Disclaimer: Maggie and Jessica are mine. Ya know the rest.

Thanks to Dee (MidLifeCrisi) who kindly beta'd this and the previous chapter. Her help on medical procedures has been a great help. Thanks a million, sweetheart.

Thanks to JoeGood2003, Dee (MidLifeCrisis), dayrunner 145, and Taluliaka, for their encouraging reviews.

Chapter 13: Heavy Metal.

"Oh, Logan. What were you thinking, pet?"

As my vision clears I can see Maggie's concerned face eclipsing my view of the med-lab ceiling. The surface beneath me is hard and cold except for a soft towel cradling my head.

I can't believe I fainted like a girl.

"Did I pass out?"

"Just for a few moments."

Confirmation. "Damn!"

"Your head hit the floor with such a crack you may have given yourself concussion. I think it best you don't move until assistance arrives. It's on the way right now."

Christ, who's she called? Better not be Summers or the queen of snark. There's no way either of 'em's gonna see me like this. I manage to prop myself up on an elbow and attempt to manoeuvre my legs so I can get my knees underneath me. "Don't need any help."

"Pet, you are not doing yourself any favours. Why do you insist on taking obstinacy and macho growliness to an extreme?"

Head feels twice its normal size and the back of my skull is throbbing like the drums of hell. I don't need Maggie lecturing me right now. Frustrated and scared by this unprecedented weakness my rage erupts in an uncontrollable torrent..

"Because I'm one awkward, motherfucking son of a bitch. And I am not your fucking pet."

Maggie stiffens and I hear a sharp intake of breath. I've hurt her. Jeezus, I didn't mean that. She's trying to help me and I snap and snarl at her like a wounded beast. What sort of bastard treats a friend that way? Guilt gets distracted by a more pressing and unpleasant sensation. Stomach's churning like a maelstrom;. "Oh shit…" I swallow hard against the bile burning it's way up my oesophagus but it's a battle that's already lost. Can't help it. I'm gonna barf. Like magic a metal bowl appears before me and in the nick of time too. Where the hell did she get that?

"There you go, pet," she says in her soothing mother's voice.

Heaving so hard I expect to see my toenails floating in the goop I almost don't hear the door servos. That's just great. Sprawled on the floor, half naked and puking my guts up and I got a fucking audience. Maggie rubs my back as I dry heave. All that's left is the lining of my stomach and I don't really wanna be acquainted with that. Finally, the nausea subsides.

"All finished?"

I begin to nod my head and think better of it. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." She hands me a moist wipe.

"Maggie, what I said, just then. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't, pet. People aren't at their best when they're feeling under the weather."

Before I can answer, she's taken the bowl away. Now the stink of vomit isn't filling my nose I can smell the two newcomers. The absence of a handy bowl disinclines me to turn my head in their direction. One smells pleasant and the name Moira springs into my mind. Peachy, she's brought the Smurf with her. His overlying bamf stink is almost as bad as the puke and I start to dry heave. Oh god, is it possible to feel this wretched and live?

Moira crouches at my side. "Look at me, laddie." Taking it slowly I comply, looking straight into her deep green eyes. It suddenly strikes me that this is the kid's mom.

"I…"

"Hush a wee moment will yeh?" She don't sound particularly angry. In fact the only thing I'm getting off of her is concern. I don't understand.

Shining a light into each of my eyes she says, "Pupils are even and reacting normally." She holds three fingers up. "How many fingers can yeh see?"

"Two more than I'd use."

She don't smile exactly but she does seem to be amused. "D'yeh know what day it is?"

"No fucking idea. Two days after I was brought in here."

Reaching behind my head she probes the tenderness."

"Ow! Gerroff." How come I don't remember the little snippet about her being a goddamn sadist?

"At least we dinnae need tae worry about fractures. I don't think yeh've a concussion but we'll keep yeh under observation just the same." She turns away. "C'mon, let's help the laddie get tae his feet."

I wanna tell them to back off; that I can do this without their help. Common sense dictates that letting them help is far more is preferable to the indignity of falling on my ass again. Grudgingly, I allow them to invade my personal space and help me upright with the Elf taking the strain. My metal laden weight makes blue guy grunt with exertion. Shrugging them off I manage to sit myself on the edge of the bed. I'm shaking, and not just from the effort of getting up. Don't want them to witness my weakness. I just want them to go the fuck away but that don't seem to be happening.

"Are you feeling all right, pet?"

Nothing escapes Maggie's eagle eye.

"It's cold in here," I lie.

Lips pursed she gives me one of her shrewd stares. I'm under no illusion I'm fooling her for a second.

"Let's get yeh back in the bed, Logan. Yeh shouldn't be exerting yersel' like this. Whatever gave yeh over tae this nonsense?" Moira looks at me expecting an explanation. She can expect as much as she likes 'coz I ain't in the mood to explain.

I stink of sickness, medication, sweat and vomit. The taste in my mouth is worse. Ignoring her question I respond to her suggestion.

"No." Moira raises a questioning eyebrow and Maggie rolls her eyes in a what now kinda way. "I smell worse than a gorilla's jockstrap. I wanna get cleaned up." Ain't gonna compromise on this. Not even I wanna sit next to me.

"What fascinating imagery yeh use. Fair enough. I'm sure a washbasin can be arranged."

"No fucking bed-baths. I know there's a shower in the med-lab. I wanna use that." Don't wanna stink like a polecat for Jessie. And I aim to be seeing her real soon.

"I don't think that's a good idea, lad." Moira's expression is one of determination. I watched Charlie bend under it's onslaught. Well I ain't Charlie.

"Ain't up for debate. I gotta stay in this fucking dungeon then I get to use the shower." Never argued the case to clean up before. This is a real novelty. "And I get to use my own stuff. Not that chemical scrub the docs use."

Maggie and Moira look at each other. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt under supervision," Moira concedes. "Once I've satisfied myself your fall didn't do anything untoward tae the embolism."

Don't like the sound of that. "Don't take all day. And ya can supervise the other side of the door. I won't lock it okay?"

"I'll nip upstairs and get your stuff, pet. I'll be back inside of ten minutes."

"Thanks Maggie."

Checking up on my blood pressure and heart rate, Moira quickly scribbles down the results on my medical chart. Then she listens to my chest. "Yeh've a bit of congestion, Logan."

"What does that mean?"

"Yeh heart's not working as efficiently as it might or maybe yeh've contracted a virus. Whatever the cause there's some minor fluid build up in yer lungs. The condition needs monitoring and I have tae advise against taking the shower."

Well I feel fucking assured by that. "Ya know what ya can do with yer advice." I glare at Stinky and find he's deliberately not looking in my direction. Instead he's studiously engaged in reading an eye chart like it's a bestseller. Bet the plot sucks just as badly too.

"Even though it's against my better judgement?"

"I got heightened senses, Moira. I need to do this."

"No yeh don't Yeh planning on using the toilet before yeh shower?"

"Nah, I thought I'd turn a few cartwheels and climb the north face of the Chrysler Building."

"Well, before yeh do that…" Moira bends and retrieves a small bowl and a piss bottle from a low shelf. "…yeh can fill these. I want a urine and stool sample from yeh if yeh can manage it."

"Ya want me to shit in a bowl?"

"Well I wouldnae put it quite like that, but yes."

Kill me now.

Dumping the receptacles on a handy surface Moira walks over to a door on the far side of the med-lab and opens it. From what little I can see it looks like a medical storeroom. She disappears and emerges a few seconds later with a wheelchair.

"What's that for?" I ask, my suspicion gauge registering in the red.

"Yeh expect us tae compromise, well so do yeh."

No. No way are they gonna get me in that thing. "There's not a snowball's chance in…"

"Not debateable," she paraphrases. "Yer too heavy to carry and I'm not going tae risk yeh falling and that clot breaking free because yer too macho to be pushed a few feet across a room. Kurt, can yeh take one of those plastic chairs and put it in the shower please?"

"Of course."

Eyes narrowed I watch him do Moira's bidding. Actually I'm relieved about the chair because as much as I want the shower and know my legs ain't too reliable just now. Papa Smurf, aware of my scrutiny, flicks his tail nervously and deals me a watery smile. I raise him a snarl. I don't want him here to see any of this. Nervous of my hostility he rolls those weird yellow eyes and flicks his tail faster. The bad guys are gonna eat him alive and pick their teeth with his tail spike.

Maggie returns clutching a bulging, brightly coloured toiletry bag I don't have. I guess it's a loaner. Moira has already wheeled the chair to my side and I reluctantly lower myself into it, glaring at each of them in turn and daring anyone to laugh on pain of disembowelment. Seems that Kurt is the only one who ain't amused by the sight of the Wolverine on wheels. Maybe the blue guy's cool after all.

A deep, menacing growl rumbles in my throat. "If anyone says word fucking one about this…"

-o0o-

"Whatcha doing?"

Moira's sitting hunched over a microscope and scribbling something down in a book. I don't recall her putting on the white lab coat. Guess she's been busy while I slept. The exertion of taking the shower really fucked me up. As I scrubbed away two days worth of stink, vitality drained from me at an alarming rate and it took a concentrated effort not to fall off the chair. I know I made it back to bed but I don't remember the electrodes or the canula being replaced.

I don't sleep that heavy. Not ever. Feel like shit too. Chest hurts and makes a weird wheezing sound when I breathe. Joints ache like they're being slowly wrenched apart. Vague sensation of burning in my guts. Weak and woozy. Vile taste in my mouth like old blood. My feet and hands got pins and needles. And my head's throbbing in harmony with that annoying fucking beeping of the heart monitor.

Pen poised, she swivels in her chair and regards me over her half moon spectacles. "Routine tests. Yer blood chemistry is still abnormal I'm afraid. The anticoagulant will take time tae work, several days at least. I'm hoping yer healing factor will deal wi' the problem before then but it isnae happening yet."

"So I ain't getting outta here today then."

"And probably not tomorrow. I'm sorry, Logan."

Damn! I rub the half healed wounds on my neck and left arm which are raw and tender and ain't going away so I reckon she ain't shitting me. The partially healed wounds on my knuckles where I must've ejected my claws are still weeping fluid through the dressings. This is not good.

"When can I see Jessie?"

"Maggie will speak tae Scott after he's finished his last class of the day. We'll see what can be arranged."

Are they stalling for time 'til Charlie and 'Ro return? Not happy. Summers ain't gonna relent, I can feel it in my gut. Well neither am I. Ain't Moira's fault though. "'Kay," I respond, "But I ain't taking no for an answer." She blinks, but says nothing. The stern set of her mouth says it for her.

Change of subject. Something Reyes said. A memory shakes loose and brings painful recollection. I gotta know. "Is Rahne your kid?"

Moira removes her spectacles and places them gently on the notes she's been writing. "She's my adopted daughter, yes." Her expression is carefully composed, guarded even, but I'm not getting a sense of any animosity, just anxiety. Strange.

"Then why ain'tcha tearing me a new on for what I did?"

"Do yeh remember what happened?" Interest animates her face. And hope?

"Only know what Reyes told me."

"Oh." Disappointment. This ain't the reaction I'm expecting.

"The kid okay?"

"Rahne's fine. The bruising is almost gone. The bairn has an accelerated healing factor too. Nothing like yers though." Moira smiles but there's a weariness in her green eyes that makes her seem frayed around the edges like an over-loved rag doll.. I don't know how to respond so I settle for safe.

"Good." Don't feel it. I beat up on a kid. Even if her Mom accepts that it don't make it right.

"What did Cecilia tell you?" she enquires.

"Only that the kid and I were sitting in the library talking about feeling safe when she went nuts and did a number on me. Other than that…" I shrug.

"One o' the children in the library says Rahne shouted something before the feral rage took her. Words tae the effect that yeh smelled just like him."

What the fuck does that mean? "Who's him? I don't understand."

"I think it safe tae assume the him she was referring tae was her abusive father. Without going intae great detail, her father lost his mind when his wife died and his infant daughter paid for it in years of beatings and fear. The abuse grew worse when he discovered Rahne's mutantcy and believed her to be the spawn of the devil. One day she almost killed him and escaped. The man's in a secure institution now."

Good for her. But what's with the feral rage thing? "She's like me then?"

Moira smiled wanly. "Not quite. She's a werewolf. Yeh were helping the bairn try tae control her rages and she tore yeh bad with those wicked sharp claws o' hers."

"Guess I fucked up then." Moira looks distraught. There's more to this sorry tale than meets the eye. "I don't get this business about smelling like her old man though."

"No one does, Logan. It wasnae a problem until that day in the library. Maybe yeh'd been in contact with another that smelled similar."

Odds are way against that. "Possible but unlikely. Every personal scent is different. Like snowflakes, there ain't no two alike. The only way I could smell like the bastard is to physically have his scent on me. And to do that, he's gotta be somewhere close by and been in very close proximity with me, brushed up against me or the like. Ya sure he's still locked up?"

Moira nods her head. "That was my immediate fear. A phone call confirmed the Reverend Sinclair is still being cared for in a secure hospital unit."

The guy's a fucking priest?

"Then it musta been a psychosomatic trigger. Overwhelming response like that shouldn't be hard to pin down." This ain't my territory. Ask me, the kid needs a shrink. "Only person who can say for sure is the kid. Ain't ya asked her why yet?"

"I've tried. The bairn's in complete denial. Hasnae said a single word on the matter and refuses tae leave her room. I cannae even mention yer name in her hearing without her breaking intae a snarl and flexing her claws."

Sounds like seven kinds of trouble. Violence of this magnitude's gotta have a reason. The kid's spooked real good. If what Moira's saying is true, she's displaying typical fear/threat behaviour. Typical for me that is.

"If we can't identify the trigger ya run the risk of it happening again and the owner of the next throat she rips out might not be so lucky. If she ain't talking to you then she's gonna have to talk to me." Next time I'll be ready for her.

"That's nae a good idea Logan. Rahne's behaviour is too unpredictable and yer in no fit state. I already feel responsible for what happened to yeh. After yeh volunteered to help and all."

"Moira, I would have been aware of the risks when I took the job on. I knew what I was getting myself into, okay? If it's anyone's fault it's mine for allowing the situation to get out of control."

Leaning forward in her chair Moira bows her head. "Yeh a good man, Logan.

Ya say that 'coz ya don't know me, darlin'.

-o0o-

"Hey, Logan."

Rogue breezes in balancing a laden tray in her hands. More chicken broth and bread. Don't give a fuck 'coz, since the last meal don't count, I'm ready to eat boiled shoes. Saliva glands have gone into overload in anticipation.

"Hey kid."

"Ah really missed seeing ya. How're ya'll feeling now?" The frown knitting her brows together don't match the bright smile on her face. Worry ain't something that smells nice on her.

"'Fine. Be outta here sooner than ya think."

Rogue looks around for somewhere to put the tray.

"Wait a sec, Rogue. I'll just get the table." Moira rises from her seat and retrieves the table Maggie used earlier and wheels it across to me. "There yeh go, hen."

"Thanks." Dropping the tray on the polished top she whips away the cloth covering the tray's contents.

Just as my nose told me. But there's an extra. Sat in a dish and still quivering from the movement of the tray is a bunny made from green jello. I stare at it, unbelieving, mesmerised by its presence. A fucking jello rabbit. It's sickly cute, it's quivering and it's on my tray. A fucking green fucking jello motherfucking rabbit! The ultimate fucking humiliation.

"What's that?"

Rogue giggles. She thinks I'm funning. "It's a jello bunny."

"I can see that. What's it doing on my tray?" The effort not to swear out loud is almost too fucking much.

"Well, it's kinda just sitting there, Logan. Sorta waiting for ya t'eat it."

"Do I look like the type of candy-ass pansy that eats jello rabbits?"

"Mah Mom used ta give it me when Ah was ill. Jello's real nice."

A fucking jello rabbit! I shove the dish in her direction. "Then it's all yours kid." I'm gonna have a few choice words with Maggie. Sometimes a guy can be pushed too far.

"I brung ya some beer too."

Beer? Suddenly things are looking up. "Ya brought beer?"

"Right here." Rogue pulls a squat brown bottle out of her jacket pocket. Can't see the label 'coz her hand's obscuring it Bottle's on the small side but a lot of imported beers come in small bottles.

Reaching over I demand, "Gimme."

Moira beats me to it. "Oh no yeh don't. Nae alcohol, Logan and nae exceptions. Rogue, will yeh hand it over please?"

Horrified I watch Rogue hand over the bottle. Moira reads the label and then laughs quietly. "Och, I have nae exceptions tae this beer."

Suspicions aroused I ask, "Ya don't?"

Holding bottle by its neck she reveals the label – Old Jamaica Ginger Beer. I've seen the stuff before. Maggie drinks it occasionally. It's a bottle of fucking soda!

Chicken broth, jello rabbits and soda. My growing anger erupts into a seething rage.

"Are ya trying to drive me fucking insane?" I round on the red haired bitch. Ya fucked up my healing factor and now ya gonna treat me like some little fucking kid?"

"Logan. What d'yeh think yeh doing, man? This is nae like yeh. Think about what it is yer saying. Yer frightening Rogue."

Like I give a shit. "Ya know what, sister? Fuck you. Ya don't know me. None of ya knows what I really am. Ya sure as hell don't understand what makes me tick. And that's how you and the snark queen fucked me up a real treat, didn'tcha."

The kid backs away, shock pale like the white hair framing her face, trembling and tears dribbling down her cheeks. "Logan, please don't talk to Moira like that. She's just trying to help y'all. This is so not you."

"Ya think so, sweetcheeks? Well neither is this shit." I sweep the tray of the table and it makes a satisfying din as it crashes to the floor in an explosion of broth, jello and broken pottery.

"You're scaring me, Logan."

"Yeah, well now ya starting to see what I'm really like don'tcha kid."

The beeps from the monitor have increased and grown irregular. Every single beep's like a nail being driven into my aching head. Gotta shut the sucker off. Gotta pull off the wires.

Moira moves and her hands grip my arms, trying to prevent me ripping off the wires. "Logan, don't." Violently I shake her grip loose but it costs me. Dizziness engulfs me, makes the room spin, leaves me weak and gasping. Unable to escape I'm vulnerable, cornered. Unthinking reflex pops the claws. The pain is excruciating and I watch, horrified, as blood soaks the bandages over my knuckles.

"Rogue leave. Now! Press that red button on the wall and get yersel' away." Rogue hesitates and Moira demands in a low voice heavy with urgency, "Get gone girl." Rogue bolts. Moira backs away from me, fearful but frustrated. Inside my head a voice is screaming at me. Telling me to back the fuck off. I scared Rogue. I'm scaring Moira. My animal's not in charge but I can't help myself. The rage won't stop. Please make it stop.

"What's happening to me?" I roar. Am I losing my fucking mind?

Moira's talking to me but I can't make sense of anything she's saying. She might as well be speaking a foreign language. Heart's beating fit to burst. I'm trembling all over but whether it's rage or shock I can't tell. Salt and metal; I can taste blood in my mouth. Did I bite myself? Claws won't retract. Can't sum up enough energy to put the fuckers away. Then nausea hits me like a sledgehammer and I begin to heave my guts up. Twisting around I hang my head over the side, trying not to impale myself, as strings of slimy bile dribble from my mouth and drip on the floor to mix with the spilled food. Flecks of bright red and dull brown look ugly against the greenish bile. Blood drips from my hands and forms inkblots of arterial red on the floor Rage dissipates to be replaced by icy fear. The symptoms are worsening.

"Logan?"

All I can do is groan my response.

Moira is frantically grabbing stuff from various shelves. "Can yeh put the claws away, man? I need tae stop the bleeding."

The nausea passes as quickly as it came. "Wanna. Can't," I mumble. Trying to focus my concentration away from the stomach spasms is hard but I work at it. I'm rewarded with the sensation of the claws slipping back into their sheaths. Moira is at my side at once and begins cutting away the sodden dressings. She winces as the gaping wounds are revealed. "Dear God." Working quickly she covers both sets of wounds with gauze and binds them. "That'll do for a few minutes until I can deal with the injuries properly. Can yeh hold yeh hands up to help stem the bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Her hand feels cool as she touches my face and forehead. "Yer feverish. Open yer mouth."

"What?" I'm bleeding like a stuck pig and she wants to take my temperature?

"Please do as I ask." Taking a surgical glove from a nearby receptacle she puts it on and begins to examine the gums around my teeth. She presses on the skin and I taste fresh blood. Peeling the glove off and disposing of it she checks out my eyes. "How're yeh feeling, Logan?"

"Like crap."

"Yer symptoms, man. Describe them." So I do. As I rattle off my woes she begins another trawl through cupboards and cabinets.

"What's wrong?"

"I think yeh suffering from adamantium poisoning. Yer symptoms are certainly consistent with certain types of metal poisoning. At least it explains a few things that have been puzzling me. Ya have tae understand that adamantium poisoning is so rare no one knows much about it. The urine and stool sample will help me tae confirm the diagnosis and I'll need tae take more blood."

More? Like I ain't lost enough already? Trying not to reveal how fucking scared I am I resort to cool and casual.

"So I'm cutting edge medicine, huh? Should be able to get a paper outta me at least. Waddaya reckon?" My chuckle turns into a hacking cough and I begin to choke. Suddenly she's rubbing my back vigorously. Can't make up my mind whether she's being comforting or helpful. Either way I don't want it. Too weak to be effective I totally screw up on shoving her away.

"Take it easy, laddie. Try not to cough too hard," she instructs as she continues to rub my back. Easier said than done. I can feel the mucous slithering upwards as I hack away like a consumptive.

Coupla pairs of heavy footfalls echo along the hall outside med-lab and suddenly Summers and that metal kid burst into the room. Through my watering eyes I can see Summers' hand clamped to his visor's control. The Russian kid stands behind him, dwarfing Summers with his bulk. Bringing muscle like that along I guess old One-Eye's looking for a fight. Shame I gotta disappoint him.

"Moira, what the hell's going on? Rogue's having seven kinds of fit upstairs. Said Logan went nuts and pulled his claws on you both." His visored gaze surveys the mess of food and broken crockery on the floor and then takes in the scene on the bed. He stops dead and simply stares. Beneath his adrenaline fuelled outrage there's another emotion stirring. I'd lay odds the bastard's enjoying the view; just savouring the moment. Wonder if he'd be as amused if I sank my claws into his gizzard?

"What the fuck you staring at?" I gasp. "Ya never seen anyone coughing before?"

I'm past embarrassment. Just appalled at what I did and said. I hope I can make it up to Rogue is all.

"Scott, will yeh make yersel' useful. Put on some surgical gloves and break out some of that gauze for me. I have tae deal with these wounds and stem the bleeding."

Summer's looks daggers at me. Guess he don't like the evidence he's seeing. Ain't he noticed there's no corpses lying around? Can't he see the only bastard bleeding is me?

"Ya heard the nice doctor, Nurse Summers. Jump to it." Another fit of coughing takes me and this time the spasms light a fire in my gut.

"The gloves are in the dispenser on the wall over there." Moira gestures in the general direction. "Bring a fresh pair for me too please. Quickly now."

Summers frowns and puckers his lips like he's got a nasty taste in his mouth. "Uh, yeah. Okay."

Gotta give the guy this. He does quickly now like a pro. Shoving his hands into the gloves I hear the rubber snap tightly over each of One-Eye's wrists. He walks to the bed holding both hands up and away from his body like he's seen one too many medical dramas. Jerk. He's clutching the spare pair of surgical gloves in one hand which hang limp, their flaccid fingers looking like a bunch of little wiener condoms. A piece of broken plate crunches beneath his feet. He looks down at the ground and then directly at me, not trying too hard to conceal his contempt.

"What the hell were you thinking when you unsheathed your claws on Moira and Rogue?"

All I can do is glare at him 'coz I ain't got no answer. Simple truth is I lost it. I lost my temper over a stupid jello rabbit and the claws gatecrashed the party before I knew what I was doing.

Moira takes the gloves from Summers and puts them on. Scissors in hand she carefully removes one of the temporary dressings. "Piotr?" She says without looking up.

The steel guy who's standing near the door, bodybuilder arms folded across his massive chest, his gaze fixed on yours truly, almost snaps to attention when he replies, "Yes Doctor MacTaggert?"

"Can you please arrange for someone to clean up the mess on the floor?"

"Da, of course." The kid turns on his heal and leaves.

"You didn't answer my question, Logan."

"This is nae the time for recrimination, Scott. There are more urgent priorities and I don't want Logan more stressed than he already is so I ask yeh kindly, please do not antagonise him. Pass me one of those swabs will yeh?"

At Moira's mention of stress, One-Eye's expression goes blank. I can smell inner turmoil shot through with strange flashes of formless satisfaction. Fearless leader wouldn't laugh. No way. Not openly. It wouldn't be appropriate behaviour for the primo X Man. I like to think that somewhere inside the dickweed's condescending, immaculate, exterior whose spine's held unnaturally rigid by a ramrod inserted asswise, is a kernel of humanity who would find amusement in the mighty Wolverine being stressed out. And if the bastard rears his metrosexual head and puts even a ghost of a smile on Beam Boy's lips he is so fucking dead already.

"You could have hurt them or worse, Logan."

"Well he didn't," Moira informs him. Mild anger lends her voice an acidic edge which isn't lost on Summers. Exasperated by Moira's failure to see his point, his lips settle into that familiar severe line. Ain't saying nothing 'coz I got misgivings about me too. I popped my claws on Rogue, for Chrissake.

Having dispensed with her severity Moira informs me apologetically, "This might not smell particularly nice, Logan." Moira loads a swab with Betadine and its acrid, iodine odour sears the sensitive membranes in my nose and throat.

"Jeezus, Moira.!" I choke out. "Couldn'tcha find a concoction that stinks better'n that?" Ain't gonna flinch or whine. I'm used to worse pain but damn, this hurts. But the stink's worse.

"Sorry. I'll get this over with as quickly as possible."

As Moira wipes away the blood to reveal the raw tissue Summer's complexion pales. I grin at him, baring my teeth and watch as he recoils. Running my tongue over my teeth and gums I lick away the tiny flecks of blood. I can only imagine what my gory grin looks like to him. Certainly has an effect. I do it again but he's prepared and just looks stony. Pity.

"Heard this nasty rumour that ya ain't letting Jessie see me," I say conversational like. Jeez, if this guys expression gets any stonier ya could call him Cliff.

"It isn't a rumour. We don't know anything about her so I'm not granting her access to the complex."

That's a pile of crap! "No, you don't know anything about her. Why is that? Yer've had time to check her background out a dozen times over. What's with the fucking delay?"

"Checking out her antecedents is not a priority. You only met her a few days ago and you've only spent hours, that's hours Logan, in her company. She's not even a mutant. She's…

"X Factor positive. Her brother's a mutant."

"And you take her word for that?"

"Don't need to. I can smell a lie and she wasn't lying. I can also smell her latency."

Summers snorts his disbelief. "And I'm supposed to be assured by that? She's a looker, I'll grant you, but you're letting her fuckability cloud your judgement."

"Grrrahhhrr!" I'm gonna kill him.. I'm gonna rip him six ways from fucking Sunday. And then I'm gonna dance on his fucking entrails. The claws of my right hand shoot out but before I can sink 'em into flesh Summers springs backwards, beyond my reach, his feet slipping in the mess on the floor. I watch his arms windmill as he fights for balance. Recovering quickly – damn he's fast – he slaps his hand to his visor control and I steel myself for the concussive blast that's sure to follow. My energy's spent. All I can do is snarl my defiance, an empty gesture I ain't got a hope in hell of backing up.

"No!" Moira's yell rings in my ears, it's severe enough to give Summers pause. Then she's on her feet, placing herself between me and the combat ready Catwalk Boy.

"Get away from him, Moira. There's only one way to deal with a feral rage."

Moira's fit to spit but she tempers her anger, limiting it to a scathing rebuke. "What the hell d'yeh think yeh doing, laddie? Didn't I ask yeh not tae antagonise him? Stand down for God's sake."

"What? That animal just made a serious attempt to run me through and you're telling me to back off?

"That's it, asshole. Hide behind a woman. If I had the strength to get off this fucking bed it wouldn't save ya." My voice drips with contempt and then chokes off as another fit of coughing seizes me. Who the fuck does he think he is? No one speaks about Jessie like she's some hooker. And certainly not to my face.

Suddenly Moira's back at my side, her body language agitated by a growing sense of urgency. "Logan, for God's sake put those claws away. You can't afford to lose anymore blood."

"Get that bastard out of here first," I manage to squeeze out as I struggle for breath.

"Look at him, Moira. He's certifiable. The lunatic should be in restraints."

"You're wrong on all counts. He's critically ill He's a feral. He's on edge. And he's not exactly himself right now. That gives him a hair trigger which I would oblige you not to pull."

"But he's out of his mind!"

"And your comments are out of hand. Now either leave or co-operate and do as I ask."

"Fucktard comes near me I'll gut him," I warn.

"There's nae need for that. Scott didn't mean what he said."

"Yes he did. He couldn't fucking help himself."

"You can't reason with him when he's like this…"

Pressed to the extreme limit of her patience, Moira explodes. "Will yeh quit this ridiculous pissing contest both o' yeh! Yer behaving like a couple o' squabbling brats. You," she points at Summers, "Back off right now. As for you," Moira turns to face me and I can see a dangerous glint in her eye. Boy is she pissed. "Are yeh going tae sheath the claws and let me stop the bleeding? Or is it yer plan to have me watch while yer life seeps away?"

Put like that she has a point. Chastised and chagrined I mutter, "'Kay," and do as she asks. Claws sheathed I stare at the gaping, bleeding wounds. Having little or no healing factor really sucks.

"I'll get some more swabs," Summers announces as blood dribbles down my fingers and drips onto me and the bed. I can feel patches of wet warmth spreading across my thighs as the sweat pants material absorbs my vital fluid. The coppery smell of blood adds a sickly undertone to the stench of the Betadine.

Breathing a sigh of relief Moira mutters, "Thank you," as she sets to work on my mangled knuckles once more.

Boy Scout plucks sealed packs out of the dressings cabinet and stuffs them into the crook of his left arm. The rigidity of his posture hasn't relaxed one iota and I see his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.

"Logan, I can appreciate you wanting to see your friend but surely you, of all people, are aware of the crucial need to maintain security. Visitors to the school are one thing but revealing what we are to any Tom, Dick or Jessica who walks through the door I can't condone. Frankly, I'm amazed you're making an issue of this."

Rounding on him Moira snaps out, "Yeh got cloth ears or something? What part of give it a rest isnae sinking in?" An angry Moira is a sight to see when her fit of spleen is focused on someone else. I enjoy the show and then join in.

"'Unless it's slipped yer memory, Stryker's little soiree made CNN and just about every other major news network. Half the fucking western world knows where we are and what we are. I ain't demanding that ya give her a guided tour of the facility or the blueprints to all of Charlie's fancy gizmos. All she's gonna see is a lift, a hall and the fucking med-lab." I need her ya stupid ass pimple. Why can'tcha understand that?

Summers bows his head, jaw muscles pulsating as he grinds his teeth. He looks almost contemplative. I wonder what hell he can imagine me burning in. Can't be any worse than the one I'm in now. Unless it's one where I'm forced to wear the same clothes he does.

"The Professor and Ororo will be flying back from Washington later tonight." His tone, is flat, controlled. I sense little or no compromise in it. "If he is not exhausted and if he considers your seeing Jessica a priority, then scanning her will be the quickest most effective way to authenticating her background. Doing it the old fashioned way will take a lot longer. Come the morning I'm sure you and she will be making eyes at each other over your oatmeal."

Is that what ya think? Think again! "Ya can do better than that fuck-face. You get her down here now or I'll crawl outta here on my hands and knees if I have to."

Moira's reaction to my threat is swift. "You'll do nae such thing, laddie." She pauses and gazes around the lab thoughtfully. A piece of swab sinks deeply into one of the gashes. Ow already. "Scott, is there anything here that's classified, anything that a civilian shouldnae see?"

"No, I don't think so. It's just medical equipment."

"Yer only objection is tae revealing there's a facility beneath the school?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is. Where's this leading?"

I know exactly where it's leading. There's only one way to get Jessie into med-lab without breaching security. Can't believe I didn't think of it myself. I chuckle but it emerges as a breathless wheeze. "It means the lady is better at thinking outside the box than you are, limp dick." I look at Moira. "Ya think the Elf'll mind?"

"D'yeh have any objections tae Kurt teleporting directly into med-lab wi' the lassie?

"I have one big objection," he grates. "I'm not happy with an unknown quantity being so close to Cerebro and other sensitive installations."

"Damn door has a security code don't it? What's the objection if she can't leave the med-lab?"

Summers falls silent, mulling over what I said. I know he's reached the right decision when some of his uptight rigidity softens to a more natural posture.

"Very well. I'll put aside my objections providing she stays this side of the door and leaves the same way she arrived."

Finally! "What ya waiting for? Get Elf on the phone."

"Not yet," Moira intervenes. "I need tae suture these wounds, take some blood, set up a saline IV to prevent yeh getting dehydrated and get yeh cleaned up. Yer a mess, Logan. D'yeh want tae frighten the lassie?"

"No." Sutures're gonna take too long and they'll hurt. "No catgut. Ya got any superglue?"

Summers stares at me like I've lost my mind. All Moira does is smile knowingly. "I'll take a look."

"Superglue? You can't be serious, Moira. Tell me you're just humouring him."

"Not at all. In the jungles of Vietnam, miles away from any medical facilities, superglue was used to close even the most serious puncture wounds whenever possible. Not everyone survived of course but it saved a lot of lives."

"I didn't know that."

"Yeh'll have tae get it for me. If there is any, yeh'll probably find it in the supplies store. Check the inventory, it's hanging from a hook near the door."

Summers pads over to the store where Moira found the wheelchair earlier, opens the door and disappears inside. A couple of minutes later he emerges carrying a small plastic container. Silently he hands it over.

"Here yeh go, Logan. Jean certainly kept her supplies well stocked. Dinnae fash yersel' Scott. It's special surgical glue."

Fascinated, Summers watches Moira wipe away excess blood and deftly glue the raw edges together. He disposes of the soiled wipes into a small medical hazmat receptacle.

"Ain't you supposed to wear a dress and a cute hat to do stuff like that?" I enquire.

The muscles along Summers' jaw are twitching but, like a good little soldier, he don't rise to the bait.

"Logan, behave yersel', " Moira chides gently.

"I always behave, darlin', but can I help it if it's all bad?"

"Yeh impossible!"

"I hope so."

During the procedure a girl from housekeeping arrives to clean up the mess on the floor. She works quickly and efficiently, trying hard not to see what's going on with my hands. Moira thanks her as she leaves.

Wounds sealed, Moira dresses both hands with fresh gauze and bandages. Before finishing dressing my right hand she switches off the heparin syringe and changes the canula for a larger one with more outlets. "For the saline drip," she explains. "There yeh go, Logan. Let's try tae keep those claws where they belong, shall we?"

"'Kay. Thanks." She's about to reconnect the drip when I announce, "I need to pee."

"Sure. The urinal is over there, Scott."

Summers saunters over to the corner Moira indicated and makes a show of handing me the piss bottle which I snatch out of his hand.

"That ain't what I meant."

"I know. Will it help if we go into the office and give you privacy?"

"Fuck!" I say with extreme prejudice. Where's the dignity in all this? I don't mind taking a leak behind a tree. Done it more times'n I can count. But this? "Fuck!"

"We'll take that as a yes, Moira. After you," One-Eye says opening the office door with a flourish. Jerk-off. He's just the type to throw himself over a puddle and let a woman walk all over him.

Both of them retreat into the office, closing the door behind them while I take a leak. The liquid in the bottle looks dark, more like orange juice than piss.

"I'm done," I growl and glower at the pair of them as they return to the main part of the lab.

Moira takes the bottle over to the work station pours a little of its contents into a dish. Taking a testing strip from a tube container she dips it in the dish and then checks the result; frowns.

"Well?"

"I've seen better."

Great. Thanks Moira. Nothing like explaining things clearly. She takes a vial out of the drugs locker and prepares a hypodermic.

"What's that?" I ask, suspicious that it might be a sedative.

"Edetate calcium disodium. It's a chelating agent."

I had to ask. Maybe one more question will get me an answer I can understand. "What's that in English?"

"It's a substance that will attract and bind molecules of metal so that it can be flushed out o' yer body naturally. Unfortunately, since the source of the contamination is endemic to your system, I cannae guarantee this treatment will halt the progress of the poisoning."

She carries the hypodermic over to me and injects directly into the canula.

"Scott, will yeh prepare a basin o' warm water. Yeh'll find herbal toiletries in the bathroom.

After disposing of the hypo in the sharps bin she makes a note on my chart before reconnecting the heparin and taking another blood sample. Then she sets up the saline IV and hooks me up to that as well.

Summers emerges from the shower room with Maggie's delirium coloured bag in one hand and with the other holding up a bottle of herbal gel to the light and reading the label. Then he looks at me, a quizzical expression on his face.

"What?" I growl.

"Nothing," he replies.

"Make sure ya keep it that way."

"I can recommend a good moisturiser…"

"Scott!" Moira's eyes are narrowed. Last time I saw a look like that was on a pissed off mountain lion.

"And I'm sure Moira can recommend a good emergency proctologist to ya." I ain't offended. That moisturiser crack slipped through a chink in the Fearless Leader's Captain Anal suit. Maybe there's hope for him yet.

Coupla minutes later the bed table is set up for my clean-up.. Although I manage to clean my own teeth, Moira insists on sponging me down for fear of getting the fresh dressings wet. I draw the line at her drying me off though. Reckon it looks too much like babying from One-Eye's point of view. The mattress cover beneath me is replaced and finally, Moira helps me slide into a fresh pair of sweats. She chucks the bloodstained stuff into a steel hamper.

"I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you a glass of water." When Moira hands it too me I drain it in several gulps. "More?" I nod and she refills the glass. I drain that too.

Throughout the procedure, Summer's props himself against a wall unit, arms folded across his chest, looking bored.

"Ain't there something ya should be doing with a phone?"

"First things first. There are conditions you must agree to."

"And they are?" I ask warily.

"Moira?" Summers invites her to speak first.

"Jessie will only be able tae visit for fifteen minutes, Logan. Yeh can see her again in the morning."

Fifteen minutes? I'll agree to that just to get her down here but only 'coz I intend to negotiate for extra time. Don't wanna make 'em suspicious by giving in too easily though.

"Fifteen minutes? She's been waiting for two fucking days and all she gets fifteen minutes?"

"We'll see how yeh get on, okay?" That's more like it.

"Moira and Kurt will remain in the med-lab at all times," Summers chips in.

"Now wait a fucking minute…"

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

I'll take him and leave him bleeding out. Just wait 'til I get outta here. "Ya ain't leaving me with much choice are ya."

"I'm not taking any chances. One last thing. Pop the claws and I'll have you restrained and sedated."

"Ya can't do that."

"If you give me reason to consider you're a danger to the school then yes, I can."

Summers is winding me up. I look to Moira for confirmation but her face remains neutral.

"Okay, yer conditions are acceptable. For now. But only 'coz I'm a reasonable guy. Times a wasting, One-Eye. Ya gonna use the damn phone?"

Summers picks up the receiver and keys in a number. He waits. After what seems like a decade someone on the other end picks up.

"Hello? Bobby? Is Kurt nearby? Good, put him on please." Three more decades elapse and a major empire falls. "Kurt? About that suggestion we discussed earlier? Yes, that's the one. Well can you bring Jessie down as soon as you locate her? Thanks." He replaces the receiver in its cradle.

"What?" he asks as he becomes aware that both mine and Moira's eyes are firmly fixed on him.

"I though ya said ya were against Jessie coming down."

"I am. But earlier today Kurt suggested he could 'port Jessie down here. I said I'd think about it."

Elf suggested it? Boy have I got the blue fella marked down wrong. I'm gonna buy the guy a beer when I get outta here. And if his religion don't condone the drinking of alcohol then I'll drink both beers in his honour. Maybe I can help him work on his back yer buddy up in a fight thing too.

Pity he smells like one of Beelzebub's farts though.

-o0o-

Seconds after Summers leaves Kurt bamfs in with Jessie. She's looking green around the gills and just a little shocked but otherwise okay. I try not to breath before the smoke dissipates.

Momentarily confused by the sudden relocation, Jessie surveys her surroundings finally settling her gaze on me.

"Logan? Oh my god. What happened to you?"

Jeezus! How bad to I look? "No worries, baby. The Mack truck came off worse."

Jessie's a sight for sore eyes. Even in jeans and a baggy shirt she looks a million dollars. I sneak a glance at Kurt but don't catch him ogling her. Maybe he's only got eye for 'Ro. Suits me.

"I missed you, scrapper," Jessie purrs in that sensuous voice of hers. Just listening to it evaporates my irritability. Pausing to grab a handy chair she drags it across the floor and places it next to the bed. Leaning over me she brushes her lips across my cheek, her breath warm and moist against my skin. The stink of bamf smoke adhers to her clothing, its brimstone reek sickly and disturbing. I fight hard to swallow my gorge and protect what's left of my tattered dignity. It's touch and go for a few distressing moments but I win this round. Jessie's close proximity sends my heart rate up, same with the corresponding beeping Apparently unaware of the significance, Jessie sinuously folds herself into the chair.

"I missed ya too sweetheart," I reply as soon as I'm sure only words are gonna fall out of my trap. "These buncha losers been treating ya right?" I don't smile. Don't wanna frighten her with the sight of my bleeding gums. That means I can't kiss her either. Fuck.

"They've been really nice to me, especially Maggie, Moira and Kurt. Your friends are nice people. They made me feel welcome."

"That's good." Elf just earned as much beer as he can drink. Unless I find out he's been putting moves on my girl.

Moira and Elf retreat into the office and leave the door slightly ajar affording Jessie and me as much privacy as they can. It's their one concession to obeying One-Eye's chaperone clause. Summers would suffer a blue fit if he could see how bent out of shape his rules are. Maybe he can. I give the finger to the security camera that, coincidentally I'm sure, is pointing directly at me and Jessie. A small light on the camera glows a baleful, unblinking red. Just like someone I know.

"What are you doing?"

"Just saying hello."

She laughs. Beneath the worry, the relief and the bamf stink, Jessie smells reassuringly sexy. So what's happened to the expected rush from the supercharged pheromones? Can't be such a turn on when I'm hooked up to a lot of medical crap. Just as well really coz' right now I don't even have the strength to raise a fucking cheer. And that really hurts.

Jessica examines my bandaged hands before exploring the livid scars on my left arm with soft, tentative fingertips. "These look like bite marks. And your poor neck."

"I found myself on the receiving end of a feral anxiety attack. Probably my fault. I had to've been a dumb fuck for letting the situation get out of control."

Jessie snakes her arm behind me and leans in close. I take a silken strand of her hair in my fingers and breath in its sweet fragrance. She's changed her shampoo to a natural one and I like it's vaguely spicy fragrance.

Twisting her head around she looks up at me. "Those horrible dark circles around your eyes make you look so pale, Logan."

"Thanks." That's just what I need. Maybe letting her see me like this wasn't such a good idea after all. I ain't got clue one what to say to her. Actually I have but I'm gonna save that for when there ain't no one else around.

"Can ya believe they won't let me have a beer? Don't suppose ya brought one did ya?"

"Cecilia was quite specific about the no contraband rule. Sorry. I left six AOTs cooling off in the refrigerator though. Maggie's sworn to guard them with her life."

"She'll have her work cut out then, there's a lot of kitchen commandos 'round these parts." That raises a quiet laugh. God, I wish I could crush my lips to hers. Taste her. Then I think of bloody teeth and the moment quickly passes.

"Soho overheard Maggie talking to Sal. He sends his regards."

I'll bet he did. "That so? Tell him fuck off back for me will ya?"

"How did you…"

"He's an outlaw, Jessie. Just like me."

She smiles. "He's nothing like you."

She's got that right. "Sal still holding up to his promise? Maggie persuading him to see reason without a wad of bills to grease his palm has gotta be a first."

"I suppose." Her expression grows serious. "Might not need to rely on the little weasel for much longer though. Oconus has offered me a six month contract."

Shit! "Ya gonna take it?"

"Last week I would have snapped their hands off but now…"

"I don't want ya to go Jessie." The thought of losing ya now that's I've found ya is too much, kid. "I'll talk to Charlie when he gets back. He's already agreed in principle to engaging a martial arts instructor."

The meeting. I remember it. I remember driving back to Westchester in the storm the following day. Memories cascade into place, their return catalyzed by Jessie's presence. Can't remember arriving back at the school through. Everything between driving along back lanes to avoid fallen trees and waking up in med-lab is a complete blank. I try and reach for the missing hours but all I find is a void. Damn.

Cool fingers brush my face, distracting me from my reverie. "Logan, are you okay? That's some thousand yard stare you have."

Hadn't realised I was staring off into space. I focus my eyes on her brilliant blue ones. "'M okay. Just remembered something is all. Brain's been a bit scrambled but seeing you seems to have shaken stuff loose."

"Moira mentioned something about temporary amnesia but apart from that I have no idea what happened to you Logan."

That makes two of us. "Some real nasty shit happened after my healing factor got fucked up. Soon as it returns I'm outta here."

"Then let's hope it returns sooner rather than later, huh?"

"Yeah." I pat the bed. "Come here, darlin;. I need to hold ya, to breathe ya in."

"I'm not sure about that. What if the IVs accidentally get pilled out?"

"I am and they won't. C'mere."

Jessie rises from her chair and settles sensuously into the space I've made for her. Taking her in my arms I rest my head on her chest, close my eyes and listen to the rhythm of her heart. My senses drink her in and I moan softly as her long fingers run through my hair and stoke my face. She smells and feels so good I just want to loose myself in her. Her physical presence gives me something that neither Moira nor Maggie could for all their concern and friendship. Jessie makes me feel whole, worthy; more than the animal I've grown accustomed to being. An energy flows between us, a force beyond passion, beyond the need for physical gratification. A heightened awareness in which, I swear, I can almost hear what she's thinking.

No need for speech. Words are too clumsy an instrument to spoil the moment. Her scent, her touch, her very presence, tells me all I need to know. Everything else is irrelevant. The beating of her heart is hypnotic. Listening to it I feel my mind drifting to a plane of existence I never knew existed. So peaceful here. Safe. A haven for my battered spirit.

And I'm so tired.

So very, very tired.

-o0o-

Awareness returns but it's slow; reluctant. painful. Jessie. She ain't here. When the hell did she leave? Her fading scent informs me she left at least two hours ago. Shit, did I fall asleep on her? Muffled female voices speaking in hushed tones, at least three of them. That tallies with the fresh scents of Moira, Maggie and Snarky. They're in the little office off the main lab. Door's closed. Ain't enough to fox my sensitive ears though.

"…the early stages of renal and hepatic failure. Tests reveal some GI bleeding which will worsen as the symptoms become more acute. His inability to manufacture blood cells naturally makes even minor haemorrhaging potentially life threatening."

That's Moira speaking and it don't take an empath to read the strain in her voice. She's talking about me of course but I'm struggling to get my woozy head around what she's saying. Renal and hepatic I understand but what the fuck is GI? Whatever it is I don't like the sound of it.

"But what about his healing factor?" Maggie must be reading my mind. I wanna know about it too. Tell her Moira. Tell her what ya gonna do to reverse this clusterfuck. Ain't Moira who answers though.

"What little is left of it has been overwhelmed. The slow but steady progression of the adamantium poisoning is a solid indicator that Logan is currently losing the fight. Moira's trying to retard the effects using ECD and initial signs are encouraging but with the metal endemic to his system it's a temporary stopgap rather than a solution."

The snark queen sounds distinctly unhappy. So she should. This is her fucking fault. Has she succeeded where so many others failed? Is she gonna be the death of me?

"Logan's blood is the closest thing to the elixir of life I've ever seen," Moira adds. "It is almost an organism in it's own right, sharing a symbiotic relationship with its host. The adamantium encasing his bones effectively prevents natural production of blood cells so his blood, his healing factor, does it for him while fighting off the effects of metal poisoning. For the last twelve hours his blood cell count has slowly reduced. I have not detected the presence of any new cells and the ones he has are being depleted by blood loss. If this continues his prognosis is very poor."

"How long?" Maggie asks, her voice wavering with emotion.

"If we can prevent further bleeding, ten days, probably less."

"Oh my God."

Moira's words emerge as a halting sigh but Maggie's are choked out. The three have fallen silent but the stink of despair and desperation filtering through the cracks in the door tell me everything I need to know.

Disbelief. Shock. Rage. All these terrible emotions blow through me like a dark, evil wind. My burning gut turns to lead, shrinking, collapsing in on itself, forming an organic singularity whose event horizon consists of undiluted fear that drags me down into its pitiless maw where nothing, not even hope, can escape. I don't want to die. Not like this; helpless; vulnerable. And I ain't gonna. If I gotta go then I do it on my terms.

Subdued, the conversation in the office continues and intrudes on my anguish.

"What about another transfusion? With his healing factor all but neutralised isn't it possible a second infusion of blood will work?" Maggie's voice is raw, almost demanding. I know she likes me but she's fighting my corner like I'm her flesh and blood or something.

"Although the healing factor has all but closed down there are still antibodies that will cause severe problems. Another transfusion reaction runs a high risk of weakening him substantially, perhaps even killing him. A transfusion of standard O Neg is the kill or cure option, the last ditch attempt when everything else has failed."

Snarky sounds gutted, mortified. She should stand in my fucking shoes.

"Is there nothing you can do?" Ain't much hope in Maggie's voice. She's way too stunned for optimism.

"We need to figure a way to kickstart what's left of the healing factor," Moira replies. "We haven't given up yet. We won't give up."

"You have to tell him."

Ya already have, Maggie. Now it's my turn to have a say.

"Hey, you lot skulking in the office. Get yer asses out here now!"

"Oh fuck! He's awake. He heard us."

You betcha sassy ass, Snark.

They file out of the office. First Moira, then Maggie and finally Cecilia.

"I want out of this rat hole now."

Moira shakes her head. I love the way her hair glints like fire. It reminds me of Jeannie. "That's not possible, Logan."

"The fuck it is. I've had enough. Yer've had yer shot and fucked up. No more experiments. No more educated guesses. I ain't gonna meet my end here, locked away deep underground in Charlie's claustrophobic bunker. I wanna see the sky, taste the night breeze, breathe fresh, clean air. I wanna go home."

Glycerine tears leave glistening trails down Maggie's plump cheeks and the moisture on her lashes makes her sorrowful eyes look larger. "This is your home, pet. I thought you knew that."

"This is just a place to stay, Maggie. Home is the mountains, the pine forests, the solitude of nature, the skies that stretch from horizon to infinity. I wanna go home to Canada."

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