Logan woke a few hours later and glanced over at the other bed. She was still out, curled into a tight ball under the blankets. He leaned over to pull on his shoes and stood up. He didn’t want to turn on the TV, but there was a paper shoved under the door of the room. He went over to get it. Presumably there would be some sort of a sports section.
An hour later he got up, stretched, and remembered the cigar he’d left in his jacket pocket. It was still there, so he took it and stepped outside the room, leaning up against the wall, smoking and disinterestedly watching the cars come and go at the diner across the street.
Marie woke with a start, and for a second she was completely disoriented. She sat up, feeling for her gloves where she’d tucked them under the pillow. The other bed didn’t look like it had been slept in and she didn’t, in her sudden panic, see Logan’s jacket still lying on the table. She got out of bed and padded towards the door, feeling her heart start to pound again. She opened the door. A truck stood nearby, but she realized she had no idea what the truck she’d been in last night looked like.
“Hey.” She turned her head and saw him, leaning up against the wall, smoking a cigar. Then his expression changed. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I woke up,” she said inanely. She felt silly now, and she could feel her cheeks flushing.
“Hey, kid.” Logan threw down the cigar. “You didn’t think I left you here, did you?” It was completely obvious that that was exactly what she’d thought, and he was annoyed with himself. He should’ve realized she’d be scared again when she woke up. He took a step towards her. “I wouldn’t do that, kid. I’m sorry.”
She looked down. “I didn’t think—I didn’t think,” she murmured.
“Hey. C’mere.” He’d told himself that touching her was probably a bad thing, would only frighten her, but it was impossible not to try to comfort her when she looked like that. And she came to him, not shrinking back. He pulled her against his side and her arms went around his waist trustingly. She was taller than she’d seemed and her head almost reached his shoulder. He put his arms around her and rubbed her back gently. “This all right?” She nodded, her face pressed against his shoulder. He held her for a few minutes, careful not to let his hands wander anywhere sensitive. Finally she raised her head and he let his arms fall, but she didn’t move away. She just turned her head to squint up at the sun.
“What time is it?”
“Around eleven.”
She took a deep breath, turning her face upwards and closing her eyes, feeling the sun on her skin. “I never thought I’d be in the sun again,” she whispered. “He only let me out at night, or blindfolded. I didn’t know if it was day or night.”
Logan felt that like a kick to the stomach. He tightened his arm around her shoulders again, and she sighed and nestled her head against him. “Christ, kid.” He shook his head. “How long—“ He broke off.
“What day is it?” She looked up at him.
“It’s—“ He had to think about it, it wasn’t something he usually worried about, but he’d just been reading the paper. “Friday. February twelfth.”
She shivered. “Ten days. I was in Detroit when—February second.”
Ten days. Ten days that prick had had her, abused her—it was enough to make him want to put his fist straight through a wall. “Okay—well, it’s over. It’s over. No one’s gonna hurt you again. I promise.” They’d have to go through me.
She shivered again and this time he didn’t think it was from emotion. “Jeez—come on, let’s go in. You’re not even wearin’ shoes.”
“I’m okay.” But she let him lead her back inside. He put her down on the end of the bed and grabbed a blanket to wrap around her. She was thin, almost painfully so—she probably hadn’t been any too well-fed even before her ordeal.
“You hungry?” She nodded. “Okay.” He reached for his jacket. “I’ll be right back.”
She started to stand up. “I can get dressed—“
“No.” He saw her stricken expression and rushed to reassure her. “Marie—it ain’t your fault. But you go out there, looking like that—“ One gloved hand went to her bruised cheek and he grabbed it and pulled it down gently. “They’ll think I did that to you. Someone’ll call the cops.”
“I’m sorry.” She looked miserable.
“You listen to me. You got nothin’ to be sorry about.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry you had that happen to you, but it isn’t your fault.” She didn’t seem to believe him. “You’re just a kid, for chrissakes. Someone shoulda been watching out for you. What was goin’ on? You were running away?” She nodded, tears forming in her eyes. “Why?” And then he knew. “Your mutation.”
“I almost killed David. My boyfriend.” Twin tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. “My mama wanted to keep me, but my daddy—he said everyone knew, that it wasn’t safe. I can’t control it. He was gonna put me in a hospital.” Her face crumpled and she started to cry in earnest, and he cursed himself for pushing her. He gathered her into his arms again the way he’d held her the night before, wrapped in the blanket to make her feel safe.
“I’m sorry. They were wrong, kid. They shouldn’t’ve done that, made you run. They shoulda been taking care of you.”
“I hate it,” she sniffled. “I’m just a freak now.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just different.”
“Everyone’s scared of me.”
“Hey.” He gave her hands a little shake where they lay in her lap. “I ain’t scared of you.” He got a weak smile at that. “Lots of people won’t be. There’s lots of us, you know.”
“Yeah?” She raised her head.
“Yeah.” He ruffled her hair. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh.” She started to pull away, then impulsively she reached up and brushed a kiss, feather-light, on his cheek, over his beard. Then she got up and went into the bathroom; he heard the water running. He got up and stood awkwardly until she came out, pulling her gloves back on.
“I’m gonna go get breakfast.” She nodded, looking a little bashful. “What do you want?”
Her eyes opened a little wider. “Pancakes?”
“You got it.” He took the room key off the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Half an hour later, he was sprawled on his bed, watching Marie digging into a large stack of pancakes. She was sitting cross-legged on a chair at the small motel table, two open takeout containers in front of her; he’d added hashbrowns and sausages to the order. He’d finished his own sandwich quickly and now he just watched; she still ate like she hadn’t seen food in a month, but she somehow managed to look ladylike. She caught his eye and swallowed a mouthful, checking her chin for spilled syrup. “What?”
“Nothing. Drink your juice.” She was adorable. He’d never liked kids, but this one had something about her.
“That one’s yours,” she protested.
“Yeah, right. I drink coffee.” He raised his cup from the nightstand. “Coffee in the morning, beer at night. That’s it.”
She smiled, the first real smile he’d seen from her, and he thought it made her look a thousand times better. “So you only drink stuff that’s not good for you?”
“Don’t need advice on nutrition, kid.” But he softened his words with a raised eyebrow. She picked up the second cup of juice.
“Okay, but you don’t know what you’re missing.” He got up, crossed the room and took the cup from her. He picked up a straw, stuck it into the top of the cup and took a sip. He made a face.
“You happy?”
“It’s good.” She held out her hand and he gave her back the cup. He expected her to replace the straw with a fresh one, but she just rotated it around and took a sip of her own. “Mmm. See? Good.”
“Okay, you drink it.” He returned to his place on the bed. She went back to her food and he let her finish in silence. When she was done, she stacked everything neatly and started to bring it to the trash. He raised a hand.
“Leave it. That’s what maids get paid for.” She looked like she might protest, but she left the things. She sat back down on her chair, pulling her knees up to her chest.
”Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“What’re you gonna do with me?”
He jerked his head back. Jesus, she didn’t still think— “Christ, Marie. I’m not—“
“No, I mean—you must have a job or something. You can’t just sit around a motel room waiting for me to get better.” She looked a little distressed. “I don’t even know where we are.”
“We’re outside Toronto.” Damn, the kid came up with the strangest thoughts. “And I don’t really have anyplace I need to be. So don’t worry about it.” She started to say something and he held up a hand definitively. “Cut it out, kid. You worry about getting better, not about me.” She opened her mouth and he sat up. “Seriously, Marie.”
She chewed on her lower lip for a second. “Okay.” She got up, unconsciously shifting her shirt over her cut shoulder.
“That bothering you?” It bothered him, just knowing it was there.
“It’s not too bad.” She crossed to her bed and sat down. “Maybe—I could get some Bactine or something? It’s a little infected.”
“Shit. Let me see.” Reluctantly, she pushed up the sleeve of her t-shirt. The marks were scabbed over, but the area was red and inflamed. “Damn.” He must have looked absolutely feral, because her eyes went wide and frightened. He forced his fury back down. “You need to take care of that.” He got up, reaching for his jacket again. Then he stopped and took a breath. “I gotta ask, kid. Are you—I mean—“ He couldn’t smell anything really bad on her, no serious bleeding or infection, but it might not have set in yet. “It’s okay, kid. Just tell me if there’s anything else.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He sat down next to her. “I know. I don’t mean you have to—just tell me if you’re hurt.” After a second she leaned against him.
“I know what you think. But he didn’t—not that. It’s just cuts and bruises where he chained me, and he hit me—but only my shoulder is really bad. He tried, but my skin—“
He didn’t—not that. The warring feelings of protectiveness and relief churned in his chest. “That—sick bastard.” The idea that anyone would do that, could do what he had done to her, made him physically ill. He only wished he’d made the fucker really suffer. Ten days? I shoulda let you bleed for ten weeks.
“He kept saying he’d find a way—that there were things he could buy—“
“It doesn’t matter what he told you. It didn’t happen. It’s not gonna happen.” He took her hands. “Believe me.”
“I do.” She took a deep breath. “I know. I know it’s over.” The small, silk-covered hands tightened over his. “I just can’t—quite believe it.”
“You will.” He didn’t have the first fucking clue why it mattered so much to him, but it did. Damn, this kid had gotten under his skin. “I’m gonna go get some stuff for your arm. You all right?”
“Yeah.” A shadow passed over her face. “How far did we go from—where you found me?”
“About a hundred miles.” He saw the look of relief and it took him a second to understand. “Marie—“
He could have told her why she didn’t have to worry any more. He told himself he didn’t because it would only terrify her to know she was in the room with a murderer. But he knew, really, it was selfish. He didn’t want to see the way she looked at him change, watch the growing trust in her eyes turn to fear. He’d known her twelve hours, but he already knew that seeing that would rip him apart. She’d have to find out eventually, he supposed. Just not right now. Not yet.
“I’m okay.” She gave him a brave smile. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
“Watch some TV or something. Don’t go back to sleep.” He didn’t want her waking up alone again. She seemed to understand.
“Okay.” She watched as he pulled on his jacket and headed for the door.
He returned an hour later to find her curled up on her bed, blanket still wrapped around her, but with the remote in one hand. He tossed a bag on the bed beside her. “Here you go.” She got to her knees and opened the bag. He’d gotten peroxide, some antibiotic cream, bandages, a large bottle of Tylenol. “Tried to get some penicillin, but it turns out they want a prescription around here. If that’s not better in a couple of days, we gotta get you some.” He reached out and snagged the remote. “Go on—take care of that.”
She got up and padded towards the bathroom. When she returned, he could see the bandage circling her arm, peeking out from under her shirtsleeve. He’d found some semblance of a hockey game to replace the godawful sitcom she’d had on.
She got back onto her bed. “Thanks.” He answered with a jerk of the head. “What’re you watching? Hockey?”
Good, at least she recognized it. “Best game there is. These aren’t the pros, though.”
“Oh, they’re like—college players?”
“These guy’s’d beat the hell out of college boys. They’re semi-pro.” There was a fast break and he watched intently for a minute.
“I’m gonna root for the blue team.”
He glanced over. “Why? You know ‘em?”
“No, but it makes it more fun. And I like blue.” She started to settle herself in to watch.
He just stared straight ahead. For christ’s sake. She likes blue. Then he held out a hand. “Hey. C’mere.” She got up and came over to him. He hitched over. “You can see better from here.” She gave him that wide-eyed look and then a shy smile. She lay down on her stomach next to him, stretching out like a little cat, and rested her chin on her arms to watch the game.
The blue team won, much to her delight. He let her pick the next show and didn’t protest beyond a raised eyebrow when she chose a romantic comedy on some premium channel. He ordered a pizza for dinner and she put away four slices. When her eyelids started to droop over Late Night with David Letterman, he made her get into her own bed. She fell asleep again in a matter of minutes and he watched bad movies and reruns until late, just putting in time and watching her sleep.
He finally fell asleep around three. At five, he woke up to a strange noise. He sat bolt upright, almost popping the claws, and then he realized it was her. She was twisting in her covers, making strangled sounds, obviously in the grip of a bad nightmare. She was tossing her head from side to side and he could just make out an occasional word as he leaned over her. “No—I won’t—don’t make me—please—“
“Marie!” He didn’t want to wake her too suddenly; that was supposed to be bad. He also didn’t want to put his hands on her—from what it sounded like, she’d just think it was her kidnapper. “Hey, kid, wake up. Come on now.” He reached to turn on the bedside light, still leaning over her.
Her eyes opened and she sat up, her hands flying out to protect herself. She caught at his arms to hold him away from her—and then Logan saw her gloves lying on the nightstand.
It was the strangest feeling. Something was pulling at him, sucking at his mind and his heart, slowing both. He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t move. He saw her eyes change as she realized what was happening and his last conscious thought was, It’s okay. Don’t be scared. Then he felt himself falling, heard her scream his name, and then—darkness.
Marie felt dizzy. Logan’s body lay, twitching slightly, on the floor beside her bed, and she was being pounded by the onslaught of his thoughts to the point where she couldn’t even move. It was different from the other times she’d absorbed people—there had always been fear, hatred, terror in their minds. Now there was only surprise, and underneath that a barrage of protectiveness.
She’s gotta be all right. Gotta take care of her. She’s just a kid.
Over and over, his concern for her rode in waves through her consciousness. It gave her the strength to move, get her gloves and kneel beside him. His body had stopped its strange twitching, and now he was just still—too still. She managed to roll him onto his back, leaning over to feel for a breath, a pulse. “Oh, god, Logan, please—“ His feelings were still racing through her and she caught up one of his hands. “Logan, please be all right. I’m so sorry. I was dreaming. Please wake up. Please.” She leaned close to his face and thought she could just feel a breath, warm on her cheek. Her fingertips found the pulse beating slowly under his jaw. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She took a deep breath. He’s alive. I didn’t hold on too long. He’ll wake up. He just had to. She pulled at an arm, ineffectually trying to lift him. Finally she gave up and pulled a pillow and blanket from her bed; she got the pillow under his head and spread the blanket over him. Then she settled herself by his head, stroking his face with her gloved fingers.
Over the hours she sat there that night, she explored the thoughts and feelings she’d absorbed. His insistence that she had to be all right predominated everything. He’d realized what was happening to him and his one concern was that he didn’t scare her. All the kindness he’d shown her so far paled in comparison to what she’d seen in his mind. It made her feel strong again.
Mid-morning, he was still out cold, but his pulse and breathing were steady and strong; he really just seemed to be asleep, though she couldn’t wake him. Stiffly, Marie got to her feet and went into the bathroom. She stripped off her gloves, used the facilities and then bent over the sink to splash water on her face. She reached for a hand towel to blot her face dry, then dropped it tiredly to one side. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she was reaching for her gloves and started to turn away in disgust. Then she froze. One hand went to her face.
The bruises, the cuts, the blood clotting in the corners of her mouth—they were all gone. Not just faded—gone. She held up her arms; there were no signs of bruises there either, or of the red, raw marks that had circled her wrists. She lifted her shirt to expose her stomach; nothing. Her hand trembled as she reached for the bandage that covered her left shoulder and she stripped it away.
The bandage itself showed marks of blood in the reverse shape of those initials. But her arm was smooth and unmarked. She turned her back to the mirror, breathing hard. Then she looked again.
There was nothing there. She was completely healed—not even a scar remained. Blood pounded in her ears. How? What just happened to me? She caught at the edge of the sink so she wouldn’t fall to the floor; her head was spinning. Then something swirled up within the confusion, another memory of Logan’s, one he had tried to hide. Oh, sweet jesus.
That’s what you get for rapin’ little girls.
Logan was aware of a pounding headache before anything else, and that was unusual enough to bring him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes briefly and the room spinning around him convinced him to take another minute to rest. Then he felt a gentle hand touch his face.
“Logan?” The voice was familiar; he didn’t know why, but he knew it wasn’t threatening. “Logan, are you awake?”
Marie. It came rushing back to him. The kid was having a nightmare, and she’d touched him. He tried opening his eyes again. This time the world stayed still. He felt her hand move from his face and then she was lifting one of his hands.
“Logan, please, if you’re awake, try to open your eyes.” He thought he had, but apparently they’d closed again. He tried to focus and this time he could see her, leaning over him. He tried to sit up and her hands went to his shoulders.
“Don’t try to move too fast.” Yeah, that was probably a good idea. He lay still for a minute. What the hell had happened again?
“I’m so sorry,” she was saying. “I shouldn’t have taken off my gloves.”
Right. Nightmare. She touched me. He remembered. Again. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Jesus, kid.” His voice sounded like he hadn’t spoken in days. “That’s some punch you’re packin’.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She sounded like she was about to cry again, and he hated that.
“’S’okay. I’m all right.” Groggily, he managed to get himself up onto his elbows. He was on the floor, covered with a blanket, and she must have put the pillow under his head as well. He didn’t remember when he’d felt this weak, but he could feel the healing factor kicking in now. “Just give me a minute.” He felt her hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently. It felt good. “How long was I out?”
“Almost two days. I must not’ve held on all that long—David was out for three weeks.”
David? Oh, right, the boyfriend. He sat up, shifting around so he could lean back against the side of the bed. Two days—he hadn’t been down for that long since—“What about you? You all right?” He suddenly remembered that she’d said using her mutation hurt her.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” There was a more assured note in her voice than he’d heard before. “It didn’t hurt. I think because you weren’t afraid of me. Usually all I get is fear, and you were just worried about me. It didn’t hurt at all.”
“Good.” He reached out and found one of those gloved hands, tugging her a little closer when she tried to draw back. “It’s okay. Thanks for the pillow.”
“I couldn’t lift you,” she said a little shyly. “I wanted you to be comfortable.” The idea of this little slip of a girl trying to lift him—after knocking him out, of course—was enough to make him laugh. Logan gave her hand a squeeze and then got to his feet; she stood up quickly as well, but his strength was returning rapidly. He went into the small bathroom for a minute and throwing some cold water on his face did a lot to restore him. He became aware of a welcome and familiar scent.
Coffee. When he opened the door, he saw that she’d made coffee in the little countertop maker, and she was pouring some as he emerged. She held out a cup. “Here. It’s after five, but I couldn’t get any beer.” A little smile appeared.
Logan sat down on his bed, a little heavily, and took a long swallow. The brew was dark and fairly strong, unusual for motel coffee. He noticed she was pouring herself a cup as well.
“You have to use like, three of these things,” she said, and held up some foil packets. “Why don’t they just put enough into one?”
Logan took another sip. “Most people don’t like strong coffee. Since when do you drink it, anyway?”
“Since two days ago.” Her eyes were actually twinkling at him. “It’s a side effect. It’ll probably fade in a week or so.”
That was the weirdest thing he’d ever heard. Thoughts, okay, but she absorbed his taste for coffee? Something occurred to him. “Hey—I was out two days? Did you eat?” He put the coffee down.
“Yes,” she reassured him hastily. “I had to take some money out of your jacket—the man came around from the office and said we owed more money, so I had to pay him. And the diner delivers, so I didn’t have to leave you. I didn’t think you’d want me to call a doctor for you, so I just stayed.” It had all come out in a rush and he blinked, sorting it out in his mind.
Okay. I was knocked out and she took care of both of us. That was what it boiled down to. “You did exactly right,” he said out loud. “No one bothered you, right?” She shook her head. He was just a little worried about her having been seen; they should probably think about—
He took a closer look at her. Something was different. And then he realized the bruises and marks on her face were gone. “Hey, kid. You wearing makeup or something?”
Her eyes lit up and it transformed her face even more. “I’m all better,” she said. She came over to sit beside him. “It’s gone. All of it—no bruises—“ She pushed up her left sleeve and showed him her arm, smooth pale skin where the angry red marks had been. “It’s all gone. I don’t know why—my mutation never worked like that before.”
He knew why. “It’s not your mutation. It’s mine.” He took hold of her arm where it was safely gloved and pulled her a little closer, examining her.
“I—what?”
“My mutation. I heal real fast, from anything. Almost,” he conceded. “When you touched me, you must’ve absorbed that too, for a while.”
“That’s how you always win the fights,” she blurted, and it took him a second to realize what her words implied. His hand tightened on her wrist.
“How do you know that?” he growled at her, and was surprised when she didn’t flinch. “You absorb that too?”
“Some—I get flashes of things, bits and pieces.” Her eyes were serious now. “I saw what you did.”
A jolt went through him. “What?”
“You have—“ Her other hand came up and rested on his knuckles, on the hand still gripping her wrist. “They just come out?”
The claws. She knows about the claws. She ‘saw what he’d done’? Christ, why was she even in the room with him? “Yeah,” he managed.
“Can I see?”
He was completely floored by the soft request. “You don’t want to see that, kid.”
“I’m not scared,” she insisted. “Please?”
Something had really changed with her. Slowly he raised his left hand, the one that wasn’t on her wrist. He held it away from her and let the claws extend, not popping them out, watching her carefully. Her eyes widened, but there was no fear on her, no disgust or horror. That was unusual, to say the least. Even more unusual, she reached her free hand towards his and ran her finger along the back of one blade.
“Careful. They’re sharp.”
“I know.” She withdrew her hand and he retracted the claws.
“What did that mean, you saw what I did?” He almost didn’t want to ask, but he had to know.
That’s what you get… The words were crystal clear in her mind, as though she’d heard them spoken. The rest was in flashes of sense, not words: the feel of those claws sinking into viscera, the crunch of windpipe under bone, pure feral satisfaction at completing the kill.
She didn’t know how to explain any of it. She didn’t know how to explain to him how she knew what he’d done, why he’d done it—and why he was wrong about her needing to be protected from that knowledge. But he’d asked her a question, and he was waiting for an answer, a worried expression in those hazel eyes. “You were right,” she whispered. “He deserved it.”
“You shouldn’t—shit.” His brow furrowed. “What else did you see?” Christ, she already knew he was a barroom brawler and a killer. What else was there?
“I told you, I only get bits and pieces. Mostly whatever you were thinking at the time, but some of the other stuff is kind of—underneath.” He was intensely private about his life, she knew that much, and she didn’t know how he’d react to knowing how much she’d really gotten. It was a lot, maybe because he hadn’t fought the pull.
“What was I thinking?” Slow, almost dragged out of him.
“That you didn’t want to hurt me.” She leaned forward. “That was most of it. Just all these waves of wanting me to be all right, wanting to help me get better.” She smiled. “And you did.”
“The rest of that stuff—it doesn’t scare you?” She shook her head. “How’s that?”
“I already knew you wouldn’t hurt me.” Her voice was low, but assured. “And the claws—you used those to protect me. To save my life.” Her small hand tightened a little on his arm. “It made me feel safe, not scared. Like when you hold me—only from inside my head.”
It took his breath away. He didn’t believe people like her existed. They certainly didn’t exist in any world he’d ever lived in. She’d looked into his head and what she came out with was she felt safe?
Hell, he didn’t feel safe in his head. He didn’t want to talk any more. He took her hand, the one that rested so trustingly on his arm, and tugged her towards him.
“Be careful,” she warned, but she let him settle her against him, curled warm against his side.
Safe. Yeah, he’d keep her safe.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
The morning after...not what it sounds like.