Wolverine is a lot smaller than Movie Wolvie, but in this fic we'll be using Hugh's stature and eye colour. If you liked what you read leave me a comment! Let me know how you liked it! And hopefully, you all enjoyed it!

Seated in his office, Scott basks in the gentle embrace of midday sunlight cascading through the expansive windows, painting the room in a warm, golden glow. The serene ambiance washes over him, offering respite from the morning's flurry of activity. Before him, his desk stands as a bastion of order, papers neatly arranged and poised for his attention.

As the clock inches past noon, the world seems to hush, granting him a precious interlude to collect his thoughts. The distant hum of the air conditioning becomes a lullaby, orchestrating a tranquil symphony within the room.

Just moments ago, his last patient bid farewell—a young boy, his smile timid yet hopeful, his voice tinged with a raspy vulnerability. Tonsillitis had plagued the child, causing discomfort and pain. Drawing upon his medical expertise, Scott charted a course to healing, prescribing treatments and offering words of solace to the boy's parents. The gleam in the young patient's eyes, shimmering with trust and gratitude, left an indelible mark on Scott's heart.

In these fleeting, poignant moments, Scott finds reaffirmation of his chosen path. The echoes of purpose reverberate within his being, as if the universe itself has conspired to guide him toward this noble vocation.

Reclining in his chair, he allows his mind to wander, retracing the steps that brought him to the realm of medicine. Each memory unfurls before him, vibrant and profound, like pages from a cherished book.

He recalls the tender embrace of Charles Xavier, the man who had become his mentor and surrogate father. His voice, a vessel of wisdom and affection, had resounded with certainty: "Scott, your gift for empathy and your passion for understanding others are rare treasures. Channel them to heal and uplift those in need. " Those words, etched upon his soul, ignited an unwavering resolve to embark on the path of medicine.

In the gallery of his mind, snapshots emerge—years of arduous study and relentless training. The nights were sacrificed to the pursuit of knowledge, immersed in textbooks and scientific articles. The crucible of examinations, demanding his resilience and testing his mettle. The countless hours devoted to refining his clinical acumen, weaving competence and compassion into a tapestry of healing.

Each memory, a mosaic of sacrifice and triumph, bears witness to the profound transformation that has shaped him into the adept and benevolent physician he is today.

As his gaze lingers upon the world beyond the windowpane, Scott's mind becomes a kaleidoscope, rotating through the memories and faces of the patients he has encountered on his journey. Their collective presence forms a mosaic, each visage painted with hues of hope, fear, and vulnerability. In their eyes, he glimpses the reflection of his own compassion and commitment—a symphony of emotions that has woven its way into the fabric of his being.

The trembling hand of an elderly man seeking reassurance before surgery, the resounding laughter of a child liberated from pain's clutches, the radiance of gratitude emanating from a mother whose life he had saved—these fragments of shared experiences coalesce, forming the very essence of his calling. Each encounter, no matter how minute, has imprinted on his heart the significance of a caring physician's touch.

Scott's eyes shift to the framed certificates adorning the walls, their pristine surfaces beacons of achievement and expertise. Yet, in the depths of his soul, he knows that the true measure of his journey lies not in these tangible accolades. It is the intangible threads of connection, the silent understanding that surpasses the sterile confines of the clinical realm, that define his path.

A gentle sigh escapes his lips, a testament to the intermingling currents of contentment and unwavering determination that surge within him. The choices made, the arduous path traveled—though strewn with obstacles, they have yielded invaluable rewards. For the pursuit of healing and the unwavering dedication to becoming a beacon of hope have emerged as the very essence of his raison d'être—a purpose that imbues every action with profound meaning.

The steady rhythm of the ticking clock serves as a backdrop to Scott's unwavering presence at his desk. Here, in this sanctum of empathy and intellect, he embodies the embodiment of dedication and compassion. The certificates etched upon his wall bear witness to the countless hours he has spent immersed in study, honing his skills, and expanding his knowledge. But it is more than just the accumulation of expertise that defines him; it is the fire that blazes within, igniting his relentless commitment to the medical field and the welfare of humankind.

In the depths of his being, a resolute flame flickers and dances, casting a warm and unwavering light upon his soul. It is a flame born from the countless lives he has touched, the stories he has witnessed, and the struggles he has eased. Every patient, every encounter, serves as kindling to this ever-burning fire, propelling him forward on his unyielding mission to heal, to alleviate suffering, and to uplift the human condition.

As the hands of the clock move with measured precision, Scott remains rooted in his purpose. The passage of time may erode many things, but it only stokes the flames of his resolve. It is a flame that refuses to be extinguished, fueled by the indomitable spirit of compassion and the relentless pursuit of a better world—one patient at a time.

/

In the vibrant break room, bathed in the warm embrace of sunlight cascading through expansive windows, Scott finds himself enveloped in the lively energy of his colleagues, Kitty and Ororo. Their laughter rings out like tinkling chimes, harmonizing with their animated gestures that paint the air with vivid strokes of closeness and ease.

Kitty, her eyes sparkling with an infectious zeal, effervesces with excitement as she recounts the exhilarating spectacle of skill and audacity witnessed the day prior on their journey to the neighboring hospital. Her words dance upon the air, each syllable a sunbeam illuminating the room, conjuring images of thunderous engines, daredevil stunts executed with both speed and grace, and an electric current of thrill that electrified the atmosphere. Scott's countenance is aglow with a fond smile; he is captivated by her lively narrative as he drinks in every detail.

Meanwhile, Ororo, a picture of serene composure, watches the interaction unfold with a tranquil smile adorning her features. Her gentle yet perceptive gaze lingers on Scott, her eyes shimmering with a curious light. She gracefully interjects into the conversation, her voice flowing forth with the serenity of a gentle rain, seeking to unravel the essence of Scott's own experience.

"And what were your impressions of this year's event, Scott?" Ororo's voice, like a melodic tapestry woven with warmth and intrigue, hangs in the air like a whispered invitation, urging Scott to share his own thoughts and reflections on the memorable occasion.

Scott momentarily closes his eyes, allowing his mind to wander amidst the corridors of recollection, retracing the steps of the previous night's revelry. Memories flicker and bloom within his thoughts, each fragment a cherished snapshot capturing moments of exhilaration, hearty laughter, and the unspoken bonds forged amidst the gathering storm of connection.

A playful glimmer in Kitty's eyes catches Scott's attention—a mischievous spark that twinkles amidst her raised eyebrows and sly grin. It is a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgement of the solidarity he shared with Logan during the event. The unspoken insinuation lingers in the air like a playful whisper, teasing and lighthearted, enveloping the trio in a shared sense of joviality.

Caught off guard by the playful insinuation, Scott feels a subtle warmth permeate his cheeks, a gentle flush that begins to spread, painting his neck with a rosy blush. His eyes dart between Kitty and Ororo, momentarily adrift amidst the sea of thoughts vying for his attention. The weight of the moment bears down upon him, demanding a response that both acknowledges the truth and upholds his own sense of dignity.

Within the vibrant break room, a pregnant pause stretches forth, its silence pregnant with anticipation, reminiscent of the charged air that heralds an impending storm. And then, like a bolt of crackling lightning slicing through the sky, Scott shatters the stillness with a light-hearted chuckle that dances upon his lips. His eyes twinkle with a beguiling blend of amusement and sincerity, as if sharing a secret with his compatriots.

"Well," he begins, his voice infused with a gentle warmth that embraces the room, "There was no shortage of excitement, that's for sure."

His words hang in the air, shimmering with a subtle hint of fondness. A moment of suspended animation follows, as if time itself has paused to savor the weight of his admission, allowing his words to seep into the consciousness of those present, creating an ephemeral bond woven with shared memories and unspoken connections.

Meanwhile, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, intermingling with the soft caress of sunlight that spills through the office window, imbuing the space with a comforting ambiance. Scott inhales deeply, savoring the familiar scent that carries a sense of home and belonging, as though a warm blanket has been draped over his shoulders, offering solace in its embrace. The distant strains of an old tune waft from a nearby radio, its mellifluous melody casting a nostalgic spell upon the room, evoking memories of simpler times and the bonds of companionship that once seemed boundless.

Amidst the lively exchange, Scott's attention is momentarily captured by the glimmer of concern in Kitty's eyes as she steals a quick glance at her watch. A subtle crease forms on her brow, a testament to the approaching conclusion of her break. With a genuine smile tinged with apology, she turns her attention to Scott and Ororo.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice carrying a touch of regret. "I have to go. My break is about over." There's a hint of wistfulness in her tone as she plants a swift, affectionate kiss on Scott's cheek, leaving behind a fleeting warmth that lingers even as she begins her journey towards the exit.

Ororo's gaze follows Kitty's retreating figure, her expression a mix of admiration and fondness. She clears her throat softly, a gentle gesture that redirects Scott's attention back to her. Her voice resonates with a comforting radiance, infusing the moment with a sense of solace.

"Well," she begins, her words caressed by an undercurrent of affection, "I suppose it's time for us to head back."

Scott nods in agreement, his eyes reflecting gratitude for the shared closeness they have cultivated. "Indeed," he affirms, his voice infused with purpose and determination. "Let's go." With synchronized strides, they depart from the vibrant break room, embarking on a leisurely stroll down the corridor towards the patient's room. Their steps fall in sync with the gentle hum of the hospital.

Immersed in the serenity of the corridor, Scott embraces the tranquil atmosphere as if it were a warm embrace. A gentle breeze, ethereal and comforting, brushes against his face, carrying with it the whispers of spring's rejuvenation. It bestows upon him a momentary respite, a sanctuary amidst the ceaseless rhythms of the day.

As the end of the hallway draws near, Scott and Ororo reach a crossroads, a temporary pause in their shared journey. They exchange a silent farewell, their unspoken connection tangible in the air like an invisible current that binds them. With a nod of mutual respect, Scott continues his solitary path, each step bringing him closer to the refuge of his office, a haven awaiting his return.

The anticipation wanes as Scott unlocks the door, granting him access to his private sanctum. However, his anticipation quickly transforms into surprise as he discovers Warren perched on the chair near his desk, rising to his feet at Scott's arrival.

"You were never one for patiently waiting outside, were you?" Scott remarks, a playful lilt accompanying his words. His eyes sparkle with delight as they meet Warren's mischievous gaze. "Good to see you, Warren, even if you did take the liberty of breaking and entering my office."

Warren chuckles softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he jests, his voice laced with levity. "I was merely making myself comfortable until your return."

Scott rolls his eyes, a smirk of good-natured skepticism gracing his lips. "Of course," he counters, a touch of playful disbelief in his tone. "I'm sure you were."

Warren's proximity intensifies, his embrace enveloping Scott in a tight hold. They separate, and Warren's gaze sweeps across the expanse of the office, a veil of curiosity hanging in the air. Unspoken questions linger on his tongue, and the weight of his concern is palpable. Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a blend of warmth and apprehension.

"So," Warren begins, his words pregnant with unspoken implications, "how did the day treat you?"

Scott's shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, weariness etching lines on his features. "As well as can be expected, I suppose," he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "Nothing extraordinary took place."

Warren nods pensively, a hand absently running through his tousled hair. His gaze remains fixed on Scott, a deeper curiosity shining in his eyes. "And Jean? How is she doing?" he inquires, his voice gentle but tinged with an undercurrent of urgency.

A flicker of pain crosses Scott's face, a fleeting mask of vulnerability. He offers Warren a pained look, silently pleading for the topic to be left untouched. Yet Warren, too immersed in his own concerns, fails to grasp the unspoken plea. He maintains his unwavering gaze, awaiting Scott's response.

Scott inhales deeply, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the charged atmosphere. He clears his throat, his voice bearing the burden of resignation and lingering emotions. "It's fine," he replies, his words descending like stones. "We parted amicably. We're still friends."

Warren remains in his stance, his hands nonchalantly tucked into his pockets, as he persists in scrutinizing Scott's countenance. A genuine concern imprints lines on his features; his yearning to comprehend the truth is heavy in the air. "Is that truly the case?" he prods, his voice tinged with a lingering doubt.

Scott's eyes narrow imperceptibly, a trace of frustration tugging at his reserves of patience. "Yes," he affirms, his voice resolute, "it is."

Warren nods, his brow furrowing as he absorbs the gravity of Scott's response. He opens his mouth, poised to offer further words, but Scott interrupts before he can utter another syllable.

"Look," Scott interjects, the weight of exhaustion burdening his voice, "I'm tired, and there's work awaiting me. If you don't mind..."

Warren sighs, his demeanor shifting as he turns to depart. Just as he reaches the threshold, Scott's voice reverberates through the room once more. "Thank you," he expresses, his words brimming with gratitude. "Thank you for checking up on me."

Warren pivots back, his eyes holding a gentle glimmer as a tender smile graces his lips. "It's what friends do," he asserts, his voice a soothing balm of unwavering support. With a final nod, he eases the door shut behind him, enveloping Scott in a cocoon of solitude.

Scott remains anchored to his seat, his head sinking into his weary hands as a weighted sigh escapes his lips. He contemplates the closed door, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within his chest. Weariness and gratitude intertwine, their currents carving a path through his fatigued mind.

The sun, now imbuing the room with its radiant presence, mirrors his introspection. Its golden rays sweep across the space, infusing it with a comforting glow of possibility and renewal, reminding Scott of the reservoirs of resilience that reside within him.

He lifts his head, raising weary eyes to the world before him. With a resolute breath, he straightens his posture, drawing strength from within. Ready to face the challenges that lie ahead, he takes a steadying step forward, embracing the work that eagerly awaits his dedicated touch.

The familiar sound of tapping interrupts the tranquility, coaxing Scott's gaze away from his work. His eyebrow arches in intrigue as Warren's face materializes, appearing mischievous, as though harboring a secret of great significance.

"What's up?" Scott's voice teems with curiosity, the words dangling in the air, seeking answers.

Warren's urgency laces his words as he conveys the message. "Charles and Erik want you to give them a call when you can," he imparts, the weight of importance nestled within his tone.

Scott nods, acknowledging the message, bidding Warren farewell with a silent wave of his hand as his friend retreats beyond the door's threshold. The portal closes, enveloping Scott in solitude once more, his thoughts now ablaze with a chorus of questions.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A glimmer of amusement graces Scott's countenance as Warren's head emerges once more, akin to a curious creature emerging from its hiding place. A knowing smile curls Scott's lips as he locks eyes with his comrade.

"Your friends are kind of strange," Warren remarks playfully, the lilt of his words underscored with affection.

Scott chuckles, the sound rippling with fondness. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he retorts, "They may be strange, but they are my friends."

Warren's visage vanishes as the door clicks shut, leaving Scott immersed in the solitude of his office. The lingering traces of their spirited banter hang in the air, a tangible reminder of their brotherhood.

Scott's gaze glides to his wristwatch, its hands inching ever closer to the appointed hour of two o'clock. A restive energy courses through his veins, compelling him to seek a fleeting escape. He gravitates toward the window, drawn to the sun's resplendent exhibition beyond the glass.

Through the translucent barrier, a world adorned in soft luminosity unfurls its enchanting tapestry. Sunbeams dance amidst the foliage of neighboring trees, weaving intricate patterns upon the earth below. The scene's ethereal beauty beckons him to pause, granting him a temporary respite from the relentless demands of his duties.

Returning to his desk, Scott settles into his chair once more, the weight of responsibility reclaiming its place on his shoulders. He resumes his tasks, the scratch of pens upon paper and the gentle hum of the computer forming a steady symphony within his workspace.

Yet, amidst the mundane rhythm, his mind wanders, traversing the corridors of contemplation. The impending call, delivered by Warren's cryptic message, occupies the forefront of his thoughts. He intuits that Charles and Erik wouldn't have dispatched his foster brother solely for a casual greeting.

A decision takes shape in Scott's mind. He resolves to postpone the call momentarily, deeming it urgent enough to warrant his attention at a more opportune time.

/

As the clock nears four o'clock, a gentle restlessness stirs within Scott, prompting him to rise from his desk and seek a brief reprieve along with a much-needed meal. Meandering through the hospital corridors, he observes the hushed emptiness that envelops him—a stark departure from the vibrant bustle of the morning hours that lingers in his memory.

In the cafeteria, Scott peruses the array of options before settling on a sandwich, his hunger guiding his choice. Settling at a vacant table, he begins to savor each bite when a familiar buzz resonates from his phone, signaling the arrival of a new text message. Intrigued, he unlocks his device, discovering a message from Erik extending a cordial invitation to join both him and Charles for dinner after their day's work concludes.

Pausing momentarily, Scott mulls over his response, weighing the invitation's implications. After careful consideration, he taps out a reply, his fingers dancing across the screen: "I would be honored to join you both for dinner."

Almost instantaneously, Erik's enthusiastic response illuminates the screen, filling Scott's heart with warmth: "Oh, how lovely! Charles is going to be so thrilled. See you soon!"

A contented smile graces Scott's lips as he savors the last delectable bite of his sandwich. Gathering his belongings, he embarks on the return journey to his office, intent on completing the remaining paperwork before departing for the evening.

However, at six-thirty, a knock reverberates on his office door, accompanied by Kitty's urgent voice. She informs him of an urgent situation at the care center: a patient involved in a car accident requiring his immediate attention. In a hasty exchange, she relays the gravity of the crash, emphasizing the fortunate outcome of minimal harm for the individuals involved. Grateful for Kitty's swift notification, Scott swiftly gathers his belongings, with Kitty trailing a few steps behind him, prepared to accompany him to the care center.

As they traverse the hospital hallway, Scott is intrigued by the excitement in Kitty's voice when she brings up the wreckage of the other vehicle. He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued by her unexpected enthusiasm.

"Well, for a healthcare professional, you certainly seem unusually delighted about an accident," he remarks, a playful incredulity coloring his tone.

Kitty's face lights up, her eyes sparkling with eagerness as she responds, "Oh, it's not the crash itself that excites me. It's the remarkable fact that the driver emerged unscathed."

Scott's interest deepens, and he poses a question as they approach the patient's room: "And what about the other driver? Do we have any information on their well-being?"

Kitty nods, a sense of relief apparent in her demeanor, and opens the door, leading the way into the room. "Yes, they're all right," she confirms. "According to the nurses, both drivers managed to walk away from the accident. Thankfully, they're both okay."

Scott listens attentively as Kitty shares the details of the case, nodding in agreement when she mentions the positive outcome for both individuals involved. After a brief pause, he directs their focus to the task at hand.

"Shall we begin by reviewing the patient's chart, then?" he suggests, his voice filled with a sense of purpose and readiness to provide the necessary care.

Kitty nods, her eyes focused on the clipboard she holds tightly, ready to record their findings. Scott pulls up a chair, positioning himself beside her, prepared to delve into the patient's chart.

"Please, go ahead," Kitty replies, settling in beside him, her notes arranged and ready for reference.

Scott reaches for a stack of papers, organizing them neatly on the table in front of him. His gaze fixes on Kitty as he poses his first question, his mind fully immersed in the task at hand. "Can you tell me when they were brought in?" he inquires, his voice steady and purposeful.

Kitty swiftly navigates through the folder's pages until she locates the pertinent information. "They were brought in at around five fifty," she responds, meeting Scott's gaze with a sense of focus.

Scott acknowledges the time with a nod, his pen poised above the paper, ready to record the crucial detail. A tranquil silence fills the room as they both center their attention on the task before them. Moments pass, and Kitty turns the page, her eyes scanning the intricacies of the patient's profile.

"According to the report," she begins, her voice composed and clear, "we have a 5'3" Caucasian woman with blond hair and blue eyes. The other patient is a 6'3" Caucasian man with black hair and hazel eyes."

Scott's brow furrows slightly, a glimmer of curiosity shining in his eyes. "Is there any additional information available about them?" he asks, eager to gather a more comprehensive understanding.

Kitty shrugs slightly, her gaze returning to the clipboard in her hands. "I'm not entirely certain," she admits, her tone tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

Scott's mind works swiftly, contemplating the available information. After a moment of deliberation, he poses another query, his voice laced with curiosity. "Do we have their full names on record?"

Kitty pauses, her eyes fixed on the clipboard, before lifting them to meet Scott's gaze. "One of the patients is named Rena Anne Silva," she reveals, her voice carrying a sense of certainty. There's a momentary pause, as if she's bracing herself for the impact of the next revelation. "And the other patient's name is James Howlett."

Scott's brow furrows even deeper, a surge of intrigue coursing through him. "James Howlett?" he echoes, the name resonating with an enigmatic familiarity.

Kitty shrugs, her brows furrowing in a mirror of Scott's confusion. "Is it an uncommon surname?" she wonders aloud, her tone laced with curiosity.

Scott's gaze fixes on her; his expression is contemplative. "Not precisely uncommon," he responds, his voice tinged with a touch of mystery, "but it does carry an air of uniqueness."

Kitty's curiosity intensifies, fueling her desire to uncover more details. She resumes scanning the clipboard, her eyes tracing the written lines. "It seems that James' motorcycle collided with the other vehicle," she continues, her voice steady and composed. "The impact caused significant damage to the bike."

Scott lets out a low whistle, a mixture of astonishment and disbelief escaping his lips. His head shakes subtly, trying to comprehend the magnitude of the event. "Wow," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with awe. "That's quite a collision."

Kitty nods in agreement, her eyes locked on the remaining information on the clipboard. "According to the report," she proceeds, her voice conveying a sense of professional analysis, "James has suffered from cracked ribs and a sprained wrist. Considering the circumstances, he is fortunate to have escaped with his life."

Scott's pen hovers momentarily above the paper, capturing the last remnants of information before he sets it aside. The weight of responsibility lingers in the air as he absorbs the gravity of the situation. "Indeed," he concurs, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and determination.

The room envelops them in a hushed atmosphere as Scott and Kitty continue their work, their shared purpose guiding their movements. They enter a harmonious rhythm, each immersed in their respective tasks, occasionally interjecting to exchange crucial details or seek clarification. Time seems to slip away as they delve deeper into the patient's records.

Kitty's hand glides across the clipboard, her fingers turning the page with a gentle rustle. Breaking the silence, her voice takes on a tone of anticipation. "The nurse's report indicates that James, the patient, is awake and alert in the room next door."

Scott sets his pen down, his muscles loosening as he stretches his arms above his head, relieving some of the tension that has accumulated. A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he contemplates the next course of action. "I see," he murmurs, his gaze shifting to meet Kitty's expectant eyes. A wry smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Shall we pay him a visit then?"

A playful glint dances in Kitty's eyes as she places the clipboard gently on her lap. A bashful look graces her face as she responds, "If you don't mind, I would prefer to stay here and attend to Rena's needs."

Scott nods, his gesture inviting her to take a seat in the nearby chair. "Of course," he affirms, rising from his own seat. "I'll go check on James. We'll reconvene afterward."

Clutching the chart tightly in her hands, Kitty expresses her gratitude as Scott makes his way to the room where the other patient lies. The air grows thick with anticipation as he steps across the threshold, immediately met with a voice that carries a familiar gravelly timbre, tinged with annoyance and desperation.

"Listen, bub." The man's words reverberate through the room, his tone laced with irritation. Scott positions himself strategically, ensuring he remains out of the man's direct line of sight, while Remy, standing by his side, returns the glare, silently signaling for Scott to intervene. "All I need is for you to let me go."

Maintaining a calm and even tone, Remy begins to respond, his Cajun accent lending a unique cadence to his words. "Look, sir ... All I am trying to do is help."

Scott walks purposefully to the opposite side of the bed, positioning himself within the man's line of sight. With a calmness and politeness that emanate from his every word, he addresses the man directly. "How are you feeling?"

The man turns his gaze towards Scott, exhaling deeply as his tense demeanor visibly relaxes at the sight of him. A hint of coy playfulness laces his voice as he replies, "Better now that you're here."

Scott's smile radiates warmth as he takes a seat beside the man, his undivided attention focused on their interaction. "And why is that, Logan?" he inquires, his tone gentle yet inquisitive, inviting Logan to share his thoughts and feelings.

Logan's tired laughter fills the room, accompanied by a genuine smile and a mischievous wink that sparks a glint in his eyes. "I'm just glad to see you again," he admits, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion and gratitude.

A blush tinges Scott's cheeks; his relief is palpable now that Remy has departed. "Well," he stammers, his words laced with a touch of embarrassment, "I'm glad to see you again too. I'm elated that you weren't seriously harmed."

With a final smile, Logan closes his eyes and leans back against the pillow, emitting a soft groan of relief. Scott's gaze wanders briefly, observing the bandages wrapped around Logan's bare chest and taking note of the bruises and scrapes adorning the knuckles of his right hand.

A moment of fascination passes through Scott as he marvels at Logan's remarkable physique, even noticing the apparent softness of his chest hair. The thought lingers briefly before he refocuses his attention on the conversation at hand.

Drawing a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Logan opens his eyes and speaks again, his voice tinged with curiosity. "So, what happened?"

Scott furrows his brow in confusion, glancing at the patient's chart for a moment. "You don't remember? You were in an accident," he responds, seeking clarification. He recalls that Remy had carefully gone through the necessary questions to assess for a possible concussion, but nowhere in the report does it mention a lapse in Logan's cognitive functions.

Logan glances down at his hands, wincing slightly as he moves them, then looks back at Scott with a puzzled expression. "Accident?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. "When?"

Scott ponders for a moment, retracing the timeline in his mind. "Around five thirty, I believe. Five-forty, give or take," he recalls, realizing that Logan's memory of the event seems to be hazy or nonexistent.

Logan's brows furrow as if he struggles to recall the details. "Do you know where it happened?" he asks, his curiosity sparked by the fragments of memory attempting to surface.

"Just outside the city limits," Scott responds, leaning back in his chair, his voice carrying a hint of contemplation. "Not too far from here."

Logan's face takes on a vacant expression as his gaze drifts down to his hands once more, his fingers tracing invisible patterns. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet Scott's gaze again. "I see," he murmurs, his voice laden with a mix of confusion and resignation.

Concern embosses Scott's features as he observes the change in Logan's demeanor. With a soft and gentle tone, he inquires, "Is everything okay?"

Logan nods, although the movement seems almost dismissive, like a passing breeze. "Yeah," he responds, his voice heavy with weariness. "Everything's fine."

Scott studies Logan's face, sensing a deeper turmoil beneath the surface, but decides to let the matter rest for the time being. They sit in silence, the room enveloped in a calm stillness as Logan closes his eyes, allowing the weight of exhaustion to settle upon him. Time becomes elusive as they remain in that quiet space until Logan's voice breaks the tranquility once again.

"Your eyes," Logan whispers, his voice barely audible yet laced with a gentle intensity that captures Scott's full attention.

Scott's brow furrows, his gaze locked on Logan's face as he processes the enigmatic words. "Pardon?" he asks, his curiosity now transformed into a mixture of intrigue and perplexity.

Logan opens his eyes once more, the intensity of his gaze captivating Scott. A faint smile plays upon his lips, teasing and knowing. "Your eyes," he repeats, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "they're blue."

Scott blinks, momentarily caught off guard by the remark, and then chuckles softly. "Oh, yes," he responds, shaking his head in a lighthearted manner, his grin spreading across his face. "I suppose they are."

Logan nods, his eyes drifting shut once again, and he mumbles something under his breath, his words barely audible to Scott's ears. Intrigued, Scott leans in closer, his own eyes narrowing with curiosity. "What was that?" he inquires, his voice gentle and filled with anticipation.

Logan opens his eyes, and their gazes meet once more, an unspoken connection bridging the gap between them. In his voice, there is a touch of longing and a hint of vulnerability. "Your eyes remind me of the open sky," he reveals, his words hanging in the air like a whispered secret. "Open skies during the rides, on my hog."

Scott emits a small laugh, the sound carrying a mix of delight and surprise. His head tilts slightly, and his eyes sparkle with a playful gleam. "Do they now?" he replies, his tone gently teasing, savoring the sweetness of the moment.

"I couldn't see them yesterday," Logan murmurs, his voice tinged with an undercurrent of melancholy. A tone close to petulant if you were to ask Scott. "Too much red."

Scott's brow furrows, his mind racing to grasp the meaning behind Logan's cryptic words. "Red?" he repeats, his voice a soft inquiry, a portal to unravel the mystery.

Logan nods, his gaze shifting to his own eyes, his uninjured arm gesturing subtly in a mimicry of Scott's signature Cyclops pose from their previous encounter. "That's what I said," he clarifies, his words a whisper carrying a world of hidden emotions. "Red."

A realization dawns upon Scott, a flicker of understanding illuminating his features as he comprehends the reference embedded within Logan's words. A soft chuckle escapes him, his head shaking in gentle amusement.

"Ah, I see," he responds, his voice laced with a hint of laughter. "You're referring to my visor."

Logan smirks, mirth dancing in his eyes like sparks of mischievous fire. "Visor," he echoes, a glimmer of mirth in his voice. "That's one way to put it."

Scott's grin widens, relishing the playful exchange that binds them together. "Well, it does serve a purpose," he remarks, his tone filled with playful banter and a twinkle in his own eyes mirroring Logan's.

Logan nods, closing his eyes once more, fatigue permeating his voice. "Yeah," he murmurs, the weariness seeping into his words. "I reckon it does."

Scott studies Logan's face for a moment, noting the exhaustion etched in his features, before deciding it's best to grant him some much-needed rest. He stands from his seat, his movements quiet and purposeful.

"I'll let you get some sleep," he says, his voice gentle yet firm. "We can continue our conversation later."

Logan opens his eyes, gratitude evident in his gaze, and nods appreciatively. "Thanks, Scott," he replies, his voice carrying a genuine note of thankfulness.

Scott returns the nod, his own appreciation conveyed in the simple gesture, and takes a step toward the door. But before he leaves, he casts one final glance at Logan, his voice filled with warmth and concern.

"Get some rest, Logan," he advises softly, his words a soothing balm. "You've had quite a day."

Logan's smug smirk lingers on his lips as he closes his eyes once more, surrendering to the embrace of slumber. "I'll do my best," he responds, his words laced with weariness and muffled by the exhaustion that threatens to engulf him.

Scott, seeking respite from the intensity of the moment, leans against the wall just outside the room, his back supported by the solid structure. He releases a sigh, the weight of the day's events settling upon his shoulders, and shifts his gaze to Remy. There, he finds Remy stationed beside Logan, his eyes filled with a knowing glint, as if privy to a secret. An inquisitive raise of Scott's eyebrow prompts Remy to explain himself.

"What?" Scott asks, his tone tinged with both curiosity and a touch of self-consciousness.

Remy chuckles, his attention momentarily shifting from Scott to the morphine-filled IV line connected to Logan's arm, his nimble fingers making subtle adjustments. "Nothin', homme," he replies with a mischievous grin. "Just enjoyin' the show."