Logan groaned as he rolled over, the sunlight creeping in from behind vertical hotel blinds making his head pound. What the hell had he drank the night before? The rough feel of shag carpeting rubbing on his bare arms made him grimace. His mouth felt dry and parched, and he shivered lightly from cold. He glanced over at the radiator, his over sensitive hearing picking out the deteriorating metal pipes that leaked precious heat. His normal morning wood was crammed uncomfortably in his jeans. What the hell had possessed him to wear them to sleep? He didn’t even remember checking into a hotel, much less bringing in his duffel bag, which was crammed with his boots, flannel shirt, and bomber jacket in the corner.
And dammit, if there was a bed, how had he managed to get so shit-faced to fall fast asleep on a floor this uncomfortable? He didn’t even remember opening a Molson last night, much less consuming liquor.
Hell. What had happened last night?
The sound of a key scraping in the lock made him jump to his feet. He slunk, quickly to hide behind the door and out of sight of whoever was coming inside. The door swung open, and he held his breath as it opened inwards, propped by a boot clad foot. The lights flicked on, a small, green cloaked figure stepping inside to drop several heavy parcels and the cloak on the unmade bed as the door slammed shut.
He roared, unsheathing his claws and leaping forward. Faster than lightning, his companion whirled, but tripped over one of the packages, falling backwards onto the bed. His eyes were wide with blood lust as he stopped his claws less than a centimeter from his captor’s face. Wide, brown eyes stared at his claws, soft lashes ensconcing them. Cheeks, pink from the cold, a barely freckled nose, and full, rose colored lips were surrounded by waves of brunette hair that spread alluringly across the faded coverlet.
Tiny, gloved hands pushed lightly on his chest, a knee resting just below his groin. A long, creamy neck and lithe body were hidden behind a light burgundy turtleneck, warm black leggings tucked into snow boots completed his rapid observation of his enemy.
One long inhale confirmed sex, and startled at the overwhelming smell of female that washed upwards, his claws slipped a fraction of an inch. A scream of pain made him glance downwards. The tip of his claw had imbedded itself in the girl’s cheek, slicing through flesh and bone like butter.
“Shit!” he hissed, jumping backwards and sheathing the twelve inch, lethal claws that protruded from his knuckles. Blood gushed from the beautiful face, then stopped suddenly as he watched the inch long gash heal from the inside out, bone, muscle, tissue and skin knitting back together in seconds.
“How…?” he asked, stepping forward, surprise evident on his face. The girl slipped past him to the chipped and cracked mirror hanging over the bureau, relief evident in her face as she touched the faint pink line that now covered where her wound had been.
“That’s one helluva convenient mutation sugar.” She muttered, eyebrows lifting. Her thick, southern accent made his senses scream. Where had he heard that before?
Like a mac truck, his memory of last night slammed back into his skull. The dim lights of the bar, his skinny, tiny opponent, that phrase, "Don't bet on winning then, sugar" echoing in his ears. He stalked up silently behind her, his rough hands slamming roughly into the wood on either side of her body. His firm chest and thighs pinned her tight to the dresser. Her breath caught in her throat as he extended his claws to cross over her fingers. There was no way she was getting him this time.
"What the fuck kinda trick was that kid?" he snarled. His breath was warm on her neck and made her long hair shift. It smelled like cheap shampoo and sunshine. He shuddered at the scent. She smelled...nice.
"My skin...it, it's not safe." she stammered. He clicked his claws together, a slick "shink" noise making her shake slightly.
"Continue." he growled.
"I'm...I'm a mutant, like you." she supplied.
"Got that part." Shink, shink, shink went the claws. The girl was trembling now.
"Look, I needed the money. With a normal person, a slight touch from me will knock them out. I'll get parts of their memories, things they've...done." she trembled harder, "With a mutant...I take their powers. I know you've got claws and that your skeleton is metal...I know that you heal quickly and that you woke up in the middle of nowhere twenty years ago without a memory to your name, except of course, your...name...Logan."
At the sound of his name, a snarl ripped through Wolverine's throat. He slammed his fists hard into the chipped lacquered wood, dents forming in the surface. Grabbing her clothed sleeve, he flipped her around. His nose was inches from hers, his breath hot on her face, "You fucking with me kid? Nobody knows that shit. Nobody!"
Her eyes were wide, fingers gripping the wood. A slip of his claws and she could be missing digits for the rest of her life, and regeneration or not, those things didn't grow back.
"If it's any consolation," she stammered, "My name is Marie."
"Where am I?" he demanded, teeth clenched.
"A hundred miles northwest of Laughlin, little town called Oaktree. Listen, when I absorbed you last night I got a hard core dose of your mutation...as well as your shattered memories. Needless to say, I freaked out the crowd." she gulped under his intense gaze, and continued, "I collected half the winnings, dragged you outta there and threw you in my jeep. People aren't very nice to mutants nowadays, I just couldn't leave you there."
Her reasoning resonated with Wolverine, who calmed down enough to let Logan step forward to control his animalistic urges. He sheathed his claws, and pulled his face back slightly, but he refused to renege his grip on her fingers.
"Let me tell you something," he began, slowly and quietly, "I appreciate what you did for me back there kid...but I ain't taking charity from nobody. I'll be leaving now, thank you." He turned to pull on his boots, but didn't miss the look of hurt that dashed across Marie's face. Glancing back at her sharply, he took in her appearance once more.
Marie was obviously 19 or 20 years old. Her face was smooth and unlined, skin a healthy, creamy peach color. The baggy burgundy sweater hid the fact that she was drastically underweight, her curves had melted away with hard travel, replaced by lean muscle and protruding bone. Her legs were far too thin, and her boots were one size too big. The leggings that at first glance had appeared to be warm, were worn and fraying around the knees. The only decent piece of clothing the kid seemed to have was the pair of leather gloves she had on her hands.
He then glanced at the groceries she had purchased. Junk food mostly, beef jerky, canned tuna and chicken that didn't need to be cooked, saltine crackers, and a six pack of cokes. Not exactly the breakfast of champions. On the bed, tucked in a corner, was a ragged stuffed animal that looked like it had been through the ringer. A faded polaroid sat, edges tattered, pictures of a smiling family sitting on a porch swing.
If she had seen inside his head, felt his memories, seen some of his past crimes, and still wanted to talk to him, she was damn lonely.
"Look...Logan," she whispered, face frowning, "I know this ain't your cup of tea, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd ride as far as the next town with me. Having a guy along would really help keep me from you know, having to...touch."
He scowled at the way she phrased her question. It implied that Marie had had to do some touching just to get by, not the kind a girl her age should have to be doing. His better nature railed against the animal inside. The Wolverine screamed to run, to leave the girl and hit the road. It desired the basest of needs only, eat, sleep, fuck. Logan...Logan on the other hand. He appreciate the fine things in life. A good havanero cigar, a cold beer on a crisp autumn morning, the warm feel of another body curled against his in the morning. Logan's morals rebelled against the animal, the need to protect almost overwhelming him.
"I could try and help, you know." she whispered, "Maybe take a look inside your memories to try and find something you haven't noticed."
He glared at her sharply. He didn't want anybody messing around with his fucked up life. Her lower lip trembled slightly. This kid played the badass, but in reality, she was just as messed up as he was. He sighed and sat down on the bed, which sagged, then collapsed under the full weight of his adamantium skeleton.
"Aw fuck!" he mumbled from underneath the bed. Canned goods were scattered around him and he spit fluff from the down coverlet that had exploded when his claws had shot out spontaneously to try and steady his position.
"Logan!" Marie yelped. He felt her soft weight on top of the chaotic pile around him, her hands frantically pulling back the pieces of box spring and mattress fluff covering him up. His dark brown eyes glared at her, his eyebrows furrowed. Her lips quivered, a smile obviously trying not to break out on her face. He blew a feather off of his nose, and she burst out into laughter.
Her gloved hand gripped his, lifting him easily out of the rubble. He raised his eyebrow once more, astonished. "Super strength came along with an absorption once." she explained, softly, her laughter dying as a dark memory flashed across her eyes.
Logan dusted himself off and reached forward to grasp her shoulders. He had made up his mind.
"I think I'll stick with ya for a little while...Marie."
He tried to tell himself that her slight smile didn't make him swell with desire as they walked to the motel office. Marie dropped an extra hundred on the counter.
"Sorry about the bed." she whispered to the attendant, who glanced at the two of them warily. Logan grunted in a domineering-male sort of fashion, making the skinny, acne faced boy jump. Leaving the office, they marched towards her rust red jeep Wrangler. All terrain floor mats kept the interior looking fairly neat, but the jeep held all of the signs of having been used for living in far more than just traveling.
A yell of fury from their newly vacated room made Marie giggle under her breath. Logan chunked the rest of their stuff into the back, his duffel underneath the groceries. Laughing, she opened his door for him from the inside, and they jumped in, tires squealing as they peeled out of the gravel parking lot, almost hitting a small sedan as they ran the stop sign.
"Whoops!" she laughed.
Logan decided then, as the Wolverine rumbled, pleased, inside him, it would be worth staying with Marie, just to hear her laugh.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: The mischief continues! Song choice is “I Don’t Even Know His Last Name” by Carrie Underwood, although I’m hooked on the Glee version right now.
“It started out “Hey cutie, where are you from?” and it turned into, “Awh no what’ve I done!” and I don’t even know his last name...”
“It started out “Hey cutie, where are you from?” and it turned into, “Awh no what’ve I done!” and I don’t even know his last name...”