The building Logan had referred to turned out to be where he had a condominium--little as she knew about him, it still seemed vaguely out of character, especially considering it was in the middle of the business district of Seattle. All kinds of people and places around him, and just from their short acquaintance, she got the feeling he simply didn't have a huge amount of liking for people.
It was nice though--the building, according to Logan, was a remodeled warehouse, and the condos were characteristically large and airy--cold, to be honest, but Marie was the past master of layering her clothing. It could be worse--she might be layering in the south, where it was far too hot and people would notice, and Logan had ground the idea of nondescript into her. She understood his reasoning--eight months on the road alone had taught her the value of not being noticed. Her newly cut hair, barely reaching her shoulders, was a fresh shade of light brown, no white in evidence. She wouldn't stand out in a crowd, that was for certain.
There were two bedrooms. Marie was still debating what to do about that.
"Hungry?"
"Yes." Logan had a certain love of routine and a specific thing about her eating. Saying no would not be accepted--it was much easier to say yes and eat, and her weight gain was showing the wisdom of that approach. And to be honest, she was hungry. Leaving their luggage sitting by the couch, she walked into the kitchen, which Logan was surveying critically.
"Do you just leave the electricity on all the time?" she asked, glancing around. This was not a room Logan was comfortable with, and it showed. She wondered if he could even cook.
He nodded absently as she sat down at the kitchen table and watched him. She spent a lot of time doing that and really couldn't help it. Aside from their strange relationship, he was simply fascinating.
"Easier than having it turned on and off every time I leave. I just have to remember to send payments."
He didn't seem like the type to forget, either. She rested her head in her gloved hands.
"Gloves off in the house."
"Hmm?" That was new. Automatically, she spread her healed hands over the tabletop and looked down at the cotton material. Logan had turned around to look at her and she was caught again in the sheer intensity he managed to emanate without trying.
"Gloves. Off."
She stripped the blue cotton off, dropping them on the table, then looked back up.
"Why?"
He didn't seem to mind if she asked questions. In fact, he encouraged it.
"You need to learn to control, one, and two, it's silly to wander around with them when you're not gonna hurt anyone."
"I could hurt you."
"I move fast."
Well. There you had it. Marie nodded as Logan disappeared from the room in a controlled wave of energy. She wanted that energy. After a week of decent eating and all the sleeping she wanted, she still found her reserves of strength distressingly low.
He returned with pizza from somewhere among the bags and went hunting for a plate. He looked surprised when he found them in the cabinet beside the sink. She wondered who had organized his kitchen. Opening the first box, she took a breath at the smell of sausage and pepperoni.
"Eat."
He dropped a plate in front of her and sat down. Reaching out, she picked up a slice and took a bite, then lunged for the string of cheese that escaped her mouth. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought Logan was laughing at her.
"You can ask questions." He wasn't eating. She'd guess somewhere in their things was a empty box of pizza.
"I'm not sure what questions to ask," she admitted, swallowing her first bite. Sighing, she leaned back in the chair. "What--well, are you going to do with me?"
"Sell you to the circus."
She felt her mouth twitch and he pushed the plate toward her.
"Finish and we'll have another discussion. I'm going to go unpack."
That was a double relief--one, for once, he wasn't going to actually *watch* her eat, which was all kinds of good. Two, he was deciding on how they arranged the bedrooms. Smiling, she picked up the slice again as he left the kitchen and turned her full attention to eating. There was a water bottle beside her plate. He really wanted to keep her hydrated, apparently.
Finishing up the first slice, she took out a second and thought about what they'd done. He had something in mind--that brief touch a week ago had given her some strange, sometimes uncomfortable thoughts. Not quite enough to leave a strong impression, but enough to make her curious. He definitely had something in mind, and she sensed that the Brotherhood had very little to do with it.
Along with that was the certain knowledge that what he said was true--he'd never hurt her. She was more relieved about that than she cared to admit.
Finishing off the second slice of pizza, she picked up her plate and put it in the sink, closing the pizza box. She could hear Logan in the living room, and snagged her water bottle off the table, pushing the door open with her shoulder and walking out.
He didn't look terribly happy at the moment--looking over the living room with evident dislike, and she circled him to curl on the edge of the couch. He knew she was in the room, but let her settle herself before dropping down on the armrest and turning to face her, both booted feet firmly planted on the seat.
"You'll ruin the upholstery," she said, motioning to his boots on the cushion.
"Need to redecorate anyway." He looked her over. "Two pieces wasn't enough."
She held up the water bottle.
"I'll eat a little more later." She didn't ask how he knew--he just *knew* things like that. "Okay, so you said discuss. Let's discuss."
"Well, that's the thing. Not sure." He shifted a little, hands twitching on his knees. "What do you want to do?"
She blinked, looking up at him as she curled her legs up to her chest.
"I don't--I don't really know."
In an easy movement, he slid down the couch and onto the cushions. She'd never met anyone who was so utterly comfortable with themselves as he was.
"Did you finish high school?"
"No." Quite a bit left, actually. He nodded, resting his chin on his knee, eyes distant. He was thinking.
"How far did you get?"
She looked down for a second, trying to remember.
"I finished the first semester of my junior year." A long time ago--over a year. She could barely remember the trig she'd studied. Logan nodded again, more thoughtfully. "Logan, you told Erik you'd train me for the Brotherhood. Did you change your mind?"
Logan shifted, letting out a little sigh, before shifting his feet onto the floor and resting back against the cushions in a relaxed sprawl. She caught herself tracing the lines of his body without thinking and turned her eyes quickly to the wall behind him. She shouldn't be thinking like that. She just--well, shouldn't.
"Yes and no." Thinking again, trying to decide what to tell her, how much to tell her. She waited, curling her feet under the edge of the cushion and took a drink of water.
"But you have something in mind."
She knew he did, but he wasn't letting her in on the secret. Tightening her hold on her legs, she lowered her chin onto her knees, water bottle forgotten beside her hip.
"Something, yeah." His gaze slid over her, almost clinically impersonal, but she got the feeling that he was seeing her as more than a object he had to bring up to specs. "You want to finish high school?" He must have seen the look on her face and he laughed a little, moving closer to her. "I don't mean go anywhere, but do it here--get your diploma and all that."
Marie took a breath, letting it out slowly, consideringly. That was a hell of an offer.
"I don't--"
"Understand. Got that part. You want to or not?"
"Yes." She paused, searching his face. "What do you want me to do?"
He settled back against the couch, almost absently reaching to touch her--she liked that about him, the casual way he wore gloves around her. She'd almost forgotten what casual touch was like, the little things that didn't mean anything until you'd been without it. It was as addictive as the regular meals and the care over her health and the security of knowing she was safe with him, even if she didn't understand why he was doing this, why he'd interceded for her against Creed. Understanding was less important than that it was happening. He'd given her one thing the child in her craved desperately--routine, stability.
And that, too, wouldn't seem very characteristic, but she got the impression that he needed stability as badly as she did.
It felt wrong, somehow, to let him do all this and not offer anything in return. But the only thing she could offer he'd already refused. Well, after all, he had Mystique, living fantasy material, who he still called on the road. He could have anyone he wanted, women that could touch him the ways she simply couldn't.
The long finger ran lightly over her shoulder and brushed over her hair lightly, following the line of her face.
"I want you to trust me." He paused for a second, then continued, equally soft. "I want you to listen to me, and not because you're afraid I'll hurt you, but because you trust me enough to believe I'll make the right decision for you. I want you to ask me if you don't understand why, and accept that sometimes I can't explain it, even if I want you to do it."
God, he didn't want much, did he? Marie opened her mouth, shutting it again, wondering if he even knew he'd shifted closer to her, and a gloved finger was lightly stroking her face now.
"Like a leap of faith."
His mouth quirked in a little smile before growing serious again.
"Something like that. It won't always be this way, Marie, but you're not ready to be on your own. I want you to decide if you can do this, if you can trust me that much. I will never hurt you. I will never lie to you, and I will never force you to do anything you feel you can't do. I'll make absolutely certain you are safe, you are protected, and that when we're done, you are able to take care of yourself completely."
That was tempting--and scarier than anything he'd done yet. It was one thing to simply accept because she had no other choice--it was entirely different, and far more binding, if she gave him that permission, that kind of power over her and her life. Staring into the serious hazel eyes, she felt her mouth go dry.
"Okay."
"Good." A ruffle of her hair, then he pulled away, standing up--it was like withdrawal, and she shook herself and waited while he paced the length of the living room. The entire place was built large and airy, and the living room was huge--the furniture took up a relatively small area of space, an island of dark blue surrounded by an ocean of slate grey carpet and white walls. "New furniture first."
Shaking herself again, she picked up her water.
"Can I pick it out?"
He grinned and turned lightly on his heel.
"Feel free. We'll go looking tomorrow." Another glance around the room, then he came back over and took one of her bare hands, pulling her to her feet. "Now I'll show you why I bought it in the first place."
--"You're a pretty girl." His eyes were blue and open and showed everything he was thinking. Everything. She tried not to shrink into the door. He'd throw her out if she told him what she was, but she'd kill him if he--did those things. Swallowing in a dry throat, she clasped her hands together to conceal their shaking.--
--"I--I'm a mutant."--
--"Doesn't make you any less pretty, little girl." His hand was on her thigh, rubbing into her jeans, and she shut her eyes tight, trying to work up the courage to tell him the rest.
--"My skin--it'll hurt you if you touch it."--
--His smile was slow and chilling and she felt something in her drop when she realized what he wanted her to do, when he reached by her and opened the glove compartment. There were condoms inside.--
--She thought she'd say no; she knew she would. She had her pride. She'd open the door and get out and fucking *walk* to Alaska first, all one hundred miles. It wasn't that bad, she'd find another truck, another way to get there, anything but this. So it was a surprise when she saw her hand reach out for the foil packet, staring down at it on her palm. She knew how to use one.--
--It wasn't sex sex. It was just--it was nothing. It didn't count. Not important. He was unzipping his pants and her hand was too steady when she ripped the foil open and he told her to take her coat off so he could watch her.--
--"You ever done this before?"--
--"No." No, she was a good girl, always had been, never stepped outside the lines of small town Mississippi social mores, never entered a boy's room and closed the door, never hung out in the bathroom and smoked with the older girls who had sex with their boyfriends and traded tips on blowjobs. Maybe she should have listened at the door. It would have made it simpler, somehow.--
--His fingers were wrapped in her hair as she put the condom on him and he pushed into her mouth. Strange, and uncomfortable and he pulled her hair tightly when her teeth scraped him. She understood the lesson.--
--"I'll show you how to use that pretty mouth, little girl. Not a problem at all."--
She woke up with tears on her face and sat up, brushing them away, hand automatically going out and finding no one else in her bed. She hadn't dreamed like that in so long--the rubbery taste of latex and the way he told her to swallow when he thrust in her mouth, the heat that seemed so surreal. He'd taught her, all right. She'd learned the fine art of oral sex. She doubted there were many that were better than she was now.
After all, she'd gotten a lot of practice.
Kicking the blankets off, her feet were on the floor before she even realized she meant to get up. Georgia. Three blowjobs to got her to Atlanta and the money to buy food, and for some reason, she'd stayed there for awhile. The lights and the beauty of it, the sheer number of people--she'd thought she could lose herself in it.
But she'd left and headed for Alaska, because it had cost her so much already.
Crossing the room, she pushed the door open and walked into the living room, looking around, before crossing to Logan's door and pushing it open. He wasn't asleep.
"What happened?"
She hesitated--instinct carried her over, but hell if she knew why.
"How'd you know?"
"I know your scent and your breathing." He half sat up, reaching for a shirt by the bed. He'd anticipated her. She wondered how.
"Through the wall?"
She thought she saw him smile in the dark.
"You're very noticeable. Come here."
She crossed the room in two strides, crawling up from the foot of the bed and he shifted to take her gently in his arms, stroking her hair back. He'd put on gloves too. He was really damn prepared.
"I'm--be careful." Just her t-shirt and her underwear. It was just so wonderful to sleep without layers of clothes, such a simple thing, to feel her skin against the sheets. She hadn't thought about it, hadn't thought to change clothes. But then, she hadn't thought to come in here either, just, well, did.
"Yeah, I noticed. Don't worry." He shifted them both until they were laying down and she rested her head against his chest, shutting her eyes briefly. "Want to tell me about it?"
"No. Yes. I don't know."
"Okay." He didn't push, and his hand in her hair was soothing. "You have bad dreams often?"
"Not for awhile. I guess--you know, new surroundings, different things. Just--triggered it."
He was quiet for a few long minutes, the hand still warm in her hair, then he moved to her back, rubbing slow circles deep into her skin through her shirt. She felt herself lean into every stroke, muscles relaxing under the careful manipulations. He knew how to handle bad dreams. His body was pressed along every inch of hers, warm and solid and real. More real than the past eight months of her life, and she burrowed a little further into his chest, breathing in how different this was, his scent, the warm touch of his hands on her.
"I have bad nights too."
She turned her head a little, closing her eyes, and wondered what could do that to him.
"What about?"
"Years ago--shit, you'd have been a baby--I woke up. No idea who I was or what happened. Just the dreams." He paused, and she found she liked that best about him. He always thought before he told her anything--made absolutely certain of what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. She always knew he meant it, every word. "Dreams of the lab. When they put the metal in me."
She raised her head. She knew about the metal, they all did. Adamantium bonded to every inch of bone.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't mind. It's something from my past. I'd rather have them then lose those as well."
She nodded slowly, looking down at him.
"I dreamed of the first time I sold myself for a ride. It wasn't the worst thing I've done, except that it was so easy to do it. How from then, it became a habit. It was--wasn't as hard as it should have been." She lowered her head back down--she didn't want to know what he thought of that, of what she'd done. Shutting her eyes, she felt the tears seep out anyway. "I--I dream about it. It--I offered Creed the same thing if he'd leave me alone. If he wouldn't--if he wouldn't hurt me." She shivered and wanted to just bury herself in Logan, so she'd never have to come out again, see her reflection in the mirror.
"That how you got the cut on your back?"
She choked on a bitter laugh.
"After. He said he'd give me one every time I--did that for him. To keep track. To remind me. To--" She bit into her lip. At this rate, she'd have a scar on her mouth. "So--so it would be visible. So you would know what he'd done, like when he bit me. After that--" after that, she would have let him kill her first. She would have killed him first. She would have stepped willingly into that fucking machine. There were some lines she could not cross.
"That's Creed all right." His hands were back to the steady rubbing. "You'll kill him, Marie. I'll show you how, and I'll show you how to make it last. We'll watch him die and he'll know you did it, and he'll know why. I promise."
She nodded against his chest. She hadn't dreamed of Creed yet. She had enough waking nightmares of his touch.
"Logan, I'd--"
"No."
She sucked in a breath. She could feel him against her, knew that it wasn't disinterest. She knew he wanted her, but he was just like that. She was a woman, and sex was as much a part of him as the metal beneath his skin. The taste of his kiss still burned in her mouth and sometimes, she thought she could still taste him.
"I'd do it if you asked. If you wanted me to."
"I know. It doesn't matter."
She didn't understand him, couldn't pretend to, just had to accept. Trust was such a strange concept for her, but this was part of it, somehow--his way of showing her that this was an absolute between them. Never hurt her. He'd make the decisions, but he'd make them for her benefit.
"I dreamed again tonight," he said softly. "I haven't in awhile."
"Since when?" she whispered.
"Since we left Lensherr."
Oh. She thought about it, trying to trace backward since the last time she'd dreamed, and lifted her head to look into his eyes. He looked back at her with no expression.
"Yeah. Me either," she breathed. The hand in her hair pressed her head back down and she curled up a little closer against him, feeling him resettle the blankets around them. He was wearing sweatpants and socks.
He wore socks to bed, left a shirt on the floor. Closing her eyes again, she let the feel of his hands lull her into a dreamless sleep.
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