My usual thanks to RogueNya and Tsuki Rae for reviewing and to everyone reading and adding this story to their alerts.

This is a pretty short chapter that I enjoyed writing. It's another attempt at redeeming Logan's character. More to come as soon as I get around to writing it.

Please review if you read, it makes it all worth while :)

Stone Cold Sober

Why do I keep doing this to myself; I'm hungover, depressed and ever so lonely. In addition to my array of feelings and resentment. I'm now feeling revulsion and animosity towards every living person on this planet that is in anyway happy.

I'm also attempting to process the undeniably terrifying dream I've just woken up from. It was the strangest thing, absolutely crazy. There was a podgy guy, he spiked my drink. Then there was a deserted alley way and Logan.

Now I'm ready to admit that I'm without a doubt one hundred percent insane. Yeah, seriously fucked up and dreaming about Wolverine once again saving me from the darkness. Oh, he's my hero, every little girl should have one, he's so gallant. Christ, somebody pass me the sick bucket; this is a new low even for me.

Oh, well, time to crawl out of bed I suppose and greet the new day with a smile on my face and the much desired need to flip the bird to just about anyone really.

I reluctantly sit up groaning at the incessant pounding. Is my brain trying to tell me something or is it just refusing to play nice and join the full world of consciousness?

Okay, okay, okay on the count of three. One, two, three... I'm never drinking again.

Forget it, this is too difficult and I ache all over. Is it possible that I was run over by a bus during my rather intoxicated state? I'll stay in bed, its for the best I think. No need to put my body through the added pressure of trying to stand on my own two feet. I don't dare contemplate the consequences of such an action.

I gently lay my head on the pillow and slowly close my eyes and... Wait, was that a fucking spider? "Shit!" I cry, making a damn good effort to free myself from the sheets I'm currently tangled in.

Why is it always me? Can't those mean spiders go harass another victim, don't they see how scared I am?

What the hell is with these sheets? Have they got a mind of their own and how did I get so unbelievably twisted in the first place? Fucking devil sheets, that's what they are...

"Ah!"

I tumble out of bed, fall head first onto the solid bedside table and whimper miserably onto the unforgiving and unvarnished floor boards.

Fucking hell, that hurt. Why me, why me? What did I ever do to deserve this?

As I lay deliberating my ever so implausibly ridiculous life, the door swings open and in steps a breathless Wolverine with his claws unsheathed.

"What the hell happened?" He demands his eyes darting around the room in search of an intruder.

"It was the spider and the devil sheets." I mumble, rubbing the painful bump already forming on my forehead. "You're not supposed to be here." I swiftly add. If Logan is here, does that mean that last night was not a dream, then? "It wasn't a dream was it? I was and you were, then he, well, for some of the time he, he was and then you!" I shout accusingly.

Logan arches a bushy eyebrow and examines me closely with a fixed unrelenting stare. He sheathes his claws and walks over to my poor beaten up and battered body.

"You hit your head." He states, looking down at me with evident worry.

"They won't leave me alone, I must be on their hit list. It's harass the girl that loathes you. I hate them and they hate me. Mutual dislike causes conflict, you know. That's how wars are started and if they want a war..."

"Okay," Why is he studying me like that? All I'm saying is that the spiders seem to know what they're doing. "Up you get."

"You're still not supposed to be here." I chide reaching for his hand. He pulls me to my feet with ease and guides me to the bed.

"Lay down."

"I can't." I grumble disapprovingly. "I told you they have a vendetta against me."

"You ain't makin' too much sense, Kid." Logan replies. "That must have been one hell of a whack you took to your noggin'."

"Are you saying I'm crazy?" This conversation is making complete sense to me. "I'm not turning into my mama am I? They said she had funny turns. She thought she could talk to God, he kept appearing to her in the pantry when she would reach for the corn starch."

"Yep, one hell of a whack." He remarks candidly. "You're gonna need ice on that, it looks pretty nasty."

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not God, are you?" I ask earnestly turning to face him.

He blinks and his eyebrow shoots almost to his hairline. "That does it, I'm callin' the Doc."

"I know we're not in a pantry but it can happen elsewhere, can't it? And you're always saving me." I mutter knowingly. "I thought only angels saved people but you don't have wings, do you?"

"Jesus Christ," Logan groans. "How hard did you hit that head of yours?"

"I hit my head?"

"Yeah and the fur ball needs to check you over" A fur ball? Is he sure that I'm the one that hit my head? "Stay there and don't move." He orders calmly. "I'll be back in a minute, if I can find the damn communicator."

Logan strides quickly out of the room leaving me to sit nervously on the unmade bed. I don't understand why he's so worried, I feel perfectly fine. I am fine, except for the scratches on my arms and cheek, the bruising on my shoulders and upper arms and the considerable bump on my forehead, I'm as right as rain. But where did that bump come from, did I hit my head or something?