Lost Marriage

Author: lucindas43302 <lucindasiverling[at]hotmail.com>

Author: Lucinda

Rating: PG/PG-13

rating: pg 13

main characters: Logan, Xavier

disclaimer: Nobody from Marvel belongs to me.

distribution: please ask first.

note: this is intended to be part of a crossover story called Hidden in the Past, and more or less immediately follows Hidden Memories, and is roughly concurrent with Feral Urges.

Chapter 1

The talk with the Professor had been rather frustrating. For a telepath, he seemed remarkably unwilling to take 'because it feels real' as a reason to think that the dreams were memory fragments. He kept asking if there had been any similar behaviors that might have inspired the dreams.

Logan had the distinct impression that Charles Xavier didn't believe him. It was frustrating. "If you think I should be able to remember bits of my life, why in the flaming hell are you insisting that these AREN'T those bits and pieces!?! Either everything's gone and you were feeding me a line of bullshit or there's a chance that I'm remembering and you don't want to help me figure things out. Which is it, Chuck?"

"I... That is not a valid allegation." The Professor looked offended, and a bit grouchy at the suggestion.

Oh, they'd argued around and around, with angry words and shouting on both sides. But eventually, after nearly a week of efforts, the Professor had agreed with Logan's permission, to monitor one of these dreams, to see if it matched the right sort of 'feeling' for a memory. It hadn't felt much like a victory to Logan, but it must have felt like a defeat to Xavier, judging by his sour expression.

It had been nearly a week after the Professor had caved in that the next dream had come. Deep in the calm of the night, when slumber lay heavy on the mansion, Logan began to dream.

He was standing beside a dark blue mustang convertible, probably from the mid sixties. He was waiting in front of a house, dressed like someone out of an old movie, with his hair cropped short in an effort to tame it. SHE stood there, her hair the color of cherry wood, red highlights shimmering over it. A pale dress skimmed over her body, hinting at the delectable curves beneath. She smiled at him, an expression so feminine that he almost felt like he'd swallowed his tongue.

"Jeannie... you look... darling, you look wonderful." The words were an awed whisper.

They were then eating dinner at this little Italian place that she loved, the Pacific at their backs, the candle light making her hair shimmer. He held a small box towards her, a ring glittering inside as he asked the most terribly important question in his life. "Jeannie? Will you... would you marry me?"

Tears sparkled in her eyes as she flung her arms around him, sounds of pure happiness emerging from her rose colored lips. "I'd love to marry you, James Logan Howlett."

In his sleep, the man now called Logan shifted, reaching out for someone that wasn't there. His lips moved, murmuring fragments of words.

He was spreading a blanket on the beach, Jeannie holding the basket as she smiled at him. The sun had lightened her hair, turning it a glorious dark red, and the breeze made if ripple and dance in the wind. The sunlight gleamed off the small golden band on her finger, sparkling on the diamond beside it. Not the most expensive ring, but he had it's mate on his hand. They'd decided to have a picnic on the beach, to get the fresh air. Her stomach had been bothering her a bit, and they'd hoped the sea air would help...

"I hope we packed enough food?" Jean was smiling at him.

"Of course we did, darling. Even though you'll eat most of it. You have the healthiest appetite I ever met, woman." He grinned at her, wishing that he had a job more exciting than construction work, something that would make her proud of him. But he'd signed up for a term in the military after college, then things would be a bit better for them... He could give her the nice things that she deserved, take her to places, see the world together.

Something made a small noise, and his chest hurt, this odd sensation as if he'd been punched by a very tiny, very strong fist. He blinked, a tendril of burning pain spreading from the center of his chest, and he could feel something damp on his shirt. "Jean?"

He swayed, suddenly feeling weak, and his vision spun. There was a man behind her, a man with a gun. No, he had to stay awake, had to protect his wife! The world spun around him, and he felt himself falling backwards, into the air beyond the cliff... into the warm water, the salt burning at his chest, filling his nose and mouth, itching, burning, smothering him...

He was naked, inside a giant glass tube that had been filled with some sort of cold gel. It clung to him, oozing into every crevice of his body. His muscles ached, and there was the deep parallel lines of slashes over his chest, as if something with large claws had attacked him. A small mask covered his nose and mouth, preventing the slime from entering his lungs. They were going to do that thing again, something that made the gel burn and sting, leaving his head feeling wrung out and fuzzy, his bones sore and his muscles as stiff and heavy as lead. The switches were thrown, and the fluid flared into reflected light, the pain starting only a few rapid heartbeats later, intense waves of agony...

With a bellow, Logan threw the covers away from himself, claws drawn as he looked frantically around. But he was not in the glass tube. He was in a small, bland looking room at Xavier's place. Nobody would do things like that to him here... Here was a place that was safer. He knew that he'd ben dreaming, that he'd dreamed of her again, his Jeannie. The image of her face was fading, leaving an impression of a sweet smile and deep red hair... And the image of sunlight gleaming on matching wedding bands.

They'd been married. He had a wife. Oh boy... a wife. Did that mean... could he have had a family? Would she even still be there? Where had 'there' been?

He walked towards the door, swinging it open and stalking down the hall. His bare feet made little noise on the floor, and he could feel the faint chill on his chest, the place where h'd been shot and at a later dream point slashed sort of numb. The sweat pants tried to cling to his body, the faint sheen of sweat almost but not quite enough to hold them. He was going to see Xavier, to find out if the telepath still thought he was imagining the fragments.

Charles Xavier was in his office, half collapsed over his desk, hands clutching at his head. He was muttering something, words about 'damn poor idea of a gift' and 'physical sensation manifesting'. Quite likely, it might have connected to Logan's dreams. Frowning, he sniffed the air. The Professor had been afraid... and there was the faint scent of dry painkillers, the stronger sort coming from a bottle on the shelf. He pulled it down and placed it on the desk beside Charles, moving over to pour out a glass of water so he could swallow down the pain killers.

He put the water beside the pills, and watched at the man's eyes practically lit up. "Still think I'm imagining the whole mess?"

His hands were shaking as Xavier swallowed two of the pills, some of the water spilling over his hand as he gulped it down. "That was... you have extraordinarily vivid dreams." He rubbed at his chest, frowning. "But... you were right. Fragmentary and incomplete as they are, it did feel like bits of memory. And there was a bit of a resembelance to Jean... our Jean, that is. How often do you have those?"

Logan dropped into the other chair, running his hand through the tangled mane on his head, pulling through tangles. "The parts with Jeannie... maybe once or twice a week now. The tube... those have been getting less frequent. No more than five or six a month now... Being here's helped a lot with those. They used to come every few days."

"I think I begin to see a cause for your surly temper. Dreams like that..." Xavier shuddered, still looking pale and shaky.

"Can we figure out where I was? Where the restaurant was, the college that I met her at... We had a house together..." Logan let his words die away, knowing that Xavier would pick up the rest. 'I was happy there. I want that back, damn it.'

Xavier nodded, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose, the other searching for something in one of the drawers, finally producing a handkerchief. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nostril, a sign of some sort of psionic exertion? Or maybe the air was just too dry in here... "There may be some difficulty in tracking down where you were, and what happened to your Jean. We will most definitely try, but there could be delays."

"I've spent years not knowing where I came from... a few more days can't make that much of a difference." Logan shifted slightly, his fingers drumming on the edge of his chair. "There have been more of them... more of the happier ones. Those are better... but I want to know more. I want to know more than a name, I want to know what sort of man I used to be."

"We'll find something of who you were, I promise. And we'll find out what happened to your wife." Xavier's voice held determination, a promise of how the future would be.