Pain. The pain was always there. Pain and fear, pain and hunger, pain and bone-rattling cold. The days were a grey blur, but the pain wove through them all like an angry red wire. Logan had no memory of a time before this, and could not imagine a time after. There was just now, and the pain and fear and hatred. The tasteless food and the shuffle of boots, the shock of the prod and the clang of the cell door. Awakening to find his arms flayed open, his skin charred black, his muscles torn, and then the slow painful process of knitting himself back together would begin. His ears rang from the screams of the other prisoners, and the stench of fear and chemicals choked him.
When he got the rare chance he would lash out, cutting people or things -- it hardly mattered which -- but it never changed anything. He had no goal in mind anyway, this misery is all there was and all there would ever be. In rare moments, his mind would start to clear and things would come to him -- thoughts and memories that seemed like they couldn’t possibly be his. Rain on his face, movement down a road, the scent of a forest, a warm touch of skin to his. These scraps of thought were so confusing to him that at times he welcomed the needle guns and the return to greyness. Remembrance was pain.
At first he noticed nothing different. More noise, louder and shriller than usual. Darkness, and red light. New guards, but still the same needle guns, the hands reaching for his weakening body. This time, though, the needle guns were less powerful, and he was able to swipe before they ducked away. More needle guns, infuriating him further.
Then, all of a sudden, there was Her. Different, somehow. She was just -- good. Soft and slow. Calm and warm. Her voice made something warm uncurl in his belly, bringing to his mind a strange word -- honey -- and the ghost of a sweet taste on his tongue. She came toward him and reached out to him, and the touch of her hand and the smell of her skin soothed him, as if she had run her hand in a rippling path down his body, leaving warmth behind. She smelled of rain and earth and comfort. She was making sounds he didn’t understand, but he did know one word. “Go.”
“Go,” she said, and he went, because of all the things he could do right now the one thing he couldn’t do was let go of her hand.
________
Rogue swung the door to the lake house wide, scooping up the duffel bag and box of groceries from the porch. Someone must have hauled ass to get it there from the mansion before they landed. That or maybe Kurt bamffed it there, she’d have to ask him later.
“Welcome home,” she said. She left the front door open, dropping the duffel in the hall. She unzipped the leather jacket of her uniform and draped it over the kitchen chair, rolling her shoulders under her tank top in relief. The open floor plan allowed her to watch the door from the corner of her eye while she put groceries in the fridge. She had a feeling he needed to make this choice on his own, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him approach, and then finally step through the doorway. “Just call me the mutant whisperer,” she mumbled.
Perishables put away, she considered what to do next. She could try to get him clothed, but honestly he seemed to have no problem strolling around in the buff, and after her stint in the lab nudity no longer held any shock value for her either. She could try to get him clean, but herding him into a shower seemed like a bit too much of a project for right now. “Okay, food it is,” she said aloud, watching him explore and sniff his way into the adjoining rooms. “Hopefully this place is puppy-proofed, but try not to hang yourself on a drapery cord or something in the next five minutes.”
She remembered times in the lab, voices of other people crawling under her skin, when the only thing that had kept her sane was listing and re-listing all the foods she would eat if she ever got out. Sweet versus savory, appetizers versus entrees versus desserts, aisle by aisle at the grocery store...she had told herself if she ever got out she would open a restaurant called “Marie’s,” and the menu would be titled, “Foods So Good They Make You Want to Live.”
Suddenly, a sense of shame welled up in her, so strong it weakened her knees. She lowered herself to the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets, and put her head on her knees, feeling shaky. Here she was making jokes, calling this man -- this man -- an animal when she of all people knew the truth. This is what they do to us, she thought. They hurt us, and rape us, and beat us, and drug us, and treat us like less than human until that’s what we become. This is what they make us.
The joke-cracking wiseass Rogue was attempting to distance herself from the situation, but Marie knew better. “Point taken, Marie,” she mumbled. She lifted her head and an undignified squeak popped out. He was standing right in front of her, brow furrowed, head tilted to make out her face behind the curtain of her hair. She drew in a shaky breath and stood up, trying to smile encouragingly. “No problem, everything’s okay,” she said. “Food, right?”
Determined now to treat him like a man, she found herself babbling. “Something quick and filling, right? Scrambled eggs? Hope you’re not allergic, sugar. We didn’t go through all that dramatic rescuing just to kill you with anaphylaxis.” She grabbed a bowl and whisk and cracked five eggs into it. Another considering look at him and she added three more. Although he was still an impressively large man, she could see now that the breadth of his shoulders was out of proportion to the concave stomach. He had been underfed for a long time.
“How about bacon?” she continued. “You seem like a meat eater. Unless you keep kosher?” Before she realized what she was doing her eyes slid down to his groin. She snapped her eyes back up to his, realizing he had watched every move intently. “Eep!” she said, and wheeled around to beat the eggs to a frothy mass, blushing to high heaven. “Great, now naked bloody feral guy thinks I’m a pervert,” she mumbled.
She turned around to put the eggs in the frying pan, and once again he was right there, staring at her intently. “I’ve got to remember that you can do that,” she breathed. He stepped closer, and tentatively pressed his fingers to her cheekbone. She felt a new rush of warmth to her skin as the lingering blush he was touching intensified. What was with her today? She had never felt so thin-skinned, so unbalanced. Everything about this man was throwing her off her game.
She took his fingers in hers. She could handle this. Make a plan, follow it through. “Let’s wash you up a bit,” she said. She wasn’t sure if he even knew how to use silverware, a handwashing would be a start.
She drew him over to the sink and turned the water on, but he pulled back when she tried to bring his hands under the spray. “Don’t worry,” she said. “See?” She put soap in her hands and demonstrated. This time when she reached for his hands he let her. She put a dollop of liquid soap in her own palm, and rubbed it into his hands, rubbing her thumbs across his palms, over the backs of his hands, between the knuckles where the blades came out, the action feeling surprisingly intimate. She wondered how the blades were stored, that she couldn’t even feel a trace of them under his skin.
Suddenly he took over, rubbing his hands together automatically, scrubbing his fingers. “Fixed action pattern,” Marie said, the phrase floating to the top of her mind from a long-ago biology lecture by Hank. Overlearned actions so automatic they just had to be set into motion. At one time he had lived as a civilized person.
She guided him into one of the kitchen chairs, partly to prevent him from being so unnervingly close. He followed her every move with his intent gaze while she scrambled the eggs, fried the bacon, toasted the bread. Finally she made up the plates, one piled high for him and a smaller one for herself. She put the plate and a fork in front of him, scanning the meal for missing food groups. She got back up and poured him a glass of orange juice, getting them both water as well before sitting down opposite him in front of her own plate.
She had seen him looking at the food avidly, but he still hadn’t touched it. When she sat down, his eyes snapped back to hers, narrowing in suspicion. She felt her heart wrench. She knew that feeling. Her first days at Xavier’s had been spent like that -- unable to trust the slightest kindness, always looking for the catch, the punchline. Nothing good comes without a price. It was a lesson much harder to unlearn than it ever was to learn.
“It’s good, see?” she said. She took a bite of eggs from his plate and swallowed it. Next a bite from his bacon, and then a corner from his toast, placing each carefully back on his plate. She cast her eyes down, pretending to focus on her own meal as she ate, until at the edge of her vision she saw him pick up the fork and start to eat, wolfing down the food as if she was going to snatch it away at any moment.
She hoped he would keep it down, she knew what a sudden influx of food could do to a starved stomach. It was what put several foods off her “Foods So Good They Make You Want to Live” list and onto her “Foods I Never Want to See Again” list. After a time she got him more water and toast, putting an extra batch of bacon to fry and trying not to laugh at the face he made when he tasted the orange juice. Oh well, hopefully superhealer meant he was resistant to scurvy.
After they had both eaten, they sat for awhile. She put her feet up on a chair, looking him over consideringly, and he seemed content to look right back at her. She thought maybe there was a little more awareness in his eyes, but maybe it was simply the lessening of fear and the effects of a solid meal. Next project, getting him clean. “Howzabout a bath?” she said.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I figure no one ever really cares about pleas for reviews, excuses for why the chapter is slow, etc. so I'll use this space for shout-outs to Artemis2050 and StellaMaru, two of my new favorite authors.
Chapter End Notes:
Sorry if this chapter is a little slow. Next up -- bathtime! (Bow chicka bow wow).