Finding a Lost Key
Two days. I lost another two whole days spent in the med lab, out cold, a recurring guest within the ever-so-familiar steel walls. The stillness and peace there are calming to me, and I hope to the other occupant sleeping at the other end of the room.
Relaxed and resting, she looks better now, the color back in her lips, a bright contrast to the natural ivory glow of her face. I lost myself watching her breathe, the sweetness that calls me to her reaching deep within, becoming my drug. Her hands rest above the covers, looking delicate again, almost angelic, in the dim light.
I had touched her, held her hand, felt the softness of her face, her skin against mine, how sweet it was, how deadly it could be now. I wanted all of her, every crook and crevice, every flaw, every scar. But I have to settle for those few moments, never knowing if she felt me back, my hand against hers. I have no idea how much more of me she has, the nightmares, the anger, the regret. I can believe she will hate how much she understands of my own inner struggle, two separate parts never meshing as one whole being.
"You know, gazing from afar is not the most effective way of sharing one's feelings. It's great to see you up and about." Xavier's approach is guarded, contradictory to his demeanor. I hadn't heard the doors open or his entrance through them. It crosses my mind that he had been waiting for me to wake up.
"Don't you ever knock?" Deflecting, I know, but I suddenly feel naked, exposed. How much had he seen? Did he wander through my mind, seeing if my intensions for saving Marie were selfish? It's hard for me to trust anyone, let alone a path.
"Dr. McTaggart said she will make a full recovery. She will be right as rain. I hope that brings comfort to you. I know full well what it took to bring her home."
"We'll see." I turn my back to him, getting off the bed, hoping he gets that I really don't want to talk anymore.
"The battle is won, but the war for Rogue is not over. She is safe, but will she want to stay?" A long pause. I guess he's waiting for me to answer, but I don't give in. "As you know, everyone in this house will be willing to help her rebuild her life if she is eager to do so. But my concern is what your intensions are now that she is here."
"That will depend on her, on what she wants to do. No one asked her the first time. And I'm no shining beacon of guiding light, so don't expect me to be the one to do it!" I hadn't expected to be so angry. The sound of my voice echoing catches me off-guard and I suddenly realize I could have disturbed Marie. I wasn't ready to see her, to talk to her at that point, and the Professor even hinting at it is too much to handle.
"I am having her moved to her old room. She is out of danger, and waking up here may make her feel hostile, trapped."
"Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. I hope it makes everyone feel better..." The urge to run never reared its head so strongly. The fight or flight never had me running, but this was turning into a mental game, a battle of wills.
My confrontational exit, I hope leaves him guessing, but I recognize it for what it was, a pathetic attempt at covering my own disgust at allowing anyone to see me lose control. I question how much I would have done if it were Kitty, or Jubes instead of Rogue. I did nothing to corral Pyro, so why did I go to such lengths with her?
r32;
The danger room is occupied, so the next best place to clear my head is out on the grounds with a walk through the dense brush, the coolness of the dry northern air chilling my lungs, the grey sky blocking any hint of sun. The leaves had long ago fallen from the trees, their constant sound under my feet a reminder of winter's inevitable approach. Pines providing the only cover, and the damp earth filling my nose, reminding me that I had allowed this state of being to control me. The Wolverine knows this place, knows how to control this space, and find safety in it. Even in this existence, parts of me would be satisfied, if this would be what I settled for, to call a living. The shadow of the mansion, more than a mile back, the brick and mortar creating a different life, an unnatural warmth, protecting, unchanging, the glazed windows reflecting back the wild. I had lived that life and could find balance within it. Or is that a lie, one that I am good at living?
An eerie silence creeps within the woods. My own presence permeates the air. I hear the scurry of other creatures fleeing. Sensing the animal rising, they know to run. And yet one creature I so dearly want to run toward me, unaware of the danger or blindly accepting it, either of which I managed to deflect. But who is more the fool?
I turn back toward the mansion, my intentions still unclear. Do I return, go back to being the teacher others believe I am, or is this my moment to break away, to continue on my never-ending journey? Part of my head is still weighing my options when I realize I've made it all the way to the second floor of the mansion, where a sudden change in direction yanks me out of my fucked up stupor.
"We are going out." Remy's determination is unwavering, never giving me the chance to object. I wrestle my arm out of his grip, bucking my shoulders in protest.
"No, you're not backing out, we are going out. I'm sick and tired of watching you wallow in your own fucking self-pity, get all bent out of shape over whatever happen or didn't happen. And that fucking wall you hide behind? It's fini, mon ami, fini! I'm raising hell, I'm getting laid, and I don't care if I have to drag you with me. Well, perhaps not together in that order, but you get the idea, n'est pas?"
"Are you done? Because all I really want is a beer, from the fridge, and you to fucking get out of my way!" Somehow I knew I wasn't going to get away with that one.
"Fine, you take a bar stool, and Remy gets all the ladies, but you're coming. The bikes are ready." Without missing a step, he throws keys at my face, making me catch them with a flinch as he steps nimbly out of my arm's reach. Damn if he hasn't just talked me into doing more than I ever would have on my own. A long bike ride might be the perfect antidote to my self-induced struggle.
The Cajun never disappoints. The joint we land in has all his favorite elements – underground, smoke-filled, dimly lit aura. Tables covered in cards and chips, easy banter, mutants and mutant-friendly without the perfume of fear, the roar of raucous laughter over a round of shots. Remy's centered at a table with a lady on either side. I settle at the bar as promised, light a cigar, and hope the constant barrage of beers might just pound my mood into something resembling enjoyment.
"Hey, Flannel!" Like a dart shot directly into my ear. She's close enough for her hot breath to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. "Did you come alone?"
I knew who she was. I'd noticed her noticing me when we walked in. How could I not? A mutant with tigress-like features, large eyes, slightly triangulated nose, canines barely exposed. It wouldn't surprise me if she had a tail. She wore a leather choker, like a collar, maybe poking fun at her own appearance? I wasn't sure, but she didn't leave much to the imagination.
"I can tell who's a real animal, when see I see one. You aren't the only one with enhanced senses you know. I could make you purrr." I feel her hardened nail trace the outside of my shoulder. I buck back at her advances. She doesn't exactly look shocked by my reaction. "Or not. Your loss. Why would you come here, if not for a little fun?"
I let a rumble fill my chest. She gets the message and moves on, leaving a trail of arousal that made it hard to concentrate on anything but her. I'm guessing she enjoyed leaving me wondering if it was truly my loss. Boo-hoo for me. Still, I knew she'd have no trouble finding a sucker to get her fill.
I glance Remy's way, watching him rake the chips to his favor, his lady friends stacking them for him, while he tosses back more whiskey. A sneer of disgust comes across his face, his eyes glowing red and I know right away somebody is going down. I follow his gaze and catch sight of what Remy is staring down – a small figure of a man with the scent of a rat and twitchy hands seated across from the Cajun. Guess he must have pulled a fast one on Remy once upon a time. Nobody gets away with that. Remy always wins. I can tell he's charging the cards, masking his power with tricks that have his girls squealing with delight. I need to diffuse this quick or everybody's night will be shot to hell.
Remy knows I'm onto him. He sees me of me out of the corner of his eye, his fan of cards suspended in mid air, ready to fire them off. His expression gives nothing away, but he hesitates – one heartbeat, then two, and then stacks the cards back on the table. If anyone but me sees the red glow surrounding the deck, they never let on, but we're not out of the woods yet.
"I think your game needs a fresh buy-in. Don't you think so, Remy? I think it's time for the rat to go find another place to...."
"Ladies, I need another glass of this sweet bourbon, and could you bring my friend here a fine whiskey? Merci..." He pauses, waits for them to leave. They pout, disappointed at being dismissed, but so eager to please. "Logan, I think it is time to show this rat what we do to people who cheat."
"I think we let this rat go with a warning to never show his face here again," I reply, crouching now right at the rat's ear, whispering with a guttural rumble, "...or I'll show him what wild animals do with small rodents." I slide just one claw out by his other ear, knowing he can hear the metal-on-metal whisper as the blade leaves its sheath. He's frozen for a moment with fear, except for his eyes, which dart furiously around the room, seeking an escape route. Rats don't need much room to run, so the second I drop my hand he ducks out of the chair and scurries away, disappearing in the crowd. Fine by me, but Remy looks less than thrilled, until his girls return with our drinks. His eyes lose the red shine and his hand finally leaves the deck.
"Sit, you look like you should be a bouncer for this place." The blond of the pair puts a glass in front of me, while Remy grabs her back to his shoulder, to occupy his free hand, the brunette filling his other. "I sent Deirdre to entertain you. You did not find her to your taste?"
"You of all people should know I didn't come here to--"
"What? Lose yourself for a little while? Remember what's it's like to have a little fun? Ladies, this man suffers from a broken heart, only he doesn't like to admit he actually has one." A sly smile crosses his face as he nibbles at the neck of the blonde, who closes her eyes in pure enjoyment. The brunette has me in her sights, staring deeply at me, sipping from her glass as if reading the thoughts of the Wolverine, willing to satisfy him, even if it were deadly.
I down the glass, looking away from the pair of eyes eating away at my resolve, the scent of the room suddenly making me sick. The night and my need to be part of it have begun to wear thin. The once perfect atmosphere now felt excessive, too much drunkenness, too much sex, too much of everything settling into my lungs. I felt like I was drowning. Remy had been right, painfully truthful, and no amount of lust and booze would shut off the constant barrage of shit raking my brain.
"Look, thanks for getting me out, but I'm going to head back…"
"All right, fair enough. I can't have fun while watching you wallow. It's depressing for everybody. Bonsoir, mesdames. Bientot, mes chers…Soon, I promise..."
I head out to my bike while he finishes with the girls, leaves them wanting more, as usual. The weight of the day pulls any energy away from my body, making me forget what I had accomplished, what I was healing from. Remy's bike roars to life before I even notice he's behind me. It's unsettling to realize I'd so thoroughly shut myself off to my surroundings, an alley full of people noisily going about their evening.
"Hey, we are grabbing food before we cross the bridge. I know a great place for sushi." He's in front of me before I can get my hands on the grips. No time to protest; I think he liked it that way. He'd found a way to lead around the Wolverine, with a collar made of exhaustion and melancholy.
The scent surrounding the Japanese restaurant seems familiar. I notice the adrenalin rush, but have no idea what's got me all worked up. It isn't fear, or aggression. That much I know. We sit at the bar and Remy orders drinks. Sake in hand, I watch Remy scan the menu choices, my mind floating in constant question. Why does this feel so familiar?
"Nice work with chop sticks, man, never had you pegged for such a skill. Can skewer the tuna with one hand, slice and dice, and eat elegantly with hand-chiseled chopsticks, all in less than a minute. You are a man of mystery." Remy's look of awe is unnecessary and unappreciated.
"Do you want me to add you as a side dish?" I actually hadn't noticed anything that I was doing, or how I was doing it. That eerie feeling of familiarity is still ghosting in the back of my mind. The flavors, the customs, even the din of Japanese conversation going on around me bring a sense of…of belonging…of peace. Something snaps in my head and memories rush forward…crisp, cool air, magnolias, different oceans, mountains, snow…crimson snow, blood, hate, rage. Sweat beads on my forehead as the conflicting images crowd my mind. My hands shake with the uncertainty of it all as the Wolverine rages in the cage I'm so desperately trying to hold him in.
"James Howlette !!!" a voice shouts from behind me. I turn to find a man more in silhouette, but sweating in excitement, adrenalin coursing through him. "You're James Howlette!!" he shouts gain, almost grabbing my arm.
"I think you got the wrong guy." I look at Remy who is also surprised at this man's eagerness to approach me.
"No, you ARE James Howlette!!!" His accent thickening with his insistence, he turns me with shocking strength on the barstool. I hear metal unsheathing, my instincts taking over.
Remy grabs my shoulder, staring me down, making sure I understand. "Logan, no, not here."
"Kuzuri!"*
*Japanese for 'Wolverine'.
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