The Girl: Chapter Fourteen
They'd barely left Xavier's office, Logan had barely the time to wonder what to do with the girl now. Show her around the mansion a little? Take her someplace quiet, let the shock wear off? He fought to understand the command his instincts were issuing--to shield her from the sight of anyone else, bring the girl to an environment he could control. It was early, but she might even want a nap. They could do that. He could take her to his room---
But the mansion's doctor was rounding the corner, and her arrival took the decision out of Logan's hands.
Her face was a little too unsurprised, her heels (only two inches high today--Jean's version of casual) clacking a little too quickly for their owner to have been anything but summoned. Her cheeks were a little red--sun burnt, or perhaps simply flushed. He wondered what she had been doing, before Chuck called her to greet their latest budding superhero.
Jean pushed her hair over her shoulder. It had grown since the last time Logan had been here, and she had it curled now into silken waves of scarlet. She smiled her hello to him before she was close enough to speak the words. Amber, clinging shirt and a tight pair of khaki pants. He flashed her a brief, low grin, a token smirk. It had been a long time. Logan absently considered flirting, tried to remember if he had before leaving the mansion--alternating seducing days made the game more fun while expectation killed it.
His glance touched the girl beside him, her chocolate locks of hair and the soft tan of the scalp beneath them, and he decided no. Maybe he'd flirt with Red tomorrow, if Scott was around.
"Well, hello there, Stranger. Thought you were never gonna come back," the doctor purred, when she's closed enough--and perhaps a little too much--distance between them. She blinked her long lashes at him; the lids were painted a dusty green.
"Jean," he acknowledged. He touched the slim muscle between the girl's shoulder blades, just once, fleetingly, but his hand continued to hover there afterwards, unwilling to fall away. "Kid, this gonna be one of your teachers."
"You'll call me Ms Grey," the auburn woman corrected, a firm edge to a voice that rehearsal had made kind, maternal. She looked his companion up and down, assessing and modifying her behavior in response to what she saw. Had the Professor taught her that trick? Or did it come easily for all telepaths? "It's nice to meet you, sweetie. And how do you prefer to be addressed?"
The girl's dark, wet eyes rose to Jean's only once before falling to study the dirty laces of her tennis shoes. A nervous, delicate fist gripped the hem of her long shirt, tugged it reflexively down.
"Maybe we'll get to that later. Would you like to take a look around the school? And then we can see about setting up some classes for you, and a room."
With all the expertise of one who had given this particular tour hundreds of times, Jean slipped her arm into the space between the girl and Logan. She swept her down the hall, urging with the same confidence that could keep a hundred unruly teens in check. The frail figure stumbled along obediently.
An odd trill of aggravation skirted through Logan's system--odd because of it's cause. Because the girl was closer to someone other than him.
"Do you have any special interests? Hobbies? Sports? Here we have tennis courts, gardens, a music room--"
"She likes to read," he said gruffly, when her silence showed no sign of breaking.
"Do you?" Jean spoke as if the question had been answered by no one but the one she posed it to. "That's great. The school has an excellent library, with over two thousand--"
He watched the frizzy ends of the girl's brown hair, studied the wrinkles in her barely-fitting jeans. Judging from her scent, she was listening to their guide only slightly more than he was. Fear would outweigh shock soon enough, and he trusted no one but himself with the task of calming her.
A few halls, turns Logan didn't take, could be excuse--written off by saying that he was only trailing the two women because they happened to be going in the same direction as him. But soon Jean was glancing over her shoulder at him, bemused smile on her red lips. He understood that grin. On those decidedly infrequent occasions when Logan had carried a new mutant--runaways, lab escapees--to the mansion, he'd rarely stayed longer than the time it took to dump them with another staff member. And even that was a stretch, called one of the more responsible actions of the Wolverine. Once, he'd left a particularly annoying boy locked in a New England shed, with a stack of playboys to keep him quiet and a phone call to Scott to "pick up this little hippie asshole before I gut him." It broke all precedent for him to still be within shouting distance of the girl.
Another corridor, another potential escape turned down, and Jean halted her own explanation of mealtimes and what was and was not appropriate to request from the cafeteria staff. "How nice. You're going to keep us ladies company, Logan?", she trilled. As if his footsteps had not been echoing theirs for several minutes. No small hint of sarcasm, but Jean could not hide her thoughts from a mutation as well as he could. She assumed, perhaps naturally, that he was following her.
"Yeah," he said, and made his expression warm to soften the suddenly anxious one that the girl shot to him. "Think I'll stick around."
They visited most of the chambers on the first floor. Classrooms, the computer lab, the game room, and various staff offices where assistance could be found only if a student was lucky enough to catch a teacher in them. "We're very busy," Jean told the girl, her voice brisk but cheerful. "There's always something to do--classes, training, field trips, errands, tasks that go with our job. But please do not hesitate to come to us with any questions."
As if to underscore her point, periodically a student would sidle up to their small group--one every few moments, almost, as if their questions had been scheduled for maximum effect. Apologetic smiles for their interruption, "Excuse me, but-" and "Sorry, Ms Grey, but I was wondering if--"
This seemed to trouble the girl at first, put a look on her face that Logan neither understood nor liked. She gravitated back to him during one of these instances, when Jean's attention was diverted. Huddled without really touching him, without, perhaps, consciously choosing to do get so near. And when the teacher's focus was once more upon her, when they moved on to the next classroom, the laundry, the TV room, Logan made certain to keep his body between hers and everyone else's.
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They took a break at noon. Jean said she had to go "keep the herd from stampeding", and he didn't consider subjecting the girl to the trauma of the cafeteria, after the IHOP fiasco. He led her to the relatively smaller kitchen, sat the girl on one of the stools that circled the marble island. Had she seen marble before, Logan mused, digging through the fridge for food that would tempt a stressed stomach. It seemed like the mansion was on another health kick. He grimaced at the numerous tofu-labelled packages.
She probably hadn't, if filthy toilets and stained bathroom tile did not count. The girl touched the pads of her fingertips to the turquoise stone. He judged the texture of her silence, the shifting emotions in her blood. Studied the defensive curve of her back, the way her eyes were both too nervous and too still. Sights like that kept striking a trigger that ran deep through the most sensitive nerves of his body. He wanted to take her onto his lap, guard her even when there was nothing around to threaten her. Do bizarre things, like lick the dry, creased skin of her elbow. Nuzzle the petals under her eyes, red and moist from apprehension. Gather every strand of that brown hair in his hands and feel the softness of her around him.
Logan blinked, just once, and set a roast beef sandwich before the girl. A pickle, and pretzels on the side of the plate.
"You want some milk, honey? Or juice?"
She lifted her head. Stared at him, but down on a lip that threatened to start wobbling if left unchecked. Her shoulders twitched in a shrug. He poured her a glass of orange juice--fresh squeezed, the school would never lower themselves to anything as pedestrian as canned. He placed it in front of her, swung his long legs over a stool on the counter's opposite side. Crossed his arms and arranged his face into something encouraging--it was getting easier, with practice, to do so.
She looked at the food as if completely unaware what it's purpose was, what he expected her to do with it, and Logan weighed the pros and cons of forcing the sandwich piece-by-piece down her throat. The route of patience won, by a narrow margin, and he sat quietly as she picked at the bread's crust.
The girl wore the expression of one mulling over something difficult. Now and then her eyes would dart around the room--to the stainless steel refrigerator, casting back a warped version of their reflection like a circus's house of mirrors. The array of kitchen appliances, most of which even Logan could not name, several unknown gadgets that appeared quite lethal. The cabinets and other furniture, their design outshining even the most ambitious models in a Home &Garden magazine.
He waited for her to speak, knew that she would even without that skip to her heartbeat, the incoming data his senses provided. She'd had the same look before asking him about his claws.
"This is a school," she said at last. Not a question, or confirmation, or even a epiphany, but as if she were explaining this to him. As if it had been Logan who'd struggled with this incredible concept, too large for a mind to wrap around.
"Yes," he agreed.
"A school," the girl repeated. Gazing at him directly, earnestly. Desperately.
"I know, honey. They've got blackboards and everything."
She studied the room around her, trying to fit an idea in her head where no space, no hope, had made to hold.
Almost absently, her pallid fingers lifted a pretzel. She put it into her mouth. Logan watched her chew, swallow, meet his eyes again. Reach for more.
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"And we will get all your classes fixed up tomorrow. Settle you in as quickly as possible--does that sound good? Don't worry about anything you might be unfamiliar with. That's why we are here, to educate. Not to put undue pressure on you."
Jean led them down a corridor on the third floor, alternately spilling out whatever information she felt she hadn't already mentioned, and glaring down at a sheet of paper in her hands. A list of available beds, Logan guessed. The redhead was unhappy about something, but not enough to let it show when she addressed the girl.
Thomas Kinkade paintings on the wall, other works that hinted at older, considerably higher-priced artists. Carpet thick enough to serve as bedding. Faded, somber colors, subtle patterns of Chinese dragons amid flowers. Roses in their metal vases, nailed to the wall. Replaced almost daily, before they had the slightest chance to wilt. A reminder tacked to a board, usually ignored, for students to not run in the halls. Someone's forgotten basketball next to a table with a community telephone resting upon it, earning a sharp look from Jean. The girl's hand and it's shy grip on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Students board two to a room, unless their gift renders this unsafe for their classmate. I understand you may have a few qualms about this, but we are a little pressed for space at this time so you will be sharing with someone. Please remember to be careful, and if those glove begin to feel uncomfortable let me know; we'll find you some in another size."
Jean smiled at the girl, with just the slightest evidence of strain around her lips. "Most of the kids love this living arrangement. I'm sure your roommate and you will become friends in no time. She'll help you grow acquainted with the other residents."
It may have been Logan's imagination, but he thought the doctor only stopped at the door with the greatest of reluctance, even a vein of chagrin. It was hard to tell, hard to be objective when a thousand reasons as to why the girl should sleep in his room were running through his mind. The slightest excuse would turn the suggestions he was considering to insistance.
He remained silent.
"Here we are," Jean said, over-brightly. She knocked politely, but when no response came from behind the door she did not hesitate to open it herself.
A decent-sized room, slightly smaller than that of the motel they'd occupied last night. Bright posters on the wall, shirtless boy bands and Twilight memorabilia. A too-sweet scent that reminded Logan of cotton candy and Novocaine, laced with a strip of bleach. Clothes and CD cases and half-empty boxes of candy spilled over the floor, across both beds--one of which was made, the other a misshapen pile of covers and bright yellow pillows. An Asian girl was visible through the open bathroom door, popping the blackheads of her nose with a pair of long, glued-on nails.
"Jubilee," Jean said, and the strain was in her voice, too. "Didn't we agree that you were going to clean up in here?"
"I did," the teen replied in a bored tone, not immediately turning from the mirror. She picked at a spot on her face, studied herself for a long moment before leaving the bathroom. Her eyes flicked indifferently from Jean, lingered on Logan with an edgy sort of appreciation, landed, finally, on the girl with unhidden distaste.
But when she spoke again--mouth circled with more lipliner than lipstick--her voice was cloying in it's niceness. "Hey," she greeted. "Welcome to Mutant High. Are you sure you don't want to sleep somewhere else?"
"We talked about this, Jubilee," Jean said warningly, before her smile returned. "Clear up that bed for our new resident, and behave yourself."
She turned to the girl for a final time, might have patted her shoulder if she hadn't been told about her skin. "Get plenty of rest, sweetie. Tomorrow's going to be a big day."
The younger girl looked at the doctor, clutched the bag of new clothes (obtained from a special storage room, filled with the all the donated supplies any less-than-fortunate guest might want) to her chest. Her head turned to Logan, her eyes large as if just now paying attention, realizing something obvious and terrible.
"I'm not staying with you?" she whispered, confused and no little horrified. He told himself that it was only preference for the known versus the unknown. The lesser evil. It had nothing, really, to do with him. It didn't.
He opened his mouth, but Jean beat him. She gave a surprised laugh that was no less cruel for the fact that it's taunt was unintentional.
"Oh, no, sweetie. He doesn't--Mr. Logan has his own private sleeping quarters, and business to tend to. You wouldn't have any fun with him." She gave a 'go-on' gesture to the girl, who flinched unwilling into the room. "Jubillee is your own age. You'll be best friends in no time at all. Now, be good and go to bed early tonight. You need your sleep."
He almost growled. "My room's in the next floor up, Kid. Come find me if you need anything," Logan told her. She was supposed to hear his reply to her question in the words, but the sad expression on her face said otherwise.
Jean's expression was still amused as they walked away from the room, from the girl. She seemed to be waiting for him to thank her for something, but with each glance at his face that expectation faded away, and a thousand books worth of questions took it's place.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I wanted badly to slap myself when this occurred to me, but I've forgotten to do two things during the previous uploads. I forgot to post the correct link to the fanart an amazing member sent to me, and I forgot to retitled chapter eleven as "Part Two". Ugh. I haven't completely dropped the ball yet, but I sure am fumbling. Anyhoo, here is the link, and I encourage all of you to check it out immediately. It's wonderful, and my story can certainly wait.
Thank you to all the readers who have waited patiently and impatiently for this chapter. Your foot-tapping is much appreciated, and keeps me going when writers block tells me to "Go on, punch the wall, it'll help." The reviewers here are the best, most smexy people in the whole world and I'm grateful to every one of them.
I hope you are all pleased with this chapter. Things are going to pick up very, very soon and I'm guesstimating another four-five chapters left to this story, if everything goes smoothly. >knocks on wood, hurts knuckles a little bit
Thank you to all the readers who have waited patiently and impatiently for this chapter. Your foot-tapping is much appreciated, and keeps me going when writers block tells me to "Go on, punch the wall, it'll help." The reviewers here are the best, most smexy people in the whole world and I'm grateful to every one of them.
I hope you are all pleased with this chapter. Things are going to pick up very, very soon and I'm guesstimating another four-five chapters left to this story, if everything goes smoothly. >knocks on wood, hurts knuckles a little bit
Chapter End Notes:
Why, hello down here. Long time no see. The chapter you have just read is dedicated to Nubeblanca, for not yelling at me for forgetting my promise. And to Doctorg, whose Overlap-epilogue cured a rather awful day and still inspires my happy dance when I think about it. Thank you all so much, for taking the time to read this story. I hope you all enjoyed chapter eleven and will now kindly introduce Mr. Mouse to Mrs. Review Button...