"Way back in history three thousand years –
Back ever since the world began –
Been a whole lot of good women
Shed a tear for a brown eyed handsome man.
That's what the trouble was –
A brown eyed handsome man."
"Brown Eyed Handsome Man"
Waylon Jennings
I stopped the motorcycle completely and let it throttle for several minutes while I watched the sun set slowly behind the giant house hunkering down at the end of the gravel road.
God – it's good to be home, I thought silently to myself as I pulled a cigar out of my pocket. S'funny, though…after all these years of wanderin', I've finally found a place to call "home."
A hell of a home, though, I chuckled, revving the cycle's engine again and driving leisurely toward the garage at the back of the ivy-covered, stone house. Those who had come to know the vagabond Wolverine in the last 15 years, would have never accused me of finding a home, much less at a school for mutant teenagers.
But then, again, life has a way of throwing the best of us curve balls. I guess mine was Xavier's School For the Gifted.
I had been wandering aimlessly across the Canadian Rockies for the past six months before an epiphany hit me somewhere in the middle of Saskatchewan. Why was I still bouncing about from place to place, looking for somewhere to call my own? Was my past really so important that I was willing to give up friends? Was my pain over Jean's loss so overpowering that I couldn't bear to stay in a place that was always open to me?
I decided then that I would go back to "Mutant High" and settle in once and for all – for a while, anyway. I was always going to be beset by random bouts of wanderlust, but there was a difference between wandering for no reason and wandering with the knowledge that there was a place "back home" to call my own.
Hello, Logan. So good of you to finally come back, Charles' voice reverberated in my mind; I grinned.
God – it was good to be home.
* * *
I parked Cyclops' bike, but sat on it for few minutes more. Unlike the first time I had come home after "borrowing" his motorcycle, I had stopped at a nearby gas station and filled her up. For the first time since I had met him, I didn't want to antagonize Scott. We both shared a great sense of loss – we had both lost the one woman dearest to us. True, my feelings for Jean had been mostly driven by an animalistic sense of lust, but somewhere beneath all of that had been a great admiration and something akin to love.
I sighed and swung my leg over the bike, gathering my ratty backpack and standing up on my own two feet.
I'm sure Scott's still gonna' bitch 'bout me takin' the damn thing, I glanced at the motorcycle one last time and turned toward the door that lead into the mansion.
"I don't think Scott ever noticed you took it, Logan," Charles' voice echoed around the cement block garage.
I jumped in surprise; I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts, that I hadn't heard the Professor's wheelchair, or the door open.
"He hasn't been himself since Jean left us," Charles' face looked worn, tired, and much older than when I had last seen him.
Jean's death had left a dent in the X-men that could still be clearly felt. My heart ached.
"He's been spending more time in the stables, than he has here, among his cars."
I glanced around, cocking a curious eyebrow. True enough – now that I looked closer, I could see that the fast, beautiful cars Cyclops had loved so dearly were all in serious need of a wash and wax. The motorcycle I had just returned was the only vehicle that looked like it had been used in a long time.
He must be grieving harder than I thought he would.
"You have no idea, Logan," Charles read my thoughts, his face saddened. "But Time waits for no man. Things have changed since you left us."
"If this garage is any indication, I'd say it's all changed for the worse," I chewed on the end of my unlighted cigar.
"Depends on how you look at it, I suppose," Charles turned his wheelchair around and headed for the door. "Jean's absence notwithstanding, we've had to fill in the gaps she left behind. Much to Scott's displeasure, might I add."
"The old goat never really liked new faces, from what I've gathered," I smiled wryly, remembering Scott's reaction to my arrival in the X-men.
Of course, his dislike of me had a lot to do with the way I ignored his outstretched hand the first time we met and my complete lack of social graces, but who was splittin' hairs? Scott wasn't one to have his role as alpha male challenged – I had sensed that much the first time we met. And how I had loved challenging his status as "the leader." But now…I'd just be happy to do as he said without fuss.
"So what's changed?" I picked the conversation back up as we moved into the warm mahogany halls of the school.
"Can't you smell it?" Charles glanced up at me, with something like a smile tugging at his mouth.
I stopped walking and stuck my nose up in the air. Flaring my nostrils wide, I breathed in the familiar scents of Xavier's School For the Gifted. And yep – sure enough, there were two subtle changes to the stew of smells I had come to associate with "home."
"Someone's cookin' somethin'," I quipped flippantly as I tried to decide what the two unidentified smells reminded me of.
"Ah," was all Charles would say.
"Smells…" I inhaled deeply. "Like there's another guy here," I wrinkled my nose in dislike. "I'm sure Scott's thrilled – smells like gumbo. And arousal," I glanced at Charles disapprovingly. "Sure you want a guy like that around here?"
"He's a good man," Charles shrugged. "No worse than you, Wolverine. His name's Remy LeBeau; a Cajun from New Orleans. An excellent weapons master, but a bit clumsy around the Bunsen burners."
"Huh?" I frowned, my eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement.
What did Bunsen burners have to do with anything? Come to think of it, what was a Bunsen burner?
For lack of anything better to do, I stuck my nose in the air again and sniffed. There was a scent, far more subtle than the Cajun's, or the cooking food. The unidentified scent excited me, for some reason I couldn't explain.
But then the voice of siren distracted me and I momentarily forgot about identifying the second new scent.
"Beautiful daughter couldn't make up her mind
Between a doctor and a lawyer man.
Mamma told her daughter to –
'Go out and find yourself a brown eyed handsome man.
Just like your daddy's a brown eyed, handsome man.'"
I grinned widely – a woman who sang Waylon Jennings. This could be interesting.
And that's when I figured out what the unidentified scent was. I turned to Charles, triumphant.
"A woman," my lips curled back to bare my teeth in a wide smile. "There's a new woman here."
I sniffed once more, just for good measure and my smile slipped.
"She smells like an animal, though."
"Really?" Charles couldn't suppress a spurt of laughter. "I think Remy would disagree with you. I think his exact word for her is 'Rose.'"
"I don't mean she smells," I scowled. "She just…well…she doesn't smell the way a human woman would. Her pheromones are stronger than, say, Storm's are. Almost like…" I sniffed. "A female fox."
"Interesting you should liken her scent to vixen," Charles started his wheelchair again; I had to trot to catch up with him again. "She rather resembles a fox, with all that red hair of hers. And her name's Vixiana – Vixiana MacIntyre."
"An X-man?"
"No. She's just a teacher…for now. I'm having a time trying to convince her to fight; she has an extraordinary spirit, but she's a lot like Kurt."
"A lover, not a fighter?" I curled my lip up in scorn.
"There's nothing wrong with that, Logan," Charles scolded me gently. "Would there were more like Vixi and Kurt."
"What are her powers, anyway? And what does she teach?" I demanded, my nose twitching over the delicious smells that were wafting their way down the hall from the kitchen.
"She teaches music and drama – we're still looking for a science teacher that won't burn down the chemistry lab. Her nickname is 'Siren.' The reason her pheromones are stronger than a normal woman, is because of her powers. She's able to manipulate people through the power of her words and her sometimes overpowering sexuality."
"Sounds like my kind of woman," I grinned, thinking, of course, of Charles' reference to the woman's sexual instincts.
"She's in strong control of her powers, though. All but one."
"Her sexuality?" I asked hopefully – blame the animal in me, but I loved a woman who wasn't ashamed of her healthy sex drive.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Logan," Charles scolded, but there was twinkle his eyes. "You'll be greatly disappointed, I'm sure, to learn that she has a second power, very similar to Rogue's."
My grin faltered.
"Like Rogue's power?" I repeated stupidly.
"Vixi's skin is poisonous to the touch."
"Fuck," I grumbled.
That took the fun out of everything.
"Doesn't seem to stop Remy, though," Charles chuckled. "That young man's every waking minute is spent scheming on ways to get his hands on Vixi without killing himself."
I didn't like this Remy.
* * *
"Way back in history three thousand years –
Back ever since the world began –
Been a whole lot of good women
Shed a tear for a brown eyed handsome man.
That's what the trouble was –
A brown eyed handsome man."
My ears were filled with Waylon Jennings and my nose twitched with the heady mixture of woman and food. Unable to restrain my curiosity any longer, I poked my head in the kitchen and took stock of the situation.
I suddenly understood why Remy LeBeau had a hard time trying to keep his hands off of Vixiana MacIntyre.
An unfamiliar woman stood with her back turned to me, her thick mane of bright red hair tumbling down to her succulently curvaceous hips. I licked my lips; from where I was standing, she seemed to have curves in all the right places, with a delicious, hour-glass figure.
My kind of woman.
"Come on, Marie! Sing with me," Vixiana turned her head in the opposite direction and waved at another figure I immediately recognized as Rogue's.
"Way back in history three thousand years –
Back ever since the world began –" Marie sang, a laugh in her voice.
"That's more like it!" Vixiana clapped her hands and sashayed her way the fridge.
I was having a hard time looking at anything other than the hypnotic hips moving back and forth.
"Been a whole lot of good women
Shed a tear –" the woman turned toward me with a toss of her glorious red head. "For a brown eyed handsome…"
Her voice trailed off and I suddenly realized that she had caught sight of me. For several frozen seconds we eyed each other like wary animals from opposite sides of the kitchen.
"Logan!" Rogue's girlish voice squealed my name and I tore my eyes away from Vixiana MacIntyre to see Marie bouncing across the kitchen to throw her arms around my neck.
"Hey, kid," I couldn't hide a grin; how I loved my little Marie. "Haven't seen ya' in a while."
"It's good to have you back home," Marie wrapped her arms around my waist and snuggled her head in my chest.
"So I hear," I ruffled the top of her head. I then grinned and looked up at Vixiana. "Now what's this you was sayin' 'bout a 'brown eyed handsome man?'"
"We were singin' 'bout you, Logan," Rogue laughed as she stepped away from me. "Oh," she turned around and waved toward Vixiana, who was still staring at me as if I were a ghost. "This is my friend, Vixiana MacIntyre. She's new here."
"The music and drama teacher Charles was telling me about," I grinned wolfishly. "Glad to make your acquaintance," I stepped away from Marie and extended my hand. "Name's Logan – or 'Wolverine.'"
"Quite a name," she finally seemed to find her voice and she took my hand in hers.
I was impressed. Her handshake was firm and assertive. I glanced down, though, having felt the cool satin of her gloves against my palm. That seemed to break the spell – Vixiana withdrew her hand hastily and turned away quickly.
"Call me Vixi," she said over her shoulder as she hustled to the stove.
Marie and I exchanged a glance – the young girl knew immediately what had happened and her green eyes were solemn, if not a little sad. She shrugged helplessly and picked up a nearby serving bowl, handing it to Vixi.
"Whatcha' all makin'?" I decided it best to change the subject and sidled up to the new teacher, trying to get a good look at whatever delicious-smelling creation she was concocting.
"Corned beef and cabbage," Vixi replied crisply and promptly smacked my hand when I reached for a sliver of beef.
"Sounds good," I shook my hand and scowled briefly at her. "Don't know 'bout the cabbage, though. Never was one for vegetables – 'cept potatoes."
"A real meat-and-potatoes man, huh?" Vixi cocked a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "How quaint."
"More meat than anythin' else," I snatched that tempting sliver of beef before she could slap my hand again.
I popped into my mouth with a grin that quickly turned into a grimace when it burned my tongue.
"Doesn't do to take hot food off the stove and stick in your mouth, genius," Rogue laughed at my calamity.
"Hope it burns every taste bud on your tongue off," Vixi added acidly, shaking the tea towel in my direction. "Out!"
"Out?" I pouted, turning to Rogue for help, who just laughed harder.
"Out! The kitchen's woman territory – men only get in the way!" Vixi proclaimed, shaking the towel at me as if she were a matador and me a red-raging bull.
"You'd better leave, Logan," Marie smiled at me, her eyes shining. "Vixi can be really territorial around the kitchen. Just ask Remy – he nearly lost a finger in here the other day when he thought he'd 'help' Vixi wi' a salad."
"I'll be sure to ask his opinion when I meet him," I grumbled ill-naturedly as I turned tail and retreated in dishonor.
A/N:
Thanks for reading/reviewing, Sora-sama! *hugs* That meant a lot a to me. ^_^ And yep – I'm back in the business of fanfiction. *throws confetti in the air* I guess there's hope for this site after all. *laughs*
Forgive the Waylon Jennings theme, but I couldn't resist. Matter of fact, this whole story was inspired by "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" and other songs by Waylon Jennings. *sighs* I love the man's music – and I think if Wolverine was inclined to listen to Country music, he'd be a fan of Waylon Jennings. :D Goes well nicely with the whole roguish persona of our beloved Wolvie, don't you agree?
~Athena