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Chapter 8
An hour later I stood in my dressing room, more commonly known as the ladies' bathroom, at the Barley Pop Pub, putting the final touches on my stage outfit. The focused, intense reflection that looked back at me from the mirror gave away none of the confusion that I was feeling, none of the turmoil that was making me want to duck out the back door of this dive and RUN.
In the past twenty-four hours, I had met a man that wanted to give me a chance at leading a meaningful life and one that I could see myself living that life with. I had been assaulted, abducted, poked, prodded and wrung out like an emotional dishrag.
I was absurdly happy.
But this encounter with Magneto made me question my decision to stay at Xavier's. Did I really want to get tangled up in this mutant war? There were things going on here that I didn't even know if I WANTED to understand. I had been doing very well at living off the grid for my whole adult life, and staying out of people's way. Did I want to give up my freedom, my ability to come and go as I pleased, all for…
What? Security and a chance to find out what happened to you? A real home and real friends? my sarcastic inner voice piped up. Ooh, yeah, that would be awful.
I growled inwardly and jammed my well-worn cowboy hat onto my head. Whatever I decided, my first priority was to get out there and give the crowd what they were here for, a hell of a show.
Logan prowled the bar uneasily, beer in hand, his attention divided between scouting for trouble and trying to sort through the confusion in his head. Most of it was coming from the direction of the bathroom, where Vixen was getting ready…to what? Run? Sing? Throw up? One second she was happy, the next scared and angry. It was all a frustrating jumble.
Logan slammed his bottle of Molson's down hard, with a low snort of exasperation. She was making his head hurt. He had enough crap of his own to sort through; he sure as hell didn't need Brianna's equally screwed-up psyche banging around in his brain like this.
He was beginning to regret ever having picked her up. He had just been out looking for a little diversion, someone to take his mind off a certain redhead, and the fact that she had chosen ol' One Eye over him. It was a great bruise to his ego. Logan ALWAYS won the girl. But now he was stuck with one that was just as confused, stubborn and bull headed as him, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it. Vixen sure was easy on the eyes, though. Logan thought about her sparkling hazel eyes, the lush waves of auburn hair that fell on her shoulders, the warm feeling of her pressed up against his back on the motorcycle….Woah, down boy, he cautioned himself, Focus, focus…
Brianna came banging out of the ladies' room, a look of dark anger on her face. She stomped over to the bar and stopped toe to toe with Logan, forcing him to step back and look down into her blazing eyes. She was furious. "Listen, buddy, I didn't ask you to haul me off to that freak show you call home, and I sure as hell don't expect you to take care of me like I'm some helpless kid. As for anything else you have in mind…" She trailed off, noting that Wolverine was staring at her chest in utter amazement. "Excuse me? Eyes up, friend." Then Brianna realized he was focused on the long chain she wore around her neck. "What? It's just my good luck charm." She laughed without a trace of humor. " Too bad I didn't wear it last night."
Logan reached out and picked up the dull metal dog tag that hung from Brianna's chain. VIXEN, it read, and there was a row of numbers that Logan found achingly familiar. He slowly drew his own well worn dog tag out from inside his T-shirt, and held it up next to it's twin. He and Brianna both stared, disbelieving, as one more mystery was added to their tumultuous relationship.
The numbers were one digit apart.
"We need to have a LONG talk," Logan muttered.
"I really don't have time for this right now," I protested uselessly as Logan directed me to a dimly lit booth in the corner of the room. His arm around my shoulders was as un-giving as a steel girder.
"Make time," was his blunt reply as he pushed me onto the tacky vinyl seat and slid in right next to me, effectively cutting off any means of escape. I bristled at Logan's tone of voice, but any angry retort I had died on my lips when I saw the haunted look in his usually inscrutable eyes. He looked down at the scarred tabletop for a moment, then asked in a strained voice, "Do you...do you have nightmares? About...what happened?" Logan clenched a fist and I could just make out the keen edges of his adamantium claws under the skin of his forearm.
Without thinking, I took his large warm hands in mine and squeezed them tight. Our already strong empathic link opened even further, and I gasped as I realized Logan was, consciously or unconsciously, laying his soul bare to me. I felt utter rage and frustration, anger toward the people who had taken his life and his memory, and self-loathing for himself, the feral creature that lurked just below the surface of his psyche. I shared the heart-wrenching pain of losing true love and contentment and the despair and emptiness that followed. And the worst part, what made my heart ache for him, was that he couldn't remember why he felt these things. To have to live with such a burden…
A harsh sob escaped my throat as hot, painful tears rolled down my cheeks. "Oh, God," I choked out and clasped my head in my hands. Such raw, strong emotion was too much for me to handle, and it became a great physical agony, slicing through my skull like a knife. I curled myself around the pain, trying to control it, and then Logan had me in his arms. He held me fiercely, as if trying to absorb some of the hurt himself.
"I'm sorry," Logan whispered hoarsely into my hair. "Brianna, darlin'…". I realized he was crying.
After a minute, I was able to subdue the lingering ache in my head and sat up, albeit reluctantly. No conversation was necessary between us. One look at Logan's eyes and I knew that he had seen into my mind as well, found all of the hurt, the betrayal, the loneliness and terror that were Vixen's life. What had passed between us was too extraordinary for mere words, a more intimate thing than could ever be defined. But now I knew with every fiber of my being that I could never leave Xavier's, or Logan, my soul mate.
