Eclipse: What is Hidden
Deja-vu is one of the many side effects of living in one place for an extended period of time. It's been a week since I pulled up the drive on that pilfered motorcycle,and I find myself walking around the mansion once again, trying to shake off another nightmare. The poor sleep is nothing new, but usually I stay in bed and count the dots on the ceiling panels(four thousand, six hundred and seventy-nine, if you're interested). Tonight's was worse than usual. I'll have to buy Chuck a new headboard.
The professor and all the other x-geeks are here tonight, safely tucked in their respective beds, but I check the place any way, the windows and halls. You never know what could happen. I pause outside each student's door, listening for anything less tranquil than the usual sleep-sounds. I try hard, but can't explain to myself why this is necessary, only that I feel more settled inside when it's done.
I knew she wasn't asleep, and I knew she wasn't in her room. The girl's dorms are on the second floor, and though that space is pungent with hairspray and body splash and other horrifying items capable of turning my stomach, it's easy to pick out Marie's room. It's in the left hall, and the lower end and separated from the others by an empty room- whether by choice, design or coincidence I do not know. I smell a dozen Marie Scents, but no Marie. With alarm, I'm reminded of the last time the Kid couldn't be found where she was supposed to be. It didn't end well. Concern shoots off fireworks in my system, each spark kindling a new flame, but I don't move. Close my eyes and inhale deeply, listen with the skill that comes only from practice and the X-gene. Heart beats...bodies on mattresses...cell phones...snores...radios...clocks...insects(even a mansion can't keep them all out).... the air conditioner....electricity in the walls....hum of refrigerators....a fish tank....T.V(Blinky must really run up the bill)....a heart beat, and then a second one, and the rustle of pages. There. I exhale.
The library is next to the cafeteria, and is smaller than the entertainment rooms. I've never been in here before. The books are crammed inside each mahogany case, some with shiny new covers, others tattered cloth. I honestly can't tell the novels from the educational. Although the smell of paper appeals to me, I'm not much of a reader. Marie is, apparently. I find her curled up in a stuffed armchair near the back of the room. She's wearing a black nightdress-modest, but I've never seen so much skin, her skin. It's pale, and beautiful.
Marie sees me immediately this time. Her face looks to tired to be surprised, framed by unbrushed hair.
"Hi."
Hi, Logan."
"It's two o'clock in the morning. Something wrong, Kid?"
"Not really."
Not a chance in hell she could get away with that answer. I raise my eyebrow at Marie, and frown. Body language is 80% of communication, after all.
"I just had a bad dream. Couldn't get back to sleep." She says it almost defensively, as if accustomed to someone belittling that statement.
"That happen alot?"
Her slim shoulders lift, then fall. She's not wearing any gloves and the silver of my chain stands out against her wrist, glittering. "Sometimes."
"You wanna...uh...talk about it?" Jesus. I've never said that before. So glad Scott didn't hear me. Or anyone, for that matter. Marie gives me a dry smile, and I'm sure the uniqueness of the offer hasn't escaped her either.
"Do you want to talk about *your's*?"
"Not particularly."
"What a coincidence. Neither do I."
"Fair enough," I reply, taking a seat in the other armchair (much more comfortable than the one in Chuck's office). I lean back, but can't help staring at the bluish tinge beneath her eyes, and wondering about that word, 'sometimes'. Is something bothering her? Iceboy? Worse than him? Is she sick? Is she gonna get sick? Can I make her tell me? How?
It's only then, and you'll pardon me if my attention was directed elsewhere, that I notice Marie is not holding a book this time, but a piece of paper.
"What's that?", I inquire.
"The sign up sheet. Criteria list."
"Sign up for what?" In my head I'm trying to get back on the subject of why she isn't sleeping.
"Training, for the junior team." Marie says, with an air of casualness that's a tad forced.
"What's-", I start to ask. Then it clicks. And my next words may have been hard to understand through the biting snarl they come out in. " **For the X-men?**"
"Yes, well-" My sensitive ears miss what that southern drawl is saying. I'm overcome by a barrage of unwanted images: Marie in the X-suit - that suit torn and leaking blood - Marie getting knocked around - Marie with bruises - Marie with broken bones.
*(...the statue of liberty...so cold...no heart beat...so cold...)*
I'm so angry, it's all I can do not to march upstairs now and drag Xavier out of bed. Th temptation to whup his shiny-skulled ass is great. That bastard. That rat bastard. Putting *her* in danger.
"You're not doing it." Simple. Firm.
"Logan-"
Do I smell relief?
I don't want to hear her arguments.
"You're too young."
*(...no heartbeat....her damn skin....no heart beat...god....)*
"I'm seventeen. Scott's going to sign my permission slip himself."
Scott. Gonna kill him. Oh, I'm gonna *kill* him. "I don't care about a fucking permission slip, Kid. It isn't safe."
That wasn't yelling. It wasn't.
*(...the statue...her skin...)*
Her lips are half-pouty, her face indignant. But I was right. I do smell a hint of relief behind that expression. I make an attempt to soften my voice. "Marie, why would you want to join?"
She's bites at her lower lip, throws up her hands in exasperation, as if I'm missing the tree in a picture of the Amazon. "Because look at all of this, Logan!" She gestures around at the library. "Look at all I've got because of that team! A home, food, clothes, an education. Why wouldn't I repay them however I could?" At least Marie didn't try to tell me it was 'cus she wanted to unite mutant and humankind.
My hands are shaking. But when I speak, my voice is steady. Quiet. "You don't owe them that, Kid."
"I do. The Professor has been doing his best to help me control my skin. He takes time out of his busy schedule just to work with me. I can't keep staying here without contributing something-"
"Did somebody tell you that?" She sounds like she's reciting words off a page. There's a flicker in Marie's eyes.
"No-o. But-"
"Listen to me, Marie. Closely. You deserve every single bit of this life here, without having to give up your's to Chucks little club. I don't know who's been feeding you that other bullshit, and I don't care."
Her cheeks are flushed, but almost happy. Marie means everything she says, I have no doubt. But I get the feeling she's eager to be talked out of it. In a soft voice, Marie tells me, "But I want to be useful. I don't want to be weak."
"Don't gotta join the X-team to be strong, Kid."
"What else can I do? With my skin-"
"Do not make this decision just 'cus of you're mutation, Marie. If you...." The next words are so difficult to force out, not least because I'm lying. "If you really want this, go ahead. But not because you think you have no other options."
Marie hesitates, then nods. "Okay."
I relax. She looks down at that sign-up sheet for the longest time. But perhaps it only felt that way. Then, in a simple motion that would make me dance with joy if I were prone to such displays, Marie tore the paper in half. Some of the cloud that shadowed her brown eyes dispels, and I shove away the briefest suspicion that it was me doing the pressuring. Her smile matches my own.
It's so quiet. If it weren't for the fact that I can hear the kid in the living room watching Family Guy, I could pretend we are the only people awake. Marie's not young enough for me to tell her to go to sleep and expect it to work. I can't imagine someone trying to give my that order. Besides, I know how it feels when the moon is out and your body's exhausted but distraction is the Maginot Line between you and insanity.
So I don't treat the Kid like a kid. I smirk instead, and ask if she knows how to play cards.
That was the first of many nights that I met downstairs. It became a ritual, though none were so dramatic as the first. I have never asked, but it seemed we were always awake at the same time. There was never a sleepless evening I could not find her in the library, or kitchen, or lounge. I'd never go as far as to claim I looked forward to the Nightmare Nights. They're as bad as ever, and if you heard the sound of that drill you would understand. But when I wake up it is easier to remember where I am, and I can shake off that horrible taste of chemical water.
We don't speak about it during the day...What would we say? But three or four times a week Marie and I sit together, playing cards or watching a movie or just talking. (I can't believe this kid doesn't know Texas Hold'em. She always wants to play something called 'Nerts' and I feel like a pansy each time we do.) Sometimes no words at all pass between us. I watch Marie as she reads, and it is the closest to relaxed The Wolverine ever gets. And when her eyes start blinking, so sleepy and goddamn adorable, we say goodnight and I walk Marie to her room.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I don't even bother sitting this time. I'm using all my strength just to keep that desk between Chuck and me.
"Logan, all older students are offered to train as junior xmen. Rogue is no different."
"She is different to me," I growl. I don't understand the look that crosses his face.
"I believe you are trying to impose you're personal reservations about the team on Rogue. She has the unique opportunity to choose a career that truly makes a difference in the world, and I am happy to offer that opportunity to any student-"
"Bullshit. You're using this school as a cheap labor source. How do you get people to join a cause? Make them depend on you, build up gratitude. Then threaten to take it all back. You make those kids feel ashamed to want anything other than to fight the good fight."
"Logan, I can absolutely assure you that has *never* been the case. I, nor any one has ever told a student they must become an Xman."
"But it's sure as hell implied." My hands won't seem to unclench. There's thunder in my chest. This is a rare experience, not swinging my fist when I'm this pissed. I can't stop hearing
*(...no heart beat....she's so cold...)*
Marie scream my name, that night on the statue. It's the soundtrack in my head and somebody's hit the repeat button. "You told me yourself, Professor. My first day here. Either they leave or stay, teach, *become and Xman*."
It's funny, Xavier's face turns a little purple when he's aggravated. Usually you only see that in alcoholics and chubby guys.
"I never intended those words to be taken that way. You know that...Of course, no one may stay on *indefinitely* without contributing a service." He looks at me pointedly, and I understand. A bell ringing in my head. I get it.
"She's too young. You didn't give those sign up sheets now because you wanted them. You don't need Rogue, or her gift." A nauseating question rises in the back of my mind, a thought I don't wish to express about Marie's meetings with Chuck and her lack of progress. "Using her mutation hurts Rogue as much as whoever she's touched. You want me."
I went into Xavier's office wanting to stretch my lungs and practice my swearing. I left with the agreement to take over half of the junior team's training and to give Ororo my measurements for the X-suit. All with the condition, of course, that Marie would never see a mission.
I don't know how it happened.
He suggested Marie attend the combat classes, and I think that's a good idea. She should know how to protect herself.
Jean teaches science. And math, but it's the former I'm interested in because that classroom has windows. And those windows look out on the terrace. And from the bench where I sit on that terrace, I have an absolutely extraordinary view of Dr. Grey's breasts. Thank God(if there is one who smiles on Mutants) for clingy red sweaters. They may be a tad low cut for standing in front of teenagers, but you won't catch me complaining.
Marie's not in the class-she's in the music room with a skinny blue guy Chuck just hired. But through the glass I can see Icesickle, a boy with ears the size of my hands, that kid-John, I think, and a mousy-face girl who raises her hand frequently and smiles at Bobby every few seconds. I listen to Jean describe something called stochiometry, whatever the hell that is, and amuse myself by imagining various demonstrations of karma sutra. I wonder if Jean prefers Kshudgaga of Avamardana? Whenever the doctor looks out at me she blushes, and I'm guessing Jean's telepathy has improved.
The bell rings at 11:30, on the dot, a shrill jangling reaching a degree of annoying I cannot begin to describe. I am so damn sick of that bell. It's possible the intercom will receive a new set of claw marks tonight. I'm not the only one it hurts-inside, Dumbo flinches. Yeah. Breaking the speakers would be beneficial to all.
Jean glances at me from beneath mascara-coated eye lashes, then disappears through the classroom door. A moment later she's on the terrace with me, five feet six inches of tight abs, red hair, and perfume. It's as natural for me to put on a smirk now as it is to wear shoes.
"Logan," she greets me.
"Dr. Grey."
Jean's eyes go to my drink, then back up to me repeatedly, lips pursed. Does she want a sip? "Please tell me that isn't your lunch, Logan." Oh.
"Nope." I take another gulp. "Appetizer. Rest of the case is in my room."
She lifts a delicate, plucked eyebrow. She can't do it like me, but it's still fairly sexy. "Well, I hope you'll have something a little more filling for dinner."
I almost let it pass. Almost. "Well, there's always you." I let my throat rumble a little. "I can prove my eating habits are just fine."
Green eyes sparkle with amusement. Less than a foot of space between us. "I'm afraid I've already got plans for lunch with Scott."
"Hell, darlin, Cyclops doesn't know how to lick a plate."
"In a *restaurant*, Logan."
"Kinky." Jean frowns, a token effort to appear scandalized. But the scent rising to my nose and the way she's swaying, almost imperceptibly closer can't lie.
"C'mon. I could show you a few things Scotty only thinks about when he's alone in the shower."
Her lips twitch. I want her. I want her. "Why would I ever leave him alone in the shower?"
Oh. My. God. If only the image in my head didn't include a naked Summers.
It's the longest we've ever spoken to each other, and the most explicit. I love the way her cheeks glow, even if I can see every particle of makeup she uses. This is fun. Any moment now Jean will declare her undying love for me, apologize for turning me down four months ago, and we will proceed to have rabid wolverine sex on the this stone bench....or maybe the entertainment room. Marie reads on this bench.
But Jean's expression turns a bit more serious and hey-hey, she's stepping back.
"I love him."
It's odd. All my senses, and I can't tell if Dr. Grey is lying or not. "Do you?"
The grin she gives me is bitter, apologetic.
"Girls flirt with the dangerous guys, Logan. They don't take him home. They...marry the good guy."
I take a moment to try to figure out why that stings so much. But it does. She could have slapped me on the face and it would have hurt less.
"I could be the good guy." I could. I could. I am.
Not so apologetic now. Jean speaks like I'm one of her students, lecturing and gentle. But a little self-satisfied as well. "Logan, the good guy sticks around."
Hey-hey, that's not fair. How did this go from being so fun to this? My brain is bubbling with the knowledge that she is putting into words things I've never quite allowed myself to think.
"Jean..." I'm here, aren't I? I am a good guy. Going to Alkali Lake was for my past...it wasn't...she has no right.... No phrases come to my mind to describe the truth I can feel but cannot speak. I take a step closer to her, wanting the familiar, the physical I can understand.
"Please. Please don't make me do this."
I put a hand lightly on her waist, lean close enough to taste her breathe. Smells like oranges.
"Do what?"
"This." Jean breaks away from me, her high-heels clipping across the stone floor, hips sashaying. She leaves me confused and pained, like a dog who's been kicked without knowing why. And I wonder when this stopped being a game.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I am so, so sorry this is late(only a few days). I left my notebook in the library,and it was closed over the weekend. I ran around all Friday afternoon like a chicken with it's head cut off. I hate being thrown off schedule, and I was so used to writing every day.
Warning: a tad bit of innuendo. Or maybe more than a tad.
I'd like to apologize right now for the scene with Jean. I didn't want to write it, I really didn't. But we all know the writer is the last person to have a say in what the characters do. :)
I'd hoped to update twice a week, but it's looking more like once. Anyhoo, and now for your reading pleasure(fingers crossed)....
Warning: a tad bit of innuendo. Or maybe more than a tad.
I'd like to apologize right now for the scene with Jean. I didn't want to write it, I really didn't. But we all know the writer is the last person to have a say in what the characters do. :)
I'd hoped to update twice a week, but it's looking more like once. Anyhoo, and now for your reading pleasure(fingers crossed)....
Chapter End Notes:
Hello again, down here! This chapter was a bit shorter, because I took out some of the intended scenes. As it happens, I wasn't certain about this chapter-although that may just be me being obsessive. I really hope you enjoyed it, and I promise the next one will be better! As always, your opinion is absolutely appreciated.