Submission Name: Second Chance
Rating: T
Author's Note: I was working on the second chapter for 'Every Sinner' , when I got the sudden itch to write this. As the title implies, this is a songfic- it was inspired by the song, but not an exact following, or rendering. It is also a ONE SHOT. Don t pester me asking for a second chapter, cause I won t be posting one! Synn, the original character from 'Every Sinner' will have a few cameos.
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Wolverine, or any of Marvel's wonderful characters. I do, however, own Synn, and as such, I am highly protective of her. I am not making a cent off of this, as it is only for entertainment.
Summary: Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
"Tell my mother, tell my father,
I've done the best I can
To make them realize, this is my life-
I hope they understand;
I'm not angry, I'm just saying-
'Sometimes good-bye is a second chance.'"
Shinedown, Second Chance
--
He stood there, dumbfounded, when the dark-skinned woman appeared out of the darkness. A pair of eyes, so dark they looked black in this light, searched his face in worried fashion. Right now, she looked like some kind of dark angel, hovering between this world and the next. Loose black hair moved, seemingly stirred by a breeze, as she took in the carnage surrounding him. Corpses, twisted and mangled, littered the ground. Union soldiers, Germans, Koreans Vietnamese; they lay together as if they had died in the same war, not many, many years apart in distant countries. Slowly, the woman looked back at him. Gone was the worry, the apprehension.
"It does not matter, Logan. It changes nothing." The angel stepped closer, slender hands reaching up to caress his face...
~~~
He jolted upright with a start, amid the ruins of yet another bed. Eyes speed-focused, fixing on the attractive woman who sat precariously at the foot of the bed. She, having been his constant companion for the past year, knew what to expect, and had wisely moved out of range to allow him to wake on his own. Once, she had attempted to wake him- and that had been enough.
"Hey..." her voice was soft, with barely a trace of an accent. She crept closer now, mindful of the trio of razor-sharp blades that were currently unsheathed. "You are alright. Just a nightmare." Her voice was pitched to be soothing. The blades retracted with a sharp SNAKT , retreating from his knuckles as he began to visibly calm down. "Do you need anything?"
He reached for her, and she met him halfway, fingers entwining with his much larger ones. She brought the hand to her lips, which ghosted over his skin. He released her hand, caressing her face with a thumb. "Ya alright, darlin'?" She turned her head, kissed his palm. But he caught the angry, still-healing marks on her left shoulder all the same. Tried to remove his hand, but she kept it there by forcibly placing her hand over his.
"It is a scratch." She scooted closer. He reached up with his other hand, dragging her onto his chest. She nestled against his warmth, making a happy little cooing sound as he dragged his bristled chin over her scalp. It was his comfort spot, she knew. "Going back to sleep, my love?"
"Yup." He breathed the word across the crown of her head. Her scent was like a lifeline to him; sunshine and a hint of spice. It was as familiar as it could get, but still remained exotic enough to be mysterious. His eyes closed as he breathed her in. Her weight was light, and the soft, buzzing sound of her purr in sleep was welcoming. It didn't take long for his breathing to even out, his body to relax.
Moments later, he began to dream.
--
"Hey, Jimmy-boy! Gonna just stand there and look pretty, or-" The words were cut off by a low growl. The man who had been speaking- Wade, he seemed to remember- looked beyond him, and smirked. "Well, hi, Vicki!" God, the guy just wouldn't shut the hell up. Or maybe he was too stupid. Either way, Logan felt his lips twitch into a smile. 'Maybe you can get your goddamned brother do move his ass."
A large hand came onto his shoulder, spinning him. He looked up, meeting the eyes of Sabertooth? No. His mind whispered a name to him, dredged up from the dark void of his forgotten past. Victor. His name was Victor. "C'mon, Jimmy. Let s get a move on."
~~~
He shifted position, causing the woman to make a small, mewling noise of protest. A few more shifts, and they found a comfortable position. She was against his back now, forehead pressed to his warm skin.
--
The stench of fear was enough to make him want to vomit. It was surrounding him, cloying his senses. In a way, it was almost overpowering. Against his better judgment, he was tuning out everything around him, except for the fear. It spoke volumes to him.
'This has to stop. The fear, the pain, the killing. It has to stop. Look at your brother, Jimmy. DAMNIT, LOOK AT VICTOR!' And he did. Saw the almost perverse pleasure his brother took in the stench and in the interrogation. His brother was actually enjoying this, he realized. 'Oh, god, what have I done?' He lowered his eyes. 'Victor is enjoying this. They all are.' Even more startling was he realized that, a mere moment ago, he had been encouraging it. No, not by helping. By enabling. By not speaking up.
James Logan had just found a conscience.
He felt a fury rise up in him; a new kind of strength that he had never realized he had. He didn't even know what he said. It was a blur. He saw his brother, looking at him with an expression unlike anything he had ever seen. Anger, he realized belatedly. His brother had never been that angry at him before, which explained why he didn't recognize it, really.
"You can't just walk away, Jimmy." The voice, though. The voice did Victor in. Jimmy was the one chink in Vic s seemingly impenetrable armor. "Jimmy!"
It took all of Logan's willpower to walk away. It really, really did.
~~~
He made a whimpering sound in his sleep. The woman behind him stirred, lifting a hand to smooth some flyaways off his forehead. "Shussh, Logan. Shush." He rolled, wrapping his arm around her, pinning her. She breathed once, then relaxed in his hold. He wasn't tensing for a fight- she was safe.
--
He saw flashes of his past. Fighting in a seedy bar, in a cage. The surprise of the man when his fist impacted on metal-laced knuckles. A young girl, looking up at him with innocent eyes, whom he simply couldn't leave behind. Defending her from his own brother who wasn't his brother anymore. Taking her to a safe place. Fighting for her life on Liberty Island.
A dark hallway. Stryker's lies. A woman with red hair, who looked at him like he was some sort of hero, even though she belonged to someone else. The agony of losing her.
The woman with red hair was back, looking at him with hungry eyes. The professor, fading to dust. His own resolution- he had to kill her. Killing her, and the agony that had brought with it.
~~~
He was crying now. She could feel the tears, and sighed. She didn't know what was going on in that thick, adamantium skull of his, but it was bad. She carefully eased out of his arms, slipping out of the room like a shadow. She would warm some milk. It would help them both relax.
--
The angel was in front of him, now. She was battered and bleeding, covered in scratches from his own claws, but there was no judgment in those dark eyes, only understanding. "Feel better now, Mr. Logan?" Her voice was soft, as though she were soothing a wild animal. The wounds were healing, now. Even still, he felt the twinges of his own body mending. They had literally beaten the hell out of each other.
"Who are you?" His own voice was hoarse. Scent told him she belonged to Stryer. Her body language told him that it had not been as a willing subject.
"Synn." Her voice was like velvet now.
"Who. Are. You." His voice dropped to a growl.
"I have just told you. I am Synn. A former employee of one Col. William Stryker." The last had been hesitant, driven onward by the 'SNIKT' of the claws on his left hand as they popped.
"Former employee?" One of his brows quirked, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.
"Very much so, Mr. Logan. The destruction of Three-Mile Island was my severance package." Her posture changed as her body finished healing itself. She flowed upwards fluidly, with the grace of a feline.
"I hope you won t be too upset when I tell you that he died a year ago." He watched her face, gauging her reaction.
"Upset?" Her head tilted. "Why would I be upset? I was little more than a slave to him." So, he had taken her home with him. She had, at first, been unwilling. However, she had calmed down upon arrival at the mansion. Her eyes had lit when she saw that it was a school. More specifically, it was a school that needed teachers. She would do nicely.
He woke again, this time to an empty bed. Inexplicably, a smile was across his lips. He had said goodbye to everything that had held him back, finally. Yes, he had left his brother, the only family he had. He d said goodbye to his old life, his old ways. He had gained a new family, a new hope. A second chance at life. It was that which he would make the most of.
The door opened, and his angel stepped into the room, carrying two steaming mugs of milk. Her smile was wide, welcoming, beckoning him to smile with her. She crossed to the bed swiftly, offering him the warm liquid, which he took. He patted the bed next to him, and she crawled back under the remnants of the blanket, smiling contentedly.