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Chapter Four – Nightmares and Revelations
Twenty minutes later Logan found himself knocking on Marie's motel room door. The action felt decidedly odd, almost as if he was about to go out on a date. In this case, that dreaded first date. The Wolverine inside balked at the idea – he didn't do dates. Even so, Logan had scrubbed up as best he could. Washed the bar-smoke from his hair and the sweat from his body; put on a clean vest beneath his layers of t-shirts, flannel and leather.
But when she opened the door and flashed him one of those alluring smiles of hers he almost wished it was a date. No longer wrapped in that huge heavy coat of hers he could finally see her properly, and she didn't disappoint, her tight jeans emphasising deliciously curvaceous hips whilst her modestly tight emerald green sweater blatantly advertised the womanly delights beneath.
Curves definitely in all the right places.
Her face seemed more striking too, although he wasn't sure what one thing made it so. It could've been that she looked simply refreshed and naturally flushed from her recent shower. She had obviously washed her hair; he could smell the sweet citrus smelling shampoo – definitely not the motel brand – and he had earlier heard a hair-dryer hum through the thin wall, although a hint of dampness still lingered amongst the silky strands, which he found surprisingly sexy. She didn't appear to have a scrap of make-up on, which came as a pleasant contrast to the bar-flies that usually hung around him after a fight. He even wished Treena would tone it down a bit sometimes, feeling that her make-up spoilt rather than flattered her looks.
Again, he was mesmerised by the beauty before him and if she hadn't have spoken he would've probably been content to stand there gawking at her all night.
"Bang on time," she congratulated, snapping him back to reality.
What he wanted to say was: 'Got a few issues with time so I always like to keep one step ahead.' Instead he shrugged dismissively. "Always been a good time keeper."
She peered out into the night warily. "Think I need my coat?"
"Nah, it's only a short walk."
Nodding, she stepped out of her room, locked the door behind her and they began to make their way across to the diner.
"God, it's so still," she remarked wistfully, looking about her at the newly settled snow. "So beautiful."
He smiled, watching her. "This is nothin'. You wait 'til you really get out into the wilderness."
"I plan to see it all," she vowed, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in her eyes, and he had a sudden longing to show her it personally.
"You won't be disappointed," he promised and he felt his heart ache for the only place he truly thought of as home.
She wrapped her arms around her. "No - just freezing," she joked, but she followed it with a despairing sigh. "I'm really determined to hack this cold, I really am. Won't let it beat me."
He frowned. Perhaps he should have suggested she bring a coat after all. A Southern girl like her was sure to be sensitive to this type of weather. He couldn't resist reaching across and wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close.
After her initial shock she sank willingly, if a little shyly, into his embrace and he was pleased to note that her scent did not betray any fear, only contentment...and a hint of...he took a discreet breath of anticipation...arousal.
So under the circumstances the diner loomed far too quickly for his liking and he regarded it menacingly, blaming it on the fact that she had pulled out of his arms to reach for the entrance door.
The place was virtually empty, the waitress, a plump pretty young girl, leaning over the counter reading a glossy fashion magazine. Her face pricked up when they entered and she flashed them a genuine smile. "Take a seat. I'll be right with you."
He followed Marie to a corner booth and it came as no surprise that it was beside a large hissing radiator. They slipped into seats opposite one another.
"Don't forget – I'm paying," she insisted determinedly and Logan loved her ballseyness. For a timid looking thing she could be real sassy and the combination appealed to him. It made him wonder what she might be like in bed. He doubted she'd be boring. The idea excited him in more ways than one.
"I have quite an appetite, you know. Could cost ya a lot," he warned teasingly, aware that she seemed able to draw out his humorous side more than most. But then he realised that it wasn't so much humour as plain old flirting. Christ, since when did the Wolverine flirt?
"You haven't seen me eat yet, sugar," she countered but her grin immediately deflated and he saw pain rush across her face.
He frowned, alarmed by her sudden change. "Hey?" he demanded gently. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head weakly, unable to answer, and stared out of the window instead unable to look him in the eye.
"Marie," he persisted. "Tell me what's wrong." He intended to reach across for her hand but ended up resting his palm an inch or so from it. "Christ, I've dealt you enough of my shit up until now."
She snapped her gaze back onto him and he forced a smile. "Treena didn't call me a miserable-guts for nothin' yer know."
She let out a half sob, half laugh, but tears were still pricking at her eyes. "I always called him sugar."
"Who?"
"David." She took a deep breath. "My boyfriend...fiancé."
Logan was relieved that she was talking about him in the past sense. "He run out on ya?" he growled and it made him wonder if a break up could be the real reason behind this trip of hers.
She finally met his eyes once more. "No," she returned quietly. "He was...was killed...in a car accident."
He watched her uncomfortably, her words the last thing he had expected. He knew that nothing he said would – could – ease her pain. That it was best to say as little as possible. "I'm sorry, Marie," he consoled, voice jagged and throaty. He felt bad for assuming that the guy had run out on her. After all, what guy in their right minds would run out on this beautiful creature?
"It was a year ago...I've...I've accepted it now." She peered down at the menu in front of her, an idle finger tracing the fancy lettering on the cover. She finally glanced back up at Logan again. "But the little reminders...the little slips...like me calling you sugar like that..."
He nodded his understanding but at the same time felt the biggest, most selfish sorry-for-himself bastard ever to have walked this rotten earth and wished she had said something when he had been ranting on in the camper van. Just told him to shut the fuck up.
He felt even more of a selfish bastard when he was overwhelmed by a surge of relief when the waitress approached their booth, interrupting the strained moment.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
Logan would've liked another beer. "I'll have a black coffee."
"Chocolate milkshake," Marie requested quietly, struggling with a smile and as the waitress walked away with their order he knew he needed to lighten the moment. He hated seeing Marie like this. Her pain became his pain.
"Milkshake?" he ribbed.
"You're never to old for a milkshake," she returned, her cheerier self slowly returning. "And my mother always drummed into me about drinking plenty of calcium, said it built strong bones."
Her comment touched a nerve. My bones are strong enough, he thought bitterly, and he was conscious of his nostrils flaring. Aloud he was a little more tactful, however. "I think I'll stick with coffee."
Smiling she peered down at her menu again, eventually opening it to view its contents. Logan continued to watch her, eyes wandering down her long lowered lashes to those full lips that he noticed she had a tendency to chew provocatively when deep in concentration. His gaze wandered lower, to the swell of her chest but there he stopped himself, not wanting her to catch him staring, and forced himself to concentrate on his own menu.
The waitress returned not long afterwards with their drinks and after they had given her their orders there was a few minutes of strained silence. For him it was because he had never been one for small talk. Or even medium talk, come to that. He guessed that for her, it might still have something to do with being upset about David.
"Warm enough?" he blurted, for something – anything - to say.
She laughed gently and her smile came as a welcome relief. "You already asked that on the journey down."
He felt his face heat up a little beneath his mutton-chops. "Oh, right, yeah. Sorry." Nice going, Logan, he despaired as he stared moodily down into his coffee.
"That's OK. I appreciate your concern. I'm great – the radiator is lovely and toasty." She gestured happily to the large metallic contraption.
His eyes rose. "I thought that might have been the reason why you chose this booth."
"I'll be honest," she confessed. "This cold is a lot harder to hack than I thought it would be."
"Layers and brandy."
She regarded him in amusement. "I beg your pardon?"
He hadn't heard that expression in a long time and wondered if all Southern Belles were as polite as her. Her words were like honey to his senses after the trashy banter he was always experiencing on the fight circuit. And that was just the women. "Lots of layers and swigs of brandy," he repeated. "Works for me."
"Not a good idea whilst I'm driving," she pointed out. "At least not the brandy."
Not everyone has a healing factor like you, bub, he reminded himself, and he sighed, wondering why he was bothering. Why he was even making the effort. She probably thought he was a dumb ass.
He must've been making a face because she immediately reached across to his hand, like he did hers earlier. "Hey, don't look like that," she soothed. "I'm just not very good with alcohol. I get drunk very easily.
But unlike his earlier gesture, she actually touched his hand. Just a fleeting caress but it was enough to make him flinch in surprise. His gaze flicked onto hers as the strange feeling that had been lingering in his stomach since the first moment he laid eyes on her, suddenly intensified.
She quickly withdrew her hand, mistaking his reaction for annoyance. "Sorry. I..."
"No -" he cut in urgently. "Don't be." He shot his hand back across to hers so that their fingertips touched chastely. "Don't be sorry."
"Two orders of burgers and fries."
Logan growled beneath his breath as they quickly pulled back their hands to make way for their meals. Fuck, that waitress had the most god-awful timing! She seemed to sense as much and looked at him apologetically, if a little nervously.
"Thanks," he returned gruffly and after slapping their bill on the table she swiftly turned and high-tailed it back to her counter.
"Timing," Marie despaired, although her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and Logan wondered what had been the cause – them touching or them being interrupted.
"Yeah," he agreed, frustratedly.
Marie smiled feebly at him, and Logan thought he could detect disappointment in her expression. "Let's eat," she suggested softly.
"Logan, wait."
As they stepped out of the diner and into the night once more Logan was surprised to find Marie stopping him.
He frowned at her questioningly. "What?"
She grinned and although she appeared a little hesitant she finally moved nearer to him, shocking him by reaching her hand to his face. "You've got a bit of ketchup on your chin." As she tentatively wiped it away with her finger he relished the closeness of her and it wasn't until she had moved away again that he realised that he had been holding his breath.
What was it about this woman that was making him feel like a nervous schoolboy, he wondered, perplexed? But the thought proved to be bittersweet when he accepted that he didn't even know what he had been like as a kid so had little basis for comparison.
"Thanks," he said, rather sheepishly. Great bub! Just walk around with ketchup on your chin. Make everyone's day!
She laughed quietly. "Anytime."
Anytime? Logan wished to God that were true. That she would be there anytime...all the time...with him. And only him. How could he make that happen without scaring her away though? Right now all he wanted to do was lift her up into his arms, kick open his motel room door and make love to her. Not fuck her or have sex with her but make proper love to her. He didn't think he had ever done that before. Not in the lifetime he knew, at least.
They walked silently through the snow back to the motel. Marie made no indication of being cold this time so he made no move to get closer to her. He decided that it might be wiser anyway. Especially considering the fact that they were heading back to their rooms.
At Marie's door they hesitated, standing to face one another. Logan rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, not sure what to say. Nothing new there. The meal at the diner had been a dizzying fluctuation between mild flirtation and awkward moments of strained silence. The fact that the place had been virtually empty of customers had actually made it even worst. Logan had been conscious of the waitress discreetly listening in to their every word and he was sure that Marie had sensed it too. In the end he felt that they had both been relieved to get the hell out of the place.
"I s'pose this is goodnight then," she announced, regretfully.
"Yeah."
She hugged herself with her arms, the cold appearing to affect her now. "What time do you want to set off back to the bar tomorrow?"
Logan's mind raced for a time. "Eight too early for yer?" Although he felt that 'anytime' would be too early to start losing her.
"Eight would be...great," she grinned, but he could see something other than humour glinting in her eyes. He recognised it straight away. Had seen it enough times in the smoky eyes of the bar-flies that approached him.
Desire.
He knew then that he could take her so easily. That she would be willing and wanting. The Wolverine knew it too and Logan had to fight harder than ever before to keep him reigned.
It proved a challenge to keep himself restrained if he was to be totally honest, because fuck if he didn't want her too. Logan and the Wolverine didn't agree on a lot of things but they shared common ground where Marie was concerned. He wanted her so bad it was like a physical pain. But that word kept sweeping through his mind – long term.
Don't fuck this up, Logan, he warned. There was too much to lose. Too much at stake. And he knew – he just knew – that a classy woman like her would regret it in the morning. Might believe that he had taken advantage of her.
"Goodnight then, Marie." It took every last shred of self-control he possessed to turn around and reach for his own door.
Her disappointment was unmistakable, her scent saturated with rejection. "Goodnight, Logan," she returned, struggling to maintain a brave front. But Logan knew different as she hurriedly turned her key in the lock and disappeared inside her room.
He could smell her tears.
For the second time that evening he felt one hell of a bastard.
Marie couldn't wait to get into her motel room. Tears pricking at her eyes she threw herself down upon the bed and pressed her face into the pillow.
Did he want her or didn't he? He was running frustratingly hot and cold. Sending out so many mixed signals that her mind was in a whirl. Maybe she had somehow misread all those looks, just created the illusion of him desiring her because she was missing the closeness of being with someone. It had been a year since David had died, after all, and the nature of her mutation made her crave intimacy more than most. She knew that she shouldn't want Logan so soon, so quickly after meeting him but she couldn't help it. She wanted him so bad it hurt. Physically hurt.
And that little voice in her head still kept insisting that it was meant to be.
She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling as a single tear traced a path down her cheek. She wiped it away crossly.
Stop acting like a lovesick teenager, Marie, she admonished. There was a time and a place for dreams, and now was not one of them. Logan was not David. In fact he was so far removed from David that he could've almost come from another planet entirely.
She sighed deeply. The problem was, that only seemed to make Logan all the more irresistible to her. The more time she spent with him the more he slipped under her skin. And unable to stop them, erotic images sneaked their way in alongside every mannerism, every expression, every frown – images of him naked on top of her, muscular body glistening with sweat as he caged her between his arms, his mouth devouring her lips, her neck, her breasts, making her moan and whimper beneath him...
She angrily shook the images away realising that they were only making things worst. Dragging herself from the bed she stormed through to the bathroom wanting nothing more than to clean her teeth and sleep away the dejection that had gathered around her.
She woke with a start in the middle of the night, initially disorientated by her strange surroundings, something that still hadn't worn off two weeks into her vacation. After gathering her senses she realised that she had been disturbed by strange noises – muffled sounds coming from the direction of Logan's room.
Concerned, she stared at the wall as mumbles and moans filtered in through the thin divide that separated them and it dawned on her that he was having a nightmare. Sitting up in bed she hugged her knees to her chest and waited anxiously, hoping for him to wake up, but it soon became apparent that he didn't seem able to. Instead, his moans began to get louder, more intense and she suddenly became alarmed – what if he wasn't dreaming? What if he was hurt?
Allowing herself no time to consider her actions, she quickly slipped out of bed, into her dressing gown and, going against her better judgement, out of her motel room.
The night was as still, as silent and as cold as the grave, the frozen air sweeping gleefully around her inadequately clothed body and making her shiver as she knocked gently on his door.
"Logan?" She wasn't entirely surprised when she got no response. Although she guessed it would probably be a fruitless endeavour she reached down for the doorknob checking to see if his door was locked or not.
She gasped. It wasn't. But she put it down to the fact that men simply had less need for caution than women on the road and that someone looking like Logan had even less call for it than most men.
She cautiously entered the shadowed room and sure enough he was thrashing around in the bed, covers dishevelled, having been unconsciously wrenched from the upper half of his body as he fought the angry throes of a nightmare.
It pained her to watch him, his face so full of distress, horribly contorted in some kind of physical agony as he wrestled with whatever inner demons were taunting him. She shivered and it wasn't only due to the cold, wondering what dreams could possibly be so terrible that they could reduce a man like Logan into this?
The fact that he was bare-chested sent a surge of longing through her body but she suppressed her emotions and slowly approached the bed. Moving around to the left side she leaned in closer to him.
"Logan?"
She reached out a hand and tapped him ever so gently on his shoulder. He was drenched in sweat; his body slick with it, even his dark hair glistened with dampness as it plastered his furrowed brow.
"Logan, wake up," she begged desperately. Applying slightly more pressure to her tap she told herself that if he didn't wake up this time she would have to switch the light on.
"Logan, please..."
But to her shock he did wake up. He woke with an almighty roar, as if intent on attacking some mystery assailant, his body jerking violently up into a sitting position, spraying tiny beads of sweat across the bed. At the same time, and much to Marie's horror, six long claws ruptured through the flesh of his bare hands in a stomach churning schnick.
She let out a strangled scream as her eyes locked in terrified fascination onto them, as the nightmarish metallic protrusions glinted dangerously in the half-light. Breath lodging in her throat threatening to choke her, she stumbled back across the worn carpet until she slammed hard into the wall, knocking the wind out of herself.
Logan swept a startled gaze around to stare at her, tendrils of sweat soaked hair hanging down in front of eyes that were wild and haunted. Chest heaving with laboured breaths, at first he didn't seem to know who she was, but then a glimmer of recognition flitted into his face. As it grew, so did his own shock of the situation.
Yet Marie's fears quickly dissolved away, knowledge and understanding a sweet elixir upon her tongue, warming her heart when she knew any normal humans would have probably wet themselves by now.
But she wasn't normal. Neither was Logan – she knew that now. He was like her. He was a mutant. They were mutants.
One and the same.
Pulse racing, no longer through alarm but now with nervous excitement, she boldly approached him. "You're one too," she stated simply, voice little more than a whisper but filled with wonder and delight. Literally on autopilot she climbed mechanically onto the bed, reaching for his hands to study them more intently, Logan seeming too stunned by her actions to protest.
She sought out his eyes although continued to cradle his hands in hers, relishing the feel of his warm skin against hers. "You're a mutant too."
Although he remained somewhat bewildered, his breathing began to regulate as his body calmed once more and he managed to nod mutely. He looked both anxious and relieved, the emotions seeming at odds with one another, neither able to strengthen enough to gain the upper hand.
Marie peered down at his claws again. They intrigued rather than frightened her now. She dared to reach out to tentatively brush the top of the nearest blade with the tip of her finger and to her astonishment found that instead of the normal coolness of metal, it was, in fact, warm, and there even seemed to be the sensation of a pulse resonating through it. She sensed Logan's eyes burning into her, heard him grasp for an intake of breath and she quickly withdrew her finger and snapped her gaze back onto his face.
"When they come out," she asked urgently. "Does it...does it hurt?"
She saw his Adam's apple lift and fall as he swallowed uncomfortably disturbing several beads of sweat that had been clinging to his heated skin. Their paths were steered into the dark groove of his neck before melding into one and running down his broad chest.
"Every time," he answered bitterly and he promptly retracted the blades making her jump, his flesh healing over like new almost immediately. She was relieved to see that the last remnants of his nightmare seemed to have fled. That Logan was himself again.
His dark eyes claimed hers, and Marie was hypnotised by the fire raging within them. It revived her own desire, made it flame and she let out a soft moan as he reached across to sweep his hand around her neck, quivering as his fingers slipped through her hair and behind her head to draw her closer to him.
"Logan..." she whimpered, her heart racing fiercely.
"Shhhhhhh," he silenced.
As he brushed his lips across hers she was already drunk with so much anticipation that even such a light touch seemed to ignite every single nerve ending in her body. She had never experienced a feeling like it. Not even with David. It felt amazing. As if her entire soul was on fire. Closing her eyes she moved with him, already addicted to the heat of his mouth, impatient for all he had to offer, everything his kiss promised.
He suddenly pulled away from her, bringing a hand up to tenderly caress her face as he continued to ravage her with his eyes. "Marie..." he growled possessively. "Fuck, I want you so bad."
"Then take me," she demanded breathlessly, hating being deprived of his kiss. "Please, Logan..." Kneeling opposite him, she mirrored his actions, bringing her own hand up to his face, running shaking fingers up through the soft hair of his mutton-chops. "I need you."
He let out a groan as he enveloped her in his arms, crushing her against him as if frightened of losing her should he ever let her go. Lowering his head his lips claimed hers again, devouring her mouth so feverishly, so desperately, that she could no longer think straight, could no longer concentrate on anything but the delicious sensations sweeping through her.
As their bodies entwined and explored neither were aware of the single sliver of voyeuristic moonlight penetrating through the crack in the curtains adding it's own burning caress, nor did they notice that for a few seconds that light was gutted as a dark shadow slowly passed by the window.