Hey you guys. X-Men Evolution starts up again tomorrow! Are you as stoked as I am? My gums are in complete agony from my wisdom teeth extraction. It sucks extra bad because I can't eat solid food for about 3 days. If in my words of thanks, I miss something, sorry, but the painkillers are making me a bit loopy.

Thanks to my reviewers

Marye, it's good to hear that I'm getting Logan right. That's so sweet of you. I love the idea of you writing about my story. Thanks.

Rex, I'm sorry about your headache. Hope you feel better.

Fyrdera, yea! Bookmarks!

Ahra, you really think I'm keeping everyone in character? It's a little on the hard side, but I'm working on it.

Miracle Chick, I love Scott too, so I'm a little conflicted as well. I just figured that since this is from Lance's point of view, Scott should come off as a bit of a jerk. I'm glad that you think Lance's not going back to the Brotherhood is in character. I was a little worried about that part. And yes, I'm extremely glad that Logan helped out Lance. He really needed it. Maybe they could be friends. hmmm?

Charmedfan03. Wow. You *really* like my story. Thanks!

Sailor X, yeah, I thought that Logan in Evolution is quite a bit more caring and sweet than comic or movie Logan (although movie Logan is really sweet with Rogue). Lance really isn't the crying type, but with a high fever at three in the morning who wouldn't be?

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Thursday morning, four days after he had gotten over his bug, Lance found himself lying on his back in Dr. McCoy's office. He was in his underwear, with a cold, jelly-like slime all over his stomach.

"Alright, now I want you to breathe in and hold it for a few seconds," Dr McCoy said as he pressed the panel against Lance's stomach. Lance winced at the pressure. What was McCoy trying to do, crack his ribs? "Hey, isn't this that thing they give pregnant women?" Lance asked conversationally.

Something about that struck Dr. McCoy as really funny and he laughed so hard he accidentally jabbed Lance under the ribs with that stupid panel of his. "Why, do you want to have a boy or a girl?" he joked. Lance shut his eyes against the pain in his side and decided that this Beast guy was just about on par with Summers, a guy so annoying that he laughed at his own jokes. Lance would only tolerate him because, as the institute's doctor, he owned a lot of needles.

"Anyway, to answer your question, yes, sonograms are given to pregnant women to check the health of the baby, but they are also used to see your organs. I'm checking to make sure that the chemicals you ingested didn't do any permanent damage to your stomach or intestines."

Lance swallowed. "That sounds really serious."

McCoy glanced up at him in that casually busy manner that all doctors seem to possess. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I've already ruled out any major problems, so if we *were* to find anything, it would be easily treated with medicine."

"So I would stop getting sick every time I eat?" That definitely sounded good.

Back at his little monitor, McCoy moved a little red circle over a dark patch. "You wont get *as* sick *as* often. If there is a problem, you might have to learn to live with some discomfort, but let's not worry about that bridge until we get to it."

Lance's face fell. A lifetime of bowing down to the porcelain god every time he ate enough to keep from being hungry? Was McCoy *actually* expecting him to be happy about this? Already he had endured over a month of stomachaches, and he was down to 122 pounds, despite being just under six feet tall. Whenever he took off his clothes, he looked like a walking skeleton with big, ugly marks across his stomach and inside his thighs. It was gross.

McCoy noticed his crestfallen look. "Hey, try not to worry about it. You're probably fine." He grabbed a towel and handed it to Lance. "Here, go ahead and clean up."

"Did you see anything wrong?" Lance asked, as he tried not to focus on his worry. Instead he thought about how funny it was that he was toweling goo off of his stomach while another man in the room snapped off rubber gloves. *There* was a situation he'd hopefully never be in again.

"Well, I'll have to examine the pictures to be sure. Now, I *did* see a slight abnormality on the wall of your stomach, but it might be anything, so don't go getting all upset about it and make yourself sicker. Also," he added when he saw that Lance was indeed getting all upset about it, "I want you to try to subscribe to the idea that this is all in your head. You've just been through a very traumatic experience, and you've already shown signs of not dealing with it in a healthy manner." Lance self consciously pulled the towel over his scars. Dr. McCoy already knew, of course (Logan made him get the cuts examined the day after he found out because some were getting infected), but Lance still didn't like the idea of someone staring at the ugly, red lines covering his stomach.

"Anyway, I should have some answers for you tomorrow." Dr. McCoy slapped him on the back. "Go ahead and get dressed. And *stop worrying*. You're going to be fine."

Lance nodded his head and put on a fake smile. "Ok," he said, but it really wasn't.

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This was a really stupid idea.

Lance shut his eyes and knocked on the dark wooden door. Maybe he should just forget about this and take off to his room. Yeah, that was probably the best idea. On the other hand--- no, there was no other hand. He was seventeen. He should be able to handle his own problems. This was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid---

"Who's there?" a deep voice yelled from the room.

--- stupid, stupid, stupid--- "It's Lance."

A pause. "Come in," the voice yelled back.

Lance opened the creaky door and entered. As soon as he did, the smell of stale cigar smoke and old Cheetoes overpowered him, and he felt like running the other way. He decided against it. Might as well get this over with.

Logan was stretched out on his bed, a tattered copy of The Shinning in his hands. "Hey kid," he said over the top of the book.

Wringing his hands out in front of him, Lance walked in and took a look around. Logan's room had almost no personality whatsoever. The walls were bare of any art or posters, and the only sign that this wasn't a hotel room was the bookcase in the corner. "Those all your books?" Lance asked, eyeballing the spines of the torn and ripped paperbacks.

"No. I share them with the village of tiny people living under my bed," Logan said deadpan.

"Oh --- uh, you just don't strike me as much of a reader, is all."

Logan lowered the book to his lap and shot Lance a look. "Look kid, did you come in here to insult my intelligence, or do you have something to say to me?"

Lance flushed a bit. This was not going well. "Um, I was just wondering if you could --- help me out with something?"

Logan's face was unreadable. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Um, well --- I wanted to know how you deal with the nightmares," Lance rushed out.

"What makes you think I know anything about that?" Logan said with a slight growl. Obviously, Lance had struck a sore subject.

"Well, it's just that you were one time in a place like that SHIELD thing, and --- and I thought maybe you might know something about it. How did you get rid of the nightmares?"

Logan's face became bitter at the thought. "I didn't," he said shortly.

"You didn't?" Lance asked. His last hope seemed to have been shattered. "Well, what did you do then?"

For a long time, Logan sat silent. Finally he answered, "I learned to live with less sleep. I got used to the fact that it wasn't going to go away." A sardonic smile crossed his lips. "I almost learned to love 3:00am infomercials."

The look on Lance's face was purely incredulous. "So you're saying you learned to live with it?" he asked hotly.

Logan shrugged. "I guess so."

Lance was speechless. This was it. There was nothing for him to do about it; he was never going to get a good night's sleep again. As soon as he could find his voice, he shouted the first thing that came to mind. "Fuck!"

Logan was a little taken aback. Not by the language, of course (he swore like a sailor himself, when the kids weren't around), but by the despair, and especially the *anger* in Lance's voice. Few people have had the balls to blow up at Wolverine that way. "Fuck what?" he asked, as if they were engaging in pleasant conversation.

"Fuck this! Fuck learning to live with it! Everyone wants me to learn to live with it, but maybe I don't want to!" Lance scowled at Logan. "Maybe I'll just kill myself instead."

Logan made an irritated face at him. "You don't mean that, so don't say it."

"Yeah, well, what makes you think I don't mean it?"

"Because if you meant it, you wouldn't be saying it like it like you were trying to threaten me with it," Logan stated. "You said everyone wants you to learn to live with it. Who else said that?"

"What do you care?" Lance spat.

"I asked, didn't I? Look kid, you came to me for help, not the other way around."

That cooled Lance's anger just a little. Logan was right; he was acting like a baby throwing a tantrum like this. "It's nothing," Lance said with a sigh. "I just had an appointment with Dr. McCoy. He said that there might be something wrong with my stomach. It just really sucks, 'cause now I can't eat *or* sleep right."

'So *that's* what all this is about,' Logan thought. "I'm sorry, Lance."

Lance's eyes jerked up. "Hey, don't be. I don't want your pity."

"Well, that's good," Logan said, "'cause I'm not the kinda guy who gives it. But if what you do want is some advice, maybe I can help you there. Two things: first, talk to Jean and the Professor about your nightmares. Telepaths tend to dream wander in their sleep. Tell them to wake you up if they catch you mid-dream. The second thing is: if you happen to be awake around 3:00am, you can sometimes find me downstairs in the TV room, drinking a beer and indulging in the wonders of the Ronco rotisserie. Feel free to join me."

Lance grinned at that. "Thanks," he said.

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Hope this one was ok too. Review please. By the way, all the stuff about the sonogram is based on personal experience. I was having bad stomachaches last spring, just like Lance, and I had to get one done. I'm telling you, those doctors really SHOVE that stupid panel of theirs right into your ribs.