Chapter Ten: Cruel To Be Kind

I: Jean & Charles

Jean and Charles were sitting in a large, white parlour, having a cup of Earl Grey tea.

Hot.

It was a rather odd and singular place.

The walls were white, the carpeting and the future were all white.

There was no ceiling, just an endless white space, extending into eternity.

The bookcases that lined the walls and the spines of the books inside them were white.

And the huge file cabinets that reached into the vault of the white ceiling, they were all gleaming, pristine and dazzlingly white.

Like huge gleaming pillars of ivory.

The only colour in the room was on the roses painted on the tea set.

Charles Xavier looked around.

He had witnessed the personification of many consciousnesses, some of which were brawling and fractured and disturbing.

Those were all somehow less disturbing that Jean's neat, clean, white, bookcase-lined anteroom, complete with china tea service.

"A place for everything, and everything in it's place, Jean?"

"I can't afford disorder in my mind, Charles."

"But yet, it exists. You know, on the occasion that Trivelino invited me into her mind, the first thing that happened was we fell up Alice's rabbit hole. Very slowly. And we landed on a nice comfy couch, in a big cavern full of doors that were constantly opening and closing, with all manner of things going to and fro in them, things that greeted us and each other as they passed. Do you know she literally has a train of thought? And I saw it derail? And she cheerfully told me that happens a few times a day, and that someone else would fix it, one of the other Triveino J. Napiers who lived in her head with her? And when I got curious about all those wildly slamming doors, go ahead, Professor, she told me. Go in any room you like. I don't have any locks, that would use up too much of what little sanity I have. I'll stay here. I have to think. It's my constant thinking that keeps this place going. If I stop thinking, there will be chaos."

Jean laughed.

"I'll bet you found that disturbing."

"Somewhat. But not as disturbing as this, Jean. At least she had her cards on the table, as it were. All your doors are locked. I doubt you even go in them."

He put down his teacup.

"We'd better get to work. I'll need the Scott file, and the Logan file. And any material you might have on love. That is, that isn't too personal."

Jean climbed up a long white ladder and disappeared.

It was very quiet, in her mind.

Too quiet.

All he could hear was the sound his cup made when he picked it up from the saucer.

Jean returned, encumbered with some very thick files.

The Logan file was twice as thick as the Scott file, and it was padlocked.

"The locked file, first, Charles?"

"Open them all, Jean."

Fire.

All the emotion that was not in Jean's neat white room, all the myriad of passion and pain and joy and sorrow and rage and lust and love and tragedy and triumph jumped from those three white folders in orange and red and black and yellow, in fire and storm and sunshine and shadow.

Clearly, Jean had to choose a place where she was not, as Scott called her, The Great and Powerful Jean Grey, a place to vent her feelings, to wilfully be out of control, and this was clearly where it was.

And then, he was back in the bright white room again, and Jean was stacking the three neat folders, also whiter than white.

"Jean, this is all wrong. I did not build this disturbing, sterile place that you're living in. You did. You cannot simply decide that you have no feelings, because you fear them, and then dump your every inconvenient emotion into your pursuit of love. Even for a person without telepathic powers, that would be disastrous. But, considering your abilities, it is also disastrous for the men that you love. Especially Logan. Just because he has enhanced healing abilities doesn't mean he's a god on Earth. Logan is just a man, Jean. And no man, indeed, no human being's consciousness could withstand an onslaught like the one I've just experienced, on a regular basis. Because you are funnelling all of…all of that into, well, into their souls, if you want to be metaphysical about it. Like a laser beam. Jean, you are a human being, you are not a science project. The Phoenix Force will not erupt from the boundaries of your subconscious and burn down the world due to you allowing yourself to simply experience normal human emotions. I want to see some color in this place, Jean. Some character. I want to see you."

"You mean, right now, Charles?"

"Right now would be an excellent time to start."

II: Erik and Charles

Charles and Jean Grey were in a trance for eight hours.

Eight hours in which Magneto sat at Charles' desk, minding the store for him, watching over him and Jean Grey.

She seemed to get the worst of it, poor girl.

At one point she threw herself violently from the chair, and despite Charles telling him not to interfere, Erik picked her up and put her back in the chair.

He smoothed her hair, and held her hand, and put his arm around her, and said a lot of foolish, soothing nonsense to her and patted her on the knee and she calmed down.

Eight hours of prolonged telepathic contact, rooting around in the woman's mind.

I could have sorted her out in one.

But, that's what Wolverine thought, and look where it got him.

Otherwise, Magneto didn't pry into his former colleague's desk or his papers; Erik had enough informants that had passed through the Institute to know all that he wanted to know.

The school ran so smoothly that he had only one incident the whole time.

He left the inner part of the office and went into the outer parlour, to answer a knock.

Nightcrawler brought three unruly looking young mutants with fresh bruises and fat lips and a bloody nose or two shuffling into the office in their rumpled, dirty clothes.

"There has been a fight. We usually bring zeze things to ze Professor's attention."

Magneto suppressed a smile.

"Oh? And what was the fight about?"

"I don't think we should hafta go to school with niggers." Said one boy.

The black boy jumped for him, and Nightcrawler restrained him.

"Don't you? Well, I hate to tell you, little man, but in the eyes of the world, all we mutants might as well be niggers. Or kikes. Or faggots. Do you like those words? How about mutie? Four-eyes? Shorty? Freak?"

"Are you calling me a four-eyed mutie shorty freak?"

"Were you calling your fellow student, your fellow mutant, a nigger? Young man, you are here in summertime because your parents want nothing more to do with you because you're a mutant. This is your home, now. And that boy is your brother. If he's a nigger, so are you. And what's your story?"

The third student, a little girl wiped blood from her nose.

"Bill's my friend. My best friend. Nobody's gonna call him a you-know-what and get away with it." She said.

"A commendable attitude, young lady. Mr. Warner, take all three of our combatants to the infirmary. And whatever the usual punishment Charles gives out for fighting, impose it threefold on our little bigot. The others are blameless."

Shortly after that, Erik was in the office, playing chess with himself when Jean and Charles came out of their trances.

She looked tired when she made her way out of the office, but Charles seemed completely exhausted.

"Was it that bad?"

"Are you playing chess with yourself, again, Erik?"

"Yes. And I'm losing."

Charles wheeled up behind his desk, and they settled in for a game.

"A white room, Erik. Literally a white room."

"And all her emotions were bound up with love and sex?"

"Yes."

"That's going to take you awhile to sort out."

"Well, I've made progress. I think that what I'm going to do is see her and Scott at the same time."

"What about Logan?"

"My God, Erik, that man has enough problems! He doesn't need to be involved with this. If you ask me, he doesn't need to be involved with Jean, at all. I fear that Logan is caught, as it were, in the crossfire of this war that's been going on between Scott and Jean."

"And you don't want to see him become a casualty?"

"I fear dark times for Logan on the horizon."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry, too much, Charles. He has that Reinhardt girl. And, more importantly, he has Trivelino. Someday, Mel Reinhardt will ride off into the sunset with the Hell's Angels. It may take ten or twenty years, but I will happen. And Jean Grey will reach the end of her second adolescence and return to staid, quiet middle-class monogamy with Scott Summers. But, should Trivelino find a way to live as long as Logan does, then she will be with him, every Wednesday, for the next 1,000 years."

Charles smiled at his old friend, his old adversary.

"You know, Erik, I think you're right."

III: Logan

Sometimes it surprised Logan that after all these years, close to a hundred, now, his old man still had the old homestead.

But, maybe when you got to be over 300 years old, you decided, well, a man has to settle in, someplace.

And the Old Man, he seemed to like his life well enough.

After WWII, he even had plumbing and electricity put in; Logan had helped pay for that with his veterans benefits.

Ten years, maybe more the Old Man told him, he spent a long time after the Big One on the mountain with the Old Man, working in the logging camp, and the biggest town he ever saw was Howlett.

He didn't remember much, except that he had decided he was never coming down off that mountain, again, and that it was peaceful and quiet.

The old place still gave him a good feeling, a peaceful feeling; his memories of it were largely missing and the ones he had were fuzzy, but they were what you called warm and fuzzy.

He had always been happy in this place, happy and safe.

Logan knew why he'd come back after World War II, and Itsu's death.

What he couldn't figure out was why he had ever left.

Sometimes, he thought that if he could remember who it was that coaxed him away, he'd gut them like a fish.

Because it was a good life, on the mountain.

You live that far off, you figure out who your friends are.

Hell, Logan had forgotten most of them, and he had only fuzzy, rudimentary memories of those years, at all, but he did remember that he got a visit from Eddie once a month, like clockwork.

All these years later, Eddie was still his friend, but he had found someone who was as good a friend to him as Eddie in Trivelino J. Napier.

She brought him up to Pa's, to recover from his mystery illness.

A few weeks in, and he was right as rain, and Pa was pestering him about two things.

One was him going up to the logging camp.

The way Pa saw it, he was never going to get his strength back, sitting on the porch and lying in bed, and bellying up to the bar at the saloon in Howlett.

The other wasn't.

"You know, Jimmy lad, Fritzy's daughter, she's a good girl, good as gold, but what you've got there is another man's woman, and you know it. She'll go along back to that Gypsy feller, someday, but until then you've got a decent woman in her. And I'll bet she'll be back to you, somewhere in-between. But I watched Mel grow up, she's a good girl. She won't do you wrong. Now that hoity-toity broad you've finally landed, the one that put your mind in a mess, she's no good for you, Jimmy, and she's another man's woman, too, but she ain't even playin' at bein' yours. That Jean Grey, she's playin' with you, boy, the way a cat plays with a mouse before she eats it. She'll go back to that chief of yours and even though you know she will and you think it won't, it'll break your heart. Now, Liv, she's a damn good woman. Tough and smart, fierce and strong. Now, she's your Eddie's woman, but not just his. She made an oath by you, boy, she's yours, as well. If there's a Wednesday in Hell and you're in it, she'll come to you there. Your friend Eddie's a smart man, he looked at her and said, well, broads come and go, but here's a good woman, a woman I can count on, a woman someday who can bear my sons and grow old with me. He's not such an old man he couldn't have the second act of his life go better than the first, but you've got half a century on him and he's smarter than you are about getting hold of the right kind of woman when he sees her an stickin' to her. The poor lamb will grow old long before you, Jimmy lad, but, wait till our Liv gets a little older and a little quieter, she'll give you and Eddie both some fine boys. And you can take your son, my grandson up to that cabin, and you can show him to be a man the way I showed you. That's what you want in a woman, Jimmy. A woman who'll give you children, a family of your own, and stick by you and them till the end of the world, no matter who or what comes and goes inbetween. That's the one, Jimmy, lad. And Fritzy's girl, you can trust her in the mean time. She'll never leave your life, altogether. Or the X-Men, I'll be bound. You stick with them, Jimmy lad. Half your folly in life is pickin' the wrong girl. " Old Black Tom pronounced.

"Jesus, Pa, how come you always know what I'm thinkin' on in the back of my mind?"

"Because I'm your Pa, Jimmy lad. I know you better'n you know yourself, especially after the way them government bastards fucked your mind all up. Now, here's the part where I tell you something you don't want to hear, because I'm your Pa and no one else will say it."

"I know what you're gonna say. I can't just forget about what's passed between me and Victor-"

"Victor? This ain't about Victor. Awww, I don't fret about the way you boys fight, you're still brothers and you're still young. Not even a hundred, either of you, but this is Victor's year to turn. I was full of piss and vinegar when I was a young pup, too. Time will show you that your brother is your brother, and if you have no sons or daughters, he's what you've got."

"Pa, how can you just forgive Victor for what he is and what he's done?"

Old Black Tom got angry.

"Goddamn it, Jimmy lad, he's my son! My blood! My firstborn. God knows I should have been a better man, then Victoria never would have taken him away, gone and married that monster who made your brother what he is. Victor's not all there, and what's there ain't right, but he's still my son, and I love him. What kind of man don't love his son, no matter what?"

"Or his brother?"

"You love your brother, Jimmy. You just hate him, too. But it's not Victor I wanted to talk to you about. You know, Victor who took you out of your bed while you were dying and saved your life. Again. This other woman, the one your love, your Miss Grey, goddamnit Jimmy, she don't treat you like a man. Or that other fella either, from what you've told me. Some women are like that. But that's what's made you sick, no magic or powers in it. If she was an ordinary himan what she's done to you wuld make you sick to your death. You're a man and you've been a man since you were 13 years old. Then, you fall in love with the wrong woman, as usual, but this one treats you like a fool. You don't need it, Jimmy lad. To be some woman's plaything one day out of the week, her little lapdog that she calls and dismisses. Tells you she loves you "as a friend". She means to be kind to you, Jimmy lad, and sure she has feeling for you, but it's cruel. It's cruel and whether she knows it or not, she's usin' you as a stalkin' horse to get the other one going. They'll expect you to dance at their wedding someday, and maybe you'll do it for the sake of your X-Men, but you don't want to dance at the wedding on Friday, and then have a stale piece of cake on Monday and have to hurry out in the middle of the night with your dirty clothes in your arms because there mustn't be a trace of you when the man of the house comes back on Tuesday. To his bed. To his woman. To your disgrace, Jimmy, and your humiliation. You're not some bastard gigolo. Think on it, lad."

Logan did think on it; in fact, Logan thought on a lot of things, working at the logging camp.

After a while, he went off to his own homestead, the one he'd built a little further up on the mountain from Pa's, with a mind someday to go and live there, peacefully.

Find himself a woman.

Raise a family.

Maybe he had found the woman.

Logan thought about it, about him and Eddie and Liv and a few kids, some of them his, some of them Eddie's, piled into a pickup truck, winding their way up the mountain to go see Pa and spend some time at the cabin.

Would that be so bad, would it be such a crime?

He sent Liv home; she had better things to do than babysit him, but she came back the next Wednesday, and the one after that, via Dr. Manhattan express.

Eddie came to see him once, and brought him a case of 100 year old Irish whiskey.

They got drunk, and talked about the Good Old Days.

Such that Logan remembered.

Now, Liv and his Pa were the only ones who knew about Logan's place he built in the woods, but when he built it, it was Jean he had in mind to live with him there.

Logan had time to think about what his father had said to him, and about his own feelings towards Jean.

He thought about little red-haired children tumbling around his feet, but this time they all had Jack Napier laughs.

It led him to make a fateful decision, one that would affect both him and the X-Men.

He had every intention of going back to the X-Mansion, with Napalm, the very next day, but on that day he woke up and found Napalm gone, but her truck still there.

She left him a cryptic note.

Logan,

Guess what? Vic fucked up. Big surprise, huh? Eddie's in Southeast Asia. Director Fury wants me to investigate/clean up. Jon is zapping me to New York. Why me, huh? Stay put. I'll call you.

Liv.

Of course, it was no surprised to Logan that Sabretooth fucked up, what was a surprise to him was that Nick was sending Liv in to clean up his mess.

When Vic was in the loving arms of the US intelligence community, they usually sent him in to clean up his brother's messes.

But Nick was sending Liv?

Jesus, had his illness compromised him that much?

Well, Logan wasn't going to leave Napalm to clean up Sabretooth's mess, alone.

And he wasn't going to leave his madman brother alone to clean up his mess, himself.

His personal affairs were going to have to wait; he had work to do.

Logan packed up his knapsack, got in Liv's truck, and started the long drive home.

He hoped he could get there before anything too awful happened.

IV: Victor

Thruway Tavern

Sabretooth was coming out of the men's room when he heard his woman scream.

"Get your hands off me! No! Stop, goddamn it…"

She might have said more, but Victor didn't hear it.

He was too suffused with rage.

He'd got his woman back, and some dirty mutant-hating sons of bitches thought they were going to hurt her?

All they were going to do was die.

Hard.

With a roar, he launched himself into battle.

The first man he laid his hands on, he literally tore him in half, and for the second, he grabbed a pool cue, broke it, and impaled the unfortunate fellow on the broken end.

He seized the third man by the throat, and held him high in the air.

"You thought that would be a good time, huh, asshole? You picked the wrong woman, pal."

The terrified man hung from Victor Creed's fist which was wrapped around his throat, his legs kicking wildly in the air.

The terrified man's unfortunate compatriot broke a chair over Sabretooth's back.

Victor lashed out with his left hand, puncturing the chair's thrower's chest.

He closed his fist around the man's spine, and partially ripped it out through the hole in his chest.

Some of the patrons not involved in the fight decided to discreetly leave, but most of the Thruways' regulars wouldn't miss a mutant brawl for the world.

A good deal of them did, however, take shelter behind the bar.

Bets were exchanged.

Victor turned his attention to the man in his right hand, only to find that the pathetic bastard had died of fright.

He dropped the dead man on the ground.

Then, the door flew open, and the last of the five men who had incurred Sabretooth's wrath came in with a double barrelled 12-gauge shotgun.

"Take this, you mutie son of a bitch!" he screamed, and let Victor have it with both barrels.

The force of the blast sprayed fine bits of Sabretooth all over the room, and knocked him against two tables, breaking them.

The man with the shotgun laughed, that is until the woman who started the trouble tapped him on the shoulder.

Apparantly, she had claws, too.

Big bony ones about a foot long that came out from between her knuckles.

"You really shouldn't have done that." She told him.

Then, with a single powerful swipe, she knocked his head off.

It went flying and landed on the bar.

The regular patrons cheered.

Meanwhile, Sabretooth was struggling back to his feet.

The woman went to his side.

"I took care of the last one. Don't move, Victor. You're not quite healed, yet."

Victor looked down.

The wound was closed, and although he was black and blue around the midsection, and in a lot of pain, he knew he was pretty much good to go.

"I'm alright."

He sheathed his bloody claws, and, as his rage left him, he looked at the bodies lying strewn all over the bar which was empty but for the regulars, who were exchanging money.

"I better get my end of that!" Creed bawled.

"What, you think we'd cheat you, Vic?" the bartender chuckled.

He drew a pint of Guinness and put it on the bar.

"On the house, Vic." He said.

Sabretooth went to claim his beer.

The head was still on the bar.

"Here's to you, asshole. Happy days." He said to the head.

That got him another laugh, and he drank his drink down in one long swallow.

It hit him hard, but that was good, and the bartender drew him another.

Then, it occurred to him that this was not good.

Not at all.

"Shit." He muttered.

Normally, this would not be a problem for him.

This would be more like, you know, your regular average Wednesday.

Victor returned to his table.

As he wiped some of the blood from his hands and his arms with a rapidly-reddening white towel, he made a very astute observation.

"Stripe, I think I fucked up."

"Really, Vic? Are you sure? Goddamnit, it's just like Logan said! That you were going to stick your claws or your dick someplace they didn't belong, and end up fucking everything up! Well, you did it, didn't you?"

Rogue was angry.

That was alright, Victor liked her when she was angry.

"What did you want me to do? Let those fucking pricks do whatever they wanted to you?"

"I could have handled it! You did see me knock that idiot's head off, didn't you? I didn't need you to go into a berserk killing frenzy! We have to think. Because I know what's going to happen to you if Professor Xavier finds out about this. And I know what's going to happen to me if he finds out about us."

"Jesus, Rogue, it's a free country, and you're old enough. What the fuck can he do?"

"Kick me out on mah ass!"

"For what? Didn't he ever see the mark I put on your shoulder? It couldn't be any plainer."

"I used to cover it up."

"You did what? After everything I did for you? I trained you, I taught you, I fuckin' made you, and you're ashamed to show my mark on you?"

Victor bared his fangs, and his claws.

"If that's the way you want it, Victor, I'm ready when you are!"

Snikt!

Rogue did the same.

They would have launched themselves at each other, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the 7th Cavlary.

Trivelino J. Napier, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D Covert, Level 10, and a crew of cleaners.

"Alright you two, break it up. I got work to do here."

Red wasn't too shocked by the scene of carnage that she beheld, and she was not surprised to see Rogue and Sabtretooth together.

"Well, Vic, I see you been doin' that voodoo that you do so well. How many stiffs we got, here? Five?"

"Four. No, five. Stripe did that one."

Victor indicated the head.

"Oh, a team effort. Nice date. Fuck is that some guy's spine? That's' some grisly shit, Vic. Hiya Rogue. I see you two have effected a little reconciliation. Congrats. Okay Vic. Explain to me why this shit does not violate the terms of your agreement with Colonel Blake, and why I shouldn't pretty much send your ass to the Phantom Zone."

"Hey, look, for once, Red, I'm inna clear. Rogue, here, she's 21, plenty old enough to be here with me, havin' a beer. That's what we were doin'. Havin' a coupla beers. And these fucks hadda come and start with their shit about us bein' muties."

"Yeah, well, I don't like assholes in bars givin' me shit, but I just beat the fuck out of 'em, I don't kill 'em."

"You didn't let me finish, Red. I did beat the shit outa one of them. The one without his fuckin' head, over there. That same fuckin' prick, he shot me in the chest with a 12 gauge. Both barrels. Look at my shirt all torn up and all the blood!"

"Yeah, and you've still got a bruise there. And your whole chest is all lumpy with buckshot. I'll bet that hurts like a motherfucker."

"It does. Anyway, after I pounded the shit out of that fucker, I figured that settled it, and a little while later, I went to the john. So I come out, and there's all five of 'em, they're tryin' to get Rogue onto the pool table."

"What were they gonna do to her? As soon as she touched them they'd be dead. Even without her claws." Liv replied.

"I tried to tell him that." Rogue interrupted.

"Good fuckin' luck. They don't care if you can handle it, yourself. Coupla weeks ago, me an Eddie are at a Stones gig, and some jerk-off standin' behind us keeps botherin me. Rubbin' up against me. Pinchin' my ass. Grabbin' my tits. Finally, he sticks his whole hand down the back of my pants. I yelled in surprise, then turned around to tell him if he tried that again he'd pull back a stump, but Eddie got to him first. By the time a coupla roadies came and dragged the guy away, they had to call an ambulance to come to the Garden." She explained.

"See, Red? You think if you were in someplace with Jimmy or the Sarge and they came outa the can and some guys were tryna get you on the pool table so's they could gang you that they wouldn't go nuts, even though they both know you coulda killed them all?" Sabretooth asked.

"True. But I got no way of knowing that's what happened. For all I know, these guys called you a mutie, and you greased them, and Rogue's backing your story up because, let's face it, when you lose all you got and you manage to find it again, you're gonna do what you have to to make sure you keep it. And like the bartender here hasn't learned to shut up and do what the mutant masks tell him too. I drink here with Logan all the time. I know that. So, what it comes down to, is I have to take your word for it. You two. Rogue an' Sabretooth. The Brotherhood's answer to Bonnie an' Clyde."

"Hey, we did a couple of missions that didn't happen with you and the Sarge, don't get high and mighty on me. Besides, since when have I ever lied about anything I did?"

Napalm looked around at the mess.

"Vic, you don't give enough of a shit about what you do to lie. Anyway, the good news is, I ran a check on these guys, on my way here from the City. They were some lowlives from Philly. Small time hoods. They got a couple of beefs outstanding for ganging chicks in bars. Two different chicks in two different bars. So your story checks out. But this is it, Vic. I don't care if you wax the Devil himself because he's tryna put his cold knobbly dick in your ass, you leave one more corpse behind you, and you are fucked, my friend. Take this like it came from Eddie's mouth and not mine, because he said it, foist. You two better stick to drinkin' at home. Now, when the cleaners are done, they're gonna clean you two, and take you home. Me, I got paperwork to fill out. Lots and lost of paperwork. Fuck him once for me, Rogue, I sure as hell ain't gettin' any, tonight."

One of the cleaners came up to Sabretooth with a garment bag.

"We brought an extra set of fatigues for you, Major Creed." He said.

"Thanks, pal."

When they got back to the X-Mansion, it was quiet and dark.

Sabretooth didn't let on to Rogue, but his belly was burning like there was fire in it.

Something was fucked up.

"Rogue, why don'tcha go upstairs and warm up the bed for me. I gotta coupla things I gotta do."

"You're really hurt, aren't you, Victor?"

"Who, me? I'm never really hurt. I just gotta go pay a little call on Dr. McCoy."

Hank was occupied with some broad, so he wasn't too happy about being pried away from her by Sabretooth, but he knew his job.

Meanwhile, it took Victor a great deal of effort to walk to the Infirmary.

"So, was it buckshot?" Beast asked, as Sabretooth lay down on the table.

Slowly.

"Buckshot. I feel like my whole fuckin' chest an' my guts are on fire."

"I'm not surprised."

Beast felt around his chest.

"Well?"

"I'm going to have to cut you open and take the buckshot out."

"That sounds painful as fuck."

"Well, I know I can't knock you out, but I can dose you with a lot of morphine. A whole lot of morphine."

"Does it have to be with a needle? I hate needles."

"What a coincidence. So does Logan."

Beast was just shooting him up when the Infirmary doors flapped open, dramatically, and there was Jimmy.

"What? You're on the table! Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?"

"Buckshot. 12 gauge. Double barrels. Took both at close range. How you doin', Jimmy?"

"Great. Just great, Victor. I drove all day thinkin' you unleashed hell on the place, an' I was comin' back to bodies, and you're the one on the table."

Beast came back from the other side of the room with a tray of surgical implements.

"What are you doin with that, Hank?"

"I have to cut him open and take out the buckshot. Ball by ball."

Logan winced.

"Is that morphine workin' on you, Vic?"

"Nope. You think you can knock me out, Jimmy?"

"The easy way, or the hard way?"

"Easy way. I got enough to heal from."

Logan made a fist, pulled it back, and punched Sabretooth with all his might, square between the eyes.

"OK, Hank, he'll be out for about an hour."

II: Logan

Logan pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Have you developed a sudden interest in surgery, Logan?"

"Nope. If Creed wakes up ahead of time with your hands in his guts, he's not gonna be a happy man. I better stick around."

"If you're going to stick around, put some gloves on and give me a hand."

Logan took a look.

"Jesus, that's a lot of buckshot! It's better for you to take it out. When ya take that much buckshot to the chest, you're coughin' it up and shittin' it out for a week. The coughin' ain't so bad, but shittin' buckshot? That's pretty rough."

"It's really not a lot of fun to be you, is it, Logan?"

"Nope, Hank. Sometimes it's a real bitch."

The scalpel broke.

"Shit! Logan?"

Snikt!

"You're the doctor, Hank. Just grab hold of the sides of the claw, and I'll let you move my hand."

They worked in silence, for awhile.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Good."

"And it's alright with Charles that you're back here?"

"Hank, I don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. I know what my problem was."

"Did you decide what you were going to do about it?"

"Yeah."

"Do you mind if I put my two cents in?"

"Go ahead."

"I think Jean should have never dragged you into it. Anybody who's ever shit buckshot has enough problems."

Logan got a kick out of that one.

He laughed.

X-Institute. Common Room. Three Weeks Later

III: Victor

It was today.

Today was the day.

Some people might have thought it odd that part of Vic Creed's decision to try the white hat on again was Chuck X's TV set, but, the man did have the biggest TV it was humanly possible to buy.

And today, today was the day he had been dreaming of.

Chance or no chance, anybody who got between Old Black Tom's sonny boy Victor and the biggest television set you could buy, tonight, was going to get a shiny new bright red asshole.

Because tonight was the first game of the first series of the Stanley Cup Finals, and the Toronto Maple Leafs were playing.

Between him and Jimmy, Rogue got hooked on hockey years ago, and things being what they were, he wasn't surprised when he came to the couch with his case of beer and his two bags of potato chips to find Yukon Mel and Rogue already there, opening up a box containing a large pizza with a huge bowl of popcorn.

Mel put a fifth of Scotch on the table, as well.

"You share with me, man, I'll share with you."

Mel was never the slightest bit afraid of him.

Then again, she was Jimmy's girl, she was from Howlett, and her father had been Pa's boss, so she had grown up with Old Black Tom, too.

He supposed it was all just Jimmy lad, and Vic, my boy, to her.

"Deal." Sabretooth agreed.

Something, however, was glaringly absent.

"Where the fuck is Jimmy?"

Mel snorted, and crushed the empty beer can in her hand into powder.

"It's Monday. That's where Logan is."

Rogue shook her head.

"Monday? Monday, my ass, it's the finals! And the Leafs are playing." Victor insisted.

"Lemme tell you a story man. Dig this. Last year, the Leafs were in the finals, too. And me an' Logan, we're all laid out. We got beer, soda, chips, pizza, everything, man. Our shit was laid out. An alla sudden, Logan goes crazy. He starts swearin' an' foamin' at the mouth, yunno how when he gets real mad, he actually foams at the fuckin' mouth?"

"Oh yeah. Pa does that. Jimmy's got Pa's temper. Even I don't get that mad."

"So, a coupla minutes later, the emergency sirens go off. Man, every cat on the team is suited up, an' I figure, well, they might need somebody who can throw trucks around. And we go out on the lawn. And there are Sentinel parts strewn all around it, not to mention bits of C of H cats. Smoke everwhere. Wires sparkin'. Blood on the grass. Shit is on fuckin' fire, ya dig? An' right through the middle of it comes Logan. His hair is smokin' an he's in blood up to his elbows, an' his clothes are all torn up and smokin' and burnt. An' everybody's just lookin' at him. And Cyke, you know he never swears, he says 'Holy shit, Logan, what the fuck' An' Logan says, 'Not during the fuckin' game, Cyke. Not during the fuckin' game."

"It's true, Victor. Every word." Rogue verified.

Victor roared with laughter.

Literally.

"That's Jimmy! That's my crazy fuckin' brother!"

"I know, man. But now, it's like, there's this pod person in his place. After the game, you and me, we gotta go up to the Thruway. Have a talk. Ya dig?"

"You're tellin' me that my brother, James John Logan Howlett, is going to miss a hockey final over a broad?" Victor asked.

"Victor, I'm tellin' you that Jean Grey gets Logan stuffed so far up her nasty man-eating cooze that it takes me half of Tuesday to pull him out again, and I can pick up a school bus and throw a pickup truck." Mel replied.

Rogue laughed behind her hand.

"Mel, really!"

"Well, it's true, goddammit!"

"Yeah. We gotta talk. After the game. You comin' Stripe?"

"Victor, I can't stand going to that dive with Logan, and I like it less going with you, especially after the last time. When I have to swat a man's head off while you're leaking blood, guts and buckshot all over the floor, that's enough for me. I'm never setting foot in that place again. I'll be right here."

Thruway Tavern. Later that Night

Yukon Mel Reinhardt was mad.

Goddamn mad.

And the drunker she was, the madder she got.

Victor was definitely seeing the Hell's Angel in this cute little blond biker chick.

"That lousy fuckin' cunt! I'd like to toss that bitch so high in the fuckin' air they'd have to get fuckin' Superman or Dr. Manhattan to go an' get her! Jean Grey this, and Jean Grey that, and ain't she the grooviest chick in the goddamn world! That fuckin whore bitch cunt!"

"All three, huh?"

"Fuck yeah! She's a bitch, all right! I know you don't dig Cyke, and he is a real square, but he's a good dude, man. He really is. But Jean, she treats him like he's a fuckin' dog. Like her fuckin' lapdog. Finally, she beats the man down so far, he can't hardly get outa bed. Yellin' at him. Talkin' to him like he's her kid in front of people. Talkin' down to him, alla time. She broke the dude, Victor. I watched her fuckin' do it. Took him down from a leader of men to a guy who'd burst into tears if he spilled a bottle of Coke. An' a whore? Well, when poor old Scooter wasn't takin' care of her business, anymore, ya know what she did?"

"What?"

"She went after Liv's men! Can you believe that? Liv's, like, her good friend, and what does she do? Next time the Comedian shows up to pick Liv up, Jean fuckin' throws herself at him. An' I mean throws. She tossed herself down the front steps so that her matching sexy underwear was showing, an' oh help and that shit. Naturally, Eddie Blake's not that dumb. The cat is smart enough to figure her trip out, and he blows her off. But then, she flings herself at Tony Stark. I don't doubt her fucked her, but yunno, he wasn't returning her calls. That's a fuckin' whore."

"What she did to Jimmy?"

"That makes her a card-carrying cunt. He had it so bad for her, man when I met him, dude was a wreck. A fuckin' wreck. Because she liked to torture him. Tease him, lead him on. She did it alla time. Of course, as soon as she crooks her finger at him, he was there. She used that, man. She knew he had this thing for her, and she used it. He tells her he loves her. She tells him he's her best friend. He tells her he needs her. She says she'll see him Mondays. And on Mondays, when she isn't tryna ride him alla way to Frisco, she treats him worse than she treated Cyke. Logan's a proud man. He's a real man. He can't take it. Bein' treated that way. She's breakin' him down, and it hurts him so bad, I can hardly fix him with all my powers. I love that man, Vic. I really do. Not like Jean, who's just using him till she figures out how to reel Scooter in again. An' Logan loves me. For real, not some fantasy bullshit. I can't stand to see him like this. You're his brother. Tell me what to do."

Victor took a thoughtful sip of his beer.

"We can't kill her, right?"

"I've seen her explode people like Dr. Manhattan does. We can't."

"Then you can't do shit, baby. My brother, he likes the wrong kinda women. He's not happy unless he's got his balls in a vice. Every broad he's ever with hasta be a freewheeling, backstabbing, no good cunt who acts all sweet and wounded like a damsel in distress. They use him, they abuse him, they rip his guts out. You tricked him because you turned out to be more Hell's Angel than Nymph. An' Napalm, well, she got him by becoming his buddy and a fellow mask before she pulled off her pants and showed him she has a pussy and not a cock. But other than that? Whores, bitches and cunts."

Victor finished his beer, but he was on a roll.

"Take that Sliver Fox broad. The one he's still pissin' an' moanin' about. Was she a fuckin' backstabbin' cunt! My brother, he moves her off the reservation, where she's an orphan without a pot to piss in. A titless wonder. Moves her into our home, yunno? The bitch eats from my table an' sleeps under my roof, livin' from the sweat offa me an' my little brother's brows. Then, when Pa comes back, an we're all off to the Klondike, well Jimmy's gotta take the squaw with us. Kinda like takin' fuckin' sand to the beach. But, by this time, she's grown some tits and ass, and trust me, that little flea couldn't wait to spread them all over town and find a bigger dog to jump on than my hairy, short, cunt-struck baby brother. I tried to tell him. You know what he did? He left us. He left his Pa, and his brother, and our claim, left his fuckin' blood, an' went and built this whore a cabin. He was all of 21, at the time. Shit, he was just a goddamn kid with a stiff dick and deaf ears. The stupid little bastard. He'd work himself ragged to support her. She lived like a queen, he worked like a dog. Well, I went up there one day, to see my brother, on his birthday, and try to get him to come home with me. I mean our poor old father was pushin' three hundred, and Jimmy was just breakin' Pa's heart. We even woulda let him bring the squaw back. Pa figured she'd slow Jimmy her true colours soon enough. She sure fuckin' did. I hardly had my hat off and my foot in the door, and the bitch was on me! I mean, there's Jimmy, in a snowstorm, on his birthday, walkin' through drifts that hadda be up to his waist, gettin' firewood, and this fuckin' cunt, she was all over me? Well, I knew what I hadda do."

"I think I know this part."

"I did fuck her. And I did kill her. But I didn't rape her. She wanted it. And she got it, too."

Victor laughed a little into his drink.

Then, his face darkened.

"That fuckin' cunt! She took my brother away from me, forever! You know people like us don't geta whole lot in this fuckin' world, just ta have some cunt steal your brother away from you! And you wanna hear the best part! The bitch wasn't dead! She was a mutant, too. Me an' Jimmy, we met up with her when we were workin' with the G. And he was so happy to see her. And she just looked at him like he was shit and you know what? That was my fault, too. I didn't even fuckin' kill the fuckin' whore, and he's still mad at me! The little fuckin' runt! Mel, what you gotta do, is you just gotta hope that someday Jean Grey just pushes him too far."

"You know what, Victor? I think I see where you're coming from with Logan. It's fucked up, but I see it."

"Yeah, well he's fucked up, too. More fucked up than I could ever hope to be."

"That's what Tom said. He said Logan was always the crazy one. He told me that, when Logan and me were there, in the summer. He said he never worries about you, but he worries about Logan all the time."

"Yeah, well, so do I. Welcome to the fuckin' club. Have another drink."

I: Logan

Despite his good intentions, when Monday rolled around, Logan didn't have his talk with Jean.

Nor did he talk to her on the next few Mondays.

And, whatever she was doing with Charles, she wasn't, well, sucking the soul out of him., anymore, so he just let it ride.

As for Jean, she acted like nothing was any different.

"Look at this, Logan! You put another hole in my carpet!"

Jean leaned over him to open the window, and he patted her on the ass, and she slapped his hand away.

"And can't you switch to cigarettes? You and those big, stinky cigars. And it would be really, really nice if you wouldn't leave your calling cards all over the room, so that anybody who doesn't know about our arrangement wouldn't find out! Ashtray full of cigar butts. Your dirty shorts under the bed. Beer cans. Pull tabs. Beer bottles. Why don't you just piss on something, and mark this as your territory?"

Jean went into the bathroom, and came out with a can of Woolite carpet cleaner and a scrub brush.

"And if you fall asleep in my bed one more time and spill beer and Cheetos all over the floor, I won't let you sleep here."

"Are you about done, darlin'? Because I ain't exactly findin' your bitchin' endearin'."

"Oh yeah? Well I'm not finding your chauvinistic slob act endearing, either."

While Jean was cleaning up, and taking another shower, Logan picked up the clicker, and turned the TV from Masterpiece Theatre to the Cup finals with the Maple Leafs.

The game was almost over, and he wanted to catch the end.

He knew exactly what Cyke was talking about, and what he meant by The Great and Powerful Miss Jean Grey.

And I am risking my sanity and my health for this woman, because…?

Jean came in when there were thirty seconds left in the game, the score was tied, and the Leafs had the puck, and she turned the channel back, telepathically.

Logan erupted.

"What the fuck did you do that for! Change it back! Change it back!"

"I hate sports!"

Logan leapt out of bed, dove for the TV and changed the channel back in time to see the Leafs fans going mad and to hear the announcers talking about one of the greatest ending moments of a hockey game, ever.

Logan felt like sinking his claws into his own head.

"I missed it? I missed it! Dammit, Jeannie, I spent half the afternoon and most of the evenin' givin' you all the trips to the moon you don't get all week from Cyke, an' the other half listenin' to you bitchin' about everythin' I wear, everything I do, and everythin' I like, missed the whole game an' you can't even let me watch the end of the game in peace? Can I have my balls back an' borrow a needle an' thread to stick 'em back on?"

"Logan, you're probably my best friend in the world, and I love you, in that capacity, and you are, hands down, the best lover I've ever had, not to mention one of the finest masks in the superhero business, so don't take it wrong when I tell you that not only are you a 19th century chauvinistic slob, but you are also a complete fucking asshole, and a sawed-off little prick!"

For a minute, Logan was at a total loss.

He just blinked.

Then, he got out of bed and put on his pants.

"I'll go watch the news, downstairs. Maybe they'll show the last ply during the sportscast."

"You do that. I need to fumigate this place."

Logan sniffed around the couch, dispiritedly as he ate the last slice of pizza.

That asshole brother of his, and Mel, and Rogue, they watched the whole game.

On the big TV.

He bet they had a good time.

Logan walked into the kitchen, where he found Cyke getting cosy with a sic pack of Bud.

Logan usually didn't drink American beer as he figured it was like making love in a canoe.

Fucking close to water.

But, any port in a storm.

"Mind if I join you, Cyke?"

"Nope. Pull up a beer and sit down. So, what did she do to you now?"

Logan told his sad story.

Scott shook his head.

"And you said nothing. Right? Am I right? You felt like kicking in the TV and calling her a stupid fucking cunt, but you just said something dumb and left with your tail between your legs, right? Am I right?"

"Cyke, I didn't know you said words like that."

"I did it, once. Called her a, you know. What I just said. It felt good. I felt like the king of the world. But that's what happened, right?"

Logan opened another bottle of beer.

"Yeah. You gonna tell me you told me so?"

"Are you kidding? Not now. Not now that we're in this, together. The two of us, at the mercy of the Great and Powerful Miss Jean Grey. I love her, God only knows. Most of the time, she's a wonderful woman. Beautiful. Talented."

"Fucks like a mink."

"Yeah. She should change her middle name to Hoover. But, sometimes Jean's a real Ice Queen. A free-wheeling castrating witch bitch who can make any man feel like he's a stupid little boy. If you want to be with her, you have to live with it. Just make sure you have a woman who makes you feel like a man. Or else you'll lose your balls, completely. You know what saved Jean and me? My Monday nights with Emma. I don't get it, Logan. Emma doesn't crawl into my mind with me. And she treats me like a man. Not like a little boy. And Mel isn't breaking your mind, and she thinks the sun rises and sets in your Levis. And Napalm, Jesus, if she could find a way to live as long as you will, she'd be at your side every Wednesday for the next millennium. What the hell is wrong with us? Being with Jean compromises our very sanity. And neither one of us has the balls to tell her where to get off the bus. That settles it. I'm gonna have to start drinking more beer."

Logan put his beer down.

"You know what I'm gonna do, Cyke?"

"No. Tell me."

"I'm gonna go up there, and I'm gonna knock Jeannie off her high horse. Not just for me. An' not just for you. I'm gonna do it for every guy who's ever listened to a woman bitch about how she wants a sensitive man an' then calls him a queer. For every guy who's ever had a woman tell him she wants a real man and then calls him an MCP."

"For all the times she made me hold her purse in public?"

"That's right, Cyke. For alla times she made you hold her purse in public. That just ain't fuckin' right. You know what's been wrong with me? And with you?"

"What's that, Logan?"

"We're men, goddamnit! Fuck that, we're better than men, we're mutants! Fuck that, too, we're better than mutants, we're X-Men! An' we been actin' like scared little boys. Well, not me. Not anymore. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again."

Logan stood up, and his chair scraped behind him.

Cyke raised his beer bottle.

"You're the real thing, Logan."

"Well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"You're right, Logan. You are absolutely right."

"Logan! What the hell are you doing just barging in-"

Logan slammed the door, angrily.

"Shut the hell up and sit the hell down!" he barked.

That was the first time he'd ever raised his voice to her, and Jean was shocked enough to listen.

"Now you listen to me, my sweet li'le darlin', and you better mind what I say! You wanted a man, a Real Man, and you got one! Not that you didn't have one before, but Cyke, he was a helluva lot more of a nice guy than me! It took him damn near ten years to call you a free-wheeling bitch, and it's only taken me six months! You wanna nice little fairycake to pussyfoot around here smellin' like a rose an' emptyin' the ashtrays, an' perfumin' the air an' tiptoein' over the carpets? Go get yourself a gay friend. But, you gotta take the lumps with the good, cupcake! You wanna get fucked within' an inch of your life? You wanna rip the sheets and bite your pillow and scream your pretty red head off? Then you gotta put up with a man bein' a man! That means cigar butts, and beer, an' Dirty Harry movies an' sports an' dirty shorts! That goes for me, an' double for Cyke! You did everythin' to that man besides chop off his balls and put 'em in your jewellery box, and I'll be god damned if you're gonna do it to me! We risk our lives and our sanity to be with you, so the least you can do is treat us like we're men, goddamnit! So, you put that Lysol down, turn on my game, an' leave me watch it in peace! And shut the goddamn window. It's cold in here!"

Jean hardly blinked.

"Are you done?" she asked.

"Yes." Logan replied.

"Great. Get out of my room before I blast you through the wall."

Logan turned the channel to the news, shut the window, lit a cigar, and sat down beside her on the bed.

"What the fuck are you doing, you sawed-off little prick?" Jean demanded.

"Watchin' the news, darlin'."

He took a drag on the cigar, reached under the bed, and opened a can of beer.

"Wanna sip?"

Jean did not blast him through the wall.

She opened the door before she telepathically threw him out on his ass.

Logan picked himself up, dusted himself off, and, all the sudden, that was it.

The end of all things.

Hot tears crowded into Logan's eyes, and he choked a sob in his throat.

He clutched his meaty hand to his hairy barrel chest; there was real pain there, like he could feel his heart breaking.

Because, he knew.

Not only that Jean would never love him the way he loved her, but that his father, and that son of a bitch no good brother of his had been right.

All along.

The torment he was feeling quickly turned into rage, and Logan got back to his feet with a howl of outrage that brought everyone's attention to the hallway outside Jean's room.

Wolverine had taken all he could stand, and he couldn't stand anymore.

Even Jean realised that she had gone too far.

"Logan…"

"Oh no! Its' too late for that shit! Alright, that's it! Baby, that is the fuckin' living end of this bullshit! I gave up my dignity for you, my honor, my health, even my goddamn mind! I gave you my heart, and my soul, and my love, and this is what I get in return! Well, you know what, Miss Great and Powerful Jean Grey? You want a feral mutant? Sabretooth's rooms are two doors down from yours, you better see if you can get him to throw a few fucks into you come next Monday, because I won't be doin' it, anymore! You find yourself a new fool, woman! Because I'm not a fool. I'm a man! Do you hear me in there, goddamn you, you, you stupid fuckin' cunt? I'M A MAN!"

SNIKT!

Logan popped all of his claws, and roaring like a wild animal, he shredded the open door.

Jean was in shock.

"You know what I'm gonna do, now? I'm gonna over to the Thruway, I'm gonna get so drunk my eyes cross, then I'm gonna pick a fight with the ten toughest sons of bitches in the place, an' screw alla their broads on the bar while they're lyin' there in a heap, bleedin' to death! An' after that I'm gonna get on my bike and ride someplace and do it again, an; again, an' again, until I rin outa money, gas, an' steam! Cos I'm the goddamn Wolverine!"

Logan stormed down the stairs, and passed Scott bounding up the steps.

"You're movin' pretty fast, huh, Cyke?" Logan joked.

But painfully.

"Are you going to be alright, Logan?"

"Sure, Cyke. I'll be fine. I just gotta go blow off some steam. You take her. I give up."

"Well, it's like you always say. You got to get in where you can fit in. Her defences are down. Time for me to get the upper hand." Scott whispered.

"She's all yours, Cyke. Good luck."

"Yeah. I'll need it. Okay, I'm gonna chew you out, now. Don't take it seriously."

Then, he assumed his most Fearless Leaderly stance.

"Logan! I am surprised at you! I thought if there was any of this kind of goings-on, it would be Sabretooth's work, not yours! How dare you talk to my fiancée like that! I ought to blast your hairy ass to Hell for that!"

Scott pushed past Logan and bounded up to the landing.

"Come on, Jean. You can't stay here, you've got no door. And Logan's trashed your place. Come stay with me, tonight. In our old room. I'll take care of you…"

Logan shook his head.

"I'm beginnin' to see why he's in charge, here." He said.

And then he was off to the Thruway, intent on going and raising the kind of Hell that would live in infamy for the rest of his life.

Which could possibly be another eight or nine hundred years.

(Author's Note: Wow. This shit is getting heavy. Will there be more? Sure. In one more chapter, we'll wrap this all up. Except, well, there's one loose end. Victor. If you want to know what's going on with him and Rogue, and how Logan's feeling about that, click on my profile and check out Soap Gets In Your Fangs, Too)