*The Next Day, Logan's Point of View*

"It's confirmed, Marissa. You and Peter are brother and sister. The DNA tests are 98 percent accurate," Jean explained. Pete and Marissa had come in late yesterday afternoon, wanting a DNA test done on them. But when they got the results, they didn't say a word to each other. There was definitely tension between them; or maybe awkwardness. Anyway, since they didn't want to talk, I spoke for them. "It may just be me, but I have a hard time believing Tin Man and Metallica are brother and sister. They don't look anything alike!"

"Logan, brothers and sisters don't necessarily have to look alike. There are all sorts of genetic factors that are involved in the resemblance of offspring. There's the X and Y gene from the father and the two X genes from the mother—"

"Spare me. I've been cooped up in here for two days. My brain can't take it." Jean looked at me, annoyed. I just shut up. I didn't want a repeat of the episode we had the other day. "Anyway," she said slowly, "you two are undoubtedly siblings. Pete, when was the last time you had contact with your parents?"

"Last Christmas, I think? I went home, but they kicked me to the curb, again." Jean made the suggestion that they get in touch with their parents and let them know that Marissa was alive and well. Judging by Marissa's reaction, she didn't like that idea. She began to rant and rave, yelling to no one in particular, "There's no way I'm going back to that hell hole! I ran away from them for a reason! They treated me like a—like a…" She stopped abruptly. "Mutant?" I suggested. She glared at me with murder in her eyes, "A monster. A freak of nature." A single tear slid from her eye, "I gotta go." She ran out of Jean's office. Peter looked emotionless. His face was just blank. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to change his mind. He, too, left Jean's office, leaving Jean and I alone. After what seemed like an eternal moment of silence, Jean said, "Logan, will you go down to the med lab with me? I need to run some tests on you. I need to gather more data on the radiation."

"Sounds good," I mumbled. I walked along side her down to the basement. It was quiet for the most part. Then out of nowhere, I hear Jean say she's sorry. We stepped into the elevator and continue the conversation. "For what?"

"For attacking you."

"Ah, it's alright. Besides, I had it coming." She smiled as the elevator doors slid open as we stopped at the basement. We walked out of the elevator, down the blue-grey corridor, and into the lab. The med lab has an MRI, x-ray, and a bunch of other fancy medical equipment. The infirmary has your standard medicinal supplies; syringes, surgical equipment—which I still find a little unnerving—, medicines of all kinds, and some more basic materials. Jean had me sit down on one of the examination tables. "I need to remove your clothes, Logan. I need to run some tests on you and your clothes to find out how serious this radiation is." I started to unbutton my flannel shirt, but Jean stopped me abruptly, "No! Logan, you could compromise evidence!" I lowered my hands from the top button slowly, resting my hands in my lap. She started unbuttoned my shirt then moved around behind me, pulling the shirt down off my shoulders. She laid the shirt down beside me before moving back in front of me. "Raise your arms up." I did as she asked before she slid my wife beater over my head and laying it on top of my flannel shirt. "Stand up."

"What?"

"I need to take off your pants." Oh, this isn't good. Mentally, I looked up and said, God, I know you test me, and you do that a lot, but isn't this going a little too far?

I took a long, deep breath as I slid off the table, trying to fight off the… exciting situation I was in. I started playing scenarios in my head. Me and Scott trying to kill each other and me kicking his ass. Me kicking Sabretooth's ass. Thinking of anything but Jean as she slid my belt out of the loops in my jeans. Jean had undid my jeans and pulled them off of me. I sat on the examination table as Jean took my pile of clothes and put them in a container on the other side of the room. And Rogue walks in. And I'm in my underwear! She looked at me kind of wide-eyed and said, "Are we doing experiments on Logan? 'Cause I'd like to help." Jean came up and wheeled me into the room with the MRI, "No, Rogue. You can't help. I got this. But thanks."

"No fair. You get to have all the fun." I scowled slightly, "Make fun of the naked guy. Knock yourself out," I said sarcastically. Right then, Scott stepped through the door, but stopped in his tracks when he saw me in my underwear. "There'd better not be mistletoe in here, Logan!" I scoffed, "Please. I don't need mistletoe as an excuse to kiss her." He scowled at me, "Logan, remember. Your healing factor is gone. And I could send you flying through the wall with a slow and painful recovery period to go with it." Ass-wipe is trying to scare me. "You don't scare me, Boy Scout." I heard Jean's voice echo through my head, Hey! Knock it off! I mean it! I just stopped talking. Again, I didn't want a repeat of the other day…

We got through the tests. Jean told me the radiation wasn't enough to be contagious. It just attacked my one mutation. Jean didn't know why and Hank said the same thing. But I guess that's not important. The thing that matters is that this problem fixes itself.

Jean wasn't done with me until about 7 o'clock. So after I got dressed, I headed to the garage, fired up Scott's motorcycle and almost made it to the driveway before Scott caught me. "Where are you going?" I killed the engine and glared at him, "What difference does it make?"

"It's my motorcycle. I think I have a right to know where it's going." I rolled my eyes, "If you really need to know, I'm going to the Canuck Tavern for a drink. With my luck, I'll come back plastered." Scott shook his head back and forth, "If that's your plan, maybe someone ought to go with you. You may not survive being a drunk." I shrugged my shoulders, "I drink all the time and don't come out with a hangover. Why should this time be any different?"

"You're healing factor is gone, and I think that's what keeps you sober," he said like a know-it-all he is. "Whatever," I told him, "Tag along then. I don't care." He smirked slightly and grabbed a different set of keys out of his pocket as he walked over to his blue Mazda RX-8. I steered his motorcycle back to its original spot. As I was walking to the car, Marissa came through the door. I invited her to have a drink with us and she climbed in the back seat in response. I told Cyclops, "I'm driving," and snatched the keys from his fingers before he answered. I climbed in driver's seat and slammed my door shut in unison with the other two. I stuck the key in the ignition, gunned the motor with the tires squealing in response. Two separate seatbelt clicks answered to the squeal. I smiled to myself hoping to make Scott piss himself. I made the tires squeal again as I turned onto the highway, making Scott grasp the dashboard and say, "Logan, easy on the tires! I just got them replaced!" The gears grinded as I shifted before speeding up. I went about 75 miles an hour—maybe more—for about five minutes before I decided to slow to 60. I clicked the headlights on and kind of relaxed into the seat. I enjoy driving. It's one of the few things that I do enjoy that doesn't make me break something. Scott decided to start up a conversation by asking me where this bar was. I answered, "About 10 miles from the school, opposite of New York City." We sat in silence for a few minutes, with nothing but the engine running, which I didn't mind, but I think Marissa was bothered by it because she tried to strike up conversation by commenting that she thought that I was a good driver. Surprisingly, Scott agreed—I think. He said, "Yeah, it's one of his few quirks that doesn't make you want to, you know, kill him." I turned my head toward him for a second, watching the road out of the corner of my eye as I glared at Scott. I heard Marissa say, "Logan, that was a compliment to you. Now can you please watch the road? I don't like it when people drive with there peripheral vision!" I turned my head back forward, the car falling into a dead silence.

Five minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot which was pretty full considering it's Friday night and nearly 7:30. We got out of the car and stepped through the saloon-style doors. The smell of cigars and alcohol lingered in the air thick with cigar/cigarette smoke. Marissa stepped close to me and I could tell she didn't want to be here, but she still had a brave face on. We walked over to the bar and slid onto separate stools, all that had tears in the leather of the seat. The bartender came up to me with an open Molson bottle. It was Harry Solomon (A/N: He looks like French Stewart and acts like Harry Solomon on "3rd Rock From the Sun". Look it up on Youtube.), and he knows me pretty well since I'm a regular. "Hello, Logan. What's new?" I shrugged as I picked the bottle up, "Well," I waved my hand toward me, signaling him to lean across the bar, "My mutation's gone."

"Ooh. Which one?"

"Healing." He leaned back to his side of the bar, "How'd that happen?"

"Those attacks on the Twin Towers?" Harry nodded. "I was there. Some radiation got to me." I took a long swig of my Molson. "Ahh," I sighed, "I'm gonna need something stronger." He pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal Canadian whiskey with a shot glass, "Who's your friends?" nodding toward Marissa and Scott. I told them who they were and Harry asked if Marissa was my girlfriend. We both laughed and said no. "Don't get me wrong, she's a good person, but I hardly know her." He looked upward with his normal squinty eyes, "Ah, women. You can't live with them and yet they're everywhere." Marissa sat on my right, "Gee, thanks, Harry. I can say the same about men, you know. And do you know what else?" He looked at her curiously, "What?"

"You say you can't live with them, right? Well, you can't have heterosexual sex without them either." He nodded once, "That's probably true." I laughed out loud, "I knew you two would get along." Harry got distracted toward me, "Did you save anybody?" I kept my eyes down on my bottle of beer, "Yeah, but I wish that I didn't need to save anybody. It shouldn't have happened." I think Harry's got ADD because he asked Marissa if she can mix drinks. She shrugged, "Maybe. I'm not really a bartender though. But let me give it a shot." She walked behind the counter as Harry told her to mix up a Tequila Sunrise. She did it surprisingly quick. She poured it in a glass and took a sip, "Came out all right." Harry started mixing up his own drink and said, "I can mix drinks with my eyes closed." I looked up from my beer, "You do everything with your eyes closed."

"I squint, for the umpteenth time!" He continued mixing the cocktail while I rolled my eyes at him, "Well, since I'm suppressed, I won't be going on any missions for a while." I turned around to see if Scott was with us, but he'd disappeared to somewhere. Marissa came and sat back down beside me as Harry finished the drink and leaned on the counter between me and Marissa, "You know Logan, you're looking on the downside of this. No missions mean no work."

"Whatever."

"You know Logan, when life gives you lemons, just shut up and eat the damn lemons!" Marissa glanced at him confused, "Don't you mean 'when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade'?" From there on, I was pretty much out of the conversation—I just made sure Harry kept the drinks comin'. About thirty minutes later, Marissa turned her attention back to me, but my attention was on the new longneck in front of me. "Logan, when did you lose your virginity?" My eyes opened wide, taken aback. "Uh…I…um…I don't quite—never mind," I stuttered. "You don't what? Like to talk about it?" she pressed. I exhaled sharply, "I don't remember. Amnesia, remember?" Her voice lowered, "Right. I remember losing mine. I was 16, working as a prostitute." She must've caught my glance because she said, "Don't judge me. I needed the money, badly." She closed her eyes like she was reminiscing, and then told us, "He was 18 years old—my first client— and had terminal cancer. He didn't want to die a virgin. I felt bad for him, so I gave him half my rate. I made thirty bucks off him…He died 2 weeks later." She downed another shot of whiskey and cringed at the burn. I followed with her, drinking a shot. Harry quickly refilled the glasses as he said, "I'll never forget the time I lost my virginity to ol'…what's-her-name over at…the place." He sighed dramatically, "Magic."

"You are so weird," I told him as I brought the bottle to my lips. Harry asked, "What about you, Logan?"

"What about me?" Marissa said, "What's your between-the-sheets life like?"

"Was like. Haven't had a real sex life since I came here last year. Before that, it was prostitutes mainly." Marissa's expression saddened, which I understand. She half-whispered, "That's pretty sad, Logan. Both of us resorting to prostitution." She paused to have another shot before asking, "Why?" I shrugged, "I'm a man. I had needs—and I never stayed in one place long enough to be in a real relationship."

"Let me guess—it was cheap motels most of the time right?"

"My truck—I had a camper in the back." I paused for a long while before picking up where I left off, "I was in love at one time." Marissa and Harry both came closer to me, full of interest. They didn't have to tell me that I had to tell them. "1986, on the run. I stopped at an Indian reservation near Ontario and the head-honcho or chief or whatever offered to put me up for a while. I accepted and wound up staying for about a week. Well, I met this woman while I was there, 'Little Fawn'—I just called her 'Fawn'. Anyway, we became really close. Well, eventually, I had to leave, but she convinced me to stay. I stayed for six months. In that time, we fell in love. Eventually, the chief—her father—found out and he wasn't happy with it. He gave me 24 hours to leave. That night," I closed my eyes, remembering that night, "she came into my tent, saying she wanted to make love to me before I left. I told her that I wasn't experienced, that I wouldn't be good. Truth was I was scared. But she told me she was inexperienced too, so I gave in. We made love and I was glad we did until…" I stopped, hesitant to continue, but Harry presses him, "Until…?" I opened my eyes and looked at Harry, "Until I found out she was 16 years old!" Marissa looked shocked and Harry's eyes went as wide as they would go, which looked more like he was raising his eyebrows. Marissa practically shouted, "You didn't know how old she was?"

"Keep it down. I'm not deaf! And she told me she was 20! I believed her. She definitely looked it." Marissa gazed at me sympathetically. "I bet you were angry with her."

"Yeah, but…I still loved her. She knew I was angry, so she left without another word. The next morning, I left and never saw her again." Just then, the upbeat country song in the background changed to something slow and steady. Marissa listened for a minute before saying, "I love this song." Then she asked me to dance. My judgment was fuzzy from the alcohol, so I said yes—which surprised Harry. I let her take my hand and lead me out on the floor. I held her hand in my right and wrapped my left arm around her waist while she rested her arm around my neck and shoulder. I pulled her close since the floor was sort of crowded. We swayed to the beat of the music for a bit before I asked her what the song was. She told me it was "We Danced" by Brad Paisley. I didn't think at all out on the floor. I just laid my head on top of hers that was rested on my chest. I breathed in her scent. She smelled like shampoo—nothing fruity or floral, just neutral. I closed my eyes, slowly rocking with the rhythm. It felt like there was nobody there but us and the melody. That maybe the alcohol talking, but either way... it was definitely relaxing…

*Scott's Point of View*

I came back from the bathroom and found Logan and Marissa gone. The bartender—I call him Squinty—told me they went for a dance. I knew right then Logan was drunk. He doesn't dance—at least I don't think so. But when I heard the slow tune, I thought, "Maybe, but not fast-paced." I looked around and spotted them in the middle of the floor. They looked like they were pretty content, so I decided to let them have some time together. Who knows—Logan may actually enjoy some female company, you know, other than Jean's.

About an hour after their dance, Logan and Marissa were drunk. Wait—that's an understatement. They were so wasted they could make the village drunk look like a sober Christian. It took a bit of influencing—and the help of Harry the bartender—but we finally got them to the car. I thanked Harry and quickly pulled out onto the highway, headed for home. The ride was nearly hell. Logan kept trying to drive, Marissa kept trying to climb up front to sit on Logan's lap…it was just a pain in the you-know-what.

Finally we made it back to the mansion. I had to help Marissa up to her room because she couldn't hardly stand her own. I managed to get her to her room without dragging attention to us, but Logan was a whole other ballgame. He didn't want to go up to his room, but wanted to stay with Marissa instead. I didn't really think that was a good idea. Eventually, Logan gave in. Thank God he's not a violent drunk. When we got to Logan's room, he pulled me inside, but not on purpose. He had his arm wrapped around my shoulder and he nearly fell to the floor and almost took me with him. But I caught him, barely. I put him to bed and left him to sleep. I then went to bed, needing the rest to prepare for the double dose of hangovers in the morning…