“Lucky me…” Logan spat and took a long drag from his cigar. Garden around him was unusually silent and empty for this time of the day. Word had traveled fast. Nobody wanted to be around sulking Wolverine.
Xavier had been in his office. He had taken one good look at them both, Logan had felt brief brush of his telepathic fingers in his head, and then baldy had flashed them a wide smile, congratulating them.
“Regardless of events that lead to this, you two should consider yourselves lucky. Aftereffects should wear off in a day or two. I’d recommend plenty of rest. Now, if you excuse me, I’m already late for my physics class.”
Bonded. He knew about the bond between Scott and Jean. He had always thought it more than a tad creepy, two minds linked together. From what he had heard it was extremely rare. Usually only couples very close to each other formed a bond of that sort, let their minds merge together to allow communication through telepathy. And now he had gotten a bond of his own, with a chick he knew practically nothing about. Lucky? Yeah. Somewhere Faith was laughing its ass off with Destiny over their practical joke.
Xavier had given them advise of how the bond worked, and how it was for the time being possible to turn the connection on and off, like a radio. He was quite sure that Marie’s quicksilver mind would drive him insane long before that. For the past hours he had tried his best to not think about anything, trying to guard his privacy. He could feel she really tried to do the same, but it seemed to be impossible. Flow of random thoughts and emotions was nearly suffocating him.
A bond. It sounded like something out of a fairytale. Two minds linked together for eternity. She wasn’t sure of what to think about it. Logan was less than pleased. He was angry. He felt betrayed. Cornered. She tried her best not to invade his mind and concentrated to her inner self, trying to sort out everything that had flown from him to her when they had touched, but every once in a while she found herself rummaging through Logan’s head. On those occasions his anxiety rose tenfold. Earlier she hadn’t known how to retreat, but now she had gotten crash course on escaping from angered Logan in their heads.
She was in her room, sitting on the windowsill and staring down in to the garden where Logan sat, smoking and taking gulps from a bottle of whiskey he had dug up from somewhere. She wished she could talk with him about what had happened, but every time she tried, verbally or through their bond, he drove her off. He seemed to understand that she hadn’t done this on purpose, but at the same time he was guarding himself to the point of paranoia.
“It isn’t like I’m even that interested about him…” She muttered angrily. When she had accidentally stumbled in his mind for the fifth time that day, he had thrown a barrage of less pleasant memories to her direction. Now she had first hand experience of what it felt to be shot or gutted alive.
“Is this fair, Wolverine?” Jean asked, sitting next to him and taking the bottle from his hand. He snorted, snatched the bottle back and took a long gulp from it, enjoying the burning sensation when the whiskey hit the back of his throat.
“Fair? No. Not even on the same planet as fair, that’s for sure,” he grunted. Jean took the bottle again and turned it upside down, pouring the remaining liquid to the flowerbed next to them.
“She screwed me over.”
“How can you say that? You’re not the only one in this!”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that? She’s in my fucking head! Half of the time I don’t even know which of us is which!” Logan hissed, taking the bottle from her and licking the last droplets of the booze from the brim of it. He’d have to go to town to get some more. And soon.
“Do you really think she likes to be in your head? Or likes the fact that you’re in her head as well?” Jean asked. Logan narrowed his eyes.
“She doesn’t like it. I don’t like it. And what the good professor told us, this shit can’t be undone.”
“What are you going to do now?” Jean asked. He could tell from the look on her face and her posture, that she expected something constructive. She expected him to go to Marie and start developing the bond. Like it was something precious they should nurture and treasure.
“I’m heading out.”
“Out? Wolverine…”
“Unless you have bottomless bottle and you’re planning to play topless bartender, stay the fuck out of my business…”
She could feel it. Drunken stupor swirling in his head. Taste the beer and whiskey, almost as if it was she drinking instead of him. She could smell the scent of cigars and their perfume. Lacquered nails scraping her bicep and shoulders lightly, teasingly. Soft laughter echoing. More beer. Breasts pressing against her back. Hand squeezing her buttocks. Brief flash of anger before turning around. Red. Red hair. Anger melting slowly. Scent of her arousal rising when she smiled. Hours bleeding together to a jumbled swirl of booze and naked, slick and sweaty bodies.
Sun was rising when he drove his motorcycle through the gates of Xavier’s School Of Gifted Youngsters. Some students were already up and going around on their business. He didn’t feel like seeing anybody. He parked his motorcycle behind the garage and slipped in to the main building through the kitchen door. He was tired to the bone, still slightly buzzed from the booze he had drink, but all in all he felt fine. After the first five whiskeys he had chased down with the beer he hadn’t been able to hear Marie anymore. And when the redhead had joined to his company, night had turned from tolerable to pleasant.
He raided the fridge and made himself a roast beef sandwich. Took it with him and made his way to the guest wing at the second floor. Closer he got to the door of her room the more nervous he felt. Like every inch of his skin was covered with a swarm of ants. His knuckles were itching and he had to make a conscious effort to keep the claws in when he walked past Marie’s door.
He was in the shower when he started to hear the whispers again. Luminescent tendrils of her dream creeping in and twining around his core. He could see them, eerily glowing tentacles burrowing to every nook and cranny, leaving nothing unexplored. He snarled, baring his teeth and giving in to his temptation to use the claws. One brief flash of gleaming adamantium, dizzying dual feeling of them grazing her and him, and tendrils retreated. He could hear a sudden gasp and thud from the other side of the door leading to her room.
“You awake, kid?” He asked.
“I am now,” he could hear her answer, voice still scratchy and hoarse from sleep.
“Good. Stay the fuck out of my head. Next time I’m not going to settle for a warning…”
To his complete surprise door flew open. Marie stood in the doorway, eyes blazing from the anger. Her presence in his head got suddenly louder. No words or actual sound, but sudden shock of something reminding him of the white noise. Like somebody had just turned the TV on somewhere near him.
“Stay the fuck out of your head? That’s rich! Coming from a person who spent last night fighting, fucking and drinking inside of my fucking head!”
“Consider it payback from yesterday!”
“Payback?”
“I don’t like when people get on my skin. You weren’t just on my skin, you went fucking beneath it! I don’t want you there!” Logan growled, shutting off the shower and reaching for the towel.
Apparently she had already been in the same bed with him and Janine, the redhead from the bar. He didn’t need the towel for the sake of modesty. He dried his hair and walked to his room. He could hear Marie following as far as to the doorstep of the bathroom.
“I kind of noticed that you don’t like it. Hell, I don’t like it either. But pull that fucking thick head of yours out of your ass! You’re not alone in this! You’re in my head as well, and I don’t want you in there! I don’t need to know how does it feel to fuck with women! I don’t need to know how good it feels to beat the crap out of some idiotic schmuck! And I don’t fucking need a hangover from the booze I haven’t even drank!”
“Want some cheese with that whine?” Logan quipped, hunting through his closet until he found a comfortable pair of sweatpants. Nudity didn’t usually bother him, but this conversation he wasn’t going to have naked.
He was pacing restlessly in her head. He was pacing restlessly in front of her, hands clenched to tight fists on his sides. She could feel the claws, resting in their sheaths, ready to tear out at any given moment. One wrong word, one wrong move and they would both be in the world of hurt again. But she couldn’t back out. Not now. She had to make him understand.
“Did you even listen when professor Xavier explained this to us?” She asked, schooling the tone of her voice, turning it rather questioning than accusing.
“Yes. Every fucking word. Understood crystal clear that there’s no way out of this.”
“Then you must have heard the part where he told that this could be controlled. That if we practice, we can stay out of each others head if we want, or need to?” She asked.
“Practice? Booze seemed to work for me just fine. Couldn’t hear a peep from you last night after I got drunk enough…” Logan spat. But he had stopped pacing. He inside of her head had stopped pacing as well.
“I don’t have your mutation. I can’t keep getting drunk just to drown your voice in my head. And I sure as hell don’t want to know every little detail of your sordid adventures with women and booze. Do me a favor. Get your act together. Sleep off last night. Start working with me on this.”
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