A/N: Okay so the one-shot became a two-shot and it's very likely to become a more-shot in a little while. Thanks for all the support on the first chapter, I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the second part of this story.
Logan's body was used to the cold. He had been born in Canada and had spent many winter's nights outside with Victor, looking out at the impossible number of stars in the clear skies. His false father had put that down to the reason he had been sick so much of the time as a child. After his mutation had been expressed and Logan and Victor had run away from their home, they had spent even more time in the snow and ice. Growing up with freezing temperatures meant that Logan considered even the arctic weather to be homely and comforting, a pleasant reminder to days that were more innocent. It was no wonder, therefore, that Logan felt in over his head in the suffocating heat of the Vietnamese summer. The temperature was stifling and Logan wiped his face with his hand in an attempt to get the irritating sweat off of the skin. It didn't do much good since his hand was just as wet as his face. He huffed and wiped his hand in his trousers, looking over to Victor who was crouched on the ground, searching for a cigarette that he had dropped. It was the last in the packet and there was no way that Logan would share his own diminishing supply of cigars. Victor growled in agitation as he picked up the lost cig that had unfortunately fell into a muddy puddle. He shook his head and flicked the rolled tobacco off into a strangely shaped rhododendron. He stood up grumbling unhappily and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Logan saw the look on his face and broke into a hearty laugh at his brother's cheeks that had reddened in anger and the intense heat. Victor's head snapped towards Logan and snarled, shoving him away by punching him in the arm.
"Shut up." He ordered, moodily striding away from the clearing in the forest that they had been using as a resting place. They weren't alone, of course, there were other soldiers there, but neither of the mutants ever really paid attention to any other people. Logan was still chuckling to himself as Victor disappeared into the thick mop of trees and long grasses. Victor had been in a poor mood for the past year. Logan had initially tried to fix Victor's little problem with the rest of the world, but he had long since given up and had instead attempted to find humour in it. Most of the time he managed it easily. Victor was easier to get a rise out of than when he was a hormonal fourteen-year-old boy. And Logan could easily remember Victor as a hormonal fourteen-year-old boy—so did quite a few men after some of his infamous street fights. Still, Logan knew not too push him too far, unless he wanted to see if his face could recover from getting smashed to pieces by all sorts of different props. He had no doubt that he could, but he still didn't want to have to deal with the bother of it.
Logan sighed and threw the butt of his cigar beside Victor's dud. He stamped it out to make sure he didn't cause a forest fire and turned on his heel, walking the opposite way to Victor. One or two of the other soldiers looked like they wanted to say something to him, but he only had to raise his brow and they closed their mouths. He was well aware that he wasn't supposed to be leaving the camp whenever he pleased but they all knew that he and Victor were mutants and that they both had a certain disposition towards a somewhat feral approach to life. Logan had already stopped his brother from attacking one of the lower ranking soldiers. The soldier was a complete idiot and found himself in Victor's chokehold for mentioning his nails in a less than awe-struck light. Logan knew not to slag Victor's nails, and now, so did the soldier. He had only barely made it in time to stop his brother's hands breaking the youth's neck and he told the young man in no uncertain terms, that he would not help him again. Later they had found out that he had taken leave for 'inexplicable mental trauma' and no one had heard from him since.
Logan walked through the forest easily. He knew where he was going and was in no fear of getting lost or snuck up on. His ears could easily pick up the few sounds in the quiet forest and if anyone did manage to get close enough to jump him, he would smell them before it became a problem. Not that it would; who cared about a few bullet holes? Logan certainly no longer did. He and Victor had been in Berlin when it had fallen to the Allied and USSR troops. Within the time span of a few hours, Logan had received countless bullet wounds, and had been blown up—twice. At about that stage, Logan had begun to look at pain in a different light. Like a switch, he could easily turn the pain button on or off in his head. It was only a matter of telling himself not to bother with it and then he didn't. It seemed so easy now, but it was almost impossible before. Those inter-war years had really changed him. He had grown stronger, even more so than Victor in some regards. He had tried to teach Victor his method of numbing pain but it hadn't worked. It was obviously something that he had to figure out for himself, one day it would just click and he'd get it, like driving or fighting—hard to do at first, and then suddenly it's the most natural thing in the world. And what a skill to have; Logan now barely winced when he was ripped to shreds by the bullets spewed out by rows of machine guns. Even when hit by the giant, nasty bombs that were bigger and more destructive than in previous wars, Logan would be thrown back but only because of the laws of physics. And even then he could sometimes defy that with a well-timed deflection using his claws. Indeed, Logan was turning into a well-oiled killing machine. He was well known for his abilities in his platoon but even though people generally regarded him as the better fighter, Victor was still considered the more dangerous one of them. Logan couldn't blame them for thinking that; Victor was sometimes unstable. Both of the brothers could go into battle, roaring like animals and destroying every enemy out there, if they so wished. Both he and Victor could sweep a whole battlefield in minutes and still barely break out into a sweat, provided it wasn't the height of a Vietnamese summer, of course. But the difference between them was that when the battle was over, Victor still had his teeth bared and his hand contorted as if waiting to deal a finishing blow. Logan could usually turn it off; make the roaring in his head stay trapped in his skull and not unleash it out into the real world. The desire to snarl and rage was just as strong as Victor's sometimes, however, Logan had learned to ignore his inner beast, to switch it off and to cage it away.
But caged beasts got angry and they beat at their bars.
And sometimes, Logan couldn't control it. And when that happened…. When that happened, people died. They died in a very painful and bloody way. Sometimes, Logan went so off the wall that even Victor would have to look away from his handiwork. Logan, of course, would be inwardly devastated after he regained his human side. It had inspired him to work even harder, to build stronger bars and to lock the creature into the darkest recesses of his mind. But even Logan, who was a master at controlling his own body in everything but flying and intense heat, made mistakes. He sometimes got too lax, letting his control slip—just a little—and then suddenly, he'd find himself thrashing the broken face of a bloodied corpse into the ground. He'd usually find Victor standing a little away with his own face bloodied and his hands in front of him, like he was trying to sooth a feral animal. For both of the brothers, the other's behaviour seemed unusual and curious. What always struck Logan as most curious, though, was that it was Victor's blood on his face, not someone else's. Of course, there was never any physical mark on Victor—he healed as well as Logan—but then, if Victor tried to stop him while he was in his feral state, then his big brother probably hadn't done it the smart way. It was more likely that Victor had literally jumped him in an effort to over-power him. It was a technique that was not only useless, but one that would probably have killed any lesser man. Then again, Logan often thanked his stars that neither of them were 'lesser men' otherwise they would have both killed each other thousands of times. The mutant couldn't deny that their relationship sometimes—often—took on a dangerous nature. A simple exchange of words could leave them with a claw lodged in someone's arm and nails firmly stuck into someone else's leg. Not to mention, they went through months worth of growls, snarls, hisses and whatever else you could think of. But they were brothers and in the end, all their competing and head butting was frivolous. They had spent almost a hundred and thirty years in each other's company, so they were bound to get on each other's nerves sometimes, right? And at the end of the day, no matter how infuriating Logan might feel Victor had become, no matter how distressed he was that he had destroyed so many lives, he would stick by his brother. Why? Because there was one thing that Victor could have given Logan that no other person would ever be able to—forgiveness. And his older brother had given it freely. It didn't matter that their father was a sadistic, twisted person who relished scaring both him and Victor. It meant nothing that Logan had probably done them a favour. The simple fact of the matter was that he had left them virtually orphaned, and they had been left to fend for themselves without any security. And Victor had accepted that. He had understood Logan's motives, his little brother's need to kill the man that had fathered them both. It still sometimes bemused him that Victor had so easily let go of any connections to the man and had looked after Logan as easily as if they had always known their linked lineage. Ever since that night, they had been near to each other, and it seemed odd that their father's murder would bring them together. It was a situation that should have torn their family apart, but as Logan had long since learned; blood strengthened their sibling's bonds. Each war left the closer than the one before. It had gotten to the stage that they could fight together, side by side; with such compatibility that it seemed to everyone else that they shared the same mind.
This war had not done that.
It was how wars were supposed to be really. They were never meant to create new friendships and stronger bonds, they were meant to destroy. It was easier to fight if you thought that your actions meant nothing, as if it was nothing more than a scenario in one of those new arcade games that were all the rage with youngsters. But Logan couldn't deny any longer that his very presence in a battle or a campaign made a difference. He usually brought that thought to the back of his mind when he dealt out the finishing blows, but these people had families, hopes, dreams. Logan grimaced. He was getting too sentimental. He blamed old age. Most humans after sixty or seventy years became jaded, he had a hundred and thirty. At this stage, he deserved to be a little weary of the world.
Logan shook his thoughts out of the consuming spiral they had been in. A hint of a smile almost tinged his lips as he realised with a slight flutter of relief that he had arrived at his destination. He crouched down low, covering himself in the dense thicket and the shadows of the exotic trees that canopied above. He leaned his back against the trunk of the tree and moved into a sitting position, still suitably hidden from prying eyes. The bark of the tree was smooth and cold and he almost groaned at the small relief from the heat. He knew it would be short lived as his own stifling body heat would radiate outwards and attack the coolness of the bark like a plague of locusts to a wheat field.
Outside of his supreme hiding place, was a small spring that seemed to have protection of a layer of hard rock around its edges, it looked like a dangerous shield to Logan. But, after stumbling across this a few days previous, he had discovered that the natural oddity was not quite so defensive. He had only a few minutes to wait before his point was proven. He smelled them before he saw or heard them. He was down wind and each of their unique but very similar scents carried themselves on the air like surfers on a rip curl. Next, he heard them. They didn't speak much, each person in their own heads, as people often are when it was early in the morning, but their footsteps spoke the volumes for them. Despite the general feeling sleepiness in the group, they were young and still carried a strong bounce in their steps. Finally, after a slight delay, Logan's eyes picked up the people's images. The group of young women slowly chose their paths through the rocky barricades, carrying their woven baskets on their backs with the clothes hanging out the back. A sleeve bobbed up and down against one girl's basket as she walked happily, as if the piece of clothing knew of his presence and was waving to him in reassurance that it didn't feel threatened. Absurd as that thought was, Logan felt better about the whole thing, thinking that.
The girls and young women got to work. It started off as a quiet affair, the villagers crouched down and wet the clothes in the spring, pouring some sort of liquid over them and rubbing them against the hard stones which caused suds to appear on the materials and fall into the water. When they were finished doing that, they rinsed off the clothes by dipping them into the water once more and then wrung them out before leaving them on a stone to dry. After they repeated the process once or twice, a word here and there was exchanged. Logan could hear them and but couldn't understand their words. He, like the rest of the group had been made attend some Vietnamese classes before being posted here, but small talk had never been a topic he had studied. Sure he had recognised some words, but most of them were only small ones—words that were only things like 'cat' or 'dog' or maybe the occasional 'boy'. They continued working, adding the occasional giggling or slightly higher-pitched voices to the quiet talk that they seemed comfortable with. It didn't take long after that before one girl started humming a tune and the others followed her lead. Soon, they were singing.
Logan knew the song. It was not because he could understand the meaning behind the foreign words but because he had heard it before.
Two weeks previously, he had been watching a pretty young girl on the streets sing the song as she danced and her brother ran around with a shallow container in his out-stretched arms. He was looking for money from the passers-by. Logan had already given him a wad of cash without caring about the value of it. The kids looked like they needed it more than he did and he really had very little need for money anyway. As he watched the two, an older woman had walked up behind him. She told him in surprisingly good English that they were orphaned by the war and this was the only way for them to make money. Intrigued that a local would even look at him, let alone speak to him, he looked down at her. Her raven black hair was beginning to streak with grey and her slightly hunched posture also hinted at her age. Her face had wrinkles on it, which was turned into her own personal battlefield of laughter lines and worry lines. The strokes of laughter at her eyes were deeper set and looked like they knew their territory thoroughly, while the shallow contours of worry across her forehead were new. Logan couldn't put blame on them being there, though, this war was enough to put wrinkles on even his own brow.
"It is the story of a woman." The aging lady told Logan after a short time, "The song says her beauty was so great that son would fight against father just to look at her and whole cities could be destroyed in a day just from her gaze. The woman was so beautiful that the gods brought her down to earth because she was too dangerous in the heavens. In the end, the woman's beauty drove all the men to kill each other and only two brothers were left alive. They were spirits of great power and they fought for a hundred and sixty years over this woman. They grew old and frail but the woman still retained her beauty and so they fought. In the end, the younger brother won the battle and he claimed his prize of the woman. As soon as he took the woman's hand he realised what he had done by killing his brother and he died of grief. With no one left to fight for her, the woman disappeared and split into every woman that already existed in the world. All the damage her existence caused disappeared and all the men that died were brought back to life. The men all thought that life would be different now that the woman was dead but when they married their own women, they held the same spirit of that woman. From then on, life was different for women because their goddess would look over them from inside. Do you know what that woman was called?"
"No." Logan told her, but he was surprisingly interested in finding out.
The woman gave a broad, toothy smile, which showed her lack of dental hygiene. "Her name was Power."
"Power?"
The woman looked pleased with herself as she let Logan in on a joke that only the women of the village knew, "All men think they are invincible, they are in control. But women are the ones that can make cities crumble or men kill their brothers if they want. Do you know why you find this song so beautiful? Because that girl understands the secret behind the story; the men who hear this think it is about women needing to be kept under control so disaster does not strike, but we all know it is about our power, our place in the heavens. For a long time, women were led to believe they were less than men. But this song is what reminds us that it is not so. You wonder why I do not fear you who are a soldier of our enemy? Because we will survive through this. We do not hate you; you are like every other man in the world."
Whether it was meant as an insult or not, Logan wasn't sure, but it was the first time that anyone had said he was like any other man. Not an animal, not a mutant, but a man. And even though he had been through another war, it was still important to him. Logan had walked back to his platoon with a slight skip in his step.
Listening to them now, it seemed somehow more powerful and pure than when the little girl on the street nervously sang it. This was a special and rare sight for Logan because these girls and young women were at peace. They were at peace with themselves, with one and other and at peace with the chaotic times of this age. Logan, who had grown up on a battlefield, and who had considered himself to know every nook and cranny of the giant beast known as war, was baffled. He had always believed that war ended civility. When a war began, people became hard and cold and they lost their culture, their identity and their morals. It was Logan's experience that war corrupted people's lives like a tropical disease, leaving them dead or crippled by hidden scars. But here these villagers were, with old, thin, but somehow immaculate clothing, singing a song, which told of their hidden power. Even if Logan had not believed the old woman of two weeks previous it was impossible for him to deny it now. These girls stood as a testament to the countries will to survive, to go on living. And suddenly, Logan knew that despite the outcome of this war, these people would win. What were guns and napalm against a nation who held no fear to go on living? It seemed such a waste; all the people who would die for a change that would never happen. Still, it was the way of the world and if there weren't a war, the human race would find a more ingenious way to kill their kind off. The only difference was that if it wasn't a war, neither he nor Victor would help them. They lived for fighting, not for their ideals or their political loyalties, despite all that patriotic mumbo-jumbo that all their superiors spouted at them as if they were prayers. But, war was the means in which the humans chose to tear their world apart and Logan could not fault them for it. In many ways, as he had discovered today, war was not the menace it claimed to be. He supposed that it, like everything else, held its place in a world controlled by humanity. Logan spent some more time, hiding behind the vegetation and listening to their voices. He had his eyes closed and his breathing was so relaxed that he was on the verge of falling asleep. After two days of staying awake, Logan knew he was well overdue, but he just wasn't willing to face the people who had buried themselves deep into his psyche, not yet. Still, he couldn't leave now even if he wanted to, it wasn't like he could just stand up and walk away—not without alerting the villagers to his presence. That would not be good for him. Luckily, his slightly prolonged resting spot was not bothering him. His nose could pick up his platoon far in the distance. Their scent was getting further away all the time; they had obviously started moving, but that didn't matter, he could easily catch up. Victor could easily catch them also, but Logan was unsure where exactly he was. He scent was very weak; he had travelled a great distance it seemed. Logan, with a slight sense of unease, wondered where Victor had wandered off to. Knowing his brother, it was probably somewhere where he could destroy something and uproot a few trees, he had no doubt wherever it was, there would be a string of curses involved too. Honestly, Logan didn't know why there was such a bad mood emanating around his brother all the time. There was no real reason that he could see. Come to think of it though, Victor hadn't been in a good mood since the women's movement of 'burning the bra' had begun. It wasn't that he didn't like equality for women, Logan was almost sure of that. After all, it was Victor himself who had told him that women generally added another unknown variable to the equation whether it is in war, or normal life. And Logan knew how much his brother appreciated anything that was out of the ordinary. Still, upon asking Victor if the woman rights movement was what was causing him to be all grouchy, he had bristled. He had told Logan, with more than a little passion, that it wasn't the movement that was annoying him, it was the fact that they were now refusing to wear their undergarments. Logan, who had blinked once, and then once again, was faced with one question; how could he not laugh at that? Apparently Victor hadn't thought he was being as funny as Logan deemed him because they ended up in a scuffle that broke quite a lot of the furniture in the bar they had been in at the time. When Victor had cooled down and Logan had promised not to laugh at him again, Victor went on to explain the problem he had with the whole thing.
"It's like this, Jimmy," He had said as if he was a philosopher, about to explain his break-through theory, "women are challengin', they like to invent things that baffle men and make us think. I've been driven half crazy tryin' to figure them out at times. But now I get it; every time they do somethin', they do it to confuse us. They're constantly thinkin'; 'now what can I do that'll puzzle this guy?'—and then they do it. Even those undergarments carry out the same function. And do you know why?" Victor asked his brother.
Logan shook his head. "No, but enlighten me oh wise one." He told him in a deadpan voice.
Victor clearly chose to ignore his comment and continued to impart his knowledge. "So we think of 'em. So we spend all of our time tryin' to figure them out. So we have to work to get them—that's all women want, you know."
Logan raised a brow, "Is it?" He asked, "You honestly think they have nothin' better to do with their time than to find out ways to torture you? Ok, whatever. So why are you gettin' so worked up about this thing?"
Victor gave him an exasperated look, as if it was nothing short of amazing that Logan hadn't gotten it. "Because it doesn't make sense!" Victor announced, still trying to figure it out as he spoke. "I mean, it doesn't have a purpose—it can't do anythin' that'll make us jump for them. There's no reason for it. It just doesn't make sense."
Logan shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the goofy grin he knew Victor was about to punch him for.
"So lemme get this straight." Logan said, holding up his hands to Victor in a peaceful gesture, to stop him from going to hit him, "You think that the whole 'man and woman' thing is just some kind of…what? A war? And they dedicate their every wakin' moment to challengin' you an' makin' you go crazy thinkin' about 'em. Am I right so far?"
"Yeah." Victor agreed with a serious nod that made Logan want to smirk.
"An' so you think this movement is some sort of…" Logan paused to think of a suitable analogy, "…curve ball?"
Victor blinked in surprise. "That's exactly it." He said excitedly, in awe that his brother had understood him so well.
"So I take it we're losin' this war then?" Logan asked with a chuckle.
Victor studied him for a moment, realising that the younger man was not taking him altogether seriously, "It is a war, Jimmy, despite what you think. This is all a war. That's all existence is; a series of wars, some big, some small. The only difference with women is though, that you can never beat them—you can only come to a truce."
Logan thought about that for a moment. It probably made sense, but to hear it from Victor somehow seemed wrong. "Are you drunk?" Logan asked suddenly, with as much seriousness as Victor had held when talking about the war of the sexes.
Victor grunted. "I wish."
After that night, things had gone down hill with Victor. He became more moody and aggressive than ever. A simple 'good morning' could lead to lamps being thrown across the room or a hole punched in the wall. Logan hadn't seen this side of his brother in a very long time and though it wasn't new, it had never lasted so long. Victor seemed to have no real reason either; it was strange.
But, like everything else, life went on and Logan knew that his brother's mood would eventually change sooner or later. Preferably sooner considering that he had already put up with it for so long, but the future wolverine was in no hurry. They had all the time in the world, after all.
Looking up, Logan realised that the women had finished washing and were now packing up. He waited another few moments until they left. During that time, he gathered his thoughts and put them into a smaller, darker corner of his mind. They had been keeping him too pre-occupied lately and since Logan sensed there would be fighting soon, he didn't want to be distracted with such frivolous musings.
As soon as the last young woman disappeared into the dense thicket, Logan got to his feet and went back the way he came. He broke into a brisk trot, knowing that walking was too slow and sprinting was entirely unnecessary to catch up with the rest of the platoon. He could just about sense Victor doing the exact same thing and it made him curious to see if his brother had predicted the approach of a battle just as he had. Logan didn't doubt that he did. With what he could only describe as a somewhat guilty enthusiasm for the oncoming fighting, Logan hurried his pace, just a portion.
He arrived back to the platoon and fell into step behind a middle-aged soldier, called Rick Langley, who had shown nothing but apathy towards Logan and Victor. It had been a nice change for Logan frankly, but Victor had bristled at his attitude. Then again, Victor bristled at everything nowadays, so it seemed no surprise that this unassuming soldier would set him off also. Speaking of Victor… Logan looked around, surprised that he wasn't back yet. He shrugged and returned his gaze back to the front. Just as he did that, a dark blur appeared at the corner of his eye and the sudden intense smell of Victor made Logan grimace.
"Where were you?" Logan asked, noticing from Victor's smell that he was in a very good mood. The sheer contrast of his new smell made Logan's brain pulse with discomfort; he was not used to the scent of Victor in a happy mood anymore. He'd forgotten how heavy it was.
Beside him, Victor grinned. That in itself was enough for Logan to hold up his hand and tell the other mutant not to answer. Suddenly, the wolverine smelt blood on his brother, on his breath, on his clothes, even under his nails. No wonder he was in such a good mood.
"Out killin' things again?" Logan asked in a rougher tone than he meant.
"Not just things, little brother, people." Victor told him with a big toothy grin, "Soldiers to be exact. They came at me while I was out walkin' and I tore them to shreds. Makin' them scream was the best thing I've done all day. Truth is though—and this is just between you an' me—I probably would've done even if they hadn't attacked me." Victor, looking pleased with himself, put his hands on his neck and just walked for a moment, reliving the incident. He made a satisfied noise and looked to his brother. "Damn, I needed that." He told him.
Logan gazed at his brother and in a deadpan voice said, "Good for you."
"That's what you need, Jimmy," Victor advised, "somethin' that's an outlet for your stress."
"Well I think I'm about to get it." He replied, indicating with a nod of his head towards a blank space on the dust road in front of them. Victor moved his head to get a better look at that nothingness and then nodded.
"Yeah, I thought that was only me, but I guess not. Good."
Another handy thing about being a somewhat feral mutant was that there was a built-in sensor for murderous intent. It stained the air for about a mile around; it was that potent. Logan had pinpointed that intent coming from the area on the road that he had showed to Victor. In a matter moments they would reach that spot and the men who were hiding in the vicinity would jump them and by the smell of things, they wouldn't be taking prisoners. With that thought shared, the brothers looked at each other and shared an unspoken understanding that Logan would take one side while Victor would take the other. There seemed to be twelve men in total, but their exact location was difficult to say for sure. Usually, the best tactics in cases such as these were to be alert until that time when the enemy showed themselves, then go at them with arms and legs flailing. It might not have worked for normal people, but thanks to their strength and healing factor, there was nothing for them to lose.
In a fraction of a second before their attackers jumped into action, Logan could practically taste the sweat of one of them as he walked inches by him. Both of the mutants could hear the tightening of leather boots as the men readied to pounce and they shared a very quick glance before the world seemed to explode into action. In what appeared to be simultaneous actions, Logan summoned his claws and dove to the right while Victor went to the left. They did this just as their ambushes jumped up with their own native war cries and aimed their guns, getting ready to fire. By the time the rest of the army's platoon realised what was happening and whipped around, the two mutants had already killed their first targets and had just about sealed the deal on the second. When the exchange of bullets started, there was considerably less enemy fire than that of their allies. Logan's arm even got grazed by a bullet from the friendly fire but barely noticed as he reached for his next victim, grabbing his neck from behind and cracking it. The whole affair was over in less than thirty seconds and though the battle was short, most of the men in the platoon were panting heavily. One of the few who did not have his hands on his knees, gasping for breath was the soldier Rick Langley. He gazed at Logan for a moment before taking a cigarette out of a metal case and lighting it.
"I don't know what the hell you are," Langley declared through the cigarette in his mouth, "But I'm sure as hell glad you're on our side and not theirs."
Logan turned and saw some of the bodies that were so full of bullet holes they looked like some sort of sponge. But he thought back to the women at the spring. "You an' me both, bub." He muttered with no real conviction, before the order to move out was called and he fell back into the previous formation with Victor by his side, the way it should be.
"Logan? Logan. Logan!"
Logan groaned, his own voice sounding too loud at the moment, never mind the screeching of some female. He slowly moved his arms in an uncoordinated movement. He didn't want to go back to consciousness and his body certainly was dragging its proverbial heels as he did. Logan didn't really care what he was doing; however, he just wanted who ever that woman was to stop her high-pitched screeching. And if assuring her that he was awake would do that, then that would be what he had to do.
"Oh thank god; you're okay."
Logan almost growled. There was that voice again. Did the owner not notice he was trying to sleep? A little more than slightly agitated, Logan cracked open a heavy, sleep-crusted eye and saw Storm standing above him. She was looking down with such a sincere worry that it quelled the beast inside of him and he managed to stop himself from executing his now ridiculous plan of growling. Seeing how it was Storm, he probably would have regretted it anyway; the now head professor of the school had a strict no-nonsense policy. And it wasn't just with the students, as Logan had found out one day not long enough ago.
Logan began to sit up but Storm gently guided him back to his lying position. "No, don't get up yet. You need to rest."
Logan would have asked what she was going on about when a sudden ferocious headache hit him. He hissed and brought his hands up to his temples, crushing the sides of his head as his body instinctively curled in its own abject misery. Logan didn't think he had ever been shot in the head by an adamantium bullet, but he was sure this was what it would feel like. He grit his teeth and through slightly watery eyes, he saw Ororo Monroe's worried expression. He tried to pull it together for her sake but he failed miserably as another flash of blinding pain left him gasping for air. The pain encompassed everything; it throbbed deep in his skill and behind his eyes, leaving the rest of the body both hyper-aware and completely numb to any external stimulus. Logan could feel what appeared to be pins and needles prick the bottom of his cerebral cortex and he shuddered as they made their way all the way down his spine to his tailbone. He at last let out a pained snarl that sounded more like a wounded, rabid animal than a man. And not a moment after that, he felt something change—deep inside his head. He actually, physically felt something inside his head move, or switch on, or something. Seconds after that, he felt the warm balmy feel of his rejuvenation begin to take place and with it came the slightly cold feeling in the rest of his body. Almost as quickly as his healing process begun, it ended and Logan blinked in surprise, the agony more like a vivid memory of a forgotten past then something that happened seconds before. He felt Storm's hands on his arm before he realised that he was panting like a thirsty dog on a hot summers day.
"What's happening to you, Logan?" She asked fearfully, hoping that he could tell her.
This time Logan did manage to successfully sit up. He shook his head. "Nothin'," He told her, "Don't worry about it."
Storm shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Don't worry about it?" She asked with her voice raising half an octave and her eyebrow going higher than her voice. Logan knew he was in trouble.
"Logan, how am I supposed to 'not worry about it' when you've been practically in a coma for two days? Tell me that."
Logan flinched. "What?" He asked in confusion. For the first time since he woke up, he realised he was in the steel infirmary of the late Charles Xavier's school. What was he doing here? And for two days?
Storm, seeing that Logan was beginning to realise the gravity of the incident, calmed herself down. "You don't remember?" She asked him.
Logan shook his head. "Not a thing, darlin'. What happened?"
Storm frowned, hoping there wasn't something seriously wrong with the Wolverine. "Two days ago, you were talking to Rogue about something to do with music and then you just collapsed. We tried to wake you but we couldn't, so I sent you down here for treatment but there seemed to be nothing wrong with you. Hank says that physically, you were fine, but your mind just wasn't there anymore. I'm so happy you're awake, Logan, you have no idea how scared Rogue was that she'd lose you. We were all terrified, Logan."
"So I was just standing there, talkin' to Rogue an' I dropped?" Logan asked in confusion. He had no memory of that. The last thing he remembered was Marie running up to him with a big smile on her face.
Storm nodded. "Exactly, it was just something silly, like what you favourite song was and then—well, you know."
Logan pondered on that for a moment. Rogue coming up to him and asking about his favourite song must have triggered something off in his head and sent him back all those years to Vietnam. If that was the case, his mind really was healing itself. It was about time too. Logan rubbed his face to hide the grin as he thought of what was happening. All those years of hopelessness, of searching without any clues and after Charles Xavier died, he was sure that he'd never know his past. But it seemed he was wrong and his body was proving that to him now.
Logan realised he wasn't necessarily a bad person before. At least that was what those two memories made him believe. But there was still a lot that he couldn't wrap his head around. For instance, he still was speechless to think that he and Sabertooth had been brothers and he was almost sure that he'd never would've believed it if he hadn't seen it himself. Another thing that surprised him was the fierce loyalty he remembered feeling for Victor Creed in that memory. That was probably the strangest thing, since the only other times he had met his brother after his amnesia was when they were trying to kill each other. Did something happen between them? It must have because why else would a relationship with bonds as strong as theirs just break? Logan could just about gleam the memory of pain and anger from his mind before the link to his and Victor Creed's past was completely severed by the scarred tissue of his brain.
"Logan, maybe I should get Hank to give you a check up now that you're awake." Storm suggested as she saw Logan struggle to his feet.
Logan shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay. I just need a minute." He leaned against the cold examination table, testing the strength of his legs carefully. His legs seemed fine, and he seemed fine. Everything was okay.
"But what about that pain in your head? You could be sick, Logan. People don't just collapse and stay unconscious for two days."
Logan sighed; it was time to come clean. "Listen," He said unhappily, "I'm not sick, in fact, I'm getting better."
Storm tilted her head to the side in confusion. "What do you mean?" She asked uncertainly.
Logan sighed, drooping his shoulders and scratching the back of his neck. "I think my mind is beginning to heal. I'm starting to remember things."
"Really? That's great Logan. Is that what happened to you just now? What do you remember?"
"Yeah that's why I fainted and if it's all the same with you, I'd rather keep my past to myself for the moment, it's still a bit fuzzy and anythin' I have isn't the full picture."
Storm nodded sagely. "Of course. I understand."
Logan grunted his appreciation. He pushed himself off the table and took a few steps forward before stumbling. Storm hurried to his side, giving him the support he needed to stay standing. "You mind helpin' me to my room?" He asked grudgingly. Storm, knowing how hard it was for Logan to ask for help, said nothing and just nodded.
Storm led him to the lift where she pressed the button to go up. In the lift, Logan broke away from Storm and leaned on the railing.
Storm pursed her lips, dying to ask about Logan's past but respecting his wishes. Instead, she compromised. "So, Logan," She said to fill the silence, "What is your favourite song?"
Logan folded his arms. He thought back to his newfound memory, in his head he could still hear the girls by the water singing as they washed their clothes. He almost smiled, thinking back to how much of a refuge that was for him. He met Storm's eyes. "I dunno," He admitted, "I never knew its name."
The rest of the short journey went by in silence.
A/N: Next chapter should be up in about a week or two, I've already pretty much got what I'm going to say sorted, now I just need to type it up.
