Chapter Text
Logan POV.
A tiny lance of fire flashed, blossoming just enough to bring him out of the gray. With the barest hint of consciousness, Logan launched himself off the medical bed, instinctively lowering and rotating his arm away from the offending hollow sliver of metal. Simultaneously, the same hand captured the wrist holding the syringe, a dozen tiny cables attached with clips to tabs on his chest yanked free of their moorings, and he rotated to clutch the throat of the white coat. A deep growl rumbled in his throat as his fingers closed around a tender windpipe. Within a fraction of a second, the woman in the lab coat was clutched hard against his chest, secured firmly in his grasp.
She had amazing red hair.
He saw her eyes widen in surprise, but not fear, he smelled.
He took in his surroundings, noting the metallic tang of alien pewter walls and the location of the door. They were alone. The woman was strong for her size, but she didn’t struggle and that waft of fear never appeared. She smelled… *good*. His hormones instantly responded.
Suppressing the rush of testosterone, he determined that she was no immediate threat and released her, off-balance, to slide down to the floor gasping for breath.
Within three heartbeats, he was passing through the door into a well lit, pewter hallway. Cold. Angular. Grid formation. Probably military, he surmised. Within moments, he secured some clothing and was scouting for potential exit points when he heard the voices.
*Hey. Over here.*
Flattening himself along the wall, using the only available cover – the slight projection of a vertical cylinder in the nearby wall. He was within inches when the cylinder opened. An elevator. He backed in warily, his instincts telling him to get as far from the lab as fast as he could. The door closed automatically.
The door opened into a completely different place. He hesitated, surprised. Wood walls, fresh air, sunlight. His nose picked up the scent of acorns, floor wax, wood polish. Voices came from behind him.
*This way. Follow me.*
He launched himself into the hallway, turning sharply to flatten himself to the wall just outside the elevator door.
/How could…?/ The door closed.
The hallway was long, dark oak paneled walls capped with stone arched ceilings and stretched some distance to his left and right. Sunlight streamed in through a window a little further down the hall on his side. A bit further, the hallway opened, probably an entryway, and a stairway just beyond. No guards. No warning claxons. Strange.
*Did you see him?* A voice high, off to his left.
Logan skittered down to the window alcove, using the cover to look back. He paused briefly, taking in the large double doors across the hall in the entryway. Seeing no one, he launched himself past a paneled pillar, across the hall to the door, and grabbed the door handle.
*Maybe he’s in here.* The voice came from the far side of the hall. He flew to the far side of the pillar, facing directly away from the main doors.
Footsteps, many loud footsteps, descending the stair. Logan cursed silently.
/Children!? What the …?/
The herd hit the bottom of the stairs, crossed the entryway, passed behind him and continued back toward the elevator he emerged from just moments ago. Logan swiftly slipped around the pillar to remain out of sight of the receding flock of backpacks.
*There he is.. Follow me.* The voice came from the doors again.
Directly to his right, opposite the main doors, was a large door through the wood paneled wall. /Best shot…/
Logan nearly flew to the door, using the pillar as much as possible to guard his flank. It opened easily, and he gracefully entered, spinning to close the door softly. A heartbeat later he sensed the movement in the air.
/Not alone. Not by a lot./ He turned slowly.
“Hello, Logan.”
Logan saw he was standing in a wood paneled study. On the far side of the room, a large bank of cut glass windows let in the light, the view partially blocked to the left by a large blackboard inscribed with chalky arcane symbols and some rich draperies. Next to the blackboard, in the center of the room, was a large desk behind which sat a middle aged bald man with the deep, soothing voice. A half dozen teenagers were seated in classroom desks sat in front of the blackboard. They had turned in their seats to eye him intently.
“I want your papers on the strong and weak forces on my desk Wednesday morning. Class dismissed,” the man said firmly addressing the class. The kids quickly gathered their things and bolted past him, inspecting him with curious and overt glances. Logan stood agape as one of the students, just a moment behind the others, left the room without opening the door, sliding through like a ghost.
“Physics,” the bald man said to him, raising a textbook in the air to show him and gently smiling. Logan’s head snapped around at the explanation. “I’m Charles Xavier. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Where am I?”
“Upstate New York.” The man rolled around from behind the desk. A wheelchair. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”
“I don’t need medical attention,” Logan grumbled, clearly confused. The man with the calming voice and the gray eyes met and held his eyes. Power – Logan could feel it in the man.
/This has to be the pack leader./
“Yes… of course” the man said knowingly. A cold rush hit him hard. He felt transparent.
/How can he…?/ His tension level ratcheted upward another notch. /Get it together, Wolverine!/
Logan quickly examined the room to help still his thoughts. “Where is the girl?”
“Rogue. She’s here, she’s fine.” He smiled reassuringly.
“Really?” He couldn’t hide the edge of panic nor sarcasm.
For an instant, Xavier’s eyes went distant, his eyes crinkled slightly. /Interesting./
Logan detected footsteps in the hallway, a pause, then the click of the latch of door behind him. He turned rapidly and fluidly to face the door, leaving Xavier at his back. /Smooth move, knucklehead./
“Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm, and this is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.”
Logan clinically sized up the white haired woman. /Tiny, nice rack, not a physical threat./
He met her eyes – wise and strong – and she held his gaze, which was no mean feat. She smelled of peace and confidence. /Interesting./
He shifted his attention to the young man in the doorway who was extending his hand. Logan’s clinical evaluation ticked through his mind. /Young, cocky, confident, strong./
Cyclops seemed to meet his eyes. /Can’t see the eyes,/ he noted. His instincts created a flare of distrust.
The young man hesitated when he did not take his hand, and his head tipped downward, sizing him up. The hand fell, and Logan caught a whiff of something… Logan stared into his face. Cyclops seemed to meet his eyes, holding them briefly, then his countenance lowered again slightly and tilting away. /Not fear, but…?/
“They saved your life,” Xavier noted softly, as he watched the exchange with interest.
Logan saw the tall, beautiful red head came from the hallway behind Cyclops, smoothly stepping around the pack leader wannabe, then the hot white haired woman, and then to pass by him, looking him in the eye the entire time. /Just a bit closer then necessary. Nice tits./
The white coat, he smelled, only this time no coat. His hormones jumped again as she came to stop next to Xavier. He was surrounded, he noted, but he reined in his instinct to run. This could be interesting - *if* he could figure out what the hell was going on.
“I believe that you have met Dr. Jean Gray.”
/Jean… nice./ Logan had just enough control to avoid a low, throaty growl.
Xavier paused just momentarily. Logan said nothing. “You are in my school for the gifted – for mutants. You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”
“What’s a Magneto?” Logan’s incredulity sounded clearly in his voice.
“A very powerful mutant that believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I have been following his activities for some time. You were attacked by an associate of his, a man called Sabertooth.”
“Sabertooth?” Logan nearly chuckled. /This is ridiculous!/
This whole situation was so unreal, he wondered if he was really conscious. But it felt real. Hell, since he had decided to stick his toe in this pool, he had might as well go all the way. He turned to Storm.
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, raising his hands to point at Ororo like a cowboy with a pair of six-shooters.
“Storm,” naming her. Turning back to Xavier, he asked, dripping with disdain, “What do they called you – Wheels?”
Logan continued, “This is the stupidest thing I ever heard.” He chuckled, turning to face the visored wonder. In a few steps he was in the young man’s face, a grim expression on his face and clearly challenging him. “Cyclops, is it?”
Logan aggressively grabbed him by the front of his sweater, bringing him right up to his face, challenging him with his eyes – or at least where his eyes should be. “D‘ya wanna get outta my way?” he breathed dangerously.
Scott calmly looked him in the face, then his face tilted down, just slightly, then back up. Logan thought he was being sized up, and inhaled to catch the response.
/Curious. No fear, a flash of anger, but…something…/
Scott carefully and coolly looked around Logan’s head to Xavier.
With a deadly calm, Xavier spoke. “Logan it’s been almost 15 years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place. Living with no memory of who and what you are…”
“Shut up!” Logan gasped, eyes widening, head swiveling to focus on the man that knew _way_ too much about him. For the first time in a long time - when conscious anyway - Logan felt the sharp edge of panic.
“Give me a chance. I may be able to help you find some answers.” He saw no deception in Xavier’s eyes, nor smelled any foul intent.
“How do you know?” he managed to stutter, nearly whispering.
*You aren’t the only one with gifts.*
Logan’s eyes widened as he came to the realization that Xavier’s mouth didn’t move - his voice was *inside* his head.
*Hey. Over here.* *This way. Follow me.* *There he is.. Follow me.* Voices echoed quietly throughout his head. Involuntarily, he turned to glance in the various directions of the phantom sounds.
Logan stood, shocked. He searched Xavier’s eyes for the merest hint of deception and found none. After a long tense moment, the barest hint of a smile crossed his lips as the wonder of it all struck him.
“What _is_ this place?”
Jean POV.
Jean had been running tests on her new patient for four hours, her curiosity intensifying with each new result.
Scott had grabbed this “Wolverine” character off the hood of a camper truck just moments before it exploded. Ororo said that Sabertooth had knocked him more than 100 feet using a birch trunk like a baseball bat. He had landed on the hood of the vehicle. The young girl that was with him, Rogue, had told them that just before the team arrived, she and Logan had had an accident, and that he had been thrown through the window and well down the road on his face. Rogue insisted that he was laying there with limbs in impossible directions, seemingly dead, and then he just got up. As he walked toward her, she had seen his limbs straighten, his limp recede, and the gashes on his face simply disappear.
Jean knew that she had told the truth – her limited telepathy indicated as much. It was amazing that he was still alive. All of that happened just over eight hours ago, and her patient had nearly fully recovered from what should have been multiply fatal injuries.
Logan and the girl were loaded on the Blackbird and flown back to New York at breakneck speed. Though Storm was far from a trained professional, she was accomplished enough to know a lost cause when she saw one. She said this one was a lost cause.
And she was certainly wrong. At the moment, there was no cut, no wound, no bruise, barely a detectible injury on the man. Stranger still, no scars. The video on the blackbird had shown several long lacerations that had since disappeared.
Jean ran her hands across his torso, efficiently examining the areas evident on the video. Her hands lingered. /His skin is perfect. Hairy, but perfect./
She continued with the examination, and was satisfied. /What a marvel…/ Then with a bit of guilt, /…and attractive./
She sighed and went over to the cabinet that held the phlebotomy supplies and returned to the bed.
Getting an idea, she wondered, /Maybe his healing factor is blood borne…/
She sighed as she realized that she had forgotten to grab the vial from the cart. Glancing over, she used her telekinetic power to draw the vial through the air to her. She efficiently snapped the new needle into the draw sleeve, then the vial into the other side. She leaned over to insert the needle into a prominent vein.
A heart beat later she gasped as Wolverine had launched himself off the medical bed, instinctively lowering and rotating his arm away from the needle. Simultaneously, the same hand captured her wrist. He spun around her and pinned her so quickly, she had no chance to respond. She heard a deep growl rumbled in his throat and his fingers closed around her windpipe. In that heartbeat, her back was pressed tightly to his chest.
Shaken slightly, she stayed calm and reached out to his mind - startled, frightened, more than a little dangerous, but not reckless or homicidal.
One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Something in him relaxed. She was sure that he would not harm her. /Not that I can defend myself,/ she mentally grumbled. Then she sensed a thought burst of… lust?
Just as she was about to consider protecting herself, he released her and ran out the door. She coughed for about half a minute after the air returned to her lungs.
*Professor, Logan’s awake. He panicked and bolted. He roughed me up a bit, so be careful*
*Jean, are you…*
*Perfectly fine. He just surprised me. I couldn’t tell he was conscious. Shields, probably. He’s likely in the command level hallways. Do you want me to assist?*
*No, I’ll take care of it myself*
Jean smiled at the thought burst of fatherly pride that followed that comment. After a moment, she started to pick up the mess that Logan had created with his dramatic exit. As she cleaned, she couldn’t help but think about her newest patient.
/What power… ferocity… strength… barely controlled passion just bubbling under the surface!/
She felt that familiar tingle of warmth. Gently, she rubbed her throat, which made her feel all the more guilty. She was attracted to the man. Not really her type – she already had a good man. She loved Scott with all of her heart. They were like two halves of a whole.
/But when he growled…/
She shuddered in pleasure and disgust at the thought, then started to put him out of her mind. /Get it together, Jean! He’ll be gone soon, and your little lumberjack biker crush will go away./
Then she stood in the lab, hands full, dumfounded, as one thought passed through her head.
/What if he doesn’t go away?/
* * *
Jean had just finished cleaning up when Xavier’s mental voice called to her.
*Jean, Logan is here in my office. Could you come up for introductions?*
*I’ll be right there*
A moment later, Jean got her swirling emotions under control, and swept out the door of the med lab.
* * *
As she approached Xavier’s office, she caught a few distinct thoughts. Xavier was playing a game - handling Logan - and he wanted everyone to play along, or play nice anyway.
Jean quickly scanned for everyone’s surface impressions, a trick she had developed with her oldest friends for occasions just like this. Though she could, she made it a policy not to pry without permission.
Ororo was openly broadcasting mixed thoughts. She noted Logan’s stance, which was indicative of combat training. She thought his manner was rough, with more than a hint of a primal nature, and it simmered within him, barely contained. Scott was strangely blank. No, not blank, just controlled, guarded.
She was surprised as she could always read him this close. Logan’s thoughts were also guarded.
“They saved your life,” Xavier was saying as she approached.
Jean, determined to assert control, made contact with Logan’s eyes immediately and held them. /He understands strength./
The redhead entered the room, smoothly stepping around Scott in the doorway, passing between Ororo and Logan to stop behind Xavier’s shoulder. She felt Scott glance at her, then realized that she *was* strutting a bit. /This is not Milan, Jean./
She was proud that she held it together. She held his eyes, gave away no power. She watched his nose flair, then noted a slight change in attitude. *I wonder if his olfactory senses are also highly developed,* she thought aloud to Xavier.
Charles introduced her. “I believe that you have met Dr. Jean Gray.”
Xavier paused momentarily. Logan said nothing. “You are in my school for the gifted – for mutants. You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”
“What’s a Magneto?” Logan sounded like he thought Charles was pulling his leg.
“A very powerful mutant that believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I have been following his activities for some time. You were attacked by an associate of his, a man called Sabertooth.”
“Sabertooth?” Logan clearly projected his bemusement. He turned to Storm.
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, raising his hands to point at Ororo like a cowboy with a pair of six-shooters.
“Storm,” naming her. Turning back to Xavier, he asked, dripping with disdain, “What do they called you – Wheels?” Logan shook his head in disbelief.
“This is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
Then he chuckled, turning to face Scott. In a few steps he was in Scott’s face, a grim expression on his face and clearly challenging him. “Cyclops, is it?”
Logan aggressively grabbed Scott by the front of his sweater, bringing him right up to his face, challenging him with his eyes – or at least where his eyes should be. “D’ya wanna get outta my way?” he breathed dangerously.
Jean caught a flash of annoyance in her lover.
Scott calmly looked him in the face, then looked down, then back up.
There was something else there, just a hint. /No, I must be mistaken./
Scott carefully and coolly looked around Logan’s head to Xavier.
With a deadly calm, Xavier spoke. “Logan it’s been almost 15 years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place. Living with no memory of who and what you are…”
“Shut up!” Logan gasped, eyes widening, head swiveling to focus on Xavier. Jean didn’t need to be telepathic to see that Logan was beginning to panic.
“Give me a chance. I may be able to help you find some answers.”
Jean held her breath for a long tense moment.
“How do you know?” he managed to stutter, nearly whispering.
They all heard Charles tell Logan, *You aren’t the only one with gifts.*
Logan’s eyes widened, then he quickly turned to glance in the various directions, one after the other.
Logan stood, his mouth open, clearly in shock. He stared at Charles for a few moments with a look of surprise and concern. After a long tense moment, the barest hint of a smile crossed his lips.
/Perfectly kissable lips,/ she thought before she could stop herself. /Damn!/
“What _is_ this place?” Logan asked.
Scott POV.
Scott was tired.
About 20:00 hours yesterday, Charles Xavier discovered that Sabertooth had traveled to the wild hinterlands of northern Canada, a trip obviously undertaken for a specific reason. Cerebro had picked up several mutants in that general area, so he assumed that they were in danger. Ororo and Scott suited up and flew up there to take a look.
The Blackbird was a state of the art military prototype vehicle. It was *fast*. Even so, it still took four hours to get the team up there. They searched for two hours, with Charles on the phone guiding them, to find Sabertooth and the mutants he was hunting. They had gotten there just in time, rescuing a young girl and a thirty-five to forty year old man from a wrecked camper that was about to explode. The man had been in really rough shape after the beating that Sabertooth gave him, and Scott had been impressed that he was still alive. Initially, they had been concerned that he would never make it back to the Academy, but strangely, his condition had improved as they went along. Scott and Ororo gotten them back to the school about 05:30 hours. Scott had just enough time to catch a nap – in a cold lonely bed, no less - before he had to teach.
English. Literature. 08:00.
/Why do I do things like that to myself?/ he had wondered, as he cradling his head on his desk and blinked fiercely to get some liquid back into his eyes.
Class had passed without incident, and he had planned to nap in his office for an hour before his next class. In fact, he was heading to the well worn couch in his office when Charles reached his mind out to him.
*Scott, Logan is here in my office. Could you come to my office for introductions?*
*I’ll be right there* he thought aloud, but inwardly he groaned. /This guy better not be a jerk./
Scott turned and walked back down the hallway toward the classroom he just left, descended the main stairwell, and crossed the entryway to Xavier’s office door. He paused outside, as he saw Ororo wave, heading in his direction.
Scott could hear the conversation from outside the study if he listened closely.
“Where is the girl?” Logan asked.
/He obviously is protective of the girl. I wonder what their relationship is?/ he wondered as he listened.
“Rogue. She’s here, she’s fine.”
/Charles can sound so reassuring when he wants to,/ Scott thought. /It’s probably why I’m still alive./
Ororo came up behind him on cat’s feet to stand comfortably against his back, her hands on his shoulders and leaning slightly to his left to hear better. They were old friends, as close to brother and sister as could be imagined. Scott strained to hear with Ororo breathing in his ear.
“Really?” Logan asked.
/Insolent. I don’t like him already./ He sighed.
Xavier reached out to his mind. *Scott and Ororo, can you come in now. Our guest is a bit agitated, be kind*
The man Scott had rescued in Canada was turning toward the door as Ororo opened it. She stepped into the room, and he followed, stopping dead in the wide doorway as he got his first real look at a conscious Wolverine.
Logan stood about 5’ 9” and had dark brown upswept hair and active deep brown eyes. He was extremely well muscled, with a deep chest and very little body fat. He looked like he’d weigh about 220 pounds, but after lifted him around, Scott knew that he was heavier, obviously more dense. He was a striking man, with regular masculine features, a long straight nose, and slightly backswept ears. He wore long sideburns, extending his hairline almost to his chin. He was scruffy – he probably hadn’t shaved for days - and it looked like the fur ran all over the rest of him as well. He looked fast and strong, and not just a bit dangerous. It must be the eyes – intelligent, aware, crafty, but a bit too wild. Even after the events of the last 12 hours, he was cocky and confident.
Scott disliked him on sight.
“Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Munroe, also known as Storm…” Scott watched as he sized her up like he needed to take her out. He bristled at the thought.
“…and this is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops.” Scott extended his hand as Logan turned that powerful gaze in his direction. He stopped, momentarily stunned as he looked deeply into Logan’s eyes. He simply stared as Logan’s eyes challenged, sizing him up. The sheer power and intensity that the man exuded bored into his brain, touching something that hadn’t been touched in a very long time. He had to look away. He tipped his head down, unconsciously scanning down his body. Catching himself, he snapped his eyes back up to meet Logan’s eyes, then held them.
Then it was over, Logan had seen through him, judged him, and with a dismissive twist of the mouth, found him wanting. He was deliberately not accepting his outstretched hand. Logan started to turn his attention from Scott, then hesitated, bringing that burning gaze back to meet his. Scott could tell he was searching for something, and he again broke first, lowering his eyes, but looking away this time so as not to revisit his earlier faux pas.
Scott was shocked at his break in control and upset for not asserting himself better, but he kept it well hidden. /Privacy in the presence of telepaths is tricky at best,/ he thought sourly.
He had never failed a challenge before, not since his time on the streets. There was just something about this man.
Logan turned his attention from Scott’s hardening countenance as Xavier started to speak.
“They saved your life,” Xavier noted softly, watching the exchange with interest.
Scott watched with interest as Logan’s attention passed over his shoulder to the hall. Whatever emotions he was feeling were quickly overcome by anger as he saw the older man leering at *his* girlfriend. Jean strutted by him. Strutted! He couldn’t believe that she was encouraging him. She stopped behind Charles.
/United psionic front, I guess,/ the rational part of his brain thought as the non-rational part glanced at Jean’s beautiful face, then at Logan’s leering expression.
/Jean is staring back!/ Hot fury blossomed. He dropped his eyes to the floor in order to control the rush. Unconsciously, his mouth opened and closed as he got a grip on his irrational emotions.
After a moment, he brought his eyes back up and they traitorously focused back on Logan, but definitely not his face. Whatever fire had been raging was suddenly quenched by a cold sobering thought. He shoved it from his mind before he could even consider it.
“I believe that you have met Dr. Jean Gray.” Scott barely heard the introduction or the following exchange as he struggled to recover.
“Sabertooth?” Scott could hear his snide tone and that brought his wandering thoughts back to the conversation. Logan turned to Storm.
“Lemme get this straight,” he said, raising his hands to point at Ororo like a cowboy with a pair of six-shooters.
“Storm,” naming her. Turning back to Xavier, he asked, dripping with disdain, “What do they called you – Wheels?”
/If looks could kill…,” Scott thought sourly. Scott’s head throbbed as his power involuntarily flared. /Oh, yeah. They can./
Though the violent thought occasionally crossed his mind, deep down he knew that he never wanted to kill anyone with his gift again - even that animal. The fact that he retained that conviction in the face of this sudden, powerful response helped him to somewhat regain his equilibrium.
Logan continued, “This is the stupidest thing I ever heard.”
The short man chuckled without mirth, turning to face Scott. In a few steps he was in Scott’s face, a grim expression on his face and clearly challenging him again. “Cyclops, is it?”
Logan aggressively grabbed Scott by the front of his cardigan, bringing him right up to his face and challenging him with his eyes. “D’ya wanna get outta my way,” he breathed, words laden with dangerous intent.
Fortunately, he had a few moments to regain his famed ‘Fearless Leader’ control. Scott calmly looked him in the face, a façade that utterly belied the mass confusion that reigned within him. On one hand, he wanted to fry this cocky redneck, and on the other…
He couldn’t help himself. He looked down, down *there*, then back up. /Damn, I didn’t want to do that…/
To redirect attention, Scott carefully and coolly looked around Logan’s head to Xavier. That, and to avoid looking at him in the face.
With a deadly calm, Xavier spoke. “Logan it’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place. Living with no memory of who and what you are…”
“Shut up!” Logan gasped, eyes widening, head swiveling to focus on Xavier. Scott didn’t need to be telepathic to see that Logan was beginning to panic.
“Give me a chance. I may be able to help you find some answers.”
Scott held his breath for a long tense moment.
“How do you know?” he managed to stutter, nearly whispering.
They all heard Charles tell Logan, *You aren’t the only one with gifts.*
Logan’s eyes widened, then he quickly turned to glance in the various directions, one after the other.
Logan stood, his mouth open, clearly in shock. He stared at Charles for a few moments with a look of surprise and concern. After a long tense moment, the barest hint of a smile crossed the older man’s lips.
/Perfectly kissable lips,/ he thought before he could stop himself. /Damn!/
“What _is_ this place?” Logan asked.