1. The Decision
He'd been away from Xavier's Academy for close to two years. He had rescued the kid, Marie - thinking of her, his lips quirked unconsciously into a grin - then left her in the competent hands of Professor Charles Xavier and his merry band of X-Men and run as far and as fast as possible from the first place he'd felt at home in years.
He hadn't called, hadn't written. He'd left the kid his dogtags and a promise to come back for them. Then he'd lit out of there, frightened - yeah, tough guy, you're frightened, he thought - by a slip of a girl with two white locks of hair framing her face, and skin that could kill with a simple touch.
It wasn't her mutation that scared him. Hell, a man with a metal skeleton and nine-inch retractable claws was in no position to fear or judge anyone else's eccentricities. No, it was his reaction to her soft brown eyes and sweet voice that scared him to death. They'd bonded, and he was left with the impression, deep in his unbreakable bones, that she was his. But she was a kid - there was the trouble. When Jean had told him Marie was taken with him, he'd brushed it aside. She was a kid, he'd saved her life, she'd get over it. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, he thought, some day I'll believe it.
But then he'd recall their conversation on the train. He was in her head, she said, after she'd touched him. And because of the damn fool chivalrous feelings she'd awakened, he promised to take care of her. While there wasn't too much he was sure of about himself or his past, he was absolutely sure he was a man of his word.
So when she looked at him and told him she didn't want him to leave, he handed over his dogtags - his prize possession, a link to his lost past - and promised he'd come back for them. He realized now that he'd promised he would come back for her. And then he proceeded to disappear from her life.
But lately, her face had appeared in his dreams. He'd dreaded sleep for a long time. The nightmares of what had been done to him were a harsh and constant companion, but since he'd touched her the second time (I've touched her twice and lived, he thought, oddly proud. No one else can say that.) their severity had lessened. He was able to occasionally get a decent night's sleep. He didn't question it, just accepted whatever small mercies the universe gave.
Until he started dreaming about her. And not fatherly-type dreams, either. So he wondered, two years after leaving her, if he would get over it. After what happened last night, he didn't think so.
He'd been sitting at the bar, minding his own business, when the woman walked in. She wasn't anything spectacular to look at, but she was willing. He could tell she was checking him out. Women did. He wasn't conceited, he just knew he'd never had to work hard to get a woman he really wanted, and that confidence seemed to attract them even more.
She made the first move. She sat down next to him, even though there was a row of empty seats along the bar. Her shoulder brushed his as she removed her coat. "My hands are so cold," she said softly. "I thought we were done with snow this spring." He shrugged, not particularly interested until he noticed she hadn't removed her gloves.
They weren't typical woolly winter mittens. They were suede and they hugged her arms to a point just below her elbows. He found them curiously arousing. He made some inane comment about the weather. It really didn't matter. The deal was sealed. She chattered on about meaningless things for a couple of hours - how her boyfriend was a trucker who'd brought her to this godforsaken, frozen country and then left her for another woman, and she was going home to Burbank as soon as she had the money. He nodded and made sympathetic noises at the right time, but mostly he focused on what she would look like in nothing but the gloves.
Finally, the conversation petered out. He paid their tab and said, "I've got a room at the Motel 6." She followed him there. He barely got the door open and then there was the soft, wet heat of her mouth on his. She shed her coat quickly, but he stopped her from taking the gloves off. "Leave them on," he said hoarsely, trailing kisses down her neck as he unbuttoned her blouse.
She removed his shirt, running her hands over his shoulders and chest. The suede felt good, a little rough, against his skin. Her mouth soon followed, dropping kisses along his stomach. She dropped to her knees and unzipped his pants. He threaded his hands through her hair and whispered, "Marie."
Things cooled off pretty quickly. She stomped out of the room, half-dressed, muttering, "My name is RuthAnn."
He sat with his head cradled in his hands, jeans still undone, thinking. While part of him was disgusted that he'd been having those kinds of thoughts about the kid, another part acknowledged that yeah, he'd been having those kinds of thoughts about her for a while. And now it was time to do something about it.
It was then, in a run down motel in Saskatchewan, that he decided to go back to New York, back to Marie, and see if he couldn't settle this thing, whatever it was, once and for all.
2. The Return
He arrived at the school at about 3 am. The gates slid open smoothly for him. He parked the trailer he'd managed to pick up along the way. He loved Cyke's bike, but sometimes a man needs a little more space. As he approached, the door opened and there was Jean Grey. She was still dressed, wearing her customary red, of course, so he figured they were expecting him.
"Hi, Jean," he said, as if he had been away for a weekend instead of a couple of years. "Still got a room for me?"
She smiled at him. "Welcome back," she said, embracing him. "You'll always have a room here."
He inhaled her scent and enjoyed the feel of her body against him, but she drew back quickly. He noticed the ring on her left hand. "So he finally had the balls to ask, eh?" he said roughly, thinking, damn, but also, good. He preferred to have the rules laid out, and the ring told him exactly where he stood. She laughed. "Congratulations," he grumbled, and she laughed again. "How's Marie?"
The abrupt change in subject obviously startled her. Good, he thought, she's not rooting around in my head.
She recovered quickly. "Rogue is fine. She's doing well in all her classes, and she even has a boyfriend." His whole body tensed at that, and he felt a sudden urge to extend his claws.
"A boyfriend?" he growled.
Jean nodded. "It's very cute. Of course, she never gave up hope that you'd come back, even after the rest of us did."
"She's not old enough to have a boyfriend," he said, trying to get his feelings under control. "I'm surprised ol' One-Eye allows it."
Jean looked askance at him. "She's seventeen, Logan. She'll be going to college next year."
Seventeen. He growled again. He knew what seventeen-year-old boys wanted from girls. This time the claws were out before he even thought to stop them. He grimaced. Jean raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. He retracted the claws and, after she'd led him to his room, thanked her for the hospitality.
"Oh, Professor Xavier knew you were on the way, so it was no trouble making sure the room was made up," she said. "Breakfast starts at seven. Will we see you there?"
He shrugged. Being surrounded by noisy teenagers first thing in the morning was not his idea of a good time. He hated teenagers, which only made his situation more ironic. Jean wished him good night and left.
She's seventeen, he thought, and she has a boyfriend. Both were unexpected developments, though he supposed he'd known, objectively, that she wouldn't stay fifteen forever. But he hadn't imagined she'd find a boyfriend, though she was a beautiful girl. He decided he would check the boy out, make sure he was keeping his hands to himself and that he treated Marie respectfully. If he didn't, the kid would get a quick and pointed lesson on how to treat a lady. Then he would head out on the road again, obligation fulfilled.
Telling himself he was satisfied with that, he went to bed.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks again to Dot, Jen, Meg and Pete.