Chapter One: Old Flame
It’s been awhile
Since I could
Look at myself straight
And it’s been awhile
Since I’ve seen the way
Candles light your face
And it’s been awhile
But I can still remember
Just the way you taste
~Staind
Logan felt a sort of sick satisfaction as his fists turned the enormous vinyl punching bag into shreds. One-Eye’d probably be pissed off, but that wasn’t really his problem.
If he were to turn his head just a fraction to the right, he’d be able to see her. Hell, he could smell her. That heady fragrance of rain and wet earth. It intoxicated him. Drove him to the very brink of madness…only to have her pull him right back again.
Not mine anymore, he reminded himself snidely.
At the treacherous thought, he slammed his fist into the vinyl, grunting with the force. He didn’t really need the extra hour of training, but he did it every Thursday anyway. Refusing to turn, to see her struggling to walk with a cane…weak he continued on, trying to not listen to the sound of her labored breathing.
He heard a distinctly familiar laugh and nodded to himself. Rogue was the perfect person to help Storm with her daily routine. She was patient, but she didn’t take any shit. From anyone.
Without his permission, oversensitive ears honed in on the two female voices.
“Ah think yah can make it down the hall, whatcha think?”
“I think I can give it a try. Step back just a bit.”
“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean tah crowd you. That’s it, easy does it.”
“Good morning, Logan.”
A hostile grunt, echoed by his fists meeting the punching bag was the only response the dark beauty received. Inside, however, his heart leaped to a frantic tattoo at the sound of her lightly accented voice saying his name.
The duo moved away a moment later, and Logan could feel the heavy weight of Rogue’s glare on his back. Even as the hair on his neck stood up, he studiously ignored them both, concentrating with inhuman intensity on the torn and battered bag suffering under his hands.
Murderer’s hands.
His fists stopped almost instantly at the wayward thought.
Though he tried, the crystal clear memory of those three days only months before kept returning. Whether he was sleeping or wide awake, the hours ticked by, but he was locked in that horrifying time.
Panting with the excessive force used on the punching bag, he steps away, wiping the sweat from his brow.
One gloved hand reached up, tapping his forehead roughly. “Get out of my head, kid.”
Tearing the gloves from his hands, he left the training room with a dark scowl on his face. Outside, the grounds were covered with soft white snow and Christmas lights. The entire mansion was decked out in festive colors, wreathes and candles.
The whole thing made him want to claw someone.
Trotting up the stairs, he easily sidestepped the kitchen, where he could hear Hank McCoy and Rogue urging Storm to sit. He wanted to peek into the room and ensure she was all right, but he shoved the urge down to his feet and forcefully marched toward his room.
He passed her room, taking a moment to capture a breath of rain-scented air as he did. No one could see him, and it gave him a bit of her back. Just a touch. That’s all he wanted from the day he made the decision to not tell her what happened to the young man responsible for plugging five bullets into her chest and back.
She’d reached to him, so many times. It had been harder than anything else he could remember, pushing her away. Day by day he could see the pain in her eyes grow, the distance forming between them.
And like the stubborn prick he was, he’d never tried to fix it.
Just one time, one word of reassurance could have healed this rift between them. Would have been easy when it was a small divide, but now he had a Grand-fucking-Canyon to leap across.
Slamming the door to his bedroom, he stared down at his adamantium-laced hands. Blinking furiously, he rushed to the bathroom, locking himself inside and turning the sink faucet on to full.
He could still see the boy’s blood on his hands, no matter how much time had passed. How could he touch another person with murder on his hands? How could he think himself worthy of her when he was nothing but a monster?
With a guttural growl, Logan caught his reflection in the mirror and gripped the edges in his wet hands. The sting of sharp edges tearing at his skin was satisfying. It told him he was still human on some level.
Grunting, he used as much force as he could muster and ripped the mirror from the wall, tossing it to the floor with a deafening crash.
Snkit!
Six claws tore through his skin and he sliced the mirror to pieces. Looking at himself was harder than looking at her. An animal. Untamed. Unworthy.
He sat heavily amid his destruction, claws still extended as he thrust his hands into his hair. For a long time, the only sound was that of his labored breathing, his mind reaching for the light…for her.
~@~
“She’s not breathing,” he muttered, sitting up and placing his hands below her breasts.
Jeffrey didn’t reply as Logan tilted Storm’s head back, opening her airway before he started chest compressions. Fifteen hard pushes on the sternum, two deep breaths into her mouth while holding her nose closed.
“Come on, ‘Ro. Don’t you die on me,” he pleaded quietly, repeating the process.
Nothing happened. For nearly a full minute, Wolverine worked on her, trying to force air into her lungs, her heart to beat, ignite in her a will to live.
He could hear someone moving behind him, but he never stopped his pace. Every reason for her to live ran through his mind. They couldn’t lose another one, not so soon. Not because some asshole with a sniper rifle decided to take a shot at her.
“’Ro, breathe, darlin’. Breathe!” he begged gruffly, putting his lips to hers.
No change.
“Breathe, ‘Ro. Come on, baby, come back,” he pounded on her chest again, heart ripping to shreds as the light that surrounded her beautiful body seemed to flicker before fading.
He could feel her die, the life he’d cherished more than his own drifting away under his hands. He howled, a broken sound that echoed in the confines of the jet. He turned to the kid…the kid was laughing, blood covering his hands.
Logan lunged, but instead of the flesh of his enemy, he gripped the cold metal of a car.
A white car.
“Look! Look what they did!” the voice of a man destroyed.
His voice.
“Look what they did to her!”
Her body was lifeless in his arms, her blood soaking through his clothing, his skin. Suffocating him.
“No, ‘Ro. Come back…”
He chased the light, shying from it at the same time as though it burned. Light. Rain. Ororo.
Logan sat up in bed, claws thankfully still within the confines of his skin. Swallowing over the lump of emotion in his throat, he jumped out of bed, looking for something, anything to destroy.
Why? Why did it always have to be those dreams now? Memories mingled with his deepest fear. He couldn’t escape them, no matter how hard he tried. Never in the years he could remember had he wished for the nightmares of Alkali Lake.
He did now. Nightly. Anything except seeing the woman he loved die in his arms again and again.
Panting for breath, he crossed to the bedroom door and stomped from the room, not caring who he managed to wake up in the process. No one would dare approach him when he was in this kind of mood.
When all he wanted to do was rush into her room, into her arms, and let her warm light chase away the consuming darkness.
“Logan.”
Surprised, Logan whirled about a loud snikt! echoing in the silence.
He noted Professor Xavier, still in his nightclothes, wheeling toward him. Unnerved that the man had managed to get so close without Logan knowing, he retracted his claws instantly, sniffing the air for anyone else.
Just as he detected the scent of peppermint, Jean came quietly from the room she shared with Scott, dressed in her uniform.
“I have a mission for you.”
~@~
Logan adjusted the collar of his uniform, one hand on the jet’s controls. Jean, now codenamed Phoenix, sat beside him, her eyes unfocused.
“Not bad enough I’m teachin’ kids, but now he’s got me into diplomacy,” he grunted, checking the instruments as Ororo had taught him.
“What was that?” Jean’s voice was altered, with a sort of echo.
That was never a good sign. He studied her profile, shaking his head. “Nothin’.”
Jean’s delicate features, which reminded him of a fragile china doll, were the very definition of serenity. Unable to really understand what her deal was, he tried to shrug it off, though the temperature in the cabin seemed to skyrocket.
“This is a good mission, Logan. Charles wants us to make Magneto an offer.”
“Why we’re dealin’ with that mother--”
She cut him off with a slight look. Logan could almost see that radiant fire behind her eyes. Chuck insisted that Jean had control of the “other” personality she’d been given during her time in Alkali Lake, but there were times when Wolverine wasn’t so sure.
The last time Jean had been in battle was two months ago. After Cykie took a bad hit to the back, she’d gone and lost her damn mind. Next thing they all knew, she was lifting two-ton trucks and hurling them at Juggernaut.
All it all, it’d been an interesting couple of hours. Once they got Jean calm enough to listen to reason, she’d gone back into deep telepathic sessions with the Professor.
Still, Logan knew he’d have to watch her closely.
“There’s the landing strip,” she said in that same utterly calm tone.
Nodding, he flipped the switches for the landing gear, readying the jet for landing. Dawn was just breaking over the Canadian Rockies as the jet made it’s smooth descent. Logan could almost hear Ororo’s patient voice instructing him.
Damn it. He couldn’t escape her memory.
Once the jet was safely on the private airstrip outside of Magneto’s new compound, Logan went through the checklist quickly, securing the jet for takeoff when they were ready to leave.
Jean exited the plane first, lifting herself effortlessly into a low hover above him. She’d taken to doing that in the last few weeks. He didn’t know if that shimmering ring of fire was a good idea when walking into what he felt was enemy territory, but he thought it best to keep his trap shut about it.
Almost the instant he’d thought the words, a blinding force sent him sprawling back into the solid side of the jet. With a grunt, he instantly opened his eyes, growling when he noted a red haired young woman.
“Scarlet Witch,” he growled as Jean soared higher into the air.
“You remember,” the girl replied with a grin. “That was for the stunt at the club.”
Wolverine leaped to his feet, flinging both arms out with a grating snikt!
“If I remember right, you guys started it.”
The girl laughed heartily, only to be silenced by an almost nonchalant wave of Jean’s hand. Scarlet Witch flew back into the brick building, just before Magneto eased out of the large wood doors.
“Making friends, Wolverine?”
Old rage and new adrenaline pumped through him. Claws itching to slice into that smug grin, he held himself in control by the fingertips as Jean landed gracefully beside him. Her comforting hand patted his shoulder and he grudgingly retracted his claws.
“Control your girl, there, Maggie,” Wolverine snarled in response.
Erik Lensherr, also called Magneto, had the nerve to grin at him.
“Come inside, both of you. I have breakfast waiting.”
With that, he turned on his heel, cloak fluttering behind him. Wolverine exchanged glances with Jean before she shrugged and followed their enemy inside.
“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” he grunted to no one in particular.
But in the end, he trailed on after his teammate, wishing he were anywhere else.
~@~
“There have been several reports that our Friends of Humanity are gathering another large force, similar to the one we destroyed last year,” Magneto said almost cheerfully as he sipped his coffee.
He pressed a button on his table, bringing up a map over the plates of scones and tarts he’d set out for them. Wolverine ate and drank nothing, though his stomach grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood for eating. Once work was finished, he wanted to get back in the jet and go home.
“What kind of force?” Jean asked, her tone back to normal, much to Logan’s relief.
For a moment, Magneto’s eyes drifted toward Logan. His hackles up at the cool gaze, Logan stared back easily.
“We’re not yet sure. What Mystique has managed to get out of their offices so far has been vague. They seem to be more concerned with genetics and biology than all-out warfare.”
Jean placed her coffee cup down and reached for the file beside her. Her PhD eyes flicked over it quickly. Logan fought the urge to hum the Jeopardy theme. He’d heard of scientists trying to “solve” the mutant problem years before, but this was the first time he’d managed to get anything on the remnants of the “Friends” since the base in Colorado.
“Magneto, this looks like some kind of disease. I’ll have Henry take a look at it,” the telepath said a moment later.
The elder man nodded sagely, as if he’d expected her to have that reaction. Logan mocked him in his head. The jackass.
“No word on Storm?”
Logan surprised himself with the question, but again, Magneto gave him that superior look, as though he’d known all along. Was he a mutant or a psychic?
“Not as of yet, but since the incident which incapacitated her was a turning point of our last altercation with the Friends, I would keep a careful watch on her.”
“We always do,” Jean cut in before Logan could reply.
He settled against the back of his chair and crossed his arms. She always did that, just when things were looking interesting.
Magneto pressed the button again, explaining the layout of this new Friends hideout and what Mystique was doing inside the unit. Apparently, Magneto generated enough loyalty for the blue-hued woman to keep sending herself into the shark tank without a wet suit.
When he was finished, he manipulated the built-in console and threaded his hands together on the table.
“Now, what is this “offer” from my old friend?”
Wolverine made sure to avoid eye contact with Jean. This wasn’t his mission. He was along just in case things got out of hand. The diplomacy shit was all on Jeanie.
The red haired woman sighed, clasping her hands on the table primly…which looked ridiculous as she wore a leather jumpsuit. Logan used all of his self-control to keep the smirk off of his face at the thought.
With a deep breath, Jean met their host’s eyes steadily.
“Charles wants the Brotherhood and the X-Men to work together more closely this round…”
Logan turned in his chair and glared at Jean.
~@~
“He didn’t think you’d come.”
“Well, he was fuckin’ right.”
“Look, Logan, the Professor’s been getting more information the last few weeks, but none of it was conclusive.”
Wolverine paced the interior of the jet hours after their meeting with Magneto. They were close to home now. Jean had spent the entire flight listening to him rant and rave. Chuck knew the Friends were rebuilding, and what was worse…they knew how bad off Storm really was.
“She’s a goddamn cripple, Jean! She can’t hardly walk without help!”
Jean’s voice was patient, understanding, as always. “I know, Logan. We all care for Ororo, which is why we can’t tell her that they may be coming after her again.”
Logan whirled on her, glaring daggers. “You can’t ask me to lie to her.”
Without missing a beat, Jean took his knees out with seven words. “Why? You don’t talk to her anyway.”
He turned away from her, marching back to the cockpit as the jet’s alarms alerted them that they were entering the proximity of the mansion. Grumbling, spitting mad and without an outlet “ Jean was right, after all “ Logan fastened his seat belt, flicking the autopilot off.
“Scott’s sleeping, I think…” Jean said with a soft smile as she buckled in beside him. “Lets see if anyone else is…oh my god.”
Logan turned to her, then followed her shocked gaze out the windows.
The mansion was on fire.
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