#sconna

Chapter 1: The girl under the wisteria

ALERT!

ALERT!

Krakoa’s alarms blared through the security chamber as members of the Quiet Council filed in through the living doorway, Charles Xavier leading the procession at a measured pace. “Henry.” His voice carried calmly across the chamber toward the tall, blue-furred figure standing before the central console. The mutant known as Beast typed with impressive speed, claws clattering against the keyboard as streams of data poured across the display. “What has happened?”

“I’m not certain as of yet,” Beast replied, his tone thoughtful despite the urgency. A map of Krakoa blossomed across the main screen as he traced the source. Moments later, a section of the island pulsed with light while lines of information cascaded beside it. “My word… it seems we’ve detected an unidentified lifeform.”

Xavier studied the screen, watching as the unmistakable signs of biological activity scrawled across its pixels. “But… how?” The question slipped from him quietly. Already he had reached deeper with his mind, the power of his telepathy amplified by the Cerebro helmet resting upon his head. His consciousness expanded outward across the island, searching the marked location.

And yet, nothing.

Not an absence precisely, but something far more troubling.

A darkness.

A hollow place where a mind should have been.

Unease brushed the edges of Xavier’s thoughts. Such anomalies rarely heralded simple explanations. He turned his attention toward the next most powerful mind in the room and gently reached out. “Jean,” He spoke within the quiet corridors of thought, addressing Jean Grey as both colleague and former student. “Tell me what you sense.” He watched as she stepped beside him, the memory of the young girl he had first met long ago momentarily overlapping with the formidable woman she had become. One hand rose to her temple as she concentrated.

Moments passed.

Then her hand lowered again, confusion creasing her brow.

“Darkness,” she confirmed aloud for the others. “No thoughts. No feelings. Just… emptiness.”

“Well, isn’t that helpful.” The condescending drawl of Mister Sinister grated faintly against Xavier’s patience. “Why are we wasting our time on this? For all we know it’s a sensor error. Perhaps some unfortunate animal brushed against the wrong piece of equipment.”

Xavier resisted the retort that immediately formed in his mind. Leadership, he had long ago learned, required restraint as much as conviction. Still, a small and persistent voice within him wondered, yet again, whether granting a seat on the council to such a man had been wisdom or folly.

Fortunately, others possessed far less patience.

“How fascinating,” Came the cool voice of Emma Frost. “Do let us know when you have something worthwhile to contribute, dear Sinister.”

Xavier felt a flicker of quiet relief. Gratitude toward Emma Frost was not a sentiment he had always held with ease, but in moments such as this, he appreciated her particular brand of candor. And a slight sense of amusement when Sinister’s expression soured.

“If this is a threat to our island,” Rumbled the towering form of Apocalypse behind him, “Then I will face it and strike it down.”

“No.” Xavier raised a hand gently, halting the ancient mutant before the declaration could gather further momentum. “Let us not be too hasty,” He said. “This anomaly could be any number of things.” His fingers moved thoughtfully to his chin as he considered the possibilities. The island itself remained quiet beneath his psychic touch, offering no immediate warning. “Until we know more of its nature, or its intentions, it would be wise to proceed cautiously.” He glanced once more at the map glowing on the screen. “We will send someone to investigate.”

“Agreed,” Jean said.

Emma inclined her head in support.

Apocalypse remained silent, clearly unconvinced, while Sinister looked merely irritated, but the decision of the council was clear.

“Very well,” Xavier concluded. He allowed his mind to sweep outward across the island once more, searching the surrounding area. Within moments he found the presence he sought.

A familiar mind.

One uniquely suited to whatever awaited them.

“Then we shall send our best.”

Fuck it.

Fuck it all.

Fuck love.

Fuck life.

Fucking fuck.

Logan slouched against the bar at the Green Lagoon, knocking back another shot of whiskey. He welcomed the burn as it slid down his throat and settled in his gut. Soon as the glass hit the counter, he poured another.

Lucky for him, when he’d told Blob to leave the damn bottle the barkeep had actually listened. Guess the guy was good for something besides being a punching bag. Hell, he’d opened a bar. By that logic they oughta be best friends.

Not that Logan had ever been much for drinking buddies. He was a lone drinker, always had been.

That was his life though, wasn’t it?

Maybe not quiet, never quiet, but lonely as hell. Especially since he’d managed to screw up the one thing in his life that had almost felt right. And now he no longer carried on a relationship with the only two people that had ever bothered to love and give a damn about him despite all his issues.

Logan rolled the glass between his fingers.

He didn’t blame them though, couldn’t. This one was on him. Same as always. He was too much, too rough around the edges, too dangerous.

Even for Jean Grey and Scott Summers.

Hell of a thing. He’d seen it coming, though. Saw the writing on the wall and got out before either of them had to say the words. Packed his stuff and left that house they’d built, on the damn moon of all places.

Logan huffed quietly.

He was gonna miss that view.

Not as much as he missed them right now. For a while there he’d thought, stupidly, that maybe he could have it all. Jean, the woman he’d wanted damn near as long as he had known her. Scott too, which still surprised him when he thought about it. Funny how years of bickering and tension between the three of them had ended up being solved with a little honesty… and a lotta tangled sheets.

He downed another shot.

He’d miss that too. Not just the sex, though hell he wasn’t gonna pretend that part didn’t matter, but everything around it. The quiet, the honesty, waking up in the middle of the night and knowing someone was there.

His sleep had always been shit, but getting used to doing it alone again?

That was worse.

Not like he had to, either. Logan could charm his way into plenty of beds if he felt like it.

Wouldn’t be the same though. Nothing would.

He tossed back another shot and poured the next.

No point in brooding about it. What’s done is done. Time to move on, same as always.

He’d just lifted the glass when a familiar voice slid into his head.

“Logan, old friend. You’re not busy at the moment, are you?”

Logan sighed, already annoyed.

Great.

“You’re in my head, Chuck,” He muttered under his breath. “You tell me.”

The calm voice of Charles Xavier echoed through his thoughts.

“I was hoping you might check something for us. Our security systems have picked up peculiar readings. We’re struggling to determine what exactly it may be.”

Logan squinted towards his reflection in the glass of the whiskey bottle “Any reason it’s gotta be me?”

“You were simply the closest.”

Figures.

Logan ground his teeth, then knocked back the last shot “Fine,” He grumbled. “Point me in the right direction. I’ll check it out.” He was already wearing the damn suit anyway. Might as well get some use out of it.

“Much appreciated.”

Logan pushed himself off the bar and pulled his mask down over his face.

The man nursing his whiskey disappeared, and Wolverine walked out.

Within moments he was trekking through the trees with practiced ease, senses open to every sound and scent around him. This part of the island was practically his backyard. He’d walked these paths more times than he could count. If something was out of place, he’d know it.

And it didn’t take long.

A scent drifted through the air.

New.

Logan slowed, the smell got stronger the deeper he went, leading him straight to the spot Charles had pointed him toward. He dropped into a crouch the closer he got, boots silent against the forest floor while he stepped carefully around fallen leaves. A clearing came into view. Like the rest of Krakoa, it was lush and green, sunlight spilling through the canopy overhead. But right in the center stood a massive wisteria tree, its twisted trunk wrapped in thick roots while long curtains of violet flowers swayed lazily in the breeze.

And that new scent?

It was strongest there.

He moved, slow and quiet, the way a predator closed in on prey. He raised a hand gently pushing aside the curtain of hanging blossoms.

That’s when he saw the source of the alarm.

That’s when he saw her.

A woman.

Curled up at the base of the tree, nestled against the roots like she’d been there all along. She was dressed like she’d been on her way to work nice clothes, neat shoes, the whole nine yards. A messenger bag was clutched tight against her chest while she slept like the world around her didn’t exist.

Logan blinked.

What the hell?

If she was supposed to be an assassin or spy, she was doing a piss-poor job of it.

For a second he wondered if she was just some mutant who’d wandered off looking for a quiet place to nap. But that didn’t make any fucking sense. Everyone on Krakoa had their biological data logged in systems Logan didn’t even pretend to understand. Nobody living on the island would’ve tripped the alarms like this. And there weren’t any gates nearby either.

Which meant one thing.

She didn’t belong here.

Wolverine stepped forward openly now. No point sneaking around anymore. Hell, she looked small enough he doubted she could land a punch even if she tried.

Still…

Her scent was strange.

Not bad.

Just… wrong somehow, like nothing he’d ever smelled before.

He crouched down beside her. She didn’t so much as twitch. He could’ve killed her right then and she never would’ve known. “Hey.” He called out.

Nothing.

He reached out and gave her shoulder a light tap. “Hey, bub. Wake up.”

She stirred this time, but only to wave him off before curling tighter around her bag “Mmm… Go away…”

Logan stared at her.

Oh.

Oh hell no.

He drew in a breath and bellowed “HEY!”

“I’M AWAKE!”

That did it.

She shot upright with a startled yelp, scrambling while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I-I’m awake.”

“Finally,” Wolverine growled. “Now what the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Sorry, um…” She shook her head like she was trying to wake the rest of her brain up. “I was going to the Rockefeller Center stop… did I miss-”

Logan frowned.

Rockefeller?

In New York City?

She was staring out at the forest in front of her now, back turned completely toward him. Logan raised an eyebrow behind his mask. She had no sense of survival while awake either apparently.

If what she’d said was true, though… going from a concrete jungle to a literal one like this would mess with anyone’s head. Hell, who knew the last time she’d even seen this much green.

“Um… sorry, but where-” She finally turned around and froze. Her eyes went wide, wider than Logan thought eyes should ever go. Like a deer caught in headlights. She looked straight at him, really looked, like she was trying to process what exactly her brain was telling her.

Her eyes were gray, he noted. Like clouds before a storm, a color he didn’t see all too often. She blinked a few times then turned away quickly rubbing her eyes hard, like she expected him to disappear. A second later she looked back at him again, squinting this time as her gaze slowly traveled over the mask, the suit, just him in general.

Then, in the smallest voice imaginable she asked “…Wolverine?”

If Logan could’ve frowned any deeper, he would have.

“So,” he said slowly, pushing to his feet. “You know who I am.” His voice turned cold as he loomed over her. “That means you know what I’m capable of.” His hand shot forward, grabbing the lapels of her blazer and hauling her up until she was forced onto her toes.

Now they were face to face.

Her strange scent flooded his senses, close now, stronger than before. Logan lifted his free hand, fist tightening.

“Now answer the damn question.”

SNIKT!

His claws slid free with a metallic whisper, long adamantium blades catching the light as they sprang from between his knuckles. “What the hell are you doing here?” He growled, bringing the claws close enough that she could see her own shocked reflection in the metal. “And I better like what you’ve got to say.”

“Uh-I don’t know!” The words tumbled out of her in a panicked rush. Her hands grabbed his wrist instinctively, clutching at the arm that held her. “The last thing I remember is being on the train. I-I was going to an interview!”

Logan narrowed his eyes.

Weird.

She was definitely rattled, but he didn’t smell real fear. Almost like she thought he wasn’t actually gonna hurt her. That alone was enough to make him snort.

His grip tightened slightly.

Didn’t smell any lies in her story either though.

Her eyes kept darting around now, scanning the clearing like she was finally realizing the situation she’d landed in. Survival instincts kicking in a little late, bad time to start looking for exits. Logan studied her for another second. Then his irritation faded.

What the hell was he doing?

This felt pointless now. She looked just as confused as the rest of them probably were. With a grunt, he let go. She dropped straight down, landing on the ground with a soft thump. Logan’s claws slid back into his knuckles as he flexed his hand and rolled the tension out of his shoulders.

“Excuse me…” Her voice was small when she spoke again. “But… where are we?”

Logan huffed out a short laugh. “This is Krakoa, kid.” He said gruffly. “And it looks like I’m your welcoming committee.”

He glanced down at her, expecting the usual reactions: anger, panic, maybe a good dose of nerves.

Instead when their eyes met again. What Logan saw there wasn’t fear.

It was awe.