Drafted

Chapter 2: To Lose

(Pinwheel Universe: Original Timeline, March 2017)

Logan knew what it meant to feel a heart stop beating. His own had, more times than he could count. He’d fucking survived without a heart at all, wiped down to just a fucking skeleton, and he had, only hours later, stood up a whole man and walked off without a mark on him. But while he’d felt his own heart shudder and still, that wasn’t the only heart he’d witnessed end. He’d felt many hearts cease, not only hearts he’d intentionally stopped, but others, too. He knew what it meant in that moment when somethin’, call it a soul, call it somethin’ else, left. The body settling. The will of life…just gone. 

He had faint memories, ones that might make themselves more vivid in nightmares, of death being more familiar to other folks, too. Back when it happened more often. Famine, disease. His mind groggily pulled words forward like consumption and scarlet fever. You saw death. Children died. Families lessened. You’d wrap a black band on your arm, women would drape themselves in the color. Back then, there was a certain respect, Logan understood, about grief. A knowing. A recognition. A moment people took to pause. 

But then, his memories had revealed the obvious. Vaccinations for Polio. Smallpox. Shit got easier. People lived longer. Children died far less often, to the point where families started having less of them. Death, in a temporary sense, evaded. And it stopped appearing in the streets. It stopped being in the homes. He watched, as folks began seein’ death for what it wasn’t instead of what it was; in one word: commonplace.

What did it mean, anyway, to be alive? Was a sense of self, a consciousness, enough to constitute a life? He’d seen men without souls walk and talk and command the deaths of thousands. He’d killed Nazis, after all. But he’d also seen the last breath leave the lungs of kind and gentle souls to the point where the body wouldn’t quite stop, confused somehow, pining, maybe, for why it had been abandoned. 

To die. To sleep.

He’d read Shakespeare. He’d read everything. It’s what you did, back then. You wanted entertainment outside of a woman’s thighs and the bottom of a booze bottle? You read. And he’d read them all. Faulkner. Joyce. Walker. Hemingway. Woolf. Fitzgerald. Tolstoy. The ancients, too. Aristotle. Plato. Odysseus.

But Shakespeare, that sonofabitch sometimes would stick with him. He’d forgotten it all, after Alkali, but in the months of the waning year of 2015, the year he’d found her and lost her all over again, his memories, along with memories of all the stories he’d read, came back to him. To die, to sleep. No more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

To die, to sleep. 

Jesus fucking Christ , how many times had he wished for it.

Death had a way of coming ‘round though. Another year after her death. Then another. In the field he’d witnessed slaughter after slaughter. The jet would take him to places like Mongolia, Russia, Brazil, but everywhere it was the same. Mutants bein’ rounded up. Internment camps more common. Torture. Grief. The face of death, returning. You never stopped the fuckin’ wars for long. Humans were always keen on killin’ one another.

To die. To sleep.

Another life, sugar. A better one.

North Point though, it remained, and the temporary shelter the X-Men had taken up became more permanent. As Logan’s grief steadied, as he shoved down the fucking torment and heartache of it all, he’d been reestablished as lead of half of all team missions, bearing the responsibility evenly with Storm so neither of them became worn too thin, but, more imporantly, Storm and Logan had made it a monthly responisbility to both oversee the rations and wellbeing of North Point. They still did not live among its citizens, choosing to instead reside at the original bunker that served now as X-Men headquarters, but visiting North Point had become woven into the fabric of both Storm’s and Logan’s very identities. It was something, from that fateful windy day he’d escaped from the bowels of the place, he’d relearned.

Sustainability, too, had found its way into the commune. Working sanitation systems. Plastic partitions instead of tents and lean-tos. Furniture in places, a community area to live and work. In the summer, community gardens and a small farm on the edge of the property, shielded by tech that had been put in place. In a sense, a semblance of a life. Storm served on the board of community members dealing with grievances, but Logan, he’d stayed in the shadows, much more apt to stalk about the place, checking in on the people he’d grown fond of, the people that had helped him get through the worst. 

She was one of them. A warm hand on his naked shoulder. He shot upright, after a short, quaking nightmare of his mother with a shotgun pointed at her temple, one of his oldest memories he suspected and feared was real, when he felt her warm naked body move closer even as he reached for his clothes.

“Already?” she asked simply. He jerked his head back to the woman’s face, the bright white of her hair partially covering the angry dark gray lines of scarred skin mimicking the “M” that had been carved along her purple eyes years ago. He gently moved her arm that had been slung around his chest off him. Her skin was a light gray, her ears were elongated and she had claw-like nails, but other than that looked like a woman. But it was still too high of a price to pay. She had been one of the most abused at Two Rivers long before he had met her, beaten and tortured mostly, for having a body so different. A damn shame, because she was so fucking beautiful. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Been here too long as it is. Didn’t mean to fall asleep after,” he murmured, but upon sensing her grief, he turned to her once more, murmuring an incomprehensible sound, part soothing rumble and part gentle growl, before briefly running a sturdy, heavy hand along her delicate jawline, which she leaned into and closed her eyes in response through her own contented rumble. Still, it was a somewhat false intimacy, they both knew it, but it was the respect they felt they both owed one another after the sex they both so desperately craved, but rarely received, except for in these stolen moments slipped between plastic partitions of the mutant compound in the middle of the night. 

“Ok,” she whispered, pulling her naked form more into itself. “Ida will be up soon anyway,” she said, running a hand through her long thick white hair, throwing her purple irises across the room to another plastic partitioned space, where her daughter, also brutally maimed across her right eye with the same gray skin and white hair and purple eyes slept. She had no powers to speak of yet, but she had been born, also, looking too different. 

“You get the extra provisions I sent you, baby?” He asked, even as he pulled on his military grade cargo pants, and she looked up to him meekly on the mattress on the floor and military grade blankets, offering him a small smile.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But the Pepsi was too much.” 

Logan only smirked oddly at her and winked.

“Kid’s gotta have some luxuries. I nearly lost my neck on that raid,” he said as he finished pulling on his boots, sitting in the one chair at the card table of the dwelling. 

“She was bouncing off the walls because of the sugar,” she said, rolling her eyes and clutching her blankets tightly. Then, her smile fell as she knowingly looked up to him again.

“How long this time?” she asked through a quiet grimace. Logan immediately frowned, even as he shrugged on his jacket. 

“Months, kid. They’re sending me to Antarctica,” he muttered, walking back to the mattress and the woman on the floor.

“Why there?” she asked hesitantly.

“There’s a mutant compound that’s thrivin’. Chuck’s gonna have us try to form an alliance. If we do, it could mean a lot better life for you all here,” he muttered, kneeling once more on the mattress to lay a hand on her thin shoulder. 

“You, always running off to save the world,” she smiled coyly, but he only snorted in jest. 

“Just tryin’ to survive, baby. You know that,” he responded, now glancing at the other partition where he knew the little girl slept with a soft brown teddy bear Logan had managed to procure for her, who she had deftly named “Porkchop.”

“You and Ida gonna be alright?” he asked carefully, sullen hazel eyes looking to the woman, even if he already knew the answer.

“You know we will,” she murmured knowingly, and then he leaned into kiss her simply, delicately, like the relationship they shared with one another. After that, he stood back up, eyes on the door. But he could still feel her watching him.

“Don’t die,” she said simply.

He turned back to her for the last time, an odd smirk on his face.

“Not possible for either of us, kid. You know that. Take care, alright?” She only nodded, once more accepting his absence and the immense loneliness that would most likely accompany it. And then he was gone, along the winding row of the compound, one hand in a tight fist at his side, his eyes on the exit, on the next thing to keep surviving. 

—

“And we’re ready to ascend,” Storm said crisply into the comm.

“Copy that, Blackbird. You’re clear for takeoff. And Storm?” The voice in their ears both said.

“Yes, John?” Storm said through a small smile, even as the plane lifted into the sky through the still-frigid air of early spring. 

“North Point’s gonna miss the hell out of you. Be safe. Over and out,” the voice said, before the communication went dead. 

Both Logan and Blink shot Storm a look, and Storm frowned deeply, even as she navigated the plane into the sky.

“Not a word,” Storm chastised, and Logan knew to keep his mouth shut. He knew John was sweet on ‘Ro, and it wasn’t like he could fuckin’ judge. Besides, he was settling in for a very, very long fucking flight, even in the souped-up jet, and he wasn’t about to get on Storm’s bad side. Instead, he crossed his arms and settled more into the co-pilot’s seat, the coordinates for the Antarctica compound already pre-programmed into the jet. Storm would just have to check in once in a whil,e even as a pilot, and he was simply hoping for a fucking nap, and maybe a pint of whiskey.

“And what about you Logan?” Blink was suddenly saying, and he realized he had missed part of the conversation. 

“What about me?” he grumbled, turning back a bit to look at Blink who was smiling knowingly through the blanket of her black and purple hair. 

“The animal woman, with the small child?” Blink asked, and Logan didn’t even try to stifle a snarl.

“She’s got a name, Blink,” he growled, and that pretty much shut her up, although he noticed Storm throw him a concerned glance, but said nothing. 

“I don’t know her name, Logan,” Blink retorted. “For as much as you never speak of her.”

Logan only grumbled something incomprehensible, and then muttered, “Sable.”

He felt ‘Ro’s eyes on him again, but he didn’t look at her. This was often the way of it, when one of them found someone to share a bed with, to not feel so fucking alone. Anyway, despite this, it should have come as a surprise to no one, really. Sable was the only other feral in the complex. And if you weren’t a feral, you didn’t get it. Ferals craved physical connectedness, whether that be through drainin’ the blood of some sort of prey or fucking someone until dawn. In the end, it wasn’t fair, how extreme a feral’s mutation could be. Typically never the most powerful, but often some of the most different-looking. Most ferals had animalistic features. Fur and claws and sometimes different bone structures usually being the dead give away. Sable looked at least partially like the name of her subspecies implied; Logan, however, was a sort of black sheep of the bunch, his unruly hair and claws the only physical indicators of what kind of mutation he might have. 

He’d met her about a year and a half ago, after she had settled a conflict between he and another mutant who had crossed him as he was going about inventory. He laid eyes on her, knew her for what she was, and he’d barely made it back to her tent before he had brutally taken her to the floor, her own claws gnawing at his skin. He hadn’t bitten her neck, she wasn’t his to claim, but they had nipped and scratched and fucked so hard that Logan’s blood sang out in relief. Because of the absence of Rogue and the relationship they might have had, he hadn’t been with anybody since Mariko, and that had been a long, long time ago. Sable had admitted, after, to losing her long-term partner, another feral male mutant, in the raids of 2014. She’d taken her daughter, only a fragile one-year-old at the time, and had fled, only to be snatched up by Canadian forces about six months later near the border. Logan reminded her of him, she had admitted, during an intimate moment between them, which was fine because Sable didn’t remind him of her.

By this point, the cabin had settled into silence, Blink herself nodding off, and Storm tiredly staring into the overcast sky beyond them. He wasn’t blamin’ either woman. It had been a rough year in the field. Several of their most trusted comrades met their end after a mission had gone bad in January of this year, and the professor, not so surprisingly, had become more despondent. They still met regularly for meetings, the formation and number of the mutants in the original compound Rogue and Logan had found themselves in two years ago growing, but Logan could tell the Xavier’s spirit had diminished. Everyone knew that the primary goal had shifted from the notion of “fighting” to simply “surviving.” It was a hard pill to swallow, but it had been an accurate line of thinking. Despite their differences, Storm and he had a sort of silent communication about it. Nothing like the feral one he sometimes shared with the woman he’d been sleeping with, but a professional one, formed over years of hard work and respect. 

The impending mission was simple: make new ties with the Antarctica group to barter for goods, weapons, and a possible alliance. Xavier was hoping to establish a small base there, especially if the North Point base were to become compromised. Despite how long they would be gone, it was a mission of negotiation, not warfare, and considering the last few close calls he and his team had had, Logan was grateful for the change. Plus, this time, Storm was in charge. 

As the flight droned on, he felt his own body begin to beg for sleep. It was somethin’ he wasn’t quite keen on, often going days at a time without it, but now, outside of a woman’s warm bed and lulled by the hum of the jet, the pull into darkness started. It had been four, five days this time, and now exhaustion was biting at his every nerve. And it would be something that he would regret, because, in the end, sleep really meant one thing.

Sleep meant nightmares. And nightmares meant her. 

--

“ So why do you think Xavier wants us doing recon on our own allies?” Rogue asked through a sip of coffee, as they sat at a table in the now-defunct restaurant of the hotel-turned-mutant compound. It was mid-morning, and the bright sunlight of South Africa was flooding the lobby as they killed time. 

“Xavier isn’t in the habit of trustin’ too many outside of his own right now. That’s why he didn’t take a seat on that fucking council. Besides, the old man probably put us on this one because he wanted us doin’ something.”

“You feel trapped here?” Rogue asked through an arched eyebrow.

“Not a matter of what I feel.It’s the fuckin’ truth. Not much longer we can stay here, I suspect,” Logan muttered into his own coffee. At this, Rogue frowned.

“Why not? We have running water here. Hot running water. It’s the epicenter for mutants-”

“Exactly my point,” Logan grumbled. 

“Well, hopefully we can learn something from this, and not come back empty-handed ,” Rogue muttered.

“And yer prepared for this one, kid?” Logan asked, pulling a cigar from his back right pocket, and lighting it.

“Of course I am. I’ve done reconnaissance before. It’s just spying on a couple of mutant leaders two blocks away,” she snorted, waving the smoke out of her face in disgust. “All we have to do is act nonchalant and rely on your hearing powers.”

“I ain’t sure you could act nonchalant if you tried with all yer might,” Logan snorted, and Rogue frowned again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rogue asked.

“Face it, kid. The way you’re bouncing around in yer chair in anticipation. The way ya can’t keep it together. Yer a bad actor,” Logan flicking some ash onto the overturned plastic coffee lid he’d pried off his disposable cup. Meanwhile, Rogue’s mouth fell open a little, before she closed it and narrowed her eyes, but still said nothing.

“Aww, come on now. Don’t go gettin’ yer feelings hurt. Just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em,” he muttered, pulling a flask from his pocket and pouring some whiskey into his lukewarm coffee.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Rogue muttered as she stared at the flask with a scowl.

“Then I’m startin’ late,” Logan shot back defensively, and Rogue’s frown deepened. 

It had been like this, between them. Ever since they started sparring. A short-tempered back-and-forth. Him pokin’ and pryin’, trying to figure her out, and she dodging nearly every question he had for her. And he was getting sick of it. So sick he wasn’t trying near as hard to be on his best behavior around her anymore.

“Listen, kid. I don’t mean to pick on ya, but how long total were you even an X-Man?” Logan shot her a look, and Rogue rolled her eyes, 

“Like that matters,” Rogue muttered. “I was with my team for-”

“I said as an X-Man. You avoidin’ the question again?,” Logan shot back, and she frowned.

“I avoid stupid questions,” Rogue grumbled, sitting back in her chair. When he didn’t respond, she sat up a little straighter, before pulling her chair slightly forward, then leaned toward him a bit, so her hair fell gently in her face and Logan got a strong, deep whiff of that fucking scent. More whiskey, then. 

“Listen. You don’t know the first thing about me. You knew me at seventeen. And you keep thinking I haven’t aged a fucking day. I’m a fucking professional, and I’m not a bad actor. We used to do recon all the time, probably while you were off...doing whatever it was you were doing in Canada. And I was always as cool as a cucumber. I collected critical pieces of information more times than I can count. It’s just with you, I-” she immediately cut herself off, and Logan couldn’t help but grin insidiously.

“Yes?” Logan asked devilishly, and Rogue only rolled her eyes.

“It’s gotta be a stupid feral thing,” she mumbled.

“Feral...thing?” he asked. 

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I mean. You...trip me up. All that stuff you don’t say,” she muttered.

“What stuff?” he asked, pressing her.

“Ugh. You know. That language you all have,” she grumbled.

“Language?” he asked. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Quit being facetious. You forget I had you up here,” she said, pointing to her head. “I know what you’re saying half the time, or like every other word. It’s just the other half that drives me crazy. It’s like trying to understand Portugese or something when you only speak Spanish.”

“I ain’t sure what yer talkin’ about. There ain’t no ‘feral’ words kid. It’s not like that,” he shot back, partly in anger from how quickly she seemed to fucking figure him out. 

“Bullshit,” she said, and suddenly it was his turn to look at her with surprise etched in every feature. He said nothing, and she pressed on.

“There are words. Clear words. And you express them loudly. With intensity,” Rogue muttered, a smoldering anger in her tone.

Logan sat back a little in thought, before snubbing out the last of his cigar. 

“And why does that trip you up when it comes to me?” Logan asked quietly, eyes peering at Rogue carefully. Rogue stared at him for a few moments.

“Why do you care?” she asked, and Logan only blinked at her for a few moments, once more thrown off by her answer in the form of a question.

“I mean, really. You haven’t seen me in years, you tell me all this stuff about your past. Why do you wanna know?” she continued. Logan was quiet for a moment, before finally answering.

“We’re teammates,” Logan muttered.

“So are Storm and Blink,” Rogue retaliated. Logan’s eyes narrowed more, as he tried to guess what she was gettin’ at. 

“We were friends too...once,” Logan finally murmured. 

“Is that what we were?” she practically whispered.

“You got another name for it?” he asked, before pouring the last of the whiskey into his coffee, guessing he’d need it.

“Father figure?” she asked, her tone bordering on mocking. Logan practically snarled at this as he downed the rest of the spiked coffee.

“I told ya already. I ain’t yer father,” he growled.

“Fine. Teacher then,” she said through crossed arms. 

“Crush?” he barefly muttered, throwing a knowing glance at her, and then she blushed seven ways to Sunday.

“Well, that’s a juvenile word,” she finally mumbled.

“It ain’t if yer speaking feral. If you want a translation, I can do that for you,” he pressed, and she blushed even more, obviously flabbergasted, before her anger won out.

“Listen, you brute. If we’re gonna do this mission, you need to stop treating me like some teenager. I think I’ve shown you several times over, especially on the sparring mat, what I’m capable of. Now,” she added, finally standing from the chair, her own coffee suddenly forgotten. “We’re going to be late if we don’t move our asses.”

Logan only watched her stand, smirking quietly to himself, before he replied with a joking “Yes ma’am,” and stood. At the retort, she shot him a mischievous, still fiery look at him as he trailed behind her, and he couldn’t keep himself from throwing her a wink.

—

Something jolted suddenly, and Logan was up in mere seconds. Pain shot through his knuckles as he reflexively let the claws out, and looked around wildly. 

“Logan,” Storm said steadily, despite the fact she was less than a foot away from the adamantium. 

“ Fuck,” he muttered, withdrawing the claws instantly, running a bloodied hand through his hair. 

“Year?” he hoarsely asked, still trying to shake himself from the dream. Trenches. Nazi internment camps. Vietnam. He’d rather dream about anything else. 

“2017,” Storm murmured, looking at him with what could only be described as pity. Logan shoved it off, though, standing shakily.

“Sorry, ‘Ro. We’re here?” he asked, glancing out the cockpit window at the ice and stone of the cavern the Blackbird had landed in.

“Yes. Just arrived. You’re in charge of equipment and the readouts on the Blackbird. I’m going ahead with Blink.”

“I thought we were doin’ this together,” he grunted.

“We are. Nobody talks to Cypher until we’re all in one room. But we have to make contact first. They’re expecting us,” Storm said, and, with one final nod, walked towards the ramp, Blink faithfully following behind. 

Logan sighed, and then sniffed the air. Fuck. All he could smell was nitrogen dioxide. Fuckin’ ice. And maybe...the slight scent of somethin’ else. People, probably. He looked down at the drying blood on his hands, and cursed, grabbing a wash rag from the back of the jet and wiping them off. Then, the jet read outs, and finally, he grabbed three provisional packs, one for each of them, before deplaning and entering the locking mechanism on the jet. The Blackbird was their most precious asset, and he’d be caught dead if one of these antarctic fuckers tried to hijack it. 

“Thanks for hanging in there, old gal,” Logan murmured, patting the plane, before stalking off to the entrance of yet another underground compound.

As he walked toward the double door at the far end of the cavern, he was surprised to see Blink and Storm still standing there.

“No one home?” he asked, heaving the packs to the ground. 

Storm sighed. “I radioed in during our descent. They granted us access. They know we’re here. I’m not sure what’s up,” she said.

“Perhaps they’ve changed their minds?” Blink said through a huff. They all had parkas on over their suits, and while the temperature in the hangar had to be far warmer than the desolate landscape above, the temperature was still below freezing. 

Just then, though, one of the doors opened to reveal two men in full riot gear, assault rifles pointed straight at them. Logan snarled, claws itching in his hands as he tensed up, even as Storm’s words, “Stand down, Wolverine” filled the alcove. He gritted his teeth as the guards stood there, and then Storm was speaking again.

“Please tell Cypher the X-Men, Charles Xavier’s team, have arrived,” Storm said in a voice so authoritative the guards looked at each other, and then beckoned them inside.

“Stinks already,” Logan snarled under his breath, grip tightening on his own pack as they were led into a large foyer, as an involuntary  “holy fuck” escaped his lips. There were carpets on the fucking floor. Furniture. Electricity so bright it felt like they were above ground.

Logan shot a look to Storm, who only frowned, as they were told to wait there. Blink sighed exasperatedly, and Logan simply bided his time, trying to control his standoffishness, until the guards returned with a young, almost too young blonde man in an expensive suit and tie. Still though, Logan saw through the ruse of the attire. Late twenties, maybe, Logan guessed, as he nodded to each of them. Too fuckin’ young to lead. 

“Professor Xavier’s infamous X-Men. Welcome,” Cypher said, extending his hand for Logan to shake. Logan only smirked and gestured to Storm.

“She’s in charge, bub,” Logan muttered, and Cypher immediately shot a look to the woman, instantly realizing his mistake.

“My apologies...Storm, yes? You’re team leader?” he asked. Logan could practically feel the heat of anger coming off the woman, as she shook his hand. 

“Yes. And these are my teammates, Wolverine and Blink,” Storm said stiffly.

“Of course,” Cypher said. 

“Friendly welcome you got there, pal,” Logan muttered, gesturing to the guards and their guns, and Cypher frowned for a moment. 

“In these times, you can never be too careful, Wolverine. Regardless, thank you for travelling all this way. Welcome to the Citadel. Shall we show you around?”

--

It was better than North Point, in almost every way. There were actual rooms with decent furniture. There was a rec room, a cafeteria. Logan marveled at the amount of energy it must take to power a place like this, until they learned they had a resident here who could produce nuclear energy within himself, and that’s what made the generators run. 

The only fucking problem was that it felt empty. Logan could hear heartbeats, hundreds of ‘em, but not a soul could be found in the hallways, or in any public meeting area. It put Logan on edge, and he found himself tailing the group, keeping an eye out to the left and right. Finally, he spoke up about it. 

“And where is everyone?” he asked rudely, only to be thrown a nasty look by Storm.

“Curfew begins at 1800 hours, Wolverine,” Cypher answered promptly.

“6 at night? Seems a little early,” Logan muttered

“It’s for their own protection,” Cypher said.

“Just like those assault rifles you got there?” Logan asked gesturing towards the guards, before Storm retorted with, “That’s enough, Wolverine.”

“It’s alright. We’ve all heard of the X-Men and their distaste of weapons-” Cypher began

“-Trust me, pal. That’s changed. The Bird’s fully weaponized-”

“But we’re in the middle of a war. We don’t take that lightly,” Cypher finished, despite Logan’s interruption.

Suddenly, a click of a door opening to the right, and Logan and the two guards whirled around to watch a young woman, no older than twenty, also scarred with a hideous M on her face, peek her head out of the room.

“Mr. Ramsey? Sir, please. I know it is past curfew. But my request for more formula-”

“Of course, Margaret. Smithfield,” Cypher said to one of the guards, who immediately disappeared. 

“It will be delivered to you,” Cypher said, and the meek woman nodded quickly, before suddenly shutting the door closed.

“The fuck?” Logan muttered under his breath, much to a death glare from Storm.

“Talk to me about your government,” Storm said, changing the subject, as they began walking down the hallway again.

“Hardly a government, Storm. I and a few of my trusted comrades make the decisions and laws. We essentially decide what’s best for the people.”

“These comrades of yers elected?” Logan couldn’t help himself in asking.

“ No,” Cypher bit back, and Logan shot another look to Blink and Storm.

“Then you got yerself a monarchy, or an oligarchy at best on yer hands, bub. Not a democracy,” Logan growled as they now had stopped walking, standing outside a closed door, identical to the ones before it. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we never communicated to Xavier that we were a democracy, Wolverine. But we do take the people’s needs under consideration. Obviously from what you just witnessed,” Cypher said tiredly. Logan watched then, as Storm stepped in once more. 

“So Cypher-”

“Douglas Ramsey, please. Douglas, if you like,” he said, and Storm smiled slightly.

“Alright, Douglas. Charles Xavier has written out his formal requests regarding an alliance-”

“-I think that can wait until tomorrow, can’t it Storm?”

“Ororo Munroe,” Storm offered, and now it was Cypher’s turn to smile, although somethin’ about it put Logan off even more.

“Ororo,” Ramsey corrected himself.

“It could, except that the Professor insisted we be immediate in our request-”

“Tomorrow morning, I promise,” Ramsey interrupted, and something deep in Logan’s chest rumbled in contention as they were led into a one bedroom square room, with a small washroom off to the side. It was lightly furnished, but Storm immediately frowned at the one double bed in the room.

“Apologies for the close quarters, but we don’t let anyone sleep on their own here. Everyone has someone to look out for, and since there are three of you, I can’t let anyone be on their own. Even if he has a healing factor,” Ramsey grumbled, nodding toward Logan. Logan only frowned, crossed his arms, and said nothing. 

“This will do,” Storm muttered, and then Cypher was saying his goodnights, closing the door behind him. They waited for the footsteps of the guard and Ramsey to diminish, until they were sure they were alone. 

“Surprised he didn’t lock us in,” Blink mumbled, throwing down her pack on the floor.

“It isn’t necessarily bad protocol, having people room together,” Storm said tiredly, rubbing her temples as she set her own pack in exhaustion. Then, she looked up to Logan, and he must have been obvious, because she added, “We already know what you think, Logan, so spare me the details,” she snapped.

“He’s lying about something,” Logan growled anyway, throwing a glance over to the door, which Logan had taken up pacing in front of. He had already scanned the room for any tech, cameras or microphones, but finding no evidence of anything like that, he had relaxed by an infinitesimal degree.

“You think?” Blink asked, as she sat on a nearby bench, peeling off her gloves that went with her uniform.

“I know,” Logan growled. “We need to contact Charles immediately.”

Storm frowned at this, shaking her head slightly. 

“I tried on the flight. He’s not responding,” she sighed, running a hand through her shortly cropped hair, sitting down on the bed. 

“He’s been in the habit of that too much lately. He knows we’re on a fucking mission-” Logan began, before he was interrupted by Storm once again.

“It’s a gesture of peace. Hardly a mission,” Storm retorted.

“Oh come on, ‘Ro,” Logan snarled, stopping his pacing for a moment to face Storm, who was still sitting on the bed.

“You think Cypher is not who he says he is?” Blink interrupted from off to the side of the room.

“Oh he is who he says he is alright, but he’s hiding somethin’,” Logan muttered.

“What would he have to hide? He’s shown us everything. We’ve got a full report on him. It was in the brief. He’s been fighting for mutant rights for decades. Not a shred of evidence he would work against us,” Storm retorted, working her own gloves off her fingers now.

“Look around you ‘Ro. I heard heartbeats, hundreds of ‘em. But not a single word. No fuckin’ conversation. What is it, 2100 hours? Everyone in this fucking complex sleeping at nine at night? No way. They ain’t talkin’ because they’re fucking terrified,” Logan said.

“ Our people are terrified,” Storm offered.

“Of sentinels. Not of JP. Or of Charles. Or you,” he added. Storm only sighed again, staring at Logan helplessly, before looking over to Blink.

“What do you think, Clarice?” she asked simply. The slim, Asian woman looked from Storm to Logan, and then back again, before answering.

“I don’t want it to be true, but Logan is right. Something is off,” she murmured.

“Ramsey might just be overly protective-” Storm began.

“Or he’s hidin’ something. Call Charles again,” Logan demanded.

“I just did . No one is responding,” she snapped, before biting her lip in tension.

For a while, none of the mutants spoke as Logan kept up his pacing, as they began to realize that they were out of options.

“There’s nothing we can do tonight, Logan,” Storm finally vocalized for the rest of the group. “We can be on guard tomorrow, pay extra attention. Maybe even come up with an evac plan if we have to, but for now, we should rest,” Storm finished, glancing over to Blink, who looked as exhausted as the rest of them.

Logan sighed deeply, planting his feet finally and dropping his arms. 

“Yer right, ‘Ro. Sorry. Look, you gals take the bed. Floor’s fine by me,” he muttered, nudging his pack on the floor that lay beside him one foot.

“Liar. You’re not sleeping,” she muttered.

“I just might,” Logan said. “But I’ll let ya both get settled first. Gonna stand watch outside, see if I notice anything else fuckin’ off-putting,” he said, nodding to them both. Storm nodded back to her colleague, friend, and teammate, before throwing a glance to Blink.

“Just like all those old slumber parties, eh, Clarice?” she asked through a tired smile.

“My mother wouldn’t let me have sleepovers. Too distracting to my academics,” Blink said through a frown, although she picked up her pack and walked over to the bed, now rifling through it to see what generic overnight garments were provided.

“We don’t have popcorn or an ouija board or a decent romcom to watch anyway,” Storm grumbled.

“We don’t need to be inviting the devil into this place anyhow,” Logan muttered, and Storm rolled her eyes.

“I thought you were standing watch,” she retorted, and Logan grinned, despite himself.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, and, without another word, he opened the door and gently shut it closed behind him.

--

The room was bustling with people. Women in dresses shorter than they ever have been, bare ankles and tall heels. Silver and white balloons, hundreds of ‘em, floating from the ceiling, it bein’ New Years Even and all. A band, playin’ jazz hot and loose, like it was meant to be played. 

He liked this speakeasy, but he fuckin’ hated wearin’ a suit and a goddamn tie. But the occasion called for it, and as he tried to loosen the strip of fabric around his neck he nodded to his buddy Winston, before makin’ a beeline straight for the bar. 

A woman in a green silk dress. “Owner says it’s on the house for you boys.”

“That right?” Logan muttered, taking the glass of whiskey from her gloved hands.

“You manage to smuggle in the best stuff, stuff he can charge triple for. He’s just not sure how you all do it. Especially this winter. It’s below freezin’ out there.”

“You should try Canada, girl. Winters ain’t nothin’ here,” he grumbled, tapping the empty glass for another. “Three fingers this time.”

“You ever meet Capone?” she asked, sliding the full glass again across the bar. 

“No,” Logan sighed. “You?”

“Once. Well, kinda. His boys came through town. Thought we caught a glimpse of his car.”

“That’s swell,” Logan muttered, before downing the second drink. “Doubt he’s standing out in the cold freezing his ass off while the beer freezes in the barrels.”

“Doubt it,” she murmured. “Another?”

And then...the same green dress. The same room. The same jazz. But… no suit and tie. Instead, an X-Men uniform. Black leather. No. Wait….

“Been meanin’ to ask you,” she said, as she shoved another glass of bourbon his way. “Why do you drink so much , sugar?” 

He only blinked at her, and then frowned. 

“Because it always hurts,” he muttered, tossing back the bourbon. She frowned then, tucking a strand of platinum hair behind her ear as she stared down at the empty glass between them.

“Don’t I know it,” she whispered to the floor. He frowned as she refilled it for him.

“During Prohibition, I ran booze down from Canada along the Eastern Seaboard,” he offered. 

“You and Capone,” she teased.

“Never met him,” Logan grumbled, before adding, “One winter, it was so cold, the beer froze in the barrels.”

“You don’t say. That’s cold,” she murmured.

“Sure is,” he agreed. 

And then….

“Logan,” Storm’s voice cut through the haze. “Logan!”

“Wha- What?” he snarled, snapping up off the sleeping bag on the floor.

“The P-Professor,” Storm said, and he noted the rise of panic in her voice. She was only in a tank top and sweatpants, and Blink was standing in half her uniform and a t-shirt herself, alert and tense. Logan was still fully dressed, never intending to have fallen asleep in the first place. Goddamnit. 

“Storm. What is it?” he hissed, and then she was shoving a comm in his ear, even though he didn’t need it. Chuck’s voice was suddenly in his head. 

Logan, you need to bring the Blackbird back immediately. Erik has reason to believe your mission has been compromised.

“Wha? Compro-” he began.

Logan, think what you want to say. Do not use the comm to speak to me. That’s not why Storm gave it to you.

What’s wrong, Professor?

You need to get to the Blackbird and bring it home. North Point is under threat of attack. 

How? Why? 

Cypher has compromised North Point’s position in exchange for protection from the US Armed Forces.

“Mother FUCKER!” Logan growled, nodding to Blink, before the door opened quickly, and the man of the hour along with about twelve guards poured into the room, assault rifles once more pointed at them all. All of the X-Men took battle-ready stances, the slice of metal jutting through Logan’s hands instinctively and instantaneously. Ramsey raised his eyebrows as Logan’s blood dripped to the floor and Logan bared his teeth, but Ramsey was still careful and steady with his words. 

“I’m sorry, but they promised us protection,” he said somenly.

“Yeah. Just heard. One question for ya. Are you fuckin’ insane?” Logan snarled, taking one step closer to Ramsey, and all the guards cocked their guns. 

“You can stand down, Wolverine. Just like your woman told you last night. Fighting is hopeless. We have already given them you’re location and they are en route to drop bombs on North Point as we speak.”

“-Based off what?-” Logan interrupted.

“The coordinates inside your plane. We do have teleporters here,” Ramsey said calmly.

“Betrayin’ your own goddamn kind,” Logan snarled.

“For all intents and purposes, you are not our kind. We live for and protect ourselves. And I cannot let you leave. ” he said stiffly.

“There are children at North Point,” Storm said, her voice breaking with emotion.

“There are children here,” Ramsey said.

“You have just sentenced a hundred innocent lives to death,” Storm hissed. 

“A necessary sacrifice,” Ramsey hissed back.

“And what are ya gonna do to keep us here? Hate to break to you, bub, but bullets don’t work on me,” Logan snarled.

“Yes, I know. But they do work on the women,” he replied, and Logan outwardly growled. There were six automatic rifles pointed at both Blink and Storm. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. 

It was then, he caught Blink’s eye, and Logan made the smallest of nods. 

“You forgot one thing, pal,” Logan snarled, grinning insidiously at Ramsey.

“And what is that, Wolverine?” he asked coldly.

“We got somethin’ better than a teleporter,” Logan barely had time to say, and then Blink had created a portal in the floor, all three of them dropping through, landing hard on the steel floor of the Blackbird as the portal snapped shut.

Storm was flying over to the control panel in an instant, groaning as soon as she saw it. 

“Goddamnit! They somehow managed to turn her completely off. It’s going to take a few minutes!” Storm shouted.

“Blink,” was all Logan had to say, and the young woman nodded, and suddenly he was outside of the jet again, near the mouth of the cavern, just as the guards barged through the door, and it started raining ammunition. Ramsey was nowhere in sight, but Logan surged forward anyway, claws extended, intent to do what he did best. 

Spleen. Liver. Spinal column. Heart. Heart. Head. Juglar. The blood sprayed as he barely felt the pain from the gunfire, and he suddenly realized why he had a comm in his ear. Charles had thought of everything, in no more than mere seconds since he had been tipped off.

“Blink! Get me back in there!” Logan shouted.

“We’re online!” Storm yelled, and then Logan practically fell through a portal back into the jet. Logan was on his feet in a second though, doused in the blood of his enemies even as he sheathed his claws. He whipped around to Blink, whose eyes were wide and who was shaking her head through tears.

“I know what you want, and I can’t. Not that big. Not that far,” she was murmuring over and over again, and Logan had to shout over her.  

“Today’s yer day, Clarice. Yer gonna set a fucking record. The Bird can’t get there in time, but you can get us there now.” 

“Logan, you’re asking too much of her,” Storm began, before gunfire reigned on the paneling.

“No I ain’t! Blink, I’ve seen you move fifty people at a time hundreds of miles away,” Logan was pleading with her, and as more guards fired on the jet, he added “Storm, shoot something at them!” 

“I can’t! It could compromise the structural integrity of the cavern! If they won’t open the doors for us, we’re stuck!” 

“Clarice-” Logan began, rounding on her again. The younger woman was shaking, crying, gripping the sides of her seat. 

“God fucking damn it, do it, Blink!” Logan was shouting as more gunfire pinged the sides of the jet and it shuddered violently. And that’s when Blink started screaming, as a giant, amorphous black and purple void opened up in front of the Blackbird, big enough for the jet to go through. Fucking hell. 

“Storm. Punch it!” Logan snarled. 

“Ten steps ahead of you. Sit the fuck down and strap yourself in unless you wanna fly through the windsheild!” she screamed.

“Go! Now! Go! I don’t know how long I can-” Blink was screaming at them, sweat pouring down her temple, tears streaming down her face. 

And they were hurling forward, through the void, and then the plane dropped hundreds of feet as Storm cursed. “Fuck! The tail wing took damage!” And she pulled the helm up before the plane rocketed forward, leveling out. 

“ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry ,” Blink was near hyperventilating, and Logan unstrapped himself in a second after the fall, leaning in front of the woman, looking at Blink directly in the eye, either of his bloody hands on hers.

“Listen kid, you did good. But we’re not done yet. You need to tell me. Did we make it to North Point?”

“Y-Yes,” Blink whispered, and as Logan turned aroudn quickly to peer out the front windsheild, he added, “Storm, can we do something about this fucking fog?!”

“It’s- it’s not fog,” Storm said through a constrained gasp, and then Logan took a whiff of the air, even as it was recycled through the cabin. No . Carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, nitrogen oxide. Fire. Rubble. Smoke. 

They were too late. 

“ Fuck!” he snarled. “Blink! Can you get me down there?” he asked the woman, turning back around to her. 

“Logan, it’s not safe!” Storm screamed from the cockpit.

“It is for me. There’s nothing down there that can kill me, and I can look for survivors.”

“A Sentinel can kill you, Logan,” Storm snapped. Logan fronwed, and took another sniff of the air. 

“Don’t smell the rust buckets anywhere. Still though, keep in constant contact with me, ok, Clairce? And ‘Ro? Circle the disaster zone. Make sure the sentinels are gone . And somebody get Charles back in communication! Ensure everyone’s not dead at headquarters, too.”

“Logan-” Storm said, throwing him a desperate look. Logan swallowed hard, and nodded.

“John. I know. I’ll look for him,” Logan muttered, and then a new portal was swirling in front of him, and he fought back an image of her pushing him through a different portal, only to be greeted by the scent of rubble, smoke, and blood.

--

His lungs immediately convulsed and protested as he inhaled the billowing smoke while his boots made contact with the debris and wreckage of North Point. Fresh blood was still dripping from his body from the fighting at the Citadel, but now he was also caked in a white soot, and he wiped his eyes to be able to see anything through the chaos. Instantly, he regretted it. His stomach lurched, as his eyes took in something he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Bodies, everywhere. Men, women, children. People, crushed. Blood, pooling. 

The water stained red. A private by the name of Bell shot through the neck, his best friend at the time. Waterlogged faces, bloated and white, floating in the low tide of Normandy beach. Empty, dead eyes. Gutted like fish.

Logan…

Logan!

“What?!” he snarled, and then was fully brought out of the memory by realizing who was speaking to him.

Jesus. Thank god, Charles. Please fucking tell me headquarters is in one piece.

Yes, it is. Listen, reinforcements are on the way, but you are our first responder. We need your help.

There ain’t nothin’ left here, Charles. Everyone’s dead. 

Use the gifts nature gave you, friend. Find them. Find their heartbeats. 

Charles-

But the presence in his mind was gone, and so, Logan did the only thing he knew how to do: he listened. Hard. Heartbeats, heartbeats. Breathing. Anything.

Suddenly, a groan, twenty yards ahead. Then Logan’s legs were forcing him forward, struggling to climb over debris and remains alike, only to find a middle aged man-- god, his name. Gavin, maybe?- struggling to breathe, a large concrete column crushing his legs and chest. 

“L-Logan?” he coughed, spitting up blood, as Logan crouched down by the man. 

“Hey bub. We’re gonna get you outta here, alright?” Logan muttered, trying to assess if the column was safe enough to move off him. 

Best friends being shot in the neck, the water stained red. Empty, dead eyes. Waterlogged.

Logan snarled as he shook the memory off again, and regained his focus.

“Alright. Gavin, right? Gonna move this now, get it off you. Sound ok?”

“Ok. Yeah. O-Ok,” he wheezed, and then Logan growled as he heaved what was easily over three hundred pounds off the man, and that’s when he started screaming. Collapsed lung. Shattered ribs, pelvic bone, femur. Bleedin’ internally. He wasn’t likely to make it. But Logan would be damned if he died in this god forsaken pit. 

“Blink!” was all Logan needed to shout into the comm, and then a portal was opening, and Logan was carefully picking him up, moving Gavin through the divide and laying him down on the floor of the jet. 

“Keep him steady,” Logan muttered, frantically stalking back through Blink’s portal. Listen, listen. He tried to breathe evenly, his own heart pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything over it.

He was getting an idea of what had been where now, and he climbed through the wreckage, further north, to where the control center was. He remembered the look in Storm’s eyes when she had asked him, and now Logan was afraid to find out the answer. 

He had it in moments. Everyone was dead in the control center, and one man with thick, brown hair had had his head bashed in by debris. Logan looked away suddenly, a wave of rare nausea overtaking him.

Soldiers being pushed into the ground, stepped over, people fleeing the trenches as poisonous gas flooded the camp. The rain was a torrential downpour, the mud, thick like peanut butter. 

Another private, Theodore, slowly bleedin’ out to death.

“You can make it, James. You always do. If you find her, tell Irene I loved her.”

Focus Logan, he heard Charles’ voice once more, and again Logan snarled, stumbling out of the control room, his voice hoarse as he was barely able to murmur “S-Storm-” into the comm.

“Yes?” her voice, shaky on the other end. For a moment, he said nothing, just breathing out, as he heard her gently begin to cry. He hung his head for a moment, wiping the grit out of his eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and, finally, he heard her choke out, “Just keep looking for others.”

Listen. Keep listening. 

There. A strong, steady heartbeat. Someone alive. Someone, maybe not even injured. 

Logan surged forward, down the wreckage of the former hallway, when it began to click.

Don’t die.

Not possible for either of us, kid. You know that. Take care, alright?

Something in Logan quaked as he stumbled forward, to the place he had spent enough nights in that sometimes he called it “home.” Now, it was plastic brutally warped, the smell of burnt flesh, and rubble. But, among it, the strong, steady heartbeat.

As he turned a corner, he found her there, a broken, small body in her arms. 

“Sable?” Logan’s voice wavered, as she quickly turned to him, angry tears streaming down her cheeks. She was holding little Ida’s hand, but the girl wasn’t breathing. The girl was dead. 

“ What are you doing here?!” she sobbed, snarling at him as he tried to take a step closer. He kept his hands in the air, showing he meant no harm, as he growled gently, trying to get her to understand.

“Baby-” he finally murmured in English, still stepping closer.

“ Don’t call me that,” she sobbed, bringing the body closer to her chest, stroking what was left of the girl’s white hair. 

“Logan! Logan! What did you bring me this time?” She smiled and twirled around the main room, jumping into his arms. He swung her around for a minute and then held her closer, breathing in the warm, natural scent of her hair, as Sable smiled, arms cooly crossed as she watched the two together from the other side of the room.

“Somebody special might’ve told me you have a thing for chocolate,” he said, as he easily sat her down on the folding chair by the card table. She smiled, her purple eyes alit with magic.

“Oh yes, I do! But only Hershey’s. Not Nestle,” she said seriously, as he instantly pulled a chocolate bar from his leather jacket pocket. Ida gasped, and flung herself at him again, a rare chuckle from Logan escaping his lips.

“I didn’t forget about ya, kid. How could I?” he said, kissing the crown of her head

Now, he tore his eyes away from the girl, staring down instead at his boots.

“You can’t stay here,” he said flatly.

“I’m not leaving my child,” she hissed,

“Sable, I need you to tell me what happened here,” he said, trying to regain his composure.

“Sable…” he tried again, but she was sobbing once more.

“She was the only thing I was living for,” Sable gasped, and Logan breathed out steadily, thinking carefully before answering.

“Yer gonna keep living. People like us...never die,” he said through a hoarse voice.

“ Shut up,” she hissed instantly, whipping her head to stare at him. Her eyes, her grief, her broken spirit, still beautiful. 

“Just… shut up. You’re lying, and you damn well know it. We can die,” she said, staring up at him once more, an eerie determination overtaking her features. “There’s a lake three miles away. It’ll do.”

“Sweetheart...” Logan’s voice shook, but she snarled out of grief once more, clutching Ida closer to her, moving away from him. 

“Go. Help the others,” she whispered. He only stared at her desperately for a few long moments, before giving in.

“Who’s alive?” he asked. 

“Four units down, I think I hear Diana. Rick,” she murmured. Logan sighed, and then shakily began to walk away from her. He hesitated, though, before leaving.

“Sable, I-” he began, but was cut off.

“Go,” she murmured. “And don’t ever come back.” 

--

It was quiet and hot inside the small conference room, stainless steel tables shoved together and lukewarm coffee on a pot in the back corner. Logan sat next to Storm, who hadn’t said more than five words since finding out about John, not that Logan had said much either. This was the official debrief, and nobody was looking forward to it. There were a handful of mutants in here, three that had been staying at headquarters at the time of the bombing, and now what was left of the X-Men: Logan, Storm, Blink, Charles and Erik. 

“Eighty three lives lost, eight severly injured,” Magneto had been saying.

“And Jean Paul. The rest of Alpha Flight?” one of the other mutants muttered.

“All dead,” Erik said solemnly.  Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and when he saw Storm’s hands shaking, he calmly placed his own heavy one on hers. To his surprise, she gripped it tightly, silent tears falling down her cheeks. 

Logan shot a look over to Blink, who was tearless, and stoically silent.

“Our resident healer, as well,” Charles said simply, and Logan gritted his teeth.

“And what about Antarctica?” Storm interrupted. “The base there?” 

“Infiltrated by US Armed Forces as soon as you left it. Of course the humans weren’t going to let them live. Cypher was a fool to think otherwise,” Magneto said cooly.

“Goddamnit,” Logan cursed under his breath.

“So another hundred and fifty innocent lives Cypher decided to gamble with lost at the Citadel,” Erik added. He paused momentarily, looking around the room, and then finally spoke again.

 “We have discussed it, and it’s time for us to leave Canada.”

“But Canada is our home,” Storm whispered, and Logan’s grip tightened around the woman’s hand.

“My dear, I know you have suffered great loss. But we were denied homes long before we set up base here. You know this,” Erik said. Logan shot a look to Charles, who had barely spoken, and Logan realized Charles refused to meet Logan’s eyes. 

“This is where I take my leave of you, then,” a voice to Logan’s right said quietly, and he realized quickly it was Blink who had spoken.

“Kid-” Logan began, but Magneto cut him off.

“Let her speak,” Erik said crisply. It was then, she turned, staring right at Logan.

“What you asked of me... I did. But no longer,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly.

“Where will you go?” Erik asked.

“I am not sure. Home, maybe. To China,” she murmured.

“Didn’t you hear what Magneto just said, kid? We ain’t got homes. And China’s even worse, you know that,” Logan protested, pulling his hand back from Storm, looking Blink dead in the eye.

“It’s where I am from,” Blink simply offered.

“But-”

“Logan,” Charles finally spoke, looking at the older mutant for the first time since the debrief began. “Let her go.”

Logan sighed hard, before looking up to Blink once more.

“I know asked too much from you, kid,” he said. It was the closest thing he could get to apologizing.

“And no one is a prisoner to our cause. Any of you, always, are free to leave at any time. And thank you, Clarice, for all you’ve done,” Magneto offered.

Blink only nodded at Erik, shot a look at Storm and Logan, before standing, nodding to them all, and showing herself out. Logan watched her go, realizing just what they were losing. There was a pause in the debrief, as each mutant looked at one another, before Erik spoke again.

“You three-” he said, looking at the other silent mutants.

“We plan to stay here at headquarters, try to radio in more mutants, look after those that are injured. We hope to become a safe haven for those who are wandering,” one of them said, and Erik nodded solemnly in response. 

“Logan, Ororo?” was all Charles had to ask, as the pair glanced at each other. Finally, Storm looked to Charles, her voice wavering as she spoke.

“I will follow you until the end, Professor,” she said, before glancing at Logan.

“We’re not goin’ anywhere, Charles,” Logan muttered, and Xavier nodded at them both.

“Rest, then. We leave at first light,” Charles said quietly.

Logan had already stood at this point, helping Storm to her feet, and the two of them quietly and tiredly left the conference room, walking down the long hall.

Finally, Storm spoke once more.

“Sable?” Storm asked quietly, looking up to Logan.

“Ida’s dead,” is all Logan could bring himself to say, because, simply, he didn’t know the rest.

Storm said nothing, although a dark, faraway look had settled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, ‘Ro. About John,” Logan finally muttered, just as they reached Storm’s room. It was then, she turned to him, eyes now tearless, a solemn, bitter look engraved on her every feature. 

“You know what the worst part of it all is?” she whispered bitterly, looking at Logan blankly. “We’ve been hiding in the dark like rats for so long, I’d grown used to it. I...I almost thought I could make a new life. That I could be happy,” she murmured, and it was all Logan could do but look at her helplessly.

“‘Ro-” he began.

“Goodnight, Logan,” she muttered, silently moving into her room, and shutting the door abruptly behind her. He breathed out steadily, simply standing there for a moment, still.

To die. To sleep. 

Always, folks seein’ death for what it wasn’t instead of what it was; commonplace.

Another life, sugar. A better one. 

“...Goodnight,” he muttered to the steel door, before stalking off down the long, empty hall, once more alone.