Aftermath.
Things are easily overlooked in the aftermath of tragedy. Sap/Angst.
Disclaimer: not mine. Even when they're prancing through my mind. Based on x-men movieverse, therefore please ignore the glaring discrepancies from canon. Also Logan and hangover may not necessarily go together, but I had to give him some weakness and I figured he would of found some way to get drunk; and it just wouldn't be right if he didn't get a hangover. Speeded metabolism or not.
Don't know – it was just ideas that struck me after watching the movie. Strange, crappy and soppy ideas. So, advice would be appreciated…
* * *
Logan strode down the corridor, ignoring the kids who skittered out of his way as he approached. His head hurt too much to bother with not scaring the little kiddies.
It _had_ seemed like a good idea to go on a three day drinking binge after Jean's memorial service. Now however – he got the feeling she was laughing at him. Loudly.
He winced as the sound of incessant rain pounded on the windows heavily.
It was the middle of summer and still he had to put up with it pissing down with rain continuously; Storm was either trying to make his head explode or trying to wash the previous two weeks away with her continuous thunderstorms. Mind you, it suited the mood echoing throughout the place; quiet, cold and damped down with a heavy sense of moroseness.
Welcome home, Wolverine.
He sighed and thought about the institute without Jean, and without the professor to keep things sane – he was tied up with the president, and he'd had to take Hank with him to help explain things. Leaving of all people, Scott Summers in charge.
If the past few weeks hadn't driven everyone insane, that certainly would.
He growled aloud, causing one blue figure standing in the hallway to jump in fright – and vanish in a puff of smoke.
He gritted his teeth and glared at where the offending fuzzball's companion stood, watching the frozen smile on her face fade away in nervousness before she did the same into a nearby wall.
Why precisely had he bothered to come back?
* * *
"Logan?"
A tentative voice interrupted his in-depth examination of the now empty coffee cup, the only thing stopping him from hurling it at the intruder being the soft drawl underlying the words. That and a lack of energy.
"Yeah Marie" He looked up as soft footsteps approached the kitchen table he sat at, taking note of the shadows under her dark eyes. "What's up?"
She sat down opposite him, a hurt gleam in her eyes. "Kitty told me you were back."
"Great. Wonderful. Thank her for me won't you."
He looked back down at the cup to avoid the scowl from his sarcastic words, however he didn't have any such relief when it came to her words.
"Where the hell did you go!?! I didn't even know if you were coming back! I was worried…" she faltered her voice choking off.
Oh fuck – the last thing he needed. Rogue bawling him out – the kid made one hell of a lot of noise and the coffee hadn't done that much good to his pounding head.
"Look, kid, I…" He looked up with a sigh – and found it was his turn to trail off as he watched her biting down on her lip in an attempt to stop the sobs while tears trickled unheeded down her pale cheeks.
"Fuck." wincing as he stood he walked around to where she sat, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "Look, I just needed some time. It's… been a rough couple of weeks…"
"Really?" she managed to snarl amidst sniffles "I hadn't noticed."
He blinked in surprise at the anger in her voice.
He was probably missing something here. She hadn't been that close to Jean and out of all the school he would have picked her for one of them most used to public condemnation – not to mention prior experience with Magneto.
And thanks to his company she was quite used to dead bodies piling up as well.
So what the hell was she so upset about?
He groaned and sank down on the seat next to her, wrapping one burly arm around her shaking shoulders and pulling her against his chest. At least her burying her face in his shirt muffled the noise.
"You get five minutes of sympathy kid. Any more than that and I think my head will explode"
She pulled away sharply, looking up at him in realisation while wiping tears away with the sleeve of her pyjamas
"You have a hangover!"
"No. You don't say." He stated deadpan, rubbing his temples in disbelief as her voice rose even further.
"Well, I hope you suffer! I don't believe you..."
"_I_ hope I die quickly the way this is going"
She stood up glaring at him fiercely, It was quite a sight really – a small dark haired hell fiend dressed in pink flannelette pyjamas.
He got the feeling that he'd get his wish if this kept going.
He also got the feeling that he should have killed her when he first met her to save himself one hell of a lot of strife. But no - for some reason he'd gotten attached to the kid. Really not a wise idea.
"Alright!" he muttered throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You're right. I'm a self absorbed, immature bastard who deserves everything that he gets. Particularly this killer headache"
He buried his head in his hands, knowing he was going to regret this. "…And the only thing that would increase my suffering would be if you sat down and continued whining about everything that's bothering you"
He didn't bother looking up as he heard her settle back down noisily in the chair that she'd abandoned.
Nor did he bother hiding his wry smile as she started talking.
Loudly.
* * *
And so it was that he found himself an hour later - not heading to his own bedroom, but up towards the third floor which basically served as the boys' dorms.
His head was aching even more, but somehow, the anger and guilt pulsing through him kept him going.
All of them had a lot to answer for given what Rogue had said to, or more correctly yelled at him. Apparently they'd all but abandoned the students who were suffering as well from their experiences – kids who'd been kidnapped were having nightmares, some had developed a phobia of grid patterns – not a good thing considering the patterned decor of the bathrooms. Everyone was missing Jean's consideration and leadership and a lot of them were understandably angry at the 'human' portion of the world.
Then there was the impact of that damn Pyro kid's absence.
All and all there was chaos – had been for the past five days. And the one eyed Summers was wrapped up in his own little world trying to find where he could lay blame if not on himself.
A great atmosphere for a new beginning.
He grimaced, realising that either something was wrong with the central heating or he had a certain someone else to thank for the sudden drop in temperature as he stepped onto the third floor landing. That "certain someone" being Rogue's main worry, Bobby Drake.
The kid was ok; he'd probably come in quite useful in summer.
He'd actually started quite liking the guy, even despite his 'relationship' with Rogue, and he had been through shit recently, what with his family, his roommate and best friend.
Add on to that the fact that the kid had never come across a dead body in his 17 years of life – let alone a pile of them and he could start to understand why he'd shut himself up in his room for the past 3 days.
And yeah, he could understand why Rogue was worried about him not talking to anyone. Iceboy wasn't one who was good at silence from his experience.
Which was partially why it disturbed him so much when he didn't get any response to his incessant knocking.
That was his excuse for slicing the hinges off the door instead of picking the lock. Or asking Scott for a key, anyway.
He'd always found violence to be the best cure for hangovers.
Only problem being that the door being gone didn't allow access to the room. There was still a thick sheet of ice barring his way.
Great. At least he knew he was in the right place.
He shrugged looking wryly down at his thin t-shirt; he really wasn't dressed for the occasion though.
"Hey, Bobby."
No response.
"Look, kid. I don't want to be here right now freezing my balls off while chatting to you, so would you mind stopping the cold shoulder!?!"
Still no comment.
"Kid…"
Nothing.
"You even alive in there?"
Silence. This was starting to get worrying.
"Don't tell me. You've chosen to commit suicide by freezing yourself to death."
He heard a soft bitter laugh at that. He really wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried about his sense of humour.
"Ok, look. You have until the count of ten to get rid of the ice, or I do. You listening, Drake?" He took the silence as agreement.
"1."
No movement.
"2."
Nothing still – Logan narrowed his eyes and punched his claws straight into the giant ice-block. He smirked in satisfaction as particles parted, cleaving into shards that flew every which way as he stepped into the room, scanning its contents.
Two neatly made beds, a few posters, candles scattered around, a few clothes draped over the end of one bed and papers spread over two desks.
"You can't count." A quiet, husky voice that made him look harder.
And of course the figure huddled miserably up between the head of the beds.
A figure wearing only shorts and a thin t-shirt, and shivering harshly.
Great. Grieving mutants. You not only had to worry about tears, but also sub-artic temperatures. Maybe it was a good thing that John wasn't around. The whole place probably would have been burnt down by now.
"Bobby?"
"No." The figure looked up, blue eyes colder than the room temperature, "Iceman, mutant, freak, murderer, suspect..." he stopped unclenching his fists to reveal spots of blood where his fingernails had bitten into his palms. "Bobby doesn't exist."
Oh. Shit. Now what? He wasn't exactly the best when it came to dealing with crises that you couldn't kill. Maybe he could just kill Scott – it might not make the kid happier, but...
Smiling wryly at the thought he cast around for something relatively helpful to ask.
"Kid, are you alright?"
This time he got a feeling that the icy silence wasn't meaning yes.
"Ok," he sighed and strode over to perch on the edge of one of the beds next to him. "What's the problem?"
He got a bitter laugh out of him again. Either the brat had managed to freeze his voice box or he'd lost enough brain cells to decrease his vocab significantly. Though somehow this lack of talking was managing to make his headache worse.
"Kid..."
He was really starting to feel old, rubbing his temples continuously like this.
"Here." A piece of newspaper was shoved onto his lap – hastily torn out with one paragraph circled melodramatically with red ink.
The Drake family has one son who was present during the incident, and who in fact heroically alerted the police to the mutant menace. Surprisingly there were no casualties and all involved are recovering from the traumatic incident.
Ouch. He winced internally scanning over the words – that really had to hurt.
Righteous fuckwits.
"Look, kid..." he paused looking into eyes that couldn't hide their hurt. "Maybe it's an error. Reporters never get things right"
"Yeah," Bobby interrupted dryly, his voice as cold as the air around him "Right. An error they didn't bother to correct."
"Well, maybe they wanted to keep you out of it..."
"Then why didn't they simply say that their other son was away at prep school?" He sighed – a very self-defeated sound. "Logan, if there was _any_ possible way that I could see this as a mistake don't you think I would have found it?" That bloody laugh again, the sound cutting off in what could have been a subdued sob or a cough.
"I'm very, very good at denial."
Logan gazed in frustration at the sandy head that was bent forward hiding the boy's expression.
He could spout off all the reassuring crap, but he'd met the boy's parents.
He had a sinking feeling that the lack of mention of their other son wasn't an error.
Particularly after the incident on their front porch.
"Look, Bobby." His hand reached out and grasped the boy's chin, pulling his eyes up to meet his gaze.
"Even if your family are..." he paused groping for words "having difficulty accepting this about you, you still have us. Everyone here..."
He stopped as the boy just burst out laughing, his slender body shaking in his grasp.
Great, he thought in frustration, his head pounding.
He tried, the kid was stark raving mad. Now could he go to bed? The other option of course was shaking some sense into the brat, which also seemed like a good plan right about now.
He glared at the figure, which did stop the laughter. His glare softened given the hurt and lost expression in those baby blues that gazed at him beseechingly, but he couldn't help the fact his words were still a growl.
"What. Is. So. Funny."
He leant in closer to hear the quiet, shaking response. "Everyone _here_ knows that I should have done something rather than Dr Grey, everyone here knows that I should have made more of an effort with John, known how he was feeling, kept an eye on him or something! Everyone here blames me just as much as my parents do!" He paused looking up at Logan, teardrops shining sharply like icicles in the corner of his eyes.
"At least my parents blame me for something that I couldn't control."
There was probably logic in there somewhere. If you were a very confused and upset teenager.
He just couldn't see it. Actually, he really doubted anyone apart from the kid could see it.
Although how the hell did you point something like that out besides hitting him over the head and saying 'you're an idiot' repeatedly?
Briefly closing his eyes in frustration, the larger man settled himself down on the floor next to the shivering figure.
"Right." He pulled the dropped chin back up, so glittering eyes met his own tired ones. "What could you have done in either case?"
His only response was a miserable shrug.
Oh to hell with it. He'd never had a threat not work. He slid one long claw out slowly, resting it against the trembling jaw.
"Explain, Drake. Now."
A single teardrop fell onto the hard metal, solidifying before it dripped off the slick surface.
"It was water." The voice was so quiet _he_ had to strain to hear him.
"Water. Ice. that's what I'm supposed to be able to handle. Why didn't I do something?"
He froze recognising the 5 words that mocked him.
"I could have frozen the lake when the dam first burst. She… she shouldn't have stayed." He broke off as more tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
"Why – didn't – I – do - it?"
Ah shit. This kid shouldn't feel guilty. Hell, he hadn't even thought of the idea until Bobby had brought it up.
It probably wouldn't have worked anyway.
"Bobby."
He was sobbing too hard to answer, a fact he took advantage of.
"Look, you are a 17 year old kid. You've had your powers for all of three years. Even _if_ people had thought of it in time, there's no guarantee that it would have worked! And there's no way we would have let you, let alone expected you to do something." His voice was coolly matter of fact. Hell, it was the truth. Jean would have killed the lot of them before she let anyone – let alone a kid, take her place to save her life.
"You've got a whole life ahead of you."
He stared straight ahead thinking, one hand stroking soft hair mindlessly. "And as for flamebrain – since when can you take responsibility for something he does? He chose. He betrayed you and Rogue more than the institute." He paused looking at the still sobbing figure wryly "Hell, I'd be pretty pissed at him if I were you"
That at least got a break from the sobbing – although the laughter sounded pained.
"And I doubt that anyone except yourself blames you for anything. So get pissed at you parents, feel free to trash Pyro's stuff if it makes you feel any better and… just let the past go." He paused, biting his lip momentarily.
"All of us have to."
They both sat there in silence for several long moments, still shivering slightly in the cold.
"Logan?" The voice was tentative and almost pleading. "Thanks."
He groaned silently, realising what he should do.
He really wasn't any good at this kind of shit.
For some reason however, he imagined another pair of dark eyes watching him in disappointment. Damn conscience.
He reached over and wrapped his arms around the smaller figure, pulling him roughly against him in a tight hug.
"No one likes feeling alone, kid," Logan muttered into the soft hair, his chest feeling strangely tight as he felt the slender body relax against him. "Don't worry about it, I've got you."
He sat there, absent-mindedly rubbing the boys back feeling his shudders subside, his own head tilted back to rest against the edge of the bed. At least he was warmer he thought wryly.
And Jean would definitely laugh herself silly if she could see this.
His eyes misted over as he hugged the body in his arms tighter. He'd really like to see how Summers would have dealt with this mess.
It was the story of his life - he always proved things too late.
* * *