DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
thatcraftykid
track three // “BREATHE”
LOOK AROUND / AND CHOOSE YOUR OWN GROUND
“You’re givin’ yourself too much credit, kid. Wheels dresses up mutants
in black leather and sends ’em out to save the world.”
– Logan –
His skin breaks, nothing more than a pinprick, and Logan’s off his back and onto his feet. He has the woman with the needle by the throat, holds her down as he scans the sterile, steel room. He’s breathing heavily, inhaling latex and disinfectant, fear and Marie.
Logan glances down at the woman, a red-haired doctor with even, white teeth. He pushes her aside. Not a threat.
He follows Marie’s faded scent into the long corridor. Logan’s never seen the inside of a hospital firsthand, but he can tell this is no ordinary one. This is Southaven, he thinks, and Marie’s somewhere inside. Lost in her nightmare.
Ripping off circular patches from his chest – bare even where his tag should sit against his skin – he cautiously pads further on. Steel doors with Xs. No sign of life behind them. Around the corner, an alcove.
Where’s he going?
There can’t be anyone behind him, but he looks anyway. The hallway is still empty, now eerily so. He turns back to the alcove. Multiple images of his torso reflect on glass cases housing leather uniforms. Couldn’t be police or military.
An open cabinet catches his eye, and he snags a gray hooded sweatshirt. No shoes. He doesn’t know if that will make him more or less conspicuous in this place.
The hallway is endless, but he can follow her scent. It’s been at least a half-hour since Marie was down here. Was she hurt? Where did they take –
Where are you going?
There’s no one there. He’s sure there’s no one there, but he presses himself against a recess in the wall anyway.
The wall beside him opens to reveal an rounded elevator.
Over here.
Marie had been in the elevator. He dashes in before it closes, thinking better of it at the last second. Was it a trap? Had the doctor with the perfect teeth called security? Should’ve taken her with him. At least with a hostage he’d have leverage.
The elevator slides open, revealing a large wooden hallway with warm lighting and thick rugs. Marie’s scent is caught up in dozens of others. Fresh cut flowers, body odor, processed food, lemon-scented cleaners…No blood, no horror.
Whispers follow him, a man’s questioning voice. The voice is in Logan’s head, words overlapping. Here. Over here. In here.
Nowhere to hide from it, he makes a break for what looks like a way out. More voices, echoing naturally off the walls, make him abandon the door for a new hiding spot. Clomping footsteps have his back up against a wooden pillar. He leans around, watching the horde of off-looking adolescents pass by, freely and easily.
A door scrapes against its lock. Logan bounds over furniture to get to it, scanning the hallway as he shuts it behind him.
Movement. Jerking around, he sees a bald man seated behind a desk and half a dozen kids twisted around, staring at him.
“Good afternoon, Logan.” The bald man addresses the room, “If there are no more questions…Very good. An excellent final report, well done.”
A tall All-American and a mousey brunette stand awkwardly at the front, white note cards in hand. They’re younger than Marie – or, hell, maybe they’re not. Any rate, she’s not there and neither is her scent.
The bald man continues, “That will be all for today. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up with the next group.”
Students, obviously. Gathering their backpacks and books, they exit the room one by one. The mouse stops and turns back.
“Forgot again, Professor,” she murmurs with an embarrassed smile, collecting her shoulder bag from underneath her chair.
“Quite all right, Kitty.”
Swiftly, the girl ducks past Logan, not slowing down as she disappears straight through the closed door.
Logan snaps his head back to the bald man, who smiles as he holds up a textbook. “Physics. Another quarter completed. How time presses on, no matter the state of the world.” The man pulls away from the desk, still seated. “I’m Professor Charles Xavier. Would you care for a late lunch?”
The pleasantries make his lip curl. “Where am I?”
“Westchester, New York. You were attacked, for the second time. My people brought you here for medical attention.”
“I don’t need medical attention.”
The bald man in the wheelchair, the Professor, stops a few feet away. “Yes, of course.”
“Where’s my girl?”
The girl, he corrects to himself. Not his. It’s okay to be protective, not possessive. Still, there’s something animalistic to both – something that doesn’t belong in this richly-furnished room that’s too small to fit him, in spite of its actual dimensions.
A pause. Xavier leans back in his chair. “Rogue? She’s here. She’s fine.”
“Really?”
Xavier holds Logan’s challenging stare. Logan doesn’t flinch, though he’s restless under the scrutiny. As if, somehow, he’s giving away much more than he means to.
It’s a relief when the door opens. A man with red-tinted glasses, a woman with white hair, the redheaded doctor, who walks by with a warm grace Logan hasn’t seen in a woman since – well, maybe he’s never seen a woman walk that way.
Dr. Jean Grey, only one of the bunch with a name that doesn’t make him shake his head and laugh. Cyclops, Storm, Magneto, Mystique, Sabretooth. Dr. Jean Grey. He likes that. Suits the tall woman with the librarian neckline and the red pencil shirt. Classy.
Too bad about the company she keeps. Schools for mutants, brewing wars, dumbass nicknames.
With a derisive smile, Logan looks back at Xavier. “And what do they call you – Wheels? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
All he wants to do is ditch the loonies and check on Marie, but Logan’s held up at the door by the humorless clench-jaw in the shades. “Cyclops, right?” He grabs him forcibly by the shirt. “Wanna get out of my way?”
Irritatingly enough, Cyclops doesn’t twitch an eyebrow. Merely looks around him, apparently unable to do anything without the go-ahead from Xavier.
“Logan. It’s been almost fifteen years, hasn’t it? Living from day to day, moving from place to place. With no memory of who or what you are.”
His eyes dart around, how could he – Logan’s voice is barely a hiss: “Shut up.”
That stare again. The one that knows too much. “Give me a chance. I may be able to help you find some answers.”
Voice still failing him, he breathes, “How do you know?”
You’re not the only one with gifts. The same whispered questions from earlier.
Logan’s head jerks up and around before falling back the Professor. A newfound respect and interest in his expression, he asks, “What is this place?”
Excusing his people to get back to their classes, Xavier leads Logan on a tour of the half-converted mansion. Kitchen, security, back gardens – it’s not lost on him that everywhere Professor Xavier’s traveling story time goes, Marie’s faded scent is there to reassure him. Smoke and mirrors, far as Logan’s concerned, until he sees for himself that she’s safe.
It’s as if – Strike that. Knowing his impatience, Xavier guides him back inside, to a classroom where Marie sits uncharacteristically hunched. Through a windowed door, Logan studies her profile as she studies the others in the room.
“The students are mostly runaways,” Xavier explains. “Frightened, alone. Some with gifts so extreme they’ve become a danger to themselves and those around them. Like your friend Rogue.”
That again. He’s annoyed. It’s not Marie who’s dangerous, it’s everybody telling her she is that’s doing the real harm.
“Incapable of physical, human contact, probably for the rest of her life.”
The casual certainty annoys him further. She’s not the kind to be written off so easily.
Xavier continues, “And yet here she is, with others her own age.”
A twinge passes through Logan’s shoulder blades.
Neutral tone intact, Xavier finishes, “Learning, being accepted. Not feared.”
He can see the truth of that, at least, for himself. The ironically-named mouse holding hands with the All-American leans across a gum-snapping Asian girl dressed in yellow to ask Marie a question; showoff kid with a lighter tries to gets her attention, but All-American turns his fireball into shattered ice. Marie sits up straighter, tugging at her gloves.
“What’ll happen to her?” The same question he was asking himself just hours before – not so long ago, but a lifetime away from this place.
“Well, that’s up to her,” Xavier replies. “Rejoin the world as an educated young woman, or stay on to teach others. To become what the children have affectionately called ‘X-Men.’”
Gum-snapper throws up a handful of sparklers, lips clearly reading, “It’s Jubilee. You’ll want to know me.” She winks. Behind Marie’s answering smile is a flinch waiting to happen.
Logan forces himself to turn away, raising an eyebrow at the question he doesn’t have to ask aloud – X-Men?
Xavier nods, wheeling around to move down the hallway. “But the school is merely our public face,” he clarifies. “The lower levels are an entirely different matter.”
Who the hell has a jet? he recalls asking Marie. Now they know, and the explanation is almost as unfathomable as guessing in the dark. Vigilante justice, good versus evil, the end of days. Logan listens without comment, looks over the uniforms, trots through stables, admires the car collection – admires the leggy doctor sitting pretty next to Lockjaw.
None of it does anything for him. He’s not stirred, no doubt the intention of the monologue. Bitter cynicism is all he can feel, because his bones are weighed down by the very worst of humanity and his own mutation proves them right – he’s something other than human. Feral. An animal. Not his words, but it’s as much an exercise in frustration trying to place the voice as it would be to get drawn into all this superhero bullshit.
Find out what Marie wants to do, then Logan’s more than ready to get the fuck out of Dodge.
The Professor once again proves himself a step ahead. “I’ll make you a deal, Logan. Give me forty-eight hours to find out what Magneto wants with you, and I give you my word that I will use all my power to help you piece together what you’ve lost. And what you’re looking for.”
Cryptic. Manipulative, even. Still, it’s a decent proposition. No amount of clawing can penetrate his thick skull. Only someone like the Professor can peel back the layers and tell him what’s so atrocious that his brain has to keep it from him.
So he’ll stay.
Citing a meeting with someone called McCoy, Xavier leaves Logan to make himself at home. Laughable suggestion. Place is a zoo – worse, it’s a freak show without the gasping audience. Surreal to see so many mutations used so openly. Nothing vicious in it, either. Just kids enjoying their gifts.
Gifts.
Not in the real world. Sure, kids look content enough now to learn tolerance and self-control, but he’d bet his balls no one on the other side is teaching the same, even now. Marie is proof enough of that.
Logan’s made his way to Marie’s classroom just as it’s emptying out. A young girl with bushy blonde hair falters when she sees him. He raises an eyebrow, but it takes the decisive pop of chewing gum to get her moving again. What’s her name, Jubilee, sends him a wink, gaze roaming freely as she struts by. Where does she think she is, a honky tonk? Does he have a sign on his forehead: “Jailbait, drop your panties here?”
He scowls as the rest of the brats edge to the safety of the hallway, their eyes darting none too subtly to his hands. A crack of his knuckles sends the stragglers skittering. Oddly satisfying.
Marie’s still inside the classroom, talking to the teacher. Storm’s another looker. Delicate, though. Serene.
“I didn’t know there were places like this,” Marie is saying.
Storm smiles gently. “I don’t think there are very many places like this.”
“And the Professor…He can fix my mutation?”
Christ. The nervous hope on her about knocks him dizzy.
Doubt and pity flicker across Storm’s face. “I don’t think that it quite works that way.”
Marie ducks her head. The movement draws Storm’s attention to Logan, arms folded across his chest. Look on his face can’t be pleasant, yet her expression is welcoming.
“Rogue, look who’s here.”
Pivoting slowly, Marie keeps her eyes on the floor as she trails Storm to the door. Absurdly young – he knew it first thing he saw her sitting on that bar stool. Way she looks now, taking little steps, bowing her head, clutching her books to her well-covered chest, makes him the biggest fool and the worst lecher.
He barely hears Storm’s invitation for Marie to join her for tea in the greenhouse later, barely notes her exit.
Simple fact is, Logan doesn’t know the fidgeting girl in front of him, though he recognizes her as the same girl who dashed from his bed last night. He knows the one who climbed in better, the one with the smart mouth and the wicked saunter. The liar.
Logan shifts his weight, drops his arms to his sides. “Hey.”
Marie tilts her chin up, squinting at him like she’s looking into the sun. A little of the liar lingers around the curve of her lip. “Did I screw up again, or is this place okay?”
“It’s fine. You like it here?”
“Oh, well, gee. Ms. Munroe’s a swell teacher and the other kids are awful nice.” She rocks on the sides of her feet. “You should enroll. Be my lab partner.”
Letting out a laugh, he notes the domed stained-glass ceiling. “Yeah. It’s not my style, either.”
“At least you’ll be safe here. Rescuing you was getting to be a hassle.”
He quirks an eyebrow at her. “That so?”
“That is so.” She shifts her books. “How long are you staying?”
“Couple of days. You?”
“I haven’t decided yet. You’ll give me a lift if I need one?”
Her fidgeting has got to stop, she’s making his fingers twitch. He clasps his hands behind his back. “Sure, kid.”
Marie winces. “I’m seventeen, by the way. Not quite a kid.”
Close enough. He suspected, but he never smelt the lie on her. Her talent or his fault? His eyes fall on the scuffed toes of her tennis shoes. What a bastard. What a blind, opportunistic, old bastard.
“I’m sorry, Logan.”
“You ain’t the only one who screwed up.”
“My daddy told me to always apologize first. You get to take the moral high ground, and you’re more likely to be forgiven.” She focuses what passes for a smile on the wall behind his shoulder. “Of course, he ended up kicking me out, so maybe not foolproof advice.” Her hand goes to her scarf and the tags underneath.
“Didn’t mean to break that,” he tells her. Should’ve kept his temper. Marie doesn’t deserve what he said.
“How come yours is gone?”
He shrugs. Victory spoil for Sabretooth, most likely. Logan plans on taking it back and then some.
Marie chews on her lip and the silence between them for a long moment. “The Air Force thing, that’s all Carol. But the other stuff was true. Nine months ago, I was daddy’s little Southern belle, then I was mutant and I got sent to Southaven.” She meets his eye. “It’s a sick place. I wouldn’t lie about that. I tried to run away so many times. It was like a big joke to the nurses. They’d ask me when I was going ‘rogue’ again. Really funny, mocking someone you’re terrified of.”
Behind his back, he clenches his right hand around his left wrist. He holds level with her watery stare.
“I told Dr. Grey – You know she goes in front of Congress all the time? – She said she’d look into it for me, but…I don’t know if she likes me very much. I mean, she wasn’t mean or anything. She just asked me not to touch anyone. Very politely.”
“I wouldn’t take it personal.”
“Did they make a point to ask you not to claw anyone? Didn’t think so.” Marie rests her chin on the top of her books. “Great. Biggest freak in the freak show.”
“You’re givin’ yourself too much credit, kid. Wheels dresses up mutants in black leather and sends ’em out to save the world.”
Marie laughs, and Logan unclenches his fingers slowly, feeling the blood rush back into his hand.
“‘X-Men,’” she agrees archly.
The click of heels and the scent of perfume makes Logan turn slightly. Jean’s enjoying a private smile as she makes her way toward them, the fireball kid trailing behind her.
“Hello again,” she says, fixing her smile on him and then Marie.
“Hi, Dr. Grey,” Marie mummers, shoulders hunched.
“If you wouldn’t mind, Logan, the Professor asked me to take a few x-rays. It might help us understand why Magneto is after you.”
“My bones are covered in metal. Don’t need an x-ray to figure that out.”
Waste of time, but Marie’s trying to nod discreetly and get his attention at the same time. The lift of her brow says she wants him to do something for her. “You should talk to Dr. Grey. She’s good at looking into stuff,” she enunciates.
Not subtle, but, “All right,” he agrees.
“Thank you.” Jean opens the circle to the kid leaning against the doorjamb, knee cocked like James Dean. “Rogue, I don’t know if you’ve been introduced, this is John Allerdyce.”
“It’s Pyro.”
Jean hides a smile, continuing, “He’s volunteered to show you around the school.”
“If I get my lighter back,” Pyro says, just as Marie replies, “I’ve already had the tour.”
“John, you know the rules,” Jean tells him mildly. “Why don’t you introduce Rogue to Bobby and your other friends?”
He’s all artifice and impatience when he pushes himself away from the wall. “Come on, new girl.”
Marie’s lip takes on an unimpressed curl. She rolls her eyes up and over. “You’ll find me later, Logan?”
“Yeah, kid.”
Brushing by Jean to get out the door, Marie strides right past Pyro. Her saunter’s back, and Logan’s not the only one to notice.
“Nice jeans,” Pyro comments, following her to the stairs at a convenient distance.
“It’s not the jeans you’re complimenting, Sparky,” Marie retorts, sliding her gloved hand up the banister. “It’s the ass holding them up.”
Pyro takes the stairs two at a time, snickering. “Yep. That’s what I said.”
Marie’s already turned the corner at the top of the staircase, but Logan can still hear the acid in her drawl, “A gentleman would advert his eyes. If I have to avert them for you, I’ll make it permanent.”
Seventeen. Hell of an age.
“John isn’t the likeliest choice for the welcoming committee,” Jean admits, starting down the hallway. “But he really did want to meet her. He must have known Rogue would give him a run for his money.”
Yeah, Marie tends to do that. Logan falls into step, hands behind his back again. “She acts a lot older than she should.”
“Not uncommon in people forced to grow up too fast. This hasn’t been an easy year for her.” Jean’s sideways glance is gracious. “You really helped her by taking her in.”
“She’s a good kid,” he replies.
“I’m sure she is.” Jean hesitates. “But her particular mutation doesn’t make it easy for her.”
“Won’t be a problem. She doesn’t like to be touched,” he says briskly. “That clinic did a number on her.”
The elevator opens for them, and Jean steps in. She fusses over the panel instead of answering.
“You know Southaven,” he guesses, watching the doors close.
“I certainly don’t agree with it. It’s a ‘treatment’ facility, which is political doublespeak for finding a cure at any cost. It’s a terrible fact of our government. They refuse to pay adequate reparations to the Vietnamese people for generations of genetic defects due to the use of Agent Orange in combat. But present them with a boy whose gift let him survive the house fire that killed his foster parents, and they’ll pay any price to make sure he gets all the finest medical care.”
The elevator opens to the lower levels, and she’s shaking her head as they walk out.
Turning to face him, she continues, “The Senate Select Committee on Mutants has been pouring money into Southaven since it opened two years ago.”
“Governments are always corrupt. You got ‘gifts,’ fancy uniforms. Do somethin’ about it.”
Jean’s smile is wane. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Logan.”
“Place does experiments on mutant kids. Seems simple to me.”
“Genetic testing. Probably skin samples, in Rogue’s case. I don’t agree with Southaven philosophically; however, the evidence does not justify using force against a clinic full of innocent people doing the job that eighty-five percent of the mutants there pay a lot of money for them to do.”
He steps in her space. “What the other fifteen percent want don’t count?”
“Legally? They’re either low-risk convicted criminals or they’re minors with signed consent forms. Rogue made it clear she did not want to be there, and that, I’m sure, influences the way she views her time at Southaven.”
“You’re sayin’ she’s wrong?”
Voice low, eyes meeting his, Jean repeats, “I’m saying it’s not that simple. We wouldn’t have been able to do anything for her while she was there, but I am glad she’s here now.” Another gracious smile. “She needs more friends like you.”
With that weightless elegance, she turns and leads him down the corridor. All the talking like she’s got the world on her shoulders doesn’t show. She’s telling the truth, though, about everything. He doesn’t like questioning Marie on this one. Only, he can’t deny her ability to lie so convincingly to herself that she smells honest.
Jean’s silent until they’re passing the alcove. “You know, the leather’s actually very tasteful. In comparison.” She presses her palm against the wall by one of the circular doors. “You should’ve seen the spandex options.”
Logan eyes her up and down as he follows her into the med lab and decides the good doctor in spandex is definitely is something he should’ve seen.
She slips into a white lab coat and slides on a pair of glasses, her warm demeanor changing into cool professionalism. He stands off to the side, while she fiddles with computers and equipment and generally forgets that he’s there.
He clears his throat.
Jumping slightly, Jean lifts her eyes from the consol to meet his. “If you’ll remove the sweatshirt and lie down on the examining table, I’ll be ready in a moment.”
Yes ma’am, Logan thinks, unzipping the hoody and leaving it on the rack she had her lab coat on.
She doesn’t speak as she attaches the circular patches to his skin again. There’s nothing to do but watch her. He’s glad he doesn’t see any bruises on her neck.
Moral high ground and better chance of forgiveness, Marie said.
“I’m sorry.”
Jean stills, square frames almost sliding down her nose. “About what?”
“If I hurt you.” He points at her neck.
Her smile is forgiveness enough, and he nods.
Jean moves to the machine beside the table. Craning his neck, Logan lets out the breath he’s been holding. He looks down at his chest. Smirks. “So. Couldn’t wait to get my shirt off again, huh?” Gages her reaction.
Seemingly not amused, she presses a button that sends him into a hole in the wall.
Logan settles back, still smirking. If he has to be here, he might as well enjoy himself. He narrows his eyes against the bright lights that’ll let the good doctor have a look under his skin.
At the very least, he’s for damn sure she’s old enough to be qualified to do it.
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