A/N: Big warning here! This chapter contains some graphic descriptions of violence. Don't like it, don't read it.

Chapter 14 – Endurances

Logan woke up startled as cold water was splashed on his face. He risked a growl but his voice failed him. He was thirsty and dizzy, probably due to the amount of blood he had lost when… shit! His team, the X-Men… He wondered if his friends were okay, if anyone else had been caught.

"Did you like your bath? Here's your breakfast then, mutie," a muscular middle-aged man said, throwing him a piece of old bread; it hit his bare chest and dropped to the ground. "Let it not be said that we didn't try to feed the Wolverine," the man laughed and left. Logan was laying on the cold stone floor, wearing only his underwear. His sight was slowly returning, and he was able to distinguish the F.O.H. logo on the man's bullet proof vest. He'd said breakfast, so it was probably morning already. He couldn't tell for sure, since the cell he was in didn't have windows; it was more like a cubicle made of cemented walls and a reinforced door with a small opening in the middle. There was, of course, a security camera attached to the far corner of the ceiling.

Wolverine needed to determine where exactly he was. He inhaled deeply, and his lungs and chest muscles hurt like hell - definitely not his smartest move. Dried blood, gun powder, and about two dozen guards; at least he didn't smell any familiar scents, which meant his teammates had managed to escape. Good.

Next, he tried to move to a sitting position, only to realize his arms and legs were secured by hard metal cuffs. Not adamantium, though, he noticed. He finally succeeded to sit, but the ache in his bones and muscles was unbearable - Logan squeezed his eyes close and hissed in pain. He had to be smart, to be patient. His healing factor was overloaded but working, and soon he'd be completely healed. The pain would subside, eventually.

The walls were solid and thick, making it hard to listen to the sounds outside. Still, he focused solely on his enhanced hearing and was able to discriminate a few noises. Men talking excitedly, probably about him; the low buzz of something electric - a security sensor or a fence maybe; and cars and buses passing by in the street - Logan guessed he was still in Chicago, or some other big city nearby.

He was probably far from New York, but Chuck would surely be using his telepathy to try to find him. So Wolverine let his psychic walls down and opened his mind to his mentor's - at least that didn't hurt. He leaned against the wall and waited a few minutes, but Xavier didn't respond. He tried to relax his mind even more, and suddenly remembered the last telepathic call he'd sensed. It was Jean's, during the assault; Logan was barely conscious at the time. However, he knew how the woman's mental pattern felt inside his head, he knew it well. They'd conversed telepathically several times during their failed relationship. It had been Jean, he was sure. But her powers weren't strong enough for her to have linked their minds from as afar as New York City, which meant… she had to be around. Jean had probably been captured, since the last he'd heard from Angel was that she wasn't in the apartment and wasn't picking up her phone.

Fuck! Fear and rage invaded Wolverine's mind. They had his woman and his unborn baby. He forced the last bit of drowsiness out of his mind and stood up in sore limbs - the pain no longer mattered. Logan heard how the camera slowly spun to follow his movements. He unleashed one adamantium claw and easily cut through his leg cuffs, then he forcefully pulled his wrists into opposite directions, breaking the arm cuff. The sharp metal cut through his skin and made him bleed again, but he didn't notice it. Then he unleashed the remaining claws and turned his attention to the door, that soon went open to reveal eight heavily armed guards. They started shooting him mercilessly, one after the other, and one even used a flamethrower to try to stop the mutant. But Wolverine was faster and far more determined. He slashed through each and every one of them, spilling blood, guts and mutilated members on the floor.

A loud alarm soared through the compound, hurting his ears. Once out of the cell, Logan glanced sideways. It was a long dim corridor with several reinforced doors -possibly more cells- probably located underneath street level. More F.O.H. members ran into his view, coming from both directions in an organized formation of two rows of three. He saw a stairway to his left and turned that way, leaping towards the first row of guards, ignoring the bullets that pierced through his skin coming from his front and rear. He used his claws to gut two men at the same time while kicking the other on the chin and using the mercenary's limp body as a shield to protect himself from the shots coming from behind. The next trio of mercenaries faced similar fates, until one bullet hit Logan in the head, sending him face first to the ground. He heard the footsteps of the six rear mean approaching him and reached for a flamethrower laying on the floor. On the last second, he managed to turn around and fire it, making the mercenaries scream in agony as their skins burned. Some even tried to run, but Wolverine hunted them down and finished the slaughtering.

He climbed up the stairs and entered a large grey room that looked like an illicit garage, sensing that he was getting closer to street level. The alarm kept on buzzing. He heard more men shouting and running in his direction and hid inside a narrow wardrobe. Logan grabbed a pair of trousers, a black t-shirt and a F.O.H. bullet proof vest and quickly dressed up, concealing some of the blood impregnated on his skin. It didn't bother him, nor did the smell of fresh corpses. He glanced up and saw a venting duct, big enough for him to fit in. He used his claws to climb up the walls and easily entered the duct. He crawled inside for nearly eighty feet, all the while smelling the air to try to detect Jean's scent, until he'd reached what appeared to be an office. He looked through the railing and saw the same man who had thrown water on his face barely twenty minutes before, sitting alone behind a desk, staring attentively at a set of security monitors. His badge read Graydon Creed, and Logan realized he was inside the F.O.H.'s headquarters.

The phone rang, and Creed picked it up. A brief silence followed, and then the big man spoke.

"I don't care what the mutie did to your squad, I want him down. Do you hear me?" After another pause, he spoke again. "What do you mean, you can't find him? Gather all your men and start chasing him already! I don't care if you have to use lethal force, Wolverine must be brought down at any cost! I won't tolerate any more excuses!" He yelled and slammed the phone down, cursing.

Logan decided he had seen enough. He kicked the railing and jumped into the room, leaping for Graydon Creed and knocking him to the floor before the man could think about calling for help. Wolverine held his opposite down, two of his claws unleashed at each side of the man's neck while the middle claw was itching to be released. His eyes were cold and dark when he asked.

"Where's Jean Grey?"

Creed trembled with fear. "W-w-who?"

"Where the fuck's Jean? Where did ya take her, asshole?" Wolverine roared while the claw slowly slid towards his enemy's neck.

"I-I-I don't know… any Jean Grey. I swear to you, we don't have her… The government's only handed you to us," Creed revealed, almost crying. "P-Please… don't hurt me, Wolverine."

Logan used his senses and determined the F.O.H. leader was telling the truth. "Good for ya," he said and unleashed the last claw. "If ya did have her, your death would be much slower," he added, retreating his three claws and standing up as Creed convulsed on the floor, suffocating in his own blood. Wolverine heard rushed footsteps in the hallway and glanced at the window, noticing that he was indeed in Chicago and the room was on street level. Lady Luck was finally on his side. He used his right elbow to break the glass and jumped away into the street, running barefoot and as fast as he could towards east.

Hellfire Club, New York.

"That's unacceptable!" The Black King shouted to the F.O.H. member who was unfortunate enough to give him the bad news. "Fix it, or Kelly and the president will be informed. And I doubt they'll be pleased with your little mutant hating club when I tell them you've let your only prisoner escape! You incompetent morons!" Shaw yelled one last time and hang up the phone, tossing it over his chamber's desk.

The White Queen raised from the king-size bed and walked towards the chair where the man was sitting, not bothering to conceal her nakedness. "More bad news?"

"We shouldn't have allied with those idiotic bigots, Emma. Barely twelve hours after Wolverine's apprehension, the F.O.H. let him run away," Sebastian informed her, fuming. "The guy was nearly dead when we caught him, damnit!"

"What does Creed have to say about it?" The woman asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Humph. Creed's dead. Apparently, Wolverine killed him and other twenty armed men within five minutes."

Frost raised a perfect eyebrow. "Impressive. Where's the X-Man now?"

"Nobody knows. I swear, Emma, as soon as our plan is accomplished, I will kill those F.O.H. idiots with my bare hands."

The White Queen had to suppress a scoff. "Assuming the Inner Circle succeeds in spreading the cure into the water, Sebastian. Yesterday's assault to Chicago's complex represents a huge set back to our schemes."

Shaw stood up and glared at her. "Do you reckon I'm not aware of that, woman? It was my factory the X-Men have wrecked!"

"Proving again, my darling, that all homo sapiens are worthless… Even when they're being ridiculously well payed and are in possession of enough fire power to detonate an entire city," she stated, not a bit intimidated by his harsh demeanor.

"Two hundred well trained, heavily armed men against eight freaking mutants, and still the X-Men were able to destroy most of our stock. Now we'll have to restart the 'cure' production from scratch," Shaw said irritated and turned around to stare out of the double windows, his mind filled with feelings of hatred and revenge.

The White Queen followed him, embracing the Black King from behind. "You know what they say, darling… If you want something properly done, you do it yourself."

Xavier's School for the Gifted Youngsters, Salem Center, New York.

Jean woke up feeling thirsty and lethargic, a throbbing headache forcing her to slowly open her eyes. The room was so bright that she had to blink several times to adjust her eyesight. She could distinguish the monotone beeping of a cardiac monitor somewhere near and feel the soft influx of oxygen entering her nostrils. The place smelled strangely familiar, like aseptic plastic and Lysol. Drowsily, she moved her hands under the white cotton sheets to place them over her abdomen -a habit she had acquired in the previous months- only to realize that her stomach was somehow flatter and covered by bandages. The beeping immediately increased. Jean tried to sit up, but a pair of steady furry hands quickly held her down. She grimaced in pain.

"Careful, Ms. Grey, we don't want to loosen the stitches," Beast advised her gently.

She spun her head sideways. "W-Where am I? The baby… What happened to my bab-?" Her voice failed her, and tears gathered in her eyes.

"You are in the X-Men's headquarters - in our medical bay, to be more accurate. Warren has brought you here yesterday," he paused for a brief second, studying his patient's anxious face. "You suffered a uterine hemorrhage, Jean; I was forced to perform an urgent caesarean operation to save your life."

"W-What… what happened to my baby?" The redhead sobbed, a sense of dread crawling under her skin. The beeping became even faster and the infirmary's lights started flickering; Hank glanced at the cardiac monitor and back at her tearstained face.

"Your baby is alive," he informed her without further delay, noticing how light bulbs gradually went back to normal as Jean let out a deep sigh in relief. "However, her condition is critical. Despite the corticoids I've given you, her lungs are obviously quite underdeveloped, and she had to be intubated and connected to a respirator to be able to breathe," the doctor explained.

Jean paused for a moment to let the news sink in, her feelings conflicted between solace and worry. She suddenly wiped away her tears, took the nasal catheter off and plucked the cardiac electrodes from her bare chest. "I want to see my daughter," she told McCoy and sat up, completely ignoring the doctor's previous warning. She clutched the sheets around her body and tried to stand up, but her legs were still numb due to the spinal anesthesia.

"I advise you to wait a few more minutes before trying to stand up, Ms. Grey," Beast recommended and handed her a white gown, which she quickly put on. "You've just woken up from a hemorrhagic shock that started barely sixteen hours ago. I had to give you three liters of saline and four packs of red blood cells just to normalize your blood pressure. I highly suggest you take it easy."

Jean stared at his solemn face for a few seconds and nodded in agreement. "Alright, Dr. McCoy. Thank you," she said, focusing her attention back on trying to move her toes.

"You are very welcome, dear," he smiled kindly and added. "I assume by your lack of astonishment at my more than unusual appearance that Logan has told you about me… and about the whole team, I suppose."

"Yes, he's told me somethings," Jean admitted, suddenly recalling the image of Logan's bloodied body hitting the floor on the tv screen. She fought back new tears that threatened to gather in her eyes - now was not the time to be weak. "Do you have any news from Chicago?"

"I'm afraid I don't. The police commissioner solely declared that our friend was arrested. He didn't give any details about his health condition," Beast informed her, noticing her miserable eyes. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, and less than ten seconds later returned with an empty wheelchair. "I tell you what, Dr. Grey. Since we are colleagues, I will break protocol and take you to see your daughter now," he told her, carefully picking her up from the medical bed and placing her safely on the chair, "but you have to promise me you won't exceed yourself."

"I promise," she replied eagerly.

"Let's go then." Beast pushed the wheelchair to the other side of the infirmary, where a small incubator was located under a set of warm lights. He placed the wheelchair just in front of it.

"Oh my God," Jean whispered, this time not attempting to prevent her tears from falling. Wet green eyes stared at the tiny baby inside the plastic isolette; she felt love, worry, ache, pride… all those emotions mixed together and directed at the little being laying in front of her, almost overwhelming her. Instantly, the woman's psyche tried to connect to her daughter's mind, to no avail. The newborn was sedated, wearing nothing more than a diaper that was too big to fit her small frame; there was a breathing tube coming out of her mouth, a feeding catheter entering through her left nostril and one small canula in each one of her arms.

"She's so small… so fragile," the redhead uttered in a small voice, and suddenly her head turned sideways to glance at the blue doctor. "Am I able to feed her?"

"Yes!" McCoy replied, a little too enthusiastically. "Actually, colostrum would be extremely helpful for the little lady. So far, I have administered an especial formula specifically designed to premature newborns; however, it is certainly not as nutritive and immunogenic as breastmilk. As soon as the anesthetic effects are over, I highly recommend that you extract your milk so that we can offer it to her through the nasoenteral catheter. She should be fed every three hours."

"I'll do it," Jean told him without hesitation.

"Great. I'll check if any of my colleagues is available to run into town to acquire a breast pump," Hank informed her and turned to leave, but the telepath held his hand.

"Dr. McCoy, I… I don't know how to thank you enough," Jean said, gratitude pouring from her moist eyes. "You've saved both of our lives."

Beast grinned, lightly patting her delicate hand with his much bigger one. "You don't need to thank me, Jean. Helping fellow mutants is exactly what the X-Men do."

xxxxx

Six hours later, Ororo was helping Jean in the infirmary with the breast milk pumping. The redhead was sitting in a chair beside the incubator, her eyes constantly darting to the premature baby inside. After the third try, she finally succeeded in extracting a sufficient amount of colostrum.

"What now?" Storm asked, looking at the thick yellowish liquid inside the small container.

"Now we slowly inject the milk into the nasal catheter," she explained and stood up to feed her daughter, immediately contorting in pain.

"That's it, I'm calling Beast. You obviously need a much stronger painkiller," the white-haired woman said and tapped her communicator.

"Ro, don't, please. I've just taken a couple of Tylenol pills, it doesn't hurt that much anymore."

"You're lying."

Jean was almost pleading. "She needs my milk to survive. Most opioids cross from the blood into the breast milk. I'm not going to drug myself and risk her life."

Storm sighed in defeat. "Alright. But you're going to lay down and rest for at least an hour after you're done feeding her, Jean. You've almost bled to death barely a day ago!"

The redhead glanced at her best friend and smiled. "I promise. Thanks, Ro," she said and looked back at her daughter, her fingers slowing pressing the syringe plunger.

"Aham. Excuse us, ladies," the women turned to the door, where two other mutants were waiting with genuine grins on their faces. "May we come in?" The older one asked.

Jean knew who those two were - the man on the wheelchair was Professor Charles Xavier, Logan's mentor and founder of the X-Men; the second was Kurt Wagner, Logan's best friend. She suddenly felt shy under their intense gazes. "Y-Yes, of course. We're almost done here."

Both men entered the infirmary and approached the redhead. The professor extended his right hand to her. "I'm Charles Xavier. It's very nice to finally meet you, Ms. Grey," he said politely, "even under such stressful circumstances."

Jean quickly took his hand. "Likewise. I mean… I know who you are, of course. I've read all your books, professor."

'So I've been told,' he spoke into her mind, smiling.

"Gutten tag, fraulein," Kurt greeted her next, also offering his hand. The woman was mesmerized by his odd hand but didn't hesitate to shake it back.

"Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Wagner."

"Please, call me Kurt. I hope you're feeling better. You gave us quite zhe scare last night, Ms. Grey."

"Please, call me Jean," she imitated him. "I'm alright now, thank you. I'm just… worried," the telepath said, eyeing the isollete.

Kurt advanced towards the incubator and glanced inside. He didn't see the sleeping baby girl with a down of auburn hair on the top of her head, nor did he notice the tubes and catheters coming out of her tiny body. All he perceived was a miracle from the above. "May zhe Lord bless you, little one," he prayed quietly.

Then it was Xavier's turn to meet the newborn. "I can already tell that this little miss will grow up to be as beautiful as her mother," the professor said, making Jean blush. He then turned back to the woman. "I'd like to welcome both of you to our home, Ms. Grey. You and your daughter may stay with us for as long as you wish. There's a spare bedroom upstairs ready for you, just next to Ororo's, when you decide to give your body some well-deserved rest."

"Thank you, sir. I… I appreciate everything you've done for us. I owe you my child's life and my own, in more ways than you'll ever know," Jean told him, and added. "But I'd rather stay here in the infirmary with her, if you don't mind."

"Of course not, my dear." Before Xavier had finished his sentence, Nightcrawler disappeared from the med bay. The professor continued. "When the two of you are out of danger, I would very much like to know how you've learned to control your telepathy all by yourself. Over a cup of tea, of course."

"I'll look forward to that tea," the redhead responded politely. Suddenly, Nightcrawler teleported back into the infirmary carrying a portable bed with clean sheets and a fluffy pillow.

"I'll put it beside zhe incubator, so zhat you can go to sleep and wake up looking at your baby."

"Thank you, Kurt. Again," Jean said with tears in her eyes. Were all the X-Men that gentle and kind? Well, perhaps with the exception of Wolverine, they were.

"I'll bring some of my clothes and stuff down for you, so you can shower. But after that, you are getting some rest," Ororo told her sternly.

Jean sat on the bed and smiled as the three other mutants left the room, realizing for the first time that being a superhero was much more than just fighting bad guys.