The Deal

Charles and I sat across from each other, the light of his desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his face. "It was without a doubt a psychic attack, with some kind of unknown adapted weaponry," he told me. "Otherwise, as you know, Logan would've recovered by now. Physically, there's nothing wrong with him. He's healed. Mentally..." Charles' mouth turned down in a scowl. "Mentally, he has been unresponsive. Whoever planned this attack knew who to target, and how. It was only the fact that you surprised them with the Phoenix force that enabled us to prevail." "And Logan?" I pressed. "Is he...will he...?" "I can't say anything for certain right now, Jean," Xavier sighed. "But you've been working on him for hours Charles," I said, my head in my hands. "Why hasn't there been any progress made?" "Don't give up hope, Jean," Charles said to me tenderly. "That's something I wanted to talk with you about. But first... well, I wasn't sure whether or not to tell you, I didn't want to risk upsetting you in your fragile state." "It's a little too late for that," I said, my eyes red. I'd been crying for the past hour as Logan had lain motionless, completely unresponsive in the MedLab. He didn't even have basic reflexes, according to Hank. He and Charles were putting on a brave face, but I was no fool when it came to Logan's condition. At best, he was trapped in a psychic coma. At worst, he was brain dead. The thought made a sob catch in my throat again and the Professor put an arm on my shoulder. "You're sure, this isn't too much... we could do this another time," he said softly. "No!" I interjected quickly, wiping away my tears. I was done hiding from anything, ever again. "Tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me." Professor Xavier gave me a slightly worried expression, and then drew what seemed to be a metal kit out from his desk drawer. It was slightly smaller than a briefcase, made of seamless metal. "We found this on one of the bodies of the attackers," he said gravely, and with a click and a hiss the kit opened. I stared in horror inside. It didn't take all my medical training to tell me it was full of surgical instruments and glass vials. "My god," I said, hands flying protectively to my stomach. "I'm afraid this is what I warned you and Logan of, Jean. I believe they were here to extract the fetuses and either harvest the stem cells or attempt an effort at cloning." "Those bastards," I hissed, and for a moment I felt the licks of flame grazing my mind. Charles gave a deep sigh. "I know how disturbing it is, but at the same time, we did defeat the enemy. And we are all still here." "Except Logan," I said bitterly. "Yes," Charles said, and now his tone was someone lighter. It piqued my curiosity. But I wasn't quite ready for the word hope. "That, Jean," he said, leaning forward, "Is what I wanted to talk to you about. I believe the reason my efforts at psychic rehabilitation have not been working with Logan is because it's not me he wants." "What?" I asked Charles, eyes questioning. "What does that even mean?" "He won't let me in," Charles said, giving me a small smile. "And I mean that quite literally. If you're feeling well enough, I'd like you to come join me in the MedLab. You can see for yourself." "Yes-I," I started, and now hope had begun to creep in. Perhaps all wasn't lost. If there was anything I could do to save Logan...to save the man I loved, then I would do it, no questions asked. I knew he would do the same for me without hesitation. Hank turned his head and greeted us as we walked through the door. I saw that a chair had already been prepared at Logan's bedside. Logan was lying utterly still, expression blank, chest rising and falling at regular intervals, a neural inhibitor hovering over his head, keeping him in a sort of mental stasis. "You may remove the device, Hank," Charles said calmly. "If I am correct, with Jean at the helm we may have found the key we are looking for." Hank glanced at me with a worried expression. "Jean, are you sure you feel ready for this?" he asked. "Absolutely," I said, leaving no trace of doubt in my voice. "It'll be worse if I don't try, trust me. And turning into Phoenix may be bad for the enemy's health, but it certainly was good for mine. I don't feel as sick anymore." "Very well then Jean, if you insist," Hank acquiesced, still with a hint of uncertainty in his tone. The two men moved back to give me space, as I sat down at the head of Logan's bed. Carefully, I laced my fingers through his dark black hair until my fingertips were in contact with his temples. Being this near him, feeling his warm skin, his smell, it was hard to believe that according to the EEGs Logan was barely alive. I flat out refused to believe it. Logan was a fighter. He wasn't going to leave me and he certainly wasn't going to leave his future children. I knew he was in there. Time to go to work, I thought to myself. Just your average everyday psychic 9-5. I was joking with myself, trying to psych myself up. I'd seen glimpses of Logan's subconscious before, and saying they weren't too nice would be quite an understatement. I had to be prepared for anything, really. I took several deep breaths and then I let my eyes slide slowly closed. Before me was the blackness of a movie screen, the darkness before the show. Like flexing a muscle, I accessed my telepathic power. Gradually, the real world dissolved around me. I could see it melting away, streaking down like watercolors, bright and confused. Sounds and voices whipped by, swirled around me. Sensations brushed across my hands, face. And then there was silence. I was in. When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the MedLab. I was in a very different place. I was outside, and I could feel the warm sun shining against my hair and skin, the balmy breeze of a spring day. There was an azure blue sky overhead and patches of white cumulous clouds floating lazily along. I could hardly believe this was Logan's head. Was this some kind of mistake? I'd been around Logan enough to know the different parts of his mind, but this was something I'd never seen before. Perhaps, I thought, the psychic attack had pushed him so deeply into his own mind that all the usual Weapon X defenses had been broken away, temporarily subterfuged. Could this be what was underneath? I looked around in wonderment. It looked like I'd stepped into a landscape painting. Grass fields rolled lushly around me, the air fresh and clear. Taking a breath, I took my first look around. Almost immediately a wooden gate appeared and lay barring my path. It had materialized quite suddenly, but it seemed as real, solid, as the ground under my feet. Cautiously, I approached it. Hesitantly, I took hold of the steel knocker and tapped at the wood. "Stop! Halt! Who goes there, state your name and intentions!" a voice cried. It sounded like the scared voice of a child. I paused a minute and smiled. I had been prepared for the nightmare-esque landscape of a Bosch, fringed with violence and death, with red fury and the bloodstains of comrades and dead lover past. A child? This, I was completely unprepared for. "It's me, it's Jean Gray," I said softly, so as not to scare whoever was on the other side of the gate. There was a short pause, and then I heard a metal lock being thrown and then a loud creak as the gate swung outwards, revealing a boy of not more than nine. He was very thin and frail looking, and obviously very nervous at my presence. He had an innocent, impish sort of look on his face, and a shock of dark black hair that had been neatly parted in two and combed down flat. "Hello, misses," he said congenially, looking nervously around. "Hello," I replied, dumbfounded. What struck me as odd about him was the clothing-he was wearing what I believed to be Victorian-era garments-breeches and a shortcoat, and shiny leather shoes. It was literally the last thing I'd ever expected to see. I realized I was staring blatantly and I quickly looked away. The boy didn't seem to notice, or care. "Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. I just got somewhat frightened when that old man in the rolling contraption came calling. Mum told me never to let strangers in." "Rolling contraption... Xavier?" I said to myself, smiling. I was only half-listening at this point, the rest of me enthralled by this boy. Everything about him was totally unrecognizable-his smooth face, his thin limbs, the tone and lilt of his speech-but at the same time, I felt I knew him. And when he looked at me... that look....those eyes...it was exactly the same glance I'd seen thrown my way a thousand times. I would have recognized it anywhere. "Oh...Logan?" I whispered softly in awe and disbelief as the boy eagerly grabbed onto my hand and began tugging me along through the gate and into a large, idyllic pasture. When I said the name out loud the boy stopped in his tracks. He looked at me with a fearful expression in those unmistakable eyes. "Mister Logan, ma'am? Are you speaking of him?" he asked, with a little quaver in his voice. "Why? Have you seen him about? He's supposed to be tending the stables, and my Grandfather will see he gets the whipping of a lifetime if he-" "Shh, no, I'm sorry," I said quickly to the boy, kneeling down, sorry to have upset him. "I didn't see anyone. I just...mistook you for someone else. What's your name?" "My name, ma'am?" the boy repeated, giggling as if I'd asked the funniest question in the world. "Why it's me, James Howlett! You know me, don't you? This is my papa's estate, and you're related to Rose, aren't you? She told me to be expecting you soon." "Rose?" I repeated curiously. "Yes, let's hurry down to the main house and I'll have a maid fetch her! She'll be ever so pleased to see you. If you don't mind me taking the liberty, you're a spitting image of her! Just like she said!" Despite the strange name and unusual circumstances, I was almost certain by now that this was Logan. The more he talked, the more he moved, the more I could see it in him. Traces of the man the boy would become, though faint, were visible. From what I could gather at this point, I had somehow inexplicably ended up in Logan's childhood, interacting with memories and personas that he, as an adult, may never even have been privy to. "You shall come in and meet papa before I show you to Rose's quarters, and then perhaps later you could see the new hoop I got for Christmas...oh it's so fun, Rose and I enjoy a run or two around the garden with it every evening..." As Logan...or James, I supposed, rambled on and on, I began to smile. Well, he certainly wasn't born the strong silent type I thought to myself as the young boy skipped by my side, chattering away a mile a minute. I know it sounded odd, but the closer I'd gotten to Logan lately the more this boy seemed to make sense to me. Under all the rough exterior, there was an impish side to Logan, eager for acceptance, interested in engaging and winning praise. It had just been so dented, so bent and twisted and rusted that it was now almost completely unrecognizable. In an instant I felt sad. I loved Logan the way he was, I wouldn't change him, but it was the first time I realized the depths of atrocities that had been committed against him. Turn a man into a weapon. That's what they'd tried to do. They'd made their weapon, and the in the process, they'd destroyed quite a bit of a beautiful man as well. "Miss, miss, are you listening miss?" James piped up. "Yes," I said quickly, glancing down at the smiling young face. It was odd how he looked at me with those familiar blue eyes. I realized it was because I rarely saw that same look from Logan now. It was unguarded, unbridled affection. It made me feel warm inside, made me feel special somehow. As we drew closer to the mansion, I could see the warm glow of candlelight inside. It took me a moment to realize that the sky had been growing darker and darker, and now the sun hung, a glowing ball on the horizon. I then I sensed a presence before I even heard the voice. "Where do ya think you're going at this time o' night, eh, Master James?" a voice called suddenly from the darkness. I literally jumped, a shiver crawling up my spine. It was Logan's voice. The Logan I knew. I turned and I saw... "Master Logan!" James squeaked, gripping my hand harder. "Good...good evening to you. I'm afraid you startled me somewhat!" The man gave a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. There, emerging from a clearing, stood a short man, bristling dark hair and a mean glint in his eye. He looked a lot like Logan, but different too. He had the same hair, the same wild, dark hair that swept itself back, and he had the voice. But the face...the face was slightly different, the eyes colder. There was no mistaking it, though. The resemblance ran through and through. "Is that your father?" I whispered to James. He looked up at me with a confused expression. "Of course, not," he replied, somewhat indignantly. "That's the gardener, Thomas Logan. He's hired help. My papa's John Howlett." "Oh," I said, trying to comprehend this piece of information, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together as it was happening. I knew one thing for certain, and it was that this man most certainly was Logan's father. That, or I was witnessing one of the biggest genetic coincidences in history. And if James was unaware that the man he referred to as 'hired help,' was his father, well that probably meant... Hmm, I thought. Perhaps forbidden romance ran in the family? "Ain't it past your bedtime, young Master James?" came the rough voice, and I couldn't help the chill that fell over me when I heard that voice. It was so like Logan's, but different, and it scared me somehow. It held none of the warmth that Logan's did, only a blackness. Every sense I owned told me that this was not a good man. This was a man capable of great cruelty, and everything, down to his body language and the fear he inspired in the child next to me confirmed it. "Well, aintcha got somewhere to be? Soft John's gonna come lookin' for ya, be off before I get the blame, eh?" For some reason I couldn't stop staring at Thomas Logan's hands, like any second I expected him to sprout bone claws and run us both through. I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. "Yes Mister Logan," James piped up. "I was just now going in. Good evening to you then," James called, pulling my hand harder and rushing me along. It took me a moment to realize that Thomas Logan hadn't said a word about me, and then another moment to realize that he probably couldn't even see me. It was possible that James was the only one who could. That was often the case in psychic encounters, especially in memories. As we opened the wide, solid oak doors to the estate, my eyes adjusted to the light inside. There was a candelabra hanging above, an expensive looking rug spread across the finished floor, and a cross looking woman standing at the door in a tightly corseted full-length dressing gown. "You're late for supper James. Where have you been running about this time?" The woman had dark black hair and Logan's icy blue eyes. She was statuesque, and she would have been beautiful, only there was something about her that seemed wary and drawn, like a tightened bowstring. "Nowhere mama," I heard James's voice plead. "I simply wanted to get a taste of air while my allergies were gone. They're better in the evening, like papa said, and I do so miss being outside." Without a word, just a sharp look down at her son, the woman took James curtly by the other hand and led him into another room. I followed. The second we passed the doorway, I smelled the delicious rich aroma of roasting turkey, squash, and corn. It smelled delicious. My stomach rumbled. I'd never gotten hungry during a psychic vision before, but hey, I guess there was a first time for everything. We were in a large, lavishly furnished dining room, with the table seeming to stretch out for miles. I was paying less attention to the scenery than to the intricately prepared dishes being lavished on the tablecloth by the house servants. Succulent roast birds, with seasonings and elaborate garnishes. Puddings and pies and saucers full of rich gravy. Then, through my distraction, something made me look up. I saw her, sitting at one end of the table, looking straight at me. Looking me straight in the eye as if she'd been patiently waiting for my attention. My breath caught in my throat. "Rose! Rose!" James cried, and letting go of my hand, he ran towards her with a smile. She remained seated. "Jean, I see ye have arrived at last," Rose said quietly, her voice laced with a thick Irish lilt. She was perfectly calm, composed, clothed in a simple white dress with high a collar. My whole body startled when I heard her say my name. "What?" I asked in disbelief. It was hard enough to believe that she could see me, never mind that she'd been expecting my presence. "Waiting for me?" "Don't be afraid. Ye don't recognize me then?" the girl questioned softly. James had been right; she did bear a striking resemblance to me, or at least me ten years ago. Her eyes were bright green and her face was round and full of youth, but the light in her eyes somehow looked much older. "How...how could I know you?" I asked hesitantly. "I'm not exactly sure where this is, but...this is sometime in the nineteenth century...isn't it? I live in the 21st. You're dead by now." I didn't mean for the last part to sound so harsh, yet the girl didn't seem to mind. "Aye, 'tis true," Rose said, and she laughed, a melodic sound. "I know it sounds a wee bit silly, I just thought ye might remember..." She trailed off, her full lips curved in a half smile. "Remember what?" I asked breathlessly. Now I was completely lost, unsure who I was or where I was, just that somehow Logan's memory was speaking to me from beyond the grave. Before Rose could answer, the lights flickered and dimmed like a broken movie projector. James ran up beside me and I clutched him close, afraid. "Miss Grey, protect me," he gasped, burying his face in my shoulder. "It's all right Logan...I mean James," I said in panic, pressing him to me, feeling the adrenaline run through my veins. "I won't let you go, I promise, we'll be..." "....all right." The moment I said the words, the world once again dissolved around me. Images, like slideshows, began circling me, and I saw it all. Logan's history. I saw the tragedy at the manor, saw Logan slip to his knees as his claws emerged, bony spikes, ripping from his hands as he stared in horror. It was like being in a tornado, seeing everything at once but nothing in detail. And then, suddenly, it stopped. I looked around cautiously. There was a very familiar smell here. Fresh hay. And dung. And an earthy odor, like cows. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to dim light. Yes, I was in a barn. There, in front of me, were James and Rose. It was cold-winter-and the two of them were bundled up on a hay bale. James was resting with his head against Rose's breast, and for a moment it reminded me of my moment in the MedLab, holding Logan. James' eyes were wet with tears, but his expression was blank. Rose was stroking his hair, whispering to him. "It's all right James, it's over," she soothed. "Ye'll soon know nothin' o this pain. Just rest James, we'll be all right." And then, my eyes widened. As she stroked James's hair, I saw a familiar light building in her eyes. "Oh my god," I said, softly out loud. I knew the light because I'd seen it in my own eyes. It was my power. I opened my mind and then I could feel it, not just see it. See her drawing the memories out of his mind as she sang to him, plucking them out with her delicate fingers. I wasn't even sure if she was consciously aware what she was doing, just that she was trying to soothe his hurt and this was instinctually all she knew. "Hush now James, don't ye cry," Rose's voice lilted, her hand pressed against the skin of his face, drawing memories out, letting them fly away like sheets of airy gauze, her eyes flashing with unseen light. "All this time he thought it was Weapon X," I breathed, "All this time..." "I-I can't-I can't remember, what happened, Rose?" James asked, looking up into the redhead's face, suddenly confused. "Shhh...ye just be quiet now, you've had a terrible shock, " Rose said, as the light faded and her telepathy retreated. "You're in his mind! You're a telepath! You don't just look like me, do you? It's more than that," I said out loud, perhaps a little louder than I meant to, and those green eyes instantly flickered away from James and looked at me. "So ye do remember?" She asked me. "Remember WHAT?" I cried, scared and frustrated. It was the first time I'd ever felt so personally confounded in a psychic encounter. I'd expected this to be about Logan, not me, and I had been completely thrown. "Then let me show ye, Jean my girl," Rose said gently. Come close," she beckoned. I stepped towards her cautiously. There was something about her that scared the hell out of me-she appeared to be so soft, delicate. And yet, I felt as if that was nothing more than a well-painted shell, and underneath... I leaned closer to her, kneeling against the hay bale, and her cool hand reached out to lightly touch my face. I felt a jolt inside my mind as soon as our skin touched. FLASH I was a little girl, playing in the living room. My mother and father were sitting on the sofa. My mother was pasting photos into an album. My mother looked at my father. "This was back in the day of daguerreotypes," she commented, and my father gave an interested, "Humph." Then I felt strong hands hoisting me up. It was my father, pulling me onto his lap. "Look at this one Jean bean," he said. "You know how old that is? That's way back before they even had cars. They had coaches and carriages then." "Really daddy?" I asked. "Is that when you were little?" My father laughed and stole a look at my mother. Curling up in my father's lap my eyes glanced over the cardboard pages of the photo album. There were people on farmlands, people with hard expressions on their faces. "That's the old country, that's where your great grandma game from honey," my mother pointed out, stirring the paste. My eyes scanned the photos, fingers feeling along the sharp edge of the page. And then, I saw a face that I now recognized. She was standing in front of a large family, younger than I saw her now. Rose. FLASH "We're related," I said breathlessly to Rose. "You're part of my family. Genetically...we're alike." Rose nodded, as if I'd been a bit slow on the uptake from the start. She still had her hand pressed against my face. "'Tis true, " she said, "But blood isn't our only tie Jean, nor the strongest." "What do you mean?" I asked. In answer to my question she stood from the hay bale, and as she did the flames rippled up her back, spreading down her arms, and her hair was suddenly bright like a million fireflies, brilliant, flowing. "AND DO YOU RECOGNIZE ME?" Of course I did. There was no mistaking it in a million years. The puzzle began to come together in my mind, the senseless pieces merging to form a picture. It was the Phoenix. There was the part of me I dreaded, caged, all the passion and power. It was here, speaking to me. I had become it many times, but I had never faced a host, and it was actually quite beautiful to behold. "THE PHOENIX IS IMMORTAL," Rose said, only she wasn't Rose at all anymore. "I HAVE TRAVELLED DOWN YOUR LINEAGE FOR AGES. I WAS HERE LONG BEFORE TIME AND I WILL BE HERE LONG AFTER THE WORLD AS YOU KNOW IT HAS GONE." "Phoenix," I addressed it, and it almost felt like speaking to a God. Even from this distance, I felt affected by its psychic energy, its raw and surging power. "You are part of me today," I said, "But why are you here in this time? This is from a time long before I existed, so what is your purpose in showing me this? And why Logan?" The Phoenix force laughed at me as if I were a simple child, and it was the sound of a thousand church bells, a sea of crashing symbols. It filled me with terror and joy all at once "JEAN," it said, "ROSE'S TIME PASSED. BUT NOW IT IS YOUR TURN. I HAVE PROTECTED THE ONE YOU CALL LOGAN, BECAUSE HE WAS NEEDED IN THIS TAPESTRY. I PROTECTED HIM THEN, AND I PROTECTED HIM NOW." "I don't understand," I said helplessly. It was all a little much to take in. "IT IS ALL THE STRANDS, JEAN, WEAVING TOGETHER TO FORM THE WHOLE. FEEL IT JEAN. KNOW IT," the force whispered, and suddenly I began to feel a growing warmth in the pit of my stomach. I felt something moving inside me, stirring, and with something between wonder and horror I looked down and realized my belly was aglow, almost translucent, like wax and candlelight. The twins. The pregnancy. The Phoenix force was such a powerful and destructive entity, it could only become a symbiote with the most powerful psychics on earth. Apparently, my family was an excellent source of hosts. And apparently, I thought, looking at the unearthly glow coming from inside me, that trend was about to continue. "You really are here? This isn't just Logan's memory, I mean...I am speaking with the force?" "YES," it replied. "I LIVE WITHIN YOU. AND NOW HE LIVES WITHIN YOU AS WELL." "I...I think I understand," I said, my head spinning. "Part of it, at least." "I WILL PROTECT MY LINEAGE," the force continued. "AND I HAVE REPAIRED THE DAMAGE DONE TO THIS ONE," it said, gesturing to James, who appeared to be slumbering against the hay. And then it was gone. Slowly the fire died out, the psychic presence in the room vanished, and there was Rose, sitting on the hay bale again in a white cotton shift. "I've done what I can do Jean," she said in her soft lilt. "Take James. Take him back to life, take him back where he belongs." I looked over to the form next to Rose. James was silent. He appeared to be in a deep sleep. "Thank you," I whispered to Rose. "Thank you for everything." She smiled again. And then she disappeared. I walked over to James, on the hay bale. His eyes were closed tightly, his head shifting to the left and right. "Wake up, Logan," I whispered to him. "It's all right now. It's time. Come home. Wake up." Slowly, the child's eyelids opened, and I was gazing into the eyes of... ...Wolverine. I was in the MedLab again. Everything around me was concrete, real. There was not trace of where I'd just come form, what I'd just seen. Logan looked around to the left and right, noticing the neural inhibitor and peeling off the monitor tags from his skin. "Shit Jeannie...how long was I out for? You okay? What about the kids?" I couldn't even respond right away, I was too shell-shocked. Logan, on the other hand, sat up from the medical table and looked around. "Jesus, I'm starvin'. I felt like I haven't had anything to eat for a week," he said, before turning back to me. "Hey...Red," he said softly. I glanced up at him. He must've seen the troubled look in my eyes. "Are you okay baby?" He asked, taking my face in his rough hands. "What happened? You saved me, didn't ya?" Oh god. How could I even begin to answer that? "Kind of," I said uncertainly. "Well, you can tell me all about it later n' bed," Logan said, cocking an eyebrow at me and giving me a lascivious look. I almost laughed. "You know, you just emerged from a psychic coma Logan, maybe you better take it easy for a little while," I said with a smile. "Nah, I just need a beer an' I'll be fine," Logan replied, grinning at me. I leaned forward and kissed him, feeling his lips slide against mine, stubble scratching my cheek, hand stroking my hair. We broke apart, and he studied my face for a second, giving me a quizzical look. "You're so pale darlin'. If I was the one crawlin' on death's doorstep and you were the one rescuin' me, why's it look like you who's been seein' ghosts?" Logan asked me. "You wouldn't even believe me if I told you, Logan," I said with a deep breath. "Ah Jeannie," he said, nuzzling his head into my neck. "I believe everythin' you tell me. I been a fool for ya since the first day I saw your face." I pressed my face against his shoulder, breathing in his smell, feeling his soft hair brushing my cheek. "I know, Logan," I said softly. "I know."