Chapter Text
Chapter One: Wish You Were Here
Crouching at the knees, Logan pinched the lit cigar between his teeth, concentrating on the metallic plate he’d nearly tripped over. Cold bit into his fingertips as he brushed the ice and snow away, trying to read the faded words stamped into standard issue military-green. It wasn’t easy to make out, but there were two words he kept finding over and over.
Weapon X.
Something in that phrase tugged at Logan’s fractured mind. Whatever it was, Weapon X had some part in the memory loss that plagued him. His nightmares were never far away, reminding him of the blinding pain, the confusion, the horror at what was done to him.
He would never rid himself of it without the truth.
As he kneeled in the wet remnants of what had once been a forward outpost – though how he knew that terminology was another mystery – Logan shifted his pack from his shoulders. Now that they were here, he needed to investigate. Even if the area looked long abandoned, taken back by the sprawling Canadian woods that surrounded this quiet part of the world, hidden here might be the keys to unlocking the part of himself Logan could no longer access.
It was a terrifying, exhilarating prospect.
With his pack laid gently beside him, Logan adjusted the cigar before digging even more deeply into the snow. He scooped handfuls of it away, tossing it aside in his quest to locate whatever filing cabinet or lockbox that bore the Weapon X insignia at his feet.
In a few moments, he’d unearthed what appeared to be a locked ammunition box, the grey-green metal turned ruddy by time. Logan inspected it for a moment, finding the amount and gauge of ammunition stamped on the side with martial efficiency.
The smoke from his cigar snaked into the crisp winter air as he released one of the long, unbreakable claws from the protective housing of his own skin. It made the slightest of noises, even in the calm quiet, the resonating hum of metal against metal. Logan made quick work of the aged lock, sliding the claw back into place when it fell to the wet earth with a muted thud.
Curious, Logan opened the box. Inside was not the prescribed ammunition. There were Polaroid photographs, several dozen of them. Logan squinted at a few, noting they were of various young men and women from the chest to crown. All of them wore military-issue white tanks and a set of equally efficient dog tags.
Logan suddenly missed his own set, left in Westchester as a promise. His heart began to thud against his breast, a rapid tattoo that spoke of an oncoming freak out.
Luckily, he hadn’t made this trip alone.
The crunch of her boots on the snow was almost imperceptible as she approached, something Logan found fascinating. She’d revealed, one of their snowy nights alone in a tent pitched to keep the weather off, that she had spent her youth as a thief. He still couldn’t quite envision it, though moments like this made it seem more and more likely the buttoned-up schoolteacher had more than a few secrets.
Her scent – rain and earth and wild – preceded her arrival by only a moment. Logan looked over his shoulder as she crouched behind him, her dark eyes warm, kind, even if he had dragged her all over the Canadian wilderness for the last six months.
She never once complained about nights spent in a tent, huddled in a sleeping bag. There was never a moment he thought she might leave, a moment when he wasn’t worth it. In the last months with her, Logan found himself humbled by the weight, the breadth of what she felt for him.
He wasn’t alone; she wouldn’t allow him to be alone.
Shaking himself from the sentimentality creeping into his mind, Logan handed Ororo the photographs. She took them with a slight lift to her brow; an expression he knew indicated her interest and concern. He had learned a great deal about the wintry mutant woman that was his constant companion, reading her expression became a particularly enjoyable past time.
“Well.” Ororo Munroe said the word softly. “It appears we are in the right place.”
Logan grunted. “Finally.”
Ororo’s eyes lifted until she found his, her smile slightly sly. “Well, every adventure is sure to have its setbacks.”
“Yeah.” Logan pulled the cigar from his teeth, exhaling smoke.
It was true; they had their setbacks once they left the mansion in Westchester on the back of Scott Summers’ motorcycle. Five dead ends, a few wrong turns, and a dozen abandoned military sites had Logan inventing swear words with frustration. He’d kicked the tires of their Harley twice, railing at the injustice, at that faceless evil he couldn’t name.
Through it all, Ororo kept herself together. She had moments when, he knew, she missed her home. She missed the children that were her life, the family she forged out of darkness…but not once had she begged him to go home. It appeared she was dedicated to him, to his journey to find answers. Logan didn’t know how to deal with that knowledge, so he left it unasked, unanswered.
For now.
“We still got some daylight,” Logan continued as he glanced up at the grey clouds above. “I’d like to root around a little more. It’ll be a pain with all of this snow.”
Both of his girlfriend’s brows went up to kiss her hairline at that. She stood, brushing snow from her faded jeans as she surveyed the immediate area. Logan sniffed, catching a slight hint of ozone as her beautifully dark eyes rimmed with frost.
“Get behind the pillar,” Ororo said imperiously, jerking her head to the south. “The wind might get a touch strong.”
Obeying, since he knew the full extent of her powers, Logan stood. He grabbed for his pack – and Ororo’s – before ducking behind a half-fallen pillar. The cold wouldn’t bother him, of course, but if Ororo wanted to clear the area, gale-force winds would be necessary.
The last time he felt the might of one of her storms, he’d been in the center of it…a desperate attempt to save a young girl from a madman.
Luckily, it worked out.
The bitter Canadian winds rose, swirling and bitingly cold, around the mutant that was their mistress. Through a crack in the pillar, Logan watched his lover work, which was a rare privilege. She stood in the center of the abandoned base, her arms raised with palms facing the sky. Her winter-white hair danced at her shoulders, the flaps of her heavy flannel shirt whipping around her body with the force of the elements.
Ororo’s lovely face was turned toward the clouds as she concentrated; her dark eyes turned a glowing white with the use of her mutation. Logan watched unabashedly from behind his shield, amazed by the woman he shared his meager life with.
She never ceased to amaze him.
The wind bowed to Ororo like a lover, collecting snow and ice into an oblong ball above the weather mistress. A sharp gesture of Storm’s diminutive hand threw the ‘ball’ over the remnants of a building and out toward the wild where it wouldn’t be in the way any longer.
Ororo dropped her hands, brushing the palms as though removing dirt from them. The wind died, leaving a ringing in his ears as quiet descended on the valley once more.
Logan stowed their packs behind the pillar before he moved toward her, his sharp eyes taking in the open area that had once been a courtyard of some kind. The snow had hidden many secrets beneath its chilled surface. Abandoned cars, destroyed stacks of files, guns, ammunition and a thousand other things decimated by time…it was exposed now to the naked eye.
As he approached his lover, Storm kneeled to touch the remains of an old truck with ‘Weapon X’ stamped on the side. Logan swallowed hard as he moved closer, realizing what had taken Storm’s eye.
Three long, sharp claw marks had torn through the engine block of the truck, leaving the guts of the machine spilling out. The ruthless carnage spoke of rage, of supernatural strength. Logan felt his stomach twist at the thought.
“Oh, yes,” Ororo whispered as Logan crouched behind her. “We’re in the right place.”
~**~
As his class filed out of the garage, Scott Summers stood for a moment wiping engine grease from his hands with an old red towel. He loved the garage, even when his haven filled with adolescent boys and girls asking questions and touching things that were best left alone. It was entertaining to watch them learn, to see comprehension dawn over faces that were once draw and cagey.
He had a few promising students, especially Bobby Drake. He wouldn’t be surprised if the young man took over the care of Xavier’s impressive fleet when Scott became unable to.
His eyes did not rest on the two dozen new and classic beauties stored in the expansive garage, however. Even his Mazda – which admittedly needed more work than it should have – couldn’t hold his gaze for long anymore.
Cyclops’ ruby-covered eyes always came to rest on the vacant spot in the garage, where his beloved Harley had once been stored.
It was almost seven months since Wolverine and Storm rode off into the proverbial sunset. God above, he missed the hell out of her. Storm was his companion, his best friend, his confidante. He missed their early morning coffee sessions, her wise council, her steadfast friendship.
He knew, God forgive him, that she needed this. Whatever started between his best friend and the drifter known as Logan couldn’t be tamed. Ororo needed to follow him, to find out what they were made of. And, Scott could admit it to himself, Logan needed Ororo.
This quest to find answers might not have a happy ending. Hell, it could have a disastrous end. A man taking hits like that needed someone to be on his side.
Ororo was – for good or ill – firmly on Logan’s side.
Besides, things at the mansion tended to get sedate, almost boring, without the lone wolf that had shaken their world.
Alright, so he could admit to himself that he was worried about Wolverine, too.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Scott smiled as he tucked the rag back into his pocket. He hadn’t heard his mentor come into the garage, and that was his fault. Scott was prone to fits of melancholy, of thought. Lucky for him, he never had to search for words.
You don’t need a penny. Scott responded in that private link his mentor shared with his ‘children’.
“I know,” Charles Xavier replied audibly. “But I’ve always quite liked that expression.”
Scott bent at the waist into the open hood of his Mazda, reaffixing the battery cables now that his lesson was over. The kids in his morning class were on the basics: fix a flat, check the battery, check the oil. Scott was convinced knowing a few simple things about vehicles should be considered essential for young adults. All of the mutants at Xavier’s school were required to take one shop class.
Most of them hated it, until they hit that first flat.
“You miss them.”
When Charles spoke, Scott knew it to be fruitless to lie. He did not raise his head, but checked the remaining caps and wires to be sure everything was in proper order.
“I miss ‘Roro the most,” Scott admitted. “And Logan made things interesting around here.”
Scott could hear the laughter in his old friend’s voice when he spoke. “You’ve always liked interesting, even if you try to deny it.”
It was Cyclops’ turn to laugh. “You’ve got me there.”
They lapsed into companionable silence for a moment as Scott closed the hood of his beloved car. He turned to lean on the bumper, crossing his arms as Charles got comfortable.
“She’s never been gone this long,” Scott offered. “Even when she runs off with that LeBeau kid, she comes back pretty fast. She loves it here.”
Charles’ eyes were distant for a moment. Scott wondered if he was thinking of the last time Storm ran off to the Cajun Bayou to save her adoptive brother. The memory burnt each of them, having come so close to losing their Storm…
“Yes, but Logan’s journey is not going to be easy.” Charles replied thoughtfully. “Even with what I was able to lift from his mind, the clues are few and very faint. Whoever experimented on Logan covered their tracks very well.”
Scott’s brow furrowed over the rim of his ruby-quartz glasses. He had thought of this as well, spoken in low tones with his fiancée as they lay in bed. Experimentation of mutants was Scott’s worst fear. What had been done to Logan was beyond cruelty, above torture. No matter how he and Logan butted heads, no one deserved such a thing.
No one.
“We don’t even know if that group is really gone. For all we know, they’re holed up somewhere else, experimenting on mutants with no restraint.”
Charles exhaled softly, nodding once. “That is my greatest fear.”
Scott nodded, turning back to stare at the spot where his Harley had sat. He’d given it to Logan for the trip, somehow certain – even before Storm rode off with him – that the other man would return it. Logan had almost died, had been willing to die, for that slip of a Southern Belle now residing in the mansion. That sort of thing took guts of heroic proportions. Scott couldn’t deny that he respected Logan from that moment.
Not that he needed to say that, of course.
“On to something less melancholy,” Charles interrupted his thoughts skillfully. “How are the wedding plans coming?”
At this, Scott grinned. He turned back to his mentor, feeling that warmth flood his chest as it always did when someone mentioned the spring wedding he and Jean were planning.
Some men might have found wedding talk to be boring or ridiculous, but Scott loved every moment. He and Jean discussed every detail together, from the centerpieces at the reception to how they wanted their vows worded. Jean seemed elated by the planning stages, happy and light without the stress Scott had seen other friends go through.
In fact, this whole thing seemed to make them even closer.
“Excellent.” Scott answered honestly. “We’re sending out the ‘Save the Dates’ next week. April 4th is going to be here before you know it.”
Charles’ smile ceased to be tinged with sorrow or worry. Those bright blue eyes reflected the joy, the excitement the X-Men’s leader felt about the upcoming nuptials.
The wedding would take place at the mansion they loved, which had made Charles even happier. It would never be a secret that Charles loved the house and the grounds on which he had founded his school for mutants. Having a wedding at the lake, reception in the gardens would be, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Before Scott could reply, however, the entire mansion shook.
Scott reached for the Professor’s wheelchair, instinctively trying to protect his mentor. Oh, he knew it was pointless since Charles remained one of the most formidable mutants in the world. Scott’s instinct, however, was to protect the man that had been like a father to him almost twenty years.
The house shook, trembled, almost with the force of an earthquake. While events such as this were common among a household filled with untried teenagers gifted with special abilities, so far as Scott knew, they didn’t have a quake-maker on the grounds.
This was…something else.
“Jean.”
Scott frowned, turning to his mentor. Charles’ eyes were faraway, the look in that clear blue filled with worry.
“In the atrium. Go!”
Unable to resist the demand, Scott turned on his heel and ran.
~**~
He built a fire because he liked the color of the flame, or so Ororo had learned recently. Even this deep in the Canadian wild, they had little use for jackets and fires. Storm’s abilities reflected in her codename: the cold couldn’t bother a mistress of the elements.
And Logan was…Logan. Neither of them were likely to become cold, so when she asked about his deep love of a crackling fire, he explained that it soothed him. He liked the colors.
Smiling slightly as he worked over the fire, Ororo turned back to the sheaf of documents in her hands. They had spent six hours combing through the remains of the Weapon X base known as Alkali Lake.
It appeared as though someone had rampaged through the base and that rampage was followed by a hasty retreat. There was not even an attempt to burn the documents. It seemed that the leaders of the base merely retreated, hidden, folding into the shadows of the forest.
So much the better.
They found an abandoned area that appeared to once be sleeping quarters. Though the electricity had long been cut off, the lights still worked. Ororo sparked them with a jolt of lightning that shot out two bulbs, but the rest filled the room with a soft glow. Since the heat appeared to be gas-based, Logan went back to the fire.
He liked to cook over the fire, so while he worked to give his eyes a break, Ororo poured through the five briefcases and two accordion filers they had located. Aside from the ‘induction’ photographs, she had not found much in the way of explaining where Logan had come from or why they experimented on him so cruelly.
Still, she would keep looking as sausage and beans popped and sizzled over the fire.
Setting aside what turned out to be nothing more than janitorial requisition forms, Ororo reached for another stack. This pile of paperwork seemed as innocuous as the rest, filled with military jargon and coding. Still, something might leap out at her.
“Medical supplies.” Ororo murmured as she looked over another requisition form. “Sedatives, tranquilizers, antibiotics, pain killers. Goddess, pain killers…”
“Base hospital?” Logan asked, having heard every word with his preternatural hearing.
“No.” Ororo frowned, checking the top of the form for the department name. “The recipient has been – what’s the word? - blacked out.”
“Redacted.” Logan supplied the correct martial term absently. “Huh. Weird.”
“Slightly.” Ororo frowned, turning another page. She sat up quickly, flattening the paperwork over the dusty desk as her heart leaped into her throat.
“Metal.” The mutant woman whispered. “Galvanized steel: assorted. 20 tons. Iron, 30 tons.”
The heavy weight of Logan’s stare brought the fine hairs at the base of her neck to full attention, but Ororo did not move. She continued down the list of materials, her finger dragging along the order form as she sought what she desperately did not want to find.
“Tub, 400 gallons, medical. Smelter. Tubing…”
Logan grunted.
Ororo felt the breath leave her lungs as she turned to look at her lover. Just the expression on her face told him that he fought reliving the few nightmarish memories he retained from the ordeal they had spent so much time investigating.
“Adamantium.” Ororo whispered. “140 tons.”
Logan began to pant. Storm could imagine that his heart was racing as his hands shook. He flinched, not from anything she had done, she knew. It was the memories trying to take root, the base of his Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder rushing to the rally point. Ororo knew better than to reach for him, to touch him no matter how she wanted to. It would only force his psyche to retreat further as it feared she might harm him.
In these moments, Logan was more akin to his animalistic side than the human in him. She had no choice, save waiting him out.
It tore her apart to see him this way. His gaze was locked dead ahead, unwavering, while his fists clenched and released as though bracing for pain. She could see the points of the lethal adamantium housed inside of his flesh digging at the space between his knuckles. They wanted release. He wanted to rage. Ororo knew how to handle this now and poised to race for the door should she need to escape.
Powerful mutant she was, nothing could match Logan’s rage, his skill, his lethality when he lost his grip.
She would never begrudge him that, even after…that night in Quebec.
Keeping her breathing even, willing her heartrate to settle, Ororo watched her lover cautiously. He shook violently from head to toe, sweat beading at the brow she’d lovingly kissed every morning for months. His beautiful mouth had pulled itself into a taut line as he fought to control the baser instincts he’d relied on to stay alive these 16 years.
Her heart ached to see him so undone.
“I’m ok.” He spoke so suddenly that Ororo jumped. Irritated with herself, she closed her eyes, gained control of her own senses.
“Are you sure?”
Logan rewarded her with one, terse nod. “Here, ‘Ro. They did it here.”
Sensing the danger had passed, Ororo slid from the chair and crossed the dingy barracks room with two strides. She skirted the fire pit, lowering herself slowly at Logan’s side. His eyes opened, meeting hers with that ferocity she’d first fallen for, the damage hidden behind the beast for the moment.
“I know.” Ororo replied, taking his hand. She could feel the adamantium still struggling to be free as she did so. “I’m sorry.”
Without another word, Logan pulled Ororo into his arms, holding her there as he fought back his demons once more.