an X-Men evolution fanfic, based on the episode "On Angels' Wings", the
Christmas episode. Logan (Wolverine) is spending his holiday as would be
expected, alone, or so he thinks.
Holiday Tradition
Sam and Reilly's, a bar located just off exit 18 on highway 12 in Paradime, Connecticut, is a highly unlikely place for a holiday tradition. That is, it's unlikely if the tradition belongs to anyone but Logan, Wolverine to some people. Everything about him was unlikely. His keen senses, prowess, and unmatched combat abilities didn't fit well with his diminutive height, albeit his build was strong and muscular. His deeply lined and angry features belied a secret softness, an amazing loyalty to friends, the few he really had. His holiday tradition was being played out as he drank his beer and shot pool, alone in the bar on Christmas eve just before closing time. He couldn't ask for anything more. The Professor had told him he was welcome to stay at the institute for Christmas, but he declined. Logan was the type to get depressed around the holidays, but in his case, depression was not a safe mood for him to be in around others. He needed solitude like most people need their families. Silence was his brother, his dearest, and most faithful friend. It always allowed him to be himself, it was easygoing and wasn't boisterous. Silence allowed him to remember.
This was his tradition. The cheesy Christmas lights along the walls, the plastic tree glowing in the multi-colored light, the bartender ready to close up, and Logan finnishing his last drink before riding away from this dive for another year. For the past twelve years, he had done this, shot pool for awhile and left, never talking to anyone, just watching the moderate-sized crowd get drunk and sing Christmas carols, and slowly start to thin out. Only the first time he did this did he ever speak to anyone else. It was the only time he had to, she was like him in a way. They had shared a secret, and never saw each other again. Logan felt pathetic, returning here every year, but, like Kurt at the institute once said, "You're only pathetic if others see you doing pathetic things." Well, no one else was around on this snowy night except the bartender, until she actually walked back in.
"I'm sorry, Miss, we're closing up here," the bartender addressed her when she stepped in. His voice and the gust of icy wind that came in the door with her made Logan turn around and feel like a deer caught in headlights.
"It's okay, man, she's just here to see me, and I'm outta here in a minute." He managed to choke out after a moment. After he said it, he felt really stupid. That was rather presuming.
"What makes you so sure of that?" the woman said, in her soft, husky voice. "You don't have to answer, I'm not that sadistic, Logan," she continued before he could reply.
Ingrid Field. The name burned itself into his mind twelve years ago. The only name he ever cared about other than his own. She was the first he had ever met who had a secret like his own. He hadn't been to the institute then, and couldn't remember a thing about how he got like this. He and Ingrid were loners, and then they met. It never seemed possible to either of them that one night would have so much impact, but it did. Logan couldn't believe how beautiful she still was. She was more sophisticated now, thirty five years old, stately and elegant in her camel trenchcoat. She stood five feet eleven inches tall, about seven or eight inches over Logan, and couldn't have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds. She was thin as a ballet dancer, her long legs and elongated torso moved with fluidity and her light caramel-golden hair fell in ringlets around her angular face down to her shoulders. Those eyes, piercing into his, golden with flecks of green, almond shaped, like a cat, made him shudder. She wore gloves the same color as her coat, and Logan guessed things were still the same with her and her hands.
She walked over to the pool table where Logan now leaned nonchalantly, holding the pool cue straight up like a staff, a weapon. He was still so powerful, his blue shirt both concealing and emphasizing his build. He looked dangerous, feral, perfect. "Merry Christmas, Logan."
"I suppose you could call it that," he responded. She was here. Ingrid was in his presence again, and he yet he still felt alone. Why here and now did fate decide to have them reunite? He was just beginning to adjust to a steady routine, a life that can be recognized as such, and now his balance was being thrown by the fellow mutant before him. When she got close enough, he reached out to her, grabbed her gloved hand.
"Have you let anyone see them yet?" he knew she hadn't. Ingrid was unabashedly vain, and hardly ever went anywhere without some kind of gloves on. He remembered her telling him that so long ago, and he didn't really blame her.
"Has anyone seen yours?" she countered, curling her questionable hand around his.
"No one who would care so much to expose me to the world."Logan was tiring of this."How did you end up here?"
Ingrid looked down in embarassment. "I come here at closing time every year, after everyone has left, so I don't have to talk to anyone. I came in too early I guess. I usually just stay outside, but I saw the lights were still on. I must sound pathetic."
"No more than anyone else around the holidays. The whole season thrives on pathetic people and their hopes of grabbing a little happiness." Logan threw a few bills on the bar for his beer, grabbed his jacket and headed to the exit. Ingrid followed him out to the parking lot. The snow had stopped falling a few hours ago, and the temperature wasn't as cold as it had been the past few nights. The sky was clear, with midnight embracing the glow of the stars. The two stepped through the slush to reach Logan's Harley Davidson, their boots crunching the icy packets spread throughout the cement.
"So, this is it, you don't want to talk to me? I never expected to see you here, or anywhere, ever again. Don't you think this is a sign that we were supposed to meet once more?"
"Ingrid, I thought you didn't believe in things as childish as fate. This is no fairy tale, and you're no princess. Princesses don't have such ugly secrets," he knew he was boardering on cruel, but he found it hard to resist her, and the upset she would cause in his life. He wanted to drive her away, wanted this joy at seeing her face to go away.
Her eyes narrowed at him, her mouth forming a straight, bitter line. She pulled a glove from her hand, revealing the secret she harbored from the world. Her fingernails, more like claws than any human part, shone laquered black. They weren't painted, they had the color and texture of a hawks talons, and they curled in a vicious arc, an inch and half past her fingertips. Her palms were rubbery, pink fleshed, but the flesh was like that on a cat's paw. Her feet were much the same. She moved so quickly, Logan didn't even see her hand shoot out from the side to strike his face. Her reflexes and agility were as cat-like as her features. She scratched his cheek, hard enough to draw a good amount of blood, but Logan's unusual regenerative powers left him with only three lines of pink across his face. No one had ever gotten such a good blow to his face. Ingrid was an unlikely sort herself, as no one would ever expect such a graceful beauty to be so hard edged, and contain instincts and reflexes that would make her a worthy opponent in a battle with Logan.
"What the hell was that for?" Logan spat at her. He knew quite well that it was for his insensitive remarks.
"Because you're right, Logan! God, you haven't changed at all. Do you realize how many times I've thought about you when I came her? I always had two scenes. I wanted you to be here, I wanted to touch you, I wanted you to kiss me again." Ingrid turned to the side, only allowing him a view of her profile. She didn't want him to see the look in her eyes.
"But then again, I prayed you wouldn't be here. I didn't think I could bear it if you made me feel that way again, and then just rode off. Do you remember when your blade involuntarily slipped out and knocked over your beer? I saw it, but I didn't believe it, despite knowing I was different too, and the fact that it was right before my eyes. That's how I feel now. It was joy, recognition, fear. I never told anyone, and I let that moment guide me to you, and to the rest of that night."
"Ingrid, the only thing that guided us the rest of that night was a few too many drinks and far too much desperation. I'm sorry if you felt that it was more than that, because I didn't."Over the years, Logan had become very good at lying.
He mounted his cycle and reved the engine. The exhaust blew noisily into the air, puffing clouds into the crisp night. At that moment, the wind picked up and Ingrid's hair flew wildly around her face, framing her eyes, glittery with unshed tears and a firm resolve.
Her voiced quaked as she responded, trying to sound strong. "Okay, Logan, fine. I guess I was a fool to even think for a moment that seeing you again would bring us back in time. I had hoped, though, that you would at least be nice to me about it. what did I ever do to make you want to hurt me?" With her gloved hand, she gently touched his face, feeling the day-old stubble on his cheek right through the material.
Logan turned off the bike. He ensnared her waist with his arms and drew her close. "You made me want to do this," he answered her, before kissing her mouth, so pouty and sad.
God, he still loved the way she tasted on his lips. No one ever got to him like Ingrid did, and it happened over only one night! He felt her strain against him, trying to break away, but soon she gave in, opening her lips to accept his kiss. When she finally pulled away, breaking the kiss, she asked him, "Where are you going?"
He didn't want to tell her where he was going. He knew if he told her, she would end up going with him. "The motel on mile marker four. I'm leaving town in the morning." He wouldn't tell her where he would be after that. He could only love Ingrid in this place, in this time. She was his Christmas angel, and could only be that. If he ever was to have any more than that with her, he would lose his ability to be a strong leader. Leaders don't have weaknesses, and Ingrid drained him of all the strength his solitary fortress around his heart had. He had a responsibility the Xavier Institute, and to all his charges there, he couldn't fail them. Logan couldn't fail Ingrid either. He didn't want her to be a part of all the danger they faced. She was representative of the mutants they were fighting for, not a fighter herself. For all her vanity, and her stubborn pride, she was too gentle for that life.
"The same motel we stayed in together. The same one you left me in. Now who is pathetic and sentimental? There are a hundred motels around here, Logan." Ingrid was hardly even aware of getting on the motorcyle behind him.
Just before Logan started the engine again, he let her grip him firmly to hold on. "None of the motels have such comfortable beds."
Ingrid dug her claws hard enough into his sides to draw a gasp, which was satisfying enough.
the next morning.....
The first rays of the sun were creeping in under the blinds over the window of the motel room, splaying over the bed. Shadows still fell in some parts of the room, and Ingrid crossed through them and through the light beams as she gathered her clothes and prepared to leave. Logan snored softly in the bed, his naked form outlined under the blanket. He looked older, harder, than the last time she saw him like that. The lovemaking was much the same, gentle at some points, then deliriously fast and rough. She didn't feel insecure about her hands and feet around him, and fully gave of herself, and felt free to take from him what he offered. The first time they were together, Ingrid had never been with a man before. That landmark made what she had with Logan all the more special, and she felt perfectly safe with him, but still she hoped he couldn't tell that she hadn't been with anyone since. It would save her a lot of awkward thoughts at night if Logan could believe that he had been able to help her become less inhibited because of her differences. That was why she had to leave now, before he woke up. She hadn't slept all night, not wanting to risk being there when he awakened. She simply lay in his arms, listening to him breathe, feeling his hard muscular torso press against her thin, soft body. The heat that radiated from him reminded Ingrid of the spiritual warmth that Christmas used to bring to her, before the harsh reality of her mutations became apparent, before she became isolated from her staunch, Catholic family, branded a cohort of the devil, and losing everything that she loved.
Logan shouldn't have to have her problems as well as his in her life. That was why she had to leave now. She couldn't let their relationship be anymore than a comforting memory. Would they ever meet again? Ingrid couldn't be sure, but she knew that she would continue her holiday tradition next year, but would he? No matter what, though, any future encounters could only be another bead in the strand of memories they could draw on in times of deepest pain.
Fully dressed, her hand on the doorknob, Ingrid turned to look once more at him. Impulsively, she ran back to the bedside and kissed his brow one more time. "I'll see you in my dreams, Logan. You'll always be there." And then she was gone.
Holiday Tradition
Sam and Reilly's, a bar located just off exit 18 on highway 12 in Paradime, Connecticut, is a highly unlikely place for a holiday tradition. That is, it's unlikely if the tradition belongs to anyone but Logan, Wolverine to some people. Everything about him was unlikely. His keen senses, prowess, and unmatched combat abilities didn't fit well with his diminutive height, albeit his build was strong and muscular. His deeply lined and angry features belied a secret softness, an amazing loyalty to friends, the few he really had. His holiday tradition was being played out as he drank his beer and shot pool, alone in the bar on Christmas eve just before closing time. He couldn't ask for anything more. The Professor had told him he was welcome to stay at the institute for Christmas, but he declined. Logan was the type to get depressed around the holidays, but in his case, depression was not a safe mood for him to be in around others. He needed solitude like most people need their families. Silence was his brother, his dearest, and most faithful friend. It always allowed him to be himself, it was easygoing and wasn't boisterous. Silence allowed him to remember.
This was his tradition. The cheesy Christmas lights along the walls, the plastic tree glowing in the multi-colored light, the bartender ready to close up, and Logan finnishing his last drink before riding away from this dive for another year. For the past twelve years, he had done this, shot pool for awhile and left, never talking to anyone, just watching the moderate-sized crowd get drunk and sing Christmas carols, and slowly start to thin out. Only the first time he did this did he ever speak to anyone else. It was the only time he had to, she was like him in a way. They had shared a secret, and never saw each other again. Logan felt pathetic, returning here every year, but, like Kurt at the institute once said, "You're only pathetic if others see you doing pathetic things." Well, no one else was around on this snowy night except the bartender, until she actually walked back in.
"I'm sorry, Miss, we're closing up here," the bartender addressed her when she stepped in. His voice and the gust of icy wind that came in the door with her made Logan turn around and feel like a deer caught in headlights.
"It's okay, man, she's just here to see me, and I'm outta here in a minute." He managed to choke out after a moment. After he said it, he felt really stupid. That was rather presuming.
"What makes you so sure of that?" the woman said, in her soft, husky voice. "You don't have to answer, I'm not that sadistic, Logan," she continued before he could reply.
Ingrid Field. The name burned itself into his mind twelve years ago. The only name he ever cared about other than his own. She was the first he had ever met who had a secret like his own. He hadn't been to the institute then, and couldn't remember a thing about how he got like this. He and Ingrid were loners, and then they met. It never seemed possible to either of them that one night would have so much impact, but it did. Logan couldn't believe how beautiful she still was. She was more sophisticated now, thirty five years old, stately and elegant in her camel trenchcoat. She stood five feet eleven inches tall, about seven or eight inches over Logan, and couldn't have been more than a hundred and twenty pounds. She was thin as a ballet dancer, her long legs and elongated torso moved with fluidity and her light caramel-golden hair fell in ringlets around her angular face down to her shoulders. Those eyes, piercing into his, golden with flecks of green, almond shaped, like a cat, made him shudder. She wore gloves the same color as her coat, and Logan guessed things were still the same with her and her hands.
She walked over to the pool table where Logan now leaned nonchalantly, holding the pool cue straight up like a staff, a weapon. He was still so powerful, his blue shirt both concealing and emphasizing his build. He looked dangerous, feral, perfect. "Merry Christmas, Logan."
"I suppose you could call it that," he responded. She was here. Ingrid was in his presence again, and he yet he still felt alone. Why here and now did fate decide to have them reunite? He was just beginning to adjust to a steady routine, a life that can be recognized as such, and now his balance was being thrown by the fellow mutant before him. When she got close enough, he reached out to her, grabbed her gloved hand.
"Have you let anyone see them yet?" he knew she hadn't. Ingrid was unabashedly vain, and hardly ever went anywhere without some kind of gloves on. He remembered her telling him that so long ago, and he didn't really blame her.
"Has anyone seen yours?" she countered, curling her questionable hand around his.
"No one who would care so much to expose me to the world."Logan was tiring of this."How did you end up here?"
Ingrid looked down in embarassment. "I come here at closing time every year, after everyone has left, so I don't have to talk to anyone. I came in too early I guess. I usually just stay outside, but I saw the lights were still on. I must sound pathetic."
"No more than anyone else around the holidays. The whole season thrives on pathetic people and their hopes of grabbing a little happiness." Logan threw a few bills on the bar for his beer, grabbed his jacket and headed to the exit. Ingrid followed him out to the parking lot. The snow had stopped falling a few hours ago, and the temperature wasn't as cold as it had been the past few nights. The sky was clear, with midnight embracing the glow of the stars. The two stepped through the slush to reach Logan's Harley Davidson, their boots crunching the icy packets spread throughout the cement.
"So, this is it, you don't want to talk to me? I never expected to see you here, or anywhere, ever again. Don't you think this is a sign that we were supposed to meet once more?"
"Ingrid, I thought you didn't believe in things as childish as fate. This is no fairy tale, and you're no princess. Princesses don't have such ugly secrets," he knew he was boardering on cruel, but he found it hard to resist her, and the upset she would cause in his life. He wanted to drive her away, wanted this joy at seeing her face to go away.
Her eyes narrowed at him, her mouth forming a straight, bitter line. She pulled a glove from her hand, revealing the secret she harbored from the world. Her fingernails, more like claws than any human part, shone laquered black. They weren't painted, they had the color and texture of a hawks talons, and they curled in a vicious arc, an inch and half past her fingertips. Her palms were rubbery, pink fleshed, but the flesh was like that on a cat's paw. Her feet were much the same. She moved so quickly, Logan didn't even see her hand shoot out from the side to strike his face. Her reflexes and agility were as cat-like as her features. She scratched his cheek, hard enough to draw a good amount of blood, but Logan's unusual regenerative powers left him with only three lines of pink across his face. No one had ever gotten such a good blow to his face. Ingrid was an unlikely sort herself, as no one would ever expect such a graceful beauty to be so hard edged, and contain instincts and reflexes that would make her a worthy opponent in a battle with Logan.
"What the hell was that for?" Logan spat at her. He knew quite well that it was for his insensitive remarks.
"Because you're right, Logan! God, you haven't changed at all. Do you realize how many times I've thought about you when I came her? I always had two scenes. I wanted you to be here, I wanted to touch you, I wanted you to kiss me again." Ingrid turned to the side, only allowing him a view of her profile. She didn't want him to see the look in her eyes.
"But then again, I prayed you wouldn't be here. I didn't think I could bear it if you made me feel that way again, and then just rode off. Do you remember when your blade involuntarily slipped out and knocked over your beer? I saw it, but I didn't believe it, despite knowing I was different too, and the fact that it was right before my eyes. That's how I feel now. It was joy, recognition, fear. I never told anyone, and I let that moment guide me to you, and to the rest of that night."
"Ingrid, the only thing that guided us the rest of that night was a few too many drinks and far too much desperation. I'm sorry if you felt that it was more than that, because I didn't."Over the years, Logan had become very good at lying.
He mounted his cycle and reved the engine. The exhaust blew noisily into the air, puffing clouds into the crisp night. At that moment, the wind picked up and Ingrid's hair flew wildly around her face, framing her eyes, glittery with unshed tears and a firm resolve.
Her voiced quaked as she responded, trying to sound strong. "Okay, Logan, fine. I guess I was a fool to even think for a moment that seeing you again would bring us back in time. I had hoped, though, that you would at least be nice to me about it. what did I ever do to make you want to hurt me?" With her gloved hand, she gently touched his face, feeling the day-old stubble on his cheek right through the material.
Logan turned off the bike. He ensnared her waist with his arms and drew her close. "You made me want to do this," he answered her, before kissing her mouth, so pouty and sad.
God, he still loved the way she tasted on his lips. No one ever got to him like Ingrid did, and it happened over only one night! He felt her strain against him, trying to break away, but soon she gave in, opening her lips to accept his kiss. When she finally pulled away, breaking the kiss, she asked him, "Where are you going?"
He didn't want to tell her where he was going. He knew if he told her, she would end up going with him. "The motel on mile marker four. I'm leaving town in the morning." He wouldn't tell her where he would be after that. He could only love Ingrid in this place, in this time. She was his Christmas angel, and could only be that. If he ever was to have any more than that with her, he would lose his ability to be a strong leader. Leaders don't have weaknesses, and Ingrid drained him of all the strength his solitary fortress around his heart had. He had a responsibility the Xavier Institute, and to all his charges there, he couldn't fail them. Logan couldn't fail Ingrid either. He didn't want her to be a part of all the danger they faced. She was representative of the mutants they were fighting for, not a fighter herself. For all her vanity, and her stubborn pride, she was too gentle for that life.
"The same motel we stayed in together. The same one you left me in. Now who is pathetic and sentimental? There are a hundred motels around here, Logan." Ingrid was hardly even aware of getting on the motorcyle behind him.
Just before Logan started the engine again, he let her grip him firmly to hold on. "None of the motels have such comfortable beds."
Ingrid dug her claws hard enough into his sides to draw a gasp, which was satisfying enough.
the next morning.....
The first rays of the sun were creeping in under the blinds over the window of the motel room, splaying over the bed. Shadows still fell in some parts of the room, and Ingrid crossed through them and through the light beams as she gathered her clothes and prepared to leave. Logan snored softly in the bed, his naked form outlined under the blanket. He looked older, harder, than the last time she saw him like that. The lovemaking was much the same, gentle at some points, then deliriously fast and rough. She didn't feel insecure about her hands and feet around him, and fully gave of herself, and felt free to take from him what he offered. The first time they were together, Ingrid had never been with a man before. That landmark made what she had with Logan all the more special, and she felt perfectly safe with him, but still she hoped he couldn't tell that she hadn't been with anyone since. It would save her a lot of awkward thoughts at night if Logan could believe that he had been able to help her become less inhibited because of her differences. That was why she had to leave now, before he woke up. She hadn't slept all night, not wanting to risk being there when he awakened. She simply lay in his arms, listening to him breathe, feeling his hard muscular torso press against her thin, soft body. The heat that radiated from him reminded Ingrid of the spiritual warmth that Christmas used to bring to her, before the harsh reality of her mutations became apparent, before she became isolated from her staunch, Catholic family, branded a cohort of the devil, and losing everything that she loved.
Logan shouldn't have to have her problems as well as his in her life. That was why she had to leave now. She couldn't let their relationship be anymore than a comforting memory. Would they ever meet again? Ingrid couldn't be sure, but she knew that she would continue her holiday tradition next year, but would he? No matter what, though, any future encounters could only be another bead in the strand of memories they could draw on in times of deepest pain.
Fully dressed, her hand on the doorknob, Ingrid turned to look once more at him. Impulsively, she ran back to the bedside and kissed his brow one more time. "I'll see you in my dreams, Logan. You'll always be there." And then she was gone.