Chapter One: Unraveled
I only know that I can change
Everything else just stays the same
So now I step out of the darkness
That my life became
~Staind
Somewhere in the Scottish Isles…
Some say that the measure of a man cannot be told in a single phrase. Many believe that a man may go his entire life without being truly tested for the strength of his mettle. Others say that the whole of one’s life must be studied to discern what type of person they were.
Still, there are some that believe a person “ man or woman “ is defined by a single moment. When Fate, Destiny, Chance, and Chaos all meld into one, bringing forth an impossible outcome. While there are many such moments in a person’s years, assuming they live to a ripe old age, which of those is truly the measure of their character?
Such thoughts were not common for the lone man as he studied the enormous Institute through the dirty taxi cab window, but he found himself considering the possibilities. It wasn’t customary for him to answer a ringing telephone, but he had.
Nearly one week ago, a strange phone call came to his home. Answering with a memorized greeting, he’d been surprised to hear a thick Scottish brogue on the other end of the line. She said that she was looking for a man named Wolverine. She told him quickly that this man was supposed to come here, to the middle of nowhere, as soon as he possibly could.
Being that strangely named man, Logan had accepted the invitation out of pure, morbid curiosity.
It was no secret that he was missing large portions of his memory. In fact, it was so common knowledge that he was shocked when someone seemed confused at a few of his jokes at his own expense.
He paid the cab driver, leaving a fat tip for the man who had patiently waited while Logan contemplated the mysteries of the universe. It was his strange need to fulfill this even more odd request that sparked such philosophical thoughts. These kinds of thoughts were dangerous for him, often leaving him confused and frustrated by the end.
As he stepped out of the car, he thanked the obviously confused driver, tossing him a small smile over his shoulder. It was getting easier. Smiling. He had to work at it, but it was more effortless every day.
Logan waited until the car had driven away, then he looked back up at the monstrous building before him. Impossibly tall, enormously wide, it resembled more of a fort than a medical facility dedicated to the research of mutant genes like his. There were no windows, save for a set of wide ones near the top floor.
Places such as this one gave him shivers.
He moved toward the open doorway, not surprised to see cameras. Whirling told him someone behind the mechanical system was watching. It seemed his identity was confirmed, for no one tried to stop him as he entered the spotlessly clean facility.
Long, white corridors were devoid of another human presence, scents telling him that whomever worked here had likely gone some time ago. This was the appointed time he was told to be here, so obviously his hostess would not share whatever was going on here.
Though he was further confused, Logan continued down the corridors. Instinct led him first left and then right, taking into account the various signs pointing to other areas of the facility. He decided that “Main Office” was probably a good bet. Shifting the pack slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he whistled a little under his breath.
Whoever was watching him would not have the satisfaction of knowing his entire body was on guard. No damn way he’d let them know he was over-alert and ready for action. They would assume he was as calm and cool as ever.
He scented a woman on the air, coming from a solid steel door he was mildly certain might dent his adamantium claws. She smelled of acrid cleansers and lavender perfume. There was confidence in that scent, an inner calm. Hell, he liked her already.
The hydraulics behind the door hissed as it opened, revealing a waif-like young woman with a crop of short red hair. She wore a crisp lab coat and the nametag over her breast identified her as Dr. Moira McTaggert.
“Doc.” He said with a nod of greeting.
“Mr. Logan,” she replied in a thick, rich voice. “You are right on time, as expected.”
“Well, I’m glad one of us is as expected,” he shrugged one shoulder. “Who the hell are ya an’ what the hell do ya want?”
To his surprise, his harsh tone and swearing words were met with a small, secret smile from the woman standing so serenely in the doorway.
“He told me you would say something like that,” the Scottish woman replied easily.
“Who’s he?”
Suspicion already prodded the back of Logan’s weary mind. Who else could instill such curiosity in him without any real contact? Who else would want to?
Logan’s mind was overcome with images from nearly a year in the past. Jean Grey’s swift decent into madness, Cyclops laying dead on the shore of a frigid lake…Xavier and his untimely demise. His heart hurt too much to think on those things. He shoved the thoughts to the side, pushing it all away for a later that he knew would never come.
“He’s alive?” he asked suddenly, unaware that he was speaking until it was too late.
Her smile was like the sun coming up, cheerful and bright. “Oh, yes. He has been here for many months.”
His heart stuttering into a frantic, disbelieving pace in his chest, Logan let the pack slide from his shoulder. It met the cold tile under his feet with a muted thud, a soft echo ricocheting through the vast corridors.
“Take me to him.”
“Of course.” She stepped aside, motioning with a delicate hand to the interior of what he assumed was her office. “He has been waiting to see you for many months.”
Logan needed no more encouragement. He stepped around her, peering into the room as eagerly as he dared. It was a change from the sterile environment that covered what little of the facility he had seen.
Plush carpets muted the sound of his heavy boots, rich sofas and the scent of books washed over him. So familiar was the scent that he was momentarily stunned. He pulled up short when Moira closed the door behind him, a sudden feeling of being trapped shoving past his hope and relief.
“You are safe here,” said a long-missed voice from the corner of the room. “Just as I have been.”
Disbelieving eyes swept across the room, finally landing on the seated, bald figure wearing a pressed blue suit and indulgent smile.
“Professor.”
~**~
One week prior
Solitude and serenity are often not mutually exclusive. In fact, it is often said that solitude and serenity cannot be taken together, for fear of losing one’s mind. For those that do not believe in this very narrow concept, solitude and serenity can bring peace to a disordered mind.
Over the last several months, the snow-capped mountains and bright Northern Lights of Alaska had been one woman’s refuge. Cut off from civilization and everything it represented, Ororo Munroe found herself truly happy for the first time in years.
She sniffled in the chilled air, looking down at her numb nose. It was an odd feeling, to find one’s nose completely numb when the person in question is normally impervious to the effects of cold. Ororo found, as the months went by, that she disconnected more and more with her mutant persona.
Whistling for the dogs romping in the freshly fallen snow, Ororo trudged from her blue pick up truck toward the small cottage she now called home. The village five miles to the east was perfect for picking up supplies and keeping the rest of the world at bay. News came slowly, change at a snail’s pace, if at all. This was the kind of life she had wanted since finding the majesty of Kilimanjaro so long ago.
Andine and Eliar, a pair of Husky pups, rushed to her at the soft call. They were her companions, never leaving her wanting for company. She picked them up at a shelter several months ago. Apparently they had been abandoned when their previous owner died. Ororo took one look at the underfed animals and fell in love. The trio was inseparable now.
They had no names that anyone knew of, so she selected two of her favorite from a worn copy of her favorite book. David and Leigh Eddings’ The Redemption of Athalus was a wonderful source of names; Andine and Eliar seemed to have no problem with the choice.
Heaving two bags of supplies from the bed of her truck, she smiled at the pups fondly.
“Are we hungry?”
The dogs whined pitifully.
“Moose burgers?”
As though they understood her, both dogs licked their chops, barking eagerly.
“All right, then. Three moose burgers it is,” she nodded toward the house, letting them fall into step beside her. “And tomorrow, we’ve a trip to Anchorage. A few tourists want a flight out before the storm sets in.”
She continued telling her dogs about the next day’s plans before launching into the day’s events. Once they were inside the enclosed porch, she put her groceries down. Taking a warm towel, she wiped both dogs down roughly, ensuring their thick coats would not trap water that would leak all over the floor.
That done, she slipped into the house with her animal companions. They took up residence by the fireplace, which she started before unpacking her groceries.
Her home was simple, livable without the usual pomp and ostentatious decor many insisted on. It was certainly not Xavier’s mansion, but she loved the tiny cottage. It was warm in the winter, cozy with electric heating for the worst of blizzards and a roaring fireplace for milder evenings.
As she set about making supper for herself and the pups, she watched the Northern Lights dance across the ink black sky. In a few months, the sun would shine on this part of Alaska, killing the perpetual night and replacing it with everlasting light. She loved both sides of the North. The light warring endlessly with dark.
Ororo had come to this barren, snow-capped mountain range just weeks after she buried her family. Scott. Jean. Charles. All dead. Hatred had burned in her heart, a flame that not even her beloved Henry McCoy could douse. Finally, in desperation for release from soul-crushing memory, Ororo had fled.
Her last memory of Xavier’s Mansion was watching Logan and Henry chase the taxicab down the long drive, unable to catch her as she escaped the ruins of her once wonderful life. The death of Jean had begun her decent down the slippery slope into madness. She had left to remember who she was. Not Storm, the X-Man, but Ororo…just a woman.
Feeding her dogs, Ororo hummed to herself as she prepared her own meal and cleaned up after herself. The storm was likely to set in tomorrow evening. She had enough dog food and people food to last several weeks, should she be cut off that long. Batteries were safely tucked away for flashlights and radios. The signal was likely to be bad, but at least she would know when the roads were clear.
The plane she had purchased to be her main source of income would be stored in a nearby hangar. Her work with the X-Men not only qualified her to teach children History and Mathematics, but she knew how to fly anything that could take to the air. Using that knowledge and her comfort in the air, she had started her own business as a “bush” pilot.
She flew anywhere, through nearly anything. It was not always exciting work, but it kept her in more than moderate comfort. She still refused to touch even a cent of her inheritance from Charles.
After her dinner was eaten and the dishes washed, she poured a glass of indulgent red wine and grabbed a book from the shelf. The page was marked with a thin slip of ribbon, which she laid aside thoughtlessly. Andine lifted her head from the floor after Ororo was settled, then stealthily crawled over before leaping up to lay on her mistress’ feet.
Eliar seemed content on the floor, snoring happily in his dreams. Andine demanded attention, making Ororo smile as she lazily scratched behind the puppy’s gray-tipped ears. She began to read, listening to the soft snoring of her beloved dog and the occasional pop and crack of the fire.
~**~
“Ororo never made it to her plane the following morning. A blizzard tore through the area, so it was several days before anyone was able to check on her. The cottage was untouched, but the dogs were locked in the garage. One was wounded and cared for by the local veterinarian. The most disturbing evidence of foul play, however, was the message intercepted by a remote satellite monitoring the storm.”
Logan listened as Charles Xavier, a man he had thought dead until just hours ago, explained how his missing X-Woman had gone…well, missing. Though he was still reeling over the fact that his friend was alive, the news that Ororo had been found and then vanished was more pressing at the moment.
He sat across from the wheelchair bound mutant, listening as he told Logan how Ororo had gone far north to start over in the wake of the X-Men’s last clash with Magneto. He had tried to not think about her over the last months. She was the only surviving X-Man that Logan had originally met. Her leaving had hurt him deeply.
“What message?” He demanded, not liking where this was going.
Moira, her lovely face creased with concern, moved to the long, polished oak desk and flipped on what looked to be a tape recorder.
Immediately, Logan’s sensitive ears picked up shouting male voices and the panting breath of someone wound tightly with fear.
“Logan! LOGAN! I need your help! Logan! Goddess, please! NO!”
He felt his heart sink to the floor. She sounded so afraid. Though they were never what someone would consider close, Logan had generally liked the stoic mutant. She was strong, confident, took no guff from anyone.
Why in the name of hell was she calling for him?
The dogs were snarling and barking in the background. Logan listened carefully.
“They’re protectin’ her,” he said quietly over the din. “That’s why one was hurt.”
Charles nodded, his eyes betraying pain and distress over the woman he had known so well. Logan’s ears perked up when he heard what sounded like a gunshot. No…a rifle.
“Logan! I need help! Help me! ANDINE! NO! You bastards!”
Another shot. A scream. Static.
Moira flipped the switch again, cutting the sound of static from the recorded transmission.
“By the time the technicians running the satellite were able to locate the source of the transmission, it was too late.”
“Who’s Andine?” Logan questioned gruffly.
“As far as we can tell, Andine is the canine that was injured in the scuffle,” Charles said calmly. “Both animals bore signs of a recent fight and were malnourished. Whomever has taken Ororo obviously cared nothing for their well being.”
“She did though,” he cut in. “That’s a personal thing. If they didn’t give a shit, they woulda just left the dogs runnin’ loose. They wanted to hurt her an’ the dogs.”
Logan could see the wheels turning in the man’s mind. Like him, Charles was attempting to formulate some kind of profile on the type of people responsible for Ororo’s abduction.
“’Ro have anybody that pissed off at her?”
Charles shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
He stood, pacing the floor with one hand rubbing the back of his neck. If Chuck had revealed his not-deadness to Logan before he was ready for the world to know he was alive, it was for a reason. Logan figured Ororo going missing was reason enough. And the very thought that, when in trouble, her first instinct was to contact the man she knew the least was humbling.
She had needed help and he hadn’t been there. For some reason, that knowledge hurt.
“How’d she get the transmission out?”
“A satellite phone she kept for emergencies. Did the mansion’s connection change recently?”
Logan paused. That was Hank’s territory, but he thought he remembered his big, blue friend telling him something about satellites a while back.
“I think so,” he nodded. “Chuck, I’ve gotta tell Hank. He has to know ‘Ro’s missin’.”
Charles nodded slowly. “What are your intentions, Logan?”
Meeting the benevolent blue gaze across the room, Wolverine raised a single, dark brow.
“Ya know damn well what I’m gonna do,” he stated easily. “That’s why ya called me.”
The older man’s only answer was a soft, indulgent smile.
Logan turned to the woman watching them closely. “Know where I can get a plan ticket to Anchorage?”
