Disclaimer: Last seen skulking in the region of Chapter 1. Its evil twin might've made it as far as Chapter 2 though.
My thanks to everyone who has bothered to read the story so far and for joegood2003 who took the time to let me know the last chapter it was worth stealing fifteen minutes of his (or her?) life to read.
Chapter 5: Who the hell needs friends anyway?
Hot water sluices the dried blood from my skin and I watch the muddy red ribbons spiral from sight in idle fascination. Grabbing the bottle of shower lotion I wash away all physical traces of my near disaster in the Danger Room. Wish I could do the same with the shit I did to Summers but that's one of those stubborn stains that no miracle non-bio is ever gonna shift. What's done is done. Can't take it back and I ain't apologising for his stupidity so I guess he'll have to live with it. I know I can. The feral rage, an unremitting presence, has been drawn like a poison and is currently in remission. The cleansing heat of the water feels good, easing away the tension and smoothing out the knots in my muscles. I'm relaxed for the first time since…since I can't remember. What if this weird thing I'm feeling ain't real? What if it's the result of Xavier's mojo?
The events of this morning seem distant somehow, like a slowly fading dream. Maybe I'm just tired. My sleep pattern, broken at best, is now hopelessly erratic and I haven't slept more'n a couple of hours at a stretch for weeks thanks to the nightmares. The impromptu slumber party 'Ro threw this morning don't hardly count. Since Jeannie's death a combination of rage and healing factor is all that's kept me upright but now one of those factors is spent I'm feeling spaced out, intoxicated, soaring high and savouring freedom like a caged bird newly set free. It's weirding me out.
Like a parasitic worm, Stryker's allegation had burrowed deep, gnawing away at me from the inside, spreading its insidious malevolence, contaminating the tiny shred of decency I'd managed to cultivate and replacing it with despair. Xavier's little tête-à-tête served to extract the worm and treat the festering wound before dressing it with a valid perspective on Stryker's appalling claims. There was I, the big bad Wolverine, the invulnerable loner with the don't-fuck-with-me-or-I'll-gut-you rep, setting up stall on my fears like some fucking pansy-ass, feely-touchy loser doing therapy. What right did Xavier have seizing my emotional baggage and rummaging through it? Huh? Huh? Did I ask him?
Yeah, I did.
Face it moron.
I'd practically begged him to ream me after OD-ing on feral rage and damn near icing the Fearless Leader. And it wasn't so bad, was it? All he did was turn some of the shit encrusted stones crowding that pit I call a mind. And it had worked dammit! The poisonous critters lurking beneath had scuttled away, unable to face the light of truth and reason. All these years I've been my own jailer, my brooding disposition serving as the unbreakable lock on the cell door. Today I woke up and found the door ajar. Do I step across the threshold and embrace the unknown? Or do I huddle in a corner, clinging to the familiar darkness like a frightened child?
I ain't never quit a fight yet, not one that I know about anyway. Ain't gonna quit now.
I couldn't save ya Jean, I understand that now. No one could, not even Charlie. Ya gonna cut me a break, Red? Ya gonna quit haunting my dreams, darlin'? I'm asking ya real nice now.
What happened this morning ain't something I'm proud of but it served as a catalyst for Xavier finally giving up some of the goods. I aim to see that he continues. Hopefully his next data dump won't involve me shaking lose a team-mate's grey stuff. Maybe Xavier will provide me with some leverage, something with which I can twist his arm. And maybe slugs will swear off eating greens. Enough with the shower and the deep thoughts. Stepping out of the cubicle I reach for the towel.
Scrubbing myself roughly dry I ferret through the sparsely cluttered armoire for fresh boxers and socks, chiding myself for allowing my dirty laundry to reach crisis point - again. Laundry and shit never bothered me much when on the road, making do whenever I could but living in the mansion means I have to embrace some of the more inflexible regime of social decorum. This mean throwing myself and my clothes into a convenient stream or lake ain't acceptable. When I first arrived Jean gave me a selection of shampoos and soaps made from natural ingredients because I couldn't stand the chemical reek of the massed produced crap. I gotta admit, they make me feel good, like I've bathed in the outdoors. Maybe I should ask 'Ro about getting some replacement stuff for me on her next shopping trip.
I pull on my last clean pair of jeans They're faded, hard worn and comfortable. I complete the ensemble with a plain black T shirt and then study myself in the armoire's full length mirror. My own hazel eyes stare back, fearless – yeah right - and uncompromising. Great to see they've finally lost that hunted look. Hair's a mess but that's nothing new. I run the fingers of one hand through my damp hair and smooth my mutton chop whiskers with the other hand. Hell, who says I can't multi-task with the best of 'em? The unruly black mane falls into its two distinctive wolf's ear tufts that defy any and all attempts to slick them down. Even my fucking hair is feral. I grin, revealing white teeth with abnormally large canines. Yet another physical legacy of my feral mutation.
All the better ta eat'cha with.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Priorities. Gathering up my soiled clothes into the hamper I set about protecting the sensibilities of the mansion's inhabitants by heading down the back stairs to the basement. I startle a couple of hormonally charged teens lip wrestling in a dark corner of the laundry room. One look at me and they scram. Shame I don't have that effect on everyone. The machine at the far end is empty so I stuff my cloths in, chuck some detergent in after them, select a program and head for the kitchen on the first floor.
The kitchen is empty save for Maggie, the school's cook, who is wiping down work surfaces. Her greying hair is tied into a neat bun and the synthetic fibre of her pink overall rustles softly as she moves.
"Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon," she sings liltingly in her richly accented English voice before she begins humming the tune. The strong aroma of grilled ham and fried eggs hangs in the air, making my mouth water. I can also smell fresh coffee.
"Hungry man here Maggie. Wanna take pity on him?"
Turning her plump, motherly face towards me she purses her lips, looking me up and down as if searching for something. Appraisal apparently satisfactory, Maggie's light brown eyes finally meet mine and her plump, motherly face crinkles into a smile.
"You really need to ask? Sit yourself down, pet, and I dare say I can scrounge up a little something to keep your navel from chafing against your backbone for a while."
"Thanks, Maggie. You're a star."
"Aren't I though?" She laughs, a cheery sound that brings a smile to my own face. Maggie's an empath able to communicate her mood as well as sensing that of others and it's difficult to feel down when in her company if she doesn't want you to.
Drawing up a stool at the breakfast counter I perch myself on it and Maggie plonks down a plate, knife and fork in front of me. This looks promising. The aroma of ham intensifies when she opens the oven door and takes out a tray. The satisfying sizzle of hot food fills the kitchen and I practically drool in anticipation of Maggie's little something. Ham, sausages, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, hash browns; the works. She piles them on the plate.
"Sorry there's no bread left, had a lot of packed lunches to oversee. Otherwise, enjoy," she grins, the devil playing in her eyes. After depositing the empty tray in the sink she takes a large mug out of a cupboard and fills it up with steaming hot black coffee.
"Shnnks," I manage to get out as I chew on a mouthful of ham.
"The Professor said you'd need something substantial inside you and I know your special power of healing makes you ravenous so I saved you a double helping."
I swallowed the half chewed meat. "Xavier told you about what happened?" Aware that Maggie had been a psychologist before she became the school cook, I wondered if Xavier had discussed our confidential talk with her.
"Heavens no. I overhead Miss Munroe talking to Mr. Wagner about how she had accidentally injured you in that awful Danger Room. She was terribly upset, poor dear. When the Professor popped by to let me know about a late breakfast arrival it wasn't difficult to put two and two together."
"Right." Mentally smoothing my ruffled feathers, I stuff another wedge of ham into my mouth and chew with renewed relish. Maggie has excelled herself and I eat in contented silence. With no bread available I use the hash browns to mop the plate.
"Ya saved my life Maggie. Thanks."
"It's nice seeing a man with a hearty appetite appreciating my cooking. My Ben, bless him, loved his food."
Uh, oh. She's speaking past tense here and I detect a whiff of sorrow clinging to her. Don't know Maggie well so I wonder why she's decided to open up to me all of a sudden. "He your husband? What happened to him?" I enquire.
"Road accident. A truck driver suffered a heart attack at the wheel, poor man. Ben had picked our daughter and son-in-law up from the station and was driving home. The truck ploughed into Ben's car and he, Cheryl and Michael were killed instantly. Now there's only Chloe and I."
Christ on a crutch! "Chloe?"
"My granddaughter. Chloe stayed with Ben and me while her parents enjoyed a second honeymoon. Thankfully she was feeling unwell and didn't go with Ben to meet her Mum and Dad. She's an intern at Cedars Sinai in Los Angeles now and before studying medicine she was a student here. She's an empath like her Gran, see. The Professor offered me a teaching post so I could be close to Chloe but my real love is cooking so I became the school's cook instead. It's been my home for nearly twelve years now."
"I'm sorry Maggie, I didn't know."
"No need to be. It was a long time ago." She places a hand on my shoulder. "I know how deeply it can hurt to lose someone precious, Logan. I loved Jean like a daughter and later, as a friend. I sense that you shared a bond with her too and I've heard talk, not all of it kind. People see your growly exterior…"
"Growly?"
"Growly! They see your growly exterior and mistake it for stupidity, for shallowness and selfish impetuosity. I know it for a sham designed to keep people at arm's length. You are a creature of intelligence and complexity. You loved Jean with every ounce of your fierce being and in a special way many people can never understand. I understand and so does Charles."
"You must be confusing me with Summers." I look at her, not knowing what else to say. Maggie smiles, shakes her head and pats my shoulder once, twice.
"More coffee, pet?"
"Yeah, I think I need it."
Taking the empty mug from my hands she refills it and hands it back. "It isn't wrong to love someone Logan. You can't insulate yourself against being hurt either because it is one of the forces that shapes us, makes us into what we are."
"Yeah, and I got the butcher's knives to prove it."
"That's not what I mean. You have a great capacity to love and there is a tiny seed waiting to blossom inside you if you will only let it."
"Give it up, Maggie. Yer trying ta paint Attila the Hun as Romeo describing me like that. I'm an animal, a killer. I got this knack for destroying every damned thing I touch. It's what I do best. I got no right to dump that load on any decent woman and ask her ta love me."
She cocked her head on one side, raising an eyebrow. "But isn't that precisely what you expected of Jean?"
"Jean is the only one who ever accepted me for what I am."
Shaking her head emphatically Maggie snapped out, "Nonsense. Absolute piffle! There are at least three other people I could name who accept you for who and what you are unconditionally."
"Really? That many?" Maggie's wrong. Since arriving at the school I've been treated with suspicion, less welcome than a horny dog at a Miss Luscious Legs pageant. I make people nervous, especially after what I did to Stryker's goons. My tone drips icy sarcasm and Maggie purses her lips, frustrated by my response.
"Logan, this fear you have of being less than human streams off you in waves. You live in two worlds yet you master neither of them because you do not know who you are."
"And why is that? I forget."
"Stop being facetious and trying to cloud the issue. You need to hear this. You are incomplete and I'm not talking about your memories here. There's a part of you missing. I sense a greater intellect and much more locked away inside your head. A close analogy would be that you are a computer operating at a basic level but with your higher functions lying dormant, password protected. While your memories have been deleted your skills and intellect remain intact but inaccessible.
"Rather than being obsessed with who you are, you should be exploring what you are because that knowledge is within your grasp if only you would reach out and take it. "
Alarm bells start ringing loudly. How the hell could she know that I've been thinking along those very lines for myself? I can fucking guess. She's a psychologist and an empath. Xavier's a psychologist, amongst other things, and a telepath. They've probably been studying me since I arrived at this dump. I hate that people can apparently peek inside my head and leaf through things I don't even know are there.
"What's this, psychoanalyse the Wolverine day? You and Charlie got a club goin' now? Or are ya making book on which way ya can make me jump?"
"There you go, the rough, gruff, feral warrior with the sod you attitude crashing down his defensive shutters. You can't remain hermetically sealed against the world forever, Logan."
"Watch me!"
Maggie's reply is interrupted by Rogue bursting into the kitchen. She busies herself clearing away the plate.
"Hey, Logan."
Rogue is, for want of a better description, full of bounce, bubbling with excitement. Figure hugging jeans and a long sleeved T shirt accentuate her curves. I try not to notice but it's hard. With little effort she jumps up and seats her graceful form on the counter beside me, arms casually extended backward bracing her upright, booted feet swinging. The soft, peaches and cream skin of her face is flushed pink. Whatever she's excited about makes her positively glow, animating her expression, her entire posture. Maybe she and Mr. Frosty have finally devised some way of locking lips without her sucking the life out of him. With all the shit in her young life she deserves a break.
Thrusting aside the disquiet Maggie's words has stirred up I keep my voice neutral for Rogue's sake. "What's new, kid?"
"You should know."
Playing it safe I murmur a quizzical, "I do?" The rumour mill in this place must be in overdrive.
"So who was it then?"
She's got me with that one. "Who was what?"
She tosses her head in mock exasperation, blinking her brown eyes at me. "The kid Scott's looking for of course. The one you dragged screaming from bed and co-opted."
Hey, puzzled man sitting here. "What kid?"
Rogue flashes me what I can only describe as a conspiring smile "Kitty swears it wasn't her. Ah reckon she'd have done the job properly so ah guess it wasn't her. Besides, if you'd've snuck into our room last night you would've let me in on the joke, right?"
I've just lost the thread of this conversation. In fact, I'm pretty sure I never had it in the first place. "What joke? What the fuck are ya talking about, kid?"
"Logan!" Maggie chided. "Your language is a little too colourful for present company if you don't mind."
"Sorry."
"There's a pool running. I got the geeky kid, Danny Connors, the one with the creepy horn rims. He definitely looks more dazed than usual today. Was it him?"
"Hello? Did I suddenly start speaking in tongues or somethin'? Let's back-peddle a little ways, darlin'. What. Are. You. Talkin'. About?"
"The kid you got to fix the Danger Room computer of course."
Her words were a knife in my heart. Did Rogue, of all people, believe I would scare some kid half to death just to gizmo a computer? Did it even occur to her that I might not need anyone's help? This I expect from Summers, but Rogue? I was suddenly aware that Maggie had froze. The crisp rustle of her overall tells me she's twisted around and I can feel her stare burning into the back of my neck.
"Sorry to disappoint ya kid but you ain't getting word one outta me."
Digging me gently in the ribs with her elbow Rogue drawls, "Aw, c'mon Logan. Ya can give me a little hint. Just a small one."
"What makes ya think it was a kid?" The words emerge acid primed but I don't think she's notices the bitterness in my voice.
Sitting bolt upright, her eyes widening with interest, she asks, "Are you saying it was a teacher?"
Fuck this. "I got things to do. See ya later, Rogue." I almost knock over the stool in my haste to leave.
"Logan?" Boot soles slap on the floor as Rogue slides herself off the counter.
"I said later, kid," more roughly than I intended.
"Rogue, dear. Can I have a minute of your time please?" I hear Maggie say as I retreat.
"Can't it wait Maggie?" Rogue replies. "I think Ah might have upset Logan somehow."
"No, sweetheart, it can't."
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What the hell's wrong with me? Rogue is one of the few people who bats on my team and I treat her like she's just crapped in my boots. Realisation, a belated arrival, hammers into my thick, adamantium plated skull, weighed down by what Maggie said. At least three people trust me unconditionally and Rogue is one of them. Charlie's another and I lay good odds on Maggie being the third one. Hell, it's almost an entire cheerleader team.
Rogue's not just a kid, she's a friend, an ally wanting to be on the inside of some outrageous scam she thinks I've pulled. For her, and probably for her friends, it's a distraction from the morbid pall that has settled over the school since Jean's death. Being completely immersed in my own grief has blinded me to the suffering of others. Selfish shit that I am, I'll make it up to her.
Right now I need fresh air. I need solitude. Most of all I need a smoke. With barely forty minutes to kill I can't range far. The gardens and rec rooms are crawling with noisy kids so I head upstairs to the quieter seclusion of the roof.
The balustraded terrace on the roof of the south wing is rarely visited by anyone save for 'Ro who lovingly tends the many tubs of flowers and shrubs she brightens the place up with. The terrace is unoccupied so I step through the French door and close it firmly behind me. It's a beautiful day with fluffy white clouds scudding across a deep blue sky. Daffodils, tulips and hyacinth as well as other spring flowers are in full bloom, their bright colours vivid against the grey stone walls and dark slate of the roof. Subtle and not so subtle scents wash over me, including the pungent organic aromas emanating from the nearby stables.
Digging a stogie from my pocket I light it and take a deep drag, sucking the calming smoke down into my lungs. Cigar clamped firmly between my lips, its blue smoke curling lazily upwards, I exhale slowly. The muscles between my shoulders are bunched hard with tension and I try to relax them. Stretching my arms out I brace myself against the lichen mottled balustrade, letting it take my weight as I lean against it. There's no getting away from the noise but at least here its muted somewhat probably because horses do not elicit the same level of vocal excitement as the basketball court, the swimming pool or the soccer field.
Looking out across the gardens and Xavier's extensive estate I begin to brood on the "truths" Charlie and Maggie laid on me. Do I really possess the hidden depths Maggie spoke of? Am I innocent of the crimes Stryker said I helped him commit against my own kind? Am I really more than the shallow, selfish prick Summers believes me to be?
Do I fucking care?
My reverie is interrupted by the scrape of wood against wood as the French door opens outwards and 'Ro steps onto the roof terrace. It's one of her favourite eyries so I'm not surprised to see her there. She don't look too surprised to see me neither.
"Hey, Logan."
I look at her and nod. "'Ro."
"Mind if I join you?"
I draw deeply on the cigar, my gaze fixed on the horizon. Company ain't what I need right now so my shrug is non-committal. Unfortunately, she takes it as a yes.
She's wearing faded blue jeans coupled with a skinny fit, dark blue sweater which looks good against her café-au-lait skin. Today her lustrous, white hair is tied back in a ponytail, short wisps curling around her flawless face. The air is suffused with the fresh scent of a hay meadow in summer. I breath her sweet scent in. She smells so good.
"Are you all right?" Her soft voice is like sunlight on the water, bright and sparkling. Wonder why I've never noticed that before?
"Compared to what?" I reply leadenly.
There's an awkward silence. Finally she lets out a sigh. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For this morning. Seeing Scott like that…seeing you…I completely misread your intention and then reacted by using excessive force against you. It was inexcusable of me." Its her turn to peer into the distance. The skin around her chocolate brown eyes is taught, creases of consternation seam her beautiful features. Her proximity and her candour is making me nervous. I want her to leave. Of course, this ain't gonna happen without persuasion.
"Keep your apology," I reply before taking in another lungful of smoke.
"You're angry. I guess you have a right to be."
"Nah, I'm not angry, 'Ro. You made the same call I would've. Ain't gonna hold a grudge for that."
"Then what's wrong, Logan?"
"Nothing."
"Is there a new definition of the word nothing I'm not aware of or do you have your own personal interpretation?"
Finally, I look at her straight in the eyes. A thoughtful smile plays across her lips and it breaks my heart because it reminds me of Jean. "Nothing as in, it ain't up for discussion. That fucking definite enough for ya?"
The smile on her perfect lips freezes and is replaced by a faint frown. " I guess so. Would you like me to leave?"
"If you insist."
" I just thought…I thought that you might need a friend."
A friend? Someone else who thinks they've got the right to tell me things I don't know about myself? Must be something in the fucking water. "I can't handle friendly so good right now, 'Ro. I ain't used to it." I look away.
"I understand."
Another understanding soul! Snorting derisively I growl out, "Do you?"
"Absolutely," she replies sweetly. "You don't have the monopoly on being alone in a hostile world you know. You should try it as a five year old."
I bite down hard on the cigar and glare at her. "For all I know I've been fending for myself since day one."
This gets her bristling. Placing her hands on her hips she leans in closer. "I can see it's pointless talking to a brooding Wolverine with a three XL burr wedged firmly up his ass. Book yourself in with a proctologist, Logan, it will improve your social skills immensely."
I've known 'Ro for several weeks but I don't really count her as a bosom buddy. This is the longest conversation we've ever had. It's also the first time I've ever heard her use anything close to a cussing word. Amazingly, she's indignant but not angry with my crap attitude. Removing the cigar from my lips I laugh. "Ya think?"
"Yeah."
"Hell, 'Ro, ya don't pull yer punches do ya?"
"Unlike some."
The atmosphere grows serious again and I suck on the cigar some more. "One-eye got lucky."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Nope."
"Maybe you'll talk about this then. How did you get my access code?"
"How d'ya think?"
"You watched me.?"
I grunt my response.
"I suspected as much. Scott believes you had help."
"I know. There's a pool going." I laugh dryly. "Some mini geek in horn rims seems to be odds on favourite."
'Ro folds her arms across her chest and nods her head. "Danny Connors."
"Yeah, him."
"Logan, if there's anything I can help you with, anything at all…" Normally, people say this on the spur of the moment, not expecting to be taken up on the offer. Sometimes, people say it because they mean it. I can tell by the look in 'Ro's eyes she is being sincere. That's comforting.
"You already have." I confess.
She looks surprised. "I have?"
"Yeah, volunteering to do oversee me blowing off steam occasionally. Much appreciated. Sorry if I scared ya this morning."
Something within 'Ro changes, a subtlety I can't quite define. Perhaps it's my apology that has triggered this change. Somehow her demeanour is more friendly less reserved.
"I don't mind, Logan. We all need release from our pent up feelings from time to time."
I decide to take immediate advantage of her offer. "Er…can I ask you another favour?"
She smiles warmly. "Of course."
I'm risking my mad, bad rep here but I gotta ask. "Um…Jean got me some stuff. Shampoo and things that don't smell like a chemistry lab. I'm almost out and I don't know where she got them from."
"No problem Logan. I'm going into town later to take a few of the girls shopping so I'll get you some.?" She seems to read something in my face. "It'll be our little secret, okay?"
"Thanks. 'Preciate that."
"Which one did you like the best?"
"Huh?"
"I sent you a selection, citrus, mint and spice."
"You sent them?"
Laughing, she explains, "Jean told me of your heightened senses. I thought organic essential oils would be easy on your keen sense of smell."
"They are. Thanks."
"So which one would you like me to buy?"
"Surprise me."
"All right."
I look at my watch. "I gotta go."
"I know. Charles is waiting for you." For Chrissake, is there nothing private in this place?
Stubbing my cigar out on the stone balustrade I say, "I'm sorry for coming on like a prize asshole, 'Ro. I get nervous when people start being nice. It usually means some bastard is out to try and shaft me."
"I assure you that I am shaft free," she grins. Her humour is genuine and there's a mischievous glint in her eye. Damn, its sexy.
"I had noticed." I return her grin along with my best smouldering look.
"You're a wicked man, Logan."
"Damn right!"
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