Category: Sizzling, Novella

Words: 21.615

Chains and Choices
sequel to Gains and Losses

The scent of old paper, stored in a not too dry environment reached Logan's nostrils and he shuddered. His eyes were drawn to the old folder, yellow with age, stained and dirty. But that wasn't what froze him. It was the writing. In clear, sharp black letters it said: Project Soldier X, Subject: Wolverine.
And there was an insignia on it, well-known and common - and utterly shocking.
It was his file.
"Logan... ?"
Scott's voice reached him from very far away, a hand placed on his arm pulling him out of his trance.
"The seal is not broken?" he croaked. God, was that his voice?
"No. This is yours, Logan. I don't know what it says -- if it contains the answers you've been looking for, or if these answers will be pleasant. If you want to look into this, it's yours to do so, whenever you are ready. And if you feel like sharing..." Xavier didn't end the sentence. He didn't need to.
"Logan?"
He looked up, saw Scott's worried glance through the red crystal glasses. He had learned to read his lover's mimic even without being able to directly see his eyes.
"Whenever, Logan."
There was an unspoken promise in those few words: whenever you are ready, I'll be here. He reacted with a single nod, knowing Scott wouldn't expect more. With careful movements he took the old folder, wondering for an insane second why his hands didn't shake, why this innocent looking paper didn't burn his hands down to the bones ...
"I'll let you know."
And then he left.

* * *

Logan stared at the yellowish folder, fingertips running over the seal. This was what he had so desperately tried to find: his past. This was what had been wiped from his mind, his memory. This was him. One small flip would break the seal and then his nagging questions would be answered: who was he? What had Stryker done to him, and why? Where had he met Stryker in the first place? And had he really volunteered for this - procedure? Agreed to be cut open and filled with liquid adamantium?
You were an animal then, and you are an animal now. I just gave you claws.
Was he what Stryker had implied?
Did he really want to know?
The bubbling laughter of several kids running by the open door to his room interrupted his thoughts. A head appeared in the door.
"Logan, we want to make a campfire, roast marshmallows, tell ghost stories, you know," Rogue shrugged "You joining?"
He looked at her for a brief second, then tossed the sealed folder into the corner.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Great." Rogue was almost dancing with enthusiasm, as she told him about their plans for the night, and Logan chuckled, amused. Kids.

* * *

Scott looked at his lover as he folded his clothes onto the chair. Logan was looking at the folder again, his eyes holding a faraway expression.
"Logan?" he asked carefully.
For the last week, the other man had behaved strangely. He was more withdrawn, more silent than usual, and a lot more brooding. A hell lot more brooding. Scott knew the Logan of before they had embarked on this strange journey called a relationship, but his dark moods had never been this intense.
Well, not dark per se. More like... lost in a world no one else had access to.
Logan looked up, plastering what went for a smile onto his face. It looked like a grimace to Scott.
"You okay?" Summers asked.
"Yeah. Sure. Why not."
"Well, because for the last few days you've been... not you."
Logan frowned, still holding the folder.
"And if I have to make a guess, it's because of that." Scott pointed at the piece in question.
Dark eyes looked at the document, then Logan tossed it aside. "Maybe," he growled.
"Not maybe. Definitely." Scott walked over to him. "Why don't you open it?"
Logan evaded the sharp gaze hidden behind the protective glasses.
"Don't you want to know who you were?" Scott prodded.
He inhaled deeply, releasing a breath slowly. "Of course I want to know," Logan finally said, voice soft. "But what if what I find out is... not what I wanted to know? What if I did something in the past...? What if my amnesia is all for the better? What if I wasn't meant to remember on my own? What if I don't like who I was?"
Scott came even closer. "You won't get an answer unless you look into that folder, Logan."
"I know that, Scott."
He wrapped his arms loosely around the older man. "This is a part of you and it's your decision if you want to know or not."
"Chuck said so," Logan reminded him.
Scott smiled. "And the professor is usually right." The smile turned into a serious expression. "Whatever your past was, you turned into a good man, Logan. The man I love. Nothing will change that. Nothing at all."

* * *

It took Logan another two days to finally make up his mind. He waited until school was on and Scott and everyone else was busy.
Closing the door, he settled on the bed, the sealed document folder on his lap. Then, with one decisive rip, he broke the seal and opened it.
Subject name: James Logan, it read on the first page.
Logan smiled wryly. James. Well, it could have been worse. He read on -- and it got worse.

*

Logan dropped the papers from suddenly nerveless fingers, feeling the meaning of the words he had just read sink in. He had indeed worked for Stryker...
You were an animal then...
The things you and I did together...
What HAD he done? Why... who ... and then he cried in sudden pain and clutched his head ... voices, so many voices, images, a scent ... and then clearly the voice of a kid, challenging, brave, but still so scared.

//"Now that you found me what do you intend to do with me?"
There was more confidence in her voice than she actually felt, bound as she was, and he could see it, hear it, smell it, her fear, near panic. She didn't use whatever powers her mutation had given her, and from what Stryker had said they weren't fully developed yet.
Good for him.
"I'm gonna deliver you."
"Is that what you want?"
"It's what I'm gonna do."
Simple as that. He had done it before, he wouldn't question Stryker's orders now.//

And then... a name...
"Mary... " he whispered through the pain, pain he could remember, the pain of being cut, stabbed, drowned... and then the whole image came forward.

//"I can give you something he can't," she was whispering now, her voice hoarse, and he noticed the rapid increase in her heartbeat.//

"No, please..." he groaned, trembling helplessly as the full force of his memory hit.

//"You're nothing but a slim, underdeveloped girl. Stop whining."
"You're right. I'm a ... girl. And you are a man..."
Her voice trailed off and he whirled around to find her eyes glued to his crotch.
"If you let me go... " she whispered. //

Tears were running over his face and he had sunken down on his knees, pressed down by the agony of realization.

//Logan stalked over to the mattress, looked down at the girl, taking in the form of her body through the fabric of her blouse, the curves of her breasts rising and falling with every rapid breath she was taking. She was afraid of him - that he didn't mind - and she had offered herself to him if he'd let her go.
With a smile that didn't reach his eyes he knelt down in front of her, placing a hand on the warm skin of her thigh, noticing with amusement the tiny shudder and the goose bumps his touch caused. She hated this. His smile widened as he looked into her eyes and his hands slid higher under her skirt.

Zipping his pants close he knelt over her, grabbing her long brown hair and forcing a brutal kiss on her already swollen lips. She hadn't made a single sound the entire time, just a little gasp every now and then. There were tears in her eyes - he had hurt her after all, and he hadn't even cared - but she hadn't spilled them.
"What's your name, kid?"
She swallowed.
"Mary."
"Well, Mary, it's always nice for a guy to know he's the first one."
Realization slowly dawned in her huge green eyes at his words - and then she started to cry and scream. He had to gag her until Stryker arrived.//

Logan staggered to his feet with as much strength as he could muster and stumbled to the bathroom. He barely made it before his stomach lost its contents.

* * *

"Logan? Are you in here?"
Scott entered the room they shared, calling for his wayward lover though some part of him already knew Logan wasn't here. He was right. The room was empty except for some papers strewn on the floor as if somebody had let them slip. A suspicion rose in him as he picked up the old papers, not looking at them. He didn't need to because he already knew what they were - Logan's file. So he had finally opened it. Scott sighed deeply and put the papers back into their folder, shoving the whole thing into his desk drawer before he opened the closet to find the last clue as to what the man he loved had done. Logan's few things were gone.
"Oh, Logan," Scott whispered saddened.
Wolverine had run again.

* * *

Scott carefully steered the bike through the woods, avoiding tricky roots and hidden stones before the clearing opened up in front of him. It was early in the morning and fall had already made its first call, starting to tint the leaves and ghosting fog over the still waters of the small lake hidden deep in the forest. Summers had been surprised to find Logan hadn't taken his bike this time - or the car. Logan hadn't taken anything that belonged to Scott, except for the one thing he wasn't able to leave behind - his heart. Logan had taken Scott's heart and soul with him and the young man was determined as hell to find it. So he did what he normally didn't - follow a hunch. The professor would take Cerebro to look for Logan, but Scott was sure he would find his lover sooner.
Parking the bike he looked around the silent clearing until he saw a dark figure appearing through the fog. Logan was sitting under the tree they had made love under the last time they had been here. Scott stepped closer, knowing he didn't need to make his presence known, but when he saw Logan he frowned.
"Logan?" he asked quietly.
The other man didn't even look up, his gaze locked on the misty veils gliding over the water of the lake.
"Go away, Scott."
"Not without you."
"I won't come with you."
"Logan please. It can't be that bad..."
"You read the file."
"No, I didn't."
"You should've."
With a graceful movement Logan got to his feet and stepped past Scott. When he stretched out a hand to hold him back, it was as if Summers's touch had burned him. Logan flinched back as if it hurt, dark eyes blazing with a fury Scott hadn't seen for a long time in his lover. He wasn't facing Logan, gentle, caring, loving Logan, he was facing Wolverine.
"Don't ever touch me again, bub," the man snarled, and Scott fought the reflex to stagger back.
He had never withdrawn from Logan, he wouldn't start now. Wolverine turned, and Scott made a last attempt.
"Logan, please, stay. You're needed."
"By whom?"
"The kids, Rogue - me. I love you, Logan. Let's go back and talk."
"They don't need me. And you don't love me. Nobody loves an animal."
Scott blinked in surprise. He had never heard anybody refer to Logan as an animal, so where had that come from all of a sudden? When he looked at the spot his lover had stood mere seconds before he only looked at thin air.
Wolverine had disappeared.
"Logan? Please, Logan, don't do this. Don't do this to me. Logan?"
The only thing that answered him was the silence of an abandoned clearing.
He was alone.

*
Scott returned home to the mansion the same day, confused, angry and afraid. Logan had left for good, was running from something he had read inside the file. Scott looked at the classified document, hesitant to read something so strongly private about the man he loved and respected. Logan was fiercely private and he had promised himself to wait until his lover opened up to him about whatever he needed to talk to Scott about. The same went for whatever information and knowledge Logan gleaned from this single folder.
Logan was gone.
Running from the knowledge he now possessed.
But how far did one man have to run to finally forget?

* * *

He had arrived one day, seeking employment, and finding it in this backwater town that consisted of nothing but two bars, one coin laundry, a seedy motel, and some very run-down houses. Like any of the men working the mines, he came without family, and like most of them, his past was of no importance to anyone but himself. He worked the most dangerous places, the mine shafts others were reluctant to go into, but he was paid the same as the others. He didn't complain. He just worked. No one tried to talk to him more than once, except the barkeep, who took his orders for hard drinks and beer.
His room was at the edge of the town, a small excuse for a one-bedroom apartment with more broken furniture than anything else. He didn't seem to care. He just worked, took his money, and everyone left him alone. You just didn't fool around with the guy because if you did, it wasn't for certain that you survived it with all your bones intact.

* * *

Charles Xavier had watched Scott for the whole time it had taken him to locate Wolverine -- two very long months. Wolverine had a mind like a steel trap and finding him in the mass of mutants all over the world had been time consuming and very exhausting. Whenever he had thought he had pinned him down, Logan had moved. Again and again and again, until he had become stationary. Finally.
Throughout that time, Xavier had been worried about Scott. The younger man had prowled the mansion at night, unable to really sleep, and whenever he caught up on missing rest, it did nothing to make him feel better. Scott's mind was broadcasting distress and there was nothing anyone could do for him. Ororo had tried, as had Kurt and Rogue and Bobby -- just about anyone who was close to him.
And finally, Scott had opened the file and read through it.
It had been the night he had come to Xavier, needing to talk, venting his anger and fear and desperation, his insecurities and deep-set pain, and Xavier saw, heard and felt the sincerity when Scott had told him that he still loved Logan.
"I'm going," Scott said softly, looking at the three-dimensional display of the continent he was about to set out for.
Xavier only nodded. "Take the Blackbird."
"Professor..."
Xavier smiled slightly. "You'll need its speed and stealth capabilities. I can recall the plane if need arises. For now, it's at your disposal."
"Thanks," was the quiet, sincere reply.
"Bring him home, Scott. He needs us."
"I'll try."
And if Logan wouldn't come, Scott would stay. Simple as that.

* * *

"Like it or not, I'm coming along!"
Rogue crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring at Scott, daring him to continue the argument that had been going on for the last five minutes.
"He's my friend, too, y'know!"
"I know that, Rogue, but we don't know what we'll find..."
"And that's different from normal how?" she demanded.
Scott sighed. He knew he was losing time -- and the argument, too.
"All right," he finally said. "You can come along. Just... let me handle things."
"Yes, oh great leader," she replied, snapping a salute, then hurried off into the Blackbird with a grin.
Scott sighed and shook his head.

* * *

Cyclops looked around the settlement and a muscle in his cheek jumped. Rogue at his side, he walked down the dusty road, listening to the raucous laughter from one of the bars. It was already dark, the streets unlit, and the only action seemed to be happening in the bars. One had already evicted two drunks, who were now lying on the street. Today had been payday and the money had been immediately invested into hard liquor.
"Nice place," Rogue remarked.
Both were dressed in their uniforms and wearing coats to disguise the black leather, but with Cyclops wearing his visor, it was hard to blend in. Not that they could in the first place. They stuck out like a sore thumb.
Squaring his shoulders, Cyclops headed for the second bar, the place where they had heard Logan would most likely be.
 

He became aware of the two newcomers the second they entered the bar. Through the heavy aroma of stale beer, spilled liquor and body odor from two dozen or more sweaty men, the familiar scent pierced his nostrils, alerting him.
Not him.
Not here.
Not with her!
Shit!
The other patrons turned to size the two newcomers up and the catcalling started. They hadn't had a woman in a while, only themselves, their hands, or a quickie with a willing body here or there. So Rogue's appearance was like finding a gold mine.
"Hey, girl! Looking for a fun time? I can give you one you'll never forget."
Logan clenched his teeth, snarling softly. Not likely!
"Pretty," another drunkard laughed. "Pretty boy. I can think of something t'do with ya."
Logan felt his muscles coil, rage edging his vision red. Touch him and you're dead.
"Hey, pretty face! Fifty bucks!"
And he was on his feet, senses taking in the crowd of burly men trying to get a piece of the two newcomers. Cyclops stood like a rock, his face neutral, but Logan knew his lover well enough to see the disgust, the tension, ready to strike. Rogue was at his side, not behind him, his equal, and she batted a questing hand away from her, a similar expression of disgust on her face.
"You don't wanna touch me," she told the unwashed miner trying to feel her up.
"Don't play shy, girl. I'm gonna give ya a real good time. Best you ever had."
"You don't want to touch her," Cyclops repeated what Rogue had said.
Laughter answered him.
"She yours? He your boy-friend, kid?"
"No, mine," Logan growled and there was a visible flinch going through the group as he pushed past the drunk and raucous miners. "Hands off, everyone!"
Scott's visored eyes met his and for an insane second, Logan felt actually glad to see the other man. Then those feelings were drowned in rage at his presence; and Rogue's.
"Uh..." the man who had tried to touch Rogue mumbled. "Sure. No problem, mate. Din't know."
Logan didn't even spare them a second glance. His attention was riveted to Cyclops, who gave him a humorless smile.
"Hello, Logan."
He didn't give him any chance to say something else. Logan grabbed the younger man and unceremoniously pushed him outside. Rogue hurried after them.

*

Hands grabbed the lapels of his coat, fisting into them, and then Scott was pushed back against the wall of the nearest building. His uniform cushioned the impact slightly, but he still felt a slice of pain race through him.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Logan snarled, eyes blazing.
"Looking for you."
"Yeah, well, get outta here!"
"No."
The answer was calm, collected, unshakeable.
Logan let go of the leather coat and snarled again, wild eyes sliding over to Rogue, who was hanging back, watching carefully. Like Scott, she showed no sign of fear. He turned abruptly and walked away.
Scott followed.
"Stop following me!"
"Make me."
He felt the insane wish to extend his claws and with a supreme effort, he held back.
"Logan, stop running!" Scott ordered, voice steely all of a sudden.
"Make me!" he growled.
He was no longer part of the team and the kid better well think about who he was ordering around.
A hand grabbed his arm, whirled him around, and this time the claws did extend. Lethal weapons, glinting in the meager light of the dirty street lamps, raised between them. One claw was close to Scott's cheek, just a breath away from cutting him.
Seeing his reflection in the red visor, Logan suddenly stepped back, fear coursing through him. His claws remained out for a second, then, with a soft 'snakt', they slid back. The incisions healed immediately, but he didn't bother wiping the blood away. His mind was too busy revolving around what he had done; something he had sworn to himself never to let happen: he had unsheathed his claws in front of his lover, ready to attack him.
"Logan," Scott said softly.
"Leave me alone," was all he managed and started to walk again.
"As I said before.. no."
Scott walked after him. "Logan ... I read the file. I know what you did."
Scott knew he had finally breached the barrier, had reached past the Wolverine and caught Logan. It showed in the clenching of the jaw and the way his fists curled as if he was about to release the claws again. But he didn't. Not again.
With the incredible speed of a well-trained warrior Logan leapt, and the next thing Scott knew he was pinned against the wall, Logan's forearm pressing against his throat in a silent threat. Logan's voice was only a rough hiss, as he neared his face, and there was fury written in those dark eyes - and something else speaking of an age old terror.
"You know shit, bub."
"You hunted mutants for Stryker... " he pressed on, voice low, knowing he had an advantage.
Out of the corner of the visor, Scott saw Rogue's shocked face, pale but composed. She had yet to interfere and he was glad she didn't. This was between them. She was far enough from them that she didn't hear a single word and she stayed put.
"Yeah, I did. Kids, bub. I hunted down kids. And I had fun with 'em."
"What ... ?"
Logan let go of him abruptly and turned his back to him. His entire body language spoke of utter despair. "I can hear some of them, Scott. See them."
"You enjoyed hunting them?"
Logan nodded briefly, starting to walk once more. Scott gestured at Rogue to stay away. She nodded, but she looked reluctant.
"Not only hunting. I can remember - it wasn't in the file, so it's my memory. I liked the kids, the younger the better."
"What you ... "
"Damn, Scott! I liked to rape them!" It was a howl of sorrow, terror, despair. "I remember a girl once ... she didn't even fight me. She offered herself to me if I'd let her go. You know what I did? I took her - and afterwards sold her to Stryker for his experiments."
Scott watched in shock as Logan clutched his hands over his ears and sobbed once.
"I can hear her scream - scream, again and again until she had no voice left to scream as she slowly died under his hands. She was only sixteen, and she had beautiful long brown hair and her eyes were so huge and green - her name was Mary, and she never lived to see her seventeenth birthday because of me ... and I didn't even know what kind of mutant she was.
And there was this boy, I never knew his name. He had blue eyes and ... I had to gag him because he wouldn't shut up as I told him to while I ... he was fourteen, Scott! They were kids, innocents, like those in the school, and I loved to play with them. Do you really want an animal like me unleashed on your students?!"
The last came out in a wounded animal's cry as Logan turned and ran, not looking at Scott once.
Scott stayed where he was, shocked to the core. He didn't know what else to feel. Everything inside him had frozen at the words, the images rising unbidden, and his mind just couldn't combine his lover with those deeds. It was unthinkable. Logan had never been abusive with any of the children at school. He might not openly say it, but he liked them.
Liked them, a part of him sneered. He liked them real good, right?
He shut up that part and clenched his hands into fists, then turned and walked down the streets. He needed time to think, to deal, and then he had a decision to make.

* * *

Rogue hadn't gone quietly. She had argued for a while, but in the end, Scott had finally made her understand the necessity of leaving. First of all, the Blackbird was needed back in Westchester. Then there was the fact that Rogue was the only woman here and he didn't want to chance one of the goons touching her, even by accident. While Logan had made it clear that the two newcomers were his, an unconscious jostle might set something off that would be catastrophic. And finally, Scott knew there was nothing Rogue could do to help. This was between them.
So the Blackbird had taken off, flying home, leaving him with his duffel bag, dressed in his 'civvies', wearing the visor for safety reasons. Finding a job was easy; manpower was always needed. And while the foreman wasn't happy about hiring a 'kid lookin' scrawny 'nough t'break in a breeze', he had signed him up after Scott had told him he would work with Logan, and Logan only.
"Your death wish," the scruffy looking Australian had mumbled and pushed a paper across the scuffed desk top for Scott to sign.
And he had.
Scott Summers, miner. It was something new, he thought with faint amusement.
"No bunks left, mate," the foreman had told him afterwards.
"I think I can find a room to share."
"Y'think Logan's gonna shuffle over and let ya crash?"
Scott just smiled. "Yep."
Well, he hoped, anyway.
His bag slung over his shoulder, he had walked through the dusty main street, the only street, to the rundown shack that housed Logan's quarters. The door wasn't locked and after pushing the door open, he knew why. There was nothing to steal. Two bunk beds, a table, two chairs, and an old wardrobe with one door off the hinges.
Nice, he thought wryly. Home. For now.
He threw the bag onto the bed that looked like it hadn't been slept in, then settled back onto the mattress to wait. Logan's shift would be over in an hour and he'd be back soon.

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Logan snarled as he entered the room.
"I think it's obvious."
"Get out!"
"Nope. We're room mates now, Logan."
"I said get out, bub!"
Scott faced the emerging Wolverine calmly. "No." If Logan wanted to have another rough tumble against the wall, so be it. He didn't care.
Wolverine growled, advancing.
"I work here, Logan, so I live here, too. Yours was the only empty bunk left."
The Wolverine stopped. "You work here?" he echoed.
"Yeah. Signed up two hours ago."
The sight of Wolverine gaping at him would have been comical if Scott had wanted to laugh. As it was, he wasn't feeling very inclined to even smile.
"You what?!" he yelled.
"I signed up. We're working together now. And before you ask, I took some time off school. The professor cleared it with me."
Logan was still gaping at him in disbelief and Scott smiled slightly.
"You're stuck with me, Logan," he simply said.

* * *

Work was demanding. Scott felt every single muscle protest, every joint creak, and he knew he looked sweaty and like hell. His hair had been squished down by the protective helmet and there were smudges on his cheeks from where he had rubbed over them with dirty fingers. Logan worked the mine just like every other miner, spending all day underground, shoveling rock.
In the evenings, after they emerged from the tunnels into the waning light of the desert, Scott mostly had a quick meal in the bar and maybe a beer, then spent the remaining time outside, needing some fresh air. While there was no sun, it was a definite improvement from the tunnels.
The other miners left him mostly alone, mainly because he was labeled as 'Logan's'. The men had a healthy respect of the other man and Scott knew that some of them had experienced the Wolverine on more than one occasion.
A few talked to him, testing the waters, but they backed off when Logan was around. Despite keeping his distance, being silent all the time while they worked except for a short barked order here or there, Logan hovered around his lover.
Protective, Scott mused.
Whatever Logan wanted, he couldn't, or wouldn't, leave Scott defenseless among the group of workers. Not that he really was, but Scott appreciated the gesture.
One of the very few who did talk to him, even when Logan was around, was a short, sturdily built man with blond hair that was thinning dramatically, forming sharp triangles on the top of his head. Everyone just called him 'Moby', though Scott had found out he was actually Jim Banks from Seattle.
They simply talked and Scott was surprised when Moby quite openly told him he was a mutant, too, though with very rare and rather uncontrolled powers. They were strong enough to get him sacked at his old job and he had taken to mining after finding no other work. At least no other work that let him shy away from sunlight. Moby's curse, as he put it, was that he sucked in sunlight like a sponge took in water and it resulted in him becoming something of a walking black hole -- with the same negative effect on his surroundings. He started to pull in sound and light, turning himself into a virtual nothingness that could still move. In the mines, he could stay out of harm's way, as he put it, and the others had quickly learned not to try and coax him to come have a drinking binge on weekends.
"Sucks to be me," he joked over a glass of rather good beer.
Scott smiled wryly. "Yeah. Have you ever tried to control it?"
"Nah. Never bothered. Can live with it just fine now."
Scott had no idea how old Moby was, but from his looks, he had to be in his late thirties. "What if you can't mine any longer?"
A shrug. "Kinda decided to see if there's a nice lil' hole around here to hide in throughout the day, then live the nightlife." He laughed.
Scott chuckled. "Well, if you ever decide you want to give learning control a try, there's someone who can help find out."
"The same one who got you these?"
Moby pointed at the red glasses. Scott nodded slowly. Hardly anyone asked about the glasses or the visor. People who worked out here, in the wilderness, came here for a reason. Most came to hide.
"He good?"
"Yes, he is."
Moby contemplated his beer and shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."
They lapsed into a comfortable silence and listened to the laughter and talk around them. Logan was alone at the bar, ignoring everyone and being ignored by everyone. None of the men wanted trouble.
"You get along with him?" Moby suddenly asked.
"Yeah. Doesn't everyone?"
The older miner chuckled. "Not really, no. Came here out of the blue like all of 'em did and gives off vibes like the worst of 'em."
Scott raised his eyebrows. "Vibes?" he teased.
"You know... dangerous."
"He is."
"You don't seem t'think so."
"I know him."
"Pretty well, huh?"
"Yes."
Scott knew where Moby was going but he didn't care if all of them knew. They probably figured it anyway since Logan had claimed him as 'his' and they were sharing bunk space without Scott looking like he was roughed up on a regular basis just for existing.
Looking over at the bar again, he caught a pair of hazel eyes staring at them, an angry frown towering over the dark eyes. Logan turned away again, shoulders hunched. He was clearly building a temper. Scott didn't react to the 'vibes', though he knew he was the reason. He and Moby, whom he was talking to; whom he was sitting close to.
Moby laughed softly. "He's sizing us up. Ready to spoil for a fight, he is."
"He won't." Scott pushed back the chair. "I'll be going then. Night, Moby."
"Yeah, night."
 

Logan had been watching ever since the day Scott and Moby had become friendly with each other. In the beginning he had been wary because whoever came too close to the younger man was a potential challenger, an enemy. Then he had seen that most heeded his warning and the rest just wanted to talk. Moby was slowly developing into a friend and that was when his instincts flared again. Emotions were the enemy here, but with Scott so close, surrounded by potentially dangerous men, they were emerging quite forcefully. So he kept an eye on the two men and he didn't like the relaxed look or Scott's friendly smiles. Or the rather private conversations, which he was listening in shamelessly.
When Scott pushed back and left the bar, he followed, the Wolverine in him spoiling for a fight while Logan himself was holding back. He told himself that Scott wasn't looking for the kind of companionship in Moby that part of Logan suggested, and Moby was straight anyway. Still, enough was enough. The man belonged to him!
Logan stopped that train of thought, feeling the possessiveness rise, and inhaled sharply. Months without Scott, without any kind of contact to the younger man, had made him desperate.
It was the first time since he had started to run, to hide, that Logan wanted to touch the other man consciously. His body and mind had craved the other's touch, wanted to embrace him, kiss him, just be with him. But instinct and fear kept him away. Three whole days he had managed to ignore the tantalizing nearness of the slender form. Scott had been everywhere, either in sight or by smell. They worked the mine shafts together, showered, ate, slept in the same room. To Logan's partial surprise, Scott kept up pretty well with the demanding work, though he dropped off like dead at night and looked rather beat in the morning. Still, he didn't complain. He just showered, dressed, and went down into the mine after breakfast.
On the fourth day of their forced partnership, Logan felt the cracks appear in his defenses. He had missed his lover for months and now he was so close.
Just reach out and touch him, a voice whispered.
After a week, even the friendly talk with Moby irked him and he wanted nothing more but to grab Scott and pull him away from the 'interloper'.
After ten days, he was breaking down.
Logan walked into their shared room and found Scott waiting there for him. He looked at the younger man in his worn-down, scruffy jeans, the washed-out t-shirt, the mussed hair, a smudge gracing one cheek.
Just touch him.
"Logan."
The voice was soft, enticing, needing, offering... and he was powerless. He was defenseless against Scott and when he let his fingertips touch the soft skin, he realized his defeat. Two steps had them close and Logan's arm went around his lover, pulling him possessively closer. Burying his head against Scott's neck, he inhaled the scent of the other man, feeling strong hands caress his back. One buried in his hair and held him, while the other wrapped around his waist. He felt every breath of the other man, every beat of his heart, and his senses anchored himself to these sensations. Scott didn't say a word; for that Logan was thankful.
His lover drew him to the bed, still wordlessly, and he willingly sank down with him. Fully clothed, Logan gave in to the need to wrap himself around the slender form. Scott let him, caressing his head, fingers carding through the black hair.
"I'm sorry," Logan whispered hoarsely, his voice rough, as if he hadn't used it in a while. He didn't know for what exactly he apologized, just felt that he needed to. For anything, for everything, for nothing at all.
"It's okay," Scott answered simply.
They stayed like this for a while, neither man moving, and Logan felt his senses catalogue his lover, take in every aspect of the familiar body. He had missed this. A lot.

* * *

//He let the wriggling and squirming bundle fall down on the old mattress he had placed there earlier, knowing he would need it. This one had fire and fury, and he knew enough of street life to know how to fight, had even bitten him once. If it hadn't been for his healing factor, the wound could have gotten nasty. As it was, it was already healed. Grabbing one edge of the blanket Logan pulled, unwrapping his captive. The boy was about fifteen, auburn locks hanging into his huge blue eyes, and he was all spit and vinegar. He loved it when they fought back, it made the game so much more satisfying. There would be some bruises on the kid telling about his 'courage'.
"If ya promise ta keep quiet I'll remove the gag," Logan drawled before the boy could settle for a fight again.
The blue eyes regarded him warily, then the auburn head nodded.
"'kay. But if ya bite me it's gonna be real ugly, ya hear?"
The boy kept quiet, just spit a bit after Logan had removed the old piece of fabric he had used as a gag. Logan let his eyes wander over the slender body of the boy, no kid anymore, yet not a man, but with well defined muscles one only got through hard work. Yes, this boy had been on the streets before, but not too long; his clothes were far too new for that. He wondered how the boy would be - would he fight and scream, or would he give in soon? Would he cry and beg, or would he be the silent kind, giving in to a fate that was final?
Only one way to find out.
The boy's head snapped around when he heard his approaching footsteps, yet he didn't flinch in his ties when Logan touched him.
"Don't do this."
"Who wants ta stop me?"
"I will. You don't want to do this, Logan. I know that."
Logan frowned.
"How come ya know my name, bub? Yer a telepath?"
The boy shook his head.
"I know you, Logan. This isn't you. You don't want to this to me."
"Oh yes, I do," Logan sneered, grabbing the boy. "C'mon bub, fight me. Show me whatcha got..."
The boy didn't even flinch when Logan groped him brutally, though it had to be painful.
"If you insist... " The voice was deep, too deep for a teenager and the body far too muscular under his hands. When Logan looked up in surprise the face he saw wasn't that of a boy anymore but a grown man, the beautiful blue eyes closed. And then he opened them...//

Logan gasped in terror as he jerked up, heart racing in his chest as if he had run a marathon. It was then his conscious mind realized somebody was talking to him, in a soft crooning deep voice ...
...too deep for a fourteen year old...
"Logan, it's okay, you're safe... c'mon, love, talk to me, I know you're awake ... "
Logan slowly turned to the source of the voice, knowing who it was, who dared to wake him from a nightmare. Scott looked at him from behind his goggles, worry written all over his face and body...
The eyes behind those goggles were blue...
Logan barely made it to the bathroom.
 

"Logan?"
Scott stood in the doorway, reaching out for him, but Logan flinched, evading the hand.
"Don't touch me."
"Logan ... "
"Don't you ever touch me again, Summers," he snarled, reaching for the only defense he knew - anger.
"You had a nightmare, Logan. I never saw you literally spill your guts that way, so it must've been a bad one. Tell me?"
"You don't want to know."
"Yes, I want to. No more beating around the bush here, Logan. I can't help you if you don't talk to me."
"You can't if I'd talk to you, too."
"Why not let my decide, hm?"
Logan exploded. Whirling around, he grabbed Scott by the wrists and shoved him onto the bed, pinning him down with his own weight.
"You really want to know?" he snarled. "I'll tell you. Let's see if you feel better afterwards. Told you about the boy I once had, the one with the blue eyes? I dreamed of him, of having him again, just it wasn't him... it was you. You fought, and I beat you... Goddamnit, it could have been you, Scott. When I was hunting the kids down... it could have been you... They were so small, and there wasn't anything they could have done against a grown man... it could have been you... "
 

Scott lay stunned, listening to the words as they rushed out of his lover, heard the pain and agony and terror, and he swallowed. Logan was going through hell, and he couldn't do a single bit to help him. And then he saw something he never, not even in his wildest dreams, he thought he'd ever see: a wetness glittering in those beloved dark eyes. And then a dead heavy weight collapsed into his arms.
"I never meant to hurt you, Scott, do you believe me? Please, you have to believe me ... forgive me, please ... "
Scott gasped as he registered what Logan was rambling about as he silently sobbed. He closed his arms around the shaking body, noticing that Logan had lost weight.
"Of course I forgive you," he whispered, kissing the dark head that was resting on his chest. "I love you."
He held his lover until Logan drifted back into sleep, but the shock of what he had just witnessed sat deep. He needed to do something, and fast. Or he would lose what was left of Logan.

* * *

While the Blackbird was gone, Scott still had means of communicating with Charles Xavier. The handheld device was barely the size of a walkman, but it was powerful enough to reach halfway across the globe, using a secure line, and let him talk to his mentor as clearly as if he stood beside him.
"Professor, I need you to do something," Scott almost pleaded. "He can't tell memories and nightmares apart anymore. He thought he had raped me as a kid."
Xavier briefly closed his eyes, sighing. "I don't know, Scott... " He shook his head.
"Please, professor. He's living in his own private hell and I can't reach him there anymore, he's drifting away slowly, but surely. I'm losing him, professor," he whispered, his mind replaying the scene from last night. "If we don't do something fast, I think he'll be ready to jump in front of a train. Please, do something. Erase the memories."
"I'm hesitant to do something like that, Scott. Logan's mind has been tampered with so many times before, he has been programmed and re-programmed so often, there's not much of the real Logan left. If I tamper with it also, I don't know what happens. It could have serious consequences."
"Like what?"
"Like wiping out his mind completely."
Scott groaned and sank into the chair, burying his head in his hands.
He was losing the man he loved, one way or another.

* * *

The day had started like any other, with the exception of Scott's recollection of the last night and his subsequent talk with Xavier after Logan had fallen asleep. Thoughts were going round in his head while he worked his daily shift at his lover's side and as usual, little talk occurred. Today that was fine with Scott. Where he had tried to talk with Logan in the past, he was now working his hours, interrupted by the normal breaks.
At the end of the day they packed their things and walked up the shaft, still not talking, but Scott was very much aware of Logan's eyes on him. He smiled to himself.
Whatever happened next, it became a blur in his memory. There was a shout of alarm, a screeching noise of metal against metal, then Scott caught sight of one of the tippers hurtling toward them at high speed, gaining more by each second. He was frozen to the spot for a moment, then raised his hand to his visor to blast the danger into smithereens. He never got the chance.
Someone collided with him, pushing him hard enough against the mine's wall to take his breath away. Wide, wild brown eyes met his startled gasp, burning themselves into his mind, as both men were pressed together from chest to toes. There was a sickening crunching sound of steel hitting flesh and Logan was suddenly ripped from his grasp.
"Logan!" Scott screamed.
But the catastrophe was still to happen.
The collision with Logan had thrown the tipper off course and it sailed off the tracks and right into one of the support beams near-by, destroying it with a loud explosion of sound. Debris flew everywhere as the tipper skidded sideways and slid further down the main shaft.
Scott's eyes widened in realization.
And then the whole world came down on him.

* * *

Logan woke with a start, his senses immediately and acutely scanning his surroundings.
Underground.
Darkness.
Damp.
Stale smells.
Dusty.
And his memories jogged into wakefulness.
The tipper coming toward them; his instinct to protect Scott, pushing him against the wall; then the pain when the tipper had caught him, throwing him several feet until he had crashed to the floor; and then only blackness. His body had healed itself and except for the normal killer-headache he suffered after fatal blows to the head, he was fine.
Except for the smell. The acrid smell of blood; his blood. A lot of it. Logan wrinkled his nose.
Scott...
Scott!
Logan sat up, scanning for his lover. Fear wormed itself into the scan as sharp eyes pierced the darkness. He smelled blood and pain, and his ears picked up a soft moan not far from him. Moving, Logan dislodged some of the rocks that had landed on him. He coughed as dust rose around him and from the twinges everywhere in his back and thighs, the tipper had really taken a chunk out of him.
Carefully crawling over to the body that registered on his senses, Logan stretched out a hand. He connected with the badly bruised form of Scott Summers, who lay on his side, his back turned to Logan, debris covering his body.
"Scott?"
No reply.
Logan groped around his belt and sent up a silent prayer when he discovered that the Maglite was still there. The powerful torch light shone in the darkness, giving him a very good impression of what he was facing.
Rocks all around him, closing them in, and more littering the floor between the two cave-ins. He pushed more rocks off the slender form of his lover. The other man moaned again but showed no signs of rousing from unconsciousness. Logan briefly bit his lower lip and ran his hands over the familiar contours. Lots of bruises, cuts and.... he cursed. Hell, he didn't need that... not at all. There was a deep laceration on Scott's left temple and whatever had hit him there, it had damaged the visor. Logan could clearly see the cracks in the plastic cover.
Shit, shit, double shit.
When the ceiling had come down, Scott had taken the brunt of it on his left side, cracking or breaking ribs in the process.
Logan sat back. His lover would be in a hell of a lot of pain when he woke up.
The next decision was made within a heartbeat. Ripping his shirt sleeves off, he first shredded them into strips of cloth, then removed Scott's visor and quickly and effectively not only bound the laceration but also covered his lover's eyes. Throughout the 'treatment' his fingers kept soothing contact with Scott's face, his ears were attuned to every change in the breathing. Scott was waking, but he hadn't reached a conscious level yet.
Done with what he could do, Logan sat back, one hand on Scott's chest, as if to track his every breath and heart beat but trying not to hurt the injured side, while he thought about their situation -- and it didn't look very good.
He shone the light around, taking in their prison, until the bream came to rest on the wooden boards closing off another, probably old, mine shaft. Warnings had been painted on the wood, declaring the shaft unsafe due to flooding. Frowning, he sniffed, then climbed to his feet. Logan walked over to the abandoned shaft, fingers gliding over the rough, wooden boards. The smell wasn't very strong, but it was clear.
Water.
Behind the boards, somewhere down in that old shaft, was water. He felt thirsty and Scott would need water, too. His lover was still unconscious and would remain so.
The decision was made within a heartbeat and the claws extended with a snakt. The wood splintered easily under his assault and Logan stepped through the entrance, carefully making his way down.

* * *

Scott woke to a world of pain. A confusing world of searing pain that erupted from his side, radiating out along his screaming nervous system. He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from crying out in agony. Scott tried to blink his eyes open, only to discover that something was covering them.
Not his visor.
Something firmly wrapped around his head a questing, trembling hand told him.
More confusion invaded his muddled brain.
What had happened?
....
Accident.
....
The tipper!
Scott hissed in pain as his ribs protested the sudden jerk of his body at the images.
Logan saving him from the tipper.
Logan!
Logan... Logan... Scott managed a little croak. It should have been a name, but his mouth was too numb and dry to speak.
Where was Logan? Where?
Scott fought the nausea, the dizziness, the pain, and climbed to his feet.
At least he tried. Vertigo hit him and his head started to spin. Scott clenched his teeth against the sudden feeling of wanting to throw up, and he fought to stay upright. To no avail. His body, weakened by the pain, radiating agony throughout his system, was unable to follow his instincts -- go and look for Logan. His limbs felt like rubber and his knees buckled, and Scott's hands scraped over the rough wall, trying to find a grip. But his little strength deserted him and he crashed to the ground once more.
The explosion of agony made him cry out. His ribs seemed to push through his whole body, spearing his insides, and his cries turned into whimpers, then nothingness claimed him again.

* * *

His foray into the black unknown had yielded a canteen full of water. Logan had found the banged up metal container down in the shaft, which was just as unsafe as the warnings had proclaimed. There had been several close calls and if not for the healing factor, he would have the bruises and cuts to prove it. As it was, he had finally arrived at the lake that had formed down below and while the water wasn't the best, it also wasn't toxic. At least for him. His system could deal with whatever invader he had ingested. He just couldn't give much of it to Scott, if any at all. But he could use it to clean them up a little.
Stepping out of the old shaft, Logan became immediately aware of the changes that had occurred. Scott was no longer where he had left him and the acrid smell of pain had increased. Then there were the hoarse, rattling sounds accompanying his lover's breathing, which had him on the alert immediately.
Flashing the Maglite's beam over to Scott, Logan hurried to the motionless form and carefully scanned him with his senses. When his hands touched the ribs, his tactile sense noticed the shifted bone.
No...
Dear god no...

* * *

Xavier had loosely kept track of Scott, as well as Logan, and he had smiled at the determination he had felt from Summers. Logan had probably never realized what came with being Scott Summers, field leader of the X-Men and teacher. Scott might not look his age, he might not be an impressive, muscle-packed super-hero, but there was a silent strength in that body and mind that could surprise those who underestimated him. And Logan had underestimated the lengths Scott would go to get him back.
He had followed him to Australia, found him in the middle of nowhere, taken on a back-breaking job in a mine, and he was ready to listen and just hold on if Logan decided to finally give up fighting his lover.
Xavier couldn't track both men around the clock on a daily basis, so he had just looked in now and then.
Like now --
-- only to find a sea of pain in Scott's mind and angry desperation radiating from Logan's. Reaching out to touch Scott, Xavier caught no coherent thought, only the ever-present pain that seemed to encompass everything. Unable to do anything but run a soothing hand over the unconscious mind, he turned to Logan, aware how hard it was to touch the older man. Logan had walls that shamed every telepath, and lately those walls had been reinforced.
In the beginning, when he had first met the other mutant, Xavier had been able to broadcast his voice into Logan's mind. He couldn't read his thoughts all too deeply, just skim over the surface and draw his conclusions, but now... ever since he had read the file, Logan had shut everything out. Every little bit.
//Logan//
Nothing. No reply, not even a twitch.
Xavier decided to knock a little louder.
//Logan!//
Again nothing but the rather faint emissions he always picked up, laced with anger and now fear.
Time for the heavy artillery. If he wanted to, Xavier could breach every shield, but at a price. Mostly for the one whose mind then lay open to the strong telepath. He didn't want to hurt Logan, but he would have to make him listen.
//LOGAN!//

* * *

Logan had sat with Scott, stroking the dusty hair and cheeks as he carefully cleaned the blood off, all the time listening to the worsening lung sounds.
It was the moment something hit his mind with such a force, it nearly bodily threw him around.
//LOGAN!//
Blades extended from curled fists and he emitted a low, dangerous growl, ducking into a fighting stance.
//Logan, this is Xavier. Can you hear me?//
Xavier?
//Yes. What happened? Why is Scott hurt?//
Logan forced himself to relax, shift back into his normal stance, but the unaccustomed and unwanted touch reaching into his mind had him on the edge.
//Logan, I can help// Xavier went on. //Let me see//
He had no idea what the professor meant, but apparently he must have done something right.
//We're on our way// Xavier told him.
Yeah, well, great. But his lover wasn't doing well.
//I know, Logan// came the soothing reply. //I'm bringing Hank along. We'll be there soon//
Uh-huh.
Logan cupped one cheek and looked at Scott, who showed signs of waking. As much as he wanted to talk to his lover, he didn't want him back in this world of nothing but pain.
//From the limited knowledge you have// Xavier suddenly said, //Hank suspects a lung injury. Pneumothorax is a possibility//
Fucking great.
He could almost see the professor's wry smile as his thoughts transmitted.
Scott's breathing sounded like a wet rattle in Logan's ears. His lover was fighting for every breath, hurting whatever move he made. His overall condition had been bad to begin with, but now... And it was getting worse. Logan knew what pneumothroax meant. He had no idea where from, he just knew. It was one of those memory fragments that had suddenly surfaced and currently, it was a rather helpful one, even if it told him in gruesome detail what he had to do. Or at least what he should do, and soon, if Scott was to survive.
"Scott?" His voice was unnaturally soft, without the hard edges, and Scott weakly turned his head. Lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Scott," he murmured again, soothingly touching the other man.
The hammering heartbeat under his touch was frightening, speaking of tachycardia and the rising problems within Scott Summers, the life-threatening, possibly fatal injury if no help came.
He would lose him.
Logan screwed his eyes shut at that thought. He couldn't lose Scott; not like this. Not ever.

*

Two hours later, two hours Logan was very much aware of, there was still no sign from any of the others. Scott's condition had turned serious by now. With each breath, Logan prayed he would take another. There had been no signs of consciousness again and he was glad for it.
Hey, Chuck?
Logan had no idea about telepathy, but he suspected the professor was monitoring him.
//Logan//
What's the keep-up?
//We landed, but there has to be something in the ground that keeps us from locating you precisely//
Try the main shaft, he snarled. It's where the cave-in happened.
//We know that, but the shaft was completely blocked off//
Shit.
//Storm sent in a probe, but it didn't get far//
Scott doesn't have the time for you to sit on your sorry butts!
//Logan, stay calm. We'll think of something//
He snarled something uncomplimentary.
//Logan// Xavier's voice came again. //Hank says you have to relieve some of the pressure in Scott's chest//
What?!
//You have to give the air a place to go or it'll crush his other lung and his heart. The tachycardia is only one of the many symptoms. He's in shock from the compression of his blood vessels, he can't breathe and soon he won't breathe any more//
Logan felt cold realization hit him.
Do you have any idea what you're asking?!
//Yes. Scott's life is in your hands//
No shit.
//Logan//
He inhaled deeply.
//Logan, do you have a plastic or metal tube?//
He searched through whatever was left in his tool belt and found a small, plastic pen.
//Good. What you have to do...//
I know! he growled.
And he did. Whether he had always known or not, it was irrelevant.
Logan cupped the drawn, angular face and rubbed a thumb over one bruised cheek, careful not to hurt. The light of the Maglite threw everything into weird shadows and made Scott appear more dead than alive, enhancing the bluish tinge to his skin that spoke of oxygen withdrawal. Logan shivered inside at the thought.
"It'll hurt," he whispered to no one in particular.
//Logan//
Shut up, Chuck!
Preparations were done without speaking. Logan removed the grimy shirt Scott was wearing, and gently ran his fingers over the ribcage, searching for the right spot. He felt the hammering heart under his touch, the rattle of each breath. One knee was firmly placed on the slender hips, his left hand on Scott's chest to keep him down.
Cut through the skin between the ribs, without injuring inner organs, then push the pen tube inside to release the air, his memory supplied the medical facts.
Simple.
But it would be painful. Agonizing. They had no anesthetic and no alcohol, and despite being unconscious, part of Scott would feel the pain.
Hesitating just one more second, Logan centered himself, then did what had to be done.
He would never forget the agonized, gurgling gasp tearing from his lover's lips.
 
* * *

A sudden 'pouf' and the acrid smell of sulphur.
Logan's mind registered the intruder and the claws shot out, the body moving all on its own, while his mind registered a surprised exclamation as he attacked the perceived enemy.
//Logan, no!//
Feral eyes stared at the barely visible newcomer, who was so perfectly camouflaged in the darkness of the cave. Nightcrawler's chrome metal yellow eyes were wide open and he stank of surprise and fear. Logan snarled and sheathed the claws.
"Warn a guy, willya?" he snapped.
//I'm sorry//
Right!
"I apologize," Kurt said, his accent quite heavy as usual when his emotions were in upheaval.
"I thought you couldn't jump into a space you never saw before."
A shrug. "The professor got an idea of the cave from your mind and transmitted it to me."
Logan just scowled.
"I'm here to get you out," Wagner added superfluously.
"Good. About time."
Logan stepped back and watched as Nightcrawler hunkered down beside Scott, his tail twisting in a sign of sympathy at the obviously serious condition of the other mutant. He reached out and carefully wrapped his arms around Scott. Logan tensed. Part of him knew that Scott was already so bad off that this embrace did little more damage, but the instinctive part screamed to pull this man away from what was his to protect.
And then Nightcrawler was gone, leaving only a new cloud of sulphur.

*

The Blackbird sat on the ground like a fantastic alien space ship from out of a science fiction movie. A black as deep as space, a paint scheme perfected by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology to make it virtually invisible and undetectable once the sun went down, and lines so sleek, the great jet seemed to be cutting the air even while standing still. It was a powerful bird, defying modern design philosophy and able to perform combat maneuvers others could only dream of.
"Logan!"
He recognized Rogue, who stood at the top of the Blackbird's lowered ramp, waving at him. Logan barely acknowledged her, his senses still trained on the progress McCoy was making with Scott. Nightcrawler hadn't 'ported them back onto the Blackbird but close by. It had been safer for the teleporter; less walls to end up in.
Scott was wrapped in thermo blankets, a breathing mask over his face, and strapped to a stretcher that hovered on air cushions. McCoy was working silently and effectively, then gave a nod that they could move the patient. They hurried over to the waiting plane. McCoy was concentrating on Scott, listening to the sound of his breathing - which wasn't good - and keeping an eye on the drainage. Rogue made a little distressed sound as she took in the condition of her teacher and team leader, briefly reaching out for Logan to touch him with gloved hands.
Logan gave her a hard to interpret look, but she had shared enough of his mind in the brief time they had touched to understand. One look like this meant more than a hundred words from a close-mouthed man like Logan.
The Blackbird lifted off without losing any more time and took off, able to maneuver like a helicopter and not needing a runway. Ororo deftly maneuvered the sleek plane on its way home. It wouldn't take long to cross the distance between Australia and the US. She punched her way into suborbital trajectory at a velocity that would take them across the globe in less than an hour.
The airframe shuddered slightly as they passed the sound barrier, and miles below, people would be looking up at the faint thunder of their sonic boom. Logan didn't care. For him, there was only the unconscious man in front of him.
Calloused hands reached out and stroked back the unruly hair from the uncovered eyes.
"What happened to his visor?" Rogue asked as she knelt down next to Logan, making sure she was out of McCoy's way.
"Busted it. Ceiling came down."
"Oh."
Hank cut off the dirty bandage and quickly checked the wound. "It's deep and will need stitches. I need to x-ray him to be sure he doesn't have a hairline fracture, but it could have been worse."
Logan shot him a dark look and McCoy smiled grimly. Logan understood. Scott could be dead. Yes, it could have been worse...
McCoy was about to pull up an eyelid when Rogue made a protesting sound. "Wait, Dr. McCoy!"
Hank smiled. "Don't worry, Rogue. Cyclops's powers are fueled by the sun. He's spent a long time underground. Too long, actually."
"He's... out of power?" she asked, incredulous, leaning forward.
"Yes."
The doctor resumed the eye-check with a light and then returned to monitoring the drainage again.
The change in engine noise alerted Logan to the beginning of their descent. He looked over to where Storm was deftly going through the touch-down procedures and five minutes later, the Blackbird touched solid ground again, this time in its hangar underneath the baseball court.
Logan stepped back as Scott was immediately moved from the jet to the infirmary. Hank was telling Storm to go ahead while he hurried to get cleaned.
And suddenly he was left alone in the vast underground network of corridors and rooms.
"Logan."
The voice was real this time, not in his head. Logan turned and looked down at the professor.
"You should get cleaned up," the other man said reasonably.
Yes, reasonable. But he didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to be with Scott -- who was currently prepared for surgery.
"Yeah," he only rumbled and stalked off.

* * *

Scott looked so thin, so pale, so lost as he lay on the intensive care unit bed, eyes uncovered but closed, IVs and tubes running in and out of his body. His face was what drew Logan closer, the angular, youthful face of a man in his mid-twenties. A man who looked a whole lot younger; and behaved so much older. A man he loved; his lover, his partner.
Logan stepped closer, senses running over Scott, taking in everything, smelling the sharp scent of medication and antiseptic. For three days, the younger man had fought against the pain and the mounting danger of pneumonia, until it had hit him. Not badly, but badly enough for Hank to insert a tube to help him breathe, to relieve the stress of coughing from the damaged lung, and sedate him.
Logan unconsciously reached out and touched the too cool skin, fingers stroking across slender but muscular arms, ignoring the IV tubes. Scott was alive; he would heal. Eventually. It would take a while for the battered form to regain its strength, to begin mending, but it would happen. Nothing else mattered.
He drew close one of the chairs and settled down, never losing contact to the younger man. He had all the time in the world.

* * *

Strong fingers caressed a pale cheek.
"They're blue."
Logan's voice was full of wonder, fascination and something else. Scott gave him a weak smile, feeling tired but better than in days. He was off the respiration tube, but his voice was rough and scratchy, and he still slept a lot. Hank continued to administer antibiotics and Scott wasn't yet allowed to leave the lower levels. His broken ribs restricted his movements a lot. Aside from the anti-inflammatory medicine, he was administered strong painkillers to help him cope with the pain. McCoy kept him down here, away from the world, under his watchful eyes, and his visitors were limited to one at a time, and never too long. Except for Logan. The older man had been there whenever Scott had woken.
"Told you," he whispered.
"Yeah, you did." A thumb brushed over tender skin around the corner of one eye. "They're beautiful."
Scott grimaced slightly. "Logan, women are beautiful."
"And your eyes."
"You're sappy."
Logan managed a smile. "What can I say?"
"That you'll stay."
He froze, feeling his body tense. "Scott..."
Impossibly blue eyes fixed on him, held his darker gaze, unhindered by the visor. Logan was surprised by their strength, their determination, and the age. Scott was so much older than he looked... so much stronger.
"We will get through this, Logan," Scott said, voice intense. "Together. Only together. I won't let you run from me. If you leave here, I'll go with you. If you run, I'll find you. Wherever you go."
It was a vow Logan believed. Scott had followed him to Australia, had stuck to his side like glue, and he would do it again. If he left now, running, hiding, Scott would come after him the moment he was strong enough to leave the infirmary without falling flat on his face.
And in the time Logan had spent alone in the mines a fundamental truth had come forth: he loved this man. He loved Scott Summers, had missed him, had needed him.
"I love you, Logan," Scott added. "Good times, bad times..."
"These aren't just bad times."
"Doesn't change what I feel. We can do this together."
"What if we can't?"
"We can," Summers insisted stubbornly. "I talked to the professor and we will find a way."
Logan looked at the younger man, took in the slender, lithe form, the incredibly blue eyes, the determination radiating from every pore, and he smiled briefly.
He caressed Scott's face and leaned forward to kiss him. Before their lips could touch, he stopped. His mind suddenly flashed back again, to the boy with the huge, blue eyes, begging him not to do it.
But he had. He had hurt the boy, had... had... His mind screamed at the thought. Before his inner eye, the teenager morphed into Scott Summers -- lying on the floor, begging him not to hurt him any more.
Logan straightened abruptly, drawing a startled expression from Scott.
"Logan?"
He backed away from the bed, shaking his head. Not again. Not again!
"I can't," he whispered.
And he ran.

* * *

It took weeks for Scott to heal enough to be mobile for more than just a bathroom trip; in the beginning even those short walks exhausted him. The collapsed lung was still mending and it meant a reduced lung capacity, which showed in short breath and tiredness. Then there was the blood loss and the pneumonia. The medication had done its share; his body still needed to flush it out.
But finally, his ribs had mended, and pneumonia or concussions were things of the past. But something had remained. All the time underground had depleted Scott's body of the mutant energy it usually stored inside, to be released through his eyes, and it was a strange sight to have him walk around without his visor.
In all that time, Logan evaded him. He was nowhere to be found and Scott's visitors couldn't give him much information on what was going on with the other man. Between sleeping and dozing, Scott tried to get as much information on his lover's condition as possible, but to no avail. He only knew that Logan never left the room -- only at nights. Rogue took care of him as best as possible. She prepared meals for him, though mostly they stayed untouched, but she couldn't get him to talk. No one apparently could; and no one was actually able to give Scott a clear picture as to how Logan was. When he was finally allowed to leave the underground facilities and go upstairs, Scott went straight for their room.
Entering, he was greeted by a destruction he had never seen before, not even when Logan had had nightmares in the past. The room was literally shredded to pieces, only his desk miraculously spared. But he could make out signs of someone still living in here, sleeping on the remains of the bed - or at least resting there.
A sound behind him let Scott whirl around - and the sight made him freeze in utter shock.
The man standing in front of him had only a slight resemblance to his lover. Unruly hair, unshaven - that he was accustomed to - but even more than usual. Logan had lost weight, his shirt no longer nicely clinging to his frame, and his face looked haggard, almost gaunt, with dark shadows under his eyes. But what terrified Scott the most were the eyes. Sunk in, they were shining with a feverish light, giving the whole figure standing in the doorway an aura of insanity. Scott swallowed as he realized that right now he might very well be looking at a madman.
"Logan...?" he queried carefully.
"Why have you come back?"
It was Logan's voice yet it wasn't. Rough and hoarse -- overused from screaming in rage? God, Scott hoped not.
"Logan?"
"You're dead."
What the ... ?
"No ... Logan, no. You saved me, remember? Dug me out of that debris ... "
"Killed you. You're dead."
Logan stepped slowly into the room, eyes never leaving Scott's face, his whole demeanor speaking of both wariness and fatigue.
"You didn't kill me, Logan."
"Could as well have."
Scott made one step into Logan's direction, only to find the other man backing away. Just like a frightened animal ... Scott swallowed again at the thought. Nobody loves an animal, Logan had once said.
"Stryker did. Killed you, killed the others. Killed the babies, too."
Oh my god. Scott felt his mouth go dry as he realized what was going on with his lover. Logan had had the kind of flashback before when he had mistaken Scott for one of the kids he had hunted and, well, raped. Logan was caught in a memory, seemed to be engulfed in his own private hell, unable to tell nightmares and real life apart. Then something occurred to Scott..
"What babies, Logan?" he asked very gently. Logan had never spoken of hunting infants.
"Mine. My babies ... he killed every one of them."
Scott knew his mouth was open, that he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Nothing.
Logan's babies... his... children?
Good god... but on a very, very sick level it now made sense why Stryker had allowed Logan to damage the goods, rape the kids - he had been breeding. And destroyed the outcome ...
"God, Logan, I'm ... "
The sharp 'snikt' of claws being unsheathed made Scott freeze and he realized he must have approached his lover involuntarily, trying to give comfort.
Not a good idea.
Wolverine had extended his claws on both hands and stood pressed against the wall as if expecting to be attacked, his eyes unsteady.
"It's all right, Logan," Scott crooned gently, as if soothing an injured animal - and hating himself for the very thought. But at the moment there was nothing else he could do but try to calm down a frightened creature.
"It's me. Scott. You know me, Logan. Check me. You know I'd never do you any harm. Listen to me, Logan. Please?"
He thought he saw a flicker in his lover's dark eyes, and dared to step closer slowly. Wolverine growled.
"C'mon, Logan, you know it's me. You know me."
Scott was becoming more desperate. He minutely opened his arms, carefully reaching out for his lover. Should Logan attack now, he wouldn't stand a chance. He found he didn't care - should Logan lash out, they would die both. But if he didn't do anything, they would as well. There was no way he would leave Logan to this, would let him fall into the abyss that were his nightmares.
"Please, Logan. Come back to me, I need you. You promised to stay."
And then Scott held his breath as he watched the dangerous claws slide back into their sheaths inch by inch, watched the body language of his lover change almost unnoticeably from wariness to weariness, watched the sanity return to the dark eyes he loved so much.
"S-cott?"
" ... yes ... "
Carefully and oh so slowly he closed his arms around the too thin figure, felt Logan's arms hesitantly wrap around him. The next minute Scott staggered back under the full weight of Logan in his arms, felt the slim body tremble, felt more than he heard the silent weeping. Easing them both down onto the mattress as carefully as possible he held Logan close, running his hands over the shaking body and whispering reassuring words into his ears while Logan's dam broke, releasing a flood of grief and despair and guilt that had been caged for more than fifteen years, a flood that threatened to sweep away his lover and drown him in its darkness. It didn't take long before the worn out body demanded its right and Logan fell into an exhausted slumber - his fist still clenched into Scott's shirt.

* * *

Scott didn't sleep much that night as he kept watch over his exhausted lover while Logan slept the sleep of the dead. The other man had curled around his right side, holding on like a child, unwilling to let go even in sleep. Whenever Scott had moved, the grip had tightened. So he had just sat and held and caressed the dark head, murmuring softly whenever a nightmare took hold of the man. Scott smiled sadly when Logan finally loosened his grasp, allowing the younger mutant to make a bathroom run and get himself a drink of water.
Not even once did he think of leaving. All he could think of were the horrors Logan had revealed. And right when he had thought it couldn't get any worse. The things Stryker must have done to his lover - 'My babies ... he killed every one of them' - or the way he must have tampered with his mind, tried to turn a gentle soul into an inhuman kid-raping killer-machine. And cutting him open and abusing the body when there was no further use for the mind? Scott felt a slight twinge of regret about the fact Stryker was already dead - he would have liked to kill the man with his bare hands.
That was when he noticed the rivulets of blood that were still running from Logan's hands where the claws had sliced open the flesh and he felt another shock gripping him.
The healing factor hadn't set in.

* * *

A movement at his side pulled him out of the dozing state Scott had allowed himselfto fall in, when Logan woke the next morning, bleary-eyed and still tired.
His ribs protested when he tried to move but Scott didn't even think about complaining. A little discomfort was nothing against the torment Logan's mind and soul were exposed to right now.
"Scott?"
"Yes. You awake?"
No answer. Instead Logan snuggled even closer.
"Logan?"
Again nothing, just a minute tremor.
Scott carefully untangled himself from the firm grip, still using his voice to both calm and reassure Logan. The man had not only smashed their room and not slept in days - well, considering his current state they were talking about the entire time Scott had spent down in the infirmary - and barely eaten, he also hadn't showered or shaved, and it showed - and smelled.
 Scott coaxed him into the bathroom and managed to wash him. Logan didn't resist anything, just went with him like a little child, holding on to Scott like he was his lifeline -- awake as well as asleep. It was how Scott managed to get him down into the infirmary where Hank performed a swift check on the man. Logan simply sat there, staring at the floor, showing no sign that he knew where he was, let alone that this was a place he usually avoided like the plague. There was a slight tension in his body, but it was barely perceptible.
Hank frowned as he looked at the readings, pursing his lips.
"Well?" Scott demanded.
"He's mostly fine."
"Mostly?"
"As you already noticed his healing capabilities have suffered from the malnutrition and lack of rest. His metabolism needs caloric intake to function properly," McCoy explained. "He hasn't eaten and when he did, he did so very little. I'm not giving him any shots just yet because I think a little R&R will do wonders, as well as a swift kick or two when it comes to eating."
Hank gave Scott a meaningful look. Scott nodded. He would see to it that Logan ate and rested.
"Try light food first. No greasy meats, no fries and the like. Vitamins are important. He should be back to his old self physically speaking soon. As for the psychological trauma..."
Scott pressed his lips into a thin line. "I know," he murmured.
Hank's serious expression said it all. The doctor was worried, too.
Scott took his lover to the kitchen next and looked around the freezer, discovering a combination of rice and vegetables, as well as some fruit juice in the fridge. Logan ate without complaint where he would normally have remarked on the absence of meat. Scott sighed to himself and stayed close by, watching every bite his lover took. Afterwards, it was back to the room where Logan almost immediately fell asleep.
An hour into Logan's rest, Scott decided it was safe to leave the man alone for a while, and he went in search for Xavier. Something had been on his mind ever since Logan's breakdown and it hadn't diminished; it had actually grown in strength and power, and Hank's diagnostic added only more to it.
Walking into the wood-paneled office of Charles Xavier, Scott asked the one question that had been burning in his mind: "Why did no one stop Logan's self-destruction?"
Xavier's eyes held an infinitely sad expression and for a second Scott was inclined to push his anger aside, but then he recalled the wild and desperate expression, heard the words again that tumbled from Logan's mouth as he rambled on feverishly, and he felt the tears as he lost it.
"We tried, Scott," Xavier said softly.
"Not very hard!" Scott spat.
"He didn't let us in."
Anger surged through the younger mutant. "Right! When did that ever stop you? You're the strongest telepath on this planet, professor! You could have touched him!"
"Not without hurting him more. Logan was in his own private hell and hearing a voice in his head was the last he needed."
"Well, there's always the old-fashioned method of talking to him in person!"
"Rogue went to him. He didn't open the door. All she could do was talk to him through a closed door, hoping he would listen. And she brought him food. Nightcrawler attempted to 'port in. He's a lucky man to still have all five limbs."
Scott angrily shook his head. He couldn't believe they had just given up on Logan.
"We never gave up on him," Xavier answered the thought. "We just had no way of reaching him -- without either hurting him or getting killed ourselves."
He ran a hand through his hair. "He destroyed the room, professor. He took everything apart, down to the wall. Everything! And the look in his eyes. His past is destroying him," he whispered. "It's destroying his mind!"
"I know. He can't live with what he was."
"Before he opened the file... I told him that he'd never know if he liked what he was or not unless he opened the file. He did... and he found a monster lurking in his mind. I wish you had never found that damn file!"
"Logan's life was dominated by his wish to know who he was, who he had been, what had happened to him," Xavier told him, voice laced with compassion.
"He can't live with the truth."
Their eyes met and Xavier smiled sadly.
"Please, professor," Scott begged.
"You know what you're asking."
"Yes. I'm asking for his chance to live. For both of us. He won't touch me because I remind him of a boy he raped. He'll never let anyone close ever again. One day, he'll run once more and I won't be able to find Logan again -- because there won't be anything left of him! He promised me to stay, but even if he does, the hell he experiences every waking day will consume him."
Xavier was silent for a long time, then he finally nodded. "It's Logan's decision, too."
"I know." Scott chewed on his lower lip. "He's sleeping at the moment. We'll talk when he's more awake." He turned to go, then hesitated. "Thanks, professor," he said softly, not looking at the older man.
"Go to him, Scott," Xavier only replied.
And Scott did, returning to their current room where Logan was still asleep. He settled down on the bed and had to smile slightly when the other man instinctively curled toward him. He ran his fingers tenderly over the dark hair. They would talk and he hoped Logan would understand what Xavier could offer him -- the chance to survive his past.

* * *
 
Xavier looked at the two men sitting in his office. The door was closed and locked and the shields he had cast around them were strong enough to keep even the best of his students out. No one would come in unannounced anyway and the teachers knew he needed privacy for the time Scott and Logan were with him.
Logan looked better than the day before, food and sleep working their magic, but there was an expression in his eyes that spoke of a haunted mind that couldn't get any rest any more. It spoke of a mind unable to tell apart nightmarish memories from reality, that saw the children he had caught and delivered to Stryker in each of the students here, that associated Scott's still very blue eyes with those of a boy he had sexually assaulted.
"Logan, your mind is... fragmented," Xavier began. "It's the only term I can think of. Stryker used drugs and most likely a telepath to play with your memories, to implant new ones and to block whatever couldn't be erased. He took already existing memories, enhanced them, warped their contents or added to them. He used you, your mind, your abilities, and he counter-acted your natural healing abilities until your brain could no longer adjust to his manipulations." Xavier met the brown eyes calmly. "You know I can alter perception and memories in people, but your mind is... special. All your experiences, your life, led to it being a steel trap, with deep-rooted memories that stem from implantation and real life. I believe even my abilities won't be enough to tell apart reality from make-belief."
"But you can help me?" Logan asked, voice soft.
Xavier interlaced his hands. "I cannot reverse what Stryker and time have done to you. For that it's too late. Fifteen years or more are a long time and your brain has adjusted to the forced alterations, seeing them as a natural state. I can only erase those terrible memories haunting you."
Logan inhaled sharply. "All of them?" he wanted to know, hope lacing his voice.
"Yes."
"What if you erase too much?"
The professor was silent, his silence answer enough.
Logan's lips were a thin, white line and his fingers curled into wrists. Scott sat beside him, his features grim, well aware of the consequences of either decision. Leave his memories as they were, let him live with the nightmares, and Logan wouldn't survive. Or alter them - and risk erasing his whole mind.
Logan's nightmares would probably grow. Stryker had messed severely with the memories of the older man, had altered so much that there was no telling what was real and true, and what was a fabrication. He had taken him apart and put things back together, blocking the damage from the conscious mind, inserted false segments. But it had leaked, and currently was threatening to destroy them.
Xavier sighed to himself. The two men would slowly go insane; each in his own way. Drift apart, leave the other, be without support, and crumble. Their minds wouldn't be able to take the stress; in Logan's case the horror.
"Scott? Logan?" he asked quietly.
"Would this stop?" Logan wanted to know, voice unusually quiet.
"Yes."
"Then I'll agree."
"Are you really sure?" Scott asked.
Logan faced his lover. "I know it's the cheap way out, but I... Right now, I take what I can get. I can't go on like this, Scott. I just can't. If this removes the horror, the nightmares, then I'll let Xavier do it."
Scott interlaced their fingers and nodded. "Okay."
"You'll both be free of the worst of the truth," Xavier told them. "I'll be the only one to know the full extent of Logan's services for Stryker."
Logan closed his eyes and his fingers clenched into Scott's.
"You'll remember that you were a mutant hunter, Logan," Xavier went on. "I won't take that away. It's what you did and you need to know it, or you'll continue searching for the truth. You'll remember working for Stryker, you'll remember that he used you and that he implanted the adamantium to make you a weapon at his disposal. You'll remember that you finally broke his programming and fled."
Logan nodded. "I can live with that," he murmured. "I just want the nightmares to stop... the memories of their faces and their cries... and the blood." He started to tremble slightly. "That's all I ask for."
Xavier nodded. "It's all I will give you, Logan."

* * *

Xavier chose the following night for his task. It was easier while the subject was asleep. He didn't want to set up lab conditions with someone monitoring either man, and to do so would have meant telling for instance Hank about the deeper truth behind Logan's nightmares. So far their new resident doctor hadn't asked many questions, but he would if Logan's mental state didn't show signs of getting better. Hank chalked it up to the traumatic hours underground with Scott nearly dying -- it was horrifying enough.
To slip into Scott's mind was like visiting an old friend. Scott had become accustomed to Xavier's occasional presence in his mind during the years he had lived here, and it welcomed him, not even attempting to resist his gentle probing. To find the bits he was looking for was a matter of seconds, to erase them didn't even take that long.
With Logan it was an entirely different matter.
Xavier had read his mind once before, had been shocked by all the layers and layers of memories, imperatives, repressed recollections of a century long lifetime - and the horror and cruelty this man had witnessed and had been made a victim to himself.
Now he was entering this mind again, sifting through the layers until he arrived at the beginning, the day James Logan had been born. Xavier ignored the memories of the decades that passed, the time Logan had accumulated, until he reached the fateful day James Logan had met William Stryker as a young and still innocent soldier in Vietnam. Sadness coursed through him as he was witness to the first meeting -- a fateful day.
Logan had taken the terrorized kid Stryker had been back then under his wings. Stryker had quickly noticed that something was different with Logan but had blamed it on the fact that Logan liked his own gender more than women, and kept his silence about it. After a nasty attack, he and Logan had to wait to be rescued and in the heat of the moment it almost happened – yet Logan withdrew, saying he’d never take advantage of a kid. After they had been rescued both men learned they were the only survivors – and Stryker discovered what exactly was different with Logan. Until that moment he had only heard rumors about humans that weren’t human.
Realizing that the man he had trusted belonged to that category had been a shock to the young man. He couldn't act on it though, positively or negatively, because he was sent home while Logan had remained in Nam. Stryker had started researching mutants, and found there were much more than one would have thought.
When Logan hat returned from Nam shortly thereafter and hadbecome trainer at a military school, he still had loose contact to his former comrade and now friend Will Stryker, even came to the wedding. That contact broke abruptly after Stryker’s son had been born.
Years later Logan had lost one of his kids during a winter’s survival training and had been accused of murder, though it had been clear the boy hadn’t followed orders. Logan had been ready to face his penalty when he received note that all accusations had been dropped and he had been ordered to report to a research facility. Surprised by that, but following nevertheless Logan had found his old friend Stryker had risen in the military ranks, accumulating power, contacts and money, running an elite research division for the government. It had been then Stryker had turned Logan into the "animal", sending him out to hunt mutant kids for him, not minding if he took his fun with them, on the contrary.
Xavier shuddered at the flood of images and connected emotions that Logan’s mind held, securely locked away for the last fifteen years.
It had been the only thing keeping the man sane.
Logan had been used and betrayed by a man he had once called a friend, had trusted and had fought side by side with but who had turned out to hate mutants with a vengeance while his own son had been one; a man who wanted nothing more but for mutants to die.
In the years that followed that first day, Logan's mind had been tampered with so many times by Stryker and his scientists, it had simply refused to undergo such a procedure for just one more time and had shut down. Logan had done horrible things, things whose shadows were threatening to destroy the very structure of his mind, and therefore the man himself. Xavier had found these shadows a long time ago, but had decided to leave those alone, knowing that it would have resulted in an immediate disaster, with Logan as unstable as he had been then. Even now that he had found a new life, new friends and a new family, and a stable center in the form of Scott Summers, even now that he had found love, it pulled the man down.
Logan had hunted down mutant kids for Stryker, but it hadn't been his decision. Xavier had discovered an imperative for that, a subtle order, more like a conditioning. Stryker had wanted to find out what Logan could do, had made the man a guinea pig for whatever potion he had been creating then.
Logan had raped those kids he had captured.
No. He hadn't.
This imperative had stunned Xavier in sheer shock, the extent of its force and its domination over the man as well as the violation of the true nature of his soul filling Xavier's heart with grieve.
Yes, Logan had raped some of them, the girls always older than fifteen and always in the middle of their cycle, which his fine tuned senses easily detected. He had been used cruelly, forced to be the animal Stryker had wanted to see in him. He had been used as sire. But Xavier hadn't been able to find out if there had been any surviving results of this violation of Logan's mind and body. Logan only remembered the dead babies; his babies. That Logan had started to take boys too after a while had been just Stryker's twisted sense of scientific curiosity, wanting to know how much he could possibly push an actually gentle soul. Not to mention a body with those abilities.
How he had managed to overpower Logan's healing abilities that normally prevented such invasions Xavier now knew. The professor had fallen victim to Stryker's "ingenuity" himself. Logan's body had adjusted to its maltreatment and slowly started to fight the ongoing telepathic and pharmaceutical assault until Stryker had been forced to terminate this experiment and initiate a new one, the one which had created the person Logan was now. His mind had simply rebooted and he had started all over again, with his past locked safely away -- until Xavier's information had unlocked it. And the whole fragile construction had broken down.
Xavier carefully touched Logan's mind, gently soothing as it shied away from the invader, subconsciously building defenses against something it only knew too well. It had been difficult the first time the professor had entered Logan's mind, but now it was... delicate. One wrong move and he would shatter what was left and not only destroy this man's soul but also the man who loved him and who had a long time ago taken the place of a son to Xavier. Carefully he brushed over the anxious mind, treating it like a horse whisperer would a skittish colt, and sighed inwardly.
This would be a long night.

* * *

Scott woke to the wonderful feeling of his lover's warm presence close to him and he opened his eyes. Logan lay next to him, pushed up on his elbow, watching him, dark eyes full of an emotion that made Scott all warm inside.
"Morning," Logan rumbled.
"Hey."
Logan continued to watch.
"Something up?" Scott asked. "Or wrong?"
"Nothing at all. I just like watching you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Logan smiled. "Always did."
"So you have been watching me in the past?"
"Uh-huh."
Scott reached up and caught his lover around the neck, pulling him down. Their lips met in a loving kiss and Scott savored it.
"I know I told you before," Logan murmured. "You have wonderful eyes."
The younger man chuckled. "Yeah, you did. Don't get used to them." His voice was laced with a sad tone.
Logan cupped his cheek. "I love you, Scott. Every part of you. I love you as you are."
Scott pulled him close again, burying his head in Logan's neck. "Love you. Every part of you," he echoed. "And we'll get through this."
Logan sighed explosively, his body tensing slightly at the memories of his past. James Logan, mutant hunter. "Yeah. It's just..." He looked away. "How can you live with what I've done?"
"How can I...? Logan, it wasn't your fault!"
"I hunted those kids! For Stryker!"
"And I sold myself," Scott countered quietly. "I sold my body and my soul, my innocence. How can you even touch me?"
Logan's shocked expression was almost comical. "Scott, no... That doesn't matter to me."
"Neither does your past to me. It happened and we both have to live with it, each with his own experiences. I love who you are, James Logan, and I accept everything that comes with it. What you did was under the influence of Stryker. You had no choice, no free will. I had. I chose to sell my services to other men."
"To survive."
"Like you. Stryker wiped your mind in the process, but all you did was survive."
Logan closed his eyes. "All the time I wanted to know who I was. Now that I know... I hate it. I hunted fellow mutants."
"Wasn't you. Was Stryker. And if he were still alive, I'd kill him," Scott whispered darkly.
Logan looked at him, dark eyes radiating surprise. "Scott..."
"I would," Summers repeated. "And if you ever run from me again, I'll kick your sorry ass across the continent, too."
The other man smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me."
Scott framed the bearded face and smiled. "Stryker did. From his grave. Let him die and burn in Hell."
Logan chuckled slightly, then buried himself in his lover's embrace again, sighing softly.
They stayed like this for a long time.

*

Xavier smiled to himself, monitoring the two men closely. His 'mind surgery' had worked and neither Scott nor Logan remembered anything of the horror, just the basic truth -- and the acceptance of it. Whether they would tell anyone of Logan's past was up to them. They still needed to heal, physically as well as mentally, but the stability was back.
It was a start.

* * *

Logan's overall condition had changed for the better in leaps. He spent every waking moment with Scott and the two men talked a lot, mainly about Logan's past. It helped Logan deal with the events and he started to understand the extent of Stryker's manipulations -- and his own helplessness in the face of this madman. He had never had a chance -- and neither had the children. Logan had been used as a bloodhound and he had followed his master's commands; Stryker's commands.
 

Coming back from an early morning jog, Logan found that he was alone in their new room -- the old one was still undergoing renovation. Xavier had calmly explained that he didn't want Logan's apologies, just his promise to deal with his demons, and he had done just that. The long jog around the mansion had helped clear his head a bit more and while he knew that his past couldn't be erased, his demons had been laid to rest. It helped to know why, even if he didn't like it. At least now he could work through it all, understand it, and go on.
Now, back in the room, Logan wondered where his lover was as he stripped the sweaty clothes off. It was just after sunrise, quite early for Scott to be up and about, and after a quick shower, Logan went down into the kitchen where he expected to find him -- reading the paper, having a coffee, maybe even breakfast.
But there was no sign of him, and the scents told Logan that Scott hadn't been here in the last hours.
He found him in one of the less frequented rooms. It was an almost empty study, with large French doors leading out onto an ornate stone balcony that overlooked the mansion's grounds. Logan entered silently, closing the door behind him as he took in the stance of his lover, noting the increased tension in the muscular frame, the way the clenched hands rested on the stone. Scott was staring out over the slowly awakening landscape.
"Scott?" he asked, voice soft.
Something had freaked his lover and he'd be damned if he couldn't figure it out.
Scott's shoulders drew up a little, as if he was trying to hide himself, then he exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax.
"You okay?" Logan wanted to know, coming closer.
"Depends."
Scott's voice was controlled, oh-so controlled, which told Logan more than anything else that something had happened. Something that had hit his lover profoundly.
"On what?"
Scott turned. For a fraction of a second his eyes were closed, then they opened and Logan had to fight his initial response, his instinct to step back, to maybe even unsheathe his claws, to jump out of the way of danger.
The intense blue color was gone. In its place a red, almost demonic fire glowed in the depth of his lover's eyes. It didn't arch out and strike Logan, but it swirled inside the orbs, ranging from blood red to white lightning. It moved, it was alive, it was energy that, when released, could punch a hole through a mountain.
A sad smile touched Scott's lips.
"It has begun."
Logan swallowed and stepped closer, carefully reaching out to touch Scott's face. He never looked away, met the alien eyes that seemed to come out of a horror novel, and he stroked a thumb over one pale cheek.
"When?"
"When did it start? This morning. When will it reach the point where I've to wear the visor?" Scott shrugged. "Probably tomorrow. The itching started this morning and since then, the energy build-up is visible in my eyes. I can feel when it reaches capacity, when my brain can't kick in and control the flow."
His voice sounded matter-of-fact, almost bored, but a tremor raced through the other man and Logan slipped a hand around his waist, drawing him even closer.
"It's okay," he murmured. "It's you."
"Yeah," was the only answer. "It's me."
They remained like this for a long time. Logan stroked across the tense back until Scott started to relax, and he kept his face buried in Scott's neck. Scott in turn clung to him, not letting go.
"Was nice while it lasted, huh?" he tried to joke. "All the colors... Seeing you -- in color. Your eyes, your hair... everything. Now it's back to just one; red in all shades."
"You're no different than before," Logan murmured. "Never will be."
With a finger under Scott's chin, he forced the demonic eyes to look at him, meeting the desperation readable in every line head-on.
"I didn't fall for you baby blues, Scott Summers. I love you, not just a part of you; not just your eyes. You're the sum of all parts."
Scott smiled slightly. "Those returning memories sure made you more sappy... James."
Logan growled and his eyebrows dipped into a frown. "Don't call me that."
"What would you prefer?" Scott teased, the smile growing. "Jim? Jimmy? J.L.?"
Logan whirled them around, pressing Scott against the wall, hands planted left and right of the smirking man's head. He closed the distance between their faces, his body pressing closer. The red light seemed to reflect off his skin, bathing it into demonic colors.
"Logan's just fine," he rumbled. "'Cause everything else will only lead to your early demise."
"Really?"
"Really."
Scott grinned boyishly. "Sure thing, Lo."
And with that he ducked under the muscular arms, jumped lithely over the balcony, landing gracefully on his feet -- and made a run for it, Logan hot on his heals.
 

He caught up with the younger man close to the boathouse, tackling him to the ground, careful not to hurt him. The ribs were still tender.
"Don't call me Lo!"
Slightly more out of breath than usual, Scott looked up at the growling man. Logan took in the flushed features, aware just how much more work Scott had to put into getting back into shape. Well, for now, he could help exercise some of those muscles -- in a very pleasurable way. From the excited response of his lover, Logan deducted that Scott had no argument against it.
And for the time being, both men forgot about the impending change for Scott, the change back to his 'old' condition. Logan watched the red eyes glow with an inner fire that fluctuated with Scott's emotions and flared brightly when he reached climax.
 

That night, Scott went back to wearing the goggles for sleep and Logan just pulled him close, kissing one temple.
"I love you, Scott Summers," he murmured.
Scott just sighed with pleasure, his head resting on the broad chest.
It had been nice while it lasted and Logan would forever remember the expressive blue eyes.

* * *

Images were swirling around in his mind, like leaves whirled around by an autumn storm: a snowy valley, a steamy jungle, a harsh voice barking orders, the scent of something rich and sweet like vanilla and cinnamon and hot cider, the sound of a piano, a woman's alto voice singing a soft and gentle tune in a foreign language - and then a pair of warm green eyes, the same woman's voice whispering comforting words into his ear, soft hands stroking over his back ...
Logan woke with a start and a gasp ...
"... maman ... "
Something stirred at his side and a warm arm wrapped around his waist as Scott woke, gazing at him with a worried expression.
"Logan, you okay?"
"Je suis bien ... j'ai rêvais seulement ... au sujet de ma mère ... "
"Logan?"
"Oui?"
"You're speaking French?"
"...no kidding...?"
"Nope."
"Shit."
Scott frowned. "Uh... why?"
"I... don't know." Logan sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just had the weirdest dream."
Scott sat up, too. "Nightmare?"
"No. Just a dream."
"About what?"
A shrug. "I'm not sure. Someone. Talking French to me. It was... nice."
Scott's eyebrows rose from behind the goggles. "Apparently you know the language."
"Apparently."
"Maybe it'll come back again."
Logan leaned against the wall behind the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah. And who knows what else."
"The professor said your mind was fragmented. It needs to heal and put everything back together," Scott went on. "You might remember something and it won't make much sense, but maybe later...?"
Logan rolled his head to look at his lover. "Ever the optimist, bub."
Scott grinned. "Someone has to be."
"True."
Logan flipped back the covers and slid out of bed. Scott frowned.
"What're you up to?"
"I'm awake."
"I noticed."
"So I'm going for a jog and then head downstairs for a little workout." Logan gave him a pointed look.
Scott sighed. He was still on a training schedule to get back into shape and Logan was making very sure he was following it. Not that Scott would have allowed himself to slack off anyway. It was his first priority and he needed to be fit if he ever wanted to get out into the field again. So far, the professor hadn't allowed him to leave for more than a routine check. It was too dangerous for Scott to be caught in less than peak physical condition by a hostile force.
"Coming," he chuckled.
He was actually looking forward to a sparring session with Logan. It was always a treat -- especially afterwards.

* * *

Spring had come and gone while Scott had been laid off in the infirmary and now that it was summer, he was finally back in his old shape. The Blackbird had been launched on some occasions to either fly the professor to a meeting or to find newly discovered mutants. There had been no sign of Magneto and Scott was secretly glad for it. Logan's memories continued to blossom and while some made no sense at all, others yielded a lot of surprises. The only downside was that he didn't remember much about his family or the years before he had joined the military.
It was no longer a secret that Logan remembered his past, especially when he had a fluent conversation with Kurt one day -- in German. Rogue was delighted to find out that her best friend and adopted 'big brother' remembered, and she spent hours with him, quizzing him about who he had been. Logan only told her as much as he was comfortable with, and his 'job' as a mutant hunter was still a secret. Storm and Nightcrawler knew, though. They both accepted it calmly. Like Scott had told him over and over again -- it hadn't been his choice. Stryker had manipulated him, had used him as a guinea pig.
Coming back from a rather eventless flight to Venezuela, Scott first stripped off his uniform and took his shower, then got himself a bite to eat. He knew Logan was still out with his survival class and didn't expect him to return for another hour. The children were making progress and Logan was secretly proud of them. It gave him time to catch up on some paper work.
Four hours later, finished with all the office bureaucratics, Scott wondered where Logan had disappeared off to. He found some of the kids from the class and they told him that yes, they had been back for some time now.
So Scott started to look for his wayward lover. It wasn't like Logan not to drop in, bitch about paperwork, let him know how classes went, and then drag him off somewhere.
He had found neither hide nor hair of the older man, though he had searched the whole mansion top to bottom.
Not again, Logan, Scott prayed silently. Please...
With a sinking feeling he returned to their room to take a look at the closet, when he all but collided with Rogue.
"You're looking for Logan?"
"You've seen him?"
She nodded, and the soft smile that tugged at her lips made Scott frown even deeper, especially when he realized in which direction she was pointing.
"Are you sure?"
"See for yourself."

*

Scott approached the room Rogue had indicated he would find Logan - the last place he would have ever looked. Well, he hadn't looked. The door was slightly ajar and Scott frowned when he heard music. Not too strange, he was standing in front of the music hall after all. Some of the kids were really talented when it came to music, and the professor encouraged talent when he noticed it. Right now somebody was playing the concert grand, and the tunes that were softly flowing out into the corridor were sweet and low and just a little melancholic. Scott wondered why Logan would want to listen to something like that, so he - carefully as not to interrupt the artist - pushed open the door and silently stepped into the room.
Only to stand rooted to the spot at the sight that was greeting him. Deep in concentration, moving slowly with the rhythm, eyes closed and fingers dancing over the keys the artist kept on playing, eliciting the sweetest of composition from the old concert grand. Scott listened as the melody washed over him, drinking in the man who caused this.
He had found Logan. James Logan. The man who was discovering something new about himself with every flash of returning memories.
When the last note had vanished into thin air Scott dared to move again.
"What was that?"
"Beethoven. Moonshine Sonata." Logan's voice was thoughtful, almost mystified by what had happened.
"It was beautiful."
A shrug.
"I didn't know you could play."
Logan snorted, but there was a twinkle in his eyes Scott hadn't seen for a long time - and missed dearly. He approached his lover, carefully wrapping his arms around the broad shoulders and placing a soft kiss on the exposed neck.
"Neither did I. My mother taught me when I was a kid."
Scott felt as if something inside of him would burst with the sheer joy because of these few words he had never hoped to hear.
"You remembered more about yourself from before...?"
Logan nodded once, entwining their fingers and resting his head on his lover's shoulder. So far, returning memories had mostly been of his time with Stryker or the life in the military just before meeting the man. Dark memories, linked to violence and war and pain.
"Bits. And this time they're for real. No dreams, no nightmares."
"You have a talent, Logan. Maybe you can give a concert one day, hm?" Scott teased.
"In your dreams, bub."
Scott looked into the dark brown eyes and smiled. "I have a lot of nice dreams of you, James Logan."
"You do?"
"Yeah."
"Care to share?"
"Wanna spend a weekend away from here?"
"You can?" Logan queried.
"Sure. We take off Friday after school and be back for Monday. I've no papers to grade."
"Sounds wonderful."
Scott only smiled.

* * *

Leaning back against the tree Scott watched Logan move, going through the motions like he had taught him, and smiled. Who would have thought James Logan aka Wolverine would start doing T'ai Chi Chuan one day? On the other hand - who would have thought he could play the piano or speak four foreign languages fluently - French, German and - surprisingly – Japanese and Vietnamese? He had discovered so much about his lover in such a short time that it sometimes astounded him to look back and remember the man Logan had been. Unapproachable, stoically silent, angry and aggressive. But underneath, the true man had lurked in the shadows. The man he now had at his side, the man who had gone through so much and had survived.
It was a miracle and Scott thanked the powers every single day. Logan was still Wolverine, but he had finally released the demons and faced his past, was working with it and remembering more. He was a gentle, caring soul, had been so before but hidden under a scruff, bristly exterior. He had taken care of Rogue, he had protected the children as best as possible from Stryker, he had been a guardian, a protector and a defender. Every memory that ran counter to the truth had been Stryker's fabrication.
Logan had finally accepted that and while he wasn't very much different from the outside when it came to day-to-day life, Scott saw the true man whenever they were together. A man who cared a lot about people he trusted and called friends. A man who could love.
Something suddenly caught his attention when Logan did an especially fluid movement, and Scott couldn't help take a closer look at the slender and well built figure in the sweat pants that - oh yeah - didn't leave much to the imagination.
Nice butt.
Okay, so where had that come from? It wasn't like he had never seen Logan in all his glory before, or in all sorts of pants - and he definitely liked the way the black leather of the uniform hugged the slim hips - and, of course, without. James Logan coming out of the shower or the little lake here at their hiding place, obviously oblivious to the effects he had on his lover or simply not caring if he was watched, was one sight to behold. Logan was aware of his body and yet he wasn't. Despite the events of the past months his lover was back in excellent shape, and it showed, Scott mused, tilting his head a little to watch the fabric of the sweats tighten over a nicely shaped ...
"Scott?"
Oops.
"Something wrong, Slim?"
"No, no, everything's okay. Don't let yourself be interrupted, Logan, that looked real - nice."
"Nice, huh?"
"Very."
"Didn't know training was supposed to look 'nice'."
"Don't underestimate the aesthetics of a workout, Logan. The Japanese knew this quite well."
Logan snorted, amused, but he returned to his session, much to Scott's delight. His lover bent and turned, balanced and performed and Scott felt almost mesmerized by the languid motions.
Nice butt.
Long legs.
For a brief moment he imagined those legs wrapped around his waist. Blinking in surprise, he took a closer look. Scott had never been a top, nor had he felt the wish to do that, and honestly he had a little problem to imagine Logan to bottom. Hell, this was Wolverine he was thinking about. On the other hand - variation was nine tenth of the law, so - why not? Spice up their love life ...
"Scott?"
Trim hips, long legs, the figure of a dancer ... moaning underneath him, begging for ...
"Summers!"
He blinked, coming back from his trip down fantasy lane.
"What?"
"That's what I'm asking. Where are you with your thoughts? You look a million miles away."
"I was thinking about your legs."
"About my legs," Logan echoed with a strange expression on his face.
Double oops. Had he just said that out loud?
"What's wrong with my legs?"
"And your butt."
"My - what? Summers, are you saying what I think you are?"
"Depends."
With a swift motion Scott kicked Logan's legs out from under his body, sending the man onto the ground, and settled between his legs before Logan could react. Pinning his arms down carefully he bent to kiss his lover, noticing the way the tension left the man's body as he melted against him, hips twitching involuntarily as their groins rubbed against each other.
"So, what's this with my legs?" Logan asked huskily, not moving when Scott leaned back, running his hands over the heaving chest and farther south in the process.
Reaching underneath the man Scott took a firm hold and pulled once, placing Logan's lower regions on his thighs.
"I imagined them."
"You did?"
Logan gasped when Scott's hands ran up his inner thighs, then one hand slipped between them, deeper...
"Like this."
"Scott ... "
"shhh... "
Scott rested one hand on the flat abdomen, slowly letting it roam over the sensitive skin of his lover's body. He felt Logan shiver minutely every now and then, and he knew exactly where to stop and tease even more. Logan hadn't made an attempt to throw him off or take the initiative, so Scott proceeded slowly. The soft fabric of Logan's pants wasn't of much resistance to his hands - his lover could feel every touch. Well, almost. Leaning forward a little and watching Logan carefully he ran a single finger over a certain part of Logan's anatomy, noticing with satisfaction how his lover was holding his breath for a second. Like that, huh?
"Scott ..."
Leaning forward completely he put more pressure to their groins, feeling Logan arch a little under him. With a small grin he ran his lips over the muscled chest, paying special attention to a nipple. This time Logan did moan. But before he was able to wrap his arms around him, Scott slid away.
"Find me, Logan," he whispered, smiling seductively at his slightly dazed looking lover, and darted toward the tree line.
Oh yes, he would feel Logan's legs around his waist. And both of them would like it.

*

Scott gave Logan as much of a chase as he could muster, given the fact that the other mutant was simply able to smell him. But after half an hour he decided he had enough. Back at the lake Scott waited for Logan to step out of the forest. And he did. Scott had no doubt that Logan knew exactly where he was - one of Logan's abilities was the acute awareness of his surroundings - but Logan had played along. Standing there under a tree he waited, and Scott could tell that he was taking in his scent, even from this distance. No need to keep the both of them waiting.
Scott silently approached his lover from behind, noticing the slight turning of the head in recognition of his presence, but otherwise Logan kept silent. This was Scott's game, and Logan went with the flow, astounding as it was. Scott ran his fingertips over the skin of his lover's back, following the shape of the spine between shoulder blades, smiling a little at a slight twitch of a muscle when he reached the small of the back. One of James Logan's best kept secrets was the fact that the man was ticklish. Extremely so, a small gasp told him when he slowly followed the trace of muscles around the waist and flat stomach, pressing himself against his lover's back. Logan took his hands and entwined their fingers, pulling him closer, and Scott nuzzled the exposed neck, hearing Logan exhale softly.
One hand slowly wandering down the flat abdomen Scott cupped the hardness he found there. Logan's head fell back to expose more of his neck and throat to Scott's lips and he sighed softly which turned into a gasp when Scott squeezed a little.
"Let's go inside," he whispered, the suggestion accompanied by an encouraging squeeze. Though it was warm enough outside he preferred the comfort of their bed for this.
Logan followed him without a single question.
Inside the cabin Scott simply stripped Logan of his sweat pants and pushed the other man back onto the bed. Well aware of the watchful eyes he slipped out of his own clothes and sank down beside his lover, claiming those sinful lips and running a hand over the body he had come to know so well. Logan just went with it, pressing against him, just as excited as he was himself. Sliding his hand even deeper, he felt his lover shudder a little and give a soft moan. He could easily finish the both of then off this way or just roll over and open up to Logan like he used to do in the past - but there was still this image of Logan under him - so he pulled back a little. Logan looked up at him slightly puzzled.
"Logan... I... well..."
"What?"
Scott hesitated, unsure if this was really a good idea. Then he pushed those thoughts aside and went with it.
"Uhm... I said I'm not really in for it, but... this time I'd like to... well, be inside you. Show you how it feels, how it is for me, you know."
He noticed the slight hesitation, the almost undetectable frown. It was a lot he was asking from his lover, and he knew it. Logan had been with men before, but he had never bottomed. He had never trusted anyone that much before. Then there was a small change in those dark eyes, and Scott felt himself pulled down into a long, sweet kiss, felt Logan shift under him until he was resting between parted legs, heard his lover moan when their groins rubbed against each other again, but this time without clothes between them. Logan broke the kiss and looked up, smiling slightly.
"Never thought I'd ever say this, but - be gentle."
Scott grinned cheekily. "Never thought I'd ever say this to you, but - I'll treat you like a virgin... "
It earned him a growl - and another mind searing kiss.
Scott took his time with Logan, preparing and distracting and stretching him. When he caressed Logan from the inside he was rewarded with an almost violent buck of his lover's hips. Repeating the action several times it caused Logan to groan and clutch the sheets. And then Scott carefully slid into his lover’s body for the first time when Logan finally did wrap his legs around his waist and bucked wildly under him, meeting his every move and silently begging for more. Scott swallowed his scream of completion with a deep kiss, and followed his lover over the edge.
 

Wrapped tightly in the muscular arms, Scott listened to each breath and heartbeat. Logan held him, now and then running a hand over his back, both men enjoying the post-coital bliss.
"Logan?" Scott finally broke the silence, voice laced with a hesitant caution.
"Hm?"
"You okay?"
A grunt. "Sure."
Scott smiled slightly and pushed himself up enough to look into the relaxed features of his lover. "So you enjoyed it?"
Another grunt. Sometimes, Logan could be a very verbal man, Scott thought with a grin.
"You asking if it was good for me too, bub?"
Scott grinned more. "Well, was it?"
"It was different... but nice."
"Nice?"
"Nice," Logan echoed.
"So you don't mind a switch every other year?"
Logan chuckled. "No, I don't. I can live with it."
Scott laughed slightly. "So can I."
Sinking back against the sturdy form, he played with a convenient nipple, watching it rise to semi-interest.
"Slim?"
"Hm?"
"You planning on a repeat performance?"
"Why? You got regenerative powers in that department, too?" Scott teased.
With a growl, Logan rolled them around, looking down at the younger man, taking in the open laughter visible on his face, only the eyes hidden from his gaze.
"I just might."
"Tease."
Logan leaned down and kissed him. "No more than you." He sank down beside him, propped up on one elbow, unashamedly checking out the lithe, naked form of his lover.
Scott crossed his arms under his head, looking very relaxed. "So, any plans for our last day in private before the harrying demands of school?"
Logan mapped the curve of the ribs with a callused finger. "I can think of a few things."
"Uh-huh. Single-minded, aren't you?"
"My best feature."
"I can think of a few more."
"Oh really?"
"Yep."
Logan raised a quizzical eyebrow, but he only received a bright smile in return.
"Piano, James?" Scott finally laughed and rolled off the bed in a lightning fast maneuver.
Logan had to give it to him, he was quick! With a growl, he pounced after his lover.