A/N: Just a short scene based on a dream I had after seeing the X-Men
movie. I never got around to posting it before, but several people have
encouraged me to share it, so here it is. Takes place directly after the
movie, when Logan heads back up North to see what he can find out about his
past. Please review and let me know what you think, because I am still
debating about following up on this one. Most of what I write is
Witchblade fic, and my background on the X-Men is pretty much limited to
cartoons in the late 70's and the recent movie. I apologize if I screw up
any of the important details.
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Caitlin fought her way up the hill against the fierce wind of a snowstorm, finally gaining the sanctuary of the old military complex walls. Abandoned several decades ago after some scientific experiment went horribly wrong, or so the rumor ran, it was now her home. No one ever came here. It was too far for the kids to come, and there was nothing of interest left for anyone else. She was completely alone, and that suited her just fine.
She worked her way around by feel to the door of the barracks, slipping inside and reaching for her lantern and lighter. There were no windows, and without the lantern the darkness was absolute. She made her way to the galley and fished out her bottle of aspirin, taking 3 tablets with a can of soda. Trips into town always made her head ache horribly. Exhausted, she tossed her coat off to the side and slipped into her bed. She took a last look around her makeshift apartment, then drifted off to sleep.
Something pushed at her sleep-fogged brain, prodding her into wakefulness. She couldn't figure out what had awakened her for a moment, so she held absolutely still until she identified the cause: someone was outside her door. She slipped out of bed silently, wondering what could possibly have drawn someone out here in the middle of a storm to prowl around this old abandoned base. Whoever it was had very powerful curiosity. She slipped behind the door to the galley, hoping that whoever was out there would just take a quick look around the base and leave.
The outer door opened on the storm, then closed again, as she realized to her horror that she had been so tired when she came in she hadn't thrown the bolt. She could hear breathing, more like sniffing, and wondered if the intruder had a cold. Something metallic-sounding, kind of like a knife being unsheathed, echoed eerily in the silence, and she began to panic. She wasn't capable of dealing with an armed intruder. Footsteps came closer to where she hid and she held her breath. In the dim light from her lantern she could see a shadow on the floor. The intruder was right on the other side of the door now.
Suddenly the door jerked away, revealing the shadowed shape of a man and the glint of something sharp and metal in his hand. She threw up her hands to ward off the weapon with a scream of utter terror, and the intruder slammed into the wall across the room behind him as if picked up and thrown by an invisible hand. Her vision went white for a second, like lightning, then faded back to normal, leaving her with a ringing in her ears and another splitting headache. The man slumped unconscious on the floor across from her.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "Not again." Then louder, "Mister, are you okay? Can you hear me?" She didn't see his weapon anywhere, so she went and knelt by his side, shaking his shoulder gently. "Mister, please wake up."
His eyes snapped open, then in a whirlwind blur of movement he had her flat on her back on the concrete floor, his one hand gripping her shirt front, and the other had somehow sprouted long wicked-looking blades from between his knuckles, one on either side of her neck and one sharp point right in the hollow of her throat. His piercing green eyes were maddened, teeth bared in a snarl, dark hair wild. She had no doubt that he was going to kill her, and fear was replaced by despair so strong it nearly choked her, and something akin to relief. Caitlin let her head fall back to the hard floor, her gaze still trapped by his crazed eyes, waiting for the end. But his gaze wavered, sanity returning to his expression. He pulled his blades back into his hand with that same metallic sound she had heard earlier and let go of her shirt. His expression changed again into one of hopelessness, and she realized he was feeling her emotions. With a curse she sat up, took a deep breath and centered herself, letting her fear ebb, her despair fade, and his expression became more normal as she stopped affecting him.
"What the hell did you do to me," he snarled, glaring at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding as if she were about to cry. "I can't control it all the time."
"Well, learn," he snapped.
"There's no one to teach me," she cried, frustration making her shout at him. "Do you think I haven't tried? Why the hell would I be all the way up here otherwise?"
"What is that you've got, anyway?"
"Projective Empathy," she told him wearily, rubbing her aching forehead. "Whatever I feel, everyone around me feels too."
"You mean, what I felt was what you were feeling? I've never felt anything like that before." He was quiet for a minute. "So how did I end up unconscious? More empathy?"
"Something like that," she replied. "You've heard the expression 'wall of sound'? This was more like a wall of fear."
"That's some powerful fear," he said. "By the way, I'm Logan."
"Caitlin," she replied.
"I didn't come here to hurt you, Caitlin," he said. "I'm looking for something."
"In the middle of a snowstorm?"
"I didn't feel like waiting," he shrugged.
"Do you mind if I get some aspirin," she asked. "My head is splitting."
"Go ahead."
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, watching his graceful rise with a twinge of jealousy. She went and retrieved her lantern, turning up the wick to light the entire galley, then fished out some more aspirin and a bottle of Irish Mist from the cupboard while Logan looked around the room. She swallowed four more pills with liquor straight from the bottle, Logan watching with raised eyebrows.
"Want some?" she offered, holding the bottle out to him. He took it with a grin, taking a few swigs while he looked around.
"You live here?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Alone?"
"Yes." She looked away, and for a moment he felt a loneliness so strong he nearly cried out. Then it vanished abruptly, and she grimaced. "Sorry. Like I said, I can't always control it."
"That's why you're out here," he guessed. "So you don't hurt anyone."
"And so no one hurts me," she replied. "I receive as well as project." She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and took another few swallows from the bottle. Logan looked at her with concern.
"Take it easy on that," he warned. "You're gonna get drunk."
"Good," she replied. "I don't feel anything while I'm drunk."
"You shouldn't get drunk with a stranger," he said. "You don't even know me."
"You won't hurt me," she replied.
"How do you know," he asked.
"I felt it," she explained. "When you said you didn't come here to hurt me. I felt that you meant it."
"Are you poking around in my head," he asked, beginning to get mad at the thought.
"I can't do that," she said. "People are always projecting their emotions, tossing them out for anyone to pick up. It's more like overhearing someone talking. That's why its impossible for me to live in town. Imagine everyone shouting all around you, and you can't block it out, 24 hours a day. I nearly went mad."
"That sucks," he said succinctly, then took another pull at the bottle. He handed it back and she finished the last few swallows.
"So why did you come here," she asked.
"I'm looking for my past," he replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Fifteen years ago someone did experiments on me, but I can't remember them, or anything about my life before that. I'm looking for answers."
"It will be easier to look for them tomorrow, after the storm passes," she suggested, her words starting to slur just slightly. "I'll show you around if you want. I've explored most of this place. But there isn't much left to see."
"Alright," he agreed. "I could use some rest."
"I could too. But I could use another drink more." She pushed to her feet with the aid of the table and went to pull another bottle out of the cupboard, rum this time. "I'm only fuzzy around the edges," she said as she came back and sat down. "I want to be completely fuzzy."
"Why?" He took another pull from the bottle she offered, then handed it back.
"I don't want to feel you all night," she said simply. Even though he understood what she meant he got an image of them in an intimate position in his head, and it wouldn't go away. He decided he'd better quit drinking now. Then he caught her eyeing him.
"You didn't just pick anything up from me, did you," he asked, starting to blush slightly.
"Yup," she replied. "And if I were the slightest bit less drunk, I'd take you up on it." She grinned. "But I bet I'm asleep in less than five minutes."
"Then we should get you to bed," Logan replied. He pried the bottle out of her hand and picked her up in his arms. She sighed and snuggled close, laying her head against his strong shoulder as he carried her across the room to her bed. As he put her down, she hung on to his shirt.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I, ah, shouldn't" he replied, feeling awkward.
"I don't have any other blankets.
"Oh."
"It's been a long time since someone held me," she said wistfully, sounding like a child. He hesitated a few more moments, then stripped off his coat and shoes and slid under the covers with her. She moved into the circle of his arms with a sigh, and was quickly asleep. It took him considerably longer to fall asleep, but when he did it was without the nightmares that had tormented him for so many nights.
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Caitlin fought her way up the hill against the fierce wind of a snowstorm, finally gaining the sanctuary of the old military complex walls. Abandoned several decades ago after some scientific experiment went horribly wrong, or so the rumor ran, it was now her home. No one ever came here. It was too far for the kids to come, and there was nothing of interest left for anyone else. She was completely alone, and that suited her just fine.
She worked her way around by feel to the door of the barracks, slipping inside and reaching for her lantern and lighter. There were no windows, and without the lantern the darkness was absolute. She made her way to the galley and fished out her bottle of aspirin, taking 3 tablets with a can of soda. Trips into town always made her head ache horribly. Exhausted, she tossed her coat off to the side and slipped into her bed. She took a last look around her makeshift apartment, then drifted off to sleep.
Something pushed at her sleep-fogged brain, prodding her into wakefulness. She couldn't figure out what had awakened her for a moment, so she held absolutely still until she identified the cause: someone was outside her door. She slipped out of bed silently, wondering what could possibly have drawn someone out here in the middle of a storm to prowl around this old abandoned base. Whoever it was had very powerful curiosity. She slipped behind the door to the galley, hoping that whoever was out there would just take a quick look around the base and leave.
The outer door opened on the storm, then closed again, as she realized to her horror that she had been so tired when she came in she hadn't thrown the bolt. She could hear breathing, more like sniffing, and wondered if the intruder had a cold. Something metallic-sounding, kind of like a knife being unsheathed, echoed eerily in the silence, and she began to panic. She wasn't capable of dealing with an armed intruder. Footsteps came closer to where she hid and she held her breath. In the dim light from her lantern she could see a shadow on the floor. The intruder was right on the other side of the door now.
Suddenly the door jerked away, revealing the shadowed shape of a man and the glint of something sharp and metal in his hand. She threw up her hands to ward off the weapon with a scream of utter terror, and the intruder slammed into the wall across the room behind him as if picked up and thrown by an invisible hand. Her vision went white for a second, like lightning, then faded back to normal, leaving her with a ringing in her ears and another splitting headache. The man slumped unconscious on the floor across from her.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "Not again." Then louder, "Mister, are you okay? Can you hear me?" She didn't see his weapon anywhere, so she went and knelt by his side, shaking his shoulder gently. "Mister, please wake up."
His eyes snapped open, then in a whirlwind blur of movement he had her flat on her back on the concrete floor, his one hand gripping her shirt front, and the other had somehow sprouted long wicked-looking blades from between his knuckles, one on either side of her neck and one sharp point right in the hollow of her throat. His piercing green eyes were maddened, teeth bared in a snarl, dark hair wild. She had no doubt that he was going to kill her, and fear was replaced by despair so strong it nearly choked her, and something akin to relief. Caitlin let her head fall back to the hard floor, her gaze still trapped by his crazed eyes, waiting for the end. But his gaze wavered, sanity returning to his expression. He pulled his blades back into his hand with that same metallic sound she had heard earlier and let go of her shirt. His expression changed again into one of hopelessness, and she realized he was feeling her emotions. With a curse she sat up, took a deep breath and centered herself, letting her fear ebb, her despair fade, and his expression became more normal as she stopped affecting him.
"What the hell did you do to me," he snarled, glaring at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding as if she were about to cry. "I can't control it all the time."
"Well, learn," he snapped.
"There's no one to teach me," she cried, frustration making her shout at him. "Do you think I haven't tried? Why the hell would I be all the way up here otherwise?"
"What is that you've got, anyway?"
"Projective Empathy," she told him wearily, rubbing her aching forehead. "Whatever I feel, everyone around me feels too."
"You mean, what I felt was what you were feeling? I've never felt anything like that before." He was quiet for a minute. "So how did I end up unconscious? More empathy?"
"Something like that," she replied. "You've heard the expression 'wall of sound'? This was more like a wall of fear."
"That's some powerful fear," he said. "By the way, I'm Logan."
"Caitlin," she replied.
"I didn't come here to hurt you, Caitlin," he said. "I'm looking for something."
"In the middle of a snowstorm?"
"I didn't feel like waiting," he shrugged.
"Do you mind if I get some aspirin," she asked. "My head is splitting."
"Go ahead."
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, watching his graceful rise with a twinge of jealousy. She went and retrieved her lantern, turning up the wick to light the entire galley, then fished out some more aspirin and a bottle of Irish Mist from the cupboard while Logan looked around the room. She swallowed four more pills with liquor straight from the bottle, Logan watching with raised eyebrows.
"Want some?" she offered, holding the bottle out to him. He took it with a grin, taking a few swigs while he looked around.
"You live here?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Alone?"
"Yes." She looked away, and for a moment he felt a loneliness so strong he nearly cried out. Then it vanished abruptly, and she grimaced. "Sorry. Like I said, I can't always control it."
"That's why you're out here," he guessed. "So you don't hurt anyone."
"And so no one hurts me," she replied. "I receive as well as project." She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and took another few swallows from the bottle. Logan looked at her with concern.
"Take it easy on that," he warned. "You're gonna get drunk."
"Good," she replied. "I don't feel anything while I'm drunk."
"You shouldn't get drunk with a stranger," he said. "You don't even know me."
"You won't hurt me," she replied.
"How do you know," he asked.
"I felt it," she explained. "When you said you didn't come here to hurt me. I felt that you meant it."
"Are you poking around in my head," he asked, beginning to get mad at the thought.
"I can't do that," she said. "People are always projecting their emotions, tossing them out for anyone to pick up. It's more like overhearing someone talking. That's why its impossible for me to live in town. Imagine everyone shouting all around you, and you can't block it out, 24 hours a day. I nearly went mad."
"That sucks," he said succinctly, then took another pull at the bottle. He handed it back and she finished the last few swallows.
"So why did you come here," she asked.
"I'm looking for my past," he replied.
"What do you mean?"
"Fifteen years ago someone did experiments on me, but I can't remember them, or anything about my life before that. I'm looking for answers."
"It will be easier to look for them tomorrow, after the storm passes," she suggested, her words starting to slur just slightly. "I'll show you around if you want. I've explored most of this place. But there isn't much left to see."
"Alright," he agreed. "I could use some rest."
"I could too. But I could use another drink more." She pushed to her feet with the aid of the table and went to pull another bottle out of the cupboard, rum this time. "I'm only fuzzy around the edges," she said as she came back and sat down. "I want to be completely fuzzy."
"Why?" He took another pull from the bottle she offered, then handed it back.
"I don't want to feel you all night," she said simply. Even though he understood what she meant he got an image of them in an intimate position in his head, and it wouldn't go away. He decided he'd better quit drinking now. Then he caught her eyeing him.
"You didn't just pick anything up from me, did you," he asked, starting to blush slightly.
"Yup," she replied. "And if I were the slightest bit less drunk, I'd take you up on it." She grinned. "But I bet I'm asleep in less than five minutes."
"Then we should get you to bed," Logan replied. He pried the bottle out of her hand and picked her up in his arms. She sighed and snuggled close, laying her head against his strong shoulder as he carried her across the room to her bed. As he put her down, she hung on to his shirt.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I, ah, shouldn't" he replied, feeling awkward.
"I don't have any other blankets.
"Oh."
"It's been a long time since someone held me," she said wistfully, sounding like a child. He hesitated a few more moments, then stripped off his coat and shoes and slid under the covers with her. She moved into the circle of his arms with a sigh, and was quickly asleep. It took him considerably longer to fall asleep, but when he did it was without the nightmares that had tormented him for so many nights.