I knew better than to stick around for a beer when I had beaten such a big guy after taking that kind of beating myself first, but the door had swung open between fights and my oversensitive nose had told me it wasn't the usual barfly that had just entered. And I know what you're thinking… in the midst of all that sweat and smoke and the crowd of men, most of ‘em truckers who hadn't showered in a few days, I could still smell someone on the other side of the bar? You'd be amazed. It's kind of like when you're stuck in traffic and all you smell is exhaust and then suddenly you pass a bakery and the aroma of fresh baked bread fills the car. The newcomer's scent caught on the breeze of the door opening and shutting and cut straight to me.
The scent was light and female, an odd smell in a place like this since it wasn't accompanied by heavy perfume, makeup, cigarettes, hair dye and weary resignation. And yes, resignation has a smell, heavy and cloying. That by itself would have made me try to get a look at her on my way out, but as the next opponent began taking his aggression at having lost money betting against me out on my flesh, her eyes remained on me. The combination of curiosity and awe made me curious myself.
Curiosity directed my way was nothing new. I wasn't as big as other guys on the circuit, or even as obviously trained as some of the smaller guys who made names for themselves with their fighting styles as opposed to sheer strength. There were times that I followed styles I didn't remember learning, but I ran on instinct more than anything else and anyone with half a brain could see that. So every time I became known in a bar for being undefeated, people got to wondering, which was never a good thing.
But there was nothing malevolent in this gaze; it was pure, fresh. I was used to awe in a way too, of course. Suspicious awe, bloodthirsty awe, admiring awe, sickened awe during bloodier fights… sure. But innocent awe? Not so much.
When I was done fighting for the night, I wanted to go right over and sit beside her, talk to her, but once I saw how small she was in that ridiculously large hooded cloak, I didn't want to scare her. So I sat a few stools down from her and took my time doing a slow scan of the bar, not allowing my gaze to linger on her any longer than it had on anything else.
But I have an almost photographic memory when it comes to reading people quickly. I took stock of every detail about her. How young she was. Her delicate beauty. Those huge, liquid-dark eyes watching me so intently. The air of sadness and loneliness that hung around her. I wanted to curl myself around her, protect her from the world and show her that she didn't have to be alone. And it wasn't even a sexual thing. Well, if I were honest I'd say it wasn't completely a sexual thing. Sure, I wanted her, but it was a new kind of want for me. A kind that made me think I wouldn't have tried to coax her into bed until I was sure we were both ready for everything it might lead to.
And then that idiot, the big guy who had kicked me where a man should know not to, especially after he had been warned not to by the MC, had to come up behind me and ruin things. My mystery girl's yelled warning didn't save my life, of course, but it did save me from what I was sure would have been a nasty knife wound for the few seconds it would have taken to pull the blade out and then heal. Just because I recover from every wound doesn't mean it don't hurt like hell when it happens.
It was a physical ache of a much worse kind to have to leave without even talking to her. I was so caught up in my anger that I didn't even notice her exit the bar moments after me.
Even before the racket she made knocking into the motorcycle I had in the trailer, I heard her. Just a little squeak, probably over being jostled by a bump in the road, the trailer didn't have much in the way of shocks, but still I heard it. And somehow recognized it as her voice. But I dismissed it as some kind of wishful thinking. She had seen what I was and I had smelled her fear in the bar; there was no way she would have chosen to hitch a ride with me.
But then she made more noise and I pulled the truck over and went back there and there she was. Looking innocently up at me as if it wasn't odd to be under a tarp in a ratty trailer in subzero weather. The bravado she used to cover up her nervousness in those sparse moments of trying to talk me into letting her come with me oddly made me feel proud of her. But I never should have caved and let her get into the truck with me.
And okay, so maybe leaving her on the side of the road wouldn't have been the right thing to do either, but I should have turned the truck around and taken her back to Laughlin City. I did consider it, for all of the fifteen seconds I was driving away from her, trying to teach her a lesson about hitching rides without the driver's permission, but it flew out the window as soon as I stopped the truck and she ran towards me… well, towards my truck in any case. After she had warned me in the bar, I was sure most of the locals wouldn't have been too friendly if I had dropped her back there. And I couldn't do that to her.
It's funny the thoughts that can go through your mind while you're waiting. I was thinking about the word ‘salvation' and how you would normally only associate it with the word ‘move' when you're moving toward salvation, but here I was sitting in my beat up camper, a cigar clenched firmly between my grimacing lips and teeth, with salvation moving toward me. Though I remained my gruff self on the outside, something uncoiled from around my heart as I watched her progress in the rearview mirror.
I shouldn't have dragged her into my world. But it was her world, too, I was soon to be told. She was the first mutant I remembered meeting. I kept mostly to myself since waking in the woods with no memory fifteen years earlier. No matter what I didn't know, I did know it wasn't normal to have claws, and metal ones at that. The word mutant became something I could label myself with fairly quickly. But as far as I know, I was the only one of us wandering the oft frozen landscape of the Great North.
She scrambled into the cab of the truck quickly, as if afraid I was going to change my mind at the last second. I smirked as she immediately and automatically buckled her seatbelt. At some point she had been a normal kid with parents who had drilled the habit into her. She smelled nervous, but she covered up her anxiety with bravado and asked for food. Silently cursing my lack of supplies… it was just so much easier to pay for someone else's cooking… I gave her the jerky I had in my glove box from who knows when.
She rubbed her hands, slender and pale, when she pulled off her gloves, not the right kind for this weather, to eat. Cursing aloud this time, I turned the heat on full. When she drew away from my hand as I was trying to show her the heater vents, it hurt. The hurt only worsened when she told me it wasn't herself she was afraid for but me. Imagine that. It took only seconds for me to connect that to her fear-smell in the bar and realize she had been afraid for me when those bozos attacked. My heart thawed the rest of the way.
Her nervousness had slowly melted away over time, replaced by more of that innate curiosity and playful gratitude. I can only imagine how much deeper our connection would have gotten if a few minutes later that tree hadn't crushed the front end of my truck and sent me flying through the windshield and into the snow to fight with that ugly feral.
I still wonder if Scooter and the weather witch would have been able to save her from that big bastard Sabretooth if I hadn't taken her with me. Would they have even known to? Were they following Sabretooth or me at the time? Chuck was so certain that it was me Buckethead was after and not Rogue when we were at the school, but was it because he already knew about me and Rogue was an unknown element, or simply because Sabretooth was attacking me when Scooter and Storm showed up? I'll have to ask him someday.
Marie, who I had already come to think of as mine – hey, I can't help being what I am – was my first thought upon waking. Was she okay? Had someone taken her from me? How would I get her back? It didn't help my anxiety waking up in a lab with a doctor with a needle hovering over me. And Chuck messin with my head? I still owe him for that. I only completely relaxed once I was sure she was okay.
I was pleased beyond description when I realized that even though she was among more of our kind, several near her own age, I was the only one she'd shared her real name with. That, along with the way her doe-like eyes were always on me when we were in the same room together, always with warmth emanating from them, helped me hope that she had felt the instant connection between us as well.
Later, when I had that nightmare and stabbed her, it was the worst thing that ever happened, so much worse than any nightmare I'd ever had. I was so grateful when one of her pale hands reached forward and touched me, drawing forth my abilities for her to use to save herself from what I had done to her. My last conscience thoughts were that I hoped she knew I didn't mind being brought low by a simple touch as long as she was okay, and giddiness at the thought that she had a part of me inside her now. I was only sad that I wouldn't be awake to prove to myself immediately that she was still whole and unharmed.
Course the blue bitch had to ruin things and scare my girl into running. But in a way I suppose I should thank her for those few moments on the train when my connection to Marie became even deeper. When I was allowed to promise aloud to her what I had already promised myself. To always protect her, to always be there for her.
Some man of my word I turned out to be.
I know it's not my fault that Buckethead can manipulate the adamantium that coats my bones, and that I'm the only one who could ever have saved Marie after Magneto nearly killed her, but it still made me break my word. I know Scooter thinks I just complicated matters on Ellis Island, but he and the two female X-Men had so much trouble with just Toad that I seriously doubt they would have gotten past Mystique and Sabretooth in time to even stop Magneto's machine, let alone in time to save my girl.
I still feel like gutting every one of them when I remember how much more concerned they were with stopping the machine than saving Marie. The greater good will never be more important to me than her life.
A sign with symbols indicating food and shelter available twenty miles ahead barely catches my eye since the snow has begun to fall faster and thicker, and I hunker down lower over the handlebars of the bike I liberated from Scooter, making myself and the machine more aerodynamic. I don't even think about pressing the red button to get there that much faster. First of all, I'm not sure how well even I could control a hyper-speed motorcycle in these conditions and despite the fact that I'm sure I'd be fine, I don't need to lose my only mode of transportation. And secondly, I don't know how many bursts of speed Scooter built into the thing. Shoulda looked around for a manual before I left, One Eye's anal enough to keep one handy.
~~Empty spaces fill me up with holes~~
~~Distant faces with no place left to go~~
~~Without you within me I can't find no rest~~
~~Where I'm going is anybody's guess~~
With all that, you probably wonder why I left the way I did, why I'm still out here alone, and why I haven't headed straight for Alkali Lake so I can hurry back to collect my tag and my girl. Part of it is that I know I don't deserve her… but then again, I don't think anyone does. But there's a lot more to it than just that.
There's something you have to understand that I never told anyone. Both times that I was unconscious from Marie's touch, I wasn't alone. She was with me. I assume it's similar to what she goes through with the voices and memories that stay in her head, but for me, I just get a sense of her goodness, her warmth, and her concern for me. I know this little feedback loop thing is unique to when she touches me, cuz if Buckethead had felt it, he woulda torn down his machine himself rather than let it hurt her. Being able to feel her innocence and warmth even after what Magneto had done to her helped me make the decision to leave. It would kill me to taint her purity by forcing myself into her life.
But I can't feel her anymore, and that loss has created a hollow ache bigger than anything my lack of memory ever left me with. Makes it hard to sleep, to do normal, everyday things, but I keep going. I don't have any other choice.
Even though I know I'm not going to run into her up here in Canada when she's still safe and sound with Chuck and the X-geeks, I still scan every group for her face, for that green hooded coat she had. As each stranger's face is dismissed as not being hers, they fade into the background, unimportant. Every time I climb back on Scooter's bike, I head off in the direction the front tire points. I don't go in any particular direction, and I'm never in a hurry to get there.
Alkali Lake will still be there when I get around to it. When Chuck first told me he could help me track down something about my past, the main reason I was anxious to get the info from him was that if my past was settled, my future would be clear to spend with Marie. That was before I really thought about what being with me would mean to her. Before I realized she needed to be with people like her, people who could help her to live as normal a life as someone who was born a mutant can… people who would do a better job of protecting her than I had.
Now, it's not that big a deal. If a clue is really still there after all this time, it'll be there a few weeks or months down the line. I'll get to it when I get to it. Right now, the only decision I can make is to resume my wandering lifestyle. Maybe once I'm back in my rut, things will be clearer.
~~I've tried to go on like I never knew you~~
~~I'm awake but my world is half asleep~~
~~I pray for this heart to be unbroken~~
~~But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete~~
~~Voices tell me I should carry on~~
~~But I am swimming in an ocean all alone~~
It's been easy, automatic, to fall back into my old lifestyle. Old. Hmph. You'd think I left it behind for years instead of the handful of days it actually was. It's amazing how quickly something… or someone… can change your entire world.
A big part of me, the part that she woke up after fifteen years of my not even knowing it was missing, is still back with her. Another, more cynical, part of me wants to believe that she sucked it out along with my healing factor back on the destroyed torch of Lady Liberty, but I know better. I cut it out myself and left it there, knowing without her being within reach, there was no use still having it. I guess most people would say it was my heart that I left with her… all I know is that the deepest part of me is once more missing. Only this time I actually feel it.
A week has already passed since I last saw her, and I've been in Canada for a few days. I easily caught up with the fight circuit, knowing from years of experience where the best paying fights would be right now. So I fight, I drink, I eat, I drive to the next town, and I spend nights in cheap motels that smell so rank I consider cutting off my own nose. But I know it would just grow back. That's part of why I didn't mind my ratty old camper. As messed up as it was, it only smelled like me… and Marie for the minutes before it blew up.
I don't really taste my food, or even the beer that always accompanies it. Fighting seems even more pointless than it used to when I know I'm not doing it to keep my girl safe, but it's really the only way I have to earn money, so I keep at it. One thing has changed about my routine though. Even the most beautiful and willing barfly doesn't catch my attention anymore. The first time one tried to chat me up, I flirted back for only a few minutes before realizing there was no way I'd be able to give her what she wanted, even for a night. Even though I had given up Marie for her own good, I belonged to her now, and there was no way I'd betray her, especially for a night with a cheap stranger.
~~Baby, my baby~~
~~It's written on your face~~
~~You still wonder if we made a big mistake~~
I still have all those old nightmares. Labs, torture, drowning, pain, laughing scientists… but somehow they're not as bad as they were. They pale in comparison next to my new nightmares. Every night I see what happened to her, what I couldn't prevent. And then I'm tortured by all the different ways it could have been worse. For example, Sabretooth gets her that first time and I never know what happens to her. Or Magneto finds out his infernal machine doesn't really work and kills her because she's no more use to him. Or the worst one, the one where I get up to the torch only seconds too late and no amount of touching brings her back.
But no matter which version has a starring role on any particular night, the last thing I see is always the same. Marie, a devastated look on her face as I place my tag in her hand. Her beautiful eyes are always full of pain and regret when she looks up from her closed fist, as if she's thinking it would have been better if I hadn't saved her. As if death would have been better than the life she's going to have at Chuck's without me there with her.
I know it's mostly me projecting my fears, but I also know that she was at least a little disappointed when I left. That she would have rather had me stay, or ask her to come with me. But I couldn't have done that to her. She needs friends and people to provide a real support structure, not some guy who once in awhile gets to play hero for her.
~~I've tried to go on like I never knew you~~
~~I'm awake but my world is half asleep~~
~~I pray for this heart to be unbroken~~
~~But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete~~
~~I don't mean to drag it on, but I can't seem to let you go~~
~~I don't wanna make you face this world alone~~
~~I wanna let you go~~
She could have a full life without someone like me dragging her down. Her skin is an obstacle of course, but with only a little imagination there are many ways around it. I'm sure there are plenty of people that don't have the patience necessary to allow caution and preparation to come before passion, but those are the kind of people who would be even worse for her than I would be. And they definitely aren't worthy to even walk the same ground if they think she isn't worth every little inconvenience.
But Chuck will look out for her, and she'll have everything she needs staying at that school. I couldn't give her all that, the stability, the roof over her head, the friends and allies… no matter how much I might wish to. And now you're looking at me and wondering why I couldn't just stay with her, let her have all that and me on top of it. I suppose I could. But would it be fair to her?
Marie deserves to be able to be loved and be able to celebrate that love with everyone important to her. On top of the fact that everyone seems to think I have some kind of unrequited passion for Dr. Grey, they all know I am a rough guy, more of a fighter than a lover. If we were together, and part of me thinks she'd agree just to pay me back for saving her life, we would be judged. To everyone else, we are polar opposites, pure versus tarnished, an innocent and a fighter, young and old… the list goes on.
And yet some small part of me still hopes. Why else do you think I gave her that tag, the only thing I have that comes from my earliest moments of memory, and told her I'd be back for it? Someday I will go back, but it won't be until I'm sure enough time has passed that she will have moved on. Gotten everything she needs and deserves.
~~I've tried to go on like I never knew you~~
~~I'm awake but my world is half asleep~~
~~I pray for this heart to be unbroken~~
~~But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete~~
It's been sixteen days now since I left Chuck's. Sixteen days of trying and failing to go back to what I used to be. I'm in a diner having a hot meal and my waitress' name is Marie. She looks nothing like my Marie, being somewhere in her fifties with close cropped silver curls and a chain smoker's unnaturally deep voice, but my gut still clenches every time her worn nametag comes into view.
Whispering and a derisive snort behind me momentarily catch my attention and I turn my head to watch some of the other patrons. They're pointing at and making disparaging remarks about a couple in their twenties who just came in. The woman is beautiful in a classy kind of way, black hair pulled up in a tidy bun and a tasteful suit encasing her body. The man on the other hand, well, he's got so many piercings in so many places that I wouldn't be the only one in major pain if Magneto showed up. His hair is a combination of a few colors, one of which is a green that reminds me of Toad. He's also wearing make-up… eyeliner and lipstick as far as I can tell.
Amazingly enough, the odd pair seems to be married. There are rings on their left ring fingers that match, and when the man gets up to use the rest room he gives the woman a small kiss on the lips as he leaves her. He seems to flinch as he makes his way past the diner's other patrons. I turn back to my meal, not wanting to stick around to watch the mismatched couple's feelings continue to get bruised.
Outside after paying for my meal, I've just throw one leg over the seat of Scooter's bike when the couple leaves the diner as well. The man is visibly upset, and the woman pulls him to a stop. She lifts a hand to caress his cheek and asks him what's bothering him.
"How can you stand the way they look at you when we're out together? The things that they say?"
"They just don't know what you give me," the woman's voice is reassuring and husky with the depth of her feelings.
The man's painted lips quirk slightly, and even I can see the devotion and love in his eyes as he looks down at his wife. The two share a passionate but tender embrace, and I turn my gaze away, suddenly feeling like an intruder in a private moment despite the fact that they're outside only a few feet from the bike I'm about to start. Out of a sudden sense of camaraderie with the man, I wait until they part and move toward their own vehicle before starting the bike. They were in their own world for those few moments, and I didn't want to startle them out of it.
Could Marie and I have what that man and woman do?
For the first time I let myself wonder if I could have been right. If Jean had been wrong. The connection I had felt from before I had even met her… did Marie truly feel it too as I had thought she did? Were her feelings more than just the crush everyone else seemed to believe them to be?
There's only one way to find out. And if it is true… well, let's just say that not even Buckethead could keep me away from her. She and I are both broken people, too much has happened to us for it to be otherwise. But together, we might just be able to fill in each other's empty places.
As soon as I'm within 50 miles of Chuck's, I'm hitting that red button.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The ~~song lyrics~~ are "Incomplete" by the Backstreet Boys. Yes, that's right, I'm in my late 20s and I listen to the Backstreet Boys. I also listen to Rob Zombie. Get over it. My first attempt at a Wolverine/Rogue First Person POV (and only second First Person POV of all time)… so be gentle.