The Xile, about five hours before opening…
Sometimes this place was too small. Despite the multi-floored architecture, the expansive V.I.P. rooms, and the two levels devoted specifically to running the joint, sometimes there was the distinct feeling among Xile employees that none of that was enough space to stave off the rumor mill.
Wiping down the counters at the bar, Angela kept her head discreetly lowered, pretending not to listen to the conversation at the end of the bar. Right then, she imagined, her Boss probably would’ve felt the same about the club’s ‘walls with ears’.
Resting against the reflective surface of the bar counter, Forge looked out onto the empty dance floor, where a crew was finishing the daunting task of polishing it. The pensive expression on his face was normal, but the quick tapping of his fingers against an empty shot glass was not. More than anything, this tell-tale motion alerted the quiet Angela that the club’s manager was under some sort of stress. Usually the epitome of cool calmness, Forge had the subtle demeanor of a man under great anxiety. Anyone within a hundred yards could tell it had something to do with the club’s missing owner.
“Angela, another one over here, please.” She nearly dropped the daiquiri glasses she was absently drying out, realizing she’d zoned out into her own thoughts.
“Aye, Mr. Forge.”
He turned back to face the glistening dance floor, the expression there again. Leaning slightly to his right, his voice lowered just barely so that only the man beside him could hear. “I called the Detective this morning, Josef, but there’s some bullshit waiting period to file a missing person’s report. After that time, he’s assured me that they’ll have their best men on the case. Even so, I just don’t put that much stock in the NYPD.”
The other man nodded in understanding. “I gotcha boss. My cousin had his shit broken into one time, took the cops half the day just to get out there to his place and file a report. That’s why the Boys and I wanna go lookin’ for her ourselves…and if this little squirt what snuck in the other night had anythin’ ta do with it, lemme tell ya…”
Forge stayed silent on that, but nodded slowly. “I’d like nothing better than to let you guys go looking around the city for her, but unfortunately the Xile still needs Bouncers. Besides, something tells me maybe I’d have a better shot at locating her. Ororo’s done this sort of shit before on me. Not going on three days, but all the same…I’m going to take care of it myself.”
“You soundin’ like you don’t think it was the half-pint that broke into her office. I still think the cops should’a known about that, sir.”
Forge shook his head slowly, his piercing glare searching some unknown spot ahead of him. “You don’t understand, Josef. That man is more dangerous than even the NYPD can handle. You saw that little trick he pulled out of his fist. That was more than a mutation. Besides, I don’t want the flat-liners and their antiquated justice system fouling this up. I have some friends that can handle the likes of him, if he’s responsible for Ororo’s disappearance.”
Josef nodded in agreement, though he didn’t know specifically what Forge was referring to.
As for the club manager, he smiled inwardly as he realized this was turning out better than he’d expected. While he was content to let the Xile’s employees gossip about the ‘intruder’ that may or may not be responsible for Ororo’s disappearance, the truth of his own intentions he kept to himself. It didn’t matter particularly that she may be out sucking the life (literally) out of NYC citizens; it had fit perfectly into his ultimate goal of targeting the elusive X-men member that’d fallen across his lap. If everything went according to plan, Forge reasoned, he’d probably be back in the Agency before the end of the month. “Yeah, just let me handle this, Josef. We’ll put everything right.”
---
Across town, in Hell’s Kitchen…
For most of the day, Logan had been very quiet, sitting at the windowsill for hours, just staring out at seemingly nothing. Remy had let the man have his space, barely keeping quiet about the unexpected visitor he’d come back to the day before. There were dozens of questions the Cajun X-man burned to ask his friend, but dared not too, considering the circumstances. He could tell something had happened there, and the bruise that he’d seen neatly healed on Logan’s neck didn’t help hide matters.
Logan, of course, could all but smell the curiosity rolling off of Gambit, but was too caught up in his own thoughts to indulge the man at that point. He realized he’d gotten himself into a very strange set of circumstances with the night club owner, and now he found himself unable to think of much else. The encounter with her still burned fresh in his mind, and Logan hazarded a guess that he wouldn’t soon forget it. Not for its unusualness, but because deep, deep down, he knew he’d enjoyed it. The truth of the matter was, in fact, that he wasn’t sure if that bothered him or not. True enough, he realized there was a certain attraction to playing with the sort of ‘fire’ she represented, but he couldn’t place the unknown factor that had kept him up unable to think of anything else past her warm, trembling body pressed close to his, the feather-touch of her breath as she nuzzled his neck, and the way she’d caressed his body even as she laid razor-sharp teeth into his flesh.
Shaking his head as if to clear those thoughts, Logan chastised himself, pointedly remembering that she was still dangerous, that he barely knew her, and that somewhere in his heart, he thought he was still in love with Jean. Blinking rapidly, he realized he hadn’t spared his former love a thought in almost three days. The pain and frustration of her betrayal was still quite fresh, and he wasn’t surprised he’d pushed most of that hurt to a back burner, but even so…the seductive porcelain face surrounded by crimson locks had been replaced in his dreams; now haunted by feathery white curls, and devilish blue eyes. If he tried hard enough, Logan was certain he could still pick up a whiff of her scent in the apartment.
‘Fuck, get a’hold of yerself…’ he grimaced, as the part of him that centered on self-preservation took control. After the disaster of his last relationship, the last thing Logan was looking for was another reminder at how unlucky in love he was.
“Logan?”
He looked up, as near to startled as Wolverine could get, considering, seeing Remy standing near the door with his jacket in hand. “Where’re you off to, Gumbo?”
With a grim smile, Remy watched his brooding friend. “Sorry, ami, but Gambit got plans d’night. Rogue supposed to be drivin’ up to meet in de city.”
“Yeah? Tell the Belle ‘hey’ fer me.” Wolverine’s casual disposition didn’t have Remy fooled for a moment, but he knew sitting there holding his hand all night wasn’t what the Wolverine needed, nor wanted. Perhaps the best thing he could do for Logan was to leave him be. After years of communal living in the Mansion, a few quiet nights alone was anyone’s best friend.
“Gotcha. See ya later, Logan.”
“I won’t wait up.” The older man grinned, turning back to the window once more.
When the apartment was quiet again, and he was alone with his thoughts, Logan contemplated the one thing he seemed unable to stop thinking about.
Ororo Munroe was nothing like any other woman he’d met, of that he was sure. Her ‘condition’ had nothing to do with it, though. It was her smile that made his heart beat faster, and that nameless spark behind her baby blues that churned something in his gut that hadn’t been there for a long time…even when he and Jeanie had been in the best of times.
But was it really an attraction he felt for this woman, or was it simply a rebound from the pain?
Tired of his own thoughts, Logan roughly pushed himself up off the sill, and retrieved a few beers from the fridge, noting with some disdain he had nearly gone through seven cases in a little less than a week. When he came to rest back at the window, the sun was slowly beginning to set, the sky ablaze with a scorching blue, pink and orange. The usually busy streets had calmed considerably, which was highly unusual for this neighborhood anytime before 2 a.m. Wolverine was glad, however. He knew he had a lot of soul searching to do, and not a lot of time to do so.
‘Specially if She actually takes you up on that offer…’ he shook his head at himself; if Ororo came back to Westchester with him, he knew being in those close quarters with her was going to be no good for either of them. After all, it wasn’t every day he stayed up to all hours of the night just talking with a woman. That wasn’t Logan’s M.O. at all, and there was a very small part of him that was horrified that he’d even done that. He resolved to swear Ororo to secrecy the next time he saw her.
Chuckling at himself and his idiosyncrasies, Wolverine turned tired and somewhat sad eyes toward the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, to watch the sun set before he would turn in early (for the first time in recent memory). What greeted those eyes almost made him spit beer. He actually rubbed his eyes with his hands, thinking this was either the cruelest joke his mind could possibly play, or maybe he was already asleep and didn’t know it.
Pressing his body against the window pane, he watched Her as she took purposeful strides up the sidewalk, directly toward the apartment building. A lump of something unnamed lodged in Logan’s throat, as he found himself immobile and emotionally in turmoil…
These arms, long to hold you, again
The hurtin’s on me yea
But I will never be free, oh my baby no no
You gave a promise to me, yea
And you broke it, you broke it, oh oh…
“Jeanie?” The tortured whisper couldn’t have met her ears, yet she looked up immediately to meet his hard gaze, her dark green eyes searching his; for what, he could not know. For several moments they stood thus: Jean on the sidewalk steps leading up to the building, her hair loose and blown slightly in the early evening wind, a calm expression on her classically beautiful features; Logan, his slightly trembling hands palms out against the window, his breath a little ragged and shallow, his eyes unable to hide the gamut of emotions playing there, from excitement, to caution, from healed to hurt.
The cool glass suddenly felt like dry ice, and Logan backed away from the window as if under attack. He shook his head slowly, as if attempting to convince himself he hadn’t just seen what he’d seen. For several seconds he hesitated there, knowing he wouldn’t be right with himself unless he could step back up to that window, and see there was nothing there but an empty street. For some reason, however, he couldn’t seem to convince his feet to understand that.
Logan turned, nearly tripping over the couch which he had inadvertently backed up to, and went to the door. He wasn’t at all sure what he was going to do there, but his choices seemed clear: ‘You gonna invite her in, or keep ‘er out??’ His fingers closed around the dead-bolt and hesitated for what seemed like forever. Resting his forehead on the wood, he stood there for a moment, admitting to himself that he wasn’t ready for this at all. How dare she come to him like this? Disobeying his wishes? Invading his privacy, his sanctuary? And what had taken her so damned long?
Letting go of thoughts like that, Logan controlled his breathing, clearing his thoughts entirely. He automatically went into battle mode, all the mental and some physical defenses rising instinctively. He wasn’t about to make assumptions about why she’d chosen to show up, and he knew that was the only way to maintain both his pride and his sanity.
The thick lock suddenly turned counter-clockwise, and the old wooden door swung open dramatically. Logan was about to step through to go downstairs and meet her, when he looked up into those green eyes on the other side of his threshold.
This heart, could not accept and pretend
The hurtin’s on me yea
But I will never be free, no no no
You took the vow with me yea
You spoke it, you spoke it
Babe
These eyes, are cryin’
These eyes have seen a lot of love,
But they’re never gonna see another one like I had with you…
“Logan?” That voice sounded so foreign to him now, even though it’d only been a week since he’d heard it. Jean watched him, as if for some signal, and he tried his damnedest not to let anything show through.
“Jean”, he nodded, sounding as neutral and void as possible. No nicknames, no pet-names, no calling names. He tried to remember that, no matter what, she should always just be ‘Jean’ to him.
Her eyes narrowed barely at the formality in his behavior, and immediately recognized it as the defenses she knew he’d erect upon seeing her. Jean slowly released the tight crossing of her arms, displaying her own lack of defenses to hopefully get it through to his subconscious that she meant no harm. When he didn’t move from blocking the doorway, she said “I’m not armed, you know. You can let me in.”
He gave her a look that clearly questioned that statement, but backed out of the frame anyway, following her movements as she passed through. Logan wasn’t convinced this wasn’t a mistake, and hesitated from closing the door. When he looked up to note her stare, he finally closed the door, only locking the bottom lock. Putting distance between them, he went to the fridge and retrieved one of the last bottles of beer he had, easily popping the cap, unconcerned as it clinked to the floor.
Jean Grey watched this man that she had shared so much with in the past, evaluating his movements and gestures as she’d been taught (very well) to do. The sad irony was not lost upon her that they stood here, using mental training techniques from the Xavier Institute against one another; she in an attempt to read his emotional state, and he in every effort to prevent that.
Logan gulped the beer so fast it burned on the way down, constricting his throat muscles, but it was all he could do to keep his cool. He watched her sit primly on the edge of the couch’s arm, smoothing her silk skirt over her knees and crossing her sandaled feet before looking up to him again.
“You’re looking well…”
He almost laughed at that flimsy attempt to open conversation, but knew that would probably get them nowhere. “Yeah, back ‘atcha Re”Jean. So, what brings you out this way? No emergencies, I hope. Remy didn’t mention anythin’”“
“Logan, you know very well I’m not here because of something like that. Come on, how about we stop playing the games.”
He let the bottle down away from his lips momentarily, studying her. “You know I ain’t never been one for those sorts of games. So, yeah, why don’t you tell me first off, how you found me? I heard you were snoopin’ around Rogue fer a while.”
“She didn’t tell me anything.”
“Oh, I know. Gambit’s girl has more sense than that. I’m surprised you didn’t just ‘pick’ the info outta her head. Wouldn’t be the first time.” He couldn’t help it.
Jean sighed at the slight barb, folding her hands in her lap. “Does it really matter, Logan? I’m here. You let me in. Obviously you want to hear what I’ve to say.”
“That being..?”
“I want you back.”
---
Not far away…
Ororo walked the streets alone, thinking. She’d been out walking for several hours, and looked up suddenly as if she had no idea why she was outside. She smiled to herself, realizing she was not too far away from Logan’s apartment. Belatedly, she wondered if her subconscious mind hadn’t guided her steps there. She knew she wanted to see him again, but was so unsure if he felt the same. After a day of deep soul-searching, Ororo wasn’t afraid to admit to herself that she was definitely attracted to Logan, and the fledgling friendship they had developed was a large part of that attraction.
She had briefly returned to her apartment, only to find two of her employees, Josef and Lucas, parked outside in one of the company cars. She’d barely ducked out of sight in time, and then spent the next thirty minutes wondering why she’d hid. After they’d left, she snuck inside only to be faced with dozens of messages on her home phone voice-mail, and even more on the cell she hadn’t taken with her. Forge’s number showed up more than any, and she felt a pang of guilt at disappearing without telling someone. It was that same guilt that eventually made her pick up her cell and dial Angela’s number, only to realize it was so late, the girl was probably already at the club for her shift. She left the message anyway; a short one, just to let them know she was alright, and that they shouldn’t worry, nor expect to see her anytime soon. She called Forge’s home number next, knowing he was working and not wanting him to change her mind. Her message for him was a little less informal, the sense of disappointment and anger at his part in her ‘relapse’ still coloring her tone. But she knew he would do his job and keep the Xile open and running properly until she returned. “Think of this as an indefinite vacation”, she’d said shortly before ending the call.
Now, she was walking aimlessly around NYC”well, not entirely aimlessly. She knew she was just working up the nerve to go to Logan’s. It wasn’t her attraction to him that kept her away, but rather the fact she was going to be asking for his help. For obvious reasons, she was still uncomfortable appearing (in her opinion) weak before him. ‘If it hadn’t been for his help, you’d be pretty bad off, you know…’
Nodding in affirmation to her resolve, Ororo sped her step, stopping briefly at a corner store. Afterward, she lifted the case of Budweiser to her side and turned the corner, proceeding down the streets with her peace offering.
---
Back at the apartment…
“You…what?” His voice was a mixture of disbelief, skepticism and surprise.
She stood, taking several steps closer to him. “Well, I mean, we all want you back. Nothing’s been the same…nothing’s been right since all this nonsense happened…”
He didn’t immediately stop her when she reached out and caressed his face, smiling gently and leaning into him. But he took special offense to the end of her statement, stepping out of her grasp. “’This nonsense’? Which part of our break up was the nonsense: when you cheated on me, or when you cheated on me??”
Jean tried not to let his slightly raised voice bother her. “Logan, I’m trying to put the past behind me. I thought maybe you came here to do the same thing. The rest of the team feels the same way I do. Shouldn’t personal problems stay personal?”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, taking Scott’s Viper certainly wasn’t keeping things private. The whole house knows about that. What do you think Charles would say if he knew?” She actually looked down her nose at him while saying that.
Logan gaped at her as if she’d suddenly morphed into Magneto in a dress. ‘This shit is too unreal.’ “What would”? I don’t give a flyin’ fuck what Chuck would say! You wanna talk about keepin’ shit personal?? Our relationship was supposed to be ‘personal’, but we both know how you kept it that way. Who else have you ‘let in’?”
“Oh, for God sake, I knew this was going to be a mistake…” she turned quickly, but he grabbed her elbow, swinging her back around to face him.
“Don’t you dare..! You got some friggin’ nerve, lady, waltzin’ up in here talkin’ this bullshit to me. What’s the real reason you’re here, hm? Everyone knows what kinda lyin’ two-timin’ cunt you are and ain’t got no resp”“
The crack of her palm across his face echoed in the empty apartment. Logan didn’t even flinch, fully expecting it. Jean’s breathing was the only sound afterwards, as she stared wide-eyed at his insolence.
Logan’s head remained in the downward position after her strike, his eyes staring hard and defiant at the floor. He could’ve moved that bottle cap he stared so hard at it. The instinct in him to lash back was as real as though she was a stranger, but he forced it back down as his low voice broke the silence. “So, the little wolverine is supposed to come crawlin’ back to Xavier’s, like nothin’ happened, an’ you and Scooter are completely exonerated? (scoffs) If there’s tension in that house, lady, it’s cuz you put it there. I ain’t got nothin’ ta do with that. I sure as hell don’t plan on helpin’ you fix it.”
Jean could see she was losing this battle of wills, no matter what she said or did to him. It was obvious he was still hurting from her betrayal, but she assumed, like everything else in Logan’s life, he’d get over it. Maybe she’d under-estimated his pride. Deciding on a different tactic, she stepped in front of him, and lifted his chin so they faced each other. He stared at her in typical Wolverine defiance, but the hurt in his eyes was clear and unchecked. “Logan, I’m so sorry. You must know I never intended for you to get hurt. I loved you…I still do.”
He barely resisted when she pulled his face close to hers, brushing her lips against his, testing his resolve. Logan’s emotions warred within him, one side disgusted and defiant, the other craving her touch in the vain hopes of reclaiming what he thought they had, and maybe just a piece of his pride.
She moaned in his embrace when his hands came up to encircle her, deepening the kiss. It was a test, to see if she still had what it took to make things up to him. Logan told himself he had no intentions of letting it go any further, trying to keep in mind that she was loving Scott with those same lips she teased him with now, but it became apparent such restraint was futile.
Roughly, he pushed her against the kitchen wall, and she grasped his shirt, pulling him close with a whimper for more. When his greedy hands pushed her blouse open, running over the soft curves he’d memorized over years of exploration, she didn’t stop him; in fact, she only tugged at the waist of his jeans to grind their hips together, whispering things to him she knew he wanted to hear.
Turn down the bed.
Turn down these voices
Inside my head.
Lay down with me;
Tell me no lies.
Just hold me close;
Don’t patronize.
Don’t patronize me.
As the encounter intensified, Logan’s mind spun, from one moment chiding himself to the next condoning the act; if Scott didn’t know what type of woman he was sharing his bed with, that was his problem.
Jean griped his hand as he slid it up the length of her bare leg, not to stop him but guide him. He lifted her leg up to a stationary position above his hip, cradling her ass with his palm as he ground his denim-enclosed erection against her.
If you don’t.
You can’t make your heart feel
Something it won’t.
Here in the dark
In these final hours,
I will lay down my heart
And I’ll feel the power;
But you won’t
No, you won’t.
‘Cuz I can’t make you love me
If you don’t.
---
Just outside, on the street below…
Ororo stopped outside the building, looking up to the fourth floor where she knew Logan’s apartment was. He had a place facing the street, and she could see the darkened window where the blind had been drawn up. She hesitated, thinking maybe he’d already gone to bed, but shook that thought away; he was the perpetual night-owl, and she knew she was just trying to come up with some excuse not to go see him.
Looking around for spectators and seeing none, she picked up the case of beer and generated a light breeze beneath her feet, floating up to the window.
---
Inside…
Logan felt her fingers trail down his chest, rubbing him beneath his shirt, then fall down to the button fly of his jeans, popping them with a quickness that surprised him. “Jean…”
She didn’t seem to be listening, as she kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, pressing her breasts against him. Apparently she didn’t notice his sudden lack of response when his hands stopped fondling her. “Wolverine…I want you to fuck me.”
His dick jumped in his pants, a silent cheer, but he shook his head even as she continued molesting him. “Wait…Jean, we”“
A sudden crash outside stopped all movement, as they turned instinctively toward the window. Logan disentangled himself from her grasp, pulling his shirt down over his partially opened fly, and hurried to the window. By the time he got there, however, all he saw was a ruined case of beer on the sidewalk below, the broken glass of the bottles glittering in the lamppost light.
Jean came up behind him, and after assessing that there was no danger, continued her assault on his most sensitive areas. By that time, though, Logan had had enough.
“Jean, stop.” He didn’t even look at her, focusing on the mess below on the street (later that night, he would wish he’d been able to find the ‘drunk’ that’d spilled the beer…to thank him). His face turned away from her, he knew it was the only way he was going to put a stop to this before he did something he’d regret later on.
“Wha--? Why? Isn’t this what you want?” she rubbed his back seductively, whispering in his ear.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s what I want…” he turned then, giving her a small, sad smile, “…it ain’t mine to have anymore, now is it?”
She stood there for several seconds, unsure whether she’d heard him correctly. This wasn’t the same man she’d spent three years with, in a whirlwind affair that had left them both breathless from lust and frustration. Even if she was now officially hooked up with Scott, she knew better than to believe Logan cared about that at all. On any other day, he’d have considered this a triumph, stealing back what had been taken from him. That was the Wolverine she knew, not this man. Backing away from him, she closed her blouse, adjusting the buttons back into place, and smoothing her skirt. With bitter eyes, she watched his back until he turned his head slightly, catching her gaze out of the corner of his eye. “If that’s the way you want to play this, Logan, fine. I guess I was wrong about how you felt about me.”
He didn’t argue with that sentiment as she hurried to the door, and without another word left. Turning back to the window, he watched her step over the mess of booze slowly soaking into the sidewalk’s cracks, and soon disappeared down the street. Letting his forehead rest against the windowpane, he stared hard at his own reflection, honestly unsure how to feel about his decision.
Then I won’t see
The love you don’t feel
When you’re holding me.
Morning will come,
And I’ll do what’s right;
Just give me till then
To give up this fight.
And I Will give up this fight.
To Be Continued.
