12: Mixed messages
Marie was an exquisite actress, but he knew her. The flush that lay across her cheekbones, the set of her mouth, the stiffness in her back – she was hurting. For all her posturing and scorn, she had given these people the power to hurt her. That worried him. He hadn’t expected her to want to belong here.
Logan winced as the clang of the double doors resounded in his inner ear, and Rogue took her show of anger out of the room. He stared after her for a moment longer, trying to silence the primitive screaming inside. She belonged with him! This place was nothing, no one here mattered! Take her, now!
Marie mattered, though. And what Marie needed had always mattered most, Logan remembered. That’s how he ended up in this mess in the first place.
Alone. His very bones in agony, adamantium bonds pinning him like an insect. His blood drying against the wall, his faithful, dumb body desperately trying to knit the damage, to heal around the new shape of him.
Memory came dribbling back and he convulsed in a spasm of rage. Where was she? Where had they taken her? His frustration shaking the very walls with a howl of desperation and loss. Who was she? Or was she gone? Lost to the monster?
Racked with guilt, writhing in pain. Howling.
“Stop that noise. You’ll attract attention, and you really don’t want that.”
A woman, emerging from the dark with a solitary circle of yellow torchlight. Her eyes shone yellow, too, and her blue skin threw molten copper hair into sharp relief. Cunning eyes, schemer’s eyes. A scent he couldn’t fix. Too changeable, everything and nothing. He knew her.
His throat too raw to form the words, so the sound hissed out instead. “Mystique.”
“Hello, Wolverine. I’d like to say you were looking good, but …” a desultory wave of her hand made a mockery of his imprisonment, his wretchedness. He could expect no compassion from this one. He bared his teeth at her.
“You never did have any manners. But you were always useful, Wolverine. And for that … I’ll help you.” He felt hope, for a moment, then let it go. Even if she really wanted to help him, there was nothing she could do. Nothing could reshape adamantium.
“I can get you down from there, but you will owe me. Anything I ask. With utter obedience.” She stared up at him, waiting. Fool’s errand. Swear obedience? To do what? How? He would die here – at long last. The seductive dark was beckoning, again, and he wanted to go, he really did. But it meant leaving her, abandoning her. Marie.
He swore. “Yeah. I owe you. Obedience.” He let it go, that dream of nothingness, and peace. Submitted to the struggle.
Her smile was a feline thing, fat with triumph. “Well, then.” She ran the beam of the torch over him, examining the adamantium cuffs on each wrist. Pushed a button, and the wide wash of light became a thin blade, slicing up the wall. Stone tumbling down, and he was falling. Just one more piece of debris amid the disintegration.
He’d spent more time unconscious that day than any time he remembered. Mystique must have moved him, somehow, because he’d woken in a bed, whole. Her laser – stolen from the Defence Department, she’d said – melted adamantium like butter, apparently. The raw, exposed bones had rebuilt themselves to the patterns encoded deep in his cells, leaving only a terrible, phantom ache. He could feel it now, Logan realised, as he stared after Marie. So similar, that ache, to the pain he had felt when they were separated. The pain of knowing she was out there, surviving. Without him.
But maybe she hadn’t just been surviving. Maybe she had found a life. A regular fuck, the kid with the red eyes had said. He’d listened, blankly, and watched the room work itself into a lather over his accusations, but underneath the table, his fists were clenching, claws ready to spring.
Because another man had put his hands on her. They were talking betrayal, and she was losing her friends, and he wanted to put that boy in the ground. Once he would have blamed Wolverine, but he'd struggled towards some self-knowledge, and that included ugly truths. It was Logan who hated to share, Logan who couldn’t bear the thought of her with anyone other than him. Logan, who knew better than anyone else the forces that had shaped her, and drove her, and tormented her.
She had won battles here. Maybe even found peace. And he wanted to rip her away, like a plaster stuck to a half-healed wound, and thrust her back into the chaos of his life. Logan had never hated himself more.
*
Professor Xavier resisted the urge to reach out to his visitor. The Wolverine might be a feral – that much had become apparent – but his mind lacked the rawness and disinhibition mutants of that persuasion usually exhibited. Instead, an iron control locked his mind tighter than anything he had ever encountered. Totally unexpected, and completely fascinating.
He studied the man slouching in the deep chair on the other side of his desk. It was gratifying to see him in the Xavier Institute sweatsuit, but he wasn’t about to take a message from that. The temptation to read him was excruciating, but it would be very, very rude – and being rude to a dangerous man was also stupid. Even more so when he had his doubts about how effective it would be.
There was something about his mind, something in the unusually precise, crystal-clear projections he sometimes gave off that suggested some training. Not a fellow telepath, he was sure, but someone who was familiar with the idea that the mind was a tool, and could be used to shape different realities. Jean had already suggested that Wolverine and Rogue might not be what they seemed, and with the events of the morning, he had to consider the possibility that this man was an enemy.
A formidable enemy, he corrected, as warm gold eyes continued to stare into his own, in no hurry to fill the silence. They were at an impasse, really – in this, his territory, Charles could usually be expected to hold the upper hand, but the Wolverine was here at his request. The duty of hospitality duelling with the need for supremacy: a bind, indeed, he thought, and smiled.
“Wolverine, welcome. I trust you slept well?”
“Some. Nice digs, though. Nothing to complain about on that front,” his visitor offered.
“Have you been offered a tour of the premises yet? The gymnasium would be of interest to you, I’d imagine.” And the Danger Room, even more so, but that’s not for today, or even tomorrow, the Professor thought. You need to become one of us before the lower levels will give up their secrets.
“Storm offered. I wanted to see the fancy plane again. Figured that might not be on the standard tour. Might need X-tra attention,” His grin was wide and facetious, underlining the fact he knew more about them than he had been told.
“Are you a fan of planes? The Blackbird is very beautiful, even though her role is primarily functional. A glorified taxi, if you will, giving us access to mutant children all around the country. Their gifts so frequently manifest in somewhat tragic circumstances – we need to make all haste.”
“So, that’s all you do here? Collect the children in the fancy plane? Take the teachers along to save them from their ‘tragic circumstances’?” Any higher, and that eyebrow would fly off his face, the Professor thought, annoyed. His life’s work, distilled to that.
“Essentially, yes. Our teachers, and some of our senior students, are trained to assist young mutants who might find themselves in dangerous situations. On occasion, our teams might tackle other problems that occur, particularly if they have a bearing on mutant affairs. Myself and other senior staff are active lobbyists in the political arena,” he paused, willing the other man to volunteer some information, anything to indicate a familiarity with the vicious undercurrents in the mutant world. “This can draw unwelcome attention, from a range of opponents.”
“So, the question is, Chuck, what do you want from me? Do you want me to keep the kids safe, keep the sexy teachers safe, or keep the world safe for mutant kids? Or do you want a tame assassin, to make your problems go away?” Golden eyes, daring him to lay it on the line, and risk exposure.
“First, the former. And perhaps later, the latter. Once we know where your loyalties lie.”
A bitter laugh. “I can tell you where that is, Prof. With me. And with my wallet. Anything else is up for negotiation.”
His heart panged in sympathy for the man. He clearly wished things were otherwise. Perhaps he sought redemption?
“So let’s negotiate. What do you need to stay?”
“Somewhere else to live, that’s for fucking sure. A guaranteed spend on whatever security systems I think necessary, and oversight of your combat program. And a chance to work off some energy every now and then with a good fight.”
“Done. Welcome aboard, Wolverine.”
“We didn’t get to the fine print yet!”
He smiled, and held out his hand. “Put your expectations in writing, and I’ll make the necessary arrangements. We need you, and I’ll pay whatever is necessary. Plus, we have a team meeting in 10 minutes, and I’d like to introduce you as our new Head of Security.”
Wolverine stood up to shake his hand and pulled a wry face. “Better get on then, Chuck. Could be interesting.”
Interesting indeed, Professor Xavier thought, as the Wolverine followed him down the hall to the main meeting room. Jean was suspicious, Scott was feeling threatened, Rogue was angry, and the entire junior team was refusing to work with her.
The Professor smiled. Wolverine would soon discover that drama passed for entertainment in the X-mansion.
*
Something was gnawing at his insides, and Scott couldn’t tell whether it was hunger or foreboding. Lunch was beckoning, yes, but this uneasy flip in his stomach and the metallic taste in the back of his throat … it had to be nerves, he admitted. He was nervous for her.
Rogue was the only X-man not to have arrived yet, and with the old-fashioned clock on the burnished mantelpiece beginning to strike 12, she was about to be officially late. The Professor hadn’t arrived yet, of course, so the meeting hadn’t started, but … you didn’t arrive after the Professor. Ever.
Just one more rule for Rogue to break, he thought sourly. Not that it would be easy to walk into this pit of vipers, but she’d brought it on herself. A bit more trust, a bit more sharing, and they would have understood, he wanted to plead with her. Instead, you said nothing, and we built the lies ourselves.
The sound of her hurried arrival – not frightened, not reluctant, just late – dragged him from contemplation of their sins. He tried to stop his eyes from following her, but failed: another reason to reproach himself, because she looked scarcely older than the teenagers in the room - denim and Docs, black t-shirt and something see-through thrown over the top. The same, but more: the luminosity of her skin, the sweet curve of her cheek, the sensuous sway in her walk.
She hesitated, once, and then pushed her chin high and took her usual spot between Jubilee and Gambit. Interesting that they’d left it vacant, Scott thought, when both had been incandescent with rage just hours before. What did it say about him that he’d been more interested in Gambit’s admission that he and Rogue had been more than teammates? Was he so fixated on the girl that he could forgive her involvement with their enemy, but be outraged to hear she was fucking a friend?
Scott scowled, and hid his embarrassment behind the martinet face. He stood up – as Field Leader, he commanded the chair at the table’s end, directly facing Professor Xavier – and rapped his knuckles on the table, demanding silence.
“Good to see you are all here, almost on time,” he said pointedly, refusing to look at Rogue. “Professor Xavier will be here shortly, I imagine. But first I wanted to say a few words about what happened in the dining room this morning.”
He turned towards Rogue, inclining his head in her direction. Not for the first time, he was thankful for the modified sunglasses that shielded his eyes - they couldn’t know that he couldn’t look at her, for the fear of not wanting to stop. They couldn’t know that he was terrified of the projections he might send out, his wife being a telepath much less principled than the Professor.
“Nobody in this room doesn’t have a past. Most of us have something ugly and frightening that we’d rather not remember, and we choose not to talk about it. The way I see it, that’s all Rogue has done, and until her behaviour indicates otherwise, she is an X-man. Not Brotherhood, not anything else – an X-man. And anyone else who fancies themselves an X-man will treat her as such, or they will find themselves stripped of a uniform pretty damn quick.” He punctuated the threat with a glare that burned fiercest at the junior end of the table, where the truculent looks were almost amusing in their teenage predictability.
Gambit was wisely silent, if cloaked in black cloud of cynicism, but Bobby and Kitty were clearly burning with the need to lance the festering wound.
“But Cyclops, how can we be sure …” Iceman’s protest floundered under the weight of his commander’s furious look, and Shadowcat clamped her mouth shut even before her question had made its way out. Jubilee, however, was not cowed.
“Sure, we’ve all got secrets, but not all of us have secrets to do with fighting for our worst enemy,” she said mulishly.
“And then, there’s the matter of her loyalty yesterday – you said until her behaviour indicates otherwise, Cyclops. And yesterday, Rogue disobeyed an order, and attacked someone we were trying to recruit. Maybe the Brotherhood told her to get rid of the Wolverine or else!”
Jubilee’s moment of high drama was interrupted as the door to the meeting room opened, the Wolverine raising an eyebrow as he caught the end of the girl’s dire proclamation. He hesitated by the door, holding it open as the Professor wheeled through, but his alert gaze roamed the room before settling on Rogue. Expecting further violence? Scott rejected the idea as the older man’s eyes conducted a thorough inventory of his teammate, lingering a little too long on her eyes and her lips. It was more than simple appreciation, he realised with a chill – it was if he was determining that she was OK, or happy. Almost protective. It made no sense.
The room quietened instantly as Professor Xavier raised his hand. Wolverine loomed behind his chair, his forceful presence dominating the room. His attention had left Rogue, and was being focused elsewhere now … each face in turn, Scott realised, all the better to judge their reactions.
“I’m happy to report that the Wolverine has agreed to join the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning as our Head of Security,” Professor Xavier said genially. “We still have a number of minor issues to work out, but he wants to get started immediately, and that means a good deal of work for yourselves.”
Scott stilled. Why should security have any impact on the operation of the two X-teams? Wolverine would be a camera-jockey, perhaps organise a few patrols of the grounds. He’d have no involvement in the team, surely?
“As part of his role, the Wolverine will oversee combat training for the entire school, and has volunteered to teach the senior students himself. He’ll also be working with Scott to ensure the X-men are combat ready, and may yet agree to join one of the teams himself.”
Scott’s jaw dropped. That animal, on one of his teams? Training HIS team members? Hell was surely freezing over. And then, as if to prove it, Rogue raised her hand, and waited meekly for permission to speak. The Professor granted it with a nod, and she stood, glancing nervously around the table.
“I wanted to say something, and I need to get this out, so please don’t interrupt.”
“Yesterday, something happened to me. I don’t understand it, not really, but I think it was some sort of trauma thing. Something about seeing Wolverine again, and being in that warehouse …” her shoulders shook with a shudder no one could doubt.
“The last time I saw him, he was hunting me. In a warehouse just like that one. I was only young – just turned 16 – and I’ve never been so scared in my life. All I could do was wait until he came to kill me.” Her eyes were blank with remembered terror.
“And then he came, and he pointed the gun at me, and I knew I was dead. I just gave up, then, and thought it might be better anyway. And then he was lowering it, and saying something about my Momma and Daddy, and I couldn’t help it, I was just so scared, I had to get away. I touched him, and he was the first person I ever held onto.”
“I got all of his memories and most of his skills and even some weird personality stuff. So – I know him. And I didn’t say because it’s not easy having him inside my head, and it’s not easy remembering that girl. How scared I was. How weak.” Her self disgust cut his heart to ribbons.
“So when I saw him yesterday, I attacked him. I just wanted that weak girl, the scared girl, gone. I wanted Rogue back.” She was looking at the Wolverine, Scott realised with a shock. As if the message was for him, to him, rather than the rest of the table.
And from the look in his eyes, maybe it was.
***
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This one brought to you by loving husbands and the lure of the swimming pool.
Chapter End Notes:
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