Hope Returns

Chapter Nine

By: Lily Handle

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Author's Note: I'd like to thank all my reviewers, since I haven't in a while. This chapter may bother a few of you, I do use some harsh language, so be warned. I'm also running out of things to say here, since my life has become really boring after breaking my ankle. I'd like to do something besides writing once and a while. Now I've cursed myself, I can hear the writer's block coming for me. Please read and review.

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Logan seemed to be spending a lot of time sitting in offices with Fury, and today was no exception. He had only six days remaining in his search for the Doc, and only one solid lead. The van and the witness, Neal Hardy, with his report and the video from his patrol car S.H.E.I.L.D. agents were combing through Canada for the van. They would find it, but it would be abandoned, Trask wasn't stupid enough to keep using it. The Doc would be tucked away in another box or this time maybe the trunk. She'd have more room if she was in the trunk, Logan thought, clenching his fist to keep from smashing the table in. When he found Trask, he was going to tare him limb from limb for putting Hope through this. He'd seen the tape from the patrol car and gotten his first look at the Doc since when he tried to reach Charles and she had answered. She was too thin, too pale, even with the poor quality of the tape anyone could see there was a blue tint to her lips. "He's not taking very good care of her," Logan said to Fury, who looked up from the files spread out between them.

"Treating her like a prisoner of war," Fury commented, leaning back in his chair, "He's probably starving her, denying her water and keeping her in the small box has her disoriented. If she managed to get away she wouldn't know which way to go and couldn't go very far."

"I know what he's doing," Logan snapped, knowing made it worse. He had to get the Doc to start taking self-defense lessons, something more than her just throwing around those bolts of hers. She claimed she was non-violent, a healer not a fighter, but if she had half the training the kids had she could get away from Trask. "Anything new turn up in your search about Trask?"

"No birth records for him, anywhere," Fury sighed, "We've tried getting information out of Trask Sr. but he's not talking."

"Prisons keep records of who inmates talk to, do the Trasks talk to each other? Or have any mutual friends?"

"Not a single one, Trask Sr. hasn't so much as said a single word to another person since he was convicted. He doesn't talk to his cellmate, or any other inmates either. His lawyer said if they knew anything about the attack, or where Dr. Chandler is, they'd break privilege."

"I want to talk with the men who are in custody," Logan said, anger edging into the statement, "Today."

"They're not talking," Fury said, "Believe me Logan, I tried everything I could think of to get them to talk. Deals got shoved back in my face, threats were either laughed off or ignored, and I'm pretty sure anything short of medieval torture methods would get them to talk. They're damn tight lipped."

"I know how to get people to open up," Logan growled, "I can get them to talk."

"And that's why I don't want to let you near them."

"I just want to talk to them, Patch."

"Your version of talking often involves bruises," Fury explained, "I can't let you talk to them if they're going to end up hurt."

"I won't hurt them, I just want to talk with them. They've got to know something of Trask plan for the Doc, and if I hurt them they'll probably clam up even tighter."

"Logan, if I let you talk to them, you can't lay a finger on them no matter what they say and how angry it makes you."

"Scouts honor."

"Alright, fine then," Fury stood up from the table he was sitting at, "You've read the files we have on the men under arrest. Mystique is a little trickier; she keeps trying to break out by changing form. We've isolated her in room with constant surveillance and the guards are separated from her."

"One of them is a low level criminal, one is a high end lawyer, and the other is the guard. All they've said so far is that they're prisoners of war." Logan said also rising from his seat "They're claiming they're prisoners of war, making noise about being protected under the Geneva Convention."

"They believe we have no right to hold them," Fury rubbed his eyes, "The lawyer just rants about the law, he won't say anything useful, but he won't shut up."

"I thought you said they weren't talking," Logan said, one eyebrow raised.

"Lawyer speak isn't talking. Come on, I'll take you to him."

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Logan had the file tucked under his arm when he stepped into the interrogation room where Jeremiah Samson was sitting, hand cuffed and shackled at the ankles. The file said just what Fury said told him; Jeremiah wasn't dangerous, non-violent, and silent. Well, Logan thought, he was going to change that. Samson looked up at him when he closed the door, a look of disgust crossed the man's face and then he looked away.

"I don't wanna talk to you," Samson said in a southern drawl. File said he was originally from a place called Blackwood, Mississippi, population only 500. He was a high school dropout, worked a few dead end jobs and then disappeared from the public eye. He was the perfect small-minded lackey for a group like the only who had attacked the Capitol building. Brainless, easy to sway into doing anything the group asked of him.

"Well, bub, that's too bad, because I was looking forward to talking to you," Logan said, sitting in the chair opposite Samson.

"You're one of them," Samson spat and Logan just raised his eyebrows. After a few seconds of silence, Samson elaborated, "A mutant."

"And who told you that?"

"How dumb to you think I am?" Samson sneered, "I don't have to tell you anything."

"True, you don't, but you know, I can make you." Logan slid his claws out and started to carefully clean his nails with one, "Of course that would be against your civil rights."

"That's right, I…I got rights," Samson eyes the claws nervously, shifting in his seat, eyes darting around the room.

"Yeah, of course you've also been involved in a terrorist attack, so that puts you pretty low on the food chain." Logan smiled charmingly, and slid his claws back home to change hands and clean the other set of nails, "You should see what they do to terrorist in prison down in your neck of the woods, because that's where you'd be going. Back home, with the good ole boys of Mississippi." Logan watched Samson's eyes jump, "You've seen what they do to people like you in jail haven't you?"

"Well, I ain't in jail, am I?"

"You will be," Logan smiled, "You had a rough time when you were in jail didn't you? You know this time it'll be worse."

"Yeah? Well, uh…they'll know I stop a bunch of mutant freaks, and they'll, they'll call me a hero I reckon," Samson tried to boast and all Logan did was grin.

"And how are they going to find out? You gonna tell them?" Logan snorted, slid his claws back in and flexed his fingers, "Like they're going to believe an anti-American like you." Logan let the silence ride for a while, and let Samson stew. Logan knew that the prison S.H.I.E.L.D. planned to send Samson too was in upper Maryland, where there was a small population of patriotic prisoners, but down in Mississippi, especially Blackwood Penitentiary, there was a whole prison gang named the Patriots. As a terrorist who attacked the Capitol building, Samson would have a very hard time with them. Logan was keeping his promise to Fury, though he wanted to smash Samson's face in. He could just as easily intimidate the small-minded man with promises of a sentence in Blackwood and mental games instead of violence. If Samson didn't roll, then his buddy, a high-end lawyer named Hollins would. He was already asking for a deal, immunity from prosecution, but Fury wouldn't give it to him. When Logan went to talk with him, he'd offer it only if Hollins knew enough to make it worth his while.

"There's a way out of going, you know," Logan said off handedly.

"I don't need a deal, least all from an unnatural like you."

"Ah, so sorry to hear that. The jury is going to love watching the little video we have of you," Logan chuckled, "You know I'd say the camera isn't very flattering to you."

"There weren't no cameras," Samson boasted, "We took them all out."

"Ah, but you gave one a lot of time to get footage," Logan smiled, "Footage of you shooting guards, camera men, and innocent bystanders. Best evidence there is."

"You can't see my face," Samson sneered again, "You ain't got nothing."

"I've got tons actually. There's hair evidence in the mask we took off of you, tough to beat that pesky DNA, oh then there is the fiber evidence, but there's too much of that to go into." Logan grinned, "There's also powder residue…"

"Alright, alright, I get the point," Samson was sweating hard now, shifting in his seat and looking a little pale.

"Do you, because I don't think you do," Logan leaned over the table, getting in close to Samson, "You are going away for a very long time for this, bub, and I'm going to make sure that the only way your sentence gets shortened is if you leave jail in a casket." Logan growled the statement, eyes going cold and hard, then as he pulled back, indolently leaning back in his seat.

"Alright, alright, fine, fine, I'll tell you what I know, but you gotta make sure I won't go to…to…"

"Yeah, you'll go some place else." Logan slid a digital recorder onto the table, and hit record, "Start talking."

"I was looking for a place to stay, since I was a little down on my luck. So this guy…"

"What did he look like?" Logan asked quickly.

"He was a tall guy, kinda square jaw," Samson sighed, "I'd have to think about it."

"You'll talk with a sketch artist after wards as part of your deal," Logan growled, "Keep going."

"Alright, so this guy says there's a place I can live for free, with food, and all I had to do was one little favor. I'm not big on favors; this guy said it was for a worthy cause and all that. Well I thought he was some sort of bible thumper, you know the type. So I went a long, thinking I'd get a meal, steal the good silver, and split" At this Samson chuckled like it was some good joke, "Anyway, when I get there, I find out they think a lot like I do, you know. Hating mutants, how the government's gonna go easy on them because they're afraid the freaks would revolt or something." Samson sneered at Logan.

"Aren't you a charmer?" Logan muttered quietly.

"So after a while the guy who approached me the first time came to me with the plan. They needed some guys who knew how handle a gun. I said I'd be in, you know, there would be some money waitin' for me on the other end anyway."

Logan slid a picture over to Samson, "Was this guy who approached you?" Samson picked up the picture; frown at it then slid it back to Logan.

"Naw, that's not him." Logan tucked the picture back into the folder; it was a picture of Wilson Trask.

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The second man Logan talked to was Walter Hollins, a square faced, pudgy lawyer who as soon as Logan stepped into the room started spouting lawyer speech.

"I don't care," Logan yelled, temper snapping before he reined it back in., "Your friend Samson already rolled on you and your guard friend. If you want to go down because of him, keep talking about civil rights and proper representation."

"Samson…he…he rolled?" Hollins looked suspicious, as if he wanted to believe what Logan had said, but didn't know if he could.

"Yeah, he did," Logan watched the man flinch away from him, and rethought about controlling his anger. This man would respond to the anger, anything to keep him from getting hurt. So, Logan thought a little too happily, he'd vent on this guy. With a feral growl, Logan braced his arms on the table top and glared hard, "He said you were the one who planned it all."

"I didn't!"

"Oh yeah?" Logan slammed his fist against the table, "Well, I don't believe you. Never liked lawyers anyway. Where is she!"

"Who…who are you…tal…talking about?"

"WHERE'S HOPE!" Logan tossed the table sideways, sending it crashing into the wall and the lawyer broke down, blubbering like a little kid.

"He said we'd just talk," Hollins wailed, "That we were just going to talk to them."

"Who?" Logan asked, but the man just wailed, "Who damn it?"

"Trask!" Hollins yelled, covering his face with his fat, stubby hands, "He heard about my work on mutant sociology, he said he was planning a march on the Capitol, I should have seen through it, you know. All those thugs," Some how Hollins managed to sound contrite even while sobbing, "But I just wanted a chance to show them, show them all!"

"Yeah, you bastard, you showed them," Logan growled and left, slamming the cell door behind him. Logan needed to hit something, hard and until he managed to break whatever he was hitting or his own hand. A fight, he wanted to get into a good, long, hard fight. He wouldn't find one here, every agent he'd try to fight wouldn't last ten second in the mood he was in. Where was Creed when you needed to beat the hell out of him? Logan thought angrily. Then he stopped dead in his tracks, he didn't have Creed, but her had Mystique. Logan sighed, scrubbed his hands over his face, he couldn't just take everything out on her, no matter how bad he wanted too. He'd go talk to her, probably she'd take a shot at him, if he was lucky, that meant he'd have a chance to defend himself. He moved through the collection of cells with a purpose, to the one cell that was closed off. He flashed an id card to the guards before stepping inside the first cell, which kept Mystique separate from the guards. A second door opened and when Logan stepped through Mystique was already on her feet, lunging towards him. Logan sidestepped, grabbed her arm, and pinned her hard to the nearest wall. He had one hand around her throat, the other was in a fist, pressed against her side.

"One move, one shift and I swear I'll make you my personal pin cushion," Logan hissed, perfectly ready to take a few shots at her.

"What do you want?" Mystique asked, staying perfectly still against the wall.

"Why the hell are you involved in all of this?"

"Figure it out yourself," she spat, but Logan wasn't in the mood to deal with another difficult prisoner. He slammed Mystique against the wall again, lifting her higher, still pressing his fist to her side.

"You wanna repeat that?" He said, dangerously calm and cold. Mystique glared at him, keeping silent and Logan tightened his hand around her throat.

"All right," Mystique croaked, pulling at his hand.

"What's that?" Logan sneered, tightening his hold again.

"All right!" Mystique yelled, and Logan loosened his hold just enough so she could breathe easy, "Put me down."

"No." When Mystique made to lash out at him, Logan pressed the hand he had at her side harder against her, "Pin cushion."

"I wasn't involved in this," Mystique taunted, "Whatever little terrorist group did this, I wasn't involved. I was trying to get to the President, he was going to meet with Charles and the amazing Dr. Chandler after the talks today, and I was going to go with them."

"Who were you pretending to be?" Logan hissed.

"Margaret Wayne," this time Mystique sneered at him.

"One of the agents watching the Doc," Logan growled, "What happened to your partner?"

"You mean Trask right hand man? Didn't know that did you? Well, Trask and Akelm were pretty close, sounded like Akelm took orders right from Trask," Mystique shoved the information in his face, "Should've looked closer into the people you put near your precious doctor." Unable to control the wave of anger, at himself and her, he threw Mystique across the room before stalking out of room. He was looking for something to hit when Fury found him pacing a hallway.

"Logan," Fury started.

"It was Akelm," Logan said, almost yelling, "Akelm, the guy we couldn't find, he was working with Trask."

"What? How do you," Fury shook his head, "Late, tell me later. Trask has sent us another tape." Logan growled low in his throat and followed Fury right back to the office where his day had started. "Play it," Fury told an agent as soon as they were both in the room.

After a few seconds of static Trask's face took up the screen, "Hello, once again, S.H.I.E.L.D., how nice to see you all. I bet you're having a hard time finding Dr. Chandler, even with that little helper. Yes, I already know you've talked with patrolman Neal Hardy, but he's not going to help you. And the van, you'll find the van in a little town near Saskatoon. I bet you'd like to see Dr. Chandler now that all those formalities are out of the way, wouldn't you?" Trask reached out and picked up the camera, "She's doing surprisingly well for everything I've done to her. Just keeps healing herself." Trask voice said while the camera showed the small interior of a cabin. "You wouldn't believe the things I've managed to find out about her, it's just stunning what the technology my father left me can do." The camera showed a door, and when it opened snow was everywhere around a thick forest. Off in the distance Logan could see a shed, barely covered with siding and a roof.

"Lovely isn't it?" Trask's voice over commented, then took a deep breath, "Smell that fresh air. Well, let's get back to the doctor, shall we? She's remarkably strong, even tried to get away from me once, found her about oh maybe thirteen hours later." Trask talked while the camera got closer and closer to the shed, the sound of snow crunching under feet could be heard just under Trask's voice.

"She was almost dead you know, but I couldn't let her escape the time limit, that would ruin the message," Trask said as he stopped outside the shed, "She's doing better now." He opened the door, and in the light coming in from the door one pale and trembling leg could be seen, "Dr. Chandler, you have visitors." Shafts of light came in through the ceiling and the walls, and when the camera went completely inside. Logan hissed through his teeth when he saw Hope. She was lying on her side, her hands free and lying limply in a pool of light. He could see the tips were going blue, and that they would be rocked by tremors every few seconds or so. He heard Trask kneel down and the camera went close to Hope's face.

"Have anything to say, Dr. Chandler?" Her eyes were wide and sightless, her mouth was hanging open, her lips pale and blue, but she swallowed hard and narrowed her eyes over the camera.

"Bastard," she whispered, her voice a raw tear from her throat, and it tore at Logan.

"Now, now, this is going to S.H.I.E.L.D., don't you have words of encouragement for them? Keep trying, chin up and other such good things?" Trask's hand came into view and tilted Hope's chin up. "Anything at all?"

It was then the light caught a few tears rolling down Hope's face, "Help me," she said in that same torn whisper, "Please, Logan, help me." Trask dropped Hope's face and turned the camera back on himself.

"This is what should happen to all of you," He said, a wild look in his eyes, "All of you mutant filth and mutant lovers should suffer. You're nothing but worthless, soulless, filth…" Logan lunged forward, vision red with rage and punched his hand right through the screen. He pulled his hand back out, grabbing the television and threw it with everything he could manage into the wall. Rage, black and almost painful took him over, even as Fury tried to calm him down, he couldn't get past the image of Hope's eyes. Lost, in pain, calling out for him, it was haunting him. He grabbed chairs and destroyed them, until nothing was left under his hands and his world went black.

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Fury stood in the destroyed office, Logan flat on his back due to the agent who had used a high voltage stun gun on him. He knew Logan was running on low energy and too much emotion, but he knew Canada well and could maybe recognize the place. "Take him to a cell and let him sleep it off. When he wakes up, he'll be angry so make sure there's no innocent bystanders around." Two guards stepped in, picked up Logan underneath the arms and dragged him from the room. "Call me when he's awake." Trask was crazy, there was no two ways about it, his father was perfectly lucid, but the son was a nut case. Fury crossed the room and ejected the tape from the VCR, he had to finish watching it, but in another room. It was lucky that when Logan had lost control he hadn't broken the tape or the VCR. This was good evidence, and once Logan was awake again, he'd try and get him to place where it was in Canada Trask might be. Six days left on the clock, his best man was down, and there was no call from the Institute. Logan had managed to get two of the three men to talk about the plan and the agents who were helping in the case were running down every little lead they could find. All that worried Fury was Dr. Chandler, Trask was keeping her right on the edge of life, he'd double check with S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors just to make sure, but she was the unknown variable. Any minute she could slip right through their fingers because a mad man was taking care of her.

"Colonel Fury," An agent popped his head in the door, "Agent Logan is awake."

Fury glanced at his watch, frankly surprised Logan had stayed down this long, "I'll be right there."

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Author's Note: Can I abuse Hope or Logan anymore? I feel like something you'd scrape off the bottom of a shoe after writing this. I don't think there's going to be much more abusing, I'm pretty sure there's only going to be three or four more chapters after this one. Please read and review.

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