“Call me.”
Two words, spoken with quiet, yet strong voice. Tone casual to outside observer. Just two words, and they haunted her day and night. Slightly raspy voice from all the cigars he had smoked and all the booze he had drank the previous night. The look on his face when she passed him on the hallway. The way his hands twitched on his sides, as if he had been intending to grab her.
“Call me.”
Se had walked out. Out of the mansion. Out of his life. Out of the life everybody had been planning for her, ratty old duffel bag clutched against her side. She had closed the door behind her, but those two words had jammed the lock, leaving it partially open.
“Call me.”
It was getting increasingly hard not to pick up the phone. First thing she had done was to get rid of all the familiar numbers in her phonebook, but there was one she couldn’t get rid of. On one foolish afternoon she had memorized it, engraved it to her whole being for safekeeping. And it was the only number she really should have gotten rid of.
“Call me.”
It already had gotten to a point where it was impossible to sleep without hearing those words echoing inside of her, silent whisper, little raspy but soft, much like wool. It was impossible, and dangerous to sleep hearing those words. She had woken up several times, clutching the mobile in her hand, familiar series of numbers punched in, just waiting for that last button to be pushed.
“Call me.”
They all had had great plans for her. Great plans of what should become of her and her life. A good little mutant wife with top notch education, career in teaching art, 2.5 kids, picket fence and a dog (preferably medium sized and mild mannered with a tendency to rescue kids from the bottom of deep ravines), as well as deeply buried secrets (I-Drink-All-Day-because-I’m-Unable-To-Entertain-Myself-While-My-Husband-Is-At-Work-And-I’m-Just-Obedient-Little-Housewife-I-Do-Wonder-Would-Jean-Write-Me-A-Prescription-For-Valium.)
“Call me.”
She kept seeing him everywhere she went. He was standing at a corner when she was on her way to get her groceries. At first she was going to hide, but then she realized that it wasn’t Logan. It was just a poster, advertising jeans. The man in the picture didn’t even remind Logan. He was waiting at the bus stop when she was getting ready to leave the buss. She chose to stay and ride to the next stop where she realized that it hadn’t been him. It had been the same advert she had seen before. She saw him standing in the line of the soup kitchen in front of the local church. She was about to run and hide when she realized that it was just a man wearing similar jacket as Logan.
“Call me.”
On one rainy night she couldn’t resist the temptation anymore. She was at the end of her rope, casing of her mobile cracked from getting thrown away one too many time and her fingernails bitten to the crick, dark blotches under her eyes telling the grim tale of too many sleepless nights.
She dialled the number, curling on to a ratty recliner, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t answer (pick-it-up-pick-it-up-pick-it-up-ALREADY). It rang once. Twice.
“Marie?” His voice, filled with relief and disbelief. And for a moment she thought it would be okay. She could keep the line open and they could talk, she could perhaps...
A resounding click announced that a third party had joined to the line. She was here on the recliner, Logan was in his room, perhaps sitting on the side of his bed, still waiting for her to say something, and somewhere in the middle was somebody, listening and breathing.
“Marie? Talk to me for Christ’s sakes! I know it’s you,” Logan huffed. He had always been impatient.
“Hi.” And that was it. That one syllable was everything she could muster while knowing that even now they weren’t alone.
“Everybody’s worried. Couldn’t you come back?”
Bobby. It had to be Bobby. Listening in to their one-sided conversation.
“I miss you, kid.”
She wanted to respond. To say anything, but as long as there were extra pair of ears reaching for those words she couldn’t.
“You’re not going to talk?”
No.
“Yeah. Listen, I... I’m going to hang up now. But I’ll call you. You still got your old number?”
She wasn’t all too sure if she wanted anybody from the past to call her.
“I’m going to take that as a yes. I call you soon.”
Next hour she spent going trough every imaginable emotion, from utter joy to deepest despair. There were thousand and one good reasons why she shouldn’t answer the phone when it rang. There was only one reason to answer it. She wasn’t all too sure if it was the right reason.
And then the phone rang.
Caller ID told her absolutely nothing. It was an unknown number. And for the first time she cursed her decision to erase old contacts permanently. She had no way of telling if the caller actually was Logan. For all she knew it could have been a merry Avon lady. Or Bobby. Or Professor Xavier.
She didn’t know which one of them formed the most formidable threat. And the phone kept ringing.
She took a deep breath and raised the phone to her ear.
“Yes?”
“Shit, kid… What took you so long? I was beginning to think that you weren’t going to answer at all!” Logan. And now she was certain that she should hang up the phone and get rid of it. For talking with Logan was something she should avoid like plague. He was the one and only person who she genuinely missed. He was the one and only person who could potentially talk her out of her freedom. He could very easily persuade her to return to Xavier’s.
“I… I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk right now,” she stuttered.
“Busy washing your hair?” Logan asked. He didn’t sound angry or annoyed. Just somehow… defeated?
“Something like that, yeah. I’m…” She started. Then sudden bout of anger and something she could only think of as sheer stupidity made her press onward.
“I’m living my own life, Logan! There’s nothing that you, Professor or Bobby can do about it! I chose this! I did this on my own, and I’m quite fucking proud of it!”
“Good for you, kid… So, this new life of yours… Does it mean that you kick all your old friends to the curb?” Logan asked. For that she had nothing to say. No witty answer.
“I know that you’re not coming back. Fuck, if I saw you coming this way I’d chase you off long before you got inside of the front gates. I’m no stupid, kid.”
“What?” She managed to squeak. Suddenly her mouth felt awfully dry, like somebody stuffed it with cotton.
“I saw how things were between you and Drake. It wasn’t good for you. I’m only happy that you made it out before shit hit the fan.”
“Then… Why did you call? Why did you ask me to call?” She asked confused. Now it was Logan’s turn to play mute. She could hear him breathing. Wind whooshing and crackling against the receiver. He was outside. That’s why it had taken him an hour before he called. He wasn’t at Xavier’s. He was alone. He was alone with her.
“Logan? Why did you ask me to call?” She repeated her question.
“I just wanted you to know that you weren’t alone. You’re not alone, Marie. And when you’re done with… Well, when you find what ever it is that you’re looking for, call me. I’ll be there.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
Possible prequel, more likely a one-shot. All depends on my muse and his whims.