January 12th 1973

Logan zipped up his jacket as he stepped outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s headquarters. Between the gray blanket of clouds and wintry air, anyone in their right mind might have thought it would snow. His nose, however, told him otherwise. It would be about a week until there was enough moisture for any kind of precipitation. He watched the traffic on the street as he pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket. As he held his lighter to it, he heard June call his name. Taking a puff, he turned as she made her way over to him. Logan smiled to himself, thinking about how their friendship had grown. At first, he had doubts that she would be able to look past the stunt he had pulled. When he accepted the job, he made a point to tell June the full story regarding the incident. While she had been rightfully angry, she had decided to move on. June had shown him grace despite his moral failings, and he was grateful for the second chance.

"I meant to tell you inside that you did some fantastic work in there! I'd even say you're better than a polygraph test." She said with a smile.

He chuckled at the comparison. "Please, a polygraph is severely limited in what it can read."

"Regardless, a few of us are going to celebrate our progress on this whole adamantium affair in an hour at Delmonico's. Fury wanted to know if you plan on joining us. We're only where we are now thanks to the skills you've brought to the table."

"I'm flattered, but I already have plans with Lawrence. He wanted to go to a bar in Queens to celebrate the two months I've spent working with you guys." As well as the two months he'd been clean, but June didn't need to know that small detail.

"I understand. You know, you two can always join us later if you'd like."

"Thanks, June. If he's not too blitzed, we'll swing by."

"Of course, you're part of the team now." She smiled. "I'll see you around."

He nodded and watched her reenter the building. After another puff, he began walking down the sidewalk to his Mustang that was parked along the brownstone houses. He sat in the driver's seat and began the drive back to his apartment.

The drop in temperature was the first thing he noticed when he stepped out of his car. He felt a chill go through him and folded his arms across his chest as he crossed the street. It struck him as odd since he had a high tolerance for the cold. The shiver he felt wasn't from the temperature, and the realization made him become hyperaware of his surroundings. As he reached for the door handle to the apartment complex, he froze as his nose picked up something foul lingering in the air. All at once his senses sent red flags to his brain, the animal within demanding a fight or flight response. His fists clenched, and he scowled as he recognized the faint odor. It was metallic and sweet, a scent he knew far too well. A scent that Logan refused to identify despite its macabre familiarity. Something wasn't right, and the feeling of dread that he couldn't shake made his blood run cold.

He hastily pushed open the glass door and quickened his pace, taking long brisk strides down the hallway as he rounded the corner and headed down the hall. As he approached Lawrence's door, the sickening smell grew stronger. Logan's heart pounded against his ribs as a tightness began to overtake his chest. He knocked hard on the door as soon as he reached it.

Silence.

He fumbled with the handle and when he found it was unlocked, he threw the door open and heard it hit the wall with a loud thud from the force.

Logan had served in four horrific wars, had been a concentration camp prisoner, and had witnessed Nagasaki. He swore he'd seen it all. Even so, the gruesome sight in front of him was something that could make any hardened soldier's blood curdle.

He stood stock still, rooted to where he stood and utterly stunned by the grisly scene that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. Now he understood why he could smell the blood all the way from outside. His stomach turned at the sight and suddenly the room felt like it was spinning. A numbness filled his head and limbs with static as he closed the door and made his way over to where Lawrence was bound to a chair. He looked him over with his trained eyes, refusing to believe what his senses and decades of experience were telling him.

The undeniable smell of death.

The stiffness and waxy complexion.

The staleness of the blood that saturated the carpet beneath the chair.

He took in a shuddering breath as panic began to replace the numbness. This had to be one of his nightmares. All he had to do was wake up.

He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them once again only to find that what he saw in front of him was, in fact, very real. He averted his gaze from Lawrence's body to the wall in front of him and furrowed his brow when he saw a glaring 'X' written in blood.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. This was a message specifically for him, and the sender had simply used Lawrence as a means to get it across. For a second time, Logan examined his body and took in every cut and bruise that marked him. Even with the fog clouding his mind, it suddenly clicked.

This was his fault.

The impact of the painful realization and all that lay in front of him sent him to his knees. Logan couldn't believe he had let this slip past him, that he hadn't paid more attention these last three months between working for Carlisle and S.H.I.E.L.D. He should have known that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. would make him the enemy of something far larger than Carlisle's network. His mistake had made his worst fears a reality, and the price of his error had cost Lawrence his life. He held his face in his hands and for the first time in years, his stoic demeanor shattered as the overwhelming grief consumed him.

In the back of his mind, he knew he couldn't sit there and do nothing much longer. He had to notify someone before too much time had passed. As he pulled himself together, he walked over to the landline Lawrence kept on a teak sideboard. He held the handset in his hand as his finger hovered over the dial. He had two options: he could call the police or call S.H.I.E.L.D. If he called the police, there was no doubt they would let the case file collect dust. Especially if solving the case meant indicting individuals in high places within the government. He glanced at his watch and dialed June's work number with a shaky hand, hoping she was still at her desk.

"Hello?"

"June…" he stopped himself as his voice faltered and he cleared his throat. Even to his own ears his voice was raspier than usual.

"Logan? What's wrong?" Her tone was immediately laced with concern.

"Lawrence was murdered." The line was silent, and Logan feared the call had dropped. "June?"

"I'm sorry, what? Oh God, are you at his apartment?"

"Yeah,"

"We're heading over your way now with our CSI unit. Try not to touch any of the evidence, okay? We'll be there as soon as possible."


The CSI unit that combed through the apartment for evidence was but a blur in Logan's peripheral as he stared at the glaring X on the wall. With all his focus concentrated on the image, their conversations were nothing more than muted chatter as if he was underwater. The symbol mocked him, dredging up his past and poisoning his present. The flash of cameras that casted bright, intermittent light acted as the insidious message's own spotlight. He rested his hand against his chin as he absentmindedly ran his thumb over his stubble and furrowed his brow. He had to make this right, he owed Lawrence that much at least. The people who were behind this would pay for what they did. He could feel the red-hot rage of the berserker simmering underneath, ready and willing to do whatever it would take to avenge Lawrence.

When the unit had initially arrived, they had tried to remove Logan from the scene. With only two months with S.H.I.E.L.D. under his belt, he simply didn't have the clearances to stay on site. June, however, had argued otherwise. At this point Logan was a witness, an employee, and the victim's friend. She had insisted that all the above was enough proof that he had every right to stay.

He continued to watch the CSI unit as they took samples and notes, watched as they analyzed the blood stains and spatters.

Look at what you did, he thought.

A lean detective chatted with Fury along the far wall, the red X looming behind them.

This is who you are.

A few CSIs hovered around Lawrence's body as they meticulously documented anything and everything, from measuring the gashes and bruises to examining the bloodstained turtleneck.

Everyone you care about dies.

As a few technicians began preparing the body for transport, he felt a hand gently take his own and he jumped. Looking down to his left, he saw that it was June who had come beside him.

"I understand, at least in part, what you're feeling right now."

He sighed and watched the technicians take Lawrence's body away. "He didn't deserve this."

"I know."

"He was supposed to..." He found his voice trailing off on its own and he hated it, hated how exposed and vulnerable it made him feel.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, encouraging him to go on.

Logan cleared his throat. "He talked about being buried at Long Island National Cemetery. He grew up in Brooklyn and had mentioned it while we were in Korea."

"We'll give them a call and see if we can get him in this month. From what I've heard, there's a pretty lengthy waitlist." She said. "If there's anything else we can do, please don't hesitate to let us know."

"Thank you,"

She nodded and withdrew her hand. "Mark is a detective who usually works with us and he's going to ask you a few questions as protocol. I know it's the last thing you want to do, but please try to cooperate with him."

As if on cue, the detective who had been talking with Fury came over with a pen and notepad in hand. The questions were run of the mill and by the time Mark was done, Logan had forgotten all that had been asked. His eyes took in the apartment once more. The space felt foreign to him now, violated and no longer full of the warmth it once had.

He looked over at June who was talking to a woman with long dark hair and his ears easily tuned into their conversation.

"June, I don't know what to tell you. This place has been wiped clean of prints and any other means of identification. And with this MO I highly doubt the NYPD will do anything to help our investigation."

"Come on, Lauren, there's got to be something you can do." June said.

She sighed. "We'll turn this place upside down and inside out, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. I've seen this kind of situation before and we never found the culprit."

"Thank you, that's all I'm asking for."

When June finished talking with Lauren, who seemed to be leading the investigation, she returned to Logan's side. "Lauren said she'd inform the medical examiner of the situation. She thinks they'll be finished with the autopsy by the end of this week at the latest."

"Autopsy? Hasn't he been cut open enough? For fuck's sake, the cause of death is more than obvious." His senses hadn't detected any poisons, leading him to believe that the cause of death was a combination of blood loss, blunt trauma, and his own foolishness.

"Protocol says—"

"Fuck protocol!"

"Logan—"

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "It's just that all this red tape is a big fucking waste of time while his killer is still out there."

"I know, but we've got to do this right if we're going to find Thorton and Stryker. They're the ones truly behind this."

"Right," he said, acquiescing to June's reasoning.

"We'll get them, Logan. There will be justice."

"There better be." He muttered before leaving the apartment.


Logan leaned against the church's stony exterior, his breath forming soft clouds in the frigid air. Today marked almost a week since he had found Lawrence's mutilated body, and he couldn't help but notice how gray and dismal the sky looked. The somber tone of the man speaking at the pulpit carried down the aisle to where he stood outside. He listened to the hollow words of the stranger who pretended to know Lawrence like a dear friend. How the man being laid to rest had fought valiantly in Korea and helped house people who had no other place to go. Even as a man of few words, Logan was convinced he could have offered a better fitting eulogy. However, he refused to step inside. In his mind, he had already done enough.

Logan bitterly took a swig of whiskey from the flask in his hand. In his experience, funerals were full of people who either came out of guilt or those who only showed face to rubberneck someone else's tragedy. This one was no different. He'd only recognized five faces out of dozens who had entered the church, and they had belonged to Lawrence's parents, his two sisters, and a fiancé who broke off the engagement after he was drafted. Despite how long he had known Lawrence, Logan had never met any of them in person. The only reason he even recognized them was because Lawrence had shown him an old family photo while in Korea. He scoffed to himself, knowing that if they had really cared they would have been more present while he was alive.

As the man at the pulpit finished up, he returned to his car and waited as the attendees began a funeral procession to Long Island National Cemetery. Logan started his car and followed from a distance, thankful that S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to pull a few strings for him to make Lawrence's burial the same day as the church service.

At the national cemetery, he hung back as Lawrence was given his military honors. The taps began, and he stood at attention as the rifles fired until the very end. With a shaky hand, he pulled a cigar from his coat pocket and lit the filler. He silently cursed the tremor that had become a new constant in his life. Logan wanted to blame it on the cold or the barbiturates he'd tried to overdose on. It was just two days ago that he'd taken enough pills to kill a bear, and even so he knew the medication was completely out of his system. In fact, it hadn't even taken him more than several hours to wake up, and then only a few more to fully recover.

A part of him didn't want to acknowledge just how shaken Lawrence's death had left him. He'd seen, and caused, the deaths of countless people. This, however, was different.

As he puffed the cigar to life, he leaned against his Mustang and watched the visitors leave. The first snowflakes of the year began to fall, flecking his black coat with white specks. Logan felt a hand on his shoulder and looked over to see June standing beside him. He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I didn't think I'd see you here."

"I wasn't sure how…welcomed I'd be at the funeral, so I came here to pay my respects." She said, brushing a short strand of hair out of her face.

"I would've had your back, June. No one would've dared to start anything." He replied.

"Trust me, I know, but you've been itching for a fight all week. I can see it, and with your luck the two of us would've been kicked out anyway."

His luck. Was there even such a thing? "Well, you didn't miss anything. The guy who gave the eulogy didn't know jack shit about Lawrence. Hell, I'd never even seen the guy before today."

"Logan, I'm so sorry." She said.

He sighed, the gray smoke from his cigar and the heat of his breath forming a large cloud. "Me too."

"None of this was your fault."

"No? I'm what connected him to the men we're trying to find. They used him, June. They used him to get to me. Hell, to them he was just a means to an end, a fucking pawn." As he talked he could feel his rage inching closer to the surface, hungry to repay blood with more blood.

Lawrence didn't deserve to be murdered. For the hundredth time, his thoughts wandered to what his friend's last hours must have been like. He could easily imagine it all. Lawrence's firm resolve hiding whatever fear he had, unwilling to break for the sake of Logan's safety even if it costed him his life. Logan knew for a fact that they had tried to interrogate Lawrence for any information he had. The deep lacerations and dark bruises had told him as much. He closed his eyes as the guilt closed in on his chest. June was wrong. Everything about this was his fault, and he could trace the blood trail all back to when he began working for Carlisle.

June's voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts. "Listen, I promise you we'll do our damn best to find Stryker and Thorton."

He opened his eyes and his gaze lingered on the walnut casket sitting underneath the canopy tent. A thought crossed Logan's mind and he furrowed his brow. Knowing how these twisted men were, he vowed to himself to do all he could to prevent this from happening again. Stryker and Thorton, if they were really the men behind it all, would undoubtedly up the ante if he continued assisting S.H.I.E.L.D. He looked over at June and his eyes met hers, both soft and caring. She and Ida were just about the only people left who he cared about, and he realized he couldn't take the chance of bringing harm their way. Besides, it was time for him to take matters into his own hands. S.H.I.E.L.D. was legally bound to uphold the law and follow protocol while he had the ability and know-how to work around it. Logan took another puff of his cigar and sighed.

"I quit." He said as he stared ahead through the thickening snow.

"What?" June exclaimed as she took a double take.

"Did I stutter?"

She studied him with wide eyes. "You can't quit! Do you realize how much you've helped us? If you quit now our investigation is going to lose a hell of a lot of speed!"

"There's too much at stake for me to stay involved."

"Bullshit, you're just throwing yourself a pity party." She huffed as she crossed her arms.

He looked over at her and blinked, taken off guard by the comment. "Excuse me?"

"I don't know how Lawrence dealt with you—" she stopped herself short as Logan's gaze turned into a fierce glare, his anger igniting like a match set to a can of kerosene.

"Watch it! You're treading on some mighty thin ice!" He snarled. She glanced at his clenched fists. He couldn't remember when he had closed them, but his knuckles were white from the taut skin. Noticing the fear in her eyes, he took a deep breath and forced himself to unclench them. Scaring her wasn't his intention. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but his reaction had been second nature.

Instinctive.

He shook his head and opened the car door to leave. June stopped him in his tracks by quickly placing her hand on his arm. "Wait, before you go I have to ask you something. I was doing some digging in the apartment of the man we interrogated last week. I found a document that mentioned something called 'Weapon X'. With you being a former member of Team X, I thought you might recognize it. Does it sound familiar to you?"

"No, but it sounds like they're connected. It wouldn't surprise me if they were."

"Well whatever it is, please let us handle this. We still don't know what we're dealing with exactly. And if you're really serious about quitting, you no longer have permission nor the clearances to investigate."

"I can't promise you that." He replied. Without another word, he pulled his arm away and dropped behind the steering wheel before driving towards the exit of the cemetery.

For a while he just drove, not caring about where he was going nor how quickly the snow was beginning to fall. As the sky grew darker, he headed towards the bar in Queens where he and Lawrence had planned on celebrating his employment at S.H.I.E.L.D. He parked the car and stared at the neon open sign as it flickered. For once in his life, he thought he finally had something nice. It hadn't even lasted for more than two months before it was all violently ripped away from him.

With a sigh, he left his car and entered the bar. He took a seat at the counter and ordered two glasses of the strongest liquor the bartender had. The bartender handed him the two glasses and Logan set one aside in front of the empty barstool to his left. As his mind wandered he rested his head on his hand, swirling the amber drink in the glass as his thoughts raced. He breathed in deeply through his nose and rubbed his eyes. There was a part of him that knew this would happen. The good things in his life never lasted long. He had hoped that, for once, he might have been wrong. Yet it was as if the metaphorical blood on his hands left a stain on everything he touched, and sometimes that stain was nothing more than a target for Death herself.

Logan downed the drink, ordered another three, downed those, and then ordered even more. He was on his fifteenth glass when he finally lit one of the Cuban cigars he found two months ago. As the smoke snaked around his head, he bitterly wished he could get drunk for more than half a minute to forget his pain. As he let the cigar sit between his fingers, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye sit beside him on his right. Furrowing his brow, he glanced to his left and his frown deepened. Almost all of the barstools were empty, and yet the man chose to sit right next to him. His grip on the whiskey glass tightened and he continued to ignore the stranger beside him.

"Hey bartender, I'd like to order this man another drink." The man said.

Logan waved off the bartender and glared at him. "Look, bub, whatever it is you want I'm not in the mood."

"You worked for Carlisle, right?" He asked.

Without warning, he snagged him by the lapel of his pinstripe blazer with both hands and scowled. "What the hell do you want?"

"Woah! Easy! This is more about what you might want."

"Then I suggest you explain yourself quickly!" He snarled.

"I heard your friend was taken out by some secret organization or something. I work for a guy who can get you details that no one's gonna find without the right connections." He explained. "Now can ya let go? I just picked this jacket up from the cleaners today."

Logan narrowed his eyes before reluctantly releasing him. The man thanked him and promptly began to smooth out the wrinkles. "How the fuck do you know about Lawrence?"

"Your landlord has a few friends in higher places, if you know what I mean, and he has quite the mouth. That kind of gossip goes a long way, and a death like that? There's no doubt you want some kind of revenge. Hell, I know I would."

He eyed him and puffed his cigar. The man was right. The thought of revenge had come to him the moment S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived and began their investigation. His friend deserved to live a full life before dying peacefully, not butchered and put on display to be used as a cheap threat. Since this was his fault, he owed it to Lawrence to bring those men justice. He hated himself for realizing too late that the deeper he dived into illegal activity, the deeper he pulled Lawrence down with him. That was who Lawrence was, though. Loyal till the end, even if it meant his life.

"What's his name?"

"Anthony Volerio, his connections should be able to gather something. They're clued in on things that the president doesn't even know about. I can take you to him if you're interested."

Logan gave him a scrutinizing stare. Carlisle had mentioned the name a few times, and each time he did he had nothing good to say about the man. Of course, he had known to take everything Carlisle had to say with a grain of salt, but he couldn't help but be a little suspicious. "I swear if this is a set up—"

"It's not, but don't expect Volerio to dole out information for free, especially to someone who used to work for a rival."

"Figures." he muttered as he paid the bartender, "What's your name?"

"Alan," he replied. "My car is parked out front."

"Then let's stop dicking around and get going." He said as he stood.


They pulled into a small side parking lot alongside what seemed to be a family owned restaurant. Logan stepped out of the green Buick Skylark and stared past the snow where his eyes settled on the sheer, patterned curtains and the warm light inside. There were at least five silhouettes that he could make out sitting around a table. Their laughter and the varying timbre of their voices leaked through the walls of the establishment as his nose wrinkled at the unmistakable, faint stench of cigarette smoke. Alan shut the car door and Logan followed his lead.

The moment he stepped into the dining area the five men quieted, their conversation grinding to a halt. Judging by the ashtrays on the table, they had been sitting around for a couple hours. Two of them continued to smoke their cigarettes as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The other three studied him with penetrating stares, daring him to make a wrong move. To say they didn't trust him would have been an understatement. Logan could even smell it in their sweat. He casually shook the snow off his coat and hung it on a coat rack as he ignored the stiff silence. He couldn't blame them for being on edge, and he was convinced Alan was the only reason they hadn't drawn any weapons.

"Well if it isn't Carlisle's old lapdog." A stocky man with hulking shoulders said.

"You must be Volerio." Logan replied, ignoring the insult as he walked over to the round dining table.

"I am." He replied before he took a long drag off his cigarette. "You know, Carlisle deserved what happened to him."

"I agree."

Volerio narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Do you know how much trouble that prick caused me because of the work you did? How many clients I lost? And now you have the balls to show up on my doorstep. Why?"

"Alan told me you have connections with people who know things that Nixon doesn't even know."

"What about it?"

He helped himself to the last empty chair at the table and locked eyes with the burly man. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to know everything there is about a project called 'Weapon X'."

"You're willing to do anything? Are you sure?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. Logan could see that his tantalizing offer had started to change this man's opinion of him.

"Sure as hell,"

Volerio shrugged to himself, seemingly satisfied by Logan's sheer determination. "If that's the case you can start by guarding my daughter, Gwen, for a week. While people are glad Carlisle's gone, no one knows who killed him. Other families have received threats recently and Gwen's my pride and joy. I would be devastated if something happened to her."

That sounded simple enough. Besides, in Logan's mind, body guarding was just a glorified babysitting position. He could easily do that for a week. "When do I start?"

"Come by tomorrow around six in the morning and Ramone will take you to her apartment." He replied as he gestured to the stocky man on his right with a horseshoe mustache. "You have until then to gather your things. I'll send someone to get word out to my contacts tomorrow about this Weapon X project you're so desperate to know about."

"Excellent."


JANUARY 26TH, 1973

June pushed a lock of her curly hair out of her face and knocked on her grandmother's door. It had been almost a week since she'd last seen her, and she was eager to be in her grandmother's company once again. Her free time had taken a sharp decline and work had been overwhelming as of late. Logan's wealth of knowledge and personal experience had been a great asset to the team. Without his help, their investigation had hit a brick wall. With all the recent stress, seeing her grandmother was just what she needed. Visiting Ida and listening to her encouraging words of wisdom always restored her peace of mind. The door opened wide and she was greeted with a tight hug.

"I'm so glad you were able to swing by today, June!" Ida exclaimed.

"Me too, work has been crazy this week." She smiled as she pulled away.

"Have you had coffee yet?"

She shook her head.

"Good, I just made a pot and I could use another person to help me finish it off."

June chuckled as she followed her grandmother inside and into the kitchen. Ida pulled a coffee mug out of a cabinet and handed it to her. June thanked her and poured what was left in the pot into her cup.

"Did you hear what happened to Lawrence?" Ida asked.

She faltered in stirring some sugar into her coffee and sighed. "Unfortunately,"

"Poor thing," she tutted, "I wonder how James is handling it. You know I haven't heard nor seen him all week."

"Well, I wouldn't know, Gram. He quit his job after Lawrence's funeral and hasn't contacted us since."

She frowned, a deep crease forming between her already wrinkled brow. June knew the look well and could see that she was deep in thought. "Do you think he's okay? Usually, I can tell when he's home but..."

"But?"

"I don't know, call me crazy but it's like he just disappeared. I tried knocking two days ago but he wasn't there." She explained.

"Maybe he didn't answer because he's sulking." She shrugged. Ida shot her a motherly look.

"June! Where's your compassion?"

"Gram, he has a history of alcohol and drug abuse." She had found out about the latter on her own. Logan was an incredibly private person and had never talked about that side of his past. Part of her job description was to be nosy, but even so she refused to add it to his file. June figured it was in the past so in the past it would stay.

"That doesn't mean his pain is any less valid." She chided.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was right. Regardless, she was disappointed that Logan had quit so readily. To her, it felt like he was giving up and accepting defeat. She was more than willing to find the people behind Lawrence's murder and put them behind bars. Logan's resignation felt like he doubted her and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ability to do so. Yet, at the same time, she had to remind herself that Lawrence was his closest friend. She knew that grief was messy and different for everyone. June only hoped that he hadn't dived off the deep end.

"Would it make you feel better if I checked his place myself?" She finally asked.

"Would you?"

"Sure," she said as she set her coffee down, "I mean he's only one floor above you."

Ida thanked her, and she left her grandmother's apartment and ascended the steps to the fourth floor. She followed the hallway to the right until she reached his door. With a sigh, she knocked.

"Logan? Are you in there?"

No answer.

She knocked more forcefully and rested an ear against the door. The only sound she could make out was the hissing of the steam radiator. Out of curiosity, she tried the doorknob and was surprised when it gave. Her eyebrows knit together as a knot formed in her stomach, knowing that Logan hardly ever left his door unlocked. She hesitated before finally easing the door open.

His apartment was messier than usual with some stray garments laying around. The smell, however, was the worst. The unit was beyond musty and it reeked as if something had been left out. June shook her head and stepped inside to examine the place, looking for any explanation in the details she found. On the bookshelf, his humidor was open and empty. Next to it, the handset to the rotary phone lay off the hook. She frowned and entered his bedroom and noticed five empty hangers in the closet. The empty suitcase sitting in the corner, however, told her that he had only planned to be gone for only a week tops. He clearly hadn't decided to leave for good just yet. June was aware of his habit of disappearing without a trace. From what she had gathered, this was not one of those times.

Yet in her gut, she knew something wasn't right. She returned to the living room and used his phone to dial Fury's number.

"Logan, how did you get this number?"

"Fury, it's June."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Is something wrong? You sound tense and you're calling from Logan's landline." He said.

"Listen, apparently there's been no sign of him for over a week now. Have you all been keeping tabs on him?" She asked.

"Not that I know of, and to tell you the truth, Logan has been the least of our worries today. The Pentagon just informed me that Magneto escaped."

"What? How?"

"Word is that three or four mutants helped him Houdini his way out. There's no footage since some punk interrupted the security feed with television feed. Needless to say, a man with a healing factor, who's likely morally gray at this point, is the least of our worries."

June frowned. Something didn't seem right. "So, I take it we won't be able to track Logan until we figure out why some mutants broke Magneto out of prison and where they are?"

"Unfortunately. We simply don't have the resources to successfully do both while still keeping an eye on other things."

"I understand," she sighed, "just let me know if something about Logan pops up, okay? He can be…unpredictable."

"Of course, now if you'll excuse me I have phone calls I need to make and paperwork to fax."

She nodded to herself and returned the phone to its cradle. June rested her hands on her hips as she looked around his apartment, trying to gather her thoughts and plan her next steps. Her schedule was already consumed by the adamantium case. Searching for Logan now, as concerned as she was for his current mental state, was out of the question. Besides, he could handle himself, right? If he had wanted to be contacted, Logan would have made that clear. Ye knowing his self-destructive tendencies had her doubting that.

June sighed and opened a window to let some brisk, refreshing air into the stuffy apartment. As she made her way to leave, she saw the mess of documents that were still spread out on the dining table. She paused before casting a glance at the door. If anyone else had barged in, there was a whole file of sensitive information that would have been up for grabs.

It was one more detail on the growing list of things she'd found uncharacteristic of Logan. Wherever he went, he must have been pressed for time and had forgotten about the documents. She shook her head and began gathering the papers. Her eyes caught a note that was scrawled out in messy handwriting. It was to Lawrence, and June felt her heart ache with sympathy for Logan.

As she walked around the table to pick up the rest of the file, her foot hit an object with a dull clink. She heard the object roll forward and she set down the papers in her hand to duck under the table. Her blood ran cold as she spotted the iconic orange and white features of a prescription bottle.

What was Logan doing with a prescription?

Her heart stumbled over its own rhythm as she picked up the bottle. She took a seat in one of the chairs and read the label, noting that each tablet was one hundred milligrams of butabarbital. According to the instructions, the maximum daily dosage capped at two hundred milligrams. Her hand covered her mouth. The bottle was completely empty, and its lid was missing, causing her to fear the worst.

"Oh Logan, what have you gotten yourself into now?"


Logan closed his eyes and tried to force himself to relax. It wouldn't be for another several hours before they landed in Paris. As much as he hated flying, he knew in his gut that he would need every ounce of his energy for what was to come.

He had to admit that having his present mind inside his past body was…weird. Excluding his seventies haircut and the lack of adamantium, his physical appearance was the same. His mind was a different story. Mentally, he felt overwhelmed by the colliding memories of his past and present self. Several years ago, when the X-Men were still in one piece, Charles had helped him recover most of his memories that had been lost thanks to Weapon X. It was strange feeling how suddenly fresh and raw they were. What stood out to him most, though, was the grief that gripped him. As he sat there with his eyes closed, he found he could trace it back to the loss of fellow mutants from his own present. The strongest tie to the grief, however, was the death of someone he had forgotten until now.

A man named Lawrence Bailey.

He remembered how incredibly close they had been, and how he had lost it all. Logan wondered if he was the only one left who remembered him. There was someone else who came to mind. A woman who, if she was still alive, would be in her eighties. But she had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., and the agency was no more than a pile of smoldering rubble in his world.

For a moment his eyes opened, half-lidded with fatigue. Charles was still in the same seat, but Erik had moved to sit beside him. He set down a chess set and poured himself a glass of liquor as he attempted making idle conversation with Charles. Logan watched the two of them as they began to repair the bridges that had been burned. The sight caused a longing to pull at his chest. If he had been sent back in time earlier, he could've saved his own friend's life.

Logan's eyes closed again. He couldn't think that way. His past had to stay in the past where it belonged. Besides, this wasn't about him. This mission was for the greater good of all mutants. A few dredged-up memories that were still raw to his past self weren't important. What they were attempting to alter tomorrow was bigger than him and his past mistakes, and he would simply have to deal with that.

Out of the blue, the memory of Lawrence's excitement over the news he'd accepted a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. came to mind. He smiled to himself, savoring the vivid memory. Of course, he wasn't working for the agency at the moment, but he couldn't help but wonder how his friend would react to seeing him now. He was playing a role in something so much bigger, something that would alter the course of history if everything went according to plan.

Logan had no doubt Lawrence would be proud of him, and he was satisfied with that.