Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made from this work.
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The restaurant was one that even for the rich and powerful it took some finessing to get a table without finding their way onto the waiting list that was booked months back. One phone call and cashing in a favour and he had the reservation made on the limo ride over. Passing the time in traffic indulging in the mini-bar and making eyes at another, his lustful to her glowering, they arrived in style and drew more than enough looks.
Walking past all the elite he had picked out the wolves in that flock, the men and women who called on the services men like him provided. With his little Lee on his arm, he could smell the arousal of so many men and women looking at them as if they were on the menu. Of the rest there were whispered questions and a lot of hate directed at them, laughter from some and indignant snorts from the elders of the crowd. With a word to the Maitre D' they were shown in leaving the crowd shocked and the conversations turned around wondering just who they were.
"So, what do ya wanna know?" Victor asked, breaking the ice as they were seated and their orders taken.
The stiff suits around them were looking sidelong their way as she leaned back in her chair with a primly crossed leg and a heel dangling by a toe, sipping the fancy micro-brew beer the waiter had sold her on straight from the bottle. Try as he might the man couldn't get her to take it in a glass, all the talk about letting it breath and how it would bring out the full bouquet like some wine silenced with a murderous look.
"Everything." Jubilee said after a long and slow sip of her beer.
"Careful what ya wish for babe, ya might not like all of it." Victor teased, having a swallow of Scotch and enjoying her furrowed brows and the flex of her jaw clenching.
"Some time before your grandpappy's pappy was born, out in the wilderness o' Alberta there was an estate with the kind o' man most folks would say was an upstanding godfearin' man and cut from the right cloth. Shame his wife had to down the path Eve took, reaching for low hanging fruit and fallin' for the help, having a bit o' an affair in the same wood shack my pappy used to beat me in when he wasn't layin' it to wanton redheads." Victor said in a low drawl that easily caught her attention as he carried on into his story.
"So just who was the bastard?" Jubilee asked.
"Both o' us were, but Jimmy was raised the fortunate son of that godfearing man, a sickly child as they say and his only playmate yours truly. I always had the feelin' that ol' Mister Howlett knew the truth but chose to live the lie after so many years of plowing that barren field he called his wife." Taking another sip of his Scotch, he waited out the silence.
"Brother from another mother..." Jubilee quietly remarked, shaking her head and slugging back her beer and raising the empty as if she were at a bar before noticing all the patrons looking at her in a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"So one night dear ol Dad comes on in drunk and lookin' to take what's his, unloading both barrels of his ol' shotgun sending Mister Howlett off to the pearly gates. Wouldn't ya know it if that runt brother o' mine does something I couldn't do on any o' those trips to the wood shed." Swallowing the last of his Scotch, he watched her and wondered if she could imagine just the look on his ol' fathers face when Jimmy sunk his claws in six strong and knuckle deep.
Putting the conversation on hold as the waiter came back with another round of drinks and a promise their meal would be along shortly, he indulged her as she brazenly reached for one of the glossy, flawless ice cubes from his scotch and slowly sucked it free of the fine spirit. Grinning at the show before the ice cube vanished, from the patrons he heard whispers and catty comments from the women who found their own men stealing glances. The flash of teeth and crunch that came as the ice shattered did little to dampen his own desires.
"Would I be right if I guessed that's somewhere around that point you and 'Jimmy' ran?" Reaching for the scotch, she raised it in question that he relented to instead taking her beer.
"Right in one." Slugging back a sip and looking to the label after finding it satisfying, the slamming of her chair righted rocked through the restaurant.
Treated to the tantalizing show the cut of her dress put out there as she leaned against the table, all elbows and completely no manners with the glass of scotch dangled between her slender fingers, the flicker of her eyes told of snatched looks to all the affronted women she was shaming. Grinning and enjoying another slug of his beer, he saw just a hint of a smile on those lips that looked more luscious knowing she didn't have a spot of makeup on, utterly and completely her right down to every breath of her he took full of her scent.
"So if you're older than my daddy and his daddy before there's a whole mess o' you and 'Jimmy' in between whatever the hell it was that Stryker did to him." Jubilee mused, her eyes intently on his.
"How the hell do you know that name?" Quiet as he asked it, it came out with a growl that promised violence fuelled the anger at being denied killing that man himself, the claptrap through the Merc world telling of his death.
Startled at first, the surprise turned to anger that burned out quick before smoldering in her eyes as she stared at him from across the table that was suddenly too little between them. Pounding back the last of her pilfered scotch, he heard her heals kicked off and caught the merest flicker of those eyes looking for the best exit. Clenching his jaw tight and trying to reign in the rage that came with that name spoken aloud, he leaned back in his chair and relaxed, enjoying the last of his beer and regretting not choosing one of those high end bars instead that still served up a succulent steak.
"I go to sleep one night, have a nightmare of men with guns taking us right outta our beds, and then I wake up in a hole finding out I wasn't fucking dreaming. I found out the monster in that nightmare went by the name o' Stryker and from what my bud Bobby told me him and Logan went way back, like Stryker bitchin' about getting old while Logan was still just as young as ever. I might be learning disability bad at math, but I can still put two and two together when some disavowed Colonel comes knocking and Logan got his name from some dog tags around his neck." Jubilee hissed, her voice even and low throughout the tale.
Visions of his own crimes came back to him, Three Mile Island and all the cages of kids he'd dragged in kicking and screaming, never giving a damn having let his beast run free believing the promise that he'd get his brother back. Swallowing the last of his beer finding no enjoyment in the foamy dregs, the bottle hit the table just loud enough to earn some disapproving looks and scowls from the other diners.
"So you knew him?" Jubilee asked.
Settling for a slight nod as the waiter came with their meals, prime rib for himself and something poncy sounding for her that she was picking at. Ordering up a bottle of wine the waiter rambled about complimenting their meals, he waited until it came and the waiter left to expand on her question.
"Met him in Vietnam, that's where he pitched his little recruitment offer for some black ops work. Till then Jimmy and me and been killin' time fighting in one war or another ever since we got mixed up in that war o' the North verse South." Victor explained.
"You're shitting me, the Civil Fucking War?" Jubilee hissed, her eyes wide in disbelief.
"Took time to stop and smell the roses still, did a spell in Chicago when there was money to be made durin' prohibition. Learned to appreciate the finer things in life from those gangsters." Smiling at the memory of those heady days, he missed those days when the cops were crooked and the crooks had class and his kind of ruthlessness.
Letting her lead the conversation away from his sins that cut too close to her nightmares, he told her about those days in Chicago rolling with the real Gangsters and staying ahead of the FBI. Killing the bottle of wine and finishing off their dinner, all the talk of backroom speakeasies and bootleg whiskey and beer had him longing to hit up a bar and see just where this night was headed.
"What say we leave these starched suits to hang and blow this joint." Tossing cash on the table and offering her an arm, she found her heels and slipped them back on before taking it.
"This where you would have put on your Fedora back in the good ol' days, dressed in a pinstripe suit and packing heat." Wine on her breath and a hunger in her eyes, he smiled down to her and pulled her tight against his chest.
"You wanna find out, or are ya gonna tell me ta go fuck myself?" Victor growled, breathing in her scent and staring deep into her eyes, the quickened pace of her heart told by as it battered against his breast.
"Why don't you go show me a good time and we'll see."
Hitting the streets of the city that never sleeps, he knew she was no delicate flower after the bar fight before and the hellcat he had brought back to that ratty hotel. Playing the White Rabbit to his own dark Wonderland, he had all sorts of places to lead astray his own Alice dressed in red and heels.
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Getting to the garage and looking for his bike, even before he opened the door he could smell the trace of high octane exhaust and the lingering burnt rubber. Gritting his teeth and opening it, sure enough Logan found that it was gone though this time his jacket was left hanging right along with his little used helmet. Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, all he wanted to do after the hell o' a day he'd been having was take a ride on his custom chopper and now it was gone. Pulling out his phone and hitting the speed dial, it rang once and picked up.
"Unless something's on fire or I gotta put on the not kinky kinda leather, leave a message after the beep, or like if you're anyone other than Logan just text me. Jubilee Out."
Going straight to voice mail could mean any in a long list of reasons she wasn't answering, just about as bad as him for forgetting to charge her phone for starters. After dragging his ass back to the mansion to be properly reamed out by Marie he figured he owned her a favour, but given his mood just then that didn't extend to taking off with his bike after hearing Sammy boy brought it back in one piece.
"You just bought yerself some quality time you know where when I see you next, wearing the not kinky kind o' leather. Logan out." Logan snarled into the phone, mocking her sign off from the message before hanging up.
Checking out the fleet with an eye for the Jeep, spotting Ro's baby in the back put to bed under a canvas cover, if someone 'borrowed' his ride he might as well 'borrow' somebody's baby in lieu. Pulling off the cover and looking to the wax job he'd given it, Ro's Mustang Convertible was tuned and tweaked and ready to tear the road apart. Snatching the keys from the rack and starting her up, that deep throaty rumble out the cat back was music to his ears as he revved the engine.
"No replacement for displacement." Logan muttered, hitting the remote for the doors.
Putting the school behind him and seeing one window in particular with the light still on, the silhouette sitting there was what he was running from more than anything. Everywhere he turned in the school there her scent was, memories of all those moments that had lead up to that passionate night of seeing if they just couldn't break her bed. He needed to get away from all those reminders of her, clear his head of all the ghosts that were clawing through his grey matter ever since his past came in punching and kicking and demanding he remember.
"Victor..." Logan whispered, deep in his gut knowing the man really was just who he claimed to be, his brother.
Shaking his head and punching the clutch, shifting gears and letting the tach climb as the engine roared, he had enough ghosts riding him tonight that he knew all too well without dealing with all the stuff he couldn't remember. Breathing in the night and letting it fill him, he drove with no destination in mind drifting through turns and getting lost on those back roads.
Islands of light stood out between those dark stretches of road, gas stations lit up welcoming the road weary to burnt coffee and stale donuts, beef jerky and beer, smokes and a moment to stretch their legs wandering through the isles of high priced convenience in the form of canned and boxed groceries. Filling up at one and getting a six pack of beer, he drove on with the night sky swathed in stars. But no matter the distance he put between them, her words rang in his ears, If only she stayed dead.
"Ain't that the truth Darlin'..." Logan whispered with only the throaty growl of that engine keeping him company on this dark night.
If only she had he wouldn't have had to find out how alike they really were, both having a darkness they fought against trying to keep caged up, a greedy animal of wants and needs and rage. He wouldn't know the taste of her lips and suffer the memory of that one moment of passion in the sub-basement that he had craved for so long only to be twisted at seeing someone other than the woman he loved staring back at him. He wouldn't have to remember her awful plea for a death only he could provide, sinking his claws knuckle deep against her breast.
"If only you'd stayed dead Jeannie..." Logan ground through tight teeth, clenching his fists tight to the wheel.
Cresting a hill and seeing a shimmering stretch of water nestled between the trees, try as he might he couldn't think of just where the road had taken him and that suited him just fine. Needing a beer more than ever and a quiet place to think, he barrelled down the hill with his own words echoing in his head taunting him, If only you'd stayed dead. Hissing at a vision of blood and claws, the memory of holding Jean dead in his arms assaulted him. Clenching his eyes shut tight and letting off the gas, the memory of crying his rage in that stand of trees came anew and he longed to howl the fresh pain away again.
Instead of the stink of ash in the air there was the fresh smell of the open wilderness mingled with the sweat, oil and gas that would never wash clean of his clothes, the smell of the blood of his love as she laid dead in his arms. Twisted in with his rage and grief was the knowledge of just who had taken her from him...
"Victor!" Logan snarled, snapping his eyes open.
In that brief flash of the real world he had just heartbeats to realize his mistake, the Mustang careening off the road and that sensation in the pit of his belly of a brief moment of weightlessness until he started falling with the car. The world exploded around him in a crush of glass and steel, the splinter of wood and the scrape of rock. Thrown hard against the door as the car swung and twisted, all too fast it tumbled once, then twice before slamming to a halt. Shaken out of his waking nightmare, he could smell gas and oil now as he laid in the wreckage with his flesh aflame in pain.
"Sonovabitch..." Logan growled, the pain of cuts healing becoming a phantom pain that he'd remember long after the crash.
Popping his claws and cutting free of his seatbelt, knowing it'd take more than even the car bursting into flames to kill him let him find the humour in the moment, thinking back to giving a ride to a stowaway years before. Slashing and clawing his way through the ruined interior, one swipe down the door and he was free. Tumbling out and crawling away from the wreck, he hissed at the vision of twisted steel and jet fuel, the memory of an explosion knocking him low only to realize it wasn't real.
Scrabbling away up the hill, stumbling on the freshly rent loam and undergrowth, he finally crested that hill with a view of the damage he'd done to Ro's baby. Breathing deep and trying to calm his racing heart, tilting his head at the smell of beer he found the fates were favouring him today with his six pack laying within arms reach. Cracking one of the two survivors open and draining it in one thirsty swig, he thought back to those memories that were too real to be figments.
"If only you'd have stayed dead..." Logan said, speaking the incantation that rang true but felt hollow.
Fighting to remember, visions of a laugh and smile came that twisted the blade that plunged through his heart, the pain coming fresh and leaving him feeling raw. A face came out of the darkness, a face he knew from this second life of his, the first face he could remember trailing his fingers over her features. Gone was the forest and the wilderness painted with her blood, this mystery woman laying still and looking almost serene despite the wreckage and destruction on that island.
"LeBeau you bastard..." Logan hissed, knowing the lie for what it was now.
Burying his face in his hands and pressing his fingers so hard against his eyes trying to banish the visions he couldn't bear to deal with right now, he tried to rally his wits and deal with the here and now. Reaching for his cell and sighing at the sight of the shattered screen, with crossed fingers he tried turning it on and never in his life was he more happy to see it come to life.
"You gotta be fucking kidding."
Staring at no service and a low battery flashing at him, he fought the urge to throw it at the wreckage right where it belonged. Breathing deep and letting it out slowly, he tried to reign in his anger. Shaking his head and getting back to his feet, with that one last beer he hit the road hoping his damn phone would hold out long enough to find some service. Left with nothing but time on his hands, he started picking at the scab he called his mind seeing if anything else would come tumbling out.
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