It was a truly disturbing sight. She blinked once, then twice. No. It was still there. He was still there. Sitting at the table, wearing pajama and a robe, both made of dark blue silk. Usually unruly and quite wild hairdo was smoothed down, probably with the aid of various hair care products. Chin and cheeks were clean-shaven. Skin smooth as a baby’s butt. As she watched the man in question shifted, hand rose and tilted a bottle of beer to his lips. Even that looked somehow wrong. He didn’t lean back and let out a loud belch. He didn’t wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Just placed the bottle back to the table and leaned his jaw against his crossed forearms, letting out a pleased sigh.
“What the hell happened to you?” She asked, walking in to the kitchen.
“Carol happened,” Logan grunted without averting his eyes from the etiquette of the bottle in front of him.
“Carol?”
“Mrs. Green.”
“Oh, my God! Have you been boning the mayors mother?” She gasped. That roused Logan from his momentarily melancholy and he cast her an annoyed glance.
“I have certain standards, darling. I try to avoid sleeping with hags that are most likely decades older than I.”
“Then what the hell is this?” She asked, taking a cold beer from the fridge and plopping opposite him, handing the bottle to him for opening it. Cap popped open and he handed the bottle back to her.
“This is the new look of Mrs. Green’s assigned bodyguard.”
“Assigned what?”
“Bodyguard. Carol is one of those yahoos who claim that the world would be a better place if we all could just get along better with each other. Now she got in to her head that a weeklong visit to a known mutie haven would patch up relations even better than occasional fundraisers. But since every one of us is a known mutie, her son demanded from Xavier an assigned assistant and a bodyguard. Nobody else wanted the gig and I got stuck with it.”
“And Carol gets to boss you around because…”
“Xavier threatened to turn me thinking as a six years old girl if our dear lady has any complaints after the week is over.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s closer to eighty years old. What do you think?”
“Sleeping?”
“Wrong. She called some friends of hers over and they’re playing bridge. In my room because it has just the right atmosphere.”
“And by the right atmosphere she means…”
“I have no fucking clue. But I’m quite sure that I wouldn’t find it flattering if she explained it.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping beer. Then the curiosity got the better of her. She reached over the table.
“Can I…?” She asked. Logan shrugged his shoulders and leaned closer.
“Knock yourself out…”
She placed her fingers over his cheek, drawing a line from his cheekbone to the tip of his jaw. Skin underneath was smooth, warm and soft. A hint of stubble felt slightly prickly. She leaned back and tilted her head.
“It looks… Weird. Not bad, but weird.”
“Spank you, kid…” Logan mumbled raking fingers through his hair, letting few black tendrils escape drooping down over his forehead.
“You look much younger without the chops,” she noted. Logan nodded.
“Have you always had those or…”
“As long as I can remember. You say that it looks weird, but you don’t even have a clue how weird this feels…” Logan said, rubbing his shaved chin.
“Actually it looks good on you.”
“I look like a fucking pansy! All I have to do is to find a pair of tights and practice my steps and I could throw a fucking ballet performance!”
“I kind of doubt that ballet dancers have muscles like yours, honey.”
“Hmph.”
“Or as hairy chest as you do.”
“That’s not the point. This isn’t… This isn’t me.”
“Oh, poor guy. I think I know what’ll cheer you up. Come on.”
Logan followed her to the elevator. At the door he stopped.
“I need my key card to access the DR.”
“Go and get it then.”
“I can’t. It’s in my room.”
“Yes?”
“Last time I dared to go in there all those lovely ladies started cooing and pinching my cheeks and butt.”
“No.”
“Yes. They did. And one of them asked if Carol would be willing to rent me forward. But you could go and get it.”
“Fine. Wait here.”
She managed to get the key card after throughout questioning of her role in Logan’s life. Man in question was already hovering nervously near the staircase when she returned.
“You got out of there alive. I’m impressed.”
“Not as impressed as I am. I was tempted to turn on my skin when they started pinching my cheeks.”
“I told you…”
“I thought we could try something different. I have been practicing with swords a little…”
“Those are not swords darling. They’re called katana.”
“Katana-schmatana… They’re long and sharp and held with two hands. If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck…”
“It isn’t duck. It’s katana. Show some respect.”
“I start respecting these butter knives as soon as I get you disarmed…”
“And that’ll be the day when I gladly start shaving and wearing frilly underwear…”
She didn’t know what she had expected to happen. But she knew now, as she lay on the cool floor of the DR, that Logan was every bit as lethal with katana as he was without it. She let her gaze travel around the room, then settled watching Logan as he went on, sparring against a holographic image of a samurai. His limbs moved gracefully. Every move was carefully considered. Every swinging arc of the blade calculated, economical and efficient. He should have looked ridiculous, running around with bare feet, sash of his robe long opened and forgotten, robe flapping around him like a cape, but somehow it was just fitting. Different side of him. The crazed berserker hidden under calm surface.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A picture I found from Jackmanslanding was treacherous. At first I couldn't believe that it was the same man that portrayed Wolverine. Then a bunny wobbled out of it. Link to the pic if you're interested: http://www.jackmanslanding.com/gallery/mags-portraits/images/vhagius02.jpg