To Save a Wolverine

by fantasymonk

The other Xmen can save Logan from a group of antimutant militants, but can they save him from his own doubts? Very Logancentric, and almost totally plotdriven, amazingly enough.

To Save a Wolverine

By fantasymonk

Rating: Well, probably a little above PG-13 because of violence, bloodshed and some language.

Summary: The other X-men can save Logan from a group of anti-mutant militants, but can he be saved from his own doubts? Very Logan-centric, and almost totally plot-driven, amazingly enough.

This fic is set in the movieverse, mostly because I'm a huge fan of how Hugh Jackman portrays my favorite mutant. It has absolutely no bearing at all in the timeline after the first movie. Consider it an AU of sorts, taking the place of the second movie sometime after Wolverine came back from Alkali Lake. Mostly I had to write this because my brain came up with the first traces of it sometime between waking and sleeping. It just had to come out after that over the course of about three weeks. Keep in mind that there is much Logan pain and some angst, but I must have a happy ending myself, so never fear!

Red flashes of light and the sound of clashing metal disturbed what would have been an otherwise peaceful woodland scene. Past the edge of a dense forest stretched a large area of sparse plants and cracked earth, creating a bleak backdrop for the four people in black leather suits who were engaged in a rather fierce fight. Cyclops was using his powerful beams to distract and herd their assailants, a group of heavily armed men from some obscure anti-mutant group, while Storm hurled small tornadoes and hail at them. Jean's red hair danced lightly about her head in the residual breeze brought to the teammates, her own attentions focused on making sure as few bullets as possible came their way. The fourth member apparently cared nothing for such precautions, and with good reason. His own uniform was ripped and torn, sporting several bullet holes and more than a few rips from close calls. But underneath the frayed edges of the material, Wolverine's skin was unmarred, his teeth bared in a snarl as he mutilated his opponents' guns whenever they came too close, relentless claws meeting flesh many times over. The X-men had been dispatched to the area to look into a series of attacks on mutants, and had encountered more than they had anticipated. They were not worried however, trusting in their own abilities to see them through. The military group's numbers were dwindling rapidly, and the battle appeared almost over when a loud explosion and concussive blast rocked the earth under their feet. Some sort of super-grenade had been launched, and Cyclops swore just under his breath, ignoring the slightly disapproving look that Jean sent his way.

"Regroup and retreat everyone, these guys aren't worth it," he shouted, backpedaling a bit in the direction of their jet's hiding place. As one, Storm and Jean fell back, and the three of them headed quickly for cover. Wolverine, however, had been further ahead than anyone, lost in his own battle rage. Out of the corner of his eye, the quick-healing mutant saw his comrades change position and begin an orderly withdrawal from the battle. A frustrated growl rose from his throat, but even his own love of fighting didn't dampen the common sense that told him Cyclops' apparent order was the best option. He darted around for a few seconds, dispatching several men and their guns before running full tilt for the trees. Another high sound arced overhead, and Logan barely avoided falling as the grenade detonated almost three yards behind him. He quickly recovered his balance, pushing ahead, able to see the glint of the black jet through the foliage that would provide cover. Storm's white hair was just disappearing into their transportation, and it was apparent that everyone else was on board and waiting. The next minute suddenly went into slow motion. His arms and legs were pumping, he was so close, and then the sudden heat and force of an explosion just a foot in front of him sent him hurtling backward a good twenty feet. His body flipped several times before he skidded to a stop on the hard ground, facing up to the clear blue sky. Dazed, Wolverine looked groggily up at the dark machine that was the X-jet rising above the treetops, its gleaming frame lit by the red reflection of a fourth grenade blast near the forest edge that had caught a few trees on fire. His stomach was cold and uneasy with the knowledge that they were leaving him, helplessness a bitter taste in his mouth. The leather suit he wore was almost shredded from the blast, angry, raw skin showing from burns over most of the front of his body from face to shins. He gave a hoarse cough that cleared some dust from his lungs, felt a ringing in his ears as yet another explosion rocked the area, and then everything quickly faded to black.

There was nothing calm about the jet's arrival at the school; Charles Xavier could sense that as soon as his X-men entered the lower area that made up their base. He felt the familiar energies of three, casting his psychic senses for the fourth, his brow furrowing at the absence of one wild-tinged mind.

"Something happened," he said quietly as they walked up to him, the words a simple statement rather than a question. At least, two of them came forward with controlled movements. Scott Summers stalked closer, his expressive mouth turned in a grimace of regret.

"We were retreating, Professor. They had a grenade launcher and some powerful ammunition, but Logan took longer to get to the jet. A blast got him, and then another one almost hit the jet. We had to leave him…" he reported, normally smooth voice hoarse with anger and more than a touch of self-recrimination. Charles knew how seriously Scott took his duties as leader, the degree of responsibility he shouldered for the team's members regardless of how he felt about them personally. It didn't take psychic abilities to see how this was affecting him.

"I've no doubt the decision was necessary, Scott. We'll find him and bring him back, don't worry," he assured the younger man, his wheelchair smoothly moving toward Cerebro's room. Cyclops, Storm, and Jean exchanged half-worried, half-relieved glances. There was no doubt in their minds that the professor would find Logan, but there remained the problem of what might be happening to their impetuous team member in the meantime.

"Just a small incision, now… Yes, that's it. Now for the… oh yes, it's not too big after all. Look, it's already healing." Softly spoken words, and then the soft snapping sound of surgical gloves being removed. "Get him to the commander before he wakes up."

The first sensation Logan was aware of was that his wrists hurt, something digging slightly into flesh without truly piercing skin. He kept his eyes closed, head lolling forward, his knees partially bent, although he was positive he wasn't lying down. He could feel cold metal around his ankles and wrists then, the restraints holding him close to an equally chilly wall. The reason for his strange, half-dangling position was apparently because the constraints hadn't been meant for someone of his height. Keen senses reached out then, smelled stale air conditioning, so they were probably underground. Whispers of talking, men moving, and the metallic smell of guns came to him in pieces. Well damn. He'd obviously been found by the military force they'd been fighting. It would be his shitty luck… Logan was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that his uniform was gone, his lean body covered only by the white briefs he wore. Vulnerability sliced through him, cold in his stomach, but he still didn't move. The more he learned about these people before they knew he was conscious could only help him. A footfall caught his attention, feeling the relative warmth from someone in front of him on his bare skin. The next second involved pain flaring through his cheek and jaw, a short club making contact with his face, his head snapping to one side and then back. Logan's hazel eyes glared at the man who stood before him, the offending object still in his hand and a smile on his face. The soft, warning growl that rumbled up from the mutant's throat and a flash of bared teeth caused a flicker of surprise in the other's returned gaze, but that quickly passed.

"Awake, are we?" he said almost amiably, his dark eyes as cold as the room they stood in. Close-cropped blonde hair and short sideburns framed a squared face, the rugged effect ruined by the slight jowls that gave him the too-soft appearance of a man going to seed. Logan's eyes flashed back and forth, seeing the five other men in the room, all wearing generic camouflage uniforms and holding large automatic rifles. The only identifying marking was a patch on their left arm bearing the initials AAM. He grunted softly as another blow struck his face, glowering with irritation at the man who stood before him. Wolverine worked his lower jaw to ease the rapidly dwindling stiffness, tasting a little blood where a tooth had cut the inside of his mouth. The mutant felt a surge of hatred for this bland looking man, his ramrod-straight bearing and air of self-importance suggesting he was the leader of the group. His uniform was crisper as well, with a patch bearing the name 'Kinley', and he wore a beret, although not as if he knew how to wear one. He wore it like they did in the movies, its shape lost after being jammed atop his head with no attempt made to form it properly.

"Yeah, we are," Logan responded menacingly with some sarcasm in his voice, flexing his fingers and imagining them wrapped around the prick's throat. Perhaps the guy had a similar idea, because he moved just a bit away from the bound mutant.

"It's about time. We need information from you, freak, and you will provide it." There was disgust dripping from his tone, and a certainty about him that immediately made Logan's hackles rise. He was always reluctant to do anything that was expected of him, especially if it involved orders from some self-righteous idiot that he didn't like anyway.

"Like hell I will…!" he snarled, itching to unsheathe his claws and rend everyone in the room to shreds. In a flash, though, he saw a problem. The shackles pinning his wrists held his arms flush against the wall. There was no way he could bend his wrists enough to cut the metal bindings. At most he could only gouge the wall a bit. Logan tried to calm down, his instincts flaring up at being constrained like that until he wanted to just go into a rage, no matter how pointless it would be. He breathed slow and deep for a few seconds until the feeling passed. "You're not getting anything from me," he promised grimly. The group's commander frowned, then chuckled.

"That's what you think. We have ways of making people talk." Wolverine barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the cliched words, but couldn't deny their possible truth. If it was torture they had in mind, he could deal with pain, at least in the short term. He just had to hold out as long as possible. Maybe the professor could find him with Cerebro, like he had Marie. Logan was brought out of his thoughts by another laugh, focusing his attention on the pompous bastard who'd hit him. "Oh, we've figured out you can heal; no doubt about that, after we saw your burns just disappear. Should be very interesting, don't you think? Wouldn't you like to find out the limits of your body?" he asked. "Even for someone as… talented… as you, pain can be a big persuader." Logan couldn't help himself, so pissed off by the smugness in the tone that he lunged against the shackles with a growl, looking just for a second like an animal that had been baited. The other man instinctively jumped back, then his face contorted with fury at responding to what had actually been a useless show of anger.

"Okay, you little shit, if that's the way you're going to be," he threatened, gesturing to one of the soldiers behind him. The man moved to one side of the room, coming back with some kind of cart that he wheeled against the wall on Logan's left. Kinley moved back once more, giving the soldier nearest him room to take up something from the rolling table. Wolverine's teeth ground together, flashing white in a soft snarl as he eyed the long metallic rod held in the other's hand, the rubber-coated end attached to the cart by a tightly curled cord. The soldier gave a little grin and pushed a button, making electricity crackle along the exposed length of the tube. Kinley must have seen the momentary flash of dismay in Logan's eyes, because his chuckle drew the mutant's attention.

"Back to business. Who is behind your group, where are they based?" he asked, voice ringing with authority. Logan's only reply was a steely glare and then a silent baring of teeth. Seconds later, Wolverine's body was arched against the cold concrete wall, teeth clamped shut over the howl of pain that wanted to break free. He slumped as the electric rod was pulled away, breathing heavily, sweat moist on his bare skin. Menacing eyes glowered at Kinley from under his brows as the commander spoke again.

"Where are you based? You'll only get more if you don't talk," he said angrily, his face turning a pale purplish hue as the mutant gave a hoarse chuckle.

"I don't know anything," he rasped, spitting contemptuously on Kinley's face. The man wiped his cheek off shakily, eyes wide and glinting as if he couldn't believe his bound captive could do such a thing. Then he grabbed the metal rod from his subordinate and jammed it against Logan's chest, keeping it there while he pressed the button. Wolverine's entire body shook, a short, strained yell breaking loose when the energy crackling through his nervous system didn't stop. It took a few seconds for him to realize the rod had been pulled away, leaving him slumped and panting in his shackles.

"We could go on like this for a while," Kinley said, bending down to peer up at Logan's tight expression. The bound man growled and lunged, his teeth snapping shut inches away from his tormentor's face. Kinley almost fell over in his haste to get away. When he stood, he tried to salvage his pride, pushing away the soldier who attempted to help him up and straightening his uniform. "Fine," he said icily, making Logan jerk briefly as he touched the crackling metal tube to the mutant's thigh, the gesture nothing more than an outlet for Kinley's spite. "We can try other methods. Humans are creative, after all," he announced, gesturing one of the soldiers to him. He spoke in hushed tones, but Logan was too busy blinking the sweat from his eyes and forcing his muscles to stop trembling to tune his heightened hearing on the conversation. The nameless soldier moved out of Wolverine's line of vision, and although he could have turned his head to see what was going on, he preferred to keep his eyes on Kinley, smoldering anger deep in their depths. The soldier quickly returned, holding in his hands a very solid wooden baseball bat. Logan found it absurd for a group that liked using high tech gear to resort to such outdated means, but knew that such an object could be very persuasive. Even his healing factor couldn't stop the amount of pain a bat could cause.

"How about a more direct approach," Kinley smirked, the smugness of his attitude immediately putting the rebellious mutant on edge.

"Is that all you got..?" he sneered, his tone implying it would take more than that to persuade him to talk. He almost regretted it as soon as he said it, but the proud Wolverine could never give in to such bullying, especially from a posturing little man in an ill-fitting military uniform. So he taunted his captor and squared his shoulders as best as he could while half-hanging from the wall. The soldier holding the baseball bat readied it and then swung forward. Hard. It connected with the mutant's left thigh, tearing through skin and shaking in the man's hands as it found the adamantium laced bone underneath. Logan's entire body tensed momentarily before he went limp, gasping and clenching his teeth to stifle even a whimper of pain. Only soft grunts of exertion left his locked jaws, each exhalation lending itself to the slightly feral sounds. His muscles relaxed a bit as the bloodied skin began to repair itself, leaving only some red smears on the bat. Kinley looked both intrigued and irritated, but then he smiled.

"Thanks to your mutation, we could do this forever. Can you?" he mocked, nodding to the soldier holding the bat. A quick forward thrust, and the blunt end of the bat slammed into Logan's stomach, shoving him back against the wall. With nothing to cushion the blow but an unyielding wall, he felt something inside him burst, and let out a strained cry before he could stop it. His lean body curled up as much as possible, but even in his pain he glared at the men in the room.

"If you think I'm gonna tell you pieces of shit anything, then your heads aren't screwed on tight enough," he muttered loudly, breathing easier as the massive bruise on his stomach started to fade and his insides began knitting together again. Kinley turned slightly red in the face and stepped forward, the unreasonable hatred for his mutant captive clear in his eyes.

"Tell us where your base is!" he yelled, nettled by the bound man's attitude.

"No!" came Logan's shout.

Crack! Hard wood connected with skin, meeting Logan's right arm and splattering blood over the wall, a dark bruise blossoming almost immediately around raw flesh. The mutant cut off a strangled cry just after it left his throat

"Where is your team!" Kinley looked almost as crazed as Wolverine in a battle rage, his face trembling and eyes bright with excitement.

"I don't know!" Logan snarled through the pain.

Crack! Another meeting of bat and flesh, viciously hitting his right temple and almost forcing his left cheek against the wall with the force of the blow. His vision blurred, blood running down the right side of his face and into his eye, staining his sideburn to a dark mix of red and brown. Logan spat blood, the red stuff almost hitting Kinley's boots and making the group's commander even angrier.

"Where is your base, you goddamn mutant!" he said in a rage.

"Fuck you!"

CRACK! The bat met their captive's bare right thigh with such force that it broke, pieces of wood flying through the air, some two-inch splinters ending up embedded in Logan's skin. He howled then, temporarily losing all feeling in the leg so that it became a dead weight to the rest of his body. When one of the soldiers came closer to examine the long slivers of wood in his thigh he growled and snapped, the soft rumble deep and feral as the almost constant pain began to work on his instincts. Kinley eyed him with a sour expression on his face, as if the mutant in front of him was an unpleasant sight.

"I can see why they left you; you're no more than an animal pretending to be human," he sneered with a mocking laugh. "Probably couldn't wait to get rid of you!" This was punctuated by a lingering jab to Logan's ribcage with the splintered bat, making the bound X-man snarl through clenched teeth. His breath came in hoarse, growling exhalations, and Kinley's words enraged him enough that he pushed against the wall with his left foot as if he were attempting to reach the arrogant commander, forcing the jagged end of the bat through skin so that it tangled slightly in adamantium ribs. Lines of bright red trickled down to stain his briefs, leaving a more lasting mark in the fabric than most of the torture had left on his body. Blood glistened wetly on the right side of his face, more of it evident on the fronts of his thighs and his right arm where healed skin hadn't been able to reclaim all of it. The soldier pulled the bat away, having to wrench the splintered ends out of their captive's ribs, but the mutant was in such a state he hardly noticed.

"That's not how it was!" he snarled, needing to voice his disbelief, as if speaking it out loud would make it all the more true. 'It could be possible,' said a niggling doubt in the back of his mind, making his insides squirm. It wasn't as if the others really knew him or cared for him, beyond the fact that he was a good fighter. Scott sure didn't think of him as an asset, while Ororo perhaps viewed him with some compassion or pity, but nothing more. And Jean just kept a slight distance to drive in the point that she didn't return his feelings. The Wolverine had made no friends, not during the fifteen years he could remember and maybe even before that in the life he had lost. Although… there was Marie. The kid had gotten under his skin, as he had gotten under hers when she had touched him. But that was a tenuous friendship at best. Logan knew that he would leave one too many times and the girl would decide to forget about him. It had actually surprised him for a moment when she had still been wearing his dog tag after he returned from Alkali Lake.

With these thoughts in his head, it was a slightly confused and hurting Wolverine who looked down at Kinley, the physical pain fading easily enough, but the mental uncertainty lingering in his augmented bones like the ghost pain of a lost limb. Logan always tried not to think too much, because once the soul-searching began he realized how little he knew about himself and how very little he was connected to those around him. Life was much easier if he stuck to fighting and smoking and drinking, leaving the high thinking and emotional crap to others who were equipped to handle it. Hell, one of the rare times he'd ever felt anything other than anger or indifference he'd been rejected by the very woman he'd bared his feelings to. He hadn't mentioned to anyone the brief interlude he'd had with Jean recently at the mansion, although it was a possibility that Charles knew. He had finally told her outright how much she affected him, what he felt about her, with none of the joking innuendo he'd used in the past. The effort was wasted though, as she told him of her love for Scott. Even the kiss they'd shared, that he had made them share, didn't change her mind. Loneliness and pain flashed through Logan's mind in an instant, cutting harder than any knife and burrowing deeper into his being than any physical injury could possibly hope to. Kinley grinned, seeing his words had an effect, confusion and despair briefly shadowing the mutant's bloodied, sweat-drenched face.

"Why feel any loyalty to them?" he asked reasonably, his face set in a smile of false friendliness and understanding. "Tell us what we need to know, and we'll let you go. You can walk out of here a free… ah.. man." Logan shook his head heavily, droplets of sweat dripping from the moist skin of his face as he did.

"I still wouldn't tell you anything, 'cause I don't like you," he managed to snarl. Even if nobody on the team really cared about him, he knew what loyalty was all about. They were still a team, and had taken him into their home, and that meant something to him no matter how distant a member he was. This statement had quite an effect on the anti-mutant commander.

"Stupid animal…!" he ground out, a vein pulsing lightly in his forehead. His right hand went to his hip, sliding what looked like a Glock from its holster and aiming it point-blank at the helpless mutant. The room rang with the sound of a gunshot, the round boring into one shoulder and showering Logan's left cheek with a multitude of red droplets. At such a close range, flesh almost exploded at the impact, the metal casing glancing off Logan's adamantium shoulder bone the slightest bit before it exploded out the back. A grisly red flower blossomed on the once-pristine concrete wall behind the bound mutant's shoulder. Wolverine's blood-speckled face was grim and tight, his lips clamped harshly against the pain that wanted to well up from his throat. A choked gasp fell from his lips, but he forced his mouth into a sneer.

"You're callin' me stupid?" he mocked through the panting breaths that came fast and shallow. "I'm obviously too much for you to handle, so why don't you just give up now?" It seemed Kinley agreed with him, because the Glock raised again, four ringing gunshots blending together with the echoes of their release in the room so they sounded like one large crack of thunder. Logan coughed wetly, foamy blood spraying gently between his lips and staining teeth that still snarled defiantly even as the corners of his mouth dripped with red. His head lowered a bit, blurring vision taking in the three holes in his chest and one in his right side. One round had obviously hit a lung, and liquid slowly filled his windpipe, each breath a gurgling death gasp. A ricochet off his ribs had sent one of the slugs careening out of his left side, more of his blood spattering liberally over the pale wall. There was more glistening liquid on the wall behind him than on his front, and the stuff dripped down in macabre fashion as he slumped in his shackles.

"B… bastard…" he half choked out, the effort of speaking sending even more of his life's liquid dribbling down his chin to drip on the floor. "I'll… kill… you…" Logan's body shuddered before it hung limply in the shackles, velvety darkness finally taking the pain away. Kinley glared at the beaten figure on the wall with a grimace of annoyance.

"Get him down and finish this. Dump him where we planned and get out. There's no telling if the muties have some kind of advanced tracking capabilities." The soldiers nodded and quickly set about removing the seemingly dead mutant from the bonds, dragging him unceremoniously along the floor, leaving a long, bloody smear that would have to be cleaned up. Kinley walked to the digital camcorder that had been set up to the side, stopping its record function and grinning. Soon the mutants would know what they were capable of, that they meant business.

The three X-men looked up as Xavier wheeled out of Cerebro. They had been waiting in the corridor just outside, Scott and Jean leaning against the wall next to each other while Ororo stood about a foot away.

"I'm sorry it took so long," he said apologetically in his cultured voice, "but Logan's brain waves weakened for a time. When I found him again he was in a different area. He's now up north, in a range of high country. I'll give you the coordinates when you're in the X-jet," he told them. They lost no time, assembling in the jet and taking off for their team member's location.

He gave a rasping cough and opened his eyes, the skin of his body and left cheek tingling with the cold where they were in contact with the snow he lay on. His body heat had partially melted some of it, leaving him in a deep human-shaped depression. It took some effort to raise himself to his hands and knees, head turning this way and that, eyes searching for danger. The sense of unease that plagued him had him keeping his senses wide open, sniffing for any predatory scent or anything unfamiliar. There were no true thoughts in Logan's head, only the feral need to find safety, to rest and heal. His healing ability had been strained with the multiple serious injuries inflicted on him and the fact that his heart had stopped beating for several minutes, leaving him with mostly-healed but still open gunshot wounds in his body. The snow under him was a pale pink in spots where dried blood on his briefs had been dampened and released, as well as from the smears of red on his face, torso, and thighs. He shook his head, vision clearing up as he staggered to his feet. Around him, the snow had been drifted outward in a wide circle, caused by the downdraft from the whirling blades of the helicopter that had dumped him in the bitterly cold area, but Logan didn't remember anything about that. He lurched forward barefoot in the snow, the melted moisture on his skin making him shiver. A sound of voices and crunching footsteps brought him to a stop, and instinct brought his claws out, a raspy growl coming from his throat. Three figures in leather came through a copse of trees and stopped short at the sight of him.

"Logan!" came a surprised and shocked cry from the white-haired woman at his appearance. Hazel eyes watched them warily and with confusion, the snarl still present but hesitant. They were familiar to him, and slowly a sense of reason began replacing the primal beast. Was he dreaming? Would he wake up to more torture and pain? Or maybe he was dead, and this was his Hell. He kept his ready stance with hands fisted and gleaming adamantium claws catching the winter light, unwilling to believe the danger was over even though his feet ached with cold and his body shivered weakly. The amount of blood splattered over him and covering his chest would have amazed even him, had he been able to see himself from the others' viewpoint. The other X-men were puzzled at his defensive response and caught off guard by his lack of clothing, the vivid red liquid splattered over him in stark contrast to his chilled bare skin. Jean stepped forward some, her brow wrinkling in concentration as she tried to feel for his thoughts. Her fingers flew up to massage her brow at the jumble of confusion and pain that could be felt.

"Logan, we're here to help you," she said softly, soothingly, one hand raised in a calming gesture. A tired grunt freed itself from Wolverine's throat as he watched them, his body swaying before he started to fall forward. His face relaxed, the lines of remembered pain smoothing out as he took refuge in darkness once more. Scott lunged forward and barely caught him, his own knees meeting the snow as he took the Canadian's considerable weight.

"Storm, get a blanket fast. We have to get him back to the school." It was then that Cyclops felt something under his palms where they rested over Wolverine's back. A CD was taped there, and through the clear, thin case he could easily read the letters AAM, DVD on it.

"You idiot!" A sharp crack, palm meeting a cheek, and Kinley barely held his anger in check as he was berated by one of the doctors. "Thanks to your foolish act, the tracker has been damaged. The signal we're getting from it is barely one third of its strength. If we don't find them quickly enough I'll see to it that you never live to regret your actions." The commander bowed stiffly, furious, but cautious at the same time. He couldn't do anything to further upset these men, since they were the ones responsible for funding his group in the first place. He merely turned a stiff about-face and left the dim room, unable to keep himself from fervently hoping the hastily-laid trap was a success.

Charles' eyes briefly closed in relief as he received Jean's quick telepathic report that they had found Logan, the jet lowering itself through the opened basketball court to take its place in the underground hanger as evening approached. He moved through the halls of his school and down to the lower levels, heading for the medical bay. The professor was unprepared for the sight that met his eyes as he saw Logan laid out on one of the padded tables again, one of the stockroom's warm blankets covering him. When Logan had been brought back from Liberty Island, his unconscious form had been relaxed, his face wearing an expression of peace as if he were perfectly comfortable with the sacrifice that had allowed Rogue to live. The man who lay on the table now had a different look, his face taut somehow, even in sleep. There were no visible injuries as there had been before, but the evidence of hurt endured was present all the same. Charles gave a soft, regretful sigh at the knowledge that Wolverine had been the recipient of yet more pain since becoming an X-man. He turned to Scott then, one eyebrow arching in question.

"He seems to be physically fine now Professor, although there were a few injuries that healed only minutes ago. And we found this taped to him," he said, handing the unassuming CD in its case to their mentor. Charles eyed it curiously and with some trepidation, almost afraid of what it might contain.

Jean, Scott, Ororo and Charles settled in the strategy room, the CD ready in a DVD player. The screen instantly flickered to life, showing a dim room with only one light source, a tall lamp that was directed at the back of a person sitting in a plush chair, their face masked by the shadows. An arrogant, masculine voice came from the speakers.

"What you are going to witness is unavoidable and inevitable. Don't make any attempt to speed through the DVD, because it isn't possible. The entire show must be watched before you can hear the final ultimatum." There was a cold chuckle, and then the scene changed. A brightly-lit concrete room filled the screen, the eyes of every man in it turned toward one wall. Then a camouflage-covered back moved from where it had partially obscured the view, and the X-men saw the half-naked form of Logan shackled to the wall and apparently unconscious. Jean covered her mouth with her fingers as Logan was first struck, everyone in the strategy room on edge as they realized they were going to witness first-hand what had happened. The seconds ticked by, and Charles Xavier's face grew progressively whiter as he watched the torture session, his lips thinning, although he didn't make a sound. With every blow, every sound of pain that came from the speakers, Ororo winced, her warm, dark eyes liquid with sorrow. Jean entwined her fingers with Scott's almost without realizing it, her face turned slightly away from the screen as she watched from the corner of her eye. When the bat was first used against Logan she shut her gaze against it, shoulders rigid and face wan. What was visible of Scott's face was grim, his thoughts occupied with the notion that this was his fault. He may not have liked Logan very much, but no one deserved to be treated in the fashion he was seeing on the screen.

The leader's taunt about Wolverine's animal nature struck a chord with them all. Most of the X-men couldn't deny in their innermost thoughts that something of the same kind had gone through their brains not long after meeting him, and their guilt at leaving him seemed to multiply when the 'desertion' was used against the Canadian to try and break him. The tension was palpable in the strategy room, each of them lost in their own private thoughts, some of anger, some of sorrow, but all fervently wishing they didn't have to see this. Not soon enough came Logan's final taunting of the commander, and everyone jumped as the loud ringing of gunshots echoed from the speakers. Hoarsely spoken words threatened the commander, and then Logan's body slumped, blood dripping down his skin, his body turning pale as he was manhandled down from the wall. The screen then went black for a second before the shadowy figure in the chair returned.

"Now you've seen our strength and resolve. We are AAM, Americans Against Mutants, and we will not stand for your kind holding sway over the world. You may think your power is superior to our own, but we have strength of conviction and a steely resolve. This is a warning. Your team member died because he was too foolish to realize the futility of his defiance, so let it be a lesson. He need not have died in vain. Give up your cause, you cannot win. We'll be in contact." With that ominous statement, the screen went blank. There was stunned silence for a second before anyone could find their voice.

"Of all the pretentious…" Scott muttered. "What does he mean, they'll be in contact…?" He turned to look at the professor, who sat in thought with his forefingers steepled at his lips. Storm shook her head briefly.

"They don't know Logan survived, although not many could have after what they…" She stopped, unwilling to finish that vocal musing. All heads turned as the professor finally spoke.

"It is obvious that they didn't realize the extent of Logan's healing capability, a fact that could be of great help to us. As soon as he wakes up, I can hopefully find out more details about this group." He sent his wheelchair toward the door, a hand placed lightly on Jean's arm as she moved to head back to the medical bay. "Take care of him," he murmured quietly, and she nodded, her own hand gently squeezing his arm before she kept going.

Logan slept through most of the next day until a soft, tickling caress finally lured him into wakefulness. The familiar smell of disinfectant and surgical tools, plus the lingering scent of Jean's perfume, revealed the fact that he was back in the school's medical room once more. Since hooking up with Charles Xavier and his school of adolescent mutants, he seemed to spend more time knocked out in this place then anywhere else. His eyes opened slowly, gaze shifting to take in the telltale pristine gleam of gray walls and the sight of brown and white locks that lay cradled on one forearm. A gloved hand was brushing lightly over his brow as if trying to soothe him even while he slept, the motion habitual and done without the aid of the girl's eyesight. He wondered how much she had done that to be able to keep it up without looking. Logan's throat was dry, and he gave an instinctive cough, trying to force his voice back into working order. A little gasp met this sound, and he looked over to see Rogue straighten up abruptly, the white strands of hair that framed her sweet face looking adorably rumpled. She appeared tired, but at seeing him awake her face brightened considerably.

"Logan!" she said happily, her soft drawl making the otherwise sterile room seem more hospitable. She pressed a button on a nearby cabinet and then returned her luminous smile toward him. "You've been asleep for almost twenty-four hours, are you all right?" she asked with concern on her gentle features. He was embarrassed by the undivided attention directed his way, still unused to it.

"Yeah, you know nothing keeps me down," he replied almost gruffly, slowly working himself into a sitting position. Rogue smiled a bit, undeterred by his manner.

"Well, yeah, but I still worry about you," she told him. "Dr. Grey was nice enough to let me stay with you in between classes, and at the moment everyone is eating dinner. I ate earlier, so they said I could keep you company until someone else could get back down here." Her soft voice wrapped him in warmth, and he couldn't help smiling just a bit.

"Thanks kid," he said, pleased with himself as the brief admission of gratitude made her smile even brighter. She leaned forward then and wrapped her gloved arms around his neck in a soft hug before sitting back and punching him none-too-gently on a sweatshirt-clad arm.

"You'd better not scare everyone like that again!" she scolded as he looked at her in a sort of bemused way. "What's so funny?" she sputtered a bit when he chuckled. He shook his head, still smiling.

"Nobody worries about me, Rogue. They all know I can take care of myself." He kept his tone light, but inwardly he was saying to himself that the reason nobody worried was maybe because they didn't care. Marie sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Shows how much you know," she said teasingly, unaware of his mental debate. "Professor Xavier checked on you a few times while I was here, and Dr. Grey was here a lot too, of course. Even Storm visited twice that I know of. And a lot of the older kids are asking about you. They just got used to you being back and thought you might have taken off again." She giggled softly, and Logan gave her an almost fond look, glad that she could be enough of a kid to laugh and enjoy life again. He sometimes still saw the thin waif who had hitched a ride in his trailer, her eyes large and serious and occasionally too old for her years. He joined in her amusement with a laugh of his own.

"Not yet," he said noncommittally, a soft grin turning up one corner of his mouth. "I'm still enjoying three square meals a day, just like you, huh?" he teased, and Rogue laughed a bit more, taking advantage of the thick material of his sweatshirt as she leaned her cheek against his upper arm.

"I'm so glad you came back, Logan. You're my best friend," she confided quietly. The Canadian wasn't sure how to respond, his mouth slightly open as if something wanted to come out. Before he could think of a reply, the door opened with a soft hissing sound and Charles came in, followed closely by Jean and Storm. Marie straightened up quickly, smoothing one ruffled white streak behind an ear.

"Logan, I'm glad to see you've recovered," Charles said warmly, his voice and manner giving every indication the man was sincere. Wolverine nodded a greeting to the three of them as they came in, suddenly feeling a bit awkward at being with them again after the events following his capture. There was a hesitancy on their part as well, and he could tell they felt uncomfortable being around him. Their eyes had trouble staying locked with his own gaze, sliding away almost guiltily. Logan's gut twisted a bit, assuming their discomfort stemmed from the fact that they didn't truly count him as one of them and so didn't feel at ease with him like Marie. He had absolutely no idea that every one of them, even Charles, found it hard to look him in the eye after seeing the DVD, unable to see him without picturing in their minds' eyes the look of pain on his features, and what he had suffered. Marie stood up then, and Wolverine looked over at her.

"I'd better get going; I have some homework to do, but I'll see you later, Logan," she said with a smile before leaving him with a wave. He looked after her almost longingly, as she was the only person in the room who had been truly glad to be with him. With a mental sigh, the Canadian turned back to Charles.

"So, what happened with the, uh… military guys…?" he asked nonchalantly, startled when Jean flinched a bit. "Did we break 'em up or what?" Xavier shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Logan. Their forces were lessened by the battle, but the area you fought them in was deserted, and we don't know where they are located now. However, if you would allow me to…" He raised one eyebrow questioningly, and Logan realized he wanted to look into his mind for possible clues.

"Sure, I've got nothing against that," he shrugged, knowing that nothing would give him more pleasure than to help find those pompous idiots who seemed to think they were humanity's last hope. Charles moved his wheelchair next to the table and gestured for Logan to lean down, putting his hands in the air on either side of the other's hair.

"Just relax…" he murmured. In a flash the professor witnessed the grenade blast that had taken Wolverine out of the battle, and then there was a strange moment of bright light and faint voices.

"He's waking up, sedate him quickly so we can finish…"

The sensation of being belly down on an operating table was lost as Logan's mind faded into sleep again. Then came the feel of shackles on wrists and ankles, cool air on skin, and a hard blow to his…

Xavier wrenched himself from Logan's mind, unwilling to see up close what he had witnessed on the video recording. He took a slow breath to calm himself and then looked up at Logan.

"I didn't see anything of use. You were unconscious for a great part of your captivity. There was some small portion where you woke up briefly, but I couldn't see anything to help me locate their base of operations." The Canadian sighed, a quick exhalation of disappointment.

"Well, we'll get 'em next time," he said. "You guys mind if I get out of here? I've had enough of this place for a while," he added, plucking at the sweatshirt they'd obviously put on him, a pair of matching sweatpants covering his lower body. Charles chuckled softly and nodded.

"Of course. You'll probably want something to eat, as well. Dinner is over by now, but you'll doubtless find something in the kitchen to your liking. Get some rest, and we'll talk tomorrow." Logan nodded, wondering what they could have to talk about, but so eager to leave the medical facility that he didn't press the question. He hopped off the table and hurried to his room, ready to change into his normal attire of jeans and shirt.

Sitting at the kitchen's island, with two large ham sandwiches and two cups of coffee in him, Logan felt a bit less irritated at the world in general. He scratched idly at his back, a slight itching between his shoulder blades causing a minor problem before blunt fingernails managed to barely reach it. In the quiet room, with the soft hum of the fridge and the smell of the leftover coffee in his nostrils, he finally relaxed a bit. You would never know the mansion was full of kids during quiet times like these, and Logan rubbed gently at the knuckles of his right hand without realizing it, the motion somewhat of a habit as he gazed into space and enjoyed the silence. Most of the children were tucked away doing homework or winding down from classes by watching a movie with friends, a fact that thankfully spared the Canadian's nerves from their usual boisterous pursuits. Logan stretched, deciding that a cigar would just about end the evening perfectly, and since Xavier frowned upon his habit in the mansion, Wolverine strolled down the halls and out the front door. A full moon lit the grounds, giving everything a pale bluish quality that mixed nicely with the mild weather and the faint scent of flowers from the landscaping. He settled onto a bench that stood in front of an old tree away from the school, enjoying the rustle of leaves above him as the breeze moved through the area. Smoke wafted from the burning end of his stogie as he exhaled a bluish stream toward the starry sky. He saw a shadowy figure approaching from the school and smiled, pleased that Jean had decided to come over and watching her without comment as she sat down on the bench next to him.

"Does Scott know you're here?" he asked, an eyebrow raised with mock concern. It was easier to stay on safe ground with her, relying on his half-joking tone to keep things casual rather than acknowledge he knew she had no interest in him. She gave him a small smile, apparently not sure if she should be amused or annoyed with his flippant attitude.

"Probably. I just came to make sure you had some supper." At his nod she smiled again. "Good." Wolverine was startled to see her getting up already. His hand shot out, holding gently onto her wrist.

"Jean…" She looked down at him as if ready to protest, the breeze tickling one cheek with her soft red hair. She obviously thought he was trying to approach her romantically again, so he voiced what was on his mind. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked bluntly. Jean looked a little confused, relaxing in his grip a bit.

"What do you mean, Logan?" He shrugged, still holding her wrist and absently puffing on his cigar before answering.

"I'm not sure." His hazel eyes peered up at her in a sideways fashion as he pretended to gaze off in the distance. "You and the others have been acting different since I woke up," he said, as if it really wasn't a big deal to him. "Just thought I might have messed up without knowing it. There's probably more rules in this place than I know the half of," he told her with a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood. The pulse in her wrist had quickened a bit under his fingers, and she made a show of tucking some hair away from her face, not looking at him.

"Well, that's what the professor wants to talk with you about tomorrow," she finally told him, and Logan had the sudden feeling he wasn't wanted anymore. His fingers loosened their grip, hand dropping away from her wrist. What else could it be, except that Charles planned to tell him they wanted him to leave? He nodded as if he understood that she couldn't tell him and sat up a bit, putting out his half-smoked cigar in a patch of dirt near the bench.

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow, then," he said matter-of-factly, then came to attention. His head turned sharply to the right and his eyes were fixed on the woods that lay dark and almost quiet a short distance behind them. Jean was puzzled by his actions, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Logan, is everything all right?" she whispered, feeling for some reason that quiet was called for. He stood up, turning to throw his cigar into the trees behind them, using the opportunity to scan the area with his enhanced vision. Alarming scents were coming to him from somewhere in the trees, and he stretched casually. When he spoke, his voice was low and hurried.

"Jean, get back to the school and tell the professor we've got company. Smells like the same guys from yesterday," he told her. "I can't tell how many yet, so the kids need to be taken somewhere safe." She looked at him with wide eyes, startled by the news, but then his claws slid slowly from between his knuckles while his entire attention stayed focused on the woods. She turned and walked with hurried but graceful steps back the way she had come, the slithery whisper of the adamantium blades as they broke skin causing little shivers to go up her spine. Just inside the foyer she was met by Scott.

"Was he… What is it Jean?" Her serious look caught him off guard, and as they went to Xavier's office she told him what Logan had said.

As soon as Jean had left, Logan melted into the shadows of the trees. He wished he hadn't chosen a white tank top when changing, but there was no use dwelling on it. Instead, he kept his ears and eyes open, sniffing the air frequently and putting his senses to use in finding exactly where the intruders were. Both sets of claws were extended, which was unfortunate for the soldier who almost ran into him in the dark. Wolverine slammed him into a tree trunk, one hand covering the man's mouth while gleaming claws pierced his heart. The nameless soldier sank to the ground, and Logan stepped over him on full alert. The smell was clearer the further in he went, allowing him to confirm his suspicions about who the guys were. His lip curled slightly in anger as he became a hunter moving through the night. The full moon wouldn't help his adversaries at all in the dim confines of the wooded area, but the small amount of light filtering through the branches was more than enough to aid Wolverine's eyesight. He moved through the woods like a predator, the merest whisper of fabric on brush or a hint of cologne all he needed to pinpoint any of the men who had decided to poke their noses where they didn't belong. Six bodies later, Logan heard no more movement in his neck of the woods and turned back toward the mansion, moving fast. Either it was just a small scouting party, or there were more soldiers coming from a different direction. Logan was betting on the latter.

Jean ushered the children through the door panel that led to the hidden tunnels, sending them to a predetermined meeting point where they could be picked up later. She left Rogue and Bobby in charge at the tunnel entrance so she could find Scott and Storm, who had just left the professor while he made a quick mental search of the mansion to make sure no children had been missed. They met up in a hallway that connected to the dormitories, and Scott waved to her as she approached.

"So Logan is checking out the front. What do we know about the rest of the grounds?" he asked, the ruby sunglasses he usually wore in the mansion replaced by his visor. Jean shook her head.

"No idea. We're just going to have to keep our eyes open. At least the children are getting to safety," she said with relief. Scott turned his visored gaze to their left as a muffled explosion sounded near the back of the school. The three X-men immediately turned and ran toward the source of the sound, concern foremost in their minds as they realized it had come from the same direction as the escape tunnel the children were using.

Bobby urgently ushered the last three younger children into the tunnel, looking around quickly to see if there were more coming.

"You think that's all of them?" Marie asked him, her gloved hand resting on the wall beside the secret door.He shrugged quickly, worried eyes still scanning the corridor. They both jumped when a loud sound boomed nearby, the crashing tinkle of broken glass coming from around the corner in the hall that intersected the one they were in.

"That… didn't sound good," Bobby murmured, and Rogue's wide-eyed look agreed with him. Heavy footsteps sounded ahead, and both teens turned away from each other to watch the vacant intersection. Bobby glanced over at the still-open secret door and then pulled it down, rendering it unremarkable from any of the other wooden panels that comprised the walls of the hall. His decision had been made not a moment too soon as several figures shrouded in camouflage hurried around the corner, the streaks of green and black grease paint on unfamiliar faces turning their features vaguely sinister. Catching sight of the two young mutants, the lead soldier gave a shout and they started running forward, assault rifles clutched in their hands. Bobby dropped to one knee, a hand splaying wide-fingered on the floor, his heart pounding in his chest. He hoped it worked right, and sure enough, frost began to creep rapidly across the runner and the wooden floor on either side of it. Within seconds the hallway had turned into an icy path, and the unsuspecting soldiers were moving too fast to stop. Their feet hit the slick surface and skidded out from under them, each one crashing to the floor and tangling arms and legs in a muttering, cursing pile. Bobby grinned, but his amusement was short-lived as one of the intruders lifted his rifle and set off a burst of gunfire in their direction. Marie screamed, both of them ducking frantically as the noise echoed through the corridor. Bobby grabbed her hand and ran, his fingers clutching desperately around her own gloved ones.

"I hope that'll hold them for a while," he panted as they raced toward the entryway of the mansion, their sneakers' footfalls muffled by the runner on the floor with every frantic step. They found the front door wide open, but skidded to a halt as footsteps pounded closer from their right, another small group of soldiers pelting down an adjacent hall. The two teens barely hit the floor in time, covering their heads with their hands as the automatic rifles spat a burst of gunfire over their prone bodies. Rogue looked up, seeing one of the gleaming barrels swinging down to redirect its aim when a primal yell sounded from outside. She turned her gaze sideways, not seeing the soldiers do the same, and saw Logan barreling through the doorway, claws flashing and pure rage on his features. Only one soldier got off a burst of fire before the enraged mutant could reach the group. Blood sprayed, and the Canadian jerked with the impact of several hits, but his strides never slowed down as he followed through with a vicious maneuver that bisected the offending gun. A backhand swing sliced open the doomed man's throat while his left hand pierced another's heart. The third and fourth soldiers backpedaled quickly, half-turning to flee, but Logan threw himself forward, adamantium blades lodging deep in each retreating back. A hard outflinging of his arms threw the militants to either side of him, and Wolverine turned, his chest heaving with aggressive panting breaths as his claws retracted with a metallic sound.

"You two okay?" he asked, voice raspy with concern and anger. Rogue was the first up, and she brushed her hair behind an ear reflexively, using the habitual motion to try and calm herself.

"Yeah, we're all right," she nodded, hoping she didn't look as white as she felt after two such close calls. Bobby stood up next to her, staring at the rapidly closing gunshot wounds seen through the holes that marred the Canadian's once-pristine shirt.

"Thanks," he offered shakily, glancing briefly at the bodies on the floor and swallowing hard. It had been shocking to see people dying right in front of him, but when the alternative was your own death, the trauma was a bit easier to master. Logan gave him a curt nod, relieved to see that neither of them was hurt.

"Where are Cyclops and the others? Shouldn't they be watching you or something?" he asked a bit more gruffly than he'd intended, shaken more than he would ever admit by how close Marie had come to being killed. Rogue gestured back the way they had come.

"We were making sure the other kids got out of the mansion, but some goons came before we could get through the tunnel. We got away from them, but ran into those guys," she explained. Logan's eyes darted back and forth, his senses reaching out to see if there were any more soldiers nearby.

"Head out the door, both of you. It should be clear out there, so stay out of sight no matter what, you two got that?" he said with a stern look, letting them know in no uncertain terms that disobeying would not be the best idea. Rogue and Bobby nodded and moved off into the darkness. Logan watched their retreating figures for a minute before he turned back to the hallway Marie had said they'd come through. Before he could move though, the soft squeak of a rubber sole on wood caught his attention. He turned around, looking up to see Commander Kinley staring down at him from the landing just above the front door, the familiar Glock in his hand, its barrel aimed unerringly at the mutant below. If the man saw his dead soldiers he didn't seem to care, his attention wholly on the bloodied Canadian.

"I don't know by what craft you're still alive," the man snarled. "But I'm going to change that right now…"

Scott led the way as the three X-men ran through the mansion toward the sound that had alarmed them. A turned corner brought them upon a small group of camouflaged men struggling to their feet on a long patch of slowly melting ice, making it obvious that at least Bobby had been present when the military intruders had come. They hadn't noticed the mutants yet when precise red beams struck them, sending them flying down the hall and tumbling to a stop in yet another undignified pile. With that threat eliminated, the three mutants made their way through the mansion. Upon finding no more of the invading soldiers, Scott made a decision.

"Jean, why don't you meet the professor and let him know what's happened so far. Storm, you come with me and we'll try and find Logan to see what he can tell us." The two women nodded agreement as they split up, with Storm and Cyclops heading for the front door in order to begin a methodical search of the school. The plan wasn't necessary, however, as they spotted a familiar, broad back in the doorway to the foyer while some distance away. Wolverine's attention appeared fully focused on something in front of and above him, and as the two X-men came closer, they heard a voice that was chillingly familiar. Scott broke into a run, the startled woman behind him several seconds later in her reaction, allowing him to come up behind Logan in time to see a gun barrel and to make out scathingly angry words.

"…you're still alive, but I'm going to change that right now…" Cyclops didn't have time to analyze the situation, or he probably wouldn't have done it, but all he could think was that the same bastard who had tortured the Canadian was going to try and 'kill' him again, and white-hot anger flashed through the staid leader. He didn't slow his pace, the loud footfalls causing Logan to instinctively turn a bit in order to see who was coming up behind him.

Wolverine didn't mind getting shot every once in a while, although the pain wasn't appealing, and even though he detested the idea of being at Kinley's mercy once more, a gunshot wound was familiar. The unknown person behind him was not, and this let him shift focus just in time to see Cyclops coming at him. Logan had only seconds to look surprised before Scott's body barreled into his, the action more of a clumsy tackle than anything as the younger man's speed sent them both tumbling forward. The Glock spat its sharp retort just as they started to fall, and the Canadian was startled when a hand convulsed against his side, the two of them hitting the floor. Lighter footsteps caught his attention, and he saw Storm running toward them. At the sight of Kinley and the gun, she stood firmly, her eyes fading to white as she drew on her mutation. The enclosed area darkened, a strong breeze whispering through the foyer, and a single streak of lightning cracked in the air above the mutant hater, causing him to yelp and drop the weapon. Logan raised himself to one elbow and turned his head to ask Cyclops what the hell he'd been thinking, but the other's grimace of pain stopped the words before he could voice them. Their young leader's left leg was stretched out awkwardly, a torn hole in the supple leather over his thigh, the ragged opening leaking a crimson rivulet that allowed bright liquid to drip to the floor below.

"Jesus…" Logan muttered shakily, a hand instinctively moving toward Scott's shoulder before he pulled away. Of all the stupid stunts… The Canadian had no idea why the younger man would have done that; surely he knew a few bullet holes wouldn't make that much difference to a man who healed like himself. He turned from the wounded X-man, teeth flashing ferally as his hazel eyes glared up at the man on the landing above. It was unforgivable that the arrogant commander could invade the only sanctuary Logan had, the only home he could remember, and hurt those within it. Kinley seemed to read something in the snarling mutant's eyes, because he broke eye contact and began a frantic race up the stairs, not even bothering to retrieve his gun. Wolverine was up and running in an instant, ignoring Storm's protest as he chased after the commander. She made a wordless sound of exasperation, sending out a thought to the professor so he would know what was happening before she followed after Logan.

Kinley went up each flight of stairs in a crazed dash, often running into walls in his pursuit of a hasty retreat. His only thought was of escape, the sharp sounds of the Canadian's cowboy boots almost getting closer with every minute. The commander of AAM was not quite in the physical condition he used to be, and he was starting to sweat and breathe heavily. He spoke into a com unit attached to his breast pocket, the words shaky but intelligible to the receiver and laced with desperation. Behind him, Logan didn't hear what the man was saying over the loud beating of his heart and the vague echo of their footsteps, his leaping strides taking two and sometimes three steps at a time. He didn't even know Storm was trying to catch up to him, all his focus on Kinley's retreating back. The man was obviously heading for the roof, and Logan hoped to catch him before it came to that, but fear gave Kinley more speed than would have normally been possible. Before long he burst through the door and onto the graveled surface under the open sky, running for the farthest edge of the building. The dull beat of a helicopter's blades sounded loud and throbbing in the darkness, the machine hovering just beyond the roof. Kinley glanced back, wide-eyed and fearful, just in time to see Wolverine come through the rooftop access door and follow his path of escape, the mutant's angry snarls heard just below the noise of the thrumming rotor blades. He yelped and didn't stop, making it to the edge of the mansion's roof and grabbing onto the 'copter's strut, frantically pulling himself up and inside to land on his belly, cheek pressed against the cool metal floor. He sighed, sure he was safe now, for he could feel the helicopter rising into the air. A sudden squeal of metal and a sharp dip to one side startled both Kinley and the pilot, and the blonde commander crawled to the edge of the open side to peer over. He could just see Logan dangling below the 'copter, the claws of his right hand extended and disappearing into the smooth surface just below the open door. The sudden weight of the mutant's metal-laced skeleton had the pilot fighting with the controls for stability, and the machine jerked to one side and then back. With a shriek, Kinley scrabbled for a hold, but was sent flying out of the helicopter and into the air. Desperately his fingers clutched for something, grasping denim and boots, his hands clasped tightly around Logan's ankles. The Canadian snarled and kicked, but couldn't shake the man using him as a living ladder.

"Let go of me!" he growled, swinging a hand to try and smack away the bastard, but even with his claws out, Kinley was down too far for him to reach. The blonde was grinning up at him suddenly as they began to rise again, some semblance of control back in the pilot's hands.

"Just you wait, freak! I can hold on until we get back to our base, and then you'll be in our hands again," he gloated. "We know where your base is, and you won't be able to stop us next time! We'll come better prepared, and every mutant will die before they can use their powers against innocent humans!" It seemed to Logan that he lost all vision for a second in a wash of red anger. The thought of these maniacs getting hold of the kids, having that power over Rogue, left him with no thought for himself. This man had to die, no question. His eyes glinted in the darkness, catching some of the light thrown by the grounds' lamps as he looked down at Kinley. The man gasped, seeing something in that gaze that frightened him, and then Wolverine smiled, metal rasping as the blades withdrew back into flesh. Without that precarious hold, they both plummeted toward the ground, Kinley screaming with the dread of mortality, and Logan silent and tumbling.

Storm burst through the opened rooftop door just in time to see them fall, the sudden shock of it making her stop short. She ran to the edge, knowing that if she could just see Logan she could get a strong wind to break his fall. But there wasn't any time, for just as she threw herself at the edge to look down, the distant thump of bodies meeting earth came to her ears. She turned her dark eyes away, but could still see the artless, awkward sprawl that was Logan's form below, even behind closed eyelids. Jumping to her feet, she raced for the stairs, her heart cold with fear for their teammate.

The fall was noticed by two others, teenagers crouching in darkness among the woods. It was a distant view of two men falling from the helicopter, hardly enough for positive identification, but Rogue knew exactly who one of them was.

"Logan!" she screamed, breaking cover and running for the area where he had fallen, with Bobby right behind. As they did, more figures appeared in the main doorway. Scott was limping, helped along by Jean, and Professor Xavier was moving his wheelchair through the wide expanse.

They didn't know what had happened, but the dull sounds of something striking the ground had drawn them outside. Rogue's scream caused Jean some alarm, and she helped Scott move outside with anxiety gnawing at her. They still weren't prepared for what they saw. First the broken body of Kinley, both legs twisted, no sign of life in the mangled shell. And just a few feet away, another figure in jeans and tank-top, half-sprawled on his stomach.

"Dear God…" Charles murmured, almost wishing he could run to the battered form. Blood trickled from mouth and nose, bare skin torn from the impact. The usual broken bones that accompanied a long fall would be no problem for Logan, but his position was graceless, making him look like a discarded toy. More discoloration marred the Canadian's hair, blood trickling over scalp and brow in thin rivulets, turning the brown a dull black-red. They could hear faint footsteps on the stairs inside, signaling Storm's rapid approach. Rogue and Bobby reached them, and before anyone could stop her, she had knelt by Logan's body, gloved hands fluttering over his still form.

"Logan… Logan, wake up," she begged helplessly. Bobby stood just behind her, eyes staring down wide and horrified at the fallen hero. Could even he possibly heal from such an injury? He glanced over at the professor and the other X-men, seeing the same fear in their eyes. Jean seemed to shake herself, relinquishing her hold on Scott to let him lean on Xavier's wheelchair. She exerted her power with fierce concentration, and Rogue jumped back as Logan's limp body began to rise, slowly rolling to face upward. She stifled a soft gasp at the multitude of small lacerations on his skin revealed by the new position. Even worse, they weren't healing, suggesting that Logan's body was having trouble dealing with its injuries. The others didn't bother Jean as she directed her powers, the unseen force cradling the Canadian as they entered the mansion. She prayed the internal damage wasn't too bad; Logan's bones weren't broken, of course, but the possibility of internal bleeding and rupture was all too real. Jean couldn't help but wonder if they had finally found a situation the Canadian's healing factor couldn't cope with. Storm came down the stairs in a rush, but stopped when she saw what Jean was doing. The women exchanged a worried glance, and then Storm walked down the rest of the way to help clean up the mansion, leaving Jean to tend to Logan.

The next morning all was normal in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, save for the remnants of shell casings and slightly torn up halls. The children went to classes and chatted in the halls, most of them unaware of the silent, pale form that resided once more in the medical lab. Rogue was one of only two who did, and she and Bobby were uncharacteristically quiet. It seemed impossible for anyone to recover from such injury, but Marie held onto the hope that her friend would be all right, and that Dr. Grey's medical knowledge would help him recover.

There was at least some relief to soothe the worry over a fallen comrade; the AAM had been greatly subdued by the loss of its leader and the casualties suffered. None of the X-men felt any need to mourn the dead commander, and even Charles couldn't deny that the anti-mutant group's loss was their gain. One last loose end had been dealt with as well. Xavier had read the minds of the few captured soldiers, finding out about the tracking device that had been placed between Logan's shoulder blades. Jean had removed it soon after getting him to the medical lab, and the men's memories were modified so that they remembered nothing of the raid or the mutants they had been sent to destroy. Even Cyclops' bullet wound was easily mended, although he needed to favor the injured leg quite a bit. Consequently, the only damper on a fine day was the lack of a gruff presence in the school's halls.

Days then passed, bullet holes were patched, and the bodies of the soldiers had long since been removed. Storm even brought up a brief but powerful rain cloud to help wash away the blood from the grounds, especially near the front where Logan and Kinley had fallen. Jean was in the medical lab almost constantly to keep an eye on Wolverine, and Scott always made sure to bring her a meal and check on their unconscious teammate. Eventually, the torn skin repaired itself and the bruises faded, but Logan remained unmoving, his body still coping with the damage that had been done. Sometimes Rogue visited, and it seemed to her that his face was too still, and the corners of his mouth occasionally turned down some reflexively. She hoped he wasn't dreaming about the experimentation in his past, but could do nothing except stroke his hair and talk quietly.

A week finally went by, and Jean had left the medical lab to take a short break from her nearly constant vigil. She had gone to get something to eat and spend a few minutes with Scott, but she trusted in the machines monitoring Logan's vital signs to warn them if anything happened. The medical room was quiet except for the beeping that relayed the Canadian's heart rate to listening ears. Hazel eyes slowly opened, blinking in confusion, and then they cleared as Logan realized where he was. Again. If he spent anymore time in here, they'd probably have to name the damn room after him or something. He mentally groaned at his own attempt at humor, looking around, only to see no one in the room with him. Well, what had he expected, a party and presents when he woke up? Rogue probably had classes, of course, and no one else would be too willing to spend time with him, even if he was knocked out. Logan lay there, halfway enjoying the stillness, but the stiffness in his muscles prompted him to move. He didn't know how long he'd been there, but it must have been a while. Sitting up only made his muscles protest, and he grimaced as he stretched, legs hanging over the side of the padded table. They'd put him in those damn sweatpants again, but he was getting used to that by now. The white adhesive discs attached to him were a nuisance, though, and it was a small matter to pull them off. There was a high-pitched, steady sound that he ignored, too busy concentrating on getting to his feet. He shakily stood on legs that hadn't been used in a while, steadying himself against the table, when the doors hissed open and Jean came in, practically running. Storm was right behind her, and even Scott hurried inside, although at a slower pace and with a noticeable limp. They all wore identical looks of concern and then surprise when they saw Logan standing in front of them. The Canadian blinked, wondering what had caused such an abrupt entrance, when Ororo rushed over to him and gave him a brief but tight hug. He was startled and embarrassed to see her dark eyes teary with relief as she pulled back.

"Logan, we thought… I mean, the machine…" She indicated the heart rate monitor, and he looked slightly guilty as he realized what must have happened. Jean quickly turned off the machine, and the high-pitched flatline sound was silenced.

"I, uh… took off the things…" he explained sheepishly, rubbing at his chest where the discs had been. Strangely enough, Scott looked no less relieved than the two women, giving a soft, amused snort at Logan's confession.

"Well, they couldn't have been too comfortable," he said blandly, lips slightly quirked upward. "It's just good to see you up again." Scott's head turned some as he looked around the room, and then a half-grin spread over his mouth. "Although next time, try bungee jumping with a cord… It's a lot easier on our blood pressure." Logan gave a sound somewhat like a laugh being turned into a cough, the worry and relief they were feeling almost thick enough to be cut, and the simple act of the easygoing humor was a new and pleasant feeling. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of the sweatpants and managed to look indignant.

"It wasn't exactly a picnic for me, either, One-Eye," he retorted, rolling his eyes. Storm laughed warmly, holding out a hand in Scott's direction.

"Okay boys, truce. Logan," she said, turning fully to face the Canadian. "The professor is waiting to talk with you, but he said it would be fine if you wanted to clean up and eat first." Logan's heart sank at the cold needle of reality that burst the warm bubble of comfort and friendliness he'd been immersed in. Still, he only nodded, with no hint of his fear showing as he left to change and grab something to eat. This déjà vu thing was getting old…

Logan stood at the door to Xavier's office, hesitant and not quite willing to go in. He couldn't remember going to school, but imagined this was what it must have felt like to be called to the principal's office.

"Come in, Logan," came a slightly amused voice from within, and the Canadian realized that Charles could in all likelihood feel him out here. He sighed, shoulders slumped for a brief moment, but then straightened up and opened the door, sauntering in without an apparent care in the world. He only hoped that the professor didn't peek into his mind, knowing the telepathic mutant would not normally like to invade someone's privacy. Xavier gestured him into a chair, and Logan sat, his spine curved lightly in a nonchalant slouch. In spite of his nervousness, he managed to remain still, watching the professor with a detached curiosity. Charles smiled reassuringly and leaned back in his wheelchair.

"This talk would almost be rendered unnecessary by recent events, except I feel you need to hear this," he started, raising a hand when Logan would have spoken. "I don't need telepathy to see you have doubts about something, Logan. You may have noticed a certain difference in our manner toward you…?" The Canadian didn't say anything, but his lips compressed, eyes flickering away uncomfortably. Charles nodded as if the reaction had been expected. His expression made Wolverine even more nervous, a mix of seriousness and an unwillingness to continue. "When you were found in the snow after the encounter with AAM, there was a DVD taped to you. We watched it while you were in the medical lab, and what we saw disturbed us." Logan looked confused, unsure what could possibly have been on the DVD.

"But what does that have to do with me, and the way everyone has been acting…?" Charles sighed almost wearily, rubbing a hand briefly over his face.

"They had a video recorder in the room where you were tortured," he said gently, the powerful, smooth tone of his voice washing over the shocked man sitting before him. Hazel eyes, wide and glassy, stared at the professor.

"You mean, you all saw what…?" He didn't have to say anything else, the grave, regretful expression on Xavier's face telling him all he needed to know. Logan felt cold, as if winter's chill had seeped into his metal-laced bones. That was all he needed, for the others to see how he'd degenerated into an animal, his full rage revealing the beast within. The long fingers of one hand rubbed gently at the other's knuckles, his forearms propped on the armrests of the chair he sat in. The movement was subtle, habitual, but Charles noticed it, as well as the downcast eyes and rather subdued nature of the normally confident man.

"We did, Logan, and of course it greatly affected all of us." The professor wasn't entirely comfortable admitting to the other man that his teammates had seen him in so vulnerable a position, and his discomfort was immediately evident to Logan. The Canadian mentally braced himself, his hands lightly gripping the armrests.

"I'll get my stuff…" he muttered, a twinge of hurt cutting his heart. Not so long ago he would have regarded the school as a temporary shelter without regrets or sadness, but in spite of his fifteen years as a loner, or perhaps because of them, he'd come to see the mansion as home in his most private, innermost thoughts. The place, and the kids, had gotten to him, softened his outlook some, and he could never again go back to the embittered, solitary creature he'd been before. Logan's averted gaze failed to see the surprise that flickered across Charles' face as the other man realized the Canadian was expecting to be sent away.

"Logan, sending you away is the last thing any of us wants, believe me," he assured the other man, smiling at the startled but slightly hopeful gaze that was directed his way. The Canadian sat there as if the Final Judgement was being passed, his expression calm, but under the surface he was fearful of being rejected by the only people he trusted. "Our only concern was for you, after seeing what had happened." The professor smiled again, his gentle nature reaching out to the skittish, doubting soul deep within Wolverine. Logan took a deep breath and exhaled quietly.

"But… you saw what happened, what I became… how could you possibly want to keep me around?" he asked, bitterness creeping into his tone. Charles shook his head.

"What I saw was a man driven by pain and pushed beyond the thresholds of endurance. And we all saw how you refused to tell them anything." He smiled. "I would expect no less from our Wolverine." Logan caught the implied acceptance, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his face losing its tight mask of indifference.

"Thank you…" he said softly, voice rough. Xavier nodded, and then his eyes sparkled.

"No thanks needed, Logan. I did want to mention something to you, however. I was thinking about creating a new teaching position, and would offer it to you, if you're interested." Logan wasn't sure whether he should be flattered or wary, but he was curious.

"What kind of class?" he asked. Charles leaned back in his wheelchair, his face totally innocent.

"Art." He had the nerve to look amused at the Canadian's horrified look. "We'll talk it over later," he said, leaving Wolverine in doubt if he was sincere or only joking. "You go and enjoy the rest of the day. I know many of the students are anxious to see you are well." Logan left the office with a much lighter heart than when he'd gone in.

Strolling through the halls was an eye-opening experience. Students were greeting him with smiles and waves, and even Bobby seemed glad to see him, in spite of the less-than-enthusiastic way the Canadian had reacted to the sudden news that the boy was an item with Rogue. The comforting, familiar smell of the halls and the atmosphere retained from years of children's laughter and learning left Logan feeling inordinately pleased. The sincere well-wishes of Storm and Jean bolstered his mood, and a few jabs at Scott's pride, returned in kind, left him with a sense of normalcy and amusement. He left the school for the green lawn that dominated most of the surrounding area, inhaling the fresh air. Everything seemed better, changed, or maybe he was the one who was looking with different eyes. Even though Jean didn't love him, he could still help her cause, help his friends. Help these kids learn what they needed. Hell, he could even teach art. The thought brought a soft chuckle.

Acceptance, friendship, and what looked like the beginnings of a friendly rivalry… The Wolverine was home.

The End

As you may have noticed, there are several 'nods' to the second movie. The moment when Logan tells Bobby's parents he teaches art at the school is one, poked just a bit in the fic with Charles mentioning the job opening. Another is the scene between Logan and Jean after the group meets up with Magneto, shown here as a recollection of Logan's, where he tells her his feelings. Also, the beautiful fight scene in the mansion when Stryker's soldiers come and encounter the wrath of Wolverine is somewhat similar to my written Logan fighting in the woods. I included the hallway panel the children escaped through, and implied the explosion of the window that first sent Bobby, Rogue, and John running. There was an additional tribute to Wolverine's origins, where he escaped from the lab that gave him the adamantium into the snowy area around it. That is one reason why I had Logan dropped off in a colder region, besides the fact that the AAM was based further north to begin with.

This fic was very outside my norm, with no sex at all in it. I'm so proud of myself. This is also the first ever X-men fic I have written, and will likely be the only one.