Disclaimer: Marvel owns them. I just have my wicked way with them. :)
Warnings: Explicit sexual content and some violence.
Jean didn't care where she was going. Her chest was tight with anger and sadness, clenching so tightly that she had to gasp for breath. 'Why the hell does Logan have to be so stubborn? Doesn't he realize that if he doesn't remember, he might never wake up?' she thought furiously.
No matter how infuriated she was with him, the thought of never being able to talk to him again made her heart ache. She slowed down when hot tears of frustration blinded her. The forest blurred and she stopped, pressing her palms against her eyes. The whole situation made her head hurt. Arguing with Logan could be like arguing with a brick wall. She had to find some way of convincing him. . .
Jean reacted instinctively when a hand grabbed her arm, bringing her elbow back hard. She connected solidly, but the hand didn't let go. It tightened its grip and spun her around, and she found herself pressed against Logan, his arms wrapped tightly around her. "Let me go!" she shouted, trying to twist away from him
She struggled, but Logan was too quick for her and he caught her other arm, pinning both to her sides. "Jean, stop. . . "
"Logan, let me go!" she repeated, fighting his grip.
"Hold still," he said sharply and Jean stopped, glaring up at him.
"What do you want, Logan? If you aren't going to try, there is no need for me to be here. I don't know why I bothered in the first place."
*Jean, remember that you're dealing with both parts of Logan's mind. The part that is frightened is going to come to the fore.*
Jean jumped in surprise. *Professor. . . you've been listening in?*
*Only since I sensed you becoming angry.*
Logan looked more hurt and vulnerable than she had ever seen him, and she felt like a complete ass. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Logan, don't apologize. I shouldn't have gotten so upset at you," she said softly. "I just couldn't. . . I couldn't deal with the thought of losing you, too."
Logan wiped the tears from her cheeks and gave her a weak smile. "I wanna try, Jeannie."
Jean smoothed his dark hair back and kissed him on his cheek. She let her arms slip around his waist when he pulled her mouth to his and began kissing her passionately. "I don't know if I can do this," he whispered between kisses, cupping her head in his huge hands.
"I'll be with you, Logan," Jean said.
"I'll need your strength. . . "
Jean looked him in the eyes. "You'll have everything you need."
He kissed her again, a long, lingering kiss that made her heart pound. "I'm ready," he said resolutely.
*Be careful, Jean. We'll be monitoring the both of you.*
*I will, Professor.*
And she was suddenly inside of his body, looking through his eyes, feeling what he was feeling. A lab. . . he was in some sort of laboratory. The lighting was an evil red color, casting devilish shadows around the room. When he tried to sit up, he realized that he was tied to a metal table. He tugged at the metal cuffs around his wrists, but they wouldn't give. "Dammit," he muttered.
His sides ached, as if someone had kicked him in the ribs a few times. He vaguely remembered a couple of men surprising him out at his cabin. They'd beaten the shit out of him and. . . everything was fuzzy after that. He must have gotten knocked out.
He lifted his head to get a better look at the room and noticed that someone had drawn all over him. Black lines traced every bone in his body, and his apprehension and irritation began to give way to fear. What the hell was this place?
A brilliant white spotlight clicked on and he clamped his eyes shut. Blue afterimages played on the back of his lids for a few seconds, and he squinted his eyes open. A man (at least, he thought it was a man) in a contamination suit hovered over him with a nasty-looking syringe. The masked person wrapped an elastic band around his bicep and thumped the veins in his right arm. "Who the hell are you?" he growled, but his captor didn't reply.
The needle was jammed into his arm and he cursed in pain. The blood in his veins ran icy cold, slowly spreading over his whole body. Another person walked up and set to work at a small bench. He could hear the clatter of metal, but his brain was growing hazy, as if he were walking through a thick fog and couldn't see farther than a few feet in front of his face. He felt like going to sleep, just dozing off. . .
Cutting. . . biting pain. . . Something was wrong with his head. He couldn't think clearly, or even remember who or where he was. Another prick of pain in his left arm. . . he forced his eyes open and immediately wished that he'd kept them closed. The whole scene was surreal, like something out of an acid flashback. Thin plastic tubes protruded from his skin. They were scattered over his entire body, down both arms and legs, across his ribs and collarbone. . . he could even feel them on his scalp.
"We'll put the tubes on his back once we get him into the tank. Start inserting the ad. . . "
Blackness closed in on him again.
Coming to consciousness felt like swimming through murky red water. He could hear voices around him, but couldn't make out what was being said. Pain dominated his thoughts. His whole body felt as if it were on fire. Flashes of light came to his eyes. . . he could make out the figure of a man standing beside his torture-bed. "Well, let's see how he fares," the man said, his voice distorted.
"Dammit, Professor, this had better work. He'd better not die on us. A lot of money went into this project. . . " another man's voice faded out for a moment.
"It will work, Hines. Mr. Logan is a tough one."
The pain was excruciating, so much so that he nearly blacked out again. He wouldn't let himself, though. He had to stay alert and find a way out of this place.
"Doctor, the anesthetic doesn't seem to be working. Should I administer another dose?"
"Double it. His metabolism must be higher than normal."
A masked person was back with another huge syringe. He clenched his teeth when the needle pierced the skin of his arm. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stay awake this time. Whatever drug was in that syringe was seriously powerful.
". . . strange bone structure. . . "
". . . forearms. . . "
". . . can't bond the adamantium. . . "
". . . surgically. . . "
He was being moved, but he couldn't fight it. His body just wouldn't obey his brain. He could feel himself staring up; he knew his eyes were open, but he couldn't see anything.
". . . awake. . . "
". . . mask on him. I want him out. . . "
Someone forced his mouth open and slid a tube down his throat. His body was so limp that he couldn't even gag. Cold, metallic air was pumped into his lungs and his mind shut down.
Faint sensations broke through the haze. . . he was underwater? No, it didn't feel like water. This liquid made his skin tingle in a way that water never had. Water. . . his eyes shot open and he tried to sit up, fear of drowning taking over his thought processes.
". . . more anesthetic. . . " the voices were garbled now.
His lungs filled with metallic air again and he blacked out.
/painpainpainohmygodithurts/
Something was going into him, oozing into every pore. He opened his eyes and realized that he was still submersed in the liquid, only this time it was burning his skin. His eyes stung, but he couldn't shut them. Needles stuck out of the tubes in his skin, and they were melting, disappearing into his body. He tried to scream, but the tube choked him. He gratefully passed out again.
The next time he was able to open his eyes, the needles were gone, making him wonder if it had all been a nightmare. No, he was still under water with the breathing tube in his throat. Why was he still here? Movement caught his eye and he watched a distorted figure move beside his tank. A hand holding something metallic dipped into the liquid. With horror, he realized that the hand held a scalpel. He wanted to shout that he wasn't numb, to stop hurting him, to die and go to hell, but the tube choked him again. All he could do was watch as the scalpel sliced into his forearm, laying the skin open.
Metal melting in his arms. . . memories gone or distorted. . . screaming underwater. . . blood running from his hands. . . clinking glasses. . .
*JEAN!*
Jean came awake with a scream, falling out of her chair and onto the floor. Someone knelt beside her and pushed a wastebasket into her hands. She coughed for a second, then threw up violently. Her companion held her hair back and rubbed her shoulder until the heaves finally passed.
"Are ya all right?"
Jean looked up to see Dr. Millar kneeling beside her, holding a washcloth. Professor Xavier was right behind the doctor, and they both looked terrified. "I'm fine," Jean tried to croak, but her throat was raw from vomiting.
Dr. Millar quickly retrieved a glass of water from a counter and handed it to Jean. The cool liquid was like nectar, soothing her tortured throat. She swished some around in her mouth and spit it into the trash can. "I'll get rid of this," Autumn said, wrinkling her nose.
She disappeared into the bathroom and Jean weakly pulled herself back into her chair. "What happened?" she asked, holding the wet cloth to her forehead.
Charles rolled his chair beside hers. "Your heart rate was dangerously high and your blood pressure was spiking. I had to pull you out before you had a stroke," he paused and stared at her intently. "What did you see in there, Jean?"
Jean shuddered at the memory. "I. . . I went into his body. . . " she tried to find the words to describe the horrible scene. "I felt the adamantium leeching onto his bones. They were cutting into my. . . his forearms when you pulled me out."
Professor Xavier swallowed hard, his brow deeply furrowed. "I don't think you should go back in today, Jean."
She was about to agree when something twinged in her mind. *Jean?*
"I have to, Professor."
"Jean, I can't allow that. You might be seriously injured. . . "
*Jeannie, where are you?*
Jean nearly cried. "No, I have to. He's calling me."
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