Klaxons were blaring when huge doors started to open, warning the personnel working in the near vicinity of the containment chamber. Two heavy doors decorated with black and yellow stripes parted slowly, revealing heavily shackled occupant of the chamber. He appeared to be sleeping, chained to standing position; head tilted forward, jaw resting against chest. When lights of the chamber flickered on he raised his head and peered from under thick bangs of black hair fallen over his forehead with narrowed eyes, lips curling to a grimace that bared rows of perfectly aligned teeth and an impressive pair of slightly overgrown incisors on his jaws.
Nearly animalistic growl greeted a group of men clad to lab coats who passed the open chamber, chatting quite animatedly with each other. They paid very little attention to the man hanging from the chains. He wasn’t their concern. One of the men glanced towards the chained beast briefly, meeting hazel eyes burning from hate, rage and sheer malice. Feel of dread made his steps falter. Loud, victorious growl and sudden tightening of the chains, the beast was struggling to get his hands free. It made the technician snap out of the momentarily stupor and hurry after his co-workers.
The Wolverine. Having a shitty morning. Again. That seemed to happen more often now that they had released him out to the field. Perhaps it was because he was having hard time adjusting to the things he was facing. Or perhaps he was just an arrogant bastard getting his regular fix from the stench of fear and scared looks thrown at his direction when chains opened automatically and he stepped out from the chamber, stretching his muscles and flashing his claws briefly before going to his locker to get his clothes and new orders.
His brows knit together in annoyance as he patted down his pockets. Something was missing. Keys to his camper, wallet, lighter… He swirled around and grabbed the cigars from the waiting technician, snarling softly and inhaling deeply the heady mixture of fear and repulsion wafting around the man before smirking.
“Make sure that everything is ready next time, bub…” He purred low in his throat, leaning in to technician’s personal space. Man looked about ready to wet himself, torn between orders to escort his homicidal charge to the hangar and sudden urge to run away from him screaming.
“I’m not afraid of you, you fucking freak…” The technician stuttered, standing tall, face paling with every passing second. Wolverine tilted his head, making sure the technician saw his nostrils flaring before widening his smirk until it was more a grimace than actual smile.
“Bullshit. We both know you’re going to need a change of clothes after I’m done with you…” He whispered with conspiratory tone, unsheathing one of the six claws that lay hidden inside of his forearms and tapping the technician’s cheek with the dull outer edge, pupils dilating when the acrid scent of fresh urine saturated the air around them. When technician backed away from him Wolverine lunged slightly forward, his bared teeth snapping loudly together.
“Christ! Let’s go already before I fuck you to the carpet!” He barked to the trembling technician.
According to the briefing this was to be the final test run before they were ready to let him go. Final test to try and see if there were flaws in the design, errs in calculations. He knew when he turned the key in the ignition that the week he would spend on the road this time wouldn’t be easy. They’d throw everything and anything in their arsenal at him until he broke or rode through.
“Let the games begin…” He grunted, driving slowly out from the hangar, reaching for the radio and fiddling with it until he found music for his liking. He’d get 24 hours head start, after that everything was fair game. Everything. That applied to him as well.
He was going to use most of his ‘free time’ getting as much distance between the base and himself as possible without jeopardizing his need to rest. First twelve hours driving, then four to sleep, then four for driving again. That would leave him four hours to cover his tracks.
He hadn’t counted in the possibility that they could have been tampering with his camper. They had. Three hours later he was standing at the side of the road, cursing the pathetic excuse of a truck, kicking tires and punching in windows. Flat tire? Broken radiator hose? Doable. One hour and he’d been good to go. Broken gearbox and mysteriously jammed handbrake crippled the vehicle and his chances to get under the radar permanently.
After he had beaten the shit out of his now useless camper and vented out his rage and frustration he gathered his meager belongings, stuffing a change of clothes and few odd knickknacks to a knapsack and slung it over his shoulder, lighting a cigar, then discarding it and its companions to the curb after realizing that the camper wasn’t probably the only thing they had been messing with and started walking down the road. He couldn’t feel or smell anything extra in his boots or clothes, so it was pretty safe to assume that they hadn’t planted anything extra in to them.
His inner clock was ticking, counting down seconds and minutes as they passed, every step taking him further from the base and closer to the moment when they released the hounds after him. He wanted to run, but knew it would be extremely bad idea under the current situation. He knew himself well enough to tell that he was prone to panic. If he’d give up and start to run he’d quickly forget everything. He’d forget everything important and keep running until he collapsed, and after that he’d be easy picking for them.
Instead of running he hunched his shoulders and raised the collar of his jacket, stuffing his hands deep in to pockets. Weather was cold and he had forgotten his gloves in to the camper. First mistake. He’d have to be more careful if he wished to come up on top with this.
Night was silent around him. Huge, wet flakes of snow were landing on him, soaking through his jeans and making the leather of his jacket gleaming and heavy. He shook his head to dislodge the layer of slush that had been gathering on top of his head. Grinned widely when he heard the sound of an approaching car, stopped and stuck out his thumb.
An hour later Wolverine wasn’t grinning anymore. It was taking all his restraint not to clock out the owner of the gleaming black SUV as he prattled and chatted about everything and anything to do with his current ‘shitty streak’ in his miserable life. The man had everything mapped in front of him. A good career. Perfect wife. Impending coronary disease looming in the distant future when he climbed up the ladder of the corporation he was working for. Expensive suit, hairpiece covering the bald spot on top of his head and pricy watch adorning his wrist.
“…And then the bastard had the guts to call me in the middle of the night and tell me that I was supposed to be in Laughlin City tomorrow morning!” Jeff huffed. He grunted and nodded, hoping it would convey his sympathy rather than his yearning for blood.
“But that’s enough of me. I’m sorry, I’m not usually this wound up… What the hell were you doing out there in this weather?” Jeff asked. He grunted again, then shook his head. Grunting got you only so far in the conversation.
“Car trouble,” he spoke briefly, gritting his teeth when it launched the Good Samaritan to yet another heated spiel of the state of the economy and how the people in power should stop importing cheap foreign cars that just didn’t deliver when it mattered.
Laughlin City. He’d have to keep it together only three more hours and he’d be better than safe. Cross the border. They wouldn’t expect that from him. Up until now he had stayed in U.S. in every scenario they had put him through. Just three more hours and he could kiss goodbye this fucking SUV and the oblivious john driving it.
“Where were you heading?” Jeff asked, fiddling with the radio, keeping his eyes glued to the road and cursing under his breath the weather, anything and everything in general, and especially the morons who had arranged his appointment in to the middle of nowhere, Bumfuck, Canada.
“Laughlin will do.” He kept his answers brief. That did nothing to Jeff’s need to talk and ask questions he’d rather not answer.
“What’s in Laughlin?” Jeff asked. He shrugged his shoulders, pretending sudden interest towards the patterns the water left to the window when they sped through the night.
“I have to warn you. From what I have heard there’s nothing much but a bunch of redneck truckers. Not exactly the party central…” Jeff said. Again he shrugged his shoulders. It didn’t really matter.
“Look, Jack…” He started.
“Jeff. My name’s Jeff.”
“What ever. I just need a ride. I couldn’t care less about you or your life. Shut your trap and keep driving.”
Three hours later he left the sullen Jeff The Corporate Bunny And Family Man Extraordinaire and his SUV to the parking lot in front of rather seedy looking motel. Jeff was very alive and breathing, yet a bit frazzled after seeing his claws up close and personal, shoved at his face when he had tried to propose sharing a room for the night.
The bar he walked in was even seedier than the motel he had checked in. It wasn’t much more than a barn with rickety floor, furnished with rickety stools and equally rickety tables. What drew his attention was a large cage smack dab in the middle of the establishment. There were three men inside, two of them beating the shit out of each other, the third one hovering close by, hollering in to a microphone so fast that it was a small wonder anybody understood a word that came out of his mouth.
He adjusted the knapsack on his shoulder and walked in to the bar. The barkeep eyed him with mild disinterest.
“What’s with the cage?” He asked. The barkeep snorted.
“What the fuck does it look like?”
“Looks like it’s filled with dancing dipshits. How much?” He asked.
“How much for what?”
“What’s in it for the winner?”
“Winner gets to walk out. And fifty percent of the income of the fight.”
“Sign me up,” he asked, already counting how far fifty percent of the loot scribbled down on to chalkboard at the side of the cage would take him. The barkeep shrugged his shoulders, pulling a notebook from under the counter.
“Name?” He asked, not even batting a lash when Wolverine gave it. Apparently there were far more interesting and unique names in the list in front of him than The Wolverine.
He joined to the cheering crowd around the cage, already scanning his possible opponents and their vulnerabilities. He’d have to make it fast. Dodge and finish quickly before they got in good blows. He’d heal from every scrape and bruise too fast and he couldn’t afford to raise attention and curiosity.
He had stripped down to his jeans and stood at the corner of the cage, draining his fifth beer for the night, waiting for the MC to persuade and cajole somebody, anybody to try and take on him when his senses perked up. Familiar scent of vanilla and peppermint floated from the bar. He squinted his eyes and peered through the thick smoke, managing to catch a glimpse from something green before crowd moved and blocked his view. He grabbed the fuming MC from the arm, bringing it close enough to see the watch strapped around the chubby wrist and cursed out loud. They had given him measly ten hours and the game was on.
His last opponent hadn’t been even worth the time he had spent dodging his rather badly aimed kicks and punches. When he sauntered to the bar, following the scent he had caught earlier he noticed slight change in it. Vanilla and peppermint was heavily laden with nervousness. He chose a stool right next to the source of the scent, young girl wearing green, hooded cloak. Ordered yet another beer and a cigar to go with it. Lit the cigar before turning to face the girl.
“Rogue…” He purred his greeting. Girl scanned their surroundings with a quick glance, then nodded.
“I came to warn you,” she whispered leaning closer. He took a drag from the cigar and puffed the smoke at her face, narrowing his eyes.
“Is this the same kind of warning you gave me last time? I have to tell you… Waking up chained to that radiator really pissed me off. Free advice: cuff my both hands next time if you really want me to stay put, okay?” He hissed.
“Fuck you, Beast Boy. I really came to warn you. They sent Creed after you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? You have to try harder.”
“They don’t like you that much. Creed is easier to control. He at least follows the orders. They gave you three hours and let him loose. I managed to distract him…” Rogue hissed and let out a string of curses when he caught her arm, intending to shake her a bit. Instead he let go of her, brows knitting together in confusion when she curled around herself, cradling her arm on her lap.
“I caught him few hours ago… Gave me a good beating but I managed to drain him… He’s out at least few days,” she whispered, nearly toppling down from the stool. Her cloak parted slightly, revealing torn and bloodied shirt. Coppery scent engulfed vanilla and peppermint completely; among with unique tang of snow and pine he had learned to combine to Victor Creed.
“Shit.” He finished his beer, giving her time to gather her strength and smoked his cigar, keeping his eyes glued to a black and white TV mounted on a shelf above a row of dusty bottles in front of him. When she straightened herself and peeled her gloved fingers from the edge of the counter he made his decision.
“I have a room,” he spoke softly, still staring at the flickering screen of the TV.
“Thanks…” She hissed, clearly in pain. He turned to look at her and leaned close enough to see the small flecks of gold floating in her brown irises.
“Try any of that shit you have tried earlier, and I hurt you. Are we clear?” He growled. Rogue nodded, sliding carefully down from the stool, grasping his arm for the support when her knees buckled. He took her arm and brought it over his neck, supporting her from the waist with one arm. For casual observer it would look like he was escorting rather intoxicated barfly instead of dragging severely beaten assassin with him.
“Jesus. He really did a number on you. Anything broken?” He asked when she started to peel off her blood soaked clothes. She shook her head, folding each piece of torn and soiled clothing carefully to a chair before opening the braid that had kept back her long sable hair.
“Just my pride. You wouldn’t happen to have any aspirin?” She asked.
“Do I look like a fucking pharmacist? Shoo, get in to the bathroom before you bleed all over the place. Kind of hard to explain to the manager of this roach-motel why the carpet looks like I slaughtered a pig in here,” he growled picking up her clothes.
“I saw a Laundromat outside. I toss these in and go to see if I can find a drugstore.”
“Thanks… I really appreciate… Fuck. You do realize there was nothing personal when we met the last time?” Rogue asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it now. Just go and get yourself cleaned up, okay?”
He started to question his sanity when he trudged through the wind and snow back towards the motel. Rogue wasn’t to be taken lightly. She was every bit of as crooked as he himself. Very skilled at what she did. That she had warned him wasn’t any kind of assurance. For all he knew she could be working with Creed. Stalling him until the mangy cat had the chance to catch up them.
Instead of returning straight to the room he now shared with Rogue he crept behind the building, finding the small window of the bathroom. It was steamed up, but he could make out the blurry outlines of a woman sitting on the floor, under the spray of water. Legs drawn against her chest, hands curled around her knees and face hidden, thick mass of hair hanging wet and limp over her back and sides. As he watched she started to tremble. She was crying.
He took his time at the Laundromat, wanting to give her a chance to regain her composure. It didn’t feel right, he felt disgusted and dirty after having seen her that vulnerable. Crying and broken little girl suited poorly together with what he had seen before. Cruel and ruthless killer, hardened bitch from hell.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember her as he had seen her just three months earlier, arrogant smirk plastered over her face, scent of her arousal suddenly surging up when he had lunged towards her, only to be yanked backwards when the chain off the cuffs refused to give. How she had tsked and wagged her finger when he had growled, trying stupidly to reach after her instead of cutting the chain with his free hand.
It wasn’t working. It wasn’t working at all. When he got back in to the room with still steaming pile of her clothes he threw them to the bed and knocked open the bathroom door, scent of her tears waking every shred of protective instincts that were still left in him.
He grasped a towel, turned off the water and wrapped the ratty, grey cloth around her before lifting her from the floor, wincing when she cried out loud from the pain.
“Couldn’t find a pharmacist. How’s your control?” He asked placing her on the bed, sitting next to her trembling form.
“No… I’m too tired… I’d drain you dry. We better wait for the morning…” She whispered curling on her side, already falling to sleep. He glanced towards flee-ridden armchair by the window. Decided to sleep next to her instead, shedding his jacket and taking off his boots before curling his carcass as carefully as possible around the sleeping girl. Closed his eyes and allowed the oblivion fall after only briefest moments of hesitation.
He woke up to the feeling of being watched. Opened his eyes and found the girl, now fully awake and staring at him, her face only inches from his. Rogue.
“Hi,” she whispered. He blinked, eyes drawn to her lips, wondering whether she’d taste like vanilla or peppermint. Scent of them permeated the air, along with dried blood. He blinked again when she started to blush and turned his eyes from her lips to her eyes. Curled his right hand to a loose fist and brought it against her breast, just above her heart.
“Take what you need,” he murmured, closing the gap between them and taking her lips under his. For a moment he felt only confusion coming from her, then she moved, grabbing his fist and bringing it more firmly against her flesh, and he could feel the slightest tingle going through his system when she started leeching out his regenerative power.
After a while she let go of his wrist and grasped his hair instead, combing her fingers through the coarse and uneven cut, mussing the unruly peaks from either side of his head and started to respond to his kisses, her slippery tongue dueling with his, one hand snaking between their bodies, finding the bulge of his cock straining the front of his jeans and cupped him. He groaned in to her mouth, grinding against her palm, nearly choking to the delicious feeling of friction.
Scent of musk covered soon vanilla, peppermint and blood. When he peeled off the towel from around her he found pale, flawless skin where battered and torn muscle had lain earlier. He kissed, licked and nibbled every exposed inch, reveling in sighs and gasps that escaped from her lips. He nuzzled his face against her breasts, his coarse muttonchops scraping over nipples and making them pucker up to hard pebbles that he sucked between his lips, sucking and teasing them with light nibbles until she grasped his hair again, pushing him down, lower on her body until he was staring at her already moist cleft.
He parted her lips carefully, finding her clit and flicking over it with his tongue, placing his palms over her thighs to keep them apart. She was squirming and writhing when he continued his slow but thorough assault on her sex.
“Wolverine…”
“Logan. My name’s Logan,” he whispered and crawled higher on the bed, kissing her again, letting her taste mingle between their tongues.
“I’m Marie…” The girl gasped when he trailed the side of her throat with his fingers, following their path with his tongue. Her hands were busy opening his jeans.
He let out a relieved hiss when she managed to get his fly open and pushed the jeans down, past his buttocks, freeing his throbbing cock. He kicked the jeans off, letting them fall to the floor. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, stroking him firmly but gently. He turned on his back and started unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers, cursing when small buttons proved to be an impossible task to conquer and tore it open, discarding it fast to the floor among with his jeans and her towel.
When he turned back to the girl some shred of sanity and healthy paranoia made him crawl on top of her with his claws bared. They framed her head against the pillow as he entered in to her hot and slick core with swift stroke, his buttocks clenching when her feet wrapped around his waist and her bare palms grasped his shoulders.
They were teetering at the edge, straining bodies glistening from sweat and burning from coiled desire, almost there, almost… He narrowed his eyes and forced the claws from his right hand to retreat, bringing the fist to the soft underside of her jaw. He could feel the change in her, short burst of anger flaring through her, then her hands locked more firmly over his shoulders and he could feel the slight buzz from her mutation, all ready to go if needed. He met her defiant eyes just before release tore through them both, sending them up high, swirling in the darkness, hearts hammering, breathing almost impossible.
“My car is parked in front of the bar. Keys are in the pocket,” she said pointing towards her cloak that hung on a coat rack next to door. He was sitting on the side of the bed, lacing his boots. She hadn’t moved an inch the whole time it had taken him to shower and get dressed. Now she turned on her side, curling around his back where he sat.
“You’re screwed. Creed will come around eventually,” he said. She chuckled.
“Yeah. I’ll just have to drain him again.”
He just sat there, staring at the worn toes of his boots. She nudged his side gently with her knee.
“Hey, big guy…” He turned to look at her.
“They screwed you up. I thought I should even the odds.”
“Yeah…” He croaked, his throat suddenly dry as Sahara. She nudged him again, soft look on her eyes.
“Go. I trail after Creed and catch you in the next town.”
He managed a whole mile before he took a sharp U-turn, tires of the small jeep skidding over the icy asphalt. Small pebbles thrummed against the floor of the car when he sped towards the exit of the motel’s parking lot. The girl was standing at the side of the road already, almost comical expression of puzzlement spreading over her delicate features when he stopped and rolled down the window.
“Get in.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, shifting her feet in the snow.
“Creed won’t be so careless and sloppy next time. He’ll tear your head off before you have the time to even think about draining him. Get in.”
“I thought you worked alone.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you thought. Get in to the fucking car, Marie.”
For a moment he was afraid that he’d have to resort to kidnapping her, but finally she walked over to the passenger’s side and climbed in, arranging her cloak tighter around her before closing the door.
“What are you going to do next? Do you have a plan?” She asked when he turned the car.
“I figured I’d keep running until they give up chasing me. Then go back and start chasing them, one by one. Any objections?” He asked. The girl shook her head, movement filling the car with scent of vanilla and peppermint. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill his lungs and savored the taste on his tongue, finding it far more intoxicating than the cheap thrill he had gotten used to get from rather foul stench of fear and terror.
“You know, you should really wear your seatbelt…”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Alternate version of Marie and Logan meeting. Little twist with Marie's mutation and their situation in general.