Chapter Two: Humanity
I had big plans for our future
Said I'd give you the whole world somehow
I tried making good on that promise
Thought I'd be so much further by now
Never could build you a castle
Even though you're the queen of my heart
But I've had the best of intentions from the start
~Travis Tritt
Pain ripped through him with the force and fury of a tidal wave. He couldn’t remember where he was or even his own name. There was nothing but the hot, thick blood that erupted from his mouth.
He knew, in the part of him that clung to his humanity, that there were others somewhere close by. They could come for him, save him from the torment he was forced to endure now. Where was she? Why didn’t she come?
Snarling, spitting with the consuming rage, he tore apart the cruel bastards that tried to detain him. They only responded by giving him more pain, shoving aside that humanity and making way for the beast within. Didn’t they know what would happen? Didn’t they understand that he couldn’t control it?
Why didn’t she come?
His claws were the only reality he could depend on. They cleaved a console in two, sending sparks flying across those too terrified to flee. A glint of gold on his hand paused him for a moment, then filled him with rage.
She wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t take the pain away.
That lying bitch.
On a roar, he took another white-coated scientist and plunged three adamantium claws through his upper torso. Blood splattered on his face again, the coppery taste wetted his appetite for more. Why should he fight for humanity? Nothing was here to tether him to reality. Nothing was worth it.
A door opened, the hissing of hydraulics turning him around quickly. A familiar scent drifted toward him as someone walked through the door. She was alone and unarmed. His lips curved into a feral smile. She was defenseless.
He rushed toward her with a feral growl. The scent suddenly filled with fear and she stumbled back. She fell onto her backside and tried to back away, lifting a hand as though to stay his assault. He only laughed, a hollow and maniacal sound.
“Logan?” Her voice was filled with terror.
He took her like all the others and she fell before his might.
Logan awoke on a scream. He flipped his sweat-soaked body out of bed and retched violently on the floor.
“Oh, God.” Rising to his knees, balanced with his palms flat on the floor, he continued tossing up his supper while tears streamed down his cheeks.
When his stomach could give him no more, he flopped against the wall, his bare back resting on the soft blue paint. One hand reached up to the gold chain around his neck, taking the three rings in his hands as though it were a rosary.
If he were a praying man, God would have him on speed dial by now. Nothing could stop the nightmares or the soul-crushing guilt. What he had done was unforgivable.
Bringing the smaller bands of gold to his forehead, Logan released a pent up sob that sounded something like her name in the still quiet. He had done the right thing, he knew that. But it hurt even in the decimated parts of his soul. Waking every morning without her was like torture. Watching her walk away, thinking he didn’t love her anymore was hell on earth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the darkness. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
He curled up on the floor and waited for the dawn.
~**~
Clutching a cup of coffee in his hand, Logan began his day as though his world did not come crashing down around him in the night. With a stack of messages in his free hand, he moved from the mansion’s kitchen into the recreation room. He turned the stereo down without a word, ignoring cries of dismay from several teenagers.
Taking the hall toward the dining room, he ensured that the younger kids were being given a fair shot at breakfast. A grumbled good morning was reserved for Elizabeth Braddock as she met him in the dead center of the room, flanked by Warren Worthington.
“Hey there, Headmaster.” His friend greeted.
Logan rewarded her with a tense smile. He felt her brush his mind, ever so slightly, and compassion flooded her eyes.
She called this morning. Betsy offered silently as they continued a conversation about the school aloud.
How’s she doin’? Logan replied, sipping his coffee.
She sounds better. No nightmares, yet. There was disapproval and shame in her mental voice, which Logan cut off quickly.
She’ll be fine. She ask about me?
Every time. Betsy smiled sadly, the impression of her sorrow reaching him through their mental link. She’ll be home in two months.
Not that it matters.
“And you’ve got a two o’clock with Hank.”
Their silent conversation over, Logan nodded to Betsy. “Ok, have Bobby take over my P.E. class for three. Give me plenty of time with Furball.”
Logan glanced down at his watch, then cleared his throat. “Bets, ring the bell. Summer courses start now.”
“Yes, sir, Bossman, sir.” She grinned cheekily, saluting him sharply.
As she bounded out of the room, Angel raised his hand, shyly trying to get Logan’s attention. He had a soft spot for the young, winged mutant. Someone so innocent, so naïve just brought out the pack mentality Ororo had constantly teased him about.
“What’s up, Halo?”
“I need a van next week…”
“Oh, shit,” Logan swore, then apologized to several younger students as they rushed out of the room. “Sorry, Halo. I forgot to reserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
Angel smiled softly. “I know you will. Thank you, Wolverine.”
When the blonde rushed to his class, Logan swore under his breath and headed toward the Headmistress’ office. He spotted Scott waiting for him and offered a slight smile. Though the man was better since the death of Jean and his exile at Alkali Lake, he was still a little…off.
Jean had effectively mind-wiped the poor man, leaving him as a wild man in the forests surrounding the old military compound. By the time Logan and Ororo had found him, he was recovering some of his memory. No one knew what Jean’s purpose had been, but her death and actions nearly destroyed Cyclops a second time.
He still bore scars, especially when Logan and Ororo took over the X-Men and the school without asking. And yet, he seemed more himself over the last five years.
“Hey, Logan,” Scott greeted with a grin around his ruby-quartz glasses. “You get word from the dealer yet?”
Shrugging, Logan motioned for his friend to follow him into the office. “Haven’t looked at the messages yet. Come on in.”
The Headmaster’s office was largely unchanged since Charles Xavier’s death. While Ororo was listed as the school’s primary Headmistress, Logan was often left in charge when she was away. They shared the office, both deciding that Xavier’s office was to remain the same.
They had added several photographs of the students over the years and, of course, a desk chair. Other than that, it was as though Xavier never left. The room always filled Logan with a tinge of sadness. This was the room that changed his life. Where he met the unflappable Charles, stick-up-his-ass Cyclops, and beautiful Storm.
“You, ok, man?”
At Scott’s question, Logan shook his head, trying to come back to earth. “Yeah. Why?”
“Cause I just told you Jean was reincarnated as a leotard and you said ‘Makes sense’.”
Logan came around the desk and set his coffee down. One hand came up to rub at his eyes, knowing his lack of sleep was going to bite him in the ass. It had taken a lot to clean his bedroom, to drag his carcass into work when all he wanted to do was drown in regrets.
He didn’t want anyone to realize how much the divorce killed him. It was supposed to be nothing, he was the bad guy. He just used Ororo and then tossed her away. That was the cover story. No one, save Betsy, could know what it had done to him.
No one could know how much he loved her.
“I’m fine.” Logan said to Cyclops as evenly as he could. “Just busy today. A lot on my mind.”
The lines around Scott’s mouth said, clearly, that he didn’t believe a word coming out of Logan’s mouth. He did, however, drop the subject.
“If the dealer calls, could you remind him that I need six brake pads instead of four?”
“You got it,” Logan nodded, reaching for the phone.
He had a million calls to make. Usually this was Storm’s department, but when she was gone with Peter every summer, it fell on his shoulders.
Some men might have been suspicious of his wife and a younger man taking off for weeks at a time, but not Logan. He knew, better than anyone, that the relationship between Ororo and Peter was platonic. They loved one another, very much, but he likened the relationship more to Charles and Scott than anything else.
Realizing that Scooter still hadn’t left, in fact he was staring at Logan with an unreadable expression on his face, Logan raised a brow.
“Somethin’ I can help you with?”
“Nothing,” Scott shook his head. “Just wondering where Logan went and why Wolverine is here full time. That’s all.”
With that cryptic statement, Scott turned on his heel and slammed out of the office. Logan had no time to contemplate the strange comment, as the phone in his hand squawked with a feminine voice.
“Legacy Van Rentals, how can I help you?”
“Yeah,” Logan said, shaking his head to clear it. “Hey, Gladys. I need a rental for next week.”
“Hello, Logan,” the elderly woman said cheerfully. “Let me see what I can do for you.”
~**~
His morning had gone as it usually did. Phone calls, requests from students and teachers. He even had one prospective student to give a tour to. Normally Scott or Betsy handled that, but given the student’s wolf-like abilities, they all thought Logan was a better choice.
All in all, he felt good about that meeting. He figured the parents would call in a week or so to make arrangements. Score for the good guys.
He hefted a mean uppercut to the punching bag in front of him, enjoying the way vinyl hit vinyl. Sweat drenched his hair and clothing, filling his nostrils with the salty scent. Every day, no matter what was going on, he took an hour to relax. Since his nomadic life had ceased some years ago, Logan found he needed this one-hour a day to stay sane.
It usually worked, soothing his wanderlust. But since his break up with Ororo, he found it less and less soothing. What else did a wolf do when its mate was suddenly gone? He wanted to rage and scream, if only at himself. But what would it help? He’d made the decision all by himself.
It’s for the best. He repeated the phrase again, hoping it would actually sink in this time.
Another vinyl-covered fist struck the bag, the sound of it bringing Logan a small piece of satisfaction. He had that meeting with Hank in ten minutes. He dreaded meeting with the big, blue mutant. Something about Beast could shame the devil himself. Logan always felt even more like an ass after an encounter with Ororo’s friend.
Finished with the bag, Logan ripped the gloves from his hands with his teeth and tossed them aside. He took a quick shower in the locker room, pulling on a set of Xavier’s School sweats with a matching tank top. One thing no one could ever get out of Wolverine was a suit. He still wore his trademark casual clothing, no matter who he was meeting.
He knew Hank would meet him in the sunroom, the office was still too painful for the gentle giant. Logan sighed, squared his shoulders and entered the room at one minute after three.
“You’re late.”
It’s gonna be one of those meetings. Logan thought sardonically.
“No, I’m not.” He fired back as Hank turned toward him. “You’re just in a damn mood. What the hell do you want?”
Though Henry McCoy was usually reserved and guarded, his face was like a thundercloud as he turned on Logan. He crossed the room in two strides, making Logan’s hackles raise. Neither of them noticed, but they molded into canine battle stances without thinking about it. He spoke again with his nose nearly touching Wolverine’s.
“You do not deserve to run this school, boy.”
“I’ve been tellin’ you for six years to stop the “boy” shit, Furball.” Logan snarled, his claws itching for release.
“Perhaps if you ceased to act like one, I would find another word to use. Until then, get over it.”
Shocked by Beast’s completely antagonistic approach, Logan kept their gazes locked. For a moment, he feared Beast would see the pain he had worked so hard to conceal. That fear almost made him look away, but Hank beat him to it.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Logan shrugged. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “What’s going on, Hank?”
As both men relaxed a fraction, Hank took a seat on the white sofa along one wall of the sunroom. Logan, as usual, took the chair across from him. They both seemed ready for action again, though Logan knew Hank would not erupt again.
“As you know,” he began, all business now. “Rogue and I have been lobbying against the new Registration Act for the last year.”
Logan nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
“It seems that may have been in vain,” the blue man shook his head sadly. “The bill has reached one of the committees.”
While his eyebrows shot up, Logan scooted forward on his chair. “What?”
Hank nodded. “There will be a preliminary vote in six months, once all the evidence is considered. Marie and I, of course, will be fighting it.”
Logan smiled at the thought of his young friend. “I don’t doubt it. How’s she doin’?”
“Law, I believe, is in her veins,” Hank replied with fondness in his tone. “But Logan, we must be on our guard. One false move, one bad press report could push this bill through to the Senate.”
“I get ya, Hank,” Logan rubbed his face with one palm in annoyance. “I wish they’d just let it go.”
“That is what we fight for, my friend,” Hank said quietly, referring to Logan as his friend for the first time in months.
As if they both realized that at the same moment, a tense, uneasy silence filled the room. Blue eyes met brown across the table and for a second, Logan was reminded that before all of the divorce mess, Hank had been one of his closest friends.
“I had to take her side, Logan,” Henry said softly. “For I could not understand yours.”
That hurt. Logan inhaled deeply, hating it when anyone cornered him to discuss “feelings”. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat.
“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, not wanting to reveal that he had banked on Hank defecting to Ororo’s “team”. “It’s understandable.”
“Still, it is never pleasant to choose between friends.” Hank sighed. “Especially when one believed said friends to be very much in love and quite happy.”
“I’m an asshole,” Logan shrugged again. “And I don’t really wanna talk about it.”
“An asshole you may be,” his friend said sternly. “But there is something you are hiding, I can feel it.”
Logan bore his eyes into Hank’s, refusing to look guilty.
“Does this have anything to do with what happened in Tokyo?”
Damn him. Logan almost snarled, resisting the urge to flinch by pure force of will.
“If it did, it wouldn’t be your business.”
Hank obviously knew he was on to something, for he continued, heedless to the edge in Logan’s voice.
“You see, I never quite understood what happened there. Ororo’s injuries were inconsistent, after all.”
Logan?
Blood. Crying. A glint of gold as she tried to defend herself. Pain. Screaming. Oh, my God.
“Stay out of it, Hank,” Logan snarled as he leapt to his feet. “This is between me an’ her.”
“Of course,” Henry backpedaled instantly, seeming to realize he’d overstepped his bounds.
Without waiting for an apology, Logan stormed from the room and out of the mansion. He needed fresh air.
What he wanted was to forget.
~**~
Bogotá, Columbia
Peter’s massive hand supported her back as he whipped her upside down, keeping their hips flush. The music pounded in her veins as they attempted, for the hundredth time, to perfect a turn in the sizzling Paso Doble.
She wrapped one of her long legs around his waist, letting him drag one hand down her torso. She brought her body up sharply, shoving herself away from him and molding her body back into the unmistakable Spanish line that kept the dance professional.
Peter, his face a mask of determination to match that of hers, moved counter to her, his back rigid. His hands gripped hers again, pulling her against his body as they stepped lightly, keeping passion burning between them as the “bullfighter” sought his “flag”.
Ororo had seen this dance preformed their first night in Bogotá and immediately told Peter that they were not leaving the country until they perfected it. She wanted that flash and fire for the next competition. She wanted it to feel alive again.
When they parted again, Ororo took the sides of her skirt and whipped it expertly. Peter fell to his knees, seemingly under her spell and gracefully pleaded with his body for her to love him. She dismissed his advances with a flick of her skirt, which inflamed the would-be lover. Peter took her hips in his hands and forced her to melt into him.
Of course, that damn turn kept screwing the whole thing up.
Ororo landed on her backside while Peter cursed in Russian at his mangled ankle. Again.
Panting for breath in the sweltering room, they both shook their heads. Ororo reached over her head to switch the CD player off.
“All right,” she sighed. “I give up. Those dancers must have extra muscles in their abdomens.”
Peter sent her a lopsided grin as he sat in front of her. He reached into the nearby ice chest to retrieve bottles of water, tossing one to his partner.
“I seem to recall that you said something similar when we learned the Mambo.”
“Ok, but shoulders aren’t supposed to move that fast,” she grinned, taking a long pull from her water bottle.
“We will get it,” he said confidently. “It will only take practice.”
Ororo nodded, allowing his confidence to straighten her back a little. “Your attitude is getting better.”
“It is easy to feign it when your partner looks ready to kill.”
She frowned. “I was going for casual disinterest.”
“You were thinking about Logan.”
Deflated, Ororo exhaled slowly. “Was it that obvious?”
“Only to me,” he assured her. “Because I know you so well.”
Ororo shook her head, taking another pull from her bottle. She hated it when Peter could read her so well. She wanted to forget about Logan, just for a moment, but he seemed to creep into her thoughts whenever she tried to keep him out.
“And I did not want to mention anything,” Peter continued a moment later. “But if you lose any more weight, you won’t fit into your costumes.”
Ororo looked down at herself critically. “I haven’t lost weight.”
Peter scowled. “Yes, you have. I nearly tossed you a moment ago without meaning to. I know you have no passion for food, but if I have to force feed you, I will. He is not worth this, ‘Roro.”
Without bothering to respond, Ororo placed her water bottle beside the CD player and turned the song back on, blaring the sound as loudly as it would go. She turned to Peter, lifting her arms to signal the start of the dance.
He sighed and stood as well. Obviously, he was not going to get through to her today.
Their bodies came together quickly, their steps filled with the desire and anger of the Paso Doble. Ororo channeled her heartbreak into every step, taunting her partner so that he wanted her with every flick of that long skirt.
Regret and pain could wait for the night, as it always did. The days were given to dance, to losing herself in beautiful steps and pulse-pounding music. Peter was right; Logan wasn’t worth it anymore.
