Summary: A different take on the Logan/Marie first encounter at the bar, and what happens after it.
Notes/introduction:
In this story Marie never ran away, her parents accepting her mutation as best they could, and she managed to get through her teenage years with minimal angst. School, and college were an impossibility however, and so she was forced to have private tutors, although the friends she had before her mutation took effect remained loyal and kept in contact with her during all that time, even David. In fact, his affection for her was so intense that they resumed their relationship after he came out of his coma, although for a long time Marie was overwhelmed by guilt over what had happened and it took David some time to convince her that there was 'nothing to forgive and that it had just been an accident.' They obviously had to be careful when their relationship turned sexual but found it a thrilling (!) challenge to work around Marie's mutation!
On her twentieth birthday, on the drive home from her surprise party where David proposed and she accepted, disaster struck and she and David were involved in a car crash. David was killed instantly and she was badly injured. But during her time in hospital it was discovered that by some freak twist of fate the accident has suddenly given her the ability to control her mutation and she could now turn it off and on at will. This meant little to her at the time though as she grieved for David but a year after his death she finally began to see what this breakthrough means...that she can walk safely amongst people again...that she can do something she has always dreamed...travel.
For her twenty-first birthday her parents buy her a four-wheeled drive (jeep Cherokee) and having always wanted to visit Canada she uses her savings to pay for a month long vacation, with no set route or destination – just a detailed map for guidance and the intension to stay at motels between days spent sight-seeing. Meanwhile, Logan is still doing the cage fighting circuit, has never met the X-Men and is still one bitter, emotionally fucked up, individual (don't you just love the angsty side of him – hee hee!)
This story begins about two weeks into Marie's vacation.
Oh, and the X-Men will turn up though!
Word of warning...I started this fic years ago, reached chapter 11, and then got preoccupied with other things and never continued it. Which means, I will post those old 11 chapters but I can't guarantee that I'll continue it. Never say never though!
Chapter One... A Dead Alternator and A Dying Man...
Marie hummed contentedly to herself as she lightly gripped the steering wheel, the toasty warmth of the jeep's interior helping her wind down from an enjoyable, albeit long day, spent driving and sightseeing. The afternoon had just given way to evening and the sky, weighted with snow, was already dark, a full moon pushing its way determinedly up through the sluggish cloud.
She flicked her eyes onto the glowing sphere as she cruised at a cautious speed through the rapidly deteriorating weather, the clouds parting long enough to grant her a few seconds full viewing before they decided to smother it possessively again.
The Wolf Moon, she thought wistfully, wisely returning her eyes back to the road. That was its name during the month of January. She knew because she had avidly read up on Indian folklore before setting off on this trip, wanting to add a mystical touch to the long, unknown road that stretched out before her. In hindsight, it was a silly little whim, but one that she had been unable to resist indulging in. She had always been too dreamy for her own good and even now, at twenty-one, an adult in most people's eyes, she continued to cling on to the childhood quirk, almost with a desperation sometimes, fearing that if she lost it she might also lose a part of herself.
Besides, the last twelve months had been a bastard of a year. She had battled her way so hard through a minefield of emotions following David's death – numbness, despair, grief and pain, to name but a few, that she felt a little bit of childish whim was long overdue. In fact, she found it to be a much-needed comfort.
The Wolf Moon, she repeated, aloud this time, her voice low and dramatic and sprinkled with a dusting of excitement. It sounded so...so mysterious...even a touch dangerous and would've compelled her to write poetry if she had any talent for it, which sadly, she didn't.
She chewed down upon her plump bottom lip thoughtfully, finally accepting that fancies aside, January wasn't really the most sensible time to be travelling through Canada though, and her parents had voiced their concerns many times since she had first announced her decision to go. But it was undeniably cheaper, less populated by tourists except for the skiers and snowmobile fanatics (so a website informed her) and the only time to see snow in all its wild, untamed glory. She had been fantasising about snow like this since she was a child!
Grinning, she was in the middle of promising herself that at some stage during this trip she was going to have to make a snowman, when she was promptly wrenched from her reverie by a worrying sensation -
- the jeep started to judder.
Intermittently at first but it was rapidly becoming more consistent.
She had almost reached her next motel stop and only had another twenty or so kilometres to go. She prayed that the vehicle would hold out until then but no sooner had she dared to hope, the inevitable happened.
Snapping her gaze down in panic she watched in horror as every dial on her dashboard suddenly dropped, in unsettling unison, to zero – she didn't even know what speed she was driving anymore. When the window wipers shuddered to a halt only a few seconds later and snowflakes began to start piling up against the windscreen she knew that she had no choice but to pull in somewhere before the jeep completely broke down or she had an accident. She shivered at the latter.
As the snow piled higher against the glass, she forced down her painful memories and swiftly returned her attention back to the present. The dashboard lights had failed by now, the dials barely discernable in the darkness of the car interior.
She already had a hunch what it could be – the alternator. The exact same thing had happened a few years ago to her parent's car during a day trip out. Not a good thing, she warned herself. Definitely not a good thing at this time of night, in this kind of weather, and whilst travelling alone.
Marie didn't like to swear if she could help it, good manners having been drummed into her from an early age by an old fashioned, Southern-through- and-through mother, but she felt that this was one of those rare occasions where bad language was just plain unavoidable.
Fuck!
She had just reached a road sign – directions to a small town called Laughlin City - and she quickly turned off the highway towards the place. Knowing that time was of the essence she swerved into the first car park she came across, tyres skidding alarmingly on the snow at the sudden manoeuvre, and she fought with the steering wheel in an attempt to remain in control of the vehicle.
She made it just in time. No sooner had she swung into an empty space, the car finally died on her.
"Damn it!"
She slammed her hands down hard onto the steering wheel, anger quenching her concerns for the time being. This was all she needed! She let out a little moan of despair – everything had been going so well, the vacation turning out to be all she had hoped – breathtaking scenery, pleasant motels, good food and friendly faces.
She frowned darkly, frustration diluting her anger. She should have known it would be too good to last. Her parents hadn't been altogether happy with her taking this trip and a scenario like this had been their main concern. They had insisted that she take out breakdown cover and thank god she had allowed them to bully her into it now! Initially she had rejected the idea – it was a new car after all.
But there was still going to be the long process of contacting the AAA, having them journey out to her and try to fix the problem – what if they couldn't fix it? They had been unable to fix her parent's car's alternator – it was too tricky a part to reach at the roadside, practically the whole engine had to be removed first - and they had been forced to tow them to the nearest garage.
But that had been during the day. No garage would be open at this time of night, surely? She pondered hopefully, realising that they could always tow her to her motel since it was such a short distance down the highway from here...
But what then? How would she get to a garage from the motel? Would the AAA return in the morning to tow it? Mortified, she realised that she didn't even know what cover she had taken out and she hoped it would all be detailed on her membership card.
Glaring daggers out the window, through the whipped-up frenzy of snowfall, her eyes narrowed – where the hell was she anyway? Laughlin City? She had scarcely entered the place and it already looked a dive.
She guessed that she was parked outside a bar. A seedy looking one at that, she decided, as she regarded it with distaste. The last thing she wanted to do was go into such an unsavoury looking establishment but she needed a telephone to contact the AAA. Her mobile had run out of power half an hour ago during a chat with a friend and she had intended to charge it back up at the next motel.
A motel she feared she was not going to reach anytime soon.
Taking a deep breath, her initial anger now making way for the first prickles of anxiety, she snatched her bag and coat from the passenger seat and dragged herself reluctantly out of the vehicle. Locking the door securely behind her she turned and stood a moment, leaning back against the cold hard metal as windswept snowflakes danced enchantingly in front of her face. When they moved in closer, landing upon her eyelashes to sting at her eyes, she forced herself to take a step forward and finally started off towards the bar entrance.
She didn't know why but she had the strangest feeling as her boots crunched through the snow. As if someone's eyes were trained upon her, burning a hole into the back of her head. Halting half way toward her destination, her gaze was tentatively drawn once again to the sky – to the moon – and a shiver ran down the length of her spine.
It looked so big, and shone so brightly, it felt as if it had suddenly decided to zoom in closer to the earth to observe her, watching with that man-in-the-moon face you always seemed to be able to make out upon its surface. But it didn't appear to be smiling. If anything, it looked decidedly menacing.
Quickly turning away she realised that her initial awe of the Wolf Moon had been replaced by something else, something more sinister, a dread that coiled so tightly around her chest that for a second she couldn't breath.
If she hadn't been so afraid she would have found it amusing, the fact that she couldn't get into the seedy looking bar quick enough.
Logan took a long, much-needed drag of his cigar as he sat at the bar recovering from his latest cage fight, the sweet poison acting like a drug upon his senses, relaxing him, slowing the heartbeat that a few moments ago was thumping with so much adrenaline that he could barely register individual beats.
The beer he held in his other hand was another necessity to the winding-down ritual and as he rested the cigar in the ashtray before him he brought the bottle to his lips and knocked back half its contents in a couple of deep thirsty gulps.
"Hey there, handsome."
The soft female voice was chorused by the harsh click of heels striking the solid wood floor.
Continuing to drink, Logan flicked his eyes onto the woman. Moving the bottle from his lips and placing it back on the bar top he offered a fleeting, somewhat grudging nod of acknowledgment.
She claimed an empty bar stool and sidled up beside him. "Aw, cheer up Logan, for fuck's sake. You make me feel depressed just looking at yer."
He shrugged, reaching for his cigar again. "Then don't look," he suggested gruffly.
He heard her sigh and couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Treena was one of the few bar-flies that he actually liked, a bit classier than the others and a whole lot more genuine, and he respected that. He always looked forward to her company when he was passing through this part of Canada. They had had sex a few times and it had been good but for the last few visits they had simply settled for being drinking buddies, which, surprisingly, seemed to suit them better.
Logan sensed rather than saw Treena flick back a lock of thick blond hair – it seemed to be a habit of hers. "You gonna tell me why those scowl lines are so deep you could hold pencils in em'?"
"Or," she persisted, "why you landed a couple of blows back there that you shouldn't have? It's not like the mighty Wolverine to let his opponent get the upper hand, even for a few seconds."
Stalling, he took another drag on his cigar. If anyone else had said those words and in such a mocking tone, he might have retaliated, given them a warning flash of metal, but this was Treena, and he knew she was only saying it out of concern, he could smell it radiating from beneath her cheap perfume.
Returning the cigar to the ashtray he took a deep breath, his shoulders suddenly seeming to weigh a ton, and not just down to the adamantium forged so mercilessly to his bones. "Just got some things on my mind."
She immediately reached across to his arm, affectionately squeezing the worn leather of his jacket. "Wanna talk about it?"
He stared down at her hand, admiring the long slender fingers and expertly applied red varnish, but before he could answer she added: "and yeah...I know that you're not the talking kinda guy... do I know it!" she teased. "But hey...even you must need to get things off your mind once in a while."
He turned and looked at her. At her beautiful face, hardened too soon. She belonged in a better place than this dive, he decided angrily; weary of seeing only the darker side of life, of having to deal with its shit day after fucking day. "You care too much," he growled back, although his scowl softened a little. He wasn't accustomed to anyone caring about him and it felt too unnatural for him to even begin to appreciate.
"And there's something wrong with that?" She suddenly became angry herself and he knew that if he kept this attitude up she was just going to walk away - he had always admired her spunk, the fact that she wouldn't take any of his crap.
And for some insane reason he didn't want her to walk away. He wanted to talk. She was the only one he could talk to, the only person besides old Jack who kept an eye on his cabin in the Rockies, whom he could actually call a friend.
'Friend?' He had never much cared for them before but he was getting kinda desperate of late. His head was so fucked up he could barely think straight, the nightmares getting so bad that if it weren't for his healing factor the deliberate lack of sleep would have driven him insane by now.
He fleetingly observed the bar checking that the bartender was well out of earshot and then glanced back at Treena again.
"I..." he started but faltered, his throat already beginning to restrict stubbornly.
Her heavily made up eyes seemed to reach out to him, encourage him. He had never noticed that they were such a vivid shade of blue before.
"I..." he tried again but even the effort of that single word made him run his hands through his hair under the pressure. He wasn't used to opening up to anyone and if he was to be totally honest, he wasn't comfortable doing so, but the weight pressing down upon him was becoming so intense now...so debilitating.
"I'm tired, Treena," he offered finally, grimacing inwardly at the sound of his voice – the hopelessness laced through every word – he sounded so fucking pathetic. "So tired of this life, this existence. Not knowing who I am. What my past is. This endless search for answers..."
She squeezed his arm again and her compassion swept around him like a warm embrace, a sensation he mentally recoiled from yet yearned to hold on to and never let go. He never lacked for sexual partners but his one night encounters were unable to fill that empty void within him. If anything, they seemed to make him feel colder, angrier, and over time he had become increasingly more aggressive in bed, selfish to the point where he didn't even care what the women's names were anymore.
"So fuckin' tired," he repeated hoarsely, distantly, bitterness lacing through his words like a curse. He reached for his beer bottle, gripping it so tightly in his hand that it felt as if his very life depended upon it and he had the overwhelming desire to crush it between his fingers, quench this pent-up rage, if only temporarily.
The fight just hadn't been enough tonight. Hadn't been enough to make him numb again. He had dreaded the arrival of this night for a long time...it marked the beginning of the end...
But what end that might be - good or bad - he had yet to determine.
"I know you are, Logan," Treena whispered sadly, so softly that he could only hear her because of his acute senses.
But she didn't know, Logan told himself. Not the intensity of his inner demons. She didn't know the number of times he had driven his claws through his chest trying to put an end to the torture once and for all. The number of times he had howled in despair, not through the pain caused by six lethal adamantium blades ripping through skin and bone, but the bitter knowledge that the moment he withdrew them again his mutation would kick in and fucking mend every shred of damage.
He sighed so heavily, so deeply, he felt as if he had almost stopped breathing altogether, the ache in his soul as painful as any metal blade now, more excruciating in fact, because there was no blade to retract to relieve the pressure, so it didn't stop, didn't end.
Would it ever end? Logan wondered desperately, or was he destined for an eternity of this torment? If this was karma's payback for a past life he must've been some kind of monster back then. Evil incarnate.
He dragged his fingers through his hair again conscious of Treena watching him intently and he couldn't bear to look at her, unable to face the pity he would see so clearly etched into her every feature.
He needed something, he realised frantically...a light...a hope... anything... something to give him a reason to keep going...to stop him sinking any deeper into this living hell...
He finally summoned the strength to meet Treena's eyes again.
Needed someone...?
She was special to him, more special than she would ever know, but she wasn't what his time-wearied heart was searching for...
"I need..."
"What is it, Logan?" she pressed gently, although there was increasing urgency in her tone. "What is it you need?"
She was talking to him in a way that would normally grate on his nerves, so soothing, so goddamn soothing, but he was passed caring now. He just wanted this pain to end. Every day this mockery that was his life laughed in his face as it slowly killed him, knowing that his mutation would not allow him the easy way out he longed for.
He was about to offer an answer of sorts when the bar exit suddenly swept open and a flurry of snow and cold air preceded a new patron – what appeared to be a young woman - wearing a large heavy coat and hood to protect her from the harsh weather.
She stepped into the warmth of the bar with a sigh of relief although Logan could sense wariness and even a hint of fear in her demeanour. Her scent washed over him, mingled with the raw bite of evening, and it stirred something in him that he had never felt before. Something desperate.
When she finally pulled back her hood, the sight of her struck him slap-bang in the chest, like he had been whacked with a baseball bat and the wind had been knocked completely out of him. For a moment he couldn't even think straight and when his eyes met and locked with hers across the empty bar it seemed as if they, too, were metal-laced and hers were seductive magnets drawing him to her.
But it wasn't only a physical attraction; he felt a surge of something sweep through him like a tidal wave of anticipation...an acknowledgment...a realisation...that she...she just might...he clenched his fists beneath the onslaught of emotion, his breath lodging in his throat like a stone.
Because all the time, she held his stare in exactly the same way, the same play of emotions so clearly visible upon her own face.
It made him wonder. Dare to hope...
That she felt it too?
And then he knew, knew just what had happened - what was happening.
She was the one.
The lump in his throat finally alleviated and he swallowed uncomfortably.
The one who was gonna save him.
And for the first time in over twenty years, he felt a moment's respite, felt at peace.
But in the next instant she suddenly severed their gaze to turn her attention to the man behind the bar and the spell – whatever it was that had passed between them - was instantly broken.
The sense of peace he had felt so intensely was shattered into a thousand pieces and every shard seemed to pierce his soul with a slither of regret.
Rolling his eyes, eyes that now glistened desolately, Logan rebuked himself for what bullshit he had been thinking.
Save him? he mocked, anger returning with a vengeance. He was more fucked up in the head than he realised. No one was gonna save him, especially not a beautiful young classy woman like that.
As too good for the likes of you, bub, repeated over and over in his consciousness like a warning mantra he shook his head weakly. No. No one was gonna save the mighty Wolverine.
Even so, as he reached down for his cigar again he was unable to avert his lowered gaze from her slender form or deny the strange feeling that was already stirring awake in the pit of his gut.