I do not own the characters of the X-Men: The Movie, or the universe they live in. I have only borrowed them for a short time. They belong to the Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc. All original characters and situations are the property of the author.

No harm was intended, nor profit made from this story. So please don't sue me.

Author's Note:

This story is totally based on the movie. Please, leave all preconceptions based on the comic books and or the cartoons at the door.

So, read and review.


The cold wind whipped at Logan's face. The motorbike sped down the dark road. The Professor hadn't been kidding when he said that there wasn't much left at the base. There wasn't even much of a base left. Logan had wandered around it most of the day, but nothing about it had seemed familiar. And who ever had been sent to clean it up had done a good job; nothing had been left behind. Not that Logan had really thought he would find anything. Fifteen years was a long time for incriminating information to just sit around. He was no closer to finding out who he was than when he had found Rogue in the back of his truck.

Just the thought of that little imp put a smile on Logan's face. The truth was that his life had started to look up after he had found her, not that he would admit that to anyone. For the first time in a long time he had something to think about besides his missing past, and it felt good.

The eerie red light of emergency flashers broke Logan's train of thought. An SUV sat off on the right shoulder of the road, the hood propped up. Slowing down, Logan pulled close to the yellow line. The only person Logan could see was standing at the front of the SUV waving his arms above his head. Logan groaned at his own stupidity as he pulled the bike to a stop in front of the car. Spent a couple of days with some goody-two-shoes, and you go soft.

Getting off the bike, he slipped the keys into his pocket. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I was driving along and about five minutes ago it just stalled and wouldn't start back up," the man said, stepping up to meet Logan, "I'm glad you came along so fast. I was worried that I might be here awhile."

Logan leaned into the engine compartment, as he waited for his eyesight to adjust to the lack of light. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. Raising an eyebrow, he took another sniff at the air. Something was wrong. It smelled like the engine was cold, as if it hadn't been turned over for at least an hour.

Logan pulled back just in time to miss catching the tire-iron in the back of the head. He took a few more steps back, "What the…?"

Keeping his arms loose at his sides, Logan ducked the man's wide swings. Two more men appeared out of the darkness, surrounding him.

Logan waited until the guy to his left was with in reach before exploding into action. Bringing out his claws, he pulled his hand into a back swing.

Before he could connect with the guys gut, his opponent grabbed Logan's arm, pushing it down and behind Logan's back. As the man began to push his arm up, Logan spun around, lashing out with his claws. The man deflected the blow by slamming his palm onto the flat of Logan's claw, pushing the swing high.

The strong smell of ozone filled Logan's lungs. He raised an eyebrow before he felt the fire burn its way down his arm. He opened his mouth but nothing came out as his skeleton became solid fire.

He collapsed to the ground, his entire body screaming with pain.

Taking a deep breath, he ordered his body to turn over, to push himself up onto his hands and knees. It didn't respond.

Numbness began to eat at his limbs. Even as he fought to regain sensation a gray mist began to haze his vision.

Swearing to himself, Logan slipped into unconsciousness.

"Any luck, Kat?" Maranda asked, leaning against the frame of the office door. Kat sat at her desk, her eyes closed, her fingers resting on the keys.

"Some," Kat replied, not bothering to open her eyes. "Shouldn't be much longer."

Maranda stood up and walked into the room. Taking a seat at her own desk, Maranda swiveled to watch her friend. She absently rubbed her hand up and down her arm as she watched Kat's silent meditation.

Waves of energy washed over Maranda, making her hair stand on end. Maranda could see Kat's eyes flash back and forth behind her closed eyelids. Kat had tried in the past to explain why she did that, but it's almost impossible to describe to someone that you are looking at things that aren't there, visual images crated by your subconscious so that your conscious could handle it. Maranda understood it better than most, her own gift doing basically the same thing, but she still could not understand how Kat's mind interpreted the electrical impulses of the computer. It was so different from the way her own mind showed her a magnified view of the organic material she was manipulating.

"Ah ha." Kat's eye snapped open. Maranda could see Kat's elongated pupils, a side effect of the use of her power, perfect cats eyes. Kat blinked rapidly and her eyes quickly returned to normal. "I knew I recognized that bike!"

Surprised at her sudden outburst, Maranda came around Kat's desk. As she leaned over her friend's shoulder the blank screen flickered to life. On the screen was the DMV's records for the motorcycle they had found on the side of the road. The owner of the bike had been found by two of Maranda's friends, being loaded into the back of an SUV by three men. The man now lay, still unconscious, in Maranda's med-lab. Or they thought he was the owner, the keys had been in his pocket. But according to the New York Department of Motor Vehicles the motorbike was registered to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, in particular Scott Summers.

"Charles," Maranda whispered.

Bezz…bezz…bezz… Charles looked up from his paper work. He sighed, remembering that his secretary was out sick for the day, leaving him to answer the phones. He hated phones. When he met with someone face to face, even when he did not actively scan them, he had a good idea about what they wanted. With the phone he didn't get that.

He clicked the blinking icon on the bottom corner of his computer screen. He swore to himself when, at the last instant, the blinking phone turned into a face. An audio/visual transmission.

He pulled on a smile as the computer paused for a moment as it opened the necessary programs. The smile quickly became genuine as he recognized the face that filled the screen.

"Maranda, it's so good to hear from you," he said, linking his hands in his lap.

"It's good to see you, Charles," Maranda replied, her own smile bright. Maranda's dark brown hair fell around her face, her deep brown eyes twinkling. "How've you been?"

"I haven't been bored," Charles chuckled, "and you?"

"I'm glad you asked," she replied, her tone becoming serious.

"What's wrong?" Charles leaned forward in his chair.

"We've found a man being loaded into the back of an SUV. He has no ID and had the keys to a motorcycle in his pocket. We found the bike at the scene, and when we checked the registration, it's licensed to your school."

"Logan," Charles whispered, leaning against the back of his chair.

"You know him?" Maranda asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," and when she gave him an even more inquisitive look, he continued, "He was at the school a month ago. How is he?"

"Well, I've stabilized him-" Maranda said before Charles interrupted.

"Stabilized?" Charles again leaned forward in his chair, this time bracing his hands on the table in front of him.

"Yes," Maranda replied, obviously taken aback. "From what I can tell he got hit with a large electric shock. I've repaired most of the damage, and he's resting comfortably."

"When did this happen?"

"Well, the boys found him at around five this morning, and by the look of things he had just been attacked."

Charles glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen before muttering to himself, "Five and a half hours ago."

"Actually it was three and a half," Charles's eyes refocused on the screen. Her smile was back as she corrected him, "The time difference."

"Oh, yes," Charles said, then straightened in his chair, forcibly removing his fingers from where they gripped the tabletop. "I'll be there immediately."

"You're coming here?" she looked surprised.

"Am I not welcome at your facility?" he couldn't help but smile.

"No, of course, you're always welcome here, but don't you have a school to run?" She had a point.

"I'll leave Jean and Ororo, in charge, and have Scott fly me out."

"Well, you better come in the helicopter, because there is nowhere to land the jet."

He stared at the screen for a moment, then shook his head.

"Oh, yes," he muttered not really hearing her. Shaking his head he refocused on the screen. "And he hasn't woken up yet?"

"Not the last time I looked," her eyebrow arched, "He did sustain major neurological damage-"

"His mutation is accelerated healing, "Charles interrupted.

"So," Maranda continued, "he'll be on his feet a lot quicker."

Charles took a deep breath, and tamped down the apprehension growing inside of him. "When he wakes up in an unfamiliar location he has a tendency of being…hostile."

"I don't want to sedate him," Maranda said, nibbling at her bottom lip, "his condition is too serious."

"It wouldn't do any good," Charles added, "his system metabolizes drugs too quickly, and to keep him stabilized-"

"-and not kill him would be tricky," Maranda finished.


"So, what's the plan?" Maranda asked.

"Logan knows me, trusts me," Charles said, "Hopefully I'll get there before he wakes up."

"And if you don't?" Maranda asked, both of her brows arched.

"Stay out of his way."