Eric Lensherr. The name reverberated through Marie's head until it hurt. She walked slowly behind Logan as he knocked at one compartment after another, always asking the same questions: "Have you seen anything suspicious? If you do, would you please contact...?" All the while his eyes drifted into the rooms, making their own silent appraisal. She could almost hear him going over it in his mind: "This one's clean."
"You all right?"
Looking up, she realized Logan had made his way to the end of the train without her. How long had she been standing in the same spot? "I'm fine."
"Come on," he said. "There's nothing here."
"Where are we going?"
He looked pleased when he said it, she thought. As if it were proof that he didn't give a good goddamn what Xavier and Scott Summers thought. He was going to do whatever he wanted. The single word was enough to drive a shiver up her spine: "Out."
"I thought..."
"Don't worry. We're not going digging, if that's what you're thinking. There's a car at the end of the train that's supposed to be unoccupied. I want to make sure it is."
The outside air was as cold as that inside the train. The wind, however, made it all the colder and Marie had to huddle in her jacket, trying to keep from freezing. Her attire was wholly unsuitable for their trek through the snow. She walked beside Logan, moving hurriedly to keep up. With each step, her feet soaked up more of the cold. "If my toes fall off, it'll be your fault," she muttered.
He looked down at her, smiling faintly. "Sorry. Not too much longer," he said, nodding toward the final car.
More snow was beginning to fall, making the walk all the more difficult. "It's getting hard to see."
Logan grabbed hold of her arm - ignored the sudden stiffening of her body - and replied, "Almost there."
"How will we get in?" she asked once they were finally standing before the car.
A ring of keys was dangled before her. "That Lagier guy is careless."
The large padlock was easily disposed of and Logan slid the heavy door open wide enough for them to step inside.
Swinging himself up, Logan made his way in first. It was dark, darker than he would have liked. He took out a match, which he used to illuminate his surroundings. A storage car, he noted. Nothing more.
He turned to exit when he saw the blur of white. "Shit."
Extending an arm into the storm, Logan hoped the figure outside - faintly visible through the quickly falling snow - would be able to see it.
A cold, wet glove encircled his fingers and he pulled.
Marie scrambled into the darkness. The door was shut behind her and for a second, she could only see black. "Damn. You all right?"
She nodded, realized he couldn't see her, and said, "I'm fine. What are we going to do?"
"Hold on."
A single spark, the faint odor of sulphur, and Logan's face was lit. He was on his feet in seconds, looking through the contents crammed in the car. Marie watched as he made his way through a maze of boxes. It was several minutes before he returned, carrying a blanket in hand. "Here. You're soaking." The match in his hand burned out again. "That was my last one." His voice was close. She could here him sitting next to her. The blanket was pressed against her leg. "Take it."
"Thank you," she whispered, grateful for the offering. She wrapped herself in it, and asked again, "What should we do?"
"Wait," he replied simply. "We wouldn't be able to see our hand in front of our face in that storm." She felt his arm against her, he was sitting so close, and she had to fight the urge to move away. "It should die down soon."
"It's dark," Marie said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious, still wanting to hear his voice, to be reassured.
"Yeah, there aren't anymore matches and I couldn't find a lamp. Too late now I guess." She felt his fingers on the blanket. "This is going to get too damp to do you any good. You should take off some of the wet clothes."
She scoffed at that. "I don't think so."
He laughed. "Don't worry. You're perfectly safe. And I can't see a damned thing anyway."
"It's okay, really. I'll be fine."
She could almost feel him smirking. "Suit yourself, rogue, but don't freeze to death for modesty's sake."
"I wish you would stop calling me that."
"What? Rogue? I think it's an appropriate nickname."
"We don't know each other well enough to be giving out nicknames."
"Well, what do you want to know? I think it's safe to say we've got some time on our hands."
"You're less surly and more talkative than I expected, Mr. - I mean, Logan."
"Why do you say that?" He sounded amused.
"I don't know. I guess... it's just you seem like a very tough character. And, I suppose you're a lot more amiable than you appear."
"I'm not sure how to take that," he said, chuckling.
"Well, I hope."
There was a pause, before he said, "You still haven't told me about your connection to Lensherr."
"No, I haven't."
"You want to?" Silence. "Hey?"
"The dark is making me nervous."
He reached out a hand, but felt her pull away. She was trembling. "I told you to get out of those clothes. At least your jacket - "
"I'm not cold."
"What is it about the dark?" he asked. "You afraid of the boogey man?" He was teasing her.
"Not exactly."
"Then tell me."
She sighed and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself. "There isn't that much to say, really." A moment of silence and the dark seemed to have a life of it's own. "Lensherr likes kidnappings. It's probably how he makes his living."
Logan didn't say anything, opting to let her continue if she would. After a long pause, she did. Her voice was cold as she began relating her story. "I was fourteen. We were staying in Meridian. My father's family home is there. One night, he and my brother went to a social affair at an associate's estate. I kissed them good night and went to bed. When I awoke, it was to find my father standing over me, shaking. I'd never seen him that way." Pause. "He changed that day. We both did. My brother was the only thing we had." Logan could here the slight hitch in her breath and realized that the thin veneer of control was breaking. "Lensherr asked for a lot of money, even more than my father had at the time and my father's wealth is considerable. He did all he could, Logan. I know he did. He begged his friends, he tried borrowing from the bank. And Lensherr wouldn't budge. It was all or nothing, it seemed. Months passed. We'd just about given up hope when a letter arrived. It was from Lensherr. He still wanted his money and to prove Robert was still alive he sent an accompanying note in his handwriting." This pause was longest. Logan began to think she wouldn't continue. Then, she did; her voice was rough and teary, although he had not heard her cry. "He wrote to us, informing us he was well, that he missed us terribly and that all he wanted was to see us again. He wrote 'I love you, Marie. You're my angel.'"
"What happened?" Logan asked without thinking.
He felt the girl shift as she replied. "Nothing. It wasn't him in the end. Lensherr had forged his handwriting. When a fisherman found his body a week later, he'd been dead for quite a while."
An "I'm sorry" trickled from his mouth, sounding pathetic and inappropriate to his own ears. He knew now why she had reacted the way she had, but he still didn't know Lensherr's motives. What made him turn to the same family now, years later?
He could hear the wind howling outside, ravaging all in its wake. He didn't want to leave yet anyway; he still had questions.
She did too, apparently: "What is Charles Xavier doing here?"
"Here?" Logan knew what she was asking, but he wasn't sure he had an answer.
"Here, on the Orient Express, with Lensherr?" A heavy, pregnant pause. "They know each other, don't they?"
"Yes." For some absurd reason, he wanted to add that he didn't know Xavier very well, that he'd only been working for him a short while. He wanted to make excuses and disconnect himself from the entire set of events. "I don't know why he's here. He just always seems to know where to be, his contacts..."
"Well, he didn't know quite where to be this time, did he?" The sarcasm in her voice was evident and he wished there was something he could say to make her feel better about the situation. But there wasn't, because even he didn't know how this was going to end. Lensherr was a murderer... He shook the thought from his head.
"My father's a good man, Logan," he heard her whisper.
"I'm sure he is."
"Can I trust Xavier?"
"Yes."
She didn't say anything for a while. Then he felt her shift under the blanket. "All right. I believe you." There was a rustling sound and he knew she had discarded her linen coat. "You'd better not have a match secretly hidden there."
Logan laughed. Her words had lifted the weight of their circumstances miraculously from his shoulders. "Don't worry, rogue. Don't worry."
A few miles away, in a run down cabin, Eric Lensherr admired the handiwork of Remy LeBeau. The man had a talent for building fires. "It's a shame, LeBeau, that you feel the need to scorn my organization. You'd be quite an asset."
Remy LeBeau smiled and rubbed his hands before the fireplace. "Remy LeBeau is his own organization. I'm president, chief executive officer, and company man."
Eric sat on a rickety wooden chair and contemplated his surroundings. More rustic than he would have liked. He was a man of considerable taste. "And yet you find the need to associate with me to make a living?"
"Got to do business, mon ami."
On the far side of the cabin lay Robert Darkholme, a blanket haphazardly covering his body. "I was under the impression you were merely a petty thief."
"Nothing petty about it."
Scoffing, Eric stood a walked toward the Frenchman. "You were a lowly conductor, LeBeau." He turned and picked up a poker, using it to turn logs, feed the flames. "You had best be honest with me, Herr LeBeau. I have no patience for liars."
Remy merely smiled, sat on the dusty floor, and rolled a cigarette.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Jenn, Donna, Diebin, Nancy, all the ChatCHicks for your kind words... I love you guys! :) Sorry it was such a long time coming. I considered dropping it altogether. Feedback would be much appreciated.