Wind tore at his hair, its voice echoed in the engines roar beneath him. All that mattered was speed, wind whipping and stinging his skin, the only thing he wanted to feel. Heart as heavy as the sky above, threatening to cover the world in blanket of white. Snatching breath from the slipstream he tasted the engines warmth and the sharpness of the snow to come.
His eyes weren’t on the road; all he could see was that moment a year ago, holding Scott back, keeping him from the raging water. Knowing that there was no hope under there, the black crushing depth had taken her from both of them. Just before, she’d looked up at him and said everything she’d wanted to in that one moment. That gaze which lasted for a second said more than she’d ever dared to.
Blinking back to the road he saw the first fat flakes of snow hit the headlight, watching as they grew in size and wondered whether he should stop for the night. Catching the gauge he noticed the needle was almost at ‘E’. What this bike gave in speed, it ate at the pocket and the tank. This could be a problem; he’d spent the last of his cash filling the bike at the last little logging town. If his memory served him correctly there should be a small station ahead, maybe they’d need some help. A little work for food and a tank full of gas shouldn’t tax him too much, its not as if help just appeared out here.
He hadn’t cared about that earlier, all he’d wanted was to be away, away from the school, from her scent and memories of her. He could see her still, stood in the doorway of his room; a half smile playing at the corners of her mouth as he’d dressed. Remembering the time he’d sat in the library, reading quietly in one of the large chairs, hidden from the noise and chaos of the school. Jean had come in with Marie, he smelt their discomfort from where he was but he’d decided not to move. There were things he’d needed to know, when Marie had come back from her ordeal with Erik, she had been different, odd. She avoided darkness and the showers (where before she’d been a pain to get her out of them according to her friends). It had made him wonder if she’d picked up any of his nightmares, more over had she made any sense of them?
So he’d listened in, listened to the memories that filled her waking world. Trying to make sense of the mixed up jumble inside her head, of internment camps and soldiers. Of walking skeletons and eating rubbish to survive, doing things that no one should have to just to live another day. He heard her pour it out of herself and he soaked it all in, every detail, every memory, every emotion.
He’d make him pay for each one of them; he’d known exactly what it would do to her, what her powers were and for that he’d suffer. She’d mentioned him then and his blood had frozen, what had she seen? Could Jean help her and him to understand what had happened? But it wasn’t to be, Marie had broken down then, her tears adding to his anger and frustration. Instinctually his claws had fired and he’d ripped the book in two, sending white confetti floating down to the floor. He’d left then, leaving Jean comforting Marie in the library.
He’d dug a whole new pond that day for Xavier’s new fish, he’d needed to blow off steam and it was the only way he could there at the school. When he was working the kids left him alone, they knew better than to disturb him in the middle of something. When he was finishing up, Marie had come past with Bobby in tow, Bobby was asking her if she was okay, that she’d left her books behind in the classroom.
She looked across to where he was digging and fingered the dog tag he’d given her around her neck, he caught her answer “Yeah, I am now. I know I’ll be okay Bobby, I’m not alone anymore.” Her words had sent a cold shiver down him, as if she was looking directly into his head and reading what was there. Marie meant something to him, why? He didn’t really know himself but he would defend her and the rest of the kids. So why was he so far away from them all?
Pain, that’s why. A wounded animal needs time to heal and he was wounded, deeply.
Freewheeling into the gas station, the snow falling heavily now, his nose caught the scent of iron and blood. Looking around he saw the large barn set back from the road and the vehicles parked in front. It looked like his luck was holding, maybe he’d get to earn some decent money doing what he did best, fighting. His knuckles itched at the prospect and the skin between grew taught, expecting to be split at any moment but he just rubbed them quiet and went toward the barn.
As he’d entered, the wall of heat and sound hit like an almost physical blow, the smell of pine resin mixed with sweat and oil filled his lungs. All around men were shouting and waving money at others who were running from one end of the barn to the other collecting bets and working out odds. The object of their attentions was ‘The Cage’, a vast steel and wire structure. Almost every logging town had one, a place where scores were settled and a few bucks were made by those lucky enough to come out standing up. He’d always left standing.
Watching the fight he noticed several gaps in the fighters moves, he could have brought them both down but they were evenly matched in size and weight. This would go on pure tenacity, who had the guts to keep going and who just wanted the money. It was over in another three minutes, the smaller man panting hard and stood shakily on rubber legs picked up his shirt and left the cage. The cleaners went in, picked up the loser, spread fresh sawdust down on the floor and got out of the way for the announcer.
He was a squat man, pockmarked by disease but had a rich and powerful voice.
“Who’s next for the Cage? Who’ll take the next purse? Come on we haven’t got all night you know. Well not all of us anyhow. SO who’ll it be?” The mans eyes scanned the milling crowd for volunteers, here was his opportunity, better grab it. Waving his hand up in the air he made his way toward the cage, the announcers voice picked up a gear and rose above the din of conversation “We have a taker! Anyone want to join him in the cage? Anyone?” As he entered the cage, memories flooded his senses. There was a time when he’d thought that this was where he belonged, in a cage, to be beaten and pounded every moment. To feel nothing but pain and torment, to do nothing but survive from each moment to the next.
But not anymore, Jean, Xavier and Marie had changed all that; he had people to care for and who cared for him. The wound re-opened when he remembered that he’d lost one of those forever and the anger rushed to the surface. Good something to fight with something to lose himself in, anything not to feel the pain anymore.
His opponent had entered and the crowd obviously knew him by the way the bets were going, he was the favourite and he was the underdog, just the way he liked it. Taking off his jacket and shirt, experience had taught him to value his clothing; waiting for the announcer to start the proceedings.
The punch to his kidneys echoed through his frame, muscle tightened and he focussed on the pain blossoming in his side. Pain sharpened the world, brought it into focus, a very tight world of violence. The heavy man was working on his kidneys with hammer blows, hands rough and calloused from doing hard labour. Knuckles as hard as iron and ridged like tyres smashed into his face. He felt the knuckle collapse as it struck his cheek. A low growl of pleasure came from his lips, snarling now he brought his fist round into the mans unprotected face. The feel of the bones giving under his blows were food to the beast inside. Wanting to let his claws free, to feel them slice through the mans face; leaving nothing but a bloody mess behind but he kept them sheathed. He wanted this to last.
Pushing the man away, giving himself the room he needed to have a good look at his opponent.
Big; heavy; weighted with muscles that have been built by labour not by weights, hands that have cleared ice in midwinter. A true man’s man, no wonder he was their favourite, this man would kill you without a thought but he wasn’t up against a man. He was up against a wolverine, a glutton for pain and hurt, a creation of Stryker and his cronies.
He’d never been human, he was a mutant. A public punch bag, the thing you threatened your kids with, the nightmare of every family; that they would, could, give birth to something strange. His thoughts went to the kids at the school, the little ones, those who had been abandoned at birth and had managed to be found by Xavier.
How many more hadn’t?
The rage burned through him, he couldn’t even think anymore, all he did was fight. Hands a blur, they chased a scarlet pattern around the large mans frame. He heard bones snap and ligaments tear under pressure, skin bruised and bled. Hatred flowed from him into the prey at the ends of his hands, how he managed to raise a hand with a broken wrist he’ll never know but he did. Stopping a blow on the way down he saw the man’s eyes, fear rose from him in waves; making the air rank with its smell. Deep down he knew that he’d never step in the cage again after seeing that look of utter fear. He could go back to what he had been; Stryker’s Animal or he could be something else. Something that had meant a lot to Jean.
Anger fading from his features he held out a hand to the man on the floor of the cage, shakily a hand reached for his and he helped his opponent up. As their eyes met, his gaze told him that he could have killed him and the big man knew it.
His attention now outside of the cage he had a hard time understanding what was wrong, and then it hit him. The barn was quiet. Everyone’s attention had been on the fight; even the runners had gone silent. Growling softly to himself he picked up his clothes and stepped up to the announcer who had just entered the cage. They both watched the favourite being helped out of the cage, his body broken and bleeding. Sensing his presence the announcer cleared his throat and pointed to the end of the bar “Go see the manager for your money.” His voice, which had been rich and throaty, now sounded dry and small; cowed he brushed past to the centre of the cage and tried to regain his composure.
Closing the door behind him, he walked through the quiet crowd. Men moving out of his way before he got there; eyes downcast and bodies hunched in submission. They’d seen and they learned fast out here, you never take on what you can’t handle.
As he approached the end of the bar the milling crowd parted and for a moment he thought he’d gone colour blind or something. There in front of him was a girl, snow white hair cropped close and albino patterned skin. She looked like she was dressed in one of those pale snakeskins that Marie thought were so cool. But this was her own skin. Dressed in a small thin dress she must have been cold even in here, carrying a tray full of bottles and food she hardly noticed him. Concentrating on not spilling anything, she deftly moved through the crowd, only when he saw her pass did he notice she was blind. Pure white eyes slid over him and he had a sense of being weighed up by her blank stare.
He had more important things on his mind for now, like getting out of here with his skin intact and back to the school. He was needed there, for the first time in his life he was needed and he’d run away like a child. Well the money would come in useful, that is if he could get his hands on it without losing something else.
Approaching the bar, he could feel the eyes of the bodyguards weighing him up; even after his fight in the cage he could smell their eagerness to push him further. Shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet, he was ready if they wanted to start a new fight.
The stack of money was high, the favourite had been backed heavily and the moneyman had raked it in. But on the other hand he’d lost his best fighter to an unknown, which was bad for business. His eyes looked down at the pile of money and up to the face that controlled it, voice barely above the din of the crowd. “What’s my cut?” The face split into a large grin and a voice well used to getting its own way answered.
“Not till I get a name. We don’t pay out to drifters, especially ones who put our favourite down in one round.”
The movable muscle around him tightened up, the scent of adrenaline filled his lungs and he expected trouble.
Then she was there, her pale hand’s wrapped around the throat of the moneyman. Speaking softly and quietly she soothed the situation, winding her body around the knot of men. He could smell her scent, rich pungent and attractive but with a sour note that stung. The effect on the muscle was almost instant; relaxed they stepped back and giving room to move and to breathe. She slid away as quietly as she had appeared, the moneyman almost asleep on the perfume around them.
He decided to push his luck, “So where’s my cut?” The moneyman seemed to fight upward from his imposed slumber, recognising the man in front of him. Hands clumsy he felt through the pile and pulled off the first inch of notes, at least two thousand. Taking the money offered out toward him he put them into his pocket. Smiling his thanks he walked away from the group before whatever it was wore off.
He asked the bar tender where the diner was and he pointed a stump toward the small door on the left. One appetite satiated, he meant to work on the other. Inside the diner the walls were old and the calendar still read 1987, showing a hockey team, which had since folded. Smoke filled the air in here and mixed with the smells of cooking. The cooks in these places concentrated on size first, nutrition second. There was a lot of old men in here, spending the winter down in town, not young enough anymore to withstand the cold of winter. Eating dried food got old real quick, especially when you were on your own, he knew this from experience.
Seating himself at a chipped and battered booth he scanned the handwritten menu, smiling to himself when he found what he was looking for. Waving over a bored waitress he ordered his first decent meal in days, blue steak, potato, grits and greens. The waitress smiled as she recognised her customer, “You’re the one that beat Chet aren’t ya?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she took his order. “If your not too tired we might get together later, if you don’t have to leave for a while.” Her frankness brought a small flush to his face and his hopes rose again, maybe there’d be more here than just food. He watched her walk away, with a bit more swing in the hips than when she walked up. It was something to consider, it had been a while a year at least. He didn’t like the thought of having to share a bed with someone, especially as he dreamed almost every night and the dreams weren’t good ones. Getting hold of himself he decided that that would have to wait, it wouldn’t kill him and anyway who’d want to take the chance of having a kid like him?
Lighting a cigar as he scanned the room as he waited, one of the bouncers walked in and began shoving people around. His whole body language screamed violence, barely restrained violence. He picked up the one of the old men and shouted something in his ear, visibly cowed the old man looked over in his direction. Ah that was it, the moneyman had changed his mind about the cut. The bouncer followed the old mans gaze and locked eyes with him, just sat there smoking his cigar, sat comfortably in the booth, just waiting. Seeing the bouncers eyes narrow at the corners and a slow smile erupt over the craggy face he knew he’d be seeing him later. Well it’d be on a full stomach for once, he could smell his order coming from the kitchen. The Bouncer smashed the door of the diner open as he left, almost knocking over the pale girl who was coming back in from the bar.
Sensing his presence she backed away and turned her head down, away from the man’s eyes. His face leered as he realised who was in front of him and he put his large frame in the doorway, blocking it to her. Sat in his booth he caught the sounds of a short struggle and the crash of a tray being dropped, bottles smashing on the hard floor. The room had gone quiet. They’d all seen and heard but they weren’t doing anything about it, you didn’t if you wanted to live another day. Rage filled him and he felt the grip of the beast inside, he knew what was coming next and he’d stop it. He owed her that much, she’d stepped in earlier for him.
Pushing his way out of the booth he was met by his waitress, holding the large plate with his first decent meal for days. His eyes looked at it and her, eyes trying not to lose the struggling pair he spoke “Bag it for me.” Her mouth split into a grin, “Sure honey, as long as you’re coming back later.” The open sexuality of her invitation took some of the fire from him, a thought entered his head, maybe she knew the soon to be victim.
“Do you know the pale girl?” Her face went from pretty to hateful in one heartbeat.
“Yeah I know it.” Her whole body tensed and she moved a half step away from him. “She’s a freak. A dirty fucking mutant bitch.” The hatred spun out of her like silk, wrapping him in its embrace, suffocating his thoughts, underneath the animal raged. “She came up here a few weeks ago with her boyfriend.” Her smile took on a slick evil quality as she spoke “But Chet saw to him, I made a few bucks that night, betting on how long it’d take.” Her eyes glowed with an inner secret and she opened it for him to see its entirety. “Bud and Bret like her. You should have seen the mess in the cage after, I swear the girl was so fucked up afterward.” Laughter sparkled from her lips like poison. “We all watched, best nights tips in a long time.” Her words sank in to his mind and the rage flowed like fire through him, burning out any last vestige of feeling he’d had for her.
His eyes locked onto hers and he spoke in an open growl “You mean you just stood by and watched as he…” he couldn’t even finish the sentence. Her face leered as she shared her secret with him, the stranger who deserved to know the details, just in case she stood a chance. “Not just him honey, most of the guys in the bar. As I said best night’s tips I’ve ever had. So do you want me to keep this warm or wrap it?” Her eyes went down to the plate in front of her. He fought to control the rage underneath the surface; he could never eat that meal again. The memory would be burned into his mind, it was as if losing most of his memory made the ones he had even more vivid. Looking at the plate and seeing the pale grits gently cooling, all he could think of was the pale girls skin. She was the same colour. His voice calm and steady he spoke to the harridan “Bag it. I’m hungry for something else first.” The waitress snorted at his comment and took the plate away, “Bud won’t like it you know, he can get kind of touchy when he gets interrupted.” Her blue eyes pierced him through and he knew then why she hated her, she’d taken her place, her rank in this screwed up hierarchy.
“Yeah, so can I.”
It wasn’t hard to find her, her scent lit up the whole room. Fear, mixed with suffering made a trail that lit up the whole place and went behind the bar. He didn’t even stop to think about the barman, a protest on his lips never got voiced as he unsheathed his claws and put them under his chin. As his eyes met the barman’s he could taste the shock, “Where?” It wasn’t an order but it had the same effect. His voice was squeaky and high “The beer store. Down the back.” Sweeping the claws from under his face he ran through to the back.
He stopped after a few steps and listened, he couldn’t hear anything but the snow settling on the roof. The large storage area was littered with nooks and crannies, they could be anywhere. His ears picked up on breathing, heavy, rhythmic breathing. Eyes narrowing he set off toward the sound, setting the beast free, he revelled in its purity of purpose.
His mind free from thought it returned to the school again, replaying the night that the kids had had to run from Strykers soldiers. How had this kid ended up here? Why had they come this far north? Didn’t they understand that the world had changed when they had? A thought came unbidden to his mind, ‘it could have been Marie’.
Snarling at the touch of it he found the beer store and could see his prey covering the small pale frame underneath. He watched the large mans movements, slow and easy, taking every bit of pleasure he could from the small form beneath him. He had her propped up on the beer boxes, shuffled her into a position where her knees were next to her ears. Less chance of her fighting back when he had both her hands clenched in one large meaty palm. Feeling the weight of his claws he had to be careful, if he struck out too soon or too deep he’d injure her too.
The animal inside enjoyed the show in front of him, nostrils filled with the scent of their heated sex, his own swelled, betraying its true nature. Eat, Breed and Fight. The mind behind it turned the emotion into rage and hatred for the creature in front of him. Gasping now, the bouncers movements became jerky, getting near the end then. His eyes locked onto the hand holding hers above her head, watching the fingers curl and uncurl as each thrust rocked the boxes she was seated on. Ready, he pulled back his arms at waist height and waited for the last movement.
Barely breathing as he moved forward, he plunged his claws upwards into the mans midsection, feeling the damage wrought. Felt as liver and kidneys sliced open between the blades, it was so quick all he did was gasp and shudder. His large hand opened and her hands fell limply to her sides. Focusing totally he moved their combined weight to the side, a natural movement he hoped she’d mistake for something else. The heavy body already falling to the floor, brushing past the boxes he built around them. She didn’t move. Scared he retracted his claws and looked at her, had he made a mistake and cut her too? An image of Marie on the end of his claws flashed through his mind.
No, she was barely breathing, her breath plumed in the cold air of the storeroom and her skin had turned a shade of pale blue. Her eyes tight shut, she made no effort to cover herself or to even try. His eyes took in the healing scars and the damage meted out on her body, cigar burns littered her skin, raw and painful. A new one glistened at the top of her thigh, seeing its ugly welt he just quit the habit.
Taking hold of her thin dress from the cold floor, holding it in his fingers and felt how thin and old it really was. Looking at Buds flannel shirt he doubted if he’d need it anymore and picked it up and covered her with it. At the feel of the material she flinched and came back to herself. Tucking up in a ball she tried to hide underneath its warmth, waiting for something or someone else to happen. He crouched at the entrance to the store and waited for the visitors that were bound to follow eventually. Looking back at her small form he could feel the animal gaining ground, it wanted to rip into the ones who’d allowed this to go on. Really looking at her for the first time he realised that she must be around nineteen, about Maries age.
“You’d better get dressed. They won’t be long coming back here.” Her face erupted into shock as she reached out and felt no one there. Her hands desperately grasping the air.
“Who’s there?” Her voice was weak and distant, almost pleading. He got up and walked to where she could touch him. Her small fingers felt the leather of his jacket and he could see her breathe in his scent. “You.” Her face looked confused and happy at the same time. “Why did you follow me? Where’s Bud?” Her tone taking on concern, who for he wasn’t really sure.
Looking down at the gently cooling corpse he answered her, “Oh, he’s around. Just not up for talking that’s all.”
“Did you kill him?” Her voice had a tinge of iron it. Maybe she’d been concerned for him after all.
“Yeah.” He had to ask her, “Why you?” Her face turned toward the sound of his voice as she buttoned up the front of the shirt.
“Because he could and it’s something that happens when you’re me. I have this kind of smell that attracts men.” The last part of that sentence was pure hatred of herself. Tears were flowing now, as if knowing her tormenter was dead allowed the expression of all the pain. “When you’re a freak, it happens. Been happening to me since I was twelve. The home wasn’t too fussy on how we were housed you know, anywhere they could put us, we went.” Wiping her milky eyes with the back of the sleeve, she asked him a question.
“Who are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m your guardian angel for now. Lets get you out of here.” He reached out for her arm and she visibly flinched. “Come on, I won’t hurt you.” The look she gave him pierced him to the bone.
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
Shuffling off the boxes her feet made contact with the cold floor.
“Do you have any other clothes or shoes?” She shook her head and her breath plumed in the cold air.
“I don’t do too well in the cold, I need warmth. That was one of the reasons we ran away, me and David. We’d hitched a ride to Florida, or so we thought. The truck got hijacked and we ended up here, David didn’t last the night.” Her voice was flat and distant as she told him about her time there.
The Cage fight and the rape, the abuse at the hands of bouncers and patrons. His mind had visions of the acts, as if it revelled in showing him the depravity that humans could stoop to, that he could stoop to. Retracting his claws he went looking in the large storeroom. Looking for clothing, anything warm. Searching through the boxes he found what he was looking for, army surplus. Pulling out a set of trousers and long johns he threw them in her direction, she caught them without having to look.
“Neat trick.”
“I can see small objects as they come toward me, it’s the big things I have problems with.” Yeah and I just removed one of them for you and he’ll be missed, soon. His mind started to think about their chances of getting out of here intact.
“Get dressed while I find you some boots.” Using his nose he found boxes with rubber soled plimsolls, taking a selection of sizes he went back to her.
Dressed in the large trousers she reminded him even more of Marie, her fashion sense had been dictated by her mutation. She loved to wear those baggy pants all the other kids had, he’d bought her a pair on their last shopping expedition. Yeah him going to a Mall, he’d laughed it off as a joke at first until he’d seen the hurt in Marie’s eyes. It had taken the best part of a day to buy three items of clothing, his mood had not been good at the end. But then it was all the young girls walking by sniggering at them that hadn’t helped. He’d growled at a few and seen them blush as they looked away, they were young but interested in what they were and who he was. He’d felt glad to get out of there in the end. He’d rather go back in the Cage then in another Mall, at least he knew who his opponents were in there and they fought fairly.
Passing her the boots to put on, he sniffed the air in the storeroom. Nothing unusual, only the scent of blood and them. Maybe they weren’t too eager to follow in here as he thought, they’d seen him in the cage earlier and maybe they’d decided to wait for him outside. Where they could get a good shot at him.
“We have to get going. Can you ride?” He watched as she struggled with the laces, eventually just knotting them.
“What a bike?”
“Yeah, a motorbike.” Her face looked up in complete horror.
“I can’t, I wouldn’t last two minutes in the cold air. I told you I need to be warm, otherwise I’d have left this hellhole by now.” Tears sprung from her eyes making them glow in the halflight. “Oh god I’m never going to get away,” collapsing in on herself she sat and cried into her lap. Her hopes crushed by something as simple as the weather.
His mind worked quickly, the moneyman must have a vehicle, he wondered if Bud drove him too. Going back to the corpse he checked the pockets quickly and came up with a bunch of keys. Patting him on the back he moved the boxes so they covered the corpse and the spreading blood pool. Walking out of the beer store he heard the door from the bar open, tense he listened for the footfalls. Light, quick, speedy, the smell of grits and coffee wafted to him.
The waitress.
She walked right past his hiding spot, her face set, determined. Stopping to listen to the small sobs that echoed around the room she homed in on her target. Slipping out the knife she’d carried from the kitchen she made her way toward the girl. Her head lifted when she heard the footsteps approaching, “Who’s there? Is it you? Have you found something?”
Her face split into a snarl as she saw the young girl in front of her reaching out blindly, pulling her arm back she made ready to stab her. Her hand never got there, he caught her arm and spun her round on her own knife. A short sharp gasp left her throat as she saw the face of the man who’d killed her. “Yup, I’m a fucking mutant too.” He let her slide off the kitchen blade to the floor and picked the girl up by the arm.
“We’re leaving, NOW!” Walking quickly to the warehouse entrance, he pushed open the door and looked outside. His bike was being guarded by the other bouncer he was cradling a shotgun in his lap, he’d have to get her past him without being seen. Scanning the trucks and cars in front of him he looked for the most expensive. He found it three rows away, right next to the gas pump.
“Wait here and don’t come out till I call for you okay?” His voice was stern and she knew that this was important. Her hands gripped his arm tightly, “You are coming back aren’t you?” Her tears glittered in the light reflected from the snow around them, they looked like diamonds on ivory. He didn’t answer but ran hunched toward the pumps.
The snow had fallen quite heavily in the hour he’d been inside and the bike was covered with at least three inches. Bret had his foot resting on the seat, his back against the pump. Dressed in a dark blue parka it made him seem larger than he was, his legs looked spindly compared to his wrapped body. Moving slowly, keeping the snowdrifts between him and Bret he sneaked closer. He could smell the coffee on his breath and the ‘little warmer’ he’d added to it, unsheathing his claws slowly he tensed himself.
Bret shifted his weight to the other foot, bringing his leg down from the bike seat. He never made the move to regain his balance as he hit him square in the side. One set of blades cutting his spine and the other skewering his throat, quick and quiet. The snow began to pick up pace, as if to hide the third murder at his hands tonight. Pulling the large body toward the snow bank, piling the fresh snow over the body, adding an oiled tarp to cover the blood trail. Taking the shotgun with him, he didn’t like guns but he couldn’t leave it on show. Still crouching he paused to smell the cold air, the snow was swirling and making vision almost impossible but his nose never lied. There was a warm engine near him, that’d be better than trying to start a cold one. Using his nose he found the truck, a battered old camper. Not unlike the one he’d had, but that time seemed so long ago now.
Hands running over the hood he felt the warmth still evident in the engine, about half and hour if he wasn’t mistaken. Putting his head to the window of the camper part, he was welcomed by the sound of silence inside. Creeping around the back of the truck his hand tried the back door, locked but not for long. Slipping a blade into the old lock he heard it snap open, time to get the girl. Crouching as he ran, using the snow as cover he reached her, she looked so small and afraid. He could see her scenting the air and her face turned toward him as he approached.
“You’re getting good at this, soon you’ll be able to find your way anywhere.” Her reply was as open as the sky.
“I smelled the blood.” Looking down at his hands he could see the red flecking his knuckles.
“Yeah, well we’ve got a ride. Come on and keep your head down.” Moving quietly and quickly he pulled open the door to the rear of the truck and pushed her inside. “Keep your head down and we’ll get out of here with our skins intact.”
Shutting the door he went around to the driver’s side and popped the lock. Pulling himself inside the small seat, he looked at the inside of the cabin. Junk food wrappers, old maps, forest campsite markers littered the other seat and the floor. He’d got into a forester’s truck they usually had plenty of fuel, as if to validate his thoughts he heard a canister behind him fall to the floor of the cabin. He turned to see her trying to get into the small bed, shivering in the cold. Reaching behind him he lifted it back up and put it behind his seat, time to leave. He could just see Cyc’s face when he told him where he’d left his bike this time.
Two minutes later he was driving away from the logging town, away from his past and into a new future. A future where he cared about those around him, including the girl in the back. They’d have to stop soon, he’d gas the tank and get the heater running for her, the next stop was at least a hundred and fifty miles away and he wasn’t even certain that this truck wasn’t known there either. But he’d have to risk it. His instincts took over now, driving in snow wasn’t easy but it was best done slowly.
This left his mind to turn over the events of the day, why had he ended up there? Where was he heading for? After that town all there was were small hamlets and then nothing, not even roads. Did he really want to go back to those days? Surviving as an animal, living as one? Looking into the back at the small form huddled under the blankets on the bed he wondered how she really saw him? Was he just a picture of smells to her, could she see at all? Well those questions would have to wait till they were at least fifty miles away.
He’d just finished filling the tank when she woke up, the smell of coffee pervaded the air. Using her sense she homed in on the mug and picked it up gently, taking a good strong gulp of the warm liquid. He watched her drink, like a man out of the desert, just glad to be alive. Making more noise than he needed to he put the empty canister back in the back. Her head snapped round to look at him with blank eyes. “Was it yours?” The mug dangled in her hands and he could feel the guilt radiating from her.
“There’s more if you need it.”
Her face followed his voice around the small camper section as he moved things around and searched for food. Her hands clasped the warm mug and she sniffed the air to find the pot of coffee warming on the small stove. Carefully she touched and found the handle of the pot and held it out over the rim of the mug, using her finger she gauged the depth of the liquid and put the jug down. Holding out the mug toward him with a small smile, as if she’d just done the most important thing in the world. Smiling he took the mug, “Thanks.” His eyes watched her face as he took the mug from them.
“Don’t look so surprised, there’s a lot I can do without eyes you know.”
A moment of darkness passed her face and lodged itself in her smile. “It doesn’t mean I’m helpless, just that I have to adapt better.” His mind latched onto her hands, they were her eyes. He’d known a blind carver once, he could tell you what colour the wood was just by touching it. His work had been alive and full of movement, he’d even seen Xavier holding the small piece he’d given him. Looking and feeling at its simple grace and beauty. The animal wondered what her touch would be like over his skin. Drinking the mug quickly he put the animal part back down and locked it tightly away, it had done its work for today.
“I hope you’re not hungry because I can’t find anything resembling food in here. Obviously the old owner lived on junk food.” His hand threw out an old burger box onto the road. Her face looked confused, “Then why can I smell apples?” She’d seated herself on the small bed again and her movements made it creak ominously.
“Get up.” Unsure of what she had done, she moved slowly and stood next to the bed. Using his nose he smelled the bed, her scent filled his lungs. Sweet, musky and strong, the animal rose to meet the scent and he felt it rise, part of him was glad she couldn’t see as he moved the small mattress. Under there were two small hinged boards, lifting one he found the dry food cache, the other held fruit cheese and juice. Her nose had found the scent of the food and she was leaning on his back breathing in everything, she began to laugh as she told him what she smelled.
“Apples, orange, a juice orange I think, mountain jack cheese and eww liver.” Her laughter was the first normal thing she’d done since the town, at least they’d eat tonight, tomorrow they’d be in town and he could get supplies.
“There’s nothing wrong with liver, as long as its warm,” his words echoed her laugh and she playfully hit out at his back. As they both laughed it took a while for his words to sink in and he found her pulling away from him. He caught the scent of fear from her and he turned to face her, her face was tight and she was shaking.
“Why did you come for me? Back at the bar? Where are we and what do you want with me?” Her hands scrabbled for something to use as a weapon, finding a small screwdriver she held it out in front of her. “I know you nearly killed Chet in the cage and you killed Bud back there. Am I next? Is that it? You take me from there to do god knows what and leave me in the snow to die? Is that it?! Just another piece of mutant trash to be swept up?!”
Her voice was near hysterical and he found it hard to cope with the sudden change of mood and situation. Putting his hands up in defence she struck out blindly and caught the palm of his right hand. The small driver embedding itself in the flesh, she felt it slide into his hand and let go. Dropping to the floor of the camper she shuffled away from him and curled herself into a small ball behind the driver’s seat. Growling in pain he looked at the small handle sticking out of his flesh, he’d have to sort this out now. God knows what she’d stick him with next and looking around the messy truck there was plenty to choose from.
Grabbing her hands and gently easing her out of her corner he sat her back on the remade bed.
“Look if I wanted to hurt you why would I take so many risks trying to get you out of there?” She didn’t look at him, her hands were flat and unmoving. She’d retreated into herself again, the only safe place she knew. Taking her hand he put it around the handle of the small driver and pulled it out. The flesh made a slight sucking sound as the thin shaft came out. She tried to get her hand away but he held it tightly. Dropping the driver he put her sensitive fingers over the wound and waited.
“This is why I came for you.”
Her fingers wet with blood slid across the wound, feeling it as it healed up. Reading the flesh as it knitted back together, until there was nothing but the blood on the back of his hand and on her fingers.
“I’m like you, that’s why I had to get you away from there. I have some” he struggled with the word, “friends. Who you’d be safe with a place where you can be what you are, without fear of someone hurting you. It’s not a home or a prison, it’s a place for our kind to stay until we’re ready to leave it.” Her face streaked with tears looked up at him.
“If this place is so great how come you left?” The words cut him to the bone and he knew that if he lied he’d lose her trust, what little of it he had.
“I lost someone there. She died. I was running from that, not them.” The words were so hard to speak because the tears in his throat and eyes were burning. Her small hand came up to his face and felt the warm trails running down.
“It’s okay. To cry, I mean. They know you loved them. Just like David knew.” He looked into her eyes and he saw the first glow of trust there. Both of them alone. Needing someone to comfort and to be comforted by. They stayed together for an hour, just speaking, talking about each other’s pain. Just being there with someone who understood, even if it was just a little about what it had been like. The time had come to move on, to start again on a new road. Just as he was getting ready to start the engine she asked him the question he’d hoped she wouldn’t.
“So why did she die? Did someone kill her?” All his nerves felt raw and stretched as he answered.
“No, she saved me and others. Using her gifts she helped us to escape a bad situation. Unfortunately she didn’t make it.” Curling up in the passenger seat she turned her large ivory eyes toward his.
“But you know she loved you don’t you?” Hand on the steering wheel he extended a claw and turned on the engine. Looking out at the snow he watched it fall onto the road ahead of him, masking their way back to civilisation.
“Yeah, I do but not in the way I wanted. Not what I wanted at all.” Turning his head to look at her he noticed she was asleep already, turning on the heater he pointed the jets toward her and he drove through the snowy night. Concentrating on the thought of a home where someone waited for him. Fingering his neck where it should be and wondering what she was doing right now and if there was room for him and Bobby.
Well he’d find out as soon as he reached a phone and that was about a hundred miles away. He’d travelled longer and for much less but with a half smile playing in the corners of his mouth he knew someone would be happy to see him home. Even if it did get up Cyc’s nose.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
This was originally archived on the sister site but re-reading it and actually looking at the content it does belong here because they do end up together, through all the pain and heartache it takes to get them there. They do make it, it's just a long journey.
Author's Chapter Notes:
We get to see a version of what *could* have happened to Marie if Logan hadn't helped her. Fate drops a girl called Damask (original character) into his path and Logan finds something he really didn't want to admit to himself.
Chapter End Notes:
Have some patience with this one, it does get him back with Marie just that he has some lessons to learn first.