He had killed her a thousand times. He’d kill her a thousand times more. He’d travel through portal and kill her today, he’d do it tomorrow. He’d do it for the rest of his existence. That’d keep her safe at home port.

Logan woke up in the darkness. For a short while he wasn’t sure of where he was. Or when he was. Then it came back. His latest jump through portal, mission and return to Professor Xavier’s Academy for Gifted Youngsters. He turned his head. Digital clock on his bedside table told him that it was half past four AM, sixth of November. There was a blue scrap of paper on top of the clock. He picked it up and lit the small lamp next to clock. 2011 AD. He scrunched the note, then picked up a pad of pink notes and scribbled 2011 AD to one of them and dropped it on top of the clock. It was just a precaution, but those notes had saved him more often than he cared to remember. Portal was supposed to be a simple device, engineered to restore misplaced objects in to their rightful places, and he was using it as a cross-dimensional lift. Professor Xavier had warned Logan at the very beginning of his quest that it could cause some problems with short term memory. Now Professor Xavier was gone, and his memory as a whole was shot to hell.

“Might as well get up…” Logan huffed and sat up. He reached for his jeans that lay on a heap on the floor next to his bed. Careful inspection produced no surprises, no forgotten weapons or traps. At least they were safe to wear. He was quite certain that this was the pair he had bought from home port. He didn’t bother with the shirt, it was as good as ruined, and the rest of his shirts were in laundry basket. And the president probably wasn’t going to visit today. He could afford to prance around shirtless.

He walked in to the kitchen, trying to remember what was so special about this particular day. He loaded the coffeemaker, all the while teasing his brain, trying to remember by himself rather than checking up from the calendar that hung on the wall. Professor Xavier had told him that he’d have to train his mind; he’d have to sharpen his memory every day.

It wasn’t anybody’s birthday. For that he was sure. Everybody worth remembering was already gone. Home port was empty aside of him and the girl, and the girl had been in cryo stasis for the last two decades, he wouldn’t have to remember her birthday now. It wasn’t his birthday either. As far as he could tell- He hadn’t remembered his birthday before his first trip through the portal. Professor Xavier hadn’t been successful in mapping his past, either. There was a gaping, black hole in his mind where the first thirty or so years should have been. Life as he remembered only started when he woke up in a blistering cold snow in somewhere near Laughlin City.

“Oh, for fucks sake…” Curiosity won. He grabbed the calendar and flipped the necessary pages to bring it up to date. There was a red dot smack dab middle of the little rectangular box reserved for notes. “Take a day-off” was written there with his own handwriting. He scratched his head. He couldn’t remember writing it. He kept turning the pages. Each Friday was adorned with little red dot and a message telling him to take a day-off. It probably was something that Professor Xavier had told him to do. Was it mandatory? Probably. He tried to remember if he had stayed at home port last Friday. Then snorted. He couldn’t even remember where his room was, he used elaborate net of different colored strings to map out his surroundings, and he actually thought that he’d remember what he did last Friday? Again calendar came in handy. He’d taken on the habit of crossing over completed tasks. He turned back the glossy pages, getting worried after three pages of clear dots. He hadn’t crossed them over. He hadn’t stayed home. Three months straight he had been hopping through dimensions. Or he had stayed home and simply forgotten to check the calendar. Or he had consciously ignored Xavier’s instructions. If Xavier even had told him to do so. It could have very well been his own invention. One day a week that he’d stay at home, watching football, drinking beer and scratching his nuts.

He shook his head. No way to know. If only he had started keeping a diary, he’d know now for sure. Or would he? Who’s to say that he’d remember to write every day? Who’s to say that he’d have the patience to jot down each and every waking hour of his life in to a book that he might, or might not remember to read? Writing long paragraphs made his fingers hurt, anyway. His hands weren’t made to create things. They had only one purpose. To destroy. He could still remember long hours in Professor Xavier’s office, sitting at surprisingly comfortable wheelchair, his arms resting on a sturdy oak table, scent of wood polish and ink wafting in the air as he wrote, page after page…
“I have a diary?” He suddenly realized and whirled around, making his way to the kitchen door.

Colorful bunch of strings was tied to the doorknob. Each of the strings extended deeper in to the bowels of the vast mansion. Small scraps of papers identified each of the strings. He picked the one labeled as Professor Xavier’s Office. It was black. He followed the path the string marked.

Xavier’s office wasn’t far from the kitchen. It was just around the corner. The door was closed. Logan scrunched his forehead in confusion. He usually kept all the doors open. Saved him the trouble of opening them if he was looking for something. He couldn’t remember closing the door. But then again, he couldn’t, for the dear life of him to remember if he had made coffee already. It was quite safe to assume that for some reason he had closed the door when he had last visited Xavier’s office.

“Here goes nothing…” He whispered, strangely nervous now. He grasped the doorknob.

Door opened, hinges creaking softly. Room behind it was windowless, but softly lit. Small lamps hung from the walls. Thick rug on the floor muffled the sound of his footsteps as he walked in. Large bookcase dominated one wall. It was filled with thick, black tomes. One of them sat on a table in front of the bookcase. Professor Xavier’s wheelchair stood next to table. Familiar looking leather jacket hung from the back of it. Brown leather, worn and slightly torn from places, tattered yellow stripes, three on each sleeve. He picked it up and tried it on. It fit. He sat on the chair and picked up the book.

5th of November, 2011 AD

Checked the cryo pod, everything’s running smoothly. According to last entry I was gone for five days.

He turned the page. Previous entry was, indeed 31st of October.

Got four of them this time. One of them was protected. Had to bring the poor bastard with me. Have to find a way to get rid of it. Tranqs won’t last long and I haven’t seen a prison strong enough to keep me in. I put him in the Cerebro. Have to check up on him when I wake up. I put tranqs back to Jean’s office, there’s dozen doses left. Remember to pick up some more from next portal run. And for the love of god, remember to check up on him. He’ll be pretty pissed if he wakes up.

He dropped the book and rubbed his face tiredly. A doppelganger? In here? Had it really been too difficult to leave the bastard alone?
“Better check him up, then… Can’t have him waking up too soon….”

He left the Professor’s office and traced his steps back in to the main hub of his guide lines. He could smell the fresh coffee. He grabbed a cup of it before finding the string to Cerebro. Black, tar-like substance tasted foul. He dug up a piece of paper and a pencil from the pocket of his jeans and scribbled down a note to go shopping. Coffee and tranqs. He hesitated a bit, and then drew a line over tranqs. He wasn’t going to keep the doppelganger. He’d push it through the portal. No fuss, no muss. Somebody else could take care of it. He already had hard time taking care of himself.

Door of the Cerebro was slightly ajar. He approached it carefully, then peered through the crack. Doppelganger was still there, fast asleep. It was wearing a black leather costume, much like the one he once used to wear. The only difference was the insignia in doppelganger’s belt. His buckle had carried golden letter X. Doppelganger’s belt was forest green, and there was a letter R on the buckle.

Rogue. Her cloak had been that exact shade of green. So it was true. Doppelganger was actively working for her instead of Professor Xavier.

He opened the door wide enough and stepped in. His footsteps echoed in the wide, round hall. Doppelganger twitched in his sleep, but calmed down quickly. It was still heavily sedated. For a while he stared at the sleeping face of the man. Not as rugged as the face he saw in the mirror, but undoubtedly his. This one looked as if the life had been good. Well, it had been living in a better world. Had to be. Because in that world the girl had been an active agent. She hadn’t been a popsicle, forever suspended in to stasis field. She had been warm and alive, determined to enter the portal in her search of the original version.

He grasped the right hand of the doppelganger and started dragging it through the door of the Cerebro. Bastard weighed a ton.
“Let’s get you back home. I have better things to do than start babysitting her lapdog…” He murmured. Portal, anomaly in time and space, was glittering on the wall opposite Cerebro. Like a pool of water, vertical instead of horizontal. He stopped in front of it. Took a one last look of his doppelganger before pushing it through the silvery surface. He knew he’d find plastic and detonators from the armory. For a second he entertained a thought of sending a package through. Doppelganger was still sleeping. It wouldn’t have a chance. It wouldn’t know. It wouldn’t have to live in a world without the girl. He shook his head.

“You’re a one mean motherfucker. It wouldn’t work on him anymore than it would work on you. You’re just jealous…” And wasn’t that the truth? He wasn’t sorry for the doppelganger. At least it had had a chance to live and love the girl. Bombing it would only serve as revenge, and as soon as flesh and other tissues regenerated it would be left alone and miserable. Just like him.

He hovered in front of the portal, unsure of what to do. His wandering gaze swept over the door of the cryo chamber. She’d be there. But he had no reason to go in there. According to the journal he had checked the systems last night and everything was running smoothly.

Down here he felt more at ease. Space was small and enclosed. He remembered his way around. He knew how everything worked. He didn’t need yellow post-it’s, he didn’t need strings. He didn’t have to try and remember where everything was. This was his life. Yet it felt wrong to stay here any longer than it was absolutely necessary. He slapped the shopping list to the wall next to the portal on his way out.

World was silent around Professor Xavier’s Academy for Gifted Youngsters. Inside sturdy stone walls of the mansion the last guardian of the source went to bed after realizing that last brewery had shut down twenty years ago and TV at the corner of the rec room was as good as dead.