Part 4- ‘Caught At An Impasse…’
She shut her eyes tightly; his ragged breathing the only sound in her ears, everything else seemed to fade away and all she could think was that she had just called him James. How long had it been, how long since he had heard that name, how long, because for him, before Logan, before it all there had been James, young James Howlett.
She could still feel his heavy skeleton threatening to crush her, she didn’t dare to look, to open her eyes and look into his, to see that maybe her friend was gone, that this thing boring down on her, this creature whose every breath rushed down on her face, fluttering her hair but causing her to shiver in every sense, that this thing had taken over.
Wolverine was in control, she had used his true name out of an act of desperation, but it had seemed to do nothing, he still had her pinned, what to do, what to say now, has it all come to this?
And she willed herself, prayed to every God she knew to offer her the strength, open your eyes, look and see, let him know that however far he’s gone she was still here, willing to forgive, willing to save him, if he would just let her breathe, let her live.
‘Hold on…’ she barely whispered the words, it was a short prayer for herself just as much for him, hold on to that little spark, the true self that’s dying inside you, don’t let him win, don’t let the animal in you take over, don’t let him kill me and eventually you as well. Hold on, just hold on.
She opened her eyes at last, had minutes passed? Or was it hours, waiting for an end to this stalemate, this fucked-up situation they’d ended up in, this dark place they’d arrived at, waiting to be allowed to breathe again, it had seemed like days.
And she realised it had been, days, since that moment she’d entered his nightmares, that night in the bathroom, days since either of them had breathed. They’d both been holding their breaths, holding it in, waiting and knowing that eventually it would come to this.
She saw him with his arm raised still, the claws barely inches from her face, his arm tensed and she could only stare up at him, the tears formed in the back of her eyes, the tears that burned from a pain that was unbearable, the hot, unwanted tears for a friend that was dying, for a life that had been destroyed, for the uncertainty she couldn’t fathom.
They pooled at the corner of her eyes falling gently, silently down the side of her face, and her chest heaved under the weight from the sobs that racked her body, he wouldn’t let her go, she would die here, under his weight, trapped in this nightmare.
And she wanted so much to live, so much just to live.
She screamed as the adamantium claws whizzed past her face, they scratched her cheek, deep cuts that she could feel open up as the metal sliced through her soft flesh. The cuts opened up and the saltiness of her tears bled into the wounds of her face stinging as they went.
And she bled, she turned her face to the side and caught sight of his fist and his claws buried deep into the soil, knowing that it could have been worse, so much worse. She drew sharp haggard breaths, and realised where she had stopped screaming, he had started.
His voice, gruff and hoarse, screamed long into the dark night, he fell to his knees, pulling at his hair banging his head repeatedly on the ground, fighting his demons, bleeding like she was, bleeding and not healing.
She raised herself to her knees fighting every instinct to move away, to run and let him tear himself apart, it took every ounce of strength she had simply to kneel there beside him, to whisper those words she knew he barely heard in amidst his haunting cries.
‘Hold on…’
She stood by the window, shrank a little from the glass, couldn’t help but remember, couldn’t help but think back to only a few hours ago when she was flying through a window, falling through air, hurtling to the ground and awaiting the inevitable, awaiting death.
Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes tired, rimmed red and a gentle sigh filled her soul, strange how tired facing your own mortality made you, she doubted she’d be able to sleep tonight, aside from the sensations of and the sound of breaking glass, she didn’t think this dull ache in her soul would ever cease.
And it was an ache that seemed to manifest in the pain that shone out under the bandage on her face. Logan had cut her deep, the blood had poured down her cheek, even as they’d hurried her to the Blackbird, with Scott pressing a bandage tight to her wound, the blood seemed simply to flow away, seeping out even as Scott kept the pressure over the cuts, his hand fading into red, it ran down his fingers, crimson bleeding into white.
And it was perverse, so sickening that although he couldn’t touch her skin, he could watch her bleed her away like this, and damn it he had been supposed to look after her, supposed to take care of her. He was team leader, but of all the people, all the monsters he thought he’d protect her from, he’d never thought…Goddamn it Logan what the hell have you done.
They’d turned to look at him, sat in the back of the jet, flexing and unflexing his hands staring at his claws, muttering to himself, willing the metal to retract, Marie’s blood still caked to them. Scott had glared at him for the longest while, but Logan had seemed oblivious to them all. Even as Jean had gone to sit directly in front of him, even as she seemed to be talking to him, and though she ignored Scott’s warning to be careful, Logan had not indicated he’d registered her presence at all.
He was lost in his own world, the world where he’d hurt the one girl who’d shown she wasn’t afraid of him, the only one for the longest while who had given him any sort of a chance.
She’d needed over ten stitches in her face, three each for the top two cuts and four for the last cut, three claw marks and ten stitches, ten to sew her back together, to heal the wounds, to cover the holes he’d created.
But she’d be scarred for life, three deep marks, ten stitches to make it right but never enough, never enough to forget that he’d almost killed her.
Marie shivered, wrapping her arms tighter about herself, she’d never forget, that look in his eyes, feral and unkempt, unwavering and unforgiving, Wolverine, it was all she could see and in those moments he’d pinned her to the ground it was all he was, animal.
His look, the pure hate, the venom, and all directed at her.
Turning back to the sounds in the room, she listened as an extremely pissed off Scott was arguing with the Professor.
‘What the hell was he doing there, he put us all in danger, and Professor you can’t deny that Logan is getting more dangerous…’
Marie stepped forward, ‘it wasn’t his fault…’ both men turned to look at her, ‘It’s not Logan’s fault, he thought I was Mystique.’ She uttered the last lie quietly not entirely sure they bought it. ‘It could have happened to anyone…’
Scott shook his head at her, ‘But it didn’t, it happened to him, Marie look at what he’s done to you, your face, he could have killed you…’ He sighed and sat down resignedly on the couch, ‘I think he should leave.’
‘No….!’ Marie was horrified by the idea, they couldn’t force him out now, didn’t they see, he needed to be here; she needed to save him.
Luckily for her the Professor thought the same way, perhaps out of a sense of guilt, out of a sense that maybe, just maybe this mere slight of girl, this nervous child could get through where he had failed, he shook his head at Scott.
‘We can’t make Logan leave Scott,’ he held up his hand as way of dissuading further argument, ‘I have suspected it for a while, but it seems Logan is losing his battle with the Wolverine inside him, and if that is the case, then the best place would be here, for the both of them.’
But Scott was adamant, they had never gotten along, but in all truth it was the idea of protecting the rest of the students that was now his main concern, ‘If that is the case, then surely Logan will be more dangerous then ever, out of control and filled with rage, Professor surely you can foresee the damage he is potentially capable of.’
‘No Scott you must understand, Logan was not born a mutant, he has long seen Wolverine as a separate entity, something foreign that was placed inside him, and it has taken years for him to gain some sort of control, his life and all his memories have involved pain, and a desperate need to curb that rage he carries.’
Scott sighed, ‘And I am truly sorry for it, but what…how can we make sure that he won’t hurt someone else? Professor could we really take the risk, what if next time we are not so lucky, and what if he ends up killing someone?’
The Professor pressed his fingers together deep in thought, ‘Logan needs to be here Scott, this is the only place where we might be able to get him back.’
Scott nodded at last, ‘Are you sure you can help him?’ He waited the longest while for an answer, but when it came, it didn’t come from the one source he’d expected. Still looking to the Professor he was surprised at the small voice that came from the corner of the room.
Marie, little Marie, with three deep cuts, and ten stitches, not enough to forget, but enough to stare adamantly at a disbelieving Scott and a worried Professor Xavier.
‘No he can’t…but I can.’
Hold on she’d said, hold on to what? To a sanity that was hanging by a thread, a life diminishing, the few good memories he had being taken away, being pushed into the black nothingness.
Hold on to what? The idea that he was losing this fight, this animal inside him was going to win, and everything, every relationship, every friendship, every hope he’d collected along the way would be gone. Snatched away because he was no longer in control, he couldn’t hold on, couldn’t push him back, even when he’d tried to take one of the most important things in his life.
Marie, little Marie, he’d almost killed her; the Wolverine in him had almost killed the one girl, the first girl to have shown any sort of trust in him. What a mess, what a goddamn mess.
He sat on the gurney in the medical lab, hating everything about its cold clinical approach, hating the clean white lines, the sterilised metal, the place that reminded him of being cut open, of being killed and broken.
His shirt was removed and his hands rested loosely in his lap, he’d gotten the claws to retract at last, and though the skin should have been healed over by now, it was still bleeding.
Not enough to hurt him, but enough to warrant the concern of Dr Jean Gray. She stood in front of him now, worry lines etched deep in that high brow of hers. Couldn’t help it really, he supposed it must have been in her nature, helping the wounded beast.
She’d been drawn to him, Logan, this man who made her shake with a single look, whose very kiss excited her in ways that Scott had never been able to. Because of all the complexities that raged inside him, he was a contradiction, always bordering on the edge and that’s what ignited their affair, for so many months now they’d been playing this dangerous game, and where he had started the chase, where he had lusted after her, he wondered when that had changed, at what point had the saintly Jean Gray turned to him, started chasing him?
And at what point had he begun to hate her, he hated her, the Wolverine, and not just her, hated everything about this place, these people, these mutants. This family born out of mismatched needs, this unit that he could no longer force himself to be part of.
And he struggled with it, he fought with it, bled himself dry over it, to stay, to be content with this, curb the rage, the animal, chain him up inside, the Wolverine, the part he was losing himself to.
‘Logan…’ she whispered his name gently, softly unsure if he was there at all, but he was, fighting every impulse that screamed at him to unsheathe the claws, because she was in a lab coat, she was prodding and probing him, and she would hurt him. People in white lab coats always did.
He breathed deep, every ragged breath a step closer to some sort of restraint, and eventually resorted to pulling her close, just so he couldn’t see, those eyes, those beautiful eyes filled with a sympathy he’d never thought he’d deserve. He held her close, flush against his bare chest, her arms wrapping naturally around his neck, she rubbed that place at the base of his spine, and he could feel her tears moisten his shoulder, she loved him, but it wasn’t enough, for the beast caged within, the heart locked away beneath layers of pain and forgotten hopes, it was not enough, it would never be enough.
‘Logan…what happened?’ she asked of him tentatively. What to say, how to answer, how to say that he hated this, that he hated it all, and God forbid he hated her. But he only shook his head, ‘I don’t know Jean…it was an accident I swear…’ his voice bruised with too much time spent with whiskey and cigars, too many nights borne out of fear, his voice, his normally strong voice shook.
She looked closely at him, and bought it, every word, every lie he was willing to give her, accepting, forgiving in an instant. He kissed her then, hard and fast, insistent, urgent, needing her and using her.
And they made love, on that medical table, even as he bled all over her, even as he watched her, fighting the darker impulses, caging that beast, satiating his thirst by fulfilling his other needs, baser needs, that of flesh and bone.
That of taking what belonged to another and marking it as his own, in every way base and cruel.
She was lying on her bed, staring quietly at the ceiling willing herself not to cry, not anymore, the painkillers were not working, the sting of her cuts was deep, but nowhere near as the hurt.
He’d whispered his words to her, his feral eyes had stared hard into her teary ones, as she had lain on her back, as she had watched his claws cut through her flesh, he had whispered, 'I should never have saved you, on that statue, in my arms I should have let you die…'
He had cut deep, adamantium claws had cut her flesh, but his words, his choice of weapon, had cut to a core she thought could never be reached. 'I should have let you die…'
And it was worse, so much worse than she could ever had imagined, because she did not know who had said it, praying, willing that it had been Wolverine, but not being able to push away the voice that whispered it had been Logan.
Logan… 'I should have let you die…'
She had fallen asleep at some point in the night, the next thing she knew her eyes were snapping open, her whole being suddenly aware of a presence in the room. She saw him sat on the end of her bed, her only reaction was to sit up and draw her knees to her chest. Hiding away from him, the pain, oh the pain from his words, it cut so deep.
‘Ya wanna save me kid, here’s the rub, your mutation it’s working’ both ways…’ He was angry still and his gruff words seemed to resound in the deafening silence.
‘What?’ she heard herself whisper, the word escaping from her, a barely strangled sob.
He stood up abruptly and she instantly shrank further, his eyes glistened in the pale moonlight seeming to recognise and understand her fear, ‘Your mutation, whatever you get from me, ah get it all back from you…’
She understood at last, she had been walking in his mind, in his nightmares, but whatever of herself she’d transported into his memories, he’d somehow managed to do the same. He had been walking in her head, in her mind, in her nightmares…it worked both ways.
The shock registered on her face and he smiled in triumph. ‘Not so easy now huh? Not easy to give up everythin’, to let someone else in, down to the last part of you, all of it…you ready for that…ready to give me everything?’
She had nothing to say, what was there to say? He nodded satisfied he had made his point, he made to walk out of the room, confident that he had done what was needed, he had pushed her away completely, she wouldn’t be makin’ any of those nightly visits to his room anymore.
‘No ah didn’t think so.’ His hand shook as he closed the handle to her room, closing his eyes tightly, let me go kid…
"Wounded"- Good Charlotte
Lost and broken,
Hopeless and lonely.
Smiling on the outside,
and hurt beneath my skin.
My eyes are fading,
My soul is bleeding.
I'll try to make it seem okay,
But my faith is wearing thin.
So help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,
That I'm open,
And I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me sew them up.
I only wanted a magazine,
I only wanted a movie screen,
I only wanted the life I'd read about and dreamed.
And now my mind is an open book,
And now my heart is an open wound,
And now my life is an open soul for all to see.
But help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,
That I'm open and I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me,
So you come along,
I push you away,
Then kick and scream for you to stay.
Cos I need someone to help me,
Oh I need someone to help me,
To help me heal these wounds,
They've been open for way too long.
Help me fill this hole,
Even though this is not your fault,
That I'm open,
And I'm bleeding,
All over your brand new rug.
And I need someone to help me sew them,
I need someone to help me fill them,
I need someone to help me close them up.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
He’d whispered his words to her, his feral eyes had stared hard into her teary ones, as she had lain on her back, as she had watched his claws cut through her flesh, he had whispered, 'I should never have saved you, on that statue, in my arms I should have let you die…'
He had cut deep, adamantium claws had cut her flesh, but his words, his choice of weapon, had cut to a core she thought could never be reached. 'I should have let you die…'
He had cut deep, adamantium claws had cut her flesh, but his words, his choice of weapon, had cut to a core she thought could never be reached. 'I should have let you die…'