He sat grumbling at the back of the Blackbird, state of the art jet while Jean fussed over Marie. Scott was in the cockpit with Ororo, preparing for the take-off. He could more feel than hear massive engines on each wing of the plane and the back of it quickening. There was still time. He could get up and leave before the lift-off. He had his money. Scott had dug up thick wad of his reward first thing when he entered the jet carrying Marie. He could… One look at Marie who was sitting at the front of the jet, strapped to a grey seat halted his thought process for a moment.
He couldn’t leave. He was stuck with this geek-squad for now. At least as long as it took from the girl to get settled and comfortable. He grimaced. He was getting soft. Coddling a chick that hadn’t given him anything but troubles from the moment he laid his eyes on her.
“Summers! Swing by her apartment! I want my motorcycle back!” He suddenly remembered that the beast that was his pride and joy was sitting abandoned on a trailer in front of Marie’s apartment.
“Swing by? This isn’t a buss, Wolverine! If you want your bike, get out and go get it!” Scott shouted back.
Wolverine. There was it again. That name. And Logan didn’t look like he liked it very much. Grim expression on his face got even darker and he stood up. Was he going to leave? She unbuckled the seatbelt Jean had buckled just few minutes ago and bolted up. Logan cocked his head.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Are you… Are you leaving?” She asked with a quivering voice. She hated that weak tone, but it was all she could muster up right now.
“No. I’m going to remind our good captain that the customer’s always right. Sit tight, Summers isn’t exactly Top Gun material.” She managed a weak chuckle and slumped back to her seat. To her surprise Logan nodded and ruffled her hair gently before walking down the aisle towards the cockpit.
Softening? Definitely. Somehow he found it hard to care when he managed to bring a smile on her face with such simple gesture. And right now he had more pressing issues to handle. He leaned over the backrest of the pilot’s chair, bringing his mouth close to Scott’s ear.
“Guess where my left hand is right now?” He whispered. Scott shivered.
“I don’t even want to know where your hand is,” he hissed. Logan smirked and licked his lips.
“Let’s just say that if I got the sudden urge to skewer something… Your ass is going to end shish kebab… We are going back to get my motorcycle, right?” He whispered. He could see Adam’s apple on Scott’s throat bobble up and down when Scott swallowed. He was clearly thinking a way out of this.
“Or… I could mess up the wiring of your baby…” He purred, voice still low enough for only Scott to hear and moved to stand on his left side, leaning his back against a column that hid all the important cables in the Blackbird. Scott cleared his throat.
“Jean, Ororo. Fasten your seatbelts. We’re going to get Logan’s bike.”
Again Logan leaned closer.
“I knew you would come to your senses…” He whispered, his lips practically grazing Scott’s earlobe. Scott jerked forward from the contact.
“And it’s motorcycle. I leave bikes to pansies like you,” he couldn’t resist quipping before returning to the back of the plane and strapping a seatbelt on.
Maybe Logan wasn’t the bad guy after all. Sure, he had a nasty habit on sneaking up on her and kidnapping her, but it looked like he was going to treat her like anybody else. He wasn’t scared of her skin. He had even touched her. Granted, he had his gloves still on, but for some reason they were shredded to pieces, and he could have gotten hurt if his fingers had grazed the scalp under her hair.
Marie leaned back on her seat and closed her eyes, small smile tugging the corners of her mouth. Her life had sucked up until now, but it felt like it was getting better. Hell, anything was better than to slave her ass off in that greasy joint Nate had the audacity to call BurgerHeaven.
Suddenly whine of the jet engines got louder, and the whole plane shuddered. Her eyes flew open and she looked around.
“Told you. No Top Gun,” Logan spat, squeezing the armrests of his chair, his eyes closed and head tilted back. His face was pale, nearly ashen. Red haired woman he had called Jean earlier sat on the other side of the aisle. She turned to look at Logan as well.
“Scott’s getting better. He hasn’t wrecked landing gears lately,” she said. Logan snorted.
“Doesn’t mean jack shit Jeannie. That boy’s going to get us all killed. Why can’t he leave serious business like flying to somebody who actually can handle this heap of junk?”
“Oh, shush, Wolverine. You know Scott’s more than capable pilot. You’re just afraid of flying.”
“Afraid of flying? When Scott’s behind the wheel? Definitely…”
Marie had been so immersed to Logan’s banter with Jean that she hadn’t even noticed when Blackbird landed. Logan did notice. As soon as the hum of the engines stilled a bit he was off from his seat and walking towards large hatch that was opening to the rear end of the plane. For a moment she was scared. There was nothing stopping him from leaving. He could hop on his motorcycle and ride away. Jean noticed her nervousness and smiled.
“Don’t worry. He’s coming back,” she assured.
Minutes ticked by. Rain was pouring outside, drowning out all other noises.
“He doesn’t like flying. He’s sitting outside, trying to come up good reasons to leave,” Jean continued. Marie scrunched her forehead.
“How can you tell?”
“I’m a telepath. I can hear what other people think. I usually try not to listen, but with Wolverine… It’s hard to keep his voice out from my head.”
She started to get up from her seat, cussing when seatbelt tugged her back.
“Just sit back. We’ll be leaving soon,” Jean said smiling.
“But… You said he was trying to come up good reasons to leave…” Again Jean smiled.
“We have one big reason for him to come along, sitting right here in this plane. He’ll come in as soon as he’s finished his cigar…”
As if he was a mind reader himself, Logan trudged in, pushing his Motorcycle up the ramp with him and shaking off droplets of water that clung to his damp hair.
“Tell Summers to wait until I have this thing tied down before we leave,” he grunted to Jean who rose from her seat and went to the cockpit. Marie let out the breath she had been holding and relaxed on her seat.
From where she sat she had a clear view to the back of the plane where Logan was working on fastening his motorcycle. He had discarded his jacket and the flannel shirt. White T-shirt he still had on was soaked through and plastered to his skin. Pang of longing and jealousy rippled through her.
She had never really thought about it before. Not when she lived in a town filled with hypocrite rednecks that preached on tolerance and on the other hand excluded everybody different from their ranks. Now, Jean’s words about someone on the plane that was important to Logan, and the fact that she probably wouldn’t ever know the feeling of being important to someone drew a deep frown on her face. Logan seemed to sense her staring, and turned to look at her.
“You alright, kid?” He asked. She nodded. Why wouldn’t she be? Logan nodded back and finished his task, then walked to where she sat and slumped to the seat next to hers.
“Don’t want to be anywhere near the load when Scott’s flying. Got once nearly squashed by a freaking heavy crate when we hit some bad weather and he panicked…”
Maybe it was because he didn’t want to end up hugging his motorcycle if they faced some turbulence. He hadn’t sat next to Marie for any other reason. At least that’s what he kept telling himself for the rest of the flight. And when she grabbed his gloved hand when Summers started the landing sequence, he didn’t try to shake her off, but answered to her touch with a tight grasp of his own. And when she started to shiver from the cool air in the hangar he draped his jacket over her shoulders. It was wet, but it offered at least some protection.
It had been a long and eventful day. He tried to relax. Raided the fridge at the kitchen and grunted satisfied when raid resulted a case of Molson’s. He was trudging towards the guest wing, and his room in there when an open doorway on his path tickled his curiosity. Marie’s scent wafted from the darkened room. He flipped the light switch. She was sitting on the windowsill, wrapped to a brightly colored woolen shawl and stared out in the night.
“Turn off the light, I can’t see them,” she whispered. He did as she asked and stepped in to the room.
“See what?” He asked, walking to the window and peering out. Garden outside was silent and empty. What the hell there was to see?
“Stars. They’re so beautiful, but it’s hard to see them. New York is so close and lights ruin the view.”
“Oh…”
He had never even thought about the stars. They were somewhere up there, small blinking spots in the distance. He craned his neck and tried to see what was so intriguing about them and failed miserably. They were small, blinking dots in the distance. Just like they had always been.
“Yeah… Well… I’ll leave you to it, then…” He muttered and turned to leave.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For bringing me here.”
“You’re… You’re welcome.”
She called him Logan. Sounded much nicer than the Wolverine. Wolverine marked him. Specified him as something else than he thought he was. An animal. A weapon. People used that name all the time, some with hateful tone. Some with fear coloring their voice. Some people called him Wolverine because it was the only name he had ever revealed to them. Even Jean, his Jeannie who fucking had to know how badly it grated his ears to hear that name from her lips used it. But not Marie. A chick he had known less than twenty-four hours was calling him by his real name.
“You told her to call you Logan, you pathetic prick…” He grunted to himself before pushing open the door to his room. Home, sweet home. Not really. But this small corner was probably the only place on the face of this earth he could call his own. Contract with Xavier several years ago had bought him ownership of this room. He walked in and locked the door behind him. It was highly unlikely that anybody wandered in. Most of the people knew full well that his room was out of limits.
He dragged a comfortable armchair next to the window and slouched on it, popping open a bottle of Molson’s. Leaned his head back and took a sip from the beer. Stared at the flickering lights in the distance, trying to understand how some people could find them so fucking appealing. To him they looked just cold. Cold and empty.
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