Piotr's seen it - every time Logan's claws slide through his flesh, Logan bleeds.

Logan bleeds a lot, of course, more than any of them. He pops bullets out of his skull and charges through falling masonry and stands down knife charges that would kill a normal man, and he lives. But he bleeds.

Piotr has faced bullets and stones and blade, too. Secure in his metal shell, they never touched him. He felt the distant impact, sometimes, on the very edges of his skin.

Piotr wonders if Logan's recklessness is inspired by the uncanny magic of his healing, or if the speed with which his bones knit and flesh seals are somehow a safeguard against his wild heart. Perhaps that's the true evolution of their kind; body finally rising to meet the enormous perils of their world, Logan's body jumping forward to keep pace with his unopposable lust for danger.

There isn't much in the world that could make Piotr bleed, but the claws that slice out of Logan's hands can do it. He's seen it, in training, in the danger room. In his dreams.

Piotr wakes, one early morning after Logan's departure, and finds he has bitten the inside of his mouth while he slept. The wound is small, and hidden from the others, but all day he tastes it, the metallic salt of blood.