So the next chapter is finally up. Yay! This took so long for two main reasons, the first and lesser reason was because I got lazy and turned to reading rather than writing. The second was because even as I wrote the last chapter I knew I was digging myself into a hole, after all, I had no idea how Victor and Logan would react to meeting each other. I still don't know if what I wrote would be accurate—or even good for that matter, but this is the best I could think of. But enough of that. Enjoy the next chapter!
--
The sound of the iron poker impaling a cylindrical log of burning wood broke Logan's thoughts and caused him to look up. Victor was tending to the fire as he would any time the sun went down. It looked so normal, so unconscious for Victor that Logan almost forgot he himself had intruded upon his brother's daily routine. But a quick flash of movement from Victor's eyes in his direction released Logan from his existential spell and slammed him back down into the current situation.
They were both tense, as tense as they had ever been in each other's company, as far as Logan could remember anyway. Neither of them had spoken a word since they entered Victor's little hut. There seemed to be too many questions, too many feelings for him to just go and blurt out what he wanted—needed—to say. Victor's mind was a mystery to Logan, as it always seemed to be since he had lost his memory all those years ago. His brother was uneasily quiet, not saying anything at all apart from "Well I supposed you'd better come in." after they had stood in that little face-off of theirs for about fifteen minutes.
At that point, Victor had pushed past Logan and entered the little log cabin, sitting in the seat that was furthest from the door and facing him. After that, he had followed Victor inside and had sat down in the seat he was sitting in to this moment. They hadn't spoken or moved until the sun went down and Victor started the fire. Then, he had sat back in the chair and they resumed their attempt at being still life. They continued on with their parallel meeting until that moment when Victor poked the fire with the iron rod. In fact, it wasn't until his brother spoke to him that Logan was capable of addressing the other mutant.
"So you remember, then?" Victor asked as he sat himself heavily back down into his chair.
Logan cleared his throat. "Eh, yeah, some of it. I know enough, I guess."
Victor considered this for a moment. "So, yer not angry?" He asked a little too hopefully. He rubbed the stubble on his chin. His appearance had changed somewhat since Logan had last seen him on the Statue of Liberty all that time ago. He no longer had his hair in that ridiculous long mop and the moustache was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his brother had reverted back to his close cut hairstyle and while he no longer had the mutton chops, he had something that was not quite a beard but almost too long for stubble. He looked haggard, like he hadn't been keeping good care of himself. It was probably true too; Logan had always been the one that motivated Victor to keep himself strong. Whether it was so he could protect his little brother or compete with him, Logan wasn't sure, but it didn't matter, since it did the trick.
"What is there to be angry 'bout?" Logan asked with a slight frown.
Victor looked at him for a moment, unsure whether he should say something or not. He decided soon after that silence was best for the moment and he just shook his head. "Aw, you know, 'cos I never tried to get back in touch. After 'Liberty', you know?"
"Nah, s'ppose I not." Logan said, "But why didn't you say anythin'? Why'd you just attack me?"
Victor looked embarrassed as he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes. "'Cos it wasn't exactly me back then." He grunted, clearing his throat with sincere humility.
"Sure smelled like you." Logan muttered with a scowl.
Victor's face darkened, his embarrassment turning to anger. "Yeah well it wasn't. You always said the beast inside o' me would take over some day and you were right. You happy now? You proved me wrong; I couldn't control what I was doin'. Some mutant that worked with Magneto brought out the beast forcibly one day. After that, it didn't want to go back inside. I was trapped in my own body. But don't think I still wouldn't have beat yer ass if I hadn't been. You deserve a lickin' for leavin' me like you did."
Logan frowned. "I left?" He asked in confusion.
Victor's anger dissipated as he looked at his brother. "Thought you said yer memories were back?" He said in a voice that was almost sulky and almost suspicious but not quite either.
"I said they're comin' back. I don't know everythin' yet."
Victor scoffed. "You don't know nothin'…" He told his brother.
For some reason, this got Logan's hackles up and he growled as he shifted nearer the edge of the seat leaning slightly forward.
"Now look here," Logan said sternly, "I'm not able to remember everythin' just yet. But that's ain't my fault. So stop actin' like it is."
Victor stayed very still for a moment and then shook his head slowly. "Nah," He said after a few seconds, "You ain't Jimmy. Yer nothin' like he was…"
The fire crackled, the birds that remained outside gave hesitant goodnight caws but the world for the two mutants had stopped. The beast inside Logan, who was unusually active lately, demanded blood and was roaring for Victor's. The logical part of his mind knew that anger at such a statement was ridiculous; Victor's disapproval should have meant next to nothing, it should have washed over him and be done with. But there was a cord somewhere deep inside his body that was already strung tight and Victor's words were as sharp as his nails, snapping it clean in two. With barely restrained fury, Logan stood up. His hands shook with the effort of keeping his claws in their confines, his knuckles were white. "Oh yeah?" He asked, his voice shook, "Who am I then?"
Victor ran his tongue over his teeth and gazed darkly at the other as he stood slowly up.
"Yer nothin' but Jimmy's shadow."
With a blur of movement, Logan found himself decking Victor and impaling him on six long adamantium claws. Teeth snapped and growls and snarls accompanied bits of flying flesh and hair in their little brawl. The already sparse room was left in further disarray as they tumbled and rolled into and through various pieces of furniture. Logan roared with fury; anger, pain and resentment seemed to come out of nowhere, now invaded and conquered his body and filled his muscles with strength.
But Victor wasn't about to keel over and let the other feral defeat him. His own feelings mirrored Logan's and with just as much ferocity, he fought back. He grabbed Logan's sternum, his claws breaking through the flesh and bone in his grasp, and he shoved his younger sibling backwards. Logan flailed as his lack of balance made him trip over the pile of misplaced books and made him stumble to stay standing. Victor saw the weakness in his opponent's defence and lunged for him, sending them both through the closed front door. The thin layer of wood never stood a chance as it smashed under the weight of an adamantium skeleton and an equal measure of organic flesh. The two fell onto muddy ground with a thud, crashing into the carcass that Victor had abandoned. With the simultaneous proclamation of 'eww', they momentarily broke apart to study the now squished caribou. The spectacle seemed to calm the two down. Logan certainly no longer felt the all-consuming desire to rip Victor's head from his shoulders. The woods were quiet and the moon had taken its place in the sky, shimmering brighter than necessary for them to see every little detail around them.
The two brothers stood side by side, looking down at the mess and trying to ignore the pieces of flesh and blood that had smudged onto opposite sides of their clothing. They weren't really paying quite as much attention to carcass as much as thinking about what had just happened. Victor was thinking about the man standing beside him, he wasn't quite as his brother had been—but then again, he wasn't X-man Logan. He was reminded of the Jimmy who had hung around after World War II, the lost little brother who had wandered from Poland to the Philippians. Soon, Victor realised that he could deal with this, he'd rather have his brother than some broken version of him, but he could deal with it. Eventually, Victor turned to Logan. "You hungry, Jimmy?" He asked with a grin, motioning to the caribou carcass.
Login studied him carefully for a very brief second. He snorted with his brother's messed up humour and nodded. "Sure," He said, "Why not."
--
It was late by the time they had eaten their share of food. The two of them were sitting outside of the cabin, unconsciously regarding the stars as they rode the warm, happy feeling of caribou steak in their stomachs. The shimmering moon illuminated the glistening moisture droplets on the long grasses near the solitary building, which in turn reflected the light back onto the two mutants. The valley was peaceful now, utterly silent. It wasn't the same as earlier when they had been fighting; it was different, less forced and more natural. Neither of them spoke, but it was no longer out of fear or uncertainty, rather it was because words would have broken the peacefulness they rarely experienced. However, Logan, despite knowing he would curse this moment, had questions that needed to be answered. Without looking to Victor, he asked what was on his mind.
"What is this place?" He asked looking to the moon.
Perhaps it wasn't the best way to phrase the question; perhaps it was crude and insensitive. Logan almost ashamed to not hold more reverie in his voice as he spoke, and to not have more wonder in his eyes as his words invaded the serene air. This was an emotion that confused him and made him angry enough to swear profusely in his head, but it came from some place deep within. A place inside him that was truer than the facts in his head. Logan grimaced, he sounded like one of those nancy boys in Kitty Pryde's romance novels. He felt like he should wash his thoughts with soap.
Still despite whatever feelings he might have in relation to his lack of reverence to this place, Victor didn't seem to share any similar opinions. He just grunted and shrugged, trying to not be bugged with his brother's ignorance.
"It's our home." He told him, "Least it was. We made it years ago, when we were still kids. 'Course it's bin refurbished so many times by now, it looks completely different to what it was a hundred years ago." Victor seemed to be happy enough to ramble on about the cabin so Logan let him.
"I tried to keep it the same as it was, you know, in case you ever came back to it—though it might jog yer memory, or somethin', guess not though, eh? Oh well, it'll come back, probably, since yer already recoverin' from that adamantium bullet in yer skull I s'ppose. Damn miracle that was, to think ya even survived it is—"
Logan frowned and cut Victor off. "Adamantium bullet?" He asked quickly, effectively stopping Victor's chain of thought.
Victor realised he'd let information slip. Information that his brother didn't know about. That could be bad for him. It could end him waking up dead in his bed, with his head somewhere half way to Alaska. Victor figured it was time for some of his world famous evasive techniques.
"Figuratively speakin', o' course." He said quickly, patting himself on the back afterwards for another jaw-droppingly good save. Logan narrowed his eyes, all too aware that his brother had just pulled the worst lie ever and was covering it up with even poorer finesse. Honestly, if he wanted Logan to believe him more often he should stop grinning to himself after he lied every time. Still, he didn't push it. Victor, he knew, would fight his corner to the death and Logan hadn't come here for bodies, he had come for answers, so he said nothing and just nodded, looking back to the sky. A few minutes past and Victor yawned loudly. "I'm hittin' the sack, you goin' to stay willingly or do I have to beat you unconscious?" He asked in about the fondest way he'd ever manage asking someone to stay with him.
Logan nodded, "Yer sure?" He asked.
Victor scoffed. "I got a spare room and yer here, who else d'you think'd be stoppin' in? Martha Stuart? Get yer sorry ass inside before I kick you out for bein' so goddamn stupid."
Logan shook his head with amusement and, realising that would be the best welcome he'd get, he got to his feet and followed Victor inside. The door to cabin shut with a dull thud and outside, the cicadas started up again.
--
It was an earlier time, and it was snowing. Two brothers moved through the cold as easily as if it had been summer. They had been on the move for weeks, first because of the angry mob that had chased them, then because a young, teenaged Victor just hadn't been able to sit still. Victor turned around and noticed his little brother had fallen a few steps behind him.
"Jimmy, hurry up, we don't have time to pick up every goddamned rock you find." He called to the younger boy who was still in the rich people's robes from the night he had slaughtered his birth father. The thing looked ragged and pitiful at this stage but it was an extra pair of pockets and Jimmy refused to let it go.
"Sorry," James Howlett said as he got up from the ground and snuck something into his pocket. "But just so you know, it's not a stone, it's a pine cone. And look, it's open!"
He told his brother, taking out the pinecone and showing the marvellous find to his apathetic brother. Victor just rolled his eyes and upbraided his brother for picking up something so useless. Still, Jimmy refused to have his pinecone humiliated like that and he held it close to his chest, frowning as he mused over the possible reasons why Victor couldn't appreciate something so amazing. The only remedy his pre-teen mind could conjure; was to overload his brother with facts until he finally understood the magnificence of the pinecone.
He spoke for fifteen minutes, slamming fact after fact into Victor's head until he could no longer listen to the annoying twitter of his brother's unbroken voice.
"…And the best thing about the pinecone," Jimmy continued, "is that it opens when it senses water and closes when it doesn't. It is amazing, isn't it, Victor? Victor, isn't it? Isn't it amazing?" Jimmy pressed oblivious to the rising frustration in his brother.
"Victor?" He asked again.
"Shut
up, Jimmy!" Victor exploded after a moment, "I don't care about
those damn pinecones. I hate pinecones. The next pinecone I see I'm
going to insert into your mouth through your stomach. Shut up about
the bloody pinecones, for God's sake." Victor looked away and
fumed. Jimmy stood still and watched his brother with wide eyes. By
the time the older mutant looked back around, Jimmy was looking up at
him with watery eyes brimming with tears and a lip that was quivering
pathetically. Victor instantly felt bad about his immature outburst
and winced at the unwanted effect the other's distress was having
on him.
"Aw, look, I'm sorry Jimmy. I didn't mean what I
said; I just have a lot on my mind, that's all."
Jimmy nodded and bit his lip. "I know, Victor, that's why I didn't want to complain to you. That's why I didn't want you to know that my feet hurt and I'm tired and hungry and I don't want to walk anymore. I miss my home."
Victor sighed the long-suffering sigh of the guardian of a child. "I know, Jimmy, I know." He said putting his arm around the younger boy and subtly getting him to keep moving, "We can't go home, you know that. But that's not going to matter soon—do you know why?" He asked.
Jimmy didn't know why and answered as such.
"'Cos we're going to make our own home. We'll find somewhere good, a valley where there's plenty of food and water and trees and we'll build our very own home. Stick with me, Jimmy; I'll keep you safe. Together, we're going to be the toughest brothers the world has ever seen."
Feeling somewhat happier about being led off into the unknown, James Howlett followed his brother further into the Canadian wilderness. It was scary how easy it was to get lost in such a vast expanse of land, luckily though, getting completely and utterly lost was what a youthful Victor had in mind. After all, if they didn't know where they were, surely the people who were chasing them wouldn't either, right? Later, after years of life had seriously changed his naïve views, Victor would cringe at his terrible strategic figuring and the decisions that he had so often made because of it. Luckily though, the angry hoards that hunted them, had given up long before that moment and the lapse of judgement would not cause them any damage.
Together the two brothers walked further on in their journey. They walked for another two days before they came across the valley where they would live for so long. When they settled in the valley, Victor and Jimmy spent two full weeks doing very little other than making their new home. Of course the first time that they attempted making a building, it failed miserably after the first stormy weather and they had to dig themselves out of a heap of wood and leaves. The younger brother did, however, manage to save his pinecone collection, much to Victor's chagrin. With the failure of their first house, the brother's attempted to make another. Victor spent hours upon hours sitting at the chosen site, trying to figure out how he was going to do it. All the while, Jimmy petitioned for a tree house because, as he said, it would be better from a defensive point of view. His comments earned the young mutant a clip on the back of his head and a muttered "Shut up" from Victor.
Two months after the first failure, however, Victor and Jimmy looked at their own newly finished house proudly. At that time, it wasn't even remotely similar looking to the cabin that Logan would stumble upon over a century later. Rather it was the backbone of what would become the best thing that had happened to them since they discovered their lineage. It was home.
--
Logan stopped walking through the cabin and scowled. He put his hand to his temple and let out a slightly breathless groan. It might have irked him that he had shown any form of weakness in front of someone who had once been an enemy and could potentially be one once again. Fortunately, the memories still were too much a part of that moment for him to hear his slip-up. Victor glared at him from behind.
"What's with you?" He asked Logan with a voice that sounded agitated but was somewhat concerned in actuality.
Logan shook his head, "Just remembered buildin' this place." He muttered.
Victor snorted, "This always happen when you remember somethin'?"
Logan sighed, "Not always. Sometimes."
Victor looked at him for a very brief moment—and then shrugged. "Right. Goodnight." He said and moved past Logan and into his own bedroom before shutting the door with a light thud.
Logan stared into space for a moment and then moved into the spare room that used to be his. Tired after his day's activities, Logan sat on the bed, took his boots, his belt and his rustic patterned shirt off and climbed into bed. It didn't bother him that he was going to sleep in his jeans and vest; since he could sleep like a log when he needed to, and if someone did try and kill him, he'd be ready.
Logan curled into himself and fell asleep, hoping for the first time ever, that his memories would just leave him alone and that he'd get a proper night's sleep for once. No such luck.
--
It started out as a dream; this memory hidden in his subconscious's random drabble. In his dream, he was sitting in a bar. He'd never been in that place before—at least he didn't think he had. It was a miserable place, lonely and dirty. The area was poor and the only other people that were in the establishment, stared miserably down at their dirt-cheap alcoholic beverages. It was quite a large bar, and though he couldn't see the outside, the building could have been a barn that was converted or a small storage unit. It occurred to him that the only reason there was a bar in a barn-like building, was because his mind was seriously messed up. However, once he had established this fact, it somehow made the experience easier to deal with. He decided to sit back and let the stupid, pointless thing play out however it chose.
The waiter, an elderly man with a mass of wrinkles and bad teeth came up to him and asked what he wanted to drink.
"Whisky, no ice." Logan told him, holding up his hand and showing the man his index and middle finger to order the measure. The man nodded and left, coming back a few moments later to deliver the drink. Logan put his hand into his pocket, looking for money but turning out to be penniless. He looked up to the barman to apologise but the elderly man shook his head.
"It's been paid for already." He told the mutant.
Logan frowned in confusion. "By who?" He asked.
The barman nodded his head to someone behind Logan. Logan was about to turn to look when the mysterious person spoke.
"Hello Logan." A well-known, much missed voice told him.
Logan stilled in fear and turned around to see the woman who had spoken.
"Jean?" He asked in a voice that was cracking with both pain and disbelief.
Jean smiled warmly.
Logan took that moment to look her over. God, she was as beautiful as the day she died.
As the day you killed her…She was wearing a suit, black and tailored with care and precision. Her shirt was white and just a little bit see-through and she was wearing the pair of red stilettos that Logan had once told her he loved. To match the shoes, her nails were painted red on her toes and fingers. Looking to her hands, Logan's shoulders slumped when he saw the gold and diamond engagement wrapped itself around her finger like a poisonous snake. Anger welled up inside of him, making him want to growl and snarl at the blatant mark of ownership that was not his own.
I'm the one who loved her; I'm the one who did what she asked. I killed her! And she picked him? After everything I did for her, she picked the Boy Scout? Hell, she chose a dead guy, a guy she killed for god's sake, over me. What the hell do I have to do to win her over? What the hell can I do to show her I'm good enough for her?
Jean Grey smiled as if she had heard his thoughts as easily as if he'd said it aloud. She took that moment to advance on his seated form. Logan gulped, wondering what she was going to do and hoping that it involved her on his lap with their lips meeting. But she disappointed him once more as she changed direction in the last moment and sat on the bar stool beside him. He watched as she elegantly turned herself around on the chair and crossed her legs. He followed her lead and turned also, looking on as she ordered her own drink to the barman. A bottle of Budweiser was placed on the counter in front of her and she smiled up at the old man in thanks. Logan frowned at that.
"I didn't think you drank beer." He commented as he watched her take a swig.
Jean Grey swallowed loudly and smiled looking over at Logan with a cheeky look on her face. "That's because I don't, Logan. You know that."
"Then why are you…" Logan began but trailed off, figuring it wasn't important. He took a sip of his own drink and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste. "So what are you doing here?" He asked instead.
Jean had a knowing smile, but it disturbed Logan because it was vacant and somehow not Jean. He let her know it, too.
"Yer not Jean, are you?" He asked the Jean that was not Jean.
The woman looked down at her suit to hide the silent laughter that she could not quite keep down. She shook her head when she had composed herself once more and looked brightly to Logan.
"No, Logan, I am not."
Logan growled. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded as his claws appeared unintentionally.
The 'not-Jean' did not seem in the least perturbed by Logan's dangerous built-in weapons. She looked him dead in the eyes, the intensity of her gaze burning his retinas. He wanted to look away, but the Wolverine inside of him growled in his inner ear, warning him like a stern parent to not even dare look away. He needed this, his wolverine told him. This was, apparently, important.
Jean eventually spoke. "I am not Jean." She said, as if Logan had not already known. "Jean is dead, her soul in a place that you will not know for a very, very long time." The 'not-Jean' stopped talking, as if what she said would be enough. Logan was losing his patience. He clenched his fist.
"Who. Are. You?" He posed it as a question—but he wasn't asking, it was a most definite demand.
Jean's imposer gave a melodramatic sigh. "Oh Logan," She said with exasperation, "I would have hoped you would remember me. I am the woman who you tried to replace with Jean."
Logan frowned, now understanding that this was more than a dream but not sure to what extent. "You're a mutant?" He asked, wondering if the mysterious woman had used her powers to invade his vulnerable subconscious.
There was a small upturning of 'not-Jean's' lips, but it was too sad to be called a smile. "I was a mutant, yes." She said, looking away in pain.
"Was?" He asked. "You got the cure?" He wondered allowed, but not sure how she could still contact him if she lost her abilities.
The woman shook her head, Jean's short red hair flipping from side-to-side with the other woman's actions. "No, not a cure, death. But you know that, you just don't remember that you do."
"What are you?"
The impostor nodded Jean's head. "Good." She said, "You're beginning to see things as they are. I'm not a person, Logan, I am the memory of a person that you can't yet remember."
"That doesn't make sense."
"No, it doesn't. Not yet." The woman agreed. "You still don't know the extent of yourself."
Whatever Logan might have liked to say in that moment, got stuck in his throat and he stopped, not sure how to make sense of what this mysterious woman was saying. She seemed to understand and she laughed into her hand, something that was definitely not Jean.
"Your brain's trying to remember me, Logan," She told him, "It really wants to, but it can't just yet. It knows me—some of me—my characteristics, your feelings for me. It doesn't know what I look like though, it thinks it has an idea, but it doesn't. So, your brain, your poor, damaged brain, summoned the memory of the woman who was my substitute so that you could meet me, and remember me."
Logan grunted, disbelievingly. "I don't remember anythin' bout you."
The woman nodded but looked just a little sad, despite her understanding. "No, it appears not. But you will, I'm sure."
"Can't you just tell me?" He asked desperately, getting sick of this whole damn dream.
The woman used Jean's face to scowl in annoyance. "No, because I am a part of you and you don't know who I am which means I don't know who I am." Logan understood what the woman was saying, but that didn't mean he wasn't frustrated out of his mind because of it.
"So how do I remember you?"
'Not-Jean' shrugged. "Watch me, I suppose, notice what I do, how I speak, how I move. You should even pay attention to what I drink, I guess. But you know all this, after all, I am a part of you, right?"
Logan nodded and began to watch the woman. "Jean doesn't drink bear, but you do." He muttered.
The woman nodded in agreement. "Budweiser in particular, apparently." She noted.
Logan studied her harder. "Yer not quite as smooth as Jean—movement wise, I mean."
The woman looked vaguely insulted. "Explain." She ordered sharply, using Jean's voice in a way that Jean would not ever use it—not even as Phoenix.
Logan shook his head, not realising that he could have hurt his imagination's feelings. "I mean, you move more practically, like you've lived…I don't know…" He thought about it for a moment. He was getting somewhere with this train of thought, he knew he was. Maybe if he just kept rambling on, saying any nonsense that came to his head, he might eventually make some sense. "I've seen a woman move like you do once. I'm not sure where but I've seen it. She didn't work in a fancy place or nothin'. But it was nice; I think—I think I liked it. It suited her. It was somethin' I couldn't do. Somethin' I didn't quite understand. She was a…gardener? No, but she looked after things. A vet, maybe? A doctor?"
He stopped for a brief second. No, he still wasn't right, but he was close. Like he had it on the tip of his tongue.
"Hmm, I think you're getting close, Logan." The woman said. "Very close, my wolverine."
"Wolverine?" He asked.
The woman shrugged. "Oh I don't know. But then, I'll never know if you don't know. So try harder, I'm interested now."
Logan sighed and continued with his ramblings, picking up where he left off. "So she helped people, she looked after them, like a nurse. But she was too gentle to be a nurse, more like a…child minder?"
The woman growled, "Your so close Logan, don't screw this up." She sounded more like him than Jean or any other woman he'd ever met in that moment.
Logan took some more time to consider the situation in his head. He gulped down a mouthful of whisky to give him the kick he needed to set himself on it.
"You said you were dead, right?" He asked, needing to be sure she did actually say that.
The woman gave a curt nod. "Yes, I am most definitely dead. A pity really, I had quite a lot to live for."
Logan gave her a strange look but didn't comment on the extra bit of information she had given him. Instead he filed it away for further use. "Hmm," He said slowly, "If you know yer dead, I must know yer dead. 'Cos yer me, right?"
The woman grinned. "That's it," She beamed, "You're starting to play this right. So how many women have you seen that have died since your unfortunate memory lapse?"
"Too many." Logan grunted thinking of Jean and all the others he had the misfortune of seeing.
"That's not very helpful, is it?" The woman mused. "Think of one that really effected you. Near the beginning of your memories. Come on Logan, this dream will not go on forever, you need to get a move on or all this progress that we've made will be lost. Think!"
And Logan thought, but his thoughts went to Jean again, the look in her eyes when he impaled her with his claws, the blood dripping down her chin as he lungs filled up. Her skin as it whitened with shock and blood loss and death. Her hair that splayed around her as he placed her on the ground, her hands that he arranged to rest lightly, clasped on top of her stomach. Her eyes that had been left open, he had closed carefully, tearfully.
Logan frowned. A sharp spike of pain brought attention to that last thought. Her eyes? He had closed someone else's eyes before hadn't he? Someone whom he hadn't cried over, but he wanted to—even if he didn't understand why. Suddenly, he remembered the day he woke up with no idea who he was. He remembered a dull throb in his skull as he pushed himself off of the ground and looked around in confusion. He remembered a mutant, Gambit his name might have been, and the man had tried to get him into a plane. They were in trouble, right? But why? He staggered a few steps with the man who had said something about the others getting away, whoever the others might have been, he wasn't sure.
And then he saw her. Lying on the ground, dead. Her hands clasped over her stomach, her eyes wide open, staring at nothing and taking in less. Blood bloomed on her stomach like a macabre flower in the springtime, staining her clothes and her once flawless skin. He looked to her face, beautiful and surprisingly peaceful and Logan felt a wave of shame and guilt at not being able to protect her—whoever she was. He brought his hand down and closed her grey eyes. He looked to her hair, black and splayed around her—like Jean's but it was not Jean's. All of a sudden, a name floated up from the depths of his injured brain.
"Kayla…" He muttered in surprise.
He turned to the woman beside him, her appearance had changed, now mirroring the woman he had once loved.
She smiled. "Hello Logan."
--
Logan woke up in the bed in the cabin, covered in sweat and the smell of fear. The name Kayla Silverfox kept playing in his head. Disjointed instances when he had said her name or heard it were on a constant rerun like a damn night-time TV commercial. He heard his voice call to her in so many different ways, in curiosity, in friendship, love, lust, pain, sorrow, anger, hatred and finally in guilt. Next a barrage of images joined the bodiless voices in his head as they forced their way behind his burning eyeballs. He saw himself and Kayla in a country bar, each of them stealing not altogether subtle glances across the room. She came up to him that night and took him to her home, the next morning she had convinced him to stay in the area.
He saw the woman at work, the mystery finally solved as he watched through the eyes of his memory while she helped a group of young children clean up the paints and unused papers from a day at school. He saw her turn to him and wave and the memory gave way to another.
The next moment in time was of the woman he clearly loved covered in blood, without a pulse, lifeless. He saw himself cradle her body and howl like a wolverine to the moon, swearing revenge on Victor, her murderer.
Next he felt anger, pain—both emotional and physical, he felt the need for revenge, fury. He saw himself with a young William Stryker agreeing to some sort of enhancement procedure. Stryker asked him if he remembered what they were looking for in Africa. Logan did not but his memory nodded and the scene ended.
Images built up faster, he remembered a man called John Wraith, another who was the size of a large elephant and a boxing ring. He saw the streets of New Orleans and the man called Gambit once again. He saw Victor and felt the hate and rage he had for him.
He saw an island. The three-mile island. Once again the image of Stryker was present and soon was his dead lover, Kayla. There was once again the pain of betrayal as she stood alive and well. Then he felt the acceptance as she told him about her sister. And he discovered a surprising amount of understanding. After all, he'd have done it or his brother, once upon a time. Another moment that was ended as Victor promptly attacked him. He had left him unconscious as Logan staggered towards all those cages and freed the poor kids inside.
He watched himself fight with a mutant who had a curious amalgamation of his and other mutant's abilities. Soon after, he saw Victor come to his rescue, saving him from decapitation on a nuclear reaction. He experienced the long forgotten thrill of fighting back to back with his brother.
But when it was over, he saw her. Kayla. Shot and wounded and dying. He saw Stryker and he ran to kill him. Then there was pain; blinding, surreal pain and he went down. An adamantium bullet through the skull. And then there was silence, darkness. There was nothing. He had been so sure he was dead. So sure that the indestructible weapon X had finally been destroyed, put down as the rabid animal he acted like.
But then he felt light and heard his heart beat. He sensed the neurons in his brain resume their firing and make pathways around the scarred tissue that had not been there before. And Logan opened his eyes to find himself awake and alone, his only source of identification were the dog tags that read 'Logan' and 'Wolverine'.
Logan knew the rest.
The images stopped coming to him. He panted hard on the bed and endured the sharp pain as another memory was restored and a piece of his scarred brain healed. He looked around the room, finding it still dark, but there was a hint of light that could be seen through the small glass window to the side. Logan got out of bed and got dressed; he couldn't stay here any longer. He had to go out, at least for a walk. He had to clear his head and find away to deal with the heavy artillery emotions that demolished his defences. Now he would deal with the grief of losing Kayla. Now, over twenty years later, Logan would mourn for the life he had lost.
Logan left the house, closing the door with a light click, hoping he wouldn't wake Victor.
--
But Victor had already been awake. He was awoken to the sound of his little brother's pained pants and growls from whatever memory or nightmare that haunted him tonight. Years ago, Victor would have been used to his brother's nightly visitors from the past, but he had been alone for a very long time and had grown used to the silence of solitude. His enhanced hearing allowed him to listen as the rustle of clothing signified his brother's getting dressed and the sound of the door clicking proved he was leaving. Outside, Victor could just about hear the grass crunching underneath Logan's boots as the other mutant walked away from his brother once again. Victor huffed and turned over in his bed. He growled and struck his pillow before putting it over his hand and will himself to fall asleep. What did he care if Logan was leaving? It meant nothing to him—less then nothing. In fact, he was glad the other mutant was gone, now he could get back to his peaceful lifestyle that his brother had impeded on. Yeah, he didn't need Logan, that kid was nothing more than a liability; he made Victor weak into the bargain, always holding him back. Well no more. Logan could do what he liked, let him run back to his X-men buddies and tell them his brother was living a sad, lonely life in the Canadian wilderness. Let him gossip and ridicule and laugh. Victor didn't care anyway…
Even as he thought those things, the twisting in his gut mocked him, letting him know just how much he had missed his little brother. Reminding him of all the times he thought of going down south and finding Logan and telling him everything. Nor would it let him forget all the foolish hopes he had gotten when he saw Logan standing inside his cabin, hoping it could be like old times, before the worst of everything. But these were childish thoughts that Victor was not eager to remind himself of and he pushed them to the back of his head, once again trying to force sleep on his alert mind.
Sleep did not come easily to Victor for the rest of the night, but when it did come, he was so sound asleep that he didn't hear the door open and Logan return in. Whether it was because of tiredness or his brain had known the other mutant wasn't a threat was hard to say, but the younger mutant slipped back inside without alerting his brother. Later, the sound of birds would wake Victor, along with the smell of breakfast being cooked. But for now, his mind displayed all the fears of his brother abandoning him in dream form as instance after instance of a poorly portrayed Logan left his brother's life.
--
Hope you liked it, tell me what you think.
