The girl sat on her bed and he on his.
She had spent damn near an hour in the shower, and emerged flushed and sweet-smelling in pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, socks on her feet and new gloves on her hands. His shower had been quicker. He had to grit back the hisses of pain as the hot water hit the still-healing wounds, and he emerged slightly dizzy again.
In the end he hadn’t found himself willing to leave the girl alone, and had ordered a couple of pizzas to be delivered to the room. He watched the girl carefully remove the gloves before eating, shooting him suspicious glances from time to time as if to ensure that he would really keep his distance while her hands were uncovered. Damn, she was skittish -- but then he thought of the videotape and understood why.
He could smell the hunger on her, but she forced herself to take slow, careful bites. He wondered again where she had learned these hard lessons, but he focused his questions on recent events. The southern drawl that had been barely perceptible when she was stressed came out more now. She had been taken outside her apartment building in Detroit. A van parked outside, and she was simply grabbed by two guys.
It was a rough neighborhood, she said matter-of-factly, and she had thought...she didn’t finish the sentence, but he smelled the spike in her terror, remembering, and knew what she had thought. But they had seemed to know about her mutation, and hadn’t touched her -- just kept her drugged, and blindfolded most of the time. Two or three days in the van, another day in a boat where she got the collar, and then three more days where the videotape had been taken until she got moved to the shack at the Camden docks earlier that day.
She was telling the truth, he could smell it on her, but for some reason her fear seemed to be creeping back. It puzzled him, but he had seen it sometimes, from kids brought in on rescue missions. They held it together in the worst of circumstances, and then when they were finally safe they fell apart.
Not that many would consider being in a hotel room with the Wolverine safe, but this kid -- Marie -- was something else. She had seen him gut three men, and still came back to get him out of there. Killed two men just to make them stop hurting him -- just so that she could take him with her. It made him feel a little strange every time he thought of it. Crazy girl, he told himself again, but it didn’t quite ring true.
He could smell the exhaustion on her now that she was fed and clean.
“Go to sleep, Marie. We can talk about the rest in the morning.”
She lay down, and so did he, but he could still smell the slow welling of dread within her. Surely she didn’t think he would hurt her, after all this?
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“The girls you were looking for...when you found me instead...”
The tentative inquiry surprised him, and he turned over on his side to face her. She had asked him to keep one light on, and he could see the shine of tears in her eyes.
He cleared his throat. “Kitty, and Jubilee. I’ve known ‘em since they were kids -- just teenagers. Now Jubilee is in med school and Kitty is gettin’ a degree in some computer thing. They’re both in California, but they come back to the school for breaks. They decided to drive up this time. Disappeared in Kansas, four days ago. They call in every mornin’ when they’re on the road, they know better’n to miss that. Their car was at the hotel, and all their stuff, but they were gone.”
A long silence from her, and he thought maybe she was done asking.
“And you think the guys who took me took them too?”
“Dunno. We hoped...if I coulda got one of ‘em alive to question...” Once again, he felt the bitter rush of failure, and cleared his throat against it. “It’s probably different guys -- local thugs -- at the grab and at the sale, but whoever is in the middle -- that’s the supplier, the one pullin’ the strings. That’s who we’re after.”
Even from across the room, he could feel it -- her whole body starting to tremble. He sat up, even more worried now. “Marie? Darlin’?”
She sat up too, drawing her knees into her chest. “I hafta tell you something.”
“Okay.”
He waited while she pulled herself together a little, sucking in deep breaths, smothered little half-sobs escaping her as she grappled with whatever it was she feared until she had a handle on it.
It pained him, seeing her struggle like this, watching her slender little body shake with the force of it. Just let yourself cry, he wanted to say, except that the Wolverine didn’t say shit like that and she wouldn’t listen anyway. Christ, she had been so brave, cooler under pressure than half of his team woulda been. What the hell was going on with her that could rattle her so bad now?
Finally, she seemed more in control. “What did they tell you -- about my mutation?”
He furrowed his brow in confusion. “That your skin kills, if somebody touches it too long. Sucks the life outta someone, or somethin’ like that.”
She nodded miserably. “I figured that’s all they knew.” Another deep breath, and her fists clenched tight as she gathered her courage.
“The first boy I ever kissed ended up in a coma for three weeks. I can still feel him in my head. His thoughts, and feelings, and memories. It’s the same...” Her voice wobbled. “It’s the same for everybody I touch.”
It took a moment for him to puzzle it out, and then...”Holy fuck.” She flinched at the sudden exclamation.
He moved slowly, trying not to spook her, until he was sitting beside her on her bed. She curled into herself a little more, but let him put an arm around her shoulders. “You touched those guys, back at the bait shop. You know what they knew?”
She pushed her face into his shoulder, hiding, her breath warm through his flannel shirt. “It’s not like...I can’t just tell you things. If they are...just loose in my head, they make me crazy, yelling at me, trying to take over. I figured out how to box them up, keep them out.”
He was starting to understand. “So those guys...they’re boxed up right now, but it’s possible...you could...”
She was shaking again, her words coming out in a panicked rush. “I don’t know if I can...if I can make myself. The most recent stuff is always right there, on top. What they did to you...how they felt doing it. I already had to watch it, and now, if I do this...that’s gonna be me, that’s what I’ll have to feel...” She was starting to hyperventilate again.
“Hey. Hey, Marie. It’s okay, darlin’.”
He took a deep breath. Kitty and Jubes -- time was ticking away for them. But...he thought of the girl’s voice on the videotape, begging. Don’t make me.
He let the breath out in a slow exhale. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m not gonna force you.”
He pulled her tighter, easing them both down until they were lying down. The girl clung to him, her frantic breaths and smothered sobs finally calming, her heartbeat finally slowing.
They lay in silence for awhile. Finally, she spoke again, her voice back to the unflinching matter-of-fact tone he associated most with her. “I hafta do it, don’t I?”
He sighed, rubbing her back soothingly. “I think...I think that you wouldn’ta told me if you weren’t gonna do it.”
She nodded into his shirt. She drew breath to say something, and then stopped. He waited her out patiently. Not used to asking for anything from anyone, this girl. He could smell her anger at what she saw as her weakness.
Finally she came out with it. “Will you stay here with me...like this? While I do it?”
Something twisted in his chest, and he squeezed her closer. “I’ll be right here, darlin’. I gotcha.”
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