Coffeeshops don't appeal to me. I think it's the bad jazz. It has to be that, because I like coffee. I even like those weird hard bread things with the cinnamon. So, it must be the watered down plinkity-plunk music that they pipe in over their wimpy speakers.
"Are you listening to me?"
No.
"Yes."
"Okay then. I won't do it for any less than $800."
"Yeah, you will. You'll do it for $600 and I'll even throw in not stalking you and removing your liver."
"...$600 it is."
We stood up and shook hands. I squeezed a little harder than necessary, but the guy was irritating me. Plus, his palm was all sweaty and nasty. Jeez, take a shower, bub.
"The Apollo Train station, 1900 hours on Tuesday--"
"Um, wait. 1900 hours? I don't know military time."
"I thought you were some sorta computer genius, Ray?"
"I am. I just don't know military time. And I told you, call me 'Duke' when we're out in public! I'm trying to keep a low profile." He said all this in some silly whisper, like he was a spy or somethin'. Ugh. Geeks.
"There's no fucking way I'm going to ever call you 'Duke'." He's frownin' and he smells all nervous again. I really should give the guy a break since he's helping me, but he just rubs me the wrong way. "1900 hours is seven o'clock. Bring--"
"A.M. or P.M.?"
Shoot me in the goddamn head.
"P.M. Bring the package, and I'll bring the six hundred. Just sit down somewhere inside the main terminal. I'll find you." I sat back down and took a swig of my now-cold coffee black to indicate the conversation was finito.
He nodded and grinned before gathering up his newspaper and holding it against his chest while he fumbled for his coffee. He wrapped thin fingers around it and brought it up to his face so he could push his glasses up his nose with his pinkie. He stood there nervously for a second before dropping back into his seat. Can't this guy take a hint?
"Um, I have a question."
I flashed him a grin. "Goody, goody."
Hmm. I think that freaked him out a bit. He leaned back in his seat real quick. He's probably thinking I'm some psycho or something. All well.
"Uh, okay. Well, uh-- here it goes. Here's the question. There's these-- these guys, right? And they're kind of, you know, bothering me. What could I--could you help me with that?"
Ah. Got it. Someone's giving my man Raymond a hard time. I guess I could lend a hand...
"Write their names on a napkin."
He looks suprised. "That's-- that's it?"
"Yeah."
Grinning now. "How cool! This is just like the movies..." I'm rolling my eyes pretty good, but he's too busy scribbling a couple names down to notice. "Did you ever see Dirty Harry? Because you look kinda like a younger--"
"Go away."
"Okay then!"
Huh. He moves pretty quick for a little guy.
Are there no phonebooks in this shitty town? I've been to six separate phone booths and all of them are stripped. I hate the US. Nobody steals goddamn phonebooks in Canada.
There's a little diner on the corner that looks promising, though. I'm sure they've got a phone. Weird place, though. Looks like something out of the fifties. Shit. Is that waitress wearing roller skates?
"Excuse me? Miss?"
"Hi! Welcome to Marilyn's!" Ugh. Perky. "Where gentlemen prefer blondes... and our delicious half-pound cheeseburgers on fresh-baked buns! Table for one?"
Huh?
"Uh, no. Any way I could borrow your phone?"
"Are you going to order something?"
"I wasn't planning on it, no."
"Order something and you can use the phone."
What the hell? What is it with this damn town and phones?
"You've gotta be joking."
"Nope."
"Look, I just want to use your phone. I don't want anything else."
"You can use it when you order something." She gave me a look and pushed the hair out of her eyes with her pencil. "See, you can get one of our famous, half-pound patties with special--"
"If you say anything about gentlemen prefering cheeseburgers one more time and I'll vomit. I'll take a coke. Now where's your damn phone?"
She stared at me for a second and then burst out laughing. She's wobbling around on her skates and everything, and pretty much everyone in the place is staring at me now. Fuck.
"It's around the back." She got herself under control and pointed vaguely to the little hallway between the dining area and the kitchen, but she grabbed my sleeve before I could go take a look. "You have to have your drink first."
Argh. She's like one of those snapping turtles that bite you and don't let go until you hold them under hot water.
"Look, you Phone Nazi--" She cut me off by laughing again. What is with this chick?
"Sorry. Sorry." She's still laughing a little, but she's trying not to smile. "Phone Nazi? I've been called a lot of things, but I think that's a first." I just looked at her strangely, but I didn't say anything. "Now drink your coke, then you can use the phone."
She set a big glass on the counter in front of me and then skated off to help some other table. I took a couple of gulps before leaving a fiver on the countertop and heading towards the back.
If they didn't have a phonebook, I was going to break something. Or someone.
"Logan, I presume?"
"Yeah." I hate it when people use the phrase 'I presume'. I don't know why, but it irritates me.
"Did you have any problems locating this number?"
"I'm capable of using a phone book, believe it or not." I'll leave out the part where I had to search for two hours to find one.
"Hmph. I have the hospitalization records you requested."
"So?"
"It's a young man in his late teens. He was unconscious for a period of weeks, but has appeared to have recovered. His family attempted to press charges, but there were no arrests made."
"So they settled out of court, then?"
"No, it appears the matter was simply 'swept under the rug', as they say."
"Huh. So was it a mutant?"
"All the medical records seem to indicate that, yes."
Bingo.
"Got it. Thanks."
"My pleasure. Now about the matter of payment..."
"Swing by locker 281 at the airport. The key'll be in your mailbox tomorrow morning."
"Perfect. Again, it was a pleasure working with you."
~click~
"You forgot your change."
Aw, dammit. Not this chick again. "Keep it. It's a tip for your brilliant service."
"A two dollar tip? Wow, big spender!"
"Three bucks for a coke? No wonder you're so desperate to get people to order your freakish burgers. No one would eat here of their own free will."
She shrugged and started tugging at the garish blonde wig on her head. "It pays decent."
"Yeah, well, that's wonderful for you. Thanks for letting me use your phone."
She called out as I was walking out the door. "Thanks for coming to Marilyn's! We hope you enjoyed your meal and that you visit us again real soon!"
Yeah. I see that happening.
Tuesday came by pretty quick, thank god. This town sucks quite royally. Athough kicking the crap out of those two dumbasses who were picking on Ray was a pretty good time. The one started pissing himself, though, and that was a little rank with my sense of smell...
And there's my man now. He's early, too. Smart kid.
"How's business, Ray?"
Wow. He just jumped about a foot in the air. I'm impressed.
"Je-Jesus! You scared me!"
Heh.
"Find what I wanted?"
Not so jumpy anymore. He's even smiling a little cocky now. "Yep. It's all right here."
He handed me a thin, manilla folder and I rifled through it for a minute or two. There were some school records and a last known address, along with a couple more useless papers. And what have we here? -Legal name-. Jackpot. This guy's good at what he does, I have to admit. "Looks good."
Ray practically snatched the envelope out of my hands. He's even counting the money right here in the middle of the train station. Greedy bastard. "Great. And the--uh, the other thing we mentioned?"
"You shouldn't have any more trouble."
"Ha! This is great!"
Okay, enough of this. He looks like he might hug me if I stick around any longer. "I'll let you know if I need anything else, Ray."
"Duke."
"Don't start."
"Sorry."
"Hello, Xavier's Institute for Gifted Children. To whom can I direct your call?"
I hate calling Chuck, but it's better than him doing that 'magic-psychic-phone' thing. That just freaks me out.
"Yeah, can you put the Professor on?"
"Logan?" Um. I have no clue who this person is. "It's me, Kitty!" Oh, okay.
"Hey Kitty."
"I knew it was you! How's the mission going?"
"Good. I just got a big lead today."
"That's good. When do you think you'll be back?"
"Shouldn't be too long now."
"Great! I cleaned up your room for you, so it's all ready for when you get home." Kitty does my laundry and picks up my room sometimes. Dunno why. "I'll let you talk to the Professor now."
"Thanks, Kitty."
She's a sweet girl. Cool mutation, too. She's going to be a real asset for the team.
"Logan?"
"Hey Chuck. Good news."
"Yes?"
"I've got a name and a location. Plus, I can pretty much confirm that the target's a mutant."
"Indeed? It's quite unusual that I cannot locate him using Cerebro, then. Perhaps he is a telepath himself?"
"Actually, the target's a she, Chuck."
"A female? And you said you have her name?"
"Yeah, it's Marie. Marie Gordon. And it looks like I'll be heading South for the winter."
It took me six days of pretty solid driving before I pulled into Meridian, Mississippi off of Interstate 20. They had a big sign up for people to read on the way in: "Welcome to Meridian - Founded 1830 by Richard McLemore - Population 42,000". There was a picture of a woman in some frightening opera getup, too, and beneath that in painted letters it said, "Home of the Grand Opera House, take Exit 153".
There were only two exits in the whole sorry town, so I wondered why they had to be so specific. I'm sure people would just start throwing themselves off cliffs if they couldn't find some dilapidated, old vaudeville building. Tourists.
I have to say, I've been a lotta places, but I've never really been through the South much. I always figured I meet enough rednecks in bumfuck Canada without going to visit the fuckers in their homeland.
This place looks like any other small town I've seen, but completely different at the same time. Most of the houses were painted completely white and their perfect lawns were so green they looked look someone had spray-painted 'em. A few corner lots had huge, restored Victorian mansions on them. A few of those had signs out front offering tours for $5.00. I didn't really get that. Who would pay five bucks to walk through someone else's house?
Another thing I noticed was the nearly alarming amount of churches. You could literally stop in front of one and see three more from where you're parked. Now, I've got nothing against religion (besides thinking it's bunk), but isn't that overdoing it a tad?
Well, enough sightseeing. Time to go pay Miss Gordon a visit.
Okay, this neighborhood creeps me out. Ever seen one of those slasher flicks where everyone lives in a beautiful, peaceful neighborhood and all the people are gorgeous and perfect until someone jumps up and stabs Jamie Lee Curtis? Yeah, it's like that.
There's a few people sitting out on their porches talking, but there aren't many cars in the garages. That makes sense, considering it's a Monday and pretty early still. Most people are probably at work.
Here we go, 1461 E.Consitution Ave. Nice place. Big house, and there's an oak tree next to the driveway. The yard is looking a little wild, though. It seems like this Marie person isn't as anal about mowing the lawn as everyone else on this street is.
No car in her driveway, either. I'll just park across the street and set up a little surveillance.
Now, when you're staking someone out, the very first thing you need to do is get a positive identification. Raymond gave me a last known address on the target, but that doesn't necessarily mean she still lives here
There are a few ways to get a positive ID on someone, but the easiest is to check their mailbox. Obviously, walking up to someone's house and going through their mail is pretty suspicious, so I've got another plan.
All I need to do is break out a little claw action on that rosebush up the street...
"Can I help you?"
She's smiling really polite. Women are generally pretty happy to open their doors and see a guy standing there with roses for 'em.
"Yeah, I've got a flower delivery for a 'Marie Gordon'."
Whoa. That changed her expression fast.
"You've got the wrong house."
"I do? Aw, damn. Isn't this 1462 Constitution?"
"Yes, but Marie Gordon doesn't live here. She lives across the street."
Cha-ching. Positive ID.
"Oh, okay. Thanks a lot for--"
"But you shouldn't go over there." She's looking around, checking to see if anyone's listening. "She's one of those freaks." Oh, joy. Here comes the 'Evil Mutant' speech. "You know, mutants. And who would send a mutie freak flowers, anyway?"
Grr.
Whoops. I think she heard me growling 'cause her eyes got all big. "Uh, sorry. I'm getting over a cold. So she's a mutant, then?"
"Oh yes! She nearly killed Norman and Sarah Brigham's poor, innocent son, David." Must be that kid from the hospital records. "Why they don't lock people like her away, I'll never understand..."
Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before. 'Mutants are the devil's spawn, mutants shouldn't be allowed to live, now where did I leave my white sheet and burning pitchfork?' "Right. Thanks again."
"Wonderful to meet you!"
Blow me, you crone.
Alright, I know you're home 'cause I heard you scrambling around upstairs when I knocked. Just come on down and say hello. I'm getting impatient here.
I'll just knock one more-- wait, here she comes. Yeah, she's opening the door a little and peeking out. She's still got the chain lock on. Not surprising considering what terrific neighbors she has.
"Hello?"
Long pause. "Um, hi." Wow, that's a helluva accent she's got. She sounds pretty nervous, too. She's probably afraid of me. I shaved and everything before I came here, but I still look sort of intimidating, I guess.
"Hey. I'm, uh, I'm looking for Marie Gordon. Are you her?" Ut-oh. I think I fucked that one up. She backed up immediately, and she definitely smells afraid now. Okay, calm her down. I'll just hold up my hands and try to look placating. "I'm not going to do anything. I just want to talk to you."
Dammit. She just slammed the door in my face. Way to go, slugger. Love your way with women.
"Marie? Look, I didn't mean to startle you. See, I'm--"
"Please leave. Please just leave me alone." That came out tortured. She must have had some trouble with the beverly hillbillies around here.
"Wait! Just give me a second to talk to you. That's all. I just want to talk." C'mon, just give me a chance, kid.
"I don't-- I don't know you."
"No, but see, you're a mutant and I--"
That must have been the wrong thing to say, because she let out a gasp and now she's backing away from the closed door further into the house. Why the hell does the Professor ask me to do these things? I obviously suck at it.
No wait, she's coming back. Yeah, she's definitely coming back. She still smells afraid, though. Maybe I should-- holy shit!
She opened the door, alright, but now there's a revolver pointed in the general direction of my chest. A gunshot wound won't kill me, but I'm guessing resurrecting myself before her eyes would probably not be very helpful in calming her down. Plus it's sort of painful to be shot and all.
Luckily, I don't think she's used a gun before. She's holding it way too close to her chest to aim correctly, and she has both of her index fingers around the trigger instead of just one. Plus, her hands are shaking in a pretty bad way.
This is a strange thing to notice at a time like this, but she's wearing velvet gloves. Must be a Southern thing.
"Wait, wait! I'm not-- look, whatever you're thinking I'm not here for that."
"Please just leave me alone." She said that really quiet. She almost sounds like she's going to cry. This is heartbreaking. I feel like I'm drop-kicking a puppy or something.
Gotta get this out fast. "Please just hear me out. My name is Logan, and I want to help you. I'm a mutant, too."
Her eyes widened at that. Maybe I'm getting through to her. "You're-you're a mutant?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I am."
"You don't look like a mutant." That was quiet again, but she smells a little less afraid now. Still holding the gun, though.
I think I managed a smile. "Well, neither do you, kid."
And she doesn't. I can see her much better now that the door's open, even though the gun is a little distracting. She's kinda funny looking, but in a good way. She's got dark hair like mine, but hers is long and a helluva lot nicer looking. She's got a round face, and big eyes and lips. That's not the most attractive-sounding description, but she's actually very pretty. Maybe not quite beautiful, but very pretty.
Young, though. Couldn't be more than 17 or 18.
I think she almost cracked a smile, but she's still scared. And armed. "How--what's your mutation?"
"Well, I've got enhanced senses. That's my original mutation. I can smell, hear, and see things that other people can't. And I heal fast." Let's just leave the never-aging and the metal skeleton out for now. "I've got a couple other things, too. What's yours?"
She's lowering the gun a little, but she's frowning now. "It's my skin. Whenever people touch my skin, something happens."
"What happens?"
"I don't know." She's looking right at me now. Right in my eyes. That's-- "They just get hurt."
Well, that would explain the gloves. "Fair enough."
She's kind of looking at me now, but she smells more curious than afraid. You know, I think I might have been wrong about that 'not-quite-beautiful' thing...
"What's that?"
Huh? I must have not been paying attention.
"What's what?" She's pointing at something in my hand. Oh right, my folder. "This? It's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. See, I work for this guy named Xavier at a private school up in New York. He sent me down here to--"
"You work at a school?" She sounds like she doesn't believe that. Not that I blame her. I wouldn't believe I worked for a school, either.
"Uh, sort of." Okay, I have a feeling explaining this is going to take a while. "Is there any way we could talk about this inside?" She looks a little alarmed again. "Or not. Your call, Marie."
She's thinking about it now. Her eyebrows are drawn together real close and her lips are kinda pouting. "Okay."
Okay? That's it? I thought that might freak her out again, but she's stepping aside now. "Great. Thanks."
She closed the door behind her and she's moving over to a desk near the stairway. I guess that's where she got the gun, cause she's opening a drawer and dropping it back in. You know, this is a pretty nice house. There's even a piano in the corner. I wonder if she plays? She seems like she would. She just seems like she would be a talented person.
Hmm. She's looking at me again, and I think she's chewing on her lip. She's not afraid anymore, but she's still nervous. "So, um-- why are you here?"
"Right, sorry. Like I was saying, this guy Xavier sent me down here to talk to you about meeting with him. He'd like you to try attending his school."
"I dropped out. Of school, I mean. I dropped out of it."
"Yeah, I saw that on your records."
That surprised her. "You've seen my school records?"
"Yeah, but don't feel embarrassed, though. I'm not too good at math, either." She wasn't doing so hot in her Algebra class, but no one uses algebra anyway.
I wasn't sure if that would offend her or not, but she's smiling now so I don't think so. She looks good like that, very natural. I bet she was really happy once. "Well, according to my report cards, I wasn't very good at more than just math."
"Hmm. Must have been a conspiracy against you."
Still smiling. "That's what I told my parents, but I don't think they believed me."
She seems like a pretty nice girl. Especially when she's not, you know, holding me at gunpoint. In fact, I think I'm starting to like her.
"So, um-- could you tell me about this school?"
Oh right. That.
"So they're all mutants?"
"Yeah, kid. Even the teachers."
She still looks surprised. I get the impression she hasn't exactly been living the high life these past six months, because she seems genuinely surprised that there are mutants out there just going about their lives and not being harassed all the time.
I guess it surprised me, too, at first. I don't have, like, blue skin or gills or anything obvious like that, so I never really had trouble passing for a normal guy. But I'd traveled for a real long time before I hooked up with the X-Geeks, and I had ran across a few other mutants who weren't so lucky. Most of them spent most of the lives hiding from one thing or another, so walking around the grounds that first time with Chuck and watching people walk through walls and levitate books right out in the open kind of threw me for a loop.
I've gotten so used to it now, though, that seeing someone like Marie here, sitting around in her room all day because she's afraid to go outside seems pretty alien to me. I really hope Chuck can help her.
"And they teach people how to control their mutations? Can they-- I mean, do you think Professor Xavier could help me?"
"Uh..." I don't want to get her hopes up if he can't do it, but I don't want to crush them by saying 'no' either. "I know he's helped a lot of other people with their mutations. And even if he can't help you control it, I know he could at least help you adjust to it. It doesn't have to screw up your life, you know?"
"I guess."
She looks pretty depressed again. Shit. Usually 'Ro comes with me on these little mutie babysitting trips, and I do all the tracking and eliminating potential threats and she does all the talking. It works out pretty well. But this was sort of a special case, what with Sabretooth showing interest and Chuck losing her on Cerebro after the initial contact. So I've been out looking for this kid for almost twenty-five weeks now. He couldn't spare both Storm and me for that long, so I'm on my own for this.
And now that I'm thinking about it, I think we might have been wrong about that dickhead Sabretooth being after her. Maybe it was just a big coincidence that he went on the move the same day Chuck picked up on her. Something's telling me that's not it, but I don't really see what Big and Hairy wants with Marie. Sure, she could be pretty powerful. Hell, I saw what happened to that David kid and if she wanted to hang on, I'm sure she could have killed him, no sweat. But Sabretooth could kill someone just as easily, and he's got no qualms about it. It doesn't make much sense, but then again, Buckethead has always been a couple fries short of a happy meal.
"Hey, I mean that, Marie. And it seems like you're already learning to live with it a little. Your gloves and all? That was a really good idea. You can touch people no problem with 'em, and if I met you on the street, I'd just think you were a regular girl." She's looking at me, but she's still being quiet so I guess I should go on. "And this probably doesn't mean much coming from someone like me, but I think the gloves kinda make you look sophisticated. Like you're going somewhere classy or something."
"Th-thanks." Uh, she's looking at me like I grew antlers of something. Maybe I said something weird.
"No problem." Awkward silence. Hate those. "So-- what do you think about..." Something picked up my interest, and Marie raised her eyebrows when I trailed off at the end of the sentence and tilted my head a little. She's looking at me like I'm psycho, but I knew I'd heard something.
"There's a car slowing down outside. I think they're going to pull into your driveway. You know them?"
Marie immediately furrowed her brow and the nervous smell came back in a rush. We had moved into her living room earlier in our conversation, and she pushed herself off the couch to sneak to the window. I watched her as she carefully parted the curtain so she could peek out. She stiffened for a moment and I felt my claws itch between my knuckles, thinking maybe I wasn't as many steps ahead of Sabretooth as I thought. But a second later she jumped back and whirled on me with wide, anxious eyes.
"Um-- my parents are home."
Shit.
After two frantic minutes of trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my gray T-shirt to look presentable, Marie shoved the faded jean jacket I'd dropped on the arm of the couch into my hands and gave me an astute order to "Put it on."
I jerked my arms through my sleeves and wondered why the hell I suddenly felt so fucking nervous when I heard the distinct sound of a key being turned in the lock. Marie scrambled out to the foyer and I loped after her, feeling awkward and dangerously out of my element.
Just as the door was opening, Marie looked over at me and hurriedly whispered, "My parents are sort of conservative".
Terrific.
I watched in sick fascination as Marie's mother nudged the door open with her shoulder and maneuvered her two grocery bags through the entryway, watched as she turned and regarded her daughter with a warm smile, and watched as her eyes found mine and the bags hit the floor and she started screaming.
Mr. Gordon was behind his wife in a heartbeat, casting a confused and accusing glare on me, when Marie jumped forward and gestured towards me with a little hand.
"Mama, it's alright! Um, this is Logan. He's-- he's a mutant, too."
I barely had enough time to jump forward and pluck her mother's body out of the air right before she fainted dead away.
I lifted her limp form up warily and tried to adjust her into a more comfortable position. Dumbfounded, I chanced a sideways glance towards Marie, who looked vaguely horrified, and her father, who was turning an interesting shade of red.
Marie gave me an strange, apologetic half-smile and glanced down at her shoes. "I think that went well."
"Mr. Logan, I must say you have a fabulous appetite."
After the initial train wreck that was my first impression, Marie explained to her folks that I wasn't there to rape and maim her and that, no, I wasn't going to plunder all of their valuables.
Turns out Mrs. Gordon makes damn good mashed potatoes.
"Uh, sorry. I have kind of a strange metabolism." That got me curious stares all around. "Because of my mutation."
"Oh! How fascinating." Her mother seems like a pretty decent lady. Her accent is even crazier than Marie's. I like listening to the two of them talk. "Don't you think so, Henry?"
"How do we know you're really who you say you are?" Now, her father on the other hand...
"Henry! Don't be rude. Marie, why don't you get Mr. Logan another glass of lemonade?"
Marie's a little nervous about the whole thing, I can tell. She's hardly said a word since we sat down, and she smells kinda anxious. I wonder if she thinks they aren't going to let her go? "Okay, mama." It seems like she acts pretty different around her parents, too. I haven't known her very long, though, so I'm probably wrong.
"So, Mr. Logan... what sort of curriculum do they have at the institute? Would it be possible for Marie to attend college?"
Good question. "It's pretty much a normal high school education, I guess. A little more advanced than what you get in public school, but the class sizes are a lot smaller so it's easier to get help. And usually the Professor meets with every student once a week or so to help work with their mutation. And yeah, she can go to college if she wants."
Marie's mom looks pretty happy about that. You know, usually I don't buy into all the shit Chuck lays out there about his great and wonderful cause, but it does feel kinda nice to help people out sometimes. And Marie seems like a real good person. She deserves to go to college if she wants.
"Did you hear that, Marie? College!"
Marie's smiling real sweet now. She's a nice girl. I like her a lot.
Well, now or never. I think I've done a decent job of convincing them, and I'd like to get the jump on Sabretooth. The Professor hasn't been able to get a lock on his location for almost two weeks now, and I really doubt he just gave up. The sooner we're on the road, the better. "So-- what do you think? Can she attend?"
"We can't afford private school for Marie."
Papa Bear, again. Jesus. What a dickwad. Marie's wincing at that, too.
"Henry! We can afford whatever our daughter needs."
"It's not a problem, anyway. Tuition's free." That should shut him up.
"How generous! Isn't that generous, Henry? And it sounds like such a lovely place."
"It sounds like a scam to me..."
Yeah, you go ahead and keep glaring, bub. I'm shakin' in my boots here.
"I'd really like to go." That was Marie, but she said it real quiet. I barely heard it and I can hear her heart beating from across the room.
"Then you will, sweetie." She's got a good mom, I think. She's lucky. "We can visit her while she's at school, right?"
"Sure. And she can come back here for Christmas break if she wants. They get two weeks at the end of December."
"Well, I guess you better get busy packing your things, Marie! It's a long drive to New York."
Whew. Just-- whew. I did it. Twenty-five weeks on the job, but I did it. That wasn't so bad.
And look at Marie. That's-- that's quite a smile. She's happy. Good. I'm glad.
Yeah.
You know, she's-- she's got a pretty nice smile.
"This is the guest bathroom. The tub is a restored Louis the Fifteenth!"
Uh. Looks like a regular old bathtub to me.
"Wow. That's really-- uh, great."
Mrs. Gordon is just beaming. "Isn't it?"
I told her I was gonna stay at a motel in town until tomorrow morning, but she looked at me as if I had just sacrificed some baby sheep in her living room. She wasn't on board with that plan. Apparently, she would never forgive herself if one of her guests spent the evening in a grungy motel, so I'm staying here tonight. I guess I should be happy, but they have one of those houses where everything is antique and wonderful and worth more than my life.
I'm not putting it down or anything; it just makes me uncomfortable to be in places much nicer than what I'm used to. I'm always afraid I'll use the wrong towel or something. I've gotten halfway comfortable around the mansion, 'cause I have my own room and all, but other people's houses still make me feel like Gulliver trouncing around on a city of tiny people. Or something.
"And here's a toothbrush for you to use tonight!" Holy shit, that's a huge toothbrush. It's got some sort of giant handle. Maybe it's, like, a training toothbrush. "It's an electric, so just keep it in the charger until you're ready to use it."
What the hell? I'm not putting something with electricity shooting through it in my mouth. "Uh, okay."
"My great, great grandmother hid these brass fixtures in her petticoats when General Sherman and his armies burned her estate..."
Gah.
Yep, this is where all the Marie-smell is centralized. I'll just knock...
"Um, come in."
"Hey, Marie." She's got stuff all over her bed; clothes, shoes, books. Must be packing. "How's it going?"
"Okay. It's kind of-- it's a little strange, honestly. I've lived in this room my whole life, and all of a sudden I'm not going to be here anymore." She's giving me a small smile, but it looks sort of forced. "I mean-- I'm glad to be going and all, and it really sounds great, but I'm a little nervous. Not a lot or anything. Just a little bit."
Gotta do something about that. Maybe cheer her up a little. "So you're pretty sure you aren't -this- excited yet?" I'm holding my hands apart like I'm measuring a fish or something.
And yes, she's looking at me like I'm nuts. "Um..."
Bringing my hands a little closer together. "Maybe you're feeling this excited?"
She just quirked a smile, then covered it real quick. I think she sees where I'm going with this. "Not really."
I'm just holding up my left hand now, with a little gap between my index finger and my thumb. "Maybe, at the very least, you're entertaining the possibility of being -this- excited?"
"Could be." Heh. Yeah, she's not looking sad anymore. You know, maybe I don't suck at this quite as much as I thought.
"Good. What's that?"
"What?" She's turning to look at what I pointed at. It looks like a map of the US, but she's got pushpins stuck to it and writing all over the bottom. "Oh that! See, before-- um, before my mutation, I was thinking about going to Alaska. You know, just to see it. I used to have picture books of it, and it looked just beautiful. I've never really seen snow before. Anyway, I was using the map to plan my route." She's smirking a little now. Shaking her head. "Actually, when my mutation um-- happened, I used to lay awake and think about hitchhiking there. Like, just get up and go, so no one would know who I was."
Never would have guessed that. She doesn't seem like the hitchhiking type, but I get the impression there's a lot about Marie that you wouldn't guess just by looking at her.
"No kidding?" She's nodding, but not saying anything. Maybe I should talk about something else. "You know, I'm Canadian. I used to go through Alaska all the time."
"Really? I didn't know you were Canadian."
"Yeah, well, we haven't exactly exchanged life stories or anything yet."
She's smiling real cute now. "Yet."
See, this is one of those situations where I generally say something noncommittal and leave. I'm not really big on conversation, especially stuff like what your life is like, or how you're feeling, or whether someone's pants make them look fat. But, I don't think she's trying to drag me into some big discussion or anything. I think she's just being friendly. So I'm not going be a jerk for once in my life. I'm not going to say anything weird.
"So-- want to go to Alaska with me?
Shit. Shit. Did those words really just come out of my mouth?
Now she's looking at me all crazy again. Dammit, where the hell did that come from, anyway? I wasn't even thinking that. Now she's going to think I'm some weirdo who-- "Really? You'd take me there?"
Huh. That didn't sound like a scream of panic and abject terror.
"Uh, yeah. If you want to, maybe we could swing by before we hit Xavier's."
"Swing by? Um, isn't it a little out of the way?"
"Yeah, but you've got Niagara Falls pinned off on your map thing, right? That isn't far from the mansion, so we could make sort of a round trip of it. Maybe go northwest up to Alaska, and then head back through Canada until we hit the falls, then south into Westchester."
"You'd do that?"
No. Not usually. But apparently I've hit my head or something, because I'm acting pretty out-of-character around this kid.
"Sure. I haven't been in Canada for almost a year now, so it would be nice to go back, even if we're just passing through."
"Wait. Wait. Um-- if we did that, we'd be, you know, in really close quarters for a while. Like, a couple weeks. And my skin-- um, it might not be safe."
"What?"
She looks sad again. "My skin. There could be an accident and--"
Accident? What does she think's going to happen?
"Look, kid-- we're going to be in close quarters on the drive up to Xavier's anyway. And yeah, it's a lot shorter trip, but it's still not exactly a quick drive into town for chips or something. And you're wearing those long gloves all the time, anyway. Unless you somehow get it in your head to start biting me while I'm driving, I don't see it being a problem."
"Biting you?" She's chewing on her lip, trying not to smile.
"Doesn't sound very likely, does it? So-- the skin thing? Not a problem." She's hesitating, but I can tell she wants to say yes. "Come on, I'd really like to go with you."
Okay, what is -wrong- with me? I don't say shit like that. Maybe there was something in those mashed potatoes...
"Okay. I mean, if you don't mind, then I think I'd like to. Thanks. I think it might be fun. I've never really been on a road trip. Just-- thank you."
She's trying not to smile, but she is anyway. That's cute. Look at that, now she's blushing. Aw.
I'm not going to smile back or anything, though.
"No problem."
Not going to smile.
Nope. Not.
...
Dammit, I'm smiling, aren't I?
"Hello, Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, how may--"
"Can I talk to Ch-- uh, the Professor?"
"The Professor isn't in right now. Should I take a message?"
Chuck isn't at the mansion? That's odd.
"Then who's in charge right now?"
"I'm sorry, but who is this?"
"This is Logan."
"Logan who?"
"Wolverine."
"Oh! Oh, okay. Mrs. Munroe's in charge. Let me go get her."
Storm's in charge, huh?
"Hello?"
"Hey 'Ro."
"Logan! It's good to hear from you. We've missed your presence on several missions."
Yeah, I'm sure Scooter was crying his eyes out.
"I'll bet. Where's the Professor?"
"There have been some unusual occurrences recently, and the Professor has decided to accompany Scott and Jean to investigate them. He asked me to stay behind and watch the students."
Now -that- is odd. Chuck never goes on missions.
"What kind of 'occurrences'?"
"Nothing serious, Logan. You don't need to concern yourself." Did she just brush me off? "How is your mission faring? Professor Xavier informed me that you were closing in on the mutant."
"Actually, I'm at her house right now."
"Really? So you located her then?"
"Yeah. It took a while, but I always get my man. Or woman."
I can hear her laughing a little over the phone. "Of course. So you'll be returning soon then? We're a little short-staffed right now."
"Soon, but-- uh, not too soon. Two weeks, maybe. Do you need me back before then?"
"No, no. That should be fine. The Professor is due back the day after tomorrow, so things will be much less hectic. Please take however much time you need."
"Thanks, 'Ro."
"And Logan? The Professor asked me to advise you that it might be a good idea for you to take an alternate route home. If Magneto is really looking for the girl, he might attempt to somehow intercept her during your return to the mansion considering they could not locate her before you did."
Well, that's convenient, I guess.
"Way ahead of you. I'll check in every once in a while, but tell Chuck to give me a brain-alert if he picks up Sabretooth and company anywhere near us."
Like I said before, I hate doing the head-talking thing, but it has its uses.
"Of course. Please take care of yourself on the trip home, Logan."
"Always. Later, 'Ro."
I'm beginning to feel not quite myself. She isn't doing anything special, just calmly eating a donut from the box of twelve we picked up from the Krispy Kreme on the way out of town, but she's doing it in such a way that I feel compelled to... well, I don't know for sure. Just compelled.
She eats one bite from each side of the donut, effectively cutting the thing into two separate halves. Then she takes those halves and goes back and forth, nibbling one and then the other until both are gone. Sometimes she turns towards me slightly, and I can see the corner of her mouth is smudged with powdered sugar.
I've never met anyone who had a technique to eating donuts.
Generally, I wouldn't take notice, but I've been in my own little world since we pulled out onto the highway this morning, and I've suddenly realized how quiet it is. Marie seems pretty subdued; soft eyes, keeping to herself, and looking out the window most of the time.
On the way out of Meridian, she pointed out various places to me, but it was a little weird to hear her talk about them. She said everything in a neutral, dispassionate voice that made it seem like it wasn't really her who had these memories. "That is where I went to high school", "That is the church I used to attend", "This is the hill where I fell off my bike when I was 10 and had to get stitches."
To be honest, it freaked me out a little. Mostly because it reminded me of-- well, me. "There wasn't anything at Alkali Lake", "I don't know why I have the nightmares", "No, I don't remember my last name. Just put down whatever you'd like."
But hearing that voice out of -her- mouth was a little much. It just didn't seem fair that someone so young, someone who was a good person like Marie, could sound like that.
The donuts were an attempt to cheer her up, and it worked a little, but things were still pretty silent in Chuck's shiny, black SUV.
It bothered me for some reason.
"You're not much of a conversationalist."
Huh? Is she talking to me?
"What do you mean by that?"
"You're pretty quiet."
"Well, yeah. But you haven't said anything, either."
She's got a very thoughtful look on her face. "I'm just thinking. What's it like in Alaska?"
"Cold. What are you thinking about?"
"Just cold?"
"Yeah. And they have bears. Answer the question."
"Just--" She's bunching her fists up in her lap. Must be a bad thought. "Just about Meridian, I guess. I've never really been anywhere else, so this is a big thing for me. Leaving, I mean. Not-- not that I'm unhappy I'm leaving, it's just a big thing."
I guess I can see that. Leaving everything you ever knew, even if some of it sucked-- that's a big risk.
"Well, what things about Meridian are you going to miss most?"
She must be thinking pretty hard about that, because it's taking her a while to answer.
"You know-- I don't think I'll really miss anything, besides my parents."
"That's it?"
"I know it sounds weird, but-- I just wasn't happy there. I mean-- I was. I used to be. But--"
"But not after your mutation."
Sad, little smile now. "I understand, though. I mean-- I'd have probably acted the same way if-- if it had been someone else. Some mutant freak nearly killing--" Okay, pulling over. Pulling over right now. "Logan? What are you--?"
"You're not a freak. You're not a freak, you're not a killer, you're not a bad person, and you're still-- you aren't what they say. You're still who you were before all this happened. You're still Marie Gordon."
"You don't know what happened, Logan. You didn't see David when--"
"I did see David. I saw pictures. I read medical records. I even called up four of the doctors assigned to you or David and recorded the conversations I had with them. That way, I could memorize every, tiny detail their was to know about what happened. Trust me, kid, I probably know more about your mutation than you do."
She looks shocked. Now that I think about it, it sounds almost like I'm stalking her. Probably not the best impression to make on a slightly emotionally-unstable teenage girl. "Why did you-- I mean, why are you going to that much trouble? Why, um--"
"Why you?"
"Yes. Yeah. Why me?"
"It's kind of a long story, but the short version is that the Professor heard about you and wanted to help, but I had a hell of a time finding you. Like I said before, it took me six months just to get your address. I was pretty much whimpering with delight whenever I found the smallest scrap of information on you. You're a hard woman to pin down, Marie."
"Hmm. After everything came out, my parents tried really hard to keep a low profile. But-- thanks. I'm glad you found me." Smiling a little, and her cheeks are getting a little red. Heh. So cute. "And it's nice to know that I can make attractive men whimper with delight without even having met them." Uh. Did she just say-- "I'm just teasing you, Logan."
Right. Knew that.
"Yeah. You're welcome."
So, first big emotional conversation over. Not too shabby for a rookie, huh? She's smiling, so that must mean I did okay.
She still seems a little surprised, but she looks good. I mean, "good" as in better emotionally. Not good looking as in-- uh, good looking. Not that she isn't, though. Because she is. I'm not thinking about her that way, though.
At all.
She looks better emotionally is what I meant.
And I'm pulling back onto the road now, before I say some of this shit out loud and humiliate myself.
"You know, you really should wear your seatbelt."
Is she smirking at me now? She is. She's eating my beef jerky and smirking at me. I've gotta say, this kid's got nerve.
"Look, kid, I don't need auto advice--"
"In 2009, there were over 7,000,000 police-reported crashes in the United States."
What the fuck?
"Uh--"
"And over 65,000 people were killed in those accidents."
"Where did you--"
"If you lose control of the vehicle because you're busy flying headfirst through the windshield, there's a very good chance I'll die a horrible, violent death. And then I'll be forced to haunt you for all eternity."
....
*CLICK*
We've been driving for a couple hours, and Marie's just staring out the window again. She had brought along about four of those disposable cameras and earlier she was snapping pictures of cows out the window, but now she's just holding it quietly in her lap.
I had asked if she wanted to pull over to get a better shot a couple times, but she always said, "No thanks". I think she just wants out of Mississippi as soon as possible.
Not that I blame her. This state kind of blows, if you ask me. I've ended up in a few run-down truck-stop bars around Mississippi, and those are always experiences to look back on fondly. I love it when it’s a mild 98 degrees with 100 percent humidity and I'm holed up in some backwater tin can with a bunch of nasty rednecks who smell like feet.
And let's not forget the impressive variety of radio stations all playing the same fucking banjo music and boy bands.
"What do you like to do for fun?"
Sometimes Marie just says things out of nowhere...
"What do you mean?"
"Things you do. For fun. What are they?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I thought it would be nice to, you know, get to know each other a little." She's giving me a look that clearly says 'Duh'. "We're going to be stuck in a car together for, well-- for a while, and I don't really want to spend all that time in awkward silence."
Awkward silence? I didn't realize it was awkward. I just thought it was-- silence.
"Alright. I like to drive a lot. I've done a lot of that. I like fixing things, too. Sometimes I read. I like Hemingway. And, uh-- fighting."
"Fighting? You mean like boxing?"
Not so much boxing as 'kicking the shit out of evil mutants while wearing leather costumes' or 'hospitalizing drunk truckers for fun and profit'. But boxing is close enough.
"Yeah. Like boxing."
"I've never met a boxer."
"First time for everything. What about you? What do you do for fun?"
"Hmm. I like music a lot. My mom has a piano and she taught me how to play it. Just a little, I'm not really great at it or anything."
Knew it. Didn't I tell you? She's talented. "What else?"
"I like to read, too. Not-- not Hemingway, really. I like cheap paperbacks, actually. It's sort of embarrassing." You know, she blushes a lot. You can really tell when it happens because she has such pale skin. "Um-- Amelia Earhart is my favorite person. I collect things about her. Like, I have a pair of goggles that are replicas of the ones she used when she crossed the Atlantic."
Amelia Earhart, huh?
"After midnight the moon set and I was alone with the stars."
"Um-- what?"
"It's a quote. Uh-- from Amelia Earhart. 'After midnight the moon set and I was alone with the stars'." She's looking at me psychotically again. I need to stop saying weird shit. "Sorry."
"No! No. I just-- you don't seem like the type of person who would be able to quote Amelia Earhart. Where did you-- I mean, did you study her when you went to school?"
School? I don't remember going to school. Come to think of it, I don't remember where I heard that quote before. Goddamn scientist fuckers.
Now I have to think of something to say that won't sound crazy or suspicious. Think, Logan, think.
"Uh-- no."
Idiot.
"Oh. Um, okay. That's neat, though. I haven't heard that quote. 'After midnight the moon set and I was alone with the stars'." Smiling pretty big now. "I like it."
You know, when she says it, it sounds like poetry.
"Good."
We finally crossed the Mississippi River and saw a highly disappointing sign that said "Louisiana" about as big as a license plate number or something. I was expecting some huge, colorful photo op to announce Marie's final exit from Mississippi, but no such luck. I bet she would have thought it was cute of me if there had been a decent sign and I wanted to take her picture, though.
We haven't really said a whole lot to each other, but it hasn't been awkward or anything. Marie has taken to looking out the windshield instead of her side window, and she seems to be smiling a bit instead of looking like she wants to throw herself off a bridge. Always a plus.
She's actually decent company, and believe me, that's the compliment of the century coming from me.
Last night was pleasantly uneventful. We pulled off in Monroe, Louisiana and filled up the tank at a Snuckey's convenience store. Marie picked up another disposable camera and I bought a couple packs of jerky to replace the ones she had snarfed down back in Mississippi. I guess I should be mad about that or something, but frankly I'm just glad she's not one of those girls who orders nothing but salad and diet cokes.
Marie was first out of the store, and when I came out a few minutes after her she was rocking back and forth on her heels and grinning at me. My natural reaction was, of course, panic and nausea. After all, -nobody- grins like that unless they're planning something or waiting for you to notice you've got toilet paper stuck to your boot.
She explained calmly that there was an 'Illusions of Elvis Museum and Memorabilia Dealership' just across the street, and gave me a look that clearly stated, "Take me or I'll pout and then you'll take me anyway."
Sigh.
So we spent about thirty minutes listening to some old man drone on and on about how great "The King" was and how his girlfriend Ethel saw him coming out of a McDonalds just last Tuesday. (Apparently he was still continuing his "lean and mean" lifestyle, since Ethel reported he was only carrying four Big Macs and a super-sized orange soda. Or maybe you just really work up an appetite being dead and all.)
The fascinating conversation was compounded by the guy repeatedly staring at my two-day-old mini sideburns and giving me a thumbs-up sign. I wanted to say something along the lines of, "Stop staring at my facial hair, dillwad", but Marie was looking like she was thoroughly enjoying herself, so I exercised restraint. Which isn't to say that I -didn't- flick him off whenever no one was looking, because I did.
A lot.
After the "tour" (Ha!) was finished, Marie and I wandered around the gift shop and basically goofed off. She told me that her grandmother and her used to listen to old Elvis records and sing along horribly. I kinda doubt it was horrible, at least on Marie's part, but I didn't say anything.
While she was talking, Marie tried on this god-awful white cape, and I tried real hard not to burst out laughing. I couldn't help myself when she started doing this hip wiggle thing, though, but she just looked over her shoulder and grinned at me. It was pretty nice seeing her so happy, I have to say.
She bought a couple postcards and some Elvis plate thing. I was too busy wondering what the hell anyone would want any of this crap for to notice much about it.
Later on, we pulled into a couple restaurants. Both of them were swarming with people, and I could tell it was starting to freak Marie out a little, so I suggested we find a hotel and get something delivered, instead. She looked at me like I had plucked her out of a burning building, so I figured that was a good call on my part.
So we had Chinese, watched part of "Lethal Weapon" in Spanish, and went to sleep. I was a little nervous about having a nightmare and scaring the shit out of her, but nothing ended up happening.
There was sort of a weird moment when I woke up the next morning. I glanced over to make sure Marie was still in the room and not, you know, clawed to death or something, and I caught her lying in her bed staring at me. She kinda blushed and rolled over onto her side facing away from me when she noticed I saw her doing it. Dunno what that was about, but I pulled on a shirt and went downstairs to grab breakfast for us.
We ate in silence and Marie was still blushing and acting funny, but I didn't say anything. I figured she'd tell me if something was bothering her or whatever, but I wasn't about to start some touchy-feely conversation for no reason.
After breakfast, we packed up the SUV and hit the road. Which leads us to the present time, where Marie is looking out the window obliviously snapping pictures.
I, on the other hand, am checking the rear view mirror exactly every thirty seconds to watch the unmarked, black car that's been following us for the last 45 miles.
It looks like a late model import, so I'd rule out the government. Spooks are such arrogant dicks they'll only drive shitty American cars. It doesn't have standard features, either; that window tint job is definitely custom and they don't have any front plates. So the "random coincidence" theory is out.
The only possibility left is a private organization. Maybe it's those Friends of Humanity psychos? They've always got some bug up their ass about Chuck and the whole "pro-mutant" thing.
Well, whoever they are, they're about to find out they're way out of their league.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
Oh yeah. Beautiful day for a high-speed car chase.
"Sure is, Marie."
"Um, weren't we supposed to stay on the interstate?"
Yes, we were. But plans change when you have to fuck with some guy tailing you.
"Yeah, but I, uh-- I wanted to see if they've got a Walmart here."
Eyebrows up, lips pursed. Classic Marie "What the hell are you talking about?" look. "Walmart? What do you need a Walmart for?"
For low, low prices and service with a smile.
"I don't. I just want to see if they have one."
"Um..."
Okay, time to put the plan in action. Take notes, kiddies. This is how you find out for sure if you're being tailed.
First you pull into the far right lane at an intersection, then watch as your humble follower pulls in behind you.
Now, flip on the blinker and take a nice, long glance at the "Right lane must turn right" sign.
That's it, bub-- light up that turn signal. Good.
Wait for the light to turn green, and.... drive right through the intersection. Yeah, he's following. Shit.
"Logan! There was a sign--"
"I know. We've got company, kid. Someone's tailing us."
"What? Tailing us?"
"Check out the rear view mirror."
"Um--- that car went through, too. Weren't they supposed to turn right?"
"Yeah, but like I said, they're tailing us. They're not going to give up their position just to obey some stupid traffic law."
"Um-- does that mean they're following us?"
"Yeah, kid. Tailing."
She's starting to look panicked. Maybe I shouldn't have told her, but I figure she's going to realize something's up when I start trying to shake this guy.
"Why-- why are they tailing us? Are they-- I mean, are they anti-mutant people?"
"Dunno. I'm going to try to lose them. Hang on, Marie."
"Oh god, I'm going to die!"
Marie was hanging on pretty good until I jumped that median. Her fingers were turning white from hanging onto the door handle so tight, but she was staying pretty quiet. But I guess driving into oncoming traffic is pushing it a little.
"No you're not. Just think of it as a ride. Like at, uh, Disneyland or something."
"No one dies at Disneyland!"
Mr. Black Car is still on my tail, but he's dragging pretty good now. He's got me on speed, I'm in a silly luxury SUV and he's got a Prelude, but the guy can't drive for shit and it shows.
I'm gonna slide it back into fourth and jackknife it into this next turn. The key to a good jackknife is to ease off the brake until your backend slides out away from the turn and then floor it when you're running parallel to where you want to be. You have to whip the steering wheel pretty good to keep your front bumper pointed in the direction you want to go, but it's a helluva fast snap-turn if you can pull it off.
Heh. Dumbass missed the turn by about a mile. Nice driving, bub.
"Logan!"
Right, guess I should watch the road.
I wound around a dumpster, but there was a bus right in my path, so I cut the wheel to the left and sent us up onto the sidewalk. I took out a mailbox before fishtailing it back onto the pavement.
Just gonna weave around this old guy driving a Pontiac, and slide along broadside to the rig up ahead. Downshift into third and make a sharp right directly onto the freeway exit.
Tail's nowhere in sight. Easy as pie.
"So-- wanna get some lunch?"
Hey, why's she rolling down the window? Oh... OH. That's a little--that's nasty.
"Um-- I'm sorry I threw up on your car."
Yeah, so am I. But only because I'm the one cleaning up the outside with this crusty windshield squeegee.
"Hey, no problem. Sorry about, you know, scaring you like that."
This is a pretty small town and we couldn't find a car wash, so we just pulled into this gas station and I've been scrubbing away since. I have to say-- cleaning vomit up with a squeegee? Not something I've done before.
"No-- no. It's alright. That was pretty neat, actually. I've never been in a car chase."
"Yeah, kinda fun, huh?"
She's nodding. She doesn't look near as pale now that she can stand up and walk around. I can't believe she's drinking that Super-Gulp after losing her lunch like that, though. "Why do you think they were following us?"
"No clue, kid. Probably just a bunch of anti-mutant dicks You know how they are." There. Finished. Absolutely no trace of chunk-blowage. "I'm going to give the school a call to let them know what happened, alright? Stay where I can see you."
"Okay."
"Hello, Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters. How may I help you?"
Don't they ever say anything besides that when they answer the phone? Jesus.
"Put Storm on."
"Logan!"
Is that--?
"Uh, Kitty?"
"Yeah! It's me. How are you?"
Just so you know, Kitty is the most cheerful person you will ever meet. It's almost unnatural.
"Fine. How's are the geeks doing?"
"Lo~gan..." She always says my name like that when she's pretending to be miffed at me. She doesn't like it when I call 'em geeks, but she doesn't mind too much 'cause she knows I don't mean anything by it. "They're fine. The Professor, Dr. Grey, and Mr. Summers are supposed to be home tonight, so I guess it's back to school tomorrow."
The kids get occasional spur-of-the-moment vacation days whenever the majority of the teachers have to go-- you know, save the world and shit.
"Too bad. Hey, Kitty? I really need to talk to Storm now, but I'll call again in a couple days, alright?"
"Okay. Let me go get her. Bye, Logan!"
I hate the hold music. Barry Manilow-- ugh. Must have been Scooter's choice.
"Hello, Logan."
"Hey 'Ro. Listen, we ran into a little trouble--"
"Are you both alright? What happened?"
"Nothing big, but we had a car following us for a while. I lost them about two hours ago, but they were definitely tailing us. I think they were private sector."
"Hmm. It could be the Friends of Humanity."
"That's what I thought, too. When Chuck gets back, give him the news and see if he can dig anything up with Cerebro."
"Of course. How is the girl?"
Besides tossing her cookies, you mean?
"She's fine. Look, I gotta go. I'll call again tomorrow morning to get the world from the Professor."
"Alright. Please take care, Logan. Call immediately if anything else happens."
"Yeah. Later."
Back on the highway, again. I'm altering our course a little. We'll pass through Oklahoma instead of Texas, just in case anyone's still looking for us.
Marie seems much calmer, now. She's even snapping a few pictures again.
"You have a nice car."
Not a car, baby.
... wait. Baby? What the hell am I thinking?
"It's an SUV. But it's not mine."
"Whose is it?"
"Chuck's." Oh, wait. "Uh, I mean Xavier's. I had a truck, but it blew up."
Now she looks alarmed. "It blew up?"
"Yeah. You know-- things happen." Another psycho look. "What?"
Shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Nothing."
Fine. Be that way. "So-- what did you buy at the Little Shop of Elvis Horrors?"
"Oh!" She's reaching into her duffel bag and bringing out that box I saw her buy. "It's an Elvis plate. They're so tacky I had to get one."
She's handing it to me. I don't really get the attraction. It's just a plate with a big, cartoon Elvis head on the front. Ugly as sin, too.
Hey, there's writing on the back.
"What the hell? This Elvis plate was made in China."
"Oh, be quiet."
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
This is my first X-Men fanfic. It's alternate universe, so nothing will make sense at first. Hopefully, it will later. I also used the last name "Gordon" for Marie, but I'm not entirely sure where I borrowed it from. I've read it in a few fanfics, so I'm not sure if that's really her last name, or if someone made it up. If it belongs to someone else, I'm so sorry and please let me know immediately and I'll change it! Um , this also hasn't been beta-ed, so there's probably a bunch of typos and things.