@stillheals: starter.
Forty-eight days since he’d last seen her. Forty-six days since he’d been taken. Thirty days since the treatment happened. Four days since he stopped feeling the claws around tense muscles. Logan had always been a man with weary, old eyes, but there was a certain hollow in his gaze when he made the mistake of making eye contact. The hollow that matched the wide space between his knuckles.
He coughed, and it wracked through his smaller frame. He was lighter - too light. Every movement he made threatened to knock him over, always overcompensating for a weight that wasn’t there. But despite the anxious hands that came to give him support, he kept trying to wave them off. A slight stumble on the ramp was enough to raise enough concern for a firm arm to drape over his shoulder, keeping him steady the rest of the way down. Logan raised a tired head, taking in the hangar. He was exhausted, but like hell he’d be shepherded off to the med bay. For the first time since the facility they’d found him in, Logan spoke - funny enough, repeating the same words he’d uttered then.
“Laura? Where’s Laura? Is she okay?”
