The car where Marie and Logan sat was becoming increasingly cold, the dampened clothes they wore aiding little in their effort to stay warm. They sat in relative silence for a long time. Once in a while, one of them would sneeze or cough. Their legs would meet on occasion, separating almost instantly. They stayed that way for an inconceivable amount of time. Finally, when she felt him shiver - and more to break the uncomfortable quiet - she asked, "Are you cold?"
"Some."
"Here." She took the blanket he had given her from around her shoulders and pressed it into his hands.
"That's too damp to do me any good." Then, "You must be freezing with that draped around you."
"No, I'm fine. It's better than nothing, really." She was freezing.
"Come here." He reached out into the darkness to touch her shoulder. "If we sit closer together, we might warm up a little."
The hand on her shoulder was cold and she thought the idea of two freezing people warming each other seemed ludicrous. "I don't think that will work."
He chuckled. "I won't try anything. Honest." Why did he feel the need to keep reminding her of that?
"It's not that." She paused and sighed. "It's difficult for me... I have a problem with people touching me. I get very uncomfortable."
"Why?" he asked, realizing it was probably none of his business, that he had no right asking.
"It's a bit silly and I'd rather not discuss it, if that's all right."
"Sure."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"What?"
"Were you in the army?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"I don't know. You were wearing a soldier's uniform that day you boarded. I just thought... Well, I didn't recognize the uniform, but it seemed like something a soldier would wear."
"It is. It's a Canadian uniform. And I suppose I was a soldier."
"You suppose?"
"Yes." He seemed reticent; it was the first time she'd heard uncertainty in his voice since she'd met him.
"You're not sure?"
"I'm sure. I just don't remember." He moved closer to her and placed his arm across her shoulders. "I'm sorry, rogue, but you're going to have to get over this touching thing or we'll freeze to death."
She didn't argue. He was right, even if it was difficult to bear. "Why don't you remember?" she pressed.
He was rubbing his hand up and down her arm; she was trying to concentrate on what he was saying. "When I woke up from whatever it is happened to me, I was in a hospice in France. I had no memory of anything that happened before that. I still don't. All I had was my uniform as proof of my identity. That was three years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not."
"And Logan...?"
He knew what she was asking. "The name that was stitched on my uniform."
He was right, she thought. She was beginning to warm up. "How did you come to work for Xavier?"
"Basically? I was trudging about looking for work when I saw an ad in an American paper. He was looking for a bodyguard. I figured I could do that, so I went for it. And that's pretty much the story."
"How long have you worked for him?"
"A couple of months."
"And you trust him."
"Yeah, I do. Hey," he had run a hand to the back of her neck, which he was beginning to rub, "don't worry, all right? We'll find your father. With or without Xavier's help."
A soft groan came from the corner of the room. Remy LeBeau looked up to see the body lying there begin to move. "Le resurrection du l'homme mort," he mumbled.
Robert Darkholme slowly brought a hand to the back of his head. "What? Where am I?" he asked, his voice ragged from disuse.
"Welcome back from the dead, mon ami," Remy said as he stood up and walked over to the dazed man. "Bit of a headache?"
Darkholme's glazed eyes sharpened slightly as they settled on Remy's face. "You! I know you. We were in Lagier's office and..."
"Oui, you remember. That's good." Leaning against the wall, Remy smiled down at his captive. "You'll be wanting to know what we want, non?"
"We?" Darkholme was still confused; the aftereffects of the laudanum he'd been administered were slowly wearing off.
"Money, as always, monsieur. Money for your life. We had planned on your daughter, but you were easier. Too bad, she's a pretty little thing. Might've been more entertaining, I think."
"Money..." He was beginning to catch on, thought Remy. "This is... a kidnapping? You want ransom?" Darkholme had gone even paler, if that was possible, and he looked poised to throw up whatever his dinner had been. Remy felt the bile rise in his throat and swallowed it back. "Please, please, I'll give you anything, just don't kill me. My daughter, you understand, she needs me." Desperation was distasteful to Remy, and he almost felt like hitting the man; he preferred him unconscious.
A chill air filled the room and another voice answered for Remy: "I'm afraid he has no say in this, Robert."
"Lensherr." The name was a soft cry.
"Are you surprised? It's been a long time, Robert, but you didn't think I would forget did you? We have a score to settle, you and I."
Remy watched as Robert Darkholme closed his eyes and pulled at his hair. He was rocking back and forth and looked like a man waiting to die. Perhaps he was.
"You're wondering why we bother with the charade, aren't you Robert? You ask yourself why I pretend this is a kidnapping instead of a simple homicide? Do you know why, Robert? It is hope. The hope your daughter still holds in her heart that she will find you alive. The hope I will crush as soon as she pays the money I'll ask of her."
Repulsion filled Remy as he realized what Lensherr's plans were. This wasn't about money at all. It was about revenge. Then, a question formed in his mind: If this was about revenge against Darkholme, what did part did Charles Xavier play?
Meanwhile, back on the Orient Express, Charles Xavier was wondering the same thing. A knock at his door broke through his reverie. "Come in," he called out.
The door to his compartment slid open and Scott and Jean walked in, looking the worse for wear after several hours of hunting through the train. "Professor," Jean said, "there's absolutely no sign of Robert Darkholme. Lagier permitted our inspection of passenger compartments."
"What was the excuse given to passengers?"
"Robbery," answered Scott, as he sat and pulled off his spectacles. "But we're afraid there's another problem, sir."
"What is it?"
"Logan and Miss Darkholme are nowhere to be found." Scott glanced at Jean and added, "I told you he couldn't be trusted. What if he's in on the kidnapping scheme?"
"He is not, Scott," Jean said, exasperated. "What we should be concerned about is whether or not something happened to the both of them."
"There is the possibility," Xavier said slowly, "that Logan was bullheaded enough to make his way into the woods. If that were the case, they would have been caught in this terrible storm." He shook his head and frowned. "I'm afraid to think what may have happened."
Scott was on his feet instantly. "Then we should go look for them."
"No, Scott. I don't want you going into that storm. We'll have to wait until it subsides and hope for the best. For now, I want you and Jean to take another look around the train, pray that you somehow missed them in the commotion."
"Miss Darkholme, are you awake?" He could hear her steady breathing, felt the way her body had relaxed beneath his arm.
A small groan broke through the silence and he heard her whisper, "Yes."
"Good. Don't fall asleep, all right? I'm worried about hypothermia." As he talked, he began vigorously rubbing her arms, trying to shake her into lucidity. "I think this thing's dying down. We'll be able to leave soon."
"Marie."
"What?"
"Call me Marie."
"All right." He was still busy rubbing her arms when one of his hands got tangled in her hair. It was still damp. He heard her hiss of pain. "I'm sorry," he said.
"It's all right," she replied, even as she pulled away. "You can stop now. I'm fine."
"All right."
"You really think we'll be able to leave soon?" she asked, her teeth shattering
"I think so."
"Then what?"
"Then," he replied, "we'll go back and change clothes and start all over again."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For helping me. I don't know what I would have done, if not for you."
"You're welcome, then." He thought he heard her sniffle, guessed it was the cold, but changed his mind when he heard her hitched breathe. "Are you crying?"
"No." Her voice betrayed her lie.
Logan moved to sit closer to her, ignoring her earlier pleas, going on the instinct that she needed comforting. He wrapped his arm around her again and heard her sigh. "I don't know," he began, "or don't remember, what it's like to lose someone close to you. I think it must be very hard. Just know that we won't let anything happen to him." He felt her head drop onto his shoulder. "Now, tell me something about your home. Something about - where'd you say you were from?" He wanted to distract her, hoped it would work.
"Mississippi."
"Well, what goes on in Mississippi? Are you in school?"
She chuckled. "Not much goes on in Mississippi. And I finished school last summer."
"What, no boys waiting for you?"
"Boys? No. There aren't any boys waiting for me."
"Come on," he teased, "pretty girl like you has to have a ton of boys hanging around."
That made her laugh outright. "Not really." There was a slight pause before she added, "Well, there was one..."
"Oh?"
"Hmm. I'm afraid he's soured me on boys, a bit."
"What happened?"
She smiled against his arm, the memory more funny now than painful. "He seemed to think it was all right to go with me and one of the neighbor's girls at the same time. He wasn't very bright, I'm afraid."
Logan shook his head, forgetting she couldn't see him. "He's an idiot, if you ask me. Why would he want another girl when he had you?"
"Thank you, that's very kind."
"I'm just being honest, Marie."
"Thank you." She was snuggled right up against his side; he smelled like soap and cigars. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"Did you leave anyone behind in Canada?"
"No."
"Oh? A handsome guy like you must have had tons of girls throwing themselves at you." She was teasing him, and he was glad to hear her forget her troubles for a moment.
"Well," he replied, in a similarly playful tone, "they were, of course, but I just couldn't make my mind up about any. A guy has to look around, you see, before settling on any one woman."
Laughing, she poked him in the ribs and said, "Oh, of course. I swear, you men are all alike."
Logan grabbed her hand and held it. "Not all of us, Marie."
She cleared her throat and sat back. "Should we check to see if it's safe to leave now?"
"Yeah." He stood awkwardly - his legs were numb from the cold and from sitting too long - and moved to slide open the car door. The sunlight streaming in momentarily blinded him. It was still snowing, he saw, but very lightly. "Okay, rogue, time to get out of here."
Marie blinked into the light and nodded.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Dedicated to Jenn, who thought I should work on this first and who really wanted to see the next part. Thanks for the encouragement, chickie :)