Logan was a man of simple pleasures. All he needed was the roar of a motorbike beneath him, the freedom of the open road, and what the kid had once referred to as the ‘three f’s’ – food, fight, fuck, and not necessarily in that order. That wasn’t much to ask, and most of the time those requirements were easy to fulfil.
But spending fifteen years wandering around, travelling from place to place, and, to use Chuck’s words, ‘with no idea of who or what he is’ was getting a little…tiring. He had searched for a decade and a half, and the number of things he had discovered about his past could be counted on one hand. Life really was a bitch sometimes.
And it was that…tired feeling that had brought him to this grotty little roadside diner just outside Westchester. The Wolverine was not a man for whom personal hygiene was hugely important but Jesus, a little disinfectant, some washing up liquid and some food that hadn’t been frozen back in the latest Ice Age would not go amiss.
He had stopped because hauling 300 pounds of adamantium around was hungry work, and he had needed food, alcohol and a piss, in that order. And now, having wolfed down the rather suspect looking burger that had been served, he was nursing a beer, and staring out of the window at the inspiring view the empty road and dusty car park provided.
He told himself that he was just thinking, taking a few minutes out to just consider some stuff…because the Wolverine did not hesitate. Ever. And he definitely did not analyse, contemplate or evaluate a situation to see if it was the right way to go. He was an animalistic kinda guy, not some pansy-assed sap like Scooter.
When he had left Westchester, almost three years ago now, the Professor had told him that he would always have a home there, if and when he wanted it. He had grunted in reply. The Wolverine did not ‘do’ domestic. So he gone running again and the only glance back he had ever spared was for the scared little kid with the big, brown eyes, whom everyone seemed to think nursed some kind of hero-worshipful crush on him.
She hadn’t wanted him to go, and that had been the first time that he had ever felt that someone might actually give a damn about what happened to him, and so, without really considering it, he had given her his one solid link to his past. Which, as soon as he was on the road he had regretted. Immensely. And really he’d quite like that link back. Which was why he was sitting in a diner in the middle of nowhere trying to pluck up the fucking courage to go back to Xavier’s School for the Gifted.
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Half an hour, and a lot of mental effing and cursing later, he swung the motorbike around the last bend and spied the gates to the mansion in the distant. There was a slight tugging feeling inside him, and he ignored the little voice at the back of his mind, that perked up and whispered ‘home’. That little voice was normally well and truly crushed by his inner Wolverine, and really, he’d prefer it stay that way. Much more macho.
Sliding the bike to a halt in a spray of gravel, he leant forward and jabbed the button on the intercom with a gloved finger. While he waited for a response, he spared another brief moment of contemplation, and wondered how the X-Geeks were going to react to him turning up out of the blue.
The Professor was easy to second-guess. He’d smile in that kind, benevolent way, welcome Logan home, ignore the answering glare, and offer him a room for as long as it was wanted. Storm was easy too. She would smile in an equally kind and benevolent way (was it possible that she was mentally channelling the Professor here?), perhaps hug him and tell him she was glad he was back.
Scooter was going to be a laugh. Winding him up ranked high amongst Logan’s favourite pastimes, and the fact that his ‘borrowed’ bike had not survived the road trip entirely intact would make things more interesting. He grinned.
Jean was also going to be interesting. There was some unfinished business there, and flirting with the redhead was going to be really fun, she was a beautiful woman, and the whole Scooter issue was just the cherry on top of the proverbial cake.
He wasn’t entirely sure what kind of reaction to expect from the kid. Marie. Ironically, the face of the girl he had almost let die was the face that he could remember with the most clarity, and images of bolts of white hair and chocolate brown eyes had floated through his dreams since his departure. He wasn’t much one for physical contact, apart from fighting and fucking, but the little voice inside him seemed to think a hug from the untouchable girl might be quite a nice thing to arrive back to.
‘What?’
The intercom by Logan’s left ear sparkled into life with a wheezing crackle or static, and he winced as his sensitive ears registered every snap of sound. He cleared his throat.
‘Uh...I’m here to see the Professor’
‘Name?’
Jesus, whoever the Professor had working as doorkeeper could use some lessons on manners.
‘Wolverine’
‘The claw guy?’
His reputation preceded him apparently.
‘That’s me, bub.’
~Welcome home Logan~
Even the Professor’s mental voice radiated warmth and benevolence.
~You wanna tell the kid at the intercom to lemme in? ~
The intercom buzzed again.
‘Everyone’s out back’
~Come on round. Everyone will be pleased to see you again. And Rogue will be delighted~
The gates swung open as Logan kicked the bike into gear, and roared down the driveway. He parked the bike in the garage, pocketing the keys, and spared the three inch gouge down the side of the black paintwork a regretful look, before wandering through the door that led to the mansion.
The place hadn’t changed at all. Even that hideous still life of the flowers and fruit that he had never seen the attraction of was still there. He sniffed. Smelt the same too; heady mix of scents, ranging from kids, to adults, and the scents of raging adolescent hormones in between. He grimaced as a wave of strawberry bubbled gum scented air hit him, as a girl in an obnoxiously yellow blouse, presumably the one who had answered the intercom, gave him a cheeky wave and darted past up the stairs. He let a low growl rumble up his chest, even though she was out of earshot. It made him feel slightly better.
Where was everyone? The entire place was deserted and quiet, although he could hear the faint sound of splashing, and numerous excitable shrieks. ‘Everyone’s out back’. Of course.
Ditching his duffel bag onto a couch in the rec room, he stepped out through the patio doors into the sun. And hurriedly stepped back.
Fuck, the place was a madhouse. Everywhere he looked there were screaming kids, the younger ones wearing swimsuits in neon bright colours that should be illegal and the older ones showing so much skin that it should also be illegal, although for entirely different reasons.
Grimacing, he scanned the area, spotting Jean and Scott supervising from lounge chairs, Storm and a blue furry guy barbecuing meet on the decking, and more children than he could count in and around the pool. There was however, no sign of Marie, and a quick scent of the air told him she was definitely not present.
He stepped further outside, trying to ignore the grumbling of his stomach as the smell of decent food permeated his senses. That was when Storm spotted him. She smiled brightly, her dark eyes shining slightly, and hurried over from the barbecue to hug him.
‘Logan, welcome back!’
He returned the hug, and the greeting, before turning his eyes to Jean and Scott, who had made their way around the pool towards him, the latter admittedly more reluctantly.
Jean smiled at him, a flash of white, deliberately coy, and said softly,
‘Hey Logan. Welcome back.’
He matched the smile with one of his own, and stealing a glance at Scooter’s incensed face, made sure to let his gaze flick down quickly before replying,
‘Hey Jeannie.’
Then Scott was barging forward, shaking his hand briefly with the words.
‘Good trip?’
Logan grimaced at him, before fishing out the bike keys and throwing them to him.
‘Your bike needs gas.’
Scott glared, caught the keys one-handed and threw them back. Harder than was strictly necessary he might add.
‘Then fill her up.’
Logan grinned. Oh yeah, it was good to be back.
Turning his attention to the blue guy that had wandered over from the barbecue, he rumbled,
‘Who’s the furball?’
In his favour, the ‘furball’ waited for no introductions, stepping forward one hand extended saying,
‘Hank McCoy. Secretary for Mutant Affairs. You must be the Wolverine. I heard you were quite the animal.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
The man was wearing jeans and a shirt, open collar, but a shirt nevertheless, and Logan was fairly sure that at some time or other he had seen him on television in a suit, so it startled him when the man curled his upper lip back, teeth flashing alarmingly white against the surrounding blue fuzz, and let out a snarl he himself wouldn’t have been ashamed to have uttered. With a somewhat feral grin, Logan allowed an answering growl to tear from his throat. Storm looked faintly alarmed.
His eyes roved the poolside once more before returning to the group standing around him. He directed his next question at Storm.
‘Where’s M…Rogue?’
‘Rogue is in her room. She prefers not to be around so much bare skin, for obvious reasons. Jubilee, another student of ours has gone to see if she can be tempted down for a while.’
‘The yella chick?’
Scott sniffed disapprovingly, and Hank McCoy raised an eyebrow in a gesture so similar to one of his particular favourites that Logan was forced to smile. He was about to ask for directions when, on the other side of the pool, the yellow shirted girl emerged from the rec room. She was bouncy, nauseatingly bouncy, and Logan’s sharp ears caught some comment about girls and a wet t-shirt competition, a comment that luckily floated away on the wind before it reached Scott’s ears. And then, from behind her, another girl emerged, slowly, hesitantly, covered from neck to toe in what appeared to be black neoprene. Shit. Marie.
She had changed dramatically in the few years he had been gone, and even from here he could see that his nickname of ‘kid’ was definitely no longer suitable. A steady diet and secure environment had wrought changes in her, filling out her figure properly, and giving her brown hair and eyes a shine and her pale skin a healthy glow. She had always been pretty, if not a little scrawny, and now she was beautiful. He imagined that if she had only looked a bit happier and been smiling she could have easily made the transition from beautiful to totally fucking radiant. As it was, she actually looked…severely freaked out.
He moved towards her around the pool edge, watching as her eyes roved the crowd of children, clearly looking for someone she knew. She hadn’t seen him yet, and as she stepped forward a bit, she tucked a lock of wavy brown behind her ears, and he could see the mahogany colour of her hair still clashed with the bolts of white that framed her face. She was blushing now, a rosy hue staining her cheeks, clearly sensing the more than several sets of eyes trained on her.
Most of the males with libidos were looking at her, and it was pretty clear to Logan that just seeing her down here by the pool was a pretty rare occurrence, something that made him inexplicably angry. Either it was that, or they were staring because of what she was wearing and he imagined it was a combination of both. The black neoprene suit looked a bit like what professional swimmers wore, and covered every inch of skin, making sure that everyone was protected from any life-absorption that might otherwise have gone on. It might have looked vaguely ridiculous had she not filled it out so well. From a glance, Logan would have estimated that she had grown since it had been made, and it clung to every curve, emphasising her hips, her long legs, her ass, her…Catching himself he realised that he had stopped moving and was gaping openly. He could imagine the looks of amusement on Storm and Scott’s faces. Goddamn it.
‘Hey, Rogue, over here!’
Somehow she had still managed not to notice his presence, despite the fact that more than three quarters of the crowd were now gaping openly, watching his reaction and waiting for her to stop being so blind, and notice the large man with claws standing to her left. As it was, she looked rather relieved at the call, and swung round, looking as though she was going to run for cover to the shelter her group of friends provided. Turning his head to look for the guy that had hailed her, Logan recognised the spiky blond hair, blue eyes, and all-round American poster boy appearance of the boy. Bobby Drake. Damn the Iceman. Still Rogue looked pretty happy to see him, if the look of sheer relief and gratitude was anything to go by.
Unfortunately for all involved, Bobby and his group were standing directly behind Logan, and in turning to look for her friends, Marie’s eyes had landed directly on him. They widened in shock and she froze, swallowing several times.
He gave her a weak grin, cleared his throat and managed to utter the words,
‘Hey, kid’
He thought he saw a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes at that, and really he could understand it. Judging from that figure she was a long way from being a kid. He clamped mental handcuffs on the Wolverine who was suggesting scenarios that involved striding forwards and kissing her senseless. Bad idea. For several reasons, the most obvious being that he wasn’t suicidal, although come to think of it, that would be a good way to die. He made a mental note.
Recovering from her freeze frame, Marie stepped forward until she was about four inches from the end of his nose. He blinked rapidly and refocused.
‘Miss me?’
She grinned at that.
‘Nah, not really.’
Two and a half years in Westchester had done nothing to quiet her Southern drawl, and he found that he was glad for that. He returned the grin, treating her to a full-on smile that he very rarely let loose.
And then she was hugging him, and he had a warm armful of vanilla-scented girl, brown hair and neoprene. He returned the hug, and cursed the hay fever that made his eyes prickle. Then, as suddenly as she had reached in, she drew back, pausing and looking into his eyes and for one extremely shocking moment he thought she was going to kiss him. He put his increased heart rate down to palpitations. She leaned in a tiny bit closer, and then, then, then, she slapped him. Hard.
He had metal for bones, so it didn’t exactly hurt. In fact, judging from her wince it hurt her more than him, but he was still shocked, indignant and slightly off-balance. If he hadn’t known that he was the Wolverine and no-one smirked at him, he would have said that that was exactly what Marie was doing. She stepped back, the corners of her mouth turned slightly up, and tripped over someone’s towel. Clearly not wanting to take the unprecedented dip, she grabbed onto the nearest solid object in an attempt to halt her fall.
Unfortunately for the both of them, the nearest solid object happened to be his left arm. 300 pounds of metal can be useful in a fight, but there was a reason he had never much gone in for anything that involved good balance. She shrieked, he yelled (a fact he would later vehemently deny) and they fell in an ungainly tangle of limbs, straight into the artificially blue water of the pool.
He rose to the surface, coughing and spluttering, shaking wet strands of hair out of his eyes, and growling. Water he did not like, swimming he did not like, and people laughing at him he did not like. And indeed all the way around the pool gales of laughter rang out because the untouchable girl that everyone was afraid of had just dunked the Wovlerine who everyone was also afraid of. Unintentionally, but still. Obviously it was still excellent comedy. The little fuckers.
Not sparing one glance for Marie, he pulled himself through the water to the side with a series of strokes and rose up out of the water as gracefully as he could. Turning he saw Marie already sitting on the side of the pool, her hair a matted tangle around her shoulders. She was biting her lip, and staring. He looked down.
His clothing was plastered to him, white t-shirt clinging to every muscle, and jeans riding dangerously low on his hips, revealing several inches of skin. She was still staring. He swallowed. A wolf whistle broke the silence, as Jubilee ran forward with a pink tiara in her hands. She placed it neatly on his head before he could stop her and announced,
‘I pronounce you the winner of the wet t-shirt contest’
He snarled at her, ripped the stupid tinsel contraption from his head and shoved it in her direction.
‘I ain’t taking part in no stupid school girl competition darlin’’
The girl did not even look alarmed.
‘Ah Wolvie, I heard all ‘bout your intimidation techniques from Roguey here. And she’s still staring at ya so I think she agrees with the verdict. Wear it for her?’
‘WHAT did you just call me?’
Jubilee took a step back this time. Sensible girl.
He looked at Rogue. She was still staring. He quirked an eyebrow at her. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and she scrambled to her feet, blushing furiously.
‘Uh well, yeah. Welcome back, Logan. Sorry about, uh…well, you know. And um…you should definitely win…I mean I’m the uh…the judge…so yeah, the crown is uh…yours.’
‘The judge, darlin’?’
She bypassed red and headed directly for maroon.
‘Yeah, um, Jubes’ idea. And I should really go change out of this wet uh…wetsuit…’
And with that she turned and ran.
Now Logan was no expert on homecomings, but he was almost positive that what had just occurred was not how it was really supposed to go.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
So it has to be said, Logan is not an easy character to write. I found it kinda hard to make him growly enough. So apologies if he's a bit OOC. Review?