Disclaimer: Must be engraved on your heart by now. :0)
This chapter is a little later than anticipated due to the edit becoming a full blown rewrite. Another long chapter since this seems to please my readers. Wolfsbane's character has been futzed with because this is movie canon and not comicverse. Please forgive the poetic licence.
Apologies to any Scottish readers. Trying to render your rich, vibrant accent into words hasn't improved I'm afraid so I've kept it to a bare minimum.
Thanks to MidLifeCrisis, joegood2003, dayrunner 145, Sonder and Joruk for their encouraging reviews.
Chapter 8: Life's a real bitch sometimes.
The mansion's as quiet as it ever gets during daylight. Kids and teaching staff have gone to the movies, gone to a game, gone on picnics, gone shopping or whatever they do to pass time on Saturday afternoons. Xavier's still in his study and, for all I know, plotting the next step of his Logan integration process and working out exactly how he intends to thrust a barbed square peg into the narrow round hole of his scheme of things. I'm thinking maybe I should just get the hell out of Dodge right now because I gotta sneaking suspicion I have the bastard exactly where he wants me.
Kurt seems to have fallen asleep in the gym while hanging by his tail. Or he could be meditating or praying or something. I don't know and I don't fucking care. The blue guy gives me the creeps the way he can appear on my six, practically up my ass without any damn warning. And what the fuck's with that evil smelling cloud thing he has going? Ain't exactly silent but the stink's a thousand times deadlier than any cheeser dropped in the history of killer farts. Has he no conception what it does to someone with hyper-senses? Does he care? And that blue smoke of his burns my nose and throat worse'n breathing acid. He's so fucking proud of that freaky scalpel sin art on his hide. Next time he peels the paint within fifteen feet of me and it ain't in the line of duty, I swear I'll carve him some lines he'll never come back from and claim self defence. Saving Rogue's life only buys the guy so much credit. 'Ro finding him cute is no protection at all.
Summers is in the garage stripping down his bike, busying his hands while he's working stuff out in his head. Recognise the occupied expression, know the symptoms, suffered 'em myself more times'n I can count. Maybe if he'd let go once in a while, get drunk or get laid or get a fucking life he wouldn't be such a miserable asswipe. No one would think him a lesser man for it, except perhaps Xavier and he don't count. I'd drag One-eye along with me tonight but somehow I don't think listening to a live rock band in a rough trade bar full of drunk, punch-happy bikers is what float's the Fearless Leader's downtime activities boat. Bad for his all American, clean cut college boy image, ya see. And that's his problem. The dick don't know how to let go. Maybe he's plain scared of what'll happen if he ever does. I'm toying with the idea of asking him anyway just to watch him squirm.
The stash of contraband beer in my room has been reduced to fumes, metabolised fluid and recyclable trash. My room's a depressing mess so I gather up the trash and seal it in a bag. The linen of my unmade bed stinks of the sweat and fear brought on by night terrors so I strip it, dump it in the hamper in the housekeeper's room and grab fresh sheets from the linen cupboard. After dumping the trash I head back down to the basement and shove my wet laundry into one of the dryers. I ain't in any danger of becoming housebroken but there's no point living like a slob and annoying the crap out of everyone else just to prove the point. At a loose end I head for the games room hoping I'll be lucky and find the place deserted. My luck's in and I pass an uneventful, blissfully solitary half hour playing pool against myself.
"Hey Logan."
Guess Luck's on short time today. Rogue strolls into the room, still full of bounce, her cheeks dimpled by her smile. I notice she's changed the long sleeved T shirt she was wearing earlier for a red, long sleeved, even tighter fitting number with a low neckline and a high waistline. She's wearing black leather gloves to cover her lethal skin, impractical for indoors but they look better than opera gloves. A long, silky black scarf forms parallel lines to her midriff. She also smells good, different from this morning. I'm certain this little show's for my benefit which is why I've been avoiding her lately. She's trying too damn hard to get my attention, the wrong kind of attention. Rogue's gonna have to learn I can never be her one and only. Friendly's fine but if she's looking for something racier she's better off with kids her own age. Like Mr. Frosty. And if he hurts her I'll flay this frozen ass.
"Thought you'd gone shopping with 'Ro."
"Got things to do. Ah'm doing a favour for Maggie."
I'd better not be the favour.
"Then don't let me stop you." Rogue's smile fades and I instantly regret my words.
"Ah guess you're angry about the geek pool. Ah'm sorry about what Ah said earlier, Logan. Scott came by, explained that it was all a misunderstanding and apologised."
Nothing like throwing on the sackcloth and ashes in the name of damage limitation is there? "Fu…damn! Musta blinked or something and missed it. Would almost've donated a 'nad ta see that." Almost.
"Never seen the guy look so embarrassed before."
"Go figure. Administering yer own hanging wedgie in public can be a bitch. The butt wad should keep his stupid f…flipping opinions to himself next time."
Rogue laughed. "Maggie put it a little more tactfully than that."
"What did she say?"
"Something about studying form which Ah still don't understand and asking me why on Earth Ah would choose to back a donkey to win a one horse race."
That's tactful? My turn to laugh. "Maggie said that?"
"Yeah. Ah think she likes you."
Paranoia runs it's icy fingers up my spine and sinks its talons into the train wreck I call a brain. Yeah, she'd like me to do a favour for her pal, Moira. So was she putting Rogue straight about Summers or sending me a subliminal message? Not wanting to believe Maggie capable of using the kid to fuck me over I try and turn my cynicism down a notch or two.
"Or maybe a smart guy keeps on the best side of a good cook, kid."
Rogue frowns and fiddles with her gloves and I feel her discomfort escalating as her frown deepens. "Ah didn't know you were into computers, Logan. Ah'm sorry if Ah came across like a total spaz."
She's got those big, moist puppy dog eyes that make me want to take her in my arms and give her a reassuring hug. I resist because it's exactly what she's angling for. "I ain't, so don't be, kid," I assure her with gruff gentleness.
"We okay, you and me?"
"Yeah."
"What are you doing?"
"What's it look like?"
She walks around to my side of the table and starts sizing up the game in progress. "Can Ah play or is two a crowd?"
Without a word I reach into the nearby wall rack hand her a cue.
"You're still angry with me," she accuses.
"Nope." How can I stay angry with a sweet kid like you, darlin'?
"Liar."
Making a show of pretending to be offended I say, "Hey, I get enough abuse off One-Eye. You gonna start in on me too?"
She grins and ignores my question. "Spots or stripes?"
Spots? Yeah, I suppose you could call them that. "Spots. Your turn."
"Orange ball in middle pocket."
"It ain't the eight ball so ya don't need to call the shot."
"Okay."
Taking the cue she hunches over the table, sighting the cue on the white ball.
"Darn," she mutters as her long, dark brown hair flops over the table. She takes a band from her pocket, bunches her hair into a ponytail and fixes it in place. A few strands of her pure white shock lock, too short to be confined by the band, frame her face alluringly. I notice her pupils are wider than they should be and there's now a very faint sheen of sweat on her brow and cheeks. Her face is flushed and I'm picking up a sudden and very disturbing upsurge of hormones emanating from her. Aw shit, on top of everything else I gotta deal with this? Pulling a grumpy but cute face she tucks the strands behind her ears and picks up the cue. The tip of her pink tongue protruding as she concentrates, Rogue lines up her cue once more.
Trying hard to ignore the signals she's giving off I offer her some advice to keep her mind on the game. "Ya need to kiss the orange real gentle to send it down the pocket, kid".
She giggles as if I'd just said something risqué. "Thanks."
Rogue's cleavage inflates dramatically as she takes an exceptionally deep breath. Maybe it's an aid to concentration but I don't think so. The wiggling of her ass confirms it as she makes a ridiculous display of positioning her feet and hips. I catch the little minx flicking me a quick glance to see if I've noticed. This ain't Rogue. She's acting out the stupid seduction by numbers guide from a dumb magazine she was reading yesterday and it's as false as a politician's smile. Gonna bring this charade crashing down in flames right now.
"I ain't ya Prince Charming, kid, and you ain't legal so ya can quit with the Lolita crap already."
Laying her cue across the pool table she asks in a quiet voice, "What do you mean?"
Rogue knows exactly what I mean. She looks at me, her brown doe eyes wide and beginning to brim with tears. Goddamn heartbreaker.
"It means I'll be ya friend, I'll be ya surrogate bro', I'll even be ya guardian angel if that's what ya want. What I can never be is the shining armour dude on the white charger. Eternal love and happily ever after don't feature in my game plan."
Neither does polluting your innocence. Dammit, kid, look at me, look at what I am. You'll never be old enough to dance the erection shuffle with a lecherous, whoring bastard like me. I know ya don't wanna hear this but it's for yer own good, baby girl.
Christ, the tears are streaming down her face. The scent of her desire has abated but is her misery any better? Don't cry, kid. Please don't. I ain't worth it.
"But, Ah love you, Logan," she sobs in a staccato series of halting breaths.
Don't so this to me, to yourself. Gotta be cruel to be kind. "Don't work that way, kid. I'm sorry but that's how it is."
"You don't love me?"
Rogue's deep, racking sobs do interesting things to her chest so I look away. While fat, salty tears squeeze from between her lids, I'm feeling panic rising inside me like bile. This conversation is rapidly going pear shaped and I can't stand to see her crying so I need to think fast. I quickly soul search my relationship with Rogue and what I discover surprises me. I hope I ain't gonna regret admitting this.
"Course I do, in a guardian angel guy kinda way. You're my best girl and my best friend."
"I am?" she sniffles.
"Yeah."
Feeling raw and self conscious, I put my arms around her shoulders and embrace her gently like a parent comforting a child, holding her close enough to soak my shirt with her tears. Her scent is so sweet and fresh, no longer infused with the musk of desire. Beneath her clothing her warm body pulses to the vital rhythm of her heartbeat and it feels so good to hold a beautiful, innocent girl in my arms. It can never be though. Still sobbing quietly she snuggles my chest with her right cheek and throws her arms around my waist while I kiss the top of her head and commence to pat her shoulders in what I hope she interprets as a brotherly, reassuring way. That's when I realise I'm still holding the damn cue so I let it fall to the ground. There's a prolonged series of dull thuds as it bounces to a rest on the thick carpet.
"Don't leave too many snot trails down my shirt will ya, darlin'. People might think I've developed some perverted freakoid slug fetish."
Her shoulders convulse beneath my arms, with laughter this time. I hold her away from me, Protecting my skin with the ends of her scarf I cup her face in my hands, slowly trailing my thumbs across her cheeks, brushing away the tears. Her sun-flecked eyes, still heavy with unshed tears, glisten like morning dew. Such contact is precious to her and she looks into my eyes, so trusting and grateful it wrenches my heart.
"That's my girl."
"Ah really do love you, Logan."
"Yeah, I know."
"Maybe one day…" she begins wistfully.
"Don't."
"Okay."
"Ya can do me one real big favour though, kiddo."
Using her sleeve to dry her eyes she says a little too eagerly, "Sure."
"Stop reading those trashy magazines. Don't want my best girl being lead astray by the type of sleazoid crap you and yer two girlfriends were bumping heads over yesterday."
She goes from tender to indignant in a heartbeat. Ya gotta admire her fire and resilience.
"How did you know?"
"That Jubilee kid's got a some yap on her, whispers real loud, ya know."
"You were eavesdropping?" she accuses, appalled.
"I was trying not to until I heard my name mentioned." That much is true although I earwigged shamelessly after that.
"It was a private conversation!"
"In the dining room?"
"We were talking about boys."
"You were talking about using that stupid seduction guide on me."
Her tear reddened face turns an unflattering shade of puce. "What's wrong with reading an article on how to attract the man of your dreams?"
"One, I ain't the man of yer dreams and two, that article has nothing to do with forging a meaningful relationship and everything to do with a being a tick list for a steamy one night stand."
"You're kidding me," she gasps.
God, you're such an innocent. It's what makes you so special.
"Take it from someone who's been around the block more times'n I can count."
'Coz I been there so many times Rogue. I wrote the damn manual."
"Oh."
"You gonna take yer shot now?"
"Yeah," she says as she dabs at her eyes with her sleeve again.
"Some time today would be nice."
"Oh, you!" She cuffs me on the shoulder playfully. We're back to harmless flirting and that's fine by me.
Rogue takes up the cue and, without a repeat performance of her wriggling and jiggling, her eyes narrowed in concentration, she pulls back her cue arm. Her angle is okay but her posture is too stiff and she makes the stroke way too hard. White strikes orange with a loud clack that sends the orange ball leaping across the table with enough force to bounce it off a couple of rails before coming to rest. The white ball cannons straight into a top pocket.
"Great shot!"
She sticks out her bottom lip. "Ya think?"
I'm feeling in a generous mood right now so I ask, "Wanna try again?"
"Yeah."
"Chalk up."
I retrieve the white and return the orange to its former position as she chalks the end of her cue.
"You're too tense. Relax your muscles so your movement will flow smoothly and you can control the cue more easily."
She lowers herself over the table, lithe, smelling good enough to eat and cue poised to strike. "Like this?"
"Yeah."
"Shall Ah take the shot now?"
"Not just yet. You can't hold the cue rock steady if you're wearing gloves. Take 'em off."
She looks at me, uncertainty raising frown lines. "You sure?"
"You can't hurt a piece of polished wood, kiddo." She pulls off her gloves, drops them at her feet and takes up the cue again.
"Okay, you place your hand so." Careful to avoid physical contact I stand beside her and demonstrate the position necessary to hold the cue steady. She adopts a similar posture. "That's good. Okay, you need to kiss the ball gently on the left and spin it into the pocket. Too soft and it'll stop short. Too hard and…well ya've seen it for yerself."
Rogue gives me a lopsided grin, her eyes searching mine. Squatting down beside her I grin and turn my attention to sighting along the cue.
"Okay, you're ready to take the shot. Don't look at the cue ball, look at where you want the cue ball to strike. Okay, pull your arm back. Relax, keep the motion fluid. That's it. Now gently does it."
Rogue strikes the cue ball off centre with a touch too much force and it clips the orange at too oblique an angle. She misses the pocket but not by much.
"Not bad. You'll get better with practice."
"Will you teach me?"
"Yeah, I suppose…." The words die on my lips as I catch a whiff of something wild, the same scent I'd detected clinging to Moira's clothes. A young girl, small for her age, strolls hesitantly into the games room. This has gotta be Rahne MacTaggert. She sees me and freezes, body taut as an overstretched wire, her eyes as wide as a startled rabbit. Fear and adrenalin sour the air as she hovers on the verge of flight. For a second I expect her to turn tail and run but instead her nostrils flare as she tests the air. The scents flowing from her are mixed, indecisive. I detect peppery strands of anger woven with her fear and she's poised, muscles tensed, still unsure whether to stand her ground like a predator or flee like prey.
I remain motionless, not wanting to frighten this strange, cat-eyed little creature. With her reddish brown hair and green eyes, she bears a striking physical resemblance to Moira but her scent don't lie. It's evident to me they share no biological kinship.
"Hey, Rahne," Rogue says as she flashes a friendly smile. "Logan's going to teach me how to shoot pool. Want to join in?"
At first, Rahne doesn't react, just stands there looking for all the world like she's waiting for the world to end or something. Then she grimaces, nostrils flaring once more as if she's caught a whiff of something putrid. She sizes me up with her eyes.
"I'm smellin' tears an' pain. Did he hurt yeh, Rogue? Jus' say the word an' I'll spiflicate the bastard."
Are my ears deceiving me or did Short-stuff just threaten to rip me a new one?
"That's one hell of an entrance kid. Wanna leave and try again 'coz ya sure need the practice?"
Bristling with attitude, she looks me straight in the eye, her upper lip curling into a snarl. Her fierce stare is penetrating and she doesn't break eye contact as she speaks again.
"I'm nae afraid o' yeh mister."
That's a lie. Her heart is leaping like a frog on a hotplate and she can't hide the rank smell of her fear.
"Say it often enough and ya might even start ta believe it but we both know it's a crock."
Rahne flinches as if struck by an invisible hand and I catch the ghost of a stillborn whimper as she swallows hard. Her tail, had she manifested one, would be firmly tucked between her legs. Conversely, her eyes blaze green-gold with hatred, not just for me personally but for all things male. Outwardly there isn't a blemish on her but the damage pooling in hers eyes reveals the mutilated soul cringing within. Her emotional pain is crippling, running through her like a seam of poison and giving off fumes. Rahne is a feral bomb looking for somewhere to explode, posing a danger to anyone unlucky enough to be in her immediate vicinity when the teeth and claws violently erupt. Moira is right to be concerned for her daughter.
"Rahne, what's wrong? Please don't be frightened. Logan might look scary but Ah promise you, he's a real nice guy." There's worry in Rogue's voice, puzzlement too. She doesn't sense or understand the negative current of scents and emotion rolling off the kid.
"Nice men dinnae stink o' spilt blood."
The odour's faint but still detectable despite the shower. Is that what's freaking her out? Or the fact that she's alone in a strange place and temporarily cut adrift from the one stable, safe haven in her life, Moira.
"The blood's mine."
Sniffing hard she snarls, "Yeh've nae got a wound on yeh." She glares at me, her disbelief evident.
"And neither has Rogue. Look kid, I know you've got problems but I ain't one of 'em."
"And I'll see tae it yeh stay that way."
The notion of this little scrap of humanity calling me out is so absurd it's almost funny. Rahne obviously thinks otherwise because her fingernails morph into short but wickedly sharp claws.
Rogue tries to act as arbitrator. "Don't be silly, Rahne. Logan's my friend. You don't have anything to be afraid of."
Rogue's struggling to keep her temper even, seemingly unaware that her new friend is desperately trying to protect her from potential harm. It's obvious to me Rahne believes that men, all men, are brutal monsters who should be put down. And Xavier wants me to try and help this kid? Fuck! How much shit can one guy endure in a single day? And is there a scientific scale on which it can be measured?
"Friends dinnae make yeh cry, Rogue."
"He didn't make me cry. Ah cried because Ah made a fool of myself."
"That's what they want yeh tae believe. That it's all yeh own fault."
Who's "they" and do ya get a discount if ya buy in bulk? Time for a reality check, girl.
"Kid, I've never set eyes on ya in my life until a couple of minutes ago so what part of I ain't beaten up on Rogue are you having difficulty coming to grips with here?"
She's alone. She's terrified. She's in danger of losing control. If she does things are going to get nasty real fast. And I'm gonna let them.
Rahne grimaces and displays some very long canine teeth she didn't have a few moments ago and her eyes are definitely more tawny amber than green. Wolfing out by inches ain't a good sign and neither is her posture. Beneath her sweatshirt the muscles in her shoulders and arms bunch prominently and she looks more like a steroid freak than a thirteen year old kid. The bitter odour of adrenalin infiltrates the air.
Throwing down with a defensively aggressive teenage werewolf ain't gonna happen. I suspect it might be suicidal to get Moira kick-ass mad with me if I rumble with Rahne. Walk away, a nagging voice whispers in my head. This ain't your problem so grab Rogue and back the fuck off, just get up and leave the room and let her seethe herself into a hissy fit and take her mad out on the furniture. Yeah, like that's gonna happen. Gut instinct tells me backing down is not the answer. The cub is challenging the alpha male and needs a lesson in hierarchical etiquette. I go with instinct. With deliberate slowness I hand my cue to Rogue.
"Take this and yerself and wait over there." I nod towards a corner of the room furthest from Rahne.
"W...what are you going to do?"
"Ain't gonna hurt the kid, now scoot."
Thankfully, Rogue obeys me without argument, putting the pool table and several pieces of furniture between her and me. Still moving with exaggerated slowness I lean against the pool table and cross my arms. I'm unarmed, I'm relaxed, I'm confident and I'm not taking her threat seriously. My eyes are locked with hers and I'm exuding a superiority I know she can't match. I ain't afraid of her, I've got way more mass and height than she has, I'm an unknown quantity and therefore, there's a lot of room for doubt inside that traumatised head of hers. I can sense the fury of the wolf battling its way to the surface in rapidly progressing stages – she's sprouting reddish fur and her skull is morphing, becoming more flattened, her face elongating into a muzzle.
"Does it usually take ya this long to put yer Ms Claws 'n' Paws face on? Should I make an appointment and come back later?"
The provocation is intentional. I want her coming at me raging mad, too consumed by anger to think straight. It'll make it easier on both of us if she blows her top and loses control. Hopefully, once I've calmed her down and her fit of feral rage has subsided, she'll feel better afterwards, easy to reason with. Right now, though, it's too fucking harrowing to see how much like me she really is.
Her transition from girl to wolf is lightning fast yet incomplete. Her feet and legs are still human, probably because of her jeans and shoes. Her arms and shoulders are more bulky because of the distorted musculature though still human but her fingers are now elongated, gnarled and tipped with glossy, black two inch claws. Everything else is pure wolf, including the jagged teeth and a long, slathering tongue. And yes, she got the tail but it ain't curved between her legs.
Her reflexes are mighty fucking fast, faster than any cage bait I've come across. Fortunately, speed cannot compensate for the advantages of experience and superior reach. Rahne charges, using her outstretched hands as her primary method of attack, leaving herself wide open. She attempts to slash my throat but with little effort I seize her wrists and haul her arms over her head. This brings her teeth into play and she tries to use her momentum to thrust her muzzle into my face and deliver a bite. She's struggling hard and one of her knees connects painfully with my groin. Red spots of agony waver across my vision and I resist the urge to drop to the ground and go foetal.
"Logan, oh God, are you okay?" Rogue must've seen my grimace of pain.
"Nothing that won't heal," I wheeze, "Just stay back and this'll be over in a few moments."
Pressing both of her wrists into my left hand I seize her by the scruff of the neck with my free hand and swing her off her feet. With the claws immobilised and her jaws no longer a threat, I shake her hard. Unable to get purchase on the ground her struggles become ineffective but it don't stop her trying. The noises issuing from her throat definitely ain't human but I understand them well enough. After all, I'm fucking fluent in feral, ain't I?
"I know this is clichéd but this is hurting me more than it's hurting you." Damn fucking right. My nuts feel like they've been crushed in a vice.
Her howls are a bit more coherent now. "Put me down yeh bastard or I'll tear yeh nadgers off."
Give ya the chance to finish the job? Not fucking likely, missy.
The racket has attracted unwanted attention.
Logan, is everything all right?
Not now Charlie. The situation is a bit delicate. To say nothing of the fact my nuts are throbbing so hard they feel the size of footballs.
"I think ya need ta cool off, kid," I inform her, vengeance for the knee job definitely on my mind.
"Get yeh bloody hands off me, yeh Sassenach git!"
"I ain't English, I'm Canadian."
"Like there's a difference?"
Her shrieking has become so high pitched it's almost painful. Taking care to keep as much space between my aching, vulnerable soft bits and the writhing, screaming creature in my grip, I head towards the hall. I'm in time to see Xavier gliding out of his study, his face a grim mask of anxiety.
"I trust there is a reasonable explanation for this outrageous conduct, Logan."
"You betcha, Charlie but I'm a little busy right now."
Rogue has followed me into the hall. She's torn between feeling unhappy about Rahne's treatment and anger at Rahne's extreme behaviour. I feel her hesitate when she spots Xavier.
"Get the front door, kid," I grunt as Rahne's struggling becomes more frantic.
"What yeh sitting there like that for. Call yersel' a headmaster, yeh slap-headed old coot? Just wait 'til I tell Moira about this."
"Ignore her, Charlie. Kid's not herself right now."
"So I see," Xavier replies. "Is this another one of your unconventional short, sharp shock situations?"
"Uh, huh," I mutter as I haul myself and the incensed werewolf through the cavernous front door and into the sunshine.
"Where are you taking her?" Rogue demands as our rapid progress is marked by the crunching of gravel beneath our feet.
"Not far."
I hang a right around the south wing of the mansion and across an immaculate lawn.
"You're gonnae regret this, both o' yehs."
"Ain't gonna happen ya little whelp."
"We're heading for the rose garden. Oh, Logan you're not going to…"
"Shut yer yap, kid or you'll spoil the surprise."
Moments we reach an eight foot high stone wall with a wrought iron gate recessed into it. Rahne is now hissing and spitting like a cougar, lashing her tail like crazy and waggling he feet. My arms are aching with their burden but I ain't gonna let her go just yet.
"Open the gate will ya Rogue."
She complies and I step through. Rahne's howls increase to an ear piercing crescendo as she claps her eyes on her nemesis.
"Don't yeh dare, yeh stinking bastard. Don't yeh fooking dare!"
"Yer language is atrocious, kid. Ya really need to wash yer mouth out."
Stifling a laugh I heave her over the lip of a large, ornamental fountain and let go. She flies gracelessly through the air, arms and legs flailing uselessly and lands with a tremendous splash. The water's only three feet deep. She won't drown but she's gonna get very, very wet.
Spluttering with rage, Rahne rises from the water like an avenging Titan, eye's glowing murderously yellow, fur plastered to her skin and slick as rust coloured algae, her clothing sodden. She wades purposefully towards me, jaws snapping menacingly, claws reaching out.
She's climbing out now, her intent to do damage all too transparent.
"Still hot under the collar, huh?"
As she hauls herself out I seize her by the shoulders and throw her back in. This times she lands ass first in the water, at the foot of the off centre bronze hippocampus gushing copious amounts of water into the air from its mouth.
She rises again. Muzzle creasing into intimidating wrinkles, her teeth bared in threat, Rahne lets loose a deep and very guttural growl. She looks preposterous with her erect wolf ears drooping beneath the force of the cascading water. She starts forward but this time her approach is more cautious. She ain't learned her lesson yet.
Using my arms to brace myself on the fountain's parapet I lean towards her, my lips twisted into a ferocious snarl, baring my own teeth. They ain't as spectacular as hers but that ain't the point. It's all down to attitude and body language. To reason with Rahne I gotta connect with the wolf. The growl rumbling from my throat is über feral, cold as a penguin's ass, resonating ominously off the stone walls and crammed with lethal promise. My stare is intense, boring into her eyes with a relentlessness that makes her shy away. It carries the full force of my superior, unbreakable willpower.
I'm bigger'n nastier than you. I can trample you into the dust and not even notice. Know your place errant cub or earn my wrath. Back off now.
Rogue looks at me askance, one delicate eyebrow forming a perplexed arch.
"Logan, what are you doing?" Rogue's voice has shot up at least one octave.
I ignore her, concentrating my full attention on Rahne.
"This isn't funny," Rogue continues fretfully.
No it ain't. Rahne has a problem with the male of the species. That means fifty percent of the school's population is at risk of her wolfing out on them if they do or say something to inadvertently trigger her rage.
Rahne holds my stare defiantly for a few seconds before her gaze falters and she seems to shrink in on herself, turning her head away, her muzzle dropping into a submissive bow, her ears flat against her skull. It's over. Suddenly the wolf is gone, leaving in its place a shivering, bedraggled, sorrowful little girl who's breathing is racked by sobs.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice still hoarse from the growling.
Looking at me, she nods, trying to wipe the cascading water from her eyes. Reaching my hand out I give her a reassuring smile. "I'm not gonna hurt ya, darlin'. C'mon, let's go inside and get ya cleaned up."
I don't really expect her to take my hand but to my surprise, she does and I help her onto dry land.
"It's all right, Rahne, really it is," Rogue sooths, relief pouring from her. Rahne reaches towards Rogue, trying to grasp her hand but Rogue whips her hands behind her back. Rahne hangs her head, crestfallen.
"Yeh don't want tae be my friend anymore. I dinnae blame yeh."
Rogue gives the smaller girl a winning smile. "Course, Ah'm your friend, Rahne but Ah left my gloves in the games room. My skin is poison, remember. Ah don't wanna hurt you."
Rahne manages a wan smile. "I'm sorry. When I feel frightened the wolf is frightened too and begins to do things that scare me. I can't stop it. That's why Moira brought me here."
"No one's gonna hurt ya while you're with us, darlin'." I promise her. "And I'll, uh spiflicate anyone who tries."
Rahne looks at me uncertainly.
"He means it too," Rogue adds, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "He's probably the king of spliflication."
"We still got a coupla hours to spare. You like pool?" I ask Rahne.
She looks over her shoulder at the fountain, scrunges her face up and shakes her head vehemently. Water drop fly everywhere, making strands of her short hair stand out in erratic spikes.
"I mean the dry kind you play indoors."
Rahne shrugs. "I dinnae ken the game."
"Wanna learn?"
"Maybe."
"Good enough."
We start back towards the mansion, Rahne dripping water, her shoes squelching with every step. She and Rogue chat animatedly but I don't join in other than to emit an occasional grunt of agreement. The kid has a serious problem, an uncontrollable feral rage that is capable of inflicting real injury. She needs help from someone who understands what she's going through. Someone with intimate knowledge of corralling the inner beast. Without guidance Rahne will ultimately lose the struggle against her feral nature because she has neither the maturity nor the strength of character to contain and control it. Potentially, she's another Sabretooth waiting to happen.
She ain't my kid or my responsibility. I ain't no teacher. I can't even help myself so how the fuck can I help her? Rahne's got Charlie, Maggie and Moira batting on her team and that's a fucking world class line-up. She don't need a wildcard screw up like me striking out at a crucial moment. I should get out while I still can. After all, isn't running is what I do best?
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