It would have been an exaggeration to call yesterday the worst day/night combination ever, but Logan was prepared to do it anyway. If you shortened 'ever' to mean 'in the past week or so,' it was true. Part of it was Jean - the fact that they'd dug into his head and pulled out a near-perfect copy of her as some kind of psychological warfare nuke was bad enough, but having his own suspicious confirmed was worse. He'd been out on the field, attacking kids for reasons he didn't have, totally out of control of his own actions. And it hadn't even been his fault, that was most terrible part. He knew what he was like when he was out of control, and that hadn't been it. That had been some invisible puppetmaster pulling his strings, or something. He had fucking strings to pull. And he couldn't even remember what had led him to that point; someone had screwed around with his memories, big surprise.

The kicker was that he knew he'd had claws last night, but when he tried to pop them (right in front of his nurse - he didn't care), nothing had happened. They weren't for him to use, apparently. Just other people. Story of his life.

By the time he'd gotten his breakfast he felt like he could burn holes in anything he stared at for too long. He plunked his tray down in a corner and faced the wall. He wasn't up for talking to anybody except maybe Kurt, and Kurt, of course, wasn't around.