Ringin' The Bell

Posted on Fri Sep 26th, 2025 @ 11:55am by Logan & Jean Grey-Summers

5,569 words; about a 28 minute read

Mission: Episode 7: Pathogens and Contagions
Location: X-Mansion
Timeline: March 3rd 1992

Snow took the light out of the night and gave it back in a dull glow. Logan cut off the road at the last lamp, slid down the ditch and into the trees where the ground rose in old humps of stone wall and roots. The cold bit the inside of his nose; breath smoked and the cigar went back into his pocket, saving the ember for when he needed the taste more than the heat.

He kept a steady pace. Ankles loose, knees soft, feet finding the quiet ground by habit—boggy patches avoided, ice crust broken where it was safer to own the noise. The fever came and went like a bad radio signal: a warm push under the skin, a beat of white at the edge of vision, the metallic tang he couldn’t spit out. He rode it the way he rode everything else—long in, long out—until the trees sharpened again and the path up ahead turned back into a path.

The woods smelled honest. Pine sap and old snow, a fox’s track ghosting across his, the slow earth-sweet of something dead under the leaves. Threaded through it—faint but there—the mansion’s edge-stink: paint, ozone, machine oil, the hum of a generator that was never really off. Past that, layered soft, people. Soap and wool. Coffee gone too long on a hotplate. Chalk dust and laundry starch. He let it wash over him and sorted it the way his mind still could: living, safe, watchful, young.

He crossed the old rail bed and an ankle-deep brook, the stones slick as soap. On the far bank he paused and rolled his shoulders until the ache clicked. He could be over the fence in one breath if he wanted, two if he felt like being polite about it. He didn’t. Not tonight. Tonight he’d be seen doing the right thing the slow way.

The perimeter started talking to him a hundred yards out—not loud, not obvious, but there if you knew what to listen for. A higher note in the hum, barely there. A tiny tick as snow settled off a low camera hood. Somewhere up ahead, a red LED blinked to itself behind a grille the same colour as bark. He angled for the sightline that gave the system an easy read and kept his hands where lenses liked them: down, open, nothing to hide.

The fever bit again, sideways; this time it brought paper walls and quiet breath, a hairpin catching light—Mariko more memory than name. He touched a birch with his palm, let the bark’s cold truth print into his skin, and waited until the picture thinned.

Wind swung and brought him the house again, closer now. He picked out the oil from the school’s plough, the faint tang of fresh-cut timber where repairs had gone in, and the faintest trace of a perfume he knew by memory more than name. He let himself want the door to open, just for a second. Then he put the want away and kept moving.

Branches thinned. The dark softened into the pale of lawn. He stopped at the last line of trunks where the cameras would have him, boots set shoulder-width so he looked smaller than the trouble he carried. Hands open. Claws down. He lifted his chin, just enough. Let them see. Let them choose the distance.

Snow ticked on his jacket. Somewhere out by the drive a relay clicked and stayed clicked.

He waited.

Rahne had been watching the stranger for a few days now, he skirted the borders of the school’s property from time to time as he observed for a them for a moment before he vanished back into the woods. At first it seemed like a fun game to find him and track him, but eventually the wolf inside of her acknowledged the fact that these were the stalking habits of a predator. He was collecting information and planning before he did what? Attack? So now, as the spring weather flipped from lamb to lion and the X-Men were away from home he appeared to be taking advantage of the opportunity. Only he hadn’t planned on her to be watching and waiting, Rahne would defend her home with everything that she possessed and as he finally stepped out of the shadows, she did too.

With large, silent paws she approached the man from behind as a small growl escaped her lips. Logan had seen large wolves in the wilds of the Yukon but this beast was much bigger. Its yellow eyes locked onto him as its massive body hunched and it primed for an attack.

He’d known she’d been on him three nights—same counter-wind loop, same creek pause, same smart circle when he doubled back. The growl snapped him tight; he slid side-on, weight low, right hand leaking three inches of steel, left forearm jacket-wrapped over adamantium, back to a birch so nothing got behind him. He didn’t take the stare—just clocked the size, the auburn coat, the disciplined breath.

“Been shadowin’ me since Tuesday, wolf-girl,” he rasped. “You gonna say hello, or go for the hamstring?”

He drew a slow breath, eyes on her paws. “Soap and starch says you’re house-broke. So let’s skip the cattle-dog bit.” She shifted—front then rear, testing his balance—and he tapped a claw to the birch, a neat, cold tink. “Try the hamstring, you’ll chip a tooth.”

A beat. The fever nosed up; he shoved it down.

“I’m not here to poach. I’m ringin’ the bell—my way. You can circle, fetch a grown-up, or jump. I won’t start it,” he said, claws low, voice flat. “But I’ll finish it. Your call.”

Rahne’s canine eyes focused on his hands and the long sharp claws that he continued to brandish. While he claimed to be coming in peace, his actions told her something different. Rahne was accustomed to lies like this, her father often promised he wouldn’t hurt her before dragging her across the living room floor by her hair. The memory made her hackles rise and she promised herself no one would ever touch her like that ever again. Rahne knew who he was, this man was dangerous and cruel, he hurt people and enjoyed it.

With a lightning fast strike, the huge wolf lunged at him and its snapping jaws quickly found his leg with a strong, forceful bite. She had broken Conner’s leg with a bite like this and as her mouth filled with the warm, salty taste of blood Rahne knew that she had done some damage. Flesh ripped and shredded under her teeth and she violently shook her head to increase the trauma to the thigh and knee she held in her maw.

Her teeth tore his thigh; the knee went and heat flooded his boot. Healing didn’t catch—Legacy saw to that. He dropped his weight into the bite to kill the shake, jammed his adamantium forearm under her jaw and pinned her to the birch. The other hand clawed at Rahne—not a kill stroke; the centre blade slid along her eye-line and kissed fur, a shallow rake that said next one goes deep. He stamped her forepaw, hip turning to keep the femoral out of reach, breath hard through his teeth.

“Off,” he growled. “Now.”

She cranked down; he levered the claw between her molars at the hinge and prised, slow and mean. The message was clear: let go, or he’d open the lock. “Last chance,” gravel-flat. “Let go—before I make you.”

As the battle of wills between Logan and Rahne continued to escalate, a bird made of fire appeared in the sky above them. Its flames illuminated the grey night with a glow in hues of gold and orange as the snowfall on the two figures ceased, blotted out by the raptor’s large wings as it loomed over them with a vacant, hollow stare. The appearance of the bird caused the wolf’s hold on his leg to stop, its yellow eyes now fixed on the sky as a look of dread came over the animal’s face.

“ENOUGH!” Jean demanded as her lithe form ascended from the sky like the righteous angel that she was. The bird’s firelight lit her from behind, making her scarlet hair glow like a molten halo. “Rahne, inside. NOW!” she pointed at the wolf who immediately stepped away from Logan with her tail tucked between her legs.

Jean’s angry eyes then turned to Logan and he felt the tight hold of her telekinesis on him, phantom hands that were both gentle but strong enough to shackle him in place. “She’s a child.” She hissed at him through gritted teeth and he felt the touch of what it meant to outrage a telepath and a cosmic being. “Why are you here?”

Heat rolled off the sky-bird and the night went gold—snow hissing to steam on his jacket, every hair on his arms trying to stand. He’d seen a lot of fire in a lot of wars; this made his bones remember the tank. When the fiery woman said “Enough,” the air locked his joints like cuffs.

The wolfs jaws eased. Pain flooded in where fury had been keeping score. He let the claws slide home with a snick, kept his hands where the telekinesis wanted them and rode the throb in his leg.

“Didn’t start it,” he rasped. “Didn’t cut her.”

His mouth twitched. “And how’m I supposed to know she’s a kid when she’s a house-sized wolf tryin’ to take my leg off?”

As the wolf tucked tail and bolted for the door. He watched her go, dry: “Yeah. Thought so.”

He looked back into the firelight without flinching. “I’m sick—Legacy—and I’ve got other wiring I can’t tear out alone,” he said, voice rough but even. “Need your doc. Need your telepath. Figured I’d ring the bell.” A beat. “Guess you heard it.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed at his request. Every time he had appeared in the X-Men’s lives he had caused damage and destruction. Logan had tried to hurt people that she loved, he had tried to destroy their home. “And you came here to ask for help because…”

She sighed through her nose as she grappled with her own feelings. In a world that was so divided, so filled with hate and death, Jean could not deny anyone peace or compassion. Especially when she knew that love was the only way to truly change this world. “… because you knew we would.”

Logan huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Because no one else would. And because I’m done bein’ the thing they left loose.”

Jean’s voice and demeanor softened and the fire bird in the sky turned into something small and resembling a dove. She landed on the ground across from him with a single graceful step from out of the heavens. “I won’t deny you help and care but I have a hard time trusting you. You are going to have to trust me first in order for us to move forward. Will you trust me?”

The fire-bird gentled; he watched it, wary, then back to her. The bite throbbed; he didn’t hide the wince.

“You don’t owe me trust,” he said, rough. “I get it. But I’ll play it straight.”

He nodded once. “No claws. You say down, I stay down. You set the rules, I follow ’em. Walk me in, patch the leg, we go from there.”

He held her look. “That enough to start?”

“Good.” Jean replied as she moved towards him and reached out to touch his cheek, her hand was warm and soft against the whiskers. “Now sleep.”

With a telepathic caress Logan slipped away into a dreamless sleep. Jean’s telekinetic touch reached out and supported him as he went limp.

~* ‘Cecilia, will you please meet me in the med bay? And try not to yell when you see me?’ *~ Jean requested as she straightened her collar and made her way back towards the mansion with Logan in tow.

---

“The Legacy Virus and the remaining sentinel nanites are working in tandem,” Cecilia replied as she continued to peer into her microscope. “The nanites were engineered to be masked from his immune system and subsequently his healing factor, the virus has attached to them and are basically piggy backing on them so they can remain in his body without being detected. But his healing factor is doing something… just enough to keep him alive, just in a permanent state of illness.”

Jean clicked her tongue in disapproval as she examined the long stretch of rash that traveled up Logan’s side to his collar bone. “I’ve never seen someone get this bad, people usually die before this phase.”

“Yeah, well, that’s his miserable blessing. His fever is high enough that it should cause febrile seizures and the fluid in his lungs would cause most people to turn blue from the lack of oxygen but this guy… he’s hardier than a cockroach.” Cecilia reached out for a pipette as she spoke, “Combined with Rahne’s little love bite and this guy should be more than six feet under by now.”

“I think he’s been like this for a long time, hoping that his body would eventually overcome everything. He had to be desperate to come back here after everything that’s happened.” Jean noticed that he was already bleeding through the bandages on his leg from Rahne’s bite, yet he had healed from far worse in a matter of minutes the last time he had been here.

“I guess the real question is will he still play nice once he’s feeling better?” Cecilia asked as she injected a syringe full of the antidote to the nanites into his IV bag.

“I hope so.” Jean draped a blanket across Logan as he slept in the hospital bed. “But to be safe, I’ll stay down here until he wakes up. Put the med bay on lockdown and make sure none of the Alternate Class comes down here.”

Cecilia ‘mm-hmmed’ in agreement but the sass in her tone made her skepticism obvious. “Give him a second dose of antibiotics in four hours then and bring the orange chair in here, it’s the most comfortable.”

“Thanks Cecilia. I’ll see you in the morning.” Jean offered her a slight, appreciative smile as the doctor departed.

---

Logan woke up but it was hard for him to tell how long he had been unconscious. The medical bay was sleek and more advanced than anything he had seen before but it also lacked windows or a clock making it timeless with its dull artificial light. He had been stripped of his bloody, wet clothes and his leg had been dressed, while an IV pump slowly dripped to feed him the fluids and medicine he had so desperately needed. His fever had broken for the first time in what seemed like forever, providing Logan with a degree of mental acuity that had been sorely missing.

Surveying the room it appeared the only other person present was Jean. Wrapped up in a yellow blanket and reclining in an orange chair she dozed not far from his bedside while she waited for him to wake.

He came up fast and ugly—heart thundering, claws halfway out before he knew it. No windows. White light. Antiseptic. The soft tick…whirr of an IV pump like a machine counting him down. His skin remembered cold metal and straps; his head didn’t need the pictures to feel caged.

He caught himself on the rail, breath sawed short, eyes working the room. No mirrors. No handlers. Just Jean in that orange chair, a blanket kicked to her knees, hair a dark spill in the half-light. The scent said school—soap, coffee ghost, warm electrics—not the tank.

Claws slid back with a snick. He checked the bandage on his leg—hot, mean ache but cleaner—and eyed the IV. Every nerve wanted it out. He left it. He’d said he’d play it straight.

“Nice cage,” he rasped, voice low to test the air, to test himself. A beat. “Still here, Red?”

Jean jumped to her feet the moment Logan sprung back to consciousness, the feeling of his alert mind was sharp and painful like a blade across her skin. The feeling caused her to react in the same instinctive way, a hand lifting to her temple while the other reached out towards Logan as she prepared for him to strike.

But then the panic calmed and the tension between them eased enough for Jean to partially relax, though he noticed the tightness that remained in her jaw. “To be clear, this isn’t your prison and I am not your captor. You are free to leave whenever you please all you need to do is ask. But you’ve seen what this place is… this is a school for children, a boarding house for the forsaken, and a hospital for the sick. I have a lot of innocent and vulnerable people living here and it’s my job to keep them safe.”

Jean’s voice was firm with him, a reminder that her gentleness and compassion were not a sign of weakness. “I think we can both agree that you are a dangerous man, Logan. And despite your word to play by my rules there is still a very apparent risk that comes with your presence. I would be a fool to ignore that.” She picked up the blanket that she had cast aside and draped it across the back of the chair before taking a few steps towards him, her ire with him seemed to dissipate quickly enough but there was an undeniable touch of spitfire inside of Jean, a trait that most redheads seemed to possess. “How are you feeling?”

He kept his hands where she could see them and let the room settle. “Fair enough,” he said, voice low but easier than before. “You’re right to be careful. Kids come first.” His gaze flicked to the IV and back. “How’d you get my name, though? Don’t remember offering it.”

He shifted against the pillows, testing the leg. “Fever’s down. Head’s finally one piece. Lungs aren’t fighting me, which is new. I’m still sick—and whatever you pumped into me’s made the healing crawl instead of sprint—but I’m a sight better than I was in the snow.”

A corner of his mouth lifted, almost a smile. “I meant what I said. I’ll play it straight. You set the rules; I’ll stick to them.” He hesitated, softer. “Only ask is… go easy with the lab kit. I don’t do well with straps and bright lights.” His eyes held hers a beat longer than needed. “You’ve been decent to me. I won’t make that harder than it has to be.”

Jean’s brow furrowed a little from his comment about not remembering their last interaction but then she recalled what she had seen in his mind, how riddled with holes his memories were and how hard it had been for him to hold on to those fractured pieces. “I learned your name the last time you were here.” She was kind with her information but there was still some lingering wariness as she remembered the day perfectly. “You attacked the mansion as the Omega Sentinel and I helped free you from its control. I’m a telepath so I was able to glean your thoughts and picked up on your name as I worked.”

She nodded her head in agreement with his dislike of restraints and a laboratory environment. “I understand what you mean, I too have some trauma surrounding spaces like this. My mind has blocked out a lot of terrible things that were done to me and they occasionally comes back to me… it’s always hard to deal with when it happens.”

Jean’s tension eased a little more as she considered some of the similarities in their pasts. She had been lucky enough to be loved and supported when she returned from her trauma. Logan had been forced into the awful parts of himself, forced into being the weapon they had wanted him to be until it became all he knew. She shivered at the idea of still being held by Sinister and what his master plan had been for her and the Phoenix Force, she too could have been broken and rebuilt into a killer. “I’m happy to hear that you’re feeling better. Cecilia is a brilliant doctor and I think she likes the challenge of a hard case. She’s attempting to develop an anti-virulent for the Legacy Virus, combined with an additional dose of the solution that neutralizes the nanites, I think your own body is free enough to start helping you heal.”

She examined the bag of fluids that was almost empty, the slow infusion overnight was better than the single bolused injection that he had received at the mansion last year. “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

He gave a rough little grin. “Yeah… that’d be the Omega wiring. Scrambled me good. My memory wasn’t much to brag about before, now it’s all busted mirrors. Don’t take it personal.” A beat. “Guess I owe you for pulling me out of that mess. And for not throwing me back out in the snow this time.”

He shifted his weight, glanced at the IV. “Doc thinks she can keep me ticking, I’ll let her do her work. Feels like the static’s easing off. Healing’s crawling along, but at least it’s moving.”

Her question about food got the first honest spark in his eyes. “Yeah. Hungry. Something hot. Soup, bread. Coffee if you got it.” He smirked, dry. "Maybe a beer?"

“It’s 9:30 in the morning!” Jean scoffed at his request but the faint smile she returned told him that she was aware that he was partially joking or at least that was what she was going to believe. “Breakfast with coffee will be down shortly.”

She sat down again, relaxed and satisfied enough with his behavior that she allowed herself to continue to soften to him. “I could try and help you with your memory loss if you would like. I’m nowhere near as good as my teacher was but if you’d like to regain some clarity and part of your past, I would be willing to try.”

He let the grin linger at her scoff. “Fair—coffee first. We’ll save the beer for when I’m not held together with tape.”

His gaze stayed on her, softer than before. “I heard what the virus took from you… from the school. I didn’t know Xavier, not really, but his name got around even in the places I drifted. A place that took kids in instead of locking ’em up—that’s the kind of thing a man remembers.”

On the offer to help his memory, he shifted, measuring her. “I’m not flat-out saying no. I’m saying careful. I don’t do well with people in my head. If we try it, we start at the edges—light touch, nothing deep—and the moment I stiffen, you step back. No rummaging, no souvenirs. We earn it an inch at a time.” A beat. “I don’t know you yet, not really. But you came out there and didn’t leave me, and that counts.”

He eased against the pillow. “Get me steady, feed me, and we can talk about trying. Not today—let the needles do their bit first.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean today.” Jean shook her head in agreement, it made her red curls dance over her shoulders. “It was just an offer that means you’d be staying with us for a period of time… which means I’ll have to find a place for you to stay… after I tell the Alternate Class…”

Jean’s train of thought was interrupted by Rahne carrying a breakfast tray in both hands, her thick eyebrows knotted in deep concentration so she didn’t spill. She made her way into the room and shoved the tray into Logan’s lap as she scowled her way through the delivery.

“Ah’m sorry ah bit ye…” Rahne said the words without looking him in the eyes and with a pout on her face, she was a child that was being forced to apologize despite not really wanting to. “…even though ye deserved it.”

He’d smelled her halfway down the hall—wet wool, soap, wolf under the skin—so the scowl didn’t surprise him. The tray landed and he caught the wobble with a palm, amused.

“Apology accepted,” he said, easy. “And you’re not wrong—I gave you reason.”

He nodded at her, serious but not heavy. “You tracked clean, feet were quiet, and you went for the leg. Smart. Bite was solid, too.” A beat; the corner of his mouth kicked up. “Next time, call it off faster when the firebird says so. Saves everybody stitches.”

He lifted the coffee. “We’re square, kid. Good work.”

“Really?” Rahne looked up at Logan with mirthful brown eyes and if she had had a tail it would have been wagging.

“Rahne.” Jean replied with a firm but still warm tone to her voice as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Violence isnae the answer tae adversity, an’ peace cannae be kept by force — it can only be achieved through understandin’." Rahne recited in an almost robotic voice that could only be achieved from having to say the words over and over again.

“Everyday is a new beginning.” Jean said with a smile, “and I appreciate you apologizing. You’re excused, Rahne and yes, you can have a second cinnamon roll.”

Brightened by the promise of additional sugar, the preteen left the med bay with swift, determined feet.

“Rahne is a victim of some of the worst abuse and neglect I have ever seen,” Jean said to Logan once they were alone again but her green eyes remained fixed on the door as her thoughts lingered on the girl. “She raised herself as a wolf for most of her formative years so her response to conflict and her trust in men are a little off. Thank you for showing her some kindness.”

He watched Jean while she spoke, letting it land. “Yeah. I read some of that on her,” he said quietly. “Kid who had to raise herself first and figure people after—the world teaches you the hard way and it sticks.”

He rubbed at the edge of the tape, thinking. “I don’t remember much from the early years, but some part of me recognises that shape. Quick to bite, slow to trust.” His mouth tipped, wry. “Can’t say she’s wrong to be.”

He nodded once. “I’ll take her lead. Give her room, let her set the distance. If she wants to test me, she’ll find I’m steady.” A beat, gentler. “You’re doing right by her… by all of them. Thanks for telling me.” He glanced at the door, then back.

“It has been Charles’ dream to create a safe haven and a sanctuary for all mutants with the hope that someday it would no longer be needed. I grew up here and his dream became my dream too.” Jean finally looked at Logan for the first time since he had arrived. Once their gaze finally met, his eyes were a cool, steel blue. But more importantly, Jean noticed that he looked at her with a steady intensity that conveyed a deeper understanding about who she was and what she was trying to accomplish. It caught her off guard and Jean had to break away from his knowing gaze with a demure turn of her head. “But thank you, I am trying my best to give them a loving home.”

There was a brief pause in their conversation before Jean finally replied with a non sequitur. “The boathouse.” She said with absolute confidence. “Once you’ve recovered enough to leave the med bay you can stay in the boathouse. It’s not as luxurious as the mansion but it’s close to the lake and it offers some privacy… an attribute that I think you’ll appreciate.”

He held her look a heartbeat longer, then gave a slow nod. “That dream’s worth bleeding for,” he said, softer than his usual gravel. “I can see you’re carrying it the right way.”

At “boathouse” his mouth ticked. “Water and quiet sound about right. I’m not after luxury—somewhere out of the way suits me fine.” He glanced to his bandaged leg, then back. “When I’m upright, I’ll earn my keep—repairs, fences, night walks along the perimeter. I don’t take much space, and I don’t make trouble if I can help it.”

A beat; the edge of a smile. “And if there’s a porch, I’ll try not to spook the ducks.”

“Now I just have to inform the Alternate Class about you…” Logan knew who Jean was talking about, he had faced them twice now and both times had been rough enough to cause him to flee and regroup. “They are currently out on a mission…” He had known that too, which was why he had picked tonight to appear. “And I don’t know how they will take the news that you are staying here.” Another obvious comment made by Jean but at least all the known issues were being made public.

Jean exhaled sharply through her nose as she pondered what Scott would have said, his opinion on The Wolverine wasn’t a positive one. But their encounter was merely a hypothetical at this point in time, a scenario that was too unknown and too vague for Jean to really consider. So she brushed off those mixed feelings of hesitation and sadness before they took over and consumed her.

“Cecilia, Dr. Reyes, will be down later to examine you further. When you’re finally well enough to walk, I can give you a tour of the grounds and the school.” While Jean still had some concerns about Logan he could tell she was softening to his presence, the firm tone she had used at first had left and there was a warm and inviting air that filled the room thanks to her. “Do you have any questions for me?”

He scratched at the edge of the bandage on his thigh, eyes narrowing just a touch. “One question,” he said. “When your kids get back—the Alternate Class—you want me keepin’ clear, or you want me front and centre lettin’ ’em take their swings? Either way, they’re not wrong to be wary.”

A shrug followed, rough but honest. “Just tell me how you want it played. Last thing I’m here to do is start another fight at your door.”

“I think I’ll inform them first and have you come in later, I don’t want to surprise them with you suddenly sitting at the dinner table and I always want to allow them the opportunity to voice their concerns. They risk their lives as X-Men and this is their home, they deserve to be heard.” Jean chuckled a little, the first glimpse of humor he had seen from her. “You picked a hell of a place to hang your hat, I think the only place that would have more of a bias towards you is Asteroid M. But I believe in giving people second chances if they are willing to grow and change and I believe in you...”

Jean stood up to leave but stopped at the foot of his bed. She was beautiful but there was something more to her than that superficial appeal, it was in the way she carried herself. Jean was grace shaped by grit. “... so please don’t prove me wrong.”

Logan let out a low sound, somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Fair enough. Last thing I want is to spook the kids before they’ve had their say. You tell ’em straight, I’ll take what comes.”

He shifted against the pillow, watching her at the foot of the bed. For all the fire and steel he’d seen, there was a steadiness to her that cut deeper than the glow.

“I won’t prove you wrong,” he said, voice rough but sure. “I came here to try… not to wreck the place.”

He leaned back, eyes closing just enough to ease the weight off. “So yeah. I’ll play it straight.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Thanks for the shot, Red.”

 

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