The silence in the small room was eerie.
Logan's body lay still on the bed, his gaze fixed on the cieling, unresponsive, unmoving.
Perhaps a better discription would be that his eyes were simply turned upwards, for they never moved, showing no reaction to anyone who entered or left.
The whole group was shaken more by that stillness than if the Wolverine had gone beserk, tearing the room to pieces and slashing the walls open to escape - it would have given them some course of action, something they could do, but this was a horror they were simply forced to face and endure.
There was only silence.
But the eyes that flicked open in Logan's face were golden-amber, savage, wild...
Hank worked with a dedication that was to be admired in the best of circumstances. Now, in the worst, he was almost completely single-minded in his quest to discover any form of cure or immunization. Anything.
Food was ignored, and the wide, muscular body began to show signs of weight loss, the kind, sensitive eyes were marked with strain.
He slept only to avoid the possiblity of errors, and even his redoubtable constitution was beginning to be put to the test.
If only there was some way to give them time, desperately needed time.
"Logan?" Jean asked, softly, seated next to the bed that housed the body of her friend.
The eyes did not flick in her direction, nor show any recognition at all, even when she lifted his hand to her cheek and held it it there briefly.
Gently, she touched his mind.
Nothing.
No response at all.
Only silence and stillness.
Xavier's voice reached her, as though from a great distance, voice distraught.
"We are losing him."
Jean closed her eyes, struggling to fill that vast empty void with the warmth of her own memory, of her and Scott and Logan all laughing together, one warm summer night, as Bobby slipped and went flying into the pool after one of his pranks backfired.
A reaction, sudden and violent, as Logan swung his arm, claws ripping loose the restraint, sending the young woman staggering into the wall.
His eyes flashed wild-golden, teeth set in a furious snarl, expression containing fury and warning. The claws slashed, and the Wolverine was loose, crouched in a corner, eyes blazing as the rest of his body faded into shadow, watching them through eyes as wild as a great cat's, muscles tense, clearly ready for anything.
Jean tried to reach out to his mind and found herself violently rebuffed, a low growl rumbling from the hidden throat of the Wolverine.
Xavier looked startled. "I cannot reach his mind." he said, voice dropping an octive with suprise. Normally, there were few minds he could not access if he tried, the huge predominence of them telepaths. But in Logan's mind, there was a wildness that rejected him, casting him out with the ease of any trained psionic.
"Logan, do you know who we are?" tried Jean, voice soothing and soft.
Alpha's mate. Old-in-pack. The thoughts were not really thoughts, more sharp-edged identifications that were accompanied with shutterclicks of imagry, color and scent and sense-awareness that were as beyond the two telepaths as their own psychic awareness was beyond the average human's.
They glanced at each other, and Xavier tried then, speaking in gentle, soft tones. "We are your friends." he said, carefully.
There was a growl. Lone. was the reply, with a flicker of self-image. Lone. No pack. Logan padded forward, staring into Jean's eyes with a feral, deadly expression. The flurry of images were of being - used.
A hunting dog for Xavier's dream. An alternative to Jean's often-uncertain marriage.
Used.
Staying because of - what?
Bonds that confused the Wolverine, and angered it.
Now they held it captive.
It popped it's claws.
Go. Images of leaving the room, not returning. Confusion! Pain!
A snarl that rippled into a growl. Wolverine wanted them out, away, gone. There was hurt in their scent, but there was also shame. That angered it further. It slashed it's claws at the air, warning, slow-threat.
They went, the barrier closing.
The Wolverine curled in it's corner, nursing it's wounds.
Pain. Pain. Ache. Lonliness. Trapped. Anger.
It rocked slightly, testing the air with it's nose.
The pain was still there.
It popped a claw and cut deep into it's chest, where the pain seemed to be coming from. Blood came, and the fading of vision, but there was only puzzlement.
The pain did not end.
Only - paused.
It moaned.
Collapsed on the floor.
Watched the red liquid pool as shouts and the sound of running feet toward the barrier.
Painpainpain....blackness...floating...
There was nothingless.
The Wolverine was glad.
Scott was badly shaken as he saw the wide bandage that hid the horrible gash Logan had inflicted on himself.
"Shouldn't we restrain him again?" he asked, hesitantly.
"It would do little good." replied a shaken Xavier. "We cannot force Logan to respond to us."
"We can't let him hurt himself again!" cried Jean, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Perhaps," suggested a weary Hank, "I might offer a suggestion?"
Everyone turned to him.
"Apparently, from the description given by both Charles and Jean, he will not accept any form of contact from them right now. A male might well be seen as "invading" his territory - so might I suggest that Ororo try to reach him?"
Ororo regarded him with some puzzlement. "I do not object, but...I'm not sure I understand your reasoning." she said, softly, sipping her tea.
"Logan would most probably see you as neutral, and non-threatening, vital in any attempt to reach him." explained the blue-furred mutant.
"I'll try." promised Ororo, her beautiful snowy eyes sparkling with worry for her friend. She briefly saw those eyes again, staring at her, wild and full of agony, hand stretched out toward her, and the young woman swallowed hard. "I'll reach him somehow."
It was a vow.
And Ororo Munroe kept her promises.
Little did she know what that promise would entail in the end.