Chapter 7.

To Stay Or Not to Stay


Wolverine's sleep had been uneasy, full of darkness, fire and flying debris.

"You would die for them?" asked Jean/Phoenix, her eyes turned completely black.

"No, not for them," Logan braced himself against the pain. "For you", he said softly as his claws plunged into her stomach.

Logan jolted into a sitting position and looked around, his chest was heaving and his knuckles were white.

He was not at Striker's military base, and definitely not at Alcatraz. Logan was lying on his bed in his room with unsheathed claws, and his bedsheets were torn apart.

Just another freakin' nightmare.

Since the arrival of Mystique his chances of getting good night's sleep reduced to nothing. The same nightmares were plaguing him for three days. Could Raven Darkholme influence his dreams somehow? Or he had nobody to blame but his own fears?

Logan tried to fall asleep again.

Wolverine stood at the courtyard holding the wooden practice sword with both hands. In front of him stood an old man in monk's clothes.

Wolverine waited with growing impatience until an old man broke the silence.

"I observed you for a long time, Logan-san. You are arrogant and ignorant; you know nothing about humility, patience and self-discipline. In your fights with The Hand you demonstrated the rage of the beast that has nothing to do with the way of the warrior," shaking his head with displeasure, old monk added, "Your stance is terrible too. Give me a reason why I must waste my time by trying to turn a barbarian with the manners of an ape into a warrior".

Logan stepped forward, dark eyes gleaming dangerously, "I am the best at what I do".

"Are you the best, Logan-san? We'll see. I want you to hold this position for an hour. Don't move, don't speak, your muscles must remain still," the monk turned the huge hourglass over. "You may start now, Logan-san ".

The dream was strange, but it was a nice change from the neverending nightmare.

Logan had no memories that he had ever been to Japan, and yet in the dream he spoke Japanese. Who was the old bald-headed man that looked like a character from kung-fu movie? What was the name of a beautiful young lady in white kimono who stared at them through the half-opened window? That woman meant something for him; Logan could bet his claws and dog tags on it.

Putting on t-shirt and jeans, Logan made his way to the kitchen. He desperately needed something to drink.

There was semi-darkness in the Institute corridors, Wolverine reached kitchen's door; the urge to drink was getting stronger with every step he took. Then he heard the hushed voices coming from inside.

"Was this sneaking around really necessary?"

"Ah' told ya. Ah'm tired. Can't face 'em raght now".

Rogue.

Once he promised to look after her. One of thousand promises he couldn't keep. After Jean died in his arms, for a time he wasn't able to look after himself, much less to take care of Rogue.

The girl looked sad and tired. And she was wearing gloves again – this little fact spoke volumes to the feral mutant.

If Mystique can regain her powers, why not Rogue? Poor kid, here goes your chance to turn over a new leaf.

Logan stepped into the kitchen to greet Rogue and ended on the receiving end of very unfriendly glare. The young man with sharp blue eyes towered over Rogue protectively, as if he could give her strength just by being close. He couldn't be much older than Marie but was surrounded by an invisible aura of confidence, and there was something odd about his scent, something that rubbed Logan the wrong way.

Rogue, seeing the hostility radiating from two men, intervened, "Logan? That's Kal. He saved mah life. Kal, that's Logan. Ah' told ya 'bout him".

"Glad to meet you, Logan," Kal said with hollow enthusiasm.

Wolverine said quietly, "Welcome back, kid". He would have liked to say much more, but he couldn't trust his voice.

Saved your life? What the hell happened to you, kid?


"I'm not staying".

The boy's powers were exceptional, he wasn't in denial about being a mutant and he didn't want to become "normal". Kal was attacked by Magneto's mutants – and won! But her offer to join the Institute was met with a blunt refusal.

Kal repeated, "Miss Storm, I told you, I'm not going to stay. I only came to Westchester because Rogue needed an escort, and now I'm leaving. I don't have a reason to stay anyway. Your telepath was killed. How can you help me with my memories? Arrange me a meeting with the shrink?" his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Where's this hostility coming from?" Ororo had a very good guess why, but she wanted to hear it from Kal.

"Let me ask you some questions, Miss Storm. Magneto thinks that the humans are inferior beings. What about you?"

"Kal, I thought Rogue told you about Professor Xavier and why he founded this place".

Kal waved his hand dismissively, "I know that you are preaching about peaceful coexistence of mutants and humans. But I believe that actions speak louder than words. Tell me, Miss. Storm, how many humans, normal humans without X-Gene, are currently in your Institute?"

Storm saw that it was a loaded question.

"It's complicated…"

"Then try to un-complicate it for me, Miss Storm".

"Kal, you must know there is a lot of distrust and hatred against mutants in the world. These so-called "friends" of the humanity are not the only one group of mutant-haters. I've met the teachers filling the heads of the children with pseudo-scientifical gibberish about us; doctors who think that allowing an injured mutant to die is not a breach of Hippocratic Oath; preachers who spread a word about mutants being the children of Satan. With that level of distrust it's hard to find people who want to work with mutant kids".

"So it's humans who don't want to work with you, not the other way around? Then why did all of you treat Rogue like dirt after she took the Cure?"

Kal confirmed Storm's suspicions. He was looking at X-Men through the veil of Rogue's bitterness.

"Kal, try to put yourself in my place. What if you were preparing for the battle that can change the world, and find that one of your teammates deserted you? We already lost Pyro; Scott and Professor were killed and Jean turned into a monster. And all the X-Men were angry and hurt then after Rogue's departure. I must admit, I was angry too. I thought I taught her better than that".

Kal nodded, "I see. You really don't get it, do you? It's easy to talk about gifts if you won in genetic lottery and can shot thunderbolts from your palms. But Rogue saw a lot of less fortunate mutants at the Cure Clinic. X-Gene crippled them physically, turned them into a freak show, and gave no flashy powers as a consolation prize. Go on, try to tell one of these guys that they are "gifted", Miss Storm," he paused for a breath. "That's why I don't want to join X-Men. Not everything is about you and your crusade. Sometimes people think about their well-being first, and it doesn't make them criminals. And you can't force them to be mutants if it's against their will. Now, if you excuse me…" He walked out of the office, closing the door after him.

Ororo rubbed the temples. She wasn't getting enough sleep recently; the return of Marie opened a new can of worms for X-Men. And she wasn't in the mood to argue with an angry teenage mutant who sees the world in black and white.

Was it just as hard for all of us when Logan came to the Institute? Goddess, I wish the Professor was here! He could come up with the right words to answer Kal's accusations.

When Ororo left the office, she and spotted Wolverine standing with his back leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"That went spectacularly badly, Stormy. Chuck was much better in givin' a sales pitch".

"You heard everything?" Wolverine nodded. "He thinks that I can forget about Rogue because it was convenient for me. Can you believe it?"

"He's exaggeratin' a lot, but there was a grain of truth in everythin' the boy said. You can be judgmental, Stormy".

"I must talk to Kal again, make him understand…"

"Stormy," he interrupted her. "Get some rest, you have circles under eyes. Lemme handle the boy".


Kal knocked for the third time when he heard the familiar voice.

"She's not in her room, bub. She is in med lab, with Doc McCoy. Physical evaluation or somethin', I don't get this doctor-y stuff at all".

Kal turned to Logan and they exchanged uneasy glances.

"I just wanted to say good-bye to her before I leave".

"Leavin' already, bub? Don' you want to know that you are on the old buckethead's Hit List since yesterday?"

"Why?"

"Can't think of a single reason why Mags shouldn't want your head on a plate. His lackeys have been taught a lesson they will not soon forget, you ruined his plans, what do you expect in return - five dozen roses?"

"I can handle Magneto".

"Sure you can, tough guy," Logan chuckled humorlessly. "'Cause you know so much 'bout your powers. You know you are a fast, but are you faster than a speedin' bullet? Strong, but are you stronger than a locomotive? And what are the limits of your invulnerability? See, I know a thing or two about bein' unbreakable. I have skeleton made from indestructible metal, and I can heal from almost everythin'. But I can be hurt and I can be killed. Everybody have a weakness, Kal, you just don't know yours".

"I don't know, but you want to find it out?"

"You are barking at the wrong tree, bub. When Magneto kidnapped Rogue I went after her alone. I learned it the hard way that I'm powerless against Mags".

Kal grinned, "Because your skeleton is made of metal and he is a walking magnet?"

"Usually adamantium in my bones is givin' me an edge, but that time it was my weakness. I don't want you to learn your weaknesses the hard way. Why don't you stay for a few days, give the Institute honest try? If not for yourself, then do it for Rogue. She can use a friend, and you can see if we take good care of her," he added, "And I can help you wit' your powers while are you here".

Kal was lost in thoughts for a while. Logan mentally crossed his fingers. Then the young mutant said, "Fine. But don't expect me to stay long".

Logan watched the boy leaving.

Now he knew what was odd about his scent. The boy wasn't sweating.