Hey guys! I know I'm a couple of days late, but I had an English term paper to complete. You know...have to set them priorities...I really wanted to write this next chapter, but I just couldn't. But now I did! :D YAY!
*REMINDER: There is a poll waiting for your votes on whether or not Kaya should meet the X-Men. As of right now, only one person has voted, so I'll have to revert to default if no one else votes. (The poll is available as a link on the top of my profile page.)*
As always, italics mean thoughts or flashbacks, but to avoid confusion, flashbacks have been labeled as so. Also, so I don't get sued or something...
Disclaimer: I don't own The Wolverine, but my created character, Kaya, is completely mine. Marvel don't kill me. I love you. Anyways, on with the story!
"Ow!" I yelped, flinching as Logan peeled the last of the bandages from my shoulders. "Watch where you put your fingers," I growled.
"Well if you'd stop fidgeting…"
I let out a huff and resigned myself to sit still while Logan examined my wounds. My shirt was carefully pulled over my head and wrapped around my arms, covering the front half of my chest, but exposing my back and upper shoulders to Logan. I could smell the old blood on the bandages along with some that was more fresh.
"How bad is it?" I asked, trying to twist around to see.
"Stop," he warned, placing his hands on me to prevent me from turning around further. "It's not bad, but it's not good either."
"Just give it to me straight," I said, gritting my teeth against the sting as Logan began to dab around the punctures.
"Well, it's not infected and, lucky for you, I…he, the Wolverine…whatever, went straight through the gap between your clavicle and shoulder blade on both arms, missing all the vital stuff. You're still bleedin' though. Not a lot, but enough to make me a little nervous. We probably shouldn't have done that training stuff today." He paused for a moment and then asked, "Don't you have a healin' factor or somethin'? Bein' a feral an all?"
"No. Should I?"
"I dunno. I've only met one other feral…at least that I can remember, and he definitely has one." I smirked as I heard Logan mutter some rather creative profanity under his breath about someone named Sabretooth. Then, "I wonder if that's why they kept you at their lab for so long…"
"What? To see if I had a healing factor?"
"Yeah."
"I guess that makes sense. It would explain why every month or so they would apparently cut me up for no reason except to 'take blood.' What a bunch of crap." I shuddered as the white sterile lab flashed before my eyes.
"Alright, I'm gonna put some alcohol on these claw marks to keep any possible left-over bacteria and stuff from getting' into your system. Want to keep these as clean as possible since they go all the way through. It's gonna hurt."
"You didn't do this earlier?" I asked, a bit shocked.
"I did. You were still out."
"Wish I still was," I grumbled.
I prepared myself, and then, with a stiff nod, gave Logan the go-ahead. The moment he poured, pain – endless, mind-numbing pain – ripped open my shoulders. I cried out, gripping the fabric of my shirt, as my vision flashed with red and yellow as I practically heard the skin sizzle from the liquor. I felt a powerful force from deep within my being trying to emerge, to sink its teeth and claws into me, to take control. Just as quickly though, it passed, and I found myself breathing heavily and feeling utterly drained. Logan looked at me with his head cocked to one side.
"You ok? For a second there you smelled…different. Like your scent changed."
Nodding, I managed to reply with a "fine" between gasps for air as the burning sensation began to slowly ebb away. No. No I am not fine. Whatever had come over me was still there. I could feel it lurking in the recesses of my mind.
Logan gently dried my shoulders with a soft towel and then tightly re-wrapped them with fresh bandaging, going over and around my upper torso like before. I winced when he tied it off. I pulled my shirt back on.
"Thank you Logan."
"For what? All I did was redress the injury I gave you."
"That wasn't entirely your fault," I replied, taking a seat on the bed and leaning back against the wall, closing my eyes. "And yes, thank you for that, but also thank you for…I don't know…saving me. Not just from the stream. I've been alone for too long. A few more years out here and I probably would've forgotten how to be human." I opened an eye to look at him. He looked sad. "What is it?"
"I just can't help but wonder…why take a child whose mutation had barely emerged? I can understand their interest in me, but why you? What did they want? What horrors did they do to you?"
I remained silent, thinking about how to answer.
"I don't know why they kidnapped me so young, but they said I was a precursor to the official Weapon X program, whatever that means. Apparently Weapon X is a guy they had their sights on but was either too dangerous or slippery for them to get their hands on, so they settled for the next best thing: his kid." Logan looked at me incredulously. "Yeah, that's right, I'm his kid, whoever he is."
"You never knew him?"
"No. All my mom ever told me about him was that he would go where he wanted to go and that no force in the world could stop him; that the only time he didn't go where he wanted to was when he left us. She wouldn't tell me why…I don't think even she knew."
"So you were raised by your mom."
"My mom and stepdad."
"Why didn't you try to go back to them after you escaped?" I looked up at him, meeting his eyes.
"They're dead."
"Oh." Logan looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, my step dad died from cancer when I was five. My mom though…she was a mutant. She could shape-shift. Nothing too special, just a few animals. She used to literally give me horseback rides." I smiled at the memory. "Anyways, one day these guys in suits come to our door. Next thing I know my mom's arguing with them and then she's trying to protect me from them. People already hate us for being mutants, so I guess they didn't have a problem with shooting her."
I scrubbed at some tears that were threatening to spill over. I will not cry, not in front of Logan. You've been through this…she's gone and there's nothing that can change it. Get over it. Steeling my nerves, I pushed on, not realizing how much I had wanted, needed to get this out.
"I remember watching my house disappear from a car's rearview window. I remember the concrete cell I practically grew up in and the food, or lack there-of depending on what was scheduled. I remember the horrible tests and experiments, all the machinery I had been hooked up to. I remember the needles. Every. Single. One. At first, I never knew when they were going to move me from my cell to the lab for experimentation. It all seemed random and I was too young and scared to even bother trying to figure it out. I was put through grueling physical exercises, often times till I would black out. Afterwards, my throat would be raw from all the breathing where sometimes I was given water, and other times I was forced to go without to the point of suffering severe dehydration. Only then would they nurse me back to health. I suffered burns, cuts, bruises, broken bones, you name it. The only thing they didn't do was kill me. Oh no. They were much too careful for that. After every injury, they allowed me time to heal, even if it took a while. Every test was carefully planned, scheduled and conducted under watchful eyes and then terminated before I was allowed to die. There was a point where I wished I would die. For a time, all I felt was fear, but as the days passed, I got over that and then all I felt was the pain. Eventually, even that dulled, until all I knew was anger. It was the anger that drove me to plan my escape. My successful one at least. And now, here I am," I stated scornfully, spreading my arms to either side, "stuck in the middle of the woods with no home, no family, and a man who could turn into a vicious animal and gut me at any time!"
I hadn't realized it, but I had started crying somewhere in the middle of my rant, and now that I was done, I couldn't stop them from falling. My whole body trembled and my vision grew blurry. Despite my best efforts to not show weakness in front of Logan, I was reduced to a whimpering and sniveling mess.
Logan got up from his chair and sat down next to me on the bed. Reaching out an arm, he drew me in close to his chest. At first I was tense and hesitant, but then no longer cared who/what he was and relented to his embrace, burrowing my face into his shirt. He murmured softly to me, reassuring me, all the while gently stroking my hair. I honestly don't know how long we sat there, but it was long enough for my sobs to subside and give way to sporadic hiccups. I didn't want to leave his grip. It felt strong and warm and safe. He smelled of wood smoke and pine sap. When I did finally pull away, I noticed his shirt was wet but he had a smile on his face.
"Hey, kit. Feel better?" I smiled at the nickname, wiping my nose on my sleeve and nodded. He brushed a strand of hair back from my face and gave my knee a squeeze. Getting up, he walked over to the sink and poured me a glass of water. "For the hiccups," he said, handing it to me. I gratefully drank it and then snuggled up under the covers of the bed, exhausted, listening to the crackle of the fire and Logan's steady breathing.
Aww! The father-daughter relationship! I loved this scene! Sorry to those of you who hate sappy stuff, but I had to get this out of my system. And don't worry! Action looms tantilizingly close, just around the corner, lurking in the shadows! Along with some revealtions...And M.E.E Guest...please, please, please make an account on ! I can't answer any of your questions because you are a guest reviewer, so I can't reply to your reviews! AND I REALLY WANT TO!
The same goes for everyone. Leave a review cause I love hearing from you! (Wow. Rhymed again.) And I'm really sorry if I don't post this next week because finals are literally upon me! AHHH! Thanks for still reading guys!
