Pale Horse

by John Duffin

Feed.
Impeded.
Feed.
Impeded.
Feed back-up channel.
Balance coming.
Feed.
Steady.
Cardiotach, Miss Hines?
Rising rapidly, sir.
Feed.
Steady.
Equalize.
I thought I'd prepared for everything, Professor-- but who could foresee this?
Feed. Feed.
Steady.
Feed.
It seems that Logan's highly accelerated heart-rate is draining the adamantium reservoir at a rate of... Hines?
Fifty-three in one, sir. The rate should be twenty-four in one.
I couldn't program for that, Professor... actually, it really doesn't seem credible.
Didn't you say that Logan was hurt last night?
Yes.
Then... where are his wounds?
Hines? Do you have readings?
I have a trace but no show-- an hour ago he had a dislocated jaw... cuts, abrasions-- Feed. --now there's nothing.
Maintain.
On the board there's a definite linear equation between the phenomenon and the intense cardio-activity.
Feed.
Steady.
Hines... readings.
Channel's sufficient, doctor, but there's an excess drain at... um.
Wait... at the flexor brevis-- minima digiti section.
Plain language please, Miss Hines.
Hand and wrist, sir. Sorry.*



* This section is excerpted from Barry Windsor-Smith's excellent Weapon X story that originally ran in Marvel Comics Presents 72-84.

******

Is he ready?

Of course. There were some unforeseen problems, however. How do you expect me to function without all of the information?

You had all of the information that was necessary.

Hear me out. Logan obviously has an enhanced ability to regenerate lost or damaged tissue. He's a mutant. You didn't think that this was necessary information?

He could not have survived the operation without that ability. A mere human would have perished.

And he's violent! My God, is he ever violent! And not the controlled violence that you need, either. He's an animal, completely out of control.

I will supply the control.

What should I do about Hines and Cornelius? They have seen the full range of his abilities.

They are not your concern.

Look, I think that I have been very cooperative and helpful to you. What have I done to merit this treatment?

Be grateful that I chose you for this task, and be silent. The dead wood will soon be cut away.

I knew it! Ha. Er... when will you be arriving?

Within the hour. Hold him.

*****

The dusty plain spins slowly on the surface of the planetoid, forever facing its immense and colourful patron. The plain's smoothness is broken by the scars of a million cataclysmic impacts-- the legacy of a deadly rain from the sky.

This many-featured plain, expressionless in its predictable variety, comes anon to the heels of a creature whose mammalian lungs draw oxygen from an atmosphere that is maintained by technological wizardry unknown on the barbaric orb below.

The design is not his own, but the creature could have reproduced it from memory in a matter of hours. No mean spectator, he. The pale pink-tan flesh has become lightly coated with grey in the ceaseless winds that blow here. The dust of meteors covers him, that could trace the history of those flecks of dust, and even identify the meteors and comets that spawned each one.

His mind is not on such trivia, however. The dust has blanketed him, all unmoving, because of his ceaseless care. His gaze is cast upon the Earth. "I am the Watcher. From time to time, the burdens that are lain upon me by my office become heavy. It is a course of some relief to watch other worlds, for a time, and see how the course of history can change because of a single decision.

"In the reality we know, Logan was captured by the agents of his own country, and infused with the unbreakable metal known as adamantium, using a process that seemed to have been stolen from a Japanese scientist, Oyama. A mysterious benefactor of the Professor guided the process to some unknown purpose-- but before that purpose could be fulfilled, Logan escaped from Experiment X. He wandered around the wilderness for some time, in a bestial daze, and was discovered by James and Heather Hudson. The rest of the story is well known.

"In this reality, the Professor's egotism was not, in the critical moment, enough to overcome his cautious impulses. He carefully monitored the wranglers designated to control Logan, and made sure that they were armed with weapons sufficient to the task of holding him. Logan never escaped the compound, never stumbled upon the honeymooning Hudsons, and never joined Department H.

"Instead, he was held successfully by the Professor, who turned him over to his mysterious benefactor.

"Watch..."

*****

Logan raised the mug to his lips again, grimacing a bit at the taste of the Old Milwaukee it contained- the best tasting beer made in America, and still not worth the yeast it took to ferment it.

'Well, Logan, mein Freund, I think that this is the last drink for me tonight.' his companion said, before polishing off his own mug. Kurt Wagner was sitting with his friend in Harry's, a little pub and restaurant in Salem Center that the X-Men frequented.

'Lissen, Kurt, why don't we go to New York next week? Harry's ain't really my kind o' place.' Logan swilled down the rest of his mug as well, and pulled on his thick leather jacket. It was January in New York, and unseasonably cold.

'And perhaps we can get a better beer there, ja? American beer is not much, but I have tasted the drink you prefer.' the wiry German chuckled. 'It is the beer for brooders.'

'Aw, go on.' Logan chuckled back. 'You Europeans think you got the band beat on brew, but there's Canadian beers as good as any German or Danish.'

'So why don't we drink those, Logan, instead of the engine-cleaners that you proffer me?'

They settled up their tab with Harry, and left the comfortable warmth of the Hideaway behind. 'The stuff I like'll put hair on your chest.' Logan said, offering Kurt a helmet (which was declined politely). The two of them straddled Logan's monstrous Harley-Davidson.

Kurt laughed out loud. 'You and I, we need no more hair on our chests. Perhaps you should find a drink that will take hair off of chests.'

Logan chuckled. 'Good idea. My date last week could'a used some o' that.'

The roar of the engine cut off the quiet noises of the street, and Logan taxied his hog out toward the highway, prepared to head for home.

'You do her a disservice, Logan!' Kurt shouted over the engine noise.

'Whaddya mean?' Logan shouted back.

'I could tell from her demeanor that she would never disrobe for a man like yourself!'

'Ha! True enough! Maybe if she'd been wearin' something a little less sheer, I might not o' noticed her problem!'

The cold wind blew gritty snow in their faces, and equally gritty dust ingrained itself in their hair as they sped down the highway toward Graymalkin Lane, where they would find the Xavier Institute.

They pulled in at last, each glad to be free of the punishing wind, but neither willing to appear so. They walked into the mansion together. Kurt adjusted his hair a little whenever Logan wasn't looking.

Kurt shut the door tightly behind him, locking out the cold that he could feel through the brass doorknob, and smiled at the assemblage on the couch.

'Good evening, all. You missed a wonderful time at Harry's.' he said. Logan was silent, meantime, as he stripped off his wet leathers and boots.

The couch growned as one of the men seated upon it shifted his weight. He was tall and thickly built, with bronze-coloured skin and a long mane of wiry black hair. He had his arm around the couch's smallest occupant, an African woman with a glorious tumble of snowy white hair over a high forehead and piercing blue eyes. To her left, a burly giant snored softly, his great fingers dangling in a bowl of salsa. He was clean-shaven, with pale skin and black hair trimmed almost to the scalp.

'I think that I had my share of fun here, Kurt.' said the waking man softly.

Logan grunted. 'You just like 'Ro 'cause she smells better than the rest of us.'

The target of his jibe smiled broadly, and winked at him.

'I won't say you're wrong.' the big man said.

Kurt managed to look offended at this for a few moments, but he couldn't keep up the pretense for long. He did, however, immediately head for the shower.

Logan sat heavily on the adjoining loveseat. 'So, how was your night, John?'

'Quiet.'

'Just the way we like it.' Ororo remarked contentedly.

'I see that you put the kid to sleep.' he said, indicating the dozing giant.

'Watching old movies was his idea', she replied. 'I suppose that he was simply tired.'

'Better be careful, or old man Summers'll come down here and get on yer cases for bein' up late.' Logan grunted, standing.

John Proudstar grunted himself. 'Right.' He stood up smoothly and without effort, cradling Ororo in one arm. 'Good night.' He tapped the larger man with his toe to wake him before starting up the stairs.

The recumbant Russian opened his eyes at last, and stared blearily around him. He nodded a brief hello to Logan, and then fished around for the remote control. Finding it, he shut off the television.

'Night, Petey.' the short man said, and stumped up the stairs to his waiting bed. Piotr, still drowsy, grunted in reply before heading up the stairs after him, wiping salsa onto his pants as he climbed.

Logan reached his door, and was surprised to see a brief note attached to it signed with an S. He opened it and read the contents. It was a simple request to visit the headmaster of the school as soon as he arrived.

He nodded absently to himself, and changed direction, heading down the hallway to a door that still had light spilling out from around the cracks.

He knocked twice, sharply, and opened the door.

The headmaster stood as he walked into the office. The man was tall, and well muscled if slender. He had a carefully kept crop of brown hair that was going prematurely grey, and wore a pair of red sunglasses, though the office was not well lit.

'You wanted to talk to me, Slim?'

'Yes, Logan.' the man said, indicating a chair. 'I did.'

'Still do?' Logan asked, taking a seat.

'Yes.' the fellow replied, and sat on the edge of the desk. 'I was wondering why you went out tonight.'

Logan narrowed his eyes a little. 'Wanted to. Been a while since I was out with Kurt. Why do you want to know, Summers?'

Scott smiled tightly. 'I wanted to know because we had agreed to take another look at the videotapes tonight.'

Logan gestured dismissively. 'They'll keep. We've looked at 'em a million times, anyway.'

'Why are you being so cavalier about this?' Scott demanded angrily. 'We are talking about a murder, here!'

'Yeah. A murder that happened four years ago, Slim. Four years, and we ain't any closer to learning who did it than we were the night that it happened.'

'That might just be because you don't seem very interested in finding out the truth!'

Logan's eyes narrowed a little more. 'Maybe I'm not. Maybe I decided that we're never gonna figure out who did this. Maybe I decided to let dead men rest.'

'We have a duty to Charles to find out who killed him!' Scott spat, only a few inches from Logan's face.

'No, we don't.' Logan argued. 'We have a duty to live as Chuck would've wanted us to, and do the work he can't. And near as I can see, we ain't doing that. We're wasting our time on shit like this, because you think it's your fault.'

'It is my fault!' Scott roared. 'It's my fault, and your fault, and Jean's fault, and Bobby's! It's everyone's fault!'

'It's the fault of the bastard who killed him, Summers, not yours, not mine.'

Scott choked back an angry torrent with an obvious effort, and hissed at his friend instead, 'I was in the house that night, and on duty, and the killer still got in to kill Charles. That's how it's my fault. Even though Jean was still awake, she didn't detect him telepathically. That's how it's her fault.'

'Chuck didn't either. I suppose it's his fault.'

Scott continued as if Logan had never spoken. 'Bobby disobeyed an order to visit Charles as soon as he came in that night, because he didn't want a tongue-lashing. Charles bled to death in the meantime. That's how it's Bobby's fault.'

'And I suppose it's Worthington's fault because he was at his family's house that night. Or Hank's fault because he left the X-Men for the Avengers.'

'And it's your fault,' Scott finished in a crescendo, 'because you went out on a night that you were designated to be on reserve. You went out drinking!'

'That I did.' Logan said. 'And don't think that I don't wish I'd been here. But I wasn't. And you missed the guy because you weren't as good as he was. No shame in that, Slim. Jean missed the guy because he came here to kill a telepath, and a better one than she was, and must o' took precautions. And Bobby went to bed because he was tired, and didn't know that Chuck was bleeding to death. You think he wouldn't have raised hell if he'd known? O' course he would have. You can't blame a guy for what he didn't do and didn't know about, Slim.'

'He had a duty to be here! So did you!'

'Yes, and I make no excuse for myself. But, be fair to Bobby. There wasn't anything that Chuck would've said that night that wouldn't have gotten said in the morning. I'd rather go t' bed, too.'

Scott clenched his teeth in reply, evidently not trusting himself to speak.

'You can't blame Bobby for being Bobby. Chuck wouldn't blame Bobby if he was here. No, he'd bitch him out for an hour solid about his attitude and then let him off.'

Scott nodded, and his eyes began to water. His fists clenched and unclenched helplessly.

'You always get worked up about this, Slim. I miss him, too, but this ain't the way to remember him.'

'I know.' said Scott, choked up. 'It's just that he was so much better at this than I am. Look at all the people we've lost!' he wailed, and buried his head in his hands.

Logan stood up, and walked over to the weeping man. He patted the headmaster lamely on the shoulder. 'I know, Scotty. We can watch the tapes tomorrow morning. I'm going to bed.'

Scott couldn't bring himself to look up when the door closed softly behind Logan's retreating back.

*****

'He all right?' the hallway seemed to speak. 'Not really, John.' Logan said. 'Still choked up about Xavier.' The little man walked down the hall a pace, and then paused. 'You tired, John?'

'No.'

'Why aren't you with 'Ro?'

'Period.'

'Fair enough. She did seem a little snuggly to me. Care for a walk?'

'Yeah.'

The two men walked silently down the hallway. As per an unspoken agreement, John opened a window and the two stepped through it. They jumped lightly off of the roof to the hard-packed snow of the driveway, and started off together around the side of the house.

They strode together for a while, Logan taking three steps to match two of Proudstar's longer ones. They were silent at this time, as was their custom, and remained so until they were deep in the forest that abutted the back lawn of the mansion.

'Not like you to be up when 'Ro's wanting to sleep. Her period never bothered you before.'

'Can't sleep. Didn't want to keep her awake.'

Logan nodded. 'Doubt I'll be able to sleep either. I forgot that your room's right next to Slim's office.'

The walked without speaking for a while longer, the sound of hard snow crunching beneath their boots the only accompaniment to their steps. John broke the silence. 'Were you really out drinking?'

'Sure. Can't you smell it?'

'I mean that night.'

Logan grunted. 'Yeah.' he said, after a moment.

'Must be hard.'

'Yeah. Not as hard as on Slim, though. He figures that the deaths of everyone since Xavier are on his head, too.'

John nodded. 'Can't fault his logic.'

Logan twisted around to regard him strangely. 'What's that supposed t' mean?'

'Jean, Warren, Bobby, Lorna. Sean. Alex. That's a lot of ghosts.'

'No arguments here. What are you getting at?'

'All of them died since Xavier. Not before. Xavier had a perfect record. Scott doesn't.'

'All of them were trained by the Prof, except for the Irish. The Prof, not Scott. None of the people that Scott trained have died.' Logan argued. 'I'd say that the marks are on the Prof's record, not Slim's.'

'Maybe. They all died on Scott's watch, though.' John replied grimly.

'Don't tell me you blame Summers for them,' Logan said angrily, 'because if you are...'

'I don't blame Scott. I would blame myself in his place, though.'

Logan stopped in his tracks. 'How could you? Some of 'em were freak accidents!'

John nodded. 'I know. Jean, though. Her parachute silk gave when she was too tired to save herself with TK.'

Logan returned the nod wearily. 'And Scott packed all the chutes. I know. I guess I'd blame myself, too.'

'Warren blamed Scott.'

Logan shook his head angrily. 'Warren was a frigging idiot. His money didn't buy him class, did it?'

'Wouldn't know. I never met him before the danger room killed him.' Logan dismissed the remark with a gesture. 'He killed himself. What the hell was he thinking, playing a program meant for me? Damned idiot.' 'Might have been an accident.'

Logan gestured a denial. 'Doubt it. He got what stupidity pays for.' 'Maybe. Scott had just had an argument with him, I hear.'

'Yeah. Boyscout took that one even harder than Jean. Guilty conscience.' 'Sean, killed by a scout on recon. Scott sent him.'

Logan sighed in exasperation. 'Not Slim's best command decision, I admit. Irishman wasn't exactly stealthy. He coulda sent you or me instead.'

John shook his head. 'We were already out on our own tasks. He could not pull us back.'

'Yeah, I know. Point is, it wasn't Scott's fault that Irish got shot, not any more than it was mine.'

'Or mine. Seems more likely that I missed the man than you.' John answered heavily. 'Alex and Lorna, killed by the Orphanmaker while on vacation.' 'What, Scott's fault because he gave them time off?'

'Scott's fault because they were babysitting Jean's nephew and niece. Not Scott.'

Logan snorted in disgust. 'Like I was saying to Slim, you can't blame a man for what he can't reasonably know. Like the Nanny being interested in those two kids.'

'Not the point.'

'What is the point?'

'They were a target because of Scott. Nanny couldn't have known Jean's identity. She wouldn't know about the kids.'

'So?'

'She must have seen them with Scott. Don't think he hasn't thought of that.'

Logan nodded sadly. 'I guess so. Why are we talking about this shit, anyway?'

John shrugged in the darkness. 'What else?'

'So how's Bobby Scott's fault?'

John shook his head. 'He isn't. Just adds up. Bobby thought he could fight the Pharoah by himself.'

'Stupid kid. That's all on Chuck, God rest him. Kid bit off more'n he could chew, 'cause he thought he was tougher than he really was. That must've been a hard lesson.'

They walked along quietly for a while, each wrestling with the problems of the evening separately. Around the two friends, snow began to fall- first softly, then more thickly.

*****

The next morning, Scott was surprised to wake to the sound of thunder outside his window. He shook his head, dismissing the sound as a legacy of bad dreams, and began to dress. He was convinced that the thunder was genuine a few minutes later, when hail began to pelt the new coat of snow.

He knocked on Storm's door. 'Ororo? Is something wrong?'

Ororo opened the door angrily, but made a visible effort to calm down.

'Sorry, Scott. John did not come to bed last night. I awoke this morning to find that he was absent.'

Scott nodded. 'Maybe he just couldn't sleep, and didn't want to keep you awake. That's happened before.' She smiled, her anger fading. 'I know. I am just out of sorts this morning. I do not like worrying about him.'

'He's probably downstairs with Logan, talking philosophy and watching television. I'll send him up.'

'Thank you, old friend.'

Scott touched a lock of grey hair with his hand and smiled. 'I suppose I am getting old.'

'Nonsense, Scott, you are only a year older than I. I was refering to the fact that we have known each other for many years.' she said.

'Ever since Logan and I assembled the new team of X-Men.' Cyclops smiled crookedly. 'Four years. Not so long.'

'You are not even thirty, Scott. You have many years ahead of you.'

'I know. I don't mean to sound gloomy, Ororo. I just spent a bad night, that's all. Let's go downstairs and find that man of yours.'

The two walked downstairs together, but could not find any trace of John Proudstar. His coat (seldom used) still hung in its accustomed place on the wall, but his boots were missing. Logan's boots were also gone.

'There.' Scott said. 'You see? They've gone out for a walk.'

Ororo nodded absently. 'He did not take off his boots before we came upstairs last night. That should have been my first indication.'

Cyclops shook his head. 'Those two idiots didn't take their coats. I suppose that they think it's some kind of proof of manhood to walk around in the dead of winter with no coat on.'

Ororo smiled at him fondly. 'You are like a great mother hen, Scott. Please do not ever change.'

They sat in pleasant conversation for about an hour, when Nightcrawler came downstairs. 'It is a glorious day outside.' he announced cheerfully. 'I awoke this morning to see the new blanket of snow. What a treat! Does anyone want to help me build a snowman?'

Ororo chuckled softly in her rich alto. 'Thank you, Kurt, but I think that I will join you another day.'

'Scott?'

'No thanks, Kurt. Too much work to do today.'

'Then I will wake Peter. He will want to have a little fun today.' With that, Kurt turned about and ran lightly up the steps.

Scott smiled. 'He's like a kid at Christmas. You'd think that he would get sick of winter, but he seems to love it just as much every year.'

Ororo nodded. 'I think that Kurt is just trying to inject some much- needed levity into a gloomy house. I have changed my mind. I will go out and make a snowman with him.'

'Have fun.'

'You are not coming? Nonsense! Come out with Kurt and Peter and I. I insist.'

Scott shook his head. 'There's too much work...'

'I will help you with it later. Two of us can complete your entire workload in an afternoon, I am sure. Come along, Scott. Please.' She smiled winningly at him.

Scott smiled back and stood up. 'How could I resist that? I'll go get my gloves and hat.'

The four of them went outside a few minutes later, and romped in the virgin snow on a warm winter day. Ororo had to cheat a bit to make sure that the snow was sticky enough to make a snowman, but in the end their efforts produced an especially fine specimen of its type. They came back inside at lunchtime.

Cyclops tapped his foot on the kitchen floor, and craned his neck so that he could see around Colossus. 'One-thirty! Where do you think Wolverine is? He promised to help me look at the tapes this morning.'

'Actually, come to think of it,' Piotr said, 'I did not see their footprints when we came outside. They must have left before it snowed.'

Cyclops nodded. 'You're right. Logan's motorcycle was out front. He didn't put it in the garage last night. Very strange.'

'At least that means they're on foot. Strange that they have not yet returned. Perhaps they left on another of their trips.'

Scott shook his head. 'No. Without telling me or Ororo? No. Something's happened.' He started to stand up.

Piotr placed a hand on Scott's shoulder and eased him back into his seat. 'They are grown, capable men. No one more capable. Don't worry. I will watch the tapes with you. Perhaps today is the day.'

Scott nodded. 'You're right. Maybe what the tapes need is a fresh perspective. Let's take lunch upstairs.' Scott gathered up his plate, and his pills, and started up the steps excitedly.

'Scott?'

'What is it, Peter?'

'If you don't mind, when did you start taking pills?'

'These? Oh, they're nothing. Antacids.'

Piotr nodded suspiciously at Scott's offhand tone. 'Ah. That is good. The pizza I had for breakfast is not sitting well with me. Could I have one?'

Scott grimaced. 'Fine. You've got me. They're ulcer medication.'

Piotr shook his head. 'When did you get an ulcer, Scott? You worry too much about us.'

'That's my job, Peter. Let's not talk about the state of my digestion, OK? Let's watch the tape.'

'OK.' Piotr replied, backing off. They went upstairs together. Dinnertime rolled around, and the two men were still not back. Even Kurt was starting to get worried. Scott was frustrated, because another day of examining the tapes had turned up nothing.

'I am going outside to look for them.' Ororo declared.

'I will join you.' Kurt said. 'Between us, we can cover a lot of ground quickly.'

'We don't even know where they were going.' Piotr protested. 'How are you going to find them in the dark?'

'They are on the property, or near it.' Ororo said. 'Otherwise, they would have taken the motorcycle.'

'Right.' Scott agreed. 'Ororo, you take to the air, to the southeast. Kurt, the southwest. Piotr, try the west. I'll take the north and east.' They headed out into the evening, which was beginning to turn cold. Scott, who alone had no real protection from the elements, bundled up heavily before following the rest of the troupe outside.

Kurt headed southwest through the forest as quickly as he could, teleporting from point to point just over the treetops. He was afraid that his section, which had one of only two natural hazards on the property capable of seriously harming Logan and John, might be the one that contained their quarry. He hurried, therefore, to the site that he was thinking of.

His stomach dropped when he arrived. There, at the bottom of the cliffs, lay two shapes covered with snow. He teleported to the foot of the rock face, shouting for help.

'Logan! John! Can you hear me?' He knelt beside the two still forms in the snow, one large and one small, and tentatively brushed the white blanket off of the larger one.

It was John.

*****

Ororo was inconsolable. The weather outside was raging as it had never done in Westchester County. Scott was more than a little worried that she would cause a hurricane.

John and Logan lay, side by side, on the floor. John's left arm and back were horribly twisted by the rocks upon which he had come to rest, the rocks that had killed him. His face was twisted up, as if in pain.

Logan was staring at the ceiling, unmoving. He could not move his legs. Kurt and Piotr were trying to console Ororo, with little success. Scott meanwhile, sat beside Logan and held his hand.

'Old friend.'

'Yeah?'

'Can you tell me what happened?'

'Yeah, I think so.'

'Please, Logan, if you can manage it.'

Ororo fell silent for a moment, wanting to hear the story from Logan's lips.

'We were walking along in the forest there, John and me. Arguing, actually, about what's not important.'

'I can guess.' Scott whispered.

'Lord knows, if either of us'd been paying attention, or if it weren't snowing so blamed hard, we woulda seen the cliffs coming.' Logan choked out. 'But...'

'Easy, tovarisch. When you are ready.'

'But we both just stepped straight off the edge. Neither of us knew what was going on until we hit the ground. I guess John never knew.'

'Didn't you notice the fence?' Scott asked, dreading the answer. 'You must have climbed over it.'

'That's the thing, Slim.' Logan said. 'We never crossed it. It must've fallen down or something.'

Scott hung his head. 'I know. It's needed fixing since the first snowfall. You must have passed over one of the bad sections. I just...'

Logan tried to nod. 'You just never got around to it. I know, Scott. It's okay.'

'It's not okay!' Scott shouted. 'Another of my friends is dead, and why? Because of me! You're paralyzed, because of me!'

'I'll walk again, Scott. Spinal damage just takes a while to heal, even for me. It wasn't you. As well ask why two guys who can hear a pin drop during a concert couldn't hear the wind whistling around the cliff.'

Ororo fled the room. They could hear the front door burst open a moment later, and the wind began to blow in the house. Kurt got up to close the door behind her.

'How did you break your spine, Logan?' asked Piotr. 'You have unbreakable bones.'

'Wasn't my bones that broke, kid. A small rock happened to hit me just right, and pushed a vertabra. My own spine musta cut halfway through my spinal cord. Just lucky it cut so far down my back, eh?'

'I'm so sorry, Logan. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.' Scott mumbled over and over.

'Stop that!' Logan said sharply. 'What the hell's a little pain, anyway? I'm going to be good as new in a week or so. And John... I don't think John felt any pain at all.'

'I'm so sorry.' he repeated, and stumbled up the stairs.

'Shit. Wish I could go after him. Piotr, could you go up and talk some sense into him?'

'Da. I will be down soon to help carry you to bed.'

'Hell with that. Just throw me down a pillow and blanket before you talk to Scott. I'll sleep right here on the floor.'

'Of course.' Piotr went upstairs, and soon threw the bedding down to Logan. Kurt picked it up and arranged it to his satisfaction.

'Thanks, elf. Night.'

'You want to sleep now, Logan?' Kurt asked, surprised.

Logan sighed. 'Just need a while t' myself, Kurt.'

Kurt nodded sadly, and said a brief goodbye in German to Thunderbird before heading up the stairs to his own warm bed. He thoughtfully shut out the light as he left.

Wolverine shed silent tears in the dark.

*****

'Gott im Himmel! Lord, helfen mir bitte, die StŠrke zu finden. Lassen Sie bitte dieses ein Traum, Lord sein mein Gott. Scott, wachen auf! Bitte! Bitte!'

'What is it?' cried Piotr, unable to understand what his friend was shouting. Piotr came rushing from his bedroom, clad in pyjamas, to find Kurt in Scott's room. There, Scott lay on the floor. Blood had flowed from his mouth and nose to stain the floor and dry there. Their leader lay still, staring sightlessly at the window. His pills lay scattered all over the floor. His glasses lay broken under his outstretched forearm.

Kurt was frantic. 'What's wrong, Scott? What could have happened to you?' Piotr closed his eyes against the sudden pain that started behind them.

'His ulcer.'

Kurt turned to him. 'What?'

'His ulcer.' Piotr repeated. 'Scott had an ulcer. I just found out about it yesterday. He worried about us too much.'

'No!' Kurt breathed.

'Yes. His ulcer must have killed him. He couldn't get to his pills in time, or they were not enough.' Piotr finished, miserably.

'Poor Scott.' Kurt said softly. 'So miserable. So sad. What a terrible life he's had. I am glad that you are in no more pain, my friend.' he whispered to the body. 'If anyone is in heaven, it is you. In nomine patris, et filis, et spiritus sancti, amen.'

'Amen.' echoed Piotr.

They sat, staring at each other, for a minute.

'How do we tell Logan and Ororo?' asked Kurt.

'What's all the yelling about?' Logan shouted from downstairs.

Piotr opened his mouth to shout a reply, but could not manage it. He choked and began to sob. Kurt patted him on the back and then vanished in a puff of smoke and brimstone.

Piotr stared at Scott's body, particularly at his face. He had never seen Scott's eyes before. They were a pale shade of blue. He closed Scott's eyes as best he could, and tried to arrange him into a more dignified position. 'I am sorry, my friend. I am a deep sleeper, or I might have heard your cries. Although I am uncertain what I could have done for you. I am no doctor.'

He bowed his head for a moment in silent acknowledgement of his friend's passing, but paused when a peculiar thought came to him. How could a man who could hear a pin drop during a concert fail to hear the noise when a grown man crashes to the floor in agony? 'What did you hear last night, Logan?' he muttered.

'Too much, Petey.' Logan said. He was framed by the doorway, blood on his claws and tears streaming down his face. 'Too damned much.'

*****

The stench of blood assaulted Ororo's nostrils as soon as she walked back into the house. She had been out for hours, flying, in an attempt to clear her head. It had availed her nothing.

Ororo walked slowly back to the body of her lover, where it lay on the floor beside Logan's body, which was now covered by a sheet. She wailed when she saw that blood was stuck to the sheet. She twitched the bloody garment back with trepidation, and cried out anew when she saw that the body was Kurt's, and not Logan's.

snikt.

She turned around. There was Logan. He had just entered through the same door that she had used, on two perfectly functional legs. He looked a fright, and to her horror, had not bothered to clean the blood from his claws. She saw that there were black hairs smeared into the blood.

'Maybe you can stop me.' he said in a ruined voice.

Lightning struck the house from a clear sky as a white squall blew up from nowhere. 'Killer.' she spat.

'You can do worse than that.' he said. 'How about, "traitor"? "worm"? God, I don't think there's a word for what I am.'

She shrieked in fury. Lightning flared from her hands and streaked toward its target. He hurdled it neatly, and brought himself suddenly short of a lunge.

'You killed him! You killed John!' she screamed. This time, her bolt of electricity was too fast for him to dodge. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as he lay twitching against the opposite wall.

'That I did.' he forced through cracked, blackened lips. 'I killed 'em all. From Xavier on down. You're the last one, 'Ro.'

She glared at him, murder in her eyes. 'You ruined Scott for this. For spite! He thought that it was his fault.'

He shook his head slowly. Already, the hair was beginning to regenerate. He marshalled his strength for a final leap. 'Never... for that. Scott was a good man. I admired him.'

'Then why? Are you so jealous of him? So sick?'

'Jealous? Yeah. Sick? Can't deny it. That ain't why I killed him, though. I killed him 'cause I'm weak.'

'What?!'

'Kill me, 'Ro.' He struggled to his feet, gathering his limbs to make his leap. She blasted him again, and inside its adamantium shell, bone split under the heat. 'I thought you liked John. Why, Logan? You were one of my best friends.' she sobbed, tears streaming down her face.

The tears were mirrored on his own face, ruined though it was. 'I loved him. He was like a brother to me. So was Kurt. Killing him was like cutting off my arm. Hell, I'd have rather killed myself.'

'Then why didn't you?' she screamed.

'I tried. I jumped off the cliff after John, tried to aim for the rocks. It almost worked. There's a thing inside of me, Ororo, and it's eating me away. I have to do what it says. It stops me when I try to kill myself.'

'You truly mean what you're saying, don't you?' she asked, horrified.

'With all the heart that's mine.' he replied. 'If you love me, you'll kill me right now.' He could feel the muscle knitting itself back together, the skin healing.

'You're the only friend I have left!' she shouted at him, beating on his crackling chest with her tiny fists. 'You killed all of the rest of them!'

'Please, Ororo. I'm too weak to do this myself. You've got to kill me. Scum like me doesn't deserve to live.'

She closed her eyes, and put her hands on his head, and whispered, 'I forgive you John. You killed him with love in your heart.'

'Darlin', nothing you could have said would have hurt me more.' he whispered back. 'I'm probably the only sinner going to hell today with a broken heart.'

She let the lightning flow into him.

*****

"Without Charles Xavier and his X-Men, the world would be helpless before Wolverine's master, Apocalypse. Apocalypse used his servant, the Horseman of Death, to learn Xavier's plans and then slay the X-Men from within.

"He never counted on Wolverine's lion heart, which shrank from the horrors that he was forced to commit as Death, and bled in sympathy with his victims, a group of people that he came to love and respect. He came to believe in Xavier's dream.

"Although Logan was not strong enough to break free of Apocalypse's grip, he was able, at the last, to fight the hold long enough to allow one X-Man to live- one of the greatest leaders that they ever had, unbeknownst at that time to herself.

"Ororo rebuilt the X-Men, and led them at last against Apocalypse. There they triumphed, and he was cast down for all time.

"And though he was a traitor, Ororo never removed Logan from the lists that named the X-Men. "

"I am the Watcher."

~~~ FIN ~~~