Chapter 7 – Cerebro Reveals a Broken Man
Professor Charles Xavier took a deep breath as he stared out of the window of his study. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and clear, but none of it was acknowledged, none of it touched his eyes.
He was too troubled to admire the scenery today.
A light knock on the fine mahogany door proceeded Dr Jean Grey's entry into the room and Charles turned slowly in his wheelchair, severing his gaze from the Institute grounds. He offered his colleague and close friend a weak smile.
"Scott and Storm are on their way," she confirmed softly as she took a seat in one of the chairs that faced Charles desk, crossing her legs gracefully.
Charles nodded distractedly.
"Are you OK, Charles?"
"I'm fine, Jean. Just a little..." he stopped, not even sure himself how he felt at that very moment. Shocked? Shaken? Guilty? He had to admit to all three.
Jean watched him anxiously. "Charles?" she persisted and Charles guessed that she had picked up on his unrest. Not that it could be attributed to her telepathy, or else she would have known exactly what was bothering him by now, but simply a friend's intuition.
But before he could answer, the door was opened again and Scott and Storm entered the room. Both seemed puzzled as to why they had been called and appeared to share Jean's concern.
"I'm sorry to call you out of classes at such short notice," Charles apologised, gesturing to the chairs either side of Jean's. "I hope you were able to arrange suitable cover. I know that Bobby has recently completed his teacher training and would be a competent substitute for any one of you."
"He's covering my class actually," Storm revealed with a smile. "He seemed quite eager to do so too." As she slipped into her chair she added wryly: "although I don't know whether that will turn out to be a good or bad thing."
"Hank offered to cover mine," Scott revealed briskly. "He was working in the lab next door anyway."
Charles nodded his satisfaction.
When they were all seated he decided to get straight to the point.
"You are aware that I keep..." he hesitated, before adding, somewhat uncomfortably: "tabs on the Wolverine. And have been doing so for several years using Cerebro. Since I first became aware of him I have strongly believed that he would make a valuable member of our team, yet have always felt reluctant to approach him without good reason, hoping that eventually fate might steer him to us instead."
"I'm afraid I don't share your faith, Professor," Scott disagreed firmly. "On him being a part of our team or ever turning up on our doorstep. A livewire like that is best kept away from the Institute."
Charles frowned, resting his chin upon his hands in mild reflection. "I am aware of your sentiments, Scott, and although I understand them I also feel they are unjustified." He flicked his eyes onto Storm. "Storm?"
"Well, I cannot judge someone I have never met, but from what I have heard I must admit to having my reservations. This is a school, full of children. Whose safety is our number one priority."
"Jean?" The Professor pressed hopefully.
"I honestly don't think an individual like the Wolverine could ever settle into a life here at the mansion."
"And as an X-Man?"
She shrugged. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Scott. He's is a livewire, a loose cannon, someone who would find it difficult to conform, to take orders. There is a strong possibility that he could endanger rather than support the team in a time of crisis."
Charles' frown deepened. "I will not lie. I am disappointed by your attitudes. Were you not all loose cannons at one time, before you were able to fully understand or control your mutations? In a more diluted sense, granted, but you have all experienced that sense of not belonging, of fighting inner conflicts...or demons, as they are often termed. The Wolverine is no exception." He paused, regarding them each intensely before adding: "And right now his particular demons seem to have overwhelmed him to breaking point."
He took another deep breath, leaning back in his wheelchair to grip at the sides tensely.
"In Cerebro this morning I was witness to something which not only disturbed me, but emotionally, affected me quite profoundly."
The X-Men watched him in silence.
"I believe that the Wolverine had a mental breakdown."
"A breakdown?" Scott's face contorted in surprise behind his visor.
Charles nodded sombrely. "He has battled his demons a long time. Unlike yourselves, he has had no one to relieve him of some of the weight of that burden, to offer him a light at the end of the tunnel." The Professor suddenly looked pained. "I feel that I have let him down. That I have made a mistake refraining from making contact."
"What exactly did you see?" Jean asked gently.
"I would rather not divulge that," Charles confessed. "I think that after all these years of our – my - prying, the man is entitled to a little privacy. Just let me say, however, that the Wolverine is a broken man right now."
"Was there any...any trigger to this breakdown?" Storm deliberated gently, eyes poignant. "You have always described him as a strong controlled man. So to succumb to his emotions in such a way is..."
"Out of character," Scott put in bluntly.
Charles opened one of his desk drawers and brought out a crisp, plainly unread newspaper. He deposited it in front of the X-Men.
Scott allowed an eyebrow to rise up from behind his visor. "I didn't know you read Canadian newspapers."
"I feel it is in my best interests, considering the Wolverine's preferred location."
"Somehow I can't imagine you crossing the border each morning to collect this," Scott smirked.
A small smile shivered across the Professor's lips. "I have contacts."
"In the journalistic world?" Storm teased.
"One or two," Charles admitted humorously. "Although this particular contribution was derived from another source."
"Who?" Scott asked curiously.
"The government."
Scott gaped at him in shock. "The Canadian government?"
"How do you think I know so much about the Wolverine?"
"But aren't they the ones behind the whole Weapon X experiment?" Scott frowned, confused.
"Not all of them."
"You never cease to amaze me," Scott groaned in exasperation. He turned to Jean. "Jean? Do you know about this?"
The look she gave in return answered for her. It transpired that telepaths stuck together.
Charles watched the exchange between husband and wife with interest. There were very few things he kept from Scott and Storm but some secrets were deemed necessary to ensure their future safety. Keeping them in the dark, at least for the time being, about certain contacts, wasn't exactly crucial but it helped him sleep at night. Jean was the only exception, since she had been the one to mediate the majority of the alliances in the first place.
Scott shook his head in disbelief but seemed a little too lost for words to express his grievances.
"The headline..." Charles urged in an attempt to change the subject, gesturing to the newspaper impatiently.
"Mutant Slain..." Storm read aloud. She peered back up at the Professor quizzically.
"Her name is Treena Parks," Charles revealed. "She is – was - an acquaintance of the Wolverine..."
"Let me guess. That translates to she shared his bed." Scott sneered.
Charles chose to ignore his uncalled for comment, well aware of the young man's dislike of the Wolverine. He even understood it to a certain degree. The Wolverine either apposed or lacked interest in practically everything Scott looked up to. Everything he believed in.
Charles turned his attention back to the headline. "The fact of the matter is, Treena Parks was no mutant."
"Then why would they call her one?" Storm questioned.
"Read on," Charles requested urgently.
As they did so, the weather-witch paled. "Oh my god. That poor girl."
"That's sick," Jean shivered.
Scott's jaw tensed. "Does this have anything to do with Wolverine?"
"I believe so," Charles confirmed grimly. "I don't only use Cerebro to keep tabs on the Wolverine."
"No, you send us out into that inhospitable snowy wilderness on occasions too," Scott complained.
"Which I appreciate," Charles intervened promptly. "But as I have said, I also have outside contacts. And it was through one of these contacts I discovered that Wolverine had forged a genuine friendship with Treena Parks, that wasn't just confined to the bedroom as you so bluntly put it." He glared fleetingly at Scott before continuing: "Considering his solitary nature this was rather unique and quite unexpected. It gave me hope that he might be willing to let people in after all."
"You don't think Wolverine murdered her, do you?"
"No, Scott. But I think that whoever did murder Treena was targeting the Wolverine."
Storm frowned. "I don't understand."
"I do." It was Jean, who had remained relatively silent since reading the story.
All eyes turned to her.
"That thing...what the murderer did...you think it's somehow a message to the Wolverine. Not directed at Treena at all. That it was misinterpreted."
A tremor ran through Charles at the reminder and he wondered how deranged someone had to be to carve words onto the back of an innocent young woman. The idea that she might have been...might have been alive when the knife scratched mercilessly through her skin...just didn't bare thinking about and he prayed that she had already been dead.
He also wished that the macabre image would stop flashing into his mind...
Mutant Freak!
Words scribed in vivid red blood set against frozen blue-tinged flesh...
"Professor?" Jean prompted.
His eyes focused on her once more. "To an unknowing public it was only natural that it would be misinterpreted," he agreed, quickly snapping out of his unsettling reverie "But to those of us with a little more insight...well...it seems that we are not the only ones keeping tabs on the Wolverine."
"This is only speculation, I take it?" Scott asked warily.
"No," Jean responded hastily. "I don't think so, Scott. I can't help but feel that the Professor is right about this."
"Then who would be targeting the Wolverine...and why?" Scott demanded. After a few seconds of contemplation he gestured to the newspaper, adding: "they can't be a mutant. Not to write that on her back. Sounds like a mutant hater to me."
Charles nodded. "I have to agree that it is a strong possibility." Frustration flooded his face. "But as for why..." he gestured helplessly with his hands. "I simply have no idea.
He glanced down at the newspaper, suddenly angered by such a senseless waste, unwavering in his belief that all life was precious, be it mutant or non-mutant. "But whoever it is, mutant or not, we need to discover their identity and ensure their arrest as soon as possible. Especially now that the Wolverine appears to have forged a second attachment, an attachment that could very well become the killers next target." He regarded his X-Men seriously, recalling in his mind's eye what Cerebro had revealed to him less than an hour ago, those images that had touched him so profoundly...
He didn't think he would ever forget the sight of them: Wolverine and the young woman, buried knee-deep in the snow, wrapped in one another's arms as their tortured faces had glistened with tears... provoking tears of his own.
He forced down his emotions, concluding: "And Cerebro tells me that she most definitely is a mutant."
"There is also something else we might need to consider," Scott pointed out after a short silence. "Considering the Wolverine's temperament." He gestured, once more, to the newspaper and in particular the photograph of Treena Parks. "Broken man or not, the Wolverine is not going to just walk away from this. If he was as close to this woman as you claim, he's going to be out for blood."
Marie was freezing by the time they got back to the camper van. She didn't know how many minutes they had knelt in the snow wrapped in one another's arms but it had been long enough to numb her fingers and toes painfully. She wondered, slightly paranoid, what frostbite felt like.
Handing Logan the keys with a discreetly clenched jaw, trying desperately to keep her teeth from chattering, she mirrored his actions and climbed into her seat. After he had started the engine he immediately turned the heating up to the max.
He glanced at her in concern. "You look cold."
She shrugged nonchalantly. "A bit."
He rolled his eyes. "You aint much of a liar, are ya kid?"
Taking her by surprise, he reached across for her hands, enveloping them in his own with a gentleness that made her breath snag in her throat. As he started to rub at them vigorously she watched him with a mixture of mild shock and contentment.
His eyes flicked onto hers as he massaged between her fingers, sending tiny jolts of pleasure shooting through her. "I'm...I'm sorry about what happened," he began, seeming embarrassed. His head nodded towards the window. "Out there."
"Don't be," she returned firmly, savouring the touch of his skin against hers as well as the delicious warmth he was conjuring with his expert hands. "You needed... needed that release." She took a deep breath, fleetingly closing her eyes as the emotions bubbled up within her again. She forced them back down. "I think I did too."
She reluctantly slipped her hands from his, although not before thanking him with a grateful smile, and moved back into her seat. She found herself staring out through the window, admiring the snow-covered trees as they sparkled enchantingly in the sun.
The scenery was so beautiful, she thought idly. Like a winter wonderland.
At the same time she could feel Logan's eyes burning into her face.
"Marie?"
She turned slowly to look at him.
"I meant what I said."
She watched him silently, mesmerised by his face. So handsome. So haunted.
"I want ya in my life."
After a few long moments he severed their gaze and it was his turn to drop back into his seat and stare blankly out of the window. "But I...I didn't mean to get so heavy out there." He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head angrily. "So god-damn needy."
"I liked being needed," she admitted, in little more than a whisper.
At her words, he scrunched his eyes tightly closed and the silence stretched into one of the longest minutes of her life. When he finally spoke again his voice made her start, it came so unexpected. "This is crazy," he murmured, eyes still closed, head pressed back into the seat tensely.
"What is?" she dared.
Swallowing with some difficulty, his face seemed to wrestle with some inner torment. "Us," he confessed. His hazel eyes blinked open and he moved his head round a fraction to peer across at her, perplexed. "This."
She turned in her seat, scooting a little closer to his. "Just two people...needing each other..." she began softly.
Their eyes locked.
"Nothing crazy about that," she insisted, although there was desperation beginning to lace through her words. He had just said that he wanted her in his life and yet he now seemed to be struggling with the concept.
Reaching across to run a finger through her hair, he offered her a sad smile. "Guess not."
"Believe it," she urged.
But his face betrayed his true feelings and she realised, frustrated, that he still couldn't accept it. That he was afraid to accept it. She found that she had to battle to keep her anger suppressed. She didn't know whether it was Logan or those demons that she was mad at. Perhaps a bit of both.
"Logan? Didn't last night tell you anything?" she grieved. "I want to be with you. Y.O.U!" She scowled at him. "And yeah, we have just met. And yeah, perhaps it does seem a bit hasty, but it also feels right. We feel right." Her frown deepened. "Right?!"
To her relief a hint of a smile tugged at Logan's lips. "You remind me of me when you scowl like that."
She dropped herself unceremoniously back into her seat, folding her arms to her chest defiantly. "Fuck you!"
Christ! Had she just said that?! To him? To a man who beat people to a pulp for a living?
She felt his eyes on her again and she was dying to look back at him to see whether he was angry or not. She felt her heart begin to pound in her ears.
"Ouch," he returned eventually, his voice annoyingly neutral.
This time she did look at him. "I'm sorry," she blurted, ashamed. "You didn't deserve that...not after... well ...not today..."
"Maybe I did," he disagreed quietly.
"I just...it's just that you..." she rolled her eyes, unable to hold back. "God, you don't half confuse me!" she exclaimed. "I can't fathom what it is you want."
"I want you," he maintained quickly.
"Then stop putting obstacles in the way and just accept it. I'm not too good for you. You're not too bad for me. End of story!"
He grinned. "Fiery little thing, aint ya?"
She sighed. "I have been known to blow a fuse or two in my time. People assume I'm shy 'cause I'm quiet...but sometimes I surprise myself with my bluntness."
"No kiddin'?"
"Being a mutant doesn't help and can get kinda overwhelming at times, as I'm sure you'll agree." She regarded him shrewdly. "I can't believe that you beat men up in a cage purely for the pleasure of it?"
"Point taken."
"But...sorry again for swearing at you. I don't usually make a habit of it. My mamma was big on manners."
"Guess I bring out the worst in ya?"
That made her smile a little. It also made her burn inside as she remembered last night.
He lent forward to snatch gently at her wrist. "C'm'ere."
She gaped at him, pulling back from his grasp. "What?"
He tugged at her arm. "C'm'ere!"
Slightly bewildered, she allowed herself to be dragged across to his side.
"Straddle me," he demanded huskily.
Her eyes widened. "Now?"
"Well, not next week, darlin'"
She climbed onto him awkwardly, seeming to take forever to find a comfortable position. When she finally sat down and faced him, he regarded her in amusement.
"You done yet?" he teased.
She grinned at him sheepishly. "Sorry. I haven't straddled in a while."
His arms swept around her, cupping her behind and drawing her closer to him until they were mere inches apart. "Better start practising then. 'Cause I like bein' straddled."
As a whole flock of butterflies stirred into life in her stomach, Marie ground her body down into his. "Like this?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh yeah," he groaned.
Throat burning with anticipation she slipped her hands either side of his face, suddenly needing to feel his lips on hers. "Kiss me, Logan."
His eyes searched her face restlessly. "I need you to do somethin' first."
She watched him questioningly.
"You said that you can switch your mutation on and off?"
She frowned down at him. "Yeah? So?"
"Switch it on when we kiss."
She flinched back from him, face flooding with horror. "Are you mad!"
"Just enough to...to absorb what ya need to know."
In a panic, she attempted to move off of him but he clamped his hands around her wrists holding her in place.
"Logan, you're...you're hurting me..."
His eyes flamed with urgency. "You say I confuse ya...that ya don't know what I want..."
"Yes, but -"
"I can't even begin to explain my demons, Marie. An' part of me...part of me just don't wanna. Can't face it." His face darkened with shame. "I know I'm bein' selfish...taking the easy way out...but I - "
"It will hurt you," she warned desperately.
"I can take a little pain," he insisted.
"But you've been hurt enough."
"Please, Marie. I need you to - " he faltered, easing his grip on her a little. "- to know the man inside."
For the first time since meeting Logan she was afraid. Not of him or what he asked exactly, not even of what she might find out. She was afraid of contributing to that maelstrom of suffering that he endured day after day.
"I don't want to hurt you..." she begged meekly. "Please don't make me hurt you."
If something should go wrong...
She could kill him.
Yet at the same time she wanted him inside her so badly, for him to be a part of her. For her to be able to share his demons and in doing so better help him defeat them. It would be an intimacy that extended way beyond lovemaking. That would remain until her dying day, whatever trials and tribulations life threw at them along the way.
This would be a linking of souls.
Her hand reached tentatively out to his face, her finger timidly tracing a line along his brow, down the length of his nose, to gently brush his soft warm lips, like he had done to her outside in the snow, when his world had came crashing down around them.
She saw relief and gratitude in his eyes as she inched closer and as her lips sought his she whispered: "I'm sorry..."
The fact was, this would hurt him. Just as it would hurt her doing it.
As their mouths moved together heatedly, tongues exploring, demanding attention, she triggered that mental switch that would activate her mutation, surrendering willingly to the rush of genes that had lain dormant for over a year.
The pull came immediately and it felt so good, as if her whole body was being charged with the most organic form of energy, the power flooding into her making her feel invincible, and somehow complete, as if embracing her mutation was what made her whole again and that denying it had been suppressing her soul, her freedom.
But when she felt Logan gasp beneath the weight of their kiss it promptly brought her back to reality and his implicit trust in her made her feel ashamed of such wrong thoughts. He didn't stop kissing her, didn't stop running his hands through her hair, didn't loosen his hold on her, at least not straight away. He was strong, she'd give him that.
But her mutation was stronger and as he continued to pour into her, course through her veins to fill her entirely, she felt him begin to weaken, felt him instinctively recoil back as the pain must've started to overwhelm him.
That's when she pulled away, fearful of her mutation not complying with that mental switch of hers; worried that there might be a short delay. She had no desire to prolong his suffering.
When she looked at him again, he was frighteningly pale and his veins seemed to be more pronounced than normal although they were rapidly disappearing back beneath the surface of his skin.
"Logan?" she gasped, searching his face frantically. "Logan, speak to me!"
His left cheek twitched, once, twice. Then his eyes blinked lazily open. "Was that it?" he tried to joke, but his voice sounded laboured and fragile.
As relief swept through her she punched him gently in the shoulder. "I hate you for making me do that." But just as quickly she dropped her head down onto his chest, feeling the tears prick at her eyes once more. "And I hate them for doing that to you."
He was in her head and he didn't feel invasive at all. Not like David had been at first. He felt right. And warm. And comforting...
He was a good man, a genuine soul beneath all that brooding and all those dark menacing scowls. She could feel it with every fibre of her being and along with her joy it brought another wave of relief sweeping through her.
But the truth was also in her head now. The nightmare that was his past – at least what he could remember of it. Along with all his questions, his turmoil, his anger and despair.
As Logan's demons became her demons she began to cry.
And this time it was only for him.
"Oh, Logan," she sobbed. "I'm so...so sorry."