Random Torture
by
Paxnirvana


Author's Note: Take the title seriously! Movieverse (just because I like Hugh Jackman and I have a goood imagination.) Rating for violence, violent imagery, Logan's bad language and sexual situations.

Disclaimer: They certainly aren't mine. They're Marvel's. If they were mine, I'd treat them better. Oh, no, wait - I wouldn't. Not makin' any money off this and don't want to. Thanks for your understanding, legal-types!

---

The room was bluish-green in color, lit by light that seemed somehow golden and source-less. At times the light would fade to near darkness, simulating some kind of night, but not a totally black one. Nor was it as long as he was used to. A wide, low bench ran the length of one wall, a narrow, open pit and rivulet of water served as primitive sanitation on the other side. The door had disappeared into the seamless wall around it.

At least it wasn't cold, the man thought grimly.

He sat in the corner furthest from the place where he remembered the door being, his back wedged against the wall, keeping a wary eye on its location. Twice now they had come, doing something to the air that made him fall into a stupor so that he could not resist them.

He knew them and hated them with the easy hatred of a feral beast for its captors.

Their first visit had been to strip him of his clothing, taking everything that covered him away.

Their second visit had been to place a collar on his neck, a thin flexible collar that nevertheless choked and gagged him if he tried to remove it. And it was too close to his skin to slip a claw underneath to sever it. Though he had tried several times at first. Only his incredible healing ability had kept him alive.

He felt, suddenly, the heavy lethargy settle over his limbs, slowing his breathing and he cursed once futilely before he slipped into a semi-aware state. Dimly he saw the door open, dimly he realized his captors had returned. But this time they ignored him, save for a few wary glances toward him to confirm his somnolence. They carried another this time; a slender, dark-skinned shape crowned with stark white hair. He struggled against their poisons, trying to recall his rage, his strength from the place it had been exiled. They placed their limp burden carefully on the bench, then swiftly departed. Once the door vanished into the wall again, he felt the strength return to his limbs with startling speed.

"Fuck you!" he snarled as he regained motor function and his claws popped free of his clenched fists. He leaped to his feet, facing the absent door. "Gutless bastards! Come back here and fight me!"

A sound behind him had him spinning. His new companion had been momentarily forgotten in his rage against his nameless captors.

"L-Logan?" a weak voice called. He let his claws retract, hurrying over to the bench to drop to his knees beside it.

"Yeah, it's me Ororo," he said as gently as he could manage. Then he cursed under his breath. She looked terrible. She too was naked, with an identical collar fastened around her neck, but where they had not yet touched him, they had apparently taken no such care with her. She was bruised and bloodied, scraped and cut in various locations. Some wounds were older with broken scabs, some fresh and still weeping.

"Nice place you've got here," she gasped, her breathing harsh. A trembling hand rose to press against her side. His breath hissed in in shock as he followed the motion. From the size and severity of the bruising, she might very well have broken ribs, he realized. At the very least, they were bruised or cracked. He scanned her lips for sign of bloody froth, knowing that if he found it he would have little choice but to watch her drown as her lung filled up with blood. There was none there yet, but too much movement could send the sharp end of a bone into her lung. He touched her shoulder gently.

"Let me help you up, 'Ro," he said, keeping his tone as calm as possible. "It'll be easier for you to breathe." She nodded once, her eyes glazed with pain. She seemed aware of how badly she was injured, but she stubbornly lifted an arm to assist him anyway. Biting back an oath, he slipped his arm around her shoulder, lifting her weight slowly and carefully into his arms. She gasped, biting her lip against the pain, but stayed silent as he settled her on his bare lap.

"What the hell have they been doing to you?" he growled, gently smoothing the tangled, sweaty hair back from her face as he propped her head on his shoulder.

"Tests, I think," she said, smothering a groan of pain as she took too deep a breath. "A kind of obstacle course."

"Were they tryin' to kill you?"

"Not actively," she essayed a weak smile and lifted trembling fingers to the collar around her neck. "I fell down a pit after they put this on me; it . . .restricts my abilities."

"Hell, I wish I could transfer mine to you, 'Ro," he muttered fiercely, struggling against his helplessness and fear. "You look like shit."

"Why thank you, Logan. I assure you I feel worse," she said with a faint smile, letting her eyes close. He cradled her against his chest, hyper-aware of her nakedness as well as his own, the severity of her injuries and the high probability that they were being watched. He didn't like to reveal a vulnerability to their captors but he couldn't just let her sit there without comfort.

Her breathing was shallow, with little gasps of distress, but after a while, she fell asleep in his arms. He held her, despite the cramping of his muscles, until she woke again. A little color had returned to her face.

"How ya doin'?" he asked her. She gave him a small smile, then winced.

"Well, I'm alive," she said.

"You're stayin' that way too," he said fiercely. He went about the details of survival then, helping her take care of her needs, cupping water for her to drink from his own hands. She tired swiftly, her face ashen, and he gathered her up again in his arms, ignoring her protests that she would be fine on the bench.

"I can keep you up easier than you leaning against this wall," he growled as he settled her on his lap again. "You don't wanna lay flat."

Despite her protests, she was soon asleep in his arms again. And he was glad, since sleep would only help her heal. He held her against him carefully, afraid if he held her too close he might injure her further. Only after she well asleep did he lower his cheek against the top of her head. He would keep her alive if it cost him his own life, he vowed silently.

He woke later with a jerk, surprised that he'd managed to sleep. The lighting in the room had dimmed to simulated night and Ororo was still asleep in his arms, her face lined with pain. He looked down at her, amazed again by her ethereal beauty, intact despite her injuries. She was an incredible woman. How many others would be wailing with despair in a situation like this? Not 'Ro. She was tough and smart. He wondered why it had taken him so long to notice. He shifted uncomfortably as another part of his body noticed as well.

Damn, it would serve him right if she woke up now, he thought bitterly. That probably would send her into screaming hysterics. He struggled against his baser instincts, succeeding only by looking at the terrible bruise on her side. Anger drove out desire in a flash.

He distracted himself by fantasizing about what he would do to their captors when they escaped. The bloody images comforted him for a little while until he felt the tell-tale lethargy that presaged their arrival.

"No!" he growled before the gas overcame him completely. Ororo slipped in his arms. He was helpless to stop it as their captors entered the cell, lifting her away from him. He wanted to roar his rage, to attack them. They set her carefully in a corner.

Then they turned to him.

* * * * *

He woke with a snarl, lunging up, his claws extended for battle. He was back in his ornate bed in the Westchester mansion. The room was dark, save for a pale streak of moonlight that had found its way through the curtains to leave a trail across the carpet. To prevent accidents like the one with Rogue, his door was kept locked and everyone had standing orders to leave him be at night. No matter what they heard.

So he was alone. And it had just been a dream.

"Damn it," he muttered weakly, allowing his claws to retract. He scrubbed his shaking hands over his face, the strangely vivid dream slowly fading from his mind. How the hell had his twisted subconscious come up with that one, he thought. Him and Ororo being used as some kind of lab rats? It was a sick dream. Sicker than his usual. Those usually revolved around his own pain and torture, not someone else's.

He staggered out of bed, making his unsteady way to the bathroom. He had to fumble a moment with the handle, annoyed because he usually left the door open. The soft glow of a nightlight lit the small space revealing that the room wasn't empty. A woman leaned against the counter, dressed only in a flimsy nightgown. She turned to face him, her expression concerned.

"Oh, and I was hoping I didn't wake you when I got up," she said, dropping a hand to her swollen belly.

He gaped at her in shock. "'Ro?" he breathed.

"I'm okay," she said with a reassuring smile. "Your boy's just kicking a little too much tonight."

Stunned he looked down at her belly, then back up at her face.

"What's goin' on?" he said. A frown creased her forehead and she took a step toward him.

"Are you all right, Logan?" she said, warmth and concern in her tone. "Was it one of those nightmares again?"

He shook his head, staring at her. She was in his room. Hugely pregnant. Apparently by him. And he remembered none of it.

"Yeah, a nightmare," he contradicted. She came to him then, cradling his face between her hands, her belly pressing against him. He felt a flutter of movement under her taut skin and his eyes widened in alarm. Yeah, she was pregnant alright. No faking that.

"Oh, my sweet," she crooned, pressing her lips to his cheek. "I'm so sorry. Come back to bed with me."

He allowed himself to be led back to the big bed, only now noticing the disturbed covers on the far side. Someone had been sleeping in the bed with him. A pair of distinctly feminine slippers sat casually near, as well as a crumpled lacy robe. She guided him to the bed, moving slowly, a hand braced against the small of her back.

"Are you okay?" he asked gruffly. She looked really uncomfortable.

"Four weeks never seemed so long," she said on a rueful sigh, then rubbed her hand over her distended belly with a tender smile. "But it'll be worth it."

Panic gripped him. Why couldn't he remember this? She moved around with obvious familiarity in his room, settling awkwardly into the bed, lifting the blankets for him with a gentle, encouraging smile. He climbed in beside her, reluctant to alarm her in her condition. The morning would be soon enough to deal with this strangeness. He dropped back on the pillows, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the ceiling. Beside him, Ororo lay on her side, facing him. She shifted around with an uncomfortable grunt then finally settled with a deep sigh. Maybe it was his nightmares. Her slender hand stole out and touched his arm, a reassuring feeling despite his confusion. Maybe the dreams had rattled his brain completely loose this time.

Was he insane?

The thought shook him so badly he sat up, pulling away from her and climbing out of the bed.

"Too wired. Gotta walk it off," he said to her concerned inquiry. "Sorry, babe."

"Logan, don't be gone too long," she said sleepily, as if familiar with his nightly restlessness. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at her. Her long pale hair was tumbled loose about her shoulders and her eyes were half closed in near sleep. A hand was still stretched out across the bed toward where he had lain. The blankets did nothing to hide the bulge of her pregnancy. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire worthless life than the sight of her in his bed that way.

What had he done to find himself with her like this? Why couldn't he remember?

Then he turned away and walked into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * * * *

The space had been roughly carved from the inside of a mountain, he guessed. It was large and echoing, chill and poorly lit by lights placed high on the rocky walls near the ceiling. Hollows and odd passages led out of it, but not to escape, only as teases of some sick kind. He was alone, as best his senses could determine. It was the room Ororo had told him about. Where they had pushed and tested her, pursing her to near-fatal injury.

Thinking about her alone in that cell made him angry. She was still very weak and he didn't want to be away from her. But they had taken him anyway, gassing him into submission. He heard a noise in a distant tunnel, distracting him from his thoughts, a strange sound like a splat of something wet.

Alert and wary, he prowled across the rough floor, circling erratic cones of rock left standing in the middle of the chamber like the stumps of broken teeth. As he neared the far side, a scent came to him that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and lifted his lips into a silent snarl. He'd never scented anything like it before, but it stirred visceral terrors in his mind. He flattened himself within the deep shadow of a rock cone and watched the tunnel from which the strange scent wafted.

He waited patiently, as he only could when hunting, for an endless while, watching, listening and smelling. Occasional noises from the tunnel told him something was moving around inside, but it had not yet emerged. Then he heard soft noises behind him. A similar stench overwhelmed him and a squelching something hit him from the rear. His claws popped in response, shrieking loudly against the stone as he was crushed forward.

It was on top of him, whatever it was, a great, gelatinous weight with odd hard points. It was hot after the chill of the cavern, as if the thing generated excess heat just to sear him. A hissing sound came from it. He tried to scramble forward, but his legs and lower back were pinned. The hissing became louder, then he felt sharp pains in his legs. Was it trying to eat him? The thought brought a burst of panicked energy and he twisted enough to slash at the thing above him. A gurgling roar came from the creature, it's shape still indistinct in the poor light.

It seemed sort of like a stranded jellyfish, but one that was not impeded by lack of water. Several faintly luminous patches glowed over the translucent surface of a thing best kept in childhood nightmares. The pains in his legs grew, like he was being pierced by something. With a roar of his own, he slashed at the luminescent spots and was rewarded by the thing rearing back. He tried to crawl away, but his legs refused to move. Looking down, he saw he was pinned to the rock by several slender spikes, thrust through him by the creature. Snarling, he slashed at the spikes where they joined the monster's body.

The creature howled again as his claws severed the spikes from it's squishy form. It half rolled away from him, burbling oddly, a clear, faintly luminous fluid leaking from its wounds. Then it went still, save for a lingering quivering throughout its form.

He reached down and dragged out a spike, clenching his teeth against the agony. There were easily half a dozen pinning him, some where he had difficulty gaining leverage. Once he'd removed most of them, he simply lifted himself up off the ground, tearing free of two left in his back.

"Bastards," he snarled, staggering to his feet. He faced the thing then, and drove his claws deeply into it's body, slicing it open. It gave a last cry, then went slack.

The stench was incredible. What little there was in his stomach came up then. He was left retching near the corpse.

Once he'd regained control of his stomach, he dragged himself away from the spot. Eager to put distance between himself and the stink of the dead thing. He moved more easily; his wounds were already closing, save for the two through his back that still had spikes hanging from them. He twisted and with grim determination yanked one free, but the other - slick with blood - eluded his efforts to grasp. Another consequence of his metal-laced skeleton was decreased flexibility. He was tough, but not especially limber. The spike nagged at him, but he couldn't tear it out.

Staggering along, he moved determinedly toward the cavern where the other creature lurked. He wasn't going to wait around to be it's lunch. He was going to kill it now.

The cave was darker than the main cavern, with no lights posted inside of it. He tracked it by smell, fighting against the urge to gag the while. It lurked at the end of the tunnel, huddled and subdued, as if it were frightened of him. But it was just like the other. Luminous patches dotted it's odd form. He brandished his claws and the thing shuddered away, as if aware of his murderous intent.

He braced himself to lunge toward it when he heard a sharp, distinctly human scream from the main cavern. He whirled and moved as quickly as he could out of the tunnel toward the sound, heart pounding now in fear.

Heedless of the pain in his back, he raced across the uneven floor, in the direction of the scream. He saw her first, the slender body pinned, the white hair hanging in a cascade over the edge of the cone like a banner. It was Ororo. And one of those things had her.

He launched himself at the creature, driving his claws deeply into it's side. The thing gave a bubbling roar and fell away down the side of the cone, carrying him with it. He slashed at it like a mad thing, enraged as he hadn't been when fighting for his own life. Only when the creature had been reduced to a sliced, quivering heap did he turn back to the cone. Ororo was lying on her back, watching him with wide, alarmed eyes. Her hands clutched a single spear that was thrust through her leg.

"Shit, 'Ro," he said as he leaped up beside her and stared down at her wound in dismay. "I ain't got anything to bandage it."

"You're bleeding," she said weakly, her face drawn with pain.

"Pulled the rest out, can't get a grip on this bastard," he said, ignoring the pain as he crouched down beside her. He looked closely at her leg. The spike had missed the bone, and the major artery that ran down the inside of the thigh, instead piercing the large muscle on the outside of the leg. But it would still bleed like crazy when he took it out. He'd have to hold the wound closed himself. Then he looked at her hair. It was long and thick. It might be able to provide enough pressure.

"Gotta cut your hair, 'Ro," he said apologetically. "It's the only thing we've got to keep that wound closed." Her eyes were glazed with pain but she nodded once. "I understand," she gasped. "Before you pull mine out, let me take yours out. I'm . . . not certain I'll be able to later."

"Okay," he grunted, sitting down beside her and presenting his back. Her hands fumbled at the spike, causing him more pain, but he kept silent as she slowly drew it out. It was a relief when the pressure and pain were gone. He could feel his body healing itself as he turned back to face her. She was breathing hard, her teeth buried in her lip. With the spike she had pulled still in her hand, she stared at him.

"That must have hurt. I'm sorry," she said, then let it fall to the ground with a clatter. She was sweating and trembling.

"I'm fine." He popped a single claw and gathered her hair up carefully in his other hand. "Shame to cut this," he said. "Always thought it was beautiful."

"Why, Logan," she said with a weak smile as he sliced carefully through her hair. "I didn't know you noticed."

"Noticed a long time ago, 'Ro," he muttered. Then he twisted the loose hair into a kind of rope. "This is going to hurt. Yell if you need to." He carefully grabbed the spike in her leg and pulled it free, using slow steady pressure. Blood welled up from the wound. Conscious of infection, he let it bleed for a moment, then quickly wound the rope of white hair around it, keeping it closed and stopping most of the flow. As a bandage, it was poor, but the rope of hair at least made a decent tourniquet.

He darted a look at her face. Her eyes were closed, her skin bloodless under it's natural tone, but she hadn't cried out again.

"How're the ribs?" he asked, concerned. Her eyes fluttered open. She was breathing in quick, shallow breaths.

"Goddess, they hurt," she gasped.

"Did they drop you here or put you here?'

"Put," she said shortly. "Okay until that thing landed on me."

"I'm gonna pick you up, honey," he warned her gently. She nodded in understanding. He bent and lifted her slender form into his arms. Always slight, she now seemed insubstantial. She burrowed her face into the hollow of his neck, her arms wrapping about him.

"Okay?" he asked her gently. He hated that he was hurting her, but there was no other way.

"Just go," she gasped, panting to control her pain.

He carried her down the cone, searching for a good place to hole up. One where they wouldn't be so exposed, yet wouldn't be trapped either. And well away from the stink of the things he'd killed.

He found a small hollow on the far side of the cavern, up the wall a short distance. It afforded a small ledge, under an overhang, yet let him watch all approaches. The main concern was water. They didn't have the luxury of the cell's trickle any longer. He set her down on the ledge, then crouched beside her, between her and the drop-off. Scanning their surroundings, he determined they were still alone.

He turned his attention to her. Fresh bruises and scrapes covered her hands and knees. She was pale and trembling, probably from shock, since cold didn't bother her normally. Warmth was hard to come by in this place, but he had to get her warm somehow. Laying down beside her, he gathered her as tightly against his side as he dared, mindful of her injured ribs. She burrowed closer, her shorn hair tickling his face, her slender hands curling on his chest.

"Feels strange," she said. "Not to have all that on my head."

"I'm not much of a stylist, 'Ro, sorry," he said roughly, thinking that she'd never looked more beautiful. She gave an odd cough that might have been a laugh. "Living is more important now, I think, Logan," she said with quiet dignity. "It will grow."

"Getting' warmer?" he asked after a long moment of silence. She shivered occasionally in his arms.

"Not really," she admitted.

"Then we gotta, Ororo," he said, turning her underneath him, cushioning her with his arms as best he could. She made no reply, but her face was calm. He positioned her carefully, moving her leg out where it wouldn't be too strained or battered, and lying over her to her right, on the undamaged ribs. But the point was to generate warmth - he had to stay in contact with her. Once he had them arranged to his satisfaction, he looked down into her eyes.

"First times shouldn't be like this," he muttered. She just watched him from weary, haunted eyes. He positioned himself - getting hard had been easy, the struggle over the last day or so had been to keep it down - and slowly pressed himself into her. She drew a sharp breath, but made no other sound until he was deep inside her.

"Would you kiss me?" she asked softly. Looking down at her, he gave a short growl. Even wounded, shorn and exhausted, she was still heart-stoppingly gorgeous. "Yeah," he muttered as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her mouth opened under the pressure of his lips and he tasted her eagerly. Heat blossomed between them, life-giving and welcome. Then he began to move inside her.

Her ribs had to be painful, but she clutched him close, her eyes drifting closed. He kept his motion easy and slow, prolonging it for the warmth it would bring her. She began to moan on little puffs of breath. He held her close, feeling her heartbeat rise to match his own. Then, long before he was ready, she was shaking beneath him, her cries rising as she crested. Her urgent motions sent him over the edge and he held himself still above her as he poured himself into her with a stifled groan. She gave a contented sigh and slipped into sleep. He remained inside her, holding her close to preserve the precious heat, slipping into and out of a light, wary doze himself.

It was during one of those drowsy moments that the cavern lights went out. The change in lighting woke him and he held himself ready. He felt a brush of warmth across his skin, then the heaviness of the sleeping gas overcame him. With his last effort, he rolled himself away from Ororo, afraid that he would crush her with his slack weight.

Their captors came and took her. With uncharacteristic gentleness, they lifted her away from him and placed her on a stretcher-like affair. He watched, glaring at them with frustrated hunger. He wanted to kill them, rend them with his claws and discover the color of their blood. But he was held helpless by the strange gas. Finally they approached him. One carried a mask, swiftly strapping it over his furious face. He held his breath for a while from sheer perversity, knowing it's futility. Then he took a breath and knew no more.

* * * * *

Logan came back to himself leaning against a wall in the silent lower corridors of the mansion, in the areas off-limits to the younger students. His breath came hard and harsh as if he'd been running - or fighting. He was wearing pajama pants and nothing else, like before.

What the hell was happening to him?

He vaguely remembered waking from a bad dream to find Ororo - a very pregnant Ororo - in his room. And getting up to take a walk. Was that were he was now? Or was he still in the strange prison?

He pushed away from the wall, all other thoughts fading from his mind, suddenly frantic to know. He needed to see her. He raced to the elevator, bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet as he waited for it to carry him to the upper floor. He pushed out of the car before the door could fully open, sprinting for his room - no, their room.

He slid to a stop in front of the door and reached out a trembling hand. The door swung open before he could touch it to reveal a startled Jean Grey. She was dressed in an elegant black suit, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red.

"Oh. Logan," she said with a wan smile. "There you are."

"Where is she?" he demanded, pushing past Jean to enter the room. It was empty save for the two of them, the bed tumbled, nothing but his own clothes scattered about. He ran to the bathroom and yanked the door open, looking about frantically. He slammed back into the room, shooting Jean an angry look. "Where did she go?"

Jean Grey was pale and trembling, her hands clenched before her tightly. "Oh, Logan," she said sadly, shaking her head. He stalked toward her, stopping several feet away, his expression fierce.

"Where is Ororo?" he demanded in a near roar. Jean flinched back, her eyes filled with pity and pain.

"She's gone, Logan," she said soothingly, as if to an unruly child. "You know that. She's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, where did she go?" he snarled helplessly. "Damn it! She was just here!"

"Oh, Logan, let me take you down to the lab, for some tests. I know you haven't been sleeping well lately, that the. . . the nightmares are bad. . .," she trailed off at the sheer rage that raced across his face. The soft snikt sounded loud in the silent room. He stood with eerie stillness across the room from her, claws protruding from white, clenched fists.

"What is it you aren't saying, Jean?" he asked softly, dangerously.

She shifted uneasily, tears starting in her eyes. "She was my friend too, Logan, going over this again and again is hard."

"Was? What do you mean was?"

"She's dead, Logan. She died in childbirth three days ago. Today is her funeral."

* * * * *

He awakened in the now familiar blue-green cell. And was immediately aware of a change. There was food somewhere in the room. Ravenous, he opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone. But in the corner by the water sat two small boxes. From one came the smell of food. He opened it and immediately started eating. If they'd wanted to kill him they could have done so many times. So probably no poison. Once he had eaten all of the bland fare, he drank some water and turned his attention to the other box. To his surprise, it held his own clothing.

He dressed with a kind of suppressed glee. The only thing missing were his boots. But it felt good to be clothed again. Once he was dressed, however, he had plenty of time to worry about Ororo. They had taken her away from him in the big cavern and she had not been returned to him.

Was she okay? He paced restlessly. She'd been so wounded, so fragile. Quite unlike her normal self.

He still could barely believe what they'd had to do. He called himself foul names for finding any pleasure in an act that had been necessary to keep her alive, but he couldn't help recalling the way she had convulsed under him, her voice crying out her release. Against all reason, she'd found pleasure in his embrace. He longed to try it again when she was well and whole.

The thought tormented him because he had no way of knowing if she was even alive.

Another cycle of the light passed, with a small door beside the water-trickle opening occasionally to reveal a similar meal. Strength and endurance returning, he continued pacing the cell. Exercising his muscles. Stretching. All in preparation for any opportunity they might give him to escape.

* * * * *

He'd never cried before - that he remembered - but tears were streaming down his face now. Pain and grief wracked his body, cramping his stomach, making his muscles ache. It would never fade, he knew. She was gone. He stood silently in the late evening darkness of the cemetery, beside the freshly turned earth covering her coffin, aware that the others watched him warily from a distance.

Ororo.

He still couldn't believe she was dead.

He remembered her alive so clearly, smiling at him with gentle understanding in the night. The hard swell of her body against him, their child moving under her skin. Then her urging him to bed. Touching him. It was all so clear and fresh in his mind. Then why couldn't he remember her death? He would have been there, beside her through it all. Not even the Professor could have forced him away. There was no way he'd have abandoned her during what should have been a joyous occasion and instead had killed her.

But why couldn't he remember?

He turned from the grave finally, stumbling away into the darkness, sick to the depths of his soul.

* * * * *

The man lay in the clear tube, moaning. Occasionally, his lethal claws would pop free of his hands. Foresight had placed them so they damaged nothing, the bonds carefully placed so he couldn't harm himself either.

His tormenter crouched nearby, concentrating on the reality he had created for his victim.

There was much still to learn.

* * * * *

The cemetery falling away behind him, Logan ran. Mindlessly. Rage and pain fountaining in him like a geyser. She was gone. He'd failed her. Abandoned her to die after putting her in that condition. But she couldn't be dead. He loved her too much. Her calm dignity. Her shy smile. Her long hair. Her gentle understanding.

Something tugged inside him then, a nagging memory. Her hair.

He'd cut it himself, hadn't he, to make a bandage for her leg? But hadn't he also just seen it before tumbled around her face in his room, full and long? If they had survived that ordeal, her hair should still have been short, growing back.

He came to a halt, staring blindly into the pitiless night sky.

"Someone's playin' with my head," he snarled.

* * * * *

He'd stopped pacing and stood in the center of the bluish-green room. Something was wrong.

Who were these creatures playing so casually with their lives, he thought suddenly and from nowhere. He didn't recognize them, nor could he recall exactly what they looked like. No matter how hard he tried. A little too convenient, to his thinking. And how had he come to be here? He had no memory of that either.

"Someone's playin' with my head," he snarled.

* * * * *

The hill was cold, the sky moonless. A lone oak stood at the top of the hill above the small cemetery. He stood beneath it, confused again. Hadn't he just been inside the cell?

"Logan!" He heard a woman's voice. It was strangely distorted, as if it echoed under the stars and simultaneously off the walls of a small room. He blinked, seeing night-shrouded hills around him, but suddenly unable to move his limbs.

"'Ro!" he bellowed, angry and desolate.

"No, Jean," the voice echoed again. "We're coming, Logan! Hang on!"

Jean was a telepath. Not a great one, mind you. But enough of one that she could reach him in this strange place. Maybe she was close. He tried to move, failed. Around him the night began to fade into a greenish dawn. He was alternately hot and cold. He felt his claws pop through the skin of his hands, but when he looked down, saw nothing.

Rage had been his ally but now it failed him. He could not slash this foe. He could not batter his way free of this trap. It was all in his head.

But why Ororo?

He struggled against his unseen bonds, feeling a rush of heat against his skin. He could still see a dark night sky above him, the shape of the solitary tree nearby. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his other senses. Why had he not used his enhanced sense of smell? Something - or someone - had been preventing him - unless it served their purpose.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scents around him. He wasn't on a hill out under the stars, or even in a small alien room. It was his own scent he smelled predominantly. He was inside something, something that concentrated his scent. He struggled wildly and, finally, finally felt the bite of metal against his wrists, his ankles, across his chest. He was bound.

He began to hear noises. Snarls of rage. The sound of scrambling feet. The distinctive sound of Cyclops' energy beams. He opened his eyes, still seeing only the gleam of stars above.

Then suddenly he could really see. Above him was an arc of something clear. Outside of it, in a narrow, dirty room, a battle raged. He saw Summers blasting away with his usual deadly efficiency, not a move wasted. It was too bad more style didn't come with that robot-like competence, he thought ruefully. Jean appeared briefly above him, then disappeared beyond his range.

"Logan, we need you!"

Suddenly the metal restraints fell away and he lunged against the cover shoving it aside with a growl. It fell to the floor, shattering. His claws popped as he took in the situation.

Alone, Cyclops was blasting away at hordes of crawling greenish things with long black ears and strange grasping hands that were trying to force their way down the corridor to get inside the room. It looked like last-stand time. Bravery suited their leader.

"Where's Ororo?" Logan called, reluctantly admiring Summers' guts, yet torn. Jean ran up behind Scott panting hard as she deflected a few of the more persistent creatures away from his sides with her talent. Logan knew her effectiveness wouldn't last.

"We haven't found her yet!"

"But she's here?"

Scott called back, sounding tired. "We think so; they got both of you at the same time." How long could he keep up those blasts?

"Then I'll find her," Logan snarled. He tested the air as he launched himself past Scott at the writhing foe. All the while he fought, he paid close attention to his nose. He had to find her.

* * * * *

I must be dead, she thought.

The last thing she remembered clearly was demonic yellow eyes. She'd been screaming in agony at the tearing in her womb as the unholy creature clawed it's way out of her body, wantonly killing its mother in it's greed to be born. Then it had turned to her, covered in her own blood, looking at her with those savage eyes.

It was her darkest nightmare come true.

It had started innocently enough. She had woken beside her love, his hand resting possessively on her shoulder, claiming her even in sleep. She had slipped from the bed without waking him. He'd suffered from nightmares again that night, and she was just relieved he'd finally been able to rest.

She'd dressed, moving with careful deliberation as she always did now, and quietly left their room. Making her way down to the kitchen, she'd greeted students cheerfully, her hand pressed to her side. Then the men in suits had come, dragging her screaming from the room, brandishing weapons. She'd tried to summon her powers, but the hormones of her pregnancy interfered with her control. Logan had appeared, then fallen to a hail of gunfire. They had taken her, screaming his name in agony.

But there, memory blurred, and she remembered falling as her powers failed her once more, falling into darkness, then a crushing pain in her side. A pain that pierced so deep she could barely breathe.

Images and sensations assailed her: the chill of alien stone beneath her back, searing pain in her thigh, the warmth of Logan's embrace. He'd taken care of her, doing everything he could to treat her terrible wound in the barren cavern. She remembered the pain in his eyes as he pulled the spear out of her leg. Then the agony of being carried with broken ribs; lying beneath him as he tried desperately to keep her from going into shock. And the unexpected pleasure he gave her while warming her. Falling asleep, content, in his arms.

Then waking again just as the terrible monster rent her asunder.

Something was wrong. How could she be dead if she remembered so much? Was there pain after death? There must be, since she ached with it.

Where was he? If she was in such torment was he as well?

"Logan!" she cried then, terrified not for herself but for him. Her voice fell into nothingness, her hands frozen at her sides.

"No, no, pretty," a voice hissed near her ear. "None of that." She started violently, blind and alone. Something had brushed against her, unseen.

"Need you now, we do, since the Others have come," the voice was strange and sibilant, as if her language was quite alien to it. She felt cold hands on her body then, tugging at her, loosening some kind of restraint.

"Who are you?" she tried to ask, but the sounds seemed to die in her throat.

"No, none of that," the voice hissed urgently. Her voice could be heard then, she realized, even if for some reason she could not hear it.

"Logan!" she screamed again.

* * * * *

They all heard the cry. Logan stiffened, knee-deep in strange corpses. Behind him, Summers calmly blasted another wave of attackers.

"Back through the room," Scott called. "Something we missed in there. Jean, go check it out."

Jean dashed back into the room that had contained Logan's prison. Savage with rage, Logan slashed at the creatures leaping toward him. "Don't they ever stop?" he snarled.

Summers gave a stiff laugh. "Doesn't look like it. Watch to the left!" Logan whirled and sliced the leaping creature in two, dodging the falling corpse automatically.

"Scott! Logan!" Jean called, fear in her voice. Logan whirled, kicking savagely at a pair of creatures clawing at his legs, then he ran past Summers into the room. Cyclops took up the defense alone, unprotesting, even though he knew he was near the end of his strength.

Inside, Jean had found a small passageway. A trio of creatures had lurked inside, guarding it, and once disturbed were now circling around her, snarling. She held one off, freezing it in mid-leap, but the second bowled her over. Logan lifted the creature off her, and with one swipe of his claws, disemboweled it. The other two were just as swiftly dispatched. She staggered bravely to her feet, unhurt but covered in gore.

"Watch his back," he ordered her gruffly before diving down the narrow passage.

* * * * *

It was not blindness, but some kind of mind manipulation, she had finally realized. Her eyes were filled with stars, her ears with the constant roar of the sea, her voice with lead. But something held her arms together before her, tugging her along on the end of a lead like a reluctant dog.

The rope went suddenly slack and she stumbled back against a wall. She slid to her knees, lost in the strange visions, terrified of what she could not perceive. Something rushed past her, something large, and her senses returned in a frightening rush.

She was in a dark corridor. High, weak lights caged in baskets were the only illumination. Her hands were tied together in front of her with some kind of plastic strap. Logan loomed before her, his face anxious, spattered liberally with some dark substance.

"Ororo!" he said, cupping her face with uncharacteristic gentleness in a sticky hand. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yes, I think so, " she gasped. He popped a claw and with exquisite care cut the strap around her wrists.

"We've gotta get out of here," he rumbled. "Cyke's almost spent. I know Jeannie's done."

"Scott and Jean are here too?" she said, straightening up. He helped her to her feet, his hand lingering on her arm. "Then let's go."

He smiled a wicked half-smile at her, squeezed her arm gently, and ran back the way they had come. She followed, summoning her powers as she went. They came instantly to her call, no hesitation now, and her eyes filmed over with white, dimming her vision.

By the time they reached the outer room, Cyclops had been reduced to swinging a length of metal he'd found somewhere. He did that with lethal precision as well. Jean had a broken piece of 2x4 clutched in her hands, using it with more enthusiasm than skill on any creatures that made it by Scott. Logan rushed forward, intending to re-join the fray, but Storm's voice stopped him.

"Wait!" she called, and he looked back at her. Her eyes were completely white now and her long hair blew wildly around her as she summoned wind. "Get away from the door, all of you!" she cried. Scott and Jean dived to the left, Logan to the right as a raging blast of wind tore through the room.

Responding to her adamant will, the winds narrowed, then began to spin. A miniature tornado was born in the hallway. The creatures snarled and yowled in fear as the winds sucked them into a writhing mass of living and dead, then catapulted them down the corridor. The force of the impact burst through the wall at the far end and sent the terrible things plunging down into darkness.

In the sudden silence, Logan looked at Ororo and smiled with pride. "That's my girl."

"Girl?" she replied, eyebrow raised scornfully.

"Yeah, my girl," he replied dangerously. "Wanna make something of it?"

"Right now, kids, I think we need to get out of here," Scott interrupted calmly, helping Jean to her feet.

"Just where is here anyway?" Logan asked not taking his eyes off Ororo's indignant ones. He could scarcely believe she was there and well before him. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let her go. But she looked remote and aloof, her hair still snapping with power.

"The center footing of the Brooklyn Bridge, " Jean said, her voice weary. Scott turned toward the corridor, his arm around Jean supporting her as they started out. "C'mon, the plane's just outside - if Storm didn't drop a bunch of nasties on top of it."

* * * * *

He sat on top of the hill under the solitary spreading oak, staring toward the tiny townships' cemetery spread out below him in the darkness. They'd returned to the school without further incident. No one had any idea who had sent them or what kind of creatures they were who had taken him and Storm. Nor what they had intended with the mind-games they had played on both of them. Storm was still reluctant to discuss much of it, simply agreeing with Logan when he described certain portions of his dream. The cell. The cavern. Her wounds.

He hadn't bothered to mention the part about her carrying his child. Maybe that part had been his torment alone.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

"Thinking?" Her voice came from the sky off to his side. It was a moonless night, but he could just make out her silhouette against the stars. He leaned back against the tree behind him, searching through his coat for a cigar. She landed gracefully beside him, her hands stuck deep into the front pockets of her loose pants. "Why here? Was it something from the dreams?"

"Yeah," he said, striking a match and sending her face into sharp relief for an instant. An instant that seared her profile on his mind. "Someone died."

"Did it bother you?" she asked quietly.

"Damn near tore me apart," he admitted reluctantly, sucking on his cigar. But he was strangely unwilling to lie to her, of all people.

"Those are a foul habit, Logan," she said lightly.

"I'm a foul kind of guy," he shot back automatically.

"Only sometimes," she said, a touch of humor in her cool voice. Then she at last lowered herself to the grass beside him. "I seem to remember in a certain cavern that you went out of your way to help me."

"So you remember that do you?" he said, his glance flickering toward her, and he wished suddenly that it wasn't quite so dark. He wanted to see her face again.

"Oh, yes," she said, her tone calm. "You did everything you could to keep me alive, even sacrificing your virtue."

He let out a surprised bark of laughter, lowering his cigar to stare toward her regardless of the darkness. "Sacrificing my what?"

"It kept me alive, Logan," she said seriously.

"It was just a head-game, 'Ro, administered courtesy of some baddies we aren't even sure about. It didn't mean anything," he growled, feeling touched and embarrassed all at the same time.

"Perhaps I would have died for real if you'd let me die in that cavern. We just don't know."

"We'll never know," he growled back. They both fell silent for a long time then, watching the moon in its first quarter inch its way over the horizon.

"Who was it you buried here in your dream, Logan?" she asked finally.

"You," he said. Then he swallowed hard around an unaccustomed lump in his throat. "Givin' birth to my kid."

"Ah," was all she said. Then she turned and placed her hand on his shoulder, followed by her forehead. Her touch rocked him. "I'm so sorry, "she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I thought that was only in my dream."

He crushed the lit cigar in his hand, ignoring the brief sting of the ember on his palm. Then he pulled her tightly into his arms, across his lap. She didn't resist at all, but burrowed against him, her face against his neck. He sat in silence, savoring the feel of her, back where she belonged. "They didn't let me see it," he finally said, his voice hoarse with pain. "One minute you were there beside me, big and happy, and then you were gone. I've never felt so worthless in my life. I thought I'd left you to die alone."

"No, they took me from you. I didn't know if they'd killed you or not. Then they twisted our child, made it into one of them. And it was killing me. . ."

"Christ, if I ever find them. . ." he vowed, his voice shaking as he held her tighter.

"I'll be glad to assist you," she said, her voice equally shaky.

They sat there, simply holding each other, for a long while. Then Logan touched her cheek. She raised her head and caught a gleam in his eye by the light of the slender moon.

"You know, none o' that really happened. . ." he started. She began to smile, her heart warming, as the pain and confusion of the past day started to fall away before the look on his face. So wary and uncertain, yet hopeful. ". . .so let's say we give the first time another chance."

"I thought you'd never ask," she said huskily, pulling his head down to hers.



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