Part Two: What a Trip
They had been driving for hours. Marilyn had long since fallen asleep, and they had yet to cover more than half the distance to Westchester. She was curled up next to the window with Logan's jacket draped over her small frame. He couldn't help but watch her sleeping. So peaceful, not full of nightmares, half-remembered memories of a life lived so long ago. Half memories, he couldn't hold onto, the line between reality, and fantasy always fading thinner in his dreams. He hardly ever slept, but it was refreshing to watch someone he considered so innocent, sleep. He kept telling himself that she must have demons too. One just doesn't end up halfway around the world it they're not running from something. He wondered what is was that had made her leave her homeland for the ignominy of a Canadian bar. Like himself, he doubted she liked to talk about it, whatever it was. He forced himself to stop thinking about her, he was starting to grow tired himself, and if he let his mind wander his hand on the wheel would wonder too. Albany was coming up. Time to stop.
He hated to wake her, but the room was booked and she'd freeze if he left her in the truck. He leaned across the cab, and placed his hand gently on her shoulder to try and wake her up softly. It didn't work, as soon as she felt his presence her eyes opened in a flash and she disappeared, only to reappear a moment later blushing. He was impressed with her quick reflexes, and for a moment he doubted her sleep had been as peaceful as he had first imagined. Her eyes blinked at him, and she proceeded to rub the sleep out of them.
"Where are we?"
"Albany. I got us a room."
"How long 'ave I been asleep?"
"Just a few hours. I need rest, so we're stopping for the rest of the night."
"That's fine." She smiled up at him as she opened the door to get out.
The air was cold, below zero. Marilyn shivered and Logan made the bold step and put his arm around her.
"We've got the only room left. It only has one bed, so I'll sleep on the floor."
She nodded and leaned against him as he led the way to the room. It was cozy for a motel. It even came stocked with a small refrigerator, and the bed was nice and squishy. Marilyn hopped up on the bed and lay down on her stomach, propping her head up with her hands. Logan sat in a chair by the TV counter.
"So tell me bout where we're going."
"It's in Westchester, New York. Xaviar's school for gifted youngsters. But the school is just the public face. What it really is, is a place for all mutants to come together. To learn how to better use their powers, and fight for causes they believe in."
"What is it you fight for then, mate?"
Logan laughed. Marilyn didn't exactly understand why. She gave him a puzzled look.
"Honey, I'm to busy fighting myself to get to involved with what the X-men are striving for." She looked at him puzzled again, but she could tell he didn't want to talk about it. So instead she asked another question.
"Will this Xaviar be able to help me?"
"I don't know. He'll keep the police from getting you, that's for sure, but you seem to have a pretty good grasp on your powers."
"What's 'e like?"
"He's a good man, who generally want's to help people."
"Is 'e helping you?"
"He's trying to."
"You wanna talk about it mate?"
"There's not that much to talk about."
"I understand how it is mate. I got things I'm hiding too."
With that said she rolled over on the bed and snatched a pillow. She launched it at Logan, laughing. He caught it before it hit his face.
"Why I…" He growled playfully, jumping out of the chair toward the bed brandishing the pillow. Marilyn meet his swing with the other cushion knocking him upside the head. His pillow knocking her sideways on the bed. They were both laughing like children. By now Logan had crawled on the bed and they were whacking the feathers out of the pillows. The soft down flew about the room and fell like snow, getting tangled in their hair, and making Logan sneeze. They were both out of breath after the mock fight. And Logan collapsed on the bed in a pretending to pass out, still laughing. Marilyn sat up leaning against the headrest, and gently prodded him with her foot. He grabbed her foot and pulled her down the bed, as she whooped. He was smiling as he pined her to the bed with his arm across her chest, leaning over her, his weight on his other arm. They were now tete-a-tete, and looking into each others eyes.
"You're a strange kind of bloke, Wolverine." Marilyn said as she stared into his soft brown eyes.
"It's Logan." He said as he leaned down to her.
"Logan." She repeated before they kissed.
His lips brushed against her soft mouth. They lingered there savoring the smoothness of her perfect lips. He could smell her perfume, roses. It smelled so familiar, like he had smelled it before not just when he had entered that bar, which in it's self seemed a lifetime ago. Her hand reached up carefully and caressed the side of his jaw. Her delicate fingers winding up into his hair. Logan kissed her deeper, a little rougher. Their tongues meet in the soft folds of her mouth, tasting each other for the first time. Marilyn's free hand moved up his shoulder tugging at his coat. The brown leather creaked as she pulled it off him. He tossed it off the bed, never once breaking their kiss. It seemed as if air its self was no longer important. Marilyn pulled off her own jacket and cast it aside. They continued to remove their upper clothing until Logan had no shirt and Marilyn was only in the little white tank top she had been in earlier. They had stopped kissing to look at each other, to explore their intermingled bodies. Her fingers were now free to stroke the sides of his strong arms. Her hand moved around to his back and dug in gently. Logan growled in pleasure, as he flipped her on top of himself.
Now his hands were free to roam. He cupped the side of her head, and felt her chin move into he palm of his hand. Those hands, those hands that could be so deadly. Hands that had been drenched in blood far to many times. Too many times to count.
A flash! A green light, bubbles in champagne, or are those bubbles in front of my eyes. Someone is laughing. Why are they laughing?. I'm drowning... I can't breath! I can't breathe!
"Logan… Logan!" Marilyn was shouting at him. She sounded so far away, but she was right in front of him. He could see her now.
Logan shook his head, gently pushing the now frantic woman off him. The color of passion had drained from his face, and he was a pale as a wraith. He placed a hand on the side of his head, and shut his eyes. She was still calling his name, gently now.
"Logan. Logan what's wrong. Logan…" her voice was a whisper. Marilyn's soft blue eyes flecked in gold were pleading with him to tell her what was wrong.
"I feel as if someone just walked over my grave." He muttered standing up.
"Sit down." She commanded in her soft Australian voice.
Logan did as he was told, preferring not to think. He hated anyone seeing him weak like this. But what choice did he have. The dreams were now invading his waking hours. He should have never gone back to that place. All he found there were more questions.
Marilyn wrapped a blanket around his muscular shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She had stopped trying to talk to him. Their had been such pain present in his features that she was almost convinced that she did not want to hear his story. So, she sat with him. Not saying a word. Twenty minuets had passed since his spell, and for that whole time he had sat as he was now. Trying desperately not to remember, and yet wanting to know everything so bad. After a while Marilyn broke the silent tension.
"Look mate. I think you should rest."
Logan chuckled. "Do you know what will happen, if I sleep?"
"No mate, I don't."
"Nightmares. Black ones. Ones that make it impossible to ever truly rest." She was silent as Logan unsheathed his claws. "A long time ago, they did this to me. And I don't remember a thing about it. Only when I dream. Now those dream are invading my waking world."
"Don't talk bout it love. Won't do any good."
"You're right. It won't solve a thing. Truth is. I don't want to remember anymore. I don't want to know why they did this to me. I don't want to remember who I was."
"Does it hurt, mate? When they come out?"
"Every time. But I'm not sure what's worse. I can't even remember if they forced me to do it. The scary part is, what if I wanted them? Because it's been so long now, that I can't even imagine life without them."
"I don' know what to tell you. I have no good advice. I can't even keep my life straight, so that makes me a poor sort t' give advice to others. All I can say is that no matter what happened to you, or who you were, it's the hear and the now that matter. The past is just what it is, past. So, there's no use frettin' over things you can't change. Ya just got to make the best of it, and move on with your life."
"You know, that's actually the best advice I've gotten so far."
"You can't listen to me on this one, mate. Ya got to follow your own instincts."
Logan flopped back on the bed, exhausted. Marilyn went to leave him, to maybe sleep in the chair, but he grabbed her arm and looked up at her.
"Look, I want you to stay, but..."
"But what mate?"
"If I dream, whatever you do don't try and wake me. Just slip out of bed."
"Why?"
"Because like I said, I have black dreams, and I could hurt you."
"Alright Logan, I understand."
They had been driving for hours. Marilyn had long since fallen asleep, and they had yet to cover more than half the distance to Westchester. She was curled up next to the window with Logan's jacket draped over her small frame. He couldn't help but watch her sleeping. So peaceful, not full of nightmares, half-remembered memories of a life lived so long ago. Half memories, he couldn't hold onto, the line between reality, and fantasy always fading thinner in his dreams. He hardly ever slept, but it was refreshing to watch someone he considered so innocent, sleep. He kept telling himself that she must have demons too. One just doesn't end up halfway around the world it they're not running from something. He wondered what is was that had made her leave her homeland for the ignominy of a Canadian bar. Like himself, he doubted she liked to talk about it, whatever it was. He forced himself to stop thinking about her, he was starting to grow tired himself, and if he let his mind wander his hand on the wheel would wonder too. Albany was coming up. Time to stop.
He hated to wake her, but the room was booked and she'd freeze if he left her in the truck. He leaned across the cab, and placed his hand gently on her shoulder to try and wake her up softly. It didn't work, as soon as she felt his presence her eyes opened in a flash and she disappeared, only to reappear a moment later blushing. He was impressed with her quick reflexes, and for a moment he doubted her sleep had been as peaceful as he had first imagined. Her eyes blinked at him, and she proceeded to rub the sleep out of them.
"Where are we?"
"Albany. I got us a room."
"How long 'ave I been asleep?"
"Just a few hours. I need rest, so we're stopping for the rest of the night."
"That's fine." She smiled up at him as she opened the door to get out.
The air was cold, below zero. Marilyn shivered and Logan made the bold step and put his arm around her.
"We've got the only room left. It only has one bed, so I'll sleep on the floor."
She nodded and leaned against him as he led the way to the room. It was cozy for a motel. It even came stocked with a small refrigerator, and the bed was nice and squishy. Marilyn hopped up on the bed and lay down on her stomach, propping her head up with her hands. Logan sat in a chair by the TV counter.
"So tell me bout where we're going."
"It's in Westchester, New York. Xaviar's school for gifted youngsters. But the school is just the public face. What it really is, is a place for all mutants to come together. To learn how to better use their powers, and fight for causes they believe in."
"What is it you fight for then, mate?"
Logan laughed. Marilyn didn't exactly understand why. She gave him a puzzled look.
"Honey, I'm to busy fighting myself to get to involved with what the X-men are striving for." She looked at him puzzled again, but she could tell he didn't want to talk about it. So instead she asked another question.
"Will this Xaviar be able to help me?"
"I don't know. He'll keep the police from getting you, that's for sure, but you seem to have a pretty good grasp on your powers."
"What's 'e like?"
"He's a good man, who generally want's to help people."
"Is 'e helping you?"
"He's trying to."
"You wanna talk about it mate?"
"There's not that much to talk about."
"I understand how it is mate. I got things I'm hiding too."
With that said she rolled over on the bed and snatched a pillow. She launched it at Logan, laughing. He caught it before it hit his face.
"Why I…" He growled playfully, jumping out of the chair toward the bed brandishing the pillow. Marilyn meet his swing with the other cushion knocking him upside the head. His pillow knocking her sideways on the bed. They were both laughing like children. By now Logan had crawled on the bed and they were whacking the feathers out of the pillows. The soft down flew about the room and fell like snow, getting tangled in their hair, and making Logan sneeze. They were both out of breath after the mock fight. And Logan collapsed on the bed in a pretending to pass out, still laughing. Marilyn sat up leaning against the headrest, and gently prodded him with her foot. He grabbed her foot and pulled her down the bed, as she whooped. He was smiling as he pined her to the bed with his arm across her chest, leaning over her, his weight on his other arm. They were now tete-a-tete, and looking into each others eyes.
"You're a strange kind of bloke, Wolverine." Marilyn said as she stared into his soft brown eyes.
"It's Logan." He said as he leaned down to her.
"Logan." She repeated before they kissed.
His lips brushed against her soft mouth. They lingered there savoring the smoothness of her perfect lips. He could smell her perfume, roses. It smelled so familiar, like he had smelled it before not just when he had entered that bar, which in it's self seemed a lifetime ago. Her hand reached up carefully and caressed the side of his jaw. Her delicate fingers winding up into his hair. Logan kissed her deeper, a little rougher. Their tongues meet in the soft folds of her mouth, tasting each other for the first time. Marilyn's free hand moved up his shoulder tugging at his coat. The brown leather creaked as she pulled it off him. He tossed it off the bed, never once breaking their kiss. It seemed as if air its self was no longer important. Marilyn pulled off her own jacket and cast it aside. They continued to remove their upper clothing until Logan had no shirt and Marilyn was only in the little white tank top she had been in earlier. They had stopped kissing to look at each other, to explore their intermingled bodies. Her fingers were now free to stroke the sides of his strong arms. Her hand moved around to his back and dug in gently. Logan growled in pleasure, as he flipped her on top of himself.
Now his hands were free to roam. He cupped the side of her head, and felt her chin move into he palm of his hand. Those hands, those hands that could be so deadly. Hands that had been drenched in blood far to many times. Too many times to count.
A flash! A green light, bubbles in champagne, or are those bubbles in front of my eyes. Someone is laughing. Why are they laughing?. I'm drowning... I can't breath! I can't breathe!
"Logan… Logan!" Marilyn was shouting at him. She sounded so far away, but she was right in front of him. He could see her now.
Logan shook his head, gently pushing the now frantic woman off him. The color of passion had drained from his face, and he was a pale as a wraith. He placed a hand on the side of his head, and shut his eyes. She was still calling his name, gently now.
"Logan. Logan what's wrong. Logan…" her voice was a whisper. Marilyn's soft blue eyes flecked in gold were pleading with him to tell her what was wrong.
"I feel as if someone just walked over my grave." He muttered standing up.
"Sit down." She commanded in her soft Australian voice.
Logan did as he was told, preferring not to think. He hated anyone seeing him weak like this. But what choice did he have. The dreams were now invading his waking hours. He should have never gone back to that place. All he found there were more questions.
Marilyn wrapped a blanket around his muscular shoulders. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. She had stopped trying to talk to him. Their had been such pain present in his features that she was almost convinced that she did not want to hear his story. So, she sat with him. Not saying a word. Twenty minuets had passed since his spell, and for that whole time he had sat as he was now. Trying desperately not to remember, and yet wanting to know everything so bad. After a while Marilyn broke the silent tension.
"Look mate. I think you should rest."
Logan chuckled. "Do you know what will happen, if I sleep?"
"No mate, I don't."
"Nightmares. Black ones. Ones that make it impossible to ever truly rest." She was silent as Logan unsheathed his claws. "A long time ago, they did this to me. And I don't remember a thing about it. Only when I dream. Now those dream are invading my waking world."
"Don't talk bout it love. Won't do any good."
"You're right. It won't solve a thing. Truth is. I don't want to remember anymore. I don't want to know why they did this to me. I don't want to remember who I was."
"Does it hurt, mate? When they come out?"
"Every time. But I'm not sure what's worse. I can't even remember if they forced me to do it. The scary part is, what if I wanted them? Because it's been so long now, that I can't even imagine life without them."
"I don' know what to tell you. I have no good advice. I can't even keep my life straight, so that makes me a poor sort t' give advice to others. All I can say is that no matter what happened to you, or who you were, it's the hear and the now that matter. The past is just what it is, past. So, there's no use frettin' over things you can't change. Ya just got to make the best of it, and move on with your life."
"You know, that's actually the best advice I've gotten so far."
"You can't listen to me on this one, mate. Ya got to follow your own instincts."
Logan flopped back on the bed, exhausted. Marilyn went to leave him, to maybe sleep in the chair, but he grabbed her arm and looked up at her.
"Look, I want you to stay, but..."
"But what mate?"
"If I dream, whatever you do don't try and wake me. Just slip out of bed."
"Why?"
"Because like I said, I have black dreams, and I could hurt you."
"Alright Logan, I understand."