The first thing to enter Logan’s awareness was the sound of the machine beeping nearby. Next was the pungent smell of bleach in his nostrils, followed shortly by the feel of the papery sheet scratching his skin.
A heart-sinking feeling of panic, flashbacks to his horrific experience as a guinea pig, and the general desire to rip out the heart of the first living thing that dared cross his path were all par for the course.
He let his eyelids crack open slowly, adjusting to the too-bright, sterile environment.
“You’re up. Oh, thank God. You had us all worried, Logan.” Jean. He did want to rip out her heart for a fleeting moment. But then he caught her eyes and she was so damn pretty that he settled for ripping the IV out of his arm with a menacing growl. He sat up and managed to dislodge the rest of the cords and sensors attached to his body in the process.
“Rogue?” he asked gruffly. A quick glance confirmed the rest of the cots in the infirmary were empty. Good. She must be up and around already.
The doctor sighed, turning off the myriad electronics she’d hooked him up to for one reason or another. “Still no sign of her. After Hank brought you in, he and the others went straight back to Vermont. They’re combing the woods with Scott right now.”
Logan leapt to his feet, ignoring the head rush. “The hell’s that s’posed to mean?” he demanded.
Jean stumbled back, and he realized he had been towering over her. “I—do you not remember? Logan, you were attacked. It seems you fought off an entire pack of wolves before Scott and Hank found you in a clearing, unconscious.”
Logan let out a growl of frustration, claws slipping a few inches before he was able to jerk them back in. Snikt.
Jean flinched. “Just—just relax. It’s over, Logan. It’s okay.”
He shook his head. “No it’s not. How long was I out?”
“T-twenty hours. Almost a day.”
“Yeah, I know twenty hours is almost a goddamn day,” he snapped. Jean flinched again, and he tried to soften his expression. No reason to be an asshole. It wasn’t her fault that everything had gone terribly, terribly wrong. His voice was rough, “I’m sorry, Jeanie. Real sorry. But ya got it all wrong. I ain’t the one that killed those wolves.”
“Then who—?”
He explained what had happened in the clearing. How he had come upon Rogue, unconscious and covered in blood. The animals that had fallen dead around her, without a mark on them. Her heartbeats spreading farther and farther apart as he held her. And finally he told Jean how, in a moment of desperation, he touched Rogue’s skin, hoping his mutation might save her.
He concluded, “Best I can figure is somebody got to her while I was out cold, before Cyclops and Beast made it to the clearing.” The very thought that Rogue was back in the hands of the sonofabitch who tied her up . . . it was enough to make him pop the claws again.
Jean shifted her weight and lowered her delicate brows in thought. “Maybe. But perhaps not. It’s possible that—it’s hard to explain—well, here.” She brought a hand to his temple, transferring her mind’s contents in an instant.
Speculation: Rogue, with Logan’s borrowed recovery time, waking up in the clearing as her broken body knit itself together again . . .
Jean’s voice: Afraid. . . traumatic experience. . . mind already unstable. . . she would break the restraints easily and run . . .
A memory: Rogue when she first came to the mansion, pulling her hair and crying, half-mad from the voices in her head . . .
Xavier’s voice: I agree . . . May not be lucid . . . A danger to herself and others . . . Although I’d prefer we finish this conversation the traditional way, if you don’t mind . . .
Logan was back in the med lab, looking up at Jean as her hand left his temple. She looked—embarrassed?
“Pr-Professor,” Jean stammered. “I was just showing Logan—“
Logan heard the familiar whirr of the wheelchair approaching them.
“Yes,” Xavier said with a hint of warning, “I know. Just as you were relaying to me what Logan told you, and sending a wealth of information to your husband in Vermont. And, if I’m not mistaken, rattling windows all over North Salem with the telekinetic backlash, my dear.”
Logan marveled at the elegant, ever-professional woman he thought he knew, now looking for all the world like a thoroughly chastised five-year-old. “Oops,” she muttered.
“Oops, indeed,” Xavier said. “Let us not forget that even in times of emergency, a phone call is preferable, hm?”
Jean nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
Logan cut in, "Can you people worry about broken windows later? If Rogue did wake up and run away, how long can she survive out there, with her mutation?”
Xavier steepled his hands. “Rogue is one of the most powerful mutants I’ve encountered. But, like most advanced mutations, hers can become very volatile if used without restraint,” he shot a glance at Jean, who still looked sheepish. “She has not yet achieved full control over the powers she absorbed from Carol Danvers. As you have seen, her invulnerability doesn’t extend past the surface of her skin, and her strength comes and goes unpredictably. It is perhaps a blessing, in this instance, that her ability to fly is also rather limited.”
“We had no idea she could absorb animals,” Jean said. “There’s no telling what that may have done to her psyche.”
“It may explain why I am unable to sense her using Cerebro. Whatever has happened, I hope we find her sooner rather than later. Her absorption of Carol pales in comparison to a trauma like this.”
Logan set his jaw. “So, that’s it. If Rogue wasn’t kidnapped, and by some miracle didn’t freeze to death last night, then she’s out of her mind wandering through the wilderness. You got some kind of standard operating procedure for this situation, Chuck?”
Xavier’s gaze moved to Logan. “We lack the manpower to do a full sweep of such a large area. It was a very brave thing you did. I do believe you saved Rogue’s life. We can hardly ask for more than that. The choice is yours.”
Logan felt the weight of that statement settle over him, and for a moment it seemed too much for even his adamantium skeleton to bear. Who the hell was he, to be playing superhero with the rest of these freaks? He balked at the very word: hero. Yeah, right.
It wasn’t virtue or selflessness or bravery that brought his skin against Rogue’s out in that forest. He’d just done it because he wanted to. Because she was in pain, and he had the ability to make it go away. Anyone would have done the same. It didn’t make him less of a monster. Didn’t erase any of the terrible things he’d done.
Xavier’s eyes bored into his, and Logan was taken back to the day he signed his contract, the day he agreed to become an X-man.
”You got the wrong guy, Chuck. But I know a couple of mercenaries who do long-term gigs. Can set up some meetings if you want.”
“I’m not looking for a hired gun, Logan. I’ve been watching you for some time now. I want you to join my team, to fight for a cause that I know you believe in.”
“I don’t believe in nothin’. I am what they made me: a weapon. That’s it.”
“No. You are what you do. You can be exactly what they want, or you can defy them every day with the choices you make, and become so much more. I see great potential, Logan. You know my power. I wouldn’t be here if you were a lost cause.”
It was so much easier, believing he had no choice. Living his life like nothing mattered. A part of him cried out to just leave. He didn’t owe these people anything.
But then he thought back to that clearing, to the way his blood boiled when he saw Rogue tied up and helpless. Something dark and powerful slithered through his mind: Revenge.
He may not be strong enough to stay, but he was damn sure angry enough. In an instant, his mind was made up. He would find Rogue. And then he would track down the motherfucker that hurt her and rip'em limb from limb. Hero? Him? Yeah, right.
-------------------------------
She smashed her knuckles into the side of her head. Stop stop stop! The man in her head was the same one from the forest. The one that wouldn’t wake up no matter how much she shook him or kicked him or bit him. The man in her head was trying to make her go back to him, back to the place with the dead things.
The thought of them drew a whine from her throat. The dead things. They were inside her head too, always howling.
They had tried to bite her at first, until the man hit them and made them go away. Then he held her and rocked her and pressed his mouth against the place over her cheek. He made a sound like leaves rustling: “Shh, shh, hush, shh.”
The sound made her feel safer, but she didn’t stop running, didn’t turn around like he wanted her to. The smell of blood and the dead things was all over her, even after she rolled in the leaves and rubbed against the trees to get rid of it.
She whined again, and the man finally stopped trying to make her turn around. Instead he made her stop, and listen. She heard water. Stream, said the man inside her head. She ran to the sound and lay down in the shallow water, staining it red as it flowed around her.
“C-cah. Co-uld. Cold,” she whispered, and the sound made her smile even though she couldn’t remember what it meant. She stayed in the water until the smell was all gone.
------------------------
It was dark, the moon only a sliver, when she darted out from the safety of the trees and ran straight to her den. She was angry with the man, who had tried to make her go towards the sound of footsteps and voices calling, “Rogue! Rogue!”
But now the man was sorry. He wanted her to stay here. Good, he said. This place is good.
She traced his lips with her finger, wondering at the sounds he made. Good, she repeated. Th-this . . . good.
He nodded and spoke against her finger, Yeah. This good.
She curled up to sleep, and she was not afraid. She knew the man would keep the dead things away.
---------------------------------
Scott was at a loss. The phrase ‘needle in a haystack’ didn’t begin to describe this situation. He and the others had spent all night and most of the day combing the valley. After Jean clued him in, he organized the search to fan out 360 degrees from the clearing, but as yet there was no sign of his missing teammate.
Xavier had received Rogue’s distress call the previous morning. That meant they were fast approaching the 30-hour mark. Scott was tempted to call in bloodhounds.
But then, the X-men already had a resident bloodhound, and he was on his way right now on Scott’s bike. His beautiful bike. Being manhandled by a hairy Neanderthal with a metal skeleton that probably weighed enough to wreak havoc on the suspension. Scott couldn’t let himself dwell on that painful piece of information. “Take one for the team,” he muttered miserably.
The handle-less door swung open easily as Scott entered the cabin. Lockpicking, Wolverine style. Not very subtle, but he supposed it was effective. He figured he would go through the cabin just one more time, if not to get a clue of Rogue’s whereabouts, then perhaps the identity of whoever orchestrated this whole sick thing. Rogue wasn’t short on enemies, but he couldn’t even imagine what kind of person—
“Wha—Rogue!” There she was. Right there. Curled up on the bed, sleeping peacefully. Scott could barely believe his eyes.
At the sound of his voice, she jumped up, scrambling off the bed to land in a graceless heap on the rough wood floor. She got to her feet, and Scott noticed with shock that she was half-naked, wearing only a pair of ripped jeans. Her hair tangled wildly down her shoulders and back. It fell forward to obscure her face as she ran into the bathroom and sank to the floor. She pressed her back to the corner and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth.
Scott was suddenly hit with the reality of what she must have gone through. He felt bile rise in his throat. “Rogue?” he said gently, moving towards her.
She eyed him warily as he approached, pushing herself further into the corner and—growling? Was Rogue growling at him?
“Grrrr . . .”
Scott slowed, unsure how to proceed. “Rogue? Can you understand me?”
She narrowed her eyes, but showed no other sign of acknowledgement. And she was still growling, a low sort of rumble he wouldn’t have thought a human could make. The sound should have been comical, coming from her, but it actually seemed rather threatening.
He tried again. “It’s okay. It’s me, Scott. Remember? You’re safe. I’m here now, and everything’s going to be okay.” He took a step forward, extending his hand, a bit wary of her skin even though he wore gloves.
“GRRRR . . .”
He took one more tentative step.
She lunged and bit him.
“Ow!” Scott yelped, jerking his hand away. “What the—”
Rogue’s head darted from side to side, and he could see the terror in her eyes when she realized there was nowhere to run. It broke his heart to see her like that. This strong, beautiful woman, his teammate and friend, who drank whiskey neat and cursed like a sailor, but still gushed over pretty jewelry and shopped for hours on end with Jean and Ororo. She taught self-defense to students who grumbled through every lesson but still regarded her as one of their favorite teachers.
And now she sat in the corner of a cabin, half-naked and growling at him. Broken. That was how she looked. Just broken, like she’d never be right again.
He reached out once more, ready to pull back if she tried to bite him again. “Come on, Rogue. I know you’re scared, but you have to trust me—”
“Stop! Just back off. You’re confusin’ her.” Scott turned to see Logan approaching, wearing jeans, a biker jacket, and gloves, rather than the uniform.
The stickler in him was annoyed by that fact, but he told the stickler to shut the heck up. There were more important concerns right now. “I’m trying to help her,” he said dismissively, turning back to Rogue’s huddled form.
Wolverine growled, and Scott jumped to hear that sound again. People weren’t supposed to make that sound, were they? “I’m serious, bub. Back off.”
Scott looked from Rogue to Wolverine a few times, then reluctantly moved back a few paces. “How am I confusing her?”
“Mixed messages,” he grunted. “Actin’ like you’re the alpha, smellin’ like you’re scared shitless of her. She don’t know what to think.”
Scott sputtered, “Wha—I don’t—I don’t smell scared.”
“Humans,” Wolverine muttered derisively, as though he weren’t one. Then he turned his back to Scott and approached Rogue.
She sniffed the air, sizing him up with a sweep of her eyes. Her growl rose in volume as he came closer, but he ignored it, keeping a steady gait. Confident.
Then he stopped. After a moment, Rogue stood and circled him a couple of times.
Scott thought maybe it was working, maybe she was calming down. But then Wolverine put a hand on her arm to still her, and she bared her teeth at him—
“RARGH!” he snarled viciously, and in a flash he grabbed her upper arms, slamming her into the wall with a force that made Scott wince. Rogue just looked surprised.
Scott made to step forward and break them up, but then something inside him said to wait. If Logan really wanted to, he could have slammed Rogue straight through that wall. Heck, between the two of them, they could probably have this whole cabin in shambles by now.
Rogue, for her part, was now having a staring contest with Wolverine. He stepped into her, bowing his head until their foreheads almost touched, eyes locked with Rogue’s defiant ones.
Scott didn’t fully understand the exchange, but he felt the intensity of it, palpable in the air. This seemed—private, somehow, and he almost wanted to turn away. Only his concern for Rogue’s safety kept him rooted, one hand at his visor.
Rogue’s eyes narrowed. She shifted experimentally in Logan’s grip.
His growl rose sharply in warning, and he pushed her harder into the wall.
Something changed. Logan sniffed the air and tensed. Then he let out another deep growl, and Rogue abruptly lowered her gaze.
His growl was still a low, constant hum as he nuzzled into her hair, gradually loosening that iron grip on her arms. He worked his way through her hair, pausing for a long time at her ear before continuing down to bury himself in the crook of her neck. The bunched muscles in his back and shoulders rose as he inhaled deeply.
Then Rogue whimpered, and his breaths began to come faster. He widened his stance, closing the small gap between their bodies and pinning her fully to the wall—
“Logan!” Scott said sharply. God, was that—were they doing what he thought they were doing?
Logan tensed for a second, then—Oh, sick, he just ground his hips into her and she made that whimpering noise again. Scott had never felt so violated in his life. He almost wished he was blind.
“Logan!” he said again, hoping he wouldn’t have to blast them apart.
Logan whirled, muscles bulging, pupils dilated, breath coming in shallow pants. It was a wild look, one he had only displayed during their most intense missions and training sessions. He cracked his neck and blinked a few times, then reached for the bottle of whiskey still on the bathtub ledge. He threw his head back and took a long draw.
Rogue snatched the bottle from him and took a drink, herself.
“Well?” Logan said shamelessly, “Shouldn’t you go tell the others I found her?”