Hmmm. With the lack of comments I don't know how well or how poorly chapter three was received or even if anyone has read it. Was the style in which is was written too confusing? Was the prose too heavy? Did it lack interest? Does anyone have a suggestion regarding how it might be improved? Please let me know because I write for your pleasure as well as my own. Without feedback I am all at sea with only my inexperienced fanfic writer's hands on the tiller.

It would be nice to receive any reviews, even if it's to say you don't like the story or how it might be improved. Constructive criticism is particularly welcome If nothing else, at least I'll know the story is being read. Please, people, the noob craves input. Lots 'n' lots of input!

Chapter 4: Aftermath

The nightmare is fluid, rushing through my head like a river in full spate. Sickeningly familiar mages: vague, fleeting yet strangely vivid, burst to the surface bubbling and boiling. I'm confined, floating in a small tank. Someone is there, above me, wrapped in writhing shadow. Pain. Terror. Helplessness. I can't move. I can only watch as the skin over my chest is pierced by a horrifically large injection instrument and white hot agony is delivered at the press of a lever. The hand wielding the injector is pale, slender. The shadows recede and the face peering down at me is surrounded by fire, it's white eyes hard and merciless, its lips stretched into a rictus of unholy pleasure.

Oh, Christ. No. It's Jean. Jean is doing this to me.

Not you, darlin'.

Ya don't wanna do this.

Don't….

I try to wrench myself free, to escape the torture but the restraints hold me fast. Liquid metal is being pumped along my ribs, as pitiless and as devastating as molten hatred. Cruel laughter fills my head as Jean works her way across my ribcage. The stench of my own roasting flesh permeates everything, even the mask protecting me from drowning in the tank. I know I'm screaming. I can't help it.

New pain receptors burst into life. Fire laces my arms and hands like they've been thrust into a furnace. This pain is more urgent, superseding the other, paring it and the nightmare away. I've popped the claws. My personal reality check has just kicked in.

Sensory information floods my nostrils and ears, claws its way into my still woozy head. The air is recycled, heavy with the smell of antiseptic, surgical disinfectant and fresh blood – mine and someone else's. I'm not alone. I can hear breathing, shallow, stressed, angry. The scent belongs to Summers. Peachy. Somewhere close by a machine hums, its electronic voice familiar. I open my eyes. I'm in the med-lab but this time there ain't no red haired angel hovering over me. I squeeze my eyes shut. The memory is too painful, especially after she just….

No, I don't want to go there. I don't want to be here. Just as soon as I haul my ass upstairs I'm packing my stuff and leaving. I ain't ever gonna come back. It's best for everyone if I just go.

I make to swing myself upright. Nothing happens. I can't move. Can't move my head, my torso or my limbs. Can't move anything. Bands of padded leather chafe my skin as I tense my body against them. I'm strapped to the examination table like a laboratory specimen. Icy panic contracts my gut into a hard ball of fear and I begin to thrash around, trying to slacken the bonds. Suddenly I'm plunged back into nightmare except this time I'm not asleep. I'm as helpless as a lab rat pinned out for dissection. With my arms fastened down I can't use the claws to cut myself free.

"What the fuck is this? Summers, what the fuck're ya playing at? Get me out of this."

A chair scrapes lazily on the polished floor. Summers is on his feet but he ain't in any hurry. His breathing is more laboured and I can taste the chemicals of loathing oozing from his pores. Guess he's way beyond pissed right now. Maybe I got that coming. Suddenly he's there standing at my side, arms crossed, head cocked, ruby quartz visor glinting in the fluorescent light. His brown hair is mussed and I can see a small shaved area above his left ear with its freshly stitched wound. His face is a mask, his lips thin lines. Seconds pass as he studies me like a spider studies a fly. I lie unmoving, staring directly into his visor. Guilt wells up inside me and I feel like a complete shit but I ain't gonna look away.

"Let me go."

"That's not going to happen, Logan."

His voice sounds almost conversational but the inflection of his words and the tension in their delivery informs me he would rather spit in my face. Maybe he should. At least I could understand that.

"I'm not going to hurt anyone."

Summers twists his head towards my mid section. "Really? So why are your claws out?" He returns his pokerfaced attention to me.

Damn! Too late I retract them. "Nightmare. Real bad one," I mutter. "'S okay now. I'm cool. Everything's cool."

"So now I can let you go?"

"Yeah."

"Let a crazed killer like you lose to prowl around the school?"

What? I can feel my anger gathering, forming a hard spike in my chest. "Some crazed killer," I rasp. "You're still breathing ain'tcha?" As soon as my angry words fall from my mouth I know I've the wrong thing. I curse inwardly. I'm not doing myself any favours here.

Summers' impassive expression transforms into one of utter revulsion. "I'm still breathing because Storm zapped you with her power." He squeezes out those words with such force he sprays me with tiny flecks of saliva.

"No! That's not how it went down…"

"Bullshit! Stryker laughed when he told me what kind of monster you really are, sharing what you did for him as he relished the irony of you being in a school for mutant kids. He described to me in detail how you sold out your own kind to the project, especially children, to save your own worthless fucking hide. He wiped your mind after you woke up and slaughtered his top scientists just for kicks.

"For Rogue's sake I didn't want to believe him but your little demonstration in the Danger Room put things into sharp perspective. Set you free in a school teeming with your favourite prey? Not a hope in hell of that happening. An animal like you should be in a fucking cage."

Crushed by the sudden impact of Summers' accusations I try to rationalise, to defend myself. "No, you're wrong. He hated mutants. The only ones he trusted were mindless slaves. No way would he do one a favour. He was lying."

Wasn't he?. My mind reels, settles on my confrontation with Stryker on a frozen helicopter pad in Canada. He'd hinted at my involvement with him, that the adamantium bonding had been at my own request, insinuating that his reticence to divulge information was somehow protecting me. I didn't believe him. Didn't think it was possible.

Oh, God.

Did I really do it?

Please let Summers be wrong.

Fear grinds a path through my wildly fluctuating emotions making my blood run cold, almost paralysing my lungs. I can't defend myself because I don't know truth from lie. I can't remember but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"He was lying," I repeat. My voice is so strained and desperate even I don't believe me.

"Scott!" It's Xavier. He sounds real pissed with his Head Boy. Under different circumstances I would be amused. "Release Logan at once and then wait for me in my study."

"But Professor…"

"Immediately, if you please."

"Yes sir."

His face once more expressionless, Summers sets to work on removing the restraints. I can see the muscles along his jaw spasm with suppressed fury and somehow it makes him look more human. Task finished, he turns on his heel and exits the med-lab without a word or a backward glance, his spine ramrod straight, his shoulders inflexible. The slam of the door speaks volumes.

I swing my legs over the edge of the table and sit up. I feel shaky, drained; crushed flat, as if the sky has fallen in on me. Dried clots of blood crack and flake from my skin. I stink of fear, old blood and stale sweat.

Xavier wheels himself closer, fixing me with his calm, steel-blue gaze. He's wearing grey sweats rather than one of his immaculate suits. "I apologise for the restraints, Logan. Given the severity of your bout of feral anger it was necessary to ensure that, once awake, you were in control of your senses."

Charlie's apologising to me? "I'm leaving, Charlie. Best for everyone if I just go."

Xavier purses his lips. "Best for whom, Logan? For you? For the school? For the team? Is running away the only solution you have?"

He ain't talking me out of this. "Cut the head-shrinking crap will ya? I almost killed Summers. My head is so fucked up right now I ain't safe to have around."

"What happened this morning was a misunderstanding, Logan. Scott shares equal blame."

Equal blame?

"'Scuse me?"

Leaning forward in his chair Xavier's demeanour alters subtly. Exasperation streams from him. And concern.

"I felt your pain very acutely last night, Logan, before you closed me out. I know your grief over Jean's death and your misplaced sense of guilt has affected you profoundly. Scott, too, is suffering greatly and it is clouding his judgement somewhat. Both of you are too strong and too proud to admit that you need help dealing with this crisis. For all of your differences in character, the two of you are more alike than you realise."

"I didn't ask for the scenic tour, Charlie," I say wearily. "Where's this leading?"

"Why didn't you seek permission to use the Danger Room?"

The question takes me by surprise. I shrug. "I didn't think I would get it."

Leaning back in his chair, Xavier regards me with cool detachment, his expression cynical. "I do not believe that. And neither do you."

My turn to be exasperated. "Why the third degree if ya already know the answer?"

"It was a simple question, Logan. Why are you being so hostile and defensive?"

Xavier's not letting this go. If he wants to hear the truth from my own lips then why the hell not? I swallow before 'fessing up. "Because I didn't want anyone to see what I really am. You happy now?" I scrub my face with my hands unable to believe I'd voiced my chagrin so casually.

"And what is it, precisely, that you think you really are?"

Why is he doing this? Is he deliberately trying to provoke me into anger? Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag now. "What Stryker said. What Summers said. I'm a fucking animal. Jeezus, what d'ya want from me?"

Resting his elbows on the arms of his wheelchair, Xavier steeples his fingers and looks over them at me, his gaze steady.

"You are not an animal, Logan, although it is an integral part of your psyche. I overheard what Scott said. Almost word for word it was the same litany Stryker delivered to my ears when he held me captive. In fact he took great delight in taunting me with your presence at the school."

"You think he was lying?" I ask hopefully.

"No."

I don't know what reply I was expecting but it sure as hell ain't that one. Xavier's stark admission rocks me to the core of my being. But for the fact I'm sitting I might well have stumbled to my knees in shock.

"You think I did all them things? Betrayed them kids, all them people to their deaths?"

"I believe William Stryker was telling an abridged version of the truth."

I want to puke but my throat has constricted to the point I can barely draw breath. The walls feel like they're closing in on me, judging me. I'm obviously missing the point Xavier's trying to make here. He thinks I helped Stryker off mutants to save myself but he doesn't think I'm an animal?

"It can't be true," I moan softly. Suddenly I want to end it. I don't care about my lost memories any more. I don't care about the fifteen years of hell I've endured since.

Fingers seize my arm in a tight grip. "Logan, stop this. It wasn't your fault."

I laugh. It's high pitched, tinged with insanity.

"Listen to me, Logan," Xavier demands urgently, "Answer me this. If a man holds a gun to someone's head and pulls the trigger, who is to blame for that someone's death? The gun? Or the man?"

I stare at him like he's grown another head. "What?"

"The gun or the man?"

"The man of course."

"And that man was William Stryker. I believe you were his gun, Logan. Stripped of all memory and conscious will you had no choice but to do his bidding. Like Scott, like the unfortunate Yuriko Oyama, he reduced you to an unfeeling, mindless slave.

"How d'ya reckon I wasn't a willing participant?"

"You said it yourself. Stryker hated mutants. All mutants. And I've decrypted enough of Stryker's files to discover you were definitely not on his staff. It is a reasonable assumption that if you were not serving the project, then you were an unwilling victim of it."

"But you were concerned enough to go looking, right?" Xavier winces but doesn't break eye contact. I've definitely hit a raw nerve. "What else did you find Charlie?"

"Logan, you have a strength of character and an innate sense of honour rarely encountered in this world. That you can function on any civilised level after what happened to you is testament to your intelligence and your resilience. You are not a self-serving monster, Logan. Everything I've learned about you, both in thought and deed, contraindicates Stryker's claims."

"Yeah, I'm a regular fucking hero. That's why I beat up people for money. Answer the damn question Charlie."

"Very well. There is very little information predating three years ago other than civilian staff records and military personnel files. These particular records go back as far as 1977. You do not feature in them."

"Could've been freelance."

"Why are you so eager to paint yourself in the darkest shades of black?"

"Maybe 'coz I know me better'n you do." I've done some pretty questionable things in my time, Charlie, but I ain't gonna go into that anytime soon.

"I believe you are doing yourself a grave injustice Logan."

I hope to God that's true. "Whatever. What else did ya find?"

"Miss Oyama, it seems, was a fairly recent addition to Stryker's team. There is mention of a previously cancelled experiment, code named Weapon X. The unfortunate child was subject to a modified version of this project and her free will chemically isolated by a drug manufactured from a secretion produced by Jason Stryker's neocortex. Not quite as barbaric as a complete mind wipe but still criminally reprehensible. An increasingly ineffective control of the original test subject seems to be the single issue that ground the project to a very sudden halt some years ago."

I thought my heart was going to seize up. "Stryker called me a failed experiment. The Oyama kid had a healing factor. Like me she survived the adamantium bonding process – that's gotta be the Weapon X project. But the control mechanisms were different. And she didn't smell feral. Was that the difference, Charlie? The reason why I escaped and she didn't?"

"I believe you may be right."

The tightly wound coil of fear inside me lost it's tension and I exhaled my relief. What Xavier said made sense. He'd hardly keep me around if he thought I'd endanger his kids. Running my fingers through my thick hair I managed a grin. "Guess I'll be hanging out here a while longer, Charlie."

"I'm pleased to hear it. However, your welcome at the school is conditional."

"Oh?" I stare at him, eyes narrowed.

"I want your word that the next time you feel the need to…ah…dismantle something in the Danger Room, you arrange to have an observer present at the controls. Ororo has offered to do this at any hour of the day or night."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "'Ro said that?"

Xavier lips bend into a smile. "She feels it's the least she can do after misinterpreting your cry of pain as a prelude to delivering a coup de grâce on Scott. She is terribly upset that her own impetuous actions injured you."

I shake my head. "She made a split second decision based on the evidence of her eyes. Probably the same decision I would have made. I ain't gonna blame her for that."

"Nevertheless. Your word if you please."

"You have it, okay." It's a small price to pay.

"Very good. I shall ask Scott to reinstate your full voice command code."

Why you sly old bastard. "That was you?"

"I have been monitoring you for quite some time. You have an impetuous nature, Logan. The Danger Room is a logical outlet for your aggression but I was concerned for your safety so I limited your combat status to level six. I have to say your ingenuity in circumventing part of the programming proved to be something of a revelation."

Xavier drops his hands to the wheels of his chair and backs off a ways.

"What about Summers? He thinks I'm capable of delivering mutant kids up for vivisection. He has the headache to prove it."

Serious now, all traces of his smile gone, Xavier intones, "I'll speak to Scott presently. He has been badly shaken by the recent events and his focus is not as precise as it should be. It seems he's forgotten the things Stryker forced him do under the duress of the mid controlling agent and how impossible it proved to fight against its influence."

All attention now I remember something that slipped my mind. "Jeannie was limping. If he hurt her…" I growled threateningly.

"Logan. Scott would kill himself before he ever hurt Jean. He is as blameless as you. What he did whilst under Stryker's control has sickened him to his very core and he has been tearing himself apart ever since with a guilt that as misplaced as yours."

This time I couldn't look Xavier in the eye. How would I have felt if I'd hurt Jeannie and then been forced to stand helplessly by and watch her die?

"Why don't you shower and then have something to eat. I have a special guest I would like you to meet. Say, my study at eleven thirty?"

His smile is back, all traces of his previous anger, are now gone. I'd forgotten about the midnight arrival. "Sure."

He wheels himself out of the med-lab leaving me to wonder who the mystery woman is. Guess I'm gonna find out soon enough.