DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
thatcraftykid
track four // “GREAT GIG IN THE SKY”
WHISTLING PAST A GRAVEYARD
He closes her fist around the dog tag
curled into her cupped palm. “I’ll be back for this.”
– Logan –
Scent returns first. Then it’s sound, the tap-tap of long nails on a keyboard. The noise stops just short of driving him out of his head. Dark orange light filters through his eyelids, plastered shut. Roof of his mouth tastes like Sabretooth’s armpit. The air is cool against his bare chest and feet. All five senses in working order and then some. He’s got zilch in the way of energy, but fuck it. Not bad for a dead man.
He inhales through his nose. Still can’t smell Marie, and that…well, it ain’t reassuring.
Something keeps him calm, though. Maybe it’s his last bit of faith in a karmic universe. If a guy like Logan’s going to be allowed to keep on existing, the world needs a sweet thing like Marie to balance him out.
A chair wheels back. Heels click. Jean fusses with the bandages on his chest, marvels at the unbroken skin. Seems like she might’ve became a doctor just as an excuse to feel people up.
Logan doesn’t let her know he’s conscious until she runs her fingers over his stomach. He sucks in a breath and stops her hand. “No. No, that tickles.” He opens his eyes to a relieved smile.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He can’t raise his voice much past a whisper.
“How’re you feeling?”
Like somebody sliced him open navel to neck and hung him upside-down to drain. “Fantastic.”
“That was a brave thing you did.”
That was never the point. “Did it work?” He can tell by Jean’s demeanor Marie must be alive. In what kind of a state is what he needs to know.
“Yeah. She’s fine.”
Fine. He closes his eyes. Thankfulness doesn’t begin to describe the emotion spreading out from his chest. She’s fine, and he’s fine. They both made it through. He’s completely unprepared and overcome. Too good to be true is supposed to be exactly that. It’s the one he never figured.
Jean is elaborating, “She took on a few of your more charming personality traits for a while.”
Past the lump in his throat, he wheezes out a laugh. He can just imagine.
“But we lived through it.” A smile in her tone, Jean lightly teases, “I think she’s even more taken with you.”
He cracks his eyelids. Fifteen years of no attachments tells him to dodge that loaded observation like a less indestructible man would a bullet. Something outrageous would do the trick – you can tell her my heart belongs to someone else, jumps to mind – and then Jean’d go ahead and put him in his place. No responsibility in flirtation from a safe distance.
But he hasn’t forgotten his last regret. It’s another kind of miracle, the fact that he even wants to stick around. He can’t let that go.
Jean’s expression shifts, but he knows she’s not surprised. She sensed how much Marie means to him before even he did. She called it “complications.”
“Logan, you and Rogue – ”
He can tell she’s worried that Marie’s not ready, or that he isn’t. And maybe she’s right. But it’s not like he’s getting any older. He’ll wait. Long as it takes to be sure.
“How’s the Professor?”
Jean takes his close of subject with characteristic grace. “He’s good.”
“Good.” Logan picks up her hand and kisses it. She made sure he survived, so now he can start living.
She gets him out of the doctor stuff she’s got him hooked to. He pretends not to need the help she gives him to sit up. He can’t believe he’s still dizzy.
“How long have I been out?”
“A couple of days.”
Jesus. He lets out a growl as he rubs his face.
“You recovered from the brink of death in two nights and a morning.” Jean gets him a cup of water. “Don’t sound so put out.”
He puts back the cup, while she riffles around her desk.
“So.” He runs his still-fuzzy tongue over his stale teeth. “Where is she?”
“With Hank McCoy in Manhattan. The International Mutants’ Rights Initiative is hoping to push the suit against Southaven through to the Senate Select Committee on Mutants before Congress breaks for recess.”
Her choice, he reminds himself, but that doesn’t stop the dread from washing through him. “Her name splashed all over the news yet?”
“So far, she’s staying behind the scenes. Carol Danvers’ parents are the ones filing, so they’re getting all the press.”
“What about Magneto?”
“The unidentified girl he kidnapped from the train station is being reported as ‘vaporized’ by the machine, which was nonlethal in intent. The official story for the press is that Magneto, after breaking Vanisher out of Hiram Prison, was betrayed by mutants in his own ranks, and that led to his capture.” Jean looks up with a smile. “The suspect ‘Red Laser Man’ is considered at large.”
Logan snorts. Still not as stupid-sounding as Cyclops. “Bet Scooter just loves being the villain.”
“As long as the X-Men remain anonymous, this school can keep providing a safe refuge for mutant children. That’s all he cares about.” No mistaking that proud tone.
She comes back around to hand him a business card with a number on the back.
“What’s this?” he asks, taking it.
“Rogue took Scott’s cell in case things with IMRI went long.”
He thumbs the edges of the card. “Still a thief.”
“Reformed. She asked for it. I think it’s a sign of trust. What you said was right. Once she found one person to believe in, trusting other people hasn’t been so tough. You know her well.”
Logan never tried to get to know anybody before. With Marie – he would never call it effortless, but it was easy in it’s own way. Natural. Maybe because she’s had his number from the beginning. They are a lot alike in the right ways. From that, they can build something good.
“You got a phone?”
After Jean gives up on teaching him how to dial out, she does it herself and leaves him with a ringing phone line.
Marie picks up on the second ring. “Logan?”
“Yeah, it’s me, darlin’.”
Muffled voices echo in the background. “Excuse me, I have to take this,” she murmurs. It’s a few more seconds before a door shuts and she’s back on the phone even more breathless. “Sugar, you better never scare the ever-lovin’ hell out of me like that again.”
Logan lowers the phone a bit and looks up to suppress his derisive half-growl. He puts the phone back to his ear. “Same goes double for you. You’re walkin’ the straight and narrow from now on. Got it?”
“You will, I will.”
Shit. He’s never sleeping a peaceful night again. “How you doin’ over there?”
“Okay. Carol’s parents…They’re real good people. I mean, I knew they were from her memories. But…” Her pause is nervous. “They haven’t seen the security footage yet. IMRI viewed it yesterday, and the Danvers’ll watch it this afternoon. I don’t know if I should be there.”
“I can pick you up in an hour.”
“Thanks. But I do want to be there after. I’m gonna give them Carol’s tags back. It’s the least I can do.” She sighs, but it doesn’t feel forced. “You know what? As awkward and uncomfortable as all this is…Talking about it – No, doing something about it – It’s helping. I feel better.”
“That’s the best thing you coulda told me. I’m real happy for you.”
“I’m still sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I’ll be back tomorrow, though. I know you’ve got that deal with the Professor.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere ‘til I see you.”
He can all but hear her grin. “’Kay. If you get bored, you can always amuse yourself by asking around about what I got up to during my short but memorable ‘Rogue-as-Wolverine’ performance art period.”
“Lookin’ forward to it. Take care of yourself.”
“You, too. Oh, hey, Logan? Just between us, I’m ‘Marie’ again.”
Logan shifts the phone to his other ear. He knew that already, somehow. Maybe because she sounds more sure of herself than he’s ever heard her. “I’ll call you later. Marie.”
When he hangs up, he takes a pathetic limp around the lab to get the blood flowing to his legs again. Faced as he was yesterday with a whole day to prowl around this kiddie playschool, all he wants to do is tear up the Danger Room. But, loathe as he is to acknowledge it, he’s still not operating at a hundred percent.
He stops in the hallway to swipe another sweatshirt, then heads upstairs to find the Professor. Logan may not be leaving yet, but he’s still owed answers.
Xavier’s trail leads him outside, where he strides barefoot across the gravely concrete like it doesn’t bother him.
Cyclops flashes him a too quick glance as he loads up the Professor’s chair in the back of a Cadillac then steadfastly ignores him.
“Ah, Logan, I’m glad you caught us. Wonderful to see you up and about,” Xavier says from the passenger seat.
Logan’s lean leaves smudges on the Cadillac’s shiny black frame. “You, too, Chuck. Where you headed?”
“I’m to visit Magneto at Hiram Prison.”
“They just lettin’ him have social calls?”
“Under the impression that I am a psychologist consulting with the FBI, yes.”
Can’t say fairer than that.
“I haven’t forgotten our meeting. But I’m afraid I have not had time to gather all the information I could. Since your intention is to stay until Rogue returns…”
Cyclops shoves himself into the driver’s seat and slams the door.
“Yeah, it can wait until tomorrow.” Logan steps back so he can see past Xavier to Cyclops turning over the engine. “Try a smile, One-Eye. The world don’t need ugly. Ain’t ya glad I pulled through?”
A flush spreads over his ticking jaw. “Ecstatic. Goodbye.”
Logan watches him speed down the lane. Eh, forget it. No use wondering what new has crawled up Cyclops’s butt when so many things have already died in there.
He puts a head to his ringing forehead. Christ but he could use a drink. He needs shoes, though. Mansion Estates, Upstate New York probably isn’t the kind of place that boasts a lot of drive-thru liquor stores. Land of the free, his ass.
Logan trudges back upstairs for a change of clothes. On his way, the smell of ash and unwashed socks gives him the idea for a detour to the delinquent’s room.
“Where d’ya keep booze?”
Pyro jumps half a foot, spilling processed orange-colored styrofoam and dark soda on the rug between him and the linebacker kid. He smears the crap around his gaping mouth on the back of his hand. “Uh…I don’t – ”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. Gimme everythin’ you got in your stash, and we’ll keep it between us.”
Palms up as to ward off an attack, Pyro gets to his feet. “What, you want my pot, too?”
“Liquids, Sparky. I’m thirsty.”
“It’s up on the roof.”
“Waitin’.”
Pyro tries to play his hesitation off as cool when he edges past Logan’s looming presence in the doorframe. Once out of immediate striking range, he starts to jog toward the emergency exit.
The sound of ripping paper puts Logan’s attention back on the other guy. “John had a run in with Rogue yesterday,” he says, showing off his artist’s rendition.
Cartoon Marie – her white streaks, intense eyes, and curves exaggerated for effect – has a sweaty, teary Pyro up against a wall by the throat. A cigar hangs from her bee-stung lips, inches from his nose. The caption reads: “Treat her like a lady.”
Amused eyebrow cocked, Logan folds up the paper and puts it in the pocket of the sweatshirt. She’ll get a kick out of it when he gives it to her later.
Definitely explains some things. First Cyclops, now Pyro. Marie may be better for Logan’s reputation as a badass than he is. Gonna have to rectify that.
The opening notes of Sports Center catches his interest.
“You.”
“Pete Rasputin – Colossus.”
“Yeah, good meet. I’m gonna need that TV.”
Logan puts Colossus to good use hauling the forty-inch down the hall and setting it up in the room he’s staying in.
A few minutes later, Pyro shows up with an obvious bulge under his shirt. “I brought us the snacks, too.”
Logan takes the clanking sack from him and shoves him out the door.
Colossus walks out with no fuss. See? It’s the scrawny ones who are the real dumbasses.
On the dresser he dragged over to the bed, Logan sets himself up a not half-bad minibar. Everything he needs in reach easy reach, he props himself against the pillows with a satisfied rumble, Fat Tire and cashews in hand.
He points the clicker. NASCAR gets five minutes to start with the fires before he switches over. Commercials. Alf hunting down a housecat. When did there become an entire channel devoted to TV Guide?
MSNBC catches him with the headline: “Mutant on mutant violence – even more deadly to humans?” Sensationalist crap.
Next channel over, a trio of doughy white guys are lined up by split screen the better to shout over each other.
“Public safety?” the one with the fattest head blusters. “How is keeping us ignorant about the danger we’re in keeping us safe? In forty-eight hours, one mutant – ”
Left screen interrupts, “Be fair, there were several other mutants involved in the plot – ”
“But there was one clear leader,” Right screen counters. “With enough power to – ”
“Exactly what I was saying,” the butts in. “One mutant. One mutant escapes from a standoff with New York State police, breaks into the most top-security prison in the country, and takes over the Statue of Liberty, the symbol of our nation’s freedom – And then nothing!”
“Because nothing happened. Whatever his diabolical plan, it was a dud,” Lefty says.
Righty frowns deeply. “Innocent people still lost their lives. Possibly a young girl – ”
“’Possibly,’” middle fathead enunciates. “We’re left asking why. For what purpose? It’s been days. Where’s the explanation the public deserves? All we have are unfounded – ”
Logan flips forward to CNN. Hank McCoy and some Dr. Kavita Rao sit at a desk with a bearded anchor called Wolf Blitzer. Give it five years and a name like that’ll probably get him arrested on suspicion of being a mutant.
“While I hugely respect Dr. McCoy’s insights into the mutant condition, as he himself is a carrier of the mutant gene…”
McCoy coolly adjusts his glasses at that backhanded strike.
“…from a purely genetic point of view the mutant gene is ticking time bomb. Scientifically, the mutant gene is directly responsible for an increase in children born with gross physical deformities and the skyrocketing rate of infant mortality all over the world.”
“’Skyrocketing’ is a bit strong, and I would hasten to add that infanticide has everything to do with those ever-increasing numbers. Socially speaking, a lack of understanding and compassion is more to blame for these unfortunate crimes and the ‘grossness’ of these ‘deformities’ than the mutant gene itself.”
When Rao doesn’t have an immediate response, Wolf brings the discussion around. “If we could, for a moment, get back to the question of the day. Is it possible that this machine – what some are calling a ‘doomsday device’ – could have triggered genetic mutation in ordinary people? Admissions from the terrorist suspect himself have led investigators to this conclusion, but analysis of the machine’s wreckage has yielded little information.”
“Frankly, I believe that’s because there is no scientific way that a machine such as that could have worked. The mutant gene is no more something that can be artificially created than it is something contagious.”
Bull and shit. No room for truth in politics, even from the supposed good guys.
Logan uncaps the Captain to pour himself a stronger drink.
Quick channel flicks until he finally gets to the sports. Baseball. Lot of guys past their prime standing around in stupid pants spitting into the dirt. Not to mention, game itself is slow. Still, boredom suits the shape he’s in, so he leaves it on.
He doesn’t know what inning or how many drinks he passed out in, but it’s ESPN Classics by the time a persistent knock rouses him.
“What?” he calls out roughly, muting the TV.
Storm comes in carrying a not at all unwelcome tray of not food. “Evening, Logan. You slept through dinner, and Jean said you should eat.”
Logan scrubs a hand over his face, indicating with the other for her to put the tray down next to the booze.
“Where did all this contraband come from?”
“Gods of necessity.”
She frowns, her mind clearly compiling a list of the most likely suspects among her blessed students.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure there’s not a drop left to corrupt any minors.”
There’s a quarter inch of rum at the bottom of the bottle Storm taps. “Well on your way, I see.”
Logan pulls the tray of pasta and dessert on to his lap. “Call it a lifelong dedication to the best interests of the youth.”
“Interesting you should say that.”
His fork slows. Storm’s got her hands clasped in front of her and her back is straight as an arrow. A serious-discussion-eminent pose if he’s ever seen one. Best interest of the youth – one guess who this is going to be about. It doesn’t surprise him that Jean and her were clucking to each other like a couple of hens.
“This is a year-round school. We operate on a quarter system separated by breaks for the ease of matriculating new students. Classes will be starting again soon.”
Logan nods seriously. “I know what you’re gettin’ at, and I agree. I owe myself that GED.”
Storm will not let herself laugh. “Do you think this is a conversation any teacher wants to be having?”
Discomfort needles him. “Look, you’re real far ahead of yourself. And you’re talkin’ to the wrong guy. I don’t make anybody’s choices for ‘em. If it were my choice, she wouldn’t be this close to bein’ thrown to the lions.”
“I don’t care much for the politics of it myself,” Storm admits. She steps backward toward the door. “I know I don’t know you very well, or Rogue, and it’s not my place…to interfere. But you didn’t see her after. It was heartbreaking. The amount of trauma she’s been through doesn’t heal overnight. She needs your friendship, but she also needs to be here. And you need to know that.”
Piece spoken, Storm leaves silently.
Logan twirls his fork, then lets it clank against the plate. Hell. He does know that. But it serves him right for trying to take Marie’s recovery at face value.
Digital clock reads nine-fifteen. He leans over to pick up the portable phone. The number is in the pocket with the drawing. Now, to dial out…9-1 – Another 1’d get the police out. He hangs up and tries again. He gets it on the fourth attempt.
“Good timing, sugar,” Marie answers. “Just got out of the shower.”
“How was it?”
He opened himself up for a double-entendre, but she doesn’t take the bait. A sigh and a mattress flop.
“Long. Anxious. They watched the tapes in private. They were both still crying when they came out. I gave them Carol’s tags. You know what they did?” She sounds on the verge of tears herself. “They hugged me. They – They saw it as Carol reaching out to help me escape. You know, her last heroic act. I n-never thought of it that way.”
She pauses to get a hold of herself. Long, shaky breaths.
“They’re so different from my parents. The way they see the good in things. My momma’s too scared of…I don’t know…life. Daddy, he cares how things look more than how they are. Everybody had practically forgotten I was adopted, until I turned out to be a mutant and he started reminding people.”
Marie snorts. He can hear her stand up and start to pace. It’s what he would do, if he had the energy.
“Adopted. When I was fifteen, my best friend and I got caught at a dance with wine coolers. She had a divorced mother, but what was my excuse? Ah…adopted. Explains everything. Never mind that I was three and don’t remember anything about it. ‘Course, now there’s the family legacy of teenage runaway syndrome, so who knows? Apparently, she left me with her father – I found this out at Southaven – Anyway, he ditched me. Guess I was beat up and everything.”
Logan simply listens, knuckles against his teeth.
“If they hadn’t had all the medical records, I wouldn’t believe it. It feels like it happened to someone else. Less than that. I have those kinds of memories. This feels...like a Lifetime movie I wish I never watched. It doesn’t make up any part of who I am.”
“You’re right, it don’t. It ain’t written down anywhere that you gotta be the sum of what other people’ve done to you. Not even close.”
“My psychiatrist at Southaven thought my repressed memories were what made my mutation turn out they way it did.”
“What d’you think?”
“I want to think she’s full of shit. She made me feel so…powerless.” With an aggravated noise, she throws herself back on the bed. “You know what? Screw her. I like the Professor’s take better – He’s all, ‘I think, therefore I am.’ I can work with that.”
“Good for you, kid. You make up your own mind.”
“That supposed to be a pun?” A hint of a smile breaks through. ”It’s what I’m gonna be working toward. I want to maybe try meditation again. Know any yogis with a lot of free them on their hands? I promise not to push you anymore.”
“Promise goes double for me.”
There’s silence for a little while, but it’s a comfortable one. He pours himself a drink and listens to her breathe.
“I’m so exhausted,” she says. “How are you feeling?”
“My bones ache. I think this is what old feels like.”
Marie chuckles throatily. It’s a real appealing sound.
Logan’s appetite is back, so he starts on his dinner. “How’s the food where you are?”
“Five-star. We had dinner on the roof tonight. I think that’s something my restaurant needs. Rooftop seating.”
“I bet it’d up your insurance premiums.”
“That’s a sound business mind you’ve go there.” He hears her switch on the television. “TV Guide said Dirty Dancing would be on TNT tonight.”
“Can’t believe somebody actually uses that channel.” Logan turns to TNT but keeps it mute. He can hear the movie well enough from her end, and he doesn’t need One-Eye walking by recognizing the music. And he would.
“Oh, it’s the end. Best part anyway. Here it comes, here it comes – ‘Nobody puts baby in a corner.’ Yes. So sexy. ”
Tight pants pulls the girl up on stage to deliver a list of things she taught him just by be willing to sleep with him.
“I’m still wonderin’ if he taught her to do those ‘lifts,’” Logan comments.
“Are you actually watching this with me?”
“No,” he lies, and hits the recall button one too many times. He’s back on CNN, and Southaven Mutant Treatment Clinic is splashed across the screen, along with images of the blonde Air Force Captain he knows a lot of half-truths about. A familiar blue face has him turning the volume up. “The real Sheryl Maxwell is on the news right now talkin’ about Southaven.”
“I know. I hid up in my room while they did the interview.”
“That mean you’re not gonna testify?”
“I don’t know. I want to, in a way. But…You know they’re saying I died up there? It might be better to keep it that way, or at least…vague.”
The double sound of CNN plays as they both watch the interview. Nothing too in-depth or controversial – Indecent experiments and lots of evidence. Tomorrow the defense will start in with the attacks.
“Do you think there’s an evolutionary advantage to blue skin? On non-psycho bitches, it’s pretty…What the – “
At the bottom of the screen, “Breaking news: Kidnapped Senator Robert Kelly found alive.”
“That’s not possible! Unless – Blue psycho bitches.” She lays back heavily. “I thought you gutted her.”
“Not well enough.”
“Mystique is so twisted. You know she tried to tell me she wanted to be my mentor? And – Well, you know.”
Yeah, he knows. That mocking tone – “I kissed her goodbye for you.” His claws itch under his skin just remembering it.
“…God. I don’t even have the capacity to think about this.” Marie switches back to her movie.
He follows suit. There’s a big dance number going on.
“You, uh, you remember everything I remember. From the other night?”
“A lot of it. I remember you were thinkin’ about me.”
The smugness is already there. She’s going to be hell to live with.
He doesn’t bother taking a sip of his drink, because he knows whatever’s coming out of her mouth next is going to make him spit it out. “So?”
“So…” Her drawl thickens considerably. “Yes, Logan…Logan, I will marry you!”
Instead of doing a spit-take, he sloshes his drink on the blankets and sputters on air.
Her throaty laugh is back full-force. “Smooth your mutton chops, sugar. I’m a good Southern girl. We don’t get married until we’re knocked up. And even then it’s shotgun traditional.”
Christ. “Yeah, yeah, keep cacklin’,” he grouses, although the image it evokes of the Professor rolling up to him, pointing a sawed-off double barrel all dignified is pretty damn funny.
She quiets down to watch the final scene play out.
“This it? Your perfect happy ending?”
“I’m not saying they go out and get a mortgage, but, yeah, they have an understanding.”
That makes him feel better. Seems like they have one of those already.
Logan, always the masochist, goes back to the news. This time he sits forward to enjoy it. “CNN’s estimatin’ all the damages done to the Statue of Liberty.” He whistles under his breath. “Millions.”
“Shouldn’t that kind of vandalism constitute treason? Don’t you feel even a little bad?“
“Darlin’, I’m Canadian.”
Her answering giggles are arrested suddenly by a voracious yawn. “Exhausted,” she repeats. “But I almost don’t want to sleep. I’ve started to dream again. Nightmares, mainly.”
“I’m sorry, kid. I never meant to do that to you.”
“It’s not just you. I mean, it’s probably a good thing in disguise,” she amends, clearly realizing reminding him about the sheer volume of horrors going on in her head isn’t a comfort. “Like a more natural coping mechanism.” Marie yawns again. “I have a different kinda nightmare for you – I might’ve flirted a little with Cyclops, and he might’ve blamed it on the you inside my head. So…”
“You better be damn well kiddin’ me.”
“’Fraid not. Sweet dreams, sugar. See to you tomorrow.”
And she hangs up, leaving him with the severest case of mood whiplash he’s ever felt. How that woman can go from crying one minute to laughing the next, being all gushy romantic over a stupid movie and then turn around to bust his balls…
Nothing to do but finish his drink. Won’t be boring, whatever their understanding eventually leads to, or even the getting there part. That’s a fact he’s counting on.
Logan sleeps well into late morning, but when he does wake up he’s shaken the last of his debility. With that energy, he takes the longest shower of his life.
So long, in fact, that when he steps out of the steam-filled bathroom, he’s missed Marie coming and going. On the nightstand, there’s a six-inch plastic Lady Liberty souvenir someone took a pocket knife to – holes in her face, part of her crown sawed off, flame part of the torch gone.
The note Marie propped on it reads, “A monument to the lengths you went to. Hope you love it. P.S., The Professor wants to see you in the lower levels. I’ll be in the rec room when you leave.”
Not only has she returned is hiking pack, she’s repacked it for him. New cigars and Pyro’s lighter stick out the top.
Hell. He expected a conversation, at least. Maybe some yelling. Waterworks as a worst case scenario. Instead, she’s practically booting him out. He his to chalk it up to her knowing him even better than he knows himself, otherwise he might actually be offended.
Bag feels heavier than he would’ve packed, but he just switches the souvenir for the cigars and zips up the top.
Xavier meets him at the door to the room the X-Men use to poorly plan their vigilante operations.
Logan just nods at the Professor’s greeting. Restlessness itches at him, so he leans against the holographic machine drawing a map with magnets.
“There’s an abandoned military compound at Alkali Lake in the Canadian Rockies close to where we found you.”
He recognizes the area. It’s not hard to commit the general direction from his cabin to memory.
“There’s not much left, but you might find some answers.”
If there’s anything there, he will find it. It’s more than he’s had to go on in fifteen years. And he needs answers to his past more than ever, now that he wants to have a future.
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to say goodbye to them?”
Them? They’ll get along just fine without him. There’s only one goodbye that counts, and she’s upstairs waiting.
“You’re always welcome here,” Xavier makes clear. “And on the X-Men.”
Logan shrugs, surprising himself with even that level of commitment. “I’ll let you know what I find.”
Out of the elevator, he trains his ears on the rec room.
More news he wouldn’t have given more than a passing thought to a month ago: “The Mutant Registration Act lost it’s main proponent today in the dramatic reversal of Senator Robert Kelly, who until this time had provided the loudest voice in the cry for mutant registration.”
And there it is. The reason McCoy and the rest of the politicians are going to let this one slide. Jean, Cyclops, and Storm seem surprised but not by much. It makes Logan even more relieved Marie came back here instead of letting herself get drawn into the game. For now at least.
“In a related story, the body of Senator Robert Kelly’s longtime aide Henry Gyrich was found today…”
She’s playing foosball. Her and Pyro seem to have made up, they’re teamed up against the one-pawed mouse and the boyfriend. Marie looks good, and he doesn’t just mean the low-cut top. She’s looking happy and put together and in a decent place.
“…Coroner’s reports seem to indicate that Mr. Gyrich was mauled by a bear – ”
She’s looking right at him.
He nods, indicating that she should meet him outside, and leaves the mansion.
She catches him between doors. “Hey.”
The expression on her on her face, the light in her eyes. It all comes flooding back, like a punch to the gut. He could’ve lost everything.
“You runnin’ again?” Marie hangs onto the doorframe a moment before sauntering up to him.
Logan adjusts the strap he’s holding higher on his shoulder. What kind of question is that when she packed him up herself? “Not really.” He meant it to come out sardonic. What is this? Nerves? Hell. “I have some things to take care of up north.”
His hand reaches out to touch her before he quite gives it permission. He comes up short, lightly stroking the shock of white in her hair.
“I kinda like it.”
She’s turned a scar into a badge of honor. That’s his girl.
His protectiveness doesn’t fill him with shame anymore, but it does make it hard to look her in the eye.
“I don’t want you to go – ”
Logan’s ready for that. He unclips the chain around his neck, and picks up her gloved hand. He closes her fist around the dog tag curled into her cupped palm. “I’ll be back for this.” Real soon. He holds her gaze, lets her see that he means it.
Marie’s pleased, knowing grin warms his back as he steps outside.
Passing the fountain, he takes a moment to place a well-deserved cigar between his teeth. He did good back there. Didn’t come on too strong, didn’t have to explain himself. This understanding thing, it’s minimalist, classic. Suits him.
Out of the corner of his eye, the chrome on the Harley glints in the sun. He lifts an eyebrow. That’s just poor parking on Cyclops’s part. And the keys are in the ignition. Might well have put a bow on it.
Logan’s really getting into the feel of the ride when movement behind the trees at the far end of the lane slows him down. Someone in a green cloak waits for him against the gate.
“What d’ya think you’re doing?” he demands around his cigar.
“I needed a ride.” She’s squinting over a lopsided smile. “Thought you might help me.”
“You’re ruinin’ a goddamn picture perfect goodbye, kid. Why’d you let me go through all that if you were just gonna try to invite yourself along?”
“’I don’t want you to go – without me’ is what I was gonna say. So you better rethink the word ‘try,’ sugar, ‘cause my clothes are already in your bag. Thing is, I’m a free woman now and I’ve got plans that don’t include being hounded by politics the rest of my life. Can’t be a superhero without a secret identity.”
Oh, that’s fuckin’ stress he doesn’t need. X-Man Rogue, throwing herself right smack in the middle of trouble all the while poured into black leather…Logan shifts himself back on the bike. Yeah. Like he said. Stress.
“What about workin’ with the Professor and getting’ your diploma and all that?”
“Neither of us is leaving here forever. I go as far as you go, them I’m headed to Anchorage. It’s spring break, and I deserve a vacation.”
Marie seems to have all the angles covered. And Logan can tell by that he’s-in-for-it smile, she knows it, too. There’s no saying no to the girl with the plan. If he’d have recognized that fact back in Laughlin City, he would’ve saved himself a lot of trouble.
He gestures for her to get on the bike in front of him.
“You’re letting me drive?”
“Marie, you’ve been drivin’ since the day we met. I’ve just been along for the ride.”
Yeah, she likes that. She settles in nice and close.
Seventeen, he has to remind himself. They’ve got a ways to go before they hit ready, or even figure out what ready means.
She gives him a game grin. “You know, healing factor or not, it’s against the law in a lot of states not to wear helmets – ”
Logan reaches past Marie to rev the engine. “Shut up and drive, darlin’. I wanna go fast.”
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Chapter End Notes:
THE END. It's only taken my last semester of university and half my Peace Corps service, but this baby is DONE. All 88,000 words of it. FINALLY. :D Thanks for sticking with it!