Heal Over: Chapter Six
Charles hung up the phone, surprised to see the hand that gripped the receiver was shaking. He inhaled deeply.
But it had to be done.
The school's headmaster buried his face in pale hands--hands that had never had to embrace physical labor, hands better accustomed to holding a grading pencil than any weapon. He battled guilt, and the dregs of the phone conversation that rose up to the surface of his thoughts, again and again.
But it had to be done.
Words like 'deal' and 'risk'. 'Debt' and 'collateral damage.'
But it had to be done.
Charles had the other students to think of after all. Right? Surely the protection of a hundred children mattered more than one? Yes. Yes. It was basic mathematics. He'd done the right thing.
It had to be done.
Guilt was a useless emotion. He could push back remorse. His was a powerful mind, after all.
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"Logan?"
The girl turned to him questioningly, holding up the bra.
Logan sighed. He gave a brief, tight smile. Reminded himself of his manhood.
Yesterday Ororo had brought clothing from the second hand closet, two boxes worth for the girl. And Dr. Grey had seen fit to arrange the piles into specific outfits for every day, warning Logan of the potential fashion risk should he mismatch them
He stood in front of her, took the bra from Marie's hands and tugged the edge of her t-shirt. "Take that off.", he ordered.
Admittedly, Logan had forgotten to purchase this particular undergarment. So it was no surprise that the gir--Marie didn't know what to do with it.
Cigar clenched between his teeth, he directed her arms into the silk loops, pushed them up creamy flesh--a healthy tone, starting to fill out. And from there things got a bit tricky. There was no questioning his skill in removing bras; that talent was unmatched. But Logan couldn't remember having ever tried to put one on. He spent five minutes on the tiny clasp, another five trying to shrink the straps to fit her shoulders. It was harder than riding the motorcycle.
"There you go," he said.
She swayed forward, pressed a tiny, sweet kiss to his chest. Logan fought a grin.
"Put your shirt on, Marie."
She did not smile, but her eyes brightened for a moment, as ever when Logan said her name. It was a pleasant sight, and the word tasted good on his lips. But often he found himself still thinking of her in terms of 'kid' or 'girl'. Force of habit.
Logan wasn't sure what kept him from sharing Marie's name with the rest of the team. He came close, especially with Ororo. But some cautioning hitch in his mind stopped his tongue,every time. And it remained a sort of secret; a private treasure, spoken only in their room for the satisfaction of an almost-smile.
Logan said her name as much as possible.
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The air conditioner must have been broken. The room felt muggy, like a Florida swamp. Though all the sheets had been kicked to the bottom of the bed, sweat continued to pool stickily in the creases of their skin.
Marie had woken four times already. Thrashing, whimpering. Clawing her way into an uncomfortable sleep only to be thrown back moments later. Her eyes were open now staring tiredly at the door as she waited for a doctor who hadn't returned but could, any moment.
Logan scratched at his chest, nails running through curling bristles of hair. Even his mind felt overheated-an itchy restlessness he'd usually have solved with a cold whiskey and a fuck for distraction. But as those options weren't entirely present, he'd settle for a beer.
"Hey. Marie?"
Her eyes flicked up to him.
"Gonna run down to the kitchen. You wanna come with me? Get a snack?"
He watched her weigh the risks. Leave their familiar, and relatively safe bedroom or stay in it without him. After a moment, the girl gave a tiny nod. He smiled.
Over the past week Logan had encouraged the girl to come out more--quick trips to the terrace or kitchen (when Jean was otherwise engaged). After all, she couldn't stay cooped up in the room forever...And neither could he, since most of his time was spent with her. But the crowds of students distressed Marie, and she spent most of their trips trembling against his side, barely peeking from the folds of his shirt. Logan couldn't blame her. He hoped it'd be better, with the school quiet and the halls empty.
Ororo welcomed them, dark eyes sparkling over the rim of her cup. "Midnight snack?"
"I thought you were in Virginia." Logan said, meaning 'Good Evening'. He pushed Marie gently, but firmly into the kitchen. She'd balked at the sight of Ororo, and gave a token whimper when he let go of her hand.
"Easy mission. We got back a few hours ago....Jean went to bed," Storm added, reading his mind. Logan nodded his thanks.
He walked to the fridge, ignoring the noise of protest Marie gave. One half of his mind searched for beer with the eye of a hunter tracking deer. The other half monitored the kid standing at the doorway, shaking--wanting to stick close to him, but not wanting to get any nearer to the woman at the counter, a short distance away. Ororo smiled peaceably, did not speak and Logan thought there was no better resident to test Marie with.
"The air conditioner's broken on our floor.", Logan said. He popped the cap off his beer and claimed one of the counter stools. Deliberate casualness, listening to Marie shift her weight from foot to foot behind him.
"No it's not." Storm sipped from her cup- which smelled not of coffee but an overwhelming amount of sugar with perhaps a tablespoon of coffee added as an afterthought.
"It's not?"
"It's the mutant we brought back from Virginia. His power affects humidity levels."
"'Feels alright down here."
"He's sleeping in your wing."
"Not for long."
The girl's resistance broke. She crossed the kitchen floor--socks and a flannel shirt making more noise than she did. Marie wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into his back. His arm found its way about her shoulders, and he pulled the girl around to his side. Hugging, proud in a way that couldn't quite be explained.
He kissed the top of her head.
"You want somethin' to eat, baby? A drink?"
Ororo was smiling at them--one of those warm, quietly knowing expressions that made Logan wonder why she didn't have a husband and a dozen children. "Your so kind with her," she said. Then: " You should hear some of the rumors flying around here."
"I've got good hearing, Darlin'."
"They're saying somebody's finally tamed the Wolverine."
Something inside his chest seemed to freeze, like a sudden frost in the middle of April.
"That right?"
Storm registered the hardening of Logan's already-curt, natural demeanor. She changed the subject swiftly, looking at Marie, who was nuzzling his chest like she was trying to burrow a tunnel. "Does she like hot chocolate?"
Logan ran his mind through the catalogue of all the drinks he'd given the girl. "I don't know."
"Well," she said, standing. "She's in luck." Ororo began bustling around the kitchen, pulling ice cream from the fridge, a mug, marshmallows and cocoa mix from the cabinets.
Ororo addressed Marie now--easily, relaxed. "I make the greatest hot chocolate in the world. Kings and Queens would bow down for this stuff."
Logan nudged the girl into looking up. He took a pull on his own beer (half empty now), letting the pleasant bitterness landslide down his throat.
"I put a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the water. It's creamier than milk...We're gonna stick this in the microwave for about a minute, and stirr in two packets of cocoa."
The scent of chocolate warmed the room like a fireplace being lit. Marie watched Storm's gliding movements. Her smell was nervous, but not very frightened. She looked wary when Ororo slid the cup across the counter. He understood her suspicion of suddenly-proffered drinks, but pressed the mug into her hands anyway.
"Don't burn yourself," Storm told her.
After several reluctant moments and Logan's encouragement, Marie brought the rim to her lips. She took a sip. And another. And another.
"Kings and Queens, huh?" Logan asked.
The Weather Witch nodded. "I believe I'll tuck in now. It's been a long day. Goodnight, Logan."
"'Night."
"Goodnight Sweetie."
Marie's eyes followed Ororo to the doorway, mouth almost glued to the mug, where the white-haired woman paused.
"The flowers are blooming, in the garden. Perhaps she'd like to see them?"
"Yeah. I was thinking that."
Storm smiled, continued on her way to the attic apartment she'd claimed for herself. Alone.
Marie loved the drink. She drained every drop (though she'd never been exactly wasteful), and when it was empty there was something sleepy and passive about her--not caused by medicine, this time. He thanked Storm's simple ingenuity. Face framed by white strips of hair and the green pillowcase (which he'd have to get cleaned soon--nightmares and humidity meant frequent laundry trips.), Marie gave Logan a half smile. On her back, not watching the door.
He'd aimed for her forehead, but somehow found her lips. Logan kissed her gently, almost absently. Her mouth tasted of chocolate.
He rolled over, tried to shut his mind off, go to sleep. His thoughts--the ones that wanted to repeat Storm's words over and over again--didn't seem to agree with that plan.
"Somebody's finally tamed The Wolverine.Somebody's finally tamed The Wolverine.Somebody's finally tamed The Wolverine."
The rumors she'd mentioned--one or two of which claimed he was keeping the girl locked up, as a sex slave. Logan's reputation as a crazy badass either took a hit or doubled, depending on which student you asked. (Jubilee was a self-proclaimed expert on the subject.)
"Somebody's finally tamed The Wolverine."
Logan swore, closed his eyes determined.
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The scent of roses and lilies, bleeding hearts and daffodils. A hundred other flowers he appreciated, even if he knew not their name and didn't have enough interest to find out. They overflowed both sides of the brick path--which seemed to have been placed there as an afterthought. Ororo had really outdone herself this year.
He enjoyed the clean scent of the flowers, though his love of nature usually slanted toward it's more practical aspects. But seeing the expression on Marie's face, that opinion was starting to change.
She was enthralled.
Clenching his hand, the fingers of her other stretching out to brush a petal, a leaf. Tiny steps, forcing him to walk slow as well. Staring at insects, a squirrel, a robin. Deep inhales of air not tainted with chemicals. Twisting her head up to make sure he saw everything too. Excited scent. Happy.
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"She's gonna get sick." Ororo chided him, as Logan stirred the chocolate mix into the cup--for the fourth time that day. He had become quite adept at hot chocolate-making.
Apparently it was unreasonable to go through a box of cocoa in one day. But how could he say no to the only drink Marie would ask for by name?
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"Garden," Marie begged, after breakfast every morning. Still not comfortable speaking, only doing so when they were alone. Her eyes and scent told him more than the one-word declarations she gave. Logan didn't mind, but he was happy to hear her voice.
They took many walks out there, in the flowers. A sense of peaceful seclusion enveloped the garden (not doubt Storm's intent when she built it), so that even when they crossed paths with another student--reading on a bench, or picnicking--Marie wasn't often alarmed.
Ororo joined them, sometimes. Her tranquil aura seemed to seep into the kid. Logan hoped so, anyway. She didn't speak around Storm, but she didn't flinch away and there was no fear in her smell.
He could even leave her in the company of the other woman--run inside to get a beer, a snack. He'd return to find the Ororo explaining the effect of sunlight on a certain plant, the girl no less calm for his absence.
And if he felt tense when she was out of his sight, strangely irritable when Marie was with the weather witch instead of him...well, surely those were insignificant emotions. Easily ignored.
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Storm gave her a vase. Carnival glass, she called it. Swirls of pink and blue, sparkles. Marie adored it, ran her fingers over the side, the rim constantly.
She placed it on their bedside table and fell asleep admiring it. Proud, incredulous that something so pretty could be hers. And Logan was guilty for having bought her only the essentials, wishing he'd put that expression on her face long ago.
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"You've been here ninety-three days.", Ororo announced to Logan. She handed Marie a pair of gloves and the clippers, allowing the girl to cut a few of her precious flowers for her vase. "Seven more and I'll win the bet."
"Bet?"
"Mmm-hmm," she said, nodding. "I put fifty down on a hundred or more days. Nobody else thought you would stay that long. So I ought to thank you. You've won me about a thousand dollars."
"That many people bet on me?" Logan asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
"Yes. And can you blame us? This is the most time you've ever spent here. It's really impressive." Stormed leaned forward, teasing, conspiratory smile on her lips, white hair swinging over her cheeks. "If you stay a full year, I'll cut you in."
Logan grimaced.
As if he needed to be told that he hadn't left the mansion. As if he needed to be reminded that he hadn't felt the bike tires spinning beneath him in months. Hadn't set foot in a bar, or a cage fight. Hadn't gotten laid in so long he honestly feared for the health of his testicles. Logan's body was always thrumming now--jittery with the energy he'd usually expel by sinking into a woman. Restless, and easily aggravated.
Marie held her roses up for his approval.
"We'll see," he told Ororo.
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"The fuck is it?", Logan grumbled, searching his pockets, the mattress, the dresser drawers for the last of his cigars. It should have been easy to find, what with his senses. But the plastic wrapping and the already smokey atmosphere of the bedroom dulled the cigar's scent.
It had to be here somewhere. At first it had only been a vague desire to light it, but now the tobacco seemed to be the most important thing in the world.
He'd been searching for the past fifteen minutes, and growing angrier with every one. Patting the bed covers, his clothes, growling lowly.
A small part of Logan knew that it didn't really matter, that his frustration wasn't with a missing cigar. A voice in his head said to relax.
The rest of his mind told the voice to shut the fuck up.
"Goddammit." Logan swore.
Well. This was simple. If he lost a cigar, he could just go out and get some more. No reason he had to sit here, cigar-less. No reason he couldn't leave the mansion for a few minutes. Or an hour. Or a couple hours. Or a night. Hell. No reason he couldn't loosen the noose or leash that had been tightening around his neck since Ororo had thanked him for winning her bet.
"Logan?" Marie queried, from the pile of bedsheets as he laced up his boots. "Where?" Her eyes wide, curious.
"Wherever I fucking please.", he snapped at her. He shoved his arms into his jacket refusing to meet those eyes. Logan slammed the door hard enough to hear the rattle of wood, the crinkle of glass.
His anger--such a pleasant, thoughtless feeling--lasted him halfway down the second floor staircase. But his boot hit the step below him, and he froze. Heard again that glass sound. Oh, fuck.
Logan closed his eyes.
Damn, he thought. He gritted his teeth as his frustration vanished, a more sickening emotion welling up in it's place.
Marie sat on the floor, picking up each piece of the broken vase. Delicately, reverently. She lay them in the wastebasket beside her, one by one. She didn't look up when the door opened, nor when he stepped hesitantly inside.
Her head was down, shoulders hunch. Focused on the carnival glass.
Shit. Shit. Fuckiddy shit.
"Aw, Kid," Logan said. "Kid. Marie."
He knelt, and Marie drew her hand away, back to her stomach. Keeping her gaze down, her movements slow as if trying to be invisible. Carefully shying away from him and the suddenly dangerous entity he'd become. Logan saw her blink repeatedly, staring fixedly at a rumpled flower on the carpet.
"Baby," he said, some kind of thickness blocking his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Logan reached out, but the girl recoiled, pressed herself against the mattress behind her.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
He took hold of her chin, forced her head up. She tried jerking away, not wanting to look at him or feel his touch. He tightened his grip.
"Honey, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."
Shards of glass sparkling on the floor between them. Guilty bolts contracting in his chest. All of that restlessness scraped out as if with a knife.
Logan cleaned off Marie's face, ashamed, and wondered what ever made him think he could leave her.
Logan did go out, later that evening.
Found an antique store and spent an hour being tracked by a grey-haired woman who chanted at him, "Can I help you dear?"
He returned with a receipt for sixty dollars and a dark blue flower vase--which Marie admired dutifully before wrapping it in a shirt, and hiding it safely in the bottom dresser drawer.
And she forgave him, though there was always the tiniest shadow of herself--which sometimes Logan had to search her eyes to find--that viewed him differently. Closed a piece of her off in a tiny box in her mind, protected like the vase.
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"Garden," Marie said, already dressed. Socks on, and the tennis shoes she never seemed quite comfortable in, but Jean insisted she wear.
Logan cracked his neck, stretched. He kissed the girl's cheek. "I've gotta take a shower, baby. Meet me down there."
Her eyes widened pleadingly and her lower lip jutted out. "Logan!"
"Don't give me that look, Kid. You're alright. You've done it before and you know where it is."
He hugged her against him lightly, nuzzled the top of her head. "Go. I'll be there in a few minutes, I promise."
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The door to Xavier's office struck the opposite wall, leaving a crater in the plaster that the residents wouldn't repair for many weeks.
The physics students jumped in their seats, startled out of a math-induced coma. They spun around in their chairs to see the large, feral man who stormed in. He was trembling, sweaty, his hair in disarray. His chest heaved up and down and he seemed one second away from murder. His eyes blazed with fury.
Professor Xavier exhaled, slowly.
"Where is she?", Logan snarled.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Oh mess. Didn't think I'd get this chapter typed up today. Yays!
My usual thanks to the awesome pimpalicious people who have reviewed this story so kindly. You've all been really fantastic. There's nothing in the world that makes me happier-or more insecure-than writing, and the reviews have made this truly fun.
Two warnings: Please remember, Logan's human.
And I'll write as quickly as I can, but this next week is going to be really busy for me. I've got two concerts, a contest, and a bunch of rehearsals. But I'll try to get chapter seven posted in no more than a week.
Oh! And if no one has tried hot chocolate like Ororo describes-with a scoop of vanilla ice cream-not only to I advise you to do so, I ORDER you to. It's just something you can't go through life without.
My usual thanks to the awesome pimpalicious people who have reviewed this story so kindly. You've all been really fantastic. There's nothing in the world that makes me happier-or more insecure-than writing, and the reviews have made this truly fun.
Two warnings: Please remember, Logan's human.
And I'll write as quickly as I can, but this next week is going to be really busy for me. I've got two concerts, a contest, and a bunch of rehearsals. But I'll try to get chapter seven posted in no more than a week.
Oh! And if no one has tried hot chocolate like Ororo describes-with a scoop of vanilla ice cream-not only to I advise you to do so, I ORDER you to. It's just something you can't go through life without.
Chapter End Notes:
Woot! >insert something semi-witty and a hopefull request for feedback<