“Coming out the woodwork, thru the open door
pushing from above and below
shadows, but no substance, in the shape of men
round and down and sideways they go
adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair
then as one they sign and they moan”
Genesis - Home By The Sea
In a Dream Darkly

Scott awoke with a start. Convinced he had heard something unusual, he strained his hearing for the source, but only the faint and comforting tick of the watch on his wrist assailed him. Shrugging at his misapprehension, he decided to snuggle with the warm-blooded woman sleeping at his side. She had stolen the covers again, he thought with amusement as he pulled the sheet and blanket over slightly so he could roll on his side and rest an arm over her. But the moment his hand felt her skin, he froze. She was cold and stiff, her muscles locked in a rigid position. A low moan of pain escaped her lips and he knew in an instant that frightening noise was the sound he had heard before.

Fighting panic now, he fumbled with the light on the bedside table so he could assess the situation. Her eyelids were closed and her eyes were moving rapidly beneath them. Shouting didn't faze her and even a hard slap on the face had no effect on her paralysis. Thinking quickly, Scott ran for the Professor. Since Jean was breathing and her heart was beating, that left the possibility that her condition was caused by a mental reaction.

But the Professor proved to be no help. As Scott slid to a halt on the polished wooden floor, after bursting though the unlocked door to the older man's suite, he found Xavier lying prone in his bed, as stiff and unmoving as Jean. Racking his brains, Scott reasoned they both were suffering from some sort of mental overload. Then it hit him. Logan must be the cause.

Racing down the hall, he pounded on Logan's bolted door, trying to force it open. There was no answer, not that he expected one. If he was asleep, and in the grip of a nightmare, Logan might not be able to hear what was going on around him. Scott rammed his shoulder against the wood, but to no avail; the locked door was meant to keep people out. Logan bolted the door for the safety of others, an attempt to prevent another accident like the one that had happened the first night he slept under the mansion roof. And the fact that the door was bolted meant Logan was in there and alone; he never bolted the door when Rogue was in there with him, since he never had nightmares when she slept in his bed. Scott recalled vaguely that Rogue and Jubilee were visiting California on a road trip and gritted his teeth in frustration. Reaching up instinctively to use his eyes to blow the door open, he remembered at the last moment he only wore his specs and not the visor.

Around the corner, Scott came to a stop at the first room on the right and pounded repeatedly on the door. When a sleepy and confused Kitty opened it, he grabbed her wrist without preamble and dragged her back to Logan's room.

"Phase us through the door!" he ordered. Long trained in unusual X-Men situations, Shadowcat obeyed Cyclops at once.

Sure enough, Logan was stretched out on his back, immobile and entwined in sheets that had been pulled and twisted around him as he slept. His eyes were half open, his mouth slack, and his skin reflected a sheen of cold sweat. The low moan of pain coming from his throat was an exact duplicate of Jean's, and helped Scott overcome his initial shock at seeing Logan in such a helpless state. He let go of Kitty and quickly reached forward for the bedside carafe Logan usually kept full of water. He stepped back, grabbed Kitty's wrist once more, and gave her a nod of assurance.

"As soon as I dump this on him, phase us again. He may strike out."

Logan roared when the cool water hit him, the physical shock breaking any hold the nightmare had. Eyes wild with fury, he looked around the room and, to Scott's dismay, zeroed in on the glowing red specs. In an instant, Logan was up and crouched on the bed, a snarl of hate contorting his features. He sprang at Scott even as Scott felt himself being dragged backwards by the arm he still gripped. He had the odd sensation of again passing through the solid wooden door of the bedroom, and just in time, too. Six wicked claws of adamantium impaled the wood from the other side and barely missed his heart.

There was a soft 'snikt' sound as the claws retracted. For a moment, silence reigned. Then they heard the bolt on the door slide back slowly and puzzled-looking Logan emerged from his room. Surprised and wary, he ran his fingers through his damp hair and studied the fresh holes in the door.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked as he looked over at the other two.

Scott and Kitty let out a sigh of relief.

"Here," Scott said as he thrust the pitcher into Logan's hands. "Hold this. I'll explain later." And he raced off to make sure Jean and the Professor were also back to normal.

---

Hell Hath no Fury
The blonde in the tight-fitting red dress sat on the barstool, licking her well-polished lips after finishing off yet another beer, paying no attention to the wolves eyeing her from every angle of the darkened room. She was waiting, they knew, but for whom this time, no one could say.

Though she had been in here several times before, she was still a stranger to the regulars, an unexpected delight walking in off the dangerous street at irregular intervals - sometimes not appearing for months. A distinguished elderly gentleman topped by a fedora had come to rescue her from these surroundings a few times, but he hadn't been here in a long, long while. For a few weeks a lanky youth had been in tow, one particularly grateful to have her attention, the regulars determined. He had called her 'Raven' and the regulars had been happy to finally put a name to their goddess. But the kid, too, hadn't been seen lately. Perhaps she waited for the big man, the one the bar patrons winced to see her with. No man in there would dare to take her away from him - tall, feral, and anxious for a fight, he was the personification of an animal - and he seemed to know it, too. Of all the men she met here, he was the most regular escort. Sure that it would be him, the other men waited at a respectful distance.

A little over half an hour later, the regulars began to see opportunity knocking. She had never been left alone this long before. Many began to check their wallets, seeing if they had enough money to buy her favors, or at least buy her a drink. Bets were laid on who would be first to take the chance to approach her, but she remained unmoved, seemingly oblivious to any peril her virtue might be in this late at night. She was tempting, no doubt about that. Her sleek but well-endowed body barely fit into the clingy red outfit, which left little to the imagination, as it covered virtually nothing. If she realized she could have any male in the room, she gave no outward sign and tapped the surface of the wooden bar with another folded up bill, indicating her thirst wasn't yet quenched. Many of the inhabitants of the bar prayed her perfection was for sale and that this Saturday night would be unforgettable.

Minutes flew by. The soft chime of a bell sounded as the door opened yet again and her smoldering eyes flicked to the mirror behind the bar to scope out the entrant; it was only another regular, much to her dismay and the delight of the patrons. She licked her lips one more time and swiveled her perfect head on its long, pale neck to check the wall clock over the decrepit jukebox. Whoever she waited for, they had exhausted the limit of her patience. With a sigh that strained the already compromised fabric of her dress, she unfolded her luscious legs from their crossed position and slid off her perch as gracefully as she had taken it. Several tongues in the room wet several hungry mouths as she walked by, and more than one man was tempted to grab that perfect ass, though none did. Some men stood as she passed, their courage taking them only that far before reality kicked in.

At the door, she paused and let a veiled gaze sweep the silent room. "Don't worry, boys. I'll be back. I appreciate the…atmosphere," she purred before stepping back into the real world. A happy silence full of daydreaming settled in her wake and the bartender grinned to himself: there would be no fighting tonight.

---

Fatal Musings

The first rays of daylight had a way of chasing off shadows, Logan thought glumly, but not the ones in his mind. For those he was trying meditation. Unfortunately, he couldn't concentrate, not with the sounds of wheels on gravel coming ever closer. A quick whiff told him Chuck was not alone.

"Logan," Xavier began, "we need to talk."

Logan grunted and opened his eyes. "Don't jump to conclusions I haven't reached yet."

Chuck smiled at that one, and Logan had the distinct pleasure of watching Jean blush.

"What's that mean?" Scott asked as he seated Jean on a nearby garden bench, a mirror to the one Logan was occupying, and then joined her. "Nobody said anything."

"He means me, Scott," said Xavier. "I was about to ask him not to leave." He cocked his head. "You aren't going to, are you?"

Logan turned the question over in his mind, reviewing it honestly. "Not unless you start hacking again," he finally said.

"Fair enough. But I want you to-"

"Hacking?" Scott looked over at Jean. "You mean you two did that on purpose?"

Jean cleared her throat. "Yes, we wanted to see if we couldn't help Logan through his nightmares about Apocalypse. Instead we became entangled in one of them."

"Damn dangerous thing to do," Logan muttered.

Jean and Xavier exchanged a glance. "Yes," Chuck said, "it was - nearly fatal, I might add."
Logan sighed. "Exactly. Thanks, but you can't help me."

"You don't know that!" Jean exclaimed.

"But I do," said Logan. He popped his neck and stretched his legs out of the lotus position, making the wooden bench creak slightly. "When I first started to learn about humans again, I remember a few of them telling me about their dreams. Most of them said strange things, like they were living out a fantasy, they could fly, they remembered some terrible things that got twisted out of whack, and all sorts of stuff."

"So?" interjected Scott.

"So, I realized real quick I don't dream like a human."

The statement hung on the air for a moment, like the perfume from the roses around them, and Logan let them digest that idea before he continued.

"My nightmares aren't dreams."

Jean frowned. "What does that mean?"

"I see," said Xavier, a light beginning to gleam in his eyes. "But, Logan, I think it wasn't always…"

"I think it wasn't always that way either, Chuck. I think what Stryker did caused a permanent change." Logan stood. "I also think there's no going back."

He sidestepped the wheelchair and followed the garden path around the corner and out of sight. As much as he was surprised and touched by Jean and Chuck's actions, he did not want it to happen again. And he hoped what he had said would put an end to the matter. Still, he cocked his ears, straining to hear their response as he made his way toward the garage.

"What did he mean?"

"He doesn't dream, Scott. These aren't nightmares he's having, these are memories - extremely powerful ones. His heart and mind seem to react to every detail. Thankfully, the same governor on our systems, keeping us paralyzed as we dream, also keeps him from physically reenacting his memories, but that does not mean he doesn't relive the pain of every single nightmarish moment.
"That, my dear Jean, is why we couldn't reach him last night. We weren't part of his memory. He was so deeply imbedded in it, we did not register; everything we felt while trying to wake him up, he lived through, yet again. Thank goodness Scott interrupted his sleep. As connected as we were then, if he had relived a fatal moment, we might have died. He probably dies in his sleep on a regular basis and none of us is the wiser."

"But, he doesn't have these nightmares when Rogue's with him. Why?"

Logan halted, wanting to hear Chuck's answer to Scott's question.

"I think it has to do with his senses. Even while he is asleep, he is aware of the heartbeat and scent next to him. I believe this grounds him in reality and keeps the memories at bay."
Logan nodded his agreement and focused back on walking to the garage, sure that he and Chuck had found the right answer to that particular puzzle.

---

Making Happiness

As tired as he was that night, Scott could not help giving in to Jean's wish for a near-midnight snack. Almost losing her the night before brought home the fragility of their life together, though he had always imagined he would go first - his death the result of an X-Man mission gone awry. He was overjoyed when she had finally agreed to set a date for the wedding last month. Now he realized the additional four-month wait for the actual ceremony would be interminable. With no guarantees of what the future held, he wanted to squeeze the most out of his remaining time with her, and that meant marriage and, if possible, children.

When he entered the kitchen for the bottle of wine, glasses, crackers and cheese his fiancée had requested, he stopped dead in his tracks. Two figures were seated facing each other in a cross-legged fashion on the center island - both reading part of the evening paper and sharing a small tub of ice cream.

"Megan! What on Earth are you doing out of bed? Logan, you know better than to let the kids sit on a food preparation surface! What were you thinking?"

Neither Logan nor his eleven-year-old accomplice looked up from their reading material (for him the crossword and for her the comics). Instead she dipped the spoon in the ice cream and gave him a bite, even as he shifted and pulled a folded bill from his pocket, handing it to her without complaint.

Scott cocked an eyebrow at the monetary exchange. "What was the bet?"

"That you would mention my name first," said the little girl, without batting an eyelash over her luminous yellow eyes. She looked up and grinned. "It's a full moon, Mr. Summers, and a Friday night, too. Professor Xavier knew I'd be up late. Didn't he tell you?"

Scott nodded to himself. "No, but I should have known. Sorry, Megan, I know how you love a full moon."

She giggled and pushed a lock of straight brown-blonde hair behind one ear. "It's not that I love them, I just can't seem to sleep well when the moon's so bright. I'll go to bed now. It's okay."

She hopped down lightly, her cat-like grace evident even though hidden by a long, flannel nightgown, then folded her part of the paper neatly, leaving it for her big, much older friend. After putting the ice cream away, she approached Scott, her pale, lean arms opened wide for an embrace.

"'Night, Mr. Summers."

"Good night, Megan." He hugged her briefly and patted her shoulder. "Need a bedtime story?"

"Not tonight, sir." She stepped back and studied him, nostrils flared. "What's that smell?"

Scott looked down quickly at his old worn T-shirt and pajama bottoms. "What smell?"

"That smell. There's something different about you tonight, Mr. Summers."

Thinking quickly, Scott began to blush, remembering what he and Jean had been doing before she sent him to the kitchen for refreshments.

A chuckle came from the kitchen island. "He's been…" began Logan, but Scott cut him off.

"I've been making Dr. Gray happy, Megan. It's nothing you need to worry about," he said, ruffling the young student's hair. "It's grown-up stuff."

Megan's face twisted into a comical expression of confusion. She turned to Logan.

"Making her happy?"

"Same thing your Mom and Dad do on Saturday mornings," Logan said, his eyes still twinkling with suppressed laughter.

"Oh," said Megan easily, "that." She skipped over and gave Logan a kiss on his hairy cheek when he leaned over. "No, I meant that other smell, Mr. Summers."

"Like I was about to say before I was interrupted," Logan said pointedly, "he's been trying out different after shave lotions."

"Got it," she replied. As she walked past Scott, she leaned in and whispered, "This one's pretty bad, Mr. Summers. Better try again."

For a few moments after she left, there was no sound except the scratch of a pen on paper as Logan turned back to the puzzle. Thinking nothing more would come of his faux pas, Scott opened the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of red wine from the back of the huge machine.

"Making Jean happy?"

He turned and beheld Logan studying him with a devilish grin.

"All I could think of," Scott said lamely.

Logan let out a deep, rich sound rarely heard from his mouth - a laugh - and Scott, despite his embarrassment, couldn't help but join in.

"Go ahead," goaded Scott. "Laugh so hard you fall off that island and bust your tail. Your ass will be in a sling anyway for sitting on the counter again, this time with boots on."

"Yeah, well, I thought I might as well stay dressed, since I won't be needing my bed tonight." Logan unfolded his legs and swung them over the side of the counter, dropping to the floor and reflexively tucking his tank top into his jeans and straightening his jacket as he did so. "I'll be outside if you need me."

Scott pulled out a basket from a lower wall cabinet and set the wine and two glasses in it. "Prowling the grounds?" he asked as he went to fetch some crackers.

"That, and I need to talk to Bobby."

Scott nodded. "Jean mentioned his problem."

"There's some grapes in the produce drawer."

"Thanks," Scott said, going for the refrigerator again. He pulled the grapes and some cheese out, then turned around. "If you think you need some advice - hey! Don't smoke that in here!"
Logan's eyebrows rose lazily as he stuck the cigar he had pulled from his jacket pocket between his teeth. "I won't."

"Good," Scott muttered. "Cigar smoke and Jean don't mix."

"And you want to keep making her happy, right?" Logan grinned wickedly.

"All right, smart ass, just for that I won't leave any grapes for you for when Rogue gets back tomorrow." Then Scott glared at Logan. "And just what have you been telling Megan about what parents do on Saturday mornings? Maybe you and I need to have a talk about what you should and shouldn't discuss in front of children."

"Relax, one-eye. Her parents clued her in. She was bound to figure it out sooner or later, with that sharp nose of hers."

"All the same," replied Scott. "My office, first thing. Lesson on the difference between children and adults, 101. Be there."

Logan muttered something under his breath as he headed for the door leading outside, and Scott, grabbing the basket, began to chuckle.

"What was that?"

Logan turned. "I said, you'd better be clear about what you meant by 'first thing,' or you could be in for a rude awakening."

---

Revelations

Bobby sat outside, morosely slumped on one of the benches in the garden. There wasn't any moonlight, thanks to some thick clouds, but somehow he didn't miss it. He welcomed the darkness, feeling it envelope him like a warm blanket of nothingness. He wished he could feel as empty; maybe he would sleep better at night.

Idly, he flexed his long, tapered fingers, weaving crystals of ice into a fragile butterfly he could barely see from the lights bleeding out over the lawn from the library windows in the mansion behind him. For a moment it balanced precariously on his fingertips until he let it crash to the stone pavers and gravel set in a quaint little path on the ground in front of him. Now out of the cast, his healing arm felt just as brittle as the butterfly and he clenched and unclenched a fist tentatively. The muscles felt strange, just like he did. Jean had said he would do better with therapy and recommended he talk with Logan, but he knew, and she knew, it wasn't physical therapy he needed at the moment.

A match struck right behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The brilliant flare of light revealed an ancient face for a moment, something carved from stone and just as unemotional - the face that had haunted his dreams for the last month or so. He swallowed hard and tried to act nonchalant.

"Hi, Logan. I didn't hear you walk up."

There was a grunt as Logan sprawled on the other end of the bench and Bobby felt the seat shift slightly under the heavy, metal-laden weight. "You wouldn't have heard me even if I had stomped my boots to warn you."

Bobby tried for a light-hearted laugh but only managed a weak chuckle. "I suppose not." He decided to keep the conversation light and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a sheet of well-folded paper he knew Logan could see with his enhanced night vision.

"Another 'Dear Bobby' letter. Seems I've struck out again. That's two in four weeks. This one said I had issues; what does it mean when a woman says you have issues, anyway?"

There was a soft glow of red in the darkness and then a whiff of pungent cigar smoke. "Means you have someone else on your mind." Suddenly nervous, Bobby took a shaky breath but released it when he heard Logan sigh. "You still love her, don't you?"

"Who?" It came out in a squeak.

"Rogue."

The way Logan spoke the name gave Bobby a clear and startling insight: Logan had known his secret all along. Of course, Bobby thought, he had probably sensed it. Yet…Logan had done nothing. Bobby felt the tightness within him unwind a little for once. There was no judgment in that softly spoken name, only understanding.

"I wasn't trying to be obvious," he began to stammer. "I know how much you and she mean to each other and I didn't want to mess things up…" He gripped the paper in his hand tightly, crushing it before letting it fall to the ground. "I just can't seem to find someone to take her place. I'm trying, Logan. Really."

"Maybe you shouldn't try so hard. Maybe you should just let it happen."

Logan was giving advice on love. It was unexpected, but something Bobby felt at ease with since he relied on the older man to coach him in other subjects meant to keep him alive and whole in world that feared mutants. Maybe Logan knew something about self-defense when it came to love, too, come to think of it; he had survived so long with nothing, no memories to go by. Bobby felt like laughing. His worst fear, that Logan would find out he still had a crush on Rogue, had come and gone without him even knowing it. Logan knew and the world hadn't ended. Bobby found his hands were shaking with relief and he tried to still them. Now if only he could get a grip on his guilt as easily as he could pinpoint the problem with his love life, he thought, his heart hammering rapidly against his chest at the revelation.

"Something else on your mind?" The cigar end glowed faintly. "Maybe something else you want to talk with me about?"

"No. Well, yes."

With newly found courage from having one knocked down, Bobby thought hard about finding a polite way of asking his next question. His mouth had other ideas as he blurted, "I don't know how to act.…After what I tried to do to Stryker, what I did to some of his men.…I feel like some sort of.…murderer. It's like I can't feel anymore….I can't love. I don't know what to do around others. I mean, how can Rogue look at you with love in her eyes after….I mean in the foyer that night, you just.…"

"The night Stryker's men hit the mansion?" Bobby nodded and Logan went on. "I wondered when you'd get around to that. How can Rogue love me after seeing what I'm capable of, right?" There was silence for a few minutes. "I thought she didn't anymore, when she started having those nightmares. All of you were having them: you, Remy, Sam, and Rogue. I thought about taking off to give you guys a break away from me 'cause I figured I was the main reason you were having them."

"You…you were, sort of," Bobby confessed. "But Remy and Sam weren't at the mansion that night. They didn't see you take down all those soldiers."

"No, they saw me take down some others. In all I think I killed close to five dozen men during those couple of days." There was a soft growl. "I'm the best there is at what I do, Drake, and what I do isn't very nice. What you saw, I won't apologize for. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if I thought it'd keep you out of the hands of people like that. I know what they do. I know how they think. They would have loved to get their hands on you. You're one of the most powerful mutants I've ever seen, and I'd rank you up there with the Professor, Cyclops, Storm, and even Magneto, once you get your confidence back. But you're a nice guy, and nice guys can be victims pretty easily, despite their strengths."

Surprised at the assessment of his powers, Bobby shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he did not feel. "I'm not so nice. Killing isn't nice." His eyes burned with emotion for a moment and it became tough for him to swallow. A fiery warmth spreading through the fabrics on his shoulder startled him, and he realized Logan must have set his hand there. The touch seemed to break the dam as Bobby choked out, "I killed someone Logan. I made someone else die. I can't just rationalize that away."

"No one said you had to. Yes, you killed someone. You were also trying to protect others from a madman."

"How come it doesn't bother you?" Bobby ranted. "How come nothing ever seems to affect you? You bounce back from everything and your life seems…perfect."

Even as he said the last word, Bobby knew it was a lie. Logan's life was not perfect. Far from it, really, for he had been through hell, torn apart by people who thought he was nothing more than a lab rat. Bobby knew this because he had actually met the person who had engineered all those experiments, and had come pretty damn close to being a lab rat himself.

"I'm sorry, Logan. I didn't mean it. Stryker was one scary dude."

There was a snort. "Don't stack one lie on top of another. You meant what you said. Things do bother me sometimes." There was a long pause before Logan spoke again. "Not all of my nightmares are about what Stryker did to me. Some are about what I may have done to others. I guess Stryker's programming doesn't always work to keep my morals at bay." A toe scrunched gravel in the darkness. "I can't forget my life's shot full of holes any more than you can forget Rogue. So don't forget Rogue - you're lucky your heart's capable of such deep emotions. It only means you're capable of loving that much more when you do meet the right person. Just learn to move on. I'm giving it a shot, the moving on stuff I mean."

"Yeah, okay." Bobby accepted the advice and the compliment with an appreciation of just what it had cost the older man to give it. "It won't be easy, though," he warned. "There's not many like her, you know."

"Trust me, it was pure chance that she and I hooked up. Maybe yours'll fall in your lap, too."
Bobby chuckled morosely. "With my luck she'll turn my life upside down."

"Upside down, huh? Hmmm…Let's see, Rogue got me into a fight, my truck, bike and all my clothes blown up, I nearly killed her, she nearly killed me, etc, etc, etc. You sure that's what you really want?" The cigar glowed again in contemplation.

Bobby felt a release he hadn't known he needed. Things that had seemed so complicated seemed more - manageable, especially compared to what Logan had accomplished with less to work with. "Thanks, Logan."

"For what?" the older man asked gruffly.

"Nothing."

"Hmmph. Nothing, huh?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause, as Logan seemed to ponder his student's thanks.

"I see your arm's out of the cast."

"Yeah." Bobby grinned. "I know I'm going to regret this, but I need some help getting it back in shape. Any ideas?"

Instead of a chuckle there was a sigh. "Considering I broke it, I'll help you heal it."

"Logan, I didn't mean-"

"I know. It wasn't anybody's fault. It just happened."

Another moment of silence lapsed, and Bobby began to worry that Logan was dwelling on what Apocalypse made him do, until the older man tossed away the cigar. Bobby watched the sparks arc off of it when it hit the rim of the concrete urn and bounced in.

"Let's start off with using that arm to feed yourself," Logan offered as he stood. "Up for some pizza?"

"Sure!" Bobby's stomach rumbled approvingly and he made a rueful face. "I've been kinda moping too much to think about eating."

"So I hear. Good. Pizza tonight, pushups tomorrow."

Bobby groaned.

---

Conclusions

Being on the road with Jubilee was a lot of fun, thought Marie, but it was tiring after a while. Finally, after two weeks of travel, it was Saturday afternoon; they would be home shortly and all she could think of was taking a hot bath, eating a well-cooked meal, and being with Logan, and not necessarily in that order, either.

Though the car rattled along, she didn't move, keeping her head resting quietly on the pillow held against the car door. While she probably wouldn't be so car sick if she'd keep her eyes open, the whole illusion of being asleep for the last half hour of the trip would be blown if they weren't closed. Not that Marie didn't love Jubes and her ability to hold a conversation on almost any subject, she did, but she needed some down time before seeing Logan again, thus the excuse for the sham.

Part of the reason the Professor had sent her on the trip had been recreational, and that's why Jubilee had been invited. Kitty had wanted to go, too, but had opted to stay between semesters and pick up a little extra training with the Blackhawk navigational system, something Marie hoped to do soon, too. Of course, Marie had an advantage over Kitty and Jubes when it came to managing the X-Man jet. If needed, she could jump outside it in flight and carry the thing home on her back if any of its systems failed. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to do the same to the jeep she and Jubes were in right now - carry it home and get there faster. She could have saved them a couple of days getting back. But then, she really had needed the time away to think about things, another reason for the trip. And the fact that she really, really wanted to get back told her that some of the decisions she had made were very good ones.

Xavier had sent her to California secretly hoping she would come to some conclusions about her life while freed from the constraints of being around the mansion inhabitants, and Marie had been blown away by the Professor's thoughtfulness, for it had also been arranged for her to meet with a colleague of Xavier's, a therapist, one who specialized in helping victims of child abuse at the hands of family members. During their week-long stay in San Diego, Jubes had shopped for the children, and Marie had learned a lot about herself, making a great deal of progress in letting go of the pain her natural father had dealt her by molesting her as a very young child.

"Rogue? Rogue? Wake up, chica, we're on the parkway and less than 15 minutes from the school. I'm going to stop at the little diner up ahead so we can pee and check the make-up. We don't want to make an entrance racing past our men for a toilet, you know, and you with pillow hair."
Marie smiled and stretched as if just waking. Jubes was right. Though Logan wouldn't care what she looked like, she wanted to look her best. Five minutes of prep work later and she knew he would appreciate her all the more.

Sure enough, as Marie drove up to the garage entrance and threw the car into park, a group of students and teachers awaited them on the drive, two men standing prominently at the forefront. As they exited the car to a welcoming set of hellos and hugs, Marie smiled at the very intent look Logan was giving her as he held her in his arms.

"I missed you," he said softly, burrowing his face against the sensitive area of her neck below her jaw line. Their eyes met again and she could tell he had more on his mind that just a tumble in the bed. "I'm glad you're back."

"I'm glad to be back, sugar," she replied, stroking his stubbly cheek with her bare palm, a sensation she still reveled in. "I'm glad to be back home, with you."

---

Innuendos and Certainties

Between the sheets late that evening, Marie and Logan lay intertwined in his bed, she with her head on his chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeats, and he with his right arm cradled beneath and around her, drinking in her scent and admiring the view.

"So, want to tell me why you really went to California?"

She smiled. Logan's tone implied that it really was up to her whether or not she decided to say anything.
"Ah met with a friend of the Professor's. He specializes in….well, helping people get over childhood traumas." Marie smiled. Logan's heartbeats had neither sped up nor slowed - and his trust meant the world to her.

"Help any?"

"Yeah, it did. Ah don't have to be okay with what happened, but Ah can live my life without it ruining everything - something Ah could have learned from you."

"Maybe it's better you heard it from someone else," he rumbled. She felt him kiss her on the top if her head. "I'm here if you need me, though."

Marie turned her head upward, so she could look at him. "Ah know, Logan. Somehow Ah think you always will be."

Logan nodded softly. "I'm not leaving you."

"Want to make that a permanent arrangement, sugar?" she teased.

His eyes were serious. "Sure, but not if you're not ready. I want you, Marie, that's a given. I'll be here. No rush."

Marie closed her eyes and relaxed. That was the answer she was hoping for. As much as she wanted Logan, she didn't want to rush a good thing. Not that she wanted it to be perfect when they got married, she just wanted to start off life with him fully aware of what she wanted from the relationship. And for that she needed to figure out just what she did want, first.
She opened her eyes and decided to tweak him a little. "And if Ah asked to make it a double wedding in four months?" she asked demurely.

He grinned a lopsided grin, and she realized he'd seen through her ruse. "You wouldn't. You don't want to share your wedding with Jean, and Jean sure as hell isn't going to share her wedding day with anyone - she'd get all uptight and call the whole thing off."

"You know me so well," she said, smothering a giggle.

He lifted the sheet covering them. "Could know you better."

She slapped the sheet back down. "While we're on the subject of weddings, mister, what do we give Jean and Scott for a wedding present?"

"Oh, I've got something in mind," he murmured. "I'll make a phone call tomorrow and see if I can't have something delivered."

"A delivery?" Her dainty eyebrows rose in question.

He chuckled. "Special delivery, all the way from Canada."

"Are all deliveries from Canada special?"

"Canadians love to make special deliveries," he said as he raised the sheet again and pulled her on top of him. "We're good at it."

"Do tell, sugar. Do tell," Marie purred.

---

Truth and Dare
Monday afternoon was highlighted by a sudden, vicious thunderstorm, and some of the grounds of the school ended up flooding slightly under the torrential rains. Most of the staff, and the older students who weren't away at classes in the nearby college, battened down the hatches against the deluge, but the younger students only pressed their noses tightly to the window, hoping against hope that their field trip to the local museum wouldn't be cancelled. There was a cheer punctuated by an ominous lightning flash when the bus to take them pulled up the drive.
Logan almost didn't make it. Not only had he been a target on his way to pick up the bus for the excursion, he had almost been hit by lightning yet again as he crossed the museum parking lot later. He was glad he had sent the kids on ahead with Rogue, Ororo, and Scott so no one would get hurt by being around him right now, and he morosely stood by himself near the front doors of the place, creating a puddle as his clothes dripped dry. Or he did until Megan circled back to grab his hand and pull him into the tour before they left the entrance hall.

He only half listened to the lecture of the tour guide as they passed through several rooms, for his nose had caught a whiff of something, someone actually, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Granted, he had only told her to stay away from the mansion, but he couldn't fathom why she would be in this neck of the woods unless she had something vindictive on her mind.

Brusquely he let go of Megan's hand and scooted the eleven-year-old forward into the group as he doubled back on the rooms they had just left. Sure enough, a long, lean, and lanky redhead in a slick business ensemble lounged against one of the displays on reptiles and their traits the school tour had already passed.

"Thought you'd appreciate the hair color. Or are you still into streaks?" Mystique's lush mouth curved into a dangerous smile and, as they were the only ones in the room, her short-cropped tresses changed from red to blonde. "They do say blondes have more fun. What do you think?"
Logan simply grunted, not willing to make a reply just yet.

"Come, come, Wolvie." Her lips pouted petulantly. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"No. And don't go near those kids."

Her eyes narrowed. "Or what?"

His eyes narrowed too and his hands tensed. His hearing told him someone was coming in the room behind him, but he decided not to take his eyes off of Mystique. It was a small heartbeat anyway - a child, probably lost.

"You wouldn't," she breathed. "You have to play nice now. You're a good guy." There was a hint of sarcasm in the air.

"Am I?" he growled softly.

A faint scent let him know who was behind him, and he shifted his stance, putting more of himself between Mystique and the child who had obviously followed him.

"I know you! You were at the school on my birthday!" Megan's small voice echoed loudly in the now quiet room. "I'm going to tell!"

Startled, Mystique peered around Logan's shoulder and spied the yellow-eyed girl emerging from behind a tall, narrow kiosk.

"Muzzle the brat or I will, permanently," spat Mystique.

Something within Logan snapped, and he moved before he could stop himself. Quick as a flash, Mystique was pinned up against the snake display, out of sight of the cameras, with an arm crushing her ribs and a fist against her throat. Logan tried not to shake; he'd come too close to losing control, and in front of one of the kids, for Christ's sake. He had to be better than this.

"She's not the one who needs a muzzle," he softly hissed, once his emotions were back in check.
He felt a chill run up and down the length of her body as he pressed against her, and he could smell her arousal, too - it seemed he was not the only one close to losing an emotional battle. She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip, and managed an aloof smile.

"You don't have those anymore. Magneto saw to that."

A faint touch of surprise lit his features, but only for a second and he hoped she hadn't noticed. He had forgotten she thought all the adamantium was out of him now. Magneto had taken it, yes, but Apocalypse had put it back.

"I can still break your neck," he muttered.

"All right. Truce. I won't touch her," she muttered back.

"Damned straight, you won't. Or any of the others," warned Logan.

"Or the others. Now let me down. I came to talk not to fight." She regained her composure when he let her down, and even managed to wink at Megan, who had come up to stand behind him. "Hey, brat. Long time no see. Had any nightmares lately?"

Megan stuck out her tongue and Mystique replied in kind before she focused back on Logan.
"Spill it and get out," he snarled.

"I need some information. The last time I saw Sabertooth, he was holding the cape of some circus clown and they were off to Never-Never-Land to see you. He hasn't been seen since and missed our appointed meeting the other night. I'm out to find him and want to know if he ever met up with you. The guy he was with was dressed all in metal, with a long cloak and cape, as I said. Eyes like Cyclops, only you could actually see his. Ring any bells?"

He tensed slightly. With Megan here, he probably couldn't tell her everything, not according to Scott's latest lecture on what was appropriate to talk about in front of children. Still Mystique needed to know Sabertooth was worm bait; he owed her that much after all the help she had been at Alkali. She wouldn't take it well, he reasoned, and might become trouble.
Logan glanced at Megan for a second, judging if he was close enough to protect her should Mystique lash out, and then answered, choosing his words carefully, "Sabertooth had his shot and I gave it to him. The caped-wonder took what was left."

Mystique was startled, then glared. "Where's the caped clown now?"

"The X-Men took care of him."

An ever so slight look of surprise showed in her eyes for a moment, and then she bit her lip again. Was that disappointment he saw? Her mouth tightened to a thin line and she glared at him.

"You gave him his shot, fine. Means you had a hand in it. All bets are off then," she said.
"Expect the worst. I told you I was still in line. Now I'm jumping to the front." She started to walk away. "Tough break, kid. I know you liked your teacher."

To Mystique's surprise, and his own, Logan reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her up against him, nose to nose. "You helped me get Rogue away from Stryker, so I owe you one piece of advice: don't do this, you'll lose."

She reached up and patted his cheek before sliding away and heading for the door. "Ah never take advice, sugar," she said in perfect imitation of Rogue's voice. "See y'all later."

Megan tentatively took Logan's hand. "Does this mean she's going to try to kill you?" She couldn't keep the tremble out of her whisper.

Logan knelt down and looked her in the eye. "Maybe not. She doesn't always kill when she wants revenge." He knew that for a fact, he grimly mused.

He turned and motioned her to the display of how a snake shed its skin.

"See those skins?" he asked. Megan nodded. "They aren't going to hurt you. Only the snake is dangerous and, if you know he's around, you can watch out for him. Don't waste your time fearing him until you actually meet him face to face, though. Words are kind of like that. Someone can talk all they want and tell you what they think they can do to you, but until they actually start something, that's all it is: words. It's not the shadow of something that will hurt you, it's what's behind it - you never know how bad a situation is until you're actually in it."

She nodded again but still looked concerned.

He sighed and tried again, "She's angry and wants revenge, and she will try to hurt me, yes. But only me, and there's no knowing if she's going to try to kill me or do something else yet, so I won't worry until I know. But you shouldn't worry because it's my problem, got it? And I can handle a lot, Megan."

Megan frowned. "You don't want me to tell, right."

"Right."

"Got it. I won't tell."

---

Secrets and Chocolates

The first one came in the morning mail, addressed to Logan, who just happened to greet the now rapidly retreating mail carrier when he came to the entry door. The fact that Logan never got mail drew all eyes to him as he slit the envelope with the opener he picked up from the foyer table. From his raised eyebrows when he dumped the contents into his hand and beheld a photo, he had not been expecting anything either, but when he reviewed the picture, his eyebrows drew together in a frown worthy of killing anyone in sight. Nostrils flared, he glanced up quickly, and Jubilee, Bobby, Remy, and Kitty had the good sense to be raptly involved in their own mail. Not so with Piotr.

"You got mail?" the big-hearted and big-boned Russian asked jovially. "Is it a love note from Rogue?"

His quirky grin abruptly disappeared when Logan said nothing and walked quickly from the foyer to the dining hall. Five people scrambled for position at the door and Remy cracked it just enough for all to see the door on the far side of the dining hall into kitchen swing closed. Racing now, they slid on the waxed parquet floor and hit the door so hard it flew open, providing them with a view of Logan, now standing at the stove, torching the photo in bright blue gas flames.

Logan simply glared at them, even when the photo was totally consumed and began to scorch his fingers. He dropped the fragile, blackened remains and turned the burner off, blowing the ash apart with deliberation before leaving the kitchen to go outside. They stared at each other in wonder, but none could think of anything to say.

The second one was addressed to Logan also, but it didn't come in the mail. It was found on the doorstep, after lunch, by one of the children on his way to Logan's class. When the boy delivered it, Logan grimaced, but neither opened it, nor glanced at it, choosing instead to fold it and shove it in his back pocket.

At the end of the lesson, while they were all in the wooded acreage on the rear grounds of the school, Logan allowed his students to build a small fire. In the singing and laughter that followed, only one student noticed Logan toss the white envelope into the flames. After the lesson, Illyana - warned by her brother Piotr that someone had hurt Logan with a strange letter - made sure to tell her brother that the person was still sending notes.

The third one was camouflaged, hiding underneath a beautiful red ribbon wrapped securely around a sumptuous box of chocolates. The delivery person from the local florist had only shrugged in answer when asked whom the recipient was, preferring instead to head off to her next late-afternoon delivery of joy and happiness with the expediency of a well-oiled machine.

Jubilee pulled the box inside and took a heady whiff.

"Expensive," she said, with feeling.

Marie giggled at that and decided to use her nose as well. That's when she noticed the envelope. A small scribbled heart with three pen strikes beneath it caught her eye and she blushed.

"You don't think he-"

"Oooh!" Jubilee exclaimed, for she had just noticed the cryptic notation herself. "I bet you anything it's from tall, dark and hairy himself. Look at that - Love, Wolverine, sure as the world." She eyed Marie. "You are one lucky chica, Rogue. Next comes champagne, I'm sure." Her face lit up. "Or better yet, a ring! Maybe it's inside!"

She began to tear at the ribbon, until Marie firmly, but gently, removed the box from her prying hands.

"Now, now, Jubes. Ah'm over 21. Ah get to open my own mail, according to the law."

Jubilee's petulant face was priceless. "You will share, right? Those are expensive. You have to share!" she pleaded.

"Ah will, but he gets the first piece for being such a sweetie." With that, Marie skipped down the hall, leaving a very deflated Jubilee behind her.

Marie found Logan in the library, pouring over a manual on the care and feeding of the latest military equipment.

"Open wide, sugar!" Marie took the box top off and dug out one of the chocolates. "Incoming!"
As soon as his teeth had snatched the tossed piece from the air, she dug one out for herself and popped it in her own mouth. She grimaced at the slightly bitter taste and the strong scent of almonds, but chocolate was chocolate after all. Then the world tilted sideways and she choked as her throat closed up and her body hit the floor.

Dimly she heard someone shout in her ear, "Breathe, dammit! Use your skin! Marie, use your skin!"

She released her hold over her mutation and felt a surge of energy course through her system. She was okay now. Everything was okay. The world was beautiful, clear, and intense - too intense. Marie realized in an instant she was using enhanced senses, even as an overwhelming flood of powerful emotions and thoughts of love for her assaulted her brain.

"Oh, God!" she cried out, and jerked up and away from the now convulsing Logan. "Oh, God!"
When he finally came to, she had opened the envelope. Marie made sure the first thing he saw was the photo of him with a blond bimbo in a bar, obviously smiling and having the time of his life.

"We need to talk, sugar," she said as calmly as possible, though her pounding heart and shaking hand revealed everything.

He nodded and blinked. "Yeah, we do," he croaked.

When the fourth envelope came in the mail the next morning, this time addressed to Rogue, all hell broke loose, and a crowd gathered to watch the scene in the foyer. As scary as Rogue's temper was, the scarier thing was Logan's reaction. There was none. He neither admitted he had been with the redhead in the photo nor denied it; in fact, he said nothing at all. And when Rogue passionately flung the picture at him, along with the older one showing the blonde, he simply left them where they lay, turned, and went up the stairs to his room. A couple of minutes later he emerged on the landing with a small bag and a half-filled duffle, not all that he owned, but enough to say he wasn't coming back for a long while.

When Logan got back down to the foyer level, he offered Rogue his dog tag; she silently turned her back on him and went up to her room. Sighing softly, Logan left, and all watched him head for the garage. Even Xavier and Jean were at a loss, their expressions mirroring the shock everyone felt. Only Scott moved, leaning over to pick up the evidence of Logan's misconduct. He glanced at both pictures for a moment, then handed them to Jean before heading for the garage to catch up with Logan.

---

Game, Set, and Match

Logan looked over his bike. His tank was full and what little gear he was taking with him easily fit in the 'saddlebags' on the back. He absently straddled the machine and started to tuck the dog tag under his shirt when Scott walked into the garage.

For a moment both men stared at each other. Scott's eyes were shielded from his view, but Logan knew from scent, body posture, and heartbeat that the younger man was upset, though his outward appearance was calm. Logan sighed. Here it comes, he thought to himself.

"Mind if I take a picture?" Scott's tone was bland. "I've never seen you run from anything before. This is a first."

Logan grinned to himself. Scott was as good at pushing his buttons as he was Scott's, but Scott had no clue what was going on here and was missing the mark entirely, exactly the way Logan wanted it.

"Sure, it's a Kodak moment. Don't let me stop you." He folded his arms across his chest and struck a pose. "Not that I'd let you get a camera near me."

The X-Men leader pointed a finger. "Exactly! That's just it. You wouldn't. You've never posed for a photo before, so where are these coming from? I don't get it." He leaned against a nearby car and folded his arms also. "Something about this is all wrong. Talk to me." Scott hesitated a moment. "Please?"

As astonishing as it was to hear Scott say please for once, Logan stuck with his original decision. He knew what was a stake - the others were in danger as long as Mystique was after him. Like him, she would kill with impunity to get a job done - her promise not to hurt anyone didn't mean shit, not after the chocolates episode, anyway - and since killing him was her current job, he'd have to get her first, and he would. But he would leave here so they could continue the death match without others in the way.

Logan tucked the dog tag under his shirt and leaned back to make sure the bike's 'saddlebags' were securely closed. "Drop it, one-eye."

"Something's up. If you're being wrongly accused, why aren't you fighting back? Why are you leaving?" Scott cocked his head. "Innocent people don't flee the scene unless…unless someone is forcing you to go by causing this mess…" His face grew hard. "Logan, who's doing this to you? Who's behind this?"

The bike roared to life and drowned out Scott's next questions. Logan cupped a hand to his ear as he revved the engine with his other hand, mouthing words and shaking his head in order to frustrate Scott. He popped the bike in neutral and walked it backward out the open door, continuing to rev the engine so he would have an excuse not to answer Scott's deadly guesses. At the driveway, he turned the nose of the bike toward the road and then remembered his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket; he tossed the cell phone at the angry young man before roaring off into the distance. He didn't need Scott or the others to call him. He didn't need that kind of distraction.

The odds were in his favor that he'd live though anything Mystique came up with, but there was no telling when or where it would happen and he wanted to remain focused. He was out for blood, too, this time. Mystique was going to pay for messing with Marie. He had thought she deserved death for marking Marie's face up so badly before, now the blue bitch had meant to kill, and he would be damned if he'd let her get away with that.

The wind on his face was not what chilled his heart, Logan thought as he let the road take him where he needed to go. Marie had come so close to dying it had scared him - brought home a new reality, even. He now knew, with a certainty that made him question his crazy ideas of trying to settle down and have a wife and family, that he would outlive her - he had always know that in the back of his mind, feared it even, but had never had it brought out in the open so vividly. He would outlive all of them. He would be alone again, and sooner than he thought, probably. Maybe he should keep going after he killed Mystique. Maybe he should just drop off the face of the Earth. Marie deserved someone who could stay with her, grow with her, change with her, and die with her. Bobby was more suited to that task, he thought grimly. A searing rage laced with jealousy coursed through him at that thought and it was a struggle to maintain the bike's balance for a moment. When his anger was gone, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed on his heart like a living thing, he focused his mind back on the task at hand with murderous intent. Mystique was going to pay for this mess, big time.

---

Mind's Eye

Marie did not talk to anyone for the rest of the day. All she did was keep those photos clear in her mind's eye, using those disgusting images to block any emotion but the rage she felt at the moment. That was all she could do, had been instructed to do by Logan, and she kept as much mental conflict up as she could, not giving Jean or the Professor the chance to get her alone. At the moment, the two of them were giving her space, and that space was buying some valuable time for Logan, she knew; once they started prying, though, she was done for.

Unfortunately, nighttime was a different matter. Alone, in bed, she tried to hold on to the rage and her resolve, but, by that time, she was exhausted. She wanted, craved, his warm body in the bed with her, and prayed with all her might that, wherever he was, Logan was safe and whole. And Mystique was not.

Crazy daydreams and visions assaulted her, and she rolled this way and that in a feeble attempt to escape them. Finally, close to dawn, she lay in a deep, restful sleep, her mind now clear of all the questions and emotions she had plagued it with. But that's when it came: the dream she had been secretly dreading. Flying upward in a panic, she relived for the third time in her life the visions of deep snow spattered and stained with blood, visions she now associated with Logan and danger.

Heart hammering in her chest, she grabbed for the cell phone on her bedside table. It rang a few times before a mumbled, incoherent reply answered on the other end.

"Dammit, Logan! Listen to me!" She fairly screamed into the phone, not caring about his sensitive hearing. "Ah had that dream again, the one Ah had before Graves got you and before you tangled with Apocalypse! They both left you worse than dead, and now Ah'm afraid Mystique's going to do the same! Are you listening to me? You're in danger! You've got to come back! Ah know you meant well, but we need to handle this together. If nothing else, tell me where you are and Ah'll fly to you. Please? Please, Logan! Ah'm begging you! You can't do this alone! Something's wrong! Something bad's going to happen!"

The phone went dead, and she cursed him up one side and down the other as she tore off the covers and began to dress frantically. If nothing else, she was going to fly to the cabin, right now. Maybe he was headed that way, she didn't know; she had to try something. But when she nearly jerked the door off its hinges in her haste to leave the room, she was stopped cold by a lone figure on the other side of it.

Standing there dressed in his pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, Scott held up Logan's cell phone, his rumpled hair evidence of how soundly he had been sleeping before it had awakened him. Eyes veiled by his red specs, he showed no emotion, but his voice was soft and calm when he spoke.

"I knew it felt wrong. That's not Logan in the pictures, is it?"

Marie shook her head. "It's Mystique," she said softly, breaking her promise in the face of her breaking heart. "She was taking pictures of herself with women to make Logan come out in the open."

He nodded. "I knew it wasn't him. Come with me to the kitchen and we'll plan some way to get him back."

Gratefully, thankfully, Rogue flung her arms around his neck and confessed everything in whispered sobs.

---

The Shadow of Evil

The sky was just beginning to change from inky black to predawn gray by the time Logan arrived at the small log cabin nestled discretely in a remote location within the Canadian Rockies. As he dismounted his large black motorcycle, Logan eyed the building with mixed feelings. He had found it soon after he had woken up almost nineteen years ago in a forest with no clue who he was. From what he knew now, he had been only a few miles from Alkali Lake at the time. Over the course of a few weeks, he had unknowingly trekked straight toward the little cabin, hunting and foraging along the way, slowly learning he was not like the other wild animals he met. By the time he reached it, it was as if he had known the small haven was waiting for him, so he reasoned it had been, at one time, his refuge. It was here he had discovered a few books and had strung together letters to make words, words that taught him he was human. Though he was wary of them, Logan had decided to make a foray into the world of humans soon afterward, only to find he wasn't like them at all in a terrible twist of fate. He had retreated back to the cabin to take his own life, lick his wounds, and rethink things, in that order. Slinging his packs over his shoulder, Logan grabbed the small sack of groceries he had picked up in a nearby town, and walked up to the door, reflecting on his reason for being here now.

He was surprised when he opened the cabin and smelled the faded scent of old blood, his blood, though he shouldn't have been. The last time he had been here, he had set the claws upon himself in retribution for letting Mystique get past him and create mayhem at the mansion. This time he would not set the claws on himself; she would be the recipient of the adamantium-coated weaponry.

He set the groceries down by the sink and ran over the plan of action in his head one more time. Mystique would be watching the mansion, so she would have seen him leave yesterday morning. Still, any good hunter would wait to see if the quarry would return to a known spot first - Mystique would probably wait about a day. Then she would probably either infiltrate the mansion to see what had happened - and she would certainly want to know what happened with the chocolates - or use sensitive equipment to pick up outdoor conversations. He hoped it was the former, as he had trained Dutch to bite anything or anyone with her scent, and the 90 pound otterhound mix was getting very good at obeying that particular order.

Knowing he had a day or two to rest up before starting his hunt for Mystique, Logan made preparations for cleaning up his cabin. He might never come back to it, but at least Ororo and Hank could come here once more for a vacation and find it in good order, he reasoned. As he gathered kindling from the old steel box near the fireplace, the strangest feeling passed over him; the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in warning and he dropped, rolled, and crouched behind the cover of the sofa. Quickly removing his driving gloves, he peered over the furniture for the source of the disturbance and found….nothing. Again the strange sensation hit him, washed over him like a wave of cold water, and left him edgy and confused. Sure now that something was wrong, Logan slowly stood and moved for the door.

Once outside, he felt better - all scents seemed right with the world at first, until his hearing picked up….nothing. No birds twittered in the trees, and no animals rustled in the underbrush. Definitely wary, he tested the gentle breeze more thoroughly, and came up with a faint aroma unlike anything he had ever encountered. Slowly, cautiously, he followed the airborne trail, away from the cabin and deeper in the woods to the west of it. Nothing moved, nothing made noise, not even his feet, as he placed them carefully down on the ground before putting weight on them, testing to make sure nothing would snap or crunch first. Finally he came to a clearing a few hundred yards from the cabin, branches around and overhead interwoven densely enough to filter out most of the first rays of sunlight. Again the hair on the back of his neck prickled a warning, but he saw nothing.

Without any preamble, pain shot up from the middle of his back, radiating all over his body. Breathless for only a second, Logan wheeled faster than thought, and plunged six blades into his before-unseen attacker. His eyes widened in shock when he realized the foliage before him was twisting and changing; he had skewered himself, and a curtain of red descended over the world, bathing everything in a blood-colored haze that suffocated him. Paralyzed now, Logan was dimly aware he was falling backward onto the forest floor, body contorted, claws retracted. Expecting to hit a soft pile of leaves, he instead sank deeper into the earth, descending into a hole forming beneath him, one that was rapidly filling with water until he felt himself covered by it, drowning in it. A figure loomed above the sunlit surface of the liquid and he suddenly realized there were more figures all around him - masked figures, moving in for the kill with their scalpels.

And he couldn't lift a finger against them.

---

Manifestus

Scott tapped his temple as they neared the small log structure hidden in the Canadian woods, a signal Jean responded to with a shake of her head. Damn, he thought, if she wasn't feeling Logan in the cabin, they were back to square one - essentially having nothing to go on.
They had tried using the tracer in Logan's watch first, since Xavier could not locate Logan with Cerebro. For some unknown reason, the signal from the watch was distorted, as if it had been hit by a power surge. All bets were off that Logan hadn't messed with it, though Scott was almost positive Logan didn't know about it. So Scott searched for a signal from the backup tracer he had put on Logan's bike about two months ago. That led them here, to the cabin Ororo and Hank had used one time.

All the X-Men had volunteered to go get Logan, once everyone had been awakened and questioned as to what their last moments with Logan had been like. Team Beta, consisting of Iceman, Gambit, Cannonball, Rogue, Jubilee, Shadowcat, and Colossus had been especially keen on the idea when they learned who had been sending the mail to Logan. When Hank analyzed the chocolates from the trash, he found not only arsenic, but oil of bitter almonds, something Logan could have smelled and avoided easily. Their best guess was that, like the photos, the chocolate had been a not so subtle message from Mystique telling Logan she'd hurt or kill anyone at random if he didn't come out and play with her.

Scott, realizing the potential of Rogue's dream, had chosen the retrieval team carefully, not wanting to put too many at risk if things really were as bad as she claimed. Jean, for her ability to sense anyone around them, along with Storm and Rogue, for their silent aerial reconnaissance skills, had been slated for the mission. All others were given the task to backtrack Logan's last steps to see just what had caused Mystique to go postal, for Logan hadn't told Rogue everything, it seemed. Now that the four of them were here in Canada, Scott had to admit things did not look good, despite the cheerful sunrise that greeted them.

He motioned with his hands, sending Storm aloft and Jean to the right, with Rogue approaching the cabin door as he circled left. Before they could execute a thorough examination of the area, however, a crashing of brush sounded to the west of the cabin, coming closer. Storm, Jean, and Rogue regrouped immediately, falling into positions long rehearsed, protecting each other and Scott, who had braced himself, hand up and on the visor's trigger in case he needed to repulse an attack with his eye beams. But what bolted out of the underbrush caught him so off guard that his hand moved down of its own accord, and he wondered why he didn't echo the sharp gasps of surprise from the women around and behind him.

Logan, naked and streaked with blood, stood stock still in front of them, apparently as surprised to see them as they were to see him. Even as they all stared at each other, more cuts appeared on Logan's skin, seemingly from an invisible scalpel, and he flinched and twisted in agony, though he made no sound. Scott moved forward, but Logan jerked backward, then, looking over his shoulder with eyes widened in sheer terror, began to edge sideways instead, as if to get around the other X-Men and keep heading away from what was behind him.

"Jean! Is someone else coming?" Scott asked quickly.

"No, but," she answered, her voice trailing off as she concentrated. Then she looked at them with a stunned expression. "But I can't feel…."

Again cuts appeared on Logan's skin, as if by magic, and he staggered, almost to his knees, with pain. Rogue rushed forward and grabbed him, helping him stand up, but more blood oozed from his skin and he sank down on the ground, his eyes rolling in his head. They all rushed forward and, between the four of them, managed to get him lying in a comfortable position.

"Can't feel what?" Scott demanded, pulling Jean up so he could see her face as they stood over their wounded friend.

Jean's cheek felt hot against Scott's hand. "I can't feel him. I mean, I can feel Logan, faintly, but this close to him I should be getting much, much more. It's as if he's fading away in front of me."

Rogue grabbed the front of Jean's jacket and jerked her down on her knees so they were at eye level. "What's happening to him? He's falling apart!" she said in a hoarse whisper as tears streaked down her cheeks. "Jean, do something!" she pleaded.

Indeed, there was now so much blood oozing from Logan's skin, it was hard to tell how many cuts he was receiving, and the hot, stifling metallic smell made all of them choke.

Jean gripped Rogue's shoulders tightly. "Don't panic. Get him into the jet. Whatever is doing this, I can't feel it and it may be headed this way. We have to move him away from here, for his safety and ours."

Scott nodded, checking the trees for signs of movement. "Storm, start the engines. Rogue, strap him into the medicot. Jean, go with her."

He stood and started for the woods, when a hand grabbed him above the elbow and he looked back to see Jean, biting her lip, holding him.

"We need to leave, now," she said in a shaky voice. "We can come back later."

"Right," he admitted, and followed her back to the jet.

The higher the jet climbed, the fewer cuts assaulted their friend, until finally, as they were back over the United States, Logan stopped twitching with pain. Scott left the controls to Storm and went to Jean's side just in time to watch, in amazement, as the cuts now seemed to reverse themselves and heal up without a trace. Now that he was no longer thrashing, Rogue removed the straps and began to check Logan for any lingering wounds. His eyes opened suddenly, startling the three of them, and he blinked, but said nothing, instead choosing to look around at the jet as if he had never seen it before. Rogue caressed his forehead with a gentle hand and smiled slightly at him, but Logan didn't respond to her touch with any recognizable emotion. Rogue frowned but, before she could tear up again, Scott tapped her on the shoulder and motioned for her to help Ororo land.

"Is he still faint, or can you feel him normally now?" asked Scott in a whispered tone, now that they were, essentially, alone.

Jean looked up at him, blinking back tears.

(I can't feel him at all now, lover,) she replied through their mental link. (He's gone.)

---

Starting all over again

Stunned was not the word for it, nor was shocked. A naked Logan prowled around the map table in the Ready Room, down in the lower levels of the mansion, watching with avid interest as the table's surface changed with preprogrammed regularity to show a different part of the mansion. He was obviously more interested in the movements of its components than the structures it was creating, and poked at it a couple of times with his fingers. The others stood in the lab, watching the computer screen wired to the camera that was recording his movements.

"That is so not Logan," quipped a sobered Jubilee.

"That is so an understatement," sighed Kitty. "How's Rogue doing?"

Scott brusquely gestured to the edge of the image, where Rogue stood against the wall, watching her lover pace around the table. Every time she leaned forward and away from the wall, as if to approach him, Logan flinched and pulled back, though he never took his eyes away from the map. When she leaned back against the wall, he would relax again. Finally she left the room entirely, joining the others in the lab as she surreptitiously wiped her very swollen red eyes.

"We can't even get him in here to test him," Scott offered. "He took one look at the instruments and bolted. Everything seems to frighten him, and he recognizes nothing. Any suggestions?" There was a long pause. "Me neither."

The phone in his pants' pocket went off a few times before Scott realized it was ringing. He pulled it out quickly and looked at the X-Men around him.

"This is Logan's. Maybe it'll give us something," he said as he answered it. "Hello?"

"'Allo? Jaydee? Jaydee! Quoi de neuf? La voiture est…"

"Wait, wait! This isn't Jaydee! Do you speak English?" Scott waved his hand frantically for Remy to come closer. "Parley vous English?"

"Oui, un petit. Jaydee…not…there,…yes?"

"Yes. Can you tell me…?"

"Voulez-vous lui faire une commission? You…give…Jaydee…commission? Oui?"

"Here," Scott shoved the cell phone into Remy's hands. "How good's your French? Real French, not Cajun."

Remy took the phone. "'Allo? Oui? Je ne sais pas… Oui. Quel?" Remy glanced around quickly and snatched up a pad and pencil off a lab table. Now balancing the phone on his shoulder, Remy scribbled something quickly. "J et D. Oui. Quoi…?" There was a pause as he listened intently. "La voiture? Je ne….'Allo? Allo!"

But whoever had called had obviously hung up. Remy fiddled with the buttons on the phone, trying to find the number, but came up empty. He handed the phone back to Scott.

"I saw no number on the screen, did you?" Remy asked. Scott shook his head, and Remy went on. "The incoming call box doesn't have anything either. The caller ID, it must have been blocked." Remy pushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and sighed heavily as he looked over his own writing. "Well, I think he was Canadian, for that was not an Acadiana accent. But he could have been a Frenchman, who knows? He wanted 'J.D.' to know the car was ready and on its way. Could have been a wrong number," he offered, shrugging his shoulders.

All heads turned to Rogue, and Scott asked, "Was it? Does Logan go by J.D.? Was he expecting a car?"

She blinked. "Ah have no idea….That doesn't sound familiar at all. Logan doesn't have a car that Ah know of, and Ah've never heard of J.D."

Professor Xavier stirred slightly and everyone turned to him as he finally opened his eyes after ten minutes of mental probing.

"I have nothing to tell you," he said in somber tones. "There is nothing there, nothing that I can read. Which either means Logan has retreated to a mental level I'm not familiar with, or the shock of what has transpired caused him to put up mental walls I cannot breach," he said softly. He reached out and took Rogue's hand, gently pulling her closer to his wheelchair. "That's not to say we cannot build a bridge to him," Xavier said, willing Rogue to believe him. "He is moving, blinking, reacting to things. On some level, he is in there. We will reach him with love, compassion, and patience. I have faith in this."

Scott's eyes swept the room and the determined faces in front of him, and then focused back to the screen where Logan was now crawling up onto the table to catch the moving parts of the maps. They had their work cut out for them, he thought grimly.

---

Reflections

Four days went by, and in those four days they managed to teach Logan two things: how to wear a T-shirt and scrub pants, and how to sit in a chair. He would not sleep, at all, nor would he lie down again. He didn't want food, wouldn't use a bathroom, and would not open his mouth or make any sounds. Books, newspapers, and magazines were shoved aside, a heartbreaking thing since Logan had always been a fairly avid reader. Television brought no reaction, at least not to the pictures on the screen. Instead Logan seemed fascinated by the mechanics inside it, and nearly electrocuted himself when he inadvertently pushed it off the table. When shown a photo, he did not seem to grasp the concept that the image on paper was of something real. They did find he was fascinated by water - he would play with a stream of running water, trying to grab it. He was also drawn to plants. Once they found he wasn't trying to eat them, several X-Men each brought down a plant for Logan to examine. Ororo even brought some of her roses, which he studied for hours.

Since someone was always there to watch him, Logan became accustomed to having people around. He wouldn't flinch when someone entered the Ready Room anymore, but touching him was a different matter. Though Rogue had managed to stroke his forehead in the jet, he had not allowed her, or anyone else, to get close enough to try it again. Scott noticed Logan would cock his head when someone would speak, and would listen to voices, especially the higher voices of the women. When he mentioned this, it gave Jean the idea to bring him up to the school level to meet the children again, thinking they would spark some interest, too.
The ride up the elevator was a hoot, thought Scott. They had to go up and down several times because Logan seemed puzzled how the mechanism worked. Scott had the idea that Logan would have pulled the panel surrounding the indicator buttons if he could have, just to see what was behind it. Finally Scott convinced him to move out of the machine and out into the hallway, and that, in and of itself, intrigued Scott.

For some reason, Logan would not take orders or direction from anyone, meandering around the lower level on his own for a few days, carefully avoiding the lab, of course, until Scott relaxed enough to change from his visor to his regular specs. The minute Scott entered the room with them on, he had Logan's full attention, not just tolerance; those glowing red-quartz spectacles made it possible to finally crack a door into Logan's seemingly autistic existence. It was Scott who had taught him to sit in a chair, and Scott who had successfully demonstrated how to put on a T-shirt and a pair of pants. It was this measure of control that guaranteed the possibility of Logan meeting the children; Jean had pushed for it and Scott had reluctantly agreed, feeling helpless without the visor on, should things go wrong. Still, Logan was now following him from the elevator, and watching him for clues on which way to go, giving Scott the hope that things would be okay.

Piotr was there in the hall, near the foyer, a precaution in case Logan began to give Scott trouble. Scott gave him a small thumb's up and the giant returned it with a hesitant grin. Logan's eyes flicked toward the big man, but he showed no interest in going over to see him, so Scott steered him toward the dining hall where the kids and other X-Men were waiting.
As they passed the windows just before the foyer stairs, Logan stopped. The bright sunlight spilling through them seemed to intrigue him and he streatched his fingers out as if to touch the beams. Grasping nothing, he turned to the source of the light, the window itself, and took a step closer, and another, until he was almost right up against the glass. The bush on the other side was coming into bloom early and the flowers scraped against the pane in a gentle breeze. Logan reached out a hand and was surprised when his fingers hit a solid object instead of the flowers he had come to appreciate. He cocked his head as if in question and, before Scott could even think to stop him, rammed his fingers through the glass to touch the plant on the other side. If he felt pain, he never made a sound, though the glass cut deeply into his hand, wrist, and forearm, and he pulled the flower off the bush and brought it back inside, his skin knitting together so rapidly it was hard to believe it had ever been injured. Scott drew in a shaky breath. It was a damn good thing Logan healed so fast, especially now that he didn't have a clue what could hurt him. He made a motion that pulled Logan's attention from the flower, and then pointed down the hall and toward the dining room door. Understanding the command, Logan slowly walked that way, the flower gripped tightly in his fingers.

But when they came even with Piotr, Logan stopped again, this time apparently interested in the stairs behind the big man. Scott raised an eyebrow and made a small motion pointing upward, and Piotr nodded, his small grin growing slightly in amusement. Piotr stepped up on the stairs, one at a time in an exaggerated fashion, eventually reaching the first landing. Logan looked on, fascinated. When he moved to follow, Scott decided not to interfere, and both he and Piotr watched Logan mimic the way Piotr had walked up the stairs. When he turned at the landing to look back down, however, Logan seemed at a loss as to what to do now, so Piotr obliged, demonstrating how to descend, using the railing for balance. Logan caught on quickly and, as soon as he made it down to the ground floor, turned and went back up the stairs, this time at an increased pace. Again and again he went up and down, evidently intrigued with how the floor was chopped into tiny bits that stacked on top of each other and allowed someone to go from one level to another. His last descent was extremely rapid, and he did not let go of the banister at the end this time, causing his body to whip around and now face the foyer.

Stopping rapidly, Logan froze, dropping the flower; it took Scott a minute to see why. The door to the half bath was open, allowing a view to the inside. Thinking maybe Logan was mulling over the use of the bathroom, Scott motioned to Piotr.

"Go turn the light on. Maybe we can get him to finally use a toilet."

Piotr led the way as Scott urged Logan forward, but when Piotr flipped on the light, the reaction was instantaneous and extremely unexpected. The mirror over the sink now revealed Logan's reflection, and Logan, arms up as if to ward off evil, rammed backward into Scott, practically running over him, as he tried to escape his own image. Logan sprinted for the elevator, banging on the door of it when he got there in a futile attempt to make it open, all the while glancing backward over his shoulder - the look of terror in his eyes completely at odds with what Scott remembered of the man.

"Turn off the light!" Scott ordered as he pulled himself up off the floor. He ran over and pushed the button on the wall. "I'll take him back down. Tell the kids Logan's a little too tired. Let them go ahead and have lunch without us."

The minute the doors opened on the lower level, Logan headed for the Ready Room and the map table in it, the only comforting spot he seemed to have, and no amount of coaxing would get him to move from it for the rest of the day.

---

Strange Scents and Stirrings

On the eighth day, they had a little more luck. And that was a good thing because the situation was beginning to decline, or at least Logan was. Now eight days without food or water, Logan seemed to shrink a little and move more slowly, though he still showed no inclination to eat, drink, or sleep. He would stare at the map table for hours on end - the Professor had programmed it to show features around the continent to see if anything would spark an interest, but nothing did. Again it was as if Logan recognized the fascinating technology, but not the images it was portraying, since they weren't real. Still, Logan was becoming sickly, staring at the table all day long, and Jean and Hank were at a loss for what to do. Getting him in the lab was out of the question, unless they were willing to hurt him or get hurt. He had shown no inclination to pop the claw is in his defense, but he would back up in a corner when approached, and no one had the heart to hurt him, not now, not even for his own good. Rogue began to plead with Scott, Xavier, and Jean for Logan to be allowed outside so he could smell and taste reality; she argued that he was a wild thing and needed wilderness, not a small room, a pretty table, and medical technology. When the three relented, that was what gave them a bit of better luck.

Logan almost didn't go up the elevator again. What won him over was Scott removing the cover panel so he could see the wiring inside. Even then, Logan was extremely wary when the door opened onto the hall. When Scott motioned him to follow going the other way, Logan stepped out and, with a nervous glance in the other direction, moved where Scott indicated.

Now outside, in the garden, Logan stood on the stone patio for a long moment, eyes closed and arms outstretched into the sunlight. If Scott had felt guilty for confining Logan to the lower levels for his own safety, it was reinforced now.

When Xavier approached the two of them from behind, Scott stepped backward for a private word.
"Finally, a reaction. He still seems to like sunshine," Scott said softly.

"More than like," replied Xavier.

"I'm not sure I follow."

Xavier smiled. "I'm actually feeling something from him, though I've encountered nothing remotely like this sensation before." He paused, searching for words. "It feels more intense than a pleasurable experience, more like a massive endorphin high, though that's a crude way of putting it. It's so intense it's difficult for me to even comprehend it.

"You see, you and I, most humans and mutants, that is, feel pleasure every day, whether we recognize it or not. Our brains need it, and we cater to them in a way, using physical and mental stimuli. Sex, chocolate, and a good dream make us feel good, yes, but more than that, they create the chemical reactions our brains need to keep a balance in our lives. Logan seems to be feeling…something along those lines, though the reaction he is having seems to be 'off my scale,' so to speak.

"It's unusual that I cannot read him clearly," Charles said with a sigh. "Metal skull or not, normally I would manage to make a dent somewhere, but he seems impervious. Strange. Maybe I'm slipping in my old age."

Scott snorted. "As if. You can read the rest of us, can't you?"

"Hmmm. I suppose Logan has always been the odd man out at that," admitted Xavier. He spotted Jean and waved. "They are ready if you want to take Logan over there," he said, indicating the small party of adults and children on the lawn just past the garden.

"If I can," Scott began to say, when he noticed something odd about Logan. He was no longer slow moving and sickly. It was as if the sunshine had revived him. Scott stepped forward and caught Logan's attention, now that he had opened his eyes and put his arms down. "Come on, Logan. The children want to meet you."

Logan followed him down the steps, seemingly happy to show Scott he remembered how to use them, though outwardly he again showed no facial expression. When Xavier came down the ramp and not the steps, Logan paused, watching the wheels negotiate the slanted pavement. Scott sighed, afraid they would have to put up with him running up and down the ramp for a few minutes, as he had the foyer stairs. While the children knew Logan had been very, very ill, Scott felt he would have quite a time explaining why Logan was acting like an idiot.

He was saved by Dutch's entrance, the big dog having just lumbered up and put his head under Scott's hand, his huge tail wagging furiously in greeting.

"Good boy," Scott said to the friendly dog. He glanced at Xavier. "You think Dutch might stir something? He hasn't met an animal yet."

Xavier nodded and Scott crouched by the dog, motioning for Logan to come forward and meet the big curly-furred ball of fluff. Not only did Logan not move forward, Dutch, upon seeing Logan, began to squirm and wriggle out of Scott's grasp. Scott, fearing Dutch would jump on Logan and scare him, held the pet more tightly, but not for long. The dog began to whine and cry piteously until he finally wrenched himself free of Scott's grasp. He then took off through the garden and raced around the side of the library wing, disappearing as he rounded the corner, heading for the garage.

Scott was at a loss for words, and, looking over, saw Xavier was just as shocked.
"What the hell?" Scott muttered. "Come on, Logan," he said in a louder tone as he stood and motioned again. "Let's go meet the students."

But Logan didn't really meet them either. He did walk closer, but would not get too close to the large group of people. Thinking it might be too much stimuli for one day, Scott tried to have Rogue lead Logan back, but Logan simply stared at her, causing her to eventually turn away from the party, and an awkward silence settled over the entire scene. Sighing with frustration, Scott began to wave to Logan and lead him back toward the library wing.

On the way there, Megan burst out through the doors ahead of them, jumping the patio steps in a single bound and heading their way, a colorful package clutched in her hands. She ran up to the two of them, causing Logan to stop and study her for a moment, before he looked at Scott for direction. The huge grin on Megan's face dimmed slightly at this lack of attention.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Summers. I brought Logan a present. It's a drawing I made of him. I'm hoping it will help him remember who he is." She lowered her voice. "He told me once he lost his memory a long time ago. None of the other kids know because I'm good at keeping secrets."
"Megan, he probably won't talk to you. He hasn't said a word since we found…." began Scott, but Megan didn't wait for an invitation.

She moved closer and reached for Logan's hand. "I just know you'll get better." When Logan stepped backward to avoid her, she stopped. Her eyes grew large and she dropped the package as she began to back away from Logan. "But he's not…" She looked at Scott, horrified. " She took him away, didn't she?"

Bursting into tears, Megan turned and raced back up the steps, disappearing into the mansion, a wail of desperation following in her wake.

---

Two Bit's Worth

Scott sat slumped in the chair, watching Logan on the monitor. The older man seemed to be fascinated with the map table again, though he did not try and climb up on it anymore. Now he was beneath it, examining it from the underside. Scott leaned his head back and tried to think. Something about Megan and Dutch's reactions bothered him deeply, but he couldn't put his finger on why. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, but strange thoughts swirled in his head, pieces of a puzzle he could not fit together.

A hand gently squeezed his shoulder and Scott awoke with a start.

"Relax. Ah'm here to relieve you," said Rogue as she moved to his side, taking a seat in the spare chair on his right. She glanced at the screen. "He's still after that table, Ah see."
The words were said lightly, but Scott knew she was hurting.

"Rogue, I'm sorry."

She nodded, biting her lip. "Me, too. You know all about my demons, Scott. Ah had begun to put them behind me." She wiggled her fingers, now encased in gloves, he realized. "It seems Ah'm not so good at fighting them anymore, not without him. Ah've lost my control. It's not safe to touch me, just so you know."

They stared at the monitor, watching Logan stare the table surface again.

"He's in there, somewhere," Scott said softly.

"Is he?" Rogue laughed without humor. "Megan thinks he's gone. She keeps saying someone took him away. She's so upset she never came down for dinner, and Dutch is hiding in the garage, under the jeep. He spooked them both. Then again, he's spooking me. Ah've never felt so….lost." She sighed and curled her arms around herself. "Maybe Megan's right. Maybe what made him Logan isn't around anymore. He has been taken away." Rogue took a shaky breath. "Ah'm going to have to deal with that, too, Ah guess."

"Let me call Piotr down here. It's his turn, not yours. You don't need to deal with this right now, you know," Scott said kindly. "A good night's sleep will do wonders for you."

She shrugged. "No. Ah can't sleep. Besides, he's cleaning up; he and Kitty are having a date tonight. You're the one who needs some sleep. You've been doing double duty since he connected with you. Go on and go to bed. Ah'm sure Jean would appreciate some company right about now, though you should probably shave first." She nodded her head toward his stubbly chin. "A good razor and a hot shower can do wonders. They did for Logan, anyway."

Scott snorted. "I bet." He stood and opened his mouth to say something, then looked puzzled. "You know, we haven't tried him with a shower. He's fascinated by water, maybe he'll…." Scott's jaw went slack. "Wait! Rogue, have you been shaving Logan?"

Rogue blinked. "What?"

"How many times a day does he shave?"

She thought for a moment. "Always in the morning, and sometimes at night if we're going out. Come to think on it, he has to give himself a haircut at least once a week or he gets all shaggy." She stared at the monitor. "Scott, he's been here for over a week. No one's shaved him and no one's cut his hair." Her eyes searched Scott's face. "He should have a full beard by now, and long hair to go with it, but he looks just the same as when he left." She looked almost frightened now. "What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure." Scott ran his fingers through his unkempt hair. "There are too many things here that don't make sense."

Logan's cell phone went off in his pocket again, and Scott pulled it out but hesitated to answer it. "You don't speak French, do you?" he asked Rogue, who shook her head. "Nevermind. Hello?"

Sure enough, a torrent of French assailed his ear, but at the same time a message from Jean intruded gently in his mind.

(Lover, there's a delivery on the driveway. You need to come see this.)
Scott closed the cell phone and glanced at his watch. "A delivery? Who delivers at 10 o'clock at night? Stay here and watch Logan," he yelled back at Rogue as he ran down the hall, his footsteps echoing. "And don't let him out of your sight!" he added as he stepped into the elevator.

---

Hitting the Mark

Marie moved to take the chair Scott had just vacated, when she noticed Logan cock his head and walk out of the Ready Room. Intrigued, she vacated Jean's lab office, crept through the lab, and peered out into the hall. Logan was heading for the elevator. She followed at a respectful distance, not wanting to interrupt this new activity. When he placed his palm against the elevator door, and then drew his hand back and struck it, she realized what he wanted.

"You want to follow Scott, sugar?" She winced at the use of her familiar pet name for Logan, but stuck with it since Jean had recommended acting normal around him. "You want to use the elevator?"

Logan flinched a little at the sound of her voice, but did look her way briefly before turning back to the elevator and hitting it again.

"Here, sugar. Ah think you do want to follow him, and Ah'll go with you. There isn't anything you can do now that Ah can't handle, Ah guess. And maybe the night air would do you good. You always did love to watch the stars."

Marie reached out and made it a point of punching the button right in front of him so he would see her do it. When he touched the small panel she had just touched, she smiled and pushed the button again. He pushed the button, too, and, as if on cue, the elevator doors opened.

"There now, see?" She indicated for him to go in first. "Ah knew Ah could teach you something, even if it's just pushing a button."

She pushed the button on the inside and he repeated the action. When they arrived at the hall level, she purposely pushed the other button leading down. He did, too. When the doors opened and he saw they were back on the lower level, he took the initiative and pushed the other button. She nodded and he pushed it again. The doors opened to the hall level again, and he made a slight nod, as if to show her he understood the concept.

Then he stepped out nervously, and Marie remembered that he had been trying to follow Scott.
"Come with me, sugar," she coaxed, as she walked past him and toward the foyer.

At first he would not go and she wondered why, but he eventually followed her, staying close to the wall as if for protection. Only a few lights were on, and the darkness outside dimmed the halls and foyer even further. When she noticed he stuck to the darkest parts, Marie smiled to herself.

"Ah guess once a wild thing, always a wild thing. You still like sunshine in the day and shadows at night. We'll have to tell Scott you conquered the elevator now. He'll be proud of you."

She motioned for him to follow her through the foyer and through the open front doors. It took some doing, and he kept glancing at the closed door of the bathroom in the foyer nearly the whole time they were walking, as if something would spring out of it, but he finally made it through and into the night outside.

A large truck was just driving off, a rental, it seemed, and a lonely car stood on the driveway in its wake, unusual since Scott insisted all cars be housed in the garage at night. It was not a car she recognized either, so Marie stepped closer for a better look. From what she could see, it was dark, either black or a midnight blue, with a sleek looking chassis trimmed in shiny chrome, a sign that it was an older model car, possibly a classic on wheels. Whatever it was, it was beautiful, and she took one more step in its direction in order to appreciate it better. About that time, though, Scott spotted her.

"Rogue! I told you to watch Logan!"

All heads looked her way, and Marie felt her cheeks flush with heat.

"He's right here," Marie answered, pointing back at the Logan standing behind her. "He wanted to follow you, so we did."

But her explanation fell on deaf ears as Scott's face showed anything but understanding, much to Marie's dismay.

"Get him out of here! I don't want him out of the lower levels again, not until I figure out what's going on!"

Stunned at Scott's display of temper, Marie quickly exchanged a baffled look with Jean before she turned to lead Logan back down. Then she noticed a tiny red dot of light on his neck. Suddenly realizing what it might mean, she leaped forward, hand outstretched to take the dot on her own skin, her own unbreakable skin.

"Cover!" she screamed, even as the small whine of a bullet clipped past her ear.

The projectile struck the back of her hand, as she had hoped, but with vicious force, cracking one of the bones there. Marie winced in pain as she tripped and fell, but was grateful her skin had held under the blow.

The other X-Men on the drive all reacted as one to the danger signal, all seeking cover and concealment where possible, with Scott pulling Xavier from his wheelchair in order to bring him down to the safety of the ground.

Logan, however, stood where he was, like a sitting duck, and Marie didn't have the speed to get up fast enough before another whine split the air. During the silence between two beats of her heart, Marie watched Logan stagger as his neck exploded outward, showering all who were near him with blood before he fell heavily to the ground.

---

Enprise

It had been too damn easy, Mystique thought angrily to herself. He had just stood there, the damned jerk. Had he known? Did he do it on purpose? He had definitely taken all the fun out of it, she thought sourly. Damned bastard.

She hadn't even needed the hydroshock tip at all, though the bullet had done as it was designed to do. His head had come clean off his body, she was sure of it. Done deal then, she thought. Job completed. But a bitter aftertaste remained, tainting her achievement.

As she bent over to pack the rifle and silencer away in their case, time seemed to slow down until she didn't realize she wasn't moving at all.

---

"I have her," said Xavier. "It was Mystique. She's on that knoll about 300 yards away where the highway makes a curve to the north." He shook his head. "Why didn't I think to 'look' around before we came outside?"

"Because we forgot about her," Scott grimly reminded him. He motioned for Remy to come help him, and the two of them seated the Professor back in his righted wheelchair.

"Gambit, stay with the Professor. Jean…" Scott hesitated, seeing that Jean had already rushed over to help Logan. He went to her side. "I'm not sure there is much you can do, Jean," he said, placing a hand on his fiancée's shoulder. "Logan once told me the fastest way to kill him would be to blow his head off. Unless," he paused, "unless the Adamantium held him together," he finished hopefully.

Rogue, Bobby, Kitty, Jubilee, Sam, and Jean looked up at him with stunned faces.

"There isn't any," said Kitty in a whisper.

"There's no metal," Jean confirmed. "His head is still attached, but it's not bone that's holding it on. I'm not sure what it is," she offered lamely.

At first Scoot couldn't see what she meant. Eyes closed, Logan appeared to be peacefully sleeping - only the matter that his head was fully separated from his torso made the picture anything but peaceful. Then Jean pointed to something that didn't show up well in the night to his shielded eyes: a thin, dark 'stalk' running from Logan's shoulders to his head. It was far longer than a neck should be, and smooth and cylindrical, rather than jointed and complex as normal vertebrae would have been.

It was as if a spark exploded inside Scott's skull, and he stared at Rogue as he ticked off fingers and ideas at the same time. "He scared the dog. Megan wouldn't go near him. He didn't need to shave. He never opened his mouth. He didn't eat or sleep, and I'm not sure at this point if he even breathed. And he used sunlight to gain strength." He turned back to Jean. "Can you test this? See if it's remotely human?"

"You mean…?" Bobby began.

"That isn't…?" Sam continued.

"Yeah," nodded Scott. "I think we didn't save Logan at all."

He glanced over his shoulder at the Professor and saw the older man's eyes widen, then narrow - his brow creasing in concern.

"That would seem to explain everything, wouldn't it?" Xavier commented. "We must, at all costs, go and retrieve Logan. He may be in graver danger than before, considering this thing has his form, if not his anatomy."

At that moment Piotr stepped out of the doorway of the mansion, dressed neatly in dockers and a polo shirt. "Kat? Are we going?" He stopped and stared at the sight before him.

"Relax," said Scott quickly. "It's not what you think."

"I am not sure what I think, so I am not sure of anything," offered Piotr in a voice a little above a whisper.

Kitty stepped to his side and grasped his hand. "I'll explain everything, later."

"Shadowcat, you and Colossus go upstairs and check on the dorms. Make sure none of the children are out and about. We don't want them seeing something like this," Scott said quietly. "Jean, do you need help taking that to the lab?"

"No." She stood and moved a hand. The body flew upward to waist height and hovered there. "It might be easier if I take it by myself, since it won't be jostled."

"Still, Iceman, Cannonball, and Jubilee, you go with her as an escort. Where's Kurt? Are Beast and Storm already in bed?" Scott asked. "Can Hank help you with the lab work?"

"I'll be fine, Cyclops," Jean responded with a wan smile. "If I need Beast, I'll call."
As the small group carefully made their way toward the door, Scott noticed Rogue attempting to follow and called her back.

"Rogue, I need to know everything that happened down there after I left."

As she told him, he noticed she held one hand in her other. "So it figured out the elevator. Did it say anything? Why did it want to follow me?"

"Ah don't know," she said, her voice shaking.

"I heard two shots. What happened to the other bullet?"

She held up her hand so he, Remy, and the Professor could see the hole in the glove.

"Dammit, Rogue! Why didn't you say something?" Scott reached out for her hand, but she drew it back. "I was going to have you come with me for aerial reconnaissance in Canada in a few minutes. You'll need to have Jean look at that."

"Ah thought Ah could take it," she sobbed. "Ah thought it was Logan, and Ah wanted to take the bullet for him."

Scott moved a lock of hair out of her eyes, careful not to touch her skin. "Invulnerable skin can't save you from internal wounds," he said gently.

She bit her lip. "If Jean straps it up, can Ah still go with you?"

"Yes," Scott nodded. "But hurry. I need her to test that thing without interruption. Go get your hand looked at while I go get Mystique." He made a motion to Remy. "Gambit, stay with the Professor. He may need you. I'm going to go get my 'bike." He hesitated for a second. "You never did tell me what that old man said when he dropped off the car."

Remy shrugged his shoulders, grinning slightly. "It can wait. He said it was a wed…." He broke off his statement, staring over Scott's shoulder, his mouth opening in confusion. "What the hell was that?"

They all turned to look in the direction of the mansion where Remy was pointing. "It was a damn bright light, as red as fire, but it only lasted…." Remy broke off again as he took a step forward. "There it goes again!"

Xavier lifted his fingertips to his temple. "Something's wrong. Jean won't respond. None of them will." He stared up at them, his confusion evident in his expression. "They're asleep!"
"What?" exclaimed Rogue and Remy, echoing Scott's unspoken question.

"They're dreaming," Xavier assured them, "quite unaware of anything, and I can't wake them, either. I can't get through. I can't get through." Xavier shook his head. "I don't understand it. I'll give Mystique the suggestion to go home and go to bed. We can attend to her later. This is something urgent, Scott. I can feel it. Something is dreadfully wrong."

"Hold it. Stay here. Gambit, you and I go. Rogue, you attend to the Professor," said Scott as he raced toward the door.

What they found inside was surprising, even given the events of the last few minutes. Jean, Bobby, Sam, and Jubilee were sprawled on the floor, their eyes moving rapidly underneath their eyelids, dreaming as the Professor had said. Standing in the middle of the mess was Logan, his head still swaying on that thin stalk, his eyes staring at them, though not really seeming to see anything. As he and Remy watched in shock, the wavering stalk shortened, and small flesh-colored feelers shot up from his shoulders and down from his head, knitting together and smoothing over to form a new neck for Logan's head to rest upon. When Logan blinked and realized they were watching, he lowered his arms and stepped over Jean, heading for Scott.
Remy immediately moved forward to protect his leader, and Scott saw something flash in the room, something from Logan's eyes. Remy fell as if he'd been shot, only he hadn't been. But his body was now prone on the floor, and his eyes now moved like the others, seeing dreams from behind closed eyelids.

(Cyclops, Gambit is now asleep as well), the Professor confirmed. (Are you all right? What happened?)

Scott concentrated on sending an affirmative answer even as Logan closed in on him. Actually, it wasn't Logan. It just appeared to be Logan, Scott reminded himself. Whatever it looked like, friend or foe, it had just taken out most of the X-Men in one fell swoop, so Scott tensed, readying himself for a defensive maneuver. To his surprise, it stopped an arm's length away from him and pointed to his eyes and then to its own. Remy's comment about a bright red light suddenly came to Scott's mind and he now had a good idea where that light came from. It pointed again, as if expecting an answer, but Scott was at a loss; he had no idea on how to communicate with it. A thought popped into his head and he concentrated hard, knowing the Professor was monitoring him.

(I would be wary of taking it back down to the lower level by yourself, Scott. We do not know the extent of its powers, and I do not want to lose you, too,) the Professor answered. (I'm not sure what's protecting you from it, but we cannot risk that you are the only one capable of leading it into confinement.)

Scott shook his head in disagreement. The Professor's assessment that something was dreadfully wrong had been on the mark. He had to contain this thing, and fast.

The creature was now visually showing anger, or was that malevolence, thought Scott, as he dodged an outstretched hand that threatened to snatch his specs from his face; it must have figured out he wasn't one of its kind. Ducking quickly when it lashed out again, Scott sidled out of reach. A flash of light lit the room once more, but Scott continued to be unaffected as he circled around toward the elevator, motioning for the creature to follow.

If he could just get it back down there, he could lock it up somewhere until they could figure out how to neutralize it. The suspicious glare from the creature's eyes let him know this would be easier imagined than done.

When it lunged suddenly, Scott easily sidestepped, causing the false Logan to slide past him on the floor. Another lunge and another sidestep later produced a new look in Logan's eyes: rage. They were closer to the elevator, giving Scott hope, and he began to plan an attack of his own. Distracted by his thoughts, Scott did not sidestep fast enough when it lunged yet again, and it managed to grab hold of his ankle as it slid past, pulling Scott off his feet.

Scott instinctively smashed his free foot straight into the face of the creature. There was no answering crunch of bone. Instead its face melted around Scott's shoe, absorbing it, and Scott only just managed to get his foot free in time before the shoe disappeared entirely. As if the taste of leather had disturbed it, the shoe reappeared and fell to the floor while the creature rose, dragging Scott up with it when it stood. Impossibly, it raised him high up off the ground with one hand, it's iron grip nearly crushing Scott's bones. Now painfully hanging upside down by an ankle, Scott flailed and managed to catch the edge of the nearby foyer table. His other hand grabbed the letter opener on it, and he twisted around, stabbing and raking the brass makeshift knife into the false Logan's torso. With silent fury, the thing flung him toward the opposite side of the foyer, straight at the bathroom door.

It took a moment or two for Scott to realize he was now lying half in and out of the bathroom, the door having parted with its hinges under the blow of his weight. A shower of water from the broken sink and pipes above his head served to wake Scott further, and he focused on the events at hand. It was advancing on him, ready to kill, he knew.

Desperate for anything, his right hand came across the half-soaked rug on the floor and he balled it up in his fist, determined to slap it at the creature as a distraction, until he spotted the light switch. With all the strength he could muster, he pitched the rug upward in a hard throw, just managing to flip the light switch from off to on. The effect was immediate. Faced with an angry reflection of Logan in the cracked mirror, the thing turned tail and ran, straight for the elevator. Scott faintly heard the hum of the machinery as it descended, and gingerly rested his head back against the broken wood beneath him, letting the water splash over him and wash the pain away as he contemplated the fact that he probably would not survive another one-on-one encounter with the thing.

---

Finding Answers

"Hold still," Marie commanded again as she steadied the instrument and put another staple into the torn skin on the back of Scott's head. "Ah'm almost done here. It would go a lot quicker if you'd let Hank down here to do this and not me."

"No," Scott instantly replied, his voice strained with both pain and self-recrimination. "Bad enough you two dragged me down here. We don't need anyone else down here with it. I should have come down alone."

"Scott, it has refused to move, same as the last incident when it met with Logan's visage," said Xavier as he studied the monitor. "We are safe enough here in the lab. I doubt we'll even have to lock it up."

The three of them were in Jean's office. Marie was sitting in the spare chair beside the couch, where Scott was lying, his back to the both of them.

"Professor, trust me. It knows we are prey now," stated Scott in a harsh voice. "As soon as it realizes Logan's not here to get it, it will come for us." Scott tried to move off the couch, but Marie put a firm hand on his shoulder to hold him back, wincing slightly since it was the one with the broken bone. "I need to lock it away, Rogue!"

"And Ah need to finish putting you back together so we can both go do it, Cyclops!" she remonstrated.

"What about the others?" Scott asked sharply. "What does Beast say?"

Xavier frowned for a moment. "Same as before. They are asleep, dreaming peacefully. It seems the creature was gentle in its attack; they are not suffering."

"Small comfort," snarled Scott, wriggling again in his frustration. "It didn't have a gentle nature when I faced it."

Marie sighed and threw down the medical stapler on the tray perched on the corner of Jean's desk. "Ah give up. Let's you and me lock that thing in the Ready Room and go get Logan. If he's the only thing to keep it in line, Ah figure he's first on our list of priorities. Especially since the others are in no shape to help us."

"Professor," said Scott as he sat up and faced the other two, wiping the back of his head with a spare towel Marie had handed him, "we'll send you up the study elevator, since it's closer. Tell Colossus to dismantle the others, even the maintenance one, and close off the stairwells. If anything goes wrong, I want this thing sealed in down here where it can't get to sunshine. Maybe when it's weaker, we can tackle it. I was hoping all of this fighting would cause more damage to it, but it seems to have tapped into a source of energy we haven't thought of."
"It feeds on sunlight?" asked Marie.

"Well," answered Xavier, "not exactly. Sunlight releases a pleasurable emotion to it, and that's what it feeds on - pleasure."

Marie gave a small gasp. "Wait a minute. Mystique wounded it, severely. Why did it regenerate then? It's nighttime outside. There was no sunlight to feed on. It should be dead."

Scott nodded. "That's what's puzzling me, too. No sunlight and no pleasure equals no food. I think…" Scott stopped in mid sentence. "Oh my God." He stared at Xavier. "Dreams. You said they were having peasant dreams….pleasant dreams."

A shiver crept up Marie's spine as she watched Xavier's mouth open with nothing to say. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again.

"Henry has confirmed your theory. He says the others are definitely asleep, however their bodies are still functioning at a normal rate, not a resting one, meaning they are expending energy they can't afford to lose right now. If we can't bring them down here to put them on IV's to keep their bodies hydrated and fed, they will begin to deteriorate in a matter of days."

They all stared at the monitor and watched as the creature stood next to the map table, extending its arms until they were outstretched.

"That's the same pose it struck outside on the patio, when it was absorbing the sunlight. And it was doing the same thing in the foyer before its neck healed. That's it, then. It's feeding on them," stated Scott flatly. "So much for gentleness."

He stood and began to rummage in Jean's desk drawers. "The more we try to kill it, the more it will drain them to stay alive. Rogue, here," he tossed something at her Marie just managed to catch. "Put them on. They may be hard to see through, but they will keep you from becoming prey."

She studied the spare set of red quartz glasses in her hand, a perfect replica of the ones Scott now sported. They felt oddly heavy on her face, but she strapped them in place, making sure no regular light filtered through around the edges. The world around her took on a very strange and spooky feel, as if a veil of blood now tinted everything, and she felt a sudden surge of pity well up in her throat, sympathy for the limited view of reality Scott had to live with.

Scott continued to rummage, cursing when he did not find what he sought.

"Damn, I thought I had a spare visor in here. We'll just go to the equipment room after we lock it in…." He looked up and froze when he spotted her, then grinned a little ruefully. "It's not that bad when you get used to it," he said, and she realized her face must be showing everything she felt. "Come on, we need to get a move on. Rogue, can you carry the Professor? We'll have to move quickly, and I don't want even the slightest noise to alert that thing. As long as it thinks we're in the lab, it may stay where it is."

Marie nodded, and gently picked up Xavier. "Don't worry, Professor. You'll be topside in a minute."

Xavier smiled. "Colossus has sealed the doors and is heading for the study. He'll be there to greet me." He patted her arm. "You two find Logan. I'm sure he's the key to all this."

She smiled grimly, trying to concentrate on the task ahead and not on the pain in her hand. If all went well, she would be in Logan's arms shortly, and they could then plan a way to rescue the others.

---

Impetus

They made it down the short stretch of hall and into the tiny alcove where the entrance to the little-used hidden study elevator was located. While Scott watched the hall, Marie gently set the Professor on the floor before the door to the lift, and then pressed the hidden button to activate the mechanism. The minute her gloved finger released the button, though, she knew something was wrong. The smooth metal door did not silently vibrate with movement as usual; the quiet machinery inside was not turning. Her eyes could just make out some kind of strange reflection on the surface of the door and, not trusting her shielded vision, she put her palm against the metal to see what would happen. Her glove became wet. Openly staring in disbelief now, she used her strength to wrench the door open. A small stream of water trickled down on her from above.

Scott suddenly appeared at her side.

"What are you doing?" he hissed softly. "Opening that door made more noise than we can afford to have it hear!" He broke off, the water now attracting his attention. "Let me guess," he whispered in a morose tone. "The bathroom flooded the shaft in the wall beside it and the wiring and motor shorted out."

Marie nodded and bit her lip, not knowing exactly how to respond. Scott sighed and motioned for her to pick up Xavier again and follow him.

(Head back to the lab,) Xavier gently mandated.

Scott shook his head no, but the Professor waved a hand and he headed back to the lab anyway, Marie following when her legs did not allow her to do anything else.

"That was a damned unfair thing to do," Scott protested as Marie reseated Xavier in his chair. "I was taking you with us and you know it."

"I agree and apologize, but you can't take me with you. I will serve a better purpose here and you know it. You need to go. Time is short," said the Professor crisply. "I will be the distraction when you leave. And you must leave, now. You must be back before dawn."

Marie stared from one man to the other, not quite understanding what was going on. "Why dawn? It can't feel sunshine down here, can it?"

"Only if we open the bay doors after the sun comes up," admitted Scott. "We don't want it any stronger than it already is."

Xavier sighed. "Henry is worried. The others are weakening. Whatever action we take must be swift so it won't drain them completely before we make it release them." He paused and Marie had the distinct feeling he wasn't telling them everything. "Please, go. I'll provide cover and possibly containment. I can do no less for my family."

Scott reached over and gripped Xavier's shoulder firmly for a moment, then snagged Marie's uninjured hand, pulling her from the room. When they were back in the hall, she slowed to head to the Ready Room, but Scott dragged her away.

"The locks on that door won't hold it in," he whispered against her ear. "They never would have. Xavier figured out I wanted him up the elevator before I tried to take it down with my optics. I'm guessing he's going to open Cerebro and lure it in so we can take off in the 'bird without a fight."

Marie turned her head so Scott wouldn't see her expression of dismay. The thought of the Professor alone with that thing made her heart ache, but she could see the logic of the sacrifice, as Scott obviously had. Movement in the shadows just behind them caught her eye, and she shoved Scott forward even as she launched herself backward. Slamming into the dark form that thought it was hidden, she sent it sprawling on the slick floor.

A brilliant flash of light seared the interior of the confined space, blinding her for a second, but she recovered in time to reach down and flip it over on its face before falling on top of it and pinning its arms.

"Go!" she yelled, when Scott moved to help her. "Go get Logan! It can't harm me with these specs on, and Ah'm strong enough to hold it. Go! We'll have it in Cerebro by the time you get back. Tell Logan Ah love him!"

Scott nodded once, and gave her an informal salute, a gesture that touched her deeply, since it indicated he was accepting her call on this, though his expression had been anything but happy.
The far off clang of the massive hangar doors closing eased her mind a bit and she prayed Logan was safe and would help Scott defeat this thing that still squirmed beneath her. When another sound reached her ears, the sound of a small electric motor, she gripped the creature more tightly still, frantic to contain it with Xavier approaching.

"No, Professor! Go back! Open up Cerebro and leave it that way while you scoot on back to the lab. Ah can haul it over and lock it in."

"Give me but a moment," Xavier calmly replied.

The wheelchair began to retreat and Marie relaxed slightly. A little too much, she realized when its arms tried to pull away with greater force than before. The bone in her wounded hand protested, but she held on and held fast.

"Ah'm stronger than you are and my eyes are covered. What are you going to do now?" she hissed.
Without warning, the head of the false Logan began to swivel, grotesquely turning all the way around until his eyes now faced her own, boring into her with a look of pure hatred. Shocked at this unnatural movement, she let out an involuntary gasp.

The wheelchair stopped. "Rogue?" There was another noise as it turned slightly. "Are you injured?"

The thing's head arched up suddenly, and it shot a brilliant red glow down the hall. There was a groan and then the distinct sound of a body falling to the floor.

"No!" Marie screamed out in a rage. She returned her focus to the creature even as it turned back to look at her. "Ah hope Logan carves you up into little tiny pieces you monstrous….!"
But she stopped ranting when the thing opened its mouth for the first time, for she was struck speechless by what was inside it. A small, dark, claw-like appendage unfolded from the small space and extended its 'twiggish' fingers at her. She could only stare in mute disbelief when it plucked the specs from her face and cracked the red quartz lenses with the force of its grip.

She was at its mercy now, she knew, and it would show none to her. When the red light burrowed into her brain and hid the world behind a haze of crimson, she fell into Logan's arms, and they lay in the hammock on the back lawn, counting the stars between kisses.

---

Hunting the Hunter

Scott wearily stepped off the ramp of the jet, forcing himself to remain upright and calm. There was nothing he could do at the mansion; the trouble was locked up for now, and he'd face it when he got back, when he had more information to go on. Whatever it was, it didn't react to things normally, and he alone was not going to stop it; he'd already tried that. The only thing he had to go on, the only way he was going to save the others, was to find out why it was so terrified of Logan, and discover what had almost destroyed it in Canada. The cuts it had received from that invisible knife in the woods had not healed until they had taken it far away from Logan's cabin. Scott had a nagging suspicion Logan had something to do with its injuries, and he was desperate to duplicate the circumstances now - anything to stop that monster.
He checked on the motorcycle first, not because he was worried it had been stolen when they had left it behind in their haste to rescue what they thought was Logan, but to reaffirm the fact that Logan had really been here at one time. He gave the machine an absentminded pat on the gas tank and then moved on to the cabin to look for more evidence of Logan's presence.

One glance told him Logan wasn't inside; still he entered anyway, looking for further clues of Logan's whereabouts. The cabin was essentially a one-room house, but the interior had been divided into a small living room, bedroom, kitchenette, and bathroom. Logan might have added the bathroom after he found it, Scott wasn't sure, for the cabin itself looked fairly ancient. A pump-handled faucet supplied water to the deep kitchen basin and the same faucet and basin arrangement was used in the bathroom that also housed an old water closet and a huge clawfoot tub. Several large tin buckets filled with water lined the stone fireplace hearth in the living area and the makings of a large fire had been laid but not lit. Scott concluded that hot water was provided the hard way, and that Logan had been interrupted before heating the water, ostensibly for a bath, and looked around for other clues.

Logan had lent use of the building once to Hank and Ororo in order for them to get away for a while. They had both said it was quite charming and enjoyed their stay. Not long afterward Logan had taken his claws to himself in it, spattering the interior with his own blood, racked with guilt at letting Mystique get past him and go on a rampage at the mansion. There was still evidence of the blood, Scott noticed, but it looked like Logan had started to clean things up. The bed was unmade and the stone floor bare. A check of the bathroom found the bathtub filled with the missing rugs and a bed covering, and Scott nodded to himself, quickly changing his mind from the bath theory.

"You were going to wash the blood out of them, weren't you?"

His voice sounded loud in the small space, and he sheepishly turned toward the door again until he spotted the groceries and the bags. Wherever he had gone, Logan hadn't come back here afterwards, not for the bike or for the food; that alone raised suspicions. Scott moved over to the buckets and the fireplace again, the last things it seemed Logan had been using. Something nagged at him, something out of place. He stopped and bent down, picking something up off the floor.

"Hello." Scott studied the two gloves in his hands. "Now why would you take off your gloves?"
Rogue had given Logan these, he thought; they were not something he would have idly tossed aside. An idea came to mind and he crouched down suddenly, putting the gloves back and looking around the room from that vantage point. Though his poor head throbbed for a moment, he refocused quickly. From where he was, he could still see over the bed and the couch to the windows beyond, but he would not have been so easy to spot from the outside. That was it then. Logan saw something outside the cabin that made him crouch, and he would have removed Rogue's gift if he thought he needed the claws.

Then he remembered. The false Logan had been running out of the woods last week. What if Logan saw it pass by the cabin going into the woods? He would have naturally pursued it, since it was in his territory. Had there been a fight? What if 'whatever it was' couldn't work the same hypnotic eye spell on Logan? What if Logan terrified the shit out of it because of that? It didn't explain why that thing now looked like Logan, and it sure didn't shed any light on whatever had invisibly cut up the false Logan before they rescued it, but the gloves did confirm that Logan had been on the offensive at the time.

Scott grimaced as he stood, and his hand reflexively checked to see if his head was bleeding again. That wasn't what brought on the grimace, though; he was coming up with more questions, not answers. He needed to find out what had happened in the woods. Pulling his small flashlight from an interior jacket pocket, Scott headed out the door and off to the west, not exactly comfortable with the fact that he was very much alone in a very dark and wild forest.

Several minutes later found him still in the forest. Cursing the thick brush around him, Scott managed to stumble through to a small clearing, accidentally dropping the flashlight in the process. When he went to retrieve it, he tripped on an unseen root and fell flat on his face in the thick leafy carpet, banging his forehead against something hard on the way down. Instantly his eyes closed, just in case his specs had been shifted by the blow. He brought a hand forward to adjust them, but his fingers felt hard leather before they touched his glasses, and a preliminary blind examination, revealed the shape of the object to be a boot. Taking a chance, he opened his eyes and scrambled for the flashlight. Sure enough, it was an old leather boot, still attached to the body that wore it

"Logan!"

Scott began to frantically brush off the debris that had accumulated on top of his friend from the trees above, sticking the small flashlight in his mouth so he could use both hands. A quick assessment showed no damage, but Logan's appearance was not the same as the last time Scott had seen him. This Logan had a full beard, his wild hair strewn with leaves. His cheeks were sunken, as if he had lost a great deal of weight, but his color and breathing looked good. Like the others, Logan's eyes were rapidly moving underneath their lids, indicating he was dreaming.
"Dammit, Logan! I thought you would have been immune," exclaimed Scott. "Still, at least you seem okay."

Knowing he would not be able to wake him, Scott began to rack his brains for a way to haul the metal-laden man back home. His injured back and head ruled out carrying him to the jet, and there was no way he could land the jet here in this thicket.

Something shiny reflected the flashlight's beam and he reached forward to claim it. It was Logan's motorcycle key, and must have fallen from Logan's jacket pocket, probably when cleaning him off and checking him over. Grinning now, Scott pulled the flashlight out of his mouth.
"Hold on, Logan. I'll come back with the medicot and your motorcycle. We'll sled you out of here using the two of them. Then I'm taking you back with me. I'm not exactly sure how you can help me, but you seem to be the only thing it's afraid of. Maybe seeing you again will trigger something, and it will let the others go."

---

The Unexpected Prey

As soon as the jet landed in the hangar, Scott flipped the switch to close the overhead doors before he powered down the Blackbird. Though he concentrated hard to send a mental message, there was no response from the Professor, and that worried him. He prayed the thing had not escaped after Rogue had wrestled it to the ground, but he could not be sure of that now until he had a talk with Hank. He wasn't about to open the hangar wall without checking to see if Rogue or Xavier had been in communication with the upper levels.

Unbuckling himself from the pilot seat, he quickly unfastened the motorcycle from the medicot and began to unbuckle Logan. Once done, he pushed up one of Logan's eyelids, and watched the eye move randomly in a deep sleep. If only he was awake, Scott thought, he could tell me exactly what happened. Logan tensed slightly and Scott felt a surge of hope, but he made no other obvious sign of waking up, and Scott was forced to lower the eyelid in dismay.
Erring on the side of caution, Scott decided to predict the worst: the thing had taken Xavier and Rogue, though she had seemed to be in control when the hanger doors had sealed shut. He and Logan should be safe, for opening the doors would have given even Colossus or Rogue a good workout. Still, the thing had probably heard the jet land, so it knew he was back. But that was all the information he wanted to give it, he determined as he manually released the ramp, slowly cranking it open by hand in silence rather than use the hissing hydraulics to lower it.
He walked down from the belly of the jet and into the partially lit hangar, heading toward the closest intercom, until he spotted the narrow pitch-black space between the massive bay doors. If Rogue had opened them, she would have revealed herself already. That meant the creature had managed to wedge the locked doors apart enough to slip through them. Damn!

Scott spun around to race back up the ramp, but was struck a heavy blow across his shoulders that sent him sprawling across the slick concrete floor. The false Logan stepped forward out of the shadows and towered over him, its face as impassive as ever, though its eyes glittered with hatred. Scott watched it raise its arm high, its fist clutching a small pipe, probably readying itself to land the strike that would finish Scott off, when its entire body suddenly twitched.
Small cuts, slightly larger than pinpricks, appeared all over its visible skin, all at once, and its eyes rolled in its head as it staggered to its knees; the forgotten pipe dropped from its hand and clattered musically onto the concrete as it silently clutched its head in agony. Still flat on the floor with his neck and shoulders aching from the first strike, Scott could only manage to lash out with his foot, catching the thing hard enough to shove it over and out of the way. Scott then crawled toward the ramp again, trying to reach the safety of the ship, but he had to pass the false Logan first. It grabbed his arm in a lucid moment, its eyes filled with shock and pain; then it contorted again, pulling Scott with it and away from safety.

It dragged Scott over and on top of its chest, yanking on his hair and forcing him to look it in the eye. There was a flash again, like the ones Scott had seen before - when the X-Men had fallen asleep - but Scott didn't feel anything strange, except a renewed pain in his scalp and a panic to get away. He managed to free an arm, and struck the thing a sharp blow across the face hard enough to make it loosen its grip, giving him time to roll over and out of reach.
Trying to stand and run at the same time, Scott ended up stumbling to the ramp. Another flash lit the room from behind him, but Scott ignored it, concentrating on getting to the crank as fast as he could. A noise came from within the Blackbird now, and at the top of the ramp Scott suddenly found himself hauled roughly to his feet. A wild-looking Logan, the real Logan, stood before him, one hand still gripping the front of Scott's jacket and the other now rammed as a fist against his throat. For a second, there was silence, and Scott, sure that he saw his own death in those hard eyes in front of him, said a quick prayer aloud.

"God, watch over Jean."

The fist drew back, and Logan blinked, looking slightly puzzled. Then he sniffed the air.

"You're bleeding?" he said hoarsely, his coarse voice evidence that it had been a long time since he had spoken.

Scott wrenched himself out of Logan's grasp and began to crank the ramp back up, until he noticed the thing was nowhere to be seen.

"Yeah, I'm bleeding, but we've got other things to deal with!" he said, trying to lean down and determine where the false Logan had gone.

"Looking for Apocalypse?" Logan asked with mild curiosity.

Scott froze. "Apocalypse?" He turned and stared at Logan. "He's dead, Logan! We've got another monster to take care of." Desperate for answers, Scott threw a barrage of questions at Logan, hoping for some lucid response. "Do you remember what happened to you? Did you meet it in the woods? Why does it look like you? Why does it fear you?"

But Logan seemed to find Scott's panic humorous, for he threw back his head and laughed long and loudly. And the hair on the back of Scott's neck prickled, because it was not a sane laugh.

---

Overload

Scott glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear for the moment before he tried to continue his conversation with what seemed to be a mad man. He looked back at Logan, who was still chuckling.

"Logan?"

"Logan, Patch, Death, little hairy man, James, Weapon X, mutant scum, take your pick." Logan said calmly, swaying slightly as if standing in a hearty breeze. "You know, you smell like Scott, even sound like him, but somehow I don't think he'd be acting like you."

"I think I have a perfect right to be acting like this, considering what's going on," Scott retorted. "Here," Scott said as he rose, pushing Logan back and onto the medicot. "Sit." He rummaged in the first aid supply cabinet and brought out a large bottle of water. "Drink this."
Logan reached for it, then struck it away as he struggled to stand. "Don't move. He's right behind you."

Scott whirled around, but only normal jet interior met his eyes. "I don't see it. It couldn't have gotten past us to be in here anyway." He went back to studying Logan. "It's okay," he said reassuringly. "Somehow you seem to have scared it away. I don't think it will attack until it comes up with another plan."

"Stryker will always attack, especially when your eyes are closed," said Logan in a low, dangerous voice. A small sound of metal locking into place echoed loudly inside the 'bird.
"Don't move."

Confused now, Scott braved the claws Logan had released in order to step closer to him.
"Stryker's not here. He's dead. Apocalypse is dead, too. Logan, what's going on?"

"Dead? He's here! They're all here," Logan said with exasperation as he struck out, swiping at empty air. "Apocalypse, Stryker, Graves…." Logan stopped, evidently surprised when he didn't hit anything. "At least I think they are." He pulled in the claws. "I can't smell them, and I can't hear them. But they're here. Everyone I've ever killed. Everyone I've ever dealt with. They're here - all around me." Logan swiveled his head toward Scott. "Can't you see them?" he asked in a puzzled tone.

"That redhead over there, see her?" Logan twisted Scott around by the shoulders and pointed to a dark shadow at the rear of the craft. "See her? Stryker used her to get me. He knew I was going to the general about Dooley; I knew Stryker caused that accident. He took her and I followed like a sap. He worked her over good, used her to keep me in line at first." Logan paused, his voice choked off for a moment, and Scott took a chance and glanced back at him. "In the end I had to kill her to put her out of her misery. She didn't know me anymore; he had taken so much from her, she wasn't much more than a vegetable."

He sat back down on the medicot, not really seeming to know what he was doing. "That was my first lesson from Stryker, to kill what I loved before he took it away from me anyway."
As stunned as he was to hear Logan talk about seeing dead people, it was Logan's last statement that shook Scott to the core.

"Logan, how are you able to remember all this?" Scott asked as he sat beside Logan on the medicot.

"I remember everything," Logan said grimly, tapping his skull. "I have everything up here, everything Stryker didn't cut out of my head." He stared hard at Scott. "Can't you see them? They look real to me." He sniffed the air. "I just can't smell them. They don't have heartbeats, either. Maybe they aren't there."

Logan leaned back and closed his eyes in exhaustion, and then jerked upright, opening his eyes wide, a savage growl beginning and dying just as quickly in his throat. He paused and looked quizzically at Scott.

"Strange. If I close my eyes, they attack. When I open them, they just stand there." He shook his head and laughed again, as if the whole situation were amusing now. "I can't figure it out. And you can't see them at all?"

The conversation he, Jean, and the Professor had in the garden suddenly took on a whole new meaning, and Scott realized Logan had been living in his memories while out in the woods, unable to wake himself up and escape the horrors that had occurred in his life. For over a week, he had been tortured in a way Scott could not imagine.

"Logan, I….I'm sorry. I can't see them. And I think it's my fault," Scott said softly. "We came to get you, to rescue you, and we ended up picking up the very thing that attacked you. I think - I know - it put you to sleep. And you couldn't wake up to stop these memories from becoming very, very real."

Swallowing hard, Scott reasoned there were no words to express his dismay at the entire situation. He had to put this aside, he told himself finally. Apologies could come later, after they had taken care of the problem at hand.

"Look, I need your help." Scott pushed the bottle he still held into Logan's hand. "Drink this first. The others are in danger, and I need you in shape enough to help me."

Logan took the bottle mechanically, drinking it quickly, much to Scott's dismay.

"Don't make yourself sick!" Scott exclaimed.

There was a derisive snort. "As if. What's your problem?" Logan asked with genuine concern as he tossed the empty bottle away.

"What did you meet in the woods?"

Logan blinked and thought for a moment. "The woods?"

"Before all these memories came to life. What were you tracking in the woods?" repeated Scott.
Logan gave a short bark of a laugh. "Damned if it wasn't a tree with red eyes. Didn't smell like a tree, though. Didn't smell like anything I'd ever tracked before. Hurt like hell when it stung me. Changed to look just like me, too. I stabbed it, and the last thing I remember was a red light before Stryker started taking me apart again." He glanced around. "They're just standing there now. Are they waiting for me to sleep again?"

Scott sucked in a breath, an image of the thing being sliced open in the woods coming to mind. "Logan, how did Stryker take you apart?"

There was a noncommittal shrug. "He cut me up on the dotted lines, he and his 'surgeons,' with scalpels, so he could inject molten metal on my bones."

"He cut you open, all over your body?"

"Pretty much." Logan cocked his head. "Why?"

Scott frowned. "Because it seems your memory was repeated on that thing. It was cut open, all over, before our eyes, with invisible scalpels. What were you remembering just now, before you came to? I mean before you smelled my blood?" he amended when Logan seemed confused about 'coming to.'

"Apocalypse was putting the metal back in."

Scott's eyebrow rose sharply. "How? You never did say."

"He pulled the metal from Sabretooth in tiny slivers, and had all those slivers burrow into me, digging through my skin, muscles, and organs until they hit bone, where he fused them…."

Fighting the urge to throw up, Scott interrupted. "Small little wounds, all over?"
"Yeah."

Scott shook his head gently, comprehension finally making headway. "That's it then. It fears you because you aren't like its usual food. When it puts you to sleep, all it gets are horrible memories that seem to attack it. You're its worst nightmare. That's why it had to release you from your sleep."

Logan stood. "Glad I'm useful for something," he said, yawning. Suddenly he tensed, and then moved stealthily toward the shadows, a low growl rumbling ominously from his throat. "Damned bastard. I'll teach him to stare at me."

"Logan, wait!" Scott rose up quickly, forgetting all his injuries for a second before they nearly brought him to his knees. "We've got to deal with this thing first," he gasped, trying desperately to hold his head together. "It put everyone to sleep and is feeding off of them, killing them." Logan didn't seem to listen, so Scott tried again. "Logan! Those shadows aren't real! This thing is! We've got to save the others! We're the only ones left to defeat it!"
An angry Wolverine instantly appeared before him, grabbing his jacket front again and pulling him close, nose-to-nose.

"What do you mean by only ones left?" Rage shook the fists holding Scott. "What happened?"

Scott kept the story very simple, hoping Logan would follow it. But when he got to the part where Rogue had jumped the creature and had yelled for Scott to go get Logan, he had to stop. The look on Logan's face was too terrible - an inhuman mixture of grief and fury clouded his features - and he dropped Scott, howling his anger out in a loud roar. An answering crash sounded outside the jet, and Scott realized the thing was probably running for cover. He did not feel sorry for it.

"All of them?" Logan managed to choke out.

"I don't know about the kids, or Piotr, Kitty, Ororo, or Hank. Everyone else, yeah, I'm assuming they've been taken."

"Come on." Logan bent down and pulled Scott up, half dragging him down the ramp and into the immense hangar. "I'm going hunting. You stay right here," he said, unceremoniously dumping Scott in the nearest small puddle of light. "With all these dead things floating around, I need to know where you are so I don't cut you in half accidentally."

"But how will you take it?" asked Scott.

"You mean how am I going to kill it? Same way I'm going to kill myself."

"Logan!"

Logan knelt down and gripped Scott's shoulder with vice-like intensity. "Do you think I want to live like this?" he snarled. "Having Stryker hover over my bed while I make love to my woman? Risk gutting any children I'm near because I see Apocalypse behind them?" He laughed a humorless laugh. "No, Scott. I can't handle this. Anything but this. I'll kill that thing for you, and follow it to hell to make sure it stays there."

He threw back his head for a moment and let loose another strange laugh. "Damn funny thing, too," he said when he stopped, "since I wasn't coming back after I killed Mystique. I figured I didn't want to watch all of you grow old and die, leaving me alone again. Now it looks like I'm taking all of you with me."

Logan's words sparked an idea, a very nasty idea, the shock of which hit Scott like a fatal blow. Why hadn't he seen it before? He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

Something akin to pity showed in Logan's eyes.

"You mean you hadn't already assumed the worst? Figures," muttered Logan. "You're such a damned optimist. Yes, I'm guessing it will take everyone with it when it dies, Scott. Do you want to pay that price or not? Tell me now."

Scott nodded, even as he blinked back tears. It would probably end that way. That thing only released Logan because he harmed it. It needed the others to feed off of. Everyone would die when it died, everyone but himself; now he knew what Logan meant when he said he didn't want to be alone.

"What do we need to kill it?" Scott finally managed to ask.

"Like I said, you stay here. I'll get the fuel."

"NO! Not jet fuel!" Scott exclaimed. "Something less explosive. The children might still be above us. We can't let them die, too."

Logan thought for a moment. "Motor oil? We'll still need a spark."

"Go get it. I'll think of something."

While Logan disappeared into the shadows, Scott managed to make it to his feet. He felt the back of his head and was not surprised when his hand came away streaked with blood. A figure appeared before him and he quickly wiped his palm on his pant leg, though he knew Logan would smell it.

"That didn't take long," he remarked to Logan.

Only it was the wrong Logan.

Before he could shout an alarm, the creature spread out its fingers, elongating one of the index digits to a spear-like length, which it rammed into Scott's midsection. Unbelievable pain radiated all over Scott's body, and he screamed involuntarily, creating a horrible echo in the cavernous hangar, until his voice stopped working. Scott hit the floor hard, unable to control his arms and legs, and the thing withdrew its finger as it twisted and changed before his eyes. Now a perfect replica, the new Scott bent down to retrieve Scott's glasses, but its fingers were suddenly pulled back when a furious mass of metal and flesh hit it broadside, knocking it several feet away.

Scott could only watch in silence as the two tumbled together in a fierce battle. The creature would meld itself around Logan as if to squeeze him to death, and Logan would hack at it lethally, creating gaping wounds that made it writhe in agony. Finally there was a flash of light, and Logan slumped in an unmoving heap while the thing pulled itself free. But its respite was short-lived, for it soon began to shudder anew with horrible wounds that appeared out of nowhere. Enduring as much as it could, the false Scott finally had to release its hold over Logan, and crawl back into the shadows to hide again.

Logan twitched, then sat bolt upright, his claws extending in case something was nearby. Seeing all was calm, he spotted and crawled over to the other X-Man, and sat at his side. Scott tried to tell him what had happened, but his tongue had trouble moving.

"Yeah, it hurts like hell when it duplicates you," offered Logan with a sigh. "I've disabled the fire response system and have the motor oil ready, but I can't do anything if it puts me to sleep again. I'll have my hands busy, so I'll need you to provide the spark. Think you can strike a match?"

Scott managed a feeble nod, and forced his hand to twitch slightly.

"Close enough," Logan said, giving Scott numb shoulder an encouraging pat. "I'll give you my lighter."

He moved out of Scott's vision for a moment and then came back into view. He set down three bottles of motor oil and put the lighter in Scott's right hand.

"Okay, here's the deal. Light the oil when I pin it, got it?"

"Pin it?" Scott mumbled.

"Pin it," confirmed Logan. "Now close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Okay, don't close 'em." Logan popped one blade on each hand.

Scott only had a moment to guess what Logan was going to do with those claws, and he quickly shut his eyes, though the sounds of the unorthodox surgery alone made him choke.

"There," said Logan. "Now it won't be so easy to put me to sleep."

Scott looked up and tried not to stare, but the sight of a sightless Logan was a horrible thing to take. He tried to sit up, but Logan pushed him down.

"Lie back. You have your job to do, and I have mine. Whatever you do, don't try to save me. If you pull noble crap like that and it comes back to life, I'll kick your ass, got it?" He paused, wiping the blood off his cheeks with a sleeve. "Don't worry about my eyes. If I live, they'll grow back. It'll just take a little time."

He reached out blindly to touch Scott's face, tapping it gently when he found it. "You're a good man, Scott. You'll make it to heaven. When you get there, do me a favor. Tell Marie I love her."

With no further parting words, Logan fumbled for the plastic bottles, stood, and then turned on his heel and walked away. Scott heard a small sound and noticed a thin shiny streak on the floor. One of the bottles had a tiny hole in it and was leaving a small trail. He expected the trail to meander all over the large hangar, but Logan didn't go off in the shadows, instead he stopped and picked up something off the floor and tossed it toward Scott. It was a T-shirt and some scrub pants. Scott suddenly had a terrible feeling. If it didn't look human anymore, what did it look like? Logan was not as perturbed about the change in form, however, and he sniffed the air, zeroing in on a very nearby source. He popped a claw, cut off the caps of the bottles, let them clatter ominously on the concrete surface, and then turned quickly, dumping the entire lot of oil onto the nearest metal drum.

Scott was speechless and struggled to rise, but the next moment he was too busy watching the metal drum morph into the strangest looking creature he had ever seen. It was almost plantlike in structure, with limbs that moved in any and all directions. And the eyes set in its misshapen head were a perfect match for his own. Scott was glad Logan couldn't see what he was facing, for the thing literally bristled with arms and thorns. In a rush it tackled Logan, and the struggle to survive was on.

As strong as it was, it made poor headway against bones that couldn't break and claws able to cut through anything. Again, after a few minutes, it played its ultimate card and flashed its eyes at Logan. This time, though, Logan did not slump to the ground. He continued to fight hard, slipping and sliding, forcing the creature back past Scott and toward the far wall. It strangled him, cut him, and stung him repeatedly, but Logan would shake everything off in a matter of seconds and be on it again, driving it relentlessly to the wall. And Scott's terrible feeling worsened when he remembered just what that wall held - the entire conduit system for piping electricity in to the massive mansion underground.

"Sure you know what you're doing?" he croaked at Logan.

"Just flick that lighter and set that oil off," Logan panted in return. "Been nice knowing you."

With one final shove, he rammed the claws through the squirming creature and skewered two of the largest conduits at the same time, while Scott produced a flame and lit the oil trail. Frozen in place by the electricity flowing through his muscles, Logan could not move now if he wanted to, nor could the creature move him with voltage coursing though its own limbs.

The lights above waxed and waned as the electrical supply fluctuated, giving the entire grisly scene an unreal quality. When the flames finally licked at the oil covering it, the creature managed to twist slightly in silent agony, its flesh beginning to char and peel away while it was still alive. Unfortunately, Logan had wrestled with it enough to get oil on himself, and the impartial fire fed on whatever fuel it found available. Flames shot upward, nearly reaching the ceiling, and the crystals on Scott's lenses became uncomfortably hot, just like his skin. Finally, thankfully, the fire could not find much else to burn in the concrete structure and began to die out.

Thick smoke curled around the enclosed space, pressing down on him from above, and Scott actually hoped it would take his breath and his life away. The sorrow of having lost everything in order to stop one monstrous creature cut deeply at his heart, for he was the one who had initially let it in the mansion in the first place.

Darkness began to envelope him on the outside, too. The electrical lights no longer functioned, and the flames on the floor from the oil were now too tiny to let him see much. As the smoke descended further, the stench and heat became stifling, and he threw up what little contents he had left in his stomach. Still, he had to make sure the creature was dead. Even after all this. Before he died.

The fire was more of a glow now, revealing two blackened forms still locked in place against the wall. His face slick with tears, Scott waited a long moment to make sure neither shape moved before he took off his specs and wiped his eyes. He blindly moved his head back in the direction of the two and blinked once, releasing a blast that pulverized part of the wall, burying the creature and Logan in a rubble-strewn tomb.

The hangar fell silent, the final light extinguished, and Scott laid his throbbing head on the concrete, praying that if he fell asleep, he would wake up with Jean in a happier world.

---

Smoke and Mirrors

Something was on him, all over him, and his skin was seared by the wetness of it. Moving was not an option, Logan realized, as his body screamed at him not to the moment he tried. Before he could stop it, a faint groan escaped his lips. There was an answering movement, and he concentrated, trying to figure out whether or not someone else was nearby. Whatever was on his face also covered his ears, he reasoned, and muffled his chance of determining whether it was a friend or foe. He thought someone said something. Then a repetitive sound faded away. He must be alone now, for no other sounds were forthcoming.

His brain seemed to be swimming in a hazy fog of pain - nothing new there. Then again, he wasn't sure where he was. His heart began to beat faster. He couldn't even smell anything - he couldn't breathe in deeply enough for one, and a strong scent of antiseptic pervaded whatever swathed his face for another. He tried to raise even one arm to see if he could shake off the covering, but his body protested vehemently. His mind agreed, and he spiraled downward as if from a dizzying height, blacking out before he hit whatever was at the bottom of that deep, dark mental well.

Had hours or days gone by, Logan wondered the next time he was aware of being awake. His throat burned, his stomach growled piteously, and his skin seemed to have been shredded with a wire brush. That was nothing compared to his limbs and his eyes. Oh God, how he hurt! Again, he tried to move, not remembering the severe lesson he had been taught last time. Again he groaned when the world took a spin underneath him. He managed to hear another movement in the room as he fought to stay conscious - heard another sound that he could have sworn was a voice calling his name - before the blackness claimed him yet again.

A low rumble woke him, irritating him back into the world of the living. Okay, he could do this, he thought, concentrating hard. He would not move, making sure he would stay awake this time. He had to stay awake. He had to know where he was and what was going on. The pain had faded slightly. His skin still burned like fire, but also itched, though nothing was actually on it causing the severe pain like before. He had the impression something was over him instead, a tent maybe? Was he inside or outside?

Logan tried to sniff, and realized something was on his face, not covering his nose, though. It irked him that he had something on his body foreign to him, and a slight growl rumbled in his throat, one that was quickly cut off when his dry tracheal tissues closed up. He coughed slightly, then more as his lungs sought to clear something out of their system. A whiff revealed it to be smoke. He must have inhaled some kind of smoke. He had done that before. He had even caught fire once before, and, come to think on it, this all-over agony felt similar. But that time he had managed to crawl to a small pond and immerse himself in the water, coughing out the smoke and healing rapidly. He racked his brains. Had he caught fire recently? There was that lightning strike he had taken on the way to the bus. Had it set his clothes on fire? It would have been a first. Oh shit! Was he late getting the kids to the museum?

He sat up so fast he smashed his head on something hanging above him. There was a scream and the intensity of the sound echoed through his head with knifelike stabs. Something clamped down on his left arm, something strong and painful. Oh God, the touch sent shockwaves throughout his body, overloading an already stressed out healing system. He tried to pull away and ended up sliding off whatever he was lying on, crashing heavily to the floor in a pain-wracked heap of overwrought sensations. This time he didn't fight when the darkness came to call.
Someone was talking to him, Logan finally noticed. Someone was talking softly, slightly above a whisper. It was cool and calm, wherever he was, and the voice was soothingly familiar. He enjoyed it, for its pleasant tone kept his mind off the agony his body was in as he tried to make out what the person was saying. The more he listened, the more he understood. And the more he understood, the more fragments of memory he was able to piece together.

"So far nothing's moving. Ah'm sure your glad of that. We all are. Whatever it was, it wasn't human. Bobby said his astronomy professor gave them an extra credit assignment yesterday to propose a path a missing meteor may have taken. It seems some scientists claimed to have tracked one on telescopes and radar a week and a half ago, and then lost in the extreme northern hemisphere. We think that's where our little 'friend' came from. You must have run across him just after touchdown.

"It's been about two days since the Professor and Ah found the two of you in the hangar, but Scott's taking no chances. We're locked down here for another two days until he's satisfied that thing is nothing but ash. Ah sealed the hangar after Ah set up the cameras Kurt brought down. Hank and them are taking turns monitoring the rubble, and us, too, just in case we're infected or something. Well, mainly in case you and Scott are infected, since he says it stung both of you before y'all killed it. Poor Kurt. Jean runs him up and down to give us stuff and take her tissue samples, and then keeps him in quarantine, running tests on him to make sure he doesn't get contaminated, too.

"Serves him right. Besides the kids, he's the only one who got a decent night's sleep that night that thing showed itself for what it was. Seems he went to bed early and slept through the whole thing. Everyone else is okay. Like me and the Professor, they woke up with a bad headache and hungry as all get out. It's funny, we all compared dreams, and they were all the best ones we've ever had. They seemed so real. Ah dreamed about us."

A sigh split the monologue.

"Ah wish you'd talk back to me, you know. Not that Ah don't enjoy conversing with you, but it's a little better when you join in. You've been really down, sugar. We weren't sure you'd recover at all." There was a shaky breath. "Well, they weren't. Ah was, me and the Professor.

"Speaking of which, he's been doing his best to help you heal, and Ah've been helping him. Jean's fit to be tied that Scott won't let anyone down here. She keeps sending stuff down with Kurt, like food, flashlights, and blankets, to help us take care of you two. Ah must say, you and Scott haven't been the best of patients. He's moody as hell, and you keep twitching and fighting us. We finally had to put you on a mattress on the floor here in the lab, and him on the couch in Jean's office nearby.

"You ask me, he feels responsible. He keeps mumbling and crying out in his sleep. Ever since Ah dug you out of that rubble and we found your skin and muscles trying to heal up from where the burned parts had been torn off by the concrete, he's been beside himself with worry. Whether he's worried about not thinking you'd survive that kind of injury, or whether he doesn't think you'll forgive him for leaving you out there and bringing it back, Ah don't know. Ah told him it wasn't his fault he didn't recognize what was going on. Ah told him Ah would have brought it back here whether or not he had approved, and Ah'm the one who knows you a lot more intimately than he'll ever know you. It fooled every one of us."

A bout of sniffles ensued. "Ah think that's what hurts me the most. Ah thought that thing was you, and left you laying out there in the middle of the woods, dying. Ah'm going to have to live with that."

The guilt in the voice tore at him. The voice itself was so very familiar, but the source was just out of his mental reach, though he knew it would come to him.

"Don't," he managed to say weakly.

She gasped, for it was a she and not a he. "Logan?"

There was a touch on his arm, and he winced slightly, though he tried not to.

"Sorry, sugar. Ah did that before and sent you over the edge of the bed. Ah guess all your nerves and muscles aren't quite finished growing back in." She paused. "Do you know me? It's…..Rogue."

'Rogue' didn't sound right. Then it hit him, and he remembered a familiar pair of playful green eyes set in a pretty little face framed by soft, silky dark hair accented with a little white stripe.

"Marie?" he mumbled, his heart racing with hope.

Something wet dripped on him. "Yes!" she squeaked. "Oh, sorry," she said quickly, going back down to a whisper. "Yes. It's me."

He smiled, as much as he could, anyway, trying to let her know he was as happy as she was. Of all the people to wake up to, or go to sleep with, he had hit the jackpot, he thought, and he sighed contentedly as he drifted off once more.

Hazy images of what she had said swirled around in his mind, and soon he was able to put images with some of the things she had described. There had been something strange with red eyes that had attacked him in the woods. He had been in the hanger, fighting it. There had been a fire, and he had been part of it, part of the fuel of it. The more he thought, the more the images swirled and became confusing, until he was sure he had spent the better part of a week viewing the movie that went round and round in his head. Logan forced himself to stop thinking, and just relax, but it really didn't seem like he had been allowed more than a moment of rest before someone was waking him up by softly calling his name again.

"Logan?"

It was a different voice this time, a man's.

"Logan, it's Scott."

The name was familiar.

"Summers?" he managed to croak out.

There was a sigh of relief. "That's right, Scott Summers. Your residential pain-in-the-ass, who leaves you out in the woods to die and takes in loving monsters for you to fight when you're out of your mind."

Scott's words didn't make sense, though Logan tried to follow. "Mind?" he asked.

"Considering what you look like right now, I can only imagine the pain you're in." There was a heavy sadness in Scott's voice. "But I need to ask you a few questions, see what you remember, before I let us go up to the others tomorrow night."

As much as Logan didn't feel like answering questions, Scott seemed to need something.

"Shoot," Logan mumbled.

"You know who Stryker is, right?"

Logan gave a slight nod and gritted his teeth against the pain he felt doing it.

"Where is he now?"

The question did not make sense to Logan. Was Scott joking?

"Dead. Bottom….of lake."

Again there was an immense sigh of relief. "And Apocalypse? Graves?"

Logan fought hard to focus. "Gone. Shredded." He tried to lick his lips, but couldn't. "Why?"

"Well, when you woke up in the jet after I landed it in the hangar, you were convinced they were all around you, and still alive. I had a private chat with the Professor, and he seemed to feel you were dehydrated and hallucinating due to physical and mental stress." Scott paused for a long moment.

"You told me you didn't want to live if it meant you had to see them all the time, and you destroyed the creature and tried to destroy yourself. You made me promise not to save you. So I guess I had to make sure the Professor was right, make sure I hadn't just condemned you to insanity for the rest of your unnatural life by letting Rogue drag you out from under all that concrete."

Logan tried to reach up and pull at the bandages over his eyes. He really needed to see Scott's face. His other senses, as crudely as they were working at the moment, were telling him the young man was not joking.

"No! Don't do that! Don't uncover your eyes!" Scott said sharply, and Logan's head throbbed with the loud noise, enough to make him lie still again.

"I'm sorry, Logan," Scott said softly, much to Logan's relief. "I didn't mean to upset you, especially now. You're as badly injured as I've ever seen you, even counting what Magneto did to you when he took the metal out. Don't try to use your eyes just yet. You said they would heal but it would take a while. Probably a good thing, since a mirror wouldn't be your friend at the moment."

"Remember creature," Logan offered. "Remember fight." He paused. "Eyes and….motor oil?"

"Yes, motor oil," Scott said encouragingly.

"Not jet….don't remember. Stung you….had to get it."

"Ah, that may be it. One, I gave you some water right before we left the jet, and that may have helped you a little. Two, it attacked me and your adrenaline must have kicked into overdrive. I bet you'll only remember everything after that. That's good - less stressful for you. Me, too, actually." Scott's voice was tinged with relief. "By the way," he asked in a lighter tone, "who's Marie?"

Logan thought for a moment, deciding whether to tell or not.

"That's okay. You don't have to answer. When I mentioned what you said to Rogue, she started crying, so I'm going to pretend I don't know that might be her real name," Scott said kindly. "I'm just glad you aren't imagining dead people anymore."

"Can't see….to know," Logan muttered. "Might."

"No. You know they're dead now. You didn't before. I'm just sorry I caused this mess." His voice was harsh now, filled with self-hatred. "I let you get tortured, burned, left for dead…."
Logan growled ever so softly, but made sure Scott heard it so he would stop rambling on.

"So I shouldn't worry about that?" Scott asked, his voice now sounding slightly amused.

"Made my own….mistakes." Logan fought to swallow. "Mystique."

There was a rustle of movement. "Believe it or not, she did us a favor, in a macabre sort of way. She shot the thing; that's when we realized it wasn't you. Of course that's also when it went ballistic and took people left and right, but it might have figured out it could take us in the middle of the night sometime soon, and then none of us would have survived, not even the kids."

Logan grimaced. He had so wanted to kill Mystique, and here the X-Men owed her for shooting the enemy.

"I know, you think she's better off dead," Scott said, as if reading his thoughts. "Well, that might be, but I don't want to repay her with that for now. I have an idea, though. With the Professor's help, we may be able to keep her out of our hair for awhile."

Logan tried for a small nod again, and began shake when the pain became too much. He hurt all over, and he groaned, despite trying not to.

"Sorry. I've been keeping you talking too long. Here. I had Kurt sneak this down. Jean would have my hide or yours if…." Scott broke off suddenly, and for some reason sniffled slightly. "I mean she's trying to restrict your diet to keep your body healing as fast as possible," he said in a somber tone. "But I figure if you can live through what I saw you live through, you can handle anything. Open your mouth."

A straw tapped against his lower teeth, and Logan clamped down on it, sucking tentatively. It was milk. He gulped it quickly, until there wasn't any left.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely. The room had begun to spin again.

"Just let me know when you're ready for the beer, got it."

Logan gave a weak chuckle before passing out once more.

A bright light shone all around him and he blinked cautiously, opening his eyes to the wondrous sight of a valley colorfully lit by the dying light of a beautiful sunset. Surprised to be able to see, Logan glanced around. Someone was sitting beside him in the tall grass on the hillside, where the meadow met the edge of the forest growing above it.

"Good evening, Logan." The Professor grinned, seemingly at home in his dapper little suit, even in the middle of this wild stretch of landscape. "I hope you don't mind. I pulled this image from your consciousness and settled us here for a short chat while they move you from the lab to the break room. This way your mind is occupied while your body is conveyed upstairs. We're hoping you won't feel as much pain, considering all movement and noise seems to cause you great distress at the moment."

Logan stared at everything around him. From the rustle of evergreen needles in a slight breeze to the occasional hum of an insect flying past, the illusion was extremely complete. Right down to the old boots, jeans, belt buckle, shirt, and jacket he normally wore, things he assumed were now burned to a cinder.

"The break room?" he finally managed to ask.

"We're using it as a makeshift hospital room while you convalesce. I must say, when Rogue and I first saw you, I thought it would be a long while before you would recover, even with your abilities. It seems I underestimated you." Xavier's eyes twinkled with pleasure. "I'm glad you are recovering so quickly."

"Why upstairs? Just leave me on the floor in the lab. I'll heal."

The Professor frowned slightly. "There is a great deal of repair work to be done. The noise would have been too much for you. As for your injuries…." A shriveled, charred thing appeared in the grass in front of them; it looked like a concentration camp victim that had been set on fire. "As you can see, they were severe."

The corpse-like thing disappeared quickly, replaced by something red and raw, but more recognizable as human, for it now had a nose and ears, though its eyes were hidden by bandages, and was mostly covered with skin, though it was still pitifully emaciated.

"You have made significant progress, as you can see."

Again the image faded quickly, as if the Professor did not want him to dwell on his injuries too much.

Logan idly plucked a blade of grass from between his feet and stuck it in his mouth. It even tasted right.

"So, what kind of chat?" he offered, not even mentioning his irritation that, yet again, Chuck was treading on dangerous ground by crawling into his head.

"Scott reported that you said you were not coming back after you took care of our Mystique problem."

"She's my problem, Chuck," Logan responded in a gruff tone.

"No. She is our problem," Xavier said firmly. "Scott and I will deal with her for the moment. I need to deal with you now." The Professor's eyes were as serious and sad as he had ever seen them. "You cannot leave and think it will solve your problem, Logan. I admit, you might possibly outlive all of us, and you will be alone again, essentially, after we die. But we will always be with you. You cannot hope to simply run away and let that end the matter."
Logan nodded. "I know. I figured out a while ago it's too late to cut myself loose. Even if I leave for a time, I'll probably come right back. I was kidding myself, I was angry at Mystique, and was looking for ways to prevent her from hurting all of you again," he said honestly. "I'll still do it if I feel it's the best option for all of you."

Xavier let go of a sigh of relief. "You are simply new to the idea of what a family can truly be. Don't underestimate our resources. We, too, can handle a little danger, you know. Solitude can be a heavy burden, Logan. We are here for you, and you now have a home. You don't have to be alone anymore. Besides," he offered with a droll twist to his mouth, "none of us knows what the future will bring. You may not outlive us, considering your propensity for self-destruction."

A searing pain shot through Logan unexpectedly, and he involuntarily curled forward into a ball of agony as the false world around him faded somewhat.

"My apologies," said Xavier in a somber tone as the pain subsided. "I was so intent on trying to let you know you are loved, I let my abilities slip. They were putting you on the elevator as gently as they could."

"And here I was upset with you for getting in my head again," gasped Logan. "Maybe this idea of yours wasn't so bad."

Xavier smiled. "Please tell me where we are. It is a delightful place."

Logan blinked a little and shook his head to clear it, focusing on the surrounding beauty again.

"We're south of the cabin in the mountains, the one Hank and Ororo borrowed that time." Logan stood and raised an eyebrow. "Since you're not in a wheelchair, I'm assuming you can walk. Care you stretch your legs?"

The Professor's face lit up with a huge grin of appreciation, and he scrambled to his feet. "I did not wish to push you, should you prove too tired to imagine too much. But yes, I would like a tour of the land."

Logan grunted. "Anything to keep the pain at bay. For a while anyway. Down here's a brook, you might like to see…."

---

Palinode
She was back, much to the delight of the regular bar patrons. The interior of the dingy establishment seemed lovely just by the addition of her presence, but there was a difference this time, and they could not help but notice she did not display her usual spark of life. Her figure was as flawless as ever, but the clingy dress she wore was a dark and somber black, not the racy red she usually sported. And her features, as enchanting as always, were almost brittle due to lack of warmth. Her eyes were vacant as they stared down at the pilsner glass slowly turning on the bar between her dainty palms. The shell was here, but the woman herself was gone. At a loss of what to do, the bartender, and two of the bravest souls in the room, had approached her, but all she wanted was a beer to cry in, not that she was crying openly. No one opened his wallet; no one felt lucky tonight. Something was wrong with their goddess.
When the unknown male entered, the regulars bristled. He was a stranger to them, but one she was not watching for, making him the target of several glares, not that he noticed. He only had eyes for her and walked straight up to the stool beside her, taking a seat without invitation. The patrons watched him angrily, ready to jump in should they need to step in and defend her honor.

She glanced over briefly to see who dared intrude on her space, and then did a double-take, her perfect mouth hanging open indelicately as she stared at the man in surprise. It was a strange reaction, the others decided. He was nothing special to look at. His wild hair, wooly sideburns, jean jacket, dark shirt, belt buckle, jeans, and old boots were nothing spectacular in this neck of the woods. Still, she stared as if seeing a ghost. He raised an eyebrow as if in question, and she seemed to come to herself, closing off her surprised features with a demure little smile.

"You're alive," she said, unnecessarily.

"So it would seem," he drawled.

"I didn't think you'd survive."

He shrugged. "I've had worse."

The bartender approached. Sensing the regulars' hostile mood, he was curt when addressing the man.

"Buy a drink or shove off," he muttered to the stranger.

The wild-looking man gave the bartender a once-over glance, as if assessing him as a potential threat. The locals were surprised when he dismissed the big man behind the bar as not worth his worry, considering the barman was easily 6'5" and weighed in at nearly 280 pound. Her lips curved upward in an appreciative grin, though, as if expecting this verve.

"Give him one of these," she said, tapping her glass. When he shifted on the stool to reach in his pocket to pay the bartender, she lightly rested her hand on his forearm. "I'll get it."
"Thank you, Raven," the stranger said politely, accompanying his thanks with a small nod.
"You're welcome, Logan," she said, stressing the last word and offering him an equal nod of acknowledgement.

They stared at each other in silence, pausing occasionally to sip their beers.

"So," she finally said, "is it your turn? I knew even without the metal you'd be a tough bastard to take on. You surprised me when you just stood there. I thought…." She shrugged. "Well, anyway, where shall we take it now? Not here, unless you want witnesses," she said, her coy tone not lost on her audience.

Her eyes were alive now, and the patrons of the establishment appreciated the change in the color of her cheeks and the sparkle in her attitude, even as they cursed this 'Logan' for being the one to bring her around.

He contemplated her for a long moment before giving an answer.

"I'm taking a rain check."

Of all the things he could have said, her shocked face was evidence that this was the least expected. A formidable frown appeared between those perfect eyebrows.

"A rain check? A rain check!" She glanced around and lowered her angry voice. "Why you dirty bastard," she hissed. You did stand there and bait me, didn't you? Of all the low-down rotten men I've ever known, you take the cake."

"I let you have your shot, Raven," he said calmly, taking another sip of beer. "It's what you wanted. I didn't do it to make a fool of you, just to prove a point. You can't win. I'll always come back."

"Oh?" she asked malevolently. "Is that why you stood still?" One eyebrow rose dangerously. "Tell you what, you can just keep on standing still, you moron. I thought you were someone worth getting to know. I take it back. You aren't. Not now, anyway. That little girl has you wrapped around her little finger, or is it her ring finger?"

"It is."

"Pity," she spat. "I hate to see wasted potential. You could have been such fun to play with. And here you were trying to prove a point - that I'm not a worthy adversary." She tapped her fingers in irritation. "If anything you're the one not worth my time.

"Go on and let them shear you," she mocked. "It won't be long before that wolf in you wakes up and comes sniffing around for something more real - namely me. You see, I'm someone who knows how to live life on the edge and appreciate it; unlike them, I enjoy having adventures. Looking death in the eye and beating it isn't something you can get out of your system just because a little skirt wants you to, Logan. You will come looking for me," she said confidently. "You won't last long under their collar. Sheep are never fun to play with."

She picked up her glass, struck it against his, and then tipped her lovely throat back and downed the contents left in it. Slamming it back down, she glared over at him.

"Magneto should have never de-clawed you. You haven't been right in the head since. When you're over being a good guy, look me up. Until then, fuck off - I'm not interested in nice games."
With that she turned away from him, giving him a frosty shoulder the regulars hoped he wouldn't clue in to, since they so wanted to teach him a lesson for irritating such perfection. But he disappointed them. He had the decency not to plead with her. He merely rose, pulled a twenty from his pocket, and dropped it on the bar's well-worn surface before heading for the door.
They were so intent on seeing how she reacted to this, the regular bar patrons neglected to watch him further through the windows as he walked across the sidewalk and entered the driver's side of a sleek black car parked just outside. If they had, they would have noticed the stranger did not look the same now as he had in their bar. Gone were the rough and casual clothes, replaced with well-groomed attire. The hair also had changed dramatically, no longer standing in wild array, but neatly combed and trimmed. The man had become clean-shaven, too. And his eyes were no longer a muted green/brown tone. In fact, they couldn't be seen at all due to some serious dark shades now covering them. He started the car and steered it slowly away from the curb, nodding and smiling to the older, bald man seated in the rear area of the vehicle as he merged into the traffic of the streets. No, they didn't notice any of this, as they pulled wallets, handkerchiefs, and phone numbers from their pockets in anticipation of comforting a woman now alone.
Maybe this would be their lucky night after all.

---

Normal on a Good Day
Logan wasn't sure what had gotten in to everyone. They made a big deal about him doing normal things, like sitting up, getting dressed, feeding himself, and (could they get any weirder) going to the bathroom. Every hour he felt better and made progress. Every day, he chafed more at any restrictions placed upon him, and, by his count, it had been almost a week since he and Scott had killed that alien; time enough to be getting on with his life. He knew his eyes would take longer to heal than the rest of him, still he only wore bandages in deference to Jean's wish not to spook the kids; to him it didn't matter if they were covered or not.
But here it was another night in the mansion - he could tell this because it was so quiet - and he was still stuck in the bed in the break room. Scott was breathing slowly, his heartbeat at rest, so he was asleep, Logan realized. That had also been something that messed with his head: every single time he had gone to sleep (or passed out from pain) someone was in the room with him when he woke up. It was as if they didn't want him to be alone for some reason. What Scott had told him about going crazy came to mind frequently when Logan tried to figure this puzzle out, but all he could guess was that they didn't want him to become a danger to himself or to them. A part of him worried over this, but another part told him to go soak his head, as there was probably nothing to it. Maybe it was normal medical procedure for someone who had been badly injured - not something he would be familiar with.

Still, the soaking his head idea had taken hold and, restless for some kind of physical activity, Logan decided to go for a swim. His body protested only a fraction of a second before it agreed with him that moving was a good thing, and he made it out of the break room/makeshift hospital room without creating any noise loud enough to wake his current keeper.

His body always told him what it needed and, considering how much he abused it at times, it was probably a good thing he listened to it, he thought as he crept down the hallways and corridors to his final destination. Right now his skin felt taut and dry, and his muscles small and weak. As much as swimming blind seemed like a stupid idea, it was what his body needed, and he obeyed. He made sure to grab a couple of towels as he went through the locker room, and also decided to leave on the scrub pants before he eased himself into the water, just in case. It might seem like late night to him, but it could be early morning, and he had promised Xavier a long time ago never to wander around the mansion sans clothing, just in case a child should see him.

At first he clung to the edge, simply swishing his legs in the water to let the muscles get familiar with the motions he needed them to perform. Then he let go as he stood in the shallow section, making his arms work in the water as he gave his legs a rest. The cool liquid felt so good, he decided to try a couple of laps, no mean feat when he couldn't see where he was going. After a while, the wet bandages around his head began to unravel, irritating him enough to where he reached and caught the edge of the pool and hauled himself out to take them off. He had no idea where he had put the towels, unfortunately, and, rather than blindly search, decided to take a breather by lying on the concrete and dripping dry.

As he lay there, bandages off, creating a puddle at the pool side, and relaxing in the fact that his body felt much better, rapidly approaching footfalls told him he'd soon be caught. Logan sighed and steeled himself for the lecture to come.

"Logan!" It was Scott, of course. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" He sounded scared, worried, and angry all at once.

Logan shrugged. "Healing," he said simply.

That seemed to have caught Scott off-guard, for he only huffed once before he started to chuckle.

"Jean's going to have a fit," he said, and Logan tracked his footsteps as he detoured around the room before coming close enough to sit nearby. "Here, you might need these."

The towels hit Logan squarely in the chest, and he sat up, rubbing himself dry with them.
"I didn't know you could swim," Scott said after a moment.

"Yeah, it just takes more effort, since I can't float. Short stretches, I'm okay with," Logan responded.

He cocked his head and asked a question he had been wanting to for days. "Rogue said the thing we killed was an alien?"

Scott cleared his throat. "Near as we could tell, yes. Storm and Iceman did a survey of the area around your cabin. They destroyed something that looked like a charred rock on the outside, but was some sort of pod-type structure on the inside. It was only big enough for the one creature, curled up."

"Let's hope his family doesn't miss him."

"Let's hope," Scott agreed with conviction. "But we monitored all publication of activity from that week up this week, just to make sure this was the only one that landed."

There was a small silence, punctuated by Logan's rumbling stomach.

Scott chuckled again. "How about we find you some sweats and get you into the kitchen for some real food?"

Logan had wolfed down his third sandwich and Scott half of his first by the time Marie caught up with them.

"Mind if Ah join you two?" she murmured happily, and Logan quickly smiled at the pleasure of hearing her voice again.

"Why are you up?" he asked when she had settled herself down beside him at the island, munching away on a left-over chicken wing from his plate he had not touched.

"My turn on duty, only you weren't in the room. Ah figured you'd be starved from some real food, not one of those protein shakes Jean's been making you drink." She paused and he could almost feel her eyes rake him over. "You're looking good now, and you're filling back out nicely. Not a mark on you, except your eyes."

"Yet I still need a guard, why?" Logan asked, not bothering to hide his irritation at always being watched, even when Marie was one of the watchers.

"That was my idea," said Scott. "After seeing what kind of hell you put yourself through, I got the bright idea to make sure you didn't have any nightmares while you were healing. By always having someone familiar in the room with you all the times you were asleep, we hoped you'd have some peaceful and healing sleep. Rogue volunteered to do it 24/7, but she also needed to attend her classes and be available for missions. When offered the opportunity, everyone jumped at the chance to help out, so we all took turns."

Stunned, Logan could only sit there for a moment, not really sure of what to say. It was such a foreign idea to him that someone would think they needed to care for him, it left him at a loss for words.

"Yeah, yeah," Scott said with an amused tone, "you don't need medical attention. Humor us, will you? Or at least humor Jean. She's been acting like a mother hen, I know, but she felt so bad that she was not allowed to help Xavier and Rogue with your initial treatment, she took it upon herself to nurse you as much as possible afterward. Give her a break. As soon as you get a clean bill of health, she'll be back to planning that wedding again and out of your hair." He laughed. "Then she'll be my problem again."

"No, our problem," Marie said, her mouth full. She swallowed and giggled. "Ah never did see such a production in progress. Personally, with our track record, you can expect some sort of major disaster on your wedding day. Life's never dull around here."

Logan felt a squeeze on his forearm and he returned it, enjoying the touch of her smooth skin against his, now that his nerves could stand it.

"That's true. Before coming here, the worst things I had to look forward to were nightmares and fistfights in bars. Of course the fights were also the best things, too," Logan admitted. "But even they can get dull after a while."

"So you don't consider us boring sheep?" Scott asked, a strange lilt to his voice.

Logan frowned. "Sheep? Why the hell would I think of you as sheep? You are the strangest bunch of people I've ever met. You're weird, irritating, idealistic, overprotective, naïve, optimistic, and touchy-feely self-proclaimed protectors of mankind. You're lucky if this place hits normal on a good day. Where does the sheep part fit in?"

Scott laughed long and loudly, much to Logan's surprise. "I'll tell you later," he said, still chuckling.

Logan tried to stifle a yawn and failed miserably. "I'm heading to my own room," he said as he checked with his fingers to make sure he had cleared his plate. "And don't even think about telling me I have to go back to the break room," he said as he wiped his hands on the paper towel Marie handed him.

"Ah wouldn't dream of it, sugar," Marie said, pulling the towel and plate from his hands, and then pulling him up with her when she stood. "Ah'll bet Scott can clean this little mess up while you and Ah get some shut eye. After all, tomorrow's….well make that today's, since it's Saturday already, the day for the picnic on the lawn."

"Picnic?" asked Logan.

"The kids wanted to throw you a party, now that you're better," answered Scott. "I'm not sure how to tell them what happened…."

"Tell them the truth," Logan said simply. "If Megan got anywhere close to that thing, she'll know it wasn't me. She'll back you up."

"Oh yeah. She and Dutch didn't go near it after they met with it. At all," said Scott. "We didn't let her in to see you while you were healing, but she did stand outside the break room door sniffing. She knows you're back. She's actually been instrumental in planning this picnic." He snorted softly. "Dutch is still hiding in the garage.

'Hey!" Scott exclaimed, "That reminds me, what's the deal with that car? And who is J.D., and why is he using your phone?"

Logan took advantage of the fact that he was blind by staring directly at Scott and blinking innocently.

'What car?"

Scott sputtered. "That '57 Chevy Corvette Roadster that French guy delivered."

"You got a car from France?"

"Noooo," Scott tried to control his temper, but Logan could tell he was not happy that Logan was playing dumb. "It's a beautiful midnight blue convertible, probably worth a fortune and in mint condition. I think it was a delivery from Canada."

Logan frowned and squeezed Marie's hand. "A special delivery from Canada, huh? And some 'J.D.' is on my phone? Don't know a thing about it."

"Are you sure?" Scott sounded both disappointed and exasperated. "It's not your car?"

"Nope."

There was a heavy, heavy sigh. "We'll have to track down that man, then. It doesn't belong here and we can't keep it, no matter how much the others have fallen in love with it. We thought that since it was your phone…Well, nevermind." He slid the stool back, and there was a series of clinks as he put glasses and plates in the sink. "I'll wash up. You two go to bed."

"'Night, Scott," Marie said charmingly.

"'Night."

She waited until they were in the hall before rounding on him, and Logan could not hide the grin on his face.

"Special delivery from Canada, huh? Is that car for Scott and Jean?"

"Yes," he admitted between chuckles.

"He loves that car, Ah'll have you know. He spent the better part of a day making sure the engine was in top form. He even replaced the battery, and gave the exterior and interior a thorough detailing. All because he thought it was your car and he wanted to do something nice for you."

"Then I won't make him work too much longer for it. Maybe about a month."

She smacked him on the shoulder. "You are so mean at times!" He only chuckled harder, trying to keep it from a full-blown laugh he knew Scott would be able to hear. "So who was that Canadian and why did he give you a car? Who's J.D.?"

"His name is Soulet, and he and his wife took me in about 17 years ago when they spotted me on the edge of the town where they lived. He owns a car repair place and he invited me to work for him. I didn't talk to them at first because I didn't trust them, so they nicknamed me J.D., short for John Doe, and put me up over the garage. She fed me and he 'taught' me how to repair cars. I ended up staying around because they were so different from all the other human's I'd met."

Logan reached out and managed to snag an arm around Marie's shoulders.

"What happened? Why didn't you stay there?" she asked.

He could hear the curiosity and apprehension in her question and smiled.

"Local man named Holubec, who owned a junkyard and made a good living at it, kept giving Soucet a hard time," Logan said as they traversed the hallways through the mansion. "He thought I was an idiot because I didn't talk, but he liked my work. He pressed me into a game of poker one night and tried to bet my job against his car. I won and took the car. Soulet heard about it and put the car in his name to keep Holubec from going back on his word. The car was actually in sad shape, so I fixed it up, maybe too well. Holubec broke into the garage one night and tried to steal it back. When no one could find him after that, they began to point fingers at me, so I left. Soulet's been keeping the car in storage for me ever since.

"I called him up before I left, wired him some money for the storage time, and had him sign the title over to Scott Summers and Jean Grey. End of story."

He felt her laugh against his side. "So you didn't lie to Scott just now; you don't own the car."

"Nope."

"You pull more rabbits out of your hat, Ah swear. Ah wonder just how many things you've done before we hooked up?" She paused. "Do you regret leaving them?"

"No." He shook his head. "I learned enough from them to understand a little bit about good people. That's why I know just enough to cut Chuck and his bunch some slack without losing my temper too much. Still, if I hadn't left, I wouldn't have gone on the fight circuit. And if I hadn't done that…."

"You wouldn't have met me," Marie finished. "Ah guess things have a way of working out. Still, Ah didn't know you could do work like that on a car. Ah guess Ah could spend a lifetime learning more about you."

"Hmmm. Is that a proposition, darlin'?"

Marie giggled. "Since we're now at your bedroom door, Ah guess it could be."

He resisted when she opened the door and tried to pull him into the room. "I'm willing to take a lifetime to get to know you."

There was silence for a moment and her heartbeat began to race. "Is that a proposition, sugar?"
"More like a proposal."

Her heartbeat was now extremely rapid and he cursed himself for rushing her. But all that time spent lying there with nothing to do but think and heal made him realize Chuck was right. He was already hooked. Even if she said no, he'd stay. He had to. He loved her. Then his nose got a whiff of a powerful chemical reaction, and his heartbeat began to pick up.

"And if Ah said Ah was inclined to acquiesce to your proposal?" she said in a soft voice.

"Then I would guess you've been doing as much thinking as I have these past few days." He growled softly. "I just wish I could have waited to ask you until I could have seen your face."

She grasped both his hands and pulled them up to her face. Her cheeks were wet, but he knew from scent these were not tears of sadness. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, then deepened his kiss until it was a passionate expression of his love for her. When they broke apart, even his breath was coming in ragged gasps - not from exertion, but from restraint.

"Logan, Ah love you and would be honored to marry you," she said, her face pressed against his chest. "And Ah don't think you need to see how runny my nose is at the moment for you to know just how happy you've made me."

"I guess not," he admitted. He scooped her up in his arms, despite her protests. "But I think it's important for me to show you just how happy you've made me."

And with that, he caught the door to his room with his heel as he passed it, and closed it behind him on his way to their bed.

The End

(and I mean it.)