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

I know that this chapter is way overdue but again, I plead mitigating circumstances. Very recently my family suffered a bereavement and I have had neither the time nor the heart to write until last week. However, I have been slaving away so I hope this latest chapter meets with your approval. Chapter 15 is almost complete and I expect to post that over the next couple of days.

Thanks to Dee (MidLifeCrisi) who once more kindly beta'd this chapter. Her continuing assistance on medical procedures has been a great help. Thanks a billion, sweetheart.

Thanks to JoeGood2003, Dee (MidLifeCrisis), dayrunner 145, Dr. Nat, Joruk, Anna, bluebell and last but certainly not least, Taluliaka (another double entry) for their encouraging reviews.

Apologies to Joruk for deleting your comment. Your speculation bulls-eyed onto a plot device I was seriously considering and I didn't want to spoil the surprises I had install. I didn't go with that plot option in the end but full marks to you for your very astute guess! Laffing.

Chapter 14: Hot Wheels and Real Deals.

Christ on a surf board!

Maggie's got her power cranked up to max and broadcasting on all channels; all of it directed at me. The benign, low wattage empathic stimulus she usually exudes is nothing more than a harmless psychic tonic, a cheerful encouragement. Not this time. Factor panic into the equation and ya end up with my senses and mind reeling beneath the sledgehammer of her need for me to reconsider, to calm down. It's taking all of my willpower not to buckle under the pressure of her smothering desperation. Can't afford for her to beat down my defences and crush my determination with her misguided good intentions. Gotta ride the empathic shockwave. Gotta seize control of the situation and get her to switch it off before my rage gets away from me.

"Maggie! If ya value our friendship then back the fuck off. Now! Yer bordering on hostile and I don't wanna hafta to hurt ya to get ya to quit, sweetheart."

She stares at me, appalled, wide eyed and pale. "Oh my," she whispers, her quavering voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry, pet. I didn't realise."

The oppressive compulsion to yield lifts, leaving me panting with the effort of resisting it. Never clearly understood before how much self-control Maggie exercises and I suspect that I ain't really felt the full force of what she's truly capable of. Set free of her moral constraints she could be a malign force in the world, enriching herself and enslaving people to her will with very little effort at all. I look upon her with new eyes and a much greater respect. Thank all the fucking gods there are she's on our side.

Moira, stern faced and clearly puzzled, looks from Maggie, to me and then back to Maggie as if following some weird tennis match only she can see.

"What just happened?"

"A mistake. Ain't that right, Maggie?"

Maggie's chagrin is plain for all to see. "I'm so sorry," she repeats. "My emotions ran away with me. Sometimes I forget how strong my empathy can be."

"'S okay sweetheart. Just don't do it again."

"I won't, I promise. But this notion you have of going to Canada. Is it really a good idea, pet?"

"Logan, listen tae Maggie. Yeh know what she's saying makes sense. I understand yer upset but let's not go overboard on this shall we?"

I can feel my slow burning anger boiling over. Bad timing Moira and completely the wrong thing to say. If yer trying to appeal to my sense of reason yer sadly wide of the damn mark.

"Let me make myself very clear. I am not spending another minute in this fucking tomb!" Delivery's perfect, just like automatic gunfire. Pity I go and spoil the effect by choking.

"Logan…"

Moira steps forward silencing Maggie with a sweeping gesture.

"Let me deal with this."

She's projecting a shockwave of her own. Anger. Bristling with it; a smouldering, red haired firebrand with emerald fire in her eyes. Down-turned lips and face glowing red as a smacked ass she bears down on me. Guess we've progressed beyond the stage of passive bedside manner. About damn time.

"Yeh soft in the head or something? Yer gonnae take yersel' off tae Canada are yeh? Yeh cannae even get tae the can under your own steam yeh barmpot. Can yeh not get it through yeh thick head that we're trying tae help yeh?"

Clapping my hands in a slow, deliberate manner I sneer, "Bravo. Outstanding performance. Give the lady a bouquet. For an encore maybe she can explain why the hell I should give a rat's ass about anything she says?"

"Because we haven't given up even if yeh have."

That so. Lemme tell ya what I think, sister. "Gimme a fucking break. Ya tell me the Titanic's sinking yet all ya do is arrange the damn deckchairs. I don't want yer sympathy. I don't want yer advice. I sure as hell don't want yer tender ministrations. All I want is to get the fuck out of this hole."

Don'tcha think I've had my fill of subterranean torture chambers for Chrissake?

"We want you the fuck out of this hole too so why will yeh nae co-operate?"

"And do what? Sit here like a dumb shit while the life drains outta me? Take up knitting while you and that snarky cow in the corner scratch yer fannies 'coz ya haven't got a fucking clue what to do next? Ya don't need me here to do that. Maybe I won't make Canada but that ain't a reason not to be able to see the sky and feel the breeze on my face. Either I go upstairs right now or I pop the claws and finish what the kid started."

"I won't countenance this nonsense, Logan. It isnae going tae happen."

"Ya think I'm bluffing?"

"I think yer distraught."

"Think again!" One claw is all it'll take. As the index claw of my right hand punches through the bandages a crimson stain spreads outward from its base. "Ain't got nothing to lose."

The colour drains from Moira's face leaving it an unflattering whey colour. "Yeh've got everything tae lose, Logan." She's also modified her tone, uncertain about my motive. Clearly she ain't gonna give in.

"Like what? A lingering death penned in a steel lined hole in the ground? I'd sooner end it now. At least it'll be on my terms." Raising my hand I prepare to slash my throat. None of 'em are close enough to stop me. One way or another I'm outta this fucking torture chamber.

Maggie's panic returns causing her heart rate to rise and her pupils to dilate with fear. "Moira, Logan isn't bluffing," she warns, her voice tense. "The reading I'm picking up from him is extremely disturbing."

You tell her Maggie. Tell it exactly how it is. How far I'm prepared to go.

Moira ain't ready to quit though.

"What about Jessica?"

Low blow. But Jessie's better off not seeing me die an inch at a time if my healing factor fails to kick in.

"She won't be making eyes at me over the oatmeal. I'm through talking."

Taking out both the carotid and the jugular should do it. If my healing factor fails to deal with it I won't hardly even know I'm gone. Hope Jessica will understand. I tense my arm for the stroke.

"Moira!" Maggie's voice has risen a whole octave. The entire lab reeks of fear, tension and my determination to have my way whatever it takes.

"Wait!"

Moira's voice echoes off the med-lab's cold clinical walls and coalesces into an atmosphere of angry frustration. As tip of the claw lies cold against my neck I watch her struggle with the knowledge that I might, after all, carry out my threat. Take hardly any effort at all. All I have to do is apply a little pressure and jerk my arm downward. Claw's sharper'n any razor so it'll be the easiest thing in the world to achieve.

Fighting hard to retain her composure Moira draws a deep breath and runs fingers through her hair. A delicate film of perspiration beads her brow, cheeks and upper lip. The exterior signs of her panic fall away as the impersonal mask of the professional she surely is slips into place like a shield. The act don't fool me for a second 'coz her body chemistry and raised heartbeat tell me all I need to know.

A detached coolness replaces her anger. "Yer the most impossible man I've ever met and given my long association wi' Charles, believe me, that's an achievement."

"Yer stalling."

"What do yeh want me to do, Logan?"

"I want ya to let me go. I'm a feral, Moira, with instincts and senses keener than any animal. I need wide open spaces or at the very least a ringside seat. I can't handle being caged down here for much longer. 'Sides, if I'm dying what fucking difference does it make?" As I speak blood drips from my hand onto my bare chest. How much of my life is it worth? A minute? Maybe a painful hour?

The expression on her face is calculating, like she's a cat deciding whether to jump on me or simply pin me down with a paw. If it's designed to make me feel nervous, to make me reconsider my position, it fails miserably. Maybe she realises that because her posture relaxes.

"Rahne wouldnae like it either. Very well Logan, I'll make the arrangements but it's on the proviso yer current therapy continues. Is that acceptable?"

It'll do for now. "Yeah. Just get me the fuck outta here already."

"First I need tae fix the damage to yer hand so I'll be asking yer to put away the claw."

Fine by me but first I'll lay down some ground rules. "Not before I get yer word this'll happen. No tricks. Ya fuck me over and I'll…"

Frustration is overtaken by exasperation and she rolls her eyes and shoves her hands into the pockets of her labcoat. "Save it. Yeh have my word."

Maggie makes a move towards the door. "I'll arrange accommodation. I take it the first floor is preferable?" For a moment I think she's talking to me but her enquiry is aimed at Moira.

"Aye, as close tae the lift as possible. We may need access to med-lab in an emergency."

"I know just the thing. There's on old guest suite in the south wing being used as storage. Nothing more than a series of junk rooms at the moment but an important feature is the French window that gives access to a small terrace and the gardens. I'll have everything cleared so housekeeping can clean it out. I'll pressgang some of the older students for the task."

Maggie bustles past the other two women and halts next to the bed. Smiling at me kindly she says, "We'll have you out of here as quickly as we can, pet. Can you bear with it for two or three hours more?"

"If that's what it takes," I reply grudgingly. "Sooner would be nice."

"I'll see what I can do."

Just as she's about to leave I call after her. "Maggie?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, pet." Then she's gone.

"Logan." Moira's approaching with caution. "The claw if you please?"

"Uh, yeah." The claw, having served its purpose, slips quickly from view.

Cecilia, taut-faced and prudently silent, gathers the necessaries for the clean up - scissors, dressings, surgical glue and the god awful Betadine- arranges them on a metal tray and makes her way across the med-lab to me. Giving her the malevolent eye is enough to send her scuttling away after placing the tray on the mobile table. No smart mouth this time. Just guilt. Live with it sister 'coz if my healing factor fails, it's more'n yer've left me.

After snapping on surgical gloves Moira takes up my damaged hand and carefully cuts away the bloody bandages. "Third time today. I hope this isnae becoming a habit, Logan because it's one yeh cannae afford."

"Blah, blah, blah," I grouse turning away from her to glare some more at Snarky. She looks haggard, shoulders slumped. Part of me wants to go postal on her ass for what she's done. Part of me but not all of me. Locked away in a tiny compartment is a mote of sympathy for her predicament. A microscopic mote, I admit Ruled by her commitment to save lives she hadn't bargained on shit like this happening. She knew about my healing factor though. She shoulda left well enough alone.

"I'm obviously not needed here, Moira," Snarky announces in a subdued yet defiant voice. "I'll 'phone Hank from upstairs."

As she walks resolutely towards the door I call after her, "Hope Hank isn't another one of yer pending malpractice suits."

Cecilia's back stiffens in anger and her head whips around her beaded braids clacking together, face a mask of bitterness. "No, he's not," she snaps before storming from the room.

"Logan, that's nae very nice. Cecilia is a fine physician who doesn't deserve this unrelenting animosity from..."

"Oh please, yer breaking my heart."

Welding her lips together in a hard, disagreeable line she busies herself gluing my skin back together. I catch her piercing green eyes briefly searching my face and offer her my stoniest expression to work on. Recognising a lost cause she changes tack. "For yer information, Doctor McCoy is the world's leading expert on the X gene."

"So yer only second string then? Figures."

Ignoring the jibe Moira launches into her lecture as she reaches for a fresh bandage. "We've collaborated on several papers. Hank's work in this field is brilliant. He's agreed tae set aside the project he's working on and concentrate all his expertise on helping Cecilia and I bring you through this."

"That's nice. He take on all yer fucked up charity cases?"

This time her lips purse into a grimace and I know I'm getting to her. Voice laden with exasperation she continues, "There is nae fee involved. Hank is one of the original X Men and a feral just like yersel'; with a difference. Apart from being distinctly feline, blue, furry and a fine figure o' a man, Hank is cultured, polite, witty and of extremely pleasant disposition . In short, a gentleman."

With her last word delivered like a blow from a blunt instrument, Moira looks me straight in the eye and I recognise a challenge when I see one. This McCoy is everything I ain't. Trying to imagine a smart Sabretooth ain't doing any wonders for me. The image of Sabre dyed a fetching shade of baby blue is something special though.

Quirking my lips into a malicious smile I pick up the gauntlet. "A cat, huh? So tell me, Moira. Does this paragon lick his balls in public?"

-o0o-

The ambient temperature in med-lab is a comfortable seventy five degrees. Problem is Moira's chill factor renders the atmosphere distinctly arctic and right now she could favourably compete with Mister Frosty. I know my attitude's crap but I can't help myself. The animal is raging inside my head so better a verbal mauling than physical evisceration and it's taking all my will power not to rearrange someone's internal organs.

Head bowed over the desk as she writes up a report, Moira's keeping her back resolutely turned toward me. Anger and frustration hover about her like a taint, the subtle chemical odours souring the air. I can hear her measured breathing and the scritch of biro point against paper as surly sub tones to the muted but incessant beep of the ECG monitor. Glaring at her back is boring, especially as she refuses to turn around. Snarky hasn't returned. Neither has Maggie but I guess she's busy organising her clean-up squad.

Feeling like shit and distinctly on edge, I'm looking for a distraction. Moira's the only available target.

"Who else knows about my condition? That I might finally be dying? Apart from you, Maggie and the Snark Queen that is."

Refusing to turn and face me Moira says, "Her name is Cecilia, Logan. Or Doctor Reyes."

"Far as I'm concerned her name's shit. Who else Moira?"

Stopping barely short of slamming the pen to the desk Moira swivels in her seat and frowns disapprovingly at me over her spectacles. That must be some burr I shoved up her ass. "Doctor McCoy. Apart from that yer patient confidentiality is intact."

More than I can say for the rest of me. "Let's keep it that way then. Ya tell no one. Not Jessie. Not Rogue. Not the kid. Especially not Summers. No one. Ya got that?"

With a curt nod she replies, "Very well but it will be impossible keeping this from Charles."

Charlie's a psychologist which means he's sealed his thumbprint to the Hippocratic Oath. And he knows I'll make him eat his wheelchair if he pisses me off. "Him too then. No one else. I don't want anyone weeping and wailing over me. I don't want Beam Boy breaking into a sweat trying to be sincere. I particularly don't want anyone's fucking sympathy."

She shrugs. "People already know something's wrong. Speculation and rumour are rife."

"Which means they know fuck all. Anyone asks ya just give 'em the mushroom treatment. Ya know what that is?"

"Keep them in the dark and feed them bullshit?"

"Bingo! Knew you were a smart girl."

She leans back in her chair, a slight smile on her face. "I've nae problem keeping them in the dark, laddie. However, when it comes tae slinging bullshit I insist on taking a back seat tae the man wi' the claws and the big shovel."

-o0o-

I glare at the wheelchair. And then at Moira and Elf.

"No way in fucking hell are ya taking me upstairs in that thing." No way in fucking hell is anyone gonna see the Wolverine being pushed around by Papa Smurf. "He bamfed in here with Jessie why can't he bamf me upstairs?"

Shaking her head vigorously Moira explains, "Because the process is a trial of endurance for any bamfee who isnae Kurt. In your weakened condition the act of peeling a banana would be a trial of endurance. The answer is no."

Yer all heart ain'tcha Moira. "Then I'll walk."

"Yeh not a stupid man, Logan, so we both know yeh wouldn't make it as far as the door."

She's right. All I have is Hobson's choice. Fuck! Fuming about this ain't gonna get me outta here. "Then we do a Godiva. Ya know who she was?"

Surprised by my reference Moira displays a lopsided smile. "Of course. A pious medieval noblewoman who rode naked through the streets of Coventry so that the poor and starving of the town would nae have tae pay taxes. Nae one was allowed tae peek as she passed by."

"Then clear the decks, Moira. Anyone sneaks a peek I'll gut 'em."

"I'll do nae such thing. Yeh being unreasonable, Logan. And just a wee bit paranoid."

Bitch. This is payback, I'm sure of it. "Paranoid works for me."

"If this is about pride, using a wheelchair willnae dent yer fierce reputation one iota, laddie."

Nah, it'll cave it in completely. "There's gotta be another way."

Again she shakes her head. "There isnae another way." She pauses, knitting her eyebrows together in a frown. "I thought yeh wanted out of the med-lab. Yeh telling me yeh changed yer mind now?"

Aw what's the fucking use. "Let's do it. Hey, Elf."

"Ja Herr Logan?"

"Just Logan. I wanna see yer name listed in Guinness under land speed record. I'm talking Bonneville Flats here ya understand."

Blue guy chuckles. "I vill do my very best, mein freund."

"Ya like beer?"

"Natürlich."

"Me too. Let's go."

-o0o-

Never thought the opening of a lift door could be so fucking fraught with anxiety. Ain't nobody waiting for us but there's lots of very recent scents. It's early evening so there's plenty of people around. Too many to hope for the minor miracle of reaching my destination without being seen.

"Do me a favour will ya, 'Crawler? See if the coast's clear." The prospect of dying don't mean I'm gonna jettison my dignity if it can be avoided. A man's got pride if nothing else is left.

Elf studies me with those weird yellow eyes of his. "I vill do so because it is important to you. Believe me vhen I say…"

"This ain't gonna be a fucking sermon is it?"

Grinning he says, "Nein. I vould not presume…"

"Just so we're clear on that."

"The mighty Wolverine is no less mighty for his temporary infirmity."

"Ya mean temporary insanity don'tcha? I got to've had a slate loose to let Moira talk me into this."

"Ve must all make little sacrifices."

"Depends on how ya define little, don't it."

Elf peers circumspectly around the lift door turning his head to look both left and right. "The vay seems to be clear."

"Great. Engage warp drive and let's get this the hell over with."

"Jawohl, mein Capitain."

Elf hauls our asses at a fair lick, barely slowing down when we make the turn into the south wing. I try and hunch deeper in the wheelchair attempting to make myself look smaller or at least become more aerodynamic. Who the hell am I kidding? I resist the urge to pull the hood of my sweat top over my head but it's a close thing. There's another reason for urgency – the appalling stench of the renovations. It ain't diminished any since I've been down below and it's knocking me sick to the gut. Remarkably, the halls are free of kids and staff. I at least expected Summers' brooding presence but I can't even detect any residue of a recent scent. Whatever's been going on he either don't know or has stayed away. Seems likely no one's informed him of the stroke I pulled in the med-lab otherwise he'd be in my face and chewing my ass off already. Of course, he could be waiting for me to get where I'm going.

Just a few more yards and I'll be home free. Suddenly a door opens a little way down the hall. Shit, I knew this was too good to last. An audible sigh of relief bursts from me as Maggie pops her head around the door frame and beckons.

"In here, boys."

Some deft manoeuvring from Elf gets me through the door and away from incidental prying eyes. I find myself in another, much smaller hall with limed oak panelling, burgundy carpet and several doors leading off both right and left. The place smells of dust, cleansing agents and disuse; an altogether kinder aroma than the one I've just left behind in the main hall. There are human scents too. Familiar ones including Rogue, Jessie and Mister Frosty. Guilt contracts my gut. Despite what I did to her Rogue lent a hand. I gotta make it up to the kid.

First things first. "Nice moves, Kurt."

"Danke." He executes an elaborate, gesticulating bow.

"Ya learn that in the circus?"

"Nein. From vatching old Errol Flynn movies."

He's gotta be kidding. I crook my finger, beckoning him closer. "Lemme give ya some advice. Do yerself a favour and don't never own up to being influenced by an asshole famous for stuffing a liver sausage down his tights."

Using the tip of his tail to scratch his head Elf quirks his lips into a smile. "I vill bear that in mind, Herr Vielfrass."

"Feel what?"

"Vhat ve call a wolverine in Bavaria."

"Logan ain't good enough for ya?"

"It vill do for now." Elf's grin reveals two rows of pointed teeth.

"See that barbed tail of yours? Why don'tcha take it and stick it up yer blue…"

"That's quite enough male bonding thank you gentlemen," Maggie snaps out, treating both of us to a half serious frown of warning. "Take Logan into the sitting room will you please, Kurt. I'll join you presently. "

"Natürlich."

The sitting room turns out to be panelled like the hall, hastily furnished with various rugs thrown over the scuffed floorboards, mismatched chairs and a sofa scattered with fat cushions liberated from the TV lounge. There's a roaring fire in the grate that casts shadows and flickering orange light around the dimly lit room. Best of all is the double French door and the bank of windows at one end of the room, several of which are slightly ajar to allow fresh air to circulate.

"Can ya take me over to the window, Elf?"

Kurt willingly complies, nudging a couple of chairs out of the way to make progress across the room easier. Gazing through the window reveals trees silhouetted against a western sky ablaze with the rosy afterglow of the recently set sun. Overhead, the slowly deepening twilight blue of the sky has skeins of high cloud limned red, orange and pink, the encroaching night casting their ass ends into livid purple shadow.

Damp earth, the nascent smell of growing things, and the boggy tang of the nearby lake shore invade the room on a seek and destroy mission to eradicate the musty odour of pervading the air. As I sit there drinking in the night scents, savouring it's many flavours, the cool draught idly caresses the exposed areas of my hot skin. I shiver, partly from the shock of the chilly air and partly through sheer relief.

"You are cold. Shall I close der vindows?"

Interfering, mealy mouthed asshole. "No. No. I want to go outside."

"I advise you not to do this…"

"Don't give a shit what you advise. I need to go outside." Using the back of a nearby chair as a brace I manage to haul myself out of the wheelchair and stand on unsteady legs, holding on to the chair while I wait for my head to stop spinning. Why does it still do that for Chrissake? Cursing my weakness I stagger the small distance to the French doors using whatever handholds I can. Turning the key in the lock is a simple, unchallenging exercise but the security bolts defeat me. Panting with the exertion I demand of Elf, "Open it."

Firelight does strange things to his yellow eyes, makes them look like little flames in his head; shadows play across his angular face making him look more demonic than ever. In the semi-darkness he seems less substantial somehow, more like a shadow than a creature of flesh and blood.

"Mein freund, this is madness."

Ain't arguing about this. I lean towards him, a snarl twisting my lips. "I wanna go outside. Just open the goddamn door will ya?"

Hesitating and agitated by my sudden change of mood, Elf flicks his tail nervously. "Surely Moira vill, as you say, kick our hinterbacken? Arsche?"

"Asses?" I got claws that can dissect him like a frog and he's worried about Moira going ballistic? Does he know something I don't?

"Ja."

Converting the snarl into a grin I inform him, "Ya can bamf yer ass to freedom. I'll deal with Moira." She can be hard but she ain't into physically kicking the ass of a sick man. At least I hope she ain't. Elf's safety I can't vouch for.

"I vould not leave a comrade to suffer der consequences of my actions."

"Glad to hear it. Now pull those fucking bolts before I…" Gonna say die of old age. Somehow that old cliché don't seem so funny any more. "…before I kick yer ass myself."

Elf looks affronted and regards me coolly before uttering a soft laugh at the absurdity of my threat. "Very vell." The bolts are stiff from disuse and give Kurt a fight before juddering open. Hinges creak, stiff with age, as he swings the door outward and cold air floods the room, displacing the warmth from the open fire.

"Hell's bells!" My teeth chatter as the chilly night air seeps through my clothing, penetrates my skin and settles in my bones. If I wasn't suffering so much it would be fucking exhilarating.

Light spills from the windows and door casting elongated squares of flickering yellow and sending my misshapen, slightly hunched shadow dancing across the terrace, a nearby flowerbed and the small lawn beyond. Holding onto the doorframe like my life depends on it I step outside and look up at the sky, my exhalations rapid puffs of mist snatched away by the breeze. There's a haze from wispy, high altitude cloud but not enough to obscure some of the brighter stars visible between the thin bands of illuminated cloud.. I can hear whipcord branches swaying in the breeze and the distant plash of water lapping the lake shore. Simple sounds. Comforting sounds. Gimme the soil, the rivers and the fresh air. Ya can keep yer sterile domesticity and cosy walls.

I'm aware of Elf approaching from behind, his own lengthening shadow hideously contorted by something he's carrying.

Placing a blanket around my shoulders he says, "You should come in now."

"Not yet."

Can't tell if I'm shaking from the cold or weakness. Probably both. Unwilling to return to the warmth I close my eyes and listen to the darkness. Somewhere far off, on the other side of the school, I can hear children laughing. A dog fox barks for its mate, receives a reply. High overhead a jetliner roars its way to where ever, a 747 judging by the guttural whine of the engines, its spectral, light-limned contrail adding to the wispy cloud. An old truck chugs it's way along Graymalkin Lane,; it's owner really needs to replace the exhaust. The breeze stirs the surface of the lake, its sound a faint susurrus of lapping water. I can hear the muted rustling of grass as the blades saw against one another. Somewhere to the west an owl calls softly as it hunts for prey on wings too silent even for me to detect.

It seems forever since I stood in the darkness beneath the trees and watched Summers speed along the drive, yet it's less than a week. That night I was dying inside, slipping into a darkness from which I couldn't escape. Now here I am, facing the spectre of physical death and it puts shit like that in perspective. So many things have changed in that short space of time I'm not even certain I'm the same man. And it could all, ultimately, be for nothing cause it looks like Death finally got pissed at me giving him the finger all these years.

Or maybe he's just having a laugh at my expense and my healing factor will do what it always does and pull me back from the brink. If that's the case it's cutting this one too damn close.

As my senses bathe in the sounds of evening I breathe deeply, wanting to savour the scents fully. Not one of my better ideas. Cold air cuts into my lungs like a knife and sets off a fit of liquid coughing that leaves me retching. Bile, bitter as acid, burns my throat and mouth and I spit it out. It lands with a splat on the flagged terrace where it glistens like dissolving gelatine. I can smell traces of blood.

"Fuck," I manage to wheeze.

Through the thickness of the blanket I can feel someone touch my arm. Zoned out and with the breeze in my face, I failed to pick up her scent until she got close. Shocked by my laxity I flinch from Moira's hand.

"Yeh trying to give yersel' and everyone else pneumonia? That's enough communing with nature for now, Logan. Will yeh please come back inside where it's warm?"

"But it's so beautiful. So fresh and vital."

"Aye, and it'll still be there tomorrow. Come away now."

"No it won't. Not like this. Nature shifts endlessly, changes from second to second. It will never be like this again."

"Yeh've the soul of a poet, Logan. Don't try tae relinquish it before yer time."

I'm half turned to retreat inside when the breeze switches and I catch a semi-familiar scent. Young. Feral. Female. Rahne is close by, cloaked in darkness. Can't see her. Can't hear her. No way of discerning how long she's been there. The airborne scent tells me everything else I need to know. No threat, just caution. No triumph, just puzzlement. No hatred, just curiosity. She's simply waiting and watching. I test the air, a tacit message that I've sensed her presence and suddenly she's gone, as silent as a ghost wearing sneakers.

Tugging gently at my arm Moira steers me back inside, unaware that her kid is prowling around close by. Leaning on her more heavily than I intend I feel her lithe form sag under my metal enhanced weight. Elf appears at my side and adds his assistance and we make slow but steady progress across the room. Exhaustion grips me before I get half way, energy draining from me leaving me weak and panting for breath. How the hell did it come to this? Inside me rage stirs, constricting my throat and making my eyes burn. Fuck, I don't believe it. A single hot tear scalds it's way down my cheek, stinging the cold flesh and dripping onto the blanket. Reaching a large armchair I shake off my human props and all but throw myself into it surreptitiously smearing away the tear streak before anyone sees it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Kurt, would yeh mind helping Cecilia bring some equipment up from the lab please?"

"Of course. It vill take no time at all."

"Hey!" I croak. "Don't you fucking dare bamf yer blue ass outta here!"

"Don't vorry freund Logan. Ororo explained about - vhat vas der name you called it? - der bamfing smoke." Grinning his sharp-toothed grin, Kurt leaves, carefully closing the door behind him. Seconds later: bamf! The muffled crack of air rushing to fill the void he's left as he 'ports downstairs echoes along the hall. The draught under the doors brings with it a whiff of sulphurous acridity which catches in my throat. It sets off another spasm of coughing which I try to stifle.

Moira settles herself into a facing armchair and stares pensively into the fire, its flickering yellow glow burnishing her hair and turning her skin a warm amber. I'm content to sink into the over-stuffed cushions and bask in the heat the fire's radiating into the room.

"I dinnae understand, Logan."

"Welcome to my world," I reply, my voice ragged and breathless.

"Why would a man apparently on the verge of suicide give a tinker's toss about being seen in a wheelchair?"

What the fuck is this? Ain't there something more important ya should be bending yer mind to, darlin'? Giving a non-committal shrug I reply, "My mind's like Swiss cheese, Moira. Not even I know what I'm thinking half the time."

"Yeh make a convincing liar, Logan, but this isnae gonnae wash. I think yeh knew exactly what yeh were about. I think yeh used Maggie tae get what yeh wanted. Manipulating her, all of us, like that was…is despicable."

Huh? She thinks I did what? Forming my words very carefully I growl, "Great theory. Wanna go for the Nobel prize?"

"Don't give me that caustic wit o' yours laddie. It does yeh no credit. Charles explained how yeh can repel his thoughts, perhaps even hide yersel' from psychic detection by sinking intae a semi-feral state of mind. I dinnae think yer a man with a death wish. I think yeh used yer wolfiness tae confuse the emotional signals Maggie was receiving from yeh, convincing her yeh intended tae kill yersel'. Using her friendship like that was cruel beyond measure."

Bitterness for her friend's perceived ill use and disappointment that I would stoop so low clouds her face.

Hiking up my left eyebrow is grunt, "Ya think?"

Instead of replying, Moira turns away and studies the flickering flames.

I should be angry, raging even, to be so unfairly accused. But I ain't. I'm stunned by her reasoning. Fuck, is it possible to do that? To confuse someone with psychic powers in that way? I know I can block out Charlie's mental snooping by thinking feral but could I completely bollix both his and Maggie's psychic senses by letting 'em believe my intentions are other than what's really on my mind? Lulling an unfriendly mind-bender into a false sense of security before I gut him or her would give me one hell of an edge.

"You a gambling woman Moira?"

Surprised by my sudden change of subject she responds, "No, why?"

"Good. Coz drawing on an inside straight is for losers. The odds on drawing that one vital card are against ya. Same if ya missing one vital piece of information. Yer unlikely to draw the right conclusion.

"I'm not following yeh. What is it yeh trying tae say?"

"Lemme tell ya something, Red. I don't think like you, or Charlie, or god help me, Reyes. If I did I'd be dead already." Gripping the arms of the chair I lean forward, ancient leather creaking with the shift in weight. "The emotions Maggie picked up were the real deal. If my healing factor is failing and won't recover then I'll die on my terms, not yours. As for the wheelchair…sweetheart, I'm the Wolverine and I ain't fucking dead yet."

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