Wednesday, 1930 hours.
"Status report?"
The young lieutenant sighed and examined the notes on his clipboard. "The same, sir. The doe's still refusing to eat, even though it's been almost eighty hours. We can't even get her to drink the water." He flipped a couple of pages over and continued, "Her vital signs are stable, but that's not going to last long at this rate."
Stryker huffed. "Stubborn animals. What about Wolverine?"
"The buck? He eats enough to stay alive, but just barely. We haven't been able to get his vitals for..." He checked his watch. "Going on thirty-six hours now. He's been uncooperative, to say the least."
"Dammit, Baker, I told you I wanted full reports, not whatever you could be bothered to get."
Baker frowned. "I'm sorry, sir, but you've had experience with this specimen before - he's unpredictable and violent, and--"
"I don't care. Sedate him if you have to, just get those readings. And get the damned girl to eat something - she'll be completely useless if she's dead." Stryker turned to leave, but was stopped by a middle-aged blonde woman in a white lab coat, coming in the door with a clipboard and a small plastic tote.
"Sir," she said, and approached, full of confidence and poise. "The serum is ready."
Stryker took the tote from her and set it down on a table to his right, opening the lid with interest; reaching inside, he took out a glass syringe filled with a bluish-tinted fluid, and his eyes lit with renewed hope. "Finally. Have you tested it?"
The woman glared at him. "Of course I have. The results were very promising."
Stryker looked from the syringe to the blonde and gave her a nod of praise. "Excellent work, Dr. Risman." He glanced over his shoulder at the monitor Baker was watching, and grumbled. "Now if we could just get our subjects to behave themselves, we might actually be able to proceed."
Dr. Risman stepped closer. "If I may, sir, I would suggest putting the female in with him again. It's possible he could get her to eat."
He chewed the inside of his lower lip, considering. "Are her medical examinations complete?"
Risman held out the clipboard in her hand. "As complete as they're going to get, until the procedure is done - with the lack of food and dehydration setting in, I don't dare to sedate her again. She could slip into a coma, or go into shock."
Stryker blew out an annoyed breath and skimmed through the reports. "Fine. Put them together. And give them plenty of food and drink, no drugs. I want him to smell the food and only the food, so there's no hesitation in giving it to her. He's... very protective of this one."
Risman eyed the long gash down the side of the man's face, held together with twenty-seven black stitches. It had taken almost four hours for her to seal it properly, but thank God the buck's adamantium claws were sharp enough to leave a nice neat wound and not a jagged tear she would have had to piece together bit by bit. "I've noticed," she said dryly.
That earned her a harsh glare and a raised eyebrow. "Just put them together, Doctor. No more than a few hours, or as long as it takes to get her to eat something. That'll be all."
He turned and walked out, taking the tote with him.
***************************
Logan leapt to his feet when the outer door latch opened; it wasn't nearly time for another meal yet, and he was getting tired of fighting off the whitecoats that kept coming at him with blood-pressure cuffs and syringes. He extended his claws as the inner door swept open... and gasped when he saw Rogue tumble in and onto the floor.
"Marie!" He retracted the claws and ran to her, scooping her up off the cold metal tile and peering into her face solicitously. "You all right, kid?" She was wearing a thin white gown that didn't quite reach her knees, very hospital-like except that the back wasn't open, and her hair was a rumpled mess; she was too pale and too thin, big dark circles under her eyes.
She blinked and looked up at him. "Logan?"
"Jesus, what did they do to you?" He touched the thick, heavy collar around her neck, eyeing the flashing red light on the latch.
"It blocks mah powers, or somethin'. Ah don't know." Her bare hand reached up to her throat; he noticed a few bruises on her wrist, presumably from restraints, and growled.
"Ya look like holy hell."
She made a little sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Thanks. Missed you, too."
He let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and pulled her to his chest in a tight hug. "Thank God yer all right. It's been days... I was gettin' worried."
She sighed and buried her face in his shoulder. "How long are they gonna keep us here?" Her voice sounded so small and childlike, full of fear and sorrow. "Ah wanna go home, Logan."
"I know, darlin'... I'm workin' on it." He frowned and pulled back to look her in the eye. "Just hang in there, you hear me, kid? We'll figure a way out, I pr--" The small aperture in the bottom of the inner door buzzed and swept open; Logan stopped midsentence to look, and saw a large metal tray of food being pushed in. "What the-- They're early today."
Rogue followed his gaze to the tray, watching the little door close, and sighed again. "Must be a special occasion."
Logan got up and retrieved the proffered food, then brought it back to where Rogue still sat; the stainless-steel dishes held bread, cheese, beef-and-vegetable stew, an apple, three soft-boiled eggs, and a thermos of milk. He sniffed everything carefully, and was surprised to find no trace of the tranquilizing drugs usually present in the food they brought him. "Must be. They went whole hog on this one."
The smell of the hot stew reached Rogue's nostrils and her stomach growled, which made Logan pause.
"You ain't been eatin'." It was a simple statement, but laden with concern.
"Ah don't know what they put in that stuff. Ah'm not gonna eat anything they give me - Ah'd sooner starve to death than get poisoned."
He set the tray down and folded his arms. "They ain't tryin' to kill us, darlin' - they'd-a done it already if that was the plan." He looked down at the bowl of stew, watching the steam rise from its surface in little wisps. "They want us alive fer somethin'."
"What?" she asked, staring hard at his thoughtful expression. "Why are they keepin' us here? What d'you know, Logan?"
His gaze snapped back up to meet hers, brows furrowing in something like anger. "I don't know what's goin' on, Marie. You got about as good an idea as me. But I know one thing - you die o' starvation, and I'm not gonna be too happy." He tore off a chunk of the bread and pushed it at her. "Eat."
She eyed the lump of sourdough warily. "You're sure it's safe to eat that?"
He picked up her hand and put the bread into it. "I don't smell nothin' on it other'n a little salt, and maybe some preservatives. Now eat, ya look like yer about to pass out."
She bit into the bread, surprised to find it tasted pretty good - but then again, she was so hungry, dog food probably wouldn't have tasted half bad right about then.
***************************
Stryker sighed. "Thank God."
Baker nodded, happy to bring good news for once. "Between the two of them, they finished off all the food, including the milk."
"Wonderful. Once the dishes are removed, I want the female back in her cell - we'll start the procedure tomorrow."
Baker frowned and bit his lip. "Uh, sir... getting the doe away from him isn't going to be easy - they're asleep in the southwest corner of the room, and he has an arm around her."
Stryker sighed, irritated. "Then hit him with a tranquilizer dart and knock him out before you take her. Do I have to think of everything?"
"Sir, the last time we tried to tranq him, he--"
"Up the dosage to ten times the usual. He's a tough old bastard."
Baker nodded again, shortly. "Yes, sir."
***************************
When Logan awoke, the large cell was dark, and he had the mother of all headaches. What...
Marie!
He looked around, keen eyes searching the darkness for her, nose desperately trying to locate her scent... but came up with nothing. Just shadows and the lingering smell of her fear, sharp and brutal. "Stryker!!" he bellowed into the black recesses of the room. "Where is she!? What'd you do with her!?"
No answer.
"Stryker!!"
There was a slight crackle of static, and the speaker in the ceiling switched on. "She's fine, Wolverine." Not Stryker - someone else. Deep voice, light timbre. A man, young - twenties, probably. A flunky.
"Where. Is. She?" His claws were out, glinting in the moonlight from the high window.
Another crackle of static. "Go to sleep, Wolverine. You'll see her tomorrow." The speaker switched off, and then there was nothing else.
"Bring her back!" Logan yelled, furious. "I swear to hell an' back, if you bastards harm one fucking hair on that girl's head, I'll cut yer goddamn balls off and feed 'em to ya straight!" He paused, breath coming in shallow, ragged pants, his fists clenched and trembling.
No answer.
"You hear me, Stryker!? One! Fucking! Hair!" There was still no answer, and Logan slashed at the adamantium-lined wall in blind, impotent rage. "God damn it!"
The speaker crackled again. "Wolverine." Stryker's voice, sounding a little groggy, as if the other guy had gotten him out of bed for this. "Calm down. She's fine. Now go to sleep, before we have to tranquilize you again. You'll need your energy for tomorrow."
Logan snarled. "Fuck you! I ain't playin' yer game anymore, Stryker! You let me outta here, and let the girl go, or I'll--"
He could almost hear the smile in Stryker's tone. "You'll what, Wolverine? You've been in that cell for nearly a week, and you haven't done anything yet. Go to sleep."
The speaker died with a click, and Logan was left alone to howl in frustration until the guards came with the tranquilizer guns again, and then there was nothing but darkness.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
WARNINGS: This fic contains a Feral!Logan/Rogue pairing, along with several scenes of lab-rat type experimentation. Be warned, this could be disturbing to some.
LAME DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Marvel is God. I bow before the altar of Stan Lee and Len Wein.
FEEDBACK: Gets me closer to God.
A/N: This started out as a PWP based on NIN's "Closer" - and then it had to go and develop a flamin' plot, and then... well, it's big now. I kept the title, though, because it works.
LAME DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Marvel is God. I bow before the altar of Stan Lee and Len Wein.
FEEDBACK: Gets me closer to God.
A/N: This started out as a PWP based on NIN's "Closer" - and then it had to go and develop a flamin' plot, and then... well, it's big now. I kept the title, though, because it works.