Disclaimer: Marvel characters do not belong to me.
Shards of moonlight sliced through the windows, distorted shadows painting a sinister picture in the otherwise dark apartment. It was cold, and it was quiet. The calm after the storm, and the destruction that came with it. Blood spatter could be found across the once immaculate white walls, near the black and white picture of the New York Boardwalk, where Ororo had managed to cut across his stomach. The air was stale, a heavy, musk scent almost stifling to anyone who might breathe it, as Ororo had tried with her neck in the tight grip of his hand.
Granite and wood from the decimated counter tops and mangled chairs littered the kitchen floor, pots and pans dented and clawed, and what now just barely resembled the dinner that had been cooked but not eaten hours earlier, when he'd moved to take her. The glass table in the lounge was bloodied and broken, pieces jabbing into his back after she'd successfully thrown him onto it, the sofa couch ripped to little more than shreds.
The venetian blinds that covered the windows now failed at their purpose, most having been pulled down or missing more than half of their components, as she'd fought to escape, running through the apartment. Even the narrow rug that ran through the length of the corridor had been marred, a tangle of long white hair woven into it, no doubt while Ororo had struggled beneath him.A thick trail of blood sullied the previously pristine wooden floor to the bedroom, warped yet still recognizable handprints between.
Logan's eyes shot open and he instantly winced in pain and discomfort. It took a moment or two for his vision to restore itself properly, and he squinted from the dim light that came through the leafy canopy high above him. From the colour of the sky and the temperature, he wagered that it was minutes away from nightfall. He looked down at himself, covered in leaves and soil, insects crawling over his arms and chest. Slowly sitting up, he shook off the indicators that he had been out for quite some time. He remembered his encounter with his double, and accurately assumed he was still in the same part of the Xavier grounds that he'd been shot in. His head wasn't pounding, which would be the only upside to his coming back. His stomach yelled at him, his throat cursed him, and his body was barely co-operative as he struggled to stand, falling a few times before actually succeeding in starting his way to the mansion. As he walked, he reassured himself that he had made the right choice. What the animal in him might do to Ororo, scared him more than the uncertainty of her whereabouts in Cairo. And now that he was back, the professor would be able to find her, and he could stop his 'alter ego' before he lay a hand on her.
"Jesus Christ, mon ami." Remy said softly as he looked out from his perch on the porch. Rogue looked up at him from her Blackberry, confused. She recognised the weight of his look and followed his eyes past her to the garden. The shock of seeing her teammate and friend stumble into view overwhelmed her. Remy dropped his book and ran for Logan, managing to catch him just before he hit the ground again. "Logan, wha' the hell happened?" he asked, Logan's chest leaning on his forearm as he was brought to the ground.
Logan found difficulty in speaking, understandable since his body had been left to weather the elements for days without care. "Ororo, she's in trouble."
"What?" Remy had understood the words, but not much more. "Bu' she was wit you...? Wha' happened?"
The burly man shook his head. "She didn' leave with me. She's in trouble. The professor, he's gotta find her." He grabbed at Remy's arm. "He'll kill her Gumbo, he'll kill her."
Remy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Rogue! Go! Tell de professor t' find Storm! Do i' now!"
"He's searching for her as we speak." Jean said, handing Logan a bottle of water. "You know that. You don't have to wait here, we'll get the word as soon as he finds her." Logan rested against the cold metal wall in front of the chamber where Cerebro was housed. The familiar lower levels of the Xavier mansion ran deep and strangely tonight, for Logan, never had they seemed so empty, void of purpose. Everything seemed that way in the past weeks. If it wasn't related to solving the myriad problems of universal proportions, it had no purpose.
It had been only ten minutes since Charles had begun his search, and it was well possible it would only be ten minutes more, but every minute, every second that went by, seemed too long. Perhaps he had not felt the intensity of the situation while in the alternate reality because he had no way of getting back willfully, and when the opportunity to uncover the mystery that had claimed the recent years of his life presented itself, he lost sight.
"I'm not leaving here until he comes out." he said.
"Logan, you should at least eat something, clean up." Jean tried, her voice soft and comforting.
"'I just said, I'm not leaving here. Ro's life is in danger, and yer tellin' me t' take a shower?" scoffed Logan.
"That's not what I meant and you know it. I just think you might want a recharge before we head out. Five minutes to clear your mind might..."
"I'm not leaving her!" he shouted, frightening the redhead somewhat.
She sighed. "No, you're not. Not by walking down this corridor, getting some coffee, and giving yourself a moment to breathe. You're not leaving her, Logan." With that, she decided to give him the time he needed on his own.
He looked next to him, staring blankly at the door as he pondered Jean's words. Finding it far easier than before, he got to his feet and made his way to the team showers on the lower level. They were no so much showers as cylinders that shot out highly pressurized steam mixed with disinfectant. The X-men's track record for coming home from a mission in a state far from clean, had prompted the installation. One minute in and out did the job and more. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off, catching sight of his form in the mirror. Logan was someone who possessed not a single trait relating to vanity, and yet even he had to tsk at the still abysmal state of his once olympian physique. This was no doubt, the skinniest he could ever remember being. He grabbed a set of sweats from the communal lockers and as Jean suggested, a coffee from the little Nespresso machine that Rogue had insisted on having in the locker room for before and after missions. His bare feet sounded through the hall as he made his way back to Cerebro, stopping short when he saw the professor in front of him.
He wheeled over to Logan and handed him a small folded piece of paper. "Her location."
He wasn't sure that he wanted to ask the question, but he felt he had to. "Chuck... how is she?"
"I cannot truly say. Something is blocking me from coherently communicating with her mind. A turbulent sea of emotions so vast that I need time to find dry land. I will continue to try to make contact and calm her until you arrive." Charles assured him.
"What kind?"
The professor lifted a brow. "I'm not quite sure I understand."
"What kind of emotions?" Time was of the essence, and the longer he stood around chitchatting, the more chance of something happening to Ororo. For some reason though, he needed to know. He needed to know what he was putting her through.
Professor Xavier's expression ran cold. "Just get to her."
Logan dropped his coffee and headed for the elevator.
Ororo continued to roll her wrists. She'd been at it for hours. Aside from being allowed out for a monitored trip to the rest room twice that day, she had spent the remaining hours tied with cloth to the chair in the center of the lounge. Her mysterious captor Alima had disappeared hours ago, leaving her with three goons who'd set up a poker game on the kitchen table. She imagined they didn't know too much about what was going on, honestly, it seemed no one did aside from Alima. Her skin was rubbing raw from her attempt to escape, but the minor wounds outweighed the chance at freedom. Regardless of what the intentions of the group might be, she thought it best to not stick around and find out. She could feel her skin seeping, but she could also feel... Ororo slowly slid her hand out of the binds. First one, then the other. Her gag was the next to go, and finally, the binds around each of her ankles.
The kitchen light shone onto the floor of the apartment. The laughter of the three men could be heard over the music that played from what sounded like badly tuned radio. Cigarette smoke leaked into lounge, nauseating her slightly in her drugged state. She had two choices at this point: run and get back to the X-men, or stay and find out who the ringmaster to this operation might be. Both seemed equally tempting.
She moved quietly across the room, careful not to step on the papers that were strewn across the floor. It became evident that no one had lived in the apartment for quite some time, perhaps the reason why they would use it to hold her. The silhouette of her shaven head moved against the walls and over the folded art easel in the corner of the room, dusty brooms and old paint rags. She crouched when she reached the wall, able to see the reflections of two of her three guards in the kitchen. Two different paths now waited for her decision.
A guard looked up from the spread of cards on the table, craning his neck and spotting the partially open door in the corridor. "She's out!" he shouted. The three men virtually fell on top of each other in an attempt to get out of the kitchen. Running into the lounge, their eyes searched in vain to find her. One turned and made his way to the outside corridor, the sound of a loud crack following moments after. The other two turned in surprise, running for the hallway. The door slammed the second man in the face, and then again. He stumbled back onto the third, eyes wide.
Ororo moved the door open slowly, rolling the downed man's arm off his stomach as she stepped over him to get back into the apartment. "Hello boys." she said calmly, holding a thick broom as a fighting staff, business end cracked from the blow she'd recently delivered. She'd been trained extensively with various staff weapons by the man that had taken so much from her. A broom had less flair, but it got the job done. "Either someone starts telling me what I want to know," the men looked to each other, mildly amused, "or I start cleaning house." A smirk crossed her lips, and as hard as she fought it, she imagined Logan grinning beside her.
The bedroom had seen the worst of that night. Such anger and bezerker rage had been unleashed. Logan's back pressed against the wall, knees up, bloodied arms resting on them. He looked at his hands, seemingly entranced by the amount of blood that dried itself on his skin. His eyes tracked across to the bed, the linens little more than strips of cloth soaked in blood. Even with only the moon's light to illuminate the room, the colour was unmistakable. Porcelain and wood from the bedside lamp and table had dug itself into his feet; skin had already healed around the shards. He could've lost himself in the silence of the night, secluded in this loft apartment on the outskirts of the city. That would have been better than facing what had happened. The realization that he truly was a monster, as hard as he might fight to change.
"Logan."
He refused to look, eyes moving back down to his lap.
"I'm done with you." he said, barely audible.
Ororo's voice came again: "Logan."
"Are you deaf? Go!"
"No."
He looked up, just enough to see her form in his peripheral vision. He couldn't stand to have her see him this way. The fight within himself, the battle that raged, yearning to break out. It had taken nearly everything within him to contain it. Logan had snapped that night, attacking Ororo and all but destroying the apartment. She'd loosened herself at the dinner table early on in their conversation, giving her the chance to grab a chef's knife and use it against him when lunged for her, cutting him diagonally up across his stomach, blood spraying onto the wall. He'd caught her by the throat, but she used the knife again, a deep gash across his arm. She then snuck by him as he reeled, and grabbed the hot pans he'd used to make their meal, now splayed across the kitchen floor.
Dent after dent marred the pans as she struck and it became evident to Ororo that they would most certainly not knock him out. She'd rolled to the lounge, side stepped and used his weight to throw him into the glass table. Before she could clear the couch, he'd grabbed her ankle and pulled her back down, kicking at his face to try to get free and collapsing on the other side of the sofa once she had. He clawed at the piece of furniture, tearing it apart while he gained his bearings and stood. Ororo attempted to escape through the windows in vain, breaking the blinds as she fought past them. Finding the only path he didn't block, she headed for the bedroom, hoping to buy time by locking herself in. He had been too quick, bringing them to the ground and holding her down against the rug as she struggled beneath him.
And then, in that moment, with their eyes locked and a fire inside him burning hot... he stopped. He released her, and while fighting an internal conflict that Ororo could barely fathom, he unleashed his claws and drove them into himself, howling out in pain. He stood wearily, finally falling into the room. She knew this part of him. It had always scared her, but not more so than when she realized what it might mean.
Fear froze her in place as Logan thrashed, tearing anything and everything apart with his claws, including himself. He dove into the walls, punched at them, shattered glass and splintered wood. He swung his claws so deep into his skin that it barely clung to his adamantium skeleton. Howling and snarling, growling, little now separated this man from a beast. Little, but enough for her to understand what he was doing. This feral state that had aided the X-men in so many battles, rendered him seemingly indestructible, had always been used on his enemies. If anyone was going to receive the carnage this rage released, it would be him, and not her. He released six claws into his chest, collapsing onto the bed as he bled out.
And that was where he had lay until a few minutes earlier. Ororo couldn't quite be sure what made her stay, watch him as his body healed itself in the way that she still found to be truly remarkable. She kept her distance, though it hardly mattered. Anywhere other than a city block away was still dangerous. She'd bloodied her hands and knees trying to get up from the pool of blood he'd left her in in the hallway. In fact she was covered in it, and so was he. The entire apartment looked like the scene of a butchery.
"The lock for yer collar..." He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a slim device, sliding it to her.
She picked it up and studied it curiously. "Why didn't you do it?"
"What are ya talkin' about?" Logan still refused to look at her, his eyes darting at the floor close to him.
Uncertainty gripped her as she thought about what she would say. "Why didn't you kill me?"
His eyes lifted, pained. "'Ro, how can ya even ask me that?" She didn't respond. The question was obvious enough to her, given the history that her Logan had relayed. "I would die before doing that." he said slowly. "I can't even believe I let myself come this close to..." He let the statement taper off. "I'm so sorry." He buried his head in his arms.
Ororo put the key to one side and slid slightly closer to him, stopping just at the threshold. "Logan told me what you did in your reality. What you did to me. I'm trying to understand how you could do that, and spare me now."
"Please leave 'Ro. Please don't see me like this."
"I want to know how you could mutilate me there, and save me from yourself here." She didn't know if her voice was angry or desperate, to have an explanation for what had just happened. To put an end to the fears that she'd tried to dismiss. If this Logan could break and do such unspeakable things, how great was the chance that hers would also?
He looked up at her. "Mutilate you?"
"You raped me, her. You destroyed her, you took away her life." Saying the words only helped her to imagine the pain such a thing might cause. "That's why you left the mansion, isn't it?"
Confusion snaked over him. "I left because I hurt her. I cheated. But I never raped her. I would never rape her."
Ororo made her way to him, quickly and with purpose. She brought her blood stained hands to either side of his face and held it there. "Logan, if you have ever cared for me, you will not lie. Not now."
He moved suddenly, bringing his arms around her waist, forcing a brief flash in her mind of the chat she and Logan had shared in the infirmary. His head pressed against her chest, and he took comfort in the beat of her heart. "I love you." he whispered. "Even in there, in that box, I saw ya everywhere." Ororo heard the crack in his voice. "I even imagined ya in there with me, talkin' t' me, keepin' me calm. But then it all got fucked up. Everything turned against me, even you. I didn't know what was real an' what wasn't anymore, jumpin' between worlds." He squeezed her more tightly. "You don' know what that's like, feelin' yer mind unravel an' not bein' able t' stop it. Maybe it would've come right, but I wasn't strong enough t' fight 'em." Tears fell from cheeks as he began to rock slowly. "I couldn't fight 'em baby, I just couldn't fight 'em."
Her chin rested on his hair, stroking it down as he repeated his words. "Who?"
Glass crunched beneath boot. Ororo turned to the doorway, finding Logan in stunned silence, his claws gleaming in the moonlight.
To be continued...
