Chapter 10 – Trying Not To Think
Logan drove steadily through the turbulent blur of white that was rapidly burying the freeway, a scowl of concentration darkening his face as he glared out through the window.
Fuckin' weather. He hated this time of year and he still couldn't believe that Marie had chosen now, slap bang in the middle of winter, to visit Canada. Just to see a bit of snow. She had guts, he'd give her that.
She had been very quiet since they had left the gas station, he noted, slightly concerned, and he hoped that she wasn't having second thoughts about coming with him. As before, he didn't detect anything from her scent to give him any cause for alarm, no fear or anything like it. Maybe a slight hint of anxiety, but that was to be expected after all that had happened.
He wished she would say something though. Anything. He already missed the sound of her voice, and although he would rather be shot through the foot before admitting the fact, he found it surprisingly calming, whether it was those words of wisdom she liked to share or something as simple as a mundane comment about the weather.
Neither could he deny that her southern lilt was also incredibly sexy, especially when certain words came out thicker than the rest. The discovery last night that she was particularly vocal in bed had turned this into an added bonus.
His eyes flicked onto her for a split second before resuming their glaring. C'mon, kid. Tell me what's on ya mind. Give me another dose of that sweet-as-honey voice of yours…
But she remained frustratingly silent, staring pensively out of the window in that endearing way of hers, and he didn't want to push it; if anything, because he feared she might end up saying something that he didn't want to hear. And so, the only sound dominating the silence was the swishing of the wipers, resonating irritatingly through his heightened senses. Usually he was oblivious to the sound but it seemed louder today, stubbornly intent on claiming his attention.
Swish. Swish. His frown deepened and his gaze dropped for a split second. Swish. Swish. They seemed to delight in devouring every unfortunate snowflake that was caught in the van's path, the blades merciless and final.
Logan swallowed hard, caught unawares by a stray thought, not the usual type of thing that passed through his mind, but then a lot had changed in the past twenty-four hours.
It was those goddamn snowflakes: so fragile, so vulnerable against the blades. It sounded crazy, but they made him think of Treena. There one minute, gone the next. Life gutted so…his vision blurred…so fuckin' suddenly…
His fingers squeezed the steering wheel, eyes blinking back his emotion, as he was reminded of what that bastard had done to her. He had never grieved for anyone before and it was hard…harder than he could've ever imagined. He was no stranger to misery but this was a different sort of pain, an ache that could be neither relieved nor ignored. It was overwhelmingly heavy, penetrating deep into skin and bone; weighing down upon him just as unbearably as the metal forced upon him long ago.
But it hurt even more to acknowledge that all of this was his fault. That Treena's death was on his head. Even the way that monster had cut her mocked him, echoing of himself - the guy with the claws…
As if he had carved those words on her back…
The simple fact was if she had never met him she would still be alive today.
His eyes once again strayed across to his passenger before they were forced back to the window again.
C'mon, kid – please, I'm beggin' ya. Say somethin'. Stop me thinkin'…
Swish. Swish. He sighed discreetly when Marie didn't indulge him, and the thoughts in his wearied mind continued to germinate now that the seed had been planted.
He realised that the snow reminded him of her as well as Treena. More so. There was that saying: pure as the driven snow…well, that was her. There was also that claim that every snowflake was unique, one of a kind…and that was Marie too.
Yet the good feelings that she could provoke from within him were not without the bad. They also made him feel fear, real genuine fear, for the first time in a long time. A fear of losing her. Losing her just as quickly as Treena. She was the most precious thing that had come into his life, he knew that without a doubt, despite the short time they had known one another, and the thought of her not being there anymore…
The steering wheel paid the price of his frustration again, hands desperate for another tree to shred because it was turning out to be a fuckin' no win situation. Let her go to ensure her safety and lose her, keep her with him and risk losing her in the way he did Treena.
His claws burned beneath his skin, yet so did that thing called a heart in his chest.
Why was nothin' in his life ever straightforward? Were their outer demons as well as inner conspiring against him?
He thought of Treena's murderer and the skin beneath his knuckles itched dangerously, eager to taste blood, to seek retribution.
One outer demon, at least. But not long for this world, he vowed to himself, for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.
"Here. Use this."
Marie's voice materialised like a ray of sunshine, taking him unawares, but it instantly, almost magically, melted away his inner turmoil. He gratefully took his eyes off the road to curiously regard the small long object that she was offering him. "Huh?"
"You can call your friend Jack about warming up the cabin," she suggested with a smile. "There's plenty of credit in there now."
Her face, so giving and beautiful, mesmerised him for a long drawn out second, whilst at the same time he was flooded with relief; relief that she was still happy to travel with him to the cabin. He eventually nodded before turning his attention back to the road. "Thanks, kid." Rooting around in his jacket pocket he finally located the tatty slip of paper that had his friend's number on it. He passed it over to her. "Um…can ya dial and then give me the phone?" He had no idea how a mobile phone worked except for the talking-into-it part, truth was he had never had any need for one, but he didn't want to look an idiot. This way she would be none the wiser…he hoped.
She grinned at him and he knew immediately that she had sussed him out. "Sure," she returned, as she took the number from him.
He shrugged. "Never had anyone to call so never bothered getting one," he blurted defensively.
Still grinning she peered down to dial the number. "I didn't say anything!"
"Ya didn't need to," Logan teased back, a smile tugging at his own lips now.
"I do have you in my head now, remember?" she pointed out. As she handed him the phone her grin softened. "Buy, hey – you have got someone to call now," she hesitated before adding gently: "Me."
Pressing the phone to his ear Logan barely heard it ringing, her simple words filling him with a rush of warmth that seemed to fill him from boots to muttonchops. And when a familiar voice spoke in greeting at the other end he had to struggle to find the words to respond.
Scott impatiently zipped up his leather X-Men suit before turning to Jean. "I don't understand," he confessed shortly. "Why now?"
Jean smiled tenderly at him. "I think this is the Professor's way of saying sorry."
"But why did he hold back in the first place? How can one contact be such a risk?"
"It's not the contact exactly," Jean admitted. "It's his connections. Gambit has worked alone for a long time now, but it's hard for him to completely sever ties with his family."
"If they're not part of the Brotherhood why should it be so dangerous?"
"Let's just say that they can be powerful in their own way."
"God, I wish you wouldn't be so cagey all the time," he groaned.
"Think of it as mysterious," she grinned. "But don't worry. I'll bring you and Storm completely up to date on the LeBeau family on the way to our rendezvous."
She had been with Scott so long now that she could sense when he was rolling his eyes behind that visor of his. "Gambit?" he retorted. "Strange name."
"And Cyclops isn't?" she threw back, amused.
He grinned himself this time. "Point taken. Actually, I did consider One Eye when the Professor first took me in but he thought Cyclops was more fitting – you know how much he loves the Greek myths."
Jean laughed quietly. "I remember." Her smile grew heavy, however, and finally died. "Scott, can I ask you something?"
He was fiddling with his suit again. "Sure," he returned distractedly.
She hesitated, not exactly sure how to broach this particular subject. Oh, she had mentioned it before, but never pressed for answers, but now that they might very soon be making contact with the Wolverine she was suddenly intent on knowing.
"Jean?" Scott prompted, finally looking up, and she took a subtle breath.
"What is it about the Wolverine that riles you so much? You seem to really hate him, yet don't know him at all."
He frowned. "I didn't notice you exactly singing his praises in the Professor's office."
"You know what I mean. With you it seems…"
"Yes?" he questioned shortly.
She felt her own annoyance rise. "Personal," she stated bluntly.
He sighed and the darkness that had first taken a hold of his features at the mention of Weapon X, slowly ebbed away. "I don't hate him," he offered gently.
"You could have fooled me," Jean returned coolly.
Scott sat down on the end of the bed, hands resting on his leather-clad thighs. "It's hard to explain."
"I've always thought of myself as a good listener."
He smiled at her as she joined him, sitting close. "Yeah, you are," he agreed.
"So?" she started. "Talk."
"I don't hate him, you know," Scott insisted quietly. "I just don't think I like him. Or at least his reputation. It's him that seems to hate everyone."
"Can you blame him? After what they did to him at that lab?"
"No, of course not. It must've been hell. But there's no need to take it out on the whole world. Did we?"
"We didn't exactly go through quite the extent of psychological trauma that he did, Scott."
"I meant because of being mutants."
"You know what the Professor said. The Wolverine had no one. We had this place; we had Charles. Who knows where we'd be or what we'd be doing now if we hadn't have been so lucky. We may even be on Magneto's side. Part of the Brotherhood."
"Never!" Scott spat. "I would never follow his twisted cause!"
He looked tortured for a fleeting moment. "But the fact is, it's still a cause," he admitted grudgingly. "As wrong as it is, it's something that drives him, gives him a purpose. Whereas…" he turned to glance at Jean through his visor. "The Wolverine strives for nothing. Cares for nothing. For no one. And I just can't relate to that. Can't get my head around it."
"Perhaps he needs someone to give him a purpose," Jean suggested. "Have you ever thought of that? And you say that he cares for no one – well, what about Treena?"
"I admit that came as a surprise."
"We don't know what Charles saw in Cerebro but I've never seen him look quite so shaken up. Whatever it was must've been bad. Nervous breakdowns are not something to be taken lightly. And to affect someone like the Wolverine…who appears so strong on the outside…" she shrugged, face grave.
Scott sighed resignedly. "Look, I'm not saying that I'll be best buddies with the guy but…if he does need our help, I won't object to him staying at the Institute."
Jean wished it could be that easy. "That's if he'd even want to. We can hold the door open for him, but only he can walk through it."
As if on cue there was a brief knock on their bedroom door and then it opened a fraction. Storm's head peered around the finely carved mahogany wood and she smiled awkwardly. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"
Scott stood up. "No." Although he peered across at Jean for confirmation that the conversation had ended.
Jean reached across for his arm and squeezed it gently, happy that he was going to give the Wolverine a chance. She nodded. "Thank, Scott."
Storm watched them with interest, although it wasn't in her nature to pry unless first invited to do so. "The jets ready," she announced, a slither of excitement snaking through her soft tone.
Snatching up a pair of leather gloves from the top of a chest of drawers, Scott started over to her. "On our way."
As Jean followed him from the room he turned to her with a wry grin. "Let's go meet this Gambit and see what he can tell us about the Wolverine."