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.
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