Yet He Bore the Sins of Many…Isaiah 53:12
Logan.
Logan blinked slowly, wondering where the hell he was and who was calling him. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck—not impossible, all things considered, but he didn’t have any recollection of it. All he knew was that something was wrong.
He focused his eyes on the man sitting in the wheelchair next to his bed. This time Xavier spoke normally.
“Logan. How are you feeling?”
“Like hell.”
Xavier wheeled himself a little closer to him. “Don’t push yourself too quickly, please. Marie’s mutation is quite powerful.”
Marie. “What happened?” He had to know, right now. He already knew it was bad.
Xavier regarded him calmly. “Perhaps we should begin with what you remember.”
Logan shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “I was asleep, and then she was there—christ. I stabbed her.” It all came back in a sickening rush. “Is she all right?”
“Physically Marie is fine. Jean is looking after her.”
Physically? Logan knew an evasion when he heard one, and he didn’t like this one at all. He sat up, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. “What the hell does that mean? What’s wrong with her?”
The older man seemed to consider his words carefully before replying, which pissed Logan off even more. “When Marie touched you, she absorbed your healing ability for a short time, which allowed her to recover from her injuries. But she was having difficulty dealing with whatever it was she absorbed from your mind.”
Logan was off the bed in an instant. “You better explain exactly what you mean by that, old man.”
“Logan, please calm down..” Xavier didn’t move or exhibit any reaction to the epithet. “This is not an accusation of any wrongdoing. But you must be aware that some of your memories are—disturbing.”
Disturbing. Yeah, that was the understatement of the fucking century. Logna glared at the older man. And how the fuck did he know? The idea that another telepath had been rummaging around in his brain made him furious, but he couldn’t deal with that right now. “What happened to her?” he demanded.
“Marie had no way of being prepared for the absorption. I suspect she hasn’t yet fully assimilated even the people she touched before she came here. I had hoped to work with her slowly towards that goal.” Xavier sighed and suddenly looked very tired. “Logan, believe me, entering another person’s mind without their express permission is against every principle I hold dear.”
“You got about five more seconds before I go find out for myself,” Logan gritted out. “What happened? ”
“Marie experienced a psychotic break. She wasn’t able to differentiate between her own psyche and her absorbed memories.” Xavier spoke quietly but firmly. “I was forced to enter her mind and erect mental barriers for her. Much like the ones you’ve undoubtedly forged for yourself, but she had no such natural defenses—there was no time for her to prepare herself. I had to help her—” Xavier broke off at the look on the other man’s face. “Logan, please calm down.“
“I get it.” Logan paced to the wall and back. “So first I put the claws through her chest, and then I drove her insane.”
“You saved her life.” Xavier turned his chair to face Logan more directly. “Don’t forget that.”
Wouldn’t have had to save it if I hadn’t stabbed her in the first place. “What the hell was she doing here, anyway?” he muttered in frustration.
Xavier’s expression changed, ever so subtly. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question.”
Logan stared at him for a long moment. “Right.” He went to the closet and retrieved his knapsack. His boots lay on the floor and he sat on the chair by the desk to pull them on.
“Please don’t act impulsively. All of us here are concerned about Marie—“
“Yeah, I can see that.” He finished with his boots and stood, grabbing his jacket off the desk where he’d thrown it. “I’ll give you one less thing to be concerned about.”
“Where are you going?” Xavier asked patiently.
Logan had about had it with that unhurried tone. “What does that matter? You won’t have to worry about it.” He strode toward the door.
“Logan.” The Professor turned his chair again. “You can’t leave without speaking to her. Surely you realize that.”
He turned, the knapsack already slung over one shoulder. “Yeah, I realize that. Where is she?”
Xavier looked slightly flustered for the first time. “She’s in her room. Jean is with her, but—”
Logan didn’t wait to hear any more. He simply turned on his heel and walked out. He went down one flight of stairs, trying to remember where the room they’d assigned her was. He didn’t wonder for long. A door closed, and then voices reached his ears—a conversation being conducted in hushed tones, but perfectly audible to him.
“You can defend him all you want, but—” It was Summers.
“I’m not defending anyone, I’m just pointing out that you’re jumping to conclusions.” That was Jean, and she sounded even angrier than her husband.
“Jumping to conclusions. Right. She was in his room, Jean. At two in the morning. You don’t have to be a telepath to figure this one out.”
“Scott—“ Jean was angry enough that she didn’t bother to lower her voice this time. “You know what? I’m not having this conversation.” Logan heard her start to move down the hall.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me.” Summers was following her. “Look, just because you’re attracted to him—”
“What? ” Now she sounded absolutely outraged. “Don’t project your insecurities on me.”
“And don’t talk to me like I’m one of your patients. I can’t ignore this, Jean. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Will you please calm down and just listen to me? The students are my responsibility and you’re refusing to even consider the obvious issue…”
They were still moving and Logan lost interest in the discussion. At least they were gone, and Marie was presumably alone. He moved quickly and silently to her door and cracked it open.
There were three beds in the room, but only one was occupied. One of the others was neatly made up and the other was rumpled; probably the other roommate had been bundled off somewhere else for the night. A bedside lamp was on and he could see Marie’s dark hair tumbled over the pillow. He came into the room and called softly. “Hey, kid. You awake?”
She didn’t stir. Logan’s nose twitched at an unfamiliar chemical scent and then he saw Jean’s medical kit lying open on the desk beside Marie’s bed.
So they’d had to sedate her. Logan came into the room, closing the door behind him, and set his knapsack down before approaching the bed.
She looks like an angel. The memory of her standing there, in that white nightgown, came back to him. She was wearing something else now; Jean must have helped her change. He sat down beside her and gently laid a hand on her head. She still didn’t respond at all.
“I’m sorry, kid.” She’d never know he’d been here, but somehow he needed to say it. “I wouldn’t have hurt you on purpose. You know that, right?” He sighed. “Yeah. I know you do.” Her hair was soft under his fingers, and he stroked it absently. “I know you’re gonna be pissed at me when you wake up, but one of these days you’ll understand. They’ll take care of you here. They’re good people, most of ‘em anyway.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I’m just sorry it’s gotta be like this.” He hesitated for a moment, then leaned forward and pressed his lips briefly against the top of her head. “You’ll be okay here, darlin’. Be happy.” He got up to go and his eye was caught by something on the little bulletin board over her desk.
It was a picture of the two of them in New Orleans, the one Lynn had taken at the bar. He reached out and touched it, tempted to take it with him. No. Not that one. He saw the envelope that held the prints lying half-hidden by a jumble of schoolwork on the desk; he picked it up and rifled through it, looking for one in particular. He found it quickly and shoved it into the inside pocket of his jacket before he could think too much about it. Then he saw the familiar chain and metal tag lying in a heap on the desk.
I gave that to her. But his hand closed over it anyway, and he hefted the surprisingly heavy little object indecisively. There were plenty of reasons to take it, mostly that she didn’t need to be reminded. She’d probably be angry, but that might be better. She’d forget soon enough. Then it came back to him again, seeing her standing there in front of him in his room, her eyes wide with pain and shock.
She was wearing it. His senses were too exact for him to doubt the accuracy of the memory—he’d seen the tag, dark against the white material of that nightgown. So either she’d taken it off, or someone had taken it off for her. And he knew what anyone seeing that would have thought. They’d think he’d marked her like an animal he owned. Like he’d been marked.
Logan started to put the chain back over his head, then stopped. He swore under his breath and then stuffed the dogtag into his pocket as well. He stood for one more minute, looking down at the sleeping girl, and then left quickly, grabbing his knapsack and closing the door quietly behind him.
He was almost at the front door when he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him. “Logan!” It was Jean Grey, running to catch up with him. “Wait.”
Reluctantly he turned. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.” She came up to him, a little breathless. “Where are you going?”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Everyone seems real interested in that all of a sudden.”
“You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me.” He turned to go and Jean caught his arm.
“Logan—she’s not going to understand if you’re not here when she wakes up.” That stung, but his back was to her and she didn’t see the expression that briefly crossed his features. When he turned again, his eyes were icy.
“She’ll understand just fine. Sooner she gets it through her head that I ain’t one of the good guys, the better off she’ll be.”
“Hey.” Jean wouldn’t let go of his arm. “You are one of the good guys. That was a very good thing you did, helping her.”
“Yeah, well, stabbing her pretty much wiped that one out.” Jean looked down. “Don’t think that husband of yours would agree with you, anyway.” Her eyes flew back up to his and he nodded. “Yeah. I heard him.” And thing was, much as he hated to admit it, Summers was right. If it was a question of responsibility, well, he’d always known that wasn’t his strong suit. If Summers was right for the wrong reasons, it really didn’t matter.
“I’m very angry with Scott about that.” She was keeping her tone measured, but he could hear the emotion behind it. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. He had no right to…assume.”
“He isn’t the only one who assumed things.” Logan shook her hand off his arm. “Doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.” She looked like she might cry, and he felt just a pang of regret. She really was a beautiful woman. He reached up and brushed a hand across her cheek. “Don’t know what you’re doing with an asshole like that.” He managed a half-smile. “You deserve better.”
“Don’t go.” Her eyes, deep green and flecked with gold, burned into his. She reached up and took his face between her hands.
He bent his head to hers and their lips met, but it wasn’t a passionate kiss, not the way he’d have imagined kissing her. She was gorgeous, smart, sophisticated.
Not for him.
But just for a moment he held onto her, letting that moment stretch and encompass everything that might have been in some other world but never would be in this one. Jean seemed to understand it too, and when he lifted his head she just smiled a little sadly at him.
“You should stay until she wakes up, anyway. At least say goodbye,” she said. He shook his head.
“Already did.”
“She won’t remember,” Jean argued. “Wait. Till morning.”
“It’s better this way. She’ll get over it.” He reached out and opened the door. “You look out for her, okay, Red?”
“Logan—” Jean wiped away a tear. “You want me to tell her anything? She’s not going to just forget about you.” She forced another smile. “She’s pretty taken with you, you know.”
“She deserves better too.” He squeezed her hand briefly, and then he left.
It was a long walk to the nearby town, and a long wait at a station for a bus that would take him on the first leg of the journey back through the South, back to pick up his own life where he’d left it off in New Orleans. Logan waited until he was on the bus, headed toward Philadelphia, before he reached into his pocket and felt to be sure the stolen photograph was still there.
It was. He didn’t take it out. He just stared out the window and waited for the journey to be over.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Aftermath, assumptions and actions.