The Wolverine's Fox (Edited)
Why Is The Moon So Lonely?
It was dark. Even with Superhuman sight, Logan could hardly identify his surrounding in the billowing blackness. He squinted, a futile try to again recognise the tenebrous room that entrapped him like a prisoner. With angry annoyance boiling in his veins, he sighed in bitter defeat. Why not walk; explore?
That would be the obvious no matter how hard Logan tried to lift this Adamantium infused limbs, he could not move an inch; forward nor backward. Paralyzed with his own frustration in an unknown room, fear shadowed him mind. There was no sound; not a whisper of a hidden breeze, not an ancient gust of dust below. Not a single breath alive but his. But there was one thing which intrigued Logan very much; the only thing that impeded him from releasing his untamed fury.
It was warm. Not a single ray of joyous light, but it was warm. A comforting warmth that embraced him. Calming. It was unusual; correction: abnormal. Something was definitely wrong. With new motivation, Logan formulated a swift plan in his mind. The Mutant shut his eyes promptly, concentrating again with the shred of patience he still retained. Every alarming thought now was inhibited.
Voices. Logan focussed solely on the gladdening sounds, giving him light hope that he wasn't alone. Was he kidnapped? A small, arrogant smile curved on his lips: they would be able to hold him for long. Being part of the X-Men gave him an upper advantage; Mutants, or not. He had faced Magneto, the Brotherhood, a medical experimentation (as Jean had once told him during their first real conversation). But Magneto and he were on good terms since he had prevented a supposedly unstoppable war in the future. Unless...unless a new Mutant with magnetic abilities had arose. Though this didn't shake his confidence one bit. The Wolverine was always ready for a battle.
Laughter? A silvery laugh echoed serenely. His eyebrows creased in slight shock. Logan mentally crossed out his earlier suggestion as he continued to listen intently. The laugh sounded too pure, too tranquil to belong to someone capable of abduction. This was his gut feeling; his instinct. And his instincts had never wronged him before. The intimate murmurs intensified:
"...So he told Kuekuatsheu that the Moon asked for flowers. He told him to come to our world and pick her some wild roses. Kuekuatsheu didn't know that once you leave the Spirit World, you can never go back," the woman's voice narrated ominously, "Every night the Moon searches for him, and every night he sees her in the sky and howls her name...but he can never touch her again."
"Wow," commented a man, humour coloring his voice. "Kukukuchuka got screwed."
Logan froze immediately, his breathing halting for a split-second. Any vestige of the smirk he had possessed mere seconds ago now completely dissipated. His composed exterior now could no longer maintain the cool influence it always had. A sweat of trepidation trickled down his muscular back, fiercely burning the skin it lightly touched. The daunting awareness pulled Logan's eyes fully open, breaking his heavy focus. His normally menacing orbs, that would cause anyone to retreat automatically, now showed the foreign fright exposed in his dark orbs. That voice...that man sounded l-like him. There was no mistake in it.
Logan knew his voice well, and he was certain that the voice that spoke was his. But something truly surprised him: the voice lacked a particular edge of gruffness that was always heard in his voice. That gruffness was a sense of warning to strangers. And yet it was completely erased from the voice he was just heard. It was care-free. Something Logan yearned for as long as he could remember: that fateful day he was forgot his life and his identity. His purpose and his ambitions.
Although Logan often vowed to himself that he would never spend his whole life hunting for something he will never catch, not a single night passed where he didn't dream of what he used to be like; what his memories might have been. Did he have any siblings, a brother perhaps? What were his parents like? Where had he lived? Was he ever married? What was his job? And exactly how old was he? With his quintessential healing and regeneration powers, he could be centuries old. Losing over a hundred years of memories enraged Logan deeply, but then Xaviar's words would reverberate through his head; "It can be a good thing, Logan." Maybe it was. He couldn't remember any possible betrayal, traumatizing events or personal grudges. All he could remember was waking up to a far-off Island that looked like a battlefield, and an ally he didn't know at all. Only a metal, filthy dog-tag informed him of who he was. Two generous words: Logan and Wolverine.
Bright light suddenly filled the room, snatching Logan out of his brooding muse. The light engulfed everything violently. Knowing his arms couldn't shield him from the unexpected golden beams, he shut his eyes as tightly as he could.
"Kuekuatsheu," the woman corrected playfully, caressing the man's face. He laughed.
Everything was clear now. Again, Logan could literally feel the ease radiating from the laughter. Eagerly, he turned his head, the only this he was able to physically control. There he saw a small room, lit by a blazing fireplace. The couple sat on the sofa, relaxed beneath the dim light above. Logan gasped audibly.
He was looking at himself.
He was the man on the sofa who was smiling. He was the person the woman showering with affection. He was happy. Logan growled lowly, believing it must be some sort of hallucination. He observed "himself" further. But the more he analysed, the more envious he became. The doppelganger on the sofa had -in that instant- everything Logan desired so very much. Happiness, love, a life of his own. He enjoyed being part of the X-Men and he enjoyed being part of a Xaviar's team, destroying bad guys (seriously, kicking ass was something anyone would find fun). But deep down, he was well aware that he was missing something dearly. Something important. And he had tried to find that in Jean Grey... someone else's lover.
Impatiently Logan attempted to move, desperately wanting to see the woman's face. But his limbs still wouldn't obey him. His legs stayed, ingrained to the floor. So close, yet so far. Pain poked his heart mocking his helplessness. Successfully ignoring the aching sensation, Logan continued to watch the couple's secret love longingly. He wanted it. But- a golden, queer feeling of déjà vu arose within his jealous mind.
As if it was a memory.
"It means The Wolverine," The dark-haired woman spoke, the words echoing soothingly in Logan's mind.
His eyes flicked up in sudden realization. "No," Logan whispered harshly, adamantly refusing to believe. In over 18 years, not once had he recovered a valuable, elusive memory of his previous life since his amnesia. It was a far-fetched idea that Logan knew would never happen. His mind must be playing tricks.
The scene in front of Logan suddenly vanished! Logan exhaled in extreme distaste as it snatched away from his sight. Instantaneously his senses were on full-alert again. Darkness invaded his surrounding again, and the last glimmer of light faded regretfully. His bones, for the first time in a long time, were weak. Logan failed to hold his tall stature up and knew his mind would also follow suit and disappear into the endless oblivion.
Abruptly Logan propelled himself up, eyes wild. He glanced at his hands, which revealed the familiar metal blades sliced between his knuckles. As he studied his surrounding anxiously, he sighed in relief: he was in his bedroom. It was all a dream. As he rested back on the headboard, a frown grew on his face. Inexplicable sadness overcame Logan; he couldn't understand why he was suddenly feeling crestfallen. It was nostalgia, he convinced himself. Logan knew it was an excuse, but it was good enough to preoccupy him for now.
"Logan, you okay?"
He looked up warily, cold sweat glistening on his skin. How long had Hank stood there? "I'm fine," Logan replied impassively, retracting his claws swiftly.
Knowing that Logan was never the talking type, Beast replied doubtfully, "Okay. Breakfast's ready by the way. Just thought you might have overslept."
"Right."
Taking one last look at Logan's disheveled state, Hank couldn't stop himself. "Nightmare?"
"I'll be down in a minute," Logan replied dismissively. He did not want to recall whatever happened to him. At least, not right now. Logan's tone made it clear to Hank that he was not needed, so he silently left.
Logan heeded no attention to his team-mate's quick leave. Agitated, he stood up and inhaled deeply. He quickly glanced at the clock and saw that it was quarter past 10. He wasn't prone to waking up late. Logan subconsciously followed a strict routine. What he experienced was something that he could never brush aside nonchalantly. It felt so real; had an actual memory returned to him? It was nothing like the nightmares he had. The very nightmares about the terrible future he averted. There was no screaming, no deaths and no Sentinels. Time was healing those wound slowly.
Instantly Logan stopped pacing, a decisive expression embedded on his face. Slowly he ran a callous hand through his tousled dark hair, as if it would help to clear his miscellaneous thoughts. A strangled sigh discovered its way out, as Logan collapsed back on the bed, finally losing the last grain of determination.
"It's nothing," he muttered, deceptively calm. It was nothing, he repeated roughly, reassuring himself mentally. But a berating voice told him to enquire the Professor about it.
A/N: I was planning to make this story a lot longer, but then again I have a tendency to procrastinate a lot, so I settled down with a simple OneShot. I was actually wanted a full story based on this idea, but I lost inspiration to write it.
Please review! I'd love to read what you thought about this. Do you think I should write a couple more chapters? Yes or no? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this. I haven't put the completed icon on this story, as I am likely to write at least one more chapter. Review for a TwoShot?
PS. If you spot any mistakes, please do let me know. I hate grammar mistakes, but I sometimes overlook them by accident.