Here we have it, my beloved readers: the long awaited altercation between Scott and Logan. I hope it's too your liking.

Chapter Eight: Bitter

Scott made his way back out of the infirmary; his typical confident gate had been reduced to a broken trod. His head was spinning again, leaving him feeling nauseous and off-balanced. That was when he hit a very solid mass, which he determined probably did not belong in the middle of the hallway. And then he saw it was Logan—and he was sure it did not belong in the middle of the hallway.

Logan had changed very little: still the burly, unshaven, metal-packed berserker that Scott remembered. However, his characteristic reek of cigar smoke seemed to have faded, and it appeared that he actually owned a clean shirt.

"Scott," he grunted in a throaty voice. Scott glared through his glasses at the man.

"Logan," he returned bitterly.

"How are you?" The other man probed cautiously. Scott shrugged.

"What's it matter to you?" He retorted.

"Look—" Logan returned. "I'm trying to be civilized, but if you want to run around like the goddamn gutless wonder then that's fine by me."

"Oh give it a rest, Logan," Scott returned heatedly, closing the remaining space between them. "You think you're so noble now, sticking around like one of the good guys. You wanna be the hero—you've got it, you wanted my girl—you've got her! Does that make you happy? But the only reason Jean's with you today, is because she thought I was dead!"

"Don't you dare," Logan growled dangerously, taking another step forward. "She married me because she loved me—"

Scott hadn't even realized that his fists were clenched until his knuckles connected with Logan's jaw. It hurt like bitch, but his jaw was clenched through the hiss of pain that threatened to escape. He was surprised and a little shocked at himself to discover that he had actually enjoyed it.

Logan reeled from the blow. He wasn't surprised that Scott had worked up the nerve to hit him, he had expected it; he could smell the hostility coming off the other man a mile away. What surprised Logan was the fact that Scott had managed to hit him so hard. He shook off the momentary spout of pain and clenched his fists glaring back at Scott. He could already feel the sharp ends of the blades in his hands working their way out. Scott glared back at him defiantly, regretful, but unapologetic.

"You wanna fight?" He asked lowly in a no-nonsense tone.

"You scared Logan?" Scott returned hotly. There was a pause between them when neither of them knew exactly where they stood, or how to proceed.

"Gentlemen," Dr. McCoy's voice interrupted their altercation, as the bestial man made his way out of the lab. "Is there a problem here?" There was a pause.

"No problem at all," Logan responded finally, turning his gaze from Scott, massaging his jaw slightly; cracking his neck, before promptly walking off. Scott stood rigid as the man went, and Hank approached him.

"I'm a little disappointed in you," the doctor announced calmly. "I would have thought you knew better than to pick a fight with Logan..."

"If he's such a great guy, what do I have to worry about?" Scott scoffed bitterly.

"Yes, well, we both know—father or not—Logan has the bad temper of a wild boar," Hank reminded him knowledgably. "And all my skills as a physician would be of little consequence if he shreds you to ribbons..." Scott let his eyes roll slightly behind a layer ruby quartz.

"Scott," Hank continued. "If you're reluctant to let me see the professor about this—we should go together. I think it would be wise to have his insight on this new development." At length, Scott nodded, he may not have always been pleased with the professor's counsel, but he knew very well that Charles Xavier always had his best interests in mind.

It was the first time in two and a half years that all the X-Men had gathered together, seated around the coffee table in Professor Xavier's office. Hank McCoy was carefully nestled in the nearby corner. Scott and Logan were a safe distance apart; Scott was seated across from the professor, Logan was leaning against the desk. Jean was seated in the armchair besides the professor; Ororo was sharing the couch with Scott.

"At your discretion," the professor began commandingly, his gaze shifting to Scott. "Hank has informed me of the latest insight to your missing time." Scott nodded, allowing Professor Xavier to continue. "It would seem that you have apparently suffered from a gunshot wound. Hank, what was the timeframe you estimated?"

"I'd say at least within the past two years," the doctor replied analytically. "I would also have to determine that the injury received some sort of medical attention."

"Which poses the question," the professor concluded, "of what exactly Scott has been doing in the past two and a half years that would put him in a position to be shot at."

"Magneto," Scott blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. The sting the accusation left with the professor seemed to radiate through the room.

"That's highly unlikely," Jean intercepted his indictment.

"Who else?" Scott continued logically.

"A government investigation into the Brotherhood forced Magneto underground," Storm explained, ever-patient. "There's been no trace of him for over a year...Mystique and other members of the Brotherhood surface occasionally, but for the most part their operation is at a standstill. For the time being, something like this would be far beyond their means."

"Even if they were capable," the professor continued. "I doubt such brash actions would serve to abet Eric's cause...I believe, that at this time, our best course of action is to wait to see if Scott regains any memories of his missing time." Scott felt destitute, but he nodded in agreement with the rest of the X-Men, before rising to depart.

"Scott," Jean caught him in the alcove just outside the doorway. "I need to know that we're okay."

"We're okay," he assured her.

"You're just saying that," Jean reprimanded. Scott mentally grit his teeth.

"Yes, I am just saying that," he told her unsympathetically. "I don't know what else you want from me. I can't be okay with this. I can't go on pretending what we had never happened. I can't look at you without seeing—" He stopped mid-sentence as his vision clouded, and the next thing he knew the floor seemed to be rising to meet him.