Summary: A single act brings hurt and grief.
Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men
Rating: T
Betrayal
Chapter 11
US/Canadian Border: Present Time
…three days earlier…
From one stop to the next, the atmosphere was the same; an endless string of seedy bars, cage fights, women, and booze. There in Merv's Tavern, Logan sat twenty-five miles away from the Canadian border, toasting the sad misfortune that was his existence. A fitting outcome to a crappy life. A bottle of Jack Daniels, paid in full, he was on his way to drinking himself into complete oblivion. Except, there was critical error in his hopes to awaken in a mad, drunken stupor.
His damn healing factor.
It made it impossible to gain a good buzz.
A muscled hand gripping the head, he tipped the bottle to his lips, drinking in sheer desperation. Drowning sorrows and ails that had eaten at him for the last two weeks on the road. He didn't push himself to wonder what was happening back at the mansion. For certain, after the incident in the kid's room, he wouldn't be permitted on the Professor's sacred grounds. He let out a rude snort. He didn't care. All of that he left behind him in the wind dust that tailed Cyke's bike.
Logan's mouth curled into a cruel smile.
Correction. His bike.
When the bliss of disorientation did not grace him, he guzzled down the remaining drops, before tossing a tip on the bar top, jumping off the stool, and heading out the bar. He caught the eyes a few wayward stragglers and glared as he pressed in hard steps to the exit. The moon was full in the black sky. Trees stood silent and still; leaves barely quivering on the branches. Standing just outside the door, Logan paused for a moment, his senses keening to some ghostly apparition that held the world in a deathly hush.
He sniffed.
Nothing.
Grumbling, he headed to his motorcycle, fishing out keys shoved deep in his tattered, brown leather jacket. A sudden upstart of wind halted his footsteps. His nostrils flared and his ears twitched as he heard the faint sound of movement. Steel claws pierced through his skin, fueling a wrath that was always imminent every time the cursed blades came forth. Snarling, he spun around in brute force, slashing the air, severing in half a coke bottle in the hand of a scraggly kid.
"Fuckin' christ," the boy screamed in fright, eyes bulging as he gawked at Logan and his metal claws. "Jesus…mutant…a fuckin' mutant!"
Logan watched the kid scurry down the dimly lit streets. "Punk," he snarled, spiting on the ground. Straddling his motorcycle, he powered down the dark strip of road, a bright beam from the head light cutting into the night.
Canada was so close he could taste the subtle change in the climate. The crisp cold air that swept in from the Artic and the vibrant smell of pine. He would cut into Ontario and push on up to British Columbia. Hell, he might even ride all the way up to Alaska. Sure, he be right back in the States but the terrain, open country, it was a lot different than the crowded populace of New York. He kicked the bike to high gear, the border was dead ahead, just five more miles.
Logan.
"Shit," he growled swerving off the road. He flipped off the bike, crashing into the oncoming foliage, rolling several times, before slamming in a great Oak tree. He laid motionless for several minutes.
Logan?
"Hmm," he moaned, slowly regaining consciousness, his wounds healing.
Logan, are you alright?
Pushing onto his back, Logan coughed, spitting out leaves and dirt, then forced himself to sit up. "Charles?" He spoke into the blackness, uncertain he heard his voice.
Logan, are you hurt?
"When am I ever hurt old man," he muttered, rising to his feet.
Yes. Quite.
"What do you want? Were you trying to fuckin' kill me?"
I doubt that is possible and I didn't mean to throw you off guard.
"Swell," Logan cried, marching back to his fallen bike. He heaved the motorcycle to a stand and inspected it for damages. "What the hell do you want anyway? I figured you'd be glad that I'm gone after all that's happened."
I have not yet excused your behavior Logan, but I'm willing to look past it.
"Ain't I the lucky one."
Logan, I need you to return to the mansion.
Wolverine's expression turned black as his eyebrows bunched together. "I ain't coming back Charles," he got on the bike and tried to start it up. "I don't belong there anyway. I know everyone there don't want me including Rogue."
It's not a matter of what you want Logan, it's about what someone needs.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he wiped his mouth glaring into the darkness.
It's Storm, she's pregnant, and you're the father.
()()()()
Westchester, New York: Present Time
…same afternoon…
"Are you leaving?"
Hank turned slowly, adjusting his shirt, smiling faintly at Ororo as she looked up at him, the covers still gallantly spread over her form. He was alarmed when he peered sleepily at the clock on her nightstand, and saw they'd been asleep for two hours. "Yes," he said going to sit down on the bed. "I have some things to take care of downstairs, not to mention, some things you will need."
Ororo looked away almost forgetting Hank had discovered she was pregnant. "You don't have to fuss yourself over me Hank," she said bunching the quilt in her hand.
He caressed her cheek with a large blue finger. "But I want to," and took a deep breath. "And Logan isn't here to fulfill…his…obligations." He saw her frown and tightened his lip. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be," she shook her head, "besides, after that night in Washington, after the way I treated you…"
"I thought you didn't want to discuss it," he implied.
"I know," she sighed. "I know, but I can't help feeling I've…I've…ruined our friendship."
Hank cupped her face, stroking her hair. "No," he hushed, wiping her tears with his large thumb. "I'm at fault…I pressed you…resented the fact you chose Logan over me. I shouldn't have expected you to leave him after…"
"But I'm the one who ended up making the foolish choice," she sniffed.
"No," Hank said gruffly. "He's the fool, but now he's gone and…"
"He may come back," Ororo croaked.
Hank went rigid. "What?"
"It's true," she got out of the bed, a hand resting protectively on her flat stomach. A faint smile delighting in the knowledge that a child was growing there. "The Professor's been in contact with him, I know it. I know he's going to tell him about the baby."
"Do you even think he'd return if he did?"
She shook her head. "I don't know anything anymore when it comes to Logan." She spun around, eyes glimmering angrily. "But I don't want him back here. I can't think of looking at him after what he's done." Ororo clasped a hand over her mouth. "Oh god, what am I saying." She sounded like a hypocrite, especially since she'd slept with Hank while they were in Washington.
Hank rose and went to her, drawing her close. "We did absolutely nothing wrong."
"How can you say that," she said in a low whisper, blinking out tears.
"I can say it because I love you Ororo," his voice low and husky, surrendering to his feelings, "and I'm not ashamed of what transpired between us."
"If Logan ever found out…"
"Oh to hell with Logan! Tell Xavier you have no wish to see him again, I'm sure he'd respect you're feelings," he said wishfully. Deep down he had no desire to see the nomad with claws make some sort of triumphant return to the mansion. He wanted a chance to prove himself and his love for Ororo, and he realized he couldn't do it with that cretin around.
"I've already tried that," she sighed, resting her head on his chest, "but you know Charles. Once he's set his mind to something there's no changing it."
()()()()
"You wanted to see us Professor?"
"Rogue, actually," the Professor answered, lowering a book entitled The Once and Future King. "But you're welcomed to stay Scott, if that is what Rogue wants."
Rogue nodded.
Scott stepped aside, allowing her to enter the office, then closed the door and followed her to two leather chairs in front of a large desk. She sat down and clasped her gloved hands together, looking anxiously at the Professor. The old man gave them both a hearty smile.
"I'm pleased to see you're looking well Scott," he said.
"Thanks," Scott replied, scratching the back of his hair.
"As you already know," he started removing several sheets of paper from the fax machine. "Dr. MacTaggert has completed the analysis on your DNA."
"Yes," Rogue said softly, gripping her hands. "She took some of my blood when she saw what I did to Scott." She glanced over and smiled at him. "I healed him…but I don't recall absorbing anyone with powers of that influence, except…Logan, but his healing ability mended his body alone. He doesn't regenerate others. What could it mean?"
"It means you've developed a secondary mutation, an extremely rare incident where a mutant's power becomes greater, or in you're case Rogue changes," he shuffled the papers and laid them flat on his desk.
Rogue gasped. "A…a secondary….mutation?"
"Yes. Only a few cases have been recorded, however, Dr. McTaggert has never witnessed an event in person. She's extremely anxious to study this case in further detail and has sent a message to Dr. McCoy."
"So…I'm…to become…a Guinea Pig."
"Don't look at it that way Rogue," Xavier coaxed. "We want to discover the root of this phenomena."
"But what about my skin?" she asked. "Are my powers gone?"
"They've become dormant," the Professor replied. "A mutant never truly loses the power they're born with."
"But how was she able to heal me?" Scott questioned.
The Professor put a finger to his lips as he thought. "Perhaps Rogue is able to do more with Logan's powers, but with more study we'll find out the answer."
"Well that was a complete waste of time," Rogue huffed as she stormed away from the Professor's office.
"Come on Rogue," Scott said matching her stride. "At least we know it's nothing serious."
She swung around livid. "I'm changing again," she cried. "It's bad enough I had to deal with my damn skin, but this…I don't know if I can handle it."
Scott caught her at the upper length of her arms right as she tried to flee. "You'll handle it," he said pointedly, "you know why, 'cause I'm going be right there for you as you were for me."
"Sweet," she smirked. "But we're not talking about a bunch of broken bones and bruises, this goes deep to very marrow of me Scott. What if this is not a secondary mutation? What if this something worse?"
"Don't talk like that? Whatever it is we'll handle it together?"
"Handle what?"
Scott and Rogue froze to low rumble of Logan's prominent voice echoing the foyer. Turning, they spied him a few feet away, swaggering through the door. "What the hell are you doing here?" Rogue attacked before Scott could utter a word.
"So much for a 'welcome home' and a hug," Logan bit out.
"You wish," she seethed, venom in her tone. "Why are you here anyway?"
"The Professor hit me with some shocking news," he said.
"What news?" Scott demanded.
"None of your fuckin' business," he glowered.
"Well, I hope it means you won't be staying long," Rogue snapped.
Logan strolled into a beam of light. "Actually," a grin growing on his face. "I plan on being around for a very long time."
"Great, that's all we need, after everything," Rogue exclaimed throwing her hands in the air and storming towards the elevator.
Logan watched in open curiosity as she departed then nailed his eyes on Scott. The younger male stood rooted in foyer, barely intimidated, which intrigue him. "Well aren't you going to welcome me home." Scott said nothing, Shrugging, Logan tossed him the keys. "Your bike needs gas and repairs."
Scott's face broke in anger and he flung the keys back. "So…take care of it!" He barked and marched to the elevator.