[Reviews - 100]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story |
Printer Chapter or Story |
ePub eBook Chapter or Story |

Has been viewed 5379 times

- Text Size +




Chapter Six: Irrational


He did not bother trying to sleep until Ororo had drifted off. Her wracking sobs had eventually slowed to quiet cries and then finally, silently shaking shoulders. He had lain with her on his bed, giving her a shoulder to cry on, assuring her that she was not alone, not this time. He knew she never cried from their frequent conversations over the last weeks and for that reason alone, he weathered her storm without complaint.

Once her breathing had slowed to the unmistakable rhythm of deep slumber, he’d moved to the window. The sky gradually cleared, revealing the aftermath of Storm’s emotional release in the soft light of dusk.

All in all, it wasn’t bad. They would definitely need a new picnic table and the volleyball court was out of commission for a while, but other than well-watered grass, that was the extent of it. A small price to pay for her sanity, he thought. Someone that buttoned up was likely to explode sooner or later.

After the description One-Eye had given him about Ororo’s last outburst, he took in the sopping wet earth and minimal destruction with an inward shrug. No one kept their cool like ‘Ro did. He was glad she had let go for a while, let herself feel something as a human or mutant should.

Closing the curtains against the afternoon light, Logan covered Ororo with a blanket after removing her boots. She could sleep on his bed, but there was no way he was taking her uniform off. There were limits to his depravity.

Thinking on it, he gently rolled her over, unclasping the cloak she wore and folding it over the bedpost. At least she would be a little more comfortable this way.

He shrugged out of his uniform, pulling on a pair of sweats and unrolling the sleeping bag he kept in his closet. Choosing a spot at a safe distance from his teammate, Logan crawled into the soft material of his sleeping bag and lay back.

Jean.

Alive. Home. In two pieces.

The Professor could fix the problem; try to reign in the darkness Jean now held within her. She would need Scott more than ever. Boy Scout Summers was exactly the type of man to help Jean pull away from darkness. Jean had made her choice that night they had shared a camp with Magneto and Mystique. Now, it was up to him to take that last step.

He would leave her alone. They would be teammates, maybe even friends one day, but there was no reason for him to chase after her. Not in the wake of all that had happened. In his heart, there would always be a place for Jean. She had woken a part of him he had not known existed, and with Rogue had brought him back into a world of people and laughter. Yeah, he could step aside.

Choices.

Logan’s gaze drifted from the ceiling to the sleeping Ororo. She had turned so that she was facing him, her brow finally relaxed though her face was flushed after so much crying. He felt for her. The woman had worked patiently with everyone at the mansion, attempting to retain everyone’s sanity without a thought to her own grief. All of her hard work had been tossed out the window the moment Jean reappeared.

It was no wonder she had cried herself to sleep. The return of her friend, the realization that her life in the past months had been for nothing…it would be enough to destroy anyone’s emotional armor.

Looking back to the ceiling, Logan admitted that her work on him would not be so easily cast aside. Her continuing lectures about choices had definitely stuck with him. For the first time in sixteen years, he could see a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Someday, he’d reach that light, with the help of those around him.

You’re gettin’ sappier every day in this house, Logan thought with a nasty smirk to the ceiling.

Shrugging away his thoughts of utter self-loathing, he turned on his side to face away from Ororo, painfully aware that his room was filled with the scent of coming rain.

~@~

Snikt!

He awoke to darkness, sweating, his heart hammering against his chest. What had he been dreaming of? Whatever it had been, his claws were extended and to his horror, someone was kneeling over him.

“Wha…?”

“Shh,” came a familiar voice in the darkness. “It is all right. It was just a nightmare.”

‘Ro.

Swallowing hard, he blinked away the sleep from his eyes, trying to focus through the manic beat of his heart. He could see the outline of snowy white hair. Not wanting to move, in case the most feared scenario was about to slap him in the face, he concentrated on focusing his eyes.

“You did not hurt me, Logan. You turned away before they extended,” she whispered, seemingly reading his mind.

“Good,” he grunted, retracting his claws with a shudder. The memory of Rogue’s horrified face nearly a year ago had never quite left him. He’d have destroyed Ororo’s trust and his shaken faith in himself if he mauled her in sleep.

A warm hand touched his arm. He wanted to jerk away from the invasion of his privacy bubble, but he inhaled deeply, that earthy smell of fresh rain washing over him like a drug. It was the smell, he concluded. She reminded him of something wild, of freedom. Even when trapped indoors, her scent was a comfort.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Ororo’s voice had dropped into the soothing tone she often used with the students.

“Not really,” Logan grumbled. “Did I say anything?”

Eyes focused now, he watched the outline of her face shake from side to side.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I was not afraid, not for a moment,” she countered, squeezing his forearm.

A little surprised, he turned his head to look at her fully, his heart finally managing to slow down, though sweat still soaked his skin. He did not remember his nightmare, only the fear, protectiveness, and a scream tearing from his throat.

“You are quite soaked,” his roommate said suddenly. “You should change.”

Before he could tell her to stop, Ororo was on her feet, taking her warmth from his side, dusting the room further with that heady scent. He heard her rustling around in his chest of drawers, the gentle movements of her body as she rummaged through his….hey!

“Talk about an invasion of privacy, ‘Ro,” he said as he sat up, peeling his wet shirt off.

“I am only trying to be helpful, Logan.”

“Right,” he grumbled.

The drawer slid shut and he watched the outline of her body move back toward him. She was still wearing her uniform and the soft leather squeaked loudly in his sensitive ears. More rustling filled the room as Ororo knelt beside him, shifting the sleeping bag. He watched her carefully, the adrenaline in his system still making him a little skittish.

She moved slowly, as though he were a frightened animal. Her eyes were cast to the floor in submission, her hands palm out, showing no aggression. Surprised by her simple actions, which spoke volumes to the animal within, he took the shirt and pulled it over his head.

Irritated when she kept her eyes down, Logan growled.

“I’m not an animal, Storm. You don’t have to submit like that, for fuck’s sake.”

“Who said anything about submission?” she shot back.

“You are, by keeping your eyes down and not moving faster than a goddamn snail.”

He heard her sigh, but her face did not turn up to meet his. “Logan…”

“What?” he snapped, much harsher than he had intended.

Her head snapped up, a scowl forming on her lips.

“Never you mind. Get some sleep,” she responded, getting quickly to her feet.

Logan barely had time to process that they had just had some sort of argument before he was alone, the door slamming behind Storm hard enough to hurt his ears. He snarled at the door as though it had been the cause of the rift between them and threw his blankets back.

Starting for the door, he decided on a beer before he tried to sleep again. He stepped from the room, catching the scent of rain on the air. Turning as though moved by an invisible puppeteer, he caught sight of Ororo at the entrance to her bedroom.

He stopped in his tracks, watching her closely. The woman stared at him coolly, as though nothing could touch her. He knew better. Remembering the way she had trembled in his arms, her tears sliding down the leather of his uniform, rain falling outside as she released. He knew.

As though sensing his train of thought, she lifted her chin in defiance. His heart skipped a beat, the challenge evident in her eyes. Claws ached to be unleashed, to answer her with a challenge of his own.

Clenching his fists, newfound light warring with the darkness of his soul, he froze completely, prepared to pounce on her, to show her who was in control.

Thunder boomed about the mansion, rattling the windows. Logan started violently, noting that Storm’s eyes had turned to the telltale milky white that announced the use of her mutation. Raw power crackled in the hallway, the electric static making his hair stand on end.

Logan turned from her as the thunder grumbled its retreat. He marched down the stairs, the image of her challenging stance, the power she radiated burning into his memories. Grumbling all the way to the kitchen, he let loose a feral growl, his human side turning circles in his head as if trying to understand the nature of this baser rage.

Slamming the refrigerator open, he sniffed the air, surprised to find he was not alone. The door nearly broke off its hinges as he closed it, revealing a startled Cyclops at the kitchen table, an eyebrow raised over the rim of his ruby-lenses.

“Rough night?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Nice,” the younger man commented. “Will you not destroy property if I tell you where Storm hid the beer?”

He wanted, very badly, to growl at the sound of her name. But the offer of beer was Logan’s weak spot. He gave Cyclops a curt nod.

“In the small cupboard, to the left of the soda. It’s warm, but I think you’ll live,” Scott told him quickly, pointing.

Stalking to the cupboard, Wolverine swore a blue streak. Muttering things that would have made little miss “I’m better than you” blush like a virgin. He rifled through the cupboard, discovering a six-pack buried in the dark space. She had remembered his favorite brand.

Damn her.

He tore off the cap, flicking it across the kitchen. A temper tantrum “ he even had to admit that it was an apt term “ in front of a man he loathed was ridiculous. He simply could not control it. Something in the way she had submitted, then challenged rubbed him the wrong way.

“What happened?” Scott asked, watching him from the table.

Knowing that the knowledge of the beer hideout came with the stipulation that he at least attempt to talk about it, Logan shrugged, taking another long pull from his beer as he searched for a cigar.

Scott whistled to get his attention, then tossed a cigar, followed by a lighter. Logan caught both neatly, raising a brow of his own at the second gesture of companionship. Obviously, they were losing it when Jean being alive, Storm’s misadventure in Chicago, and the world generally being in hell.

“You left it in the sitting room. I caught Kitty eyeing it,” he said by way of explanation.

Feeling the urge to prowl the room like a caged beast, Logan forced himself to sit at the table across from Cykie, biting down the urge to snarl. He had to accept a few things about his life here at Xavier’s. One of them was the “talk” every few weeks when he was spitting angry for no apparent reason.

When the man across from him did not speak, Logan looked up.

“Ever have one of those days? When everything is just fucked and everybody sucks?”

Scot pointed at him. “Isn’t that the lyric to some song Peter’s into?”

Grunting his answer, Logan shook his head, staring at his beer for a moment.

“Something happen with Rogue?” Scott pressed.

“Nah. The kid’s staying out of the way,” Logan replied.

“Still angry with her about the whole Bobby-in-her-bed thing?”

“It’s not about fuckin’ Rogue, all right?”

“All right,” he held his hands up in defense. “Storm then?”

A growl did escape his lips when Scott mentioned her name this time. The red-eyed man smirked. Logan wondered if he could go to prison for gutting the smug bastard with the wooden spoon from the jar on the counter. He did not want to talk about her. Not until he figured out what had him so riled up and the moment he did figure it out, he’d confide in someone he respected more than the geek across from him.

“Come on, man. She’s the only on at this school you’re relatively civil to on a regular basis. Besides Rogue that is. Obvious guess.”

Changing the subject seemed like a really good idea at that particular moment, so Logan looked up again.

“How’s Jeanie?”

Cyclops clamped his mouth shut. He leaned back against the back of the booth and crossed his arms, sighing as though he’d been derailed from something very important. It was going to be a touchy subject until the Jean they had lost was fully restored to them.

“No change yet, but the Professor is confident.”

“Good.”

Silence fell between them. Logan wanted, desperately, to run away. Hit something. Scream. Anything that would bring order to his chaotic thoughts. He found himself wondering if he could locate Magneto rather quickly. Now that was a fight worth getting into.

As he fantasized about various ways to slice and dice a Magneto, Scott stood suddenly, nodding his head toward the doorway of the kitchen.

“I need to take my mind off things. Lets go beat the hell out of each other and call it training.”

Suddenly, Logan almost liked their cycloptic leader. He all but jumped from the booth, hands clenching into fists again. A nice fight would just about do it for him. Against someone he truly did not care for? Even better.

“You’re on, bub.”

~@~

Around noon, Logan came down the stairs, freshly showered and in a much better mood. He had actually thanked his sparring partner for the workout. Cyclops’ mood had improved as well. While he bore a few bruises from the enthusiastic “training session”, he had a slight bounce in his step.

It would never cease to amaze that all men seemed to need a good fight every now and again. Logan pinched his cigar between his teeth as he entered the living room, coming up on Peter and Bobby lounging together, having lunch.

“Hey,” Logan greeted, leaning in the doorway.

Both young men turned to greet him. They were watching some movie about a nuclear threat. Not at all interested, Logan watched for a few moments. His ears pricked up when he noted the rest of the mansion was nearly silent. Cykie had gone outside to assess Storm’s damage from the previous day and the Professor was with Beast, working on Jean.

That left three people missing. Rogue, Kitty, and Storm. Usually the younger mutants were rushing about the mansion causing no small amount of ruckus. The silence was not a normal effect of living with teenage girls.

“Where are the girls?” Logan asked the enthralled boys as fighter jets zoomed across the screen.

“Oh, uh, Storm took them out. Said something about a gift for Miss Grey,” Bobby supplied quickly, not taking his eyes from the movie.

“Out? When?”

“Couple of hours ago. From the way they were talking, they’ll be gone until dinner at least.”

Logan frowned. It was not common for Ororo to leave the mansion with two young mutants to go “shopping”. She preferred to remain behind when she could, looking after things. She was the mother of the entire operation, one who had a picture beside overprotection’s definition.

“Miss Munroe did not look to be in a pleasant mood, but the girls were adamant. She could not refuse them,” Peter chimed in with his somber voice.

“Yeah. If they aren’t back soon, we’ll call and see what they’re up to,” he replied, pushing off of the doorway and taking the cigar from his lips.

Storm was definitely upset with him. Still. He couldn’t rightly blame her. The altercation the previous evening had been irrational and uncalled for. He held her when she cried, encouraged her to let go, and then…

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, stepping into the hidden elevator and pushing the button that would take him to the lower levels. While Cykie was busy, he would check in on Jean and the other two. He felt a little strange doing “rounds” like this, but old habits died hard. All adults at the mansion did periodic checks of all occupants. A missing mutant was never a good thing.

When the elevator doors hissed open, Logan snuffed the glowing tip of his cigar on his palm, wincing against the pain. He’d forgotten to leave the damn thing upstairs. While Chuck never mentioned his smoking in any other room, sans Cerebro, he thought it best to leave the habit at the elevator.

Sniffing the air, he detected the familiar scents of leather and cleansers from the infirmary door, mingled with the peppermint smell that was Jean’s. There were no voices that his acute hearing could pick up, which meant the Professor was locked into a mental link with Jean.

Pushing the door open silently, Logan nodded to Beast, not bothering to speak. Instead, he walked to the bedside, standing next to the blue, furry doctor. Chuck’s wheelchair was positioned at the head of Jean’s bed, his eyes closed and hands grazing each of her temples.

Her lovely face was contorted with pain, her breathing erratic. Previously pale skin was now the color of chalk, her lips nearly blue. Alarmed, he looked to Henry, only to receive a silent shrug. He didn’t have a damn clue either.

Come on, Jeanie, he thought gruffly.

A soft sigh broke his thoughts as he turned to the source. Charles looked exhausted as he blinked, focusing on the two men nearby. Jeanie’s face relaxed slowly, until it looked as though she were sleeping soundly.

“Any luck?” Henry asked quietly.

“Some,” Xavier nodded. “Jean is more receptive to my intrusions, but the alter ego is fighting much more viciously. It may be several days before Jean can wake without fear.”

“Jesus,” Logan breathed, shaking his head.

“It is progress, Logan. The mind is a fragile place, as I have told you on several occasions,” the Professor told him soothingly.

“I know, it’s just…this is even worse than when we thought she was dead.”

“The Phoenix is not going to give up, even in the face of her dark side.”

Henry and Logan looked to one another and then to Charles, a matching look of question in their eyes.

“Who is the Phoenix?”

Charles chuckled at Henry’s question. “It is the codename Jean has adopted within her mind. Her name for herself.”

“Ah. A phoenix, of course, dies only to rise from the ashes,” Henry mused.

Logan snorted. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Xavier agreed. “I must rest now. I trust everything upstairs is running smoothly?”

Clearing his throat under the telepath’s penetrating stare, Logan nodded.

“Good. Please relay my progress to Scott while I rest and I will join you all for dinner,” the older man moved the controls of his wheelchair, heading for the door.

“I will,” Logan assured him as he took his leave.

When their leader had gone, Beast set to checking on Jean. Logan hung back, watching the red-haired woman sleep. She was beautiful in a tragic sort of way. She seemed to have aged a great deal in the eight months she had been presumed dead. He sighed sadly, noting that Beast was staring at him.

“I just wanted to be sure,” Logan explained roughly.

“Of what?” the blue mutant asked carefully.

Logan looked up at him, smirking. “That the game was over.”

As he looked back to Jean’s beautiful face, he knew it was true. There was a steady pull of his heart when he looked at her, but none of the tingling sensations that had begun his infatuation. Something in him had changed when he realized her choice of Scott had been real. She did not want him. Period. End of story.

Time to move on.

Kissing her hand, Logan placed it back on the bed gently. Not bothering to say goodbye to Beast, he left the infirmary. The moment Jean awoke without her alter ego, she would know he had made a choice as well. She wouldn’t have to worry about him any longer.





You must login () to review.