Ancient History 9

Onesmartcookie78

A/N: A week early update! This is rare! But, I'm thinking about changing the way I update, so that out of all my ongoing stories, the one that gets the most reviews gets priority. I write for myself, but getting feedback makes me want to write, and makes it more enjoyable. So think of this as a trial run :)

I will be having a competition for a cover drawing for this fanfiction. If you are interested, shoot me a PM.

Trigger warning: Extreme violence awaits. This is why I rated this story M, and it will likely get more graphic from here on.

Summary: Victoria Bishop's mutation is much more of a curse, but its power is the reason she's in this mess to begin with. If only Charles and Erik hadn't tried to recruit her; if only Charles hadn't remembered her decades later; and if only she didn't love Logan. Things would be so much easier. Romance, action, war, jealousy, psychological damage, broken memories... Logan/OC, X-Men.

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men (although I really wish I owned at least Wolverine), only Victoria and any other OCs mentioned

I'VE SAID IT BEFORE, BUT THINGS ARE OFF-CANON SLIGHTLY FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS STORY. NO MAJOR CHANGES, JUST A BIT OUT OF ORDER.


"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared."

― Lois Lowry, The Giver


"Why are you here, Victoria?" Charles' voice was gentle, practised. He was used to dealing with overly-emotional, hormonal, mutant teenagers. I wasn't hormonal and I wasn't a teenager, but I was definitely overly-emotional. Or maybe under-ly-emotional? I couldn't tell if I was feeling too much or too little, wearing my heart on my sleeve, or walking around dead in the eyes.

But Charles' question... why was I here? The answer was obvious, glaring, but a bit unsatisfying: Logan had told me to come. Obvious, because it had happened; glaring, because there was no way to see around it; and unsatisfying because he wasn't here with me, and he only cared to know what had happened, not how it had affected me. The old Logan would've cared, wouldn't he?

"He would have," Charles agreed quietly. I looked at him sharply, and he had the grace to look at least slightly ashamed, yet entirely unapologetic. "You were unresponsive. I needed to know that you were doing all right," he explained. His electric blue eyes seemed especially piercing. "But that's not why you're here," Charles continued. "You want to know what happened at the Statue of Liberty."

I swallowed, then took my lip in between my teeth. Did I want to know? Yes. I wanted to know if I had killed anyone or hurt anyone. Not for Logan, for myself. That was a much more satisfying answer. That was a good answer. That was the right answer. Wasn't it? "Yes."

Yes, yes it was.

"Then relax," said Charles gently. "Just close your eyes and take a deep breath." He wheeled himself closer to me and I did as he asked. I felt his hand connect with my temple, almost like a Vulcan Mind Meld. "And we will uncover the past."


The Statue of Liberty

A fight with someone who looked like Logan, but wasn't. Fake-Logan liked to use his legs, almost like he'd taken capoeira. Maybe he had. But I had knives, and I wasn't afraid to use them. I had been trained in various martial arts. I had been in the military. I had practical experience.

So did fake-Logan. He came at me with everything he had. I took care of his legs and got him on the floor, pinning him in place with more knives. Logan faded into a blue woman with bright red hair and scales.

I didn't care that I'd hurt her. It didn't matter. What mattered was ending the fight quickly, efficiently, and getting to safety, because everyone planned on coming at me with the intent to kill. Krav Maga taught me that.

I ran into the next room and watched as a man with a long tongue and yellowish skin pushed a woman with white-blonde hair down an elevator shaft. Toad and Ororo, a voice in my head whispered. But which one of them was a friend? Were either of them? It was best to assume that they were both enemies.

A pretty red-head (enemy, my brain said immediately) had something plastered over her mouth and nose, cutting off her breathing. A tall, seemingly attractive man with dark hair and a strange visor shot at the mask with a red beam of light. Was he trying to eliminate the enemy? If he was, he was a friend. But the mask was cracking into pieces, so he was her ally, therefore an enemy as well.

But there was no more time to think or do anything, because Toad was coming at me, his tongue long and shooting towards me like a bolt of lightning. I ducked out of the way, but his tongue was already streaking at me again, fast and precise. The speed and reach of his tongue was almost like a gun without the deadly impact.

I grimaced as I caught the squishy appendage with my left hand, my right already spinning a knife and bringing it down to just barely scrape his taste buds. But Toad's tongue was retreating into his mouth, taking me with it, and there was a crowbar in his hands and he was using it like a baseball bat, and there was so much blood after the first hit.

I cried out in rage and pain and slashed at him with my knife hand. My left was stuck to his tongue and I couldn't get it off. His crowbar smashed into my right hand, undoubtedly breaking my wrist. I tried to kick him in the kneecap to incapacitate him, but he shattered the bones in my foot with a simple hit. And then the kneecap of my opposite leg was broken and it hurt too much.

Toad grinned manically, picking up my knife and sawing at my left wrist. I screamed, but was cut off when Toad stabbed me in the chest, right through the heart.


I was gasping from shock and leftover pain. Cold sweat had broken out across my skin, and I shivered and shook. Charles was looking at me with something close to sympathy, but not quite. Good. I didn't want his pity, and I certainly didn't need it.

"Do you want to see more?" Charles asked, only a tad bit hesitant.

"No." And I wasn't even lying.


I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was simply walking past, and they happened to be talking. Mary Jane and Logan. All I wanted was to tell Logan about my encounter with Charles. What's that saying about eavesdroppers? That they never hear good of themselves? I didn't actually hear them say anything about me, but their words broke my heart all the same.

"-she's still taken with you," I heard Mary Jane say.

They must be talking about Rogue; despite his fatherly intentions towards the girl, it hadn't escaped my attention that she idolised him as more than that. I couldn't exactly blame her for thinking of him in that way, but I could point out how inappropriate the relationship would be, considering the age gap. There wasn't just the fact that Logan looked to be in his forties while Rogue was a teenager– there was the fact that Logan was actually hundreds of years old.

"Well, you can tell her... my heart belongs to... someone else," Logan decided. I could practically see the look in his eyes, telling her he wanted her.

I gnawed on my lip as I made my legs move and forced myself not to care. I steeled my heart to the point where I was no longer sure I had one. He could smell fear and all other emotions so I smothered them and continued walking. Until, finally, I reached the edge of his hearing range. That's when I allowed myself to break.

And I had a feeling that I was going to be broken for a long time.

When I reached my room, I allowed a single tear to drop. Fists clenched, my teeth worked on my lower lip and I inhaled sharply.

'Victoria', Charles' voice sounded sadly in my mind. He said nothing else, but his offer was clear; he was there for me when I needed him. It was no longer a matter of if.

I want to tell you about when I met him, I made the decision suddenly.

I need you to know so that you won't pity me.

The undercurrent to my thoughts was there and he acknowledged that side of me without saying anything.

'Meet me in my office when you're ready', he gave me the equivalent of a mental hug, but it made me feel no better.


I went to the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face three hours later. I had forced my thoughts from Logan in favour of reading. I didn't stray towards some sappy romance novel to quell that side of me, or choose a book with symbolic meaning: I just picked up the next book in the Nancy Drew series and read.

After checking to make sure it didn't look as though Logan had inadvertently ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped it to the ground, I allowed myself to leave my quarters. My steps were careful, measured. My breathing was even and my head held high.

"Victory." His voice said.

I froze, but forced myself not to stiffen. I turned at the sound of his voice, deep and sinuous to my ears. I was instantly overwhelmed by the the power of his appearance on me, and my heart. But I swallowed my attraction, hoping it wasn't rolling off me in waves. "Yes, Logan?" I tried to keep my voice from cracking. It was surprisingly neutral, all things considered.

"About what you heard earlier."

So he knew. He knew that I had accidentally eavesdropped. It wasn't my fault that the door was open whilst I passed by, and it was not as though I had deliberately stopped and said to myself, 'hmm, I'm going to eavesdrop.'

"What did I hear earlier?" I challenged, meeting his eyes. They were a blue-ish grey and gleamed slightly with amusement.

"You know what I'm talking about," he growled. "I know what you think of me" –you have no idea what I think of you– "and I know that you disapprove. So I'll ask you not to say anything to that guy."

He means Shades; Scott, Cyclops. He means Mary Jane's fiancé.

To Logan, I was but a loose end, one that needed to be tied, for I had borne witness to his admission of affections to Jean Grey. I drew myself up to my full height. "'Disapprove' is not a strong enough word. Truthfully, I am repulsed that you both would do such a thing to Scott and don't you dare tell me not to bring her into this," I snarled calmly, cutting off his objection, his defence of her before he could even jump on that high horse. "I'm revolted."

"I see the way you look at her and she you. Do not take me for a fool, Logan. You'd be wise to think the same of Scott; he is far more intelligent than you give him credit for. I will not tell him of my own accord, but should he ask, the information is his," I warned.

Logan's mouth thinned into a hard line. "That's all I can ask for."

And with that, I stalked away, and sue me if I swayed my hips a little extra.


Charles was very understanding. He didn't prompt me when I sat there in silence. He didn't push. He let me take my time. He was a man of great patience, and I couldn't help but think that, had Charles been the one with the extended lifetime, he could accomplish great things.

"I think I love him," I finally said softly, putting my head in my hands.

It felt like admitting defeat. And for me, it sort of was. After I'd been betrayed by my father (I could never truly blame my mother) and killed by my town, I'd decided that I'd never need anyone again. That, in essence, I would never love again. Yet here I was, knee-deep in my feelings for someone who could never love me until he knew the whole, uncensored truth. And I couldn't just tell him everything that had happened, because that was far too simple for Logan; he needed to get down and dirty and discover it with legwork.

I would've never been able tell him everything anyway.

"How long have you loved him for?"

I frowned in thought. Not since the first time I met him, surely. I had been 'male' and he had been a incorrigible jerk. I'd hated Victor, but I'd honestly hate him more at first. Victor was an instigator while Logan was... Logan, and I'd really hated him.

Not since Vietnam, or at least the beginning of it. I'd liked him more, but something had happened between meeting for the second time and Victor and Logan's execution. But I wasn't going to tell Charles about that. I couldn't. Not yet. I didn't trust him.

"I don't know."

That phrase was doomed to become the only thing to leave my mouth.


"What did Charles say?"

Logan dropped by my room to question me. Lovely. Didn't he know that he was exactly who I didn't want to see? The answer was, inevitably, yes. Yes, he did know that. A better question was 'did he care?' And the answer was a resounding no. Why should he? Why would he?

I quickly rehashed what I'd found out from Charles' adventure into the dark corners of my mind.

When I'd finished, Logan having listened with rapt attention but a thoughtful expression, I couldn't help but look at my hands like they still had blood all over them. It wasn't like I'd killed anyone –though I'd certainly tried– but I'd gone into that state before, and I'd killed people then.

"What do you think? Am I good enough to go with you?" Or is only Mary Jane good enough?

Logan thought about it for a minute before a slow smirk split across his face. "What you're saying is that when you get into a fighting situation, you lose yourself and attack everyone but me with the intent to kill?"

I bit my lip. "Yes."

The smirk became more wicked, insidious, even. "I suppose that's a good thing. At least we know you won't attack me. It could be pretty useful."

"You expecting a fight?" I wondered. What exactly was he planning to do? Where was he planning to go? Who were we going to see?

"We won't know until we get there," Logan said nonchalantly.

"When do we leave?" I asked.

"Whenever you want."

I'd never had options before. Not on a mission of any sort. I'd always had to take orders from some sort of higher-up. It was nice to be the final power for once. It was nice to be able to make a decision. "How about in ten minutes?"

"Consider it done."