He knew it was a mistake from the moment he saw the sleek, black figure descending from the sky. It all came rushing back. All the shit he had so carefully buried under layers of booze, women and dust of the road. When Summers walked down the loading ramp and nodded his greeting he could practically taste the heady scent of Jean’s blood at the back of his throat, still as fresh as if it all happened yesterday instead of seven long years back.

He managed to keep it all together, had even fairly decent conversation with Summers during their flight back to Westchester. But when the hangar doors closed and sealed him under ground he knew he had to get out. Marie would be just fine; he knew Summer’s would take care of everything. He ran out of the hangar, waited for the elevator for what felt like eternity, and when the door opened he lunged in there, scaring a very confused student out of her wits, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to introduce himself or even pay any attention to the girl who stood at the corner of the elevator, clutching a stack of books against her chest. He punched the button that would bring the car to ground level. When the door opened and he stepped out he could hear a relieved sigh from behind him. At least the girl dared to breathe again.

He knew that Xavier was waiting in his office. Summers had contacted him earlier and told their ETA. He glanced towards the sturdy oak doors. From behind them he would find open air. He turned his back on them. He’d better go and talk with Xavier now. He wasn’t all that sure that he could come back inside once he walked out trough those doors.

He forced himself to take the required steps through the corridors that were packed to the brim with students of all ages. Crowd parted in front of him, and he couldn’t help thinking how Moses could have had some reason for jealousy. He stopped on the door to Xavier’s office, hand raised to mid-air, unsure of if he should knock or not. Professor had probably detected his presence at the campus already. He felt fleeting brush against his forehead, like a hand. Then strong feeling of welcoming warmth engulfed him. He swallowed the bitter saliva and pushed the door open.

Professor was sitting by the window, his back turned at him.
“Welcome back, Logan.”
“Thanks… I guess.” He shuffled his feet, unsure of what to do, then stepped all the way in and closed the door behind him.
“It has been a while. How have you been?” Professor asked, turning to face him. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Just fine. Found new addition to your collection. She’s taking the tour with Summers.”
“Ah, yes… Young miss D’Ancanto. It was nice of you to invite her here,” professor said, faint smile on his face. Logan grimaced.
“Cut the crap, wheels. We both know very well that you don’t want me here. Don’t worry; I won’t be straining your hospitality too long. I’ll be leaving tonight.”
“If that is what you wish to do. Then I won’t be needing to open a room for you?” Professor Xavier asked. Logan shook his head.
“Don’t bother. Won’t need one. I rest for while and get back on the road before the morning. Might grab something to eat if that’s okay with you.”
“Very well. I’ll inform the kitchen staff. I’m sure you find something to your liking.”
“Thanks.” He turned to leave, then whirled around again.
“D’Ancanto chick… I have nothing going on with her. Just met her today. She just needs a place to stay.”
“You don’t need to worry. We won’t turn away mutants from our door, Logan. You of all people should know that.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Just take care of her, okay?”
“She will be looked after. You don’t have to worry over her wellbeing.”

Warm, disgusting feeling lingered inside of him, sloshing around like an infection. Xavier had never really forgiven what happened with Jean, but the man did his best to hide his distaste towards Logan. That left marks to his telepathic approaches, and now his latest attempt was festering and boiling in Logan’s mind like three days old open wound. He shrugged his shoulders and cracked his neck, sending students scattering to every direction from his near vicinity. Like a flock of birds from the sight of a fox.

He escaped to the back garden before the nauseating feeling got the better out of him. It was late afternoon. The people were undoubtedly gathering to the dining hall. He could have gone in there with them, there were not so many people here who even knew who he was, but rumors spread fast. He didn’t want to flee from the dinner with his tail tucked between his legs just because whispers and short glances were driving him nuts. Of course he could sneak in to the kitchen through the back door. Xavier had informed the cooks, and the man knew Logan well enough to alert them for the possibility that he just might pop in unannounced. Somehow he wasn’t feeling hungry anymore.

He sat on the shadow of an old oak and lit a cigar. Inhaled the thick smoke and welcomed the tar and toxins. Tried not to look at the statue on his left, partly shadowed by the forest behind it. He couldn’t understand why they had to bury her here instead of the graveyard just few kilometers down the road.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the thick trunk of the tree behind him. Tried to block out scents and sounds. It wasn’t working. Constant buzzing of life just loud enough to register on his radar forced him up on his feet, pacing nervously back and forth in the shadow.

He wandered to a small gazebo. New installment. Well, relatively new. It hadn’t been here seven years ago, but it had already worn and weathered. White pain had chipped and wooden benches inside bore marks of regular use. He noticed few students wandering towards the gazebo, but they stopped dead on their tracks and turned the other way when they noticed him sitting in there. Word had apparently gotten out.

Later that night, after his bout with Marie he couldn’t stop anymore. He had to get away from Xavier’s. He took his motorcycle from the hangar. Sat on the saddle for a good while, his eyes cast upwards, eyes scaling the grey stone wall; stopping when suddenly light was turned on. It landed on him from a window on the second floor, and he could see Summers standing there, staring down at him, hands clasped to his waist, unreadable look on his face. Summers shook his head and turned away when he gunned the engine.

Gravel of the driveway scrunched under the wheels and pinged against cast iron when he drove through open gates of the campus.

Following week he tried to regain the blissful state of numbness he had managed to create almost immediately after the accident. Now he didn’t have Xavier’s considerable funds backing him up, so drugs were out of the question. Booze wasn’t helping much, and barflies he picked up only annoyed and aggravated him from the moment he laid his eyes on them to the moment he kicked them out of his bed and the dingy room he had rented.

Yes. He had rented a room. He had gotten as far as the N.Y. City before paranoia had dug its claws deep in to him. He knew Xavier wasn’t mean or stupid. The man would do anything and everything in his power to keep Marie D’Ancanto happy and satisfied. She was probably their best asset in case the already inflamed relations between mutants and humans bloomed to a full-fledged war. But he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of worry that crept upon him every time his mind strayed thinking about the girl in question.

When everything else failed he packed his meager belongings and returned to the road, turning his motorcycle south. Following routes that had been ingrained to his backbone during six long years, fighting occasionally when he needed food or gas, or if the weather made him seek shelter from yet another dingy motel along the way.

The town was exactly the same as he remembered until he turned to Magnolia Street. Already faded scent of ashes landed on him, making him stop and park the bike to the side of the road. He walked the last stretches, stopped and stared for a long moment.

He had known it the whole time he had been driving to this direction. He had known, even expected it, but somehow it still caught him by surprise. Between two light blue houses stood charred rubble where Marie’s white little house had stood earlier. Rains had already washed off most of the soot and ashes, revealed the innards of the building as it stood there like half eaten carcass. Ugly reminder of things that had happened probably soon after they had left the town with the beaten up excuse of a truck. And he just knew he wouldn’t be coming this way never again. There was no reason to pass the ruins of what used to be.

That night he spent in town, beating up rednecks that were just a tad too eager to step in to the cage with him, and that were just a tad too eager and hungry for blood. Fights left him with a decent wad of cash, his own lust for blood somewhat sated, and a foul taste to the back of his throat. He had nearly killed a man. Fucker had been too stubborn to stay down after first round.

Later that week he stumbled upon yet another mutant. Young girl with the ability to control insects. He fucked with her and left her with generous amount of cash instead of contacting Xavier. Resulting fuzz would have been too big compared to the girl’s usefulness in the big picture.

All in all, it took him two whole months before he found himself sitting on his bike, outside of Xavier’s. Night was silent around him. He turned off the engine and pushed the bike for the last meters of the driveway to the main building. Xavier had most likely known he was coming back even before he had known it himself, but there was no reason to advertise his return further. They’d find out he was back in the morning.

He was walking around the building, back door was usually left open for late-night visitors, when he spotted light coming from the library’s windows. He wandered closer, curiosity getting the better of him.

She was sitting behind a table, a candle burning next to the book she was reading. Every once and a while she jotted down notes to a booklet, then continued reading, curling a strand of hair with unconscious move around her left index finger. She was clothed from head to toe, long woolen socks covering her feet from toes above her knees, white, modest cotton nightgown shrouded her body, covering even her neck with white collar. But her hands were bare. Long, slender fingers, skin almost as white as the cotton of her gown, red nail polish looking almost obscenely dark and fresh, as the blood that had been dribbling from his knuckles last night when he had gotten in to rough and tumble with some uptight pricks at the City.

He lit a cigar and leaned against the tree growing just outside of the window, letting his eyes rest on her bent head and shoulders. Every once and a while her head rose and she rubbed her forehead, small lines appearing to the corners of her eyes as she was thinking about something. He dropped the cigar to the ground and crunched it under the heel of his boot. Walked to the window and rapped softly with his knuckles on it, startling her momentarily.

“Hi. How have you been?” She asked after opening the window. He leaned his arms against the sill and let his head rest on top of them, keeping his gaze fixed to her face.
“The same… Better… Worse… Who the fuck knows? How about you? These pricks treating you right?” He asked.
“I’m good. Prof pays well, and the work aren’t as hard as I have gotten used to earlier.” She was sitting on the table, dangling her feet over the edge, just above the floor, her toes barely touching the cold linoleum. Candle was spluttering in the light breeze, casting her shadow to the far wall, making it sway back and forth almost as if she were dancing in front of him, twirling along in soundless valse.
“Where have you been?” She asked. He shrugged his shoulders.
“Here and there… They burned your house.”
“Those bastards!” She hissed, anger sparkling briefly in her eyes.
“South Park?” He asked.
“What?”
“Wasn’t that from South Park? Saw one episode few weeks ago.”
“You watch cartoons?”
“No. I was in a bar, and it was either watching South Park or no TV at all. Barkeep had some serious issues with that show.”
“Yeah… So… Came to stay?” She asked. He shrugged his shoulders again. He could tell from her scent what she wanted the answer to be. He could tell many things from her scent, but everything was covered with thick layer of silent need and yearning. She was alone.
“I guess I could… I could stay for a while…”

She grabbed a set of keys from the table and threw them to him.
“I can’t sleep anyways, I have some books to catalogue. My room is in the third floor, last door on the left. As long as you don’t pee on the bathroom floor and don’t rifle through my diary you can crash in there.”
“Pee on the floor? Jesus, woman… I’ll see you at breakfast, okay?” He asked. She nodded and closed the window, leaving him alone in the night.

He grabbed his knapsack from the saddlebag of his bike and entered to the building looming in front of him. Corridors were silent. It looked like everybody else but Marie was sleeping. It suited him well.

His boots thudded softly against the thick carpet as he made his way to the elevator waiting at the corner. To his surprise it now required a key. He picked the one that seemed that it could fit and choose the third floor. Door slid shut behind him and he could feel the car rising.

There were no signs of life on the third floor. Long corridor stretched in to darkness in front of him. Only scent aside from wood polish and dust was Marie’s. She lived alone up here. He made his way to her door and pushed it open.

Room was small but tidy. Filled to the brim with neatly organized piles of books and stacks of papers. The bed was tucked away in the corner, looking like it was more of a necessary evil than anything else. Chair and desk in front of the window looked good. He could detect first signs of use on them, small patches on the desk where she rested her elbows; padding of the chair was slightly dented.

He dropped the knapsack to the corner, drew out his shaving kit and a towel and undressed. The people would most likely complain about late shower at morning, but he wasn’t going to pass the opportunity to scrub off accumulated dirt, dust and sweat from his skin. And he had a feeling that Marie wouldn’t much appreciate if he left smudges to the linens on her bed.

Half an hour later he curled on to the bed, warm, Marie-scented covers wrapped tightly around him, and closed his eyes.

Knock on the door woke him, and he sat up, rubbing his face tiredly. Sun was shining, so it was reasonable to assume that it was morning.
“Logan? You awake?”
“Yeah. But not decent. Wait a moment…” He fumbled a clean pair of jeans from his knapsack and put them on before opening the door. Marie stood there, holding a huge pile of books. He grabbed them before the pile toppled over and fell down.
“Thanks! You can put them on the desk. Hungry?” She asked, brushing past him to the bathroom and closed the door only partially to hear his answer. He could hear her sitting down on the toilet seat.
“I could eat something. You need to change your clothes or something? I can wait outside if…”
“Duh. Like there’s anything you haven’t seen before…” She emerged from the bathroom, peeling off her nightgown and threw it to a hamper in the corner.
“I’ll just take a quick shower and we can go. Okay?”
“Okay…”

He grabbed a shirt from the knapsack and put it on, buttoning it. Then stretched back on the bed, closing his eyes and enjoying the soft humming that echoed from the shower. Voice soothed over his nerves, dulling sharp edges and wrapping his senses to fluffy cotton.
“Christ…. You have a great voice…” He murmured, eyes still closed when the shower stopped and she stepped out from the bathroom.
“Couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. But it’s my shower. Hence my right to sing,” she said, opening and closing closets and drawers. He could hear soft rustle of cloth against skin. Noticed bit miffed that instead of heated need to get that cloth off from her he only felt mild curiosity.
“Don’t know anything about art or musical values… But your voice feels good inside of me…”
“Weren’t you supposed to be the resident art teacher?” Marie asked. He cracked his eyes open. She was standing in front of a mirror, braiding her hair. He could see via the mirror the smirk on her face.
“Yeah. Could probably teach those brats how to draw a stick figure if I put up an effort,” he huffed, sitting up and grabbing her hips, pulling her between his knees.
“It’s crooked.”

She stood silent while he braided her hair again. Long brown tresses felt like silk sliding over the pads of his fingers, and rasped softly together.
“Art teacher and a hairdresser? I might have to marry you, mister,” she smirked. Logan chuckled softly, then their eyes met on the mirror.
“And what would your guardian say about that?”
“Considering that you already spent a night in my bed, I don’t think he would have very much to say about that issue.”
“I kind of doubt that. Uh… About that breakfast… Would you mind if I took you out to eat?” Logan asked.
“I wouldn’t mid a bit. Truth to be told, oatmeal is good, but it can get kind of boring if you’re having it every morning.”

They raided the kitchen on their way out and managed to scrounge up decent pile of sandwiches and a thermos full of coffee before cooks drove them out in the sun. His motorcycle was still standing where he left it at night.
“There’s this small pond not too far from here…” She started.
“Know the place. Have been there couple of times.”

They drove to the pond and took out their breakfast. Ate in silence, their gazes fixed to the pond ahead rather than to each other’s.
“Are you… You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” she asked. He drank the last of his coffee.
“Probably. How did you know?”
“You took your knapsack with you. Are you coming back?”
“Have to. No reason to go to Magnolia Street anymore.”

She sighed and leaned against him, her gloved fingers resting lightly on his thigh. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They just sat and waited until it was time for her to go open the library.

“So…”
“Yeah…” He was sitting on his bike, on hand resting on the handlebar, other fiddling with something metallic on his chest. He pulled it over his head and handed it to her. A dog tag, with the name Wolverine and a series of numbers engraved to it. She took it and stuffed to the front pocket of her jeans.
“I’ll come back for that,” he spoke softly, with slightly raspy voice. She nodded.
“I’ll see you next summer.”