The first thing that occurred to Logan when he came-to was that he was inside a cramped space, and that he was moving. Or more so being moved. He massaged the back of his neck with a grimace, noting its stiffness and the ringing in his head. In the midst of his fading stupor, he instinctively knew his situation had gone from bad to worse, and the cold that pricked at his skin only confirmed his suspicions. As he tried to piece together his memories through the disorienting static in his mind, he opened his eyes only to be greeted by darkness. With a furrowed brow, he reached out and grunted when his hand smacked a carpeted wall. He ran his hand along the space and felt cool metal above him. A chill ran down his spine, and he was unsure if it was from the cold or the dawning realization that he was inside the trunk of a moving car.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, finally making sense of the floating memories that were clicking into place. Of course, this wasn't just any car. Between the smell of old blood and Eau Sauvage, it dawned on him that he was inside the Cadillac DeVille he'd seen earlier. The one that clearly belonged to Frank and the man who had put a bullet through his skull. The two men, who had mistakenly assumed he was dead, were now driving him someplace where they could dump his body. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.

The faint smell of salt eventually mixed with the other odors, indicating that their plan was to toss him into the bay. Logan let out a sigh of relief, thankful he had woken up when he did. A minute later and he would have never woken up at all. At least not until someone dragged him out of the water, but he doubted anyone besides Lawrence would even think twice if he went missing.

Without warning, the driver slammed on his breaks and Logan braced himself against the sudden stop using the spare tire behind him. As the engine was cut off, Logan carefully eased himself closer to the bumper. He heard the two doors open and the vehicle shifted as the two men got out. The crunching of gravel grew closer and he drew a deep breath. A key slid into the trunk lid and he unsheathed his claws, prepping himself for the moment the trunk would open.

"I still think we should have used the blonde against him. We could've had James doing a helluvalot more if Carlisle had used that guy as leverage." He recognized the voice as Frank's and his blood boiled.

"Nah, once a rat always a rat. I'm just glad he's dead. He gave me the creeps. There was always something off about that guy."

"Well it doesn't matter now, so let's get this over with." The trunk lid lifted, and Logan lunged forward. He plunged the full length of his claws into the slender man's chest and the two of them tumbled backwards onto the ground. Without hesitation, he pulled back a fist and stabbed him once more in the head, his claws finding their mark just below the man's brow.

"Holy fuck!" Frank shouted as he reached for his revolver. He unloaded all six rounds into Logan's back and he cried out as his body recoiled from the impact. Swearing under his breath, he whirled around to face him and stood. Logan rolled his shoulders, working out the fiery pain where each round had pierced his flesh. Frank gaped at the ground as the bullets were dislodged from Logan's back, each one hitting the asphalt with a soft tink. Frank's tough demeanor disappeared, and he began to backpedal. With all the rain that had gathered on the road, he slipped and landed hard on the ground. Logan stalked over to where he fell and grabbed a handful of his collared shirt, practically pouncing on him.

"Where's Carlisle?" He snarled.

Frank spat in his face. "Like I'd tell a mutant fuck like you!"

"Wrong answer." He growled as he drove his claws through his left thigh, earning a scream from the man beneath him. "Next, you lose your fucking balls, you understand? Now let's try this again. Where is that sonuvabitch?"

"Alright, alright, he's at the Beekman! He has a personal suite on the fifth floor."

"Last question, where the hell are we?"

"Bergen Point," he panted, "come on James, I've answered your damn questions! Now let me go!"

"I don't think so." He replied coldly.

Frank's face turned a ghostly white. Before he could protest, Logan sank his claws into his throat. He kept them there as he watched the life drain from him. Frank let out a gurgling, choking sound as his hands reached up in a feeble attempt to free himself. His body fell limp in seconds, and Logan withdrew his bloodied hands from the corpse. He regarded the mess on his hands before staring at the gore on the ground. The grim realization that his first, almost instinctive, response was nearly identical to his Team X training was unsettling. He shook his head to clear the chilling thought before sheathing his claws. Logan then hastily wiped his hands clean on Frank's blazer and found the keys to the Cadillac in his pocket. The wide brimmed fedora that had fallen off Frank's head pulled his attention, and he snagged it. He was certain that there were still S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted around the city and, the hat would help throw them off. After he dropped into the driver's seat, he started the car and peeled out of the industrial area.

There was a brief moment where Logan considered finding his own car. However, while the Cadillac DeVille didn't necessarily have a low profile, it was a vehicle that S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't recognize. Between the hat and the Cadillac, he was able to pass the agents posted throughout Newport and merge onto I-78 with ease. He smirked. Despite being shot in the head and nearly being drowned, everything seemed to be finally working in his favor. Out of curiosity, he reached over to open the glove compartment and had to take a second glance at the contents inside.

He'd found the jackpot. Inside was a pack of illegal Cuban cigars. Thanks to Kennedy, he hadn't had a Cuban cigar in over ten years. Logan closed the compartment and made a mental note to store them inside his humidor after dealing with Carlisle. Frank wasn't going to need them anymore, and he couldn't justify letting such a find go to waste.

As he drove through Lower Manhattan, the heavy rain slowed to a drizzle. He admired the view as raindrops gathered on the windshield, making the city look like a Jackson Pollock painting. Had his current situation been different, he might've taken the time to enjoy the rainy, autumn night with a glass of whiskey and a few cigars. However, there would be no rest for him until he had completely defused the mess he had gotten Lawrence and himself into.

He followed West Broadway and saw the lights of the Beekman Hotel come into view. Logan parked along the side of the road and looked down at the blood that covered his sleeves. If he wanted to stay unnoticed in the hotel, he would have to leave his bullet riddled and bloodstained jacket. He took off his jacket and gave it a once over and concluded that it was far from saving. Cursing under his breath, he glanced at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Even with being in the pouring rain, there was still a trace of dried blood that ran from his forehead down to his neck. As much as he hated to admit that the jacket was ruined, he used it anyway to wipe his face clean. He tossed the jacket as well as the hat onto the floor and stepped out onto the street.

When he stepped inside the hotel, the grandeur of the lobby momentarily stunned Logan. While he acknowledged the talent required for the skillful artistry, he felt a strong aversion towards Victorian design and lavish décor. Both reminded him too much of the home he'd ran away from more than half a century ago and of people long-gone. With a scowl, he repressed the resurfacing memories and looked around for the stairs. He spotted them tucked away in a hallway to his right and began to climb them.

He reached the fifth floor and stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway of the atrium. Once again, he was reminded of his childhood as the ornate Victorian railing came into view. Logan ignored them and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose. Amongst the multitude of odors was Carlisle's unmistakable scent. Taking another breath, he found that the trail directed him to the left. He walked lightly down the hallway, listening for anything that would give away the room Carlisle was in. As he passed the sixth door, he heard a shrill scream and the sound of ceramic shattering on the ground come from the room. He was quick to approach the door and he let his ear hover just above the mahogany wood. With being this close to the door, his nose picked up on the acrid and fresh stench of fear and androstenol that saturated the air. The combination reminded him of some of the unspoken horrors he'd witnessed while at war. Memories of men with no morals and no respect for others.

A fresh swell of anger rose in him as he stepped back and squared his body with the locking mechanism. The door flung open with one solid kick and he reached Carlisle in a matter of seconds. Surprised, Carlisle let go of a young housekeeper's arm and Logan grabbed a fistful of his blazer. He then hauled him away from her with a snarl and pinned him against the wall with enough force to cause the drywall to cave. He pressed his left fist to his shoulder and unsheathed his claws into the soft flesh. Ignoring Carlisle's cry, he looked over at the woman.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, too shaken to speak. He examined her and the shattered dishes on the ground regardless. Despite her accelerated heartrate, he was relieved to find that she was telling the truth. He reached into the pocket of Carlisle's double-breasted blazer, pulled out a wad of cash, and tossed it to her. "Here's for what he tried to do. For the record you saw nothing, and you were never here. Understand?"

She thanked him and hastily left the room, closing the door as much as it would allow behind her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Carlisle spat as he struggled against the claws impaled in his shoulder. "What the hell are you?"

Logan's blazing eyes locked onto his. He could see the sweat that had started to bead on Carlisle's brow as he held him there. "Someone you don't want to fuck around with."

"If you kill me, you fucker, you'll have a helluvalot of people on your ass."

He smirked as the strong odor of cortisol betrayed the crime boss' feigned confidence. "Listen Carlisle, I don't give a shit. I've already put down Frank and his friend. No one in their right mind is going to fuck with me. Which means it's now my turn to pull the strings, and you're going to answer my question."

"Yeah? And what if I don't?"

He unsheathed his other set of claws and let them rest just underneath Carlisle's jaw. "Listen you little shit, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

The last remnants of his dwindling confidence disappeared in an instant as his wide eyes locked onto the bony protrusions. "What is it you want to know?"

Logan could feel his old self rising from its grave, hungrily feeding off the fear he was inducing. A self that he swore he buried after ditching Team X. Yet here it was, reawakening and scratching at the walls thirsty for blood. Although if he was honest with himself, he'd been exhuming this darker side of him ever since he started working for the man he had his claws buried into.

He rolled his shoulders and refocused his thoughts. Now wasn't the time for self-reflection. "Frankly, I'm still pissed you sent your men after me and that you threatened to hurt a friend of mine, so I'm only going to ask once. Who's been buying the adamantium?"

"I knew you were working for those S.H.I.E.L.D. bastards."

He snarled and twisted his claws deeper into his shoulder, drawing another agonized cry from him. "I'm not doing this for S.H.I.E.L.D. Whoever's running this operation has been keeping tabs on me and I've had enough of their bullshit. Now answer the question before I lose my patience!"

"Alright calm down, dammit! He goes by the Professor. But there's another man, Stryker, who orchestrates all the dirty work."

Logan blinked. He knew those names. They were the men June had asked him about thinking they were affiliated with Team X. He shook his head, forcing himself to push that train of thought to the side for now. His speculations about all that was unfolding would have to wait. "Was that so hard?"

Carlisle glared at him. "Are you gonna let me go or not you mutant piece of shit."

Without warning, Logan thrusted his claws upwards into his head. "You tell me, bub."

He sheathed his claws and watched Carlisle's body leave a trail of blood on the wall as it slid to the floor. He wiped his bloody hands on his black shirt and searched the suite for a window. The less people who witnessed his coming and going the better, especially since the only door led to an open atrium. He went over to a window that overlooked the alley and swore. It was just his luck that neither building had a fire escape. A five-story jump was no small feat. The drop would no doubt break bones, but it was manageable. Logan pushed the window open and scanned the alleyway. It was dark, and the only movement he detected belonged to some rats who were scavenging for food. Seeing that it was clear, he braced himself and leapt.

The instant his feet hit the ground, he rolled to distribute the impact as much as he could. Oddly enough, he was grateful that the drop had knocked the wind out of him. With the wind sucked out of his lungs, he was unable to vocalize the sharp pain that radiated through his body. He lied with his back to the pavement, momentarily struggling for air as the fragmented cartilage and bones in his legs and torso sewed themselves back together. A low groan escaped him once he had caught his breath again. The chilling mist hit Logan's face and gathered in little droplets as he waited for his legs to become responsive once more. When he was able to push himself up, he heard shouts from the window of Carlisle's suite that belonged to the unfortunate soul who had found his body. He quickened his pace as he cut across the rain-soaked street and dropped into the driver's seat of the Cadillac. After starting the luxury car, he drove towards the Manhattan Bridge and into Brooklyn.

The rain had stopped completely by the time he reached his apartment complex and he pulled up alongside the curb. Being accustomed to manual transmissions, he engaged the emergency brake after shifting into park out of habit. As he reached over to the glovebox, his keen nose caught a familiar scent and he froze. He swiftly glanced up at the street as his senses were put on red alert. The exhaustion he felt had caused him to completely forget that June knew where he lived. Now that he was thinking about it, the place reeked of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were waiting for him.

He quickly released the emergency brake, hoping he could still slip away undetected. As he went to grab the gear shift lever, a tap on the window halted him. He swore and turned to see June standing outside his car. She had a pistol in her hand and he could sense the anger that simmered beneath her calm exterior. He swallowed and lowered the window as nonchalantly as possible.

"Nice Cadillac. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you drove a Mustang. A fastback from nineteen sixty-eight, right?" She asked coldly.

"Nineteen sixty-four, and I'm borrowing it for the night." He corrected as his eyes settled on the 9mm in her hand. "You really think that's gonna intimidate me?"

She shrugged. "Call it insurance. I'm not going to lie; it was pretty smart of you to get the number to the safe house, but did you really think we'd leave the lines untapped?"

"Where's Lawrence?" He growled, his gaze becoming a heated glare.

"Don't worry, he's safe in our custody as long as you comply. Now get out of the car."

He studied her, feeling a knot form in the pit of his stomach when he realized she was telling the truth. He hissed out a long string of swears under his breath as he shut off the car before exiting the Cadillac. A few agents emerged from their cars and approached them, weapons trained on him and ready to fire if need be as June handcuffed him.

"Is all this really necessary?"

"It makes us feel better."

"I take it I'm not getting those original files anymore." He quipped as she directed him towards a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle.

"Not a chance in hell."


Logan toyed with the metal chains that bound his wrists to the table and tried to remember the last time he'd been detained. With Carlisle's protection, he was able to avoid the NYPD completely. It didn't matter what he did, and as long as his actions were under Carlisle's orders the police had no choice but to look the other way.

The interrogation room he was detained in was obscenely gray, and he looked over at his reflection in the one-way mirror. To describe his appearance as haggard would've been an understatement. His hair was beyond disheveled, sticking this way and that. The black button-up he was wearing was riddled with bullet holes and torn in several places from his fall earlier that night. He didn't care, though. After the hell he'd been through that night, he was bound to look run-down. Taking in his reflection, he realized that he felt as exhausted as he looked. It had been almost forty-eight hours since he last slept. He sighed. There truly was no rest for the wicked.

He was surprised at what his ears could pick up from outside the room despite its heavy insulation. The clicking of radios tuning in to the same frequency. The terse words exchanged between June and the agent he had recognized from the bar, the softer yet stern words of another. An agreeable grunt from a fourth. A snap of what could only be a recording system being switched on.

"Are you all gonna stay in there all day or what?" He muttered, his gruff voice bouncing off the walls. Logan wanted this to be over and done with as quickly as possible. He heard movement and the door behind him opened.

"It's been a while since our paths crossed." A man with an eyepatch stated as he came into view. June walked in beside him and they both took a seat at the table.

Logan's eyebrows knit together as he looked him over. He was unnervingly familiar, yet he was unable to place why. The more he lingered on it, the more he couldn't shake the sense that he should know the man like a soldier knows his comrades. "Who the hell are you?"

"Nick Fury, director of S.H.I.E.L.D., we met during World War Two."

"Can't say I remember." He recognized his name, but the memories were beyond muddy. The only thing he knew, whether by instinct or intuition, was that he had purposefully let those memories go and had no intention of remembering them anytime soon.

Fury eyed him, his expression stoic except for the brief flicker of confusion in his eye. "Look, whether you remember or not, we know you have a bloody past. We have every right to incarcerate you, but I'm willing to give you a second chance."

"I'm listening." Logan said, cocking an eyebrow.

"We know you have been working for Carlisle, and that you were hired to kill June."

"Well, clearly I didn't."

Fury ignored him. "Where can we find him?"

The question made him laugh, confusing both of the agents in front of them. "You can find his corpse at the Beekman on the fifth floor. That is if the NYPD or FBI hasn't confiscated it yet."

Fury and June exchanged a glance, wordlessly communicating something to each other. Her eyes shifted back to Logan. "Well that explains some of the blood on your person, but why work for Carlisle if you were just going to kill him?" She asked.

"It wasn't planned, if that's what you're asking. Once he found out I was helping you, he set me up and tried to put me six feet under. He also knew about Lawrence, and I couldn't take any chances. Bastard had no idea who he was dealing with."

"Do you realize you killed the only other person who had any idea of who's been collecting all the adamantium?" Fury asked.

Logan looked up at him, suddenly understanding the importance of the intel he had gathered earlier. He was well aware of the damage his mess had caused, and perhaps the information he pulled from Carlisle would be, at the very least, Lawrence's ticket out of this place. What he knew would save S.H.I.E.L.D. time and resources. They were hot on the trail of where all the adamantium was going, and this was his opportunity to gain the upper hand by telling them who was behind it all. With a smirk, he leaned back in his chair.

"There's one other person, and you're looking at him."

June's shocked expression amused him. "You're joking."

"The claws are persuasive," he shrugged, "I can also solve your little rat problem. However, I'll only cooperate on the condition that you'll release Lawrence."

"How do we know you're telling the truth? You can't fool me like you fooled Cap."

He tilted his head as he straightened his posture, unsure of what the director meant. A faint grimace distorted his features and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Fury's words were stirring up glimpses of memories that had about as much structure as a raging sea. Logan took in a breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to stabilize his turbulent mind.

"Look, Lawrence is only in this mess because he was unlucky enough to be affiliated with me. Just release him and I'll tell you what I know and where to find more info."

"I'll agree to your condition, but I will only release Lawrence after you fulfill your end of the bargain."

"Fine." He snapped. "Carlisle mentioned that there were two people, some guy called the Professor and another named Stryker."

Nick Fury narrowed his eye. "The Professor, you mean Thorton?"

"He didn't say."

"Are you sure you heard him right?" He asked. Nick's air had suddenly changed, and Logan could sense his urgency.

"Did you really just ask me if I heard him right?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is this professor anyone you know?"

"Back in forty-five, we investigated a liberated concentration camp. We found a lab deep inside the building that resembled a few others we'd found designed for mutant experimentation." He shook his head. "If Thorton withheld any files found within those walls, this adamantium may be going towards a more sinister cause than I originally thought."

"How sinister are we talking?"

"If he took the files I think he did, we're talking super-soldiers created via incredibly inhumane, and nearly lethal, methods."

Logan frowned. He knew something didn't feel right about the adamantium he was transporting. Unfortunately, he'd have to live the rest of his life knowing he assisted these twisted men.

"Did Carlisle keep any records of the people who did business with him?" June asked.

"I don't know exactly what he kept, but if he did they would either be at Mike's Bar down in Queens, or his hotel suite at the Beekman." He said. "As for your rat, he's behind that glass. He may know a thing or two as well."

Fury was on his feet in an instant and he pulled a two-way radio from his belt. "Dugan, do you have him?"

The radio hissed to life shortly after. "You bet your ass I do."

"Good," he shifted his gaze from the glass to Logan, "how the hell do you know it's him when you can't even see who's behind the glass?"

"One, I can smell him. Two, I recognized him the moment you walked me in here. We briefly crossed paths once at Mike's."

"Detain him for now, Dugan, until we can properly question him."

Logan could hear the man swear as Dugan followed orders and he couldn't help but find the situation comical. "Are Lawrence and I free to go?"

"Technically speaking, I should only let Lawrence go. You have a long rap sheet that spans a few decades. However, I believe you could do more working for S.H.I.E.L.D. rather than twiddling your thumbs in a jail cell."

He furrowed his brow. "You're offering me a job? Why?"

"As you know, we've had a position just open up and aside from the problems you caused in the past, you were a good soldier. Imagine the good you could do working alongside us."

"So far it doesn't feel like a lot of 'good' has happened."

"No, but what did you expect when you decided to switch sides behind Carlisle's back?"

Logan frowned and lowered his eyes to his cuffed hands. As much as he hated to admit it, he had him there. Fury gave June a nod and she unlocked the handcuffs. Logan massaged his wrists, the bruises quickly fading as he heard June radio in about Lawrence's release. He started to follow her towards the door when he felt the director place a hand on his shoulder.

"Think about it, Logan. You have June's contact information."

"Don't get your hopes up, bub." He said before he left the room. June handed him his belongings before escorting him to the front of the building. The large windows of the foyer let in the soft, pink light of dawn. Several S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were going about their business and getting a head start to their day. Most of them were dressed in suits or S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms, making it easy for him to pick out Lawrence who was standing in the middle of the quiet bustle with an agent by his side. When they made eye contact, Logan realized that he looked almost as exhausted as he was. He was relieved to find that other than a small cut and bruise that discolored his temple, he looked unharmed. The blonde's eyes widened, and he ran over to him. Without slowing down, he went in for a hug, causing Logan to stumble back a few steps.

"It's good to see you." Lawrence said. "For a moment I thought…"

"Hey, do I look dead to you?" he grinned as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "It's good to see you too."

He pulled back and gave him a once over look. "Man, you look like hell."

"Feels like I've been to it and back. What happened to your head? Did they do this?" He demanded as he examined the minor wound. His fingers lightly traced the outer edge of the dark purple skin with a gentleness that surprised Lawrence. However despite the soft touch, the minor wound was still sensitive, and he winced from the contact. Logan's eyes narrowed, and he couldn't help but bristle at the idea of S.H.I.E.L.D. inflicting even a minor injury on his friend.

"Yes and no, let's not get into it here."

"Logan, some agents found your car in Greenville." June said. "They were able to find your keys at the bar and we were originally going to confiscate it. However, since we aren't incarcerating you, I had someone pull it around to the front."

"Greenville? What on Earth were you doing there?" Lawrence asked.

"I'll tell you everything in the car." He replied.

"Maybe I'll be seeing you again." She said. "Hopefully, it'll be under better circumstances."

Lawrence gave Logan a questioning look, but he ignored it. "We'll see." He then paused for a brief moment. "June, I was going to tell you about Carlisle eventually."

"No you weren't." She countered, her arms folding across her chest.

He shrugged. "You're probably right, but I'm sorry you didn't hear it from me."

The apology took her off guard, and Logan could've sworn he saw her flinch ever so slightly. "Apology accepted."

"See you around." Logan said as he and Lawrence left.

With it being only five in the morning, the roads were practically deserted. As they drove down FDR Drive, Logan caught Lawrence up to speed on all that had occurred within the last seven hours. He wasn't surprised by how silent Lawrence was as he was told everything. After all, he'd thrown caution to the wind and had almost ended up at the bottom of Newark Bay. It wasn't until he had pulled up alongside the street and engaged the emergency brake that Lawrence finally broke his silence.

"So S.H.I.E.L.D. really offered you a job?"

"Yeah,"

"You're going to take it, right?"

"Don't know. I've worked for a government agency before and it didn't end well." He replied.

"But this is S.H.I.E.L.D., not some borderline illegal black ops group." He countered. "I think you should take the job. It'll be good for you, and you'd be able to use your skills legally for once."

"It's too damn early for this." He huffed as he tiredly looked over at Lawrence. Logan's gaze zeroed in on the bruised and broken skin of his temple again. He was so wrapped up in retelling what had happened that he almost forgot to ask him about it. Lawrence noticed the shift in his attention and shrugged, a rueful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"Would you believe me if I told you I tripped and hit my head on the corner of a table?"

He quirked an eyebrow, not quite willing to believe his story yet. "Is that what really happened?"

"Unfortunately. Happened while I was trying to leave the safe house. I was gathering my things in the dark and tripped on a shag rug."

After a moment, Logan simply chuckled. He wasn't lying, and now that the whole ordeal was behind them he found the incident humorous.

"It's not funny." Lawrence said, his widening smile contradicting his own words.

"Not one bit," he replied. He stepped out into the cold and Lawrence followed suit. The two of them entered the apartment and as Logan called the elevator, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"In all seriousness, I'm glad you're okay and I'm sorry for getting so angry yesterday." Lawrence said.

"I deserved it. I'm actually surprised you didn't punch me."

"Trust me, I wanted to." He chuckled. "Night, Logan."

"Night," he smiled as he watched his friend round the corner.

The elevator arrived, and he leaned against one of its walls as it carried him to the fourth floor. It seemed like years since he last walked down the carpeted hallway. He couldn't think of a time when he had felt more relieved to be back in the apartment complex. What he usually viewed as dingy and drab was suddenly just the place he wanted to be. As he exited the elevator, the exhaustion that he'd been battling hit him like a freight train. It consumed him from the inside out and made his limbs feel numb and full of lead. When he entered his apartment, he collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to change his clothes. It could wait till morning. His aching eyes closed, and he was taken away into a dreamless sleep.


Initially, Logan was disoriented when he had awakened. He could still smell the traces of dried blood mixed with discharged gunpowder on his shirt and Lawrence's scent on the pillow beneath his head. The combination caused his brow to furrow as he opened his eyes. He looked around the room that was soaked in the warm afternoon light as he recalled the last two days.

The blood, a mixture of his own and others.

The gunpowder, residue from the firefight and his own brief encounter with death.

Lawrence's scent, a mix of a light and citrusy cologne, cigarette smoke, and beer from the night before.

Logan could hardly believe that it had only been a day ago that the two of them were playing cards in his apartment. He rolled over onto his side and glanced at the clock that told him it was two in the afternoon. Despite the chaos that had ensued in the last twelve hours, he felt fully rested for the first time in a long while. His mind wandered to the butabarbital that was still shoved between the mattress and the bed frame, realizing that he hadn't taken any that morning. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. Perhaps he could finally rest easy now that he wasn't Carlisle's puppet. Granted, there was still the PTSD he had to work through, but his stress levels would certainly be lower with Carlisle out of the picture. If fate would allow it, maybe he could even start living a relatively normal life.

Tired of smelling all that he had tracked back with him from the last forty-eight hours, he decided to step into the shower. As he stood under the showerhead, he turned the temperature as high as it could go without burning his skin off. While he had his healing factor, there was still the pain that would follow. He wanted to kill the different scents that clung to his skin, not fry his nerve endings. As the steam collected in a thick fog, he took the time to process all that had happened.

All things considered, he could've found himself staring at a much grimmer outcome. His betrayal with Carlisle was bound to happen sooner or later. Whether it was dumb luck or fate, S.H.I.E.L.D. had played a role in tipping the scales in his favor. However, he could tell that they expected something in return. Logan believed that all government agencies, regardless of their purpose or allegiance, were the same at their core. It was a tit for tat economy full of IOUs and "fair" bargains. He was almost certain that the job offer was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s way of diplomatically implying that he owed them. In addition, with all the information they had on him it was better for Logan to play nice and stay on their good side, at least for now. Besides, with Carlisle gone, he was now unemployed and there was rent that still needed to be paid.

He shut off the shower and put on some clean clothes. As he finished styling his hair, he couldn't help but replay Lawrence's words from that morning. His eyes lingered on the reflection of the bookcase in the mirror and the rotary phone that sat on one of the shelves. With a sigh, he entered the living room and dialed June's number.

"Hello?"

"June, it's me. I want to talk to you about Fury's offer."