Constellations: Connecting The Dots
These kids don't know shit about fighting. Zero.Nada. Zilch. Zero. *Nothing*.
I spend half an hour watching my assigned group shove each other playfully. A headache is building between my eyes: because it's ten o'clock in the morning; because Molson wasn't enough to get Jean's words out of my head; because 'bringing in the big guns' in this case means two bottles of scotch and one of tequila; because that's a little daunting even for my healing factor-and do these lights really need to be so bright? Because I see it's going to take me months for these kids to unlearn everything that pansy Cyclops taught them about self defense.
The reason I'm doing this is across the room, right now standing by a girl decked out in yellow. I can't remember her name, but she reeks of bubblegum. Marie peeps over at me every now and then, looking concerned. Perhaps because of the huge snarl I'm wearing, but maybe it's something else. I'm trying not to glare at the kids, who seem to be miming some terrible boxing film, but it's impossible.
I heave a sigh. "Alright, enough. Enough. Come.....gather 'round."
It's strange; when I came back I'd imagined each day would stand out, that the blending effect wouldn't take place here as it had on the road. Understandable, considering the extraordinary events of my first visit. But I was wrong. You can get used to anything-homelessness or a mansion. And, for better or worse, it's not long before I fall into a routine here.
I wake up and remind myself where I am. I, the fucking *Wolverine* am living at a school where one out of ten students can teleport. Golly, let's not forget I'm a *teacher* at this school. Had anyone shared this mind-numbing fact with me a year ago, I would have told them to piss off and stop reading Harry Potter.
I have breakfast in the kitchen-or in the cafeteria if I'm in the mood to sit with Scott and hear Jean ask if I'm *really* gonna eat all that. Then I spend an hour trying to remember why hitting a child is wrong. Thank god I only have one group. I've got Healing, but Ororo and the others must have something special added to their X-gene,. They teach about five classes a day.
In the afternoon I spend a few hours in the garage, go for a ride on the bike, or watch football in the lounge. Economically, any of the previously mentioned activities can be done while pissing off Scott.
Depending on my level of irritability, I go out in the evening and find a bar, a woman, a fight. Not necessarily in that order. And then, of course, there's the occasional mission. The break in my own personal brand of monotony is almost worth how the X-Suit chaffs my crotch.
I measure my days by conversations with Marie, by the number of times Cyclops's face turns purple, by instances I do not growl at a student. So I would be surprised, if you told me I'd been at Xavier's two months and counting. A record.
"Pyro, what did I tell you? Put the fucking lighter away. We're not using weapons or powers right now."
"You said to use whatever's available."
Oh, this kid is really starting to piss me off. I hate the way his upper lip curls. "Give me the lighter." Little Johnny wants to argue, clenching tat piece of metal like it's his favorite Baabaa. That's fine. He can keep his toy, and we can do some one-on-one training. I bare my teeth, and Pyro changes his mind. He's got balls, but he also has a brain. The lighter goes in my pocket. "Now it ain't available."
All around me, pairs of students are facing off. It's so hard to watch them all at once. The moment I fix one kid's mistake, there's someone else pulling a dumbass mistake.
"Jaime, if you can't pick yourself off the ground faster, stop aiming your kicks above the waist. This isn't a movie. You will land on your ass."
The hardest thing to teach them is dirty fighting. Not through any hesitance on my part. That damn Summers had them convinced that being honorable, assuming all the niceties short of doing the enemy's laundry while you fight, would mean you're opponent will do the same. Complete bullshit. No wonder Xavier has only a few team members now. How many have died because of that Lets-Hold-Hands-And-Pick-Daisies curriculum?
"You gotta keep on hitting until your enemy stops hitting you. The best strategy is to put 'em down fast. Strike upward, hit 'em below the jaw."
Marie's doing well. She's partnered with that Asian girl, Jubilee-both wearing long sleeves and gloves to prevent any accidental skin contact. She wears too much sparkly lotion, and says 'like' every other word, but I'm glad it's her working with Marie. I get a little...tense...when I see her go up against other, larger kids. Especially the boys. It's just....they don't know what they're doing. Things could get too heated, and she could be hurt. Really hurt. Bobby is in Scott's class. Thank god.
"Rogue, stop hesitating. I don't give a rats ass if Jubilee's your best friend or your favorite aunt-stop pulling back. She ain't your friend right now. She's just a bunch of body parts you can kick or punch or break."
"Like, th-thanks Mr. Logan. I feel,like, totally appreciated."
"Shut up and focus, Yellow."
I've got about thirty students in this class. I work with half of them individually every day. Scott complains that they leave the gym limping and exhausted. There was an obvious Jean joke there, but I bit my tongue. Maybe it'll occur to him later.
"Logan."
"Mmmh?"
"You should read this."
"Schindler's List? We watched that movie last week, Kid."
"I know, but this...it's really good. You'd like it. There's this part I can't get out of my head."
"Go on."
"What?"
"Tell me. You're twitching."
"I'm not...But....there is this part...This leader, of the Jewish ghetto, is told to make a list. A thousand people to ship to the death camps. And he put himself, his wife, and daughter at the top of the list."
"Why?"
"To save three people. It's just....it's just one sentence in the book, but I can't stop thinking about it."
"Huh." Marie gets this look on her face, sort of awed, when she's talking about a book. Her eyes go real big an' serious-like she's looking off the top of a mountain and wants you to come see the view as well. I can't say I've ever felt that way about a story, but she makes me want to.
"Have you filled in the grades for your students?"
"No."
"Do you intend to?"
"No."
"Are you going to stop working on that engine while we talk?"
"No."
Jean sighs. "Logan, the professor gave you an office for a reason."
"He can have it back."
"But he wants you to do the paperwork. It comes with the position!"
"The position is makin' sure those kids don't pee themselves the first time they get in a real fight. If Chuck wants his little forms, he can fill them out himself."
"Logan, if you are...if you are having trouble using the computer, I can help you out, explain it to you."
I glace up from the car battery in my hands. How can Jean be so insulting and sexy at the same time?
"Logan." She pouts. "Are you angry with me?"
"No."
"You haven't spoken much to me lately."
"What do you want, Jean?"
"I just...hoped we could be friends."
Your lips say 'friends', darlin, but your scent says, 'wild fuckbuddies'. I'm really getting tired of being teased. "I don't wanna be your friend, Jean."
Doctor Grey looks sad, put-out. She reaches out a hand to place on my arm, but thinks better of it. Perhaps she doesn't want to encourage me, perhaps she doesn't want to get engine oil on her skin. "That's too bad, Logan."
I don't even watch her walk away this time."
"I look stupid. It's too big."
"Extra padding. It'll keep you safe."
"If I have to wear one, you have to wear one."
"I don't need a helmet, Kid."
"Oh, like you don't need a seat belt?"
"Do you want to go, or not?"
"Oh, would you look at the beautiful helmet! I've seen alot of over sized dorky helmets, but this must be the best. Thank you, Logan, thank you,"
"Shut the hell up. And hold on tight."
"This is amazing."
"Thought you'd like it."
"When did you find this place?"
"Last Tuesday. There's a spring about a half mile East. Not alotta fish, though."
"These trees must look real pretty in the fall. Do you think we'll see any deer?"
"-Hey, watch your step...If we do, we won't have to stop at sonic on the way home-ouch! That hurt."
"No it didn't."
"Fine, we'll still get you a cherry limeade. Help you wash down Bambi."
"You're ruining the moment."
"Kid, you keep hitting me, I'm gonna hit back."
"No you won't.....Logan!"
"I told you."
"You're back early."
"Am I?" She's braiding her hair with one hand. I've never seen anyone do that. You'd think her fingers would be hindered by those gloves, but they wind the strands nimbly. It's oddly hypnotic.
"You're usually gone Saturday nights."
"Didn't go to a bar."
Marie seems surprised, curious. "Why not?"
"Wasn't in the mood."
"So where'd you go?"
"Video store. Have you ever seen The Green Mile?"
"I've read the book."
Of course she has. "Of course you have. C'mon, you can do trig later."
"Come in."
I've never been inside Marie's room before. It's a smaller version of my own, but much cleaner. She doesn't have stuffed animals and Orlando Bloom posters like most girls. Some sketch books, a jewellery box, a back pack. Her favorite pair of gloves and a glass of water on the night stand. Four calenders on the wall-Marie says it's like redecorating every month.
She's lying on the bed-covers tangled as much as her hair, pale face and red nose.
"You weren't in class today."
"Ah'm sick," she tells me, needlessly. Her trash bag is overflowing with tissues, and her voice is thick in a way that can't be blamed on her accent. Marie doesn't get up, so I close the door behind me and sit down on the bed. She sighs.
My heart is banging. "How sick?," I demand. I can smell her fever. Why isn't she in the med lab? Can't she walk? Should I carry her, or run for Jean?
And of course, *(so cold....no heart beat...)*
"S'just da flu. Ah'm fine'd." Marie tries to grin,reassuringly, but sneezes.
"Are you sure?"
"Yah. Jean gave me suhm p-pills." I tell myself this relaxes me.
"Okay. Do you...ah...need anything else? Want me to get you some root beer?"
"Logan, why would Ah want root beer?"
"'Cus that's what people drink when they're sick."
"You mean ginger ale?"
I shrug. "Alright. Want me to get that?" I have no idea how to deal with illness. It's never been an issue before.
Marie gives me an indulgent pat on the leg. "No, tha-thanks. I'm just 'sleepy."
She curls up on her side, nuzzling the pillow.
I'm jittery, nervous of doing anything wrong. She wants to sleep, but it feels wrong to just leave her alone. Why isn't Jean her, looking after Marie? She's a fucking doctor.
"How long 'till you're better, Marie? Hey, Kid?"
"Mmm?"
"How long 'till those pills work?"
"Soon," Marie mumbles into her pillow.
"Okay. You wanna go for a ride later, when you're okay again?"
"Yah."
"Yeah? Yeah, okay. We'll do that soon. When you're better."
"Logan?"
"What, Kid?"
"Go 'way."
"Alright. Alright. I'll let you sleep, darlin'. You get some rest."
"G'bye Logan."
"Alright."
......."Mmmh?"
"You feeling any better now, Kid?"
"Mmmm....time 'hisit?"
"Ah...'bout twelve."
One of her brown eyes opens and stares out at me. "Logan, it's been forty-five minutes."
"You meant longer?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh. Alright. I'll just...bring you some dinner later, huh?"
"Mmmmh...." I can't tell if that was a growl or a moan.
"Do you realize how many of your student's were sent to the med lav this week? Almost all of them!"
God. I can't even make a sandwich in peace.
"So?"
"So? *Jesus*." Scott runs a hand through his light brown hair, which, of course, falls back perfectly in place. I'll bet he gets it styled once a week, by a transvestite named Glinda or Davida. "I knew this was a bad idea. You can't be trusted around children-you can't even be trusted abound *people*."
"Excuse me, Dickhead?"
"You're supposed to be teaching them! Not treating them like a punching back you can vent your frustration out on."
"I *am* teaching them. The ones that had to go to the med lab were put there by their partners, not me."
"Oh! Well that's even better." OneEye snarls. "You're teaching them to hurt each other."
"Exactly!" I slam my fist on the table. The jar of mustard tips over, spilling yellow across the countertop. To his credit, Scott doesn't jump.
"Keep holding your student's hands. I don't give a shit what you do with them. But these-these are *mine*. And it's my job to make sure they can protect themselves in a *real* fight. If they're gonna join your so-called team they need to see the world as it really is. Not through those rose tinted glasses you wear." Pun intended.
"Fantastic. Let's turn them into animals. Like you."
His neck has turned an impressive plum color. I find myself breathing hard, shaking. My hands are balled up. Are my claws out? No. No.
"Scott?"
Jean appears, a gentle expression on her face, and touches her boyfriend's shoulder. She had to have heard us fighting- along with the whole first floor- but the doctor gives nothing away.
"Honey, we're gonna miss the reservation."
Cyclops gives me a final glare as he lets Jean pull him away, as if she were the only thing stopping him. I let him think so.
How did I get roped into this?
How the fuck did I get roped into this?
At least Chuck didn't make me wear a suit. I might have had to punch him. But that's the only silver lining I can find.
Jean looks nice.
Chuck says they do this every year- a 'pleasant formal event where the students unable to attend normal dances may socialize'. I think it's more for his benefit. Perhaps going too long without showing off his money makes him constipated. I wouldn't care, personally, if it weren't for those three obnoxious words: 'All Staff Required.'
The musics alternately too boring or too shrill. Certain members of the student body should never have been allowed a glass of champagne. Hell, kids who giggle that much shouldn't even be allowed out of their rooms.
A few of the girls keep peeking over at me. They're not in my class, otherwise they'd know I can hear every hormone-packed word being whispered. I reach my pinnacle of tolerance when the conversation shifts to, 'Who's got a spare cotex?'
I abandon the tables of punch, the cubes of cheese, and Summer's voice reminding the youngsters not to get too cuddly on the dance floor.
It's a surprise to find Marie on the terrace, but then again I don't remember seeing her inside.
Her dress is green, shimmery. It's made of some happy cross between silk and lace. I've never seen it, or that black jacket she's got on, before. It's....nice.
Marie's back is to me. She looks so still, leaning against the stone railing as if peacefully contemplating the grounds. Anyone else might've left her alone.
But anyone else wouldn't have notice the complete misery in her scent.
"Not havin' a good time?"
"Bout as much as you, I guess." That could be a smile, or an exhibit at the wobbly lip tournament.
"What's going on?"
Her fingers pluck at the tags-as ever dangling about her wrist. She never fails to wear them. And I never fail to notice. Her eyes, fixed on that chain, won't meet mine.
"Kid? Marie?"
"Logan...I...." She clears her throat. "There's something I should probably tell you...." Her voice is small.
"What?" I inquire, alarmed.
"Um....I...ah...heard that Scott...proposed to Jean...They're...gonna announce the engagement tonight. I thought you might wanna know...before"
"I glance back, through the glass door where Jean stands, talking and gossiping with Ororo. I wait for the pain, but I'm distracted by the tear slipping down Marie's cheek.
I'm confused. "Baby, is that why you're upset?"
Marie shakes her head. In an even tinier voice, she whispers,"Bobby and I broke up. I...I saw him kiss Kitty."
Ain't it strange, when your claws just pop out, without you meaning to? Well, I suppose you wouldn't know. I put them back in.
My first instinct, one so tempting I actually feel my legs start to move, is to find Iceprick right then. I want to, so bad. That cold merciless void has opened up-I could step into it and remove Bobby's intestines without a second thought. The only-and I mean the *only* thing that keeps me from crossing that line is the same thing that makes me wanna punish Bobby in the first place: the sight of Marie's shoulders, trembling with suppressed sobs. I can't abandon her.
With a couple of student watching us nosily from the hall, there's only one other option. Okay, there's probably more, but my thought process is a tad challenged at the moment.
"You wanna get out of here, Kid?"
We take one of the cars, rather than the bike. I don't know how long my flimsy 'Don't-Kill-Bobby' resolution would stand if I had to wait for her to put on pants.
Marie's sniffling, trying to stop her tears-quiet as they are. For a moment, she almost succeeds. She obtains a glassy sort of composure.
The type of calm that overtakes me when I'm truly, truly mad, is almost welcome. I drive aimlessly, without comment, as the story comes out.
Bobby had known Kitty before Marie had ever come to the mansion, but he'd said he didn't like her. They had most of they're classes together, including Scott's physical training-where the two would pore over records from previous missions. And when Kitty and Bobby weren't studying up to be proper little X-men, he would come to Marie. She says Bobby has a way of pressuring easily confused with friendliness. He'd inquire about her progress with the Professor, suggest Marie was dragging her feet and how would she know if she had control if she never touched someone? If she still was unable, maybe they could, you know, try a few things without skin contact. They'd tried kissing, but the pull had started.
Later, the steering wheel will show perfect impressions from my clenched fists.
And earlier this evening, she'd found them, Bobby eagerly sewn to Kitty's completely nonpoisonous lips by the fountain.
It's alright, though. I can't tell if Marie's talking to herself or me. It's alright. They were gonna break up eventually, she knew that. She was just....She was just a little....surprised. She just didn't think it would happen today.
We're parked at a lookout point, not far from a forest path I showed her a few months ago. Marie won't let me hold her, or cuss Iceprick out, or make promises-promises that she'd be okay, promise that he wouldn't. She makes shrugging motions every time I try, blinking rapidly.
Do I want to know the worst part, she asks with a small, heart breaking laugh. I give a stiff nod.
"Yesterday..Yesterday I found the switch. To my skin. I was gonna tell him tonight." And then her cool shatters, and I draw Marie against me as she bawls.
It's silent in the car when she finally stills. I'm torn between two confusing poles: the urge to roar, or whimper. Her damp cheek resting against my jacket, no Pyro to interrupt us this time, we watch the stars through the windshield. A thousand sparkling clusters. I'm wondering why the scent of her tears is more painful than a gunshot wound-perhaps because I have more experience with the latter.
"Do you...do yo want to see?", Marie asks, wiggling her fingers.
I wonder why it feels so natural for me to do this, comfort her, listen to her.
"Sure."
I wonder why I'm still here, not on the road.
I wonder why the thought of keeping this kid safe will make me suffer a hundred teenagers.
Marie sits up a little.
I wonder why I'm so protective. Never been that way before.
I wonder why the mere thought of her suffering makes me quake.
She takes hold of the stretchy fabric of her glove.
I wonder why I'd rather spend an hour with her and a deck of cards, than in the arms of a multi-talented blond in a high way bar.
With a tug, it slips off her fingers. Her palms are pale and delicate from always being covered.
I wonder what possessed me to tell Marie on that train I'd look out for her.
She offers me her hand, lips curving up just the slightest.
I wonder why it didn't hurt more to know Scott put a ring on Jean's finger. Game over.
I wonder why my claws haven't come out during my latest nightmares.
Our fingerprints connect, slide over each other.
I wonder why it makes me feel so warm to see my tags against her flesh.
Her skin is so soft. I look at Marie's face, pink cheeks and wide brown eyes that want to share her triumph with me.
I wonder why-
Oh.
*Oh.*
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
A.K.A, the Wondering Chapter.
I may or may not have busted a blood vessel in my eyes typing this up. >checks mirror< Is it laziness or work when you spend an entire day writing?
For the scenes concerning fighting tips, I read about twenty Karate/street fighting sites.
I'm equally stressed and hopeful about this chapter, and I hope you like it!
I may or may not have busted a blood vessel in my eyes typing this up. >checks mirror< Is it laziness or work when you spend an entire day writing?
For the scenes concerning fighting tips, I read about twenty Karate/street fighting sites.
I'm equally stressed and hopeful about this chapter, and I hope you like it!
Chapter End Notes:
What do you think? I went online and translated the word 'review' into four languages, so if you enjoyed the chapter please: Spanish: critica; French: revision; German: revension; Nonesense: flipiddyistypickle.
Note: I can only speak Nonsense.
Note: I can only speak Nonsense.