Resurgence

They've been looking for Jean in the floodwaters of Alkali Lake for nearly half a day. Logan doesn't think they'll have any luck, especially given the haphazard way in which they're searching, but the raw anguish in Cyclops' face had been enough to persuade him to come along. There's no sign of Jean, of course.

What they have found is half a dozen corpses in BDUs. At Cyclops' insistence, the bodies have been laid out at the waters' edge. Logan would have been happier to leave them for the scavengers, and the look in Storm's eyes as she reaches for the latest camouflage-clad corpse says clear as day that she feels much the same. When she pulls the body free of the submerged tree limbs holding it in place, though, she pauses, brow knitting in puzzlement.

"What is it?" Logan asks, casting a glance at the other boat, where Cyclops worked alone, mouth compressed into a grim line.

"This one has a mark on his neck, similar to the one left behind by the mind-control serum that Stryker developed."

"Huh. Maybe one of his guys wasn't on board with kidnapping children." He grabs the corpse's jacket and flips it over, cursing the awkwardness of the task. His first glimpse of the dead man's face nearly makes him lose his grip on the body, because this isn't a foot soldier -- it's Stryker's senior NCO, Lyman. Dead, the man looks younger than he had in life; all the sharp wariness has vanished from his angular features, now pale and still. The water has washed most of the blood away from his torn uniform, but the jagged tears and bullet-holes are still very much in evidence.

"This is Stryker's top subordinate," he explains, at the questioning look on Storm's face.

"That makes the mark on his neck even more unusual," she says, expression troubled. "I am tempted to take his body back for autopsy, to see if it is indeed from the serum."

A sudden spasm of movement in the water next to the boat, and a sharp tug on the jacket in his hand, pull Logan's attention abruptly back to Lyman's corpse -- except that Lyman's corpse is moving, eyes and mouth wide as he gasps for air. Logan automatically pulls the man's head and shoulders out of the water. After a second or two of frantic struggling, Lyman manages to get one pale hand onto the side of the boat.

Holding on so tightly that the knuckles of his long fingers turn white, he proceeds to cough up so much water that Logan finds himself wincing in reluctant, involuntary sympathy. By the time his breathing returns to anything remotely approaching normal, he's clinging to the side of the boat with both hands, his forehead pressed against the wood. His dark hair clings wetly to the startlingly fragile-looking nape of his neck; Logan can see the circular mark more clearly now, and it really does look like the one on the Professor's neck, though it seems to have scarred over -- from constant application?

Lyman finally lifts his head from the side of the boat, and looks at Logan's hand, still fisted in his jacket, before turning his gaze on Logan himself. Dimly, Logan can hear Storm calling for Scott, but Lyman's eyes are the same fathomless green as the waters of the lake, and his long, dark lashes are spiked together like stars. For a long moment, they stare at each other, Logan's gaze caught by Lyman's lips, which are slightly parted, and by the drops of water, sparkling and distinct, on his pale skin.

Then Lyman blinks, coughs again. Logan shakes himself, and Lyman asks: "Would you mind awfully if I begged a lift?"

The sly humour is as unexpected as the man's British accent, which as sharply cultured as the Professor's. There's no sense of threat coming off of him, though, and that - in combination with the mark on his neck - is enough to spur Logan into action. He shifts his grip to Lyman's elbows and pulls him bodily into the boat, Storm reaching over to help. Lyman collapses onto his back, water streaming from his torn and blood-stained clothing.

"Thank you," he rasps, struggling to a seated position.

"You might not want to thank us yet," Logan warns him. Lyman's eyes flick up to his, frightened and wary. There's nothing of the professional soldier about him now. Instead, he seems more like a college student playing dress up than anything else, out of his depth and over his head in more ways than one.

"Logan," Storm says, a slight note of reproof in her voice. Lyman turns to look at her. "You're a mutant, aren't you?" she asks him. When he doesn't answer, she reaches out a slender hand to touch the bullet holes in his shirt -- and the uninjured skin beneath it.

"You were dead," Logan says flatly.

"Full marks for observation," Lyman murmurs.

"Why did Stryker have a mutant on his team?" Logan ignores the smart remark. "Why were you working for him?"

One of Lyman's hands moves automatically to the scar on the back of his neck; the other clenches into a tight fist.

"It's not as though I was given a choice in the matter," he says acerbically; then Cyclops is there, staring at Lyman and demanding to know what's going on. Fortunately, Lyman's presence and clothing, and the hand on his neck, speak for themselves.

"We need to get him back to the Professor," Cyclops says, and that seems to be the cue for Lyman to try and bolt. He moves for the side of the boat and the water so fast that only his momentary hesitation before taking the plunge allows Logan to wrap an arm around his waist and drag him back. He keeps fighting, though, and eventually Logan has to put him out with a punch to the jaw.

Notes: This was started as commentfic in my livejournal for zonya35, and has taken on a life of its own.