororo sit up in the chair abruptly, as she realized he'd emerged with only the towel wrapped around him.

"Sorry... didn't know you were still here," he said as she stood up.

"No, I'm sorry, Logan. I just thought..." Ororo felt as though she'd intruded on his feeling of privacy and tried to explain. "I thought you may like your hair cut," she offered.

"Oh," Logan replied feeling a bit awkward, then he glanced at her. "You gonna do it?"

"I thought I might... if that's okay," she answered. It never occurred to her that he'd come out wearing only a towel and she felt uneasy as the physical attraction she felt for him came to the forefront again. Logan didn't seem to pick up on it though and she figured, perhaps, he was still shaking off the effects of everything that'd happened in the past few days.

"Yeah... sure," he shrugged a bit with a nod. Ororo found it amazingly odd that after all they'd been through together - not just in the past week, but through the years - that they both were behaving as if they'd just met. She walked toward him and he gestured toward the wooden chair tucked under the desk.

"Here?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. He nodded and, as he pulled the chair out and sat down, Ororo went into the bathroom and returned with the shears in hand. She didn't approach him right away as he was settling in, adjusting himself to make sure he wasn't exposed anywhere, then he sat back with a deep exhaling breath. Ororo waited until he looked up at her then she raised the small scissors slightly in front of her.

"Is this okay?" she asked. He looked at the scissors and she saw him swallow as, she'd known, his first instinctive thought was to not let her near him with the 'weapon' in her hand. He mulled it over for a moment then his eyes met hers and he nodded.

"You sure?" Ororo asked wanting to make it clear that he had a choice in the matter. Logan hesitated only a couple of seconds then nodded again.

Ororo moved around behind him and he didn't move, he just sat very still. Then she glanced down at him as she realized he was sitting too still; not moving an inch, frozen. He was tense and unsure even though he'd given consent. He was trying to show her that he trusted her, or at least that he wanted to give her a chance to prove that he could.

Storm reached around him and placed the shears on the desk in front of him in plain view. As she returned to her position behind him Logan glanced at the bladed object. His brow furrowed in mild confusion as he wondered what she was up to, then he felt her hands run through his hair. Ororo gathered up the long strands and pulled them back behind his shoulders, smoothing the jet black tresses across his back. The heavy weight of the water in his hair caused the mane to stretch down to his shoulder blades, straight and luxurious to the touch.

She combed her fingers through his hair gently, scraping her fingernails lightly against his scalp and he slowly tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Ororo looked down at him as he relaxed under her caress. A short while later she twisted his hair into a loose ponytail and let it hang down the center of his back, placing her hands on his thick shoulders she began to massage his neck. He felt good under her hands, solid and strong.

His head fell forward slowly as she rubbed away all his tension and anxiety and Ororo tilted her head as she looked at him in the mirror. Something caught her attention in the reflection and she looked down at him and smiled softly. The hair on top of his head, toward the sides, was beginning to curl upward as it dried to start forming the twin peaks she'd come to love.

Feeling that he was now sufficiently relaxed Ororo gave his shoulders one final squeeze to signal that she was moving on now. He raised his head and looked at her in the glass just as she leaned across his shoulder to pick the shears off the desk. Once she had them in hand, she could feel him looking at her.

Logan had always possessed a weighty stare; an intense gaze people could literally feel boring into them. You always knew when he was watching you. Ororo turned her head to look at him over her shoulder before returning to her position behind him.

"Are you alright?" she asked quietly and Logan nodded. Ororo knitted her brow as she looked at him, noticing how young he looked at this very moment. Perhaps it was the absence of the facial hair, or maybe the _expression of uncertainty in his eyes, or possibly it was his healing factor at work. And perhaps it was all three combined.

For all any of them knew Logan could be two hundred years old, but his healing factor was always working to regenerate damaged cells or accelerating their production, as was evidenced by how quickly his hair would grow and of course how quickly he mended from injury. It appeared to her, looking at him now, that it also worked like a veritable 'fountain of youth', causing Logan to never really seem grow older than his 'prime years'.

Unaware that she was staring at him, Ororo suddenly felt his hand glide up her arm. She was aware of it, but was somehow mesmerized by his gaze and unable, or unwilling, to pull away. Logan gently guided her out from behind him, drawing her toward him. She followed his lead, leaning toward him as he pulled her closer and, as her face neared his, Ororo reached out to rest her palm against his jaw. Their eyes were locked in a visual embrace and Ororo felt him entrancing her, like a cobra in it's deadly dance, until her lips softly met his.

Again he began to move his mouth slowly around hers and, again, she reacted to him. She'd never been kissed this way before, not like this, not until today. The windrider never feared the rains, or floods or torrential downpours... she'd never feared drowning, until now. And even now she didn't fear. His kisses made her head swim and she *wanted* to drown in them. He kissed her with true love and quiet passion. It was a pure kiss, one without greed or lust. It was soft and tender and trusting - without dominance or aggression, nor did it demand anything more.

Half a minute later the moment ended and they parted. Logan looked past her, not meeting her eyes as she stared at him in awe. He made no attempt to speak of it, he did not challenge her feelings nor did he gloat. He didn't assert himself nor ask for anything more. He finally gave her hand a gentle squeeze and lowered his gaze.

Ororo couldn't stop staring at him, transfixed by what he'd just done. He hadn't just kissed her, he'd exposed the deepest most vulnerable part of himself to her. He'd taken a huge step in showing her that much, and now...
He was waiting. He was waiting quietly for her to dismiss him and come up with an excuse for her actions. He was waiting for her to reject him and the gift he'd just given her.

How could she? He was not the only one exposed by that kiss. But still he waited, not asking her to confirm her own feelings but waiting for her to deny them. She would do neither.

Ororo straightened and moved behind him again. She gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and he looked up at her reflection. She gave him a small smile and he lowered his chin with a nod. They were okay and Logan let out the breath he was holding.

"Do you have a comb?" she asked casually as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Logan leaned forward and opened the drawer of the desk. Reaching in he produced a clean comb and shut the drawer with the back of his hand. Sitting back again, he offered her the comb over his shoulder.

As she took it from him, Ororo let her fingers linger on his and it was all that was needed to reassure him they really were okay. Logan settled into the chair as she pulled his hair back again, which had fallen forward when he leaned toward the desk. Gathering the mass of it in her hand she cut off an eight inch length of it in one cut. Of course she had to cut again and again as she made her way through the thick, dense mass and her fingers ached by the time she'd made it through it all. She let out a satisfied, triumphant sound as the final strand let go. Then she waved it in front of his face with a joyful laugh and she was rewarded with an almost bashful and appreciative smile from Logan.

Ororo continued to work as Logan sat in silence turning his head this way or that as she'd indicate. She'd smile to herself as he'd occasionally try to blow away a loose hair that would fall into his face tickling his nose, only to eventually have to brush it away with his hand anyway.

Forty minutes after she'd begun her task it was done. She patted him on the shoulder to signal him to open his eyes and he looked in the mirror. Then he quirked a smile at her.

She went into the bathroom to rinse the comb and shears and came back with a soft bristled grooming brush to see Logan trying desperately to rub the irritating pieces from his face with both hands. Ororo stepped up in front of him. Leaning down, she smiled and waited. He rubbed his face hard a few more times then dropped his hands to his lap, blowing air out in a last frustrated attempt. His expelled air caught Storm right in the face and she squeezed her eyes shut reflexively. Logan looked at her abashedly as she opened her eyes just enough to peek at him to make sure he was finished. She smiled and raised the brush to show him.

"This works much better," she informed him with a soft laugh and he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the soft bristles wisping away the annoying follicles. She brushed the loose hairs from his face, neck, shoulders and chest. As she withdrew the brush, she pinched his chin lightly between her finger and thumb and he opened his eyes.

"Your whiskers are growing back already," she whispered. He knew that and nodded, after all, it'd been an hour since he'd shaved. He suddenly yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his fisted hand. "You should get some rest," she said quietly. He nodded then gave her a questioning look, but he didn't ask aloud. Ororo sensed what he wanted to ask and decided to offer instead. "Would you like me to stay with you?"

Logan hesitated, thinking about it. It felt weird to him to acknowledge such a thing, but she did offer. He looked at her uncertain and nodded lowering his eyes again.

"Good. Because I could use another few hours myself and really do not feel like going all the way back to my room. Is it alright if we share?" He smiled gratefully at her, appreciating her attempt to help him save face in what was for him awkward situation. "Okay, come on." She moved to the bed and Logan stood up, realizing then he was still wearing only a towel. He looked down at himself, then to her. Ororo knew what he was thinking. "It's okay," she told him. "Come on."

Storm held the covers open and he walked over and slid into the bed. She draped the blanket and sheet over him as he got comfortable on the pillow then walked to the opposite side and laid down on top of the covers.

Logan, realizing she was not covered herself, reached over and pulled a throw blanket from a side chair nearby, handing it to her over his shoulder. Ororo thanked him and spread it out over her. She looked down at him beside her, his back to her. Ororo laid down next to him, then slowly curled up behind him putting one hand on his arm. A moment later, Logan reached up and took her hand from his arm, dragging it down to hold it against his chest. Ororo cuddled up close to him, moulding her body to his and they both fell asleep feeling safe... and loved.


TBC in "A Civil Reprieve" part 1

Chapter 20

A Civil Reprieve


******************************************************************************************



The members of the team who'd decided to remain in-house for the weekend gathered together for breakfast as they always did. It'd been three days since Logan's abrupt awakening in Ororo's loft and slowly the routine was returning to normal.

Even Logan, who would usually jump on his motorcycle and head north every chance he got, had decided to stay home this time... which was good, because the team would've done everything within their means to keep him there if he'd tried to go off on his own. He was showing more evidence of his slow return to normalcy every day that passed by.


Logan's usual, known activities on any given day would include practicing Tai Chi under the trees in the garden and smoking his cigar on the side steps leading out toward the pool area, pruning his collection of Bonsai trees while sitting in quiet reflection.... he even began prowling around the mansion in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. Scott, Ororo, as well as some of the others, had noticed that none of these interests had come back to him quickly, nor did the memory of these activities seem to stay with him from one moment to the next. This indicated to Dr. McCoy that Logan's memories were not only returning sporadically and unevenly, but he also couldn't seem to retain certain ones for long periods of time.

For instance, when Gambit mentioned martial arts training he and Wolverine ended up in a light-hearted sparring match and Logan showed them that he still knew it all, but twenty minutes after the session ended he couldn't remember that he'd just participated in the exercise. Although he'd retained the actual knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, Logan's mind seemed to completely erase any and all memory of the actual event within an hour of completing the exercise.

Now the team gathered together for their morning meal and it looked to be another beautiful day for late September. The talk around the table went in five different directions rather quickly, as it always does when you have a dozen or more people trying to voice what's on their minds before it was actually time to sit down to eat.

As the team members hustled about setting the table or preparing parts of the overall meal, Hank watched Logan quietly from the far end of the table. He was sitting away from the others who always gathered around the breakfast table; in his usual spot on the window seat, drinking his coffee and reading the paper.

Conversation around the table was light and as the topic turned to things that needed their attention today, Rogue mentioned that some supplies were getting low. Scott said he would inventory the stock and call in an order. Logan sipped his coffee, turned the page casually and replied without looking up. "Why don’t we just go get them?"

His deep, rumbling voice was unusual to hear amidst the hustling about and everyone got real quiet and turned their attention on him. He never spoke or really got involved in casual morning conversation and it was actually the sound of his voice, not the suggestion itself, that made everyone stop and stare. Only when he became aware of how quiet the room had become did Logan look up from his paper to see everyone looking at him amused. In return he scowled at them. "What?" he asked, not knowing what the big deal was.

"You want to go grocery shopping?" Rogue teased.

"I prefer to think of it as restockin' supplies. I have had to do it once or twice in my lifetime. It’s no big deal," he responded gruffly. Although he'd become more sociable over the past few years, there were still times when his more abrasive side came through... even when he didn’t mean it to. Perhaps he was beginning to feel cooped up. ‘

He needs to get out of here and relax,’ Ororo thought to herself and decided to invite him along on an outing.

"You know, I was thinking of going into the city today to run a few personal errands," she told him, sitting down on the seat beside him. He looked up at her briefly, then turned his attention back to his paper. She gave him a wistful smile knowing full well that dealing with him required alot of patience. "How would you like to be my escort for the day?"

Logan looked up from his paper again and caught her suggestive expression. But they were being watched so he pretended, unsuccessfully, to be a little put off by the suggestion. He folded the page back and, crossing one leg over the other, he made one small request.

"Just leave yer capes at home, ‘kay, Windrider?" Then he glanced up at her, a corner of his mouth pulled back, and his quirky expression made her giggle.

"I’ll try to find something less conspicuous," Storm promised as she stood up, giving him a slight curtsy that made him grin.

Rogue, who was in a real teasing mood this morning, nudged Jean with her elbow to get her attention. When Jean looked at her Rogue raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to hide her conniving expression. Jean had often mentioned to her that she thought Logan and Ororo should try to expand on their relationship, she just never mentioned her thoughts to Logan and Ororo. Rogue seemed to think this was a good time to try a little matchmaking and see how it pans out. Jean got the message and nodded with a smile.

"Uhh… we could help you find something to wear," Jean offered. "Something a little more appropriate."

"Oh yes," Rogue agreed a bit too enthusiastically. "We could help you put together something real nice. Something casual, but it should show off your… feminine wiles." Storm looked at Rogue and raised an eyebrow in amusement. Even Logan looked up again before returning once more to the morning paper.

"Oh, definitely," Jean said, smiling at Ororo. "Something comfortable, but… alluring."

‘Ro realized what her compatriots were up to and shook her head with a smile. Logan had opened himself up to the light-hearted harassment when he opened his mouth to make his suggestion. He never gave anybody the chance to yank his chain and Rogue simply couldn’t ignore the opportunity when it was put in front of her. They didn’t realize, however, that the ever-vigilant Wolverine had his ‘disaster sense’ aimed right at them and was more than prepared to strike back.

Scott and Hank were trying to finish their breakfast, paying slight attention to the goings on, while Bobby got up to put his plate in the sink. They all stopped what they were doing to watch the friendly banter. Bobby leaned against the counter to watch the exchange play out while Scott and Hank exchanged looks. They knew the women were treading on thin ice picking on Logan of all people and first thing in the morning too. It appeared that everyone in the room was aware of what Jean and Rogue were up to - except Logan, who continued to read the paper.

"Oh, it should be not just alluring," Ororo egged them on playfully, "It should attract the attention of every male within fifty yards."

That one got his attention. Logan blinked and shifted his eyes. Looking past the edge of the paper, he saw Hank and Scott looking at him as if wondering how long he was going to just sit there and take it. Then he purposely raised the paper up in front of his face, trying to ignore them and let out a sigh. Ororo smiled down at him. He was trying so hard to ignore them and temper his reaction the way Charles had taught him a long time ago, but this really was just too good and Ororo couldn’t resist. She leaned down close to him and fired a shot right through the paper that hit him center mass.

"It should be something… sexy," Ororo whispered in a low, satiny voice.

Logan folded the paper abruptly and dropped it onto the seat as he suddenly stood up. Ororo straightened her posture, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. Everyone, except Jean, stopped smiling as Logan moved very close to Ororo. Looking up at her, he eyed her closely.

"It ain’t the clothes that makes a woman sexy, darlin’," he told her in that deep, masculine voice. "You’d be ravishing wearing anything... or nothing at all."

That took the three femme fatales by surprise. Ororo wondered if he'd really meant that or had just had enough of their little game. ‘Be prepared if you’re gonna mess with the Wolverine,’ she could just hear him saying that too.

He moved as if to walk away, but turned back to her grinning like a wolf. Keeping his voice just loud enough so everyone in the room could hear, Logan told her what was the absolute truth, but she didn’t need to know that. "You could turn me on wearing a potato sack, sweetheart."

The ladies were stunned into silence and Logan glanced at each of them then turned to place his cup on the table. He met Scott’s gaze squarely, then looked at McCoy who was now looking at him over the rim of his glasses. Sometimes Henry McCoy could come across like a stuffy old college professor who could give you that one look that tells you, ‘You’re actions have been noted, young man. Don’t you think you went too far?’ Logan smiled at him.

"The victim… becomes the victor," he stated as if making his final winning move in a game of chess. Then he announced that he would bring the jeep around to the front. As he left the room, heading for the garage, he pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and jammed it between his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


By the time the women came back down the men had finished their breakfast and now joined Logan outside. Scott gave him a list of the supplies they needed and they spoke briefly about some other matters that could use their attention on his return.

Bobby, Hank and Remy LeBeau were just milling around nearby. Hank mentioned to Bobby that he would like to have Kurt assist him in fixing a downspout on the corner of the main building and proceeded to show him exactly where the problem was. LeBeau just kind of hung back; leaning against Logan’s jeep, he rolled a cigarette as he waited for Rogue to come back down. He wanted to get started on her project as early as possible, hoping to have it done in a day.

When the female X-Men finally stepped out the front door, Rogue and Jean were beaming with pride. Jean kept plucking at Ororo’s hair and blouse like a mother who was sending her daughter out on her first date.

Gambit was in the process of moistening the edge of the rolling paper with his tongue to seal the makeshift cigarette when he glanced up to see the women standing there. He stopped in motion, his mouth hanging open with his tongue stuck to the paper. "Mon Dieu," he whispered in a brogue that came straight from the Louisiana bayou.

Remy LeBeau had quite a reputation for admiring the ladies. He was suave and debonair and it didn’t seem to matter to him that his southern belle was standing right there as he openly admired her handiwork. He stepped around Scott and Logan who were still discussing matters of a domestic nature. Both of them were too serious most of the time for Gambit’s taste. He absently dropped the half made cigarette on the ground as he walked toward the ladies.

"Madamoiselle, you look magnifique," he told Ororo as he climbed the stairs toward her. He took her hand in his and bowed to drop a kiss lightly on her delicate fingers. He was such a flatterer and Ororo couldn’t help but smile. Just then Hank and Bobby noticed her, too.

"You look awesome!" Bobby exclaimed and Ororo gave him a gracious smile.

"Thank you, Robert," she replied as she descended the stairs with Rogue and Jean close behind, still beaming.

"Doesn’t she look fantastic?" Rogue asked Gambit as she passed him on the stairs. Remy nodded, barely able to take his eyes off of Storm and Rogue laughed. Gambit turned as he watched them and finally followed her down the stairs.

Even dressed-down-casual, Storm was still breathtaking. Even more so actually, because it was so different than the way they usually saw her and
Scott was finally distracted enough by the others to turn around to see what all the hubbub was about. He took one look at her and smiled broadly in approval.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest then he noticed that Logan still hadn’t seen her. He was standing with his back to them, making notations on the list that he'd laid out on the hood of the jeep. He was still making suggestions about this or that when Scott gave him a quick, backhanded swat to get his attention.

When Logan looked at him as if to say, "What the hell’re ya hittin’ me for?" Scott gestured with a single nod for him to redirect his attention. Logan knitted his eyebrows at him, then turned around to see what was so important that he had to interrupt what he had been saying. When he saw the women coming toward them Logan quickly turned to grab the list from the hood, but as he did he shot another look quickly over his shoulder, stopping up short to stare at her. ‘God, she’s gorgeous,’ he thought, keeping the compliment to himself although his mouth was slightly agape. She really was the most beautiful woman Logan had ever rested his eyes upon.

Her hair was now pulled back away from her face, but left long and it flowed over her shoulders, gleaming in the sunlight and her pale blue eyes sparkled with humble appreciation. She was wearing a white cotton blouse with thin red stripes that crisscrossed in a checkered pattern diagonally. She wore the sleeves rolled up above the elbows and left it open at the throat to show off the bright silver chain she wore around her neck. Hanging from the chain was a circle shaped pendant with the letter ‘X’ inside. It was definitely supposed to be a point of focus as it rested against her dark skin, drawing one’s attention to her shapely chest. The shirt was tied around her waist, showing off her midriff and the white shorts she wore allowed a generous look at her long, shapely legs.

As she walked toward the jeep Logan had difficulty pulling his eyes away and Scott couldn’t help but smile at Wolverine's reaction. He could tell that Logan was trying to play it real cool, but was having a hell of a time taking his eyes off of her.

Bobby trotted around to the passenger side of the jeep and opened the door for her. As she approached him, he offered a dramatic bow. "Your chariot, My Lady," he offered with a smile as he straightened and Ororo bowed her head in return.

"Why thank you, Robert," she replied and they smiled at each other as she slid into the seat and secured her seat belt.

Jean walked over to Scott and put her arm around his waist. He smiled at her in approval and draped his arm around her shoulder. Rogue bounced up alongside Gambit and he put his arm around her as well. She couldn’t help giggling at his reaction as he stared at Ororo - he really knew how to appreciate beauty... and apparently, so did Wolverine.

Bobby was still waiting outside Ororo’s door looking at Logan on the other side and wondering why he was just standing there. They were all quite amused by Logan’s reaction. Not realizing it, he had slowly spun around in order to keep her in view as she'd walked to his vehicle. Now, he just stood there looking at Ororo through the windshield, with his mouth agape as she patiently waited for him to get in. Once again, Scott gave him a friendly swat on the arm to get his attention.

"Are you going with her or what?" he teased.

"Hnn?" Logan grunted at him, then pulled himself together. "Oh, yeah. Yeah." He grabbed the list off the hood, crumpling it in his fist as he shoved it into a pocket of his jeans then moved to the driver’s door.

Jean giggled and hugged Scott, looking up at him. His eyes were forever hidden from view by the visor he wore to control the energy blasts that emitted from them, but she imagined how they twinkled as he smiled back at her. There weren’t many things in this world that left a man like Logan stunned and Scott knew that Jean was pleased with herself for having taken part in creating a look for Storm that left the Wolverine speechless. Even Ororo couldn’t help but smile as he slid in beside her. Unable to help himself, Logan looked her up and down a couple of times as he started the ignition, and finally drove away.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Back at the mansion the rest of the X-Men went about taking care of matters of a domestic nature. Being a weekend, most of the younger students who resided at the school year round had gone home to spend time with their families. This was a rare moment for the X-Men and they cherished it - the estate was quiet and peaceful. Today, it wasn’t a school for gifted children and it wasn’t a sanctuary for persecuted mutants and it wasn’t a command center. Today... it was just home.

They each went about their work with light hearts and clear minds as life seemed to be returning to normal. Logan was finding his way back to himself and Ororo was enjoying her time spent with him. Rogue and Jean helped rake leaves and debris from the yard and weeded the gardens. Gambit, Cyclops and Beast were building the new barbeque pit out back by the pool. Kurt and Bobby were repairing the downspout that had broken loose during a thunderstorm months ago and Professor X was content to oversee the activities and lending a hand or giving instructions whenever necessary.

Charles watched his students as they finished their ‘chores’ and wished they could be like this more often. He wished the world were a different place where these men and women, and thousands just like them, could live in peace unmolested by society for being born different. He wished the world were a place where exploitation and experimentation on mutants was non-existent. A place in which they and their children would not have to live in fear of persecution, abuse, torture and manipulation.

But this world had a history of harboring bigotry. The class of people to be persecuted changed throughout history, but it always existed. Human beings seemed to have the need to hate and fear. He had often wondered if he had the right to ask his students to fight for that dream; his ideal world in which humans and mutants could live together without fear of one another. He never forced his students to become X-Men and he hoped they never felt obligated to fight the fight in exchange for sanctuary.

But Jean always reminded him that their lives, as individuals, would not have been much of a life without him. Telling him, that whenever he had doubts about the importance of his dream, to look at Wolverine and ask himself "What would’ve become of him?"

He had brought them together and taught them how to use and control their powers to benefit the world. He educated them with books, philosophy and experience. He counseled them through tough times and gave them a shoulder to cry on. He taught them discipline, showed them respect and gave them a place where they belong and fit in. He gave them a home and a family. He would give his life for them, every one of them and they would give theirs for him... and each other.

He loved them as if he were their father. When they hurt, he hurt. When they were out of his sight he worried and when there was strife amongst them he’d lose sleep over it. He just wanted them all to be happy... and safe.




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



(Later that afternoon)



The jeep drove down the quiet wooded road leading out of the city and back toward the country estate. The day had been a perfect one. The air was starting to cool down from the humidity they'd been subjected to this summer as the fall season headed in, but the sun was still shining brightly in a brilliant blue sky.

It was a wonderfully scenic drive with the leaves on the trees so abundant and dense. The long delicate branches, reaching across the road to their counterparts on the opposite side, created the illusion of a tunnel that blocked out the sun for long stretches of the road only to open up suddenly to a view of the rolling hillsides. They had to squint their eyes against the sudden brightness as the vehicle emerged from the shaded way.

Ororo sat quietly beside him and Logan was glad he had come along for the ride. When she'd mentioned that she needed to go into the city today to take care of a few personal errands, Ororo had smiled invitingly at him and asked if he would be interested in being her escort for the day. How could he refuse?

‘I may be crazy...’ he had thought to himself, ‘but I ain’t never been stupid.’

Normally Logan did his best to stay away from the hustle and bustle of the ‘Big Apple’, preferring the more peaceful surroundings of the countryside. He loved the freedom of the wilderness,;where he could indulge himself in his more animalistic nature and satisfy the needs of his wild side before returning to the more restrained routine expected of a civilized man.

As it turned out though, Ororo had shown him a pretty good time. They'd left the mansion early in the morning right after breakfast and they'd hoped to complete their errands quickly and return home to kick back and relax with the others. Some of the X-Men, like most of the students who resided at the school during semesters, liked to take off on weekends to visit family and friends as long as there was no 'pending business' which needed their immediate attention. This weekend though, most of the X-Men had decided to hang around and enjoy some of their down time at home and even Jubilee came home from the school in Massachusettes. Scott had called her to let her know of the things that had happened and he thought she'd like to be home during Logan's 'recovery' period and as soon as classes ended on Friday he had a car pick her up.

It was rare that they were able to actually enjoy the place they call home and as Rogue had been begging all summer for them to build a new barbeque pit out back by the pool Scott made plans to do just that. Rogue's theory, or her hope, was that it would give them a place to sit around and relax together, without always having to leave the estate when they needed a little down time from their ‘superhero’ lifestyle and, as far as Logan knew, the others were back at the estate doing just that.

They had invited Logan and Ororo to join them on their return, expecting them to be gone only a few hours, but once she'd gotten him into the city, Ororo had dragged him around from one shop and tourist spot to another until almost the entire day had passed.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~
They had gotten their errands done early as planned and Logan was more than ready to head back to the institute as soon as that was accomplished. He was not a man known for being easily intimidated, but he was a man known for being rigidly cautious around strangers and Manhattan was chock full of those. Ororo seemed to be in an unusually playful mood however and was quite thrilled to be in the city. He, on the other hand, was very much aware of the looks that he and Ororo were attracting.

Not everyone was happy, or even comfortable, sharing their world with mutants and Logan knew this all too well. Most average humans feared them and some just downright hated them. And Logan knew neither he nor his companion could ever truly succeed in passing themselves off as anything other than what they were – mutants.

Neither of them could go completely unnoticed individually, but together they really stood out in a crowd and Logan didn’t like drawing attention. Some people were even so rude as to outright stare. They looked quite the pair, he knew, and was constantly reminded of that fact every time he caught a glimpse of their reflections in the storefront windows although Ororo seemed oblivious to the situation.

Wolverine's reputation for always being on edge and never letting his guard down for an instant, especially around people he didn’t know, was well known. Everything and everyone as far as he was concerned was a potential threat – and today he had Ororo to look out for. They were just friends, but he had to admit that he couldn’t always understand why she seemed to like him so much. They did have a few things in common, but Logan still wondered about it and most of the time Ororo treated him as 'just a friend'. But there were moments over the years, when his instincts told him that perhaps she had a deeper fondness for him than she wanted to let on about... and today had been one of those days. Their excursion into the city had ended up feeling more like a first date than a chore.

Ororo had hung onto him every chance she got as she literally dragged him from shop to shop. She had taken him by the hand as they strolled through the park and Logan thought at the time that that was odd. Not that he didn’t enjoy every minute of it he had to admit, but he also wasn’t sure if he was expected to do anything about it. He had certainly weighed the thought of making the first move - many times in the past, oh, ten years or so - but he always chose not to take that step for his friendship with her was all too important to him. He didn’t want to ever do anything that would make her feel uncomfortable or might serve to ruin their friendship. She did, however, make it very difficult sometimes.

They did have a lot in common, including becoming members of the same ‘outlaw’ superhero team within days of each other. Since then they had become the best of friends. But, they also had their differences and it was in the polarity of their differences that made their friendship so amazing.

Ororo was a social person, who enjoyed the company of other people whenever possible; she loved children and taught classes at the institute between missions. Logan on the other hand, had always been a loner; a very private person who liked his solitude and would go off alone whenever he started to feel too crowded. Over the years his teammates had worked diligently, and succeeded, in turning him away from his violent, loner lifestyle into a trusted and valued member of the team. Although Logan was still incredibly stringent, believing everything was a matter of survival, Ororo always had a way of stripping away the brick wall that he'd built around himself - to uncover and embrace the truly caring and gentle man hidden within.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Logan maneuvered the jeep effortlessly through the winding twists and turns of Graymaulkin Lane trying to hold onto the memory of the glorious day they had just spent together. He felt at peace - calm - and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy before. Ororo had led him all over the city, they had walked through the park and even stopped for lunch at a sidewalk café. Actually, it all had been kind of romantic.

Looking back on it, he tried to remember exactly when the hordes of New Yorkers that surrounded them at every turn had simply disappeared, leaving him alone in the massive city with the most enchanting woman he had ever known. He knew they had not really been alone, but they might as well have been. Ororo had been so captivating that, for the first time in his life – at least the part of his life he could remember – Logan had let his guard down and allowed her to lure him away. That thought made him catch his breath. 'What if something had happened?' He would have been caught off guard... and that would’ve been a first. At least he thought it would be, he couldn't remember.

Ororo had always had a way of pulling him out from his defensive shell, just never quite like she had today and certainly never in public. Throughout the day Logan became more and more aware of how often she was able to get him to smile and a few times she even managed to make him laugh. Her exhilaration and almost child-like enthusiasm over everything they'd seen or experienced today completely enthralled him. At first he'd been taken aback by her behavior because she'd always carried herself with an air of nobility for as long as he'd known her; always demanding respect and discipline. But Logan had to admit he liked her this way too and felt extremely privileged that she felt comfortable enough around him to let her hair down and just let loose.

He couldn’t recall ever seeing her so carefree; the years of carrying the weight of the world seemed to have been lifted from her shoulders. She absolutely glowed with a youthful vitality and a sultry innocence that made his own spirit tingle. He'd even found himself having thoughts that made him extremely thankful that Ororo's mutant abilities were not telepathic in nature.

As the day passed with surprising speed, Logan found that she'd renewed in him a sense of wanting that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It felt pretty good too. She'd succeeded in thoroughly enticing him: bringing forth stimulating thoughts and primal emotions that flooded his mind from time to time and he'd fought to restrain them. Her playful flirtations had piqued his interest and her almost constant physical closeness aroused him. He tried not to think about her in that way; she deserved better than him. Ororo Munroe was as close to perfection as mortal woman could get, but Logan couldn’t deny how she made him feel... especially today.

He'd felt an incredibly strong surge of what had once been referred to as ‘Alpha-prime’ - a sense of his own virility and an acknowledgement of his own needs and desires, which Logan realized he'd been ignoring for quite some time. Today though… Ororo had made it impossible for him to ignore it. Had she purposely been trying to seduce him? Or was he reading too much into it? He didn’t want to jump to any premature conclusions, but he also couldn’t shake the feeling that the events of the entire day had been premeditated. His instincts were very strong and they'd never failed him before.

She knew that he had strong animal-like tendencies that could overpower him sometimes and that his primal instincts were paramount and difficult for him to ignore. And right now they were screaming at him to reciprocate her perceived advances, but Logan was in complete control and able to suppress those urges; to maintain his own dignity, while protecting their friendship.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Logan let out a sigh and leaned against the driver’s side door. He didn’t notice that Ororo had been watching him for some time.

"That was the sound of contentment if I have ever heard it," she said, startling him with her voice. Realizing too late that she was talking to him, Logan straightened a little and raised his eyebrows in an attempt to hide the fact that he'd been daydreaming.

"What?" he responded innocently and Ororo let out a soft laugh, then furrowed her brow in mock amazement.

"Were you smiling?" she teased.

"What if I was?" he asked with a smirk, as if he were challenging her. Ororo shifted in her seat in order to face him more directly.

"You should do it more often," she told him, her tone friendly and sincere and Logan smirked as he glanced over at her. She met his eyes with an even gaze and it was the sincerity in her expression that caught him off guard... again.

He tried to resist the urge to let his eyes wander, but he couldn’t. ‘God, she’s just so beautiful,’ Logan said to himself. He let his eyes drink in her beauty from her silvery white mane down her slender yet robust form. His eyes followed her long, sensuous legs all the way down to the delicate silver chain resting gently around her right ankle which was elegantly crossed over her left. He didn’t gawk at her though - ‘cause that would be rude - in fact, he tried to be as unassuming as possible and if she had blinked she would have missed his perusal entirely. But she didn’t, she'd noticed... she just didn’t let on that she had.

Ororo even felt quite flattered, as it was Jean and Rogue who had suggested the change of wardrobe for her trip into the city. They had even offered their assistance in putting together an ensemble that was more casual and ‘down-to-earth’ than the goddess-like robes she always wore. The blouse was airy and comfortable for another Indian Summer day and the shorts made her feel sexy and a bit dangerous. And, alright, perhaps they were a bit more dangerous than she'd prefer as they kept drawing Logan's attention away from the road ahead. Of course that was also the part that flattered her.



Ororo came out of her thoughts with a hint of a smile on her lovely face. The radio was playing Madonna’s ‘Rescue Me’ and as she listened to the words her mind lingered on Logan. She thought how the words sounded as though they could’ve been written just for him and her mind drifted back to the past....



*~*~* years ago *~*~*



When Wolverine had first come to the institute the only thing any of them had known about him was that he'd been a special agent for the Canadian government; a highly trained covert operative. The rumor worldwide was that the man known only as Wolverine was a fierce warrior, a mindless assassin and the most vicious killer the world had ever known and when she'd first met him, Ororo had no doubt that it was all true. She was certain, even back then, that he had lived a brutal and painful life. His attitude and demeanor had suggested to her that he'd suffered a violent and traumatic existence. Just how traumatic would only be learned years later. He'd been out of control back then; a real loose cannon, so full of anger that he’d go into a berserker rage at the slightest hint of danger and it had taken many years for him to gain some semblance of control.

Unlike most of Xavier’s new foundlings, Wolverine was much older than the others had been when they first came to live at the institute. He was way past the prime years of innocent discovery and Ororo was sure that anything Wolverine may have discovered about himself, or others for that matter, had nothing to do with innocent discovery. As it turned out, she'd been right.

The other team members felt that Wolverine was way too dangerous to be allowed to stay at the school, but Charles had told them that it was their duty to try and help Wolverine become part of their team. He had to remind them why the school had been founded in the first place. It was always meant to be a safe haven for mutants, those who would otherwise have lived a life of persecution in the outside world. Xavier felt that Wolverine had been exploited by the military and by the Canadian government and he informed the team that he had no intention of turning Wolverine away.

Warren, who had been an X-Man known as Angel for nearly ten years, argued so vehemently against Wolverine’s permanent placement on the team that he threatened to leave if Logan didn’t. Professor Xavier told Warren that if he were to leave it would be by his own choice and that he would not force Wolverine to leave in order to keep another. Angry and hurt that the professor was willing to let them all walk, in order to keep a roof over Wolverine’s head, Warren had packed his things and was gone. Just like that.

Ororo always wondered if Logan had felt even a little bit hurt that a member of the team had left his own home simply because of his presence. She found it difficult to believe that any man, even a man of Wolverine’s reputation, wouldn’t feel even a small twinge of pain in the face of that kind of rejection.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"Hey. You okay?" Ororo started as Logan's voice jolted her back to the present, but it took her a moment to focus. "Ro? You all right?" Logan asked with a concerned look. She saw the concern etched across his face and realized she must have been frowning when he'd looked her way. She kicked herself silently, then tried to reassure him.

"Yes, I’m fine," Ororo smiled and Logan furrowed his brow at her. His instincts were so strong and she never could hide her emotions from him, so she reached over to rest her hand on his arm. "Just thinking about an old friend."

Her touch made him relax visibly and she wondered at the power of it. It was such a small gesture and yet it could make all the difference in the world. It always intrigued her just how comforting the human touch could be.

They continued on their way content in each other’s company. Ororo's thoughts and feelings about Logan had occupied a great deal of her attention today. She really did enjoy being with him and he'd always had a way of surprising her.

Everything Logan had overcome over the years only served to prove to her his strength of will and his determination to be a better man today than he was yesterday. Few people could, or would even bother to try to, overcome the obstacles that had been placed in Logan’s path. He never gave up though and you just had to admire him for that.

Ororo leaned back in her seat feeling a little tired after their long day in the city. It was a good kind of tired though; the kind that left you feeling satisfied, as if something important had been accomplished. She couldn’t think of what that could be though and as she drifted off to sleep, with her hand still resting on his arm, an amused grin crept across her lips as the radio now began to play the country hit, ‘Hello, Darlin’.


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



Rogue and Jean finished their duties then lent Bobby and Kurt a hand finishing up their repairs on the house. They helped clean up the tools and returned them to the workshop then joined the others near the pool. They weren’t surprised to see that the pit was almost complete; evidence of what can be accomplished with teamwork.

"Oh, wow! That looks great!" Rogue exclaimed. "Ah can’t wait for our first poolside barbeque. We used to barbeque a lot back home. Ah miss that." She walked over to Remy, who was putting another brick down, and wrapped her arms around his waist. She hugged him lovingly as she thought out loud. "Sitting around... under the stars… having a few beers, a few laughs. Enjoying the company of friends and family… without a care in the world."

"Not a single care, Chere?" Remy asked.

"Well, you know…" she shrugged.

"You really need to lighten up, Rogue," Scott teased, spreading another layer of mortar along the bricks Gambit had just positioned.

"Yeah, Chere. Ye’ always bringin’ Gambit down. Try t’ have some fun once in a while, eh?" Remy remarked, turning to put his arms around her.

"Oh stop," she scolded, giving him a light slap on the arm. "Ah can’t help mahself. Ah mean, we always say the X-men are family… well, this is what families do."

"We understand, Rogue, don’t let the boys rile you. We all feel the same way," Jean told her.

"Ja!" Kurt spouted from near the pool, his German accent still heavy after all the years. "Ve need more down time. Ve don’t get enough R&R between missions." They watched him step up onto the diving board; now that their job was finished, he and Bobby felt it was time to cool down a bit.

"You said it, ‘Crawler! Incoming!" Bobby shouted, as a large snowball splatted the back of Kurt’s head.

"Hey, no fair, Drake! Vasn’t looking!"

"Cannonball!!" Iceman yelled as he ran toward the edge of the pool pulling his tee-shirt over his head and dropping it on the ground.

Kurt, determined not to let Bobby beat him into the pool, ran down the diving board and launched himself into the air. Both X-Men pulled their knees up, curling into a ball, and Kurt hit the water a half second behind the Iceman. They made a tremendous splash that drenched the cement walkway encircling the pool and rained droplets down on Jean and the others.

Everyone laughed; even Charles couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his lips. As Bobby and Kurt breached the surface of the water they immediately started taunting each other as to which one had hit the water first, splashing each other as they tried to daunt the other’s claim. Charles turned his attention back to the ‘pit’ project with a grin. ‘This is exactly what Rogue had hoped for.’

"You’ve done a marvelous job, gentlemen. It would appear that just the presence of this barbeque pit has already begun to accomplish the goal Rogue had hoped for," he told them.

"Indeed, so it would appear," Hank said, with an amused grin. "Too bad Logan didn’t return in time to lend a hand. I think he would’ve been pleased to participate."

"Shouldn’t they have been back by now?" Charles asked, a little concerned.

"They should’ve been back hours ago," Scott replied as he stirred the mortar.

"Oh, I’m sure they’re having a great time all by themselves," Jean offered.

"At least that was the plan," Rogue smiled at her. Jean raised her eyebrows and gave her a conspiratorial smile.

"Well, I hope they won’t be too late," Charles said with a hint of worry in his voice.

"Relax, Charles. They’re all grown up now," Jean said with a smile, understanding that he worries. "They need some time out. I’m sure Ororo is showing Logan the sights and they’re having a great time."

"Yes, of course. I’m sure you’re right, Jean."

"Besides," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, "you know how they look out for one another."

"I do," he replied with a nod, patting her hand on his shoulder. Satisfied that she'd sufficiently reassured him, Jean went back to help the others. Charles turned his eyes toward the sky with a slight frown and let out a worried sigh.



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



"Hey, look at that," Logan said, not realizing Ororo had dozed off. The sound of his voice brought her out of her peaceful slumber.

"What?" she asked.

"There. Look." Logan pointed toward a field of high grass on the other side of the road and Ororo leaned forward in her seat to look around him. She looked to where he was pointing, but she didn’t see anything.

Logan pulled the jeep onto the shoulder and stopped. Ororo continued to scan the field, but she couldn’t see what he was seeing. When he smiled at her she gave him a quizzical look. He realized because she didn’t have the same keen senses he had Ororo couldn’t see things at the same distances that he could.

"C’mon," Logan smiled, lifting the door handle and waited for her to do the same. She had no idea what he was up to, but he certainly had her curious and she found herself smiling back. Logan got out of the jeep and shut the door with barely a noise. Ororo followed suit and met him on the driver’s side.

"What is it?" she whispered as excitement grew inside her.

"C’mon, I’ll show ya'," he whispered, taking her hand. Then he smiled at her and put one finger against his lips suggesting she be as quiet as possible. Ororo’s eyes lit up and she nodded. Then he bent forward, keeping low as he crossed the road with Storm in tow and she followed his example.

Logan led her down a ten-foot slope and into the woods. They zigzagged their way through the trees and she marveled again at how quickly and quietly he could move. Not even a twig snapped beneath his feet. Then she became aware that he was holding her hand against his back; guiding her and forcing her to follow in his footsteps. They were moving as one, in step with one another. In her growing excitement and anticipation of the unknown Ororo tightened her grip on Logan’s hand. Without missing a step, he glanced back at her and smiled.

This seemed to be the reverse of what she had done to him in the city. Now on his own turf, Logan was going to show her sights she may never have realized were there. They continued on this way for a few minutes more, then in one graceful motion he stopped and, spinning on his toes to face her, he crouched down pulling her down next to him. Ororo was slightly out of breath; more from the excitement than the pace they were keeping and once she settled in next to him, Logan gave her a crooked smile.

"Look," he whispered, and reached out to slowly pull aside some brush so she could peer through. Ororo could see that he had brought them right up to the edge of a meadow. Then she saw them about fifty yards from where she and Logan were sitting; a small herd of white-tailed deer. The best she could make out were four does, one fawn, and one large buck.

Storm looked at them for a moment then shifted her eyes to Logan and watched him as he gazed at the deer. She thought again how wonderful he really was and how much she loved him. She always denied that she was in love with him, but she certainly loved him. He was her soul mate, her best friend. She knew that Logan felt the same way too, although he never spoke of his feelings aloud. Now she looked at him with a whole new affection as she realized Logan had brought her on a hunt.

Hunting was Logan’s favorite past time and it was something he always did alone. Once again, her thoughts drifted back in time to many years ago when Logan was still new to the X-men; when they first learned that he liked to hunt. He was still a wild card, untamed and out-of-control.


*~*~* Then *~*~*


The team had gone through back to back missions for weeks without a break. None of the missions had gone exactly as they had planned and Wolverine, who was not used to being part of such a close-knit team, was getting more and more agitated with every little mishap. It appeared to Wolverine that his first missions as a member of the X-Men were just a continuous series of humiliation. He became more offensive and more and more abrasive and everyone was ready to kick his ass, including her.

Charles saw his team falling apart under the stress and arranged for them to have a few days off for much needed rest. He hoped they could get back in touch with themselves and each other. Some of the team members were planning a camping trip in the woods upstate. They'd already felt calmer just knowing they were getting away and in an attempt to smooth things over with Wolverine they had asked him if he’d like to join them. But Wolverine knew they didn’t really want him to go; he knew that he was the reason they needed to get away. So he declined their offer, informing them that he intended to go hunting instead.

Now they had all watched him go berserk on the last couple of missions; killing when it was necessary and even going beyond that; continuing to slash his victims in a rabid, bloodthirsty frenzy long after his opponents had stopped moving.

They all realized that they were as much to blame for his unstable behavior as he was. While sessions with the Professor had focused on helping Logan to realize that he needed to learn to control his rage, continuing to send him out on dangerous missions at the same time would’ve been too much for anyone. Especially someone like him, who had been trained extensively and exclusively with the ‘kill or be killed’ ideology.

Add to that, the fact that he was an extreme loner by nature who no longer found much time to be alone, and the mistakes that were made on their missions would never have been tolerated by such a highly trained covert operative. Well, he was under a lot of stress and should have been pulled from active missions the moment it was made clear that he could not keep himself under control.

Anyway, when he announced his intentions to go hunting and knowing of Wolverine’s rages, Ororo had easily assumed that he was planning to take out his aggressions by killing innocent animals. She had turned on him viciously, calling him a murderer and a heartless monster who had no compassion. She accused him of being blind to the beauty that nature has to offer. Then she told him that he would never make it as an X-Man - for a man such as he knows nothing of mercy and shall never find peace in this lifetime because his heart was cold and empty.

Logan had listened to her insults without saying a word until she finished her verbal assault with tears streaming down her face. When he finally responded to her; keeping his voice level and seething through gritted teeth, his response had surprised them all.

"For a man like me to kill defenseless animals, for sport, is no test of skill," he told them. "The true test comes in the ability to move noiselessly through the woods and undergrowth, until ya’ can get close enough to a skittish little doe to reach out… and touch her without her panicking." Then he turned to walk away but turned back to her with a thought, to enlighten her, "To hunt, means… ‘to search for in an attempt to find, or pursue with the intent to capture’." Then his voice rose slightly with anger. "No where in that definition does it say anything about killing!"

He looked at each one of them for a moment as they sat staring at him in astonishment, then he looked up into Ororo's eyes. He spoke again, keeping his voice low so they would pay attention to his words and not his tone, but he couldn’t help the sarcasm that seeped through.

"Only civilized man kills for sport… and as you’re all so fond of reminding me, I’m not civilized." Then he did turn and storm away, angry and very much alone. Deeply hurt that the team still didn’t seem to understand him, nor did they appear to even try. Ororo felt horrible about how she had treated him and had moved quickly to try to stop him so she could apologize. She got around in front of him, blocking his way.

"Wolverine! Please… I am so sorry. I misjudged you," she openly admitted. Logan clenched his teeth, then he turned to look her in the eye.

"You’ve all been misjudging me since the day I arrived," he told her point-blank, then stepped around her and never looked back.

They all felt pretty bad about the way they were treating him and no one could say a word as they watched him walk away. Ororo felt very ashamed for having misjudged him and for having accused him unfairly and so viciously in front of everyone. ‘No wonder he won’t let us in,’ she remembers thinking to herself. It occurred to her then, that maybe Wolverine was sacrificing a lot more trying to become part of the team than they were. They were many and he was one. Yet he kept trying, against all odds... against their lack of tolerance and understanding… against their apparent unwillingness to give him a chance at gaining any kind of foothold in their gated community.Sure, he could’ve just given up and walked away, but he didn’t. He stood steadfast and determined and he worked hard and persevered.

His style of hunting had proved to her that he did have a compassionate heart and a true appreciation of nature and all its beauty; an appreciation that she shared. He was intriguing and mysterious and so full of contradictions. She was now determined. She was going to get to know this loner. There was much he kept hidden, she knew that now. The true man was buried deep within that hard, protective shell.

‘What had he endured to make him so hard and so angry?’ she wondered.

Whatever it was, she would show him that he wasn’t alone anymore. She would show him that he could depend on someone else, that he could trust someone else. She would soften his protective defenses by showing him friendship and compassion and understanding. Above and beyond that, she would show him patience no matter what. She would prove her loyalty to their friendship by never letting him push her away, no matter how much he may try. She promised herself that the harder he pushes, the tighter she will hold on.

Over the years, she had seen him… as a philosopher; capable of profound thoughts about one’s self and society as a whole… as a berserk psychotic; completely unable to control his inner darkness… as a savage and merciless killer of criminals, and a kind and gentle protector of children.

He was a breaker of rules who bound himself to his own code of honor. He was an enraged, uncontrollable beast… and a very lonely, gentle and loving man who learned, out of sheer necessity, to hide it all too well.

He’s a defender of a society that rejects him for what he is. And although he feels so uncomfortable in that society of so-called civilized man—he puts his life on the line to protect their way of life. He was a loner who trusted no one; but, if you did manage to gain his trust, his friendship and loyalty held no bounds.

He was a man of great polarity, a man of true contradictions. He was a shining example of the human species, with all its positives and negatives and they hated him for it. They say they fear him because he’s a mutant. Because, they say, his mutant abilities have made him the most dangerous killer the world has ever seen, but Ororo knew then, that that was not true. It wasn’t his powers that had turned him into a killer… an assassin. Man had done that. Using terror and torture to exploit his gifts for their own gain. And they call him the savage…



Now, here she was... on a hunt with Logan; with Wolverine. He finally turned to look at her and was surprised to see that she was looking at him instead of the deer. She seemed to be studying him, so he gave her a curious grin.

"Show me," Ororo whispered. Logan cocked his head to one side, not sure of what she was asking. "Touch her," she told him. "I want to see."

Logan looked at her a moment, then he winked with a grin. She could almost hear him say with that wink, "This one's for you, Darlin’," then he was gone and she waited with anticipation.

He emerged from the woods about forty feet from where he had left her. She watched him slink through the tall grass like a lion on the hunt. He kept low on hands and knees and moved slowly; aware of the movement of every blade of grass, of wind direction, and his distance to the target.

Ororo leaned forward to keep him in view as the tall grass enveloped him. She watched him in total awe as he closed the distance between himself and the herd. His movements were slow and deliberate; he became one with his surroundings. His motion was skilled and graceful and showed her a level of patience she never would’ve thought he had in him.When he got within twenty feet or so the large buck lifted its head and froze. So did Logan.

Ororo felt as though time was standing still as she watched and held her breath. She watched the buck sniff the air, his ears flicking this way and that. Logan remained motionless. Finally satisfied that there was no danger present, the buck relaxed and moved away to graze another spot.

Logan resumed his forward motion and Ororo let her breath out. Those minutes felt like an eternity, as she feared the buck may charge Logan and he’d have no choice but to defend himself against it.

She watched him slide right up beside the small spotted fawn and then he stopped. Ororo lifted her eyebrows, wondering what the fawn would do. To her amazement, the fawn turned its head and looked at Logan and he looked at it. Ororo couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Then the fawn stretched its little neck and touched its nose against Logan’s face. It sniffed his mouth, his nose, his eyelashes, then buried its little nose in his hair. As the fawn investigated him, Logan slowly brought one hand up and caressed the small deer’s throat with the back of his hand. The fawn wagged its tail, whipping it about like a little white flag.

One of the does began to walk toward her baby. Ororo watched as the doe paused, looking at Logan with her infant. Ororo feared the doe would send out an alarm that would bring the buck charging down on Logan, but to Storm’s surprise the doe continued quietly toward them. When the doe reached the spot where Logan was kneeling she also investigated him. Then she sniffed her fawn, then Logan again. As she did, Logan’s hand came up in a slow, fluid motion and he rested his palm on the doe’s withers.

A moment later the doe lost interest in him and she gently nudged her baby in the direction she wished him to go. The fawn let out a playful bleet and galloped away on spindly legs. The doe walked away in the direction her fawn had run and the herd moved on.

Logan turned around and left the field in the same manner he had entered. A few minutes later he was coming through the trees toward her and Ororo stood up to meet him.

"That was… the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen," she told him. "You do this all the time?"

"Used to," Logan shrugged. "Not a whole lot of time anymore... but when I can, yeah." He nodded nonchalantly as if it was no big deal while Ororo looked at him, shaking her head.

"You do realize… you’ve never ceased to amaze me, Logan," she said.

"Oh yeah?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ororo grinned, trying to imitate his droll grammar. He gave her a crooked smile, then their eyes locked and Logan was sure he saw that same spark in her eyes he had seen earlier in the day. That little sparkle that told him a lot more than her words were willing to. He took a step toward her, looking deep into her eyes; so deep, in fact, that Ororo suddenly felt as though her very soul was exposed.

She was locked in his gaze and a peculiar feeling swept through her; her face suddenly felt flushed and the warmth spread through her body settling low in her belly. Her heart began to pound and she consciously tried to slow its beat because she knew Logan would be able hear it. Then her body began to betray her. In response to her heart’s demand for oxygen her breathing became heavier and Logan sensed the rise in her body temperature. Taking his cue from her body’s language he stepped closer to her, still holding her in his gaze.

As Logan closed in on her Ororo noticed that, even as her own heart rate and respirations had quickened, Logan’s had slowed. He didn’t seem to breathe at all and then his head dipped forward slightly, just enough to give her the impression that he was stalking her. She felt suddenly vulnerable and at his mercy.

Storm knew that Logan’s most basic natural instincts were predatory in nature, but she never thought he could ever make her feel this way. She felt like prey; helpless and well over-matched. Ororo knew Logan would never harm her, so why was she so unnerved by his behavior? Then again, why was she so nervous about her own behavior?

Ororo suddenly caught the scent of musk. She hadn’t noticed it before or perhaps she was just used to it. She really loved it though, she realized quietly to herself. Then she suddenly jolted with the realization that Logan was just instinctively reacting to the signals she was transmitting to him, although she was not transmitting them by choice. His keen senses could pick up on every little change in a person’s physical response to any given situation. He, driven by instinct alone, was now acting upon hers. Ororo was enamored with him and she had unconsciously sent him that message. She was attracted to him and was telling him that in ways she had no control over, he was just responding to it.

He wasn’t stalking her, he was courting her; in a manner that comes naturally to his more primitive side. There was no denying it - if she were to size him up from an animalistic point of view - Logan was definitely what would typically be known as an Alpha male. And in a "pack" society, Ororo knew he would be considered prime breeding stock to the females within that pack and any other challengers would have little chance of proving themselves more worthy to sire offspring. Logan possessed all the virtues that any female would look for in a potential mate. He’s strong, fast, agile and fearless. He’s a skilled hunter, a ferocious defender, and a gentle, compassionate protector. He also had an impressive physique which served to advertise all of those virtues. He’s also loyal, loving and understanding. 'So what’s your problem?’ Ororo asked herself.

His musky scent suddenly became slightly stronger. It washed over her like a warm breeze and she felt perfectly at ease and peaceful in the face of his advances. She guessed that was the way it was supposed to work and probably had something to do with his own hormonal response to the situation. After all, she appeared to be asking for it. ‘Hormones…’ Ororo thought to herself. ‘Great.’

Professor Xavier had once explained to her and the others on the team that it would have to take a wide variety of hormones and enzymes, all working together at extremely high levels, to stimulate and activate Logan’s special healing process.

*~*~* Then *~*~*

"It would be a fair guess to say that he needs large quantities of both to heal as quickly and as completely as he does," he had told them. "Those hormones would most certainly have to include steroids; which is obvious by his muscle tone, mass and structure. Epinephrine would definitely have to be another; which would account for his high energy levels, by causing his adrenaline to surge to great heights. Epinephrine also inhibits the release of insulin; which would leave more glucose in his system and available to his brain, keeping him on alert at all times," Xavier explained, while Dr. McCoy sat nearby nodding his head in total agreement. "And because he has an extreme sensitivity to touch, certain pain killing hormones, called endorphins, would have to be supplied in great quantities to account for his high tolerance for pain."
"Our tests also show," Dr. McCoy added, "that he has above-average levels of the male hormone, testosterone, which is responsible for the growth of body and facial hair. It also happens to be responsible for aggressive behavior and sexual potency in human males," Hank mentioned then shook his head thoughtfully. "It really is no wonder why Logan has had such a difficult time maintaining control. If his hormones are generally over-stimulated by survival situations then that would account for his consistently unbalanced behavior."



(cont'd in next chapter due to word count limit, sorry)

It really was a wonder that Logan survived adolescence at all. Normal human males have a tough enough time dealing with raging hormones through their teen years and it appeared that Logan would have to deal with them, at extraordinary levels, his entire life. Ororo could only imagine how quickly, and in what quantities, his body produced these endorphins in order to compensate for all the pain he had been forced to experience. Then another thought occurred to her... could those same endorphins that served to lessen his pain also serve to heighten his pleasure?

If Logan’s body produces that pain-killing hormone in such vast quantities, then wouldn’t it stand to reason that his physical sensations of pleasure could also be heightened to the point of evoking a state of euphoria? Perhaps even producing a state of ecstasy beyond a normal human level - an ecstasy that no average person could possibly comprehend?

That particular thought frightened Ororo enough to enable her to break free of Wolverine's hypnotic stare. She quickly became aware of their surroundings again and felt a little unnerved at how naturally it all seemed to have come to them. Out here, surrounded by nature, alone with him… she wanted him and, it was obvious, he wanted her.

Ororo turned her face away from him and Logan’s forward momentum stopped abruptly. His head cocked slightly to one side and his forehead creased with confusion. She stood very still looking at the ground, but watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked at her for a moment and then realized what he was doing. It was obvious to him that she wasn't comfortable with his actions.

Logan now had to push back his basic, instinctive response to her indecision. He reached deep down within himself to recollect his humanity as his hold on it had slipped a little. His natural and most atavistic response would have been to continue his advances in an attempt to prove himself worthy of such a prime female. The thought had occurred to him, but the side of him that clung desperately to humanity told him it would be wrong to continue his advances once she had made it clear that they were not welcome. It was clear to Logan that he'd made a mistake and that confused him. Had he made a mistake? His instincts had never been wrong before.

Logan swallowed and tried to think; unsure as to what to do next. In the past, women had either been interested enough to see it through or not interested at all. That’s not to say that he was able to follow through on all the opportunities that presented themselves. Time constraints or other pending business, more often than not, usually precluded any further action on his part beyond the initial flirting stage. Although he was certain he had picked up the right signals from her, he now sensed… fear? Why would Ororo fear him? That thought didn't sit well with him.

"Ro?" he ventured quietly.

"Yes?" Ororo replied, but she didn’t look at him. Logan knew by her behavior that she was feeling intimidated by him and an old familiar feeling came over him, one he didn’t like; self-hatred and shame… for having made her feel so uncomfortable.

"Uhm…" Logan continued, he it was his responsibility to end this. "Maybe we should… head back now." His voice was low and soothing but it held a gravelly edge to it, which confirmed for Ororo that he had teetered on the edge between his primal side and his humanity. Perhaps that’s all this was… a residual side effect of his bestial side left behind from stalking the deer.

Ororo closed her eyes, relieved that his human side had taken control of the situation. She had no illusions about the potential outcome from her having ‘rejected’ him if he hadn’t been able to maintain his control. She looked at him with appreciation and great compassion as she was sure her reaction had hurt him more than he let on and she felt awful for that. "That would be best, I think," she answered. Logan nodded somberly then stepped around her. Ororo turned and followed him back toward the jeep, and neither said a word as he led the way.

When they got back to the embankment that led up to the road where they had left the jeep, Logan climbed a few feet up the incline then he turned and offered her his outstretched hand. Ororo looked up at him and he smiled at her. She smiled back and took his hand, thankful for the bond they shared and his confirmation that their friendship would never be encumbered by the occasional miscue or an awkward personal moment.

She felt bad for putting him through that though. Why couldn’t she face her feelings for him? He was certainly deserving of love and she knew of no one who needed it more. Her memories of Forge kept coming into play though. She had loved him dearly and he had loved her, but in the end, Forge had hurt her tremendously and in return she hurt him.

Logan was a man of great loyalty and Ororo wasn’t sure if she was ready to commit to anyone again. He had never made such an overt move before and she was afraid of hurting him… more than she already had, but, he was resilient and she knew he would bounce back. He always did.

‘Why did he always have to though?’ She knew he wouldn’t ask her about it. She knew he wouldn’t bring it up at all because, like her, he would rather remain her friend than chance losing her entirely.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 21

Acts of Vengeance (part 1)

*********************************************************

They topped the embankment and walked toward the jeep. As they crossed the road Logan let go of Ororo's hand and she moved around the jeep to the passenger side. As she opened the door Storm noticed that he'd stopped in the middle of the road. She was about to ask him what he was doing but stopped herself, she recognized the scowl that now creased his weathered face.

Logan hadn’t just stopped, he was frozen in place; sensing something. In a matter of seconds, he lifted his head toward the woods behind her and, bearing his fangs, snarled toward the trees on the hill right behind the parked jeep.

~Snikt!~

That was the distinct sound of metal scraping metal as Logan unsheathed the twelve-inch claws he'd been born with. When not needed, he could retract them into his forearms. When they were needed, he only had to contract certain muscles and these deadly implements, now laced with a rare and nearly indestructible metal alloy, known as adamantium, shot forward to protrude through the tissue between the knuckles of his clenched fists.

"Storm! Move!" he growled loudly and his tone was deadly serious.

Logan shouted his warning even as he closed the distance between himself and the jeep with great speed but, before he actually reached her, the woods directly above Storm exploded as something burst through with tremendous speed and power.

Reflexively, Ororo ducked behind the jeep and from the corner of her eye she saw something very big slam into Logan. It hit him so hard that it ripped him from the spot he had just occupied only a moment ago. So quickly, in fact, that he seemed to have just disappeared.

"Logan!" Storm shouted as she jumped out from behind the jeep. She recognized their assailant immediately. It was Sabretooth... Logan’s oldest and most hated enemy.

Born Victor Creed, he stood six and a half feet tall; more than a foot taller than Logan, and weighed in at more than a hundred pounds heavier. But, for all his size and strength he could not equal Logan’s speed, skill and of course those retractable claws. Both men were ferocious fighters and well known for the brutal methods they often used against each other.

Ororo saw them slam into the pavement and Logan nearly disappeared under Sabretooth’s massive form. But, using the momentum his enemy had created Logan somersaulted backward and, using his own powerful legs, catapulted the larger man over the embankment and was on his feet in a flash. Ororo could see blood dripping from Logan’s claws; evidence that even in an ambush of surprising speed his own quick reflexes enabled him to inflict damage upon his attacker.

Clearing the distance of the incline in one leap, Sabretooth was back in front of him in an instant. He towered over Logan who now stood in his own distinct fighting stance, which made him appear even smaller. His feet were set wide apart and, bending at the knees and waist, he held his clawed fists up in front of him.

"Sabretooth," Logan growled in recognition. Creed smiled at Logan, clearly thrilled to be engaging his old ‘friend’ in battle once more.

"You should’ve taken her, Wolverine," he informed Logan. He was obviously referring to Storm, which meant he had witnessed their personal moment and obviously disagreed with Logan’s choice of action.

"It’s not my way, Creed," Logan snarled.

"You’re getting soft, runt," Sabretooth taunted.

"It was never my way."

"Too bad," Sabretooth turned to look at Storm and the way his eyes scanned her body made her skin crawl. "She looks delicious," he remarked, licking his lips. A loud, low growl came from Logan’s throat and Creed looked back at him. "You’re not actually thinking about bringing another love into your pitiful life. Are you, Wolverine?"

"No," Logan growled. Normally he wouldn’t even think of playing Creed’s game, but he needed to make it absolutely clear that he had no romantic intentions toward Ororo whatsoever. She was now in grave danger.

"They never last," Creed told Storm, then he turned back to Logan. "They always choose me in the end. You know that. Don’t ya’, Wolverine?"

Logan didn’t answer, he just glared at Sabretooth. Ororo frowned, unsure what this little exchange was all about. She did know that Logan hated Victor. He had betrayed Logan, and other members of Team-X, the black ops squad they both had been a part of many years ago. Creed had killed a couple members of the team, including Logan’s love, Silverfox. He even attempted to kill Logan, but as Creed found out that’s easier said than done. This sounded more personal though, if you can get any more personal than trying to take someone’s life.

"Storm. Leave!" Logan ordered as he circled around Sabretooth, forcing his opponent’s attention off of her.

"I’m not leaving you!" she countered, upset that he would even think she might.

"Leave! Now!" he ordered again, shifting his eyes to meet hers. She could see he was serious, but she shook her head ‘no’.

Sabretooth laughed. The female X-Man could not see the irony. She wouldn’t leave Logan here alone, fearing he would be in danger without her here to back him up. But, Sabretooth knew what Logan knew, he was in more danger with her here for him to worry about.

He should know better. Triggered by her emotions, the winds began to pick up and the skies grew dark. Sabretooth looked toward the sky and with his opponent momentarily distracted, Logan made his move. He charged Sabretooth, imbedding his foot-long, razor-sharp claws in the larger mutant’s torso.

Sabretooth bellowed in pain and surprise then he slammed his fists down on Logan’s shoulders, driving Wolverine to the ground. Reaching down with one hand he grabbed Logan by the back of the neck, driving his own three-inch long claws through muscle to get a good hold. Logan grunted in pain, then was pulled to his feet by Sabre’s powerful grip.

Wrapping his hands around Logan’s waist Sabretooth launched him into the air. He crashed into the leafy branches of a large oak and the tree seemed to swallow him up. The branches exploded as momentum and gravity pulled Logan’s weight back toward the ground at an alarming speed.

As he plummeted through the branches his clothes and flesh tore and ripped away. He got the wind knocked out of him when he hit a few larger branches that refused to break when he slammed into them. He tumbled toward the ground, disoriented. Logan tried to reach out, to grab hold of something, anything. Too late. He barely registered the pain as he desperately tried to slow his fall.

The final impact was enough to shatter the bones of an ordinary man, but Logan was no ordinary man. His entire skeleton was laced with the same indestructible metal that was bonded to his claws. He was virtually unbreakable.

The impact, however drove the air from his lungs. His head hit the ground hard, slamming his brain against the inside of his unbreakable skull and he bit through his tongue. As he lost consciousness, his claws retracted.

~ * ~ * ~


Sabretooth turned toward Storm. With an evil smile exposing his oversized canines, he brought his hand up and, staring at her, he licked Logan’s blood from his claws. It was a tactic he used many times to strike terror in his victims. Storm stood defiantly, determined not to let him see her fear.

"Wolverine's gotten soft living at that cushy mansion," he growled in disgust. "He’s lost his edge."

"You should not underestimate him," Storm countered. "He is full of surprises."

"Ha! You’re tellin’ me! I’m surprised he still thinks he belongs there with you X-Men."

"He does belong with us."

"He’s a killer. Like me," Creed teased.

"He is nothing like you," Ororo replied, emphasizing every word.

"Sure he is," Creed laughed. "He’s been trained as an assassin. You people really think you’ve changed any of that? Changed him?"

"Trained?! You mean brainwashed! Mind-wiped! Tortured!!" Storm glared at him. Her anger grew and so did the storm her elemental powers had conjured up.

"So? What difference does it make? He’s been trained for a specific purpose. A lot of time and money was spent on his training. Now they want him back... and it’s my mission to bring him in."

"That was a long time ago," Storm countered.

"Oh... not so long ago was it?" Creed taunted. Ororo's eyes narrowed wondering exactly what Creed knew about Logan's recent abduction.

"Weapon X doesn’t exist anymore," she stated, ignoring his comment. "Logan is free."

"Free? Hardly," Creed sneered, "and Weapon X does exist. I just tasted his blood."

"You are wrong, Sabretooth. Wolverine does not belong to the government anymore."

"He doesn’t have a choice. You’ve just given him the illusion that he did." Sabretooth was starting to grow tired of her upstart attitude. Did she really think she could stand in his way? "He’ll come back," he told her.

"Never." Storm defended Logan in his stead; believing, rightfully so, that the words she spoke now mirrored Logan’s feelings on the subject.

"You don’t know anything about it, Weather Witch."

"I know Logan. He would never go back there willingly," she attested and Sabretooth curled his lip at her.

"That has never stood in the way before," he growled.

Ororo grew furious. The thought that Creed would try to kidnap Logan and take him back to that hellhole he’d been free of for years infuriated her. It terrified her, too. Creed was despicable; he was beneath contempt. She could understand now Logan’s hatred of this man. A mutant himself, who took such great joy in helping his government bosses exploit other mutants. He found satisfaction in their torture and reveled in their pain.

She raised her arms toward the heavens and the winds gained in force and speed and the rain turned torrential. Normally, Ororo would center herself in the eye of her storms, but she didn’t care this time. The wind and rain battered them both. Like Sabretooth, her clothes became waterlogged and heavy with the weight of the rain and her long, white hair plastered to her scalp. The original volley of wind and rain, tempered by her initial irritation of Creed’s intrusion, quickly gained hurricane force. Sabretooth had to lean into the wind to keep from being forced backward while Storm seemed immune to its strength. She felt more than justified in this instance to call upon the goddess to send her lightning.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~


Logan, lying unconscious on the forest floor, was protected from most of the wind and rain by the thick canopy of the trees. Raindrops weaved their way through the leaves making their way toward the earth below. They landed with a tiny thud only to be soaked into the rich soil.

As the sprinkling became a steady downfall Logan was pelted by the cool rain and he began to stir. His head ached from the concussion he'd suffered on impact with the ground, but his mutant healing factor had already started to lessen the swelling to his brain. He felt a little groggy, but he knew he had to move so he tried to roll over onto his side.

Roaring in pain he fell onto his back again. He hadn’t noticed the pain in his leg until he tried to move. He gasped for air, the pain threatening to render him unconscious again. When he got himself under control he moved slowly into position so he could see the cause of his pain.

He'd been impaled through the right leg. A branch, about an inch in diameter and about eighteen inches long, protruded from either side of his thigh. He could feel the tissues trying to stitch themselves back together despite the foreign object and he couldn’t tell which hurt more. Logan figured the injury was nothing his mutant healing factor couldn’t handle, but he'd lost a lot of blood while he lay there unconscious and he was feeling lightheaded.

He noticed that his tee shirt had been torn to shreds, so he pulled the tattered remains from his shoulders and tore a strip from it. He tied it around his leg just above the impaled object, grunting in pain as he cinched it tight. He thought of pulling the stick out then, but feared that in his weakened state, and with the tremendous pain that would accompany the extraction, it would probably render him unconscious again and Storm needed him.

Grunting, Logan managed to get to his feet, but he had to grab onto the trunk of a tree as dizziness threatened to take him down. Gritting his teeth and swallowing hard he fought back the nausea that came with it. He was determined to rejoin the fight and he had no idea how long he'd been out. His fear for Ororo’s safety coupled with his pain and the taste of blood lingering in his mouth triggered his rage. He could feel an atavistic roar building deep within him and he fought desperately to subdue it. He needed to stay in control.

Logan began his trek back to the road and each step was pure agony. He lost his footing a couple of times, only to land sprawled in the mud. Each time he fell only served to feed his rage. He knew he expended more energy and strength getting back to his feet than if he had remained standing in the first place and he cursed himself. Sheer force of will kept him moving forward.

Finally, he could see the road. As he cleared the trees and began stumbling up the embankment he was buffeted by the strong winds. The torrential rain whipped about stinging his face. He certainly didn’t mind though, for he saw it as evidence that Storm was still alive.

As Logan fought his way up the incline the saturated soil was easily displaced by his clawing fingers. He was painfully aware that his leg wound was being reopened repeatedly with every step as he tried to use his powerful legs to propel himself toward the top. Finally topping the small ridge, he tried to peer through the weather onslaught for Storm. To his sensitive ears, the thunder was deafening and the fast moving wind and rain washed away any scent he could’ve used to identify her location.

"Storm!" Logan yelled as loud as he could, but he could barely hear his own voice over the noise. ‘Boy’, he thought, ‘is she pissed.’

He could barely make out the shape of the jeep parked across the street. That was the last place he had seen her so he started to make his way over to it. He had to use all his strength to fight his way through and against the gale force wind. His leg hurt like hell as he pushed through and he could feel the muscles tearing open again with each step.

He'd covered more than half the distance to the vehicle when something slammed into him. He grabbed onto it to keep himself from falling again and to his surprise the object grabbed back. It was Sabretooth.

Creed had jumped out of the way of one of Storm’s lightning bolts and nearly landed on top of Wolverine. Logan bared his fangs and tightened his grip so as not to lose his handhold on the drenched mutant. When Sabretooth felt him clutching at his clothes he turned to defend himself. His drenched blond mane whipped about his head as he grappled with Logan.

Ororo could barely see them. She moved forward for a better look and was surprised to see Logan in the middle of her small but powerful hurricane. As Logan grappled with Sabretooth she thought that his movements appeared stiff and unusual. He was now naked from the waist up and she could see the damage that'd been done to him from his fall through the trees. She ran forward to get a clear shot just as Sabretooth pulled Logan off his feet.


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



A few hours after dinner, everyone had regrouped out by the pool to put the final touches on their project. Bobby and Kurt were once again splashing in the pool as Charles came out to enjoy their company.

Bobby was attempting another cannonball dive, seeing how close he could land next to Kurt. After splashing down Bobby surfaced and splashed Kurt one more time for good measure. As Kurt turned away from him, trying to wipe the water from his eyes, he did a slow double take as something in the distance caught his eye.

"Whoa, check it out," he said to Bobby. Iceman stopped splashing him long enough to take a look in the direction Kurt indicated.

"Wow. That looks pretty nasty," Bobby stated, a bit concerned. "I didn’t know we were getting a storm tonight." Kurt nodded, then shrugged. "Hey, Professor!" Bobby shouted to get his attention. "Did you hear the weather forecast for tonight?" he asked, and as Charles turned toward him, he pointed toward the darkened sky.

"I did, Robert. They forecasted clear skies…" his words trailed off when he saw the blackened skies in the distance. His forehead creased with concern as a thought came to him and his heart jumped into his throat. He turned to address his X-Men who were still working to finish the pit.

"Have Logan and Ororo returned yet?" he asked calmly, trying not to alarm anyone.

"I don’t think so. I haven’t seen them," Scott answered, then paused in his work. "Come to think of it, even if they did spend the whole day in the city they would’ve made sure to be back by now." Scott looked at the others who all nodded in agreement. Even Rogue realized how long they’ve been gone and looked at Jean a little worried. Scott stood up from where he was crouching, trowel in hand. "What’s up, Professor?"

"I’m not sure, Scott, but that storm seems too localized to that one small area to give the appearance of being a natural occurrence," the professor stated as he looked to the horizon. Scott stepped over to him and frowned at the black clouds then he looked at the professor with a thought, and Charles nodded. He closed his eyes in concentration and reached out with his telepathy toward the seemingly unnatural phenomenon. An instant later his eyes snapped open in alarm.

"X-Men! Storm and Wolverine are under attack!" he nearly shouted in alarm. Bobby and Kurt sprang from the pool and Warren flew off in that direction without waiting for orders as the others came to immediate attention. Scott glanced quickly over his shoulder to make sure everyone was ready for action.

"We’re on it, Professor!" Scott acknowledged dropping the trowel as he ran toward the garage with his team close behind.

The garage housed many varieties of ground transportation, most of which were owned by Xavier for use by students and X-Men alike, but some were privately owned by various team members. Normally they would scramble the SR-77 Blackbird, fondly renamed ‘The X-Jet’ by the institute’s younger students. It appeared though that their destination lay only a few miles down the road so ground transportation seemed more reasonable and certainly more discreet. For although most of their enemies already knew the address the X-Men called home, most of Westchester County did not.

"Jean, Beast and I will take the van," Scott announced. "Nightcrawler, can you teleport that distance with Iceman?"

"I think so," Kurt answered looking toward the disturbance.

"Good. Rogue, you take Gambit. We’ll meet you there." Rogue nodded and they all waited for further orders. There were none. When Scott was sure everyone knew what they needed to do he released them. "Okay. Go."

As the leader of the X-Men Scott did not relish being left behind to catch up, but the important thing now was getting aid to their missing teammates as quickly as possible. Rogue took Gambit by the wrists and lifted him into the air. She flew as fast as she could, being mindful of Remy’s safety. She didn’t have to push it too hard, ‘cause she knew Night-crawler and Iceman would be there in a blink of an eye. And Angel, who could fly like the wind, had taken off in haste before Scott could start giving orders. Bobby put his hand on Kurt’s shoulder and they disappeared in a puff of black smoke and Charles watched the team deploy, then went inside to monitor activities from there.



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



Sabretooth grabbed Logan by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Wolverine kicked his legs as he grabbed onto Victor's wrist, but that wasn't going to do it. He could feel his windpipe being crushed in Creed's fist.

~Snikt!~

Logan’s claws stabbed through the muscles of Creed’s forearm and he roared in pain. At that very moment, a bolt of lightning hit Sabretooth square in the chest. He lost his grip on Logan, as the impact sent him sailing across the road and over the embankment. The thunderous clap created by the bolt on final impact with the ground sent Logan reeling. Clutching his hypersensitive ears, he staggered and fell to his knees.

"Logan!" Storm yelled to him, letting the winds carry her aloft.

She set down next to him and could see he was badly injured and she knew they were both exhausted. The only thing that overshadowed her anger toward their assailant was the concern she now felt for her friend. The rains receded immediately and the winds died down.

Ororo knelt down and put her hand on Logan’s shoulder. She took a quick look around to make sure Sabretooth wasn’t about to lunge at them, but he was nowhere in sight. It was now quiet enough to hear the raindrops dripping from the leaves. A moment later she heard another sound and she welcomed it.

~BAMPF!~

Kurt and Bobby materialized about twenty feet away and she watched as Warren lit upon the ground beside them in a flurry of huge flapping wings. The three X-Men quickly assessed that their teammates were alive, but perhaps not doing so well so they immediately took up positions to defend them if necessary. A few moments later Rogue touched down with Gambit, landing almost in the same spot where Nightcrawler and Iceman had appeared.

"Storm! Logan!" Rogue ran to them as Gambit took up the third position of defense, creating a triangular formation around their wounded comrades as Warren wandered the area searching. Jean had taught Rogue and most of the other X-Men emergency first aid and she was able to quickly determine that both Storm and Logan were in mild shock. Storm seemed to have only minor cuts and bruises, but Logan was a mess.

"Mah God, what happened here?" she asked. Logan slowly lowered his hands and she and Storm could see blood trickling from his injured ears.

"It was Sabretooth," Storm informed them grimly, obviously exhausted from her ordeal. She always felt drained after expending that much of her elemental powers at once.

"We’ll get you back to the institute. Scott’s on his way," Rogue reassured her as she inspected Logan’s head and neck injuries.

"What Sabretooth want dis time, eh?" Gambit asked, throwing a concerned look over his shoulder at Logan.

"Does it matter?" Warren asked from a short distance away, sneering at Wolverine. The ongoing private battle between Logan and Victor Creed posed a real problem for the team, especially since Creed had learned the address the X-Men called home. Angel was obviously tired of getting caught in the middle of it.

"I do not know. He wasn't making any sense," Storm answered in bewilderment. She intended to tell them what Creed had said until Logan looked up at her. Looking into his wounded eyes she couldn’t bring herself to tell them in front of him. He didn’t need to hear that right now. How could she tell him that the government wanted him back? She couldn’t believe it herself. He had to be lying. ‘After all this time? Why?’

"It won’t happen again," Logan growled, then tried to stand up and both Storm and Rogue grabbed onto him to keep him still. He winced in pain, grabbing his leg.

"Where d’ya think you’re going, sugah?" Rogue scolded him lightly, holding him in place.

"I’m going after him," he stated matter-of-factly, his voice gritty with anger.

"You are not going anywhere, except home," Storm ordered as she gingerly tried to inspect his wound. Through the holes in the ripped denim of his jeans she could see the blood seeping steadily from around the branch imbedded in his leg.

"Gotta go now… before I lose… his scent," Logan's words began to slur and that worried her.

"You can’t even stand," Rogue informed him. "You’ve got a branch impaled in your leg and you’ve lost a lot of blood."

"Pull it out," Logan ordered weakly. Rogue and Storm exchanged concerned looks.

"Ah will not!" she replied.

"It won’t heal… ‘til it’s… out," he told her, trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding and he was feeling nauseous again. He just wanted to lie down. Instead, he leaned forward and put one hand down on the pavement, trying to steady himself. He realized he really wasn’t feeling very good.

"You could bleed to death before it heals," Rogue stated, knowing full well that Logan’s healing powers, like all mutant powers, decrease when used for extensive periods of time. With a foreign object impaling a limb she knew his ability to heal the wound is forfeit until the object is removed. His healing factor would, however, exhaust itself trying to do its job even with interference.

She concentrated on keeping her patient under control. For now, that was all they could do.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~


The X-Van came around the curve about a quarter mile up the road. Jean, Scott and Hank were immediately relieved to see that Storm and Logan were alive. The fact that they were sitting on the wet pavement surrounded by their teammates who were in a defensive posture was not the best of signs though. The van pulled up to the scene and Jean and Hank ran to check on injuries while Cyclops went to get a report from Iceman.

"Apparently they were ambushed," Bobby informed him. "By Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth, huh?" Cyclops frowned. Iceman nodded as he continued to scan the area. Angel turned and stomped over to Cyclops who saw him coming and was ready for it.

"This is getting tiresome, you know!"

"Stand down, Angel!" Cyclops warned him.

"Like it’s not bad enough the X-Men have their own enemies to deal with, we have to deal with his, too?" The Angel persisted.

"We all have enemies, Warren."

"Ah, bull! This fight goes way back, before he came to the team," Warren gestured angrily toward Logan.

"So??" Cyclops turned to face him, nose to nose.

"This battle… it’s personal, between the two of them."

"Logan’s enemies are our enemies, Angel," Cyclops informed him.

"Shouldn’t be that way, Scott."

"Well, it is that way, Warren!" Iceman broke in. He and Kurt glared at the winged X-Man. "That’s what it means to be part of this team. We don’t leave each other hanging out to dry. It’s that simple."

Overhearing the exchange Logan tried to stand up. When Rogue reached for him he gently but firmly pushed her away. She looked to Hank for assistance and he nodded, letting her know that he would accept the responsibility. He helped Logan to his feet and Logan immediately began to stumble away toward his jeep. Hank trotted up alongside him.

"Where’re you going?" he asked, trying to impede Logan’s escape by stepping in front of him. Hank noticed that Logan swayed drunkenly as he was forced to stop.

"I’m going after him," Logan growled. "Angel’s right, it’s not your fight," he said, trying to push Hank away. Everyone shot a hard glance at Worthington and he knew none of them agreed with what he'd said. Meanwhile, Dr. McCoy took note of how weak Logan really was as he didn’t even need to push back against him to keep his spot in front of him.

"Logan, stand down!" Cyclops ordered.

"You stand down, One Eye. He’s my problem."

"And you are my problem, Wolverine. Your orders are to return to the mansion for medical attention."

"I don’t need medical attention."

Logan stopped and bent forward. Hank was sure he was going to be sick or perhaps was feeling dizzy so he waited patiently holding onto Logan’s shoulders to keep him steady. Then he felt the muscles in Logan’s arms tense and he looked down to see that Logan was trying to pull the impaled tree limb from his leg and blood was gushing from his mutilated flesh.

"Stop!" Hank yelled, grabbing Logan’s hands and pulling him up straight. The quick, forceful motion produced intense pain and Logan yelled out, then his legs gave out under the stress and he collapsed. Hank quickly wrapped his arms around his injured friend, preventing him from hitting the pavement.

Jean had been focused on assessing Storm’s injuries and found them to be minor. She didn’t have the chance to check on Logan yet, but he was being attended to by Rogue and Hank. Now seeing him collapse in Hank’s arms she ran over to them. Taking Logan’s face in her hands, she checked his condition quickly and didn’t like what she saw. He didn’t even have the strength to hold his own head up, his pupils were extremely dilated and he was fighting for every labored breath.

"He’s feverish... and in shock. We’ve got to get him back, now!"

Then Logan’s head fell backwards and his eyes closed, rolling over white. Jean knew that for his condition to deteriorate this quickly meant his healing factor was spent and that frightened her.

"Logan?!" Jean brought his head back up so she could see him. "Logan?! Open your eyes. Open your eyes!" Jean shook him frantically and she and Hank exchanged worried looks. Logan didn’t respond. "Logan! Open your eyes! You look at me! Right now!" In response to her frantic pleas, his eyes opened briefly, but they rolled around like marbles in a jar, unable to find the strength to focus. "We have to move, now!" she informed the team, there was no time to waste. Hank scooped Logan up in his arms and Cyclops got everyone moving.

"Hank, get him to the van! Bobby, bring the jeep."

Bobby and Kurt helped Storm to the jeep and she kept looking back at the others as they carried Logan toward the van. Rogue climbed into the jeep next to her and she watched as Hank climbed into the back seat of the van to tend to Logan.

"Jean, you’re with Hank in the back. Gambit, you drive!" With that, Scott slipped into the passenger seat while Jean informed the professor telepathically of Logan’s condition. They were to bring both he and Storm to the infirmary immediately.






TBC in... "Acts of Vengeance" part 2

Chapter 22

Acts of Vengeance (part 2)

*********************************************************

He'd hit the ground unconscious, stunned from the massive strength of Storm’s lightning bolt. As he regained consciousness only moments later, he realized she must have put everything she had into it and knew he was lucky to be alive. If she hadn’t been near exhaustion there would be nothing left of him but ashes. He placed a hand on his chest, wincing at the pain of the burned flesh.

Sabretooth sat up and quickly got to his knees. As he checked the extent of his injuries Victor glanced around to be sure that neither Wolverine nor Storm was bearing down on him. When he heard and saw no evidence of further confrontation, he smiled. It came across as an evil snarl and he let a low, satisfied growl escape him. He got to his feet and loped away, cradling his injured forearm against his chest.

His healing factor had already stopped the bleeding from the three puncture wounds Wolverine had given him, but the pain caused by those razor sharp claws was excruciating. Keeping low and out of sight he made his escape through the woods with silent movements, which was quite a feat given his size and weight.

Creed knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the X-Men came looking for their missing comrades and he didn’t feel like taking them all on right now. The thought of it didn’t scare him - few things did - it just wasn’t in his plans at this time. He'd caused plenty of damage to Wolverine - more than he'd hoped to accomplish - and he was satisfied to call it a day.

‘I’ll be back, Wolverine, you can count on that,’ he vowed silently. 'This ain’t over by a long shot. You owe me, runt... and you will pay.’

* * *

Many years ago Victor Creed and the man known only as Logan had been teammates. Calling them friends would’ve been pushing it, but they did watch out for one another for the good of their team and to ensure the success of their missions. That’s not to say that tensions between the two didn’t often get in the way and cause problems that would interfere with the team’s harmony. The difference in their sizes notwithstanding the two men were too closely alike in temperment and skill to allow the other members of the team a moments rest.

Both men were savage, cunning warriors. Both were highly trained soldiers with exceptional skills as covert operatives. Both were fierce and merciless killers - ferocious in battle. They were members of the same team and they hated each other. Both men were genetically endowed with the gift of accelerated cell rejuvenation, which of course means they heal rapidly compared to an average human with the same injury. They both possess a primitive bestial side with animal-like instincts and heightened senses of sight, smell and hearing, but that's where their similarities end.

Creed’s healing factor, although nearly instantaneous, was still slower than Logan’s. Sabretooth’s animal instincts were not as naturally honed to the sharpness of Wolverine’s and his heightened senses fared at a lesser degree than Logan’s, for Wolverine’s sensitivity also included taste and touch.

Logan’s intelligence and common-sense had always overshadowed Creed’s as well and Victor’s initial amusement at having a teammate who possessed talents comparable to his own quickly disappeared. He became more and more envious of Logan’s special gifts and the attention garnered to Wolverine by their government and military superiors. His envy soon turned to jealousy, then blinding hatred.

* * *

Their covert team - Codename: Team X - consisted of five members. David North, Codename: Maverick, a German freedom fighter whose mutant abilities enabled him to absorb kinetic energy. Silverfox - no codename - a beautiful Blackfoot woman and the only member of the team who was not a mutant. She had been Logan’s lover for over a year before Sabretooth tried his own hand at courting her and when she rejected him Sabretooth raped and murdered her at the mountain cabin she shared with Logan between missions.

Then there was John Wraith, Codename: Kestrel; a teleporter and company ‘yes man’ all the way. The team never really trusted him, he'd kept too many secrets from them. Wraith did have a sense of loyalty, it just wasn't to the team. His loyalty lay only in the government that gave him his orders. Even when those orders told him to abandon the team - leaving them without extraction from a hot zone - he did so without question.

Well, the team no longer existed, they were disbanded years ago after the "Project: Weapon X" fiasco. Wolverine had escaped his government-issued tormentors and Creed followed soon after going his own way. Wraith was still a company man, Silverfox was dead and Maverick… well, he’s been in hiding, keeping a low profile while battling the deadly Legacy Virus.

* * *

Sabretooth curled his lip at the thought of his old teammates. Wolverine had gained the squaw’s love and Maverick’s friendship; he attracted the attention of women, the friendship of men, respect from his allies and raised fear in his enemies. Victor Creed seethed with jealousy and hate.

‘One will fall by the other’s hand,’ Creed repeated silently for the nine hundredth time. ‘It is our destiny, Wolverine. You can’t escape from that!’ He continued his way through the woods, following the road as darkness fell.

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


Charles made sure that everything was set in the infirmary to receive his injured X-Men. There wasn’t much to do though, in their line of work injuries were common so the medical facilities were always stocked, prepped and ready to roll on a moment’s notice. Jean had already informed him that Logan’s tissues had already begun to seal around the impaled object. That was great for stopping any further blood loss, but it also meant that in order to remove the object they would have to pull his skin, muscles and underlying tissues away from it. Essentially, they would have to re-open the wound and that meant surgery.

Jubilee, home for the weekend from Xavier’s school in Massachusetts, helped him to place instruments on trays. The anesthetizing equipment was rolled into place at the head of the operating table and all the monitors were checked to ensure they were working properly. Charles took a deep breath and let it out as he gave the room one last glance.

"Everything’s in place."

"Yep," Jubilee answered shakily and Charles frowned his concern.

"Jubilee, are you all right?" he asked the young girl.

"Fine, Professor," she answered with a sniffle. Charles knew that Jubilee had always felt a certain special responsibility for Wolverine. She'd first met him when she found him tortured and left for dead; crucified on a large wooden "X" in the middle of the Australian desert. She'd risked her own life to free him and helped him to a hiding place in the basement of an abandoned building. With his healing factor spent, Jubilee tended to his wounds and other basic needs. She fed him and kept him as clean as possible and she kept him hidden from his enemies in case they decided to return to finish the job. When they did she protected him and when Logan was finally well enough to move they escaped together and Logan brought her to Xavier’s.

Her behavior normally leaned toward being obnoxious whenever the subject of Logan’s past came up, especially in regards to female companions. Everyone at the mansion knew she had a crush on Wolverine. Logan probably knew it too, although he preferred to think of himself as a mentor - even a father figure - to the fifteen year old girl.

"Jubilee, he’ll be fine," Charles tried to reassure her and she nodded with exaggeration.

"Oh I know, Professor. Wolvie’s tough, as tough as they come. He’s a survivor."

"That he is," Charles agreed somberly.

"I don’t like to see him hurt. You know?" she told him, her voice nearly a whisper.

"I know."

"He’s been hurt enough," she turned to him with eyes glistening with tears. "You know?"

"I know," Charles repeated. He was just as concerned as she was, perhaps more so. These people were his X-Men - his students - his children; the only children he would ever know. He brought them together to teach them and guide them and to keep them safe from a world that hated and feared them.

Xavier's intention had been to search out these mutant humans as soon as their powers became active, usually during adolescence. He brought them to the institute to teach them how to use and control their mutant powers. Here, they were protected from a normal society which often persecuted them - tormenting them and exploiting them.

Many of them had been - or would be - brutalized by their families, friends and communtities. Some would even be killed outright, simply because of the circumstances of their birth. Luckily, most of the students here at Xavier’s Institute for Higher Learning had been found and brought here early enough to spare them most of what society had to offer.

Logan had not been one of the lucky ones. He'd appeared to be in his late twenties, perhaps even his early thirties by the time Charles became aware of Wolverine's existence. Because of the outstanding nature of Logan’s mutant abilities he'd lived a brutal existence in the hands of the government.

A Top Secret military program - co-founded by the United States and Canadian governments - used psychological abuse and physical torture to turn mutants into super soldiers. Logan had been their pet project. Wolverine's entire existence had been nothing but pain, torture and violence and Charles had always felt a certain level of responsibility toward Logan... and even a little guilty for not having found him sooner.

Logan had grown to adulthood living a brutal and solitary life. He was most definitely a loner and perhaps the most volatile, aggressive and independent person Charles had ever met. At first, he'd offered Charles no insight into his past and they learned later it was because he couldn’t remember a lot of what had happened to him. The Project had stripped most of his memories from him and implanted false ones - so Logan never knew, even to this day, which memories were real and which were false. He spent most of his time alone, constantly separating himself from the others and never letting anyone get close enough to hurt him again.

Looking around the room, his thoughts drifted back to two weeks after Logan had come to the school. Charles had scheduled Logan to begin his physical exam with Dr. Jean Grey, but he'd seemed apprehensive about it so Charles had arranged for Ororo to assist Dr. Grey. She seemed to want to be there anyway and Charles sensed that Storm had felt a certain kinship with this loner. He'd wondered if Logan had felt it too. He could still remember their report of the events that took place that day and as he waited for the team's return he let his thoughts drift away.


*~*~* Then *~*~*

As the examination began Jean had instructed Logan to take off his shirt and shoes and he did so with mild reluctance. She then invited him to have a seat on the examination table and he did so quietly.

His attitude was calm and cooperative – or perhaps just tolerant – but cautious. He did everything she asked him to do, no questions asked; like a good soldier would. But, Ororo had mentioned later that she could feel his suspicion and extreme alertness to the whole situation. He laid there passively as the examination table slid into a large cylindrical x-ray machine. His body was scanned and x-rayed from head to toe and from every possible angle and he never flinched.

At Dr. Grey’s request, Logan gave samples of blood, urine and saliva. She checked his cholesterol and sugar levels. She listened to his heart and lungs; examined his eyes, ears, nose and throat and checked his temperature, blood pressure and pulse. She tested his reflexes, balance and motor coordination and he scored extremely high on all of his tests - a perfect specimen - and he seemed disinterested and even a bit perturbed when she informed him of that fact.

He gave her no problems and showed no disagreeable attitude at all, until it came time to attach the monitor leads to his head and chest. Jean reached for the tags that hung around his neck, absently informing him that she needed to remove them and that’s when things took a drastic turn.

Logan flinched, knocking her hand away and clasped his hand tightly around the tags. He glared at Jean holding his head low, his entire body tense. His breathing became heavy and rapid, his eyes darted around the room and back and forth between the two women.

Ororo had been preparing one of the monitors a few feet away. Her back to them, she was unaware of what was happening as it unfolded. Logan'd become angry and distrustful and he seemed to be feeling trapped. His eyes darted about as if looking for an escape route, his posture indicated that he was intent on protecting those tags and the low growl that rumbled up from his chest was enough to make Jean’s blood run cold. With her eyes wide with fear, her heart pounding, she slowly backed away from him.

Ororo heard the rumble and turned around, curious about the sound. She noticed Logan’s posture and Jean’s reaction to it. Ororo straightened her back suddenly on alert, realizing his wild side was showing itself. He was losing control.

‘What could’ve caused this?’ Ororo wondered, stunned. She had no clue, but she had to try to diffuse the situation.

"Jean?" Ororo started cautiously. Dr. Grey stopped her slow egress and glanced at ‘Ro with fear in her eyes. Storm raised her hands in front of her, palms out. "Take it easy," she advised Jean. Jean nodded. "Just… relax."

Jean nodded again, but she couldn’t relax. She was terrified and Logan could smell her fear, he could hear her heart pounding. Storm took a few cautious steps toward him and Logan glanced at her from under his eyebrows, his eyes looked wild and full of rage. Ororo spoke softly to him with great care and with as much calm as she could muster.

"Logan? What’s wrong?" she asked, but he didn’t answer. He just shifted his gaze, letting it settle on the space between the two women in order to keep them both in his peripheral field of vision. Logan had changed, they could see that. He was no longer lucid, his civility - his humanity - was slipping away. Ororo looked to Jean. "What happened?" she asked the frightened doctor. Jean shrugged slowly, her body rigid with fear.

"I just wanted to remove his tags…" Jean started to explain. Ororo nodded, waiting for her to continue.

"They’re MINE!" Logan growled loudly, clearly emphasizing ownership. His voice was so low and gravelly she almost couldn’t distinguish the words. He was gripping the tags so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and seemed to pulsate under the pressure.

"We know they are yours," ‘Ro assured him with a gentle tone.

No reply.

Could he understand her? she wondered.

"You can keep them on," she tried to reassure him, maintaining a soothing and understanding tone. Ororo hoped her words would connect with Logan’s more rational side. She didn’t believe he wanted to hurt anyone, if he did he would've already. ‘He’s defensive, not aggressive.’ Storm realized as she watched him. The adrenaline surging through his body was making his blood pressure rise, which was evident by his bloodshot eyes. He was trying to dissipate the burst of energy racing through his system by rocking back and forth and his entire body trembled under the force of it. His eyes moved quickly from side to side, his mind seemingly racing. Was he comprehending what she was saying? Or was he contemplating his next move? "Logan?"

No change.

"Logan? The tags don’t need to be removed," Ororo told him. He continued to rock as he sat on the bed; his head low and his eyes darting from side to side. ‘He’s listening,’ Ororo thought to herself. "We are not going to take them away from you," she told him straight out. His rocking stopped abruptly and he turned his head slightly toward her.

"No?" he growled suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at her. Ororo’s expression softened and she relaxed a little. He responded to her words and she offered him a soft smile.

"No," she affirmed. His gaze slowly dropped and he stared at the floor as Ororo continued to talk to him. "Dr. Grey just wanted you to be comfortable, that’s all."

"Comfortable now," he mumbled.

"Okay. You can keep them on, Logan," Ororo watched him as he continued to stare at the floor. He didn’t offer anything more and she took a moment to realize just how much they'd put him through today; he looked tired and stressed. "I think we’ve done enough for today. We’re finished here."

Jean nodded in agreement and Logan took a deep breath and let it out. A moment later he visibly relaxed, straightening his posture and Ro and Jean watched him in silence. The rage glaring in his eyes only moments before had diminished significantly, he was regaining control.

Logan glanced around the room as if confused and a bit off balance. They would learn later, that his confusion stemmed from other memories of another laboratory setting and the importance of those tags they would also learn. They were the only things which he possessed that Logan knew, for sure, belonged to him - including the name etched on them, ‘Wolverine’. He earned them. With his own blood and a life he couldn’t remember. They'd taken everything from him. The tags were the only tangible things he had left to hold onto.

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

A loud buzzer suddenly went off pulling Charles' thoughts back to the present. The alarm signaled that the estate's main entry gate had been opened.

"They’re back!" Jubilee shouted. She ran out of med-lab leaving Charles there to await the arrival of his injured X-Men alone.

The van pulled up to the front of the mansion with the jeep close behind. As the van came to a sudden stop Bobby swung the jeep around it and came to a halt haphazardly in front of the van. Bobby threw it into park as the X-Men started pouring out of both vehicles. Jubilee sprang from the front entrance, her feet never hitting the steps and sprinted toward the van.

"Wolvie? Where is he? Is he all right? Wolvie?"

"Take it easy, Jubilee, he’s fine," Jean told her, trying to settle the young girl’s hysteria. Jubilee though was bouncing around trying to see past the adults. She caught a glimpse of Logan, bloody and barely conscious, sprawled in Hank's arms on the back seat of the van.

"He doesn’t look fine. Is he even alive?" she yelled at anyone who would listen.

"Yes, he’s alive," Jean answered impatiently, as she hurried to reach back inside to give Hank a hand in getting their downed teammate from the vehicle. Cyclops, Gambit and Iceman got in on the extrication as well. Kurt and Storm went to Jubilee’s side with Rogue close behind and Jubilee saw that Wolverine wasn’t their only casualty.

"Oh, Storm! Are you all right?"

"Can you help me get her to the infirmary?" Kurt asked. He could’ve teleported her there, but she wasn’t in serious condition and it gave Jubilee something to do.

"Of course," she said taking Storm’s arm. "Kurt, can’t you teleport Logan to the infirmary?" she asked as they walked to the front entrance.

"I could, but he’s too weak. The jump would take too much out of him," he explained.

Hank handed Logan’s limp body over to Cyclops, Gambit and Iceman. He was feverish and drenched in sweat and the tags, which Ororo had returned to him only days before, were sticking to the damp skin around Logan's throat and chest. He'd become delirious during the short trip back, mumbling incoherently about a fox named M’iko.

As the group moved quickly toward the mansion’s entrance Jean assessed his condition again, running alongside to keep up with the men. The makeshift tourniquet Logan had used to stop the flow of blood kept coming loose as he became combative during transport. Jean kept trying to tighten it back up, but now with the jostling of the 'three-man carry' it became loose again and now a free-flow of blood poured from the grotesque wound.

Hank stepped down from the van’s side entrance as they whisked Logan away. He looked despondent as he surveyed his cobalt blue pelt now matted and covered in Logan’s blood. Angel, who'd stayed behind at the scene briefly to have a last look around, landed beside him and the two men looked at each other with concerned expressions. Warren looked at McCoy's blood soaked pelt, his expression appeared grief-stricken and angry. Hank was about to ask him if he was alright when Angel turned and walked quickly inside.

Warren's reaction to the incident had McCoy confused. His whole behavior, since returning from his leave of absence, was odd. One moment Angel acted as he always had - wanting Wolverine off the team and as far away from him as possible - the next moment his reactions were almost defensive, if not protective, of Logan. He would see if Warren would talk to him about it later, he decided as he watched his friend disappear inside.

The three X-Men moved quickly, and as safely as they could, down the corridor to the elevator that would take them to the sub-level housing the high-tech medical facilities. Jean kept pace with them as she continually checked Logan's condition. Kurt held the elevator door open and waited in the corridor with Storm and Jubilee, who finally got her first real glimpse of Wolverine’s condition as they brought him closer under the lights.

Cyclops and Gambit were on either side of him hefting his shoulders and Iceman had his legs. Logan’s arms and feet bounced limply as they ran with him to the elevator and Jean tried to support his head as it rolled back and forth. His eyes were closed and his face was a ghostly pallor. The jeans he wore were saturated and dripping blood, leaving a spotty trail on the shiny tiled floor.

They crammed into the elevator leaving Kurt and his two charges behind. When they were safely inside Kurt let the door close behind them. Cyclops noticed with relief that Nightcrawler had the foresight to have pushed the button for the sub-level before their arrival. He really didn’t want to think about having to let go of Logan’s weight to do it himself. Jean cradled Logan’s head in her left arm and used the fingers of her right hand to pull his eyelids apart. His eyes were rolled all the way back in his head.

"He’s out. Completely," she reported. Placing two fingers on Logan's neck she tried to palpate a pulse. Jean looked up at Cyclops, her sober expression not giving comfort to the situation. The elevator filled with the odor of drying blood and Logan’s own musky scent, which was even stronger now that he was soaking wet.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Outside, Rogue had stayed behind with Hank. He was shaken and a little unnerved, having been the one to cradle Logan in his arms as he watched his condition deteriorate. Rogue listened as Hank told her how he had to hold Logan down to keep him calm one minute, then having to hold onto him the next to keep him from falling off the seat. He had to keep alternating his response as shock threatened to take Logan, his body going limp, then a moment later he'd become combative and delirious and trying to get out of the van to go after Sabretooth only to fall back again with exhaustion.

She could tell it really tore Hank apart, having to wrap his arms around his friend to restrain him as he struggled weakly to free himself. Rogue put her gloved hand on Hank’s shoulder then she hugged him.

"C’mon, let’s go in. They’re gonna need us," she told him as they separated from their embrace. He agreed and they quickly went inside.

* * *

When the elevator doors opened Kurt was waiting for them with a stretcher. He'd teleported ahead with Storm and Jubilee, figuring assistance would be helpful on their arrival. He was right. When the doors opened, Kurt was shocked by the amount of blood that had already pooled on the floor of the elevator and his eyes locked on Logan as they exited the elevator with him.

They dropped Logan’s inert body as carefully as they could onto the stretcher and ran down the corridor to the infirmary. With the dark blue jeans he was wearing it was difficult to tell just how much blood the material was soaking up, but now Kurt watched in horror as the crisp white sheet on the stretcher turned bright red beneath Logan’s legs. In the few seconds it took to race to the infirmary the sheet became saturated with it.

"Jubilee, bring the oxygen!" Jean shouted to her as she began to snap out orders. "Bobby, start an I.V. normal saline. We’ve got to stabilize him before we can operate. Kurt, give me a set of vitals."

Then she grabbed a pair of trauma shears and began cutting his jeans away from the wound. She inspected it closely for a moment, then moved quickly to remove his blood soaked work boots and socks. She felt for a pulse on the inner side of his right ankle and detected none.

"It must’ve pierced the femoral artery," Jean reported, then she began to haphazardly cut the rest of Logan’s clothes off to prepare him for surgery, but she needed to inspect him for any other life threatening injuries first. Starting at the ankles she cut straight up both legs.

Jubilee brought the oxygen over and now stood caressing Logan’s hair and whispering softly to him. His skin was so cold and ghostly pale and his chest barely moved when he breathed.

"Jubilee, go over there," Jean instructed the young girl, gesturing toward the other side of the room with a nod as she cut through Logan’s jeans making her way up and through the waistband.

"What? No!" Jubilee answered. She didn’t want to leave him, but Jean didn’t have time to fool around. With the young girl’s emotions all churned up, Dr. Grey didn’t feel that this was the most appropriate time to give her a visual introduction to the male form, especially this particular male. It’s definitely not what Logan would want. Charles came over to guide her away.

"Go! Now!" Jean shot her a stern look. "Gambit, get that oxygen on him."

Hurt and angry, Jubilee backed away. She went over to sit on one of the beds and Storm came over to sit with her. She put her arms around Jubilee as the girl began to cry.

With everyone helping, the others managed to strip Logan’s clothes off. He was covered with deep cuts from head to toe, accumulated during his plunge through the thick branches of the trees. His abdomen, arms and chest had deep lacerations which had started to heal before his regenerative power had exhausted itself. Bobby pointed out the gouge marks on Logan’s neck. They appeared to be puncture wounds and his throat and shoulders were badly bruised.

"Mein Gott…" Kurt whispered.

"Why haven’t any of these healed?" Scott asked. "I mean, they seem pretty minor for what his healing factor can handle."

Jean ignored his observation for the moment as she continued to work. Once all of his clothing was pulled clear she covered Logan’s naked form with a sheet - to protect her patient’s privacy and a young girl’s prying eyes. As she did that, Nightcrawler finished taking his vital signs and informed her of the results.

"Blood pressure, eighty over fifty-six. Pulse, forty-eight and thready."

"Shit," Jean muttered, then she remembered Scott’s question. "These would’ve healed within minutes if it weren’t for this," she said, indicating the object protruding from Wolverine's thigh. "His femoral artery’s been stabbed through. Being the largest artery in the human body and with this type of injury, anyone else would’ve bled out in about three minutes." She moved to help Bobby with the I.V., as she continued to explain. "His healing factor identified this as the most serious threat and concentrated all its power here to seal the wound. As quickly as it worked though he still lost a lot of blood and, with his regenerative capabilities now exhausted, it leaves him susceptible to infection and the effects from other injuries just like anyone else."

Rogue and Hank entered the room and heard the end of Jean's explanation and Dr. McCoy came over immediately to assist her. Under the bright lights of the medlab the others also noticed the amount of blood now soaked into Hank's fur. Everywhere they looked, it seemed that Logan's blood was covering everyone and everything.

"He needs a couple of pints to stabilize his blood pressure," Hank informed them as he began to work. "Bob, bring me two pints matching Logan’s type. Check the files by the fridge."

Iceman gave a quick nod and trotted over to the infirmary’s refrigeration unit. He returned with the pint sized bags. Hank already had a large piece of rubber tubing tied around Logan’s left arm just below his biceps. He still had to rub his hand really hard against the inside of Logan’s elbow trying to get a vein to show itself. He saw one and placed his thumb there to mark the spot, then he turned away to pick up a large needle from the tray nearby.

Dr. McCoy moved with practiced speed and precision to insert the needle and attach the tubing from the pint bag. He then taped some of the slack to Logan’s arm so it wouldn’t pull the needle out if tugged accidentally. He took the bag from Bobby and began to squeeze it slowly but firmly, literally forcing the life saving liquid into Logan’s body.

With the first bag now empty Hank repeated the steps with the second bag, but he needed confirmation that it was working. Logan had lost a lot of blood and was in progressive shock; his skin was pale, cold and clammy, he'd been agitated and combative and his life signs were dropping significantly. If their corrective measures didn’t work he was going to die.

"Get some blankets! We have to keep him as warm as possible, his core temperature keeps dropping. Kurt, I need vitals," Hank requested.

Bobby grabbed some blankets that were folded and stacked on a chair. He and Rogue draped them over Logan’s body being careful not to disturb his injured leg. Nightcrawler lifted an eyebrow as he took Logan’s blood pressure.

"B.P… ninety over seventy-two. Pulse, one hundred... still weak and thready."

"He’s reacting to the transfusion. His body’s trying to compensate," Jean observed aloud.

"He’s not out of the woods yet. Vitals are picking up, but I want him stabilized not just reacting," Hank told her. "A couple more units should do it."

"He lost a lot more than I thought," Jean remarked, "nearly half his blood supply."

"God bless that healing factor," Hank mumbled, mostly to himself.

"I’ll get the units," Bobby offered and disappeared for a moment.

Gambit had placed the oxygen mask on Logan’s face and now stood quietly at his head watching the others work. Their cooperation with one another seemed so natural, their actions and interactions were seamless and fluid. He watched in silent awe, these five individuals working as one - one person the extention of the others - together they were a single entity, one unit… a team. He was proud to be among them and with that thought he looked at Warren standing nearby. He looked dazed and confused as he watched what was going on.

"We’ve still got a couple of hours of delicate surgery to perform," Hank mentioned to Jean as he kneaded the pint-sized bags. "It’s going to be a little tricky. We’ve got to open that wound back up, remove the branch and still keep him from bleeding to death while we do it."

"We’re gonna need extra hands in there," Jean told him.

"Scott, you up to it?" Hank asked.

"Yeah, count on it."

Warren stepped forward and opened his mouth to offer his help, but as he raised his hand to get their attention Iceman gave him a rude nudge and stepped in front of him. "Me, too," Bobby volunteered.

"Great. Thanks, Bobby," Jean acknowledged.

Iceman snapped a look at Angel who just blinked at him as if he didn't understand what was happening. He got Bobby's message though, if he didn’t want to be part of the team it was fine by him. As far as Iceman was concerned an X-Man doesn’t pick and choose, according to the circumstances, when he wants to help a teammate and as Warren had made it clear to all of them that Logan was not worth his time, the last place Bobby wanted to see Angel right now was at Logan’s side.

Hank finished squeezing a third unit of blood into Logan then set up a fourth. He hung it on a hook above the stretcher and suggested they get scrubbed up. Professor Xavier, who'd been watching everything with grave concern, instructed the remaining X-Men to bring Wolverine into the operating room.

They carefully transferred him to the operating table under Hank’s instruction, and it was the first time Ororo noticed just how cold that large steel table really was. She touched Logan's pale, lifeless face and just looked at him until Kurt finally came over. He took her gently by the elbow and led her away. Once he'd gotten Ororo out of the room, Kurt turned back to Charles who was still sitting by Logan’s side.

"Professor?"

"I’ll stay with him until the others return," Xavier replied without turning around. Nightcrawler nodded and stepped out of the room. As the door was closing beside him Kurt glanced once more into the room. He saw the professor lay his hand on top of Logan’s and Charles bowed his head, covering his face with his other hand. Kurt stopped the door from closing and watched Charles for only a moment, then he stepped away and let the door close behind him.

Kurt wondered later if the professor had cried.

~ ~ ~ ~

TBC in "Acts of Vengeance" part 3

Chapter 23

Acts of Vengeance, part 3

*****************************************************************************************

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

Chapter 24

Acts of Vengeance, part 4


Logan let out a groan and, although sapped of his strength, he was restless. He was dreaming. Hank sat beside his bed watching as he thrashed about weakly; his feet moved only slightly as Logan tried, unsuccessfully, to move his legs; he tried to raise his arms, in an effort to fend off his unseen assailants, but they fell back heavy on the bed.

Jean had pulled the airway tube from Logan’s throat about half an hour ago. He'd begun to choke on it as he regained some sensation and his reflexes began to return to normal. His gag reflex had recovered so he could now hold his own airway. Hank watched him a moment longer then stood up.

"I believe I’ll prepare a sedative. He’s obviously still too weak to regain consciousness and I see no logical reason to leave him swimming around in whatever dark limbo his mind is in right now."

The others in the room nodded in agreement while Storm just stood next to the bed staring at Wolverine with concern. She was caressing Logan’s fingers with her left hand and, as he groaned again, she ran her right hand through his hair. Bobby and Jean watched her, then exchanged looks. "’Ro, you should try to get some rest," Jean finally told her. It was almost dawn again and Storm hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours.

"I’m fine," Ororo replied without raising her eyes from him. Hank came back to Logan’s side with a syringe in hand. He inserted it into the port on the I.V. tube and pushed the plunger down. They watched silently as Logan slowly stopped fidgeting and became quiet.

"He’ll be out for a couple of hours," Hank remarked.

"At least a couple of hours..." Jean interjected and when Dr. McCoy looked up at her, she nodded once toward Ororo with the hope that Hank could talk her into getting some much needed sleep.

"Indeed," Hank nodded, then turned his attention to Ororo. "You really should try to rest now."

"No, I'm fine, Hank. Truly," she looked up to see the skeptical expression on his face and tried to explain. "You don’t understand, I can’t lea…"

"No, you don’t understand," Hank cut her off. "Doctor’s orders… get some sleep," he ordered in a firm tone. Ororo’s eyes filled with tears; she was utterly exhausted and barely able to contain her emotions. The storm goddess had certainly never earned a reputation for wearing her heart on her sleeve, but the tears escaped her now and Jean came over and put her arm around Storm’s shoulder.

"Come on," she prodded gently. Ororo finally relented and allowed Jean to lead her away. The thought of leaving him when he needed her the most was almost more than Ororo could handle. Although she was being forced away from Logan's side Ororo couldn’t help but feel that she was abandoning him. As they stepped through the curtains to the other side Jean suddenly stopped.

"This looks pretty good, doesn’t it?" she asked Ororo, referring to the bed right next to Logan’s. Ororo’s tension about having to leave his side was immediately replaced with relief and she leaned into Jean with a grateful smile softening her weary features. Jean smiled back, squeezing Storm’s shoulders in the crook of her arm. "If that were Scott lying there, I wouldn’t want to leave either," she confided. With a look of discomfort Ororo stepped out from under Jean's embrace and sat down on the edge of the bed, studying her hands in her lap for a moment.

"It’s not quite the same, now is it?" Ororo replied quietly.

"No?" Jean challenged in a friendly manner as she turned down the blankets.

"No," Storm answered, straightening her back in defiance, "of course not."

"Okay, slide in," Jean said, patting her hand on the bed. Storm slid over and tucked her legs under the blankets. Jean hovered as Ororo lay down, making her feel like a small child being tucked in for the night. Jean pulled the blankets over her, then leaned in close. "Are you trying to convince me... or yourself?" she asked.

"You’re imagining things," Storm replied trying to sound convincing, but averted her eyes from Jean’s.

"Okay, okay," Jean replied, letting the matter go for now; this was not the time to get her riled up. She pulled the curtains around ‘Ro’s bed and switched off the overhead light. As Jean started to move away, she heard Storm’s tired voice half-whisper at the same time she picked up her friend's thoughts.

"Jean?"

"Got it," Jean answered, pulling the curtain aside that separated Storm from Logan. Hank looked up distracted and Bobby turned around to see what was up as Storm rolled onto her side to face Logan.

"Thank you."

"You’re welcome," Jean smiled. Hank and Bobby exchanged looks, then Bobby said good night and made his way out. After a final check on their patient, Jean and Hank stepped out of the small enclosed area to give the pair some privacy. A moment later, Ororo was fast asleep.


~*~*~ Elsewhere in the mansion ~*~*

"You can let it go now, Scott," Warren spoke out, sweeping his arm at Cyclops in dismissal then walked to the other side of the room. "I'm done spouting off." Scott had gone in search of Worthington and found him sitting in the mansion’s library. The winged X-Man was already in a dispute with Rogue and Kurt when Scott arrived. He was beside himself with his own anger at Angel's attitude earlier in the evening and he was determined to give Warren an attitude adjustment.

"I have no intention of letting it go, Angel. We all know that you and Wolverine don’t get along real well and I’ve been willing to chalk it up to "personality conflict"…."

"Yeah. You could say that," Warren laughed sarcastically, shaking his head.

"Regardless! You are an X-Man and so is he! And X-Men look out for one another. You’d better get used to that idea, because that’s the way it is! Do you understand me, Warren?" Scott was nearly red in the face as his temper got the best of him. "Unless... you don’t want to be an X-Man anymore."

"Hey, I've got no problem fighting the good fight, shoulder to shoulder, with anyone! But…" Warren paused and as his words trailed off Rogue stood up, looking at him curiously.

"But what, Warren?" she asked.

"That man..." he said obviously referring to Logan. "He brings way too much baggage with him."

"And you don’t?!" Kurt asked angrily in Logan’s defense. He stood up and walked toward Angel, creating a surreal image of good against 'evil'. "Every one of us has secrets, things from our past that we hope will stay there. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. Nobody’s perfect. You’re spoiled and arrogant... I was a freak in the circus... Remy's a thief...!"

"Was a t’ief," LeBeau corrected.

"Remy's changed, Kurt," Rogue reminded him.

"Ja', of course. I'm sorry, mein freund," he apologized and Gambit smirked with a wink.

"Yeah? Well, Logan’s changed too, Rogue," Scott stated, as if he needed to.

"I know that, Scott," she reminded him softly that she was on his side in this internal dispute. Kurt pointed one thick, blue-furred finger at Angel and added his own two cents worth.

"And, he’s been an X-Man a lot longer than you!"

"Oh, he has not! I was here first!!" Warren screamed back.

"And you left!! You left your home and the team because you couldn't have it your way!" Kurt shouted back. "Therefore, the time you have missed on and off over the years gives Wolverine more years of service as an X-Man!"

"That's not the point, Kurt," Scott stated, trying to keep their attention on the issue at hand, but Warren was already into his reply.

"Ahhh," he flipped his hand at Kurt with a sarcastic look of disgust, "you are his friend, you’re not thinking…"

"I’m his best friend," Kurt glared at him.

"Whatever. You take this too personal."

"Warren!" Rogue exclaimed. She stepped back, shocked by his flippant attitude. Their friend - their teammate - was right now recovering from major surgery in the institute’s infirmary. A few hours ago, every last X-Man in house tonight was wearing Logan’s blood on their clothes.

"What?" Warren asked, then hoping to use his "charm" to get her to understand his side, he reached for her. "Come on, Rogue."

"No," she pulled free of his grasp. "You come on," she said, her fiery southern temper now starting to show. "How can you be so callous about what’s happened to Wolverine?"

"The man is…"

"Dying!" Kurt blurted out, cutting off Warren’s words.

"What?!" Scott turned in surprise, as did Rogue and Remy.

"Could be," Kurt said, glaring at Angel and clenching his teeth.

"Don’t say that, Kurt," Rogue scolded him fearfully not sure that it wasn’t the truth, but Kurt ignored her.

"Would dat make you happy?" he asked Worthington. Kurt’s anger and grief showed in his bright yellow eyes, his tail whipped from side to side and his fingers curled into fists. Warren said nothing as he stared into Kurt’s eyes, he wanted to tell the X-Man "No", that’s not what he wanted, but he knew Kurt wouldn’t believe him.

"Stop this. All of you," Charles’ stern voice floated to them from across the room. They'd been so engrossed in their argument that none of them had seen him enter the room. Now they turned to look at him. "We are all exhausted and emotions are high. Let’s not say things tonight that we will be sorry for tomorrow," he counceled and the five X-Men exchanged looks. "None of this will help Logan." His voice sounded tired all of a sudden. "Everyone, get some rest."

"Professor…" Scott began.

"Tomorrow, Scott," Xavier replied, making it clear that the matter was now closed. "Everyone, get some sleep." Kurt stole a backward glance at Warren then reluctantly disappeared in a puff of black smoke. Charles trusted that Nightcrawler had teleported to his room. The others slowly filed past his wheelchair as they bid him good night. When they had all gone Charles bowed his head in silent thought, worrying that his students’ emotions might interfere with them being able to work together as a team, if that need should arise before their differences were amended. "Sleep well, my X-Men," he wished them aloud. He left the now-quiet library to retire to his own room, although he knew that sleep would not come to him tonight.

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


Hank and Bobby had left a few hours ago and Ororo was still asleep. Jean sat at her desk looking over Logan’s medical records; there wasn’t much there. Until now, he'd never had much need of her services as a doctor. Except in extreme cases he had no trouble healing himself; gunshot wounds, stabbings, poisons, toxins, disease - his special genetic make-up took care of it all… usually.

She noted that the last time he had been a patient in the infirmary was years ago. When, during a fight with Magneto, ‘the Master of Magnetism’ himself had forcibly stripped the adamantium from Logan’s skeleton. Breaking it down to its molecular level, he forced the metal out of Logan’s body through his open wounds.

The X-Men had witnessed the heinous event and could do nothing to stop it... and Logan’s screams still echoed in her ears to this day. His body had been literally torn apart before he was mercifully rendered unconscious and Jean had to use her telekinesis to wrap his body in a psi-bubble just to hold him together until they could get him home. They'd lost him a couple times enroute and she had worked frantically to bring him back. The extent of the injuries to his body were unimaginable and his healing factor had been depleted within moments of the attack.

When Charles had realized what Magnus was preparing to do, as he watched Logan’s body jolt with the slight magnetic tugs, he begged Magneto - ‘For the love of God, don’t do this, Eric.’ - but Magneto was hell-bent on teaching them all a lesson, especially Wolverine. The slight tugs became forceful pulls and Logan was lifted off the ground and suspended in the air above them. His back arched and he screamed... and he kept screaming until Magnus had finished his repulsive task and threw Wolverine's lifeless body to the floor.

She'd often thought that day, through her own tears, that maybe it would’ve been a more loving gesture to let him die. Instead, she chose to make him live through the ordeal. He was their friend - and a valued member of the team - and in the years since then he'd made a huge difference in their lives; not only as an X-Man, but in their personal lives as well.

Taking off her glasses Jean leaned back in the chair, trying to cleanse her mind of the memories of that horrible day. She glanced around the room and noticed a bloodied instrument tray that had been pushed against a wall now standing there forgotten. She pursed her lips together, then let out a sigh. She put her glasses down on top of the folder and stood up.

She donned a pair of rubber gloves and began collecting and discarding bandages and dressings that were saturated with now-dried blood. She scooped up the instruments and dropped them into a bucket of soapy water to let them soak and then something caught her eye. She looked back into the bucket and saw a small silver chain swirling around in the reddening water. Carefully, she reached a gloved hand into the bucket being careful not to cut herself on the blood encrusted scalpel she'd just placed in there. Jean grabbed the chain between her middle and index fingers and slowly withdrew her hand from the bucket.

Jean held it up in front of her face. The silver tags hanging from the chain bore one engraved word - ‘Wolverine’ - and below that was a set of numbers. She lowered the chain into her hand, the tags reflecting the overhead lights. She thought about how important Logan had become to her - to all of them - and how desperately they'd all fought to save him last night. Then she realized how important these tags were to the man that owned them and how desperately he would fight to keep them. Jean closed her hand, wrapping her fingers around them as she'd often seen him do. She walked over to where he lay and, stepping through the curtain, she saw Ororo open her eyes.

"Sorry. Go back to sleep," Jean whispered as Ororo sat up.

"I’ve been up for a while. I keep dreaming," Ororo replied, brushing her hair back with her hand. She shifted around toward the edge of the bed to let her feet hang down and noticed that Jean was clutching something in her hand. "What do you have there?" she inquired softly. Jean opened her fingers and brought it closer for her to see. Ororo blinked at the shiny tags, then raised her eyes to Jean’s. A moment later Ororo turned to look at Logan. "I didn’t realize he didn’t have them on," she whispered. "I just returned them to him the other day."

"I know," Jean replied.

"Do you remember the first time the three of us were alone in this room?" Storm asked softly with the memory.

"How could I forget?" Jean answered, then she held them out to Ororo and placed them in her hand. After a moment’s pause Jean went back to her files. Ororo sat quietly for some time on the edge of the bed staring at the silver chain.

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


It was just after seven a.m. when Dr. McCoy and Professor Xavier entered the infirmary. They weren’t entirely surprised to see that most of the X-Men were already there. After they'd all gotten some rest and some breakfast, they had come straight here to check on their teammate’s progress. Bobby and Kurt were sitting on the bed that Ororo'd made use of the night before. They quietly exchanged greetings with Hank and the professor before falling silent again. Ororo was sitting in the chair beside Logan’s bed and she offered Charles a sad, tired smile. He steered his wheelchair around the bed and brought it up alongside her to take her hand.

"Ororo, I can see you didn’t get much rest. How are you doing?" he asked. His voice was always soothing and made you believe that, no matter how you answered, he could empathize with you. She squeezed his hand with a small smile.

"I am fine, Charles," she assured him then looked back to Logan, as did Charles. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, the expression foreign to his features.

"How is he doing, Jean?" Charles asked, trying to hide the worry in his own voice. Dr. Grey was standing near the monitor to the left of Logan’s head, but now she moved to give Hank room to get in, shaking her head as she stepped aside.

"No change, Professor. I thought his fever would break during the night, but it didn’t. It’s up to 103.4."

"What was it last night?" Hank asked as he gently opened one of Logan’s eyelids. His eyes were rolled back in his head and Hank placed his hand on Logan’s forehead as Jean referred to his chart.

"101.6," she replied.

"Has he shaken off the sedative yet?"

"No, he’s still under," Jean reported and Hank’s forehead creased as he thought to himself, ‘That shouldn’t be.’

"Have you checked the wound lately?" he asked as Jean handed him Logan’s chart.

"Changed the dressing about an hour ago," she nodded.

"Any sign of infection?"

"None," Jean replied and Hank glanced at the clock on the wall. It'd been nearly five hours since he gave Logan the sedative.

"He should’ve started coming around by now." He rubbed his chin, totally perplexed, then raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "We’re missing something."

"I wish he could tell us what," Jean replied. Bobby slid off the bed and came over to stand between her and Hank and Kurt followed him.

"Well, can’t you give him something to bring him around?" Bobby asked, trying to be helpful.

"Ja," Kurt added, "You gave him something to put him to sleep. Can’t you give him something to wake him up?" Jean and Hank looked at each other as everyone looked to them.

"What do you think?" she asked him. Hank studied Logan’s chart and after a few moments of serious contemplation he finally answered.

"I want a blood sample taken first. If his white count is up or down I want to know that first before we do anything else." He looked at Jean over the rim of his glasses to make sure she understood. She nodded.

"Okay, everybody out of the way. Give me a minute," she waved her hands at them, gesturing for them to move away from the bed. They all moved to the center of the room as Jean drew Logan’s blood and Hank waited patiently. The two doctors conferred quietly on different tests they could perform. Something was hindering Logan’s recovery and they needed to find out what it was.

The door slid open and Remy and Rogue entered. Ororo and Rogue greeted each other with a hug and Rogue asked about Logan’s condition. They told her what they knew, then she moved toward the bed where Logan still lay motionless and Remy followed her. The door to the infirmary opened again and Warren entered the room receiving glares from Bobby and Kurt. He marched straight toward the unconscious man... or tried to. Bobby stepped in front of him, cutting him off in mid-stride.

"Where do you think you’re going, Wings?" Bobby asked in a threatening tone, purposely referring to Angel in the same manner that Logan would have.

"I've come to check on Wolverine," Warren informed him, unruffled.

"What’s your interest? He ain’t dead yet."

"Robert!" Ororo scolded, his comment frightening her.

"Get out of my way, Ice Cube," Angel warned, pushing his finger into Drake’s chest, refusing to step around Iceman. He’d be more than happy at this point to go through him instead.

"Stop this!" The professor’s stern voice carried through the infirmary as the two men tried to stare each other down. He had a strong voice and it projected well, even without having to shout. "This is not the time or the place for this. Robert, let Warren through," he instructed. The Iceman and the Angel stared at each other for a moment then Iceman reluctantly obeyed.

"Whatever you say, Professor," he replied through clenched teeth, then stepped aside. Their eyes stayed locked on one another until Warren passed by.

As he approached the bed Warren frowned. He was sure Logan’s recuperative abilities would've returned by now and hoped to find him cranky and obstinate and giving Hank a hard time about getting out of bed.

"He’s not awake?" he asked.

"No. We’re trying to figure out why that is as we speak," Hank informed him.

"He took some pretty heavy hits, Hank. Maybe he just needs a little help," Rogue offered. Hank looked at her blankly, thinking ‘Obviously he needs a little help.’

"We need to know what’s wrong before we can hope to help him," he replied.

"Can’t we ask him? I mean, the prof could…"

"Hank!" Jean’s voice rang out from the other side of the lab cutting Rogue off in mid-sentence. "His white cell count is way up! It’s off the charts... but there’s no sign of infection. So what are they gearing up for?" Hank shook his head slowly. ‘Doesn’t make sense,’ he thought to himself, then he leaned down close to Logan’s face, looking at him closely.

"Logan," he whispered, "tell me what’s going on." Just then Kurt appeared next to the bed with an idea.

"Rogue could tell us," he said and Rogue looked at him like he was nuts while everyone else looked at him curiously. "Right?" he asked her and Rogue’s mouth dropped open, shocked by what he was suggesting. "Right?" he repeated excitedly. "He doesn’t need to be conscious for that, does he? She can pick up what he’s feeling and tell us. Right?"

"Kurt, I don’t think…" Rogue started to argue the point. Logan was already weak and to sap anymore of his strength would not be a good idea.

"No, you can do it. Ve are stumped here. Logan’s getting worse and ve don’t know how to help him. Please, Rogue," Nightcrawler pleaded and she looked around the room at every worried face. ‘Okay, no pressure there.’ Hoping for a little advice she turned to Charles.

"Professor?"

"I’m afraid this is a decision only you can make, Rogue. You are the one who will experience what Logan is going through. His pains, his thoughts, his memories… will all be yours. Whichever way you choose though we will support your decision, no matter what."

That wasn’t exactly what she was hoping to hear, she wanted him to tell her what to do. Everyone was anxiously awaiting her decision and Rogue looked toward the floor thoughtfully, she really needed to think this through. She knew Logan would want her to fight ‘til the end. "As long as I’m livin’, I’m fightin’," he'd always told them and she was sure that, however he was able, he was fighting even now - holding on as best he could - waiting for them to assist him. She turned to Remy. "If I do this, make sure I don’t keep contact with him for more than a second or two. Okay?" she asked shakily. Remy rubbed her arm and nodded, showing his support... but she still wanted a medically sound reason why she should or shouldn’t consider doing this. "Hank?"

"Well… there is always uncertainty, Rogue," he said, removing his glasses. "Perhaps if you don’t absorb too much of his strength…" Hank paused, then let out a heavy sigh. "I don’t know. It may be the only chance we have before it’s too late."

"What if… something happens? What if…"

"His system is already in shock, Rogue," Hank informed her. "His core temperature keeps rising. A few more degrees and he’ll begin to experience fever convulsions. One small touch? I really don’t think you could cause him anymore harm," he told her as honestly as he could, but Rogue wasn’t so sure. "On the plus side," Hank continued "you could help us save his life." Replacing his glasses, he looked her in the eye.

Rogue contemplated what Hank said, then she looked at Logan. His lifeless face beneath the oxygen mask looked way too familiar. It reminded her of the time when she and Wolverine, along with the Scarlet Witch, had been abducted by The Leader and forced to undergo torturous medical experiments that focused on studying their mutant powers. She'd been forced to touch Logan, stealing his powers and his memories and he hadn’t blamed her, he knew she’d had no choice. It had been her touch that sent him into a coma then. Could that same touch save him now from a more permanent state of unconsciousness? ‘What would he ask me to do?’ she asked herself. ‘Would he want me to do this?’

When Rogue first came to the institute she was terrified of him. Her relationship with Wolverine at the beginning was tumultuous at best. Anytime she came anywhere near him his hair would stand on end; it always did when he felt threatened. It was a totally instinctual response that all animals can do, he didn’t do it with a conscious awareness, but it terrified her. Then he would growl a menacing threat and pop his claws in front of her face to emphasize the seriousness of his warning, ‘Stay away from me.’
It'd taken a long time for her to earn Logan's trust and she learned over the years that it had been her ability to leech whatever memories he could still cling to that had made him feel threatened... more than the thought of losing his powers. She stared at him deep in her own thoughts and asked him silently, ‘How much do you trust me now, Logan?"

"He trusts you completely, Rogue," Jean answered. She knew that Rogue’s biggest fear was losing Logan’s trust again and, using her telepathy to monitor Rogue’s thoughts, she waited for her to ask the one question that haunted her the most. Rogue turned to her, surprised to hear an answer to her unasked question.

"Jean…" that was all Rogue could say as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"He trusts you, Rogue," Jean told her with confidence. "He has for a long time now. He considers you his friend." Rogue looked down at Logan and the tears streamed down her face. ‘His friend’… not just 'a teammate'. God, what she wouldn’t give to hear that from him right now.

"What if something goes wrong?" she sniffled, wiping away her tears. Storm came around to stand beside her and took Rogue by the hand.

"Logan would never find fault in anything you would attempt in his best interest -succeed or fail - as long as you truly believe your intentions are honorable." Rogue thought about that for a moment and realized that it was true. She nodded and took a deep breath wiping away the rest of her tears with the back of her hand.

"Okay," she said, looking around the room at each of her teammates. With one nod, she announced her decision, "Let’s do it." Everyone came to attention and those standing farther away came closer. "Remy?" she checked without turning around.

"Remy got ye', Chere," he promised her.

Rogue slowly removed the glove from her left hand and felt the cool air of the sterile room against her skin. She put her hand on the cold bed rail and, stepping up close to the bed, she watched him. Except for the slight rise and fall of his chest he was lifeless. Something sinister was draining the life from him and it was now up to her to try to find out what it was. ‘I can do this,’ she told herself, then reached out with one bared hand.
When her hand made contact with Logan’s arm, she gasped softly just at the simple sensation of physical contact with his skin. He was hot and she flushed with excitement; to feel the flesh of another against her own was a pleasure she had to be denied by nature and her heart skipped a beat as she delighted in the sensation. Her delight lasted only a brief second however, before she began to absorb what was left of Logan’s lifeforce.

"Uhn," was the only sound forced from Rogue as her body stiffened and her head snapped backward. Her body felt as though it was on fire as pain raced through her bones and her entire body ached. She made a disgusted face as her mouth suddenly filled with a strong metallic taste. "Uhnggh..," Rogue groaned against the pain, then she gasped loudly and her eyes shot open in terror as she began to assimilate Wolverine’s memories. The images of the lab that she had seen before enveloped her. His pain and his terror were now hers and she let out a noise that sounded like a sob; she could feel his hopelessness and despair and the mind-numbing loneliness of his years of isolation.
Rogue began to sob uncontrollably as she absorbed Logan's inner turmoil. She tried to control it - tried to quiet his confusion amidst all the chaos - but it overwhelmed her. It took her over and it wasn’t his anymore... it was hers. It was happening to her. ‘How does he control this?? How does he deal with this?? Where does that strength come from?’ The mental anguish was one thing, but the pain…. she screamed. Everyone in the infirmary jumped in surprise and then came another blood curdling scream.

"What’s happening?" Bobby asked.

"She’s absorbing his core structure," Hank stated, fascinated.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Everything that is Logan... is now Rogue."

"It sounds like she’s in incredible pain," Jean said, more than a little worried.

"Well, pain is Logan’s essence, isn't it? It is the foundation for who he is. It is all he knows."

Another blast of pain pulled her deeper into the memory. ‘God!! It burns!’ her mind screamed and she began to convulse; her muscles twisting against the pain and then there were people jumping on her. They pinned her harshly to the bottom of the tank and it was God-awful frightening. They did nothing at all to comfort her, they did nothing to ease his pain and she was terrified. Rogue had always thought she knew what fear was, but this was unfathomable... this was heart-stopping horror.

On the bed Logan’s body stiffened as his muscles contracted forcefully. The monitors immediately began to beep a shrilling alarm as his arms and legs seized and shook with convulsions. Everyone tensed looking between him and Rogue as Hank consulted the shrieking monitors. "He’s tachycardic! His heart rate is off the scale. That’s enough, Rogue!" Hank shouted above the noise and Remy grabbed her arm, pulling her hand away. She reflexively reached for Logan again, not wanting to leave him alone in there - in that dark and ugly place - but she collapsed in Remy’s arms.

Logan’s body went limp and Hank watched the monitor closely as it registered his heart rate; it dropped significantly from the rapid fibrillation Rogue’s touch had caused to a very slow but steady beat. When he was satisfied that it had stabilized McCoy spun around and crouched down next to Rogue as Remy cradled her in his arms."Rogue?" Hank said, trying to get a response.

"Mmmm," she crinkled her nose in disgust and licked her lips. "Dizzy," she mumbled.

"Dizzy? You feel dizzy?" Hank asked, trying to get clarification.

"Mmm," she nodded weakly. "Hot. Burning."

"That’s the fever," Hank assured her.

"Nnn…no. Burning… taste… metal… taste…" Rogue mumbled, then swallowed with an expression of disgust.

"You taste metal? Burning metal?" Hank asked, trying desperately to understand.

"Metal taste… burning… blood… poison metal… help… me."

"Rogue?" Remy shook her then turned pleading eyes to Hank. "Help her!"

"We’re trying!" Hank replied sharply. Then Rogue gasped and suddenly sat up straight - alert and frantic; she understood and clutched onto Remy’s arm, shouting urgently.

"He’s being poisoned! The adamantium!" she yelled out and Hank’s eyes widened in fear and shock. He understood now too and cursed himself for not realizing it sooner, he should’ve known. He should've guessed. He stood up quickly and stepped over Rogue. Pushing past Bobby and Kurt he moved quickly to the refrigerator. The team heard the sounds of bottles being clanked together as McCoy moved them aside searching frantically through the shelves for… something. Hank was mumbling, cursing himself under his breath until he found what he was looking for. He moved away from the refrigeration unit holding a box in his hands, glancing at the clock as he set it down on the counter. The box had three words printed on the side - two were stamped in red, ‘Keep Refrigerated’ – the other was penned in black ink in Hank’s own handwriting, ‘Logan’.

"Hank?" Jean took a step forward, curious as to what he was doing.

"How long?" Hank asked in return.

"How long?" Jean echoed, not understanding the question. Hank opened a drawer and removed a syringe sealed in plastic. He ripped it open with his teeth and spit out the small piece of plastic.

"How long has it been since his healing factor ceased its accelerated capabilities?"

"Uhmmm," Jean looked at the clock, mentally calculating. "Uhmm… I don’t know… about fifteen hours," she shrugged and looked to the others for corroboration. Some of them nodded as her guess was as good as theirs. "Why?" Jean asked.

Hank didn't answer as he concentrated on taking a small vial from the box and turned it upside down. He stuck the syringe through the bottle’s sealed top and drew back the plunger. The syringe filled with the bottle’s liquid contents.

"Hank, what’s going on?" Scott asked, this time demanding an answer.

Without a word Hank came back to Logan’s side. He lifted the syringe to eye level and tapped it with his finger to shake loose any air bubbles in the liquid. When the bubbles floated to the top he depressed the plunger until all the air was dispelled and the liquid spurt from the needle. Then he stuck it into the port on the I.V., sending the medicine into Logan’s body with frantic hope that his incompetence would not cost their teammate his life.




TBC in Acts of Vengeance, part 5

Chapter 25

Acts of Vengeance, part 5


The other X-Men waited for Hank to finish what he needed to do before attempting to get an explanation. He was obviously lost in his own thoughts and seemed desperate to complete his task as quickly as he could. With the medicine administered Hank withdrew the needle and let out a long, haggard breath. He stared at his unconscious friend with a silent prayer, then shook his head in disbelief at what could have been an enormous and negligible oversight. He finally turned around to address the others who were still waiting for an answer. "I can’t believe… I forgot," McCoy said vaguely, pushing his glasses higher onto his nose. "I completely overlooked it. My stars, how in the world could I?"

"What is it, Hank? What did you overlook?" Scott pressed him patiently.

"The adamantium," Hank offered cryptically, then added. "The only reason Wolverine survived the whole adamantium bonding process, in the first place, was because of his highly accelerated ability to heal."

"We know that," Cyclops told him. Hank shot him a look of irritation at the interruption of his thoughts and decided their leader needed a little more enlightenment.

"Well, it is also the only thing that has kept him alive since," he remarked rather bluntly. There were a few things that Hank knew about Logan’s situation that the others may have never even considered, not because they were indifferent to his condition, just uneducated regarding it. "Logan's healing factor has been forced to work diligently, twenty-four hours a day, every single day, to ward off the poisoning effects of having a hundred pounds of metal inside his body. If he's ever caught without his power to help combat it, the adamantium begins to poison his system and starts to show its affects within twelve to fifteen hours after his healing factor shuts down. Anytime his powers are depleted or suppressed the threat of him succumbing to adamantium poisoning becomes an all too real possibility."

"How do you know about this?" Scott asked. "We never would’ve thought of that."

"It stands to reason. It is the same effect as any one of us contracting lead poisoning, only on a grander scale. Metal is metal, no matter the compound, and it’s not meant to be inside our bodies," Dr. McCoy explained. "I do remember asking Logan about it right after he came to us. He was very wary about telling me and it was quite obvious he would have rather had said nothing at all and asked that I not make it public knowledge. I didn’t agree with his request, but nonetheless he made me promise to keep the information to myself."

"Why didn’t he want us to know?" Scott asked. His tone reflected that he was more than a little hurt that none of the other X-Men had been privy to this potentially life saving and life threatening information.

"Because," Hank explained quietly, "it’s information that could be used against him." He removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

"We would never use something like that against him," Scott rebuked.

"Of course not. He knows that… now," Hank nodded. "You have to understand he told me this a long time ago. So long ago, in fact, that I'd forgotten all about it." Hank donned his glasses once more and looked at Logan’s pale, lifeless face. "When he finally revealed the information to me he seemed… ashamed."

"Ashamed? Why?" Ororo asked with concern.

"Because it had been used against him… many times." Hank paused to take a deep breath, not sure if he'd said too much already.

"Go on, Hank," Charles encouraged. He could feel McCoy's turmoil. He'd made a promise - an oath of trust - a trust he was now breaking, but the burden of carrying such information alone was now weighing heavily on the mighty Beast’s heart.

"Those monsters involved in the government’s super soldier programs and experimental projects - most specifically the ‘Weapon X Program’ - used to slap a suppression collar around his neck whenever he had the audacity to resist their brainwashing attempts and mind-tampering exploits." There was an unusual hint of anger in McCoy's tone as he spoke, remembering the things Logan told him. "With his powers suppressed, they’d let him suffer the effects of the poisoning until he became so sick and weak… until he no longer had the strength to fight back... nor had he the mental faculties to resist them."

The X-Men were quiet as they listened to what Hank was telling them. As he continued on, the details of the information the good doctor was relaying for them kept them silent in thought as they each began to contemplate the hardships in their own lives. Comparing the mistreatments placed upon themselves by others to the atrocities committed against Logan in the name of science or national defense or whatever other excuse ever given to justify his treatment was... incomparable actually. The training and conditioning that had turned Logan into the man known as Wolverine... and beyond that. The physical and psychological torture and humiliation, the mind manipulation, the memory tampering and the physical alterations forced upon him, to turn "The Wolverine" into the world’s most feared assassin, known as 'Weapon X'.

Hank also became quiet as he sank deeper into his own thoughts remembering the things that Logan had confided in him. Things about himself he entrusted to no one else, but McCoy needed to share that information now. He needed them to understand and he knew they wanted to understand what made Logan the man he once was and sometimes still is. He wanted them to be aware of the level of determination that Logan possessed to be able to overcome those things that had turned him into a madman -- a living, unstoppable weapon of destruction. He wanted them to know how, through his own commitment and strength of will, he was able to persevere and become the man he is today. As Hank's thoughts flowed through his own images of the events he now spoke of, one image suddenly appeared vividly in his head. He had not been there to witness the actual event but the image of what Logan had shared with him remained strong to this day. Hank turned to the others and his voice hitched as he asked them a question. "Did you know… that the guards who were assigned to keep an eye on him would use him for target practice just to keep themselves from getting bored?" he asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one.

Scott, Jean and Kurt furrowed their brows, frowning in disdain. Rogue hung her head and closed her eyes, trying to shut out that particular image as she leaned heavily against Remy. Bobby hung on his every word with morbid fascination and Warren looked at Logan silently, then back to Hank. Charles watched his X-Men's reactions as he rested his chin on his hands which were clasped in front of him.

"Yeah," Hank continued with a sorrowful nod and it hurt him to say the words that followed. "They’d get bored... and Logan would here them laughing with their whispered secrets beyond the bars of his cell and then he'd hear them pull the bolts back on their weapons…" He stopped abruptly unable to describe each and every action and he was sure the others could fill in the blanks themselves, then he continued, "he'd watch them from his cell knowing what was about to happen and he couldn’t stop them. There was nothing he could do. He had no place to go… nowhere to run... no place to hide.
"Often times, he’d be sound asleep in a corner and would awaken to the sound of the rifles being locked and loaded," McCoy continued, almost robotically, as he recalled that day Logan sat atop the hospital bed and revealed his humiliating secret to the large blue doctor. "He told me how he would get to his feet quickly hoping for at least the chance to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He’d just stand there, staring at them… waiting."

"How could he just stand there?" Kurt asked, his voice sounding small. Hank shrugged and shook his head with sorrow.

"He stopped trying to talk them out of it after the first couple of times. They would only laugh at him anyway, taunting and insulting him, using anti-mutant slurs." Hank paused to reflect on that, then added thoughtfully, "I can only imagine the level of fear that Logan experienced at those moments." He confessed and then his own anger at the very thought of such an act began to show. "He’d just stand there! Staring at them!" McCoy nearly shouted before catching himself, suppressing his own anger at the injustice before continuing. "All he could do was try to prepare himself for the pain he was about to experience again and again… and again."

"My God," Rogue could barely whisper as she took Gambit’s hand in her own. Hank continued relaying the horrific details of Logan’s former life, his voice sounding detached as the memory of what Logan had told him came back to him in vivid detail.

"They would take turns emptying the loaded rounds into him. Oh, they’d give him just enough time to recover in between, of course… after all, they didn’t want to kill him," he remarked scornfully. "Then it would start all over again and they laughed and made jokes as he writhed on the floor in pain." Hank’s anger began to grow again with every word he spoke. "They invaded his body with hundreds of bullets just to keep themselves entertained! It certainly didn’t matter to them that Logan could feel the pain of each and every bullet piercing his flesh and exploding as they entered his body… ricocheting off bones and tearing his insides to shreds!" Hank stopped again, as he needed to calm himself. He didn’t mean to be so graphic especially in front of the ladies, but even as he paused, he remembered Logan’s description of that particular memory and, oddly enough, Hank realized he'd never once lingered on the memory of the physical pain. "He told me… how his ears ached with the sound of gun fire ringing in his head. The odor of the shells blasting from the gun barrels stinging his senses. His feelings of despair and hopelessness turning to rage… the coldness of the damp cement against his face as he curled up on the floor in pain… the warmth of his own blood on his hands, the smell of it triggering the berserker inside him. Dazed, wounded, humiliated and alone… he could hear their comments and their laughter as they encouraged others in their ranks to take part… ‘in the fun'." As Hank finished relaying the heinous actions of the military minions, Ororo took Logan’s hand in her own as her tears flowed.

"How absolutely alone he must have felt," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Remy put his arm around Rogue, pulling her in close to him protectively. She could still feel the residual effects of Logan’s life force, still strong and vivid. She didn’t let on about it, but she could actually ‘feel’ the memory and the pain that Hank was now speaking of. She'd even lifted from him those unusually keen senses. She'd done that before and she loved it... and that scared her a little. As she sat there listening to Hank, Rogue looked around the room. She couldn’t help but revel in these extraordinary gifts - secretly of course - for Logan's visual perceptions were absolutely phenomonal.
Of course, Wolverine saw the world in three dimensions just like everyone else... but it was the clarity of those dimensions that amazed her and intrigued her to the point of wishing she didn't have to "give it back" to its rightful owner. The only way Rogue could think to describe it would be to compare it to those 3-D movie glasses you get at the theatre, but still that would not be an accurate description.

Everything in the room stood out as if floating above the background scenery. Horizontal surfaces along with their supporting structures seemed to stretch toward her. She could almost feel the textures of the wallpaper and the curtain and the knitted blanket, as well as the smooth, icy coolness of the sterile counter tops, without ever having to touch them. Lines were more distinct, corners seemed sharper and shadows were darker. Every single thing in the room was more distinct, the separation of lines was more exact and the depth of every object was augmented. Even two-dimensional objects sprang out at her, which by their very definition she thought impossible. Colors were brighter and gave those particular objects a depth of their own.

As Rogue scanned the room, she noticed a poster-sized chart on a wall near the medical cabinet and how the once-normal colors, now almost-neon, sprang out at her. Although the white background appeared normal enough, even with the enhancements, it was the words on the poster that captivated her interest. They seemed to actually float above the paper as if a separate entity in itself and each color presented differently than the next. The red letters appeared to hover about an inch above the paper, but the blue ones seemed to float about six inches above, giving the two-dimensional poster a very three-dimensional appearance. His depth perception was absolutely extraordinary and she realized this is what enables Wolverine to see the slightest movements from great distances.
As Rogue continued to scan the room she noticed another chart on the opposing wall. This one had a blue background to it and again the red letters seemed to float above the suface, but the white letters looked as if they were actually indented an inch or more into the paper. She really hated to admit it, but she felt exhilarated; she always did when she absorbed Wolverine’s powers. His body mechanics sent her adrenaline soaring and she felt so alive and so full of energy and she scolded herself silently for enjoying it so much.

That wasn't all there was to it though. She could hear the heart beat of every person in the room and each one was as different and distinct as their owners' physical appearance. Rogue was sure that, if given the time and opportunity, she'd be able to learn to recognize and identify each of her teammates simply by the rate and depth of their heartbeat. She could also distinguish each person’s physical scent along with the mellow aroma of sorrow, the tangy odor of fear and the bitter scent of anger. The scents mingled together in the room and yet each remained sharp enough to identify separately. 'No wonder he never seems to miss a thing.'
Everything was so… in your face, she couldn’t ignore it even if she tried. It all felt as brand new and exciting as the very first time she'd ever lifted Logan's powers. She felt a twinge of envy stir inside her when she realized it would soon fade and belong once again only to him. She hated herself for feeling that way. What she reveled in as something glorious, as something to be coveted, was the essence of another living soul. Logan depended on these gifts for his very survival and she rejoiced in them as if she were a child playing with a new toy.
She was angry with herself, knowing Logan had been mistreated because others coveted these very things. They were part of his animal nature, the primitive beast that lurked within him, the frenzied berserker whom he fought to defeat. These gifts were a constant reminder to him that he was not purely human. He was more than that, but Logan believed they made him less than that. Those doctors had done everything they could to make him believe he was much less than that too.

As X-Men, they all knew first hand how much society hated and feared mutants. Most of them had experienced mistreatment or injustice, in one form or another, as a result of their mutations. They were also well aware that Logan had lived a much harder and more violent life than any they had ever experienced, but these things that Hank was now telling them… That… that was beyond cruel.

Every one of them could visualize the scenes being described, as hard as they tried not to. Trying to put themselves in the same position, they could only guess at the excruciating pain and mind-numbing fear that Logan had to face as pieces of his body were torn away with each pull of a trigger. And the hardest part of it all, was accepting the fact that there really were people out there who enjoyed doing such things to mutants. Jean shrank back against Scott, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. Bobby and Kurt were silent, thinking each to himself, how he used to wish he could be more like Wolverine and they each felt shame as they silently took back that wish.

They all knew that what Hank was now telling them was only one example of the atrocious acts committed against Logan in the hands of the government. This had been his life. He'd experienced these atrocities first hand and survived. Yet, they as his teammates could barely stand to just listen to the details as Hank recounted them and to their dismay he wasn’t quite finished yet. "When they'd finally get bored with that," McCoy continued, "they’d drag him to his feet and chain his arms and legs against the wall of his cell. They would chastise him for getting his blood all over their nice clean uniforms as they wiped their bloody hands on his face and in his clothes and hair…" Hank had to stop himself, thinking, ‘How could I have forgotten this?’

"They wiped their blood on his face?" Kurt asked incredulously and Hank looked up at him.

"Not their blood, Kurt… his," Hank corrected. "They’d act as though he'd gotten it on them on purpose, as if he had the choice... and his punishment? They’d run him through with a bayonet." Rogue shook her head sadly and swallowed hard, she was feeling sick.

"God Almighty," she whispered and Gambit curled his lip in disgust, pulling her closer.

"He remembers that?" Bobby asked. Hank nodded and looked down at Logan.

"He remembers the pain and the humiliation of it. They would leave him chained to the wall, barely able to stand. They’d beat on him, kicking him in the face and chest until he finally collapsed from exhaustion. They'd let him fall to the floor barely conscious, but he was aware of them spitting on him as they left the room."

"How could they get away with that?!" Jean asked and Hank shrugged his shoulders.

"He heals rapidly, leaving no wounds or scars. There was no physical evidence of mistreatment whatsoever. Nothing, that any bleeding heart liberals within the system could use to prove abuse or to justify removing him from the projects." Hank sighed heavily knowing Logan had entrusted him with his ‘shameful little secret’ and McCoy realized that he'd revealed much more than he originally had intended to. He couldn't help it though, he couldn't stop himself once he got started and he couldn’t help but feel relief for having shared what he knew. ‘Forgive me, Logan.’ As his feelings of guilt passed Dr. McCoy realized he'd gotten way off track and quickly came back to the subject at hand.
"Anyway, this..." he said, raising the syringe in reference, "diminishes the effects of the poisoning to his system. Pushes it back as it were, giving him time to recover until his healing factor can take over that burden again."

"So right now, he's basically fighting a 'Catch Twenty-two'… so to speak," Scott ventured.

"Precisely," Hank nodded. "The severity of the leg wound exhausted his healing capabilities leaving him susceptible to the poisoning. Now his healing factor can’t recover because it’s almost immediately exhausted trying to battle the poisoning before it can turn its attention to his other wounds. This serum attacks the poison already in his system, giving his healing factor time to regain its full strength." Jean came to him and carefully took the syringe from his hand, studying it closely for a moment.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"There were several containers of it found at the compound years ago when the Weapon X Programs were first shut down. An officer of the S.H.I.E.L.D agency confiscated a few boxes of the vials. Two of the boxes were destroyed before he could get them into Logan's possession."

"Fury," Scott guessed with an ironic smirk.

"Yes," Hank confirmed, "and because it is the last surviving sample, I'd made sure to keep it safe from harm by keeping it as far from everyday handling as possible. Unfortunately, over the years it'd subsequently been shoved so far to the rear of the refrigerator that... well, "out of sight, out of mind". Fortunately, it has an extremely long shelf life. The properties have yet to be broken down to the point of inactivity and tests show every indication that the serum will most likely outlast Logan himself." Hank managed an ironic grin.

"How often does he need the injections?" Jean asked, still feeling quite shaken by Hank's tale of torture.

"At least every twelve hours. I’ll go over the specifics with you before I leave," McCoy replied and Jean nodded. Behind her Scott turned to Warren.

"A lot of baggage, huh?" he asked in a tone not meant to be sarcastic. Warren looked at Scott seriously and for a moment Cyclops thought that perhaps Beast's words had shaken Angel's dark view of Wolverine. Then Warren set his jaw hard and scowled as he drew in a deep breath. He then turned abruptly and strode out of the room as if he had somewhere more important to be at that very moment. Scott shook his head as he watched him go.


~*~*~* Somewhere in the city *~*~*~


Victor was not in the best of moods this morning; he'd barely had the chance to finish his breakfast when one of Wraith's minions came into the cafe' again. As he slammed through the office door he was greeted by the Colonel's raised hand. He was standing behind his desk with a serious expression as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the phone line. Wraith gestured for Creed to take a seat on the couch across from him as he finished the seemingly unpleasant phone call.

"Yes, sir, I understand. Yes, sir, but," Wraith was cut off yet again by the voice on the other end of the line. Creed sat quietly, almost amused at his commander's forced submission to his own commanding officers. "But, sir, we can handle this oursel... yes, sir. Yes, sir."

Creed always hated this part of being in the military; this hurry-up-and-wait bullshit. He glanced around the room, noticed there was nothing different about it since the last time he'd been here and proceeded to pick whatever lint he could find off his clothes. He let out a sigh and heard a click from far away. He looked up to see Wraith staring at him, still holding the phone with it's dead line to his ear.

Victor waited and stared back at the colonel as Wraith slowly lowered the handset to it's cradle. He watched as the other man searched blindly in this pockets for a cigar, finally realizing he didn't have one on him Wraith reached for the box on his desk. Creed couldn't imagine what had Kestrel so uptight and watched with great interest as he distractedly prepared and lit the stogey.
Taking a long pull from the cigar, Wraith let the smoke out and his eyes shot to Creed. Victor raised his eyebrows and sat forward on the couch. After a moment more, John Wraith finally spoke.

"They're activating The Guardian," he informed Creed. That information surprised Sabretooth as well and he shot up from the couch.

"What? Why?" he asked, nearly demanding an answer and Wraith glared at him.

"Why do you think??"

"We don't need The Guardian! We can do this ourselves!" Victor shot back at Wraith.

"I told him that! They're tired of the delays... and the foul ups," he informed his subordinate, glaring at him. It was Creed's foul up that put them behind schedule and it was Creed's foul up that allowed Weapon X to escape from the compound months before. "They no longer trust that you can handle this mission to the parameters they set for us."

"I can do this! Tell them to call off The Guardian."

"I can't. It's already done. He will bring Weapon X to us and we will transport him back to Canada with no further interruptions. Is that understood?"

Creed knew he'd gone too far this time. How was he going to make this one right? He would have to beat The Guardian to the target, that was all. Somehow... he had to get to Wolverine before The Guardian did. His mind was reeling with the implications of what they were about to face. This had always had the potential to be really bad, but... The Guardian? He never thought they'd bring him in on this. Shit.....

Wraith watched Sabretooth for a moment. It made him feel a little bit better that Creed appeared even more upset by the news than he was. He looked nervous, really nervous, he was starting to sweat and his eyes darted around trying to keep up with his thoughts. Satisfied that Sabretooth appeared to understand he was now out of the picture as far as trapping Wolverine goes he let the man take his leave.

"You're dismissed, Victor."

Creed looked up at him, his face deeply etched with serious concerns. He furrowed his brow at his commander, not having heard him clearly and grunted in question.

"Dismissed," Wraith repeated, then sat down behind his desk. Creed watched him for a moment then began to move slowly toward the door. As he turned the knob and began to open it he stopped and spoke without turning around.

"Kestrel, I could..." he tried and was cut off by Wraith.

"Do nothing, Victor," the colonel replied almost too quietly and Sabretooth looked over his shoulder at him. Wraith raised his eyes to make sure he had Creed's attention. "Do nothing. If you jeopardize this mission again... I'll kill you myself."

Wraith went back to the files on his desk as if Creed wasn't even in the room any longer. Victor stood at the open door contemplating what his next move should be... if any. Then with his decision, Sabretooth narrowed his eyes at Wraith with a snarl. He pulled the door all the way open and marched out of the room and down the long hall to the elevator. He had his own mission now and heaven help anyone who tries to get in his way.



*~*~* Back at the mansion *~*~*

As he regained consciousness, Logan’s mind reeled with confusion and uncertainty. The lines between past and present intermingled. Memories and memory-implants converged, mixed and disappeared only to be replaced with other images that appeared and disappeared in dizzying fashion. They swirled in front of his vision, his mind’s eye trying to focus on the present only to be pushed aside by images from the past. Or was it the past? Maybe the past is now. Maybe these other images are unreal. Maybe it’s just his mind’s way of escaping his torment - by producing images of a more pleasant reality; one of friendship and trust… and hope. A reality where he knows compassion and comfort and love, but those images were surreal, they had to be fake.

His head ached, his bones hurt, his blood burned and his skin was pierced with needles. His hands were restrained, his face was covered by a mask, he could hear beeping sounds…monitors, he could hear muffled voices discussing his condition…
His wounded mind made its decision. He was most definitely in The Lab, that government sanctioned torture chamber. That was his only reality.

*~*~

"Fever’s down," Hank stated. Placing his hand on Logan’s forehead he was relieved to find it cooler to his touch.

"Finally," Jean replied wearily. It was morning again and she and Hank had taken turns throughout the night monitoring Logan’s condition. Hank had been on duty to administer the second injection of the anti-poison around ten last night, when Bobby and Kurt had come to check on him accompanied by their Russian-born teammate, Peter Rasputin. He'd been on an overnight R&R when the attack on Storm and Wolverine had taken place and on his return to the mansion he learned of the attacks and insisted on seeing Logan.

Around ten-thirty, half an hour after Hank had given Logan the shot, his fever spiked to 106.4 and he was wracked with fever convulsions. Luckily for Hank, the three men were present when Logan’s convulsions began. They began without any warning and were violent and shocking. Everyone moved quickly and Hank needed Peter and Kurt's assistance to hold him down. Bobby helped by creating a thin layer of frost to encase Logan’s body in to try to reduce the fever. He was careful to keep the icy layer on top of the sheet that covered him to avoid direct contact with Logan’s skin. With his body at such a high temperature Iceman was well aware that he could shock Logan’s system into cardiac arrest. As it was, Bobby found he needed to maintain a certain amount of vigilance, for Logan’s body radiated enough heat to keep melting the icy cast he had created. It took a while, but he finally accomplished his goal.
Once his temperature was lowered to a safer level, Hank stripped the soaked sheet from Logan’s body so he wouldn’t get chilled, then replaced it with a clean dry one. Fortunately for them the remainder of the night was uneventful and Dr. McCoy hoped that whatever brain cells had been killed during the seizure would be attended to when Wolverine's healing factor recovered.

*~*~

That morning, right after breakfast, Jean had come to the infirmary to relieve Hank. He filled her in on the previous night’s events as she gave Logan a third shot. Now, twenty minutes later, Logan began to stir. Every now and then he let out a low moan and his arms and legs tried to move about restlessly. "Is he coming around or just dreaming?" Jean asked McCoy.

"Both, I would imagine," he replied, then shook his head slowly and added, mostly to himself, "He’s put up an incredible fight through this entire ordeal."

"But the injections are helping, right?"

"I do believe so. He’s showing improvement," Hank assured her. The doors of the infirmary hissed open and Charles entered followed by Scott and Ororo.

"Good morning, Henry."

"Good morning, Professor," Hank greeted, then raised his eyebrows and peered at Ororo over the rim of his glasses. "I trust everyone had a chance for a restful night’s sleep." It wasn’t a question, it was more a demand. Ororo smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"A better night’s sleep," she answered honestly. It was difficult to sleep straight through the night after all that had happened. She still couldn’t believe this all started with a wonderful outing. She was allowed to share a perfect day out with Logan, they talked intimately and had made each other laugh. They even flirted with the idea of flirting. It had been a great day… until Sabretooth destroyed it, nearly destroying them in the process. She was trying so hard to keep the memory of the way he was that day, as care free as she had ever seen him and Ororo hoped that she would have the chance to see him like that again. She feared, though that would be a long time in coming after this.

"What is the status of Logan’s condition?" Charles asked, bringing Storm back to the moment and getting straight to the matter. Hank could see that the professor was not here for idle chit-chat, so he filled them in on the activities of the past night, finishing with his observations throughout the early morning.

"He’s been restless this morning. His fever did peak last night, but is only slightly elevated at this time. After his convulsive episode I set up the other monitor to record his brain activity," he picked up a piece of the recording tape and handed it to Charles for his inspection. "As you can see, activities range from minimal during periods of rest… to bouts of exaggerated activity during periods of restlessness."

"Has he regained consciousness?" Charles asked as he scrutinized the readout.

"Not as yet, although it does appear as if he may be trying to fight his way out," McCoy offered as an observation and Charles frowned as he studied the readout, consumed in thought. After a few moments he made a decision and offered his solution; one that no one was comfortable with.

"Perhaps I could guide him out," he said pensively and Jean's eyes widened.

"You’d have to go inside his head."

"Yes, I know."

"Charles!" Ororo jumped in. "You can’t. You know how Logan feels about you…"

"I do, Storm," he nodded, then paused to look at the readout again, "but I need to know what’s going on in there." Charles handed her the tape and Ororo took it from him.
When she saw the drastic changes of recorded brain activity from one hour to the next and in some cases one minute to the next, she understood the professor's concern. She didn’t like the idea though. Logan had made it quite clear, numerous times, that he didn’t want anyone getting inside his head, especially without his consent. Storm frowned at the readout, unable to deny the implications of what it was showing them. There were more things at risk here than Logan would probably understand and after some discussion Hank and Jean also concurred with the professor's view.

Ororo moved to Logan's side, to lend as much emotional support and comfort as she could as Charles closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath he tried to relax. He was nervous, not only about going against Logan’s wishes, but nervous about what he would see if he actually got inside that tortured mind.
He reached out cautiously and found it surprisingly easy to access Logan’s mind. His defenses were down, which had to be due to his condition. Usually it was difficult and sometimes extremely painful to even attempt such a task with Wolverine’s tormented psyche.
Once inside, Charles began a slow and systematic search through the darkness of Logan’s mind. Slowly, images began to appear in front of him, most of them dark and dangerous. Some held visions of incomprehensible acts - some committed against Logan, others committed by him - and some were so gory that Charles was forced to turn away from the sight.

Other images, fewer by far, were visions of friends and loved ones, past and present, comforting and loving and reassuring. These images were outnumbered a good twenty to one and, even inside Logan's own mind, the destructive images surrounded the loving ones and devoured them over and over again, seemingly hunting them down and destroying them, then they would appear somewhere else in Logan’s consciousness. It seemed peculiar to Charles to watch these ‘loving memories’ as they consistently had to evade the ‘destructive’ ones, fighting for their own survival, trying to remain ‘alive’ within Logan’s mind. It appeared to Charles as though Logan’s mind was actually programmed to delete memories of any pleasant or loving moment and, try as they might, the dark images just couldn’t get an advantage over a certain number of the brighter ones. To him, it was evident that Logan was doing all he could to defeat his darker side and the programming that took years for the government to accomplish.

Xavier reminded himself to exercise the utmost caution, for he was committing what Logan would call an unforgivable violation. Charles knew that it wasn’t only his fear of being mind-wiped again, that made Logan so adamant about keeping telepaths out of his mind, but Charles knew it was Wolverine’s way of trying to protect them from experiencing the images he knew they would find there. Having seen some of them, Charles understood why.

As he moved forward a bright light suddenly appeared before him, some distance away. Charles walked toward the light and, upon reaching it, he stepped into it and found himself standing within a dream. A memory that Logan’s psyche was about to play back for him in great detail. A dream centered in… the Danger Room.



TBC in Acts of Vengeance, pt 6

Chapter 26

Acts of Vengeance, part 6

******************************


~*~The Danger Room - dream sequence~*~

The session started off well enough. Charles was sitting in the control room programming the simulations for the day’s exercise. The Control Room sat high above the Danger Room floor and the large windows gave him an unobstructed view of the entire room below. Supervision of all exercises played out in the Danger Room was essential; there was always the potential for someone to get seriously injured, so the failsafe device was on at all times, but it was also Xavier’s rule that in order to use the Danger Room there had to be someone up above actually monitoring the situation, just in case.

A door below him slid open with a hiss and Jean and Scott entered the Danger Room followed by Ororo and Logan. They were all dressed in battle exercise uniforms. Each uniform was designed as one piece and made of leather, padded slightly in certain areas to give added protection while students and X-Men alike learned and practiced their fighting techniques.

Scott’s uniform was pure black contrasting with Storm’s white and silver. Jean wore one that was mostly green, which set off her red hair and Wolverine had been given one that was orange and black and Jean thought to herself that maybe they should call him ‘Tiger’ instead of ‘Wolverine’. She smiled at the thought, but kept it to herself. She didn’t think he’d appreciate her sense of humor.

* * *


Charles recognized this particular image. It had been Logan’s second experience in the Danger Room when he was still a newcomer to the institute and they hadn’t known a whole lot about him then. As he thought about the events that had taken place during this particular session, he knew almost immediately the similarities between what was about to happen and what had happened just the other day on a quiet stretch of road.

* * *


"You ready for another go?" Scott asked Logan.

"Sure," Logan muttered as he scanned the room.

"This is gonna be a little different than dodging obstacles and projectiles like the last time," Scott informed him.

"Oh yeah?" Logan replied as he slowly moved away from the others. His head turned in short abrupt movements, sniffing the air and his eyes darted around the room; he was tense, alert and ready for action. The others watched him curiously as he got himself acquainted with the sights and the lights and the smells inside the room.

Scott had brought Wolverine to the Danger Room the week before, to put him through the basic course that all the students are run through to get an idea of their capabilities. He did quite well; not surprising considering his background. As he moved toward the center of the room, Logan noted the locations of the different types of weapons that were clamped to the walls and ceiling all around the room. He noticed hand and foot holds along two of the walls that began about four feet above the floor and went all the way up to the ceiling.

When Charles finished programming the system he moved to the window. Looking down to the room below he could see his three X-Men standing in their usual spot off to the right, waiting for the program to begin. He could also see Logan, who'd moved to the center of the room. Charles pushed a button which activated the two-way speaker system, it emitted a low hum that only Wolverine picked up on and he turned to look up at the professor even before he spoke.

"The program will begin in a moment. We’ll start slow. Storm, Cyclops and Jean will take turns first so Wolverine can see your capabilities," he instructed and Logan turned to look at the three others as they nodded in agreement.

"You may want to come back over here," Cyclops suggested to him and Logan walked back to where the others stood. Turning to Scott, he raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Cyclops, huh?" he teased, referring to Scott’s codename. Scott turned his head to look down at the shorter man and gave him a sly smirk, but chose not to reply.

"Ready when you are, Professor," Cyclops announced to the man in the booth. "I’ll go first." He stepped forward, putting some distance between himself and the others. He stood alert and ready and Wolverine watched him closely before turning to glance at the others. Jean caught his gaze and she smiled at him, then he turned back around. Apparently this was going to be a solo demonstration.

Logan looked around the room wondering where all the flying objects would come from, then he looked at Cyclops who was still looking straight ahead. Logan could sense Scott’s alertness and knew something was about to happen. He looked out across the great expanse of the room; it was empty and silent.

All of a sudden, without warning of any kind, a large opponent dressed in heavy armor appeared in the center of the room. Without hesitation it let out a war cry and ran as fast as it could toward the small group. Wolverine, taken by surprise, quickly widened his stance; bending at the knees slightly, he brought his fists up in front of him and a loud low growl came from his throat. The sound of Wolverine’s growl pulled Scott’s attention away from his assailant for a moment, then he quickly brought his hand up to activate his visor. It released a bright red beam of energy that hit the opponent square in the chest, knocking him off his feet and slamming him into the wall.

The explosive beam surprised Wolverine who cringed; ducking his head, he quickly side-stepped a short distance away. He spun around again just in time to see the large holographic opponent crumple to the ground on the far side of the room. With all his senses on alert now, Logan became very agitated and his heart pounded in his chest causing adrenaline to surge through his body.

"What the hell was that?!" he demanded. His muscles tensed and his movements became stiff as he held back the energy pulsating through his body.

"That… was an optic blast," Cyclops informed him smugly.

"Not that… THAT!" Logan yelled at him, gesturing angrily at the unconscious man lying on the floor.

"That’s our target," Scott answered matter-of-factly.

"Really," Logan snarled, stepping in front of Scott so he could glare at him face to face. "Where’d he come from?" Logan hissed through clenched teeth. Storm, realizing Wolverine was reacting to what he perceived as a set-up, an ambush, brushed past Jean and moved quickly to position herself between the two men.

"Wait a minute!" she said, trying to draw their attention. She certainly didn’t want to see this confrontation escalate, but the two men didn’t seem to hear her. They remained nose to nose, glaring at each other.

"What’s your problem?!" Scott demanded in an equally aggressive tone. He stood almost a foot taller than Wolverine and he stepped closer now, trying to use his height to intimidate the shorter man. He was a little surprised when Logan maintained eye contact and didn’t back down.

* * *

Charles watched the dream unfold - feeling apart from it and yet, a part of it - in much the same way that Logan must be experiencing the image. Charles could also sense the thoughts and feelings of those involved in the dream sequence.

* * *

"Wait!" Storm snapped at Scott and he looked at her. Seeing her no-nonsense expression he relaxed his posture and took a step back. When she was satisfied that Scott had himself under control Ororo turned to Wolverine. "Logan," she began, keeping her voice calm and instructional, "it’s a hologram. It’s a computer generated image," she said, pointing to the Control Room and he turned to look where she was pointing. Charles could hear the exchange through the intercom system and moved to the window to see what was happening.

"Storm? Is everything all right?" he asked curiously. She nodded quickly, but Wolverine ignored his question and turned back to Storm.

"How am I supposed to fight a computer image?" he asked, and Storm could now hear the obvious change in his voice, it was very low… and different somehow.

"What did you think? That we were gonna be fighting real people in here?" Cyclops asked him with a bit of sarcasm.

"At least a real person… you can smell or hear them if they come up behind you!" Wolverine shot back.

"Relax! Both of you!" Storm commanded. She was still new to the team also, but she had an air about her that just made people listen and pay attention. She turned her attention back to the Control Room. "Professor, can we program the computer to add a physical scent to our opponents and, perhaps, a more realistic entry?"

"Of course," Charles answered with a mild tone of regret. "My apologies, Logan. I overlooked that particular detail when I programmed the simulation. Give me a moment to see what I can do."

"Thank you, Professor," Storm replied, then she turned to Scott. "He can’t keep his skills sharp if there’s nothing there to hone them on," she explained briefly. Now realizing what it was that had Wolverine on edge, Scott sighed.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…" Scott tried and Logan nodded in dismissal and the matter was dropped. Scott now understood Wolverine’s dilemma; by his very nature Logan had come to rely on his hypersensitive senses for survival and when there was nothing there to stimulate those senses Logan felt like a sitting duck. Cyclops could understand that, for he depended as much on his visor. Sure, he could live without it, but he would have to keep his eyes closed all the time... and it’s difficult to get a bead on a target you can’t see. ‘Although,' Scott thought, ‘Wolverine’s got some pretty quick reflexes.’ Even without any prior warning, he'd postured into a fighting stance seconds before Scott’s brain even registered the opponent’s presence.

Cyclops stood there looking at the man standing next to him. Logan was pumped up, his breathing was deep and heavy in response to, what Scott figured had to be a tidal wave of adrenaline pumping through his veins. There were beads of sweat across his forehead and his face and neck glistened with it as his body tried to cool itself. The heat his body was producing due to his profusely aroused state radiated from him. Summers quickly assessed Wolverine’s responses to a combat situation in much the same way a general would assess the best ways to use a 'new weapon' in his arsenal for the best tactical results.

The women on the other hand, standing a few feet behind them, were observing Wolverine with alot more focus on his psychological state. Jean tapped Scott and Ororo on their brains, opening a telepathic link so they could converse mentally without drawing Wolverine’s attention.

‘Is he okay, Scott?’ she thought to him.

‘Sure, he’s just pumped,’ he answered silently.

‘He growled again. It sends chills down my spine.’

‘Yeah, that caught me off guard, too,’ he told her.

‘Pretty amazing, isn’t it?’ Storm seriously mused. ‘He hasn’t even had his turn yet and we are all intimidated by him already.’

‘Be careful,’ Charles interjected from above, ‘he may also be able to smell your fear.’ He had been monitoring his students telepathically and easily picked up on their psychic conversation. ‘We’re almost ready.’

The three X-Men turned their heads up toward the Control Room, hoping to see Charles waving at them as if to say ‘just kidding’. He wasn’t. They exchanged looks with one another, then looked at Logan, who wasn’t paying them any attention at all.

"Jean, you’re next," Scott announced aloud. Logan turned to look at the redhead, eyeing her suspiciously. She tried to ignore his scrutiny, but she felt like a bug under glass; he had an intense stare that let you know, without a doubt, that he was watching you. Then Xavier's voice filled the room as it boomed from the speakers above them.

"The system has been reconfigured. I’m not sure what it’ll give you Logan, but we’ll keep working on it." Logan nodded, then turned his gaze back across the room. "Here we go," Charles warned them, then pushed a button. The system came to life with the customary whirring sound and blinking lights as it scanned the parameters of its new programming.Jean stepped forward and waited as all four students scanned the room.

Suddenly, Wolverine crouched low and his head snapped to the left. Everyone noticed and quickly looked in the same direction just as another opponent materialized on that side of the room. ‘How’d he know?’ Scott wondered.

This hologram was also eight feet tall and covered in armor, but he didn’t charge at them. He carried a long metal pole and, as he casually stepped toward them, he twirled the staff about his head and around his body. He strolled toward them laughing, taunting the X-Men with a low patronizing chuckle. He carried himself with an over-confident arrogance… as if he thought he was the best.

"Mmm," grumbled Wolverine as a deadly smirk rolled his lips back from his teeth. "Let me take this one," he said, more than eager to teach this jolly giant a lesson.

"No, Logan, he’s mine," Jean informed him. She brought her hands up in front of her, fingers extended and palms down. Logan looked at her furrowing his brow, then he looked back at the armored hologram. All of a sudden, the metal staff the man was swinging about was yanked from his hands by something unseen and flew across the room. Wolverine cocked his head to one side and watched as the large opponent stopped, grunting in surprise.

"Did you do that?" Logan asked Jean, his voice low and thick.

"Yep," she answered casually.

"Can you do anything else? ‘Cuz he’s going for it," he informed her. Then the giant turned just as Wolverine said and marched across the room toward his fallen staff.

"No he’s not," Jean countered and the opponent was slowly lifted off his feet and held suspended in the air, his feet about four feet off the floor. Logan lifted an eyebrow in amusement as the hologram howled in exasperation, kicking his legs and swinging his arms as he tried to dislodge the unseen force. Then, with a psychic push Jean slammed him hard against the wall. He lay crumpled in a heap on the floor next to the one that Cyclops had disposed of.

"Two down," Cyclops remarked in that smug tone that rubbed Wolverine's fur the wrong way. Placing his hands on his hips he gave a nod, which obviously showed that he was proud of his team so far. Wolverine glanced at him in disgust, then relaxed his posture and stood up straight. Confused, he looked at the two incapacitated foes lying on the floor on the other side of the room. They'd told him they came to this room to practice their skills in battle situations. Logan looked at Scott, then back at the heap on the floor. His experiences in battle were quite different from this. Hand-to-hand, fisticuffs, blades, grenades, traps… karate, jujitsu, tae kwon do… spy missions, covert operations, hot zone extractions, assassinations, executions, torture, and… betrayal.

"That’s it?" he scowled at the others. "That’s it? That’s all?" His voice held a menacing tone. "I thought this was a battle exercise!" He looked at each of them in turn. "Where’s the battle?!" he demanded to know. Storm could tell he was geared up for a fight, he really seemed to want to get in there and get his hands dirty. She stepped toward him hoping to settle him down.

"Logan…" that was all she got the chance to say. He spun on her and she stopped abruptly, the look in his eyes shocking her to stillness. His face had contorted into a vicious sneer and his eyes were wild. ‘Bright Goddess, he looks almost… feral,’ she thought to herself. Then Storm noticed that although he appeared to be standing upright, he wasn’t really. His shoulders were rounded forward and he held his head low with his neck extended; his thick coarse hair which formed large pointed tufts on the sides of his head gave the impression that he had large animal-like ears; he had stiff hair growing on his face, despite how many times he’s tried to shave it off. ‘Muttonchops’ is the term she believed and it grew thick around his ears, gradually thinning along his jaw and stopping at the corners of his mouth and all of these distinguishable features only added to his feral expression and made her think of a werewolf. No, not a werewolf... a wolverine. ‘Exactly.’

"Wolverine…" Storm addressed him. ‘I get it now,’ she thought silently. Ororo hoped that she could make a connection with that part of Logan that obviously still existed in a primal, untamed state. ‘He is the one I need to reach,’ she told herself. "Do you hunger for battle?" she asked. "Do you really thirst for blood?"

Wolverine licked his lips and sneered an approximation of what, for him, would be a grin. His chest heaved and with every breath ‘the wolverine’ became stronger and his entire body trembled under the force he was holding back. Logan had lost his control; his inner beast assuming command of the body and the mind. He was almost primal.

"Storm?" The professor’s voice came from above.

"Professor, I think Wolverine’s waited long enough. I believe it is his turn now," she said. The tone of her voice was unusual and made Charles pause. Ororo had a strong, elegant yet commanding voice and it had a calming effect on most, but in this particular instance Charles was sure he heard the unmistakable hint of a warning. He opened his mind to his students once more, hoping to get a clearer picture of what was happening below. As he reached out toward Storm he gasped, throwing one hand to his forehead and the other gripping the arm of his chair. Ororo’s close proximity to Logan interfered with his connection to her and Wolverine’s powerfully wild, bloodthirsty psyche had nearly overpowered him. The professor had never felt such a fury.

‘Are you sure, Ororo?’ he asked her privately. ‘I’m picking up…’

‘Yes, Charles. We have no choice, we must let him go. Now,’ she replied as she watched Wolverine closely. She noticed that he was opening and closing his fists almost spasmodically and he seemed totally unaware of it; driven by primordial instincts he obviously couldn’t control. Charles had to agree. His fingers moved quickly across the computer keys and switches. The rage he'd felt emanating from Wolverine was extremely powerful and he knew would not be relinquished in a thirty second battle against one hologram. He now reprogrammed the system for random multiple targets. ‘After all,’ he reminded himself, ‘if Logan becomes overwhelmed we can always stop the program.’ Below him on the Danger Room floor, Storm still held Wolverine’s deadly gaze.

"I understand, my friend," she told him. "A powerful storm builds inside of you and you are helpless to stop it." No more than a gentle breeze can keep from becoming a destructive hurricane when fronts collide, Ororo knew that Logan needed to release the raging tornado growing inside him, before the pressure building up had no choice but to find release in a deadly explosion.

Wolverine sensed Storm’s empathy; she'd made a connection, one of kinship and spirit. They both could feel it deep in their souls - the weather goddess and nature’s own untamed fury. They were connected in spirit, Storm and Wolverine. Kindred spirits, the beauty and the beast; both of them capable of producing storms of incredible magnitude. Ororo could control hers, Logan could not.

"We will help you," she told him gazing into his eyes, then she turned away and walked over to a nearby wall. Choosing a large battleaxe, Storm pulled it from the wall. As she approached Wolverine carrying the axe in both hands, Scott stepped back and Jean on the other side did the same, but Wolverine stood his ground. With his head held low, his dark eyes glaring from beneath an angry brow, Logan watched her return with the weapon. His nostrils flaired and they could hear him grinding his teeth. Storm stopped in front of him holding the axe calmly in front of her with the blade slightly higher than the butt. Wolverine glanced at it, then he looked back at Storm.

"It is your turn now," she told him. He cocked his head as if he didn’t understand and Storm thrust the axe toward him, indicating for him to take it. His eyes met hers again and the corners of his mouth pulled tight in an impersonation of a grin. He reached out, gripping the axe below the head with his left hand and the butt in his right. They stood there looking at one another, neither of them making any attempt to take the blade away. Storm had Wolverine's complete attention and he waited. Jean was amazed with the ease in which Storm confronted the beast before them; seemingly without any fear at all. "Go, my friend. Release your rage," she instructed, then released her hold on the weapon.

Wolverine took a few steps backward and, as he turned to face the battleground, he twirled the axe like a baton about his head. He froze in a battle stance with the axe coming to an abrupt halt positioned in his right hand with the butt tucked tight under his armpit. He waited and the others watched him without a sound. He stood there, frozen; his feet set wide apart and knees bent, ready to spring in any direction. Then his head tilted slightly and a nano-second later he was on the move. In a quick burst of speed Wolverine raced across the wide expanse of the room. Scott, Jean and Ororo quickly exchanged curious looks. Where was he going? And why?

*~*

The holographic giant appeared in front of Wolverine who was thirty feet away and closing fast. The eight foot tall armored soldier towered over the five foot three inch Canadian, but Wolverine didn’t flinch nor hesitate. As he swung the axe up and around, he let out an animalistic roar and embedded the blade in the giant’s armored chest.

The giant stumbled backward under the force of the blow, but he didn’t go down. Still gripping the handle, Wolverine used it to pull himself up as he climbed onto his adversary. Reaching the giant’s shoulders, he used his powerful legs to jump the ten-foot distance to the wall and, grabbing onto the handholds, he scrambled up the wall as the holographic soldier pulled the axe blade from his chest. The giant turned, took aim at Wolverine and hurled the axe end over end.

Wolverine heard the ‘whup, whup’ sound it made as it was released into the air. Releasing the handgrips Logan pushed away from the wall and the axe blade bit into the wall where he had been only seconds before. Wolverine reached out; body fully extended and arms outstretched, as he hurtled through the air thirty feet above the floor. His hands found purchase on one of the parallel bars that extended down a few feet below the ceiling. He gripped it as tight as he could, preparing himself for the sudden lurch as his body’s momentum came to a sudden halt.

The professor, sitting in the Control Room, now had a perfect view of Wolverine hanging from the ceiling. He was a bit surprised that a person of Logan’s size could produce that kind of speed and power, but then again there was much about Logan they still didn’t know.

Wolverine looked down at the enemy below him and grinned savagely; he had drawn first blood. The giant looked up at him for a moment, then assuming Wolverine was going to remain safely out of reach he turned toward the three other students. Storm, Scott and Jean stared in awe at Wolverine’s acrobatic prowess then they tensed as the giant came toward them, stopping only long enough to pull a sword and shield from the nearby wall. Cyclops, Storm and Jean immediately spread out, ready to defend themselves.

Wolverine watched as he dangled from the bar high overhead. His brow furrowed as he realized the giant soldier had given up on fighting him. ‘Not so fast, Bub,’ he thought to himself, ‘I haven’t even begun to fight.’ Then he let go of the bar and dropped the thirty feet to the floor below and the only thing that gave him away was the startled expressions on the faces of Xavier’s students as their eyes followed his descent.

Wolverine landed softly on his feet allowing his muscular legs to absorb the impact and settled into a crouched position directly behind his opponent. Having noticed the X-Men tracking movement behind him, the giant stopped. Wolverine froze, resting on his haunches and waited for the strike to come. The strike came.

The giant spun around swinging the sword out at chest level, hoping to take off the head of his shorter opponent. The sword sliced through the air and found only empty space as it passed over Wolverine’s head. The giant felt a brief moment of confusion before he realized what was happening.

Wolverine leapt into the air. Displaying great power and agility he rotated his body and landed a powerful spin kick to his opponent’s head. The mammoth warrior grunted in pain and surprise, but before Wolverine could touch back down the gladiator punched out with his shield hand. The shield slammed Wolverine in the chest sending him twisting through the air. He hit the floor tumbling and when he stopped he was on his feet; coming to rest in his distinctive fighting stance with his fists held up in front of his chin.

The giant smiled at him and gave a slow nod of his head, showing his respect for Wolverine’s temerity and skill, then he raised the sword and pointed it at the stocky man-animal. Wolverine grinned back, but his friendly closed mouth grin quickly turned into a menacing snarl as he peeled back his upper lip to reveal his over-sized canines.

Suddenly there was movement of air behind him, which would have been imperceptible by most people, but Logan wasn’t like most people. The displaced air brushed against him almost unnoticeably like a feeble meaningless breeze, but Wolverine knew that the air had been displaced because something else had taken its place. He didn’t have time to turn around and he didn’t need to, his heightened sense of smell confirmed the enemy presence behind him and it all happened in the blink of an eye.

No sooner did ‘Soldier Number Two’ materialize behind him when it slammed a massive forearm down on Wolverine’s neck and shoulders driving him to his knees. Dazed, he shook his head to clear it, then a low growl escaped his throat. Realizing that Wolverine was now at a disadvantage, Cyclops quickly moved forward with Storm and Jean close behind.

As Wolverine raised his head, the first gladiator was already stomping toward him. The second one grabbed him by the back of his collar pulling him off the floor. He dangled Wolverine out in front of him, using him as a target for the enemy brandishing a sword and closing in on him fast.

Cyclops broke into a run.

Wolverine caught sight of the fast moving X-Man racing toward him and the swordsman bearing down on him and Logan’s mind screamed, ‘Ambush!’ With that, Wolverine’s rage intensified. He tried to loosen his opponent’s grip by wriggling and kicking his feet. He reached up behind his head trying to rip the hand from his neck. It almost worked too, the hologram holding him in the air started grappling for a hold with his other hand. Wolverine kicked out at the swordsman as soon as he got into striking range and the swordsman stepped sideways to avoid the blows from Wolverine’s powerful legs. He didn’t need to though, he realized. He could still strike at Logan with the sword without putting himself in harm’s way, for although his stocky prey had strength, skill, agility, and courage, he lacked the one thing that could save him right now… reach. The sword swept around in a wide arc, aiming to open up Wolverine’s abdomen and spilling his guts out onto the floor.

"NO!" Cyclops yelled.

"RAWRR!" Wolverine roared in anger and desperation. He pulled his knees up to his chest to protect his belly and the sword sliced through the muscle of his left thigh. "RAWRR!" Wolverine roared in pain and twisted around so violently that he broke the grip the second giant had on him. He dropped to the floor, facing the enemy who had humiliated him by dangling him like helpless prey. Wolverine was far from helpless and heaven help those who were unfortunate enough to underestimate his cunning and his resilience. Despite the gaping wound on his leg he landed solidly with both knees bent, keeping him low and under the giant’s natural line of sight.

Snikt. Snikt. Cyclops heard it - the sound of metal scraping metal, then he saw them. 'Claws!' Protruding from the backs of Logan’s hands. From the tissue between his knuckles were three metal claws, each one about twelve inches long.

Wolverine sprang at his enemy embedding his foot long claws in the armor his opponent wore. The giant howled, stumbling backward as he tried to push Wolverine off, but he couldn't. The snarling Canadian was anchored there by the metal spikes he drove into his enemy over and over again.

Cyclops skid to a halt when he saw the six huge claws break through the skin of Logan’s hands. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and now he could only stare as he watched with growing horror as Wolverine went berserk. Jean and Ororo ran up and stopped next to him. "What in the world…?" Scott asked stunned.

"The adamantium!" Jean exclaimed.

"Bright Goddess," Storm whispered, shocked by the sight of Wolverine’s bloodlust rage.

With each strike of his claws he began to tear his enemy apart and with each strike his thirst for more blood escalated. The hologram tried to fight him off to no avail. Logan was splattered with blood and the smell of it sent him into a wild, rabid frenzy. The pain in his leg and the smell of his own blood only added to his crazed state. He growled and gnashed his teeth, biting at his enemy any time it tried to defend itself.

Whatever sanity and logic that Logan had was gone. The man known as Logan was gone. The swordsman came up behind him ready to strike him down, but Wolverine somersaulted clear. He came up on his feet brandishing his blood stained claws, then he roared an insane challenge.

"Logan! No!" Scott yelled, hoping to get his attention. Wolverine paid none. "Wolverine! Stop!" Cyclops demanded, sickened by the sight.

Wolverine lunged at the swordsman and the sword came up at him. With a single swipe of his unbreakable claws he shredded the sword into four harmless pieces and kept on coming.

* * *

Charles feared for Logan’s state of mind; not only in the dream sequence, but also in real time. Why was Logan accessing this particular memory? Did his subconscious mind feel the need to reconnect with that part of himself he had long ago gotten under control? Or was it just an extension of Logan’s feelings now of not being in control? Or was it a nightmare making Logan face a part of himself he feared so much?

* * *

In the Danger Room, Jean turned to look up at the Control Room to see Xavier looking down at her with grave concern, he nodded once to her then disappeared from the window. Jean understood the silent command from her mentor and called out to the automated system.

"Terminate exercise!"

It responded immediately to her command and the holograms vanished, including the one Wolverine was grappling with. He was almost thrown off balance when it suddenly disappeared and there was nothing there to counter his weight. He spun, looking frantically around the room, growling his confusion and unrepentant rage. The door to the Danger Room opened and Charles entered and as the door slid closed behind him he gave it one command.

"Lock."

The sound of two large metal rams sliding into place, bolting the large steel door shut, could be heard. When he'd heard the door slide open Wolverine spun around toward the sound and saw Charles enter. He growled and gnashed his teeth, his eyes darted around the room and were now beyond wild, they were insane; the whites of his eyes had turned blood red in response to his escalating blood pressure. Charles knew that Logan was now in pure survival mode and acting only on instinct. He hoped to talk him down if only Logan could still understand him. He had to try.

"Logan," Charles said, his soothing voice floated across the room and at the sound of it Wolverine snarled. "It’s alright, Logan. You’re safe now, no one is going to harm you," Charles told him, trying to get him to relax his posture.

Wolverine would have none of it; he growled low and deep, his eyes still moving quickly around the room, keeping all of them in his line of sight. He was sure these people were trying to distract him so another attack could be implemented.

"You’ve been injured," Storm said, moving slowly toward him. "Let us help you."

Each time they spoke to him Wolverine growled back at them. Jean tried to communicate with him using a telepathic link that would reach directly into Logan’s mind, but as she began she gasped loudly in terror and Scott grabbed onto her to steady her.

"Jean? What’s wrong?" he asked.

"He doesn’t understand," she whispered, clutching her head with both hands.

"What?" Scott asked, confused.

"Our words… he doesn’t understand our words."

"Jean," Charles scolded her, realizing what she had just attempted to do, "don’t try that again. You’re not ready and Wolverine’s mind is… too dangerous."

"What do we do, Professor?" Scott asked, waiting for orders.

"Nothing," he advised. "If we can’t talk him down, I’ll have to…" Charles let his words trail off. He didn’t have to finish his sentence, they knew. They also knew he didn’t like the alternative. Assaulting someone’s mind with a psionic blast was the equivalent to a psychic stun gun. Although usually minimally painful, it can render a person unconscious by literally imploding their thoughts and their senses; effectively shutting down their central nervous system.

"Charles, no," Ororo pleaded, then stepped forward, hoping to connect with Wolverine again. "Logan, please, you must hear us."

"Ororo, don’t," Scott said as he grabbed her arm, stopping her from getting any closer. His grasp startled Ororo and she flinched involuntarily. Wolverine growled and lunged forward as if to protect Storm from the man restraining her. Then he stopped and growled a warning again.

"No, Scott, let go," she begged, fearing for his safety.

"Stay away from him, Storm. He’s too dangerous. He’s out of control," Scott cautioned.

"We must help him," she insisted, trying to release herself from his grasp.

"We will, Ororo. I promise you," Charles assured her, "but, right now your anxiety is being felt by our feral friend. His tension mounts as we speak. You must be an example for him, his eyes are on you. Be calm."

Storm turned to look at Logan. The professor was right, Wolverine had his eyes glued on her. He was swaying his body from side to side totally unaware that he was doing so. The motion gave Ororo the mental image of a cobra swaying in its peculiar dance, as if hypnotized by the snake charmer, but she knew better than that. Like the deadly snake, Wolverine was neither hypnotized nor charmed. He was feeding on her anxiety, allowing it to fuel his anger and like the cobra he was totally focused and preparing to strike. Ororo relaxed her posture and Scott let go of her arm. She stared at Wolverine, searching his eyes for the slightest glimmer of reason. She hoped to see a sparkle of cognitive ability, just a glimpse of understanding.

There was none. His humanity was gone. Logan had regressed to a completely wild state; a ferociously savage state of mind. There was no reasoning or compromise in those eyes. His foreboding stare was frightening and showed them, without a doubt, undeniable proof of his innate savagery. Storm understood now just how much power Logan had fought back that first day in the infirmary. This was part of his mutation, this bestial rage he could not control. Ororo lowered her head, as well as her voice and when she spoke it was heavy with grief.

"You can’t talk him down, Charles. He has no comprehension of who we are or what is happening here." Her eyes filled with tears. He was an indomitable spirit; a child of nature, wild and dynamic… and they were going to have to break him. Ororo’s tears flowed down her cheeks, "You have to take him down, Charles."

"I know, Ororo," the professor agreed sullenly. He didn’t have to probe Logan’s mind to understand what they were facing; this was not a reaction that Logan consciously chose. He was helpless to stop it and when it took over it took him over completely.

"Make it quick. Please." Another tear rolled down her cheek as Ororo hung her head not wanting to watch. Logan was a child of nature just like her; he was the son of the forest and she, a daughter of the sky. They were connected to each other through spirit just as much as each of them was connected to their mother earth. The thought of what was about to happen pained Ororo to her very soul.

"As quick as I can," Charles promised, sensing her grief.

*~*~*

Wolverine understood anger, he understood fear; he could sense it with his entire being. But what was this? He watched the tear roll down Storm’s cheek. This was unfamiliar to him, he'd never seen sorrow and he was suspicious, but curious. His head cocked to one side, in the same manner that all animals express curiosity, and stared at Ororo as he slowly lowered his clawed fists to hip level. Then he relaxed his stance and, as he stared at the teardrop on her cheek, he took a tentative step forward.

* * *

As the dream-professor began his psychic assault on the dream-Logan, Charles could feel the very power of the psi-blast. Back in the infirmary the others watched his strained expression as he'd gasp or groan in reaction to the dream's events.

Logan, lying on the bed, began to move about restlessly and the others wondered what was happening between them. Every few seconds he’d throw his head from side to side, his chest began to heave and Hank kept his eye on Logan as Jean moved closer to the professor and Ororo felt lost standing between them. The machine monitoring Logan’s brainwaves registered a slight elevation in activity and Hank watched it closely.

"He’s definitely dreaming," Hank concluded a moment later. Ororo stood silent, lost in her own thoughts. Her feelings were threatening to expose themselves and she bit down on her lower lip.

* * *


In the Danger Room, his pain began as harmless as a tension headache and Wolverine barely noticed it. He took a few steps forward and winced slightly as the pain began to increase. He wanted to experience Ororo’s sorrow; he could smell and taste the salt her tears were producing. He didn’t understand sadness or sympathy and, whatever this was, he'd never been shown it before. As he slowly moved toward her, Logan squinted his eyes against the intensifying pain.

"He’s… strong," the professor’s strained voice grabbed their attention. None of them had realized that he'd already begun his psychic assault on Wolverine. "His anger… makes him… powerful."

Wolverine took another step forward and grunted in pain and Ororo raised her head, curious to see what was happening. He didn’t go down as easily or as quickly as the professor had promised. Charles turned up the power of his psionic blast and in mid-stride Wolverine’s legs gave out. Clutching his head, Logan fell to his knees roaring in pain and Ororo covered her mouth with both hands to keep from yelling out to him. Charles maintained the blast at that level hoping it would be enough to weaken Logan into unconsciousness. It wasn’t. He fought against it.

The pain was becoming intense, but Wolverine didn’t realize that he was under attack. He leaned forward putting one hand on the floor to steady himself. He felt shaky and his head was spinning, blood pounding in his ears. His vision blurred and his claws retracted, but still he tried to stand. Charles had to intensify his focus even more and Jean could sense the power behind the blast.

"Why won’t he go down?" she asked, clutching at Scott.

"He doesn’t know he’s supposed to," Scott explained sullenly. Jean feared that Logan would be permanently damaged by the high powered mental assault and, at the same time, marveled at the magnitude of his resolve.

* * *


In the infirmary, Logan’s head tossed about on the pillow as his moans turned to painful groans. The vital signs monitor registered his elevated heart rate with a rapid succession of rhythmic beeps. A few feet away, Charles straightened with a jolt and gasped with a loud intake of air as he re-experienced the mental push of Logan's defenses.

* * *


In the Danger Room, Wolverine stood on weak legs, his muscles shook under his weight as he bent forward, still clutching his head in agony. He took a slow deep breath and tried to straighten from the waist. Charles slammed him full force and the professor's anguished thoughts went out to Wolverine. ‘I’m so sorry, Logan.’ Wolverine recognized the voice in his head, but not the words it spoke. He growled at Charles, revealing his large fangs in a deadly threat, then his legs gave out again.

* * *


In the infirmary, both monitors were rapidly sounding off now and out of rhythm to each other. The noise reminded Hank of those old Atari games with the ‘ping pong ball’ that bounced back and forth across the t.v. screen. Logan began to thrash violently on the bed, a low gritty sound coming from his throat. At the sound of Logan’s growl, Jean’s attention broke away from Charles and she stood up to look past Hank to the noisy monitors.

"He’s really jacked up, Hank," she stated nervously.

"I know," he replied without taking his eyes off the monitor screen. Beside Jean, Charles panted for air and then he groaned, verbalizing his own discomfort and fear. Storm and Jean glanced back and forth between the two men with extreme worry etched on their faces.

"They’re sharing Logan’s dream," Ororo finally remarked.

"Mmm… nightmare would be a more proper descriptive," Hank corrected. Realizing what was happening, Jean sat down quickly next to Charles. Grabbing his arm, she shook him as hard as she could manage, trying to break his psychic connection to Wolverine.

"Charles!" she yelled as the professor’s face contorted with pain. "Charles!" she yelled again frantically, then she shot an angry glance at Logan as if demanding silently that he release Xavier.

* * *


In the Danger Room, Wolverine tried to focus his eyes through pained, blurred vision. He clutched his fists against his temples as another blast wave struck him. Darkness threatened to overtake him and he threw back his head with a most savage roar; one not heard since the beginning of time. Ororo covered her ears, trying to block out the sound, trying to not hear his torment. She couldn’t stand this, it was just too much.

"Stop, Charles! Please!" she pleaded. "Release him!"

"I can’t stop now, Ororo," the professor informed her. He was near exhaustion, but at this point it was imperative to take Wolverine down. If he were to be given the chance to recover from such an assault, he would be even more dangerous than he was before the attempt.

Wolverine tried to protract his claws, but his muscles spasmed uncontrollably under the assault. They protruded half their length, then a moment later they retracted again involuntarily. On his knees, Wolverine lurched forward trying to attack his attacker, but it was finally just too much for him. The last bit of strength that was in him, left him, and he crashed hard against the floor.

Charles slumped in his chair exhausted and it took a moment for the others to realize that it was finally over. The sound of Wolverine’s final, desperate howl echoed across the room before a deafening silence settled around them. Jean quickly went to the professor’s side as Scott and Ororo ran to Logan and found him barely breathing.

"Charles, are you all right?" Jean asked very concerned.

"I’m fine, Jean. Just drained," he assured her. "How is Wolverine?" he asked. They looked to Scott and Ororo and the still form lying prone on the floor. "Is he alive?" Charles asked, regretting that he had to.

"Yes, barely," Scott answered, then he turned to examine Logan’s injured leg. "He’s lost a lot of blood. The wound is deep, maybe to the bone."

"Get him to the infirmary and monitor his condition closely," Charles instructed them. Scott nodded and brushed the hair from Wolverine’s face to make sure he was out cold. Ororo rested one hand on Logan’s shoulder, as she wiped away her tears and prepared to assist in any way possible.

"Charles…" Jean started to say.

"He’ll be unconscious for hours. I need to rest," the professor informed her.

"Yes," Jean agreed whole-heartedly.

"I’ll be in to sit with him as soon as my strength returns. I need to be there when he wakes up."

"Will he remember any of this?" Jean asked, looking at Logan on the floor.

"It’s hard to say, Jean. I should hope not."

* * *


In the infirmary, Ororo stepped closer to the bed so she could see past Hank. The noise from the monitor alarms was becoming deafening. The needle on the one registering Logan’s brainwaves was jumping so fast that it left a solid blue strip about two inches wide down the length of tape that spit out from the side of the machine. Hank reached over and turned the volume down to a more comfortable level.

"That needle is going crazy," Ororo stated.

"Berserk is more like it," Hank replied as he lowered the side rail on the bed and sat down at the edge. He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the bed to either side of Logan and watched him closely.

"What?" Ororo said, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"He’s in ‘berserker mode’," McCoy informed her quietly, confirming her fear.

"No, not again," she replied in disbelief. "He can’t." Hank looked up at her raising his brow, before returning his sights on Logan again. "I mean, we just... we just got him back."

"He's gained a lot of control over the years, Ororo," Hank said with a nod of understanding. "However, he can not stop his primal rage once it’s been triggered. It’s a part of him, you know that," Hank reminded her, then he took his eyes from Logan and looked up at her, taking her hand. "Let’s help him through it safely. Alright?"

Ororo stared into Hank’s eyes which reflected an understanding and compassion for Logan’s condition and yet, at the same time, he held a stern expression that forced her to accept that this is Logan’s reality. McCoy knew what she'd gone through with Wolverine to bring him back from his wilder side only a few days before and he felt for her too. He held her gaze and gave her hand a squeeze and Storm finally nodded. Like it or not, McCoy was right. Hank turned his attention back to his patient who continued to thrash and growl. Logan's adrenaline levels skyrocketed and he curled his lip back to bare his fangs.

"Easy, Logan," Hank spoke to him softly, hoping his friend could hear him. "You’re safe."

Suddenly, the professor’s eyes popped open and he yelled out as he was forcibly ejected from Wolverine’s enraged psyche. His unexpected shout startled Dr. McCoy who jumped up and spun around in concern. Storm was the only person in position to see Logan's eyes snap open only moments later. His muscles tightened in terror as his groggy mind tried to catch up with reality and his back arched slightly off the bed. The look of intense fear in his eyes, as he tried to make sense of what was happening, caused Ororo to react without thinking.

As Logan's hands rose up off the bed, to instinctively put his claws between himself and any would-be assailants, Ororo dropped down on top of him to keep him still. As she draped herself across his chest, her hip came down to pin his arm to the bed and before he could register the weight of her body pinning him down, Ororo brought her hands up to his face and held him there, trying to direct his attention to her. Desperately, she tried to quiet his fears as she drew his eyes to hers. She quickly but quietly whispered comforting words to him and her hushed tone drew his focus to her. He looked back and forth from her eyes to her mouth, much like an infant would, trying to bring the whole picture together. His brain tried to register her words, but his mind was swimming; he couldn't think, so he just focused on her.

Her eyes, full of love and compassion and kindness; her lips, delicately forming and changing shape as she hushed him, making comforting and soothing sounds. His blackened eyes stared at her, taking her in as he tried to realign his thoughts. As the tension in his body dissipated and he relaxed beneath her, Storm continued to make the quieting sounds. She stroked his hair, keeping her face close to his. She watched him closely as his enlarged pupils slowly began to ebb, revealing the striking blue irises hidden beneath. Logan's hand came up to grasp her elbow weakly and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat as he attempted to speak.

"Ro." His voice was hoarse and his throat felt raw, but he spoke her name aloud as if to confirm her identity. Ororo smiled, despite the tears in her eyes and nodded.

"Yes." She didn't so much say the word as breathed it out in a rush of released air. He'd spoken; he recognized her and Storm's relief was overwhelming. Her fingers curled into his hair and her initial breath of laughter quickly turned to relieved sobs as she came closer and captured his mouth with hers. She cried happily and kissed him softly and his lips began to move against hers. Logan's hand tightened on her elbow as he tasted her lips, his mind still trying to catch up. Ororo's hands loosed from his hair and her palms slid down to frame his face as she drew back, slowly breaking the kiss. Her thumbs caressed his cheeks as she looked into his eyes, acknowledging how much he really meant to her, before moving forward to kiss him again and this kiss was equally accepted. They kissed deeply as her hands held his face close and Logan's hand gripped her elbow tighter; was the best he could do at the moment and they fell into the depths of their first real and meaningful kiss.

Charles, who'd recovered from his own shaken state, had come up alongside the bedrail to check on Wolverine's condition. He watched the connection Ororo managed to make once again with Logan and, as the two separated from one another briefly, the professor cleared his throat to get their attention.

As Ororo moved back in for the second kiss, Logan's hand left her elbow and redirected itself toward Charles. Raising his index finger into the air, Logan silently suggested that the professor hold his thought until Ororo was finished. Xavier averted his eyes, lowering his head with a grin and waited... as the Wolverine suggested.



TBC in "At Death's Door"

Chapter 27

At Death's Door, part 1

**************************

After breakfast was completed Scott took his leave of Bobby and Kurt and headed to the lower levels. Jean had already gone to the Medlab to assist Hank and relieve him of the morning shift. Warren hadn't joined them for breakfast, but Scott hoped that the information regarding the horrors of Wolverine's past, which Dr. McCoy had relayed to them the day before, might sway Angel's animosity toward Logan.

As he entered the elevator, and pushed the button for the lower levels, he caught sight of the movement of shadow in the corridor outside the elevator and instinctively put his hand out to interrupt the closing of the door. His eyebrows raised above the top edge of his visor in surprise as Warren stepped up to the door. The two men regarded each other briefly, Scott taking note of the unusual outfit that the winged X-man was wearing, before stepping back to allow the man entry into the small chamber.

Warren inclined his head silently in acknowledgement and stepped into the lift. Scott backed himself up against the front corner of the cubicle, turning his face away slightly as Worthington rotated his position to face forward. His large wings, abundant with thousands of pristine white feathers, nearly filled the small area to capacity and brushed against Summers before the mutant came to rest, finding a position that afforded both men a little personal space.

"Up or down?" Scott asked politely as if to a stranger, not sure at this point of Worthington's frame of mind.

"Down."

"To Medlab?" he asked, already sure of the answer.

"Yes," Angel replied without flair.

Scott sighed, his thoughts once again focusing on the ongoing contention between the two men under his command. The door closed with a soft hiss and they were fleeted away from the main levels of the mansion. Both men stood in silence; Warren standing tall with his back straight, shoulders square and staring straight ahead. He seemed unconcerned by Scott's presence, neither angry nor intimidated. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like a man on a mission.

Scott scanned Warren's attire and had to wonder about it; where he got it and what it's purpose is supposed to be. It was an attractive, sleek outfit but with a somewhat menacing appearance. It appeared to be a type of Kevlar body suit, completely black with heavy jack boots that covered his legs to just below the knees, they were secured by four heavy straps with large buckles and topped with knee protectors that appeared to be armored. Worn atop the body suit was a heavily padded gambeson and thick leather forearm protectors. In his right hand were a pair of black leather gauntlets.

Warren seemed to take no notice of the scrutiny he was given as he continued to stand at attention beside the X-Men's leader. Scott's brow knitted as he wondered what his long-time friend was up to. He certainly hadn't been behaving as his normal self since returning from his extended vacation, now many weeks past. In an attempt to sort this out, Scott ventured to question him about it.

"Nice outfit," he offered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Thank you," Warren replied without moving. Scott watched him for a moment more before continuing.

"Get it while you were on vacation?"

"Yes."

"It's interesting."

"Practical," Worthington corrected in a serious manner, still not turning to address his commander face to face. The only sign of discomfort that Scott could see was the tiny flutter of feathers as the giant wings shuddered in irritation, much like a squirrel would twitch its tail when stressed. Scott glanced up at the flashing numbered lights indicating their position between floors, to determine how much time he had before the doors opened. Taking a deep breath, he took half a step to the front and turned to look at Warren face to face.

"Practical for what?" he asked. This time his tone didn't feign pleasant curiosity, but serious interest. As Scott held his ground and waited, Warren's eyes slowly drifted toward him. As their eyes locked, Angel's head slowly turned to meet Scott's stare head on.

"My mission," Warren stated simply. Scott's eyes narrowed behind his visor and, setting his jaw hard, he pushed on.

"And what mission would that be?" he inquired as all of his internal alarms sounded, but as the doors opened behind him and Warren took one step forward, he didn't think he was going to get an answer, then Angel paused to look him in the eye right before stepping out.

"To bring death," he informed Summers forthright and proceeded out of the elevator and down the corridor.

The answer he was given left Scott dumbfounded and speechless for a moment. The doors were about to close at his back when he regained his wits and skirted between them, hurrying after Worthington as he realized that whatever had been a burr under Angel's blanket these past couple of months was about to be brought out into the open.


* * *

After leaving Wraith's office, Victor Creed had gathered some essentials into a pack and, strapping them to the back of his motor, sped out of the city limits. "Do nothing," he'd been told. 'Like hell,' he seethed, as he roared past the troops gathering by their vehicles. The camouflaged soldiers watched him speed by, some with confusion on their faces and others with merely curious interest as they checked and stowed their equipment and locked and loaded their weapons.

Leaning forward over the handlebars, Victor kicked the bike up another notch and roared past them without so much as a sideway glance. He was a man on a mission... and nobody was going to stop him from doing what needed to be done. Not Wraith, not the military, not the Guardian... not even Weapon X himself.


* * *

Scott caught up with Angel just before he reached the doors to the infirmary. Coming up behind him, Cyclops grabbed Warren's elbow to impede his momentum. He gave a slight backward jerk which pulled the man slightly off balance and caused him to stop. As Warren turned to question his team leader, Cyclops moved swiftly in front of him to block his entrance into the medical bay.

"Don't do this, Warren," Scott protested. Angel looked at him for a moment, then his head tilted slightly.

"Don't do what, Scott?" he asked in a friendly tone, as if he didn't understand what his friend was referring to.

"You know 'what'."

"No. I'm sorry, but I do not," Warren countered calmly and placed his hand lightly on Scott's shoulder. "Have no fear, my friend. All will be well." With that he moved to step around Summers, who immediately blocked his way with a quick side step. Checking up once more, Warren scanned his opposition from head to toe and cocked his head. "Scott.... you must trust me. Once death has come to Wolverine, we can all rest easy again."

Scott frowned, not believing what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to rebuke Worthington's observation, but found himself at a loss for words. Had Warren lost his mind? Did he honestly believe what he was saying with such conviction that he didn't even feel the need to hesitate before speaking? Did he really believe that his need to be rid of Wolverine's presence was so justified that he had no qualms about declaring it openly? Could he possibly believe what he was saying? - so much so, that he saw no reason at all to keep his intentions hidden?

It seemed like an eternity that he stood there staring at his old friend when Rogue and Gambit came down the corridor and approached them. They too, were coming to the infirmary to check on their teammate. Warren became aware of their presence at the very same time Scott glanced their way and turned toward them. He and LeBeau shared an intense stare, Gambit nearly sneering at the winged X-Man, then Angel's eyes dropped to Rogue and his face lit up. Warren clutched Rogue's arms and smiled brightly.

"You! You touched him...! Did you see? Did you feel him? Tell them! You understand, right?" he asked nearly shouting with excitement as if realizing that there was someone here that could actually collaborate with him on this.

"What's goin' on here?" she asked, looking to Scott with huge eyes. A second later she was ripped from Angel's grasp by strong hands.

"Get your hands off o' her!" Remy ordered, shielding her with his body as he stepped between them. Angel's expression and atttitude immediately darkened and he glared at LeBeau, but he didn't respond before turning sharply toward Scott.

"I'll be back! And when I come back.... no one will keep me from what I have to do. No one!" He was nearly shouting as he repeatedly jabbed his finger into Scott's chest and, with that, the blond X-Man turned on his heel and marched down the corridor. Remy continued to scowl at Warren's retreating back as Rogue turned to Scott.

"What in the world was that all about?"

"I have no idea, but I have a really bad feeling about this."

The three stood there for a brief moment before Scott turned toward the doors behind him and they slid open with a soft hiss. As they entered the infirmary, Ororo stood up from the edge of the bed where she'd apparently been leaning closely over Logan for some reason. The smile on the professor's face disappeared as he picked up vibrations of deep concern and turned toward Cyclops with a frown of his own.

"What is it, Scott?"

"I'm not sure, Sir," he replied, looking perplexed.

Ororo now stood beside Logan's bed, not realizing that she was holding his hand lightly as she listened, trying to figure out what was going on. Logan watched, still a bit drowsy from his intense awakening, as Rogue and Gambit entered and stood beside Scott as the three spoke with the professor.

"I think there's something seriously wrong with Warren," Scott mentioned, and his two companions nodded in agreement. Rogue's expression was serious with worry, but Gambit simply looked angry. "He hasn't been the same since he returned from his vacation."

"Yes," Charles agreed softly, "I, too, have noticed a drastic change in his behavior."

"Did he happen to mention to you why he needed the extension?" Scott asked and waited for the professor to answer, but he seemed as though he was lost in thought for a few moments.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, Scott. What was your question?"

"His extended vacation... did he happen to mention to you why he needed to be gone for so long? Originally, he was only scheduled to be away for two weeks. Then we got that phone call from him, vaguely stating that he needed more time and would be away longer than anticipated, and he shows up nearly three months later?" Scott recounted the events that had taken place. "And he's never said a word as to why he was gone so long or where he's been?"

"No, he never said a word. Perhaps I should've asked, but I try not to intrude on personal business," Charles mentioned, but they already knew that. He'd never inquired as to Logan's whereabouts or personal business, even when he'd disappear for weeks at a time. He didn't ask for details of personal vacations, especially regarding the Worthington family affairs, since most of Warren's so-called vacations were usually business trips for the Worthington empire.

As the silence lengthened, Gambit finally spoke up. "Dat boy got serious issues wit' Wolverine."

"Me an' Wings ain't never gotten along," Logan mentioned. He sounded tired and drained but felt as though he was beginning to regain some clarity in his thoughts. "I don't think that's much of a secret," he added and struggled to sit up in the bed. Ororo turned to help him, propping a couple of pillows behind his back. He fell back heavily onto them, glancing up at her with a nod of thanks.

"No," Scott replied, "it's no secret, Logan. But this... this is different. He's fixated on you... he's obsessed with your death."

No one knew what to say to that. It had been made quite clear to everyone in the mansion the past few weeks that Warren's displeasure with Wolverine's presence had spiked. Although the two mutants had never gained a true friendship through the years, they had found a way to compromise, or perhaps it had simply been an unspoken agreement to tolerate the other's presence on the team.

The resurgence of Angel's unrepentent anger over Wolverine's existence had them all totally perplexed, but it was the magnitude of Warren's hatred that unnerved the team. He didn't just want Logan gone... he wanted the feral dead. Scott frowned as Warren's words echoed in his head, and realized that Angel didn't just want the Wolverine dead but he intended to take the matter into his very own hands.

How in the world did Warren honestly believe he could accomplish such a thing? Especially when so many others have tried and failed? Wolverine was practically indestructible.

What did Warren know, or think he knew, that the others didn't?


* * *


As he drove his motor out of the city limits, the echo of Wraith's voice saying 'Do nothing, Victor' started chanting in his head. 'If you jeopardize this mission again... I'll kill you myself.'

That last was sort of humorous, as many have tried and none have succeeded as yet. Creed sneered at the thought of that piece of military waste threatening him.

"You and what army?" Victor growled at Wraith's voice in his head, then kicked up the throttle and sped up the long and winding wooded road of Graymaulkin Lane.

There was no way in hell they were taking him off this assignment. He'd spent too many years and had invested way too many hours sitting-in-wait for this very opportunity. Sure, he'd made some blatantly obvious mistakes, but he'd never intended to get himself taken out of the line up. Things had been going great, going according to plan. His plan, not the one the Project co-ordinators had drawn up. Always so arrogant they were... to think that they were the ones in control of the entire situation. Now... the clock was ticking... ticking like a time bomb and it was up to Victor Creed to diffuse it.


* * *

Warren exited the mansion through the front door and descended the stairs. He was angry. For years, the X-Men had gotten in his way; had always gotten between him and Wolverine, always succeeding in keeping distance between them.

He stood on the manicured lawn of the estate, fuming as his thoughts focused inward. His face was tense with a deep scowl as his brain whirled to find alternative solutions. Angel's eyes darted about, not focusing on the outward things but the internal churnings deep within him. A moment later he turned to look up at the looming fortress behind him, taking in a slow deep breath. Then, as if he'd made a decision, he turned his back to the great edifice and unfurled his wings to take to the sky.

Like a massive seabird he soared high above the trees as he made his way toward the city. As he lazily followed the direction of the winding road below him, his flight path would intersect with its twisting turns as he crossed over it from time to time; catching his attention as the black pavement flashed through the breaks in the dense green forest. Something caught his eye on one of his crossovers and he turned his head to keep it in view as he passed overhead.

He veered to his left to make a turn around, like a buzzard circling overhead, as the object disappeared beneath the long branches of the forest canopy. Warren made a large lazy circle as he scanned the ground below and saw the object reappear through a break a short distance further down the road behind him.

The long-time X-Man recognized him immediately. Still circling high above, Warren tightened his circular pattern as he began to descend, picking up great speed as he prepared to strafe his target. It was Sabretooth... and he was heading for the institute.


* * *

Victor stared straight ahead; his hands gripping the handlebars tightly, his focus entrenched on his destination and the obstacles he knew he'd have to overcome in order to get to his target. At a high rate of speed he maneuvered the road's twisting path with an easy, almost careless abandon. He'd driven this road many times and knew it well. He'd been driving the past twelve miles or so with unfocused attention when suddenly a large object overhead blocked out the sun for a moment as its shadow passed over him.

He blinked, coming out of his thoughts, and looked skyward, squinting his sensitive eyes against the sun's glare just as the object flew over again. It blocked out the sun for a split second and Creed dropped his head to watch the road as he tried to make sense of the image he'd picked up. It was large, like a small plane, but not a plane. It had wings but.... the wings weren't fixed though, he saw them flap just once before the sun blinded him again. And the wings had feathers. If that was a bird it was the biggest freaking bird Victor Creed had ever seen.

'Angel!' Sabretooth's brain shouted a warning as he put two-and-two together.

Creed jerked his head up quickly trying to find the winged X-Man to pinpoint his location, but he never got the chance. He nearly cringed with a start as something very large appeared in front of his eyes in a flashing blur of black and white. It slammed into him at tremendous velocity, throwing him backward from his chopper, which continued at its own great speed in the direction he'd been traveling until the front wheel twisted, sending it nose over tail across the road and tumbling into the dense underbrush.

A loud rush of air exhaled from his lungs as the wind was knocked out of him and Creed flew fifty yards in the opposite direction. He hit the pavement hard, tumbling out of control and finally came to a stop, lying half in a ditch, unconscious.

Angel never took his eyes off his target as he regained some height in order to circle around again above the trees. He watched as Creed came to a violent halt, ending up like roadkill on the side of the peaceful country lane. Lining himself up with the center of the road, Warren came in for a landing like a plane descending onto a runaway. As his feet touched down, he pulled his wings in tight at his back, ready for take-off, as he slowed his approach toward the unresponsive feral.

He'd gotten within twenty feet or so when he heard a soft moan come from the ditch. Warren stopped and stilled, staring at the large booted feet that were clearly visible above the edge of the road's soft shoulder. Toes pointing downward, it was evident that the giant had come to a stop face-down on the roadside. Warren remained like a statue, watching and listening, when one booted foot moved. Sabretooth stirred slowly, his moans turning to growls as his healing factor kicked in and he began to get his wits about him again.

Angel watched as the boots disappeared, sliding into the ditch, toes dragging in the dirt. He imagined Creed pulling himself together, getting to his knees as he assessed his injuries, which should be healed by now and... there he was. Warren straightened and let his eyes dart about as Creed stood up in the ditch baring his fangs at him and stepping back out onto the road, ready to fight.

Worthington's expression suddenly changed, from Warren's insecure doubt to Angel's challenging sneer. He stared at Sabretooth as the giant feral stalked closer coming right down the center of the road. Angel's head cocked slightly to the side and he took a slow deep breath in preparation for combat. Straightening his head again and squaring off with the massive mutant in front of him, Angel reached over his head. Drawing a large shining sword from a scabbard strapped between his winged shoulder blades, he held the large heavy sword in both hands at waist level. Angel sneered at Victor with an almost evil humor.

"What the hell are you doing??" Victor reprimanded the X-Man. "I have to talk to your people! I have information..."

"Information?" Angel repeated for clarification in a patronizing tone and cutting the man's words off in mid-sentence. "Information about what?"

"It's about Wolverine."

"Of course it is," Angel smirked.

"Look," Victor replied angrily, "It's not what you think. This is for real. No bullshit this time. It's beyond just me an' Logan, okay? We're talkin' military here. Government."

"So?" Angel asked. His entire behavior was sedate and Victor surmised that the X-Man was simply feigning interest in what he had to say. Sabretooth studied him closely, sensing something was drastically wrong about the man challenging him. Creed lowered his head slightly and watched Warren with sharp eyes beneath his furrowed brow.

"It's not just military... it's Weapon X," Victor quietly informed him as he watched Angel closely.

"Weapon X, huh?" Warren repeated again, casually. "What about him?"

The question made Victor blink and he tilted his head to the side as he considered Worthington. He'd known the man a long time and this behavior was not like him at all. Unless something drastic has happened and life does have a way of doing that to a person; changing who they are deep down, whether it be by tragedy or loss. It happened quickly sometimes, Creed knew, and sometimes not so quickly.

Warren Worthington was a changed man, Victor sensed that clearly. Even his scent was off. It wasn't normal. It wasn't Warren. But it wasn't fear and it wasn't rage either. It was... something else. Sabretooth took a step to his left and Angel followed suit, also stepping left he kept an even playing field as he watched Creed moving for position.

"What do you want, Sabretooth?" Warren asked and Victor's eyes narrowed at the tone of the question. The tone of Angel's words... it was as if he already knew the answer and simply wanted to hear it for himself.

"I'm going that way," Victor told him, pointing down the road toward the mansion.

"No, you're not," Angel replied with a smirk, brandishing the sword. Creed glanced at the large shiny weapon. It was easily four feet in length with a straight, double-edged blade and it was heavy he could tell by the way Worthington held it aloft with both hands. "I was warned about you," he told Victor.

"What'dya mean?" Creed asked slowly, feeling a burning chill settle in his belly. He already knew the answers too, he realized. "What'dya mean you were warned about me?"

"You're not in this game anymore, Victor," Angel told him. "You had your chance. You blew it. Many times."

Victor blinked, then swallowed hard, as he listened. He already knew he'd blown it. He'd gotten himself taken off the mission, taken out of the line-up. His obsession with taking care of Wolverine had caused him to lose his focus; to lose track of his actions and misactions and allowed himself the mistake of getting thrown out of the loop. Victor knew this... but how did Angel know this?

"What're you talkin' about?" he asked the X-Man. "Nobody takes me out of the game," he growled back.

"You're not a factor in this anymore, Victor. You messed up too many times for anyone to have any confidence in your abilities to complete any task given to you. I, on the other hand, have a clean slate... and you... are old news. You're a has-been, Victor. It's time for a new breed of hound."

Victor stared at Angel, his mouth slightly ajar as he realized that, although the military and the government scientists simply saw his actions as obsessive and simply poor judgement, Angel seemed to know exactly what his motives had been all along.

"I was charged with bringing Wolverine in... and I'm gonna do that, whether they.. or you.. like it or not," Victor growled but Angel simply gave him a crooked grin and shook his head.

"You're pathetic, Victor," Warren told him then began to circle Sabretooth still holding the sword high in front of him. "You no longer have the responsibility... or should I say "the honor". That honor is assigned to me now. I shall be the one to bring him in... to bring death to the Wolverine."

"Oh man..." Victor muttered under his breath as his fears were confirmed and his blood ran cold in his veins. "You're him." He continued to circle, keeping distance between himself and the X-Man. "You're.... The Guardian."

Angel's eyebrows lifted and he smiled, as if pleased to find that his name was known outside of the small circle within the government sanctum. "I am The Guardian, yes," he confirmed for Sabretooth. "And before I bring Wolverine back to Weapon X to complete his re-training... I shall dispatch you first."

With that warning, Angel lunged at him with the sword, covering the distance between himself and his target with one strong solid flap of his wings to help propel him forward. Sabretooth ducked and somersaulted out of reach, coming to a stop again on his feet facing his opponent. His years as a soldier, as a warrior and a savage, had kept his reflexes sharp and his body quick.

Angel sent himself aloft, just high enough to land a solid kick to Creed's face. The impact sent the larger man tumbling backward on the asphalt and from high above Warren took aim. Creed opened his eyes, squinting into the sunwashed sky and as a large silhouette suddenly blocked out the blinding sun, he understood. With an expression of sudden alarm, Victor rolled again quickly out of harm's way as Angel drove the broad sword into the asphalt where he'd been lying.

He set himself with a wide stance, wings flapping slowly with deliberate power as The Guardian tried to free the sword. Creed pushed himself up and got back to his feet, realizing the X-Man had been turned - re-trained, as he referred to it. Conditioned! The X-Man was now, quite clearly, a product of the Weapon X Project's new Weapons Plus Programming. Victor had known all along what they wanted with Wolverine and he'd managed, all these years, to continually put himself between Logan and the fate the government scientists had planned for him.

He'd even managed to get in their way again this time, by getting word out to Colonel Fury and the X-Men, anonymously of course, where Wolverine had been taken and was being held. And still, no one had suspected that Sabretooth's thoughtless acts of vengeance were anything but that. He'd fooled them all... for decades.

Now he had to get to Wolverine - to the X-Men - but first he had to get through The Guardian.


_______________________


TBC in At Death's Door, part 2

Chapter 28

At Death's Door, pt 2

************************


As the convoy rolled out of the city, John Wraith stared out the passenger window of the two and a half ton military truck leading the way. He'd received numerous reports of Creed speeding away on his bike as the troops were preparing to mobilize and found himself pre-occupied with thoughts of what the mutant was up to now.

Seven trucks moved along the highway, staying to the right in the slow lane as they neared the exit that would bring them out to the wooded, more rural areas of Westchester County. Five of the trucks, all deuce-and-a-halfs with canvas tops, were loaded with troops. Each contained sixteen men; well-armed and sitting quietly in the back. The men sat in the cargo area, eight to a bench, facing each other. They glanced at each other once in a while, or simply stared out the back of the truck at the scenery passing by or looking to the truck behind them. But no one offered a comment about what was expected of them, or where they were going, as they rocked and bounced on the hard wooden benches with the motion of the speeding trucks.

The sixth truck in line was a semi-tractor pulling a large silver trailer. The walls and interior cell units of the trailer were constructed of a heavy, metal alloy; known as adamantium. This would be the containment unit for Weapon X on the trip back to Canada. Inside the trailer, were two men and one woman, all wearing white lab coats and passing the time discussing different components set up inside the trailer unit and any possible complications once their charge was turned over to them.

The seventh vehicle in line, bringing up the rear, was a large double-wide mobile unit, much like a civilian recreational vehicle. It was big and wide and shiny black and rumbled along as if on air currents absorbing the shocks of the road. Inside this mobile comfort facility was a group of newly acquired doctors, for the government's secret program in the study and research of human behavioral patterns. Their host was one Dr. Devan Maier, whose detailed indoctrination of the new team was continuing even as they were en route to recover their confused patient. Or so they thought.

Colonel Wraith lit a fresh cigar as he checked the map that lay open on his lap. His teeth clamped onto the stogie as he leisurely waved a finger toward the exit ramp indicated and the lead truck veered off the small highway heading toward Graymaulkin Lane followed in line by the others.


* * * *


Creed set his stance as he stared at the menacing angelic figure hovering twenty feet above the ground. Angel hung there, his large wings flapping slowly as he sneered at the large furry mutant below. His strategy; to hang there in threatening fashion, showing off the advantages he had over the earth bound feral. The advantages being the large broadsword, for one, and the ability to occupy the "high ground". His mistake? Hanging there in mid-air long enough for Victor to assess the disadvantages of Angel's tactics.

When Warren made his move it was lightening quick. Victor blinked in surprise and that was all he had time to do before he was struck. He'd attempted to move to his left to evade the quick attack but his first step never made contact with the pavement before he was flying through the air again. When he landed hard on the embankment, not only face down once more, but facing down the incline of the roadside slope, Victor got up onto his elbows with a groan and put a hand to his shoulder.

It had happened so fast he wasn't even sure what exactly had happened, besides the fact he had a very large hole in his chest, just below the shoulder. The blade had knicked his lung and he took a few deep breaths with a bit of difficulty before the internal tissues mended themselves. Then it was just a matter of the gaping hole healing itself and that would take another few moments.

Victor felt a gripping pressure encircle one ankle and furrowed his brow curiously. Just as he made a move to roll over and prepare to defend himself, Angel dragged him from the ground. Literally.

Holding the feral by the ankle, Warren went aloft. Victor flipped over onto his belly again and clawed at the ground, looking for purchase and finding none. His large claws dug into the soft ground then scraped across the surface of the asphalt, as he was bodily dragged from the roadside into the air.

Once Victor had lost any chance to keep himself grounded he stopped grappling and turned to look up at Angel. Warren looked down at his prey as he slowly lifted them both higher and higher. The weight of his own armor and the large steel double-blade, coupled with Sabretooth's enormous size and weight, made gaining altitude a bit of concentrated work for the winged mutant.

As Warren looked down at him, Victor grinned back. Angel's expression changed momentarily from his triumphant yet casual confidence to curiosity as Creed smiled up at him, hanging upside down from his grip. They stared at one another as large powerful wings lifted them slowly higher and higher. Angel wondered if Creed was so sure of his ability to survive a fall from such a great height that he honestly found this humorous.

He found himself suddenly in a panic as Creed curled his body upward toward him, reaching out with great clawed fingers. Warren pulled his head backward, thinking the feral beast was targeting his face, but instead Angel shouted out in surprise as Victor grabbed one large wing, practically wrapping his arms around it in a strange embrace. The other wing, unable to keep them aloft by its own power, stuck straight out and froze in position as the maneuver pulled Worthington over sideways and the two men somersaulted at high speed back toward the earth.

The Guardian's grip on Worthington's psyche was over-ridden by Warren's outright terror as he realized Creed would most likely heal from the sudden, inevitable impact with the ground. But, his own bones, which were much lighter than most humans' in order to achieve his powerful grace in flight, would shatter like a china tea cup. Creed could feel the muscles of the immense appendage straining in his embrace, trying to free itself as the two men hurtled toward the pavement below. Victor could only guess at what speed they were falling, but the blast of wind passing him by nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

He chanced a glance downward and saw the ground coming up at them fast. Estimating about thirty feet now... twenty.... ten...... Releasing the captured wing, Victor grabbed onto the padded gambeson with strong fingers. Now, unencumbered by the strangle-hold of the feral, Angel was able to put both wings to use in order to try to slow their descent. He'd managed only two attempts before he crashed down on top of Creed.

Warren had managed to stop the fatal fall just enough not to kill them, but he still wasn't used to hitting the ground at such a speed. With Creed still clinging hard to his padded chest, he came down atop the feral's body and, if he hadn't known better, it would've appeared as though his enemy had deliberately maneuvered them into position in order to save his life.

Victor got the wind knocked out of him as his back hit the ground hard. He was sure he heard a few ribs pop and crack but he kept a strong grip on Angel's vest. The nine foot wings lowered to the ground slowly, stretching out to either side of them as Warren lost his senses for a minute or two before The Guardian realized they were still alive.

When the X-Man stirred above him with a moan, pulling the wings up behind his back, Victor pushed Angel off of him and slid out from beneath him to stand up. His hands never releasing The Guardian's padded garment, Victor pulled his assailant from the ground and looked at him closely for a moment before winding up and hurling the winged mutant into the forest cover.

The Guardian crashed through the lower branches of the dense trees. Naturally, the large wings stretched out, instinctively trying to slow him down and change trajectory, but Warren realized the mistake as he felt the delicate appendages catch and twist, tangling in the branches that seemed to grab at him. He tumbled into a heap, covered in debris of the forest. Twigs stuck out of his hair and his face was cut and bleeding as Warren sat himself up slowly.

Assessing himself and finding that nothing was broken, he inspected each wing carefully and removed a few twigs from within the feathers, preening them quickly, and then folded them safely against his back as he stood up. He couldn't hear Creed moving about, but Warren was well-aware how stealthy the ferals could be. He looked around him, turning in a complete circle, before relaxing a bit. Realizing the feral was no longer in the immediate area, he took a slow deep breath and released it as a frustrated huff.

He knew that Creed would stick to the forest now, where The Guardian couldn't follow "on the wing". Warren was no match for Creed on the ground, in the forest, and trying to locate a feral who's gone to ground from above the forest canopy would be near impossible. Angel set his jaw hard, muscles pulsing in his temples as anger flared in his eyes. Feathers quivered with his rising anger, knowing that going back to the mansion without backup would be futile. Deciding instead to meet up with the military first to re-group, Warren made his way back out to the road.


* * * *


Dr. Maier poured himself another mild drink as the conversation amongst his newest team members continued. In the few months since Logan's escape his research and reprogramming studies had come to a grinding halt. Other than bringing the new recruits up to speed on the history and theories that drove the Weapon X experiments, he had little to do until the feral mutant was returned to his custody.

Maier's own expertise and years of experience in mind manipulation and control, and the specific study of psychic driving, was extensive. He was now considered to be the foremost expert on brainwashing, mind manipulation, and memory erasure since Dr. Ewen Cameron, best known for his work with the MKUltra program.

Cameron himself came up with the theory of "psychic driving" and had experimented on hundreds of subjects during the 1930s in Montreal and in the 40's, 50's and 60's out of Cornell University in New York City. His Sleep Room torture chamber was the intense focus of Maier's attention since the specific procedures used in the Sleep Room experiments were powerfully successful in the methodical de-patterning of the subjects used in those experiments.

By the time the victims had been released from the Sleep Room, Cameron had managed to completely wipe out many decades of the subjects' memories. Some did not even remember their own children or their own names and many had so much of their memory erased that they needed to re-learn the basics. Some had to learn how to speak or feed themselves and even to control their bodily functions and almost all had been reverted to a child-like mentality.

Devan Maier, and his predecessors, had taken Cameron's successes steps further through the Weapons Plus program. And he took great pride in his accomplishments, not to mention the stature that came with it, in the secret underground network of the U.S. and Canadian governments.

And secrecy was the key to the successful future of these programs. The failure of the Canadian and U.S. governments to adhere to the Nuremberg Code, not to mention the negligence of the doctors involved who openly ignored the Hippocratic Oath, would most definitely erupt in nationwide outrage.

"So.... Dr. Maier... what I've been able to extrapolate from what you've told us so far is that this particular subject we're on our way to recover has been a willing volunteer with the project for many years. Is this correct?"

Maier turned casually to smile at Dr. Felicia Russ; young and beautiful, ambitious and curious, all virtues he admired. He turned around fully, to face the group sitting in a circle in the center of the large mobile unit, the movement of the vehicle almost undetectable by the inertial dampeners that the special unit possessed.

"Practically since its inception, you could say, yes," he replied and sipped his drink.

"Since its inception? You are referring back to 1973, when the United States lost its MKUltra program and Canada took up most of the responsibility with the Weapon X program at that time. Correct?" she asked for clarification. "If I remember correctly, outrage from the civilian population, regarding the creation of covert assassins and super soldiers by their own government, right under their noses, forced the Americans to close up shop. It wasn't long, after the MKUltra program was halted, that Canada began their own super soldier program."

Dr. Russ's colleagues listened attentively, as much of this information was unknown to them. The four young men sitting with her looked from her up to their new boss, who stood a short distance away smiling at the young prodigy.

"You are well-informed... and quite correct, Dr. Russ," Maier commented. "However, let us not forget the American CIA's attempts, and their subsequent findings, have proven to be most crucial to our own advancements in successful mind manipulation techniques."

"Of course."

"However, we should not give all the credit to the Americans," Maier went on, finding this the perfect opportunity to segue into the darker history of the super soldier's beginnings. "The Weapons Plus Program, specifically this Weapon X project, is merely the most recent incarnation of a long and intense study in the field of mind control. The study of mind control, and these experiments, have spanned half the globe and have crossed many nations to get to where we are today.

"You, all of you, have been selected from the top names in your graduating class for various reasons. The deciding factor being that, for whatever their reasoning, each of you could be trusted with Top Secret clearance. And the success of these programs demands its secrecy from the general population, for they would indeed be horrified to learn these dark facts about their own governments. Not only the willingness of their own security forces to use them, each and every one as needed, as human guinea pigs in research studies in the holy name of "national security" -- but if they were to learn of the pain and lifelong suffering put upon its citizens by their own government -- well, that often has the tendency to grate a raw nerve among the population, as you would imagine.

"And do not be deluded into thinking that the public would understand. They do not have the gift of foresight as we scientists do, nor do they have the inclination to know the truth of their existence. And it has been the very exposure of these truths that has brought about the dismantling of previous programs around the world, to eventually bring it to our doorstep. Through so many years of trial and tribulation, and so many sacrifices, from Nazi Germany to the United States to Canada." Maier finished his oration with a raise of his glass as if toasting their good fortune.

"But the Weapon X Program is still being funded by the American CIA, correct?" asked a bespectacled young man, Dr. Roger Lindsay.

"Oh, absolutely," he assured them strongly. "For the most part anyway. Even the original MKUltra program was a mutually beneficial U.S./Canadian defense program. That hasn't changed. Only the name and location has changed... along with a few new faces coming in now and again," he added with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"But what you must understand," Maier continued, "is that this goes far beyond MKUltra and Weapon X. The evidence that reveals a direct lineage between Nazi Germany and the U.S. experiments had already been exposed in the past. Fortunately for us, most of the populace prefers to regard that evidence as hysterical rumors." He took a deep, almost satisfied breath and exhaled it with a grin. Swirling his glass, the ice cubes tinked against the sides lightly, then bringing the glass to his lips he muttered softly, "Their denial is our survival."

"Wait just a moment... the Nazis??" One of the young men remarked a bit aghast. His name was Dr. John Carlton and he'd been recruited from the same class as Dr. Roger Lindsay. "The Nazis tortured and murdered millions of people." He looked around at the group incredulously and they looked back at him. Some had almost neutral expressions while others appeared to be hiding their own surprise. "I don't think I'd classify what they did to innocent and unsuspecting victims as scientific study."

"I would. And so would most of my colleagues," Maier informed him. "When the Nazi death camps were captured and destroyed by allied forces all over occupied Europe, these very same experiments which were, at the time, being conducted by the German SS became a great interest to the allied scientific community and were intensively studied by U.S. military scientists who --"

" -- who turned a blind eye to the human torment resulting from those very experiments in favor of the possible benefits in the name of "national security"," Carlton finished.

"Precisely," Maier replied, giving the younger man a cold dark stare. His tone had changed in the face of the younger man's challenging statement, but he shook himself from his suspicion and continued with his history lesson. "And... having found great interest in the efforts and steps the German SS had taken, however unsuccessful most of them were, the CIA went ahead and imported over one thousand German scientists to the United States in order to finish their work. Some of these scientists were the very same people responsible for perfecting the Zyclon-B gas which was used in the extermination of millions of Jews, along with other doomed prisoners and undesirables, of course."

"Undesirables?" Dr. Russ ventured with interest.

"Yes, my dear. Those persons deemed unworthy of existence by the Nazi party... gypsies, homosexuals... mongrels, like our friend out there," Maier explained with a glint in his eyes and gestured toward the windows and the scenery passing by. His voice took on a nostalgic tone as he remembered the words he'd read in an old dusty journal. The journal, embossed with the silver SS monogram on the softest black leather and inscribed with the original owner's name - Professor A.G. Eichmann - was a cherished possession.

" 'Known by some as the Raggedy Man... known by all in camp as "the man who wouldn't die", and many more prisoners simply thought him to be a ghost that returned over and over again to re-live his last tormented moments'," Dr. Maier recited, then raised his eyes to his new team. "But there was one... one very attentive civilian scientist, an officer and lead professor of a special unit working directly under the authority of the SS, who had taken special notice of our raggedy little mongrel --."

"One moment, Doctor, if you please," Dr. Lindsay interjected as he sat forward in his chair. "Are you inferring that this particular patient, the one we're presently on our way to recover, was a prisoner in a Nazi death camp?"

"Yes, yes!" Maier exclaimed. "He was imprisoned at Sobibor and was discovered by Professor Eichmann."

"Sobibor? Never heard of it," Lindsay confessed a bit skeptical, glancing at his companions who indicated with a shake of their head or a facial shrug that they'd never heard of it either.

"Yes," Dr. Maier grinned evilly, "one of Nazi Germany's greatest secrets. Our mongrel... our gem... his entire life is submerged in the greatest secrets our world has ever known." He thought about the irony of that particular statement and chuckled darkly.

"That's impossible, sir. That would make this patient over --"

"Over 60 years old, yes," Maier confirmed, "... but he's much older than that, my young man, I assure you. And I assure you, it's the truth."

"Who is this man?" Lindsay asked, quite curious about a man who would volunteer over 60 years of his life to torturous experiments.

"No one knows his true identity," Maier admitted. "But that's neither here nor there," he said waving the questions away with both hands and refilling his glass before continuing to relay what he knew of the subject's history, as written in Professor Eichmann's journals.

"No matter what they did to him... no matter how many times they killed him... he always came back to life. His unusual habit of returning from his own brutal and tragic deaths to torment those who had tortured him resulted in the commandant's own suicide. His replacement, a Major Bauman, quickly lost control of his own mind as well after accepting the position. The camp, and control of it, dropped into disarray and the officers under Bauman's command lived in constant fear. Not fear of the Major, no, not at all, for he had already lost himself to the bottle.

"At first, the reports to Berlin were waved off as hysteria. But subsequent inspections of the camp showed tremendous problems in the command structure that seemed to spiral downward with each change of command. And the reports of this "ghost", who tormented the staff with simple stares... and whistling, constant repeated whistling...." Dr. Maier smiled darkly as he thought about that. In his own way, the mutant - the mongrel - had accomplished the same results as Cameron had in his Sleep Room experiments. By using simple repetitive signals he was able to instill fear and a sense of impending doom on his own captors, resulting in a uniformed and unquestionable response. Shaking himself from going too deeply into those thoughts, Maier clutched his drink in both hands and continued.

"Months later, the rumors of this "ghost" finally made their way to Eichmann's ear. He did not wave them away so easily. He had already found a few, out of the millions, who had special abilities... those who could not be burned in the incinerators, or those who could cause objects to fly through the air under great emotional stress... so this one, the one who appeared to always come back from the dead, was of great interest to him." Maier turned back with a gleeful, if not evil, smile on this face which caused his audience to sit further back in their seats. His sadistic excitement clearly showed on his face as he tried to instill that excitement in his new recruits. "This mongrel was the gem he'd been searching for! A treasure he refused to let loose from his grasp. And it wasn't long before Professor Eichmann realized that this mongrel wasn't simply a man who wouldn't die..... he was a man who couldn't die."

Maier dropped into his own deep thoughts about his work, his mongrel, his fame and fortune when he finally succeeded in giving the governments of the world exactly what they'd pined for, for over a hundred years; a controllable, unstoppable, living weapon.

Again, pulling himself from his thoughts, he turned to see the young group watching him, waiting patiently for him to continue. Pulling himself together, Maier took a moment to straighten his coat and pushed at his wire-rimmed glasses. A light sheen of perspiration showed across his forehead and he calmly smoothed one hand over it, wiping it from existence. He swept his dark hair back, in a show of total self-control, then took a slow deep breath.

"Anyway..." he said, waving his hand slowly in front of himself as if to wipe away his last spoken words before he'd gotten off-track, "these German scientists that I mentioned, were rescued from certain execution by the American government, even as they were being actively investigated for possible war crimes. But the U.S., intent on using their knowledge and expertise for their own efforts in the Cold War, kept them from being prosecuted for crimes against humanity, protected them from execution and sheltered them under the veil of amnesty.

"And I assure you... each and every one of you, that you need not worry for your own futures. The work we do here is still defendable by invoking "the good of national security". And that defense has proven to be quite useful in keeping our vast arsenal of knowledge and sophisticated mind bending techniques hidden from the general public."

"Sophisticated mind bending techniques?" Carlton barked out again, and Maier turned to glare at him. "What you're speaking of is the torture of human beings!"

"Not human beings! Mongrels! Mutants! Animals!" Dr. Maier roared at him. His rage at the accusation made his muscles tremble and his hands shook so bad the liquid in the glass he held sloshed over the rim to splash on the plush carpet at his feet.

"There are laws in both countries, Doctor, that ensure protection of animals from all manners of cruelty!" Dr. Carlton shouted back.

"Aaaah, yes," Maier conceded with a crooked grin, "but there are no laws to protect mutant humans. These mutants exist in a limbo between humanity and ... non-humanity. Even they don't know where they belong! I give their existence purpose! I give them a reason for being!" He defended himself and his actions vehemently, and then, as if he'd slammed his temper into reverse, his eyes cleared and his facial muscles relaxed again. "All of our weapons have had to be perfected through human experimentation. There's simply no way around it," Dr. Maier informed him calmly.

"Are the subjects of these "human experiments" willing volunteers, Dr. Maier?" the younger man demanded to know.

"We use highly sensitive research, development and experimentation in order to alter human behavior. We break down their human consciousness, we deconstruct their identification with the illusion of "I" or "me" and we build them back up, in tact, but separate from the ego."

"You didn't answer my question, Doctor."

"All of our subjects are told of the experiments and procedures --"

"Before or after you've destroyed them psychologically?"

"We choose only the most acceptable subjects for these experiments! Logan, our mongrel, if you will, possesses tremendous healing abilities that virtually allow him to survive absolutely anything we've thrown at him. This is what these experiments are all about!"

"He's a mutant with a healing factor!" Dr. Carlton shouted back. "That's it, isn't it? Of course he heals! But he still feels the pain of what you do to him, doesn't he? And he feels that pain, that torment, as many times as you see fit to put him through it, doesn't he?" The young man set his glass down with a loud clank and stood up, enraged at the deception he'd almost become an unwitting part of. "This is government sanctioned torture of innocent victims! Unwilling and, most undoubtedly, non-informed and non-consensual individuals! Your subjects don't have a choice in the matter, do they, Doctor?"

Maier glowered at the petulant young upstart standing in front of him. The other recruits simply looked between the two men, some with fear in their eyes and the others with total complacency as their colleague continued to challenge their host.

"You spoke of the Nuremberg Code and the Hippocratic Oath," Carlton reminded him, "..... what of basic human rights, Doctor? How many international human rights covenants are you violating?" Carlton demanded to know, but Dr. Devan Maier offered no reply. His dark eyes were unfocused in a thousand-yard stare as if distancing himself from the man's accusatory tone. "This subject... this person, that we're on our way to collect --" Carlton challenged, "is he lost and confused as we were told? Or is he running for his life... from you?"

Dr. Maier took a moment to put his heavy glass down on the bar behind him as he reached into the pocket of his white coat. He turned back around, pulling his hand free, to show he now held a loaded pistol that swung up in a smooth easy motion. Barely taking the time to aim, he pulled the trigger and the young man's head snapped back as blood, brains and gore exploded onto the leather seats behind him. The others startled and yelled out in horror at the sudden loud noise and the sight of their colleague's head exploding.

Roger Lindsay sat in horrified silence, staring into the glazed eyes of the murdered man, his friend, whose body had dropped back into the chair beside him haphazardly. Dr. Russ looked from the dead man back to the man holding the gun, and the other two men beside her paled to a sickly ashen grey as they stared in horror at the entire scene. The large windows of the fancy vehicle were now painted a grisly red with blood and brain tissue sliding down the smokey glass.

Maier lowered the pistol again in a casual, smooth motion as if this act was second nature to him. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he looked to each of the remaining new recruits as they each finally turned their terrified gaze back to him. He held the smoldering gun down to his side and reached for his glass again. Taking a large satisfying swallow, he crooked a grin at his slightly smaller audience.

"Any other questions?"


* * *


Sabretooth kept to the densest parts of the forest as he made his way toward Xavier's mansion. Glancing skyward now and again, Creed kept a sharp eye out for the winged mutant but there was no sign of him.

Xavier's estate was less than a mile away now and Creed wracked his brain trying to figure out how to get inside. He couldn't just walk up to the front gate and push the button simply asking to be allowed entry. But he had to make them listen, he had to make them believe what he had to say. All he could hope for at this point was that Xavier himself still had some tolerance for him. The professor had always been willing to give him a chance, to hear him out. He'd done so in the past, despite Wolverine's aggressive protests, and Victor prayed for just one more chance.

The time had come. No more games. No more lies. No more secrets.

He knew that Wraith had to be on to his scheme by now. At the very least, he must know that Sabretooth was not under his command or control - not that he ever had been. But if Weapon X had deemed it necessary to activate The Guardian then they would be on their way to intercept as well. Time was running out.

Wraith's army would be mobilized by now, and with The Guardian and Weapon X in partnership with them, Creed saw few options ahead of him. Regardless of the risks, he had to get to Logan first.


* * *


As the convoy came into sight below him, The Guardian touched down and simply stood in the middle of the road, waiting.

The trucks rumbled loudly through the otherwise peaceful countryside and as the noise came closer, echoing through the rolling hillside, Angel looked around casually as if he fully expected the sound of the rolling army to draw a spectator crowd.

Wraith straightened in his seat, coming to attention, as the figure standing in the road came into view. Clenching the stub of his cigar between his teeth, he disposed of the map that had been long-forgotten yet still lay open across his lap. Stuffing it atop the dashboard, he ordered the column to halt a dozen yards from the armed mutant even as Warren sheathed the large blade once more.

Wraith climbed out of the cab of the lead vehicle and crossed over to the center of the road, watching Angel closely as he waited for Professor Maier's team to join him. He and his men were trained soldiers; their mission, to assist in the retrieval of Wolverine and forcefully take him into custody to be turned over to the projects. It was not his mission to face off with these brainwashed assassins, so he waited.

He didn't have to wait more than half a minute though. Even with the inertial dampeners in the mobile unit it didn't take long for those inside to realize the convoy had stopped. As Maier turned to look toward the front of the vehicle, the driver informed him of the order.

Maier exited the door on the passenger side and crossed behind the trailer in front of him. The medical staff that had been passing their time inside the containment unit also exited their trailer and looked to him as he marched past, his focus on the cigar-smoking man standing at the head of the line of trucks.

As he neared Wraith, Dr. Maier glanced beyond him to see The Guardian waiting patiently. Maier turned briefly to wave his team forward with a harried gesture and the three physicians ran forward. Upon seeing Maier, Angel quickly identified him and walked forward to meet him.

Dr. Maier smiled wickedly as he faced Warren, clasping the young mutant by the arms he welcomed him back warmly. The Guardian simply looked at his master with a neutral expression as the rest of Maier's team ran up to give him a quick visual survey. It was apparent he'd seen some action, but he didn't appear to be injured.

"Take him inside. Quickly, please," Maier instructed as he guided Angel toward the medical staff who then escorted him quickly to the trailer and hustled him inside. Maier noticed the other group of recruits peering around the back of the semi-trailer, curious as to what was going on. He waved them forward even as he turned to Wraith to inform him quietly of the mess inside the last unit. "If you'd see that taken care of before we're through here... Thank you, Colonel."

As Maier escorted his young apprentices inside the silver trailer, Wraith turned to bark orders and three uniformed troops came to his beckon and were given the not-so-pleasant task of cleaning up all evidence of what had taken place and depositing the body into the back of one of the cargo trucks.

Wraith stood in the road, supervising the transfer of the body, wondering what exactly had caused the young doctor's sudden and untimely demise. Not really caring, just wondering. He stood a short distance from the silver trailer, just out of earshot of anything actually being said inside, but the sound of the disembodied voices murmuring through the wall left him feeling a bit odd himself.

A dark sensation seemed to enfold around him like a scratchy old blanket and he scowled in disgust. Rolling the cigar stub between his finger and thumb, he studied it for a moment, and then spiked it to the ground before storming back to the lead truck to await further orders.



________________________________________________________________________

TBC in ... (At Death's Door, part 3)

Chapter 29

At Death's Door, pt 3


* * * *


Victor Creed found himself being escorted to the posh library on the first floor of the Xavier Institute thanks to Professor Xavier's timely intervention. Scott Summers had given him the expected run-around and lengthy interrogation over the intercom at the estate entrance, but he'd counted on Xavier's unerring willingness to give him just one more chance. Always one more chance.

So now here he was, sitting inside the mansion having been granted an audience with the X-Men and their mentor. The man they knew best as the villainous Sabretooth began to detail for them an extensive and convoluted history of events that would eventually lead them to this very moment.

Xavier sat across from him as his students and X-Men alike streamed slowly into the room. Creed opted to not start at the very beginning, with his very first meeting with the arrogant youngster known to him only as Logan many many years ago in Japan. The events that had taken place back then consisted of information that simply wouldn't work in his favor at this point in time. Nor was it relevant to the present situation, not directly anyway and, therefore, would only lend itself to add more suspicion and doubt. As it stood already, Victor needed to overcome those very things in order to accomplish his goal.

He decided to begin with his days as a covert agent for the combined governments of the United States and Canada. Going by the codename Sabretooth, he'd been a key member of the top secret and very special black ops group known as Team X; along with Wolverine, Silver Fox, Maverick and John Wraith. They'd gone out on numerous covert missions all around the world, and he recounted for them one particular mission. Their task was to acquire --- oh why mince words? - they'd been ordered to steal a very valuable object, known as the Carbonadium Synthesizer. The C-Synth was a device which, when activated, was capable of weakening the mutant healing factor.

"Which is why Dept. H wanted it to begin with", Victor explained to Professor Xavier. He sipped expensive whiskey from a short glass as he continued to describe most of his history with Logan and with the projects. He hoped to bring the professor up-to-date and convince him of the truth in his words.

"The handlers for Team X had tested the C-Synth on Logan as they began their preparations to re-write his memories, just as they did after every mission," he told Charles even as the X-Men filed into the room one by one. "One time, as they were taking him from the C-Synth treatment room to the lab where they were gonna brainwash him again, Logan fought back. He killed one of the scientists that was escorting him with a single blow to the throat -- it was an awesome strike too, quite impressive with the speed of it. Anyway, he killed the one guy and then threatened the other.

"Because of the mindwipes, Logan had lost the knowledge of his powers... and his claws. At that particular time he hadn't been bonded with adamantium yet and, as he threatened the second guy with his fist in his face, his bone claws protracted accidentally. When Logan saw his claws again, the sight of them instantly caused flashbacks of images and pieces of his wiped memory came back to him before the erasure had time to take a firm hold.

"I had been dispatched to respond to the incident and was able to get down there to them just as Logan took control of the second guy. I didn't interfere, but I did watch him closely," Creed explained. "That was my job. My assignment was to keep Wolverine under surveillance." Victor paused briefly, as a few more of Xavier's team entered the library staring at him with disbelief. He supposed it must have been a surreal image for them to see him simply sitting there calmly; in the middle of their home, after so many years of vicious battling.

Creed considered this as the new arrivals entered the room and chose their spots to stand or lean and put all their attention toward the feral. Then he turned his eyes back to Xavier, holding the cut crystal tumbler in a large clawed hand and, after taking another sip of the smooth liquid, Victor continued from where he'd left off.

"Logan demanded to know who'd given the orders to have that done to him, but the guy simply told him that he didn't know. And Wolverine must have sensed that he was telling the truth, cuz he let him live and ordered him to tell what he did know. The scientist informed Logan that he was contacted by telephone every time Wolverine needed to be mind-wiped and he didn't know who the voice on the other end belonged to.
"His only task within the program was to erase actual memories and replace them with false ones. All knowledge of the mission and its objective, along with any and all information that Logan had learned, or used, in order to complete the task was wiped clean. Then he was to replace that knowledge with false memories that were designed, and artificially fabricated, specifically for Wolverine... for reasons still unknown."

Charles' gaze was fixed on Victor Creed. He sat nearly transfixed by the man before him. This was not the Victor Creed they had all known for years and whom many had learned to despise. This man was not a wild, rampaging animal. In fact, he was not only calm, he was surprisingly articulate as well. His thoughts were ordered and he presented them with intelligence and with extreme clarity.

Charles had to remind himself often throughout the exchange that Creed's behavior could most certainly be a ruse and he needed to stay on his toes. But a quick glance at his team; to those standing over his shoulder and those opposite him near the door, assured him that he was well-covered if anything in the way of negative intentions were to arise.

"When that task was completed," Victor told him, "he was directed to always tell Wolverine that he'd "barely made it out alive", regardless of the mission he'd been on. Then, he was to commend Logan for a job well done and immediately distract him by leading him astray. He'd hand Logan a dossier detailing his next mission, barely giving him time to take a breath or recoup if he needed it."

Professor Xavier listened with focused concentration and Charles noticed for the first time that the large furry mutant sitting in front of him had the same hint of Canadian accent shared by Wolverine; which had nearly disappeared due to many years spent on American soil. This was an incredible opportunity, Charles thought; the first real chance any of them had ever had to gain any information that would lend insight into Logan's mysterious past. The only question was -- was Sabertooth telling the truth?

Victor Creed was about as hard to read telepathically as Logan was, and Charles still wasn't certain as to why these two ferals were virtually non-existent to his psychic powers. Whether that was due to their repeated memory erasure and brainwashing, or if it was simply a natural barrier caused by their own powerful use of the lesser, primal brain, Xavier wasn't sure.

He listened with roaming attention as Victor continued, telling them of the time that Team X had been assigned to enter Russia in order to face the mutant communist agent known as Omega Red. The team had been dispatched to find him and send him back into forced hibernation. "But our cohesiveness as a team was unraveling," Victor told him. "Team X had --- well, we had our share of contention, even dissension, within our own ranks. I certainly didn't help matters any. You could probably say that I caused most of the discord."

"Well, there's a surprise," Scott offered up dryly. Creed looked over at him with a bemused grin and Scott thought to himself that Sabretooth looked just as evil when he smiled as he did when he snarled. Of course, Scott had to weigh his own bias toward that particular observation and, without throwing a barb in return, Victor turned back to address Charles.

"The friendship between me and Logan was slowly and systematically being erased from Wolverine's mind, and I ---" Victor paused for a moment, looking around the room at the few X-Men in attendance before looking back to Charles again. "I felt betrayed," Victor admitted, then took a sip of the warm liquid in his glass. "My sense of betrayal rose with every mission, helpless to do anything but watch as Logan was slowly turned against me. I know it wasn't his fault, but ---"

"But you still felt as though Logan abandoned you and your friendship," Charles nodded with understanding.

"Yes," Vic replied, his voice hoarse with the single word. He went quiet and Charles waited. The thousand yard stare of someone lost in thought appeared on Victor's face and he spoke as if from a time long forgotten. His tone was quiet with the nostalgic memories as he continued. "Logan had been the only true friend I can remember ever having... and they systematically took that away from me and erased it from existence. The more he forgot about me, about the friendship we had shared, and the more he denied that we ever were friends, the angrier I got and the dynamics of Team X became more and more volatile.

"My anger and resentment was released on that mission to Russia. I'd lost control... or perhaps I simply didn't care anymore. But as far as Logan was concerned, Victor Creed proved himself to be a cold and heartless killer. He saw me as an operative of despicable proportions who was more than willing to sell out his teammates, even kill them or leave them behind in the hands of the enemy, in order to save himself and to preserve the mission.
"Following the Moscow mission we were sent into East Germany to uncover a spy and retrieve a top secret data disc. That particular mission was one of the biggest failures we'd had up to that point," Victor told them. "The mission was continuously derailed by every conceivable issue a covert unit could expect to face; from double agents and counter-spy organizations, right down to trust and loyalty issues amongst our own team. I certainly didn't help matters and by then I had allowed my anger to manifest against the wrong person. I hated Logan for his betrayal and for abandoning our friendship."

"But you do realize that the changes in him were not conceived, nor achieved, by his own choosing ---," Charles reminded Creed.

"Of course," Victor replied. "But back then... I was young. I was being dismissed and scorned by someone I'd..."

"By someone you'd come to care about," the professor finished for him. Victor sat there for a moment, staring at the edge of the table in front of him. It took him a moment to gather the answer in his mind and to verbalize it.

"Yes," he whispered. "But by then the handlers had doubts about their ability to control Wolverine and to keep him under control. So they recruited me to be their observer... their surveyor if you will. My orders were to supervise and oversee all of Logan's activities, even to evaluate his mindset at any given time; "for the purpose of ascertaining his condition, value, and usefulness as a sleeper agent"," Creed described and then shifted himself forward in the chair, placing his glass on the table.
"Anyway, as the team fled East Germany we had a defecting female scientist with us and little by little I realized that Wolverine was regaining control of some of his memories and was becoming verbally rebellious toward our employers and the tasks they'd put before us. So, as I was directed to do, I executed the woman in cold blood right in front of him. I'd been ordered to kill her - her and any other available female targets, "as deemed necessary", if or when Wolverine ever broke free of his masters' control."

That information got a murmur of reaction from the surrounding X-Men, some shifting their positions as the shock of his admittance struck them. "Was this a woman Logan had feelings for?" Charles asked, concerned.

"No," Creed replied, "but those in charge knew that Logan had always held women in high regard. He always seemed to take their safety and protection upon himself, like a self-appointed guardian. If they were even treated disrespectfully he seemed to take it as his personal duty to defend their honor. The government wanted to control him... by any means necessary. By ordering such an action, their intention was to simply show Logan that whenever he refused to be kept on a tight leash, or to do as he was told, "pretty things would die"."

"And I'm sure you carried out your orders without any qualms of conscience," Scott jabbed at him again. Victor looked over at the X-Men's field leader and narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flared slightly as Cyclops hit a nerve.

"I did what I was told to do. I was a good soldier. I am a good soldier," Victor snarled back at Scott. Then he thought about that statement a bit more deeply before confessing, "Plus I was angry at Logan and wanted him to feel the pain that I felt. I wanted him to feel that sense of loss."

"But you are aware that it was the handlers who had turned Logan against you... and in turn, had turned you against Logan," Xavier offered carefully.

"Yes, I do now. But back then, I just wanted him to hurt."

"The way you were hurting ---"

Victor's eyes sprang up from where he'd been staring down at the table, realizing the professor was trying to lead him into an emotionally vulnerable corner. He had to stay focused here and the focus was not him or his feelings. The focus was to get Wolverine as far away from Wraith's grasp as possible, as quickly as possible. Vic met the professor's gaze, holding it for a few moments, and then continued without acknowledging the suggestion.

"Anyway, we completed the Berlin mission with the team barely making it to the extraction zone in one piece. Logan took a number of hits as he brought up the rear, watching our six as we ran for the designated extraction point. Wraith was our extraction man and he nearly showed up too late to get us out... again. We took hits we shouldn't have taken, but that was the norm with Wraith as our evac. None of us trusted him, but Logan despised him and resigned from the team shortly after we returned from Berlin.
"Dept. H and Dept. K had no choice then but to close the file on Team X. But they never closed the file on Logan... " Victor told Charles and pierced him with a heavy stare. "After the official disbanding of the team, Logan and I went our separate ways, as did the rest of our teammates. Only we were reunited not long after that, when we were abducted and imprisoned against our will... and officially placed into the original Weapon X Program."

Victor hoped he wasn't dumping too much information on the good professor all at once, but it was time he cleared the air and it was long-past time to shine the light on some very dangerous secrets. He had alot to tell and a short time to tell it.

"To make a long story short.... in their attempts to create super-powered sleeper agents, the project's directors implemented many of the experimental de-patterning techniques of the MKUltra programs, which were being conducted at the time in the U.S. and Canada. You've heard of this? Of course you have," Victor said, answering his own question and that response made Charles pause with the seeming accusation. "A large part of this de-patterning experiment consisted of brainwashing, torture, memory-erasure and false memory implantation."

Victor went on to explain that the implantation of their false memories was performed by a mutant known as The Psi-Borg, who was commissioned by the government and placed under contract specifically for the Weapon X Projects. In exchange for his cooperation he was promised immortality.

"The Psi-Borg had used elaborate movie sets to play out whatever scenarios he was charged to create as memory implants by the project engineers. Using repetitive, and often painful stimuli, these scenarios were repeatedly played back for the test subjects through specially designed equipment, such as helmets and visors."

Scott and Hank threw each other a look. They'd been wondering about the use of those particular objects since finding them in Logan's cell when they rescued him from the compound only a few months ago.

"These implements were strapped to the head in order to impede vision, hearing and other natural stimuli, and thereby was able to facilitate the imprinting of flash images of false events into the victims' memories... our memories."

Creed continued telling the details, as best he could and as quickly as he could, of their days as captives of the Weapon X Program. He told them how, when it was his turn to undergo the process, Sabretooth had been driven mad and ended up killing one of his teammates -- Silver Fox. Creed was well-aware that Wolverine had been in love with Silver Fox, and she with him. In fact, the two were a well-known item... at least, that's the way he remembered it.

Little was ever said regarding the couple's active involvement though, since both were professional agents and didn't allow their personal feelings to interfere with mission objectives. But during Creed's conditioning, and unknown to him, he'd been turned mad in the process and killed Fox, fulfilling the actions of the implanted memory of her murder at Creed's hands that had haunted Logan for years since, and had given birth to the absolute hatred Wolverine held for Sabretooth. Eventually the team escaped the Weapon X compound and went their separate ways and, through the decades, Sabretooth and Wolverine continued their personal mission of vengeance against one another.

* * * *

Hours passed quickly as the man known as Sabretooth recounted years, even decades, of history and his relationship, both good and bad, with the man known as Wolverine. But Logan wasn't the only one of the two who knew the pain of losing the woman he loved.

Many years earlier, Creed had fallen in love with a young and beautiful telepath whom he nicknamed "Birdy". Birdy's particular talent enabled her to tap Sabretooth's brain and ease his bloodlust rage. She gave Victor what he dubbed as "the glow", and it quickly became an addiction for Creed.

Her ability to reach inside his rampaging mind and temper his rage had turned Sabretooth into an almost civilized businessman, while still holding the reputation of a marauder. And it was during that time that Victor's estranged son had discovered his father's identity.

Appalled by the knowledge that he'd been sired by a mutant, Graydon Creed came after Victor. Unable to gain vengeance on Sabretooth he was able to eventually kill his father's lover. Birdy's death, and the sudden withdrawal of "the glow therapy", had driven Sabretooth insane again. Victor had lost all control at that point and Maverick called the X-Men in to help stop his rampaging madness.

To everyone's amazement, Professor Xavier refused to believe Sabretooth was beyond redemption and ordered the team to use only the force necessary to bring him into their custody despite arguments to the contrary. Certain that Creed was crying out for help, Charles chose to take him into the mansion and help him rather than kill him.

In an ironic sense of deja vu, Logan had been vehemently against the taking in of Sabretooth and, like Angel before him, Logan was told he could certainly leave the mansion by his own choice, but Creed would not be sent away. So Logan had opted, much like Warren had in the years previous, to leave his home rather than remain under the same roof with his mortal enemy. But Logan had remained on the estate, opting to live in the forest that surrounded the mansion, rather than leave entirely.

During the weeks that he was kept as a patient/prisoner in the Xavier Institute, Sabretooth constantly goaded the X-Men, taunting and harassing them and testing their patience and discipline. He often begged, and then tried to coerce, Jean Grey into giving him the "glow" that Birdy had used at regular intervals to temper Creed's feral and murderous rages, but Jean always refused to give him his "fix".


* * * *


Now, guarded by Colossus, Iceman and Cyclops as they waited for the X-Men to gather, Victor gave the beautiful red-head a wolfish grin as she entered the library; the memory of those days still fresh in his mind -- including the one night when Wolverine had been left alone to guard him.

Sabretooth had taunted Logan relentlessly that night and, when the moment was right, Creed had slammed himself into the restraining forcefield, pushing his way straight through it. He then dared Logan to go against Xavier's wishes. His orders. Victor had taunted and harassed Logan, daring his former friend to kill him and Wolverine nearly complied, imbedding a single bone claw into Creed's skull and driving the spike through Sabretooth's brain.

Following that particular encounter, Logan was ordered to leave the mansion -- which only served to feed Wolverine's own rage against Sabretooth. Creed had been reduced to a child-like mental state by the traumatic injury and was attended to, and nursed back to health, by various members of the team. He soon recovered though, thanks to his healing factor, and tricked the young girl, Boomer, into releasing him. Warren Worthington III, known then by the codename Archangel, was wounded during Creed's escape from the X-Men, which only served to fuel Warren's own anger and his spite of the two ferals.


* * * *


As the X-Men ventured into the library one by one, so many thoughts, so many memories returned to Victor in a flood of images. It seemed that his entire life was entangled with and around Logan and the X-Men just as much as he'd been involved with Weapon X.

After his escape from the mansion, Sabretooth was finally brought down again by the X-Men and was taken into government custody by Nick Fury. He was fitted with a restraining collar that prevented him from attacking or misbehaving without the government's sanction.

He was then attached to the mutant team called X-Force under duress and under the watchful eye of Fury's S.H.I.E.L.D agency. Eventually, however, Sabretooth adapted to the pain the collar generated in order to keep him under control. After he'd become accustomed to the otherwise paralyzing effects of the electrical shocks, Victor was able to work through the pain and rip the confining collar from his neck. He then hacked and slashed his way through his teammates nearly killing them all.

Victor then rejoined his true employers and took his place in the Hound Program, but soon found himself adversely criticized by his employers and punished for killing his targets instead of simply capturing them as his orders dictated. Then he'd simply disappeared, for quite some time, believed to have gone into hiding or in the employ of some secret underground organization. When he finally and inevitably re-emerged, Sabretooth had been sporting new adamantium-laced bones and claws. He'd also been charged with an extremely accelerated healing factor, making him a much more deadly opponent that now rivaled Wolverine's own natural abilities.

The reason for Victor's new abilities became clear when Logan was abducted by Apocalypse. He'd been forced to fight Sabretooth to see which of the feral mutants would become the next Horseman and Creed ended up losing his newly acquired adamantium when he failed to defeat the Wolverine. Apocalypse siphoned all the metal from Creed's bones and bonded it once again to Wolverine's skeleton. Victor was then abandoned and left for dead, and Wolverine was taken away to be conditioned - through torture and mind-manipulation again - to become the new Horseman, known as Death.

Many months later, Creed was captured by what turned out to be a revamped Weapon X project. He ran some recruiting missions for them, but he appalled most of the agents with his twisted bloodlust. Secretly though, Sabretooth had been gathering information, such as the Project Director's command codes and access to other important resources, which he used even after escaping from the program yet again.

Sabretooth and Wolverine spent the following years being captured and abducted over and over again and eventually escaping the clutches of Weapon X. At one point, Victor Creed set himself up against the organization, beating them to their recruits and killing them in horrible and heinous ways just so they couldn't be used by the government. Worse still, Creed planned to sell the secrets of the Weapon X projects to other countries that were looking to set up their own mutant, super-soldier armies.

Later, he was captured again and forced to become a member of a new, more advanced, version of the Weapon X program where, by means of genetic enhancement, they were able to increase Creed's strength and accelerate his healing factor. Eventually he escaped again and had been operating as a solo agent for a time. After finding himself pursued by a super human group, who called themselves The Children, Creed had found they'd temporarily neutralized his healing factor, and managed to escape his pursuers only to end up at the Xavier Institute again seeking sanctuary.


* * * *


The Professor had never turned him away before and Creed had been certain that he'd be willing to hear him out again this time. He was proven correct, yet again, despite Scott Summers' attempts to keep him at bay outside the main security gates at the estate's entrance. He couldn't blame the boyscout for his unrelenting suspicion, but -- this time he was trying to help. Really.

All of this history with Wolverine, with the X-Men, with Weapon X, rushed back to Victor as he sat in the comfortable Victorian-style chair inside the mansion's library sitting face to face with Professor Xavier himself. Victor's gaze casually rose to the stoic Cyclops standing like a stormtrooper just behind Xavier's chair; his stance was wide, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his jaw was set so hard Victor could see his facial muscles pulsating beneath the pale flesh.

As the last members of the X-Men entered the room, Creed remained seated but alert. His senses easily picked up each person's arrival and their identity, as well as which positions they were taking in the room behind him.

When Logan arrived, hobbling on crutches with Ororo by his side, Victor straightened attentively in the high-backed chair, not having to actually see Wolverine's eyes narrow at the sight of him. He breathed deeply through his nose, scenting the other feral, but aside from turning his head slightly Victor remained seated, facing Charles.

All of the past events he'd mentioned to Xavier as the X-Men listened in, would appear to be unrelated events in history, but each one of them lent themselves to him being here today. Victor answered questions and commented on accusatory remarks as they were thrown out at him, but his focus remained a single-minded purpose -- to escape with Wolverine and try to stay two steps ahead of the military and the Project's directors. There was just too much at stake at this point.

"I still don't understand what you're trying to get at, Sabretooth," Cyclops told him. "What does all of that have to do with here and now?"

Victor raised his eyes from the Professor to Summers, his patience was wearing thin but he continued to hold his temper in check. "All of it has to do with the here and now," Creed explained again. "Their entire focus, for decades, has been to gain total control over Wolverine, and those like him, to use as sleeper agents. Their sole purpose is to find a way to create an unstoppable living weapon, a mutant assassin of undeniable skill and training."

"So you've said already," Scott went on. "What we don't understand is your stake in this. You've been mortal enemies with Wolverine probably longer than the rest of us have been alive."

"That's not true," Victor replied.

"So what's changed?" Scott asked outwardly suspicious and untrusting.

"Nothing's changed. That's what I'm trying to tell you!" he nearly roared. "Me an' Logan used to be friends! We were friends! And then those bastards from Weapon X got their hands on us --- on him. They turned him against me. They know that the only person who could possibly save Wolverine from their clutches... is me. That's why they turned him against me. They gave him memories of --- "

Logan leaned on his crutches, standing beside Ororo near the door, as they listened to Victor's explanation. His face etched with a deep scowl as some of what Creed was saying seemed to ring true in his head, while the memories of the rest were irretrievable by him. Whether that was due to the tampering or due to it being a false statement, Logan couldn't be sure.

"We were never friends," Logan growled out, cutting off Victor's words. Vic turned in his seat to look over at Wolverine, glancing at Storm briefly.

"We were," he insisted calmly. "When you were first recruited into the special ops division, you were young and cocky, but a bit green compared to some of us. You an' me hit it off pretty good. We were the same. See?"

"I am not the same as you," Wolverine growled out low.

"Yes, you are. I'm no different than you. They've just made you believe that. They gave you memories of me - of us - that would ensure your distrust of me."

"Why would they do that?" Logan asked.

"Because I'm dangerous to their plans."

"You're just dangerous."

"I'm not the lunatic they want you all to believe," Creed told them.

"No, you're the lunatic you made us believe in," Scott remarked.

"I know you all feel that way, but ---"

"There is no but, Sabretooth --" Logan shot out.

"My name is Victor. You used to call me Victor."

"Well, news flash, bub, I don't remember that," Logan snarled at him as he hobbled closer on the crutches. Creed slowly stood up and turned to face Wolverine, his eyes sizing him up and trying to determine the extent of the injuries he'd committed against the other Canadian.

"It's true, Logan."

"Victor -- ?" Charles said quietly to bring his attention around and Creed turned to him. "Why are you here now? What is it you're afraid of?" Professor Xavier asked and Victor pinned him with a focused stare.

"Death. That's what I'm afraid of," Creed answered. "And so should you be. They've brainwashed your man -- Angel? Worthington... he's the enemy now."

"So that would put him on the same side as... you?" Logan asked sarcastically.

"No. He's been turned. His codename is The Guardian."

"Cute. The Guardian? Like.... the Guardian Angel?" Logan asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"More like an Angel of Death," Creed corrected.

"Yes, we're well aware of Angel's sudden desire to kill Wolverine," Scott informed him with a dark tone. Creed looked to the visored X-Man, his eyes narrowing -- not in anger but in curiosity.

"Kill Wolverine?" he repeated, not understanding. Shaking his head, Victor told them, "He doesn't want to kill Wolverine. His mission is to capture Wolverine and return him to Weapon X."

"That might be his mission," Scott challenged, stepping around the professor's chair, "but his intentions are to bring death to Wolverine. He said so himself. He said it to my face. "I will bring death to Wolverine and nobody will stop me." Scott echoed the words back to him for all to hear and Victor grinned wryly and shook his head.

"Yeah, he's focused on bringing Death to Wolverine... not killing him. Don't you get it? Death? Big D, not little d... the Horseman, Death. The government and the Weapon X goons got information through an infiltrator at SHIELD headquarters. They have Logan's files. Everything that happened during his time under Apocalypse's control? His programming, his de-programming... what it took to take him down. Death was almost the end of all of us. YOU fought him, you must remember. He almost annihilated the X-Men as Death!

"Can you imagine??" Victor asked with heightened emotion. "The programming of Wolverine, the brainwashing of Weapon X blended with his brainwashing as Death? He'd be the ultimate unstoppable weapon, beyond anything they'd hoped for him as Weapon X alone. You get it now?" Creed explained heatedly. "This mutant assassin they want -- isn't an assassin who happens to be a mutant... although that is part of it. They want him as a mutant assassin. His mission would be to assassinate, extinguish, execute... mutants! That's our stake in this! They get their hands on him again --- we're all dead."

Now they were listening. Shocked into silence, some barely breathing, as the possibility of what Sabretooth had put before them became all too clear. Logan stared at him, his expression was serious and Victor knew that Logan believed what he said. That was one thing about heightened senses, he knew Logan could read his body's signals; his scent, his heart rate, his perspiration level, all of it worked together to tell Wolverine when someone was lying, or when they were telling the truth.

Now Logan swallowed hard, his heart pounded behind his rib cage and fear rose up inside him. Victor stepped closer to him but kept a safe distance. "The Weapon Plus Program was... is... a United States supersoldier program. It was originally created in the 1940s with the sole purpose of creating supersoldiers and assassins; not only to be employed in conventional warfare, but also to be employed for the extermination of mutants. Weapon X was the first installation of the Weapons Plus Program to victimize mutants. Weapon X -- you -- are the first successfully created assassin of mutantkind... and you still have no idea just how dangerous you are to your own people."

Logan remained silent as he looked up at the feral towering over him. Victor simply fell silent and kept his eyes glued to Wolverine's. The two men - once friends, now mortal enemies - simply looked at each other as the information given, and the information taken, was slowly absorbed by everyone in the room.

"We need to go," Victor told him quietly. "Now." Logan lowered his gaze. Unfocused he stared at the Persian rug under their feet, then he raised his eyes to Charles who was looking back at him with his own serious concern darkening his blue eyes.


* * * * * *


Miles away, a military convoy sits idly on the side of a beautiful country lane that leads directly to the Xavier Institute. Standing outside the line of vehicles stood Colonel John Wraith who once went by the codename Kestrel. Some of the troops that accompanied the convoy had taken up stations on the road and along the wooded area as ordered; mainly to give the men something to do and to stretch their legs so they wouldn't be cramped and slow when they reached their intended target.

Wraith was growing impatient though. He wanted to get back on the road, but the doctors were all having a bit of a powwow inside the large silver trailer. He couldn't wait to get his hands on Wolverine and see him contained in that suite. Wraith snarled a bit around the stogie clamped in his teeth as the image of Sabretooth restrained by the shorter feral's side sent an evil bolt of pleasure through his brain.

With a sigh and a rather loud huff, Wraith spun around and marched to the trailer's door. He didn't open it or even knock, instead he tilted his head and pressed his ear to the metallic siding. He could hear an ongoing conversation still in full swing and his shoulders deflated a bit, realizing they wouldn't be leaving this spot too soon. But he was taken a bit by surprise that he actually found what was being said inside the private sanctum to be of interest.


* * * * * *


"We've been successful in developing a new method for the study and control of the cerebral functioning in both animals and humans," the professor mentioned vaguely in the continuing conversation.

"And what exactly would that method entail, Dr. Maier?" Dr. Todd Phillips inquired, finally speaking up from his place within the new group.

"Well, we've been extremely successful in getting the subject to obey detailed commands, even from great distances, by electrically stimulating certain regions of the brain. Using radio signals set at certain frequencies we can stimulate synaptic receptors in order to achieve a specified reaction from the subject," Maier explained. "Through many years of trial and error, the successors of Professor Eichmann's work have successfully implanted bundles of fine wires and receptors to specific areas of the brain into which we can transmit those frequencies."

"And what exactly would be the precise purpose of such an invasive procedure, Doctor?" Roger asked.

"The purpose, Dr. Lindsay, was to gain complete physical control over the subject's mind. We've succeeded in many of these areas with our mongrel - codenamed Prince for our purposes - as well as some of his fellow mutants, like The Guardian here. Our hope was that someday, perhaps, this application might prove successful in directing entire armies."

"But it sounds like an incredibly delicate procedure."

"It has proven to be in some cases, yes," Dr. Maier freely admitted. "In fact it has proven fatal in many cases where the subjects simply could not withstand the intensity of psycho-surgical procedures. However, it is not a complex process any longer, Doctors. Now we can simply use certain frequencies, through radio transmission, to produce stimulation of the brain activity.
"Although Prince had been implanted decades ago with receiver chips that lie deep within his brain tissues, that particular invasive procedure is no longer needed. Now all we do is place the subject under hypnosis and mentally program them to maintain the determination to perform a specific act. They are of a single focus until that act is completed. With a low-profile muscle stimulating chip implanted beneath the skin, a simple radio transmission can activate the implant to stimulate the specific muscle that has been designated to activate the specific command function."

"Wait a second. Hasn't science already established that it's impossible to hypnotize a person to commit an act that he wouldn't commit when consciously aware?" asked Roger as he studied a small bundle of silica-like wires.

"Ahhh, yes. That may be true, Dr. Lindsay, but we've also come to the conclusion that you can induce a man to commit an act that may be contrary to his own sense of morality if enough distortion can be placed on his reality," Maier explained.

"Meaning?"

"Imagine, if you will," Dr. Maier went on to explain, "giving a man the suggestion that, while sitting across from his best friend during lunch, he should kill the friend if the man picks up his fork. He wouldn't do this, now would he? Most likely not. Now... distort his reality and give him the suggestion that the man sitting across from him is his enemy who will attempt to kill him with a fork. Tell him to defend himself, to kill or be killed, and he will kill the same man, but in a distorted sense of reality."

"Oh my God.This is Manchurian Candidate type of stuff you're talking about here," Lindsay commented incredulously.

"Well, one of the behavioral modification pilot programs, referred to as Project ARTICHOKE, along with another called BLUEBIRD, did involve the systematic and detailed creation of specific amnesia barriers, as well as new identities as we see in this subject," Maier explained, indicating Warren who sat before them focusing straight ahead, back straight and body rigid. "We can hypnotically implant codes and triggers that will result in the required behavior or action, even from great distances, simply by the use of suggestion."

"That's incredible," Dr. Russ remarked as she studied Warren with morbid interest.

"It is indeed," Maier agreed as he stepped closer to her to admire one of his greatest accomplishments. Cupping his hand around Warren's jaw, he raised the man's chin to look him in the eyes. The usually bright blue eyes of the Angel seemed dead; lifeless and unfeeling. The professor smiled, well-pleased.

"What you're describing is a deliberate and forced dissociation of self." Dr. Lindsay realized, turning a frown on Dr. Maier.

"It is," Dr. Maier agreed. "The experiments conducted under the codenames BLUEBIRD and ARTICHOKE were instrumental in our successes in this field. Our subjects have clearly demonstrated that they have the ability to pass from a fully awake state into a deep hypnotically controlled state with the use of the most subtle signals.
"A telephone ringing, reading a written message, hearing a specific word or a certain piece of music, a simple gesture... anything that can be imagined can be used as a trigger.
"Even the most subtle signals can be used that cannot be detected by other people in the room and quite often without other individuals being able to even note any changes in the subject's overt behavior.
"The best part is that the control of these subjects can be passed along from one person to another quite easily. So we no longer have the need to train specific handlers to control these subjects as we did in the past."

"And what happens to these subjects once their services are no longer needed?" Roger asked casually as he let his eyes scan the multitude of dials and gauges on the unfamiliar consoles that surrounded the group inside the trailer. He felt repulsed by what he was hearing, but he controlled his emotions realizing he and the others with him were into something that could turn out to be quite dangerous; as Dr. Carlton had found out but would never realize.

So Lindsay feigned sincere interest, but allowed his skepticism to show through just enough to allow himself some leeway to ask for specific proofs of the doctor's claims. He hoped that by adopting this stance he could become a trusted member of Maier's team and achieve enough freedom within the projects to do some snooping of his own. His admitted and openly skeptical attitude about the veracity of their accomplishments would allow him to seek that proof through detailed explanations or written documents. And by learning as much as he could, Lindsay hoped he could be of some benefit to the unwitting souls who found themselves trapped and held captive within the government's torture cells.

"If you're asking how we dispose of the subjects once their usefulness no longer exists --" Maier remarked and Dr. Lindsay turned toward him.

"I am."

"Well, that particular problem had been addressed repeatedly in the past. Several recommendations were made in favor of performing lobotomies on retired subjects. This would, of course, give us a permanent solution that would ensure the security of any information or knowledge they might have gathered in their careers."

Lindsay nodded, although the thought of performing such a drastic procedure on an otherwise viable human being made his stomach turn over. It was true that such an operation would work in their favor and it was that fact that gained the nod of affirmation, not that he was in favor of it as a solution.

"However," Dr. Godin interjected from his chair in front of the console, "those suggestions were ultimately rejected as too unethical and too great a risk for negative publicity for the projects if that knowledge were ever brought to the public's awareness." He spoke without turning from his work as he continued to record information that showed itself on the various monitors in front of him. The machines were connected to Angel by electronic monitoring systems that had been applied to his neck, cheeks, temples and scalp.

"Unethical? Interesting summation, considering the field of your endeavors. Wouldn't you say, Professor?" Lindsay asked with a bemused smirk, turning back to Maier again, who simply smiled at the younger man. He too could see the irony, if not the very hypocrisy of such moral judgements coming from the very people involved with the creation and funding of such barbaric and often sadistic experiments.
"The amnesiac barriers you mentioned; are you able to create amnesiac episodes simply by the use of hypnosis?" Lindsay asked as if enthralled with the aspects of the work being offered to him and his colleagues.

"Yes, we can. But hypnosis is not our only method for creating controlled and sustainable amnesia. Drugs, sound waves, magnetic fields, electro-shock, sleep deprivation and solitary confinement are a few of our preferred methods. Some of our subjects respond better to one method over another. Like our mongrel out there... he doesn't respond appropriately to mind-altering drugs without focused invasive tactics."

"Such as?"

"Oh ---" Maier thought for a moment, then let out an exasperated sigh as he recalled the numerous problems that arose with the mongrel mutant's conditioning. "The use of a power suppression collar, for instance, in order to test the subject's subjugation with psychochemical agents."

"Because of his regenerative abilities? He's able to - what? - kick the substance from his system?"

"Exactly. So, in order to successfully control this particular subject, we've had to resort to manipulative techniques that would make even the strongest amongst us cringe." Lindsay could only imagine the horrors that statement conjured up and he simply blinked at the professor thoughtfully, realizing that he was actually unable to respond. He listened as closely as he could as the senior scientist continued. "We also have the ability to guarantee amnesia for a specific period of time by using hypnosis in conjunction with electric shock. We can even reduce the subject to a vegetative state through electro-shock treatments. And, to top it all off, we can guarantee total amnesia of the very knowledge that the treatment was even performed by using convulsive shock therapy."

"Convulsive shock --?" Lindsay was aghast and barely able to contain his absolute disgust at the evidence of the inhumane treatment put upon unwilling American and Canadian citizens for the selfish goals of greedy, power mongering government officials.

"Yes, convulsive," Maier affirmed. "So, as you see, Doctor, we've proven without a doubt, that these individuals can be induced into a hypnotic state by extremely subtle means; whether by telephone, by receiving written matter, or by the use of a code, a signal, or specific words. And, the control of these hypnotized subjects can be passed from one individual to another without great difficulty. They've even shown to have been successfully conditioned and re-programmed to the point where they believe their own change in identity to be the truth even on a polygraph test.�

"Experimentally created Dissociative Identity Disorder? You're purposely creating multiple personalities within the test subjects," Roger concluded in astonishment.

"Yes, we are. That's what we do," Devan Maier affirmed matter-of-factly.

"How?" Dr. Russ wanted to know. Roger Lindsay looked at her, concerned about her level of intrigue and couldn't help the sense he got from her that she'd be literally drooling over this opportunity if she could. But, to his surprise, it wasn't Maier who answered her question.

"To produce beneficial dissociative effects from torture activity, the torture itself must be administered tri-fold - publicly, deliberately and repeatedly," Dr. Godin added. His own knowledge of the torture sequences involved in making prime candidates, for the governments that have contracted him and his fellows into service, was more limited hands-on experience than some of the others who worked there, but he could certainly convey the information in a very impersonal manner. "Quite often the torture activity is required to be sadistic and, even when sexually focused, must be performed with undisguised pleasure by the administrator of the torture. That is not to say that the action should bring sexual pleasure to the torturer, but pleasure to the ego as it experiences the very power of the act they are performing, that is what I am referring to.
"Only when the subject feels totally helpless and at the mercy of someone who is obviously without mercy, that is when we achieve the all-encompassing, even pervasive, long-lived, and, frequently, irreversible effects of torture."

"And it is in that way, that the torture victim's own body is rendered his worst enemy. We use it against him. Correct?" Dr. Russ asked with a hint of sadistic interest and smiled again in light of the revelation.

"We do not refer to the subjects as "victims", Dr. Russ... ever," Dr. Maier corrected. "They are simply subjects appropriated for the use in experimental testing sanctioned by the government. We do not give thought to them as living creatures other than to note and record the effects of our experiments on their mental and physical beings. Understood?" Maier informed her and pinned her with a dark stare.

"Absolutely, Professor. My mistake," Dr. Russ smiled back and tilted her head forward in respect and acknowledgement. "I apologize, Dr. Godin, please go on. I find this most interesting indeed."

"What you need to realize and remember is that the conditioning and re-programming of these subjects is dependent on the procedures themselves resulting in corporeal agony that compels the subject's ego to mutate," Dr. Godin explained. Then he swiveled around in the tall chair bolted to the trailer floor and slid off the seat. He stepped over to Warren and adjusted a lead on his temple and re-positioned one to the back of his skull, never derailing from his train of thought.
"His identity should slowly shatter and fragment, while at the same time, his ideals, morals and principles crumble like ashened embers." Godin then turned and went back to the console, pushed a few buttons and picked up his clipboard again.
"The most amazing nuance of torture, in my humble opinion, is the realization that the subject's own body becomes an accomplice of the tormentor. It can become a channel of unending communication between the administrator of the torture set and the subject, and the subject himself becomes a vessel of pain; his body becomes a treasonous, poisoned territory that he cannot escape."

"Indeed," Maier nodded, confirming the veracity of Godin's explanation. "The wracked body and mind of the subject fosters an intense dependency of the subject to the administrator; a humiliating dependency, I'm sure, but it is a humiliation that is registered only somewhere deep within the lower reaches of the subject's mind."

"Aside from the painful applications of this torture, I'm assuming that their bodily needs are also denied in order to accomplish most of these results? I mean, not all of your techniques need to be so aggressive, right?" Dr. Lindsay asked, in order to clarify the exact modes they used in their more passive/aggressive techniques.

"Yes... of course," Devan replied, turning his suspicious gaze on Roger. "Sleep, food, water, toilet, even freedom of movement eventually become things that induce fear, and are wrongly perceived by the subject as the direct causes of his degradation and dehumanization. The begin to fear closing their eyes to sleep, even though we give them every opportunity to rest. They become nearly frozen in fear, unable to produce the swallow reflex due to subconscious signals that the reward is unwarranted and therefore they are physically unable to take in nourishment. I don't think I need to actually explain the vulnerabilities naturally inherent in simply using the toilet, do I? They will even learn to not breathe for great lengths of time... for the terror associated with movement freezes their lungs, since movement is what draws attention, it is one of the first defensive mechanisms the subjects adopt."

"So, eventually, as the victim sees it, he is rendered into a bestial state, not necessarily by the sadistic bullies around him but by his own flesh," Dr. Lindsay boldly and deliberately slipped in his wording and Maier whirled on him.

"Who are you calling a sadistic bully??" he nearly roared. Veins popped out in his neck and forehead as his rage skyrocketed. "We conduct established experiments that include pain and discomfort to achieve our goals!! And they are not victims!! They are test subjects!!"

"My apologies, Professor. I should keep a tighter rein on my tongue," Lindsay lamented as he took note of the scientist's reaction. He watched the other man closely, as if he was a test subject in his own experiment. Roger did, however, keep tight control of the smile of satisfaction that wanted to bloom on his face. That would've gotten him killed, he was sure.

"Torture can often be reinforced with an application of the same sets done to kin and kith or even to colleagues. Simply the threat of having the same terrors put upon those the subject cares about is enough to induce the psychotic response we're looking for. The reason for this action is that it's intended to disrupt the continuity of the subject's surroundings, their habits, even their appearance and relationships with others.
"As you know, Doctors, a cohesive sense of self, and a solid indentification with that self, is crucially dependent on the familiar and the continuity of the familiar in our lives," Professor Maier explained as if actually lecturing a class on the basics of Torture 101.
"By attacking and disrupting both; one's biological body and one's social body, the subject's psyche becomes strained, and that amount of emotional and psychological stress brings the subject to the point of dissociation. The mind has no choice. It's perspective of self has no identification with anything or anyone around it. It's as if it floats disconnected in space, ready to be molded, to be "created" in another's image."

"I understand this concept," Dr. Russ mentioned as she turned away from her scrutiny of the trance-like state of The Guardian. She let her fingertips draw themselves down Warren's jawline in an almost tender caress and Lindsay nearly snarled at the hypocrisy of her touch. "By isolating the subject from all that is, or once was, familiar to him, a gap between "I" and "me" widens, and the dissociation increases, and in so doing increases the sense of alienation."

"Exactly!" Maier complimented her. "The subject, under torture, is forced into a position of pure object and loses his sense of individuality, his sense of privacy from the world at large and his sense of intimacy with those around him.
"They experience time in the now, in the present only, because it becomes all they have. And in that respect, their perspective of the world; which normally allows for a sense of relativity to things around them, is disrupted until it no longer holds a sense of reality.
"Thoughts and dreams attack the mind and invade the body. Nightmares and terror thoughts become their existence... and we become their salvation. We can make the pain go away, we can give the reward of peace and pleasure. We become ---"

"-- their master." Lindsay drolled out.

Dr. Maier grinned evilly and nodded. "We take from the subject the most basic modes of relating to reality and that, becomes the equivalent of cognitive death. We warp their sense of space and time by implementing sleep deprivation.
"The identification of self is shattered. The subject ends up with nothing familiar to hold on to: no family, no home, no personal belongings, no loved ones, no language, no history, no name."
The Professor moved across the small open space to regard his work closely, staring into the unfocused gaze of the man who was once a loyal supporter of Charles Xavier. Charles Xavier --- the progeny of Professor Brian Xavier,' Dr. Maier smiled at the irony and then snapped himself back to the present discussion.
"Gradually, they lose their mental resilience and sense of freedom. They feel alien, not only to themselves but to the world around them; unable to communicate or relate to others, and unable to attach themselves or empathize with others as human beings."

"So, how is it that they become dependent on their abuser if they no longer can relate to others?" The young Dr. Garra asked, not quite able to follow the topic's acceleration from one area to another. Up to now he'd remained silent, listening, having been a bit overwhelmed by their circumstances and opted to allow his colleague Lindsay to do most of the talking. Now he found himself numbly curious as well. The Professor raised an eyebrow, quirking a grin, again pleased, as the new voice spoke out from the group.

"Deprived of contact with others, the subject eventually becomes starved for human interaction. With that outward interaction denied to them, the prey bonds with the predator as it were. It's referred to as "traumatic bonding", not unlike the Stockholm Syndrome. As strange as it may sound, it is a bonding that centers itself around hope and a search for meaning in the brutal and indifferent, nightmarish universe of the torture cell. What you need to wrap your head around - all of you - is that torture in itself is the ultimate act in perverted intimacy."

"Intimacy?" Dr. Garra asked incredulously.

"Yes, absolutely -- intimacy," Maier confirmed. "We invade the subject's body, we pervade his psyche and possess his mind. One's body is like a temple; it's a familiar territory where one expects certain reactions and responses and recognizes the effects of a multitude of sensory input. It is the one place in which one's privacy, intimacy, integrity and inviolability are guaranteed... normally.
"Torture is considered by most to be an obscenity, in that it joins what is most private with what is most public. The administrator of the torturous acts invades, defiles and desecrates this shrine... repeatedly. He breaks it down and makes it something once worshipped into something now repulsive to the subject.
"Torture takes all the isolation and intimate solitude of privacy and twists it into an unrecognizable thing with none of the usual security that normally accompanies this type of voluntary isolation. At the same time, it entails all the self-exposure of the utterly public without any of the possibilities for friendship or camaraderie. Even the chance to find someone to have the shared experience with is non-existent."

"Strange that you would actually use the word "obscenity" to describe what it is you do," Lindsay challenged carefully.

"I only use it in the degree that others, those who wouldn't understand the important work we're trying to accomplish here, would use. So we'll keep with that word as a sort of "nod" if you will to those who would oppose us. Shall we?" Maier offered with an almost pleasing grin.

"Oh, absolutely," Roger agreed whole-heartedly. "Obscenity works for me."

"Right, there you are then," Maier went on. "A further obscenity of torture is that it turns intimate human relationships inward." Dr. Lindsay cocked his head slightly with an expression that conveyed his lack of understanding in that sentence. Dr. Maier gave him a single nod of acknowledgement and proceeded to explain in more detail. "The interrogation, for example, is a form of social encounter in which the normal rules of communicating, of relating to another human being, and the intimacy of such communication and relation are manipulated by the interrogator.
"Dependency is elicited by the interrogator, by withholding what the subject needs in order to gain that which he is looking for, whether it be a specific act or information. But he doesn't create dependency in order to meet those needs in a close relationship to the subject. No, he does this to weaken and confuse the one being interrogated. The independence and often the freedom offered in return for the information is a 'betrayal'.
"It is a lie in that the interrogator has no intention of fulfilling the subject's needs.
"And the subject's silence is intentionally misinterpreted by the interrogator as either confirmation of information or as guilt. This intentional misinterpretation causes stress on the subject as he realizes he's damned if he does, and he's damned if he doesn't.
"Our torture techniques combine repeated instances of complete humiliating exposure with the devastation of utter isolation. The outcome, as you will see... the final product of the Weapon X Program, is a scarred and often shattered individual."

"In essence," Dr. Lindsay dared, "he becomes an empty shell."

"Yes, in essence, he does."

"An empty display that ends up being the result of your false power," Roger challenged again and his colleague Dr. Garra spun around with wide eyes to stare at him. His shaking hands came up to grip Lindsay's elbow, silently begging him to stop his line of commentary before he got himself killed.

But Maier didn't pull his pistol, he simply regarded Lindsay with an interested stare and then smiled, amused. "Hardly a false power, Doctor, I assure you. It appears to be a fictional power, I'm sure, while looking upon an emptied vessel.... but once we begin to mold that creation into that which we desire... to accomplish that, takes immense power and a constitution made of iron."

Dr. Russ looked at her fellow recruits with her own bemused grin. She wasn't entirely sure what Roger's issues were with this intriguing experimental program for she couldn't wait to get started herself; already dreaming of the day when she would be honored with the privilege of conducting her own experimental testing on future super-soldiers.

"The subject gradually becomes obsessed by his endless re-occurring thoughts of the torture and of his non-existent station in life, of his worthlessness and subjugation at the hands of others.
"He is demented by pain and the continuous sleeplessness of an unnatural insomnia. The subject systematically regresses, shedding all but the most primitive defense mechanisms. "His psyche begins to split, and he throws off his sense of ego as a worldly creature and turns that into a Projective Identification. He begins to incorporate the characteristics of a being or object that is so desired by the administrator. Even while the ego fights for its own survival, it also tries to fend off future attacks by becoming a reflection of the administrator. It becomes an unknowing accomplice in its own destruction.
"The inconsistency that the subject eventually exhibits, because of this duality of defense, between the beliefs he holds - or between his actions and beliefs - produces a cacophony of internal arguments within his own psyche.
"The subject is eventually seen as a walking contradiction of feelings, thoughts, actions and beliefs and he will eventually construct an alternative world that only he sees or believes exists. A world detached from our reality because he is detached from what we know to be reality. The subject will also often suffer from depersonalization and derealization, along with hallucinations, delusions, and psychotic episodes."

"He becomes totally dehumanized," Roger concluded, his eyes like daggers, pinning Maier.

"He becomes a being existing in an altered state of consciousness, he regresses to a primitive state, he becomes... an animal," Maier confirmed with a nod.

"My God --- " Lindsay muttered breathlessly and Maier gave a genuine smile.

"Not quite," The Professor replied with a small smile. "Well... not quite yet anyway."


_________ ____________ ____________ _____________ _____________


TBC.... "The Pursuit of Weapon X"



Ref: http://www.wanttoknow.info/bluebird10pg

Chapter 30

The Pursuit of Weapon X, pt 1

* * * *

Now Logan swallowed hard, his heart pounded behind his rib cage and fear rose up inside him. Victor stepped closer to him but kept a safe distance. "The Weapon Plus Program was... is... a United States super soldier program. It was originally created in the 1940’s with the sole purpose of creating super soldiers and assassins; not only to be employed in conventional warfare, but also to be employed for the extermination of mutants. Weapon X was the first installation of the Weapons Plus Program to victimize mutants. Weapon X -- you are the first successfully created assassin of mutant kind... and you still have no idea just how dangerous you are to your own people."

Logan remained silent as he looked up at the feral towering over him. Victor simply fell silent and kept his eyes glued to Wolverine's. The two men - once friends, now mortal enemies - simply looked at each other as the information given, and the information taken, was slowly absorbed by everyone in the room.

"We need to go," Victor told him quietly."Now."

Logan lowered his gaze. Unfocused he stared at the Persian rug under their feet then he raised his eyes to Charles who was looking back at him with his own serious concern darkening his blue eyes.

"I'm not goin' anywhere with you, Sabretooth," Logan said, shaking his head.

"You have to, Logan," Victor insisted. "Your beast is precisely what I'm talking about. That part of you that you've hated your whole life? They put it there."

"No. It's a part of me that I was born with," Logan admitted though reluctantly.

"Yeah, maybe part of it is... like me. We're ferals. Of course there's a predatory part to our mutations... but that's the part they focused on. That's the part of our psyches that they hurt. That's the part that they wanted to split off from the rest of our psyche and make it its own entity. They turned his predation instincts into a raging, angry beast... the very beast that terrifies you."

Logan's eyes shot to Victor's but before he could rebuke that statement Creed continued.

"They fed our beasts with the "Red Fire"," Victor told him and Logan furrowed his brow even more. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

"No," Logan growled.

"Red Fire was the code name for all the energy, all the anger and hatred and rage that we stored away inside ourselves during the inflicted trauma. All that hatred and fear accumulated over the years, with each assault, with each experiment, with each torture..."

Victor paused, watching Logan closely.

"You took that Red Fire energy above and beyond anything they had hoped for. Your animal, the animal they created inside you had turned that energy into a berserker rage that makes the Wolverine's beast and unstoppable and explosive weapon. They want that weapon!"

"I -- I don't remember any of this," Logan said to no one in particular.

"No, of course you don't," Creed acknowledged. "Not only did they create amnesiac barriers with their mind-wipes and brainwashing, but the creation of each of those alternate identities also created their own amnesiac barrier, and each barrier totally separates each of these experiences from our conscious recall," Victor explained to Charles and those gathered in the library.

"This would explain the reasons behind Logan's, as well as your own, fluctuating moods and behaviors," Charles ascertained aloud.

"Yes," Creed confirmed. "Once it was proven that the Program could create dissociated identities in their sleeper agents and assassins anytime they pleased, well, from that point on it became standard operating procedure. Dissociation had become a way of life for us in order to cope with the severe trauma from the experiments and the prolonged abuse. We had no control over it, Logan... none. It was simply our mind's way of allowing each of us to stay sane... when everything around us was totally insane and out of control."

Charles and Logan looked to one another as each of them recalled that moment in their past when Wolverine had ordered Xavier to open his memories and Charles had refused, using the reasoning that Logan's mind had indeed blocked out the events in order to keep him sane. The two men stared at each other somberly when Victor's voice pulled them back to the present.

"The project engineers deprived us of normal human relationships during the years they kept us captive. They used physical isolation and sensory deprivation to heighten our sensitivity to human contact. The longer we were kept from normal society and normal relationships the more like them we became... even though we fought them, each in our own ways. It was systematic to the point that our own experiences caused us to withdraw from the normal world which had become alien and threatening to us.

"We were outside of normal experiences and memories and it became a vicious circle... those who caused us the pain were also the only ones who could bring us comfort, even pleasure and euphoria. So we would unconsciously continue to seek out only the company of those we knew and not those who could help us to see that what we'd become wasn't normal. Whenever we tried to live in the normal world, with normal society, we would only be reminded over and over again just how abnormal we were and that would trigger anger and rage and then rampaging emotions..."

"I get it," Logan interjected to stop his words. He'd heard enough. He'd heard more than enough.

* * * * * * * * *

"The inconsistency that the subject eventually exhibits, because of this duality of defense, between the beliefs he holds - or between his actions and his beliefs - produces a cacophony of internal arguments within his own psyche.

"The subject is eventually seen as a walking contradiction of feelings, thoughts, actions and beliefs and he will eventually construct an alternative world that only he sees or believes exists. A world detached from our reality because he is detached from what we know to be reality. The subject will also often suffer from depersonalization and de-realization along with hallucinations, delusions, and psychotic episodes."

"He becomes totally dehumanized," Roger concluded, his eyes like daggers, pinning Maier.

"He becomes a being that exists in an altered state of consciousness, he regresses to a primitive state, he becomes... an animal," Maier confirmed with a nod.

"My God…." Lindsay muttered breathlessly and Maier gave a genuine smile.

"Not quite," The Professor replied with a small smile. "Well... not quite yet anyway."

* * * * * *

After more discussion within the privacy of the containment trailer, the convoy eventually resumed its travels toward Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning and Dr. Maier and his newly formed scientific medical team had returned to the comfortable surroundings of the double wide recreation vehicle. Wraith had seen to it that the mess of splattered brain matter was cleaned up before the team's return, leaving behind a rather potent but inoffensive cleanser odor lingering in the enclosed area. Even with the large windows opened it would take a day or two for the upholsteries to be aired out in order to dissipate the chemical vapor.

Dr. Lindsay sat in a swivel chair toward the back of the vehicle looking out the rear window with a thousand yard stare. His eyes followed the passing of obvious landmarks or large rocks as they passed by, although the drifting of his gaze wasn't a conscious movement but more hypnotic, as his thoughts were far away, in another place he'd never been. A tap on his shoulder brought Roger's attention around and he looked up at the man standing beside him. Dr. Maier looked down at him and offered him a genuine smile.

"I know that all of the information we've fed you today is enough to choke a horse," the sadistic scientist offered as he laid his hand upon Lindsay's shoulder. "I apologize for dumping so much information on you all at once. I know it must feel completely overwhelming and --"

"It's fine," Lindsay cut him off curtly and turned his eyes back to the view outside the rear window. He didn't realize the significance of the action as he watched the road disappear behind them. Roger Lindsay was having a hard time accepting what the future held for him and his colleagues so he unconsciously positioned himself to stare longingly for the past.

Dr. Maier spun the chair at his three o’clock position until it was facing Lindsay and then sat down in it. The sunlight gleaned off something in the professor's hand that nearly blinded Roger who squinted against the reflected light and scowled at the senior team member.

Maier sat looking at him with an open, bright expression as he brandished a rather important looking metal file folder. The hinges and combination lock on the unusual folder also caught his eye and piqued his interest, especially with the fading red stamp on the lid that read Top Secret-Eyes Only. Maier watched Lindsay closely and then slowly dialed up the combination on the small wheels that held the documents inside secure.

Roger watched the other man's actions, unsure if he ever wanted to see what that brief held and knowing, if he did allow himself to set eyes on the contents, his life would be forever changed.

But he owed it to these poor bastards, the victims of these sadistic treatments committed against them, against their will or knowledge, by their own government. That part of this entire scenario still made his mind reel and he watched as his own hands slowly reached out to take the now open metal file case and, as he set it upon his lap, Roger also noted how thick the files were inside it.

Dr. Maier simply smiled at him with an almost empathetic grin and stood up to leave him to his reading. As he stepped past Lindsay, the professor laid his hand on Roger's shoulder and the touch made his stomach turn over. Lindsay willed himself not to pull away from the hand and risk offending the sadistic scientist. Roger understood that if he was going to be any help at all to these test subjects, to these victims... to the man they were on their way to capture, he had to know what he was dealing with and so he opened the first folder and began to read the redacted documents inside.


* * * * * *

DRAFT - [deleted] 11 July 1963

MEMORANDUM FOR THE RECORD

SUBJECT: Project MKULTRA, Subproject 8 - Weapons PLUS Program

1. Subproject 8 is being set up as a means to continue the present work in the general field of L.S.D. utilization at [deleted] until 11 September 1964.

2. This project will include continued study of the biochemical, neuro-physiological, sociological, and clinical psychiatric aspects of L.S.D. A detailed proposal is attached. The principle investigators will continue to be Professor Thorton and Dr. Cornelius, as well as, [deleted] all or [deleted].

3. Professor D.G. Thorton, Dr. H. Cornelius and Dr. Brian Xavier are cleared through TOP SECRET and are aware of the true purpose of the project.

[deleted]
Chemical Division/BGG

APPROVED:

[signature]
Chief, Chemical Division/BGG

[document ends]

* * * *

Roger turned the next page not realizing that he was holding his breath as he perused the documents that had eluded destruction as ordered by the government agencies involved.

The next was a 1965 CIA document reviewing the Agency's research and development of a shocking list of mind-altering substances and methods. Included in the list were as stated by Professor Thorton, "materials which will render the uses of hypnosis easier or otherwise enhance its usefulness," and "physical methods of producing shock and confusion over extended periods of time and capable of secret and surreptitious use."

Dr. Lindsay read every word with focused attention, from the list's number one item to the end, which began:



5 May 1965

A portion of the Research and Development Program of BGG/Chemical Division is devoted to the discovery of the following materials and methods:

1. Substances which will promote illogical thinking and impulsiveness to the point where the that the subject would be discredited in public.

* * * * *

He read all the way down to the last, including the items in between which turned his stomach into knots.

* * * * *

7. Substances which will enhance the ability of individuals to withstand privation, torture and coercion during interrogation and so-called "brainwashing".

8. Materials and physical methods which will produce amnesia for events preceding and during their use.

9. Physical methods of producing shock and confusion over extended periods of time and capable of surreptitious use.

* * * * *

....and they continued to describe more and more heinous acts against their test subjects, such as declared on the next page;

* * * * *

11. Substances which will produce "pure" euphoria with no subsequent let-down.

12. Substances which alter personality structure in such a way that the tendency of the recipient to become dependent upon another person is enhanced.

13. A material which will cause mental confusion of such a type that the individual under its influence will find it difficult to maintain a fabrication under questioning, in short; a truth serum.

The development of materials of this type follows the standard practice of such ethical drug houses as PhisoMorph. It is a relatively routine procedure to develop a drug to the point of human testing. Ordinarily, these drug houses would depend upon the services of private physicians for the final clinical testing on actual patients without their informed knowledge.

The physicians are willing to assume the responsibility of such tests in order to advance the science of medicine. In practice, it has been possible to use the outside cleared contractors for the preliminary phases of this work. However, that part which involves human testing at effective dose levels presents security problems which cannot be handled by the ordinary contractor.

Therefore, the proposed facility known as Bluebird Hotel at [deleted] offers a unique opportunity for the secure handling of such clinical testing in addition to the many advantages outlined in the project proposal.

The security problems mentioned above are eliminated by the fact that the responsibility for the testing will rest completely with the appointed government physicians and the hospital at the site known as The Spa. The Spa at the Weapon X Facility Compound will allow BGG/CD personnel to supervise the work very closely to make sure that all tests are conducted according to the recognized practices and embody adequate and Top Secret safeguards.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Many hours later, after having gone through dozens upon dozens, if not hundreds of pages of information, Roger got up to stretch his legs and back. He left the docket on the glass table in front of his chair and walked to the back of the trailer to gaze out the large windows. He lowered himself to the couch that shaped itself to the curve of the unit.

As he stared beyond his own reflection in the window, trying to gaze past the darkness outside his gaze was drawn to the reflection of the man now entering the area. It was Dr. Godin, whom he’d met in the trailer dubbed The Suite earlier in the evening. Roger turned to regard the man as he got himself a drink at the bar, casting glances in his direction. Once he’d gotten his chosen drink, he moved from behind the bar and made his way toward the papers now lying unattended in the small seating area.

Taking a seat at the small glass table, with the papers to his left and Roger to his right, Godin simply looked at the documents for a moment then sipped his drink. Lindsay watched him silently until the other man took a long deep breath and let it out. Roger shifted around to look at Godin squarely and waited for him to look up. When he did, Godin met his gaze evenly and a moment later he lifted both eyebrows as if to inquire if there was something on his mind. Roger took the cue.

“How much of what’s documented there do you actually have knowledge of?� he asked the other straight out.

“All of it,� Godin confessed without emotion.

“Can I ask you…?� Roger began then paused. What was it he wanted to ask? Was it something specific or was it all in general? Where to start? He had no clue.

“You can ask me… everything,� Godin told him, ending his quandary.

And hours went by as Lindsay asked his questions until Godin took over, revealing all he knew as time allowed. The first questions Roger had were about the man known as The Professor in the earliest of the documents; Professor Thornton, who appeared to be the one to have conceived these evil practices.


~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"The agent, codenamed Weapon X, was a favorite test subject of Professor Thorton's destructive mind control experiments in 1963," Godin recounted. "Professor Thorton used a “treatment� which involved intensive application of three brainwashing techniques; consisting of drug disinhibition, prolonged sleep, and prolonged psychological isolation. These were combined with Electro Convulsive Therapy treatments.

"The amount of electricity that he introduced into the subject's brain exceeded the maximum amount recommended in the ECT Guidelines by nearly 80 times," Godin explained to Lindsay.

"My god," Roger whispered staring at the documents in his hands.

"Professor Thorton's technique resulted in permanent and complete amnesia and proved that doctors who are skilled in the right procedures can quite effectively erase a subject’s memory."

"…even one with a healing factor?" Lindsay pointed out, unable to believe the implications.

"Yes. To this day, Logan is unable to remember anything from his birth to 1963. As it was recorded in his chart by his attendants, Logan X was completely disoriented by the conditioning. He didn’t know his name, his age or where he was. He didn’t recognize his own reflection in a mirror or where he lived. He could barely move or feed himself. He couldn’t read or write or drive or even use a toilet by himself. Not only did he not know his own wife when shown a photo of her, but he didn’t even know what a wife was or even that he was in fact married."

"This man was married?" Roger asked, his mind reeling with all the information he was hearing and seeing in print before him.

"Yes, he was," Godin confirmed. "Over the next twelve years he was tested, trained, mind-wiped and re-trained and used in a variety of ways. All the programming that was done to him by the CIA through Professor Thorton's experiments was directly focused on splitting his personality in order to make a compliant slave. It was all trauma-based programming in that they used electroshock, sensory deprivation and other painful stimuli in conjunction with the administration of drugs. Once the dissociation of the personality was achieved and each of the subject's personalities began their own individual training and re-training continuing with the trauma wasn't necessary. From that point, only hypnosis was needed to accomplish the same goal by using implanted triggers and occasional tune-ups which took place at various, properly equipped Air Force Bases around the country.

"Unfortunately, though, although the amnesia appears to remain permanently in place, we have had more difficulty in keeping the subject under hypnotic control. He seems to recover from the repeated mind-wipes and mind-controlling efforts too quickly due to his healing factor, resulting in our inability to maintain control and ending up too often with a rogue sleeper agent on our hands or running unchecked in public."

"This is why we're on our way to retrieve him?" Lindsay asked.

"Yes. He is not only an ongoing experiment but he is, in fact, dangerous," Godin admitted solemnly. "Even he has no idea just how dangerous he can become at any time."

"This really is Manchurian Candidate type of stuff....." Roger surmised quietly.

"Oh yes, it is. We were, during that same time, given our lead when the CIA proposed a five year research project outside the normal curriculum in order to search for exceptionally gifted individuals for various testing in the field of ESP. We found a dozen or so who displayed psychic abilities and our mongrel was one of them to our pleasant surprise. Another very gifted telepath was the son of one of our top researchers in radiological based human experiments. His name was Dr. Brian Xavier."

"Xavier?" Roger echoed his voice pitched in surprise. "… as in the Xavier Institute?"

"Yes," Maier answered as he entered the sitting area. He smiled evilly at Lindsay as the man tried to comprehend just how far reaching this entire project had spanned.

"I thought Brian Xavier was a reknown nuclear physicist ---" Roger's words trailed off as he realized the connection in Xavier's field of expertise and the task set for him within the Weapons Plus Program. "My god… he allowed you to use his own son?"

"Allow?" Maier grinned and then nodded thoughtfully, "Reluctantly, let's say."

"We were able to create alternate personalities in both Thorton's mongrel and in the Xavier boy," Godin stated, "... and trained those alternate personalities to use these psychic abilities in ways we hoped would benefit the agencies... and the CIA made sure that these projects would never be made known to the public. And they wouldn't have ever been made known to the public, or the media, if it hadn't been for a few rogue agents who we'd lost control of due to their mutations."

"So Xavier... the boy... who now runs the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning... Professor Charles Xavier... was a test subject for the Weapons Plus Program? And he opened this school, which is quite well-known as a sanctuary for mutants... as a response to what you did to him and this mongrel... Logan?" Roger asked.

"Well, we are certain that he has indeed become an advocate for the rights of mutants and a sort of savior for them... yes, probably due to some sub-conscious awareness of what had been done to him, and to others, in our care,� Maier told him. “But Charles Xavier has no idea of the true nature of his own history, nor does he have any conscious knowledge that the man in his home, the man known as Wolverine... the deadly assassin known as Weapon X, is the bi-product of his own father's torturous experiments."

“What, specifically, did Xavier’s father do to this man… to Wolverine?� Roger asked, unsure he really cared to know the details.

“You sure you want to know?� Maier asked him pointedly. “I’ll show you the exact details… if you are certain you are ready to be informed. Once you see these files there is no going back.�

Roger considered that statement and then thought of his friend Carlton. He clenched his teeth together to steel his anger and then said as evenly as he could muster, “I thought we were already beyond the point of no return.�

Maier regarded him for a moment and then gave the young doctor a smile, one that failed to reach his eyes. “So we are,� he agreed. Rising from the chair he walked to a safe and opened it. Returning with another case he set it down atop the strewn papers on the table. He looked at Lindsay and suggested, “You may want to make yourself a drink before settling in with these. You look a bit shaken up already… and these will do little to help you sleep tonight.�

“I doubt I’ll be getting much in the way of sleep on any night from this day forward,� Roger told him honestly. As Dr. Maier opened the case and removed the two folders inside, Roger did precisely as the man suggested and went to the bar to mix himself a tall drink.

When he returned, he took a long pull from the tall glass and then set it down before picking up the first of the two folders. It was three inches thick and jam packed with papers, documents, and photos all focused on one subject. The test subject portrayed in the stills; which were shocking and terrifying in one set, in the next showed a man who was at first a husband, a friend, a soldier, a prisoner, a victim, then a samurai and again a prisoner, an animal and an X-Man. A man of many faces and many lifetimes who knew nothing of himself or his long life… and Roger Lindsay knew why. He set the photos aside and focused his eyes on the documents within detailing the experimentation performed on the man known as Logan.


< Page 1>


TOP SECRET – NO EYES!!!

Logan Files – Subject: Logan X (NFI) No Further Information

Project: Weapon X

Series: 1960 – Mind-control Research

*

Experimentation - Subject #10- 1960 series - The Logan Files

Mission: To investigate whether, and how, it is or could be possible to modify and control an individual subject's behavior by covert means for top secret and highly sensitive covert missions.

*
Experiment # 1

Notes: Subject is kept unconscious in induced comatose state for weeks at a time. The use of projection helmet and visor to introduce visual and auditory images to imprint memory function is implemented. Combined electro-shock, electro-convulsive therapy with continual doses of LSD is also introduced.

Result - Upon awakening, subject shows child-like behavior and retarded motor functions. Memory loss is extensive but not complete. Subject’s behavior and mental state is low-key, passive, almost timid, unsure and fearful.

Experiment Outcome - Failure

Comments - unsatisfactory results for possible utilization in future modification therapy, subject eventually recovered from debilitating effects of de-patterning experiment, it is concluded that subject achieved full recovery only because of his mutant healing factor - method not recommended for WX Training Program

*
Experiment #27

Notes: Subject is naked, strapped down onto a board with wrists and ankles cuffed to the board. Head is rigidly held in place by strap around neck; power suppression collar attached above the strap. Helmet placed on subject's head. Visual and audible imagery projected into subject's mind as physical experiments begin.

Procedure: Cell is dark and cold, ice cold air is blasted into the cell; temperatures drop to freezing. Subject is draped with a sheet and ice water is poured over the subject and left there as the room temp drops to 20 degrees.

Result - Subject cries out in pain, over an apparently agonizing 4 hours, as he slowly freezes to death. Death occurs, collar is removed; studies of regenerative capabilities are conducted, results recorded - subject survives.

*
Experiment #33

Notes: High-potency muscle relaxant administered.

Result - Within 30-40 seconds paralysis begins to invade the small muscles of fingers, toes and eyes. Within one minute extremities stiffen, signaling full musculo-skeletal paralysis. Paralysis of inter-costal muscles (ribcage) and the diaphragm follows immediately, respirations diminish to 3 shallow breaths per minute, heart rate slows to 50 beats per minute; combined condition (cardiac distress and respiratory arrest) sets in for 2--5 mins, drug begins to wear off.

Observations - Subject remains fully conscious and aware throughout experiment, trying to gasp for breath. With respiratory system paralyzed - a simulated slow death, "much like drowning" occurs - subject fought unsuccessfully to move and to breathe, the fight or flight responses kicking in instinctively, range of movement nullified by paralysis. Subject is helpless in paralyzed state, resulting in an emotional and psychological terror.

Experiment Outcome - Successful.

*
Experiment # 46

Aversion Therapy - unpleasant reinforcement to a response that is undesirable

Techniques Used; electro-shock, repeated pain infliction, starvation, use of terror drugs, exposure to fear producing situations, exposure to repeated terror-inducing events, exposure to extreme temperatures and environmental conditions for prolonged periods, exposure to loud noises and other stimuli to produce a startle response

Outcome - Successful, recommended for future utilization

*
Experiment #54

Notes: Serum FV-332

Observation - Drug administered to subject at 0430 hrs. Uncontrolled vomiting occurs at 0433 hrs. Subject experienced convulsive seizures with uncontrollable vomiting until 0520hrs - elapsed time 47 mins.

Additional effects- cardio vascular upsets, extreme change in blood pressure, oxygen deprivation, profuse salivating, diaphoretic, muscle tremors, etc.

Results - *See notes in File SFV332-54 (Serum FV-332) Top Secret - For Eyes Only

*
Experiment # 72

Sleep deprivation

Notes: alternating Drug Admin.

Procedure - Forced sleep deprivation and isolation, combined with administration of paralyzing muscle relaxant and alternate FV-332 induction.

Effects - Body rigidness, severe muscular pain, uncontrolled trembling, fogged cognition and confusion, aching restlessness, blurred vision, auditory and visual hallucinations

Observations - Heightened anxiety resulting in sedation of subject at times. Subject vacillates between total psychological collapse due to traumatizing events, and outwardly affective bursts of berserker type rages.

Outcome - Subject removed from test lab and sedated for 2 weeks in unconscious (coma induced) state

Result - Subject recovers physically from effects, appears totally amnesiac of the events, sleep disturbances are recorded by staff coupled with violent bursts of anger occurring during normal daily activities

*
Experiment # 88

Desensitization - Audio and Visual

Techniques - use of projection equipment, including helmet and visor to project images and sounds into subject's memory until the terrifying and disquieting effects to the psyche no longer exist

Notes - restraints were needed to force subject to view visual images and listen unimpeded to audio loops - devices used on subject's eyelids to prevent blinking

Results – subject is able to kill, or view a kill, without regret or remorse. Subject shows no hesitation and no mercy - Excellent results

*
Experiment # 91

Psycho-surgery

Notes: ** Irreversible brain damage has been noted to occur in 98% of test subjects.
Notation ** Weapons Subject #10 slated for theatre at 1400hrs on 2/7/62.

Administered - Apparent irreversible brain surgery conducted on normal brain tissue for the intended purpose of changing and/or controlling the subject's behavior, emotions, and all higher brain functions.

Immediate Effects on Subject - WS #10 :

Eyes open at 1734hrs on 2/10/62

Swallow reflex non-existent

Gag reflex non-existent

Higher brain function non-existent

Observations - Subject stares blindly, unblinking, unmoving; muscles limp and void of energy or control; pain response non-existent. Glascow Coma Scale score - 2. Severe brain damage appears complete and irreparable.

Amended notation - Subject Weapon X was seen to move his fingers on 2/14/62 at 0241hrs.

* Note: 2/14/62, at 0416 hrs, subject showed throat muscle movement

* Note: 2/14/62, at 0432 hrs, subject swallowed reflexively. Suction removed from oral cavity interior, airway adjunct remains in place.

* Note: 2/14/62, at 0545 hrs, subject gagged on adjunct, removed immediately, subject breathing unimpeded.

* Note: 2/14/62, at 1312 hrs, subject showed positive motor functioning in extremities

* Note: 2/14/62, at 2307 hrs, subject attempted verbal communication, ineffectual

* Note: 2/15/62, at 0257 hrs, subject repositioned himself, from supine position to sitting position and successfully communicated to attending staff using verbal and cognitive speech

Outcome: 2/15/62 0637hrs Full Motor Testing; excellent - Full Cognitive Testing; excellent - Full Balance and Motor Function; excellent - Intelligence Quotient Score; 154 - Sensory and Tactile Function Testing; superior

Final results on Subject- Weapon X (10) - Full and complete recovery of traumatic and irreversible brain/psycho-surgery. Mutant Cellular Regeneration - Superior

** Elapsed time between proposed irreversible brain trauma and the resulting, and unprecedented, full recovery of subject - 7 days, 16 hrs, 37 mins

*
Experiments #131 - #157

Drug Experimentation and Therapy

Drugs Administered in this time frame

* Barbituates

* Benzedrine

* Cannabis Indica

* Scopolamine

* Morphine

* Mescaline (quasi-synthetic extract of peyote cactus, aka truth serum-hallucinogen)

* Tetrahydrocannibabinol Acetate - (marijuana extract used to lace food)

Uses - to relax prisoners/subjects for interrogation

Results - Under influence of TA subjects reveal volumes of top secret information, including names of high ranking officials and effectually expose the identity of fellow covert operatives.

* BZ (quinuclidinyl benzilate) - long lasting drug

Uses - subject experiences a litany of psychotic episodes of varying degrees and experiences, completely isolates the subject from his environment

Results - effects last up to 80 hours (vs. LSD which lasts 8 hours)

Negative effects of BZ last up to 6 weeks

* Anectine (terror drug)

Uses - small doses acts as muscle relaxant

- larger doses produce prolonged seizure of respiratory system

Results - a sensation "worse than dying"

* Thorazine - causes drowsiness, disorientation, shakiness, dry mouth, blurred vision, inability to concentrate, zombie-like behavior

*
Experiment # 165 - #198

Memory Erasure and Control

Notes and Observations - The brain is transmitter/receiver, overloading of information results in brain ceasing to process and transmit. Excessive Acetyl Choline in the brain can interfere with memory processing and control - to this extent, excessive AC can be artificially produced through the administration of drug therapy or through the use of radio waves, known as EDOM or Electronic Dissolution of Memory

Notes - Memory transmission can be halted for the duration the radio signal continues. Memory is distorted and orientation with time passage is destroyed. Awareness skips over those minutes during which he is subjected to the signal

Results - Successfully demonstrates that microwaves can be used to directly bring about changes in the electrical patterns of different parts of the brain.

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

His mind reeled with the truth of the situation he found himself in and Dr. Roger Lindsay slowly closed the folder on his lap. He reached for the drink he’d long forgotten on the table, now warm. Clutching the glass with a shaky hand he downed the harsh liquid with gulping sobs. Forcing the last swallow down his throat, he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to silent the cry that came up from his soul in anguish. He wiped his sleeve across his face, erasing the tears of remorse he needed to keep hidden as he swept the sweat from his face. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol he’d just consumed or his racing adrenaline that had raised the temperature in the mobile unit. As he leaned forward to put the glass down, it slipped from his hand and hit the carpet with a heavy thud.

It remained there untouched as he surrendered to the moment. He was exhausted mentally and he knew that in his own way he was experiencing his own sense of shock and terror. He simply sat quietly now staring at the darkness that raced past and with every mile covered Roger realized he was leaving behind a life he too could never go back to.



TBC'd in Ch. 31 - The Pursuit of Weapon X, pt 2