Logan leaned his head back as he watched the cars slow to a crawl. Another traffic jam, just his damn luck. The wind carried flakes of snow from the bleak and cloudy sky. Daylight was dwindling by the moment, and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up with the car stuck on the road. Logan glanced at his jacket on the passenger seat, where he'd hidden his suit underneath. He knew it was better to toss it in the back of the rental, but for now the suit provided some company and a sense of comfort.
The snowfall grew heavier as Logan begrudgingly drove to the nearest motel. Sleep was something he didn't want but knew he needed for this trip. He couldn't outrun the nightmares of Weapon X that would occasionally plague him at night. He could never see their faces, but he sure as hell remembered the feeling of the Adamantium: it felt like a trickle of droplets accompanied by a bit of pressure. It wasn't noticeable at first, but then the pressure grew, and with it, the temperature rose.
He couldn't move a muscle as he felt the searing heat pour into him. There was no use in trying to escape the heat, not while it engulfed him. He heard low murmurings like flies buzzing in his ears that he couldn't shake out. Amidst his blurred vision, figures in white and blue emerged from the darkness. The mumblings only intensified as they clustered together. The lights grew bright enough to rival the sun, with the heat scorching him alive.
Logan hastily reached over to the glove compartment and chugged a water bottle before tossing it back inside. As he looked at the water bottle swishing in the glove compartment, he remembered the feeling of water blasting on his body on a daily basis, occasionally getting into his nose. If they didn't feel like aggravating him even further, he'd be left alone in the room afterwards. Then the scent would waft into the room before eventually soft and gentle hands would find their way on his body. From time to time, water would slowly rain down on his head. And now, he could feel those careful hands running through his hair and rubbing his head.
Although Charles has been helping him piece the fragments of his memory, he only had a few hours' worth of his life pieced together as a whole. He found his real name on a file belonging to a scientist he skewered, but he still didn't know who he was. Captain America was more than happy to reminisce with an old friend, but Logan only felt partially like the person Rogers described despite his own recollection of the war. His search for answers always left him with more questions.
Shaking his head, Logan closed the compartment shut. He couldn't stay focused with that scent actively flowing into his nose. He couldn't help but open the envelope once more before heading inside; it was nice to remember something so… warm. He wasn't a "touchy-feely" person, but maybe James Howlett was. Maybe this was how he's always been.
He didn't really give a damn about which place he stayed at for the night, but it was a decent motel, he'd admit. Although he didn't think he could get much shut-eye after reading the letter. As Logan looked over the nightstand and at the closed blinds, he wondered if someone was supposed to be here with him. He remembered a hand would often rest at his bicep and placed his hand over where he thought it could be, trying to feel more of that warmth.
Tossing the blanket over his shoulder, Logan heard a faint voice in the recesses of his mind: it was a woman's voice. Logan touched the empty space on the bed before closing his eyes; maybe he needed her still. He knows tonight his dreams will trap him as Weapon X. But maybe if he focuses on the memory of her scent, he'll dream of her holding him away from pain.