Chapter Fourteen: Harder
The smell of your skin
The taste of your kiss
The way you whisper in the dark
Your hair all around me
Baby, you surround me
You touch every place in my heart
~Lonestar
Logan left Ororo in the house, letting her get back to her ritual mourning. He knew she wouldn’t read the letter from Charles alone, she didn’t work that way. Logan had a sneaking suspicion of what her mentor’s final words would be, but he didn’t want to tell her that.
The boathouse, while still his refuge, had subtly shifted again. There was tension between he and ‘Ro that had nothing to do with Chuck’s death. They both silently agreed that the problems lingering between them must be left for another time, knowing that neither of the duo was prepared to handle more emotional turmoil just yet.
But he could feel it seeping in between them, like a serpent’s poison. It was working it’s way through the ropes that bound them together, traveling toward the beating heart that was their friendship. He knew if the poison wasn’t stopped, if they didn’t take some time away from the X-Men and Chuck’s death for themselves, they might not recover.
Thinking about Chuck wasn’t doing him any favors. It was a surprise that the man thought enough of him to leave behind a letter. Nothing could have prepared him for what was written on such unassuming white stationary. He still felt that debilitating ache in his chest when he thought about it.
That man who had been the closest thing to a father to him actually loved him. Like a son, he’d said. Clearing his throat to get rid of the lump forming there, he pushed into the mansion, still lost in his thoughts. He missed that bald old man. “Wheels” wasn’t supposed to be suddenly missing. Chuck was supposed to be sitting in his office, waiting for one of his X-Men to come to him with a problem.
As he passed that office, he scented the air. Tears stung at his eyes and that damned lump reformed in his throat. Only a faint trace of Charles’ trademark smell lingered over the stench of acrid cleansers and slimy lawyers. He missed the aroma of old leather books and Old Spice that gave away Chuck’s presence.
He still half-expected to hear the whine of his motorized wheelchair if he let his mind wander. It hurt, more than he wanted to admit, to know he would never hear it again, never feel that benevolent presence in his mind.
This unwelcome and unexpected pain, when combined with his altercation with Magneto formed something strange in his chest. He thought it was fear. For the first time he was afraid of what would happen to him if he went on another mission. Betsy had been on the mark with that one.
He wasn’t immortal.
Without Ororo knowing, he had Jean perform a battery of tests on him. Hank and Jeannie ran his skeleton and tissue through so many examinations it was mind-boggling. He knew the medically trained duo were happy to finally study him, though they kept their excitement under wraps.
What they found was disturbing. Logan’s healing mutation was still taxed to the limit. Even a paper cut took several seconds to heal completely. Jean, whose eyes had still been red-rimmed from frequent weeping, said in her most solemn voice that she did not know what his weakened body could handle.
A careless laser blast could stop his heart forever.
That knowledge scared him shitless. For the first time in what little of his life he could remember, Logan knew true fear. Remembering that soul-crushing look on ‘Ro’s face when she heard about Charles…knowing how hard it would hit her if he didn’t come home one day.
There was no way he could throw himself into every mission, be of use to his fellow X-Men, until this thing was gone forever.
Carrying the typed paper in his hand, he forced himself to leave Chuck’s door and head down the hall to where Scooter was running things. He didn’t mind the other man taking the proverbial reigns, as he was the most qualified. The only other person worthy was ‘Ro and he knew she didn’t want it.
Ororo wasn’t pleased with his decision, but she supported him. She gave him the condition that he move into the boathouse on a permanent basis. He didn’t understand how that would help her, but he agreed. The boathouse was hers and in the spring, they’d start adding the new additions on; something they had planned last summer but never got around to.
Logan planned on turning the nearby stables into his personal space, since ‘Ro gave him permission last winter. It was a stone’s throw from her house, and when she started her garden, he could give her a hand.
Thinking about things like that kept her mind off of what he was doing with his X-Men position. When he’d left her in the house, she was already throwing herself into plans that wouldn’t come into fruition for several months. At least she would have something to do.
Logan pulled up short in the hall, realizing he’d gone two rooms too far. Sighing at his lack of concentration, he turned around to jog the last few steps to Scott’s office. Outside the polished oak door, he raised his hand to knock.
The sound of soft sighing and feminine giggling halted his hand instantly. Turning his over-sensitive ears toward the room behind the door. He made out two distinct voices, that of a newly reconciled married couple.
Suddenly wildly offended on ‘Ro’s behalf, Logan balled his hand into a fist and pounded upon the solid door. A male curse and female squeak betrayed their positions in the room, so he opened the door without another warning.
Closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see anything that would likely scar him for life, Logan stepped into the room. With the door still open and his eyes squeezed closed, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.
“Jean. Leave.”
“Logan? What’s the matter?” She asked in a voice that mirrored concern. Logan shook his head.
“I got business with Scooter. Get dressed and leave.”
“Hey,” One-Eye spoke up at last, accompanied by the sound of a zipper coming up. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
“You really wanna get into this with her in the room?” Logan allowed himself a feral smile and opened his eyes.
Scott was dressed already, though his clothing was more than a little disheveled. Jean was pulling her shirt on, her back facing Logan. He swept his eyes over them both, then focused on Scott.
The ruby-covered gaze betrayed nothing, but the firm set of the other mutant’s showed irritation and confusion. Logan was going to hit that bastard before the day was out, he knew it.
“Jean,” the other man said softly. “I think Logan and I need some privacy.”
He didn’t turn to look at the woman glancing between them, but he felt her rush from the room with as much dignity as she could muster. The door closed with a faint click behind her, but Logan waited several seconds.
Obviously he’d been right. Jean’s footsteps did not carry her down the hall, so he knew she was listening at the door.
“Keep on walkin’, girlie!”
His shout reverberated around the room, coupled by her muttering a moment later. He listened intently as her soft footfalls carried her out of the hallway, toward the kitchen.
Though he tried to keep his breathing short, he eventually inhaled deeply enough to scent the sex on the air. Logan’s resolve “ what little remained “ crumbled immediately. He stalked across the room, toward the new leader of the X-Men. Looking heavenward, he tossed up a quick thought.
Sorry, Chuck. He’s done had it comin’.
Logan could almost hear Charles’ aggrieved sigh in the back of his mind, knowing what his departed friend would think about the argument to come.
Scott, as though expecting it, stood stoic as Logan entered his personal space. Looking up at the much taller man, Wolverine brought a hand back, balled it into a fist and hit the X-Man directly in the nose with as much force as he could.
“That’s fer ‘Ro, ya sorry sack of dogshit!” Logan all but shouted, dropping his resignation letter on the floor.
“CHRIST!” Scott shouted, putting a hand to his suddenly bloodied face. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Logan fought the urge to wail on the little bastard.
Instead, he kicked out the desk chair and shoved Scott into it. While the man pinched his nose, Logan fished around for something to stop the bleeding. He located something that looked like a pair of cotton women’s underpants and tossed them to his “friend”.
“Get comfy, boy, we’re about to have a love-overdue conversation,” Logan said as he fished a cigar from his pocket. “We’re gonna start with Jeannie.”
“Oh,” Scott said, his voice high pitched from the grip on his nose. “You mean the affair you’re having with my wife?”
“Hold on, son,” Logan replied as he lit the cigar. “The first time…yeah, it was all me. She coulda said no, but she didn’t. An’ that was a good while ago.”
“And the last time? What’s your excuse?” Cyclops demanded icily.
Wolverine shrugged one shoulder, sitting on the sofa across from Scooter. Realizing the scent of sex only got stronger; he leapt right back onto his feet and took a nearby chair.
“Don’t got one,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect it an’ I sure ain’t asked fer her attention. I told her to come back home, but she jus’ kept pushin’. Once she took her clothes off…”
He raised a brow. “Come on, yer a man, Scooter.”
Cyke’s face was still stained red with blood, but he took the cloth from his nose. He sighed, touching his nose tenderly. “Ok, you’ve got a point.”
They stared at one another in silence for several seconds, Logan’s cigar smoke swirling over their heads.
“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on ‘tween us, Scott,” Wolverine said seriously. “I don’t want her.”
For another long silence, Scott merely stared at him across the wide expanse of his oak desk. Logan kept his eyes on him, wondering why he felt the need to reassure this man that he didn’t want his damn wife.
After a moment, Scott nodded. “Ok.”
“Good,” Logan smiled ferociously. “Now, we’re gonna talk bout ‘Ro.”
Scooter winced visibly.
“What do ya think? She’s expendable? Ya can just hurt her an’ sleep well at night? Are ya even fuckin’ human?”
Logan had not intended for his words to get away from him, or to sound so quietly enraged as they did. All he knew was that part of ‘Ro’s hurt was stemming from this damned mutant and his pretty wife. She thought she had Logan fooled, but he’d known her too long to fall for her bullshit. It was hurting her, being shoved aside for Jean again.
He should have cornered her about it, called her on that icy façade she liked to hide behind. This, on the other hand, was more satisfying.
“It isn’t like that, Wolverine.”
“Bullshit,” Logan fired back, glowering. “You fuckin’ known her how long? First ya get her hopes up when yer kids…an’ then ya take her back ta bed only to choose Jean again?”
“I talked to her about it…”
“No ya didn’t,” he thundered. “Ya tried to, she stopped ya, said it was all right. Ya let it go, thought it was best ta jus’ leave it.”
Scott had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.
“Am I right?”
“She’s a big girl, Logan, she doesn’t need you fighting her battles.” Scott stood up, moving toward the small bar to the right of his desk.
Wolverine watched him as he cleaned the blood from his face and hands in the tiny sink, glaring at the man’s back. He wanted to hit him again, harder. The bastard was lucky he hadn’t gotten a face full of adamantium. Damn Magneto.
“That’s where yer wrong,” Wolverine said stubbornly. “Someone needs ta put ya in yer place. Might as well be me.”
As Scooter dried his face, Logan got the satisfaction of seeing the man’s nose was already swelling, changing from his perfectly smooth flesh to a dark purple. It wasn’t broken, he observed with a bit of sadness. A broken nose was the least he wanted to do to the man. It was only out of respect for the recent dead that he refrained.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Ya don’t know a damn thing,” Logan returned testily. “Ya can’t jus’ play with a woman’s affections, man. An’ don’t even bring Jean up, we covered that one already.”
Scott turned to him fully, that ruby gaze seeming to flash with annoyance. Logan stood slowly, challenging the mutant silently. Part of him hoped Scooter would rise to the occasion. He really wanted to break a few of the idiot boy’s bones.
No one -- no one -- toyed with ‘Ro and got away with it. Logan was more sure as the moments ticked by that the games had been played by the women and Scooter. The man wanted his wife back and played into her hands by cheating, by making her want to fight for him. Jean couldn’t take being replaced and the threat of that had sent her right back into her husband’s arms.
They were going to end up on Springer.
“You don’t understand,” Scott said quietly, the change in his tone making the hair on the back of Logan’s neck stand up immediately. “You can’t understand.”
He watched as Scott moved to the window, staring out of it. Logan knew it was the direction of the boathouse, where ‘Ro was ensconced in her serene privacy. A shiver flew the length of his spine. Part of him didn’t want to hear what was coming.
“I’ve loved her more than half my life,” he continued. “Longer than Jean. I just…I didn’t think I was worthy of her. I settled on Jean and eventually I fell for her. But nothing killed what was inside of me for Ororo.”
“Shit.”
Logan gaped openly at the man, moving only to snuff out his cigar on the finish of his desk. He hated Scott in that moment. The beast inside him roared to wakefulness, demanding that anyone or anything that threatened his non-existent claim on ‘Ro be dealt with fatally.
No one was taking her from him. Scott had Jean, Logan had ‘Ro. That was how it was supposed to be. The realization slammed into Logan with almost physical force. It nearly sent him sprawling back into the chair. For a moment, he contemplated divine intervention, as though this moment and all the long years leading up to it where preordained and carried out by the man so recently buried.
It had his fingerprints all over it.
“Ya can’t,” he finally ground out.
In two strides, he was across the room. With both hands, he turned Scott to face him, letting the other man see his determination and sudden, consuming fear.
“Ya may have loved her longer,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “But I’ve loved her harder.”
Confusion found it’s way to his friend’s face. “What?”
“Ya had yer chance,” Logan continued, not answering him directly. “It’s my turn. She’s mine, goddamnit.”
“Logan.”
“No. Don’t. She’s mine.”
“Hey.” This time Scooter’s voice was filled with concern. “What the hell just happened here?”
Logan stopped his suddenly shaking hands and took a calming breath. The weight of his realization was terrifying, but there was no way in the nine circles of hell he was leaving this room without knowing Scooter understood him. He grabbed the man by both biceps.
“You had yer fuckin’ chance, Scooter,” Logan growled. “Don’t make me kill you.”
“Whoa,” Scott said, taking a step back. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know,” Logan shook his head, releasing him.
He bent down, scooping up the resignation from the floor. “I’m takin’ more time from the X-Men, on a more permanent basis. Once school starts back up, I’ll take all my classes back.”
“Ok,” Cyclops said, though he still looked confused.
Logan strode to the door without another word. He wanted to get back to the boathouse. He needed to get back to the boathouse. To hell with his and ‘Ro’s unspoken agreement to leave their issues alone for a bit longer. Wasn’t going to work for him anymore.
She was his and by God, she would remain so.
He opened the door and took a step out of the room. An old memory resurfaced and he halted, turning toward to Scooter again.
“Hey, Scott?”
“Yeah?” replied the other mutant, looking up from Logan’s letter of resignation.
“Stay away from my girl.”
Logan thought he caught a slight smile on Scooter’s face as he slammed the door behind him.
~**~
The boathouse was filled with the sound of Deep Forest, which Ororo loved, when Logan finally got home. He had dodged a dinner invitation from Betsy and Warren, promising he and ‘Ro would go out with them another night. Warren seemed to take his innocent look at face value, but the shrewd look in Betsy’s eyes told him she knew something was up.
Logan keyed into the boathouse, searching for his friend. The upbeat drums were unexpected, but he was happy she seemed to have found some inner calm at last. Over the last week, he had begun to fear for her sanity. He thought that after the funeral she might get better.
He would be with her every step of the way, walking with her as she fought to lift herself from the numbing grief.
She was on the sofa when he entered, humming along with the music as she sketched on a wide artists’ pad resting in her lap. It wasn’t often that Ororo exploited her artistic talent, and when she did it was usually for some gardening or architectural plans she wanted.
Once, during that trip in Canada, she had sketched him. He still had that sketch in a frame in his mansion bedroom. He would have to find a new place for it in the boathouse until his home was finished.
The sight of her nearly took his breath away. At first, as he rounded the corner from the foyer, all he could see was her bare legs. Long, dark limbs stretched over the couch cushions. He noted with an odd attention to detail that she’d painted her toenails blue at some point during the afternoon.
She was wearing a pair of those boxer shorts she loved, topped with a loose t-shirt bearing the logo for the New England Patriots. Her braided hair was tossed over one shoulder, that beautiful face screwed into an expression of intense concentration. Her teeth had caught the edge of the pink tongue, making her seem somewhat childlike.
Logan’s heart fell to his feet. He hadn’t thought it would ever be possible for him to feel something like this. Without alerting her as to his presence, he pocketed his keys and crept toward her.
When he was close enough to smell the oranges in her shampoo, she finally looked up. Those sapphire blue eyes danced with a happy gleam when she spotted him, turning to confusion when he merely stared at her.
He leaned closer, and then closer still. He could hear the sudden catch in her breath, the quick tattoo of her heart as it’s pace multiplied. Logan reached for her with one hand, capturing her chin and caressing the cleft of it with the pad of his thumb.
“My God,” he whispered. “Yer a goddess.”
His lips caught any response she could have mustered. He brushed his mouth over hers softly at first, teasing her with gentle motions as his nose bumped hers playfully. He heard the drawing pencil hit the thick pad of paper and slide toward the floor before her hand reached up to cup the back of his neck.
Logan sank to his knees to reach her more easily, pressing their lips together more seriously. She responded eagerly, arching her body against his. He let his hands wind around her back, drawing her closer. She fit against him like a glove, that simple perfection quieting the voice in the back of his mind that screamed for caution.
Recklessly, he let his tongue swipe across her bottom lip, asking for entrance. She parted her lips eagerly, moaning against him in a gentle mewl. Logan’s hand reached for her braids, tugging them lightly so she would move her head back further.
Heat flashed inside of him at this simple, intimate contact. Her hands moving over his shoulders lit tiny fires that spread with an ungodly swiftness. He wanted to touch her in every way there was to touch another human being and when he was through, he would invent new ways.
“Logan…” her voice was breathy against his lips. “What…”
“Hush,” he quieted her instantly. “I ain’t done yet.”
“Done with what?” she continued, heedless to the tug on her braids.
“Fallin’ for ya.”
“Oh.”
He fused his mouth to hers again, pushing her back toward the couch cushions. She melted in his arms, wetting his appetite for dominance by unhindered submission. He growled quietly, nipping at her lips. Her nails dug into the flesh of his neck, making him groan at the sudden mix of pleasure and pain.
Up from his kneeling position, he covered her body with his, lying atop her on the couch. She giggled helplessly, reaching between them to discard the sketchpad still squashed between them.
Logan dropped his weight onto one arm, looking down at her smiling face. What the hell had taken him so long to see her this way? Beautiful, strong, stubborn, perfect… For too long, he’d been a frigging idiot.
“What happened at the mansion?” she asked quietly, touching his face with those impossibly soft hands.
“Found somethin’.” Was all he could say.
“What?” Her breathless voice was doing strange things to his head and heart.
“Dunno,” he shrugged. “But I ain’t lookin’ fer it anymore.”
Before either of them could move, the mansion’s proximity alarms began to blare. The couple sprang up from the couch, their moment forever shattered.
Ororo made a beeline for the security panel, Logan not two steps behind her. She flicked through the two-dozen cameras displayed until she found the source of the alarms.
“By the Goddess.”
“Holy shit.”
