Covalent: Bond By Sharing
The clink of metal on metal, fans or machines buzzing. A small beaded chain jangling in someone's hand.
(*...read my mind again-the results will be the same as before...*)
Fuzzy green light, flickering images I've seen a hundred times but don't recognize. The world is tilting back and forth, visions blending in front of me and then disappearing. I can only discern a few semi-tangible pictures before they are swallowed by blackness.
A pair of glasses, green eyes, scruffy beard. (*...you'll be indestructible-no memory-sometimes the mind needs to discover things for itself...*)
A tank large enough to hold a man. Glass and steel. So cold. I'm so cold.
(*...wolverine-he'll be indestructible-you'll be indestructible....*)
Water. Everywhere. A rubber tube that keeps my throat muscles from contracting, but the mask has holes in it. Water seeping into my mouth. Can't swallow. Can't breathe.
(*...no memory...erase his memory....*)
So many eyes watching. Doing nothing. The sound of a drill. Pain. Can't escape. Can'tescapecan'tescapecan'tescape....
No steel beneath me, but cotton sheets and a mattress. Every single muscle in my body is clenched, but at least my claws didn't come out this time. My heartbeat is thundering, and I hear a rushing in my ears like waves hitting the beach. There's a terrible taste in my mouth.
I take in the room. The school. Xavier's. I make the connection pretty fast but there's still a moment when I don't know where I am or who I am. The window, white curtains blowing 'cause I left it open a crack. Covers, definitely cleaner than the one's I'm used to sleeping on, but now damp with my sweat. I try to calm myself with these solid, ordinary details but everything I see feels surreal, like this is the dream. The corners seem to sharp to be actual.
The perspiration is growing cold on my skin. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, center myself. Okay. It's okay.
I'm so glad Marie's not in here. Not this time.
The wood floor is cool beneath my bare feet. At night the mansion is so quiet-dark and soothing. I make a quick circuit of the halls. The motion helps me shake off the dream and I can feel of some use, checking on the students. I can hear snoring, sleepy murmuring, a radio in one room playing "Don't Laugh At Me" by Mark Wills. They're good kids. But I'm glad Chuck and Scooter will be back in the morning. I couldn't the lot of them all day. They'd kill me.
From the living room(Or one of them. This place is fucking huge.) I hear a heart beat and the sound of a T.V.
He's about ten years old and wears glasses with tape circling the bridge. He has one of the loneliest scents I've come across,and seeing how I spend the majority of my time around Canadian bars, that's saying something. I don't know why it's such a strange sight, that boy sitting there by himself with the television's glow illuminating his face like blue fire. The channels are changing- a soap opera, a 1960's action film, a girl in a miniskirt who wants me to change my phone plan, a sitcom. A minute passes before I realize there's no remote in the child's hand.
"Can't sleep?" His voice sounds old, and he doesn't look at me.
"How can you tell?"
The kid turns. "Because your awake." I see a spiderweb of scars around his right eye and wonder what *his* story is.
"Right. How about you?"
"I don't sleep." Of course he doesn't. This is Xavier's.
"Mm. You want me to sit with you?"
"No."
Zero hesitancy in his voice, and I'm not one of the practised counselor/teacher/buddy-buddies here. I'm not one to force my presence on someone anyway.
"Alright then. G'night."
"Goodnight."
Marie's little boyfriend is in the kitchen. You can't mistake the aroma of that much hair gel. I tell myself not to go in. Don't do it. But there must be some super-charged refrigerator magnets in there, because I find my feet turning in that direction anyway.
Bobby's sitting at the blue counter, digging into a carton of vanilla ice cream. He's got this somber look on his face, like a bar patron nursing his whiskey.
"Doesn't *anyone* sleep around here?"
"Apparently not." Was that a dirty look? No. No, it wasn't. What is wrong with me? I feel so prickly, like I'm standing in the cage at the beginning of the night, listening to the announcer call for fighters. God, I need a drink.
"Got any beer?" I look in the fridge. It's stocked with everything in the world-from Swiss rolls ot crab meat and cracker snack trays...and fifty types of fruit. They've even got a fucking pineapple. But no Molson. Not even a Bud light.
"This is a *school*," Iceboy says pointedly, his nose wrinkling a little. Ladieeees and Gentleman, my I present our taker, the new Scoooottt Summers.
"So that's a no?"
"Yeah. That's a no."
"Got anything other than chocolate milk?" Or ice cream? I'm fighting so hard to keep the growl out of my voice. Somehow I believe I'm failing.
"There should be some soda in that small cupboard."
Soda. Lovely. At least it's not apple juice. Bet it's orange, with Scooby Doo on the front. Ah, Dr. Pepper.
I pop the cap off and turn back to Bobby, who's poking at his Haagen-Dazs. I think of the way he shook my hand, and after a little consideration, pass him the bottle. Might as well make him useful. He blows once and the glass is chilled, like it's been sitting in the freezer. Nifty.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
I sigh, take a seat on one of the stools. I should try to be polite to this kid. I really should. For Xavier's sake. And Marie's. But what to talk about? Hockey? No. He probably likes soccer. Car's? No. Probably thinks an SUV is a type of T.V. show. Shit.
"How long you been here?" When in doubt, always ask about the other person. Always. Unless you wanna debate the weather.
"Couple of years."
"And your parents just shipped you off to mutant school?" Maybe they got tired of skid marks in the dirty laundry. Shit! Stop it. Stop it. What's the matter with me?
"Actually, my parents think this is a prep school." There. You're supposed to feel sorry for him. So go on....But at least he's never been so unfortunate that hiding in somebody's trailer seemed like a good idea, with an empty stomach and a thin cloak.
"I see," I nod, take a sip of my Dr. Pepper. "Well, I suppose a lot of prep schools have their own dorms, campuses..."
"Jets," Bobby adds. Good Point. This school does have that special touch.
It's quiet in the kitchen. I can hear crickets chirping, but that doesn't mean the silence is awkward. The window is open.
I think of the way he interrupted Marie when she was introducing him, Did Iceboy think she would call him something other than boyfriend? Does he know she keeps my tags under her gloves? Not that it matters to me. Not that that's especially significant. But Jean said Marie was taken with me. She did say that.
"So you and Rogue, huh?" Damn. Almost said 'Marie". I bet this boy doesn't know her real name. I bet he doesn't.
"Yeah," he says.
(**we're still working on that-the way he grabbed her arm-we're still working on that**)
"I mean, it's not what you think." It better not be, Icesickle. Cuz' what I'm thinking ain't nice. And I promised to look after that girl. "I'd like it to be, but it's just...."
He smells sad, and frustrated. "It's just that it's not easy when you wanna be closer to somebody...but you can't."
For a moment, I feel real sympathy for him. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he really likes Marie. Maybe he won't hurt her.
Or maybe Bobby's just a horny teenager.
...I *could* get him a hooker. Yeah. It might keep him from hounding her. Huh...
"I've seen the way you look at Dr. Grey."
What?
*What?*
"Excuse me?" I ask him.
"Nothin'," he says, backtracking pretty fast, sensing he's crossed some line. Bobby looks down at his ice cream shyly, or slyly. The boy understands he's gotten a punch in. A good one.
My jaw clenches.
"Better get to bed, Iceman. Now. Ya got school tomorrow."
He may have recognized something in my tone, cuz Bobby's off that chair like someone lit the cushion on fire. He puts the ice cream in the freezer, tosses the spoon in the sink.
"Good night," Iceboy tells me.
"Uh-huh."
Then I'm alone in the kitchen, listening to his rather hurried footsteps on the stairs.
Jesus.
These chairs in Chuck's office squeak every time I move. Stiff leather. I hate that sound. You'd think Wheels could afford chairs a bit more comfortable.
"Logan, I want to help you. You must believe that."
The light coming through the window glints off Chuck's forehead. I have a feeling that if the windows were placed any higher, or if his head was any smoother, I just might be able to see my reflection.
"But you have to understand, Logan, the brain is not a single-dimensional map drawn by a toddler. It is a vast, three dimensional structure-much like this mansion. And what you are asking me to do is to tell you whats in the basement while I'm standing in the fourth-floor closet."
I wonder how long it took him to come up with that metaphor. Do those things come naturally for him, or is it because of all the free time he has, stuck in that wheelchair? "So it was bullshit. Everything you said."
"Logan...."
He's been saying my name alot. I wonder if he got that tool from one of his psychology books. Trying to make a connection with me. Are you reading my mind now, Chuck? Well, Fuck You.
"Logan, I did not lie to you. Not when we first met, and not today. I am certain we can recover your memories. We can work together."
There are three clocks in this room. One on the wall, a digital on his desk, and a wristwatch(guess where that one is). I wonder why he needs three. They're all ticking the seconds away, twenty minutes I've been sitting here. This conversation is going exactly how I predicted. I feel like we're reading a script.
"As we do so, I hope you will accept a place in the school, in the mansion. I can offer you a life here that is-"
"Lemme guess, *Professor*, that's all closely tied to a leather suit with an X printed on it?"
Chuck pretends to look indignant for a moment, but he can't keep it up for long. Besides, special senses, remember?
"Well, yes, Logan. I won't say that I do not hope you will join us. You could make a huge difference in the lives of countless mutants and-"
"Hey. Professor." He's one step from pulling out the brochures.
Xavier sighs. His shoulders actually slump. "But nobody will force you, Logan. You can stay here, for as long as you'd like. Perhaps assist the students, help around the mansion..."
"Yeah, yeah, Chuck. We'll see. I gotta go."
Another sigh, and I stand up-there! If I angle my head to the right I can almost,almost see my reflection.
"Alright, Logan. Once again, thank you for watching over the children last night. And welcome back. I'm sure I'm not the only one happy to see you here again."
I take my beer out to the terrace, because it's peaceful out there and I don't feel like sitting in my room. Ororo said Xavier wouldn't take kindly to a 'blatant display of intoxicants'. I don't know why I care.
The *clish* sound the Molson's lid makes is almost musical. Completely worth the eight miles I had to drive to find the brand in a gas station. Of course, Summers might not agree if he knew I took his bike again. It's his fault. Shoulda put a better lock on that gate.
The taste of that first gulp is enough to make me close my eyes in pleasure. I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just drunkenly inclined. With my healing factor, the buzz only lasts a few minutes anyway(constant intake is the key). It helps calm the Wolverine and slow down my thoughts-take my mind off Scott and Jean kissing by Chuck's office, how Jean grinned at me over Cyke's shoulder...
I'm so engrossed in the Canadian goodness of the drink that I almost don't see Marie. A marvel in itself.
She's sitting on one of the stone benches, legs crossed underneath her. Marie's hair is braided, white mixing with the brown. All her attention is focused on the book in her hands, the spine of which reads "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn", and she doesn't notice me. Her face is only a few inches from the page.
"Good book, Kid?"
It takes her a moment to pull herself out of the novel, and when she does Marie's eyes show an irritation that quickly fades. And her smile is bright and unguarded.
"It's the best. I reread it every year."
"You want me to leave you to it, then?"
She shakes her head. Even her eyes smile. "I already know what happens."
I sit down beside her, taking a swig of beer. Marie's eyes follow the curve of my arm, then move down my throat. I swallow a little harder than necessary.
"So you like this school?" It's not exactly small talk. I really want to know.
Marie nods-was there a bit of hesitation there? "Yeah. Yes, it's alright. I've got a lot of friends."
"And a boyfriend." I can't resist. That word is hard to say with a straight face. Her cheeks turn pink, and bizarrely my heart picks up speed with the deepening shade.
"Bobby's nice, Logan."
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen."
"Kid, no boys are nice at seventeen."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"You should." I'm dead serious, but her lips are twitching. Full lips. Pink, but she doesn't wear lipstick. Perhaps it's because she bites them. They're nice. But of course I'm only speaking from a professional standpoint, being somewhat a connoisseur of female body parts by now.
Marie has noticed me staring, and squirms. A scent reaches my nose that I can not and would not describe to anyone, ever- some things are private, you know? -one that would make a lesser man shiver. I clear my throat. Twice.
"So..Ah..Ororo mentioned you've been having lessons with the Professor? To control your gift?" I wonder if her meetings have gone any better than mine.
Oh. Wow. That grin sure disappeared quickly.
"Yes." Marie confirms unhappily, "But nothing has happened yet. Still poisonous."
"Hey-hey." She won't meet my eyes. "You'll learn to control it. You will. Hey, look at me. Now. You're not poisonous, Rogue. Never have been."
Her fingers play with the edge of her gloves. I have a feeling she doesn't want to argue with me.
There are words people say during moment like these, phrases that are heartfelt and sugary and can magically fix a situation. Unfortunately, none of those are in my dictionary. I would have to take a look in Scott's library. As it is, the best I can do is wrap my arm around Marie's shoulder and draw her close-for the fourth time since we've met. I kiss the top of her head and tell Marie the truth, the only thing that comes to my mind.
"I think you're perfect, Kid."
I hear her draw in a breath, but before she can speak a voice cuts in from behind us.
"Yo. Rogue."
She pulls away from me.
There's a boy, standing by the sliding door, with a sneer on his face and a lighter in his hands.
"Dr. Grey says to be in the garage ready in ten minutes if you're going to the mall. Bobby's waiting for you in the lounge. Coming?" His eyes go to me with insolent curiosity. I could snap him over my knee, he's so thin.
"Yes, I'll be right there, John. I just need to grab a scarf."
Marie looks back at me, a little regretfully, a little uncertain. "Are you...gonna be here later?"
I shrug, smile at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I'll stick around awhile."
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This chapter, another longish-one, is dedicated to one of my best friends and most loyal reader, Erica. Although she does not approve of the Logan-Rogue relationship, she always manages to look excited when I hand her a new story. She's generous with praise and stingy with criticism(even when I need it) and is the first person I want to tell when I've written something. Thanks.
P.S. More bashing in this of...well, alot of people. Sorry in advance.
P.S. More bashing in this of...well, alot of people. Sorry in advance.
Chapter End Notes:
Hello again, down here. I'm running out of ways to say I hope you liked the chapter, thank you for reading, and I would absolutely love it if you clicked that little review button. But I do not mean it any less this time. :) :)