Buoyancy: Sink or Float
It was the most restless night I've ever spent. And that's fucking saying something, considering my track record. A witness would have said I belong in a padded cell. And maybe I do. I toss and turn, pace, growl, hit the walls(Xavier's gonna have to do some serious repairs), pop my claws-just for the clarity of pain. I want a drink, a dozen drinks-but I know if I leave now, I'll never come back here again.
That could be a good idea. After all, running has always been my first instinct and favorite standby.
"Aaaaaahh." I punch the wall again. The plaster cracks, showering the floor with dust and paint chips. I feel like I've betrayed myself. How the hell can I feel that way about....about *Marie*? *Marie*, for fucks sake. Aren't I supposed to be her friend? Her protector? Shit.
*(...I think she's a little taken with you....her smile..Marie....that very special woman scent....Marie....)*
No. No. Jesus, stop it. What is the matter with me? Do I have to screw everything that moves? Is that it? God. I'm a pervert, a bastard, a lech. Hell, a thousand names but they all add up to animal.
My inner Wolverine is amused. He doesn't understand why I'm making such a fuss.
"Age of Consent" and all the implications of those human words mean nothing to The Wolverine. *Look at you,* he growls. *Look at what you are. You could be a hundred, five hundred years old. And you're worried about a few little months on her part?* Marie is a woman, to him, has been a woman for years now.
*Not only that*, he says,* but she could be ours. She could be our-*
"No," I say out loud, furiously. I would plug my ears if that would help, if that voice wasn't my own. I did not think that word. I didn't.
*Mate.*
I tried to leave this mansion four times today.
The first time, I got as far as the doors. Bobby's voice reached my ears just as I was extending my hand to the doorknob. He was laughing. *Laughing*, and it's not really pertinent what it was at or who he was with. I couldn't leave just then.
The second try, I got to the stairs, and realized I hadn't grabbed a pack or any of my clothes. Damn. I just can't get my thoughts together.
The third time, I'd barely opened my door when Scooter appeared, screaming. (Rather unnecessary, considering how well aware he is about my hearing abilities.) Apparently you shouldn't tie a student to the wing of the Blackbird and threaten castration.
Iceboy's a little squealer.
I don't know why OneEye's getting so pissy-I didn't actually cut off his testicles. Those bruises will heal, and I didn't break any bones...well, his nose. But that doesn't count.
My fourth attempt, I actually reach the bike. My old friend. I'm so close, had straddled the seat and everything. If it didn't hurt so much I would congratulate myself.
Jean was wrong. The Good Guy doesn't stick around. The Good Guy leaves.The Good Guy makes sure nothing in the world hurts the girl. Even himself.
*("Thank you, Logan." Marie murmers, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Thanks for being there for me.")*
I shut my eyes. Shit. Shit. Turn off the engine, stand up, return to my room quietly.
It'd be lying to say my thoughts in the garage were completely altruistic. There was an embarrassing voice within me demanding to know who I was going to watch movies with at two in the morning. Who, exactly, said this voice, was going to play that stupid Nerts with me?
Why does this have to be a bad thing? Wanting her? Lo-having feelings for her? I could take care of Marie. None of those immature brats would come near her again if I...
I suspect that's the Wolverine talking again.
*(Marie, naked....Marie, smiling up at me....Marie, mine.)*
A whimper passes through my lips. My stomach clenches and I bury my face in my palms-not because it's a bad fantasy. Because the opposite is true.
I sulk there for the rest of the day. Coming out would mean seeing Marie, and I'm terrified of what I'll feel, what I might say-or worse, do-if I look at her again.
Yeah. I'm hiding from a little girl.
"Loa, move those feet more. Piotr's big, but that doesn't mean you can't take him down."
I stay on the left side of the gym, my back firmly to Marie. I'm a poor imitation of the teacher I was Friday, twitching every time I hear her voice.
When the bell rings, I'm out of there, far ahead of the other students. I don't look back.
*(....breathe in...water, in my mouth, in my throat...clinking metal...high pitched drill...pain. pain....)*
I lay in bed, trembling. The sweat makes the covers stick to my chest. The sensitive spots between my knuckles, where the adamantium seared through the tissue, is buzzing. God.
That was a bad one.
I close my eyes, breathe through my nose. Previously, there would have been no question about my next move. Certainly, Marie will be heading downstairs, if she's not there already. We same to have the worst of our nightmares together.
But...I imagine spending the night with her. Trying to smirk. Trying to act normal. Looking at that skin her nightdress exposes, touchable-so touchable now...
I open my eyes again, stare up at the specks scattered across the ceiling panels. One dot. Two dots. Three dots. Four dots.
I'd have to say the Avoid-Marie Plan is not going so well.
You'd think it'd be easy in a mansion this size(five floors, three basement levels, and a stable) to elude one girl. But I swear she's *everywhere* I turn.
She's walking in the halls or reading on the terrace or sitting on the steps with Jubilee or stopping by the garage to see if I wanna take a ride ("Ahh...No, Kid. I've got some...stuff I gotta do.") or carrying files to one of the teachers or eating in the kitchen or watching TV and all the fucking while giving me that bewildered, heartbreakingly hopeful smile.
Shit.
Even when I *don't* run into The Kid, I'll catch one of her old scents and those thoughts...those dangerous thoughts I must be careful to shield from certain telepaths...sprout up again. I'm twitchy, aggravated, always keeping one eye open for Marie's footsteps. After only three days I'm a nervous wreck.
I...I *miss* her. How can I be there for Marie, while it's a struggle to be in the same room? How?
Five hundred thirty one...Inhale...Five hundred thirty two...Exhale...Five hundred thirty three...
I lay on the faux leather of the bench press press-muscles shifting and clenching under my sweaty flesh. Maximum number of weights as well as chains to the bar. You'd be hard pressed to find a person capable of doing this outside the circus, but I'm hardly struggling.
...Five hundred thirty six...Exhale...Five hundred thirty seven...Inhale...Five hundred thirty eight...
You could say I have a bit of excess energy to siphon off. Ask any man. He'll tell you where that comes from.
...Exhale...Five hundred thirty nine...Inhale...Five hundred forty...
The swish of those mechanical doors. Unmistakable. As cold and impersonal as the rest of these lower levels. Huh. Kinda like the Xmen themselves, despite all the warm furnishings on top.
Those footsteps are hard to miss as well, like that feminine scent.
Perfume.
...Exhale...Five hundred forty one...Inhale...Five hundred forty two...
New hairstyle-I can smell the spray. New pantsuit- trendy, tailored. New earrings-diamonds, and not the Walmart kind. You'd think with all the rest, Dr. Grey-soon to be Dr. Summers- would look at me differently as well. But no, her smile is as coquettish as ever, taking unsubtle pleasure at my shirtless state.
"It's not safe to bench press alone," she purrs in greeting, standing at the bass of the equipment.
...Exhale...Five hundred forty three...Inhale...
"It's safe for me."
Jean puts a hand on her hip, tilts her head. She looks cheerful, and I know Jean didn't wander in here without a reason.
I wish I could be interested.
...Five hundred forty four..Exhale...Five hundred forty five...Inhale....
"That's not setting a very good example, Logan." she says, though there are no students around. "If you like, I can spot you."
Her gaze slides lower.
It's strange. Before, her words-and the the sultry tone beneath them-would have lit something hot and quick within me.
...Five hundred forty six...Exhale...Five hundred forty seven...Inhale...
But I feel nothing.
"Thanks, darlin, but I'll pass."
Dr. Grey comes around the side of the bench and manages to sit on the thin strip of space available. Almost thoughtfully, she places a hand on my thigh. "Now, I don't think you really mean that."
....Five hundred forty eight...Exhale....
"I really do. Maybe you should go workout with Cyclops."
Her hand creeps up a little. From this angle I can see the tan, pasty line where her makeup ends. It goes around her throat and I can't believe she missed it.
Jean's voice is soft, honeyed. "I've got a lot of time to exercise with Scott. I don't see why you and I can't go for a stretch first."
I'm surprised by her forwardness-brought on by boredom, maybe, or loneliness, or any number of her own reasons. Hell, it could be basic horniness. Either way, I experience nothing but an indefinite irritation. You would think The Wolverine would notice, at least, the presence of a willing female. But he doesn't even stir. Stubborn bastard. He's got his mind set on....
...Inhale...Five hundred forty...Five hundred forty...what was I on?
Jean notices my most obvious sign of indifference.Her smell changes for just a moment, but her confident smirk doesn't falter.
"What's the matter, Logan?" she asks, mock hurt. "You don't want to work out with me?" Her fingers brush, then openly cup the flesh beneath my belt. "Are you sure?"
I'm dangerously aware of those long, manicured fingernails. I stiffen-though not in the way she hopes for. The Wolverine is certainly awake now. I growl low, place the weighted bar back in it's cradles, and sit up.
I shove away that hand. "Listen, Jean, I do not wantcha, 'Darlin. Leave me alone, alright?"
If he were anyone but OneEye, I'd feel bad for the guy who put the ring on that finger. But looking at the top-of-the-line clothes that definitely hadn't been with a school teacher in mind, I can only say that Scott got what he paid for.
Jean's expression isn't nearly so pleasant now, nor attractive. Her lips twist up. "Well, that wasn't quite your tune a few months ago, *Wolverine*," she snaps. Spite has a unique scent, and it's stronger than Calvin Klein.
Don't think of Marie. Don't think of Marie.
"Your's has changed too." I tell her as calmly as body will allow. I rise, grab my shirt off the floor. And for once it is Jean who is watching me walk away. I hope my face never looked as red and pinched as her's.
I can do this.
She's in the lounge watching TV, curled up into a ball.
I can do this.
Blinky has been gone a month. His Aunt or Stepmother or Something took him. So we are alone.
I can do this.
"Hey." I step in hesitantly. Marie looks up. She seems anxious, stressed. those shadows, which had disappeared a week ago, are back and tinged with a darker purple.
"Hey, Logan." She welcomes me with a smile of such frank relief. "It's been awhile."
I wince. God.
I can do this.
"Can I sit down?"
Marie nods. "Are you...were you mad at me?"
"Of course not, Kid."
"Oh." She doesn't seem reassured. I sigh.
I can do this.
"I'm ah...sorry 'bout all that. I've been a little busy."
It's shitty, but it is the best apology I can manage, and Marie appears to understand. She nods her acceptance, and I settle back onto the cushions-a safe two feet between us.
I can do this.
Marie doesn't say much. Like me, I guess. She has a way of speaking with her different smiles. The little rise in her lips now promises she won't ask any questions; she's just happy to have me back.
I can do this.
"How...how you doin', Kid?"
She shrugs. "I'm alright."
"You're still wearing your gloves?"
"Uh-huh," she says, as if agreeing with me instead of answering a question. "My control's still a bit iffy."
I think there's a bit more to that story, but I don't press.
I look at the TV, but see nothing but see nothing but colored swirls and dots, senseless. My eyes are dragged back to Marie. Why can't I find that easy groove we had before? I'm trapped with a need so strong it's crippling, and when I look at her everything in my soul demands I close that two foot gap.
"What's wrong,Logan?"
I can do this.
"Marie-"
"Wolverine."
I jerk. It's one of the few times in my remembered life I've ever been startle by someones entrance.
Scott stands by the door, lips pressed into a single line.
"Did you not hear the Professor's signal? We're to meet in the briefing room immediately. We have a mission."
The coil of tension in my chest tightens, making any relief I feel meaningless in comparison.
"Go to bed," Scott commands Marie. "You shouldn't be up this late."
I don't think about how Marie's smile tells her sadness, or how her brow crinkles when she says, "Be careful."
"Wolverine."
"Alright. Alright I'm coming."
I'm climbing the stairs slowly, hunched over like the old man I am. Each step is arduous, taking a strength I barely have. My flesh is hot, brittle and fluid at the same time. It's like someone attached play-doughty to my muscles with superglue and tried to pass it off as skin. Gotta be careful when I walk to not let my legs rub together, lest some of that play-dough sloughs off.
As it turns out, it's neither a pleasant experience nor a good idea to stand in front of a flamethrower. If you're taking notes, you might wanna jot that little tidbit down.
But I'll be alright. I will. In a few hours my skin will feel natural again, and this pain will be a memory. I just gotta...just gotta rest for awhile. Jesus. why the fuck did they put me on the fourth floor?
Ororo wanted me to go to the med lab, but Jean said it would be a waste of bed space and that there were plenty of students without healing factors. She turned to me with the air of a parent humoring an overindulged child, and asked if I wanted an aspirin.
I reach my bedroom on legs close to collapsing. The doorknob's a bit tricky-my fingers are numb-but I've almost got it turned when I hear the sound. A heartbeat, just inside. Soft breathing. Son of a bitch.
I growl tiredly. I swear to god, if it's Jean, I'll put a claw through her skull. I swear.
It hurts to inhale through my nose-normal air burns like bleach in my newly-formed nostrils.
I identify the person's scent and let my forehead hit the wood.
Marie.
Aw, fuck.
For a moment I consider sleeping on the couch. but I'll be damned if I'm gonna walk down those stairs again. This floor, on the other hand, is temptingly, conveniently close.
Hell. I open the door, step inside.
Marie is laying on her side, on top of the covers. A thin strand of white hair has fallen across her lips, and it twitches when she breathes. I've never watched her like this. She's so still.
She's so beautiful.
I pause there, aware of the griminess of my skin, aware that I'm dressed only in a pair of sweatpants(the leather suit had been reduced to bloody string), aware that injury can't stop some feelings.
I'm debating the merits of feigned indifference and friendship when Marie wakes.
"Mmmh...Logan....hey! Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
Her face is sleepy, fretful. Her voice is hesitant. "You look terrible."
"I'm okay."
She blushes. "I...uh...couldn't sleep. And I was worried about you ...thought you wouldn't mind if I..."
I barely notice when my feet move forward. The mattress, much abused, creaks under my weight. My body thanks me for the reprieve.
"You want me to go?" Marie whispers.
I shake my head wordlessly, and after a moment she lays back down.
I look at the girl beside me- a part of me counting the centimeters between us, another saying forget hurt, get my ass out of there now. And still another part that's just taking in the golden flakes in her irises.
"Hey, Kid?"
"Yeah?" Her breath tickles my throat.
"Why do you wear my tags?"
I see her surprise, how her thoughts are spinning behind her expression. Marie's trying to pick her answer, not sure of my question.
"Because...because you gave them to me, Logan."
I close my eyes briefly. Inhale, exhale.
"I think I gotta tell you somethin'."
"Okaaay..."
"I don't know how to say it."
"So use a thesaurus." Marie tries to grin and fails.
I smell...fear? Worry.
I can do this.
"I've uh...I've...uh...I've got feelings-feelings for you."
The silence stretches on for an infinity. Her lips are wobbling. I don't need to smell her shock. Once again I shut my eyes. I can't look at her face, or those glittering eyes.
"I want you," I whisper, just in case she need clarification. "I really want you."
"Logan." Her voice is quiet, gentle.
I focus on the dark behind my eyelids, body tense.
"Logan, you've got me."
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm sorry for the delay, you guys. I hafta say, this chapter had pulling my hair out(okay, so I tried tugging once and decided that phrase works better as a hyperbole). I found it very difficult to write Logan in love, but I hope you enjoy this chapter anyway. Good luck!!
Chapter End Notes:
Whew! I'd really appreciate your thought on this one, because I was uncertain about it. Only two more chapters to go!(And possibly an epilouge). Warning: the next chapter will contain smut, and the rating will go up. It's...wait..>creeeeakcreeeeakk...< What's that sou-oh no! AAAGH!! It's the Ghost of Fanfiction Just Read! OH!! What's...what's it saying??.....>"Ree...review...reeevieww....reevviieww..."< Oh my gosh, you better do what it says!