i feel the night smother the sky
like death's cloak pressed over hope's face.
i feel the smoke sting the lungs
until all we breathe is filtered through the
hate we can't wash from our hands.
i have gone too long without faith
and my heart is worn and tired
except for these moments
when you make me believe.
--The Warmth by Darkstar
Four years earlier
Sometimes, there was that slightly surreal moment when Logan held the envelope and remembered a time when money wasn't something he ever worried about. When it didn't mean anything. And not at Xavier's school either--but before.
It was a plain envelope. Legal size, white, and he knew to the dollar what was in it--if anyone had been interested and he'd been drunk enough to tell, he could have told them that every single bill was symbolic. He could remember what he did, what he sold, how much of himself he lost, with every single payment. But he didn't get that drunk and he sure as shit didn't get that introspective.
That wasn't a problem, though--Logan had long since discarded what ethics he still had.
The uniformed man watched Logan drop it on the table as he sat down, and Logan indulged himself in his favorite fantasy--eyes running around the room, marking what would be the most interesting way to kill this man with the items at hand. Lamp cord, mouse cord, a lethal-looking letter opener, electric shock. Stapler to the jugular, pen through the eye, run the asshole's head through the computer monitor. Then there were the personal ways--looking in his eyes and sliding three claws into his stomach, letting them twist to take out the intestines and rearrange his guts. Break his neck with a quick twist of the chin. Rip out his spine with one hand. Slash his throat and watch him choke to death on his own blood.
The fat ass was picking up the envelope and counting the money. Probably unaware that the second his usefulness ran out, he was very dead and Logan planned to make it nice and long and his own personal reward for being so good for so long.
"Outside the back gate, five minutes." Logan nodded shortly, rising. "You have a ten minute window. That's it."
He didn't need more than three.
Standing up, Logan marked the man again in his memory--the unwashed, pompous scent was already imprinted in his mind--before walking out, grabbing the papers off the secretary's desk that outlined his next mission for the Federal Government's Anti-Mutant Task Force. His new identity didn't include his mutation.
He had to be impressed with Kitty's sheer talent--she'd wiped the computers clean before they got out of Miami. The body count was something he knew she regretted even less than he did.
Three minutes later, he waited in the shade of stone walls and razorwire, the huge search beam carefully turned away from his location. One minute counting, and Logan absently shifted the papers into his inner pocket as the tiny door opened--security door only--and a figure was thrown out into the snow. Logan was already moving, quickly checking first for recent or life-threatening injuries, breathing, heartbeat. A quick glance at the long throat revealed the remains of crusted scars, but no collar. Good. He hated prying those things off.
"Keep your eyes closed," he said, and grinned at himself, knowing habit was stronger with Scott Summers than any life in any concentration camp ever could be. Carefully, he took one of Scott's wrists, growling softly over the manacle scars, the open wounds, then did a rough field check for anything he'd need to fix immediately. Not bad--but then, they'd had several days to leave him alone. "You look like crap."
"They took--"
"I know. Got you a spare. Just keep your fucking mouth shut until we're clear."
This was the dangerous part--a few of his pick-ups had been in the system too damn long. Nothing he could do but drug 'em and tie them in the backseat, which probably didn't do much for their sadly tattered trust issues. Fine and dandy, as far as Logan was concerned--drugged and tied and neatly covered on the floorboard, he gave customs the excuse to ignore him, if the government license plate on his jeep wasn't enough.
Scott muttered something uncomplimentary, and it was almost a comfort, as he pulled the man to his feet. Uh-uh--Scott was walking bones. With a patient sigh, he slung the younger man over his shoulders, hearing Scott wince, another string of what could have been profanity, before he started moving.
Time three and a half minutes, and he had to make it past the checkpoint. Not a problem.
After all, Logan had been doing these for awhile.
On the road in Alberta, he stopped the jeep and checked up on the man curled in the backseat.
"Four more hours." A new route every time, a new way to get there--it added time to the trip, but it was worth the hassle to make sure no one found out where he was.
"Any reason I can't sit up front or are we still in a bad neighborhood?"
Humor. Logan grunted something, but helped Scott shift to the front, watching him fumble the seatbelt on and the blanket over him. The new glasses were fixed over his eyes--not great, but Logan challenged anyone to find black-market ruby quartz glasses. Not exactly the most common thing on earth, and that set was one of Summers' first, owned by a private collector of former X weaponry.
The man had been relieved of most of his collection thanks to Remy. What to him were souvenirs of a lost segment of society was to Logan and Hank requirements for survival.
"You okay?"
"Great. Though you took me out on the day they were considering feeding us." Scott rubbed his shaved head a little, resettling the glasses from habit. Logan restarted the jeep, glancing periodically down the roads around. The deeper they were in, the more comfortable he was, though never once did he take this trip for granted. Anything could go wrong. And had. The reason Logan kept rifles under both seats. Just in case.
"Sorry. Nothing but water until the doc checks you out." Where the hell was that bottle? In the bag at his feet. Got it.
"Doctor?" Fuck. Scott had to know that Logan would have said if it was Jean. After a pause, the cool voice spoke again, and Logan had never heard him sound so young. "Who?"
"McCoy. He and the first group stayed safe." Better not mention Kurt right now.
Scott nodded numbly and Logan searched for a way to tell him what he needed to know. Too much information, Scott would blank it out--normal reaction of recent releasees, and Logan had gotten to the point where he didn't say anything at first. But Scott deserved to know whatever he thought he could handle. Finding the water bottle Hank had mixed especially for Scott, he handed it over and the younger man took it automatically, taking a small drink, stopping almost immediately.
"You'll be fine. Hank mixes those. It'll help your body adjust or some crap. Just take it slow--the drug compounds in your system are gonna be a few days working out."
"What's my life worth?" Scott asked suddenly, and Logan kept his concentration on the road.
"For the former leader of the X-Men? Or a pyroconcussive?"
"I didn't know your vocabulary was that good, Logan."
Good. Hostility. Sometimes it took days for them to snap into it. Logan shook his head.
"I've learned some things. A hundred grand for you, five for the pass that gets me over the borders. Ten thrown in if you're in decent condition." Logan took a breath, letting it out slowly. "You were hard to find, Summers."
"Pet. They liked to see me grovel for the others. Surprised they let me go." Frankly, Logan was too. A chilly silence stretched between them. "Where are we going?"
"Northern Alberta." Scott nodded and Logan flipped his turn signal.
"Who else is out?"
The roll call was depressing.
"St. John Allerdyce. Bobby Drake. Kitty Pryde. Hank McCoy. Remy LeBeau. Most of the first group you sent with me. You're the first of the alpha team I found. Warren's somewhere at large, but no one knows where, probably a good thing." A pause. "The others--"
He wondered how he'd put this.
"Lensherr."
"Still running the resistance out of Genosha once he kicked the assholes out. Rasputin and Mystique are with him. Creed and Tonybee are in detention in Australia but so far are in better shape than you are--Lensherr took care to make sure he had operatives there when the government started anti-mutant measures." Another pause--he already knew Scott's next question.
"Jean?"
"All telepaths are on priority status." Logan thought carefully. "Last seen in D.C. three months ago. Scott--"
"Is she dead?"
"They don't exterminate the telepaths. They want those." They didn't exterminate alpha class mutants either--collars kept them under control. Too potentially useful if they were broken--and several had been. St. John Allerdyce still hadn't emerged from his semi-catatonia, and Logan didn't think about it that often--didn't think about the list in his head, the one that told him that getting Scott out had been this side of a miracle. John and Bobby had been lucky breaks. Very lucky breaks. So incredibly lucky that Logan hadn't believed it would happen again. Not until he got the call from a sympathizer that gave him the name of an Alpha-class facility where there were rumors of the former X leader being experimented on.
Logan thought it was pure good luck they hadn't taken his eyes out for the hell of it. They'd done worse. Logan had seen the bodies.
"Okay." Scott was silent and Logan stared at the road ahead. After several minutes, he heard Scott's breathing even out--the tranks in the water hadn't acted too fast, but they'd cushioned the blow well enough.
And Logan needed the quiet. Desperately. Just to remind himself why he was willing to sell himself out every single day of his life.
Kitty was waiting outside, wrapped up in her jacket. The second he stopped, she was already moving toward his door.
"You got him." There was a quick glance at Scott, but the dark gaze was fixed on him--it'd been unnerving at first, but he'd adapted to it.
"Yeah." He took a breath, brushing his hand through her hair--for once, she didn't wince from his touch, and he wondered if it was because she was too distracted or because the scars were finally healing. Hank was already at the door and Logan crossed in front of the jeep opened the passenger side.
"He's out--finished half the water and shit, Hank, it took a fucking long time to work."
Hank nodded slowly, absently running a hand over his blue-furred forehead.
"Scott does not like to lack control. I am not surprised."
Logan grinned a little at that and slapped him on the shoulder as Bobby emerged with the bed, rolling it over, and he and Hank began the retrieval of the Fearless Leader. Logan felt Kitty shadow him as he walked inside the compound and turned slightly to watch her from the corner of his eye.
She was gaining back the weight she'd lost--slowly, because food was still something she didn't quite trust unless she prepared it personally. Rarely went outside unless it was him or Hank coming back--once, he'd sat with her for three hours against the outer wall of the compound as she waited for her only other source of stability to return home. Carefully, so she could watch him do it, he touched her shoulder, and she smiled a little, but there was nothing that could cover the sudden stiffening of her body.
"You okay?"
"Sure." Her voice was low. "John ate today. On his own. He recognized Bobby."
"Where is he?" Scott was back, a private litany of relief in his head. Scott understood these kids--Logan had barely known them. Except Kitty and Jubes--he shied away from thinking of Jubilee--and Kitty with him in Miami hadn't been anything close to normal or good. With so little control, she'd fallen apart within the first weeks and whatever the government thought it could do with her was wrecked with her collapse. God, she'd been--what, seventeen? Eighteen? No older than--he stopped the thought completely, feeling her hand tentatively close over his. A little surprised, and he smiled--smile at the kids, Logan--and it didn't matter if she was twenty now, she was still a kid. She pulled him toward the living quarters, where the others were housed.
Three doors down, and she knocked twice--a mistake walking in once when John suddenly began to remanifest his mutation and almost incinerated Logan at the door. Healing factor came in damn handy. Damn handy. And reminded Hank to find fireproofing materials and slather John's room with it. After a moment, she opened the door and Logan looked down at the young man curled in a corner. No bed, no furniture--John didn't like it. A discarded lighter was on the floor at his feet and he was smoking a cigarette.
In between his fingers was a small ball of dark blue fire. That crap could incinerate anything--when John had come back on, it was at full strength.
"John."
A brief glance from behind blue eyes that didn't show any recognition, before the attention was back on the tiny ball.
"Logan's here. Remember Logan?" Kitty took two brief steps, stopping again, and Logan could see her trying to shift into phasing herself in case of emergency. Logan figured he could probably heal from the worst that kid could do, but Kitty couldn't. After a few more seconds, John began to reshape the fire and Logan watched it become a rose. The blue eyes were less glassy than Logan remembered, narrowing in thought as they studied Kitty, as if she knew the secret to world peace and he wanted to pry it out of her skull bit by bit.
"Yeah. I'm not stupid--Pryde."
A smile then, and Logan watched her kneel, still that careful distance away.
"They found Scott, John--Mr. Summers. He's downstairs, asleep. You remember Scott, John?"
A frown, slashes between the eyebrows that could have meant anything. Logan leaned against the door as Kitty extended a hand that only trembled slightly, and John closed his fingers abruptly, fire dead.
"I--" A stop, then John shifted a little, blue eyes growing distant. "Where's--where's Bobby?"
"He's helping Hank, John." Another pause, and Kitty kept her hand out--God knew it had to take something out of her, every time she reached for contact. "I'll walk you down. It'll all be good, babe, you know? We're gonna get them all out."
A glance at Logan to confirm--how the hell had he become de facto god of the fucking remains of the school?--and he forced himself to nod. Slowly, John took her hand, and Kitty stood up, pulling him to his feet.
"Mr. Summers is okay?"
"He's pretty thin, but he's okay." Another pause, and Logan watched Kitty close her fingers with effort over John's. "Everything is okay, John. It's safe."
"Okay." Logan wasn't sure Allerdyce had a clue what Kitty had said, but he'd bonded to Kitty and Bobby early on, so tended to go with the flow. Standing up, he followed Kitty to the door and Logan, realizing he was probably would have to take Kitty himself, backed out.
The lab was silent; black-market, second-rate medical equipment beeped softly in the background, and Scott was still unconscious on the gurney. Bobby glanced up, smiling to see John walk in, mostly under his own power, and while the kids talked, he wandered over to Hank.
"How is he? Anything to worry about?"
"The suppressives are being cleaned out of his system. Nothing unusual has been found. I suggest that we send him on to Genosha."
"We both know Scooter won't leave without Jean."
Hank nodded briskly, checking the IV attached to Scott's arm.
"Who is next?"
Logan drew in a deep breath.
"I have a rumor."
Hank's head lifted briefly, warm eyes flickering in interest..
"Lensherr sent it through some unusual channels--it looks like we may have found the facility for telepaths."
Hank didn't say anything for a moment, then braced his hands heavily on the bed.
"I'll need at least three days to let Scott recover."
"You'll have that. I got the papers to get you out of the country."
Hank glanced up sharply, then nodded slowly.
"What do you have in mind?"
Logan braced himself against the chair, working the plan over in his head--they'd been marking time for so long, getting a mutant here, a kid there, Logan playing both sides of the field until they had the numbers and the strength to fight back.
Until they had Scott, and Logan knew without a shadow of a doubt they needed him if they were going to do what Logan had wanted to do from the minute he got out of Miami.
"Get the telepaths out of Atlanta."
"You're not going alone." It wasn't a question.
"No, I'm not." Logan glanced back at Allerdyce, who was sitting in the corner, a little star shaped fire hovering in his hand. "You, Kitty, the younger kids are goin'." Thirty in the dorms, curled up together in the defensible corners, and Logan remembered Piotr piling the beds against the door that first night, before they'd sent him on to Genosha so he wouldn't drive himself insane any faster than he was already going. Quickly, he shook his head clear of memory. "St. John and Drake go with me." A glance at the bed. "And I'm bettin' Scott's goin' too. It's alpha class containment--they don't sell the telepaths. We need Scott and Scott needs Jean."
Hank nodded. Wisely didn't ask why they needed a pyrokinetic along, possibly because he knew the answer already. Just like he didn't ask how Logan procured supplies, money, and more mutants. It was policy and it worked between them.
Three days was three days Scott Summers probably thought were utterly wasted.
"Georgia?" Scott was too thin and it looked like a good wind might bowl him over, but on the other hand, the clipped voice hadn't changed at all. Logan sat on the edge of the stool as Scott leaned forward on the bed, bracing on his elbows enduring Hank's final check with much more patience than any of the three men had probably expected.
The fine cheekbones were etched in stark relief against paper-thin skin, the visor hiding the bruises and sunken shadows of his eyes, and Logan suspected the scarring wouldn't ever heal over his face. The brown head had been shaved close--camp conditions had sucked, even in the experimentation centers--and Logan kept his eyes away from the lines of scar tissue criss-crossing Scott's skull. In the plain khakis Hank had found, he was too damn thin--if he weighed over one twenty soaking wet, Logan would have been surprised. But the thin hands were as restless as always, clenching and unclenching on the sheet as Hank finished removing the IVs and checking the treated injuries for signs of infection.
"That's what we think--can't be sure, which is why I didn't say anything until you got some rest." Logan paused, watching Summers take it in with a cool nod and a thoughtful gaze. Trauma yes--but Scott was all about repression and that was perfectly in line with Logan's theories on psychology. Repress and move the fuck on. They didn't have time for nervous breakdowns anymore. They had plenty of those. Letting out a relieved breath, he resettled himself, giving Scott a slightly smile, quite aware that it would push Scott just to keep up.
"Yeah. You done, Hank?" A soft, resigned sigh, then the large blue mutant nodded, stepping back, and Scott reached for the shirt over the edge of the bed, pulling it over his head, hiding the lines of scars across chest and back that didn't seem to have served any more useful purpose than simply to hurt. "All right. When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow night--I've got clearance to run a little mission for the government." Scott nodded--if anyone understood necessity, it was Scott Summers, right down to his feet. "I don't know about Ororo--"
"She's in Florida now, I think." Scott winced as he finished pulling on the shirt, eyes closed until he could check his glasses were secure. "Last time I saw her, anyway." Something peculiar in his voice that Logan didn't want to know about--he had details of Kitty's experiences, Bobby's, John's. He didn't think he ever needed to know more, ever. He could guess. "All right--we have a layout of the Atlanta complex?"
Logan shook his head slowly, giving Hank a speaking look, and the other man nodded, heading toward the door. A mildly curious expression crossed Scott's face as Hank departed, and the red gaze turned on Logan.
"What?"
"I'm bringing Pyro and Bobby for this one."
A pause.
"You have something in mind." Another pause.
"They're gonna realize that letting you out was a fuck of a huge mistake--and with any luck, the idiot who let it happen's gonna fry. I wanted to get you outta the country--"
"I'm not leaving." A pause. "But you're right to bring Allerdyce. How is he?"
If Bobby was there to tell him where to light his pretty fires, it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference whether the kid was fully aware or not. "He'll be fine." Logan paused--had to give Scott the out. "Summers--"
"I'm not leaving until this is over, Logan. Don't even try."
Logan raised a brow in mock surprise.
"You have an idea, Summers?"
Scott shrugged, wincing a little, before circling the bed, leaping up on it with a lightness that was totally at odds with his physical injuries. Shit, he was on willpower alone. Resting his elbows on his knees, he gave Logan a long look.
"What's the difference between winning and stalemate?"
Logan leaned back against the wall.
"Tell me, Scooter."
The visored gaze fixed on the wall just to Logan's right, obviously thinking.
"Just war theory." A pause. "You heard of it?"
"Vaguely."
"I taught it in history to the kids, the month before we left. The criteria of a just war, a very modern concept in history. 'That a war be a last resort to be used only after all other means have been exhausted.'" Scott's voice was hard. "'That a war be clearly an act of redress of rights actually violated or defense against unjust demands backed by the real
threat of force.'" He seemed somewhere else entirely now. "'That war be openly and legally declared by properly constituted governments. That there be a *reasonable* prospect for victory. That the means be proportionate to the ends. That a war be waged in such a way as to distinguish between combatants and noncombatants. That the victorious nation not require the utter humiliation of the vanquished.'" Something in Scott's face forbore comment. Something that Logan had hoped to God to see, hoped for so long that he sometimes wondered if that was all he was running on anymore, hope.
"We're at war, Logan."
A pause, and Scott shook himself, mouth tightening.
"Summers--"
"The difference between winning and a stalemate is simple--we had a stalemate for too long, held them off using all the legal ways. Do you remember when Xavier said humankind and mutantkind could live together? He was wrong--we can't. And we can't do a stalemate--because they'll do it again. We fight, and we're going to win." The sharp gaze was fixed on Logan now, as if he expected disagreement, and he forced himself not to shift under that intense gaze. "I need information--what Magneto has in Genosha, we'll need him. How fast we can mobilize and take down the camps--alpha priority, beta and gamma secondary." A pause, and Scott breathed out, sliding off the bed. "Tomorrow night, we get Jean out."
Logan grinned a little--and it rushed through him. Not just hope, but tangible reality, something he'd tuned out for so long. With a grin he straightened against the wall.
"Whatever you say, Scooter."
Sharp gaze.
"Will you follow orders?"
It was three years ago and he and Scott were looking at each other for the first time. It was the moment outside the Mansion when he watched Scott try to bring together the tattered remains of the X-Men and Logan hadn't even known he was one until he turned up for duty that next morning, the remains of lead from the pencils coloring his fingers. It was two year ago and he was watching Scott holding Jubilee when Logan left to take the first group into Canada. The last time Logan saw Jubilee alive.
It was the moment they watched Xavier die in that first hellhole and he'd seen the shattered remains of Scott's hope die, utterly and completely, and it was the moment Logan knew, without a doubt, he would have given anything to go back two years and drag Scott and Jean into that car heading for Canada.
"Give me an order and we'll see."
The visored gaze fixed on Logan with more intensity than he could ever remember seeing.
"First, a teaching example. Raze Atlanta to the ground."
Logan couldn't help it then, couldn't stop the sheer relief that rushed through him, because this was going to work, and he'd have a target.
For Xavier, and Kurt and Kitty, Scott and Ororo, for everyone he'd lost or watched destroyed.
For Jubilee, who he'd promised he'd come back for. His last failure.
For the girl he hadn't known. He had the chance to do it for her, finally meet the debt of that long-ago broken promise.
For Rogue. And more importantly, for Marie.
"You got it."
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