Tornado: I just wanted to note to everyone that this takes place after X2, but Jean's still alive. I know not quite as fun, but just go with the flow. Also, I wanted to note that I don't own the X-men.


He didn't know where he was. His senses were being driven by panic. He could depict the silhouettes of men in lab coats through the bubbling turquoise water that surrounded him. Fear coursed thickly through his veins, and the animal clawed at the cage desperately demanding control. The cage snapped, and he sprung gracefully from the water. The men standing looked at him expectantly, but their excitement fiercely transformed into terror. He slashed them, blood raining from the concrete air. His weapons were foreign to him, metal embedded in the skin. They tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He just lopped another head, not bothering to enjoy the sickening sight as it tumbled forgotten to the ground. There was a woman, struggling against the iron hold of three men. She had almost broken free when he started running. He stumbled through the concrete hallways, lost, naked, confused, and engulfed in primal rage. He smelled the rancid metallic blood staining his metal claws, and an anguished cry rang throughout the vacant corridor. There were footsteps approaching at an inhuman speed; the panic rose once more. He sprinted down the hallway, out the monstrous blockade, and into the frigid swirling snow. His legs pumped unconsciously, a dull numbness spreading through his body. The branches blurred past him, and the wind's howls were equal in ferocity to his own. His ears picked up the faint cries: "Logan! Logan! Logan, can you hear me? LOGAN!"

Logan shot up in his bed; a thick layer of cold sweat coated his sculpted body. The images had haunted him for the past fifteen years, but the woman and her voice were new developments. The moon lit the room in a dull illumination, completely different from the first remembered trip into the wilderness's blinding light. His head banged unceremoniously against the headboard as he sunk into his original position, a pulsing headache formulating in the back of his head.

"Logan? Are you all right?" an elder voice sounded inside his head.

"The hell if I know," he responded bitterly.

"Why don't you come down to my office, and we'll talk about it."

Logan groaned aloud. Despite the fact that Charles was the sole person who could help him, he had not wanted to trifle with it that night. Dutifully, he rose gently from the bed and padded to the dresser. He caught a glimpse of his rugged complexion. His hair peaked at two points, several strands falling on his forehead. His taunt jaws were lined with thick, curly sideburns. He felt the sudden urge to destroy the glass, hoping to disintegrate his usually prided appearance. He sighed heavily, pulling a white t-shirt over his head and exiting the room.

Charles Xavier was a man who knew almost everything, whether it had happened already or not. He had sensed that Logan was having a particularly disturbing dream. He had been helping Logan piece together a clouded, forgotten past that had no roots or traces for several years now, and yet, he seemed to be no closer to the answer than Logan was. This had troubled him many nights because he was not the type of man who would accept the fact that there was knowledge beyond his reach. Yet he also felt that there was something in front of his face that would solve the entire mystery for him, but what was it?

He and Jean had once spoken about Logan and the professor's obsession with discovering the truth. Jean, while in complete support of allowing the stubborn man to reside in the mansion, believed that Charles was more concerned with the truth for his own benefit than Logan's. He supposed that part of that was correct. Charles knew that, if he one day uncovered the truth, he would never reveal it to Logan.

The door gave a small squeak as it rotated, unveiling a crack occupied by a shaken Logan. The man entered without uttering a grievance or shedding a glance to Charles. He strode to the leather wingback chair by the oak desk, sinking down and absorbing the comfort it offered. The silence was palpable and deafening for several minutes, discomfort slowly rearing its head, snapping its jaws around the moment. Charles intently gazed upon the beast before him as the beast's one hand absently traced the metal-coated bones in his hand. The psychic admired the knowledge that the same man that darted to him for comfort because of a nightmare had single-handedly slaughtered the majority of the men Stryker had sent to invade the mansion not long ago. The animal in its weakest, caged state tamed and displayed willingly for him.

"Anything new in your visions tonight, Logan?" Charles questioned, shattering the prominent restless peace.

The man was silent for several more moments, still examining his skin. "There was a woman."

"A woman? I never thought of Stryker as having a woman in his employment."

"She was probably a doctor. She had a white lab coat on."

"Is that the reason you're so disturbed? Because a woman was present during your operation?"

"Don't insult me, Chuck. I know yer sneaking around in my head. Ya see the part where I'm runnin' around, and there's a voice callin' for me. Ya also see the part where she is strugglin' against the guards."

"Why does it bother you?"

"Cause none of the other fuckers are doin' anything similar."

"Do you think that she was a lover of yours?"

"I don't know."

Charles once more attempted to enter Logan's mind, but he decided that this time it would be best to let the man handle his pain alone. Logan's head flicked to the side, muddy eyes clouded in thought. He had never been one to over analyze anything, but his past was something that he could never let fall idly to the side. His headache had graduated from a dull throb into a bullet bouncing around inside his skull. He could feel the professor probing his conscience, and at the moment, his primal instincts demanded that he leap from the safety of the chair and rip the professor's throat out. He mentally growled at himself for allowing the animal to show disrespect to a man who had helped him through some very difficult times.

"Logan, you cannot eliminate the inner voice. I suspect that it is part of your mutation and most definitely part of who you are," the older man whispered.

Logan glared, critically observing the man's countenance. As always, he radiated an aura of profound knowledge and perception. His glittering emerald eyes were surveying Logan's, frantically searching through his emotions. The lights bounced a glare from his bald head and a few more from the wheelchair. Logan had often wondered how tall the professor had been when he had stood at his full height.

"That inner voice is gonna get someone seriously hurt one day, probably one of the students. I don't think that I could take that."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Logan. You have been able to contain yourself until the situation comes along where your inner self is needed."

"I wonder if what Stryker said was true: if I really was an animal before the metal."

"I honestly couldn't say. Perhaps you should go back to bed. You and Scott are going to be training the students in survival and teamwork tomorrow."

"Yeah, me and ole One Eye. Should be fun," he grumbled, rising from his chair and stalking out the door.

Charles watched intently as he left, still pondering his predicament. Logan was growing more insecure as the days passed. His relationship with Jean was not assisting progress as well. Charles needed to find someone that could understand the pain and worries that Logan held. His mind instantly conjured Hank McCoy a.k.a the Beast, but in the same breath, the candidate was dismissed. Logan was not the type to open to an educated, analyzing person, who would present logical solutions and assumptions for his dilemmas. Despite that, neither man could be in the same room longer than a few seconds before they began battling for the dominance of the room.

No, Logan needed someone who was viewed as weaker than himself, even if that was just an illusion. Charles thought that a woman might be the best choice, but the only two that the man would open up to were Jean and Rogue. Jean could not begin to fathom, nor would she try to, and while Rogue would be sympathetic to him, she was still young and had not mastered the world herself. Charles remained in his darkened office for a time, reminiscing of the females that had passed through these halls and the troublesome gifts they had possessed. Charles smiled gently as he turned to the window, gazing into the abyss of night. Yes, he thought. I think that it is time to reconnect.